A/N: A new chapter at last! And new year, new exciting happenings, and new goals… I would like to get the next one out in the next fortnight. January is a bit of a lighter month for me as would happen, so I think this is potentially reasonable. Keep an eye out, and keep reviewing! There are two more chapters of the summer to go, I think – possibly three depending on how long the next turns out.
Thank you to all who have read, reviewed, messaged, etc throughout the course of this lengthening project. I truly appreciate all your support. Without further ado… I hope you all like 'Broken Dolls'!
As always…
PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!
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DISCLAIMER: Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Broken Dolls
The fever burned within him, and the wind whipped without. It was so bitterly cold in the water that he might have been wading through snowbanks. A wolf howled in the distance, but the shifting path before him was inky black and empty. The white orb of the moon fell in and out of cloud, flickering a feeble ray upon the world. Even she seemed keen to hide her face.
And in the darkness and ice, the salt air held other traces. Sweat, and blood, and something sweeter.
Pears and freesia… a warm hand upon his chest.
'They'll be more, Sirius. They'll be years more.'
He was so wet.
The snarling still rang in his ears, as if the wolf was mere inches from him – though he knew he could no longer be in range. The howling had faded now.
Wet. Dark. The moon's beam along the sea had vanished – swallowed by thunderous clouds. The ocean was a cavernous void without it.
Why was he swimming in pyjamas? She had never liked pyjamas.
Perched on the counter in pink knickers and his overlong shirt, munching an apple with mischievous eyes and mussed hair that smelled of pears and freesia.
'Perv.'
'Wear trousers next time, and I'll behave.'
He was hot. No – no he wasn't.
He was cold. It was cold in the water. His fingers numbed until they fumbled to draw him forward, and the waves seemed to rise higher and rougher with his exhaustion. This had been a foolish way to go when land had been an option. Why was he bothering to –
Run.
That was it. He had to run. He had to go home. But home was…
'I'll go, Sirius. I'll do it.'
He choked on the sob. 'You shouldn't… Jamie, you shouldn't. It should be me. They deserve… I have to –'
Hands gripped his shoulders; hazel eyes boring into his own. 'They'll understand. Go home, Sirius. Go home to Lily; to Harry.'
No…
Where she stood in the doorway, shifting the babe in her arms, her eyes full of compassion and sorrow and tears he did not deserve.
'I'm so sorry, Sirius.'
Sorry… such an odd word. As if it had been even a fraction her fault. As if she bore any blame, for staying to protect her future as he had failed to protect his.
'It's not like I had a claim over her. Just because we were shagging?'
NO!
Harry was not at home. Lily was not there. James was not there.
Home was in ruin and rubble. Just like she was.
Why was it so wet? Cold and biting against his limbs. Hot and sticky on his face.
'He struck her down, Albus, right in front of me. Blasted her full of holes… like she was nothing more than discarded rubbish. She died in pieces in my arms.'
Sirius remembered the iron stench of blood in the air. It had been snowing that night – the kind of snow that would have been beautiful at New Year, if she and Sirius had been warm in the bay window of his London flat, sipping on guelder rose wine and entwined in one another. As it was, the falling white obscured their vision as great gusts of frigid wind battered the lot of them. Inside, the storm might have been romantic. But out, it had been nothing but an added danger they did not need.
And through the wintry gales she danced like a rogue sparrow. She duelled two at once; then three. Spinning and spelling and, when she caught his eye across the moor, singing in the New Year. He smiled as he locked wands with his own opponent. They had foiled this gang's attempt to burn the nearby Muggle village. It would be a glorious New Year indeed.
He had just joined her when the curse hit. Blasted from behind – the coward's strike. Her song had died on her lips as she swayed, manic laughter of her killer drowning Sirius' furious retaliation. The assailant had apparated away before the spell struck home… but Sirius was no longer watching. He caught her before she could hit the ground and eased her down. Beneath her, the snow melted in streams of scarlet.
'Siri–'
'Shh… don't speak. Don't – I've got you. Vulnera Sanentur!'
He ran his wand over her abdomen. The gaping flesh refused to knit.
'Vulnera Sanentur!'
'Sirius –'
'I'll get Lance. I'll get Dumbledore. DUMBLEDORE!'
'There's nothing to be –'
But he only shouted louder. 'LANCE! ALBUS!'
'Hush, love, hush.'
'You hush,' he growled.
She chuckled – and gagged, blood pooling at the corner of her mouth. He raised her gingerly as she started to cough, shouting for the headmaster again. But the battle was rage and chaos save for their fading bubble. Even James did not seem to hear him.
He wondered that their world could be so loud, when his seemed to turn on her whisper.
'It's too –'
'Don't say it,' he spat viciously. He tried and failed to cast a charm again. He could feel the blood slowing under his hands. 'I've got you. Everything's going to be fine. DUMBLEDORE!'
Agony. It was agony then, and agony here… drowning and crushing and cold. The sea offered no more shelter than the moors, or his tiny prison cell, or the abandoned fox den, or the snowy boughs of the great oak in the Forbidden Forest.
Why was he always in the cold?
His bare feet found succour in the rocky seabed and he stopped, panting. The cliffs were not so high here. He could see an almost-path, a dip in their impenetrable face. He took several halting steps, falling more than once below the crashing surface of angry waves. His hands bloodied on the sharp rocks as he caught his many trips, and he had given in to all fours by the time he managed the shore.
Freezing… shaking…
A piece of coral cut into his palm. Sirius hissed, tossing it angrily back towards the sea.
A dainty cup with a proper saucer… he'd bought it just for her. Blue and white. Pristine, but for the smear of coral lipstick along one side of the rim – the left half just a bit fuller than the right.
She'd left it on the table next to the bed. She'd leaned over to kiss his cheek, and she'd gone to meet her patrol, and he'd gone on with his newspaper until it was time to join Moody at the Ministry. Casual and easy. Like a habit. Like they would start every morning that way for the rest of their lives.
Stop. Stop! He was supposed to be running; he was not supposed to dwell in dreams.
