Thanks once again to SableUnstable for her good work on this one, and for figuring out the evil em-dash vs. en-dash bollocks, Sable:1 Google Docs: 0
It was a week before James and Lily surfaced from their newlywed bed. They both looked a little gaunt, as though with all the shagging they'd forgotten to eat. Dumbledore had decided that James was allowed back on full duty, but that both he and Lily should be taking polyjuice whenever they were in public – the deaths of the senior Potters had left no questions where he was concerned. Regulus's tip off in the alley outside Sirius's flat back on New Year's Day seemed to be true. Voldemort was clearly after something only the Potter family could provide him with, something that was possibly kept in the Potter family vault.
The Death Eaters had been hunting James's parents even then, back in January, but had too much trouble trying to control Mr and Mrs Potter. They hadn't been able to force them to return to England, so James became their target. It all made sense; or Dumbledore thought so anyway. He had spoken openly to James and Sirius for once, most likely because they'd both been on duty when he'd arrived at Headquarters in the middle of the night.
The sun was just coming up as James and Sirius sat on the porch at Pinfold, sharing a cigarette and re-hashing Dumbledore's words for the tenth time since he'd left a few hours before.
"At least I'm allowed back on full duty now," James said. "Polyjuice is better than house arrest."
"I'll say," Sirius agreed, and then added happily, "hey, you'll be able to come with me and Caradoc next week, we've got a solid lead on Dolohov's replacement."
"Brilliant," James grinned.
It was actually less of a lead and more like a sure thing – after they'd gotten Dolohov arrested in March for procuring non-tradables, all had been quiet. But then, the week before James had returned from Australia, they'd gotten reports of renewed Death Eater activity at Scale and Claw in Manchester.
"I can't believe they're fool enough to keep operating out of the same pub," Sirius said for what felt like the hundredth time. It just seemed too easy to him. However, he'd realised recently that he was becoming quite paranoid; doubting people, second guessing his own decisions. That was Voldemort's strongest weapon, and Sirius wasn't going to let it get to him.
"That does seem a bit brazen," James agreed, "I thought Voldemort was supposed to be clever?"
"Well, that's the thing," Sirius said, trying to convince himself as well as James. "Docy reckons these chaps aren't under instruction from their boss; he thinks Dolohov had a sideline going. Being a Death Eater must not pay very well." James made a sarcastically sympathetic face at the mention of hard-up henchmen, and Sirius grinned as he continued. "But someone has taken over his racket while he's taking his little holiday with the dementors."
"His trial's next week, isn't it?" James asked. " I heard Dumbledore and Moody talking about it. Moody was complaining that we didn't get more evidence on him."
"Never happy, that one," Sirius muttered. There were actually a number of Death Eater trials the following week; the Ministry had finally gotten their ludicrous amount of arrest paperwork under control, and all the Death Eaters that had been bought in that year were finally going to trial.
"I see his point though," James went on, " if Dolohov is only sentenced to Azkaban for selling non-tradables, he'll get six months. But he's a fucking maniac, he was at Edgars apparently. He should get life for killing those little girls."
He should, Sirius thought. The haunting image of Edgar Bones's daughters lying in the grass, their eyes blank and staring, presented itself in his mind once more, and dispiritedly, Sirius wondered if he'd ever be free from it. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"At least he's out of the picture for now, and this blonde bird that's taken over his trade, she's been seen at a few Death Eater residences. So even if she's not one of them yet, she will be. Getting her locked up, and whoever is with her, that's a public service."
The Order had actually had a pretty good summer so far. The Death Eaters were moving into the open more often, and even though that meant more danger to the muggles, it also made it easier to corner them. Moody had recruited several more Aurors to the Order that year, something that helped make the arresting and Azkabaning of Death Eaters much more straightforward; the very reason the Ministry was able to catch up on their ridiculous paperwork. There were enough Aurors working for the Order to have one tag along on most missions, which meant they could arrest on the spot, something the Order didn't have the power to do.
Ironically, it was Moody who grumbled the most about the new efficient system, because until then he'd been the one to write up every Death Eater the Order cornered. His record for most arrests was now being threatened by the young recruits he'd brought in; Kingsley Shacklebolt especially, a tall, dark, and mostly silent man. Shacklebolt was earning himself quite an impressive reputation for his intimidating, no-fuss style.
