Author's Note: We finally got down to updating this. I know it's been almost a year, but we hope to update faster from now on. We've also revised the first three chapters, in case you read through them. On with the chapter now :)
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thanks to all those who followed, favourited and reviewed. And a special thanks to amata0221 on rereading whose DM, I was encouraged to get this written :)
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The Girl Who Lived: Chapter Four
Sirius went up the stairs that led to the Headmaster's office, that feeling of hollowness increasing with each step that led him closer towards the spiral staircase.
He had never been into Dumbledore's office without James. On the many occasions that some professor had dragged them in there for the pranks they played on unsuspecting Slytherins, James and Sirius had always faced the Headmaster together, covering up for each other, with James defending him if great-grandfather Phineas passed some rude remarks about how Sirius was a miserable blot on the Blacks.
James would never walk up the spiral staircase with him again, he realised with a pang. James would never trick the gargoyles into letting them sneak into Dumbledore's office and then tinker with the magical instruments kept on the table, and try to coax Fawkes to perch on the arm James held out…
He didn't know how long he sat there alone, his thoughts turning acutely sorrowful with each passing moment, so deep in his grief that he didn't even notice Dumbledore entering the room. It was only Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder than roused him from his grief.
"Sirius," said Dumbledore quietly, and when Sirius made to look up at the older wizard, he realised that his vision was all blurry.
He blinked back the tears rapidly – an action he'd practiced frequently as a child, when one of Walburga's rages would have him subject to a flurry of painful curses.
"Sit down, Sirius," said Dumbledore firmly.
He settled into the chair, his thoughts going back to James… to James' corpse, he amended mentally, that lump in his throat threatening to make a return.
He shut his eyes, willing the lump away, banishing the newer tears, before he deemed himself strong enough to keep from bawling like a babe.
He opened his eyes, only then noticing that Dumbledore was pacing around the circular office, seeming as if he had aged overnight. And Sirius pulled his gaze away from the Headmaster, staring at the table before him instead, with the delicate-looking instruments on them
He looked up at the wall, then… anything to keep from remembering that James was dead… that he was never coming back… that Lily was a widow and Harry was fatherless.
Lily… Madam Pomfrey had assured them that no lasting harm was done to Lily except the grotesque lightning-shaped scar on her forehead. But she was still unconscious. And a part of Sirius was grateful for that. He couldn't face her… not yet… not ever if his coward of a heart had its way. How could he face her when his foolhardiness had resulted in switching Secret Keepers? His bloody stupid plan had made James agree to switch to Peter. And that bastard had betrayed them—it was because of Sirius! It was all because of him!
He looked ahead again, noting that Dumbledore was now seated opposite him, his blue eyes a pale shadow of the usual twinkling brightness they contained.
Dumbledore met his gaze steadily, saying nothing, as quiet as the silent portraits on the wall – none of which had their occupants present. He merely continued staring at him, probably trying to glean something from the unspoken silence, or, perhaps, deep in thought – Sirius wasn't inclined on deciphering which of the options it was.
"Well?" said Sirius finally, when he couldn't stand the silence a moment longer.
"Yes, my boy?" said Dumbledore quietly.
"James—his c—corpse," Sirius bit out, hating how his voice trembled, "the Patronus that brought him here—the doe… whose was it?"
"I am afraid I cannot tell you," said Dumbledore softly. "Not yet."
"What do you mean you can't tell me?" said Sirius, sounding more tired than demanding. "The doe—it was like Lily's Patronus! Whose was it? Who went in and retrieved James from the house? The house was destroyed, I blasted it away when we escaped. Who—"
"Calm down," said Dumbledore quietly, the unruffled expression on his face making Sirius wanting to fling something at him. "I have a spy among the Death Eaters—"
"A spy?" whispered Sirius. "You have a spy—and you didn't tell us!" he growled, his surprise and incredulousness turning into anger. "You promised us that nothing would happen to the Potters—and now you say you have a bloody spy—and you still couldn't pre-empt Voldemort's attack! You didn't even know Pettigrew was a Death Eater! What use was the bloody spy, then—"
"The spy received knowledge of the attack too late to inform me," replied Dumbledore. "And, I admit, I erred in trusting the spy so implicitly—"
"How could you—" began Sirius furiously.
