Chapter 10 - Sirius
Sirius awoke to a dry mouth and a pounding headache; it was like the hangover from hell, but without the pleasure of actually drinking. Late morning sunlight poured in from the unshaded window, bathing the bed in a pool of warmth, and Sirius was loathe to move for fear of waking the girl who slept so peacefully at his side. To his sleep-addled eyes, Misha had never looked so radiant. "Morning, love," he purred rolling over to kiss her lightly on the lips.
But Misha did not move.
And then it all came flooding back: Misha's strange voices, the conversation with James, Misha's reckless decision to allow his dead best friend to invade her body, her inability to awaken… The warmth of the morning evaporated as a cold fear filled his veins.
"Misha?" he whispered, tentatively poking her side in that freakishly ticklish spot he'd come to know so well. Usually she shrieked and wriggled, but this morning she just lay still. Sirius leaned in closer, bending down so that his lips so slightly grazed hers. She was breathing, thank Merlin, but her skin was cool as porcelain.
"Misha, wake-up!" He shook her gently, his fear mounting as the seconds ticked by. As a Marauder, Sirius had had plenty of experience with pranks gone awry, and his later years has seen plenty of Dark Magic - but this was different. Still, it was worth a try. Drawing his wand, he pointed it directly at her and loudly proclaimed, "ENNERVATE!"
Her eyes remained closed and her breathing slow and even.
"Finite Incantatem."
Nothing. This wasn't any spell he knew of. This was far worse.
"Damn you," he spat, futilely shaking her sleeping form, "WAKE THE FUCK UP!" A shiver of rage ran through him. Why had she done it? Why the fuck had he let her? And why the hell had James allowed it to happen? James. Merlin, but that made it all worse. A still, small voice within Sirius reminded him that he'd actually enjoyed his conversation with long-lost best friend. He'd needed it and Misha knew it. A cold realization hit him: this was all his own fault.
"FUCK!" he cursed, angrily tossing a pillow across the room. "FUCKITY FUCKING FUCKBALLS!"
The only sound was the distant footsteps of worried house-elves and the angry huff of the mantel clock. Sirius glared at its marble face. "Well, that's certainly not getting you anywhere," the clock chided. Its voice reminded him of Remus' mother.
But before he could work up a proper retort, the bedroom door burst opened and Winter the house-elf burst in, trailed by several others of her kind. "Master Sirius!" she exclaimed, "Are you unwell? Whatever is going on?" Her companions looked on, eyes wide with fear.
"I'm… I'm fine," Sirius stammered, unsure of the best way to approach the subject. These house-elves, though free, were incredibly devoted, and Merlin knows what they would do if they thought he'd hurt their mistress. He looked around the room, taking in their worried, grey faces, and then dove right to the point. "But Misha is not; she's ill and we need to get her help."
"Oh, dear… oh, dear, oh dear," squealed the lanky elf to Winter's right. His ears were shaking with anxiety, but Winter was not so easily swayed.
"What happened," she asked, narrowing her eyes at the sleeping Misha. "Did she eat too much? I told her that all that pie was a bad idea, but she insisted on…"
"NO!" bellowed Sirius, cutting off the elf's diatribe. "She's asleep and she can't wake-up. We need to get her to a Healer and…"
"Asleep?" gasped Winter. "What sort-of nonsense is that?" The tiny creature rounded on Sirius with narrowed eyes. "Give me your wand," she commanded.
"Huh?" sputtered Sirius. He had no idea what the elf was going to do, but numbly handed her his newly acquired wand. House-elves had powerful magic, after all, and anything that could bring Misha back was worth a chance.
"It's not going to work, you know," sighed the mantel clock.
Winter merely scowled and murmured a near-wordless spell, sending a shower of freezing water across the sleeping form on the bed. Misha did not move, not even to shiver.
"You see," the clock admonished, "all you managed to do was dampen expensive sheets. If only you'd have listened to me, this would…"
"SHUT-IT, YOU!" screeched Winter, and Sirius shot her a grateful smile. Intimidating as she may be, the elf was, at least, an ally.
"We need to find a Healer," Sirius reiterated.
"Yes, yes!" muttered the lanky elf, but Winter just shook her head.
"Impossible," she grumbled. There are too many Wards in place around the house, and no one can enter without the express permission of a family member."
"Then we owl her father!" barked Sirius. Reaching under the covers he groped blindly for Misha's hand, wincing at the coldness. For the first time since he'd arrived, he'd touched her and she'd not responded to the touch. Inexplicably, this made him think of Azkaban.
"May I remind you, he's in Australia," the mantel clock sighed, "the owl won't reach him for days."
Winter shot the clock a withering look. "Look, you marbled-brained bitch, I've had just about enough of your supercilious comments for one day - and it's not even noon."
Sirius silently applauded the elf.
"So," continued Winter, "we cannot contact St. Mungo's so that's out. Only those who have the password can enter unless invited. I'm afraid that…"
"Dumbledore!" broke in Sirius.