Shacklebolt was definitely Sirius's favourite Auror chaperone. Some of the others tended to cringe at the Order's sometimes unorthodox methods, but Shacklebolt was happy to sit back and watch, smoothly stepping in at the crucial moment to legally bind and haul off whoever they had managed to catch.
It was with a much lighter heart than usual that Sirius returned home to his flat after nightwatch with James. They really seemed to be making progress against the Death Eaters now; it was almost possible for him to see a point in the future when this war might even be over. He climbed the stairs, thinking about what life might be like if that happened. Remus would be going to muggle university, and he, himself, would have to get a job; Alphard's gold wouldn't actually last his whole life, after all. Sirius had never really thought about a career before, but his N.E.W.Ts were good, so he'd find something, he supposed.
Remus was sitting at the kitchen table when Sirius let himself inside. There was a pot of tea before him, and a plate bearing half a piece of toast sat next to it. He was reading from a creased sheet of parchment with a smile on his face – a smile that broadened as he looked up to greet Sirius.
"Morning," he chirped brightly, "grab a cup, the tea's still hot. How was last night?"
"Really good," Sirius replied happily. Remus's good mood was infectious. "James is officially allowed out again, with polyjuice. He's chuffed."
"It's about time," Remus said as Sirius took his seat at the table and poured himself a cup of tea. "Does that mean you two are officially partners again?"
"I think so," Sirius nodded, and then grinned as he continued, "Moody will be shitty, having to fiddle with his precious roster. I wonder if that means you'll get Caradoc now?"
"Maybe," Remus mused. "Or Emmeline? It's not like I'm permanent though, what with the moon and visits to the mountains starting again in Autumn."
"I guess," Sirius said, feeling a pang of guilt at the mention of the moon. Thanks to his Order duties, he'd been unable to accompany Remus to the Shrieking Shack for his last few transformations. But with the assistance of Caradoc's aconite, Remus didn't seem to be having too bad a time; not like when they'd been in school anyway.
Looking to dispel the uncomfortable guilt and return to happier things, Sirius nodded at the parchment Remus had been reading. "Is that from your lot?" he asked.
"It is," Remus said, his eyes dropping to the page once more. "Quinn wants me to come out for the night next week. He's turning fifteen, they're having a little party."
"Cool," Sirius said; it seemed so important to celebrate whenever they got the chance these days. He noticed the slightly dirty envelope the letter had arrived in lying next to Remus's plate. A small square postage stamp was stuck to the top corner, partially obscured by the Royal Mail's smudged black ink. "Hey," he added as a thought occurred to him, "how does he post those letters to you? I thought muggles had to pay for stamps."
Remus shot him an impressed look; Sirius was famously useless at understanding the finer points of muggle life. "I gave him a whole lot a while ago," Remus explained, "he wanted to try writing to his parents, but of course he has no return address. He's so sure they would want to hear from him…" he trailed off, his mouth turning down.
"But I thought they let Greyback take him?" Sirius asked, trying to remember what Remus had told him about Quinn's background. "Why would they want-"
"I don't know," Remus sighed, folding up the letter and slotting it back into the envelope. "He was just a kid, he's convinced Greyback stole him."
"So what night is it?" Sirius asked, returning to the original topic and hoping he was on duty so he wouldn't be left trying to entertain himself while Remus was off having fun in the woods.
"Thursday." Remus looked uncertain for second, like he was steeling himself for something. His voice was rather too casual when he continued, as if he was nervous. "Do you want to come? You don't have to," he added quickly, "not if you don't want to, but it'll be fun, and they'd like to meet you."
"Er, sure," Sirius said at once, quite surprised but pleased to be asked. He paused then, hesitant for a moment. "Do they know? About us, I mean?"
"Yeah," Remus nodded, "I might have talked about you a bit too much." His cheeks had suddenly gone rather pink, and Sirius couldn't help but smile at the sight. "Rhiannon clicked first, the boys figured it out after a while. It doesn't seem to bother them."
