--July 16th, 1997; Blowne House.
"So you've decided to stay here from now on?" I glanced at Aurora from across the room. It had only been a few days since she had escaped from Azkaban with a little help from Lupin, Tonks, and myself, and she was already plotting her next move.
Looking up, she nodded, "Yeah. I don't want to be near Molly any more than I have to. Charley, Bill, and I are old friends, but I don't much care for the rest of the family. They aren't too fond of me either, in case you hadn't noticed."
"When you turned yourself in, you didn't know they planned on executing you, did you?" I asked quietly. The question had been plaguing my mind ever since Lupin had brought me the news about a year ago.
Glancing at me, she shook her head, "Nope. They didn't tell me until about a month into the damn thing. They were probably doing it so that Chas couldn't come to my defense and provide my alibi and to keep the Americans from getting me."
That brought me a little relief. It was good to know that suicide had not been her initial goal, though I wasn't absolutely sure that it didn't enter into the picture at some point. Wiping some dust off of a desk, I glanced at her hesitantly, "Aurora—"
"No Alastor," she cut me off, "I told you, I'm married to my work."
Not surprised that she had guessed what I was going to say, I cocked my head, "Might I remind you that you don't technically have a job?"
Turning to face me, she gave me an exasperated look. "You just don't give up, do you Alastor?" When I shook my head, she sighed, "Tenacious bastard. Fine. Right now, job or no, my work is to make sure that the Order beats this guy out—again. After that's done with, well…we'll see." Picking up a few items off the desk, she sighed, "Ah well, if this is going to serve as a boarding house for some of our spare Order members, we're going to need a secret-keeper," she shot me a, dare I say, coy look, "You up to that, Alastor?"
I nodded, "Yes…but what do you mean 'extra Order members'? Who exactly is going to be staying here?"
At this, she laughed bitterly, "Ah, tenacious and jealous. Relax; it'll probably just be Remus, Tonks, Charley, and Bill. We decided it would be easier to keep close to Grimmauld Place than to come and go every time we met, so they're staying with me."
"Oh. All right," flipping on a switch, I went down a flight of stairs ahead of her into another room; a room made of hard stone and dotted with bloodstains and bizarre devices. One wall had a patch of stonework that was recent compared to the rest of the wall. Odd…
Coming up behind me, I heard Aurora emit a small sound of irritation from in between her teeth. "This place," she muttered, "You remember it?"
Once she mentioned it, I realized that I did. It was here that Alexander Kapranos met his unfortunate end twenty-one years ago. I knew because I had been there when he died at Aurora's hands. I had held her when she finally cracked under the sudden adrenaline shock, and I had helped wall up her father's broken body in the western wall. Then, just as soon as I had stumbled upon it, I forgot about it. Forgot about the horror I had witnessed in that room, about the screams from her father, about the fear I had had for Aurora—fear of what would happen if she killed him, and even more fear of what would happen if she didn't.
Suddenly, I felt her icy hands on my shoulders and I heard her voice whisper, "Alastor…you're trembling." As she said this, I realized that she was right; I was shaking like a leaf. Breathing shallowly, I allowed her to lead me away and out of the room where she grabbed me by both shoulders, "Alastor," she whispered, "Alastor, snap out of it. That was a long time ago."
Looking at her, at the concern on her features, I managed to choke out the words, "I know." With those words, she sat me down in an armchair and watched me with a mixture of concern and curiosity. Finally, I said, "Was that one of the crimes you were charged for?"
Blinking, she looked momentarily taken aback, "No. No it wasn't. The only people who know what really happened are you and I." She paused, "Unless you told someone."
"No," I muttered, "I didn't tell anyone. I did a lot of terrible shit to you, but never that. That would have been unforgivable. Particularly for someone for whom 'forgiveness' isn't in their vocabulary." I hated saying that, but I knew it was true. She forgave a lot of things in me, but that wasn't one of them.
Leaning down, she kissed me gingerly on the forehead and left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I had known her for longer than I had known anyone, and there was no one else I trusted more—she was like a poisonous butterfly; as beautiful as she was deadly. Sure she had caused me more pain, physical, mental, and emotional, than anyone else in my life, but dammit, even after seventeen years, I still loved her.
And for the life of me, I don't know why.