Disclaimer: Nope.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews! I'm really glad you liked the chapter with Finkle and Dixon. Whether both of them are able to deal with what the ring might do to them remains to be seen.

To my one reviewer - man, I'm sorry that happened. That's awful that your friends stabbed you in the back and that people who said they would help you ended up not doing so. I really hope you're doing better now, and I'm glad your mum was there for you. I must say, it's honestly really awesome to have another blind person reading my story! I hope I continue to meet your expectations.

I agree that some fanfics make Dumbledore way too evil. I think the terms "bad good guy" describe him perfectly. He honestly thinks his actions are all for the good, hence his use of the phrase "the greater good", but he makes huge mistakes along the way. I think of people like Sirius, Remus, Snape, and especially Harry, who were all hurt in some way by his actions. I'll never forget reading Deathly Hallows and what an automaton Harry seemed to be during his walk to the forest to die. He literally sounded like a dead man walking in that scene - there was such a gulf between him and all those he was leaving behind in the castle. I've always imagined that his reintegration into regular life after his return from limbo was exceedingly difficult. I can't see Ron, Hermione, or Ginny being at all happy with Dumbledore after Harry told them everything.

Oh, I'm perfectly aware why Voldemort won't stop monologuing. You're exactly right - he's a show-off who loves to boast and brag that he's finally gotten his hands on the one person he wants to destroy. It explains why he had Cedric killed so very quickly, and yet, when he has Harry right in front of him, he goes into a history lesson about his family and about whose grave Harry happens to be tied to. Voldemort didn't care about Cedric at all - "kill the spare" was, unfortunately and horrifically, exactly what he thought about him. Cedric might as well have been a lump of dirt on the sole of Voldemort's shoe that was simply an annoyance and the evil monster wanted rid of it.

I'm really glad you're liking Dixon more. Your comment about being more attached to Sturgis than to Dixon made me unbelievably happy, because that's what I want. I want EVERYONE to love Sturgis, because he's beloved. Do you have any idea how thrilled it makes me, because the human being he's based on has truly given me so many gifts and so many positive ways to look at life. The fact that you're liking him more and more is exactly the result I want, so thank you, thank you, thank you.

Anyway, I really, really hope you enjoy this chapter. What Kingsley says to Sturgis about heroes was something very humbling that I figured out several years ago. We depend on our heroes to hold us up - but sometimes, what we don't realize is that they need holding up as well.

xxxxxxxxxx

Sirius felt rather overwhelmed as he looked at everyone who sat at Sturgis's kitchen table. Another meeting had been called that concerned the more seasoned members of the Order, which clued Sirius in right away regarding what the subject of such a gathering would be.

It had started without delay, the simple pronouncement being uttered by Mad-Eye Moody in a gruff tone, the light in his eyes containing a savage sort of triumph. "It's gone," he stated as his magical eye surveyed all the attendees in the room. "There's nothing left of it."

"The Horcrux?" Remus asked in a whisper, barely daring to hope.

"Indeed." Moody nodded. "Thanks to Jonathan Henderson, a certain monster is mortal once more."

You might have expected whoops of triumph or exclamations of, "Thank Merlin!" But instead, the room was deathly quiet. Only silence seemed like the appropriate way to follow such a statement.

"How?" croaked Remus. "How did he do it? Did he get hurt?"

"Thankfully, no," Moody responded. "He used Fiendfyre to destroy it."

Sturgis's eyes widened at that. "He would need an extraordinary amount of control for that spell to work properly," he stated.

"believe me, it has taken years of work and near misses for him to achieve such a result," Moody said, his voice deadly serious.

"What exactly does that spell do?" asked Remus. "From what you're implying, it sounds really dangerous."

"That doesn't even begin to cover it," Sirius said quietly. He had, sickeningly enough, heard talk of it among the more deranged members of his family. They were disgusting enough to joke about casting that spell on a Muggle or Mudblood (their words), and gleefully watching the results unfold. It had been difficult for Sirius not to commit murder himself at that moment. "It starts a magical fire," he explained. "If it's not done by someone who knows how to control it perfectly, it could burn everything in its path ... and I mean, everything. Even some of the best spellcasters have caused catastrophes with that spell. And it's the hardest kind of fire to extinguish - in fact, it's almost impossible."

