A/N: First posted on FFN on 8th June 2015 – very slightly updated

This matter follows on from a long Jily fic that I did years ago called 'Accio Evans' (I am re-working this and will eventually post it here, but it's still up on FFN if you want to read it). You don't need to read it to understand the plot, but the characters were as follows: Marauders, Frank Longbottom, Lily Evans, Alice Prewett, Hestia Jones and Jessica Silvers (OC).

Summary: Hestia Jones had spent 12 years weighed down by the knowledge their entire relationship had been a lie, and as he was taken away by the aurors, laughing manically, she had vowed she would never shed another tear for the man whom she had loved, the man who had betrayed her and everyone else she loved.

That was until she was left in her sweaty Daily Prophet office in the dimming heat of September where she was supposed to be writing an article about his escape from Azkaban...

Hestia Jones, sat at her desk in the middle of the Daily Prophet office, stared blankly at the typewriter in front of her; its gleaming keys mocking every passing moment that she remained unable to write the article that had been requested of her. She tried to tell herself it was just writers block, everyone got it every now and again, but she knew she we was lying to herself; she knew the real reason she wasn't able to write her article, it was because of the picture lying haphazardly on top of the brief that she had unceremoniously chucked into her desk drawer. The picture, although grainy, was one that she had hoped she would never have to see again, a picture of a person caused an uneasy knot to form in her stomach and an ache in her chest.

She shook her head, she needed to get a grip, the deadline for this article had been and gone and she'd still not even written it. Pulling the brief back out from her drawer in the vain hope it may inspire her, her skin prickled as the erratic face of Sirius Black stared out from the page. Despite everything, her eyes still wandered somewhat longingly over to the picture, but as his Azkaban robes hung from his slender frame, she knew the man in the picture wasn't her Sirius any more. Her Sirius was gentle, elegantly handsome with eyes full of laughter and a cheeky smirk that used to make her go weak at the knees; the man in the picture was simply a shell, a shell that used to encase her Sirius.

She knew she shouldn't allow her mind to wander, but it often did when she thought of him; unconsciously, she remembered the endless nights they'd spent together, in her dorm, or his, at his flat, or at her parents' house when she'd sneak him in through her bedroom window, the feel of his soft lips on hers, his strong arms around her, his warm skin underneath her fingertips. She shuddered as the memories replayed around and around her head, just like one of those muggle videos Lily used to make her watch.

Cursing herself, she shook her head, none of it had been real, it had all been a lie. When he had told her he loved her, he hadn't meant it. When he had said he hated the dark arts, that he would do anything to fight against Voldemort, he had lied. Everything had been a lie.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, she had shed enough tears for Sirius Black. She had vowed to herself, all those years ago, that she would not allow herself to shed another tear for that man, and she was determined not to break that vow now. Shifting her chocolate-coloured curls so they fell over her slim shoulders, she took a deep breath, her doe-like eyes focused on the task at hand, this article needed to be written, whether she liked it or not.

'Sirius Black – Escape from Azkaban. Are the Ministry of Magic to blame?'

She shook her head, if it wasn't so frightfully terrifying, it could have been comical; Sirius Black, of course, had to be the first person to break out of Azkaban prison; he had to be the first to do everything: the first down to dinner, the first to finish the exam, her first…

They had teased each other with their feelings, stealing kisses in dark corners and looks across classrooms, kidding themselves that it was just as casual thing, which worked for a while, until it didn't. Eventually, they had both given in and fallen into each other's arms, and that was where she would remain in forever.

She shook the memory from her head, she would not think about him in that way, dredge up those memories, no, not again. He may not have raised his wand to kill James and Lily, but he was the reason they were dead.

Lily Evans, the fiery redhead, had been her very best friend, they had been inseparable from the moment that Lily had grabbed her hand on the boat ride across to Hogwarts on their very first day. This time, Hestia couldn't contain the tears, hot and salty, they slipped down from her eyes leaving glistening trails down her perfectly made-up cheeks. She tried not to remember Lily twirling around in her wedding dress, or the sparkle in her eyes when she had told her that she was pregnant, no, she couldn't think about that, nor could she think about James. They had been friends for as long as she could remember; until he had died, James had been a constant presence in her life, in every childhood memory, at every birthday party or every time she was told off for sneaking off at a society party, James was always been there, right by her side.

