A/N: I know, an update! Try not to faint everyone, and please accept my most humble apologies for the ma-hoo-ssive delay in getting this chapter to you. My only excuse is that my inspiration ran dry. I hope you enjoy the chapter, but be warned: it gets quite dark towards the end, and contains some very rough/almost non-con sex.

Chapter Thirty Six

Sirius meant to ask her again. There was no reason he shouldn't; nothing material had changed. He still loved her as much as he ever had, and arguably the air was clearer between them than it had been for a good few weeks. He knew she had been spying—more than that, had volunteered to spy—on Voldemort. But really, all he needed to do was ascertain that she was out of it and that there was nothing else she wasn't telling him, and that would be that. He didn't know how she had done it without him noticing. At night, presumably. But even then it was hard to believe he hadn't once been aware of her absence. Unless she'd been using magic to keep him that way. That would be worse than lying, outright treachery. But she wouldn't. There was a feeling of scepticism in the back of his mind though, and it suggested that he wanted that to be true rather than believed it was. He was probably the last one to know what she'd been doing, after all. And there were those strange gaps in his memory …

A lilac paper aeroplane zoomed over his head, landing on Mad-Eye's desk. He unfolded it, and the magical eye landed briefly on Sirius and James. "Black, Potter, go down to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office and see what the hell this is all about would you? I haven't got time to figure out Weasley's messages." He shoved the memo into Sirius' hand, then glared at them pointedly. "Now."

They headed down the corridor to the Misuse Office, Sirius unfolding the memo to look at its contents. It didn't contain anything about any artefacts, just: Need to see SB & JP about tonight.

"Tonight?" James asked, when Sirius showed him. "What's happening tonight?"

"Order thing maybe."

They knocked on the door, and were admitted by a friendly-faced Arthur Weasley. "Ah, excellent, that didn't take long! I've got it in here, come in, come in." He shut the door after them and then dropped his voice. "Meeting tonight at mine and Molly's house, eight 'o' clock. Can you both make it?"

"Yeah."

James nodded. "I'm sure Lily and I can—but why aren't we meeting at HQ?"

"Dumbledore thinks it's safer if we keep moving around for meetings, at least for a while. I think there are more protection spells going on the castle."

That made sense, although it seemed like there couldn't possibly be any more spells that be could laid on Westmoreland Castle. Unless Dumbledore had come up with a new one himself. Which he probably has, Sirius thought.

"Lily and Helena should already know," Arthur said. "Molly's got an ante-natal appointment at St Mungo's today and she'll tell them when she sees them."

"How are we getting to yours?"

"Floo. The house is called the Burrow."

Information absorbed, they turned to leave, only for Arthur to stop them. "You also need to take that with you," he said apologetically, pointing to a huge packing case which sat in the corner. "I really do need Mad-Eye to take a look at it. It's full of dark magic artefacts."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Anonymous tip; it was in an antiques shop in Burmondsey Market."

It was bloody heavy when they took one end each, and it was the work of ten expletive-filled minutes to get it back to the Auror Office. It wasn't a complete waste of time though, since Moody spent the rest of the afternoon leading the apprentice aurors through the common enchantments dark wizards put on objects, and how to remove them. A few of the objects weren't dark magic-specific, such as the foe-glass that Moody immediately put on his desk, but some were so gruesome they didn't bear thinking about. Unfortunately for Sirius, he didn't have to think about their use too much, since a lot of them had been present in his childhood home. It was almost like looking at the contents of the drawing room actually. One Hand of Glory, check. One pocket watch, time-lock cursed, check. One pickled creature eye, check (though in the case of Grimmauld Place, the Blacks had a troll's eye, and this one had once belonged to a dragon). One pair flesh-eating gloves, check. It went on.

"All I'm missing is an abusive house-elf and I'll have the full nostalgia experience," he muttered.

Prongs raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Seriously? Your parents' home has," he picked up a book and held it between forefinger and thumb, "a grimoire bound in human skin?"

"No. They've got at least three."

"Urgh, these bindings are made of hair!"

"Now you know why I left," Sirius said grimly.

They had each been given an object from the packing case, and Moody expected a report from each of them. Included had to be a description of the object, the nature of the curse or enchantment laid upon it, as well as the recommendation of the auror as to the best way to remove said curse. They needed recommendations only, since actually removing the curse would be the job of Arthur Weasley and Bill Perkins. Their lives, Mad-Eye had emphasised darkly, could well be in the apprentice-aurors' hands.

