There. My fate is sealed. ;)
Horribly sorry about the wait, really. Enjoy!
(Oh, and btw...I am no longer 14. 15 as of May 7th, 2002. Whoo!)
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Ron found Fred, George, and Ginny waiting for him as he stepped through the fire of the Gryffindor common room. He was terrified. In a single instant, he had left everything he knew behind.
You should be used to it by now, he thought, trying to alleviate his fear with rueful humor. Even in his own mind, his laughter rang false. He had done dangerous things, yes, but he had never left Hogwarts or home. As he surveyed the room, which was small and quaintly furnished with a small glass table and rocking chair, he felt the heavy gloom of being cut off from home fall over him. But the faces of his brothers and sister were an immeasurable comfort.
"Where are we?" he asked, unable to hide a faint tremor in his voice as he stepped out of the fire. His trunk was suddenly far too heavy to lift. He let it fall to the wooden floor with a loud slam. Ginny jumped.
"Don't know," said George, looking about the empty room nervously. Everything beyond the light of the fire was in deep shadow. "Isn't someone supposed to be here...?" His voice trailed off, as though he were afraid of summoning a demon.
For a few chilling seconds there was silence. Ron saw that off to the right there was a doorway that led out into a hallway. The rich, oaken theme of the house contrasted strangely with the furniture. The mantel of the fireplace was made of dark wood and ornately carved. "Maybe we should--"
Fred bellowed in alarm. Ron spun around, fumbling for his wand, as a tall shadow surged in through the doorway from the hall.
"Stop! Stop, or I'll kill you!"
Ron's hand stopped on his wand. He was too astonished to draw it as he stared at Ginny, open-mouthed. His little sister was advancing a few steps toward the shadow, which had frozen at the sound of her voice. Her wand was out and pointed, while her other hand was curled into a fist.
"I mean it." She sounded shrill and frightened. Frightened enough to follow through on what she was saying. "I'll kill you!"
The shadow shifted. "Ron? Tell her to put it away." It was a wizard's voice, ragged and breathless. "Please."
Ron drew his own wand and aimed it at the voice, noticing out of the corner of his eye that the twins had already done so. "Come forward," he ordered, shaking. "Slowly. Give us your wand first."
"There's no time for this." The wizard sounded no less frightened than they. A wand rolled forward into the flickering light of the flames, bumping into Ginny's foot. She grabbed it up.
"All right. Come on now. Slowly," said George.
The man that limped into the glare of the flames looked as though he couldn't have come forward any way but slowly. His robes were torn and bloodied. The whites of his eyes stood out starkly against his black skin. Ron caught his breath: he bore a vague resemblance to Lee Jordan. He held his hands before him, empty. "We have to go. Now."
"Someone was supposed to meet us," said Ron through a dry throat.
"I know. That would be me." The wizard eyed Ginny apprehensively. Her eyes were blazing and, unlike her brothers, her wand hand had not wavered. "I'm sorry I wasn't here...something happened." Ron glanced at the blood oozing out of a cut in the man's arm. "We have to go, now."
"Where?"
"A Portkey. I need my wand." He looked expectantly at Ginny. Her eyes narrowed. Ron bit his lip, studying the wizard's forearms. His robes had been torn enough to let Ron see that the only thing thing marking them was blood and dirt.
"Give it back to him, Ginny," he said quietly.
Ginny tossed it back to him after a moment of hesitation, still without a word. She kept her wand levelled.
"Who are you?" demanded Fred as the stranger hobbled toward the fireplace. Ron backed away to give him room.
"Mundungus Fletcher," he replied through tight lips, sounding strained. He chanted a spell under his breath, pointing his wand at the empty space above the mantel. An old clock, dusty and broken, appeared from out of nowhere.
"That it?"
"Yes."
"I don't trust him."
Fletcher spun around to face Ginny. "You have to. Please," he looked to Ron, "we are in danger. We must go now."
"I don't trust him!" repeated Ginny, louder this time. Her brown eyes were hard and bright in a way her brothers had never seen before.
Ron bit his lip, stayed by her words. "Tell us something."
"What?"
"Anything! Prove it to us."
Fletcher looked about frantically, as though expecting enemies to burst into the room at any second. "You...aren't you Harry's friends?" Ron nodded. "I was with him, in the Alps. You know about the Alps."
"No," chorused the twins.
"I do," said Ron sharply. "Ginny, put your wand away. Let's go."
Ginny reluctantly tucked her wand back into her robes. She continued to stare at Fletcher even as everyone circled about the clock. "On three," said Fletcher, as soon as all of their hands were hovering over the Portkey. "One, two, three."
