Classes resumed after the New Year and Hogwarts seemed to have been blanketed in blinding white. The winter storms had been relentless and so had the professors. With N.E.W.T.s approaching near end of term, they'd never had so much review.
Harry was probably working harder than anyone else, but not because he was worried about marks. He simply knew he'd need every advantage to have a chance of pulling off what absolutely had to be done.
And he'd become relentless in D.A. meetings. Harry pushed his fellow students hard, but they worked tirelessly and eventually rose to his every challenge.
He'd made several trips to McGonagall's office, hoping to speak with Dumbledore's portrait, but he'd been unsuccessful. He either found Dumbledore slumbering or, as on his last two attempts, entirely missing from his portrait.
Harry suspected a second portrait had been hung at Order headquarters, and that Dumbledore was deep in the mix of whatever was going on. He'd seen more and more of Kingsley and Moody in the castle, as well.
The Death Eaters were definitely on the move. Hardly a day went by when the Daily Prophet wasn't reporting on some gruesome murder or other hideous crime, all boldly emblazoned by the Dark Mark.
Time was winding down and Harry knew it. Something major was coming. He could feel it. He, Hermione and Ron had racked their brains trying to figure out what object of Ravenclaw's had been claimed by Voldemort for a Horcrux. He wondered what McGonagall would say if he asked to camp out in her office.
Now, as February was speeding by, Harry got from his warm bed, dressed and went downstairs to the common room. It was five AM and he was headed to the Room of Requirement, as he'd been doing almost each morning since the fall.
He stopped when some distant sound caught his attention. Funny, he'd never have noticed it six months ago; but thanks to Firenze's unorthodox and often times strange exercises, Harry's senses were very much heightened.
He went to one of the windows and peered out at the still darkened grounds. The sound was growing closer. Harry pressed his forehead against the windowpane and waited. He squinted and finally saw something. There was someone out there. Who'd be out there this time of morning? Harry knew there were Order members stationed on the grounds, but they'd always remained concealed.
He looked more closely and realized he did know who it was. He recognized the swish of a ponytail and knew it was Jillian. She was running. For half a second, Harry thought she was being chased, but her stride was too easy. No, she was running like she did this everyday. Harry watched as she disappeared from view, and he waited. Five minutes went by before she circled back around. She was running some kind of route across the hard, snow packed grounds. So, he wasn't the only insomniac who rose before the sun.
But it was freezing out there. Yet, she seemed perfectly at ease. Harry watched her make one more circuit, then grabbed his own things and headed out the portrait hole to start his day.
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"Lucius," said Voldemort so silkily that if felt like a lethal caress, "I have shown you much hospitality since arranging for your freedom, have I not?"
"Yes, Master," said Lucius. "I am most grateful."
And it was true. Lucius and the other escapees had been brought before Voldemort, most in fear of their lives. But to their great surprise, they'd been welcomed back into the fold, none more so than Lucius. Or so it appeared. They'd been fed, clothed and well cared for until they once more looked and felt like the men they'd been nearly two years ago.
As Lucius stood before him, Voldemort's mouth stretched into a sinister grin and his eyes flashed maliciously. Lucius no longer felt like a lucky man. In fact, he was beginning to feel like the fatted calf.
"You certainly should be," replied the Dark Lord. "I expect you to return my kindness."
"Certainly, My Lord. I am here to serve you."
"Yes, you are," spat Voldemort. "And if you fail me this time, Lucius, you will not live to regret it. But they will."
And with those words, two figures were ushered into the room. For one very long moment, Lucius did not believe what his eyes were telling him. His wife and son, or what seemed to be shadows of them, were standing feet from him.
Lucius's already pale face whitened even more. He'd been told that Narcissa and Draco were being protected in another location. He'd been told that they were safe. And now he knew they'd been near enough to touch all this time. But they had not been well cared for. On the contrary, Lucius thought they looked like the walking dead.
He looked around at the assembled Death Eaters. Nearly all of them had known all along. Bellatrix. Snape. Pettigrew. Dolohov.
