Journey's End

I knew he didn't sleep.

Not often, at least. In fact, I truly doubted he'd had a full night's rest in the year since he'd returned to Grimmauld Place. What kept him awake? Memories of Azkaban? The night in the Department of Mysteries? Whatever had happened after he'd passed through the Veil?

The details of what, exactly, had occurred that night were still unknown to me. Imagine that, Harry Potter, kept in the dark. You'd think the Order would have learned their lesson by now. It had been some trick of the Death Eaters, though, something involving a holding chamber and the most complicated Deactivating Charm Dumbledore had ever seen. Snape had discovered all. Snape had told Dumbledore. Dumbledore had rescued Sirius. And I'd been sent off to bed with a pat on the head and the assurance that everything was fine.

But everything was not fine. In less than five minutes, it would officially be September 1^st, and while I would indeed be returning to Hogwarts, I wouldn't find any institution of learning there. At the end of the previous term, the castle had been infiltrated by Death Eaters, who had been using the Polyjuice Potion to transform themselves into their children, and Hogwarts had become the central battleground of the Second War.

Thus, no summer holiday had brought me back to Grimmauld Place, not this time. We had returned for only two nights, long enough for the Order to strategize while I'd kept out of everyone's way and gone about the business of entertaining my godfather, who after his ordeal with the Veil had been deemed "psychologically unfit" to work alongside the rest of the Order. But in the morning, we would pack up once more and return to the carnage, to a place I'd once considered my safe haven.

Funny, that.

And for reasons not entirely unknown to me, here I stood like a fool, in the doorway of his bedroom. In this darkness, I was unable to see much more than the outlines of the furniture--the wardrobe, the small sofa, the bed. And the break in the straight, shadowed outline of the mattress...that must've been his body.

Merlin, what am I doing here? I thought to myself, leaning my head against the doorframe. It was so childish and selfish of me to have even thought of coming to him with all of this. These were my burdens, and what right did I have to ask anyone else to help me bear them, especially him?

Wincing, I turned to go, but I stopped in my tracks the moment I heard him call my name.

"Harry," he whispered. "What is it?"

I took a moment to regain composure then pivoted around to face the room once more. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I could see now that he sat upright on the bed, dark hair flowing down over naked shoulders, his lips slightly parted.

He motioned for me to enter. I did. I wasn't thinking, couldn't have been, when I bent low to crawl across the mattress, not stopping until I reached the headboard, and then slid beneath the sheets, next to him. I waited for him to speak; that only seemed fair. I waited for the reprimanding to begin--What are you doing? Don't be such a child, Harry. Buck up. Even if you are afraid, seventeen-year-old boys don't climb into bed with grown men.

But he didn't say any of that.

Instead, he pulled me close, so that my face was pressed against so much pliant, bare flesh, and threaded his fingers through my hair. I was so desperate for him to say something, because I couldn't think of the right thing to say. And part of me wanted to hear the reprimanding words, the words I deserved for my audacity and immaturity. But another part of me, a larger part of me, wanted this, the simple warmth of skin against skin, the delicious pressure of his hand against my head. This was why I had come.

"I would give anything to trade you places," he whispered against my hair. And that was it. He didn't need to say more. I knew what he meant--It wasn't fair to send someone so young off to save the entire wizarding world...I hadn't really been given a chance to live my life yet...Seventeen short years, was that all?

But I knew his ways. Saying any of that would have been almost like pity, and pity was condescending. And he, of all people, would never have spoken to me with anything in his tone that sounded like condescension.

I lifted my face to look at him. The eyes that usually seemed so dead--blame Azkaban for that one--were suddenly clear, thoughtful, soft. He sighed and smiled, and that was the last thing I saw before my eyes fluttered shut and my head tilted upward.

I think he was still smiling when I kissed him, but in a matter of seconds his mouth narrowed, pursed and was returning the kiss. The hand in my hair slid down over my neck. Callused fingers danced along my shoulder blades, and my own fingers were digging hard into the small of his back, daring him to break the kiss.

