This story takes place just after book 5. Imagine it as an alternate universe, if you must, that branched off at that very point. At any rate, I hope you enjoy, and please review and give me some feedback! Thank you!!

disclaimer I don't own Harry Potter, or any of those other characters that are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling (genius that she is), I'm just writing this in tribute. Sirinal Black, however, is my creation. /disclaimer

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Recalled To Life – Chapter 2: The Mail

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She fell silent as she heard the churning of ancient wood through dark water, the black candle of a lamp barely penetrating the encroaching shadows. She stood quickly, her white slip trailing along the edge of obsidian banks beneath a rickety wrought-iron archway, as the tiny pram drew closer. A cloaked figure bent low over the fore of the craft; the hands poling the boat ashore were gaunt, flesh stretched taut over gnarled bone, translucent with age. A face concealed under a spectral hood, the boatman completely ignored its passenger, but as the pram reached the shore, the boatman did finally nod to the man seated behind him, and gestured to the arch. The boatman looked at the woman once, questioningly, as the man stumbled ashore. She shook her head, and the boat slipped away, silent this time.

The man got to his feet and faced her, wearily.

"Lepora," he whispered.

She smiled. "We meet again, beloved."

He fell into her arms at last, breathing a shuddering sigh. "Lepora."

"Dearest."


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"So you see, sir," Sirinal said, her voice shaking, "you are my last link to him." She folded her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers together.

Remus Lupin leaned against the arm of his chair, staring with furrowed brows at the young woman who had appeared on his doorstep mere hours before. "And what," he asked, "is your name?"

She turned a shade of pink. "Sirinal, sir. Sirinal Vega."

Lupin felt the blood drawin from his face. "Then I do believe I can help you… just probably not as much as you would like."

She brightened. "Any help you can give me would be outstanding, Mr. Lupin."

Remus put his head in his hands. "Miss Vega… there are several questions which must be addressed." She nodded hopefully. "Firstly, the true identity of your father." He rubbed his temples. This is absolutely impossible. He wouldn't do that. Not to me. He would have told me… "What, Miss Vega, was your mother's name?"

"Lepora Arienne Vega." She paused a moment, and then quickly pulled a necklace from beneath her shirt. "I have this, if it helps." She handed the necklace to Lupin quickly. "It was my father's. At least, that's what my Gran told me."

Lupin frowned at the faltering tone of the last words. Obviously much more had happened than he had known about. "Sirinal… I believe, though I'm not sure I can prove it… that you father was none other than Sirius Black."

"Sirius Black?! The murderer? What are you playing at?!" Sirinal hissed.

Lupin folded his hands and said calmly, "He never killed those people. Peter Pettigrew did. Sirius Black was pardoned by the Ministry a few months ago, when the Minister announced Voldemort's return."

Sirinal blushed. "I had heard about Voldemort… well, after they attacked our house… but we don't always get news regularly…" she trailed off, looking torn. "You're sure, though? I mean… they could have it wrong. He was in Azkaban for thirteen years! And suddenly they've just up and made a mistake?"

Lupin smiled wryly at the old argument. "Miss Vega, I am as certain of this as anything. Sirius Black was no murderer, though his time spent in that prison took its toll on him." It took his toll on many.

Sirinal swallowed hard. "So… so he was my dad, then." She took back her necklace, wrapping her hands around it close to her chest. "I had a dad." She leaned back into her chair, pressing against the leather. All this time, I've been treated differently. Like dirt, really. All those brats back home would laugh at me, and their parents whispered. I was a bastard child. Ill-gotten off a whore mother. But my mother wasn't like that… she couldn't have been. And now I'll finally find out.

"I'm sure you must have a dozen questions to ask me—"

"Hundreds!" Who was he? What was he like? Did he love my mother? Did he want me? God, did he even know about me?

"You'll have time. But you've had a traumatic ordeal, Sirinal, and I think its time for you to rest. You need a few days to recover from the shock. I'm so sorry about your grandmother…"

"There should have been help," she hissed fiercely. "They should have helped us!"