But he could not run. He could not move. He felt his head smack the rocky sand before he could realise his failure, bits of it clouding his vision and his nose. He spat out a mouthful. The waves lapped at his toes, enticing him back to the waters he had barely escaped. Perhaps if he just rested a moment… just a minute's sleep. If time would just stop, for only a moment, then he could pick himself back up again. He could put her back together.
Her blue eyes had gone glassy, but they were not wet. His were, he knew. He could see the droplets falling into her hair, though he hardly remembered when the tears had started. She gasped and choked, but she did not scream. Even now, defiance ruled her.
'LANCE!' he tried again. His voice broke with the strain.
Something cold touched his hand where he had it pressed against the gruesome stain across her chest. He looked down automatically. She barely had the strength to keep her eyes open anymore, but her thin, cold fingers wrapped around his, squeezing them gently.
'Sirius… it's ok,' she whispered.
'It will be,' he vowed viciously. 'It will be, just hold on.'
'It will be,' she repeated. 'Promise me, Sirius. Promise not to let it –'
Across the battlefield of whirling colours, his desperate gaze finally made contact with another blue one. Dumbledore was almost a Quidditch pitch away, but Sirius knew he could read it all in that moment's glance. Before he could even shout again, he saw the headmaster dispatch his opponent and begin to twist on the spot.
'You see?' he said, almost giddy with relief. 'You see? Albus is –'
But she was trembling in his arms, her grip on his fingers slackening. He grasped them harder still.
'No! No, no, no –'
The headmaster appeared soundlessly beside him in the very moment she stilled.
His ankles were submerged now. On his upraised temple, he felt icy droplets begin to smack his skin. The sky had birthed its anger too. A flash of it illuminated the ominous crags before him, startling Sirius from his exhausted stupor.
He had to move. He had to run!
He curled his fingers into the damp sand, feeling it sting in his many grazes and catch beneath his nails. They were too long, again. Remus would scold him if he saw.
Run!
With a monumental effort, he dragged himself shaking to his knees. It was so cold…
Sirius – RUN!
Run… run…
He pulled one hand out of the sand and clawed an arm's length forward. He yanked the other, and repeated. Elbow over wrist. Knee over knee. He tried to focus on the blackened, lightning-struck cliffs, but they swam before him. The world about him appeared far less real than that which he both yearned for and feared. Even his eyes seemed to see a thousand years ago. The cliffs grew closer by agonising degree, but it was not their stone that loomed before him.
The black, deep-cut blouse; Christmas lights in her blonde curls as she leaned in that first night. Her bell-like laughter later, as she dropped her silky dressing gown and her legs wrapped round his waist. He could lift her so easily, like a doll…
The rain fell harder. Wind whipped sodden sand against his cheeks, and whatever sight Sirius had managed to keep in the present blurred and faded. He rubbed a frustrated sleeve across his face.
Run… run… run…
He could not. He was frozen.
Pyjamas were a foolish choice. What had he been thinking, to leave barefoot and without a cloak in January? He needed furs…
FURS.
He was almost too tired to complete the change. But when he had, the difference was so acutely glorious that he nearly yelped in joy. He was not precisely warm, but his limbs no longer shook beneath him and the wind no longer seemed of ice. His four feet found purchase much easier than his flailing hands. Even his mind seemed to clear a fraction. Perhaps the dog was better able to withstand the fever that wracked his human form.
Run.
Run he did at long last. Not very fast, and not very well – but it was a mercy all the same. He stole in the darkness through the break in the cliff face, strong haunches lifting him along a path far too perilous for human travel. His mind began to feel foggy again as he clambered upwards, and he could hear his own panting through the rain.
Remus had said to run. He had to run. He just had to hold on a few more moments, a bit farther. Hold on – just hold on.
Albus crouched beside him, his hand resting over Sirius' on her broken chest. Though the snow beneath Sirius' feet had become a puddle of scarlet, the flow beneath his fingers had all but stopped.
Sirius shook her. Her eyes were closed, translucent lids with their absurdly long lashes making her look even more a doll. She could not be dead if her eyes were closed, Sirius thought, shaking her harder. Sirius had seen dozens of dead bodies by now. Some of them, he'd even made. Everyone else died with their eyes fixed and open.
'Wake her!' he growled, whipping so fast to face the headmaster that his hair smacked the older wizard in the ear. 'She was just here – she was just talking!'
'Sirius…'
'WAKE HER!'
Albus' gaze was pitying. But he pushed Sirius gently off Marley's limp form and drew his wand. Sirius allowed himself to be moved, scrambling back on his elbows. The headmaster pointed his wand at her still chest. The spell was silent, but a bright white flash erupted from the wand tip, jolting her body like a bolt of lightning. Sirius blinked to clear the black spots from his vision, but she had not opened her eyes.
The headmaster cast the spell again. Again, her body jerked unnaturally off the snow. And again, it fell back motionless.
Albus turned, his eyes sparkling at the corners.
'Sirius – she is gone.'
Sirius shook his head, crawling for her. 'She can't be… she can't be… she was just here…'
He grasped her wrist, her fingers, her waist. He arched her up to him navel-first, as he had so many times before. But this time she did not come laughing, kissing at his neck. This time, she came cold and broken and bloodied. He held her tight all the same, letting her cold brow rest on his chest, where he had always liked it best; his face buried in a cascade of golden curls that still smelled of pears and freesia even in death.
Albus was speaking, but Sirius did not hear the words. Vaguely, he registered that the scene about them had calmed – the last of the figures in masks still standing had fled away into the night. There were several crumpled on the moor, their masks askew… but more crumpled figures, he thought, without masks at all.
They had won this fight. But they had lost.
A more familiar step approached from behind. He felt James kneel beside him – a firm hand grip his shoulder. When Sirius did not respond, a stubbly cheek rested against the crown of his head – meaningless words of comfort and emptiness he could not hear were offered to his ear.
Sirius just kept repeating his own to the broken figure in his arms.
'But I love you. I love you. I love you…'
These were not the moors. Sea grass covered the rolling hills rather than heather. Rain fell in place of snow. This did not make sense… how could he have come here? Where was he to go?
'I love you. I love you. I love you…'
Run….
He had to run. He had to keep running.
