Author's Note: Okay. I'm frustrated with my format disappearing when I
upload my story. How can I get italics and bold to stick, and why does my
****** border disappear only some of the time? I know, I know. these are
the mysteries of the ages. But doggone it, it's just plain annoying!
Grrr. Arrrgh. Ah well, on *that* note, I have discovered that some of my
border delineations between perspectives doesn't show. I'm intending to go
through and re-upload those chapters once I've figured out how to get the
darn things to stick. But, I promise to only upload when I've also got a
new chapter so I don't psych you out into thinking I've got something new
when in actuality I'm only being nit picky. As per the previous chapter,
additional comments are at the end. Enjoy the story, and as always, thanks
oodles for reading and *especially* for reviewing!!!
Disclaimer: Still not mine. Perhaps in an AU somewhere, though. Oh, who am I kidding? On with the show. g
Chapter 19
Harry froze, looking into those terrified, shocked eyes and felt as if his stomach had plummeted to new lows. The two men weren't looking for their wands, they were looking for her!
"You can see me?" he asked the little girl. She looked to be no older than seven or eight. She had long brown hair pulled back into to side pony tails and enormous brown eyes. She wore a dusty, dirty jumper with bits of dried leaves still attached. Good. That meant she wasn't afraid to climb trees if need be, and considering the woods surrounding her house, if he could just get her outside, she'd have plenty of places to hide. When she opened her mouth to speak, Harry held out a trembling hand. "Shhh. No talking. Just nod your head," he instructed. She did so, trying to appear brave even as her lip trembled, her eyes solemn.
"Okay." Harry said, his mind going in a million different directions at once. She could see him. "We've got to get you out of here," he said aloud as he tried to stand, his limbs quivering so badly he nearly fell again.
"Wait!" she whispered fiercely. Harry quickly glanced around, praying no one had heard. They hadn't. Harry let his legs collapse underneath him and crashed onto his knees. There was no time. He had to get her out of there now, because she couldn't stay. She just couldn't. Harry let himself topple forward until they were nearly nose to nose. Her eyes widened at his nearness, but she didn't scoot away from him. Instead, she crept closer.
"I have to get you out of here," Harry said, trying to instill the sense of desperation he felt into her. She was so young.
"Mum and dad, and Aunt Mary and Uncle Carl." she said, her eyes instinctively glancing their direction. Oh God. They were her parents, her family. He felt sick to his stomach. But of course they were her family, he berated himself. What did he think, that it took four adults to babysit? Oh poor thing. Quickly, Harry clamped on that train of thought. That kind of grief and guilt would get him and *her* nowhere.
"You can't help them now. What's your name? Whisper it really quietly, okay?" Harry instructed.
"Anne," she said softly. Harry nodded in approval.
"Anne, right now they're trying to keep those bad men's attention away from here so you can run away," Harry said firmly. She shook her head in determination. Harry's stomach clenched. No?
"I've got to help them," she whispered. Harry marveled at how strong. or stubborn she was for such a young girl. She was terrified, but still trying to do what she thought was best. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, the murmur of voices still faint enough for Harry not to lose his concentration. Thankfully, no spells were being cast at the moment. He knew his time, and his ability to help Anne, was short.
"By escaping, you will be helping," Harry reasoned. She frowned. He could hear the wheels clicking in her mind. She wasn't going to fall for *that* trick. Harry sighed. "Right now, they're more worried about you getting out than their own safety. They keep looking around. They're looking for you, Anne. The sooner you hide somewhere safe, where they won't have to worry about you, the better chance they'll have to try to defend themselves," Harry argued. He held his breath while her eyes darted from him to her family. She frowned as she thought through what he said. 'Please let her see reason,' Harry thought.
".want. Crucio!" Voldemort said again, and Harry's world was thrown topsy turvy as he spasmed on the ground in front of the little girl. Reality slipped away for a moment, as he couldn't think to even worry about the girl being frightened. His senses were overwhelmed and black spots danced in front of his eyes by the time Voldemort released the spell. The strong woman. She must be the aunt. How long would it take before she ended up like Neville's parents? How long before he did? With his head hung low, Harry took great heaving gulps of air, trying to relax. The spell had ended, but his body still quivered and spasmed in remembered pain.
"Anne, if you want my help to get out of here, you have to do it now," Harry gasped desperately. Her eyes were huge and her mouth hung open in shock as she stared at Harry. He prayed she hadn't made a sound as he'd convulsed in front of her. Harry rolled over onto his stomach and stared at her imploringly, propping himself weakly onto his elbows. "Do you really think there's something that you can do that your family can't?" Harry wheezed. "Against them?" He hoped his statements wouldn't scare her, nodding to Voldemort and the Death Eaters in the room, but he was running out of time, and so was she. He had to get through to her. She closed her eyes, and tears slipped out each corner. Huge, fat drops slid down her face as she shook her head in defeat, her ponytails bouncing innocently, oddly cheerful in contrast to the macabre scene transpiring.
"No," she whispered. Harry felt a relieved smile creep onto his face. "Good girl. Let's get you out of here," he said and looked around him, mentally gathering up his strength. "Where's the furthest door from where *they* are?" Harry asked her. She pointed her finger behind her. Perfect. She could slip behind the couch and out the back.
"Stay here. I'll check to see if anyone's there, okay?" he said, not waiting for an answer as he tried to stand. It took a couple of tries and whispered prayers, but he finally wobbled out of the room. He kept reaching out to try to brace himself up, but his hand slipped through the wall and he nearly stumbled to his knees again.
Behind the couch, through a darkened doorway, was a small room filled with books. A desk in the corner was piled high with scrolls, and littered with dozens of the dulled ends of quills that had been trimmed. In the corner opposite of the desk was a door to the outside. Evening light fell through the upper half of the stained glass door, bathing the room in surreal colors of red, blue, green and purple. Unable to see on the other side of the glass, Harry stuck his head *through* the door, feeling completely like Nearly Headless Nick, and looked to either side. Harry would have rather checked around the house completely, but was losing energy fast, and the scene in the living room was about to get bleak. He was running out of time.
Quickly he returned to the room. "Anne," he called from the doorway, conserving strength. Her head popped out from underneath the couch and looked at him trustingly. "They're not looking. Start crawling towards me, and be careful not to make a sound!" Harry instructed, his eyes glued on the surrounded adults. She nodded obediently and crept on all fours, moving with odd grace for such a small child. The scene in the living room continued to play itself out. There appeared to be lots of discussion, oddly enough, but Harry didn't care. That wasn't his concern now. Anne was. She was at his feet now.
"Go through me and towards the door. Wait there, and I'll check one more time," Harry said. Once in study, she didn't move as carefully. She stood and was nearly at the door, with him beginning to follow, when the floor creaked. Harry froze in alarm, as did she. Harry put a trembling hand out to her, every sense straining to hear if anyone had noticed. "Stay there. I'll check to see if they heard," Harry said, and returned to the doorway. Voldemort and the others didn't appear to have heard, but her family did. Harry watched as the one woman (Anne's mother?) finally glanced up, hope nearly lighting up her face for a second before she schooled it back into defeat.
That's why she'd been looking down. She was afraid she'd give Anne away. She *must* be her mother, Harry realized. The man beside her. Anne's father. held her hand in his and squeezed it comfortingly. His eyes slid to the doorway as well, before locking glances with Carl. A brief nod and a smile. They'd heard the sound and knew what it meant. Harry hurried to the door where Anne waited for him and poked his head *through* the wall to the outside beside her, looking every direction. "It's clear," he said. "Does the door creak?" he asked her. She shook her head, hair gently slapping at her face, and reached for the knob. Opening it gingerly, she slipped through.
"Shut it softly behind you. So they don't realize anyone escaped," Harry instructed. She did so and stood looking around her. Harry walked through the wall and bent over so he was eye to eye with Anne. He knew if he kneeled, he'd never be able to stand up again. "Now, I want you to run. Far and fast. Run as far as you can. Do you have any neighbors you can go to?" he asked. She nodded and waited. Why wasn't she running yet?
