A/N: A quick apology for the brutalizing of Minerva's accent. I've no clue what I'm doing, I'm just trying to show emotion. Still no 'real' Beta, all the errors are mine, so be kind :/
Jean, Chapter 16 Ritual and Rescue
11:30 pm, December 20th, 1993
Kitchen, Number 12 Grimmauld Place
The twins hadn't even reached their mother before she gave a small moan. As they sat her at the large head chair they looked back to take in the scene.
The Headmaster had Harry sitting up, the boy held one hand to his head, apparently having hit his head as Molly fell on him. Hermione still stood in the doorway, her face frozen in horror, she had dropped her wand in front of her and almost shook in her boots.
With a nod, their amazing minds began to weave a magic only twins and the closest of friends can achieve:
As Molly's eyes came into focus on her sons, they spoke in their unmistakable style:
"We're so very sorry mother, we didn't see Harry casting..." Fred began his face tear-streaked,
"But that's no excuse, none at all, we see that now..." George took up, his voice choked with emotion
"and we never meant any harm but we've learned that our intentions are not the issue..."
"Right you are, we see how stressed you are over this, to make you collapse is beyond forgiveness..."
"You've every right to take us out of school and snap our wands..."
"Though we'd never try to hurt Ronniekins on purpose..."
"Our actions did cause you even more stress and we're terribly sad that we've done this and promise to never experiment upon Ron" "with spells..."
"again.." "at the same time..."
"And we know that Harry feels the same way..."
"Don't you Harrykins?"
Harry had to shake his head to clear it, but quickly nodded agreement, adding "I am sorry Mrs. Weasley, Ron startled me on the stairs and I completely over-reacted. I didn't even know it was him, but that's no excuse and I wouldn't be surprised if you never allowed me to eat your wonderful cooking again for how thoughtless I was in my panic."
Harry's solemn look was well practiced from years of convincing Professor McGonagall of his innocence in pranks played in the great hall, or the hallways, or even her classroom.
The overwrought matron never stood a chance, her boys were crying, offering up their own wands for heaven's sake! The Potter boy's eyes held obvious pain, his sincere words putting all her anger at bay. And then there was her own self-recrimination. She had almost hexed the boy! In his own home, what was she thinking?
Guilt combined with the boy's pleas led her to gather them all into a massive hug, not even noticing her knocking over two chairs in the process of pulling Harry to them in the end.
. . .
Hermione's body shook with a tremor one last time as disbelief overcame all the other emotions frantically trying to claim attention in her mind.
Molly began a weepy lecture on how she just wanted the boys – all of them – to live up to their potentials and have fruitful lives.
Professor Dumbledore led the numb young witch out of the kitchen doorway and closed the heavy wooden door, reducing the blubbering apologies and tut-tuts to a dull murmur.
The Headmaster motioned Hermione back into the hall, and after shaking his head at the masterful work of the twins, he looked down upon Hermione. She expected to see reproach, but his eyes were twinkling madly.
"I think you know that you could have handled that better?" the aged wizard began.
Hermione's swirling emotions fix upon Mortified as she squeaked out, "Yes professor".
"And I think that you know that you should not cast stunners at adults?"
The very picture of contrition, the young witch barely breathed, "Yes professor".
"Very well, I believe you've learned your lesson, lets not speak on this matter any further."
Even with her mind whirling at it's normally dizzying pace, it took her a few moments to catch on. First hesitantly, then with dawning understanding at the bemused look upon the old wizards face, Hermione finally relaxed.
"Yes professor", she beamed.
.o0o.
Cold
So… Cold.
It wasn't a natural cold, not like the feel of the wind off of the lake in Winter or even the bone deep chill of that bitter Spring Quidditch game that went till two A.M. (How did James fly in that, anyways?)
No, this cold was so much worse because he couldn't so much feel it as it was simply a part of him.
Like the Darkness.
But the Darkness didn't bother him. That much.
He used to joke with the Marauders that growing up a Black he should hardly be afraid of the dark. Then again, like the penetrating Cold, this wasn't normal Darkness either.
It wasn't that there was no light to see by - he knew that feeling all too well from childhood punishments - it was more as though he didn't have anything to see with.
As if his eyes were gone.
