(A/N: Warnings: Sharp language, strong emotion, and general nastiness ahead.)
Chapter 10: Comes the Night.
Danger, in wolf form, started as another figure entered her vision.
What the—? Reinforcements?
No, wait, that's John . . .
With an effort, she stopped her frenzied, angry attempts to attack the Death Eaters. I hate them. I hate them so much for what they did. But I don't want to hurt John.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Maybe I can change and Stun them . . . they must be distracted . . .
Danger stopped, stock still, sniffing the air. I recognize that smell, she realized suddenly.
Not from tonight.
But no—it is from tonight, but not the attack—
The wolf's hackles raised as memories rushed back. That dream—I wondered why I woke up so suddenly, it was because I had seen the attack on my parents—I didn't remember until now—and they were the ones there—they both attacked, both killed that night—
"Avada Kedavra!" shouted the uninjured Death Eater—him—
The jet of green light raced forward, straight towards John Lupin—
And that makes three people I love that he's killed—
The thought, combined with everything else, was too much for Danger to bear. She howled and leapt up at the man—
And clamped her jaws around his neck.
It all seemed to happen at once. The light hit John and he slumped to the ground, terribly motionless. His killer stumbled and fell, clutching at the gaping, profusely bleeding wound on the side of his neck. Danger collapsed and lost control of her form from sheer emotional overload, her body wracked with sobs. The other Death Eater took one look at the situation and Apparated away.
God, I can't deal with this right now. Too much. John's dead, Remus is dead— she shuddered at the thought, not even a remote possibility just half an hour ago but now so terrifyingly real—
She was trying not to dwell overly on the fact that she'd just killed someone. She thought she might explode if she had any more trauma to withstand.
And I know I need to go somewhere, try to meet the rest of the Pack, but I just can't leave this place—
I think I'll just stay . . . right . . . here . . .
She fell into disturbed sleep. Not even the sudden chill of her pendants, some few minutes later, could wake her.
Danger had only spent a grand total of four seconds in the Floo fireplace at the Lions' Lair. Her words, to an uninformed observer, could barely be discerned past something resembling "attack."
For Harry, though, who had been half-expecting, half-dreading that something like this would happen, it was enough. He was up and running before most of the others had even noticed anything amiss.
"Harry, wha—"
"Death Eater attack, Ron," he said grimly. "I'd rather fight them out there than in here."
Those words pierced the veil of comfortable fatigue worn by his friends, and soon five figures stood, wands in hand, defiant against the darkness.
No one was there yet. Occasional footsteps shuffled against the grass, and a bright full moon shone above; other than that, all was quiet, all was calm.
A gust of wind blew, and an unpleasant, Dark smell reached Harry's nostrils.
Deceptively calm.
Harry took advantage of their inaction to link up via pendant chain with the four Packmates by his side. This is what I was afraid of, he told them. Voldemort loves holidays, and he hasn't been nearly as active as I've been expecting. There's someone coming. Or someones. I can smell them. So wait, and be ready . . .
Wordless affirmation echoed along the link.
They wouldn't have long to wait.
Lucius Malfoy suppressed a wince at the way the squeezing feeling of Apparation affected the bite on his thigh. Malfoys simply did not wince; it was undignified. And any pain he had to bear for the attack, he would, for the Dark Lord's sake.
That didn't mean it didn't hurt, though.
At least it wasn't the werewolf that bit me. This will go away with nothing more than a scar, instead of leaving me a ravening, bloodthirsty monster every month.
I think death would be preferable to that
His destination had been well-chosen; he was looking in on the window of an apartment on Diagon Alley. Number 132(b), Diagon Alley, to be precise. By the still-lit lights inside and a window facing the alley, he could see its sole occupant asleep on a sofa inside.
And Lucius certainly recognized said occupant.
The blood traitor of my wife's family, one of the purest in Britain . . . this should be even better than usual.
With a practiced flick of his wand, the blond Death Eater Vanished the window blocking him from Sirius Black, pointed his wand at the sleeping teenager, and began the complex incantation for one of the Dark Lord's special inventions.
An Apparation disrupter, one that requires considerable time to cast—not to mention considerable skill. I am probably one of less than a dozen wizards in Britain with the power to perform it, and perhaps the only one of those with the knowledge . . .
Some minutes later, the spell was finally complete. Lucius Apparated into Black's apartment and sent an Ennervate his way. The blood traitor sat up, startled, and took barely a second to take in his surroundings before Apparating away.
Right into my hands . . .
Suddenly, glowing blue lines rose crackling around the Lair, then vanished. Only Harry recognized them for what they were.
Damn it, they set the wards while invisible. I should've guessed! Damn it!
Anti-Apparation? asked Ginny.
Possibly with other things. I guess this is their attack technique.
Well, we know what we do then, said Ron.
We fight.
Struck by a sudden whiff of something from his left, Harry spun around and cast a spell. "Diffindo!" The Cutting Curse hit its mark; a Death Eater screamed and fell over.
But the scent of Dark magic was still thick in the air . . .
As one, the Death Eaters lifted their invisibility spells and stood, ten strong, in a semi-circle around the Lair and its five defenders.
"Bloody hell," muttered Ron. "Ten of them?"
"Shields!" yelled Harry.
"Protego Maxima!"
The Enhanced Shield Charm was a N.E.W.T.-level defensive spell that Harry had learned and taught to the more powerful students in the D.A. It created a shield that could protect against moderately strong attacks by sapping the caster's energy to strengthen the block, and could merge with adjacent shields to protect a larger area.