But he took the dare.

"Harry," he sighed, the tip of his nose brushing playfully against mine. In a moment would come the million reasons why we shouldn't be doing this--I was too young, he was my godfather, best friend of my parents, and we were both vulnerable now and a bit needy.

I opened my eyes again and fixed them on his. "Don't say this is wrong," I whispered. "Because I very much need it to be okay. Please, Sirius."

He made a fast study of my expression. Something of the genuine yearning I felt in that moment must have shone through, because he brushed his knuckles tenderly across my cheek, nodded his head, and pulled my mouth to his once more.

My lips parted. Sirius' tongue glided expertly between them as strong fingers gripped my arms and pulled my body to the bed. The kiss deepened, and I arched against him, my knee pressing slightly into his groin, which I realized instantly was as exposed as his top half and just as solid. But I didn't give it more than a second's thought. If Sirius pursued this further--and I seriously doubted he would dare--then I would willingly follow his lead, but this was all I had wanted, these arms around me, this warm body beside me, and the feeling of peace and...rightness...that had, I believe, overtaken us both.

I pulled away, half dazed, donning and expression of utter bemusement. Sirius' fingers slid behind my neck, caressing as he pulled me close to him. I brought my head to rest against his chest, and his arm wrapped protectively around my waist. I nearly wept and might've if I hadn't been so damned tired.

"Thank you, Sirius," I muttered vaguely, smiling against the warmth of his skin.

And through the daze of my exhaustion and the ever-present beating of his heart beneath me, I could have sworn I heard him whisper, "Thank you, Harry."

***

"I don't even want to know why you're emerging, disheveled, from a night spent in your godfather's bedroom."

The teasing smirk on Severus' face was the single indication that his comment had been made only in jest. How anyone could have that much cheek at five in the morning was past my understanding.

"Oh, yeah," I yawned, wiping the sleep from my eyes. "Had a right shag-fest, we did."

Severus dismissed my joke with a snort, while inwardly I cursed that it was, in fact, nothing more than that. Just a joke. I had kissed Sirius, he had kissed me back, and that was all. Of course, that had been enough.

Or had it been too much?

The things that made so much sense late at night never seemed quite as clear to me come morning. At any rate, I had to get out of there before the painful, awkward, and inevitable goodbyes ensued.

"What're you doing up at this hour, anyway, Severus?"

The name sounded so strange pouring from my lips. Despite the fact that he was not, for the time being, my Potions professor, I was fairly certain that any address less formal than "Sir" or "Professor Snape" dealt a blow to his ever-so-keen Slytherin sense of self. Then, of course, he had been the one to snap at me, "Call me Severus, you silly fool of a boy!"

Severus it was, then.

"Waiting on this damned Portkey to activate," he said, holding up a small ceramic coffee mug. "Draco needs me to help break wards in the dungeons so we can set up the Order's Slytherin headquarters. And what about you, Potter? I wasn't aware that teenage boys, war heroes or not, were ever up before the sun."

"Nerves, I suppose."

Well, it wasn't a total lie. Upon waking, the press of Sirius' body against mine hadn't held quite the same comfort it had the night before. He'd appeared so content in that moment, sure--long black hair splayed across his pillow, mouth curled into a faint smile, gray morning light throwing shadows across his strong jaw and the too-lovely-for-words contours of his lean body. But no matter how beautiful a sleeping Sirius may have been, a conscious Sirius wasn't something I was prepared to face. Better to walk away with my heart in tact than to stay and hear any words of regret that might break it.

"And by the way," I added, "I'm not a war hero yet."

Severus tapped the side of his nose and gave me a wink. How very much like Dumbledore he was becoming.... I smiled.

"I don't suppose I could catch that Portkey back to Hogwarts with you?"

Severus pulled a pocket watch from inside his robes and screwed up his face, studying it. "I imagine that would be fine, but I don't reckon you've got much time for packing. The Portkey activates in thirty seconds."

