Notes for the convenience of the reader: The Aniragi population of Europe is divided into the Northern and Southern Alliances, usually known as the Nadlan and Sudlan. Kreighley: Ross Davies, manager, Paul, former 'Cupboard,' Kevin, who has Muscular Dystrophy, Staffy, (formerly 'Stinker.')
Dislcaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling.
Chapter 14:
Sarah had been severely shaken by the experience. It was all of it, - that she'd been helpless against the wizards, that she'd seen Lee so very afraid, and that they had been responsible for so many deaths. And was it wrong not to feel sorry that they were dead? If she were Catholic, maybe she could have gone to a priest, confessed and received absolution. But surely even Catholics had to be sorry first, and she was not sorry. She had nightmares haunted by smelly little men fondling her body, and by the staring eyes of dead wizards. She was nervous, jumping at any sudden noise, and too often imagining that an attacker lurked behind her. There were the practicalities too, cancelling her credit card and organising replacement driver's license, student ID and a library card. It was difficult for her, and she was enormously thankful for Lee's quiet strength.
Her studies helped. She could lose herself in books, even dry and difficult textbooks.
Harry had no nightmares. He felt safer now than he had for years. He'd been seriously attacked, and had defeated his attackers without any difficulty at all. He was a little embarrassed now at his own quite needless panic just because there had been a collar. He'd broken the Binding Bracelets hadn't he, back when he was just fifteen? And they were powerful artefacts of Dark Magic. The slave collar was quite a simple thing, designed for Muggle youngsters, the spells just spells, probably quite easily broken by a wizard. Admittedly there were specific spells that made a slave want to obey his master, and he resolved that if ever he did find himself in that situation, to ignore how he might feel at the time, and break the collar. Even if he thought he adored his master, he was to break the collar. It was all right really. All he had to do now was to get Sarah through it, and he cut a lecture on Friday just so that he could be with her for her wedding dress fitting.
The Daily Prophet's headlines took up half the page. 'MASSACRE AT THE HOME OF ONE OF OUR MOST PROMINENT CITIZENS. HEADS OF HOUSES MURDERED.' The Killing Curse was assumed, the Ministry 'working night and day' to find the culprits. And one thing important to Harry, - it said there had been no witnesses, not even house-elves, as the McLaggen house-elves had been instructed to stay right away from the prison wing. Harry was relieved to hear that. He hadn't thought about house-elves or possible human servants. Most of the wealthy families had human servants as well as house-elves. Tonius Carlyle and Draco Malfoy were shown in a picture together, both looking as arrogant as any Pure-blooded wizard could look, and neither showing the slightest embarrassment.
Narcissa read the article closely, very relieved that Draco had been spared. Harry. It had to have been Harry. Men she had known and liked were dead, - Benson, Jessem, and Artemius. Others she'd always been polite to, but had never liked. She smiled to herself. Lucius had done some terrible things, and she had always liked being close to someone so powerful, had enjoyed helping him avoid the consequences of his crimes, even when he'd been caught red-handed. Harry was powerful, far more so than Lucius had been; he excited her and she wished she could have him as a mate. He could sire very powerful children. She shook her head. He would never consider a woman of her age. The most she could hope for was to be near him sometimes.
Narcissa had no intention of telling anyone her suspicions. She had a very good idea that he'd been attacked, and wondered if he would still attend the Investiture Dinner. The Wizemgamot was supposed to have a membership of a minimum of fifty-five members, a maximum of sixty members, and now they were down by fifteen. She started working out how many of the new Vanie were not yet thirty years old, not old enough to take the family place on the Wizemgamot. Hugh, for instance, had a son, but not much older than Harry; the Steinways, - he'd certainly cut a swathe through the Steinways one way and another, there was an heir, aged maybe two or three, she thought. The Zabinis, who was the heir there? One of Benson's nephews maybe?
