Trapped
Chapter 65
Tuesday, November 4
After the unprecedented Patronus, Harry took a while to get his heart-rate back to normal. Deciding to sleep it off, he downed a goblet full of the Dreamless Sleep Potion and lay down on the bed, which still smelled of burnt smoke. He could feel the effects of the potion beginning to sweep over him like a strong, sure tidal wave, pulling him under. He relaxed into the sensation, anticipating some much-needed sleep when the strangest thing transpired.
He thought he could hear loud bangs and people storming into his room, even though his vision had gone hazy.
"It's Potter!"
Panic was slow to hit him and even though he tried to sit up, he knew it would be an impossible feat for him to stand and fight whoever it was. His wand was inside his rucksack, which was merely two feet away from him, but Harry couldn't see it nor summon the energy to reach for it.
With uncooperative hands fumbling on his bedside, he somewhat succeeded in retrieving and putting on his glasses when he heard a scream and the angry hissing of his new friend from somewhere close by. "Master, wake up!"
He was trying, he really was. But perhaps an entire gobletful of potion had been too much, for Harry could feel himself being dragged into oblivion against his will and the next moment, his terror at having been found was washed away and he was out like a light.
oOo
"My Lord. We have the best news."
Standing beside the tall, open window, Voldemort did not turn around, focused as he was on the wand in his hand, the one that belonged to one of his Death Eaters. It irked him to hold the thing – what a shame it had come to, that he ought to depend on the wand of a lowly servant instead of a wand as equally powerful as him.
Or even more.
Now that he had discovered that the boy who had stolen from Gregorovitch was none other than a young Gellert Grindelwald, it would be prudent to make a journey to Nurmengard as soon as possible.
"We've found him," said Yaxley. "He's being brought now as we speak, my Lord."
Voldemort glanced up from his wand still with his back to him. "Which one?"
"The boy," said Yaxley ecstatically, unable to contain his glee. "Travers and Rowle were in Cokeworth, planning to set loose a few Dementors when they accidentally spotted a Patronus by the window of some dingy hotel in the vicinity. Potter did not even have a wisp of security enchantments about the place. It was only too easy to subdue him."
Voldemort smirked, the only outwardly show of his delight. "Bring him here."
Yaxley acknowledged him and exited, leaving Voldemort alone in the stately room. He frowned, his snake-like eyes narrowed in mistrust – that Potter had not been under the Fidelius alone was enough cause for suspicion. Severus was right when he had assessed that Black would not have let him out of his sight.
A moment later, the door opened again and Voldemort turned around in anticipation. Bella entered first, a look of pure exhilaration on her face. "My Lord! My Lord! We've found him!"
Travers and Rowle followed next and held between them the boy, who appeared on the verge of unconsciousness. Yaxley and Lucius brought up the rear, all of them with their faces unmasked, triumph evident in their faces.
Voldemort moved towards them, as noiselessly as a Dementor, eager to ensure his Death Eaters had not been mistaken. In the flickering light of the candelabras, he could clearly make out the face, his scar.
It was Potter alright. His eyelids were half-open and sluggishly blinking, seemingly unable to realize that his life was going to be snuffed out of him once and for all in a few moments.
"What have you done to him?" Voldemort turned towards Yaxley, demanding an explanation.
"That's how we found him, my Lord," muttered Travers, a tremor in his voice. "Could hardly put up a fight."
Intrigued, Voldemort glanced at the boy again warily. He was itching to pull out Lucius' wand and fire the Killing Curse. His power would never be questioned again.
But something was holding him back.
It was too simple… effortless. He had come to expect the extraordinary out of every encounter with the boy so far. He would not be tricked once more. Lord Voldemort was anything but a fool.
"My Lord, what are you waiting for? Kill him and be done with it!" screeched Bella anxiously.
"Quiet!" he hissed, making Bella bow down meekly. Travers, Rowle, Yaxley and Lucius seemed unable to look up at him; which was good, for Voldemort had spotted something that made him feel an icy fear course through his veins.
It was impossible!
Dangling from the Potter boy's neck, slightly hidden beneath his jacket, was the glint of a golden locket he had last seen decades ago.
"Leave us."
All five of his men looked up at him, as if they had not quite heard him properly.
"Leave," he spat venomously. Travers and Rowle let go of the boy like their hands had been burned and Potter crumpled to the floor. Pathetic.
