Disclaimer: Still not an owner of the HP verse.
Runaway
By DracoNunquamDormiens
In this chapter: Coop and Sirius emerge from the Pensieve, the Death Eaters emerge from The Room. Narcissa gets a job she doesn't want, Regulus refuses a job he ought to want, and Snape giddily snatches up a job that isn't wanted by anyone else, Dumbledore breaks a promise, and James solves a riddle, while in other news, the Potters get a visit.
Part Ten: Vim Vita Absorbet
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"Sit down, all of you." James obeyed, and by the scraping of the chairs to either side of him, he knew Remus and Pete had followed his lead.
They were in the Potters' dining room, and also in a considerable fix. James worst of all.
Dumbledore regarded them in silence for a while. Over his spectacles, under his spectacles, and through his spectacles.
James had never seen the Headmaster so grave, and it meant nothing good.
He fought the urge to fidget.
Dumbledore let out a long, slow breath, then sat down across from them.
James resigned himself to the lecture, but he was already bracing himself for the punishment. Not only had he broken school rules and left the castle, he had dragged two fellow students with him (at least, that was what he would say), had specifically gone against Dumbledore's express orders not to tell Remus and Peter, had come home without the Headmaster, which was bad enough, but he'd skivved, and caused his friends to skive, classes for an entire day. And stolen Floo Powder. From Googles. Which was worse.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, and the three boys before him inhaled sharply. Then he opened his mouth and he three boys held their breaths.
And then, he said, "Would any of you boys… care for some tea?"
The three boys deflated. Peter said he'd like some, yes. Please and thanks. Remus shook his head, and James just bit his lip.
"We are in a bind," the Headmaster explained. "Poppy noticed that Sirius wasn't healing as he ought to. And you've seen yourself how he seems to have some trouble recalling things lately, James."
James nodded. He'd told the other Marauders about that earlier, but what did that have to do with their punishment?
"So we talked to him, and he agreed to go look at his memories, with your father, and try and find what spell was cast on him that is causing these lapses. We have reason to believe that both his current state and bad memory are linked to whatever it is that neutralises what Poppy is trying to do to help him." Dumbledore summoned a tea tray and poured some for each of his students. "It took us most of the night to retrieve the memories, and this morning they both went to analyse them. However, shortly after, what you witnessed started happening."
"You mean, Sirius spazzing out? Sir?" James ventured, and Dumbledore nodded.
"On and off, all day," he confirmed heavily. "After the first such incident early today, I tried to pull them both out, but as you also saw, anyone who tries is thrown back, or singed rather wonderfully. I haven't been able to pinpoint where this magic comes from, or why it's there at all. Sometimes Sirius appears to be asleep, as we witnessed just now, and others…" he trailed off, but they all understood. They'd seen it, after all.
"What can we do?" James asked, all thoughts of expulsion forgotten in a blink. His mind was already racing to retrieve any information he had ever read, heard, or learnt about Pensieve magic.
"Wait and hope Sirius or Coop manage to break out of the Pensieve. Every time I've tried to pull either out, it has been with the same result."
James sipped his tea, still worrying his lower lip, but this was for another reason. He was thinking hard, and not about the blasting magic on the Pensieve or whatever, but instead he wondered why he hadn't felt or sensed any of it. He still couldn't reach Sirius, it was as though he'd vanished completely.
So maybe Sirius had closed the link, but he'd promised he wouldn't. Of course, James had broken promises too, today, but it was all for a good reason.
He felt Remus and Peter looking inquiringly at him, doubtlessly wondering the same thing. He gave them a minute head shake. No, sorry. No contact.
Peter wrapped his hands around his cup, visibly trying not to cry. James felt the same way, but forced himself, as he had so often since this all began, to think of something, anything that would keep hope alive.
And right now, it meant finding a solution to whatever stupid fix they were in once again.
"What will we do if that doesn't work, sir?" Remus had finally found his voice, or at least part of it. He sounded like he was eight years old.
"We need to break that connection, but it is a delicate matter; memories that have been tampered with cannot be treated except with the utmost care… At the moment, I am awaiting the arrival of a good friend, Angus McAlpin. He might have some insight on the matter, seeing as he is an expert on mysteries of the mind. Otherwise, if there is anything you can think of, we are open to suggestions."
Immediately they started talking at the same time; Peter suggested using a fire-retardant potion; Remus, summoning the Pensieve. James shook his head, though, and the other two Marauders quieted down. The silence was restored. The Headmaster watched them over his spectacles, and waited.
"Maybe it's linked to intent?" James asked abruptly, looking up. His Mum sat down at the head of the table, giving him the same questioning look as everyone else. "Like the wards we have here," James elaborated. "Anyone with evil intent gets zapped. So, if we approach but not with the intention to pull them out, maybe we can get close."
"That is actually… an excellent idea, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore at once. James realised how desperate the great wizard was, when he all but jumped to his feet. "Let us try it."
And it was high time they did something, James' still racing mind noted, as the next instant a loud, unearthly howl rent the air. James felt all blood drain from his face, and the next instant, he was out of his chair; that had been Sirius, screaming out in pain.
It was immediately followed by a shrill chorus of, "MISTRESS!" courtesy of the elves they'd left to stand watch.
"Oh, no. Not again," Betty wailed, but already they were all racing for Coop's study.
.
.
The door opened with a creak, making Voldemort look up from his Daily Prophet. Potter had finally retaliated, providing an official story for the masses. It confirmed one thing in Voldemort's mind: Sirius Black was at Godric's Hall, out of sight and out of reach. Travers had searched the premises with a handful of Aurors. There had been no result.
A moment later, he raised one eyebrow.
