A/N: Truly the last part! It's over, I can't believe it! *sniff* (the fact I'd written most of this before chapter seven is totally irrelevant). Anyway, just a bit of winding up and a couple of thoughts to ponder. For the age of the marauder's, I'm going for consistency with the fic here even though it contradicts with recent interviews with JK herself, but oh well. And there's an important author's note at the very end, so please read it! Savour 'til the last...
Dis: Dis: The universe of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and is used here without her permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and I acknowledge that I have no rights to any cannon characters, settings or events mentioned. I have no intention and no desire to make profit from this piece, as the credit deserves to go to JK Rowling as she invented them and thus owns all rights to them. Not me. Got it? Good. The poem extract belongs to Carol Ann Duffy; taken from 'Prayer' which is the last in the collection called 'Mean Time', published by Anvil Press Poetry. No copyright infringement intended. This piece contains quotes and ideas from the play Hamlet by William Shakespeare. Yet again, no copyright infringement intended. Onwards!
The Unknown Witness
Epilogue
Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth
enters out hearts, that small familiar pain;
then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth
in the distant Latin chanting of a train.
'Prayer' Carol Ann Duffy
Harry sighed, a mixture of weariness and joy that he was back where he belonged. The carriages were rattling along in their familiar style, bouncing a little on the rough cobble track that led him to the only place he felt he could call home, Ron and Hermione beside him being the only family he'd ever need. The train journey had been quiet, reflective even, interrupted by a couple of games of exploding snap and the witch with the food trolley, Harry bestowing on his friends the typical showers of Chocolate frogs and pumpkin pasties that had become customary of their day long journey to school. But something just wasn't the same. He felt almost sober, a heavy feeling resting in his chest that had been resident ever since the battle in the chamber. It threatened to engulf him even now.
It had been just two weeks since the funeral. Remus had wanted it delayed until Pettigrew went to trial. Claudia's evidence on top of the wand finally confirmed the long overdue truth in a trial that was barely absent from the front page of the Daily Prophet for the entire deadly duration. Sirius' death simply wasn't mentioned. He never got his glory. At least the ministry had woken up now to reality, one of Pettigrew's final acts of betrayal being to reveal the new uprising of his master, who he was horribly aware would never save him now. It was plastered all over his pale, slimy face. It was too late for the rat. In fact the very day dear old Padfoot was committed to the wind on the roaring fire of the pyre, the fellow Marauder had lost his soul. And Harry, somehow, despite all that had gone on, felt he'd lost something along with it.
It seemed the ultimate unfairness, for Sirius to be at the jaws of freedom only to be engulfed at the last by death. Than was something that would never let him go free. With death, like the rest, he was there for keeps. Ron and Hermione had been in Hogsmeade for the service beside him on that dreary, darkened day. It was a typical English summer, the sun disappearing within two weeks of the month, autumn wanting to make an early entry and already whipping the trees of their foliage. But somehow underneath it all, it had still been a beautiful day. A very quiet service, just Dumbledore, Harry and a few selected others, least of all Remus and Arabella. Claudia couldn't make it. And Harry knew that had pained her beyond words. Hermione had stood there and occasionally squeezed his hand, especially in moments when Harry looked on the verge of total collapse. Ron had at one point placed a gangly hand on Harry's limp shoulder while the boy who lived looked on, lifeless, just like he was doing now. He knew they were simply doing their best, and appreciated it all the more in the face of their own pain. It had been a loss for them too. Sirius at some point seemed a godfather to them all.
'Harry...' said Hermione softly now as he drew his attention away from the lake they were currently encircling. He looked at her, expecting a continuation of speech, but she declined to take up the offer. Instead she just smiled, lips pushed together in an expression that didn't dictate sympathy or merriment, but some strange sensory in between. Some sense of knowing. But whatever her point, it seemed to quell him a little, never letting her eyes leave his as she settled back down next to Ron. He seemed to take up the mantle.
'Sirius wouldn't have wanted us to be like this.' He said suddenly, his voice piercing the air with the unexpected subject that Harry looked up, startled. Ron was not deterred. 'He would have wanted us to carry on. We're the next generation, Harry...'
'The marauders mark two.' Added Hermione, smiling a little. 'And if we manage to go through the year without blowing up at least one toilet seat, I think he'd be very disappointed.'
'And Fred and George would be dead jealous to boot.'
