AN: First and foremost, I must acknowledge the marvelous BrennaM, not only for writing a cracking good story 'A New Threat', but also for allowing me to post this as a prequel to her story. Brenna, you are a muse, an evil and maniacal one, but wonderful none-the-less. Thanks!
Disclaimer: I do not claim any rights to the world of Harry Potter or it's characters. They are the property of JKR, her publishers and Warner Bros. I also borrowed the italicized bit directly from Order of the Phoenix. I cannot take credit for that bit of literary work, I'm not that talented.
Only one couple were still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light. He was laughing at her. "Come on, you can do better than that!" He yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.
The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest.
The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock…
It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved into a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch…
And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind and then fell back into place. (Order of the Phoenix, JKRowling)
The bolt had hit him with deadly accuracy, in the chest, sending shocks of agony licking through his body, paralyzing him with pain as he was knocked through the air. 'Bloody hell, when did she get so damn accurate with her curses? You'd think the time in Azkaban would have affected her aim, because of disuse if not from the insanity' was his first thought. He felt the sensation of freefall, his eyes seeking out the form of his godson, concern over his safety foremost in his mind even now. His cousin's laughter rang in his ears, gloating in her triumph over him. It wasn't a killing curse, but Gods if it didn't hurt enough to make him wish it was.
He felt his back brush against something, so light; it gave way with the weight of his body's momentum. Then he viewed the arch as he passed through it, surprise registering in his mind as the scene changed, something completely different from the Ministry he had previously occupied. And he fell, further than he should have before his body made contact with the ground, voices whispering, "welcome, welcome" before silencing as he passed the stone pillars.
For a moment, his mind flashed back to the events of the past hour. Dumbledore may have had a point after all, wanting him to stay put. He could remember Remus telling him the same as he'd snatched up his wand and robe then following Moody and Kingsley. His only thought had been for Harry, to protect Harry. He'd seen the other children as he stormed through the room with the tank, Ginny and Hermione, unconscious on the floor, Ron, wrestling with one of the brains. He'd checked both girls, verifying that they were still breathing before tearing into the final room where Harry was.
He remembered disabling the death eater who'd engaged him before moving on to Bella. He'd taunted her, underestimating her speed, and then been too slow to dodge the second curse, catching it full power to his torso. Perhaps this wasn't such a smart idea after all, he'd need some recuperating time before he was fit to look after Harry this summer…
He was pulled from his thoughts by agony shooting through his all ready abused flesh. The air was driven from his lungs, and the impact of his landing aggravated the ache he was still experiencing from the curse. One final thought crossed his mind, 'I'm too old for this,' and then his vision faded to black.
Hermione Granger bolted upright in her bed, the ghost of a word unspoken on her lips from a dream that she couldn't remember. She pushed her hair back from her face, fingers tangling in the damp mass. She could smell the tang of sweat on her body and the pillow she was reclining on. Huffing a sigh, she pushed the blankets off her body in order to get up and change her nightclothes. That they were drenched again was her clue that she'd been reliving the fight at the Ministry of Magic.
She shucked her pajamas off, trading them for a fresh nightshirt, her mind wrestling over the events that she wanted to forget, but could not. She had the lingering after-effects from a nightmare, the telltale increase in her heart rate and the hum of adrenaline racing in her blood. Sometimes she could see the purple afterglow of the silent curse flying in her direction from behind her closed lids. And what was worse, in some respects, was that she was stuck at home alone, rattling around the house while her parents went to work, unsure if she would be allowed to join her friends at school for the next term or not.
It had been a horrid way to end the school year, spending the majority of the last few weeks in the infirmary, being smothered by Madam Pomphery's constant attention. Then there was the leaving feast, one that Harry didn't attend. She cornered him in the common room long enough to extract the promise that he would sit with her and Ron on the way home. It was rather sad in the end, not being able to say anything freely because of Luna and Neville, and only being able to give him a quick, tight hug and brushing a light kiss on his cheek before whispering that she would owl him. She'd also given him her number so that he could call, not that she'd expected the Dursley's to let him use the phone, but he'd managed to send Hedwig with a note that he would call around midnight on every Wednesday ensuring his aunt and uncle were asleep. It was an arrangement that worked until he'd been moved to Grimmauld. And for the first three weeks, she was grateful for being tired come Thursday morning. At least she could have a bit of a lie in, after all, what else was she going to do when she wasn't permitted to leave the house unless accompanied by her parents?
