Epilogue: Just Deserts
James Potter and Sirius Black flanked Minister of Magic Amelia Bones as she dismounted from her broom, shivering. "Wretched place," she said, looking at the walls of Azkaban. "Still, needs must."
Sirius looked as if he agreed fully with the first half of her statement, James thought. This place still brought back bad memories for him. Of course, it brought back bad memories for everyone. Dementors tended to do that.
The Minister walked through the halls of the prison, looking into various cells, observing the prisoners, most of whom seemed unconscious of her presence. This inspection was really only ceremonial, James knew. The real inspections of Azkaban were done monthly by teams of Aurors, who strengthened the anti-Apparition wards on the building and the other magical safeguards around the island.
But there was a reason Sirius and I pulled strings to come here today. As long as he's still at least partly sane...
The Minister tapped her wand twice against the window in a cell door, making it significantly larger, though still heavily barred. James could now see the cell's occupant, slumped in a corner with his head on his arms, extremely dirty blond hair cascading down around him. He hadn't even responded to the sounds, and James felt a pang of regret. He had so looked forward to this.
But then the man's head came up, slowly, and James realized he'd just been taking his time, giving himself the illusion of choice in the matter. He marveled that the man still had so much self-control.
"Malfoy," said Bones shortly.
Lucius Malfoy looked slowly from one of them to the others, eyes narrowed in distaste, and did not reply.
"Wolf got your tongue, Lucius?" said Sirius.
Malfoy snorted and looked away.
"We have something for you," said James, taking it out from under his arm. "To help pass the time." He tossed the item into the cell between the bars. Malfoy didn't even flinch as it hit the floor with a papery smack.
"What's it been now, six years?" asked Sirius conversationally. "Just imagine how much faster it would be going if you had something to do. Like patrolling someone's grounds, or raising a child."
Malfoy whirled, his face a mask of anger, then visibly stopped himself from speaking and merely glared.
"It's too bad," said James sympathetically. "I mean, even Sirius managed to have a son. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black continues. But the house of Malfoy..." He sighed dramatically. "So sad."
Bones restored the window to its original size abruptly. "That's enough," she said sharply, then lowered her voice. "It would not do for the Minister of Magic to laugh in front of a common prisoner."
James and Sirius exchanged smirks.
We made her want to laugh. In a prison full of dementors. Granted, they're all down at the other end at the moment, but still.
Are we talented or what?
Squeak-ee, squeak-ee, squeak-ee, squeak-ee...
"Atta boy, Wormtail," said Sirius without looking up. "Keep it up and you'll get your dinner yet."
The traveling rat was a standing joke at the Ministry. Wormtail's cage spent one week in Sirius' cubicle, one in James', and one in Remus', down in the Department of Mysteries, before returning to Sirius' to start the cycle again. The amount of running he had to do to get his meals was enough to tire him out, but not so much that it was cruel or mean-spirited, Sirius thought. Both Remus and James had checked it and agreed with him.
Everyone else had to work to eat. Why not little Peter?
Besides, it was amusing to listen to.
Sirius signed another parchment and put it in the Out tray, then checked to see that no one was coming. The hallway was clear, his work was done for the moment, and he was going to revive his spirits after Azkaban by recalling all the good things that had happened to him over the past six years.
That, and a nice shot of chocolate.
He unwrapped a Frog and took a bite, leaned back and put his feet up, and looked at the photographs hanging on his cubicle wall. On the far left was one of James and Lily, with a red-haired five-year-old standing next to James – what no one had known, including Lily, was that she had been pregnant the night Voldemort came to their house. Evanie Potter had been born eight and a half months after their restoration, emerging on 15 July of the next year apparently none the worse for her ten-year wait. Harry had been overjoyed to have a real little sister.
Harry was overjoyed to have parents. Sirius's eyes moved to the photo of his godson, arm in arm with his girlfriend of ten months, Ginny Weasley. It didn't seem like six years ago that he'd carried Harry into one of the bedrooms of the guest suite, gently awakened him, and asked him a very important question...
"Harry, have I ever lied to you?"
Harry thought about it. "Yes," he said finally. "Letha says not telling the truth is just as bad as telling a lie. And you don't tell me when you play pranks on me."
