CHAPTER EIGHT: Scars Old And New
Part 2
It was still dark when Harry made the decision to return to the castle.
"It's almost six in the morning, Ron. If the trespasser hasn't shown up by now, I doubt it'll happen."
Ron grunted, though Harry wasn't sure if he was agreeing or not.
"But now we're definitely getting one of them tonight," he added.
Another grunt. Harry allowed himself a smirk. Ron's eagerness had cooled quickly once the cold set in.
Harry summoned the Firebolt. Ron used the charm to get his – the spellwork on the school Cleansweep wasn't nearly as sharp as the Firebolt's.
Harry offered a few parting words to the basilisk and they took off. Ron was a pretty good flier – the fruit of a lifetimes of pick-up games – but with the old Cleansweep, which had a tendency to veer left at higher speeds (a property talented players exploited to great effect on the pitch), they assumed a sedate pace.
They landed in the stadium, where Ron stored the Cleansweep in the Gryffindor locker room and they walked the rest of the way to the castle, clearing their path with spells. Inside the castle, they were crossing the Entrance Hall just as Harry had to duck under a low-flying owl. The black bird dove straight for his head, then spread its impressive wingspan and perched nearby on the railing of the staircase, nailing Harry with an intense stare. A tightly rolled piece of parchment was tied to its leg.
Harry and Ron exchanged dubious looks.
"Bit early for post," Ron muttered. He took the Firebolt. "I'll hold that. The bird seems to want you."
Harry approached the ferocious-looking owl apprehensively. The bird tilted its head, eyeing him critically. It snapped its beak when he came closer, but allowed him to get the scroll, taking flight immediately, back through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. Harry unrolled the parchment. The message had been written in blocky letters and apparently with the non-dominant hand. It was just a few sentences, but each word chilled his blood to ice. He spared a nervous glance towards the top of the Grand Staircase, but there wasn't anyone there. He pocketed the message with shaking hands.
"Ron, I need you to get up to the Tower and grab my trunk. Don't worry about anything else, just the trunk and my broom. Then meet me in the Chamber of Secrets."
Ron asked no questions, for which Harry was grateful. He wouldn't know how to explain the letter – he barely understood it himself. Ron mounted the Firebolt and shot up through the Grand Staircase.
Harry took the fastest route he knew to Myrtle's bathroom, opened the secret room Dumbledore had constructed and in short time he was walking through the circular door of the Chamber, thoughts racing.
He had no way of knowing whether the anonymous message was true at all — it could be deception. If the message was a trap, there would be no harm done by taking precautions. If it was true… he couldn't afford to stay at Hogwarts.
He stood at the edge of the pond at Slytherin's feet and pointed his wand at the center of it, silently casting magic as he peeked over his shoulder at the entrance. For all he knew, the next person walking through the door could be Dumbledore, not Ron.
The surface of pond broke quietly, parting over a shallow, circular basin that emerged from it. Bigger than a dinnerplate, the basin was made of smooth bronze, its rim covered in interlocking runes. The pensieve, gifted to him by Dumbledore, held his best-kept secrets – Voldemort's memories. They resembled a liquid at first glance, but Harry knew no words to describe the silvery substance. The memories swirled as he summoned the pensieve closer. The basin levitated in front of him, held aloft by its own magic.
At a tug of his magical sense, Harry turned around in a flash, assuming a duelist's stance. Ron leapt off the Firebolt, hauling the trunk with him.
"Harry, what is that?"
"A pensieve. You store memories in it," Harry explained hastily, opening the trunk. "I'm sorry, Ron, but I have no time."
"Can you at least tell me-"
"If Dumbledore asks, don't tell him anything," Harry interrupted, gently guiding the pensieve into the trunk and securing it with a spell. "Just say nothing."
He left a dumbstruck Ron behind, lashing the trunk to the Firebolt with a Sticking Charm. Ron had already spelled it to be lighter. With haste, Harry took off across the Chamber and into the low tunnel leading to the lake cavern. He sped across the still water – the rumbling of the waterfalls grew as he approached them.
He hovered in front of the falls and whispered, "Open."
The water kept flowing, but now the waterway that sucked water back up to the Black Lake split as if an invisible blade of air was pushing the water up against the perimeter of the tunnel. Without hesitation, Harry guided the Firebolt into the darkness, lighting his way with an Illumination Charm. He flew as fast as he dared in the narrow passage, mindful of several sharp turns he knew were coming up. He travelled inside a tube of upwards-flowing water, deaf to all other sounds. Under his breath, he counted seconds after he passed the last turn. He was approaching the mouth of the tunnel. At the end of it, the water spiralled into a whirling cone of twisting water. He took a deep breath and flew right into the middle of it. A few exhilarating, terrifying seconds later he broke the surface of the Black Lake, propelled there by the whirpool. He was no wetter than he had been moments before.
He kept low and made his way for the nearest shore, his trunk dangling from the broom's shaft. For a moment he thought he saw the silhouette of the squid beneath him, but he blinked and it was gone.
The Firebolt quickly carried him to Hogsmeade, where he barrelled into the Owl Post Office and badgered the grumpy night clerk until the man reached beneath the counter for a bag of Floo powder. Harry dug into his pockets and slapped a sickle down in front of the man.
"Keep the change."
Within seconds he found himself in the Leaky Cauldron, where he summoned the Knight Bus and told the driver to take him to the general neighborhood of Grimmauld Place. He supposed he looked mighty odd, running through the street carrying a broom and a trunk, but the Statute of Secrecy was the least of his worries right now.
He approached the Order's headquarters from the back, through the narrow alley that took him from the parallel street to Number Twelve's back yard. He tossed the featherlight trunk and the Firebolt over the fence and pulled himself up over it.
He walked into the kitchen to find Mrs. Weasley busying herself with Cleaning Charms.
"Harry! What are you doing here?"
