Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

A/N: The Order of the Phoenix is, of course, taken from the title of JK Rowling's fifth book.  We shall see what happens… meanwhile, enjoy the chapter, and Happy Thanksgiving!

Chapter 28 ~ Marble Halls

            Airelle had not traveled by Floo Powder for a few months, but she remembered well how the ash could sting one's throat.  She closed her eyes and let her thoughts wander.  Her brain was clear now, and she allowed new plans to make themselves known.

            Voldemort did not know of Noah's death yet, so she had to hurry.  If she managed to discover the Death Eaters' location before he came after her, Airelle would be able to alert the Ministry and trap the Dark Lord's minions.

            Her plan was simple.  In her apartment, she kept a complex list of incantations that, when said together, allowed their speaker to locate anyone who had recently performed an Apparation spell.  They were beacons for picking up the magical trail of the caster's wand – similar to a Location Spell, but much more advanced, because it could be performed for a spell that had been cast hours previously, whereas the Location Spell could only work with immediate events.  Only an Auror could perform one without facing immediate Ministry charges.  Airelle thanked her stars for renewing her license, though she no longer practiced.

            The spell was difficult, and dangerous… and no one was ever certain of its accuracy.  Wizards Apparated often, and to find the right trail was next to impossible.  Which was why the Ministry never used the method much.

            But Airelle had run out of ideas, and it was worth a try.  She'd use the Locus Charm, as it was called, over a special Ministry map of England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, and their surroundings – she doubted Voldemort would station anywhere farther.  But such maps, bewitched to show Apparation trails, were hard to come by, and a simple Unplottable Spell would render the whole thing useless.

            However, Airelle had some clues to narrow her search.  The woody, hilled area – the marble halls she'd had a glimpse of – the place looked too new.  This was a surprise to her, considering that Death Eaters usually sought shelter in abandoned, run-down shacks where no one bothered to look.

            A thought flashed through her mind – perhaps they'd allowed her a glance on purpose.

            But she ignored it.  Noah was good, and she'd escaped him by luck, not merely her abilities.  Voldemort could not suspect anything – yet.

            If the place were Unplottable, however—what a pestering thought!--- but it couldn't… it really couldn't.  Someone would chance to glance upon a map, and it would be too suspicious if a well-known place did not appear.  Airelle knew it was enormous --- they'd walked in it for a long while before exiting – perhaps a building, or a home of sorts.  Surely, someone had to know it was there… even under the Imperius Curse, her mind would have recognized an Illusion.  And that building, that cell was no Illusion.  It was a real place, and to make it Unplottable, even a powerful wizard needed weeks… and Voldemort was working quickly.  He could not have wiped a whole building off the map without someone at the Ministry noticing.

            Not unless---

            The Floo Powder had done its work, bringing her to the fireplace of her modest London apartment; she only visited her parents over the summer.  Coughing, the ex-Auror made a move to step out of the greenish flames, ready to find Voldemort or die trying.

            She didn't quite make it.

            It felt as if fifty pairs of hands had grabbed her robes and pulled backwards with all their might, back into the fire.  Gasping and inhaling soot, Airelle drew her wand, prepared to defend herself as she hurtled back the way she'd come, towards a drab brown frame…

            She stumbled out, short of breath and covered in black ash, onto a beautiful burgundy carpet, her disheveled roves smoking at the hems.  Her fingers curled around her wand tightly, and she was ready to utter a hex at anything that moved.

            But nothing did.  She had entered someone's cozy sitting room, from the looks of it.  The divan was unoccupied, and the sole source of light was the fireplace.  The proprietors, apparently, had gone to bed.

            The fireplace.

            Airelle spun around, her swift black eyes examining the mantelpiece, the small grate, and the magical flames that glowed green within.  Nothing.

            She looked at her robes then, which were crisped at the bottom—and put two and two together.

