Chapter Ninety-Eight

Harry stared back at his Uncle Sirius' smiling face.

"I –" Harry began, before finding himself speechless. Entirely unable to process the fact that Sirius was here before him – much less be able to muster up any coherent sentence – and then he released a breath and hugged Sirius tight with a laugh.

Sirius laughed, too – more softly – and held him close.

"Hey, little man."

For a moment, Harry thought he could have been seven years old again. Back before all of this and he'd had Sirius, there, always on his side. Who had always been there, whenever and wherever Harry needed him to be.

Until – one day – he wasn't.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut – tears prickling at the unwelcome thought, at familiar embrace and the familiar voice, that he'd longed for; that he'd only ever been able to find in dreams and memories – and hugged him tighter.

"I can't believe you're here."

"Well –" Sirius drew back, meeting his eyes, "Where else would I be, hm?"

Harry smiled, a little bit sadly, despite his joy at seeing him once more.

"I've missed you," Harry said, quietly.

Sirius nodded, keeping a hand on his shoulder.

"I've been with you," Sirius told him; "Watching from the stars, just like you told your sister."

Harry's smile widened a bit at the mention of Grace.

"I'm so proud of the young man you've become, Harry."

Harry swallowed, hard, at the declaration, not really knowing what to say.

"I wouldn't have become anything if it wasn't for you. I…I'm so sorry, Uncle Sirius. I was so stupid –"

"Ah ah!" Sirius held up a hand, "We'll have none of that. Your bravery is one of your most admirable traits. And I wouldn't change a thing, Harry."

Harry lowered his eyes, as Sirius went on.

"But let's not dwell on the past, alright?" Sirius dipped his chin, trying to gaze his gaze; "We mustn't waste this very brief interlude that you and I have together –"

Harry frowned, suddenly confused, wondering why he and Sirius should need to be parted at all, now. For his uncle has surely come for him, to take him with him, to show him where to go.

"I don't –"

" – won't be long until your wondering if this was even real. And once you've finished this all off, your unwished for 'duty' to Wizarding-kind – because you will, no doubt about it– you are finally going to have the life that you deserve. A fantastic one. Believe me, Harry, seeing that, will be more than worth it."

Harry shook his head.

"I don't understand – " he looked around the misty, white surroundings; " – aren't I…you know – dead?"

Sirius grinned.

"Not quite."

Harry was utterly bewildered at the statement, shaking his head; "But – the Killing Curse…I meant to die."

Sirius chuckled; "Well. Pity for Voldemort – his lack of respect for the branch of magic that is love has bitten him on the behind again –"

Harry somehow managed to both smile and frown all at once – both amused and bewildered – as Sirius went on.

" – and when he decided that only your blood would do to revive him – his intention being, of course, that he would then be able to break the charm that protects you and bring you to harm – actually had the opposite effect. And now that Old Magic charm that protected you the first time – that lives in you – now flows through Voldemort's veins, also."

Harry's frown overtook the smile then, as he attempted to process that.

"And that, my Godson, is when one would yell 'checkmate'," Sirius' eyes gleamed, before he chuckled.

Harry laughed then, shaking his head; "So, what…he's like…my horcrux now or something, too? We became each other's horcruxes?"

Sirius chuckled; "Not quite. I'm afraid, in your case, the only person who couldn't harm you was Voldemort himself. Your binding to life was evoked from love. Not darkness."

Harry lifted his chin, suddenly realizing – in that moment – why his mum and Snape had sent him to Hogwarts.

To Voldemort.

"They – my mum and Snape – they knew that, too. They never expected me to die."

Sirius smiled.

"No. They didn't."

Harry drew in breath, as the truth sunk in.

Another lie, sure, but…

He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling ashamed of it all – all he'd said to his mum just days before – now that he realized what they'd done.

All he'd said to her about Snape.

And about Grace.

And how they'd finally talked about his dad.

Harry met Sirius' eyes, uncertainly.

"Is…does my dad watch me, too?"

Sirius' smile became a grin at that as he raised his eyebrows; "You bet."

Harry felt a flutter of both delight and nervousness at that – at all he must have heard him say – and he wondered, then, what his dad really thought of him.

If he really would be as proud of him – if he'd love him – as much as everyone had always said.

"Is he…"

Harry hesitated. Unsure if he really wanted to know anything other than the fantasy that he'd made up in his mind of him, now.

