Chapter One Hundred Thirty-Six: At Markhaven Meadow
Stephen, pushing through the last of the trees and at last coming into the familiar clearing, thought that he could doubtless be forgiven if he were a bit late, today. He's had to fight off the unusually clingy Cloak of Levitation, which hadn't wanted to let Stephen out of its sight. He'd had to ask Wong for help, of all people. But, he wondered, after that, if the Cloak had known (like Aladdin's magic carpet in the Disney movie) that something bad was going to happen.
Namely, that he'd be gone for quite a while, this time, because it was finally time to hear the tale of how Sirius Black had died. And, to try to prevent it, of course.
He wished that he could bring the Cloak with him—and in the ordinary way of things he was quite as fond of it as it was of him—but his friends at Markhaven Meadow remained unaware of its existence, and he couldn't be sure how much they knew of sorcery—how much any number of future or past selves might have told them. He had no idea how any time traveler ever kept clear what information was and wasn't relevant, as he or she went about, willy-nilly, changing the past.
He did know some things—by now, he'd learnt how to tell when Loki was growing suspicious about the Eye of Agamotto, which he'd passed off as a sorcerous relic. But, had he ever told them something silly, to the effect of each sorcerer only having one relic? Beside that, anyone who spent more than a day or so with Loki developed a habit of paranoia. Even Thor had developed that, to an extent. He knew, most of all, that he did not want Loki to know that he was in possession of any of the Infinity Stones. He remembered the footage of the Chitauri Invasion.
He ran a hand through his hair as he tumbled out into the clearing. Today had been rather more trying than usual, and spending enough time around Loki let him know that under no circumstances should he ignore his intuition, such as it was. Something momentous happened tonight.
Or, rather, something momentous happened on the other side of time, and he was being prepared for that, well in advance (long after the fact?). But, for the moment, with no sort of plan for the future, he followed the neatly winding cobblestone path to the front door, and knocked. He didn't have to open the door. Nor did anyone else. He heard Hermione's voice call out, "Come in!", and the door clicked open. That was a spell that the sorcerers could afford to learn. Or find an equivalent to. It was a good way to avoid ambush.
He didn't think (and he wasn't sure why he didn't think this) that Markhaven Meadow had always looked as it did. Or, rather, he thought that, somewhere along the multifaceted streams of time, something someone had done on his account in the past had created another house located in the middle of the woods, also named Markhaven Meadow, but existing in a different form, and likely in a different place, than its alternate timeline equivalent.
This sense was, doubtless, exacerbated by the knowledge Stephen had had parroted back at him from his friends, that Loki's house had once been called Woodfield Palace, when he knew for a fact that he'd never heard of such a place. He'd always known it as "Patchwork Palace". But, if that were the case, whence the idea of the house called "Woodfield"?
And, he knew that this little evidence of the mutability of time would not convince his friends (particularly not the most sceptical of them). He wasn't quite sure that he believed it, himself. If someone had told him that in their universe, Markhaven Meadow had been painted dark green on the outside…well, he wouldn't have believed them—he was sure that Thor would never have stood for that—but furthermore, even had it been true, that wouldn't have been anything like an evidence of the ability to effect changes in the past.
It wouldn't have been proof that they could save Sirius.
He knew that the Cloak of Levitation had most certainly sensed something different about this latest trip when, rather than receiving a sedate nod from Hermione, Lady of the House, Loki came around the corner, as if he'd been waiting there since Stephen had left yesterday. There was a clock in the hall that he might have been staring at.
"Ah, Stephen," he said, leaning back against the wall, deliberately blocking the corridor by slouching down the sides (not something he'd do for any reason other than to bar the way). Somehow, he still managed to make it seem casual, as if this were a coincidence, rather than his design. This was not even his house.
Perhaps, it was in how casually he cocked his head, asking, "And what day are you heading back to, today?" with feigned interest, just as if he didn't already know.
The only thing that Stephen could think to do, other than to try to get the attention of Thor or Hermione, who most assuredly would be there to see him off, was to answer the question, and see just what the need for this ambush.