Ron felt a moment of nauseating fear as his fingers touched the clock: what if Fletcher really was a dark wizard? Then he lurched from the sharp tug behind his navel and the world disappeared into a whirlwind of color.
****
"You didn't tell anyone, did you?"
They were sitting on the floor at the bottom of the spiralling stairs. Harry closed his eyes and looked away. Bruising fingers were suddenly digging into his shoulders. "Did you?"
"Ow!" Harry pulled away and stood, alarmed. "No, I didn't!" Sirius continued to stare at him like a frightened animal. "All right, I told Hagrid, but he knew already!"
"Not Snape?" whispered Black. A chill ran down Harry's spine when he realized that his godfather was on his knees before him, practically begging.
"No," he said, crouching back down and grabbing the older man's arms. "No, not Snape." His brow furrowed as he searched Black's face, puzzled by the near-panic he found there. "Sirius, what's wrong?"
Sirius looked away, hair falling forward to hide his expression. Fleetingly, Harry noticed that it was shorter than he remembered. "I-I'm sorry. I...it's been...been on my mind ever since your letter. Nearly went mad." Harry's eyes narrowed as Black shuddered. "I was just so...worried about...her..."
Harry tilted his head, trying to catch Sirius's eyes. "About her?" He glanced nervously to the top of the stairs. "Why about--"
Black started to himself like a frightened animal. "Nothing." His voice was suddenly harsh, causing Harry to jump. "How did you find out?" he demanded, trying to pull away at the same time.
"A little owlie told me," said Harry, jerking Sirius back with more force than he realized. "What do you mean, worried about her?"
"I'm not!" He tugged against Harry's grip. "I meant I'm worried about what will happen if he ever--"
"You're lying."
"So are you!"
There was a terse silence before Harry dropped his hands from his godfather's wrists. Sirius rocked backwards, staring at him as if he were a stranger. Harry slid back along the ground until his head scraped the underside of the moving stairs. For a long minute all that was to be heard was the gentle clicking of the spiralling staircase. Harry stole a glance at Black, who looked so shaken that he felt his anger dissipate in an instant, to be replaced by the same helpless frustration that had plagued him for nearly a year. "Sirius..." He tucked his knees to his chest. "Don't you trust me?"
Harry's steady voice seemed to calm Black a bit. He closed his eyes and sighed, suddenly looking so much more tired than before, as though his spirit as well as his body had been taxed. "I trust you to be a good person, Harry. I trust you to do the right thing, like James always did." He smiled bitterly. "That's why I couldn't trust you not to go to Snape."
"I wanted to," whispered Harry, fighting to keep his voice from breaking. Just talking about it was painful. "But I can't. I would never. It would be...he'd go back, I know he'd go back. It would be murder."
"Genocide," Sirius corrected him hollowly.
Harry shivered as he hesitated, unable to decide whether or not to tell Sirius the truth. "I'll answer your question," he said abruptly, "if you answer mine."
His godfather shifted uncomfortably without answering.
"I didn't know when I owled you." Sirius looked up sharply. "I thought...I thought what he thought. That he'd really killed them...but not on purpose! Under the..." He gestured with one hand, swallowing to moisten a dry throat. "...the Imperius Curse. That was the curse I was talking about in my letter. Not...not Obliviate. But when you wrote me back..."
"Oh, my God." Sirius was horrified. "You mean I--" Harry nodded. Black stared at him in shock. Then he began to laugh mirthlessly. "I'm such an idiot." A breathless gasp that bordered on hysteria. "I'm such a Goddamn idiot!" Harry bit his cheek, deciding that it would be best to keep silent. After a moment his godfather quieted. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry I brought you into this."
Harry sighed. "It's all right. It's just...I...I see him every day and I know and...I feel sorry for him. I feel sorry for the git."
Sirius's face underwent a subtle but alarming transformation; his eyes hardened and his lip curled ever so slightly. "If you knew the whole story, you wouldn't."
A shiver had run down Harry's spine when he saw that expression contort his godfather into, for one second, a man he didn't know. "You know...you two did shake on working together."
"Yes."
"And being civil."
"There wasn't anything about hate in there."
Harry frowned, troubled. He felt his face fall into a serious cast as he regarded Sirius. "Do you hate him?"
"Bitterly." Black's reply was cold and unhesitant.
Harry winced inwardly, his worry and unease deepening. This was a side of Sirius he had long ignored in hopes of it never coming up again, but... "I wish you wouldn't."
Black's chin raised. Despite his firmness, he sounded uncomfortable. "I have my reasons."
