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Chapter 14 – Maulden's Edge

Lucy stumbled out of a surprisingly narrow fireplace, covering a Persian rug in a thin layer of ash. Suddenly self-conscious, she made a show of coughing as elegantly and discreetly as she could – skilled as she'd gotten at handling Portkeys, she had somehow never learned to travel by Floo without making a fool of herself.

She still did better than Black, though; a few moments later, the flames lengthened, the fire stirred in the hearth again, and the tall man slammed his head hard into the marble inlay as he came through.

"Ow! Motherfucker…"

Lucy couldn't suppress her laugh. "That's you…"

"I'm glad I could provide today's entertainment, princess," he bit back. "Your dad is okay, by the way. He'll remember nothing weird about the questioning… I took off the curse, and all."

"But did he see you?"

"He won't connect the dots. Don't worry – you'll have your job."

"That's not what I was thinking about!" Lucy snapped, although she wasn't even sure what had issued such irritation in her. "If anyone saw you, they'll follow… look, I didn't stitch you all up to see you thrown back into your cell!"

"I'll be very careful, then," said Black theatrically. Something softened in his eyes, as if he was fighting a smile, but Lucy ignored it.

"…where are we, anyway?"

"Dumbledore's. I couldn't think of anywhere else we'd be safe."

Lucy frowned. "And won't he get… I don't know… pissed off… that we just…"

"Have you ever seen Albus Dumbledore pissed off?"

"No…" Lucy grinned. "Point taken. You think he has something to eat?"

"Let's find out."

Dumbledore's house was huge, and just as strange and mazy as one might expect. Thankfully, though, Black seemed to know his way around, so they reached the kitchen without any major setbacks – although one of the candle-holders decided that it would be a very good idea to set the hem of Lucy's blouse on fire. It took several well-placed shoves from Black to make it reconsider.

The kitchen was low-pitched and cosy, with rubble walls that embraced in a small, crumped arch over another fireplace. The cupboards were loaded with strange-smelling herbs and artfully shaped vials, and the back wall was almost entirely covered in a montage of calendars in various languages. The very first detail to catch Lucy's attention, however, was the heavenly smell oozing from the pile of pizza boxes on the table. Stepping closer, she noticed a message on top. It read:

Dear Lucy and Sirius,

I hope your endeavour was successful.

You might be relieved to hear that Remus and Mundungus are quite all right and safe, and they will soon be joining you. In two days, the Order gathers in my home, and many things shall be explained. Please remain within the property; and during your stay, help yourselves to everything my humble home has to offer.

Yours truly,

Albus Dumbledore

P.S.: Do leave a slice or two of the Hawaii pizza. It is my favourite.

"What a man," said Black fondly.

Lucy shook her head. "I can't imagine Dumbledore ordering pizza. What the hell, really…? How could he even know we were going to come here…?"

"That's just him – he knows things." Black shrugged, then with an effort, he tore his eyes away from the boxes. "Now… before we eat all that twice, I will fix your back."

Lucy tensed. "It's… it's all right."

"Absolutely not. It was bleeding again…"

"And it stopped. A shower will take it away."

"Nah, I'll fix it. Promise I won't get naughty, and all."

Lucy rolled her eyes; then, admitting defeat, she turned her back on the tall man and let him help her out of her blouse. To Black's credit, he did restrain himself from "getting naughty" – he must have used some new spell, though, because even if his hands were warm, Lucy was getting goose-bumps all over from their touch.

"So… how awful it is?" She muttered.

"Ten-something red lines running down to your shoulder-blades. In a few months, they're going to be silver. I've seen uglier tattoos."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Don't worry… you're still a solid eight."

"Fuck off," said Lucy, but she suddenly felt much lighter.

"See?" Black sighed as he pulled the layers of cloth black on her. "That's why we, men don't play nice anymore. You heroically rescue a princess, and all you get is a fuck off…"

"Faux," said Lucy and she proceeded to open the nearest box of pizza. "You men always tell us to be direct. Now there I was, explicit as you please, and all I get is a tirade on playing nice. Oh, and I don't fit in scales."

Black laughed at that, but they ate in silence, which was made somewhat uncomfortable by the whirlwind of thought Lucy could sense racing through the surface of his mind. The temptation to look was hard to resist; but she doubted very much that he would appreciate an attempt.

When he finally spoke, though, his voice was low and thoughtful.

"The way you've handled Remus… it was very nice of you."

