Chapter Nine

Out of the Madhouse

Ten years.

Well, fifteen, actually, if one wanted to get specific and Regulus very dearly wanted to get specific. He would like to count down each month, each day, each hour, each damned minute he had missed, but he was very poor at arithmetic. In fact, he hated arithmetic. Regulus Black could swear on his grave - because, apparently, he had one, having been gone for fifteen years - that he really, really hated arithmetic.

Apparently, judging by the look on Pollux's face, Regulus had voiced that thought.

Yes, Regulus panicked with delirium teasing the edges of his thoughts, he really, deeply hated arithmetic - he also hated caves, Inferi, water, potions, lockets, and, oh, yes, the Dark Lord who stole his life away.

Because he'd been dead. He hadn't only been gone ten years - fifteen, even! - he'd been dead. Deader than dead. Deader than the puppy he'd had as a child, the one he'd named Snuffles.

He was babbling. He was babbling. That was kind of embarrassing, wasn't it, wasn't that something Regulus had prided himself on? No, not the babbling, his verboseness or something, that was what, babbling that was Cissy's forte, but she was probably dead. It'd been fifteen years. And he'd been dead. Who wasn't to say that Bella and Andy and Sirius weren't dead, too?

"Not Sirius," Regulus told himself, hysteria breaking his voice in two just like the Dark Lord snapped Marlene McKinnon's neck. "not Sirius - he can't be dead - he can't die, he's never dead, Mother didn't kill him and Mother really hated Sirius and everyone hates Sirius - Sirius can't be dead, no, no, no - "

Oh, yes, he was babbling, Regulus realized, in a dark, distant corner of his mind as he watched Pollux frantically try to calm him down and order a house-elf to get him a Calming Potion - oh, house-elves, like Kreacher, did Kreacher get the locket - did he get the Dark Lord's soul - did he die - did he didn't die - did he didn't die, like how Regulus didn't die? Regulus didn't die, but by Merlin he wanted to - his mind was trapped and dark, so, so, dark like the Dark Lord's dark soul and it was fifteen years -

He was pulling on his hair. That's what was pulling his head and Pollux was pulling, pulling, trying to stop him, like how he didn't stop him from joining the Dark Lord - wait, that didn't make sense, just like it didn't make sense that he was alive after the cave and the memories and the make it stop Kreacher make it STOP makeitstop please no Master don't hurt me no please Sirius please please please STOP - !

Something slammed, something pulled, something hurt just like it did drinking the potion in the cave and his master's crucio! crucio! crucio! and that was Sirius.

He was staring at Sirius. Sirius was there, and his mind had stopped spinning and turning and twisting over himself and gone blank and Sirius was there.

"I was dead," Regulus said, staring at Sirius's gray eyes and somehow, still staring at the darkness of the cave - though his mind was blank, was still dark. Too dark, dark enough for him to want to shiver and call for his big brother to protect him from monsters. "I was dead."

"But you're not right now," Sirius offered and Regulus wanted to laugh. In fact, he was laughing. It was Sirius, and Sirius was alive, and he was alive, and it'd been fifteen years - fifteen years from a suicide mission that he hadn't thought he would come out alive of - but he did, he was alive.

He was alive.

Everything Regulus knew was gone, sort of, because his family was still there and they always would be, someway, somehow - and, hey, his entire life was gone, but he hadn't had much of one to begin with, had he?

And somehow, someway, with his mind still numbed by Drinks of Despair and hysteria, for once since burning a brand on his arm, and after fifteen years, it felt good to be alive.

"So," Sirius said, for lack of anything else to say. "You're alive."

Regulus, who was staring at him with eyes much more focused after fifteen minutes and Calming Potion shoved down his throat, paused and narrowed his eyes.

"Yes," Regulus said, his gaze now sharpening into a glare. "I noticed."

Sirius wanted to sigh in relief. If his brother was glaring at him, that meant he was healed. He'll never be healed, whispered a voice in the back of Sirius's head that he unabashedly ignored.

Sirius couldn't think of anything to say. He wasn't sure there was much to say to his formerly dead, Death Eater of a little brother. If he had had any doubts about Regulus being alive…well. He couldn't take one look at this man and say that he wasn't his little brother. But Sirius and Regulus had not parted on good terms or, really, any terms at all and had left too many things unsaid - or said, for that matter.

What could he say to a Death Eater? Well, he was talking to Snape and his family, was he not, and he hated his family almost more than he hated Death Eaters…like Regulus.

And now he was alive. Again. And what, really, could Sirius say to that?

"Er…" Sirius began with stunning loquaciousness.

"Perhaps," Arcturus intervened, stepping forward. Regulus looked from Arcturus and Pollux to Sirius, evidently trying to figure out why Sirius was there at all. "Pollux and I should…fill in Regulus on what happened in the past fifteen years. I'm sure Remus is waiting for you, Sirius, unless you'd like to stay?"

