Rabastan sighed when he looked at the newspaper article proclaiming the publication of the new history of the war, by Mr. Timothy Barker. Rita Skeeter, of all people, reviewed the book, and he rubbed his temples.
"This takes a different approach to war history, revealing some carefully withheld information," Barker proclaims.
When asked what specifically about the book would tell readers something new, Barker said, "The story of how Voldemort died was fabricated to protect the actual person who finished him off. There's two whole chapters dedicated to the true story and its cover-up."
Who is this hero, dear readers?
"Cara Black, nee Selwyn," Barker said. "The story was created to protect her from the emotional turmoil of dealing with the spotlight while she was expecting her first child, among other reasons, but Madam Black is the unsung heroine of the war."
Rabastan felt his chest restricting, wondering what this new information would mean for Cara, for the children, for Sirius. Everyone would know now, and buy the book, and read the story. Sirius, Rabastan knew, had given a full account of the true story so that it was told correctly and respectfully to all those involved.
Part of this was coloring Rabastan as better than the truth really would, but Rabastan didn't really mind. He had been a Death Eater, and everyone knew it. But Sirius's children still didn't know what he'd done during the war, and it would shatter their reality to learn.
Delia sat down at the breakfast table before the boys came down, and Rabastan looked across the table at his wife, frowning.
"Well," he said, sliding the paper to her, "for better or for worse, it's done now."
"See, they're praising her as a hero," Delia said, smiling, as if this one article would determine the gambit of public opinion.
He hoped she was right, but he would pay a visit to Cara, regardless, and help her explain matters to Jason and Caroline, as he promised Sirius. It was Sirius's unfortunate responsibility to explain things to Catherine and Harry Potter. Rabastan couldn't imagine what it would be like for Sirius to tell Catherine, to show her the mark on his arm as he had resolved to do.
"I need to go out today," he said.
Delia's eyes told him that she knew exactly what he was going out for and that she wasn't pleased about it, but he really didn't care. She'd set this in motion, and he would not pity her for any adverse impact to her life. Maybe next time she would look before she leapt, before she dragged everyone else down a cliff with her.
"How long?"
"However long it takes," he said, looking up as the boys stumbled in sleepily. He motioned for Delia to remove the paper from the room, not wanting them to see the news until Jason and Caroline knew, at the very least. It wouldn't be right. Delia kissed both boys on the top of the head and said good morning as she took the paper – rolled up in her hand – out of the room as though she had to put it somewhere significant. If either boy noticed, they made no sign of it as they sat down at the table.
No, he could still see the sleep in both pairs of eyes. Whatever was going on behind them, it didn't have anything to do with Cara's history. They were perhaps still thinking of the dreams they'd had, of the games they would play or the books they would read during this particular day. They had no concept that the whole of England was about to turn upside down completely, and that their aunt was at the center of it all.
"Any big plans today, boys?" he asked, as though nothing was amiss at all in the universe.
They just shrugged.
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Dorcas walked into work and everyone stared at her. That was her first clue that the morning paper had been well-read that morning, and that some of them had already picked up copies of the book to skim through. Amos Diggory's eyes widened upon seeing her, and she had a feeling that was a conversation she was going to have, but she didn't want to have it right now.
She sat down and pulled the top file off her stack, trying to ignore all the many pairs of eyes that were looking at her, waiting for her to address the matter at hand.
But how could she address anything until she'd spoken to Cara, until she knew that the Black children were handling things okay?
Because she was a mother. She understood that Catherine and Jason and Caroline were potentially the true victims of Mr. Barker's search for truth. Until she knew that they were coping, she wasn't going to address anything at all, because it wasn't her place.
Someone came over to her desk and she looked up expectantly at the young man, who hovered for a moment, frowning like he was trying to think of something to say.
"Did you need something?" she asked, trying to be polite instead of short.
Perhaps she didn't succeed, or perhaps he was just a nervous type, because he hastily stuck a file on her stack and hurried away from her desk as though she'd tried to bite his hand off. With a sigh, Dorcas went back to tuning out the rest of the world.
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When Rabastan arrived at Grimmauld Place, Cara was pale, but functional.
"Have they seen it?" he asked when she launched herself into his outstretched arms. It was holding her in a hug that he could feel her unsteadiness fully, and he realized that she was quite shaken by the whole affair.
"No," she whispered, trembling like a leaf. "I don't know what to say, Rabastan. I don't know how…. I need Sirius."
"He can't get away from work," he reminded her. "Don't worry. He and I had a talk. I know what you wanted to cover with them. I'll be right here if your mind goes blank or anything."
He could have kicked himself for the insensitive choice of idiom, but she just flinched slightly and nodded. Sooner better than later.
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Lucius had purchased a copy of the book as soon as he saw the article, and he could have cursed Narcissa for the lack of warning on this matter.
