Chapter Seven – Harsh Light of Day
There were two kinds of sleepless nights. Ones spent lying in one's bed, staring at the wall, ceiling, clock or other random place or object, while sleep refused to come. Or ones spent without sleep because there simply wasn't time for any.
Albus Dumbledore couldn't say for certain at that moment which he felt was worse. He'd certainly had his fair share of both; he was also acutely aware that each could result from a myriad of causes. Normally, he thought he would lean towards disliking the former, as there was little more frustrating than lying awake desperate for sleep and being unable to drift off. However, this morning he was somewhat inclined to change his opinion, as although the former was more frustrating, the latter was far harder on the body.
Especially a body as old as his.
One had to be kind to a body as advanced in years as his. Had to treat it with respect. Aging bones and muscles did not appreciate being overworked by being forced to remain in a state of use, let alone hurrying (he did not run, only in the direst of circumstances would urgency outweigh dignity) all over the castle. Add to the aches of such abuses the sensation of being a half step behind himself due to the aforementioned lack of sleep and an overcrowded brain, and Albus Dumbledore would admit he was not in the best of sort this morning.
His only comfort was that he was not alone in his suffering. All his senior teachers were looking somewhat worse for wear at the moment. Then again, who wouldn't after a night spent searching the castle for not only the monster that had been terrorising its inhabitants for months, but also possible intruders. The search, as it always had previously, proved fruitless, and the strain of the last few months was beginning to show.
Never before had he been so thwarted within his own school. It was maddening. It was infuriating. It was a riddle wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in a thousand years of conjecture and bad story telling. It was pulling them all down. He'd just concluded a meeting with Severus and the poor man had looked wiped out. Filius Flitwick was currently sacked out on a conjured couch in the Headmaster's own office and Dumbledore had spied Pomona Sprout, just managing to plod along a corridor not two minutes ago.
Feeling the almost overwhelming desire to plod himself, but keeping his pace through pure force of will alone, Dumbledore pushed open the doors to the hospital wing, and he wasn't sure if he was surprised or not to see Minerva McGonagal looking perhaps a little harried, but no less her usual immaculate self. If he was a petty man he might have resented her for it; she was after all, not so young herself. He was not a petty man however, and so he smiled tiredly, approaching her with steady dignified grace.
"Good Morning Minerva."
"Morning it may be, Headmaster, but good is not how I would describe it." McGonagall huffed, and now he was closer Dumbledore noticed that contrary to his previous supposition, she was indeed quite ruffled.
Be that as it may, Now was not the time to worry about a few hairs out of place. Minerva rarely became flustered over trivialities and given the severity of the previous night's events, a weight settled in his stomach. "Has Miss Granger worsened in the night? I was led to believe she suffered only from a broken nose."
"Oh she did. And Poppy had that fixed hours ago." The Deputy Headmistress' tone was far from sympathetic. "If she'd taken ill I could deal with it. No this is far worse. Now, she won't talk to me."
"Given the trauma of last night..."
"Trauma my foot." McGonagall cut the Headmaster off briskly. "She's not traumatised Albus, she's refusing! She'll talk to Poppy. She'll talk to me if I ask her a question about anything else. But ask her about last night and she gets this look on her face like she's just had one of your lemon sours and pretends I'm not there! Never in all my years have I encountered such bald faced defiance and from Granger no less!"
"Come now Minerva, being ignored is hardly the worst student behaviour you have seen over the years." Dumbledore attempted to sooth, even as a frown settled on his face.
"Maybe so! But at a time like this, to pull such a stunt..." Minerva suddenly shook her head and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, calming herself from her temper. "I shall have to contact her parents again. There is something deeply wrong with that girl."
"Perhaps." Dumbledore mused, distracted by his own whirling thoughts. "Or perhaps a different approach is needed."
"Well you're more than welcome to try." With an imperious wave of her arm, McGonagall let the Headmaster know which of the many beds now hidden behind privacy screens was Hermione's and stepped back to let him pass; her tone as she spoke speaking volumes of how much confidence she had in his likely success. "Lord knows I've tried everything I can to get her to open up."
Giving his Deputy a kindly look and a reassuring squeeze to her upper arm, Dumbledore moved to the indicated bed, giving himself a moment to take in the child in question as he slipped passed the privacy screen.
