Esto Perpetua

Chapter 21 – New Beginnings

The week since Sirius agreed to sign a Transfer of Guardianship document flew by at the rate of a newly-minted Cleansweep. The nightmares, though still a nightly occurrence, reduced in potency, and the effect they had on Sirius' health began to diminish, even if they didn't vanish all together. Aunt Dorea and Uncle didn't press Sirius for any more information or confessions – gentle though they had been about the last one – but it was a relief to have the load off his chest, all the same.

But there were other matters that influenced Sirius' health. The sharp, all-encompassing heat of summer continued. The nightly storms were over, but the days were just as bad, from bright, headache-inducing mornings, to limp, weary afternoons and evenings that dragged on and on and never seemed to end. He wasn't allowed to fly yet, or run, or do more than walk about the gardens. Most evenings, he was reduced to sitting at the windows and watching as Grumpy chased James around the greenhouses and emptied buckets of Stinksap over his head.

His wounds were not healing as well as Aunt Dorea wished. At first it had begun to knit at a remarkable rate – with the help of Uncle Alphard's timely present – but after the night of the fire, when Sirius had expended much more energy than he'd expected, the healing had slowed. A near-constant fatigue was another unwelcome side effect of that dreadful night. Aunt Dorea was his chief Healer now, doing everything for him from prescribing potions to changing his dressings.

Because McKinnon was still missing.

"Not a shadow of him," Uncle Charlus had reported gravely, on arriving from a Floo visit to the McKinnon household. "His sister's had a short note from him – it was not very informative or reassuring, and she's beside herself with worry."

Sirius tried to smooth away his frown as well as he could, but he knew James, who'd been watching him from the time Uncle Charlus stepped through the fireplace, wasn't fooled.

"We've had a note from him too, Dad." James held out the paper that had come with the morning owl post. "It doesn't say much. And it isn't his handwriting either." It was written with a Muggle pen on ruled notepaper, bespeaking either a Muggle location or a Muggle amanuensis.

"Chocolate stains," Uncle Charlus said, fingering a smear at one end of the crumpled sheet, "and a child's hand."

"Moony – Remus – thinks he might be holed up at Honeydukes, or someplace similar, like a chocolate factory," Sirius offered.

Uncle Charlus smiled slightly. "I think that's your friend's sweet tooth speaking. But Dougal's been missing for more than a fortnight now. St Mungo's has filed a complaint with the Magical Persons Registry. They haven't done anything yet – not that I'm surprised."

Sirius wasn't at all surprised, either. Despite a well-deserved lambasting from Uncle Charlus over the Cokeworth fiasco, their efficiency was still non-existent. "You can start a search, can't you, through the Auror Department?"

"Of course, Sirius. He's got a few friends in the Department too – Frank of course you know – and I think you've met Cavendish too…"

"Do you think – I mean – Marlene, she can't stay there alone, can she? And she's got a small brother too – he can't be more than eight, I think" –

"I already asked her, Sirius. She and the little boy are very welcome here any time. She refuses to come though" – his lips twitched lightly when Sirius' eyes darkened – "insists on staying and keeping the house open, on the off-chance that he'll suddenly come in."

James muttered under his breath, and Sirius whacked him on the shoulder. "Maybe we could go there," he said hopefully, "just for a few hours. It can't be safe for them to be shut up all alone like that."

"I don't think she'll appreciate that. You tried to feel her up the last time you saw her didn't you, by the lake" –

"Only her hands – she's got beautiful knuckles" –

"Even if she's got nice knuckles. You can't just go round feeling up people like that, Padfoot – specially the ones you like!" –

"Says the man who hung Snivellus upside down from thin air, then expected Evans to go out with you" –

"That's cancelled out," James said firmly. "The fire fixed it all."

