Chapter Six: Desperate to Die

The world was watching. Watching as the Ministry in Britain tore itself apart. Watching as Voldemort rose ever increasingly to power. Watching but doing nothing. The weeks that followed the Dark Lord's official return were met with bated breath and political posturing. Runcorn was desperately trying to convince the families at large that he was the man to protect them, while those who were beginning to support Dumbledore cried out for more active leadership.

There could, naturally, be only one candidate. After waking up to find her niece dead and her entire existence thrown into question, it was safe to say that Amelia Bones was looking for a fight.

Dumbledore had other ideas, a fact that Sirius Black was being roundly told through a cocophony of swearing and outrage. It would've been nice to see the Amelia he remembered, if it wasn't for the circumstances. Fire and brimstone, that had been the Amelia Bones that had swept the Auror Office by force. That had been the Amelia he'd so admired, even if James wouldn't stop teasing him for it. How different things could've been. And how bloody disappointing they always were.

She'd found out about his innocence a few weeks before, when Dumbledore had inducted her into the Order. She'd basically been living at Grimmauld Place since she'd woken up. The place was starting to look like an Orphanage for the lost and baffled of Magical Britain.

"The gall of the man!" Amelia raged, throwing back another shot of Firewhiskey and slamming it onto the table. "Telling me not to be Minister! For what? My safety?"

"Albus never really liked authority," that was her fifth one in almost as many minutes. He eyed the glass warily but didn't take the bottle from her. He wanted to keep his limbs attached. "The Ministry doesn't exactly have a good track record with Voldemort."

"And it never will with Runcorn!"

"I don't see why you shouldn't go for it."

Thin lips twitched into something that might've once been a smirk, but that was too hollow to be close to anything associated with mirth. "Thank you! Finally, someone willing to talk sense." She refilled her glass. "I never thought it'd be you." She eyed him imperiously. "To be quite honest, I never thought I'd see you again."

"You and me both."

Another second and the glass slammed back on the table. "What was it like?"

"Azkaban?" she nodded. "Like this. What you're feeling right now, only it never goes away."

"You think it will?"

"I know it does."

"How? Tell me. How can this ever stop?"

"You find something else to live for." For Sirius that was Harry. For Amelia, well, for Amelia that should be leading the Ministry. Not Runcorn. To hell with Dumbledore and his scheming, Albus mightn't care what happened outside of the Order but everyone else did. "And if you don't, it'll just eat you up until you wish you were dead right along with her."

"Albus seems to think I'll be just that if I'm Minister."

"At least you'd die trying to save people, rather than alone in a Manor with no-one left to love."

"You were never this depressing."

"Things change, but that's just my point." Sirius reached for the bottle and tugged it slowly away from her. Her dark eyes followed every inch of its journey. "You came here because you wanted the truth. Well, here it is. It's hard, heartbreaking and messy. You'll want the day to come where it's all over 'cause maybe that just be that little bit easier. You wind up hating everyone and their god-awful lives, because why do they get to go on living while you're just wishing they'd cursed you too? Why do they get to keep the people they love, while you didn't even get to say goodbye?

"You know, it took Harry nearly dying for me to realise all of this. I was a dead man walking, just itching for a fight because I knew if I could find one I might not make it out. I might finally, just for once, get some peace."

"And now?"

"Now? Well, now I might have a chance at living. If you follow Albus's advice, you'll be just as desperate to die as I was. At least being Minister, you might actually get to do something. Set the bastards straight and give 'em hell while you can."

It would be said later on that Amelia Bones ran for Minister because it was the 'right thing to do' or because she'd seen firsthand what kind of Ministry Runcorn was leading and wanted to fix it. They were right, in a way, but the reality was far more simple. It was a whole lot of spite, firewhiskey and an old friend pushing her when she needed it.

They talked a little while longer and when Amelia left, Sirius stared into the fireplace, his long fingers running around the rim of his shot glass. Things were changing and war, whether they liked it or not, was on their doorstep. He thought of Harry and the others, yes they were kids but they'd get mixed up all of this one or another, whether Dumbledore or the rest of the Order liked it or not. They were involved. They always had been. The irresponsible thing to do would be to carry on like normal, stick their heads in the sand and pray to whatever entity would listen. That was bloody stupid. No, like it or not, they had to do something.