Harry smiled a little at his friends, the movement of the muscles seeming unfamiliar over the darkness of the summer. But at least it wasn't forced. It came of its own accord, a warmth that spread across his face that eased the heaving moon from eclipsing his fragile heart. He sighed again.
The coaches had stopped, and Hogwarts stood in front of them in its full and fanciful glory. The place just sparkled magic, the events that took place within its walls shaping a society and creating its populace on the way. Hogwarts was magic. With its predictably for the impossible, it couldn't be anything else.
Harry watched the other students emerge from the carriages in twos and threes, looking quite excited at the prospect of the year. How many schools could add that feeling to their talents, he wondered. This school wouldn't let anything get it down. It had got through so much and yet it stood as strong as the day the founders built it, still soaked in a tradition that could never be washed away. And he was certain that the marauders would never have let it lie.
Then suddenly, his attention was diverted. A boy, about his own age, was emerging from a carriage at the end of the line, gripping his wand with some extreme sense of velocity as he sniffed the air uncertainly, almost timidly as if he were afraid it would engulf him too. As if he wasn't used to the sun. Draco Malfoy, alive and remarkably well recovered from when harry had seen him last, pushed back his white blond locks with the other hand, his palm resting for a moment on his forehead as if he was pondering stepping into the unknown. Harry looked at the sight, quite unsure what to make of the individual. Friend or foe, he would have to face it, and so would the youngest Malfoy.
For then he met his gaze. Draco had brought his water-like grey eyes to Harry's emerald stones, his pointed face not slithering into any particular expression at all. It was blank, as if he was afraid of letting Harry read it depths. They both blinked at each other for a moment, something passing between the two fifteen-year-olds, something so silent and secretive that any physical acknowledgement would have broken a million rules. But Harry knew exactly what is was. An acceptance of the fates. Something so subtle that just a few months ago it would have passed him by. They'd both only just escaped with their lives that night, both reliving it's horrors in the privacy of their subconscious whilst the eye contact remained. But now he had a firm grip, he wasn't going to let it go. He turned back to Ron and Hermione, a renewed sparkle in his eye. It was time to make his godfather proud.
'Moaning Myrtle's toilet,' he said suddenly. 'After dinner, Tuesday?'
Ron grinned as Hermione rolled her eyes.
'You're on.'
And somewhere beyond them, not too far away, Harry somehow knew that Sirius was smiling too.
***
In a location hidden from prying eyes, the most fundamental magic in existence was being harnessed for a task. A task normally held for only trained professionals with a millennia of experience, fusing the substances together to create the most powerful object to their kind. It was dangerous, messing with the fundamentals, calling on the elements of fire, earth, water and air to diverge onto a single source to fill it with the power needed to cast all the spells man could think of. It took time. It took patience. It took all the energy of its creator to concentrate on the wood to fuse the wand together. Even the chosen ones found it difficult. But this wasn't a deterrent for Lord Voldemort.
All he was doing was blending together the splinters of his old wand to create something he hoped was even more powerful. Something he could work with, something that by his side would cause wizards and witches to quiver in fear and beg for mercy merely at the sight of it. He wanted to create chaos. It was what he thrived upon. Without this tool he would forever be paralysed, still weakened by the fact it was snapped in the first place was a fact it had taken him weeks to recover from. It had taken create many days to summon the remnants from the ruin of the chamber, the onslaught of nature held within the cascading rock still not being enough to defeat the dark lord. For he was only prepared to die in combat by someone greater than himself. Sheer will of mind made him survive. And seeming as though he was going to every means to deny that person an existence, the confidence he held in recovery was astounding.
'My Lord?'
A Senior Death eater, made more noticeable that the rest by a rank only known by Lord Voldemort, now approached the Dark Lord in his sombre state and only timidly dared to come close as the quietly observed his master work. He'd been at it for weeks, and there was plenty more work to be done.
'You summoned me, my Lord?' he said humbly, bowing a little before removing his hood as he was always commanded to do when alone with his master. 'You asked me here to see you?'
'Yes, my servant,' the Dark Lord hissed, his eyes not moving off his wand for a moment as he acknowledged the other's presence. 'I summoned you here for a purpose. Stand back...'