And, with that thought, he suddenly, felt a bit more understanding of his mum and how she'd cling to them.

"He's as proud of you as any father would be, Harry," Sirius assured him, seeming to know exactly what he was thinking, "More so, even. James always has been a cocky pain in the arse –"

Harry laughed.

" – in fact, we often bicker about which of the two of us deserves the credit. That whole, nature vs. nurture argument is never more debated than between me and your dad."

Harry grinned.

"Who wins?"

"Neither of us," Sirius chuckled, "Both of us know that all the credit is on you. Nothing to do with either of us old farts."

Harry knew that wasn't the case.

"That's not true, Uncle Sirius," Harry said, lifting his shoulder in a shrug; "I couldn't have done any of this without you. Or everyone else that's been there for me."

Sirius shook his head.

"You've been through so much, Harry. You've been through hell. A lesser man – most of us – wouldn't have turned out as good as you have. Bitterness comes after even the best of us. In fact, I'm entirely certain the only person in the world who might be a little bit close to you in that regard would be Moony. But don't tell him I said that."

Sirius winked.

Harry chuckled.

"He misses you, too."

"Oh, he better."

Harry grinned, before he added, a little uncertainly.

"So does Mr. Black."

Sirius' expression became a little more guarded at that. But his eyes remained warm – almost wistful – before he nodded.

"I don't doubt that. My brother always was a bit of a soft touch. I find that death has made Regulus forgive me perhaps a little too keenly for the sins of times passed," he said, widening his eye dramatically, making Harry chuckle.

It was so bizarre to him, that he'd woken that morning, believing it would be the last – expecting to die – and now he was in some sort of strange, misty, bright limbo laughing with his Uncle Sirius, being told he was going to be just fine.

And that he was – somehow – going to be able to defeat Voldemort just for simply being unable to be killed by him.

Which – if Harry were honest – didn't really seem like it was going to quite cut it.

"Speaking of which," Sirius went on, as if reading his mind again – making Harry wonder if this was all just in his head; "My brother – and your mother – and her beau –" Sirius rolled his eyes, slightly, at the mention; " – have seen to it that you're going to have a little bit of help in fulfilling your great destiny this evening."

"My destiny?" Harry repeated, unable to keep the scepticism from his voice.

"Why, the Mighty Slayer of the Great Lord Voldemort, of course."

Harry laughed fully, then.

"I don't think that's what the prophecy means, Uncle Sirius. It probably just meant this."

Harry glanced around them.

He could still hear the sound of something – that he was beginning to realize was the part of Voldemort that had come with him – making pained sounds somewhere behind them.

"Well, the rest of us all think otherwise. And by the rest of us, I refer to my Noble and Most Ancient House."

Harry frowned, "What do you mean?"

Sirius grinned.

"Let's just say that some tricks were pulled and – now – you're going to be wielding some pretty powerful magic when you wake back up in a few minutes."

"What kind of magic?"

"All of the magic harvested and passed down through the Black Ancestors."

Harry stared at him, stunned for a second.

"What?"

Sirius looked both amused and incredibly fond, as he nodded.

"Knock 'em dead, little man."

Harry drew in a breath, just sitting there, as he tried to take in the information Sirius had given him. That not only was he going to survive the Killing Curse – again – and go back. But he was – also – going to go back with the power he needed. Fueled, in some way, by the Blacks' allegiance to him.

"Why do I have it? This – um – Black magic?"

Sirius smiled, before lifting his shoulders and saying simply:

"Love."

Harry smiled, slowly, in turn.

And then he glanced at the fireplace – which flared as if by floo – and then at the door, which clicked open, that white, misty light intensifying beyond the threshold.

"They trying to tell me it's time to go already? That I have to pick one?"

"To stay or to go?" Sirius eyed him, his smile still playing on his lips; "You take all the time you need, Harry."

Harry stared back at him.

Loathe to leave his Uncle Sirius now that he finally had him back.

He drew in a breath – missing him already – when he asked, quietly.

"You'll stay with me?"

Sirius' eyes warmed, his hand going back to Harry's shoulder and squeezing once more.

"Until the very end."

Harry leaned in, hugging him tight.

Sirius just held him – as long as Harry needed – until Harry drew back, meeting his eyes.

For what, he knew this time, would be the last time.

At least for a long while.

Sirius dipped his chin, giving him an encouraging smile and raising an eyebrow.

"Are you ready to end this?"

