Esto Perpetua

Chapter 10 – Conundrums And Conversations

"Moony isn't well enough," James said, leading Peter into the sun room on the ground floor. "He says he's all right, and he tried to come, but his mum wouldn't let him. I don't blame her – he looks more drawn out than I've ever seen him since we became Animagi."

"You met him? I thought you wrote to him?"

"I did, but I Flooed him this morning too, when he said he couldn't come."

"Oh."

James hadn't Flooed Peter. He'd written three days ago, saying that he'd tried to contact Peter earlier, but hadn't been able to get through, that Sirius had been disowned by the Blacks and was henceforth a permanent fixture in the Potter family. He'd also said that Sirius had been injured rather badly, but was now recovering, and was looking forward to a visit from the Marauders, and would Peter like to come and stay for a week? He had also hinted that there was something important to be discussed. Peter had replied at once to say of course he would, but he couldn't deny that he'd have liked to have been Flooed too.

"You didn't Floo me," Peter said, tapping his wand against the panel on the sun room door, to enable the wards to recognise him.

"You weren't ill," James pointed out, and Peter had to concur. He did wonder whether James – or Sirius, or Remus – would have Flooed him if he had been ill, but then reproached himself immediately. They probably would; after all, they had visited him the few times he'd had to stay in the Hospital Wing, and James and Remus had come to see him during the summer holidays after Third year – Sirius had been away with his family, or that was what he'd said – when Peter was convalescing from a nasty case of Spattergroit. But still, there had been that one time when a Kneazle bite turned infectious…nobody had come to see him then…

"Wormtail!"

A hoarse exclamation broke Peter out of his morose musings, and he turned to find Sirius ensconced on the long, low couch near the open French windows. Sirius looked more haggard than Peter had ever seen him; there were lines across his forehead and around his eyes, he was thinner than he had been at the end of last term, and one arm was in a plaster cast. A bulky bandage peeked out from under his loose shirt when he rose to greet Peter, and he also had a pronounced limp.

"Nice to see you, mate," Sirius beamed, and Peter couldn't help noticing, that in spite of the pallor of his skin, there was a strange vigour in his expression. Peter didn't quite know how to describe it; the upward tilt to Sirius' lips when he smiled in greeting, the enthusiasm with which he pumped his friend's hand. Free was the word, he thought.

"Glad to see you got away," Peter said, half in jest, when they had all sat down again.

"Yes. Yes, I did," Sirius smiled, but it was strained, and he quickly looked away. Peter hesitated, seeing Sirius' eyes clouding over, but he was too eager for details to heed it for long.

"What happened?" Peter pressed.

Sirius shrugged. "We had a fight. Father decreed that I should join old Voldyfart, Bella dearest tried to recruit me, and when I refused, she threw a hissy fit and Crucioed me into next week. I also afforded Mother the unalloyed pleasure of blasting me off the family tree. Got here as soon as I could." His smile dropped. "Didn't think I'd make it at one point, to be frank."

Peter smiled sympathetically. Bellatrix did have a devil of a temper, but he did think that Sirius was exaggerating just a little bit. He was here after all, relatively whole, so it couldn't have been as bad as all that.

"What about your injuries?" Peter continued. His eyes found the bandage around Sirius' middle. "Did Bellatrix try to stab you or something?"

"A Cleaving curse. And some nerve damage owing to the torture. That's about the worst of it, but Mrs. – I mean Aunt Dorea and Uncle Charlus healed me right up."

"What's going to happen to you then, now you've been disowned? How are you going to get money and all that?"

"I've got a little bit on me. What I'll do when that's over is beyond me."

James, who had been silent until now, perked up at this and smacked Sirius gently on the arm. "I told you," he said with mock severity, "you don't have to worry about all that. Mum and Dad will take care of it. After all, you're a Potter now."

Ah, so that was it. Of course, the Potters would take care of all expenses for Sirius. They were what Dad called Old Money – not in the Sacred Twenty-Eight anymore, but they'd never had any use for bloodlines anyway – with stocked vaults buried deep inside Gringotts, and this vast estate in Yorkshire, which was several centuries old. His own family could not afford to look after an extra person with such ease, even if it was his very best friend. Peter lived with his parents and two Squib sisters in a small townhouse in Cheapside. They were not hard up for funds exactly, but there was certainly not enough money to spend on anyone who wasn't family.

"What'll your father do, about the heirship? Will they try to get you back?"

"Hah, nice joke. I don't think Father will, and Mother certainly won't." Sirius' lip curled. "Reg will be the lucky – or unlucky – recipient."

"You think he'll make a good heir?"

"Oh yeah, much better than me. He's hell bent on 'doing his duty', and knows all the family ropes."

Peter doubted whether Regulus would make a better heir than Sirius. Sure, he was everything that Sirius said, but in the end, he wasn't as talented, powerful, or charming as his older brother. And the Blacks wielded a lot of power in the Wizarding world. If it came down to a question of family loyalties, Sirius was much better off trying to regain his heirship than leeching off the Potters.

"Didn't Regulus try to stop you from leaving?"

Sirius scowled. "He did, but Mother wasn't having any of it."

"Maybe he didn't want you to stay, really," Peter persisted. "I mean – obviously, like you said, he's better acquainted with the ways of your family…"

"I told you, he did ask me to stay. And I – in fact, I asked him to come with me."

"He said no, of course. With you gone, he gets all the goods –"

"Stop it, Peter!" Sirius snapped. "Reg, he isn't like that."

"How do you know? You'd do well to try and get back your due, without leaving it all to a younger brother."

"I said, stop it!"