'They'll be more, Sirius. They'll be years more.'
There were not.
There was only the run. Only the dance of death.
'I love you. I love you. I love you…'
But ruined dolls full of holes did not speak. And dead things did not love back.
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Years later, Remus had no idea how he had ever got out of that cave alive.
Sirius turned tail at his growl and scarpered – tripping clumsily over his own feet as he headed out the opposite end of the cavern from whence had fled the frightened young man. Remus' best chance would have been to follow him, but he forced himself to stay put instead. Even with Remus' help, Sirius would be slow escaping through the sea. Remus did not know whether he would have the energy for the Animagus transformation again. And even if he did, they were a long way from safety.
To give Sirius his best chance, Remus would need to provide distraction.
The adrenalin and the heady scent of spilt blood permeating the cave heightened his already quivering senses. He snarled and began to stalk backwards and forwards, blocking the passage. He could hear the looming voices of an angry mob drawing nearer and nearer. The boys' friends, he presumed, or possibly Muggle authorities. It could not have been wizards, or they'd have come upon the scene already. But he knew he was dancing a perilous edge. The cavern of Merlin was sacred to Muggles and Wizards alike. Before long, the melee would surely draw the attention of his own kind.
They would bring much worse than knives. And they, unlike their mundane counterparts, would know precisely what sort of monster they had stumbled upon in this ancient den. He had grievously wounded a Muggle teenager, seemingly caught up in the bloodlust they so feared ruled his very nature. He would be lucky to avoid Azkaban. They might even kill him on sight.
Above the roar of the incoming crowd of men, Remus strained to catch some sound of his fleeing friend. He could not tell, through the din, whether Sirius had yet made the water.
Two minutes, he told himself, increasing the rate of his pace. Two more minutes was all he could give. Then he must go, or it could be both their skins.
There was a clatter at the beachfront. The mob of men had reached him. He had only a moment to stop his frantic stalking and brace himself, hackles raised and teeth bared.
'What I tell you, eh? What'd I say?'
The same sweaty-faced teenage boy from before had returned in the midst of the others, grabbing at the arm of an older, gruffer-looking man in uniform.
'It's a great, hairy wolf it is! And he's got Chaz! He's got Chaz! He might've killed –'
'He's breathing,' a gangly, slightly drunken young man cut in. 'Look – I can see him breathing.'
Two more uniformed men rushed up behind the crowd. There were ten now that Remus could count.
'Keep away from it!' the oldest, portliest man shouted out from the rear. 'Get back from the dog!'
'It's not a dog –'
A growl built low in Remus' chest.
'Keep away from that thing!' the man in charge shouted again, louder this time. 'MacGregor – have you brought it?'
The one in front withdrew something from a back pocket. His hand shook slightly as he took aim. Remus realised it was a pistol.
'Shoot 'em, shoot 'em!' one of the teenagers shrieked from behind.
'What about Chaz?! Someone phone 999!'
'Shoot it.'
'Shoot it!'
'SHOOT –'
Remus readied himself to move. He could have taken the man faster than he would be able to let the bullet fly. But, in this stony cavern, a ricochet could kill any of them. Even werewolves were not immune to a bullet through the heart.
So he watched the man's trigger finger.
'MacGregor!'
He had about three seconds' warning. The finger pulled, and Remus dove.
The shot flew over his right shoulder. An acrid stench told him it had grazed his fur. Unbidden, a snarl left him. The instinct to attack; to conquer; gained ground. His claws raked the earthen floor as he skidded and spun, saliva gathering at the corners of his jaws. He could almost taste the paunchy flesh…
BANG!
The second shot sounded like canon fire in the hollow cave. Remus was not so quick, this time. He threw himself low, but the edge of the bullet ripped through his left hindquarters. He let out a howl of rage and pain.
CRACK!
CRACK!
Through the haze, Remus recognised the sounds. Fear truly gripped him. There was no mistaking Apparition…
His time was up.
'Move!'
'Move!'
He turned tail and bolted, pain searing through his leg with every bound as he tore towards the exit. In the fractional glance he got, he saw two figures in Auror robes behind the pile of men: a young woman he did not recognise; and the older, more familiar Dawlish. He thanked the heavens they were impeded by their place at the back of the mass, and prayed they would not Apparate again in the midst of Muggles and confusion.
Remus dove with no small relief into the sea, gritting his teeth against the howl that threatened his throat as salt water flushed through torn flesh. It mattered not, in the long term. The wound was Muggle-made and his body was strong; he would heal quickly enough.
Yet in this moment, he would surely leave a dangerous trail to follow. He could not afford it. He would have to hope the turbulent waves drowned his trace before the Ministry could follow.
Remus paddled hard, and far. He could not risk alighting to the shore, where he knew the Aurors would be searching. The wolf's body was well-suited to swimming. Remus knew true wolves sometimes swam for miles. Studies out of Canada spoke of entire colonies of island wolves subsisting on salmon and fallen whales. Yet werewolves, in their manic, beastly state of naturalness, were not fond of the water – devoid as it was of plentiful human prey. They were never hunted at sea, and Remus was banking on the Ministry's ignorance.
Though he could feel blood dripping from his leg, Remus did not fear the creatures of the ocean depths. His scent would ward off more than it would call. Werewolves were apex predators, and natural prey to nothing.
His heightened senses could still discern the shouting men he had left behind, even as he put distance between them. The shore vanished quickly – high, jagged cliffs plunging straight into the watery depths in its stead. Even could he have braved it, there was no sand to harbour him now. Nor – he reminded himself with a pang of fear – would there be for Sirius.
He did not think he had been followed, as the sounds of the angry mob finally dissipated. No wandlight flickered in the waves; no broomsticks whooshed above him. Perhaps they had been too caught up in subduing the Muggles to follow in time; or perhaps they'd thought he escaped up the cliff instead.
But that meant nothing. Sooner or later, they would realise their error. Sooner or later, they would call reinforcements to exhaust every path in the search.
Time was his greatest enemy.
Remus paddled harder; faster; farther. He could feel a faint lightness in his head – the beginnings of blood loss, most likely. With the werewolf resistance to mundane injury, he might have expected the wound to have begun healing by now if he were on land. But the water kept it open and dripping.