Harry drew in a breath, before nodded.

Yes.

He was.


There was a stir among all who remained, waiting, in the Room of Requirement.

And yet every eye Severus passed seemed to turn his way as he stepped back into the room through the passage – an evident distrust among them as to where he'd been and who he'd been with – but, after what had just occurred – and what he knew was about to – Severus couldn't muster up any concern to care at all as to what the opinion of those within the room was of him anymore.

He cared only for the opinion of his loved ones, now.

The precious few that remained.

The loss of Regulus an unwelcome reminder of fragile mortality.

But he fought down his grief – there was time for that later – and channeled it, instead, into the battle that still lay ahead.

Severus made it to Lily's side, quickly, while she turned to him with apprehension as he approached.

Severus gave her a nod – telling her that it was done – and said as he reached her, where she still stood with Lupin, Tonks and Minerva; "It's time."

Minerva eyed him, uncertainly – though it was not quite with the same distrust as the rest had done so with – before she met Lily's eyes.

Lily's look was convincing, enough – it seemed – to reassure her, and Minerva turned, addressing the room.

"All those able – and by that I mean only those whom are of age – let's go."

Tonks pulled open the door.

The first to step out.

While the rest of them followed suit.


Harry was lying face down on the floor once more.

Back in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, he realized, with his eyes closed as he heard the murmurs of the Death Eaters' within the room.

He could feel his heart thud, erratically in his chest, and an odd, unfamiliar thrum coursing through his veins – deep within him – that he realized was the magic of the Blacks that had come to him.

Harry fought to keep his breathing shallow, to keep control of the wild, untamed magic he could feel surging through him.

"We're with you, Harry."

Sirius' voice seemed to be whispered to him on a breeze and Harry called on the calming techniques he had almost mastered with Snape's guidance, some months before.

He felt the magic within him calm, settling into something deep and steady and waiting, as Harry willed it to do.

"My Lord?" he heard one of the voices of the Death Eaters speak – hesitantly – to Voldemort.

"I do not require assistance," came the high-pitched, cold response and Harry could hear the sound of rustling, as Voldemort – who, it seemed, like himself had also collapsed in the aftermath of the Killing Curse that he had fired Harry's way – got back to his feet.

"Harry Potter. Is he dead?"

There was a silence in the immediate wake of his question but Harry could feel the eyes of every Death Eater in the room turn upon him, now, as his heart thudded, treacherously, so hard that they could surely hear it from where they stood at the other side of the room.

There was a zap and a yelp.

"You. Examine him."

Harry tried to keep him breathing shallow, tried to get control of his rapidly beating heart – as if either were possible – just as he felt rough hands upon him, turning him sharply to face the person who had come, and his eyes fluttered of their own accord.

He caught sight of Draco Malfoy's father in the brief glance he had been unable to help – registered the look of shock upon the man's expression as the hands upon him stilled over his chest, easily able to pick up the beating beneath – and Harry was almost about to reach for his wand – to call upon the Blacks' magic now – when he was shoved roughly back to the floor, face down.

"He is dead!" Lucius Malfoy's voice called – with a tone of elated triumph – back towards those within the room and there were roars of victory amongst all within the room.

"The Boy Who Lived!" Voldemort's voice screeched, in amusement, over the sounds of celebration the filled the small space around him, where he lay.

It carried on – the bellows and the exclamations and the slaps on the backs – as all partook in the joy of Harry's apparent demise, while Harry waited, patiently, trying to figure out when he should do it.

He wondered, briefly, whether or not the magic he could still feel pulsing through him – steady and waiting – would be enough to take out more than just Voldemort, if he needed to, somehow all at once.

Harry doubted it.

The Ancestral Magic had not rendered Frank Longbottom invulnerable.

"We had better not leave his adoring public waiting," Voldemort announced, as the din quietened; "I do believe their attempt at ambush has been somewhat waylaid – but no matter, no matter. Lucius; bring him. Hold him high. We shall present him to all – their dead hero child – and snuff out this resistance once and for all."

Harry heard the sound of the door opening as he was scooped up into Lucius Malfoy's arms before he was carried from the room, several feet ahead of the others, held up high as Voldemort had instructed, so he was almost level with the man's face.

Harry swallowed, trying his best to remain still and limp as he was carried along, wondering why on Earth Draco's father, of all people, would help him.

But he realized – then – with that simple thought…

Lucius Malfoy was a father.