His trusty Death Eaters were finally leaving The Room.
The other eyebrow rose like the first.
What was left of his trusty following, anyway.
Voldemort studied the ragged, steamy-eared bunch now filing into his sitting room in silence. Most were nursing injuries of varying degrees of gravity, they were all dishevelled, filthy, and steaming around the ears. To think that this bunch were the Wizarding World's finest. And they muttered and complained about why he wanted Black and Potter? He suppressed his frustration, waiting for them to speak.
"My Lord," Malfoy began, as their spokeswizard for the day - or night, as it were - and they all bowed deeply, getting ready to kneel. Voldemort gestured at them to rise. He had just had the carpet cleaned. "We have… discussed the matter at length, and we have a plan, Lord."
"I am listening, Lucius."
"While we do not as yet know Black's whereabouts, we are confident that we can deliver Potter to you."
"Oh?"
"Yes, since Black is not there," Malfoy replied, clearly not adding the words 'to thwart us once again,' "Potter will be an easier target. He has been attacking anyone and everyone who says anything against Black, so we believe we can, using some inside help, deliver him right here, and to you, my Lord."
"We'll injure him, and then bring him here using a Portkey," Bella supplied. "Although we could also kill him. It would be easier, because we'd have to time the Portkey and that always takes time."
"I am impressed," Voldemort decided, putting his paper away and watching his Death Eaters with something akin to pride. "You've managed to think of a workable plan that doesn't involve spending three weeks looking for a vase, and tell me about it, all without fighting among yourselves. But there will be no killing Potter, Bellatrix. He is mine."
"Yes, Master." Bellatrix looked disappointed. He'd have to make it up to her, soon.
"Our humblest apologies, Master." Others were speaking up too, Voldemort waved them off impatiently.
"Who would procure Potter?" Voldemort asked, focusing on what was actually doable.
"Narcissa, my Lord." Lucius sounded confident.
"Or Regulus, my Lord." Bellatrix sounded grudging.
Voldemort nodded to himself. He'd send Bellatrix to convince a few members of the Deparment of Magical Catastrophes to help the Cause. If they agreed, that was good. If they didn't, at least Bella would be happy. He hated having her grumpy; she tended to take it out on his ranks. Often in his house. If he had to have the carpet steam cleaned one more time…
"I like it. Go ahead and do it. In the meantime," Voldemort's words made the Death Eaters, who were already scrambling to leave, stop in their tracks. "We will hit a few targets of importance."
"The Potters, my Lord?"
"If possible, but they're on the lookout. Godric's Hollow is too well defended, but Travers told me that the MLE is pulling out of the village in a few days. I have a list of names. Those muggle-loving villagers who dared defy us, thrice, no less… They shall pay. However, I digress. We are going to remind the Ministry that the holidays are over."
The Death Eaters exchanged uneasy glances. They hadn't had any holidays, but as Voldemort— and he was sure, they as well— saw it, that was their own fault. Some even gave him disbelieving looks, as if they were expecting the Dark Lord to yell, "APRIL FOOLS!"
Which of course, he didn't.
"When, my Lord?"
"Tomorrow night. So get your rest, and we shall convene here tomorrow at seven. Lucius, Bellatrix— you two speak to Narcissa tonight, I want results as soon as possible."
.
James reached the study first, leapt over Hinky, Dinky, and Blimpy, the elves who were hurrying to get his Mum, and skidded to a halt next to his Dad's chair, only realising he'd not been sent flying when he bumped into it.
Sirius was arching off the back of his settee, struggling to breathe and jerking so hard, James feared he'd tear something. He knelt next to him, grabbing his shoulders to keep him from falling—
His world erupted in agony.
"Just a taster, little Lion," Voldemort said, smiling widely. "So you'll know what is in store for you and Potter, should either of you defy me."
James felt as though he he was being torn apart. His every fibre was burning, being split from his very core. He was being liquefied, disintegrated alive—
He fell to the floor even as Sirius went limp, a scream dying in his throat.
"JAMES!"
There were hands on him, shaking him, pulling him away from Sirius.
"I'm alright," he tried to say, but it came out as, "Ungh."
His Mum's arms were around him suddenly, and only then did James notice he was crying.
"I'm okay," he mumbled a few minutes later, huddling in a blanket. He was still shaking, but it wasn't a lie. He could even feel his toes again. A little.
"What happened, honey?" Betty asked him, arms wrapped around him as though he'd spaz out again if she let go.
James didn't like being coddled, as a rule; much less in front of his friends, but he didn't care right this minute. He, too, felt like he'd spaz out again if she let go, after all.
"It was him," he answered, "it was Voldemort." Pete and Remus hissed at the name, but James ignored them. "He said… he said it was a taster… a taster of what he'd do if… if Sirius and I defied him."
"Do you know what it was? A spell, a potion, what?" Dumbledore's pointy nose felt like it was too close for comfort. James saw that there was a hair on its tip.
"A spell, but I sort of barged into it when I touched Sirius. It felt… like, like being dissolved in acid." That explanation was insufficient, nothing could describe what that had felt like at all.
"Can you recall the colour, child?" A new voice boomed from beyond his field of vision. James, who was already bristling at the address quite despite himself, looked up and saw a tall, muscular wizard towering over them all, shaggy white hair framing a bearded face with the most startling deep blue eyes.
He'd met Angus McAlpin before, but the man always made him feel half his size… and age.
The wizard was kneeling before him next, moving James' head this way and that, checking him over for damage.
"Don't mind me, laddie. Do carry on," the wizard prompted, as though it were perfectly normal, to find this sort of thing upon visiting old friends.
"Everything was… sort of murky green, sir. Like looking through swamp water."
