"I can't believe she was in Slytherin."
"Honestly, and I thought she couldn't get any worse ..."
"Look at her, smiling at us like she's our mother, the foul, igno -"
"Are you sure you want to finish that sentence?" Draco Malfoy swaggered round the corner, sneering at the louring Ravenclaw as the remaining students trickled into the Great Hall around them, yawning and using the little energy they had to either grumble about or glare in disgust at Umbridge.
"Not in front of you, no," the girl replied, polite.
He grinned, fidgeting with his wand. "Ten points from Ravenclaw."
The girl only rolled her eyes, leading Draco to dock another set of ten, wishing he knew something about her to mock as he returned to the Slytherin table.
Overhead, the ceiling was an ocean-deep blue, verging on completely dark, the light of the approaching dawn barely muting the faintest of stars.
Draco folded his arms and leaned against a snarling stone gargoyle, its emerald claws hovering above his head as he eyed the teachers' table, where the usual chatter and discussion had all but died. The once talkative Charms Master sat wooden-faced next to McGonagall's empty chair, a silent Professor Snape scanning the Hall around him a seat away, not a dash of exhaustion in his expression as he did so. Near them, Professor Sprout stretched heartily, her hair looking even wilder than usual, and Grubbly-Plank lifted her ageing but strong hands to sip from a massive, steaming mug of something that stained her mouth a deep purple, blinking as if she were unsure whether this had been part of her job requirements or not. Meanwhile Professors Sinistra and Vector were sat near the ends, both women doing nothing to conceal their distaste at the state of things, the former glaring at Umbridge so resolutely Draco wouldn't have been surprised if she had been performing a jinx. Finally, at the front, the Omnipresent Toad herself beamed brightly, pink cardigan and beret slightly rumpled over her figure as her orb-like eyes darted over them all, annoyance peaking through her strained smile.
Draco wrinkled his nose at her, pondering on how things would've been had he simply gone to Durmstrang rather than putting up with this nonsense and regretfully acknowledging that it was no longer an option; his mother would lose herself if he started studying at a school reputed for teaching the Dark Arts now that the Dark Lord was back and recruiting - a Death Eater was a potential future she had never liked for him, not that her opinion really made a difference.
Nearby, Blaise sipped from a mug of ink black coffee, inconspicuously moving away from a heart-eyed Millicent Bulstrode who was clearly hoping he would let her rest her head on his shoulder if she pretended to be sleepy. Draco's mind slipped to Pansy's constant nabs for his attention and he shuddered, grateful for the presence of the ten people separating her from him.
He yawned, eyes flitting to the other side of the Hall where Weasley and Granger's hard-to-miss heads were swivelling desperately at the Gryffindor table as if searching for someone, faces oddly pale and stricken with what, even at such a distance, was loud and worried fear.
He frowned, hurriedly following their gazes up and down the disgruntled Gryffindors to see what they were looking for and, with an airy joy, realised why they were so worried; Potter was nowhere to be found on the benches.
His stomach did an excited swoop at the realisation - this had to be the end of Harry Potter, the idiot's expulsion was something even someone as foggy-eyed about the future as Sybill Trelawney couldn't miss, he was sure if it.
He smirked knowingly when his gaze met Weasley's, the anxiety in the other's eyes turning to intense dislike, and held the contact for a second before looking away and peering at the teachers' table instead, mind racing as he wondered whether Professor Snape had noticed. He had made to raise his eyebrows at the man only to find that his chair had been vacated.
The image of the writhing Dark Mark, soot-black and permanent on his father's arm, was something Draco couldn't have stopped from entering his mind if he had tried and frankly, he hadn't - this was good news, was it not, the fact that minutes after Potter's disappearance, the only Death Eater in the castle had too?
Before he could formulate an answer, the thud of the Hall's doors closing sounded under Filch's bleach-worn hands; Dolores Umbridge had risen from her seat.
"Hem hem," she began and Blaise to choked on his coffee. Draco stifled a laugh but let a grin appear as he thumped Blaise's back, thinking that things could only get better from now onwards - he knew it like he knew the feel of his wand in his hands or of gold in his pockets; the universe had taken an undeniable turn in Draco Malfoy's favour tonight.
———
But Merlin forbid if it could do the same for Sirius Black.
"SIRIUS!"
"Argh!"
For a fleeting second, Sirius thought he was dying, and he wondered in panic if he had turned off the stove after his miserable attempt to bake cookies this evening: perhaps some Death Eater had shown up without his knowledge, seen the smoking oven, and had gotten the idea of a quick and easy explosion to kill him, which was admittedly quite a pathetic way to die, but then his head met the ground and fireworks of pain burst in it, his previously weightless insides becoming less so as he realised the floor was still very solid in its place under his back. Swearing profusely, he struggled to his feet and wrestled out of the tablecloth, wondering who had been mad enough to yell so loudly in Grimmauld Place.
