1975

Epilogue: The Shape of Things To Come

"Just what I always wanted. A pardon," said Evan, staring at the parchment. "What do I do with this? Hang it up on my wall?"

"Not bloody likely," said Kenneth. "I'm sure my parents would be thrilled to hear that I won't be prosecuted for any past crimes, capital or otherwise, by order of Bartemius Crouch Sr., Head of Magical Law Enforcement."

"I'm not showing mine about the house," said Julian, "but I'm glad to have it."

"Yeah, we're not going to Azkaban after all," said Rolly drily.

Alison said nothing. She was still thinking about her interview with Crouch that morning.

"You've earned clemency," he had said, giving her the sheath of parchment for her and her friends.

"This paper won't give it to me," she replied. "Not from them."

"I've dealt with that," said Crouch firmly. "To be blunt, I gave it to Malfoy to understand that if any harm came to you, I'd take the consequences for the actions I took towards him."

She knew what that meant. She'd been taken into Crouch's patronage. And there would be a price to pay for that. She wondered if she was ready to pay it.

"Julian," she said. "I have something for you."

Julian looked up from the essay she was writing. "Yes?"

Alison smiled slightly. "Revenge, if you want it."

Julian raised an eyebrow.

"I took Kelly's cloak that night, when they brought him in," said Alison. "It's covered in his blood. It's up to you whether to use it."

Julian's face flushed. "I don't want revenge that much," she protested. His own blood.

"You could get the support you've needed all these years," said Florence. "Your mother wouldn't have to work herself to the bone for you. He'll be cursed until he coughs the money up, if you use it."

They were all of them watching her carefully.

"I'll think about it," said Julian, standing up. Alison threw the cloak to her. "Your choice," she said.

"She won't," said Severus, after Julian had left.

"She doesn't have to," said Mordred.

* * * * * * * *

"I'm very sorry," said Professor McGonagall. As Thomas Kelly's old Head of House, she'd taken it upon herself to greet his father and try to ease the grief, impossible task that this was. "He died quickly and there's reason to think..." She cleared her throat. "There's reason to think that perhaps he wasn't quite responsible for his actions. You-Know-Who's powers of manipulation...." She knew her words were false, but decency required them.

Ignatius Kelly didn't listen to her. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to a cloth bundle on his son's coffin.

McGonagall frowned. "I don't know." She picked it up and shook it out.

"My son's cloak," said Kelly. And then. "My son's blood. How did it come here?"

"I don't know."

He took it into his arms and held it to his chest. His eyes were blurred.

The girl at the doorway fled.