I don't know what it was with this chapter, but I found myself writing in 200-word spurts rather than a steady stream like I normally do. Hopefully that won't continue to be a problem.


Chapter 22
Darker than Black

Jen warily eyed the copse of trees sitting before them. It looked like someone had cut out a section of ancient, undisturbed jungle and transplanted it directly into an urban park. A taunt referencing their attack on the Buckleys, perhaps? Regardless, the Muggles' reaction, or lack thereof, to the bizarre sight made it clear that magic was involved. This had been set up for them. "This has to be a trap."

"It undoubtedly is," Priest agreed, "which is unusual for him. The Turk normally pursues his foes, not lies in wait for them."

"So why is he acting differently now?"

"We do not normally work so closely with his targets as we have with you. For just the two of us to work together as well as we do took time, and we do not have enough time to build those same understandings when the Turk goes hunting. You have actually been unusually accommodating in that regard."

She gave that comment a thoughtful hum, her attention still focused on the trees. "You're sure he's in there?"

"He has erected his elemental anti-scrying wards, so we can not know for a fact that he is there, but between the ineffectiveness of Menagerie's splanchomancy and the sudden appearance of this miniature forest last week, I highly doubt that he is anywhere else. Not to mention," he added with a disinterested tone, "I saw a figure dressed in a white robe enter the forest about three hours ago."

"Lead with that next time," she told him sharply. "There are wards against teleportation over the area?"

"Yes."

That was as much proof they were going to get about the Turk's whereabouts until they flushed him out, she supposed. "He's in there waiting for us, and we know it's a trap. What's the plan?"

"His plan, presumably, is to force us to enter the trees so he can slip behind us and attack without us knowing it. Or, possibly, he means to lead us in while he leaves and bring down the woods in their entirety, crushing us beneath the enormous weight. We shall do something similar."

"You have a spell that will knock over an entire forest?" she asked, one eyebrow arched.

"No, I do not. What we do have, however, is fire."

"…I have to admit, I'm starting to like this plan."

Priest grinned at her, the expression containing more of an edge than it normally did. Of course finally gaining an advantage over their enemy would be what tapped into what was left of his emotions. "I thought you might. Menagerie has already claimed the side by the coffeehouse, though I believe that was so she can purchase refreshments whenever she desired as much as anything else. You stay here, and I will take the last third. If we engulf the entire perimeter, we will know where the Turk is from where the water comes from, and then we can kill him while he is fully occupied with protecting himself from the flames." She nodded in understanding, but he cautioned, "Make sure you use something other than normal fire. So long as there is some additional quality, particularly if it is dark magic, he will not be able to hide behind a Flame-Freezing Charm."

A ball of blue and white flames appeared in her hand. "I've got that covered."

The African mage climbed down from the rooftop, leaving her alone with her flames and her thoughts. The news that her allies had found the Turk was actually a welcome distraction from the drama she had to deal with at Hogwarts. After the trip to Edinburgh, Luna's suspicion and distrust had lost some of their edge, though she had noticed Padma, Morag, and Susan shooting her strange glances when they thought she was not watching. Admittedly, she could not see them watching her, but she could certainly feel them. At first, she had been concerned that Luna might have broken the promise to keep the knowledge of her illicit activities to herself – in hindsight, she really should have erased her ex-girlfriend's memory of that night before she left, no matter how little she wanted to do such a thing – but that bout of paranoia had settled down on its own when their interactions with her remained unchanged and a company of Aurors had not descended upon Hogwarts to clap her in irons. All in all, things were starting to look up.

Looking up was not the same thing as back to normal, however. Luna might not be quite so prickly, but there still existed a gulf between them. A gulf that immediately began widening again as Valentine's Day approached. And it was an Edinburgh weekend, too, just to make the entire thing even more awkward. Several of her suitors were clamoring for her to join them on outings that Saturday, as her spending such a special day would be a huge coup for whichever wizard she was seen with, but she had nipped that in the bud as soon as Sirius's letter mentioned it. Next weekend she planned to spend with her family at Grimmauld Place, ignoring completely all the peculiarities and confusions of romance.

