A/N: Anyways, we had to end up here at some point. Enjoy!

Sirius is quiet when he gets back home, holding himself in strange, stiff way that has Remus's heart leaping into his throat.

"Well?" he asks quietly. It's late and Harri's already in bed. She hadn't been happy about that, had come dangerously close to a tantrum before Remus had simply potato-sacked her over his shoulder and tucked her in himself. Just as well, she hadn't been sleeping well.

"Cleared," Sirius sighs, sitting on the very edge of the couch. "Not the… Pettigrew charge, but the rest."

"That's good, isn't it?" Remus asks, getting up to make him a cup of tea. Sirius runs his hands through his hair, which falls limp and dull through his fingers. Remus tips a healthy—or, perhaps, not-so healthy—amount of fire whiskey into the cup.

"Mrs. Pettigrew was there." Ah, so that's it. Sirius had always felt very odd around mothers. Back when Remus's mum was alive, Sirius was strange, stiff, and overly polite with her, watching her with darting eyes and a nervous, nearly manic smile. The only one he'd warmed up to was Mrs. Potter, and that wasn't until fourth year.

"Peter wasn't our fault, Sirius," Remus says, handing over the teacup.

"Wasn't it?" Sirius asks, raising an eyebrow. "We should've seen. Should've… I dunno, done something."

"That's the problem with you," Remus sighs. "Always charging on ahead, thinking you can solve every problem. Sometimes, people change for the worse. There's nothing to be done about it."

"Cor, that's depressing," Sirius mumbles, drinking his tea down in a single shot. He winces, shaking his head like a waterlogged dog. "Can always count on you to cheer me up, thanks, Moo—mate."

Remus snorts, ignoring his slip of tongue. Actually, he's almost made the same mistake a fair few times, but they just aren't Padfoot and Moony anymore. Privately, Remus thinks there can be no Padfoot or Moony without Prongs.

"Harri asleep?" Sirius asks, after a beat of silence.

"Nearly dead on her feet, but she wanted to wait up for you," Remus explains. "What held you up?"

"Auror office," Sirius says, hauling himself up to his feet. "Can I go see her? I won't wake her, but I just need to…"

"Don't think she'd mind if you did wake her," Remus admits.

"Cheers," Sirius says, mustering a weak imitation of the classic Sirius Black smile. There was a time when Remus would've come over weak-kneed and flustered at the sight of it, but this smile is barely a flicker compared to the original's utter brilliance.

Remus's heart aches for it, for the boy it came attached to. He's been battling with these feeling for nearly ten years now, so it's old hat to carefully stow them away. Of course, now that he's got the real thing in front of him, keep the feelings where they belong is much harder than it should be.

It comes at the strangest times: Sirius cooking breakfast, Sirius deliberately losing to Harri in a game of chess just to see her smile, Sirius tucking her in, smoothing back her hair and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Remus can hear their quiet conversation, Harri sleepy questions, and Sirius's careful answers. He can almost see the look on his face, that sweet tenderness that only Harri can bring out. It is one of his favorite expressions to see.

Remus must fall asleep on the couch, because the next thing he sees are big, bottle green eyes.

"Morning, pet," he mumbles, stretching a little. His joints ache, but not too terribly. He's in that limbo where the wolf has receded enough that only human Remus remains—for the most part anyways.

"Morning," Harri says. "Padfoot's sleeping."

"Come on, then, I'll make you some tea," Remus says, straightening up. Harri clambers up into his lap, pressing her face against his shoulder. Remus tightens his arm around her, clenching his jaw as the added weight twinges in his hip. Still, it's nice to hold her like this. Eventually, they'll get to a point where it'll only embarrass her.

Remus gets to baby her until Sirius makes his way out of the bedroom, stretching. He grins at the sight of them, lips stretching up into a lazy, loving smile. Sleep softens his features, like his body hasn't remembered the atrocities it's been through.

"Give us a cuddle, then," Sirius says, holding his arms out. Remus goes to pass Harri along, but Sirius just tugs on his arm, pulling them both in.

"You're clingy this morning," Remus remarks, fighting to keep his neutrality.

