This isn't so much a story as a few scenes which give context and background on who Mira Calytrix, the OC from A Sense of Urgency (begins posting tomorrow — Mon 27 June), is and where she came from. They're not relevant to the plot of that story, but I'm guessing at least some of my readers are going to want to know more about her, so.
"Have you any last words, Miss Evans?"
The condemned witch turned to face the small crowd which had assembled in the Auditorium of the Veil to witness her execution, unnerving green eyes searching for those of a desperate, dark-haired man, bound in chains. Her...husband, for lack of a better term. Their marriage, only intended to legitimise their child, had dissolved weeks before. Albus wasn't sure whether it was a kindness for him to be here, allowing him to share her last moments, or unimaginably cruel, forcing him to watch her die. Perhaps both.
She found him at the side of the crowd — mostly Ministry officials and a few Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot, here as witnesses; a dozen Unspeakables, cowled and silent, waiting to observe the phenomenon (the Veil was rarely used as a method of execution these days, not since the dementors had been corralled on Azkaban, which meant they rarely had occasion to see anyone cross it); a reporter from the Prophet — surrounded by guards — half a dozen aurors, their wands at the ready, just waiting for him to do something phenomenally reckless in a last-ditch effort to save himself and his lover.
"I'll come back for you, Sirius," she said calmly. Firmly. Anger simmering just under the surface, carefully controlled. "I promise." She turned as though to walk through the archway, head held high — proud and shameless, even now, condemned by all — then paused. The room tensed. "The rest of you... You're all going to die eventually, and when you do, I'll be waiting for you. I promise that, too."
She continued walking without encouragement, stepping through the Veil and out of the Mortal Plane, leaving behind an unaccountably shaken crowd — even knowing that she was gone, that no one had ever come back through the Veil, and the idea that she would somehow be waiting for them when they all eventually died was even more ludicrous, there was something unsettling about that cold confidence — and her lover, cackling.
"Well, Black's finally lost it," Lord Carlisle muttered to Lady Wirth.
"I think that carpet's long-since taken flight, Jonathan," she responded, at a perfectly normal volume. "He did use an Unforgivable Curse on the Chief Warlock when he confronted them about the girl's crimes. Not surprising, of course — it was only a matter of time with that one — but still."
Sirius heard them, giving them a wolfish grin, in spite of the guards tensing around him. "I haven't lost it, Eunice. Ritualists always keep their promises. If she says she'll be back, she'll be back. And if I were you, I would be very concerned about exactly what she has in store for you when you cross the Veil yourself, you despicable old hag—"
Alastor silenced him, cutting off what would almost certainly have been a scathing tirade and earning himself a hateful glare. "Let's go, lads. Take him back to holding. Transfer'll be in this afternoon..."
The room emptied quickly, until Albus was alone with young Jamie Potter, and the whispers of the Dead. The young man still sat staring at the Veil, as though transfixed. Albus laid a hand on his shoulder, concerned. "Come, my boy. We should go..."
He startled, shaking his head as though coming out of a trance. "I know, sorry, it's just... It's so hard to believe— How did I never see it, Professor? I knew what she was doing, just... She was helping people! And I didn't– I didn't see how far she'd fallen. And I knew better, damn it! I know that the Dark Arts are corrupting, that it's a slippery slope, that once you start, it's so hard to stop— I should have said something, done something, gotten her help..." He wiped a tear from his eye, turning away in the hopes that Albus wouldn't see him cry, though Albus couldn't think poorly of him for it. It was heartbreaking to see two such promising young people fall into the Dark, all the more so, he imagined, for James. He and Sirius had been as close as twins since the age of eleven, godfathers to each other's children... "And I didn't, and I didn't even see the effect she was having on Pads, dragging him back into that shite after he worked so hard to claw his way out..."
"I know it will be hard, my boy," Albus offered, squeezing the shoulder still in his hand. "But you cannot blame yourself. The only thing you can do for them now is take care of their daughter as though she were your own, and...try to move on."
"I don't know if I can do that, sir," the young man admitted, drawing in on himself, clearly ashamed. "She— Mimi, she looks just like them, you know. Like Paddy, but with Lily's eyes. I don't know if I'll ever be able to...not see them when I look at her. And..."
"And?"
"Well, it's just... Harry's only a few months older than she is, I might not've noticed if he weren't, but it's just...there's something creepy about that girl, the way she watches people. She never cries or fusses, either. It's just...not natural. Tiff was relieved at first she's an easy child — she's not happy, having Mimi dropped on us so suddenly when she's due again next month—"
"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten you were expecting again. Do you know yet if it's a boy or a girl?"
