Gwyn Swann and the Prisoner of Azkaban
by Lady Dawson
Chapter Ten: Secrets of the Past
It was still early when Gwyn wandered into the library the next day. Madam Pince was still sorting through the returned books from the previous evening. She gave Gwyn a pointed look when she saw her walking in, frowning as the blonde witch walked aimlessly around.
"So," she said with a sigh, "what are you looking for now?" Gwyn bit her lip, not sure exactly why she came in here for, but the answer came rolling off her tongue before she even thought about.
"Do we have newspapers for the Daily Prophet going back about eleven years?" she wanted to know. The librarian looked highly suspicious about her question, but jerked her head towards the opposite end.
"Over there," she said, her tone clipped. "Look under the year and then in the index for what you're looking for. Should be in there somewhere." She walked away from Gwyn to return to what she was doing while Gwyn walked over to the books she indicated, instantly finding 1983 and withdrawing it carefully before settling herself down on the table.
"Okay, let's see here . . ." she muttered to herself, opening it up to the index, turning to the T's. "Toren . . . Toren . . . or would it be under Swann?" she asked herself. There was nothing under Toren or Swann. But where else would it be under? Surely there would've been something about the attack on Diagon Alley after Voldemort's fall . . .
"Try Dark Mark," Madam Pince told her as she passed by Gwyn. The blonde witch looked around at her in bewilderment. "It's You-Know-Who's mark. They usually file most of the attacks under that name. If it's not under that, then try 'Death Eater'. It's usually one of the two."
"Oh . . . thanks, Madam Pince," Gwyn said gratefully, turning to the D's. Sure enough, there was a list of articles under Dark Mark. Once she had found that, she scanned for articles that had to do with the one she was looking for. There were three under Diagon Alley and Gwyn turned to the first one.
"No, that's not it," she muttered darkly before turning to the next one. Finally, on the last one, she found the one that she was looking for.
ATTACK IN DIAGON ALLEY
Gwyn took a deep breath before plunging into the article that had taken away one young woman's life and left her daughter motherless.
Early this morning, at approximately 11:00 a.m. on the morning of April 12th, 1983, Diagon Alley was attacked by Gawain Toren, 24, son of Gareth and Angela Toren. Although questioned and accused of being a Death Eater, Toren was found innocent of his crimes and released. However, it seems that this young wizard is not as faultless as he appeared.
In addition to three wizards—whose families requested that they remain nameless—being killed, he hospitalised five more with various conditions and was found guilty of the Imperius Curse on four more. The most serious act is the murder of his cousin, Aurora Toren-Swann. (Picture shown at right)
Gwyn looked at the picture of the beautiful blonde witch in the picture and saw her mother beaming up at her unsuspecting daughter. A lump formed in her throat as she returned to the article.
Mrs. Swann, 23, was shopping with her young daughter, Guinevere, age 2, when her cousin attacked. After placing her daughter in the care of a family friend, Mrs. Swann aided the wizards in danger, rushing to get them to safety before duelling with her cousin. Eyewitnesses claim that both were a rush of power and ability.
Although she was one of the best Charms students while at Hogwarts School, Mrs. Swann was hit by the Killing Curse, managing just before it was struck to cast the Stunning Spell upon her cousin, leaving Toren to be arrested by Ministry officials only moments later. Toren was then sentenced to a life imprisonment in Azkaban.
Aurora Toren-Swann was the daughter of Cormack and Fainne Toren, younger sister of Gillian Toren, wife of William Swann, and the mother of Guinevere Swann. We honour the sacrifice she made and hope that you find peace. We are forever in her debt for giving her life to save not only those in Diagon Alley, but in the capture of a dangerous wizard.
Gwyn was crying by the time that she finished reading the article. Madam Pince seemed to take pity on her and conjured a handkerchief for her and Gwyn dabbed her eyes as she looked back at the article, wiping away the tears still clinging to her eyelashes.
"Is there, uh . . . any chance I could get a copy of this?" she asked hesitantly. Madam Pince looked surprised, but upon seeing Gwyn's face, nodded and transfigured a copy of the article, handing it to Gwyn.
After returning the book to where it belonged, Gwyn headed to the door, the article pressed to her chest, but Madam Pince stopped her.