McAlpin stood up, and regarded the scene before him for a long moment.
"Albus," he said, "I told ye not to do this, ye dafty old coot. I told you he wouldn't be safe in there."
What?
Shock at the way McAlpin was addressing the famed Dumbledore aside, James was alarmed at what he heard. He shot a fearful look at his Headmaster, who had the grace to look abashed.
"I distinctly recall you telling me it wouldn't work, that he'd not manage a single memory." He gestured at the Pensieve, which was brimming. "As it turns out—"
"I meant, he'd not manage to survive remembering one," McAlpin corrected impatiently, in his heavy Scottish accent. "Why don't ye ever listen? Why doesn't anyone? Why ask me for my opinion, if ye act like ye ken it all?"
"I… misunderstood, Angus. My apologies."
"Apologies won't get this bairn on his feet, will they?"
"No," Dumbledore admitted. "But—"
"Ach, never ye mind." The tall Unspeakable waved it off, the intense blue eyes roving from James, to Sirius, to James' Dad… and back to James. "Can ye stand, laddie?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"Then come here, I won't bite ye." He smiled gently, and gestured James towards another chair. James found himself shakily obeying. "So, Albus, take it from the top, and pray, don't spare any details."
While Dumbledore related what little he knew, Angus McAlpin cast a series of diagnostic spells at James. He could feel them crawling underneath his skin, probing at his magic. James gave a start. On his settee, Sirius did as well, but James missed it. He'd spotted yet another face, one that felt familiar, but he was sure he hadn't ever seen that girl before.
She was no older than him, pretty (though not as gorgeous as Evans, of course), with the same intense deep blue eyes as Mr. McAlpin and long ash brown hair, and she was, predictably, watching Sirius in a horrified sort of silence.
Even after one month on the brink of death, he still managed to capture the attention of every female around. How he did it, James didn't know.
"… and then Sirius had another attack, just when we were about to attempt to see if James' theory worked," Dumbledore finished his summarised version of events.
"It did," James pointed out.
As though she had been waiting for confirmation, Betty Potter moved forward, hesitating only for a moment before she knelt next to Sirius, in much the same way as James had. She braced herself… and touched his shoulder lightly.
Nothing happened, and everyone in the room let out a relieved breath.
"I'll just see to him, shall I?" She asked, and was immediately joined by Remus and Peter, who were pale and shaken, but eager to help, and possibly confirm that he was, indeed, alive.
"This isn't good," Mr. McAlpin stated, having finished dissecting James' everything. "It's a dark curse, of the worst kind."
"What kind of curse?" James found himself asking, and damn, he now sounded like he was eight as well.
"I cannae say fer certain," Mr. McAlpin stated. When he frowned, James noted, his entire face crinkled up. "Ach, ye'll be fine lad, don't ye fret, ye only got smidged by it." he shrugged his shoulders, while James wondered what it would be like, to be more than smidged by it. "If it weren't impossible, I'd say it's one of the Three."
James felt so lost.
"One of the Three?"
Oh good, he wasn't the only one. Dumbledore didn't have a clue, either.
"We called them the Three Terrors in the Department of Mysteries, but I reckon that is a misnomer; granted, they'll give ye nightmares. The first, absorbs the future of the victim, prolonging the life of the caster, and the victim instantly perishes of old age; the second, takes their memories, their intelligence and mind. And the third, and worst by far, absorbs the soul into the caster, every ounce of magic, every molecule empowering the caster and adding to his or her life force and power."
"Sirius has been forgetting stuff left and right," Dumbledore said, "Could that be it?"
"I cannae say for sure until the bairn is out of that blasted thing."
James bit his lip again.
"Is there any counter curse? If it's one of the Three?" And why did he keep referring to Sirius as 'the bairn'? He was taller than James.
"Nah," McAlpin replied, patting James on the head as though he was a toddler, and moving to check on Sirius and James' dad. "There's not even any incantation; the only source for these curses we have found is five thousand years old, and it was a description in a legend."
"But you said—"
"I said it could be, if it weren't impossible, laddie."
"Just… humour me, suppose it was possible." James argued. "What then?"
"Then…" Mr. McAlpin shook his head. "Nothing to be done. But not to worry, I'm sure it's something else."
"So glad we've got you," James muttered mulishly. "I thought you were an expert in mind magic." McAlpin let out a booming laugh, patting him on the shoulder. It felt like being hit by a bludger.
"I can see why Sirius likes ye, laddie."
"You know Sirius?"
"Aye, been visiting for years, with Alfie. He's my neighbour over in the Highlands."
"Oh."
James knew Alfie had sometimes taken Sirius to spend his holidays near Inverarray, at Black Lodge. James had been, once or twice, before the war got really bad; they'd learned Muggle skiing and gotten to ride Alfie's flying horses. Sirius loved it there; James had frozen his arse off, even in the Summer.
.
.
It was midnight, and Lucius felt cold. All around him and Bellatrix, mist was swirling, catching between their feet.
They were under the bridge in Hogsmeade, and the stream a few feet away was carrying blocks of ice.
"How much longer?" he asked impatiently, rubbing his hands together.
Bellatrix huddled in her cloak, huffing.
"I hope she arrives soon, so you'll quit your complaining."
In the end, she did arrive, giggling as she threw herself at Lucius, who, predictably, forgot all about being cold and miserable.
"You weren't followed, dearest Cissy?"
"No, Bella dear," Narcissa answered primly. "And it wasn't fun at all, darling sister; I had to wait for that dirty Squib to sweep the entire ground floor! I had to hide in a broom closet!"
"It will be worth your bother," Lucius told her. He wasn't complaining anymore, Bella noted. "The Dark Lord has a mission for you and Regulus."
