Esto Perpetua
Chapter 9 – Hopes And Hints
For six days, Sirius lay unconscious, alternating between deep, peaceful slumber, and that strange half reality between sleep and wakefulness. At these times, his eyelids, or legs and arms would twitch, or he would mumble feverishly under his breath. James did not move from his room at all – and was always kept company by either one of his parents or a house elf – and was ready at the snap of a finger with water, sleeping potion or the medicine the Healer had recommended. James either sat by Sirius' bed, or tramped in circles around the room. He spoke to nobody – except in a letter he sent to Remus and Peter the morning after Sirius arrived – Remus had replied, Peter's letter returned, unopened – took no food except the soup his mother forced down his throat, muttered to himself, threw filthy looks out of the window in the direction of London, and generally exhibited all the signs of impending madness.
On the seventh day, Sirius awoke.
James, who'd fallen asleep with his face in his friend's blanket, felt someone prodding him on the arm, and, dragging himself back from the throes of an unpleasant dream, opened his eyes blearily to find Sirius looking at him.
A Sirius that didn't look like the Sirius James knew. This one was gaunt, flushed, swathed in bandages, and with great, dark circles under dull grey eyes that gave him a good likeness to the spectral figures that haunt the marshes of Britain.
For a moment, he couldn't comprehend the sight.
"Aaargh!" He yelped and jumped back, still befuddled from sleep.
"Prongs," the spectre croaked. "Water."
Once his heart rate had dropped to normal levels, and he made sure he wasn't going to be murdered by a bog-ghost, James poured a glass of water from the jug on the bedside cabinet and handed it to Sirius, who lapped it up thirstily, dog-like. The familiar motion warmed James' heart and brought a smile to his face. He looked up and was delighted to find a matching smile on Sirius' face, too.
When Sirius drained the glass, James refilled it, and that too, was gone in a fraction of a second. Once he'd returned the glass to James, Sirius cast his gaze sideways, then looked at him hesitantly, as if about to speak.
James nodded encouragingly and leaned in close to hear this most important disclosure.
"James," Sirius whispered seriously – James was relieved to discover that the water had soothed his throat and his voice didn't sound as raspy as before – "you screamed just then just like a little girl."
Seconds passed, and all James could do was stare.
Then his face twisted in surprise and he gave an almighty snort. He raised his hand to cuff Sirius lightly on the arm, but seeing a red stain on one of the bandages there, changed his mind and stuck his tongue out instead.
"Padfoot, you idiot!" He exclaimed. "And here I thought you really were going to say something important!"
His best friend smiled, though lines of pain appeared at the end of his lips. "You have to admit, Prongs," he said, "it's the truth."
"You gave me a shock, you git," James scolded, but the smile still stayed on his face. "Waking me up like that."
"Ah well." Sirius chuckled and stretched gingerly, looking round the room with evident fondness. "It's good to be home." He sat halfway up on his pillows, and ran an experimental hand over his ribs and middle and then winced. "Who wrapped me up like a barrel?"
"Cheerful this morning, aren't you?" James handed Sirius two potions, which he drank with a disgusted expression and a great deal of spluttering. "How do you feel, anyway?"
"Like a bus ran me over," Sirius admitted. "Or I got hit by a Cruciatus. Same difference."
James gave him a look, and Sirius quickly sobered. "I'm all right," he said at last. "Better than all right, now I'm here." He looked around again. "Where's my wand, by the way? And my mokeskin pouch? I've got something in there that I want to show you."
"In the bedside drawer. It'll keep for a while, until you're better. And the Healer was the one who wrapped you up like a barrel." James answered the question he had ignored before. "He's also the one who gave me instructions to pour that nasty stuff down your throat at half hourly intervals."
Sirius scrunched up his nose and made a gagging motion. "Tastes like wet socks covered in mustard. No chance of letting me off it for a while?"
"How do you know what wet socks tastes like? And no, I'm certainly not letting you off. You've got another one coming in…exactly fifteen minutes, so prepare yourself."
"You should know what wet socks taste like too, Prongs. Remember that time with Wilkes" –
"Oh yeah. Yeah, and the rusted crusted mustard…" James grinned reminiscently. "Those were good times."
