A.N: Something I wrote a few yers back but never finished. When i discovered it again in my old files i thought it could be worse as stories go, and decided it seemed a shame not to see it finished, which explains why the ending may seem a little rushed.

"Heroism is endurance for one moment more."
George F. Kennan

"The ministry of magic has found you, Harry James Potter and Blaise Zabini, guilty on eighteen counts of murder and three counts of incitement to panic." Among his supposed victims only one wizard existed, Cedric Diggory, and Blaise was certainly not a part of that, but had instantly joined him in dark pursuits, in their eyes. Harry knew he was innocent, and knew the straight-talking, stoic Slytherin to his side was just the same. They were both betrayed.

"You are sentenced to life in Azkaban." There were cheers of violent hatred from the small crowd, but as the Aurors dragged him by the arm he saw two things. First Sirius and Remus comforting a distraught Ginny, along with Neville and some unnamed blonde girl, but that was not what had affected him so. As he left the small room struck dumb by his farce of a sentencing, there had been no trial; he saw a sight that would haunt him for the rest of his days. Ron, the man he called brother, held his wand and Firebolt in his hand and in one fell swoop had snapped them across his knee. But Hermione struck a little deeper, a screamed" INCENDIO!" had consumed his most treasured possessions in flames right before his eyes. They had taken his invisibility cloak and his photo album. They'd stolen from him the few physical ties he had to his parents.

The tales of Sirius and Remus were all he had left, not that he would hear them again.

This was how the Magical world sent two innocent boys, about to turn fifteen, to Azkaban. But innocence doesn't last long when you live in hell.

"There, the final proof that Voldemort has not returned. Potter is in Jail and no more corpses turn up with his magic signature. Brother wands indeed…" The pompous Fudge snorted derisively at the thought of the now incarcerated boy. "All we have now are some over-zealous Death eater impersonators to deal with."

That had been the crux of the trial, as Sirius bitterly remembered. The ability to detect the magical signature off a spell was a relatively new measure, but when it was the sole piece of evidence they lauded it as infallible. Harry had tried to protest that his wand and thus magical signature was identical to Voldemort's, and Blaise had contested his was stolen several days before the killings, but when you lack the luxury of a trial and your sole witness of the first fact, Ollivander, was publicly smeared as a hack and a madman and the witness of the second, Daphne Greengrass, had suffered similarly, it was a moot point.

Sirius had thanked the elderly wandsmith profusely for his unwavering support and the man had said that he did what he thought was right; Harry had asked for his help and he freely gave it.

Sirius could've hugged him there and then.

"Sirius you cannot think to do this!" The ancient wizard was beyond livid, with what the Black family head was trying to achieve. The rise in Death eater attacks, obviously planning to resurrect Voldemort, meant the need for the Order was rising each day, and he was immediately resetting the clock. They would, Merlin help them, have to rely on Fudge's somewhat fickle aid.

"I can and will!"

"But to remove Grimmauld place and cut off the Potter monies…"

Sirius roared in anger at the audacity of the man. "YOU THINK YOU CAN TESTIFY AGAINST HIM AND THEN KEEP TAKING HIS MONEY." He panted, seething, his voice hoarse from the strength of his voice.

The aged professor seemed taken aback. He tried to stutter out some excuse, "But Sirius, with the Death Eater attacks Voldemort may return soon, the Order is needed, and free from the Ministry." He winced as he realised he'd hit on something he shouldn't, as the younger man's eyes hardened.

"Assuming the Dark lord hasn't returned already, as I believe." Cold, hard, edged; all words that could describe the tone of the animagus's voice as he stared down his former professor.

Dumbledore stood straighter at this. "I know Harry's betrayal cut deep Sirius…" the tone was paternal, but condescending, Sirius loathed it as much as Harry did; he would never be treated as some child. But the man continued heedless, "… but you have to accept that he lied. You saw the evidence yourself. Had Harry been right about the signatures being identical, there wouldn't have been a stop to the deaths with his signature, would there?" It grated on his nerves just how arrogant the man was, to believe that this was all about Harry. It was mostly but he had other reasons.

"Don't think I have forgiven you for what you did to me Dumbledore!" The Headmaster looked actually angry at this reaction.

"See here Sirius Orion Black!" The former convict grated his teeth at the name. The nerve of the man! Trying to scold him! "You will not endanger the wizarding world over a petty grievance." The man instantly quailed against the marauder's glare.