And this man, like Snape, would most certainly put the wellbeing of his child – his child who was hunted by the very man who hunted Harry – over any loyalty to the dark wizard who walked along several paces behind them, his snake slithering along, obediently, at his feet.

Still gloating to all those who listened as to his victory.

Harry suddenly remembered Snape's last words to him, when he caught sight of the snake.

He felt the magic within him spark, slightly, with his excitement – with the urgency – and fought to pull on his calm, again, so he wouldn't lose control of it.

He felt the magic flickering, still, eager to be utilized. Harry tried for occlumency – finding it work a little – and pulled up the barriers as he knew how.

"Sir," Harry breathed.

"Silence," came the cold response of the man who carried him, hissed under his breath, as Harry dared crack an eyelid just a slit, to look at him.

Lucius Malfoy's jaw was set, his gaze straight ahead, as he walked – almost in a march – through the corridor of the Castle, making their way towards the entrance hall.

Harry hesitated for only a second – catching the ever so slight smirk that tugged at the man's lips at Voldemort's continuing words, touting his own accomplishment, obviously inwardly rejoicing at the fact Harry was alive – before Harry assured himself that the look, along with Malfoy's situation, and the fact his own wife had been executed before his own eyes were surely enough that he, too, would want to see Voldemort dead as much as those whom Harry stood with.

"The snake," he breathed.

The man's jaw twitched – the only indication that he had heard him – as they carried on walking.

"He can't die as long as it lives."

Harry felt the slightest pressure on his arm by the man's grip but, other than that, there was no further reaction or acknowledgement.

No time, it seemed.

For, within a second, Harry realized that the audience Voldemort craved had now come upon them as they stepped into the entrance lobby.

He could hear the sound of footsteps up ahead slowing while Harry lay – still as the dead – in Lucius Malfoy's arms.

"Harry?" there was a voice – one of quiet disbelief – that Harry realized, right away, belonged to his Uncle Remus.

He willed himself to remain still – to carry on with the ruse – despite the pain he could hear in Remus' voice, the gasps he could hear of those who realized what had happened.

"Harry?"

"Harry!"

He could hear Ron and Hermione.

But what came next was worse.

"NO!"

It took all Harry's strength not to move – not to respond – to the agonized wail of his mum. Grief-stricken and fully convinced by this display – her voice calling to him where he continued to lie still – her tone devastated and pleading from across the room.

Harry felt himself being laid before them on the ground – could hear his name and the cries of grief sounding from those who knew him – and he felt his stomach clench with both regret and with panic, when he heard Daphne's voice amongst them.

"You see?" Voldemort called to those who stood at the other side of the room, over Harry where he lay; "Harry Potter is dead! You fools who defy me with your resistance –" he sneered the word, " – may now mourn the loss of your Boy Who Lived and realise the truth, once and for all, that he – that all of you – are nothing. And you will all finally crumble, just as he did before me."

Harry heard his mum's wails become a scream and a light fired forth – one he could see passed his eyelids from where she stood, in Voldemort's direction – that was easily deflected.

"Foolish woman!" Voldemort fired a spell back.

And – when he did – all hell broke loose.

Everything was suddenly happening at once – all around Harry where he remained lying on the ground – footsteps charging and the light of spells shooting back and forth above him and cries and screams and roars escaping the lips of all those within the room.

Harry risked it and opened his eyes – though he knew he couldn't call upon the Black Magic fully, yet – and, when he did, it was just in time to see it.

To see Lucius Malfoy take a backwards step just as the other Death Eaters charged forward and wielded his wand as if it were a blade – 'Sectumsempra!' – and sliced the snake at the neck – the head flying upwards – before hitting the ground and rolling forward until it landed at Voldemort's feet.

Voldemort roared and Harry caught sight of Snape's astonished expression as he locked eyes with Lucius Malfoy just as the green light hit the man square in the chest.

Lucius Malfoy hit the ground, dead.

"NO!"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut once more at the sound of Draco Malfoy's grief-stricken cry, as the duels intensified around him.

Harry heard an almighty crash as an hourglass smashed and he was suddenly surrounded by a cascade of emeralds that poured out around where he lay.

And then, Harry realized, that it was time.

The snake – as Snape had warned him about – was finished.

It was just he and Voldemort, himself, left now.

Harry drew in a breath – still lying on the ground with his eyes closed – and he called upon it – the magic of the Blacks that Snape and his mum and Mr. Black had granted him with – and he felt it flood through him, completely, now when he did.

