Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN: A brief warning for suggested slash at the end of this chapter, so weak you can only really tell it's there if you're looking for it I think, but I'm warning you all the same. I hope you'll read on regardless, this chapter contains some of my favourite scenes from the story.
In the months between Bill's departure in mid August and Christmas, Anahid's hands continued to shake, her eyesight continued to weaken and her ability to walk began to fail. Her health had faded quickly after the resistance to the potion had started, but a large reason for that was her discontinuing to take it. The symptoms had quickly reached the levels they would have been had she not taken the potion at all, but after that resumed their usual pace of development and affect.
So it was that by Christmas her eyesight had almost totally failed, and she no longer wore her glasses, they made little difference to the vague shadows, which was all she now saw. She could still walk, but with support.
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Anahid tried to enjoy what would, in all likelihood, be her last Christmas, but the Christmas spirit alluded her. Bill came home, like he had promised, and Charlie came too.
It was a much more subdued family that sat opening presents on Christmas Day that year. Only eight out of the ten people in the house sat in front of the tree that morning. Bill was never far from Anahid, and she hadn't woken at the early time that Christmas usually elicited. Again they spent every possible moment together; both knowing the end was drawing ever nearer. Anahid had refused to allow anyone to get her a gift that year, saying it would simply be a waste. The same rule applied to her nineteenth birthday, which occurred in early March. She, it seemed, was already waiting for the end.
By the time of her birthday, both her eyes and legs had failed completely, and she hadn't been to the manor in months. Her hands shook so, that she was incapable of even the most basic magic. Still she held out, refusing to give in until Bill was with her again. He came home that summer, in early July, on another two weeks leave.
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On the morning of the tenth day after he had come home, Bill carried Anahid outside to sit in the garden. It was a new routine of theirs for Anahid to lay down, head on Bill's lap, and listen while Bill read to her. That was exactly what they did that morning, Bill working his way through 'Crups, a Wizards Best Friend.' He ran his hand through her hair as he read, glancing down at her every now and then, watching the shadows from the tree they sat under play across her face. She looked so peaceful that it was only when he saw her hands resting, still, on her stomach that he knew it had happened.
She had been right; she never did see her twentieth birthday. Anahid Freya Black died on the sixteenth of July 1990.
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Anahid had made out her will before her hands first shook. She left 200 Galleons to each of the Weasley children, which were to be put aside in their own Gringotts bank vaults until their graduation from Hogwarts. To Molly and Arthur she gave 500 Galleons. Charlie received 300, and Bill the same. A few items were given to them, as well as others; for example, Bill got back his photo from Christmas 1986. The majority of the estate was left to Sirius, to be inherited only on successful repeal of the convictions he was sentenced to Azkaban for. Should he die before that occurred, the estate would pass to Remus Lupin.
She had also written letter to those important to her, to be distributed on her death. One, which she entrusted to Professor Dumbledore, would wait almost six years for delivery.
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It was two am on the seventeenth of July 1993 when Bill woke, and found himself looking into eyes of a shade of blue he had only seen in one face before, the face that was looking down at him now, and it wasn't smiling.
"What do you think you're doing?" Anahid asked, as settled down on the edge of his bed. Any doubts he had had about the identity of this Anahid-appearing figure had disappeared when she spoke. Only one person could chastise him so completely in so few words.
"I was sleeping," he replied, trying to hide his confusion in a flippant comment.
Anahid simply arched a black eyebrow at him. "That's not what I meant and you know it," she growled. "I never would have gone then if I thought it would affect you like this. This is why I didn't want to tell you in the first place." She rubbed her eyes, a habit she had when feeling particularly frustrated.
"What do you mean 'gone then.' Are you saying you had a choice?" he sat up in the bed, gazing at her intently, ignoring the part of his brain that said girls who had been dead for three years didn't pop into your bedroom at two am.
"Not the way you're thinking. I would have died sooner or later, sooner rather than later. I chose then because I was happy Bill. Lying under that tree, listening to you read, I was happy, and I wanted to go while I was happy, rather than just wither and fade away, finally passing over when I was weak and miserable."
He nodded; it made a sort of sense, especially if you knew Anahid. "Why are you here now then?"
"To tell you to get your act together." She was back in 'angry being form another dimension' mode.
"I don't understand."
