Some is mine, some isn't. I make no money or claimes to anything that I did not invent including but not limited to; characters, places, items, past happenings, and plot.
Lots of perspective here, I know. Sorry. I have never written anything before, so I am trying to figure out how to bring this to the end…while I am reaching the end. This is not the last chapter, so don't freak. But things may get awkward as I get closer to the end. Like I said, I've never written a climax or conclusion before.
Gryffindor-210 Points- Frogfoot receives 10 points for diligent and careful reading…rather un Gryffindor. Your parents wouldn't happen to have been Ravenclaws, would they?
Slytherin-270 Points- if you reviewed and I didn't count you tell me, or review this chapter and get some points for your House.
Ravenclaw-20 Points! if you reviewed and I didn't count you tell me, or review this chapter and get some points for your House.
Huffelpuff- if you reviewed and I didn't count you tell me, or review this chapter and get some points for your House.
WARNING ADULT THEMSE i.e. past violence, non-con, yucky eating habits, and disturbing stuff are discussed and people, who are concerned that their parents may see this warning and disallow them to read, should not read the chapter.
People who are excited/eager to find out what could motivate my adding this warning, should be monitored by trained professionals.
This chapter is dedicated to Chay. You helped me, looked over this as I was working on it, and came up with ideas I already had, but was not sure enough of to try. Thank you.
Chapter 46:
In the brightly lit infirmary the Headmaster, Alastor Moody, Minerva and Madam Pomfrey huddled around the four newly Revivioed Gryffindor students. Much fuss was made over Hermione's bruises and Aidan's erratic heart rate.
Harry received a stern talking to from his female Head of House, interspersed with an abundance of pats, and hugs from his godfather. He seemed to be somewhere between battle fatigue and bewilderment.
Ron's hindsight motivated regret was alleviated by a nod of approval from Alastor Moody. He really had behaved as heroically as any seasoned frontline soldier for the Order.
Lenore had alerted Albus to her fears about the implications behind Starch's sudden departure from her side. Starch held her close while she cried in relief at his safe return.
Over his wife's sea-green tinged, blond head, Starch glimpsed two figures lurking for a moment in the shadows outside the Medical-wing door. Exhausted, with shoulders slumped and heads held low, the two Garoms hesitated. Starch blinked, and they were gone.
After an impassioned plea from Hermione, that they not inform her parents of the attack that had occurred, and a short but heated conference between Starch, Albus, and Alastor, it was decided to offer her the option of having her memory altered so that she would forget everything back to and including the initial decision to sneak out that night. She accepted.
~
Sunday night, at midnight, in the secure room within the headmaster's official office the heads of the Order of the Phoenix gathered around a small bedside table with a globe-like nightlight floating above it. The soft glow within illuminated cuddly representations of each House. The Slytherin Basilisk even had a smile.
The four Heads of the Order were seated on bedroomish furniture. Albus Dumbledore had the red velvet, overstuffed, chair while Alastor Moody sat atop a saffron yellow frilled vanity stool. Rita Skeeter was trying to complete her report while being swallowed alive by a large marine blue beanbag chair.
The male had walked in, the last to arrive, promptly flopped bonelessly onto the forest green comforter that covered the daybed, closed his eyes, and ignored the rest of the group.
Rita was not letting her undignified seat interrupt the flow of her words as she finished her report. "Even with every busybody in town who works under me telling everyone that it was an escaped Orang-Bati and not The Phoenix over Diagon – and do I need to say that that excuse is getting really old? People are going to start to take political action to put stricter controls on animal breeders unless we come up with something new. Where was I?"
"Nearly done?," Alastor offered hopefully. He was seriously considering either using a headache relieving charm, or creating a new training lesson involving unending barrages of annoying chatter. It would help shore up his troops endurance no doubt.