The signal for them to start came with Priest spraying his section of the woods with a torrent of fire, and she and Menagerie were quick to follow. The woods caught like tinder. Jen spread her cursed fire around the edge of the copse to make sure she completely blocked off any routes of escape, and only once that was complete did she command it to advance into the woods. And still the Muggles noticed nothing, she thought with a faint smile; they were walking around without a care, no more conscious of the destruction going on a hundred feet away than they had been of the trees' arrival in the first place. That woman walked from one small store to another, her two children following obediently. Those four teenagers still hid in an alleyway smoking. That man crossed the street, his white suit contrasting nicely with his olive skin—

His eyes rose to meet hers despite the Muggle-repelling charm she had cast over the rooftop.

"Shite!" She threw herself away from the edge of the building, a burst of force sending her farther than she could move unassisted. It was just enough to get her away from the spot where he appeared, the crack of his teleportation all but drowned out by the roar of the fires. The Turk flung his hands at her, and lightning crackled after her like vicious vipers.

The arcs of electricity splashed against the triangle of red light she formed in front of her. The Shchit Imperator shield, the same spell Voldemort had used to block her and Dora's attacks during the battle in Hogsmeade, was a powerful defense, one Flitwick knew of but had never taken advantage of because of its cost to the caster's reserves. Only true behemoths had the strength to hold such a shield up for any significant length of time, which, thankfully, she was. On the plus side, it was supposed to be able to withstand practically any attack, and considering how it was currently holding back the onslaught of white magic, she was willing to give some credit to those rumors.

A thin crack shot from the edge of the triangular shield almost to the center.

Before she had to worry seriously about just how much damage the shield could take before it broke, the Turk let off his assault and dodged out of the way of the night-black spear hurtling towards his back. A spear that shattered itself against her defense, which irritated her to no small degree; Priest really needed to make sure his attacks did not skewer his allies! The Turk deflected the next conjured spear with a blast of wind, another barrage of electric fury washing futilely over her shield for a moment. Then the first of Menagerie's creatures arrived, and though a bolt of lightning thicker than her wrist cooked that abomination from the inside out, the rest were not deterred in the slightest.

Knowing that he would not win this encounter, the Turk leapt over the edge. Wind wrapped around him in a howling spiral, and he shot into the sky. He was going to escape, again, and they would have to hunt him down again.

"Oh no, you don't!"

She was done trying to hunt him down. Each time he had escaped, it had been weeks or months until they found him. This was going to end now if she had anything to say about it.

Jen's flight spell kicked into action, and she followed him as fast as she could. He shoved his hand at her, and though burning hot wind buffeted her, it did little more than knock her slightly off course. It also answered a question she had wondered about since they ambushed him in his flat. They knew that he could not use his wand while he used his Patron's powers, but she did not know if he could use multiple elements at the same time. Apparently he couldn't.

That was just too bad.

A jet of deep purple light flew from her right hand, and he swerved out of the way before it could touch him. A pity, that. That spell was of her own devising, something she had worked out in all the unexpected spare time she had now that she was single once more, and she had focused on isolating the corruptive elements of dark magic and making them more than just a side effect. This spell rusted metals and rotted flesh; not all that impressive on a practical level, not when there were spells that could do those things far more effectively, but she was curious what would happen if she hit a white mage with it.

The next blast of wind became a visible crescent as it fell towards her. This one she dodged, not willing to find out just what it would do to her, and then she returned fire. A quick glance down found Menagerie and Priest following her as quickly as possible on a four-winged griffin-like creature. She had only seen the beast once before, when she and Priest returned to the black mages' base on the winter solstice and a newly awakened Menagerie had shown them just what she had given birth to, but Jen was amazed that in just the last two months, the bird had grown from the size of a newborn puppy to the point that two adults could comfortably sit on its back. Reliant on physical wings as it was, though, it was slower than the Turk and she were, which meant that if she kept pursuing the white wizard, she would do so alone.

Then again, she decided as she tore after her foe, his repertoire is limited in flight where mine is not, and it looks like I'm more maneuverable than he is. Up here in the sky, the advantage is mine.

The Turk was quick to figure this out, too, but his attempt to descend was cut off by a trio of Killing Curses. She smiled nastily. After the last five months, she had earned the right to play with her food just the tiniest bit. There was a practical purpose to her actions, too; if he were trying to land, it probably meant that he could not teleport away in midair the way she could. So long as she kept him aloft, his escape routes were limited.