Harry bit his lip, rising to his feet and stretching stiff legs. "I didn't say that you shouldn't. Just that I wish you wouldn't." He brushed his robes off, unaware of how deeply his disappointment had cut into his godfather. Sirius stood quickly, about to say something, when the door to Dumbledore's office opened.
"Black!" Rysk's voice floated down to them. "We don't have all night."
"All right, all right, I'm coming." Sirius hurried past Harry to the stairs, then suddenly turned around. "Harry, promise me you'll be careful."
"Me? You be careful."
"Shake on it." Harry clasped Sirius's upheld hand. The older man drew them closer together until they embraced. When Harry tried to pull away after a moment, he found himself still trapped. "You won't tell?" The pleading note had returned to his voice. Harry stiffened. When Sirius sensed it and loosened his hold, he leaned back enough to look at his face.
"You're protecting her." Even to himself, his voice sounded strange, as though a different boy were speaking from a different world. A slow, numb feeling was creeping over his mind. He had felt it only once before: the day he had arrived at Hogwarts and realized that his entire life had changed.
Sirius was shaking his head feebly, avoiding Harry's eyes.
"Why are you protecting her?"
"I'm...I'm not...we all have to...for--"
"No; why are you protecting her?"
Black stared at him helplessly for a moment. He swallowed. "You know. She's saved my life...more than once."
"So?"
Sirius's smile was bitter and frightening. "You've seen what a wizard's debt can do."
Shrieks and screams and the sickening crack of bone. A nightmarish werewolf, ripping into struggling flesh. Red blood spreading over the snow. Forgive me.
Harry's breath caught as he stepped away from his godfather.
Forgive me.
"Harry? Oh, God, Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"
"Black!" Sirius's head snapped up as Rysk once again appeared at the top of the staircase, but Harry only continued to stare at him. "Potter, get back to your room. Or stay there, if you want to," she added coolly as an afterthought, "If you want to say goodbye before he goes. Get your ass up here, Black."
Harry started only partially to his senses when Sirius grabbed his shoulders. "Harry." The older man could plainly read the terror in his face. "I'm sorry, please, I wasn't thinking--"
"No, no." Harry forced a smile. "I'm all right."
Relief flooded over his godfather's face. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."
"All right," he said reluctantly, guilt showing through at having to leave their conversation like this. "Take care of yourself." He reached out and mussed his hair.
"You, too."
With a concerned glance over his shoulder Sirius stepped onto the spiralling stairs, taking them two at a time. It took every ounce of willpower Harry had not too spring after his godfather and drag him back. Away from that office. Away from Carmen Rysk.
He stared after him until the shiny oak door closed with a click that echoed through the chamber. The noise released him from paralysis. He backed into the closest wall and slid down to the ground.
It was laughable, really, how long he had known what a life debt was, and what the resulting bond was capable of, and yet never truly understood, even after it had been flung right in his face. He put a hand to his forehead, half-expecting to feel his scar begin to burn at any moment. For the first time in months, Harry allowed himself to truly reflect on Peter Pettigrew. There must have been guilt, he realized, such guilt burning in his father's betrayer. He must have thought of Harry every day and every night, just as Harry had thought of him before Lupin's rescue in the Alps. Perhaps he had fought the connection until he nearly went mad with anger and torment. And finally that night he had seen his chance, his only chance, and thrown himself into the jaws of a monster. Perhaps...
I made him do that, thought Harry, feeling sick, and ever sicker when a dark thrill of excitement raced up his spine. He had never thought of it before; such power over another was simply unimaginable. And yet...
"...When one wizard saves another wizard's life, it creates a certain bond between them..." Dumbledore's solemn words, secretly tucked into the back of his mind, echoed down from two years before.
"Maybe," whispered Harry, shocked by his own thoughts. Maybe he would have done anything I asked.
No. Impossible.
"This is magic at its deepest, its most impenetrable, Harry."
"He would have." His words mingled with his breath to become inaudible. Anything...anything I asked. Oh, God. It was a preposterous idea, inconceivable and unbelievably arrogant. But somehow, Harry knew it was true. And he desperately wished that it wasn't.
I owned him.
Harry was terrified for Sirius. Sirius, who owed Carmen Rysk his life more than once.
He never remembered Draco Malfoy until much later.
****
It was a very large and very old piece of parchment, its yellowed edges falling slightly over the sides of Dumbledore's cleared desk. Filling it was the small isle of Ireland, enlarged to show nearly ever city or town in existence. The black ink was fading, and the style of the map matched its faintly musty smell of age. An ornate compass adorned the bottom right-hand corner. It was marked with runes, as was the rest of the map.
