A/N: Another sporadic update for you. For those still sticking with this fic, thank you for your patience. I personally get annoyed by writers that take forever to update, so again, thanks:)

Warning: angst and some violence

Disclaimer: I do not own the HP universe or any characters. Just borrowing.

Chapter 20: Written by Hand

October 31st came and went without much fanfare in headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. Despite the momentous event that had taken place on that day, there was no gathering, no lamentations – nothing to mark the anniversary of James and Lily's deaths. While most of the Order avoided headquarters that day (and most of the week), Sophie and Kate tried their best to go about their day as usual while giving Sirius a wide berth. Only her father was brave enough to attempt contact with Sirius and they marked the grim anniversary alone together, sharing their deep private grief over a few pints of James' favourite muggle beer.

Sophie spent her birthday in and out of number 12 Grimmauld Place, determined to treat the day as any other and for the most part, she was successful. Those who knew it was her birthday respected her wishes, though she did receive a few presents (a box of assorted Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and a tin of Honeyduke chocolates from the twins, a warm woolly scarf from her father and a pair of black leather gloves from Kate and Belenus, who sent a note – the first communication since their fight – wishing her well). She was also pleasantly surprised by Tonks (though she'd never mentioned her birthday and wondered how the Auror knew) who took her to lunch at a muggle restaurant on the other side of town. She even managed to avoid Sirius and his dark and sombre mood.

It wasn't until days later that Sirius, crossing her path on the stairs, acknowledged the passing of her eighteenth birthday and handed her a small sack of galleons as a gift. Her father encouraged her to spend it on herself and with Tonks' help, she managed to push away the guilt long enough to indulge. Sirius' generous gift afforded her a new pair of jeans, a pair of black leather boots, and a warm woolen coat that would keep her warm for the first winter in many years.

Despite the passing of that fateful day, her father and Sirius were soon back to their regular routine – her father researching, reading and travelling; Sirius drinking, occasionally filling reports but mostly just passing the time – and the Order continued to muddle on in their quest to thwart Voldemort. There were reports of Death Eater meetings, rumours of recruitment, but nothing solid ever came of any of it. Only the guard duty seemed real, though the few times Sophie had sat under Moody's invisibility cloak watching the dark drafty Ministry corridor for hours at a time, she often wondered if she was just guarding an empty room. But even now, confined to the few duties she could do without attracting Ministry attention, she began to wish for the chance to sit under that cloak.

It was welcome news then, when at the end of November, an Order meeting was finally called.

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Sirius padded down the stairs, his longish hair still wet from the shower. It was nearly nine o'clock and the meeting would begin soon, but Sirius, having spent the day chasing the house elf around and trying to force him to clean, had been covered from head to foot in soot from the old fireplace in his father's study. Though he was tempted to attend the meeting looking like a chimney sweep, he reckoned he needed to clean up before Molly saw him and gave him her awful pitying look. He'd been receiving that look more and more from Order members (though he supposed the rampant drinking had something to do with it) but Molly was the worst. She managed to look both sympathetic and critical, reminding him of the way McGonagall used to look at him just after he'd been disowned. Molly was capable of making him feel sixteen again and he hated to think about the boy he'd once been. It only reminded him that time in his life was over, the boy and his friends were gone, and neither would ever return.

Upon entering the kitchen, Sirius was greeted by various Order members, including Mundungus Fletcher, who sat alone in the corner sneaking sips from a flask tucked into his robes.

"Fancy a bit, Black?" he asked, giving the tarnished silver flask a shake. The liquid swished and hissed ominously.

"No thanks, mate," he declined. Knowing Dung, it was probably homemade firewhiskey.

Dung took another swig and his eyes began to water.

"That's a fine one, eh?" He gestured towards the door as he slid the flask back into his robes.

Sirius followed the older man's gaze and it fell on Kate, who was engaged in conversation with Dedalus Diggle. The small wizard was gesticulating excitedly while Kate nodded patiently and tried to hide her amusement.

"I guess," he answered, shrugging, "never really thought about it."

He'd taken an immediate dislike to Kate when he first met her years ago and though he was now reserving his opinion, waiting to see if she was as trustworthy as Remus seemed to think, he still couldn't see past what he didn't like.

"You've been cooped up too long, boy," he said, "if you never noticed." He glanced back towards Kate. "Too bad though."

Sirius turned his head and gave him a deadly glare. Mundungus had the sense to look away, shame-faced.

Kingsley, who had come in while they were talking, walked around the room, greeting people with a tip of his small hat and sat down next to Sirius.

"Sirius," he greeted, nodding.

"Kingsley."