"PETTY! YOU CONSIDER AZKABAN PETTY!" his voice rasped under the strain. He hissed his final word before storming out of the room, "Dumbledore, you need to learn it is not just the curses that are Unforgivable!"

"Professor Dumbledore!" Now here was a surprise. To say Dumbledore was shocked that the enigmatic Luna Lovegood had joined him in office was an understatement; as far as far as he could tell he had never spoken to the girl, only heard about her when Ginny Weasley had walked into his office last year, trying to get some advice to help the poor girl. And yet here she was.

"We need another House." The first thought to jump within the aged professor's mind was that she was having some kind of domestic issue, but one look at her unfocused gaze told him, somehow, it ran deeper.

"A school house?" he dreamy-eyed girl looked at him, quizzically, as if what he'd said was the most obvious thing in the world. Her eyes, when they fell on him, held such intensity, he felt eerily reminded of the divination professor's prophecy, that even now hung over him, ridiculing him at the loss of their sole saviour.

"Of course."

"Why might, I ask, do we need another house?" Again that look, as if she were explaining things to a small child; kindly, but patronising.

"There are those who of are other houses in need of sanctuary. Many are hurting." There was a clarity appearing in those silver-grey pools and he could see the sadness therein. "A fifth house would be a place of safety for anyone wishing to be re-sorted." He thought the girl was supposed to be somewhat of a dreamer, but she seemed perfectly aware, and more important, upset by how people were being treated in their support for the disgraced Gryffindor and Slytherin.

"I'll grant this, tell anyone who might wish to change house it shall happen Friday. The preparations shall be made by then." He had wished it wouldn't come to further divisions in the already split castle, but it was the only way. They may not accept that Harry Potter had gone dark, but he would not see his students harmed.

"Have you thought of a name?"

"Antonius."

The old man smiled at that, recognising the reference, "Who fought a war for loyalty's sake. Hagrid, your head of house, shall speak to you soon." The quiet girl nodded before quietly slipping of he chair and tip-toeing over to him kissed the old man on the cheek, before moving over to the door, and making to leave.

She turned, about to cross the threshold, and the old man saw the tears brimming in her eyes. "Thank you, professor. I had to come to you, for no-one else would," she took a deep, shuddering breath as she spoke her final words, "I just couldn't stand by and see my friends hurt."

Dumbledore, a moment relieved that the soft-hearted girl held enough trust in him to come with her plea, immediately took action. He had partially expected this, and was ready to wait a few weeks, but things were worse than he'd imagined. There were some who refused to believe Harry was guilty, and the laudable, if foolish, belief was costing them dearly. He penned a quick few letters, sending a missive to the esteemed groundskeeper, and summoned a few house elves to his office, waiting instruction. The west tower, whose sole entrance lay in the abandoned third floor corridor, was the ideal place for those beleaguered students. He just hoped that the situation could one day be salvaged, or the school, as the sorting hat predicted, would truly fall.

His business done, he unfastened his wand from the folds of his robes, and turned it on himself. He could only allow Hagrid to know where their dorms would be, just as the other Heads of house were the only teachers to know their common rooms (though he suspected a few students had pleasingly shared the information, the houses kept it largely secret). In this day and age he could not even trust himself. With a little flick of the wrist, his incantation was clear, "Obliviate!"

The knock on the door was so soft, so hesitant Remus Lupin could've sworn he'd never heard it. Lacking the exuberant power of his confidante he knew it could not be Sirius, which begged the question who was it? The only visitor they ever got was Tonks, and she never bothered to knock, she'd just stride in, cheerful and bubbly, and promptly trip over a footstool or some such.

As he approached the door of number twelve Grimmauld place he suddenly noticed it was raining outside, in moments of listlessness he tended to be a little unaware, and suddenly a familiar scent assaulted his keen nose. Jasmine and nectar, an uncommon perfume, specifically conjured if he remembered by only one person. As he opened the door he saw her, Ginny Weasley, soaked through to the bone.

"Come in you poor dear." Immediately he summoned Dobby. "Dobby lead her upstairs for a shower and get her some dry clothes, Nymphadora has left some spares in the guest room." The young woman visibly protested, but he swiftly told her to get dry. Whatever had brought her there could wait until she was warm and comfortable.

