Author: shyangell & MorningDawn
DISCLAIMER: All the fictional characters appearing in this fanfiction story are not mine, they're J.K. Rowling's; and they are being used with the only purpose of personal entertainment.
Chapter Twenty-Five - Pardon
The sun is setting; the outer face of old Grimmauld Place nº12 is lit in shades of red and gold. Sirius reaches for the iron doors in front of the steps and softly pushes them open. He walks slowly the few steps up to the threshold and then the door magically opens to him.
The house is ghostly quiet; a figure huddled by the foot of the stairs. It instantly springs up to his feet with the opening of the door, which allows the dying light of the sun to enter to the very depths of the entry Hall. It seems to take Regulus a few seconds to readjust to his surroundings, as he's been dozing by the stairs. Then he notices it is Sirius, who is locking the door.
"They've released you?" he asks nervously. "Have they cleared the charges? Have…"
"Wait a moment!" says Sirius, who doesn't particularly care for another interrogation. "A question at a time, please. Yes I've been released and cleared."
He takes in Regulus' looks. So completely dishevelled he hasn't even shaved... not that there is much to shave, there's never been, just that dark shadow that forms over his upper lip and under his chin. He's untidy, and looks like he's been napping and pacing at regular intervals.
"Have you been here the totality of the almost three days I've been away?" he asks him. Regulus rolls his eyes.
"Not all the time, but I was worried." he says, as if it was an explanation. "You leave me here three days, unable to get out and completely isolated, with no means to know what's going on out there, what did you expect me to do?"
"I'm ever so sorry for all the annoyances I may have caused you." Sirius answers. "But you see, I've been two days in an interrogation room, and I don't think I could have gone and asked to inform my dead brother that I'm alright."
"Any other member of the Order could have passed by."
"Any other member of the Order was just too busy... at least too busy to pass by this dirty den." he adds as he removes his cloak and hangs it.
"And what happened with everyone else?" he asks with a sigh. Sirius shrugs.
"They're fine, nothing that can't be healed. Moody got hurt in his leg and it's taking its sweet time to heal. Tonks was hit by a really nasty curse and the healers are still struggling with it. But both of them will be fine." explains as if he is giving the weather report. "Remus was released only this morning. They trust werewolves as little as mad ex-convicts.
"And you?" he asks directly.
"Me what?"
"How's your arm?"
"...Fine, could be better, but fine nonetheless." he finally says, as he lowers himself onto a chair in the kitchen, and starts picking at a loose thread on his bandages. "And you? Any major injures?"
Regulus shakes his head ruefully.
"No, the most severe injury I have is a blue of the size of the Atlantic on my knee. I had to throw myself down because of one of Lestrange's spells, it did pass too close for comfort, and I didn't land quite right." he answers massaging the aforementioned knee. "But I'll be fine, I've been worse."
Sirius looks at him, at his face following his humorous tone of voice, and rubs his eyes tiredly.
"Well, as apparently you are fine I can reprimand you without feeling guilty." says the older brother. "Rabastan Lestrange and Mulciber recognised you, and I would bet my right hand that so did Bellatrix." his countenance is serious. "That was rushed. You should have been more careful."
"I'm sorry." answers Regulus. "But what would you have me do?"
"There's nothing to be sorry about. Just be careful, we can't have them thinking you alive. We can't have Voldemort knowing you're alive. I don't know... disillusion yourself or something of the like... You can kiss your dreary life bye-bye if He finds out."
"He probably will. You said it yourself." he says.
"No he won't. Your mark is gone. He thinks you are dead. No Order dished out any explanation in which you were included. They are weary of me... they'll doubt themselves. Voldemort is an arrogant bastard; he'd cut his own tongue before thinking there can be a flaw in his reasoning or in a spell of his. He'll underestimate our capacity for double-faced behaviour."
"He might."
"He will."
"Let's hope."
"Just don't do it again." Sirius says. "You can't imagine the incredible setback it was to my cause."
Regulus frowns.
"How exactly…?"
"Well... Jugson said that it had been me who attacked him, because he mistook you for me. It was vicious enough to be believable." he says with a self-righteous smirk. "And the aurors caught up that something didn't add up. So I had extra hours of running around in circles with the same questions over and over again."
"They've cleared you nonetheless?" Sirius nods. "And they are going to do it public, or keep it hidden as usual?"
Sirius shrugs.
"Theoretically they are going to make it public, but no doubt it'll be in small lettering in a corner... and there will be no photograph. I made sure of that."
Regulus, smiles. Objectively speaking, it is useful no-one really knows how you look. Fifteen years disappeared out of the public eye, not in recent contact with many... it is tactically good.
