Chapter 28
Trial and Error
xxxxxxxxxxx
Where Sirius almost believes in angels
xxxxxxxxxxx
"Let me ride the dragon and I will help both of you," Antioch Peverell said to Charlie Weasley in a fatherly voice, over a lifeless body of Bellatrix Lestrange in Charlie's arms, perfectly unaware of the fact that Charlie always had to disappoint his father when he was growing up. Betty snorted and did not seem content with the proposal. Antioch's dog barked at the dragon in powerless retaliation.
"I am your only chance," the almost bald wizard continued in an I- told- you- so-tone Charlie liked even less. "Let me have the dragon, or your friend will die."
"Why are you here?" Charlie Weasley asked Antioch Peverell, eyeing him with sudden suspicion, wondering why a seemingly good-natured wizard would threaten him, and what the Crystal Sphere Antioch wanted to retrieve from the Ministry so very much was in the first place.
"Why?" the increasingly funny wizard in bright pink shorts scratched his head as if he could not remember himself. "To look after you, of course, to guard you. That's what we do."
"Who are you? Are there more of you? You are not real, are you?" said Charlie. "You are a voice of my mind ridden with guilt because I left her, knowing very well in my heart that she was going to die, by her own hand, or by the hand of the monster she called her Master. I chose not to help her."
Betty made a puff of blue smoke in direction of Antioch, watching over-protectively over the young dragon tamer and his ill she-friend. Antioch's arm turned transparent with Charlie's last words, so he stubbornly repeated them, glad for the effect they had.
"YOU ARE NOT REAL!" he yelled from the top of his lungs.
Charlie could now see through Antioch's shape. He became much less material than an ordinary ghost, a thin air shaped like a shadow of a man, whose shoulders spurted a pair of huge, equally airy wings.
He turned his back on the winged phenomenon and gently patted Betty.
"Betty," he told her. "Will you help me carry her to your real master's shop? Remember, his name is Ignotus, not Antioch. They have healing stuff over there."
The dragon bent down as a sentient being, completely forsaking the incurable wildness of its race. Normally, Charlie would not believe in a tame dragon. But the times were far from normal, and his guilt had grown exponentially, to the point that he wished to die in her place, or simply die alone, and forget about everything.
So Charlie hauled Bellatrix on top of Betty, as gentle as he could, nesting together with the broken woman between two spikes on Betty's back, as blue as they could possibly be.
"Take off softly," her urged her. "You know where it is. And don't look back."
They flew towards the sun, and Charlie decided to close both ears to the frantic barking of a dog, and to unreal pleas of the white and grey cloud floating behind him, rapidly disappearing in the distance. There was no match for Betty's wings; she was a creature of magic who could fly over the ocean in a single day.
"I will find my toy back," the winged cloud called Antioch may have cried, "and you will feel the stick of destiny between your ribs before this is over!"
xxxxx
The next day of Val's and Severus's trial dawned as grey as any autumn day.
It was July but the summer had decided to hide itself so well that no one could see it.
The trial came amidst the unconfirmed rumours about the blue fury that had descended over the Malfoy Manor like a deadly summer storm, shattering all windows, mirrors, kitchenware and a collection of priceless magical objects the Malfoys were extremely proud of. Not even the Daily Prophet managed to offer a plausible explanation for the destruction. A Muggle-born witch passing by swore she saw a chubby, funny looking male character, carrying a crying baby on his chest, and a rolled oil on canvas painting under his arm, leaving the Manor, or hovering out of it, shortly after the act of vandalism was reported. Few dared to say the truth. The Malfoys had supported the dark side, either from conviction or from fear, and it was fair that they should suffer some consequences.
Only one artefact from the Malfoy's collection remained intact; the elegant Crystal Sphere confiscated by the Ministry which was turning softly in its stand in the middle of the Wizengamot chamber. The sphere was an object of unquestionable beauty, yet it was much better known for something else; the entire wizarding world had so far been unable to figure out its magical properties.
