Sirius knew the moment Dumbledore arrived in the Hospital Wing.

Dora, Bill, and Marlene had returned together about half an hour ago - only about fifteen minutes after the kids showed up - and Sirius had heard them asking and responding to questions. When Dumbledore stepped inside, the entire room fell silent.

"The six of you should join the rest of your housemates in the Gryffindor common room," Dumbledore said after a moment.

"One of our housemates is here, though," Ron replied.

"Ron!" Molly snapped.

"Can't we just see him before we-"

"Harry's asleep," Remus said, in the same voice as he'd been using since everyone started arriving; it was not unkind or sharp, but it left no room for argument.

Silence followed.

Sirius sighed and made sure Harry was covered fully by the quilt before standing and pulling the curtains open.

"They can see him," Sirius said wearily, then took in everyone's reactions; Molly's hands had flown to her mouth and Dora's hair was a horrified maroon, and everyone else was staring at him with shock, horror, fear, or some combination of those. Even Snape and Dumbledore looked unsettled.

Sirius looked down and realised he hadn't changed; he was still wearing robes covered in Harry's blood.

"Sirius," Remus said warningly. They'd discussed things before everyone got there and agreed it would be best that Harry didn't have visitors until he was ready for it, but right now he was asleep and covered up, so Sirius didn't see the harm. He imagined they wanted to see Harry for themselves, see that he was alive and breathing.

He could understand that.

"While he's asleep and tucked up in bed, I don't mind," Sirius said. Remus' expression softened and he nodded, though the kids were already moving. "Don't touch him," Sirius said, "and don't go too close."

He was reminded forcibly of his own first year, of coming to the Hospital Wing to see Remus after - though they hadn't known it at the time - a full moon. Madam Pomfrey, after realising that they'd find a way inside whether or not she gave her permission, had compromised by keeping the visits as brief as possible and keeping Remus covered just as Harry was.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered, when she reached Sirius' side. He heard Ron swallow, watched Ginny's lip tremble, and watched Draco's eyes go from Sirius to Remus, then, finally to Harry, almost searching-

"Right," Sirius said, "you've seen him now. He's there, he's alive." He tugged the curtains shut in front of them and made a shooing motion. "Off you go. Back to Gryffindor."

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny all looked surprised and a bit hurt, but Draco's expression was a mix of shrewd and worried. Sirius sighed again.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's- he's-"

"In no state to be gawked at," Madam Pomfrey said, emerging from her office with two potions in one hand and a spellbook tucked under the other. "You heard Black: back to Gryffindor." Ron might have been willing to talk back to Dumbledore but he wasn't silly enough to try it on Madam Pomfrey. He, Hermione, Ginny, and Draco joined the twins and left the Hospital Wing. Whether they actually went back to Gryffindor remained to be seen - Sirius thought it was just as likely they'd wind up in the Room - but he was sure they'd be holding their own, junior Order meeting, and maybe plotting how to sneak into the Hospital Wing to visit Harry after everyone had gone to bed. "And the rest of you-"

"Can wait in my office," Dumbledore interjected. "The password is humbug. Severus-" he said, as the others began to depart. "-you won't be going with them. You know what I must ask you to do..."

"I do," Snape said, eyes gleaming.

"Good luck," Dumbledore murmured.

Sirius hadn't moved from his place by the curtains, but Dumbledore didn't seem to have expected him to. Madam Pomfrey, of course, remained, but Remus, Dora, and Marlene trailed behind Bill and Molly on the way to the door. Remus in particular, seemed to be making a silent offer to stay should Sirius need him to, but Sirius shook his head.

"I shall join you all when I am done here," Dumbledore said. He turned to Madam Pomfrey. "Cedric is here too?"

"Over there," she said, lowering her voice. "Needed a mouthful of Calming Drought before he could sleep. Amos and Gwyneth left just before you arrived, but they'll be back in the morning." She stepped around Sirius and into the curtained off area around Harry's bed.