Knowing her to be in good hands he went back to his arm chair by the light of the fire and gazed at the flickering lights. The wolf in him was always drawn to them and yet he also felt a primal fear of the flame, some bestial knowledge of its danger, though he still felt calmer. And he needed that now, while he rested; the night before had been the full moon. Though cloud had stopped his transformation, his animalistic side had been restless, due to the magic of the night.

So lost in his musings he did not notice the girl, enter and take the seat opposite from him.

"My family is a bunch of prats." Remus remained silent. He'd seen the look in her eyes, knew she needed to talk, but he wasn't going to let her catch a chill. Now he'd listen. "They wouldn't allow me to contact you after the trial. Said I wasn't allowed to associate with a bunch of traitors." He was not surprised at that. When Sirius and he had offered her a sympathetic ear she'd been so genuine, so heartbreakingly grateful, her silence over the next year was frankly mind-boggling.

"The only time I was outside the house was school, and they had Ron watch me so I couldn't send you a message via the school's owls. If it weren't for the forming of Antonius I would've been all alone. All such gits!" The measures were Draconian at best and Remus felt a need in her for greater comfort. Sure enough, when he crossed the floor and wrapped and arm round her shoulders and drawing her in she didn't resist, and tears began to flow unchecked. "They insulted me and belittled me, and took everything I ever had away from me. Now all I've got is my wand and a few sets of robes." The weeping saw no signs of stopping and the old wolf felt a bond snap in place like the one he held with Sirius, Tonks and Harry. How dare they do this to one of his pack! She could obviously hear the growls coming from deep within his chest as a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob escaped her in a short, bitter breath. She steadied herself, allowing a few moments of strength.

"But today…" There was fierceness in her tear-streaked eyes, "… today I ran away and I hope I've left them for good." He was quite savagely proud of her. There was strength in her voice and he had an inkling of why Harry had been so fond of the girl, she'd come along way from the stories he'd heard of her as a young girl. Elbow in the butter dish was a particular favourite of Harry's. Some would've called it mocking, but he said it with such a true smile one would think he was more than a little flattered. Her voice was timid as she pleaded her next phrase.

"Please can I stay with you?" Those eyes, so filled with hope; he knew that if he'd had any reservations about the girl staying with them were washed away at a glance.

"Of course you can, but I doubt we'll get your parents permission. You're only fifteen Ginny. They may treat you badly, but I doubt they'll let you go."

She paused, stuttering out some incoherent muttering before a gentle squeeze from he older man gave her courage. "C…cou…could you adopt me?" There was no way he could refuse her, and yet by law he must.

"There's no way for an old wolf like me to adopt…" Her face fell and tears brimmed in her eyes again, his heart went out to the poor girl. "… but I'm sure Sirius would love to have a daughter."

Hearing that, her smile lit up the room, and she snuggled into a warm hug.

The black wolf prowled the confines of his tiny cell, no more than thrice his length and he could only lie down across it's width with inches to spare. The walls were black and caked with grime. The bucket by the door was filled with waste, and the stench was overpowering to the young wolf, so his bones strained as they changed and reformed, his muscles pulled taught before changing shape, and his hair receded. A green eyed man stood in its stead, about seventeen, a gaunt wraith of almost six feet in height. He was covered in welts and bruises, and his body was browned by the dirt of the area. His hair was long, as was the black growth on his chin, and both were matted with nearly two years of dirt and blood. His bare chest had neither fat nor muscle, you could count every rib, and the skin clung tight to the skeletal frame. His face was haggard, his eyes sunken, and they held such a haunted gaze there were few who could bear to look at them. Good thing few visited him then.

He slumped to the ground, bored more than tired, before he began his practice. It was long thought the magical limiters were foolproof on the dread isle, and even if they weren't, what could a wandless mage do? Wandless magic was limited at best, and the Dementor induced madness would destroy concentration. But Harry had been able to do it. Now any spell save one he could perform on will alone, he just hadn't the will to break out, and unlike Sirius Black, he had a lot to fear from the Dementor's, since he'd lost his Patronus.

He was still afraid of Dementors, he had been here a few years, of that fact he was fairly sure, and the effect of the fey creatures had not lessened; each night he was kept awake by the screams of his mother's memory, or forced to relive the Dark Lord's resurrection, or worst of all, face those terrible, accusing eyes. To see his former family so filled with hate, shaking with perceived betrayal was the deepest wound; that was the true hell of Azkaban.