"No, Anne. I can't go with you. Go to your neighbors, but stay out of sight. Tell them what you saw, and to summon the Ministry. Tell them *not* to investigate on their own, okay? There's too many. Now GO!" Harry yelled. She took off like a shot, ponytails streaming behind her. She was amazingly fast as she leaped over the bushes, ducked under fallen logs and disappeared into the forest. She disappeared as quick as a rabbit, and Harry realized that the forest was her element; she was at home there. Even if the Death Eaters realized she'd run, they'd never find her now. She was *safe*.
Although Harry hadn't heard the words, he knew what was happening nonetheless. In the blink of an eye, he was back inside the living room. Mary, Anne's aunt, was whimpering on the floor, her eyes glazed over. Anne's father was dead, and as Anne's mother and Carl waited for their turn, Anne's mother turned her eyes to Harry.
"Thank you," she whispered with a gentle smile, then they were all engulfed in the Cruciatus Curse. Harry knew that Snape's potion had held him down, refused him the ability to regain consciousness. Maybe now he'd get the chance to prove Hermione's theory one way or the other. Harry didn't think he'd survive, but he didn't care. He'd saved her. He'd saved Anne. And if he did survive, he'd figure out how to do it again. and again. Then all thoughts were washed away as he *became* pain, and nothing else existed.
*************************************************
"Spiro Sustineo Pectus!" I cry once more, my wand pointed at Potter. A light shoots forth and glows around him, trying to force breath and life into his body. 'No,' I correct myself, 'Not his body. I'm trying to force life and breath into Potter.' He's been in the vision now for over two hours. I've tried everything to awaken him, every potion and spell known to wizard or Muggle. Black has, too, and Lupin is currently pouring through my books looking for anything obscure that might aid me in my desperation. The spell I've cast is last ditch, and I've already cast it three times before. Fifteen minutes since Harry stopped breathing on his own, since his pulse fluttered and then ceased entirely. Merlin, I've killed him. No! I correct myself. Not yet. There's still hope yet.
Potter's chest contracts as the spell forces blood through his limbs, and his jaw lowers as air is magically forced into his lungs. He's not responding. His skin is waxy and white, and his lips are tinted purplish blue. The spell will last for another five minutes before I have to cast it again.
"Come on, Harry, breathe! Wake up, Harry, come on!" Black shouts directly into the boy's face. He's standing over Potter, shaking him roughly. I don't interfere, as the spell isn't hindered by movement. Besides, I don't think anything but his godfather can call him back at this point. I close my eyes against the burning that resides there. *I* did this. My potion, my creation, has forced this upon The Boy Who Lived. And to say that I feel sick is the understatement of the century. "Damnit, Harry, you can't give up! Open. Your. Eyes. Now!" Black screams furiously.
If. Black can get him back. If. Potter survives whatever happened in his vision. I pray to Merlin he's not insane. Twenty minutes. For nearly half an hour he was under the Cruciatus Curse. I swallow back the bile that rises in my throat and prepare to recast my spell when a triumphant shout startles me.
"That's it, Harry! Come on, take a breath!" Black shouts, and Lupin leaps to his feet, my books clattering to the floor unnoticed. I rush forward as well and peer over Black's shoulder. A soft whistling sound emits from Potter's lips as his back arches and he struggles for oxygen.
"Come on, Harry. Keep going. Breathe," Lupin says encouragingly beside me. Potter's face contracts in pain and concentration as I listen to him gasp and choke. His chest expands and I smile in triumph.
"Yes!" I exclaim, and Lupin shoots me a shocked look before returning back to Potter.
"Now another. First one's the hardest. Take another breath, Harry," Black coaxes now, his face close to Potters as he holds Potter's clenched fist in his hand. Harry breathes again. Harry? Did I just think Harry? Potter. I reach forward and feel for a pulse. It's weak but there. I nod to both Black and Lupin, and they smile stupidly.
"..I." Potter gasps, and I realize he's trying to speak. 'Can he be regaining consciousness?' I wonder in shock. I lean forward as his eyes try to flutter open. His irises are rolling around in his head as he dances from consciousness to unconsciousness, and he frowns, trying to corral his errant vision into focusing. After a few minutes of rattled breaths, his eyes finally do lock. He looks at Black, and an enormous grin lights up his face. I feel a chill run up my spine. His teeth are red with blood. Either he's bit his tongue, or he's spitting up blood. Either way, the effect of the red teeth, vaguely unfocused green eyes, waxy skin and black hair burns an image into my mind that I doubt will ever leave me. He's mad. It's the only explanation for that smile. I know what he must have been seeing. I've seen it myself. Yet his smile is too genuine, too real. There's no bitterness or rage there, just undiluted happiness. He's off his rocker.
"..sssshhhh..." Potter tries to speak again.
"What?" Black asks, his face ashen. Clearly he fears as I do. "What did you say?" he asks, his tone tentative, cautious.
"Shhhhhhhh." Potter says and frowns in frustration. Lupin looks at Black in concern and reaches forth to rest a hand on his shoulder. Yes, Lupin thinks it too. 'Can he sense it some other way?' I idly wonder.
"What are you trying to say, Harry?" Black whispers, hesitant. Is he afraid now? I am.
"Alive!" Potter breathes. Black smiles, relief creeping into his expression but not settling.
"That's right, Harry. You're alive," he replies and Potter laughs, shaking his head. Then Potter's smile falters for a moment as he slips his hand out of Black's grasp and raises it to his lips, frowning at the blood on his fingertips that glistens wetly.
"That can't be good," he mutters then his eyes roll back in his head. His teeth still shine bright red through his slack mouth and I begin to run my wand across Potter's body, assessing damage. Black clearly has no idea how to interpret Potter's behavior, but I'm heartened. Although he laughed maniacally, Potter managed a coherent sentence. Much more than I expected. I feel eyes on me and lock gazes with Lupin as I finish my assessment.
"He's taken extensive damage internally, but it's nothing the post Crutiatus Curse potions won't take care of. There's no permanent damage," I say quietly to him. I'm trying not to catch Black's attention, hoping he's still completely focused on the boy, but I've failed. He snorts derisively, launching himself up from Harry's bedside, his blue eyes boring into me.
"Permanent damage?" Black hisses. Lupin steps forward immediately and rests a calming hand on Black's shoulder.
"Severus, why don't you start working on those potions for when Harry wakes up again?" Lupin asks me, and I know this is my cue to leave. I bite back a retort at Black, surprised at my own lack of animosity. Perhaps I'm too relieved that the boy still lives to dredge up much bitterness or resentment towards his godfather. Nonetheless, it's odd. My heart's not in it at the moment. Hmmm. If I wait long enough, this will pass, I decide, and nod to Lupin, turning on my heel and leaving the room abruptly. Potter's unconscious for now. He's still alive. Nothing more I can do for now *besides kill him*, a dark voice in my head says. I've tried, damnit. And it wasn't good enough. I think it's time to see where Molly hides the good stuff. I'm relatively sure I saw her take a nip when she was at the stove.
*****************************************
"Padfoot," Remus said as he watched Snape leave the room. Sirius' body shuddered under Remus' touch.
"He almost killed him," Sirius said, his voice flat.
"He didn't. He was trying to help," Remus replied and frowned as Sirius spun, shrugging off Remus' hand angrily as he did so.
"Harry just died, Remus. He didn't have a heartbeat and he stopped breathing. If he's not crackers when he wakes up, I'll eat my teacup! Don't you get it?! Harry died!" Sirius practically screamed. Remus scowled and glanced at Harry. His features were slack, and his chest moved slightly with each breath.
"Let's take this out of the." Remus tried to steer him away from Harry. The last thing he needed was to hear his distraught godfather, Remus decided. Besides, he needed as much rest as he could get, and it would most likely be a while before the next attack.