Prongs could have done without the pressure, but Sirius found it helpful. It took his mind off what he was sure was going to be an unpleasant evening.

Octavia did not act oddly towards Helena at all—she continued to be mild-mannered, friendly and helpful to her. Lily, too, though she watched the redhead a bit more carefully. Probably because she believed her to be under the Imperius Curse. The serious injuries ward was full of the Azkaban wardens who had been wounded by Death Eaters. Some had lost limbs, others their minds—temporarily, most of them. Helena felt so sorry for them, the men and women staring at nothing, or wandering around asking random questions about the weather or relatives who were apparently dead, according to next of kin. It took a lot of Draughts of Peace to get these ones to keep still. Then there was a lot of Doctor Ubbley's to apply. They had to find out exactly what curses had been used against them before any dispelling could get underway.

"Okay, Miss Gladswynn, I just need you to look out of the window and tell me what you see," she said to her patient.

Annie Gladswynn looked towards the door. Gently, Helena turned her head to the window. Annie offered no resistance. "I see…rain. And clouds." She flinched. "Thunder and lightning."

Annie's father leaned forwards, looking concerned. "No, Annie…it's sunny outside, is it? Blue sky. See?"

Annie only smiled absently. "If you say so, Mum."

Mr Gladswynn looked at Helena in hopeless confusion. She tried for an encouraging smile. "Don't worry—this is quite normal in these cases. It's a more advanced form of the Confundus Charm really. Everything's the reverse of what it should be."

"So she won't- I mean, will she stay like this for long? It's just I don't fancy being called 'Mum' forever. Not sure my wife will either."

"Well, don't worry—we'll have her back to normal again in no time."

The curse hadn't been cast well. When it was, it was designed to turn enemies into allies. Annie was supposed to have been attacking with the Death Eaters, and probably shooting this ward up with various deadly spells, but whoever had cast it was an idiot, and Annie was thankfully harmless. It was no time before she was back to normal, in less than four hours, which Helena regarded as an achievement. Once she had Octavia between them had set most of the patience with neural disturbances to rights, Helena went to help Lily. She was working in another ward, this one dealing with physical wounds; healing burns, sealing cuts and attaching prosthetic limbs to those who needed them. A fair few aurors had had legs or arms blown off, but happily, magic was a highly useful tool in that. The replacement limbs did not look like those they had lost, being metallic in colour, but they were stronger and infinitely more durable than flesh and bone. Tricky magic, but something that every fully-fledged Healer could perform.

Helena ran up the stairs to the floor Lily was on, bumping into a redheaded woman coming the other way. Helena probably would have offered a cursory apology and continued on her way, if not for three things. One: the other witch looked to be heavily pregnant. Two: her handbag had been knocked off her shoulder, and the contents were now all over the floor. Three: she was a familiar figure.

"Molly! I'm so sorry, let me just-"

They both bent down—Molly with more difficulty than Helena—to pick things up; lipstick pocket mirror, several quills and some keys, and a note, written on a scrap of parchment. Molly reached for it, but then stopped with a significant look at Helena. Taking the hint, the brunette took the parchment and put it up her wide sleeve, then handed the refilled bag back to Molly.

"Again, I'm very sorry, Mrs Weasley," she said, more formally this time.

"Oh, no problem, Healer Malfoy, none at all."

With a cheerful wink, Molly was descending again. She paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Do give my regards to Lily Potter, won't you?"

Helena smiled. "I will."

She went inside the ward and easily picked out Lily, who was bent over a patient, rubbing a soothing salve onto his acidic burn. When Helena went over, she asked immediately, "Any change with Octavia?"

Helena shook her head. "Not one."

"See? I told you it would be alright," Lily smiled.

"Alright, mental note made: in the future-"

"Always listen to Lily."

Helena grinned. "Always listen to Lily."

"I need your help here—as well as the burn, Mr Palmer here can't-"

"Sssssssssstop sssssssslurring my sssssssssssssssses," Mr Palmer finished. "It ssssssssstarted when I got hit with a cursssssssssssssssse from one of the Death Eatersssssssssssssss."

"It's a common side effect," Lily assured him. "Sibilance Syndrome. Helena, could you help while I finish up here?"

"Of course."

They both set to work, and after a moment Lily gave Helena a sideways glance. "On the subject of always listening to Lily…"

"Please don't mention Sirius," Helena said, holding up a hand.

