100. Old Times
It was practically three in the morning when the future Mister and Misses Black finally poured into bed, their guests gone (due to the insistence of Dumbledore; if it had been up to the Marauders, they would have thrown an impromptu slumber party,) and the house locked up good and tight. Despite their exhaustion, the couple could not help but lay awake for a bit, still ablaze from their evening.
"I didn't realize it was going to be that easy," Mora said. Her words wafted through the darkness of their bedroom.
"Were you expecting twenty-questions?" Sirius suggested, snuggling into her side. "Let's start. Animal, mineral, or vegetable?"
"I'm serious!" she insisted lightly, despite the smile that had begun to creep over her lips. "It was just like old times, you know? We might as well have been in Gryffindor Tower..."
"That's the way we've always been, luv," her fiance said.
Mora sighed. "Yeah, but, if things were ever going to change, now would be it... with everything that's happened, everything that's come out into the open, you'd think..."
"You thought they would treat you differently."
"Not really, no, I know our mates aren't capable of that kind of cruelty, no matter how much I deserve it."
"Mora -"
"I thought at least they would look at me differently," she finished. "I mean, how could they not?"
"Because you are still you, and nothing is ever going to change that, you hear?" He kissed the top of her head. "Did I ever mention to you that I actually prefer blondes?"
"Oh really?" Mora swore she could hear him grinning in the darkness.
"Guilty."
Soon the laughter softened, the giggles ceased altogether, and the young couple fell to sleep. Yet the refuge of slumber was not enough to deter what had already been set in motion.
For far away, in a fortress overlooking the sea, Voldemort was not sleeping. With this night, his plan had entered its newest stage. Tonight marked the beginning of the end for the Black boy, and the beginning of his Ra's return.
No, far away Voldemort was not sleeping - he was laughing.
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Merely one week ago, they had been dining with their friends, laughing with the Marauders in the comfort of their own four walls. That refuge was certainly gone now. But it wasn't the dangers of war or the immediacy of battle that had pulled the future Misses and Mister Black out of their hideaway, but the demands of bureaucracy. Now, Sirius and Mora were at the Ministry of Magic, to meet with the Minister herself, Millicent Bagnold.
The Ministry of Magic certainly was not what Mora had expected. The atrium whirled with an activity of controlled, constant frenzy. The fireplaces lining the walls glowed emerald, and then another witch or wizard would slip out and straight into the throng of Ministry personnel. The gold of the ornate fountain in the distance glinted off the dark browns and blacks of the floors and walls. It looked more like some sort of palace, with legions upon legions of men and women in business robes soaring about.
For some reason she had envisioned a place a bit more mundane, like an office building that just happened to house the movers and shakers of wizarding Britain. Cubicles, hallways, maybe a coffee-pot or two. She was in no way prepared for the sheer size of it all, the incredible vastness of the place, the constant humming and the torrents of people running from department to department. She had not expected the surge of people, the sea of robes as the all whooshed past, nor the whizzing of the enchanted memos flying overhead. It was far grander, and far more intimidating, than she had imagined.
But as she tread through the daunting atrium, her mind wandered. She could hardly keep her thoughts on the task at hand, though it should be terrifying to her. It should be consuming her every thought, she should be riddled with fear, with anxiety, or at least with the smallest shred of apprehension. But now, all she could think of was a rainy day. Not a real rainy day, not a memory, but a dream she had the night before. It did not necessarily constitute a nightmare, yet it left her chilled all the same.
The clouds above threatened stormily, churning a dark gray above the grounds. The grounds paled as the clouds grew thicker and thicker, casting the world around them into black and white. Mora hugged her cloak about her, though a wind picked up, threatening to billow straight through her. She peered over her shoulder, but the outline of the castle in the distance grew dimmer and dimmer amidst the sudden darkness.
"Maybe we should head back..." she began to say, though her words fell away as soon as they had left her mouth. No, she did not want to turn back. They probably wouldn't reach the castle in time anyways. It made more sense to seek refuge somewhere out here than to race across the open green in the impending storm.
