A few notices...

Firstly, apologies to all those who received an update alert last week. I was editing some typos I had noticed in a previous chapter and did not realise until afterwards the site would send out a story alert. I am incredibly grateful to all those patient enough to stick with this story, and do not want to reward that patience with false hope! I'll try and make sure any future edits are timed with an actual update to avoid confusion.

Secondly, we are nearing the end of 'act 1' of this humble fic and I would love to get some opinions on how the story should progress. The chapters have been getting longer (this is the longest so far); do you consider this a good length, or is it too long? How is the pacing so far? It has always been tricky to strike a balance between plot and character interactions, so I would welcome some feedback.

Finally, thanks once again to everyone who reads this story, whether you have stuck with my erratic uploads or are simply reading through and moving on. You are all welcome and appreciated.

I hope you are all keeping safe and sane during these 'unprecedented' times ❤️

o/o/o/o

"Sirius B: Not as Black as Painted?

Sirius Black, jailed in 1981 for the murder of 13 people, was yesterday cleared of all charges. Black is perhaps best known for his notorious escape from Azkaban two years ago and has since been the subject of an international manhunt. His shock acquittal comes after the ministry uncovered new evidence at a trial yesterday afternoon. The prophet is now reliably informed that the crimes for which Black was imprisoned were in fact the actions of Peter Pettigrew, Black's close friend at school and supposed victim of the 1981 explosion. Turn to page 11 to discover how Pettigrew's extensive deception was exposed…"

Sirius closed the paper with a huff.

"Yesterday, I was public enemy number one," he said at large to the dinner table. "Now I'm a mascot of our judicial system; I can't keep up."

He tossed the paper across to James, who caught it deftly. "No mention of you two, of course."

"I'm surprised they even announced the trial," confessed Harry, abandoning his loaded plate for a moment to peer over his father's shoulder. He grimaced at the photographic Fudge on the front page, who was talking animatedly before a poster of Sirius. "Wouldn't they want to keep it as quiet as possible?"

"They didn't have a choice," said James bluntly, thumbing through the paper for the rest of the article. "The aurors have had a department-wide manhunt going for over two-years now. They can't call that off without people noticing."

Harry returned to his seat and resumed his meal thoughtfully. In the seclusion of Grimmauld Place, yesterday's trials seemed an age ago, fragments of a time when life had been deafening and strained. For over a year, Harry had carried with him a cloud of fear that Sirius would be caught and returned to Azkaban. With the burden removed, he had felt lighter than he could have imagined, floating into the sunset like Aunt Marge all those years ago.

The arrival of the Prophet had brought him heavily back down to earth.

"I suppose all the ministry needs is a scapegoat," he said slowly, pushing his food around his plate with increasing distaste. "Someone to blame for the things Voldemort is doing. It doesn't really matter if it's Sirius or –"

"Or the rat," finished Sirius bitterly.

There was a sudden cacophony of shrieks and accusations from Madame Black upstairs and moments later Arthur walked in, weary but triumphant.

"Everybody's talking about it," he declared, as Molly ushered him to a seat and piled food in front of him. "And not just about this," he continued as James offered him the paper, "but about how it happened. About you two."

"How do they know?" asked Hermione, voicing Harry's own surprise.

"It was a big trial," reasoned Arthur, tucking into the meal before him. "Not everyone is as tight-lipped as they should be. It wouldn't take much digging to find the documents legally resurrecting Lily and James; that sort of thing is public domain. And then there's the empty gravesites at Godric's Hollow, word of which is sure to have been spreading. It doesn't take too much to put it all together."

"Never underestimate the power of gossip," Sirius told the table sagely. "I learnt that in our fifth year. Someone started the dreadful rumour that Fawcett and I had been seen at it behind the greenhouses. She wouldn't talk to me for the rest of the year."

"You were seen at it behind the greenhouses," Lily reminded him. "And besides, I only told Marlene."

Ginny giggled loudly and Sirius looked away, aloof.

"That's my point. Rumours spiral."

Lily rolled her eyes and turned to Arthur.

"What are people saying?"

