Epilogue

19 years later

The pale morning light came through the windows of the kitchen, touching everything with a warm glow. It was late summer, a cool morning before a hot day, like it had been that entire summer. Forty-four years old and she hadn't really started to show her age. Her blue eyes were still vibrant, her brown hair still lustrous, but there was something different about her. Her eyes were soft as if they had never seen a war but also had an absence to them, alluding to the things she experienced.

What had happened didn't seem to bother her too much now, now that she had a wonderful family, career and life. She did feel guilty that she was the one who was able to experience it, and not the good people who had died in the war.

"Good morning, beautiful," her husband's voice said as his footsteps entered the room. She turned away from the stove and went to him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he kissed her cheek.

"Good morning," she said with a smile as she looked into his eyes. His age showed on his face more than hers did, with a few wrinkles starting to show around his blue-grey eyes. Even after eighteen years of marriage, they still loved each other as they did the day they first met. She was glad to be married to him.

"Do you need me to help you with anything?" he asked as she pulled out of his arms and started tending to the food again.

"I'm alright. This should be done in a couple of minutes," she said gently as he stood beside her and poured himself a cup of coffee. "You know what day it is, right?"

"Of course," he said flatly before taking a sip of his coffee. "Are you sure you're going to be alright doing this?"

She nodded as she turned off one of the burners. "He won't hurt me and, besides, Anthony wants to meet him, even if I don't want him to." She put the toast on a plate before taking care of the rest of the food. "And it's just going to Azkaban to get him, where there are people to help me if he does get out of control. He's being released today as well. His sentence is up."

"How did he get out so soon with all the crimes he committed?" Scabior questioned, looking at her with a calculating gaze.

"I had a hand in that. I fought to lessen his sentence," she admitted in a whisper as she removed the eggs from the heat.

"You shouldn't have done that," he stressed. "He's a dangerous man."

"I couldn't allow him to rot away in Azkaban, not Anthony's father, not someone who is misunderstood."

"Sira, he's a criminal."

She looked at him, an old fire entering her eyes, a flame within her that had never truly died. It had sat there for nineteen years, waiting for a chance to flare. "And what are we, Scabior? Aren't we criminals as well?" He took a sip of coffee, realizing that he shouldn't have said anything in the first place. She sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry, but you know how I feel about judging people like that. Right now, the only difference between us and him is that we were given a chance to be better people and he didn't. He may be a savage, but he doesn't act that way around everyone."

"I understand your point."

"I didn't mean to get angry," she mumbled, trying not to sound bitter still. "I have to do this. I can't back down now."

He nodded as the concern still lingered in his eyes. He didn't like the days where their past caught up with him. He wanted to bury it all and never have to think of it ever again. Most days, that tactic worked and they were both content, but the days that it didn't, they were both on edge. "Just be careful."

"I will," she promised as she set the table.

Footsteps came down the stairs and headed into the kitchen and they both looked up at their daughter. The resemblance she had of her mother was astonishing. Everything about the young woman was so similar to her mother, minus the color of her eyes, which were blue-grey like her father. At seventeen years old, she was young and reckless, even more so than what her mother was at that age. She was stubborn and fiery, which she had been all of her life.

"Morning, Mom. Morning, Dad," she said as she entered the room and took a glass out of one of the cabinets. "You two are up early."

"It's going to be a busy day for all of us," Sira said as she looked at her daughter, giving her a loving smile.

"Yeah," her daughter stated. Both Scabior and her nodded.

"Isabella, do you know if your brother is awake yet?" Scabior asked after taking a drink of his coffee.

"I think he just got up when I was coming downstairs," she said as she put a piece of toast on her plate. With her words, Anthony walked into the kitchen, rumbling his hair with his hand as he yawned.

"Good morning, everyone," he said tiredly as he sat down at the table, looking like he barely got any sleep at all. Sira studied him with concern in her eyes, hoping that this meeting wasn't causing him this much stress. His dark brown hair was messy and she knew it wasn't just from rumbling it. His face showed his exhaustion, dulling his wolfish, yellow eyes that always shined with so much hope. His jaw had stubble on it from not shaving in a few days. From this, she knew that he wasn't feeling the best.

She hoped that he wouldn't resent the choice he made to meet his father later on.

She sat in her old bedroom, which she had recently made into a small study. She sat at the window, gazing out into the world; much like when she had did when she received her letter years ago from Dumbledore. Her letter to join the Order of the Phoenix. She smiled at the thought, of the eagerness she then felt. She was just a child who believed she was an adult and there was nothing wrong with that.

After all those years of running from her past, she had finally stopped and embraced it, knowing that she could do nothing to change it. What was done was done. Nothing could make it happen any other way. And she realized something else. She was still a child and she would always be one, because she didn't want to be an adult. She didn't want to lose the little bit of innocence she still had, the little bit of her that lived without fear, that loved without hurt. And she knew it wasn't a bad thing.

Her finger slid around the rim of her mug as she thought of the people of her past. Dumbledore, Anastasia, her aunt, her uncle, Remus, Tonks, her mom, her dad, Fred, Bellatrix, Voldemort, Snape, Sirius. All smiled at her in her mind, some of the smiles crueler than others. All dead and gone.

What were left of them were memories and names. The only thing she had to remember them by.

"Memory," she whispered to herself as she looked into her mug of tea, "such a simple yet powerful thing."

She thought back to the days of the Order, to the days with the Death Eaters. The trips to Hogsmeade with Anastasia. The cruelness of her uncle and the carelessness of her aunt. The jokes that Fred and George told at the dinner table before Order meetings. The games of hide-and-go-seek with her parents. Dumbledore's eyes gazing at her as she confessed her guilt to the Wizengamot. Potions class with Snape. The way Sirius smiled at her. The way he held her close. The way he said, 'I love you.'

She smiled.

It didn't fix the pain she'd feel at times. It didn't really fix anything. It was only a smile, a smile that showed that there was still hope in the world. That there could still be a chance for Fenrir, too.

"Mom," Anthony said as he opened the door, looking at her with his warm, yellow eyes, "are you ready?"

She turned from the window and gazed at him, nodding lightly. She stood and went to him, having to look up to look into his eyes because of his height. "I want you to meet your father with one thought in your mind. Clear out everything you've ever heard about him and even what I've told you about him to make room for this one thought."

"Alright," he chuckled as they began to walk down the hallway towards the staircase, "what is it?"

"Everyone deserves a second chance."