And it was about to be tested.
Barely half a second after the shields went up, all the Death Eaters shot curses in a simultaneous move that had clearly been prepared beforehand. Beams of red, yellow, and blue raced towards them—Harry didn't see any Killing Curse green, but that hardly meant anything when so many other curses were equally devastating . . .
The curses converged on their collective shields.
Harry had come to realize, over the course of his studies of Defense the past year and a half, that his will and his heart were unusually strong. Not many people could have thrown off Voldemort's Imperius curse. Not many, as Ginny had reminded him, saw their spells get stronger when protecting someone else. And it was exactly these reserves that Protego Maxima drew from.
Even so, Harry's shield fell like it was tissue paper.
He realized this just in time, leapt back, and fell flat on the grass, one of the curses narrowly missing the tip of his nose as it diverged. Another had shot through the hole in the shields and cut Ron in the calf, but it didn't seem to have any other effects.
The shields quickly came back together, and Harry had the chance to scramble to his feet in relative safety.
"All right, Plan D!" shouted Ron, as he cast a nonverbal spell around all of them.
Harry dropped his shield with the others. Each of the five Pack members ran to a point in the middle of the semicircle, dodging or shielding against the now haphazard curses they encountered. Each of them picked out one or two Death Eaters and sent a nonverbal spell their way; the spell, one of Hermione's inventions, caused a colored pattern visible only to the Pack to shine on the Death Eaters' black robes. Each of them would try to take on the enemies he or she had marked.
"Go!"
They went.
Harry was fighting two Death Eaters near the apex of the circle. Spells were exchanged in a volley that left Harry on his toes, but not outmatched. One of the Death Eaters seemed to be tripping over the other somewhat.
The blocking and dodging continued until a Stunning Spell pierced the shield of one of his opponents. The one fell, and the other ran to the side.
Harry ran after him, dodging the occasional curse. He was too far away to get in a good hit while running, but his opponent didn't have far to go before he left the wards—and if he did that, Harry knew, they would weaken considerably.
He wasn't surprised when the Death Eater stopped and spun around before he reached the perimeter.
"Going to fight me, little baby?" the masked figure taunted. "Think you can win with schoolboy jinxes?"
And Harry recognized the voice. Her voice.
"Bellatrix," he hissed. No matter that Sirius was alive, now; his hatred of her still ran deep.
Calm down, Harry. Getting angry never helps you fight. He decided to settle for a pithy comment.
"I would say it's nice to see you, but I'd have to add 'crack your head open' to that sentence."
"Ooh, ickle baby's already scared!" Her voice dropped the mocking tones. "Think you can win against me, Potter?" She flicked her wand and fired off an ugly purple curse. "Think again!"
Harry recognized it, jumping to the side to avoid it and countering with one of his own. Is that curse part of Death Eater Boot Camp or something?
"Imperio!"
"That won't work, Lestrange! Incarcerous!"
"Ha! Crucio!"
Dodge. "Stupefy!"
The fight wore on. Harry had to grudgingly admit Bellatrix's skill, at least internally; he was quickly tiring in the face of her onslaught, and the energy hit he had taken from the shield earlier wasn't helping any.
He was backed against a wall—the side wall of the Lair, in fact. Bellatrix fired a spell he didn't recognize, but it had an ugly brown color and diverged into a wide field of beams—
I'm dead.
Panicked, Harry did the first thing that presented itself to his brain. He tried to Apparate to the other side of the house.
To his eternal suprise, it worked.
Sirius stared uncomprehendingly at the blank wall in front of him.
I apparated to Hogsmeade. The only stone walls for a mile around here belong to Hogwarts castle, and that's surrounded by some of the toughest wards in Britain.
He looked to his left. Another wall. His right. Another.
He turned around. There was someone looking his way, naggingly familiar despite the hooded cloak he wore.
The figure removed its hood.
"So nice to see you, brother."
Damn you, Regulus.
The night sky around Potter Manor flashed with glowing blue for an instant before silence fell.
"Well, looks like they're gone," said Charles. "Everyone OK?" He looked around at the three people standing nearby, surveying them with a quick glance.
We're fine. James didn't trust himself to speak. Some cuts and bruises, far too many close calls, but no one permanently hurt.
But bloody hell
He tried to think of something to say, just to get his voice in gear, but nothing came to mind. The silence bore on.
"Let's go inside," Charles said after a minute. "No use standing out here freezing to death."
The four of them—James, Sirius, Peter, and Rachel—followed Charles Potter back into the house and took seats around the living room fire. For a minute, nothing could be heard except the gentle crackling of the fireplace.
"That was—really different from what I expected," James said finally.
Charles sighed. "I figured as much. You had to find out sometime, I guess. We are at war."
"Find out what?"
"This." Charles gestured expansively with one hand. "All of it. The fighting. It's not pretty, it's not romantic, it's stark and harsh and real and I always hoped your generation would have it better than mine did." He took a breath. "You won't, though. I guess it's one of those things that just won't go away. There are always people who don't mind using any means to achieve some very sick-minded goals."
James nodded silently, and saw the others doing likewise. That said it all.
I guess, when you come right down to it, I always thought it would be—like Dad said, heroic, romantic, whatever you want to call it. We all did, I think. Go in, dodge their spells, shoot yours, capture the bad guys and bring them in.