"—just like you erred in trusting Peter was loyal enough to be Secret Keeper," said Dumbledore pointedly, making Sirius fall abruptly silent, his eyes pricking with tears again, the guilt resurfacing multi-fold now.
"Dwelling on our mistakes will cause us nothing but pain now, Sirius," said Dumbledore softly. "You lost a man you loved like a brother – but nothing we do can bring James back to us now. I grieve for James as much as Lily and you do. The boy meant a lot to me. But what we, and most importantly you, need to dwell on now is securing Lily and Harry's lives and their future. And to capture the Death Eaters that remain. Alastor sent me a Patronus. He wants you back at the Auror Headquarters, to round up all of Voldemort's followers—"
"Do you think I give a fuck to going back to Headquarters now?" muttered Sirius, knowing how un-Auror-like he was sounding. But he didn't care – the capturing of Death Eaters wouldn't bring James back. It wouldn't give Harry his father back.
"I understand what you are going through," said Dumbledore softly. "But we cannot afford to let our grief put our guards down—"
"I DON'T CARE!" roared Sirius heatedly. How could Dumbledore be so calm? James was dead. He was never coming back. And he didn't want to go round up Death Eaters! All he wanted was to grieve, to cry his eyes out, to gather enough grit to face Lily when she woke up, to calm himself enough to face Harry without bursting into tears when child asked him where his father was, to give Harry into Lily's safe hands and then go back to Godric's Hollow to see whether the explosion had killed Pettigrew – and if it hadn't, he'd hunt down Pettigrew to the end of the world and see him dead for his betrayal of James.
His rage at Pettigrew had probably shown on his face, for Dumbledore spoke again, a victorious glint in his sorrowed eyes.
"Peter Pettigrew is dead, Sirius," said the Headmaster.
Sirius felt his heart thudding speedily. "You're sure?"
"He died in the explosion. It was caused by the Blasting Curse you cast, I take it?" said Dumbledore. "Alastor and his team found his remains, along with that of Rodolphus Lestrange and Lord Voldemort himself."
Sirius sighed, silent. But the sense of victory at Wormt—Pettigrew's death disappeared as swiftly as it had arrived. He had thought that killing Pettigrew would give him his vengeance, get justice for James, lessen the guilt he felt. But now, even knowing that it was his own Blasting Curse that had killed the traitor, he found that he felt none of the triumph and the sense of closure for his rage and grief that he had thought he would feel.
"So—it's all over, then," he said, his voice a mere whisper, the confirmation of finding Voldemort's remains making him realise, with a sense of relief, that the War was at an end – something he had never thought to see. "Voldemort," Sirius went on, uttering the tabooed word giving him a tiny hint of victory, "is dead. His Death Eaters will scatter now—they're as good as headless chickens without him. The War has ended."
Dumbledore stared at him, with a pitying expression that caught Sirius off guard.
"The War hasn't ended, Sirius," said the Headmaster.
"What do you mean?" asked Sirius, hoarsely, his mouth dry, hoping he had misconstrued Dumbledore's words.
"To put it simply," said Dumbledore, seeming suddenly tried, "Lord Voldemort is not dead"
"Mad Eye found his remains—you just said so!" exclaimed Sirius incredulously. "I saw his corpse—I fucking stumbled over his corpse, for Merlin's sake! He's dead—I saw it with my own eyes!"
"I stand by my words," said Dumbledore. "His physical form has perished, blasted apart by his own Killing Curse that rebounded off Lily. But Lord Voldemort is not dead – his soul still survives. He is indisposed for the time being… scattered to the winds, less than a shadow. If we are fortunate, he will never be able to form a consciousness again, much less a body. But I am afraid we have never been all that fortunate when it comes to Lord Voldemort. His mind has always been strong, his will far powerful than we can fathom. I am certain that he is lying in wait now, for one of his faithful servants to seek him out, to give him a means of regaining all that he has lost—"
"What—that can't be!" Sirius found that he had no words. "He's dead! People's souls just don't survive—do you mean he's a ghost now? Then he can't harm us anymore than the Bloody Baron can!"