Sirius, for one instant, wished his intelligent and all too moral wife to the ends of the earth. "You're right. But I mean directly, aloud, in so many words. Have I ever told you a lie?"
Harry shook his head.
"All right. Then would you believe me if I told you something that sounds completely crazy and impossible?"
"Like what?"
"It's something you'll like," Sirius temporized, seeing the doubt in Harry's eyes behind his glasses, which he'd fallen asleep wearing. "Nothing bad, we're not moving away without you." Except that we might be...
Harry frowned. "Maybe," he said cautiously. "What is it?"
Sirius took a deep breath. "Harry, we've all been wrong for a long time. We thought your parents were dead. But they're not. They were... pushed forward in time."
And what Voldemort meant to happen was for them to arrive in a time when all their friends were dead or enslaved and he controlled most if not all of the world, then to have them watch him kill Harry before he either killed them too or turned them into slaves like Remus and Danger. If that's not a fate worse than death, I don't know what is.
"Pushed forward in time?" Harry repeated in confusion. "What does that mean?"
"It means that for them, none of the past ten years ever happened. They went straight from that night when Voldemort came to your house, to now."
Harry fixated on the last word. "Now? Are they here?"
Sirius nodded, feeling oddly sad. He was losing his godson – losing him to his real parents, of course, but still losing him.
Selfish. You have Meghan. And you'll still see Harry, and he'll still care about you. But you know who he really belongs to, and you always have.
"Can I see them? Do they want to see me?"
"Want to see you?" Sirius laughed slightly. "Harry, you were the first person they asked about. They want to see you more than anything. Do you want to see them?"
The look on Harry's face told him it had been just as stupid a question as it sounded. Without any more words, since none were really needed, he got up and went to the door, opening it. "Mr. Potter will see you now," he said quietly to the impatient couple waiting in the living room.
Lily nearly bowled him over in her rush to the bed where Harry was sitting cross-legged, with a light of wonder and joy dawning on his face. James paused for a moment to clasp Sirius by the shoulder. "Thanks, Padfoot," was all he said, but the intent was clear.
Thank you for giving my son a father when I couldn't.
"Anytime, Prongs." Sirius stepped out of the room and closed the door. "Falling down," he said, suiting action to words into a large easy chair. Remus and Danger had occupied the couch and were entwined in a position that looked vaguely suggestive, but Sirius was too tired to really get a good look at it.
Aletha had the chair that matched his, but it was unsatisfactorily far from him. A quick Summoning Charm fixed that as the chair scooted across the floor and gently bumped into his. "So, what do you think?" he said, invading her armrest shamelessly.
"I think we're going to have a marvelous time." Aletha retaliated by laying her arm across his. "And those kids are going to be just about the happiest in the world."
The other five children in the suite, once they had been sufficiently exclaimed over (Reynard got the most attention, since as far as James and Lily had known he was impossible, but Hermione, whom they had thought was dead, and Meghan, whom Lily claimed she had been expecting for a while, claimed their shares) had been moved to various of the bedrooms, boys to one and girls to another, ignoring the fact that they'd been found draped over each other with no regard to gender or age.
"I think we got a pretty good deal out of this mess," said Danger, her eyes shut.
"And I think everyone needs to sleep," said Remus, drawing his wand and flicking the lights off. "Good night."
Sirius looked now at the Potters' faces and smiled. James, uneasy with his apparent youth against the age of the people he'd known as his contemporaries, had elected soon after his return to take a small dose of Aging Potion, making himself five or six years older, enough to look more or less like Sirius and Remus. Lily said frankly that if people didn't choose to believe she'd been born thirty-two years ago just because of what she looked like, that was their problem, and refused to alter her appearance in the slightest.
Of course, she could just be vain about it. Sirius chuckled.
On the far right, the Lupins waved at him, Danger with one arm around Reynard, Remus holding a sandy-haired girl on his outside hip. Three-year-old Cassie Lupin ensured that life at the London duplex, which the Blacks and the Lupins still shared, was never dull.
Sirius recalled the day she'd been born.
"Cassiopeia?" said Sirius in surprise. "You're naming her Cassiopeia?"
