Raised to the Third Power

Knowing that in all likelihood the Dark Lord was not dead, Severus stepped to his "master's" side first. He saw no signs of life: no movement, no breath, no heartbeat. But had the Dark Lord even exhibited these signs of humanity before his latest tangle with Potter? He reached out to touch the robes whose hem he had often been forced to kiss, but just before he made contact he withdrew his hand as if burned. Initiating uninvited contact with the Dark Lord was strictly taboo. He briefly considered conjuring himself a ten foot pole before scolding himself for being a slave to superstition. He reached out once more and rolled the Dark Lord onto his back.

What he saw made him recoil in horror. He had seen many, many dead bodies during the course of this war and the last. Some he had seen fall; some he had seen after they had been left to rot; some he had seen had been subjected to extended periods of torture; some he had seen had died instantly as a result of Avada Kedavra.

None had looked like this.

A few vestiges of shriveled flesh still clung to the exposed skull. Fine cracks were appearing rapidly in the bone; as fast as they appeared, they filled with a red substance, like blood, but not. Fragments of bone began to fall away in a fine powder as the cracks webbed across the surface of the skull. Beneath them was a mass of white matter that began to collapse into itself as soon as it was exposed to the dank forest air.

Severus ran his eyes down the rest of the length of the body and quickly decided that he was glad it was covered by robes still. A fine, green mist was rising from beneath the robes, and Severus observed it warily. The Dark Lord had purported to be mortal, but Severus had a healthy respect for the possibility that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had devised a plan which would allow him to find a body to share. So far as Severus knew, though, the other Death Eaters had died, and he certainly had no plans to prolong the life of one of the most destructive forces in wizarding history.

Without taking his eyes from the corpse, Severus walked backward until he nearly tripped over the entangled bodies of Potter and his cohorts. He lowered himself to the ground and reached at random for a wrist. Granger's. Her pulse was faint and thready but certainly present. The same proved true for Potter and Weasley.

As Severus began to conjure stretchers, something which he had been forced to do far too many times for this particular triumvirate, he heard footsteps approaching.

"This way," he called out hoarsely, knowing that his directions would be equally appreciated by either side.

"Severus!" In an instant, Albus Dumbledore appeared at Severus' side. His keen eyes took in the situation far more quickly than Severus' had. "Step back," he ordered, and Severus obeyed.

Dumbledore, looking every inch the most powerful wizard alive, sent a combination of spells at the green cloud. It froze, condensed, and dissipated. As soon as the green mist was gone, the Dark Lord's robes fell into a shapeless heap on the ground. The corpse had vanished.

"Are they alive?" Dumbledore now asked, pointed his wand at the tangled mess of unconscious children at Severus' feet.

"Yes," Severus assured him.

Together, Severus and Dumbledore completed the job of placing Potter, Weasley, and Granger on the newly conjured stretchers. As they did so, the other members of Dumbledore's trusted army began to arrive en masse. A cacophony of questions assaulted Severus' ears.

"Are they--"

"How could they have gotten--"

"When--"

"What--"

"Is that--"

"Is it possible--"

"Do you think--"

Dumbledore held up his wand for silence. "Harry, Ron, and Hermione are alive. Lord Voldemort is not."

A gasp rose from every throat but Severus' and Dumbledore's. Despite Dumbledore's earlier command for silence, a sharp murmur of "Merlin's beard!" and "Medea's name!" ran through the group.

"Please find any of Voldemort's supporters who might still be in the forest. Please be careful. Minerva, Severus, you had best accompany me to the castle." Dumbledore scanned the group. "And Sirius as well." Severus' mouth naturally turned downward at the mention of his longtime enemy's name, but when sent Black a challenging look he received no response. Black had, predictably, maneuvered himself to Potter's side, but he was not melting all over the child in an attempt to convey pride or worry. He was simply staring.

The small group made its way to the castle in silence. "Minerva, take them to Madam Pomfrey."

"Yes, Dumbledore," she replied obediently, as if the shock of the evening's events had not yet penetrated her brain.

"Leave them to her. Then gather the students in the Great Hall. Tell the prefects you are depending upon them to keep order. Ask the house elves what they can do in the way of a feast."

"Yes, Dumbledore," she repeated.

"I will break the news to the students as soon as I have broken it to Minister Fudge."

McGonagall snapped out of her reverie. "Do you think that's wise?"

"I do like to give Cornelius the impression that he is still in charge, yes. This is not bad news. He will hardly be able to do any harm."

McGonagall nodded curtly and directed the train of stretchers toward the hospital wing. Black walked along near her, still unseeing.