"So, despite the fact that he proposed to you last night, you're perfectly happy to not bring it up again and not admit what a huge deal it is?"

"Why is it a big deal? I love him, he loves me…isn't marriage a natural progression for a couple?"

"Yes, unless one half of the couple is a committment-phobe who runs away at the mere mention of the word 'wife'. Face it, Helena, not so very long ago, you were using each other for sex. Now he's proposing to you!"

Helena shrugged. "Well…I suppose I'm just a very good shag."

Both young women jumped as Octavia's voice sounded from behind them. "I'm sure you are, Healer Malfoy, but as far as I can see that's not really relevant to Sibilance Syndrome, is it?"

"Sorry, Octavia. We'll get on."

Octavia stood over them for a while, and Helena and Lily deliberately did not look at one another. Not because they were afraid of laughing, but because they couldn't risk Octavia spotting anything she shouldn't. Eventually, Octavia moved off, and both women gave a sigh of relief.

"Thought she'd never leave."

Helena nodded. "Lily, when do you start your maternity leave?"

"Not for about five months yet…why?"

"Just wondering how I'll bear this place without you," Helena replied. "Do you know what you're having yet, boy or girl?"

"Not yet. James is pretty convinced it's a girl though. 'Fatherly intuition' or some such nonsense."

"Might not be nonsense, you know. Sirius and I think it'll be a girl."

Lily smiled, but it was a confident, assured smile of a mother who knew her child inside and out. "No, it's a boy, I'm sure it is. He moves like he should be playing football."

"Playing what?"

"Football. It's a muggle sport where the players kick a ball around with the feet, try and get it into goals."

"What…just one ball?"

"Yep."

"That sounds incredibly boring."

"Well…yeah, it is to be honest."

"Besides, any child of Prongs', girl or boy, has to be a Quidditch player from the minute he or she's born."

Lily laughed. "Well, we'll see in a few months."

Helena checked quickly, but seeing no one around close enough to hear or see too much detail, she pulled out the note Molly had given her. It was brief and to the point.

Meeting tonight, 8. The Burrow. I'll be cooking.

By half past eight that evening, Helena knew that she was a better chef than Molly. But Molly was a better cook. Helena could make a croquembouche, maybe, but she could never be able to make a sponge cake with such delicious simplicity. And she was fairly certain that when—if—she ever became a mother, she should take lessons from Molly, because hers was the kind of food that happy families grew up on.

The remnants of sausage and mash were off the table, and the plates were washing themselves up, and Dumbledore called the meeting to order. There were a lot of people crowded in the kitchen—including herself, Helena counted eleven, and of course the two Weasleys. The five Weasley children were all upstairs in bed, and sweetly asleep. Or so Helena had assumed until about five minutes ago, at which point Molly had had to take her toddler twin boys back to bed. They were far too young to understand what the adults were talking about, but Molly also but an Impurtable Charm on the kitchen door.

When Helena asked why, Arthur merely shook his head. "You don't know Fred and George."

Shortly afterwards, Dumbledore called for silence. "My friends, we are losing grounds. All of us are aware of it. Our numbers are fewer, our strength weaker than Voldemort's."

No one bothered to point out that if Dumbledore was going for inspiring, he wasn't going the right way about it. This was Dumbledore. Whatever he said about it, it would not be 'give up'.

"But physical strength is nothing without the intelligent strategy to back it up. And that is our weapon. Voldemort tries to kill people, so we will have already protected them. He destroys a building, so we will have already build an identical copy. We must be two steps ahead of him at all times."

"Then we need to compile a list of potential targets," James said.

"Exactly. Once we have, we can give particular people or buildings extra protection."

"All of them?" Arthur asked. "That's a pretty long list, Albus, and we're over-stretched as it is."

"True, but we cannot in all good conscience leave anyone defenceless if we don't have to. In addition, there may be a way to narrow down the list. Helena?"

Helena started, jolted from her thoughts by Dumbledore's soft inquiry. She recovered her composure quickly though, and didn't look nervous, only hot. It was boiling inside the tiny kitchen, all of them clustered together, but Helena hadn't removed her thick woolly jumper, just her coat.

"I can give you a vague idea—an insight into his overarching plan, anyway. My best guess is he'll continue baiting the Ministry, toying with them but not attacking in any serious way. Just enough to keep Crouch and his enforcement officers busy, so that they won't be thinking too much. But I think Voldemort-" Everyone flinched. "Sorry, the Dark Lord, will be just playing with them. Dangling a ball of string in front of a cat."