"We're with you, Harry."

He heard Sirius' voice again.

He felt him, this time, as well as heard him.

But it wasn't just him he could feel.

He felt them all.

Even those he never really knew.

Somehow, instinctively, he knew who they all were; all those whose magic flowed through him now.

Sirius Black.

Andromeda Tonks.

Narcissa Malfoy.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

Their parents.

Their grandparents.

All the Blacks who were now dead – had passed on – and who now stood with him.

Harry imagined it was – somewhat – against their will – at least of some of them – and there would surely be a price to pay for that.

But Harry dwelled no further on the thought, when he felt Sirius' presence gently reminding him to remain focused.

Harry's eyes slowly opened, seeking Voldemort, and he caught sight of him entering the Great Hall with the others who spilled into it in the midst of combat, the emeralds that scattered the ground now making it unsteady as people slipped to the floor due to the gems beneath their feet.

Harry sprung up and hurried after him – vaguely aware of the stunned exclamations of those he passed – and he only had a second to take it all in.

Draco Malfoy huddled over his dad's still form, shoulders shaking, as he hurried into the Hall.

Lassos of fire and transfigured arrows spun through the air.

Daphne stood dueling back to back with Ron and Hermione – all of whom, Harry thought, futilely – shouldn't be here, fighting, at all.

He saw his Uncle Remus engaging with a Death Eater and it was he who noticed Harry first – of all of those close to him – going still with a look of both amazement and relief when he caught sight of him stepping into the Hall.

And then Harry saw Snape engaging with two Death Eaters, ferociously, his teeth bared in a snarl – fighting with far more emotion apparent in his expression than Harry would have ever thought possible – before his eyes went to his mum.

To his mum who looked even more ferocious than Snape did as she advanced, mercilessly, upon any who got in her way – seeming determined to take on Voldemort, himself – as she attempted to cross the hall to where he was stood, already fighting three.

And then it started.

The astonished voices and the cries of joy as those who noticed him called his name.

Harry grinned, despite himself, and lifted his chin.

"Voldemort."

Voldemort spun to face him from where he stood in the middle of the hall – engaged by Nymphadora Tonks and Molly Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt – and, when he took in the sight of Harry standing there – quite alive and well and grinning back at him, unabashedly – the red eyes flashed and he let out a howl of fury, before all three of those who were fighting him were suddenly flung backwards by the force of the spell that next escaped him.

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder as he began to step forward, turning to the side, instead, when he did, and he was met Snape's eyes where he'd now come to his side.

He was the only person in the entire Great Hall who didn't look at all surprised to see Harry breathing.

Harry smiled at him – briefly – while Snape's lips twitched and he inclined his chin, before Harry stepped forward while others stepped back, and he tried – and managed, with ease – to cast a shield charm that began from the center and spread outwards so that it was only himself and Voldemort who remained within it.

Everyone else who'd been close by, forced out beyond its boundary; safe and protected from what was to come.

Those who had still been dueling stopped, now, as all turned to look.

"Everyone stay back," Harry said, lifting his chin and staring Voldemort down; "I'm the one who has to do this."

Voldemort's lip curled as he eyed Harry with both scorn and amusement; "Has to do what, Harry Potter?"

Harry said nothing, just stared back at Voldemort, while the Black magic continued to thrum through his veins – their voices whispering on the wind for only his ears alone – until Voldemort went on.

"Do you truly think you can defeat me, child? You, who's only great feat in life thus far has been to survive off the back of the sacrifices of others?"

Harry swallowed down the sting that the accusation evoked.

But he felt the reassuring presence of Sirius with him.

He saw Daphne in the crowd and felt himself warm at the small smile she gave him, despite the obvious apprehension she felt.

He saw his Uncle Remus step up into view, behind her, giving Harry that familiar, reassuring smile as he lifted his chin, proudly.

Harry glanced sideways, catching sight of Snape, who's lips twitched as he nodded, once again, at him.

And then his eyes met his mum's where she stood, watching from beyond the boundary of the shield charm, and her eyes shone with love and amazement and pride and faith in him when their gazes locked.

Knowing, as he stood here, about to end this war that had devastated and torn about thousands of lives and families, that he wasn't doing it alone.

All these people stood with him.

And it was love – in the end – that Voldemort before him never understood that would, finally, bring him down.