            Magical fires don't burn cloth…

            It was no person who'd pulled her back from her apartment--- it was the fire itself.  And there was only one reason for Floo Powder to do this.  Just one.

            Ignoring her smoldering garments, Airelle crossed the room in large, hurried strides, trailing ash on the lovely carpet.  Her hand reached up and wrenched back the thick curtains on the window, and paused in mid-motion.

            She did not say anything, or gasped, or so much as twitched.  She just stood simply, wand forgotten in her limp fingers, and watched the scene unfolding right across the street from her.

            The sidewalk swarmed with half-dressed people and fire engines, their lights harsh on the eyes.  The black sky was tainted with blacker smoke, which rose thickly upwards from the fire that generated it.  People were fleeing the building, leaning on each other in the dark atmosphere.

            They were Muggles, of course; their homes had been destroyed.  Airelle watched the edifice burn slowly, flames consuming it from the top down.

            Her apartment was in that building.  The Floo Powder had returned her to the nearest wizard fireplace other than her own – because her home had been devoured by the fire started in it.  Magical arson.

            And worst of all, it was a message.  Voldemort knew.

            Quickly, she drew her gaze down from the many windows of the building – empty eyes, they were – to the ground, scrutinizing every face, searching.

            There was a sudden shuffle upstairs, possibly from the master bedrooms.  Airelle ignored it.  If the owners came downstairs, she'd explain.  If not, they'd awaken to a houseful of soot in the morning.

            Whoever had started the fire – a Death Eater, undoubtedly – must have also cast the spell that saved her, the spell that landed her here, in someone else's home.  But why?  For Voldemort to revel in sadistic glee, knowing Airelle was powerless against him?  To toy with her friends' lives while she tried to convince the Ministry he'd returned?

            She wouldn't put anything past him.  But… there had to be another reason.  The Dark Lord was practical.  Insane, but practical.

            Her eyes shot through the crowds again.  Stony-faced men, women crying, children roused from their dreams in haste… no.  They were not the ones she wanted to see.

            And then, it came.  A face caught her eye, and Airelle recognized it.  Gladys Holmes, an Auror.  She came around a corner, her tanned face flushed and her lips pursed; she'd just Apparated.  And there was Devon Grendale, a noted, scarred veteran, and his son, who looked too young for the Trade.  They positioned themselves, watchful, across the street from the building, close to Airelle's temporary lookout post.

            And still more came – all in Muggle attire, all Ministry agents, all specially trained to cater to the non-magic world.  They stayed back to let Muggle law-keepers through, looking about apprehensively.  The Ministry had swooped on this one quickly, and Airelle was left wondering who had sanctioned the order.  Probably Omar, the current leader of the Suicide Squad… but not Fudge; he remained obdurate.  Then again… Dumbledore did go to London to convince him… had the Headmaster succeeded?

            Another question struck her as she, hidden in the semi-darkness of the house, watched the flickering street.  Did Lupin and Hermione follow her, and if so, where were they?  She had planned to send them off to the Ministry after she discovered Voldemort's location.  There, they would have rallied every Auror who listened, and return to Airelle with them.

            But now, the idea was pointless, and the plans lay in ruin.  Her papers had curdled up in the fire, and Fudge would not allow her to do anything more without proof.  Of course, there was always Noah Lieton's body… but by the time they all returned to Hogwarts, Voldemort would kill Snape and the others for sure.  No, something had to be done now, in this very street.

            A swift, darting pair of eyes suddenly settled in hers, and there was a sharp gleam of metal.  Airelle's lips dried up like a shrivelfig.

            "Pettigrew."

            He was standing amid the Muggles, older and balder, but otherwise every bit as she remembered him.  He looked so calm and nonchalant that for a moment, Airelle thought she was hallucinating.  But she was not.  Peter Pettigrew, the veritable murderer of Lily and James Potter, was staring straight at her from the street, a pale smirk floating on his face.  He knew she was there.