"Exactly." Kingsley nodded. "And yet, Mr. Henderson had the expertise to pull it off. The Horcrux is nothing more than ashes."

"Do you have proof?" Emmeline asked bluntly. "It's all well and good for Henderson to tell you that it's gone, but was he able to supply you with evidence?"

Moody smiled at Emmeline. "Good girl," he said approvingly, pulling a small vial out of his robes. Sirius recognized it at once - it was a memory. This was proven to be correct as Moody also took something else out of his pocket, which appeared to be a shrunken version of the stone basin that Sirius, too, possessed.

Moody pointed his wand at it, returning it to its regular size. "Pensieves are rare," he said, "but our Mr. Henderson makes it a point to obtain important artifacts. He has allowed me to borrow his Pensieve for this occasion. He knew you would need proof, and so he supplied it to me without fanfare."

Sirius realized that this was why Moody hadn't asked him to supply his own Pensieve - Henderson had done this without prompting. He whistled in appreciation at the fact that Henderson seemed to think of everything.

Moody poured the contents of the vial into the Pensieve. "You can be sure that I checked for tampering," he said gruffly. "I trust Henderson implicitly, but you can never be sure."

There were times when Sirius had been annoyed by Moody's paranoia, but not in this case. Right now, it was extremely warranted.

Instead of the Order members going into the Pensieve, Moody simply showed them the memory from the outside. Sirius remembered Lily talking about the Muggle TV, and it was a similar experience.

Everyone watched as Henderson handled the object with great care as he put it in a box. Taking a deep breath, he leveled his wand at it, his arm steady as he uttered the spell with no hesitation. "Fiendfyre."

The display was spectacular. It was almost beautiful, but in a twisted, horrendous sort of way. Sirius watched as flames, which seemed to be in the shape of magical creatures, ate up the Horcrux. A maddened scream emanated from it as it disintegrated, and the noise made everyone in the room shudder. It was high-pitched and terrible, but Jonathan did not flinch or cover his ears. He maintained perfect control of the spell, and Sirius observed the hardened faces of those on his team. They did not flinch at the screams, either.

Sirius shivered. What must they have seen, what must they have experienced, for their expressions not to even slightly falter at that terrible noise, at the sight of the cursed fire? Growing up in the environment he had, and having experienced what a pit of despair truly felt like in Azkaban, Sirius had still felt a thrill of horror upon seeing Henderson's memory. Those eyes as the man watched the Horcrux burn ... they were expressionless, emotionless. What would it take for Sirius's eyes to look like that?

Still, despite it all, Sirius felt that Henderson could be trusted. Because, after there was nothing left of the Horcrux but ashes and he lowered his wand, there was a very, very brief moment when a certain look flickered across his face.

It was the look of someone who knew he had done the right thing, and he didn't regret it in the slightest.

There was silence again after the memory ended. It was a rather haunting silence, as the screams of the dying Horcrux still rang in Sirius's ears. He looked around at all of the others in the room, and saw varying expressions and emotions on their faces.

Harry. Sirius's heart twisted when thinking of him. Harry. He could finally tell him that the Horcrux had been destroyed. He could at least give him some hope, some comfort. It still made Sirius sick at the notion that Voldemort wouldn't stop hunting Harry down, and the urge to flee with him, to take him away from the fighting, resurfaced stronger than ever. But he also knew that Harry would refuse to leave - he would never accept abandoning all those he loved, even if it was for his own safety.

But at least the monster could bloody die now, right? At least the bastard wasn't immortal anymore. His heart stopped at a sudden flashback of Regulus. In his memory, he was smiling at Sirius, his face holding no bitterness or resentment, only brotherly love. Sirius swallowed convulsively, trying to hold himself together. The Horcrux, the reason Regulus had given up his life, was finally destroyed. At that moment, all Sirius wanted was for his baby brother to have found peace.

But could that really have been it? Sirius thought, a sudden feeling of paranoia gripping him. Was this part of the nightmare truly over? Why did Sirius suddenly feel jittery, like a piece was somehow missing from the puzzle?