"Another one?" Narcissa's asked, letting out a long-suffering sigh.
"We are sorry, Cissy, but he is impatient, and we failed him last time…"
"And we need you to help us appease him."
"Isn't there anyone else?" Narcissa asked. "I have fallen behind on my course work already," she added petulantly.
"It must be you. If you can convince that brat Regulus to help, those are extra points."
"Why don't you do it? Honestly, Bella, Reggie has been insufferable lately. He's angry because we didn't let him know in advance."
"He'll get over it," Bellatrix said confidently. "And shouldn't he want revenge on Potter? It's his fault Sirius died, after all."
.
.
Hours had passed; it was now past midnight, and there had been no change.
The adults had tried, quite fruitlessly, to send the Marauders (and Nina) to bed, but they adamantly refused. Although there was literally nothing going on (aside from Sirius twitching at random), none wanted to leave, so they'd camped out in James' Dad's study, talking a little about what had occurred since Sirius went missing, and James had to relate his story once more.
He gave the same version of events he had given Dumbledore, which was the truth, only omitting his blood-bond with Sirius and their abilities as Animagi. Dumbledore and Betty told them about Sirius' progress so far, and what had happened since they'd started this memory retrieval project. Mr. McAlpin, for his part, paffed at his pipe and listened. He didn't even call Dumbledore a dafty old coot again. Which was a pity, the way he said it was hilarious.
Mr. McAlpin was a straightforward, blunt kind of wizard, radiating a fiery sort of old power; Dumbledore was respectable and impressive in his own right, and his might was like the calm before the storm. Dumbledore made you feel like nothing bad could ever happen if he was nearby, because nothing could shake the old wizard. Angus McAlpin was like the eye of a firestorm, wilder, less restrained, and decidedly less controlled. With him, you felt safe because he was just… badass.
And, just like Dumbledore, you couldn't help but trust him blindly.
When he went to check on Sirius, James followed, hoping the wizard wouldn't give his brother a friendly pat that broke his bones all over again, and he was earnestly surprised at the gentleness with which Mr. McAlpin treated him.
The girl, whom Mr. McAlpin had introduced as his adoptive daughter Nina, hovered worriedly over his shoulder.
"Will he be all right?" she asked, in a tiny voice.
"Aye lass, don't ye worry. We'll have him on his feet again in no time." He smiled reassuringly at her. "At least he isnae deid, and that's what ye need to focus on."
That was all they'd had, for what felt like ages. That Sirius 'wasnae deid'.
Remus and Pete were subdued as they waited, and even though the Elves brought them snacks and drinks to keep them busy, nobody spoke much… until, at long last, Remus let out a frustrated sigh, breaking the tense, worried silence.
"Gah," he said, "this is awful."
"Aye, lad," Angus responded. He was puffing on his pipe, feet propped up on Coop's desk. "But we are out of options. All we can do is wait and see."
"I know, sir," Remus muttered. "I just wish there was something we could do, like go get them or something."
"Wait, ye havnae tried that yet?"
"No, we couldn't even approach them," Dumbledore said.
"Aye, but—"
"But we found a way around that," James overrode him, on his feet already. "I'll go."
"No you won't, you can barely stand," his Mum argued.
"I feel better," James insisted.
"No, you don't. Now hush."
"Betty is right, James. What if that happens again?" Dumbledore asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "I will go, and try to find a way to bring them both back."
So, a chair was hauled next to the Pensieve, Dumbledore sat down… and dipped his fingers in the swirling mass.
The room was completely silent, for a handful of eternal minutes.
And then finally, finally, there was a gasp, and a frazzled-looking Coop sat up on his chair, getting tangled up with the blanket he had been covered in, as he all but jumped up to get to Sirius.
"Come on, Sirius, lad… it's time to wake up now."
Sirius twitched a little, but he just slept on.
"Dad!"
It was as though someone had lit a firecracker underneath their collective seats. At once, the room exploded in motion and sound; Dumbledore was trying to explain what had happened on this end, while James' Mum rushed to his Dad's side, asking if he was alright; Pete, Remus, even James were firing away questions at a rapid rate. It was bedlam for a few seconds, but all their questions went unanswered. All Coop did, at first, was pull James and Betty into a fierce group hug.
"Ow, Dad… ow, I can't breathe."
"Never," Coop said seriously, pulling away and holding them at arms' length. "We are never letting any of those bastards near him, ever again." Only then did James notice how ashen his face was; how gravelly his voice sounded. It was as his father had aged ten years, and not in the kindest way.
"You found it?" Dumbledore asked keenly. "Did you find the memory that's keeping him from healing?"
"You could say that, Albus. Angus!" Coop exclaimed in relief. "I'm so glad you're here."
"Yeah, he's got no clue, Dad," James pointed out.
Coop gave James a grin, "Nonsense." He turned to Dumbledore next, all traces of the smile gone. "Call Poppy, Albus. I fear something has gone very wrong. We need to get him to his room. And nobody touch that bloody Pensieve."
.
.
They all did as he asked, and moments later, Sirius was in his room with a minimum of fuss — he'd not woken up at all — and Poops was making a considerably larger fuss over getting him settled, muttering angrily about irresponsible headmasters who had no respect for the convalescing.
She had kicked them all out, so the mismatched group gathered around the dinner table, while Coop had some shepherd's pie and what looked like a gallon of water, and gave them an abridged version of what he had seen.
James was grateful for not having been sent to bed along with his friends, but what he heard made him wish, not for the first time today, that Remus and Peter weren't exposed to it. Even McAlpin's daughter Nina was silent and contagiously downcast. She hadn't said a word for hours.