The Death Eater obeyed the command instantly as Voldemort set about pausing his work. The wand was currently bathed a greenish light, little bead light specks tricking slowly along each and every crack gradually fusing together the instrument of destruction. Such magic, such force, could only be used and maintained in this way with supreme power of the mind. It had to have the Dark Lord's full attention, so now came a natural time for pause. He closed his eyes and took a deep rattling breath, concentrating every particle of his being onto the wood to hold it stationary in the air as he pulled his hands away from it. Flames instantly sprung up from the stonework beneath them and licked lightly at the wand, holding it there like a piece of floating driftwood as the white tips of the fire turned slightly green on contact. He turned to face his high-ranking servant.
'It is apparent we have a traitor in our midst.' Voldemort said quietly, his anger silently detained as he watched the flames engulf the selected wood as it spun silently in mid air without him. The fusion of sparks fell unnoticed to the floor. 'That much was obvious before. They could not have escaped otherwise, it simply wasn't possible. An unknown entity is trying to destroy us from the inside out. This simply will not do. I will not tolerate such deception.' He focused on his servant for a moment, who could have sworn the eyes of Lord Voldemort seemed to flash a deeper red than before. The eyes narrowed into slits as he continued with his request. 'I trust that you will take care of it?'
'I will make it my life's work, my Lord.' Replied Lucius Malfoy instantly.
'Then let it be so. Dismissed.'
***
A year had passed now, and the leaves were beginning to turn again when Remus Lupin set out to the Whomping Willow to pay tribute one last time to his friend. When he went to face his demons. When he went to say goodbye.
The Willow was still there, as deadly as ever, its branches swaying in the late summer breeze but carrying itself just that little bit further of its own aggressive accord. This tree had been the centre of everything, the centre of his life and keeper of his mortality. It was his guardian. He was almost a prisoner of it, the deep set roots likes bars on a cage that still came no where near the hell that was Azkaban. Or the hell that Sirius went through. All that for the sake of a friend. There was no justice.
His memorial was situated right under the hangings, and Remus had to get a long broken branch to prod the knot that froze the tree still. But there it was. Sirius Black. 1955-1995. The Marauders will cause mayhem in heaven. The words were engraved into a small, rectangular slate of marble on the ground, a memorial, the letters charmed against the threat of decay in the face of the elemental onslaught so forever on the ancient rock. Just like their minds, it would be on there forever. Like they could ever forget.
The tree almost seemed protective of his spirit, its branches lying low across its stone, almost hiding it from the world like a mother holding a child. In the arms of nature now. Remus had to push them aside to lay down the flowers he'd bought down in Hogsmeade. Rosemary for remembrance, Pansies for thought. Daisies for springtime, Rue for himself. And a single, pure white lily. It was the grave of their childhoods, taken long ago. Remus was mourning for them all, for he was the only one left to do so.
He stood for a moment, unsure what to say. Or whether to say anything at all. He felt alone in every sense of the word as the wind ruffled his greying brown hair, hanging unattended around his ears and framing the face of a man completely lost. He laid the flowers down upon the grass, the leaves limping slightly in their paper bouquet and looking dwarfed in the shadow of the tree. He felt dwarfed. He was the last of their number. He was truly alone.
'Remus?'
He turned and then he saw her. The robes she wore floated blissfully round her ankles, almost angel like at she strode toward the tree. It was a simple black, darker against the brightness of the day that seemed to smile unjustly upon the saddest of scenes. Her hair was hanging loose, more silver than before but shimmering a little in the warmth of the sun. She almost seemed to sparkle.
'I would give you some violets,' she said quietly, looking hard at the flowers on the grave. 'But they all withered when my father died.' Arabella looked up into the lines of Remus' face. Then she cast them down again. 'They say it made a good end.'
'Hamlet...' Remus recalled. 'Act four, scene five. The madness of Ophelia. You have a very good memory, Arabella. Very, very good.'
They stood together in silence, just staring at the name and all that was lost along with it. The wind continued to sway the branches of the willow, but with the prodding of the knot they seemed calmer, gentle even as Remus was aware of the leaves brushing softy against his hardened cheek. He shivered.
'I saw Claudia a while ago,' said Arabella suddenly, breaking the silence as if it were a polite dinner party. 'She's just got married you know.'
'Really?' said Remus, his expression set in stone.