"Who were those three men with him?" he suddenly asked. "I didn't recognize any of them."

"Their names are Dwayne Farthing, Timothy Walker, and Robert Finkle," Moody replied. "They all work in the Dark Objects Division." He paused. "Henderson and I go back a long way. He's a good bloke."

"And thank Merlin for it," Emmeline said with conviction. "I couldn't be more grateful that foul thing is gone."

"Aye," Moody agreed, nodding vigorously.

But some instinct in Sirius was blaring, and he didn't like it. It was the same feeling he'd experienced that Halloween night even before he knocked on the door of Peter's flat. He'd already arranged to check on the man that night, but even as he'd arrived, he'd felt a sense of foreboding. And now, even though he believed wholeheartedly that this Horcrux had been destroyed, that same feeling from almost fourteen years ago was hitting him again, making his entire body feel heavy.

He didn't like it one bit.

xxx

Sturgis sighed heavily as he rubbed his eyes. He loathed admitting such a thing even to himself, but he was both physically and emotionally exhausted.

After the Order meeting for the more seasoned members yesterday where they'd discussed the destruction of the vile Horcrux, he'd held his normal evening gathering where the entirety of the Order, plus Harry, were welcome. Almost everyone had attended, and they'd spent time in the exercise room working with the equipment there. Afterwards, he had sat everyone down and retrieved the Daily Prophet. He'd reviewed the day's headlines, truly in his element as he partook in a thorough examination of the certain, unique styles of the different reporters.

There were articles on what the Ministry was doing to combat Voldemort. There were articles on what the war was doing to daily life and how the wizarding world was adapting. There were many more consequences to a war than what one might first think about, including the fact that certain things were more expensive because less people were buying them. Diagon Alley, though still open, was attracting less visitors as the days went by. Though witches and wizards were using the owl order option to do some of their shopping, business certainly wasn't as good these days, and therefore, prices were raised.

Sturgis despised the way some of the reporters wrote. In their minds, it was like the world would never recover from this. It was like everyone was doomed and that civilization was somehow lost forever. It was like all the light and hope in the world had died and there was no joy and laughter left, only darkness and despair.

Sturgis had made it his job to convince the Order not to believe that rubbish. Yes, there would be pain and sorrow, some so enormous that even lifting their feet off the ground would seem impossible. Sturgis had been there, in his life. He knew what that felt like. He knew the crippling, all-consuming pain of loss so strong that you could barely move. He knew the feeling of darkness encroaching, of your soul being crushed by the weight of the world.

But he also knew that even through that loss, he'd had things to go on for. Things to live for. Things to be thankful for.

Hope. At times it was fragile. It was frail. It was hard to hold onto. But it was there, and sometimes you could find it in the places you were least likely to look.

And Sturgis had made it his prerogative to make sure the Order found what he once had. Times were incredibly hard, but there was a strange sort of beauty in being together through all of it, in finding camaraderie in each other. Sturgis had discovered very quickly that he had come to the right conclusion when deciding to start his evening morale-boosting gatherings. Helping the Order to keep up their spirits also lifted his own.

So, last night as he dissected the Daily Prophet and went over every detail with a fine-toothed comb, he pointed out every error, every discrepancy, every mistake of the reporters. He debunked all their falsehoods and said loudly and proudly that, of COURSE Diagon Alley would become a shining light of joy and sparkle again. The shops would be full of hustle and bustle, and faces would be full of smiles again. Humans were more resilient than many imagined them to be.

And he had plenty of evidence to back that up, and it wasn't even from his own experiences. After all, the wizarding world had rebuilt itself after all the wars that had hit it before. There had been Grindelwald. There had been the First War. There had been the Dragonpox pandemics that had sadly wiped out many wizarding families.

And what of the Muggle world? World War I. World War II. The Great Depression. Bloody hell. Of course society rebuilt itself and went on. How could everyone else not see it?

He believed it so fiercely, with a conviction that burned through his heart and soul. There was no doubt in his mind that Voldemort was the engine of his own destruction. He almost snorted at the ludicrousness of this so-called prophecy. He might not know what it said in full, but he had a pretty damned good idea. And of course the ridiculous fool was falling for it hook, line, and sinker.

