The Unknown Witness

Chapter 12: The Value of Hindsight

'I will not say: do not weep: for not all tears are an evil.'

- Gandalf the White

The landing was familiar. Hauntingly familiar. The fact that the smell was different, its stale, hygienic flavours tainting his tongue as he drew in breath, his eyes firmly shut while others moved around him, didn't make a difference. He recognised this place; he'd been here before. He knew what was coming. And he knew there was nothing he could do.

'Harry,' said a voice, as calm as the ocean. 'Come on Harry. Stand up, we've got to help him now...'

And so he allowed himself to be shifted, to be almost lifted to his feet by the owner of the voice who held, within his elderly arms, a superhuman strength Harry would never ask to comprehend. He felt as if he wouldn't want to understand anything anymore. This world was too confusing, and its justice too far from the mark. It was happening again, only much, much worse. He finally opened his eyes.

The sun was finally coming up over the horizon, the storm here broken as it shed light on the subjects of the Hogwarts infirmary. The floor Harry had been lying upon was a shade of ghostly white that he found lacked all forms of comfort. All he could do was watch as Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey did all that was in their power to save the life of Sirius Black.

The three adults had lifted Sirius' limp body onto one of the infirmary beds, already speckled with flecks of his blood. Madam Pomfrey opened his unresponsive mouth to pour some form of potion down his throat, a little of the liquid trickling down the corner of his lips as she desperately forced it down, proceeding to lift up his left eyelid for any sign of reaction. None. McGonagall removed his jacket, and it fell to the ground with a thud, the metal zips and buckles of his motorbike leathers clinking with the floor as it stained the surface with its dark-red markings. It was ruined, shredded, wrecked beyond repair. Harry couldn't stand it. He picked it up, swept up the garment with one swift movement and held it as tight to him as possible, not caring that he was getting covered with the life force of his Godfather. He felt Remus' grip on his shoulder tighten.

Dumbledore had his wand out and his eyes closed. As McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey set out the peripheral fixing process, his wand was hovering over the central wound, a verse or two of Latin slipping out from between his lips as he moved his wand in a circular pattern. The consistent sound of the spoken words and the magic it was tingling the air with seemed to ease Harry for an instant as he watched, calmed with the fact that Sirius was in the safest possible hands. He was in the hands of Albus Dumbledore.

The Headmaster's wand suddenly began to glow, a pinkish aura hovering around the wood as he continued to utter the spell. Harry could feel his heart beating madly in his throat as the glow was slowly crossed to Sirius, the particles of light settling on his stomach and almost knitting the skin together. As he watched, the light finally faded, leaving no trace of a scar. It was as if it hadn't happened at all. But then Dumbledore sighed, nodded to the others and stepped back.

'He's lost too much blood...' said Madam Pomfrey, her eyes full of a wild concern and a sense of utter failure. 'There's nothing we can do...'

'I know, Poppy,' said Dumbledore solemnly, bowing his head to the ground. 'He's gone.'

And then total silence engulfed them. No one uttered a word. Hermione was as pale as a sheet, her bottom lip beginning to tremble uncontrollably as her eyes brightened with tears that were threatening to spill hideously down her cheeks. She shook her head, her lips moving to speak, but nothing was to come of it. Ron was still holding her hand. Lucy in turn had hold of Claudia, who she'd delicately turned away from the scene, sensing the need for privacy, yet unable to remove herself or Claudia from that fate. They were there and so a part of it. Claudia in her turn didn't move a finger. Arabella sat down on a bed, her hand on her heart; she begun to breathe erratically as Dumbledore's words sank in, shaking. Remus dropped his arms to his sides and simply continued to stare. There was an absence of sound; worse than anything any of them could ever possibly imagine. The dawn chorus of birds in the forbidden forest even ceased to sing. There was nothing. Harry moved forward.

His tears had dried up now as he approached the deathly corpse of his Godfather. No one tried to stop him as he picked up the hand that seemed shockingly lacking in warmth. He'd grown so cold so fast. Harry examined the fingertips, coated in dirt and blood that intermingled beneath the nail and still seemed fresh over and over again, concentrating on the limb and familiarising himself with it before it would forever be taken away. He felt himself shiver. He didn't want to look anywhere else. He didn't want to see the truth, the spell of death taking hold of the body that had been full of fighting soul what felt like moments before. He knew he'd just break down as he was already on the ellipse of the edge. He had to hold himself together. He had to have the strength. He couldn't afford to lose it. But he did.

Sirius' face was more peaceful than Harry had ever seen it now that the tortured light behind his eyes had gone out. His jet-black hair was a little less ruffled, still hanging playfully around his ears, but drenched in the sweat of fever, his body attempting to reject the toxins inflicted upon him with the Dark Lord's knife and failing in the fight. His lips were a paler shade of lilac, pressed together in a pout of child-like defiance in the face of it all now the blood had been wiped away. It was as if his eyes had sunken further still, the effects of Azkaban still present in his face even with the absence of life to remind it; the haunted look it awarded him as a memoir refusing to leave. A reminder of a life on the run. And his death a reward for his failed attempt at freedom. It simply wasn't fair.

'Harry?'

He ignored the voice as anger and frustration suddenly seized control of his veins, pumping him full of viscous intent as he squeezed Sirius' hand tighter still. Dangerously tight. Harry's fingers were blossoming red with the effort as his whole body began to shake, the motion totally out of control. He began to growl quietly.

