Disclaimer: all characters belong to J K Rowling and Warner brothers.
a/n Story dedicated to Moppet Poppet, Cheating Death's 500th reviewer!
Short chapter, but the word count is quite high for some reason. Humm…
Of Western Stars
By neutral
Chapter twelve - of the question of trust
"Remus, you're sure about that?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes dark with an angry fire.
"Yes. Vernon practically admitted it to my face. They lock him in a cupboard, and I found the sheets bloody," Remus whispered, voice muffled against his hands.
Dumbledore was silent, his face darkening into an emotion of regret. The blue eyes were almost a dull grey, and his shoulders sagged with a weariness beyond his age.
"I should have taken him out of that place sooner," Dumbledore said softly.
Remus was silent, running his hands over his eyes resignedly.
"Harry had bruises yesterday. They must have abused him for… oh god, I don't even know how long ago they started," Remus finally said. Suddenly, he clenched his fists. His shoulders shook as he spoke, and his words carried an audible tremor. "Why didn't I notice it sooner? It was so obvious! The signs where right in front of my face, and I hadn't even considered that they could be… physically abusing him…"
Dumbledore sighed sadly, looked at his former pupil with an unreadable expression. "Remus, it's not your fault."
Remus shook his head, face still hidden in his hands. "No, there's more. Sirius broke into the Dursleys last night and took Harry."
"He what?" Dumbledore's voice carried a dangerous edge, but the fury carefully controlled in his face was unnerving. Remus could feel his skin prickling and the hair rising at the back of his neck in response. There was a dull thud, as if the headmaster had knocked something to the ground in his shock.
"Sirius kidnapped Harry last night…" Remus repeated hoarsely. "Apparently, he's been here for a week…"
He broke off abruptly, but his mind was screaming at him to speak on. He just couldn't bring himself to tell the headmaster of those marauding years. It would be admitting to betraying Dumbledore's trust those years at Hogwarts.
You're so selfish. Tell him! The voice in his mind was yelling, It could mean Harry's life and death!
But before he couldn't even bring himself to open his mouth again, the headmaster's expression darkened further.
"What?" Dumbledore's voice was almost a low growl.
"Sirius is…" Remus swallowed thickly. "an animagus."
He waited for the headmaster's response, but there was none. Looking up, he found the man watching him with the a searching, yet understanding gaze. There was no anger, no disappointment. Remus drew a deep breath and continued, explaining the plans of his closest friends, of James, Sirius, and Peter. Of their desire to help a friend and at the lengths that they took. Remus was surprised to find Dumbledore only reacting only mildly, as if he suspected it all along.
"But, Sirius didn't hurt Harry at all. By what the child told he, he's quite fond of James' son. It… oh, I don't know," Remus sighed wearily. Things were becoming more and more complicated by the minute.
Dumbledore frowned in thought. "He never hurt Harry."
"No! That's the part that doesn't make any sense," Remus choked out with some frustration. All the stress of the week and the past that returned to haunt him was eroding the calm exterior that he carried. "He could be lying to him, but… that still doesn't make any sense."
"No, it doesn't," Dumbledore sighed.
"I thought he may have been using Harry at first, but…," Remus shook his head angrily. "Sirius was imprisoned for five years, and when he finally escapes, he just bides his time? That's not the way he is! Sirius isn't patient, he'd act immediately! If he wanted Harry dead, he'd be dead long ago. I would never have made any difference…" Remus chewed his lip, biting is so hard that he could taste the bitter tang of blood. "And now, Sirius kidnapped him…"
He fell into muteness as he stared into the palm on his hands. Remus drew a shuddering breath, unclenching his bloodless fingers. Harry needed help, he couldn't even guess how badly the child was hurt. And with someone so young and frail, Remus wondered how much Harry could endure before breaking. He was at a murderer's mercy, a cold-blooded mass murderer who betrayed his best friends. He desperately hoped that Sirius somehow had a change of heart, and would help James' son. Harry was so young and innocent, looked so much like his father; perhaps, just perhaps, Sirius would hesitate…
But after realizing the extent of his misjudgment with Harry's relatives, Remus found it hard to be optimistic.
