Epilogue
Harry looked around him. The silence in the house was deafening. He hadn't been here in years. After the War the Order no longer had use for Sirius's family residence and Harry hadn't been able to bring himself to go back there.
The wooden floor creaked under his weight, protesting when he slowly walked through the drawing room, leaving footprints in the dust. The times he had sat on that sofa, with Ron and Hermione, Ginny, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Lupin and his godmother. Harry felt the familiar sting of pain. He was so used to it he didn't even cringe anymore. Niamh Carden Black had perished in the War, as one of many. Another unfinished life, like so many others.
She'd gone down fighting, like a Gryffindor, after she'd lured a group of Death Eaters away from her godson, like a Slytherin. Harry still shuddered when the triumphant glittering that had illuminated her eyes that night appeared in his mind.
She hadn't been the only one who'd given their life for Harry's cause that night. The first one they'd found after the battle was Kingsley Shacklebolt. He hadn't appeared to be dead, except for the lack of a beating heart. Though Harry hadn't been close when his godmother's trap had snapped shut, he had seen many green flashes.
A few feet away from Shacklebolt she'd lain, mortally wounded. "Did you get it?" she'd choked, her mouth coloured by her blood. A small trail of blood had trickled down her chin, contrasting cruelly with the whiteness of her skin. A Crushing Curse had hit her.
He had. The diversion she'd created had bought him the time needed to get the last Horcrux. "I've got it," Harry had whispered.
She'd smiled, the finality in her expression catching his breath in his throat. "Don't go," he'd pleaded.
She'd looked at something behind him. "Remus…"
Her friend had kneeled beside her, his face calm and peaceful, contrary to Harry's turmoil and grief. "Goodbye, Niamh."
"I've fought," she'd repeated, as forcefully and urgent as she still could. "I've fought."
Remus had nodded. "He knows."
"He knows," she'd echoed weakly, closing her eyes. "I know he does," she'd added with a faint smile.
"Niamh…" Harry had wrung from his throat, but she'd already left them, that smile never leaving her face again.
Harry took a deep, shuddering breath, overwhelmed by the memories. He'd never understood. Never understood why she'd let go. I've fought. I've fought. He could still hear her say it. But she hadn't! She'd given up. She'd let herself be killed by her reckless fighting, something more fitting for Sirius than for her. Harry couldn't understand.
He knows. Harry wanted to ask Remus what he'd meant by that, but he couldn't. Remus had died not long after, the last of the Marauders. That was when Harry had finally realised it. It was to be his generation that would fight this battle. His alone, not the previous one. And they had done so.
Now he was back here in Grimmauld Place, trying to find his place in the wounded wizarding world. Harry sighed. What was he trying to accomplish by coming here? This place was like the wound that had crippled the wizarding world, still oozing blood. Suddenly the air in the room felt too thick to breathe in and Harry hurried out of the door.
He climbed the stairs to his old bedroom, which he had shared with Ron. Wandering around the house he came to Sirius's bedroom, which Niamh had moved into eventually. For a long time he stood still in the doorway, not daring to enter, as if something of the two people that had occupied this room was still there. His godparents' room, but they had never been in it together.
Harry's eyes glided over the furniture. There were still some items that had belonged to his godparents scattered around the room. A few books were piled up on a small table next to a chair. A comb, a few small jars, and a perfume bottle still waited for their owner on the dressing table.
No one had emptied the room after Niamh's death. Harry knew the closet still had to be filled with her clothes. She had moved into Grimmauld Place permanently after she'd resigned from her teaching job after only one year. She'd never told him why, but after leaving Hogwarts she'd devoted all her time to the Order.
Harry took a small step into the room. Dust had collected here as well. He walked to the dressing table, touching the comb and the perfume bottle, before he looked up into the mirror. It was a man that was staring back at him, no longer a boy. Averting his eyes, he moved further into the room. The top book on the table was about Protection Spells. Harry brushed the dust off the cover. It hadn't helped Niamh.
As he'd thought, the closet was filled with robes, dresses, and Muggle clothing when he opened the door. At the bottom shoes were lined up, simple loafers and high heels, a pair of boots and a pair of sandals. On a peg on the inside of the door hung a small purse.
Harry was about to close the door again when he noticed something in the corner of the closet, to the right of the shoes. It was a box. Curious, he reached for it and got it out. He recognized it as Sirius's box, in which he'd kept photographs. Before he could stop himself, Harry sat down on the bed and opened the box. There were a few new photographs, mainly of himself and Ron and Hermione. One had himself and Niamh on it. Another was of Remus and Niamh, playing wizard's chess. By the look on Niamh's face Harry deducted Remus was winning.