"Did you speak with Cedric when you found him?" Dumbledore asked Sirius.

"The Cup took him and Harry to a graveyard - wherever Voldemort's father is buried. Peter was there, and Voldemort, obviously. They restored him - Cedric didn't say how, but he mentioned a cauldron and bones, maybe. And he-" Sirius cleared his throat. "-if I had to guess, some sort of blood or- or flesh sacrifice." Dumbledore gave him a sharp look. "Harry begged for Cedric to be let go, and he obviously took the portkey back. Crouch Imperiused him and we tracked them down… You know the rest."

"May I?" Dumbledore lifted a hand at Harry's curtain. Sirius swallowed and pulled it back.

Dumbledore made a soft sound at the sight of Harry's cut, bruised face. Madam Pomfrey had pushed the covers down to his elbows and had both her spellbook and a pot of a strong-smelling salve open on the bed beside him. Harry's pyjama shirt was half unbuttoned and Madam Pomfrey seemed to be doing her best to heal the ugly burn over his heart.

"Nothing I do has any effect," she said, shaking her head, and repeating one of her spells rather aggressively. "And I've not had any luck diagnosing what did it-" Dumbledore held up a hand and moved his wand over Harry's chest.

A bright orange yet oddly shadowy serpent reared out of the burn before vanishing. Harry twitched in his sleep.

"You will not be able to heal it," Dumbledore said, face shadowed. "But perhaps..." Sirius and Madam Pomfrey both jumped as Fawkes appeared with a fiery flash. He needed no instruction from Dumbledore, just craned his elegant neck to blink several pearly tears onto Harry's skin.

They sizzled and steamed where they made contact, and the burn lightened to waxy pink rather than weeping black, but remained sore-looking. Dumbledore shook his head, and Fawkes shifted to the back of the chair Sirius had been occupying earlier.

"That is the best it shall ever be," he said. "But the rest of him…" Dumbledore's eyes traced the cuts on Harry's face and neck and the bruises that covered what seemed like every part of him. "Fawkes-"

"No," Madam Pomfrey said, as Fawkes shuffled forward with a rustle of feathers. "I've done what we can for the worst of them, but I won't have you - either of you-" She gave Sirius a beady look, having given him the same speech earlier when he tried to heal more of Harry's minor injuries himself. "-overwhelming his system by healing too much too quickly. Those can wait until the morning." She flicked her wand and Harry's pyjama shirt re-buttoned itself, and the blankets slid up to cover his shoulders.

Dumbledore inclined his head, then conjured himself a seat beside Sirius', and sat. Sirius hovered, uncertain, and Pomfrey tidied her bottles and book and made to leave.

"Before you go, Poppy," Dumbledore said, "can you wake Harry, please?"

"Absolutely not," she said, not even breaking stride.

"You're joking, right?" Sirius demanded.

"I'm afraid I must insist," Dumbledore said and Madam Pomfrey froze, then spun, expression furious. "Voldemort has returned, and there is only one person who tell us how and why-"

"Go and wake Cedric up," Sirius snapped. "He can tell you about it-"

"Cedric returned via the portkey about half an hour before Harry returned," Dumbledore said heavily. "He will not be able to provide a complete picture of what took place and that is what we shall need if we are to effectively mobilise the Order and the Ministry." He was right, of course. For the second time that night, Sirius hated him for it a bit.

"That can wait," Madam Pomfrey said angrily. "Headmaster, that poor boy has-"

"It cannot wait, Poppy." Madam Pomfrey looked at Sirius, who sighed.

"If he doesn't want to talk, or if it's too much for him…" Sirius warned, but he knew that those could both be true and that Harry would talk anyway.

Madam Pomfrey made a sound like a snarl:

"Come and fetch me if you need me," she said, and then traced her wand slowly through the air above Harry's head. "Or if he does." She flung the curtain out of her way and stalked out. Sirius made sure it was properly closed before sitting down in the chair closest to Harry, who seemed to be waking up.