Sitting up in the bed, arms folded over her chest and glaring balefully at the sheets covering her lap, Hermione Granger looked the epitome of teenage stubbornness. It was not an unfamiliar look to Dumbledore, he'd encountered it on hundreds of young faces over his many years working at Hogwarts both as a professor and as Headmaster. It was, he was forced to admit, somewhat disconcerting to see it in place of Hermione's usually eager and wide eyed enthusiasm, bright trusting smile, or somewhat superior, serious and studious frown. Of course it was just as likely that his momentary disorientation could be put down to the fact that in the middle of the pretty freckled face was a rather swollen, pink looking nose.
"As I understand it Miss Granger, you've had something of an adventure these last few hours." Dumbledore started pleasantly, continuing when Hermione refused to look up and acknowledge him. "And without your usual companions no less."
Hermione's eyes flicked up to meet his for a second, and the wariness in them took Dumbledore aback for a moment. Then he sighed. Pieces fell into place and he found himself feeling a surge of sympathy for his young charge. "I'm sure you are aware of how important it is that we know exactly what happened last night Miss Granger. Perhaps you would be kind enough to recount your observations of the events?"
There was a momentary pause in Hermione's reaction and Dumbledore knew Hermione was debating how to answer, or if she should answer at all. The pause ended when Hermione lifted her head and shoulders proudly. Her voice when it came was strong, but somewhat nasal "No."
"I see." Dumbledore responded almost jovially to the accusatory and defensive tone. "Do you have a particular reason for not wishing to share?"
"You won't believe me." Hermione replied matter-of-factly.
"Ah. I see." Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Might I ask why you feel I would not believe you?"
Hermione frowned then, a hurt look flicking across her features before it was carefully hidden. "Professor McGonagall never believes me. She always accuses me of lying when I tell her anything."
"Hmm." Dumbledore hummed considering. "And you think that I too would accuse you of telling lies, were you to tell me?"
Hermione shrugged; what bolshie courage she'd mustered previously seemed to escape her and she looked away.
"Unless my memory is failing me in my old age Miss Granger, I don't believe I've ever called you a liar." Dumbledore observed carefully. "In my experience, when someone lies to me, they usually have a reason to do so, and hold onto some foolish belief that I won't be able to tell. So given that you're no fool and I can see no reason for you to lie to me now, I can't imagine that whatever you need to tell me would be a lie."
Hermione frowned at him then, but it wasn't an angry or defiant frown. Actually it was very close to the frown Minerva often gave him when she was trying to work out whether what he'd just said was either deeply profound or utter gibberish.
When Hermione's shoulders finally drooped and her hands came to rest in her lap, her gaze dropping to follow them, Dumbledore stepped closer and perched herself at the edge of her bed. In the moment before she'd broken eye-contact he'd seen the desperation to be believed, to trust and have her faith in her teachers restored. It was not irreversible damage that had been done in the past, but the intensity of that look told him that damage had indeed been done. And if that were the case, then perhaps both he and Minerva needed to re-evaluate the stories that had been told in the past. For now though, he needed answers from the one person in the school who had been witness to an attack by the creature from the Chamber and was in a fit state in the aftermath to describe it.
"Perhaps you'd like to start at the beginning."
The story that unfolded was not as he expected. He, along with everyone else, had assumed that Hermione had been attacked in some way; perhaps by the creature, perhaps by the arguing intruders that had been heard further along the corridor. He had not expected Hermione to talk of a saviour, or that said saviour would come in the form not of a person, but in that of a large black dog. The same large black dog she had previously reported seeing in the library, and now admitted to having seen on numerous occasions since.
Bidding Hermione rest as per Madame Pomfry's orders, Dumbledore stepped out from behind the privacy screen and as he'd fully expected, found Minerva waiting for him; her expression a peculiar mix of confusion, irritation, exasperation and remorse.
"Surely you don't believe she was saved from this monster by The Grim!" McGonagall burst out almost as soon as he was clear of the screen, but it was evident from her tone that she wasn't as convinced of her own initial scepticism as she once had been.
"The Grim?" Dumbledore mused idly. "Yes, the animal she described does sound remarkably like that doesn't it? But in answer to your question, no I do not believe it was The Grim she saw, but rather something far more mundane, and yet at the same time far more incredible." Glancing over at the screen again, Dumbledore smiled, his blue eyes twinkling for the first time in hours.