"We thought there was one, maybe two, spells at work here," Coop said heavily, tossing a roll of parchment towards Dumbledore and Angus, who immediately started poring over it.
"Impossible," they both said, frowning deeply.
"There's layers upon layers here. And you say they started when he was six?" Angus seemed baffled. Coop made a 'get on with it' gesture, nodding. "He shouldn't be able to function at all. Under all of these for so long, he shouldn't able to remember how to use a loo."
"Angus… he's got total recall."
"What?!"
"Um, what's total recall?" Pete asked, but the grown ups blanked him. It was like none of them were even there.
"He remembers everything," Coop said. "His memories are, you saw, Albus. They're vivid. There's smells, and sounds, and temperature, even thoughts, I realised that when he started falling asleep. And sensations, taste, the works."
"And pain?" Angus asked. Coop nodded heavily.
"Everything."
"That explains it," Dumbledore said. "Shortly after you went to explore the memories, Sirius started convulsing. I tried to pull you both out then, but I was thrown across the room."
"I tried to get him to leave. He wouldn't."
"Do you mean that every time he—" James' Mum started, aghast.
"Total recall does that," Angus interrupted. "I am sorry, Betty."
"We tried to pull you out all day," she said, looking mortified. "But every time we tried, we were blasted away."
"Except for James," Peter pointed out.
All eyes turned to fix themselves on the youngest Potter.
"Yes, James figured out that if we approached, but not with the intent to pull you out, we were safe… although at a cost."
"If he didn't want to leave, then he probably was the one blasting us." Dumbledore shook his head, clearly regretful. Coop patted his arm.
"Oh, you were right in setting this up; even if it was a nightmare, we would never have found out what is really wrong. And Sirius wanted it over with. He wouldn't have been able to leave the Pensieve and return, and to tell you the truth, neither would I."
"So what did you find?"
"Spells, mostly dark curses, Imperius, could you believe, for the most trivial things, like picking up his room. When that failed, Cruciatus."
There was a collective sharp intake of breath at that, and Coop shrugged. "Yeah, I half can't believe it myself, and I was there." He sighed. "And Voldemort was the one who instigated it all."
As he listened to his father's short account (the barest basics) of Sirius' past, James felt ill to his stomach.
"That all stopped when he was twelve or so, he blasted Voldemort against a wall. Voldemort erased his memory then, a complete wipe. Sirius didn't see him again until last month, and he couldn't remember having met him before at all."
"What did he want with him?"
"It was as Sirius told us, he wanted our location… or rather, he's after James."
"But why?" James asked. "What does he want with me? What have I ever done to him?" He hadn't expected the three old wizards (and his Mum) to stare at him as though he'd just dribbled on his shirt.
"You're the Heir of Gryffindor, laddie," Angus said, as if it was the most obvious thing. "Even at school, he hated Coop with all his might."
"You went to school?" James blurted in disbelief, making all of them burst out laughing.
"Of course we did," Coop replied, grinning. "We're not that old, you cheeky monkey. Seven years, just like you."
"I meant, you went to school with Voldemort," James amended, but he too, was chuckling.
"Oh, aye. And with Sirius' parents, and Minerva McGonagall, and about a thousand others."
"Angus always had a thing for Minnie," Betty said, smiling reminiscently. Across the table from James, Remus and Peter were mouthing, 'Minnie?' and, 'Whaaa?'
"So he's got a school grudge," James wanted to know more about Voldemort, and school grudges, he could understand. Although he resolved to file this bit of information away for later use.
"More like a blood feud. Tom, that's his name, is a half-blood," Coop explained.
"But he hates—"
"Who he is, in a nutshell," Angus took a gulp of his tea and lit his pipe. "He hated Coop because he, well, is a pure-blood. And the last descendant of his ancestor's rival."
"That's ridiculous!"
"Yes, and dangerous, because now you're that last descendant."
"So that's why he made Sirius' life hell? A stupid bit of old history?"
"There's power in history," Dumbledore countered, "and the old families all know that. Some, like the Blacks, live and breathe by it, and Voldemort has used the knowledge of their obsession to his advantage; look at what they did to Sirius on one of his whims. They would have been proud to do it, as is the case with most of his following. It enabled him to do many things without really stirring a finger, and that's partly why he is so powerful now."
James exchanged a look with his friends. They wore the same alarmed looks he was wearing.
"But Voldemort is an accomplished Legilimens," Dumbledore said next, turning to Coop. "If he wanted your location or anything else, he could have extracted it easily."
"The bairn is an Occlumens," Angus waved him off, and now it was Dumbledore's turn to look like he'd dribbled on his tunic. As was James, how did this wizard know that?
"Alfie taught him," was the explanation. "And he told me, I visited him before I came over. He said Sirius asked to learn when he was, what, eight. Something about a dog."
"Oh yeah, he'd rescued a stray puppy," James said, fishing something from his mind that felt like ancient history. "He wouldn't talk about anything else for weeks."
"Yes. That was it," Coop confirmed quietly.
"Wonder what happened to it. One day, Sirius just stopped going on about Snuffles, and didn't ever mention him again."
"You don't want to know, son."
James decided he'd better shut up. Was nothing what it had seemed?
"If he's an Occlumens, Voldemort wouldn't have gotten jack-squat from him," Angus pointed out, getting back on topic.
"He didn't," Coop confirmed. He looked pained. "So, Voldemort resorted to other things."
"That would explain the memory loss," said Dumbledore.
"Yes, if he was trying to hide something hard enough, he could've locked everything else out too."
"He didn't give Voldemort anything but nicknames." Coop looked wretched. "It was atrocious, Angus. Voldemort cast this spell… it was the worst thing I've ever seen."
