Brian Topliss sat staring into the cold hearth; he had never felt so weary, the very air felt a crushing weight upon his bowed shoulders. Beyond that fireplace sat a woman he loved, a woman he had cursed in a vile way, and a woman that he longed to be at peace with. He felt a wave of rebellious and frantic emotions bubble up from his gut, and he was tempted to allow them to erupt, to scream and rage, but he swallowed them… now was not the time. He glanced at the clock ticking on the mantelpiece and noted with a mix of dread, fear and guilt that it was very nearly eleven. He licked his dry lips and ran a trembling hand through his thinning hair.

"This has to be," he mumbled to quieten some inner turmoil. "There is no choice."

His red-rimmed eyes darted from the hearth and to the dirt encrusted window where the harsh wind had blown some grit against the glass. Heart pounding and his breath catching in his throat he paused and waited for any other sound to suggest that his place was no longer safe. Content that he was alone he settled back to combat that inner struggle that had twisted and terrified him for as long as he could remember; that inner desperate compulsion that made him do these awful things. He let a sob escape his throat and dropped his heavy head into his hands. He had no choice; some all consuming thought told him that, he felt it resonate through his bones, he had no choice. He whimpered and felt those emotions crashing and colliding deep within, and he wondered where it had all started, and what was so important about Ophelia Black that he would risk not only his soul but that of the people he loved. He sobbed again, not caring as the sound echoed in the small, darkened and dirty room, and gently rocked in time to the ticking clock that callously counted down the minutes to his next crime.

She sat on the chair and counted her breaths, in, out, in and out, pause to swallow and then in. The fire crackled and popped in the hearth and although the heat of it caught her shins, she derived no comfort from it. Standing either side of the fireplace, like two prison guards, were Dumbledore and Moody, they stood serenely enough, and she wondered if their hearts beat as frantically, or if they felt the weight of it all crushing their minds and chests. The clock began its charming and delicate tune on the mantle and nausea welled up like storm surge. The first chime of the eleventh hour snatched her breath and her eyes felt large as she peered into the flames. The second chime drew a whimper from her throat, and at the third she gripped the chair arms. She knew that she had to be still; she knew that she was meant to be that mindless automaton he was expecting. But after all those months, and knowing that the feelings at her release were now going to be resolved, and the fear, hope, dread and intensity of it all rushed through her veins and thrummed her nerves: she could barely keep herself still. With a panic she realised that she had lost count, but some tension in her guards suggested that the eleventh chime was close.

The fire erupted in the hearth, and from somewhere she drummed up the strength she needed and she sat limply and listlessly in the chair while her husband's haggard face appeared in the flames.

His compulsion bested him again and he knelt on the cold stone to push his face into the green flickering flames. Through the distorting heat haze he saw her sitting as she always did, and he was tempted to dive through, remove the curse and hold her close. Beg forgiveness, not caring if she did, but knowing that his sin was reversed if not cleansed. Instead, that obsession stayed him and he merely wished.

"Evelyn," he called out softly.

She turned to him and he stared into her eyes; those eyes reflected despair and hope, anger and love. He shuddered as some part of him roared in triumph that somehow his terrible curse had been rendered moot, and another part screeched that he do what he must. He sensed movement, and then exerting his own will in a way that had failed countless times before he made himself stay still and waited for that seeking hand to close around him.

Moody pulled his hand out of the fire, and a shabbily clothed gaunt wizard fell heavily onto the hearth rug. Evelyn sat stunned in the chair, not recognising the man she knew to be her husband. The ex-Auror quickly disarmed the wizard and bound him.

Topliss lay there, sobbing and laughing until they couldn't distinguish one from the other. Evelyn slipped from the chair onto her knees and leant over the wreck of a wizard.

"Brian?" she whispered. "Oh, Brian!"

"Evelyn," he whispered harshly, "you must release me."

Evelyn reared back, looking horrified, her hand covering her mouth. She had looked into his eyes and seen such madness and chaos; his eyes had burned with some fire that terrified her; had it scorched him and rendered the man she knew down to nothing but ash?

"Evelyn," he repeated more firmly, almost angrily. "You must help me."