It wasn't nice to watch; one moment he was limp against the pillows, then he went rigid. Sirius guessed he was conscious but not really awake, trying to shake off the fuzziness that followed passing out and work out what had last happened.

"Kiddo," he said softly, and Harry's eyes flew open. They were strangely unfocused, and Sirius felt a chill, exchanging a look with Dumbledore, who wore a sad frown. "Harry."

Harry flailed and gasped, throwing the rest of his covers off. He pushed himself up with his right hand and reached out to steady himself on the bedside table with his left hand... but he didn't have a left hand anymore.

Sirius, realising what was going to happen, dove forward to catch him before he could overbalance or hurt himself.

Dumbledore made a choked sound and Sirius knew he'd seen Harry's hand - or lack thereof - which had been hidden beneath the covers until now.

Harry thrashed in Sirius' hold for a moment and Sirius nearly dropped him when a painfully sharp zap went from Harry's skin into his own. Sirius swore and Harry went limp, recognition and relief overtaking the acrid panic in his scent:

"Padfoot," he said weakly.

"Hey, kiddo," Sirius said, throat tight. He propped Harry up on pillows and tucked the quilt around him. Harry let him, then went stiff again and flung himself forward:

"Padfoot, he's back! Voldemort's back!"

"We know," Sirius said, catching him and forcing him back down. He looked over his shoulder and curled his lip at Dumbledore, who was still staring at Harry's stump and looking a little grey. "Still think this is a good idea?"

"Sir," Harry said. His eyes were still oddly unseeing - he was looking in Dumbledore's direction but not at Dumbledore. "Is Fawkes here?" he asked, turning his head slightly. The phoenix warbled in response and Harry's breathing hitched at the sound of the music. His eyes filled with tears and Dumbledore waved a hand to quieten Fawkes.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, sounding as gentle as Sirius had ever heard. He leaned around Sirius to pull Harry's glasses off the bedside table. Sirius took them from him and held them out to Harry, who didn't react at all. Sirius pushed them into his hand, but Harry, after feeling them, shook his head.

"It won't help," he said. "It's magic blindness." He sounded calm enough about it but must have smelled Sirius' response because he shook his head tiredly. "From looking at too much magic like that time last year. It's not actual blindness." He paused. "I hope." Sirius set his glasses back down.

"Are you in any pain?" Sirius asked.

"Achy everywhere. And ribs are a bit tender," Harry said. "And my hand-" He moved his right hand to touch it, then went very still as his fingers brushed the bandages on his stump instead. Sirius watched as his trembling fingers moved over the bandages, could smell his confusion, then his dawning understanding and grief. "I-" Harry swallowed and said nothing more.

Dumbledore smelled sick with guilt and sorrow and his eyes looked a bit watery. Sirius thought he was about to announce that answers could wait and leave Harry alone, but he said, rather thickly, "Cedric returned to Hogwarts safely."

Harry let out a shuddering breath and wiped his eyes.

"He's okay?"

"Shaken," Dumbledore said. "But unhurt." Harry closed his eyes and nodded. "He was able to tell us some of the night's events, but not much. I am truly sorry to ask you to relive it at all, let alone so soon, but I must mobilise the Order and the Ministry against Voldemort, and to do that, I need to understand what happened tonight."

Harry smelled a bit overwhelmed and Sirius reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. Harry twitched, obviously having not seen him move, but then relaxed into the touch.

"If you're not feeling up to it-"

"I'm not," Harry said. "But I have to. I'm the only one who can, right? And I-" Harry looked down at his blanket covered knees, more to avoid looking at Sirius and Dumbledore than because there was anything interesting about his covers; Harry still couldn't see. "I've picked this fight." His jaw set. "The least I can do is help the rest of you fight it." That was an odd way to put it; Sirius was going to have to remind Harry again at some point that the prophecy was not the be all and end all, and that it was certainly not his fault Voldemort had picked him.

