The Years of Riddle

Epilogue

Dedicated to those who have been with Gwyn since her beginning, with Silas since his, and to those who showed up along the way. I have loved this little family, I hope you have too.

Epilogue

Godric's Hollow, October 1998

       Peace sounded like little bare feet running, a quiet night, and the radio playing music rather than the news. Peace felt like a good nights sleep, knowing you didn't have to be afraid you would wake up and someone you knew would be dead; it felt like a new, swaddled baby falling asleep in your arms.

Peace looked like Inesa dozing on a blanket in summer sun, Estelle dancing with her son at Orson's wedding.

Peace looked like Harry Potter, standing in a doorway of his own home, looking tired but relaxed.

It was a blustery day, and the sky promised rain as heavy charcoal clouds rolled over Godric's Hollow. Silas walked up to the worn gate slowly, looked at the sign where people had written messages of hope and support. The last time he had walked through this gate he had seen Lily and James' dead bodies, picked Harry up out of his crib, and let Hagrid take him away, had left minutes or seconds too soon to have had a chance to stop Sirius from going after Pettigrew.

Gripping the gate, he got a horrible feeling in his chest. He stopped in his tracks, let the sensation ripple through him – and then the horror melted away to pleasure and warmth as he looked up at Harry, who gave him a puzzled look.

"You okay?" he called, not moving from the doorway.

"Yes, I...I'm fine." He opened the gate, the warm feeling not fading as he did so. Shaking it off, he smiled at Harry and opened his arms; they hugged each other, and Silas felt how skinny Harry was under his jumper, but knew Molly was by all the time with food.

"It's good to see you, Harry. I'm sorry it's been a little while."

"You too, and don't worry about it." Harry waved his hand, and led him through the house, still under cleaning and construction. It didn't look much different than when Silas had been there last, that fateful October night.

"There is still a hole in your roof, Harry." He observed, and the young man shrugged.

"I don't like going in there."

"Understandably." Silas paused at the bottom of the stairs, where he had seen James Potter's body, where he had closed the young father's eyes and stepped over him to aid his crying son.

"Silas?" Harry was watching him carefully.

"Coming, sorry." They walked past the stairs, down the hall to the kitchen – the most lived in space it seemed. There was a couch in the corner with a blanket and pillow, and cups of tea half drank on several surfaces, copies of the prophet and piles of unopened letters. Silas surveyed this scene with little expression; Molly was worried, he knew, but he was less so – Harry needed time to himself.

"It's a bit of a mess," he said sheepishly, removing a few cups from the kitchen table – the same Silas and the Marauder's had sat at countless times, preparing raids and rescue missions, pouring over maps, looking for patterns and clues. Harry pulled out his wand, wordlessly warming the kettle; Silas stilled when he saw the wand, recognizing it immediately as the wand he had held as a child in Ollivander's shop. He had been right, all those years ago.

Briefly, he thought back to his time as a child, when he had held that very wand in Ollivander's shop, whenever he picked up and older object, the feelings that would flood him – when he opened the gate earlier. Professor Euphenia Periculum had said several times in his last years at Hogwarts that she thought he had a raw, mild psychometric ability, but he had always brushed her off. Silas filed this away for later, especially his dread at knowing before Harry was even born what his fate would be.