"Do you have a better idea?" asked Remus with a smile, glancing into the room where Aletha, Lily, Hermione, Meghan, and little Evanie were taking turns cooing over the baby.
"Yes. What about Rose, or Dorcas, or Marlene? You used to say names for children should be like laws. The simpler, the better. And now yours are Reynard and Cassiopeia?"
Remus' eyes acquired a certain look to them, a haunted, secretive look, as if he were afraid someone might be listening. Sirius felt like a prime idiot. It had to be something to do with their time at the Malfoys', that was the only reason Remus ever looked that way, and he'd been an idiot to bring it up...
But all Remus said was, "Narcissa's daughter was Cassiopeia."
"Oh." Sirius couldn't think of anything else to say. "I didn't know."
Remus smiled slightly. "I know you didn't. It's all right. Would you like some help getting your foot out of your mouth now?"
"Yes, I think I'd like that."
"I find firewhiskey is a wonderful lubricant."
Sirius needed no second invitation.
"To Cassiopeia Lupin," he toasted when the drinks were poured.
"To Cassiopeia Rose Lupin," answered Remus, touching glasses with him. "May her life be happier than either of her namesakes'."
Hermione ought to be in the picture with the Lupins, but she was seldom there these days. Sirius had his suspicions as to where she went – Arthur Weasley, down the hall in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, had been puzzled by the recent disappearances of his youngest son from the family photograph on his desk – but it was none of his business. Nor were the real-life goings on of those two young people, whose attraction to one another had ceased to be secret shortly after Harry and Ginny became a declared couple at Christmas of last year.
Had ceased to be secret to them, that was. It had been obvious to just about everyone else since second year that Ron and Hermione would eventually end up together.
Just as it had been obvious that Reynard would end up with Luna Lovegood. Meghan's offhand comment the day she'd first met Ray had been dead on target; Luna had liked him, and the feeling had been mutual. She didn't mind at all that he turned into a wolf at sunset unless he had taken his potion, and he rather liked hearing about the things she believed in, since his whole life was a story just as unbelievable as anything she could come up with. Add to that their shared interest in music, and a couple was born. They had yet to officially date, but Sirius had money laid on it happening before the end of the year.
And finally, in pride of place in the center, his own family. Aletha, more beautiful than ever, Meghan, blossoming into a lovely young woman, and in her arms the most handsome, cleverest, and finest child the world had ever seen, in Sirius' admittedly biased opinion. Marcus Aurelius Black, age two and a half, was the darling of all three Marauder families, and bid fair to grow up immensely spoiled if they weren't careful.
And to be an uncle before he's ten.
In the area of romance, Meghan took after neither of her parents, who had bickered their way into love. Instead, a long-standing friendship was slowly becoming something more. Sirius had noticed the way Neville Longbottom was starting to look at his daughter, and the way she was looking back, always strictly when the other wasn't watching, of course. Sirius felt a bit sorry for Neville, once Meghan made up her mind to act. She might be only fifteen, but she had all the wiles of twice that age. Neville didn't stand a chance.
It's a real houseful when we all get together, no matter where we are – London or Surrey...
What had seemed an insoluble problem – Harry didn't want to move to London, while Meghan and the Blacks did – had become simple with the return of the Potters. Aletha had been glad to sell them the house at number seventeen, Privet Drive, and they had moved in around Christmas, after they had fully recovered from the shock of losing ten years off their lives.
Sirius had witnessed the scene, but now he found himself imagining what it would have been like to be one of the primary participants... and not one he would usually have imagined himself as...
Petunia Dursley rushed outside, stopping only to snatch a sweater of Vernon's from the closet against the chill. Vernon was at work, Dudley was watching television, and the Potter boy, she assumed, was staying at his school for the holiday, even though they hadn't had a letter, since he certainly hadn't returned. And there was a moving truck at number seventeen...
But something was odd. The two men were moving boxes into the house. Surely she hadn't slipped enough to miss the day they'd moved everything out?
Mrs. Black stood nearby, watching. Petunia hurried up to her. "Have you had a delivery, Mrs. Black, dear? Something you needed to buy in bulk?"
"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Mrs. Black smiled, shaking her head. "I'm so forgetful sometimes. You're going to have new neighbors, Mrs. Dursley. Meghan and I are moving away. You see, I've gotten married again."