"No problem," I said, padding across the drawing room to where he stood. "All my things are at Hogwarts still, anyway."

Severus nodded. "Very well, then," he said. "Ten seconds."

I lifted a hand to grip the edge of the mug Severus was holding....

"Eight."

...thought of Sirius' grip on my neck....

"Six."

...how tender and reassuring those touches had been....

"Five."

...warm breath against my forehead....

"Four."

...warm lips on my own....

"Three."

When had he whispered, "I love you?"

"Two."

I loved him, too....

"One."

I took one last look around the familiar drawing room, a room I hoped like hell I'd be seeing again soon, and then came the familiar pull at the pit of my stomach as Grimmauld Place and Sirius Black swirled away into nothingness, and I knew there was no going back.

~ * / / / / / ~ * ~ * ~

October 25, 1997

Sirius,

I apologize for waiting almost two months to owl you. Writing to you has always been so easy for me until now. I'm not even sure, really, how I should begin this letter. "Hi, how are you?" hardly seems appropriate, given the circumstances. And as for what I really want to say...well, I'll get to that in a bit.

Some great Muggle in history said once that "War is hell." And if this is what hell is like, I'll be doing good deeds from now until the day I die, whenever that day may come.

It's funny, really. I used to get so scared the first few nights of battle. I would lie awake, hoping I'd live to see the next morning. And then finally, I realized how silly it was to think like that. Apathy has overtaken me, I think, or maybe I've just stopped fearing death.

Nearly four months since it all began in earnest, and so far no member of the Order has been killed. More sheer dumb luck? I don't think so, not really. Dumbledore planned well. He taught us not only to defend ourselves in the case of an attack, but also how to avoid the threat of attack altogether. It seems that this war is being fought with intelligence rather than with magic. I can't explain it, really, and I guess how we win isn't nearly as important as the winning itself.

It has been hard, though. War is hell, and that's no lie. Of course, you were there for the First War. You know the pain I'm talking about. And when the killing starts, that's when the real terror begins, right? And although I should be contemplating all of this--the horrors to come, the possible deaths, fulfillment of that damned prophecy...kill or be killed--it seems the only thing I've been able to think of in all this time is you.

I wish like hell that Dumbledore would let you fight. Don't take that the wrong way; I don't mean it to sound like pity. I know you'd never accept pity from anyone, not even me. It's just that I want you here with me, because the fact of the matter is that I love you, Sirius.

I love you.

I know you probably think that what happened the night I left was just the act of a little boy who needed to be comforted, but that's not true. If comfort and reassurance were all I had wanted, I could've gone to anyone in that house--Dumbledore, Remus, Tonks, any of the Weasleys, even Severus. But I wanted you. I had wanted you for such a long time. And while my fear was largely to blame for what I did, because I never would have acted on these feelings otherwise, the point is that, when I kissed you, I did it out of love, not desperation.

I think we've made it past the point of all the obvious arguments, so let's dismiss them, shall we? You can't call yourself an old man; you're only thirty-seven. Nor can you say I'm too young to know what I want. When Voldemort first marked me, I was doomed, I think, to an eternal adulthood. I've never been a child, and you know it.

And why should you bother to remind me that my father was your best friend? Don't start railing about how he trusted you to be the father he never had a chance to be. That thought didn't cross my mind when I crawled into bed with you, and I know it didn't cross yours either. Don't even try to pretend it did.

And now, because I've been so damned honest, I'm almost afraid to send this, afraid of what you'll say. As I said before, I didn't kiss you out of desperation, but how do I know that you didn't kiss me out of pity? Tell me it wasn't that. Please, God, Sirius! Please tell me that's not all it was.

I can't afford to be afraid of anything now, not when I've spent so long hardening myself against fear. And so, off this goes, straight to you, Sirius, and I wish like hell I could be going with it.

Yours,

Harry

***

November 3, 1997

Harry,

Let me say first and foremost that what happened between us the night I last saw you had absolutely nothing to do with pity. You know better, I know you do. Don't even think that for one second. You don't deserve to be treated with that kind of petty ridiculousness, and I wouldn't dare do that to you. I care about you too much.