"Then what's he really going to be doing?" Sirius asked.

She looked at him, then seemed to be speaking only to him, as if he were the only person who mattered. It was true—she needed to be honest with him more than anyone else. "He told me he was going after the muggles. He intends to collapse their civilisation and sweep to power in the aftermath. The Prime Minister is- was-"

Was she though? Helena had cast the Imperius Curse, but she had no idea how to lift it. It might require a conscious effort to maintain it, so perhaps it was already dispelled. She remembered the niggling sensation of having another mind connected to hers—she didn't feel that now. The link was gone, so the curse must be too. But that didn't mean someone else hadn't recursed the PM-

"Helena?"

She cleared her throat. "Sorry. The Prime Minister was under the Imperius Curse, and it's possible that she could have been subdued again after I left-"

"So it was your curse then," Sirius interrupted. His voice was neutral, but his eyes were hard as diamonds, and blazing.

Helena tried to swallow her fear and wet her suddenly dry mouth. She nodded, her voice coming out in a cracked whisper. "Yes."

He said nothing, and didn't move. That was left to Lily, who gasped loudly and put her hands to her mouth. "Oh, Helena, you didn't!"

"I-"

"Helena had my full authorisation to do anything necessary," Dumbledore said quietly.

It was enough for the others, though Molly continued to look wary. Helena felt grateful for Dumbledore's support with everyone else, but she knew it wouldn't make a scrap of difference to how Sirius felt, or what he thought. She tried to put that impending argument out of her mind, and finished her answer. "I think vulnerable people will be a problem, but not in danger of death. In order to make his plan work, the Dark Lord will need to launch two coups, simultaneously—one in the muggle world and one in ours. It can be grassroots with the muggles to begin with, but here it can only work if he seizes control of the Ministry. He'll be recruiting."

"So we need to look out for people likely to join him."

"Not just the obvious ones either," Moody put in. "He'll terrorise, he'll blackmail, he'll curse. We need to watch people close to the seat of power. They are the ones at risk."

Dumbledore turned to Lily. "Lily, where might he start attacking in the muggle world? Where would make the most sense?"

"Um…power stations I suppose. Fuel depots, mines, water treatment plants, basic utilities. Things that society needs to function. Shut them down, and people will get desperate."

Kingsley nodded. "Extreme situations make people look for extreme situations."

"Exactly. It's actually one of the long-term causes of the Second World War," Lily said. "Desperation of the people enabled Hitler to gather mass support."

No one else around the table—apart from Dumbledore—had any idea who she meant, and Lily made a soft noise of annoyance. "Never mind. The point is, Kingsley's right. Desperate times call for desperate measures. The muggles are like anyone else would be in that situation."

"So, what we actually have to do," Remus summarised, "is prevent the total ruin and collapse of British society?"

"Er…yeah. Pretty much."

"No pressure then."

As soon as they apparated, the silence became oppressive. Helena was suddenly brutally aware of the difference between where they had just been, and where they were now. The Weasleys' home had been cramped, tiny, shabby and cluttered—oozing warmth, comfort and familial love. Number 17 Kensington Gardens was vast, empty, finely decorated—emanating poise and sophistication, upper class charm. This house could easily be the lair of a Death Eater. Molly Weasley's house never could.

She turned to Sirius—he was facing away from her, and made no move to look at her now. "Say something," she whispered.

He said nothing.

She moved to him, hands outstretched. Just as she was about to touch him, he moved away. "Padfoot, please."

"What do you want me to say, Helena?"

"I don't know, I-"

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"I tried!" she defended. "But when I started to, you said you knew and that it was alright!"

"How would I call this alright if I'd known everything?" he shot back. "The Imperius Curse, Helena! An Unforgivable! Did you honestly think I'd let that one slide?"

"I had no choice—if I ever wanted to get any information out of Voldemort then I had to gain his trust! Being squeamish over a curse was not going to get the job done!"

"Squeamish? You suppressed and enslaved another living soul, Helena, stripped them of their free will! There is a fucking reason that curse lands people in Azkaban!"

"You think I don't know that?"

"No, I'm not sure you do! What else has slipped your mind, exactly? What else don't I know? Tortured anyone recently? Or maybe you jumped straight to murder!"

"Don't be absurd!" she snapped. "I did what I had to do, and I didn't hurt anyone—I will not apologise for doing it!"

"I don't want you to apologise for the act, but there is no reason you couldn't tell me!"