Lucius reached out a hand towards Narcissa, but she flinched and began screaming as if being tortured. She turned and clung to their son. Draco soothed his mother's hysterics and looked directly at his father, or rather, through him.
Draco's eyes showed no reaction and Lucius was convinced that his son did not recognize him, that something was very much broken within his child.
"Reunions can be so very touching," said Voldemort venomously.
Lucius's entire world was shattering before his very eyes and Voldemort knew it.
"They've been far more trouble than they are worth," said Voldemort. "But, I can see that you are still fond of them. So, I'll do you one last favor and leave them in your charge."
"Thank you, Master," Lucius somehow managed to say.
"You may want to clean them up a bit," he said disdainfully. "But mark my words, Lucius. One slip up, one misstep and I will finish all three of you. There is no where else you can go, nowhere from which you can escape me."
"Our place is by your side, Master," said Lucius.
"Wormtail," called Voldemort.
"Yes, My Lord," cried the rat faced Death Eater.
"Show the Malfoys to their new quarters, please," ordered Voldemort. "And give Lucius his wand. I dare say he will have need of it for his next assignment."
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On Saturday evening, Harry, Ron and Hermione were in his and Ron's room, studying. Harry was going over a Potions assignment and flipping through the Half Blood Prince's book. As usually happened, he was drawn to the spells, curses and jinxes that filled the margins. He knew most of them by heart, and had managed to figure out what many of them likely did without using anyone as guinea pig.
But there was a page near the back that listed about a dozen spells, the likes of which Harry had never seen. Nothing about them was familiar and he couldn't even begin to guess what they were.
"What's wrong?" asked Hermione.
Harry hadn't realized he'd been frowning.
"Oh, nothing, sorry," he said. "I just had an idea bout something. You two keep studying. I'll be back."
"Do you need help?" asked Ron.
"Nope," said Harry. "It's nothing major. See you later."
It was after curfew, but not very late and Harry did not want to wait until next week's classes. He didn't know why he hadn't thought about it before. If anyone could help him figure out Snape's mystery curses, and their counter-curses, if any existed, it would be Jillian. He'd show her the book and Snape's notes, and then maybe they could start working on some of them in their lessons.
Harry arrived at the door to her private quarters and knocked. He waited and was about to knock a second time when Jillian opened the door. She was dressed comfortably in jeans, a cable sweater, and white trainers. She could have easily been mistaken for a university student.
"Harry, said Jillian, surprised to see him.
"Hi, Jillian," he said. "Sorry to bother you, but could I come in for a minute? I want to run something by you."
"Of course," she said. "Come in."
Harry had never been inside her quarters before. He doubted any other space in Hogwarts looked like this one. If he didn't know he was in an ancient castle, he would have sworn he was standing in the middle of an urban flat.
Everything was tastefully and beautifully appointed, and ultra modern.
"Wow," he said and Jillian laughed.
"You can't take the Muggle out of the girl," she joked. "I needed some creature comforts. I admit, I do miss some of my electronics; but at least it looks a lot like my home. Would you like the tour?"
"Sure," said Harry and followed Jillian through what turned out to be three connecting rooms.
"So, what can I do for you, Harry?" she asked.
Harry pulled out the Potions book and explained what he wanted. She scowled when he revealed the book originally belonged to Severus Snape, but she did not interrupt him.
"No problem," she said confidently. "In fact, I was going to start teaching you to invent spells of your own, so this is perfect timing. If you want, we can start tonight."
"Really?" he asked. "I mean it's Saturday. I don't want to intrude."
"Intrude on what?" she inquired. "My endless book reading. Tonks left about a half hour before you knocked and I'm not expecting anyone else. Go ahead, have a seat. This should be fun. I'll grab some snacks."
Two hours later, they had made massive progress. Harry was beyond amazed at how smart she really was. He knew she was talented, but her mind was extraordinary. And you'd never know it unless she let you close enough to discover it.
"It's getting late. We should start wrapping up for tonight. Why don't you write down some of the ideas you talked about and we can start with those on Tuesday. There's extra ink and parchment in the top drawer over there," she said, indicating a desk tucked into a corner.