"Here, here, here...and here." Black's wand touched several points on the map in turn. As he did so, the surface of the crumbling paper stretched taut and rippled, like quicksilver. Ireland disappeared, to be replaced by four divided sections. Instead of labelled cities, each quadrant showed hills and rocks and the roofs of cities from above. In two of them rain spattered the ground. Sirius frowned and glanced up quickly at Rysk and Dumbledore, standing on either side of the desk. "It's been a while since I've used these runes," he explained softly. After a moment, he reached out and lightly traced his wand in deliberate strokes. The image blurred again, then cleared, now showing another patch of landscape. Black adjusted all the quadrants thus several times, until each had shifted to his liking.
"We've cast every Alerting Charm there is on all of them. The problem
is, we know for sure that at least two of them are Whorls, and you know
how those play hell with every spell someone casts. So we have to actually
watch
them, just in case.
I don't ever want one person guarding alone. Especially Remus." At
the mention of the werewolf's name Black seemed to grow even more haggard.
"We need eight people."
"You have six," Rysk pointed out, watching him from beneath half-hooded lids and sounding almost bored.
"So we've got everyone doing shifts. Rotating. Remus is never left alone. No one else is by themselves for more than fifteen minutes. Somewhere in between we eat, sleep...other human-like activities."
Rysk leaned forward to study the map. In one section was a jagged formation of black rock, roughly circular. In a second was a vast, grassy field, stormy under the rain. In the third was a lake, mirror-smooth, and the fourth a round clearing enclosed by a tight strand of trees. Moonlight revealed unusually smooth and pale bark. Even seen through a magical map, the grove was strangely eerie. "Is this where you were?"
Sirius nodded, staring at where she had laid her finger in the fourth square. The trees rippled, as though they were only reflections in water that had been disturbed. "Yes."
"I recognize it." Rysk glanced at the Headmaster. "Deirdre's Grove. 'The witch who gave her name its meaning; whose grief rose to rival Morgana's madness...'" she murmured in the chanting lilt of recitation, trailing off to a thoughtful whisper.
"Makes sense," said Black.
Professor 'Harrison' inclined her head. "Yeah. But I don't know any of these...think I might have seen those rocks before." She looked at Dumbledore sidelong. "You leave something out in my lessons?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "Not intentionally. Ireland is fraught with Whorls; its very earth is imbued with magic. Even I don't have them all commited to memory."
"These are minor ones, then?"
"Relatively, yes." Dumbledore straightened his spectacles. "This," he pointed at the rock formation, "is Merlin's Obsidian."
"Merlin?" Rysk's eyes narrowed. "Merlin wasn't Irish."
"No. It's fabled that he made several trips there, though. The origin of this Whorl is unknown. You know the old rule. When in doubt, give it to Merlin." He chuckled dryly before sobering. "These are the four?"
Sirius started. He had been staring at Rysk without realizing it. "Yes. Good to know they're all Whorls; we haven't been wasting our time with Muggled places," he replied, looking away from her with more effort than was normal. Everyone noticed it; no one said anything about it. "Albus, we're trying out there. But...there's just...we're too few, and they're too many, especially after you sent Mundungus off on...whatever the hell he's doing." He paused and looked expectantly at the Headmaster, who only shook his head. More frustration seeped into Sirius's words. "With the crazy way we're running about, trying to keep an eye on them--"
"What've you seen?" interrupted Rysk.
"That's what I'm saying," he snapped, "We haven't seen them at all. We haven't seen a black robe or green flash since we got back! I need a strategy! Something, anything!"
"Sirius. You know that if we had anything, we would give it to you."
"Give us the Longbottoms."
"They are needed here," replied the Headmaster evenly, with the faintest hint of ire.
"We can't keep this up!" Sirius's eyes flashed angrily, his frayed nerves threatening to snap. "We're dying over there!"
Dumbledore's blue eyes were suddenly sharp and piercing. The younger man faltered and looked away, unable to meet such a gaze. "We cannot spare Frank and Amanda. Arabella cannot watch over Harry this summer; they must. Both are still wounded in spirit, mind, and body. Would you have them confront Voldemort's followers so soon? And in any case, St. Mungo's staff is still monitoring them. They cannot go to Ireland. Do you understand?"
Black turned away, thoroughly chastised. "I know. I know. I'm sorry." He laughed bitterly under his breath. "Bloody God, that's all I've been saying all night."
Professor 'Harrison' broke the ensuing silence abruptly, saving Sirius from further discomfort. "Look at this." Rysk ran her fingers over the map, not bothering with her wand. Her tone was brisk and purposeful, almost as if she were saving Black's face intentionally. The quadrants wavered, merged, then coalesced to show the oldest and most mysterious Whorl in the world; one of the few areas of trapped and concentrated magic known to Muggles as well as wizards. "What about Stonehenge?"
