I want to take a moment to give a sincere thank you to all those who supported this story through the years, and held on through thick and thin. You are my muses, and I dedicate everything to each of you. You deserve it! You're awesome= )

Chapter Forty-One

"Finale"

It was almost dawn, and the fire in the hearth had burned down to a few softly crackling embers. Harry wiped his face on Sirius's shirt. His shoulders were still, and the hitch in his breathing was fading. He was starting to regain a sense of himself, and to feel a little foolish.

Sirius gave his shoulders a squeeze, and Harry raised his head.

"Harry…" Sirius began, sounding unsure. "What happened at the Ministry…"

Harry gave a sniff, looking away.

"We should talk about it, Harry," said Sirius, more insistently. "I have some things to say."

"We don't have to talk about it," Harry mumbled into Sirius's sleeve.

"Yes, we do. You have to know that what that man—what that man did—"

"I know what he did."

Sirius made Harry look at him again. "Let me finish. You have to know that what he did—it was all on him. It was wrong. He's sick, he's depraved, and it wasn't on you. Not one bit of it."

"Okay," said Harry, looking away again.

"Do you believe me?" Sirius demanded.

"Yes," said Harry quietly.

"What are you thinking about right now?"

Harry took a deep breath, and sat back against the bedpost, shaking his head. "I'm thinking about Dumbledore, and the Order. How I led them into danger… whether or not they're alive…"

Sirius marveled for a moment at the boy's instinctual selflessness. He wasn't worried about himself, or what had happened to him. He was worried about Dumbledore. But underneath the surface, Sirius knew Harry had been more deeply affected by what Crouch had done than he was willing to show. From what Sirius heard him yelling in his sleep, Harry had been reliving the attack in his dreams.

After a minute, Sirius cleared his throat. "You know, you didn't start any of this," he told Harry. Voldemort would have risen to power with or without you, and we would have had to face him eventually, whether or not you were there."

Harry's thoughts went to the graveyard where he and Cedric had first been transported by the Portkey. Voldemort's Death Eaters had been preparing a ritual, one that involved a fire, a cauldron, and Harry's own blood.

"He used my blood," said Harry. His voice was barely loud enough to be heard. "My blood is in his veins now."

Sirius frowned. "You know this for certain?"

"He couldn't touch me before. It burned him to touch my skin."

"Yes, your mother's sacrifice," said Sirius, his brow furrowed.

"Voldemort came down into the basement where they were keeping me," Harry went on. "He told me that now, my blood runs in his veins. He could touch me."

Sirius looked thunderstruck, but he was recovering quickly. "Does Dumbledore know?"

Harry nodded slowly. "I told him, but he seemed… distant."

"I'm sure he knows what to do with the information, if anyone does," said Sirius grimly, looking disconcerted by this revelation. Even so, he gave Harry's arm a reassuring squeeze.

"I have to go and find Molly," said Lupin gently from above, and Harry jumped slightly at hearing his voice. He had forgotten Lupin was still in the room with them.

"Alright," said Sirius. "Will you find out what you can about where we stand?"

"I will. See you soon, Harry." Lupin looked down at him kindly. "It's good to be able to say that." Then he slipped through the bedroom door, leaving it slightly ajar.

"I'm going, too," said Harry, starting to climb to his feet. If Lupin was going to receive news about Dumbledore, he wanted to be there.

"Wait—" said Sirius quickly, reaching out to pull him back.

Harry's eyes went wide when he felt Sirius's hand close over his shoulder. He was filled with a momentary panic as he was drawn back to the floor, where he sat stiffly, regarding Sirius with caution.

Sirius saw this, and let go of Harry's shoulder. Leaning close, he looked deeply into Harry's eyes, and spoke with urgency. "I have to say this, Harry…" he began, his voice cracking. "What Crouch did—I'll never let anything like that happen again. And I would die before I would ever hurt you. You know that, don't you, Harry?"

Harry gazed at him for a long moment. Then, the tension in him eased, like sand shifting through loose fingers. His muscles relaxed, and he sat back against the bedpost, drawing one knee up to his chest. "I know," he said. His voice shook, but he truly meant it.

Suddenly, tears were threatening the back of his eyes again. He quickly reached up to rub them away.

"It's the truth," said Sirius, pushing Harry's hair out of his face, trying to catch his gaze again.

Finally Harry looked up. "I know it is."