"Just glad to have a rest from the trials," Sirius says, hiding in Harri's veritable mane of hair. Remus had chanced a trip to Diagon Alley, hunting for a book on spells and charms for hair. He's skimmed through it but has yet to try anything from it.

"When will they be over, Padfoot?" Harri asks, voice muffled. She squirms a little, wanting out of their collective embrace. Remus acquiesces, letting her down. Sirius looks at her with a forlorn expression.

"Soon, darling," he says. "They're taking a three-week recess."

"They'll start back up on Halloween?" Remus asks, dreading the answer. He's not sure how Sirius will react in court on the anniversary. He knows he himself wouldn't be able to keep his emotions in check.

"No," Sirius says, shutting his eyes. Remus summons the eggs and bacon, sending them to fry on the hob. "Thank Merlin. November first is the first day of the third trial."

"When they're done," Harri asks. "Will we be able to go back home then?" She looks to Remus, eyes wide, and backtracks, promising that she loves his flat, really, she does, but Kreacher is all alone, and she doesn't want him to be sad. Sirius scowls, opens his mouth to say something undoubtably rude, but Remus interjects.

"We'll see, love," he says, serving her breakfast. He makes her tea extra milky, hands her the sugar bowl to distract her.

"Be nice to have an actual place," Sirius says. "Somewhere with a garden."

"Not too many flowers," Harri says through a mouthful of eggs. Remus gives her a look and she immediately shuts her mouth, pointedly chewing before she swallows. "And no tulips!"

So, the morning goes, fantasizing about their ideal house. Sirius suggests somewhere near the sea, Remus wants the privacy of big trees and hills, and Harri wants space to fly on a real broomstick.

"Your dad made the team his second year," Sirius is telling her. Harri listens with wide eyes, eagerly absorbing this new information about her parents. Guilt rolls through Remus is a heavy wave. She never asks about James and Lily, but it's clear how badly she wants to. "Best chaser the school had in ages. Made captain in our fifth year, it was brilliant!"

"Did you play too, Padfoot?" Harri asks.

"Nah, I wasn't as mad about it as Prongs—that's your dad—was," Sirius explains. "I was commentator for a bit, before I got sacked."

Remus bursts out laughing, the memory coming back to him. Sirius had gotten the job their fourth year and had lasted three games before McGonagall had forcefully sacked him, all while the much-anticipated Gryffindor vs. Slytherin game was still going on. Too much Gryffindor pride and anti-Slytherin rhetoric and not enough focus on the game. Actually, Sirius hadn't even spoken about the game, and had instead rambled on about the Slytherin team, ranking them based on general prat-ness and git-like behavior.

"Can we go to a game?" Harri asks shyly. "I love my set, I promise, but I want to see the real thing, if that's alright." That was another thing: Harri was carefully not to outright ask for things, lest he or Sirius got angry with her. It hadn't happened, of course, but Remus always seethes at the implication of what the Dursley's were really like.

"Of course, Hazza!" Sirius agrees easily. "It'll be brilliant! We'll go see the real Puddlemore, and the Holyhead Harpies, you'll love them!"

Remus grins, watching Sirius come to life—more than he has in a while. Just a while longer, and they could have Sirius back again. Remus can see flickers of the boy he loves in the man in front of him, lasting longer and longer the more enthused Sirius becomes. Contentment spreads through him, and Remus wishes this could be his life, forevermore.

A three-week recess is simply not long enough. There are three days until the next trial, which Abbott has promised will be a simple one. Apparently, Petunia Dursley had promised to testify. Abbott had gone to great lengths to get the Wizengamot to accept testimony from a muggle.

Harri is sitting at the table, explaining the strange intricacies of muggle Halloween, and Sirius is trying to listen, he really is, but it's difficult to even considering doing anything but wallow on Halloween. Prongs would hate that, but Prongs isn't here, and that is the great tragedy. It's cruel, considering it was his favorite holiday.

Moony shoots him odd looks now and then. They haven't talked to Harri about when her parents died and how, but they'll have to now, and time is running out.

Harri stops talking, and fixes him with one of her strange, beyond-her-years looks. It's a rare occurrence, but it unnerves Sirius whenever it happens.