"The Prophet is too eager to lick the Ministry's ass to make a big fuss of it." Sirius says.
"Unless Skeeter catches wind of it." Regulus points out.
Sirius grunts in pained agreement. Regulus' fingers run over a strain on the tabletop, for a few moments, his mood pensieve.
"If Jugson gave my name... they surely asked you, didn't they?" he says. "What did you tell them?"
"I lied through my teeth and the veritaserum was already starting to fade, by the time your name came up."
"Have you given thought to what will you do with me... when this ends?" he says.
"You mean if this ends?"
"Aye... if this ends." he corrects.
"What about it?" Sirius says bitterly. "Do you think it'll ever end?"
"No." Regulus answers after a few moments of silence, raisin his head. "It was only a hypothetical question."
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." he says.
::::::::::::::
Moody is released from a few days later, but Tonks has to stay for a little longer. The healers say she'll have to stay for a couple more of days. Sirius goes to see her his very first morning as a free man, still savouring the newfound liberty. When he arrives there he finds Remus waiting in the hallway, talking animatedly with Kingsley. The auror is in a temporary leave form the auror Department and has been pulled out of all ongoing investigations, be they related with the battle or not.
"Scrimgeour would throw me to the lions if he could." he says wryly. "I already wasn't in his good graces before... I'll be digging trenches for the longest time."
"Wasn't he wroth enough with you about me?"
"Especially about you." he says. "But you got cleared... so I guess they'll forget about me after a while."
"You might be grateful you're out of the investigation... they spent quite a while questioning me about the other one." he says looking at Shacklebolt meaningfully. "They reached the conclusion that weirdness was on the other side though."
"Luckily for you they didn't ask me under beverage..." he answers discreetly. "It wasn't even mentioned because I was the first one."
"Apparently you must be the only Order member they put under veritaserum." says Lupin clasping his shoulder. "Well done... remember to examine what you say twice from now on."
"Shut up." he says digging his elbow into the werewolf's ribs and looking around only to find the area completely deserted. "What are you doing out here?"
"We were already leaving." they say smiling. "It is family day apparently..."
Sirius grunts his goodbyes and pushes the door of the room open silently.
Nymphadora is propped up on the bed, and on her chest there are bandages that peek from under a loose purple camisole. Beside the bed, a middle-aged couple turns to look at him. The woman is tall and dark-haired and her face looks sad and worried. The man, tall and blonde wears a proud moustache and a close-cropped beard; and is holding his wife's shoulders. Tonks' face lights up when she sees him and her eyes twinkle merrily.
"Ah! There you are! I was wondering if you'd bother coming round... apparently I've been more fun in other occasions than I am." she beckons him closer. "King told me they'd let you go."
"To be honest..." he says smiling. "They didn't have any other choice."
"If you say so..." she says. "You needn't have come... whatever they told you, I'm not dying; I'll be out in a coupla days."
"I did because I felt like it. Because I can."
"Savouring it while you can?"
"Something like that. Nice hairdo."
She fingers her hair with an impish smile and changes the light blue streaking the purple with bright obnoxious orange.
"I'm overcompensating." she winks.
"Have you been too bored?" he says. "I should've thought they'd all been here, seeing as no-one's been at Headquarters."
"Nope." she shakes her head. "Besides, we had interrogation rounds right here."
"Ah." he smirks. "and I was going to complain I was the only one to suffer of that."
"Nope... but you riled them up good!" she laughs. "Specially the Boss."
"Scrimgeour is an arsehole. He ought to take his head out of his ass already... alas, but I'm afraid his anatomical defect is chronic. A learned blockhead is a greater blockhead than an ignorant one, unfortunately for you... I don't know how you stand it."
"It's not me that's the problem... the real problem isn't even the job; but when a hex puts a sudden stop to the job that Mum and Dad go into mother-hen mode." she says looking at them sideways. "You interrupted the Ten Reasons Why Being An Auror Is Stupid time of the day... we were when mom starts saying: Don't talk to me like that young lady, it is a dangerous job. Do I look stupid to you?"
Sirius looks over at them and smiles at Andromeda as if he just saw her every day, mostly ignoring her watery eyes.
"Well... you know, when your parents are mad and ask you 'Do I look stupid?' you are not supposed to answer them."
"I... you shouldn't encourage her Sirius." she says softly. For a moment all is very tense, but there is no hostility.
"She needs no-one to encourage her." he tells her. "Whatever she did this time it is her own fault."
"Exactly." Nymphadora says. "Because I am an adult that can make decisions on her own."
"Even if it is to confront your Aunt out from Azkaban and almost get killed?" Andromeda says.