"I'm not leaving, Remus. Forget it," Sirius said, and Remus froze at the expression he saw. If he thought he'd been concerned about Harry's sanity before, he was far more worried about Sirius now. Sirius' face was taut in a rigor of stress and pain, his pupils tiny pinpricks. Remus' heightened olfactory senses could detect the stale sweat and adrenaline mixed with Sirius' normal blend of soap, tea, and sawdust, with just a hint of rosemary . Exhaustion seemed to ooze from his pores and in truth Sirius was looking sickly. Remus felt desperation creep into his thoughts but savagely pushed it aside. He would *not* think about the possibility of losing both Harry *and* Sirius. He wouldn't. But that's just what would happen if Harry died, Remus knew.
"Fine," Remus said, and cast a silencing charm around the two of them so Harry couldn't overhear their discussion. "We'll stay," he said and settled in a chair. Sirius remained standing for quite some time, staring down at his godson. Remus realized Sirius was panting, seemingly unable to take deep breaths. He held his arms tightly wrapped around his chest defensively, as if trying to ward off a chill, and his fingers were restlessly pulling on the fabric of his robes at each elbow. Finally, Remus broke the lengthening silence between them. "I'm worried about you," he said frankly. Sirius laughed, an abrupt bark, but it wasn't humorous.
"I'm fine," Sirius replied. His pat answer.
"Sirius, Harry's the toughest boy I've ever met. He's a survivor. He *keeps* surviving. But he needs help, and if you can't seem to see it, I'll just have to tell you. This is killing you, Sirius, and you'll be no good to Harry if you're dead," Remus said flatly.
"Moony." Sirius said warningly.
"No, Sirius. *This* has got to stop. I don't know if it's lack of sleep, or stress, misplaced guilt or an accumulation of everything, but you're no good to Harry like this. He's wasting his energy trying not to make you worry about *him*," Remus stated.
"Misplaced.?" Sirius growled.
"Sirius. look at yourself. You're falling apart, and I don't know what to do to put you back together," Remus struggled to say around the lump in his throat. He struggled to keep his emotions in check. The moment he lost control, the conversation was over, he knew.
Sirius turned and quickly crossed the room, grabbing Remus by the shoulders and shaking him angrily. For a moment, Remus thought Sirius was going to hit him and braced himself for the impact, but it never came. Sirius looked searchingly into Remus' eyes, then shoved him violently away. Remus barely avoided the chair, thumping resoundingly against the wall. Air was forced out of his lungs at the impact and he had to struggle to catch his breath. He held himself still, watching Sirius stalk around the room, restless, his fists clenching and unclenching.
Remus realized Sirius looked just like a caged animal and suddenly understood how close to the edge Azkaban had brought his friend. Sirius paused, looking intently at Hedwig perched atop her cage. He stared at the snowy owl for a while, and Remus frowned. What was Sirius looking at? Finally, Sirius fell to his knees in the corner before Hedwig. Shudders that ran the length of his frame told Remus Sirius was silently sobbing. Remus froze. Hedwig clearly didn't know how to interpret Sirius' behavior, so she turned his head to the side and stared at him in concern. 'You don't know the half of it,' Remus thought to the bird.
Remus had no idea what to do. Should he go and comfort him, or give him space? His own instincts were confused and desperate, so he decided to trust the wolf inside. Remus crossed the room and knelt beside Sirius, gently pulled Sirius' back to his chest. This way Remus wouldn't see him cry, but he could still provide the physical comfort he sensed Sirius desperately needed.
"Have you ever thought about *why* people lose their minds in Azkaban?" Sirius asked after a while. He'd been stiff and unyielding at first, but eventually relaxed into Remus. It was similar to the comfort Padfoot provided the wolf after particularly painful transformations. Companionship. Friendship. Brotherhood. Pack. Remus held his breath. Sirius never talked about his imprisonment.
"Because of the painful memories," Remus replied. Sirius shook his head.
"But after a time, it shouldn't matter, should it? Same story, different day. It *should* get old, right?" Sirius asked. Remus' breath caught in his throat.
"The thing about Dementors is. they don't just recall your worst memories. They call them up at their peak. Every day, it never diminished." Sirius said, then paused. Remus rubbed his back soothingly but remained silent. This was the most candidly Remus had ever heard Sirius speak of his time there. "Every day, I saw James and Lily. I saw Harry, and knew the folly of *my* actions. Memories are supposed to diminish in time. fade so it becomes less painful. New memories are supposed to replace the old, fill up the voids left. *I* didn't get that," Sirius said. Remus didn't know how to reply. "To you. you've had over a decade to face the loss of James and Lily. I've only had a couple of years," Sirius said, his voice choked. "And all of the bad memories. It's like they've been burned, etched in my mind. I can see with far better clarity their deaths, Godric's Hollow, and Pettigrew's twisted face than anything else I've lived," Sirius said, his voice both bitter and apologetic at the same time.
"So has Azkaban caused you to lose memories?" Remus asked, afraid to pursue his curiosity but still needing to understand his friend better. He also understood that *talking* about it might help to leach some of the poisonous guilt that still festered within Sirius.
"I think it has. It's strange for me, Moony. The good memories. They're more like echoes. Faded and faint, their images are blurry and indistinct," he said wearily, and Remus felt him stiffen underneath his arms. Remus prayed his friend would remain for just a while longer in his arms. It was the most comfort he felt he'd been able to give his friends since Sirius had first arrived after completing his mission for Dumbledore. "I hate it, Moony. I hate what it's turned me into. I can't seem to help but be obsessed, and I don't know how to stop it," Sirius confessed.
Remus thought on what Sirius had said, biting his lip absently. "How much did you remember when you first escaped Azkaban? Of the Marauders or Hogwarts?" Remus asked.
"Hm. Not much, really, but I couldn't let myself think about it anyway. I had one thing, and one thing only on my mind," Sirius replied. Remus sighed and closed his eyes wearily for a moment.
"Kill Peter," Remus murmured. Sirius nodded. "Did you get breaks from the Dementors in Azkaban? I mean, were they around all the time or just a part of the day?" Remus asked.
"Meals and from midnight until six we were left alone," Sirius answered. Remus decided to push as far as he dared and gather what information as he could before Sirius closed himself off again. This was what Remus had been waiting for. to understand some of what his friend was going through.
"Did any good memories come back to you then?" Remus asked. "When you were left alone?" Sirius nodded.
"They did, but not for comfort. It just served as further reminder for how badly I'd failed everyone," Sirius replied, his voice flat again.
"How about your memories of Godric's Hollow now? Has it faded at all since you've escaped? Lost its intensity?" Remus asked.
"A little, but I think that's because I've been able to try to *do* something about it. What are you getting at, Moony?" Sirius asked, and Remus marveled that his friend still allowed him to hold him. Remus took a moment to try to gather his thoughts, knowing he had to say this right.
"I think." Remus said thoughtfully, then paused. Sirius finally pulled out of his arms, turning to face him. He sat on the ground with his knees pulled to his chest, his eyes red and irritated. His five o'clock shadow made his face that much more pale, and his long black hair was disheveled in a way that reminded Remus a lot of *that* night in the Shrieking Shack. The night a wild man had returned to his life and changed everything he *thought* he knew, and gave him a second chance at hope.
"You're killing me, here. Spit it out," Sirius said, his mouth slightly quirked even as his face remained exhausted and solemn.
"Have you ever heard of memory repression?" Remus asked. Sirius shook his head. "Muggle terminology. Ever heard of it?" Remus asked.
"But my problem isn't about memory repression. Quite the opposite," Sirius said, frowning. He began to rock back and forth, using the balls of his feet, and Remus had to force the lump in his throat to go away. Sirius looked so lost, so childlike himself.
"Sometimes, something can happen that is *so* bad, so traumatic, that the mind doesn't know how to deal with it. Your mind can repress the memory of the event, or develop all kinds of ways not to think about, face, or otherwise deal with it until something deep inside thinks you're strong enough to face it," Remus said thoughtfully.