In his shining eyes, Sirius saw that he did know. "Never feel like you have to hold anything back from me," said Sirius quietly. After another long moment of silence, he took a deep breath. "I'll come with you," he finally said. "I want to hear the news, too." He stood, and gave Harry a hand up. "The sun's coming up."

And so it was. Light purple rays of sun were beginning to filter in through the bedroom window, brightening the rug on which they stood.

…

Harry followed Sirius through the dark, narrow alleys of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. They were headed for the kitchen, but halfway across the third landing, Harry thought he heard distant arguing. Raised voices were coming from behind a locked door up the hall.

Harry paused. "What do you suppose…?" He muttered, glancing at Sirius.

Sirius had also heard the arguing, but he ushered Harry along, looking back over his shoulder. "We'll both find out at the same time," he said as they moved on. "Better not to interrupt them."

They continued down the corridor, their path illuminated by Sirius's wand. As they passed an old table holding several stone busts of Sirius's ancestors, Sirius stopped walking, and lifted a pale tapestry away from the wall. Harry saw a door embedded in the wood behind it. He reached for the door handle, but Sirius's hand was already on it.

"I'll go first," said Sirius shortly, and Harry thought he saw the ghost of a smile pass across the man's face. "I don't want your first experience with my mother's house elf to happen down some dark, dusty stairwell."

Harry tried to force a smile in return, but in his mind's eye he had seen another dark, dusty stairwell when Sirius spoke. Another Sirius, saying his name…

Harry gave his head a shake and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying not to think about the nightmare.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up, dropping his hands. Sirius had been watching him closely.

"You alright?"

Harry nodded. "Headache."

Sirius didn't look as though he believed Harry's lie, but with a last troubled look in Harry's direction, he ducked through the cobweb-strewn doorway. Harry was close behind him as they headed down toward the front hallway.

Before they had reached the bottom, the sound of a crash reached them from below.

"Not again…" Sirius muttered.

"What—?" Harry began, but Sirius was already rushing down the last few steps, stowing his wand in his pocket.

The next second, the entire house was filled with screams. Harry gasped and almost fell back against the stair above him. He groped at his hip for a wand, but he didn't have one. It was probably gone forever.

"Sirius—?" Harry cried out, but Sirius was plunging through the door and out into the hallway.

"MUDBLOODS! BLOOD TRAITORS!"

"What's going on?" Harry heard Sirius yell.

"I'm so sorry, Sirius, I didn't see the umbrella stand! Honestly, it was a mistake—"

"BLOOD TRAITORS! STAINS OF WEAKNESS AND FILTH!"

"Help me get her curtains closed."

Harry trotted down the last few stairs, and stepped cautiously out into the hall. Sirius and the pink-haired Tonks were grappling with two sides of a black, moth-eaten curtain that surrounded a life-size painting. It was a portrait of the ugliest, scariest woman Harry had ever seen. The paint was peeling, which made the woman's yellow skin look like it was flaking right off of her bones. Her lank, black hair hung on both sides of her face as she writhed and screamed, yelling obscenities and abuses toward Black and Tonks as they struggled to cover her.

Other portraits in the front hall were coming awake to join in the shouting, and Harry held both hands over his ears.

"FILTHY HALF-BREEDS! STAINS OF DISHONOR! CHILDREN OF FILTH!"

"Be quiet," snarled Sirius angrily as he and Tonks managed to pull the curtains shut, stopping the noise. The curtains fluttered as though trying to fly back open, but they fell still under Sirius's arms. The other paintings began to stop their racket, until the front hall was filled with an echoing silence.

Harry stepped forward as Sirius stepped back.

"Harry," said Sirius, tilting his head toward the black curtains. "I'd like to introduce you to my mother."

Harry stared. "Your mother?" He asked incredulously.

"Isn't she charming?"

Harry forced a laugh, still rubbing his ears. Then, his eyes fell on Tonks. "Tonks?"

"Wotcher, Harry," said Tonks, coming in for a hug. "It sure is good to see you again."

"But if you're here, then…?" Harry began, as Tonks let him go. "Doesn't that mean…?"

Tonks gave him a knowing look. "You should both come along," she told them, stooping to right the umbrella-stand she must have kicked over. "We're all in the kitchen."

She led the way down the hall, giving heavy objects a wide berth.

Harry and Sirius exchanged glances as they walked. They were both wondering the same thing:

Was it over?

When they reached the tall kitchen doorway, it was shut and locked. Tonks winked at Harry, and knocked five times on the door.