James and Lily had fallen in love slowly, then all at once; her best friend and her childhood playmate, it was like something out of the crappy romance novels that Alice used to force her to read when they were at school. Hestia had been a bridesmaid for Lily when they got married, she had carried her bouquet and fixed her hair; they were just 18 then, and barely out of school, so young and full of hope, with the world at their feet,

Then there was Harry, she hadn't known it was possible to feel so much love for something so small until she had held him in her arms and felt her heart swell. 'Sorry darling, Harry has usurped you as my most favourite man' she had cooed at Sirius in the hospital, tears in her eyes as Harry's tiny fingers clutched at hers.

He must be 12 now, or 13, maybe older, she'd lost track of the years, months passing in a blur. She hadn't seen Harry since he was a baby, he wouldn't even recognise her now, wouldn't remember all the times he had grabbed fistfuls of her hair and she'd pretended to be annoyed, or the times she'd blown raspberries on his chubby cheeks or how she had rocked him to sleep when only Auntie Hess would do.

She had seen him in Diagon Alley earlier that year with the Weasley's and he had looked so grown up, she almost couldn't believe it was him; but there was no denying who he was, Harry Potter was the spitting image of his father, all long limbs and unruly dark hair, but with Lily's piercing eyes. Hestia had briefly met his gaze from across the shop and she had almost lost it in Flourish and Blotts as she bought the latest romance novel (something she did as it reminded her of Alice). As Harry's eyes met hers, she was transported back 15 years and it was Lily looking back at her. She left without her book and made it to the Leaky Cauldron, where she broke down and downed her sorrows in a glass of fire whiskey, or six…

Her heart had been shattered the night they had died and she had never been able to put it back together, and what amde it so much harder was that her memories of her two friends were so entwined with those of him, of Sirius, of Sirius and her, so much so that she couldn't separate them; that hurt more and more as time went on. He had been her first love, and James' brother in all but blood, but none of that had mattered when he had chosen to live up to his family name and betrayed them all, and now James and Lily were dead.

A small knock at the door pulled her from her memories; caught off guard by the noise, she took a deep breath and wiped her face, and hoped it wasn't too obvious that she had been crying. She turned to face the door and called for the knocker to come in. Around the door, poked the head of a petite witch with coppery coloured hair that hung straight around her face, reaching just above her shoulders. Her brown eyes didn't meet Hestia's crystalline gaze, but her small mouth curved into a smile. She forced a smile, although it felt more like a grimace and the small woman looked up and Hestia relaxed slightly.

"Danielle," Hestia said attempting to keep her tone light, despite the aching feeling that was weighing down her chest.

"Are you finished? It's just I wondered if you want to go out for a butter beer or something?" Danielle asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her delicate face twitched slightly as she spoke.

"Sorry, I've still got loads of work to do, so not today, but maybe tomorrow?" Hestia replied, her false smile still plastered across her features.

"Oh, okay, see you then." Danielle squeaked and with a small blush across her cheeks, she was gone.

Danielle was sweet and Hestia felt horrible for turning her away, after all, she was pretty much the only friend Hestia had. Danielle was sweet, kind and loyal, she would do anything for anyone – but that was the problem: Danielle wasn't dynamic, she wasn't fiery, she wasn't stubborn, she wasn't Lily…

Hestia sighed heavily, feeling a sob as it rose in her chest. Trying to subdue it, she ran a finger delicately down the glass of a photo frame on her desk, the only personal artefact in her booth. The muggle picture showed Hestia in her tiny teenage pyjamas alongside a beaming Lily, clothed in her wedding dress; Lily glowed, as if the sun shone from her face, her natural red curls cascading over her shoulders, her glittering green eyes alight with joy and the prospect of things to come. Hestia and Lily stood, hands intertwined, their shoulders pressed together wearing matching grins as they posed for the photo. Two forms were blurred in the background as they moved, but Hestia knew the blurs were the forms of Jessica Silvers and Alice Prewett, scurrying around Lily's bedroom attempting to find Lily's shoes and Hestia's handbag, Alice's headband and Jessica's corsage.

They were all so young then, Hestia was barely 18, completely unaware of what would happen in just a few short years. It wasn't long after the August wedding that everything had started to fall apart, Jessica had been the first to fall, murdered just a few short months later for daring to follow her quidditch dream, but eventually, they would all succumb to the blackness that would inevitably consume them all.