"She'll be keeping it in her subconscious," Sirius said vindictively, "and one of these days she'll blindside you with it when you least expect it" –

"Enough," Uncle Charlus rapped out, and the boys quieted immediately. "I've had to diffuse fights all week at the Auror Department, and I really can't be doing that at home too. We'll go there tomorrow, once the Transfer documents are signed," he told Sirius, "and I'll see about arranging a search. There's just one more thread that's worth following up before we decide on an official search."

They sat around the same mahogany table in the same inquiry room at the far end of the DMLE, where Sirius had had his first interview with Crouch and his minion. The candles with their rising, circling, hypnotic spires of smoke, and the dull throb throb throb of rain against the charmed windows were gone. Instead the room was stuffy with sunlight, too-sharp, too-yellow, and the high, rubbery squeaks of artificial bird song assaulted Sirius' ears.

The signing of the document took very little time. Crouch read out the terms and rules of the Transfer, which were agreed to by all, and his minion made some acerbic remarks about Thaddeus Corner's newly patented magical topographical maps and McKinnon's continued absences – which were promptly suppressed by Uncle Charlus. Then the parchment document was sent around, and Sirius, Uncle Charlus, and Father signed it.

"And that is the end of that," Crouch announced with satisfaction.

But that was not the end of that.

Father did not rise from his seat and sweep out with all the majesty expected of a Black. It was funny, Sirius supposed, he hadn't any obligation to call the man Father any more, but the word still rolled easily off his tongue. It wasn't the same as the warm mellowness that accompanied Prongs or Moony or even Aunt Dorea, but there was none of acidic regret he'd expected. You could not, it seemed, sign away family with a few smatters of emerald ink. The stain of blood was far more indelible.

"One last matter," Crouch corrected himself, "in accordance with information received, and a complaint lodged, warrants for immediate arrest have been put on Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. The charges laid will be the performance of two Killing curses, a Cruciatus curse, and an outlawed Cleaving curse."

Dodging an irritating sunbeam, Sirius leaned forward. "I didn't make that complaint."

The minion frowned. "But your information and complaint" –

"I asked for charges against the Killing curse, the Cleaving curse and werewolf hunting," Sirius corrected. "I don't think my guardian asked for one against a Cruciatus either."

Crouch and his minion exchanged looks. "We assumed" –

"Oh, you assumed? That will be just fine, then, won't it? It worked out well for you, the last time you assumed that Cokeworth had a magical population of zero."

"This is an entirely different matter, Mr Black."

"No it isn't," Sirius snapped. "You're still dealing with magical law and justice."

Uncle Charlus shot Sirius a look, then quieted him with a tap on the shoulder. "I trust you won't disregard this complaint because the source is anonymous?"

Crouch's toothbrush moustache bristled. "Under normal circumstances, it would not hold much water. But where dangerous and ancient magic is involved, allowing misuse and abuse of such power can prove fatal to the community."

Sirius chuckled mirthlessly. "And we can't have that, can we?"

"No we cannot!" Barty Crouch's voice had all the spring of a mousetrap. "I have been a servant of the Ministry these many years, Mr Black, and I will not allow you to malign our efforts at Magical-Muggle cooperation. Yes, there have been slip-ups," – it looked as though the admission caused him actual physical pain, and Sirius had to bite his lips to keep back his smile – "but we are doing everything in our power to preserve the autonomy and integrity of our world." He glared at Sirius, a challenge in his eyes.

Sirius remained silent. "Very well," Crouch said at last, "now that we have closed proceedings, we will bid you all good day." He rose, and with a quick nod to Uncle Charlus, Father, and Sirius, left the room, the minion following in his wake.

Father watched them go, eyes hooded, shoulders rigid. Once their footsteps had faded away on the other side of the heavy door, Father's eyes slid to Sirius. "I made that charge," he said.

Sirius jaw fell open. "You, Father?"

"I, Sirius."