"Where's Sirius?" he asked bluntly.
"As far as I know, he and Sturgis haven't returned yet. Harry, why are you not-"
He ignored the woman and made his way upstairs, to the room he used to share with Ron. He dumped the trunk and the broom there and climbed to the top of the house, throwing open the balcony door. Buckbeak protested the sudden invasion of cold air with an irritated squawk.
"Sorry, boy, but I need to know the moment Sirius is back."
He spent the next minute pacing, scanning the streets below, until he realised just who was in the house with him. He bolted back downstairs, finding Mrs. Weasley about to open a Floo connection.
"Hogw-" she began, but her words were cut short when Harry nailed her with a stunner.
Just then, the front door opened and Harry rushed into the hall to see a rather irritated-looking Sirius. Sturgis came in next.
Sirius stared at him, blinking intensely. "Harry? What are you doing here?"
Harry tossed him the crumpled parchment. Sirius eyes trailed over the message, growing wider with each line. Even though Harry had only read it once, it was burned into his memory, still fresh.
Potter,
Last night, you learned that Severus Snape was the one who informed Voldemort of the prophecy. You tried to kill Snape. Dumbledore altered your memory. Snape reported to the Dark Lord, which is how I know about it all.
Use this information wisely.
Death Eater
Sirius looked up at him, his face drained of colour, eyes sparkling with a brewing storm. "When did you get this?" he asked quietly.
"Less than a half hour ago," Harry said. "Dumbledore may not know I'm gone yet."
"Well," Sirius growled. "Let's hope for Dumbledore's sake this is some kind of hoax. If it isn't-"
"Dumbledore betrayed us," Harry finished for him. Their eyes met, both pairs burning, their faces hard. "If it's true, Snape dies."
~~oOo~~
Sirius closed a fist around the letter. He very nearly conjured a spark to burn it to cinders, but stopped just in time. He spun around to face Sturgis, who had tactfully retreated back to the door.
"Sturgis," he said, drawing out the name, still reeling after their adventure in Germany. Mulciber had tracked them and attacked twice more before the force of mercenaries and fellow Hit-wizards Sturgis had marshaled persuaded him to retreat. Benedict Hessberg was currently enjoying the hospitality of a friend who lived under the safety umbrella of a Fidelius Charm.
"Yes?"
Sirius blinked, Sturgis' voice breaking him out of his thoughts.
"In short time, you may have to choose between us and Dumbledore. Who will you stand with?"
Sturgis raised his chin, a gesture that portrayed a perfect marriage of arrogance and nonchalance. A fitting look on him, Sirius thought, now that he knew who his father was.
"I don't owe Albus Dumbledore allegiance, personal or any other kind."
It wasn't the first remark that made Sirius question just how much of a Hessberg Sturgis Podmore was. In light of this revelation, many comments Sirius had heard from him took on a new meaning.
"I have to know," he stressed. "I don't enjoy putting you in this position, but right now, if you're not with us, I must assume you're against us."
A tense moment followed, during which Harry came to stand by his side, looking expectant. Sirius had no ground to resent Harry's wanting Sturgis to join them. Their relationship was largely unknown to anyone besides the two of them.
Sturgis extended an open palm. "I can tell you once I know what kind of decision I'm making," he said, directing a meaningful look at Sirius' fist holding the Death Eater's letter. After a moment's hesitation, Sirius tossed it to Sturgis.
The Hit-wizard gave no visible reaction to its contents, but then looked at Harry with a gleam of conviction in his eyes. "If true, this means that Severus Snape inadvertently sentenced your family to death." It wasn't a question.
"Snape's a smart man," Harry replied sternly. "He must have known he was damning someone."
"You already seem convinced the letter is genuine," Sturgis remarked, returning it. Sirius had a sharp reply ready, but Sturgis wasn't finished. "Regardless, he carries Voldemort's brand. There is a crime behind it he never answered for, and the accusation you make against him now deserves to be heard." He nodded slowly. "In this matter, my wand is yours."
It didn't escape Sirius' notice that the words were directed solely at Harry. As reluctant as Sturgis had seemed when the Order was reconvened months ago, he was willing enough to favour his godson. Sirius wondered in that instant who would emerge as the eventual leader of their newly founded faction. Just like James, Harry was continually being put in front, though he seemed to cope with that role far better than his father.
"Glad we've settled that," Sirius said. "Harry, is there anyone else in the house?"
Harry cast an apprehensive glance over his shoulder. "Mrs. Weasley. I stunned her. She was going to firecall Hogwarts."
Molly lay sprawled on the carpet where she had collapsed, a handful of Floo powder scattered about.
"Sturgis," Sirius spoke, not raising his eyes from Molly's unconscious form, "I need you to speak to Arthur Weasley. Tell him that he and his wife can't stay here anymore."
The Hit-wizard left promptly, without asking for further details. Sirius sat Molly up on the sofa and revived her. Only delaying long enough to get her bearings, she launched into a tirade that grew more heated with each indignant word. Sirius sighed quietly and pinched the bridge of his nose. Prewetts – quick to talk, slow to do. He thrust his wand with purpose – the Imperius Curse took hold without fail.
"Gather your things and get out."
Molly Weasley obediently scurried upstairs.
Harry was looking at him with an expression Sirius couldn't begin to unravel. "Was that the Imperius Curse?" he asked, his voice void of emotion.
"I won't hold it against you if you judge me."
Harry said nothing, frustrating Sirius that he couldn't glean anything from that reaction. Molly returned a few minutes later, by which time had Harry retreated to the kitchen. Sirius first tossed her bags into the Floo, then lifted the Curse and pushed her through to the Burrow. As soon as the flames regained their natural palette, he ran a hand alongside the mantlepiece until he found a circular protrusion, hidden out of sight, and pressed it. The fire was kindled into a blinding intensity that purged even the leftover ash and a row of tiny holes was revealed in the tiles lining the front of the hearth.