'Mr Potter, please...'

He batted away the hand of the speaker as he suddenly leapt from the bedside, electrified. He felt like the whole world was spinning, the blood he found his own hands to be caked with sealing in with it all of its insanity as his frustration and loss was released in a scream. It was a deep-seated moan of anguish that seemed to drain him of energy on the spot and make the others leap back in terror, eyes wide and utterly afraid. He was heading straight for the edge. He felt his legs give way, weakened beyond reason, as the door of the infirmary slammed open.

He was falling, and then he stopped. A pair of arms, definitely masculine but unfamiliar at that point were saving him from the ground, pulling him up to an embrace that also saved him from himself. Another figure, hurried and plump, swept in behind to embrace Ron and Hermione, whose faces were white with terror because Harry had finally let himself go. At first, Harry struggled against this new found grip, unwilling to be restrained as the anger he felt reached an utmost boiling point, his groan shuffling into silence. The others could only watch on as Harry felt himself weaken into the robes of the anonymous man, burying his face into its depths as true tears erupted again. Everything seemed lost.

'He's dead...' he whispered, as if only first admitting it. 'Sirius is dead...'

'I know,' came the voice of Arthur Weasley, glancing up toward his wife, son and Hermione, his head shaking vigorously also. 'I know.'

The first cockerel crowed.

***

They stood there for what felt like an eternity before anyone dared to speak. Dumbledore stood at the bed, his head bowed solemnly, whilst Madam Pomfrey worked around them all, cleaning up tools and utensils that surrounded Sirius' deathbed in the manner of an absolute professional. She seemed immune to the end. Harry was vaguely aware of the formidable presence of Mrs Weasley just a few feet away, comforting a sobbing Hermione with one arm and keeping her eyes fixed upon her youngest son with a mixture of relief and utter astonishment. In the face of the scene that was laid out before her, she didn't have the heart to be mad. They were all just trembling like an earthquake.

No one else moved, least of all Harry. He let the darkness of Mr Weasley's robes shelter his face from the light, hoping that if he kept it there long enough it would all just go away. It all wouldn't have happened. He would pull away and realise he was still lying in his bed in Privet Drive, looking wistfully at his countdown calendar and surrounded by his birthday presents from everyone he cared about. He could feel the hand of Ron's father move slowly up and down his back, soothing his sobs back into regular breathing again, calming him so to quite a reasonable effect. He sighed, pulled away and finally, painfully, looked over at Sirius' body.

He froze. A thought, a hideous, perishable thought entered his already distraught mind and threatened to topple him again as he gazed at the peaceful corpse beyond. It was ironic, considering the laughter and the pain that the body had been exposed to. Ironic, to look at it with the silence. He drew in a sharp breath before he finally broke the ice.

'It's all my fault,' he said in half a gasp and whisper. 'This is all my fault...'

He swayed but didn't fall. Mr Weasley straightened up as Remus finally reacted, swinging around, away from Sirius, to focus his eyes on Harry with a mixture of bafflement and outrage at the daring of such a suggestion. It cut off Hermione's grief with a knife as she pushed herself away from Mrs Weasley's comforting embrace, Ron standing there beside her and prepared to launch right in with yells of protest. Arabella was shaking her head whilst Lucy and Claudia just stood opened mouthed at the fact this rather small fifteen year-old boy was preparing to shoulder the blame. No one in that room could ever let him do that.

'Harry,' said Dumbledore, his voice as deep as his thought, 'we cannot make such an assumption until we all have heard the facts. We only know what roles we all had to play individually, and not the combination of their impact. Whether this was in our control or whether it just lay with the fates; we won't know that until we all explain the situation. And I suggest that we do that now.'

'But Headmaster...' Mrs Weasley began, speaking for the first time, 'surely this can wait? They've been on their feet for a week and a day, the poor little loves. Surely a couple of hours won't matter...'

Harry shivered frantically again with the horrible sense of déjà vu. The lodge of protest had been Sirius' job in June, wanting the best for his Godson in the aftermath of his narrow escape from the hell that had been Little Hangleton. But Mrs Weasley was protesting not just for him, but Ron and Hermione too. Harry still found himself alone. Who would want the best for him now?

'Molly,' replied Dumbledore, in such familiar tones they soothed Harry's mind like the quivering notes of Phoenix song, 'it's now or not at all. No one will sleep unless we get the answers. That was a lesson we learnt in the summer and one that we'll heed to yet again. Harry,' he turned and focused his twinkling blue eyes upon the injured soul. Harry again tried to avoid his gaze. 'You need to tell us everything.'

But surprisingly, Harry opened his mouth to begin, and found himself interrupted. Something else needed explaining before everything could be understood. Claudia Darlington, the unknown witness, the key to Sirius Black's freedom, stepped forward.

'Sir,' she said in a voice of controlled calm. 'You don't know me. I've never been to this school. I'm not even totally magic and fifteen years ago, if somebody had told me about this, I would have laughed right back in his or her face. But now I know the truth.' She held out a hand towards Dumbledore's presence, and he took it, bemused. 'My name is Claudia Darlington. I'm what you'd call a Muggle. I'm blind but I've seen enough. It was magic that caused my blindness. I was one of the unfortunate people to be caught in the crossfire when Peter Pettigrew faked his own death. I am the witness whose memory they didn't wipe, and Harry was looking for me. And as you can see, he found me.'