"She was one of the best students that ever graced these halls, Miss Swann," she said quietly. Gwyn looked back at her, but Madam Pince was looking at the table that Gwyn and her friends usually took when they were in here. "She and Lily Evans used to sit at that spot, when they were in here. Same place you and your friends do. And she was one of the kindest girls that I ever met."
"Thank you," Gwyn whispered, truly meaning it. The librarian nodded, her gaze still years in the past as Gwyn retreated a few feet, looking at Madam Pince before leaving the library, heading for the hospital wing, not realising that was where she was going until she was halfway there.
Gwyn found Harry already awake by the time that she reached the hospital wing and very happy to see her. She noticed that he still had the bag containing his broken broom.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked her, looking at her. He'd looked perturbed when she'd entered, but now his attention was focused on her, peering at her carefully. "You've been crying."
Pulling the article out of her pocket, Gwyn handed it to him without a word. "I was there, Harry," she said helplessly as he read it carefully. "I was there when my mum was killed. We were shopping together. Just shopping," she whispered, shaking her head. "Then she gave me to a friend, so he could give me back to my dad."
"What friend?"
"I think it was Professor Lupin," she admitted. Harry looked up, startled at her confession. "He knew my mum and when the dementors get close, I hear her telling him to take me. I hear him, too, trying to stop her."
Harry's expression was filled with sympathy and understanding as he reached across and gripped her hand tightly. "Whenever the dementors are around me, I can hear my mum screaming," he said softly, looking away. Gwyn stared at him. "I hear her begging Voldemort to kill her instead, pleading with him to take her instead of me." He swallowed and looked at her. "What made you go look this up?"
"I don't know," Gwyn sighed, but looked at him. "Maybe it was hearing her voice, for what felt like the first time in my life. And I see her sometimes, in my dreams, with a man wearing a skull-mask. I wanted to know who was behind the mask." She gave a short laugh that held no mirth. "Her cousin. It was her own cousin."
Harry said nothing to that, just looked at her. Gwyn shook her head. "Sorry, I didn't mean to walk in here and pile this in your lap," she apologised, but he waved it aside.
"Believe me, I'd rather listen to anything you've got to say than just sit here alone with my thoughts," Harry said with a sigh. He followed her gaze to his broken broom and shrugged. "I can't bring myself to throw it away. I know it's beyond repair, but . . ."
Gwyn nodded, getting it. "You know, you can borrow mine, if you can't get a new one before the next match," she offered. Harry smiled faintly. "It's got to be better than any of the school's."
"Thanks. I might take you up on that," he agreed just before Ron and Hermione came in, along with the Gryffindor team, who had Wood in tow with them this time.
--
Monday morning came faster than any of them expected and Madam Pomfrey finally released Harry from the hospital. Malfoy, in a gleeful attempt to torment Harry about his fall, finally removed his bandages that he'd "suffered" from Buckbeak. After being subjected to Snape's unfair teaching and authority during Potions, Ron vowed not to go into Defence Against the Dark Arts unless it was Lupin teaching, which thankfully, it was, though he looked as though he had been sick.
Still, he greeted them merrily enough and listened intently to their complaints about Snape and how he'd assigned them an essay on werewolves.
"Didn't you tell Professor Snape that we haven't covered them yet?" Lupin queried, his eyebrows knitted together and the class burst in explanations again before he silenced them. "Don't worry, I'll speak to Professor Snape. You don't have to do the essay."
"Oh, no," Hermione moaned. "I already finished it." Gwyn covered her mouth to stifle the small giggle that burst forth at Hermione's protest, but managed to control herself as they moved on to hinkypunks.
--
It was only after lessons the following day that Gwyn finally managed to find the time to track down Lupin. She had looked for Lupin after the match, but he was nowhere to be found, so after his reappearance at lessons, she decided to talk to him as soon as she could.
Lupin looked up at her knock and smiled at her. "Gwyn, what a pleasant surprise," he said, waving her in. She closed the door behind her. "Would you care for some tea?"
"Sure, thanks." Gwyn noticed that he was grading some papers. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to interrupt. . . ."
"Oh, to be honest, I was looking for an excuse to get my head out of these papers," Lupin said with a laugh. "I forgot how first-year students can be. So . . ." he added as he handed her a cup of tea. "What can I do for you?" Gwyn paused, not sure how to phrase her problem. "Is it about what we discussed the last time?"
"Yes," Gwyn said, her heart hammering in her chest as she looked up at her professor. "I think I've finally figured it out."