In fact most of his senses seemed to be absent.
But he could still feel the Cold.
And he could still 'hear' the voices; at least in his mind. Not nearly as often lately, mind you. The weak one had never done much more than whimper ever since the Battle.
With no way to measure time, he had not bothered to guess how long they had been trapped (in the Dark, so very Cold) yet there were Events by which he marked the passage of time. Once again he was reminded of punishments in the magically darkened closet - though he didn't miss the feeling of hunger that gnawed and growled at him in that darkness. He idly wondered if he had a body anymore if he could no longer feel hunger?
His discipline kicked in, as it always did when he approached negative thoughts now that he had gotten past his failing. Now that Harry was a part of his life.
He tried to focus. To find an answer to his circumstance and his mind returned to pondering the Events. They were a way to mark time, to impose order upon the otherwise featureless nothing of his… prison? No, it was his salvation, he knew. If he could ever get out. Yet again his discipline squashed the wayward negativity.
Without his discipline he knew he'd be lost. Years of training in Occlumency - first because it was the Family magic, later maintained because it was useful for keeping track of school lessons without actually working at it - those years of practice had paid off.
In fact the old Black Family Secret had probably saved his life. He couldn't wait to laugh in his mother's face. Well, her portrait anyways. It had definitely saved his sanity.
Well… he was having fantasies of laughing in the face of a portrait, so perhaps he shouldn't quite count his chickens, as Lily used to say.
In any case, if the whimpers of the Coward were any indication, he could thank his discipline for having survived the Battle, which he was sure had saved his mind. For now.
The Events were few (Nothing much happened here in the Cold Darkness) yet they were all he had to think on while he waited. He could not stop wondering if a clue lay somewhere in those Events. A clue as to where he was, and who was here with him. Most importantly as to how to get out.
The first Event was the easiest to recall of course because it had happened just before the Dark overtook everything.
At first he had been only dimly aware of his surroundings, and only his diligent review of his memories had filtered any useful recollections from the haze of those first few moments outside once he 'came to'. He had been stunned often enough over the years to recall the effects of hazy thoughts and achy-stiff muscles.
His pride still stung from the realization that he had been caught by Lucius gods-thrice-cursed Malfoy of all people.
If the fact that he was in Malfoy's grand ballroom wasn't enough of a clue then it was confirmed by hearing that sickeningly smooth voice - behind him no less. He'd heard that voice hiding behind a bone-white mask many times as an Auror and Order member as the instigator first taunted and then fled. The death eater they could never quite catch. Only Snape was more slippery than that slick bastard.
Rousing his mind from that fruitless line of thought, he picked through the next few moments.
There was a woman yelling, screaming really, the distinct presence of Voldemort; yet not? That was a puzzle he had yet to solve, even as he felt that presence here in the Darkness with him (he hoped that the bastard froze in the Cold).
Then the terrifying instant where his senses sharpened just in time to realize that the shrieking woman was his dear cousin (Ex-Cousin, he gleefully interrupted himself) Bellatrix LeStrange, the target of the Magic Trap. A fancy bit of spell work that he was proud to have contributed to; though Filius had done the most work by far, his contribution of a Family spell was still crucial.
The trap certainly appeared to have worked. The psychotic bitch was exhibiting all of the signs they had anticipated when all of Bella's (considerable) magic was preparing to be suddenly released from it's internalizing spiral.
The theory was, once triggered by proximity to the dark lord, the layers of enchantments holding the target's magic inside would cause a cascade effect as they collapsed, essentially creating a magical bomb.
Besides the Charms Professor and himself, only Albus had been told, and even then the old man had to be convinced over a period of weeks. Then it took careful planning to lure the murderous witch to her doom.
At that point it had looked as though he would be present to see it's effects. Unfortunately for him - and everyone else for a goodly distance if their Arithmancy was correct.
He remembered chancing a bleary-eyed glance around him, seeing that the ballroom was near full of dark robed figures.
At least they'd take out a good number of the murderous rabble.
But then something else occurred in that moment of returned clarity. His rigid family upbringing had saved him twice over that day (he really was looking forward to rubbing it in dear mother's face, painted or not).
