The Unknown Witness

Epilogue

Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth
enters out hearts, that small familiar pain;
then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth
in the distant Latin chanting of a train.

'Prayer' Carol Ann Duffy

Harry sighed, a mixture of weariness and joy that he was back where he belonged. The carriages were rattling along in their familiar style, bouncing a little on the rough cobble track that led him to the only place he felt he could call home, Ron and Hermione beside him being the only family he'd ever need. The train journey had been quiet, reflective even, interrupted by a couple of games of exploding snap and the witch with the food trolley, Harry bestowing on his friends the typical showers of Chocolate Frogs and Pumpkin Pasties that had become customary of their day long journey to school. But something just wasn't the same. He felt almost sober, a heavy feeling resting in his chest that had been resident ever since the battle in the chamber. It threatened to engulf him even now.

It had been just two weeks since the funeral. Remus had wanted it delayed until Pettigrew went to trial. Claudia's evidence on top of the wand finally confirmed the long overdue truth in a trial. It was barely absent from the front page of the Daily Prophet for the entire deadly duration. Sirius' death simply wasn't mentioned. He never got his glory. At least the Ministry had woken up now to reality, one of Pettigrew's final acts of betrayal being to reveal the new uprising of his master, who he was horribly aware would never save him now. It was plastered all over his pale, slimy face. It was too late for the rat. In fact the very day dear old Padfoot was committed to the wind on the roaring fire of the pyre, the fellow Marauder had lost his soul. And Harry, somehow, despite all that had gone on, felt he'd lost something along with it.

It seemed the ultimate unfairness, for Sirius to be at the jaws of freedom only to be engulfed at the last by death. Than was something that would never let him go free. With death, like the rest, he was there for keeps. Ron and Hermione had been in Hogsmeade for the service beside him on that dreary, darkened day. It was a typical English summer, the sun disappearing within two weeks of the month, autumn wanting to make an early entry and already whipping the trees of their foliage. But somehow underneath it all, it had still been a beautiful day. A very quiet service, just Dumbledore, Harry and a few selected others, least of all Remus and Arabella. Claudia couldn't make it. And Harry knew that had pained her beyond words. Hermione had stood there and occasionally squeezed his hand, especially in moments when Harry looked on the verge of total collapse. Ron had at one point placed a gangly hand on Harry's limp shoulder while the boy who lived looked on, lifeless, just like he was doing now. He knew they were simply doing their best, and appreciated it all the more in the face of their own pain. It had been a loss for them too. Sirius at some point seemed a godfather to them all.

'Harry...' said Hermione softly now as he drew his attention away from the lake they were currently encircling. He looked at her, expecting a continuation of speech, but she declined to take up the offer. Instead she just smiled, lips pushed together in an expression that didn't dictate sympathy or merriment, but some strange sensory in between. Some sense of knowing. But whatever her point, it seemed to quell him a little, never letting her eyes leave his as she settled back down next to Ron. He seemed to take up the mantle.

'Sirius wouldn't have wanted us to be like this,' Ron said suddenly, his voice piercing the air with the unexpected subject that Harry looked up, startled. Ron was not deterred. 'He would have wanted us to carry on. We're the next generation, Harry...'

'The Marauders mark two.' Added Hermione, smiling a little. 'And if we manage to go through the year without blowing up at least one toilet seat, I think he'd be very disappointed.'

'And Fred and George would be dead jealous to boot.'

Harry smiled a little at his friends, the movement of the muscles seeming unfamiliar over the darkness of the summer. But at least it wasn't forced. It came of its own accord, a warmth that spread across his face that eased the heaving moon from eclipsing his fragile heart. He sighed again.

The coaches had stopped, and Hogwarts stood in front of them in its full and fanciful glory. The place just sparkled magic, the events that took place within its walls shaping a society and creating its populace on the way. Hogwarts was magic. With its predictably for the impossible, it couldn't be anything else.

Harry watched the other students emerge from the carriages in twos and threes, looking quite excited at the prospect of the year. How many schools could add that feeling to their talents, he wondered. This school wouldn't let anything get it down. It had got through so much and yet it stood as strong as the day the founders built it, still soaked in a tradition that could never be washed away. And he was certain that the marauders would never have let it lie.

Then suddenly, his attention was diverted. A boy, about his own age, was emerging from a carriage at the end of the line, gripping his wand with some extreme sense of velocity as he sniffed the air uncertainly, almost timidly as if he were afraid it would engulf him too. As if he wasn't used to the sun. Draco Malfoy, alive and remarkably well recovered from when Harry had seen him last, pushed back his white blond locks with the other hand, his palm resting for a moment on his forehead as if he was pondering stepping into the unknown. Harry looked at the sight, quite unsure what to make of the individual. Friend or foe, he would have to face it, and so would the youngest Malfoy.