But that's not it at all.
"I guess Harry knows what it's like," Peter said softly. "Maybe we should talk to him."
"Hm?"
"Well . . . he's lived through this, I guess. Maybe not on as big a scale as us, but he's lived through it. He's fought them, he's seen people die—"
They thought for a while about that.
"And he still keeps fighting," James said. "He knows, if we stand by and don't do anything, they win. I mean, we all knew that, it's why we went out there in the first place instead of barricading ourselves inside and hoping they just went away. But damn— it's a lot harder than I thought."
"It is," Charles said with a grim expression. "You get numb after a while, really. You see enough hatred, enough violence, after a while you just stop feeling it because you can't hold the abhorrence for all that at once. If you did, you'd go crazy, depressed or both.
"So you find a productive outlet for all that emotion. You want to end this already—do something to fight it, at least, so it doesn't go on any longer than it has to. That's why I became an Auror, actually. Fought in the war with Grindelwald right out of Hogwarts, thought I could be a hero, make a difference, like you three—all I got was a first-hand view of the darker side of humanity." He fell silent for a bit, lost in memories.
"You'll live," he said finally. "Be thankful for that. You'll learn, too. Plenty of people don't get the chance. And I hate to say it, but it's true—what doesn't kill you really does make you stronger."
He looked around at the three of them, looking each one in the eye, trying to express the harsh sympathy he felt. "Parents always want to protect their children from this stuff. I was this close to blocking you all from exiting the house. But at some point . . ." He trailed off, unable to express whatever it was he had wanted to say.
"You were great. Thank you, all of you, for being so brave and getting out there and just doing it. It made all the difference in the world. But I'm so sorry you had to."
Charles stood up. "Dumbledore's probably going to call an Order meeting soon. I'll leave you be; I'm pretty sure you'll want some time to yourselves for a bit. If you need me, you know where to find me." He turned and left the room. Soft footsteps echoed as he walked up the stairs.
James collapsed in his chair with a weary sigh. Peter looked shaken; Rachel was grim.
"Were either of you expecting that?" he asked.
"Definitely not." Peter shook his head. "We learned all the stuff in the D.A., and that helped, that let us survive, but I don't think anything prepares you for the Killing Curse whizzing over your head. It's, 'God, that could've been me.' And I just wanted to freeze there, except for the other voice telling me, it will be me if I don't keep moving. It's just— I hate this. I really do. I know it's wrong what they do, and I hate that they try to make things hell for the good people."
"Rachel?"
"Almost," she said sadly. The other two turned to look at her with raised eyebrows. "It's the same state of mind people have, whether they're bullying first-years or attacking people's homes. They like the feeling of having power over others. The Death Eaters just take that to extremes, with basically no moral standards to check it."
"That makes sense, Rachel," Peter said from his chair next to her. "I guess I never really thought about it that way . . ."
He suddenly seemed to think of something, and whipped his head around to look at her, worried. "Merlin, why were you fighting out there? You're—"
Rachel's eyebrows rose. "Perfectly capable of defending myself," she said, cutting him off. "It's not like I'm an invalid, I'm not even a month along, and I am taking care of myself—so don't begrudge me the chance to do the right thing, all right?"
"Sorry," Peter mumbled.
"Oh, it's fine." Rachel smiled at him. "To be honest, I don't mind that much. I'd rather you protect me than ignore me, definitely!"
Peter smiled back, and a good deal of the tension in the air seemed to melt away.
Good to see them back to their usual selves. We'll make it through this fine.
"Oh, Rachel—how do you reactivate the pendants?"
"Yeah, that'd be a good thing to do, wouldn't it." Rachel had been teaching them the deactivation spell, which she'd learned from Sophia Ravenclaw back in July, when the attack had come, and no one had had the presence of mind to ask the counterspell then.
She fished her pendants out, pointed her wand at them, clearly said, "Coepto nuntius insignis"—
—and gasped and dropped them, shivering. No one needed to ask why: on the first pendant, one of the carvings was glowing more brightly than James had ever seen them glow, easily visible despite the torches burning in the room . . .
The light went out. Everyone seemed to let out a breath.
"It's not cold anymore," Rachel said softly.
"What happened?" asked Peter.
"Well, we know they're supposed to get cold for mortal peril, and that's colder than I've ever felt it, and it just stopped all of a sudden—"
Peter shuddered.
"I really don't want to think about it right now. Whatever happened, we'll probably find out at the Order meeting."
James reactivated his pendants and found them quite hot; the carvings of the wolf and the dog were glowing on the Marauders' pendant. Maybe they got attacked too . . . damn it, I wish we could help them, but we're in no state to help anyone and we have no idea where they are to boot . . .
Peter, though, found a blast of cold similar to Rachel's.
"D'you think it might just be giving us all the signals at once from when it was off?" Peter asked hopefully. "Maybe there was some danger that's passed by now . . ."
"But if that's true, wouldn't mine have gone cold too?" James asked.
They all seemed to come to the same conclusion at once, independent of one another.
The only people on our pendants that aren't on everyone's are our parents. And Peter's mum and Rachel's dad both lived alone . . . the Death Eaters might have thought they were at home for the holidays, sought them out like they tried to get us . . .
"I never even got a chance to tell them," Rachel whispered.
Peter got up and walked over to engulf her in a hug. "I didn't either," he said, "and I'm so, so worried. But we don't know it means what we're afraid of . . ."