Deserved or not, no one could rejoice whole-heartedly at the punishment of the Malfoys, for all living members of the family were asleep at Hogwarts. It was the third day since Voldemort had died and the future of the great school of witchcraft and wizardry remained undecided.
So was the fate of the two prisoners, bound together on a chair of the accused, as the seats of the Wizengamot were being slowly filled under the ever watchful eyes of Dolores Jane Umbridge, Cornelius Fudge and their supporters. Umbridge noticed that Sirius Black, who had just entered the premises, lacked all of his usual arrogance and spirit. She considered that a good sign. Perhaps the texts she and Fudge paid for in Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly, finally served to make the public believe in their version of the truth. The woman, Skeeter, skilfully depicted a would-be hero as a mad relict of a once powerful family after 12 years of oh-so-unjust imprisonment in Azkaban. Her story caused the witch population to cry about it noisily, but the serious members of the wizarding community would hopefully be way less inclined to believe in anything the odious Black had to say.
They also financed stories from the Ministry sources which told how Voldemort miraculously died on his own, from old age and experiments with evil curses. And that all the guilt for the grievous loss about to occur at Hogwarts lay upon Severus Snape, a proven Death Eater and murderer of Albus Dumbledore, and Lyra Walburga Black, a descendant of the House where all except poor deluded Sirius Black were proven supporters of the Dark Lord, (Fudge was thrilled when he learned that the witch's last name was not Peverell, because they were known for having supported the light), the owner of one and only healing establishment who treated Death Eaters according to testimony of many witnesses (mostly family of those same Death Eaters but that detail was luckily irrelevant to the process).
Umbridge could not explain, not even to herself, why she had the Crystal Sphere placed within the Wizengamot, which was turned into courtroom. She believed that she had seen the object in her youth, but she could not pinpoint the occasion. The grand dome looked benevolent, like a magical, living floral decoration in a home of a decent well-bred witch. Dolores found it had a calming effect on the souls gathered in the Wizengamot and, above all, it also somehow strengthened the determination of the Dementors, who have returned somewhat shaky from Grimmauld Place 12, accompanying the prisoners.
It was beyond Umbridge's comprehension how a thing lovely beyond all count like the Sphere could fortify such filthy but necessary breed of creatures like Dementors, but as long as it served her purpose, she did not care.
Fudge started the trial by reading out how the accused Snape and Black together cast a forbidden dimension shifting spell, which put all wizards and witches in Hogwarts into a deep sleep, leading to slow death from exhaustion, as a sign of their grief and anger at the loss of their Lord Voldemort.
xxxxxxxxx
Snape sat expressionless as charges were read, certain that the only thing waiting for them at the end would be a Dementor's Kiss. After all, their life and death depended on Black and Potter, both too direct and not enough Slytherin to unmask the joint forces of social custom, boredom and fear of change, which did not favour the believable nature of the unique story shared by Val and himself. The precious memory of their too short time in Regulus's old room made the corners of his thin lips curl in an imperceptible, smile but he would not let it show to anyone, not even to Val.
The safest course of action was not having hope.
Val just smiled at Sirius in the back rows, before fixating Umbridge with her pale blue eyes, exhibiting the defiance typical of the Blacks. You think you can hold me here, she thought, just watch me.
The room was even more crowded if possible than during the first hearing. A St Mungos team was camped at the door, expecting cases of magical and other strokes among the public as the proceedings went. The cameras were flashing and the magic quills were eager to record every single detail of the greatest trial in the wizarding history. Emotions ran freely and all wizards and witches capable of Legilimency worked hard to avoid eye contact with their neighbours, in order not to be overwhelmed by the depth of curiosity, expectation and fear.
The prosecution started its interrogation. A small elderly wizard by the name of Rufus McMillan, a pure-blood who looked frightened of his own shadow addressed Val first.
"Ms Pev.. Ms Black, did you cast the illegal dimension changing spell at Hogwarts?"
"I did cast a dimension shifting spell, however, whether it is illegal or not-"
"Ms Black, limit yourself to answering the question, did you or did you not cast a dimension shifting spell?" Umbridge interrupted with her evil girlish voice, laced with sweet tasting, pink-coloured venom.