"Severus, would you like to adjourn to your office?" asked Dumbledore with false levity.

Why should it be false? Severus asked himself. He has achieved what he's worked for. What we've all worked for. And he's lost nothing. "Certainly, Headmaster," was all he said aloud.

They traveled again in silence, and remained silent until Severus had thrown half a dozen locking spells in the general direction of his door. His usual taste for precision had deserted him.

"Well, Severus?" Dumbledore asked when they had had done with the business of sitting down and staring at each other until one was forced to break the silence.

"You are certain he's dead?"

Dumbledore smiled wryly. "I would not say such a thing lightly."

"What spells did you cast when you first arrived?" Severus pressed on. He knew that Dumbledore was desperate to hear his report, but he also knew that Dumbledore would indulge him and answer his question.

"A rather complex freezing spell-- quite useless most of the time, really-- and a few evaporating and scattering spells. Lord Voldemort had not yet made himself immortal. He was so desperate to have Harry's blood, and the mark of Lily's sacrifice, that he did not think that his ability to find a body to take over or share would be vastly lessened by the genuine goodness they contained. He attempted to find a host, but he was unable to do so. My destroying the remnants of the spells he cast on himself was probably not even necessary."

Severus nodded in understanding.

"Do you have reason to believe otherwise, Severus?"

"No."

"I do need you to tell me what happened."

"I don't think you aurors will be bringing anyone back alive."

"We have three men in custody already. They came to the castle begging for mercy-- that was when we set out looking for the meeting."

"Almost half of the Death Eaters tried to run away. Most ran into anti-Apparation shields and the like, I'm sure."

"And the half that did not run away?"

"Destroyed with their leader." Severus took a deep breath. "Draco Malfoy among them."

A look of deep exhaustion crossed Dumbledore's face. This, Severus reflected, was one of the few times when the man truly looked his age. I can only imagine how he would look if it had been Potter who died and not a useless Slytherin he added sourly.

"Can you tell me the whole story? From the time you left my office? I assume you felt the Dark Mark burn."

"Yes," Severus agreed. He recited the entire saga to the headmaster. He had given accounts of so many meetings and events to the man that it felt like second nature now. It was almost relaxing to tell the story to someone else, especially because he managed not to mention the expression in Draco's eyes when he had realized that his father would not have minded seeing him dead on a magical battlefield or the quaver in his voice as he'd said what Severus assumed had been his last words: "I can't."

The old wizard, however, completely grasped the situation without Severus' giving a complete explanation. Severus was not sure whether he felt pleased or annoyed by this. "He may have survived, Severus."

Severus shook his head. "No. The odds are nonexistent." He sighed. "I'm going to have to contact his mother."

"I'll handle it, if you prefer."

"I don't," said Severus firmly.

"Well, do wait until we've recovered his body."

As if on cue, a light knock sounded on Severus' office door. "Come in," he called, idly removing the locking spells.

"I have a report for you, Headmaster," said Cynthia Ryan without stepping all the way into Severus' office.

"Yes, Cynthia?"

"We have not found anyone else alive. We have found fifteen bodies thus far. Among them was a Hogwarts student." She kept her voice firmly, professionally disconnected as she removed a prefect's badge from her pocket and placed it on Severus' desk.

" Draco Malfoy," Dumbledore filled in wearily. "Very well, Severus, I suppose you will be contacting Narcissa. Cynthia, will you come with me to speak to Minister Fudge . . . ."

Dumbledore left the room engrossed in conversation with Cynthia and without saying a proper goodbye to Severus. Severus was grateful. He was not a fan of human contact in the best of times, and today was not the best of times for Severus, though the rest of the world was about to erupt with happiness as it had over fourteen years ago.

Whether he liked it or not, Severus now had the duty of speaking to Draco's mother. He had known Narcissa for years; she had been just a few classes ahead of him at Hogwarts. She had always been concerned with her appearance first, her status second, and everything else a distant third. It had been no wonder that she had married the much-older, rich, powerful, and handsome Lucius Malfoy. The beautiful woman had, as promised, produced a beautiful child for her husband.

And that child was dead.

Severus threw a pinch of powder into the fire, not knowing whether he feared that Narcissa would fall to pieces at the loss of her only child or that she would not.

It took a moment for Narcissa to respond to Severus' call.

"Severus," she stated calmly when she at last appeared. One would never have known that it was late at night and that Narcissa had been home alone, sleeping or awaiting her husband's return. Her hair and makeup were impeccable and would not have been out of place on the cover of the latest edition of Witch Weekly.

" Narcissa, I regret to bother you."