"Well," he said between mouthfuls, "most seem to have heard that it was you two who testified. Of course," he chuckled, "that's not to say everyone has their facts straight. I heard Wilkie Twycross swear blind that you'd been reached by crystal ball."

"Of course he would say that," Molly huffed in irritation. "His wife's a mystic."

"Indeed," Arthur replied. "But the important thing is that, whether or not they believe the rumours, most people seem to know there is more going on than the prophet reported."

"If everyone knows anyway, why not just put it in the paper?" argued Ron.

"Yeah," Harry agreed fervently, thinking of the number of times his own face had been splashed across the front page. "You'd think they would jump at the story."

Hermione shook her head.

"Because Sirius' innocence is proof that they were mistaken about something," she said darkly. "Very dangerous at a time when they're relying on the public's blind support. At least this way it looks like the ministry cracked the case all by itself."

Sirius scoffed.

"Like that'll make people forget they had the wrong man in Azkaban for 12 years."

"Regardless," said Arthur lightly, "I believe they may yet regret the decision."

He set down his cutlery and gazed intently at Lily and James.

"People have been flocking to Godric's Hollow all day; Kingsley's had to station aurors there for crowd-control. The graves are open for all to see. Not only are people starting to believe the rumours but, so far, you have their support. Everything I have heard so far suggests one thing."

He flipped the paper around and they watched as the harried Minister on the front page mopped his brow with a handkerchief.

"The tides may be turning on Cornelius Fudge."

o/o/o/o

The next morning saw James alone in the kitchen, trudging his way through the backlog of newspapers and magazines the Weasleys had managed to gather.

It was an odd, meandering exercise: comparing articles across publications and trying to form some picture of the times he had missed. He had so far skimmed his way to August 1986.

The front page of the Daily Prophet told him there had been two further war trials that month, for individuals who had previously avoided incrimination. The paper's sports column told him that the 420th Quidditch World Cup final had been held in Portugal and that the home team had lost to Transylvania by 30 points. Witch Weekly announced that Celestina Warbeck's revival album You Stole My Cauldron but You Can't Have My Heart had become her best-selling release, and shared a recipe for an exciting new colour-changing blancmange. The Quibbler warned that driving the last of the giants from the country would lead to infestations of venomous plimpies. And Which Broomstick? announced the release of the new Cleansweep 6 and commended its performance for Portugal's seeker in the recent cup final.

Together, it was a wide ranging but disparate collection of stories and told him nothing of what it would have been like to live through that month.

He shut the papers in frustration and raked his hands violently through his hair.

He could not move past how unfair it felt. He wanted to embrace how lucky he was to be alive at all; so many of his friends had not received this second chance. Yet in moments like these he could help the surge of anger that railed against the world for taking these years from him.

He waved his wand and the papers flew into a pile in the corner of the room. The rush of magic down his arm was soothing and, not for the first time, he thanked whoever was listening that it was custom to bury a wizard with his wand. Among the many challenges that had faced them, he was glad at least to have had its familiar and comforting presence in his hand.

There was a loud clattering and he jumped from his seat as someone all but fell down the kitchen steps. His stomach flipped. The man who had tumbled into the kitchen, ashen and trembling, was Severus Snape.

The man visibly recoiled at the sight of James, his anguished countenance sliding into one of pure loathing.

"You" he spat, voice hoarse but venomous. "So it's true."

James willed his pulse to slow down, his breathing to remain steady. He had been thinking of this moment ever since they had first seen Snape in Harry's pensive, but had not expected to face the man so soon.

"Hello, Severus" he said, as respectfully as he could manage.

"Where is she?" Snape demanded.

"Where is who?"

"Lily."

James paused, then spoke slowly.

"She's upstairs. But I'm not sure she'll want to see you."

It was true. The memories had struck Lily differently; they had merely rekindled her fury at her former friend. His own feelings had been far less comfortable.

"Don't," croaked Snape wildly. "Don't you dare speak for her."

James flushed at the man's tone.

"You're right," he snapped, words rising unbidden. "She's more than capable of telling you that herself."

Snape snarled and James closed his eyes, furious at himself.