Harry headed to the desk and she followed, carrying a tray of their dirty dishes.
"I'll just go put these away," she said, clearly as comfortable as a Muggle as she was as a witch.
She'd just reached the doorway that led to a second room, when she turned and saw Harry open the left hand drawer.
"Not that one, Harry," she said, "It's the right side drawer."
But it was too late. He'd already looked down and the only good thing he could say was that he was already sitting down. For if he'd been standing, Harry had no doubt his legs would have gone out from under him. He didn't even realize Jillian was now standing at the desk, the tray set atop it.
He was staring at a handsomely framed photo of Sirius. It was a much younger Sirius, strikingly good looking and full of life, smiling out of the frame in a way Harry had rarely seen him. Harry's hands shook as he lifted the frame from the drawer. Jillian's own hand grasped the top of it, and Harry looked up at her.
He didn't know which of them looked more rattled.
"You knew Sirius?" he barely got out in a whisper.
"Yes," she said.
"How?" he asked, but she shook her head.
"How, Jillian?" he asked again, barely recognizing his own voice.
"It doesn't matter," she said.
Harry actually laughed. It was a sick sounding laugh, full of disbelief, distrust and disappointment.
"If you knew anything about me, you'd know that couldn't be any further from the truth," he said, getting up angrily from the desk and retrieving his things. "We're done. You can fail me in Defense if you want, I really don't care."
"You can't stop your lessons, Harry," she said emphatically. "They're too important."
"Watch me," said Harry, pointing at the picture frame in her hand. "He was important. My friends are important. The rest doesn't really matter a whole hell of a lot."
Harry was inches from the door when a crash sounded behind him. He turned and saw that Jillian had swiped the tray and dishes from the desk and sent them hurdling across the room before they all fell to the floor in tiny splintered pieces.
She was gripping the edge of the desk with both hands and breathing hard. When she looked up at Harry, her eyes were filled with too many emotions for him to read and a trail of tears was slowly dripping down her cheeks, but she made no move to wipe them away.
"Look," said her voice in Harry's head. "It's all there. Go ahead and look."
She was standing there with her emotions raw and her thoughts completely open to him. Harry entered her mind and she offered no resistance. Within seconds, he found he very much needed to lean against the door to stay upright as he journeyed through her memories.
Harry saw a young Jillian, no more than his age, walking alone in Diagon Alley on a summer's day. He saw her noticing a young man across the street, who was pretending he hadn't noticed her. It was Sirius.
He watched them later, on what was undoubtedly the same day, bumping into each other in the doorway of Flourish and Blotts.
He witnessed Sirius asking if she had time to join him for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron.
He saw small glimpses of lots and lots of dates from that summer and winter holidays.
He saw her reading letters from Sirius, which expressed how much he missed her and couldn't wait until she returned to England.
She did return, and it was clearly the spring or summer just before their lives were forever altered.
He saw her meeting his parents for the first time, with an infant Harry on his mother's hip. She gifted them a huge bouquet of sterling and white roses. Sirius had taken her to Godric's Hollow. Harry wasn't even a year old yet. He saw his parents beaming as they witnessed Sirius's unbridled happiness.
He heard his mother ask Jillian to hold him while she went into the kitchen, and he saw his infant self looking up at her with a drooling grin. The Jillian in the memory laughed and Sirius joined her, undeniable love in his eyes for the woman and the child before him.
The memories rolled on and Harry still had his back plastered against the door.
He watched Sirius confiding to her about the dangers surrounding them and telling her as much as he hated to see her leave again, at least he knew she'd be safe. Jillian delighted him when she said her return trip at Christmas would likely be for good, that she would be moving to England.
The images were finally slowing, and Harry saw snippets of a memory that was so intimate, he felt like a voyeur. But Jillian held very little back. That night had ended with them planning for a future they hoped to have and Sirius proposing to her, with a beautiful diamond and ruby ring to symbolize his promise to her.