James, feeling somewhat awkward, could only look down at his pendants and the still-glowing figures of wolf and dog, and hope everyone got out all right.
"Nice to see you too," Sirius replied sarcastically. "That's really the first thing I want to see when I'm captured, you know that? Positive proof that my brother's joined up with Voldemort."
"Don't say the Dark Lord's name," Regulus snapped. "And I only joined him because he's right. I mean—"
"You think this is right?!" Sirius yelled. "You think going around, torturing people, killing them—"
"Sometimes people need to be killed," Regulus interrupted darkly. "If they're only going to be ruining our attempts to make a better world for everyone—"
Sirius emitted something partway between a laugh and a sob. "You're kidding me. You have to be kidding me. 'Make a better world for everyone?' What are you, an idiot?"
"I—"
"No, wait, don't answer that. I don't care what you have to say." Sirius's voice was gaining in both volume and ferocity. "You joined Voldemort. The—"
"Don't say—"
"VOLDEMORT! VOLDEMORT! VOLDEMORT, VOLDEMORT, VOLDEMORT! The worst Dark wizard in recent history! Killing people every week! Trying to eliminate every Muggle-born or half-blood witch and wizard in the world! How long till it extends to 'trying to eliminate everyone'? How long till he kills you? And don't you care that he's just evil?" He cut himself off, breathing heavily. Trying valiantly to control his tone, Sirius continued. "If you don't see that, you're not who I thought you were. You're not the Reggie I used to love, used to protect when Mum and Dad got crazy. And if that's who you are—"
Sirius sighed, slumping in place. "So be it. I don't have the energy to argue with you anymore. Just don't expect to get treated like family."
"Fine by me." Regulus shrugged.
They sat in silence for some minutes.
"What, why are you looking at me? I'm not going to go away; I'm on guard duty here. After last time, they learned their lesson when it comes to you guys." He laughed humorlessly. "Not that I even know why the Dark Lord would hate you so much, my dear brother, but I suppose he has his reasons."
Another pause.
"He hates me," Sirius said to the floor, "because I did the right thing. Unlike you."
The floor disdained to reply. So did the other occupant of the room.
Harry opened his eyes and looked around as the squeezing feeling of Apparation left him. He had surfaced on the other side of the Lair, right next to where Ginny was fighting.
Why, hello there, he sent exuberantly. Could you use a hand?
Yes, I could. You?
Yes.
Let's go, then.
Side by side, they advanced upon the Death Eaters. Fighting as one, with new enthusiasm and the help of the rest of the Pack, they were finally able to drive them back. One by one, the Death Eaters were forced to leave the wards, which flashed blue as each caster passed them.
Harry grinned. And this is it . . . He drew his wand and pointed it in a flash towards the one Body-Bound Death Eater that was still within the wards he had helped to set.
"I've got a message for you," he shouted. "You can take it back to Voldemort. Here it is. You attacked us in the dead of night. There are ten of you and five of us. You're supposedly 'elite'."
He fired a nonverbal Banishing Charm.
"And WE WON!"
The Death Eater sailed through the wards.
The wards crashed down in a storm of blue sparks.
And when the light show ended, not a single Death Eater was left in the area.
"Blimey, mate," was Ron's awestruck opinion. "How'd you do that?"
Harry grinned at him in response. "Wards that can be put up quickly like that always have a weakness. In this case, it's that when there's no one left inside that can pass through them, they collapse. And when they collapse, they tend to release some unpredictable magic associated with what they're keyed to . . ." He let the statement hang.
"What happened, then?" Hermione asked anxiously.
"Oh, everyone with a Dark Mark got affected, I think. Sent in a random direction, probably, since they were anti-transport wards. Some of them might even have gotten splinched." His grin was positively wolfish now. "See why I love wards?"
"Yes," Aletha said, smiling in spite of herself. "Yes, yes, I think I do."
Five golden necklaces burned cold.
Regulus sat in stony silence, looking at nothing but the wall in front of him.
Especially not the person who sat not six feet to his left.
I'm right. I know I'm right. The Ministry clearly can't hold itself together; the Dark Lord is winning more victories every week. Any fool can see he's the right one to follow. Not to mention, I actually seem to fit in here.
But still. Sirius is my brother. I don't really care as little as I said before.
I guess I just don't know what to think anymore . . .
Heavy footsteps sounded the arrival of a trio of masked and cloaked Death Eaters. "Black," said the one in the front. "You manage to get him to talk yet?"
Regulus shook his head. "Not about anything more than how much he hates me and a whole bunch of righteous crap, no."
He wondered why the words sounded so hollow to his ears.
"Well, then, let's see if I can help you out. Crucio!"
Sirius screamed and writhed.
Regulus wrenched his head away from the sight, but he couldn't block out the sound. It seemed to go on and on, unbearably loud, echoing off the walls of the small cell, an agonized cry cutting to the very depths of his self—this was his brother . . . He knew he could show no weakness in front of these other Death Eaters—his own death would be the sure result of that, and he rather preferred himself alive, all things considered . . . all he could do was sit stoically, hope they would stop soon, and hear the grisly dialogue that ensued when they did . . .
"Anything you want to tell us, you blood traitor?" the torturer mocked. "Or would you rather I do that again?"
"I'll never tell you anything," Sirius said hoarsely. "You hear that? Never!"
Stupid idiot. Just tell them! There's no way Dumbledore's forces could punish you as severely for telling as these people are for keeping quiet! Stop being so heroically noble and save your own skin! Don't you see they're perfectly happy to kill you?