For then he met his gaze. Draco had brought his water-like grey eyes to Harry's emerald stones, his pointed face not slithering into any particular expression at all. It was blank, as if he was afraid of letting Harry read it depths. They both blinked at each other for a moment, something passing between the two fifteen-year-olds, something so silent and secretive that any physical acknowledgement would have broken a million rules. But Harry knew exactly what is was. An acceptance of the fates. Something so subtle that just a few months ago it would have passed him by. They'd both only just escaped with their lives that night, both reliving it's horrors in the privacy of their subconscious whilst the eye contact remained. But now he had a firm grip, he wasn't going to let it go. He turned back to Ron and Hermione, a renewed sparkle in his eye. It was time to make his godfather proud.

'Moaning Myrtle's toilet,' he said suddenly. 'After dinner, Tuesday?'

Ron grinned as Hermione rolled her eyes.

'You're on.'

And somewhere beyond them, not too far away, Harry somehow knew that Sirius was smiling too.

***

In a location hidden from prying eyes, the most fundamental magic in existence was being harnessed for a task. A task normally held for only trained professionals with a millennia of experience, fusing the substances together to create the most powerful object to their kind. It was dangerous, messing with the fundamentals, calling on the elements of fire, earth, water and air to diverge onto a single source to fill it with the power needed to cast all the spells man could think of. It took time. It took patience. It took all the energy of its creator to concentrate on the wood to fuse the wand together. Even the chosen ones found it difficult. But this wasn't a deterrent for Lord Voldemort.

All he was doing was blending together the splinters of his old wand to create something he hoped was even more powerful. Something he could work with, something that by his side would cause wizards and witches to quiver in fear and beg for mercy merely at the sight of it. He wanted to create chaos. It was what he thrived upon. Without this tool he would forever be paralysed, still weakened by the fact it was snapped in the first place was a fact it had taken him weeks to recover from. It had taken create many days to summon the remnants from the ruin of the chamber, the onslaught of nature held within the cascading rock still not being enough to defeat the Dark Lord. For he was only prepared to die in combat by the hand of someone greater than himself. Sheer will of mind made him survive. And seeming as though he was going to every means to deny that person an existence, the confidence he held in recovery was astounding.

'My Lord?'

A Senior Death Eater, made more noticeable that the rest by a rank only known by Lord Voldemort, now approached the Dark Lord in his sombre state and only timidly dared to come close as the quietly observed his master work. He'd been at it for weeks, and there was plenty more work to be done.

'You summoned me, my Lord?' he said humbly, bowing a little before removing his hood as he was always commanded to do when alone with his master. 'You asked me here to see you?'

'Yes, my servant,' the Dark Lord hissed, his eyes not moving off his wand for a moment as he acknowledged the other's presence. 'I summoned you here for a purpose. Stand back...'

The Death Eater obeyed the command instantly as Voldemort set about pausing his work. The wand was currently bathed a greenish light, little bead light specks tricking slowly along each and every crack gradually fusing together the instrument of destruction. Such magic, such force, could only be used and maintained in this way with supreme power of the mind. It had to have the Dark Lord's full attention, so now came a natural time for pause. He closed his eyes and took a deep rattling breath, concentrating every particle of his being onto the wood to hold it stationary in the air as he pulled his hands away from it. Flames instantly sprung up from the stonework beneath them and licked lightly at the wand, holding it there like a piece of floating driftwood as the white tips of the fire turned slightly green on contact. He turned to face his high-ranking servant.

'It is apparent we have a traitor in our midst,' Voldemort said quietly, his anger silently detained as he watched the flames engulf the selected wood as it spun silently in mid air without him. The fusion of sparks fell unnoticed to the floor. 'That much was obvious before. They could not have escaped otherwise, it simply wasn't possible. An unknown entity is trying to destroy us from the inside out. This simply will not do. I will not tolerate such deception.' He focused on his servant for a moment, who could have sworn the eyes of Lord Voldemort seemed to flash a deeper red than before. The eyes narrowed into slits as he continued with his request. 'I trust that you will take care of it?'

'I will make it my life's work, my Lord,' replied Lucius Malfoy without hesitation.

'Then let it be so. Dismissed.'

***

A year had passed now, and the leaves were beginning to turn again when Remus Lupin set out to the Whomping Willow to pay tribute one last time to his friend. When he went to face his demons. When he went to say goodbye.

