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Anna: The guests reviews have to be approved before they can be posted. That's why your review took some time to appear. You're spot on with your theories, though. Hehe, it's nice to see that people are trying to guess what is going to happen :)

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I was originally split this chapter in two at a very crucial part, but I decided to play nice and give it you at the same time.

Warnings: Violence and a bit of gore

Chapter 12: Saturday, 3rd of April 1997, Part Two: Of Pain and Endings.

Sirius closed his eyes, feeling the power of the Hallow fill him and began to call for his best friend James to come back to life before his world exploded in pain.

It felt like he had just plunged it in an inferno. He felt the burn slowly spreading up his arm and gulped. His hand had blackened completely.

He staggered away from the compartment in the wall and nearly fell to the ground. He gritted his teeth to keep himself from howling in pain. It was so much worse that the Cruciatus.

He stumbled to the entrance door, wanting to check on his team. The wards dissipated when he approached them. He exhaled a sigh of relief before he saw the scene waiting for him outside the shack.

He stood there, shell-shocked, as Hestia's head rolled at his feet. Without the rest of the body.

.

The Dark Lord was having fun. He was duelling three Rebels at the same time and having a great time playing with them. It had been too long since he had the time for a good and bloody combat.

Initially, when he had felt the alarms spells he placed at the Gaunt shack ring in his head during his annual speech, he had been furious. How dare they go steal something of mine? He'd thought. He had nearly stopped his speech there, leaving Lucius to deal with the aftermath. But it wouldn't do to present a less-than-perfect façade to his people. It would shatter their belief in his omnipotence.

So he had stayed, choosing on the spot to completely change his speech to one rallying the population against the Rebels. They had been allowed way too much leeway, he knew.

At first, he had done it on purpose, as a means of controlling the rest of the population through stricter regulations and laws. But now, if they knew about his Horcruxes, they couldn't be allowed to live. He would crush those little ants with the heel of his boot.

The speech done, he shot a look at Lucius to order him to finish things in his stead. He disapparated to the Gaunt shack.

Neville was bored. Nothing was happening. Of course, at first, he had been terrified. Moody had sent him on a dangerous raid, telling him that, as the real Chosen One, he had to get used to fighting.

Neville didn't want to be the Chosen One, he just wanted to tend to his garden and be left alone.

He'd seen what "the Task" had done to Harry's life. It had completely taken over every aspect of it. Everything he did in the village was judged and evaluated; everybody's hopes and expectations were on his shoulders.

Neville wouldn't wish that on anyone, himself included. He was quite happy to stay in the background.

About two years ago, however, Moody came to see him. He told him that there had been a mistake, that he, plain old Neville, was the Chosen One. He said Harry was tainted with darkness. That he had to die.

Neville had protested. Harry was sometimes a bit troubled and he was struggling with everything that was going on in his life, but that was normal! He wasn't evil or anything. Moody hadn't wanted to hear his protests. Worst, Moody had started training him, trying to make him catch up to Harry's level. But it didn't work. The more Moody got impatient when he didn't master a spell, the more stressed Neville became. And the less his magic cooperated.

He would have gone to tell Harry about everything, but Moody made him swear an oath of silence. So Neville was stuck and he had been forced to come to the raid, under the security of the Invisibility Cloak, at least.

When Sirius had become trapped inside the shack, he had been terrified. What else would come to them? He'd thought anxiously. But nothing else happened. So Neville had started to relax and went to sit under a tree a bit further away.

He was starting to fall asleep when he heard the sound of an Apparition and saw a furious Dark Lord appear right next to Kingsley, Hestia and Emmeline. When He saw them, he smiled a cruel smirk and attacked them before they could say a word.

Emmeline had fallen first. She wasn't a fighter, she had been brought there to fix up the wards or disengage possible traps. The Dark Lord had made a negligent wave with his wand and she combusted on the spot.

It was the most horrible thing Neville had ever seen in his life. His eyes couldn't leave the spot where she had fallen, not believing that she was gone forever when seconds before she had joked and smiled to Kingsley. The smell of burnt flesh wafted to his nose and he gagged.

His eyes drifted to the violent fighting.

The Dark Lord was dominating the fight. That much was obvious. His face was stretched in a large malicious smile and he was standing tall, his feet firmly on the ground when Hestia and Kingsley had to keep moving and rolling on the ground to dodge his many attacks.

Hestia was bleeding from a deep gash on her side and Kingsley had been severely burnt by a fire whip.

The Dark Lord was...immaculate and in control. He was firing spell after spell at a dazzling pace without showing one sign of fatigue, his long dark hair whipping around him, and there wasn't one burn, one gash, one wound on him, not even a stain on his clothes. Kingsley and Hestia, who were some of the best fighters of the Rebellion, hadn't even managed to touch him with one spell.

When they realised that his shield was too strong for any of their spells to affect him, they changed to a more desperate strategy: Killing curses.