"Yes, I did," said Val, aware that they were facing a tribunal where the judges would have them both burn on the stake if that had been legal to start with.
"Is it a consequence of your spell that all wizards and witches present at Hogwarts are now asleep?" Rufus McMillan continued carefully, afraid of the manner in which the younger witch answered him. There was something about her that seemed familiar, but he could not say what.
"Yes."
"Can you undo the spell?"
"No, but…"
"That is enough, thank you," the small wizard concluded bravely, looking for confirmation in Umbridge's eyes. "Honourable Members, the Accused Number One has just confessed purposefully conjuring a dangerous illegal spell that put all Hogwarts into sleep, a spell she is unwilling and unable to undo."
Val shrugged. There was one safeguard of the Peverells for all life threatening situations that Wizengamot did not know about; the rescuer of Regulus Black from the jaws of the Inferi more than 20 years ago. Val bid her time and fidgeted with her ticket out of that dreary place, a blue item hidden deep in her robes, together with the remaining scales of Nagini and some hair of Severus she carried with her ever since she met him, for good luck. But first, thought Val, we will try to tell the truth to the wizarding world. They deserve it. For better, or for worse.
The small wizard turned his attention to Snape.
"Mr Snape, have you joined the Death Eaters?"
"Yes, but…"
"Did you or did you not?"
"Yes, but…" Val gave Severus a kick and whispered through her teeth: "Just nod. This bloke has condemned us already."
"Did you kill Albus Dumbledore using an Unforgivable Killing Curse?"
"Yes."
"Do you regret it?"
"No," Snape sighed deeply after a significant pause.
"Honourable Members, we don't need more proof. The evidence of these confessions is irrefutable. The prosecution proposes a Dementor's Kiss as the only just punishment for the accused. The wizarding population will never recover from the loss we have suffered in Hogwarts, not in a hundred years," concluded the small wizard as many honourable Members of Wizengamot nodded in approval.
"Shall we vote?" Umbridge peeped discreetly. "Er… Honourable Members!" said a very insecure Sirius Black from the back row.
A Sirius Black who was Harry Potter on another day, and who could not let stupidity celebrate its triumph, after he had led and won the last wizarding battle over the great evil.
"The defence will now question the accused," stuttered the new edition of Sirius Black. "The defence and the accused have that right."
"But surely even you will see that there is no need for that! The Wizengamot has already decided to vote! We have to reach a decision in this case swiftly in order to dedicate all our time and energy to the investigation that might still help the sleepers at Hogwarts".
"Professor… er… Dolores, how do you propose to wake up Hogwarts and lift the dimension shifting spell?" said a thoroughly Polyjuiced Harry Potter.
"That is at the discretion of the Ministry and not the subject of these proceedings," replied Umbridge in a false motherly fashion.
Sirius said to delay, thought Harry, finally remembering something useful about the working of the Wizengamot, from his forceful school-time encounters with Hogwarts, a History; the occasion when the Wizengamot dissolved a corrupted board of governors of the famous school for witchcraft and wizardry. "I call for an action to ask the Ministry to reveal its plans."
"I am sure you mean motion, Mr Black?" asked Mrs Brunhilda Crouch from the first row, not hiding happiness from her voice.
"Mixture. Motion, yes motion!" exclaimed Harry, wishing for Sirius to come back and help him out. He suddenly felt small and as if the dealing with Voldemort was way easier than facing the joint power of tradition and fear of anything different than the ordinary in the wizarding world.
"The Chair accepts the motion of the defence as relevant for the case. If the Ministry has no reliable plans, the only hope for the sleepers may lie in the accused. And once they have received the Dementor's kiss they will not be able to help anybody. The vote is open," said Mrs Krouch and Harry wanted to spring from joy at the first voice of reason, followed by a mute raising of many hands and some feet of those more enthusiastic to cast a vote.