And as for all those hypothetical arguments against your feelings--I don't blame you for dismissing every single one of them. You aren't a child, although Merlin knows I certainly can be at times. And yes, your father was my best friend, and he and your mother left me to love you and care for you, and that is precisely what I swear to do for as long as I live.

Harry, you have absolutely no reason to be afraid of your feelings; I promise you that. Kissing you was something I wanted to happen just as badly as you did, although I never would have dared to try. No, I would have played the role of the honorable godfather every day of my life and never, ever told you just how much I loved you.

And I do love you, Harry. I love you so much it hurts. I would give anything to know for certain that you will come out of this war unscathed. I wish I could protect you. But all I can do is have faith, and no matter what I've suffered, I still have plenty of faith, especially when it comes to you.

If this is what you want, what you really and truly want, then don't be afraid to ask for it. The wizarding world pulled you in at such a young age and forced you to play the part of their beloved hero, and never once have you been given the chance to make a decision for yourself. But sometimes, it's alright to be selfish.

And now I'm begging you, Harry, please...please take this opportunity to ask me for what you want, as I am so eager to give it to you.

All my love,

Sirius

***

November 22, 1997

Sirius,

When all this is over, ask Hermione if I didn't spend the forty-eight hours following the arrival of your letter with my mouth hanging open. She'll tell you just how pathetic I've been. In fact, that may be the reason it's taken me so long to respond.

That, and the fact that battle has begun in earnest.

We didn't know it was coming. We'd been stationed in the four common rooms, spread out enough to monitor Death Eater activity all throughout the castle. The Ravenclaw common room came under attack. I don't know all the details, as I was stationed in Gryffindor Tower, but I do know that both Mundungus Fletcher and Oliver Wood were injured. Two of the Death Eaters that attacked were wounded fatally. The rest were taken prisoner and are being detained in what once was Dumbledore's office.

I know it's only a matter of time before I have no choice but to fight. I'm ready for it. I'm not afraid to die. What I am afraid of, though, is never seeing you again. I hate so much that I never properly said goodbye to you, but I was so scared. What if you'd regretted what had happened? Or worse, what if you'd told me then that you loved me, and I had refused to leave? You could have kept me there so easily, Sirius. But the thought scares me--What if I die here without ever having the chance to say goodbye?

I'm so sorry. I shouldn't dwell on thoughts like that. Those aren't any of the things I wanted to say to you.

You told me in your letter to ask for what I want, and so I'm doing that now. I want to know that you'll be waiting for me at the end of all this. I want to come home to you, to kiss you again, to feel your arms around me, just like it was that last night. No, God...I want so much more than that, so much more that I can't even put into words.

I want you, Sirius, all of you. Promise me that, and I swear I'll never ask for anything again.

Love,

Harry

***

December 3, 1997

Dearest Harry,

Please, please, do not beat yourself up over not saying goodbye to me. Even if we never see one another again, I will be left with the memory of the sweetest kiss I've ever known, of holding you, of feeling your heart beating against me, of watching you sleep (I did that, you know). All of that is more perfect than any formal goodbye could possibly have been.

And as for everything you have asked for...it's yours, Harry. All yours. I love you far too much to deny you anything. If you need a reason to keep going, I'm honored to be that reason.

But Harry, please stop dwelling on the thought of death. Twice in my life, I have come through situations I should never have escaped to return to you. If I can do it, I have complete faith in you being able to do the same. And no matter how long it takes, know that I will always be here, waiting for you.

Even so, I can't help but wish the circumstances were different. If I knew how...if I could...I would kill Voldemort myself and bring you home straight away. But I cannot do that. You don't need me to remind you how unfair your fate is. I can't imagine what hells you'll be facing, although I know I would take all of them on for you in a heartbeat. But if things get too hard, if the burdens become too much to bare, then think of me, and know that I'm thinking of you, and remember how much I love you. At your journey's end, you will find me waiting.

