Chapter 16
"Sirius!" Fleamont repeated to the limp, unresponsive figure. He quickly looked around him, at the snow-covered, empty streets. He knew he couldn't appraited into Hogwarts, and he didn't want to expose the already freezing, unconscious child to the appalling weather for a moment longer than he had to. Without a further thought, he appraited to the only place he knew would be safe for the boy whom he considered a son. Landing softly, he hurried into the warmth of the Potter Manor.
"Sirius," he tried again as he lay him on the sofa. "Sirius, it's okay. It's Mr. Potter, you're safe. You're in our home."
Through all the confusion, all of the greyness, he could hear a voice. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. He tried to work out what they were saying but he couldn't. The confusion and fuzziness that surrounded his mind were too great. He listened to the tone. It wasn't harsh or angry, but even and gentle. With a great effort, he managed to slightly open his eyes.
"Sirius," Fleamont said with a smile.
Sirius blinked several times. "Mr. Potter?" he tried.
"Yes, that's right."
"Where am I?' Sirius asked, frowning.
"You're in our home."
"What? How?"
"You collapsed in Hogsmeade."
"What? I-, how? I-I," Sirius stammered, swallowing several times. "I need. I need to get back. I, I'm in so much trouble."
"Sirius, Sirius, don't worry about that. I will speak to the school."
"Mr. Potter, I, you don't understand. They they will expel me."
"Sirius, they won't. It's not your fault you're not well. I will sort out everything at school." Fleamont paused for a moment as he considered his next question. "Sirius, do you know who poisoned you?"
"I have to go back. If they know, they- I have to go back."
"Why do you have to go back?"
"I-I, I just, they'll. He, I-l just have to go back."
"Sirius!" Fleamont said urgently as he watched the boy slump and become completely unresponsive. Quickly, he held his wand over the boy for a diagnosis spell, but without warning, the old vase next to him exploded, followed by another and another. He stood and scanned the room, but there was no one. He backed up, his body shielding the young boy. What the hell was happening?! Then, he remembered his son's words. "They couldn't use magic to heal him; it was as if he was allergic to it or something." Fleamont carefully looked down. Was this accidental magic? Was it Sirius' way of trying to defeat himself? To protect himself? Cautiously, he pocketed his wand and bent down, laying a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "Is this you, Sirius?" he said to the room, not expecting a response from the unconscious figure in front of him.
Without further thought, he picked him up, vaguely noting how much lighter he was than he should have been and carried upstairs to a bedroom. Gently laying the boy on the bed, he walked to the window and sent out a partrous.
Euphemia raced towards the house, having seen her husband's partrous. He wasn't in danger, but he needed help urgently; she was at a loss of what it could be. Fleamont did like to dabble with various potions but never anything dangerous. Plus, he was an accomplished healer of minor wounds. Perhaps he had blown up the kitchen again. For her husband's many talents, cooking was not one of them. And in any case, she was far more likely to catch him the act as he sheepishly tried to clear it up. Then what? James? Her pace quickened as he entered the house.
"Fleamont?"
"Up here."
Apprehension gripped her as she climbed the stairs. Who or what was she going to meet? Instinctively she reached for her wand. "Fleamont, where are you?"
"Sirius's room."
She found himself frowning as she closed the distance. Sirius's room? Of course she knew which room her husband was referring to, it had been the young boy's unofficial room since James had brought his best friend home for the third time in as many holidays. But why would Fleamont be there? Had he found something that linked Sirius to the dark arts? Something he was so vocally against. But she couldn't believe it. Sirius may be the heir to the Black title, but he couldn't be further from what his family stood for. She stepped into the room and stopped dead in her tracks. The hair, whilst looking lank and dull, was distinctive. The face, even if it was pale and seemingly lifeless, she would recognise it anywhere.
"Sirius!" She whispered, as she quickly made her way to his side.