She continued counting down the families she'd known all her life, wondering if any had come to the end of the line. She thought that Clarence Ryan might be the last male Ryan, and probably the Parkinsons were finished as well. Maybe it was time for them to consider adding a few Houses to the list of Vanie, or maybe reinstating the Blacks. Sirius's father had been Vanie, but her sudden hope was short-lived. She loved Mary dearly, but they would never accept a House that included a Muggle-born. Harry himself? He was Pure-blood, - his grandmother had been a Squib, not a Muggle. But that was foolish. They'd never accept Harry. Even without anything else, he carried the stigma of having been a victim of rape.
When Harry came for his dancing lesson, just once weekly now, her body reacted with such excitement to his touch that she treated him more coldly than she ever had, and decided that she could not afford to dance with him any more. He was perfectly competent by this stage, and Mary was looking at her with a puzzled expression. Sirius was oblivious. Sirius was quite rapidly deteriorating.
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On the 15th November, Harry was at Potter Manor, first quickly checking the newspaper headlines, then turning to his correspondence. A letter from Severus Snape, telling him that he was now father to two girls, the second of whom was born on the 7th. 'A very active and irritable baby. Trieneke says it's indicative of a highly intelligent child. All I know is that she cries day and night.' Harry grinned, and returned a letter of congratulation. Having seen the way that Severus spoke of his first daughter, he doubted that he was as displeased as he sounded. He would never be a cheery sort.
A letter from Ross Davies then, a quite full accounting of expenses as he always did, though he was in no way accountable to the Tom Foundation, and his usual summary of what his boys were up to. Kevin was deteriorating, but matter-of-fact about it, three brothers had been resident for just ten days, but were then taken in by their grandparents, along with two sisters, including a baby. 'Parents destroyed by drugs, the usual story.' Ross was apt to become very loud when he spoke of the evil that drugs caused. Paul was getting on well, and had visited his siblings, though certainly not his parents. 'Their trial is not for another two months, and meantime they're out on bail, though I did hear they were hounded out of their neighbourhood. They surely must serve a long prison sentence, Paul's case is the worst I've ever encountered." Paul himself was making rapid progress with his schooling, but was still too timid to be put in a normal class. And Staffy (Theodore) Murray was suspended from school for a week for fighting.
Harry wished again that he could become more involved with the Kreighley boys. Ross said that you could break your heart if you became too involved, but Harry reckoned that Ross was very involved. He did his best for every boy who came into his care.
A couple of invitations, one from the Creeveys. Two Muggle-borns in the one family, - he guessed that a wizard maybe lived nearby and had fancied their mother, another from Hermione for a small dinner, 'Just ourselves and a couple of school friends you know,' and the letter went on to say that their baby was doing very well, was bright and more beautiful every day. 'Vayden wants more children, but it's only been a month. Tracy says she's not at all sure she thinks it's worth it, she didn't feel well for the whole nine months, she said, though she's fine now.' Harry assumed Hermione preferred to finish her Healer training before trying for a baby herself. There was a note from Poppy as well, now that it appeared as if it was safe to be in communication with him.
He went back to read the papers more thoroughly then, including the newsletter from the remaining community at Salem. He quickly scanned the two official papers from the Northern and Southern Alliance regions, and then started to read the Toulousaine Trabeche, which tended to run amusing, gossipy stories. Toulousaine was near the Muggle city of Toulouse in the South of France. It was the most important Aniragia of the Southern Alliance, and contained the centre of government as well as the principal shopping area.
This weekly routine was work to Harry, as much as the studies he did for his degree. There was a very small article that spoke of a missing wizard, Mundungus Fletcher, commonly known as Dung. 'Foul Play is suspected.' He glanced at the clock and reluctantly got to his feet. It was time to get ready for the Investiture Dinner.
He sighed as he pulled out the elaborate robes that Sirius had given him for his eighteenth birthday. Underneath he was heavily armed. The small Beretta plus a much bigger machine pistol, as well as his two knives. He wasn't expecting anything, but just in case. He had killed eighteen wizards, after all. What if there had been a witness he hadn't spotted? What if the Auror Department knew about fingerprint evidence, even DNA evidence which would place him at the scene of the crime? The best course of action was to appear at the function and act as if he knew nothing at all about a ring of dead bodies and broken wands. There had been no mention of the wands being broken in any of the newspaper articles, so perhaps they were keeping that quiet.