I love you,

Sirius

***

March 21, 1998

Dear Sirius,

I can't tell you how much we all (especially Tonks!) appreciate you sending Remus back to us with a fully recovered memory. Mediwitch Winthrop deserves a million thank-yous as well, but I think that, for Remus, the presence of his best friend is what ultimately did the trick. I still wish I could've gone with him to Grimmauld Place, if only to see you (Gods, it's been too long!), but Dumbledore wouldn't dare let this war's MVP out of his sight.

Oh, well. It's a moot point now, anyway. We're so lucky to have our Remus back, fighting bravely again.

Death Eater body count is up to 27 now. Dumbledore, as you know, detests killing, but sometimes it can't be helped. They blasted a hole the size of the Knight Bus in the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, took out the Fat Lady's portrait completely. There were only two of them, thank Merlin. I managed to stun Macnair, and Rodolphus Lestrange was killed by Kingsley, but not before he'd managed to fatally wound Dedalus Diggle.

I think I've been too lucky in this war. I'm proud of the work I've done for the Order and am so committed to seeing this thing through to the very end, but I am praying that the end comes in the immediate future. I miss safety. I miss peace, although I can barely recall what peace feels like. But most of all, I miss you, and you are something I'll never be able to forget the feeling of.

Soon, Sirius...very soon....

All my love,

Harry

***

March 30, 1998

Dear Harry,

Words cannot express how sorry I was to be told of the Order's two most recent losses, Oliver Wood and George Weasley. I know you played Quidditch under Wood your first three years of school and were very fond of him, and both you and I think of the Weasleys as our own family. I can't begin to imagine how Fred must be suffering. It's painful to lose a brother, as I know well, but a twin? It must be a bit like losing a part of yourself.

You go into something like war hearing things and having expectations. People tell you that death is inevitable and that eventually you'll have to face it, but the reality is never something you can prepare for.

I know what it's like to lose people you care about. You'll hear that a lot, I'm sure, especially from those of us who fought in the First War, but we too have suffered losses like this. We can empathize. What we cannot do, however, is take away the pain you're feeling now, and no matter how many close friends you lose, it never really gets easier.

All I can tell you is that you need to want to stay alive. No matter how tough it gets, or how exhausting it can be, or how much it might hurt, you do have people who care about you and love you and want more than anything to see you come out of this war victorious, not least of all me. Please remember that, love.

Yours as always,

Sirius

***

April 21, 1998

Sirius,

I was wrong. War is not hell; quarantine is hell! I can't stay in this place any longer. I've been here too long already, and I don't care what Severus says, it's ridiculous to keep us quarantined. We might be safe from stray Death Eaters, but I think the lot of us may actually go insane if we don't get out soon.

Hermione cries all the time now, and I wish so bad I knew how to comfort her. But she's got Ron for that, doesn't she? He seems to be holding up pretty well. Don't get me wrong, I've always loved all of the Weasleys and would never wish harm on any of them, but I'm honestly shocked that only George was killed. Still, I think Ron is hurting, but you know how Ron can be. He'll never, ever show it, not even to me.

And Tonks...I don't know how she keeps her spirits up the way she does. I was lucky in that my two best friends survived. I can't imagine how hard it would be to lose the one person you'd planned to spend the rest of your life with. Or maybe I can...I almost lost you once, didn't I?

God, I need to get out of here. I've seen too many things I should never have had to see. I stood beside Draco Malfoy while he watched his father die, unable to show his pain consciously but really showing it anyway. I held Remus' head in my lap on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets while a poison ate at him from the inside out. I ducked the Killing Curse that brought down Dumbledore. God, I've played witness to too many deaths--Remus, Dumbledore, George, Oliver, Diggle, McGonagall, Kingsley, Luna, and countless Death Eaters whose names and faces I'll never know and never care to know. And nobody, not a single person, stood beside me when I destroyed Voldemort. I think I've done more than enough, don't you?