"Fleamont?!" she exclaimed as he knocked her wand away. "God!" she exclaimed again, when a lamp in the far right of the room exploded.
"Don't use magic."
"What?!" Euphemia replied carefully as looked into her husband's eyes. She carefully placed her wand in her robes. "Fleamont, he's freezing!"
"I know," Fleamont replied desperately.
"What's happened to him?!"
"Euphemia, its-," Fleamont started, warely of his duty to his young client.
"Fleamont?!"
"I can't say."
"What?! Why?"
"He's my client."
"What?!" Euphemia exclaimed, struggling with the mass, or rather lack of information that was confronting her. "What do you mean? What has he done?"
"He hasn't done anything wrong."
"He." Euphemia paused for a moment. "Who did this to him?"
"I cannot say."
Euphemia shot a glare at her husband, her jaw tensing. "Get the quilt!"
"The quilt?"
"The thick one in our room."
"Euphemia, of its mag-"
"There is nothing magical about it. Claire, my muggle cousin, made it. It's warm, and if I can't use magic on him then I need something else."
Fleamont nodded and hurried out to get the quilt, he knew better than to argue with his wife when she was like this.
"Oh Sirius," Euphemia said quietly, brushing a lank piece of hair from his pale face. She felt a tear slip down her face as she noted the various, still-healing injuries. Injuries that looked a couple of weeks old. Injuries that if been healed in the wizarding way would have barely left a mark but they hadn't been healed the wizarding way. The injuries looked as raw as the day they were inflicted.
"Sirius, you are safe here. It's just me and Mr. Potter. We will make you better. We will protect you," she continued as she leant down and carefully kissed his forehead. "We love you." She took the quilt from her husband, carefully tucking around the young boy.
"Euphemia, are you still in contact with that, err, doctor from the Witch's institute?"
"Sarah? Yes."
"We need her."
"Fleamont?"
"You saw how he reacted to your wand. He's been poisoned."
"Fleamont? What are you talking about?!
"I can't say."
"Fleamont!" Euphemia demanded her hand, never leaving her all but adopted son's hand.
"I can't."
"Why?"
"You know why."
"Fleamont, this is me. You can tell me!"
"No, I can't. I need him to trust me, and he won't if he knows I've broken that confidence."
"Fleamont!"
"I can't," Fleamont replied, sighing, he let his head fall into his hands. "He hasn't told me a lot, but I cannot tell you anything. I know, and I have seen his reaction to magic. He doesn't need a healer, he needs a muggle doctor, but a doctor who knows our ways."
Euphemia nodded, her hand never leaving Sirius' cool, limp one. She took her other hand and gently brushed the wayward strands of hair off his face. "Sirius, darling, I'm going to have to leave you for a bit. Mr. Potter is going to be here, he isn't going to leave you. You will be safe here, we will make sure no one will hurt you." She paused and took a breath. She tightly squeezed her eyes for a moment. "I love you Sirius, and I will always be there for you. But I need to leave now to speak to my friend Sarah Knell, she's a witch and a doctor at Guy's hospital." She took a moment, biting her lip. "It's a good hospital and it's one of the country's poison research centres. We will find out what you were poisoned with and we will help you. Sirius." She stopped and paused, brushing a gentle hand over his. "I love you Sirius and there is nothing I won't do to help you."
Fleamont looked at his wife for a moment. Over fifty years of marriage, like most, they had their good days and their bad days but they had always held true. They had always wanted children, by the time James had come around they had all but given up, but then James had happened. The birth had nearly ended his wife's life. After that, he refused to have another child, fearing his wife's life but, like his wife, he wanted another child. Then Sirius had become a regular feature in their house during the holidays. He had already considered the boy as his son, now he was his legal guardian and he hoped he would become his son.
"I'll stay with him but you need to go, you need to go now," Fleamont urged.
Euphemia nodded, taking one final look at the too still boy. With a tense face, she apparited.