"Honey, she was only doing her job." Ted says.
"No she wasn't doing her job!2"
"Fighting Dark Wizards enters in my job description!"
"There are things that are too dangerous!"
"If we don't nobody will!" she says. "Besides, it is not that I'm not good enough. She did this to me, alright, but she also overcame Sirius, knocked out Kingsley... and escaped Dumbledore!"
Amdromeda's frown is prominent but she lets out a resigned sigh.
"I... alright. Just don't look for her expressly." she concedes. And she looks at Sirius.
"She didn't." he tells her. "I did... but not Dora."
"I heard the healers say Bellatrix singed your arm." Nymphadora says. "You were lucky."
"It'll be okay." he says. "It only hurts like a dragon is chewing on it."
"We both were lucky I guess." she says looking at the bandages peeking out of his sleeve. "Considering she could've killed us..."
"Don't knock on death's door. Ring the bell and run; she hates that." he answers her fondly. "Practice makes perfect. You did very well, considering it was your first time against Death Eaters. But we should stop because this is doing nothing to placate your mother."
"Well I could start wailing how glad I am you're free again... and making sentimental talk instead... and I even can begin to squeal!"
"I'll better leave before you start then." he says, opening his eyes comically wide. "You rest, before Mad-Eye starts reading you the riot act."
Nymphadora groans and sinks back into her pillows.
"Bye then!" two other weak goodbyes are uttered and he leaves. He knows when it is time to leave when his reserves for small talk and ingenious quips start to drain.
He takes his time turning the corner of the corridor, and just as he hoped, after a few moments there are footsteps and a voice calling him back.
"Sirius!"
A nurse passing by watches fearfully at them, as Andromeda pulls up to him. She's different than he remembers, but she is just the same nonetheless. She hasn't gone gray but there are lines of worry around her eyes. She wears a beautiful but practical burgundy robe and a working-day shawl over her shoulders.
She is, has always been, a strong woman; but her eyes are watery, and her smile is thin.
"I'm glad for you." she says. "I just thought you needed to know." He just looks calmly at her, and gives her time to compose herself. "I'm glad that you didn't do it." she says. "For you, and for all of us. Nymphadora... was telling me everything she knows... I need you to tell me. That what she said is true..."
He looks down at her, at her slightly hopeful and anxious face, so like his, in many aspects; at her dark hair, and softer face and silver misty eyes.
"It is."
Her eyes search for his as he says it, she seems to find what she is looking for, and she releases a tremulous breath before smiling softly.
"It was very hard to believe it when they first explained it to me. That you had murdered all those people." she tells him. "And I never, I couldn't keep denying it after a while, but I never understood. I am very sorry... I should've trusted my instincts more."
"There is nothing you could've done." he tells her. "You did the right thing. You've done a fine job with Nymphadora."
"I don't think any of us deserves your forgiveness." she says. "I don't know if I could... we weren't being very nice... standing there without anything nice to say."
"I've got a thick skin."
"No. You've got a thick skull... but I'd like to keep you close, keep you around. You still are the only decent piece of family I got left."
He takes her by the elbow and makes them sit down on a wooden bench.
"My blushes Andromeda. Sad truth... that I am the best you've got left." he chuckles. "Sad Indeed."
"Any family tree produces some lemons, some nuts and a few bad apples. I find being the nuts the better choice by far.
"Wise woman, as ever." he sighs.
From the room, at the other end of the corridor father and daughter laugh raucously.
"I know it is difficult dealing with me on top of Nymphadora's injuries. I understand that you don't know what to make of me. It's alright. I wouldn't either..."
Andromeda sniffs. And forcefully takes his hand, the one of his injured arm.
"No. It's alright. I'll deal with it. We both know that's what I should do and I will." she smiles brokenly. "I'm here and you're here... we have each other, and I have another person to worry about."
"Eeeh..."
"It's alright. You don't have to say anything." she tells him more composed. "The wards you put around the house are still working."
He shakes his head. Happy for once to have put her mind at ease and at the same time thinking of the terrible years she must have passed knowing her house was protected by his magic. Not a tranquilizing thought.
"I thought about lifting them... we tried, but we couldn't." she tells him. "Now I'm glad we couldn't manage."
He'd taken much care of casting wards and protective spells so they'd mount in layers, one on top of the other, instead of merging into one unity. Layers of spells create a buzzing thrum of energy and are volatile, not entirely stable unless the caster is very good. Which he is by the way. Then he merged them. Merged spells are the height of stability, the only problem is they merge into something unpredictable that might be impossible to lift afterwards. Magic is tricky that way.