Whether you know it or not, Sirius, you've been my saving grace through this whole thing. You told me not long ago that I had reasons to stay alive. And while I know that the safety of the whole wizarding world was dependant upon my survival, my thoughts and motivations have been too selfish to give a damn about anyone's fate but my own. But I've been good. I've done just what everyone wanted. I played the part of the brave Gryffindor, the valiant war hero, and I don't want any thanks for it.

All I want is to see you again. I don't know how much longer I can take this waiting.

I love you,

Harry

~ * / / / / / ~ * ~ * ~

I couldn't stand it. This half-quiet, this steady somber murmur all around me, was more numbing than total silence might have been. Now I remembered why I hadn't attended many memorial services during the First War.

Hundreds of witches and wizards had made the journey to Hogwarts this evening to bury their dead, to mourn their losses, and to come together as one body. One united wizarding community. For me, though, all this mourning was a bit belated. As each of my friends had fallen at the hands of the Death Eaters, some even at the hand of Voldemort himself, I had wept in realtime in the quiet solitude of Grimmauld Place. There would be none of this morose retrospective grieving for me.

As I moved through the throng, a group of young wizards eyed me warily. I don't know why it bothered me so much. Maybe my innocence was unknown to them. After all, how significant was the news of my pardon in comparison to all the Daily Prophet's sensationalized coverage of the war? Still, the scathing, distrustful looks in their red-rimmed eyes were enough to make me shudder.

Across the lawn, near Dumbledore's tombstone, lurked Mundungus Fletcher and Hogwarts' new headmaster, Severus Snape. Merlin only knew what those two could possibly have to talk about--smuggling Potions ingredients, perhaps--but they seemed to be deeply engrossed in conversation.

And only a few yards from them stood Ron Weasley and his fiancee Hermione Granger, whose left hand shimmered in the light reflecting off her diamond engagement ring. Harry, of course, had written to tell me of the engagement long ago. The wedding was to be held in the backyard at Grimmauld Place in October. I would be sure to congratulate them later, but for the moment the pair was engaged in a sort of conspiratorial chatter with Neville Longbottom and Ron's sister, Ginny.

"Sirius?" said a mild voice from beside me. "Sirius Black?"

I turned my head sharply to the right. A young man, fair-haired and rather pale, gazed up at me. I needn't ask to know that this was a Malfoy, Draco, the spitting image of his father, although I never would have said so aloud.

"You must be!" said the boy, laughing slightly as he extended a hand to me, which I accepted. "Potter talked so much about you that you've sort of become a myth to us younger wizards."

His flattery forced a small smile to my face.

"He's spoken fondly of you as well, Mister Malfoy," I said. "I know the two of you had your differences for quite some time, but you've been a loyal friend to him since you joined our side."

Draco beamed and nodded. "Thank you," he said. "He's been a good friend to me as well, got me out of quite a few tight spots, I'll have to say."

I studied him for a long moment. The hair, the pale skin, the sharp, delicate features, all so much like Lucius. But there was something strikingly different in those pale gray eyes, something his father's had never held--emotion. Draco Malfoy knew what it meant to fear, to grieve, to fight for something, and to love those he fought for.

"I was so sorry to hear that you lost your father," I said softly. "I know what you must have felt, Draco, torn between your duties to the Order and to the name of Malfoy. I went through the same dilemma in the First War, as you might know already. My brother Regulus was a Death Eater and was killed."

I fell silent when it registered that Draco had to bite his bottom lip to keep it from quivering. He didn't speak. Perhaps he was mulling over all I'd said, or perhaps he hated me now for bringing up the subject.

Draco glanced to where the headmaster stood, then looked back to me.

"I need to speak to Severus, if you'll excuse me," he said sharply. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mister Black."

As he made his exit, I began to wonder exactly how deep the chord I'd stricken ran, but the thought was gone in the next instant when I realized he had left me standing before the tombstone of Remus Lupin.

