April, 2003 Grimmauld Place
If you would have told Harry a few years ago that he would find himself in the Black family library with his best friend and Draco sodding Malfoy, he would've called you bonkers.
But that's exactly what he was doing, pouring over weighty and ancient tomes that harbored some of the darkest and oldest magic to ever exist. Hermione had taken the day off, a complete testament to the dedication to their project. Malfoy also seemed to have a free day, and now sat in the corner with his glasses on, silent.
He wasn't the smartest when it came to written assignments, Harry could admit that. Everything he had learned well had came straight from action. From watching it happen and making himself do the same. He just didn't have the patience to read and take notes, and today was no different.
After the war, they had all agreed together to go see the Mind Healer in Diagon Alley. It was only then that Harry had finally came clean about his treatment from the Dursley's, as well as his feelings about the way Dumbledore had treated him. Although they had all stopped seeing her, Harry was never able to complete the final assignment given to him.
To go see the Dursley's.
And for some odd reason, this was the thought that was continuing to rattle around in his head as he tried to focus on the words on the page. Reading about the spiraling downfall of his own parents' deaths seem to be a mood dampener. Who would've guessed?
It wasn't just his parents dying that was weighing on him. In truth, he never really knew his parents. The memories he had of them were fabricated by the stories that people told. He thought he might remember the way that Lily's eyes looked, but then when he focused on it, he realized that he had made it up based on how many times someone had compared his own to her.
No, the real truth was that the struggles of Evangeline and the Marauders was heartbreaking to have to feel through their words, given that he had felt something eerily similar throughout the Second War.
Blinking rapidly from staring off into space, Harry's eyes met Malfoy's, who raised one eyebrow in question at him.
Clearing his throat, Harry asked, "Found anything?"
Hermione's hair had continued to grow frizzier and frizzier as she picked at the flyaway pieces sticking out of her bun, "Kind of," she said, still looking at the book in her lap, "But I'm not sure it's helpful in actually finding her."
She motioned for both Harry and Draco to follow, leading them back to the familiar dining room. The files still laid open on one end, various papers and photos still magically stuck to the wall in front of them.
"According to what this says, Magic, like Draco mentioned, is a sentient being on its own. It was given to the first magical person around the year 500."
"Merlin?" Draco asked.
Hermione nodded, continuing, "There isn't much about why he was given magic, but he was. Others too, possibly. But there is a story about how Merlin contacted magic once."
"Hermione, why do I feel like it's exceptionally difficult and probably illegal?" Harry asked.
"It is exceptionally difficult, that is true. I don't even know that the three of us could accomplish it alone. But it isn't illegal, per se. More like ethically questionable."
"Ethically questionable?"
"Grey magic, Potter," Draco filled in, "It isn't inherently good or bad, but somewhere in between."
"Is that even a thing?" Harry asked, confused. No one ever talked about grey magic.
"Much like the world, Potter, not everything is in black and white. People do what they must, even when people don't understand the reason."
Draco seemed to age in front of them, leaning against the wooden table. It had been many years since the end of the war, but on some days it felt just as real as when he was living it. After Azkaban, he had moved back into the Manor that seemed to be tainted down to its core with the slimy feeling of dark magic. Nightmares plagued him, still to this day, whenever he spent too long inside of it.
He often wondered if the slimy darkness covered his soul in the same way in encompassed his home.
It was also eating away slowly at his mother, who never even bothered to leave the Manor since his father was sentenced.
The room seemed to shift at the melancholy attitude that was around them, but Hermione carried on.
"It says that Merlin searched for years to find a partner that was magically equal for the ritual to work. They had to be powerful, but evenly matched."
"Quite a difficult task for someone like Merlin," Draco added.
"Which is why it took him years. He developed a way to test the compatibility with each partner by brewing a potion and using blood magic."
"Which does happen to be illegal now," Harry threw in.
"Semantics, Harry. Listen." Hermione continued, "He tested all of his apprentices and the only match that he ever found was Morgan Le Fay."
"But Morgan Le Fay was evil, I thought? We were always told as children that Morgana sought to overthrow Arthur and usurp the position as advisor and mage for the king," Draco said, confused.
"Of course you, a noble pureblood heir, would have been told that," she scoffed, "When Arthur was wounded in the battle of Camlann, they sought out Morgana for her extraordinary ability to heal, which was much stronger than Merlin's. Most modern people believe that she was portrayed as evil because she sought to protect the magic over the witches and wizards themselves. They painted her as a power-hungry and sexually deviant woman to vilify her, because why would a woman be able to be that strong?"