"Anyway," said Sirius, gingerly moving himself to a more comfortable position among the pillows, "Thanks for your unswerving devotion in aiding my recovery. I assure you, it's very much appreciated. Even those poisons you pretend are potions."
James smiled. He knew that Sirius wasn't joking.
"Where are Aunt Dorea and Uncle Charlus?" Sirius asked presently.
"They had to go out to Uncle Cyrus'. He's been taken ill again. They'll be back tonight. They didn't want to go, with you still unwell, but I managed to persuade them that you'll be all right with only me – and Tessie and Tubby – for supervisors until they get back." James smiled wryly. "I rather think they trust Tessie and Tubby more than me, though."
The corners of Sirius' lips twitched, but he sobered quickly. "I'm sorry, Prongs," he said quietly. "I'm giving you and your parents so much trouble. I wouldn't have bothered you with this so late at night…but I didn't know where else to go…"
"Hey now." James gripped his best friend's arm lightly, and stopped him speaking any further. "You did the right thing, coming here. We're your family. We're glad to have you here, mate. Really." He cleared his throat and patted Sirius' shoulder clumsily. "You belong here."
Sirius said not a word, but just smiled sadly.
Casting his mind about for a change of subject, James glanced at his watch. "Time for the next poison," he said lightly, and handed the cup to Sirius, who choked it down and then put a hand to his throat, evidently trying not to sick up. He sent James a revolted look, and James raised an eyebrow in return.
"The Healer put a Monitoring charm on you, mate," James said. "He wanted us to let him know when you woke; he wants to come and have a talk with you." He leaned over and removed a paper band from Sirius' right wrist, and tapped it with his wand. It turned blue, and he flung it into the fire, along with a handful of Floo powder. They both watched as the band was whisked away in a whirl of emerald flames.
"There, the Healer will be along shortly. Maybe half an hour or so," James said.
He hesitated, wondering how best to broach the subject he had in mind, then decided to take the plunge. "Before the Healer comes, Padfoot…I want to know – if you feel up to telling me – what happened?"
Sirius' eyes flickered away from James for a second, then returned and held his gaze steadily. "I'm not ready. I don't think I'll ever be," he said frankly. "But I will tell you. I owe you the truth."
And Sirius took a deep breath, steeled himself, and told James everything.
James had gathered the gist of the incident when Sirius was being treated, but his eyes still widened in horror as Sirius' story progressed, and often he had to stop and hand his friend a glass of water when his voice broke.
"So…that's it," Sirius finished. "And here I am, a runaway." His eyes filled with tears, and his chin began to quiver, and he turned away for a moment. James pretended to notice nothing amiss, and he knew that Sirius was grateful for that.
"You did the right thing," James told his friend, once he'd recovered himself a bit. "You had to get away. They'd have killed you, sooner or later."
Sirius shrugged painfully. "Oh I know that – and that doesn't worry me nearly as much as Reg." His eyes turned haunted, the ring of grey around his pupils darkening until they almost seemed to shoot sparks, so dark that James could no longer see his own reflection in them. "I wish he'd have come, Jamie. I wish I'd done something for him. I wish I'd taken him by the throat and dragged him here."
"It's not your fault, Padfoot. You did all you could. It was his choice to stay behind."
"Was it, though? I sometimes feel as if I – I've pushed him aside…been too caught up with my own life to see how he's doing…"
"Nonsense, Padfoot. You were – are a good brother, despite the very obvious differences between you two."
"Sometimes I don't understand him. He says it's us against them – as if they were any threat to us – and then when I ask, he says he doesn't want to kill anyone. It's like trying to piece together a never ending puzzle." And Sirius did look suitably puzzled.
"I'm sure he'll be gratified to hear that," James said lightly. "Adds to his Slytherin mystique and all that." He squeezed Sirius' arm lightly when the boy showed no signs of cheering up. "He's young yet, Pads. His heart's in the right place, though, and that's the important thing."
Sirius sighed and looked away. His eyes brightened when they landed on his owl Evadne, who was sharing a perch with James' own owl Marta. He snapped his fingers, and she flew down, landed on his arm and nipped his thumb affectionately. "When did she get here?" He asked James.