"But – but – you" –

"Close your mouth, child, that expression looks most uncouth." He drummed his fingers on the table, the velvet sleeves of his black robes falling over his palms and knuckles, muffling the noise of flesh on wood. "Using such dangerous curses on my premises has put my wife, my child and my elf in direct way of potentially fatal injuries. I will not tolerate that under any circumstance."

Anger uncoiled in Sirius' stomach like serpents fleeing a volcano, made its way up his throat and nose like lava from the same. "You said it was taken care of," he accused, thumping his fist on the table, ignoring the pain that flared at the point of contact, "I haven't forgotten that day, and neither have you. You said it was already dealt with. What did you do, Father? Take them into the parlour, serve them a pot of tea and pat them over the head?"

Father's lips curled back in a sneer, heat flushing his neck where the collar lay open over the skin, silver locket lying heavily over the sharp collarbones. "They were well reprimanded then. And they will be caught and punished now."

"Now? Now? It's too late, Father." Sirius could not stop the bitter laugh that bubbled up in his throat. "Where were you then, when I was cursed and almost dying, Father? Did you stop them then? Did you try to help me, or stop me leaving?"

"Your mother did her best to retain your presence, Sirius."

"She did nothing but encourage me to leave, as you well know," Sirius spat. "And you – you – did you really think a matter of treasure and inheritance would be enough to stay my hand?"

That was all they had offered, and that was nothing. The soapsuds spell Father had used still lay sour on his tongue, and despite the bright light filling the chamber, he could feel again the heavy, drowning weight of that hated house enveloping him, could hear the slamming of the grate on his fingers as Mother locked the fireplace in a bid to prevent his escape.

Father's eyes hollowed. "We have been through this before" –

"It should not have been necessary," Uncle Charlus cut in, sharply, smoothly. He laid his hand over Sirius' clenched fist, enveloping it in a comforting ring of fire. His voice, when he spoke, could have frozen Hades. "If he was truly your son, you should have known what stuff he was made of. Neither are the bonds of family so easily broken by signatures on a paper, or a cigarette burn on a tapestry."

Father's face was carved of marble, lips compressed to a deathly whiteness, cheeks gaunt, the brown drawn up, and the eyes deep pools of melted steel. He looked – as he had never looked before – the very likeness of a death's head.

The head of Sirius' nightmares, and those eyes...

"I have lost my son," Father said, lips barely moving. "I have lost him, and I have mourned him these many years. I am well aware that a mark on a sheet of parchment changes nothing."

"It was not enough," Uncle Charlus said quietly.

"No," Father agreed. "Too little too late – is that not what you Muggle lovers say?"

"Some wounds run too deep, Orion. And this – this abscess will fester forever."

Eyes moving from countenance to countenance, Sirius drew breath – a large, icy lungful, despite the stifling, choking heat of the room – willed his pulse to slow, his head to stop spinning. "It was a gag," he said, and unclenched his fingers when his voice remained steady – barely. "A gag on Bellatrix and Rodolphus, a temporary restraint. You wanted something only they could give you."

Father smiled for the first time that day, a brief working of the lips, listless and empty. "Well done, Sirius. Your powers of reason are still intact."

"Well? What was it?"

"Work it out for yourself, boy."

The answer came easily. "The currency of the Blacks, Father. What do you call it – honour? Tradition? Power? All the things you hold most dear."

"There is no honour in cowardly attacks, nor in paltry defence, as the Lestranges well know. And you, Sirius, I'm ashamed of you" –

"Don't you dare say that," Sirius hissed, angling his head to meet Father's gaze full on. "You lost the right to be either proud or ashamed when you gave me up as a lost cause as soon I started thinking for myself."

Father's eyes held his own for one infinite second, grey on grey, locked together in a battle of iron wills. Then, with a flash of something hotter than flame, quicker than lighting, the electricity was broken. Father's eyes darted to the collar of Sirius' crimson shirt. "You underestimate my understanding of my own family, Sirius. And you squander your powers of deduction."