As her curses filled the air, her grin widened. He kept dodging her spells, but there was only so long he could avoid her. So long as she stayed on his tail, he would not have a moment's rest, and then all she would need was for him to make a single, fatal mistake—

Shouted incantations came from behind her, and she glanced back to see just what complication they were going to have to deal with now. What she found made her curse sulfurously. Wizards and witches on brooms circled the other black mages. Worse, these wizards and witches all wore the scarlet cloaks of the Auror Corps! So far, it did not look like there had been any fatalities on either side, but knowing what kind of people Menagerie and Priest were, she had little hope that state of affairs would persist. One of them, likely Menagerie, would lash out, and then a bloodbath would result. No matter who won, it would make the near future more difficult than it had any need to be.

"Halt!"

Jen groaned. Of course. Because this was not bad enough already!

Another broom raced towards them, the rider's pink hair fluttering in the wind. "I told you to stop!" Dora commanded. Her wand was already out, and she was catching up far faster than Jen wanted. Jen was now doubly glad that she had masked her face with the Unspeakables' disguising charm; not only did it keep the Turk from finding her, she really, truly did not want to have to explain any of this to her cousin.

The Turk glanced back and forth between the two witches, a cruel smile on his face. How did he—? No, he had not realized their connection, she decided after a moment's frantic thought. He was probably just waiting to see what she would do, knowing that no matter if she attacked the Auror or kept chasing after him, it would hamper her in some way. Of the four avatars on the battlefield, she was the only one who had to stay in this country when the fight was over.

"You're both under arrest! Stop, or I will curse you!"

What was she going to do? She could not just ignore Dora's presence; the other witch did not know she was there, and that meant that Dora would continue pursuing her until she teleported away. Worse, because Dora did not know, she would not hesitate to stop her by force. After watching Dora fight Voldemort the previous year, she knew it would be a hard fight against her cousin, worse if she held back. Handicapping herself would ensure Dora's victory, which meant…

She swallowed. She had no choice. She had to kill Dora if she wanted to catch the Turk.

Her emotions rebelled at that option. She forced herself to look at it calmly, with a cold, ruthless eye. She had long ago decided that if she were ever forced to choose between her goals and her adopted family, she would choose the former. It was how she had always made her way in the world; like she told Lily Potter, she would drown someone without hesitation if that were the only way for her to keep her own head above water. This time, it was just Dora she had to shove under.

No.

"Incarcerous!"

A flick of her wrist destroyed the net that flew after her. This fight would not be the end of matters, even if she and her allies did escape. The Aurors would continue to chase down any leads about the wandless, flying witch, and eventually Dora would remember that she had demonstrated those abilities. Well, maybe not flight; that was a skill she did not remember ever showing her family. But wandless magic was rare, and the degree of skill with it that she had was, in Flitwick's opinion, unique. Dora would connect Queen's mastery with Jen's sooner or later. Once that happened, she had no idea of exactly what Dora would do with that information. She would put money down that Dora would confront her about it, though, and that made it even more important for Dora to fall here and now.

No. I can't. I won't.

"Reducto! Accio clothes!"

Resisting the pull on her outfit and dodging both the Reductor Curse and the Turk's blade of wind, Jen scowled. She did not know what she found so difficult about this course of action. It was simple! Reasonable! Why did some buried part of her resist so much?! She was not the first black witch who had to kill a member of her family. Elsie had crafted her Death Focus from her own father's skull. Priest, though he had not actually killed his family as far as she knew, had done something that was arguably worse and erased all their memories of him. Menagerie was estranged from her family for some reason still unknown to her. Voldemort, she was sure, had probably killed his parents, along with anyone else who knew his birth name and was not one of his followers. Four black mages, and none of them gave ties of blood or love any thought. She was a black witch, too; this was something she simply had to do. It was part of being a Power's avatar: cutting herself off from her former life. So why did her magic refuse to move?!

Because she isn't their cousin. She's my cousin.

I can't kill Dora.