"So what happened when he found out they were compatible?" Harry asked, grazing over her last statement.
"They performed a complex ritual using the deepest parts of their magical cores. It doesn't say much more on it, but it does say that Merlin asked something of Magic. He killed Morgan Le Fay not too long after that, so some think that the Magic asked for payment."
"So, in theory, that would be completely useless because we can't use blood magic and commit murder?" Harry asked frustrated.
"Not necessarily, Potter. Were you not listening? Magic asked something of Merlin. We don't know that it specifically asked him to kill his equal. It could ask for anything. As for the blood magic, you two are Hermione Granger and The Boy Who Lived, Died, and Lived again. You could, quite possibly, get away with murder."
"Very funny, Malfoy. But how does this help us now?"
"I don't know yet, Harry," Hermione jumped in, "But there's only one thing stronger than magic, right? Someone could always ask if it comes down to it."
"What's stronger than magic?" Draco asked the two.
"Love," Harry replied, turning towards him, "Love is what ended both wars."
Talking about the war had always been a point of contention between Draco and Hermione. It was the very reason that they were at odds for so many years. Of course they talked about the obvious, their parts in the war with each other, but Hermione never volunteered any information from her side, nor did Draco.
"Would you care to explain that one?" Draco asked, folding and putting away his reading glasses.
"It was some type of ancient magic that saved my life when I was a baby. My Mum loved me enough to sacrifice herself, which put protection on me. When I found out I was the last Horcrux, I willingly sacrificed myself for the people of Hogwarts. It worked on them, too."
"I'm sorry, Potter. But it sounded very much like you said Horcruxes. The Dark-I mean Voldemort- was immortal?"
"Not in the end, no."
"Why do you think we were on the run for so long?" Hermione sighed, closing the book she was pretending to read.
"I'll be honest," Draco began pacing, "Everyone else was under the impression that you were hiding. Training up, maybe. I knew that was wrong when you used Expelliarmus to kill him."
There was a lapse in the conversation, and Draco continued to pace.
"How many?" Draco finally asked in a hoarse voice, continuing to pace.
"We destroyed six. I was the seventh, not counting the piece of soul left in his own body."
"And if he had other horcruxes out there that you didn't destroy?"
"We'd probably see him again in about ten years, give or take."
Draco stopped mid-stride, his face draining of color. He reached for the back of the nearest chair as if his legs were about to buckle, fear written on his features.
"We got them all, Draco," Hermione comforted, "He won't be back."
"How can you be sure?"
"He was obsessed with the most powerful magical number, which is seven. His soul was in seven pieces already on the night that he killed Lily Potter. He had achieved what he wanted, and had no further plans of making more," Hermione reassured.
Harry absentmindedly ran his fingers over the faded scar on his forehead. It was a part of him, like always, but he felt like he forgot it was there more often now than before. People still stared, sure, but it not longer gave him the same grievances as before.
"Do you think we stand any chance of finding her?" Harry abruptly asked, causing Hermione and Draco to turn towards him, "After all this time, is there even a chance?"
Both looked thoughtful, glancing at each other and seeming to have a silent conversation before answering. It was, eventually, Draco who did.
"You defeated one of the most powerful wizards of all time at the age of seventeen, Potter. I think if we can't find her, there is no one to find."
April, 2003 Godric's Hollow
Sirius couldn't explain what had brought him back to Godric's Hollow after all of those years. He hadn't bothered to visit but once since Halloween of '81. But there he stood, in the most expensive 3-piece suit he owned, holding a bouquet of magnolias and hyacinths- purity and regret.
He was no stranger to failure, suffering with failing everyone in his life at least once. He failed Remus by turning against him. He failed James and Lily by changing secret keepers. He was sure he somehow failed Peter, but never took the time to dwell on that one.
And Harry.
Oh, how he had failed Harry. So many times.
He didn't fight harder for him on the night that Lily and James passed. He should've put his foot down, explained the situation, and took the babe from Hagrid. But instead, he let his rash emotions and feelings take the driver's seat, resulting in a lengthy prison stay.
The only thought that carried him through the frigid nights of Azkaban, with the feeling of dread threatening to drown him, was that Harry was out there. Harry was alive.
Harry needed him.
But that didn't really work out as planned either, with him being imprisoned inside his childhood home of horrors as his Godchild battled dragons, dealt with homicidal professors, and fought the piece of Voldemort that was rattling around inside of his own brain.
