Oliver had seen a swan die once before in his life. He had been a young boy by the lakeside with his father at home in Balloch. He clutched his father's hand tightly when he heard the sound coming from the rushes. A haunting song had echoed around the lake. The sun was just beginning to set on a winter's day. A seven year old Oliver had tried to hide behind his father's leg at the haunting sound. His father had hoisted him up into his arms and tried to comfort him. He carried him to the rushes, where they found the swan, laying down, it's long neck stretched out upon the ground. Oliver had stared with big eyes as he'd curled his small fists in his father's large, fluffy hair.

"Don't be scared, cricket. The poor thing is dying. It won't hurt you." His father knelt down beside the dying swan and set Oliver down, who peeked out around his father's back at the creature.

"What's the noise, da?" he had asked, his lower lip trembling in fear.

"It's a swan song, cricket. Swan's don't make a sound until they're dying. Then they sing a beautiful song. A sad song. They are sad that they must die, but happy that they get to see their mate in heaven again." His father had gently stroked the dying creature's feathers. The swan's laboured breathing was shallow, and it's wild eyes slowly closed, and then it was gone. Oliver had cried. The song had stayed with him all his life, haunting his dreams.

His waking was sharp when he heard the sound again, thinking it had been a part of his dream. Oliver sat up gasping, backing against the headboard. The room was illuminated in ethereal light, and he heard the swan song again. A beautiful swan made of light stretched its wings at the foot of his bed. A patronus. Aquila's beautiful and haunting patronus. The swan sang out its haunting tune again. Then her voice spoke out.

"The Dark Lord has attacked the Ministry. He's taken Harry and some other students. The Order has been called in. I can't come home. Stay away. Stay inside. Please. I love you." The spectral swan stared up at Oliver for a moment, before singing out it's ghostly note again, as it faded away. Oliver stared at the spot where it had been. He clutched the sheets, panicked and uncomprehending. Then a sudden calm spread over him. He threw himself from the bed, and grabbed at clothes, throwing on a jumper and jeans, sliding into shoes, forgetting socks. He lost a good five minutes trying to find his wand. Why did he always have to put it down in stupid places? He finally found it half stuffed down the side of the couch, and he apparated immediately. He appeared in a spot down the street from the official Ministry entrance. He took a moment to think through what he was even going to do. She hadn't said she was here. But of course she was. How could a woman like Aquila Virgo Valentine stay away from a place where she was needed? Where she could help. He admired her kindness at every turn, but right now he was cursing it. She was in there. In the Ministry. With Him. With Voldemort. Even thinking his name sent a shiver through Oliver.

He felt like his feet were glued to the ground, like he couldn't move a step. What was he going to find? What would he see? Was she hurt? Was she dead? He suddenly bent over and retched. Even toying with the idea of a world without Aquila made him violently ill. What if she was dead? He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but he didn't feel any better like he usually did. His whole world might have just fallen to pieces. Or it might still and he was just standing there, doing nothing. He forced his body into motion, clutching his wand tightly in his fist. His belly felt like it was being stabbed by a thousand needles. A crowd had gathered around the entrance. Magical press, Ministry Officials, and Oliver caught a glimpse of the Minister of Magic himself. His heart was pounding. Was he too late? Oliver barrelled his way through the crowd to the front. The crowd was being held at bay by Ministry officials, who looked confused and wild eyed. Everything was too quiet, like the entire world was holding its breath. Waiting. Was he back? They had all refused to believe that he was back for the past year. Oliver knew the terrible truth of it. Had tried to live his life around the fact that He Who Must Not Be Named had returned to power. But the rest of them were being faced with the reality of it.

The cameras started flashing before Oliver realised what was happening. People were emerging. The Minister.

"He's back. He's really back." the nervous looking man gasped. Then came Dumbledore, his hand placed firmly on the shoulder of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. He looked dead inside. Tears crusted on the boy's face. He was shell shocked. He didn't see much of what was going on around him. The sharp knot in Oliver's stomach twisted. What had happened? He was somewhat relieved to see Harry walking out. Alive. But what about the rest of the people who had been in there. More figures emerged from the building. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin. What had they been doing here? Were even they members of the Order? Oliver wondered briefly how far this thing spread. But then he saw her. A stretcher floated in front of her. A trickle of blood ran down her face, and she looked frightened and haggard. Her clothes were torn, and to his horror he saw her limping on a bloody leg. There was that usual spark of determination in her eyes. Oliver bulled past the officials, who were unable to stop a man of his size, and ran to her. He stopped short, not touching her, but staring, looking to see if she was okay. Her large blue eyes rose to meet his. Oliver remembered the sound of the swan song suddenly. Tears swelled in Oliver's eyes. He stretched his arm out to her, and Aquila barrelled into him, throwing her arms around him.

"I'm okay." she whispered. She had battled, and here she stood. Oliver clutched her tightly to him as the flash bulbs popped all around them. "Please stay with me." she whispered again. Her voice was hoarse and cracked.

"Of course." he whispered back. She let go of him and returned to the stretcher. Oliver followed. Aquila bent over the stretcher.

"Hey Neville." she said softly, giving a warm, caring smile. The boy moaned quietly. "Don't try to move. I'm taking you to St. Mungo's just to give you a proper look over. You were very brave Neville. You're safe now." The boy made a sound again, that could have been speech, but Oliver didn't understand what he was saying.

Oliver and Aquila, held both of Neville's hands as they apparated together into St. Mungo's hospital. Aquila began speaking to the appropriate healers immediately, and Neville was taken away. Aquila called after him that she would have word sent to his grandmother, while she herself was taken away to be taken care of. Oliver followed closely. Her fellow healers made quick work of her injuries, and soon they were left alone together in a room. Oliver sat staring at her, unsure of what to say. She stared instead at her feet.

"What happened?" he finally asked. She looked up wild-eyed.

"Sirius Black is dead." she gasped out. Oliver was instantly confused.

"Well, that's a good thing right?" He sounded as confused as he felt. Her tone would indicate that this was a bad thing, but the death of an escaped mass murderer wasn't exactly a bad thing.

"No!" She sounded horrified. "No, he was Harry's godfather!" Her tone of outrage changed suddenly. "But of course… You don't know." Oliver took her hand up in his. She flinched at initial contact, but clasped his hand tightly.

"Black was innocent. Framed by Pettigrew. You Know Who tricked Harry into believing he had Black captive in the Department of Mysteries to get him there. He showed up, like the child he is, and had to be rescued. And Black died. And You Know Who was there… But he got away." Her nails dug into his hand.

"Did…" He was terrified to ask. "Did you see him?" She looked at him with big eyes. She gave one tiny nod, and Oliver engulfed her in his arms. She was shaking. "I was so scared for you." he said quietly, into her shoulder.

"I was scared for me too."