Chapter Sixty-Seven

Word spread quickly.

There were celebrations. People linking arms and dancing in the street, raising their glasses as they hailed the 'Boy Who Lived' and shot fireworks from the end of their wands into the sky.

But the festivities did not touch upon those who knew the boy, or the man who had died for him.

Sirius Black, still young and vivacious and full of life, taken from them long before his time.

Grief struck hard.

The marked boy stayed awake, long into the night, held tight in his mother's arms, not allowing himself to succumb to the pull of dreams because when he drifted the sight of cool, empty grey eyes looked through his, morphing into gleaming red and the words, those terrible words – 'Avada Kedavra' – rang out over and over and over until he jerked back to consciousness with a cry and a sob, his mother's soft voice in his ear and her hand stroking his hair doing little to take away the anguish and the fear.

While, some miles away, another boy heard the story, learned the fate of his beloved uncle who had been there for him, for his father, in the difficult few months his father had spent first wounded by the light and, then, hunted by the dark. Only now, just a few days before, had they managed to find a semblance of normality once more and it was all because of him – Sirius Black – and what he had done for them.

Malachi saw the look in his father's eyes as he told him the news, saw the pain, the same pain he had seen when his mother had been taken.

Still, his dad didn't cry. Not this time.

But he knew that he had, before he'd come into his room.

Had heard the voices of his father and his Godfather on the other side of the door; his dad's voice crumbling in grief mere moments after the conversation began and Severus going quiet, almost as if he wasn't even there anymore, until he heard his dad speak once more, his voice muffled as if he were speaking into robes, before he had come in to see him.

At the same time, a werewolf crept into the living room of the house Sirius Black had once shared with the marked boy, his mother, and sunk down into the chair next to them, where they were huddled on the couch.

Harry, tight in his mother's arms, fighting sleep as much as he could; drifting in and out.

Remus reached over to touch when the boy's tired eyes rose and met his, stroked a comforting hand against his hair with the most reassuring smile he could manage, before he asked Lily if they needed anything. If he could do anything.

She told him no.

Remus asked again. Insisted.

He needed to do something because he couldn't just sit there and think anymore and he couldn't be in this house, in this chair, and know that the three of them were there but someone was missing, someone who should be laughing and gabbing and swaggering down those stairs, telling them all to buck up and put a smile on it, why don't you.

Lily's hand found his, squeezing it tight, a corresponding squeeze in his chest making him pull back and stand up, heading away because the two of them needed someone to be strong for them and that wasn't him. It wasn't him as he stumbled back out into the night, grief overwhelming him in a crush of pain and sobs, and he couldn't let Harry see that.

That boy had seen enough for a lifetime. And there was only more to come.

More pain and loss and sacrifice, so much so that the truth of it made his mother want to scream.

Severus wasn't sure which of the two options was most discourteous.

Attending the funeral of a man he despised.

Or not attending the funeral of a man so beloved to the only two people whom he cared deeply for himself.

It was tempting to be petty.

And the last thing he wanted to do was make a spectacle of himself; he had made no secret of his disdain for Black in the past and there would most certainly be Order members in attendance.

In the end, he'd allowed his Godson the burden of choosing for him, Malachi taking his hand shyly that morning and asking if he'd be going to the event with them; innocently remarking that he hadn't liked his mother's.

Severus didn't really approve of the practice of bringing children to such dreary events at all but that was none of his business. Instead, he had given the boy a stiff nod, his non-verbal consent that he'd be there with them and he'd quickly caught the look of gratitude in Regulus' eyes; even through his friend's obvious surprise.

And, so, he found himself here.

If he was concerned that his presence would be questioned or, even, noticed his worries were proven unfounded within minutes. Though it did not reach quite the same overwhelming response that his elder cousin, Andromeda Tonk's, funeral had received, Black's following was enough that the ceremony room was filled and tears flowed in abundance.

Later, he would learn that many had not known Black at all, that they were simply coming to pay their respects to the man who had played a hand in ending the Dark Lord's second attempt at reign.

Nonetheless, the large numbers meant that Severus was able to remain mostly inconspicuous, taking a seat up the back, even as he insisted Regulus join the Potters upfront; he was family.

Regulus didn't. He sat at by his side.

In fact, at Severus' mention of the word 'family', the other man had looked only ashamed and Severus knew very well why.

Regulus bore the guilt of it keenly; Sirius Black's death. Once again, laying blame for the loss of innocent life at his own feet for, if he had only been more sensible, stronger, more like Black, then he would never have joined the Dark Lord, and would never have done this, or that, and this person may have been saved or that person may not have done this, ad infinitum.

Regulus took far too much upon himself.