"He is not a ghost," said Dumbledore, "though that would have made things simpler for us and the wizarding world. He is just a soul now, to simply put it… a wraith, if my hunch is correct, and most of my hunches always are. From what I have gathered, Lord Voldemort's body perished by the force of the Killing Curse he cast on Lily. In a way, it was James who killed his mortal form."
"James? What do you mean?" whispered Sirius.
"I looked into Harry's mind," said Dumbledore, looking imperceptibly guilty now.
"You—you did what! You used Legilimency on my godson! What the fuck, Dumbledore! He's a child!" roared Sirius, outraged.
"I couldn't wait for Lily to awaken, Sirius. Time is of essence here," said Dumbledore firmly, and Sirius' curiosity bit back his scathing retort. "It seems that James put himself between Lord Voldemort, and between Lily and Harry. Lord Voldemort offered to spare James' life if he handed Harry over. But James refused, of course, for the love he bore Lily and Harry. And when he died for them, sacrificed his life for his wife and child, it was a blood sacrifice, borne out of pure, unselfish love. And it was that which made Lord Voldemort powerless to kill Lily when he cast the Killing Curse at her. And that led to the Curse rebounding on Lord Voldemort himself, killing his physical body."
Sirius sat silently, numb and stunned by what he had heard. To think that James had killed Voldemort, that his love for Harry and Lily had vanquished the Darkest wizard of all times… But Voldemort wasn't completely vanquished, was he? He was alive, if Dumbledore was correct.
"The prophecy—" began Sirius weakly, looking for anything that would prove Dumbledore wrong, anything that would negate the remote possibility of Voldemort being alive – though deep within, he knew that Dumbledore was right.
"The Prophecy," repeated Dumbledore, thoughtful now. "It seems—"
Suddenly the door to the office slammed open, making Sirius jump in his seat, cutting Dumbledore's words off. It was Remus Lupin who stood there, panting, out of breath.
"Is it true?" Remus exclaimed, fear writ large on his face. "Is James dead?"
But something in Remus' expression told Sirius that the werewolf already knew of James' death, but he couldn't bear to stand it, couldn't bear to believe it until Dumbledore himself confirmed it was true. Sirius turned his gaze away, knowing he couldn't look Remus in the eye, not when his foolish belief that Remus was the spy had made him make Peter the Secret Keeper.
"Yes, Remus," replied Dumbledore. "The news is sadly true."
All the breath went out of Remus. When Sirius looked at Remus despite himself, he saw him slumped against the wall, unbelieving. Then, Remus' gaze fell on Sirius. He moved forward, and Sirius thought he was coming to hit him but Remus simply sat down on the chair beside Sirius'.
"Moony," said Sirius hoarsely, furious at the sudden tears that pricked at his eyes all over again. "I wasn't the Secret— "
"I know about Peter," said Remus, his tone making it plain that he didn't want to discuss the matter now. "Alice Longbottom sent me a Patronus."
The news had spread rapidly, Sirius realised, if Alice Longbottom had alerted Remus. Dumbledore had probably informed the Order during the time he had left Sirius alone in the office, told them of James' death and Sirius' innocence in the Secret Keeper matter. Or he knew Remus would have strangled him with his bare hands.
"Where are Lily and Harry?" asked Remus, his voice croaky.
"In the Hospital Wing, safe," said Sirius.
"I'll—I'll go see Lily," said Remus shakily, looking pointedly away from Sirius now. And Sirius knew it would take him months to have Remus forgive him for mistrusting him, for leading to the death of their friend. And yet again, he found the lump in his throat resurfacing, the guilt causing him physical pain.
But as Remus passed by him, he rested his hand, for a tiny moment, on Sirius' shoulder. And though Sirius would have wanted Remus to pull him into a hug and grieve for James together, he decided he would take even this little gesture of solidarity and the acknowledgment of their shared loss.