The magic of the Blacks thrummed more wildly in his veins with his thoughts – his determination – so much so that Harry felt he would erupt, himself, with it at any moment.

"I needn't defeat you," Harry answered him, though he had the vague understanding – himself – that what he was going to say would be fruitless; "I've seen that fate that awaits you. Be a man. Try for remorse."

"You dare attempt to imply that you – you foolish boy, oh-so-brave – has a deeper understanding of being a man, capable of understanding the greatest questions of life and beyond, than I?"

"It's just you and me, here. Your horcruxes are gone."

Voldemort's eyes glinted.

"So, this is your last chance," Harry said, lifting his chin, while the Black magic within him surged, insistently, ready to be utilized; "Try for remorse."

Voldemort's lip curled, a soft laugh escaping him.

Before the red eyes upon him flashed, furiously, and Voldemort lifted his wand.

Harry did, too.

Knowing, instinctively, by the guidance of those who flowed through him what he needed to do.

He needn't fight.

He just had to have faith.

Something Harry – until this moment – had always struggled to do.

Voldemort's voice cried out in the silence.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry closed his eyes, the Black magic flowing through him and outwards – with only the instinct to protect and love – and the blast was like canon fire as the two magics collided in the space between them.

Every window in the Great Hall shattered in a shower of glass that everyone threw up shield charms to protect themselves against.

Both Harry and Voldemort were flung backwards to the ground beneath the force of the collision.

Except, passed the daze of the impact of himself hitting the ground, Harry knew – could feel – that he was still alive.

And he lifted his head, his eyes falling upon Voldemort's still form where he lay opposite him, unmoving.

Dead.

At first, the was only deadly silence.

And, then, the Great Hall was suddenly filled with the cries and screams and roars of jubilation – the shield charm coming down as Harry got to his feet – and suddenly everyone was rushing in towards him and he was engulfed in the embraces and grasping hands of almost all in the room. Their shouts deafening him as all of their joy poured inwards towards him.

Harry felt a hand on his cheek and met his Uncle Remus' eyes, smiling at him, even though he was still being grabbed and jostled by all those around him – Hermione and Ron and Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout and Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt and Fred and George Weasley and other's he could barely make out past the flurry of faces– and his gaze moved from Remus, finding Daphne a little bit to the side, and they shared a smile.

And then his eyes finally found them – his mum and Snape – who stood together, a little further back from the rejoicing crowd, just watching him.

And their love and pride in both of their eyes was palpable as they looked towards him.

And, in that moment, Harry finally believed – and felt it for the truth that it was – that he was theirs and they were his.

Harry drew in a breath, smiling at them.

He could still feel the power of the Black magic – and Sirius – that was still with him, as he turned his attention to those who surrounded him, sharing in their smiles and shaking the hands of those who grasped for him, as he tried to keep it under control.

But he was starting to realise, that the power that currently thrummed through him – still desperate to be utilized – was enough that it could swallow a person whole.

Harry maintained his calm – the occlumency barriers he knew how to keep up – as he carried on through the crowd – joining in the smiles and the laughter even if he did just long, so very much, to simply just go home.

For hours and hours, it seemed – or at least it felt – it all went on before he finally managed to slip to the edge of the crowd and leave them behind, them all still buzzing with the thrill of it.

His mum and Snape were seated, now, at the Gryffindor Table but they stood when he finally approached them.

His mum was weeping, he realized, but still smiling and she immediately pulled him into her tight embrace when he reached them.

"Oh, Harry," she murmured into his hair; "Oh, my brave, brave boy."

Harry felt himself redden under his mum's murmurs and kisses, sharing a look with Snape, who looked more than a little amused at her outpouring of affection.

She held onto him for almost a full minute, before drawing back.

Harry swallowed, looking back at her.

"You knew, didn't you? You knew that he couldn't really kill me."

His mum didn't answer, just shared a knowing look with Snape, that told him it were true.

Harry sighed, shaking his head; "Why did you let me say all those things when you knew I was going to be fine? Why did you say you were sorry, when –"

"Because –" his mum said, softly, interrupting him and affectionately stroking his hair; "They were things that needed to be said. Because they were the things that we needed to let go of before we could finally have the future that starts today."

Harry simply stared back at her – barely about to believe it was true, despite what had just happened – and he glanced at Snape, who's lips twitched in that almost-smile of his, as he grasped Harry by the shoulder.

Harry smiled before he looked back at his mum.