"A werewolf birthday party," Sirius said slowly, his smile growing wider. "Sounds like an adventure."
Unfortunately it turned out that Remus had to depart for the wolves alone. Sirius, Caradoc and a polyjuiced James instead found themselves on the roof of Scale and Claw in Manchester, a cool night breeze lifting their hair, on the alert for any sign of the woman who had taken over Dolohov's non-tradable ring.
Sirius had really wanted to go with Remus, but technically he wasn't even allowed to know about the wolves or Remus's mission with them, so he could hardly ask Moody to get someone to fill his spot tonight. Remus hadn't even told the old Auror he was going to see them. It was a complete secret.
He had a very strong sense of deja vu as he crouched behind the pub's raised facade; this was where they'd hidden while observing Dolohov back in February. At least tonight the wind wasn't as cold. Scale and Claw was not magically hidden like many wizarding pubs, but instead was set at the end of a long alley that wound its way between rundown council flats. The buildings were brick and concrete, with the utilitarian style of the late nineteen-fifties. From where he crouched Sirius could see plastic bags and fast food wrappings littering the alley, gathering in the corners whenever the alley's meandering path changed course.
He was staring rather blankly at one of these piles of rubbish, his mind far away with Remus in the Welsh mountains, when an unwelcome noise drew him back to the present. There were approaching footsteps on the roof behind him. James and Caradoc must have heard them too, because almost as one they all turned, their wands drawn instantly.
Four men were coming toward them, walking carefully across the slightly sloping tiles of the roof. Sirius glanced at Caradoc with slight trepidation; they had been expecting an Auror to join them before ten pm, but four? Then, as they came a little closer, Sirius recognised three of them; Kingsley Shacklebolt, tall and imposing in his Auror uniform, and the two to his left, copper haired and stocky – the Prewett brothers. On Kingsley's right another Auror walked, one that Sirius had seen at Pinfold occasionally but had never actually spoken to.
"Who called the calvary?" Caradoc asked, getting to his feet and striding over to greet the newcomers enthusiastically. The Prewetts both clapped him on the shoulder, matching grins on their faces. They were close to Caradoc's age, and Sirius knew they had been friends for a while, possibly even since Hogwarts.
But it was the Auror Sirius didn't know who spoke first. "We've had some disturbing news," he said in lieu of greeting. He looked a bit older than the others, probably in his early thirties, and his expression was grim. "The convoy that was transporting the Death Eaters who were sentenced today was intercepted. They never even reached Azkaban."
"What?" Caradoc spluttered as James and Sirius shared a silent look of dread. The features on James's polyjuiced face might have been foreign, but his aghast expression was undeniably familiar to Sirius. "How is that even possible?" Caradoc continued, completely flummoxed. "Why weren't they portkeyed out there like normal?"
"We received last minute information there was a leak in the department, and that somehow the portkey had been tampered with, so they were taken by barge. We had Unspeakables put protective enchantments on every inch of it; Rookwood still can't figure out why they failed. It's a disaster."
Caradoc looked from the two Aurors to the Prewetts, as though hoping they were going to burst out laughing and say "gotcha!" They didn't. "How many escaped?" he asked cautiously.
"Ten," replied the Auror. The word came out clipped, forced through clenched teeth. The man was clearly furious.
"Ten!" James burst out as Sirius and Caradoc both groaned in disappointment. All their hard work, all the risks they'd taken, all for naught. "Merlin," he continued, sounding as annoyed as Sirius felt, "that's more than the Order managed to capture in the last six months!"
"And who are you?" the Auror asked indignantly, looking James up and down, obviously displeased by his disrespectful attitude. The Aurors all seemed to think a lot of themselves, Sirius had noticed.
"James Potter," James replied, lifting his chin a fraction. "Under polyjuice. I don't believe we've met."
"Frank Longbottom," the Auror said, his derision fading slightly. James and Sirius both had a pretty good reputation for being valuable and reliable Order members. Putting this together, Longbottom's expression lost its aggravated edge. He turned his eyes on Sirius. "You're Black?"
"Yes," Sirius nodded. "And should we really be standing around chatting? We're supposed to be keeping an eye out for these dealers."