But then, there were days like today. On days like today, he never lost his conviction, his faith, his beliefs. He could still say with certainty, with no doubt at all, that the war would end, that Voldemort would be defeated, that the wizarding world would pick itself up and move on. He could still say, even on days like today, that his son, Benjamin, would grow up in a world where he wouldn't have to constantly look over his shoulder for fear of an attack. He would, because Sturgis would make damn sure of it. He would give up everything, including his own life, to ensure that Benjamin would encounter that world, even if it meant he'd have to live without his dad. Selfishly, though, Sturgis hoped he was around to see a huge amount of Ben's many milestones. Plus, there was the fact that his heart broke at the thought of Ben having to experience the sadness of losing him.

But having conviction that the war would be over and having a bad day weren't mutually exclusive. Not at all. On days like today, a bone-deep, severe exhaustion gripped Sturgis in its stranglehold and wouldn't release him.

He, being the new leader of the Order, had been contacted by Severus Snape after the gathering last night. The dour man had explained that there had been a Death Eater meeting but that Voldemort hadn't trusted him with much information. He informed Sturgis of everything the monster had said, including the fact that Sylvanus Kettleburn, the old Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts, was one of his servants now.

"He has a ... project ... that he presented to the Dark Lord," Snape had sneered. He described the bottle with the strange blue liquid inside, and it was something that Sturgis could honestly say he'd never heard of before.

Then, Voldemort had dismissed all his Death Eaters except for Thorfinn Rowle, and it had something to do with the Department of Mysteries. It was obvious to Sturgis what this concerned - the thrice-damned prophecy. Sturgis had thanked Severus for his report, to which the other man had just stared at him with his bottomless black eyes before leaving his home without a second glance.

He had contacted Kingsley with the information about the blue liquid and the prophecy. His employer and best friend had listened attentively, and Sturgis could see his mind whirring. Both men vowed to research about any blue liquid they could find out about, and Kingsley would speak to the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, about the Department of Mysteries. All they knew was that none of this could be anything good, and they prayed they would find the answer before any of these plans went into effect. Apparently, the blue liquid was meant to cause confusion, and such a pronouncement was disconcerting. And if anyone with bad intentions got their hands on that prophecy ...

And then, the worst had happened. Sturgis had managed to fall into a sound sleep, which was becoming rarer these days, when the book lying on his bedside table began to beep. Jolting awake, he instantly went into action mode.

Sirius had contacted him - he knew, through Harry, that Voldemort and a few of his Death Eaters were at it again. And there had been no warning from Severus.

But Sturgis didn't suspect him of treachery. All through his life, he had never doubted his instincts. Because of this, he had been called many things, including arrogant, full of himself, and overconfident. He didn't mind - people could think of him what they liked. Plus, he would be the first one to admit that a lot of it was actually true. There had only been one instance when he had been truly wrong in his line of work, and it still haunted him to this day as he remembered Sirius's tormented gray eyes from so many years spent in Azkaban because his mentor hadn't believed in him.

But Severus not knowing about the upcoming attack made sense to him. Voldemort knew about Dumbledore vouching for him after the First War, and even though Severus had managed to survive his first encounter with him after his return, it didn't at all mean that the evil demon trusted him. It wasn't a surprise that he'd keep him away from the information, especially if he suspected Severus to be the one who informed the Order the last time they'd shown up to intercept an attack.

Sturgis's face had paled and his heart had sunk as he read the address Harry had supplied to Sirius.

It was, again, right here in London, but it was literally only a few streets away from where he was right now. It was way, way too close to home. It wasn't, of course, that anywhere they attacked was okay with him - they could be attacking Timbuctu and he'd loathe it. But the fact that they were so close to his house made him feel physically ill, and it was an effort of Herculean proportions to keep back the panic that was desperate to take over his body.

He had made Kingsley Secret Keeper for this house, especially since it was now Order Headquarters. But even if the Death Eaters couldn't find the house, they could definitely have a general idea of where it was. After all, it wasn't at all difficult to find out where an Auror lived if you had the right resources. Sturgis could only be exceedingly thankful that they could have their face pressed up against the window of this house and not know it.