"About two days after you did. I was a bit worried when she got late, but she turned up looking all right."
"Heh. Must've been having too much fun with Remus' old bird. He's been overfeeding you by the looks of it. You look fat, old girl," he added to Evadne. She hooted indignantly and flew off again to join Marta, and he laughed.
"Do you want to do anything about your parents?" James asked, watching Sirius closely. "You're a minor – technically – and what they did is certainly classed as child abuse."
"I doubt we can do anything about it, Prongs," Sirius answered. "Even if I did file action, and succeed in taking them to court, the case would just be thrown out." He smiled bitterly. "Ye Olde Black name holds too much power. I'd love to get Reggie out of there if I could, though."
"We can still speak to Dad about it and see what he can do. And you can definitely do something about Bellatrix and that Lestrange. Mum took an imprint of her signature off your wound, and Dad can get a warrant in for her."
"All right," Sirius agreed. "Uncle Charlus and the senior Aurors might be able to catch them, but if the Ministry decide to send any minions they'll be done for." He chuckled humourlessly. "Rodolphus is an idiot, but I pity the man who comes up against Bella."
"You did, and hammered her, too," James pointed out.
A brief smile flitted across Sirius' face. "Ah, Prongs, but I'm a genius," he said solemnly. "A man cut from a cloth no other" –
"Yes, yes, save me the soliloquy," James broke in, amused. He looked at his watch. "Have this last potion here. Healer McKinnon should be here in a few minutes." He chuckled under his breath when he noticed Sirius' ears prick up at the name.
"McKinnon?" Sirius asked in a peculiar tone. His nose scrunched up. "Do I know him?"
"I don't think so. He's about ten years older than us – would've left Hogwarts before we got there. He was Mum's apprentice the final year before she retired from St. Mungo's."
"Ah. The name is…er – a bit familiar."
"Of course, genius. Remember Marlene? In our year? She's a McKinnon." James lips twitched when the tip of Sirius' nose went pink.
"Oh. No relation to Marlene, is he?" Sirius' tone was very casual, very nonchalant, and James hid a grin.
"Yeah, he is, now that you asked. He's her older brother."
Sirius groaned.
Remus pulled his jumper snugly around himself, sniffed loudly, and peered down at the parchment spread out in front of him on the dining table. The many rooms, corridors and spaces of Hogwarts castle were drawn neatly and clearly with correct dimensions – mapped out painstakingly over many weeks by Sirius and himself, using the data gathered by Wormtail on his nightly sojourns. Piles of notes about secret passages, student demographics, mealtimes, Filch's cleaning schedules and other bits and bobs were written in the margins in James' tidy hand. The Hogwarts grounds and Quidditch pitch were still incomplete. That would be a task for next term.
Pushing his hair away from his eyes, Remus traced the outline of the Great Hall with his wand. It glowed faintly for a second, but nothing happened. Remus scowled, then sighed with frustration.
"What's that you've got there, son?" A voice enquired, and a hand descended on his shoulder and Remus looked up to find both his father and mother looking over his shoulder interestedly.
"Just a map, Dad," he answered, voice still laced with irritation.
"Not going well, I take it? Another of your little research projects?"
Remus groaned. "Not at all well. It's not exactly research this time. We're hoping to put it to – er, more practical use as well." He grinned lopsidedly, then winced when his cheek muscles stretched and ached.
Mama and Dad both chuckled.
Dad leaned over the map, and studied it carefully. "Ah, Hogwarts. Hmm. You youngsters have some good ideas these days. I'd never have thought of drawing up a map – not that we had the same use for it that you do" –
"Dad!" Remus exclaimed, laughingly.
"You've even got the secret passages down, I see. We found a fair few in our day too, but not as many as you have. Oh look" – and Dad pointed to a spot on the third floor – "you've missed one here. There's a passage leading to Hogsmeade behind the statue of the one-eyed witch with the hump just about here."
"Lyall! Don't encourage him!" Mama exclaimed, but her eyes were twinkling.
"Oh hush dear, you're just as bad," Dad retorted, and nudged her elbow good-naturedly.