"And?" Lupin prompted.
Gwyn swallowed. "It's Harry," she whispered. "He's my greatest fear. But I'm not afraid of him," she added, worried that he might have misunderstood. "I'm afraid for him. So much has happened since I met him, so many dangerous events that I . . ." Tears flooded her eyes. "I'm scared that something might happen to him."
Lupin nodded, not unkindly. "I know," he assured her. "I've seen the way that you look at him."
"What do you mean?"
"Don't you know?" Lupin asked her. "Think, Gwyn. Look into your heart. What's the real reason that you're afraid that something might happen to Harry? Take your time," he added.
For a minute, Gwyn just stared down at her tea. Why was she so scared, afraid for him? She knew he could take care of himself, had seen him go bravely into battle, despite the odds that were against him, and come out victorious. So why was she afraid that something might happen to him?
Was it because that she knew, in her heart, that everyone had their limits? That there might be one battle that he might not come out of?
No, not that precisely. It was tied to it, but something else. Gwyn closed her eyes, her mind travelling through the voyage of her journey, since she had first arrived at this school. She had been eleven when she'd met Harry, barely a child, and now she was slowly moving towards womanhood. She'd already become a woman this past summer, when her bleedings began.
And she was no longer young. They were all growing up. Maybe when they first met, she had felt friendship with him, but as they had grown up together, it had blossomed into something else. Something that she was just scratching the surface of.
She was terrified of something happening to him because he was her best friend, because . . . because she cared about him.
Because she loved him.
Gwyn sucked in her breath as she raised her head towards Lupin, blue eyes wide with shock. "Oh, my god," was all she was capable of saying for a moment. "Oh, my god."
"I thought that might be your reaction," Lupin mused. "It's very interesting, you know. Aurora's daughter and Lily's son to fall in love with one another. They would've been thrilled, Gwyn. And James would have found it hilarious," he added dryly.
Even through her state of shock, Gwyn felt a small laugh escape from her mouth. Covering it, she felt her shoulders shaking in amusement and astonishment. "This can't be happening," she said, shaking her head in denial.
"Gwyn," Lupin told her. "Are you afraid that this might complicate your friendship with him?" The blonde witch looked down. "Because it will. But it's not necessarily a bad thing."
Slowly, Gwyn raised her head to look at Lupin, wringing her hands together nervously as her mind spun around at the thought of her and Harry . . . no, too soon. He was her best friend and maybe she felt something more recently, but . . . but she wasn't ready for a relationship like that just yet.
"Drink your tea," Lupin instructed and she obeyed, unable to do anything else. "Now, are you ready to face your fears?"
Gwyn looked at him as acceptance settled upon her. "I'm gonna have to do it sometime."
Lupin nodded, watching her carefully. "Well, I'm afraid it's going to have to wait until after the holidays. I chose an inconvenient time to fall ill."
--
Winter soon came to Hogwarts and Gwyn woke one morning to find the grounds blanketed in a thick, white powder. The entire castle was in the holiday cheer. As usual, Gwyn opted for staying at Hogwarts rather than going to America with Madeline to spend it with her sister. Ron and Hermione were staying too, mostly to keep Harry company with her, she thought.
But the best news of all was the fact that there was another Hogsmeade trip just before the holidays and, as Hermione had pointed out, they could do their holiday shopping there.
After a rueful goodbye to Harry, Gwyn made her way to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione, slightly worried about her best friend up at the castle. Her Seer senses were tingling as she trudged through the snow with her friends, wandering in and out of the shops, buying Christmas presents and small knickknacks for Harry.
Gwyn glanced up as they were inside Honeydukes, looking for some sweets for Harry while Ron and Hermione examined some blood-flavoured lollipops. Her mouth opened in surprise as she saw Harry walking towards them, a mischievous grin on his face. He placed a finger to his lips as he sneaked up behind them. Getting the hint, Gwyn kept quiet as Ron picked up a jar of Cockroach Clusters, showing them to Hermione.
"How about these?"
"Definitely not," Harry told him, causing Ron to drop the jar and would've broken it had Gwyn not caught it, setting it back on the table. Hermione looked astounded as she gawked at the dark-haired wizard.
"Harry! What are you doing here? How—how did you?"
