ACT III: DÉMASQUÉ
"Sirius was a brave, clever, and energetic man, and such men are not usually content to sit at home in hiding while they believe others to be in danger."
-J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
CHAPTER 32
December 26th, 1979 - Boxing Day
Even fleeing in his Animagus form the night of Arcturus's birthday, Sirius had been able to sense the boundaries of the Malfoy Estate—the spot where their land became the land. It wasn't as far afield of the gardens and ornate topiaries, point of pride of Narcissa's predecessor, as one would have thought.
Sirius warmed his hands with his breath and kicked the earth beneath the oak. Still solid from the frost—his boot heel bounced off the ground.
He could see the windows of the house through the scraggly trees at the edge of the forest. All dark. He almost wondered if the Malfoys wanted the pleasure of 'dealing with' a muggle poacher or two mistakenly wandering into the woods that surrounded the house.
He shivered.
Where is she?
His heart pounded—a manic rat-a-tat in his ears that Sirius was sure could wake the dead, if they really were listening, as he'd always suspected. It was taking too long, far too long—she should have got his letter at least an hour ago, unless the owl had blown off course.
That she might not come at all did not occur to Sirius.
His feverish brain had bit down on the idea and, like a dog with a rag doll, refused to let it go.
He hadn't slept.
The rustle of branches being pulled back jolted him back to reality, and Sirius turned his whole body in the direction of the sound. His face broke into a wide smile at the sight of that small and familiar figure, standing just above the tree line that separated the estate from the outside world. Colette, wrapped in a heavy cloak, her long hair tumbled about her shoulders—in front of him at last.
"Hello." Sirius took a step towards her. "You're looking, er—disheveled."
Even in the dark, he noticed her face flush. Seeing the effect of his words on her filled Sirius with a giddy male pride. In four strides he reached her. He looked down into Colette's eyes—in this light he could still see that extraordinary shade of blue. Sirius gently cupped the cheek that tendrils of her hair clung to.
"I…wasn't expecting to be in company," said Colette.
"I meant it as a compliment."
He pulled a twig out of her hair, savoring the feeling of the fine strands in his fingers.
"It is the middle of the night."
The words themselves were an admonishment, but the gentle tone in which they were said filled Sirius with a certainty that her heart wasn't truly in this scolding.
"Not quite. It's almost dawn." He grasped her hands—she'd forgotten her gloves, too. Sirius ran his fingers over the delicate knuckle—already too cold. He wanted to tuck it into his pocket, to warm her hand up—and maybe in the process wrap his arms around her waist. "You came."
"Of course I did." Colette tilted her head up to get a better look at his face—her brow knitted with concern. "When I got your letter I didn't know what to think. Are you well?"
The mixture of tenderness and excitement in Colette's voice drowned out the confusion and worry. Sirius felt as though a snitch was bouncing off the walls of his stomach.
"I'm—" He had the dim sense he was breathing too hard. "I'm—fine, now that you're here."
It was not a lie, not idle flattery. He hadn't been really sure of himself until this moment, but now that she was here Sirius knew.
An odd frantic calm had settled over him the moment he saw her.
His grip on her hands tightened. Colette's eyes seemed to glow in the light of the moon—full, or nearly so, what had Remus told him the date was this month? He couldn't remember—but her gaze slid past his face and she let out a short, sharp gasp and stepped backwards, slipping out of his grasp.
"Did you fly all the way here from London?"
Sirius turned around to see where she was looking. Ah. She was hidden in the brush, but he'd left Elvira's headlamps on.
"Well, I didn't walk." He looked back at her. "It didn't take long, don't worry. I've modified her—she can go faster than you'd think."
"So far in the pitch black—that is dangerous."
He smiled and waved off her concern at his reckless flying across the country in the middle of the night in winter with nothing but a leather jacket to keep out the cold.
"Never mind about that," Sirius said, grinning. "I made it, didn't I? Is your trunk packed?"
"I—" She ducked her head so he couldn't see her face. "Y-yes, but what has that to—"
"—Great! That's…great." He grasped her shoulders and she looked up, startled. "You can go back to the house and get it, before the servants are up."
Colette's whole body tensed up under his grip, and the puzzlement on her face grew.
"They…already are," Colette said, slowly. "I had to go through the greenhouses to avoid the elves, they're lighting all the fires already."
Sirius cursed good-naturedly under his breath and kicked a nearby stump.
"Oh, well—it doesn't matter." Sirius let go of her arms and ran a hand through his hair—he didn't quite know what to do with his hands. "You aren't too attached to those gowns your aunt bought you, are you? It's just stuff. We can always buy more of it."
Colette pulled her cloak about her shoulders, fighting to keep out the early morning chill.
"W…what are you talking about?"
His body vibrated with emotion and coiled energy.
"I'm talking about getting out of here."
It was only when Colette jumped back that Sirius realized how sharply he'd said the words.
"Listen—" He paced up and down in front of her. "I've been—thinking a lot about everything, you know? You, me—and our situations. And it just—came to me, tonight, in a flash!" Sirius stopped and waved his arms in the air. "We're young—we don't have to let anyone or anything dictate the terms of our lives. There's a whole world out there to see—"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I'm going. Tonight." He grinned. "And you're going with me."
Colette, dazed, did not break into the wide smile he had been expecting. She stared up at him, and even in his state of high-born self-delusion, he could not mistake the look.
"''Going'?" Colette repeated. "Going where?"
He started to laugh.
"Wherever you like!" He slapped the seat of the motorbike, as if it were a loyal horse. "Spain, the Cape—she doesn't look it, but the bike can make it across the ocean. How do you fancy Morocco? I've always wanted to see North Africa. The weather this time of year is—"
Colette took a step backwards and tripped over her cloak. As she stumbled, Sirius reached out to to right her—but Colette pushed his hand away.