He felt a tic in his jaw when Bella stayed behind as the others left. "Unless you want to be the first one dying in this room…" he hissed threateningly. Bella scurried away, face flushing in humiliation.
The door slammed shut, leaving him alone with only the Potter boy, still slumped on the floor.
A Horcrux in Potter's possession? His Horcrux!
Fleetingly he thought of the other ones, the ring in the old Gaunt house, the diadem secured safely in Hogwarts, the cup in the Lestrange's vault. Could he hope they were safe?
He waved Lucius' wand around him, causing the walls and the floor to glow a dull orange, ensuring there would be no eavesdroppers. Whatever he had planned for Potter was washed down by the dread of what he was going to find. Just for good measure, he pointed the wand at the boy, who was the cause for all of his apprehension and whispered, "Crucio!"
Potter showed the first stirrings of life when he screamed, writhing on the floor. The Slytherin's locket was now in full display, the emerald eyes of the snake winking at him tauntingly as it caught the light of the candelabras.
With two long strides, he crossed the room and crouched down next to the boy whose fingers were twitching, his eyes screwed shut. Voldemort grabbed hold of the locket with such force that it lifted the boy from the ground and he hissed, "Open!"
The locket clicked open, swinging apart to reveal its two glass faces, looking as ordinary as it had been the day he had found it in Borgin & Burkes.
He stared at it with his mouth agape in horror, wondering what had gone wrong. He could distinctly feel his heart thudding relentlessly against his chest, an unfamiliar sensation. He grabbed the boy's face by his neck, nearly choking him in his fury.
Potter groaned, a pitiful sound, but Voldemort felt no mercy for the wretched boy when he murmured, "Legilimens!"
oOo
There were voices around him, familiar and distinctive, even if Harry could not comprehend what they were saying.
Although he always saw through Voldemort's eyes, this time, he was seeing the pale, snake-like face peering at him, red eyes aglow with curiosity. His scar was prickling faintly and he was aware that he was being held up by hands only when he felt them abruptly let go of him and he hit the ground with a thump.
He was struck with a dizzying array of emotions, none positive or even discernable. He saw a fleeting vision of a ring, a tiara and a cup before something hit him. He had the slightest feeling of his arms and legs convulsing, an effect of the Cruciatus Curse. Bizarrely, the pain was not as debilitating as he thought it would be. The sharp, hot pain which usually accompanied a Cruciatus, was now only a dull, throbbing ache. He was detached from his body, like he was observing himself through a foggy glass wall being subject to the Cruciatus Curse instead of being on the receiving end of it.
Harry was not complaining however; he didn't fancy the torment of the Cruciatus, but the effects of the curse stopped for a moment and he relaxed, grateful of the reprieve. He blinked blearily and saw a blurry image of Voldemort's face so close to his own.
The foggy wall he was seeing through seemed to get distant from him. He felt like he was floating, dreaming. He could no longer see Voldemort, but was instead shrouded in darkness – a darkness so intense that Harry thought he had lost his eyesight.
Suddenly, after an indeterminate amount of time, the glass wall was rushing towards him like it had been released from a slingshot; muted sensations returned to life and the entirety of his torso and limbs burned in agony. The prickling in his scar ascended to a searing hot pain and realization dawned on him – this was no dream. He was very much in the presence of the real Voldemort, the latter who was still gazing at him inquisitively.
Dread fluttered inside him, his heart pounding against the base of his throat. He searched his pocket for his wand but found that it was missing.
He thought frantically, 'Accio wand!' but his wand did not come zooming straight into his hand as he had hoped. Resigned to his circumstances, Harry glanced up at the snake-like face watching him and swallowed.
He could abruptly hear Voldemort's voice with full clarity and the latter was speaking to him. "You have something of mine."
The locket! He had seen the locket! Harry knew he was in deep trouble and he clutched the locket, not wishing to part with it. Momentarily, he was calmer, more relaxed and a voice whispered inside him to let go of his fear. He was in safe hands.
The same eerie feeling of earlier took over him, the fog settling in again – there was no fear, no panic in the recesses of his mind where he had taken refuge. He felt much stronger when his mouth moved to form the words, "It's not yours."
The dialogue that proceeded after that was again only a subdued sense of awareness as he looked on from behind the glass wall, his surroundings appearing murkier than earlier. He was talking, but he couldn't comprehend what he was saying – it was the same as it had been when Harry had hit that girl.
