The entrance hall was deserted when we arrived, out of breath a few minutes later, and full of shadows. The oil lamps had burnt low and the moonlight was casting strange patterns on the walls. I, as probably the most physical unfit of the four of us, was breathing hard and my legs were aching and had to pause a few extra seconds more than the others before charging up the staircases two at a time.

When we finally reached Dumbledore's office on the third floor the gargoyle that usually hit the entrance was stood several feet away, one wing splintered down one side, the other lay a few yards down the corridor, shattered into fragments. He stirred weakly as we sprinted past, taking the stairs even faster than Sirius and I had the time we'd been stuck together.

I had only been to Dumbledore's office three times in all my years at Hogwarts. The last had been only a few days before when I had told him of the impending doom we all faced, and probably most memorable had been with Sirius before Christmas. But it was the first time that had impacted on me most. A tiny, skinny eleven year old being told of the special circumstances that meant I could swim in the lake.

Now, however, the office looked nothing like I'd ever seen it before. The tiny silver instruments that usually sat on spindle-legged tables where scattered across the floor, smashed into pieces. The beautifully bound books that sat on ornate bookshelves were everywhere and the shelves were overturned. I ducked a flash of green light and raced into the office.

Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore were stood back to back in the centre of the room, duelling. McGonagall was dressed in a long tartan dressing gown and her hair was tied in a long braid down her back. Dumbledore, I could see, in between the slashing motions and flashing lights of his wand, had tucked his long, silver beard into his woollen dressing gown chord and the night cap upon his head was a askew as his dodged and darted, blocking curses by only a fraction.

A bookshelf exploded behind me and I stumbled forwards using a long, velvet drape covering one of the windows to pull myself back to my feet. The group of masked and hooded figures had separated into two, six of them drawing away from the two Professors to engage us. I stumbled again as I ducked a flash of red light and Sirius yanked me upright only for me to sharply pull him sideways as what looked like a small silver model of the galaxy without the planets flew through the air, smashing into the wall where Sirius's head had been only seconds before. He flashed me his carefree, brilliant smile and shot a jinx over my head straight into the chest of a Deatheater who had been about to curse me.

It was pandemonium. Jinxes and curses flew everywhere, more often than not, hitting the priceless objects around the office rather than the darting people inside it. The portraits on the walls were screaming advice to anyone who would listen and a small fire was burning a large pile of books near to an ornate, and empty, cage where an oil lamp had been overturned. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the occasional glimpse of Lily's auburn hair and heard Sirius's mocking laughter as he twirled and slashed his wand, a Deatheater lying unconscious at his feet.

My stunning spell flew underneath my opponent's raised arm and hit them in the stomach. They flew across the room and crashed into a glass cabinet which shattered, showering them with shards. I gasped in a deep breathe of smoky air and bellowed 'Aguamenti!' over at the fire which was filling the room with inky black smoke. The jet of water extinguished the flames. Before I had time to do more than blink however another figure had blocked my path.

My non-verbal magic had never been very good. Though I was expected to be able to cast spells non-verbally since Sixth Year I often cheated, barely moving my lips as I whispered the words. Now though, I wished I had paid more attention in class when Professor McGonagall had explained the theory behind it to us as the silencing charm hit me with enough force to plough me backwards into a wall. My head made contact with the stone with a sickening crack and my vision went fuzzy, black dots filling my eyes. Squeezing my eyes tight closed to try and stop the nausea, I seized my wand from where it had landed beside me and thought with all my might 'PROTEGO!'

Nothing happened.

I tried again. Again, nothing happened. I screamed inside my head and opened my eyes. The figure in front of me had lost her hood. Wild black hair spilled in every direction and the snarling face was so cold and yet familiar too. It was Bellatrix Lestrange. She and Sirius had the same, arrogantly handsome facial structure but where Sirius's face was always full of laughter, hers showed nothing but malice. She raised her wand and I saw her form the curse with her lips and braced myself, knowing my speechless magic wouldn't be good enough. Still I tried, repeating the words over and over inside my head. A few pathetic little sparks flew out of the end of my wand.