"What is wrong with you?" she asked, her voice brittle. "You are—you are not yourself."
A stab of irritation, followed by fear. This wasn't how he'd envisioned her reaction. Colette hadn't been looking at him as if he were a dangerous stranger in his fantasy.
"Of course I'm myself," Sirius's voice trembled. "The is the most 'myself' I've been since you've known me. I'm thinking clearly for the first time in—"
"—If you were thinking at all you would not—speak to me this way!"
The hysterical quiver in her voice knocked the forced smile off Sirius's face.
"What does that mean?"
"Surely you must know—" Colette let out a shuddering breath. "That I cannot go with you."
"Why not?"
"Because the only place I am going is—back home."
Sirius stared at her. His whole body suddenly felt numb, as if he'd just come out of the North Sea, and the effects of that massive shock to the system hadn't yet kicked in.
"When did you decide that?"
"Tonight." She forced a smile, and Sirius realized she had begun to cry. "I thought you would be happy. I have given up my—matrimonial ambitions, you see? I think perhaps I shall never marry."
The words made sense, but he couldn't make sense of them.
"But…when are you leaving?"
"As soon as possible. I already wrote to Maman and Père. I suppose they shall call me back as…soon as they get my letter. Tomorrow, perhaps?"
The heart that had been thumping so hard in his chest now seemed to freeze and shrivel inside his chest.
"Were you even going to tell me?"
Colette's eyes dropped down to the ground.
"Of course I would have—written."
"I mean before you left, Colette. Were you going to say goodbye to me, in person?"
The girl looked back up at him, and the flash of guilt across her face was all the answer Sirius needed.
Sirius leaned against a nearby tree—a faux-casual gesture. The steady oak helped to hide that his hand was shaking.
"I don't understand…why you'd decide to give all that up and still return to Normandy." He did little to hide his bitterness. "What are you going back for?"
"I have my duty. I could never abandon my obligations to my family." She paused. "There may be other ways that I can help them—besides marrying."
"Can you honestly say that given the choice between going back to France or staying with me, that you would prefer the former?"
Her face turned red—with embarrassment, but also anger.
"That is—that is not the point."
Sirius clenched his fist and pushed off the tree.
"I notice you don't deny it."
"What I want does not matter."
"Of course it does!"
Colette flinched and stepped back.
"You owe them nothing," Sirius spat. "And you know they won't let it go. If you go back, your parents will just—marry you off to someone else."
"I will simply have to be—firm with them."
"But you won't. You'll do what they want, to please them." He laughed, hollowly. "Lie to yourself, if you want, Colette—but don't bother with me. I know better."
"You do not know everything about me," she said, trying to keep her voice calm.
"I know enough. You're not exactly a great mystery, are you?"
For a moment after he'd spoken these rash words, Sirius expected her to simply turn and walk back to the house. Certainly the thought crossed her mind, and in a rush of excitement his eyes darted to her wand hand. Was she going to hex him? The thought that he might have angered her that much gave him a perverse pleasure.
But then, as she had so many times before—Colette surprised him.
"Something happened tonight." It wasn't a question. "You are angry and you are hurt. What is it? Tell me."
"Nothing happened, I told you!" Sirius snapped. "I just—"
"And I know you are lying—to yourself and me," Colette said, voice rising. "You come to me in the middle of the night, talking like one who is out of his mind, declaring you will leave everything behind, and you expect me to believe this? You are not going anywhere—you are running away. I want to know what from."
He recoiled as if she had struck him across the face.
"I just can't stand being on this miserable, sodding island anymore, that's all."
Colette shook her head—she didn't believe him.
"Is it your mother? Did you quarrel with her?"
His voice caught in his throat.
"…No."
"With—your father, then?"
Sirius's insides twisted in involuntary pain.
"I don't want to talk about my father."
Colette's face softened. She took one timid step in his direction, as if he were a wounded animal she was trying not to frighten.
"If you have quarreled with your papa, this is not the way. You must speak to him."
When she touched his arm, Sirius jerked it away.
"Tell him what is in your heart."
I already have and it didn't make a difference.
"There's nothing more to be said between us, alright? I'm…done with him."
There was so much cold finality in Sirius's voice that Colette didn't dare argue with him, whatever she really thought. He began to pace in front of her again, all agitation and frustrated hopes. Colette's eyes followed him—unerringly calm.
"What about your friends? What will they say about this—flight?" she pressed on, recklessly. "They will want an explanation. What will you tell them?"
Sirius dug his hands into his pockets. Why did she have to bring up that? Why couldn't she just be excited at the prospect of getting the hell out of here? Of getting away from all this? He knew she wanted it as much as he did, he had seen the longing, the wistful sadness on her face whenever the subject of her return to France came up.
"I'll explain after things—have died down," Sirius said, knowing it was absurd and illogical and not caring a whit what Prongs or Lily or anyone thought about his actions. "They're fine. They'll get on without me."
Hours after that audience with his father had ended and Orion had left him alone, he had stayed on the fire escape. As far as Sirius was concerned he remained there now, and would, so long as he was surrounded by the people and familiar landmarks of his life up until now.
He needed to escape—and this was the only way he knew how.
"And the rest of your family?"
"What about them?" Sirius let out a harsh laugh. "It's not my job to fix their problems."
"You know that isn't true—they need you."
"They don't need me. They never have." His eyes gleamed with an inner madness. "You do."
She drew back from him, and Sirius saw in her eyes something he had never seen there before—a cold contempt that sucked the oxygen out of the freezing night air and made it difficult for him to breathe.
"Why did you ask me to come with you—truly?"
"Because I—I thought you would want to come."
I thought I meant something to you.
"You don't want to help me," Colette said, coldly. "I am just the excuse you use to justify running away from what you are afraid will hurt you—and your responsibilities."