The night was long for Sirius, but when he finally made his way to bed that evening, he just hoped he'd finally managed to do the right thing for once in his life.

In Surrey, far from the pep talk of an aged ex-Auror and convict, Harry Potter was facedown in a pillow trying not to let all the demons that had happily been getting the better of him for weeks win. It was almost impossible. No matter what Daphne told him, or Hermione, or Ron, or even Uncle Vernon's yelling. They were all so real and he was… something else.

But could he be something better?

He'd told Daphne he wanted to be. And he did. He really did. But wanting to be something and actually doing it were two totally different things. And what could he do from here? Weep? Read the papers and have a good sulk? He wanted to be out there. He wanted to fight.

That was the real joke. It all down to him and yet the Ministry would expel him from Hogwarts and chuck him in Azkaban if he so much sent out sparks from his wand. What could he do against Voldemort without magic? Throw sticks at him? And then there was the Horcrux. Some days he was sure he could feel it. There was no news from Hagrid, every day he was in France made the reality that this might be it so much more real. But at the same time, the flame of hope still managed to burn, if not inside him, then in Daphne. She would never give up on him, even when he'd wanted to give up on himself.

From downstairs the door opened and Harry heard muffled voices. Then it shut. Probably a delivery driver.

He rolled over on his back and stared up at the ceiling. It was cracked. His eyes traced the stressed lines in the plaster, wondering if it had always been like that or if the signs of age had appeared while he'd been away.

Then, quite suddenly, his door opened.

"Potter for goodness sake, put that down." Professor McGonagall, her emerald green robes clashing with every single memory he'd ever had of Privet Drive, snapped from the doorway. Harry, who had snatched up his wand hastily from his bedside table, didn't lower his wand. A few years ago, he would've done. Hell, even after the Tournament he might've. But this was different. He wasn't a foolish boy anymore.

"Prove it's you."

The shadow of something akin to a smile seemed to flicker on her face. "You asked me to send a letter to Sirius Black at the beginning of last year, which I maintain was incredibly commendable."

"Sorry, Professor."

"Nonsense. You are right to be cautious." She let her sharp eyes wander to the rest of the room. Harry wasn't too stubborn not to feel embarrassed. He hadn't been expecting visitors. "We are leaving."

"What?"

"I taught you everything I knew about Occlumency and fought for you with the Headmaster," Professor McGonagall snapped, "I did not do so, Potter, for you to wallow in self-pity all summer. Pack your things. I am moving you tonight."

"But Dumbledore -"

"Is aware that there are spies everywhere," Professor McGonagall huffed. "We cannot be too careful. Now. Pack."

He shoved as much as he could manage into his trunk without it bursting open. It was so surreal. Professor McGonagall of all people in Privet Drive. She didn't help but instead kept her focus on the window. Outside a car trundled by. A girl laughed. Life, for all intents and purposes, carried on.

There was a very awkward moment in the hallway when Professor McGonagall insisted that Harry say goodbye to his relatives. None of them said anything. Only when he muttered a quiet "bye then" and turned did he hear Uncle Vernon say "good riddance."

"They truly are the worst muggle I have ever seen," Professor McGonagall seethed as she let Harry slam the door behind them. His trunk caught in the stones of the driveway and he had to yank it free as Professor McGonagall strode out before him. "Now, Potter, take my arm."

"Your -"

"Yes, we don't have all day."

Hastily, Harry grabbed the proffered limb. One minute they were in the middle of a quiet muggle street and the next… He had expected London to suffocate his senses or even the quiet of the Burrow to meet him. What he actually found was Hogsmeade. The streets were empty, students weren't falling over themselves to visit the various shops, nor were the many adults that normally lived their happily peddling their wares and racking in the galleons. Instead, Harry had been dropped in a deserted street.

He knew better than to question McGonagall, so followed her up towards the castle without a word. The summer breeze tickled his hair, occasionally pushing black strands into his eyes. Muscles that had been tense for longer than he could remember seemed to relax just at the sight of the castle. No matter what Dumbledore was up to or the impending fight that hovered on the horizon like a spectre ready to reap the souls of the dead, it was good to be back.