She sniffed haughtily, as if to say that Severus most certainly should regret such an inconvenience. Any other mother would have been asking if there was a problem with her child by now . . . well, perhaps *mine* wouldn't have . . . but it was common assumption that I would either rise to the top of the Dark Lord's army or get myself killed trying before I graduated Hogwarts . . . of course, that was common assumption for Draco, as well. Severus had broken the mold. Draco had not. He had not been granted the time.

"There was a skirmish between the followers of the Dark Lord and the practitioners of Light Magic on Hogwarts grounds tonight."

Narcissa batted her eyes, clearly wondering why she should care.

Severus continued. "Your son was . . . in the crossfire." That statement was not strictly untrue, and Severus was smoothing over the story of Draco's death at least as much for himself as for Narcissa. Narcissa still did not react. "We did everything we could to protect him, but he did not survive. He died quickly. He was not in pain."

Narcissa , at last, spoke. "Oh my God." To Severus' surprise, tears filled her eyes. "Oh-but he was-"

"I'm sorry," said Severus stupidly. I should have let Dumbledore do this. He's better at it.

"-so beautiful." Severus nodded in sympathy. "So beautiful," she repeated. And she severed the connection between them. Severus did not concern himself with that. It was not his place to tell her that Lucius was dead as well. She and Lucius had made their own beds, and they could lie in them for all Severus cared.

Draco , though, had been a different story. I can't rang in Severus' ears once more.

"You could have," he whispered aloud to his empty office. His whispering quickly turned to rage. If your parents weren't like *my* parents, if they hadn't failed you by raising you to worship one side and letting you be cursed with the intelligence and the opportunity to see the other side. If they hadn't failed you . . . Severus shook his head as if to clear it. He hated it when his mental line between Draco and himself blurred.

I failed you, too. I should have pushed you toward the Light. I should have encouraged you to doubt your father more actively. I should have--

It hardly mattered now. The war was over, and Draco Malfoy happened to be one of the casualties. No one would mind. After all, Draco had died with the Dark Mark on his arm and Death Eater insignia on his robes, and why shouldn't a sixteen-year-old die for doing the thing he had been taught all his life to do? It wasn't as if Draco had been surnamed "Potter."

In a few months, the trouble would end for Severus as well. He'd have to deal with Ministry reports and inquiries, but Dumbledore would deliver him from the worst of them as a final thank-you for his services. Then Severus would be free to leave the safety of the castle. His debt to Dumbledore would have been paid; and there would no longer be any real reason for an ex-Death Eater to remain in the castle and attempt to steer students from notoriously Dark families away from Dark Magic.

Severus had not done especially good work, in any case. As much of a burden as it had sometimes been to have Lucius Malfoy's son and spy in his House, and as disturbing as it had sometimes been to see the boy replaying his own childhood with a different rival Potter, Severus had been fond of and proud of Draco. It had been his job to turn Draco's head away from his father's legacy, and he had not succeeded.

Tiredly, he passed a hand over his eyes. His hand came away wet; he stared at the wetness with clinical detachment.

Someone interrupted his reverie by arriving at his door.

"Come in?" he asked, startled. Pansy Parkinson peeked hesitantly around the corner. "Aren't you supposed to be in the Great Hall?"

"Yes," she said.

"Why aren't you there?" he continued, his customary threat creeping into his voice.

"Is it true?" she blurted out.

"Miss Parkinson, if you are going to waste my time asking questions about whatever rumors have been flying through the school when I ought to be giving you detention for being outside the Great Hall, the least you could do is tell me exactly which rumor you would like me to confirm."

"They're saying that You-Know-Who is gone."

"That's true."

"Gone for good."

"Also true."

"And they're saying--" her voice broke rapidly and randomly, but she continued "they're saying Draco is dead."

"How did you hear that?" asked Severus coldly.

Pansy dropped whatever pretenses she had been planning on using. "I wasn't in the common room when the prefects starting sending everyone to the Great Hall. Someone shouted at me to go, but I looked down the hall I was passing-- I heard Professor Ryan say-- it sounded like she said--"

"To whom did you repeat this?" Severus' voice was now capable of freezing lava.

"No one." Pansy's words were barely audible, and in spite of himself Severus felt his anger starting to dissolve.

"See that you do not. None of the rest of his friends deserve to find out the way you did, do they?"

"No." She stood staring at him for a moment. "You-Know-Who-- it's all over?" she repeated, as if in shock, which, Severus reminded himself, she probably was.