He wove the magic in a moment, his mind bending it to his will, before casting it out in the form of the reductor curse. As it left his fingers it had more power than any could perform it outside the suppression zone, but a second after it left his hand it had dissipated, taken by the island's wards.

"You still up to those games Harry." His brother had returned from his most recent 'interrogation.'

"It's all we have," His brother had the same scars, the same pains as he, and in the shadowed light the whitened scars on his dark skin looked worse than those that criss-crossed Harry's own body. They had to get out soon; hope was falling by the day. His mind returned to that message, scrawled upon the gates of the black island in some poor inmate's blood.

"Innocence dies in Azkaban."

Fame, a great girlfriend, the captaincy of the house team, Ron Weasley had it all, but it was a tenuous hold at best; all thanks to Harry Potter. He'd always known he was destined for great things, but he seemed to falter at every step. And a little over two years ago, he learned why. It all made sense, now he thought about it, Harry was a Dark wizard, and stopped Ron from ever getting what was his by rite. So when Ron found out about the evil of his former friend he was the first and loudest to publicly denounce him, along with his girlfriend. They gave the papers everything they wanted, and the two of them became famous because they helped save the wizarding world from the Dark Lord-to-be and his underling Zabini. Their evidence helped the ministry lock him up, and quite right to.

But the problems started. Quite rightly, the Ministry had granted the Potter money to the order, with cash payments to all members for services rendered, but those blasted Goblins wouldn't allow it. You'd think they served the Dark lord, no matter the fully-justified threats the goblins would not obey the Law! They handed all control of the traitor's money to Sirius Black! A former convicted felon. The lot of them were a bunch of criminals. But when they threatened to cease all business with the outside world the Ministry had to relent.

That was the first of many problems. Second was his former sister. He'd been made prefect in the fifth year and as his parents commanded, made things difficult for her. Punish her, teach her to come to the right side, away from all Potter's supporters, but Harry ruined it all. A new house was formed and Ginny was sorted into it! He lost all power, and his parents blamed him for failing to 'help' her properly. They even cut off his allowance! The only thing he could do was stop the traitor from contacting those treacherous Marauders.

But she got round it in the end, and gave up being a Weasley, all for that bastard! Sometimes he felt that Hermione was the only one who wasn't trying to subvert his every action. At least at the time he knew, if the Ministry hadn't banned Quidditch, he'd make a good captain.

But the next year it all changed. How is it his fault he'd driven off the best of the Quidditch players? The younger ones all worshipped Harry; Ron had only tried to teach them what was right! Suddenly he was the enemy, as a team of Katie Bell, Daphne Greengrass, Ginny Black, Jimmy Peakes, Richard Coote, Cho Chang and Neville Longbottom had trounced all opposition, winning the Cup for a House of less than twenty people! Apparently Katie had trained them somehow the year before. How did people expect him to deal with that, when Quidditch was banned? Their traitorous house cheated, he stuck by the rules. They were the enemy, not he! But because of the betrayer everything was questioned of him that year.

At the beginning of his sixth year the Daily Prophet, who'd never questioned the truth before, was suddenly inquiring as to whether Potter was innocent! Voldemort may have returned but that's no evidence to suggest Potter was innocent. Couldn't they see Harry had known that their magical signature would be identical and used it as an excuse to do what he wanted? Didn't they realise how dangerous he was? The attention-seeking bastard had killed to make people believe Voldemort returned before he really did, and the fickle public were asking whether he was innocent! Ron felt such people should be in Azkaban with the traitor.

At the moment he was sitting in Dumbledore's office, Hogwarts being the next safest headquarters for the order after Black had evicted them from Grimmauld place. Maybe he'd get a mission, he knew he deserved one, he was better than Harry ever was, even if the teachers didn't think so, he knew it was true. Dumbledore had called an emergency meeting, so it sounded like something big.

As he waited the last few had arrived. As well as he and his girlfriend, there were the loyal members of his family, the disgusting crook Dung, Snape, Professor McGonagall, a few aurors including the terrifying Kingsley Shacklebot, but not the metamorphmagus Tonks, and lastly, with purposeful stride, Albus Dumbledore. The man seemed even older than his one hundred and fifty odd years, he was more stooped, his eyes weary.

I have grave news from the Ministry…" His breathing was shallow and uneven, even Ron recognised the signs of quite considerable stress. "Peter Pettigrew has been captured."