"Oh, congratulations! Who is he?"
"Someone I've known for a long time, a good man. But he wants me to move into his house, in London. And it just so happened that some friends of mine were looking for a house out this way, so I sold it to them." Mrs. Black peered down the street. "They should be along soon. I think you'll like meeting them. They're very nice people."
"Does my nephew know that you're moving?" Petunia threw out the question casually. She and Vernon would have to make plans if the boy could no longer be depended on to be routinely out of the house in the summer. "He's always been so close with you."
"Yes, we told Harry right away. He was a bit disappointed, but he recovered quickly. By the way, might I see his room? He asked me to send him a few things he left behind."
Petunia froze. She'd always, as far as she knew, been able to conceal from the other woman where her nephew slept. "Er, well, I'm afraid it's not very tidy," she said, giving a high-pitched laugh. "You know boys, dreadfully messy. I'd be ashamed to show it to you."
"I'm sure you would." The tone in which this was spoken was unexceptionable, but the look which accompanied it made Petunia feel as if she were being peeled.
Luckily, Mrs. Black's eyes were diverted away a moment later. "Here they come now!" she said happily as a car turned down Privet Drive. "Don't go away, they'll want to see you, I'm sure."
The car pulled up behind the moving van and parked, and the driver and both passengers got out.
Petunia's jaw dropped as her sister Lily ran up to Mrs. Black and embraced her warmly, and her sister's good-for-nothing husband Potter did the same a moment later. Her nephew had run straight to the door of the house, where Meghan Black stood, obviously waiting for him.
More magic. It must be. A plot, it was all a plot, so they wouldn't be burdened with the wretched boy – it was a trick, to make us pay for him, to put us to all that trouble...
"Hello, Petunia," said Lily, turning to her. "How nice to see you again."
"Thank you for taking care of Harry for us," added Potter, glancing at the house, where the two children were now opening and closing the door for the moving men. "We're ever so grateful."
"I'm sure it must have been very expensive, ten years worth of keep," said Lily, an edge starting to creep into her tone. "If you and Vernon can just make a rough estimate of what it cost you, we'll pay you back right away."
"It shouldn't be much," said Potter, and his voice was suddenly colder than the winter chill in the air. "You never spent a penny on his clothing. And that blob you call a son can probably eat as much in a day as Harry does in a month."
"A cupboard, Petunia," said Lily, her pain and disappointment clearly visible in her eyes. "Why would you make him sleep in a cupboard? How in the world could it make any difference to give him a bedroom?"
"If matters had been reversed," said Potter, "if we'd been left with your son to raise, I can't say we would have treated them completely equally, but I think I can honestly say we would have tried." His glare was worse than Mrs. Black's. Petunia now felt as though she were being not only peeled, but minced.
Lily sighed deeply. "I'd like nothing better than to mend fences with you, Petunia," she said. "You're my only sister. My only family, now. I know you don't like magic, but it's a fact of life. At least of our lives. The least you could do is try to understand that."
"Now, we're going to be living here probably for quite a while," said Potter. "Harry likes it around here, and it's familiar to him. Not to mention, Lily's pregnant again."
"James!" Lily pushed him. "Whatever happened to that being my secret to tell?"
Potter smirked at her and continued. "However, we're not going to be doing magic in the street. Not only is it a bad idea, it's illegal. We'll be as ordinary as we can manage, and no one has to know you and Lily are related unless you choose to tell them. If you want to ignore us entirely, pretend we don't exist, that's your choice. But people may think it's a little odd of you to be so blatantly hostile to your new neighbors. Just a warning."
Petunia looked at Mrs. Black, who didn't look at all surprised to hear any of this. The suspicion she'd had when her nephew had taken his letter to the Blacks' to open gripped her again. "How long have you known?" she asked.
"Known what? That James and Lily were alive?"
"Yes, that, but also about... them." Petunia's hands described a larger circle than just the Potters. "All of them."
"You mean witches and wizards? Magic?"
Petunia nodded jerkily.