Another blow—and this time, it stung.
"I think you are nothing but the spoiled boy and coward I believed you were from the start. Is there nothing you won't run away from, Monsieur Black?"
His temper, hot and reactive, bubbled over like a seething volcano.
"What, as opposed to what you do? Rolling over and taking it, never telling your parents the truth, what you really want? One of these days you're going to wake up and realize you've spent the first twenty years of your life letting everyone else tell you how to live it."
"At least I am not ashamed of myself!"
This was the deepest cut of all.
"You have no right to judge me, Colette. You live in a fucking fairy tale. You think you understand my family, after spending a week with them? You don't know a damn thing."
Her eyes filled with tears, and it gave him a momentary sick sense of satisfaction, followed just as swiftly by guilt.
"I know more than you realize." Colette's jaw trembled with anger. "And what I do not know is what you conceal from me. If you would just—confide in me—"
He threw his head back and laughed, a hollow, humorless howl at the moon. Confide in her? That's all he'd ever done, and what had it got him?
"You want to know the truth, Colette—really? Do you want to know what my mother said to me, the night I ran away?"
She shook her head. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
"She said—" Sirius's voice cracked. "She said she wished I'd never been born. That she was—ashamed of her own flesh. That sh-she…couldn't stand to look at me."
Sirius let out a sound between a whimper and a howl, and then the dam broke—and the hot tears of guilt and shame and worst of all, pain all spilled out at once. He'd never told anybody what Walburga had said to him—not even James. He'd never brought himself to even think the words, to speak them aloud, for it would have conjured up the ghost of the memory.
Instead he had locked it away, padlocked the door—the demon that could be chained up, contained—but never forgotten, never fully exorcised.
"Can you blame me for not wanting to be around the woman who said that me? The woman who is supposed to be my own mother."
Sirius blinked and looked down at his shoes, feeling the hot sting of tears in his eyes. He heard the rustle of brush, could feel Colette walking towards him.
"Do you—really think that was cowardice?"
"Of course not." Colette hesitated. "It was a terrible falsehood, and you were only a boy. But…you know—"
"—Don't—"
"—You know she did not mean it." He could hear the plaintive tears in her voice, even though he couldn't bear to look at her. "I am sure she did not—that there is nothing in life your mama is more sorry for having said."
Sirius let out a hollow laugh that felt more like cry to the moon.
"Are you? I'm not, and I know her a hell of a lot better than you do. I think she meant exactly what she said. My mother doesn't say anything by accident. And when she's feeling that way again she won't be afraid to say it again."
He let out a sound that, humiliatingly enough, sounded like a wounded dog.
"She loves—"
"—I don't believe you."
He was tempted to cover his ears, to block out the words.
"Running away will not fix anything," Colette said—with a terrible gentleness that made him long for screaming and hysteria. "It will not give you the peace you desire. It will only hurt you more. Why do you make yourself so unhappy this way?"
This way. This way—was the only way for him. It was what he had suspected, in his heart, from the beginning.
"You know, the whole time that we've known each other we have both been trying to prove something to the other. Perhaps there's no convincing. You see the world differently than I do. Or maybe you're just a better person than I am."
"I am nothing of the kind."
"I thought you understood." The words were infused with unspeakable bitterness. "I thought you and I were the same."
"I cannot bear to see you this way," said Colette, her voice trembling. "I only want to help."
"Then why won't you come with me?"
He hadn't meant to ask again. It sounded so desperate, so weak—and yet the words had slipped out, and now he couldn't take them back.
"Because that wouldn't help you," Colette said, quietly. "Not really."
There was a kind of crushing, gentle finality to the words, and he knew the audience was at an end.
"I'm sorry," Sirius said, in a hollow, broken-down voice. "I didn't mean to offend you with my…propositions. You're right. I must have been—been off my head when I thought you'd come with me."
She said nothing.
"This was all a mistake."
Sirius turned away from Colette and got on his motorbike. He flew off, just as the dawn began to break over the eastern horizon—and did not look back.
When Narcissa finally woke, just past nine o'clock, she had a splitting headache. Her husband was nowhere to be found. She had not expected Lucius to wait for her to get up, and unlike most mornings, she was glad of his absence today.
She didn't want to talk to anyone this morning.
When she rose, dressed and headed downstairs, her luck turned.
"You look awful, Cissy," Bellatrix drawled. "Did you not sleep—or is that just the unfortunate effects of your condition?"
The breakfast parlor was empty, except for her sister—sitting at the head of the table, where Abraxas usually sat. Narcissa gave Bellatrix a cold stare. The look would have had most men of her acquaintance quaking in their boots—if not from fear of her, than of incurring the wrath of her husband.
Madame Lestrange was not impressed and made no attempt to pretend.
"I'm looking for Colette."
"Ah. Have you quarreled with your little friend, Cissy?"
Narcissa tried to keep her face an icy, impenetrable mask—but Bella had that smug look that said she already knew the answer to the question.
"What concern is it of yours?"
"Well—she left the house in a hurry this morning. I thought it was strange, given how…chummy the two of you have been. But maybe you're not so chummy anymore."
Narcissa's throat tightened. The fact that she was in her own house—the house that she was the undisputed mistress of—didn't seem to matter, not when her sister looked at her like that. She might've been the eight-year-old girl again.
Only now she didn't even have Andromeda to protect her.
"Did you—see you off?"
"Certainly not. This isn't my house. That's the hostess's job."
"Then how do you know Colette's gone?"
Bellatrix lifted her shoulders in an affected gesture of nonchalance that got Narcissa's hackles raised.
"Her room's empty."
"And what were you doing, poking about her room?"
Bellatrix raised one mocking eyebrow and didn't answer. Much good it would have done Cissy if she had—she knew better than to trust a word her sister said about anything.