****
Their conference continued long into the night. By three o'clock in the morning the office floor was strewn with several open books, every painful detail about the goose chase in Ireland had been thoroughly discussed, and Sirius Black looked on the verge of collapse.
"God," he said wearily, running a hand through his hair. Dumbledore had just finished a detailed summary of happenings in the Ministry and the Weasley family's situation. Even told succinctly, the whole of it had taken over an hour. "So that's what Mundungus...he'll be all right?"
"Nothing is without risk."
"Right." His short laugh was frayed with hysteria. "And Fudge..." He put his fingers to his temples, then rubbed at the bags under his eyes. "I'm getting déjà vu. Do we have Beaubaxtons on our side this time?"
"Well, we have Madame Maxime," replied the Headmaster grimly.
Sirius stared at the older man blankly before sagging back against the wall. His shoulder jarred a sleeping portrait out of sleep. "Now then," the ancient wizard sputtered, looking down indignantly over his frame, "what? What's this?"
"Found it!" said Rysk excitedly from her corner, where she had been sitting cross-legged on the floor poring over book after book. Without looking up she ran a finger over the one currently in her lap. Dumbledore walked over to stare down at the tome as she read, " 'Summer's Hill'. Weird name for a field..." Scanning the page curiously, her lips quirked into a wry expression. "Ah. Used to be a hill. 'Originated 3000 B.C.'...there's no way. It's too young."
"By far," agreed Dumbledore. "And Merlin's Obsidian? Five thousand years before Christ, I believe, but it's best to check."
"Marked it." Rysk flipped several hundred pages back. "Around...5500 B.C. You were close. Would that be old enough?"
The Headmaster frowned. "Most peculiar."
"What?" Professor 'Harrison' glanced up for the first time in almost an hour and winced as the bones and muscles in her neck protested.
"Fifty-five hundred years...to be optimistic, I would say just barely enough power for the Summoning. If the rite were performed there, the Whorl would be drained."
Rysk's mouth twitched. "It would blow to hell."
"If you want to be optimistic," replied Dumbledore, deadpanning.
"Mm. Black." She looked at him for the first time, "Why would Vold--Black?" Rysk stood to her feet, letting the tome hit the ground without a second glance. Sirius's bleary eyes snapped open when he heard the dull thud. He groaned in silent agony. Just being awake, at this point, was painful. He was alert enough, though, to notice the concern written across Rysk's face before her expression snapped shut again. Her spine went straight and seemed to quiver, full of repressed tension. "You're a mess," she said emotionlessly. "Get some sleep."
"No," he protested reflexively. His tongue felt to heavy too move; his words were slurred. " 'm fine...wha...wha' were you saying...?" He tried to straighten and stumbled. In the next second he felt his legs knocked out from under him, only to be caught in mid-fall and lowered more gently to the carpet. Sirius gasped, finding himself on his back and staring up at Rysk.
"Carmen!" Dumbledore's amusement hid something far deeper.
"Get. To. Sleep."
Sirius Black stared at her for a long minute. He was exhausted, nearly beyond reason, and was helpless against the emotions that Rysk's presence evoked. Fear and security, confusion and familiarity, gratitude and resentment, but above all, the keen edge of hate's knife.
Yet, how could he refuse her anything?
Sirius curled in on himself, much like a dog, and let sleep take him.
****
"So that's it."
"That's it," agreed Dumbledore. He finished drawing the cross within a triangle within a circle at the bottom of the blank parchment and laid down his quill. He stared at the symbol for a moment before sighing. "I had hoped beyond hope fifteen years ago that I would never have to pen such orders again. But, alas..." For a moment, his blue eyes looked sunken and tired behind his spectacles. He glanced up at Rysk, who was sitting on the edge of his desk, cleared of the magical map. "It's late, Carmen--"
"Rysk," she corrected him automatically.
"--or early, if you like. I'll take care of Sirius. Go catch some sleep."
Indeed, Rysk's face was drawn with fatigue. She nodded, sliding off the desk's edge, and started for the door, but stopped and hesitated as she passed Black. The Animagus twitched in his sleep, too obviously thin even though covered by 'Harrison's' robes. With a sudden jerk he came awake. The Headmaster watched with carefully veiled interest as Sirius's gaze instantly locked onto Rysk's, pinpointing her presence even immediately after coming out of sleep, stressed and disoriented. He cleared his throat before the sudden stillness of the room became awkward. "Of course, Carmen, you're free to stay if you wish--"
Rysk's grey eyes flickered. "I'm sure you can handle it," she said coldly. She turned away from Black and made for the door.