            On instinct, Airelle stepped forward, with her nose almost pressed against the glass, and made to raise her wand.  But the Death Eater raised his hand underneath his Muggle coat for her to see, and she stopped dead, understanding the gesture.  If she alerted any of the Aurors outside of his presence, he'd utter a curse and take half the block and all the unsuspecting Muggles on it with him.  The ploy had worked fourteen years previously, and an innocent man was framed for it.  Sirius Black.

            Airelle's eyes followed Pettigrew's as he clenched, then unclenched his silver fist.  He then looked up meaningfully at her, and disappeared with a smile into the crowd of Muggles as silently as he'd come, scooting low to avoid the gaze of the Aurors.

            Staring at the spot where he'd vanished, Airelle realized she needed a new plan.  Alert the Ministry right away?  Go directly to Dumbledore?  Play hero and go after Voldemort herself?

            Her fingers tightened indecisively over her wand.  Her other hand stiffened too, over empty air.  But it released upon something far from empty.

            She looked down, and saw her hand holding a piece of brown paper that hadn't been there before.  Remembering Pettigrew's movements, she unrolled it hurriedly and read the blood-red letters:

            Bring the recipe to Aberdeenshire, alone, or they die slowly.

            Airelle shut her eyes, and squeezed them tightly.  Voldemort sent Pettigrew to destroy her possessions, but not kill her – because he wanted her friends' fate to be in her hands.  Voldemort had given her an ultimatum – either she'd give him the Mortis Potion or Snape and the others would die assuredly horrible deaths.  And certainly, there were Death Eaters out there other than Pettigrew, watching her every move.  If she tried to alert the Ministry now, they'd kill the prisoners without a single thought or hesitation.

            She stared at the paper again, at the words, until her eyes stung.  Some logical part of her brain seemed to have a solution – "If you give Voldemort the potion, you and your friends will die anyway, along with thousands of Muggles and Muggle-borns.  And you will be responsible.  No one but you.  You swore never to let Voldemort see that recipe—where is your promise now?"

            Airelle clenched the paper in her hand, the sharp edge of it digging into her palm and drawing blood.  She took no notice.  Voldemort would delight in torturing her with the choice.  She could just imagine him saying, "I know you want to be practical and not let me have what I want.  But that foolish, that PREDICTABLE quality in you—that HERO in you—will give me whatever I want, and more, no matter how logical the other choice seems.  That is what's so good about you goody-two-shoes--- no matter how impenetrable you make yourselves seem, that weakness never, EVER leaves you.  You will always bend to a greater power… mine."

            Tears blurred her vision, and she clenched the paper even tighter.  He would be right in saying that, she knew.  No matter what happened afterwards… she could not bear knowing that because she didn't give him the potion------

            Her imagination soared to something cold and metallic-tasting: blood.  Too much blood.  Neville… the thought of Neville facing the Cruciatus Curse was too much for her.  Hermione, at one point, had told her of what had happened to the boy in one of Moody's Defense Against the Dark Arts classes… how he trembled at seeing that spider twitch—

            And Ron Weasley?…  Airelle was glad to have left Harry with Sirius.  She could not risk him anywhere near Death Eaters.  He'd be the hero, and run off to rescue his friends.  Exactly what Voldemort wanted.  Throw Harry Potter into the bargain, along with the Mortis Potion and the deaths of thousands.

            And Alica… Tracy… how would they measure up to the things Airelle had witnessed in her Auror days--- things that made some rookies' hair turn white with fear and their hands shake for the rest of their lives?  How would a pair of girls, only fourteen years old, handle it?

            And then, there was Snape.  The traitor.  Voldemort would make him suffer most of all.

            Blood trickled down from her fingers, and the burgundy carpet drank it, and still she took no notice.  Instead… her mind flew back to Christmas night and afterwards…

            Standing there, Airelle opened her eyes, and her vision cleared somewhat.  She had remembered a promise she'd made to him then—on their first night together.  She swore she'd remember what happened in that room; and now, she realized why he'd asked her to swear it.  Snape knew something like this would happen, and had tried to protect her early.  He feared that if he died, she would not take it.

