Chapter Twenty-Four: The Moment Reborn
Right before dawn, she Apparated onto the front walk of Domus Archipater, a place she had been so many times…yet had never really seen. Julia found it odd how one simple decision could change her life—yet might not—and could make her see the world through new eyes. Or adjusted ones, anyway. I wonder what Severus will say.
Julia snorted quietly. He'll glare, tell me I can do better, and then wish me well. For a moment, she imagined Sirius' face if Severus ever said those words in his presence, and Julia had to resist the urge to giggle. She loved both of them dearly, but they would never be friends, no matter how similar they were. And in the end, perhaps, even Severus and Sirius would realize that they were not so different, after all.
But that was for later. Departure was for now.
Severus opened the door before she even reached it; scowling.
"You shouldn't be here," he said immediately.
"I know, Severus." She smiled just a little, touched by his worry.
Her old friend, however, clearly did not find the situation amusing. His eyes narrowed. "It's dangerous."
"I know, Severus," Julia replied, her patience tried to the breaking point. She had hardly slept all night and was facing a day full of Apparation, a prospect that never pleased her, despite all the times she'd done so. Julia hated Apparation. It was enormously convenient, but somehow the spell always left her queasy inside. Despite that, she tried to soften her discomfort with another smile.
But Severus persisted doggedly. "You shouldn't have come back in the first place," her old friend insisted. "Merlin, Julia, Lucius told you to run. He bought you time, and it cost him."
"What did they—"
"And then you came back," he cut her off angrily. "Even when you knew you shouldn't, you stayed. You of all people should know better. He'll kill you if he finds you."
"What did they do to him?" Julia demanded.
"Nothing." Severus shrugged. "Your departure cost Lucius prestige, influence only—nothing physical, but far more costly than bodily pain, as you are aware. Especially in this game."
"I know." She sighed. "Still, I'm glad that's all. I don't think I'd forgive myself if anything…"
"You're not following my point," he replied when she trailed off. "Lucius made his choices. You made yours. But the Dark Lord is hunting you, Julia. He wants to use you to lure Black in."
"I'd kill myself first." And she meant it, always had.
He sighed, almost a groan. "That's not the point."
"May I come in?" she asked plaintively. "Bad choices and all?"
"I suppose." Nodding curtly, Severus stepped aside for her and they walked into Domus Archipater.
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Cold hands on bare flesh.
"Do you remember?"
He coughed, feeling the phantom of old pain—or was it just his imagination? The burning intensified, sharpened, made him want to scream. And then he did.
"You see?" Voldemort whispered into his ear. "You only thought I could not touch you."
Sirius jerked awake as he screamed, still hearing that voice echo in his ears. He realized he was shaking and struggled to stop. Doing so was hard, harder than it had been in months, and he found his right hand clutching ineffectively at his left wrist. Where had his internal barriers gone?
You do remember. A voice, no longer in his ear, no longer from memory.
Sirius froze.
And even now?
He screamed again, thrashing against the blankets. But Sirius hardly noticed; the world exploded with pain, with white hot nothingness. Oxygen trapped in his chest and burned while screech after screech tore his throat bloody raw.
But within seconds, instinct and training focused on fighting back. Magic roared into him without so much as a word—it was feelings such as this that actually helped him understand why Voldemort was intoxicated by power. The rush was addicting, dizzying, sweet—
And yet…not now. Not yet. Not like this.
Sirius clamped down on instinct. He swallowed back the need to fight and endured—for the moment. Perhaps a minute passed before the pain ceased, leaving him panting and wheezing. He pulled his hand away from his left wrist with an effort, still shaking.
Waiting, are you?
He grimaced. No use in letting all the secrets out now, is there?
Cool laugher filled his head, almost tinged with amusement. It would spoil the surprise, wouldn't it?. Sirius smiled grimly, despite the situation. Odd how he could almost reach out and almost—
He screamed again.
Burning red.
Burning black.
Convulsing.
He did not fight, would not.
Even when his body, his soul, ached for release. Not now. Not yet.
Sirius bit his lip hard. Swallowed the screams. Pain was only pain. He had faced this before.
