DISCLAIMER: This story is based on materials owned by the great J.K. Rowling. I do not make any money with it or anything…Only the Sylvia Shaw character is mine.

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NiteQueen: Thank you so much for your enthusiasm, I'm thrilled to see I can keep people reading until 2:30 A.M., though I hope you survived the next day without too much problems!!

Stormcloud Empath: Oh! Your attempt is far from being that bad, really! It actually gets better with time. Thank you Grammar Priestess for your indulgence, but I really think I need a good beta reader to check my verb conjugation and teach me what I'm doing wrong. (Hint, hint!!!) After all I'm only a novice!

Rugi: I'm happy I made you laugh and you won't have to wait for long…here is THE talk, I just hope you'll like it!

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A/N: Sorry about the wait but work caught up with me and gosh, this chapter was tough to write. I had to rewrite and edit it continuously. I'm still not sure about the result. So read and review, and hang on, it's a long one.

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6- Explanations

Sylvia ended up not seeing much of the couch after all, since Black tossed, turned and moaned for all it was worth throughout the night. Tired of walking endlessly back and forth between the small sitting area and the bedroom to soothe him back to sleep, she finally settled in the uncomfortable straight chair she used to drape clothes on, putting it close to the bed.

Seeing that rather large man in her small bed was strangely disturbing. She had made a point, these last long months, never to be stuck alone with a man. She could defend herself, of course, but that would attract attention to her and her first rule of survival was to never put herself in a potentially dangerous situation. So, she learned to avoid elevators, to never walk out at night in town and to never ever get a stranger into her bed. Actually, it has been many months since anyone, stranger or friend have found their ways into her bed, or her life for that matter. Relationships too were potentially dangerous, especially since it was a relationship gone awry that had put her in this mess in the first place.

But now, there was a man in her bed, a half-naked, handsome and very dangerous one. With Skif the dog, it had been easy to let herself feel affection and trust, it was safe. But with this man… Sylvia fidgeted in her chair, remembering uncomfortably all that he knew about her. She had let him into her house, he had seen her coming out of the shower with nothing but a towel on, worse, he had seen her cry and felt her fear. She did not know what to do now. Sirius Black had slipped through her defenses and she was not sure if she would be able to protect herself emotionally if he chose to remind her of all that they had shared, if he chose to act like a friend and not like a stranger. She was honest enough with herself to admit that she was craving for friendship, for love. Her reaction to both Skif the dog and Dumbledore was proof of that. And that was what scared her the most, that need was the reason she had accepted for years to be emotionally, then physically abused. That was her vulnerability. "How can one know who is safe to love and who isn't?" She thought warily.

Just then, as if taking pity on her mental rambling, Black started to trash on the bed, visibly in the throes of a nightmare. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was time for the green potion anyway, it would be easier to give it to him if he was awake.

With a deep breath and a hesitant hand, she reached for his shoulder and gave it a little shake. " Mr. Black, wake up, it's time for you medicine." Her voice sounded small and unsure. Frowning at her lack of strength, she cleared her throat and called again. "Mr. Black, please, you have to take your potion." And she touched him again on the chest. She didn't know what she expected but it was not what happened then.

He jumped straight out of the bed and was halfway to the bedroom door before his legs collapsed under him. He turned around on his knees, his eyes unfocused and his teeth bared as if he intended to shred to pieces anything that came close to him. Sylvia froze in fear, the violence in him was unmistakable, it was so raw, so…primal. She shivered. Then, slowly, sanity seemed to come back into his eyes as he took a survey of his surrounding, and he said " Oh! It's you, " then putting his hand on the wall for support, he tried to get up.

Sylvia, gaping at him from the bedside, closed her mouth with a snap and shaking out of her paralyzing state, forced herself to go and help him. "Really Mr. Black, you're not an easy patient to have around." She took his arm from the wall and put it around her shoulder. She shivered again, she hadn't been so close to another human being in ages, the sensation was both uncomfortably pleasant and more than slightly scary.