"There's every reason!" she yelled. "How about the fact that you would have immediately tried to talk me out of it, if not put a body-bind on me right there and then! You're an auror, Sirius, how exactly was I supposed to break it to you gently that I was using the dark arts?"

"Forget breaking it gently, you didn't give me a chance to hear any of it! And you don't know I would have stopped you, or even tried to talk you out of it-"

"Oh yes I do!"

"How? He been teaching you Legilimency as well as how to be a Death Eater?"

"No—I know because you loved me! I know because you wouldn't have allowed me to risk my life, as you would have seen it, because you loved me! And-" her voice broke momentarily, indignation being replaced by fear and dread. "And however you feel about me now, that was true then, and it was the reason."

He looked at her incredulously, then stalked towards her. Involuntarily, she found herself backing up, except once she was against the wall there was nowhere to go. Sirius put his hands either side of her body, and his face very close to hers. He'd stopped shouting too, and instead his voice was low, but more full of emotion than it had been with all his yelling. "What do you mean, 'however I feel about you now', Hellfire?"

A sob rolled up from her chest. Hellfire. That had always been affectionate. Now he spat the nickname out like poison.

Then Sirius shook her. "Answer me!"

"I could hardly expect you to still have any feelings for me," she said. "And certainly none that could be positive."

"That's my decision," he growled. "Or are you taking away my free will as well?"

"Of course not-"

"Then shut the fuck up. Shut up."

She shut her mouth. And then promptly found it being opened again—by Sirius' tongue. She was hardly in a position to refuse him, and nor did she want to. All she wanted was for him to kiss her. She didn't care why. After successfully extracting all the breath from her lungs, and making her lips swollen (he had not been gentle), he pulled away from her mouth.

"And say I didn't," he said, ripping her skirt off, "Say I didn't love you …"

She needed him—God, she needed him. She unzipped his fly, yanking his trousers down. The only noise she made was to yelp in mingled pain and pleasure when he gave a sharp, almost vicious buck of his hips.

"Say I hated you," he groaned, fully sheathed inside her. He leaned down and buried his face between her neck and shoulder, wanting to mark her. To brand he. Helena's nails dug into his shoulders, but it was impossible to tell whether she was enjoying the rough fuck. Some dark part of him didn't care. "Would you still love me?"

She moaned. "Yes. Yes, always, Sirius, I love you."

"If all I wanted was this?" he demanded, kissing her roughly. Teeth clashed together as he worried at her lips. Their pelvises moved together, driving them both higher, faster. "To fuck you? To use you?"

Helena let out a sob, but clung to him still tighter. "Anything! Sirius-"

"You'd come when I tell you? Not one…second before…"

She tilted her head and kissed him again, just as hard.

He tasted blood in his mouth, and took it as assent. He briefly bit her earlobe. "Then come. Come right now."

Helena let out a keening wail of his name, and quivered into orgasm. He followed not a second later, draining himself into her, his willing vessel. Helena ran her fingers through his sweaty hair, her chest heaving. She'd never felt so full or so empty—so desolate or so in raptures. He had wrung her out completely.

"Sirius-"

He looked up, and she was immediately silenced. The contempt hadn't gone from his gaze, and there was hard iron there. "If that's all you think you're good for," he breathed, "then I guess we're done here."

Then he left, transforming into the great black dog and shooting out of the house. Left alone to collapse on the floor, sweaty, bruised and used, Helena sank down in sobs, hands to her bleeding lips and completely heartbroken. When the Dark Mark on her arm began to burn, she did not have the will to resist it. She disapparated immediately.

The room was dark. She huddled into a tighter ball and shook with her tears.

"This is how you come to me?"

Helena flinched at the silken voice that caressed her and flinched again at the cold fingers which touched her cheek.

Voldemort's red eyes examined the teardrops now clinging to his fingers with callous curiosity. Ordinarily, Helena would have resolved then and there never to cry again. Now she was too ashamed and heartbroken. And, she could not deny, she was scared. Very and deeply scared, she realised. She had been afraid for months. The only reason she had to be brave had abandoned her, five short minutes ago.

"Explain yourself," Voldemort said tilting her face up to see her eyes. As he did, he let a soft sigh escape him. "Ah…the other one."

"What do you want?" Helena whispered.

"Exactly what I called to me. Now I find I must fetch my daughter out myself."

"What-"

"Legilimens."

A/N: So...any thoughts? Review please!