Swallow. Breathe evenly. Endure.
Relax.
I will not break.
Breathe in. Breathe out. One step at a time. Voldemort could attack at will—now—but that did not mean he could win. What was pain, after all, save a window into the soul?
I will not fall.
What were a few moments when compared to ten years? He had distanced himself then, had been able to endure anything but this. But Sirius had changed. Grown. He would be different. Save power for the end. Show strength now. Let Voldemort wonder what the future might hold.
I made my choice.
Everything he had ever been, everything he could ever become, revolved around his three best friends. And he had made the right choices for the right reasons, no matter what the outcome.
Breathing was easier. The pain remained, but it was his pain. His choice. Voldemort could neither own nor control him.
I will stand strong.
Sirius felt the final attack coming before Voldemort struck. Just as his shaking started to slow, just as he regained control, Voldemort pummeled Sirius with all he had to offer. Pain enveloped him, and his arm was on fire—
Sirius refused to scream.
Not this time.
This time, he played the game.
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He hadn't been here since childhood, not since his eleventh birthday, the same day most Wizarding children came. It had been a quiet day, just Peter and his mother, which was a rarity in the Pettigrew home where there were more children (all girls but him) than parents and no time or space for privacy. Peter had enjoyed that day, from shyly choosing his first wand to eating ice cream at Florean Fortescue's. His mother had smiled, then. She'd been beautiful.
But the war had ended more than just his mother's life, more than just Peter's innocence. It had changed Diagon Alley, too. Florean Fortescue's was still only partially rebuilt, growing larger but somehow less dignified than before. Many of the old streets' cobblestones were new, replaced after Sirius and Voldemort had destroyed half of the road between them. Nearly every building sported new paint, new siding, or new signs; the place felt alien. In rebuilding Diagon Alley, the Wizarding world had remade it into someplace different. Ollivander's, however, had hardly changed at all.
Peter opened the door, hesitating only slightly. He wasn't sure that he should be there, but the alternative was even less attractive, so he stepped inside barely thirty seconds after "OPEN" flashed on the door in big white letters.
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He was in the office by dawn, hard at work and relishing every hateful minute of the job. All of his life, James had known himself as a man of action, never content to sit and wait when something could get done. Now he was acting for better or for worse, and not even twenty-four hours back on the job had proven exactly how much needed doing. Desperately.
Like this call.
James checked the time. One hour to go, and he'd know the answer. Two hours to go before he was (again) on the WWN, making a speech to the world. When did the whole world become my responsibility? But he'd asked for that, really, and sometimes wishes were horses—even if they turned out to be fat, ugly, and lame. Still, James supposed it could have been worse. He could have gone at it alone.
Fifty-five minutes before the head appeared in his fire, right at the conclusion of the French Président's morning meeting. He doubted Eugène Legarde would let him down, but James was too far gone from innocence to be sure. So long, so many times, he had trusted—even in what he had thought to be the worst years of the war, cowering in the shadows and trying to protect a son who turned out not to be the child of prophecy. But James knew better now, or maybe he was just more experienced. His faith in the world had shattered, not on November 12, 1981, as many supposed, but on January 30, 1992, the day he had found out Sirius still lived. That everything he had known to be true about the war was yet another level of what ifs and possibilities. It wasn't that he couldn't trust or that he hadn't forgiven Peter. James just remembered the past too well.
Forty-five minutes. Just another three quarters of an hour to waste on paperwork and memories.
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By ten o'clock in the morning, he'd been searching for two hours. Every possible wood-core combination had passed through Peter's hands, from beech and unicorn hair to yew and phoenix feather to walnut and dragon's heartstring to everything in between. Even Ollivander's more exotic wands had started emerging in the last few minutes, but nothing worked. Peter was getting frustrated, but the wizened wand maker was grinning.
He was also muttering to himself, a habit Peter found extremely annoying.
