Here we are as promised - an end of an era! I first started this story nearly 8 years ago. I was 14 (!) then and now I'm 22. I remember when I first started writing the anorexia plot and reading reviews in school when I thought no one was looking. My life has changed so much since then.

Thank you to each and every person who has ever read, reviewed or favourited this story. Some of the comments you have left me have been so kind that I have never forgotten them.

Much love xx

EPILOGUE

September 1981 – Last Promises

"Promise me you will be careful."

I look away from my reflection in the mirror. Sirius sits on the bed, clasping his hands together, tense and anxious.

"I promise."

"I wish I could come with you."

"I know," I reply soothingly. "But the Order comes first."

He nods reluctantly then stands and kisses my forehead. "You'll look more beautiful than the bride."

Smiling, I shake my head, silently scoffing.

"You still don't believe me, do you?" he says resignedly. "No matter how many times I say it."

I make no reply, staring at the scars on my wrists. It has been four years since I was in rehabilitation in Somerset, less than two since the most recent cut. I try to identify when I am slipping and when I need help these days, usually with success. But it is a constant effort and though sometimes things seem easier, I never forget. The scars are a tangible symbol of that.

"They'll fade," Sirius murmurs, as if reading my mind – a habit of his these days.

"Never completely," I whisper, sighing.

He takes my hand but says nothing. He shifts uncomfortably, dragging his other hand through his hair like he always does when something is on his mind.

"What's wrong?" I ask him gently.

A short silence follows my question. "I've been thinking about something," he says eventually. "But I don't want to worry you."

"I'll worry more if you don't tell me. No secrets."

"No secrets," he agrees but then stops. "It's about Peter," he continues hastily. "I don't want to talk about him if it will upset you."

"Tell me."

He takes a breath. "Voldemort's onto us, I'm sure of it. I think he's going to try and use us to get to James, Lily and Harry. He knows we're close to James. We can't trust anyone: he has spies everywhere – I'd put my money on Remus being one."

"Sirius, I know all of this."

"Well then, if I'm right, I shouldn't be Secret Keeper. It's exactly what Voldemort will expect."

"What has this got to do with Peter?" I asked confused.

He stares at me, waiting for the pieces to fit.

"You think Peter should be Secret Keeper," I say slowly.

"This is not me forgiving him," he replies, some of the old anger showing in his voice. "But it makes perfect sense. He's too stupid, too much of a coward for anyone to suspect him."

"But Sirius... you're Harry's godfather... you would die rather than betray them. Don't you think it's right that you be Secret Keeper?"

"It's for all those reasons that I think I shouldn't be."

I bite my lip. "I understand everything you're saying but... I don't trust Peter – bottom line."

He sighs, and as I lean my head against his chest, he lets his hand fall to rest on my stomach which is rounded in pregnancy.

"Peter has nothing to lose," he mutters, almost too quiet to hear.

I pull away from him to look him in the eye. "What are you saying?"

His brow furrows. "I'm saying... I have you both... Peter's life isn't worth very much," he adds callously.

"Do you really think Lily and James will be better protected if Peter is the Secret Keeper?" I ask softly.

"Yes, I do."

I frown, thinking it through. "You need to talk to Dumbledore."

He nods. "I'm going to. After the meeting today."

I turn back to the mirror, adjusting the waistband of the dress so that it fits more comfortably.

"I can't wait to tell James," says Sirius, smiling, some of the worry melting from his face. "The next generation of Marauders."

"I wish we could see them more often," I sigh. "Especially little Harry."

"Lily says he's smashing everything to bits with the broomstick we got him."

Laughing, I picture Harry wreaking havoc in his parents' house.

"Don't get attached to anything in this flat either," he warns me playfully. "I'm sure our little boy will be just as bad."

"Surely not," I exclaim, my smile widening. "His father is the absolute model of good behaviour."

He winks at me and draws me towards him, kissing me lingeringly. His hand moves from the centre of my back to the side of my breast, his other grazing my thigh.

"Sirius, there isn't time..." I murmur as he kisses my neck.

"Sweetheart, you flatter me. I promise to be very quick," he adds suggestively while his fingers move underneath my dress.

"Tonight," I promise him, laying my hand over his.

He exaggerates a sigh and flops onto the bed.

"I wish this was all over," he says wearily after a short silence.

"The war, you mean?"

"Yes, the war," he replies, squinting at the ceiling. "I want a good, free world to bring my children into... not this."

"Children?" I repeat, surprised.

He turns his head towards me, smiling shyly. "One day."

Returning his smile, I tell him I love him. His eyes rest on mine with a sincere affection, as if for that moment there is no one else in the world but us two – the way they always do when we say those words.

"I should go," I say tentatively, reluctant to break the spell.

"I know," he murmurs, and he stands up. "And I'm going to tell you – again – that you look beautiful and just for today – just for today," he repeats slightly louder, ignoring my protests, "You're going to smile and kiss me and accept it as true. Promise me?"

Sighing, rolling my eyes, I promise.

So he tells me that I am beautiful, that he doesn't want to let me go, that he loves me more than anything. But still, after all this time – even knowing how much he means it – a voice inside me whispers that he is lying. Still I am not strong enough to banish it from my mind. I have broken my promise.