"But I didn't repress anything," Sirius protested. Moony held up a hand.
"Let me finish, here. Sometimes. repressing the memory *isn't* the best thing for you. Sometimes the victim spends so much time trying not to think about *it*, that whatever memory they've been trying to repress comes back tenfold times worse than before," Remus continued, now in full professor mode.
"Yes, yes. Is there a point sometime soon?" Sirius asked, rolling his eyes. He was beginning to recover some of his composure now, but Remus knew he needed to pursue this theory to its fullest.
"Now let's look at the Dementors. Same theory. Worst memories of your life constantly replayed. It's a wound that never heals, never scabs, never ends. The equivalent of a flashback, only more so. It consumes you, makes you relive it. In essence, it takes up so much of your thoughts and feelings that it leaves little room for anything else," Remus said. Sirius was paying full attention now. "Now yours was magically induced, but that makes it worse, not better. I have no doubt you would still be horribly haunted by these events even had you not gone to prison, but not like you are now," Remus said, then paused.
"So." Sirius prompted Remus irritably.
"I'm trying to tell you that I don't think your good memories are gone, faded or diminished in any way," Remus explained.
"You don't?" Sirius asked. Remus shook his head. "Then what *do* you think?" he asked.
"That the memories you've been forced to relive for so long have drowned them out with their intensity, and that once *those* memories begin to diminish, other memories long forgotten, good memories, will return," Remus said.
"It doesn't feel like they're fading, Remus. And I've unfortunately added a few more to Sirius' Top Ten List that I hadn't had before; Harry when he collapses in my arms at the Dursley's, when he stopped breathing just now, his face as he told Dumbledore about what happened after he disappeared in the maze. I don't feel like anything's diminishing. It's just morphing into new bad memories," Sirius said in resignation, his head falling wearily onto his knees as he continued to rock back and forth.
"Then we'll just need to fill up the void faster with better memories," Remus murmured.
"What if there are no better memories? What if this is it, and I lose Harry tomorrow?" Sirius demanded. Remus knew the truth of the words. His own conversation with Harry still haunted him.
"Then make today better," Remus replied firmly. Sirius turned and stared at him.
"Are you daft?" he asked, frustration beginning to vie with annoyance at Remus' disgusting optimism in the face of an obviously hopeless situation. Sirius stared at Harry for a moment, and oddly his lip curled into a sneer. "I can't even talk to him or reassure him. He's unconscious!" Remus sighed. Sirius was missing the point, or at least blithely ignoring it.
"Sirius, I can't tell you why. Merlin knows they've certainly not happened too often to me.but I still believe in miracles. Harry survived the killing curse as a baby. No training, no manifestations that either you or I *ever* saw, yet he defeated the darkest wizard in our lifetime. If a rabbit is going to be pulled out of the hat." Sirius frowned at the Muggle reference but didn't interrupt, "Harry's going to do it," Remus said.
"I'm tired, Mooney. And I don't know how much more I have to give," Sirius replied, rubbing his face tiredly with his hands. Remus heard the scratch of Sirius' stubble against his palms and could practically taste his friend's fatigue and exhaustion.
"Then sleep, Padfoot. And know this. Harry's not stupid. The more together you are for him, the better he'll feel as well. He's far too observant for his own good, so you can't fake it. You need more rest, and yes, even some time alone or away from him. There's nothing wrong with that. If the roles were reversed I guarantee you Harry would be relying on his friends for support and spending time at the creek, or playing Quidditch," Remus stated, knowing it to be true. He'd seen it clearly during his time at Hogwarts. A time he'd cherished. Remus sighed. Again. He'd been doing that a lot this conversation.
"I almost lost him," Sirius whispered. "Even after all this time, I still can't protect him," he said.
"But he's not alone. Not anymore. You're insuring that," Remus said comfortingly.
"But in the visions, he *is* alone with Voldemort," Sirius said, his voice fading to a whisper.
"He's still alive, Sirius. He's still The Boy Who Lived, even after all this time. *He still keeps facing him!* I know how it feels. It feels like we could lose him at any second. We almost did. But he's still here, Sirius, and he *needs* you. Not the guilt-wracked man Azkaban tried to make, but the one I've seen. The one who set the twins on end and makes bad jokes a career choice. The one who's seen too much, but has come through it, who knows he's screwed up like everybody else but also knows he's paid *far* more penance than any human ever should be asked to. Who drinks tea that more closely resembles battery acid and flirts shamelessly with Molly for food," Remus said. Sirius took a deep breath, and Remus could sense some of the tension leave Sirius' posture.
"I'm lost, Mooney. I'm failing James and Lily, and I can't shake the feeling that things will get *much* worse before there's even a hope they'll get better," Sirius muttered, and Remus realized Sirius was falling asleep. Remus didn't respond, but rather let his friend drift off. Sirius' eyes closed as his slowly ceased to rock, his breath evening out. Remus sat beside him and watched him for a while.
When Sirius woke up again, Remus would suggest he join Harry in bed as Padfoot. In their brief time together before collecting Harry, Remus had realized how difficult it was for Sirius to sleep. He had a much easier time sleeping as Padfoot. Snuffles, Remus corrected with a wry smile.and although in Animagus form Sirius still had nightmares, he didn't seem as shaken by them the next morning.
Sirius refrained from changing at the Weasley's because he was self- conscious about his nightmares, but after the conversation Remus had just had, he'd realized how starved Sirius was for comfort himself. As a dog, Remus knew, Snuffles could plop next to Harry on the bed and sleep with him, or nuzzle him shamelessly. He could, in essence, remain closer to Harry without crowding him, and weasel past some of Harry's astonishingly well developed defense mechanisms designed to keep people out from what he was truly feeling. Much like a certain ex-convict Remus knew.
*If* Harry survived this, and Remus had taken to praying to whatever gods were handy for just that, Remus had no doubt that Sirius *could* heal. Sighing, Remus looked over at the sleeping boy again and was stunned to see Harry watching him, his eyes too intense to gauge. He just hoped that Harry would be able to heal as well.
TBC
Phoenix, Endriago Luna, Starchime, Harriet, Lady Foxfire, Kapies, Prami, AllAboutMe, Mihoshe, Lothey, Lyta Padfoot, Lizard, Tsukino Kokaku, Badger Lord, Someone, Nicole Williams, Hyper Princess (of course, don't I always? g), WeasleyTwinsLover1112, Japangirlcarley24, blank, Kayla, ratgirl, Chibi Neko Rina, Essence of Magic, ShelaghC, illustrious sorrow, SpiderGirl05, enchantress646, Centra-gal86, Katie Weasley, Starlette Whisper: Thank you all so much for your kind reviews. A lot of you had questions about the girl. I'm sorry for the cliffie, but this segment fleshed out far more than I expected. Next chapter you'll get some theories. I'm *really* glad the general consensus appears to be you approve of Snape, even with the POV shift. There really is a method to my madness. Bwah hah hah hah. ahem Anyway, thanks for reviewing!!! I love to read your comments and thoughts!
Kate the Great: Yep, I've definitely had Snape be quiet. That's one of the reasons why I really wanted you to see the inside of his head. I *certainly* didn't see him just speaking normally, in spite of what Dumbledore asked of him. I don't think he has it in him to be falsely polite. If nothing else, at least Snape is genuine.
Caitlin: That will get addressed soon, I promise, or at least you'll get to hear some theories on it.
Malexandria: I know it's jarring, but there's a method to my madness. Really. Stick with it. Hopefully there will come a point when you see why I felt it had to be so. 8-)
SilverWolf: DP?
Kaydee: I love how much you write in your reviews. I also love that you tell me what you're favorite part of it was. It really pleases me to read that you notice the things I really put a lot into. Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked Willaby. I just realized I wanted to explain some additional things about the ties of the Dark Mark, and presto! I worried, because up until now I've only used actual HP characters. I didn't want Willaby to jar. I'm glad I've still got you guessing plot wise. Go me! Hehehehe.. Deep deep deep down indeed. g Thank you so much for the terrific review! I look forward to the next one (am I subtle, or what?)