"Wait," called Black hoarsely, sitting up and lifting a hand to stay her. Professor 'Harrison' stopped with her hand on the doorknob. It was a moment before she glanced back. "Keep an eye on Harry."
"I'm his teacher, Black. It's what he pays me to do." She tilted her head towards Dumbledore, her voice callous.
"No." Sirius looked at her pleadingly. "Take care of him."
Rysk's icy demeanor, thin ever since Sirius had stepped into the office, showed a crack for the first time that night. Her breath caught silently; several strange expressions chased each other across her eyes as she stared at him. The changes were so infinitely subtle that Dumbledore could only barely catch them. Black, however, could feel every single one and knew she was struggling.
"Carmen, please."
And it seemed to both wizards that he had gone too far. With a faint curl of the lip that promised murder, Rysk left without another word.
****
Harry half-awoke to a queer sensation. He was being held by strong arms against someone's chest and carried like a babe. "Wh...wha...?" he slurred groggily, "Sirius?" He raised his head from the shoulder it had been pillowed against and tried to move his dangling legs. Where was he? Hadn't he been sitting at the bottom of the spiralling stairs, waiting to make sure he could say goodbye...?
"Rysk!" he exclaimed, using her real name in his clouded state. He struggled in momentary alarm. "Wha...'s goin' on?"
"Shh," she hissed, staring straight ahead as she began climbing a staircase, carrying him as though he weighed nothing.
"Sirius," he protested sleepily.
"I told him bye for you," she said. Even though clipped, Harry found her quiet tone, combined with the darkness of Hogwarts in the wee hours of the morning, comforting in spite of himself. "You fell asleep down there. It's four in the morning, Potter. You're going back to your room."
"Oh." He blinked, struggling to keep his heavy and sore eyelids peeled. "But...you didn't..." ...hurt him. Disoriented as he was, he caught himself just in time. "I mean, he's..."
"All right." One hand came up to press his head back into her shoulder as it began to loll. Perhaps it was his exhaustion, but Harry was sure there was the same firm gentleness in that hand as he had felt when she had held him after Pettigrew's death.
The sharp pain and anxiety over not being able to see Sirius off was dulled by the fact he was falling inexplicably back into slumber. Even so, he managed to murmur, "You're strong."
A dry note entered her voice. "It's a Lightening Spell, Potter."
"Oh." Then, "Why're y' doin' this?"
She didn't answer. Harry tried again, but felt that he only succeeded in making his words more slurred. Slipping in and out of consciousness, he only vaguely remembered being ordered to give the Fat Lady the password; could barely recollect being set inside the Gryffindor common room, staggering up the stairs, and collapsing into bed without bothering to change.
"Why're y' doin' thi..." The question stayed on the tip of his tongue as he sank into blissfully dreamless sleep.
****
Dumbledore watched Sirius in the heavy silence that followed her departure. At length Black stirred. As he stood, Rysk's dark robes slid from his body to the ground. He stared at the pile they formed before shaking his head and looking up. The Headmaster walked to him and put a hand on his shoulder, blue eyes kind and sad. Sirius took the offered envelope silently. "No," said Dumbledore gently as he began to open it. "Go over it with the others."
"Anything I should know?" His voice was hollow.
"Nothing we haven't gone over. Carmen..." He paused as Black winced. "...and I have eliminated two of the Whorls. Voldemort is deliberately creating enough activity around ones that can't possibly be used, to spread us thin. Some of them can be used, but not without serious consequences."
"Are we dropping those?" Sirius turned the unmarked envelope over in his hands. Even though limp, his body was strung with a strange tension. His movements were careful but strained, as though he were fighting to keep them controlled.
"One of them."
The Auror closed his eyes. "God."
"I know it's a risk."
Black smiled thinly. "No risk, no gain."
"Yes," he agreed. The Headmaster looked about before gently pushing Sirius towards the fireplace. "The details are in the orders, including ones about Mundungus. He'll be returning to you soon."
"Mundungus--"
"Go back, Sirius. Go back and rest; you've been away from them too long."
Sirius snorted self-deprecatingly. "Not long enough, more like." His voice was bitter. Dumbledore suddenly grasped Black's shoulders and turned him about.
"Sirius Black, I could not ask for a finer leader of the Order than you." He caught the younger wizard's gaze and did not release it. "You have endured, sacrificed, and done more than could be expected of any man. Whatever what happens after this, I know that you will have done your best. None of this is your fault."