"You know who I am," he said. "Obviously," she answered, straining to move his large bulk in the direction of the bed. It was not easy since he was not helping at all. "How…I mean, who told you? And why I'm I here?" This was the longest sentence she had heard from him yet and she discovered that she liked his deep rasping voice. Feeling her knees starting to buckle from the strain of holding him up, she groaned, "Let's get you back into bed first and then I'll explain it to you." Nodding, he let her steer him towards the bed, one shaky footstep at a time.

Once he was finally safely back under the covers, she sat on the chair to explain. "I know your name because Albus Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey were here and told me, kind of. They said you could not be moved because of your injuries, so I got landed with you to take care of you for the night. Madam Pomfrey gave me a potion you need to drink around now." She reached for the spoon and the bottle on the side table and jumped with nervousness when his hand on her arm stopped her. "What else did they told you…about me?" He sounded anxious and she looked at him in surprise. "Nothing. Dumbledore said he did not feel he was the right one to tell me your story." Relief flashed in his eyes and he released her arm. She had a feeling she was not going to hear it from him either. He took the potion dutifully but with a grimace of disgust. Sylvia was glad he didn't made a fuss, it was high time he took it for his forehead was shining with sweat from his recent exertion and under the sheets, his legs were visibly still shaking.

He looked around the room again and said unexpectedly, "Maybe I should sleep on the couch. It doesn't seem appropriate to take your bed." He did look a bit uncomfortable to be there. "Don't be ridiculous," she said more sheepishly than she intended. She was annoyed to think that she would probably never know this strange man's secret and that tomorrow he would disappear from her life like the ghost of something that might have been, "the way you toss around, you'd forever fall down on the floor. Furthermore, I'm not strong enough to help you all the way to the sitting room. And neither are you." She glared at him to make sure her point got across.

He grinned at her, his whole face suddenly filled with merriment, his eyes sparkling, "Is that a dare? I have to warn you that I just can't resist a good dare." His eyes softened when she just looked back at him, dumfounded by the sudden change in him. "Thank you for saving my life and taking care of me. I know it must all be very strange and difficult for you, " he said simply. He reached out slowly to her face brushing his fingers on her cheek, "I promise I will never bother you again as soon as I'm better and can get back to my world." She couldn't answer, she just stayed there mesmerized by his eyes, held in place by the memory of the furtive caress of his fingers, all thoughts discarded by the warmth dancing in his gaze and coming from his whole being. He continued, "I will surely miss our daily practice session though, partner…" His look turned whimsical, he leaned his head to the side just like Skif used to do, "What is your name anyway?"

That broke the spell Sylvia was under and laughing freely in spite of all the warning bells screaming in her head, answered, "My name is Sylvia Shaw. Nice to meet you." She extended her hand in front of her and he took it, beaming at her. "I'll make a deal with you, Mrs. Shaw. If you tell me your tale, I'll tell you mine. What do you say?" He freed her hand, visibly shocked himself by his sudden proposal, but staying with it.

Troubled, Sylvia got up from her chair and went to look out the window, now weary of the power this man seemed to have on her. Every one of her instincts told her to turn him down, to make sure he goes in the morning without any hope of further contacts, but she was too damn curious and not knowing was eating at her. Not only that, she wanted to be able to see him again, to explore what it could mean to count this man as a friend. "NO, he is too dangerous. Think of his attitude when he awoke, that anger, that violence could just as easily be directed at YOU. There is no way you can trust him. Stick to what you know, to what you are sure of. " Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to close the door to the fantasy of friendship, love and support and willingly took back the familiar mantle of loneliness and safety. Her face close, she turned around, to face him. Seeing her face, he passed a nervous hand in his long hair before apologizing, "Look, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I'm really grateful for everything you did for me and…well, I thought maybe I could help you back, or something." His voice faltered and he fell silent.

"Get some sleep, you still have a lot of healing to do." She said, then walked out of the room before his eyes could trick her again to open herself to him against all good sense.