'How?' whispered Mrs Weasley, wide-eyed and astonished. 'When?'

Harry answered and drew in a shaking breath. 'Fourteen years ago.'

And so the story began. Harry explained how he had received the time turner and used it without realising. How it had delivered him to Claudia and back again with such ease it seemed unreal. He knew now better than to have trusted it. Remus interrupted that he and Sirius had been at Arabella's at the time when they had received the owl about the disturbance to the protective magic as well as Petunia's phone call. They jointly recalled their own individual visits to number forty-seven, Lucy her own kidnapping and Claudia's run in with Wormtail. Claudia recalled the hit squad whilst Hermione recalled the damage. All through this and their subsequent trip to East Anglia, Dumbledore simply nodded, his eyes closed as he sewed the story together in his mind with a subtle needle and thread, spotting the nicks in the flowing material and setting about to explain them.

It was when Lucy first raised the subject of Damien that Harry suddenly felt quite faint. In the events of the past couple of hours, all thoughts of the face of Draco Malfoy being hidden underneath that Death Eater's hood had been driven totally out of his mind. Ron glanced over at Harry as soon as the word was uttered into the air, his look merely the personification of the rush of thought taking up residence in Harry's mind. Lucy was telling the Headmaster of this teenage boy, this thoughtful, kind and considerate individual who in her hours of darkness had eventually become her friend. He led her to safety at the supreme cost of his own. He had indeed rescued them all. And this was supposed to be Draco Malfoy. Harry still didn't quite believe it. He made no need to mention it.

When Harry reached the part about Voldemort's wand, how when Sirius' teeth had pierced the wood he'd fallen like a rag doll and seemed to be rendered useless, Dumbledore suddenly stirred. A mild twinkle was present in his eye that had been frighteningly lacking when the light of Sirius had gone out. He sighed a little wearily.

'Of course, of course...' he said, scratching his beard as if it were obvious. He stood up and paced a little. 'Do you remember telling me how, last summer, Voldemort told you he'd guarded himself against a mortal death?'

Harry nodded as the repeated words were still fresh in his mind, but he had no idea where this was leading. Dumbledore took heed and explained.

'Well, such processes, although highly illegal in the wizarding world, as most ancient and powerful magic, tend to have a bond. If wizards seek eternal life, they need something to safeguard it whilst they go through the process of death. For instance, my dear friend Flamel was bound to the Philosopher's Stone. Without it he could not exist. What I suspect, for I cannot confirm the truth, is that Voldemort held a similar bond with his wand.'

Harry didn't know what to say. He just continued to stare at his Professor. Dumbledore continued.

'Voldemort invested a lot of his power into that one magical object along with the essence of his life. It was that which saved him all those years ago against the amplification of the Avada Kedavra, the power of his own curse killing his body yet his wand holding the key to his soul, blackened beyond repair. He may have embraced the mortal life now, Harry, but that wand still holds the key to his greatness. And Mr Black was able to destroy that for us all, a most noble sacrifice. A wizard's bond with his wand is great and one of the most mysterious factors of magic. Without it we can say Voldemort will be suffering a large setback.'

'But...' stuttered Ron suddenly, his eyes shifting from side to side as he got used to his voice in his throat. 'Can't You-Know-Who just get himself a new wand? Make himself one, even, and come back worse than before?'

'Mr Weasley,' said a voice, unusually new as it entered the fray. 'Recall what I told you all, once upon a time. The wand chooses the wizard, remember?'

Everyone in the room swung round to greet the most unexpected of sights. For emerging out of the shadow in the darkest corner of the room, was the frail old body of Mr Ollivander. His pale, silvery eyes were shining like the moon in the twilight, his hands held delicately in front of him as he finally stepped forward. But Dumbledore held up his hand to halt the flow of further talk, and allowed Mr Ollivander to say his piece.

'Making wands,' he said, in his quiet, hushed tones, 'is a delicate art indeed. And a very difficult one at that, if you aren't one of the chosen. Indeed, Mr Weasley, I suspect Voldemort will certainly attempt to create such a feat of magical engineering. He's always been an ambitious one...' Mr Ollivander almost chuckled, then composed himself and continued. 'But until he is able to walk into my shop and find the wand that wishes to be his master, he won't be able to hold up half the strength he was able to wield with his thirteen and a half inches of Yew tree and Phoenix feather. A barrier in your battles has been lifted I do believe, Mr Potter. But it is still uncertain whether it's a blessing or a hindrance. Only time and experience will tell.'

Harry blinked a few times at the implication of their words, finally walking backwards and sitting on the edge of a bed. The scene looked odd from there somehow, clusters of people scattered here and there but all from their angle attempting to shield the bed opposite. As if they didn't all want to be reminded.

'What happened next, Harry?' asked Dumbledore, getting everyone back on track. 'After Sirius snapped Voldemort's wand?'

'Voldemort couldn't do anything -' Ron flinched as Harry said the name again, '- so he screamed at Wormtail to kill us both. He tried the killing curse but his wand must have rejected it. It just sort of exploded in his hands and crumbled away to nothing. It was as if it wouldn't let him kill me...'

