Author's Note: Nearly everything belongs to JKR. If bits sound a bit reminiscent of Twin Peaks, it's because they are, those words belong to David Lynch. Extra points if you spot them! No song lyrics are mine- Thank you Black Sabbath and James Taylor.

I'm unsure about this chapter, it's long and the structure is a bit weird. Bit with Sirius might seem a bit pointless at the moment but hopefully that will make sense later. Enjoy!

She's full of Secrets

Been walking my mind to an easy time my back turned towards the sun
Lord knows when the cold wind blows it'll turn your head around
Well, there's hours of time on the telephone line to talk about things to come
Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground

– Fire and Rain – James Taylor

Sirius stared out of his bedroom window watching the muggle cars grumble past. He heard a door slam downstairs and his mother shouting. His room was large; there was a four poster bed, dressed regally with plush velvet sheets. The furniture was antique; dark wood carved into grotesque shapes, snakes, toads, dark symbols and the worst, the Black family crest. Alongside these ancient heirlooms there were new things, the walls were splattered with posters of half naked women, the latest bands and the notorious image of the leather clad James Dean leaning against the handlebars of a 1949 CZ. There was a record player and stacks of LP's, a beaten up guitar, and various parts of motorcycles.

'Sirius!' he heard his mother shout. He ignored her. It was true to say that Sirius didn't make the situation with his parents any easier. He turned his music up higher, belting Black Sabbath out hurting his own eardrums:

Make a joke and I will sigh
And you will laugh and I will cry
Happiness I cannot feel
And love to me is so unreal

And so as you hear these words
Telling you now of my state
I tell you to enjoy life
I wish I could but it's too late

'Sirius Black, turn that infernal noise down!' That woman certainly had a pair of lungs.

He flicked his wand, and it blared out louder. If they weren't going to let him out of the house, he would just have to prove to them how annoying it was to have him in the house. He wouldn't have been quite so cocky if his father was home, but it was just his mother, and kreacher. She was all talk, he could handle her.

He could hear her storming up the stairs her hand found the door knob, she twisted it a couple of times and then he heard her withdraw her wand and mutter 'alohamora'. Sometimes magic was so bothersome he thought.

He was lying on his bed, his arms stretched out behind his head, his ankles crossed, 'Hello Mother, did I hear you calling?' he said politely.

She pointed her wand at the record player; it stopped immediately and started to smoke- bitch.

'What did you do that for!' he complained.

'I wont have you listening to that filth,' her eyes studied the walls, she didn't go into his room very often, she flicked her wand again but the posters didn't budge. His permanent sticking charm seemed to be holding up a treat. Her lip twitched, 'I want these women removed Sirius, by lunch time'

'Or?' he said raising his body slowly off his bed, ready for the argument.

'Or I'll tell your father.'

'Why would he be bothered,' he said carelessly, taking slow steps towards her. He was only fourteen but he towered over her. He let the pregnant pause fill the room and then played his trump card, 'we all know how my father likes young women.'

She stared at him for a second and then she slapped him. There wasn't much force to it, but she caught his ear slightly and it stung. The red mark of a slap, flooding his face with warmth.

'What has happened to you?' she spat.

'This family happened to me,' the venom in his voice heavy.

'You ungrateful little worm, you can forget about dinner!'

'With pleasure,' he said with mock courtesy.

'I'm telling your father when he comes home tonight,' she threatened. He saw her stand up taller, thinking she had triumphed. The threat of the father.

'If he comes home tonight.' The tables had turned he had won. She looked at him hurt, for a second he felt sorry for her. But only for a second.

He packed a small bag, with a couple of essential things; he wasn't waiting around for his father to return. He might as well put the punishment off for a few days. He threw his bag over his shoulder, went into his brother's bedroom out the window and down the fire escape. Regulus kept his head down; it was an unsaid agreement if he didn't see Sirius he wouldn't have to tell on him.

Dumbledore was waiting for her at his desk, sitting in the same position as always; elbows rested lightly on the polished mahogany and long fingers pressed together to form a steeple. He always looked as if he had been sitting there for hours at a time; Dumbledore had a stillness about him, a steadiness.