The brief acrimony had dissipated, just as it had when watching the memories. Instead he was filled again with something rawer and much more exposed.

He raised his arms in a placating gesture.

"Look, she is angry – I can't deny that. We have seen how you've been treating Harry all these years. But," he raised his voice over Snape's retort, "before you speak to her, I would like to say my piece."

He took a hesitant step forwards, holding Snape's gaze unwaveringly. In the corner of his eye, he saw Sirius descending the stairs to the kitchen and inwardly willed the man to stay silent. His friend stopped abruptly when he saw the confrontation, but to his relief did not interfere.

"Severus," he said, taking a deep breath and plunging into the itching pool of shame that filled him, "I am so sorry."

Snape jerked, mirrored almost comically by Sirius behind him. James pushed on.

"I am sorry for how we treated you at school. We were bullies and, though you were not blameless yourself, you did not deserve the way we treated you. I cannot excuse your behaviour towards Harry, but I can accept my share of the blame – and you should know that the greatest punishment for my actions has been seeing my son suffer as a result. I know now that I made your life hell and I apologize unreservedly."

James paused for breath, taking in Snape's white face and Sirius' furrowed brow, but since neither made a move to speak he ploughed on.

"I cannot forgive your behaviour towards my son," he continued, "but I also cannot ask forgiveness for my behaviour towards you. I therefore ask only for a truce. We may never be friends, but we can at least be adults. And, if we cannot forgive, then perhaps we could just forget?"

He stretched out a hand towards Snape and held it, resolute, silently begging the other man to take it. Beyond, he saw Sirius disappearing back up the stairs.

Snape made no move, merely staring at James. The anger had vanished from his face but the expressions in its wake were confused and impenetrable. James thought he detected a suspicion and a curiosity there, but he persuaded himself that there was also something more, something almost like yearning.

Several beats passed and it became clear Snape would not be shaking his hand. James pulled it back and smiled ruefully.

"Fair enough," he said. He fidgeted for a moment, then said abruptly: "Just – think about it, okay?"

Snape gave a single, curt nod and James grinned in relief.

"I'll tell Lily you're here," he said, heading for the door. "And remember: I meant what I said, however differently she may feel. . ."

He hurried from the room, leaving his nemesis behind him – forever, he hoped.

Sirius was waiting for him upstairs, something inscrutable brewing in his eyes. James sighed.

"One moment, yeah? I just have to tell Lily he's here."

He sprinted upstairs and was back moments later, suddenly desperate to be beyond these dark, oppressive walls.

"Let's go out."

Sirius startled from his reverie, desire and uncertainty mingling in his expression.

"I don't think we should," he said dubiously. "I think Dumbledore's expecting you to stay here for now."

"I'm sorry," James teased, "I thought I was speaking to Padfoot, not Moony."

He smiled slyly, imploringly, at Sirius.

"Come on, mate, I know you're dying to get out of this house. When was the last time you went anywhere as a free man?"

He watched as Sirius' uncertainty succumbed to excitement and a wild smile cracked open the man's face. His spine tingled with the familiar thrill that rose whenever one of them talked the other into an adventure.

They grabbed their coats and passed through the front door, Sirius actually laughing out loud as the sunlight broke upon him. James pulled out the invisibility cloak he had taken from Harry's room and draped it across the two of them.

They set off beyond the wards of the house, falling into an easy step and heading nowhere in particular. It was marvellous to be heading out once more beneath the cloak, Sirius at his side. As they left the square and plunged into the crowds of muggle London, however, James finally sighed and turned to his friend.

"Go on, then, let's hear it."

Sirius' expression did not change and he kept his gaze resolutely ahead.

"Hear what?"

"How mad you are about what I said to Snape."

"I'm not mad," said Sirius stiffly. "I'm actually quite proud of you."

"O-kay." James drew out the word in confusion. "Then what is it?"

Sirius' face was clouded and he was still determinedly not looking at James.

"It's barmy," he began, "but. . .hating him seemed like all I had left of you."

James' step faltered, but he forced himself to keep quiet. Sirius was always more forthcoming if left to fill the silence.