Mrs. Malfoy turned on her heel and glided out the door and up the stairs, ignoring the nausea of her pregnancy, pushing aside Bella's mocking face and her lies—always her lies.
Colette wouldn't have left without saying goodbye.
She flung the door to Colette's room open and found it—completely bare, the bed neatly made by one of the elves. The only sign of human life was a few stray pieces of parchment sitting on the small desk by the window. She walked over to it and picked one up.
"I told you so."
Narcissa turned and gave her sister, standing in the doorway, an imperious look.
"Did you happen to see if she left me a note?"
"Ask one of your house elves. Isn't that what they're for?"
Mrs. Malfoy narrowed her eyes. Bella had that look that their old cat used to get, when he'd be playing with a half-dead bird.
"You must've been up early today," she observed, pointedly.
"Well, I don't like to lie-in, as a general rule," Bella stretched her arms above her head. "Of course, I don't have your excuses for laying about all morning."
Mrs. Malfoy bared resisted the urge to make a tart comment to the effect of 'Bella had no one but herself to blame for that.'
"Colette will send a letter to me, at any rate. She probably left something at her aunt's house and had to—retrieve it."
"And take all her things with her, too?"
Narcissa stared down at the parchment scraps on the desk.
"Are you sure that witch is your friend, Cissy?"
She turned her head—and found her sister's face, far too close to her own.
"What do you mean?"
"Just that I really wonder how well you know her," Bella drawled. "And if her loyalties lie with you."
"Who else would they lie with?"
Narcissa fingers grasped the base of her wand tightly. Bellatrix pretended not to notice.
"Oh, I don't know. I just wouldn't want you to get…hurt. That's all."
Regulus groaned and opened his eyes. The pale morning sun peaked through the heavy damask curtains his mother had put up to make the room less "vulgar." It had to be past ten, at least.
"You sleep like the dead, Regulus Arcturus."
That was what his mother always said to him, in that clipped, slightly sarcastic tone of voice she invoked when scolding her children. It was usually only the elder of the two who heard it. His tendency to sleep late was one of the few things she ever admonished him for, and Regulus cherished it, in his own way.
The expression had taken on new meaning for him, these past few weeks.
He'd never been closer to death and never slept poorer in all his life.
Regulus sat up. The room was still dark, the fire unlit, and he could see just well enough to know that the cot at the end of the bed was empty. When had Sirius come in last night? Usually he heard his brother open the door, and he was fairly certain that hadn't happened yet before he drifted off…
Regulus sighed and stared up at the ceiling, nestling back down into his feather pillow. He'd managed to sleep through the whole night—somehow. He rubbed his forehead and tried to recall whether he'd had that nightmare again…unconsciously, he grabbed his throat and massaged his Adam's apple. If the Inferi and disturbed his sleep with memories of strangulation and pulling him under, the boy couldn't remember it.
So this is what a full night's sleep felt like…he'd almost forgotten.
He strained his ears for the sounds he associated with the flat—dull footsteps, a restless staccato of movement and sounds, the clanking of plates, everything just a little too loud to be polite.
There was nothing.
"Sirius?"
He summoned his new dressing gown, slipped it on and got out of bed. It was then he noticed the bed.
Still immaculately made from the night before, when Kreacher had come in and tidied the room. It had not been slept in.
"...Sirius?"
The vestiges of Christmas still lay about the flat—presents in untidy piles, food left preserved with freezing charms in the kitchen (Sirius hadn't bothered to put them in the Muggle ice box he insisted was just as good—how odd.) Kreacher had been ordered back to Grimmauld Place to care for the house the night before, and Regulus hoped that the old elf had been given a much-deserved rest for all his troubles and pains.
No Sirius to be found. His coat was missing from the peg by the door.
More perturbed than ever, Regulus looked about the room for a clue as to where his brother had gone—and found a folded scrap of parchment on the dining room table. He opened it and read the hasty lines that had been scrawled out in pencil.
Have to go see a friend. Don't worry about me. Enjoy Coronation Street. If anyone comes by, make my excuses for as long as you can.
I owe you one (always)
-S
Regulus stared at it for a long moment, before snorting and tossing it back on the table. The anxiety that had been growing in the pit of his stomach dissipated, leaving only exasperated amusement. Wasn't that just like his brother, to run off to see Potter and his wife at the first opportunity? Some things truly never changed.
Sirius was lucky. Their parents were supposed to be with family all day, and if one of them did stop by the flat, he would cover for his brother, just like he always had and probably always would.
At least Sirius hadn't called one of his idiot friends to play babysitter again.
Regulus heard a tapping on the window in the back of the flat and went to go get the post. There was just the one letter addressed to him from Grimmauld Place. Regulus stroked Melchior's feathery head before the owl flew off.
He slit open the familiar seal of the Black family crest. The letter was longer than his brother's. He spent a few minutes reading, and re-reading it, committing its contents to memory.
Then he took out his wand, lit the tip—and burned it.
He vanished the ashes before the wind could blow them away. Regulus felt calmer than he ever had before. At the very moment he should have been his most scared, he—wasn't anymore.
Is this what it felt like to be Sirius? He'd always wondered.
Regulus walked back to the living room and looked out the window. The snow from the day before had all melted, or formed icy, dirty puddles on the road. Back to reality—no more snow-spun Christmas dreams, no more dances and piano…
It was probably for the best that Sirius had decided to skive off hanging around the flat for the day. Regulus hadn't fancied explaining what he planned on doing to his brother. If Sirius was really gone all day, perhaps he wouldn't have to.
He somehow didn't think Sirius would approve, which was an odd feeling in and of itself.
Well, Reg thought, sinking into the familiar cushions of the sofa. They'd both made their choices.