"Describe it."
Coop did, and James recognised the spell he'd felt for a few seconds, which was still making him ill.
Angus stared at Coop.
"Was there an incantation?"
"Yes," Coop answered. "It took a few moments to cast, but it was— it felt like it was impossible to stop. Even the Death Eaters were panicking." Walburga had looked horrified, and she'd asked to see some quality torture.
"What was the incantation?" Angus asked sharply.
"I don't want to say it out loud," Coop answered. He scribbled it down instead, and pushed the scrap of paper towards his old friend.
Angus glanced at it. Then he erupted in a bout of swearing that made Betty exclaim, "Angus! Mind your language! There's little ears present!"
"They've heard worse, I'm sure." He shoved the parchment at Dumbledore.
"Is it…"
"If it's anything, it's the Third Terror. The Soul-Sucking Curse."
"Is there a counter?" Coop shot at him.
"No, until just now, there wasn't even a spell."
"James, when he touched Sirius, he got hit by it too." Betty reminded them.
"He'll be fine, he only got the fringe ends of it."
"For a second or two, and out of a memory."
"I feel fine, Mum."
"You don't, honey. Hush now."
James was about to argue, when Poops arrived.
"I don't know what happened," she said, looking in dire need of a cuppa (whiskey) and at wit's end. It put everyone on high alert all over again. "He's… he's asleep, but everything else… it's almost as if he went and got hurt all over again, and now my treatments are being countered. If he carries on like he is, I'm sorry, but he won't last the night."
.
.
Back in the Common Room, Narcissa skipped all the way to the Study Hall, where Regulus was reading, despite the late hour. Slytherins were mostly night creatures, and this was nothing out of the ordinary. She closed the book and took it from his hands.
"I was reading that." He'd become dreadfully short-tempered over Christmas break.
"Hello dear cousin," she said, perching on the armrest of his sofa and giving him a winning smile. Regulus gave her an unimpressed look.
"What is it, cousin?" he asked impatiently. Her Uncle Orion had been exactly like that, too. Even Sirius had shared that trait.
"You're no fun," she answered. "Ever since the holidays."
"Gee, I wonder why." The sarcasm, needless to say, was wasted on her.
"Listen, we have a plan."
"We?"
"Well, you know. Bella and Lucius."
Regulus didn't react, so she elaborated.
"They want us to get Potter for… you know. Him."
"Potter."
"Yes. Now that piece of scum—"
"My brother."
"He's not your brother anymore," she argued, sniffling with the arrogance that had characterised her and her sisters. "Auntie Walburga disowned him."
"So?"
"So we all did. That's what family's for!" Why didn't he grasp the most obvious thing in the world? He was supposed to be clever.
"Yeah, killing its members and then disowning them."
"And helping each other too," she replied.
"Yeah, to accuse the dead of murder after they were killed."
"So, you'll help me do this." It wasn't a request.
"Do what, exactly?" At fourteen, Regulus was no idiot; he knew his politics, so he decided he'd hear her out. She smiled widely at him.
"Get Potter, silly."
"How?"
"You know how easily he's needled lately, so all you need to do is spark his anger. He'll come after you, and then I can hex him from behind."
"What's that going to accomplish? All of us in detention?"
"No, him in the Hospital Wing. Once he's there, we'll plant a Portkey on him and he'll be whisked away to where he belongs. You can hex him, if you want. I'm no good at duels."
"I want no part in this. Give me my book."
"What? Reggie!" Narcissa frowned. "Why?"
"Because I don't want to. You might hate him that's your business, but he wasn't your brother. And no matter what anyone would say about them, you wouldn't dream of going against your siblings, cousin. You cannot make me go against mine."
"Potter isn't your brother."
"He was more family to Sirius than even I. So, count me out."
"But he's a blood-traitor!"
"So is Andromeda." Regulus glared at her. Narcissa's blood froze in her veins. "I don't see anyone trying to kill her and she's got a half-blood for a kid. At least Sirius didn't bed a Mudblood."
"Keep your voice down!" Narcissa hissed, panicking. What was he thinking?
"Not so fun when the tables are turned, is it? Cissy?" Regulus' dark grey eyes bored into Narcissa's, flashing out a challenge.
"But the Dark Lord —"
"Can kiss my pureblooded arse," Regulus quoted one of Sirius' favourite sayings.
"Reg!" Narcissa's voice was such a low, scandalised hiss that he probably barely heard it. Regulus grinned at her toothily. "You're as bad as he is!"
"Was," he corrected. The grin was gone. "Thanks to you, your psycho sister, and both your boyfriends, I hear. So tell me again, why I should help you?"
"Because we're family, Regulus Black!"
"He was your family too."
"Grah! Move on already! You hated him as much as we all did."
"No, I didn't, I just didn't bother to set your nearsighted perceptions straight, just as you never bothered to ask me what I thought about it."
"You'll have to join. Might as well start now."
"See, that's your problem, Cissy," Regulus got to his feet. He was still over a foot shorter than her, but she felt very small. "You, thinking that I have to do anything, when I don't, not anymore." And now he was throwing his status at her? He was. Worst of all, he was right, but this wasn't a time to grow a pair! And Narcissa had to deliver Potter, or else—
"You might have to join up," she insisted worriedly. "Everyone else pretty much has."
"Not today." Another of Sirius' favourites when faced with a similar prospect. Threat. Whatever.
Narcissa had caught Reg's counter threat easily enough; he hadn't bothered to shroud it at all. Threatening Andromeda ensured she wouldn't disclose any of what they'd spoken of here, but it didn't mean he had to honour anything.
