A/N: I'm so sorry for the wait, I've started school again so I'm mostly preoccupied with that. It's hard work, college is! I hope everyone's had a great summer and I hope you enjoy this chapter too. The response I got for the last chapter was mixed - no, Sirius isn't "Voldemort". I got the idea for this way before The Mortal Instruments btw, so I'm sure Cassandra Clare read my mind or something.

I mean, I guess Voldemort's possessed Sirius, similar to an extent in regards to what happened to Harry during OotP. But rather, there's a different connection between Sirius and Voldemort in comparison to Harry and Voldemort. Try to understand though, I was gutted when I read the reviews and some people said that they were going to stop reading this story. I value you all very much, and thanks for all the support.

Now, enough blabbing - commence the last short chapter this story will have, promise. The next one will be a big one!

xxxx

A/N2: This chapter, though it is for all of you lovely readers, is especially for sweet princess mano (it's not letting me write your username properly) xxxxx

xoxo

15. Biggest Nightmare

Whilst she held her sleeping son on her lap, she ran her fingers through his soft, silky black locks and pressed urgent kisses to his cheeks, forehead, hair every time the thought of her boyfriend, dead, passed through her mind. She felt worse, still, now that Lily and Emanuelle had left.

They didn't tell her where they were going. Just that they had to go.

Had something happened?

God, she thought desperately, what if something's happened to Sirius? What if he's hurt ... captured ... dead.

'He'll be fine.' A voice said from across the room. Rose looked up with tear-filled eyes and standing in the doorway, was Walburga Black. She had an even, collected expression on her face, and a certain confidence that radiated from her body and enwrapped Rose in a warm embrace, giving her strength - something she used to have in abundance, still did have, as dormant as it was nowadays.

'I'm not so sure,' Rose replied quietly. She shook her head. 'He wasn't … he didn't seem the same when-'

A crack, rippling like the surface of disturbed water, cut her off mid-sentence and stole the attention of each person in the room. Rose saw her boyfriend, chilling, cold and frozen to the spot. He didn't look like her boyfriend; his eyes, though they retained their perfect pearl silver, had glints of a brighter colour flashing every few seconds.

'Rose,' he panted, voice tired and gruff. It wasn't the voice of her boyfriend. It sent shivers across her skin. But all rational thought flew out her head as she cried out, as though she had been in pain but no longer was, and threw her spare arm around her shoulders, crushing their lips together.

He was mostly unresponsive, and a impartial onlooker may well have assumed that he just didn't know how to kiss. He was unused to it; didn't understand what he had to do. Like he hadn't been kissed in a long time.

Rose, high on emotion however, overlooked the oddness of the situation and continued to pepper kisses down her boyfriend's jaw and across his cheeks as she stretched to reach his face.

'We need to leave Rose.' He said softly. 'Now. Don't bother getting anything, just get some clothes on, grab our son's stuff and leave with me.'

'What's wrong Sirius?'

Walburga was smart. And Voldemort was furious at this woman who had lied and hidden her son's family from him. But he couldn't act out yet.

'I need to take my girlfriend and our son and we need to leave urgently. I lost. We lost. Voldemort has won.'

Lying, though he hated it when it was committed by other people, was something that Tom was naturally very good at. From a young age, he took to lying like a fish to water: instinctively. Lies flowed smoothly from his mouth, weaving together into a beautiful, elaborate story that flourished brightly yet at the same time, not at all obvious or ostentatious.

Rose wrapped her arms around him whilst her son fisted his hair - the motion annoying and not at all endearing or adorable. Tom guessed that indeed, Sirius James had inherited his Father's good looks. Yet, at such a tender age, those looks had not yet beamed in the way they surely would five, ten years down the line.

Her stomach was mostly flat despite the small bump protruding from underneath the tank top she wore. Without warning, Tom's hand came out to rub her stomach and he felt her relax beside him, like she had been weary of him and now all of a sudden was not.

On the other side of the large, majestic room, Walburga relaxed visibly too. Tom felt a lurch inside him, something inside him that was boiling; that was furious. He didn't need to be a rocket scientist to know what exactly it was.

'Rose,' he whispered urgently. 'We need to leave now.' He pushed her not too gently and she stumbled just a little before she nodded, placed "his" child in his arms and hurried out of the room.

'What happened Sirius?'

'I don't have time Mother-'

'What happened?' and this time, her voice was forceful and commanding - she was leaving no room for argument.

He sighed and looked down at the child in his arms; fifty percent Sirius Black and therefore, fifty percent of everything he hated. If he played this perfectly however, then this boy could be his key to everything: power, strength, the Potters...

The child was looking up at him, like he was confused. He was so smart. He reached up to touch Tom, or rather, Sirius Black's cheek and then he tugged hard.

'We lost. There's nothing else to say.' The soft voice of Sirius murmured. 'He knows I'm alive, James and the others have gone to get some stuff, I don't know what. They just told me to meet them in twenty minutes and that they would have somewhere safe for us to hide.'

The gorgeous dark eyes of Walburga Black were calculating. She stared at her son like something was terribly wrong and it took all of Voldemort to not stun her. To not kill the bitch before him.

'When did you change your clothing?' she whispered. It was like she was trying to work something out but she couldn't. And as if God had sent her, Rose staggered back into the room, carrying a rucksack and leading Harry by his hand. She had shorts on and a top that she must have snatched from Sirius's drawer - his old clothes back from when he was sixteen no doubt. They were still a little too big for her, but she looked surprisingly good in them.