'Yes. About three months ago. An old friend apparently. Everybody but them had seen it coming, she said. She hasn't told him, thought, about all of this. Wants to keep it as a surprise. You would have loved to see her... She was so happy. But they certainly moved fast, catching up for missed time, I suppose. They've even got a little one on the way, would you believe?' When she got no reply, she gave no reaction. 'She asked after you.'
'What did you say?'
She shrugged. 'What do you think?'
He continued to stare at the tree.
'The world is moving on, Remus,' she said sharply, now turning his face with her hands and looking at him intently. He felt the tears begin to well. 'Claudia included. She's got new things to look forward to, but I know she'll never forget the past. She thinks about him everyday. She told me. She says she'll forever be thankful for the sacrifice he made, for us and for Harry and for her. He gave her back the world, and for that she'll forever be grateful. She will never forget.'
Remus couldn't say anything, as the words Arabella uttered brought such a well of emotion to his throat he almost couldn't breathe. But yet the sadness lingered, and it was a sight she couldn't stand.
'His sacrifice wasn't in vain, Remus. It was noble. Of course he didn't have to die. Nobody has to die. We have the power to be immortal, through words and memories, poems and stones. But he did. He chose to. No amount of wishing will ever bring him back, for it was his own choice. You need to move on, at least in spirit. I know you'll never move on in soul.' She now found herself gripping his shoulder as he greyed further in grief. 'None of us ever will.'
'But I just want to speak to him one more time.' Remus muttered, tears now openly streaming down his face. Arabella lowered her hand and let it softly grasp the werewolf's. He paused for a moment, then continued. 'I just want to tell him I'm sorry. I want to tell him how I wish I'd kept the faith, how I wished everything didn't have to turn out so wrong. We were the young ones, Arabella. We were the hope. We were supposed to defeat anything, all four of us together. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. No fate would ever detain us. Apart from death, it seems.'
'Do you know what I saw the other day?' she said softly, her voice almost inaudible among the rustle of the trees. 'Do you know what I saw in the woods out there?' he hung his head at her words. 'I thought it was a grim. I thought he'd finally come. And for a minute I was thankful. I believed it to be over, and living had finally got too much. But then I looked again.' Her eyes almost gleamed triumphantly. 'The grim wasn't black. It was white. It was as pure as anything I've ever seen in my life. Ghost-like. It was almost floating as it trotted across the ground, right across the willow here. And you know what was walking along with it?'
He shook his head. Then she answered.
'A stag.'
He didn't say anything, for there wasn't any need to.
'You see Remus, the marauders aren't gone. They will never be lost. As long as someone is here to remember, you'll always be roaming the grounds. Just don't forget. That's all they'll ever ask. And I know that's like telling you not to forget to breathe or to eat and to sleep, but sometimes everyone needs reminding. They'll always be with you, just like they'll be with Harry and me. Just don't you ever forget.'
'Like you said,' he muttered, a little smile edging across his lips. 'It'll be pretty hard not to.'
'And I'm here to make sure you don't.'
And through the haze of tears, she felt herself smiling too. He squeezed her hand right back.
'You know what Remus?' she said in a whisper, almost afraid that the gods themselves would here. 'You know what I reckon? All those things you wanted to tell him, all that was left unsaid. You know what I really think?' she looked at him and felt her heart melt. 'I think he already knew.'
And as they stood and watched, another scene was just unravelling. A million miles away, a young boy, eyes wide with wonder, was boarding a train that brimmed with excitement at the possibilities its journey would bring. The secrets it would unravel. The happiness it would reward. The boy laughed with all his heart, his best friends right beside him, just like they'd always be. The Latin would forever be chanted, the pain of the truth unknown. For these were once the marauders, and a million miles away they still were, and would wait patiently to be complete. As long as living had faith.
So Sirius was laid to rest.
***
'It's a boy.'
The midwife handed her the child, a moment totally engulfed in a silence that would have previously heightened her isolation in the work of the dark. A world she'd escaped from.
'He's beautiful,' Claudia whispered, her face a little red from the cold of the early spring beyond, but still lingering ever so close to the infant's own as he wiggled in her arms, his face screwing up in a baby-like yawn as the eyes remained closed and at peace. He really was a beautiful child. What little hair he started out in life with was growing into small spirals upon his head, laying flat with each hair in perfect symmetry. Ten fingers, ten toes, each little fingernail soft and warm to the touch, smelling a fresh as a warm summer's day as she kissed him on the forehead. When she pulled back, he opened his eyes. Tiny chips of sparkling blue, so completely opposite to her own. A picture of what hers used to be, of what used to be and finally was again. Magical. She closed her eyes, her vision absorbing the picture of perfection without a need for a personal prompt. The baby giggled.