Von: Something like that. G A little different, but don't think I didn't contemplate that one! Good catch! 8-)
AstraCMXXV: Thanks. I just felt that Harry had far enough going on in his life, and that romance tends to put the adults backstage, which I *definitely* didn't want.
Disclaimer: Still not mine. Perhaps in an AU somewhere, though. Oh, who am I kidding? On with the show. g
Chapter 19
Harry froze, looking into those terrified, shocked eyes and felt as if his stomach had plummeted to new lows. The two men weren't looking for their wands, they were looking for her!
"You can see me?" he asked the little girl. She looked to be no older than seven or eight. She had long brown hair pulled back into to side pony tails and enormous brown eyes. She wore a dusty, dirty jumper with bits of dried leaves still attached. Good. That meant she wasn't afraid to climb trees if need be, and considering the woods surrounding her house, if he could just get her outside, she'd have plenty of places to hide. When she opened her mouth to speak, Harry held out a trembling hand. "Shhh. No talking. Just nod your head," he instructed. She did so, trying to appear brave even as her lip trembled, her eyes solemn.
"Okay." Harry said, his mind going in a million different directions at once. She could see him. "We've got to get you out of here," he said aloud as he tried to stand, his limbs quivering so badly he nearly fell again.
"Wait!" she whispered fiercely. Harry quickly glanced around, praying no one had heard. They hadn't. Harry let his legs collapse underneath him and crashed onto his knees. There was no time. He had to get her out of there now, because she couldn't stay. She just couldn't. Harry let himself topple forward until they were nearly nose to nose. Her eyes widened at his nearness, but she didn't scoot away from him. Instead, she crept closer.
"I have to get you out of here," Harry said, trying to instill the sense of desperation he felt into her. She was so young.
"Mum and dad, and Aunt Mary and Uncle Carl." she said, her eyes instinctively glancing their direction. Oh God. They were her parents, her family. He felt sick to his stomach. But of course they were her family, he berated himself. What did he think, that it took four adults to babysit? Oh poor thing. Quickly, Harry clamped on that train of thought. That kind of grief and guilt would get him and *her* nowhere.
"You can't help them now. What's your name? Whisper it really quietly, okay?" Harry instructed.
"Anne," she said softly. Harry nodded in approval.
"Anne, right now they're trying to keep those bad men's attention away from here so you can run away," Harry said firmly. She shook her head in determination. Harry's stomach clenched. No?
"I've got to help them," she whispered. Harry marveled at how strong. or stubborn she was for such a young girl. She was terrified, but still trying to do what she thought was best. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, the murmur of voices still faint enough for Harry not to lose his concentration. Thankfully, no spells were being cast at the moment. He knew his time, and his ability to help Anne, was short.
"By escaping, you will be helping," Harry reasoned. She frowned. He could hear the wheels clicking in her mind. She wasn't going to fall for *that* trick. Harry sighed. "Right now, they're more worried about you getting out than their own safety. They keep looking around. They're looking for you, Anne. The sooner you hide somewhere safe, where they won't have to worry about you, the better chance they'll have to try to defend themselves," Harry argued. He held his breath while her eyes darted from him to her family. She frowned as she thought through what he said. 'Please let her see reason,' Harry thought.
".want. Crucio!" Voldemort said again, and Harry's world was thrown topsy turvy as he spasmed on the ground in front of the little girl. Reality slipped away for a moment, as he couldn't think to even worry about the girl being frightened. His senses were overwhelmed and black spots danced in front of his eyes by the time Voldemort released the spell. The strong woman. She must be the aunt. How long would it take before she ended up like Neville's parents? How long before he did? With his head hung low, Harry took great heaving gulps of air, trying to relax. The spell had ended, but his body still quivered and spasmed in remembered pain.
"Anne, if you want my help to get out of here, you have to do it now," Harry gasped desperately. Her eyes were huge and her mouth hung open in shock as she stared at Harry. He prayed she hadn't made a sound as he'd convulsed in front of her. Harry rolled over onto his stomach and stared at her imploringly, propping himself weakly onto his elbows. "Do you really think there's something that you can do that your family can't?" Harry wheezed. "Against them?" He hoped his statements wouldn't scare her, nodding to Voldemort and the Death Eaters in the room, but he was running out of time, and so was she. He had to get through to her. She closed her eyes, and tears slipped out each corner. Huge, fat drops slid down her face as she shook her head in defeat, her ponytails bouncing innocently, oddly cheerful in contrast to the macabre scene transpiring.
"No," she whispered. Harry felt a relieved smile creep onto his face. "Good girl. Let's get you out of here," he said and looked around him, mentally gathering up his strength. "Where's the furthest door from where *they* are?" Harry asked her. She pointed her finger behind her. Perfect. She could slip behind the couch and out the back.
"Stay here. I'll check to see if anyone's there, okay?" he said, not waiting for an answer as he tried to stand. It took a couple of tries and whispered prayers, but he finally wobbled out of the room. He kept reaching out to try to brace himself up, but his hand slipped through the wall and he nearly stumbled to his knees again.
Behind the couch, through a darkened doorway, was a small room filled with books. A desk in the corner was piled high with scrolls, and littered with dozens of the dulled ends of quills that had been trimmed. In the corner opposite of the desk was a door to the outside. Evening light fell through the upper half of the stained glass door, bathing the room in surreal colors of red, blue, green and purple. Unable to see on the other side of the glass, Harry stuck his head *through* the door, feeling completely like Nearly Headless Nick, and looked to either side. Harry would have rather checked around the house completely, but was losing energy fast, and the scene in the living room was about to get bleak. He was running out of time.
Quickly he returned to the room. "Anne," he called from the doorway, conserving strength. Her head popped out from underneath the couch and looked at him trustingly. "They're not looking. Start crawling towards me, and be careful not to make a sound!" Harry instructed, his eyes glued on the surrounded adults. She nodded obediently and crept on all fours, moving with odd grace for such a small child. The scene in the living room continued to play itself out. There appeared to be lots of discussion, oddly enough, but Harry didn't care. That wasn't his concern now. Anne was. She was at his feet now.
"Go through me and towards the door. Wait there, and I'll check one more time," Harry said. Once in study, she didn't move as carefully. She stood and was nearly at the door, with him beginning to follow, when the floor creaked. Harry froze in alarm, as did she. Harry put a trembling hand out to her, every sense straining to hear if anyone had noticed. "Stay there. I'll check to see if they heard," Harry said, and returned to the doorway. Voldemort and the others didn't appear to have heard, but her family did. Harry watched as the one woman (Anne's mother?) finally glanced up, hope nearly lighting up her face for a second before she schooled it back into defeat.
That's why she'd been looking down. She was afraid she'd give Anne away. She *must* be her mother, Harry realized. The man beside her. Anne's father. held her hand in his and squeezed it comfortingly. His eyes slid to the doorway as well, before locking glances with Carl. A brief nod and a smile. They'd heard the sound and knew what it meant. Harry hurried to the door where Anne waited for him and poked his head *through* the wall to the outside beside her, looking every direction. "It's clear," he said. "Does the door creak?" he asked her. She shook her head, hair gently slapping at her face, and reached for the knob. Opening it gingerly, she slipped through.
"Shut it softly behind you. So they don't realize anyone escaped," Harry instructed. She did so and stood looking around her. Harry walked through the wall and bent over so he was eye to eye with Anne. He knew if he kneeled, he'd never be able to stand up again. "Now, I want you to run. Far and fast. Run as far as you can. Do you have any neighbors you can go to?" he asked. She nodded and waited. Why wasn't she running yet?