"It's over. You're a Hogwarts student. You ought to be glad," he said automatically. It was an old game he played with members of his House. He would sardonically imply that they supported the Dark Lord while explicitly telling them to support Dumbledore and hoping to subliminally convince them to forgo the Dark Lord. Draco had been able to play the game to perfection, and Pansy was not far behind.

"I--" Instead of making a witty retort or removing herself from Severus' office before he gave her detention, Pansy extracted her wand and handed it to her professor. "I don't think I should keep this."

"Miss Parkinson, you will have a great deal of difficulty passing your OWL exams if you do not have a wand."

"I don't want to pass the OWL exams, Sir. You need to expel me."

"Unlikely, Miss Parkinson." Her record was rather clean. No worse than Draco's, and better than many of her classmates'.

"NO! You need to expel me! Expel me! Please!" she cried with obvious desperation.

"Might I ask why?"

"I did it. I helped him. I never really saw him, but someone gave me the wand, and took me to the back room of a restaurant in Hogsmeade. He taught me the curse. He taught me the charms I needed so I could keep it under control. He taught me how to let them control it from outside the classroom. Padma Patil, I mean. Last fall. I knew about them switching the twins-- I even helped, I can tell them apart, you know, without looking to see who's wearing which House colors, we grew up together." Pansy was rambling in the way peculiar to someone who had kept a secret for a long time. Severus suspected that at this moment she would have spilled her deepest thoughts to anyone who happened to be in a position to listen.

"I don't know why I did it," Pansy continued. "I never actually did anything like that before. My family-- my family doesn't do that, but my parents always said I was their ticket to the next level. Money and status, I would have had them if I'd married Draco, but my father was so afraid that his father would back out of the engagement. They engaged Draco and me when we were babies. So when I had a chance to help You-Know-Who, I thought I would help him and help my father. I didn't think there was a chance You-Know-Who would die! I didn't think there was a chance Draco would-- I didn't really think of anything. I thought I was doing the right thing, but it was wrong in every way-- you see, you have to take my wand and expel me!"

Severus shook his head slightly. He did not claim to have a perfect grasp on that night's situation, but entering a professor's office and confessing to Dark activity was something he understood very well. "No, I don't, Pansy," he said.

"Yes, you--"

His eyes fell on the prefect's badge still sitting atop his desk. He had intended to give it to Narcissa, but she had left too abruptly. Instead, he handed the badge to Pansy.

"Was this his?" she asked, tears threatening to course down her cheeks.

"Yes."

"Why . . .?"

"I want you to start wearing it next week."

"Are you mad?"

"That is an inappropriate question to pose to a professor, Miss Parkinson. If you weren't in Slytherin, I would take points from your house."

"You can't listen to someone tell you about helping You-Know-Who and then just hand them responsibility."

It's hardly the first time it's happened. If you only knew about the precedent for this! "As it happens, I can. Now, do you want to go to the Great Hall?"

She shook her head in the negative.

"I thought not. You have my permission to return to your dormitory. Do not speak to anyone about this conversation until we have spoken again. And we *will* speak again."

Pansy mumbled several "thank yous" and left the office.

Severus began to consider that perhaps he should remain at Hogwarts after all.

Many floors above Severus' dungeon, another Head of House was also concerned about her students.

"What do you mean, you can't tell me? I demand that you tell me! Poppy!"

"Minerva, I simply don't know. They may wake up and they may not. I cannot simplify the situation any more than that. I cannot determine exactly what will happen when I don't even know exactly what did happen."

" Albus' message says that Professor Snape reports that Ron cast Magnes on Harry and Hermione cast Certus on him after You-Know-Who dragged him away. There was some sort of a battle in which Avada Kedavra was cast at least three times, and when Professor Snape arrived at the scene, You-Know-Who was dead and these three were unconscious."

"The traces of the Loyalty Oaths are all over them. Honestly, fifth-years casting Loyalty Oaths!" The nurse's already-worried expression darkened. "They are reacting both to being hit by Dark Magic and to casting it."

"Surely they didn't cast it! Not all three! They wouldn't know how!"

"They certainly tried."

Suddenly, Professor McGonagall rounded on the heretofore silent third waking occupant of the hospital wing. "Sirius, how much do you know about their experiments with Loyalty Oaths? It must have been Remus' lessons that got them started."

Sirius, though he heard his former professor's words, was uncomprehending. He tried to arrange the sounds into a pattern, but he failed. The woman might as well have been speaking a language that he did not know through a fire that was improperly connected to the network. He knew, somehow, that he was expected to respond, but even if he had possessed the words to do so, he was not certain that he would have been able to make his voice work. He had been surprised when he had had so little trouble learning to speak after escaping Azkaban; perhaps he was making up for that now. Then, he had been focused. He had not needed to concentrate on anything but getting rid of Pettigrew, protecting Harry for once in all the years since he had made the promise . . .