"We probably were a bit cruel to him at school," the man conceded bitterly, "though I still maintain he was a sleazy git. Yet even though I knew he hated Harry because he had hated us, it never occurred to me we were actually to blame for it. I just used his behaviour to hate him more; because it was easy andI needed it."

He paused for a moment as they crossed a road and when he spoke again it was through a grimace.

"Because hating him was something we had shared, and admitting we were in the wrong would have been to think ill of you."

"So, what's bothering you now?" James asked quietly: a gentle push to crack open the shell. Sirius finally looked at him, eyes bright and pained but tone one of anger – whether at himself or the world, James did not know.

"Hating him was a way to combat the grief," he whispered, voice hoarse and violent. "So, I shouldn't need it anymore, right? But this," he gestured wildly between himself and James, "still feels like a fantasy. I heard you suggesting we bury the hatchet and it felt like a point of no return. Like I would be dropping my last defence and diving headfirst into this, and when – if – It all vanished, I wouldn't have anything left with which to claw my way back up. And that's completely irrational, but I have been irrational, and lost, for over a decade because that's who I am without you."

They had stopped moving now, secluded and transparent at the side of the busy street. Sirius was staring down James, defiant in his vulnerability, and James was ballooning, bloating, with tenderness for his oldest friend.

"It's not irrational," he began carefully. "In fact, self-defence is probably the most natural instinct there is. But", he took Sirius' arm and squeezed it tight, "I promise you this is real. And I'm not going anywhere, you daft git."

A thought occurred to him and he pulled back abruptly, deliberating for only a moment before making his mind up.

"And what's more," he continued, grabbing his friend and turning rapidly on the spot, "I know how to prove it."

o/o/o/o

He was still standing in the kitchen, adrift, when Lily found him.

She hovered at the door, unobserved and unspeaking, as she examined the man she had once considered her closest friend.

There was a fiery satisfaction within her: she finally felt nothing for this man. Not hurt, not betrayal, not obligation. Only glacial, impersonal fury.

"How dare you," she growled finally. He spun around at her voice, face collapsing as their eyes met. "How dare you come near me and my family after what you've done."

"Lily –" he croaked.

She ignored him, stepping further into the room.

"You tormented my son, Severus. And for what?" She laughed bitterly. "Because his daddy was mean to you twenty years ago? James may feel guilty, but you know you gave as good as you got."

"It wasn't because of that," he murmured. He took a step forwards, agitated and strained. "Please, Lily," he stuttered, "it – it was because of you –"

Something snapped inside her.

"Because of me!?" she exploded. "Oh please, Sev, tell me what I did to justify you bullying my son."

She started pacing, long, violent strides that echoed about the tiled kitchen.

"Was it all those times I defended you and you spat it back in my face? Was it that time you called me a mudblood? Was it when your death eater friends murdered me?"

"I don't mean because of you," he urged, eyes following her desperately around the room. "I meant because – because he married you."

Lily halted and stared at him in disbelief.

"Grow up, Sev," she said eventually. "Yes, I married him. Because he made me happier than anything else in the world. You think I should have let that go because of a childish rivalry? I am sorry you never found that for yourself, but really."

She started pacing again.

"And you know what?" She was speaking slower now, like a teacher scolding a child. "It shouldn't have had anything to do with James; not his behaviour towards you, not his relationship with me. You should have looked after Harry for me. Your friend."

"I have looked after him," the man snapped, a little of his usual condescension returning to his tone. "I have kept that boy alive –"

"Oh yes," Lily scoffed, "I saw that too. Very big of you, to skulk in the shadows and help when it suits you. What about all the times he had to save his own life? What about the rest of the time, when you were making that life a misery?"

She shook her head, empty at last.

"There's no way out of this one, Severus."

The stone flags echoed in the abrupt silence as she turned away. She was nearly out of the door before the agonized whisper reached her.

"I love you, Lily."

She froze but did not turn.

"More than anything, more than my own life. I have loved you since we were eleven. Expecto Patronum!"

There was a flourish behind her and she flinched as a huge, glittering doe trotted into view. It nuzzled her neck, glowing with devotion and warm with promises of a life that could have been.