He regarded himself in the mirror and shook his head. Just weeks before he'd been dressed as a slave, and now he looked the epitome of a distinguished Pure-blood wizard. All he had to do was to put on an expression of disdain, and he practised it. He shivered. He looked just like the ring of Vanie, busily planning on what Carlyle had described as a 'sordid public rape.' He thought again what he'd thought before, that maybe wizards should simply not exist. But wizards were just Muggles with wands. What if he deprived them of wands as the American Muggles had done? The Salem community seemed to be recovering now, but they'd certainly suffered a very severe check, and most of them had moved to Utah, maybe in the theory that they'd be less noticeable in a place notorious for unusual communities. He thought it unlikely that any of them would ever again speak openly about being witches.
As usual he apparated close to the Black place, and walked there, very cautiously. Wherever he went afterwards, he met his bodyguard at the Black place. No-one could know he could apparate by himself, without effort and silently.
An hour later, he sat and paid attention. He had to pay attention. It was survival, but it was a battle when his mind kept wandering. It really was excruciatingly boring. The next wizard walked up to make his vows, and the officiator intoned, "Tonius Carlyle, Head of the most ancient and noble House of Carlyle, son of Reginald Carlyle, grandson of Darturis Carlyle, great grandson of Tonfret Carlyle. I hereby ask you to take the vow of loyalty to the Wizemgamot."
Tonius Carlyle inclined his head very slightly, and repeated the vow in solemn tones. Harry had already heard it seven times. He was trying to remember how many members of the Wizemgamot had died at the time of Cerlickh. Five, and one brain damaged, he thought. Six Death Eaters, and possibly others who'd survived undetected. It was obvious that there was no binding magic in the vows.
The first woman then, and Harry narrowed his eyes. Dolores Umbridge. He loathed the squat woman, and wondered what influence had been brought to bear to get her appointed to this position.
There was a Mixed-blood then, and Harry heard the hiss of disapproval from Narcissa among others. "Gerard Frame, son of Henry Frame, and married to Sharlin Frame, nee Steinway, daughter of James Steinway of the most ancient and noble House of Steinway, grand-daughter of Antonius Steinway." It was the first time the wife had even been mentioned, and Harry concluded that perhaps it was to make the man seem more acceptable. Gerard Frame haughtily ignored the audible discontent of the critical audience and made his vow.
Two more Mixed-bloods then, women, and Narcissa whispered, "It's Minister Bones' doing, I think. She'll get herself killed!" There had already been two attempts on Amelia Bones' life, and she was rumoured to bear a nasty curse scar on her back.
One of the Vanie replacements was the last, "Ledlie Vanden, Head of the most noble and ancient House of Vanden, son of Garrick Vanden, grandson of Callum Vanden and great grandson of Hector Vanden. I hereby ask you to take the vow of loyalty to the Wizemgamot."
It was done, and Harry reminded himself that he was absolutely not allowed to yawn, and only gave a polite smile when Sirius beside him moaned that he was so hungry! They'd all been seated before the formalities had begun, with only a small glass of wine to help pass the time.
The woman in charge of the organisation was looking anxious, but she'd only done what was always done. She should have thought, - seventeen investitures, with all the essential formalities, - it took time. Usually it was only one or two investitures at a time. Eighteen killed, and aside from a few younger ones, they'd all been members of the Wizemgamot. She sighed, wondering what the world was coming to. Eighteen of the most respected men of their world, and all killed. The favourite theory was that a new Dark Lord was rising. Well, they could hardly look for Harry Potter to save them now. He'd lost his magic.
A tiny but very fancy dish was being served for starters, some rare sea creature, sacrificed to satisfy the appetites of wizards. Two bites and it was gone, and the salad next to it had such exotic flavouring that it was all but inedible to those accustomed to more ordinary meals.
They were seated at long tables, and could only politely speak to those close, preferably not even across the table. Pure-blood etiquette, long lists of rules for polite conduct, their primary reason for being, to exclude those not brought up to it. Narcissa and Sirius, Harry, and beside him sat the first wife of Ludo Bagman, then Bagman, then Lavender Brown now Bagman, his second wife. Both Ludo's wives were very quiet, even Lavender who'd been lively and full of gossip when Harry had known her at Hogwarts.