Wincing at the newly-formed bump on the back of his head, Sirius clambered down the stairs and into the hallway where his mother's portrait screeched with hair-raising agony, a short figure with bubblegum-pink hair pulling uselessly at the curtains that had previously been draped over her. Of course, it was Tonks; only someone related to the Blacks could be crazy enough to shout in this house. She waved cheerily and mouthed a 'hi' when he entered, face flushed and hair spikier than ever. On the wall to her right, Great Uncle Arcturus yanked out his hearing aid and chucked it at the rim of his picture frame, giving Sirius poisonous looks as he half-heartedly returned the greeting and the two cousins attempted to quiet the menace of a portrait, Sirius resisting the urge to slash it with a knife like he had the Fat Lady's two years ago.
"FILTH, BLOODTRAITORS, SCOUNDRELS STAINING THE NAME OF MY FATHERS!"
It was a few minutes before the house returned to silence, the echoes of Walburga's tormented existence as a painting gradually leaving it.
"Phew," Tonks exhaled, grinning broadly as she wiped sweat from her forehead. A tiny gemstone earring glinted on her ear lobe, a wizarding take on the once popular Muggle mood rings of the 70's, its yellow colour vibrant against the decaying green shades of the wall paper - his mum's screaming had clearly done nothing to dampen Tonks's mood. "Your Mum really must've been something."
"Don't remind me," Sirius murmured, massaging his temples as the pair left for the kitchen, unanimously agreeing that a cup of tea was in order. "D'you mind telling me why you thought yelling my name here at midnight was an okay thing to do?"
She smirked.
"Don't you dare," he warned, not in the mood for dirty humour at the moment, glowering at her to make sure she knew it. "We're cousins, for hell's sake!"
"Fine, fine," she nodded, "But tea first - this is a long story -"
"- and you want to do it justice."
"Who gave you permission to finish my sentences?" she retorted, rubbing her eyes as she dropped into a nearby chair and balanced it on its hind legs, feet propped on the dining table. "Less tea, more fire whiskey though, I'm feeling celebratory."
"Right."
Three minutes later, he was seated beside her, involuntarily eyeing the fireplace from which Harry had talked to him about James not too long ago. He picked up one of Uncle Cygnus's swirly cups and sipped, bidding any sleep he could've salvaged tonight goodbye.
"Alright," began Tonks, pulling out a grey hat from her lap and plopping it on her head, the ugly violet feather on it falling over her face.
"Where did you get that from?" Sirius asked, mildly amused, staring at the plastic beads glittering on the rim.
"Your attic, didn't know your family were a trendy bunch," she sipped, pinky sticking out so her teacup shook. "It's my story-telling hat now."
"They weren't," he corrected. "My father used to go after Muggles who annoyed him in his youth, he kept souvenirs."
Tonks winced, lowering her teacup. She took off the hat and threw it across the room like a frisbee, looking torn between disappointment and surprise.
"Jeez," she frowned, "does everything have to be so intense with you guys?"
"You missed the worst of it," Sirius said honestly. Indeed, this had been just one of many such examples of the 'intensity' involving members of the Unstable and Most Mentally-draining House of Black. "Anyways," he tilted his still throbbing head, "care to tell me why you interrupted my much needed rest in the first place?"
"Oi," Tonks wagged a finger at him, mock disapproval on her face, "we're supposed to be celebrating right now - I just did something amazing."
"You could've brought cake then," he countered.
"Shut up, you can bake some yourself."
"You should've seen my cookies this evening."
"Cookies?"
"Burnt. Buckbeak liked them though."
"Damn it," she deflated slightly before perking up almost as quickly. "I found out something yesterday."
She unzipped her dark leather jacket, an assortment of makeshift handkerchief pockets sown on the inside, face lighting up as she sought the right one. Sirius knew better than to comment - Tonks's odd fashion choice was something he would've familiarised with at one point - and settled with taking in the various designs instead. Here and there he'd spot a silk handkerchief, followed by a tartan one, and then peony patterns - he almost did a double take when he spotted one with tabby kittens on it, all with very familiar spectacle markings around their eyes. "So you remember that picture I showed you?" Tonks asked. "Of that house? The one I found outside your brother's room?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, I know whose place it is!" She flourished the photograph from a bowtruckle-patterned pocket, slamming it on the tabletop in her excitement - despite her mother's hopes, the woman had clearly inherited the Black dramatic flair. "I asked Mum about it, kind of as a last resort. She -"
But before she could finish, a surly voice issued from behind them.