A soft moan.
Sirius jerked awake late in the afternoon the next day, blinking blurriness out of his grainy and dry eyes. His back cracked in protest of the rough treatment of falling asleep in a chair. He moved closer to the bedside, watching the boy intently.
"Harry?"
The boy flinched, shifting awkwardly as he tried to turn away.
Sirius drew back cautiously; Harry's reaction was disturbing. He had never seem the child so frightened by people, he never recoiled like that when Sirius was in his Padfoot form. How much did those muggles do to traumatize the poor boy?
"It's okay. Everything's going to be okay," Sirius said as reassuringly as he could.
Harry didn't seem to respond at first. But convulsively, his arm jerked and his eyes fluttered open. Sirius held his breath, waiting for Harry's reaction on seeing a stranger at his bedside, but his godson seemed to tread on the edges of consciousness. His eyes didn't focus and they darted around the room nervously.
"Harry, do you recognize me? It's…," Sirius hesitated for a brief moment, "Padfoot. Do you remember?"
That seemed to catch his attention. Harry turned his head slowly, eyes stopping on Sirius' face, but they were hollow and unseeing. He didn't cringe when Sirius brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes.
"Padfoot?" Harry echoed, his voice so soft that Sirius could barely hear.
His voice was strained with a strange sort of desperation, his eyes glazed and distant was they stared up at the ceiling. But then his eyelids dropped, his body slackened, and his head fell limply against Sirius' hand.
Through the course of two days, the shabby hotel room was slowly transformed into a muggle clinic. The bed sheets were bleached and sterilized, the curtains drawn and air conditioning refiltered, and specialized machines were localized to constantly check the child's blood sugar and body temperature.
Those days passed without any sense of day or night. The curtains were constantly drawn, and Sirius knew the time no better than how many times he nodded off into a fitful sleep and how many times he jerked awake only to an unresponsive child in front of him.
It was unnerving; Sirius had never seen a six year old so silent. He never made a sound when Sirius moved him to change the bandages. Once in a while, the boy would awake and mumble incoherently, but fall asleep again. The hopes of seeing Harry as the laughing child running through Arabella's trampled garden again was rapidly melting away. Sirius found himself thinking numerous times how he could contact Remus and get Harry to St. Mungos, but he bring himself to carry it out.
Then on the third day, Sirius opened his eyes, adjusting to the dim light of the room to find Harry's eyes wide open. They were fixed on him unblinkingly, but by the way he squinted, his eyesight was too poor to distinguish anything without glasses. But he visibly cringed when Sirius jerked up, shrinking deep under the covers. A soft whimper of pain escaped his lips when that movement jostled his side and crushed his ill-treated back against the bed.
"Harry," Sirius whispered gently, disturbed by his reaction. He bent forward, but hesitated to touch the child. "It's alright."
The boy made an indiscernible sound in the back of his throat, struggling to move his unresponsive limbs. Sirius carefully slid the glasses over his face, and the child blinked.
Sirius held his breath, waiting for a response. He silently hoped that Harry's memories of Padfoot carried over to him as well, but that seemed to be asking too much. Harry froze when the strange man at his bedside under the unfamiliar ceiling finally came into focus, eyes widening larger than Sirius thought was possible.
He looked at Sirius fearfully for a long time but never uttered a sound. Sirius considered with some amount dread, of the possibility that Harry's trauma had damaged him so much that he became mute overnight.
Sirius bit his lip; he reached out to smooth the child's hair. "Relax, Harry. I'm not…," Sirius broke off when Harry recoiled, turning away from his outstretched hand.
"Harry, it's alright. We're not at the Dursleys, they can't hurt you anymore," Sirius said, but he couldn't mask the bitter anger in his voice. "You're not going back there ever again, okay?"