"You know as well as I do that today is June Seventh, 1996," he said. That statement was a lie, taken out of context, but there was a double meaning to the words, and it must not have registered as a lie to whatever lie-detecting sense Loki seemed to have.
There was a moment of silence, as Loki straightened back up, just slightly, to reach out his left hand, holding it up in a crossing guard's hand signal for "stop".
Most people would have lost their balance at this. Loki did not.
"Yes, I thought as much. It's the end of fifth year already, then. The end of O.W.L.s—but, you know, I don't think I would notice if you were a day late. Or two. Do you suppose you could come pay us a visit after our exams are over—on the night of the Ninth, I mean?"
There was almost a vulnerable stoop to his shoulders, as if this were a momentously important request, and Loki just didn't know what he would do if Stephen refused.
He thought he knew why. "Loki," he said. "You've told me before that Sirius died at the end of your fifth year—and we're getting to that point, with the end of O.W.L.s—there's just not that much time left in the school year. I don't suppose that has anything to do with your request."
In response, Loki stood up from his slouch, leaning against the wall still. He turned a haunted, defeated gaze to Stephen. Only out of desperation would he let anyone see him vulnerable. There were times when Stephen wanted to buy every book in the self-help section of a bookstore for this Trio.
"Yes, I suppose if you are to meet with any success in saving Sirius, I will need to give you the circumstances surrounding his death. But, I have a favour to ask of you, first. You're right. It did happen at the end of O.W.L.s week—on the night of the Ninth. It was because I saw the perfect opportunity to destroy Voldemort's prophecy, and drag him out of hiding. Force the Ministry to face the music. And, that worked well enough."
He gave a bitter laugh, head bowed, before it snapped back up to Stephen. It reminded Stephen of that night they'd first met, when the Boy-Who-Lived had only been eleven years old, but had nevertheless tried to kill him. Had the Cloak of Levitation been saying its farewells?
He glanced at the sanctuary afforded by the kitchen that he could dimly see past the corridor that Loki had blocked, wishing that he could burst through. Hermione and Thor were sure to be there, and most likely Ginny, as well.
"Will you promise me something?"
"Alright. What do you need me to do?" Stephen might not quite trust Loki with the secret (the temptation) of an Infinity Stone, but they were still his friends. On the Trio's side, it was a long-standing friendship, spanning almost two years. Even Stephen had been coming to Markhaven Meadow for almost three months, almost every day.
"Show up on the Ninth, and not the Seventh," Loki said, seeming to reach into his pocket for something, but the device he removed was far too large to have been hidden in even the deep pocket of his robes. It was a bit flat, and round, like a frisbee. Stephen had no idea what to make of it, or whether there were any significance other than camouflage to its being black, and flat.
"Keep this secret, and on your person at all times. We shall see if that which does not yet exist might be brought back in time—and function there. Oh, and Stephen: you should take a few months off from going back in time. All of that time travel can't be good for you."
Stephen took it warily, and did his best to open his seventh sense. He'd had no small amount of training with it, but it was giving him the slip, as when he'd first started with sorcery, and thought that he couldn't do anything on account of his ruined hands. But, he could feel a familiar energy laced throughout the entire "frisbee", crisscrossing it in a net, and supplying it with an absurd amount of power.
"Don't tell me," he said, his mind temporarily forgetting to function in the wake of this newest horror. "You supercharged the Death Stick, and spent the past month filling this with magic." He was appalled. That was the word. That weapon should be used only in the greatest of emergencies.
"Well, as long as you don't point it out to Dumbledore or Riddle, and keep it amongst the five of us, nothing will come of it."
Stephen noted that Loki did not deny the accusation, but did beg, "Don't tell Ron. You know how he gets about the Hallows."
Stephen did indeed know how Thor got about the Hallows. He himself felt much the same. Hermione and Ginny agreed, he knew. This was why Loki had ambushed him, and extracted that promise from him. Damn. He should have known better.