'... The life debt,' finished Remus, speaking for the first time that night. His voice seemed croaky and alien, somewhat unsettled with the sound of speech yet full of the tones of realisation. 'You saved Pettigrew's life back in the Shrieking Shack, Harry, and that will forever bind you. He cannot do you harm until that debt is repaid. In a way, you own him. And I think that Voldemort now knows.'

Ron seemed to shift uncomfortably, his hands now deeply set in his pockets whilst Hermione gave him a curious side-glance. Harry chose to ignore it.

He continued to navigate their final flight after Lucy destroyed the time turner, dragging Sirius' body back through the maze of tunnels and back onto the surface of the bog, dodging the Dementors all the way. When Harry mentioned the presence of his greatest fear, both Remus and Dumbledore, through their personal pain, delivered him a smile. Remus even a nod. They were proud of him; that was obvious. His wizarding capabilities seemed unlikely to fail him. Or maybe it was just a lucky streak. Harry couldn't say for sure as his words sunk into silence. The story ended right in the room they were standing in with a great many loose ends to tie up. But Harry knew he didn't want to, being horrifically reminded by a glance at the corpse the reality of consequences. His Godfather was dead. The Dark had struck again, closer this time, and would be getting closer still. He didn't want to face that possibility now as he felt his eyes sting with tears again. All he wanted to do was sleep.

He could feel his body beginning to shut down, preparing for the desperate rest that it felt independently of his brain was very long overdue. The bed he was perched on was so inviting, the dive under its duvet to forever shut out the cold, to pretend nothing had ever happened and return to a trace of normality. He sighed and rubbed his face, and to his limited surprise felt a little stubble developing along his jaw, though for now he made nothing of it. He then glanced anxiously over to Hermione, the weariness just as apparent in her face, still white despite the light, and knew that the story was no where near over.

'It was a Portkey that brought us back here, wasn't it?' she said suddenly, turning to look at Arabella with a look of sickly curiosity present across her features. 'You were looking for it, as soon as we got out the bog. You knew it was going to be there. But how...?'

Hermione was cut off with a monosyllabic reply from Remus.

'The Order.'

Hermione raised her eyebrows, as if this part was something she'd already guessed. She was far from able to overlook the obvious. She'd always been quick to get to the point. But she was demanding more.

'The Order has access to a number of specialised Portkeys,' Arabella continued on Remus' behalf, 'that are already charmed to be activated only when members of the Order touch them in emergencies. They are automatically summoned here in case anything is seriously wrong. Isn't it nice to know they still work after fourteen years, Professor?'

'Indeed, Miss Figg, indeed.'

Harry looked from Dumbledore to Arabella, to Remus and back to Dumbledore again. All of them looked completely calm and collected as if the phrases that were tripping off their tongues were just another part of the normality of Hogwarts. Even Mr and Mrs Weasley looked accepting of such a statement, Ron's father glancing up at Dumbledore and sighing as if he was accepting the inevitable.

'I suppose we're really back in business, aren't we?' he said, now walking over to his wife, whose face was set rigid like everyone else's in the room. As if it had been a long time coming. The Headmaster slowly nodded.

'Yes, Arthur,' replied Dumbledore, now turning to look at Ron, Hermione and Harry in turn. He blinked a little then turned back to the Weasleys. 'The Phoenix has risen from the flames. There's a war to be won and we are the people to do it.'

Hermione suddenly drew in a very sharp breath as if something had finally clicked. She got the same glint in her eye that she did in an invigorating Transfiguration lesson, or was presented with an Arithmancy problem that no one could solve but her. It was the look that gave her life, when she read and worked it out, the cogs clicking in her head as realisation dawned upon her face.

'The Order of the Phoenix,' she whispered. 'That's what this all is, isn't it?'

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. 'You are very astute, Miss Granger,' he said, 'and a hundred percent correct.'

Harry wanted to make a sound; any form of reaction to express his bafflement towards whatever it was everyone else in the room was talking about. He wanted to understand. But one more glance at the body again froze any ability at expression. Ron however, his freckles still yet to appear, spoke out loud his thoughts.

'The Order of the Phoenix?' he whispered, confused. 'Mum? Dad?'

A silence crossed them all, like a soft summer breeze had rippled the water's of the lake on that mild morning and revealed a secret in its wake of such immense amounts that Harry felt - no, he knew - that it would change everything for ever. He shivered as he blinked heavily in the light and looked, meeting Dumbledore's turquoise stare to finally discover the truth. The Headmaster spoke.

'The Order of the Phoenix,' he said in hushed, controlled tones. 'Was started nearly three thousand years ago. Just as there is yin and yang, black and white, life and death, there had always been good and evil, and those who fight to defeat their opposite number. It is for this reason, this balance of nature so precise and delicate, the fight will never be over. It can only be controlled. Like death, evil will never be conquered. The Order is merely our attempt to achieve an impossible task. To see an end to the dark.'

Hermione didn't react; like everyone else in the room, she had her face so firmly fixed on Dumbledore that she wouldn't have noticed if the world around her crumbled. For Harry, it already had.

'So, essentially, we are a resistance organisation, the most powerful in existence, run with Ministry backing and without, to tackle any Dark uprising that proves a threat to the wizarding world at wide. I am a member, and currently at its head. Remus and Arabella too. Your father, Ron...' Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in the general direction of the Weasleys, 'has been a valuable contributor. And, of course, Sirius.'