"It wasn't his fault," said Lucy automatically. "I was an idiot… I didn't think… things like that just happen around a werewolf, I guess. Thankfully, you were there… Look, I don't want Remus to know about this. Ever. I think he'd never stop blaming himself."

"Well," said Black cautiously, "he told me that if I had to choose between letting him lacerate someone limb by limb versus letting him bump your elbow, he'd prefer the former…"

Lucy snorted. "How darkly dramatic. He must've been reading Coleridge again."

"…so – you're quite close," Black tried, "aren't you…?"

Lucy took a small bite of pizza, studied the rest of the slice, then placed it back into the box. "You want to know if I've… oh, how would Dad put it?" She snapped her fingers. "Oh, yeah! …so, gotten intimate with him."

"That wasn't what I…" Black swallowed the end of the sentence, then sighed. "Okay, so have you or not?"

"…which is important, because…?"

"Because – because he's Remus," Black barked. "The guy I've known since I was a kid. So – have you…?"

"No, I haven't."

"And would you…?"

Lucy tilted her head. "I don't know," she said truthfully. "I think I like him too much for that. I mean – genuinely like him. As a person. See, I don't… I try not to shag people I care for."

She could have sworn she'd seen the shadow of a smile on his face. "Why?"

"Because… because men often have these… preconceptions, that we will do this and that, and everything will be nice and dandy. And then, usually, something happens. I get a new job… someone offers me a trip to Sri Lanka, or Australia, or Greenland or whatever… and I go. I always go. Now, men usually don't like that – which is perfectly understandable if you want to settle down, have kids, that kind of thing. But… guess I'm not exactly the right material for that." She let a sardonic smile creep on her face. "Which is why I prefer adventurers… and roadside inns… and free drinks."

"…so, in other words, you really are a Veela," Black declared. "You come and go as you please, and step over the ruins."

"Now-now," said Lucy gently, "I feel obliged to repeat myself: fuck off."

Godric's Hollow was a small, cosy town in a wide valley, somewhere between Bristol and Salisbury. Slumped over it was a thick line of greenery that ran across the surrounding hills. The scenery in itself was perhaps not what one would call comely – some hills were more like heaps of dirt, the surrounding woods were scrawny and treacherous, and the overhanging cliffs at Maulden's Edge looked somewhat like crooked teeth – but the town itself was homely and inviting. In happier years, Sirius had always been enticed by the church-bells' toll; it had sounded like a call home.

It was close to nightfall, and he was watching the fiery plate of the Sun disappearing behind the church-tower. At first, it only slid under the iron cross on top; it hurt his eyes, but he kept staring rigidly at it. He gritted his teeth and fought some masochistic urge to lower his gaze to the gates, and the graveyard beyond.

When he finally did, he could only see the blurred negative of the cross, painted in purple and green-ish hues of pain. He had been staring for too long. Maybe he should carve his eyes out now – then, at least, he wouldn't have to look ever again.

"I knew you would be here."

He winced as Remus placed a hand on his shoulder and lowered himself to sit beside him. There was still a little bit of Moony in the way he moved, the way his fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt.

"How rash. I didn't even know I would be here."

Remus clicked his tongue. "I really don't have the mind to play smart with you right now."

"Then don't."

Remus watched as a pair of pigeons glided across the valley beneath them and settled above the church-gate. "You're not going to help old Moony here, are you?"

Sirius felt a flash of unfocused anger. "What do you want?"

"I feel like we need to talk," said Remus cautiously. Sirius turned his head to look at him and he flinched; his gaze was that of some startled woodland creature that had decided to trust against its nature, but it did not dare yet.

"I…" Remus opened his mouth, then shut it, searching for words. "I wrote you letters since Christmas. A dozen, or more."

"Yeah."

"You never answered. Not even on the back of the paper, or something."

"I had nothing to say."

"Nothing?" Remus's voice had an edge to it. "We've never talked about… We haven't even… I've barely found out the truth, and then… if I've had enough sense to take that potion in time, you'd already be a free man! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? Everything could have happened otherwise… Wormtail wouldn't have gotten back to Voldemort, he wouldn't have come back, Dumbledore wouldn't be harassed by the Ministry right now as we speak, and… and…"

"I'd fancy a language without the word if," said Sirius lightly. He threw a handful of pebbles down the hillside and watched as they disappeared amongst the shadows of the woods. "Imagine how much useless blabber we'd spare."

Remus let out a ragged breath. "Merlin, you must despise me."

"Even if I did, you would only be a small fish in an ocean of things I despise."

"You…" Remus looked helpless. "You don't speak like yourself anymore."

"Like myself?" Sirius said dangerously. Something flared in his chest, then it died out.