Almost immediately, there was a groan of iron hinges, and the door swung partly open. Mrs. Weasley appeared on the threshold, looking flushed and wiping sweaty hands on her apron. When she saw Harry was with them, her expression changed and she gazed imploringly at Sirius. "He's too young for meetings," she said, trying to keep her voice down. "We've talked about this, Sirius!"

"He's been through enough to hear the news with the rest of us," said Sirius, and there was a definite clip in his tone.

"There are some things children shouldn't have to think about. Harry is only fourteen—"

"Didn't you hear me?" Growled Sirius, not bothering to lower his voice anymore. "Harry's coming in."

"Molly, it's alright."

Dumbledore's voice issued from behind her, and Harry's heart gave a funny tumble.

Mrs. Weasley glanced behind her, worrying her apron, and reluctantly stood aside. As Harry passed her, she looked sadly at him. He tried to make his eyes show her the gratitude he felt for her concern, but he wasn't sure he succeeded in anything beyond a pale grimace. His real interest was talking to Dumbledore.

When he laid eyes on the scene in the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks, and Sirius bumped into him.

The kitchen was full of witches and wizards. There were more people than Harry had ever seen gather there, and they couldn't all be members of the Order. How could they be? There were more than thirty people crammed into the constricted kitchen, some of them squeezing onto the benches around the two long tables, others finding nooks to lean against along the walls. Every single one of them had turned to look at Harry.

Harry felt his heart beating abnormally fast in his chest as he stood on the threshold. For a moment, he couldn't remember why he was here, or what they wanted from him. He didn't recognize more than a few of them, and only when Sirius crossed an arm over his shoulder from behind did he come out of his thoughts.

"Go on, Harry," whispered Sirius gently. He slipped past Harry and raised a hand, indicating the far end of one of the tables.

Harry looked, and his senses flooded back to him. Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, his light blue eyes twinkling soberly as he observed Harry over his half-moon spectacles.

Harry let out his breath, and made his way across the room toward where Dumbledore sat.

"Professor," said Harry breathlessly, "You're back!"

Several witches and wizards budged aside to make room on the bench near the end of the table.

"Please, sit down," Dumbledore told Harry and Sirius, taking the wide envelope that Tonks handed him. "Thank you for the owl post, Nymphadora."

The ends of Tonks' hair glowed momentarily red, but she quickly overcame her distaste for Dumbledore's use of her first name. With a polite nod, she took a place between two wizards along the wall to listen.

When Harry and Sirius had squeezed themselves onto the small area of bench, Dumbledore set the envelope down on the table, and clasped his fingers on top of it.

"The war is not won," he told the room at large. Then he looked directly at Harry. "But we have won the battle."

Harry leaned forward, his heart tumbling painfully. "Did all of you make it back?" He asked, unable to stop himself.

"Most of us," answered Dumbledore gravely. This left an icy pit in Harry's chest, but Dumbledore's eyes were soft. "The Death Eaters are either imprisoned or scattered to the wind. Very few of them escaped the Ministry last night, and any who did flee have no where on the globe to hide. They will be apprehended in the coming months."

"What about Voldemort?" Asked Harry. There was a collective, sharp intake of breath throughout the room, but he hardly noticed.

"Voldemort is not dead," said Dumbledore, now addressing the rest of the room again. "I believe he is beyond mortality. That he cannot be killed by normal means. But he is greatly weakened. As I fought him last night, I saw the chest wound that Sirius Black delivered him a few nights ago. His strength was waning, and waning fast."

"Then this is the perfect time, isn't it?" Piped an unfamiliar voice down the table. "The best time to find him, and have it over with?"

Dumbledore took a deep breath through his nose. "I wish it could be so simple, Rodulphia. I'm afraid it will take a lot more than what any of us currently have to offer to put an end to Voldemort for good."

Dumbledore looked back at Harry again, and there was something unidentifiable in his eyes. Harry stared back without moving as Dumbledore continued.

"There is nothing more that can be done against him until I know what is keeping him alive. Until I understand which dark art he holds to, we should be celebrating our temporary triumph."

The Order didn't seem thrilled about the idea of waiting for Dumbledore to study and research the avenues of Voldemort's immortality before seeking him out, and it was plain on their faces. They were frowning and whispering to each other, but Harry was still watching Dumbledore closely, trying to decide what it was the headmaster had been trying telling him moments earlier.