Somewhere inside him, he could sense the terror, but even that he couldn't feel fully. Truly, he had never been more confused and helpless as he had been then.
And then he heard the words—that name—drifting in his mind.
Dampened nerves fired up with vigour again, fury dominating them all. The man before him assured him of an outlet to his rage. The idea was strangely alluring, giving him a focus to satiate his drive.
He was left alone then and Harry was drained, like the entirety of his energy had been sapped out of him by the close proximity of a hundred Dementors at once. It was like someone had stripped him of his body and given him no form nor shape to command. It was eerily cathartic. Surely, he should be more concerned about his inability to see anything or feel?
It nevertheless made him want to succumb to the nothingness, and with no objection in mind he gave in.
oOo
After what felt like days, Harry stirred – his limbs were heavy and he had an ache pounding against his temples. Catching a glimpse of the room he was in, he was certain that his nightmare had not ended. All he could remember was being brought in and then finding himself on the receiving end of Voldemort's Cruciatus.
Harry strained his memory, trying to recall what had happened before he had passed out. Unbidden to him however, images floated into his mind of a cup sequestered inside a vault, surrounded by gold and the tiara hidden among lost things.
It was like a bulb had been set off in his head. Excitement was bubbling inside him. This was what he had been patiently waiting for: an opportunity to find the location of the Horcruxes from within Voldemort's own mind. He was grateful now that he hadn't tried to shut off the connection between his and Voldemort's mind.
At that moment however, there was a lurch in his stomach when he realized that Voldemort had seen him in possession of the Horcrux.
Harry fumbled under his jacket and was surprised to find it still around his neck. He frowned however, realizing the peculiarity of the situation. Voldemort had let him have the Horcrux? Why?
Harry glanced at the locket in his hand again and faintly remembered the echo of a voice. Take off the bloody locket…
He ought to and he knew it. But hadn't he tried that already?
Harry finished packing his rucksack and traipsed down the stairs. Demelza was curled up on the moth-eaten sofa, her eyes wide and unblinking as she stared at Harry's approaching form openly in fear.
Harry reckoned he ought to say something to her, perhaps apologize for what he had done. But what would be the point? It had not been a simple accident that they could both brush away under the rug and forget about. No, it was better that he left her alone until Twitchet could get back.
He strode out of the door and sat himself on the pier outside the shack, the salty air filling his nostrils. He was still in a mixture of shock and disbelief at what had just transpired. He stared at the locket in his hands, the thin golden chain still slung around his neck. He had no doubt that it was the cause of everything. Harry blamed himself for not deducing sooner the reason behind his occasional lapses in time.
Of course, it had been the locket! He had been wearing a piece of Voldemort's soul around his neck. He was stupid to have believed it would be without consequence.
He needed to stop wearing it.
Even the mere thought was appalling to contemplate. But Harry summoned his willpower and after a mental battle against himself, he took it off.
Already, he could feel the absence of the metal on his chest poignantly. Strange, thought Harry. While it had been on his neck, he had never noticed it.
A sickening realization dawned on him. Had Demelza been right then? Had he been possessed all along and not realized it?
He was met with an abruptly strong urge to hurl the thing as far away from him as he could. Without a second thought, he drew back his hand and launched it into the sea, where it broke the surface of the water with a small splash.
Only a moment passed before he swore loudly, cursing his idiocy – it was a Horcrux that needed to be destroyed! If it wasn't, then Voldemort might never be defeated. Without wasting another second, he put up his hand, "Accio locket!"
But when the summoning charm didn't work, Harry stood up and hurriedly removed his rucksack. He leaned forward and prepared to dive into the sea to get it back before it was lost forever, when he felt a white-hot burn around his neck.
He hissed in pain and put his hand to his neck to find the locket there, intact and perfectly dry.
A cold shiver ran down his spine, leaving him unnerved, even as a wave of relief swept through his body.
There was a loud crack and he knew Twitchet had likely Apparated into the shack, eager to tell them the good news.
Harry did not have time to wonder how the locket had made its way back to him again. He only knew that when Twitchet took him and Demelza to safety, he wouldn't go along with them.
The sound of the door clattering open made Harry cease his pondering and he looked up. Lord Voldemort was striding into the room, closely followed by cloaked men who were forming a semi-circle around him with Harry in the middle.
Harry's scar was prickling again. With his compromised position and the lack of a wand, he was feeling too exposed surrounded by men and women who all harboured the same killing instinct as the wizard who was standing before him.