Fleamont carefully took Sirius' hand. "Sirius, listen to me. I know you are scared. I know you are hurting, but we are all here for you. You understand that, right? We are all here for you. I know you are fighting, but you need to dig deep and fight. We will be here for you. We will protect you. You never have to see them again. I promise you that. You will never have to step foot in that place again." He sighed, and rubbed his face. He had no idea what had happened to the boy. But the school? The school had let the torment continue. That in action, could well have cost the boy his life.
He didn't know how long he had been sitting there, hours could have passed, or it could have only been minutes. Time seemed to have stood still when he heard a small pop downstairs. Instinctively, he reached for his wand, pointing towards the door. He hoped it was his wife, not a death eater, or worse Sirius' parents.
Euphemia landed softly, and without a further word, she hurried up the stairs, Sarah in tow. She hoped she wasn't too late. She hoped, she hoped there was still hope for the young boy. "Fleamont," she called out.
Fleamont felt himself relax and pocketed his wand. "Up here," he called out rather pointlessly.
Euphemia hurried in, her stride not stopping until she got to the young boy. "Sirius, " she called out gently, as he stroked his hair. "Sirius, I've got my friend here. She's a witch but she's also a muggle healer. She's called Doctor Sarah Knell."
Sarah leant forward and didn't like what she saw. The pale, gaunt figure. The very laboured breathing. "How long has he been unconscious?" she asked quickly, as she started to pull equipment from her bag.
"I don't know, maybe half an hour, " Fleamont replied tensely.
Sarah nodded and pulled a thick tube with two ends, leading to one and pressed it against the boy's chest. She frowned. She wrapped a cloth around Sirius' arm and squeezed a ball a couple times. She frowned again when she looked at the dial. She shone a light into his closed eyes. "How old are these injuries?"
"I'm not sure, but at least two and half weeks old."
Sarah nodded again. "Euphemia said you couldn't use magic on him?"
"It causes him to perform accidental magic, well that's at best. It causes his body to shut down. If they try to test his blood, it causes the vials to shatter," Fleamont explained.
"And you don't know how this happened?"
Fleamont looked down for a moment. "His parents attacked him."
Sarah nodded. "So, dark arts may have been used?"
Fleamont looked again. "Well-"
"Fleamont, I am well aware of who he is and who his family are. The heir to Black title sorted into Gryffindor doesn't exactly go unnoticed."
"I'm his lawyer," Fleamont replied with a slight look.
Sarah nodded. "I understand. I'm going to take some blood to test. He's severely dehydrated, so I get some fluids into him and oxygen to help with his breathing."
"Sarah?" Euphemia asked.
"I don't know. If we can identify what has poisoned him, he may have a chance."
"He may?"
"He's a very sick boy, Euphemia," Sarah replied sadly. "How safe would he be if we brought him into Guy's?"
Fleamont shook his head. "I don't know, but I would only want to use it as the last resort. "
"We might be at that stage."
Fleamont nodded sadly as he watched Sarah pull out various sharp metal objects, sticking them into Sirius' pale, seemingly lifeless skin. "How long do we have?"
"Maybe until the morning," Sarah replied, as she slowly stood up, packing the vials into her bag. With a tight voice, she continued. "I'm sorry, but you need to prepare yourself for the worst."
Fleamont straightened himself slowly as stepped out of Professor McGonagall's fire. After Sarah had left he and Euphemia had discussed the situation. They needed more information, they needed to try and find out what had happened to Sirius. Which was why he was in the Head of Gryffindor's office.
"Miverna, I need to speak to my son."
"Can I ask why?" Professor McGonagall replied. "Can't it wait until after lessons?"
"No, it's important, I need to speak to him urgently."
Professor McGonagall nodded and pulled a quill, made a note on a piece of parchment, before sending on an owl. "He shouldn't be long. Can I get you something to drink?"
"No thank you," Fleamont replied tensely. He held his hands behind his back and began to pace.
"Fleamont, James is safe here."