But he wasn't going to get a chance to ask just then. Dumbledore had moved on, and was opening the large manila envelope Tonks had given him. Out of it he pulled a long document, which Harry could see was filled from top to bottom with neat penmanship.

Dumbledore's eyes roved over the parchment, as everyone in the kitchen waited with baited breath. Finally, Dumbledore looked up. "We've received confirmation from Azkaban stating that last night's transport was successful, and all the Death Eaters we detained have been respectively secured."

There were whoops and whistles throughout the room, and Harry would have been one of them, had he not been craning his neck to try and have a look at the letter for himself.

Dumbledore continued, not seeming to notice Harry's curiosity. "Alastor and Severus are on their way back to headquarters now. There will be another meeting this afternoon to discuss where we go from here, but I must warn you all that our actions will not be rash. We will not race to end this, unless we wish to overlook our own safety. School will commence on September the first, as it always does. Voldemort does not have the power to sway us from our civil way of life, and we will not give him that power."

Harry felt a flare of thankfulness. He had been wondering whether he would ever see Hogwarts again. He thought of the long, torch-lit corridors, and the warmth and safety of the chair beside the fire in the Gryffindor common room. He pictured himself sitting there again with Ron and Hermione… would it be the same as it always was? Or would it be different? Would he be different?

Harry was taken by surprise when Dumbledore passed the letter sideways, laying it on the table in front of Harry.

Harry's eyes fell on a lengthy list near the bottom of the parchment. There were countless names and ages listed, and almost immediately he found Barty Crouch, Jr's name. Beside it, in smaller writing, Crouch was listed as alive, but injured. The nature of his injuries was left out. The letter only said that the injuries were not life threatening, and that Crouch would be attending his own sentencing trial on the 12th of August, at eight o'clock in the morning.

Sirius was reading over Harry's shoulder, and Harry cast him a wondering glance. Seeing him looking, Sirius turned away, and casually cracked his knuckles, studying the back of his right hand intently. Harry passed him the letter, frowning. "Did you know he was injured?" He asked, over the hubbub of conversation now taking place around them.

Sirius looked back down, pretending to notice Crouch's name on the list for the first time. He scowled, but the expression was hollow, and didn't extend to his eyes, which were glinting with something Harry couldn't put his finger on.

"What injuries does Crouch have?" Harry insisted, with more determination.

Sirius gave an unconvincing half-shrug, scratching his eyebrow.

Harry's brow furrowed as he studied his godfather's carefully arranged expression. He opened his mouth to point out the man's suspicious behavior, but someone down the bench called up the table, "Are ye goin' to pass it down the line, sonny?"

Sirius obliged, looking relieved, and wouldn't look at Harry after that.

…

…

…

The meeting dispersed twenty minutes later, and the witches and wizards left the kitchen, some to go home, others to return to their rooms at headquarters. At last, only Sirius, Lupin, Dumbledore, and Harry remained, still seated around the table.

"Well," said Dumbledore mildly, leaning back in his chair. "I suppose now is as good a time as any. Harry, I have something for you."

"For—for me?" Harry stammered, caught off-guard.

"I think you will have missed this a great deal," Dumbledore commented, drawing a small bundle from the pocket of his robes.

Harry stared at it uncomprehendingly. "What is it?"

Dumbledore handed him the bundle, and instantly Harry knew what it was. His breathing quickened, and he pulled the cloth from around the long, thin object.

A wand. His wand. Harry could still see his own fingerprints marking the handle. "I thought this was gone forever!" Harry breathed, astonished and overjoyed as he held the wand first in his right hand, then in his left hand, and back to his right. "How did you find it?"

"Hedwig brought it to me, on the night of the Third Task. That's a very intelligent bird you have there, Harry. Somehow, she knew to bring it to me. I studied it thoroughly, and there has been no damage or tampering."

Hardly believing his luck, Harry smiled his first real smile in a long time. "Thanks, Professor," he said, his eyes wide. "Thank you."

"Thank your owl," said Dumbledore, with a small wink.

Sirius, having watched the exchange with excitement equal to Harry's, now clapped his hands on his knees, and made to stand. Dumbledore held up a hand. "Wait a moment, Sirius. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like a word with you."

Sirius sat back down as though he would rather not, giving Harry a strange look.

"Harry," said Dumbledore with a small smile, "I know your friends Ronald and Hermione are waiting to see you. You will find them on the fourth floor, fifth door on the right."