He tried to sit up when Voldemort waved his own wand rather lazily. It felt like someone had slammed two boulders on either side of him, holding him in place on the floor. Harry groaned against the invisible force but all it served to cause was a round of titters across the room.
Voldemort, while looking amused, was not laughing but merely contemplating him with interest. Harry, who would have usually braved the scrutiny and stared right back, was unusually hesitant to meet the snake-like eyes. Something about Voldemort's stare was rather piercing and downright unnerving, like he could look right into the depths of his soul.
"Severus, come forward," drawled Voldemort. There was a moment of silence before one figure broke away from the circle. The man's black eyes were trained towards the man in the centre while avoiding looking at Harry's form slumped on the floor.
"Yaxley tells me they found the boy somewhere in Cokeworth," said Voldemort slowly.
Snape's bowed head jerked upwards with something akin to shock. "My Lord?"
"What was the boy doing so close to the place you call home, Severus?" asked Voldemort with a calculating frown.
Harry had never known Snape resided in Cokeworth. Snape too seemed alarmed by the line of questioning and said coolly, "I have no idea, my Lord."
Voldemort was gauging the truth in Snape's words by looking into his eyes. Snape, for his part, stared back unflinchingly and Harry reluctantly marvelled at his courage that he currently lacked.
Voldemort, seemingly satisfied, broke away from their staring match when Snape shot a curious glance at Harry who was bound to the floor. Voldemort continued speaking to his men. "Nevertheless, I am particularly gratified that you were able to find the boy alive and unharmed. You shall both be rewarded."
Like a teacher having praised a student in class, Harry thought he saw Rowle and Travers puff out their chests in pride.
"If I may, my Lord," said Snape silkily and when Voldemort glanced at him, he went on. "Why haven't you killed the boy yet? It would be your greatest accomplishment to finally defeat—"
Harry found himself screaming at the swift curse that befell him, catching him off-guard. While being unable to move, the Cruciatus was pure torture and he wished he would lose consciousness just to escape from it. When it stopped as soon as it had come, Harry tried to control his ragged breathing.
"My greatest accomplishment? To kill him?" Voldemort said sardonically, before making a tutting sound.
Snape, who had been watching Harry in horrified fascination, retreated back into the circle.
Voldemort addressed the room. "How many more Cruciatus curses can he withstand before he loses his mind? Bella, you would know the answer to that."
Bellatrix cackled from among the crowd, standing just a bit closer to Voldemort than the others. "Let's see, my Lord," she said, sneering at Harry. "The Longbottoms held for nearly fifty rounds. But they were full-fledged Aurors. The boy would be dead by thirty!" She laughed maniacally, joined by the others. The hair on the back of Harry's neck stood up at the menacing sound.
"Then why didn't you kill me?" he whispered hoarsely, before coughing, his throat still too sore. "What do you want with me?"
The laughter died down and Harry could feel the weight of everyone's gaze on him and Voldemort.
"What do I want with you?" repeated Voldemort, his voice merely above a whisper. The colourless lips on his pale face curled into a smirk. "I want only one thing from you, Harry."
Harry knew he could only mean the locket around his neck. But another part of him also knew that if Voldemort had wanted it, he could have simply taken the locket from him and Harry could not have done anything about it seeing as he was effectively powerless.
"I want you to join me."
While Harry's breath had hitched in surprise, the Death Eaters around the room had erupted into shouts of disbelief and shock.
"My Lord, what are you—" began Bellatrix, screeching above the din.
"Silence!" hissed Voldemort, his eyes flashing threateningly and shutting them up in an instant.
"You're out of your mind," croaked Harry, before groaning out loud when the iron-grip he was being held in, tightened further, threatening to break his bones. In a moment of survival instinct, Harry willed to have Voldemort's wand in his hand. His non-verbal spell worked and Voldemort's wand jumped into his hand, breaking off the invisible force that was crushing him.
Harry staggered to his feet unsteadily, pointing Voldemort's own wand against him. There were yells all around as wands were whipped out of cloaks and aimed straight at him.
Voldemort was unfazed by all the commotion as he raised an arm to halt his men in their tracks simultaneously producing another wand from inside his cloak. In a single motion, the wand flew out of Harry's hand and he was thrown backwards off his feet. He hit the floor with a resounding thud, his glasses flying off of his face.
