Disclaimer: not mine.

A/N: bet you thought the story was over, huh? it's been a while, yeah, but i decided to add this... you know, just because. i hope you like it.


Epilogue: Fairy Princess

When you see him, you know it is over. He's younger, of course; his eyes are no longer sunken, but shining, and he's dressed in Muggle clothes: tight black jeans clearly not meant for one of his gender, which draw your eyes straight to his arse; a baggy crimson t-shirt, and a golden tiara. His hair is glossy and smooth and you can remember being an adolescent and running your hands through it while he pinned you to the floor of some secret passageway or other. He doesn't exactly come out of nowhere, but wanders leisurely through the masses of warring wizards around you, not quite solid but certainly no ghost.

The Great Hall has become a combat zone; raindrops fall from its enchanted ceiling but disappear before reaching the ground, and everywhere are yells, shouts: swearwords and spells and battle-cries. Your back is to the stone wall, leaving you only in danger from enemies in your line of vision. Everywhere is frantic, manic fighting; you and your wife stand side-to-side and you pray that she gets out of this mess and returns to the baby because you cannot bear to think of him waking alone.

You send a quick tripping spell at your adversary, who lands sprawled on his back, buying you a few seconds to say the name that you have avoided like the plague for two long years. "Sirius?"

"No, I'm your fairy princess." He smirks and gestures toward the thin golden crown. When you were young, maybe seven years old, you were sure that when you kissed your blond neighbor-girl your curse would be lifted, and found yourself sorely disappointed at the next moon as you screamed and cried and could not stop the wolf from taking over. It is more logical, of course, that your princess would be Sirius – Sirius who once said he would take down the moon with a slingshot if it would free you.

For a few seconds, you just stare at him, and it is lucky that your opponent turns to see what you are looking at, rather than get to his feet, because if he were to fire a curse at you now you would have no time to duck. It is evident from the confusion on the man's face that he cannot see your lover.

"C'mon," Sirius adds, "hurry up and get rid of him, we've been planning your surprise party for ages and I hate to keep James waiting." There is a pause of less than a second before he realizes aloud: "Oh, shit. I've ruined the surprise."

"Now is really not the best time, mate," you inform him. "I've got – "

"Remus Lupin, who the bloody hell do you think you're talking to?" your wife calls to you with a worry so strong it is almost anger. Rather than answer, you dodge a beam of green light, a near miss whose heat you can feel as it narrowly misses your cheek.

"Aw,fuck," you hear her proclaim; a glance in her direction shows that her wand is nowhere to be seen, and her hair and eyes have changed to their dark ancestral color, and you wonder whether she did it on purpose, or if it was just an instinctive doing in the heat of the moment, and if the fact that she cannot see Sirius but you can means that she is going to survive this after all, and that you will have to leave her alone, which is the last thing you want to do. Your thoughts flow so quickly you can hardly keep track of them.

"Just kick his arse, already," Sirius calls to you, impatient, adjusting his tiara as you feel your wand slip though your fingers and soar in an arc over the battling crowd. Your adversary is still on the ground, gasping for breath, and if only you still had your wand you could finish him and move on to another. He struggles to his feet. Beside you, your wandless wife is playing a bizarre game of dodgeball, jumping over curses, ducking beneath them; she glances over, and, seeing you in a similar situation, lets forth a few more swearwords. You meet her eyes, and several things happen at once, almost too quickly for comprehension.

She leaps away from a light-beam, landing directly in front of you; a second ray of light comes straight toward the pair of you; it hits her chest head-on, and she sways, falls, right into your arms. Sure that this cannot be happening, you sink to the floor with her, because obviously you are having a very bad dream. A thin, wolf-like whine escapes your lips: "Dora… Dora, please…" You hug her to you like you will never let go, and it is only when you look up that you realize that this is real.

She jumps into Sirius's arms, like something out of a Muggle romance movie; her feet are off the floor and he clutches her to him perhaps even more tightly than you are doing. "Nymphie!" he exclaims happily, and she kisses his cheek.

This, of course, leads you to make the only obvious move; dash forwards and forcibly grab the shoulders of her killer, knee him in the groin, then stomp on his ribcage once he has fallen to the ground. You find yourself suddenly illuminated from several directions, as though on a lighted stage, and before you can crumple to the floor you step outside of yourself as though it is the most natural act in the world.

Sirius, having set his cousin back down, is looking straight at you, with that trademark grin that you've missed so much that you can feel a hole inside you refill, and you know you are never going to lose him again.