And they both had to live with the consequences.
Sirius, like all Blacks from time immemorial, could drink copious amounts of liquor before it showed. Being completely soused while still coherent was one of the few family traits he'd inherited he didn't regret—usually.
Today he'd wanted to be blinding, stinking drunk. And he had been, though getting there had required more effort than it should have.
She's wrong. She's wrong about everything.
He lifted the empty glass and mimed taking a swig. Though he had ceased to be truly drunk some time ago, Sirius could hardly tell the difference. He'd had the odd experience of going from drunk to hungover without the salve of sleep to cushion the blow.
I don't need her, or her opinions. Better off without her—
Maybe I should have another drink.
At the sound of the bell attached to the door, he raised his throbbing head.
Sirius squinted at the indistinct figure of a woman, just visible through that haze that hung about the Hog's Head, a sign of poor ventilation and Merlin-knew-what brewing in the back.
"If you're looking for the proprietor of this charming establishment," he said, into the dusty silence. "He's not in."
The newcomer turned her head towards him, then took a step forward, under the only torch that Aberforth had bothered to light—the barman's one capitulation to the exigencies of the season.
The intruder to his lonesome reveries had ashen gray hair that framed a face Sirius knew at a glance had never been beautiful. The lines around the thin mouth and high forehead placed her at seventy-five or so, and its one distinguishing feature was a pair of bright hazel eyes, equal parts shrewd and humorous, which had turned in his direction the moment he spoke.
"What's your pleasure?" Sirius asked, when no reply seemed to be forthcoming.
She looked around the desolate bar—too freezing to remove her fur-trimmed cloak—and managed to hide her distaste for her surroundings under a mountain of good breeding. The witch's clothing was fine and old-fashioned, and Sirius was sure she was much the same.
"A—gin toddy." He hopped over the bar. "Do you work here?"
Sirius tapped his wand against the kettle.
"No."
He pulled a bottle of gin out from behind the bar and poured a generous helping into a glass for her.
"Should you be back there, then?"
The witch had a slight foreign accent Sirius couldn't place—as well as a clipped tone of voice that suggested her most frequent interlocutors were servants she gave orders to. He knew that tone well. Probably it was what his mother would sound like one day—when she was a widow, living alone in Grimmauld Place, with no one to talk to but Kreacher.
When she was a widow. That would be far sooner than anyone could guess.
"Probably not. I thought you wanted a drink."
The lady frowned.
"I do."
"Does it matter who gives it to you?"
The old woman considered the question.
"I suppose not," she said, voice doubtful. "Where is the publican?"
"Gone to fetch a doorman to help him throw me out of his bar—" Sirius waved his arm around the Hog's Head. "We're well shot of Aberforth, believe me. His presence only makes this place more depressing."
It took a moment for the first thing he'd said to sink in. She eyed him with trepidation.
"Have you been causing trouble, that you need to be thrown out?"
"It's less my actions and more the duration of my visit. He should consider himself lucky I'm giving him my patronage at all," Sirius hiccuped. "No one else does. Most people prefer chairs that aren't broken—a fire—the Three Broomsticks, that sort of thing."
"That's where I've come from."
Sirius slid her the drink down the bar. She picked it up and gave him a genteel nod of thanks, then sat down at a stool across from him.
"I've just arrived in Hogsmeade. I've been—traveling all day. With my son," she added, as if that explained everything. "And his wife. I needed a moment to myself."
"Which one are you trying to get away from?" Sirius guffawed. "Or is it both?"
The corner of her lip twitched upward.
"I wanted to see the town again. It's been many years since I was here—when I was a girl, at school." She stared into her glass. "I was hoping to get up to the castle—see old friends. Not that there are many left I even know, apart from the headmaster."
"If you're looking for him, I'll warn you—it's a waste of time." He gave the woman a moody stare. "He's not around. He's never around when you need him."
She set down her drink and appraised him with fresh interest.
"Do you know Dumbledore?"
"Know him?" Sirius snorted. "I know him all too bloody well! Everything that's gone wrong in my life the last month is his fault. He threw me to—to a nest of vipers and left me writhing about the floor to be torn to pieces. And I think he knew what he was doing too, that's the worst of it."
She seemed amused by his description. Sirius might've been insulted by the condescension if he hadn't been so damn tired.
"You have a very interesting conversational style."
"That's the vestiges of my spree. I stopped drinking sometime ago—but the effects remain." He fiddled with the glass, debating whether to pour himself another. It would be night soon, wouldn't it? He reached into his pocket and felt the hard metallic case of his father's watch with his thumb.
It's your watch now. Why don't you check it?
Shut up.
"What's wrong with your son?" Sirius asked, letting go of the watch and letting it slip back into his pocket.
"Why would you assume there's something wrong with him?"
"Don't be coy. The only reason anyone comes in this place is to escape something—or someone."
For a moment she seemed tempted to tell him off for his insolence, but then, to Sirius's surprise, she merely laughed.
"He's just married to a tiresome woman. That's all. If he had the slightest bit of spirit—" She closed her eyes and sighed. "But that's besides the point. He's like his father, and there's an end to it."
"There is an end to it," Sirius echoed. "Can't change your family, can you?"
A long silence.
"What brings you here?" Sirius hiccuped. "Is there a Hufflepuff class of '22 reunion in town?"
"A family matter," she said, vaguely. "How did you know I was a Hufflepuff?"
"Easy. You'd have told me to bugger off by now if you were anything else." He squinted at her. The penetrating pair of hazel eyes were focused on examining her shabby surroundings. He'd really never met her in his life—Sirius had a memory for faces, and magical Britain was so small—and yet he had the strangest sensation of familiarity.
Must be the alcohol.
"You really haven't been back here since Hogwarts?"
"No. I've lived abroad for many years."
