.

Julia dusted off a tray and carried two cups of tea and a packet of ginger nuts up to the drawing room where she had already left Malfais' fragile book and her own notes on a grubby footstool. She did not have long to wait before Sirius slouched through the ornate doors wearing his usual irritable expression. He flopped on to a sofa, raising a small cloud of dust and dog hairs.

"Can you light a fire in there?" Julia gestured at the dusty hearth before starting to pour the tea.

"Anyone would think it wasn't glorious summer." Sirius waved his wand, and cheerful flames bounced up the chimney.

"It feels more like February in this house." Julia handed him a cup and the packet of biscuits. "Central heating. It's the future."

"Muggle biscuits." Sirius opened the packet with his teeth. "That's a novelty."

"To be be fair," Julia pointed out, "food is a bit of a novelty here."

"True," he acknowledged.

Julia sat down on another couch and rearranged the moth-eaten cushions. Something hard was digging into her hip. "What's this?" She pulled a small, flat object from where it was partly wedged in the upholstery. "Is it some sort of mirror?" She tilted it towards the light. "I think it's broken."

Sirius leaned forward and snatched the object out of her hand. "Yes, it's a mirror. There's nothing wrong with it and it's none of your business." As he spoke he stared at the dark glass as if trying to find something.

Julia wrinkled her lip at him. "No need to get your knickers in a twist."

Sirius slipped the mirror into his jeans pocket and sat back again. "I'm waiting. Go ahead."

Julia drew a deep breath. "Quite honestly," she said, "it's hard to know where to start."

"I find the beginning is usually a good place." Sirius stuffed a whole biscuit into his mouth and crunched.

"But where is the beginning exactly? I don't know. I'm not much of a storyteller myself, but this man was." Gently she unwrapped Malfais' book. "His name was Charon Malfais and he wrote an account of his family history. The snag is, he wrote it in runes." She indicated a fat writing pad, much interrupted with coloured post-it notes. "This is my translation."

Sirius choked on his biscuit, spraying crumbs on the carpet. "You can read runes?"

"Yes I can. A lot of old wizards' legal documents are written in runes so I had to learn. And your eating habits are atrocious."

"My eating habits are nothing to do with you. But I must say I'm impressed. I never mastered runes myself."

"That's because you spent more time farting about at school and getting into trouble than you did working," she said tartly.

"You might have a point," he admitted. "I'd still like to know how you did it."

"Well . . . I started with a writer called Tolkien."

"Ha! Good old Tolkien! He was one of our most popular history professors. Before my time, of course."

"I suppose he was a wizard too?" Julia shook her head. "They get everywhere."

"Well, naturally he was," said Sirius. "How else would he have known all that stuff about dragons and trolls?"

"You mean those stories are true?" Mouth open, she stared at him in disbelief.

"You'll catch a fly in there if you're not careful," Sirius pointed out helpfully.

Julia snapped her mouth shut and opened a smaller, spiral bound notebook. "Some years ago, when I was at university, I translated a number of unrecorded pages from Samuel Pepys' diaries. They had been concealed by some sort of charm, but because it didn't really work on me I was able to read them. The contents were very strange, but didn't mean anything to me until recently. It's quite a long story, are you ready?"

Sirius grinned and stretched out lazily on the shabby couch, leaning his head back and baring his neck. Sometimes the way he moved reminded her of Padfoot and she wondered what he would do if she rubbed his belly. The notion made her tingle and she suspected she was, yet again, blushing.

.

She concentrated on her notes. "The first entry is a very short one from September 1665," she said. "Pepys described receiving a letter from a friend of his." She began to read from the notebook.

"Having had today a letter which much worried me, I did go to see my friend, Malfais, finding the streets as near deserted as ever I did see them: but on every corner, it seemed, a purveyor of cures and preventives peddling false hopes. I found my friend in a most unfortunate state, his young wife having succumbed to this vile plague.

"He and his small daughter remain in good health, but he being so much grieved, I was unable to improve upon his mood. He tells me Nan will have no proper funeral for she was removed to the pit at Aldwych.

"The next entry was made about four months later in January, 1666," said Julia. "This time, Pepys was feeling rather guilty.

"I had much neglected my dear friend Malfais, these last few months, so this afternoon I did visit and found him still in a most unhappy state of mind, dwelling much upon the loss of his wife. Such things he said did concern me very deep. I scarce know if I should give him credence or no, for though he has been my good friend and a man of honour whom I did trust these many years, yet I now suspect his mind to be disordered. He raves of ancient plots, of pestilence contained beneath the hallowed walls of St Wergrim's, and of Fiendfyre and murder. It seems his beloved daughter has been taken against his wish into the house of his uncle at Black Court and he is much distressed.