But Harry was still stiff under the covers, even though tensing the muscles on his back obviously caused him a lot of pain.
"Relax, Harry. It's better if you don't try to move," Sirius told him quietly. "I'll get you something warm to drink, okay? It'll help with the pain."
The child didn't respond, but Sirius wasn't expecting one. He stood, making a careful attempt to move slowly, and poured a cup of the lukewarm water from the coffee machine. He had kept it boiling with the can of powder from the doctor, waiting for the child to awake.
"This isn't very warm anymore, but it should be alright," Sirius murmured as he sat down again. He was speaking mostly to shatter the silence between them, but couldn't help feel awkward at the one sided conversation. In the past, it was always Harry who spoke, but suddenly without Padfoot, Harry became quiet. "I'm going to move you a little bit, tell me if it hurts, okay?"
He reached forward, but at the lightest touch, Harry flinched and closed his eyes. It was like he was expecting to be hit at any moment, and Sirius couldn't help but wonder exactly how deep those emotional scars ran. He lifted the boy slowly; the child's head limply fell back as if he lost all the strength in his body. Sirius gently supported his head against his shoulder, and held the cup to his lips. Harry twisted away from the proffered mug, struggling weakly. He seemed terrified of it somehow, as if the whole thing was a trick to get him in trouble.
"Is something wrong?" Sirius asked, concerned.
Harry seemed delirious with his brightened gaze. But slowly, he turned and sipped at drink tentatively, eyes never leaving his Sirius' face. Harry was awkward at such treatment, drinking a few mouthfuls before pulling away. He was obviously having difficulty swallowing, it seemed to cause him pain just to try. Sirius shifted the child to ease the stress, but at the slight movement, Harry cried out in pain.
Sirius winced inwardly. He froze, unsure of whether to lay him back down and possibly hurt him more. He whispered words of apology and reassurance.
Harry was still, eyes tightly shut and making no response that he actually heard those words. But Sirius could feel him trembling, whether in pain or fear he wasn't sure.
"I'm sorry," Sirius whispered again. There were a million things he wanted to apologize for.
Slowly, Harry opened his eyes. The fear was replaced by a curious confusion, staring at Sirius as if he was the strangest person in the world.
"Who are you?" Harry whispered, his voice soft and timid.
*
Umm… poor conversation. It would have been better longer, but I wasn't sure how to characterize a six and a half year old boy who lost half a pint of his blood and is a bit delirious but very perceptive. URG! It's really difficult! So this chapter is short, about a whole page shorter than the pervious chapter. I should probably have told it through Harry's point of view… damn. Maybe later, I don't think I can portray little kids well.
Harry doesn't know that Sirius is Padfoot just yet. He's still a bit out of it. As to why Sirius didn't tell him… well, he was too busy trying to convince Harry to trust him. Well… yeah… uhh…
Well, I'm trying really hard not to let WS stall; I just compacted the plot yesterday and reduced the story by about 2 chapters, but that'll probably mean it'll have a nice long epilogue in which I can tie up some lose strings. As for PoM, once again, I apologize!! I hope you like the little ficlet that gives a brief gimpse into the beginnings of James and Will's friendship. They are quite closely knit, and I'm not quite sure how to deal with him once Ron and Hermione are in the picture. Their friendship is based completely differently from Harry's past ones. Will is someone who saw his fair share of hardships, and with someone as naive and innocent as James, he sort of takes on the protective big brother role. Although when he first came into the picture, I never planned him to be that influential... uhh... oops... went to far ranting about PoM.
I'm glad you all liked the doctor! Remmy will be... humm... well, I donnuo. He's a key figure, so he's not going to vanish for that long. Thanks for all those great reviews!! I still can't respond, ack, I am so sorry. AP's in two weeks, tests all this week. Urg!! But since I put PoM on hiatus, it'll be evil if I didn't post WS... *hides*
a/n Story dedicated to Moppet Poppet, Cheating Death's 500th reviewer!