Sirius locked eyes with Regulus again. He hadn't really been able to read Regulus since childhood, but as Regulus broke eye contact and looked off into space, Sirius had the funny feeling that Regulus felt guilty or ashamed, or something like it.

But Sirius didn't know Regulus, not right now, and Remus and Harry were waiting for him.

"I'll go for now," Sirius said, because, well, perhaps his family was right for once in their lives. Sirius had gotten a second chance with his brother and he thought, just maybe, that he should give it a go.

"Very well," Arcturus said as Sirius departed, "And before we start, Regulus, how about a long bath and a stiff drink?"

Remus Lupin was generally a calm man.

He was very proud of his ability to take mind-blowing, catastrophic news and still be able to think rationally - or, at least, somewhat rationally. However, hearing that Sirius planned to take Arcturus, his long-estranged, bigoted grandfather, up on an offer to protect Harry with the might of the Black family (an action which would undoubtably get Harry killed) and, also, that Regulus Black had apparently come back to life around teatime, yesterday, stretched his limits somewhat.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Remus demanded as the two stood outside the ebony double doors to Harry's chambers. Sirius opened his mouth but Remus cut him off. "Don't answer that. Instead, tell me: why the hell did you decide to turn off your thrice-damned brain?"

Sirius looked caught between looking sheepish and grim. It was an expression Remus would have laughed at had he not been so busy attempting to not strangle Sirius.

"Look, Remus, I know it sounds bad - "

"It is bad, what, is your skull made out of steel?"

" - but it's not as bad as it sounds - listen," Sirius begged, then tacked on, "please."

Remus narrowed his eyes. Sirius wasn't stupid, not really, and his plans usually came through spectacularly, even if they sounded ridiculous on paper. Of course, Remus could very well think of one plan that went through so well it landed Sirius twelve years in Azkaban.

"Fine."

"Terrific," Sirius sighed, running a hand through his filthy and tangled hair. "Look, I didn't agree to it unconditionally - I had terms, that I didn't get to once Arcturus told me Regulus was alive."

A delaying tactic, it sounded like. Great. Of course, it also gave Sirius the time to actually discuss this with him, which he should have been doing from beginning, but -

"Why did you agree in the first place?" Remus demanded.

"You know Dumbledore as well as I, Remus," Sirius said aggressively, eyes searching the corridor around them as though looking for invisible eavesdroppers. Remus's eyebrows rose. Where was this going? He silently invited Sirius to continue.

"By that I mean not at all," he added hastily. "And that's the thing. If Dumbledore didn't know Harry was stabbed by his own uncle, what else has he let slip through the radar? How's that going to hold up against Voldemort?"

Unprovoked attack by his uncle, not to mention; they still hadn't figured out what had happened. But Voldemort…Sirius had a point.

Remus silently mulled this over. Remus, like Sirius, was firstly concerned with keeping Harry safe. Not just as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but mostly as a psuedo-godfather…and one of the only family members Harry had left.

And Dumbledore…well, Dumbledore and Remus had not been in contact since James and Lily's deaths. Remus would always be grateful to Dumbledore for giving him a chance, as a child and an adult, but that didn't stop him from questioning the man's methods and expressing his skepticism as leader of the first and second Order of the Phoenix.

Remus didn't feel comfortable betraying Dumbledore, no, and never would. But Harry's safety was more of a concern, and for Sirius of all people to go back to his family - then Sirius's concerns had to be more than real and his caution with dealing with his family had to be over five hundred percent.

Remus had no intention at all of betraying Dumbledore, and keeping Harry safe in the Black home - Blacks who were neutral, if not truly against Voldemort - Remus didn't interpret that as betrayal. That was simply being…cautious.

And being cautious was something Remus excelled at so as to keep the Marauders out of trouble.

"And your brother?" Remus asked suddenly. "Is that…true?"

"Yes," Sirius said flatly.

"And…" Remus hesitated. He of all people could remember exactly what happened to the Black brothers, and there wasn't much more to say on that. "How do you feel about that?"

"I don't know," Sirius sighed, slumping against the wall. "I don't know."

Both went silent, and the entire hallway seemed to drop a couple of degrees - the candles of the bracketed candelabras on the walls seemed hiss and dim as though a silent wind passed through and the cold gray stone of the walls and floor did nothing to help with chill.

Remus looked away, letting Sirius sit in silence for a moment, and then turned back, venturing, "What were your conditions?"

Sirius blinked and then frowned, suddenly coming back to himself. "Well, I have to be informed everything, for one, no matter what they're planning. Two…I want all the records and access to the family-held things again, just in case, and I also want to hear about what they want to teach Harry before they do."

Remus pondered, lacing his fingers together. Those sounded well and good, if unrefined, and he thought he had a couple to add to that list.