Still, Sturgis had a sinking feeling that attacking random Muggles only a few streets away was not quite so random after all. With sleep having left him entirely, Sturgis and several Order members, plus some Aurors, Apparated to the location just like they had the last time. And, just like the last time, the ensuing battle had been relatively quick. The two members of the Muggle family of five that still lived, a man and his seven-year-old daughter, had been whisked away to Saint Mungo's to be healed of their injuries, and Sturgis knew that after that was done, they'd be Obliviated. The other three, the mother and her older twin daughters, hadn't survived.

He'd never forget Voldemort's enraged face as he and the Death Eaters Disapparated like the cowards they were. The Aurors and Order members had outnumbered them, so many of them had simply left with no fanfare. Only a few had been foolish enough to stay and fight. Only one Auror had been injured this time, a man named Samuel Masterson. He'd been hit in the leg with a bone-melting curse. Sturgis didn't envy him his treatment at Saint Mungo's - it certainly wouldn't be pleasant.

And now, Voldemort knew that there was some other way that the Order and the Aurors were receiving the information that was stopping the attacks. Would the monster realize that his connection with Harry was the cause, or would he start suspecting that another of his Death Eaters was betraying him? This time, Sirius had revealed that Harry had been lost in the vision for an even shorter period of time before waking up. His Occlumency skills were certainly getting stronger, Sturgis realized, for what else could explain this?

He could only hope that Harry could have some peace and stop having these terrible visions. It made Sturgis's heart feel so twisted inside, because the truth was that lives were being saved due to Harry's actions after waking up. If he stopped having the visions, then Voldemort would have more of an opportunity to attack, torture, and kill Muggles without being interrupted.

It was an absolutely horrible situation. What was the lesser of two evils? To have a young boy constantly seeing these things, while experiencing Voldemort's joy and satisfaction and to have those lifeless bodies burning behind your eyelids? Or to have a young boy actually getting sleep at night and to see the Dark Mark over houses of innocent families in the morning with no survivors left inside?

He hated it, but Sturgis always came to the same conclusion. Because every time he thought about it, Harry's face turned into Benjamin's. What if it was Ben who had been made to experience all of this?

And Sturgis had his answer. He knew what his lesser of two evils was, and it made him want to collapse with guilt and remorse. But he couldn't change how he felt - he would pick his son, his child, before anything else. Every. Single. Time.

By the time Sturgis arrived back at his house, his soul felt crushed and his emotions were shattered. He was in no place to tell Harry what had happened, and so he had sent Moody to do it. He had agreed without any hesitation - he understood. But still, Sturgis felt like a coward.

He'd gotten no sleep for the rest of the night - it had completely eluded him. Worse still, he was adamant that he'd be at the Ministry this morning. Several of the Death Eaters, the ones who had stayed to fight after Voldemort and the others had retreated, had been captured. They were in holding cells at the Ministry and Sturgis was one of the Aurors tasked with interrogating them before their trials.

Interrogations. Those weren't fun at all. Sturgis could freely admit that some of the Aurors were ... envigorated by this part of the job, but Sturgis wasn't one of them. He didn't get a kick out of entering the holding cells and seeing the prisoners staring back at him. Some were scared, having gotten in over their heads without thinking about the consequences. Some were proud of what they'd done, their defiant eyes flashing and their stances rigid. Yet others didn't give away any emotion at all.

And Sturgis couldn't hide away from the fact that it had once been him inside that holding cell. He was seventeen years old and absolutely terrified because he'd been caught stealing from Diagon Alley with several young men a few years older than him. He'd been dissatisfied with life and was feeling rebellious. But he'd been caught and he was in the holding cell weeping uncontrollably because what had he been thinking? What had he done? How had he let himself get in so deep? He knew they'd been bad news and yet he'd hung out with them anyway because they made him feel so wild and alive. He was no longer sitting in a stuffy classroom listening to Binns droning on about goblin rebellions. He'd never forget that day, only twenty-four hours after his last O.W.L, when he'd sat by the Hogwarts lake with his knees pulled up to his chest, having come to the stark realization that he couldn't stay at the castle for one. More. Day. That night, when the rest of Ravenclaw Tower was fast asleep, he'd left Hogwarts for the very last time as a student. No one had caught him and forced him to return either, and to this day, he still wondered why. He knew there were ways of tracking when a student left, after all.