Rita glared at Alastor for a moment. "I think that the story I set into motion, another gang of punks looking to make a name for themselves by imitating Death Eaters, is going to hold. A gang war won't exactly make anyone feel safe, but it is better than having them know the truth. For now."
There was a pause, while all eyes turned to the male.
"I'll have my full report ready by next Sunday. You can sod off if that doesn't meet with your approval." He hadn't opened his eyes or moved more than the necessary minimum.
Alastor lost what little patients he had remaining. "Can you at least tell us what the hell prompted Voldemort to attack?"
The male finally moved, but it was only to drape his left arm over his eyes. "It was in retaliation against the failed attack on the Muggles. Lucius was in line for promotion to Fate."
"Bullocks! That attack was two weeks ago!" Alastor countered.
"This is where I tell you to sod off." The male lapsed back into silence.
After a few details were worked out, dealing mostly with the surveillance of the Ministry agents stationed practically at their gates, the meeting broke up.
"A moment?" The male called as Albus rose to follow Moody and Skeeter into the shadows and back to his office.
"Yes?" Albus cautiously moved closer to the daybed where the male still lay. "What is it?"
"You should check on Black." The male listlessly dropped his right hand over the edge of the mattress, grabbed an edge of the comforter and curled into the blanket while rolling away from the Headmaster's outstretched hand. "I don't really want to see him right now, but I think he needs checking on."
"Why don't you want to see him?" Albus' voice was gentle as he attempted to pry information from the male.
The response was mumbled into a fluffy pillow. "I don't want to deal with it, don't want to resolve it."
'The answer made no sense to Albus, but the male rarely gave the same answer twice, so Albus simply asked again. "Why do you not want to see him?"
"If I resolve this thing for him…I'll have resolved all but the last of his issues." The male whispered, "When all the other problems are resolved…I will be the only one left…"
Long after Albus had left the room, the male remained where he was. He whispered the rest of his thought to the cheerful nightlight. "…And I don't really deserve to continue."
~
Monday morning at the far end of the Head Table, Professor Severa Moody sat alone. The empty seat beside her would have been taken by Snape, but he was not in attendance that morning.
Neville slowed as he entered the Dining Hall and passed the line of seated professors. For some reason Snape's absence was bothering him. He clutched the strap on his pack tighter and quickly chose a seat where he could face away from the dark eyes of Potions Master's Assistant Moody.
After eating a few distasteful mouthfuls his slight ill feeling had grown to distress. He had to see professor Snape. 'Or, well, the Garom really. He's the one I need to see…' The sudden clarity was disconcerting. 'Why do I need to see him so badly?' But his feet were already taking him from the bright chatter of breakfast, straight to the dungeons.
Neville paused to peek inside the Potions Classroom. Though he hadn't expected to find the Garom there, the fact that he wasn't there was worrisome. Softly closing the door again Neville stepped back to the center of the passage. "So," he looked right, toward the safety represented by the stairs that would lead him back up to the rest of the school. Then down the hall on his left. 'The Slytherin House entrance is somewhere down there…and…maybe…the Garom. Somewhere.' His school pack hung at his side and he heaved it up so the strap looped over his shoulder. "I've got my assignments, so I don't really need to go back to the common room before class." One last look over his shoulder, and Neville set off to find the male.
The door was uncharmed. Neville hadn't expected this. The Heads of Slytherin really were supposed to have disguised doors and hidden passages and all manner of hexes, and probably worse, guarding their private quarters. Not a simple iron ring handle on a thick looking wooden door crossed by iron straps. The whole thing seemed wrong.
Taking a breath he raised his hand to knock on the foreboding door, when it swung inward suddenly.
The male Garom was standing in the doorway wearing the same Victorian suit that Neville had seen before and he was, chewing on a mouthful of something. The male held a broad, shallow bowl in his left hand and in the other a pair of chopsticks were angled back toward his forearm so that he could open the door.
After a long pause the Garom quirked one eyebrow. "And?"
"I accept." Neville blinked. 'What did I just say?!'