Everything. The book had everything, although he realized Black must have told the story, because Rabastan came out looking an awful lot better than he really was. For Cara's sake, no doubt.
"What is this?" he said, waving the book at his wife, who was sketching in her study.
"It's a book, dear," Narcissa said, not looking up. "And if you have such a problem with it, well, it's a bit late now. Go have a drink, Lucius, before you say something you'll regret."
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Harry sat down with Catherine in Uncle Sirius's office, rubbing his hands together as they waited for an explanation of what had happened, of the news article that had rocked their world that morning.
"I owe an explanation," Sirius said, sighing, sitting down from pacing, not meeting their eyes. "Both of you but…but especially to you, Kitty-Cat."
Catherine was pulling absently at her fingers, waiting for the explanation in question.
"I met your mother when we were children and…and her parents were very cruel to her," he said sighing. "Uncle Rabastan's father tortured her when she was in his way, and she was so late in showing signs of magic that they kept her in the cellar so that people might forget she existed, in case she turned out to be a Squib."
Harry watched a shiver run through Catherine. He couldn't imagine a life like that.
"I didn't see her again for years, about a decade. I ran away from home when I was sixteen because of…disagreements in philosophy with my family. Lived with your dad's family," he said, smiling at Harry weakly. "Joined the fight with Professor Dumbledore and my friends and your mum and everyone after school. And after fighting for a while, this girl showed up, a little younger than me, found in the forest unconscious. When she woke up she had no memories and…and she was so helpless. I was tasked with looking after her, taking care of her, because we had bonded."
He rubbed his eyes and said, "Your mother's memories came back slowly, and we realized they'd used her as…as bait, trying to pull me back into the fold to fight for Voldemort."
Catherine gasped, looking up with wide eyes, shaking her head. Harry felt his stomach drop as he realized what must have happened. That Uncle Sirius had to turn to save Aunt Cara.
After a long hesitation, Uncle Sirius rolled up his left sleeve and showed them a faded black mark, a mark Harry recognized from textbooks as the mark of Voldemort, with a skull and a snake coming out the mouth. Catherine gasped, startled at the sight of it.
"I had to join in name," he said softly, "to keep her safe. I passed information both ways, serving Dumbledore. And then a small group of us started learning how to defeat the Dark Lord. We worked with Dumbledore and some others to undo some of the powerful Dark Magic he'd done to keep himself safe. And when it was all undone, well, it just so happened he'd discovered that Dorcas…that Rhea's mother was a spy. And I stood up for her instead of torturing her, and I was tortured in her place."
Harry looked over at Catherine, and he saw that her eyes were shining with tears. He swallowed thickly and turned his face back to Uncle Sirius, whose face had taken on a gaunt, haunted quality Harry had never seen before.
"Your mother walked by, or was looking for me. Anyway, she killed him. Ran him through with a sword. It's more complicated, but we were worried that if people knew…things would be difficult."
He ran his hand across his eyes quickly and said, "We talked to this historian who'd been digging, who was finding inconsistencies in the official story, and we decided it was time for the real truth to come forward, come what may."
Harry and Catherine sat in stunned silence as this new history sank in, as they looked at the hideous mark on Uncle Sirius's arm. Harry felt he should be crying, because Catherine and he father both were.
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Howard leaned over and asked Rhea if she knew about Catherine's mother, and Rhea looked at him with an uncharacteristically severe look. He shrank back from her, expecting her to berate him, but she said nothing. Instead she just kept giving him that severe look, and he realized that he wasn't going to get an answer to his question.
He slipped away from her, sitting next to a couple of other students, including Michael Corner, who was on the Quidditch team with Rhea.
"She's sort of snapped," he said softly.
Michael nodded and said, "Terry already asked. Should have seen the look she gave him, mate. It was brutal. Sort of cool, though, right? Kitty Black's mum being a war hero and nobody even knew that she basically ended the war singlehandedly."
That wasn't really the impression Howard got from the article, but he knew better than to fight with Michael. He got surly when contradicted.
Instead the two boys debated whether to warn other students off asking Rhea questions about Madam Black, and they opted not to warn anyone. It would be far more entertaining not to warn anyone and see how far she could be pushed before she actually exploded verbally at someone.
"Does this make us terrible?" Howard asked Michael.
"Nah."
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Harry felt slightly stunned as he sat down at the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. Many people were staring at him, perhaps to see if he knew anything he hadn't yet said, and he was entertaining the idea of going to his dormitory or going to fly, just to get away from people's eyes.
Anything to not feel the pressure of all these silent watchers.
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Catherine sighed, trying to wrap her brain around the whole issue, hiding behind the massive mirror on the fourth floor. She rested her head on the cool wall, closing her eyes and trying to get the image of that hideous mark out of her mind's eye.
She felt her mirror in her pocket and she sighed, pulling it out, looking down at Harry's face.
He frowned up at her and said, "Where are you?"