'Holly, you look radiant!' he exclaimed.

'Thank you Professor, Happy New Year!'

'Yes, Happy 1976, to a new year for all of us.'

They talked about small light things, such as lessons, the weather, yesterday's headlines. They both knew where the conversation was heading, but it was better to dance around the subject for the moment. It was common courtesy.

'The trail is fast approaching, are you still sure you want to testify?' he asked her.

'Yes, certainly' she said determined. 'But Professor I've been wondering what will actually happen after. I mean if he's to be convicted of a crime in a wizard court, what penitentiary will he go to?'

'If Gerald Fedra is convicted by the Wizagamont, his sentence will be decided by them and then converted to the relevant punishment in the muggle legal state. His mind will be altered not erased. To him the day in court will become mugglefied, this is to stop him raising alarm when he is incarcerated in a muggle prison. We can easily infiltrate the files and databases of the police system, a made up trail will be created and added to the files. Then the minds of certain muggles, lawyers, a jury, a judge etc will have false memories impregnated into their minds. It's very complex magic, but there is a small department in the ministry who are more than able to deal with such things. If a case is extremely serious, such as a high risk escaped convict we will approach the muggle prime minister with our concerns. However their response to us has not always been favourable and as such intervention of that nature is avoided in most circumstances.'

'Oh,' said Holly, 'You said if, do you think I stand a chance?'

'If you testify than I have no doubt about it.'

They spent the rest of the evening going through Holly's testimony. She found the whole thing violating and draining.

Dear Little Lost Holly,

Remember what she used to wear, long flowered skirts with white tank tops and denim waistcoats with tassels. She had worn ribbons in her hair, large earrings and chunky necklaces made of hemp and wooden beads. She had that tattoo on her ankle, the one she got in the cult. I know it's hard to remember…a Celtic cross, the snakes…remember? It wasn't there for long, can you still hear her frantic sobs and manic laughs, when he took the red hot poker to her pink flesh. There were so many lies, a life of lies. Remember how she used to say that, how frightened she was of the woods, the woods where the owls were not what they seemed. There's darkness she would say darkness in the old woods, strange things a man without a face in the wood. She's full of secrets. She's full of secrets. Odd words, repeated over and over again in the dark.

X

She was beautiful, broken and bruised but beautiful. More of a sister than a mother, that day when she was about to leave him, before she got ill, you were both packed. She was slumped against the coffee table smoking, inhaling deeply calming her nerves. 'Ain't it funny pretty-baby? Ain't it funny that every time I try to help someone, I end up -pardon the pun- getting fucked?' I forgot she called you that, pretty-baby. Do you remember her name? Her real name? I think I forgot it a long time ago… She had so many; before it all, before she was wasted, before us, before him. She was christened Desdemona Dolores King, but she hated her first name and called herself Dolores. Then the cult, it was sister something…Sister Sarah or maybe it was Mary. Then she was Dolores again, like Lolita she would laugh, but please call me Dolly. At first Gerald called her Lola, his Lo-lo-lo-lo Lola …I can't believe she used to find that funny. Later when she was sick she became old Dolores, never to be my Doll again.

X

It was July 14th. The sun shone brighter than you thought you'd ever seen it. He bought you a Barbie Doll. It was a quick ceremony. She wore a white mini dress with long bell sleeves. She couldn't afford a veil. They sent you to bed early in a cot in the adjoining room. It was a seedy hotel in Torquay. The wallpaper was orange and peeling, the bathroom tap leaked. Drip, drip, drip, if you concentrated hard enough on the dripping you couldn't hear anything else. Do you remember your fists banging on the door, she was crying. Small fists pummelling wood, she never opens it. Sometimes you dream she does, you want her to open the door but you don't want to see. He came back the next morning, smelling like iron. No one spoke on the drive home. James Taylor was playing on the radio.