"No, Anne. I can't go with you. Go to your neighbors, but stay out of sight. Tell them what you saw, and to summon the Ministry. Tell them *not* to investigate on their own, okay? There's too many. Now GO!" Harry yelled. She took off like a shot, ponytails streaming behind her. She was amazingly fast as she leaped over the bushes, ducked under fallen logs and disappeared into the forest. She disappeared as quick as a rabbit, and Harry realized that the forest was her element; she was at home there. Even if the Death Eaters realized she'd run, they'd never find her now. She was *safe*.
Although Harry hadn't heard the words, he knew what was happening nonetheless. In the blink of an eye, he was back inside the living room. Mary, Anne's aunt, was whimpering on the floor, her eyes glazed over. Anne's father was dead, and as Anne's mother and Carl waited for their turn, Anne's mother turned her eyes to Harry.
"Thank you," she whispered with a gentle smile, then they were all engulfed in the Cruciatus Curse. Harry knew that Snape's potion had held him down, refused him the ability to regain consciousness. Maybe now he'd get the chance to prove Hermione's theory one way or the other. Harry didn't think he'd survive, but he didn't care. He'd saved her. He'd saved Anne. And if he did survive, he'd figure out how to do it again. and again. Then all thoughts were washed away as he *became* pain, and nothing else existed.
*************************************************
"Spiro Sustineo Pectus!" I cry once more, my wand pointed at Potter. A light shoots forth and glows around him, trying to force breath and life into his body. 'No,' I correct myself, 'Not his body. I'm trying to force life and breath into Potter.' He's been in the vision now for over two hours. I've tried everything to awaken him, every potion and spell known to wizard or Muggle. Black has, too, and Lupin is currently pouring through my books looking for anything obscure that might aid me in my desperation. The spell I've cast is last ditch, and I've already cast it three times before. Fifteen minutes since Harry stopped breathing on his own, since his pulse fluttered and then ceased entirely. Merlin, I've killed him. No! I correct myself. Not yet. There's still hope yet.
Potter's chest contracts as the spell forces blood through his limbs, and his jaw lowers as air is magically forced into his lungs. He's not responding. His skin is waxy and white, and his lips are tinted purplish blue. The spell will last for another five minutes before I have to cast it again.
"Come on, Harry, breathe! Wake up, Harry, come on!" Black shouts directly into the boy's face. He's standing over Potter, shaking him roughly. I don't interfere, as the spell isn't hindered by movement. Besides, I don't think anything but his godfather can call him back at this point. I close my eyes against the burning that resides there. *I* did this. My potion, my creation, has forced this upon The Boy Who Lived. And to say that I feel sick is the understatement of the century. "Damnit, Harry, you can't give up! Open. Your. Eyes. Now!" Black screams furiously.
If. Black can get him back. If. Potter survives whatever happened in his vision. I pray to Merlin he's not insane. Twenty minutes. For nearly half an hour he was under the Cruciatus Curse. I swallow back the bile that rises in my throat and prepare to recast my spell when a triumphant shout startles me.
"That's it, Harry! Come on, take a breath!" Black shouts, and Lupin leaps to his feet, my books clattering to the floor unnoticed. I rush forward as well and peer over Black's shoulder. A soft whistling sound emits from Potter's lips as his back arches and he struggles for oxygen.
"Come on, Harry. Keep going. Breathe," Lupin says encouragingly beside me. Potter's face contracts in pain and concentration as I listen to him gasp and choke. His chest expands and I smile in triumph.
"Yes!" I exclaim, and Lupin shoots me a shocked look before returning back to Potter.
"Now another. First one's the hardest. Take another breath, Harry," Black coaxes now, his face close to Potters as he holds Potter's clenched fist in his hand. Harry breathes again. Harry? Did I just think Harry? Potter. I reach forward and feel for a pulse. It's weak but there. I nod to both Black and Lupin, and they smile stupidly.
"..I." Potter gasps, and I realize he's trying to speak. 'Can he be regaining consciousness?' I wonder in shock. I lean forward as his eyes try to flutter open. His irises are rolling around in his head as he dances from consciousness to unconsciousness, and he frowns, trying to corral his errant vision into focusing. After a few minutes of rattled breaths, his eyes finally do lock. He looks at Black, and an enormous grin lights up his face. I feel a chill run up my spine. His teeth are red with blood. Either he's bit his tongue, or he's spitting up blood. Either way, the effect of the red teeth, vaguely unfocused green eyes, waxy skin and black hair burns an image into my mind that I doubt will ever leave me. He's mad. It's the only explanation for that smile. I know what he must have been seeing. I've seen it myself. Yet his smile is too genuine, too real. There's no bitterness or rage there, just undiluted happiness. He's off his rocker.
"..sssshhhh..." Potter tries to speak again.
"What?" Black asks, his face ashen. Clearly he fears as I do. "What did you say?" he asks, his tone tentative, cautious.
"Shhhhhhhh." Potter says and frowns in frustration. Lupin looks at Black in concern and reaches forth to rest a hand on his shoulder. Yes, Lupin thinks it too. 'Can he sense it some other way?' I idly wonder.
"What are you trying to say, Harry?" Black whispers, hesitant. Is he afraid now? I am.
"Alive!" Potter breathes. Black smiles, relief creeping into his expression but not settling.
"That's right, Harry. You're alive," he replies and Potter laughs, shaking his head. Then Potter's smile falters for a moment as he slips his hand out of Black's grasp and raises it to his lips, frowning at the blood on his fingertips that glistens wetly.
"That can't be good," he mutters then his eyes roll back in his head. His teeth still shine bright red through his slack mouth and I begin to run my wand across Potter's body, assessing damage. Black clearly has no idea how to interpret Potter's behavior, but I'm heartened. Although he laughed maniacally, Potter managed a coherent sentence. Much more than I expected. I feel eyes on me and lock gazes with Lupin as I finish my assessment.
"He's taken extensive damage internally, but it's nothing the post Crutiatus Curse potions won't take care of. There's no permanent damage," I say quietly to him. I'm trying not to catch Black's attention, hoping he's still completely focused on the boy, but I've failed. He snorts derisively, launching himself up from Harry's bedside, his blue eyes boring into me.
"Permanent damage?" Black hisses. Lupin steps forward immediately and rests a calming hand on Black's shoulder.
"Severus, why don't you start working on those potions for when Harry wakes up again?" Lupin asks me, and I know this is my cue to leave. I bite back a retort at Black, surprised at my own lack of animosity. Perhaps I'm too relieved that the boy still lives to dredge up much bitterness or resentment towards his godfather. Nonetheless, it's odd. My heart's not in it at the moment. Hmmm. If I wait long enough, this will pass, I decide, and nod to Lupin, turning on my heel and leaving the room abruptly. Potter's unconscious for now. He's still alive. Nothing more I can do for now *besides kill him*, a dark voice in my head says. I've tried, damnit. And it wasn't good enough. I think it's time to see where Molly hides the good stuff. I'm relatively sure I saw her take a nip when she was at the stove.
*****************************************
"Padfoot," Remus said as he watched Snape leave the room. Sirius' body shuddered under Remus' touch.
"He almost killed him," Sirius said, his voice flat.
"He didn't. He was trying to help," Remus replied and frowned as Sirius spun, shrugging off Remus' hand angrily as he did so.
"Harry just died, Remus. He didn't have a heartbeat and he stopped breathing. If he's not crackers when he wakes up, I'll eat my teacup! Don't you get it?! Harry died!" Sirius practically screamed. Remus scowled and glanced at Harry. His features were slack, and his chest moved slightly with each breath.
"Let's take this out of the." Remus tried to steer him away from Harry. The last thing he needed was to hear his distraught godfather, Remus decided. Besides, he needed as much rest as he could get, and it would most likely be a while before the next attack.
"I'm not leaving, Remus. Forget it," Sirius said, and Remus froze at the expression he saw. If he thought he'd been concerned about Harry's sanity before, he was far more worried about Sirius now. Sirius' face was taut in a rigor of stress and pain, his pupils tiny pinpricks. Remus' heightened olfactory senses could detect the stale sweat and adrenaline mixed with Sirius' normal blend of soap, tea, and sawdust, with just a hint of rosemary . Exhaustion seemed to ooze from his pores and in truth Sirius was looking sickly. Remus felt desperation creep into his thoughts but savagely pushed it aside. He would *not* think about the possibility of losing both Harry *and* Sirius. He wouldn't. But that's just what would happen if Harry died, Remus knew.