He turned and fled the room. He made no conscious decisions as to where he walked; his only plan was to turn away from people. The corridors, though, were deserted. When he happened across an abandoned but not strictly secret room inside Ravenclaw Tower, he decided that this would do. He swung himself mechanically through a hole in a wooden platform that served as the entrance to the room. Instead of entering the room itself, he chose to crawl on hands and knees into an alcove and collapse, exhausted, to the floor.

The floor was not like the floor in Azkaban. It was warmer. Despite the thick layer of dust and dead spiders, it was cleaner. It was quieter; even without the ability to give meaning to words and sounds as a snow-like blanket began to wrap its way around his senses, Sirius knew that there was an absence of screams and pleas.

Of course, everyone had gone silent in Azkaban in the end.

He had gone silent rather quickly, once his curses of Pettigrew's name had outlived their usefulness and his cries for James and Lily had been spent. During the next decade, he might have shouted the occasional "shut up" or asked a new prisoner if he knew the date. Of course, there had always been the warped little pleasure of speaking to the Minister of Magic when he made his yearly visit to the fortress. And after he had uncovered Pettigrew's hiding place, he had begun to speak inadvertently, in his sleep, or so the reports said.

He had gone silent by choice. He had gone silent because he had had no one to talk to but the madmen he had worked to imprison. The madmen would not have been able to respond, in any case.

They all went silent in the end.

All. Went. Silent.

Sirius was silent now.

Too much.

The peace was surely worth it.

But it was too much.

Was that possible?

Did it matter? No. Possibility did not have to matter in the silence.

Unhinged. Black was unhinged by his master's defeat. That was what they said. It was true, now. But Voldemort would rise again. Harry was only a baby and could not have killed an immortal wizard. No, that was wrong. What had happened? Had something happened again?

He had a wand! He had a wand now, and he could use it. He could use it on himself, and he would be dead, and James would be dead, and Pettigrew, and--

Remus. Where was Remus? Why had he thought of Remus? He hadn't thought of Remus in years, or days, was it? That was right. He had thought Remus was the spy. He was wrong.

"Sirius."

That voice was clear. Much more clear than the other voices. It must not be real. He did not have to answer it.

"Sirius. I need you to say something. Can you say something?"

He could not pull one word from the tangle that filled his mind. No, he could not say something.

"Can you look at me?"

His head turned. He hadn't turned it himself; someone had turned it for him. Remus. That was right. "Remus," he said aloud.

"Good. Are you listening to me? Harry is going to be all right."

"No, he's not."

"He is. I came inside after the forest was cleared and went into the hospital wing. Ron and Hermione have woken up already. Harry won't be far behind."

Sirius began to find language easier to comprehend.

"It might be nice for you to be there when he wakes up," Remus continued. "You might want to fall apart later instead of now."

"I'm not choosing to fall apart. I'm going mad. Azkaban."

"You've already used that this week."

"What?"

"You've already used Azkaban as a guilt trip once this week. You can't use it again until next week. That's the rule."

"You-- are-- being--"

Remus shrugged with mock casualness. "You agreed to it."

"I can't stand this. I can't stand the thought that Harry--"

"I know you can't. And you won't have to any longer. He's in the hospital wing. He's safe. Lord Voldemort is dead."

"I can't go see Harry. I'm--"

"You're not mad. There is a difference between thinking and doing things right after an incredibly stressful event and going mad over a long period of time."

Condescending werewolf. He's right, though, Sirius thought affectionately as he struggled to stand up. "How did you find me? I thought Harry had the map?"

"Either I just know you very, very well or our own Loyalty Oath had something to do with it."

Either idea was equally appealing to Sirius, so they returned together to the hospital wing.

"There you are, Sirius. He's not awake yet, but he'll come around soon. Remus, Professor Dumbledore has Ron and Hermione in his office right now. Go join them," Madam Pomfrey instructed them as soon as they appeared.

"You aren't going to go see Dumbledore!" Sirius half-yelled at Remus from his position by Harry's bed.

"Keep your voice down!" Remus and Madam Pomfrey reprimanded as one.

"He's the one who put Harry here!" Sirius continued in a much lower but equally furious tone of voice. "And you'll notice he isn't here. He always used to fawn over Harry like he cared about him every time Harry got hurt doing something Dumbledore should have protected him from, but now that Voldemort is dead, Dumbledore has no use for Harry!"