Regulus would have loved to say some of that aloud, and he very nearly did—but again, self-preservation kept him quiet.
"Ah, Gryffindors, so stupidly, stupidly brave," said another one of the Death Eaters. "I suppose you do need some additional motivation. Crucio!"
This one seemed to last even longer. Regulus could hardly bear hearing it. He's done nothing against you! Why is this necessary? Do you get some sick pleasure out of it?
He hadn't expected he'd be so affected by all of this. Hell, he'd denied to himself for years that he even cared about his brother anymore.
But really, I do . . .
The curse was lifted. Sirius panted for a while, then spoke. "Go—to—hell," he rasped; his voice was little more than a whisper, and Regulus knew without daring to look that every word was excruciating for him. "Where—you—belong. Because—I—"
"Ossis Fragmen!"
The watcher shuddered involuntarily as the Bone-Shattering Curse hit his brother with a series of loud crackss. He heard Sirius gasp, then cough. A small drop of red impacted the wall he was staring at.
The Death Eaters continued brutally on. "That enough for you? Ready to talk, now?"
Sirius remained silent.
"Crucio!" The third one had evidently joined the 'fun'.
Because that's what they think this is, damn it. There's nothing "right" about it. It's about them lording their power over the helpless. That's all. It's wrong
Sirius managed to get out one word in a whisper when it was over. "No."
A good deal of Regulus's exasperation, he found, had changed somewhere during this ordeal into shocked amazement.
There's no way I could endure that, any of it . . . This is a hundred times worse than what the Dark Lord does to us . . .
The Death Eater tapped his forehead in mock consideration. "Guess we'll give you some time, then. An hour, say. Maybe you'll be more cooperative. If you live that long."
They left the room, laughing uproariously. The wall slid shut behind them.
Slowly, almost unconsciously, Regulus turned to look at the results of their actions.
He barely stopped himself from throwing up. His once-proud brother was a mangled mess, deathly pale, bruised and contorted into a position that looked extremely painful. His eyes, amazingly still open, were dull and almost lifeless.
They're right, Regulus realized with growing despair. There's no way he's going to survive this. They went way, way too far.
And I bet they're proud of it, the bastards.
And now Sirius's mouth was moving, trying to form words with a throat that wouldn't cooperate . . . but Regulus read the message on his lips, and the words there cut him to the quick . . .
Is this what you stand for?
He buried his head in his hands and cried.
Danger stirred as she felt something cold and wet on her face.
For a few seconds, she wondered why she had been sleeping in such an uncomfortable position, on a hard floor, and what on Earth that smell in the room was.
Then the cold, wet thing prodded her face again and the memories—and the grief, the rage, and the despair—came flooding back.
She opened her eyes mechanically. Can't lie here all day, after all. Have to find someone who knows what's going on—Dumbledore, maybe, he's always good to go to when something crazy like this happens—
Then she saw what had woken her.
No, this is impossible, I must be dreaming, there's no way he could be—
But standing next to her was a clearly identifiable werewolf, adorned with blue eyes and a worried expression that no ordinary werewolf could ever display.
Alive.
She reached up and hugged him tightly, holding on as if her life depended on it—
Which I think it just might—
I'm flattered, I think, said a voice in Danger's mind.
"REMUS!" she shouted aloud. Words and tears flowed freely. "You're alive! I can't believe it, I was so upset, you jumped in front of that curse and I remembered what it did and I was sure you'd died and oh, the Death Eaters were the same ones who'd killed my parents and one of them hit your dad and I just snapped, I think I killed one of them and I hardly realized it and—"
Calm down, love, he said soothingly. Everything's all right, now. Everything will be all right.
"But— but—"
I already knew or guessed at most of what you said, and it's all right, you hear me? This was a crazy night for all of us, and I don't think my reaction to it has set in yet. But we're okay. We made it through all right.
"Thank God for that." Danger laughed weakly, humorlessly, as her tone took on a sarcastic bent. "I only had to kill someone to get there. And he would've run anyway—I shouldn't've, I don't know what I was thinking, I—"
I know. I'm not mad at you, and I don't think you should be mad at you either. It's all right, and I promise we'll talk about it as soon as we have a chance. But I think my mum must be upstairs, and I'm sure she's worried sick about us—do you think you'd be able to go get her and bring her down? I'm sorry to ask this, but I think she needs a human being right now . . .
"Of course. I'll try." With an effort, she untangled herself from Moony's form, wiped her face on his fur, and stood up on shaking legs. She walked up the stairs one at a time.
"Katherine?" Danger called softly.
"I'm in the bedroom."
She walked with soft footsteps to the door and opened it noiselessly. Katherine Lupin was sitting up in her bed, staring fixedly out the window she was facing.
Danger sat down next to her without saying anything. For a minute, neither did Katherine.
Then: "What happened? Are John and Remus all right? I heard noises for a while, but I was afraid to go down, I knew I'd only get in the way . . ."
"Oh, Katherine, it's— well— Remus is fine. He got hit with some silver darts, really scared me and John, but I guess this taming thing we have guards against that—so he's fine. But—"
"You mentioned John? Is he OK too?"
Danger felt hot tears welling up in her eyes. "John— John is— no, Katherine, he's not fine— a Death Eater killed him, he's dead." She paused, before going on quickly, best to get it all out at once— "And I sort of killed the Death Eater who did it."
