Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and every one of its characters belong to JK Rowling! I own only this plot, and all the characters you don't recognize
Summary: In the future, Voldemort is no longer the terrible threat that begins to loom over the horizon. How can the survivors of the war believe the truth they have been told - a truth that condemns someone they loved and honored? A story of love, faith, loyalty and the legacy somebody left behind ...
Note: Set in the future. The trio are all 21 years old, and I think some of this story might be A/U.
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Stained Legacy
Chapter Four: A Guardian Angel
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He'd been prowling the shadows of the penthouse balcony for over an hour, furiously debating with himself about whether or not to go inside and see them. Above him, the moon glowed a sliver crescent of shining silver, and the stars twinkled with beautiful ecstasy, a stark contrast to his mood. He continued to pace restlessly, lithe and smooth in his movements. And with the movements, he continued to think, to reason, to argue with himself. What in hell was he supposed to do?
He knew Harry, Remus and Ron had left a little while ago, with a small boy. That meant Hermione was alone ... and that threw a complicating spoke into the wheels of his decision-making. What did he want to do? Hell, he knew what he wanted to do, but was that what was best? Yet he knew he had to do something - but what options did he have?
The Daily Prophet had announced the finding of an eyewitness to the murder of Aberforth Dumbledore. The article had roused his interest at once, for obvious reasons, and he'd kept a close eye on the paper. When the name of the eyewitness - Scarlett Fetcherly - had been revealed, he'd received this bit of news with some suspicion and distaste. Perhaps he had made his own mistakes, and perhaps he was overreacting about a very isolated incident directed solely at him, but he had very good reason not to like the beautiful, clever Scarlett ...
Make a decision, damn it! You can't stand here forever.
But this thoughts still wandered painfully.
He'd waited desperately for the paper after the setting of the courtroom proceeding had appeared. Then the reporters had sourly reported that Scarlett Fetcherly had indeed been able to pinpoint the killer, but that the Ministry declined to make the identity of this killer public.
Interesting ...
Why were they hiding the identity of this murderer? Obviously, they must think him either very special, or they must think him too powerful to touch or outrage with an accusation (the latter reason being extremely unlikely). His curiosity had been piqued. But then, three days later, came the stunning blow. He'd read the paper in a state of utter shock ... somehow, the newspaper had gotten hold of three words that were closely linked to the murderer and the crime:
Sphere of Pagnon.
And at once, he had returned to London, lurking deep in the shadows. Unknown to anyone, he had read about the miraculous Sphere in his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - by pure accident - and when he'd registered its immense power and all his instincts warned him of evil's sources discovering such a weapon as well, he'd spent the past years trying to hunt down the wretched Sphere, to keep it out of worse hands. It had been a secret mission he'd set himself to. He'd sacrified more than he could bear thinking about just to protect the magical and Muggle world, and he hated himself for it. Now he regretted more than ever for never having shared his secret with anyone - for how could he possibly reveal what he knew now?
That was why he was pacing out here. He knew Remus, Hermione, Harry, Ron and all the rest would be somehow involved in this - after all, they had known Aberforth Dumbledore well, hadn't they? If anyone would make good use of his information, it was them. Yet he still didn't know whether what he was considering was right ...
At that moment, his sharp senses caught a tune floating out of the living room. Slowly, he crept to the glass between the living room and the balcony, looking into the lit room with a heart beating faster in his warm chest. His ears picked up the lyrics of the song - it was a certainly unfamiliar song, but the words ... those words ...
He stared, horrified, watching Hermione as she moved listlessly and then wildly about the room, clutching a shining dagger in her hands. He saw her slice the blade down her palm and watched the blood trickle out with frozen shock. As the song went on, and she began to speak, aloud, seeming to no one, his eyes fixed upon her, almost hypnotized. Somehow, even though he couldn't hear her words through the glass and over the song's rhythm, he understood her, and he felt like someone was ripping something apart inside of him.
Such pain ...
And then his entire body stiffened. She fell to the floor, the dagger turning inwards, towards the flat concave of her stomach. A small drop of red appeared through the white cotton of her tee shirt, and that was all it took for him to realize it was more than he could stand.
He demorphed and picked up his wand. As the splotches of blood became a patch and she crumpled, lying still as if unconscious, the dagger falling to the ground beside her, he kicked the glass furiously so that it shattered. He ran into the room, muttering, "Reparo.", so that the glass retrieved and fixed itself, and dropped to his knees beside her still frame.