Remus, who thought it was quite possible that Sirius' outburst had awakened Harry, decided that it would be prudent to play Devil's Advocate right away instead of waiting for Sirius to calm down on his own. "I don't like that Harry was used as some kind of a weapon any more than you do, but Dumbledore has to be the one to tell the rest of the world what happened. He has to be, Sirius. The other option is Cornelius Fudge."

Sirius sighed deeply. "Do you think everyone knows yet?"

"I know that the students here do. I know that Fudge does, and I believe Dumbledore made a statement on wizarding radio. The celebrations should be starting soon."

"It's inappropriate."

"When does it become appropriate?"

Sirius made a face. "Go see him, then. See if he knows what happened."

Remus left the room after a single, swift backward glance. Mere seconds passed before Harry opened his eyes.

"Hi," said Sirius quietly.

"Hi." Harry's eyes wandered from side to side. Sirius handed his godson his glasses, but Harry did not put them on after accepting them. "Where are Ron and Hermione?" he asked, his face draining of what little color it had.

"They're fine," Sirius rushed to assure. "Talking with Dumbledore. And Remus."

Harry relaxed against his pillows. "I was so worried when I heard them. They shouldn't have been trying to fight Voldemort."

Sirius' previously serene expression was snuffed out. "No," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "They shouldn't have. Nor should you have." Sirius paused for a moment, and Harry awaited the explosion. It came. Sirius has passed through periods of panic and relief and had now moved on to anger.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW FRIGHTENED I WAS WHEN I REALIZED YOU WERE OUT THERE? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO SEE YOU LYING THERE AND NOT KNOW IF YOU WERE DEAD OR ALIVE?"

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered.

"YOU NEED A BIT MORE THAN 'I'M SORRY' THIS TIME, HARRY! LESS THAN TWO HOURS AFTER YOU PUT YOURSELF IN DANGER IN LONDON, AND YOU SAID YOU WERE SORRY THEN, TOO! YOU DIDN'T ACT LIKE YOU WERE SORRY, HARRY!"

"IT WAS THE ONLY THING I COULD DO!" Harry yelled back. "IT HAD TO STOP, AND I STOPPED IT!"

"THAT'S NOT THE ISSUE HERE!"

"MAYBE IT SHOULD BE!"

"YOUR BEING THE BOY WHO LIVED DOES NOT GIVE YOU FREE REIN TO DO WHATEVER YOU WANT REGARDLESS OF WHAT THE PEOPLE TRYING TO PROTECT YOU TELL YOU!"

"You sound like Professor Snape," Harry observed in a normal tone of voice before realizing that such a comparison was not likely to improve Sirius' furious mood.

Sirius did not speak for a long beat. Then, with disbelief coating his face, he flatly replied "I think that's the most insulting thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Well, you do," said Harry sulkily. "He's always telling me that I strut around like I think I own the wizarding world. Then he says my dad was the same way."

"He didn't strut."

"That's what I always say, but Snape just gives me detention. He likes to insult my dad and then give me detention when I defend him. It's the same as when he reads humiliating Daily Prophet articles about me in class, you know?"

"That's entirely out of--" Sirius broke off angrily, shaking his head.

"So is your yelling at me now!"

Sirius gritted his teeth and uttered his absolute least favorite words in the English language. "I was wrong." Then, as his throat un-strangled itself, he continued. "You scared me, you really scared me. There aren't very many people alive who can scare me or hurt me, but you're one of them. I shouldn't have started yelling at you as soon as you woke up, but--"

Harry cringed at the word "but."

"But the fact remains that you have no regard for what anyone tells you to do. You've never had parents, and believe me, I know that that's my fault; and you've had to deal with the realization that Dumbledore might not be all that the wizarding world thinks he is. You still had no business sneaking out of the castle and trying to get yourself killed."

"Can I talk now?"

"Go ahead."

"It's not as if I said 'I don't feel like getting a haircut today, I think I'll go duel with Voldemort instead.' I've told you before that I didn't want to get myself killed. I just didn't want anyone else to die, either."

"The ends don't justify the means, Harry."

"Sometimes they do. Everyone knows that sometimes they do. The textbooks and the professors call the killing curse unforgivable, but the Ministry let its aurors use it during the last war against Voldemort. You used the killing curse on Wormtail, didn't you?"

"Actually, I didn't. He tried to use it on me and I reflected it onto him. It was almost the same as what happened when Voldemort tried to kill you and your mother's throwing herself in front of the curse turned its power against him."

"But you would have used it that night in the Shrieking Shack. You and Remus, both."