As if in answer to his very thoughts, Remus rounded a bend and a slim stretch of beach appeared before him. He made for it, looking about anxiously. He could not sense or smell approaching searchers. Deciding that he was near enough now to Shell Cottage's borders, he left the sea at last.
He shook the water from his fur and sniffed both the air and ground. He scented salt and seagrass; gull and dying fish; his own blood and the merest hint of a hare high up on the bluffs – but no trace of his wandering friend. Remus felt uneasy in his heart. Even with his head start, even if he had transformed, Sirius should not have been so far ahead that his trail could not be gleaned. Remus had been strong and fast through the waves – much more so than the fevered wizard could have managed. He ought to be nearly on him now.
He stretched his neck to check the place where the bullet had sliced him. It was still oozing steadily. He forced himself into a run before the stream could creep down his leg again and leave droplets on the sand. Remus' wariness grew like a weight in his chest, heavier and heavier as the shore became more familiar. The searing pain in his leg muted – though whether because the wound had started to heal now that he had left the sea or whether fear for Sirius had drowned it out, he was not sure.
He was nearly there when he heard what he had been dreading. Human ears would not have registered the faint rustle, but Remus knew there were broomsticks approaching. Aurors, most likely, or possibly reinforcements from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He picked up his stride – no longer caring whether the blood marked his path.
The rushing of incoming hunters grew louder. He could almost hear their voices now… closing in… nearly above him…
And then, quite suddenly, they were gone.
Remus dared to slow, panting, and chanced a glance behind.
Five figures on mounted broomstick were circling the beach some fifty yards away, their spells dancing on the sand. Tiny glimmers of light among the stones reflected back at them – and Remus knew they had found his own blood trail. Yet though he could see plainly a dark stain beneath his own paw, the glittering droplets seemed to end where the wizards had gathered in a huddle.
Remus looked up. He could have cried with relief as he recognised the pattern of the embankments. He had reached the borders of the cottage land at last.
He allowed his fear for Sirius a brief respite. He must have been more addled by the events in the cavern than he had thought. Sirius must have beat him to the cottage after all – he had not passed him on the journey.
Giddy with relief and exhaustion, he slumped at last to the sand and twisted to lick at the oozing wound while he watched the Ministry gathering downwind. It was an oddly triumphant moment – knowing they had eluded capture; knowing he was safe, though he could see his chasers a mere stone's throw away.
He could hear them too.
'– don't understand it,' a tall woman was musing. She and the others had dismounted on the beach, and she crouched at the last of the glowing droplets. 'This blood is fresh – he can't have just vanished.'
The others moved in and out of his view, muttering darkly. The ones that came closest vanished for a time – transported, Remus assumed, to the other side of the hidden property they could not detect.
'Nothing,' an older man growled in frustration, returning to the group. 'No trace whatsoever. He can't have Apparated?'
'Werewolves cannot apparate during a transformation,' piped up a wheezy little wizard.
'The cliffs are too high to mount,' said another woman doubtfully. 'Even a wolf –'
'Then he must have gone back to the water,' the tall one reasoned. Remus thought she must be the one in charge. 'Brett, Connelly – with me. The rest of you check he didn't double –'
She broke off as a sixth broomstick swung out of the sky. It was the young Auror from the cave. Her pink hair shone even in the steady rain that had started to fall, and she looked hardly past Hogwarts age. She stumbled on her dismount, slightly breathless.
'The Muggle boy woke,' she told them urgently. 'The one that wolf attacked. He identified the man the other one was on about – says it was Sirius Black.'
There were hisses and murmurings. One of the older men swore.
'The lad was knocked senseless,' the tall woman protested. 'He's meant to be on the Continent, isn't he? What would Black want in Cornwall?'
'Haven't the foggiest, but the boy was certain,' the girl insisted. 'The both of them identified his photograph. Dawlish has already gone for Shacklebolt.'
'Do you think the wolf's in league with him?' one of the men asked.
The tall woman did not answer, but pointed her wand instead at the sky. A bright green flare erupted high above them.
Remus felt his unease – so recently pacified – heighten once more. He edged away from the Ministry lot, moving stealthily even though he knew he could not be heard. But before he could start his flight in earnest, a loud crack announced a new arrival.
'Shacklebolt,' the woman greeted tersely. 'Our information –'
'I have been briefed already, Alexandria,' he assured her. He bent low to the ground, examining the trail they had followed. His fingers glinted with shining blood as he raised them.
Then his gaze moved past her – and locked on Remus.
Remus had quite forgotten that Shacklebolt, alone of his Ministry comrades, would be perfectly able to see the scene in its entirety – though even he would not be able to pass the ward. His dark eyes narrowed, then widened, and his mouth fell slightly agape in shock.
Remus fixed his own stare on the Auror. Very slowly, he shook his head.
'Kingsley?'
The pink-haired woman approached him, frowning.
Kingsley seemed to shake himself. He stood and looked back at his companions. 'Search the sea for the wolf,' he commanded. 'And the cliffs. Tonks, come with me and join the search for Black.'
'Will they not be together?' the one called Alexandria queried.
Kingsley frowned. 'Unlikely. Whether they entered the cavern of Merlin together I do not know, but they certainly fled separately. And if Black has any sense remaining, he will have Apparated as soon as the Muggle boy raised an alarm. No doubt we are far too late for any success on that front.'
The others muttered darkly again, but Kingsley ignored them. 'Dawlish remains at Tintagel. We shall reconvene there in twenty minutes.'
The little group began to separate, flying off on their individual assignments. Kingsley lingered only long enough to give Remus a long look somewhere between reassurance and exasperation. Then he, too, vanished into the night.
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'Fudge has sent a missive,' Minerva greeted him as Albus closed the door to his office.
She was still wearing her long travelling cloak, sitting cross-legged by the fire in Albus' usual chair. Her flared nostrils spoke of clear distaste – though whether her scowl was merely for the Minister for Magic or something had gone awry in her evening, Albus was unsure.