And now, every time he conducted one of these interrogations inside these holding cells, it always brought back an onslaught of memories. And even though he'd been incredibly lucky to come out of his own circumstances as he had done, the guilt and shame and regret from those days still gnawed inside him. It was always emotionally taxing to be inside these cells, and the worst experience of all was when he'd set eyes on his very worst regret, something that struck him even more painfully than what his seventeen-year-old self had done. He'd never be able to escape Sirius's gray eyes.

But all he could do was just go on. It was part of his job. It was just very, very difficult sometimes, when he would catch a glimpse of the fear in a prisoner's eyes, to not feel any empathy for them. It was much, much easier with hardened Death Eaters or other violent criminals that were apprehended, but scared teenagers who'd lost control of their lives and didn't know which way to turn? It was almost impossible.

And there had been one of them in the interrogation today. Sturgis had entered a holding cell with one of his fellow Aurors to see a young boy shivering and shaking, tears streaking his face as the Dark Mark seemed to leer out at the two Aurors from his left forearm. His fellow Auror, Benjamin Williamson, a man Sturgis was civil with for work purposes but honestly couldn't stand to be in the same room with, had looked at the young boy with outright hatred. Sturgis, however, felt a surge of compassion for the young lad.

He's a Death Eater. He was branded like cattle by the monster that would murder your parents, your comrades, your SON, damn it. He could hear Moody's voice in his head. Why in Merlin's bloody name are you feeling compassion for him?

He did, though, because he remembered the fight from the night before. When the cracks and pops of Death Eaters Disapparating had filled the air, the young boy hadn't left. But he hadn't fought like the others who had stayed. He basically just stood there, his mask covering his face but his eyes two dark blue holes of fear and horror and regret. He hadn't even tried to dodge out of the way when Moody's Stunner hit him in the chest.

Obviously, Sturgis hadn't seen the boy's face at the time, but upon entering the cell, he recognized the eyes. His countenance had immediately softened, but Williamson wasn't moved. Sturgis had tried to be the one to ask questions, but Williamson had kept butting in, only scaring the boy more with his unforgiving, harsh, hostile demeanor.

The kid hadn't been able to stop crying. "You don't understand!" he'd wailed as tears and snot dripped down his face. "It's my d-d-dad! He ... he ... he f-forced me ..."

"BULLSHIT!" Williamson's brutal shout drowned everything out, making Sturgis's utter loathing of the man spike to new levels. Sturgis had learned that this man was one of the Aurors who had shown up at Hogwarts to take Harry into custody after he was blamed for Cedric's murder. He was one of those Aurors who had been corrupted by the power of the job. He might loathe everything Voldemort stood for, but didn't even recognize that he was acting like a Death Eater himself.

"Williamson." Sturgis had spoken between gritted teeth. "Either you will let me ask the questions, or I shall inform Kingsley how you've been conducting yourself."

"It'll come back to bite you, you know." Williamson sneered at Sturgis. "You're way too soft with bastards like this."

But Sturgis's threat to tell Kingsley about Williamson's conduct had apparently done the job. Sturgis tried to make the poor lad feel at ease. By the end of the questioning, the boy had confessed everything. He had just graduated from Hogwarts this past summer, and had come home to his delighted father telling him that Voldemort had returned and that he was to do his duty as a son and join him. Sturgis felt a hot, acidic fury bubble in his very skin. How dare a father ask his son to do that! It was obvious that the man's love was conditional - well, it honestly wasn't "love" at all - and he would not accept no for an answer.

Sturgis had spent time after the questioning pleading the boy's case to Kingsley. The two men had always believed that children deserved more leniency than adults, and it wasn't even because of his own case. He'd never thought it right that in the wizarding world, many children were tried as adults. It was true that this boy had been an adult in the wizarding world for over a year now, since he was eighteen, and it was one of those times when Sturgis compared the magical world to the Muggle world. Muggles weren't considered to be adults until they turned eighteen. And this boy had acted more like a frightened, guilty child than an adult who had just finished his Hogwarts education.