He found two envelopes. One appeared to be older than the other and had his godmother's name on it. He swallowed a lump in his throat when he recognized his godfather's handwriting. In doubt as to whether he should read the letter he looked at the other. His breath caught when he saw his own name, in a distinctly feminine handwriting.
London, 15 April 1998
My dearest Harry,
I hope I don't startle you with this letter. I remember well how upset I was when I read Sirius's after his death. But just like him, I have a few things to tell you. Things I can't tell you in person, because I know you won't understand and will try to change my mind. Oh, writing this is hard, much more than I thought.
Why don't I just start with the more easy parts? I know you've always wanted more answers than the ones I've given you, but you've never asked. For that I'm grateful. It hasn't always been easy to talk about the things that have happened. I've been most hesitant about revisiting my past, but I knew I had to. And I have. Some of it was pleasant, some of it not.
You'll like to hear that Lana eventually did get married, to the first man she fell in love with. Gareth Donovan, our old classmate. No, they don't have children. Lana hasn't changed that much.
Alexia Malfoy, my sister-in-law, remarried to a wizard from Denmark after Voldemort's disappearance and has lived there ever since. I learned this from her brother Devon, who still lives in England. He has a young boy, who will be attending Hogwarts in three years from now.
Aoife, my cousin, has learned to be content with her life. She is mother to a sixteen-year-old girl, whose name is Méabh. I met her and her daughter a few months ago. All she had ever heard about my disappearance from my father was that I had betrayed the family. I told her the truth.
She was also the one who advised me to write Deirdre a letter, something I hadn't had the heart to do before. I was afraid she wouldn't want anything to do with me. Aoife, I knew, would want to talk to me, but my sister has always been a pure-blood through and through. We haven't met and I know that will never happen, she would put herself at risk far too much, but we have written each other for a while to talk things out. Her son is at Hogwarts in his second year and she has a younger daughter.
Deirdre is a good daughter to her parents, who are both still alive. I haven't asked my sister anything else about them. That door closed seventeen years ago.
Another person I went to see was Sophie Westley, Evan's widow. That was a very difficult visit, but I'm glad I was able to see she was as much a victim of Evan as I was, and I'm even more glad that I've found her. You've never seen Evan and that's why you've never recognized his daughter at Hogwarts, but she's his spitting image, except when it comes to her character. She's a Ravenclaw, a year younger than you are. I consider her to be Sophie's daughter, not his, though it hasn't been easy to look at her.
I've had the same problem with Draco Malfoy, as you can probably imagine. His father, I know justice will be done, even though a part of me still screams for vengeance. But I have to let it go. There are more important things to worry about right now. The same goes for Severus. Whatever friendship we used to have was ruined the night I was caught. For a time I wanted nothing more than to throw in his face what he had let happen and make him suffer, but there are more important things now. We have a war to win.
One more person I'd like to tell you about is Narcissa Malfoy, or rather, Narcissa Black. I've always resented her for writing my mother about my relationship with Sirius in seventh year. I've blamed her for the turns my life took after she did that. What I failed to see all those years was that Narcissa did act as a friend. She saw Sirius as a threat to my position in society – which he was– and she tried to protect me from him. She could have gone public with her knowledge, ruining my reputation, but instead she wrote in secret to my mother, who she thought would talk some sense into me. She did what she thought was best for me.
Now you, undoubtedly, wonder why I'm telling you all this and why I bothered to find all those people from my past in the first place. I'll tell you.
My life was unfinished in so many ways. It was cut off in a brutal manner. While you were searching for the Horcruxes I've tried to find those loose ends. I knew I had to finish the tale I'd been telling you. That's why I wrote to Aoife and Deirdre, Lana and Narcissa. They never knew my side of what happened when all the rumour and gossip exploded into society and I vanished. I needed them to know so I could finish.
Now I have finished.
I can see you frown. Why was it so important that I finished? It was because I knew I had to fight and most likely would not survive. My life is not essential to gaining victory. It sounds cruel, but it is the truth. My part in this tale was over seventeen years ago. All that's left for me is to help you on your way, to assist you, and to watch your back.
That's why I tied up all the loose ends. So I could focus on the upcoming fight. I know I have to fight. It's been demanded of me.
I've told you I dream about Sirius. I've not told you about a particular dream I had a few weeks after Christmas in Grimmauld Place and continued to have until I resigned from teaching.
I've written it down for you, so you will understand.
