2nd November 1981
Lyra slept fitfully, unable to take a dreamless sleep potion because of the baby. Mason had slept for a few hours and then paced the bedroom waiting for news. There was none. And then, all of a sudden, there was far too much.
The owl came in the early hours of the morning, Lyra waking groggily after sleeping all of the previous day and all night, her body shattered.
Hearing the animal noises, she pulled herself out of bed and went to find Mason where he was bent over the table, his shoulders shaking, the letter clutched tightly in one hand.
"What is it?" she asked fearfully, her mind jumping to Sirius, Remus, Harry, trying to work out what news she could handle and what she couldn't. "Who is it?"
Mason shook his head. "I can't do this anymore."
"Who is it?" she pleaded, snatching the letter from his hands and scanning Moody's familiar handwriting. "Oh. Oh Merlin, no," she whimpered, shaking her head and squeezing her eyes shut.
Still no news on Sirius, Remus still laying low with Harry. But with James and Lily gone, the Death Eaters had lashed out at the other family the prophecy could've spoken of. Frank and Alice Longbottom were currently in a life-threatening condition in St Mungo's. Baby Neville had, by some blessing, been hidden during the attack and was with his grandmother. The Healers didn't even know if the couple would wake up. Lyra sank onto a chair and buried her head in her hands. She knew Frank and Alice: Dorcas had been partnered with Frank until the end, he'd always said hello, always offered to do the coffee run, always wished them a good evening, a good weekend. Alice had been the first to hug her when she'd come into work following Dorcas' death and hadn't even minded when Lyra soaked her blouse with tears. Alice, who had always grinned at them conspiratorially from across the Order meetings, bouncing the chubby Neville in her arms.
Another family torn apart. Another child as good as orphaned. Another hole in her heart.
She wrapped her arms around her own stomach and cried weakly, unable to comfort Mason or stop herself sobbing. She felt like she hadn't stopped crying for months.
Why? Why had they done it? Their leader was dead, why had they bothered? They could've fled, or pleaded innocence like Malfoy but instead they'd broken into a home and tormented more people who didn't deserve it. It was supposed to be over, it was supposed to be done, there had been celebrations since that night and yet the war wasn't finished, not for the Death Eaters and not for them.
Lyra dropped the letter weakly and went back to bed, sick to her stomach and sick of the world.
11th November 1981
Remus had thought it ironic that James and Lily's funeral was on the Muggle day of remembrance. There had been a service in the graveyard earlier, in front of the large cenotaph at the centre, followed by the Potter's ceremony, visible only to the witches and wizards who had attended. He knew Lily would've found it morbidly funny, but he just found it another weight on his shoulders as he stood on the damp earth in front of the marble headstone with the two names engraved so carefully.
"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death," Remus read quietly, shifting Harry's weight in his arms. Crouching down on the ground, he set the one year old on his feet, letting him lean against the stone, his little fingers tracing the words his parents had chosen.
Apparently James and Lily had feared this outcome, and the quotation had been written in the small notebook in the desk drawer that he'd found when he'd come back to the house the night after their deaths. They'd written more, too, detailing what they wanted their remaining friends to do with the house, their possessions and, of course, with Harry.
Keep him with you, please. Let him grow up knowing love and happiness and warmth. Let him know who we were, what we did, what we dreamed for him. Tell him how much we love him – how much we always will love him.
Remus let the tears run down his cheeks silently as he watched the one year old, oblivious to what it was he was leaning on, gurgle happily, his face only marked by the jagged, healing scar on his forehead. The Boy Who Lived.
Remus scooped him up again and held him close, warming up Harry's hands and tucking them back into his tiny knitted gloves as he stepped back, swallowed the lump in his throat and took a deep breath.
"We'll come back again soon," he whispered, not to Harry but to the grave. "I'll bring him again soon."
And then he stood and cried for a long time, alone in the graveyard with all that was left of James and Lily Potter held tightly in his arms.