Unfortunately, all the spare time left her mulling over her own thoughts. And there were times when she felt guilty for some of the thoughts that she had about Sirius, telling Harry that he was an irresponsible person. Suggesting that if the man thought something was a good idea, that it was grounds to have second thoughts about the notion. She was even reproaching herself for looking down on Harry's godfather for his treatment of Kreature, after all, the house elf had proved duplicitous in the end, and the betrayal had lead to Harry running off to protect the latest parental figure in his life.
It had been a petty thing, to resent someone for a difference of opinion, but there was something about the notion of slavery that had made her balk at the idea behind house elves in the first place. But she had to realize, after examining the facts, that even if it was indentured servitude, most elves were very happy and well treated. She didn't have the heart to pursue freedom for all the elves, but she could revise the S.P.E.W. mission goals to ensure the humane treatment of the beings. Rather than forcing them to endure lifetimes of self inflicted torture, ironing ears or slamming their fingers in doors as punishment for the slightest infractions, they should be given some dignity and pride in their service.
But still, that didn't fix the hole in Harry's life, nor cure the feeling that it just wasn't right that the man was gone. And, if she really thought about it, the whole situation was a terrible injustice, one that she was incapable of fixing, for all that her dad and mum were consummate subscribers to the adage that one could do anything that one put their mind to. But that was not the case this time. She remembered Harry telling her what Remus Lupin had said, that Sirius was gone, that he was dead. And it was unfair! He'd spent twelve years in prison, he'd been hiding for two more years, unable to live his life for nearly half the time he'd been alive. And now he was gone, still listed as a criminal post mortem.
The thought made her want to cry, especially coupled with the notion that it could have been her, or Ron, or Harry that was killed that night…
"You really should sleep mate."
"I don't want to sleep, I keep seeing him, falling through the veil…" the raven haired boy stared at the useless hands in his lap. "Everyone who cares about me ends up dying…"
"That's not true, Hermione and I are still here for you. It's not something that's going to change." The red-head tried to console his friend, but knowing that it wasn't going to pull the sullen boy out of his brooding any more than it had the past nights that he'd said it. It didn't make the sentiment any less true; he would be there for his friend, no matter what…
"It was my fault, if I'd just listened, just learned to block my mind… It could be you next, and that would be my fault too…" He closed his eyes, tears welling up for what seemed like the thousandth time over a man that he barely knew, yet had come to care deeply for.
How was he going to protect his friends from the danger of associating with him?
He stared at the fire, drinking a glass of scotch, trying to forget his pain. He wasn't the last Marauder, there was still one more out there, but he'd sacrifice his lycan life to make sure that he was the last in the end. Even if it meant that he wasted away and died in Azkaban. It would be no worse than he deserved for letting is own friend molder there for twelve years. That slimy rat had much to answer for, and Sirius's absence was another mark against him. He'd betrayed Lily and James, that was for sure, and Remus was positive that he'd heard enough that night two years ago to inform He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named of Sirius's connection with Harry.
He'd find a way to make the rat pay…
Gone… One of the greatest tormenters in his life was gone, dead by his own foolhardy actions. Typical Gryffindor, he charged in when he should have stayed behind, seeking out glory and Dumbledore's benevolent approval. Served the fool right to have such an end, and yet there was something distinctly dissatisfying with it. He'd never admit it, it wasn't as if he admired the man for his dedication to the Potter brat, but there was something to be said for his loyalty for a boy he'd barely known. No, it wasn't admiration, the man had been too reckless to be so highly thought of, but a grudging respect that he'd at least been willing to sacrifice his worthless hide for someone. If he'd been sorted into Slytherin like the rest of his family, things would have been vastly different.