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She woke up when the hand she held in hers started to move away, instinctively, she gripped it more strongly and raised her head sleepily only to find herself staring into Black's eyes. She hastily released his hand, blushing furiously. After he had gone back to sleep last night, his nightmares and moaning had resumed. Too high strung to sleep anyway, she had came back to calm him. She had discovered that holding his hand seemed to help him sleep more peacefully, so she had let it lay there. She had stayed there with his hand in hers for most of the night. Her entire being was in turmoil; thinking about all that had happened to her, what Dumbledore had told her, how she felt about this strange man trusting her enough to accept her taking care of him, and he offering her his story. In the end, looking at his peaceful and younger looking sleeping face, she had made her decision. She had enough of being scared all the time; she could not withstand the pressure of a genuine offer of friendship. It was dangerous, yes, but a calculated risk. She could disappear in the blink of an eye. After all, she had drugs she could feed him, personas she can slip into in an instant, and half a dozen hiding places around the country that no one can link back to her or any of her other, already used disguises. She felt that maybe it was worth the risk in order to know what was happening here.

As everyone knows, knowledge is power and she needed to discover what these weird wizarding people could do so that she could find ways to escape them if needed to. She knew she was rationalizing her emotional need, but she didn't care. It made sense and that made her feel better. She hated the idea of forgetting everything, she would forget but these people would still remember her, and could talk about her. That was much more dangerous than learning the truth.

"Sorry to have awakened you, " he said eyeing her speculatively, not sure what was her mood this morning, "but I really need to go to the bathroom." She looked at him closely, "Are you strong enough to go there by yourself?" He nodded, "I think so." He slowly put his feet on the floor and got up, swaying just a little. He took one tentative step, then another and smiled, growing more confident. He carefully traded his path to the door and out without even stumbling once. Sylvia shook her head in wonder. Magic certainly had its uses. She almost wished she could drink some of that marvelous potion herself, she now ached everywhere from sleeping half-sitting on the chair and half-laying on the bed. She had not slept more than a couple of hours and that was not helping her case. She stretched to ease some of her cramped muscles, got dressed and went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. It was still pretty early in the morning; they had time before Madam Pomfrey's visit.

He joined her as she was putting the omelets on their plates, standing on the doorway unsure of how to act around her. He had showered and got dressed in his old black clothes. "Come. It's ready." She said placing the plates on the table where two mugs of fresh coffee awaited. He came in and sat in front of her. "You have to drink a spoonful of that," she said, gesturing at the violet bottle still on the table where Madam Pomfrey had put it. He did, then they ate in silence, both absorbed by their own thoughts. After her last bite, she announced, "I thought about your offer, last night. I agree. If you're willing to tell me your story, I'll tell you mine. If you still want to, of course. I'll…I'll even go first." She was getting nervous, he was there looking at her with big round eyes, his cup halfway to his mouth.

"Are you sure?" he asked finally, putting his mug back down. She thrust her chin forward in defiance. "Yea. Are you?" He gave her a small smile, "I've been torturing my mind in the last weeks, wondering why you were here and why you were so scared. I've elaborated some pretty weird theories but I just don't know enough about you or your world to guess anything. I didn't even know your name before yesterday! Of course, I'm willing! If…" She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting to ear the rest, he licked his lips nervously, "If you promised me that you'll never tell… anyone about it." Well, that sounded interesting, and was easy to swear, she was not talking to anyone anyway.

"Done, if you promise never to tell my story either." He nodded, his gaze alight with anticipation, he leaned forward.

"So, you first?" She stood up and went back to her room to fetch two carefully hidden books. She came back and put them on the table. One was a photo album, the other was a scrapbook.

She opened the first. It was her wedding album. "This is me, five years ago, at my wedding." He looked shocked. "You're married?!" "Yes. This is my husband… Timothy. He's a high-ranking officer at Interpol. You know the police?" she explained at his perplexed look. "Anyway, he's pretty rich and about 12 years older than me. At first, we were pretty happy but around a year into our marriage, he started to change. It was slow and insidious and I never saw it coming. He started to control where I was going and with whom, he sent my friends away one by one and even alienated my family who was growing worried. Then he started telling me how to dress when we were going out, and was loving and gentle only in public or when I did as I was told. One day, he told me to stop working because he was doing enough for the both of us. I refused; I loved my job too much to give it up. That's when the beating started. I eventually agreed to make him stop and after that, I started scraping for every penny I could get my hands on in order to escape as soon I as could." She made a face, "You see, all our money was in a shared account and one of the first thing he did was to cut my credit and bank card so that I had to ask him for money." She could see anger simmering in Black's eyes as he asked, "Why didn't you ask for divorce?" She sighed, "I tried, but he's rich and powerful, enough anyway to buy or bully for favors, from his fellow officers to judges even. My demand was never processed. He didn't like it much and made very sure I understood never to try it ever again. If I was too hurt and needed to go to a hospital, he'd send me to a private clinic that was owned by his uncle, no one there would ever say anything to incriminate him, no even to me. Without money or the law on my side, there was not much I could do. Then, one night, it all became even more complicated. I was going through Tim's office at home, looking for money, when I stumbled on a strange memo. It was a message from a group with a scary name, asking Tim for specific information about some people whereabouts. In exchange for his help, they would give him money, I never found out how much. I discovered more messages like that and then it hit me, what it all meant. My husband was selling information to a criminal gang. That was my passport to freedom. I decided to make as many copies as I dared and send some to his superior."