Across from them sat two men whom Harry didn't know, but the crests on the formal robes were that of Bowen. He knew most of the crests now. Then next to them, and looking at Harry with a too-obvious curiosity was the new Zabini Head of House, Miles Zabini. Miles had been invested as one of the new members of the Wizemgamot, a nephew of old Benson, Harry thought. Strange to see all of those new members of the Wizemgamot, and know that most of them had been appointed to the family position because he'd killed their fathers, or uncle in the case of Miles Zabini. He remembered feeling sick and depressed for weeks after he'd killed Cornelius Fudge, but now he felt nothing like that. What they had attempted had been unforgivable, and now they were dead. They'd brought it on themselves.
Narcissa glanced at him and thought she'd have nothing to criticise that evening. Harry was behaving impeccably, exchanging polite pleasantries with his neighbours, and showing none of the contempt, even hatred, she was sure he felt for many of those around him.
It was Sirius who was not behaving at all well, grumbling about the food, the meagre quantities, the length between courses, and the flavours he liked as little as Harry liked them. Narcissa was worried. He needed more of the powdered potions she always dosed him with, but each time she had the opportunity to dose his food, he decided he didn't like it, and would push it away from him. He was becoming noisier, and demanding that the waiter refill his glass at twice the rate of anyone else.
Quite suddenly, he pointed, and slurring his words slightly, said, "You, Zabini. It should've been me, you know. I should be Van Sirius Black, and I should be on the Wizzmg'mot. Just 'coz blasted Hat put me in Gryffindor, fam'ly didn' like me any more. Had to go to the Potters, y'know. They were good, good to me."
Narcissa said hurriedly, "Yes, Sirius, you've told us. The Potters were very good to you. Glass of water?"
Sirius looked at the proffered glass, bemused, and then took it from her, taking a few sips. He was more subdued for a bit then, and Narcissa drew a quiet breath of relief. If she'd known the dinner would be drawn out so long, she would have found some excuse for not going, only that Harry needed them. It was more vital than ever now that he be accepted in society. She must not allow him to be so disenchanted with them that he became an active enemy. She looked at him now, and noticed that not only Zabini kept looking at him, but the Bowen cousins were whispering to each other, their eyes on him. She noticed Harry's eyes scanning over them once, his face a mask of polite indifference.
Sirius sneered at them, "Think you're so super'or, you blasted Bowens, don' you? The Blacks spat on your anchestors, they did! An' Harry's. The Potters were among the firs' Vanie, d'you know that? How dare you look at him like that! I should duel you, I should," and he stood up, knocking over his wine, and leaned aggressively over the table towards the Bowen cousins, making more mess.
A waiter hurried over, "Please Mr. Black..." and Kingsley Shacklebolt, who'd been standing behind Harry all this time, guarding his back, put a restraining hand on his shoulder. Sirius flung it off, stood up straight, and proclaimed, "Harry Potter, son of James Potter, son of Gerion Potter, son of ..." a pause and then, "I forget. But also grandson of Albus Dumbledore, grandson of Sisal Wikan, sister of Van Eric Wikan of Norway. Pure-blood, he is, and always was. Order of Merlin, First Class. He should be Vanie. He should be Wizh... Wizh'g'mot!"
Narcissa said sternly, "Sirius, that is enough."
Sirius shook off her restraining arm, and Harry took action. There was no indication that he was doing magic, but Sirius abruptly calmed and sat down. Two Aurors who'd been rapidly approaching, slowed and looked to the Senior Auror for instructions. Robards shook his head slightly, and they took up position against the wall instead, quite close to Kingsley. Narcissa gave a glance at Harry, heavily dosed the next dish, and firmly told Sirius to eat it. Sirius gave her a look almost scared, and did as he was told. She was sure that Harry had seen, but he said nothing.
Narcissa was very relieved to see Harry apparate safely away with Kingsley and to get her husband home without any further problems. There would be no more big functions for Sirius.