When I arrive at Leah's hotel room, I can barely see the floor for lip gloss bottles, clothes, hair brushes and more. Leah sits grumpily by the mirror whilst her hair is arranged into her chosen style.

"Where have you been?" she barks at me when she sees me hovering in the doorway.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I apologise in a rush, frightened of her temper.

"Look at what they've to me," she demands, pointing to her eyebrows.

I gaze at her in confusion.

"They've ruined me!"

Still confused, I try to reassure her. "Leah, everything looks lovely."

"Lovely?" she snorts.

Out the corner of my eye, I see my mother shake her head at me so this time I make no answer. Leah continues to rant to someone else.

"It's been a nightmare," Mum whispers to me. "She's not happy with anything – she's even been threatening to call the wedding off."

I chuckle, thinking how like my sister that threat is. The normalcy of the event comforts me. For a little while I can live in a world that isn't threatened by darkness and evil.

Eventually we make it out of the hotel and Leah's anger melts into quiet nervousness. Her dress has a stiff, tight bodice and her skirt is so big she struggles to get into the car. It makes me smile because the style, the drama, is just so Leah.

The wedding is beautiful, as all weddings are. Leah cries when she says her vows, and Mark smiles back tearfully. I cry too, and I wonder if Sirius and I will ever be able to get married, or whether the war will claim one of us before we get the chance. I touch my stomach then, reminding myself that I can't afford to think like that – not now another life depends on me.

There are no speeches afterwards, just buffet food and dancing. Everyone is happy, happy for the couple, happy for their future together. After a while, feeling a little dizzy, I step out for some fresh air. As soon as I do, an owl swoops to the ground before me, a small scroll attached to its leg.

My dear daughter, the letter reads and my heart stops.

It has taken me a long time to send this letter. Every word seems an inadequate exchange for the 21 years I have missed.

Urgently I scan the letter, picking out important bits, breathing heavily.

I met your mother 22 years ago... I knew she loved me... My wife had died... I never knew about you... Three years ago we met... bookshop... Diagon Alley... Forgive me...

At the bottom, signed: Your father,

A. M.

A red light, the Dark Mark, and that's it.

Sirius

St Mungo's looks the same as it always does. He's been here plenty of times in the last few years, meeting her after her shifts. He knows his way around.

"Lorraine Sullivan," he tells the receptionist shortly. She gives him the room number and he leaves the desk without thanking her.

He opens the door softly when he gets there, seeing that she's asleep. He pulls the chair closer to her and takes her hand. Her eyelids flutter open and she stares at him for a moment before coming to.

"You're safe now," he whispers, pressing kisses to her hair. "I'm here and you're safe."

"Sirius," she murmurs, tears forming in her eyes. "Sirius, I lost the baby."

"I know, sweetheart," he murmurs back, stroking her hair. "I know."

She cries then and he tells her he loves because he doesn't know what else to do. When she falls back to sleep, he cries too. He pictures the son they would never have. Black hair, like him, but kind and shy, like her. A quidditch player. The most loved little boy in the world.

He sees Rain singing him softly to sleep in his cot, dabbing a cut on his knee where he tripped over in the park, reading with him on the old sofa in their flat. Then he and Rain are waving him off from Platform 9¾ and he's on his way to Hogwarts for the first time, and of course, he's sorted into Gryffindor, just like his parents.

The sound of his crying must have woken Rain because she's sitting up a little, murmuring soothing words to him.

"I should be comforting you," he says tearfully, wiping his cheeks.

She shakes her head and tells him softly, "He was your baby too."

Hours later he finds himself lying in bed with her, his arms curled around her torso. He thinks she's asleep and gets a shock when she speaks.

"Sirius, that letter I was reading when I was attacked... it was from my father."

"Your father?" he repeats, dazed.

"It was signed it 'A. M.' We met him in Diagon Alley, three years ago."

He thinks. "A. M.?" He asks her finally, but he knows the answer.

"Abraxas Malfoy," she confirms quietly.

That's how she does everything: quietly. Quiet words, quiet acceptance, quiet suffering. He asks her how she feels – because after all, she's just found out her father is Abraxus Malfoy after 21 years – but all she says is "strange" in a tiny voice. And he nods, because at least "strange" is something he can understand. "Strange" because she is grieving for her own child and has no room left in her heart to feel anything for a guilty parent.

He is terrified that the grief will consume her, and the thought of losing her terrifies him further.

"I need you to promise me something, Rain," he says desperately.

She gazes at him and tightens her grip on his hand. "Anything for you."

"You won't punish yourself for what happened. Voldemort did this, not you."

"Sirius..."

"Promise me."

She sighs, but she promises.

Relief settles his thumping heart a little, but another thought pricks at him.

"One more thing," he begs. "If anything happens to me, you won't give up. You'll carry on."

"I don't know if I can do that," she admits softly.

"Promise me you'll try," he pleads.

"I'll try," she says reluctantly.

He kisses her forehead tenderly. She rests her head on his chest and closes her eyes.

"I will never stop loving you," he says quietly. "That's a promise."