"If that's all then…" The male was shutting the door again.
"No, wait!" Neville put a hand out to stop him. "What did I just say? Why am I even here?"
The male opened the door again and regarded him for a moment. "You are here because I instructed you to come to me when you had made your decision." The male took a bite of, whatever it was, and chewed thoughtfully. "I suppose all you needed was a goodnight's sleep." Taking another bite the male added, "You have agreed to begin training as a member of the Order of the Phoenix. I felt it only fair to offer you the chance to join of your own free will; all things considered I owe that much to your grandmother. Hag that she is," he added, under his breath.
Neville again had to stop the male from closing the door. "Wait! My grandmo—no, wrong question, what do you mean you instructed me? When did you…" Slowly the memory was freed from the restraints that the male had placed on it. The Halloween Ball. The male speaking to Harry and his friends, and when the male was slipping away, a signal had been given to follow. The conversation in the hall, the offer of a place in the Order. It all came back.
"I suppose it's the memory thing," the male spoke around another mouthful. "But your skill in interrogation has sadly deteriorated. I think you have enough to think about without my adding anymore, mess. So," he flicked the ends of his chopsticks, "—off to class."
Neville did not stop the door this time. He did indeed have enough to think about. And a class to get to.
~
The male rolled his eyes as his meal was again interrupted by someone approaching his door. Pulling the heavy door open he announced, "It is only November and already I have had eight visitors this year."
Sirius lowered his fist and shrugged. "Wow?" he offered.
Impatiently the male fiddled with his chopsticks. "I wasn't sure you'd come today." Stepping back into the shared sitting room he made a sweeping motion with the bowl in his left hand. "If you want to, you're welcome. Otherwise get out of my space until you are ready." He turned and walked away from the door, leaving behind a very confused Sirius Black.
"Ready?" Sirius cautiously entered and closed the door. "You, knew I'd be coming…"
He could hear in Black's voice, how unsettling that thought had been. 'May as well take away every blind he's got. No reason to prolong this any.' With a shrug he corrected Black. "Today or tomorrow, wasn't really sure which." Going to the small pot still on the table and scooping up another bowlful he took more time than necessary. 'All I have to do is keep him safe and sane until this is over. That is all I was created for. Black is a means to that end…so why does fulfilling my purpose feel so hollow?'
When the male turned to face Black he found that the man had remained close to the door but was studying him intently. "You could take the seat," the male offered and motioned with his chopsticks toward the only chair in the room. "Or the sofa," he gestured toward the wall opposite Sirius where the small reading couch, that had used to be a chair, was positioned beside the fireplace and bookshelves.
Sirius had been watching him for a few minutes now, and the male's easy, open air seemed wrong. 'He never entertains polite conversation, just for the sake of being pleasant.' "You sent Albus to check on me," he accused. "Late last night and again this morning. Why?" The male was returning his stare for a moment, but then his attention seemed to wander and the piercing blue eyes were sweeping over the rest of the room again.
Without look at Black the male deliberately pronounced, "You. Are. Mine. I take care of what is mine." He shrugged again, "That's all the reason I need."
Sirius felt his chest tighten and he held his breath until the flickers of old fear passed. "Tala told me, that you chose your Marks because they shared something, a problem or hurt, with you. One you could not face in yourself—"
"Black, I have said it before, I will not speak of this with you." The male grit his teeth. 'I only need to get past this then, once he is healed, he can do with me as he sees fit. I can't do it! But, maybe, I can get Black to do this for me…' Turning so he could just see Black from the corner of his eye, he pointed out, "It's not as though we are in the Morlock tunnels anymore."
Before he could check himself, Sirius was nearly close enough to touch the male. With fists clenched he bit back on his frustration. "You did choose me. You did Mark me. You told me about what the Morlocks did to you, and then you sent Albus to check on me." A small piece of the puzzle fell into place, "To bait me into coming here…Why?" Thinking over his own words Sirius distantly noticed that he had begun to breathe a little faster and shallower than normal.