"Abroad?" Sirius tapped his glass against the table. "What a coincidence. I'm moving abroad."
"Oh?" She seemed interested. "Where to?"
"Haven't decided yet. Need to sober up first. I'm open to suggestions, though." He yawned. "Have you ever been to Morocco? I fancy the sun."
"Yes. I didn't care for it. I found it a dirty country, myself."
"Well, that's probably what I deserve. I'm dirt, you see. Low."
They sat in a companionable silence for a minute. Sirius felt the keen eyes studying him and found that, for once in his life, he didn't much care about making a spectacle of himself.
"Why are you leaving Britain? It's an odd time of year to move."
"I realize you've been gone for decades," he said, sarcastically. "But it can't have escaped your notice that this country has gone to the dogs." Sirius glared at the table. "Contrary to the belief of some people, I am not running away."
The old lady tilted her head but did not rise to his bait.
"Such an important decision must have been a long time in the making. When did you decide to go?"
"Oh, about—two this morning." He mimed looking at a wrist watch. "It's a Christmas present to myself. One I'm happy to enjoy on my own. I'm the only one who can appreciate it. Anyone else would just—slow me down."
The old woman set her drink down and gave Sirius a piercing look that reminded him uncomfortably of Minerva McGonagall.
"Does this journey require dutch courage, or—has some plan been overset that's delayed your departure?" She quirked an eyebrow. "A plan with a young lady?"
Sirius let out a long sigh.
"What gave me away?" he asked, in a voice of dramatic despair.
"Your age, mostly."
"Yeah, well…I don't give a damn what she thinks or what she says. Or about her."
"Clearly." She took another sip of her toddy. "I take it this elopement was also planned at short notice."
"It's a long story. You don't want to hear about it."
"On the contrary. I am in great need of a distraction this evening. When one is beset with troubles, there's nothing better than to hear someone else's. A stranger met in a public house is, in my experience, the easiest sort of person in whom to confide."
Sirius gave his companion a sour look over the glass, but she kept her patient equanimity. Finally, he sighed in acquiescence to her unspoken question.
"I just made a handsome offer to abscond with a young lady, and thereby save her from the horrors of a loveless arranged marriage—only to be summarily rejected."
The old witch gave Sirius a chance to savor his disgust at the humiliating circumstances he found himself in.
"I imagine that was a great shock," she said, the moment of due reverence had passed.
"How did you guess?"
"In my experience, young men who look like you are not in the habit of being rebuffed by witches," she said, ironically. "What did she say? Was an explanation given?"
Sirius's expression blackened.
"She accused me of—being a coward who is using her as an excuse to escape from his responsibilities."
"Those are hard words. Are they true?"
"Of course not!" Sirius exclaimed, pounding on the bar. "I just—I just thought it would be nice to get away and she would want to come with me. If you were a fresh-faced girl of eighteen, and I asked you to run away with me, what would you say?
The witch didn't hesitate.
"We'd be in Venice by evening."
"Thank you!" He pointed at her and gesticulated—then narrowed his eyes. "No, no, no, no—I think you're making fun of me."
His companion smiled.
"I am as sincere as the day is long. But I was flighty at that age. Not all young ladies are the same. Yours may have a very high moral code."
"I wasn't asking for anything indecent," he muttered, moodily.
"Perhaps that was the problem, then. Girls of that age can have a romantic streak."
"You're saying I should've seduced her first?" Sirius pulled a face. "You might be right. We haven't even kissed yet...it's kind of pathetic, even my brother thinks so. But she's been sneaking about with me behind her chaperone's back for a whole week. I thought she liked me."
"A week?" She frowned. "Goodness, she doesn't have a very good chaperone, does she?"
"To tell you the truth, I'm as surprised as you are we've got away with it as long as we have. Normally you can't get rid of her." Sirius tapped his fingers against the table. "The dragon really has lost her touch."
"The dragon?"
"My mother," he clarified.
The woman's eyes widened, but her expression of cool interest didn't otherwise change.
"Your...mother is her chaperone?"
"Yeah—and she's been doing a piss-poor job," Sirius said, passing over this minor detail of his narrative. "I swear, sometimes it feels like she's letting her do it." He shook his head from side-to-side. "But that doesn't make any sense, not after the first time."
"The first time?"
"Yeah, I had terrible luck. The first time I took her out, the dragon caught me sneaking the girl back into the house, and made me swear off seeing her anymore—on pain of telling my father. Naturally I ignored her. I mean, I can't let the dragon tell me what to do, can I?"
"Naturally."
"Well, it started as just a bit of fun, a distraction. And a way of pissing off the dragon. Then it sort of...became something more. But after this morning…well, I screwed that up, same as I screw up everything. She probably loathes me now."
He trailed off, voice despondent.
"It's a tangle you find yourself in," the woman said, in a sympathetic tone. "Is there no hope of a reconciliation?"
"I said things I can—never take back."
"You're very young. Never is a long time."
"I don't think she wants to see me again." He glared at an old portrait on the wall. "Well, she can bugger back off to France and marry whatever fat, genteel farmer from Alsace her family drudges up for her—I wish her joy of him."
There was a slight pause.
"After a week spent in your exciting company," the old woman said, in a thoughtful tone of voice. "I think that would be a disappointing outcome for your young lady."
"As I understand it, that's what the family has in store. They just want to shackle her to some twit to save the farm." He let out a laugh of despair. "She's got a pair of parents you wouldn't believe. Spineless father and a shrew for a mother. The usual story."
"Is this, er—the impression you got from your friend?"
"Oh, no—she'd never dream of speaking about them with the least bit of disrespect. She's too good. I'm just reading between the lines." Sirius squinted into the glass. "There's a grandmother, too. Sounds like a bit of a battle-ax—but then again, they all are."
"They?"