They'd killed his brother already, hadn't they? He'd been away at Elladora's for a couple of days, and when he came back, it was to a disaster area and news that had hit him hard, that still hurt.
Sirius and he had always had a "feud" which had served its purposes; it had kept Regulus firmly in his overbearing family's good graces, and given Sirius ample opportunities to pick on them. Outwardly, they were enemies, sitting on opposite ends of a battleground. In truth... they were brothers.
They liked it that way.
That fake feud didn't mean they hadn't gotten along. Rather, the opposite was the case, and clearly, they'd fooled everyone.
All his life, Regulus had been protected by Sirius. He'd called him Reggie when nobody else was around. He'd taken the brunt and blame of every last thing Regulus could have been punished for, whenever he could and without ever complaining; he'd defended him whenever anyone dared pick on him at school, or even at home. He'd kept their crazy cousins off Reg's back by keeping their attention focused solely on him; and he'd visited him when he fell ill. They'd played chess together every week. It had even been Sirius (and James) who had taught him how to fly.
There was just too much history there to just dismiss what he'd lost, much less the desire to celebrate it. And now, Regulus wasn't only propelled to the post of The Black, which he didn't want or really know what to do with, he was also, for the first time, truly alone.
Yes, he was a Slytherin through and through, but he was also a Black, and if there was one things Blacks never did, was betray their family. As his father had. As his mother had. As his brother bloody well hadn't.
How could they?
They said Sirius was the traitor, when they'd betrayed him first, left him no choice but defy them. If he'd been in his older brother's shoes, Regulus would have done the same… And how could he, Regulus, not have done anything against that? Not once? Sure, he could say he hadn't known - and he hadn't, not until the Yuletide - how bad it was. At home, Sirius and Regulus only saw each other at meals, if Sirius was allowed at all. They hadn't talked, not about that. But part of Regulus had known, whenever his mother whisked him away from the house, took him places... He had known why. And he had done nothing to help.
It was eating him up inside.
"Regulus…"
"I won't stop you, Cissy," he said, snatching back his book. "But I won't help you, and you'd do best to remember that." 'If you want your sister to remain forgotten' hung in the air between them. Just for kicks, Regulus left it there.
Power, he'd learnt, had its uses, and Slytherin with a conscience though he might be, he was still a Slytherin. And he was now The Black.
He shouldered past Snape, that Prince half-blood who had had a true feud with his late brother, and who seemed to be arriving for a study session. Good. Let Cissy endure the stench of him.
"What won't he help you with?" he asked.
"Why do you want to know, Snape?" Cissy was angry, which Regulus felt, was a point scored.
"Because I just might help you do it."
Regulus decided to hang back a little and listen in on this, just in case.
.
.
"You were right, Poppy. We're back on square one."
"I've been telling you, Headmaster."
"What do you reckon, Angus?"
"Me? I reckon we have to stop this, somehow— but everything I can think of, will take…"
"Time."
"A lot of that, yes. And luck, and a couple of minor miracles."
"And he's running out of everything."
"Unless… it's a long shot, but it might work in our favour. What do you think, Coop?"
"The Draught of Living Death. Yeah, I hear you, Angus. Go for it, Albus."
"I'll call Horace. He might be able to make some, if he doesn't have any in store."
"That'll take hours!"
"Oy, if ye have any better ideas, Coop, I'm all ears."
James watched the tense exchange from the doorway of his and Sirius' room. Next to him, Remus and Pete were both staring tiredly at the older wizards, who had all clumped around Sirius' bed and were discussing what to do next. Nina was nowhere in sight.
"I thought they'd know what to do," Remus sounded hollow.
"They sound like us," Peter looked close to tearing his hair out. James felt that way too. "That's how we solve problems, for Merlin's sake!"
James snorted, but couldn't think of anything to say. His stomach was in knots around his Adam's apple.
"The Wizarding World's finest," Remus muttered. "The famed inventor of Sleek-Eazy, the Supreme Mugwump and the Head of Mysteries can't figure out how to wake Sirius up."
"To be fair, we can't ever wake him up when we want him to, either." The three Marauders watched the Headmaster hurry to the Floo, and sighed.
"Well, yeah, Pete. But they're supposed to be professionals."
.
.
"Here's what we'll do," Coop told the Marauders, after some additional deliberation with the adults, "Albus has gone to procure a Draught of Living Death, to buy us time. And other potions, I can't remember off the top of my head. In the meantime, we'll split off into teams. Remus, you and Dumbledore will research—"
"He's away on personal business," Dumbledore interrupted him. "I searched his stores, and there isn't any."
Angus swore vehemently. Betty didn't even shush him.
"Can't ye do it, Coop?"
"I told you, I invented the Sleek-Eazy by accident!"
"I can do it."
All heads turned towards Peter, who instinctively shrank back behind James.
"You, laddie?"
"Er. Yes. I think so, if I have the ingredients and the recipe, I can brew the Draught of Living Death."
"He can," James said emphatically. "There's not a potion on earth that he can't make."
"On the first try, too," Remus gave Peter an encouraging pat on the shoulder. Peter blushed crimson.
"You're a godsend," Betty beamed at him. "There's more potions we need as well."
"Give me the list and I'll have them as soon as I can." The shortest Marauder was all business all of a sudden, bobbing up and down on his toes, as he always did when he was impatient, while Angus scribbled off a list and handed him the parchment.
"Do ye reckon ye can make these?"
Pete scanned the list, then nodded.
"On it, Mr. P," he said, and Betty gestured for him to follow her.
"Come with me, honey. I'll help, and the elves will too."
"Remus, you go with Albus," Coop resumed. "Find anything and everything you can about memory spells, layered spells, these curses." Coop have him the list he'd brought back from the Pensieve.