He said to me: Sam, believe me that my blood be besmirched, foul and hateful. I shall tell all of this evil plan, for secrets such as these must be exposed. I vow I shall see an end to this wickedness as soon as may be, though it mean great destruction."

Julia looked up. "Are you still with me?"

"I'm a wizard, not an idiot," said Sirius.

She laughed, and was pleasantly surprised when Sirius did, too. It was a rusty, barking sound, as if it didn't happen very often.

"All right then," she said, "I'll carry on. There was another entry written in September of the same year, after the Fire of London had already started.

"The fire in the city raging, I had recollection of the conversation which I had with my friend Malfais some several months ago. My meeting with the King and the Duke of York at White-Hall being concluded, I besought a fresh horse and proceeded with great haste to his house. On my arrival found him absent but his servant there, who did give me a packet addressed in strongest terms for my sight only! Having fulfilled his purpose in conveying the package to me, the servant went thence in some hurry to Black Court.

Beset with anxiety for my friend and for the city I repaired home at once.

Upon opening the parcel, I found within—a book; and proceeded to read, though it is written in runes and did take me some considerable time in the deciphering. Such things as I did find there much disturbed me and should not be seen by any other, until mayhap it needs to be. Believing my friend beyond my help and fearing discovery of the book, I made urgently back to the deepest place wherein such objects may be safely stored, and hid it within.

Returned home before supper. And meanwhile being kept informed of the fire's progress by my wife and my maid, I much fear for the city.

"The final entry Pepys made about it was a week later.

"The body of Malfais found in the midst of such destruction, yet with no mark upon him, giving rise to much unwelcome gossip, I enlisted the help of other friends to suppress such rumours. The destruction of the city within the walls almost complete, nothing of Black Court or the abbey of St Wergrim remain above ground. The family are said to be repaired to an estate some few miles north at Islington.

I believe Malfais has carried out his purpose according to his plan. Thus we should see no further outbreak of plague within my lifetime or that of my children or grandchildren. God willing, such things as should be undisturbed remain so till the end of time.

"And that brings us to this." Julia lifted up the larger book. "When I was working in the Ministry archives—"

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "You work in the Ministry?"

"Yes. There's no law against it, you know. Though some people think there should be. Anyway, as I was saying: when I was working in the Ministry archives I found Malfais' book hidden under a pile of old house-elf indentures. As soon as I looked at it, I knew what it was. This is my transcription. I'm going to read it to you.

"My name is Charon Malfais, and I was born to a noble family; an ancient one descended from the royal houses of Lyonesse, Hy-Brasil and Hyperborea and from the fierce hunters in the ancient woods. A family grown great in power, great in wealth; in arrogance; in evil. My father, Scorpius Malfais was from the noble family whose house is at ancient Sarum, and my mother Yersinia is daughter of that Most Noble family of them all—"

"Ah, dear Yersinia," said Sirius brushing biscuit crumbs from his beard. "Now I know why you were so interested in her."

"Shush," said Julia. "Let me read it. Rear'd in the belief of entitlement and superiority, I understood the responsibility brought by greatness. Forgive me, for I knew no better!

"The many times great grandfather of my mother, whose name was Wulfric Black, travelled with his companion Ahrimanius Slytherin in search of glory and knowledge and power. They visited first the frozen mountains and black stone deserts of magma and ice far to the north, then travelled long months to the east; to the lands of golden rivers, temples and dragons. There they found raging a dreadful plague which had near annihilated the populace: for a great many who succumbed to the sickness were dead of it within but a short time.

"But they came to see that though of every ten who caught the sickness, nine would die, yet a small number escaped with but the slightest of maladies. And then also they recognised that it was those of wizard blood for whom the sickness was little more than mild discomfort. Moreover, the effect was such that upon recovery their magic had increased.

"Being of curious disposition and by dint of much experimentation they found that the contagion survived within a mite which could live upon the blood both of vermin and men. Having gained this knowledge, they sought to afflict a number of rats with the disease and placed the rodents upon great trading vessels which sailed thence, far across the oceans to all the corners of the world.

'The pestilence travelled with merchant traders, with armies and pilgrims, with porcelain, spices and silk until it reached the cities of Byzantium, the plains and steppes of the Mongol lands and the seaports of Europe.