"The vote is closed," thundered Mrs Krouch in contrast with her small stature. "The motion has been carried forward by a large majority. Minister Umbridge, please proceed with presenting the Ministry plans."
"The Ministry asks for a recess, in order to gather the data relevant for the presentation," stated Umbridge. She began fiddling with her fingers in a disturbed fashion.
Harry felt as if he had won another important victory.
xxxxxxxx
Sirius stood alone in the Room of Requirement, watching Ariana sleep.
He had tried every spell he knew to no avail, with the help of the invincible wand, the stick of destiny. Dark or Light spells, easy or complex, she would not wake.
He was gently combing her hair with his long fingers, while his toe nails were itching to transfigure into a dog and go for a good run in the forest. As if he could. The selfish part in him thought of Harry and his son, he had to go back and live for them, he had to be there for Val... his sister... who could be kissed by the Dementors, or hopefully not, if they were able to put up a good case to defend her.
No! He could not leave Ariana.
Sirius was never hurt by girls. Surely he met many girls in his short life as a free man, but his friends and his cause to bring down Voldemort held priority over such cheerful but mostly trivial encounters. Since he was 11, his friends replaced his family and Hogwarts replaced his home. It wasn't like that any more.
He could not leave her.
Desperate, he grasped one of her long hands remembering how tall she was, as tall as he, and Sirius was by no means a short man. He towered over Snape who was also quite tall for a slimy git.
He finally remembered Grindelwald's squashed piece of parchment, his last will and statement, directed so pretentiously to Ariana. Spreading it open over Ariana's immaculate white robes decorated with shiny green and gold half-moons, Sirius re-read the bastard's poor excuses to Ariana for what he did to her, barely able to contain his anger.
The final words danced in front of his eyes like the first time he had read them in the Headmaster's Office. "They say that one day the Veil has to return to the place it was taken from. Then all the good deeds wrought by the angels will come true. But no one knows where that place is."
The words of an elaborate nonsense came into mind, pronounced at dusk in the horrible prison in the middle of the sea by a dying old man, Ariana's father, with a zeal of a true Seer: "They say that the Veil of Death is made from the liquid thoughts of angels…"
When he was defending the attic in the past, waiting for Phineas Nigellus to return one last time, Sirius was able to checke that Muggles called angels some beings which didn't exist. Still, those non-existing beings were believed to guard their steps from harm, and an average Muggle imagined them as having wings.
"Not just any angels…" Percival's voice thrummed in Sirius's head, unstoppable, sounding completely enchanted, "the guardian angels who failed to protect their charges. The protectors of orphans and lost children. With their thoughts dense like frozen tears of regret as they wished and wished to have done more for those they were bound to keep safe, but who had died instead."
Sirius started to whistle the rest of Percival's words as a merry tune, accompanying it by completely irresponsible rhythmical clicking and swishing of the unbeatable wand, as if it was a percussion instrument, and not a channel for powerful magic. "It is said that if a soul falls in the Veil, a soul persecuted by great injustice, yet pure as when it was but a child in this world and content to endure the pain, the angels may smile again. Then their thoughts will touch and gently wrap the soul carrying it softly to the place where it belongs, where it should have been all along."
"Hey, angels,"he called out loud like a lunatic to the non-existing beings. "Is that where you took her? Where does she belong if not with me? Did you take me to her two years ago? Why?"
As usual when Sirius yearned to know something, the answer was never forthcoming. So he continued humming, for strength and inspiration, the words of the prophecy. "They say that the angels speak to such souls. They tell them stories of courage, of love and of regret. And maybe, just maybe, if the soul listens, it might yet find happiness or at least a measure of peace. For the thoughts of angels stay with us wherever we go. It is just that we cannot see them."
What if that is one and the same tale, Sirius thought, Percival told me the beginning and Grindelwald may have told Ariana the end. I only have to bring the Veil home. But where is that?
"Ariana..." he whispered pathetically, "you have become my home. I would gladly have my own soul sucked up by the Dementors if that could save you and wake up Hogwarts on a side."