Evelyn stood and backed away until Minerva's comforting hands gripped her shoulders. She watched in silent terror as the man she loved began to writhe and scream, struggle and curse on the carpet. Moody ended the man's wails with a Stupefy, and in the silence they looked at the man with the answers, lying insensate.

Evelyn had watched as they levitated her husband into the kitchen and sat him in a chair. Without protest she saw them cast a Partial Body Bind and place a vial of clear liquid on the table. Quietly she sat on a chair in the corner and observed Dumbledore cast a series of complex charms over her unconscious husband.

"He is cursed," Dumbledore said with some puzzlement. "But what that curse is I have no idea." He stroked down his beard and studied the quiet, pale man; had this wizard been the victim of a curse as vicious and evil as the one he had cast upon his wife? The spells that he cast seemed to suggest that Topliss was suffering some curse of coercion and depression of will. He tried a standard counter-charm and was dismayed that the spell had little effect. Together, he and Moody cast a complex array of spells and charms, until they were content that whatever malignancy had gripped him was now purged. The strains of such were evident in the sweat beading on their brows and the trembling wands as they stood over him.

Moody took a shaky breath and sank into a nearby chair; Dumbledore slipped his wand into his inner breast pocket and patted the sleeping man tenderly on the shoulder.

"That should do," he offered gently, glancing over at the pale and visibly shaking woman. She slowly forced herself to look away from the man slumped in the chair and managed a weak smile of gratitude before having to bite her lower lip to stem the flood of emotion. "Alastor, would you administer the Veritaserum?"

Evelyn watched in morbid fascination as Dumbledore carefully lifted her husband's chin and Moody let three glistening drops fall from the clear vial onto the exposed tongue. Still, gently, cradling his chin, Dumbledore cast Enervate and with a splutter and shudder Topliss woke a new man.

"Brian?" Evelyn queried hopefully, tentatively, as she approached the table.

Brian turned his chocolate brown eyes to her and smiled lopsidedly.

"That's me," he answered jovially.

Evelyn let a burst of hysterical laughter pass her lips, and sank into the chair next to him.

"Oh, Brian," she crooned while brushing some errant strands of greying hair from his forehead.

"Do yer know who we are Brian?" asked Moody gruffly.

"O' course I do," he said. "Alastor Moody and Albus Dumbledore." He looked past his wife and bowed. "And Professor McGonagall." Finally he smiled and his eyes flickered over Evelyn's face, drinking her in. "And my wife; my Evelyn."

"Brian," he said more firmly, "we need to ask yer some questions, lad."

Topliss sobered, with a sigh his smile slipped and he faced his inquisitors. "I thought as much; ask away."

"Did yer have anythin' to do with the disappearance of Ophelia Black?"

He frowned, and his eyes unfocused as he trawled back through his confused and disjointed memories; the potion demanded a truthful answer, and he was struggling to bring together his recollections.

"Yes," he admitted quietly.

---X---

She had started at the sight of him, and for a moment stood dazzled before whipping her wand round and casting a Full Body Bind; shocked, angry and confused he fell to the floor with arms and legs stiff at his side. The fall had been fortunate and he could see her and the people on the carriage floor. Her face was dotted with tiny cuts and her left eye was swollen and red. The jeans and jumper were scorched and bloodied, and a tear in the denim suggested that her left thigh had been lacerated. Unable to move or speak he watched in futile desperation as the witch rolled a moaning girl onto her back and knelt down. With terrifying deftness the young woman pulled out a dark glass vial and began to pour the dark viscous contents down the barely conscious Muggle's throat. Within a few moments the teenager began to thrash around, and then he watched in horrid fascination as her features and hair morphed into that of the witch; even the wounds were the same.

The young witch licked her lips nervously and stood, wincing as her weight shifted onto her left leg. Topliss tried to fight the curse, his every instinct was screaming at him, every muscle worked frantically, but the curse held him fast. Small muted sobs burst past his paralysed throat and blood thundered past his ears. Screaming at her to stop, trying to shout at her, he saw the terrifying witch stand and aim her wand at the now insensate girl. How was this happening? Why was she doing this?

"Avada Kedavra!"

A stream of green light burst from the tip of her wand, but they could both see that the curse lacked intent; he heard her scream in anger, despair and frustration, how her hands clutched and tugged at her hair. He tried to scream again, feeling the tendons in his neck burn with the effort.

