A big shout out to Inuyasha-lover601, Suga hi and Moon Fairy2. I know this is not the most highly-reviewed of stories but the few comments I do get make all the effort and abuse my poor computer gets worthwhile ^_^ I thank you and reward your kindness with another chapter! And many more to come!
Yet another additional disclaimer: The Vyre, mentioned briefly in this chapter and elsewhere later on in the story, are also not my creation. I borrowed them from David Gemmell. Hope he doesn't mind.
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Harry stared at the Headmaster, his mind reeling with the shock. He stared at the floor, his emotions confused. The news that his godfather was still alive had to be good and he wanted to shout with joy, but the sombre look on Dumbledore's face quelled the emotion. What if Sirius had been taken and tortured? And why had he not been informed of this before? Anger rose within him and he glared at the old man sat before him.
"Not dead? But how? And why wasn't I told before?"
"I was not sure of the facts until very recently, and I felt that you would rather hear the news from me face-to-face rather than written in a letter. It is a long story and I ask you to be patient with me, and not to interrupt until I have reached the end." Harry nodded, and Dumbledore went on.
"As you are well aware, Sirius came from a long line of pure-blood wizards, bearing all the hallmarks of those who believed themselves to be better than others because of their heritage. It is because of his name, and because of his family's beliefs, that in a way spared him when he fell through the veil.
"It would appear that, a few centuries ago, an ancient spell was cast over the House of Black. Such was their arrogance that one Pluto Black, possibly the most powerful wizard of the line, felt that they should never die. He found a spell that would ensure that the line would endure long after the last heir should have passed on, and modified it. Such was his faith in the purity of blood that his intention was that he and his family would form an army and one day return to this world to purge all of what he called 'tainted blood'. Sirius' death completed the spell, and he was reunited with his family. It is believed that the Blacks are currently residing in the world of the Vyre, beyond the shade of the underworld."
Harry sat stunned by this information. He tried to get his head around it all, and found it impossible. He drew a slow, shuddering breath, trying to think of something to say and finding nothing, switching his gaze to Dumbledore's carpet.
"That is not the worst of it," said Dumbledore softly. Harry's head snapped up, his eyes bright and fearful. "Sirius is no longer the man you knew. Sirius now sits beside his family with honour and shares their belief that purebloods are superior to others."
"But Sirius hated his family!" croaked Harry, finding his voice at last. "Sirius went against everything they stood for, they disowned him!"
"The life he now leads has . . . altered his perceptions somewhat," replied Dumbledore. "I cannot even begin to explain how because even I do not know. And yet, even that is not the worst of it." Dumbledore stood and moved beside Harry, his hand gripping Harry's shoulder so tightly that Harry nearly cried out in pain. "They have allied themselves to Voldemort."
Harry gasped then, his throat tightening. He looked up at Dumbledore; the old man's eyes were fixed on the window and bright with unshed tears. "I don't know if you recall, but Wormtail was not among those Death Eaters gathered at the Department of Mysteries that day. Instead he was in the land of the Vyre, convincing the Blacks of the benefits of joining his master. Voldemort's greatest trick is setting us against those we love," he added, apparently to himself, and released Harry's shoulder, sitting himself back down in his chair.
"I know this will be hard for you, Harry. It will be hard for us all. It may seem cruel to tell you, especially so soon, but then I have discovered, at great cost, the price of keeping information to myself. You had to know." Harry nodded and rose from his chair, gripping the arms tightly to steady legs that suddenly felt like jelly.
"Thank you . . . for telling me," he forced out through the lump that had formed in his throat.
"Remember, I am always here if you need me." Harry nodded again and moved to the door, his legs now feeling as though they were made of lead.
The rest of the day passed in a daze. He barely heard Snape's withering scorn as he managed to mess up his second potion of the day, he was given extra Charms homework and he was vaguely aware of Ron and Hermione asking him what the matter was occasionally. He didn't answer them. He couldn't. How could he tell them what Dumbledore had told him? He himself couldn't believe it, wouldn't believe it. Sirius had always been excessively vocal in his disdain of his family. He'd never have joined them . . .