14th November 1981
Mason apparated back into the flat from the Ministry and immediately headed into the bedroom, running a hand through his hair as he lowered himself onto the bed, brushing Lyra's cheek softly and feeling her forehead.
She was still warm but her temperature had cooled, the flush gone from her usually pale cheeks. Her eyes were closed and Mason was relieved that she was sleeping so he pulled the duvet further up and kissed her forehead, moving around to the side of the bed to check the potions had all been taken.
After the news about the Longbottoms she'd gone to bed heartsick and hadn't gotten out of bed since. Initially he'd thought it was just grief catching with her but when she'd woken, she hadn't been coherent and her temperature had been worryingly high and he'd forced a Healer to see to her at once. It hadn't been life threatening, for her or the baby, but it had had the chance to turn much nastier and he'd still been reluctant to leave the flat to even get news from the Ministry.
Luckily, it seemed the potions were starting to kick in. She wasn't stirring in her sleep any more and he let out a slow breath of relief, slowly lying back on the pillows himself and allowing his eyes to slide shut.
Between helping Moody organise the Auror Department, helping Remus keep Harry at his place and not with his Muggle relatives and checking on Lyra as often as he could, he'd barely slept. Neither of them had been at James and Lily's funeral which he knew weighed as heavily on Lyra's mind as it did his – the thought of Remus there alone made his chest ache – but there had been no chance of her making it, and he wouldn't leave her.
He'd been gone just for a few hours while she'd slept to try and track down Sirius himself. It wasn't an Auror mission, it wasn't an Order mission, it was sheer desperation: there had been a few more sightings of both Sirius and Pettigrew in various parts of the country, Sirius always appearing where Peter had been the day before and to all the world it looked like a vicious Death Eater tracking down the next victim in an act of revenge for his master. Moody had failed to convinced the Minister for Magic of Sirius' innocence, and Crouch was pursuing him with a mindless hatred only heightened by the trial of his own son just days ago for the involvement in the torture of the Longbottoms.
They were supposed to be safe and happy. Celebrating, even. But with Lyra in and out of consciousness, Sirius missing and hunted and Remus grieving, Mason was finding it hard to even believe they'd succeeded. He thought back to something his father had said about the Muggle war, one of their 'World' wars: he'd called it a pyrrhic victory, a victory that inflicted such a devastating toll on the survivors that you couldn't really call it a victory. He'd not understood then, back when everything had been black and white. You won or you lost, there were good guys and bad guys. He was a good guy, so he would win. Now he understood as she stroked Lyra's limp hair and tried to shut his mind off so he could steal some rest. He might be a good guy, but he didn't feel like he'd won.
The hoot of the owl woke him several hours later and he stirred, sitting up and rubbing his eyes as he reached out blindly for the bird, snatching the letter from its leg and reading it as he heard Lyra wake next to him.
"Fuck," he whispered, his face crumbling as he finished the note from Moody and turned to look at Lyra, who was pulling herself upright, her face tight with worry.
"What is it?"
He paused. "They've arrested Sirius."
"What?" she choked.
"Stay still," he begged, moving back over to her but crumpling the parchment in his hand tightly. The information on it wasn't information he wanted her to receive like this, he'd tell her himself even if it tore him apart.
"He… he killed Peter," he continued, cupping her cheek gently, knowing that this was going to devastate her even more than she already was and hating himself for it. He didn't know if either of them were strong enough for this. "He got him. But something went wrong, there was an explosion, twelve Muggles are dead too, which only confirmed what Crouch believed already. He's been arrested for all thirteen murders."
Lyra whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head desperately. "No."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm so so sorry," he whispered, his own voice shaking. "I'll go now, I'll do what I can for him, he has to have a trial still, we can get this sorted."
She cried weakly, her body wracked with heartbreak as she clung to him. "Go, please," she begged, "Do it, do whatever you have to."