Both knew that many contributed to this turn of events. It could not be put down wholly to the actions of one. And, if it could, the one would not be Regulus.

Oh no!

Once again, the blame for all could be laid at his own door.

For Dumbledore had made it very clear that, had the Dark Lord nor Lily never have known the contents of the prophecy, neither would have sought to discredit it and it may have simply vanished into obscurity as one of the many thousands of unfulfilled prophecies that graced the Department of Mysteries.

And who was it who saw to it that both learned the contents of the prophecy?

Who else.

The fates hated Severus Snape just as much as they seemed to hate Harry Potter.

Severus caught sight of the boy as he thought it, Harry Potter getting to his feet – mid-service, mind – and turning and hurrying down the centre aisle, making his way for the exit.

Lily stood then, casting a sheepishly apologetic look at the conductor of service, and made her way after him. Her expression set in both concern and annoyance, but it faltered somewhat when she met his eyes as she drew closer to the rear of the room. The same surprise there as Regulus' had expressed that morning and Severus felt suddenly self-conscious.

It was the first time he had seen her in the week since the Dark Lord's fall. She being unable to tear herself away due to the need to be there for her child and he unable to even locate her because Dumbledore had advised that their home be placed under the Fidelius – a little late for that! – to protect them from the Death Eaters who still ran free.

If being there for Malachi and Regulus was not good enough reason, at least seeing her, even from distance, to assure himself that she was alright, at least coping, was enough to draw him there.

Lily's surprise dwindled, as if she could read his thoughts, and she gave him a smile, a grateful one, before she went on by, after her son.

Harry ground the heels of his hands against his eyelids, furiously, against the tears that fell, and couldn't help the jump when he was suddenly seized by the arm.

"Harry."

His mum's voice was gentle, even though her grip was firm; "Sweetheart, you can't just run out. We're here to say goodbye to Uncle Sirius."

Harry shook his head, his tears still coming; "He can't hear us, anyway."

His mum got to her knees, so that she was lower than him, and pulled him in for a hug. He let her. He didn't care if he looked like a baby to everyone he knew could see, people who were watching through the doorway. People he had never even seen before.

"Harry," his mum whispered, drawing back and pressing her hand to his chest, against his heart; "Uncle Sirius is in here. He's with you, always."

Harry shook his head; "How?"

His mum lifted her eyes skywards, giving him a wry smile; "Right there. That defiant little look in those eyes; that's your Uncle Sirius all over."

Harry wondered if it was true. If he was really like him. Everyone had kept telling him that his Uncle Sirius wasn't his dad. That his dad was someone else, as much as he wanted it to be different. Was it possible that he was like him at all, if he wasn't really his son? Or his nephew, like Malachi was; Malachi looked just like him.

"They watch us, Harry," his mum went on, her voice quiet and her hand stroking his hair; "He's always watching you. With you."

Harry frowned, eyes going back to the room that he'd just run from.

"Will he be angry I ran away when they were talking about him?"

His mum smiled, shaking her head; "I think he'll understand."

"He always understands."

"Yes."

Harry felt his bottom lip tremble and he lowered his eyes. He didn't want to hear them talking about him. They didn't know him right. They didn't know the proper stories. The good ones.

They didn't tell the story about how his Uncle Sirius would laugh all the time, every time Harry told a joke, even though he knew it wasn't very good or he'd messed up the punchline because he was trying too quickly to get to the end.

They didn't tell the story how his Uncle Sirius had stayed up all night with him that time he was sick and made him forget how rotten he felt by letting him eat ice cream and teaching him Wizarding Chess until they'd finally fallen asleep in front of the fire.

And there weren't any stories about how he would take Harry flying, real high up, making him feel like if he reached just so that the sky was right there and he could touch it, as they soared among the clouds.

Harry sniffed, wiping his nose across the back of his sleeve. He knew his mum didn't like it when he did that but he figured she wouldn't care, not just now. She had her worried face on.

But her eyes were dry.

She hadn't cried.

"Mum?"

"Yes?"

"Are you sad?"

His mum looked surprised, chin lifting slightly, and she looked like she had to actually think about it even though Harry knew she must be. He knew she loved his Uncle Sirius too, just like his Uncle Remus did, and he had heard his Uncle Remus cry and cry when he had run away from them the night it had happened. Closing the door, as if he thought that would mean they wouldn't hear.

Grown-ups always wanted to hide when they cried. He wondered if his mum was the same, if that's why she hadn't yet. Because he wouldn't leave her alone.

"It's okay if you're sad, Mum. Uncle Sirius was your friend."

He called upon the words his uncle had said to him, months before, when he had thought Malachi had died.