Voldemort advanced towards him but Harry could see nothing more than a blurry image of his attacker.
"Wandless summoning charm?" said Voldemort, interestedly. "At seventeen?"
As he spoke, Harry could feel the red eyes boring into his as he went on. "I see," said Voldemort finally. "You've been training under Black."
Harry blinked, puzzled. Black? Sirius.
He realized at that moment with an unsettling indifference that it had been so long since Harry had even given his godfather a proper thought.
He heard Voldemort speaking as if from a distance, "I will ask you again, Harry. Join me and we could end this war."
Harry frowned. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Voldemort had planned to kill him since he was a baby because of a prophecy. And now, he was doing a complete turnaround that baffled him. It made no sense for Voldemort to think he could convince Harry of all people to join him. Was he finally conceding defeat then? Was he too scared to try and kill Harry now after having failed to do so again and again?
A hundred hot, sharp invisible knives pierced through every inch of his body, ripping out a scream from his throat while his lungs burned in agony. The pain stopped after a moment, and tears stung his eyes while his limbs were still trembling from the remnants of the Cruciatus.
He could hear the smirk in Voldemort's voice while he threatened him plainly. "Make no mistake, Potter, asking you to join me is my mercy on you. Not a sign of me yielding to you. One wave of my wand is all it takes to have you dead on my feet, remember that."
Harry did not have the energy to speak, and he tried to stop his shaking fingers by balling his fists.
"I see you still need… persuasion," murmured Voldemort, glancing at him thoughtfully. "No matter… Lord Voldemort always gets what he wants. And it will only be a matter of time before you succumb to me."
Voldemort then addressed his men. "Nobody is to know that we have found Potter or that he is being held here. Let the Ministry pretend to continue to search for Potter and the rest of the Order."
"But Master," cried Bellatrix Lestrange. "Master, why not kill the boy? We've been waiting for this day our whole lives!"
Harry lifted his head up despite himself, curious as she was.
"Whether I choose to kill or spare the boy is my business, Bellatrix," Voldemort said in a high whisper that was audible through the room. "You will do as you're told and refrain from questioning me again."
Nobody dared to speak and Harry only heard a low murmur before he was pushed out of consciousness by a bolt of red light that struck him out of nowhere.
oOo
Wednesday, November 5
"Tonks..."
The witch in question did not acknowledge him, choosing instead to lounge against the headrest of her bed and took a sip from the large mug of hot chocolate that she had procured from Kenny, the house-elf. Remus was downstairs overseeing the practice session and Sirius had pulled aside Tonks to her and Remus' room since he needed her help with something.
Sirius' patience was already stretched thin due to successive events in the past forty-eight hours. He breathed through his nose, trying hard to not show his annoyance as he ventured again, "Tonks, you know I was only putting on an act…"
"Oh really?" asked Tonks with mock surprise. "Well congratulations, that was very convincing," she said scornfully. "So convincing in fact, that I can't help but wonder if you're doing it again right now."
Sirius sighed, closing his eyes. He knew he had upset her, but he had not realized the degree to which she had taken offense to his comment in the Order meeting.
While Sirius had been lying to an extent, it was not completely false. Even though he knew in his heart that Tonks would be hard-pressed to betray him, a miniscule part of him would forever hold her and every other person he grew to care about in arm's length. Never again would he allow himself to be taken by surprise, having had his trust maimed by Peter Pettigrew.
He would take that thought to the grave however.
"Don't you know me better than that?" besought Sirius. "You're my favourite cousin's daughter. You're family even if you had not married Remus."
Tonks sulked, not meeting his eyes, yet listening avidly.
"I wasn't going to show that prejudice in front of everyone, was I?" asked Sirius. "If you'd taken advantage of it and not signed the Vow, imagine how it would make the others feel."
Tonks lowered her mug and looked right into him, her natural brown eyes seeming darker than usual. "I would never have taken advantage of our friendship like that. Even if you threw fifty different parchments at me, I would have signed them blindly! That's how much I trust you."
Sirius swallowed, unable to retort. While he was warmed by her words, he was ashamed by the guilt of knowing that he could never say the same to her.
He simply nodded in gratitude. "I know that now."
Tonks held his gaze for a moment longer, before she set her mug down and straightened. "What is it that you wanted to discuss with me anyway?"
Sirius stood up from the loveseat he had been occupying. "I've gone to a lot of trouble to track down her address. I'm going to meet her and I want you as my backup."