'So Wulfric Black and Ahrimanius Slytherin returned to their homeland and in the year of 1352, Wulfric Black built a palace suitable to his power and position, and also did endow a nearby abbey.

He forged new bonds of subjugation for the servant tribes. And he it was who began the weaving of the tapestry which contained therein the lists of fathers and of sons, and deeper still the key to the way of his great plan. It was his intention that the pestilence should be released again at intervals, and each time the wizard race should increase in strength. Those inferior and without the gift of magic should perish and fall forgotten.

When the time came for his body to be interred beneath the abbey walls, he had entombed with him the source of this pestilence. Should it remain undisturbed, it might be forever hidden and without harm; But should it ever be touched by one not of wizard blood it will release once again the great epidemic. A threat that may be averted only by one who holds the memory of blood taken from father to son.

From that time, Ahrimanius Slytherin dedicated his life to the learning and the teaching of magic, and his daughter married the first born son of Wulfric Black. And thus began this line of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, memory held in blood through the unbroken male line, now held by my mother's brother, my uncle Sirius.

But my pride was to be crushed, my foolishness revealed. For to the abhorrence of my mother and my uncle I fell in love with my Annie, my wife! My Nan, so innocent, and not of wizard blood! And at last I realised my error, my hubris! For my race is not that of wizards but of all mankind!

My sweet Nan! Cold now, nameless in a pit. Dead of the plague broadcast by my own ancestor. And my little daughter taken away into my uncle's house.

It being clear to me that such wicked design should not continue, I have laid a plan. Though not of the direct line of sons from Wulfric Black, and it not within my power to destroy that cursed object, yet I will stop this evil for now. Mayhap in distant years a son of the sons of Black will renounce the pride of his forbears, and favouring the family of all mankind destroy that living remnant of Wulfric Black for eternity.

And I say to this son of Black: The key to the way shall be unlocked by the White Goddess and the secret will be held by the childrens' children of my servant. So I also say, but ask the keeper of the secret what is the way to the place of bones and instruction shall be given.

So my soul shall soon pass through the Veil and on the other side I shall see my sweet Nan again.'

Julia closed the book. "That's where it ends. There isn't anything else."

.


.

It was odd that Sirius hadn't noticed before how the room smelt of soot. The chimney couldn't have been swept for at least fifteen years and even magical fires create smoke. What was it she had said? Was this some terrible waking dream? It wouldn't be the first and no doubt it wouldn't be the last. Yet the Muggle woman—Julia—was still there, holding her notebook. And she looked anxious.

"Pinch me," he demanded, holding his arm out to her.

"What?"

"Pinch me. I need to know this isn't the DTs."

She sniffed and obliged, pinching the back of his hand hard.

He winced and sucked at the red mark she had left. He was awake.

A wave of utter exhaustion swept over him. He leaned back on the sofa and put his arm over his eyes. "How many?" He could hardly even hear his own voice, it was so hoarse.

"Pardon?"

He cleared his throat and tried again."How many people died?"

"Please don't ask me that, Sirius."

He put his arm down and looked at her. "You know don't you? How many?"

She swallowed. "The first plague that came from the Far East, is said to have killed about half of the population of Europe. Maybe a hundred million."

"A hundred million people? That can't be right!" He thought about it. One and eight zeros. A hundred. Million. People. Dead. It wasn't his fault though. Was it?

She put her hand on his shoulder; a light, warm touch. He almost turned his face into it.

"Are you all right?"

No one ever asked him that. If he had not, over the years, developed the internal constitution of a Norwegian Ridgeback, Sirius thought he would probably have been sick. He shook her hand off. "No. Not really."

She frowned. "Come on," she said. "We need some more tea. Let's go downstairs"

.


.

He pushed his tea away. He needed a proper drink and retrieved the last of his father's Brobdingnagian brandy from the cupboard at the side of the range. Normally, he would have drunk straight from the bottle, but a secret part of him did not want Julia to see him do that. Instead, he poured two glasses of the amber liquid, slid one across the table to her and drained the other in a single gulp. It seared a comforting trail of pain down to his stomach.

Julia took a tentative sip and looked revolted. "Not for me, thanks."

"Please yourself," he said, and drank hers too. He took hold of the bottle and was about to refill his glass when he glanced at Julia.

She looked … what? Frightened? Of him?

He did not want her around. No, he definitely did not. But the thought that she might be afraid of him created a cold feeling that might have been shame. For once, good sense prevailed and he grudgingly shoved the cork back into the neck of the bottle and put it behind him, out of sight.