As a child he had initially been the Heir (this before he'd exhibited signs that he wanted no part of the torture of house elves, 'sporting' murder of Muggles, and other Family Traditions). One of the duties had been daily lessons. He studied Etiquette, Blood Lines, Laws (and their loop holes), Occlumency… and Privileges of the Head of House.
He recalled the fact that he was in the Malfoy Family Seat.
Standing next to the Head of House.
Who was about to be put in Mortal Peril.
His recovering reflexes, combined with Lucius' perfectly reasonable distractedness, allowed Sirius to turn and grasp the forearm of his captor and speak those most important words:
"I surrender to your mercy."
Then the world went Dark.
The Cold set in.
And the Battle began.
However long it had taken, however long had passed since that day, Sirius Black knew one thing for certain: There had been three 'people', three minds, when the Battle began. But now he was certain one was broken.
Though he would not admit it, he knew one more thing: Whoever, whatever he was trapped in this Cold Darkness with, it was gathering it's strength. It was only a matter of time, and Sirius was not so sure he could hold out much longer.
.o0o.
4:00 pm, December 21st, 1993
Library, Number 12 Grimmauld Place
The preparations were almost complete and Hermione had yet to see Harry since being pulled away from the confusing confrontation in the kitchen the night previous. In fact she hadn't spoken to him since the even more confusing moments on the couch. She had tried to analyze the feelings that seemed to swirl about her half a dozen times since then and the results were a chaotic jumble.
She felt the keen stab of embarrassment just as strongly as the amazing comfort that seemed to cocoon her in warmth. She worried and she smiled, she wondered and she fretted. Why hadn't he come to her. Should she go to him? What if he wasn't interested in her? What if he got the wrong idea with where his hand was? Why Was his hand There?
"Hermione", Minerva observed the youngster tracking a path back and forth in front of the library windows. 'My goodness had she ever been that much of a wreck over a boy?' The professor pointedly did not follow that line of thought, instead clearing her throat... and when that didn't work, speaking loudly, "Hermione!"
The witch in question stopped and looked up, her face pained in obvious uncertainty.
Minerva was overcome with a pang of sadness. She could hardly feel more pity for one of her Lions. "Come 'ere then, it'll a'wirk oot lassie." Minerva's strong Northern burr crept into her tone as she held her arms wide for her charge, who promptly abandoned all pretense and rushed to hug the older witch.
The professor released a small 'oof' in surprise as the girl who seemed so small and slight veritably slammed into her with a clinging grasp. A chuckle escaped the older witches throat as she soothingly rubbed her soon-to-be students' back and made reassuring shushing noises.
Schooling herself, Minerva forced the burr from her words even as she put kindness into her voice. "I cannot know all that troubles you lass, but we're doing all that we can to bring Sirius back safely."
Deciding she had to know, Hermione asked the only question she felt wouldn't give too much away, "Is Harry going to be in serious risk?"
'Aha!' The professor thought, but did not exclaim. Instead she leaned her charge back to look into her fearful brown eyes. "I'll not lie, Harry has the most dangerous part in this. That said he'll be constantly monitored and no serious harm will come to him."
Considering the young witch in front of her, she smiled as she offered, "He's asked after you as well, worried more for you than he is for himself. But he trusts you. Told me to tell you that himself."
With that the older witch began to steer the younger towards the door. "We'll be off to get you an early supper and then dressed. After that, the plan is in place, in just over four hours we should have our irascible Lord Black back in his home."
.o0o.
7:00 pm, December 21st, 1993
Entry Hall, Malfoy Manor
Hermione was doing her level best to quell her nerves.
Tonks, disguised as only she could as Emmeline Vance, introduced her as a French witch come to tour Hogwarts. The subtle hints would be dropped later that the poor girl had lost her family in an accident and Ms. Vance was her legal guardian.
They circulated for over half an hour and introduced Hermione as 'Jean' from outside Nantes. Her English was purported to be 'gaining ground', but she obviously spoke French more easily. Thus conversation was somewhat muted towards her, as they had hoped. Around a quarter before eight, Tonks/Vance slipped away to get preparations underway in the basement.
Meanwhile, 'Jean' circulated and made excuses for her 'tuteur' in broken English that always brought the desired result: people stopped asking. Nevertheless, Hermione began feeling rather uncomfortable.