"Are you sad, Padfoot?" she asks, her small lips pulling down at the corners.

"Not sad, just…" There's no point in beating around the bush, actually. "Darling, Halloween night is actually the night your parents died."

Harri's expression goes ashen, her entire frame freezes, and Sirius immediately wishes he could take it back. Her eyes—Lily's eyes—fill with tears and her throat works. He wants to pull her into her arms, soothe her, but he too, goes stock still. Moony is looking between them in alarm, and Sirius can see the same panic in him.

Prongs would know what to say, Sirius thinks miserably. Prongs always knew what to say to people, knew how to make his voice gentle and loving, like the world couldn't hurt you as badly as long as Prongs was talking to you.

"How did they die?" she asks in a small voice. "Did Wormtail do it?" For a moment, all Sirius can do is stare helplessly at Moony as he stares back, just as lost. Moony takes a careful breath, crouching down next to her chair. Sirius frowns in sympathy; his joints must be so painful, this close to a full moon.

"No, Harri," he says quietly. "A dark wizard did. Not all wizards are good, and this one… wanted power. He hurt your parents to get it." It's an oversimplified explanation, and it's clear to see in Harri's frown that she doesn't like the deliberate repression of detail. She stares at the two of them, like she's deliberating, then nods, expression crumpling.

Sirius does hold her, after that, carefully pulling her into his lap. Harri burrows close, and to his horror, he realizes she's crying. Sirius rocks her a little, shooting another helpless look to Moony. Harri's silent, and the eerie quiet of the kitchen is painful.

The only indication that she's crying is the steady dampness of his shirt and her shaking frame. Sirius is a little surprised, in the worst way; he didn't learn to cry silently until he was twelve.

The next two days are just as painful. Harri was clearly too young to be told with such bald frankness what happened, and Sirius doesn't know how to apologize. It was such a stupid mistake, he doesn't even know why he did it. He should have stayed quiet, indulged Harri in her muggle Halloween traditions and told her later, when she was old enough.

Halloween morning is strange. Harri stays in bed for a long time, well past ten, which is particularly unusual for her. Moony gets up to wake her, decides against it, then makes himself a cup of tea a total of three times.

Finally, she makes her way out to the kitchenette.

"Padfoot, Moony," she starts, twisting her fingers like a scolded child. "Can we… can we go see them? My parents. Are they in a cemetery?"

Sirius doesn't have the words for her. Truth is, that was the only saving grace of being locked away. He'd never had to face his worst mistake. It is shameful in the extreme and showing Harri that side of him feels too raw, too painful. He doesn't want to disappoint her.

Moony recovers first, glancing at Sirius.

"They are," he says. Sirius is so, so fucking thankful for Moony. "In a place called Godric's Hollow. That's where you lived, before. We can go see them, pay our respects."

Harri nods, considering this new information. She has a thoughtful frown on her face, lips pursed as she thinks.

"Do you…" she swallows hard. "Do you think they miss me? Wherever they are?"

Sirius cracks at that, eye blurring up with hot tears. He nods weakly, holding his arms out. At once Harri is there, her thin arms wound around his neck. He clutches at her, trying to remember to breathe. Merlin, he needs to be better than this, be better for her.

"Of course, they do," he says finally, voice a little croaky.

Of course, Harri," Moony echoes. "They loved you most, with everything they had."

For a while, they all just cling to each other, remembering James and Lily, desperately wishing they were here. Prongs would've adored his clever, wonderful, kind little girl. Sirius swallows hard, pulling away enough to let Harri breathe, though she remains where she is, face buried in his neck.

He will just have to love her doubly, for Prongs.

"Shall we go get ready?" Moony is the first one to slip back into pragmatism. "Sirius, you'll have to owl Abbott, to see if it's alright."

"Better if I just floo," Sirius says, grimacing. He hates floo messages; ash gets everywhere, and while the fire never burns, it's always uncomfortably warm and dry. Moony nods, taking Harri to get her ready.

Abbott is, as always understanding. Somehow, he'd known they'd want to make a trip.

"It's a pilgrimage," Abbott explains. "Loads of people do it, every year, though, they go to the statue of the Potters, not the actual graves."