Shacklebolt had always been a man of few words. Even as a boy he rarely spoke and Sirius couldn't remember hearing him as a boy as they sat in the Common Room or passed on the dormitory stairs. He only became acquainted with Kingsley when he was in sixth year and it seemed to Sirius, even then, his voice had had that deep, low timbre.

As they sat waiting for the meeting to begin, Molly came around the table, greeted Kingsley and set a few bottles of wine down in the middle with a wave of her wand. Another wave and a tray of glasses followed. She offered the Auror a glass but deliberately skipped Sirius and Fletcher.

"Where's Remus?" Molly asked, sounding concerned, as she poured the wine by hand.

Sirius stifled a smirk. Women tended to grow attached to Moony. James and Sirius used to tease their mate about his ability to tap into the mothering side of almost every woman he met. It seemed Molly was no different.

"Had some business at home," he said, "he should be back any minute."

As he said this, Remus entered the kitchen, followed closely by Dumbledore, who swept in looking serene. Instinctively, the small crowd began to shift around the room.

"Listen," Kingsley said, leaning close as Bill and Arthur sat down across from them, "I've been called into a meeting tomorrow morning with Scrimgeour and Fudge."

Sirius turned to look at him. "So?" he shot out, annoyed by the mention of the Head of the Auror Department's name.

"It's about you," Kingsley whispered evenly, ignoring his tone. "I was told to bring your file."

Sirius felt a tiny fount of hope well up inside his chest.

"Any idea?" he asked, trying to sound casual and failing.

Kingsley shook his head. If he noticed the break in Sirius' voice, he didn't let on.

"I'll let you know after the meeting."

He clapped him on the back, sat up straight and took a sip of wine, turning to talk to Arthur.

Sirius sat at the table, unsure how to feel. The news of the meeting told him nothing yet he felt that it had to mean something significant for him. He could feel the optimism everyone told him he should have bubbling like a tiny spring but it was tempered by pessimism twelve years in Azkaban for a crime you didn't commit was bound to produce.

He watched the others as they gathered around the table in small groups – Sophie, Tonks, and Hestia on the other side of the table, Molly, Emmaline and McGonagall in the middle, Dumbledore and Diggle beside them -- feeling oddly detached from the scene. Only Snape, who he hadn't noticed enter, sat alone looking uncomfortable, a sour scowl on his sallow face. Normally, the sight of the loathed wizard was enough to light the fire of rage inside him, but even Snivellus couldn't burst the lonely bubble around him.

Remus settled beside him a moment later, Kate by his side.

"How are things in Surrey?" he asked as Remus poured Kate a glass of wine.

He didn't really care about the answer to his question, he just needed to hear his friend's voice to know that he was real, alive and wasn't locked in his head, his body still rotting in the dark prison cell in the middle of the Black Sea.

"Quiet."

Sirius was bursting to tell him about the meeting, to hear what Remus had to say. If anyone could put things into perspective for him, or just assure him that things would be fine, it was Remus. But Kate was sitting on Remus' right, and Dung, on his left, was openly staring at the blonde lycan and there were entirely too many people in his parents' kitchen and none of it felt very real.

While Sirius sat slumped in his seat, disturbing thoughts in his head and wishing everyone gone (or at least that everyone but Moony was gone), Dumbledore cleared his throat and the meeting began.

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Though Sophie had been looking forward to the meeting, it did not begin well for her. Making her way down to the kitchen from her bedroom above, she met up with Hestia on the cellar stairs and was forced to make conversation.

Hestia Jones took entirely too much pleasure in gossip for Sophie's liking. Her tidbits were usually harmless, stories about who was getting married, who was getting divorced, and which wizard of the wizarding world had been discovered in compromising positions with a house elf (or a goat, puffskein, blast-ended screwt...). They were usually harmless but Sophie, who had grown up keeping her secrets safely locked away, always imagined Hestia Jones talking to some faceless stranger about her and it made her slightly ill.

"…They say it was an accident, you know, but how many people would use an engorgement charm on a pixie?"

Sophie shook her head, mumbled an unintelligible response and, spotting Tonks, made a beeline for the junior Auror. Unfortunately, Hestia followed, happily chatting away, and settled down beside her.

"Wotcher," Tonks beamed, her hair a lovely shade of turquoise blue.

Despite her cheery greeting, she looked worn and tired.

"Long day?" Sophie asked. She always liked to hear about Tonks' Auror adventures.

"Long night," she answered distractedly then realized what she'd said and her eyes widened in embarrassment.

Sophie had the grace to ignore the implication but Hestia jumped on it.