Remus looked at his father in astonishment. He knew that both his parents had an impish sense of humour, but he'd never have guessed that Dad would know a secret way out of Hogwarts that he didn't.
"How did you know that was there?" He asked, scribbling a note on the margin. "And where in Hogsmeade does it lead to?"
"It was in Fifth year, as I remember. We were out after curfew, and running from the wrath of Apollyon Pringle, the caretaker at that time. We desperately needed somewhere to hide, and my friend Joseph tripped over the statue. As to where in Hogsmeade it leads, that's for you to find out, my boy. I'm not telling you how to get it open, either" – Dad forestalled Remus' next question – "just don't let Professor McGonagall catch you at it."
Remus and Mama both laughed.
"Any more secret passages or chambers you'd care to tell me about, Dad?"
"Ah, no. Where's the fun in that? You have to find out these things for yourself."
"Please, Dad," Remus begged, "can't you give me at least a hint to how the witch statue opens?"
"Sorry son. But no." Dad chuckled when Remus groaned.
"Now, I remember your Aunty Faith and I found a secret passage too, when we were in school in Cardiff," Mama broke in. Remus and Dad both pricked up their ears.
"You never told us!" Remus exclaimed.
"It must have slipped my mind," Mama said. "Well, it was just an empty sort of cubby hole, really, just behind the staff room. You'd get to it through a cupboard in the staff room. It had a false back – a sliding panel of sorts." She frowned slightly, trying to recall. "There wasn't a handle or such that you'd easily get hold of. You'd just have to scrabble about there, and hope you'd be lucky to hit on the right spot."
"A false back – a sliding panel – does it jog your memory, Dad?" Remus looked up hopefully, but Dad just shook his head, grinning.
"Maybe…an incantation, then," Remus mused. "A word – a spell to get it to open…but that alone wouldn't be secure enough, if I know Hogwarts." He drummed his fingers against the parchment. "A combination of the two might work. An incantation and a moving panel – ah yes! – Yes, Dad, I see that flicker in your eyes! That's the answer, isn't it?"
"That'll be telling," said Dad, but the twinkle in his eye was unmistakeable.
Dad leaned over for another look. "What are you trying to do with this today?"
"Trying to get it to show people moving."
"Have you entered the anthropometric data yet?"
"I did, but only for one or two people."
"Hmm. Did you try a Tracking spell?"
"I did," Remus replied mournfully, "but nothing's happening. I even tried a modified Protean charm…"
"That won't work on monitoring human transport patterns, son." Dad tapped the map with his finger. "The anthropometric data you entered is bound to the parchment, and changes are made on the map after tracking the movements made by the subject. Try to complete the map first, then make some separate representations of your other data. Then combine them together, and you may get your moving map."
Remus pulled at the threadbare sleeve of his jumper, thinking. "If the information bound to the paper works late, or in this case doesn't work at all…either data should be entered for more than just one person, or we have to find a way to coordinate the map and the human movements simultaneously."
Dad smiled briefly, looking impressed. "Well done, Remus. You're on the right track, there. What do you think the next step is?"
"Um…unique data has to be fed in first, but that's too cumbersome to do by hand. A modified Duplication charm will do it. Then…a spell that senses human movement and can transmit it to the parchment instantaneously." Remus made a face. "I haven't discovered a spell for that yet."
"Have you heard of the Sentient charm, son?"
Remus shook his head. The movement set off pinpricks of pain behind his eyelids, and made his nose water. He reached for his handkerchief, blew his nose loudly, and returned his attention back to his father.
"Here," Dad said, plucking the quill out of Remus' fingers and scribbling next to James' notes, "try that one…and these other two spells as well. Dead useful when I was working with non-spirituous beings. Twist it a bit, and you could get something for spirits and ghosts too."
"I'll do that. Thanks, Dad. We need some more information about the Slytherin common room and dormitories first anyway, and the staff rooms, too. Peter could probably get it for us. He's good at sneaking around undetected."