X

Holly was inexpressibly happy when her classmates returned on January 5th. The amount of people who didn't recognise her was staggering. The new attention she received was irritating but also fascinating. Looks gave her power, people wanted to know her, talk to her, be near her. People were fickle and pathetic. She enjoyed the attention but lost her faith in humanity. People were crap, when she'd really needed friends where were these kids? She hoped she never forgot people like Remus and Lily, her real friends.

The morning of the trail arrived; it was going to be a long day. Lily knew where she was going; no one else had bothered to ask. If they noticed her absence Lily would say she was ill, simplicity itself. She met Dumbledore in his study. He smiled widely, and placed both his hands on her shoulders, 'Ready?'

'Ready as I'll ever be.'

'Remember Holly you don't have to do this, you don't have to be in the same room as him. It's not too late to change your mind.' He reassured her.

She looked at Dumbledore straight in the eye, 'And what would you do Professor?'

He smiled, looking pleasantly surprised, 'I'd fight, face to face.'

'I knew you'd say that.'

'But it's not about me' he pointed out to her.

'You know I can hardly remember what he looks like, isn't that funny?' she didn't wait for an answer, 'Everyday his image gets more and more unclear, I can smell him, remember the feel of him, the texture of his jeans, but his face is slipping away from me, like water in my cupped hands. I can't hold onto it. Today I feel as though I'm going to see a stranger. Isn't that odd? I feel as if I'm merely playing a part, this isn't my life at all but someone else's.'

Dumbledore looked at her, he studied her intently, 'Holly trauma is a strange thing, and no one person reacts in the same way as anybody else. We all deal with our demons differently. I think today you should mentally prepare yourself, for I assure your step father will be there, and his presence might open up a floodgate of forgotten memories. Today isn't going to be easy.'

The courtroom was full. The Wizagamont was assembled. The stone circular room was filled from floor to ceiling with robed wizards. A silence fell upon the dungeon like space, the doors opened and in walked four men. At first she thought it wasn't him, she nearly reached out for Dumbledore to tell him they'd got the wrong man and then thought better of it. She examined him closely, yes it was Gerald but what was different what was missing? Or was there too much of something?

He was struggling frantically, two men held onto his flailing limbs. He was holding onto a chalkboard and a piece of white chalk like a school boy from yester year. He dropped them stepping on the chalk and snapping it in two. The guards ignored it and proceeded to force him down into the chair. His legs were secured with iron ankle clamps. A leather strap was pulled tightly across his waist to restrain his movements but his hands were left to fall free. The guard picked up the chalk board and pencil but did not return it to Gerald. The two men took up positions to either side of the accused. The third man approached the heads of the Wizagamont and handed them a piece of paper.

Eventually after conferring with each other one of the prominent members rose, he was a young man perhaps no older than thirty, he cleared his throat, 'Wizards and Witches of the Wizagamont . It has just been brought to our attention that the defendant, Gerald Fedra will be unable to speak for himself, last night it what can only be described as a moment of madness he bit off his own tongue.'

Holly felt her blood run cold; there was a murmur of excitement mixed with repulsion from the people around her.

'We will attempt to communicate by chalk board at present,' the man finished and the questions began.

After around twenty futile minutes it became clear Gerald wasn't going to communicate, he was rocking manically his eyes devilishly searching the room, presumably looking for Holly.

Sometimes he wrote nothing, or he drew childish pictures, happy faces, leafless trees, and finally an ejaculating penis. No one laughed, it wasn't funny. This was the last straw for the young man who refused to waste any more of his time being ridiculed.

The guards went to undo his restraints, at which point Gerald started to flail widely like a hooked fish, beating his body relentlessly against the metal chair. Holly turned away hiding her face in Dumbledore's cloak. This was not the man she remembered. Gerald was a man of flesh and bone. But this man did not seem of this world, he look infested with something, his body a mere house for the iniquity eating him from the inside. A croaking noise sliced through the commotion of the courtroom, it was a deep guttural sound, toad like and inhuman. She turned back slowly, Gerald was still sitting but his mouth was wide, was he screaming? The black stump sat dead between his teeth, cauterised and swollen. He began to laugh, his body shook, his mouth held wide. It was unlike any sound she had heard before, like something from another place, a dead place. He scrambled with the chalk board writing fast and frantically, he held the board up, his face triumphant his eyes ablaze. It read:

'The sins of the father are visited upon the children. Those who dine in sin with bathe in blood.'