Harry didn't think he could stand any more and he finally broke the connection, his own heart racing as if he'd just run a marathon.
He looked at Jillian and could see everything she'd been holding back breaking to the surface. Her face was wet with a cascade of tears; yet, she'd stood there, emotionally naked and defenseless, letting him roam through memories that were ripping her in half.
She finally crumpled to the floor, sitting like a rag doll in the space between the desk and the wall, giving voice to her pain as sobs shook her body. Every one of her anguished cries cut at Harry's own heart, as if they were somehow connected. And in essence, they were; he'd just never known it.
He pushed himself from the door and walked slowly across the room, standing next to where she sat on the floor.
"Jillian," he said.
She did not look up. He wasn't even sure if she knew he was still in the room. Harry lowered himself beside her, resting his back against wall, and waited. Minutes went by; but she finally sat back next to him, curling into the space between his chest and right arm.
She was still crying and shaking. Harry knew he could do nothing but sit there until her tears were spent. Her cries were competing with Harry's own emotions, his own never buried grief, and his own questions.
All the little things that had seemed odd, but fairly unimportant, now made complete sense. He thought about the times when she seemed so far away or momentarily sad or distracted. They had been times when Sirius's name had popped up in conversation, no matter how brief. Now, he understood why Kingsley had been worried about her, and why he'd urged her to confide in Harry.
He was sitting here with the woman who'd been the love of his godfather's life. She'd befriended Harry, tutored him and protected him; and all along, she'd been living in her own private hell.
So many things were running through his mind. They'd been sitting like that for a long time when Harry focused enough to realize it was quiet and to detect the change in her breathing. She'd literally cried herself to sleep. He did not want to wake her.
He knew Ron and Hermione were probably in the common room, worried about where'd he'd gone and why he wasn't back. They wouldn't be able to check the Marauder's Map as it was in his bag. He'd been using it more and more on his late night and early morning prowls through the castle. Harry shifted ever so slightly so that he could see his watch. It was a little past two in the morning. He waited a bit longer and then had an idea.
"Dobby," called Harry very quietly and relaxed when the house-elf appeared almost instantaneously. Harry put a finger to his lips to indicate that Dobby should be quiet.
The house elf looked at Harry sitting there with Jillian, his gigantic eyes expressing concern.
"Yes, Harry Potter, sir," whispered the house-elf.
"I need you to go to Gryffindor Tower, Dobby," said Harry, whispering too. "Let Ron and Hermione know that I'm all right and I will see them in the morning."
"Right away, Harry Potter, sir," said the elf, and he disappeared before Harry could tell him not to mention that he was with Jillian.
"Great," said Harry under his breath.
"You know that's how rumors get started," came a soft voice from the form at his side.
Jillian was awake.
"Just one more to add to my collection," he said quietly. "Don't worry. Dobby won't tell anyone but Hermione and Ron. Sorry, I was trying really hard not to wake you."
She stirred and sat up, uncurling her legs and wiping at her eyes and cheeks.
"You didn't," she said. "The floor did. I'm not as young as you, you know."
Harry gave up on their attempt at light bantering and looked closely at her.
"I know," she said. "I must look an absolute mess."
"Not at all," said Harry truthfully.
Her eyes were a bit puffy and her hair was nearly as messy as his; but she was still beautiful. She and Sirius would have been one of those couples that turned heads.
"Thank you for staying," she said, trying to reign in her growing embarrassment. "I did not mean to fall to pieces on you."
Harry did not respond.
"But it is way too late for you to be out of your dormitory. You should go to bed."
Harry wasn't the least bit sleepy. He didn't believe he could sleep even if Madam Pomfrey drugged him.
"I'd rather stay here and talk to you," he said. "If you feel up to it, of course."
She stiffened ever so slightly and Harry thought the wall was going back up, but it didn't.
"Okay," she said, "but I could really use some strong tea."
Harry got to his feet and helped her up.
"I'll get it," he said and headed for the second room, giving Jillian time to collect her thoughts.
When he returned with the tea server, she was propped against one end of the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her. Harry placed the server on the table, passed her a cup and sat at the opposite end, trying hard not to crowd her.