The Willow was still there, as deadly as ever, its branches swaying in the late summer breeze but carrying itself just that little bit further of its own aggressive accord. This tree had been the centre of everything, the centre of his life and keeper of his mortality. It was his guardian. He was almost a prisoner of it, the deep set roots likes bars on a cage that still came no where near the hell that was Azkaban. Or the hell that Sirius went through. All that for the sake of a friend. There was no justice.

His memorial was situated right under the hangings, and Remus had to get a long broken branch to prod the knot that froze the tree still. But there it was. Sirius Black. 1955-1995. The Marauders will cause mayhem in heaven. The words were engraved into a small, rectangular slate of marble on the ground, a memorial, the letters charmed against the threat of decay in the face of the elemental onslaught so forever on the ancient rock. Just like their minds, it would be on there forever. Like they could ever forget.

The tree almost seemed protective of his spirit, its branches lying low across its stone, almost hiding it from the world like a mother holding a child. In the arms of nature now. Remus had to push them aside to lay down the flowers he'd bought down in Hogsmeade. Rosemary for remembrance, Pansies for thought. Daisies for springtime, Rue for himself. And a single, pure white lily. It was the grave of their childhoods, taken long ago. Remus was mourning for them all, for he was the only one left to do so.

He stood for a moment, unsure what to say. Or whether to say anything at all. He felt alone in every sense of the word as the wind ruffled his greying brown hair, hanging unattended around his ears and framing the face of a man completely lost. He laid the flowers down upon the grass, the leaves limping slightly in their paper bouquet and looking dwarfed in the shadow of the tree. He felt dwarfed. He was the last of their number. He was truly alone.

'Remus?'

He turned and then he saw her. The robes she wore floated blissfully round her ankles, almost angel like at she strode toward the tree. It was a simple black, darker against the brightness of the day that seemed to smile unjustly upon the saddest of scenes. Her hair was hanging loose, more silver than before but shimmering a little in the warmth of the sun. She almost seemed to sparkle.

'I would give you some violets,' she said quietly, looking hard at the flowers on the grave, 'but they all withered when my father died.' Arabella looked up into the lines of Remus' face. Then she cast them down again. 'They say it made a good end.'

'Hamlet...' Remus recalled. 'Act four, scene five. The madness of Ophelia. You have a very good memory, Arabella. Very, very good.'

They stood together in silence, just staring at the name and all that was lost along with it. The wind continued to sway the branches of the willow, but with the prodding of the knot they seemed calmer, gentle even as Remus was aware of the leaves brushing softy against his hardened cheek. He shivered.

'I saw Claudia a while ago,' said Arabella suddenly, breaking the silence as if it were a polite dinner party. 'She's getting her first book published next month.'

'Really?' said Remus, his expression set in stone.

'Yes. She's been given a heck of an advance on it. You would have loved to see her. She was so happy. She's certainly moved fast, catching up for missed time, I suppose...' When she got no response, she gave no reaction. 'She asked after you.'

'What did you say?'

She shrugged. 'What do you think?'

He continued to stare at the tree.

'The world is moving on, Remus,' she said sharply, now turning his face with her hands and looking at him intently. He felt the tears begin to well. 'Claudia included. She's got new things to look forward to, but I know she'll never forget the past. She thinks about him everyday. She told me. She says she'll forever be thankful for the sacrifice he made, for us and for Harry and for her. He gave her back the world, and for that she'll forever be grateful. She will never forget.'

Remus couldn't say anything, as the words Arabella uttered brought such a well of emotion to his throat he almost couldn't breathe. But yet the sadness lingered, and it was a sight she couldn't stand.

'His sacrifice wasn't in vain, Remus. It was noble. Of course he didn't have to die. Nobody has to die. We have the power to be immortal, through words and memories, poems and stones. But he did. He chose to. No amount of wishing will ever bring him back, for it was his own choice. You need to move on, at least in spirit. I know you'll never move on in soul.' She now found herself gripping his shoulder as he greyed further in grief. 'None of us ever will.'

'But I just want to speak to him one more time...' Remus muttered, tears now openly streaming down his face. Arabella lowered her hand and let it softly grasp the werewolf's. He paused for a moment, then continued. 'I just want to tell him I'm sorry. I want to tell him how I wish I'd kept the faith, how I wished everything didn't have to turn out so wrong. We were the young ones, Arabella. We were the hope. We were supposed to defeat anything, all four of us together. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. No fate would ever detain us. Apart from death, it seems.'