            He'd been right.

            That was why he made her swear.  Snape was trying to show Airelle that she could affect the life of even someone like himself.  Thus, her own life was worth living, even without him.

            Airelle smiled over her tears.  Of course, Snape hadn't realized that his promise worked both ways.  It was engraved in her mind, a permanent reminder of what he was to her… critic, competitor, friend, and… and lover.  It tied her hands together, and that was how she wanted it.  Those words could not let her turn away.  She had to find a way to help the only person who could get rid of her nightmares, or die trying.  Period.

            Another discovery – Airelle had been afraid of death before, even as an Auror.  But if it came to staying alive or giving her life for a nasty, bitter, greasy, horrible, paranoid man – a former Death Eater – well, then she had picked out her coffin a long time ago.

            She'd been so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn't even notice the fireplace begin to burn green again.  Nor did she notice Remus Lupin and Hermione Granger until they hailed her, coughing, from the other end of the room.

            "Airelle!"

            "Professor!  What happened?… the Floo Powder—"

            Airelle did not even look back at them, but remained silent and cold, staring out the window.  Remus Lupin's voice grew worried.

            "Airelle?" he asked.  "What is it?"

            She had decided long ago, and her hands seemed to have taken on a mind of their own.  They gripped her wand of their own accord.  And before either of the newcomers could do anything, Airelle spun and raised the wand at them.  "Petrificus Partis!"

            With that came two thuds.  Lupin and Hermione were on the floor, their wands lying just a few inches off.  She had not frozen them totally, and the spell would wear off in a half hour.  By that time, she'd be long, long gone from here.

            Airelle stepped over Hermione's body, which blinked up at her in shock, and stared at Lupin.  She really did stare at him, but her eyes were not seeing him.

            "Please," she said.  A tear dripped from her cheek onto his face, and she closed her eyes to stop any more of that cruel, salty liquid from escaping.  "Please, forgive me."

            Some time later, a dark shape emerged from the house across from the burning building, and went off, seen by neither Muggle nor Auror eyes.  Airelle Vilka crossed to another block and stood in the shadow of a high fence, watching the fire for one last time.

            Then, she uttered the spell, and Apparated in the darkness with a faint pop.  No one had paid any attention.

            Or so she thought.

~*~

            The incantation had taken her to the forests of northern Scotland, away from prying eyes.  She recognized the familiar crunch of leaves underfoot – this was where Noah and she had Apparated from to Hogsmeade.  That meant Snape and the others were close by, in the place with the marble halls.

            But currently, Airelle had more pressing problems.  She was surrounded, immediately upon appearing, by a ring of hooded Death Eaters, seven or so, wands all raised and ready to strike like cobras.  She did not see metal—Pettigrew was not among them.  Good.

            Their leader, a man with a deep voice she did not recognize, accosted her.

            "You have brought it?"

            Airelle mustered her courage, and tried not to be afraid.  Of course, it was hard not to worry when one was closed in by Voldemort's minions.  But she needed to remain collected in order to get out of this.  Of course, she had not arrived to Aberdeenshire without a plan of her own.  It was now up to her skill and Destiny to decide if it worked, or if she died in the process.

            She stared right into the black hood, undaunted, her flyaway hair floating softly in the late spring wind and her eyes gleaming with black fire.  "My friends first."

            The Death Eater pointed lazily in a direction somewhere behind him.  "They are alive, still."

            Airelle kept her eyes fixed directly on that hood, or it was the end of her.  "I don't believe you."

            "You are not in a position to argue," said the Death Eater icily.  "Give me the recipe."

            This was it.  Dropping her wand to the ground, Airelle reached into her pocket, slowly, so as not to set off the Death Eaters.  Drawing out a piece of paper, she held it out at her side.