He gave a small smile. 'Indeed. I had thought he might – with the arrival of the Bulgarian delegation this afternoon. No doubt its tardiness could not be helped.'
She sniffed irritably. Albus twinkled as he took the letter, unsurprised to find the seal ajar. Though she would never invade his privacy where any other was concerned, Fudge had become, since the brazen acts of the previous term, a special case. As Albus had no secrets with the Minister, he found he did not particularly mind her curiosity.
'I don't understand why he must make you bear the impropriety,' she huffed. 'For really – unless they dine at midnight in Bulgaria, the invitation comes far too late for you to join them. No doubt the foreigners will think you slight them on purpose.'
Albus chuckled. 'No matter. I received a note from Oblonsk yesterday. Having assumed Cornelius would not wish to be upstaged in his own home, I sent my regrets several hours ago. Dobromir is a reasonable man. He will not begrudge my absence.'
Minerva's mouth remained thin, but she did not comment further. Albus took the sofa opposite.
'I must admit I thought you would be later yourself. Was your evening interrupted?'
'Not at all. But Griselda is not as young as once she was. She prefers to dine early these days.'
'Ah. Then it is a pity you did not join for a nightcap in the Great Hall. I do believe I could have used your interference.'
Minerva raised a brow. 'Interference? With what?'
Albus smirked a bit. 'I have a hunch we will be playing referee between Alastor and Severus much of the next year, my darling. And if tonight was any indication, it is likely to prove… ah, what is that phrase? A two-man job.'
She paused halfway through shrugging her cloak at last to snort. 'I could have predicted that,' she scoffed, floating the cloak to Albus' stand. 'Really, Albus…'
He sighed. 'It cannot be helped. Alastor's presence will be of great benefit this coming term. And Severus –'
'Will never be appeased,' she warned. 'You mark my words – they'll be at blows before midwinter.'
As if on cue and before Albus could retort, Severus' head appeared in the flames. He started a bit to see Minerva in the headmaster's usual chair.
'Perhaps at a later time, Albus?'
The headmaster gestured a welcome. 'No, come through, Severus. Now is as good a time as any.'
Severus gave Minerva another calculated glance, but pulled his head from the flames. A few moments later, he was brushing ash onto the pristine carpet. Albus stood and retrieved a bottle of wine, pouring a goblet for Minerva. He held a second aloft for the Potions Master, but Severus shook his head with a small grimace.
'I must be off early on the morrow.'
Albus frowned. 'Are you certain you would not rather attend the match? I can easily arrange –'
'No, thank you,' Severus declined shortly. 'I have little desire to watch. And the world's diverted attention means the markets in Luxembourg will be nearly empty. A most fortuitous time to go.'
Minerva huffed indignantly. 'If you're able to find an open shop. Who shan't be minding the Quidditch –'
'Not all wizards are quite as deranged when it comes to sport,' Severus sniped.
She swelled at once. 'It was not I who gave offence tonight, Severus,' Minerva said coolly. 'And you would do well to remember to whom you speak.'
Severus' mouth thinned and his eyes flashed dangerously. But after a moment, he gave a stiff nod. 'Of course, Minerva. I apologise.'
'If you will not take a drink, at least find a seat please, Severus,' Albus said, sinking back onto the sofa with his own goblet. 'You make me anxious when you start to pace.'
The professor's face made his unspoken protest clear, but he perched himself on the edge of the farthest chair. Albus smiled.
'And so, how did you find Theodore?'
'Unhelpful, on the whole,' said Severus curtly. 'He did not seem to know anything more than Lucius… and I rather doubt he will be keeping either of us informed if the situation should change.'
Albus stroked his beard. Minerva was looking between them curiously, but she did not voice her questions. 'Do you feel you have compromised your position?'
'No.'
The headmaster studied the set of his jaw with some concern. 'You are certain?'
'As certain as I can possibly be,' Severus said acerbically. 'But… I do not think it would be wise to press the matter. Nott is proud and suspicious by nature, and he is less confident in his position than he once was. He has more to gain through accusation than comradery.'
Albus sighed. 'Then perhaps we miscalculated to move so early.'
Severus jerked one shoulder. It was not quite a shrug – but rather as though he were throwing off an irksome fly. 'It was a long shot either way.'
A flare in the fireplace stifled Albus' reply. All three turned to look, Albus frowning. The flames flared green.
'It is the Ministry,' he said, standing from the sofa.
Severus glanced at the clock above the mantle. 'At this hour?' he demanded almost angrily.
Minerva touched his arm as Albus moved towards the hearth. 'It can't be Fudge – not if he's entertaining the Bulgarian delegation.'
Severus half-stood to leave, but Albus shook his head minutely. He pointed his wand at the emerald flames and muttered a charm. Kingsley Shacklebolt's head swam into view.
'I apologise for the interruption but Dumbledore – it is urgent that we speak.'
'The task I had set you?'
'Ah, no, headmaster. Not yet, I'm afraid. This concerns other matters… in Cornwall.' Kingsley shot a wary glance about the room.
Albus gave a benign smile. 'You may speak,' he assured him. 'There are no others.'
Kingsley nodded. 'Albus – there was an incident late this evening at Tintagel, in the cavern of Merlin. Two Muggle boys were involved in an attack – a werewolf attack, by all appearances. It seems Remus and –'
'He bit someone?' Severus hissed angrily. He had risen from the sofa, and Albus could see his fists were clenched at his sides. Albus reached out a hand to calm him, but Severus shrugged away from it, glaring down into the fire.
'No,' said Kingsley. 'One of the two boys was knocked to the ground. He was injured, but not bitten. The other went for help and raised the alarm among Muggle security. The Ministry –'
'Small wonder the Ministry did not arrive earlier,' Minerva cut in. 'The Cavern of Merlin –'
'Has many wards upon it,' Kingsley finished for her. 'But it is a common enough night's thrill for the local Muggle teenagers. The wards are set to alert Magical Law Enforcement if any spells are cast in the cavern after dark. None were.'
'Yet you were alerted,' Severus pointed out.
'Only after the Muggles. We monitor their radio communications, of course. When one of our junior members picked up a transmission concerning a wolf in the cavern, Dawlish and Tonks were dispatched to investigate.'