The boy had given Sturgis enough information to put his father in Azkaban for the rest of his miserable life. Kingsley listened attentively to everything Sturgis said, and it was clear that he felt compassion towards the boy as well. He was still in the holding cell for now, but Kingsley promised that the situation would be looked into and that a well-thought-out decision would be made regarding the boy's fate. Sturgis felt content to leave it in Kingsley's hands, knowing that his friend was not a cruel man and did everything he could to help people in need.

Needless to say, Sturgis's soul felt like it had been ripped wide open by that interrogation, the old wounds raw and bleeding again. Plus, the fact that the horrible attack last night had been so near his home was still affecting him deeply. By the time the lunch hour arrived, he knew he still had hours of interrogations left to do. Then, once he arrived back at home, he would have his normal evening gathering.

But Kingsley saw the exhaustion that was practically weighing Sturgis down. "Look," he said quietly as they left Kingsley's office. "I suggest you cancel the evening gathering today and take time for yourself. In fact, after lunch I'm relegating you to filling out paperwork for an hour before I'm sending you home. You are in no shape to handle any more interrogations today. You look terrible."

"Thanks." Sturgis attempted a smile, but couldn't quite manage it. "I'll be okay, Kingsley. I have work to do - I can handle it. And I can't cancel the evening gathering."

But the prospect of doing so was tempting, and it made Sturgis feel incredibly guilty. It had been his idea, after all, to start holding these gatherings. He was the one who needed people to know that the world, that civilization, would survive this trauma, just like it had so many times before. He needed to hold the Order up, to make them understand. He needed to be the anchor, the buffer in the storm, the shield. Because there were times he needed to remember the same thing, and if he allowed the Order to remember, he certainly wasn't going to forget.

But right now, he felt like he had on September 1 - exhausted, heartsick, and worn down. He'd been so sure he could see Kingsley that day, and that he'd be okay after dropping Benjamin off at the train station. He hadn't foreseen how truly draining that day would be on his emotions. But Kingsley had understood.

Now, though ... Merlin, there had been an attack last night. Wouldn't the Order need him now more than ever? Wasn't it now that the Order needed his guidance the most? Didn't they need to know that everything was going to be okay?

"I know what you're thinking." Kingsley laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Sturgis knew that right now, it wasn't his boss speaking to him - it was his best friend. "You're not okay right now," he told him quietly.

"The Order needs me," Sturgis tried to say in a convincing tone, but he knew he hadn't pulled it off at all.

"The Order needs you to be okay," Kingsley said, and Sturgis was suddenly reminded of the night he'd almost burned himself out in the exercise room. He recalled the Order standing around him, sheltering him as several of them sang that song, The Circle. Sturgis had very specific memories of the first time he'd ever heard the song, just four short months ago. The recollection of exactly what those memories entailed made his heart ache. He had never been so touched as when those in the Order had sung it to him with such feeling in their voices.

"They'll understand." Kingsley looked Sturgis directly in the eye. "Heroes, after all, are just like everyone else. In fact, they seem more human than the rest of us. They are the ones who lift us out of the darkness, but by doing so, they carry the weight of it on their shoulders. They carry our pain, our sorrow, our fear, and take it into themselves. Many of us don't think about the price our heroes pay just to keep us afloat. Therefore, in moments like this, the roles are reversed, and we are the ones to carry our heroes instead."

Sturgis felt his eyes burn at his best friend's sincere, heartfelt words. "I'm no hero, Kingsley." His voice was quiet.

"And that is precisely why you are one," Kingsley said, smiling softly. "Because you don't think you are. Heroes, after all, never assign the title to themselves." He made a gentle shooing motion with his hand. "Now go and let the Order know you're taking the night off."

"We'll be back on tomorrow." With those words, Sturgis had come to his decision before even realizing he had.

"I know." Kingsley grinned. "And for Merlin's sake, get something to eat."

xxx

Sturgis ended up Apparating back to his home for his lunch break. He could very easily have eaten in the Ministry cafeteria, but opted to eat at home because he wanted to send an owl to Sirius to explain about this evening.