But he hadn't survived this long by considering the 'what ifs' of life, he had to focus on the reality…
She watched the children, trying to gauge the moods. Her heart went out to Harry, for his loss and the tragedy that had befallen him in his life. If he'd let her, she'd have bundled him up in a big squeezing hug and never let go, but he'd chosen to distance himself. And recognizing that he was in a highly taciturn phase where holding close would only push him further away, she turned her attention to the two youngest in her brood. When he was ready, she'd be there, till then, there were still Ron and Ginny to fuss over, Ron who still needed his potions, and Ginny who tried to be strong, but was troubled by nightmares again, stemming from her possession in her second year.
Yes, there was much to be done; the house was still infested with dark objects, not a suitable place to have children in at all, but if Dumbledore thought it was best, who was she to argue. And Buckbeak, the hippogriff was in need of a bath, perhaps she could speak to Dumbledore about Hagrid coming to retrieve the beast. She needed to keep an eye on Harry, in case his scar started hurting, Albus would want to know immediately. There was also a meal to prepare…
Anything to keep her from thinking that she'd never quite believed that Sirius was completely innocent. That he'd been a bad influence on Harry. She had felt that his wild behavior and inappropriate stories would give the boy rash ideas of charging into dangerous situations. She'd never wanted for anything bad to happen to him, but it had. Now she had to live with the regret that she'd wanted to keep the two of them apart for Harry's own safety. And it turned out that the poor boy was safe in some large part because of the very characteristics she'd wanted to shield Harry from.
Yes, the children would be up soon. She really needed to start getting breakfast ready…
He'd spent the summer planning. There was much that needed doing before the children came back to school. Merlin bless Minerva for her fortitude and unwavering support. Without her steady presence, he'd never have been able to handle his headmaster duties and work around Cornelius's futile attempts to placate the Wizarding world. The war was coming, and attempting to ensure the safety of so many muggle borne students and their families had stretched him thin.
He spared a rare moment to linger on Sirius Black and his sacrifice. It was nobly done, and he truly wished that he could have foreseen enough to avoid it. A needless waste, if he hadn't been so blinded by the need to shelter Harry from what was coming, if he'd just told the boy what he'd suspected. He'd learn from that mistake and allow Harry to make decisions for himself. When the boy was ready…
But there was no more time to linger on that situation; the students would be back in a week…
The note was simple, straight forward, and brief. It wasn't signed, but he knew whom it was from.
When you return to school, watch Potter's Mudblood. Keep me informed.
As if he didn't have enough going on with his schoolwork and maintaining control of the Slytherin house. He may only be in his sixth year, but after Flint left, it was easy to wrest control from the seventh years. A few well placed threats, some black mail, not to mention that Crabbe and Goyle were bigger and stronger than most of them, if not lacking in the ability to cobble two thoughts to rub together. Still, he used them as he would without compunction. His father had been proud. He'd have to work hard to keep up with Granger, who had nothing better to do than to obsessively study. His achievements would mean nothing if he came in second to someone so tainted, his father's belief.
So, his father had escaped from Azkaban. Not a big surprise given that the dementors had abandoned their posts. He was likely residing at one of the numerous Malfoy cottages, plotting his plots that would make him the Dark Lord's right hand man. His father didn't like to get his hands dirty though, typically resorting to his near bottomless bank vaults, and not being above using his family to his ends, letting them act as his eyes and ears, and at times his hands as well. He wondered if his mother had received orders and what they would have been. He made a mental note to search her room before she returned that evening. He was merely a pawn, feeding information to ensure that the right side won, he should at least make sure he had all the information he could gather. A Malfoy always ensured that he came out on top…Merlin help his family if his father's schemes didn't going according to plan.
Somehow, he felt that his father's return presaged a game that got a whole lot more dangerous. Damn Potter and his mudblood for putting him in this position in the first place…
AN: Due to my desire to make a correction, I've accidentally deleted the AN and Disclaimer, I have fixed this, and am extremely sorry for the mess…