"Wow!" Ron looked impressed. "You've learned to Apparate!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Ron," Gwyn told him, rolling her eyes. "Seriously, how'd you get out here?" she asked Harry, who lowered his voice as he explained.
Apparently, Fred and George had a map that showed secret passageways out of the castle and where everyone inside of it was at every moment of every day. They had stolen it from Filch's office during their first-year and had now bestowed it to Harry.
"How come they never told me about any Marauder's Map?" Ron complained. "I'm their brother!"
"But Harry isn't going to keep it," Hermione said, looking at the wizard in question, who rooted on the spot. "He's going to turn it into Professor McGonagall . . . aren't you?"
"Oh, sure, along with his invisibility cloak," Ron said dryly. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Gwyn beat her to it.
"Come on, Hermione, it's Christmas," she pointed out. "Besides, it's not like Sirius Black is going to come barging through here in midday with dementors swarming the place." Gwyn, Harry, and Ron all looked at Hermione, waiting to see if she was going to report him, but she finally sighed and gave in to the inevitable.
"Oh, all right, but we've got to be careful," she whispered. "You don't have a signed form, Harry."
"Like anybody's going to see him in this," Ron said as they headed out of the shop and into the blizzard, showing Harry the sights of Hogsmeade. It didn't take them long to be shivering, especially Harry, who didn't have his cloak.
"Let's go into Three Broomsticks," Gwyn suggested, shivering violently under her cloak. "We can get a butterbeer."
"Good idea," Ron agreed, turning around to lead the way back to the pub and getting a table in the back while Ron got the drinks.
Gwyn took her tankard gratefully, sipping hers just as a flash of warning shot through her. "Oh, no!" she whispered.
"What?" Harry asked her, alarmed.
Gwyn looked at him anxiously. "Well, I think that there's going to be a couple teachers coming through here," she said as the door opened and all four of their heads shot towards the sound. "And possibly the Minister, too," she added lamely as Harry dived under the table and Hermione moved the tree to shield them from the teachers' view. "Sorry . . ."
"It's not your fault, you can't control it," Harry said from under the table.
"Shh," Hermione hushed him, her face white as the group settled down not to far from them.
Gwyn waited anxiously as they got their drinks, settling down with Madam Rosemerta and conversation struck up between them. Undoubtedly, it was about Sirius Black. The blonde witch fidgeted nervously as she listened to the discussion.
"Do you know, I still have trouble believing it," Madam Rosmerta said sadly and remorsefully. "Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I'd have thought . . . I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you'd told me then what he was going to become, I'd said you'd had too much mead."
"You don't know the half of it, Rosemerta." Gwyn frowned at the Minister's words. "The worst he did isn't widely known."
"What could be worse than murdering all those poor people?"
"Naturally! Never saw one without the other, did you? The umber of times I had them in here—ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!"
A loud clunk was heard from underneath them and Gwyn winced, praying they hadn't heard it as her head spun. Harry's dad had been friends with Sirius Black?
"Precisely," McGonagall confirmed. "Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course—exceptionally bright, in fact—but I don't think we've every had such a pair of troublemakers—"
"I dunno," Hagrid laughed. "The Wesley twins could give 'em a run fer their money."
"You'd have thought that Black and Potter were brothers!" Flitwick added. "Inseparable!"
"Of course they were," Fudge agreed. "Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends and nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry." Gwyn sucked in her breath at that revelation. "Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him."
"Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?"
"Worse than that, m'dear. Not may people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was working tirelessly against him, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off and he alerted Lily and James at once. He advised them to go into hiding. Of course, You-Know-Who wasn't an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the Fidelius Charm."
Gwyn recognised that name from one of her books; it was a spell to conceal a secret inside a single soul. So long as the chosen person—the Secret Keeper—remained silent, the secret is impossible to find. It was a perfect spell to use to go into hiding.
"So Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper?"
"Naturally," McGonagall answered. "James told Dumbledore that Black would rather die than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself . . .and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters' Secret-Keeper himself."
"He suspected Black?" Rosmerta whispered.
"He was sure that someone close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements. Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who."
"But James Potter insisted on using Black?"
"He did," Fudge confirmed. "And then, barely, a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed—"
"Black betrayed them?" Rosmerta queried.
"He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters' death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colours as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it—"
Gwyn felt her blood chill as Hagrid said loudly, "Filthy, sinkin' turncoat!" The pub went very quiet when he spoke.