"As you are aware," Professor McGonagall began as they ascended the stone steps into the Entrance Hall. "You are not allowed to use magic outside of school."

"Yeah, I know," Harry muttered, painfully aware of clause seven of section nineteen thanks to Dobby's hovering charm and the bloody Dementors. "But what's that got to -" He paused, letting his brain catch up with his mouth. "You're training me?"

"I believe I have trained you enough, Potter. Besides, there is a lot to be done and certainly not enough of us to do it. There is, however, more you can learn and a rather able tutor on hand."

There was a loud bark-like laugh that Harry recognised in an instant. "I think that's the first time you've ever called me 'able', Minerva." Sirius Black grinned from his position mid-way up the large staircase that led into the belly of the school. "Hello, Harry."

"Sirius!"

Despite seeing his godfather not long ago, Harry practically leapt at the man. There was no shame in it, and even if there was Harry didn't care. Vernon and Petunia hadn't exactly been the best hosts and he'd barely seen Daphne or anyone since being back at Privet Drive thanks to the stupid security measures the Order had put in place.

"Good to see you too," Sirius said when Harry finally relinquished his hold on his godfather. "C'mon, let's get you upstairs. I'll show you what we've got so far. There's not a lot, but it'll do for now."

It was more than 'not a lot'. Up on the seventh floor, thanks apparently to Harry's (or rather Dobby's) discovery of the Room of Requirement, Sirius had been able to create a duelling room. It was similar to the DA's setup, but the dummies actually shot spells back at you. Two long vents were set into the floor, and when Sirius tapped them with his wand they let out plumes of grey smoke. It turned red if Harry strayed outside of the confines or, if Sirius preferred, could spread across the room and severely limit his vision. Not all duels could be fought in broad daylight.

There was a small bookcase set into one wall, which Sirius said could summon any book they needed (so long as it was actually in the school library or the Black library). Beside the bookcase was a large cauldron, which despite Harry's best efforts to complain about Sirius insisted was important. After all, aurors needed to know their poisons and antidotes.

"I'm working on more stuff," Sirius said when Harry had finished inspecting the room. "Field exercises, resilience training, that sort of thing. I thought we could split the days, theory in the morning," he gestured to the bookcase, "and then practical training in the afternoon. I've got Mad-Eye onboard and Tonks, when she can."

"Sirius this is…" but the words couldn't come. There were none. For the first time in his life, someone actually wanted to help him prepare. No wanting to give him a life or treating him like a child. "Thank you."

"Thought it was about time," Sirius shrugged, "and the others can come too, if their parents let them that is."

"Since when did you care about that stuff?"

"Since I had to get Minerva's help to set all of this up," Sirius grumbled, "if it was up to me I'd make you all do it, but she insisted and I needed her to get it past Albus."

"You mean Dumbledore didn't -"

"What do you think?" It wasn't really a question. Of course, he hadn't. Since when had the Headmaster ever actually prepared Harry for anything. The sliver of resentment that had snagged onto his heart pulled at him again. It was becoming increasingly harder not to resent him. "If it was up to Albus you'd all be cleaning my place. Why I've no idea, but since all that business with Voldemort the Order's not really his main concern. Slughorn's disappeared."

"Who?"

"Vile worm of a man if I'm honest with you, Harry, but apparently a useful one. Dumbledore reckons he knows about those Horcruxes, so he's trying to find him. Probably not the only one." Harry didn't need to ask who the other player in this game of cat and mouse was. "He's been quiet since those attacks, overplayed his hand. But there's rumours he's trying to get what's left of him back."

"How come he hasn't done it?"

"Snivellous seems to think he can't get to them. Hopefully, it gives us enough time to get you ready."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Let's just hope it does," Sirius clapped a hand on his shoulder, before forcing what looked like a contorted kind of smile on his face. "Right, let's see what you've got."

It wasn't pretty. Harry had always known he'd been lucky, he wasn't an idiot, but it took Sirius all of twenty seconds to disarm him. The second time it was fifteen seconds. Sirius moved faster than anyone Harry had ever seen, his wand flashed through the air like a sword and Harry couldn't even register what spells he was using, let alone fight them. He tried to focus on the fundamentals of wordless magic, the ones Sirius had tried to teach him over Christmas, and once or twice managed to almost catch his godfather out - although he always side-stepped or summoned something to block the attack.