"Good point, Sirius," Caradoc said, starting back toward the place they had been crouched when the others had arrived.
"No, we've come to collect you," Longbottom said brusquely, "there is an emergency meeting. The Auror office has requested the attendance of all members of the Order of the Phoenix, we need to get the escapees rounded up."
"Hey," James interrupted, peering over the edge again. "Apparition, just down there." He pointed and both Caradoc and Sirius went to look. A familiar tall blonde woman in long dark robes had appeared and was looking around furtively.
"That's her," Caradoc said, then frowned as he muttered, "why doesn't she wear her hood up? That hair makes her so recognisable."
There were another two quiet pops down in the alley, and the resulting men were easily discernible as Dolohov's enforcers; Gibbon and a weedy bloke with a cruel scowling face whose name the Order were yet to learn. Neither of them wore their hoods either.
That's odd, Sirius thought, are the Death Eaters getting complacent?
Caradoc watched them intently for a moment before he spoke over his shoulder to Longbottom. "Seems foolish to let them go. Give us five minutes?"
Longbottom looked impatient but nodded his consent, and Caradoc didn't hesitate for a second. "I'll take Blondie; Sirius you take Gibbon; Potter, you get the other one. Stunners on three; one, two, three!"
"Stupefy!" they all said firmly, and the jets of red light that left their wands streaked down from the roof, through the dark night and hit their targets, all three dropping in an instant.
It was then that everything went wrong.
There was a shout from down in the alley. A deep gruff voice called out, "they're on the roof!" and the brick walls of the alley began to undulate, distorting and shifting. Sirius blinked his eyes, trying to focus, panicking for a second that something was wrong with his vision until he realised with horror that it wasn't the walls themselves moving, but a line-up of disillusioned wizards. It was impossible to count how many had been hidden, waiting for the Order to reveal themselves.
This was an ambush.
Cracks of disapparition echoed along the alley, and then, frighteningly, the sound of multiple apparitions close at hand, on all sides. It was like the air was made of wavy heat-haze in every direction as the disillusioned Death Eaters appeared around them. Then a murmur nearby, a flash of neon pink, and the air thickened, dense and immovable. The dreaded Death Eater anti-disap had been cast.
"Defensive circle!" Longbottom ordered. In unison, both he and Shacklebolt bellowed, "Protego!"
The force of their spell shook the tiles beneath Sirius's feet as he ran up the slope of the roof to join the ring of fighters. A powerful translucent forcefield expanded around them, falling heavily like a great protective dome. Longbottom spoke quickly; it was clear he'd taken charge. "Depending on what Death Eaters are here, the shield should give us a few minutes at least. But this was obviously a trap, they will be prepared."
Sirius's attention was suddenly taken by a flare of orange light that hit the shield charm right in front of his face. But Longbottom was undeterred. He didn't even blink, just churned out his orders with impressive speed.
"Gid, Fab, I want sweeping stunners from you the moment this falls. Black, Dearborn, and Potter; disarming at twelve, four, and eight, rapid fire, I'll call when you need to change direction. Kingsley, Finite Incantatem, a quick as you can, we need to see who we're aiming at, then join in with the stunners, I'm going to try and break the anti-disap." He drew a deep breath and eyeballed them all, making sure they understood. "Okay, in position."
Sirius moved to stand beside Fabian. James and Caradoc shuffled to different spots too, so they were spaced evenly around, their backs to the middle of the circle, their wands held ready. Kingsley was on Sirius's right, with James standing next to him, then Gideon and Longbottom. Caradoc stood on Fabian's other side.
Sirius glanced at Kingsley; his wand was still pointed skyward, holding the shield charm in place. There was sweat beading across the dark skin of his forehead, and he closed his eyes to concentrate as unfriendly curses began to bombard the shield in earnest.
His blood racing, Sirius moved from foot to foot, trying to find the sturdiest places to stand on the uneven roof. Expelliarmus, he thought; it seemed strange to be preparing to fight using a defensive spell rather than an offensive one, but he wasn't going to question Longbottom. The man did this for a living, and was so unflustered that Sirius couldn't help but trust he knew what he was doing.
"Drop it, Shacklebolt," Longbottom commanded. The shield fell, and then... then it was chaos.