Lily's death had ultimately signed the death warrant for Hestia too; since that fateful Halloween, she had barely smiled or laughed, and she sure as hell hadn't loved anyone. True, there'd been the odd bloke who lasted a few weeks, Jessica's brother Jake had even lasted a few months, but that was it, she'd never loved anyone again and she doubted if that was even possible for her now.

But it hadn't just been Lily and James who she'd lost – oh no, fate hadn't been that kind: Jessica had been murdered just months after the photo had been taken, then Marlene and Dorcas, Caradoc, Gideon and Fabian, Benjy, and then Lily, James and Peter, and after all that, fate still wasn't done with her; it twisted the knife once more with Alice and Frank. Fate was a cruel mistress, she'd allowed Hestia a month to grieve, and then she'd taken more from her. Although Frank and Alice weren't dead, not really, they were still there, but they weren't the Frank and Alice anyone knew anymore, their minds were completely lost. And in a way that was worse, knowing two of your best friends were alive, but that they'd never remember you, what you did, the memories you made, the people you loved, in that case death seemed almost kind.

Hestia had tried to visit Alice once, but as she had reached the edge of the ward and caught a glimpse of her old friend in her nightgown, her once beautiful face aged, her neat hair falling out in clumps, she had thought she was going to be sick. Then she had seen Neville, the little boy who she had babysat and spoilt rotten at Christmas in the way only she could, her heart broke all over again. Here was yet another little boy whom she had doted on, but was now a stranger to her. It was all tragic that she had vowed never to visit again; it was almost easier to pretend that Alice and Frank had died than be confronted with the truth.

The only one left was Remus, dear sweet Remus. They had met up a few times in the aftermath, drunk fire whiskey until their heads spun and the ceiling felt like the ground, they had held each other as they cried, but ultimately the pain was too much; seeing him brought back the hurt, opened the wounds, prolonged the inevitable. Eventually, for her own sanity, she had ignored his letter, he'd sent another, but had she ignored that too. As she had thrown his neatly written letters into the fire, it had felt like was throwing her heart in there too, the pain in her chest was almost unsurvivable, but it was necessary. She loved Remus, she loved him with all the heart she had left, but every time she saw his sandy coloured hair and his blue eyes, she was reminded of them, of him, and she couldn't continue to torture herself with the memories, so even though it nearly killed her, she cut out the only remaining link to her old life.

She floundered for years, hopping from one job to the next, without direction or a plan; then she had applied to the Prophet, she had always wanted to write and as she wrote her first article, everything fell into place for the first time since she was a teenager. She got promotion after promotion and bought a new flat in Knightsbridge, the memories of the house she shared with Sirius long forgotten; but as much as she knew she was finally moving forward, she still felt herself held back by the past. It was too triggering to go to Hogsmeade, so she simply didn't, she didn't talk of Hogwarts with her colleagues, nor indulge in their conversations about their houses, instead choosing to recuse herself to make a coffee, or to cry quietly in the toilets.

She had eventually found new friends, or at least attempted to; it seemed she was damaged goods, people initially latched onto her, her good looks drawing them in, but once they got closer and saw the cracks, they backed off, leaving her alone once again.

That was until Danielle, she had seen the cracks but had stayed, she had been the first to do so in years. The same went for relationships too, Hestia would throw together feelings for whatever man had wandered into her life, convincing herself that she was in love, and that it was real this time, but of course, she was just pretending, kidding herself that she was even capable of that anymore. Jake Silvers had only lasted as long because they had both been grieving for a person who could never return.

She pushed the typewriter away from her in frustration and buried her head in her hands. She tried to restrain the pricking sensation that again formed in her eyes, but failed miserably as the tears slid down her cheeks, furiously she rubbed them from her face. She sniffed loudly and ran her fingers through her untameable curls, still the mass of unorganized chaos that they had been whilst still at school; it seemed to be another way for fate to tease her. She had barely aged a day, whilst others in the office moaned of wrinkles and crow's feet, Hestia couldn't join in. She had once voiced her wish to grow old, and the journalist in the booth next to her had scolded her and told her not to wish away her youthful fresh-faced looks, and then told everyone in the office, who had laughed at her and told her she was silly to wish the time away. But she didn't feel silly; all she wanted was to look different to the 18-year-old girl who stared back at her from the photograph on her desk. She convinced herself that if she aged, wrinkled, sagged, that the girl in the photo was another girl, another girl who'd lost everything she cared about, but that wasn't her, no, she had a lovely flat, she had a wonderful friend in Danielle and she was wrinkled. They simply couldn't be the same person, but alas, fate was never kind to her.