She let out a peal of manic laughter: "Cruc-"

"PROTEGO!"

Sirius's shield charm blasted her off her feet. She smashed into another hooded figure stood directly behind her and together they landed in a crumpled heap at the foot of a rickety set of shelves. The wooded planks gave a groan and fell forwards showering them both in heavy, leather bound books, glass vials, silver, spindly instruments.

The room seemed suddenly quiet without the crashing sounds of breathing objects. Even the portraits had fallen silent. I staggered to my feet and fell into Sirius's waiting arms as my knees threatened to buckle. He pulled me close and buried his head in my shoulder. I was shocked to feel wetness on my neck.

"Shh, shh." I soothed, stroking his hair, not quite sure why he was crying. Obviously Bellatrix's silencing spell had warn off when she had been rendered unconscious.

"Look Arty," He managed after a moment, mumbling against my shoulder. "Look at them. Do you know who they are?"

I twisted my head slightly, staring at the limp figures lying around us. "Sirius?" I asked.

He pulled away from me and jerkily wiped a hand across his face. A trickle of blood was running down his temple from his hair line and as I reached up to wipe it away he caught my fingers, kissing them.

"They're my family." He said. "Every single one of them, is part of my family."

I looked into his silver eyes and saw the pain and the humiliation there and pulled him close again, my fingers splayed against his cheek. "No they're not." I whispered. He made as if to pull away again but I didn't let him. "We make our own families. Loyalties thicker than blood. We're your family Sirius. James and Remus and Peter and Lily. And me." I added, after a moment.

He laughed. "You are most definitely not my family," He said, that smile beginning to stretch across his lips again.

I frowned, "What?"

"Because if you were," He carried on as if I hadn't spoken, "I wouldn't be able to do this would I?" And he reached down and kissed me.

How long we stood there I don't know. But when we drew apart, the smoke had cleared and I caught sight of Professor Dumbledore gallantly helping McGonagall back to her feet and Lily and James beginning to repair the shattered remains of the office. Lily caught my eyes and smiled at me, raising her eyebrows. I blushed.

"Er, Professor? Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes James," Dumbledore looked serious, but his blue eyes were twinkling.

"What should we do with, with them?" He pointed to bodies lying on the ground. Lily sat down suddenly and James put his arm around her.

"They will go to Azkaban of course," Dumbledore replied sadly. "But in the meantime, we shall have to secure them for when they come round."

James nodded but Lily, who had been staring at something over Dumbledore's head, looked puzzled.

"Sir, what's that?"

She pointed upwards. I followed her pointing finger to a shiny glass box, mounted high up on the wall next to a portrait of an elderly warlock with a mass of curly grey hair and a large, horn, ear trumpet. I single crack ran down the outside of the casing, marring the highly polished glass.

"That is the sword of Godric Gryffindor, Lily." Dumbledore said, without turning round.

"Sir." She said, "No it isn't."

"What's that?"

"There's no sword Sir."

Dumbledore turned around. "But then-"

"-You're too late." Bellatrix's cold voice cut through the silence like a icicle shard. "You're too late."

She raised her hand, still covered in glass and with a nasty bruise forming on her forehead but with her malicious and deranged smile upon her face, and with the hand clutching the glittering, rubied hilt of the silver sword, and pressed a long forefinger to the brand on her arm.

A.N. Though my characters won't find out about the Horcruxes for another twenty years when Dumbledore tells Harry about them in his private lessons with him, this ending shows how Albus knows that the sword isn't a horcrux as I'm sure you've worked out. Unfortunately I won't be able to say 'The sword isn't a horcrux' in the story because Al Dumbledore doesn't know about them yet. Alas, earwax.

Just wanted to make that clear:)

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