"You understand the danger we face now?" asked Dumbledore quietly, when Remus had departed, "We need to cut off any possible support that Lord Voldemort can garner, and at the earliest. But most importantly, we need to keep Lily and Harry safe, for if Lord Voldemort rises again, his first targets will be the woman and the child who thwarted him, who landed him the most massive blow anyone had even dealt him."
Sirius found his fingers curling into a fist at the mere thought of Voldemort hurting Lily or Harry. The bastard had already killed James, but Sirius wouldn't let him get to James' family—his own family, for Lily and Harry were all he had left now, his family in all but blood.
"Remember well, Sirius," said Dumbledore, his voice steely, "Until Lord Voldemort is destroyed completely, the War will not be over, and Lily and Harry shall not be safe. It would not do us well to forget it."
Sirius nodded, his jaw tightening, swearing that he would snuff Voldemort's very life out of whatever was left of him if he tried to harm Harry or Lily again.
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Lily opened her eyes only to shut them, as the bright light blinded her.
"James?" she tried to say, but no sound came out of her parched throat, while she wondered why her head was stinging as if she'd hit it hard against something. She moved her hand to her right, where James usually slept, wondering, when her hand met nothing, about where James was.
She opened her eyes again, blinking them slowly until her vision adjusted to the bright light around her, noticing that she wasn't in her own bedroom at Godric's Hollow, that she wasn't in her own bed but in one at Hogwarts' Hospital Wing.
She turned her head to look around her, as pain shot up through her body. Her eyes watering slightly, she saw the blurry sight of a man sitting on the bed opposite hers, cuddling a little boy who, despite her blurry vision and drowsiness, she recognised to be Harry.
"James?" she whispered to the man, her voice all hoarse.
But when the man turned to her, her vision clearing now, she realised that he wasn't James. James had jet black hair. This man's hair was a familiar shade of light shade of brown, speckled with grey. It was Remus.
"Lily!" said Remus, Harry in tow, swiftly coming to her bedside as Lily made to sit up, wincing as a stab of acute pain hit her forehead, a wave of nausea taking over her.
"Lily, don't get up—Madam Pomfrey said you're still weak," Remus said softly, helping her lie down again. "How are you feeling?"
But she didn't respond to Remus' question, looking instead at her little boy who let out an elated cry of 'Mama!', and held out his arms for her, struggling against Remus' hold, wanting his Mama.
It was only then, when she saw her son's face, which was oh so similar to James, with the jet black hair sticking up messily, and the same cheeky smile, the same Potter face in a younger mould, with his bright green eyes being the only thing that he had inherited from her, that she was reminded of what had happened. The painful memories of Godric's Hollow came back to her, clear as day and hurtful as hell itself. Tears rolled down her cheeks, as she remembered how James had come between her and Voldemort, how he had been killed, how his broken form probably lay somewhere within the ruins of their home, torn apart by the Killing Curse.
She buried her face in her hands, wincing when her fingers brushed against the bandage on her forehead, uncaring of the pain, uncaring of how her breath hitched in her throat, uncaring of Remus' arm gingerly settling around her. She didn't want to care anymore… she didn't want to feel—and how could she when James was gone?
She felt as if a cold hand was squeezing her heart painfully, as memories of James flitted through her mind's eye – the annoying boy with the arrogant smirk and the messy hair, who had turned into the man she had been so proud of, the man who had loved more than she had thought possible, the man who had given his life to save hers… How would she live without him? How would she survive without him when she couldn't imagine a life that didn't have James in it?
"James," she whispered, broken sobs escaping her, tears blurring her vision, feeling like she should have died with James than live without him.
But it was a clumsy hand patting the top of her head that had her looking up, that had her blinking back her tears and holding her arms out for the little boy who was all that was left to her of James.
"Mama!" exclaimed Harry happily, snuggling into her.
She bit back the pained groan that threatened to escape her when Harry's knee dug into her stomach – it was only then that she remembered Sirius and her frenzied escape from Godric's Hollow, remembered how the dog Animagus had wrenched Harry and her out of the certain jaws of Bellatrix Lestrange's Killing Curses, remembered Severus aiming curses at her as he followed behind Sirius' motorbike—and for a moment, she wished Bellatrix' curse had hit her, and sent her to where James was, so that she could be with him forever.