"How can you possibly smile." Minerva huffed, hands coming to rest on her hips. "Granger has told us precisely nothing we did not already know. She didn't even catch a glimpse of the monster! And now, to make matters worse, we may have a rabid dog lose in the castle as well! First the Chamber, then Black, and now this? How much more Albus? If things continue as they are the Parents are going to start taking their children out of school for more than just the holidays! The school could close!"
"Calm yourself Minerva." Dumbledore soothed. "Is it not said that it is always darkest before the dawn? And although I admit this dog of Miss Granger's is an added concern, I do not believe that it poses an immediate threat. After all, it quite possibly saved her life last night."
"Still..."
"Besides," Dumbledore cut her off with a smile. "You were wrong when you said Miss Granger told us nothing of use. In fact her account has quite probably solved a mystery that has been troubling me for some time. Your mentioning of The Grim has only reaffirmed my conclusions."
"Oh?"
"Hmmm... Indeed" Dumbledore confirmed vaguely, amused when he was levelled with an impatient look. "But it can wait. For now we must deal with the matters at hand, and you should get some sleep."
"Sleep!" Minerva yelped. "I can't sleep! Today's a match day!"
"So it is." Albus sighed. "Unfortunately, given the circumstances, I think perhaps we ought to cancel. And it would probably be a good idea if students were to be confined to their common-rooms for the time being."
"You can't cancel Quiddich!" Minerva burst out before she caught herself and let out a long tired sigh. "I'll go and inform the teams. I'd better inform Mr Potter and Mr Weasley of Miss Granger's whereabouts as well. They've no doubt noticed her absence by now."
"Quite frankly, I'm amazed they haven't burst in here already."
~HpɸqH~
The walls were moving; the straining timbers creaking as the ancient house was buffeted by the wind. The Shrieking Shack it was known as; resting on the edge of the village of Hogsmeade but actually on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it was reputed to be the most haunted house in Great Britain.
If anyone were to ask the inhabitants of Hogsmeade Village, they would say that the house had been the home to spirits so restless and wounded they had howled and wailed into the night since it had been abandoned by its last human inhabitants almost a century ago. What many failed to realise however, was that inhuman sounds coming from the house were only ever heard for a seven year period, just over a decade ago. The stories gave the impression of generations of spooked villagers, woken from dreams by violent spectral unrest.
Which went a long way to explain why no-one from the village ever tried to enter the old dilapidated house; who would ever willingly chose to enter the domain of such malevolent spirits?
The Answer to that of course was simple. Teenagers. The shack was a place of much speculation and awe in the minds' of Hogswart's students, and every year a foolhardy few would test their nerve. True to their sorting these were most often Gryffindors, attempting to justify their place within the house of the brave, but sometimes the odd prideful Ravenclaw would endeavour to prove a point, or a love-struck Hufflepuff would try their luck in an attempt to woo their fair maiden. Very few made it close enough to even peer through the boarded windows before common sense and the limits of bladder control overruled adolescent bravado however.
Had anyone actually ever managed to get close enough to peer inside, not only would they have found it physically impossible to get any further – the only way in or out of the shack was actually through a hidden passage guarded by the fiercely territorial Whomping-Willow on the school grounds - they would have also seen something that spoke less of ghosts and more of some kind of an animal. A beast. A monster.
Every surface, the floors, furniture, even the walls ceilings and fixtures were covered in a thick layer of accumulated dust and dirt. Portraits hung empty, their occupants long having fled. But even through all the grime there were marks that drew the eye. Broken furniture, edges and spurs seeming to bare the marks of large sharp teeth. Scratches, great gouges torn into doors and walls as if made by large sharp claws. Whatever called the shack home was not a ghost. It was also long gone. The dust had lain undisturbed for years.
Until recently that was.
Fresh footprints lay dark on the floor, sheets had been cast aside from the surviving furniture in what would once have been a lavish drawing room. As the golden strands of afternoon sun slanted in through the window boards, Sirius Black paced the length of the room; his movements as agitated as the clouds of dust kicked up by his torn and barely recognisable boots.
He wasn't comfortable being still. He hadn't been still in months. He wasn't even still in his sleep. In the ancient and forgotten chamber where he'd made his home since coming back to the school - deep within the very walls themselves - he'd shredded no end of stolen blankets in the throes of dreams.
Nightmares.
Memories.
Sleeping in his animagus form had dulled the edges from those visions - a canine mind wasn't designed to deal with complexities – but they'd still been bad enough to fray the edges of his already threadbare sanity.