At the sound of this name, Harry felt his grip on reality slipping, his eyes drifting back toward the bed. Dumbledore sensed the drift and fixed Harry with his gaze.

'Do you remember, Harry, when you asked me about your parents?' he said, even more quietly than before, 'When you protected the Philosopher's Stone, and you wanted to know why Voldemort wanted to kill you and your parents?'

Harry nodded minimally, his voice suddenly dissolved in his throat as Dumbledore tottered on the edge of answering the question that had plagued him for years. Harry felt Hermione's hand being quietly placed on his shoulder where it gently squeezed the skin. He tensed up.

'Your father was part of the Phoenix. More than that in fact. For it had been decided many years ago that he would in fact succeed me and become as much a threat to Voldemort as people perceive me to be. A great exaggeration, if I may say so myself, but that is a minor digression. James was the best wizard in his year, for many, many years indeed. But the Dark Lord was aware of it, from the least suspected inside source...'

'Pettigrew...' Hermione muttered.

'Indeed. That was something that came somewhat as a bolt from the blue. The Potters were a threat. All three of you. For if your father was as unfortunate as to not reach the age of succession, his bloodline would have to complete the intention. His offspring would be indebted with the Phoenix. So naturally, when Voldemort killed your parents, the deaths of you and of your father were the only murders that were necessary. He was right,' Dumbledore suddenly sobered. 'Your mother didn't have to die.'

If Harry had maintained any colour in his face that night, it had certainly escaped him by now. 'So, I'm a member?' he whispered, his voice yet again feeling strange and alien in his throat. 'I'm a member of the Phoenix?'

'That's how he was able to use that Portkey?' added Ron with insight.

'Yes,' said Remus, adding to the conversation. 'People in the Phoenix don't join us by choice; they are selected for magical aptitude and adaptability. It is out of our hands. And in case you didn't notice, Harry wasn't the only one taken back. Ron, Hermione...' All the pair of them could do is stare whilst Remus only briefly broke his stride to acknowledge them. 'You are all members by default. We brought Lucy and Claudia back by our sheer collective will, but your path was already chosen. Welcome to the Order.'

'But who put it there in the first place?' asked Hermione more urgently, 'How did you know it was there?'

'That, Miss Granger,' interrupted Dumbledore, 'is down to my dear friend Mr Ollivander here.'

Harry almost jumped as the frail old man stepped forward once again. He'd almost forgotten the wand maker was there. And how he wondered why, now the explanation was being provided. Mr Ollivander's eyes were brighter than they'd ever been before.

'Dumbledore approached me shortly after your disappearance was reported, Mr Potter,' he said in tones just as hushed as Professor Dumbledore. 'Naturally he was concerned, especially when the team he first sent out found themselves distracted and chose to join your noble cause. By the time I had spotted you all in Diagon Alley, reported back to Dumbledore and we'd managed to follow your track, the fates had already been set. I was following in my Muggle business van and merely left the Portkey by the bog. I have seen such events unfold too many times, I find myself sadly saying yet again.' He sighed wearily, and then straightened up once more. 'Indeed, the Phoenix throughout my lifetime has fought an upward struggle. And the fight will never cease. We knew that at the start.'

'The start?' said Ron, picking up on the last few words and repeating them for emphasis. He felt there was something still hidden, still concealed beneath those paling eyes. Ron's patience, short under normal conditions, was in no fit state to face the mystery. He wanted answers. And he wanted them now.

'Ollivander created the Phoenix,' said Dumbledore simply, 'He is the official moderator and consistent part of the Order and has been for all its existence. Its founding member.'

'What?' said Harry, a little surprised by any means. 'Three thousand years ago?'

'Brings a new meaning to the good old days,' replied the wand maker with a smudge of a smile upon his lips. 'Whenever they were, they were certainly the best. Such a shame I tend to forget them. Yes, Mr Potter, I am a rare breed of Wizard. I make wands, yes, but only wizards of a certain breed of ability can do so. The process is difficult and lengthy and individually can take a lifetime. Hence there is a necessity in our world for somebody to last beyond that to provide the essentials, and I am just that simply because of my blood.'

Hermione's eyes brightened as a theory of explanation came and floated across her face. 'Phoenix blood...' she said.

'Indeed, Miss Granger.' He said; his face now set stern. 'That characteristic awards me regenerating capabilities. I have seen every incantation of evil since the days of the great ancient civilisations themselves. I have an experience in the field of defence against the Dark Arts matched by none of my contemporaries at any stage of my life. Like I never forget every wand I sell, I can never forget a face or an evil when confronted with it again. But that does not meet I can fight a one-man battle. Everybody, as you are aware, needs some help along the way. Hence the creation of the Phoenix.'

'And with that, Headmaster,' interrupted Madam Pomfrey, snapping a large bar of chocolate into the biggest slabs Harry had ever seen, 'I must insist you allow these children rest. They haven't stopped for a minute since they arrived. You forget sometimes that they are only young...'

'Maybe, Poppy, maybe,' Dumbledore replied, nodding his head sadly. 'But that doesn't mean they cannot learn. The days will be darker, the light already fading. They need to be prepared and we cannot pull any more punches, so to speak. But immediate issues appear to have been resolved. Will you please send for a house elf to bring up some sleeping draughts to the Gryffindor tower? I think they'll be more comfortable there tonight. Thank you.'