Dora did not seem to think much of her confused revelation, the spells coming from her wand turning more aggressive as Jen and the Turk both dodged. Glancing at Jen one more time, the white wizard flung another of his sharp-edged crescents, but not at her. Dora jerked her broom to get out of the way of the attack, but her reflexes or her broom was just too slow. The Auror barely got her hands out of the way before the wind blade sheared through the broomstick, ruining the enchantments laid upon the object.

Dora fell.

What now? Hit the Turk while he was distracted or—

Jen could not even finish the thought before she was moving. Spinning her body to face the ground, she raced after Dora, her right hand outstretched. The distance narrowed. "Grab on!"

Her cousin did not need to be told twice. Dora's own hand reached out for hers, and with a desperate grab she latched ahold of the Auror's wrist. She spun, Dora flopping about like a rag doll, but for all its inelegance, the maneuver worked to bleed off most of their momentum. Now she just needed to find somewhere she could drop Dora off, preferably somewhere that was easily defensible—

Hot magic slipped into her sonar's range and then out the other side, and again they were falling. Jen screamed from the sudden onslaught of mind-shattering pain, the sound drowning out the wind as they plummeted towards the ground. She couldn't act, couldn't think. They hit the rooftop below at full speed, and their grip on each other was broken when they bounced impossibly off the hard surface. Dora rolled out of her sonar range, and she, too, came to a halt. Still her thoughts were fuzzy. All she could do was watch the darkness encroaching on the edges of her vision and the thick streams of blood spurting with each heartbeat from the stumps on her left side.

Dora staggered over and waved her wand in a meaningless manner, but whatever she was trying worked. The arterial spray stopped. Jen's head rolled just enough to satisfy her morbid curiosity. No elbow. No knee. She had lost most of her arm and leg. A faint huff was all that came out when she laughed through the agony. It would not be hard for the Turk to find her now! Just look for the crippled girl!

The older witch cast a few more spells at her, but nothing offensive. Some of them felt similar to spells Pomfrey had cast on her during her checkups in fourth year, and the rest she assumed were in the same vein. Jen blinked slowly, the world seeming to skip with every closing of her eyes. Blood loss, she knew intellectually, but right now she was too tired to care as much as she knew she should.

The next thing that really got her attention was Dora's shout of surprise and pain. Opening her eyes, she saw that the one attacking her cousin was not the Turk but instead was Priest. That was… better. Not good, but better. "Don't," she said, her voice barely audible. Her ally did not hear her. Taking as deep a breath as she could, she repeated the command with more force.

This time, Priest heard and listened. He cast again, but this spell only paralyzed the Auror, not hurt her. He walked closer and crouched next to her. "Are you growing soft on us, Queen? She and her fellows are a threat. They need to be eliminated if we are to proceed unhindered."

There went any goodwill her other persona might have earned with Dora and the DMLE. And Priest was still watching her; waiting for an explanation, maybe? "I still have to live here when we're done," she whispered. "Leave law enforcement alone. The Turk's gone. We need to go, too." Twisting just a tiny amount made her gasp at the pain lancing into her torso from her severed limbs. "And, if you can fix me like you did you—"

"I already planned to offer my services in that respect." Barely a huff escaped the African wizard as he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder as though she were a bag of grain. He looked up for a brief second, possibly to judge where the other Aurors were. That pause and her position let Jen examine Dora. Her cousin glared at them furiously, but she did not appear to be truly injured.

The tightness in Jen's chest eased a little.

The world collapsed into a hair-like thread, and they were back in the black mages' base. She tumbled off of Priest's shoulder and landed on a long cushion, like one taken from an outdoor chaise. Menagerie wandered over, her griffin-like monstrosity only a few steps behind. "You look like shit, Queen."

She was too tired to retort, and it hurt too much to make any rude gestures. The Greek witch would have to settle for a bleary glare.

"You did not look much better the first time you lost an arm." Stepping into view, he lowered a vial to her lips. "Can you swallow?"

"Potions don't work on me," she managed to sigh.

A scowl twisted his features. "They do not work at all? Without this potion, you will be unable to integrate the replacement with your body."

"At all. Try it anyway."