'Is Remus alright?' asked Albus.
'I… believe so,' Kingsley said hesitantly. 'He managed to escape the cave in the ensuing ruckus. He was injured and the Aurors tracked him to the borders of your property.'
'Injured how?'
'A Muggle weapon, but not badly, I think. It did not hamper his speed. I arrived on the beach after he had crossed the warded boundary, and saw him safe on the other side.'
'Foolish man!' Minerva hissed. 'To leave Shell Cottage's safety – he could have been killed, or worse.'
But Albus, watching Kingsley's tense expression, had other concerns.
'And Sirius?' he pressed.
Kingsley grimaced. 'He was seen by the Muggle boys,' he admitted. Severus scoffed angrily, but Kingsley did not move his gaze from the headmaster's. 'I do not know the whole of it. Presumably he reached safety before Lupin – for he was no longer in the cave when the Aurors arrived. They are still combing the area for him; and I too must return.'
Albus nodded and stood. 'I can assist.'
Kingsley shook his head. 'Respectfully, headmaster – I would prefer that you did not. Fudge would not take kindly to your being informed before I have even sent word to him… and we both know that Black cannot be harmed within the safe haven of the cottage. The search is a mummer's farce, but I must play my part. I merely wished to update you on the situation… and suggest, if I may, that you speak to Lupin and Black on the morrow.'
'Most assuredly I shall,' Albus promised. 'I thank you for informing us.'
The Auror nodded. 'Then I best take my leave before I am missed. A good evening to you all.'
'And you, Kingsley.'
'The blundering fools!' Severus railed, the moment Kingsley's head had vanished.
Albus did not bother to quell the professor's rant this time. He was summoning his travelling cloak. Severus watched him catch it, and his lip curled in fury.
'You are not intending to go to them, Albus?!'
'I must. Either might be injured, and Sirius –'
'Is a grown man, same as the wolf!' Severus spat. 'They know the risks should they leave their hiding place, and they breached your trust all the same! Reckless and arrogant as they have always been. And the werewolf…'
'By Kingsley's account, it does not seem Remus intended to bite another,' Minerva pointed out.
Severus was near apoplectic. 'And that makes it alright, does it? That the boy is not dead or turned? Half the Ministry will be descending on Cornwall this night, and yet you –' he spun again to glare at Albus – 'seek to coddle them in their beds!'
'Do not presume my intentions, Severus,' Albus rebuked softly. 'I am acutely aware of what could have occurred this night. But something in this tale does not sit right with me.'
The Potions Master sneered in disgust and swept for the door. 'Do as you will, headmaster. You always have done.'
'Severus!' Minerva called angrily after him. But he paid her no mind, slamming the oak door. She too had stood, and whirled with fire in her eyes. 'You should not allow such impertinence, Albus! He must learn to control his temper.'
Albus sighed heavily. 'Yes. But it has been tested on all fronts tonight. Let him be, Minerva. Perhaps a day or two away from the castle will serve him well.'
He made to fling the cloak about his shoulders, but she stayed him with a hand. Her expression softened. 'As infuriating as his tone may be, I agree with Severus,' she said quietly. 'Both Remus and Sirius are quite old enough to face their follies as men, and they can be in no danger of capture at the cottage. Speak to them tomorrow, Albus. You have had too long a day already.'
Albus hesitated. 'Something in this tale does not sit well with me,' he repeated.
She shook her head. 'Explanations can be given in the light of day. Come to bed, please.'
He floated the cloak away reluctantly, though he could not dispel the disquiet that had gripped him since Kingsley's arrival. 'I fear I shall not rest easy,' he warned her.
She smiled softly. 'It will be enough if you rest at all.'
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He felt he had barely drifted off when he was roughly awakened again.
This time, it was the grate in his own vast bedchamber that had flared – though this visitor need not seek admittance.
'Albus? Albus!'
Instantly alert, the headmaster sat bolt upright. Minerva shifted beside him. The first vestiges of dawn had barely begun to paint the window. Remus Lupin's head bobbed in the Floo, features drawn and eyes wide with panic. Upon seeing that Albus was awake, he rushed on before the headmaster could ask.
'Albus – Sirius is gone.'
The sinking feeling that had gripped him the previous night made itself known again. Albus shot out of the bed, summoning his dressing gown. Minerva – near as quick on the uptake – did the same on the opposite side.
'Speak,' he commanded as he tied the gown.
'I don't know – I don't understand it,' Remus rattled in a rush. 'He was ill tonight, he left the house. He didn't seem to understand what he was doing. I went after him and discovered him below Tintagel, in the cavern of Merlin –'
He broke off with a slight hiss, and Albus gave him a sharp look.
'Go back. We shall both come through.'
He waited for Remus' head to wink out of sight, and passed a tin of floo powder to Minerva first. Seconds later, they had both spun through the flames.
Remus was in the centre of the carpet, its cream almost grey in the light of a clouded, early dawn. The man's face was nearly the same hue and glistened with sweat. He was standing, but only just. His left hand clutched at a wound in his thigh, and the carpet was speckled with blood. It took no Legilimens to see that Remus had barely completed his transformation before flooing the headmaster.
He faltered, and Albus swooped forward to catch him under the arm. Minerva secured the other side, and they helped him gently to a chair.
'Sirius –'
'Take a breath, my boy,' Albus soothed. 'Sirius has not been captured, or I would have had word from Kingsley. Let me see your leg.'
Remus shook his head, though he allowed Minerva to move his hand and cut the fabric wider where the bleeding was worst. 'It's nothing – a glancing blow from a Muggle gun.'
'They shot you?' Minerva asked, horrified.
'It will heal,' Remus said, gritting his teeth as she poked the edges of torn flesh. 'Muggle wound and it missed everything vital – you can spell it shut. I'd have done it myself, but…'
He downed the phial of Invigoration Draught Albus passed him with a shudder. Albus told him what they knew from Kingsley's call while he caught his breath, and then Remus picked up the tale.