-o-o-o-o-
The only sound I could hear was that of footsteps on stone. My bare feet descended the old stairs, one step at a time. The coolness of the stones invaded my skin. A soft rustle broke the silence when I lifted the hem of my gown to ease my steps.
Someone called for me. They had not spoken, but I felt it. Slowly I turned around. Two pairs of eyes looked down at me from the top tier. One pair bright green, the other a rich amber. They did not want me to go. I turned back. I was sorry, but I could not otherwise.
I walked down the stairs, silk caressing and whispering to old stone. Benches surrounded me, giving the impression of an ancient amphitheatre. When I reached the bottom the eyes behind me pleaded. I hesitated, my footsteps faltering, but I did not look back.
I lifted my eyes and saw what was in front of me. My goal. A raised stone dais.
Cloth fluttered ever so slightly and alluring. I moved closer to the dais. Ancient stone, looking as if it were crumbling, yet there was no rubble on the floor. It was calling for me. I could feel it tugging at me, bringing me closer. I stepped onto the dais. If I reached out, I could touch the tattered cloth. It was calling me. No, they were calling me.
Shaking fingers in front of me. I knew they were my own. They traced a crack in the ancient stone.
They wanted me to come. I wanted to come to them. I stepped closer. The cloth fluttered against my legs. They whispered my name, ever so slightly in a wind that did not exist. They were waiting.
He was waiting.
The cloth veiled the entrance. It did not matter. All I had to do was push it aside and there he would be. Waiting for me. Longing to see me, as I yearned to see him. Another step, the cloth now merely a breath away.
Fingers curled around the cloth and drew the veil aside.
I'm coming. I stepped through the Archway.
And landed on cold stone. I got to my feet and looked around. I was still in the amphitheatre-like room, but with slight differences. The green and amber eyes had vanished. A strange, diffuse light surrounded me.
Curiosity gleamed in dark blue eyes that resembled my own. A sharp nose and broad cheekbones above a generous mouth. A face I had not seen in countless years. Blond hair, long and slightly curling, like I remembered it. My throat tightened. I'm sorry.
Don't be, my brother answered. I've paid the price for my actions. Why are you here, midget?
I need to find him.
My brother stepped aside, inclining his head. I walked on. I crossed an enormous hall. Soft, golden light surrounded me. Two figures were waiting for me. For a brief moment I thought the bright green eyes had returned, but this time they belonged to a woman. She was standing next to a man with deep brown eyes.
I'm sorry for not taking care of your son.
Lily reached out. Her fingers caressed my cheek, light as petals of a flower. Forgive yourself.
James looked at me. He is waiting for you. But so are others.
My heart chilled. James took Lily's hand and they walked away.
The warm, golden light faded and left a cold, silver shimmer. The other side of the hall seemed an eternity away. Though I walked towards it, it did not get closer. Black shadows emerged from the silver shimmer. I recognized their faces. Victims, gone for many years. Their eyes pierced my mind. I saw what had happened to them before my eyes.
Victims, of me, Rowan, Lucius, Severus, Bellatrix, and Evan.
Evan.
Cold, hazel eyes stared down at me. I backed away immediately. The silver light vanished, replaced by a frosty void. A cruel smile played around a harsh mouth. He stepped closer. I darted away from him, my heart pounding. A desolate sound shook the silence. Evan smirked. I realised I had made the sound.
The hall seemed to shrink before my eyes. Suddenly I was trapped in a corner of a narrow hallway. He came for me. Malicious glee shone from his eyes. Darkness pooled around his feet; tentacles, black as ink, trying to snatch my feet. He would do it again. Tear me away from my love and leave me an empty shell. I whimpered and pressed myself against the wall. There was no escape. I could not get away from him.
Evan moved closer. I closed my eyes, turning my head away from him. He chuckled. I could already feel his grip on me. There was no way out.
Then I realised it. There was no way out. No escape. I could not get around him. I had tried to get away from him for years. Tried to escape the horror of so many years ago.
My eyes snapped open. I had fled for fifteen years.
I straightened myself. You're the past. I am past you. He would not keep me away from my love again.
I walked through him, not looking back once. Immediately soft light seeped back into the void and the narrow hallway expanded more and more into the enormous hall with every relieved breath I took.
There was a large stairs at the end of the hall. I began to walk faster. I could feel him. He was waiting. I ran up the stairs. Straight into a crowd.
Faces seemed to mix and drift apart, strangely solid and yet they were not. I began to recognize them, people I had known as a child, as a girl, as a young woman. They seemed to take little notice of me.