A disturbing light had come into Black's eyes; a flicker of all-consuming, mad guilt. "I couldn't save James or Lily."
"Sirius--"
"Look at what I did to Remus."
"It was not your--"
"Look at what I did to her!" Sirius's voice rose without warning to an anguished shout, breaking as it did. He kept himself still, but his dark gaze snapped to the office door and stayed there, as if they could burn through the wood. "She won't even..." Just as suddenly, he became barely audible. "God. She won't even let me try to...any of it. Any of it."
There was nothing Albus Dumbledore could say. Grief at being unable to allay Black's suffering played across his face. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I know how painful it can be when this kind of connection is abused."
Sirius looked sharply away from the door to the Headmaster. The firelight made his eyes bright, but Dumbledore suspected that unshed tears made them so as well. "No," he whispered. In his long life, Dumbledore had encountered every facet of human nature, even the very darkest. But the helplessness and anger and pain that surged through Black's voice touched him more deeply than he expected. "You aren't bonded to her."
Sirius turned away. He reached into his robes and withdrew his hand with a fistful of Floo powder. The flames of the fire turned deep blue instead of the usual green as he threw it in: the color of the secret Floo network. "Tell Harry goodbye for me," he said, snapping out of his misery with disturbing speed.
"Of course. Take care of yourself, Sirius."
Black stepped into the fire and vanished.
Dumbledore stared after him before turning and sinking down into the chair behind his desk. Alone in his office, with only Fawkes to see, the old wizard removed his tall hat and let his head drop forward into his hands. As though sensing his weariness, his pet phoenix fluttered onto the desk beside his elbows and nipped at the sleeves of his robes. Drawing a deep breath, Dumbledore straightened and managed a smile for Fawkes. The bird was thin and ugly now, rapidly losing his beautiful feathers. In a few minutes he would burst into flames, only to be reborn again.
"If only your tears could heal more than wounds," muttered Albus, stroking Fawkes's head. He rested his temple against long, thin fingers. At that moment the door opened again. Rysk stepped in. Her blonde hair, streaked with red, swung loose over her shoulders, having grown longer. "Left my robes," she explained curtly, walking to where they lay on the carpet and gathering them up. She glanced at Dumbledore to catch him staring at her without warmth. "What?"
"Be kind enough to watch Harry and Draco Malfoy. Closely."
Rysk let a pause hang in the air, making it clear that she had not missed the double meaning. Dismissive contempt and indifference ran beneath her cold tone. "Naturally."
****
He first became aware of warm sunlight glowing behind his eyelids, then a voice from above. "Harry?" His shoulder being shaken. "Hey, Harry."
"Mmf." He threw his arm over his eyes.
"Come on, get up," Dean Thomas insisted. "For God's sake, you've missed breakfast already--"
A rush of panic jerked Harry upright. "What?" he yelped, tossing his covers aside. "What time is it?"
"No, no. Harry. It's Saturday." Dean began to laugh.
Harry blinked stupidly. "Oh." The events of last night surfaced in his mind. "Oh," he repeated, feeling more grateful for a Saturday than he thought possible. He didn't think he could have survived another day of classes.
"Really, are you all right?" Dean looked at the rumpled robes Harry had fallen into bed in. "Why're you sleeping in your--"
"Tired as hell last night, s'all." He forced a silly, self-deprecating smile and stood. His left leg was completely numb. "I'm gonna go shower."
"Yeah, well, you'd better hurry. It's ten minutes to one," the other boy called after him. Harry narrowly avoiding falling on his face as a fresh wave of pins and needles attacked his foot.
"Good. I'm starving," he replied truthfully as he stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, just as his stomach rumbled. He hastened to his usual sink, the one he had used since his first year. A rueful pang quirked his lips. He had stepped in to wash up early, the novelty of being attacked by wave after wave of gushing strangers having worn off, and headed for the sink at the very end of a long row. Unfortunately, that end was the one farthest away from the door that led to the showers. He had had to endure the curiosity and greetings of every single boy using every single sink between him and that door.
"Morning, dear," said the mirror cheerfully as Harry confronted his reflection. "Or afternoon, I should say. Why so late?"
"Tired. It was a long day yesterday," he explained, elaborating more than was normal when talking to a mirror. Still, when the same voice greeted him every morning for five years, he couldn't help but become rather familiar with it.
"You look it," she (Harry had always assumed that the mirror was a 'she', as it sounded like one) replied, sounding concerned. Harry leaned forward slightly and had to agree. His face looked somehow thinner than usual, and beneath his eyes there were faint bags. Nothing a hot shower couldn't take care of, but he still was a mess. He reached up and mussed his hair, trying in vain to elicit cooperation from it. The mirror chuckled. "You've tried for five years, dear, it won't start working now. What flavor?" she asked as Harry grabbed a toothbrush and held it under a thin tube beside the faucet.