"An' why is that a problem? Better to see the little bastard behind bars if you ask me," it was the cracked, gravely tones of Mad-eye Moody that interrupted.

"He confessed under Veritaserum to the murder of Cedric Diggory, and bore witness to the deaths of all seventeen muggles by the wand of Voldemort." The twinkle was lost, and his shoulders slumped. There were cries of disbelief all around. Ron couldn't accept this, it couldn't be true, he would lose everything!

"It's got to be a trick; we all knew he was going dark." He was insensible, hysteria touching his voice.

"I'm afraid Mr Weasley that that isn't the case; it was confirmed by Legilimency performed by myself. It was all true, it seems Mr Wormtail had a mind somewhat wanting in defences. Tomorrow night I'm making arrangements for him to be released. I have already informed Sirius and Remus" All showed their grief in some way or another, but none more so than Ron and Hermione. How was he to solve this? He had gained much from Potter's fall, and he suddenly had everything to lose. He had to convince Harry he was still a friend, How bad could Azkaban really be? Maybe he'd stay at Hogwarts, still be a Gryffindor. He only hoped his former sister and her bunch of pariahs didn't muck it up for him.

Hermione had far more selfless attitude. It hadn't been money or fame that had caused her backstabbing, but Ron. She knew he was going to prison, and the zealous indignation of Ron meant that the only real way to get close to him was to denounce Harry, and god she regretted it. Her actions at the trial, destroying the last bonds to his parents, were indefensible. How could he forgive her? How could she forgive herself?

It was plain to see, all of those present had a lot of thinking to do…

They called it the Styx; Harry didn't think there was any name better for it. It was the river that surrounded the land of the dead, no man who stayed in Azkaban ever lived again. And yet here they were, two men betrayed, about to embark on the midnight black boat to freedom. He turned to his blood brother, Blaise Zabini, and saw the grim set of his lips and the haunted look in his eyes, and they made the step as one. They now were both cold, hard men; they had to be, to survive the dread isle.

"We are not free yet." The voice of his companion was raspy, hoarse from irregular use, yet Harry could hear the unmistakable glimmer of hope in his speech. The Boy-who-lived though, had no such feelings; it would take more than that to reignite hope in his broken soul. They were seventeen, yet in their minds they were old wolves; they'd seen the face of hell, beyond that moment, there is little else left.

The waters were calm, they always were, the storms came solely at the chance of escape. How many lives had their murky depths consume, how many had been pulled to a watery grave by a crash of waves? Countless numbers, he assumed. Few had ever successfully escaped, and only one did so unaided. Harry was proud to call him godfather, one of the few who never betrayed him. Looking to his right, he locked eyes with his brother. Blaise did not feel the sting of treachery as keenly as Harry, aside from Daphne Greengrass and Harry himself, the man was virtually friendless. Neither had spoken against him.

Harry had known little of the boy then, but two years together in the darkest cell of the dire keep had given them an intimacy of spirit that few shared. Brothers through shared adversity, he believed the phrase was called, and it led to the blood pact. In nature, they were almost identical.

When they described themselves as old wolves, it wasn't far off, they both held a fierce loyalty, and held their trust as absolute. There was very little else that needed to be known.

"Do you think they'll allow us a bath before the retrial?" Harry could swear Blaise read his mind, a bath, after so long, would be beyond comparison, but…

"I hope not, they'd stew in their guilt more if they saw us as we are now." The former Slytherin laughed at that, it was a harsh, hollow sound. There was no mirth in those eyes, and he knew there was none in his. Azkaban killed the soul, it wasn't a prison sentence, but a drawn-out execution. It's just the Dementor's kiss was quick, a mercy to those who knew what lay behind the prison gates. It is a fool who thinks there is nought worse than death.

"We're here," Blaise's monotone cut the silence and Harry, startled from his reverie, realised they'd arrived. The boat had silently glided up to the dock and the rope had tied itself to the pier, allowing them to disembark. There was no-one there. They were completely and utterly alone.

That was not good.

Fighting all good sense, a rather more difficult fight than in earlier years, they both stepped onto the soulless pier, and made to leave. Both were careful now, sufferance had made it their nature, and they with careful eyes and transformed nose checked every shadow as they left the small port. They didn't notice Bellatrix Lestrange until it was two late.