A small distance away a face smiled at me, before it turned away and vanished. I stood still in surprise. Those eyes had resembled my own, but in a face different from the one I saw in the mirror. Her mouth was familiar, though. She'd been taller than me. Jet black curls cascading down her shoulders and back. That strangely familiar mouth had split into a cheeky grin for a moment. A cheeky grin I had seen a million times before. On a black-haired man's mouth.
Freedom, it was whispered to me. Triumphantly.
Something wet fell on my cheek. I touched my skin and knew that I was crying.
Saoirse.
An even taller figure appeared in the crowd, on the spot where the girl had vanished. Tears were now streaming down my face. How's this possible?
Sirius moved closer and put his hand on my cheek. I gasped. He was warm and solid and I could feel the calluses on his skin. He wiped my tears away with his other hand.
I looked at him. He was older. Much older. His hair was long; longer even than the last time I had seen him. It spilled past his shoulders, grey strands here and there. There were lines in his face I had never seen before. His mouth had lost the mischief that I remembered. Grimness replaced it.
But it was still Sirius. I pressed trembling fingers against that mouth. He sighed. Grey eyes that were not the same looked down at me. I knew he saw the same in me. The years had left their marks. I shivered when he traced the lines of my face. He bent down and brushed his lips against mine. I've missed you.
I opened my mouth, but he silenced me. No apologies.
He kissed me again, not gently and feathery like before, but deep and with a need I could feel into my very bones. Love you.
Always.
I love you too.
I didn't know who said which words, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that I was here with him. I had found him.
He pulled back and raised an eyebrow. She's pretty, eh? He looked at the crowd, in which a flash of black curls was visible.
Gorgeous.
How can she not? She would have had me for a father.
I laughed. Some things hadn't changed.
We'll be waiting for you.
I frowned. I'm already here.
No, you're not.
I could see in his eyes what he meant. No. I don't want to leave.
Sirius shook his head. It's not your time yet.
It wasn't your time either!
Perhaps.
I don't want to lose you.
You won't. We'll be here. But you have to go back. You have to fight. Harry needs you. And Remus.
I need you.
You have me. No 'until death do us part'. We have more. Until we meet again. That's all. He kissed me. I savoured every moment, every touch, every breath.
Now go. He pushed me back. I could still feel his hands on me, even though he disappeared in the crowd again.
A whisper in my ear. Wait for you.
-o-o-o-o-
"When you remember me, it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I die, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart.
For as long as you remember me, I am never entirely lost. When I'm feeling most ghost-like, it is your remembering me that helps remind me that I actually exist. When I'm feeling sad, it's my consolation. When I'm feeling happy, it's part of why I feel that way.
If you forget me, one of the ways I remember who I am will be gone. If you forget, part of who I am will be gone. "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." the good thief said from his cross (Luke 23:42). There are perhaps no more human words in all of Scripture, no prayer we can pray so well. "
It's a quote, Harry, from a Muggle writer. I believe his name is Frederick Buechner.
I remember Sirius. And I will do as he asked. I will fight, but after that I will go to him. I won't keep him waiting too long.
I wish you all the luck and happiness in the world, my dear Harry. You have friends who will stand by you no matter what, and that's all you need. You have the love of your parents and your godparents and the strength of the justness of your fight. I know you will succeed. You are everything I could have hoped for in a godson. You'll become the man you need to be.
All my love,
Your godmother
Harry sat on the bed, the letter trembling in his hand. And finally, finally he understood.
-
A/N: Well, I've finished... It's the first story I've posted here on FF and I've worked about a year and a half on it. Before that it had been stewing in my head in many different forms for ages. I've had Niamh and Sirius practically always in my head with me all that time, with cameos of Remus, James, Severus, Lily, Lana, and Harry of course. Especially Niamh has really become a part of me and I've only ever had positive reactions to her.
So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you, thank you, thank you to the reviewers. Some of you have followed this story since its beginning and I'm amazed you stuck with me that long! Thank you for easing the worries of a beginner writer, and supporting me, and pointing out mistakes. Thanks for the rants on evil characters and the ones on stupid actions and pigheadedness of the loveable ones (coughSiriuscough). Thanks also for the rants on cliffhangers! Thanks for the discussions about the HP novels, in particular about Snape and Dumbledore. Thanks for pointing out songs that remind you of this story (my computer is now full of songs that somehow make me think of a particular scene). Thanks for all the tears and the smiles, the capitals and the exclamation marks. Thanks for never making me regret posting my work here!
A big hug to all of you!
Lots of love,
Nadia