"Is he?"
"This is about Sirius isn't it?"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss that," Fleamont replied in a tight voice, as he resumed pacing.
"Fleamont, I can assure you Sirius is safe here. We are doing everything we can to help him."
"Are you?" Fleamont replied in a hard voice.
"Yes."
"Where is he then?" Fleamont asked accusingly.
"He's-he's-"
"I'll let you know where he is. He's in my home and he's close to death. The witch who is a muggle healer thinks it might still be too late. That's even if she can identify what he's poisoned with, it may have already caused too much damage. He should never have been allowed to continue to go to school like he has been doing," Fleamont replied, his voice tight.
"Dumbledore-"
"Is Dumbledore a healer?!"
"No," Professor McGonagall replied simply.
Fleamont sighed heavily. "I need to speak to my son."
"Of course, " Professor McGonagall replied quietly. Hearing a knock at the door. "I'll leave you."
James burst into the room, breathless and wide-eyed. "Professor, " he started, but his words fell in his mouth as he watched his Head of House leave without word. For the last half an hour he had been desperately searching the castle for any sign of his friend but had found none. When Lily had mentioned Sirius hadn't been in their Ancient Runes class he had panicked, sprinting to the tower, madly searching his common room and the dorm, but there had been no sign of his friend.
"Dad!" he called out, racing into the room. "Dad, Sirius-."
"He's safe James, he's at home," Fleamont replied quickly.
"He's, he's," James stammered, frowning. "How did he get there?"
"I took him there."
"Dad? I don't understand," James replied, confused, his brow furrowed. "Is he okay?"
Fleamont paused for a moment, thinking about his reply. "He's ill."
"I know," James growled. "And the teachers are doing sod all about it. I swear some think he's doing it as a prank, to get attention. But they don't see how tired he gets. How much pain he's in. How scared he is."
Fleamont slowly nodded. "I know."
"It's bad isn't it?"
"Yes "Fleamont replied quietly.
"But you and mum are looking after him aren't you? Because, because he's not like them. He hates the dark arts and that's why they hurt him. Dad, dad make sure it's not dark because he's really scared of the dark," James choked out, his head in his hands.
"James," Fleamont said gently, resting a hand on his son's shoulder. "Of course, your mother and I will look after him. James, I know this is tough but is there anything Sirius said to you."
"He's not-" James started in a choked voice, already knowing the answer.
"He's unconscious."
James bit his lip. "I don't know, he hasn't said a lot."
"How did he seem when you left the train at the end of last term?"
"He wasn't on the train."
"James?"
"He had been suspended, so he left early."
"Why was he suspended?" Fleamont questioned.
James looked down and away. "Dad, it doesn't matter, okay. He messed up but it wasn't his fault. If I'd just been there, then none of this would have happened."
"James?" Fleamont tried.
"If I'd just listened to him, then none of this would have happened. He would have stayed at ours over Christmas. It would have meant he wouldn't have gone back to that hellhole that's supposed to be his home five days early," James sobbed. "And it would mean he wouldn't be dying, he would be safe, and happy and healthy."
"You don't know that James," Fleamont said softly.
"Don't I?! If he didn't go back to that place, then he would have never been hurt. He would have never been poisoned! You would have never hurt or poisoned him!"
Fleamont closed his eyes briefly. "No, I wouldn't." He paused for a moment. "When was the next time you saw Sirius?"
James tugged at his sleeve and looked down. "Four days after school started. I, I met him in the corridor, I was so." He hesitated for a moment. "I was so angry with him. I thought he had pranked us and made us believe he was dead when he had been at the pub. But." He let out a choked sob. "It couldn't be further from the truth. He hadn't been in the pub, he had been held prisoner by them. He wasn't drunk, he was dying."
Fleamont wrapped an arm around his son's shoulders. "Who told you Sirius was dead?"