"I'll check them again if you want." he says.
"No need, but you can, of course." she tightens her grip. "But I'd ask you a favour."
He looks at her, suspecting where she might be going.
"I know Nymphadora is with you and the rest of Dumbledore's people..." she says. "Look after her, alright. Don't let anything bad happen to her."
::::::::::::::
Moody exits the interrogation room; he's been brought here right after being released from St. Mungo. Luckily, the interrogation has been brief. Instead of going to the exit he makes a detour by the Auror Headquarters at level two.
He takes in his surroundings. The cubicles, the flying purple memos; the sound of rustle and the hum of activity. He walks, or rather limps, towards the large group of aurors who are discussing rather loudly around something quite large over a desk.
As he approaches he notices what it is that has them so enthralled. It is a big parchment map, over it, colourful mugs, inkpots and other assorted paraphernalia are moved about like one would a chess piece. He peeks over the shoulder of a lanky auror with a ponytail and glimpses that it is meant to represent the people who were at the Department of Mysteries.
"Williamson, step aside." someone nudges the young auror.
The circle of aurors opens for him and he can see and hear what they are truly talking about.
"There's no way to make this add up in a logical order." he is complaining. – No matter how you look at it, Jugson's statement is the discordant note, he couldn't be where they say he was."
"Let's go over this once more. Avery and Crabbe weren't there because they were felled previously in some other part of the Department. Rodolphus Lestrange was taken down by Black, as well as Dolohov, who had taken Moody previously. Then Bellatrix Lestrange hexed Tonks to sweet oblivion, and overcame Black and Shacklebolt. Lupin got rid of Rabastan Lestrange and Malfoy. Kingsley took down Nott and Rockwood. Neville Longbottom took out McNair..."
"And there's Mulciber and Jugson left, whose opponent is less than clear." says auror Taylor.
"Well, it is reasonable to say that Mulciber was taken down by Dumbledore when he arrived. Jugson couldn't have been taken out by him; presumably he didn't see Dumbeldroe enter, so he must've been already out before the Headmaster made his appearance." answers Harris.
"His injuries... it is almost sure it wasn't Dumbledore."
"Perhaps he was hit accidentally and fell... and cut his face on his way down." proposes Moody with his raspy sandpaper voice. The rest of the table turns to look at the retired auror.
"Were that true, there should be some kind of scratch on some wall, like those made by a rebounding hex, and there were none." answers Dawlish.
"There would be if it had been a rebounding curse, but it could have been a clear shot." retorts Taylor thoughtfully.
"It's really difficult to land a clear curse just by accident, they usually rebound." says another female auror who Moody doesn't know.
"Usually... but back in the 76' a Death Eater sent an Avedra Kedavra straight to me and hit another Death Eater square in the chest, quite by accident, and it wasn't a rebound." says Moody. "You never must make assumptions like that. You take into consideration all your options, and when you have discarded all the improvable ones, if there is only one improvable reason remaining; then it must be it.
The rest withstand his lecture with ill grace, but none tries to contradict him under threat of a rebuke.
"Then how did he cut his face?" finally says Harris.
- Must have been cut by some piece of flying debris." answers Taylor
"But it was a clean cut, more similar to a sectumsempra than a ragged laceration brought by an accidental cut. In any case I think it was spell-induced." Davies says. "Receiving two misdirected hexes is too much of a bad luck for anyone."
"Coincidences don't exist?" Taylor questions.
"Perhaps he was cut during the chase, not during the battle itself." suggests Moody. "God only knows what the Unspeakables have down there."
"That's always an option." says Harris.
"It is either that or start embracing the ever-popular ghost theory." Dawlish drawls. "There is another improvable way to look at it. That there was someone else in that room, who resembled Black. And each of them is equally difficult to prove."
"It could've been someone under Polyjuice potion." adds Taylor.
"So Jugson could mistake his real opponent?"
"Hadn't been established that this was nonsense." Davies asks impatiently.
"That'd be quite the theory." snorts Moody, and nudges the purple inpot that represents himself according to a bright orange label stuck to it. "But don't let McBride hear of it, or you'll never close the case."
"He'll be creating strange hypothesis for months! And I'm not tolerating it." says Harris. "Every time there is a strange case it's the same..."
There were nods of assent.
"This whole business is really shady." comments Taylor.
"It's always shady when Voldemort is in the middle of it." is Moody's gruff response. Dawlish looks pointedly and Mad-Eye, for a few still moments.
"You know that we shouldn't be discussing the case with you. You are a witness."
Moody shrugs it off, his magical eye roving over the other man; and then all of their surroundings. His relatively good humour vanishes. The situation isn't so amusing anymore.