That brought a smile to James's face, in spite of the circumstances. Albus was well aware that one of the greatest regrets of Charlus's life was that he and Dorea hadn't been able to have more children, that James had always wanted to be part of a large family. "A girl. We decided on Elizabeth. Tiff wants to call her Betty." Albus nodded. "But about Mira," he changed the subject back, anxiety returning. "I'm not sure... What if there's something...wrong with her?"
What if she's dark-minded, he meant. It was a rather pernicious belief in British society, and an unfortunately tenacious one, that some children were just born dark, irredeemable from the start. Albus firmly disagreed. Yes, he had on occasion met children who had been corrupted at extraordinarily young ages, most raised in Dark Houses. Tom Riddle, probably the worst case he'd ever seen, had even managed to discover the power mind magic could afford him independently and fallen into dark habits before he was officially informed of the existence of magic. But even he had not been born evil. He had chosen to become evil, to embrace power and reject his place among his fellow men, abusing them even as a child himself, and refusing to reform himself when he was shown the error of his ways.
"Jamie, my dear boy," Albus chided him gently. "The child is only, what? A year old?"
"Almost. Her birthday's at the end of July."
Albus nodded. "I refuse to believe that a child who has scarcely been weaned has the wherewithal to truly welcome evil into her soul."
"Well, no, but I mean... What if she's like Sirius? Just...not quite all there?"
"And what do you think Sirius might have been like, raised in a lighter and more loving family?" Albus asked. When James continued to look doubtful, he added, "Don't worry, my boy. I'm sure you and Miss Davis—" ("Missus Potter," James corrected him. Albus smiled to have gotten a small, self-satisfied smirk out of the boy.) "—have more than enough room in your hearts for little Mira Black, and that with enough love and support, she'll turn out just fine."
"I really hope you're right," the stubborn boy frowned.
Albus sighed. "Of course I am. Now, my door is always open to you, you know that, but I believe there is a very pregnant Missus Potter eagerly awaiting your return, is there not?"
The self-satisfied little smirk returned. It would never fail to warm Albus's heart, seeing his godson's only son — a young man who was his grandson in all but name — so pleased to be starting a family of his own. "Yeah, she probably is. And Harry. He's starting to talk now, you know. You could come over for dinner, see if we can teach him your name."
Albus chortled. His name would be an awful mouthful for a little lad, but he wouldn't mind hearing him try. "Well, how could I say no? Shall we say...?"
"Six," James supplied.
"Excellent. In the meanwhile, however, I do have several unpleasant meetings yet to attend this afternoon, and you had best be off."
He fancied Jamie left in a much better mood than Albus himself, though the idea of a family dinner to attend tonight did give him something to look forward to. Something to help carry him through the equally — if not more — depressing second departure of the day. Albus blamed himself no less than James did, he was sure, for failing to see how deeply Sirius had fallen back into the Dark until the very moment his Imperius had shattered Albus's shield charm. Until that instant, he'd still believed there was hope for the boy, that he could be made to see that he had lost his way again. But no.
It was no joy to see anyone shipped off to the dementors, of course, or walk through the Veil, but after ten years of watching Sirius Black struggle to reject his family and their traditions, of helping him find a path out of the Dark, believing that he had truly done so, and then losing him so suddenly, with no warning that he had been wavering in his commitment to the Light... There had at least been hints that Lily was still more politically aligned with the Dark than the Light over the years. Albus had always known that she was only on his side because the other side wanted her dead for the crime of being born to (for all any of them had known) muggles. Like so many ritualists, there had never been much hope of saving her — she had much preferred to surround herself with her delusions, and rejected any suggestion that the 'gods' she spoke to were merely an expression of her own desires, reflected by magic, not consciousnesses in their own right.
On the other hand, watching Sirius Black be portkeyed away, to live out however many wretched years he might, surrounded by those horrible creatures, felt like a personal failure.
At least it's over, now, he told himself grimly.
The war would go on, of course, Ainsley was no closer to prising Mann from the grip of the Death Eaters than Crouch had been, and altogether more concerned about being summarily assassinated, should he engage in more...left-handed strategies to draw them out. And yes, there might very well be an issue in years to come, when Arcturus, the ailing patriarch of the House of Black, finally died, leaving Bellatrix as their de facto Head, and little Mira Black (presumably) her heir — nothing had been said thus far, but Albus suspected she would not be pleased with the girl remaining here in Britain to be raised by the Light, rather than in "New Avalon" — as a de facto hostage. But for the moment, the hardest part, seeing the death sentences of two young people he failed so spectacularly to save carried out...
That, at least, was over.