"Oh my God. Oh—my—God." Katherine's breathing grew shaky. "He's— they killed him?"
"Yes," Danger whispered. "Yes, they did. And I'm so, so sorry . . ."
Katherine engulfed Danger in a tight hug. "I'm sorry too, Danger," she said. "I really am. I always hoped— God, this is just too much."
"You don't— blame me— do you?"
"Oh, heavens, no!" She squeezed even tighter for a second. "Of course not, Danger. I'm sorry you had to go through that, I just—"
Nothing more was said for some minutes; nothing more, Danger thought, needed to be. It wasn't long before Remus padded up and joined them, still in wolf form, curled up on the bed.
Regulus looked up. Severus Snape had just walked into the cell.
He frowned. Why doesn't he have his mask on?
"Do you truly expect the Dark Lord to forgo even the most basic of security measures?" Snape asked by way of greeting.
"What do you mean?"
"Scrying spells," the greasy-haired youth replied disdainfully. "He has placed them in every cell since the rebels' unfortunate escape last April. I saw every bit of what just happened in here."
Regulus internalized a few choice words. There's no way he's going to let me live now. I really proved weakness there. Death Eaters are sworn to police their own ranks, and Snape's completely devoted to this.
So I'm going to die, for making something like the right choice.
Damn it, Sirius, why did you have to be right?
Snape took out his wand and twirled it idly in his fingers. "Any last words?"
No point in discretion anymore, I guess . . . Mild panic drove him to more directness than usual. "Fuck you, Snivellus." He gestured to his brother, still a broken heap against the wall of the cell. "Is this what you stand for?!"
The wand stopped mid-twirl. Snape stared into a corner for nearly a minute, his black eyes glittering contemplatively but betraying no hint of what they hid.
Finally, he sighed, turned to Regulus, and began swiftly waving his wand in an intricate pattern. "Talk to the firebird," he said, as he completed the spell in a burst of yellow light.
Regulus felt himself flying through black nothingness, while hardly seeming to move at all.
I don't think he killed me . . .
When next he opened his eyes, he was standing at the gates of Hogwarts.
Great. I have an out.
Now what in the world did that cryptic message mean?
The spy turned his back on the carnage and walked away. Nothing remained in that cell to concern him. He had risked his position to help one with whom he sympathized—that was bad enough, that was far more kind than he usually was. No reason to compound that by helping his sworn enemy, who he was sure would die now no matter what care he got. He'd seen enough of that condition around here to know.
But on second thought . . .
He stopped short just before passing the perimeter of the cell.
Was that what he stood for?
He'd already taken the risk, if he was going to be honest with himself. Helping two people escape had the exact same punishment as helping one. And helping a traitorous Death Eater was, in some ways, even worse than helping an enemy.
Why should he not take his unprecedented kindness to its logical conclusion?
Because he tried to kill me, said an insistent mental voice. Because, because of him, my life for the last seven years has been quite miserable.
But didn't you do just as much to him? whispered another part of him, the part that had driven him to help Regulus in the first place. You always gave as good as you got. You know that. And he hasn't attacked you at all for over a year now.
If I leave him now, I'm basically saying I countenance everything that was done to him.
It was all done on my watch, after all.
And as much as I absolutely, utterly hate him . . .
He spun around. It's not as if I think he's honestly going to recover, he rationalized. And if he does, now he owes me a life debt. I like that idea.
He fired the spell.
Sirius Black disappeared, headed in the same general direction as his brother.
They were all gathered in the Order's meeting room. Remus was still in wolf form.
Some of the non-combatant members of the Order had organized themselves to check at everyone's houses, get medical care where needed, and bring the healthy residents to the meeting. The time-travelers had actually been found by Mr. Weasley, which had been quite a welcome surprise. The mood here alternated between chaotic and subdued; it was evident there had been some kind of organized attack, but no one seemed to know who else had been affected, and a good number were dealing with their own reactions to the night . . .
"I believe I shall commence this meeting." Dumbledore sounded unusually grave. The low chatter in the room died out.
"This past night, as I'm sure most of you are aware, Lord Voldemort launched a cohesive set of attacks against various locations in magical Britain.
"I wish to truly thank those of you who aided in the defense, and I express my most profound sympathies for those who have endured losses of loved ones this night.
"Voldemort aimed direct, coordinated attacks at the Lions' Lair, Potter Manor, and the homes of the Lupins, Pettigrews, Evanses, Trents, and Sirius Black. I believe it was his goal to wipe out the twelve young people among us who call themselves the Pack; he has overheard certain information that leads him to believe them quite the threat to his continued existence.
"Thankfully, all twelve have survived the night. The attackers were driven back at Potter Manor, the Lions' Lair, and the Lupins' home. The Evanses were alerted to the attacks just before anti-Portkey wards were set up, and so they were able to evacuate and are safely here. Regretfully, though, John Lupin, Elaine Pettigrew, and Patrick Trent were killed, and Sirius Black's whereabouts are unknown. I fear he was captured from his apartment."
Peter fumbled with his pendant chain, throwing it over Rachel's neck.
So they're gone, then. They never knew . . . we never got a chance to tell them . . . I'm so sorry, Rachel.
Rachel had a thin smile on her face that seemed to be an attempt at covering inner hurt. I know. I just— well, there's nothing we can do about it now. Only keep living our lives, and know . . . wherever they are, they're watching us, and I hope they're proud of us . . .