"Don't be dead," he prayed with all he had inside him. "Merlin's beard, don't die now."
She was still alive; he felt it in the warmth of her body and blood. Gently, he lifted her up into his arms and laid her on the couch. Then he conjured bandages out of thin air and lifting her tee shirt up a little, began to tenderly wrap the wound as best he could in his limited experience, so that the bleeding stopped. It wasn't too bad, he realized, thank God she would be all right.
But he was angry as hell.
He wrapped a bandage around the cut on the palm as well, and then looked around the room. "Scourgify," he waved his wand and all the blood stains and drops vanished, and the room neatened itself. He wandered over to the unusual machine in the corner, from which the music seemed to be playing, and it took him a second to figure out how to turn the damned thing off. Stereos, or whatever they were called, were not his area of expertise.
Going back to the couch, he looked down at the lost, gently breathing face turned somewhat towards him, and his expression softened. At least she was okay ... thank Merlin he'd come here tonight.
He searched the papers on the desk, and found a brightly moving flyer with 'Carnival at Diagon Alley' on it. If that was where the boys had gone, and he reckoned it was, they wouldn't be back for a long time yet. That meant, that if he was going to leave again, he still had time.
Realizing Hermione wasn't going to wake yet, he sighed and wandered towards the bathroom. Although he'd eaten all right over the past years, it had been a long time since he'd had the time or the will to clean himself up - but now he did. He looked into the mirror, observing the long, tangled dark hair and the bloodshot eyes and disgraceful beard.
Raising his wand, he magically cut his hair till it was short and would only fall a little into his eyes on occasion, which was an appearance that made him look younger. Not that it mattered ... he closed his eyes, trying not to remember. Old habits certainly died hard. He opened his eyes again and found an opened shaving kit in the cabinet. He tore open the plastic - thanking Merlin that he'd learned how to properly shave in his lifetime as a wizard - and shaved the beard off so that his hard jaw and face were clean-shaven again. The lack of hair brought a couple of the small scars he'd gained into view, but he shrugged it off, and cleaned the razor, splashing some of Remus's cologne on.
When he returned to the living room, he found Hermione stirring. Slowly, he sat down on the edge of the couch and brushed away a falling tendril of her silky hair. Her eyes flickered open, and she looked drowsily at him with a dazed expression in her eyes. He thought he saw a spark of recognition deep in her brown eyes, but the bewildered haze that she was stuck in was clearing overwhelming that.
"Am I dead?" She asked softly, her voice sweet and sleepy.
He swore, his fist clenching. "No, you're not dead." He growled, frowning heavily. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"
"Who are - where - how did you - I ..." Her puzzled, dazed voice trailed off as she slipped into her subconscious again. He watched her eyes close, his fury fading into relief that she looked more peaceful and that she was still alive. He could not understand why she would want to kill herself? He couldn't believe she felt so much pain ... still. Yet how could he have expected anything else? He knew what had happened ...
He watched her in her unconsciousness for a long time, finally allowing himself to remember his past, the past that he'd left behind years ago. Bitter, sorrowed tears pricked at his eyelids but he never let them slide. He just sat there, occasionally brushing her hair back from her face, seeing her and yet not really seeing her because he was so lost in his memories.
The sound of knocking on the door startled him. Apparently they didn't like the carnival. He bolted to his feet.
"Hermione?" He heard a voice - Remus's - call, and his heart thudded. "Hermione? We forgot our key! 'Mione?"
There was, naturally, no response. He glanced around, uncertain, frozen to the spot, and finally he pointed his wand at the door and muttered, "Collorputus." - The door locked, and he was certain the people on the other side of the door heard the click because he heard Ron's voice say, "Did she just lock the door?"
He hurried across to the desk and the papers, and picked up a pencil. Wretched thing; apparently they didn't use quills in this apartment - would probably attract too much attention from Muggle visitors. With a resigned exhalation, he tossed down the pencil again and fumbled in his pockets. Thankfully, the wrinkled parchment, torn out of an ancient, rare book, was there and he folded it and laid it on the desk before turning back to Hermione.
With a last look at her, he made sure he'd left no traces of the excess blood anywhere, that the dagger was safely on the desk, and he morphed and raced out through the balcony door, which he opened by turning the knob with a front foot. Within seconds, like before, he was gone from the scene and finally swallowed whole by the night.
Harry banged on the door harder. "Where the hell is she and why would she lock the door?" He demanded, growing more worried by the second. "Alohomora." He muttered, low, so that the neighbours on the lower floors wouldn't hear. "Alohomora!"