After a few minutes of being roundly embarrassed, Sirius put a stop to the duelling and started to show Harry where he was going wrong.

"You're too safe," he chastised, "expelliarmus, really? You've got to fight, not just cast spells. And keep your eye on my face, that's the trick to it. I might not shout what I'm doing, but I've got to think about it. It's all concentration, so put me off, do something I'm not expecting."

"Like what?"

"Summon a book from behind me, blow up that cauldron, explode those dummies, anything that'll put your opponent off. It's not just a case of stringing together the best spells, any idiot can do that. Most wizards learn a pattern or have a favourite spell and use it time and again. It's good because they don't need to think, it makes them faster but -"

"You can read it?"

"Ten points to Gryffindor," Sirius smirked, "tell you what, let's get that stance sorted and then we'll work on your spells, alright?"

And they did just that. Every day. Harry's stuff was moved to Grimmauld Place by some members of the Order, but instead of being trapped within its walls, Harry spent most of his time in the castle with Sirius or one of the other tutors his godfather had lined up for him. It felt good, right even. It was like his mind had been lost and this finally gave him focus. He didn't even mind the physical conditioning Sirius insisted on.

Steadily their small group grew. Tracey, unsurprisingly, was first thanks to everything that had happened with her family. Hermione came next. Ron and Ginny were banned from even mentioning it by Mrs Weasley, although Sirius suspected that they would be able to join soon enough. The final additions came in the form of Daphne and Astoria, although, Harry dreaded to think what that conversation had been like.

oOo

"You have already put our lives in danger," Daphne's mother's cool response wasn't unexpected, but it was annoying all the same. Daphne broached the topic of Sirius' Bootcamp, without naming the Azkaban escapee by name, at dinner one evening. Well, not any evening. It was an anniversary or rather a memorial. They didn't say anything, they never did, but the small makeshift household by the sea was quieter than normal. Even Astoria was subdued. They were thinking, more than that, they were grieving. Years didn't make it easier, they just made the memories harsher to bear and easier to bury. The wounds were still as fresh, the scars ready to open without a second's hesitation. "You may do as you please, but I will not condone Astoria's involvement."

"But mum -"

"Your sister has made her choice, Astoria. I advise that you are wiser."

Yes, because God forbid falling in love was an actual thing that happened to them. "Voldemort's going to come after us sooner or later," Daphne snapped, her usual tact and patience evaporating as it always did before her mother's facade of love. "Surely it's better we know how to fight?"

"Funny," although there was no humour in the remark, "I had believed this little hovel was safe."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, that you have condemned your entire family on a whim. I'm quite aware."

"You didn't have to come."

"Oh, didn't we? Or do you think the vultures weren't circling? That Malfoy wasn't plotting and scheming with designs on your sister." The all too familiar stab of guilt shot through Daphne's heart. She'd known it was a possibility but the idea of a marriage contract to steal away Astoria had been repulsive at best. "You left us no choice. Neutrality was an option but now it is a fantasy. If you wish to die, that is your prerogative, but I will not condemn you both."

"But Daph's right," Astoria's voice didn't waver, Daphne would always remember that. She wasn't afraid, not anymore. "You-Know-Who could figure where we are, or the charms could fail or whatever. I don't know. But, surely it's better to know how to defend ourselves? Dad would've -"

"Your father isn't here."

"I know," it was then that her sister cracked, but Daphne couldn't blame her. The spectre of their father hung over the family like a ghost, unable to move on from the world. Trouble was, he had. That was just his memory and to Astoria, it was barely even that. The idea of him. Daphne wasn't sure what was worse, knowing what she'd lost or never knowing him in the first place. "But he died for this, for our choice to do what we wanted. He never wanted to fight and I'm not saying I do either, it's just -" she swallowed, tears were welling in her eyes, "I don't want to leave you. Both of you."

The concession wasn't grand. A small nod, but it was the first Daphne remembered in her lifetime and she expected it would probably be the last.