"Regulus, Sirius' younger brother," James replied, tears now streaming down his face. "He told us Sirius had died of Dragonpox."
"Did he say when?"
James looked up, his face wet with tears, and shook his head. "It's my fault dad, it's my fault. He's going to die and it's my fault."
Fleamont pulled his son into a hug. "No it's not James, it's not. It's not your job to fix these things."
"But it is my job as a friend, to look out for my best friend. To listen to him. To accept his version of events, not my worst enemy's. What are you going to do? I haven't told you anything. I haven't said anything that will help Sirius. I swear to you dad, that's all I know."
"You've told me a lot James, and it will help. Is there anything else, James? It doesn't matter how small, anything might help," Fleamont said softly. "Anything?"
James let his head fall into his hands and raked his hands through his hair. "He-he." He closed his eyes as more tears threatened. "His parents tried to bury him alive. They used unforgivable curses on him," he finally managed. "But he didn't ever mention them poisoning him."
"We'll find out James, we will," Fleamont promised, silently adding, hopefully in enough time.
James slowly nodded. "Dad, how long will you be here? Do you have enough time for me to get something for him?"
"A bit longer, I need to speak to Sirius' brother."
Fleamont paced in front of the fire in Professor Slughorn's office, waiting for Regulus Black to appear. A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. "Mr. Potter?"
"Ah, thank you, Professor," Fleamont replied. He took a moment to look the younger boy up and down. He could definitely make out the Black strong features, and dark hair. He was shorter and slighter than Sirius, but like Sirius, he didn't have the same hard eyes he had associated with the Black family. "Regulus, can I call you Regulus?" He watched the young boy slowly nod. "My name is Mr. Potter, I am your brother's lawyer."
"Is Sirius okay?"
"He's, he's not very well at the moment."
"I know, but he's, but why are you here?"
Fleamont paused for a moment, as he chose his words carefully. "Regulus, why don't you take a seat."
"He's not dead, please don't tell me he's dead," Regulus pleaded, tears picking his eyes.
"No, he's not but he's very sick. He's been poisoned, but the healers can't work out what he had been poisoned with."
"I don't understand, I don't understand. Who would poison my brother?"
"That's what we are trying to work out. How was your brother during the Christmas holidays?"
"What? He wasn't there during the holidays!"
Fleamont frowned. "Sorry Regulus, he wasn't there? You didn't see him?"
"No, I-I, mother and father told me, he had died from dragonpox. But, I, well he obviously didn't. I don't know what happened. My cousin, she told me, mother and father had to lie because Sirius had done something that would embarrass the family. I, I just don't understand," Regulus replied, slightly shaking. "I don't know what happened."
Fleamont nodded slowly. "It's okay Regulus, that's really helpful. Thank you very much."
Regulus stood up slowly and started to walk towards the door, and then stopped. "My parents were very interested in the cellar, I wasn't allowed anywhere near it." He looked down, as he tried to recall a memory. "Then on Christmas Eve, I was forbidden to go downstairs because they had an important visitor. They were using the family gold, they never use the family gold, not even when they have dinner parties for the important members of the sacred twenty-eight. After that supper, they weren't interested in the cellar anymore. They seemed happier, maybe even proud."
Fleamont frowned with this latest piece of information, not quite knowing what to do with it. "Thank Regulus."
Regulus smiled shyly. He reached into his bag and pulled out a slightly threadbare stuffed black dog. "Can you give this to my brother? He gave it to me when I was six, so, so I wouldn't be alone at night. I-" He stopped and looked down, more tears threatening. "I think he needs it more than me now."
"Of course Regulus," Fleamont said, taking the dog with a smile.
"And, and can you tell him I love him," Regulus said, as tears began to stream down his face again.
"Of course I will," Fleamont replied, laying a gentle hand on the younger boy's shoulder.
"Whatever happens, can you tell me what happens to him? Good, or bad," Regulus said, biting his lip.
"Of course." Without a further word, Fleamont watched the younger Black boy walk out of the office.