"Of course you don't Bill, If you did this would be much to easy, wouldn't it?" she paused, appearing to be collecting her thoughts, and Bill took the opportunity to reaquaint himself with a face he never thought he'd see again. "Stop that," she sighed. "This is weird enough without you staring at me like that."
"This is weird for you?" he asked in amazement.
"Yes. Now stop changing the subject." Another sigh, "Do you think I wanted to go?" she asked quietly. "Do you think I like watching you live without me? Dead yourself bar the fact your heart still beats."
"What do you want me to do?" he asked coolly. "Pretend nothing happened, that my life didn't end when yours did."
"But yours didn't Bill. You're still alive, with time a plenty still to spend. I'm still with you too; you just can't see me. I'm always there, and when your time comes, in the distant future, I'll be waiting for you. Provided," he knew what would come would undoubtedly be a list of demands. "Provided you live Bill. It's a pretty poor way to remember someone who died before she had a real chance to taste life by sitting here, shutting life out. Live Bill, live and love."
"No!" he protested.
"Yes Bill. Follow your heart." She took hold of his hand. "I'll be waiting for you, when your time comes, if you want still me to be."
"Of course I…"
"Stop." She cut him off. "Don't make a promise now you could live to regret. Just live." She lent forward and pressed her lips against his forehead.
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When Bill woke the next morning, he had the worst hangover of his life. He was prepared to put Anahid's appearance down to the alcohol he routinely consumed in copious amounts, especially on the sixteenth of July. Though, he thought, just because she was an alcohol-induced hallucination, didn't mean she didn't have some good advice. Maybe it was time for a change in his lifestyle, if nothing else it would get his mum, and Charlie, off his back.
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The rain didn't thunder, pelt, or pour. Instead it fell as a steady drizzle, soaking the ground, the man, and turning the gravestones a dull grey. It ran in rivulets over his face, dripping from his jaw to run off his already soaked robes. He clutched the parchment in his hand, charm protected from the rain, it was stopped from turning to a soggy mess.
The owl had brought it earlier that morning, pecking loudly on the window until Remus got up and let it in. It swooped down and landed on Sirius's barely conscious form. With no respect for one who had been up until the early hours of the morning celebrating his acquittal, it demanded Sirius' attention.
His tired fingers fumbled with the tie securing the letter to the bird's leg. It pecked at his hands, trying to hurry him. Finally he managed to undo the knot and, released of its duty, the owl disappeared back out the window, into the rain.
Sirius immediately recognised the handwriting, which, in a looping hand, addressed the letter to him. Why Albus Dumbledore should be sending him a letter, when he had spoken to him only the day before, was beyond the comprehension of Sirius's sleep fogged mind.
He opened the envelope and removed another sealed parchment, and a short note from Albus reading simply,
Sirius,
This was entrusted to me a number of years ago, by a young woman especially dear to you. She asked me to pass it on to you, should the events that occurred yesterday come to pass.
Albus Dumbledore
Sirius handed Albus's letter to Remus before opening the next piece of parchment. In a discernibly more female hand was written,
Sirius
That you are reading this means you have had all of your convictions repealed. I could hardly be happier were I there to share the celebrations with you. It also means you are now the proud owner of Orion Manor, and what else remains of our father's estate.
There is much else I would wish to say here, but the words allude me.
May your freedom bring you much joy.
Forever your loving sister,
Anahid Black
Sirius noticed for the first time a second page to his sister's letter. Handing the coversheet to a waiting Remus, he saw what was written at the top of the second page and immediately screwed it up and tossed it across the room to collide with the far wall. Without a word he stalked out the door, and through into the bathroom.
Remus read through Anahid's letter, then finding the other piece of parchment, smoothed it out and skimmed the last will and testament of Anahid Black. With a sigh he went into the bathroom after Sirius. He found him sitting on the edge of the bath, face in his hands.
"She's dead."
"Yes." It wasn't a question, but Remus answered anyway.
"How long?"
"Six years this July."
"Six years! And no one felt like telling me? Didn't I deserve to know?" he raised his head to glare at Remus with red-rimmed eyes.
"You had so much else to deal with, we weren't sure how you'd react." He knelt down in front of Sirius. "We felt it best for you to think she didn't want anything to do with you, until the acquittal at least."
"We?"