Tom shook his head and struggled to rein in the overwhelming feelings his body felt for her. She was after all Sirius Black's girlfriend. She was someone interesting. She had made the great Black fall. And he was curious as to who she was - obviously she was more meaningful than the simple minded woman Bellatrix had described her as.

She had to be more. Only more would allure someone like Black. She joined Sirius's side and smiled radiantly at him, leaning up to kiss him. This time he kissed her back. True, Voldemort was uncoordinated and somewhat a beginner. But he was a fast learner, and before Rose could puzzle over how her boyfriend had gone from having the most talented lips to kissing like an eleven year old, he pressed his body to hers, baby in his arms forgotten, and started to attack her lips like a lion.

Walburga Black cleared her throat, stealing their attention. 'Don't you need to get going?' she said this slowly, her eyes fixed on her son. Then she looked at the child Rose was standing beside.

'Did that Mudblood ask you to take Harry?'

'We're meeting them right now.' Tom said impatiently, looking down curiously at the little boy, who was staring back with just as many questions written on his tiny face.

Without another word, Tom hoisted his son up in his arms, grabbed the rucksack off Rose Taten and threw it over his shoulder.

'Will you tell me where you're going?'

'The less you know the better. Stay safe Mother.' Then with a crack, and his family and godson in his arms, the body of Sirius Black disappeared but not before Walburga saw his eyes. His beautiful eyes.

His beautiful eyes streaked with red. She screamed after them but it was too late. They were … gone.

xo

They had all gone. All of them. The only remnants the Death Eaters had left? Dead bodies, many littering the floors. James jumped when a hand buried itself in his hair. He turned, slowly, petrification clearly all over his face. His body melted when Lily looked at him.

Like he was a thirteen year old boy, learning what a crush was.

'-gone,' he croaked. 'I don't know how... what happened … help me...'

She wrapped her arms around him but not before looking at Emanuelle, stood in her all her glory behind Lily, assessing the damage the space around them had taken. There were groups sheltering one another; healing wounds, comforting friends and family.

'We did as you asked James,' Lily breathed into his ear whilst he held her and shook. 'I didn't tell Rose where I was going. She's taking care of Harry and SJ right now.'

'No,' James whispered. 'You left them with Walburga-'

'I think we can trust her right now James,' Lily said, 'we've left the kids with her a lot recently and nothing has happened.'

'Fuck, you don't understand Lily!' he cried.

Then she noticed it. Or rather, she noticed the absence of him. 'Where's Sirius?' Lily released him and stumbled back. 'Where is Padfoot?' despite being a question, it didn't sound like one. Instead it escaped her mouth like a strangled statement.

James growled and turned to Dumbledore. An unresponsive Dumbledore. 'The first place you think Voldemort will go-'

'Check on Walburga.'

So that's what James did. He grabbed his girlfriend and the Italian woman's hands, barked an order behind him before leaving the a loud crack. They landed metres before Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

James hammered at the door, desperate, angry whilst at the same time ignoring his wife's words. The door swung open, revealing the streaming red eyes of Walburga Black - she was crying and she never cried, lest of all in front of a dirty Mudblood, halfer and a traitor. But she couldn't help herself.

'They're gone,' she said, stepping back when the trio stormed past her. 'He's taken them. They're gone!'

James had frozen; but Lily, who was more alert and aware, screamed and, as didn't wait for the others to respond to what Walburga said, started shouting her son's name desperately, sobbing whilst she raced away from them, no doubt to check the house thoroughly.

To make sure...

'What?' breathed Emanuelle.

'He came,' she whispered, hurrying forward and for the first time in years, actively reached out to touch James; 'I'm so sorry, he took them.'

Real tears, fake tears, James had no idea - but he didn't care about Walburga, regardless of the circumstances. All he could image was his son, in the arms of Voldemort, everything that he had spent almost a year fighting. The outcome that haunted him; that plagued his conscience and mind nonstop for long, painful months. He started trembling and before he knew it, he was sobbing and explosive magic was coming out of him.

Rose and SJ were, for the first time in a while, absolutely and completely not on James's mind. The single syllable running through his mind was the name of his darling beautiful son:

Harry.

'WHERE IS MY SON? MY BABY! WHERE IS MY SON? HARRY! HARRY!'

Lily's words, so loud. And yet at the same time hardly audible in comparison to her husband's sobs. They didn't realise though that away from Dumbledore and his parents, Harry was a very valuable asset. Like hell if Sirius, the little part of him kicking and scream from within, would ever let Voldemort murder his gorgeous godson.

And like hell he'd let anything happen to Rose and SJ.

Most important, Voldemort would not even dream of hurting the two children. They could be his perfect, powerful followers. They could be his own handcrafted followers.

They could be his...

xo

Glittering red eyes, safely away from the whore and her son, Voldemort stood in his handsome, youthful glory; glory that wasn't at all his - but regardless, he stood proud and watched those before him.

His followers.

Matching black robes; long, billowing and a symbol of power - they were ... beautiful.

Voldemort, Sirius, whatever his name technically was - stood there - perhaps one of the youngest physically out of the group of one hundred men and women. And yet, standing a few metres away from them, flanked by two giants, he was perhaps the eldest and wisest and biggest.

Strongest.

'And now,' he breathed in a soft smooth voice, 'we shall start the fight again.'