"You think his parents did this to him?" Professor Slughorn said, speaking up for the first time.
"I don't know," Fleamont replied, rubbing his face.
"And this poison? Do you think I could look at it?"
"You could, but unless you know any muggle methods, it won't help." Fleamont looked up at Slughorn's confused face. "When they have tried to test any of his blood using a wand, the vial shatters." Slowly he picked up his bag and headed towards the door. "Thank you, Professor."
James waited impatiently outside Professor Slughorn's office, rocking up and down on the balls of his feet. He had seen Regulus leave, they had vaguely exchanged looks but that was it. Despite what Sirius had said, he partially blamed the younger brother. He had been there. Surely, he had heard or seen something?! Why hadn't done something to help his brother?! Why had he lied about Sirius being dead? If only Regulus had done something, then maybe, maybe. He stopped and took a breath. Maybe. What if. If only. Phrases he had repeated to himself and others on multiple occasions but had never come back with an answer. He raked a hand through his disheveled, wild hair. Maybe. What if. If only. They weren't going to help Sirius now.
Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, his father walked through the door.
"Dad!" he exclaimed.
"James," Fleamont replied with a smile.
"Did you learn anything?"
"A bit."
"What?"
"Sorry James, I can't tell you that."
"Where are you going?"
"To Hogsmeade."
James nodded, knowing he wouldn't get any more information out of his father. "Dad, can you give Sirius these," he said, handing over a photo and a mirror. "The photo is a normal wizard photo, and the mirror is enchanted. I have the other one. I'm not sure how much magic you can use around him, but maybe, when he's feeling better, we can." He stopped and tried to find a small smile. Ultimately, he knew Sirius would never use the enchanted mirror again, but maybe, maybe there would be a tiny chance he could. "Well, I just thought that if he's feeling well enough, we could chat. And maybe I could cheer him up."
Fleamont found a smile and hugged his son. "We are doing everything we can for him James, I promise you I am not leaving one stone unturned." He watched his son nod. "I've got to go, but I love you."
"I love you, dad."
Fleamont confidently strode into the three broomsticks pub. A place he had been to on multiple occasions, both for business and pleasure. It was Wednesday mid-afternoon, so it was fairly empty, save a couple of people at the far corner.
"Good afternoon Mr. Potter," Madam Bell, the landlady, greeted. "What can I get you?"
"Nothing this afternoon Madam Bell, I just have a couple of questions," Fleamont asked pleasantly.
"Questions?" Madam Bell replied, tensing.
"Nothing serious," Fleamont replied with a smile. "You have measures in place don't you."
Madam Bell relaxed a little. "Yes, well after a couple of Hogwarts incidents we added, err, at the headmaster's instruction, err an age line.
Fleamont found a tight smile. "An age line?" he asked.
"Yes, Dumbledore himself insisted on it."
Fleamont nodded. "So, no one under the age of 17 would not be able to enter your pub."
"No," Madam Bell replied.
"Is there anywhere else you could enter the pub, apart from that door?"
"No, you need to go through the age line to get in there."
"What about the cellar?"
Madam Bell frowned. "Oh, are you talking about when McAfee found that drunk kid?"
Fleamont frowned. "Yes," he said with a smile. "What happened? How did the child make it past the age line?"
Madam Bell struggled. "I don't know," she started. "He was just a dumb, drunk kid."
"Are there any other entrances into the pub?" Fleamont asked with a raised eyebrow. "I don't care if there are, it's just important."
"No," Madam Bell said, shaking her head. "There's only the one door into this pub."
"Thank you," Fleamont managed, as he rubbed his face. He took a moment, as he tried to quell his thoughts. Sirius was dying and was more than likely going to die. What could he do? He sighed. He would fight for that person, living, or it came to it dead. He looked away, as the breath caught in his throat. Sirius. The brave boy who was born into darkness, yet fought it. He would protect that child.