"How am I supposed to deal with this?" he demanded.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think."

"That's your trouble," he said, quite unfairly. "You don't think."

"You aren't Wulfric Black, Sirius," she said. "He's been dead for seven hundred years. You're what Malfais wanted. The son of the sons of Black who will one day renounce the pride of his forebears."

"I've never been what anyone wanted."

"That's . . . probably not true. But there's something else you need to know."

"Oh Merlin, no. I can't take any more."

"I'm afraid you'll have to."

"Wait a minute then." He retrieved the brandy bottle and refilled his glass. "Slainte," he lifted the glass mockingly. "Carry on."

.

Julia's lips thinned, but she continued. "About a fortnight ago, an area of ground near Cheapside started to subside and some very old structures were exposed. I believe it's the site of St Wergrim's Abbey—where Wulfric Black is buried. In two weeks they're going to start excavating it. But there is something in the crypt that will start another plague if it's disturbed by Muggles. The Black Death."

The brandy was making his eyes smart and his nose run.

Julia wrapped both hands around her own mug and looked at him over the top of it. "Somehow we've got to find whatever it is and destroy it before some unsuspecting Muggle archaeologist gets hold of it. That's what Albus sent me here for. He seemed to think you would be able to help."

Sirius turned away from her, feeling her gaze on the back of his head. He stared into the fire, letting the flames take on the image of James's face. I need to talk to you, mate, he thought. James grinned and winked.

.

"You need the library," said Sirius.

"Library." Julia's eyes widened in surprise. "You have a library in this house?

He did not answer, but stood, hardly swaying at all, and motioned for her to follow him. There would be no more hand-holding.

The small library was beyond the arch at the back of the first floor landing. Julia traced the inlaid ivory pattern on the heavy doors with a finger. "You like your snakes, don't you?"

"Not personally, no. It seems my ancestors were keen though. They represent eternity. The Ouroboros."

"I know that," said Julia.

The doors were jammed and protested noisily as he forced them open and stood aside in a gentlemanly fashion to allow Julia to enter. Her gasp of awe sounded more like a wail of despair.

Bookcases stretched from the floor to the lofty ceiling, accessed by a worm-eaten library ladder. Julia gave it a doubtful shake and looked as if she was about to say something, but she glanced at him and held her tongue.

He had not been in that room for—what?—twenty years at least. It smelt musty and much of it was coated with dust and mildew.

"I don't suppose you'd like to help me?" she asked.

"I would not." Sirius almost felt sorry for her but she had, after all, brought this on herself. And he needed to be alone.

He went back to the drawing room. It was always cold in there. The tall windows were east-facing and only saw the sun in the early morning. The rest of the time the room was dark and cheerless. He shivered and studied the tapestry. An unbroken line ran from Wulfric Black at the top, to the hole near the bottom where his own name had been burned out. Was that what he was? He stuck his fingers into the hole and made it bigger. That blood he had always been told he should be so proud of—that evil!—ran through his own veins. It explained why he made everything fall apart around him.

Turning his back on the tapestry he walked to the fireplace at the other end of the room. "Incendio." Fire flared up from the grey cinders. Are you there, Prongs? he thought, kneeling down in front of the hearth. What do I do about this? Staring into the dancing flames, he let his mind clear and his vision blur.

At last he saw James, serious but encouraging. Did James think he could do this thing then? James had always known better than he did himself what he was capable of. Then the face changed and it was not James he saw, it was Julia smiling at him, open and trusting. And behind her he saw his parents, dark and angry, always disappointed in him, and off to the side so deep in shadow he was almost invisible, Regulus. Regulus, who Sirius had never taken the time to know.

From the darkness behind them, another figure emerged, moving towards him. A young man, bewigged and dressed in the garb of a seventeenth century nobleman. His face was drawn in grief yet his grey eyes were alight with hope. He held out his hands, palms up, in a gesture of pleading, and opened his mouth to speak. But no sound came.

And then there was just the glow of the embers.

Sirius stayed where he was for some time until the fire was out altogether and his knees were stiff and sore.

.


.

Julia had lost track of time when Sirius astonished her by bringing a mug of tea. He sniggered. "You look delightful!"

"What?" She rubbed some of the dirt off a mirror hanging on the wall and peered into it. "Bloody hell!" she moaned. "I look like a witch. No offence intended."

"None taken. Hold still." He delicately removed a small spider from her eyebrow and set it free on the desk.