But that conversation could wait:

"Your helping us can wait until the morning if it needs to," Sirius said firmly, giving his shoulder a little squeeze.

"No," Harry said. "It can't."

"If you are unwilling or unable to tell it, we could use a pensie-"

"No," Harry said sharply. His scent was prickly with panic. "You can't- no." He drew in a shuddering breath, then looked at Sirius, and in a very small voice, said, "I'll talk about it. Can I… can I have a Calming Drought first, though?" Sirius stared at him. "Please?"

Dumbledore stood and left, presumably to go and fetch one, but Sirius never took his eyes off his godson, scared and sad.

"It- was it that bad?" Harry swallowed and said nothing, looking back down at his knees. Sirius stood. "I'm getting rid of Dumbledore," he said. "I-"

"Don't," Harry said. His fingers traced over his bandaged stump again, and Sirius said nothing more until Dumbledore returned, bottle in hand. He passed it to Harry who reached over to take the cork out… and couldn't. For several long seconds, he just stared at it, then, just as Sirius was going to take the cork out for him, lifted it and uncorked it with his teeth instead.

"It's strong," Dumbledore murmured. "A mouthful should be enough to take the edge off."

"Is it dangerous to have too much?"

"No, they're quite harmless, but the effects get stronger the more you have and most people end up asleep before long." Harry nodded and drank his prescribed mouthful, but kept the bottle wedged between his knees, as if he thought he might need more later. "Can we get you anything else?" Dumbledore asked. "Food, or drink?" Harry shook his head.

Sirius could see the potion taking effect; Harry relaxed a little deeper into his pillows and some of the tightness in his expression eased. His eyelids drooped a little. His scent was oddly - artificially - content. Dull, almost.

"'kay," Harry said at last. "Ask away."

Dumbledore looked to Sirius, who shook his head, unhappy that it had come to this, to Harry feeling he needed to drug himself to have a conversation with them about what had happened that night, hated that the conversation was important enough that they didn't have much choice but to let him. He waved a hand.

"Perhaps start with the maze, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"We saw sparks," Sirius said. "Were any of them yours?"

"Two sets," Harry said. Sirius' heart clenched. "I let a spider get me so I had an excuse to get out, but Red Caps showed up and I had to move. I found Cedric and helped him against a sphinx, and then the Cup was right there. I made Cedric take it, and he did, eventually. I sent up more sparks, and Cedric touched me as he was saying goodbye, which triggered the portkey…" Harry's eyes became a different type of unseeing. "It took us to a graveyard - Voldemort's dad's house. That's where he's been all this time. Wormtail was waiting. He disarmed us both and bound us… Voldemort was there." Harry's hand drifted up to his scar, which was more of a scab tonight, red and inflamed. "There was a cauldron. Wormtail put Voldemort into it, and some of Voldemort's dad's bone dust-"

"Bone of the father?" Dumbledore murmured. Harry nodded.

"Then Wormtail cut his hand off." Harry's scent didn't change from that odd, muted contentedness, but he lifted his stump and felt it with his remaining hand. His expression and voice were calm - too calm - and Sirius felt sick. "Flesh of the servant. Then he cut me-"

Horror and fury warred in Sirius. Fury won, and Harry shrank a little; Sirius realised he was gripping his shoulder too tightly, and hastily released him. He was going to murder Wormtail the next time he saw him-

"Blood of the enemy," Dumbledore said. "And he took your hand to get it?"

"No," Harry said, sounding a bit confused. "No, he just cut my arm." Harry seemed to consider something, but didn't speak further.

"May I?" Dumbledore reached out and Harry cocked his head, staring at nothing. "May I see where he cut you?" There was an odd note of triumph - muted though it was - in Dumbledore's voice.

Still calm, though rather reluctantly, Harry offered his left arm. Gently, Dumbledore wrapped a hand around what remained of his bandaged wrist and rolled Harry's sleeve back, then went very still.