It took a mere second for my eyes to well up with the tears I thought I'd already shed. Why was it so damned hard to breathe all of a sudden? That horrible vision that had haunted me for weeks, a scene I'd only heard tale of, came into my mind again--Remus, fighting to live while Harry held him, weeping, on the blood-soaked floor of the Chamber of Secrets.

And then there were other visions--long, hard-earned detentions, romping through the Forbidden Forest under the full moon, summers at James' mum and dad's, the flat we shared in London, our reunion in the Shrieking Shack, months together on the run, long evenings in front of the drawing room fire at Grimmauld Place, the day of his wedding to Tonks. Remus, who had been dealt a hand that had always put him in a shite state of affairs, who had accepted every misfortune with unmatched grace, who should have outlived us all....

I shut my eyes and let the tears fall freely as a lean, solid pair of arms wrapped themselves around my body. I know this touch.... A face was buried in my hair, and I felt the unmistakable tickle of eyeglass rims against the back of my neck.

"Sirius Black, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life...."

Eight months, twenty-five days, and twenty hours of waiting had more than taken their toll. I twined my fingers tightly around the ones holding me, tears pouring harder when I felt the responsive squeeze. The weight against my back shifted, moved around the right side of my body, then settled against my chest.

Slowly, I lifted my head. A pair of brilliant green eyes stared back at me from beneath the hood of a black cloak.

"A disguise," he explained, sweeping a hand over the folds of his billowing robes. "I didn't want to have to face anyone. Nobody knows it's me. No one even knows I'm here. Except you."

I nodded and pulled him closer, as if to conceal him still more. Yea Gods, his mere presence managed somehow to both strengthen me and to reduce me to a mere shadow of the man I'd been before this ridiculous war. Or was that the war's doing? No, no, definitely Harry....

The crowd around us had fallen silent. All eyes were turned across the grounds, where Severus had taken his place behind an enormous podium, his steely, grave expression appropriate for once in his life.

"It is with both great sadness and immense gratitude that I welcome you all to Hogwarts tonight," he began in his low, gravelly tones.

He said more, I'm almost certain, probably all the requisite words about honor and bravery, things that to most everyone present would seem so uncharacteristic of the man, but I didn't hear a word of it. The thousand conflicting emotions racing about in my mind--grief, sympathy, self-pity, relief, and the sense of completion I felt now holding Harry in my arms--were overwhelming bordering on deafening. I didn't want to be here, what need was there for prolonging all this misery? What could Severus say that I didn't know already?

George Weasley, aged nineteen years, son of Arthur and Molly Weasley, brother of Bill, Charlie, Fred, Ron, and Ginny Weasley...

Luna Lovegood, aged sixteen years, daughter of Rodisius Lovegood and the late Amanda Bones-Lovegood...

Oliver Wood, aged nineteen years, keeper for the Ireland Quidditch Team...

Kingsley Shacklebolt, aged forty-three years, Head of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic...

Dedalus Diggle...

Minerva McGonagall...

Albus Dumbledore...

Gods, I couldn't breathe.

Remus John Lupin, aged thirty-seven years, husband of Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, best friend of James Potter and Sirius Black, Moony, the sensible Marauder, werewolf, former professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, kind boy, kind man, forgiving man, loving man, good man, should have outlived us all...

And there were countless others, so many I had never known. All of their eulogies would have similar beginnings and identical endings--dead. Dead because of one man's hatred. Nothing personal, no, it was never personal. Just kill those who stand in the way, right? Never mind that there are people somewhere...here tonight...who loved the souls that inhabited the bodies that got caught in the crossfire, people who would have gladly died in their place, who could do nothing....

"Sirius," Harry whispered. His breathing hitched, and a small, shaking hand groped blindly for mine. "Sirius, please, let's get out of here."

"Where do you want to go?" I asked, because staying was definitely no longer an option. I wouldn't allow it, and neither would Harry, who had already begun to drag me by the hand away from the crowd. Within seconds, Severus' voice had faded to a soft, distant lull that was almost comforting.