"And we were very glad in retrospect that you stopped us."

"I wasn't."

"I know. And I tried to talk to you about it, but I don't think I got through to you. You've been using examples, so how about this one? After the first war, the entire wizarding community was in chaos. It was so full of fear and distrust and the need for vengeance that it simply didn't function. The Ministry had to do something to ensure the remaining population that it was safe to begin rebuilding, and living again. And everyone seemed to feel very safe after I was thrown in Azkaban without a trial.

"How about this one? After that, your parents were dead. Your godfather was indisposed. Despite explicit statements by your mother that she did not, under any circumstances, want you to be raised by your aunt and uncle, Dumbledore brought you there. You spent ten years living in a small, dark cupboard without ever having clothes that fit or as much as you wanted to eat or any kind of emotional or intellectual stimulation. You were let to think that your magical ability was a combination of coincidences and freakishness. You were hit. You were called names. But you came out of it in one piece, safe and perfectly able to attend Hogwarts. Just what Dumbledore wanted. Tell me, Harry, do the ends justify the means?"

Harry was shaking his head. "No," he said softly.

"No," Sirius repeated.

"It's not that simple, though. You know it isn't. You've said yourself that no one knows what would happen if one little decision was made differently. The whole time-turner regulation thing."

"I'm not claiming that any of this is simple." Sirius sighed. "My original point is that you did something that I and everyone else who cares about you strictly forbade you to do. It seems that you have ended the life of one of the most powerful Dark wizards in history. So it becomes rather difficult for me to find any way to punish you because your ignoring me led directly to the triumph of Light Magic in a very important battle. You were thirteen when I met you and fifteen when I started spending time with you on a regular basis. I have almost no way of controlling you and I'm beginning to wonder if it's in your best interests for me to have full custody of you when you don't view me as an authority figure. However, as you said, this is not the time or the place for us to discuss this. Are you feeling all right?"

"Fine." Harry touched his forehead gingerly. "My scar doesn't hurt at all. I'd forgotten how that feels."

"Are you up to meeting with Dumbledore?"

"I don't want to."

"You may not have a choice."

"Can't we just pretend that I died?"

"Why would we want to do that?"

"So I wouldn't have to talk to Dumbledore and I wouldn't have to listen to the people out there."

"Out where?"

Harry waved his hand vaguely. "Outside Hogwarts. All of the people will be celebrating, like Remus said. I'll be the Boy Who Lived again. AND, it won't be like I acted like the ends justified the means because I'll be dead. I won't encourage anyone to use the killing curse. AND, if we pretend I'm dead I won't be able to go out in public or do anything wrong and you won't have to worry about punishing me so you can still be my father, I mean, godfather."

"I wasn't planning to let anyone take over that job from me, Harry."

"But it would be easier for you if everyone thought I was dead."

"That's not a very good tradeoff. Perhaps I was being melodramatic before. I suspect you would have gone out there under any circumstances."

"I would have," Harry said earnestly.

"Did you cast Avada Kedavra?"

"I tried to. Twice. I don't know exactly what happened, though. I was almost unconscious when I did it the second time." Sirius nodded. "Do you hate me now?" asked Harry, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it anyway.

"No. How can you ask that?"

"Because I wanted to hear you answer." Sirius smiled sadly and kissed the top of his godson's head. "I really am sorry for disobeying you. I'm sorry for scaring you."

"Forgiven. And I'm sorry for coming in here and yelling."

"Forgiven," Harry repeated with a smile of his own. "But . . . I killed him. I cast a spell that I knew was meant to end someone's life and I killed him. He'll never talk, or see, or even breathe again because of me. I'm a cold-blooded killer now."

"If you had done it in cold blood, you would never have been able to cast that spell. You'd've had to have been furious." Harry shrugged, unconvinced. "You're also very young. You know that when I was about your age I would have been a killer and used Remus as a weapon if your father hadn't stopped me. The man, if we can call him that, whose life you ended would surely have killed you. Did he try to cast Avada Kedavra on you again?"

"Yes," Harry admitted.

"It will count as self-defense. You're not going to Azkaban for this. You'll probably get the Order of Merlin."

"I don't want the Order of Merlin."

"The ceremony only lasts a few hours and then you can put the medal away."

"How can you say one minute that the ends don't justify the means and the next minute that it's all right because I went looking for Voldemort knowing he'd cast Avada Kedavra on me so I'd be sort of right to return it?"

"As you said, it's complicated."

Harry and Sirius were saved from further debate by the entrance of Remus, Dumbledore, Ron, and Hermione.