Sirius remembered telling Harry,
"We've all got both light and dark inside of us. What matters is the part we choose to act on- That's who we truly are."
And right now, Sirius Black felt wretchedly evil, just like the rest of his family.
With a flick of his wand, the gate to the cemetery creaked open and allowed him to follow the path inside. No one had been buried in the Cemetery since James and Lily, save for Bathilda Bagshot.
Their graves were easy for Sirius to find, the location of them burned into his memory from the one and only visit he ever made there, right after escaping Azkaban. He couldn't even stomach it back then, choosing to only sit as Padfoot and howl until he woke the entire village.
Harry visited often, leaving flowers when he could. The last bunch of flowers had just began to wilt and the petals decorated the grass around their two stones, sitting side by side. Sirius felt his eyes begin to water as he stood over them, looking at their names engraved in the granite. He placed the flowers down between them, then sat on the ground.
"I dressed up for today, Prongs," he laughed through his tears, "I figured you'd appreciate the effort after all these years."
He paused, almost as if he expected a reply and the familiar slap of a hand onto his shoulder.
"I really wish things were different. I can't help but to think that this is all my fault. After Mum and Dad died and Evie..." Sirius trailed off, getting choked on his words.
"I should've done more, Prongs, and I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry that this happened to the both of you."
He was silently sobbing at that point, the tears pouring from his eyes as he sniffled. Due to his poor decisions, he had spent more time in prison for murdering his best friends than he spent loving them.
"I wish you both could see Little Prongs," he wetly laughed, "He truly is your boy. I see you both in him so much."
"I don't know what to do, Prongs. I thought I could move on with my life. Forget the hard parts. But it's all just been buried right below the surface. Now I feel like I'm being eaten alive."
He sat there, in the grass of the Godric's Hollow Cemetery, letting the wind thrash his hair about. He knew he wouldn't receive a reply, but deep down he desperately wanted one.
So the looming shadow that suddenly covered the bright sunshine was quite a surprise.
"Thought I might find you here."
"How did you know, Moony? I haven't been here in ages," Sirius gruffly asked, wiping at his face.
Remus sunk into a squat, his bones creaking with the movement, "Call it pack intuition."
Sirius nodded, and they both fell into silence together. It was Remus who eventually broke it.
"It's not your fault, you know. That we didn't find her."
Sirius sighed, rubbing at his irritated eyes, "It is, Moons. We searched for those few months before Walburga sent the letter about Reg-" he stopped talking, clenching his fists tightly in his lap.
"We were losing friends every single day it felt like, Sirius. I'm surprised we even survived."
"We could've done more!" Sirius suddenly exploded, "If I didn't run off, half-cocked, after a stupid rat then we could've saved her! I could have saved her."
The violent sobs wracked his body as Sirius tried to curl in on himself. It frightened Remus slightly, seeing his best friend revert back to the frightened and vulnerable teen that was saved from his family.
Grabbing him roughly, he pulled Sirius into his side, letting him continue to cry.
Life hadn't been kind to any of the Marauders. The four boys were all dealt a gruesome hand, riddled with death and destruction. Remus and Sirius stood as the final Marauders, the only two to make it out alive.
Sirius clung to Remus's coat as he sobbed, and Remus held him just as tightly.
This is what Evie would've done, he thought, She wouldn't want to see him like this.
"Come on, Pads. Let's go get a pint, yeah? Feeling peckish?"
Sirius stood, releasing Lupin's coat and pulled on the ends of his waistcoat. Sniffling for the final time, Sirius responded, "Thanks, Moony. Let's go bug Rosmerta for a bit, yeah?
Nodding, the two friends walked side by side towards the gate, leaving James and Lily behind. Sirius let his fingertips graze over the top of Euphemia and Fleamont's shared stone in passing, smiling down at them.
With a pop, the longtime mates found themselves at the Three Broomsticks, spending their afternoon bugging Rosmerta. She noticed the red puffiness of Sirius's eyes and the way his voice was scratchy. But, instead of asking questions, she smiled a little brighter, flirted a little louder, and winked at Remus when she caught his thankful look.
A/N- Bit of a filler, but I felt like we needed to look at the "current" year for a bit before continuing on.
Harry is discovering things at the same rate we are, in case anyone was confused.
There will also be quite a bit of time skips coming up soon, and I plan to cover the Marauders 7th year in a very small number of chapters. The war will take a bit, then there will be more time jumps until we are close to being current time.
Enough rambling from me, though. See you in the next chapter!
xx
Arin