The sheer amount of magic needed to produce a Killing curse explained why wizards and witches tended to only use it as a last resort, or to deliver the killing blow in a duel when they were sure that their adversary wouldn't be able to dodge it.

The Dark Lord didn't bat an eye at this. He dodged the first two green curses in an elegant move and looked as unconcerned as if he was taking a stroll in a park on a sunny day. Then, he lifted his left hand and started to rotate with fingers in an intricate pattern while he was still sending curses after curses to the Rebels. A magical wind picked up and turned around the man. When Hestia's next Killing curse came, it rebounded on strange metal-like shields that had materialised around the Dark Lord.

Voldemort took advantage of his opponent's surprise and in a downwards-slashing movement of his wand, cut Hestia deeply from her left shoulder to her right hip. She let her wand fall as she curled on herself and the Dark Lord, with a scary smile lighting his face, aimed a blow at her head with a simple flick of his wand. It hit her so hard that her body flew to the side a few feet away and her head detached and rolled down the road toward the shack.

Neville saw Sirius appear at the door, his horrified eyes fixed on his ex-girlfriend's head before he turned to the Dark Lord and sent a Killing curse at his back.

The Dark Lord, who had dropped his left hand down after killing Hestia, simply stepped aside and let the Killing curse continue its path and hit Kingsley, who never saw anything coming because he was too focused on his opponent.

The fight with Kingsley obviously over, He turned around to face the newcomer, his face a smooth mask of indifference.

Sirius appeared to be in pain, clutching his arm tightly and shaking like a leaf. His arm had turned black!

The Dark Lord, when he saw this, lowered his wand and strolled leisurely to where Sirius was kneeling on the ground. He stopped at a few feet from him.

"Well, well, well. The 'Black Rebel' at my feet. I never thought I'd see the day", he mocked.

"Shut up, you slimy snake! I'll never submit to you!" hissed Sirius through his teeth.

"Ah, ah, ah. I'm afraid it won't really matter in a couple of minutes. You really shouldn't have shot this Killing curse, you know. You just fed the curse on your arm the best of nectars. You would have been able to live for a few hours more if you hadn't. You could have had time to say good-bye to your dear godson...

-Don't talk about Harry! Stay away from him!

-I'm afraid I'll have to go against your suggestion, Black. You see, I am very interested in meeting him, and something tells me that the feeling is mutual. But tell me, Black, have you told him you loved him today, before you left? Have you ever reassured him that you considered him like the son you never had? You'd better have, you wouldn't want him to think you abandoned him like his parents did to follow your ridiculous little quest against me, right? And poor Harry, left alone in this cruel world... no one to turn to...all vulnerable." The Dark Lord smiled a sinister smirk and cocked his head to the side, seemingly pondering." I think at this point he'd welcome just about anyone's help, no?"

Sirius released a pained whine. Neville then decided that he had to intervene. He slowly moved toward the scene, skirting widely around the bodies of the people he had loved as a family and stopped at some distance at the left of the Dark Lord.

He lifted his wand and stuttered:

"S-Stu..."

His word caught in his throat when he felt something choking him. His eyes widened when he saw the Dark Lord's left hand extended toward him. When He slightly clenched it, Neville felt the pressure around his throat increase.

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed at him. He looked disappointed for a second and then smiled pleasantly.

"Well, well, well, just who do we have here? Another surprise?" He said, his tone mocking.

Sirius turned his eyes in his direction and mouthed at him to go, to leave him, to escape and save himself, but even if Neville wanted to do all that, he couldn't. The hand around his throat kept him firmly in place.

He emitted a weak strangled sound.

"What is the matter, boy, kneazle got your tongue? Here now, let me see you." The Dark Lord had a feral smile before he flicked his wand at Neville. The boy felt a great wind surround him and lift the Cloak over his head.

Voldemort looked surprised, as if he thought Neville would be someone else, and then looked very satisfied of something.

He let his left hand fall and Neville could breath again. The young man bended down, his hands placed on his knees, as he coughed and gasped until he could breath properly again.

The Dark Lord lifted an eyebrow and looked at him.

"So, who could you possibly be, boy?

-Neville Longbottom, sir" The respectful tone came out of his mouth unwillingly. He glanced toward Sirius, quite ashamed of his behaviour, but the older man was curled in a ball on the ground and looked like he wasn't paying attention to them.

" Come here, Neville, " beckoned the Dark Lord.

Neville shook his head negatively.

" Come on, now, if I wanted to kill you, I'd already have done so, don't you think?" His voice was strangely soft and comforting.

"I don't think it would be a good idea." He answered in what he hoped was a courageous voice.

The Dark Lord sighed, suddenly looking a bit exasperated. He waved his wand again and Neville felt some magical force propelling him at his enemy's side.

The leader of the British Wizarding World then gripped him by the scruff of his neck quite tightly and titled his head to make the young man look at him. When their eyes met, Neville felt a strange intrusion in his mind.

He tried to remember the basics of Occlumency that Moody had started to teach him, but couldn't.