            "Fair exchange," she said.  "My friends for this."

            "Excellent," replied the Death Eater, and gripped his wand.  "Imperio."

            Airelle was ready for it.  As soon as the curse hit her and she felt the warmth spreading through her veins, she made herself drop on the ground on top of her wand.  There was no other way.  Her brain reeled, but did not fight the curse.  It was waiting for an order.

            She stayed crouched, and the lead Death Eater said, "Give me the paper."

            The key to her plan lay in this.  She could not get up… and yet, the curse was telling her to follow the order.  Airelle concentrated with all her might, remembering the reality around her, and found a way out.

            Her hand threw the paper towards the Death Eater's feet, but she stayed on the floor, staring at the ground.

            Just a little more… just don't give me another order…

            As she'd hoped, the Death Eater bent to pick up the paper.  The others' wands were still trained on Airelle, but she did not care then.  Now, it was only her speed that counted.

            Her brain was screaming in pain, and her head felt like it was about to split open.  The curse was telling her to stay and wait for an order… but her hands did not follow.  They drew out the wand from under her knees, and Airelle felt her numb lips whisper the words, "Vacuefactum!"

            Needless to say, the Death Eaters were surprised at their captive suddenly vanishing from their midst, leaving only her burnt cloak.  Their leader, however, was smarter than she'd thought.

            "It's an Illusion!" he yelled at his underlings, who'd begun to panic.  "Show yourself!"

            Airelle winced.  That last command had been directed at her, and she was still under the influence of the Imperius Curse.  Despite the fact that she'd fought it until now, she had to obey.  She'd failed in her plan—now, all that was left to do was to kill as many of them as possible----

            A light came out of the trees that no one saw until it hit Airelle squarely in the chest as she reappeared in the center of the ring.

            "FINITE INCANTATEM!" someone roared, and her vision cleared with a snap.  Not bothering to even blink or wonder who had saved her, Airelle felt her wand again and threw herself at the nearest Death Eater.  They hit the grass, and somebody else shouted "Avada Kedavra!"

            There was a deafening BANG as from a pistol, and Airelle rolled away just in time to see the green light whiz past her and illuminate the forest.  More lights shot out from the trees, and her instincts told her to protect herself.  The Death Eater she was on top of, however, had other plans, and punched her in the face.  Her ears rang as she toppled off him, her wand leaving her fingers…but she managed to pull him with her.

            The action saved her life.  The leader of the Death Eaters shot a Killing Curse at her, but it hit the Death Eater on top of her instead.  Airelle felt the body go limp and then stiff, pinning her underneath it.  Meanwhile, the other Death Eaters fell out of position, some yelling curses into the dark trees.  Their leader, however, was undaunted, and raised his wand again.

            Airelle had no time to scramble out of the way.  He was going to kill her, and she had no wand to protect herself.  Her palm grasped convulsively at the ground, and closed over a fist-sized stone.

            Without thinking, the ex-Auror hurled it at him, like a Quaffle ---- hard.

            If she ever managed to get out of this alive, she would hug Madam Hooch until she turned blue.  Airelle had been a Chaser for Ravenclaw in her Hogwarts days--- and her Quidditch aim was true even now.  The stone hit the Death Eater right on the mark; his head rolled, and he stumbled, momentarily dazed.

            That was all the time she needed.  Scuttling out from under the dead body, Airelle ran forward without regard to her surroundings, and grabbed his hand—the one with the wand in it.  He managed to utter another Killing Curse on impulse, but the target was off.  Airelle twisted his arm to the left, and the curse hit another Death Eater.

            Even before that body had hit the ground, another flash of light emerged from the trees and felled another Death Eater.  Airelle's foe, though, had regained his alertness, and slapped her so hard that her vision blurred and her neck felt like it was going to snap.  She realized that he had dropped his wand as well and had his big hands around her throat, clamping down mercilessly and squeezing the life out of her.