Madam Pomfrey left and was eventually followed by Professor McGonagall, who stared at the scene with softened eyes as she cast her eyes over the silent body of Sirius Black.

'The good always die young,' she muttered quietly, and left. The others gathered at the bedside in silence.

Harry stood at the head of the bed, where Madam Pomfrey had dutifully covered Sirius' face with a clean sheet, his features now softly blending into the sea of white as if they'd never even been defined. Harry felt his face screw up against the choking feeling developing in his throat and tugged the sheet back again as if he still wanted his Godfather to breathe. As if he wanted to face him and the consequences head on. Somehow, Harry knew he'd never be able to avoid it any longer. He was growing up. Things had already set about changing without his mutual consent and sent him reeling, gasping for air as he tried to catch up with a montage of images in his mind, before they engulfed him forever. He wasn't going to be a victim of the past. He was going to be a survivor of the future. And the first step was acceptance.

'Harry...' began the voice of Mrs Weasley, hushed a little as if afraid of waking the corpse. 'Are you going to be all right tonight? If you want me and Arthur to stay a little longer then...'

'Mum...' interrupted Ron, his startlingly brown eyes now fixed upon his mother with an over brightness of his own. 'Shush.'

Arabella, ever so silent for the duration of the discussion, lifted her hand from her side and let it rest upon Sirius' forehead, unbelievably cold and chilly to the touch. She restrained her gasp. Instead she allowed her fingertips to wander onto Sirius' hair, covered in little flecks of blood that did little justice for his mission and his aim. He had died for them all. He had his chance of freedom and some could say that he got it in the peace of that eternal rest. For in that sleep of death what dreams may come. But others may say he sacrificed his basic right as a human, a wizard, to save the lives of his friends. Or that his friends had given him no other choice but to die. The 'what ifs' in Harry's mind were certainly running rampant. But he didn't appear the only one.

'We could have done so much...' said Arabella almost in a whisper, her lip trembling slightly as she spoke and kept her eyes on Sirius. 'We could have done a million things to avoid this. If only we'd gone to Dumbledore first instead of charging in there ourselves. If only we'd been more careful, we could have made a clean getaway and no one would have been any the wiser. If only I'd...'

But she cut herself off abruptly as Dumbledore raised his gaze and looked at each one of them slowly in turn. Harry felt his heart sink further than it had at any point in the proceedings. The blame. That was something he didn't want to face.

'Look at you all,' said the old man, removing his glasses for an instant and polishing them on his robes. 'You are the finest collection of witches and wizards I have come across for a long, long time. Only a percent of a percent could have achieved what you have tonight, could have infiltrated the most tainted ranks of the dark and come back to tell the tale, and indeed share among us in the grief. You should be proud of your efforts, even if not all of you could be part of it.' He cast his eyes downward for an instant, the twinkle fading rapidly as the thought of Sirius entered them again. He shook himself right and continued. 'Mr Black would have been proud of you all. He knew too well that life was unfair, and we can only pray now that in death he receives a better deal.

'We could sit here for hours debating the blame. Miss Figg for failing to cap the plan when she believed she had the opportunity. Mr Potter for playing with the time lines. Young Mr Weasley for encouragement, even Miss Granger for the idea which was the most noble of thoughts. Remus, you could even blame yourself for being a werewolf and rewarding the Dark Lord a weakness he was able to play with. If we were being pedantic to the extreme, we could even blame Ms Darlington for her pure and simple existence. But that is all irrelevant. The actions of magic cannot be explained. It has its own agenda that is set right from the start that sadly cannot be avoided. You cannot blame yourselves, for in this there was a large element of choice. Sirius Black chose to save you all, over his freedom, above his life. He chose to further the cause by giving Voldemort an injury that will take a long time to heal. No one necessarily wants to die, and when men act with such nerve and bravery as Mr Sirius Black, the idea of consequences do simply not appear.'

Dumbledore paused a little as the light in the room seemed to suddenly rise, as if the sun that had been hidden behind the mountain had suddenly escaped its own chains and leapt into the sky, victorious. Free. The Headmaster sighed again.

'There will always be a feeling that the night's events hold with them an air of ultimate injustice. But we can still take a lesson from that. The Dark Side will never play fair, and it is exactly obstacles like this that we will be facing in the future. Dark days lie ahead, but it is only through hope that we can keep the torch alight. If you think today has been long, tomorrow will bring greater challenges. I urge you all to get some rest. I honestly believe you've earned it. Harry?'

Harry hadn't taken in a word that Dumbledore had said, but nodded nevertheless. He picked up Sirius' limp hand and enclosed the fingers tightly in his own, feeling the flesh between his fingers as the heat rapidly departed. His face was showing nothing.

'Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs...' he whispered quietly, his eyes never leaving the corpse as he spoke. He blinked heavily and turned a little, looking at Ron and Hermione who were standing above him and looking over his shoulder. 'That's what he said. That's what Sirius was trying to say, but I cut him off too soon. What do you think he meant? Do you think there was something in that?'

Hermione blinked heavily in return and spoke in a hushed whisper. 'Harry,' she said kindly, 'Sirius had lost a lot of blood. He was barely conscious. He probably didn't know what he was saying...'

'Maybe,' said Ron, straightening up a little. 'Or maybe everything had finally started to make sense.'

Harry at first dismissed the comment and continued to stare at his Godfather. But as the variety of interpretations that could be set in Ron's words came to light, him, like the others, turned back to demand a further explanation. Ron didn't need to hear the words.