Julia felt as if little electric shocks prickled under her skin where he had touched her. To distract herself she pushed a pile of books to the back of the desk and dried the bottom of her cup on her sleeve before putting it down on the scuffed leather surface. "I haven't found anything useful at all. Where did the Black family live before they came here? Some of this material predates the house by centuries."

"All these houses were built in the grounds of a bigger house," said Sirius. "My great-great-however-many-times grandfather must have seen an advantage in selling leaseholds to Muggle developers. I think he liked the camouflage. Hiding in plain sight if you like. We never moved far."

"And before that?

"There's a map somewhere. I remember my father showing me." He investigated one of the shelves. "This is it, I think." He pulled down a large roll of parchment.

Julia unrolled the document and weighed the corners down with books and her mug. She peered closely at it. "It's so faded and stained, I— oh my!" Her eyes focused. "This is incredible. It shows the homes of all the main wizarding families in London in the seventeenth century! Where was the Black residence?"

"Um . . . about here somewhere." Sirius leaned over her. He was so close she could see the individual hairs of his beard, the pores of his skin, a pattern of small dark tattoos that traced the line of corded sinew in his neck.

He placed his index finger on the map, indicating a structure just to the north of the River.

She squinted at the faded writing and let out a sigh of recognition. "Blaec Court! Of course."

"And this is St Wergrim's Abbey, here." He put his finger on another point a little way off. "Let me think." He frowned in concentration for a moment. "Yes. Come with me."

He led her up to the next floor and along a dark corridor. This part of the house seemed even more derelict than the rest. Through open doors she glimpsed a disused bathroom, a sitting room with furniture swathed in covers, a bedroom with a bare four poster bed. This passageway, like the others, was hung with pictures and at the end was a grandfather clock. She liked clocks and went to look at it more closely.

Set into the clock face were two eyes. Idly she pulled the pendulum to one side and let go. It started to tick, and with each tick and swing of the pendulum the eyes flicked disturbingly from one side to the other. She laughed.

"For Merlin's sake!" Sirius exclaimed. "Have you lost your mind? For a supposedly intelligent woman you can be a complete twit. This house is full of things that could kill you, and I'm not exaggerating. You're lucky the clock's been decommissioned. Until a few months ago it fired nine inch bolts at anyone who got too close. I'd like to see you neutralise one of those."

"Ouch. Sorry," she said sheepishly.

"This is what I wanted to show you." He was standing in front of a picture as dark and grimy as all the rest. "Black Court." He summoned a light with his wand. The painting was a stylised late medieval representation of an immensely grand house with towers at all four corners.

"Gosh," said Julia, "they did want people to know how rich they were, didn't they? What about this?" She gestured to another smaller frame next to it.

"That's the abbey."

Carefully she blew the dust and cobwebs away from the faded charcoal drawing. "And who is that?" She pointed at a portrait of a severe-looking woman in a dark, high-waisted robe and wimple. The woman held a snake in each hand, the tail of each held in the mouth of the other so that they formed an unbroken circle.

"That's Saint Wergrim."

Fascinated, Julia studied it closely. "Saint Wergrim isn't in the lexicon of Muggle saints, I looked her up. What's she supposed to have done?"

"According to legend she could speak to snakes and could also take the form of one. It is said that she passed beyond the Veil in her serpent form and returned with the soul of a child of the family. I'm not surprised Muggles haven't heard of her."

"A lot of our saints seem to have talked to animals," said Julia. "Controlled the weather, made prophecies, fought dragons and and suchlike. I don't suppose we'd have batted an eyelid. But Saint Jude might be more appropriate in the circumstances."

"Why's that?"

"Because he's the patron saint of desperate cases and lost causes?"

Sirius did not reply.

.


.

They retired to the kitchen, and while Julia made some sandwiches Sirius relit the stove and made a fresh pot of tea. For a few minutes he secretly enjoyed the domestic companionship.

Between bites of cheese and pickle sandwich, Julia mused on the puzzles they had to unravel, and the enigma of the tapestry. "I must be getting nearer, Sirius. I've just got to be! But there's so much I don't understand. There's something in the tapestry, I'm sure of it. But I can't see anything out of place." She sighed. "I'll just have to keep trying. Malfais has told us where to look, if we can only work it out."

But Sirius was not really paying attention. He wondered how she could possibly know he was a lost cause. And he was looking forward to the quiet night-time, when Padfoot could rest his head on her stomach again and feel her sensitive fingers in his coat.

.