Short chapter, but the word count is quite high for some reason. Humm…
Of Western Stars
By neutral
Chapter twelve - of the question of trust
"Remus, you're sure about that?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes dark with an angry fire.
"Yes. Vernon practically admitted it to my face. They lock him in a cupboard, and I found the sheets bloody," Remus whispered, voice muffled against his hands.
Dumbledore was silent, his face darkening into an emotion of regret. The blue eyes were almost a dull grey, and his shoulders sagged with a weariness beyond his age.
"I should have taken him out of that place sooner," Dumbledore said softly.
Remus was silent, running his hands over his eyes resignedly.
"Harry had bruises yesterday. They must have abused him for… oh god, I don't even know how long ago they started," Remus finally said. Suddenly, he clenched his fists. His shoulders shook as he spoke, and his words carried an audible tremor. "Why didn't I notice it sooner? It was so obvious! The signs where right in front of my face, and I hadn't even considered that they could be… physically abusing him…"
Dumbledore sighed sadly, looked at his former pupil with an unreadable expression. "Remus, it's not your fault."
Remus shook his head, face still hidden in his hands. "No, there's more. Sirius broke into the Dursleys last night and took Harry."
"He what?" Dumbledore's voice carried a dangerous edge, but the fury carefully controlled in his face was unnerving. Remus could feel his skin prickling and the hair rising at the back of his neck in response. There was a dull thud, as if the headmaster had knocked something to the ground in his shock.
"Sirius kidnapped Harry last night…" Remus repeated hoarsely. "Apparently, he's been here for a week…"
He broke off abruptly, but his mind was screaming at him to speak on. He just couldn't bring himself to tell the headmaster of those marauding years. It would be admitting to betraying Dumbledore's trust those years at Hogwarts.
You're so selfish. Tell him! The voice in his mind was yelling, It could mean Harry's life and death!
But before he couldn't even bring himself to open his mouth again, the headmaster's expression darkened further.
"What?" Dumbledore's voice was almost a low growl.
"Sirius is…" Remus swallowed thickly. "an animagus."
He waited for the headmaster's response, but there was none. Looking up, he found the man watching him with the a searching, yet understanding gaze. There was no anger, no disappointment. Remus drew a deep breath and continued, explaining the plans of his closest friends, of James, Sirius, and Peter. Of their desire to help a friend and at the lengths that they took. Remus was surprised to find Dumbledore only reacting only mildly, as if he suspected it all along.
"But, Sirius didn't hurt Harry at all. By what the child told he, he's quite fond of James' son. It… oh, I don't know," Remus sighed wearily. Things were becoming more and more complicated by the minute.
Dumbledore frowned in thought. "He never hurt Harry."
"No! That's the part that doesn't make any sense," Remus choked out with some frustration. All the stress of the week and the past that returned to haunt him was eroding the calm exterior that he carried. "He could be lying to him, but… that still doesn't make any sense."
"No, it doesn't," Dumbledore sighed.
"I thought he may have been using Harry at first, but…," Remus shook his head angrily. "Sirius was imprisoned for five years, and when he finally escapes, he just bides his time? That's not the way he is! Sirius isn't patient, he'd act immediately! If he wanted Harry dead, he'd be dead long ago. I would never have made any difference…" Remus chewed his lip, biting is so hard that he could taste the bitter tang of blood. "And now, Sirius kidnapped him…"
He fell into muteness as he stared into the palm on his hands. Remus drew a shuddering breath, unclenching his bloodless fingers. Harry needed help, he couldn't even guess how badly the child was hurt. And with someone so young and frail, Remus wondered how much Harry could endure before breaking. He was at a murderer's mercy, a cold-blooded mass murderer who betrayed his best friends. He desperately hoped that Sirius somehow had a change of heart, and would help James' son. Harry was so young and innocent, looked so much like his father; perhaps, just perhaps, Sirius would hesitate…
But after realizing the extent of his misjudgment with Harry's relatives, Remus found it hard to be optimistic.