"Look you, Remus," Mama said, smoothing the knitted material over his shoulder, "I'm happy you're having such a good time at school – truly I am – but don't do anything dangerous, all right? Secret passages and night time gallivanting are all very well, but if anyone should find out…anyone at all" –
"It's all right, Mama. I know how to keep safe. We take good precautions and everything," Remus reassured his mother. "Nobody will find out anything." Like the fact that my friends are illegal Animagi and we all go running around the school and the village at every full moon. His stomach twisted when he lied to his mother, and he did his best to squash the pangs of guilt. It wasn't really a lie, he rationalised. We do take good precautions.
Mama sighed, and set down a goblet of potion and a cup of tea in front of him. "I do hope you know what you're doing, son," she told him. "Here's your medicine. Are you still cold? This jumper is getting rattier than ever, you must get a new one soon."
"Not too cold anymore, Mama." Another lie. He was cold. He always was, just after a full moon, even in the middle of summer. But he hated to worry his parents any more than he had to, and see the wrinkles on his mother's still-youthful face grow day by day. "I like this jumper. It's comfortable." He downed the potion, grimaced, and thankfully took up the cup of steaming, flavourful tea.
He looked up in time to see Mama staring at him apprehensively. Instantly wary, he held her gaze. She looked away first, then swallowed and prepared to speak.
"There's a new treatment option we've looking into," Mama said quietly. Dad, who'd been looking intently at the map thus far, looked up too.
Remus stiffened. Then he sighed and leaned his head against the chair back, letting his gaze rest on the ceiling. No, not now. Not another one.
"We've been through this," Remus said wearily. "We've tried so many of these options, but nothing works. We're just wasting our money."
"Hush you!" Mama snapped, suddenly sounding angry. Remus started in surprise, and spilled scalding tea on his jumper. "Money spent on you is never wasted, Remus. Don't ever think that. There's nothing more important to us than your health."
Remus turned away from his parents, and fixed his eyes on the great Cambrian Mountains visible through the dining room windows. They'd had this conversation countless times in the past twelve years, ever since he was bitten, but Mama and Dad never stopped looking for a cure, however much he told them to stop. It was pointless. He would always be a werewolf. No cutting-edge procedure or treatment could ever change that. This curse was the cross he had to bear.
When it became obvious that Remus would not say anything more, Dad spoke up. "Listen son," he said gently, "this Healer – a doctor, they call him – Dr. Hoffman, is reported to get very successful results with almost all his patients. Your mother and I spoke to him ourselves over the fetterlone – er, telephone. He's agreed to see you already."
"You spoke to him without asking me first?"
"We got a chance to speak to him immediately, so we took it." Mama's voice was bordering on a plea. "We didn't go behind your back, Remus."
"How did you hear about him?" He should have stopped there, but his fast-rising ire got the better of him and he drove on recklessly. "Not another shaman from the village newspaper? I seem to remember – that last one in Durban" –
"Remus!" Mama sounded stung, and Remus felt a pang of guilt in his gut. "He cured a friend's daughter of Leukaemia," Mama continued softly. "She gave us his details."
Remus kept his eyes on the mountains. "You called him doctor. Is he a Muggle then?"
"He's a wizard. He prefers to call himself a doctor because he treats both Muggles and wizardkind for diseases of the blood."
"Diseases of the blood?"
"Lycanthropy, dragon pox... blood infections."
Dad paused, as if gathering up his courage. "The procedure is a bit…rough. But as I said, the results are good. And he works in the Alps – the air is very suitable for convalescence. And you and Mama both deserve a holiday."
"I'm no stranger to pain, Dad," Remus said quietly. "It doesn't bother me." He regretted his words immediately, as he saw his father's face contract, out of the corner of his eye. Yet, he made no movement to amend his statement.
"Do we have enough funds for this?"
"Yes we do. I've found us some low cost accommodation. We'll take an international Portkey there and back."
"How long will we stay there?"
"One week, or perhaps a fortnight, depending on how the treatment goes."
There is no stopping them, is there? He rebuked himself immediately. They do it because they love me. I can do this simple thing and make them happy. But still, he did not want to go.
At long last, Remus looked away from the window. "All right," he said. "I'll come, just this once. If it doesn't work this time, we won't try again." He looked at his parents. "Promise me, no more."
Dad swallowed. "I promise you," he said. "This is the last time."