"Ooh, really, Tonks, you must spill. Who's the lucky wizard?"

Tonks flushed. "It's nothing like that! I was… working."

Hestia gave her a skeptical look but didn't have a chance to say anything more as Diggle came up beside them and engaged Hestia in conversation.

Tonks looked relieved and the two shared a look that seemed to say, "thank Merlin," though Sophie felt it was for entirely different reasons.

Tonks had a secret and Hestia had almost discovered it.

Sophie wondered briefly if any of the wizards in the room were as tired as Tonks seemed to be but was distracted by the appearance of her father, looking weary himself as he entered the kitchen, his worn winter cloak still draped over his shoulders. Though the moon had been a few weeks ago, her father, as usual, was still recovering from the aftereffects. Even so, he'd kept busy, taking on too much for the Order. She felt guilty, knowing that if it wasn't for her precarious status with the Ministry, she would be able to shoulder some of the burden. As it was, she wasn't much help.

Her father strode up to her, smiled and handed her a white square envelope.

"What's this?" she asked him, reaching out and taking it from his hand instinctively. She looked down and flipped the brilliant white square in her hands curiously. The paper felt smooth, expensive between her slender fingers.

"I went home for a few hours. Found it tucked into the kitchen window. Must have been there a few weeks."

He gave a quick glance behind him, gave her an apologetic look and turned and walked away to rescue Kate, who was still stationed by the door, now being grilled by Molly.

"Ooh," Hestia said excitedly, "looks like a wedding invitation."

As soon as she said this, Sophie's mind lurched to a stop and a sudden dread filled her.

"Is someone you know getting married?" Tonks asked, her voice seeming far away.

Sophie looked up for a fraction of a second and noticed Tonks looking towards the kitchen door as she spoke.

Sophie hedged a bit and answered, though with the loud beating of her heart drumming in her ears, she couldn't be sure what she said. The women beside her seemed satisfied with her answer and lost interest quickly, Tonks rising from her seat at the table and Hestia turning to chat with Molly, who'd been politely shunted off by her father. Sophie's long index finger slid beneath the lip of the envelope and broke the seal, and she pushed it up hastily, aware that her fingers were moving of their own volition as she pulled out a fancy square of parchment, her eyes tripping over the elegant typeset.

Mr. and Mrs. Dunbar Meadows

Request the honor of your presence

at the marriage of their daughter

Lauren Abigail Meadows,

to

Tristan Edward Cates

at Barking Abbey, London

Saturday the thirteenth of January

twelve noon

Sophie felt bile rise in her throat as she read the words, only half aware of a sharp huff of air escaping her lips. She felt a pair of eyes on her immediately and looked up to see Snape's black orbs fixed on her from across the table. Quickly fixing her features to feign disinterest, she slid the invitation back into its envelope and set it on the table, placing her hands over her name, written by hand, on the front.

The meeting began quickly after that, but Sophie was unaware of what was being said, barely recognizing the voices that sounded around her. She sat still, refusing to move her hands, willing the familiar, growling voice in her head to quiet and pushing down the myriad of emotions that threatened to rise up into her throat and cut off her breathing. She could feel those black orbs fixing on her every once in a while, cruel and curious, and she concentrated on looking immersed in the conversation around her. She heard her father's voice, her name and she nodded her head, which seemed satisfactory, then Kate's voice filled the air immediately after, her soft lilt soothing her a little though she was still too wound up to actually make out the words.

Soon, but not soon enough, the meeting was over and the members were moving around her, some already out the door, others lingering around the table. She looked around and was relieved to see that Snape had gone and that her father was busy introducing Kate to Professor McGonagall by the island of the galley kitchen. She stood up, willing her legs to move and slid through the small crowd towards the kitchen door. Once she was in the darkened stairwell that led up to the main floor, she broke into a wide, hurried stride, desperate to be alone.

The dark shadows that lingered in the main floor corridor seemed to follow her as she strode past the sleeping portrait. She needed to get out, she needed to scream, break something, anything to get her mind around the piece of parchment in her balled-up fist. She heard a creak of steps and sensed someone on the landing above. The scent, though faint, told her it was her reviled former professor, though what he was doing on the second floor she couldn't fathom, and at the moment didn't, frankly, care. She couldn't face anyone, afraid of her own emotions, so thinking quickly, she turned to the nearest door and quietly pushed her way in. She found herself standing in the dark study, her back pressed up against the thick mahogany door. Calm down, she told herself, just calm down. She breathed in deeply, exhaling slowly as she willed her mind to quiet. Her body seemed to relax and her fist unclenched around the envelope.

She couldn't believe it. Looking down, she realized she had to read it again.