He shrugged and rummaged in his pockets for a moment. She hoped she could manage without the potion, but she really did not know if she could. Her family had long possessed an innate talent for self-transformation; it was why Dora was a metamorphmagus, and why Sirius and James Potter had both been able to master an extremely tricky bit of transfiguration before they sat their OWLs. Transfigurations were not permanent, but that inherited talent might be enough for her to merge whatever material Priest was going to use to regrow her arm and leg with her original flesh. If it were not….

A length of red string stretched between his hands, and he pressed a finger into her skin just a couple of centimeters from the ragged edge of her arm. Ignoring her scream of protest, he ran the string to the same point on her other arm, then from that second point to the tip of her middle finger. He gave her remaining arm a satisfied nod and walked out of her field of vision. What she heard told her what he had done, though: the long moan of a scream muffled by a gag, and then the meaty thump of flesh hitting concrete. Seconds later he returned, the hairy and muscular arm of a man in his hand. He slashed his wand through the air, and she shrieked when the end of her stump was shredded apart and blood once more spurted onto the ground.

Sticking the end of the stolen arm against her wound, he gave it a single hard rap. The tanned flesh turned white and soft, like bread dough that was waiting for the oven's heat.

The gooey mess still felt alien to her, not a part of her body. She could not reach out to it like she could the magic of her own body. Taking a chance – because if there were ever a time to use a stupid idea, this would be it – she slid her intact arm closer to her body and flicked a finger to slice through her jacket, shirt, and skin. The blood running from the cut flowed easily onto her fingertips, and she traced a single rune. Maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

The crimson symbol flew over and onto the dough and sank into it. The end attached to the ruin of her injury constricted, feeling like it was almost flowing into her body. The change creeped down the gelatinous arm, and in its wake the shrunken material took on the color, shape, and feeling of her original limb. When the process was complete, she told her fingers to give a little wiggle, and they obeyed without hesitation. It was as if she had never been hurt at—

Cold stabbed into her wrist, and she reflexively yanked her arm to her chest. It did no good whatsoever, but thankfully the pain vanished as suddenly as it had come only a few moments later. Priest pulled her arm away to examine it. "How," he asked, pressing a finger against the linear design carved into her wrist, "did you manage to scar your very soul?"

She gave the scar a lingering look, her attention specifically on the flowery designs on either end of the line. "It's a memento," she told him finally. "Something my patron gave me last year."

"Ah. Well, if it is the Gatekeeper's doing, that would be why it returned. You know you will never be able to get rid of this mark, yes?"

"I figured as much." Her voice was a little stronger now, she realized, and she took and released a deep breath. Her breathing was smoother, and she did not feel quite as tired as she had. Her little experiment with blood magic must have transformed the excess mass of the arm into the blood she lacked. "I feel better already."

Menagerie nodded with a small grin. "Just imagine how good you'll feel when your leg's back."

Now that she was more aware of what was going on, Jen cast a spell on her left hip and leg to immobilize it; there was no reason to chance knocking the end against something and dealing with the agony all over again. Another wave of her hand cursed the nasty hair that was growing out of her new arm into oblivion.

Priest chuckled faintly at the display of vanity before moving to her leg to perform the same measurements there that he had done on her arm. Her gaze followed him when he walked away, and what she found shocked her. Three people sat naked on the floor with their backs pressed against steel pillars. Two of them had their hands tied behind them on the opposite side of the pillars, but the third, a bear of a man, was missing both arms, and the lone stump visible to her was charred, almost as if someone had cauterized it with a blowtorch. They were all gagged, but none of them struggled with their bonds. They looked as though they had been drugged into a stupor.

"A stable is one of the first things we put together whenever we set up a new base," Menagerie explained. "Since Priest is all but impossible to kill and he likes to fight with a sword, he loses body parts a lot. That potion lets him turn one of their limbs into his own. It's the only way he can be as reckless as he wants."

Jen was barely listening to her. Watching Priest measure off the length of her missing leg on the man whose arm she had presumably taken already, she felt her chest be flooded with an awkward, unusual emotion. An emotion whose presence alone shocked her.

Complete, unmitigated disgust.


"Hey, Jen. Are you all right? You've been… quiet, the last few days."

"I'm fine."