"Where shall I start?" she asked.
"How about the beginning?" he offered.
Jillian had been seventeen when she met a twenty year-old Sirius that day in Diagon Alley; and their mutual attraction had been immediate.
She'd only been in England about a week, having arrived after finishing her final year in school to spend the summer with Kingsley. Only Kingsley was in his last year of Auror training and didn't have a lot of free time during the weekdays to spend with her. She'd spend her mornings with Aunt Caitlin, and then occupy her afternoons with shopping and sightseeing until she could meet up with Kingsley.
By the time summer wore on, her visits with Aunt Caitlin grew shorter and shorter, and her days with Sirius, longer and longer. At Christmas time, she'd convinced her parents that they should visit Kingsley instead, thereby sparing him the necessity of cutting his holiday visit short due to his Ministry training schedule. They'd agreed, and even stayed an extra week longer than originally planned. All of it had been designed so that she could see more of Sirius.
When she returned that next Easter, she finally confided in her brother that she'd met someone very special. He'd made her promise to bring him around so that Kingsley could meet him. She'd laughed and told him he already knew him. Kingsley had only been a year ahead of the Marauders at Hogwarts. But Jillian had decided to keep him guessing until they could all meet together.
It never happened. When Jillian returned that summer, Kingsley was sent away on an Auror assignment. She'd stayed at Kingsley's flat and spent as much time as possible with Sirius. It was that summer that Sirius took her to meet his best friend and his wife. She'd spent a number of evenings in the company of his parents and had liked them very much.
"Lily used to joke that she was happy to have another female to talk to because it was hard work raising three boys," said Jillian, his mother having been referring to baby Harry, James and Sirius.
Harry laughed.
"Sirius and James were closer than brothers and great fun to be around. They were brilliant and brave and incredibly loyal to each other."
They talked a while longer, and then Harry asked the first burning question.
"When did Kingsley find out?"
"Just before I left that summer," she said. "He came home from assignment just in time to see me off and I told him."
"What did he say?" asked Harry.
"I think he was stunned," she answered. "Eventually he laughed, shook his head and asked if I knew Sirius was part of a matched set."
Harry couldn't help but feel warmed by her stories.
"I was back home and had asked my father to make arrangements for me to enter the Auror program here in Britain," she continued. "I was due to start that January, but it never happened."
Her eyes welled once more, but she fought for control.
"Kingsley came home rather unexpectedly. I'll never forget it. It was the first day of November and he knocked and walked into my bedroom very early that morning. I took one look at his face and knew something unimaginable had happened."
Harry knew what was coming.
"He stood there and told me that James and Lily had been murdered by Voldemort; that you'd somehow survived the Killing Curse and broken Voldemort's power; and that Sirius had betrayed your parents and led Voldemort directly to them and you," she said, the anger in her voice from just the memory still evident.
"You never believed it," he said.
"No," she replied. "I knew Sirius could never have done the things he'd been accused of. But Kingsley said the evidence was overwhelming."
"Then what?" asked Harry.
"Well, I'm ashamed to admit it now and I eventually apologized, but I called Kingsley a Ministry puppet and told him he was an idiot to believe a bunch of propaganda over the word of his sister."
"Ouch," said Harry, but he admired her loyalty to Sirius.
"I thought he'd put me over his knee, he looked so angry," she said. "But he didn't. Instead he said I'd obviously been hoodwinked by Sirius and that he'd be there for me when I was ready to see reason."
Harry could only imagine the tension that caused.
"I didn't speak to him for months," she said.
"What finally changed?" asked Harry, knowing something had because he'd witnessed their sibling bond and it looked unshakable.
"Sirius did," she said quietly. "I was furious that no one seemed to be doing anything to get to the bottom of what happened, so I tried to intervene. I told my parents I was going to surprise Kingsley at Christmas, but I didn't go to him for a few days."
She took a long sip from her teacup and Harry saw her hands trembling.
"I went straight to Dumbledore and told him everything I knew and everything I believed."