'He was out of his mind with fever, Albus. A Malaclaw – he ate it accidentally. That's how we ended up in that cave; he rushed off while I was transforming and I had no choice but to follow. Two Muggle boys came before I could convince him to return. I jumped the one when I realised he knew who Sirius was. It was the only way,' he added, looking rueful.
Albus nodded his head in grave agreement. The Malaclaw concerned him more than the rest, but he dared not voice his worries until Remus had told him all.
Remus took a shaky breath. Minerva was pouring a disinfectant over the wound. 'I told Sirius to run, and I stayed behind to buy him time. I fled when the Aurors arrived. He could not have had much a head's start on me – perhaps five, ten minutes at most – and though I could not find his trail when I finally left the water, I did not pass him. I assumed he must have made the cottage before my arrival. The Ministry tracked me to the borders.'
'That is where Kingsley arrived,' Albus prompted. Minerva had tapped the gash now, and it sealed with only the faintest trace of pink. Remus tested the thigh muscle with a grateful nod. Over his shoulder, Albus and Minerva exchanged a significant look – and he knew she too scented the secondary danger.
'Yes. He was remarkably quick. I tarried a few minutes on the beach to recover myself, then returned to the house. It was then I realised… realised that Sirius was not here. I've been through the entire property a dozen times and found no fresh trace of him at all. I dared not leave again – with the Ministry combing the area. I would not be able to Apparate if they came upon me. I hoped perhaps Kingsley would appear again, but he did not. And I could not contact you until…'
He broke off, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. 'He can't be captured, Albus! Not after –'
'And he shan't be,' Albus promised. He squeezed Remus' shoulder. 'I shall find him.'
'If you are not too late,' Remus muttered darkly.
Albus smiled. 'I doubt it, or for certain Fudge would have sounded his victory. Most likely, in his confusion, Sirius fled the island in the opposite direction. He may have transformed; which would be all to the better. Does he have his wand?'
Remus nodded. 'I believe so – it is not in his bedroom. Whether he still has it… Albus, you did not see him. He is half-deranged. It's my fault – mine… I should have called for someone last night; had him watched during the transformation. I did not think –'
Albus patted his shoulder again. 'Let us not place blame or fear the worst, Remus. Minerva – might I ask you to stay with him?'
'Of course,' she agreed primly, already beginning to tidy the blood from the room.
Remus protested. 'Albus, I must –'
'You are half-dead on your feet,' the headmaster said gently. 'You will be no use to Sirius or any search in this state. Rest and recover, my boy. And I shall bring news as soon as I can.'
He quit the room, Minerva's anxious face still watching him. He did not voice the concern aloud, but it plagued him as he crossed the threshold and strode quickly to a boundary from which he might Apparate. Remus, in his current exhaustion and pain, did not seem to have yet put the pieces together. But no doubt he would, and soon. And he would not be the only one.
Kingsley might have kept his silence… but Remus Lupin's status as a werewolf was not a secret beyond Ministry knowledge. Nor was his former friendship with Sirius Black. How long would it take before someone noted the connection? How soon would they seek Remus as assiduously as they did his companion – demand he appear and answer for his whereabouts at the moon? How soon would they face two outlaws to harbour?
Unless Albus could prevent it. Unless he could protect them.
It all must start with Sirius. And it was time to bring another into the secret.
He passed the border. In the distance, he could hear the rustle of broomsticks; the shouts of men. He could even feel a distinct, insipid chill… Fudge must have thought this the victory stretch – to send Dementors so soon after the disaster at Hogwarts.
He turned on the spot.
'Wednesday next!' Alastor grumbled in greeting, throwing the door open reluctantly to admit the headmaster. 'Wednesday next we said, Albus. I'd like to enjoy my quiet redundancy but a few more –'
'Apologies my friend, but we have a situation,' Albus cut in. He barely waited for the door to latch. 'Ministry Aurors are converging on Cornwall near Tinworth. They hunt for Sirius Black.'
Moody let out a scathing grunt and kicked a heavy old trunk back into a corner.
'Almost certainly a false lead,' he dismissed. 'Shacklebolt keeps in touch. His last information was that Black had fled Britain to –'
'This time, their trail may prove true.'
'Then even Kingsley's band of oafs should be able to find him. I expect Fudge will welcome one victory on the eve of –'
'– my intelligence was that he's somewhat south of Tintagel, but if he's left the coast –'
'– hardly see where our assistance would be needed.'
'I do not know where Sirius has run to, but if we cannot find him first…'
Moody's mocking expression took on a more sinister leer. He ended the interrupting commentary and started to pace the front hall, rubbing his grizzled beard. His wooden leg plunked an odd rhythm in his uneven steps.
'A vendetta, Albus… you should have said. Not like you, I must admit. But I cannot fault your intentions. And I suppose it was your ward he nearly killed two months ago.'
Albus looked sternly over the top of his half-moon spectacles. 'You misunderstand, Alastor. I have no desire for revenge. But I cannot allow Sirius to be captured by the Ministry. He is an innocent man.'
'What do you mean he –'
'He was wrongfully thrown into Azkaban for the crimes of another.'
Moody stopped his plonked pacing. His eyes narrowed, staring at the headmaster. Then his chest heaved with exasperation. 'Oh fuck, Dumbledore. Tell me you didn't.'
'I did not help him to escape,' Albus corrected quickly. 'But I am eternally grateful that he has. The full story is too much for this moment. But on whatever trust you have ever placed in me, my old friend, I swear to you that he is innocent of the horrific crimes he has been accused.'
'Albus – What the fuck did you do?'
'Those murders were the work of Peter Pettigrew.'
'Like Merlin's saggy –'
Albus pulled his watch from the folds of his robes. Already too much time had passed. He spun to face the incensed ex-Auror and gripped him hard by both shoulders. 'Alastor! There is precious little time. I shall explain everything in due course. But for the moment, I require assistance. May I rely on you once again, or not?'
Moody shrugged out from the grip and ground his teeth. Both magical and mortal eye remained fixed on the headmaster in identical glares.
Albus sighed. 'Alastor, please… he cannot be captured.'
Moody growled, yanking his travelling cloak off its peg so hard that the wooden cylinder rolled and spun on the floor.