"You obviously don't want me here, even if you're stuck." he growls. "I'd like to know what the hell thinks Scrimgeour that he's teaching you fledglings in auror training. I'll leave this puzzlement to you."
::::::::::::::
"I saw Andy today." Regulus looks up from his tea to Sirius who's making an estimation of the House's stock of floo powder.
"Really?" asks only half-surprised.
"Yes, she looked fine, the same as always."
"I don't really remember her." Regulus reminds him sharply. "I mean, I do remember that she was really kind and nice, but I couldn't tell you what she looked like."
"She looks like Bella would were she sane." comments Sirius. "Which ironically means they don't look alike at all."
Regulus shakes his head forgivingly. "Is that a compliment or an insult?" Sirius releases one of his bark-like laughs. "Because I doubt she'd interpret it as either."
::::::::::::::
Shortly after being released from . She visits first the Ministry Personnel section. After an excruciating session with the shrink, she's already reserved a place for him up there with Scrimgeour, in her list of personal grievances. He's spent an entire hour making her talk about her feelings... as if she wasn't open enough. She thinks it is all a great load of bullshit. But she'll have to keep coming until her evaluation is done.
While she was in the lift she's had to endure three hens from Accounting talking hysterically of the Battle of the Department of Mysteries and Fudge's last days as Minister of Magic. Then, in the Department she catches whispers, and shouts and full-blown conversations from aurors discussing the case of the Department of Mysteries. It's got the vast majority of the Auror Department engaged. She's been forced to keep her face straight. Incoherencies are driving the entire department up the wall. It would be funnier were it not because confusion it is always the first sign of Voldemort.
And then, the McBride paranoia obsession isn't helping at all. The bloodhound has caught scent of it; in provably the first day in ten years he wasn't late to work.
She approaches her desk and sees McBride on his own desk looking over a huge file, just beside her cubicle. He's so absorbed that he doesn't return her cheerful salute. The most logical conclusion would be that he is going over the Department of Mysteries case. But with him, logic never works. She sighs.
That McBride is paying attention to something so intensely is a very bad sign. By general rule it is always the same one... if vox populi is correct about it... and it is twenty years old. But no matter, McBride will never give up. She takes a deep breath and pokes her head over the cubicles division, right over his filing cabinet.
"Hello!" she repeats louder.
He startles, and a few parchment rolls stumble around so the space of his cubicle is full of flying paperwork for a few moments. Then he looks up at her face, peeking from behind his singing eggplant. Relief comes quickly when he sees it is her.
"Oh, it's you Tonks." he says somehow relieved. "So you're already up and about?"
"It's been a week!"
"And you're back at it already?" he says sceptically. "Or are you on desk duty?" She sighs and rolls her eyes, today a bright neon blue. "He... desk duty then, eh?" he chuckles.
"Yeah. Until our esteemed collective conscience guy thinks so." she huffs. "It didn't take you long to find it again."
"I overheard Williamson telling Harris to misplace it in homicides again yesterday." he says grumpily. "Whatever they think misplacing Ministry material..."
Tonks laughs, and summons the file up to her; and is infinitely amused when the middle-aged auror grapples in the air for it.
"Why this obsession with this specific case?" she asks.
She pulls open the file ant the name Regulus A. Black glares back at her from the parchment in bright red ink. She blinks, incredulous. How on earth, with all the extra hours she'se done in the Department, and so many jokes at this file's expense has she faild to realise it was about Regulus?
"Because I know that something happened to this young man, I just can't prove it." then he looks back at the table morosely. "Because he was only eighteen; and nobody deserves such fate."
And because it had been his first case just out of auror training. She mentally adds. That is something everyone knows. There is this little superstition that's made the rounds, that if you never manage to solve your first case, you'll be a bad auror. She doesn't think McBride is bad at his job, just that he's obsessive and problematic. And she believes this old wives' tale is meant to encourage junior aurors to seek their peer's help and expertise from the beginning or some crap like that.
"I see." she looks on with a smile, trying hard not to crack up. "But, you do you realise that for all that we know he could be in the Bahamas, don't you?"
His fulminating stare might have been intimidating, hadn't she known that it couldn't be directed at her, as she was her favourite person in the department.
"If that's the case." says lowering his voice. "I'd be so pissed."
She laughs at the ridiculous situation, but he's used to her odd antics, as his are weirder and more troublesome than hers.
"Really, you should drop the case. It was years ago, if you didn't solve it then you are not solving it now."
She says, plopping down on her desk, and grabbing her purse from her chair. Ready to call it a day at five o'clock and go home; even if there are still technically five minutes until five o'clock; humming a song happily to herself.