"I'm sorry, Sev," she whispered into the silence. "That's not good enough."

And she swept from the kitchen.

Above, the unseen tendril of an extendable ear drew back up into the darkness.

o/o/o/o

The throttling black of apparition finally slackened and a blissful new air rushed into Sirius' lungs.

They were huddled beneath the cloak on a narrow country lane. It was crisp and chill after the close London heat, though the sun was still high overhead and glowed within the thatching of cottages lining the street. To their right, the lane disappeared into fields and hedgerow whilst, to their left, the housing grew denser and seemed to build into some sort of village centre.

Sirius recognized the village with a jolt and turned incredulously to James.

"Seriously? You really want to be here?"

"Of course," his friend replied. "Aren't you curious?"

They set off to their left, sombre amidst the familiar surroundings.

"It hasn't changed a bit," James murmured, face clouded.

As he spoke, they rounded a bend and the village square came into view. Sirius laughed dryly.

"I'd say this is fairly new," he countered.

It was as though the London crowds had followed them to this small hamlet. The quaint architecture of the tiny square was a dissonant backdrop to the cacophony of magical tourists within, flashing their cameras and remarking loudly at such items of interest as streetlamps and post boxes.

The local residents, easily identifiable by their sensible muggle clothing, wandered the square with a comical bafflement.

"I just don't understand it," one was saying to his companion as they wandered past. "There's nothing here!"

The bulk of the crowd was circling what seemed to be a war memorial at the centre of the square, but a significant stream was forcing its way into the small graveyard across from where they stood. It was in this direction that James and Sirius set off, carefully skirting the edges of the crowd to avoid colliding with anyone.

The double grave stood open like a wound in the earth, edges ragged where the soil had been blasted away. Concentric mounds of dirt stretched away from the dark hole, itself enclosed by a pulsing red line that kept the jostling crowd from falling in.

Sirius' feet grew more leaden as their part of the crowd inched towards the dark chasm. He had not been here fourteen years ago when this hole was filled; he had never seen the finality of those names on the headstone. Instead, he would now be seeing proof that this finality had been overcome.

They edged their way up to the magical red line and peered into the gaping pit before them. The flashes of cameras illuminated the dark passage, picking out the splinters of rotten wood at the bottom. He looked up to the mud-spattered slab of white marble that presided over the coffin remains.

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

He had not known Remus had chosen that quote. It was a nice, if impersonal, sentiment: that death was simply the last barrier faced before achieving eternal life.

He turned to James.

He had lost his friend to this hole. And yet here he was, breath warming the cloak beside Sirius, eyes upon the grave in distaste.

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

How fitting.

His eyes slid beyond the gravestone to a red-robed figure who stood some distance away, monitoring the crowd. As his eyes adjusted, his recognised her as one of the aurors Kingsley had recruited into the order.

"This way," he murmured, nudging James out of the crowd and leading them on a circuitous route through the gravestones.

He approached the young witch and cleared his throat, speaking quickly as she jerked towards him.

"The phoenix burns brightest in the darkness."

It was the code phrase that order members used to identify themselves. Her wand lowered.

"Who's there?" she asked, unnerved. Sirius moved to stand beside her and spoke quietly.

"Sirius Black and James Potter."

Her face cleared.

"Mr Black! Mr Potter! It's nice to see you out and about. Well, not see you, but –"

"It's nice to be out and about," Sirius responded pleasantly. "James, this is Elara Blackburn – Tony Blackburn's kid. Remember him from school?"

"Ravenclaw's keeper?" James asked, making Elara jump. "Nice to meet you, Auror Blackburn. How's your dad getting on? Married a Beauxbatons girl, didn't he?"

The witch nodded cordially, though her eyes were now carefully back on the crowd.

"That's right," she smiled. "Dad's a quidditch reporter now. He was chuffed to read that you were free, Sirius. Said the ministry had finally done something right." She squared her shoulders slightly. "I obviously didn't tell him what had really happened."

"It seems as though everyone knows anyway," Sirius noted. "I am surprised to see aurors here, though. Wouldn't crowd control usually be something for the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol?"