Tonks frowned in puzzlement. "Who?"
oOo
"I was rather expecting you would come sooner or later," said the loud, austere voice of Griselda Marchbanks, eyeing them with a beady stare as soon as she opened the door.
Tonks shared a fleeting look with Sirius, the two of them having travelled far to reach the house of Professor Marchbanks. Tonks remembered the woman vividly from her Hogwarts years, having been invigilated by her for both her OWLs and NEWTs. The elderly witch was a slightly stooped, greying woman who only came up to Sirius' shoulder in her full height.
"Can we come in, Professor?" asked Sirius managing to sound polite yet urgent.
"'Course, of course," she said, throwing the door open wide.
"Er—you should check if we're actually who you think we are," mumbled Tonks, clutching her wand in her pocket. Sirius had assured her that he had been keeping watch on Marchbanks for a while and was certain she was not being watched or Imperiused. But still, it wouldn't hurt if the old witch showed some precaution.
"Sirius Black and Nymphadora Tonks," Marchbanks announced plainly. Sirius instinctively glanced behind them, ensuring they were well alone while Tonks made a shushing sound.
"Undesirable No. 1 and 2 respectively. You've been on the Prophet every day, I'm surprised you came in without a disguise," said Marchbanks without lowering her voice.
"Alright, alright," hissed Tonks, hurrying inside with Sirius at her wake.
The house was as old as her, the drawing room as large as the one in Harry's home. The walls were patterned with flowery wallpaper that had faded from age and teeming with framed paintings; an entire cupboard was dedicated to a vast variety of tea cups in every shape and size, from dainty florals to polka dots and pinstripes. Photographs of a multitude of young witches and wizards, presumably her grandchildren or great-great grandchildren (both seemed plausible to Tonks) were displayed atop a large chest of drawers. The fireplace was surrounded by comfortable-looking, plaid armchairs while a thick, paisley carpet was spread underneath it.
Professor Marchbanks shut the door and turned to address Sirius. "I could have sworn it was Arcturus who walked in through the door. The likeness is uncanny."
"He was my—"
"Grandfather, I know," she said, waving her hand glibly. "I went to his funeral when he died a few years ago. Decent chap if you ignored his unholy sprogs."
Tonks snorted but Sirius pressed his lips together. "Yes well, we're not here to talk about my family," he said brusquely before softening his tone. "We need to discuss something important, Professor."
Marchbanks motioned for them to sit down, while waving her wand and three delicate silver goblets of mead were conjured out of thin air. Tonks took hold of two of them and handed one to Sirius.
"This is for that little group of Dumbledore's, is it not?" she asked in a booming voice, while conducting her wand. "The one that has been on the Prophet?"
Tonks supposed the witch was hard of hearing with the way she kept speaking in loud tones. It was to be expected. She was the oldest witch Tonks had ever laid eyes on – she should be well into her second century.
"Yes, ma'am," said Sirius, clasping his hand around his goblet and inclining his head. "I know Dumbledore was a good friend of yours. With the current quandary we're in, we need all the help we can get."
"Now look here, Black," she began, "I might have supported Dumbledore for what he believed in, but I am no fighter. I have no use getting myself involved in a vigilante group which thinks it can overthrow You-Know-Who of all people."
"Vigilante group?" repeated Tonks, bristling. "Dumbledore started it!"
"He might have, but he is no more," said Marchbanks, her tone sombre as she lifted her goblet wordlessly in a toast and drank a mouthful. "You know, he tried to get me to join him the last time around. Dangerous man, Albus. He had a way of making friends but almost always ended up luring them to their deaths."
Tonks blinked owlishly. Marchbanks was famously vocal in her support for Dumbledore. And yet, for her to make a statement like that seemed uncharacteristically odd. Perhaps, she had been reading Rita Skeeter's book too?
Sirius was listening intently with his eyes narrowed.
Marchbanks sighed. "Still, you'd never have met another wizard like Dumbledore. Exceptionally gifted and ultimately, he stood for what is right, which is all that matters." She paused before stating, "Without Dumbledore, I do not reckon any of you have a chance."
"Is that what people like you think?" asked Tonks, shaking her head in disbelief.
"You're giving up even before the fight has begun," pointed out Sirius.
"The fight started many, many years ago, Black," said Marchbanks sagaciously. "Tell me what progress you had made with the first Order. I saw the Prophet's article – nothing but a long list of deaths of respectable families of witches and wizards."