'You never change, old man,' he complained, snatching his walking stick and a low-brimmed hat from next to the door. 'Your meddling'll be the death of one of us – you mark my words.'
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Review Responses, Chapter Twenty-Four
Anyeshabaner: Thanks for reviewing! It's always so lovely to hear from you. And yes – Sirius is in deep, deep trouble. I feel somewhat guilty for my cliffhanger… but I hope you will like the follow-up in this chapter.
MotherBear: Thank you for the review! Very happy you enjoyed the suspense of the last instalment, and I hope you will like Chapter 25!
BlueWater5: Thanks for reviewing! And yes, I do think Moody would be very interested to hear about Snape's dodgy actions towards Harry… I hope you'll like the new chapter!
Guest Reviewer: Thanks so much for reviewing, and very happy you're liking the third book in this series! Ah, I am sorry to keep you waiting so long… but I hope you will enjoy Chapter 25!
Estel Ashlee Snape: Thank you for reviewing! Sirius is in big trouble – as you'll see even more in this next instalment. The Malaclaw has some interesting effects, and it's definitely the height of unlucky timing. I hope you like what comes next!
Alathenia: Thanks for your review! Mmm… yes, Remus will definitely be having a bit of a rough go, poor dear. And Sirius even more so. But I do hope you'll like the next chapter, and I hope you've had a lovely holiday season!
Guest Reviewer: Thanks for the review – and I love your letter to Father Christmas, haha. I am sorry you had to wait a bit longer than the 25th, but I hope you'll like the chapter!
Guest Reviewer: Thanks for reviewing – and very happy you liked the bit with Snape, Moody and the wine in the last instalment. Hope you'll enjoy the continuation!
Kmke: Thank you for the review! So happy to hear you have discovered the COH series, and thank you so much for your compliments. I hope you'll continue to enjoy – and especially hope that you will like Chapter 25!
Guest: Wow – thank you so much for such a detailed and wonderful review! You raise some excellent points that I'd love to comment on, and others that I would really love to comment on but cannot in order to preserve the story… but I shall do my best.
The discussion between Albus and Severus… yes, the scroll definitely has importance; but I cannot reveal its sender, unfortunately. You shall find out in time. Haha, I truly agree that Fawkes seems the most advantageous way of delivering quick messages, though I think the Patronus method can be altered if necessary (this may come up later, so I shan't divulge it now). It is too bad that wizarding mobiles do not seem an option. Is Albus playing dumb with Severus? Interesting, and perhaps. Certainly he is deliberately withholding information, though whether he suspects the Riddle House's involvement… we shall see shortly.
The Burrow… Apparition has come up already quite a bit in COH, of course, as except for Harry our POV characters are mainly adults. But the reason for the info dump in this particular chapter is multi-fold. More than that I fear I cannot say without revealing too much, but I think it shall be clearer in time. Aw, now it's lovely that you're rather siding with Ron here! I have found fans are rather divided on Ron's character in canon – and not without reason. But here, at least, he does have some excellent points, and shows maturity we do not always see. I too realise that COH – especially in the summer chapters, where the other children are not as present in the story – sometimes does not have these friendship moments for long stretches. It's always nice to have an opportunity to get back to that core trio and their relationship, and I really wanted to do that with this particular scene. Harry has so much reliance on Albus and Minerva (and other adults), especially in the summer, to discuss and solve his problems, that I miss Ron and Hermione at times. I always strive to make the story organic and not force such interactions, but it's so much easier to do that during the year. I hope this one felt right.
Interesting that you felt Hermione was about to nag and then did not. While I completely agree with your thoughts on that score, I would also hint (because it will resurface later), that Hermione was not quite going for that when she diverted. What she left unsaid was something slightly different… and a bit more tragic.
Nott IS terrifying, and I am very glad that appears to have come through. It was also quite a deliberate choice to include Hermione's mention in his scene – and that will have implications down the line. I got a bit lucky that it worked out well, as Nott has a son in their year at Hogwarts – though I agree that it does rather enforce the seeming smallness of the wizarding community.
Ah, poor Severus. He has had a bit of a rough day. Moody is vindictive here. Of course, Moody believes Snape should be in Azkaban. Or – and here we reach your other very interesting question – is it that Moody is vindictive because Snape is a Death Eater who walked free… for other reasons? The ale he drinks because it is Dumbledore's table and he trusts Albus; though, as Snape points out, it is not in his paranoid nature. I cannot answer as to whether Moody is in fact Moody – I do not wish to spoil the future.
And we reach Sirius and Remus. Poor, poor duo. They have had a rough few chapters and, I fear, shall have a rough next few as well. Good on you for noting the recurring story of Merlin – who has come up in all three COH novels for one thing or another. All I will say on that score (though I think I have given hints in some of my other review responses) is that Merlin's tale, Merlin's magic, Merlin's symbols and Merlin's teachings will all matter in the end game of COH… and they are sometimes dropped in more subtly than others. As to the more immediate queries – I think some will find answers in Chapter 25, though I am very impressed with some of your accurate musings, and your ability to note the timeline in terms of how this crisis may affect the greater story.
The World Cup will come in Chapter 26, and I do hope you'll enjoy it. As to your queries on FB2… the short answer is, it depends. Nagini I have been writing for some time now (I bought in to the theories that she was a woman way back, though I am glad they have been confirmed). I am too far into the story I have worked out for her to alter it if FB goes another way – although I am cautiously optimistic that much of it will fit. Dumbledore has always factored heavily in that tale. Some of the new revelations I may work in as it suits my story, but I have so much of COH planned out (and, frankly, so much of even the later stuff at least outlined, if not fully written), that I doubt I will change the story even if the FB world completely alters my predictions. It wouldn't be fair to the readers to change the story they have come to know. On the other hand, literally everything I had envisioned, written and published with respect to Grindelwald – with the possible exception of his eye colour (violet in my books… or at least in the present) – has so far been essentially in line with what FB ended up revealing. So who knows? Perhaps I'll continue to get lucky!
Thank you again for the wonderful comments, and I am very glad you are enjoying the story so much! I hope your holidays were lovely, and I very much hope you'll like Chapter 25!