"I've heard what Cassiopeia's been teaching Harry," said Remus, "she told me what exactly she said when Harry was getting dressed. It's all rather historical."

"Except for, you know, where they glorify Voldemort, purebloods, and how Muggles are the scum of the earth," Sirius suggested.

Remus waved a hand. "That's all historical too, Sirius, but Harry already knows that. Cassiopeia was telling him the actual background and what good they've done - the Great Families did run Britain for over a millennia, Sirius, and they did a decent job," Remus added when Sirius opened his mouth. "There are the obvious faults, I know, what with lacking the representative side of things and the luck of the genetic draw, but they did some good."

Sirius scowled. "And what else was she saying?"

"That was it," Remus shrugged, "Harry didn't know the Great Families existed, much less enough to have a debate on the sociopolitical ethics and affects of having an group of landed gentry rule the country."

"I wonder why," Sirius said wryly, "always the professor, Remus."

"But what about Harry, Sirius?" Remus pressed. "He needs a say in this. What are you thinking?"

"Dumbledore's been like a grandfather to him…" Sirius trailed off. "Well, great-great-great grandfather or something. I dunno how to convince him that this is even an option and," Sirius hesitated. "I don't want to just tell him, but, I mean, he hasn't had the right childhood, you know? Like where he's been prepared to make decisions, and not just have them made."

Sirius and Remus shared a grimace.

"Where it comes to parents, he's still a kid because he's never had them and can't deal with them," Remus summed up, "he's only had oppressive authority figures - and, yet, he's also an adult more than anyone because of what he's been through."

"Exactly," Sirius grimaced, resting the back of his head on the cold stone of the wall behind him. "But I think he still sees, y'know, good people and Death Eaters, no one else."

Remus narrowed his eyes as he stared down the hall and suddenly remembering something. "I think I have an idea."

This, James thought as he tugged a limp Frank with him along the road, trying to shake soggy hair out of his eyes, was going spectacularly.

Getting out of St. Mungo's hadn't been too bad - a couple notice-me-nots had done the trick, especially as the staff was busy paying attention to their patients. After throwing a handful of Floo powder in, James and Frank were on course to a little pub in an outlying town near London that James remembered as being close to a hunting lodge of the Longbottoms, hoping to get Frank to a familiar place with medical attention.

Grunting, James hoisted Frank up a little more to prevent him from slipping off his shoulder. Fortunately, pub had been mercifully empty, so James stumbled out with Frank over his shoulder without a cacophony of curses as mood-rendering background music.

Unfortunately, the pub was actually a mile and a half from the hunting lodge.

So, after James slogged through a mile and a half of wet road that abruptly went from pavement to gravel to dirt and waving sheepishly to the Muggles who locked their doors and windows, he was very happy to reach the crest of a knoll and look down it to see the Longbottom lodge.

James, running a hand through his hair in shock, nearly dropped Frank as he scrambled down the knoll to edge around the collapsed frame of a wrought-iron gate.

…because Longbottom was three blackened walls teetering a pile of rubble, silhouetted like against the gray sky just like the castles of evil monsters in Lily's favorite horror movies.

But this wasn't a movie, James thought numbly as he hiked his way through overgrown hedges and brambles that grappled for control of what was left of the winding path way. This was real life.

And James was going to find out what the hell had happened.

"You'll never believe what happened today!" Tonks called as she tugged off a boot, accidentally running into the door as she did so. Tonks winced as she tossed down her work bag, which hit the wall so hard it made the picture frames on the wall rattle.

"Right, that didn't happen," she muttered as she tried to simultaneously tug off her other boot and not bring down her mother's house. Fridays were, by decree of the Law of Mothers, family dinner night, and hell hath mercy on Tonks if she showed up late.

"Yes, darling?" Andromeda appeared in the doorway as Tonks waged a fierce war with her boot on the foyer floor. "What happened?"

"Alright, so," Tonks began as she finally claimed victory, managing to stand up without slipping in her socks on the parquet flooring. "It's 'round lunchtime, and Scrimgeour shows up, telling me there's someone who wants to see me - I thought it was an informant or victim, you know, maybe one who didn't want to speak to a man? Well, it's not!" Tonks grinned as she followed her mother into the kitchen, plopping herself at the dining room table as her father waved hello from where he was at the stove, pouring something that looked suspiciously like curry into bowls.

Andromeda raised an inquisitive eyebrow as she set out the cutlery, making Tonks inwardly cheer in success. It's was her life's goal to tell a story that would make her mother show honest surprise, and she was betting this one would do it. Ted wasn't much of a challenge - he'd been surprised by the twist of her alligator-eats-kitten story, which Andromeda had guessed it coming a mile away. So had Kingsley, for that matter. And Mad-Eye. And about all of the Auror office.