'Do you know what I saw the other day?' she said softly, her voice almost inaudible among the rustle of the trees. 'Do you know what I saw in the woods out there?' He hung his head at her words. 'I thought it was a Grim. I thought he'd finally come. And for a minute I was thankful. I believed it to be over, and living had finally got too much. But then I looked again.' Her eyes almost gleamed triumphantly. 'The grim wasn't black. It was white. It was as pure as anything I've ever seen in my life. Ghost-like. It was almost floating as it trotted across the ground, right across the willow here. And you know what was walking along with it?'

He shook his head. Then she answered.

'A stag.'

He didn't say anything, for there wasn't any need to.

'You see Remus, the Marauders aren't gone. They will never be lost. As long as someone is here to remember, you'll always be roaming the grounds. Just don't forget. That's all they'll ever ask. And I know that's like telling you not to forget to breathe or to eat and to sleep, but sometimes everyone needs reminding. They'll always be with you, just like they'll be with Harry and me. Just don't you ever forget.'

'Like you said,' he muttered, a little smile edging across his lips. 'It'll be pretty hard not to.'

'And I'm here to make sure you don't.'

And through the haze of tears, she felt herself smiling too. He squeezed her hand right back.

'You know what Remus?' she said in a whisper, almost afraid that the gods themselves would here. 'You know what I reckon? All those things you wanted to tell him, all that was left unsaid. You know what I really think?' She looked at him and felt her heart melt. 'I think he already knew.'

And as they stood and watched, another scene was just unravelling. A million miles away, a young boy, eyes wide with wonder, was boarding a train that brimmed with excitement at the possibilities its journey would bring. The secrets it would unravel. The happiness it would reward. The boy laughed with all his heart, his best friends right beside him, just like they'd always be. The Latin would forever be chanted, the pain of the truth unknown. For these were once the Marauders, and a million miles away they still were, and would wait patiently to be complete. As long as living had faith.

So Sirius was laid to rest.

***

It was just an ordinary day. She often went into London, especially that time of year. The 'leaves on the line' excuse never really held her back. She got on board at Rochester, and as usual she gazed across the valley as they crossed the Medway River in the early autumn light, the sun reflecting off the silently moving water. The castle's empty shell high on the riverbank was casting a daunting shadow over the centre of the city as she crossed the estuary. As she sat back in her uncomfortable seat, like every time, it felt like the first time she'd seen it.

Claudia closed her eyes as she played with a ring upon her finger, twisting it, pulling it, feeling comforted by its weight as if it was part of her own. She sighed. Sometimes the world got a little too much for her - all that colour, all that light, all that change that was constant yet ever lasting. Sometimes she couldn't cope. But all she would do was close her eyes, and remember. Remember all that had happened, all that was given for her, given up for her, sacrificed for her. And then she would gaze across the valley and be thankful.

She'd shed many a tear since that day one year ago, the day she learnt how to cry again.

'Are you alright?' said a voice. Claudia quickly wiped her eyes and shifted in her seat to face a man, with dark hair and grey eyes, a small smile on his lips, staring back at her with a concerned gaze. 'No need to be sad on a day like this - even if we're going to be ten minutes late due to atmospheric pressure.'

Claudia felt a small smile creep onto her lips too, in slight disbelief. 'Atmospheric pressure? You're pulling my leg, right?'

'Nope,' said the man, sitting down in the seat opposite and folding up his newspaper. 'That's what I heard the guard say just as we were pulling out of Rochester. You just don't know what they're going to come out with next...'

The train continued to rattle along the line as the Medway valley faded into the distance. She loved the solace of train journeys normally, the time to think, the time to sleep, the time just to stare out the window and think of absolutely nothing at all. But this time, she just couldn't take her eyes off the main who had just sat down. His tie was slightly askew as if he'd had to run for the train, his grey eyes narrowed as he scanned his newspaper, occasionally grinning in such a mischievous way she had to hold herself back from asking exactly what he was thinking about. He was infectious. He was intriguing. But all in a way that felt eerily familiar.

'Why are you looking at me like that?' said the man after a minute or so, looking quizzically at her as the guard with the refreshments trolley rattled past. 'Have we met before?'

Claudia smiled again, her eyes bright with the tears now fading. 'I don't think so... you just remind me of someone I knew.' She paused and glanced up at the tea trolley. 'Would you like a coffee? My name's Claudia, by the way...'

'Steve,' he offered out his hand, 'and a coffee would be great...'

And somewhere, someplace, a quill was taking note.

***

~* Fini *~