It was true that he didn't have to send an owl. Aurors, after all, used those books to communicate instantly with each other, and therefore, the Order used them as well. Sturgis had a specific one for the entire Order - whenever he wrote something, they would receive it in their copy. It was a very reliable way of communication.

However, Sturgis had a specific message for Sirius that he wanted to put in the letter. Plus, he felt awful for the poor creature. Owls liked to get their exercise, and his hadn't been getting much of it lately because he had been using other communication methods. Sure, she went out hunting at night, but owls were very used to delivering messages. And poor Elaina had been pretty standoffish with him as of late, showing her displeasure at her lack of activity.

Therefore, as well as writing in the book for the Order, Sturgis sent an owl to Sirius. Sirius didn't live at all far away from Sturgis, so the owl would reach him long before the evening gathering was supposed to begin.

Even though he'd already written it in the book, Sturgis reiterated in the owl message that he wouldn't be holding the evening gathering tonight. He reckoned it was silly of him to repeat the message, but his mind flashed back to a certain ... incident in October 1979 when Sirius had been so upset with him. That ... incident ... had stuck with Sturgis, and he had promised to communicate better after that. He figured that this was why he felt the need to repeat himself.

Also, in the owl to Sirius, he wrote that he was willing to help Harry out even more. He didn't make it obvious what he was talking about in case the owl was intercepted, but knew Sirius would understand. Harry had asked Sturgis in their tutoring session the other day whether it would be okay for Sirius to learn Muggle duelling as well, because then Sirius could spar with Harry in their own time and it would give Harry someone else to practice with. In their next lesson, which Sturgis was definitely planning to be tomorrow, Sturgis had come up with the first steps in helping Sirius to learn.

Elaina hooted as Sturgis sent her on her way. The instant she'd flown off, he Apparated back to the Ministry, eternally thankful that he hadn't Splinched himself, he was so thoroughly overtaxed.

Therefore, he had no clue that the owl hadn't flown that far before it stopped, thoroughly confused, and turned around mid-flight. He didn't know that the owl had gotten confused in the very spot the attack had taken place last night - she had to fly past that location to get to Grimmauld Place.

Something in the air was stopping the owl from proceeding at her normal pace. With the missive still clutched to her leg, Elaina hooted rather shrilly. Something was blocking her progress, making her turn around and around and around in circles, trying to figure out precisely where she was supposed to go.

But she didn't give up. Post owls never gave up until they arrived at their destination. And until then, Elaina was going to fly around and around until she knew what, exactly, was going on.

xxx

By the time Sturgis had finished at the Ministry, he felt that his very bones were aching. He didn't know how he was still standing, as all his remaining energy had leeched out of him. He felt like he had to struggle to hold his eyes open, and he seriously thought he was going to collapse at any moment.

But he needed to do one last Apparition. One last Apparition before he could do as his body bade him to and keeled over completely.

Sturgis Podmore wasn't a hero. But right now, he did need someone to take the weight for him. He, after all, knew who his own heroes were, and at the current moment, he needed them. He needed them desperately.

Just over twenty years ago, he had been the terrified, sobbing child in that holding cell. He hadn't been caught with Death Eaters, but he had done something horrible. The face of that boy this morning had been his own, over two decades before.

And right now, he needed to see the two people who had held him up, who had not faltered, who had helped him get back on his feet, who had never abandoned him despite the fact that Sturgis knew full well how disappointed they had been in his actions. But their love was unconditional, unlike the father of that boy he'd questioned this morning.

By some stroke of incredible luck, he managed that last, desperate Apparition and took the few steps he needed to walk to reach the door. There were lights on in the house and, with a shaking hand, he rang the doorbell.

And they were there. The door opened, and the sight was wonderful.

His father stood in the doorway, steady and stalwart and strong, the kind of man Sturgis had always aspired to be for his own son.

And, a few steps behind him, was his mother - beautiful and smiling, her kind eyes instantly taking in Sturgis's appearance and knowing, with a mother's instinct, that her son needed her.

And it was then that Sturgis did collapse, because he knew it was okay, now.

He collapsed into his mother's arms, because the time had come for someone to hold him up.

And as she always had been, his mother was there for him.