"Fine," Remus said, and cast a silencing charm around the two of them so Harry couldn't overhear their discussion. "We'll stay," he said and settled in a chair. Sirius remained standing for quite some time, staring down at his godson. Remus realized Sirius was panting, seemingly unable to take deep breaths. He held his arms tightly wrapped around his chest defensively, as if trying to ward off a chill, and his fingers were restlessly pulling on the fabric of his robes at each elbow. Finally, Remus broke the lengthening silence between them. "I'm worried about you," he said frankly. Sirius laughed, an abrupt bark, but it wasn't humorous.
"I'm fine," Sirius replied. His pat answer.
"Sirius, Harry's the toughest boy I've ever met. He's a survivor. He *keeps* surviving. But he needs help, and if you can't seem to see it, I'll just have to tell you. This is killing you, Sirius, and you'll be no good to Harry if you're dead," Remus said flatly.
"Moony." Sirius said warningly.
"No, Sirius. *This* has got to stop. I don't know if it's lack of sleep, or stress, misplaced guilt or an accumulation of everything, but you're no good to Harry like this. He's wasting his energy trying not to make you worry about *him*," Remus stated.
"Misplaced.?" Sirius growled.
"Sirius. look at yourself. You're falling apart, and I don't know what to do to put you back together," Remus struggled to say around the lump in his throat. He struggled to keep his emotions in check. The moment he lost control, the conversation was over, he knew.
Sirius turned and quickly crossed the room, grabbing Remus by the shoulders and shaking him angrily. For a moment, Remus thought Sirius was going to hit him and braced himself for the impact, but it never came. Sirius looked searchingly into Remus' eyes, then shoved him violently away. Remus barely avoided the chair, thumping resoundingly against the wall. Air was forced out of his lungs at the impact and he had to struggle to catch his breath. He held himself still, watching Sirius stalk around the room, restless, his fists clenching and unclenching.
Remus realized Sirius looked just like a caged animal and suddenly understood how close to the edge Azkaban had brought his friend. Sirius paused, looking intently at Hedwig perched atop her cage. He stared at the snowy owl for a while, and Remus frowned. What was Sirius looking at? Finally, Sirius fell to his knees in the corner before Hedwig. Shudders that ran the length of his frame told Remus Sirius was silently sobbing. Remus froze. Hedwig clearly didn't know how to interpret Sirius' behavior, so she turned his head to the side and stared at him in concern. 'You don't know the half of it,' Remus thought to the bird.
Remus had no idea what to do. Should he go and comfort him, or give him space? His own instincts were confused and desperate, so he decided to trust the wolf inside. Remus crossed the room and knelt beside Sirius, gently pulled Sirius' back to his chest. This way Remus wouldn't see him cry, but he could still provide the physical comfort he sensed Sirius desperately needed.
"Have you ever thought about *why* people lose their minds in Azkaban?" Sirius asked after a while. He'd been stiff and unyielding at first, but eventually relaxed into Remus. It was similar to the comfort Padfoot provided the wolf after particularly painful transformations. Companionship. Friendship. Brotherhood. Pack. Remus held his breath. Sirius never talked about his imprisonment.
"Because of the painful memories," Remus replied. Sirius shook his head.
"But after a time, it shouldn't matter, should it? Same story, different day. It *should* get old, right?" Sirius asked. Remus' breath caught in his throat.
"The thing about Dementors is. they don't just recall your worst memories. They call them up at their peak. Every day, it never diminished." Sirius said, then paused. Remus rubbed his back soothingly but remained silent. This was the most candidly Remus had ever heard Sirius speak of his time there. "Every day, I saw James and Lily. I saw Harry, and knew the folly of *my* actions. Memories are supposed to diminish in time. fade so it becomes less painful. New memories are supposed to replace the old, fill up the voids left. *I* didn't get that," Sirius said. Remus didn't know how to reply. "To you. you've had over a decade to face the loss of James and Lily. I've only had a couple of years," Sirius said, his voice choked. "And all of the bad memories. It's like they've been burned, etched in my mind. I can see with far better clarity their deaths, Godric's Hollow, and Pettigrew's twisted face than anything else I've lived," Sirius said, his voice both bitter and apologetic at the same time.
"So has Azkaban caused you to lose memories?" Remus asked, afraid to pursue his curiosity but still needing to understand his friend better. He also understood that *talking* about it might help to leach some of the poisonous guilt that still festered within Sirius.
"I think it has. It's strange for me, Moony. The good memories. They're more like echoes. Faded and faint, their images are blurry and indistinct," he said wearily, and Remus felt him stiffen underneath his arms. Remus prayed his friend would remain for just a while longer in his arms. It was the most comfort he felt he'd been able to give his friends since Sirius had first arrived after completing his mission for Dumbledore. "I hate it, Moony. I hate what it's turned me into. I can't seem to help but be obsessed, and I don't know how to stop it," Sirius confessed.
Remus thought on what Sirius had said, biting his lip absently. "How much did you remember when you first escaped Azkaban? Of the Marauders or Hogwarts?" Remus asked.
"Hm. Not much, really, but I couldn't let myself think about it anyway. I had one thing, and one thing only on my mind," Sirius replied. Remus sighed and closed his eyes wearily for a moment.
"Kill Peter," Remus murmured. Sirius nodded. "Did you get breaks from the Dementors in Azkaban? I mean, were they around all the time or just a part of the day?" Remus asked.
"Meals and from midnight until six we were left alone," Sirius answered. Remus decided to push as far as he dared and gather what information as he could before Sirius closed himself off again. This was what Remus had been waiting for. to understand some of what his friend was going through.
"Did any good memories come back to you then?" Remus asked. "When you were left alone?" Sirius nodded.
"They did, but not for comfort. It just served as further reminder for how badly I'd failed everyone," Sirius replied, his voice flat again.
"How about your memories of Godric's Hollow now? Has it faded at all since you've escaped? Lost its intensity?" Remus asked.
"A little, but I think that's because I've been able to try to *do* something about it. What are you getting at, Moony?" Sirius asked, and Remus marveled that his friend still allowed him to hold him. Remus took a moment to try to gather his thoughts, knowing he had to say this right.
"I think." Remus said thoughtfully, then paused. Sirius finally pulled out of his arms, turning to face him. He sat on the ground with his knees pulled to his chest, his eyes red and irritated. His five o'clock shadow made his face that much more pale, and his long black hair was disheveled in a way that reminded Remus a lot of *that* night in the Shrieking Shack. The night a wild man had returned to his life and changed everything he *thought* he knew, and gave him a second chance at hope.
"You're killing me, here. Spit it out," Sirius said, his mouth slightly quirked even as his face remained exhausted and solemn.
"Have you ever heard of memory repression?" Remus asked. Sirius shook his head. "Muggle terminology. Ever heard of it?" Remus asked.
"But my problem isn't about memory repression. Quite the opposite," Sirius said, frowning. He began to rock back and forth, using the balls of his feet, and Remus had to force the lump in his throat to go away. Sirius looked so lost, so childlike himself.
"Sometimes, something can happen that is *so* bad, so traumatic, that the mind doesn't know how to deal with it. Your mind can repress the memory of the event, or develop all kinds of ways not to think about, face, or otherwise deal with it until something deep inside thinks you're strong enough to face it," Remus said thoughtfully.
"But I didn't repress anything," Sirius protested. Moony held up a hand.
"Let me finish, here. Sometimes. repressing the memory *isn't* the best thing for you. Sometimes the victim spends so much time trying not to think about *it*, that whatever memory they've been trying to repress comes back tenfold times worse than before," Remus continued, now in full professor mode.