"Avada Kedavra!" she screamed out again, her voice pitched with pain and desperation.

He could feel the curse slipping; he could move his hands and feet. With wide eyes and desperate movements he prayed that the curse would fail before this witch completed the deed that she saw as so necessary. He watched as she searched the carriage, looking for a weapon; while distracted her curse weakened. Between sobs and grunts he inched his way across metal floor to where his wand had fallen; mere feet away, but in his condition it could have been miles. From the corner of his eye he saw the impossibly dedicated witch pick up a shard of metal that had burst from the carriage wall. She knelt by her prone doppelganger and pressed the sharp edge against the girl's throat.

Perhaps she heard his heavy breaths, or the sound of him picking his way through the debris, but she turned on him. He saw the dreadful desperation in those dark brown depths, and then she uttered a curse that crushed him.

"Imperio!"

He felt himself slipping into the soft and welcome grip of the curse, somewhere a voice screeched and demanded, but the lack of responsibility, the lack of effort, after facing the enormity of what he was trying to combat was too tempting. He saw her press the sharp, glittering edge of the shard against the Muggle's throat, a sudden movement, and then the floor darkening with spilt blood. The viscous, precious liquid ran along the grooves in the floor, spreading, terrifyingly quickly, as it poured from the wound. The vestiges of the body bind dissipated, and despite the soft gurgling and weak movements coming from the dying girl he stood to do her will.

"Help me!" she demanded. "Get the girl—don't use magic!" she commanded. "They'll detect that; pick her up and take her to the front of the train."

He nodded, and despite the fact that the fire was the fiercest at the front he carried the girl over his shoulder. He heard quick footsteps behind him as he entered the thickest part of the smoke and then, thanks to the charms, he walked calmly through it. The doorway to the carriage was twisted and narrowed so he was forced to throw the now cooling corpse through the gap while he squeezed through after. A sharp prod in the small of his back made him step further in. The stench of burnt flesh would have over-powered him had he not some higher purpose to set his resolve. A soft gagging sound made him turn, and through the thick smoke he saw her bent over and spitting bile onto the floor.

"Where do you want it?" he shouted.

She pointed vaguely towards two upturned seats close to where a fire raged. The charms were just able to cope with the intense heat and he dropped the girl almost in the flames. He watched with detached interest as her dark hair began to singe before igniting to swathe her head in fire, and how her fingers blackened. The flames licked across the back of her hand as if it was some creature tasting its prey until satisfied, and then those small tentative flames suddenly erupted into a devouring conflagration. His macabre vigil was interrupted when she grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

"Listen to me," she said, once they had returned to the relative calm of the off kilter carriage. "I have three potions; this" she said, holding up a small bottle, "you will drink now." He took the offered bottle and quickly gulped down the contents. The taste was unfamiliar. "This potion I will drink soon," her eyes were now wide and he saw her terror and fear. "It will make me look as though I am dead, and after I drink it you will take me to a safe place and complete your duties as though nothing has happened other than this crash." She inhaled and seemed to battle a wave of nausea, and he could sense that she only a breath away from hysteria. His heart leapt for her, he would do all that he could do to protect her. "When you are free, and it causes no suspicion, you will come and find me and give me this last potion to drink." He studied the clear pear-shaped, glass bottle and the silvery liquid inside and nodded quickly. He knew that he had to defend this girl, protect her at all costs, nothing was more important than her life and words.

She studied him intently and then lifted the potion to her lips; he watched her throat work as the liquid slid down. He stepped forward to catch her, and then he was out of the train and carrying her away.