A soft moan.
Sirius jerked awake late in the afternoon the next day, blinking blurriness out of his grainy and dry eyes. His back cracked in protest of the rough treatment of falling asleep in a chair. He moved closer to the bedside, watching the boy intently.
"Harry?"
The boy flinched, shifting awkwardly as he tried to turn away.
Sirius drew back cautiously; Harry's reaction was disturbing. He had never seem the child so frightened by people, he never recoiled like that when Sirius was in his Padfoot form. How much did those muggles do to traumatize the poor boy?
"It's okay. Everything's going to be okay," Sirius said as reassuringly as he could.
Harry didn't seem to respond at first. But convulsively, his arm jerked and his eyes fluttered open. Sirius held his breath, waiting for Harry's reaction on seeing a stranger at his bedside, but his godson seemed to tread on the edges of consciousness. His eyes didn't focus and they darted around the room nervously.
"Harry, do you recognize me? It's…," Sirius hesitated for a brief moment, "Padfoot. Do you remember?"
That seemed to catch his attention. Harry turned his head slowly, eyes stopping on Sirius' face, but they were hollow and unseeing. He didn't cringe when Sirius brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes.
"Padfoot?" Harry echoed, his voice so soft that Sirius could barely hear.
His voice was strained with a strange sort of desperation, his eyes glazed and distant was they stared up at the ceiling. But then his eyelids dropped, his body slackened, and his head fell limply against Sirius' hand.
Through the course of two days, the shabby hotel room was slowly transformed into a muggle clinic. The bed sheets were bleached and sterilized, the curtains drawn and air conditioning refiltered, and specialized machines were localized to constantly check the child's blood sugar and body temperature.
Those days passed without any sense of day or night. The curtains were constantly drawn, and Sirius knew the time no better than how many times he nodded off into a fitful sleep and how many times he jerked awake only to an unresponsive child in front of him.
It was unnerving; Sirius had never seen a six year old so silent. He never made a sound when Sirius moved him to change the bandages. Once in a while, the boy would awake and mumble incoherently, but fall asleep again. The hopes of seeing Harry as the laughing child running through Arabella's trampled garden again was rapidly melting away. Sirius found himself thinking numerous times how he could contact Remus and get Harry to St. Mungos, but he bring himself to carry it out.
Then on the third day, Sirius opened his eyes, adjusting to the dim light of the room to find Harry's eyes wide open. They were fixed on him unblinkingly, but by the way he squinted, his eyesight was too poor to distinguish anything without glasses. But he visibly cringed when Sirius jerked up, shrinking deep under the covers. A soft whimper of pain escaped his lips when that movement jostled his side and crushed his ill-treated back against the bed.
"Harry," Sirius whispered gently, disturbed by his reaction. He bent forward, but hesitated to touch the child. "It's alright."
The boy made an indiscernible sound in the back of his throat, struggling to move his unresponsive limbs. Sirius carefully slid the glasses over his face, and the child blinked.
Sirius held his breath, waiting for a response. He silently hoped that Harry's memories of Padfoot carried over to him as well, but that seemed to be asking too much. Harry froze when the strange man at his bedside under the unfamiliar ceiling finally came into focus, eyes widening larger than Sirius thought was possible.
He looked at Sirius fearfully for a long time but never uttered a sound. Sirius considered with some amount dread, of the possibility that Harry's trauma had damaged him so much that he became mute overnight.
Sirius bit his lip; he reached out to smooth the child's hair. "Relax, Harry. I'm not…," Sirius broke off when Harry recoiled, turning away from his outstretched hand.
"Harry, it's alright. We're not at the Dursleys, they can't hurt you anymore," Sirius said, but he couldn't mask the bitter anger in his voice. "You're not going back there ever again, okay?"