"Mint Mocha."
Despite all the sweets that the students of Hogwarts had access to, every witch and wizard there had the whitest teeth Harry had ever seen, and with good reason. An unexpected snort of laughter sprayed water from his lips as he (reluctantly) rinsed out his mouth. Hermione's parents must have been absolutely delighted. He usually brushed for much longer (changing flavors once or twice along the way), but he knew he most likely had only five minutes to wash. He was hungry and he wanted to talk to Hermione.
A full minute later, standing under a stream of hot water, Harry realized that for a moment things had almost been normal. And he was grateful for the genuine smile he felt his lips pulling into. The worries were still there, chewing at the back of his mind, but he felt that everything from now on would be all right, because the old saying was suddenly true: things were always better in the morning.
Afternoon, he corrected himself. Then, Whatever.
****
The Great Hall was full and bustling by the time Harry reached it. He easily picked out Hermione's face from among the hundreds at the Gryffindor table. His light mood diminished slightly when he saw her head bent close to Neville Longbottom's, who was standing behind her and talking low but quickly.
"Hi Hermione, hi Neville," he called, taking a seat beside his friend as a first year moved to make room for him.
"Oh, hey, there you are," replied Neville, but his shy smile, familiar as it was, was cursory. He walked off with a wave. Hermione didn't look up.
"Harry!" Rosie Hether was sitting across from him. "Thought you weren't coming down; why'd you sleep so late?"
"I have no clue," lied Harry cheerfully, hoping that Rosie didn't notice him watching Hermione out of the corner of his eye. "But I'm starving."
Rosie laughed her infectious laugh and pushed a golden platter piled with hot rolls towards him. Harry grabbed two and began slathering on butter with genuine enthusiasm. Beside him, Hermione straightened from whatever Neville was saying and, after staring at her plate of peas and mashed potatoes, pushed it away. Harry leaned over to her ear. "What is it?" he murmured, resisting the urge to wolf down his roll.
Hermione was silent for a moment before looking at him. Harry saw her jaw work subtly and knew she must be rubbing her tongue along the roof of her mouth, a little trick she had once revealed to him and Ron: it stopped you from crying. "Neville..." She had to stop and swallow. "Neville's parents."
"Yeah, I know."
"They were the ones who..." Her even tone sounded forced. "Who found out about someone trying to kill Ron. They've got a message for us."
Harry forgot about chewing and swallowed whatever was in his mouth, nearly choking. "Is he safe? Where is he? Ginny? The twins?"
"Neville doesn't know where they are; they can't tell him; but they want us all to know that they're all right." Hermione's jaw tightened; she reached for a glass of raspberry cordial and drained it.
"Hermione?" Harry touched her elbow gently.
Hermione turned to him, but her eyes did not seem to be on his face. "He said he loved me," she said after a moment. She gave a queer, unsure little laugh. "Can you love someone when you're fifteen, Harry?"
Harry bit his lip. "I don't know."
Hermione sighed. "Well, never mind. Why were you so tired this morning?"
Harry's relief at being able to reach for more food without seeming rude mixed with apprehension. He bought himself precious seconds to ponder as he chewed on a drumstick. "Snuffles was here last night," he whispered as quietly as possible.
His friend's hand tightened around her glass. "Well?" she muttered back after releasing a sharp breath. Harry thought frantically, trying to ignore the bitter feeling in his chest at having to think twice before confiding in Hermione. He remembered when he had been able to tell her and Ron anything, anything in the world.
But that was when he had been the one being protected. Now he needed to protect others.
He was protecting others. That made it a bit more bearable; enough for him to hold out. "I didn't get to talk to him much. He had to, you know, talk to Dumbledore alone. But, I asked how Remus--er, Lupin was doing."
"Oh, how is he?" she said with a start, concerned.
"Recovering." He glanced up to make sure Rosie couldn't hear their words. She was deep in conversation with a girl who had walked over from the Hufflepuff table. "And there was something else...about Ron."
"What?"
"The..." Harry looked around again. His blood froze when he the first things he met were Rysk's eyes. She was sitting at the High Table, contrasting sharply with Professor Flitwick beside her. A heartbeat's later she broke the contact, so smoothly and absently that Harry was convinced it had been chance.
"Harry?" Hermione followed his gaze. Her face hardened.
"I can't tell you here." Hermione inclined her head, dragging her eyes off of Rysk with difficulty. "Come outside with me after this. Quidditch field."