"Let's see…not this." Clink. "Not this." Clink. Wands were flying all over the small shop as Ollivander discarded them carelessly over one shoulder. Shouldn't a wand maker be more careful with his handiwork? "Tried this. Perhaps…"
Peter sighed. His wand hand was dreadfully sore—one ill-fitted phoenix feather wand (eleven inches long and brand-new looking) had zapped his palm something awful. The memory made him grimace—Ollivander had handed that one over with a relish and had seemed extraordinarily disappointed when it hadn't worked. At all, Peter thought impatiently. Throwing rocks would be more effective than using that one!
"Here." He took the wand out of Ollivander's hand and shook it experimentally.
"Nope."
"This?"
Again. "Not at all."
The old wizard dug around some more; Peter shoved his left hand into a pocket and slouched against the wall. "Ah! Here's what I was looking for!" Ollivander grinned. "Try this one. She's a beauty—twelve inches even and made of polished walnut—at least fifty years old…"
Peter tuned him out, waving the wand. "Hm." A few sparks flashed, but nothing special emerged. "Nope."
Another wand was shoved into his hand. "This one?"
"Nope."
"Ah! A newer—"
"Nope."
A few dozen wands later, even Ollivander was groaning.
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James slumped in his chair, eyes shut and not sure if he should laugh or cry. Or just thank every deity he had ever heard of for the fact that Legarde was an intelligent man. And that's a lot more than I can say for the bastard who chased him away, James thought viciously. Finally, he opened his eyes to stare at Arthur Weasley, a relieved grin creasing his face.
"We did it."
Arthur smiled wearily. "Yes, we did."
"About damn time, too," James breathed. "I was starting to worry."
"You've only been back in office a day," his deputy reminded him.
"I know." He shrugged sheepishly. "Still, it feels like forever, and there's so much to do and fix after everything Fudge wrecked."
"I'm just grateful that Legarde chose to look past that," Arthur replied. "Without the French this war would be a lot harder to fight. We need all the Aurors we can get…especially after Azkaban."
"No kidding," James muttered darkly, then forced his tone to lighten. "But whoever thought we'd say that?"
Arthur chuckled, and James managed to smile again. They were back in the game now, and there was still a chance. A slim chance, but a chance all the same. James nodded to himself. His faith in the world wasn't restored, wasn't unshaken, but sometimes things did go right.
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Knock, knock.
Had he passed out or been sleeping? Sirius half rose out of bed, blinking groggily. "Eh?"
"Sirius?" Lily's voice.
"Murgh?" He cleared his throat and started again. "Yeah?"
"Can I come in?"
"Yeah. I'm decent enough." Then he glanced down at himself, at his blood-covered left forearm, remembering that for the first time. Bad idea. A quick wave of his right hand took care of the bloody mess as the door opened and Sirius quickly surveyed the rest of himself. Not too bad. He was even wearing a shirt.
The Mark still bled slightly, in pinpricks here and there, but not so badly as it had. Sirius elected not to bury his arm under the covers. He'd had enough of hiding for one day. Instead, he hauled himself into a sitting position as Lily stepped into his room.
"How are you doing?" she asked, shutting the door quietly behind herself.
"Well enough." He shrugged. "It's been an interesting morning."
"I heard," she said softly. "James left early enough not to, but…" It was her turn to shrug.
"Thanks for not interrupting."
"I wasn't sure if I should have or not," Lily admitted.
"Wouldn't have mattered if you did," Sirius said honestly. "Sit down?"
"All right." She seemed hesitant, which was odd; Lily never waffled or wavered once a decision was made. She was always a planner, and always knew exactly what was going on.
"What's on your mind?" he asked without preamble.
"Am I that easy to read?"
Sirius smiled slightly. "Usually, no. But right now, you'd best get on with it. We don't have all day."
The light tone didn't come off as jokingly as he'd hoped it would, but she got the point. At the very least, she seemed to appreciate the effort, because a tense glimmer flickered through her eyes in response.
"No, we don't." Suddenly, she was serious. "There's something I need to ask you."
"Ask away."
Lily's face twitched into a hesitant smile. "The Unicorn Group has been working on a lot of projects lately. One of them is a way to remove the Dark Mark."
Immediately, everything made sense. "You…"
"Yes. Irrevocably." She nodded. "And we thought that you ought to be the first to know. To get the chance. Especially considering…" Lily trailed off, more in consideration of Sirius' feelings than her own. Still, he wished that she wouldn't bother. It didn't help.