That was a lie. Jen was anything but fine. For years, she had known what she was. She was a black witch, a servant of Death. She wielded powers beyond anything ordinary wizards could even try to use, fueled by the sacrifice of human lives. She was also one of the Baron's champions in the war against the Light, and she knew that were she called into service, she would fight white wizards by any means necessary, just as Priest and Menagerie did.

But there was the problem. Priest, Menagerie; they were the kind of people she was, but the sight of their 'stable' had shaken her. She had no qualms about sacrificing innocents, but while she would kill without hesitation, the thought of holding them for prolonged periods of time with no definite plans did not sit well with her, especially since she knew the other black mages would not just release their captives once the job was done. Those three would die, and that, more than anything, was what she had a problem with. It was like when Menagerie had wiped out the Buckley family. Once they knew that the Turk had never been to the compound, any benefit of killing the Buckleys vanished, and each body that fell after that was another pointless death. It was one thing to kill because she needed that death to fuel a ritual or because that person was a threat to her in some way. Then, murder was justified. It was quite another to kill thoughtlessly as her nominal allies had and would undoubtedly continue to do.

Her mind wandered back to Christmas Eve and her admission to Luna. Every time she killed someone, she had a definite purpose in mind. It was not something she did on a whim. There was a weight to her actions, something that was sorely lacking in her allies' own behavior.

Hence her dilemma. What Priest and Menagerie did disgusted her on a deep and visceral as well as intellectual level. They were a kind of people she refused to be, sinking to lows even she thought were unconscionable. At the same time, the path they had walked was the same one she was on, just miles and miles ahead of her. Elsie would have liked them, she knew. Her mentor was a woman possessed of a cruel pragmatism, and she would have supported them in the use of their stable. Voldemort, too, killed and tortured for no real reason whatsoever. That was all four of the black mages she knew, and if they all would have done the same thing, it was a good assumption that this was something the majority of black mages would be open to. If that were the case, the problem lay not in them, but in her. There was something wrong with her, something that lay in conflict with her identity as a black witch.

It was likely the same failing that left her unable to kill Dora, that kept her from erasing Luna's memory of the Diadem and everything she learned when wearing it.

"No, you aren't," Morag retorted. "This entire week, you've been even weirder than normal. It's the truth!" she said when Padma and Tracey flicked unamused glares at her. "I know Valentine's Day is going to make you more of a pain to deal with, but you and Luna have been broken up since January. At least try to start moving past it."

Padma groaned and covered her face with her hands. "Tact, Morag. Look it up. Use it."

An unfamiliar owl fluttered down to the table and held out its leg. "I'll keep that in mind when you break up with someone," she bit out. "Of course, that would require you to date someone, first, and that would be a miracle in and of itself." She ripped the envelope open and was engulfed in a cloud of white powder. A cough ripped through her, and then another. "Real funny. Did"—several more coughs cut her off—"did one of you plan this?"

Her friends stared back at her dumbfounded. "We didn't have anything to do with this," the Scot finally answered.

The coughs were coming harder now, and they left her feeling winded. "If you didn't—" She bent over from the force of her own hacking, but the coughs were not stopping. They were getting worse, and what small breaths she could take in were accompanied by pain in her chest. She was starting to feel a little lightheaded, too.

Her hand shook when she raised it to her chest so she could heal herself. This was starting to feel less like a prank. Her magic answered for a moment, reducing the tension in her breast, but then the spell sputtered, for lack of a better word. It was like something was choking off her magic as well as her breathing.

A breath went out, and another did not come in no matter how hard she told her lungs to inhale. Jen's eyes widened in terrified realization. Magic was carried by nerves, so if both her magic and her diaphragm were being affected, there was only one explanation: something was attacking her nerves. That powder was a neurotoxin!

The world tipped over, and she fell backwards onto the stone floor. Her hands scrabbled at her throat.

Her graceless flop caught the rest of the school's attention.

She stared at the staff table even as everything started turning dim.

She needed help!

Someone shouted her name.

Everything went black.


The hospital wing was a severe, cheerless place. It had been that way when Sirius attended Hogwarts and he and the other Marauders had to visit Madam Pomfrey to undo the signs of whatever prank went wrong, and it was still that way now. He had actually asked her once in his seventh year why she made the infirmary so uninviting, and her response had caught him off guard. She wanted to keep visitors to a minimum, as that would make her patients want to get out even more and encourage their magic to speed up their healing. It was a creative idea, he had to admit, and it might even work.