Prongs would've loved the idea of the statue, it would've gone straight to his head, Sirius thinks fondly, heart aching. It's a strange pleasure-pain to think of Prongs and Lils, and while Sirius refrained from it in Azkaban, it comes to him whether he's prepared for it or not.

They leave just as the sun is setting, Harri on Moony's back and Padfoot the dog in his arms. Moony's face goes pale with the effort of it, but he shakes it off.

Godric's Hollow, as predicted, is bustling with activity. It's jarring to take in the happy atmosphere when they are so somber themselves. Wizards and muggles alike mingle, going this way and that.

The statue is nice, though it doesn't look James or Lily in the slightest. Harri stares at it in silence for a long time, clutching Sirius's hand.

"Dunno why they made Prongs look like a prat," Sirius drawls, panicking a little at the sight of it. It's a stupid thing to say, bordering on disrespectful, but it pulls a snort out of Moony and a smile from Harri.

"Dad doesn't look that," Harri agrees. "Neither does mum."

Wizards gather all around it, signing the statue with pens, markers, quills, and wands. Miraculously, none of them notice him, or Harri. They watch for a while, as people make their pilgrimage.

When the crowds begin to thin out and darkness has settled over the town, they make their way to the cemetery.

It's much quieter here, removed from the chaos of town square. There is a single other person, on the far end of the cemetery.

Sirius's breath catches at the sight of the grave. James and Lily had been laid to rest together. Harri steps up, tracing over the names. Sirius is suddenly thankful that he can't see her face, and immensely shameful as well.

"Prongs always loved Halloween," Sirius says softly. "We did our best pranks then."

Moony lets out a soft, melancholy laugh. His expression is bittersweet, fond and pained all at once.

"Remember the year with the pumpkins?" Moony asks. Their fourth year, the boys had enchanted several huge pumpkins, nicked from Hagrid's own pumpkin patch, to chase people around, spewing seeds and guts at those who got too close.

"Happy Halloween Mum and Dad," Harri says softly. "I miss you." Moony pulls her close to him, letting her lean against his legs. Sirius can nearly hear James, whinging about bloody boring this all is, his head pitched back, neck lolling whilst his glasses slipped down his nose. It's a strange thought, a bit out of place, but it's there.

The marauders legacy can never die, Prongs wouldn't allow it. Sirius elbows Moony, carefully to keep clear of Harri's head. Moony shoots him a sharp look, annoyed, but a bit intrigued. Sirius tilts his head towards the statue.

"For Prongs?" Sirius asks. Comprehension dawns on Moony's face, and he makes a face, half mournful and half smiling.

"It's disrespectful," Moony says slowly. "Prongs would adore it."

Mary Macdonald comes to the grave every year, but this year, she nearly couldn't bring herself to. It's been a tumultuous year, painful with all the news.

The idea that Sirius Black, charming, lovely, witty co-prince of Gryffindor tower, was a death eater was vicious, and like everyone who knew him, ripped her to shreds. She hadn't even been able to keep in touch with Remus because of it.

Now, she doesn't know what to do with the misplaced anger and grief inside her. She's been following the news of the kidnapping of Harri Potter carefully, praying with everything she had that the little girl was alright.

The, the trials broke, and Mary could hardly bring herself to read the articles in full. Sirius was innocent. She should have known.

Halloween is unseasonably warm, especially this late at night. She makes her way through Godric's Hollow purposefully, ignoring the dregs of mischievous muggle teenagers mucking about.

She has a bouquet of lilies and baby's breath in her arms, read to lay at the statue—going to the grave itself is far too painful—but she stops short at the sight of it.

There are a pair of great big antlers mounted on either side of what it supposed to be James Potter's head. A smile breaks over her face despite herself, and all she can do is stare. Gently, she places the flowers down. This feels uncannily like a prank.

A marauders prank.

The spirit of James Potter lives on.

A/N: What did you guys think about the ending? I was going for levity, a hopefulness-in-the-face-of-grief type thing, but I'm not completely sold on it. Let me know if you think it needs work, and what you thought over all. Till next time!