Nothing happened. The door had been locked.
"You think - something could be wrong?" Ron asked, his eyes wide.
Sean clutched his Uncle Remus's hand. "Mommy - ?"
"Maybe - "
"What if - ?"
"Could - ?"
"Let's all calm down," Remus interrupted in his eternally placid voice, although his eyes were full of concern himself. "There could be a perfectly logical explanation for this. Maybe Hermione just had a shower, and is finding some clothes for herself and locked the door so that we wouldn't barge in on her."
Ron screwed up his face disbelievingly.
"I don't like it." Harry said decisively, trying the Opening Charm again. "Damn it!"
By now, Sean's worry got the better of him and he flung himself at the door. "Mommy! Open the door, Mommy, please!" He called desperately, trying to break free of Harry's arms pulling him away from the door. "Mommy! Open the door, Momma! MOMMY!"
The door burst open and fell to the ground with a thud.
Sean froze, and gasped. "Huh?"
Remus, Harry and Ron all stared at the door in incredulous silence, then at Sean, and then at each other. Someone murmured "Reparo" after they all stepped in, so that the door returned to its original stability, but they were still stunned. They didn't speak it out loud (although Ron nearly did, but Harry stepped on his foot in time), but they were all thinking exactly the same thing:
Now they understood why he was the key. Sean was a very powerful young wizard.
Their thoughts were diverted by Sean's choked, "Mommy?"
At once, they saw Hermione, lying on the couch, still but breathing, traces of blood soaking through her white tee shirt and a white bandage on her hand. Remus moved first, hurrying to her side with a muffled oath and exclamation, and he saw at once that she was injured.
"What happened to Mommy?" Sean wailed desperately trying to get to his mother. Remus and Harry glanced at each other, and then quickly at Ron, who was surprisingly quick on the uptake and at once scooped Sean up into his arms and with the little boy protesting and kicking, hurried out of the room.
Harry checked Hermione's pulse. "She's all right," he said with a heavy sigh of intense relief, before collapsing onto the couch by her feet. "Merlin's beard, Remus, what do you think happened to her?"
"I don't know, Harry," Remus looked around in worry and confusion. "There don't seem to be any signs of a struggle, and I don't think any minion of evil or Death Eater would waste time with daggers ... I really can't explain this. But I have some potions in my room, Madam Pomfrey's own concoctions, and they'll heal these cuts in no time. Good thing she got them bandaged."
They heard a loud kerfuffle in the bathroom, followed by squeaks and reproaches, oaths and swear words that a child should not hear. It was evidently where Ron had obviously dragged Sean off too (having not had time to think of a better option), and Harry and Remus both could not suppress grins in spite of themselves.
Remus went to get the potions and in five minutes' time, Hermione's injuries were gone. Apart from being a little sore when she woke, Remus said, she would be just fine. As if she'd read his mind, Hermione stirred and her eyes opened at that moment. She blinked at them, as if dazed, and then some confusion crossed her features before her gaze finally focused.
"Harry? Remus?"
Harry grinned. "It's us, 'Mione. Do you know what happened to you?"
"Well, I - " It came back to her, and she frowned in perplexity. The last few moments of her consciousness were hazy; she'd been certain ... oh well. She swallowed hard and said, hoping they could not see her furious shame, "Oh, it was just a silly accident. I thought I'd use Ron's dagger to open a letter, and it slipped - "
"You're a witch, 'Mione," Harry said gently, jerking his head towards her wand, "Why didn't you just open it with your wand?"
She licked her lips nervously, cursing inwardly at her stupidity. He's right, you moron! This is like your searching for wood to make a fire in your first year at Hogwarts.
"It's always easy for someone who was born into a Muggle family, to forget that they have an easier way to do things," Remus supplied for her kindly, his eyes twinkling a little. She felt his concern, and was certain she had not deceived him. "Well, Hermione, it's a good thing you - "
He was not allowed to finish, as at that moment, the bathroom door opened and Sean tore out, dodging out of Ron's floundering grasp, and flung himself at his mother with a delighted, "Mommy! You're okay!" He clung to her, curling up onto her lap. Hermione laughed, although tears burned behind her eyelids.
"Of course I'm okay, sweetie," she murmured soothingly, "I just cut myself by accident, that's all. Mommy's just fine, and Mommy also thinks her big, brave boy should be in bed. You have an early day tomorrow if you're planning on going to work with Uncle Harry."