"I'm perfectly aware" –

"No you are not," Father cut across him abruptly. "You have grown too lazy, your thinking falls into the same old well-worn paths."

Uncle Charlus stirred, moving forward to match Sirius' position across the table, never moving his hand from Sirius' sweaty grip. "They gave you what you wanted."

Father inclined his head.

Uncle Charlus cast a swift, searching glance at Sirius, who held it until the hazel eyes fell away. "It may well be too late," Uncle Charlus continued, in tones as soft as gossamer and as cold as steel, "the full extent of their atrocities may never be known, thanks to your delays."

"You seem very sure of that," Father said coldly.

"I have cast the net as wide as I can. The Auror are exercising their full powers to bring the Lestranges to justice."

"Your hands are tied by the law."

The ghost of a smirk touched Uncle Charlus' lips. "I wondered when Yaxley would tell you. Luckily, your anonymous complaint fell to Crouch's lot." He eyed Father closely. "Or, would you consider it unlucky?"

Father stared back stonily.

"What did you do when Regulus told you?" Sirius demanded. "Oh, yes, I know he came to you – was it after the fire, when Bellatrix did a bunk? You'd have got what you wanted from her by then, wouldn't you?" He smiled when Father's eye twitched. "He must have been scared – pale, sweaty… was he biting his lips? They bleed when he's nervous – have you noticed that, Father?"

The mask dropped away for an instant; Father's fingernails whitened.

"Did you ignore him at first – just like you ignored me when I told you how much she hurt us when we were little? Something changed your mind – was it Kreacher? Did she torture Kreacher? Regulus wouldn't have been able to bear that" –

"She has not been in my house since that day" –

"Rodolphus then," Sirius drove on. "Stole all the silver daggers, did he? Gathered a few friends and went werewolf hunting – did he take Reg with him – a treat for a good little boy who does what his family tells him to do?"

Father steepled his fingers together. "It was you then, Sirius. I did wonder, when the Artefacts Confiscation team knew exactly where to look… but that is just the tip of the iceberg, is it not?"

Sirius laughed again – odd, how easily he was able to do so today, when he'd expected to be hiding his tears every minute of the time. "How much more are you hiding, Father?"

Slowly, deliberately, Father pushed his chair away from the table and rose, unmindful of the fake birds who broke into angry twitters at the sound of the chair dragging across the flagstones. "I could not tell you, Sirius, what I do not know myself." He bowed politely to Uncle Charlus, and then directed his gaze at Sirius. "Here ends the extent of my legal obligations to you, Sirius. Do not attempt to contact your mother" –

"As if I'd ever want to see her again" –

"As for the… any others, that is entirely your prerogative. Goodbye, Sirius." A last, swift sweep of the grey eyes, a flicker that took in Sirius' trembling lips and heaving chest, and then the door swung shut behind Father, leaving Sirius gasping with the stabbing pain of loss in his gut.

"How did you find the place?"

"That doesn't matter," Severus said quickly. Lily frowned. Of course it mattered. Their new address was not registered with the Ministry of Magic, and it was unlikely that Severus would have looked it up in the local telephone directory.

"I didn't give my address to anyone at Hogwarts – or even in Cokeworth," Lily added.

"It's not important." Severus waved a hand airily, and jammed it in his pocket immediately afterwards. A second's activity, but it was enough for Lily to catch a glimpse of a swathe of white material wound around his right palm.

"What happened to your hand?"

"A potion burn. Pewter does not wear as well as silver." He looked her full in the face when he answered; he was becoming a better liar by the day. Lily was not sure whether that was a good thing, or a bad one. "What did you call it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The house." Severus jerked his head toward the house behind Lily; a square brown house in a square green garden, hemmed in by square white walls punctured by a square green gate. "What did you name your house? There was no board outside."

Oh. "We called it The Rotunda. I suggested 'Back to Square One,' but Tuney's contribution was considered worthier. 'A living monument of postmodern rebellion', apparently."