"And?" asked Harry.
"He looked genuinely concerned by my distress, but was of the same opinion as Kingsley," she explained. "He was saddened by Sirius's betrayal, but had no reason to think it had not happened as everyone else believed."
"So you had no one to help you?" inquired Harry.
"Absolutely no one," she said. "Sirius had talked about Remus, but I'd never met him and had no idea where to find him. But I couldn't just leave him to rot in Azkaban for something he didn't do. Ironically, the only other people in the world who would have moved heaven and hell to clear him were the two people he'd supposedly betrayed."
"My mum and dad," said Harry.
"James would have torn Azkaban apart stone by stone to get to Sirius," she said, "and I was determined to do the same."
"What did you do?"
"I went to the prison," she said, "posing as a visiting Auror and said I needed to question Sirius Black in connection with several murders that had taken place in the U.S. during his last known visit. It was easy enough for me to do. I'd been around my father and his staff all my life."
"Clever," said Harry.
"It was and it worked," she said. "They showed me to an empty room and I waited for nearly an hour until they brought him out, shackled."
Jillian closed her eyes for several moments.
"He looked so very different," she said. "He'd not been locked up two whole months, but his eyes were already haunted. That look wasn't from Azkaban. It was from someplace else. It was the look little kids get when they find out what they most believed in the world was never true."
"Did he say anything?" asked Harry.
"Not really," she said. "I tried so hard to get him to tell me what really happened; but he just sat there, as if retelling it would actually make it true. But he knew it was true; he just didn't want to face it. The reality of it was crushing him."
Harry felt his own chest constricting.
"We could hear the guards rattling along the hall," she went on. "For one long moment, he looked at me – I mean really looked at me – in the way he always had before. But he gave me the saddest smile."
Harry waited for her to finish.
"He told me he loved me; but that I was to go on with my life and never come there again," she said, her voice cracking. "He stood up and two guards entered and escorted him away."
Harry reached for her cup and refilled it, placing it within reach on the table.
"I returned to the city, went to see Kingsley and broke down in his arms. I knew he'd mistaken Sirius's silence as a sign of guilt, but I didn't care anymore. I only wanted someone to make the pain go away. But it didn't, and I left for home two days later. I told my father I'd changed my mind and wanted to stay home and he was ecstatic to be overseeing my Auror training. My work has been my whole life. I had not set foot back in Britain for more than a day or two at a time until this summer."
"But Sirius escaped twelve years later," said Harry, "And then a year later, Kingsley joined the Order and learned the truth."
"Yeah, and what fun conversations those were," she said. "But 'I told you so,' wasn't going to help Sirius. He was living on the run. I did mange to track him down, though."
"You did?" asked Harry, completely surprised.
"Yes," she said. "Dumbledore knew where he was, but that secret would have gone with him to the grave. Fortunately, one of the last real conversations Sirius and I shared before that horrible night was about places we'd love to honeymoon in. There were three, and I found him on the second island on our wish list. It was a secluded little spot in the Greek Isles."
Harry recalled the colorful and exotic looking bird that had delivered Harry's birthday gift the summer before Voldemort's return.
"Azkaban had changed him, snapped a part of him," she said. "But I didn't care. I was ready to chuck everything away and live on the run with him. Despite everything that happened, everything he'd been through, nothing had changed between us."
She had no idea how happy Harry was to hear that.
"I'm glad you were with him," he said.
"Slowly, the hollowed and haunted look began leaving his face. I cut his hair and fixed all his favorite foods. He was fine during the day, but he used to have the worst nightmares. They did finally begin to lessen, bit by bit."
"I'm sure Azkaban would give anyone nightmares," commented Harry.
"Yes, it definitely took its toll on him, but his most reoccurring nightmare was about that night – about getting to the destroyed house and finding James's body and then Lily's," she said quietly and sadly, watching Harry carefully.
Harry swallowed back the hot ache in his throat. He'd asked her to share all this with him and he wanted to hear it, even the painful parts.
"It's okay," he somehow managed to say. "Go on."