The prospect of watching at Auror at work was of course enough for any energetic little boy to subside and agree to go to bed. Hermione made sure Ron got Sean to brush his teeth before she carried him into his room. He grinned up at her from under the covers, and requested two kisses.
Hermione duly complied, and sang softly until her son fell asleep. As she watched him sleep innocently and peacefully, she felt that horrible guilt and shame course through her. What a fool she'd been! The pain was still there, and the hurt was just as strong, but how could she have even considered leaving Sean? Maybe her pain would end, but how could she have been so selfish that she'd allowed herself to forget the hurt she'd have caused her son, Harry, Ron, Remus, Dumbledore, McGonagall, her parents and all the other members of The Order of the Phoenix who knew and loved her?
Enough of this, she told herself sternly,Sirius would have been disappointed in you if you'd gone through with what you were about to do. Thank God you aren't dead now ... thank ... thank who? Why didn't I die? Someone stopped it ... but that's not the point. It's time to be strong for the people you love, and make Sirius proud of you.
Sirius ...
She kissed Sean on the forehead lightly, and stood up. She was tired, and drained, but she had to talk to her friends. Turning off Sean's bedroom light, she closed the door halfway and then walked back into the living room, where the three men were waiting for her. They'd brought out Butterbeer, and handed her one as she sat down.
"Uh - there's something you should know," Ron began awkwardly. Hermione gave him a quizzical look, wondering what this was. Quickly, Ron and Harry together told her what had happened - Sean's concern for her, his panic, and the way his emotions had made the door blast off its hinges.
She sighed, and nodded her head. "I know; his power and adaptation to magic have shown themselves, briefly, before. I'm afraid. Afraid for him, once people realize how strong he is and how dangerous he is to the rising of evil. But I suppose I'm proud of him too."
"Well, you have to admit, his skill is not entirely unexpected," Remus said with a smile, "Look who his mother is."
They all laughed at that, and then Harry, grinning, said, "Yeah, 'Mione, we saw those injuries. It must have taken a hell of a lot of stength to conjure those bandages and wrap them around yourself before you passed out. It was pretty incredible."
Hermione shook her head. "That's just it. I didn't."
"Didn't what?"
"I didn't conjure those bandages and wrap them around me."
They looked considerably startled. "What do you mean?" Remus asked her, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"When the dagger slipped and sliced into my wrist, it fell to the floor, and I stumbled. Before I could stop it, it had cut my stomach as well," she was lying, and felt guilty about it, but this wasn't the important issue - and how could she let them know what she had almost done? "And I drifted in and out and then passed out almost immediately. Really."
Harry blinked. "Are you saying - ?"
"Someone else was in here," Hermione interrupted him, needing them to understand her, even though she barely understood it herself. "Someone else - who found me when I was unconscious, and took me to the couch and conjured up those bandages. Someone who locked the door, so that you wouldn't get in and he or she could get out. I opened my eyes briefly, and I saw a hazy silhouette - blurry, barely distinguishable, but I heard a distant male voice - which sounded angry."
Remus and Harry stared at her in utter astonishment. For a long moment, they seemed to be speechless, but then Remus cleared his throat a little, clearly taken aback. "Hermione!" He studied her thoughtfully, in some concern. "You couldn't possibly be suggesting someone else was actually in here with you, and that person was who saved your life?"
Hermione sighed. "I know it sounds crazy, Remus, butI'm not delusional! I didn't hallucinate, believe me, I didn't! I really saw and heard someone, felt someone - but - but - " she hesitated, and then added, softly, "He looked - a little - a little like - like - Sirius."
They all missed him, but she felt their pity as well. Harry frowned heavily and then sighed. "'Mione, he's gone! In fact, your thinking this mysterious person resembled Sirius only confirms the probability that you dreamt of some guardian angel with a hazy, blurred face and voice ... I know how it feels, how you feel - remember, I went through the same things after the Veil - "
"This was real, Harry!" She insisted, her voice shaking with intense conviction. "How else can you explain the fact that I passed out and somehow my blood flow was stopped? That kind of magic doesn't exist!"
"Well, maybe - maybe you were semi-conscious, in a kind of dreamscape," Harry offered lamely, looking puzzled, "Maybe that's why you don't remember actually conjuring the bandages, wrapping them, and locking the door?"
"A little far-fetched perhaps." Hermione said quietly.
"No more than your theory," Harry countered, with a sigh. "Look, I'm sorry, 'Mione, but this just couldn't have been possible."