"Yes, yes. Is there a point sometime soon?" Sirius asked, rolling his eyes. He was beginning to recover some of his composure now, but Remus knew he needed to pursue this theory to its fullest.
"Now let's look at the Dementors. Same theory. Worst memories of your life constantly replayed. It's a wound that never heals, never scabs, never ends. The equivalent of a flashback, only more so. It consumes you, makes you relive it. In essence, it takes up so much of your thoughts and feelings that it leaves little room for anything else," Remus said. Sirius was paying full attention now. "Now yours was magically induced, but that makes it worse, not better. I have no doubt you would still be horribly haunted by these events even had you not gone to prison, but not like you are now," Remus said, then paused.
"So." Sirius prompted Remus irritably.
"I'm trying to tell you that I don't think your good memories are gone, faded or diminished in any way," Remus explained.
"You don't?" Sirius asked. Remus shook his head. "Then what *do* you think?" he asked.
"That the memories you've been forced to relive for so long have drowned them out with their intensity, and that once *those* memories begin to diminish, other memories long forgotten, good memories, will return," Remus said.
"It doesn't feel like they're fading, Remus. And I've unfortunately added a few more to Sirius' Top Ten List that I hadn't had before; Harry when he collapses in my arms at the Dursley's, when he stopped breathing just now, his face as he told Dumbledore about what happened after he disappeared in the maze. I don't feel like anything's diminishing. It's just morphing into new bad memories," Sirius said in resignation, his head falling wearily onto his knees as he continued to rock back and forth.
"Then we'll just need to fill up the void faster with better memories," Remus murmured.
"What if there are no better memories? What if this is it, and I lose Harry tomorrow?" Sirius demanded. Remus knew the truth of the words. His own conversation with Harry still haunted him.
"Then make today better," Remus replied firmly. Sirius turned and stared at him.
"Are you daft?" he asked, frustration beginning to vie with annoyance at Remus' disgusting optimism in the face of an obviously hopeless situation. Sirius stared at Harry for a moment, and oddly his lip curled into a sneer. "I can't even talk to him or reassure him. He's unconscious!" Remus sighed. Sirius was missing the point, or at least blithely ignoring it.
"Sirius, I can't tell you why. Merlin knows they've certainly not happened too often to me.but I still believe in miracles. Harry survived the killing curse as a baby. No training, no manifestations that either you or I *ever* saw, yet he defeated the darkest wizard in our lifetime. If a rabbit is going to be pulled out of the hat." Sirius frowned at the Muggle reference but didn't interrupt, "Harry's going to do it," Remus said.
"I'm tired, Mooney. And I don't know how much more I have to give," Sirius replied, rubbing his face tiredly with his hands. Remus heard the scratch of Sirius' stubble against his palms and could practically taste his friend's fatigue and exhaustion.
"Then sleep, Padfoot. And know this. Harry's not stupid. The more together you are for him, the better he'll feel as well. He's far too observant for his own good, so you can't fake it. You need more rest, and yes, even some time alone or away from him. There's nothing wrong with that. If the roles were reversed I guarantee you Harry would be relying on his friends for support and spending time at the creek, or playing Quidditch," Remus stated, knowing it to be true. He'd seen it clearly during his time at Hogwarts. A time he'd cherished. Remus sighed. Again. He'd been doing that a lot this conversation.
"I almost lost him," Sirius whispered. "Even after all this time, I still can't protect him," he said.
"But he's not alone. Not anymore. You're insuring that," Remus said comfortingly.
"But in the visions, he *is* alone with Voldemort," Sirius said, his voice fading to a whisper.
"He's still alive, Sirius. He's still The Boy Who Lived, even after all this time. *He still keeps facing him!* I know how it feels. It feels like we could lose him at any second. We almost did. But he's still here, Sirius, and he *needs* you. Not the guilt-wracked man Azkaban tried to make, but the one I've seen. The one who set the twins on end and makes bad jokes a career choice. The one who's seen too much, but has come through it, who knows he's screwed up like everybody else but also knows he's paid *far* more penance than any human ever should be asked to. Who drinks tea that more closely resembles battery acid and flirts shamelessly with Molly for food," Remus said. Sirius took a deep breath, and Remus could sense some of the tension leave Sirius' posture.
"I'm lost, Mooney. I'm failing James and Lily, and I can't shake the feeling that things will get *much* worse before there's even a hope they'll get better," Sirius muttered, and Remus realized Sirius was falling asleep. Remus didn't respond, but rather let his friend drift off. Sirius' eyes closed as his slowly ceased to rock, his breath evening out. Remus sat beside him and watched him for a while.
When Sirius woke up again, Remus would suggest he join Harry in bed as Padfoot. In their brief time together before collecting Harry, Remus had realized how difficult it was for Sirius to sleep. He had a much easier time sleeping as Padfoot. Snuffles, Remus corrected with a wry smile.and although in Animagus form Sirius still had nightmares, he didn't seem as shaken by them the next morning.
Sirius refrained from changing at the Weasley's because he was self- conscious about his nightmares, but after the conversation Remus had just had, he'd realized how starved Sirius was for comfort himself. As a dog, Remus knew, Snuffles could plop next to Harry on the bed and sleep with him, or nuzzle him shamelessly. He could, in essence, remain closer to Harry without crowding him, and weasel past some of Harry's astonishingly well developed defense mechanisms designed to keep people out from what he was truly feeling. Much like a certain ex-convict Remus knew.
*If* Harry survived this, and Remus had taken to praying to whatever gods were handy for just that, Remus had no doubt that Sirius *could* heal. Sighing, Remus looked over at the sleeping boy again and was stunned to see Harry watching him, his eyes too intense to gauge. He just hoped that Harry would be able to heal as well.
TBC
Phoenix, Endriago Luna, Starchime, Harriet, Lady Foxfire, Kapies, Prami, AllAboutMe, Mihoshe, Lothey, Lyta Padfoot, Lizard, Tsukino Kokaku, Badger Lord, Someone, Nicole Williams, Hyper Princess (of course, don't I always? g), WeasleyTwinsLover1112, Japangirlcarley24, blank, Kayla, ratgirl, Chibi Neko Rina, Essence of Magic, ShelaghC, illustrious sorrow, SpiderGirl05, enchantress646, Centra-gal86, Katie Weasley, Starlette Whisper: Thank you all so much for your kind reviews. A lot of you had questions about the girl. I'm sorry for the cliffie, but this segment fleshed out far more than I expected. Next chapter you'll get some theories. I'm *really* glad the general consensus appears to be you approve of Snape, even with the POV shift. There really is a method to my madness. Bwah hah hah hah. ahem Anyway, thanks for reviewing!!! I love to read your comments and thoughts!
Kate the Great: Yep, I've definitely had Snape be quiet. That's one of the reasons why I really wanted you to see the inside of his head. I *certainly* didn't see him just speaking normally, in spite of what Dumbledore asked of him. I don't think he has it in him to be falsely polite. If nothing else, at least Snape is genuine.
Caitlin: That will get addressed soon, I promise, or at least you'll get to hear some theories on it.
Malexandria: I know it's jarring, but there's a method to my madness. Really. Stick with it. Hopefully there will come a point when you see why I felt it had to be so. 8-)
SilverWolf: DP?
Kaydee: I love how much you write in your reviews. I also love that you tell me what you're favorite part of it was. It really pleases me to read that you notice the things I really put a lot into. Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked Willaby. I just realized I wanted to explain some additional things about the ties of the Dark Mark, and presto! I worried, because up until now I've only used actual HP characters. I didn't want Willaby to jar. I'm glad I've still got you guessing plot wise. Go me! Hehehehe.. Deep deep deep down indeed. g Thank you so much for the terrific review! I look forward to the next one (am I subtle, or what?)
Von: Something like that. G A little different, but don't think I didn't contemplate that one! Good catch! 8-)
AstraCMXXV: Thanks. I just felt that Harry had far enough going on in his life, and that romance tends to put the adults backstage, which I *definitely* didn't want.