She felt fingers slip between her own, beckoning her forward. Her eyes remained fixed on the castle, though she was being guided in the opposite direction, further and further away until it became a mere blur on the horizon. The blur smeared into a dark nothingness. A rumble threatened in the distance. Her heart jumped at the sound; she never did like thunder. Again, she found herself stopping, fearful to press forward. Where were they going? She dared not to look ahead of her, and frantically her gaze searched for the castle, but it had long faded from view.
The grasp on her hand tightened, and a shot of warmth surged up through her arm. The hand that had been leading her let go, leaving her palm suddenly empty. She turned her head, trying to spot whoever had been guiding her, but the person had vanished. Now, all she saw ahead of her must have retreated underneath the tree.
She froze. Did she follow? Did she turn back? The rumbling returned, louder this time, and the world around her darkened even more.
"Come with me," a voice sounded.
But Mora had no idea if she followed the voice, or what that voice had been. Her dream ended, and those few last moments lost in that blearly place between slumber and consciousness. The last moments seeped through her memory. She might have turned back, or gone with the voice, or she could have bloody exploded into flames for all she knew. It was all a blur. She had awoken in the early hours of the morning, itching to recall the end of the dream, struggling with all her might to fall back asleep. The dream had scared her, in a way, but she could not help but want to know what was happening.
She felt as if she had been there before; not in the real place, but that dream. Maybe she had it before? She was usually miserable at recalling her dreams, unless they were particularly horrifying nightmares. Was this different because this wasn't her first time having it? Was it reoccurring?
Come with me...
Where the bloody hell had she been going? It looked like Hogwarts, so clearly it couldn't be anywhere too nefarious. It was stupid. She was stupid for being so bloody bent out of shape about this. It was just a dream for Merlin's sake, but she was using it as a way to distract her from the real-life nightmare at hand.
"Luv?"
Sirius' voice jostled Mora back to the world around her. "Sorry...what is it?" she said. She hadn't noticed they had traveled through the immensity of the grand hall and to the elevator.
Sirius smiled understandingly. "Just, you know..." he gestured to the open door. "Lift...for the transporting...of people...us people..."
"Erm - In we go then." Blushing, she shuffled inside, with Sirius beside her. The door folded closed, and with an unapologetic jolt, the elevator soared upwards.
"You don't have to be nervous, luv," Sirius suddenly began, much less smoothly than usual for him.
Eyes unfocused before her, she made a non-commital noise. No, she wasn't nervous, because she was still too busy trying to figure out that bloody dream.
Focus, Mora! she commanded herself. You're about to go in front of the bloody Minister of Magic, to reveal your deepest bloody secrets...focus
"Dumbledore'll be there with us the entire time," the auror continued, "The Minister just needs to know the basics, none of the details, just so everything is on the record...right now all the ministry has got is the reports from the witnesses at the Healer's Ball, Merlin knows they're a bloody mess...and then there's the added complication of Bayard, and how he didn't wind up in Azkaban, but instead is probably rotting at the bottom of the Thames...but it's no matter now; this way, we can get everything out in the open..."
"Sirius?" Mora posed, finally returning from her stupor as the elevator slowed. "While I appreciate the support...are you trying to convince me, or yourself?"
He sighed, far too susceptible to his fiance's all-knowing gaze. "Yeah yeah...you know, usually I'm grateful for how well you can read me, but right now it's just a tad annoying," he said teasingly.
The blonde laughed weakly. "I will still take that as a compliment, Mister Black..."
With that, the elevator shook with a sudden stop. Mora jerked forward a bit, though Sirius remained steady against the jolt. He offered his fiance a sympathetic look, as well as a hand in righting herself. "You get used to it."
"Well...hopefully I won't have to," she said with a small, somewhat-forced smile as they stepped out into the corridor. "Hopefully I can get out of this place as soon as bloody possible..."
"Yes, that is the plan, my dear." Albus Dumbledore stood before him, his pocket watch extended. With one last glance at it, he snapped it shut and stored it within his robes. "Yes, right on schedule, wonderful... how has your morning been?"
Sirius shrugged "Oh, you know, summoned to the Minister's office... totally average."
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Yes, yes, I should have thought so..." He looked to the healer. "Are you ready for this, Mora?"
She took a short breath. "Depends... what should I expect?"
With one hand grazing his beard, Dumbledore began, "In the years I have known him I would say the Minister has been an entirely delightful, poised, and reasonable witch. Of course, with the war's heightened activity, she is most certainly apprehensive of many things, many people..."