"Mirror," she said, shrugging. "What's up?"
"I wanted to talk somewhere without…eyes," he said, frowning. "Meet me at the Quidditch pitch?"
It seemed as good a place as any, and as much as she thought she wanted to be alone, it might be nice to have the company of someone else who knew what she knew about everything. And right now, that was only Harry.
"Be there soon," she said.
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Harry sat down with Catherine on the grass of the Quidditch pitch, sitting down and looking up at the sky. It was a nice day, and the grass was even a bit springy in spite of the hardness of the ground.
"I sort of feel winded," Catherine said, laying on her back. "Like…like I don't really know what to think. There's just so much that I don't…." She sighed and shook her head, looking down at her hands.
He nodded, understanding completely. It was like the adults in their lives were people they didn't know, and they weren't sure how to deal with those emotions. He laid down beside her, looking up at the cloudy skies, feeling her hand brush his as she tried to get comfortable.
"D'you ever come here when you want to be alone?" she asked softly.
"Sometimes," he admitted. "Usually I fly."
"To clear your head?" she asked, rolling onto her side and resting her head on his chest. She didn't even ask, but he didn't really mind. All the strange, unsteady feelings he had, she probably had it times a hundred.
"Yeah."
"Does it help?"
"Mmm. Sometimes."
He didn't realize he was touching her hair until he felt it sifting through his fingers, silky and cool against his skin. She smelled sweet, a little floral.
Catherine raised her head of his chest and looked down at him, blinking thoughtfully through thick, dark lashes. He could see the turmoil behind her eyes, but he couldn't untangle it. He wanted to smooth it out just by meeting her gaze, but no matter how long he looked at her it didn't seem to make a difference.
"I shouldn't feel betrayed," she whispered. "My mum had her reasons, and they did what they did because they had to. But…"
He nodded. She couldn't help but feel betrayed, because they didn't just hide things. They'd lied. To her, to the government, to everyone. He knew she was never going to un-see the mark on her father's arm.
"D'you want to fly?" he asked. She frowned, a question in the twitch of her features. "I have my broom. I was going to go for a fly later anyway. D'you…want to join me?"
Catherine sat up, and he sat up with her, wondering when they'd moved so close together.
"I didn't bring a broom," she said, almost evasively.
"You can ride with me," he said, "like when I took Caro up."
It wouldn't be like that. It would mean something different, although what he couldn't quite find words for.
After a long hesitation, she agreed. He stood, helping her to her feet, and he retrieved his broom as she brushed the grass off her clothes and arms.
Harry held out the Firebolt for her to mount, and he climbed on behind her. He didn't usually like flying with someone else, and he'd only ridden with Caroline because he – and her parents – didn't like the idea of her on the Firebolt without him. Somehow, though, this seemed right.
He kicked off from the ground and raised them up slowly, until they were even with the seats of the Quidditch stands. Harry knew that flying over the Quidditch pitch was the safe, responsible thing to do, but it wouldn't help clear her thoughts and raise her spirits, so he leaned them forward, urging the broom to dart upward, out toward the lake. He felt her back against his chest, and he felt her sharp intake of breath as they lurched forward over the grounds. There was a delighted laugh that he heard escape her lips before they rushed out over the lake.
No, he didn't usually like sharing his broom with someone, but he was enjoying himself. He could smell her hair as it whipped across his face, could feel every breath she took as he wrapped his arms around her waist to reach the handle of the broom. The warmth that radiated off her, between their bodies especially, was a stark and comfortable contrast to the cold air rushing around them at breathless speed. They were moving so quickly that everything in the world except for Catherine was blurring at the edges, melting together in muted colors and shapes.
She might have said something, but he couldn't hear it over the wind rushing by, could only feel the vibrations of the words where his arms touched her waist. If for only this brief moment she could forget about all the eyes, all the questions, all the emotions they would have to deal with back up at the school, Harry decided it wasn't so bad to fly with Catherine. In a lot of ways, he thought without giving much consideration to what it might mean, he thought he rather preferred it to flying alone.
When they landed on the lawn, she was breathless, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, her usually smooth and flawless hair attractively windswept.
In the briefest instant, Harry recognized that she'd never looked more beautiful, but then he made some joke about her hair looking ridiculous, and the moment was gone with their laughter.
A/N: The truth, or parts of it, is out, Sirius has to face the consequences, and Harry and Catherine comfort each other. Hope y'all have enjoyed the influx of bonus chapters!
Review Prompt: Friendly reminder to let me know if you want a Part 3! Also, how d'you think Sirius handled the whole mess of telling the children? And who do you think took things harder, Jason or Caroline?
Q&A:
Q: Is Harry going to become the next Tom Riddle? (AvinaNox)
A: Hahaha, tempting as that would be, NO. Harry does echo another character, but it's NOT Voldemort. Fun as that would be.
-C