"What?" Sirius asked sharply, moving so he could see.

"Voldemort healed it, after," Harry said, defensive enough that Sirius could both hear it in his voice and smell it over the potion's effects. He pulled free of Dumbledore's grip, but Sirius had already seen what was there:

Harry's smooth, perfectly healed forearm, bore a pale Dark Mark.

Sirius had only ever seen black ones, whereas Harry's was a few shades lighter than his natural skin colour, like it had been bleached instead of tattooed, but it was still a Dark Mark. It was even on his left arm.

Sirius couldn't find words.

Harry hadn't- surely? It had to be Voldemort's idea of a cruel joke- but Harry didn't look ashamed or uncomfortable, or even upset, just cagey and anxious-

"Harry," Dumbledore said, but didn't seem able to find the words to say anything more. He made a strange movement, as if reaching for Harry, then lowered his hand and looked at Sirius. He smelled a little ill, but there was no accusation on his face or in his scent. Harry straightened a little, frowning himself, head swivelling between them.

"What?" he asked.

"He's- he Marked you," Sirius managed, and Harry obviously heard the inflection.

"Marked me?" Harry asked, and looked - uselessly - down at his arm. His right hand ran over his forearm, as if trying to feel it. "Marked me?" His voice caught and it was as if he hadn't taken the Calming Drought at all. "You mean- like-? I've- I didn't join him, I swear." His voice was frantic and his face was white. Panic and fear and anger and dread and desperation attacked Sirius' nose. Harry chugged what remained of the Calming Drought, shuddering a little.

"Merlin," Sirius said, taking the empty bottle from his hand. It took effect quickly; Harry slid a few inches down the bed, eyes-half closed, and scent slowly clouding over again as everything he was feeling warred with the potion and lost.

"Voldemort Marked you without you being aware of it, then?" Dumbledore asked after a moment.

"Knew he healed me," Harry said, sounding a little slurred. "I didn't know he left that though." He shivered and reached for his sleeve again, but Sirius gave his hand a light slap. Harry tried, rather sluggishly, to hit Sirius back and missed completely.

"Will he remember this?" Sirius asked.

"His mental faculties are perfectly intact," Dumbledore said. "He's just physically very relaxed and his emotions are dulled. That does not necessarily mean he is still willing to continue, however… Harry?"

"The cauldron cracked," Harry said, and Sirius was about to tell Dumbledore where to shove his words about intact mental faculties when Harry continued, "and Voldemort sort of… grew out of what had been in it. He used Wormtail's mark to summon the rest of his followers. I asked Voldemort to let Cedric go…"

"And he did, presumably," Dumbledore murmured, looking troubled.

"I think he forgot 'bout the Cup," Harry said. "Cedric wasn't meant t'make it back to Hogwarts so quick."

"No - we know Cedric wasn't sent back as a messenger - Crouch was waiting for him." Harry's eyebrows lifted. "Crouch was Pemberley."

"Oh." Harry looked a little sad about that and was quiet for a few moments. "Makes sense, I s'pose. He was on your list. And he knew everything about the Tournament. Where's he now?"

"He escaped when we came after Cedric," Sirius said. Harry nodded. "Which begs the question - why did Voldemort let Cedric go at all? If you were both restrained and wandless…?"

"He… he was proving a point," Harry said, and then before either Sirius or Dumbledore could ask what Voldemort's point had been, ploughed on: "He healed Wormtail's hand. The Death Eaters started to arrive just after that… They were all wearing masks and robes, so I couldn't see faces. He mentioned that the Lestranges should have been there, though, and that they'd be able to again soon. Lucius Malfoy was there. And there were new recruits. Five. Phoebe Daunce. Thorfinn Rowle, and Lawrence Gibbon. And Azalea Fawley and Solomon Jugson. They took the Mark, all of them. And then…"

Harry was quiet for a few long moments.

"Voldemort and I fought," he said at last. "Duelled. And then our wands... connected." Dumbledore let out a thoughtful hum.