"Keep moving forward and you won't be hurt…. much" Lupine pride is the fiercest of all and the brother animagi were no exception, so both spinning away from the sound of the voice they unleashed wandless stunners, knocking the surprised women off her feet into a magic-induced coma. Casting a full body bind and a few more stunners Harry secured the deranged woman and summoned her wand, shattering it. He would've given it to Blaise, who wasn't as proficient at wandless magic as he, but he would be worse with a weapon that wasn't his own.

They walked with a little more confidence after that, sure in the fact that the Dark Lord had only sent one to accompany them, expecting them to be wandless, and thus in his twisted mind, helpless. Underestimation is the greatest of crimes, and if there was one thing that could be said of Harry Potter, he hated being underestimated, as did his stoic brother. Both grinned maliciously as they heard the sounds of battle. Soon they broke the tree line to see quite a sight.

The order was all present, unarmed, and behind a line of the loyal servants of the dark. Harry looked over them and was glad to find neither Ginny nor Moony nor Padfoot. He could smell them though, along with a scent not dissimilar to his godfather. Regulus Black still lived, so Voldemort's Horcruxes he hoped were finally gone.

"So good of you to join us Potter," the serpentine man was as repellent as they come, slimy, dirty. Harry felt unclean just looking at those hideous crimson eyes. There was an uncertainty in them for a moment, a barest of flickers, obviously noticing the missing person.

"The person you sent to greet me was most discourteous; she had to be dealt with." Harry found parseltongue to be more comfortable in such a situation, the wretch in front of him was more snake than human.

"I apologise for the hospitality, but I think the entertainment shall more than make up for it." To the outside world the banter would have been nought more than a series of hisses and spits. The elder wizard gestured with his eyes to the prisoners, "Wouldn't you agree?"

Zabini had moved into the woodland unnoticed, to see his remaining supporters, good! He began to pace, the two now circling each other, "The death of traitors is always most welcome." A spark of joy seemed to light in the murderer's eyes, thinking of the delights of having Harry Potter, the wizarding world's messiah, on his side. The panic and misery would be glorious.

"Who first, your treacherous friends? Dumbledore?" Speaking in a snake language, looking like a humanoid snake, it's hard to imagine Tom Marvolo Riddle as bubbling with glee, but that was exactly what he was doing. "And later Fudge!" Harry checked his senses, everything was in place, a plan he'd discussed with his brother and in a hastily concealed message to his family, should he ever face Voldemort in open battle. Things were nearing completion… "So who?"

Harry smirked.

"You." He charged, crossing the gap as if he'd apparated, ducking under the hastily drawn wand, and grabbing the demon by the throat. For his emaciated frame it should've been impossible, but he'd learned something in Azkaban. Enough magic flowing through your veins and you were a titan! He hissed one parting jibe, "Death to the traitors!" before snapping the monster's neck. As the fallen creature tried to rise Harry formed Reductor after Reductor, each bursting from his palm and turning Voldemort into lumps of offal, gore and congealing blood. He was dead.

What is the power the dark lord knows not? It is nought more than a colossal force. Voldemort spent his entire life searching for every dark art, every spell every technique. To all Harry could fire off Tom Riddle would have the perfect counter save one thing: Absolute power. Training inside the suppression wards, as well as gains from the blood pact and the massive magical charge from his turning seventeen had given Harry Potter near infinite reserves of Magic, and the ability to strengthen his body beyond all comprehension. Against such force, might had to be matched against might, and though Voldemort's reserves were large, they were dwarfed by the young man's. He didn't stand a chance.

Their seemed to be some glamour that held the Death eaters in place as their master fell, and when it fell all wands were levelled at the last of the Potter line. And the final step came into play. The Anti-apparition wards and portkey blocks came up in a wave of magic, so strong they were almost tangible, and his accomplices charged from the tree-line. That was a brilliant distraction, as the death eaters turned, unsure of what to do, and Dumbledore seeing the changing tide drew another wand and attacked, his Order behind him. The death eaters had lost their wands, and were bound and gagged in moments.

The light had won.

Harry collapsed where he stood, a seemingly endless burden had left his shoulders, and the man was dead. By Regulus's presence, he could see the man now, he knew his message must have worked, Voldemort was made mortal, and Harry struck the killing blow.