Mason watched her, his own face twisted with pain. He couldn't leave her like this but there was no one else who could help Sirius and no one else to sit with her.
"Mason, help him!"
He nodded and kissed her firmly, then kissed her again, wiping her eyes as best he could but she was still crying, already mourning the outcome they both knew was waiting. "I'll go."
She pulled her knees up to her chest as much as she could and buried her face in her lap.
Watching helplessly, Mason sent the owl back to Moody and left, her desperate sobs following him out of the door and all the way to the Ministry.
Moody met him in the hall with a grim expression. "It's too late, boy. Too fucking late."
"What do you mean?" Mason gaped, grabbing Moody by the shoulders. "It's been an hour! He needs a trial! They can't do that in an hour no matter how much evidence they have. There's Veritaserum, and didn't Dumbledore set up this whole Secret Keeper thing? Surely he can speak on Sirius' behalf-"
"There was no trial. There won't be a trial. He's been sentenced already," Moody said quietly. "Crouch didn't give us a chance. The boy is being collected and sent to Azkaban any minute."
"I don't understand," Mason said blankly, shaking his head.
"And you think I do? People want to celebrate, people don't want to see any suspected Death Eater walk away, no matter how little evidence there is, people want to have their revenge," Moody snarled, his furious grip on his cane turning his knuckles white.
"This is BULLSHIT!" Mason screamed, turning away wildly. "He has to have a fucking trial!"
"And I've told the Minister that, she won't listen to me," Alastor snapped. "I've done what I can, and there's nothing to be done. Life in Azkaban. The sentence has already been passed."
"No way, no fucking way, I cannot go back and tell her that, Alastor, it'll kill her, it'll kill me to tell her," Mason croaked, turning back to his mentor. "Where is he? Where is he? Crouch or Sirius either, I'll kill Crouch and – I don't know – I'll think of something for Sirius."
"He's on the bottom level, the Department of Mysteries cells, but the place will be swarming with Dementors any minute," Moody said softly. "It's too late."
"No," Mason said, his voice hoarse, "No, no, it's not."
"I'm sorry, son."
Mason yanked on his hair and looked around desperately like the answer might somehow be written on the walls. "I can't go back and tell her, I can't, I left her crying like she's already given up, she won't… she won't manage if she loses Sirius too, Alastor, I… I need to see Sirius."
Moody leaned heavily on his cane, watching Mason. "You can go and try, if you promise me you leave the moment they arrive. I won't be able to help you if you get yourself arrested too, do you hear me? You're in no state to fight of swarms of Dementors, McKinnon. Crouch has gone mad and there's no stopping him," he said, his own voice hoarse like he'd been shouting just as loudly as Mason had been. Mason had never seen the Auror cry but the man's eyes were red now. They were all at breaking point.
Mason stared at Moody and then nodded, already headed for the lift, not wasting a second of his time.
Punching the button for the lowest level, he adjusted his wand in his grip and took a deep breath as the lift slowly descended to the Department of Mysteries. He stepped out into the dark walled corridor and, as if sensing the evil magic of the Dementors, he slowed his step and crept towards the end of the hallway. He knew where the cells were, he just had to reach them and so he forced himself to cast his Patronus and sent the horse ahead, the pressure on his chest lightening enough to allow him to continue onwards even if the battered state of his mental health made the spell harder to maintain.
"SIRIUS?"
No reply. Not too surprising.
"SIRIUS, IT'S MASON!"
"Mason?"
Mason turned and saw the first of the cells at the very end of the hall. He ran over, the sound of his shoes slapping on the tiles echoing around the tunnels.
"Here, Mase."
He approached the cell slowly, scared of what he would find.
Sirius' appearance left him stunned. In just two weeks, he'd gone from a grieving twenty-one-year-old to someone Mason didn't recognise. It was like the grief had physically eaten away at him along an accelerated timeline and he'd never seen Sirius' cheekbones like he could now. There was something in his friend's eyes, a madness he'd only seen in Bellatrix's before now, but the stillness of his whole body told him that Sirius was still in there somewhere.