Lupin stood, putting his hand on her shoulder. "No one can ever fix what happened. You deserve justice for it, Miss Vega, but you are going to be the only one who can ever make that justice a reality. But for now… rest, please." He dimmed the lamps. "I'll show you to your room. You can stay here until the school year starts."

"School?" she asked, alarmed. "But I've always been… I mean… My gran always…"

"Hogwarts, I think, Miss Vega." He smiled warmly at her. "You'll like it. It'll be a big adjustment, but you'll manage. You made it here, after all."

Yeah, through about a million miles of ugly countryside and muddy ditches. I'd forgotten exactly how awful traveling is, even on broomstick. Plus, I had to keep walking whenever someone would come along, since I didn't know if they were Muggle or not.

Sirinal wrapped her arms around her, and followed Lupin up to her room. School, she thought. I don't want to go to school. More brats with more awful things to say. And I'll be way behind, and I won't know what to do or how to act… and my family is dead. Fantastic. Gran… The miles of fear and anxiety took their toll, however, and she never even remembered when she had closed her eyes. She dreamt of charms drawn in soot on the hearth, the smell of herbs permanently steeping on the stove, and of broken picture frames and burning.

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Harry sat groggily beside Hermione and Ron at the breakfast table, rubbing his eyes. Hermione looked concerned. "Harry, there are little baggies under your eyes…"

He sighed. "I was doing that stupid essay of Snape's. 'Please describe the proper way to brew veritaserum and at each stage identify five possible mistakes. Also cite the history of the potion, from conception to final recipe.'" He growled low in his throat. "I'm already on my second roll of parchment."

"I've got three so far," Hermione said pleasantly, spooning sugar onto her oatmeal.

Ron groaned. "I still haven't started."

Hermione and Harry looked at him in shock. "It's due in three days!" Hermione said.

"I know… I thought maybe you'd help me on it, 'Mione. I'm no good at potions, and—"

"Ron Weasley, I will do no such thing. Do your own homework. There's a reason for it, you know."

"Oh? What's that?"

"We're probably going to brew veritaserum this year. It's on the list for our N.E.W.T.s."

"Oh… well I'm probably not going to be allowed into the class anyway. My O.W.L.'s were wretched."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You still have to do the homework, just in case. Maybe Snape'll let you in if your essay is really good."

Harry thought he heard Ron mutter "Hope not", but turned instead to his eggs and bacon, hoping something warm would wake him.

The kitchen was very empty this morning. "Hey, Ron… where is everyone?"

"Mum's gone to town with Ginny to get her a pair of those stupid muggle jeans. She's worn out the ones Hermione gave her. Keeps picking at the knees." Ron was apparently trying to inhale his breakfast in one fell swoop. He was already lanky enough—Harry wondered what it would be like if Ron actually continued to grow, and immediately pictured an eight foot tall redhead with shovel-sized hands. He snorted into his pumpkin juice.

"Wot?" Ron asked, wiping off a pumpkin mustache.

"Nothing."

A whir of black and red swooped behind Harry and out the kitchen door, ruffling his hair. Harry turned quickly to catch the backs of Fred and George bounding across the lawn. "What was that about?"

Ron pushed back his chair. "They've done something to our room, Harry. I know it." He headed up the stairs, leaving his sausage alone on its plate.

With another heartfelt sigh, Harry pushed himself up from the table and followed Ron up the stairs.

The twins had indeed vandalized the small room, thoroughly. Each and every single item in the room was covered quite efficiently in wizard newsprint. Black and white witches and wizards flitted all around the room, making the place glitter to Harry's eyes. The walls and windows were similarly covered. Harry looked closer. "Ron, how the bloody hell did they get the paper all around the window frames?"

"Some kind of stupid spell of theirs," Ron muttered, searching in vain for his wand. "I'm going to curse those two six ways from—"

Harry tried to stifle a laugh. "Ron, I found your wand." He lifted up a black and white papered stick.