Oh he knew he was on the edge. He knew his mind wasn't right. It was the strangest thing, to be aware of one's own madness. To recall being calm and happy, joyful and content and yet feel only the urge to scream and howl and tear and destroy. They said The Dementors took those feelings. Took all the light from the world and stripped it to only agony, but he could still remember. Every. Little. Detail. And felt the agony nonetheless. Because each memory was tainted, smeared, sullied.
Every smile. Every laugh. Every moment of life and love he'd known shadowed by the knowledge of his failure. Blood spattered photographs. James and Lily, gone. His fault. Harry and Remus left alone. His fault. He never cast one curse, one single spell against them. He never spoke one word out of turn, no careless whisper passed his lips, but it was still his fault and the knowledge burned.
He'd bathed in those flames. Let them consume him. Sometimes in Azkaban, he'd listened to the wails of torment all around him and thrown his head back and joined them, wishing he too could fall completely into oblivious insanity. Then The Dementors would come, dragging those stained memories from their graves and his screams would join the chorus for real. Desperate pleas. For what he didn't know. Not for release. Not for mercy. He'd seen no point in freedom until he'd learned that Peter was alive.
His feet had taken him to the far end of the room. Nowhere else to go he turned to continue back the way he came and hesitated at the sight of the room. A shaft of sunlight cut it in two; bright gold and dancing with sparkling dust motes. Beyond it, curled up on a dilapidated chaise lounge was Remus. He'd fallen asleep hours ago; his mind and body just giving in abruptly, his words trailing off midsentence as they'd talked. Something about the abruptness of Remus' collapse, and the haziness which had shrouded the werewolf's words and actions over the hours of their re-acquaintance felt off to Sirius, but what did he know about Remus anymore? What did he know about pretty much anything?
Unwittingly Sirius' feet carried him closer, passing through the brilliant light and into the shadows beyond. His eyes were intense as he stared down at the werewolf, watchful, searching. He had to clench his fists so tight his knuckles turned white to stop himself from reaching out; to stop himself from drawing aside the curtain of tawny hair obscuring the features he'd once known so well. Maybe if he could see that face, study its lines and the changes the last eleven years had brought, he could get some answers to the broken questions that rolled intangibly around his head.
Yet at the same time he didn't want to know. If he couldn't see the lines of age, the fresh scars and hollow cheeks he could for a moment imagine another time. A time when his touch was welcome, his gaze met with a blush and crooked half smile or a devilish grin. A simpler time. An innocent time before everything had gone so wrong for all of them.
It wasn't hard to picture. Hair covering his face, Remus looked as his teenage self so often had.
So much so he could picture the ghost of his past self with ease; knelt at Remus' side carefully tending the other boy's wounds, making sure he was comfortable in the first light of dawn following a full a moon. Those amber gold eyes would be watching him tiredly, holding a world of gratitude, pain, love and exhaustion in their depths. He could almost hear the sounds of James and Peter hastily clearing away any sign of their presence from the shack. Could hear James admonish him to stop fussing and help them. Could well imagine the snigger that would break free of Remus and the names he himself would call James in return.
Then the voices changed, Peter's words and tone went from playful whining urgency to suspicion, doubt, and hesitant accusation. Pain blossomed in his face from James' fist; his brother in all but blood striking him for accusing their friend, his own ex-lover of being a traitor. He could hear the echoes of his own voice imploring James to see reason and the merit in his plan.
Then James' lifeless eyes were staring up at him through skewed broken glasses, his body unnaturally still on the floor. The acrid tang of dark magic hung in the air, settling on his tongue and at the back of his throat making him gag.
Screams, shouts; his own voice wild, frantic and enraged, thick with pained madness.
Peter laughing. The painful ringing in his ears as the world exploded. The heat of flames and the smell of smoke...
With an incoherent cry Sirius threw himself away from Remus and into the first thing he could get his hands on to destroy; kicking out mercilessly at a nearby table, hefting a chair and throwing it across the room, tearing at the already shredded remnants of curtains and smashing through anything else he could find.