"Hush, Hagrid," McGonagall whispered.
"I met him!" Hagrid snapped. "I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily and James's house after they was killed! Jus' got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with a great slash across his forehead, an' his parents dead . . . an' Sirius Black turns up, on that flyin' motorbike he used ter ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin' there. I didn' know he'd bin Lily an' James's Secret-Keeper. Thought he'd jus' heard the news o' You-Know-Who's attack an' come ter see what he could do. White an' shaking, he was, goin' on about Aurora and dreams." Hermione's hand moved to cover Gwyn's mouth at the blonde witch's gasp. "An' yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED The MURDERIN' TRAITOR!"
"Hagrid, please!" McGonagall hushed him as the pub went quiet again at his outburst. "Keep your voice down!"
"How was I ter know he wasn' upset abou' Lily an' James? It was You-Know-Who he cared abou'! A' then he says, 'Give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll look after him—' Ha! But I'd had me orders from Dumbledore, an' I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was ter go ter his aunt an' uncle's. Black argued, but in the end, he gave in. Told me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there. 'I won't need it anymore,' he says. I should've known there was somethin' fishy goin' on then. He loved that motorbike, what was he givin' it ter me for? Why wouldn' he need it anymore. Fact was, it was too easy ter trace. Dumbledore knew he'd bin the Potters' Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was goin' ter have ter run fer it that night, knew it was a matter o' hours before the Ministry was after him." Hagrid's voice grew lower and dangerous as he continued his tale. "But what if I'd given Harry to him, eh? I'd bet he'd've pitched him off the bike halfway out ter sea. His bes' friends' son! But when a wizard goes over ter the Dark Side, there's nothin' and no one that matters to 'em anymore. . . ."
There was a long pause as Hagrid's tale came to a close before Rosmerta broke it. "But he didn't manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him next day!"
"If only we had," Fudge said sadly. "It was not use who found him, but little Peter Pettigrew, another of the Potters' friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, knowing that Black had been the Potters' Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself.
"Pettigrew . . . that fat little boy always trailing after them at Hogwarts?"
"Hero-worshipped Black and Potter," McGonagall agreed. "Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often . . . rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I—how I regret that now . . ." Gwyn was shocked to hear McGonagall crying.
"There, now, Minerva," Fudge comforted her. "Pettigrew died a hero's death. Eyewitnesses—Muggles, of course, we wiped their memories later—told us how Pettigrew cornered Black, sobbing. 'Lily and James, Sirius! How could you!' Then he went for his wand. Of course, Black was quicker, blew Pettigrew to smithereens. . . ."
"Stupid boy . . . foolish boy . . . he was always hopeless at duelling . . . should have left it to the Ministry. . . ."
"I tell yeh, if I'd got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn't've messed around with wands—I'd've ripped him limb—from—limb!"
"You don't know what you're talking about Hagrid. Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered those people. I will . . . I'll never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep that it cracked the sewer, bodies everywhere, Muggles screaming . . . and Black was just standing there, laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him. A heap of bloodstained robes and a few—a few fragments—"
Gwyn frowned slightly as noses were blown. That doesn't make any sense. If the damage was as bad as they're making it out to be, then nothing would have survived that. The robes would've been completely destroyed.
"Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. And Black's been in Azkaban ever since."
"Is it true he's mad, Minister?"
"I wish I could say that he was," Fudge said carefully. "I certainly believe his master's defeat unhinged him for awhile. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man—cruel . . . pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark; there's no sense in them . . . but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You'd have thought he was merely bored—asked if I'd finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the dementors seemed to be having on him—and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night."
"But what do you think he's broken out to do? Good gracious, Minister, he isn't trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?" Rosmerta sounded anxious and worried as she spoke.
"I daresay that is his—er—eventual plan. But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing . . . but give him back his most devoted servant and I shudder to think how quickly he'll rise again. . . ."
"You know, Cornelius, if you're dining with the headmaster, we'd better head back up to the castle," McGonagall told him.
Gwyn couldn't even breathe as she listened to the group push back their chairs and swung their cloaks around their shoulders before heading towards the door. She felt a rush of cold air before the door closed again and they were left without the presence of their teachers.
Slowly, she lowered her gaze underneath the table, where Harry was lying on the floor, his green eyes wide with shock, anguish, and torment. And she had no idea what to say to him or how to help him.
No idea at all.