Sirius Black thought for an uncharacteristically long time, unwilling to put in practice the solution he had devised when he was still in Grimmauld Place.
It was the only thing that might work.
Or kill both him and Ariana in the process.
Sirius knew only one place in the world that might have been a home to the Veil, and only one way to try and bring it there against the all-powerful protective enchantments of Hogwarts. He scribbled a short message for his friend Remus on the back of Grindelwald's parchment, instructing him to go to the Ministry with all survivors of the final battle against Voldemort and to testify in favour of Snape working for the light. Sirius begged Remust to testify as well in favour of Val Peverell, who worked with Snape to help them all, a woman none of them have known but for whom Sirius guaranteed with his own life. He vanished all content of Grindelwald's letter to Ariana except the sentence about the Veil, and he wrote in small writing the rest of the story of the Veil on top of it, as he remembered it from Percival Dumbledore.
There, he thought, one part tells the story about the Veil, and the other tells you what to do, Remus, my dearest friend. You were the best student of us all for a reason. If I don't see you again, maybe you can work out a solution from there.
Sirius fervently hoped he was right in his assumptions about the Veil as he went to bring his motorcycle to the Room of Requirement. He had left it hidden next to the Great Lake, disillusioned as a bush of orange roses. It was embarrassing, but his magic was started to express itself in her colours, orange and gold, yellow and silver. On the way back, he carefully tucked the letter he prepared for Remus in his pocket, laying a sticking charm on it so that it wouldn't get lost. He also added a finding charm, to make it the first thing Remus would have in hands if Sirius was successful in his latest endeavour.
He was confident that removing the Veil from Hogwarts entirely should end the dimension shifting spell it maintained in place and wake up all the sleepers. What would happen to Sirius and Ariana in the process was an entirely different matter, on which he chose not to dwell, lest his determination abandons him. He gave the Veil a sharp look, begging for answers, sensing it was so much more than it looked and more that the Ministry ever suspected it was.
But he could still not say what it was, or where was its home.
All he could hear was a whisper of voices, some deep and menacing, some crystal like the chant of fairies on the Christmas tree. The voices were luring him in, but the Veil was unable or unwilling to declare its own purpose clearly.
No time to lose anymore, Sirius thought as he gently pulled Ariana up on his lap with his right arm. He bent slightly over her figure to support her, careful not to pull her feet out of the Veil by force, as he secured a handlebar of the motorbike with his left arm. Both handlebars shook wildly in his insecure one-handed grip at first. Only after the longest of moments did they finally become steady. The unbeatable wand was safely stuck in the blue jeans he chose to wear with his old T-shirt, or so he hoped.
Strangely calm, he eyed the arch that had devoured him not that long ago. This is as it should be, he thought. We belong together in this time, with Harry and with our son. Please, let it be real, he prayed to the unknown, as he never believed in destiny of any kind. The outcome of any action was always far from certain, that much he knew.
Ariana's sleeping weight was heavy and warm on his chest. He fought not to let her slide and to maintain the position, glad that everybody was asleep, and that the Ministry was competently away, probably already well equipped with lies they would present as truths at his sister's trial.
Sirius wouldn't have been able to stand prying eyes and sly comments at yet another crazy rash deed he was about to commit. The pride of the Blacks, he thought. I am still not free of it, great-great-grandfather, but I will do my best to bury it once and for all if I am given the gift of life just one more time.
He focused as hard as he could on the images of the small home above the sea Ariana and he shared in 1925, hoping it still existed in 1998, when starting the engine. He lost consciousness well before he could see the motorcycle catching flames, passing straight through the arch which held the Veil of Death together, like a giant, living, bright orange flare, followed with raven wings made of Sirius's hair. The motorcycle back wheel flew right behind it.
The family of a newborn boy moved aside to let the burning machine soar into the dark blue sky above them. A winged being smiled from the top corner of the painting, blowing a trumpet, sounding a horn.
In the Great Hall of Hogwarts, Remus Lupin slowly opened his eyes. His head hurt tremendously, but apart from that, he felt very much alive.