::::::::::::::
The kitchen of Grimmauld place is occupied by random people more often than not, except were there isn't anybody to occupy it. For months, the sporadic reunions have grown sparse.
Bill is leaning on the counter, Arthur is sitting on a chair near his son, engrossed in the Prophet bent on localizing the notification of Sirius' innocence. News of Voldemort's return have spread quickly; it's been printed immediately by the Prophet in big bold letter on the front page. But news of Sirius' acquittal have been omitted over and over. Remus is sitting next to Sirius and a just returned Tonks has come to complete the party of underslept men (and women) slumping with her arms stretched all over the ample expanse of the table.
Sirius, his feet on the table, has made a point of scorning every single news that get read out loud. Regulus is there too, mostly bothered because the tea is far too strong... and trying to water it down without Sirius noticing. In the meantime the conversation has flourished along the lines of the auror investigation and its possible repercussion for the order, but any trace of seriousness is abandoned in favour of non-constructing criticism.
"That guy's unbelievable, he comes in and tells accuses me of being liar because the Death Eaters think differently." says Sirius. "Which I was, lying. But, really? You believe a Death Eater? Everyone knows they are rotten."
"Yes, well at least the Ministry has finally accepted that he's back." says Arthur.
"They took their time." says Remus.
"Yes they did." comments Tonks. "Now Schrimegour is mad at me for knowing where Sirius was all this time and keeping it to myself. They won't let me return to work until I've passed the evaluation, again."
"It is worse for me... my seniority only adds insult to injury. He's suggested he'll send me to baby-sit the muggle prime minister. Fudge will agree... I just so know it." says Kingsley sourly.
"Think it this way," says Lupin consolingly. "This time you'll actually have time for the Order, as it'll be a nine-to-five job. You won't be falling asleep on your feet."
"He doesn't fall asleep on his feet." says Tonks. "Although it may be that he does, we just don't notice because his feet are so big that he can stay standing."
"Only junior aurors fall asleep." says Kingsley haughtily, but a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth.
"Come on, it could be worse." says Tonks. "You know. Office idleness has brought work to me. The mountain apparently got to Mahoma. I've found five aurors who are interested in joining. They actually came up to me."
"Really?" asks Arthur. "Then bring them around to the next meeting."
"Are you nuts?" says Sirus cringing. "We've got to be sure they're not going to back down."
"You told Dumbledore?"
"I told MacGonagall," she says. "She said she'd pass it on. I guess he'll want to have his opinion first. They're good folk though."
"Oh, and I've also found a potential member..." says Bill. "There's a French girl who works with me that is interested... She already said before that if Harry and Dumbledore said it... there had to be a reason."
"Smart girl." says Kingsley.
::::::::::::::
Sirius has come back from an early-evening walk; his mood has improved dramatically from the hours he's spent away from the house recently. In the past week he's been more outside than inside. He's been desperate to leave it for months. Now, that he's been out of its oppressing aura for a while he seems to notice it even more when he comes back.
The hair on his neck bristles as he is led up the stairs. The many portraits on the walls seem to follow his every move. He can feel the sense of being in the house, of magic so ancient that it is all but completely forgotten to most of the Wizarding world. The building is practically a sentient being. It is a similar feeling to then one the primordial grounds of Hogwarts can provide, where everything pulses with magic. But whereas that magic had been comforting and pleasant, warm and enticing; this magic was intimidating and dangerous, wild and solemn. The house has reached a strange symbiosis with the family that inhabited it for so long.
It's been reaching out to him since he first set foot in it. Others might notice, and be equally uncomfortable by its aura; but at the same time they perceive it with less clarity, less strongly, while at the same it is more threatening for them that it is for him. She, the House, has been reaching out to him, extending her tendrils of magic around him. She's been taunting him... and she can and will torment him until he listens to her. She is a part of him, a part of his magic, as she is now tied to him through blood and name since he inherited it. She has a right over him as much as he has a right over her. She exists because he exists, and his magic keeps it and protects it, even if he might not want it. The room appears to have darkened and become colder suddenly, as if the shadows of the corners were following him. He closes his eyes and gives out an exasperated sigh.
She insists, and he ignores her. But today, be it because he's alone, be it because he's had a sudden jolt of inspiration; he's had enough. And instinctively knows exactly what to do. He stands tall in the middle of the hall, the house humming with angry energy. He raises his chin as defiantly as he is capable of. He fills his considerable willpower rush up to meet her, his magic pulling around him like a bright hallo of misty light.