Sirius grabbed the poker, inserted it into the central hole and turned it clockwise a quarter of a circle. The aged mechanism, no doubt rusted over and in need of proper maintenance, nonetheless worked, albeit not without a series of metallic, grating and scraping noises to announce its state of neglect. Iron bars shot up from the remaining holes, parallel to the poker, then sprouted perpendicular ones, forming a sturdy barrier. Finally, Sirius heard the hiss-and-click of the plate sliding into place that blocked off the chimney, completing the Floo-lock.
He strode out of the room and up the stairs at full steam to the first floor landing, where his despicable mother's portrait hung hidden behind a burgundy curtain. He tugged the golden cord and the curtain opened. The portrait's eyes snapped open as it instantly woke from forcibly imposed dormancy.
"Sirius." His name out of Walburga's mouth dripped with disgust as thick as tar.
"Shut your mouth, mother, or I'll burn it off the canvas." Walburga fell silent. A thin black scar encircling her left eye was a reminder that this was no idle threat.
Sirius brushed an index finger across the smooth gem topping his ring, where it sat on his left hand, invisible at all times. The artifact siphoned its power from the roots of the House of Black itself – even Moody's marvelous eye couldn't overcome that protection. The portrait sunk into the wall, covered in partly peeling wallpaper, like water absorbed by a sponge, revealing the true reason why Sirius kept it in place – it certainly wasn't because he couldn't find a suitable spell. Walburga's likeness guarded the heart of Grimmauld Place Twelve, the Black crest, made in silver, gold and obsidian. Sirius pressed his palm flat against the heraldic shield and pushed it in a fraction of an inch. The crest – the central ward anchor – reached out to him through the ring, its question a mere tickle of magic on Sirius' skin. Sirius gave his answer and the house obeyed.
The tranquility of the almost empty building vanished, replaced by the dry staccato of distant windows shuttering. Then came the squelching of locks and straining of walls, old, but just as strong as when they had been raised by Mordanis Black four hundred years ago. The House of Black was responding to the will of its Master, priming the defences that had laid dormant for so long. Dumbledore's Fidelius had been enough to protect Grimmauld Place from Voldemort – now Dumbledore himself would find it nigh impossible to force his way inside.
Sirius turned on his heel to find Harry standing several steps below, eyes wide, mouth agape.
"What in Merlin's name was that?"
Sirius flashed him a grin. "The House of Black stretching its old bones."
Harry's next question – or a dozen, probably – was cut short by the pounding on the front door.
"If I'm not mistaken," Sirius muttered, going back down past Harry, "that'll be Remus."
Indeed, the werewolf shuffled inside once Sirius ascertained his suspicion and opened the door. Remus moved briskly, hunched over, wand at his side and a worried look on his face.
"Why did you raise the defences, Sirius?" he asked without pause. "Did Voldemort-"
"No," he interrupted. "Not Voldemort. Dumbledore."
Remus had just finished reading the letter for the fourth time, apparently dumbstruck, when there was another knock on the door.
"You're back soon," Sirius remarked, stepping aside to let Sturgis pass.
"I caught Arthur in the Atrium," Sturgis replied, eyes wandering along the floor, walls, ceiling. "Something's changed."
"Come. We need to decide how we're going to proceed," Sirius commanded.
They settled in the kitchen over breakfast and mugs of hot chocolate, enriched by a few drops of Ogden's Firewhiskey. Isolated from the world, secured as best as they could muster, Sirius prompted Harry to tell them everything from the beginning.
Sirius' own reaction to the news that Harry had released the Chamber's basilisk into the Forbidden Forest was a pair of raised eyebrows. Sturgis, for his part, gave no sign that the news moved him at all. Remus took it much less graciously.
"Harry, have you lost your mind?"
"Peace, Remus," Sirius said, pulling him back down into his chair. "Remember, the basilisk obeys him."
Remus wasn't easily placated, but their joint efforts got him to settle down for now.
"Then what about this… trespasser?" Sturgis asked when Harry concluded his tale.
As Sirius listened, theories germinated in his mind. What chain of events could have led to this? What Death Eater would be willing to undermine Voldemort to get rid of Snape? Surely, Severus Snape had no shortage of enemies wherever he went. Regardless, their objective was clear. Sirius could tell from Remus' face that the werewolf had passed his own silent judgment as well. If the 'Death Eater' described truth… The world would be a merrier place without Snape. Their only obstacle, then, was Dumbledore.
"You're convinced the trespasser will be in the Forest tonight?" Sirius asked absently.
"Everything I've put together points to that."
"We'll be counting on some assumptions," Sirius said, "but I don't see another way."
He described his plan, relying on everyone to help him iron out the finer details and fill in the gaps. Within the hour, each of them could recite it on command. Now came the wait.
"We should all get some rest," Sirius decided. "I'll take the first watch."
Throughout the day, they observed almost all members of the Order approach Grimmauld Place Twelve, and then leave when their pleas, appeals and the rare threat were met with unrelenting silence. Dumbledore came late in the afternoon and seemed convinvingly apologetic – they weren't swayed. Until they knew the truth, the House of Black would remain closed to all.
Sirius didn't protest when Sturgis offered to apparate with Harry, though he wrestled with unease about letting the son of Grindelwald's general take charge of his godson. Sturgis had arguably shown himself to be more trustworthy by giving up this secret, but Sirius was certain that if Hessberg hadn't come under attack, Sturgis would have remained the mystery man. Sirius had given his tentative word to keep everything to himself, unless he found a compelling reason to break that promise. He hand't yet found such a reason in the past day, and that he wanted one to appear was a clear warning his instinct was sending him. Paradoxically, as much as he had learned, he now had even more questions for the Hit-wizard. He had been betrayed before, by a man he had trusted incomparably more than he did Sturgis Podmore. But that was a matter for another time.