The Dementors seemed drawn to the Mark, intoxicated by being able to use something they feared to cause him pain. Now, every time they came to him, at least one focused on his outwardly unmarred left forearm, stroking the skin just like they petted his face, shoving the metal brank deeper into his torn mouth and jaw. The combination of pain and helpless terror was the worst—he was half conscious of now and all conscious of then, and everything hurt
Cold fingers on his arm. Chains held him down so he could hardly even twitch, and oddly enough, this one Dementor was so very riveted on the Mark that Sirius was almost aware of his surroundings. Rotting nails pressed—
Burning,
He cried out in pain as Voldemort laughed.
"Don't you see, Sirius?" a whisper in his ear. "You'll never be free of it. Of me. Even these creatures know where you belong.
"Forever."
Sirius blinked, trying not to let the urge to grasp his left wrist show on his face. "Thanks," he finally managed to say without sounding too unfocused—not that it fooled Lily, whose eyes saw far too much. "I appreciate your telling me."
"And?" She eyed him perceptively.
"And you know what my answer is," he admitted. What it has to be, Sirius didn't say. "Even if James and the others don't understand, I think you do."
She sighed. "You mean the link."
"I do."
"Are you certain?"
"More than almost anything else, yes," he replied without hesitation. Lily just wasn't one you lied to, not about things like this. She had always understood too much.
Her eyes softened. "It hurts you, Sirius."
He smiled wryly.
"So do a lot of things."
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Had Julia left when she should have, or even when Severus had first suggested she do so, she might have been in less trouble. Or at least in a different situation.
"Hello, Lucius," she said quietly, rising to greet her brother.
She'd not seen his face fall so since they were children. "Julia."
What are you doing here? he didn't ask. She answered anyway:
"I came to see Severus. Before leaving again."
He grimaced. "Good."
"Lucius, it is my life," Julia pointed out gently, again hearing the words he chose not to say. "My choices."
"And I think you are wrong, but I am not here to discuss that," he snapped. Julia started to reply and then stopped herself, letting him brush her aside. Something was on Lucius' mind—and his eyes were on Severus, who looked supremely…detached.
"It has come to that, has it?" her old friend asked quietly.
"Yes," her brother replied stiffly. "And I would prefer to concede gracefully than to make a scene out of this."
"I agree."
Severus being oddly incommunicative, and Lucius nodded stiffly.
"There you have it, then. I wish you the best."
"I did not hope for this, Lucius," Severus finally replied.
"Nor did I," her brother snapped. "But such things happen. You will do well."
Tight faced, Lucius turned on his heel to leave, angry and offended and—
"Wait." Severus' cool voice stopped him in his tracks, making Julia start. Lucius, always superior and always arrogant, never allowed even Severus to speak to him like that. Yet he had stopped. What wasn't she seeing?
"I would not have this change our friendship," Severus said more gently.
"And I would think that it can do nothing less," Lucius replied archly, his gray eyes narrow.
Severus sighed. "Has he made it official?" he asked after a moment.
"He will do so tonight. You are to take precedence over even his pet Bellatrix."
Julia's eyebrows rose, but she contained her expression quickly. Almost a decade spent amongst Death Eaters made her very aware of the politics and power plays involved—but the one thing that never changed was Lucius' place at the Dark Lord's right hand. He'd held onto that position for so many years through a mixture of guile, charisma, and plain bloodthirsty backstabbing, and no one had ever managed to dislodge him. Yet Severus…
"Thank you," Severus replied softly.
Lucius nodded choppily and headed back towards the door; on impulse, Julia chased after him, catching up with his longer strides as Lucius started through the foyer.
"How did it happen?" she asked quietly.
"Does it matter?" he retorted. "I have been eclipsed. Like a good dog I will lie down at my Master's feet and accept my fate."
Julia had not thought he could sound so bitter. But then, this was Lucius Malfoy, insufferably noble, arrogant, and cocksure. His life was defined by his reputation, his influence, and his family, yet in one blow, two of those cornerstones had been weakened. But who did it? Severus, or the Dark Lord himself? she wondered. No. I believe Severus when he says that he did not seek this. And so does Lucius, though he blames him still. She left out a hesitant breath.