There were so very many people, all of them so richly dressed, but that didn't bother her. Her own gown was the finest thing she had ever worn and she passingly wondered if she'd ever get to wear it again. Perhaps when she wasn't putting her newly learned cooling charms to the test against her nerves.
People gave her half-hearted consolation when they learned of her 'situation', which hit too close to home not to affect her; but that didn't really bother her.
Terribly accented French was used to both console and also to exhort the virtues of Hogwarts, which while cringe inducing, didn't exactly bother her either.
The thing Hermione could not get used to was the staring.
Everywhere she went, she would turn to find people staring. Old people, young people, every type of wizard and witch seemed to find her curious, and it was unnerving. She knew they didn't know why she was really here, but it still made her skin crawl.
She was rescued from a matron who mistook volume for clarity when speaking bad French by an older fellow who reminded Hermione of a fatter Mr. Weasley. The dapper dressed man spoke fluent French, and he didn't try to sell her on the school nor did he seem to want to console her.
They spoke at length about France's foreign policies, something which Hermione was very knowledgeable about, and about English influences upon the region about Nantes (part of the area of Brittany). They toasted the ball – the dancing was to start in an hour – and Hermione never saw the man touch his wand to the fruity wine she'd been nursing all evening.
Just as she was about to take a sip, her drink was snatched from her hand. She turned sharply to find a coldly glaring pair of grey eyes. It took her a moment to realize that the glare was not directed at herself, and she considered the face the eyes belonged to. There was an aristocratic air to his unblemished pale face, his almost white-blonde hair coiffed perfectly. His suit was a beautiful charcoal grey and his bearing seemed regal to the confused witch.
Her quick mind took in these details even as her eyes narrowed to find that the boy – for that is what he was after all, bearing or not he was no older than she – had given her wine to a passing servant with the words "put that aside for me". His tone was almost bored, but once again Hermione was taken aback by the sheer vitriol in the young man's gaze. It stopped her protest on her lips.
Not that he seemed to have noticed her at all.
When he spoke, the smoothness of his voice was just loud enough to be heard among the three of them, but the menace of his tone was equal to his gaze. And he spoke in flawless French. "Cavendar, she's thirteen, fourteen at the most. Yet knowing this you tried anyways, and in my Father's house? Your contract is broken, your goods will be dumped in Bristol harbour at midnight if you have not claimed them. Get out."
With that the youth steered Hermione a few steps away even as an Elf 'popped' in next to the fellow called Cavendar and then, with the still dazed, shocked look upon his face, he disappeared with another 'pop'.
The young man seemed to switch gears with ease and his scowl was instantly replaced by a gentle, concerned frown as he took a stunned Hermione's hand in his own. Still speaking in low tones, his French was impeccable. "I offer my humble appologies miLady, Cavendar has pulled some low tricks in the past but that was deplorable."
Finally finding her voice, Hermione found that she had no idea what to say. What had happened? Why was this boy rescuing her from whatever that man had done, or planned? As clever as she was, the young woman could not find her footing among this rush of events.
Seeing her confusion, the blonde stepped back, sketching a short bow as he spoke. "Your pardon miLady, allow me to introduce myself. I am Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, your Host. That man had hexed your drink to cause you to follow his suggestions. I have had the wine isolated should your guardian choose to press charges once she is informed." With this Draco looked about, then back when he did not catch sight of Emmeline.
Hermione felt herself flush. She'd heard of such things occuring at parties – she (had) lived on a college campus after all. But to think it would occur at a luxurious ball such as this, and to her, it made her head spin.
Draco took his time, making small talk and putting Hermione at ease, though she could tell he was slightly ill at ease once she regained her wits. Their conversation was stimulating, he was quite intelligent although she wondered if it was his pureblood manners that had kept him from talking about more current topics or if his upbringing didn't consider the wider world of import.
She checked her watch, finding the time to be just past eight. The young witch knew she needed to make her way towards the bottom floor and asked Draco to escort her to freshen up.
He left her at the bottom hall, citing duties to 'his guests', but promised to return to find her.
She turned away and barely withheld a frown. If he kept returning to look for her, she couldn't go down early to check on Tonks. Then again, no alarm had been raised and Hermione could go down and do her part then return once the Arithmancy was completed.