Their four-man party converged on the shore of the Black Lake, where the Forbidden Forest stretched almost to the water as it cascaded down from the slope before them.
"The trespasser's trail isn't far from here," Harry said, pointing up. Sirius held back an irritated grunt. He was no stranger to tough terrain, but he avoided it if he could. He wasn't looking forward to the climb. "Don't get spooked when the basilisk arrives," Harry added. "He won't hurt you."
Sirius' shoulders trembled with an involuntary shudder. Every time the beast was close, he prayed to his ancestors that whatever magic Slytherin had employed to render it obedient wouldn't fail this time.
They started up the steep hill, the climb all the more challenging for the lack of a beaten path. Step by step, they gained elevation, trudging along without the aid of magic, wary of the possibility of Dumbledore finding them.
Sirius led the pack, Harry behind him. Their chosen way was unforgiving – the snow obscured protruding rocks and roots, threatening them with a twisted limb or a fall with each carefully measured step. Wherever the snow hadn't claimed ground, the soil was bare and slippery. The darkness didn't help. Even still, none of them complained, expelling all their strength on drawing the knee further up to rise another foot above the sparkling lake. Not even Harry, who quickly became winded and filled the air with laboured breathing, his movements slouching. He lacked Sirius and Sturgis' hardening or Remus' werewolf strength, but stubbornly didn't ask to pause to catch a breath, and swatted Sirius' hand away when he wanted to help Harry through particularly treacherous fragment. They reached the top within an exhausting half hour and stopped on an exposed ridge, populated only by thornbushes.
"Where's the trail?" Sirius asked.
"Along there," Harry replied, pointing blindly as he leaned on his knees, heaving. "There's a shallow creek… a frozen stream, just beyond those trees. That's where we'll have the best view."
The basilisk announced its arrival with a hiss and the creaking of snow under its massive body. Sturgis, who hadn't met the creature yet, cautiously hung back, though he stared with unabashed curiosity.
They positioned themselves in the corners of a square, the centre of which was where Harry was predicting the trespasser would cross the aforementioned creek. The basilisk had been sent off elsewhere. An hour passed, then another. Sirius forbade Warming Charms – the less magic they used, the better chance they had of avoiding detection.
Sirius wasn't particularly bothered by the cold. Azkaban had prepared him for the depths of a frozen hell. He knew Remus would be just fine and somehow he doubted a veteran Hit-wizard would be bested by unpleasant weather. He was left wondering how Harry was faring. So lost in thought, he almost missed the cloaked figure walking past him, no more than thirty feet away. The trespasser was wearing a hood and looking down in front, watching his step, which was likely why Sirius hadn't been spotted.
He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt an invisible hand squeeze his arm. That would be Harry, hidden under his marvelous Cloak. He had never shared how he'd managed to get even more out of the artifact that James.
The plan called for Harry – intimately familiar with the Cloak's capabilities – to follow the spy closely, leaving a trail for the rest of them. If the spy was meeting with a Death Eater, they would snatch both.
Sirius Silenced his steps and waited for an impossibly long minute, then began walking in the direction where he'd seen the spy melt away into darkness. Soon, he came upon a gently sizzling red arrowhead outlined in the snow, pointing towards the next one. By the time he found the second one, Sturgis and Remus had joined him and they walked through the quiet Forest silently, like ghosts.
"Stop," came a whisper. Harry stood pressed flush against one of the naked trees. The Cloak draped around his arms, as if perceiving the need for secrecy, had lost its usual glitter, now black as the night sky.
"Where's the basilisk?" Sirius asked.
"On the other side of that clearing."
He followed Harry's gaze. A hundred or so feet ahead, the spy stood in the bowl of a naked patch of ground, marked by a fallen tree. Sirius scanned the surrounding Forest, but his eyes couldn't pierce the darkness. He looked to Remus, but the werewolf shook his head. Thankfully, they didn't have to wait long. Remus clamped his shoulder, turning him in the right direction. Even in the black of night and at a distance, Sirius instantly recognised the man who approached the trespasser.
"How come it's always you?" Sirius whispered to himself, his breath fogging, as Mulciber struck up a hushed exchange with the hooded spy.
"Are we going?" Harry asked impatiently.
Sirius put a hand on his shoulder. "Not yet," he said, the order carrying a warning hint. If Mulciber was involved, there was a plausible chance this was a trap.
"We can't hear them anyway!" Harry hissed with irritation.
Sirius eyes widened as he realised the merit of Harry's words. If they were meeting in the dead of night, far inside the Forbidden Forest, why were they whispering, as if… expecting someone.
Mulciber's head snapped up and he threw back his cloak, going for the wand in one fluid motion.
"GO!" Sirius roared, leaping forward, cursing himself for not paying closer attention. This was the best opportunity he would ever have to catch that bastard!
Mulciber once again lived up to his reputation. His wrist twisted and the surrounding snow rose up, as if kicked up by a giant's footsteps, covering Mulciber and the spy in a localised snowstorm. The wind gained strength with each tiring step-jump Sirius took through the deep snow.
Something massive swept through the rising cyclone, nearly knocking Sirius off his feet. As he battled Mulciber's spell, he surmised that the basilisk had hurled its tail over the clearing, and not without cause – the trespasser now lay sprawled nearby.
"Find him!" Sirius shouted over the dying windrush as the spell gave way, counting on Remus' superior eyesight to catch just a glimpse of Mulciber, enough to follow him. Harry was with the spy, turning him over onto his back.
"This way!" Remus bellowed, already tearing through the forest in inhuman leaps. Sirius followed, running madly, transforming mid-step.