He ignored Hermione's attempts to lure him into conversation as they sat in the Gryffindor common room before dinner, staring moodily into space and trying to make sense of what he had heard in Dumbledore's office. It made his head ache.
He couldn't face going to dinner with the rest of the school, his appetite having deserted him completely, and mumbled something to Hermione about needing a rest. He withdrew to his dormitory and lay sprawled on the bed, gazing up at the canopy above his head. He rubbed his scar; it was not hurting, not at the moment, but the action was an instinctive one and it was almost soothing.
Almost . . .
He had once written to Sirius when his scar hurt in the middle of the night, prompting Sirius to return to Britain from wherever he was hiding. Harry had been terrified then of losing him to the Dementors or the Ministry of Magic, but in the end it was his family that had claimed him and instead of destroying him they had made him someone they could be proud of. Someone that was the complete opposite of the person he knew and loved.
The knowledge burned him almost as badly as the fact that he could do nothing to help his godfather. He rose from his bed, unable to rest and gripped with a need to keep moving. He walked down through the now deserted common room, deliberately angling away from the Great Hall, anxious not to bump into anyone who would ask questions.
Almost unconsciously his footsteps took him to the seventh floor, and the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Harry stopped and looked at the door, hesitating only for a moment. Somewhere no-one could find him, somewhere he could be alone with his thoughts . . . He turned the handle and went in.
The room had changed from it's last appearance as the DA's headquarters. Now it was a large, homely room with a wide bed towards the back and a couple of large armchairs in front of a roaring fire. Portraits adorned the walls and the glow of the fire and the oil lamps guttering on the walls gave the place a warm orange glow. Harry sat down on the large sheepskin rug in front of the fire and stared into the flames until his eyes hurt, willing Sirius' head to appear and tell him it was all one huge mistake.
There was a soft sound behind him and he turned, blinking until the purple spots in front of his eyes faded. Draco Malfoy was sat in one of the armchairs, one leg casually draped over the arms. The firelight was glinting off his hair and his eyes in a way that softened his features and made him seem even more beautiful.
But Harry had no room in his head for lustful thoughts. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he snapped, anger rising at this intrusion. Of all the people, he thought angrily, why did it have to be this bastard?
"Can't a man sit in front of a fire in peace?" asked Malfoy softly, wearing his familiar sneer. "Or is famous Harry Potter so far removed from mortal men that he is unable to share his fire?"
"Oh, he is able to share his fire all right, but not with scum like you!" growled Harry, scrambling to his feet.
"Now, Potter, that's no way to behave. I've not come here for a fight."
"Why did you come here then? Come to make fun of me? Come to gloat that your daddy and his friends have succeeded in ruining my life?" Harry was mere inches away from Malfoy's chair now and towered over the young man still seated. A flicker of emotion crossed Malfoy's face, a brief, haunted, sorrowful look. Harry started, but the next moment the cool mask had slid back into place and Malfoy was also on his feet, his nose almost touching Harry's. Harry shivered as he glared into Malfoy's eyes. There was something almost unreadable there, as if he was trying to conceal his feelings and not quite succeeding.
"You know, Potter," spat Malfoy, his voice cracking with barely suppressed anger, "I think if you spent a bit less time feeling sorry for yourself you'll realise what's going on around you. You're not the only person who lost someone this summer."
"Oh yeah, dear old daddy banged up in Azkaban. Well it's not like you'll never see him again, is it? You said it yourself, he's with his mates, they'll break out in no time." Malfoy paled and his fingers twitched, as if he was going for his wand. He let out a long breath and slowly backed away to the door. He paused with his hand on the handle.
"Well I've been here for most of the afternoon," he stated conversationally. "And when you showed up I felt like talking to you. I thought if anyone would understand, you would. Seems I was wrong, hey?" Malfoy shut the door behind him with a quiet click that nevertheless echoed around the room, leaving Harry to his own confused thoughts.