"Excuse me?" Winter regarded him with uncertainty.
"Dumbledore can help her! If anyone can get through the wards, it would surely be Dumbledore. He can get Pomfrey and I know for a fact that, between the two of them, they can fix any spell damage." But as soon as he said it, he knew this was more than spell damage. Still, the elves were all babbling excitedly, and Sirius felt more resolved. "I'll go and get him myself," he added, and, before the others (even that damnable clock) could protest, the air shimmered around him and Padfoot raced out of the room.
Once in dog form, Sirius felt free. In Azkaban Padfoot had been his refuge and salvation, and in the ensuing years he'd become quite accustomed to his canine body. Sirius' brain knew Padfoot's muscles perfectly, every sinew and every breath felt complete. But none of this crossed his mind as he flew down the road towards Hogsmeade, for even in dog-mode only one thought permeated: Misha. He'd lost so much in the past, he was not about to lose more now.
The shops of Hogsmeade streaked through the periphery of his vision as Padfoot sprinted toward the school. He was tired, his muscles burned and his throat ached from panting, but he would not relent. In the distance he saw the Shrieking Shack, the scene of so many memories – most of which revolved around Remus – and, as he made a hard left and headed up the hill towards Hogwarts, it occurred to him that, when this was all said and done, he should owl Moony and let him know he was safe. But only one thing mattered now.
Noon was approaching as Padfoot raced up the hill toward the school and, had he not been so focused on his goal, he would have noticed that it was a truly beautiful day. Students roamed about the grounds, obviously headed toward outdoor lessons, but mostly dawdling to better enjoy the sunshine. Suddenly a new thought occurred to him: how was he to find Dumbledore without being noticed? Slowing down to a trot, he pondered the problem. "Shit," he thought, "if only I had the Marauder's Map, I'd know precisely where to find him. At least that would be a start." But Harry had the Map and, without it, he had no idea where Harry might be. And then it hit him: Hagrid. With renewed energy Padfoot ran on toward the school, heading full-bore toward Hagrid's hut. His lungs screamed with exertion, but he decreased not his pace.
He reached Hagrid's hut to find it empty but for a bored (and surprisingly amorous) Fang. After extracting himself from the dog's clutches (Misha would never call that cheating, would she?), Padfoot hurried out to find the groundskeeper. Assuming he'd find Hagrid either working in the forest or teaching his Care of Magical Creatures lessons, Padfoot put his nose to the ground and began to sniff out a trail.
Unfortunately, Hagrid's scent was virtually everywhere, and it took Padfoot sometime to locate the half-giant who was currently giving a lesson to a group of bored-looking students at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Fortunately, that group was made-up of Fourth-Year Gryffindors and Harry was amongst them. Padfoot quickly darted into the clump of bushes closest to his godson and let out a low whine.
"Hush, Ron, we should at least pretend to be interested," admonished Hermione. She gave her friend a sharp elbow to the ribs to emphasize her point.
"Huh?" cried Ron, shaking off his glassy-eyed stupor. "What'd I do?"
"You were whining a bit there, mate," whispered Harry.
Annoyed, Padfoot gave a low growl.
Ron blushed and looked down at his belly in embarrassment.
"Should've eaten breakfast than?" chuckled Harry. Ron shot him a death glare.
"Woof!" barked Padfoot as softly as he could manage.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione, looked around in confusion.
"Grrrrr… Woof!" Padfoot barked again.
Finally, Harry noticed. "I think that bush is trying to get our attention," he said, pointing at the clump of foliage in which Padfoot was concealed.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, I think that the something which is snuffling about in the bushes is trying to get your attention."
And Sirius silently blessed her.
As surreptitiously as humanly possible for a fourteen-year-old boy, Harry slipped off into the forest, Padfoot at his heels. When they were sufficiently out of sight and of earshot of the class, Sirius transformed. "Harry!" he cried softly, folding his godson into an enormous embrace.
Harry quickly hugged him back and then pulled away. "What are you doing here, Sirius. You know it's dangerous." He looked scared and uncertain, torn between excitement at seeing his godfather and fear of getting caught.
"Look," began Sirius, "I know you have a lot on your mind with classes and the Tri-Wizard Tournament and all, but I need your help. I need to you to take me to Dumbledore immediately. It's urgent. "
Harry still looked conflicted.
"It's Misha," Sirius continued. "She's sick. She may be dying. And I think Dumbledore can help her." Deep down, Sirius longed to tell Harry the whole story of his talking to James and of Misha meeting Lily, but he instinctively knew better than to broach the subject there and then. It would surely be too much for the boy to handle. Besides, Misha was the one who'd spoken to Lily, and only she could tell the story correctly. But none of that would matter if she did not wake-up. "Please," he finished, "it's important."
Harry nodded in understanding and then began rummaging through is school bag. His brow furrowed into a frown. "Hell, I don't have my Invisibility Cloak," he cursed.