"Mama hult," said Harry, green eyes wide, his lower lip quivering – on the verge of tears. "Mama c—cly!" he said, his hand clumsily patting at her damp cheek.
And she knew then that she couldn't think of following James, not when Harry still survived, not when her fatherless baby needed his mother to be strong, to keep him safe, to protect him from the danger that had emanated from Trelawney's prophecy.
"Mama's fine, sweetheart," she whispered to Harry, a smile tugging at her lips when Harry grinned a toothy smile at her, resting his head against her chest; and she knew he would doze off soon when he yawned softly, rubbing at his eyes.
"He was so tired, but he refused to sleep," said Remus softly, managing a smile that didn't reach his red-rimmed eyes at all. "He said he wouldn't sleep without his Mama, or that's what I thought he meant… He kept asking for you and…" Remus trailed off abruptly, eyes shining with unshed tears.
That Harry had asked for James, too, went unsaid; but Lily understood it all the same, her eyes brimming with fresh tears as the pain of James' death hit her again.
"Here, let me take him," said Remus, taking a sleepy Harry from her arms. "Madam Pomfrey will be here any moment, and she had told me to make sure you don't sit up and upset the bandages on your stomach. You lost quite some blood—but Sirius healed you up swiftly… Madam Pomfrey said that staunched the blood flow, or things would've been bad…"
She nodded, not quite caring about the pain and injuries. The pain was nothing compared to that of losing James. She'd a take thousand Cutting Curses if it meant she could get James back.
"Where's Sirius?" she asked Remus instead, remembering how Sirius had been the one standing strong between Harry and her, and the Death Eaters. She remembered how he'd had the presence of mind to get them out of there, to blast away the house and get them out of the village on his bike… how he'd handled everything while she had all but lost her mind.
If it hadn't been for him, she would've died, Harry would've died.
And she preferred dwelling on the magnitude of what Sirius had done for them by saving their lives – because if she didn't dwell on that, she knew she would think instead of how Sirius had led to James' death, even if he hadn't meant for it to—for it was Sirius who had suspected Remus of being the spy, it was Sirius who had trusted Peter Pettigrew, and it was Sirius who had suggested switching Secret Keepers.
"He's with Dumbledore." Remus' voice roused her from her dark thoughts.
"Huh?" she muttered.
"Sirius," said Remus, "You asked me where he is. He's with Dumbledore. And…" Remus hesitated, "James… someone brought him back here… his body, I mean," he whispered. "There was a Patronus with it… it looked like yours… a doe."
She stared at him, swallowing the lump that arose in her throat at the thought of James lying pale and lifeless, his eyes devoid of the mischievous spark they'd always carried.
"And You Know Who?" she asked Remus, remembering the red-eyed wizard who had demanded that James get away from Harry, who had sent the green spell of light that snuffed the life out of James "Who saved us? He sent the Killing Curse at us," she murmured in a daze as she remembered the second spell of green that had zoomed towards her before everything had gone dark. "How—how did we survive? And You Know Who—he—he was lying there—on the floor—" she whispered, stunned as she only now remembered seeing the Dark wizard lying unmoving at the door of Harry's nursery. Her grief at James' death had made her neglect the memory that was hidden beneath all the sorrow – of watching the green jet of light hit Voldemort, send him collapsing to the ground, leaving him in a lifeless heap near the door of the nursery.
"He's dead," said Remus. "Voldemort is dead."
And it was when Remus uttered the dreaded, tabooed name, that she knew for certain that Voldemort was dead.
"But how?" she asked hoarsely.
"We don't know, Lily," said Remus. "The Killing Curse hit you—on your forehead," he said, gesturing to the bandage, "But you survived—both of you did, Harry and you."
"I—I don't understand," she said, stunned. "How did we survive? I saw the Curse—it rebounded back at him—I don't understand—"
"I don't know," said Remus. "But however it was, I'm glad you're alive, Lily—Harry, too. You both meant the world to Prongs… and if something had happened to you, too…" he trailed off, turning away from her, and she knew he was teary-eyed again – something so very unlike his usual calm, composed self.