Harry heard the crash of startled dishes below as Ron erupted in a bellow of rage. He really had to admire the twins resourcefulness, and wondered what new product line they were testing now, although truthfully he would have preferred the experimentation to have been done in Percy's room. The twins, however, had yet to figure out the particular spell Percy had the foresight to lay on the room, so they had to make do with their other siblings (and unsuspecting friends). Harry was only glad the twins tended to have a slightly higher respect for Hermione, because he doubted Crookshanks would have appreciated a new colour scheme on his ginger fur.

He grabbed the books for potions and charms, his essay, ink and another scroll, and headed downstairs to finish his homework for Snape. The breakfast table had been cleared, and Hermione was already nose-deep in a book. He put his things down beside her, watching out of the corner of his eye. "Hermione, how on earth do you read with your face brushing the pages?"

Hermione started, slamming the book down abruptly. "Oh, heavens, Harry. I didn't see you come in."

Harry grinned. "Good book, then?"

She frowned. "Not exactly, but it's terribly interesting. It's for my Muggle Literature class." She showed him the book. "It's from the 1800s. It's about the Frech Revolution, and it's really fascinating. All about love and betrayal and patriotism. You know, silly Muggle things." She winked at him.

Harry laughed. "Right." It was nice, to feel this kinship with Hermione, over their Muggle background. It was nice to feel any sort of kinship at all, after the death of his last remaining family. He wanted very much to reach out and take her hand, to hug her, to rest in someone else's arms and on someone else's shoulder. But he unrolled his essay instead, and dipped his pen. He knew Hermione could tell, though, what he'd been thinking. He knew, because Hermione knew everything.

Harry focused on his essay, taking comfort in visualizing the pen scratching not onto browned parchment, but into Snape's greasy, pale forehead, carving the recipe of veritaserum into the Potion Master's awful skin. Beautiful witches in bathing suits waved at him from his textbook. The essay came much faster, after that.

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Sirinal woke suddenly, shrieking and scratching at her arms, attempting to rid herself of the blood and burns coating them. She thrashed, hands were holding her down, tearing at her, drowning her. She had to escape. Screaming, tearing at her captives and her own skin, she flailed violently—

--and fell off the bed, tangled in bedcovers, covered in sweat. Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and Remus Lupin burst into the room, looking frantically around, wand poised for trouble. He finally noticed Sirinal, still trapped in her covers, breathing hard and looking embarrassedly up at him from the floor.

"Are you alright?" he asked, softly, putting his wand away. He came over to help free her, gentle fingers navigating the folds and wrappings. "What happened?"

She looked down, angrily snatching at the covers. "I don't know. I don't know." She was finally free of them, and she scooted back, bracing against the bedtable. "I thought… I thought I was back in my cabin, and there was blood, everywhere. I thought…"

Lupin's eyes glazed with pain. "It was a dream, Sirinal. You're safe, here." He reached out toward her. She pulled away without thinking, and he pulled back, turning the motion into smoothing out the covers. "No one will hurt you here."

"I know," she murmured, pushing her hair behind her ear with one hand. "I know that. It's stupid, really. I'm sorry." She started to push herself up off the floor.

"Sirinal," Lupin started, also standing, and reaching for her again. "It's not stupid. It's—"

"What's for breakfast?" Sirinal asked, abruptly, focusing on the window. "I'm starving." His hand fell.

Lupin sighed. Now who does she remind you of, Remus, old fellow? He shook himself, piled the sheets back onto the bed, and turned. "Waffles," he said, attempting to quell the worry from his voice. "Do you like waffles?"

"Waffles would be fantastic," Sirinal said, grateful for the distraction. Lupin left the room, heading downstairs. Sirinal paused at the door, glancing back at the bedcovers. She shivered. The past is the past, she thought, trying to take her Gran's words to heart. I can't let it get to me. A twinge of pain interrupted her thoughts—her arms had angry red scratches up and down them, her fingernails had skin beneath them. She shivered, and shut the door firmly behind her. She reached the kitchen just in time to catch Lupin releasing a small brown owl into the air, parchment tied tightly to its leg.

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AN: If you haven't figured out what the title of the fic and the chapters mean… well… :P Maybe Hermione has given you a hint. Hope you liked it!