"Apprehensive of me then," Mora concluded.
Dumbledore nodded. "The Minister has been subject to the rumors and whisperings going about; my keeping the two of you under lock and key for those weeks after your safe return has caused her to pose a few questions...Millicent does not appreciate being left in the dark. Yet I have the utmost confidence that this conference will put those apprehensions to rest."
"And if they don't?"
"Well, while I firmly believe that won't be the case..." Dumbledore said, with a bit of a mischievous twinkle to his eye, "To put this rather plainly...that would be her problem, not yours."
"Headmaster Dumbledore," a voice beckoned. A curly-hair witch had emerged from the door at the end of the corridor. All eyes turned to her.
"Yes, Misses Pratch," Dumbledore answered amiably.
"The Minister will see you now."
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Hardly an hour later, Mora slumped into Sirius' office chair with an enormous sigh. Of course, she didn't have words. She was still stuck somewhere between fire and numbness.
But not because of the Minister; no, not at all. Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold was truly an astounding woman. Mora could tell why she had been elected last year to take charge of the Ministry; she was undeniably as tough as nails. Her predecessor had stepped down - or, more accurately, been chased out - when he had cracked beneath the pressure of the heightening war. But Bagnold was not to be trifled with. She looked like the type of woman who could be baking cookies with grankids on minute, and leading forces into battle in the next. Amiable as she may be on her off time, she most certainly was no-nonsense in the workplace.
Despite this admiration now held for the minister, the interview had been a severely odd experience for Mora. She had felt so personally struck, yet disassociated. At times it felt as if it wasn't her story she was telling, that it was someone else's life, someone else's tragedy she was recounting. Other times, it was gut-wrenchingly intimate. She had not recounted these events since the night she and Sirius were released. Now it felt surreal, real, impossible, definite, all astronomical all at the same time. Time had only served to muddle things even further.
Even with all her internal complications, she was not faced with judgement from the minister. Mora could hardly comprehend how this could be; not that she wasn't grateful for it, but she was just confused by it. How could this woman, the leader of their country, accept Mora's story without disdain? Was it just politics, an aftereffect of a career of Ministry dealings, or was it genuine?
As Mora answered the slew of questions, explained what a Temparious was and what it meant, her past, her connection to Voldemort, the details of her recent abduction, the Minister listened intently. She watched Mora behind her cool blue eyes, sometimes nodding, other times being completely still. Sometimes, she would direct a question to Sirius, particularly when Mora reached the point of the story where Sirius was portkeyed to the warehouse.
Dumbledore stood by, though it was clear that he did not really need to intercede. He made the formal introduction between Mora and the Minister, but beyond that, he sat quietly beside them. He would supplement with what the Order had done in their attempt to recover Mora and Sirius (it was clear that the Order, while technically a secret-organization, was known to Bagnold. It was also clear that she had no intentions of co-opting the Order or placing it under Ministry scrutiny or control. Again, Mora was astounded. She had a feeling this respect for the independent operations of the Order would not be tolerated by other Ministry officials.)
Through this all, Bagnold listened. And, somehow, she understood.
"I suppose it goes without saying that your future security will be in the hands of Albus," Bagnold said, an all-knowing glint in her eye as she looked to Dumbledore.
"That is the plan, Millicent," Dumbledore answered with a smile.
"Yes, well you are in capable hands," she said, her gaze turning back to Mora and Sirius. "With your residence protected by the Fideles Charm - the location of which I assure you will never be asked of by myself nor anyone else in the Ministry - you are well protected... I also believe it is important for you two to begin to move in the open again."
Mora inched a bit in her seat. "Come out of hiding," she echoed.
Bagnold nodded. "Like you said, Voldemort has assured you that he will not come after you unless you seek him out. It seems for the best, therefore, for you to then re-enter society, move about as you would. This way, if any funny business is to occur on his part, it won't be behind closed doors; it will be right under our noses..."
"With all due respect, Minister, isn't that risky for Mora?" Sirius said. "Isn't that using her as bait?"