            Her lungs screamed for air, and she choked, trying to keep her focus.  But all she could see was the faceless black hood, slowly becoming more and more distorted in her vision.  She felt a strange tingling in her hands, which were gripping his wrists—they were going limp.

            But then, a panic rose up like a death-rattle in her, a panic so fierce that it took control of her body completely.  Airelle lashed out with her foot, and it connected with something; what it was, she would never know.  All she knew was that the hold on her throat was loosened momentarily, and welcome air rushed back into her like a flood.  She kicked again, this time with her last fervor, and hit his stomach; the Death Eater bent slightly, still holding her neck.

            It was then that her hands regained their feeling, and tightened into fists.  Airelle gritted her teeth and delivered an uppercut punch directly to his chin between his outstretched arms.  The consequences were played out in front of her like a slow-motion movie.  He went back up suddenly, and then went backwards, her fist having followed through with the punch.  Luckily, Aurors were trained in hand combat, in case wands were not available.  What happened next was gruesome, but picturesque.  There was a tremendous snap, as if one of the forest branches had been cracked in two.  He let go of her, and fell on his back, his neck bent at a horrible angle.  Airelle dropped on her knees, gasping for more air, as he died beside her.

            It was a while before she glanced up, and marveled at the silence.  She was pretty certain she was not dead--- and yet… what had happened to the other Death Eaters?  Here were their bodies, on the damp grass, their robes swaying gently in the breeze and their wands beside them, master-less.

            Her question was answered when a person stepped out from behind a tree.  Though Airelle did not see his face, she recognized the profile at once.  After all, she had only seen him an hour or two previously.

            It was Sirius Black.

~*~

He looked around very carefully before approaching her, and made certain all the Death Eaters were not moving.  Then, he stepped over their bodies and knelt by her side.

            "Looks like I arrived just in time," he said, eyeing the bruise that had blossomed over her left eye and holding out a hand to her.  His arm, the one she'd treated in Hogsmeade, looked completely healed.

            Airelle stared at him.  "How—"

            "I'll explain later," said Black, pulling her up with him and helping her steady herself.  Airelle, however, wrenched away her hand and glowered at him.

            "No, you don't.  Explain now," she said, with a voice more firm than even she had hoped to hear.

            "I can see there's no halting you, o great warrior," he smiled, and his haggard face looked healthier in the moonlight.  "But why don't we start walking first, so as we are not discovered here?"

            Airelle nodded, and followed him out of range of the fallen Death Eaters, picking up two of their all-concealing cloaks on the way.  (She did not need to get the paper she'd handed to their leader—it was a counterfeit recipe.)  Then, as soon as she'd concealed the bodies with a well-placed charm, she turned back to Sirius.

            "Start at the beginning," she said.  "Why do you have a wand, when it is traditional to break the wand of an Azkaban prisoner?"

            "Ollivander," he replied.  "Dumbledore convinced him of my innocence, and he made me a new wand, secretly, some months ago."

            Airelle looked at him sideways.  "How could Dumbledore—"

            "You'll hear of that later.  I'm going to need a wand, if I am to be part of the Order.  Ollivander is part of it, too."

            "Order?  What order?"

            "The Order of the Phoenix," said Black, lowering his voice to stop even the tall trees around them from overhearing.  "Dumbledore is restoring it to fight Voldemort's forces."

            Airelle stared at the floor, and bit her lip.  The Order of the Phoenix had last been assembled to fight the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945.  It had been disbanded shortly after Grindelwald's defeat, because the Ministry felt it could hold things together on its own.

            "That's why Lupin is here again," she said, still looking at the ground.  "To help with this."

            "That's right.  Hagrid and Madame Maxime went as envoys to the giants in the North, to enlist their help before Voldemort could.  We are sending them to position themselves close to the island of Azkaban… so that when Voldemort comes to free the prisoners within, we'll be ready."