She nodded, a little sheepishly.

"Auror Shacklebolt didn't want to draw Fudge's attention to how many people are coming here," she confided. "We think it must not have occurred to him that there's an open grave here, otherwise he would have closed it off days ago. It was easy for Shacklebolt to station us here without too many questions; officially we're at Godric's Hollow in case Pettigrew shows up."

The atmosphere darkened.

"Trust me," said James bitterly, "this is the last place Peter would come. He won't care what has happened to us, as long as he is a hundred miles away."

He shook his head, as though clearing it of bitter thoughts, and when he spoke again his tone was lighter.

"How is the auror department coping after the trial? Your team has had quite the upheaval."

Elara sighed.

"It's been chaos," she admitted. "We had aurors all over the country chasing up supposed leads and they've all had to be brought in and debriefed. We were also working internationally with several other country's law enforcement agencies, who will all have to be rebriefed once Shacklebolt's developed his new strategy."

Sirius laughed.

"I imagine that strategy will be a lot more successful than the last, now Kingsley is no longer feeding you all false information."

"Indeed," Elara agreed. "We also have a lot more leads on Pettigrew. We know he was with You-Know-Who this June and, thanks to the trial, we now know that he is an unregistered animagus."

"I wish we could help," James growled. "I would love nothing more than to catch that rat."

Her expression was thoughtful.

"Your insight on the case would be beneficial," she offered. "You two understand the subject better than any of us. You should speak to Auror Shacklebolt; I'm sure there is something useful you could do."

Sirius turned to James and saw his own enthusiasm mirrored in his friend. He knew they were both thinking how brilliant it would be to do something useful and active after so long on the side-lines.

"Yeah," he said fervently. "We'll do that. Cheers, Elara."

o/o/o/o

"That. Was. Incredible," breathed Ron, coiling up the last of the extendable ear. "She ripped Snape to pieces."

Hermione shook her head in agitation.

"We shouldn't have listened to that," she murmured, voice strained. "We shouldn't have listened. It wasn't right for us to hear that."

Harry stood from the bed and crossed to the window, surveying the square below. His mind was reeling.

"Are – are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asked timidly.

"I'm fine," he said, though he did not feel it. "It's just a lot to process."

"It sure is," Ron agreed, wincing. "Blimey, your mum can yell. I've rarely heard a scolding like that, and I grew up in the same house as both the twins and my mum."

Harry ignored him, deep in thought.

"What do you think she meant by my dad's behaviour towards Snape?" he asked, as though out of idle curiosity. "She made him sound like a bully."

He kept his face hidden in the curtains but could feel the other two exchanging glances.

"Well," Hermione reasoned, "it sounds as though Snape wasn't exactly innocent, if he called her a mudblood. I imagine it was a bit like you and Malfoy."

Harry shook his head; it had not sounded that way to him.

"I don't feel guilty for how I act around Malfoy," he argued. "We never instigate anything, we're always just reacting to whatever latest stunt he's pulled. She said dad feels guilty about his behaviour, as though it was him in the wrong."

His questions did not seem of much interest to the other two.

"Mate, I just can't believe he's in love your mum," Ron dismissed. "That was brutal. I almost feel sorry for the git."

"I do feel sorry for him," objected Hermione. She sighed in commiseration with their professor's wounded heart. "Poor Snape."

Ron gagged.

"Please tell me you did not just say 'poor Snape'. That's disgusting. . ."

Their bickering continued behind him, but Harry tuned it out.

He was thinking about Snape's claim that he had kept Harry alive for Lily. He had certainly saved Harry from the broomstick Jinx in his first year and had done his best against the werewolf in his third. These were the instances that Lily had seen in his memories. Was it possible there was more?

No matter what Dumbledore said, Harry had always thought Snape to be a Death Eater in some form. It was easier that way, branding those he disliked alongside those he knew to be evil so he could hate them both the same. But if Snape had truly loved his mother, had been working to keep her son alive, then he must be on Dumbledore's side after all.

Mrs Weasley's voice broke through his reverie, calling for the three of them.

He pulled his face from the curtains and followed them downstairs, ideas still turning in his mind.