I know they are.
"In addition to these attacks, a number of Muggle-born wizards and witches were attacked in their homes. Some repelled the attacks; most, though, have become casualties of Voldemort's reign."
And so it went on. Three Order members had been killed out of twenty that had responded to the attacks; none were well-known to the Pack. Most of them were still rather dazed by what had happened.
Dumbledore sighed heavily. "At the moment, I know nothing more than what I have told you. Again, my deepest sympathies go out to those who have lost family or friends. I shall conclude this meeting now, for I am sure you all would like to rest. Should any of you seek my counsel, you know where I may be found."
At that moment, the Floo fireplace in the room (protected by the most stringent security wards) flared green. Madam Pomfrey's face appeared in the flames. "Professor Dumbledore, someone just appeared in the infirmary!"
"What do you mean by 'appeared'?"
"I mean, he literally just showed up in a bed that I swear was empty not twenty seconds ago! And I'm not sure, but I think—it's Sirius Black!"
Aletha was running out of the room almost before the word "Black" had left the mediwitch's lips. She skidded into the Headmaster's Office, said the password to the Den, and hoisted herself into and down the pipe that appeared.
She was entirely unprepared for her landing in the Den's bathroom. Specifically, she was unprepared for the fact that the bathtub filled with water to "soften" said landing.
And water was very, very wet.
Aletha allowed herself one wince at the delay and one laugh at its absurdity before clambering out of the tub (which seemed to have magically enlarged itself into something more like a pool) and casting a drying charm. She ran out the yellow door and directly across the central room into the library. "Thank you, Rowena." A section of the bookcase slid out. She stepped inside and jumped. Within a few seconds, she had reached the hospital wing.
Sirius was laying on the bed directly in front of her. Madam Pomfrey was waving over him frantically with her wand, trying to stabilize him.
Aletha hardly recognized him. No wonder the mediwitch hadn't been sure.
My God . . .
I'd almost rather know he died peacefully, than see him like this . . . it's clear they tortured him, then sent him back to torment us, and God damn it, it's working . . .
She looked up at her, hoping for any shred of good news but recognizing there probably was none . . .
The mediwitch shook her head sadly, pausing in her work. "I'm sorry, but I've done everything I can. He's . . . well, do you want to know? To be quite frank, it's rather horrified me—"
"Yes," Aletha said resolutely. "Tell me. Tell me everything."
"He's showing signs of multiple exposure to the Cruciatus Curse and most of his bones are broken in multiple places. The Cruciatus was applied after the bone breaking, as well, and his physical reaction to the curse has severely worsened his condition."
"What do you mean?"
"People under the Cruciatus don't stay in one place, dear," she said gently. "And people with broken bones tend to severely compound the damage if they move the affected area. I don't know how else to put it. He has internal damage—one of his broken ribs punctured his lung, and there's a lot more I haven't identified specifically yet." She sighed. "I hate to say it, but I really don't have the skill to treat him, and I'm not sure anyone does."
"Thank you anyway." Aletha moved over to his bedside, which Madam Pomfrey had vacated to allow her some privacy.
"God, Sirius, how could this happen?" she said in a barely audible voice. "You never get hurt. Not bad enough to show, anyway. I swear, you got clocked in the head with a Bludger once and you were back playing in a minute or two!" She laughed once, then stopped, suddenly somber.
"I guess no one's invincible . . .
"But damn it, Sirius, you're the strongest person I know! Even when you're being a prat, you're just—you. You broke off from your family—I don't care what they said, that took real strength. I've never, never, seen you back down from what you believe. And last year, after the fiasco with Snape and Remus—you didn't let it beat you down, you held on, you grew up . . .
"That's why I love you so much, you know. Yes, you're a prat sometimes—but so are we all. And you never give up . . .
"And now I wish so much that I'd told you this before, while I still had the chance! Because that's what really matters—all the stuff we'd argue about, Quidditch and Snape and the Marauders, who cares about that? I'm not nearly as mad at you as you probably think, I forgive everything I ever yelled at you for, now just come back so you can hear it!"
She choked on her words. "Because—I just can't accept that you're broken, gone forever, you the boy who never backed down from anything—this isn't the way it should go, this can't be how it goes!"
She had long since shedded the veil of tranquility that seemed to follow her wherever she went; she was leaving nothing to reason and everything to emotion; her mind was a whirlwind of desperate thoughts and images she couldn't even begin to piece together . . .
Aletha reached out and put her hand on Sirius's forehead, probably the one part of him that wasn't affected by the curse, and focused on him all her formidable will and determination. It built up, bubbled over, erupted into one fiery declaration:
"I won't let you die!"
Severus Snape opened his eyes and looked around.
I have no reason to be at Hogwarts, and the Great Hall is never empty . . . why am I here, and where is 'here'?
His gaze fell on a partially open door behind the staff table, and he was forced to revise one of those observations. There was, in fact, someone here, inside the room behind that door, an indistinct silhouette at this distance.
But I am not sure I should approach him. This seems a dream, and it is certainly not mine, so whoever created this place certainly wields great power here. It may be an effort to entrap me—perhaps it is the work of the Dark Lord.
But in dreams, curiosity nearly always overcame rationality, and so it was with this one. While he had been weighing the advisability of walking forward, his feet had been moving without his realizing it, and Snape was past the teachers' dais by the time he decided not to proceed.
And the figure in the room had already noticed him, and was beckoning him in.
Too late now.