He opened his mouth to say something about how Loki was a manipulative bastard—fancy using Stephen's own words about vulnerability against him!—and then his mind began to function again, and he had a tendril of comprehension.
He knew how important Sirius was to Loki. And, he had to admit there was a certain emptiness, even to the future, where Sirius would have provided some much needed levity. Even Remus might have, had he not died in '98.
This was a last-ditch effort, in a sense their last stand, for if Stephen failed, the past could not be changed, and this was all for naught. Perhaps some, at least, of that vulnerability was sincere. It was as he was thinking this that Loki continued. Hands shoved into his pockets, head bowed, he practically recited his speech off index cards.
"That's an invisibility device. Stark was working on it, when S.H.I.E.L.D. pulled its 'guilty-until-proven-innocent' act—by the way, tell me that I tried the honest, upfront route as you kept suggesting, and make sure I realise how terribly that backfired—" he paused to spread his arm to encompass the corridor, which meant less than it might have, and more than it should have. He meant the very existence, the necessity, of a Markhaven Meadow. It was right there in the name.
Loki shook his head. "This is based on Stark tech, except that I turned it inside out and, yes, funnelled some of the energy of the Elder Wand into it. This is an emergency, if there ever was one. Ron and Hermione are such unfailing optimists, but Stephen, even though I've put my strongest wards on this house, it's only a matter of time before either Thanos or S.H.I.E.L.D. finds us—regardless, the universe is doomed. I think I may have incurred the personal ire of Director Fury himself. Not my intention.
"I keep thinking that Sirius could have been a stabilising force—or, at the very least, we could have used his false imprisonment to convince them to stay their collective hand. With the Captain on the run after the Accords, and Stark pretending that he was hoodwinked, lest he admit to ever having agreed with the good captain, we have no allies to speak of. I don't think Thor Thor even knows we exist—that's the last option to consider; no way to turn back from that. The final resort. Do you understand—that's all that's left for us, Stephen! And, we're running out even of that time!"
Stephen was half of a mind to ask him just whence that certainty came, but kept his mouth shut. He suspected that, somehow or other, the answer might well be that it came from him, himself. That was the sort of thought that would break anyone's mind.
"An invisibility cloaking device," said Stephen, desperate to get the conversation back on track. Or near enough it.
"Take it, activate it when you reach Grimmauld Place, and stick to Sirius like glue. I know—I've thought of that night a lot—that you could never convince Sirius not to come. Fate will not be that readily thwarted. But, if you stay by his side, you might be able to tilt the scales a bit. Prove to me that you can change the past."
Stephen stared down at the disc. It was almost shaped like a record. It had those sorts of striations. It had no buttons, or knobs, or levers. It could be confused with a small black "flying saucer". Alien technology at its finest!
Yes, it was probably best he not say that aloud.
He opened his mouth to ask how it worked, and then realised that this was one of Loki's infernal tests. He picked the worst times. But then, Stephen was a sorcerer. He should be used to magic. Still… could he be blamed if it didn't occur to him that someone who used two different branches of magic, neither of them sorcery, would somehow create a relic?
It was not a relic. It did, however, seem to respond to sorcery, perhaps studying his magic the way fingerprint and retinal scanners learn the data for accepted fingerprints and eyes. Perhaps, it was memorising his magical signature, if there were such a thing,
Loki snatched it from his hands before it could make him invisible. He'd felt magic bubbling up, as if from a deep well, as if Loki had sunk one, created a reservoir of magic for the thing to draw from, and it had to be drawn up gradually, as with a pump, but after that, the energy would have flowed freely, until it ran out. That must be why the disc had been taken from him.
Loki handed back over with a significant glare, and Stephen, resigned to his fate, stuffed it under his arm and tried to forget it was there. He was better at subtlety than Thor, but so was just about anyone. The Trio had told him that there was a man named Hagrid who was more direct, but that seemed to run them out of candidates. It seemed to be a source of some contention amongst the three of them, but then, so did many things that in truth weren't.
"Shall we go, then?" Loki asked, straightening all the way up. To all appearances, he was out for a stroll. This was not his house (this was not either of their houses), but that didn't stop someone like Loki. This time, he was even justified. But, was Sirius the crux of the entire situation? It seemed incredible.