"This could be fortuitous timing, you realize," Julia said softly. "It could give you a chance to distance yourself—"
"Do not say the words, sister. I shall remain faithful to my Lord, and to my beliefs, no matter what road you have chosen."
"And your family?" she demanded with a bit more emotion than she'd intended. "You cannot help them this way. He's going to lose, Lucius, and what then?"
"I'm afraid I do not share such confidence in your lover, Julia," he replied dryly.
She rolled her eyes. "The world is arraying against him, Sirius notwithstanding. We are approaching a turning point, brother, and when we reach that point, do you want to lose everything?"
"I have already told you that I cannot protect you. Leave while you can."
"I'm not talking about myself." Julia looked him in the eye. "I'm talking about Draco and Narcissa. How much would you have them suffer for your choices?"
"They will not suffer," Lucius replied shortly. Certainly.
"How do you know? How can you be sure?"
"Go, Julia. Run while you can or hide with your lover," he said dismissively, ignoring the question. "I cannot help you now."
"That's not my point—"
"But it is mine." Lucius wrenched the door open. "Go. This discussion is over."
And he walked away.
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Eight chairs, seven members.
Remus resisted the urge to stare at Time, remembering both the last time the Inner Circle had met with a member missing and the reason Time had once stood empty. Now, in a painful twist of truth, Knowledge, his own first position, was the vacant seat. Empty, not for the same reasons, but empty all the same. Remus swallowed.
While Sirius was missing, Fawkes had simply refused to reform the Circle; this time, Remus had not even tried. This seventh circle was their Final Circle, he knew—perhaps not the Final Circle forever, but certainly the last during this war. Maybe, someday, there might be another, but Remus sometimes doubted that he would see an eighth. Maybe Severus will.
"So," Bill said softly. "Here we are."
To his right, the new Auror Nymphadora Tonks glanced around without surprise. "He's not coming, is he?"
"No," Remus replied regretfully. "Not for a long time."
No one in the room was foolish enough to think that meant Severus might join them that day, or perhaps ever again. Some might have even wondered what Remus thought of Snape's loyalties…but none asked. This was not the time or the place, and Hogwarts' headmaster finally nodded. "Let's sit."
They were deep within Hogwarts again, because there was no where else to go. The Room of Requirement had become their only meeting place, and Remus sometimes wondered what would come next. Was the Order so intertwined into his school, or was it the other way around? He knew that theirs' was not the first Order of the Phoenix, but he did not know if it would be the last.
Chairs scraped lightly on the carpet as everyone made themselves comfortable, even James—and it was good to see that again. He caught the smile on James' face as his friend thought the same, and Remus tore his mind away from dark thoughts. Think of the moment. Think of the friends who are here, not those who cannot be.
Lily spoke first, absentmindedly brushing hair back from her left shoulder. "Why are we here?" Of course, she wanted to know why Remus had called this meeting so suddenly and without any warning, but that was a question even he could not answer.
"It was time," Remus replied as honestly as he could. "Time to look at one another and decide the next step we take."
"With all due respect," Bill said quietly, "I don't think that's our choice."
Heads turned; Remus nodded reluctantly. "Sirius?"
"I'll listen to suggestions."
James chuckled softly. "Of course you will. Then you'll go your own way. As usual."
"Probably," Sirius admitted. "But I don't see a lot of planning to be done, at least where my role is concerned. I'm going to kill him or I'm not. It's that simple."
Like the others, Remus shivered, listening to his friend's cool voice and frank words, but his mind focused on something else. Something deeper. If you think we're letting you go at that one alone, Padfoot, you're sorely mistaken. He knew that nothing in the world could stop Sirius from doing what he felt he had to do, but Remus would stand beside him, as would James and Peter. Even if it did kill them.
"Unless you plan on calling him out tomorrow, I do think some planning is in order," Lily replied. Her smile was tight. "If that's all right with you."
"Of course." Sirius grinned, but Remus saw the shadow in his blue eyes that made Lily nervous. He was different, still Sirius, but something else, too. But you've known that for awhile, Remus. Why think of it now?