"He blamed himself for part of that, for believing that Peter was a safer bet as Secret Keeper; but most of all, he blamed himself for not getting there sooner, for not dying in their place," she continued. "He would have, you know? He would have stood between Voldemort and James without a moment's hesitation."
"I know," Harry said. "He told us everything that night he revealed himself in the Shrieking Shack. He looked every bit the murdering lunatic everyone said he was; but when he talked about Mum and Dad, the truth burned through his eyes. I could see how much he loved them and how much he still missed them."
"And you," said Jillian. "When we wanted to be complete beach bums, we'd stretch out in the sand and he would talk about you for hours and hours. He adored you."
Harry smiled.
"Then, when we'd begun checking in at home, things seemed off. Strange things were happening and you'd been having your own haunted dreams."
"I wish I'd never written him," said Harry.
"Don't be silly," she said. "There was no way he was going to stay away from you, no matter what you did or didn't put in a letter."
He'd lost Sirius almost two years ago, and he was still struggling with the guilt he carried.
Harry could have sworn Jillian was in his head as she watched his face.
"Harry, listen to me carefully," she said. "The only ones responsible for Sirius's death are Voldemort, Bellatrix and that hideous Kreacher. One of the hardest things I've had to do is sit here since September and not go down to the kitchens and rip that sick little elf limb from bloody limb."
"But if I hadn't been…" he started.
"Then Voldemort would have found another way to get to you, just like he tried on Christmas Eve, and Sirius would have rushed to your side, again. That was his charge, Harry. He was your godfather. Nothing would have stopped him: not Dumbledore, not threat of Azkaban, nor facing an army of Death Eaters."
Harry was silent.
"The only thing I regret is that I let him convince me to return home instead of coming here with him to help," she said. "I most certainly should have come after you came out of that maze; but by then, he and Kingsley were both so worried about everything that was going on that I let them convince me I'd be an added distraction that they couldn't afford. Kingsley did everything he could to create false leads so that the Ministry was never close to finding him. He was the medium by which Sirius and I communicated during that last year. I believe you know everything else."
"We lost him," he said, his grief bubbling up. "And you lost him twice."
"I know, and honestly, I can't tell you which way hurts more."
"So why did you come back, now?" he asked, blinking.
"For you, of course," she said. "And for him. I was an absolute basket case after listening to Kingsley and Dumbledore tell me together that Sirius was gone for good. I was angry at the world. Then a year later, Dumbledore was gone and I knew I couldn't wallow in my own misery any longer."
She reached across the sofa and took his hand.
"I'm here to help you any way that I can," she said. "That bastard detonated our worlds and he won't stop until he is destroyed. If we can make that happen, then maybe everything won't have been in vain."
Harry looked into the warm eyes of the woman who should have been Sirius's wife and an aunt or godmother to him, the woman who should have been part of the Potter and Black family, and felt his resolve strengthen.
Sunlight was breaking through the windows. They'd talked through the entire night.
"Now, you really have to be exhausted," she said. "I know I am. I want you to go upstairs and get some sleep, okay?"
She was right. With his immediate questions answered, Harry felt the full weight of the last twenty-four hours closing in on him.
"There's one more thing," he said. "When I visited my parents' graves last summer, there were vases of roses on either side of the headstone. They looked like the ones you revealed in one of your memories. I take it they were from you, then?"
"Yes," she said. "Your mother adored them and I brought an arrangement on each of the occasions I visited with Sirius. I went to their graves about a week before you did."
"That was very nice of you," he said. "Thank you."
She smiled softly and rose with him from the sofa.
"I have a request, Harry," she said, as she walked him to the door. "I know you share nearly everything was Ron and Hermione, but I'm not ready for anyone else to know."
"You don't have to explain," he said. "I understand."
She smiled and pulled him into a hug before opening the door, planting a maternal kiss on his forehead and mussing his hair.
"I've wanted to do that ever since Kingsley introduced us at the Burrow," she said, with a small laugh as she opened the door. "Now get going."
She waited at the doorway and watched him walk down the corridor and disappear around a corner.