"Yeah. Like… like Pads…" Remus was still holding his shoulder. Now squeezing, hard. It hurt. "I know Pads is somewhere in there, and I'm going to dig him out."

"You can start down there," Sirius pointed at the graveyard.

All at once, the world became filled with tremor and tension; his arm was trembling, and so was Remus's.

"No," he whispered. "You're not there. You are right here with me. Alive. At your senses. Well… all right, we could argue if you've ever had those. But… things will get better from now on. You'll see. Dumbledore will protect us all… and we'll kick Voldemort's ass…"

Sirius snorted. "Yeah, of course… and then we'll fly away in the sunset on our winged pink unicorns. Hah-hah. No. You think I'm stupid, or something? There is only one reason I'm here and let myself be ordered around by Dumbledore, and I think you know what that is."

With that, he raised his head and eyed Remus, gaze suddenly piercing; and they gave their answers in unison.

"James," said Remus.

"Harry," said Sirius.

"Oh…"

"James is down there, if you remember." Sirius pointed. "Because of me. There is absolutely no fucking way I'd let Harry…"

"Stop that!" Remus snapped. "Look at me. No – look; and repeat it after ol' Moony like an invalid – it – wasn't – my – effing – fault!"

For a moment, Sirius felt like slapping him – the flame of his anger smouldered, then hissed, then died out. "Well," he said cautiously, "it wasn't yours, either. Not even the werewolf thing. I – I talked too much."

"All right," said Remus, with gentle exasperation, "then we will repeat it once again, together. Clear articulation. Deep breathing. It – wasn't – my – effing…"

"Okay, okay," said Sirius. "Then it wasn't. But there is one thing you should not forget… I may not be a murderer today; but I will become one as soon as I set eye on that rat again."

"Well," said Remus coldly, "that makes two of us."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Moony…"

"No – no, I'll always have your back from now on, got it? Whether you want it or not. I probably wouldn't want any of my help if I were you, and I'd despise the mere thought of me, and…"

Sirius slid his arms around him and hugged him tight.

Not that he wanted to, of course – but at least that would shut him up.

Lucy had to launch into the methodological explanation for the third time that evening.

"It's from a stone in Ireland. From Blarney Castle – even Muggles know the place. There are many legends explaining the origins of that stone, and one comes from the Centaurs. They claim that Merlin had dwelled with their people for a year to learn their lore. When he left, it was to help some Gaelic warlock against the menace of a dark wizard… the man had a funny name, I've forgotten… anyway, Merlin enchanted the foot-stone of the warlock's castle to give great rhetorical powers to anyone who kissed it. Then, the warlock challenged the dark wizard in a duel, and the stone gave him such a gift with words that he kept creating spells on the spot – spells that his opponent had never seen, therefore, he was defeated. This is how the legend goes according to Ronan; we'll never know how the stone really got there, of course, but it is there, and it has a nice stuffed line of Muggle visitors every day. Took me a whole day to steal a morsel of it."

"And thus, all these people emerge from the castle's lair as orators begging for renown?" Dumbledore inquired, interest lighting up in his sky-blue eyes. He was listening just as intently as Remus and Sirius had – them, and the portrait of a lanky wizard in the corridor.

Lucy couldn't contain her grin. "No, Headmaster – and that is one of the reasons why I believe it really has something to do with Centaur magic. The stone bears the traces of an extremely powerful enchantment and is still loaded with it to this day, but the source of its magic is invisible, untraceable… and capricious, I would say. It comes and goes, and it doesn't work for everyone. Also…" Lucy frowned slightly. "I think there must be something to this story because it is so… singular. Wizards seldom appear in a positive light in Centaur lore… usually, where we have Merlin, they have Chiron. Also, Chiron, for them, is not a person, just a word they use for Wise…"

"Oh," said Dumbledore lightly, "now that explains a great many things."

"Yes… so finally, I stole a piece of that stone – or one might rather say that I asked it to honour me with its gift. That is how Centaur magic works… many useless detours and logical jumps… I was fairly pleased with myself when it worked, and in a few days, I also managed to learn how to use the stone. Whenever it touched my lips, I became as silver-tongued as Gilderoy Lockhart…"

"Or more, I would hope," Dumbledore remarked. There was a subtle edge to his voice, and Lucy did not know what to make of it. "What did you do afterwards, Ms Dawlish? Eloquence in itself offers no protection against the power of Veritaserum."