Pulling out the invitation, she was aware that the envelope still felt thick. She ripped open the side hastily and found an RSVP card with an envelope to match and a thin, plain sheet of parchment folded in half. She couldn't conceive what it was, so she unfolded it and was stunned to find a short note written, like her name on the envelope, by hand.

Dear Sophie, it read, I know this must come as a surprise to my fellow Gryffindors, and to you personally, to find that I am to marry a Slytherin. I assure you, Tristan is not the boy he seemed at Hogwarts. I know we weren't that close but I am hoping that my old schoolmates will come and support me. It would mean so much.

Tristan has confessed to me that you and he had some problems in the past, stemming from that silly Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry. I hope you don't still hold it against him. He is eager to make amends and hopes, like I do, that you will join us on our special day and help celebrate our love. He was particularly adamant that I invite you and I do hope you can come. Please let me know.

Sincerely,

Lauren

Sophie felt her stomach lurch painfully and her head was filled with a hot, intense rage – the rage of the wolf – that threatened to crack her skull open and spill out.

She couldn't believe it. That bastard! That vile, sick fucking bastard!

Sophie felt suddenly dizzy and she took a few steps forward, desperate to reach the ivory chaise in the middle of the room. But her legs wouldn't carry her. Feeling a sharp wave of nausea, she dropped to the floor as her knees gave out and and began to sob uncontrollably.

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Sirius stepped into the main floor corridor, his concerned grey eyes quickly scanning the space for any sign of Sophie. He'd noticed her odd behaviour during the meeting as she sat stock still looking like a pale tawny-haired statue. It was as if she, too, was wondering if it was all a dream. He'd glanced over to her every so often to see the same expression, the same unreadable look in her eyes and he noticed Snape doing the same. He wondered if Snape said something to upset her before the meeting but he couldn't remember seeing the greasy-haired git anywhere near her. When the meeting was over, he'd walked around to the other side of the room, had a quick word with Dumbledore and looked back around to find her seat empty, the kitchen door just swinging shut. Even though he wasn't Padfoot at the moment, he instinctively knew something was wrong, so he followed her.

Now, as he looked up through the spiral of the grand staircase, he caught a muffled sound coming from behind a door. Willing his canine senses to work, he listened carefully and heard it again, muffled but distinct. He quickly realized it had come from his father's study and, hesitating for a second at the door, he quietly turned the knob and pushed the door in just enough to slip through the crack and shut it soundlessly behind him. He was more than a little shocked to see Sophie on the floor, hunched over and on her knees, her lithe, slender body racked with sobs.

"Sophie?" he whispered hesitantly. He knew she would hate to be seen like this but he felt he had to do something.

Startled, she spun around, jumping to her feet and crashing to the floor once more. Shocked, he bolted to her side and managed to grab an arm and cushion the fall but she immediately pulled and scrambled away, knocking over an antique lamp from the desk and sending it crashing to the floor.

"Just go!" she breathed, her low, growling voice broken by a hicough. The sound of it, though barely a whisper, was more shocking than anything else.

"What's wrong?" he asked urgently.

She looked at him wildly, her eyes darting around the room as if looking for a way to escape. She stifled a sob and made an anguished sound.

Sirius approached her cautiously, wishing more than ever that Remus was there, and trying to think of some way to calm her down. He had some experience with emotional women, none of it he'd ever want to repeat. He realized that with Sophie he was out of his element. Dealing with Remus' mood swings growing up had been trying enough, he couldn't fathom how to handle an over-emotional teenage lycan.

"Sophie," he cooed softly as he neared her.

Sophie darted to the other end of the room and continued to sob, her breathing hitched and erratic.

"I need…" she began and struggled to control herself enough to speak, "I need.. to get… out of... of here."

He could see the effort it was taking her not to fall apart and he nodded silently, took her arm gently (which she, surprisingly, allowed) and steered her towards the door. He opened the door a fraction and, peeking out into the empty corridor, beckoned her forward. He pulled out his wand to shut the door as quietly as possible when he spied a torn envelope lying where Sophie had been kneeling on the rug. Without much thought, he silently accioed the envelope and its contents and slipped them into his back pocket. Sophie, trembling in front of him, took no notice, her eyes darting up towards the second landing. Still holding her by the arm, he pulled her towards the front door, feeling her trembling body under his touch as they slid out into the quiet street.

"Where to?" he whispered, still holding her and acutely aware of her irregular breathing as they stood in the cold dark of night, still cloaked by the charms on the house on the front steps.

"Home," she breathed, "the woods."