'Harry, your Patronus,' he said, addressing his scar-laden friend. 'It was a stag, right? Like your Dad in his Animagi form?'

'Yes,' Harry replied. 'You know that Ron. What are you saying?'

'When we were in the tunnel and your Patronus warded off the Dementors,' he said, keeping his voice in quiet, controlled tones. 'It stayed for a bit. It seemed to turn to all of us in turn and acknowledge us. Moony and Padfoot especially... your saw the way it nuzzled Sirius, didn't you?' he paused and drew in a lengthy breath. 'I think it was trying to say something.'

'It was,' came a voice, dry and brittle from the other side of the bed. Remus had raised his head. 'I could feel it. He said everything was going to be all right. He was trying to reassure us. Good old Prongs...' Remus almost smiled at the memory of his long departed friend. 'Always the optimist. But then...' he paused again as a frown developed on the ex-professor's head, 'then he seemed a little angry. I could feel it. When he turned away from me to you, Ron. His mood changed. It was almost disappointment. I think Sirius must have sensed it too.'

'That's because they both knew exactly what I was carrying,' Ron replied with as much control as he could muster under the circumstances. For it was then he pulled out the rat.

Harry later would wonder how he managed it. How Ron, single-handedly, had managed this feat that would make Harry forever indebted to the youngest Weasley and yet in his freckle-less face show no evidence of self-pride or a need for praise. Not even faint acknowledgement. His humbleness would put Harry to shame. And no one would ever forget that moment.

Ron's hand emerged form his pocket in a tightly formed fist, a little matted fur sticking out here and there along with the characteristically bald tail, wriggling like an earthworm as it stuck out form the bottom of the fist, desperate to break free. But Ron would never let go. He gripped the tail tightly between his forefinger and thumb to slowly reveal the contents of the hand. His face remained expressionless.

'The rat was trying to jump the ship,' he said monotonously, seemingly feeling no pride at his incredible capture. 'I managed to scoop him up as we were running out the chamber. He was trying to make a run for it. So when the Patronus was summoned, Harry, he could feel its presence on me. I could feel it. I felt the resentment and I knew it wasn't towards me, Hermione, or anyone else in the room except the rat. This is Wormtail. He's the guilty one. And I know now it seems pointless compared to everything else, but I just thought you'd like to know.'

Nobody could say anything for a moment. Mr and Mrs Weasley, being confronted with the image of their son's beloved pet, were completely thunderstruck, despite already knowing the reality of the rodent's evil intentions. Arabella had both her eyes fixed on the rodent, her whole body shaking with a mixture of grief and rage all directed at the tiny wriggling mammal. She could see the human in its eyes, the pointed face so much like his human form it was no wonder such a feeble wizard was able to accomplish the difficult feat of the Animagi transformation. He was merely turning into his truer form. Remus had to keep a tight grip on Arabella's arm to stop her scrambling for the animal, a jerk in her motion being halted by his hand as bitter tasting air seeped out from between her lips.

'Pettigrew,' she hissed.

Lucy could indeed feel her sister suddenly tense up, a feeling taking over the body of the witness like Lucy had only seen at one time before. The morning of her kidnap, the day it started for her. Claudia had returned from the town convinced her torturer was on her tail and wanted her sister to protect her from it. But Lucy hadn't believed her. More like she didn't want to believe her. It occurred to Lucy now that she always knew it was the truth, deep down in the depths of her soul. Now she just regretted that she had never listened.

Dumbledore had acted quickly and quietly. He drew his wand up into the air and arched it down with ease, the silver trails left behind merging together to produce a metallic cage he now encouraged Ron to but the animal into. Ron complied, shut the door of the tiny prison and locked it with both padlock and wand. Pettigrew's rat-like form was now fully aware of his circumstance and stood trembling like a leaf in the corner. He knew the game was up. Just proof of his continued living would have been enough to get Sirius off the hook. There was an air of utter injustice. But now Mr Ollivander was frowning.

'Mr Potter,' he said as the frown deepened upon his forehead. 'You said the Dark Lord ordered Mr Pettigrew to kill you, and he couldn't, correct? Because of the life debt, we think? Hmm?' Harry simply nodded. He had no idea what the ancient wand maker was getting at, and Mr Ollivander sensed it. He expanded on his concept. 'A thought just struck me, after all. Mr Pettigrew, if he existed in this form for all those years, would hardly be able to carry his wand around with him, would he? And if that were the case, then what did he use to attack you? It is extremely difficult to perform a curse as powerful as Avada Kedavra without one's own wand. You form a bond with your wand and that's what makes it effective. That first swipe you make back at the shop connects you with your instrument on a magical plain us earth dwellers cannot comprehend. You could start off with a second hand wand, but unless it was replaced with your own you could never live up to your potential. Wizards invest a lot into their instruments. Your wand carries your signature and can only reach its full ability if used by you alone. Just a curious point, that's all...'

There was a gasp. Claudia, standing at the foot of the bed with her sister observing the scene, had raised one delicate hand to her mouth and allowed her fingertips to trace to contours of her own white-like face. Her eyes were wide and glowing in the morning light like beacons brining the ship into shore. She looked as if everything had just fallen into place.

'Ms Darlington,' said Dumbledore softly, 'What is it?'