Spinning around to look for something else to rent apart, his rampage was halted with the abruptness of a thunderclap as he found himself nose to nose with the business end of Remus Lupin's wand. It was so close he had to lean back to even see it properly. His eyes tracked along the slightly battered darkwood shaft, taking in the various knocks and notches and the faint impressions of canine teeth, up past the steady hand, idly noting that Remus apparently no longer chewed his nails, and along the outstretched arm to the scarred face of the man. Amber eyes, not unnatural in humans but rare, were narrowed. His hair was sleep tousled and his mouth set in firm line; rapid breaths were being drawn and exhaled through his nose.
Despite the rage that burned like liquid fire in his veins, Sirius was frozen in place; his shoulders heaving as he panted, out of breath from his overexertion. Knowledge or instinct Sirius wasn't sure, but something told him that if he moved, a flash of magic might be the last thing he ever saw. The wolf flickered in Remus' eyes. The red haze began to clear.
Seconds ticked by. Neither moved. Then Remus' face lost its stiffness and it regained its more familiar gentleness. Visibly and audibly relaxing, Remus lowered his wand.
With the imminent threat of having his head blasted from his shoulders removed, Sirius turned away sharply, his limbs feeling decidedly unsteady and his heart thundering. Reaching a sideboard he hadn't got around to turning into kindling, he braced himself against it, palms flat on the peeling varnish of its top, his head dropping forward so his hair fell about his face like a curtain.
"Sirius?"
A thousand questions in just his name. What's wrong? Are you alright? Are you sane? Are you going to try and kill me? Are you calm again yet? Who are you? And so many more.
"What are we doing here!?" Sirius finally rasped out. "I need to get back to the castle. Peter will be back from St Mungo's..."
Peter would be back. Harry was alone in the castle with Peter. Just the mere thought of his name brought back the image of James and Lily's lifeless bodies. Of flame and heat and that last smug look he's sent him before the world went mad.
Pushing off from the dresser, Sirius made for the door, but Remus had stepped into his path.
"Sirius, remember we agreed we'd wait..."
"I'VE DONE MY WAITING!" Sirius found himself screaming. "Eleven Years of it Remus! In Azkaban!"
"I Know." Soft words spoken as something infinitely sad, remorseful and pained passed across Remus' features. Sirius was shaking as Remus reached out, and gripped his shoulder. "But we've been through this."
Sirius opened his mouth to argue, but Remus was right, they had been through this. Ad Nauseam. They'd spent the early hours of the morning, once they'd made it from the castle to the shack, going over it all. Saying so much that should have been said years ago. Sharing what they'd learned in the years between then and now. Reliving that night again and again. How many times had he begged Remus to help him kill Peter, each time to be refused? He'd honestly lost count. But Remus was right. Then again, he usually was, wasn't he?
Sirius didn't much care what happened to himself. He'd found the energy and presence of mind to break out of Azkaban with one objective in mind. Kill Peter. The moment the guards had come to taunt him about his victim who'd thwarted him – what a joke – he'd been set on one thing; finding and killing Peter. Making him pay for everything he'd done. What happened after that he hadn't thought about, and hadn't cared about.
The longer he'd been away from Azkaban however, the more time he'd spent aware of Remus on his tail, and watching Harry go about his life, the less disconnected he'd felt. He wanted Harry to know the truth. If nothing else, he wanted Harry to know what really happened. He thought about the baby he'd bounced on his knee and the almost toddler he'd played with on the Potter's living room floor, and he wanted that child, now so grown, to know. He wanted Harry to know his Pa'foo hadn't ever meant for any of those terrible things to have happened.
Remus was right. If he killed Peter, the truth would die with him. Remus wanted them to go to Dumbledore. The Headmaster at least would hear him out before calling in the Aurors. Or that's what they hoped. What would happen afterwards he didn't know, but if nothing else, Sirius knew he wanted the chance to speak to Harry.
"Sirius?"
This time the question was a simple one. Are you still in there?
He didn't remember crossing the room or sitting down, but as he looked to Remus, he found that he was indeed sitting down on the other side of the room to the door. The room itself was full of shadows, and the tip of Remus' wand glowed providing their only light. The sun had set. Night had finally come.
"Time to go."
Pushing himself to his feet, he drew a deep breath and felt for that reassuring place inside himself where there was only magic and something deeply familiar, warm and distinctly canine. When he opened his eyes again the world was changed.
The first few seconds after assuming his animagus form were always a little disorientating as his brain adjusted to seeing the world through a dog's eyes. Actually it was more through a dog's nose. The eyes only saw shades of grey, but the nose... the nose took in the world in full colour and surround sound. Human's just didn't have words for the complexities of scent.