Severus sneered. "Undoubtedly your sister has many interests. I would not have thought to count art culture among them."

"Neither would I, actually." She peered at the bags floating behind Severus at hip-level, full to the brim with herbs and plants in every shade of green and brown. "What have you got there?"

"Ingredients for potions. The apothecary's stores in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade are sadly limited. I had to go picking."

"Missing anything so far?"

"I have yet to find Aloe Vera and Cardamom."

"Going in for your own hair-conditioning line, are you?"

Severus blinked. "What?" –

Lily supressed a sigh, but could not stop her brows drawing together in a frown. "Never mind. What are you experimenting with? Cooling draughts – or sensory elixirs?"

"Something of both," Severus said. He looked past her at the freshly turned earth in the flower beds nearest the front door. Something in them seemed to alarm or disturb him, because his eyes grew darker, and his lips compressed. "You would not have what I require, would you?"

"No. There is plenty of Magnolia and Wisteria up the way, if you need those." She wasn't interested in pursuing the topic further. A nondescript suburb in Surrey held no attraction or adventure for her. Severus was a much more interesting subject. She hadn't seen him since a few days before the fire – and then, their conversation had been far from smooth. Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Severus, who'd been watching her intently, stepped forward and reached for her hand. Lily hurriedly put her hands behind her back.

Severus' face clouded. "I am sorry," he said abruptly.

"So you said – at Hogwarts and afterwards. But really, I doubt you mean it."

"But I did – I do."

Lily turned away, shading her eyes against the glare of the hurtful summer sun with her earth-browned palms. "Still friends with Avery and Wilkes, then? And that odious Mulciber?"

Severus' silence was answer enough. She didn't have to look at him to know how he was standing – legs apart, shoulders hunched – and perhaps, if he was particularly vulnerable, only a shadow of the torture he felt visible through the opaque black curtain of his eyes. She swung around, rage erupting in fountains inside her. "You have to choose a side sometime, Severus."

He couldn't look at her now.

"It's coming – the war. We're hidden away at Hogwarts, all cosy with spell books and potions and twitchy little incantations – a nice little play-world – but for how long? It's out there now – it was there in Cokeworth, and it's in London and Peterborough and a hundred other places. It'll be here too before long. Are you going to choose then?"

His face was white – a sickly, pasty white that rested harshly against his natural pallor, but the lines of his mouth, his brow, his cheeks, were erased entirely of expression. "You're my friend, Lily."

"Don't lie, Severus. Honesty suits you better. You have chosen already." As the words left her mouth, a sick, dull certainty began to spring up like boils in her stomach. "I know you've chosen – what you'll do, when they call you." She flicked her eyes towards his arm, quick and sharp as a laser, and he recoiled as if she'd shot him.

"See?" Lily smiled wearily. All the anger she'd felt had suddenly drained away, leaving only an aching bone-weariness. "We're not friends anymore, Severus. We can't be, while people like you hunt people like me. All those leaflets circulating in your common room – and even the Ravenclaw common room, and the clandestine meetings – oh yes, I know about all those. Join our cause! Learn ancient forgotten magic! Acknowledge the importance of blood purity! Let's wipe out Mudbloods and half-breeds and Muggles!"

Severus moistened dry lips; a discreet movement that he couldn't hide from her sharp gaze. "It will not come to that, Lily. I will not let it."

Lily laughed, the sound sticking harshly in her throat, almost choking her. "You, Severus? What can you do? You're sixteen years old – one amongst many." She turned and walked back to flower beds, and picking up her discarded spade, dug vigorously into the soil. "Even you, Severus, with all your talents and magical prowess, don't have a hope in hell of stopping them!"