"I saw Sirius."

His mum's eyebrows raised as she looked back at him; "You did?"

Harry nodded; "He told me what you did. That it was you two and Mr. Black who made sure I'd have the power to finally defeat him."

His mum shared a look with Snape, before she nodded hesitantly at Harry. And, in the second that they looked at one another, Harry caught it.

A very brief glimpse of grief in Snape's eyes as he looked back at her.

Harry swallowed, frowning, before he glanced around them, suddenly feeling uneasy.

"But…where is Mr. Black now?"

His mum's eyes lowered, saying nothing, which was enough to confirm Harry's worst fear. But he still waited, meeting Snape's eyes, imploring him to explain.

"With such powerful magic," Snape began, speaking for the first time – with regret in his tone that was less than reassuring – as he explained; "There is always a price. A sacrifice that must be made. In this case, two. The prior and the after."

Harry swallowed, as he stared back at him, simply waiting.

And he felt himself become impatient when Snape wasn't immediately forthcoming.

"Are you saying that Mr. Black is dead?"

Snape hesitated, momentarily, before he gave a slight nod of concession.

Harry frowned, then.

That didn't make any sense.

Harry was wielding the magic of the Black ancestors – he could feel them all, all the Blacks who had died – and he was positive, positive that Regulus Black wasn't one of them.

Harry looked between them, uncertainly.

"Are you sure?"


Regulus eyed the misty white surroundings of the Foundation Ballroom.

No longer was it a crumble of ash and destruction, as it had been when he'd fallen.

No, this mirage of the Foundation still stood as tall and proud as it had done in its early days. Even the décor was older – the very first chosen – from way back when it had been just he, and Andromeda and Eugene and Severus and Cissy.

The glory days of times long passed.

Regulus sat there for goodness knows how long, in the chair where he had died in, wondering if this was it.

That his end – for all eternity – was to be spent, alone, in this room, haunted by those memories.

"Sorry I'm late –" a voice behind him made him jump, but before he could turn, the person who spoke took the seat opposite where – not so long ago – Severus had been sitting; "I was a little…tied up with something."

Regulus stared back at the person who'd come, dumbstruck.

"Sirius?"

"You seem disappointed," Sirius grinned, leaning back on the chair and resting an ankle up on his knee; "Were you expecting someone else?"

Regulus released a breath – almost a smile – before he shook his head.

"I wasn't expecting anyone. Or anything."

"You know, you really need to learn to stop expecting the worst for yourself, little brother."

"Well, I suppose I have an eternity of reflection ahead of me in this cloudy wasteland to learn that," Regulus pointed out, before glancing at the surroundings, and he wondered if Sirius saw the same as him; "What's the matter? Even hell didn't want me?"

Sirius chuckled but didn't answer.

"Where are we?"

"Nowhere."

"Nowhere."

Sirius' ankle came down and he leaned forward, elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand with that irritating grin he always used to tease him with when they were boys; "Where do you want to be?"

"I…Is this…Are you even real?"

Sirius pinched him.

"Ow!"

Sirius laughed.

"That hurt, did it?" Sirius rolled his eyes; "Figures. Here was me thinking you'd been through worse."

"You're a boggart."

"Ouch. You know what?" Sirius put a hand on his chest; "That hurts, little brother."

"Sirius. Is this really where you've been all these years?" Regulus looked around the place, appalled; "This…"

"I've been where I'm supposed to be."

"Why are you talking in riddles?"

Sirius laughed, fully, then, sitting up straighter.

"I'm just relishing having you hang off my every word, Reg. It's been a long time since that's happened. Think the last time was when you were ten."

Regulus rolled his eyes; "Do you know what happened? With Harry?"

There was a moment where Sirius simply stared back at him.

Long enough that Regulus began to doubt his brother was going to give anything away.

And then Sirius smiled.

"You did good, little brother."

Regulus stared back at him, barely willing to believe it.

"It…it worked?"

"Yeah, it worked. You and Lil' and old Snivvy had it all planned out and it worked –" Sirius splayed and waved a hand with a flourish, a motion of embellishment before he went on; "With your death, the Ancestral Magic was channelled through you from the Black ancestors into Harry – just as you lot orchestrated – whom they had already accepted as one of theirs to protect in light of the blood sacrifice made on his behalf."

"That's…yes. That's –" Regulus hesitated, not quite able to feel the joy he knew that the majority of the Wizarding World was surely experiencing right now; "What about Malachi? And Julia? Are they –"

"Alive. Grieving."