'Get him out of here!' ordered the young man.

The guards dragged him to his feet, pulling him on his heels to the door. Just before he left his eyes met hers for a second. She wasn't sure what passed between them, his teeth bared into a grin and his resistant stopped. The guards holding him staggered as he became dead weight in their arms. Dumbledore's hand found her shoulder, 'Let him go Holly' he warned.

She stared into those bottomless eyes for the last time, then she tore them away, she felt as if her soul had been set alight. Pure hatred, loathing and fear coursed through her body. He was gone. She leant on Dumbledore her heart pounding, her breathing shallow.

Gerald Fedra was decided criminally and mentally insane, and was transferred to a metal asylum just outside of Manchester. He died three years later, when the asylum burnt to the ground, all they found was ash and bone.

Holly past out once she returned to Dumbledore's study and spent the night and the following day in the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey seemed happy to have her back and fussed over her like a mother hen.

Holly was sitting on the sofa, legs tucked under her bottom, jumper sleeves pulled down over her hands.

'It's so cold I don't think I can even hold my pen' complained Lily, her hands shaking feverishly.

In walked the four Marauders, they looked frozen to the bone. James hair literally had frosted over. They waddled over to the fire, Holly watched them with amusement; it was a comical sight.

'Cold?' questioned Holly.

'Shut up Kingy' snapped Sirius.

'I've warned you Black, I don't like it when you call me that!'

'Deal with it, it's you're fault. Why did you change your hair, banshee had a good couple of years life left in it yet.' He came and sat next to her, 'Oi, budge up fatty our needs greater than yours.'

He had a point, Lily and Holly had successfully nabbed the warmest seats in the Gryffindor common room. Lily moved her books and Peter managed to squeeze on. James and Remus lounged on the floor in front of the fire their pink hands held towards the flame.

'So where have you been in this weather?' questioned Holly.

'None of your business' replied Black.

'Just a little project we're working on' James said patting his nose with one finger.

'Sounds prohibited if you ask me' said Lily, despite her amicable display in the Leaky Cauldron before Christmas, in appeared that Lily would not be seen being pleasant or tolerant towards boys like Sirius and James. She looked at them as though their very breath could contaminate her pristine reputation.

'Might be,' admitted James trying to sound cool in front of Lily not realising this was the exact thing she didn't want to hear.

'I guess its top secret' said Holly sarcastically.

'Exactly,' said Black, Holly tried to look as if she wasn't intrigued in the slightest.

They talked for the next hour, insulting teachers, discussing how great Gryffindor was, how rubbish Slytherin was, the best Bertie Botts Bean flavour, if you could eat only one thing for the rest of your life sort of questions. The things that seem important before you discover alcohol and the opposite sex. Looking back that evening seemed like the beginning, when Holly fell asleep that night, she smiled into the darkness; she closed her eyes and didn't dread what she might see. The dreams had been dormant for so long now, the trial was over, she no longer had to fear the night.

I'm running through woods, there deep and dark. The owls are all around, I can't see them but I know they're there watching, waiting. I find the tree, the one I've been looking for. I peel back the bark, it comes off in my hands, it's seeping and sodden it doesn't feel like bark at all. More like damp flesh in my hands. I dig deeper into the heart of the tree. My nails become encrusted with it. The hole in the tree is expanding; I claw at it with my bare hands which turn to talons before my eyes. I step back I can see it, the pupiless eye, sitting fat and snug in the bloated trunk. Veins bulge, blood pours forth, bathing my arms with flaming tears. He's watching.

Holly woke up, her skin damp. She thought she'd left those dreams behind, left them under the mattress in that crummy German bed-sit. Just when she thought she had finally found peace. Why did he come to find her now?

Author's Note: Please remember to review, it makes me feel like writing!