"He's cleverer than we gave him credit for, isn't he?" Sirius snapped.
There was no doubt as to who he was referring.
"How did he set you up?" Mason asked quietly, trying to stop his voice shaking.
"Starting yelling in view of the whole street about how I'd betrayed them, how could I have done that. Like he was innocent."
"Smart."
"Unfortunately for me. It was the final nail in my coffin. He blew the whole place up, including himself. And then your lot were swarming over me and I knew it was over. Didn't stand a chance."
Mason sucked in a breath. "I know more about Azkaban than most, thanks to the job."
"Oh, you do, do you?" Sirius said sarcastically.
"You have to find a way to survive. You have to find a way to keep yourself sane, Sirius," Mason warned. "Whatever it takes. Because I refuse to lose you too."
"Haven't you heard? Life in Azkaban," Sirius grinned, his teeth looking sharper than Mason remembered. "I'm long gone, I'm a lost cause. I'll die in there and sooner rather than later."
"No. Not happening. Lyra's ill, she has been since you vanished into the night. I'm not going back and telling her you've lost your mind. I won't destroy her like that, and I won't let you do it either. You're going to have niece or nephew to stay sane for."
Sirius blinked at him but his eyes calmed slightly, the gleaming edge to them softening somehow. "She knows I'm innocent, right?"
"She does. She pleaded for you, but Crouch has lost his mind."
"He didn't like his precious Junior being one right under his nose, did he?"
Mason smiled grimly. "You heard about that? Apparently not."
Sirius laughed. "As long as you know I'm innocent then I don't care. I got Peter, that's all that matters."
Mason glanced down the corridor as he felt the Dementors arriving. "We'll do what we can. I promise you that. You're not alone."
"Thank you," Sirius whispered, his shoulders dropping. "Tell Remus I'm sorry I doubted him. Tell Harry I love him. The same to Lyra and the baby. And that I'm sorry for everything."
"I will," Mason promised, reaching through the bars, surprised that he could but realising that a wandless Sirius wouldn't get far on a floor full of Dementors and Ministry employees and so they hadn't bothered magically restraining him. He gripped Sirius' shoulder tightly, meeting his gaze and holding it, knowing it would be the last time he'd see him for a very long time. Sirius copied him, linking them together from either side of the cell door.
"Tell Ly I love her."
"She knows," Mason whispered. "I have to go."
"Thank you for coming. You didn't have to."
"I did. Thank you for doing it for them. He deserved to pay."
Sirius dropped his arms to his sides limply and nodded, smiling tightly.
"Goodbye, Sirius," Mason smiled back, stepping away before pacing back down the corridor to the lifts, refusing to turn around and see his friend's dark eyes haunting him from behind the metal bars.
Mason returned to the flat and found Lyra exactly where he'd left her, unmoving. She took one look at his expression and knew it was too late. She didn't know exactly what had happened and she wasn't ready to know so she just wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, feeling his own tears finally falling hot onto her shoulder as he cried bitterly.
The war was won, Voldemort had vanished, the Death Eaters were scattered and hunted, the fighting was over. Dorcas was gone. Marie, Marcus, Marlene, Mark were gone. James and Lily were gone. Sirius was gone. Countless others were grieving, or injured, or missing but as Mason held her tighter, feeling the swell of their baby between them, he reflected faintly that it could've been worse. They hadn't quite reached the unsurvivable: it might just be the two of them and the baby left but as she guided him back into the bedroom, he sent a silent prayer of thanks that it was, at the very least, still the three of them, their little family somehow not getting any smaller despite the carnage around them.
Tangled on the bed, they held each other until the sun crept achingly over the horizon, illuminating their walls in golden light, rising over the first day of their new world.