He was so similar to Sirius, The same wiry frame, the same deep-set eyes, strong chin and scruffy black beard. Were it not for the age that showed on Sirius's face, nor the haunted look given by Azkaban, they could've been twins. But there was something of the younger Black which set his apart from his brother.

There was a sparkle in the man's eye, a fanaticism. He knew from Voldemort's memories the devotion the younger Black had shown the Dark Lord, but when he'd learned the Death eaters' purpose he had shown equal devotion to Voldemort's destruction. It had been when a warning had struck in Voldemort's head as the fourth Horcrux was taken, as he left the trial room seemingly eons ago, that he learned of the man's place among the living. The knowledge of the final Horcruxes flooded his mind and he scrawled them in magic and blood on the wall of his holding cell. The magic signalled it's presence to those who knew where to look, but hid the message from those who did not need to see it. It seemed it really worked.

It was then he hoped that maybe, just maybe, he could finally live his own life.

After the battle she, Remus and Sirius followed them, and found them in a clearing in the wood, not far off. She was amazed by what she saw. They were crying. In all her years devoted to him, she'd never seen him breakdown, never seen him once buckle under the burden, and yet she saw the tears fall freely from his eyes, both their eyes, she corrected herself, when she saw Zabini. She would admit she hadn't immediately trusted Zabini, but when he showed them his hand and Remus confirmed to them Harry's magic resided in the scar she knew he was trustworthy. With what happened with his former friends he'd never trust easily, and neither did she.

"To think it could be taken away from us again." To see his shoulders shake, fighting the choked sobs, was all too much to bear for the young girl.

"To think we forgot what it was." Her heart went out to both the men, whom had suffered so much.

"What are they talking about?" Her whispers were barely audible to even herself, but a werewolf's keen hearing picked up on them.

"Freedom," he whispered back in kind, before stepping out and speaking with strength, "Even the loss of the smallest liberty cuts deeply."

Harry fruitlessly pawed at his tears, seeing the face of his former mentor, but they continued relentless, "I'm sorry," a choked sob wracked his frame, "you must think we're being so stupid."

"Not at all." The acceptance of the werewolf did little to stop him from trying to control himself. Ginny once more looked up at Zabini and found the dark-skinned man now had his face in his hands, but his back shook from suppressed emotion.

"It was the sky, wasn't it." A muffled "uh-huh," answered the gravely tones of her adopted father. "I was the same way." This stopped him, shock clear on his face at his godfather's admission. It had shocked Ginny. She'd stayed with the man a long time and loved him as dearly as she had once loved Arthur Weasley, but never once had he mentioned anything regarding Azkaban and his escape. He chuckled, "Yep, I cried like a baby the second I saw the open sky, I'd forgotten how beautiful it was." He looked up above and Ginny couldn't help but do the same. The stars were out in full, a myriad of jewels against the darkest blue. It was exquisite, and yet, she'd never noticed. She'd never thought about it, but could she live without the simple freedom of the sky? She didn't think she was that strong.

Four men in front of her, she admitted even the former Slytherin into that group, they were the men in her life; each betrayed, torn, broken, and who'd never fully heal. Her own suffering paled in comparison, and yet she still hurt. She could never understand them, their strength, their determination, and she could never understand what they had felt in their weakest moments. But she'd try, she vowed, seeing them so low, she would try.

So she walked from the safety of the tree's shadows and sat beside her dad, who reached a comforting arm about her. The strong wiry arm held her close, and told her that everything would be alright, that everything would work out somehow…

No more was needed.

It was, as always with the inimical Fudge, a farce. Harry had a feeling something was wrong the second he entered that courtroom, his brother matching him pace for pace. They were stooped; the shackles and chains bound their magic, stopping them from accessing their strength, cowing their tired frames under the weight of iron and steel.

Fudge's pomp was every present, the squat man cut a more ridiculous figure in what appeared to be a matching rainbow-striped suit. He looked like the clown he was and yet none seemed to question it. That in itself furthered his disquiet.

As they were led to their seats, he looked among the crowd, and was comforted. There was a righteous anger in their eyes, directed at the Minister of magic. It seemed that people were realising the delusions of grandeur that filled the old man's head, delusions he seemed too far gone in to ever escape.