Padfoot had a much easier time covering the distance and within seconds, he had left Remus behind. Not far in front, Mulciber was fleeing in a very obvious direction – towards the edge of Hogwart's wards, where he could apparate away. With an angry bark, Padfoot sprang forward, all but flying over the forest floor, gaining on the Death Eater with each breath-
Two trees cracked, broke and plummeted right into his path. Padfoot scarcely avoided a head-on collision, digging his claws into the frozen ground to halt, then swiftly climbed and leapt over the obstacle, resuming pursuit with increased fervour. Mulciber's play hadn't bought him much of an advantage. Padfoot was only a few good leaps behind when Mulciber halted, spun around and kicked, the heel crushing Padfoot's nose.
The whimper that escaped him turned into a threatening snarl at once, while Mulciber swatted away a curse from Remus. The bastard laughed loudly as he returned fire with a curse of his own. Padfoot, frothing, willed away the pain in the sensitive nose and let rip with a low growl, readying himself for another attack. He launched off the ground and his jaws snapped together, catching only air, the echo of Mulciber's laughter ringing in his ears. The Death Eater had disapparated.
Sirius transformed, crying out in anger. Remus caught up him then.
"I'm sorry, Sirius."
"Goddamn him, bloody fuck!"
"At least we've got the trespasser," Remus offered in a consoling tone.
Sirius punched the nearest tree and immidiately cursed his temper. "Yeah. At least something came out of this useless fucking affair…"
They could have used Dumbledore's special portkeys, but the Headmaster collected them after Voldemort had used one of Croaker's to infiltrate the Ministry. Too risky, he said. Right now, Sirius was hoping the Death Eater's letter was genuine just so he'd have a good reason to break ties with Dumbledore. Not for the first time time since Voldemort's return he was reflecting on Dumbledore's leadership and finding it lacking. Bah, the Order as a whole made less sense each time he stopped to think about it. Voldemort wasn't going to hold back. Some lines would have to be crossed if they were to have a chance at winning this war.
Back at the clearing, Harry was seething with anger, pacing back and forth as he cast glaring glances at the unconscious spy. Sturgis had his wand drawn and was watching Harry carefully, ready to stop him from doing something drastic.
"Do you know him, Harry?" Sirius asked.
Harry growled and charged, landing a vicious kick at the spy's side before Sturgis grabbed him and hauled him towards the middle of the clearing. Sirius wasn't keen to rush to the spy's aid.
"It's Theodore Nott," Harry said. His eyes radiated anger and frustration. "He's in my class. I should have known-"
"You couldn't have," Sturgis said, holding onto Harry's shoulder. "Calm down. This is helping no one."
"We shouldn't linger," Sturgis warned.
Sirius turned in place. The forest around them was still eerily quiet. The basilisk was the only creature in vicinity. "Agreed. Let's go."
Bringing Voldemort's spy to Grimmauld Place ws out of the question, so they plunged into Knockturn instead, relying on Remus' familiarity with the area. He led them to an unassuming building which blended right into the bleak neighbourhood of similar, old construction of greying brick. No stranger to less than respectable places, Sirius still felt mightily uncomfortable here. If Diagon Alley was the heart of Wizarding Britain, Knockturn was its shadow.
They entered the basement, Remus carrying Nott over his shoulder. They weren't particularly concerned with witnesses. Even if someone had seen them, Remus had enough of a reputation by now that few would dare inform on him. Their chosen locale wasn't a basement in the strictest sense, rather an access point to the sewers under London – a world entirely different to the one Sirius was used to. A deep trench ran through the middle of the low-ceilinged space, supported by two rows of pillars. The trench was filled with filthy, murky water and ran into a circular tunel. Remus suggested to keep an eye on it.
"You never know when a vampire decides to come up to the surface."
"Vampires," Sturgis repeated, not bothering to hide the revulsion in his voice. "I'll watch the tunel."
Remus sealed the entrance and elected to stand guard by it. Meanwhile, Sirius transfigured some of the layabout trash into a chair, which Nott was then sat on and tied to. He reached into his pocket and popped the cork on the vial – the last of the Veritaserum he'd stolen from Snape during his visit at Hogwarts a few months ago.
"You want to go first?" Sirius asked, looking at Harry once the potion had been administered.
"Who is your accomplice at Hogwarts?" Harry asked.
Nott's head flopped to the side tiredly. "No one."
Harry's fingers snaked around Nott's throat. "What is the name of the other of Voldemort's spies at Hogwarts?"
Nott shook his head. "I am the only one."
Harry glared at Sirius. "Are we sure the potion is working?"
"The one thing I can say for Snape is that he knows his stuff," Sirius replied.
"Could he be resisting it?"
"Unlikely," Sturgis chimed in, "but possible. Natural resistance is incredibly rare, but there are other ways. Mastery of occlumency is one. It allows a degree of evasion."
"Or lycanthropy," Remus addend grimly.
"Yes, there's that too."
"Could someone have overheard you?" Sirius asked. "Discovered what you've been doing in the forest?"
Harry let go of Nott, but still stared at him with unrelenting hatred. Sirius wandered if Harry wasn't not telling them something. The way he'd reacted to the revelation of Nott's identity didn't seem to line up with the boy just being a spy. Had something happened at Hogwarts? Something Harry had kept to himself and suspected Nott of having done?
"I doubt it," Harry said. "I only told Ginny, Ron and Hermione. But I guess I could've been spotted. I don't know." He grabbed the front of Nott's robe and growled, "What do you know about the murders of the Grangers and Hestia Jones?"
"Nothing," Nott replied.
"Nothing?" Harry repeated. "Nothing? How can you know nothing, the Prophet wrote about it! You didn't hear anything from your friend Malfoy?"
"That is odd," Sirius muttered. "Either he's really resisting the potion, or he truly knows nothing... And that could mean-"
"His memory has been altered," Harry finished. "I must have been seen in the Forbidden Forest. I reckon Mulciber wiped his memory."
"We knew the odds were long that we'd learn anything from him," Sirius said, trying to sound encouraging, though he himself was disappointed.