When he'd promised him that he'd always come home again.

His mum gave him a smile but it was so sad Harry almost wished he hadn't said it. It made him hurt, right there in his tummy, when his mum got sad. It had been a while, though, since she had looked like that. She'd been happy for a long time until now.

"I know, Sweetheart." Her voice shook a little but she still didn't cry. He was glad, he realised. He didn't want his mum to cry.

But he hugged her anyway and she held him back, tight.

He murmured into her robes; "I love you, Mum."

"I love you too, baby."

Harry didn't like it when she called him that, usually he would pull away and scrunch up his nose and tell her he was grown up now, but this time he didn't. Something about the way she said it made him think she needed to say it and it didn't really bother him much just now, anyway, because crying in his mum's arms was as close to being a baby as he could get.

And he didn't care.

It was almost three weeks before Lily had the chance to slip away.

Three weeks of pain and grief and thinking, as the reality of all that had suddenly come crashing down upon them became clear. Everything that she, that all of them, had fought against creeping up and gripping them when they were all looking the other way.

Harry was the one.

Just as Lily had feared all along. Just as Dumbledore had implied with that oh-so-subtle but ever-present glimmer in his eyes when he had warned them all that Voldemort must never know the contents of the prophecy. That he must never suspect Dumbledore knew more.

That he must never suspect Harry.

In the end, even that didn't matter.

As far as all of them knew, even the Death Eaters, the dark wizard hadn't suspected Harry. He had just found himself in a situation where a potential threat, even if a past one, was suddenly offered up to him on a plate and had, of course, taken the opportunity to eliminate him.

And now Sirius was dead. Grief gripped her, just as it always did when she thought it, the truth that her old friend was gone all too real whenever she looked into the haunted eyes of her little boy who couldn't be expected to understand all that had happened and why his beloved Godfather had been taken from them.

Lily knocked.

She wasn't sure if she should knock.

She and Severus were long past pleasantries by now.

But she waited all the same until the door was pulled open, Severus greeting her with surprised eyes and a habitual quick glance out at the surroundings behind her. Even if Voldemort was gone for now. Even if they were supposedly safe.

"Lily."

Her smile didn't meet her eyes, she knew, even if she was glad to see him, stepping into the house without hesitation when Severus moved aside in unspoken invitation.

The door clicked shut behind her and she picked upon on Severus' uncertainty quickly, his concern evident even if he seemed to hold it back, shifting and eyeing her cautiously as if he wasn't sure what he ought to do or say.

"Hey," she offered, quietly, one shoulder lifting in a shrug and that seemed all he needed, stepping closer.

"Are you…" he paused, before drawing in a breath; "Are you alright?"

"Mm." She bit her lip, nodding; "Peachy."

"Your son?"

She glanced away, a heavy silence falling over them both as she did. Too much to say on both sides but both already knowing what the other was thinking, this times, and the words unspoken seeming unnecessary to be voiced at all.

Both knew the reality of the situation now. And both knew what had brought them here.

"You've spoken with the Headmaster? He regaled some of the details to me. What happened."

Lily nodded, meeting his eyes once more; "Yes."

She'd spoken with Dumbledore enough to last her a lifetime.

Gone round in circles with him one too many times over Voldemort and her son and what she ought to do, what it all meant, and how she had chosen wrongly, the first time, by listening at all and not just doing what her first gut-instinct had told her; to run, to hide.

Take the chance, she had become convinced, and it had more than blown back up in her face.

Sirius was dead.

Her son would never be safe.

"Lily."

Severus seemed to read her thoughts, picked up on the hopelessness in them, and stepped towards her, his hand gripping her by the shoulder and then reaching up, cupping her cheek, and she crumbled then, for the first time since it had happened.

Allowed the grief to take hold as she sobbed, Severus pulling her tight into his arms, and even through the sound of her own cries and the haze of losing herself in them she was certain she heard him whisper that he was sorry.

Lily drew back when she got a grip of herself, touching her forehead to his, eyes still closed; "Sev?"

"Yes?"

She swallowed, eyes opening to meet his, and her voice was quiet, vulnerable, even though she knew the answer without really needing to hear it, without even having to ask the question; "Will you be there?"

Severus' eyes softened, and there was relief there, as if he had hoped she would ask, as if he had been waiting for it; for her to tell him that's what she wanted.

And she did.

She wanted him, needed him, for whatever it was that was coming next. Whatever it was that she couldn't even muster up the energy to predict in that moment, because everything any of them thought might or could happen hadn't even come close to measuring up to what actually had.

And from the look in his eyes, Lily knew that Severus needed her the same way.

His grip of her tightened.

"Always."

~End of Part One~