He felt a blinding pain in his head. It was as if an axe had split it open and all his memories were leaving through the gap it made.

Just when he felt like he couldn't take it anymore, the Dark Lord suddenly released him.

"It's an interesting mind you got there, boy. You are cleverer than you seem."

"T-th-thanks, I guess?" stuttered Neville, his head held between his hands in a vain effort to lessen his pain.

Voldemort pondered, looking at him.

"I decided that I wouldn't kill you. Someone needs to go back to the camp and explain the details of what happened, after all."

Neville breathed a sigh of relief.

"However, I can't really let Moody train a second Chosen One to kill me because his first attempt didn't come out like he wanted. I'm sure you understand that."

Neville nodded his head rapidly.

"So I will only require a vow from you. Moody asked that of you anyway, so it's only fair I demand the same, right?"

He nodded again, slower, because he didn't like where this was heading.

"I'm going to ask you to vow to never go against me and to tell Harry about what happened here. It would be too easy for Moody to set him firmly against me by saying I tortured and killed his godfather. You were there, I didn't kill him; the stupid mutt did that himself by putting on a cursed artefact. You would think that a Black would have enough common sense not to commit such a lapse in judgment... Does that seem fair to you?"

As he said that, he kneeled down next to Sirius and tore a ring away from the rebel's hand.

Neville looked at him for a long time, pondering something, and nodded.

"Perfect, so repeat after me: 'I, Neville Longbottom, swear on my magic and my life to never directly or indirectly attack the Dark Lord Voldemort or knowingly go against his plans. I also swear to tell the truth of Sirius Orion Black's death to Harry James Potter.'"

Neville repeated the vows.

"Good, now, you can take the bodies back to your camp if you wish. I have no need for them... I think this one isn't dead yet." He rolled Sirius on his back with his foot and the rebel emitted a feeble groan.

Not saying anything else, he just disappeared on the spot.

Neville looked at where the most powerful man in Britain stood seconds ago and shuddered. He then gathered Sirius in his arms as best he could and disapparated back to the camp.

.

.

I was running; dread filling every pore of my body. I could feel that something had happened, with as much certainty than I could feel my magic cracking and swirling around me.

Sirius, please be all right, please, please. I'll do anything! I'll go on raids with the rest of the Rebels; I'll kill Voldemort; I'll be the best godson I can ever be, but please, please...

I arrived at last at the village's infirmary, out of breath. I tore the door open, not caring if it banged on the wall. My eyes fell on a bed. My godfather was on it, looking pale and sweaty, twisting in pain while someone tried to hold him down.

"Sirius! Sirius!" I shouted, panicked.

I ran to his bedside, scanning his body, searching for his injuries.

His shirt was off and I could see that his right arm had become completely black. The burnt area had taken over his shoulder and was slowly spreading to his heart.

"It's still spreading! Why haven't you done anything? He's dying, do something!"

I shouted at the mediwitch that I vaguely recognised as Poppy Pomfrey, who came from time to time when we had medical urgences.

She looked at me with a disapproving frown and opened her mouth, but before she said anything, I heard Sirius make a small gurgle and open his eyes.

"...'ry..." he said.

"Yes, I'm here, Padfoot, hold on!" I grabbed his hand in my own. It was cold and sweaty.

He shook his head feebly.

"...curse...'tis...end...

-No, no, Siri, don't leave me! I need you!"

He coughed a bit, blood dripping from his mouth, wetting his lips. He looked at me, more serious that I've never seen him. My breath caught in my throat. I tightened my grip on his hand.

"...'ry...love...you...son...'kme...proud..."

My eyes filled with water. My vision became blurry. I reached up and wiped my eyes quickly with my sleeve but when I could see again, Sirius was not moving anymore.

My throat clogged, I felt dizzy, and my ears were ringing with a buzzing sound. I looked at my godfather who was lying on his hospital bed, immobile, his eyes fixed on nothing. He didn't look in pain anymore.

I couldn't look away. I stood there, frozen, until a hand entered my field of vision and went to close Sirius' eyes. I exploded.

"Why haven't you saved him?! Isn't it your job to heal people?! If you couldn't heal my godfather then why are you here?!"

I would have continued to shout, but she interrupted me, scolding me with words that I couldn't understand anymore, that didn't register in my brain. I looked at her lips moving continuously and I didn't hear a sound.

Inside of my body, I felt something building up. I started to quiver, my lips pursed tightly together, a low keening sound erupted out of my chest and bubbled up to my lips. I started to blink rapidly; I clenched my fists as hard as I could.

My chest heaved; I started breathing in great gulps of air. My eyes fell shut and the tears poured out of them, running over my face all the way down to my jaw where some of them plummeted to the ground while the rest slid down following the curve of my jaw and wetted the collar of my shirt.

I opened my blurry eyes again to see my godfather still immobile. I placed my head on the mattress next to him and I started to sob uncontrollably.

I vaguely registered at the back of my mind that the mediwitch left the room.

...

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