Tears still spilling down her cheeks, Hestia sighed and leaned her head back to stare at the ceiling. She had no idea how long she stayed there, counting the tiles until she was pulled from her thoughts by the creaking of the office door. Hestia turned quickly, expecting to see her editor red faced and ready to pull his hair out, but she was surprised to see the wide grin of Travis Keane staring back at her, complete in his tartan trousers and waistcoat.

"The editor loves your article," he said straight-faced. The boy couldn't have been more than 21, with an eccentric dress sense and a flair for reporting. He showed real promise but was stuck being the assistant to the incompetent editor of the paper, who rather took him for granted.

"I don't appreciate the sarcasm," she countered, as she returned her gaze towards her discarded typewriter, which she eyed with disgust.

"It wasn't," Travis replied, sounding offended. Hestia felt a pang of remorse build up in her chest, but tried to ignore it, he was the one who'd come into the office with some retort about her article, when he knew full well that she hadn't written it. "He loved it, said it was slightly different to your normal style, but he loved it anyway, it's being printed as we speak," Hestia turned back towards the reporting apprentice with surprise.

"I haven't written the article." She replied bluntly, and his face had broken into a dazzling grin, and then the thought hit her. "You wrote it didn't you?" she asked, quite unsure what on earth had possessed him to do so.

"Of course not," he shrugged off. "But hypothetically speaking, if our crime reporter looked to be having an awful day and needed a couple of hours alone with her thoughts, I would hope a certain tea boy would be willing to help her out," he added, and Hestia instantly relaxed. If Hestia was one for smiling, this would have been the time to produce the most brilliant beauty queen smiles that she could muster, but she wasn't one for smiling anymore.

"Thank you Travis. I don't know how I can repay you," she breathed, with a small shake of her head.

"How about a date? I'll take you for a drink down at the Three Broomsticks; you know the one I mean, in Hogsmeade?" he asked, his tone hopeful. Hestia's chest tightened at the mention of the village, if only he hadn't specified there, she would have probably accepted his offer, bought him a drink, maybe even kissed him a bit, then ruffled his hair and informed him he was far too young for her, that was just how she worked, but at the mention of the Three Broomsticks, the air was pulled from her lungs.

"Sorry Keane, but I'm 10 years too old for you," she apologised, albeit not very sincerely.

"It was worth a try," Travis grinned. "See you later anyway Jones." and with that, he was gone.

Hestia returned her gaze to her desk, her discarded typewriter, her photograph, her scarf flung haphazardly onto the floor in her haste to get rid of the thin fabric that stuck to her skin in the dimming heat of the summer. She picked up the fabric and threw it in her oversized bag along with several files that she'd need to work on tonight, but would probably ignore until the morning. She looked over to her board for her checklist for what articles were due for the rest of the week, before allowing herself another look towards the muggle photograph. As her eyes settled for a moment, she heard the door creak open once again, but she paid it no attention. If she had, however, she might have heard the soft click of the bolt lock being pulled across, but she didn't.

"Travis, I already said I -" she started, but her words failed, as she turned to see who was standing with his back leant against the door, his eyes hungrily scanning every inch of her.

"Who's Travis, a new boyfriend?" He breathed, although the teasing tone was lost as his eyes slowly studied her face, as if trying to memorise every one of her features. Her breath caught in her throat, her lungs were paralysed as her heart raced, unable to process what was in front of her. She backed against her desk, she knew the panic button could be activated with just one press and security could be in the room within a minute.

"Don't press that button," he asked, sensing her movements. "I just wanted to see you," he continued, taking a step towards her, then another. He had crossed the room in a few strides, his long legs making light work of the office floor.

"Stay away from me," she ordered, fumbling around in her pocket for her wand and hoping her duelling skills were still what they used to be.

"No, I can't," he answered. He took his wand slowly from his pocket and dropped it to the floor, to show he meant no harm; it landed on the polished floor with a soft clatter. "I've missed you for twelve years. For twelve years I've wanted to hold you and to kiss you, Hestia Jones. Please don't push me away," he begged, his grey eyes desperate, his face only one step away from her.