"Nymphadora."
They jumped, Tonks whirling around in irritation at the name. Sirius instinctively looked to the fireplace but found it grey and ashy as ever, gaze veering up instead to see that a shapeless Patronus had appeared in the doorway.
"Go to the Hall of Prophecy," the Patronus went on, Snape's low tone ill-fitting with its silvery grace. "Potter and Longbottom are missing."
There was a wet clatter as Sirius's hands lost their grip on the teacup, brown pooling over the table and falling with a steady drip drip to the floor. He drew his wand, knuckles white and stiff around it, his movements fluid in his break for the front door, desperation and determination flooding his mind, both propelling him forward none too differently. A rush of blood surged in his head, bringing fear with it, the familiar effects of adrenaline causing him an unsolicited feeling of excitement - he almost looked over his shoulder to see if James had begun running after him yet.
But then a jet of light hit him from behind, and the world went dark, his feet numbing mid-step so he crashed and sprawled onto the floor. The last thing he saw were the floorboards he had so loved running on as a child, Regulus's whoops of joy as Kreacher chased them drowning out the elf's requests that they give back his wooden spoon. He found himself wondering whether Harry had ever had that growing up ...
———
It took Tonks a second to realise what she had done after she had done it. Her cousin lay unconscious at her feet, wand inches from his fingers, black hair flung out beneath him. Her anger at being called her birth-name had dissolved and guilt shrouded her instead, wand hiding as if it were ashamed in her pocket.
Almost like a recording, Remus Lupin's words played in her head, promises Tonks had made that she hadn't quite prepared herself to keep but done so anyway - her cousin's form on the floor a testament to the deed.
"Don't let him out of that house, please." How wary and desperate he had been when he had pleaded with her to take his friend's life in her hands if she could because "he'll die for me, Tonks. For Harry. And he deserves more than that."
And she had agreed, he hadn't asked her to die for him after all, Tonks laughing grimly because it was true - Sirius Black deserved better, infinitely more so than what he had gotten, and now she would have to go after him and stop him from dying every time something went wrong (and Merlin, did things go wrong) and he tried to help (despite the world thinking him a crazed killer) so he could get everything he had been compromised for so long and ashamed as she was to admit it, it was also mostly because Remus Lupin had asked her to.
The sight of him wrapped up in a shabby jumper, eating a bowl of dreadful, soggy corn flakes after a difficult moon would never leave Tonks's memories, the remnants of rouge slashes across his young face telling more stories of anguish than she had heard throughout her life. He hadn't said it but she knew he'd requested this because he'd been unable to envision any more transformations without any of his school friends by his side, with no one to call him 'Moony' and tell him it was fine now, that he was not a monster no matter how much he stressed that he was. And she had been fine with it, really.
What Tonks had been unable to disclose to him had been, she mused, that she too would willingly die for him, would take a Killing Curse to the face if it meant he could live one more day, miserably if he had to, dredging each minute by in hollow apathy even, just so he could watch the sun overtake one more full moon with a blanket on his back and someone to give him chocolate and coffee because Merlin, she was Nymphadora Tonks and she was madly in love with Remus Lupin, an absolute prat who couldn't see himself beyond the bite on his shoulder to the gilded soul that he was.
It was then that it truly hit Tonks how grey a quality loyalty was, the picture of loud, sarcastic Sirius Black knocked out on the floor assuring her of it - loyalty was no different than bravery or intelligence or whatever ideology it was that Slytherin stood for, that kind, just Hufflepuff didn't necessarily equate to good because 'just' changed from person to person, from Sirius, who wanted to fight, to Remus, who made sure he wouldn't, not until the mass-murderer label was out of the picture at least.
Frowning, she stepped onto the doorstep of Number Twelve and gripped her wand. She had a feeling that Mad-Eye would give her a grunt of approval for her actions - "Thick skin's armour and easier to shed, the Slytherins got one thing right," he would have reminded her.
In a crack, she vanished, the house behind her stuffed into the compartment of her mind reserved for the soon-to-be future, tears pricking her eyes only for the suffocation of Apparition to force them away.
———
January, 1982.
A quiet, musty night never meant no one was in pain.
"Keep screaming, love, no one's going to hear you!"
Cold, hard laughter rang against the walls of the house, but not outside, the woman's crooked and wicked wand wreaking havoc on Alice's body, her terrified baby swaddled in his cradle and sniffling quietly upstairs, unable to stem the tears streaming hotly down his cheeks. His hands were balled into fists, devoid of defiance but teeming with confusion, terror, and yearning for the embrace and warmth he had been promised just hours ago, the twinkle in his huge eyes reflecting fear while an unexplainable instinct kept his lips sealed, refusing to let more than an inaudible whimper escape his mouth.