If the trek toward Hagrid's hut ever truly occurred, I'll never remember, because we had arrived before I had even become conscious of where we were headed. I felt like a child, letting Harry lead me about like this, following him across the grassy yard to where I had parked my motorcycle earlier that evening, wondering how he had known to come here. Harry climbed onto the bike first, then pulled me down onto the front of the seat, facing toward him.

I opened my mouth to speak and so did Harry, but the words didn't come. I understood very well. It had been so easy to write the letters, to spell out all the things on our hearts, and to respond with the perfect turn of phrase as the lines came to us. And while all the lines had been sincere, there was some difficulty in saying those things without a quill and parchment between us.

I was a bit surprised when Harry found the facilities to speak first.

"Are you scared?" he asked, hands closing over my shoulders.

"Of this?" I said, gesturing between us.

Harry nodded. "Not of what people will think or anything. I didn't think you much concerned yourself with public opinion anymore. I mean, are you...."

He went quiet, and turned his eyes downward.

"I don't know what I mean," he murmured.

Most of the time, it was so easy to forget that Harry had known so much suffering in his seventeen short years of life. When he smiled, when he laughed, anyone who didn't know him might have seen a very normal, albeit very beautiful, teenage boy. But at times like these, even the most distant stranger could read every horror and every tragedy he had experienced just by looking at him.

I kissed him then, because what else could I do? It was somehow different from the kisses we'd shared the last time we'd been together...easier...probably due to the lack of What If's and Should I's and How Come's that had been running through both our minds that night. The only thought in my head now was how good it felt to know I was doing the right thing, exchanging love for love and knowing precisely that it was what we both had been longing for.

"No, I'm not scared," I said breathlessly as I pulled away. "I'm anxious, excited, ready. But never scared. Are you?"

His only answer was another fiercely passionate kiss. Harry was pulling me closer, hand exploring, tugging, crushing, his body pressing insistently against mine. The low desperate noises he made seemingly without meaning to sent shockwaves surging through his open mouth, which was waging such a war against my own that I half believed battle was the only thing he knew anymore.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember that this was neither the time nor the place for such a flagrant display of unadulterated longing, but before I could forget altogether, Harry had torn himself away from me. Only then did I realize that a flood of tears was pouring from those emerald eyes, and that the fingers clutching so desperately at my skin were trembling.

"Harry," I sighed, combing one gentle hand through his hair. "What's the matter?"

Harry buried his face against my chest as if he couldn't bare to have my eyes on him any longer.

"I am scared, Sirius," he sobbed. "You may be fine, but I can't pretend not to be scared."

"Hush," I whispered, wrapping both arms tightly around his back. "It's alright, love. It's alright to be unsure. If you need time to figure out what you want, I'll understand, and I'll be right here."

Harry shook his head against me. "It's not that," he whimpered. "I'm not unsure at all. I know what I want. I want you! I want be with you. I...God, I love you so much! It's just...I need time to...I don't know if I'm ready for...you know...."

"Harry," I said, my voice sharp but gentle as I used one coaxing hand to lift his face toward mine. "I would never dare hurt you or ask anything of you I didn't think you were ready for or force you into something you didn't want. Take all the time in the world, if you need it. I told you, I'm not going anywhere, no matter what."

Harry sighed. "I don't deserve this."

"Don't deserve what?" I asked, furrowing my brow. "Patience, after all you've been through? Love? Harry, everyone deserves to be loved. You of all people ought to know that. Besides, this isn't about what you do or don't deserve. I am in love with you, Harry Potter, and I'm playing for keeps."

At this, Harry cracked a lopsided grin. "You'd better be," he said, "because I wouldn't let anybody else have me."

Instantly, I was beaming, too. With one hand, I smoothed back his hair, then pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"You ready to go?" I asked.

"Where to?"

I shrugged. "Home, I guess. We've got a long journey ahead of us."

Harry smiled again, then leaned closer to graze his lips across my cheek.

"Anywhere you are is home to me," he whispered. "You are my journey's end."

FIN