As if sensing that Sirius cannot be intimidated, the house's magic shifts and realigns. The house can no longer fight back against him. He can feel it deep in his bones. He is not struggling in the grips of Grimmauld Place. Sirius owns this place. Sirius is still defiant towards his ancestry; the old traditions, but he has gained acceptance over it, and with acceptance comes control. Grimmauld can challenge him no more. The change is unappreciable to the naked eye, but he can feel it like ripples on a pool. He feels how the old building settles and is finally attuned to him. The feel of the air, the tang of humidity in it, is almost gone.
Doubtfully there will ever be anyone who really knows what this house meant to Sirius. For him, this ghastly, decrepit insane old mausoleum at Grimmauld Place had been everything he hated about himself. It represented the ineradicable taint, the original sin, he'd spent a lifetime fearing might be lurking in his blood. His worst fear. In twenty years, he'd never been so afraid of anything else. But now also, it could be used for honourable purposes.
"What's going on?"
From above, on the stairs Remus' voice rings clearly about, and his eyes land on him. He is in a dressing gown, and is squinting friend. Sirius knows he must look stupid standing there in the middle of the landing... one step away of talking to himself.
"Nothing." he says quickly. "Old Grimmauld and I were just having a chat."
Lupin raises an eyebrow, sending it sky-rocketing into his hairline. Nonetheless Sirius' answer, well-used as he is to his riddles, is almost amusing.
"Did she answer?"
"What do you think?" he says.
"The air seems... lighter." Lupin comments.
"One of the two had to bend over... and it wasn't going to be me." he sentences.
Remus smiles at his friend; it is an easy thing to do. To smile at Sirius as if in complicity.
Sirius sometimes shies away from his friend, when his insight is too difficult to withstand anymore. To Remus the biggest change on his old friend have been the eyes. The Padfoot of his youth had been a completely different man to the one standing in front of him, and yet they are one and the same. Padfoot is gone, but Sirius remains, he who has always been there hiding in the background. Eyes that previously shone with emotion, and often mischief, had seemed deadened and cold for months, although if one looked deep enough and hard enough, the spark was still there, not as bright as it had been, but still, the potential to heal was there. He'd smiled that half-peaceful, half-haunted kind of smile that only people who have overcome the darkness but still feel it lingering in them can smile. And he understands it. Now the sparkle of life has come back into Sirius' eyes. It burns bright and clear, searing with the vitality of a life brighter than ever before, like a man reborn. The fire inside of him is like a beacon into the subdued world that surrounds him. Sirius moves now, and it is like a hurricane is trapped inside of skin, all frantic power and whirling winds of energy waiting to slip free and blow down everything in his path. Restless energy buzzing in the night.
"I think I might have been looking it from the wrong perspective." he tells his friend. "I think I've been trying too hard to leave it all behind... if you cannot go over the mountain, then one shall pass under the mountain."
"Do you realise there is no portrait now to bring this eloquence about."
It must have been a daunting task, to try to rise above this stagnant environment and try to change oneself, as Sirius had attempted to do. It should have earned him admiration and respect, not abhorrence and accusation, or the ease of condemnation. Even from himself, that it is what he had gotten, what he'd been subjected to. Yet in spite of this he showed honour and integrity; and a great depth of feeling and passion for those he loved, for what mattered to him.
He'd had admirable qualities, gifts of life and nature, he loved unguardedly, intensely, unconditionally. He was proud and direct and had no fear of rejection from strangers and random people he might cross in the street. He wasn't ashamed of himself, not of his choices, not of his ideas, and certainly, not of his friends. In the cold light of day he was no better treated, than Remus could've ever been. An odd hybrid between a hero and a leper. Both were monsters by others' word, but Sirius' had been a ghost of a reputation that still clung to him, magnified by lies and mistakes.
Yet Sirius was no saint; his intensity of feeling took all the complete range of emotions, they were marvellous the depths his hatred could assimilate. Its malevolence caused him moments of doubt, the soul searching he subjected himself to on a regular basis did him incommensurable harm. Sirius's instincts governed the way he perceived things, and though they were very honed instincts, reliable, from the outside looking in, the reason was not always clear why he hated with such alacrity. He found it hard to cast off the old indoctrination and teachings of his upbringing, which at times became a liability, and at times had saved his life.
With age, the fearlessness of youth and the sincere sharing of his person had been replaced and circumstance with reticent cynicism. His affections where hidden in bravado, he feigned interest, and whereas before he had spoken superficially with regard to the dogma and insidiousness of his home life... like one big joke, something not worth remembering. In his interminable hours in Grimmauld Place, he had come to some form of acceptance of his roots, and the last person to catch on had been Sirius.