After Moody and the other senior Aurors had finished collecting their evidence and casting their charms, and his duty was done, he made his way back to her hiding place, carrying a bag of things that he thought would be of use . As the hours had dragged his heart had hammered in his ribs, and only the notion that all must be as it should had kept him from screaming in frustration and running from the Ministry. His training and the potion warred with his needs and instincts. Once he was free he rushed to her, his heart in his throat and desperation strumming his stretched nerves. He found her as he had left her, lying in a disused culvert, the Disillusionment Charm had worn off and only the conjured blanket protected her. He knelt beside her in the rain water and searched her pockets for the last potion. He slid his arm under her shoulders and lifted her so that her head fell back and her mouth opened. He poured the contents of the pear-shaped bottle down her dry throat. He noted with concern her cold, limp body and her pale skin… had he been too long? He counted his breaths while he waited, after sixteen he felt fear coiling in his belly, after thirty he slapped her colourless cheeks, and when he shakily inhaled his sixtieth breath fat tears slid from his eyes and onto her forehead. He stopped counting when she suddenly convulsed in his lap, her hands reaching out to grip his clothes, drawing in a deep, desperate breath and her eyes wide and frantic. He pulled her up into his arms and held her as she shivered against him. He cast a Warming Charm and rubbed her cold arms and back until the charm suffused her trembling body and cast out the cold. He pulled his bag closer and pulled out a thick heavy coat, a scarf, hat and some gloves; while she recovered from the after-effects of the potion he gently dressed her.

"I had no choice," she whispered quickly. "It had to be done." She sobbed quietly as he buttoned her coat.

"I know," he said soothingly. He looked up and straight into her bewildered and frantic gaze. Her eyes were dark, like bitter chocolate, and he saw such despair and fear in them that it snatched his breath.

"I can't do this," she suddenly had cried out. "He asked me to, and I can't do it! I just want to forget." She was openly weeping, her flushed cheeks slick with tears. "I tried and I couldn't, and I can't carry on."

He listened as she mumbled her pleas and fears, wishing that he knew what she was referring to, what things she was mentioning. Her suffering was cutting into him like knives, and he felt useless as each sob and stifled wail slashed. She fell back into his embrace and wept against his chest. He would have held and comforted her, but he was here to protect her. He pushed her away, gripped her shoulders and looked at her.

"We need somewhere to go; you need to be safe!"

She stared blankly at him, then swallowed her grief and sorrow and was that tower of strength that had terrified him when he first saw her.

"You will keep me safe!"

He nodded eagerly and without hesitation; he would kill and die for her.

"Keep me safe; keep Ophelia Black safe. Make the Wizarding world think me dead, and never come looking for me!" She licked her lips, and what colour she had drained from her face. "Cast the Obliviate Charm and then hurt me as if I was in that train crash; then, make sure that no one ever finds me. Do whatever you must; whatever you can."

Brian Topliss nodded and stroked her wet cheek. "I will keep you safe, Ophelia Black."

With that promise and vow he pointed the wand at her temple while she closed her eyes and smiled as if in rapture.

"Obliviate!"

---X---

They sat in stunned silence, each lost in their own thoughts while Topliss sat panting from the effort of talking. His mind was clear of the curse and potion that had directed and manipulated his will for two decades, and yet thinking freely was exhausting him. He was aware of his wife sitting quietly, but supportively next to him, her hand still gripping his own, and he could feel the mounting tension emanating from his guests. For the first time in quite a while he was concerned for himself and his wife.

"I used various curses to injure her, and then made a call to the Muggle emergency services; they came and took her away. She had planned everything quite nicely, the Polyjuice confused the magical tests to determine the identity of the corpse, and the Draught of Living Death was in someway enhanced to make her magical aura fade during the initial search. It was perfect. I then used my influence within the Ministry to keep her well hidden, and, until just under a year ago, I was convinced that I had done my duty."

Dumbledore nodded while his mind worked frantically. "A young girl was murdered to keep her safe Brian."

Here Topliss bowed his head and his breath became shallow and erratic. "I saw that girl, sir, and she would have died; her life would have been only minutes longer, and I believe, even after that curse has been lifted, that the girl's death, at that time, served something."

"What do yer mean?" growled out Moody.

The Auror's head snapped up and he looked at Moody, his face set with grim determination. "The curse made me protect her, and in that there was a loophole. It didn't prevent me from learning about her and meeting with her; to do what I considered best to comply with her request. I spent the best part of her recuperation talking with her teachers and doctors, studying her and learning about her."

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up and he leant forward in his chair, focusing his attention upon the man who now had more pieces to the puzzle than anyone else.