"What do you mean connected?" Sirius asked.

"It was…" Harry looked vaguely thoughtful. Sirius wondered how he would have looked if he wasn't under the effect of the Calming Drought. "A thread of gold… magic, I s'pose… It linked our wands. And more magic, like lightning, kept everyone else back."

"How?" Sirius asked, looking to Dumbledore this time.

"Priori Incantatem," he murmured.

"The Reverse Spell effect?" Sirius asked slowly. "Why?"

"Harry and Voldemort's wands share cores," Dumbledore said. Sirius blinked, then frowned, giving Harry a look he couldn't see, and then cast a look at the wands on the bedside table; both Harry's wand, and James' snapped one sat there, Sirius having pulled them both from his pocket when he changed Harry into pyjamas earlier. "Phoenix feathers - from Fawkes, in fact." Harry hummed, glancing in Sirius' direction. Sirius forced his focus back to the main conversation:

"So when a wand meets its brother…?"

"They will not work properly against each other-"

"They'd worked up until then," Harry said. "We'd been fighting for a while. A minute, at least."

"Until you upset the balance," Dumbledore said, and for the first time that night, his eyes twinkled. He smiled slightly at Harry. "Or at least, I assume it was you, for while you are growing into a formidable wizard, I do not think you are yet Voldemort's equal in the duelling ring…"

"Nowhere close," Harry said, yawning.

"What balance?" Sirius asked.

"Give and take. Push and pull. Love and hate. In this case - as is the case with most wand-related incidents, I suspect offence and defence. A wand casting a defensive spell against its twin's offensive spell will not trigger the effect because there is an exchange; each wand is able to perform its task, and each wand's task is different… opposed. Equal." Dumbledore held his hands in front of him, and pressed them together. "I suspect what happened tonight - and you will be able to confirm this for me, Harry - is that you attacked Voldemort at the same instant as, or in response to, his own attack on you."

"I- yeah, I s'pose," Harry said. "If you consider Expelliarmus an offensive spell."

"Does a well placed disarmer not disable an opponent as surely as a stunner, or a body-bind, or a nasty hex?" Dumbledore asked.

"I'm lost," Sirius said. "If they're attacking each other, they're still opposing each other." He held up his palms the way Dumbledore had, and brought them together.

"Ah," Dumbledore said. "Opposing each other, yes, but in the same way. Perhaps this would have been a better way to show it."

"Show what?" Harry asked, looking blankly around.

"Apologies, Harry." He made one hand a fist, the visual aspect purely for Sirius' benefit. "Picture a fist for offence." He made a cup with his other hand. "A cupped hand is defence." He brought them together, so the cup of his hand was wrapped around his fist. "Alternatively… Imagine two fists facing into each other." His hands mimicked his words. "When the wands want the same thing, and yet are equals, twins, who is the victor?"

"Neither?" Harry guessed.

"Whatever one the more powerful wizard's holding," Sirius suggested.

"You are both correct," Dumbledore said. "Neither wand can win - when it comes down to it, what are they but tools? And so the matter of determining a victor falls to the wizards involved. And it is power, yes, Sirius, but not magical power, but rather the power of their core, their character. What happened after the connection formed, Harry?"

"Voldemort told everyone else to stay back… not that they could get close anyway. There were balls of light, like beads, down the thread between our wands. My wand was trembling - I thought it might break, so I pushed back… magically, I s'pose. And the lights moved down towards Voldemort."

"And then his wand began to regurgitate its history?"

"Mmm." Harry nodded drowsily. Dumbledore beamed.

"Does that mean Harry won?" Sirius asked.

"It certainly does," Dumbledore said.

"But- but that doesn't make sense," Harry said. His eyes had slipped shut. "Voldemort probably wanted me dead more than I wanted to disarm him."