"In a way, yes it is," the Minister answered matter-of-factly. "However, after everything I have learned today, I am rather confident that Mora and you both are rather capable of taking care of yourselves in tight situations... do not misunderstand me, though; I have no desire to put Mora or yourself in intentional danger. However, if Voldemort is to go back on his word, which would be to no surprise to anyone in this room, it is best it all be in the open. The more transparent, the safer we will all be in the long run."
"I agree," Mora said, though the tightness of Sirius' hold on her hand let her know that he was not so convinced. "I'm not quite sure if going back to Saint Mungo's is best right now, but I definitely want to go back to Order duty... and Sirius should get back to work."
"Most certainly...and yes, Auror Black should go back to work. I'm afraid that is a bit unavoidable." Bagnold cleared her throat a bit. "I am rather troubled to have to tell you this, after everything the two of you have been through, yet I must inform you that a complaint has been filed against Sirius, demanding his immediate dismall from -"
"What for?!"
"Improper behavior in the case of Colton Bayard," she reported solemnly. Though she raised a hand to stop Mora's next tirade. Mora obeyed with angered silence.
"Millicent," Dumbledore began, leaning forward a bit. "I do not believe Mora and Sirius are aware that as Minister of Magic, you are also preside over the Wizengamot, and have the authority in matters such as this, if the Minister so chooses to be involved."
Mora found her fury dissipating a bit at the headmaster's words. "Which means... you have the power to make this go away...?" Sirius posed.
He was rather subdued on the entire matter; Mora knew he was using all his energy to keep his emotions in check. True, he had made one technocratic mistake in the Bayard case. He had been ordered not to use the portkey to transport Colton to Azkaban, yet Sirius had done it anyway. Though, that did not in any way mean Sirius was at fault for Colton's death. This complaint was ludacris, Mora concluded; totally and completely absurd.
"I have the authority to settle the matter privately; to seal it so that the ruling nor the charge are known those in this room, and the complainant," Bagnold replied. "I think it is safe to say, rather bluntly off the record, that we all know what my ruling is to be. This complaint is to be dismissed, all that remains is the paperwork."
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Now, Mora waited in Sirius' office as he and Dumbledore went over these final details. A signature here, an official statement there, and with that the complaint would be dropped and the final trace of Colton Bayard would disappear. His last attempt to drag down the future Misses and Mister Black would falter. If only Mora knew who had filed this complaint against Sirius, she would certainly throttle them into a useless heap...
Sitting at her fiance's desk, Mora allowed her head to droop upon a small heap of papers. Clutter; exactly what she expected to find in Sirius' office. Across the way, hardly a meter, was James' desk; again, typical that the two mates wouldn't be caught dead apart, even after their school days. Of course, now James' desk was rather pristine compared to Sirius'. Not because of some superior organizational habits of James, but from disuse.
Mora shut her eyes, inhaling deeply the scent of parchment. She was more than ready to go home, even though that home was still outfitted in quite a bit of snake-decor and the sometimes-screaming portrait of her would-be mother-in-law. As bizarre and ill-fitted for her and Sirius as it were, that house was now home, and Mora wanted nothing more than to go back there, curl up and take a long nap. While the outcome of the day had been what they had all been hoping for, it had still left her entirely drained. Every ounce of her was exhausted. She hardly stood a chance as her slipped out of consciousness, right there in her fiance's chair with her head plopped on his desk.
"Come with me."
The clouds above her swirled about in a cascade of darkness, and a wind hummed across the grounds. Fingers slipped between hers, firsty gently, but they soon tightened around her hand in an unbreakable grip. Eyes cast to the sky, she found herself being pulled forward, beckoned by some feeling inside her and guided by whoever her companion was. Further and further they went, until the dark clouds above were masked by the sweeping limbs of a willow tree.
Not the Whomping Willow, not the tree which concealed her false grave, but another tree, one she remembered to be on the opposite side of the grounds. One she would frequent at Hogwarts, but not during her Gryffindor days. As the recognition hit, Mora finally turned her eyes away from the branches above. Slowly, she looked back to her own eye-level, to the young man she knew would be standing beside her, her hand in his.
Tom Riddle revealed his small sleuth of a smile. He was entirely unchanged from his sixth year at Hogwarts; it was as if the years hadn't done a thing to alter him, to mold him as she knew they did into the monster she had recently escaped from. Dashing or not, she knew very well that this boy was Voldemort; even back then, that evil was always inside him: it was him. Whether she had understood that or not back then, she most certainly knew it now.