Once out of sight, Hermione disillusioned herself and, with a quick check on a hall mirror, she slunk down the stairs in search of her partner.
Tonks just about scared Hermione out of her skin when she stepped out of hiding behind the younger witch. The Auror had already warded a section of the basement and the two set about the calculations as they had practiced.
It had taken her a few tries but eventually Tonks had found a series of doors that led deep into the Manor's underbelly. Much of it was unfinished, the signs of construction down here were many even as the refurbished ballroom above them gleamed in perfection.
Finally their calculations came to the desired sum and a quick cross-check revealed that they could draw the diagrams and be only mere feet from true center (a wall kept them from true alignment). Tonks set the adjustment in her coded belt – it's match deep below Black Manor would update automagically.
Once Hermione's part was done she dashed back up the stairs to find Draco at the end of the hall.
She steadied her breath, having dropped Tonks's disillusionment spell on the landing below. His back was to her, but the witch decided that it was better not to try to 'come out of' the bathroom, and instead called him as she came up the stairs. It was a good choice.
"Draco?" She laughed quietly, "Sorry, my curiosity got the best of me."
Turning to see the young French woman, Draco smiled his most charming smile. "Here," he proferred his wand, delicately blowing off some wood shavings and dust that had gathered on the fine deep blue gown.
"Thank you, how terribly careless of me!" Hermione genuinely chided herself.
"Not much to see down there just yet, the whole basement is being refurbished..." he trailed off, then looked at her, almost expectantly before schooling his features in a gentle smile. "I just came to ask if you'd do me the honor of dancing the second dance? I'm afraid I've been promised by my mum to a family friend for the first." He finished with a overly-dramatic sigh and a wink.
Hermione found herself quite charmed. A dashing young man saves her from certain foul play, then treats her with kindness and is even intelligent enough to hold a conversation. Now he wants to dance with her, at his ball?
Still, she hadn't spent near a decade as 'Sensible Jean' to toss it out the window on such an important mission. She knew from lessons that the dances took at the minimum around six minutes, the first dance was usually ten to twelve, wherein the other couples joined during the first refrain. Having a music major as a buddy in college was actually paying off! With her data tabulated, Jean - that is Hermione - smiled what she hoped was demurely, then gave herself a conditional out just in case.
"I'll go make sure with Emmy, but I accept on condition of her approval." This flirting business was completely new, but fun. "If not the second then the third, as she wants me to meet some people and I've been dodging her thus far. She smiled again, this time hoping for conspiratorial.
"Until then." Draco took her hand and brushed her knuckles across his lips, smiled winningly and then turned to move back into the crowd.
Standing part way up the stairs disillusioned, Tonks shook her head sadly. It appeared as though Harry's crush was going to break his heart. She didn't have time to waste on teen romance however; her cousin was relying upon her - the whole Family was for that matter. Slipping back down the stairs, the Auror sent a quick 'chirp' to Hermione to prompt her that it was almost time.
Ten minutes later, as the muted tones of the orchestra warming up reached their location, the two women were in no state to pay it attention. Hermione, as catalyst, lay prone, spread eagle across a large array of runic symbols and Arithmantic solutions. A stone the size of a goose egg rested at her navel, it's color the deepest jet black almost seemed to pull the dim light of the surrounding candles into it.
Grasped in her left hand was a crest, the Black family crest to be precise, and in her right she held a wand; a wand that was passed down through the Black family for their children to practice with. It had last been used by Sirius.
In a room several hundred miles south she knew that Harry would be in the exact same position. She uttered a quick prayer for them both – and one for Sirius – then lent her whispered voice to the chant Tonks had begun.
Thus the ritual asking for the release of Sirius, and for the renewal of House Black, began on the first moments of the Solstice.
.o0o.
For the first time in... too long, Sirius could hear a voice other than the whining of Lucius or the sibilant mutters of his other co-guest in their Cold Darkness.
At once the one who called himself Voldemort attacked, and it was all that the last of the Blacks could do to keep his mind from being overwhelmed.
The voices, for now he could distinguish that there were two, seemed to be calling to him, and yet he could not both concentrate on them and defend himself.
. . .