"It's Narcissa Malfoy," Tonks said triumphantly, "and she had lunch with me. For some reason. Not the foggiest why. 'Betcha didn't see that coming, didja, Mum?"

Andromeda's mouth had dropped open and all of the spoons in her hand clattered to the floor. The curry Ted had been pouring out dripped out of the bowl and down the counter.

"Um…" Tonks said uncertainly, chewing on her lip as she watched curry drip down on to the floor. "Would now not be a good time to say I'm supposed to go to Malfoy Manor tomorrow?"

"Sirius! Remus!" Harry greeted in surprise as the two came in the door. Harry frowned - Sirius was looking pale and drawn and Remus's eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. After having been deemed well enough to move and stand on his own for relatively long lengths of time, Harry was feeling refreshed and clean after a shower in a bathroom that reminded Harry of the prefects' bathroom at Hogwarts, but both men looked like they needed a shower more than him - they were unshaved and wearing wrinkled clothes.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked from where he was sitting next to Cassiopeia in an armchair in front of the fire. He tried to turn a little more to see them, but winced from how his stitches pulled against the bandages underneath a fresh tunic and breeches. Frowning slightly, Harry settled back down.

"Don't worry about us, Harry," reassured Sirius with a slight smile as he hopped over the back of the couch to sit down. Remus, evidently not quite the daredevil, sat down normally. "You're the one being interrogated by the old hag."

"Dare I ask if you are confusing yourself with me?" Cassiopeia demanded from behind her copy of the Daily Prophet. Sirius waved her off.

"Just wanted to ask you a question, Harry," Remus said brightly. "While you were talking with Cassiopeia and me, you said something about meeting Dumbledore in the hospital wing after your first year. What was that about?"

"Oh, right." Harry blinked. He had forgotten that Sirius and Remus didn't know what had happened in his first two years. Cassiopeia had been grilling Harry on his life general, but Cassiopeia had sounded more interested in Harry himself instead of any ulterior Death Eater motives, like how Aunt Petunia always asked about a run-down of Dudley's day when he got home from school. Of course, that wasn't exactly what Harry wanted to think about…he touched his chest. "Yeah, Voldemort had knocked me out when he was possessing Quirrell and I woke up in the hospital wing - that's when I first met Dumbledore."

Harry looked up. Sirius had gone deathly white, Remus's jaw was slightly slack, and Cassiopeia's newspaper fell down limp in her hands to reveal that her eyes were bugging out.

"I don't think you could tell us that story from the beginning, could you?" Remus requested in a rather small voice.

"Sure," Harry frowned, staring around confusedly, "is there something the matter?"

Dumbledore paced back and forth across his office, quietly mourning his lack of luck as he mulled over what to do.

There was no doubt: Harry was missing, which meant, for the grand scheme of things, all hope was lost. Obviously, Dumbledore wasn't about to give up, but he had had little to no leads and depending on the people who had stolen Harry or where he had gone…that was something Dumbledore didn't even want to consider.

But there was little he could do where Harry was concerned and it frustrated Dumbledore to no end. It was thirteen days after Voldemort's rise and the Order of the Phoenix was still fractured, divided; they were paying a heavy price for how slow they were to mobilize.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and slowed his pacing until he came to a stop. He could hear the wind brushing the castle walls around him, Fawkes nibbling on a cuttlefish bone, and fancied that he could hear the dust motes from his old books swimming around him.

He had clues in front of him. Inconclusive, yes, but it was clear: there was blood in Harry's bedroom, all of Harry's things were missing, a missing link in the Dursleys' mind, and a missing kitchen knife from a set of twelve - a means and an opportunity, all that was left was a motive and a person. Dumbledore also had the Order, lacking in cohesion though they were - was that was what needed to be focused on first, so they could concentrate their power on Harry's disappearance, the Ministry, and Voldemort without stretching nerves and resources thin?

Was time of the essence where Harry was concerned, or should he concentrate his forces first?

Dumbledore's eyes snapped open. Yes, that was it - he first needed to concentrate the Order in a central location (big enough, secret enough, functional enough, secure enough; Dumbledore ran through different options in his mind) so they could concentrate their efforts and information; the Order first needed to be secure in its own power base before they were secure enough to find Harry.

And Dumbledore knew exactly where to go.

Drawing his wand quick as flash, a phoenix Patronus flared into silvery life from the tip of his wand.

"Find Sirius Black," Dumbledore said quietly, "and deliver this message."

Note: We're back again with Dumbledore and crew, so next up is Malfoys and Order members! On the Longbottom lodge - outside of London isn't the most convenient locale for hunting nowadays, but I figured it'd have been built when London was more "large town" and less "ginormous city that covers half of England."

As always, thank you so much for your amazing support - 'til next time!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and JKR's works do not belong to me; all material belongs to their respective owners; no copyright infringement intended; no money being made here.