"These men, before me, are killers; they proved as much this very day." That self-serving grin was plastered across his face, and feeling the aura of the room Harry had to fight to laugh, his brother next to did not fight so valiantly and thus chortled, though the sound was empty to the ear. The interruption seemed to infuriate the minister, several more wrinkles appeared on a creased brow, but he blundered on with casual stupidity. "They, with no thought to human life, indifferently conspired to the Death of a wizard, and this man," with great gusto he pointed towards Harry, who was smiling greatly, "Struck the killing blow, in a most brutal and terrifying fashion."

"But it was Voldemort, they're heroes!" Such shouts were numerous among the crowded audience, and to he two men's joy, Fudge looked completely flabbergasted.

"We cannot have such criminals in our midst!" The man's words, much like himself, stumbled heedless, aggravating an already angry crowd. "They may not have committed the murders of which they are accused but they have shown themselves to be a danger to all wizard kind, and I'm sure my fellow judges will agree Azkaban is the only option…" he gestured to Rufus Scrimgeour, Amelia Bones and Dolores Umbridge, Harry knew their names from the previous trial, and only had a kind word to say about Amelia Bones, who'd petitioned the use of Veritaserum, albeit failing in the attempt.

"YOU WILL NOT PUT WORDS IN MY MOUTH FUDGE!" The shout of Amelia Bones silenced the crowd and the bungling premier. "This is madness. Aurors 'escort' the minister to his office and make sure he stays there." A hysterical Fudge was carried away with a screeching Umbridge behind them.

"Scrimgeour, vote innocent or your fired."

"BLAISE" Upon entering the Antonius House common room in the formerly forbidden third corridor the dark boy was immediately assaulted by a petite blonde blur.

"You've spent entirely too much time around Hufflepuffs Daphne." He winced at his bruised ribs still embraced by a girl who was somewhat more bubbly than he remembered. The likely candidates for the change came along in the form of a pair of redheads, Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones, who had just come along to give both him and his brother a kiss on the cheek... In the case of his brother this was very much to the consternation of a third redhead who followed behind through the portrait.

Neville Longbottom, now a broad, confident man, came up to give both a firm handshake, Luna gave a similar hello to the mischievous former-Hufflepuffs as did Daphne's friend Tracey Davis. The younger years waved from their own table at the far end as they did their homework.

The Antonius Common room was decked out in contrasting black and white, a stark, hard statement. It suited harry nicely. The House slogan was "Death before dishonour." The House slogans had been a peculiar thing, meaning different things from different perspectives. Hufflepuffs "we hold true" showed their loyalty, but be it true honest loyalty or dogged zealousness you could not tell. "Hear our roar" Either told of Gryffindor's bravery or blinding arrogance. "Knowledge is power," could be telling of Ravenclaw's intellect or lack of morals. And finally Slytherin; Slytherin had given "Be Proud" too his House, a phrase that had twisted towards a blind bigotry and hatred that lasted through the centuries.

It was while they rested by the fire that Hagrid said they were summoned to the great hall.

"Ah once more we are one." Dumbledore's soothing tones waft through the room as Antonius house entered the great Hall for the first time since their formation. They looked around and saw the entire school watching waiting. In the balcony the Minister sat with the press, eager to show Potter's successful reintegration into the wizarding world.

"We most certainly are not!" It was Peakes who fired the first retort.

"Shut it brat! No one asked y..." The ranting of Weasley was for once not silenced by a spell but by a look. The students of Antonius had parted for their final members to come through. Both were clean-haven, dressed in fresh midnight-black robes. They leaned heavily on conjured canes, but they still cut an imposing figure, radiating power like gods. It is said that the greatest leaders can whisper and they will be heard by everyone, and it was just so that harry spoke.

"Your arrogance is astounding. You lock us away, you deny us our rights as human beings, you ostracise our loved ones, and you expect forgiveness! We have longer memories. Does anyone of Antonius wish to leave!" None did, none even waivered; they stood resolutely behind the brothers as they have always done. "While there is bigotry, while there is pride, while there is stagnation, Antonius stands as a reminder of your failure." He paused as he turned, before one final remark.

"Antonius falls when you learn humility." As those twenty or so students left, Albus Dumbledore couldn't help but reflect that he might have misjudged his earlier worries about an even more fractured school. For that one house contained elements of all the others, ties that would run deep even if they eventually returned to their original places. And is that not the unity the Sorting Hat spoke of? It was certainly food for thought, and talking of food... He suddenly didn't feel quite so hungry anymore.

A.N: Well hope you like it! As always I appreciate reviews.