Sirius thought about this for a minute. Granted, it would surely look suspicious for Harry Potter, known throughout the school as one of the four Champions, to go waltzing about the halls in broad daylight, followed by a huge, Grim-like dog. People would surely notice. "Okay," he began, "I'll stay here. You go get Dumbledore."
"Great!" cried Harry. "I'll meet you back at Hagrid's hut in ten minutes.
"Great," thought Sirius, "more Fang." But aloud he merely thanked his godson before transforming back into Padfoot and sneaking off through the forest. This time he took the long way around, for arriving early would only result in more fretting and waiting. It was best to remain busy - and to avoid Fang who was alternately horny and aggressive toward other dogs.
Nevertheless, he reached at the groundskeeper's hut a full fifteen minutes before Dumbledore's belated arrival. Fang immediately poked his nose into Padfoot's behind, and it went downhill from there. By the time Harry and the Headmaster burst through the door, Fang had mounted him and was happily humping away.
"Oh, dear, we appear to be interrupting something," Dumbledore proclaimed upon entering the cabin.
Padfoot politely disengaged himself from his canine host and quickly transformed into human form. "There was no escaping it," he said by way of greeting.
"Apparently," Dumbledore agreed. He removed his grey, velvet hat and peered into it as if looking for Nargles.
And then Sirius lost it. The pressures of the past few days came flooding out in a vitriolic stream of sorry and anger. Logically, he knew he should have been more careful, to have more gently broached the subject of encountering James, but he was simply too overcome with emotion. James, Lily, Misha, Remus, Harry - Sirius loved too much and felt entirely too fragile. As he told the story, Dumbledore nodded periodically, once or twice breaking into an odd smile. But Harry? Oh, Harry looked pale and on the verge of tears.
"I'm sorry. Oh, I'm so sorry," Sirius muttered, finishing his tale and noting his godson's distress.
"You guys talked to my mum and dad?" breathed Harry. His lips trembled slightly at each word.
"Yes, Harry," replied Sirius. He was beginning to recover from is brief, emotional fit and was starting to worry about Harry. "Your dad said to tell you that he loves you very much and is always watching over you. He's very proud of you, you know."
"And my mum?" asked Harry.
"Only Misha can tell you that, and she won't wake-up."
Two pair of eyes turned beseechingly toward Dumbledore. "Well?" asked Harry.
"Well, I think we best summon Professor Snape," replied the old man.
"SNAPE?" cried Harry and Sirius simultaneously.
"Of course. Professor Snape is quite the expert at brewing The Draught of Living Energy. In fact, he may already have some on hand."
"The what of what?" asked Sirius. "This requires a potion? How the hell does she drink it?"
"Well, it's more aromatic, really," Dumbledore began vaguely, "the person begins to awaken to the aroma – it's rather strong, I'm warning you – and then sips the draught to fully recover. It's quite the fascinating process and requires the utmost care in…"
"Erm, Headmaster?" broke in Sirius.
Dumbledore peered at him as if he'd just realized Sirius was in the room. "Yes?"
"Snivell… Snape? Shouldn't someone go get him?"
"Oh, yes," sighed the old man. "Quite right. Harry, you will run and summon the Potions Master. Please tell him what is required and that we will meet him at the castle gate at precisely 2:33PM."
"And it was called the what again?" asked Harry. "The Draft of Liquid Envelopes?"
"The Draught of Living Energy," whispered Sirius with a wink.
And Harry ran off toward the castle.
"Well then," said Dumbledore, "Since we have some time to kill whilst Professor Snape prepares his potions, I'd love to hear all about your visit with James Potter." He paused as the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to continue your visit with Fang."
"Certainly not," replied Sirius.
** *** ** *** **
An hour later Professor Dumbledore stood at the foot of the hill, a large, shaggy dog at his side. Periodically, he would lean down and address the dog in a tone one normally reserves for humans – and friends at that. "I took the liberty of owling your friend, Lupin," he said lightly. "If anyone can help you through the waiting it will be him."
The dog sneezed in response and the old man smiled. If any passerby found this site strange they held their tongue, but, more than likely, they'd long ago grown accustomed to such bizarre behaviour. In fact, for Dumbledore, bizarre behaviour was really quite mundane.
After a few minutes, two figures appeared in the distance. They appeared to be arguing.
"If Dumbledore had not wanted me to come, he would have said so," insisted the shorter of the two figures.
"Headmaster Dumbledore must have an almost masochistic desire to be constantly annoyed, then," replied the taller figure.
The boy just huffed indignantly.
"Welcome, Professor… Harry," intoned Dumbledore. Sirius gave a short bark.
"I see the odiferous cur is back," mumbled Snape.
"Padfoot risked his life to save a friend," Dumbledore reminded them gently. "He was very brave to say the least."
"And he doesn't smell!" spat Harry, adding, "At least not much."
Padfoot would have protested, but was far too concerned about Misha. Whining softly, he scampered ahead as if urging them onward.
And, with that, the strange group strode purposely forward, arguing all the way.
Comments are love. This will be continued soon.