That still did not make it any easier to sit here at his goddaughter's bedside waiting for her to wake up.

Dressed in a white nightgown and lying beneath sheets of the same color, Jen looked so much younger than her sixteen years. Or perhaps it was just that when she was awake, it was harder to tell that she was only sixteen and not the disillusioned woman in a girl's skin her life before he found her had turned her into. The pallor of her face was too similar to the bedsheets for his state of mind, her black hair and the iridescent blue of the Bubblehead Charm that covered her nose and mouth providing the only color.

"Has she woken yet?"

He shook his head, and Narcissa laid a hand on his shoulder before sitting in the chair immediately next to his. They had come to Hogwarts immediately following Marchbanks's Floo call during breakfast, and the sun was already beginning to dip below the horizon. Jen had not stirred at all during that time, not when Snape drew blood from her arm nor the three different times Pomfrey massaged a cream over her face and neck.

"Pomfrey said she'll probably wake up shortly," his cousin said in a forcibly bright tone of voice. "We knew she was going to be unconscious for most of the day after she… almost…."

"Yeah."

The door to the infirmary opened with a quiet creak, and the two Blacks glanced over their shoulders to find Marchbanks, Pomfrey, and Snape walking in. "Has she…?" the elderly headmistress began.

"No."

"I see. I wanted to let you know that we have altered the wards as a result of this attack. From now on, any trapped letters like this will trip the ill-intent ward and be redirected to an empty room away from the occupied portions of the castle where they can be safely destroyed. I am very sorry that these protections were not already in place."

"At least you made changes," Narcissa said in a low, dangerous voice. Her ire did not seem directed at any of the three, however, and the reason why was revealed when she continued, "Were Dumbledore still in charge, he probably would have waved it off as a learning experience or tried to punish her for being attacked. It wouldn't be the first time he'd have done it."

"Do you know who was responsible?" Sirius asked before Narcissa could continue her rant.

Marchbanks shook her head. "Right now, we don't. The letter bore no signature, nor was there a seal stamped in the wax. All it said was that since she continued to ignore him and reject his advances – 'stomp on his proffered heart', I believe was the exact phrasing – they would have to be together in death where they could not in life."

"That's…." He really did not know the right word to describe his reaction to that.

"Incredibly disturbing? Yes, I agree."

"I just hope he went through with his side of the whole affair." He turned to look at Narcissa in confusion, and she looked back with cold eyes and a hard voice. "If he wanted to die together with her, I hope he took his own poison and died without hearing if she survived. If he didn't, then he had better hope I'm not the one who finds him."

Snape cleared his throat. "We do have some evidence that might lead to an identification. The poison he used possessed no magic whatsoever. I do not know precisely what it was, but it was definitely of Muggle origin."

"We aren't looking at the Death Eaters, then," Sirius sighed. "And this probably wasn't one of Bellatrix's victims, either, not with that letter. Unless he's trying to throw us off by making it sound like he's crazy." That would actually make a great deal of sense if it were true. To be able to blend in with the Muggles enough to get a highly deadly poison like this, it would almost have to be someone raised in that world, and a Muggleborn would be far more likely to want revenge on Bellatrix through Jen than a Pureblood. That was not to say that there weren't Purebloods whose relatives Bellatrix murdered during the first war, as the Longbottoms could attest, just that there were far more Muggleborns in that category.

A soft sigh broke the silence, the sound strangely resonant, and they all turned to stare at the bed. Jen looked back at them with half-lidded eyes, her gaze interrupted by long, tired blinks. "You're awake!" he sighed gratefully.

"Whuuuuu?"

Pomfrey bustled to the opposite side of the bed and shined a Lumos charm into both Jen's eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Jen gave her a bleary, blankly irritated glare before groaning, "Shiiiiiii."

The nurse narrowed her eyes at the obvious profanity for just a moment before letting out a resigned sigh. "Fair enough. You'll stay here at least through Monday, maybe Tuesday or Wednesday. Whatever that was, it did a number on your body and your magic."