            "And the others?"

            "I was in Hogsmeade to converse with Remus Lupin and help protect Harry in case anything happened," he replied.  "Remus had just arrived to the Shrieking Shack, where Hermione had been treating me for my injuries for a month, to take me to London, where Dumbledore was assembling most of the Order in a secret location."

            Airelle looked up.  "So Dumbledore is not in London because he wants to talk to Fudge?"

            Sirius scowled.  "Fudge is a blind fool, and will not listen to reason even if there's a Dark Mark hovering right in front of him.  That's why Dumbledore wants to reinstate the Order.  The Ministry will not be ready for Voldemort, but at least we will."

            "But why were you still in the Shrieking Shack?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.  "Why didn't you go to London as Lupin asked?"

            "Harry came in then, frantic," said Black gloomily.  "He said he thought Neville was the Death Eater, and had followed you and Snape to wherever you were going.  Remus was worried, naturally, and wanted to go to Dumbledore for help.  But an owl came with word that you and Snape had returned to Hogwarts suddenly."

            "And then," said Airelle, "you sent Harry back to the school in order to alert McGonagall and the teachers."

            "Right.  But my godson, rash as he is, went to the dungeons first."

            Airelle shivered.  She did not even want to think about what might have happened if she hadn't killed Noah--- and Harry would have walked in right at that moment.  How he knew about the secret entrance to the room was beyond her.  Perhaps he'd overheard her conversation with Snape that night—but she hadn't seen anybody—then again, perhaps he had an Invisibility Cloak…

            Shaking her head, she glanced around at the forest.  It was almost pitch black now, and moonlight sliced through the canopy like blades.  Shadows crept along the grass, and she did not like it.

            Her next sentences were quick.  "That clears up some things.  But how did you know I was going here?"

            Sirius almost laughed at that.  "I confess," he said, "I did not follow your advice to stay put, and a good thing that was.  Harry and I arrived to your street much the same way you did, and came across Remus and Hermione paralyzed.  I knew what had happened, and followed you at once.  I heard you say the spell to take you here, and decided to pay a visit there as well without the Death Eaters' knowledge."

            "What about Harry?"

            "I left him to help Remus and Hermione, and then told him to accompany them to Dumbledore.  They'll be safe with him."

            Airelle nodded.  "Good.  Well… go back to Dumbledore and get some more help.  I must, however, remain here."

            "Wait a minute!" exclaimed Black as she started to walk away from him, towards the direction the Death Eater had pointed out earlier.  "Why?"

            "Voldemort is expecting me, and me alone," she replied impatiently, not stopping.  "If he realizes there are two of us, he might think there are more coming, and he will kill Snape and the others immediately.  I cannot risk that."

            "You're being foolish," said Black from behind her, and she could hear his footsteps hurrying to catch up.  "You will get yourself killed, Airelle--- think about it."

            "You can do what you want, Black," she snapped, plowing through the underbrush like a rampaging tank.  "But I cannot leave this place until I have at least tried to help Sna--"  Her voice cut off; that was twice she'd mentioned him.  There was a thick silence, during which the only audible thing was the crunching of leaves beneath Airelle's feet and the twittering of nocturnal birds far above.  She was not even certain Sirius Black was following her anymore.

            But he was.

            "Just WHY are you so bent on rescuing Snape anyway?" she heard him say, and there was something in his voice that made her wary.  "All the time that we had that chat in the Shrieking Shack, you referred to the prisoners as 'Snape and the others.'"

            "What, you'd like me to list their names?" she asked, stopping dead in her tracks and turning to look at him.  A thin stream of moonlight cut a deep gash across her pale face, illuminating her bruised eye and making her seem unearthly and unnatural.

            Sirius Black just stared at her, unmoving, for a full five seconds.  And then, a realization of sorts dawned over his face.