Mrs. Black laughed. "I am a witch, Petunia," she said. "I was a friend of Lily's at school. I'm afraid what you and Vernon tried to do to Harry just wasn't going to take. Not when he could come to our house and hear the truth any time he pleased. You're really just swapping one set of magical neighbors for another."
Petunia backed away, pointing her finger at the woman. "Vernon always knew," she said shrilly. "He always knew there was something not right about you. I knew it too. Freaks, all of you, you're freaks! Unnatural, abnormal freaks!"
She turned and ran back to her house, willing herself not to hear the merry laughter behind her.
One of the moving men handed his box to Harry and collected a kiss from Meghan. "Do you think she'll still invite you to dinner?" he asked.
"I doubt it, Padfoot," said James, still looking after Petunia.
The other man shifted his grip on his crate and shook his head, sandy hair showing under his cap. "I'm sorry for her. She just can't see that the world beyond her own little narrow box might be a more interesting place."
"Speaking of boxes, let me help with those, Moony," said James, taking the box from him. "It's my stuff, I shouldn't let you two do all the work."
And Danger was inside, supervising the children unpacking and making lunch at the same time...
Merlin, that was a happy Christmas...
Sirius was called back to the present by a sound. Or rather, the lack of one.
The constant squeak-ee, squeak-ee of Wormtail running in his wheel had ceased. The rat was nowhere to be seen. He was probably in the small private corner of the cage, sulking.
Sirius got up and walked over to the shelf. Sure enough, the tip of a tail was just visible outside the walled-off portion.
"You know," he said conversationally, "it wouldn't be all that hard to get you declared alive again. Give you a trial and all that. If you'd really prefer Azkaban to a nice clean cage..."
Squeak-ee, squeak-ee, squeak-ee, squeak-ee...
Sirius chuckled. "Didn't think so."
I wonder how Lucius is doing?
They were gone. No one was left to see him. He could safely look at what Potter had thrown at him.
It was a thin paperback book, entitled Thought Is Free, and authored by Gertrude Granger-Lupin. A book, he saw as he opened it, of poems.
A note was tucked inside the front cover.
See page 38.
Almost unwillingly, Lucius turned to the stated page, which, according to the table of contents, contained a poem entitled Mulier Muta. His mind translated it with little trouble.
Silent Woman.
There was a note at the top of the page.
This is the only poem in the collection not authored by me. It was sent to me anonymously by owl, with the expressed wish that I use it as I desired, as inspiration or as papier-mâché. I desire to have it printed exactly as it arrived. It has an unusual take on some of a woman's most common roles in the magical world.
Lucius almost wanted to close the book there, but his suspicion that he knew the identity of that anonymous author drew him to read on.
All that is desired of me, I am.
I was the perfect daughter in my youth.
My sisters' reprimands were earned;
I sewed and read, and carefully learned
How easily to twist and bend the truth.
All that is desired of me, I am.
A wife to put all other wives to shame;
I vowed that I would make it so,
And thus my own ambitions go,
Becoming fuel for my husband's flame.
All that is desired of me, I am.
A mother as my mother was before;
My child was no more to me
Than any fine accessory,
And it was right that he be nothing more.
All that is desired of me, I am.
My parents sold me on my wedding day.
My husband was polite but cold,
And ere our wedding vows were old,
His eyes had turned another woman's way.
I desire nothing that I am.
My guardian beast was happier than I,
For she could laugh and love without
The fear her husband cast her out
And brand her as unworthy till she die.
I desire nothing that I am.
I know not how to love nor how to live.
My husband loved himself so well
That even childhood-learned spell
Could never yield him love to me to give.
I desire nothing that I am.
The child I loved was only mine in name.
My daughter never lived to see
The light of day nor leaf of tree;
My son was subject to a prior claim.
I desire nothing that I am.
I speak but once. Now silent shall I be
Until my weary days are through;
Then shall I hope that something new
Awaits, when death shall finally set me free.
A wave of chill washed over Lucius before he could even put the book down, and the cell seemed to darken.
"DAD!" screamed a boy's anguished voice. "NO!"
And he was not speaking to me. His only concern for my life was that it not be on his father's hands. Or paws.
Another voice, a man's, reasonable and polite. "I'm not about to kill him, Ray..."
And if I had ever known that they could speak, I would have taken even more precautions than I did.