Slowly, Harry stood, pushing his wand into his pajama pocket. He looked back and forth between Sirius and Dumbledore, desperately wanting to stay and hear what the headmaster had to say.

"I won't keep Sirius for long," said Dumbledore pointedly. "Thank you, Harry."

With one last backward look, Harry exited the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

When Dumbledore was sure Harry was outside of hearing distance, he turned to Sirius, whose scowl suddenly appeared chiseled out of stone.

Dumbledore didn't speak for a prolonged minute. He simply looked at Sirius. At first, Sirius stared angrily back at him, but then his gaze faltered.

"I'd do it again," he muttered abruptly, his hands clenching into fists. "I'd do it in a split second."

"Sirius," said Dumbledore, shaking his head. "I don't deny that what you and Harry experienced… especially Harry… is beyond reconciliation. But we have a system of laws that are in place not only for the detainees, but also for our own safety. A system of trial and conviction. Without a guilty verdict, a punishment cannot be rightly inflicted."

Sirius shook his head stubbornly. "I don't know about the system," he grunted. "And I don't know if what I did was right, but if I had it to do over again, I'd do the same."

"Sirius…?" Lupin asked, his eyes sharp. "What exactly did you do?"

Sirius ran a hand over his forehead, turning to his longtime friend. "I did the only thing I could do. I made sure that if that son of a bitch ever escapes Azkaban, he won't be able to hurt anyone again. At least, not in the way he wanted to hurt Harry."

"It was barbaric of you," said Dumbledore sternly, but his eyes were not condemning. "However, I understand why you acted in the way you did. That is why I will not report this to the Wizengamot."

"Report it," suggested Sirius rashly. "It won't change anything."

"No, I daresay nothing can be done to change the decision you made. I cannot deny that part of me approves. But the rest of the Order cannot know what you did to Crouch, Sirius. Neither can Harry."

"I wouldn't dream of telling Harry in a lifetime. He's having nightmares and flashbacks as it is, I'll be happy if the subject of that miserable, disgraceful tosser never comes up again."

"And neither should it," agreed Dumbledore, "Unless Harry wants to discuss it further, in which case I trust you will be willing to oblige. He showed tremendous courage in his choice to hold onto those memories."

"Of course I'll oblige," said Sirius quietly. The flare had left his eyes, and his shoulders slumped with remembered pain. "I'll do anything I can for him."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in the early morning light pouring through the window, and somehow, despite all that had happened and was yet to happen, it set Sirius's mind at ease. "I believe Harry knows that about you, Sirius." Dumbledore paused. "Thank you. If you hadn't injured Voldemort before we fought, he may have overpowered us. We owe our victory to you, and to every witch and wizard that stood against his evil."

"I'll be here every step of the way to stand against him with you," said Sirius.

"As will I," said Lupin, beside him.

"Good," said Dumbledore, removing his spectacles. "Because we haven't seen the last of him. I fear this is only the beginning of a very long endeavor. One that we cannot, and will not, abandon."

…

…

…

Harry had found Ron's bedroom almost immediately. It was the door behind which Sirius and Harry had heard arguing on their way down to the kitchen. Now Harry approached it slowly, and lightly knocked.

It was Ginny who came to the door. When she saw him, her eyes lit up and she turned over her shoulder to the interior of the room. "It's Harry!"

There were scrapings of chair legs across the wood floor, and Ginny took his hand and led him inside. Hermione and Ron were there, and they both came forward to wrap him in a tight hug.

"We thought you were McGonagall again," said Fred Weasley from over Hermione's shoulder.

"Yeah, she's been poking her nose in every few minutes, keeping an eye on us," said George disdainfully. He was seated in a rickety chair beside the fire.

"Fred—George," said Harry, pleased to see them, but also apprehensive. "I… I'm sorry about…"

"Nonsense, Harry!" George interrupted, standing.

"We don't want to hear a word of it," agreed Fred, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

"But what you did for me… have they expelled you?"

"Not yet," said Fred, shrugging. "Our hearing is just before the start of term."

"Your hearing?"

"Yeah, you know, where they decide whether or not to chuck us out."

Harry's heart sank, and they must have seen it in his eyes.

"Look, Harry, we wouldn't have helped you if we didn't think it was the right thing to do," George told him.

"Don't go clamping up on us, either," added Fred. "Even if they do give us the boot, we'll still see you round, when you come and visit Ron."

Ron pushed through at this point, giving Fred and George accusatory looks. "Come sit down, Harry. Come on."