When he changed back the only way he'd ever been able to describe the incredible way in which he saw the world as a canine, was to say it was like seeing clouds of colour that were vibrant with sound and texture as he passed through them. Common, underlying scents like the thick coating of dust and dirt soon faded passed into inconsequence, leaving the room in sepia tones, vaguely hued with other colours. His own scent also soon vanished from his vision, leaving the most obvious scent as a snaking cloudy trail criss-crossing the room. Deep purple smoke with hints of forest green, gold with something dark and flickery and tang of rich tinkling magic; Remus. Where he'd lain on the chaise lounge, so still for so long, it was almost like looking back in time; the smoke's shape and form an almost perfect replica of the man himself. Where he'd been moving around, it was more of a foggy trail leaving the room and eventually ending with the werewolf who was lowering himself down the trapdoor in the hallway floor; a greyscale figure in a wispy cloud.
Once he'd followed into the tunnel, he didn't really need the light from Remus' wand to see. He needed only to follow Remus' scent and the silvery stream of clean fresh air. Even walls exuded their own scent of damp, mould and earth the colour of rotting bracken. As they neared the end of the tunnel, Remus darkened his wand, and even though he hadn't needed it, Sirius felt a sense of relief when he passed through the Whomping Willow and out into the bright moonlight.
Last night had been cloudy, tonight was clear. Just two nights since it was full, the moon hung fat and heavy in the sky. The air was alive with the first scents of the incoming spring. Grass, mud, the first blossoms and snow drops. The ground was damp beneath his paws. It called to instincts deep within the form.. But there was no time for play tonight. No time to run free. Human focus overcame canine will, and without even a backwards glance, Sirius paced easily at Remus' side; the long legs of his massive form easily able to keep up with Remus' forceful stride.
Of course it wasn't all steady going. They had to be careful as they picked their way through the shadows up the slope towards the castle. It might have been dark, but it was still early. Only first and second years' curfew had passed and the last thing they needed was to be seen now. Lord knew he'd been seen enough the last few weeks. That Granger girl, Harry's friend, was an observant one he'd give her that. Once she'd started looking for him, he hadn't been able to get close to Harry without her spotting him.
It was pure chance he'd been behind the wall of the fourth floor corridor last night though. Once Harry had vanished into the Gryffindor common-room, he'd just been wandering about, trying to keep moving to avoid Remus. As much as the fact that the girl kept seeing him had begun to rankle however, when he'd caught the scent of the Basilisk, and realised the girls were about to walk right into it, he hadn't been about to just let it happen. He hadn't been quick enough to save the older one, but he was glad he'd been able to keep Harry's friend safe. Well safe-ish. His sternum was actually bruised from where she'd broken her nose against it. That definitely hadn't been in the plan. Or it wouldn't have been in the plan if he'd had a plan.
They did have a plan tonight though. Get into the castle, make their way to Dumbeldore's office. Unless the password had been changed since the day before yesterday when he'd overheard McGonagall use it, they would use that to gain entry, and then go up and talk to the Headmaster. Simple. Easy to remember.
So long as nothing went wrong, and they didn't run into any problems. Or students. Or staff, or...
"Aurors!" Remus suddenly hissed, ducking back and behind a tree.
Aurors? No he wasn't expecting to see any Aurors. What the hell was Moony talking about?
"Sirius!"
Oh!
Finally becoming aware of the figures crossing the grounds that had caught Remus' attention, Sirius quickly scrambled into the undergrowth near where Remus had hidden himself. Sure enough, the four dark clad men with their wands drawn did have the distinctive look of Aurors about them. There was just something in their bearing, in the way they held themselves, the way they held their wands. In the way they walked as a unit around the man, the very large man, they were clearly escorting.
"They've arrested Hagrid." Remus whispered and Sirius resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course it was Hagrid. Who else could it be? It wasn't like there were hundreds of half giants working at the school to pick from.
There were other people following up the slope too. Three others. Sirius sniffed, but they were too far away. He could hear them talking but again, they were too far away.
"Dumbledore." Remus supplied, as if reading his thoughts. "He doesn't sound happy."
Well that wasn't surprising either. Hagrid had been a long trusted friend of the Headmaster, and one of the nicest people Sirius had ever met. Rubius Hagrid didn't have a mean, evil or malicious bone in his oversized body. Which begged the question; Why would Aurors be arresting Hagrid of all people? And why wasn't Dumbledore stopping them?