"Albus and I."
Sirius nodded dumbly. "How?" he asked finally.
"The Degenero Disease. With the help of Poppy and Severus, she was able to control the symptoms, until it built up a resistance. She held out for another year or so after that. I'm sorry Siri."
"Where is she…she…"
"By your mum and dad." Remus left him alone after that; there was nothing else he could do. Sirius came out some time later, he walked, dressed, past Remus, who was in the kitchen, and out into the rain, then he Disapparated.
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Standing there, Sirius let his tears mix with the rain. The gravestone in front of him read:
Anahid Black
1971-1990
Beloved daughter, sister, and friend
May she know in death the peace she strove so hard to find in life
Yet he couldn't picture her lying there, beneath the ground. Standing in the unceasing rain he remembered.
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A twelve-year-old Sirius Black looked down at the bundle in his father's arms and tried to hate the dark haired babe within. This, this, girl had taken away his mother, his beautiful, wonderful, magical mother. He should hate her for it, but as he looked down at her, his pale blue eyes met her dark blue, and he couldn't do it. He couldn't hate her. Instead, he felt sorry for this small being who would never know their mother, and whose father, though holding her, couldn't bring himself to look at her.
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Again he checked the floor for any remaining shards. Every time he thought he had cleaned them all up another glinted in the morning sun. A good thing the nanny was on holiday, or they would have lost another one.
Who'd have though that his little sister, his little Ana, could have done that sort of magic, and at only three too. Shattering every piece of glass in the kitchen, just because no one had made her breakfast yet. Although Sirius had to admit, he'd been so wrapped up in Remus's letter, he hadn't even noticed she was in the room until the window broke. The window, the glasses, the bowls, even the glass doors of the upper cupboards; they'd all shattered. And he'd spent the morning cleaning up glass shards and repairing it all. At least now it appeared he had got everything, which meant there was only one more thing to do. Find Ana and tell her how incredibly proud he was that a little kid like her had worked magic that strong. Hell, he might even get a laugh out of her.
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Sirius paced the hallway outside Ana's room, waiting for Madam Pomfrey to come out. At least the screaming had stopped. Who'd have thought she could have slipped off a broom so quickly? And break her arm from only five feet up. He was just glad he'd been able to contact Madam Pomfrey with his frantic fireplace call.
Finally the door opened and Madam Pomfrey's head poked out. "Sirius, you'd better come in here." The tone wasn't as gruff and scolding as he had expected, which was either a good sign, or a very bad one.
Four year old Anahid was sitting up in her bed, her right arm bandaged, she stopped sucking her sugar quill long enough to smile at her brother, her eyes still rimmed with red.
"I've mended her arm, you shouldn't even be able to tell it was broken in a few days."
Of course, Sirius thought, once Madam Pomfrey healed something, you'd never think it had been broken, cut, severed, or covered in little purple toadstools.
"But I think there's something you should know." She paused, different emotions flitting across her face. "I think your sister has a condition called Degenero Disease. Some tests will have to be done, so we know for sure. I only suspect because her arm was so difficult to heal. It's very rare, but I've met two people who suffered from it in my career. I'm sorry Sirius."
He hadn't understood her sorrow then, but after the tests came back positive, and Remus found that book all about it, he had understood then. His sister was going to die, far too early and in a way that was slow, debilitating, and crushing. For the first time since his mother had died, Sirius Black wept. Enclosed in the comforting arms of Remus Lupin and James Potter, he mourned a sister who was yet to die.
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Kneeling in the mud in the grey cloaked cemetery, Sirius Black remembered and mourned. He wept for a girl who looked so like a mother she had never known, who had known pain and grief her whole life, who had lost her brother right when she needed him the most.
Fingertips stroked his cheek; lips pressed to his forehead in the way she had always kissed him goodbye, forgivenesses and farewells were whispered in his ear. But when he looked up, searching for a sign of the shade, nothing disturbed the grey solitude bar a gentle breeze stirring the petals of the single white rose he had placed on top of Anahid's gravestone.
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AN: Pease R&R, any comments are appreciated.
I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Yes the ending is sad, I have had several people tell me it made them cry, but it had to be. The story demanded I put in the right ending, and I did, no matter how much I wanted a happy ever after one. At least there's some hope for them in the after life, if they so desire.