"Yes…yes, of course, they would be but…but they're alive," Regulus said, more to reassure himself than to convince Sirius; "And he's gone."

Sirius leaned back in the chair again, lifting his shoulders in a mock-unassuming shrug.

"What kind of life do you expect they'll have without you?"

Regulus eyed him, easily picking up on the judgement in his brother's tone.

"A better one," Regulus said, with certainty; "Better than what they would have had, if we hadn't done this."

"Hm. Perhaps," Sirius said, making an exaggerated show of thinking about it, before waving a hand, dismissively; "But I doubt it. I'm afraid they love you far too much to ever be happy without you. And that baby – my stunning little nephew – will never know his father."

Regulus glowered at him.

"You know, Sirius, I've spent years wondering what I would say to you if I ever got the chance to see you again. Now that you're here, I think the most appropriate turn of phrase would be 'piss off'. Are you here to ruin my afterlife?"

Sirius chuckled, with obvious amusement at Regulus' expense, before he shook his head and leaned forward once more.

"This isn't your afterlife, little brother."

Regulus frowned; bewilderment coming upon him, then.

"You see, you gave your life to evoke the Old Magic blood protection once more to save Harry from the Killing Curse – linking it quite nicely, I might add, with the channelling of the Black Ancestral call to arms – but the things is – the price for Black blood spilled in that regard had already been made."

Regulus stared at him, while Sirius grinned even wider than before.

"And there was you trying to steal my thunder."

Regulus shook his head; "That doesn't make any sense. Why would the binding of life forces even be documented if the protection carries on indefinitely?"

"Oh, because it doesn't. It only does so if dunderass Dark Wizards happen to take the protection into their own bloody veins and ensure the sacrifice remains eternal so long as they live."

Regulus got a slow smile, realising then, what had happened.

That Dumbledore had been right.

That – even with his and Severus and Lily's meddling – the Old Magic still stood.

"But…what does that mean?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"What do you think it means, little brother?"

When Regulus didn't answer, Sirius leaned forward with a gleam in his eye; "You oughta know better than anyone. Love trumps Blood every fucking time."

Regulus rolled his eyes at Sirius' overdramatics.

"Is this your round-about way of telling me that I have to go back?"

"Have to go back?" Sirius repeated the statement, with an irritatingly ponderous tone; "You make it seem as if that would be a punishment, little brother."

Regulus pursed his lips together; "No."

"No? You don't want to go back?"

"No, it wouldn't be a punishment to do so."

"Ah, how the tides have changed!" Sirius declared, making Regulus release an exaggerated, exasperated breath through pursed lips as he glanced away.

"And here was me thinking all my baby brother ever wanted was peace," Sirius said, and Regulus reluctantly met Sirius' eyes at the jibe and the nod to his regrets, before his brother went on; "In any case, you have a choice. You can say here, at peace – if you can call it such, considering you've got me for company for all eternity –"

Regulus chuckled then, before Sirius went on.

"Or you can say 'stuff peace'. And go back to that gorgeous little family of yours that would no doubt welcome you back with tears of joy and open arms."

Regulus swallowed, glancing away.

Sirius tapped a finger to his lips; "Gotta say, the Regulus I knew – well…I'd bet my very last knut that he'd go with peace."

Regulus met Sirius' eyes at that.

Then Sirius smiled.

Sincerely, this time, for the first time since he'd come.

"But that's not you anymore, is it?"

Regulus felt a flutter within him – knowing it were true – that he'd choose Julia and Malachi and Nicholas over anything, now.

Now that his debts were finally paid and Voldemort was gone.

But then, still, he could barely believe that he was being granted the chance.

Another chance to do it all over and start again.

"Yeah," Sirius said, interrupting his thoughts with a slow nod and a continuing smile that was edging very close to pride now; "I think you'll choose life, little brother."

Regulus couldn't help himself, getting a sincere smile of his own as he looked back at his brother.

Then Sirius made a face, leaning forward, so they were almost nose to nose.

"But there's a catch."

Regulus stared back at him.

He had a fairly good idea as to what it was.

And Sirius raised an eyebrow – seeming to realise Regulus understood – before he winked at him.

"Your move, Reg."

The was a second of stillness, while the mist around them thickened and descended inwards.

Before Regulus woke once more in the ruins of the Foundation with a gasp.