Narcissa's voice now. She must have written that poem, it was obviously about their situation.
"I did not bear you a son that night. I bore you a daughter. A stillborn daughter."
His own voice, pleading in a way that wrung him to hear, which was of course why he had to hear it over and over under the influence of the dementors.
"Draco..."
And the boy's voice again, full of eleven-year-old scorn and contempt.
"That's not my name. My name is Reynard Lupin."
Seventeen-year-old Reynard Lupin raised his goblet. "To a happy Halloween," he toasted.
"To a happy Halloween," answered his seven best friends, touching their goblets to his.
"Just think," said Hermione with a little sniffle, "this is our last Halloween feast ever."
"Speak for yourself," said Meghan, stealing a chip off Ron's plate when he wasn't looking.
"What I remember is that it's six years tonight," said Harry, looking with a smile towards the staff table, where a red-haired woman in blue robes was chatting with Professor McGonagall. "Six years since I got them back."
Severus Snape had quit his job as Potions Master as of Christmas of the year Harry had defeated Voldemort, and Dumbledore had hired Lily Potter for the position. She'd been teaching ever since, and was noted both for her excellence as a teacher and her careful fairness towards the four Houses.
"Remember that story?" said Ginny, grinning. "About what happened the day after?"
Neville nodded. "How your mum went down to the dungeons, Harry, to have a look around..."
Ron snickered. "And Snape walked in on her in his classroom, and asked who she was, and when she turned around..."
"He fainted," Harry finished, grinning. "Severus bloody Snape passed out."
"Is 'bloody' his middle name, then?" asked Luna.
Everyone cracked up.
Reynard looked up at the staff table, caught Professor Dumbledore's eye, and lifted his goblet. The Headmaster returned the gesture, winking at him.
He's right. It doesn't get any better than this.
Aletha was on duty that night, working with her colleagues to save the life of a badly hurt child, her past qualms about Healing utterly forgotten in the thrill of being able to tell the boy's parents he would be all right.
When she got off duty, she knew, her friends and family would be waiting for her, and so would her dinner.
Though she knew which she was looking forward to seeing more.
Danger set the dishes to doing themselves and went back to the music room. Remus was about to play his violin, and she didn't want to miss it.
"Make it wail like a banshee, Uncle Moony!" begged Evanie, bouncing on the couch.
"No, Daddy, don't!" protested Cassie.
"No noisy!" was Marcus' contribution.
"You should talk," said Sirius, scooping his son up and tossing him into the air, making him squeal. "You're the noisiest thing I know."
"Hey, what about me?" James looked offended.
"Sorry, Prongs, this little Marauder even beats you."
"Nobody beats my daddy!" Evanie leapt off the couch and charged at Sirius. "Take that! And that!"
Do you want to get started? Danger asked Remus, who was watching the fracas.
As amusing as this is, yes, I think I do.
Danger accordingly removed Evanie from Sirius' legs and deposited her in James' lap, steered Sirius and Marcus to the couch, and sat down beside them. Cassie immediately cuddled up to her. "Let's all be quiet now," she said, "and listen to some nice music."
"Nice being a relative term," muttered James, earning himself a slightly scorched left eyebrow before Remus set the violin and began to play.
Later that night, when Aletha had come home, Lily had arrived from Hogwarts, and the children had gone to bed, a piano and violin duet might have been heard coming from the music room. The music spoke of a day to come, a day of peace, of pride, of justice, a day when all people could live in freedom and equality.
There was no question in any of their minds that, for themselves, they had reached that day.
(A/N: And thus the story ends... sniffle. It would have been so much better if I could have put the song lyrics! Wah! And yes, I do know that "Ragtime" didn't come out until after the period this story is set in. Give me a little artistic freedom? Please?
So. Started out angsty, but didn't stay that way too terribly long, did it? Kind of like one of Shakespeare's later plays. Romances, they're called, and most of them are terrible for Shakespeare. Of course, that's like saying "Gee, this book is awful for J. K. Rowling." Oh wait... I think I already said that.
And no, just for the record, HBP is not awful. Just not quite everything I was hoping for. (Of course, nothing could be.) Please remember to review! And LwoD soon, I promise!)