They made their way into the kitchen, at last, where Hermione was running to and fro as if this accomplished anything. He thought that she had probably picked up the habit of looking as if she were very busy from Stephen himself.
Thor, by contrast, was staring at a clock set high on the kitchen wall. One or another of them had once told Stephen of a magical clock belonging to Mrs. Weasley (he'd never met the woman, and thus he'd perforce adopted the same name for her that Loki and Hermione used, not knowing her given one). Try as he might, Stephen could see nothing particularly impressive about the clock on the kitchen wall in Markhaven Meadow. It was an ordinary, cheap clock—the sort they used in public schools. Despite that, Stephen knew that Thor wasn't thinking that Stephen was late—although Hermione might be.
"Stephen!" she said, almost dropping the pitcher of water she was holding, which would have been a shame, as it was ceramic. That was the sort of material even a reparo could only do so much with.
He reached out and took hold of the handle, instead, with his free hand, and watched Thor turn to face him, as if just now noticing he was here. Ludicrous. He would have noted them both entering. Hermione probably would too, but she didn't have the heightened senses that those two did.
"Sit down! I was just making tea!" Hermione said, pushing him towards the table. Somehow, Loki was already sitting there, just as if he hadn't set an ambush out in the hall. Of course, one or the other might be an illusion.
Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose, applying pressure to his forehead. Was there any remedy that worked, against headaches?
"Stephen. I am glad that you are well. For a time, I thought, perhaps—but that is not the matter at hand, at the moment." Thor might be the only one not to know that Stephen and Loki had already discussed the matter of Sirius's impending (long-ago) demise, less than a minute ago.
He glanced over at the corner of the table, where what had to be either a duplicate or the real thing was sipping his tea, calm as you please. That tea had probably gone cold hours ago, too. Stephen was sometimes convinced that he did such things just to prove his superiority.
"Sirius is going to die," Stephen said, cutting across whatever tangent they might have embarked upon. You never knew, with the Trio. They had a whole series of familiar arguments that they fell back on, to vent their stresses prior to any sort of engagement of higher stakes. A few topics would emerge repeatedly. Which would appear at any given point of time was impossible to tell before it happened, but Stephen could almost sense the conversation heading into one of those squabbling off-roads. He was guilty of it, too, but here, now, he rather thought that solving the problem at hand was of primary importance.
"That's right," Hermione said, bowing her head, and setting down her ceramic pitcher onto the wooden table, not wanting to risk continuing to hold it in shaking hands. She was the one who thought Sirius selfish and irresponsible. And, he was one of Stephen's friends, too—sharp as a tack, and quick-witted. Stephen could see the remnants of a strong personality with whom he would have enjoyed butting heads and exchanging ideas. But, the mind was fragmented….
Still, he'd died too soon. The Trio needed him. And, perhaps, the addition of whatever sort of spark of brilliance Sirius had—or even his unique experience and circumstances—might be integral in solving their current problems. He'd solve the further problem of "what if I save Sirius and the Trio are still on the run in the future?" if he ever saved Sirius.
"It seems to me that you deserve some knowledge of how it began, and what happened that night, to our memory of events. I could just tell you about his duel with Bellatrix Lestrange in the Room of Death, in the Department of Mysteries, but what good would that do anyone?" Loki rested his chin on his hand, but turned his head to glance at Stephen askance. "There are a hundred ways to die in that section of the Ministry. I suppose that's one of the many reasons it's restricted to authorised personnel."
Stephen did not say that they were, all of them, teenagers at the time, and thus not even possibly authorised personnel. That would lead to a discussion on culpability, and whether or not Loki was to be blamed for Sirius's death. That never ended well.
Instead, he just nodded his acceptance of this (he had little choice), and leant back in his chair, as Hermione, ever the gracious hostess (or rather, in constant need of something to do, to curb her own anxiety), bustled about making tea for everyone, and listened to the tale of the night of June Ninth….