"It is not conviction for the spells that determines the outcome of a wand connection, though," Dumbledore said. "As I said before, it is the wizards who determine it. And while the trigger in this instance was two offensive spells, the battle between you and Voldemort, Harry, while multi-faceted, has - and forgive me for putting it so bluntly - at its most fundamental level, has always been about which of you shall live and which of you shall die."

"Neither can live while the other survives," Sirius murmured.

"Precisely."

"Still doesn't make sense," Harry mumbled. "He wants me dead. More than anything, 'specially now he's got a body. Certainly more than I want him dead - not that I don't, but just- he's... better able to act on it."

"Ah, but does he want you dead more than you want to survive?" Dumbledore asked.

"I… maybe," Harry said, opening his eyes again. He looked troubled for a moment, then thoughtful, and a little more at ease, a little more sure. "Maybe not - dunno. But he definitely wants to live more than I want him dead too, so we're still pretty even, aren't we?" He looked to Sirius, who shrugged, then remembered Harry couldn't see him.

"Are you?" Dumbledore asked. "I think you'll find you're far from even. Consider, Harry, where Voldemort's desire to survive comes from - it is the same place that his desire to see you dead comes from."

"He wants power," Sirius said, and both Harry and Dumbledore shook their heads.

"He does," Harry said, "but it's more than that."

"It is because Voldemort fears his own death, more than he fears or desires anything else," Dumbledore said. Harry nodded. Sirius thought of the locket and the diary - horcruxes made to tie Voldemort to life - and nodded himself, slowly. "I do not believe the same is true of Harry. Harry has no desire to die, I'm sure-" Harry made a strange face at that, but his scent was too masked by the Calming Drought for Sirius to know what that meant. Was it disagreement? Embarrassment? Amusement at the obvious? "-but he has accepted it as a possibility."

"More than a possibility," Harry said quietly. He'd shut his eyes again.

"Precisely. You accept it - embrace it, even. Voldemort could never do the same. Your courage won and so you won." Dumbledore smiled at him, and waved a hand at the bedside table. "Your wand won."

"And the prize is- what? Getting to see what Voldemort's been up to?" Sirius asked. "Shouldn't it be something… better?"

"Better?" Dumbledore asked in surprise.

"More… useful," Sirius said.

"Aurors have been known to check a wand for the last spell it cast as proof of innocence or guilt," Dumbledore said, still looking surprised by Sirius' response. "The Reverse Spell effect will show a wand's entire history if allowed to go on long enough. From that you can learn what kind of opponent you're facing - if you didn't know already - or gain an understanding of any longer-term spell effects that wand might have set in place, no matter how trivial or how serious. Have they transfigured something to hide it from you, set a magical trap, cursed you or someone else…? Priori Incantatem will reveal all that to you. If you are duelling with them because you have wrongly accused them of something, their wand will make the truth clear, stop you from making a mistake. And if you are looking for answers, proof, or for a source of conviction, the wand can provide that too. The effect will begin with the most recent spell and then work backwards through time…" At that, Dumbledore turned to Harry, expression somehow both cautious and gentle. "How long did it last tonight, Harry?"

Sirius got the impression that Dumbledore was using that question to find a different answer; Harry's mouth turned down but it wasn't quite an unhappy expression. Dumbledore's scent morphed into something bittersweet.

"Long enough to see my parents." Harry didn't open his eyes for a moment, and for the first time in a long time, Sirius looked at him and saw James. When Harry did open his eyes, they were Lily's. Then the moment passed, and he was Harry again, battered and pale and both more vulnerable and more ancient than James or Lily had ever been.

"What?" Sirius whispered. He turned to Dumbledore. "How?"