He entered the room.
The man was robed in green, and looked somewhat like the new Potter, only older and without the glasses—and, Snape thought, much less irksome in resemblance. He was speaking.
"Severus Malachai Snape, son of Eileen, I bid you welcome."
Snape noted appreciatively that the man, whoever he was, identified him by relation to the parent he respected, and passed over the very existence of the parent he despised.
I believe I like him already.
"The same to you, sir. You seem already to know my name and the reason I am here; may I in turn know the same of you?"
The man waved a hand, relaxing somewhat. "No need for those formalities, Severus—tradition demands it at the beginning, I guess, but after that, you can talk normally."
"Fine. My question still stands."
"Blunt as always, I see." The man smiled. "I believe you know me by association, but not by name. I'm not sure the name has survived to your time, unless the Pack told you."
"You know about them?" Snape asked in shock.
"Yes, of course, they're one of the few visitors we've had lately."
Details were beginning to come together in Snape's mind. "Am I here because of an oath that binds me?"
"You've got it." The man grinned. "I am Alexander Slytherin, Salazar's so-called 'good' son."
An original heir of Slytherin? Snape's respect for the man had increased about a hundredfold.
"Why am I here, then, sir?" he asked almost diffidently.
"Hey, I told you, no 'sir'!" Alexander laughed. "You're here, as you guessed, because of the oath you swore with Dumbledore. It's quite a weighty oath, and we have to make sure those who would benefit from it truly merit their rewards."
"And you find that I do?" Snape asked.
"You wouldn't know I existed if you didn't."
Snape remained silent, and only nodded for Alexander to continue.
He did. "I must say, Severus, I wasn't exactly rooting for you from the start. I've seen some of the things you've done, not just in the universe you know but in the one Harry came from and others too, and, well, I didn't have too high an opinion of you as a person.
"But we don't believe anyone is irredeemable, and in the past several months, most especially with your actions tonight, we think you've basically redeemed yourself."
Snape frowned. "You've mentioned 'we' a few times now. Of whom do you speak—the other Founders?"
"In part," said Alexander. "Godric and Helga and Rowena are here, as well as Rowena's three daughters, Helga's son, and Godric's son and daughter. But Salazar and Matthias are not, because they broke the oath we swore. It's the same one you swore, and the penalties are just as bad as they sound."
"All right. Continue."
"There really isn't much more to say. Despite the fact that you and Sirius are basically sworn enemies, you helped him when he needed it, instead of being 'quick to dole out death and judgement', as Godric likes to warn people not to be. And, by the way, I can tell you that Sirius is going to recover fully."
Snape prevented his mouth from dropping open with no small degree of effort. "How?"
Alexander smiled enigmatically. "Ah, not my place to tell. I'm sorry.
"But anyway—what do you want?"
After pondering the matter for a few seconds, Snape said, "I want that which will do me most good and is in your power to give."
"A true Slytherin answer," Alexander said happily. "I won't tell you who else said the same thing; no sense spoiling your fun. And what would do you most good is indeed in my power to give, and amounts to two things. For the first, you'll need a mirror to appreciate the full effect." He snapped his fingers, and one appeared; a second snap, and Snape felt something growing on him . . .
He looked in the mirror.
He was a very large, very plump, very feathered, very yellow canary.
Alexander began laughing uproariously.
That respect I gave you earlier? It's gone, old man. GONE. You are going DOWN.
Mercifully, the spell lasted only a minute, and Alexander kept himself perfectly composed as he lifted it.
"And how, Alexander," Snape hissed, "was that 'what would do me most good'?"
"You needed to be taken down a peg," the green-robed man said glibly. "And you can call me Alex. I prefer it."
Snape continued to mutter darkly, but didn't pursue the matter.
"And now, as to what I truly wish to give you."
The muttering stopped.
"I understand you are currently magically bound to my upstart many-times-great-nephew through that ugly mark on your left forearm."
Snape nodded, resignedly, though the means of identifying Voldemort amused him.
"I also understand that you are not truly loyal to him."
Another nod, this one a bit more enthusiastic.
"In light of this, at some point, if you want to live a normal life—not get killed when Voldemort does, for instance—you're going to need to divest yourself of that mark and all that goes with it. I'm offering a way to do that."
For the first time, Snape thought his eyes showed something akin to hope. "Are you serious?"
"I'll let the obvious pun pass on that one. Yes, I do mean what I say." He took a step forward, looking Snape in the eye, laid his right hand on the boy's chest, and spoke. "From this day forward, the phoenix pendant you wear shall have a green jewel embedded in it. When the time comes at which point you wish that your connection with Voldemort, and the mark that indicates it, be completely and permanently removed, you may touch the jewel and speak this wish, and it shall be so. So I speak, so I intend, and so may it be done."
Nothing seemed to happen.
As if it would. I'll see it when I wake up, assuming this isn't some very, very strange product of my own twisted imagination.
"Now, I met with you alone for this because I thought I would relate to you best at first; you are quite a Slytherin, after all. I didn't want you feeling apprehensive, or running off before we had the chance to inform you. But now, I think, you'll be wanting to meet with my colleagues."
Say no to meeting the Founders? What does he think I am, an idiot?
"Yes, please."
For the first time he could remember in the past few years, Snape smiled.
(A/N: My sincerest apologies for the very, very long delay in posting this chapter. I promise it'll never be so long again between updates.
Thanks for understanding, and hope you enjoyed it!)