"Whatever," Harry said, spitting at Nott's feet. "He's just bait anyway."
~~oOo~~
"This was a stupid idea," Sirius murmured impatiently. Remus shook his head, and though he was turned sideways, watching out of the window, Sirius spotted the corner of his mouth curve upwards. "Don't smirk at me, werewolf."
"Sirius, for Merlin's sake, sit down," Sturgis implored, making a stern face over his mug of an unidentified, steaming beverage. "Spreading anxiety isn't going to help matters."
"What is that, anyway?" Sirius asked, pointing with his chin.
Sturgis looked down at his mug. "Oh, that? Just a peculiar potion to settle the nerves. Learned the recipe from a fellow up in Norway."
"You didn't look nervous before," Sirius remarked, eyeing the mug suspiciously. Sturgis had rummaged through Hagrid's cabinets and filled the cauldron with a seemingly random and lethal looking collection of dried herbs. Sirius wouldn't dream of drinking anything that contained venomous tentacula leaves.
"Oh, I just like the taste," Sturgis replied, shrugging his shoulders before taking another sip.
Sirius smelled the green-ish steam rising in wispy swirls. "Does it even have taste? There's no smell."
"Try it for yourself. There's plenty more."
Sirius glancem at the cauldron. Venomous tentacula, his mind whispered a reminder. Sirius grimaced. "I'll pass, thanks." He resumed his restless pacing around Hagrid's table. Remus had proposed to use the groundkeeper's home to wait for Harry's return. Hagrid had just been leaving when they arrived, toting his enormous crossbow, and Fang was scurrying alongside him. Hagrid didn't usually return from his trips to the Forbidden Forest before several hours passed.
"Where is he?" Sirius barked at Remus expectantly, hoping the werewolf would see Harry approaching.
"It hasn't been ten minutes since he left," Remus replied, admonishment colouring his tone. "He has the Cloak. Moody hasn't been able to see through it since Harry changed it."
"Dumbledore's not Moody."
"You speak of Dumbledore like he's the enemy," Remus said, turning from the window to face him.
"I don't know what to think of Dumbledore anymore!" Sirius snapped, slamming his fist onto the table. Sturgis swore loudly when his mug was upturned and the contents spilled across the tabletop. "And don't try to change my mind-"
"I won't," Remus interrupted, his eyes narrowing. "We are committed to this course of action and we will keep on it until we know the truth. You're not the only one who wants to know it…"
Sirius made a face. "Don't you know that anything you say before 'but' doesn't count?"
"But," Remus continued, undeterred, "we shouldn't be so fast to cast Dumbledore in with those we're fighting."
"I haven't done that, Remus," Sirius retorted. He was ready to do it at a moment's notice, but left that part unsaid. They could resolve that issue once they were back in the safety of Grimmauld Place Twelve.
Remus opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he was about to say drowned in the silent, overwhelming surge of power that lanced through Hagrid's hut, making Sirius and Remus stumble, while Sturgis jumped up from his seat, spilling yet another mug of his deadly tea.
"It came from the castle," Sturgis blurted out, looking honestly shocked.
"Something's happening," Remus said, having thrown the fogged over window open.
Sirius was out the door and transforming before the others had moved across the room, clawing up the steep rocky path to the castle heedless of his companions. Another surge cascaded down the hill and hit Padfoot like a tidal wave – a sick, but simultaneously exhilirating feeling rose in his stomach, but he didn't stop, and was at the front gates within a dozen breaths, becoming Sirius again in mid-step, drawing his wand as he ran up to the door. He flinched back with a pained yelp. The door was fiendishly hot to the touch. He levelled a Banishing Charm at it.
The Entrance Hall had become the mouth of hell.
Sirius recognised Fiendfyre as soon as he tasted Dark magic in the air. He couldn't see the Grand Staircase, the Great Hall's doors or the entryway to the dungeons, or the ceiling for that matter. The centre of the enormous chamber was cocooned in a dome of swirling, angry, red-and-black flames.
Suddenly, Sirius heard an explosion, like a giant balloon popping and his reflexes were scarcely fast enough to shield him from a storm of glass shards flying through the interno. Three more such explosions followed shortly. Some of the shards were coloured – red, blue, green, yellow. His mind supplied the answer before he consciously registered what just happened – the hourglasses that kept tally of the House points must have cracked from the heat. Sturgis and Remus caught up to him and only now did Sirius have the capacity to notice who was in the eye of the fiery hurricane.
Dumbledore was kneeling, partially charred robes splayed around him, one hand clawing at air, the other holding something in a white-knuckled grip. Behind him stood Harry, one arm outstreched from beneath the Cloak, pressing the tip of his wand to the back of Dumbledore's neck, and shouting something that Sirius couldn't hear over the whoosh of the Fiendfyre.
"HARRY!" Sirius roared. He stepped closer, but a fire-beast cut across his path, snarling at him with a mouth full of rows of teeth, wispy blue flames that somehow looked sharper than steel. Harry didn't seem to have noticed them. "Harry, stop this now!"
Sturgis seized his shoulder and shook it, gesturing at the threatening fire with his wand. Sirius nodded, understanding the silent message, and aimed his own wand at the Cursed Flame. Remus joined them once he saw what they were doing and between the three of them, they carved out a path closer to Harry.
"HARRY!" Sirius bellowed again. This time, he was heard. Something changed in Harry's eyes, the immediate murderous light in them dimmed, and the Fiendfyre vanished, snuffed out in a blink of an eye. Around them, the Entrance Hall was a scene of destruction. Much of the stonework had melted into pools of shiny, black goo that was slowly trickling down the walls. The Great Hall's doors were simply gone, consumed entirely, and the dungeons entrance was sealed with melted stone. The podium that once housed the hourglasses was covered in a lumpy sheet of glass, still glowing from the heat.