"This does seem very unlikely, 'Mione," Remus added gently, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure there are many explanations for what happened, most of them probably psychological, but I really don't think someone else was really - "
"Then how do you explain the lack of blood?" Hermione demanded, her intelligent eyes sweeping the room. "I remember drops falling to the ground when I cut my palm. How can you explain the fact that there's no blood on the floor or couch at all? Don't tell me I forgot about doing that spell as well! And what about the door? Why would I lock the door, if I was really the one to do this?"
"Why would anyone else lock the door?"
"So that he wouldn't be seen. Maybe he doesn't want to be identified." Hermione said at once.
Harry and Remus exchanged skeptical, yet doubtful, looks. However, this time, Ron, who had been extremely silent during this entire topic of conversation, leaped to his feet with a muttered exclamation. Everyone turned to stare at him, but shaking his head, he just said, "Wait here", and hurried back into the bathroom he'd emerged from in Sean's wake not long ago.
He reappeared seconds later, and in his hand he was carrying a wet razor.
"This was newly opened," He explained, holding it out and dropping the plastic wrapping of its case onto the table beside the couch so that they all stared at it. "This is our spare razor, the one we keep in the event of unprepared, unexpected male visitors, and it's been used."
There was dead, amazed silence.
"I certainly hope you're not suggesting I shaved my hairless jawline while I was at it." Hermione said rather archly, a frisson of excitement building up inside her. She knew she'd been right - that someone else had been there ... that someone else had saved her life ...
"Well, that certainly throws a whole new light on the matter," Remus said thoughtfully, taking the razor from Ron. "It looks like Hermione was right after all, and that she did indeed have an unknown guardian angel come to her rescue - a figurative guardian angel, of course. The only questions remaining now are who he is, and why he didn't want to be identified."
Hermione felt rather helpless again. "I really couldn't see him well, other than - "
"The resemblance to Sirius," Ron said quietly. "So we're looking for a noble, nice guy who bears some kind of physical resemblance to Sirius Black."
"His brother, Regulus?" Harry asked doubtfully.
Remus snorted. "That would indeed be a joke! Regulus Black was neither noble nor nice, nor would be save a Muggle-born's life in a million years - no offense meant, of course, Hermione. Besides, he died years ago - nearly seventeen years before his brother, in fact."
"What about any of his living cousins?"
"Well, I do remember Andromeda, Narcissa and Bellatrix's half-brother Apollo looked very much like Sirius, but he's dead. Most of the family are. As for the rest of them, there are none of whom look like Sirius, but we could still ask Tonks and Andromeda, of course."
Remus's eyes reflected the longing he felt at the subject of his best friend, and Hermione felt a strong pang as she realized how much they all still missed him. It hurt just to think about it, still, and she wondered ... she wondered if they blamed her for what happened to him. Did they blame her, even in the slightest? Surely some corner of Harry and Remus's hearts blamed her for the loss of their godfather and best friend, respectively?
Don't be a fool ... they'd never blame you for that ... even thought they should ...
She choked back a dry sob of anguish.
"It doesn't necessarily have to be a family member," Ron shrugged doubtfully. "Maybe someone who just has similiar black hair, shape of the face and voice ..."
"It's possible, of course."
Hermione sighed. "Can we not talk about this, just for tonight, please?"
They understood, and she could see that Harry and Remus, too, were probably rather relieved to avoid discussing Sirius right now ... especially in the light of his death ... and his guilt. Merlin's beard, was he guilty? Could she bring herself to accept what he was said to have done?
"How about another round of drinks?" Remus suggested.
There was unanimous agreement, and he stood up and went over to the desk to get more bottles of Butterbeer. As he was reaching down to the 'mini-bar' Harry had installed in the bottom of the desk, Hermione saw him stop and straighten up again, his brows contracting together. She saw him reach for a folded piece of parchment, and with a puzzled smile, she asked, "What's that?"
"I don't know," Remus murmured, unfolded the paper. It was extremely old, perhaps centuries old, and yellow and wrinkled considerably. Hermione studied the paper with keen interest, and then saw Remus, whose eyes were travelling over the contents of the page, turn white with shock. "Merlin's beard ..." He whispered hoarsely.
"Remus!" Harry prompted, curiosity palpable. "Remus? What is it?"
"What does it say?"
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A/N: Please, please review and let me know what you think of how this is going! And I don't think I can thank the people who have already reviewed and given me their opinions enough! The feedback really encourage and help me, and I really appreciate it!
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