"Well," said Lucy, not without pride, "there comes the trick. I needed the stone not only because of its capacities, but also to serve as a point of focus for my magic. I discovered that while it enabled me to speak freely in phrases and concepts that would have otherwise taken hours for my mind to construct, it also altered my brain. Under its effects, I could think clearly… like, completely clearly… it felt like having control on all my memories, thoughts and impressions at once. I was able to look at them from a distance, to analyse and regroup them, all while speaking about something else. This is how I faked the questioning, you see. I didn't have to think about stories beforehand, the stone did all the job instead of me."

Dumbledore nodded.

"…however, what truly makes the user of this stone able to resist Veritaserum is a combination of three Charms. The first one is a basic Containment Charm, the second one is Reverso… and the third one Fidelius, in which the stone itself serves as… well, you cannot really call it a Secret Keeper. The stone is an inanimate object; I skipped the part about hiding my secrets – that is to say, my true thoughts and memories – in its heart in the incantation, and I made the Fidelius temporary. It must break as soon as the stone leaves my mouth, or else I'd be obliged to tell nothing but lies for the rest of my life. As for how it works… well, it alters the same areas in your brain as Veritaserum, but it is far more powerful. The two opposing forces leave you with a terrible headache afterwards, though. I haven't yet found out how to appease that – it's not that I use the stone every day."

"Ingenious," Dumbledore breathed. "What do you think would happen if one were to cast the same spell combination on, let's say, a Pensieve?"

Lucy's breath hitched; the range of possibilities was so wide and so intriguing that she didn't even know how to start thinking about them.

"Well," she said cautiously, "that would triple the number of possible errors… at least. I think the results would depend mostly on the aspect – or aspects – of the enchantments you'd want to reinforce. The safest solution would be to make everything temporary so you would be able to change the direction of your spells later… for example, the charms on my stone are sealed. Hard. They're not unbreakable, of course, but the process might even take you an hour."

"Don't flatter an old man too much," Dumbledore laughed, then suddenly, his voice became serious. "My first thought is that such a combination of charms would make it possible to alter memories within the Pensieve in the same way the use of the stone alters words and thinking – which is to say, it would include the visual aspect in the dissection and regrouping of reality. This way, one would be able to conjure impeccably perfect illusions, that would be undistinguishable from the truth."

"But wouldn't the user forget what was true and what wasn't?" Lucy said in a low voice.

"That is an excellent question," said Dumbledore approvingly. "Do you think they would?"

"I don't know… but this isn't something I'd be happy to experiment with."

Dumbledore's eyes were intent. "And why is that?"

"Because…" Lucy pursed her lips, searched for words. "Ronan told me once that my eyes were traitors, in the sense that sometimes they tell the truth, sometimes they don't; and because of that, I should question everything I see. Occlumency is part of my daily routine, and sometimes it is hard enough to tell what I think, even; but if those misconceptions of thought were linked with images, I think I'd totally lose it."

"I see…" Dumbledore tilted his head slightly. His eyes were smiling at her above his half-moon spectacles. "I'd say, however, that some endeavours are worth taking risks. Endeavours that are bigger than us."

"If I expected the talk on the greater good from someone, it wasn't you, Headmaster," said Lucy cautiously.

"Oh, but there is a greater good for certain," said Dumbledore. "Not in the way Gellert had envisioned, certes, but there is."

Gellert…?

"Grindelwald," came the unnecessary explanation, and Lucy Occluded, uncertain if her thoughts had been read. "That is why many historians consider him far more dangerous than Tom – his ideas had truth in them; and he did not notice when and where he went wrong. In many ways, he was almost right, you see. But Tom…" Dumbledore shook his head mournfully. "I had never seen such power, such anger and pain concentrated in one person. There were times when I feared he would become an Obscurial… you know what an Obscurial is, don't you?"

"Yes, but they're very rare now," said Lucy with interest. "I've never actually seen one. But Professor… who is Tom?"

"Oh…" Dumbledore crossed his legs elegantly under the table. "Of course, you would not know. Well, distant and intangible of a concept as it might seem, Dark Lords and Death Eaters are, beneath their masks and black cloaks, people like you and me. They have lives, personalities, desires… strengths and weaknesses… and most importantly: a past. A curriculum vitae. A road they've walked, with a starting point and a destination. And that detail, Ms Dawlish, is very important – in this case, it allows me to explain that the legendary Dark Lord, Voldemort, had once been a student in my classroom: one named Thomas Marvolo Riddle."

"You-Know-Who was your student?!" Lucy's eyes widened. "Holy sh… I mean, Merlin's beard! That's… that's huge."