The music came to a dramatic crescendo as the first song of the Ball began above the witches heads. Those heads were bathed in a light sheen of sweat as the ritual, now fully underway, linked their magic through ancient rituals, magical tokens and their own love and desire to restore Sirius Black to his place in this world. The magic further linked two terrestrial points through the symbols and Arithmantic solutions, the other of which was a mirror image to this.
At that other point, writhing in unexpected pain, Harry Potter was watched over by a helpless feeling Albus Dumbledore. Nothing in the ritual spoke of this reaction. Unless. Unless the one they were trying to retrieve did not want to return.
There was another option, which Albus considered as he checked the status of Remus Lupin, Sirius's last 'brother' in all but blood. Remus was taking as great a risk as Harry, though none but he and the Headmaster knew this. And Snape, of course. The potion master was loathe to administer such a powerful magical link, especially not knowing how Lupin's lycanthropy would interact, regardless of it being a full week until the full moon.
Still, Remus's posture was rigid as he mimicked Tonks's position at Harry's head, palms up, arms slightly shaking with an unknown strain. Sweat dripped from his brow as a moan ripped from his mouth even as Harry bucked and cried out in the circle drawn on the basement floor.
. . .
Sirius slammed his mental shield into place, shifting his entire being into one focus, one purpose: take the fight to the attacker. For more than a thousand years the Black family had mastered and passed down the art of mind magics. Occlumency and Legilemency were part of them, to be sure, but they were not all that existed in the Black's arsenal.
In the minds eye of each combatant a shimmering field appeared. Upon this field, coalescing as though from mist into solid forms, two figures appeared. One seemed to be standing unsteadily, the other strode confidently into view.
On the far side of Sirius' mind he saw a youth, uncertainly looking about, he held great personal power yet he seemed lost. When he beheld the fully armed and armored mage-knight which Sirius portrayed, he shrunk back, confusion turning to open fear.
Sirius pressed his advantage.
. . .
Albus had begun to lose hope. The ritual had now gone on for ten minutes. It was well past what was expected. Although the pair in the ritual seemed to have settled at least.
The old wizard almost jumped in fright when Harry suddenly spasmed in some kind of quick seizure. Wait.. it wasn't a seizure, Harry had laughed. He laughed! And Remus, his whole frame shuddered but then also gave a definitely mirthful snort.
Miles to the North, Tonks fell backwards onto her back, a giggle bubbling up from deep in her tummy. Hermione sputtered her own amusement, and when her eyes opened she had tears streaming from them. Rolling over she helped Tonks regain her feet and began to incant the last part of the ritual, using Sirius' practice wand in one hand, she pointed to the jet black stone which she had left in the center of the ritual.
The rock, seeming to become a piece of the Void itself, began to open. Stretching over the entirety of the eight foot circle, it became a pit of infinite darkness from which a cold poured that quickly frosted the stone around the hole, though the candles did not go out.
From the depths of that pit a terrifying howl was heard. The witches glanced uneasily towards the doorway leading back towards the stairs. They had warded the area securely, and sound should have no chance of escaping, yet the terrible noise was such that it made them both nervous. Finally, barely noticeable under that howl, could be heard the raucous laughter that was unmistakably (to Tonks anyways) Sirius Black.
And then it was done. Only Tonks and Hermione were shocked to find that they had rescued one more than they had counted on.
Next to the slowly recovering Sirius Black was, as expected, Lucius Malfoy, though he was deathly still. The third and unexpected person, moving slowly, but moving all the same was none other than Lord Voldemort.
.o0o.
Many thanks to my wife for stepping in again as my Beta, the story would not be posted without her help and advice.
Further thanks for some grammatical / spelling error catches by my sis, Thirst4light as well.
Recommended reading: What We're Fighting For by James Spookie - This is an accomplished author's first foray into Harmony and I have to say it's amazing.
Once again I am blessed with many reviews of Chapter 15: Shubhs, GBTown, josht1987, mitch404, MJPotter17, Hurin3, D. Page Robin, Monnbeam, . fan forever, lavanyalabelle, Kairan1979, Tellur, James Spookie, brighteyes2889, Luna de Papel, angel897, The Amercian Psycho, arabellagrace and erbkaiser. My fondest thanks to those of you who have stuck with me through my long delays - you're the best!
. . .
Blessings,
Majerus