Snow. The first thing he remembered was snow encompassing his sight. Those tiny flakes freezing the world in a moment in time when everything felt innocent and whole.

He used to believe in good. In a way he still did, but wasn’t it all changed now? Wasn’t peace itself burdened with sorrow and pain since his return? Wasn’t anything whole and pure now twisted by the bleakness death inspired?

She would tell him no. His beautiful wife, the one who loved him for his scars, his demons, his monster. She would smile and tell him life was worth fighting for.

He looked over at her, at her kind face now pale, her beautiful eyes now empty and devoid of any warmth. She was no longer here to tell him that there was hope…so why would he stay to find out? She was his goodness in the world and now he would have to find her in the next.

He reached out his hand. He would hold her one last time before he went away. Reaching, grasping, his fingers inches away from hers, struggling, even in death, to reach back. He pushed himself forward.

With this movement, life spun away in swirling echoes until it fell out of sight.

Ash. The last thing he remembered was ash falling down, covering his home, his son’s future home in its darkness. He was quite sure that would be the very last thing he would know, until a nudge in his ribs told him otherwise.

“What’s with the beard?” a voice said, barking out a laugh. “You look too old.”

He sat up, the faces of his oldest friends staring back.

One of them adjusted his glasses with a wry smile. “Nope, it’s not the glasses. You do look old. Maybe a little wiser, though.”

His other comrade grinned. “You always were the smartest. Lucky for you, we’ll need that now.”

“Where’s—” he searched the whiteness of wherever he was for her.

“You’ll find her soon.” His friend patted him on the shoulder, giving him that smile he had passed down to his son. “But we have work to do.”

“What?”

“We aren’t dead yet.” His other friend brushed black curls from his face and helped him to his feet. “Well…we are, but we’ve got a mission to do first.”

“What mission?” he asked, one friend on either side now.

“You’ll see.” The father of the child chosen to save the world winked. “It’ll be just like the old days.”

“I think we’re past that, my friend.”

His two companions grinned, one winking, the other barking a laugh, before patting him on the shoulder.

“Never are we finished. We’re Marauders,” one said.

“Besides,” the other nudged him. “Someone needs to lighten this place up a bit. Who better than the best troublemakers in all of Hogwarts? I’m telling you, we should’ve gotten an award.”

“We don’t need a reward,” Moony smiled at his friends. “This is quite enough of one, if I do say so myself.”