But his mother's mind felt like melting iron, her skin sizzling with electric pain as if needles were being pushed into it one after another. She felt around for her husband's hand but found only more pain when a boot stamped on her fingers, the blood losing its wetness as the curse shot through her again, her throat soon feeling like a hollow where words had once formed, a lullaby had been sung, a spell had puffed up the foamy cream on her tea to cotton candy-like life again ...
Alice Longbottom had been in pain before but not like this, never like this ... never so horrible that she had trouble remembering who she was ...
And it was over before she could recapture the memory.
The diamond from the wedding band adorning her bloody finger had rolled into her palm at some point, whispers and fleeting thoughts the only thing intact in her head now, the silence sending pangs of fear through her like the first church bells after a funeral. She couldn't bring herself to try to find out where she was - in the dark and shadowy room, no one, if they were there, had done anything to help her off the floor thus far - so it must've been better to stay on the ground, safer, perhaps.
White light from who knew where flashed on the ceiling at regular intervals through the open window, a vague green tint to it, dry, leafy breezes blowing in and tapping the glass, an almost serene aura to the dust they carried. She stared at the ceiling, a lovely chandelier unfitting for the pain she was feeling swaying unlit and graceful above her, wind chimes occasionally daring to sing in the silence. Her fingertips were cold and her dress felt like it belonged on a much younger woman, a happier one, she imagined, perhaps lovingly married and successful, her nails painted peach and void of dried blood in the crescents and her hair braided with flowers to one side rather than the matted mess that cushioned her head.
Maybe she would return the dress to the woman someday, she thought miserably.
She wove in and out of consciousness, the white light becoming less prominent each time as the sky outside lightened, tardily transitioning from a pale blue to a washed out gold as she blinked and opened her eyes, each minute jumbling her thoughts further.
Out of nowhere, the sound of a baby crying reached her ears and she felt anxiety pricking up her legs, trying to place why it was making her feel this way. Was the child all right? Why was no one going to comfort it? Where were its parents? Was it being hurt too?
When no answers came and the cries persisted, she forced herself to get up, wincing at the aches pinching her body. She limped up the stairs, her feet seeming to physically resist the action, she feeling like an utter stranger in the house but doing her best to remain quiet nevertheless, not wanting to disturb any sleeping inhabitants - what would they do to her if they heard? - although it was nearly morning by now.
Eventually, she located the room, opening the door to find a red-faced baby sobbing in a cradle, stopping when he caught sight of her. She smiled, faltering slightly as a streak of pain caused her to grab the wall for support.
"M - mama?" the child sniffled, hiccoughing. The curtains were drawn, refusing the weak, early sunlight entry, and she supposed she must've resembled his mother for he showed no resistance when she walked up to him and wiped the wetness from his face with her clean hand, thumbing his cheeks softly.
"There, there," she comforted hoarsely, hardly registering how tired she was now - the child's eyes were a pair she could swear held magic, losing her discomfort in their innocent depths as he stared into hers. "Mama will be here soon, don't worry."
Just then, the door was flung open so hard it ricocheted off the wall opposite, a tall figure silhouetted in its entryway as lamps flared up of their own accord all around them, causing the pair to shield their eyes from the glow. It was a woman, her hair greying and a few wrinkles marking her skin, a stick held aloft in her hand and distress written on her face.
"Alice?"
The whisper caused her to look around, checking if there had been someone here whom she had missed, but there was no one here apart from them.
"Sorry?" she prompted as the child began crying again, this time loud and with snot trickling from his nose, cheeks reddening almost as soon as the first wail escaped. But the older woman didn't respond, a single tear sliding down her face as her knees bent and she leaned on the doorway, gasping through heavy sobs while the stick rolled forgotten by her feet, the picture of defeat and hopelessness in all that humans could be.
She couldn't help but wonder who Alice was.
———
For a moment, Bellatrix heard Frank Longbottom in his son's cries of pain, the writhing figure on the ground resembling another in a way she could never have anticipated it would, his hands curled into tight fists as if waiting to hit the instant the opportunity arrived (like that would make anything better) and in a fraction of this time, she felt a tingle of indescribable remorse, of sinful, human guilt.
Then she laughed, the act causing Malfoy to shoot her a disturbed look and Dolohov to avert his gaze, the rest gladly ignoring her, and like the moonlit silence of her cell in Azkaban before the dementors rattled by, it was gone.
She almost wished Potter wouldn't come tonight.