Harry hadn't removed his wand from Dumbledore's neck. "It's true," he spat, looking down at the old wizard, "and he knew." He looked up at Sirius. "He's known for years. Snape came to him and begged and pleaded, said he was sorry, and he," he leaned over Dumbledore's shoulder, "ate it up, like a fool. Trusted a Death Eater."
Sirius found himself in a precarious situation – he felt in his gut that saying the wrong thing might just set Harry off and he wasn't prepared to bank on his speed to stop Harry from killing Dumbledore right then and there – and Harry looked ready to do it.
"Harry, lower your wand."
Sirius had no idea where those words had come from until he realised that it was Sturgis who had spoken them. The Hit-wizard took a short step closer, moving slowly, but deliberately. "You say he's a fool – you'd be proving yourself one by killing him."
Harry scoffed. His expression carried a mixture of disgust, anger and hurt. "Kill him? I'm not so far gone, Sturgis."
Dumbledore looked defeated, like a man who had just lost something dear that he had no hope of ever recovering. He said nothing, staring down at his hands.
"Where's Snape?" Sirius asked.
"Gone," Harry replied, and his wand flashed red before anyone could intervene. Dumbledore slumped to the floor, unconscious. Harry flicked his wrist and the parchment Dumbledore had been holding wriggled free of his fingers and bumped against Sirius' chest. "I'm done with him," Harry said with an air of finality, striding past. "And with this place."
Something dropped from his left hand, previously hidden under the wing of the Cloak – Dumbledore's wand.
Sirius straightened out the parchment. It was a letter, addressed to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore,
I cannot risk staying here any longer. Potter may yet rediscover the truth of the prophecy. I wouldn't put it past your brother to tell him of that night. I have given you fourteen years. I shall not live those I have left stuck between you, the Dark Lord and Potter.
Severus Snape
"Sirius Black!"
He looked up at McGonagall, all but flying down the ruined steps, the rest of the staff grouped behind her.
Sirius turned on his heel, paying no mind to McGonagall's cries. He blinked when a spell splashed against a shield behind his head – Sturgis had protected him and Remus. Sirius looked back over his shoulder.
"Don't push me, Professor," he said, a threatening edge to his tone. "Even all of you can't hope to stop us."
"I dare believe we have some arguments with which to persuade you, Sirius," Flitwick retorted.
Sirius had never heard the tiny Professor so much as raise his voice, but just then he was reminded the Charms Master had been a dueling champion. Regardless, Sirius felt assured in his skill, moreso with Remus and Sturgis at his side. The Professors had the numbers, but the likes of Sprout or Vector were hardly duelists.
Sirius shook his head. "No, Professor. You really don't."
No one moved to stop them as they left the devastated Entrance Hall behind. No one followed them when they walked down the road to the winged boar gate. Harry was waiting for them there, sitting down on the cold, wet ground, his back against one of the pillars. Sirius pulled him up roughly and disapparated. He was going to get some answers from his godson.
For the second time in as many days, their four-man strong faction sat around the table in the dark, warm kitchen of Grimmauld Place and listened to Harry's report.
"I stunned Nott and hid him in one of the empty dungeons," Harry said, staring down at the table, drawing his fingers along the ridges in the wood. "I went to get Ron and the twins, told them to make a mess up on the seventh floor to distract the Professors… I went back down to find Snape. Had Nott knock on the door. We waited for a few minutes, but there was no response, so I ordered Nott to break the door down. Snape wasn't there. The place looked bare, like it hadn't been used at all. I looked everywhere and only found that letter."
He went on to describe in the barest of details, often prompted for more and giving them reluctantly, how he had left Nott stunned in Snape's office, hid under the Cloak and unleashed the Fiendfyre in the Entrance Hall. Sirius winced at Harry's dispassionate description of the bait that was supposed to draw Dumbledore in, though the emotions came back and bubbled quickly to boiling when Harry recounted how he sneaked up to the Headmaster who had been trying to quench the Cursed Flame.
"I took his wand," Harry said. His voice was quiet, but he was shaking, gripping the edge of the table hard enough that Sirius was expecting the hard wood to crack at any moment. "I showed him Snape's letter. Didn't even have to ask. He told me everything. The Death Eater's who sent me the letter was right about everything."
Though Sirius couldn't condone Harry's rage and its manifestation in Fiendfyre, the thorough destruction of the Entrance Hall… all of that he could swallow, given Dumbledore's actions. That betrayal cut harsher and deeper than even Peter's. Peter had been terrified, forced, coerced into doing what he'd done. Dumbledore's had been entirely his own initiative, all to gain an unreliable spy among the Death Eaters. What had Snape contributed, really? He had barely attended any of the Order's meetings and the information he brought was scarce and of questionable quality, a trade-off to preserve his own worthless life.
It was an uneasy day at the House of Black that followed. Sirius had decreed that they all needed to cool their tempers. Sturgis disappeared somewhere, as did Remus. Sirius stayed, weary of the idea of leaving Harry by himself. They stayed out of each other's way, but he made sure to always have his godson relatively close by. Fortunately, Harry's fury seemed to have been spent at Hogwarts, at least for the time being.
The next morning dawned in an atmosphere of anticipation. Hedwig returned carrying a reply from Hogwarts. The Order was going to convene at Dumbledore's home. Just like the old times, Sirius thought.
Harry categorically refused to stay behind and Sirius preferred to have him close in any case. Thus, all four of them made their way to the stately home of the Headmaster, all their collective muscles drawn taut, expecting the worst. The mansion looked tranquil as they walked up the path and through the picket fence gate. Harry stopped a ways short of the door.
"Last time I was here, I tried to kill him," he said, his gaze sliding across the building's facade.
Sirius was expecting a follow-up, but Harry said nothing else. Sirius didn't know what to make of those words and by the looks on their faces, neither did Sturgis and Remus. Harry went to the door first. It opened before he raised his hand to knock.