"Grandmothers. Relations, actually. The whole human race."
The old lady sat in thoughtful silence, watching Sirius brooding over the 'whole human race' and its many deficiencies. He was so caught up in his own despair he was immune to the effects of her penetrating scrutiny.
Let her see him in his shame! Who cared, anyway?
"I gather these responsibilities you have been accused of neglecting," his companion said, at last breaking the silence. "They are connected with your family?"
"I told you—she's wrong about everything."
"The girl must have had a reason for believing it, though."
He considered whether to keep denying it or just have it out. Sirius sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"I had an argument with my father last night," he admitted. "Which—may have had some bearing on my decision to leave."
"What about?"
"He's just apologized to me," Sirius said, in a flat voice. "And told me that he's proud of the man I've become."
The old lady didn't laugh—in fact, she actually nodded.
"Ah. I see the problem."
Sirius threw her a disgruntled look and stared down at the floor.
"I know it sounds stupid, you don't have to be sarcastic about it."
"I'm not. I meant what I said—I know precisely what you're talking about. I have something of that experience myself."
He looked up from straw beneath the table that smelled like everything else in the pub—faintly of goats.
"Really?"
The witch nodded again, and her expression was so clearsighted and direct that he found himself momentarily disarmed by it.
"My mother died young—and I never got on with my father. I think he was disappointed at having two daughters and no sons, and neither of them great beauties."
Sirius set the legs of his chair down and looked across the table at the old witch.
"That's part of the reason I sought a husband on the continent. I told myself I would leave this country, and not miss it, because he didn't miss me."
"Did that work?"
"Certainly not. I was homesick—and it didn't help. Though…" She trailed off. "There were other reasons I left England."
"What other reasons?"
She saw in his slightly glazed look that Sirius was genuinely interested.
"There was a man I…thought I was in love with."
The old witch smiled, wistfully, and stared into the distance.
"He never knew—would never have guessed, and would certainly have never stooped to the level of even looking at me if he had. He thought me 'nothing beyond the common way'—I once heard him say that at a ball. I was so incensed I nearly hexed him."
"Why'd you like this bloke?"
"A girlish fancy. I lost my head to a handsome face." She shook her head, as if laughing at her own folly. "I was quite upset at myself at the time for it. I knew he was proud and overbearing. But he had a Byronic quality that I found irresistible."
Sirius snorted.
"Sounds like a prick. Whatever happened to him?"
She smiled, faintly.
"He married my best friend."
Sirius let out a low whistle.
"Damn. That's a hard break."
"Oh, everything turned out for the best. I don't think I would've been happy. We would have fought like Crups and Kneazles. I tried to convince my friend not to go through with it, actually—he really had the most dreadful temper, even if he was fabulously rich. But she was determined. And I think she was happy, in her way."
She pulled out a small pocket watch on a silver filagree chain.
"I should be getting back," she said, regretfully. "They'll be missing me."
She looked as though she very much wanted to say something to him, but didn't quite know how to phrase it.
"I don't suppose I could persuade you to come and make a fourth at dinner over at the inn?" she asked, finally. "You are a far more stimulating conversationalist than my daughter-in-law."
"That's polite of you, but—I've bored you with my problems long enough." Sirius sighed. "Thanks for the offer, all the same."
She nodded, sagely.
"Of course. Morocco awaits—and your grand escape from the country."
She stood up, pulling her coat around her shoulders. The lady pulled a small potions vial out of her coat and handed it to Sirius.
"Hair of the dog. When you decide to leave, take this. I've never known anything to give me a clearer head."
"Thanks. And I hope that ah—business with your family turns out all right."
The old woman gave him a strange, knowing look.
"I have a feeling it will sort itself out." She reached out and offered him her hand. "I hope we'll have some occasion to meet—and distract one another from our troubles again."
Grinning lop-sidedly, Sirius took it and shook.
"It seems unlikely."
"Oh, one never knows."
The old witch glided over to the entrance of the pub, looking every bit as out-of-place as she had coming into it.
"Wait."
She stopped at the door and turned.
"Did you—" Sirius swallowed. "Did you ever make up with your father?"
Her smile was a little too understanding.
"Eventually. I could have spared myself a lot of grief if I'd done it sooner, though. It was much easier to be angry with him when he refused to apologize than to forgive him after he did."
It was only when she'd gone that Sirius realized he hadn't asked the old woman her name. There was a small part of him that wondered, in his diminished state, if he'd imagined the whole encounter.
His head hurt. How long had he been here? The hours had bled together so much that it was all…fuzzy, now. He was surprised Aberforth hadn't come back yet. He was almost good to drive again.
If you were really going to leave, you would have by now.
Sirius was caught—well and truly caught. Nowhere to go except to return—and back was the one place he couldn't go.
He had fled to Colette because he thought she was a refuge. That she would help him escape from the tangle of his life, the spider's web he'd got himself helplessly wrapped up in.
Andromeda had been right about them, damn her. She'd warned him about everything—everything but this.
Or maybe she had warned him about this too, and as usual, he hadn't listened.
Unwittingly, Sirius had allowed Colette Battancourt to worm her way into his affections, just like Marlene said—he'd let down the drawbridge. He had given her the keys to the castle, in fact—and the thing he avoided most of all.
The power to hurt him.
The worst thing of all was that Colette hadn't done it on purpose. She wasn't like Walburga or Orion. She had stung him with her refusal to accept the lies that he wanted someone else to tell him so desperately, as if that would make them true.
I can walk away. I can be happy on my own.
I don't need anyone else.
There was no malice, and so he could not blame her, as he so badly wanted to. She was guilty of nothing more or less than telling him the truth.
Which is more than he had done for her.
"My father is dying. He's going to leave. He's not even willing to fight for us."