"Very well," he interjected when unable to answer his own internal question. "Aside from diplomacy, what options do we have?"
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They stepped through the doors together, no longer having to bring Tonks through as a trainee—yesterday, she and Bill had completed the acceptance ceremony that made her a full Auror. Some of the others had done so as well, though Sirius had missed the bittersweet ceremony. The loss of Dana Lockhart and even Calvin Waters had hit Class 4904 hard, hurting even more than the others lost. They'd been so close, Sirius had heard Tonks whisper to Bill. So damned close.
Well, so had he—many times and to many things. But close only counted with Proximity Spells. Sirius had learned that the hard way.
And the doors did not close on him, so that was another good thing. Avalon still accepted him as an Auror, no matter what magic he chose to use. Sometimes, he wondered why that was so, or how the Isle of Light could allow him to practice some of the dark spells he had used upon her shores. Yet here he was, and here Avalon was…and he felt none of the wary watchfulness he had before. None of the borderline acceptance. He was there, and so was Avalon.
Sirius felt the way he had the first time that the Aurors had returned to their island. Welcome. Adjusted.
Remembered.
The thought almost stopped him, almost made Sirius freeze. He'd hardly slept the night before, and had rested little then because of the nightmares—yet he felt good. Better than he had in months, perhaps better than he had since before his time in Azkaban. It was a strange feeling, both heady and frightening all at once. Most of all, though, he felt like himself. Like the boy who had become a Gryffindor at Hogwarts and the man who had become an Auror. Perhaps he was a bit reckless and short tempered, but he was Sirius Black. Always energetic, often erratic, and loyal to a fault.
I thought I'd lost that along the way, Sirius thought. Just thought it…went away.
He shivered.
"Sirius?" Tonks prodded quietly, touching his right elbow.
He started, turned. "Yes?"
"Let's go." As usual, his cousin didn't ask. She was sensitive in those ways.
"Right."
Every footstep on the grass felt different, felt new. Fresh. Refreshed? He started at his feet, at the damn grass beneath them. The island had been caught in a storm center for months, but now there was a sudden calm. Even the clouds were beginning to roll aside—just a little—to let the sun peek through.
"What are you doing here?" an imperious voice snapped, breaking through Sirius' childlike wonder. His head snapped up.
"Dimwiddle." He nodded courteously, but Sirius wasn't even trying to fool himself.
"Black," the other spat. "You are not welcome here. If Cornelius finds—"
"My, you are out of touch," Sirius cut him off with a sweet smile. "Fudge was tossed out of office three days ago. Where have you been?"
Dimwiddle flushed but did not answer. Instead, Sirius did for him, feeling nasty. He was sick of being the civilized and patient hero—time for a little vintage, misbehaving, Sirius Black.
"Drinking again, eh?" He let his face twist into a patronizing sneer. "All those late nights of work getting to you?"
Dimwiddle sputtered. Someone—Sirius thought it might have been Tonks—muffled a laugh.
"You can't speak to me like that!" the older wizard finally managed.
"No?"
"No!"
"All right." Sirius shrugged. "I'll speak to you like this, then: I am here to replace you. James Potter has retaken office as Minister of Magic, and I have been re-designated as the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and of the Aurors. Your presence is no longer required on Avalon."
He was being a bit harsh, but not unexpectedly so; Marcus Dimwiddle was a drunkard and an incompetent. He'd been kicked out of the Aurors twelve years ago for conduct unbecoming—the least of which had been being drunk during a failed raid in which three Aurors died. Sirius had been there, and also remembered Alastor Moody's stories of Dimwiddle's early days in the Aurors. No, he wasn't impressed.
"You—"
"Just don't," Sirius cut him off more gently this time. "It's over. Fudge's power play has failed."
He took a deep breath, noting for the first time how fresh the air felt.
"And I've got work to do."
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Author's Note: I'm almost home—just a few more weeks to go and then updates will come much faster. That said,I really do hope you like the chapter. Stay tuned for PD25, and please let me know what you think! I really do appreciate everyone reading…it makes writing and posting worthwhile.