Sirius was just casting his second disarming charm when the Death Eaters flickered into sight. Kingsley's spell had worked, the disillusionment charm had been lifted: they could see their targets now. Sirius heard the clatter of wands hitting tiles, but there were lots of Death Eaters, black robed and deadly. He couldn't count them because they didn't stand still and aim; they dodged, sending spells from unpredictable angles.
He had just swayed sharply to one side to avoid a jet of green heading for his midriff when Fabian shouted at him, "Black! Down!" and then shoved him hard in the shoulder. More green zinged past his ear a split second later, right where his head had been. Fabian had just saved his life.
"Expelliarmus!" Sirius cast again and again. The fight was noisy, grunts of pain and jeers; the cracking of tiles; the thuds of heavy feet; the raised voices of the fighters as they cast their spells. But then Sirius heard Longbottoms voice, loud and sure cutting through the tumult. "Rotate!"
He took several steps to his right; the structured defensive fighting routine had been taught to them when they had first joined the Order, for occasions just like this when they had to work side-by-side with the much more formally trained Aurors. Unfortunately it didn't seem to be helping much tonight, mainly because there were a frightening number of green jets shooting through the air around him. Sirius was still sending off as many disarming charms as he could manage, until he collided with Fabian.
Fabian, who'd fallen to his knees, his wand limp at his side, his left hand clawed at his chest. He collapsed, face first onto the tiles of the roof.
Then Caradoc was there, shoulder to shoulder with Sirius, his face set, his wand extended, casting a shield charm so strong it was nearly opaque. "There are too many," he said quickly. "Attack."
Sirius didn't need to be told twice; he was itching to fight his way. He stepped out from behind Caradoc's shield with a spell already on his lips.
"Incarcerous!" he yelled, flicking his wand and sending black ropes whipping through the air to wind around a big Death Eater to his right, who toppled and fell, collecting two others as he went down. Caradoc was in top form; the light from the magic leaving his wand was an almost unending stream. Three Death Eaters fell in the space of a few minutes, and Sirius felt the familiar rush of adrenaline – the good kind. They could get out of this, they might not be captured. Or killed.
Behind him, Sirius could hear James's real voice shouting, "Deiectio!" and he whipped around in time to see the Death Eater nearest James clutching his stomach as if in dire need of the loo. The quickest of grins flitted over Sirius's face; only James would have the nerve to use the diarrhea hex when dueling for his life. Then with a nasty shock, Sirius abruptly realised why James's voice had made him look around – the polyjuice potion had worn off.
James stood there, incapacitating his opponents in the most embarrassing way, with his wanted face visible to any Death Eater that cared to see – this disturbed Sirius more than killing curses. More than the unknown fate of Fabian who still lay spread-eagled at Sirius's feet.
Suddenly a voice from above Longbottom bellowed, "I've done it! GO! Disapparate!"
James looked back over his shoulder to find Sirius, relief visible in his face when he saw him still standing, then turned on the spot and was gone. Caradoc stooped to grab Fabian and then yelled desperately from his half crouch, "Sirius, what are you waiting for? Go!"
He did as he was told, turning into the suffocating pressure of apparition.
The solitary street lamp at Pinfold's gate was a welcome sight. However, Sirius was reminded instantly of the last time he'd landed here after a narrow escape. James was already there, and he grabbed Sirius the moment he appeared, crushing him in a tight hug.
"Fucking hell!" he breathed as he released Sirius, his eyes still wide with shock. "What on earth? That was insane! How did they know we'd be there?"
"I don't know," Sirius said, looking around as Caradoc and the prone Fabian appeared, then Kingsley. Finally, after a minute that felt like an hour, Longbottom popped into existence, blood in a gruesome diagonal stripe across the front of his robes.
"Gideon," he panted, almost at once, "they got him."
It was the first time Longbottom had sounded shaken all evening. He wiped pointlessly at the blood splashed across his front. "Severing charm," he added. "Poor Gid, at least it was quick."
After a depressing debrief with Alastor Moody, Sirius fled Headquarters as quickly as he could. Many of the other Order members all seemed to want to hang around after something like this had happened, but Sirius craved solitude these days. He found it difficult to sit about listening to the story being told again and again. He just wanted to be alone, so he could pretend it hadn't happened.