She took a sip of coffee, suddenly unwilling to continue. The memory of what happened then still had the power to wake her up screaming most nights. But Black was not to be thwarted from his right to hear the rest. He prompted softly, "What happened?" She took a deep breath, " The twit that passed for his boss, decided to confront Tim about it before any proof could be unearth, I'm not sure he even ever believed it. The problem was that some of the information in the messages were a little too accurate, some of those people in there were killed, there has to be someone from the inside who was feeding those criminals the information. Tim couldn't dismiss it as a mistake, a prank or something. But he was able to turn the thing to his own advantage as usual. He convinced his boss and then the whole of Interpol that I was the only possible suspect, spying on him in order to get the information and pass it on to the group. He said he would keep an eye on me discreetly then turn me in as soon as he had some proof. He came back home real furious, I had no idea his boss was that stupid and was feeling really happy to have found a solution to my problem. Tim would go to prison and I would be free. He…he knocked me around for a while, boasting about the way he had turned the disaster around for him. Then he really worked himself to punish me, real…real hard, and left me half-dead, saying I was going to prison as soon as he had had enough entertainment out of me." At that point, she had to stop for she had started shaking and breathing hard. Black came to her from around the table and took her hands, locking his gaze to hers. "Hey, come on, you were stronger and more intelligent than him, you got away, you're safe now." And she struggled, trying to control her breathing and the panic, straining to find the strength to overcome it. As before, his eyes held the solution, anchoring her to him amidst the howling of the storm trying to get free inside her to tear her apart. She despairingly clung to it, determined not to be swept away this time, and slowly, slowly, her breathing eased and her fist unclenched. He nodded with relief, "Good." He left her side, returning to his seat, giving her time to compose herself.

"How did you got away?" he finally asked. She shrugged, "He went to sleep. Fortunately the place where I hid the money that I had manage to steal from him was nearby, I got to it, snatched it and went outside as well I as could. I was still bleeding a lot and my left leg was broken so I couldn't walk for long. I was lucky; I stole a delivery car with its engine still running and was able to drive it to one of my former friend's house. They took care of me." She sighed, "And here I am, with not only Tim after me, but also the whole of Interpol wanting to get their hands on me. My only chance is that the longer I evade them, the more they're likely to investigate the case more and more closely, maybe they'll eventually find some proof that'll incriminate Tim and get me off the hook. There's already have been an inquiry last February because of my disappearance. Apparently he hid the fact that I was long gone, they thought I had slipped through his fingers only about 8 months ago. I went to watch the hearing, in disguise. I wanted to know if it was safe to reveal myself, if they were suspicious of him, maybe I could reappear and testify. But he did it again, he was totally discharged of anything and they decided I must have had an accomplice that got me out of the house. Seeing him again was almost more that I could handle but I had to know."

She fell silent, looking at her wedding picture with distaste, avoiding Black's eyes. She didn't want to see the pity and horror in it. He cut in her musing, "How were they called?" She looked up at him, "Who?" " That gang, you mentioned they had a scary kind of name, I wonder what kind of name you could find scary after all you've gone through." "Oh! Them." She opened the scrapbook and pushed it towards him. It was full of newspaper cuts.

"That's the memos I've found, the police has published it to see if anyone could tell them anything about the organization. Its name is 'The death eaters'.

Black went still as a statue, his face a mask of shock. He was looking, horrified, at the logo of the group on the page: a black skull.