Yet as she stared at this sixteen year-old Voldemort, his dark eyes pulling her in, she did not run. In truth, she did not even want to run. Her pulse quickened, and all she could do was return his gaze. It wasn't that she was trapped; she was entranced. She did not step away, or turn, or do anything, because she did not want to.
Not only did she not want to run, she wanted to stay.
She did not want to ask any questions. She did not want to know how they had gotten there or why. She did not want to fight; she didn't even think she had a wand on her. She did not feel angry. She did not feel afraid. She did not feel anything but pulled; she was entranced.
Which is why she did nothing as Tom came closer; she did not even flinch as the distance between them shrunk. She did not recoil as he cupped the side of her face, instead she felt enlivened at his touch. Her breath caught as he pressed even closer, as his face dipped to her own.
There was nowhere she wanted to run, nowhere she wanted to even think about being. His face lingered just above her own, the distance between them so small but so great all the same. Taken over by unprecedented wildness, Mora herself pulled Tom close, pressing her lips against his own with an impatient edge. The movement of their lips was just as she had remembered, yet all the same there was something new, something deeper and more dangerous to it.
He kissed her greedily, clutching her to him as close as he could, his hands searching over her back. He explored each contour of her mouth in wild hunger. She too was hungry, hungrier than she had ever been, as she held him as tight as she could. Arms wrapped around his neck, she could hardly breathe, hardly think, all she could do was kiss him, touch him, lose herself in him. And suddenly, her back was pressed against the bark of the tree, though their lips never broke apart.
"Mora..."
It hadn't been Tom who said her name; the voice came from behind her. Finally she tore her lips away, turning her head to the side, to where she had heard the voice. But there was no one there, nothing but the bending limbs of the willow.
"Ra," Tom whispered, his lips grazing her ear.
"Mora!" The voice was louder, with an urgency that could not be denied, though still muddled, muffled by the distance and the wind rippling through the willow tree. She didn't want to hear it, she didn't want to think of anything, be anywhere but here.
She ignored it, turning back to Tom, whose large dark eyes swallowed her whole.
"Mora?"
She shot awake, her knees banging clumsily against the desk as she did. Heart racing, she nearly stumbled over herself as she rose from the chair.
Sirius stood before her, hands shoveled in his pockets, with a suddenly worried expression. "Looks like you dozed off there... hope you didn't drool too much over my Ministry work there..."
But Mora barely heard his quip; she had to use all the control she possessed to keep her hands from trembling and her knees from knocking. She willed her pulse to steady, but it continued to pound wildly in its frenzy.
"Luv, I was joking, I didn't..." Sirius started, attuned to his fiance's distress. He moved closer; Mora consciously had to keep herself from stepping back. "Are you alright?"
"Nightmare," she managed to say. "Just a nightmare."
"I was only gone for ten minutes; you fell into that bad a dream that fast?" the auror asked.
Mora's nerve quivered. "Must be this place."
Sirius smiled softly. He took Mora's hand in her own, clutching it tightly despite her clammy palm. "Well, not to worry on that. Everything's signed, all the i's dotted and what not. We're good to go."
"It's settled then? Whatever rubbish charge was brought up is finished?"
"As good as dead," Sirius triumphed. "The Minister herself is going to deliver the paperwork. It's as dead as dead can be!"
Mora offered a forced smile. "Good," she said with a squeeze of her hand. "Ready to go home?"
He slung his arm around her waist. "More than you know..."
With a flick of his wand, the office fell into darkness. Mora grabbed her bag and pushed in the chair to Sirius' desk. He reached out for her hand; she slipped her fingers between his as she always had, but not even the familiarity and safety of his grasp could shake the panic brewing inside her. As the strode out of the office, Mora vowed to leave the nightmare back there, amidst the files and parchments of the Ministry office; she did not want to think about it for another moment. It was a just a dream; a disturbing, terrifying dream that made absolutely no sense and left her wanting only to retch. It should be lost back there in the Ministry, where Mora never planned to return to again.
Sirius led them to the exit fireplaces, where Dumbledfore awaited them, and in a whirlwind of emerald flames and floo powder, they were whisked away.