She had a serious talk with Mary the following day, "I'm losing control. Last night I put limiting spells on his wand, but if you want another baby, Mary, you can't afford to wait any longer."
"You're sure that my baby is not likely to be cursed like that?"
"I've never heard of it among Mixed Blood families."
"I've been taking more notice, and it's only the Pure-bloods seem to be lacking in old men." She nodded, "I'll go to him tonight."
"He knows there's something wrong. He's scared."
"It's going to be difficult, isn't it?"
"The Healer will do it if we can't, but it's best we do it. Easier for him, a wife's duty."
Mary shook her head, "I wouldn't have known what to do."
"It's part of the reason I wanted to marry him. He's my cousin, my childhood friend, and I don't want him hurt. It would hurt him dreadfully to know..."
She wasn't surprised to find Harry visiting early the next day, when Sirius was still sound asleep. She expected him to be suspicious of her motives, even to wonder if she could be poisoning him. She thought it advisable to be totally frank. He was a Pure-blood wizard himself, but it never seemed to occur to him that Sirius's malady could ever be his malady. She'd never heard of it in the Potters, but that didn't mean they were not susceptible.
At the last, Harry asked directly, "So, how long do you think he has?"
"Less than the year, probably less than six months. But if I lose control, it could be soon."
Harry looked directly at her, "It's an illness, not something you've inflicted?"
Narcissa flinched back as he bored into her mind, demolishing her shields. He made no indication of what he'd learned, but she felt shattered. He took her hand, kissed it with his usual respect, and took his leave. After a time, she went to Sirius. She felt as if she'd been ravished, and it had left her with an excitement in her body. For a change she didn't mind the smell of stale sweat on Sirius, or his sour morning breath, but set to work to excite him.
At his home, Harry considered this new information. Sirius was going to die, Narcissa was going to put him down. Narcissa knew he had magic, and it excited her. She desired him, but had no intention of acting upon it. Mordred's Curse. He sighed. Wizards should not breed. Maybe he should sterilise the whole breed of wizards. They did no good for themselves, and certainly no good for anyone else. It was only an idle thought. He had no serious intention of attacking anyone. Except for the warts. Those bloody Bowen cousins deserved a few disfiguring warts for what they'd been thinking. He sent Narcissa a gift by way of apology, though the note said, 'For all your help these last months.' It was a small thing, but expensive. He thought it must be awful to feel someone else in your head, and he knew that she had felt him probing. He wouldn't do that again, not with Narcissa anyway.
The love-making was over, and Narcissa lay with her head on Sirius's shoulder, dozing. He touched her very gently on the temple before taking his wand and casting a gentle cleaning spell over both of them. His father had gone mad, and his mother as well, though only when she was much older. His cousin Bellatrix had always been erratic, and he'd seen an uncle once, raving at a dinner until his wife had taken him home. He'd died soon after. It was his turn now, he guessed, but maybe not for a little while yet. His sons were not even one year old. They were walking now, and James was beginning to run, eager to get into mischief. It had been Mary who'd gone over the house very thoroughly, trying to rid it of anything that could harm them, excluding them from access to some rooms with simple wards.
Once Narcissa woke from her doze, he told her, "You don't need to hide when you put things in my food, you know 'Cissa. I will take what you give me."
Narcissa stared at him, tears in her eyes, "Sirius..."
He kissed her, "I know, my love. Just look after Mary and the boys. Harry as well. He's also my boy."
"There is time left. Last night... It was their fault, it was managed very badly."
"I did the best thing marrying you. I wanted Mary, but you... I knew you could cope with anything."
Narcissa looked at him very seriously, "I will cope. I will do the absolute best I can for you."
"I know you will." He grinned at her, a sudden glint in his eye, "Want to go again?"
Narcissa laughed, and agreed.
Mary was becoming a little worried, but when she came to the door, she could hear them, and smiled to herself. She'd go to him tonight. She wanted a daughter, and this time, there was no way she'd be taking potions, no matter how 'harmless' they were supposed to be.
***chapter end***