"You're awake!" Ron and Hermione yelled together, and they scrambled to the side of his bed.

"What's all this?" asked Madam Pomfrey, emerging from her office at the noise created by the new arrivals. Her eyes fixed on Ron and Hermione. "Both of you! Back in bed! You never should have left." She looked darkly at Dumbledore.

"Yes, yes, get back in bed," Dumbledore agreed. Ron and Hermione put on a show of reluctance as they complied, but Harry noticed that they both looked very tired. He felt more than a little exhausted himself. "Now, Harry--"

"You cannot interrogate him as well, Headmaster!" Madam Pomfrey protested.

"I need to know what happened, and there is no time like the present," Dumbledore replied mildly. "He may remain here while we speak, however. I believe I have most of the story from other sources. Now, Harry, are you ready to answer a few questions?"

"Yes," Harry agreed. Dumbledore was not his favorite person at the moment, but Dumbledore would likely give him answers in return for answers.

"When did you first see Lord Voldemort?"

"Just after Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle showed up. I saw him, and my scar exploded, and he said 'We meet again,' or something like that. I tried to get him away from Ron and Hermione. We argued about the first Death Eater I dueled."

"It was FLINT! Marcus Flint!" Ron interrupted. "The one you knocked off that tree-- it was Marcus Flint!"

"Did he-- did he live?" asked Harry nervously. There was no one else in the hospital wing.

"He is one of the Death Eaters being held in a secure location, yes. He regained consciousness and managed to get out of the range of the explosions. Please continue, Harry," said Dumbledore.

"Voldemort said something about having an opportunity to kill me . . . and I tried to kill him first." Harry lowered his eyes. "I tried to cast Avada Kedavra. But nothing really happened."

"That you could see," Ron interrupted again. "The Death Eaters felt it."

"Mr. Weasley, I would like you to remain quiet for a moment."

"Sorry," said Ron, not sounding as if he especially meant it.

At Dumbledore's nod, Harry continued. "He said I was ambitious and we argued about my parents. Then he tried to use the killing curse, and Ron and Hermione came in yelling something but I don't know what. Then I tried to use the killing curse again, and I lost consciousness."

"Thank you. That completes the picture. It is just as I thought."

"WHAT is just as you thought?" Sirius seemed to be even more impatient with Dumbledore than was Ron.

"First of all, would Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger care to explain their behavior to their friend?"

"We're just lying here in bed. Doesn't seem to be a lot to explain," said Ron, willfully misunderstanding the question.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but his gaze was intense. "Explain what you were yelling that he was unable to hear?"

"Oh. Well, I used Magnes to find you. And Hermione used Certus in case it would help you somehow. And well, when you were saying good bye to Sirius this afternoon, we put Letum Simul on each other. That was what we yelled when we saw you."

"But how would that affect me? You never cast it with me. I would never have let anyone cast that on me."

Ron shrugged. "That we don't know."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled ever more. "This is very old, very imprecise magic. It is surrounded by many legends, and it is difficult to separate legend from fact because there are so few examples to work with. It is generally accepted by those who study Loyalty Oaths, however-- not that anyone has made a life out of studying Loyalty Oaths since Peter of Panga-- that they work in exponential proportions. If three people were to cast a spell with each other, the spell would not be twice as powerful, or three times as powerful. In effect, it would be raised to the third power."

"But we didn't cast the same spells," Harry protested.

"The agreement to be loyal is the same nonetheless. When you were hit by Avada Kedavra, you were protected by very old, very powerful spells. When you cast Avada Kedavra, you were able to draw on Ron's and Hermione's magic as well. Voldemort himself used a similar method to draw power when he was exhausted. That is why all three of you are showing signs of having performed a Dark spell that is beyond your ability."

"And that is why they ought to be asleep!" Madam Pomfrey interrupted.

Dumbledore, Sirius, and Remus eventually gave way to Madam Pomfrey's demands, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione found themselves falling asleep even before they were able to rehash the night's events.

They were kept sequestered in the hospital wing until the day that the Ministy's awards were to be presented. As Sirius had predicted, Harry was given the Order of Merlin, and so were Ron and Hermione. They accepted the awards together and then watched as the other recipients took their prizes. Many of the wizards and witches who were honored were known to Harry. Ministry members and Hogwarts professors and aurors-- everyone who had been in Dumbledore's trusted circle-- were given Orders of varying degrees.

"They're handing out Orders like candy!" Harry overheard an old man exclaim.

"Why shouldn't they?" his companion asked.

"Why, indeed?" the man agreed with a laugh.

Harry could not help smiling as well.