The Order was gathered in the large dining hall and the looks they got upon their entrance left no doubt in Sirius' mind – no matter what was going to be said here today, the Order as they had known it would be no more.
Most members had taken seats at the table, others claimed more removed spots, preferring to stand. Dumbledore stood as well, at the head of the table, though hunched over it. He seemed smaller, somehow, as if he had shrunk in the day since his confrontation with Harry. Even his eyes had lost their usual twinkling lights.
"Harry-" he began, but was immediately interrupted.
"No," said Sirius. "You've talked enough. Now it's my turn."
He locked gazes with Dumbledore for a moment, then stepped closer to the table. Arthur Weasley sat to his left, accompanied by his wife. On the right he had Moody. The old Auror had his hands together on the table. His fingers, so many times shredded and repaired, resembled a knot of twisted, scarred roots. Sirius looked from left to right, meeting the eyes of every Order member, one by one. The silence he had demanded endured. They were all waiting for him to speak. Good. He had a few things to tell them. Perhaps Dumbledore had been right about him after all – perhaps time had come for a new leader.
"I'm sure most of you in this room would say that Albus Dumbledore has lead us well," Sirius said, stepping behind Arthur's chair. The Weasley patriarch twisted in his seat to get a better look at him, but Sirius had already moved on towards Kingsley, who stood with his arms crossed by a cabinet that held a china set painted with images of bowling pins.
"For the most part, I could agree. The Order's operations took a toll on Voldemort's forces in the first war – and yet, we were still losing. Now, it would be callous of me to suggest that we were solely responsible for that, or that Dumbledore was the only one making decisions in the Order."
Sirius patted Kingsley's arm – the Auror didn't react beyond gracing him with a muted glare. Sirius quickened his pace and was presently facing Dumbledore, who straightened himself to tower over Sirius, his gaze hardening.
"All of that doesn't matter. Our success with the Ministry has proved that Albus Dumbledore isn't necessary."
"It wasn't you who finally convinced Fudge," came the accusation. Sirius' head whipped around to face his once-defender before the Wizengamot. Elphias Doge looked defiant, an odd look on his usually earnest face.
"It wasn't Dumbledore who convinced Crouch," Sirius countered and stepped around the Headmaster, past Flitwick's chair. The Charms Master was tapping his pointed nails on the table in a steadyt rythym that Sirius had unknowingly matched his pace to. "The first step was achieved without the esteemed Headmaster's input and I dare say we could have got to Fudge as well, in time. You all know what I've been trying to do. I have pushed for it repeatedly, but was shot down every time. By him," he added, pointing at Dumbledore. "You trust him over anyone else. I don't fault you – by rights, he gives the impression of a person worthy of trust and loyalty. But there is something he hasn't told you. Something he has kept a secret for fourteen years. Something we deserved to know."
He paused to sweep his arms across the room. "I can't have been the only one to notice Snape's absence. He's a hard person to miss. Figuratively and literally."
To Sirius' satisfaction, many eyes now migrated from himself to Dumbledore, many of them questioning.
"We all know about the prophecy Dumbledore had been a witness to and what it says. We all know there was a Death Eater who overheard a part of it and brought it to Voldemort. Have none of you ever wondered just what compelled Albus Dumbledore," here, Sirius looked at the man again, not bothering to hide his disgust, "to vouch for Snape at his trial? He's the only reason Snape walked free."
Judging by the reactions, Sirius was sure that some of those present were beginning to make the connection. The anger dawning on Kingsley's face was a particularly satisfying sight.
"I'm going to make it easy for you," Sirius continued. "Snape gave Voldemort the prophecy. When he realised whom he had condemned to death, he came begging to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore obliged him. I must thank Albus for helpfully providing all the details to Harry yesterday." Sirius gave a mocking bow, never taking his eyes off the Headmaster.
All the time had been speaking, Remus, Sturgis and Harry had stood in the door, unmoving, content to watch the events unfold. By now, Harry especially was drawing some conflicted stares.
"Severus Snape is the man responsible for the wholesale slaughter of the Potters. Lily and James were in hiding – they never even found out what had happened to everyone else. All those lives, lost because of the Death Eater we harboured among us, the Death Eater Dumbledore protected, lying to everyone here and some who aren't with us anymore. Frank and Alice, the McKinnons – they died believing Dumbledore was the praiseworthy paragon they thought him to be. He is anything but."
Sirius truly had no idea where those words were coming from. He hadn't writtten a speech, like he had for Fudge. Righteous anger seemed to be all the inspiration he required.
"We came for Snape last night, but he wasn't at Hogwarts anymore. All we found was this." He tossed Snape's letter on the table. Moody grabbed it out of the air, his magical eye spinning madly. "If there's one thing Snape is good at, it's escaping justice. Make no mistake, I will not leave it like this. For now, Voldemort is the greater concern, but when he's dead, I'm going to look for Snape and he's going to die. Now…" Sirius placed his palms flat on the table, back at the beginning, between Arthur and Moody, opposite Dumbledore. "If anyone here doubts that Snape deserves death for everything we know he did and all the sins yet undiscovered, then I tell you now – you are not welcome at Grimmauld Place Twelve. If you continue to suport Dumbledore, you are not welcome there. If you do nothing, I won't care. Just don't get in my way. Because… if you try to stop me…"
Sirius rejoined Harry, Remus and Sturgis by the door, a clear enough sign to them that they would be leaving shortly. He turned to face the room for the last time.
"...I will simply remove you."
Sirius led the party outside, leaving behind the bewildered and fractured Order of the Phoenix. The war was about to enter a new stage, unhindered by the limits imposed by Dumbledore. The Order could carry on with its policy of not stooping down to Voldemort's level, for all he cared. For Lucius Malfoy, he would stoop as low as he had to.