The male felt each word from Black as a nail in his coffin. 'Not that the saying really applies to the likes of me,' he nearly laughed at the irony in his own thoughts. Waiting silently for Black to make the final move, he continued to take small bites.
Sirius rubbed at his eyes. Changing the subject, he tried to find a way to calm his rattled nerves. "I'm interrupting your breakfast." The male did not react, unless the slight shift in his stance counted. "What is that anyway?"
"The House Elves don't particularly care to cook according to my preferences, I'm not any good at it, but I've learned to cook a little. It's cuscus, and liver."
Sirius looked into the pot, the small bits of meat and granular pasta did not look the least appetizing. "What is that sauce?" his nose wrinkled at the thick clumpy texture of the stuff.
Sighing softly the male resigned himself to waiting out Sirius' own realizations. "It's not a sauce. Well, Starch might consider it such, but other than in the eyes of a Vampire or something of like bent, blood isn't really considered a sauce."
"Blood," Sirius jerked his eyes from the nearly empty pot to meet the male's eyes.
"The liver I add after the cuscus is cooked. House Elves prefer to serve more, healthful meals." Black continued to pale, and his distraction from the point of their meeting was becoming vexatious. "Come on Black. It's not Human. And even if it were, it's not as though I would take some one you knew. I wouldn't hurt you like that." The male looked away again, and hoped that Black would take up the reminder of their earlier conversation.
The way the male's eyes kept sliding away from his…Sirius felt that there was something there. Something he should be able to see. His eyes widened, the male flinched slightly but he failed to notice. "You can't face it," Sirius whispered. "You chose me because you could not face what they did, you still can't face it."
Panic flooded his system. The male clicked his chopsticks for a moment, then twirled them with his fingertips. Black was about to make the connection, that he had been chosen to make. He had known that Black would have the strength to face it, but now that it was happening… The hand on his shoulder startled him enough that he dropped the chopsticks. He knew it was Black, he had been aware of Black's approaching and of Black's tension, and so he did not strike back as his instincts screamed at him to.
Sirius grabbed the male and forcibly turned him, pushing him back against the near wall. "Fine, I'll say it. I'll end this game," his voice shook and he pushed harder against the male's shoulder. The male dropped his bowl and neither of them noticed. His voice close to a snarl, Sirius couldn't see clearly. "You can't face the fact that the Morlocks tagged you, and you need me to help you get past it?! Fine! They raped me! I couldn't do a damn thing about it and I still have nightmares, I can't even turn my back on Remus, and every one of those guards got their bit of sport out of me. The Morlocks raped you! Face it! Face it and let me alone with my fear and my—my shame—" his voice finally failed. But he refused to let the tears fall.
Cautiously he raised his eyes to meet Black's. "My problem has never been acknowledging what was done Black, it has been my refusal to accept the guilt I feel. I know it was my fault, I just can't accept that though. Help me. Tell me what my part was. You were innocent, I know, but where was my sin?"
A gasping sob shook his body and Sirius' forehead came to rest in the male's shoulder. Clutching the male's overcoat with both fists he felt the tears wetting the cloth beneath his face. "Why?!" He choked on the plea and could say no more.
The male was unable to hide from the emotions that Black was unknowingly forcing into his mind. The physical contact was channeling into him the pain and shame and guilt that Sirius felt, and they were the matches to his own long buried scars.
'Black was innocent! Why does he feel the same… no… I had to be at fault! I must have been! I can't be innocent, too. I'm too dirty to be innocent.' The tears that ran from his eyes were a little thicker than the pure saltwater flowing from Black's eyes, and they bore traces of grey, but they were real. He hesitantly placed his left hand on the back of Black's neck and with his right he combed though the man's dark hair. He had no words to speak, and so remained silent.
Neither moved to break from the embrace for a very long time.