"No," she replied, her voice shaking, without touching her he'd almost undone her "You're a murderer, stay away from me, or I'll call the Aurors," she hissed her tone sharp. He recoiled at her words, her tone cutting his skin like a hex. "Stay away from me Sirius Black," but the man in front of her was not the Sirius Black she knew, his stormy irises were bloodshot and wide, and his hair hung in strings, instead of its perfect waves. His skin hung sallow across his cheekbones, the aristocratic good looks tainted, and the natural elegance eroded by years confined.

"Did you really believe them when they said I was capable of killing my best friend?" he questioned bitterly, his eyes not leaving her face.

"You were taken to Azkaban, you killed James and Lily and Peter. Don't come near me," she almost sobbed. The man who had given away her best friend's life like a lamb to the slaughter stood before her, but as much as she wanted to hate him, to curse him, she couldn't bring herself to, she was overcome by the love she still felt for him.

"I didn't do it," he whispered, closing the gap between them, his body only centimetres from hers. At the almost contact, her body longed to be closer to his, but she resisted the urge, her fingers shaking with the effort. "They changed their secret keeper; I wasn't the one who betrayed them," his eyes studied her, taking in every dimple, every freckle, every contour of her face, the face he'd missed for so long.

"Why would they do that?" she spat, but as he leant in, closing the gap between them, his body lightly pressed against hers, the anger that surged through her veins faulted ever so slightly. "And if, and if it wasn't you, then who was it?" she stuttered, the proximity of his body sending her brain into a frenzy. He noticed her tone was much lighter, a half-smile cockily spread across his face as he realised the effect he was having on her, could still have on her. The rational part of her brain screamed at her to curse him and to run for the Aurors, but the other was longing to kiss him and that overpowered every other thought in her brain.

"Peter, he was their secret keeper. He was the one who betrayed them,"

She scoffed loudly, pushing him away from her in disgust.

"Peter was my friend, how dare you come here and accuse a dead man?" she demanded, her brown eyes burning with anger. Hands curled into fists, her long nails dug into the soft flesh of her palm, indenting crescent marks.

"I thought he was mine too," Sirius countered, restrained anger flashing across his once handsome, but now tired features. "But as I got to Godric's Hollow, I knew. As I saw James, and I saw Lily," his voice cracked into a sob, he took a deep breath and composed himself. "As I saw them dead," Hestia knew the tears were beginning to fall, she was powerless to stop them. "And my godson screaming, I knew. I knew it was him. I knew it was Peter. I begged them to change the secret keeper, I was too well known, poor quiet Peter was a better choice," he spat, but his eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

"But Peter is dead," Hestia cut in bluntly. "You killed him, you made sure of that, you removed all traces of your crime,"

"But I didn't," he replied sharply, once again closing the gap between them and holding her by the shoulders, her body trembled at his touch, she wasn't sure whether it was from fear or longing. She wanted to hate the man stood in front of her, to hate him with every fibre of her being but yet, her heart was urging her to forgive everything, throw herself at him, feel those lips against hers once again, she tried to subdue the feeling but her racing heart would not still. "I went to kill him, oh I did. I wanted to kill him, I wanted to make him pay." He stopped, his fingers trailing idly through her hair, their eyes focused solely on each other.

"I, I don't understand," she stammered. He released her shoulders, his eyes following his hand as it fell to her waist, as the other trailed down her face, his fingers catching in the loose tendrils of her chocolate curls. Her skin sparked at his touch.

"Sssh," he soothed as he caught her tears with his thumb. He paused, his eyes returning to hers. "I went to kill him." He put bluntly. "But he saw me. He caused that explosion, he killed those muggles, and then Wormtail scurried off, leaving behind just a finger," Sirius whispered, his voice barely audible. Unconsciously she leant closer to him, her head resting in the crook of his neck, inhaling the smell of his skin. Even after all those years incarcerated, he still smelt the same, the same smell that excited her senses and reminded her of lost nights together. Her arms hung loosely around his neck, she knew she shouldn't be anywhere near him, but the urge was killing her.