"On it, Mr. Potter."
"And you're with us, James. We'll try and figure out how to cast the counter curses and disassemble the memory spells without damaging anything else, so Poppy can finally get around to healing him. She and Nina will get some restoratives from Hogwarts, and start on their healing right after, so we don't have long." Everyone was gone the next moment, and James nodded, approaching Sirius' bed with apprehension.
What he saw…
Was the exact same thing he'd already become used to.
James frowned. "He looks the same."
"Looks can be deceiving, laddie." Angus cast some complicated-looking spells, that made Sirius glow different colours all over.
A flick of his wand made the colours float up into the air, and start arranging themselves, floating this way and that. It made James rather dizzy.
"We need to figure out the exact order these were cast," Angus said, watching the older spells arrange themselves at the bottom, near the floor.
"And figure out what they're tied to."
"'Choo mean, tied to?" James asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Sirius was out of it, drooling a little. He looked asleep, not half dead.
"Any spell, be it a Dark Curse like the Unforgivables his family love so much, or a Memory Spell, will usually fix itself on a certain point, it varies. Take a Slashing Curse, for example," Coop explained, sitting on the other side of the bed and watching Sirius sleep. "Where it hits, it cuts, right? It's different with Unforgivable curses. They completely attack the victim, so they always go to the same point where the first one hit and spread from there. The more curses of the same kind are cast, the hotter the spot. Memory spells also do that, they spread along the nervous system, fix on a point, and then spread from there."
"So if we find out where it started…"
"We can take down the spells in layers, from the newest to the oldest."
"There's something odd here," Angus muttered. "My results are off."
Coop left James to worry next to Sirius, and joined Angus in his analysis of the diagnostic spells he had cast.
"So, lad," Angus said, leaving Coop to work his magic and giving James an intense look that made him want to pull a Pete and hide behind someone, "how long have ye had a blood-bond with Sirius?"
James' mouth fell open of its own accord. The next moment, his heart was holding a percussions concert.
"How do you know that?"
Angus grinned. "Head Unspeakable. We don't miss much."
Ahhhhh!
"I told him," his Dad said from the other end of the room, where he was dissecting spells.
"Coop, yer no fun."
"Don't pick on my boy."
"Why'd you tell him?" James was torn between shock and betrayal, and getting worked up all over.
"He needs to know."
"But, Dad!" James was scandalised. Inwardly he was already kicking himself for not making his Dad swear a Marauding Oath.
"Aye, but I knew already. Alfie told me, oh, a handful of years ago."
"But he swore—"
"Alfie swore not to tell Sirius' family, which he didn't. He told me."
"But why did—"
"Because whatever's wrong with Sirius, once we break the spells, it will probably affect you too, James."
James' mouth snapped shut.
"Delicate things, those blood spells," McAlpin commented lightly. "So easy for them to go wrong… they bind two people body to body, blood to blood… soul to soul. Some say, for eternity."
"I know," James mumbled. His eyes were burning with anger, and he wasn't even sure why.
"Tell me."
"I can't. I swore an oath."
"Aye, it's like ye said, they're big on oaths, aren't they?" And why was that funny?
"That they are. Very honourable, our boys."
"Just tell me one thing, laddie. Did it work?"
James nodded, biting his lip.
"That was all I needed to know." Angus ruffled James' hair with his enormous paw, and rejoined Coop.
"And I thought we were clever, all those years ago," he commented lightly. Coop laughed, disassembling his spells and comparing them to his friend's.
"We never came close to those two," he said fondly. "I swear to you Angus, what we did was child's play compared to them when they're together. Wait until Sirius is back to his usual self. You haven't seen a thing."
"And how is that coming on?"
"I don't understand; my spells show the same results as yours. There seems to be no central nervous system activity."
"What? Impossible! Try that one again, the detection one."
While the old contingent fussed about with their spellwork, casting and recasting their charms, James watched Sirius closely.
He was breathing, sure, and his right hand trembled and twitched every so often, but other than that, there was nothing.
"I'm going to try something," he announced, but didn't bother stopping to look if he'd been heard.
Sirius had blocked him out before, and it felt much like this… but James could always try breaking through the block. All he needed was to focus.
He placed one hand on Sirius' forehead, and concentrated.
Something wasn't right. James felt panic rising in his throat. This wasn't a block at all— Sirius wasn't even asleep!
Sirius' fingers twitched.
"That damnable tick," Coop muttered, while now Angus was chanting up the spellwork. "I swear, if I see his hand jump one more time—"
"What?" Angus asked over his shoulder. Coop gestured at Sirius.
"Every time," Coop said. "When they were punishing him, that happened. That thrice-damned twitching. The older one had it to. Every. Single…" Realisation hit. Hazel eyes met blue.
"Dad…"
"...Time." Coop finished at a whisper.
"Let me check if that's the hotspot," Angus twirled his wand in the air, chanting an incantation.
"Dad. Now." James said urgently. He was rooted to the spot.
"Wait a second, son. Is it?"
"It seems like it. Yes! Fleamont Potter, we have ourselves a hotspot!," Angus exclaimed with a grin. He immediately began checking it for the spells of Coop's list.
"DAD!"
"What, son?" Coop turned to James, close to losing his patience.
His son was panicking.
"Sirius is gone!"
"WHAT?" Now he had both wizards' full attention.
"I looked, and Sirius isn't here! He's… he's gone."
.
TBC.
Read so far? Review. It's good form.
Next up: Angus gets an epiphany, Remus is a nerd, Pete is an expert at brewing death, Voldemort gets back to work, Dumbledore twinkles up a storm, and James solves a riddle. Oh and, Snape gets one big hit in.