"Whooo?"

"If you're asking who it was who attacked you, we do not know. We've alerted the DMLE, and they will be investigating. If you're asking who saved you, it was Professor Snape. I won't lie; it was pretty touch-and-go for most of the day. We were afraid we were going to lose you."

Jen's eyes fluttered closed while she sighed quietly. Opening them again, she slowly looked around as though to find the sour Potions Master.

…Who was already walking out the door.

Reaching down to pat her on the arm, he walked quickly into the hall. "Snape!"

"What?" the man said, turning around to give him a dismissive sneer.

Sirius felt a frown forming on his face, but before he could say anything, he noticed something strange. Snape looked tired, as though he had been under a great deal of stress, too. He looked almost like how Sirius felt. He did not like Snape, never had, and the feeling was mutual. Still, thinking back to the last time Jen had lain in the hospital wing, he recalled that she had a better relationship with the man than he did. Might Snape, too, have some small spark of fondness for her? "Thank you." His words shocked the dismissive expression off Snape's face. "Truly, thank you. We are in your debt. If there ever comes a time when you need—"

"I want nothing from you," Snape spat. A moment of silence passed, and the other wizard visibly pulled his composure back together. "I didn't do this for you. I did it for her."

"I know. That's why I'm grateful."

His schoolyard rival did not seem to know how to respond to that, and after another few seconds, Snape gave him a curt nod and turned on his heel. Sirius reentered the infirmary and sat again in his chair, one hand curling around Jen's as though to make sure she was really there, really awake and alive. "Don't scare me like that again," he whispered.

"Sor… ry."

Pomfrey fidgeted for a moment, a show of hesitation he had never seen from her before. "I'm going to put her to sleep soon. Witches and wizards heal better if their magic is unoccupied with anything else."

"We will be allowed back tomorrow?" Narcissa asked, though her tone made it clear this was not a request so much as a demand.

"You will."

"Go… home," Jen rasped. The corners of her mouth twitched weakly. "Stink."

"I stink, do I? I'll have to keep that in mind the next time you need me for something. Clearly I won't be able to help you until I've spent hours bathing in perfume." Her eyes glittered with the smile she was too weak to show. "We'll be back tomorrow. Probably Andi, too." He bent over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You'll get better soon, Jen. Don't worry about this. Let us take care of everything else."

She gave him a tiny nod before her eyes drifted closed, no spell necessary to send her off to dream land.

He followed Narcissa to Pomfrey's office, where the hospital wing's Floo was tucked away, and only now did he let himself feel the anger that had been kept caged by his fear. "That bastard is going to pay."

"I'm sure he will."

"He better." Sirius turned to Narcissa. "I don't know how serious you were about looking for him yourself. Hopefully it was a joke. But if it wasn't, if you're really thinking about going after him…." He took a deep breath that did little to calm him down. "Then I want you to tell me before you do anything. I have a few things I want to do to him, too."

Narcissa looked at him with an expression of surprise, almost as if she had never seen him before. "When you first took the lordship, I was afraid that you would run our family into the ground," she confessed. "Or, barring that, that you would try to change it into something unrecognizable. You were never like us, even as a child. You were too obsessed with Muggle contraptions and getting into trouble and making a fool of yourself. Even with Jen being more like Great-Uncle Arcturus than like you, a few decades with you as the Head could have done incalculable damage to our standing in society."

"…I'm sorry?"

"Don't be," she said before giving him a dark smile. "I was wrong in every way. I'm sorry that I didn't believe in you, Sirius. For all that you act like a Muggle-loving clown, you are clearly still a Black where it matters."


Alternate title: Wherein two different wizards almost manage to kill Jen. She's not having a good week, is she? I actually considered ending the chapter after the second scene, but since I don't know what my update schedule is going to look like, that cliffhanger would be too evil even for me.

This chapter has been planned for a long time, since shortly after I started Black Princess Ascendant, in fact. It's also the reason I kind of hammered Jen's previous assumptions about what she would do if she were forced to choose between herself and her family into your heads lately. This is a huge change for her in terms of her characterization; it's where she finally has to decide what kind of person she's going to become. Thankfully for her, her future is not quite so binary as she thinks it is right now.

Silently Watches out.