Fabian had still been unconscious when he'd left. Judging by Dorcas's grim expression as she'd looked him over, his prognosis wasn't good.
Sirius sat on his sofa into the wee hours, sort of grateful that Remus wasn't there, because it meant he didn't have to explain what had happened. He didn't have to relive the terror of being surrounded, of wondering if this time, this fight would be his last. He smoked half a deck before he managed to drag himself off to bed, so tired that he seriously considered just sleeping where he was.
Woken by a loud car horn around midday, Sirius lay still for a moment as the traumatic events from the night before washed over him. Gideon dead, Fabian grievously injured, his own life in serious danger. It was just luck – that's what kept people alive. It could have so easily been him hit by the curse that got Fabian. It wasn't like Sirius was a better dueler; to the Death Eaters he was just as much of a blood-traitor as the pureblooded Fabian, and therefore an inviting target. It all came down to luck in the end.
Raised voices from outside the window intruded on this depressing epiphany, and deciding that muggle drama would be a nice distraction from his own maudlin thoughts, Sirius threw the covers off himself and stumbled across the room to have a look. His body ached in odd places from the fight the night before; his left shoulder twinged as he raised his arm to tug the curtain open.
He peered out the window in his bedroom to see a besuited man in the car park below, gesticulating angrily at a balding bloke in high-vis gear. Sirius's shoulder protested again as he pushed the window open so he could get a better view. Leaning out over the sill, he could see the rubbish truck that always came on Friday morning to empty the skips that lived in the car park, and a dark sleek car with a sizable ding in its back bumper. Clearly this was the cause of the suited man's anger. The dent in his car looked to be courtesy of the bin man's rubbish truck.
Sighing, Sirius retrieved his wand from beneath his pillow and went back to the window. The bin man was looking rather distressed by this point, obviously wanting to get on with his day. Sirius sent a surreptitious "Reparo" down from the window, so that the bumper dent popped out and the paint repaired itself.
Then, after tucking his wand out of sight, he yelled, "Oi! Would you shut up down there!" When the man in the suit looked up furiously, Sirius continued, "there's barely a scratch on your precious car! Bugger off already!"
The man was visibly confused as he stalked over to his car, inspecting the bumper. Sirius saw the bin man take the chance to hoist himself back up into his truck's high cab, before he rolled down the window and grouched, "next time look where you're reversing; I'm pretty hard to miss!"
Sirius thought he had a point. The truck was bright orange, with flashing lights on every available surface. As he shut his bedroom window, he wondered why anyone would drive a car in the first place – motorbikes were so much better. His own lived at Headquarters these days; it was much safer in the little shed there than it was hidden in the alley he used for apparition.
Remus was due back before dark, and Sirius whiled away the afternoon with his record collection, sorting through the covers and fixing knicks and dog-eared corners with his wand. He was so engrossed in his task – the corner of his oldest favourite, Something Else by the Kinks, was proving rather difficult to straighten – that he got quite a fright when an owl he didn't recognise tapped sharply on the sitting room window.
Wondering if it was from Remus, he got to his feet. Perhaps he'd decided to stay another night? But it was unusual for him to contact Sirius via magical methods while he was away. The Black Mountains were steeped in old magic from the celtic druids, things like apparition and patronuses didn't work up there. Sirius supposed that owl's might, but where would Remus have even gotten an owl from?
He pushed the wooden frame of the window up and the owl hopped inside, thrusting its leg out and turning its face away, as though it didn't wish to even look at Sirius. He took the rolled up note attached to its leg and it spread its wings almost at once, soaring out over the busy road full of rush hour traffic.
Sirius unfurled the scroll absently, scowling after the rude bird, now only a dot in the distance. However, when he glanced down at the note, the bird, the noisy traffic, even the cool evening air blowing in the window all seemed to vanish. There was nothing except the horrible message held in his now shaking hands.
If you know anyone currently residing in the Black Mountains, they are in danger. Greyback's werewolf pack have been joined by two wizards who specialise in dismantling protective enchantments. They are close.
Act fast. Please.