"You should have asked that to Dumbledore," snapped Sirius, agitated. "Besides, I didn't think we were choosing sides which were more likely to win this war. If we did that, we're no better than the Death Eaters."
"I am not choosing sides, I am being pragmatic," said Marchbanks at once, sipping on her mead before speaking again. "A group of ten, twenty-something, is never going to win against the likes of You-Know-Who's ranks."
"You're right about that," agreed Sirius amicably. Tonks shot him a look, taken aback by the complete shift in his disposition. "So what do you think we should be doing?"
"Disband," said Marchbanks in a plaintive tone. "Go and hide if you want to save yourselves. You already have a price on your head that is enough to make even your best friend betray you simply for the gold."
"Why did we even come here, Sirius?" asked Tonks , waspishly. "I didn't need to hear this load of tosh from someone who we were hoping would help us!"
Sirius shot her a look as if asking her to be patient. "You cannot disregard what the 'twenty-something' are capable of, Professor. You should have heard by now what happened on the Hogwarts Express during the start-of-term."
For the first time, Marchbanks appeared unsettled. "The Muggleborn students were all missing, save for a handful. That was you?" she added in disbelief.
"They have gone into hiding," said Sirius, nodding. "Until a time we can be sure that they will be welcome among us and not carted off to Azkaban for being born a witch or wizard. If things go on as they are, their leave might be indefinite. But think about it, Professor. Young witches and wizards can hardly control their accidental magic for a long time. They are bound to be found sooner or later and they are definitely not going to be left without a severe punishment. Even though you're in the Wizengamot, you've not been able to change any of the decisions they've been taking lately. Do you really need that kind of blood on your hands, Professor?"
Marchbanks blinked, staring into the fireplace without a word. Tonks had not even considered that possibility before and glanced at Sirius, horrified by the idea.
"And what of Hogwarts?" pressed Sirius, ducking his head to look at Marchbanks better. "The Carrows are teachers now. I can only assume what is going on in there as we speak."
"McGonagall and Flitwick will not allow—"
"McGonagall and Flitwick are only two teachers. They are working under Snape, the man who killed Dumbledore himself."
"It was not Harry Potter, then?" said Marchbanks interestedly.
Tonks let out an incredulous laugh, amused by the idea which she had heard countless times even at work before she went into hiding. People assumed Harry to be far more competent than he really was. Not to discredit any of Harry's abilities, which were still rather astounding for a boy of his age, but to think he was capable of killing the Headmaster of Hogwarts? It made no sense to Tonks how they could make such an assumption of the kind, well-mannered boy that she knew.
Sirius raised his eyebrows. "You've met Harry before. Does he seem like the boy who could have done something like that, Professor?"
"You would be surprised by the number of seemingly innocent students I've come across who eventually went astray, Black."
Tonks had heard that Marchbanks had even supervised Dumbledore when he sat his OWLs as a boy. If so, she had surely seen You-Know-Who when he was still in school, and perhaps his cronies as well. The idea of a boy You-Know-Who made Tonks shudder.
Marchbanks drummed her forefinger against the stem of the goblet she was holding, deep in thought. "But it is hard to imagine the boy who famously defeated You-Know-Who, would have taken his side. I might be having a failing sense of hearing but I am no fool."
"You understand then why it becomes necessary for you to help, don't you?" said Sirius. "Without Dumbledore, we're…" Sirius hesitated, before he sighed, "we could really use some help right now."
Marchbanks exhaled, cursing colourfully and making Tonks wince at the sheer variety of swearwords she could conjure out of her mouth. "Jings crivens, help ma boab!" muttered Marchbanks under her breath before she said loudly, "You're as compelling as your old man was Black."
"You'll agree?" asked Tonks incredulously.
"Yes… Merlin knows why I am agreeing to this balderdash, but yes," grumbled Marchbanks before turning to Sirius again. "I will help, but I am not going to be duelling those masked men anytime soon."
Sirius smiled. "No ma'am, I reckon we will have much better use for you than that."
oOo
A/N: A year since I updated - And what a beautiful year it has been! I got married and it's been such a whirlwind that I couldn't find the time for fanfiction.
As always, this story is not abandoned, but please expect slow updates, because, you know - life.
A special thanks to all those who reviewed for the last chapter and to the lovely PMs I received from my readers who dropped in to check on me.