But Harry was still stiff under the covers, even though tensing the muscles on his back obviously caused him a lot of pain.
"Relax, Harry. It's better if you don't try to move," Sirius told him quietly. "I'll get you something warm to drink, okay? It'll help with the pain."
The child didn't respond, but Sirius wasn't expecting one. He stood, making a careful attempt to move slowly, and poured a cup of the lukewarm water from the coffee machine. He had kept it boiling with the can of powder from the doctor, waiting for the child to awake.
"This isn't very warm anymore, but it should be alright," Sirius murmured as he sat down again. He was speaking mostly to shatter the silence between them, but couldn't help feel awkward at the one sided conversation. In the past, it was always Harry who spoke, but suddenly without Padfoot, Harry became quiet. "I'm going to move you a little bit, tell me if it hurts, okay?"
He reached forward, but at the lightest touch, Harry flinched and closed his eyes. It was like he was expecting to be hit at any moment, and Sirius couldn't help but wonder exactly how deep those emotional scars ran. He lifted the boy slowly; the child's head limply fell back as if he lost all the strength in his body. Sirius gently supported his head against his shoulder, and held the cup to his lips. Harry twisted away from the proffered mug, struggling weakly. He seemed terrified of it somehow, as if the whole thing was a trick to get him in trouble.
"Is something wrong?" Sirius asked, concerned.
Harry seemed delirious with his brightened gaze. But slowly, he turned and sipped at drink tentatively, eyes never leaving his Sirius' face. Harry was awkward at such treatment, drinking a few mouthfuls before pulling away. He was obviously having difficulty swallowing, it seemed to cause him pain just to try. Sirius shifted the child to ease the stress, but at the slight movement, Harry cried out in pain.
Sirius winced inwardly. He froze, unsure of whether to lay him back down and possibly hurt him more. He whispered words of apology and reassurance.
Harry was still, eyes tightly shut and making no response that he actually heard those words. But Sirius could feel him trembling, whether in pain or fear he wasn't sure.
"I'm sorry," Sirius whispered again. There were a million things he wanted to apologize for.
Slowly, Harry opened his eyes. The fear was replaced by a curious confusion, staring at Sirius as if he was the strangest person in the world.
"Who are you?" Harry whispered, his voice soft and timid.
*
Umm… poor conversation. It would have been better longer, but I wasn't sure how to characterize a six and a half year old boy who lost half a pint of his blood and is a bit delirious but very perceptive. URG! It's really difficult! So this chapter is short, about a whole page shorter than the pervious chapter. I should probably have told it through Harry's point of view… damn. Maybe later, I don't think I can portray little kids well.
Harry doesn't know that Sirius is Padfoot just yet. He's still a bit out of it. As to why Sirius didn't tell him… well, he was too busy trying to convince Harry to trust him. Well… yeah… uhh…
Well, I'm trying really hard not to let WS stall; I just compacted the plot yesterday and reduced the story by about 2 chapters, but that'll probably mean it'll have a nice long epilogue in which I can tie up some lose strings. As for PoM, once again, I apologize!! I hope you like the little ficlet that gives a brief gimpse into the beginnings of James and Will's friendship. They are quite closely knit, and I'm not quite sure how to deal with him once Ron and Hermione are in the picture. Their friendship is based completely differently from Harry's past ones. Will is someone who saw his fair share of hardships, and with someone as naive and innocent as James, he sort of takes on the protective big brother role. Although when he first came into the picture, I never planned him to be that influential... uhh... oops... went to far ranting about PoM.
I'm glad you all liked the doctor! Remmy will be... humm... well, I donnuo. He's a key figure, so he's not going to vanish for that long. Thanks for all those great reviews!! I still can't respond, ack, I am so sorry. AP's in two weeks, tests all this week. Urg!! But since I put PoM on hiatus, it'll be evil if I didn't post WS... *hides*