"The wand would have created an echo of sorts…"

"Ghosts?" Sirius asked, feeling a wretched sort of hope. "Is it permanent? Are they-"

"They ended when the connection did," Harry said, and Sirius was torn between relief and disappointment. "They were… It- it was them, right? They were real?" Harry looked over at Dumbledore, who gave him a sad smile:

"No spell can bring back the dead, H-"

"No, I know," Harry said. "Just- I've met… imprints, I s'pose you'd call them. Dad's in the Map-" He looked to Sirius. "-and Moony, and you. And then there was the locket." He pulled a face, then yawned. "This was... different. They felt..." He trailed off, not overwhelmed, but apparently lost for words. Dumbledore didn't speak, and Sirius wasn't about to interrupt, wanting to hear whatever else Harry had to say about it, about Lily and James. "They knew what was happening-"

Because they watch, Sirius thought, with more certainty than pure belief ought to have allowed, and wasn't quite sure where the thought had come from.

"-and they- had… memories. I think. Dad looked at Wormtail for a bit. And they could talk. They helped."

Of course they had. For a disorienting moment, Sirius' mind conjured the image of a forest, then Regulus' voice, and James' voice, an image of train tracks and a small hand shoving him through a fluttering black Veil.

"Helped how?" Dumbledore asked. Sirius blinked, shaking himself, and the memories were gone as quickly as they had come, the remnants of a dream, perhaps, but if it was, it wasn't one he remembered.

"They-" Harry yawned enormously. "Dad charged Voldemort, distracted him. And Mum- she helped me find a gap in the wards, maybe even held it open for a moment longer."

"You Apparated out?" Sirius asked. "That was how you got away?" Harry nodded without opening his eyes. He'd assumed Harry had called for Kreacher, that Kreacher had been the one to get him away from Voldemort. He knew from his earlier conversation with Kreacher when they first arrived in the Hospital Wing that Kreacher hadn't seen the graveyard, Voldemort, or any Death Eaters; Kreacher had said he'd been called to Harry, who'd been in a dark, ruined room that Kreacher didn't recognise, and Sirius hadn't questioned him further at that point. He'd assumed Harry'd run to a nearby house or shed or something, that he'd maybe used his wolf to get far enough away to call for help.

"Kreacher," Sirius murmured.

"He came after, I think," Harry mumbled, then jerked as Kreacher popped into being beside the bed. He gave the three of them twitchy bows and then reached up to pat Harry's blanket-covered leg.

"Hi," Harry said, eyes still closed, and Sirius could smell the gratitude and affection in his scent even over the potion.

"Brat," Kreacher said, but gave Harry's leg another squeeze, and his scent was fond too.

"Where did you Apparate to?" Sirius asked.

"Dunno," Harry sighed. "Somewhere safe, away from Voldemort." Sirius looked to Kreacher, who shrugged his bony shoulders. "That was how…" He tucked his bandaged stump into his good hand.

"Splinched?" Sirius asked.

"Mmm."

"Can you take me there, Kreacher?" Dumbledore asked, rising. Fawkes hopped down onto his shoulder. "To where you found Harry."

"Alone?" Sirius asked. "If they were able to trace Harry-"

"Enough time has passed that they will have been and gone," Dumbledore said. "Given both Harry and Cedric escaped knowing the location of Voldemort's revival, I imagine they will all have scattered. But, should there be an ambush waiting, I shall have Fawkes to protect me." Dumbledore said it quite genuinely, as if he weren't perfectly capable of protecting himself. "If there is trouble, Kreacher, you are to return to Sirius immediately." Kreacher glanced at Sirius, who nodded. Then he took Dumbledore's hand, and man, bird and house elf vanished with a pop.

"Questions done?" Harry mumbled.

"I assume so," Sirius said. "I figure once you got away, you called for Kreacher and he brought you to me." Harry gave another nod, this one slower, almost drowsy. "So if that's the case," Sirius said, "that's everything." He hesitated, then, unable to help himself, added, "Unless there's anything else we should know, that you haven't said yet?"

Harry made a noise that sounded like a disagreement, and gave what might have been a shake of his head, or might just have been his head tucking against his pillow. His breathing changed, deepened.

Sirius watched him with a worried frown, and was still watching him when Kreacher reappeared with Dumbledore and Fawkes a moment later.