"Lily! You're awake!" said Madam Pomfrey suddenly, hurrying towards her. "Remus John Lupin! I had told you to inform me as soon as she woke up!"
"She just woke up, Poppy," said Remus quietly, "I was just going to call you…"
The nurse muttered about careless boys under her breath, before she sent Remus out of the room and proceeded to examine Lily, feeding her foul-tasting potions, and assuring her that she had suffered no lasting damage and assuaging her worries about Harry, saying that apart from being exhausted by all the action he'd had in the past few hours, the child was completely unharmed.
Remus came in again when Madam Pomfrey had finished removing the bandage on her head, complying with Lily's request of a mirror that reflected the bright red lightening-shaped scar, telling her that only Professor Dumbledore could tell her about the cursed scar. She touched the scar gently with her fingers, wincing when pain as sharp as a knife went through the scar—and when she shut her eyes, she could see James in front of her with her as she levelled her own pale white arm and aimed her long wand at his chest.
She gasped, shuddering at the image: James' eyes widening, the Curse hitting him, his tall form crumpling to the floor. Her scar burned as if someone had branded it on her forehead with a red hot poker, as the vision continued, almost as if she was watching her very own memories: her wand pointed at the trembling, pale-faced redheaded woman exposed to her as James fell to the ground, the little boy standing in the crib the woman was shielding from her gaze…
She could hear someone scream aloud, and it was only when she felt strong arms around her, holding her tightly in the comforting, reassuring embrace, that she realised that her throat was sore, and that it was she who had been the one screaming aloud.
"Lily, Lily, calm down," came a worried, terrified voice—Sirius' voice. "What's wrong? What happened?"
Her hands felt unnaturally cold, her breaths were laboured, her forehead burning as if someone had set it afire. She didn't know what was happening! She didn't know how she had seen the images – almost as if they had been from Voldemort's own point of view…
"Poppy! Her scar's bleeding!" yelled Remus from somewhere around her.
"Let me see her—move away!" said Madam Pomfrey, her voice nearing her.
"No, wait," came a commanding voice – it was Dumbledore, she realised when she opened her eyes, watching the Headmaster hold a restraining hand out for Madam Pomfrey, his half-moon spectacles glinting, his blue eyes blazing – the intensity with which they blazed making her half-furious, half-angry – though she had no clue why the fear and anger had arisen for the Headmaster.
"What's wrong with her!" came Sirius' terrified voice again, and it was then that she realised that Sirius was the one holding her.
And when she looked at him closely, she saw that his face was gaunt and solemn, his grey eyes had lost all the spark they hitherto carried, that were red-rimmed and puffy, that there was not one hint of his ever-present smirk.
He had lost James, too. He had lost the one man he loved the most – the boy who had been his best friend, who had been more than a brother to him. Remus was close to James, but Sirius had been even closer to him… they were inseparable, forever joined at the hip, close as family. And she knew Sirius loved James as much as she did, that he perhaps knew James better than she had, that James' death was affecting Sirius as much as it had affected her – but she would think of all this later. For all she could see now was red, all she could feel now was a fierce, fierce anger that a part of her told her was irrational, uncalled for, taking root in a part of her that seemed dark and unknown and fearsome even to her.
But anger it was, burgeoning and flaming and burning so rapidly that she could feel it consuming her, even when she knew it was unwarranted, even when she felt like it wasn't a part of her, even when she knew Sirius shouldn't have been the target for it.
She pulled out of Sirius' arms, glaring at him, watching his face turn surprised and confused and then hurt. But the hurt was nothing compared to the acute pain that his features burned with when she pushed him away, the furious words escaping her mouth.
"You killed him!" she raged, the anger making her insides burn, though her scar burned even fiercely. "You killed him, Sirius! You told him to switch Secret Keepers! You trusted Peter! James is dead because of you!"
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A/N: Thank you for reading! Thoughts on this will be very much appreciated :)