Three quick strides had Severus kneeling down next to her. "I rue that day – by the Lake. I never, never meant to call you that" –

"But you did" –

"I was under pressure," Severus snapped. "That infernal Potter and that maniac Black!" –

Lily clutched her spade, and violently uprooted a wilting Begonia. "Honesty blossoms best under pressure. Your apologies don't ring true to me, Severus. Are your really sorry, or in your heart of hearts, is that what you think about me – that I'm worse than useless – a freak who has stolen the magic of others, and deserves, not just to be expelled from your world, but violent and cruel death?"

"You have not stolen magic," Severus said softly. "Your powers are your own. And violent death – death is unavoidable, but nobody deserves that" –

"Maybe you should pass along the message to You-Know-Who, then," Lily said bitterly. "Your little friends came along to our town, and burned us all down. I thought I could stop them – just like you think now – but nothing, nothing can stop that flame of hatred from burning. And where were you then? When the houses were falling into ruin around us, and children were dragged off as hostages – where were you? I called for you, but you didn't come."

"I was… with friends…"

Oh. "Had a nice little meeting with the Inner Circle? I hope you enjoyed it" –

"Lily" –

"Don't Lily me, Severus! I inquired at the Ministry Desk when they set up camp in Cokeworth, and they basically told me to shut up and get out. But do you know who came when we were under attack, and fought for us – with us – and won? They won, Severus, against the Death Eaters. Potter and Black, Severus, those two."

Severus' black eyes widened; the blood receded from his face. "That – that cannot be. Potter's father is an Auror, he probably toured to see the aftermath" –

"They fought alongside me," Lily cut in sharply. "They were injured in the process. Bullies they maybe – I do not absolve them of that – but they have an unprecedented measure of courage. One far greater than I'd have ever suspected."

The noonday sun beat down on their backs. Lily watched with sick fascination as beads of sweat formed at Severus' hairline, his collar, and drenched the fine hairs visible where his cotton sleeves stopped short of his wrists. His eyes too – normally shuttered to an inch, were open wide now, burning, pulsing pools of rage and jealousy. I saw it coming, Lily thought, rootballing a couple of croutons with a vicious twist of her wrist, I saw this miles away, and did nothing.

Did that make her a coward, despite the crimson tie she so proudly wore? The road to hell was paved with the little things that were irrelevant to their friendship now: the letters from Potter, only lately answered, the scrawled notes from Black, witness to injury and weakness in their irregular hand, and the missive addressed to Auror De Sousa, sent to the Ministry, but returned to sender via Muggle post, with an address scrawled on the back in coloured pencil.

"Where are you staying now?" Lily asked abruptly.

"Two streets down. It's being built up again. Still Spinner' End, but it – it's a better house."

"Where were your parents that day? I looked for them – and when I couldn't find them, I thought – I thought" –

"Mother was away – relatives in Little Babbington. And Father," Severus smiled humourlessly, "he goes when he wants and comes back when he likes."

"They took hostages," Lily continued, though she was sure Severus knew, "and people are still missing. My cousin Cassie – she – oh Severus, she's gone."

"Perhaps she is not dead."

"I don't know where she is. I don't know how they bear it – my aunt and uncle – it's the uncertainty, Severus. Have you felt anything like it before? It eats away at your insides like acid at silver."

Severus reached out, and plucked away the leaves from the discarded Begonia with brittle fingers. "Death is not the end," he said quietly. "It is not even the sole preferred method of dealing with hostages. There are spells – other charms" –

"Curses and jinxes" –

"No. Charms beyond the powers of an undisciplined wand. Trances that neither harm nor destroy, but keep, and preserve." Lily watched Severus watch the house, the garden, breathe in the freshness of the rusty brown earth. "You have chosen a good place," he said at last. "There is not much magic here. What is broken by Muggle means is easily repaired."

But there was magic here. In Lily's room in the wand and books on her desk, here in the plants and herbs she grew, in Severus, and around him, where it curled like strands of a spider's web, ancient and golden and musty green, and there were things, which once broken, could not be mended.