He nodded and circled his arms around her protectively, feeling her shudder against him, and Disapparated from the steps just as the front door creaked open.

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Sophie broke free from Sirius' tight grip with little effort as soon as her feet hit the frozen earth of her familiar haunt. The looming trees that usually blotted out the light from the full moon were doing their best to blot out the stars, the moon only a sliver in the sky and hidden behind the thick canopy of gnarled branches thick with snow. Sophie stumbled away, desperate to gain physical distance from him as her limbs began to burn in their familiar way, a sure sign she was about to lose control.

"What is it?" she heard him utter, his voice tight, "What happened?"

She turned towards him as her body began to convulse, the familiar sensation of fear and exhilaration coming over her, a triumphant howl filling her head. She knew what was happening. The wolf was provoked and in a murderous rage. Some part of her admitted, as she fought the feeling, that she was letting it happen. Tristan Cates had violated her once, and now, he was mocking her. She wasn't going to let him get away with it this time; she wasn't going to let him do it again. But another part of her, the part that felt guilt and remorse and shame, struggled in vain to stop what was happening.

No, she told herself. You can't do it. You can't let it happen. I won't let you.

But the wolf was winning out.

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Sirius stood watching in horror as Sophie groaned and huffed. He knew what the jerky movements meant, the anguished whimpers, the stifled screams. But this wasn't his mate, this was his mate's daughter before him, and even though the full moon had been a few weeks ago, it was happening again – the transformation.

He'd seen this before, though not quite like this, that night almost two years ago, when Sophie followed him into the Shrieking Shack and partially transformed before his eyes. There was no full moon in the sky that night either and he'd wondered about her lycan abilities since then, being born a werewolf instead of bitten. As he watched, mesmerized and alarmed, he heard his own imploring voice begging for an explanation. But no explanation came, only a few pleading words.

"What... whatever happens," she gasped, "whatever you have...have to do – Stop me."

Dropping to her hands and knees in a murky patch of snow, Sophie began to change before his eyes, her anguished, unrestrained shrieks echoing through the little patch of woods. Her back rose in a deep, unnatural hunch and her clothing ripped and fell away in pieces as every inch of scarred ivory skin sprang thick tufts of honey-coloured fur, and the loud, gruesome cracking of bones mingled with her anguished wails. He only had a few seconds to react and some part of him, the part that always sprang to life in times of trouble, formed a plan and he acted on it.

He turned and ran to a tall tree, its trunk thick and knotted, branches wide and bent high off the ground. Scrambling, he pulled off all his clothes, including his shoes, waved his wand and they packed together in a neat little package. Then he slipped his wand between his trousers and his shirt, which he knew, despite transformation, would be ripped to shreds if he kept them on, and sent the package into the tree with wandless magic. Before he turned around to face the wolf that now snarled and closed the short distance between them, he transformed into Padfoot.

He was immediately knocked to the ground as the wolf heaved its large, lean muscular body onto his equally formidable canine form and snapped its jaw, sharp, bared teeth sinking into the scruff of his neck. He yelped and struggled free, the pain sharpening his senses, and he became acutely aware of the unsuppressed rage that emanated from the beast. He also knew the wolf wasn't interested in him, had only attacked because it smelled a human, and it backed away and turned towards the clearing.

It suddenly occurred to Sirius exactly what Sophie had meant.

'Stop me.'

He bounded after her lycan form and leapt on its back, digging his claws into flesh as the wolf bucked, attempting to throw him off. The vicious snarl turned into a pained growl and the wolf attacked once more. Padfoot leapt to his paws, ready this time, and bounded towards it, colliding with a sickening thud in midair and dropping to the frosty ground.

Sirius, the man, was only too aware of the pain that his animagus form was being subjected to as the wolf, unrelenting, came at him again and again, intent on leaving the woods and angry that this large black shaggy dog was trying to thwart its progress. Padfoot managed to lead the wolf deeper into the woods and he found himself at the edge of the frozen pond.

The wolf attacked again and Padfoot had no choice. He allowed the wolf to sink its teeth into the bottom half of his jaw and together they tumbled onto the thin sheet of ice. Padfoot felt the cold glassy sheet shift and crack as they slid to the center of the pond. He scrambled to his paws once more, intent on bounding back towards shore and safety but the wolf would not relent. It snapped its jaw and growled then leapt onto Padfoot once again. The sudden jarring and weight was too much for the thin slick ice. A loud crack echoed through the woods as the ice opened up under their paws and Padfoot and the wolf tumbled into the dark, murky water.

To be continued...:)

The next chapter should be up within the week (seriously!) as it's 90 written.

Hope you enjoyed it!