            "You slept with him, didn't you?" he asked, his dark eyes going wide under his tangled black hair.

            Whatever Airelle had expected out of him, that wasn't it.  "WHAT?" she mouthed, rooted to her spot in shock.  "I beg your pardon!?"

            Black, however, was not only undeterred by her response, but actually encouraged.  "You DID!" he exclaimed, walking toward her.

            "Why, you—I would never—"

            "But you did," he interrupted, and a look of mingled wonder and disgust settled on his face.  "I see it!  I can't believe it… oh…it's horrible—but I see it in your eyes, clear as daylight."

            She stared at him, and knew at once that any attempt to deny it further was in vain.  Sirius Black was well-versed in these sorts of things, and knew them when he saw them.  She crunched back the way she'd come, until her face was almost pressed up to his in the darkness.

            "That must never be uttered," she hissed, her gaze dark and flashing.  "It is a matter between Snape and myself… but if anyone discovers it, our lives will be in jeopardy."  By that, of course, she meant Voldemort—but it would not be pleasant if someone in Hogwarts other than Dumbledore found out…

            Sirius raised his arms in mock defense.  "Relax, Ms. Vilka, your secret is safe with me," he assured her, though a small twinkle in his eye made Airelle feel like she was sitting on tacks.  She knew that Black was as good as his word to his friends back in his younger days, and could only hope that he'd apply his moral obligations to a former enemy.  Otherwise--- well, otherwise, she'd have to roast him alive on a spit if he breathed a word of this to anyone.

            In the midst of this, she'd almost forgotten what she was here for.  When she remembered, she turned towards the gloom again.  "I must go."

            Black, of course, protested yet again.  "You can't!  We should wait for the Ministry, or for Dumbledore--"

            "See here," she interjected, giving him her very best scowl, "I'm going, with or without you.  You just try and stop me."

            Airelle then turned smartly on her heels and marched off.  In the distance, she could hear Sirius grumbling something about heroes and suicidal maniacs.  But in the end, he followed her anyway.

~*~

            It was not long before they came to a large, whitewashed gate.  It belonged to a large, long, manor-like house, which stood near a gravel road at the edge of the forest.  It looked old and unoccupied from without, and the windows were like black holes in its surface.  It was so quiet that the crickets could be heard in the grass, and there was no other house for miles around.

            She glanced around for an ambush, and then eyed the sign on the gate.

            "Old Aberdeenshire Museum," it read in slightly peeled letters.

            "Are you certain this is the right place?" whispered Black from underneath his newly acquired Death Eater hood.

            "Positive," said Airelle.  "It is making sense now—our cell—half of its floor was modern, and the other half was our cage.  It was a dungeon exhibit or something of that nature.  And look--- it says, 'Closed Weeks of April 10 - May 2 for Decoration of the new Marble and Wood Carvings Exhibit.'  That's why the Ministry can't find Voldemort's followers--- they're using a Muggle edifice for their hideout!"

            "So what do we do now?" he asked.  "Go back and rendezvous with Dumbledore once he arrives?"

            "Are you mad?  Voldemort will find it a tad suspicious if we turn back now, at the front gate!  No, we must stall as long as possible.  Come on…"

            They opened the gate with a creak, and Airelle led the way to the front porch.  Luckily, the Death Eater whose hood she'd 'borrowed' had been short, so the robes did not drag behind her, but billowed rather nicely.

            Mounting the steps, Airelle and Sirius gazed at the front door.  There was no time-schedule, and no one in sight.  The caretaker, if there was one, was long dead already.

            And just when she had begun to wonder if they'd come to the right place at all, a trapdoor opened in the front porch--- and with hardly a sound, they hurtled down into the dark space below.

To be continued…

A/N: Forgive my lack of knowledge of Scotland.  I just thought there'd be a museum there.  Hey, I know there's lots of cool castles, so I figured, hey, why not have a manor that has been turned into a museum? :)