"I am a proficient wizard, but I have always lacked skill with Memory Modifying Spells; the Obliviate was flawed. She was still aware of the Wizarding world, but in an abstract fashion, she was putting images onto paper that to her were dreams or nightmares, not realising that they were images from her own memory. The doctors encouraged these artistic outlets and I, of course, was privy to them too. As her pictures became more revealing and intense so her behaviour and temper disintegrated." He shook his head sadly and gave a soft sigh. "I was at a loss as to how to help her, and I relied upon the Muggle doctors to heal her. In hindsight that was an error in judgement." He swallowed and ran a trembling hand through his hair. "The things she drew and the nightmares she discussed were instrumental in a number of cases levied against wizards, and, albeit unknowingly, she helped to incarcerate a number of Dark wizards. They also displayed how deeply she was caught up in that world, and I could understand why she wanted to leave it and forget everything. I suspect that she was escaping in the only way she knew how." He looked up at Dumbledore, his eyes suddenly ablaze and alive. "It has long been thought that Lord Voldemort created Horcruxes and I think that Ophelia knows what they are; it has always been imperative to keep her safe." He suddenly groaned and clutched at his hair. "Even if that curse hadn't made me I would have protected her with my life, but I suffered; it pained me daily to know that I had the solution to our nightmare and my duty prevented me from using it. The things I've done over the years to keep her safe."

"And Norwood?" Moody encouraged.

"He died of a heart attack!" he said hastily. "I had nothing to do with it." He let out a whimper as the memories of what he had done over the years collided into one giant mass of guilt and despair. Amongst the milling throng of thoughts and questions there was the overriding and insistent demand that he discover exactly why Ophelia Black had thought fit to manipulate and distort his mind. Was her reasoning worth his anguish?

"I think I can understand why she planned it all, why she fervently desired to get away from Him and the others; but I can't forgive her for what she's put me and those I love through." Brian wept; his cheeks glistening and his lips trembling. Next to him Evelyn stood and pulled him against her, stroking his hair and muttering words in his ear, her tears dripping to mingle with his.

"Ywe weren't in yer own mind," said Moody smoothly, trying to ease the distressed wizard. "She has a mind and will for such things."

Sniffing, Brian pulled away from his wife's loving embrace and his red, swollen eyes fixed on Moody. "Oh, you misunderstood me," he said softly. "She doesn't have it in her; that's why I can't forgive. She hated what she had done; her art and stories reflected as much; she must have hated it back then, and yet she still did it!" His face reddened with anger and his voice increased in strength. "Of all the options she had and she chose to do that! She's no Death Eater; she's …" he hesitated as he tried to find the right description. "She's dedicated!" He smiled wryly and gave a short, angry laugh. "Thank Merlin that she had no intention to follow the Dark Lord!" He sobered and shook his head sadly. "I don't hate her; I am just so angry that it happened. We could have protected her. Hell! I would have protected her."

"It is no longer solely your responsibility," said Dumbledore. "There are those who can protect her and in such a way that we can end this nightmare."

Topliss sagged with relief and gave a small smile of gratitude. "I want this to end," he whispered. "I want to carry on as though it was a nightmare; I haven't the strength, after all this time, to fight it." His head lolled to the side and rested against Evelyn's side, his eyes closed and he sagged as one would after a gruelling battle. "It all could have been so different," he mumbled sadly. He opened his eyes and looked upon Moody, sitting resolutely in the chair opposite. "The investigation into Norwood's death will be stopped, I will—" he said firmly, only to suddenly stop, looking pained. "I will tell the Aurors what I've done, and any suspicions regarding your involvement will be nullified." Topliss licked his lips, and his hands gripped desperately and fearfully at his wife's hands. Moody nodded and waved a hand almost dismissively, as if it were a mere misunderstanding and not the precursor to a stay in Azkaban. Moody knew that the new Aurors would be hard-pressed to generate a scroll against him without the hairs and fibres that had been destroyed months ago. Brian nodded gratefully at Moody, his breath hitching and stuttering as he realised that it was finally over for him. "I know where she lives;" he continued firmly. "I've been moving her around from place to place so as to keep her hidden."

"We know," Moody chuckled darkly.

The Auror blinked several times. "What do you mean?"

"We've been trying to find her for the best part of a year, lad, and if I'd have known that yer knew I'd have come visitin' sooner with some grapes and well wishes."