"Just when I thought I had him back, I'm going to lose him again."
He'd wanted to tell her, wanted to pour out his troubles into her lap, just as he had so often in this short, fragile moment they had been in each other's lives. But Sirius hadn't.
That horrible truth—the burden of Orion's admission—hung over him like the sword of Damocles, and to tell that secret to someone else would've been the same thing as accepting it was true.
So he'd just run away again.
A faint tapping on the grimy back window of the pub drew Sirius out of this brooding. Aberforth's post, probably. He sat at the table, waiting for the animal to give up and drop it on the sill.
The tapping got louder.
"Alright, alright—I'm coming."
Groaning, Sirius got to his feet and took a few steps towards the window, opening it with a jerky flick of his wand.
A gigantic screech owl soared in through the open window and circled Sirius like a vulture before dropping a letter on a table and settling on the back of a chair.
It took Sirius a second to recognize the owl before it took off again and flew out the window.
He approached the table with slow, wobbly steps.
The envelope was large and shaped oddly, with a hard bulge in the center. His name was written on it. Sirius picked it up and slit the seal open with his wand. The contents immediately spilled out on the table.
He stared down at bits of metal and springs for a moment before he realized what they were pieces of. He picked them up, brain fuzzy from the liquor and mind slow to comprehend. His eyes then turned to the heavy, embossed parchment and the note, so carelessly scrawled in red ink—just for him.
The handwriting was unmistakeable, the message—brief.
It was one of those moments in time where utter confusion gives way to total clarity in the space of a moment. He clenched his fist, and realized that he was still holding the glass vial the old woman had given him.
Sirius pulled the topper off and downed it in one go.
Rodolphus stood out on the parapet—a driving wind from the north hard on his face. He tapped the loose stone beneath his foot. It fell beneath his foot and down in the ditch a hundred feet below.
This wing of the castle had been crumbling since the middle of the last century. Lestrange's father had died without making the necessary repairs—but not before negotiating a considerable dowry for his eldest's son's bride, leaving Rod the job of cleaning up this shit hole.
Lestrange hadn't felt much desire to use the gold that way these past eight years. He'd never loved the house, and there didn't seem to be much of a point in fixing it.
It collapsing in on him and Bella might end up being a blessing.
He scanned his eyes over the dense forest that surrounded Lestrange Castle, the fortress that his ancestors had wrested away from a Saxon noble family centuries earlier using somewhat more violent tactics than their contemporaries. The forest kept the muggles out better than any spell or trap, though he'd set plenty of those, too.
A jagged cliff jutted out of the trees to the south—the single disruptive point in the landscape. He'd once told Bellatrix that it made him think of a middle finger being raised in the direction of every living Lestrange by every dead one.
"That's fucking vulgar." Still, she had laughed. Bella knew exactly what he meant.
They'd been happy, then.
He ought to be inside, receiving his guests with his wife—and yet, he sat and watched out here, like a gargoyle standing guard, waiting in anticipation of…something. Rodolphus longed for this interminable month of December to be over and the business of the day to resume once more. Anything to escape the long line of his wife's arrogant relations, reminding him of all his deficiencies—of all he lacked.
Give me something to do—something to kill.
As if in answer to this ungodly prayer, a streak of red sparks shot up in the sky in the northeastern garden. He recognized Rabastan's magic at once—a powerful, slightly clumsy surge of unrefined spellwork.
Well, well—what have we here?
Rodolphus kept that slash of red in his eye-line as he climbed down the tower. Whatever it was, Rabastan had it under control—he'd have sent up a second shot if he didn't. Probably some idiot who'd tried to get past that wall of defensive spells—one of these seventh years Lucius had recruited, all arrogant twats with a thirst to prove themselves and no brains.
Well, perhaps tonight was the night for some 'remedial education.'
He found his younger brother a few feet from the stone fountain in the middle of what had once been his mother's rose garden, crouched by a figure sprawled out, face down, across the path. Rodolphus lowered his wand and cursed. It was not who he had expected.
It was the last person, in fact.
"He's looked better."
"It's not what you think," Rabastan said, his voice shaking. "He's—only stunned."
Lestrange leered down at the unconscious body on the ground. His arm moved, slightly. A sign of life.
"Was he like this when you found him?"
"No, I—I'm the one who did it." Rod turned his head sharply. "I saw a movement in the trees and I just—panicked."
"Serves him right, creeping in around the back like this." Rodolphus kicked the unconscious man's boot and sneered. "It could have been much worse. Why did the idiot come this way? Does he think he's Bella now, and he has to make an entrance?"
"Rodolphus, I told you, it's…not what you think."
To illustrate his point, Rabastan bent down and rolled over the unconscious man on the ground so that he was facing up.
"Look."
When Rodolphus caught sight of the wizard's face, his expression and body language changed. He held up his wand in a defensive gesture and peered through the trees, as if he was expecting an attack. There was no sound, no movement.
Lestrange looked back down at the intruder.
"Do you have his wand?" he asked, in a rough whisper.
Rabastan nodded. He handed it to his brother. Rodolphus turned it over in his hands, slowly, and examined it. He'd never seen the ebony wand up close, but he'd seen it in action enough times to recognize it. It had even been turned against him once or twice.
A powerful wand—and as reckless as the wizard who wielded it.
He turned his face back towards the man on the ground, and his rough features twisted in a grim smile—his first of the evening.
A wolf looking at the sheep that has wandered across his path.
"Well, well…this night is looking up, isn't it?" Rodolphus laughed. "We're going to have some fun with you."
Sirius Black stirred on the cobblestones—but gave no reply.
Well, apparently sobering up didn't help Sirius much in this case. Whoops. Poor guy can't catch a break, can he? I hope you enjoy the beginning of the final act. After a thousand pages of tea parties, we might even get some action scenes.