Harry, Ron and Hermione seated themselves on the carpet near the hearth. Hermione's eyes were wide as she surveyed Harry's face, clearly wanting to ask something, but stopping herself. Harry gave her a wan smile.

"We're so glad you're safe, Harry," she gushed, and Harry felt a strong affection for her when he saw how hard she was trying not to cry. "When you left again… we thought…"

"But you're back," said Ron, looking just as weary as Harry felt. "Are you going to sneak away again?"

"No," said Harry, shaking his head. "Not unless I find a reason to, I suppose."

"Good," said Ron, with a nod. "And when that happens, we're coming with you."

Harry looked at him, and was struck by the determination in his eyes. He looked at Hermione, who was gazing at him with the same fierce, determined expression that Ron had.

"If you ever, ever do something like that again," Hermione breathed, pink in the cheeks, "and you don't bring us along, I will murder you, Harry."

Fred and George Weasley sniggered inappropriately. But Hermione's eyes were more serious than ever.

"I mean it," she said.

"So do I," said Ron staunchly. "Don't ever do that to us again, mate. We're coming with you on all future occasions."

Harry looked from one to the other, filled with an overwhelming gratitude for their loyalty. "Alright," he promised them. "Dumbledore thinks it'll be a long time before we've seen the end of Voldemort for good."

Ron and Hermione gazed at him, their mouths slightly open. "You mean—?" Hermione began.

"He'd not dead," Harry told them. "He can't be killed. He's got some kind of dark magic that keeps him from being able to die. That's what Dumbledore thinks."

"So… this isn't over?" Asked Ginny feebly.

"It's over for now," Harry told her. "The Death Eaters are in Azkaban, and Voldemort's on the run again. He's alive, but he's weak."

The room fell silent for a time as Hermione and the Weasleys digested this news. Harry gazed into the embers in the hearth, his thoughts drifting uncomfortably toward Crouch. He realized it would be a long time before he would be able to bring himself to tell Ron and Hermione the full extent of what had happened. But, he thought gratefully, that didn't matter. He was blessed beyond belief to have two friends like them, whose loyalty to him would last a lifetime.

"I don't know what Dumbledore meant, about needing more than what we've got to end this war, and all that," said Harry at length. "But I know one thing—and that's what we're fighting for."

Ron and Hermione nodded on either side of him.

"And if Dumbledore can find out how to kill Voldemort," continued Harry, ignoring their winces at hearing the name, "we can help him accomplish it."

"Hear, hear," said Fred strongly.

"We may be underage, but we won't be for long. And until then, we have wands, just like they do. So let's learn to use them in combat."

George pounded on his chest. "Let's have at it!" He growled, and beside him, Ginny gave a nervous giggle. She was the youngest of the group, only thirteen.

Harry felt the weight of the world on his shoulders as he thought of Ginny's perfect innocence. She knew nothing of the harms that could be inflicted on a person by others… and she should never have to know. Harry smiled at her. "We'll beat him," he told her, and the others. All of their eyes were bright and hopeful as they listened to his words. "We'll beat them all."

"You bet we will."

Harry looked up to find Sirius in the open doorway, watching him from across the room.

"We'll tear Voldemort's rug out from under him," said Sirius.

"Come in," Hermione said quickly, standing, and pulling another rickety chair closer the fire. Sirius thanked her, and came onto the carpet by the hearth. He lowered himself into the chair, sitting across from Harry so that they faced each other.

Sirius took a deep breath. He looked meaningfully at Ron and Hermione, and then at Harry. The firelight illuminated his face, clearing away the usual shadows, and Harry could clearly see his eyes. They were filled with even more certainty than Harry felt himself.

"We will beat Voldemort," said Sirius again. He looked directly at Harry. "And that's the truth."

Harry felt a strong inclination to move his chair closer, to be nearer to Sirius. He didn't. He just looked thankfully across the carpet at his godfather, who gazed unfalteringly back at him from the other side of the fire.

Harry wasn't worried anymore. Not even about Crouch. Somehow, inside, he believed that the Order of the Phoenix, and the people sitting around him in that very room, could make things right. Together, they were strong enough to defeat Voldemort, no matter what kinds of dark magic surrounded him.

Right then and there, Harry decided that they were a team: Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Harry, and Dumbledore. If any one of them found themselves face to face with Voldemort in the future, the others would somehow be there to fight alongside.

Something inside Harry told him it was true, and Harry believed it with all his heart.

…

…

…

Fin.

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