"Indeed, he was my student," repeated Dumbledore gently. "I have scolded myself many times for not having seen clearly enough what he was about to do and how he got there… but I do not think I could have saved him from himself in the end. His is a tragic story, but one that must be ended, for the good of us all."

Lucy forced herself to look into the old wizard's eyes, now alight with some strange, low-burning fire. "Isn't it harder to fight them that way…? I mean, it's easy to hate and defy "that bloody maniac Grindelwald", or "You-Know-Who" … but for you, they're just Gellert and Tom…"

There was a long silence; then Dumbledore smiled faintly.

"Do you speak with your great-aunt sometimes?"

I've gone too far, Lucy realised. The shift in topic was so abrupt that she could only blink, and blabber like a nervous applicant on a job interview.

"You mean, like, my Aunt Rowan…? Uh… not really… the last time we spoke was, well… you know. You were there."

"Ah…" Dumbledore nodded, his eyes distant. "It is not my place to tell you what to do, of course, definitely not in this case… but while I immensely appreciate what you did for me in the Ministry, I advise you to strengthen your ties with your relatives, Ms Dawlish. Perilous times are ahead, and they might not always be around – or we might not. You never know in what ways our elders can help us." He winked, and suddenly, he was jovial again.

"Well, it's not like they ever wanted me," said Lucy. "I mean… I don't know if Aunt Ro even knew I existed before fifth year… honestly, my Dad… sending the whole MACUSA after me just because I sneaked into the States… don't you think it was a little bit too much? By the way, I think Uncle Percival despises me – and from his point of view, it's perfectly understandable. I bet I gave him a massive headache."

"Percival Graves is not a man who would despise anyone," said Dumbledore lightly. "I hope you will have the chance to understand that."

Lucy frowned. She could remember Mr and Mrs Graves as if she'd seen them only yesterday – elegant and powerful elderly people, people who had no business with lovesick teenagers on the run, or even dragon trainers; people who had probably seen her as nothing more than an unexpected burden. Not that they would have ever admitted it, of course – they were far too polite for that; as distant, as alien like her father, like Cornelius Fudge, like the Goblins in Gringotts. Hagrid had warned her about that once: the more time you've spent with woodland creatures, the less you could appreciate civilization and the general mindset of human beings.

"Do not dwell too much on what I've told you," said Dumbledore gently. "But be sure to remember it at the right moment. And now… I think it would be useful to jump back to the beginning of our conversation. You said you would still like to work for me…"

"Yes," said Lucy immediately, "I would."

"Even if your current employ in Gringotts remains intact?"

"Yes," Lucy repeated. "Professor… you know that You-Know-Who… his followers killed my mother."

"Yes," said Dumbledore slowly, "I know."

"I was there, you know. I saw it. And now I feel like… I've been thinking about this since Sirius told me what happened, and I guess… I guess I feel obliged to do something. For Mum. I mean, there is obviously not much I can do. Almost nothing, really. But now that He's back, I'd like to… I'd like to play my part."

Her voice faltered, and she felt herself blushing. This was one of those rare speeches she'd even rehearsed while she took her shower that afternoon, and still she messed it up like some embarrassed schoolgirl…

"An honourable decision," said Dumbledore slowly, "and one I greatly appreciate. You will be able to help me more than you think. But remember… always remember that you have a way out. You only need to speak the words. I – I owe your family that much."

Lucy nodded. "I understand," she said, although she didn't.

"In that case, Ms Dawlish," said Dumbledore cheerfully, "welcome to the Order of the Phoenix!"

In the back of the room, Fawkes raised his head, and let out a single, heart-warming thrill.

(to be continued)

Author's Notes

a) Percival Graves and Rowan Graves (née Corbitt) are Lucy's great uncle and great aunt from her mother's side. The way they are portrayed in my stories are consistent with my friend Hirfael's Relic Hunters (Relikviavadászok) which takes place two generations earlier than mine – and which I advise you to check out!

/ Here stands a shout-out and a thank you for Hirfael for letting me include her Corbitt family, which is a constant source of awesomeness. /

Also, Lucy sometimes refers to Mr and Mrs Graves simply as "my aunt and uncle", because they are the only ones she knows. (She does have one "real" aunt, but she never met her).

b) The first version of the scene with Sirius and Remus is from 2010. This is the fifth one, and I'm still not happy with it…

c) Blarney Castle is an existing place in Ireland – you can kiss the Stone of Eloquence there, if you feel like it.

Thank you so much for all the feedback the story has received! It was/is extremely helpful and encouraging.