'You're right,' Said her husband, leaning over to give Claudia and the child an all embracing hug. 'He is beautiful. Lucy and Paul are going to be so thrilled...' he paused thoughtfully, a frown interrupting his happiness temporarily. 'We never agreed on a boy's name though, did we?'
'No,' she said, a thought suddenly flashing across her mind as she considered this most minor of problems. She could feel tears stinging the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill down the front of her white gown, a mixture of joy and undue sadness over exactly the same cause.
'Got any ideas then?'
She paused delicately, considering the question. Then it finally came to her.
'Sirius.'
'Sirius?' he frowned a little, pleasantly surprised. 'That's tad unusual, isn't it?' He paused, mulling it over under his breath. 'The dog star. I like it. Where'd you hear it anyway?'
She smiled, closing her eyes as a tear finally ran down her cheek. 'He was just someone I once knew...'
And as the name of her new born crossed the threshold of her lips, someone out there was listening. And a quill was taking note.
***
~* Fini *~
A/N :This is going to be my BIG thank you for the entire series for all the people who made the unknown witness what it was for a good four months of my life. It's over! ::Sniffle::
Firstly, thanks from the bottom of my heart to my beta, Kim. She came in half way through the series and helped drastically improve all the technical and bits and bobs I was too dense to spot. And she doesn't mind me emailing her going 'Argh, I'm crap, I can't write for peanuts!' which is exactly what I need. Additional thanks to my emergency peeps who are equally fabulous and wonderful. Once again, you are all superb. I'm sure we'll all beat together something very groovy again in the not too distant future.
Secondly, to all those people who helped me with or without knowing it: To Newington Library for being so damn boring and empty that in between shelving books I finally came up with the time turner thing and escaped the hell of a month of writer's block. And I got paid for it as well. To Keith Fraser for making Metallurgy a real subject and for letting me use his idea of the wizarding education thing. There is hope beyond UCAS. To Mr Vaf my History teacher and choir conductor, for saying such little amusing things I just end up using them in the fic. He's responsible for the Morse code bit, you know. Such a shame I couldn't find space for weak plus wobbly leads to waffle and waste equals catastrophe! To the reviewer who pointed out the Azkaban plot hole and inspired the whole Draco thing... you never knew you did that, did you Nemo? And good luck for your exams too! To Eliza Diawna Snape for the Whomping Willow memorial thing nearly, Shakespeare's flower emporium (Ophelia range) for Remus' bouquet and a variety of scattered quotes. U2 for doing such a cool album, the Beatles for having cool lyrics. Carol Ann Duffy for writing such groovy poetry and my English teacher Ms Jones for letting us study it. Mad mailing lists for keeping me up when everythign else was down. London for just being London, Durham for being Durham, Connex South Eastern for allowing their trains to run over the Medway, King's Cross for being King's Cross and having pretty barriers, the London underground for being so... British... Covent Garden and Neal street for being funky and having the deepest underground station in the capital (I still can't believe I didn't take the lift!), and my legs for aching so bad. That's what kicked this whole thing off anyway.
And my regular reviewers! I love you! I just hope you all keep me on author alert even after I've finished and am struggling for my next idea. You all know who you are, and I must say you've never failed to delight.
And the final soundtrack ended up being: Coldplay, Travis, Stereophonics, Ronan Keating, Toploader, U2, REM, Dido, Moby, Simon and Garfunkel, Pink Floyd, Robbie Williams, Ministry of Sound's Chill Out Session, Chicane and The Beatles. And if I lacked faith in what I was doing, JK Rowling on Desert Island discs didn't do any harm either. She deserves the most thanks of all. Keep up the good work.
If anybody needs to contact me regarding this series beyond the basic review (Cough!) please feel free to email
One last quick note for all you people worried about how Draco actually escaped: Only the main chamber of Voldie's layer collapsed. Draco was, and I quote myself found 'in the dawn' i.e. the next day. He wasn't hurt or anything but emerged as good as new. He'll survive to wear the leather trousers for another day.
Now review please!
athena_arena signing off
xxx