"I guess... there is one point when you have to accept your burdens and carry them as gracefully as you can."
"Do you want to talk?"
"It... Yeah. The problem is her, it has always been her. Until now the house had been her, she's that difficult to scrub off."
Lupin leans over the handrail to listen and Sirius sits down on the first marble steps, where he was standing.
"I grew to hate her. No, wait, that isn't quite right; I hated what she meant in my life, her belief system. But she is my mother; can you really hate your mother? You can try, I suppose. You can partially succeed... up until you believe it most of the time." he sighs. "You can't imagine how screwed up it leaves you."
There is no wanting of a reply on his part. To this day it still leaves confused feelings in him, so twisted and gnarled he can't even tell them apart. What has changed is what he can admit of them.
"I know I made her life hard, a living hell. It must have been hard for her, to have so many expectations for her offspring, things that in her eyes are only good things that a mother of her standing should wish for her sons. Things... out of my power to control made her think I was dishonouring all that she stood for, making a mockery of my talents and intellect to the point she saw me as wilfully stupid and rebellious. I could not have changed those circumstances even if I had wanted to. The constant alienation between us drove her to hate what I had become and in turn I began to hate all this." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Yet we were still bound by the ties of mother and son, how could we not."
He looks with his eyes unfocused to some faraway point on the far wall.
"It was quite irrational to hate all this so, when I don't feel comfortable in another place either... it is most inconvenient."
"You didn't chose this path... you were set upon it." says Remus knowingly. "Hey it happened to me too... I certainly didn't plan on becoming a werewolf either. We have to stop thinking over what might've been... who knows if I weren't a werewolf I might be a totally overbearing jerk."
"Who says you aren't?" he chuckles. "I didn't go to Hogwarts with my mind set on rebelling against all that had been expected of me. It had never even crossed my mind. There was a time when I was everything my mother had wished me to be. I was the heir apparent to the House of Black, and I knew it. I knew what was expected of me, and I relished in the idea of what life would be like for me."
"The little prince. he replies with sly grin.
"You should have seen me, you'd have been impressed, believe me. I was charm personified, a self-possessed, precociously arrogant, little sod."
"Uh, no... you were too startled to be anything but startled." he tells him.
"It was very difficult to take all the changes in my life in stride." he sighs. "I am not so sure I have changed. I am still the same arrogant little bastard I was brought up to be. I tried to change for all of you... I was tiring of disappointing. Live is seldom as you plan it, is it?"
The crumbles Sirius throws of his personal background to other people are rare like gems, and even more difficult to get your hands onto. They offer precious insight into Sirius' world. A strange world it is, full of ancient customs, guilt, old-fashioned moral codes and rebellious thoughts of freedom. Remus understands why Sirius tried to define himself through his daring and crazy ideas.
"This doesn't change the fact that there are people who should never have become parents, and my parents are amongst them."
Sirius hides form the ugliness of his life by hiding it behind a facade. Childhood can be so damaging in many ways, when a child cannot be a child. But in their younger days, how could they know that Sirius' desire for mischievous fun, was to drive away inner demons he could not live with but that would not leave him either?
"You truly are a mess." Remus says to his friend. "Although mixed feelings are acceptable, you have to remember you hated this so much you ran away from home. To get over it you have to understand, not to make excuses for her. They were that bad and you have a right to be angry about it."
"But maybe I don't want to; I am very tired of fighting with myself over this." he says. "Being angry takes more energy that I want to spare. I ran away from home because of the disappointment. The way they spoke around me, it became impossible to live with, and I ran away before I did something I might regret."
"Many people clash with their parents' expectations." Remus tells him. "But threat of major injury doesn't hang over their heads."
"He wasn't so bad you know." Sirius says, breaking the silence and apparently unconcerned with Remus' lack of response. "Not as bad as Mother. At least he did actually think he was doing the best thing for Reg and me. Not like Mother, only wanted us to measure of an image of ourselves. Father wasn't doing it simply for tradition or our place in society; even if they were important to him. He truly thought that he was doing the best."
"All parents make mistakes." Remus agreed quietly.
Sirius grins at him in the dark, a touch melancholically. "Some more than others." he said. "But at least he tried."
"If admitting so makes you feel better..."
"With my mother it was a different matter. It became a matter of life or death. Or more correctly in this case, of life after death: now that she's dead, I have a life."
His words ring true in the stillness of the hour.
"Hmh... was this brought on by any special occasion?"
"No... just thinking." he says. "It doesn't hurt that much. I think I needed a wider forgiveness before forgiving myself. And I needed to forgive myself before I could forgive anyone else."