"But think of all the influence –"

"Wormtail!" At James' strident bark, Peter fell quiet.

An awkward silence followed. James was glaring at Peter, brow furrowed. Sirius was staring outside, at the far end of the garden, where the conservatory was in full summer bloom. Peter himself twitched, twiddled his thumbs and looked at the floor. He didn't see why Sirius and James were so angry with him. What he said to Sirius was true, after all. In the current political climate, Sirius was doing himself a disservice by distancing himself so fully from his family. Peter's friends were short with him now, but they'd see that he was right later.

So Peter didn't apologise, and kept his eyes fixed firmly on the carpet.

At last, in an obvious effort to change the subject, James reached out a long arm and took up a small box that lay on the table before them.

"This is what we wanted to discuss," James said, handing the box to Peter. "Sirius' Uncle Alphard brought it from the tropics and gave it to him, and we don't know a blessed thing more."

"You're leaving the best part out, Prongs," Sirius said, turning back to them at last. He looked at Peter. "I didn't know what the box was at first," he said, "it was wrapped in paper, and I kept it in my mokeskin pouch. When Bella Crucioed me, I looked for my wand in my pocket, and my fingers brushed against it." He paused, looking awkward.

Peter glanced up from the box. "Well?" He asked. "What happened?"

Sirius looked thoughtful. "Well, that's the thing," he said softly, "I'm not quite sure. When my fingers touched the top of the box, a sort of cooling stream ran up my arm from the place it touched, into my head, and helped clear my mind a little."

"A cooling stream? Like water?"

"Not exactly. It wasn't wet, or at least, I didn't feel any dampness. It was an internal flow of something that went along the arteries."

"And you said it cleared your head, Padfoot?" James asked. "Did your head feel cold, too?"

"My head didn't feel cold, but that fuzzy feeling reduced quite a bit. And I was in quite a lot of pain, and some of that went away as well. Not entirely, of course, but enough to let me get the better of Bella."

"Could it contain a pain relieving potion?" Peter asked, tapping the lid of the box gently.

"Don't think so," James answered. "Those are not permeable by any external material – certainly not wood – that's why they have to be administered directly by mouth."

He took the box out of Peter's hands and sniffed it. "There's a funny smell…rather nice, kind of feminine…" his eyes glazed over, and Peter's gaze met Sirius', and they both chuckled.

"A smell?" Peter enquired at last, taking the box back from James and sniffing it too. At once, a very familiar scent met his nose; sweet, woody and a tad spicy. It reminded him of candles and soft lights and incense and…well –

"Oh, it's just Sandalwood," he said, setting the box down on the table.

Sirius and James stared. "What?" James asked, nonplussed.

"Sandalwood," Peter repeated.

"How d'you know that?" Sirius demanded. "And what is it?"

Peter frowned. "It's a type of wood," he said shortly. Obviously. "It's used in Divination as a stimulant to enhance the senses. Professor Imago swears by it for crystal-gazing and fire omens."

"I can understand stimulating the senses," James said, nose scrunched up in thought. "That's why your mind cleared, Padfoot. But what about pain relief?" He looked expectantly at Peter.

"Don't know if it has a direct effect on pain, but Sandalwood fumes are supposed to give the inhaler strength and peace and" – Peter closed his eyes, trying to recall Professor Imago's exact words – "allow the user to transcend their darker desires and rise above them."

"So technically, a buffer against dark magic."

Sirius chuckled. "Trust Uncle Alphard to slip me something like that when I need it most, without telling me what it is." He smiled at Peter. "Thanks for that, Wormtail. We'd have been lost without you."

A small thrill of pride ran up Peter's spine at his friend's words. It wasn't often that he had any useful academic contribution to make to a discussion. Hoping to help even further, he picked up the box again, and examined its exterior closely.

"There are some runes on it," he said. He squinted, trying to make them out.

"They're not ones I recognise," James said. "Not Latin, or Hellenic."

"They're probably Sanskrit or Pali or whatever it is they use in those parts," Sirius added. "Best ask Moony. He'll probably know."

Of course. Because Moony knows everything, ever. Peter scowled, and was about to throw down the box in disgust, when a familiar symbol caught his eye.

"Here's a swastika!" He exclaimed, pointing at the mark, which was partially obliterated under a coating of varnish. "It's for luck," he explained, seeing his friend's puzzled faces. "Professor Imago hangs it over all North-facing windows."

Sirius coughed violently to disguise a snort. Peter sent him a reproachful look. When he recovered himself sufficiently, he asked: "Anything else you know?"

"Well…here's jeeva – that's life, and er – athma, that's… soul, I think" – Peter paused as faint sounds of a commotion drifted towards them from the east wing. They all looked towards the door, but couldn't make out the voices. Sirius' ears and nose twitched.

The sounds died down and Peter went on. "Hang on, there's something else too, oh – hath pana athma – so…seven…life soul? That can't be right, Professor Imago says" –

He was cut off as pounding footsteps sounded outside, and the door was wrenched open. Mr. Potter stood there, looking unusually grave.

"I have to go, boys," Mr. Potter said. "There's a Death Eater attack in Cokeworth." His eyes found James and Sirius. "Stay here with your mother, and keep an eye on the wards. I'll be back as soon as possible."

As soon as the door shut behind Mr. Potter, Peter continued, "Professor Imago says" – only to be interrupted – again – by Sirius' harsh, agitated tones.

"Prongs? Prongs? What's the matter? James!?"

Peter turned to look, annoyed.

James' face was deathly pale.

"Prongs? What's the matter?" Sirius tried again.

James eyes flickered, then looked directly at Sirius. "Lily lives in Cokeworth."