"Wormtail, I don't under-" then she understood, Peter had made off in his animagus form, an animagus form that only the Marauders and those that the dead knew of, an animagus form no one would be looking for, because they simply didn't know it existed. She pulled back, her hands covered her mouth; she shook her head violently, her whole body trembled with the realisation, the last 12 years had been a lie, Peter had benen the one to betray them, not Sirius. Her knees gave way, but he caught her. She fell against him, his arms protectively clasped around her waist. That was when the sobs came, loud and noisy, but she couldn't stop them from coming. He settled her on her chair, her body shaking as she cried, but he held her still. Crouched in front of her, his hands held her hips, his lips idly trailing kisses along her bare knees.

"Where is he now?" she choked and he looked up to her, his eyes slightly brighter than before.

"He found a family, made themselves their pet rat. He probably would have got away with what he did, but he got sloppy and I found him," Sirius almost grinned, but his mouth seemed paralysed as if his brain was caught between pleasure and devastation. He took one hand from her hip, still holding her steady with the other and reached into the grubby pocket of his robes, withdrawing a newspaper article. She knew which one it was without reading it: it was about the Weasley's, they'd won a large sum of money in a competition and spent it on a holiday to Egypt; she had helped to edit the article for a colleague. Sirius handed it to her, but she was unsure as to why. Her eyes scanned the text, but her tear blurred eyes couldn't see what he was referring to.

After a moment, Sirius circled the image, her eyes trailed across the text to where his finger rested, on the pet rat, Ron's pet rat, the one Ron himself had told her had been in their family twelve years.

'He's alright I guess, missing a toe though,' Ron had babbled absently as Hestia had asked about his pet, simply to entertain him while the other journalists spoke to his parents.

Her quick intake of breath almost choked her; she dropped the paper, unable to keep her mind straight. It was Wormtail.

"But that's Ron, that's Harry's best friend!" she panicked; her eyes wide.

"Do you believe me now?" he asked, she shakily nodded her head.

"Yes. I believe you," she breathed, his face broke out into a dazzling smile and for a split second, he looked young again, he looked like the Sirius she'd lost, not the shell that stood before her. He pulled himself to his feet, Hestia was dragged up with him; he was still taller than her even in her work heels. Her face was soaked in tears, her mascara had run, and her lips quivered, but yet she was still the most beautiful girl he had ever set eyes on.

"I never stopped loving you," she whispered, and that was when he kissed her. Smooth and soft, he was exactly the same as she remembered, gentle but passionate, delicate yet strong.

She was better than he remembered; his lips gliding themselves across hers with familiarity, tasting of coffee, hours ago toothpaste and the aftertaste of salty tears. Her fingers worked their way through his hair with the same expertise they had years ago, his fingers traced small circles on the small of her back, just like he had when they were teenagers. They broke apart breathless.

"I never stopped thinking about you Hestia, every day I thought about this moment, the moment I could tell you I still love you, but I'm not that eighteen-year-old boy anymore…" he trailed off. "I'm not who I used to be, and I can't be the man you want me to be, so please don't hate me for what I'm about to do," he shook his head and stepped away from her, her body longed to be close to him again, to feel his lips against hers. She shook her head in confusion.

"Please don't go," her voice trembled, but he shook his head. He didn't want to leave as he stepped away from her, never turning his back, but he had to.

"I'm going back to Hogwarts. I'm going to save Harry," he breathed, and with a single fluid movement, he unlocked the door, summoned his wand and left, leaving her standing there alone, tears streaked down her face, her lips aching to be with his again.

Almost without unthinking, she reached across her desk and lifted the muggle phone from the receiver, the cord curling around her wrist. She punched in the number she had memorised so many times, but never had enough nerve to dial.

"Hello?" A soft voice answered, her breath caught in her throat, it was him, it was really him. "Hello? Is anyone there?" the voice asked when she failed to answer.

"Remus?" she whispered, although she knew it was him.

"Hestia?" the voice on the other end of the phone replied, he seemed unable to believe it was her. "This is unexpected, how are you?" he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

"I've been better. Are you free now? There's something I need to explain to you,"

"Oookay." He replied, elongating the vowel, unsure of her meaning "Leaky Cauldron in an hour?"

"Okay," She responded, and then she hung up.

She replaced the receiver, re-applied her makeup, gathered her things and strode from the office, feeling no longer weighed down by the weight of Sirius Black, but uplifted by the truth.