Claudia didn't answer, but merely delved into her own pocket just like Ron had done before and pulled out the object that was bothering her. The wand. She pulled it out and twirled it like a majorette over the top of her fingers, not concentrating at all but still maintaining her pale complexion. She spoke directly to the Headmaster.

'I've had this ever since the accident. I haven't the faintest why. Someone on the scene must have thought it belonged to me, because the first time I found it was when I woke up back in the hospital. It's just been something that's always there. It's almost been like a security blanket, some sort of item that's reassured me. I never truly realised what it was until last night.' She held it out for Dumbledore to take, which he did, turning it over in his hands before handing it over to Mr Ollivander.

'I found it in her room,' added Ron, still failing to let the sin of pride be etched into his features with the absence of the freckles. 'I was about to come down and tell you but that's when Sirius arrived and...' he trailed off at the memories that came surging fresh into his mind. He shivered.

'Can you tell whose it is?' asked Arabella with an increasing air of curiosity. 'Can you tell us?'

Ollivander examined his work, sliding his finger up and down the wand and muttering to himself a few times, uttering the dimensions of the instrument out loud. He sighed. 'Eight inches. Scott Pine. Unicorn hair.' He looked up. 'Only one way to confirm it. Priori Incantato Infinite!'

The wand screamed in terror and them settled in Mr Ollivander's hand as the regurgitating of spells began. Slowly, the shield charm Claudia had cast oozed out of the wand's tip, falling to earth in a shower of stars that gradually faded into the floor of the infirmary. Then out of the tip emerged a lone finger, a little short and stubby without its accompanying limb, which made Lucy jump back as it plopped unto the floor as the starts began to vanish. Then the images produced seemed to increase with intensity. A piercing scream caused the windows to rattle was pitched high into the air. Claudia flinched. The accident. The wand emitted further cries of pain and anguish, wisp-like ghosts emerging from the tip of the wand as those who lost their lives that day made a brief series of appearances. It was their faces that struck Harry most at this moment: confused, baffled, as if the carpet had been tugged from beneath their feet as everything they were told turned out to be untrue. In among the noise, he could pick out Claudia's own scream. He felt sick again as magical dust covered the scene like it had the quad all those years ago...

'Finite Incantatem!'

They all looked up, their eyes glazed over in expectation as Mr Ollivander rose wearily to address them again.

'It is just as I suspected.' He said. 'I remember this wand. Not that powerful, a little weak in mind. But with the right manipulation and unexpected events this wand, like it's owner, could be an expert in taking advantage. This wand belongs to Peter Pettigrew. He did the Covent Garden murders. Sirius Black was innocent. The Ministry won't like this at all...'

'The Ministry?!?' stormed Harry, now leaping to his feet as anger finally overtook him. 'I don't care what the Ministry thinks! They're the ones with the blood on their hands! They're the ones that never gave Sirius a chance to clear his name at trial! They're the ones who should be blamed for this whole sorry mess! They're... they're...'

At this point, Remus dashed round the side of the bed and clamped his hands on Harry's elbows to calm the hysterical boy, who was shaking as much as Arabella. The injustice had been the final straw. Harry had had enough.

'Harry,' said Remus in a harsh stage whisper, 'listen to me, and listen carefully. We're not going to get through this by blaming the bureaucracy. Don't you think this is what Lord Voldemort wants? For us to get enraged and split amongst ourselves so they'll be no defence in the fight? Of course he does, and we can't allow him to have that. The Ministry will have to believe us now. Ron and Sirius through their individual acts have awarded us the proof we need to get the Ministry on side. It's proof that the dark is rising. And together we can pray that it will be enough to defeat it. We have to keep the faith, remember?'

Harry looked up into the watery blue eyes of one of his father's oldest friends and felt his own well up with tears. He sighed. 'Keep the faith.'

Dumbledore picked up the cage with a snap, tucking the offending rodent under his arm and looking as stern as Harry could remember when faced with the fake Mad-Eye Moody. Wormtail squeaked madly but was for once totally ignored.

'I'm going to take Mr Pettigrew back to my office and alert the Ministry about last night.' He said, his voice full of controlled intent. He fixed his eyes on the group. 'I expect they'll want to talk to all of you at some point, especially you, Ms Darlington. We need to make it clear to them exactly what we're facing, and I have immense faith in you all that you will be able to put that across. Now I urge you all to sleep. Beds have been made up for you in the Gryffindor tower with ample chocolate supplies courtesy of Madam Pomfrey. Remus, if you'll do the honours...'

'Certainly, Headmaster,' Remus replied as he gently tugged on Harry's arm with great pain on his face. 'Come on. We can all come back later. We can't do anything more.'

And Harry let himself be gently pulled away as the others began to file out of the Hogwarts infirmary, Claudia now gripped Lucy's arm with her head hung low in sorrow. She was merely expressing what deep down they all believed they felt. Loss. Harry was the last to leave, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at Dumbledore and Mr Ollivander, who were standing at the bedside with their heads hung as low as the rest. They felt it too. And Harry knew in that instant it would be a feeling he would never forget. If anything was going to spur him on to fight, it was the desire not to feel this pain again. He'd already lost so much, and what he still had hold of him was what made him his own. What created Harry Potter. And he'd just about give them up as willingly as he would his soul. He looked at the corpse again.

'Goodnight, Sirius.'

And then they were gone.