"I think... that's Cornelius Fudge." Remus continued his disjointed commentary in surprise. "The Minister for Magic."
This time Sirius did turn and glare at the werewolf. Did he think he was stupid? He knew who the Minister for Magic was. And he wasn't about to forget one of the men who'd been responsible for putting him in Azkaban in a hurry. So Dumbledore and the Minister for Magic, four Aurors, Hagrid - who was apparently on route to Azkaban himself - and one other. One other who, now the group was closer, Sirius could make as having long silver blonde hair and was carrying a silver-topped walking cane; clearly for effect rather than need.
Lucius Malfoy
Sirius growled. Deep low and long.
"Shhh!" Remus admonished, his hand coming around and gripping Sirius' muzzle forcing his mouth closed and his head down. "They'll hear you!"
'I don't care!' Sirius broadcast with every inch of his body language. Lucius Malfoy. Slimey, Slytherin Death-Eater. Lying, cheating, scheming murdering... he didn't have words. That Lucius Malfoy had been able to escape Azkaban was a travesty of monumental proportions. As an Auror, as a member of the Order of the Pheonix, Sirius had known that Malfoy was a Death-Eater for years. Proving it had been the issue, but he'd damn well known. They'd all known.
Imperious curse; his large shaggy haired rear end.
He needed to get closer. Needed to find out what was going on. Nothing involving Lucius Malfoy could be good, and damn it all he owed Hagrid. Everyone who'd been in the Order owed Hagrid at least one favour.
"Sirius!" Remus hissed after him, but he didn't stop. Instead he slipped silently out of the bushes and crept along the tree-line, keeping to the shadows and leas, slinking ever closer to the large group making its way up towards the castle.
Four feet were better for agility and stealth than two aparently, and behind him he could hear Remus slip and scrabbled on the steep incline. He could only hope none of the group they were looking to intercept heard him.
When the four Aurors and Hagrid broke away from the other three, and moved to take the path towards Hogsmeade he paused in momentary indecision but what little reason he was capable of told him that attempting to break the half giant lose would be pointless and stupid. Better to follow the Minister, Headmaster and dirty rotten snake; that way he'd find out what was going on.
Unfortunately, the closer to the school he got, the harder it became to move easily and stay hidden. By the time he was close enough to really see and hear what was going on, the three had reached the main courtyard. The main doors were wide open, spilling torchlight into the night. Somehow the unfolding drama hadn't managed to attract a crowd of students as of yet. That was unusual in and of itself. Where was everybody?
Two new figures suddenly emerged from the doorway. One Slender, not tall nor short, pointed hat, precise gate, imperiously lifted nose. McGonagall. The other taller, still slender in a masculine way. Shoulder length dark hair, distinctive hawk-like nose and an aura of powerful malevolence. Snape.
As the two parties moved to meet, Sirius crept along the edge of the colonnade, sinking deep into the shadows.
"Ah Minerva, your timing, is as always, impeccable." Dumbledore greeted them in his usual amiable way. "Good evening Severus."
"Headmaster." Snape drawled back. In the shadows Sirius had to resist the urge to snarl. Dumbledore's tolerance of Snape was beyond infuriating.
"Albus, what's in the name of Merlin is going on?" McGonagall jumped straight to the point, by-passing pleasantries. "You can't just let them arrest Rubeus!"
Now Dumbledore signed. "The matter is out of my hands Minerva. The Minister is merely doing what he feels is best for the school. Given Hagrid's record..."
"Poppycock!" McGonagall interrupted. "He's no more responsible for opening the Chamber than I am!"
"Given the current climate," Snape spoke up, "It might be wiser not to make such bold statements. Some might take them to be a confession."
"Severus." Dumbledore warned firmly, as both McGonagall and Fudge stared at him open mouthed. The former with shock, the latter with affront. Grudgingly Sirius had to give the slimey git credit for that bit of precision snark.
Recovering herself first, McGonagall turned her attention to the one member of the group who hadn't spoken, yet had been watching with something like a smirk on his face. "And to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit Mr Malfoy?"
"I've come on behalf of the governors." Malfoy supplied with oily smoothness. "Congratulations Professor, on your promotion."
"My Promotion?" McGonagall parroted, looking between Malfoy and Dumbledore.
"It would appear, that the governors feel I have not executed my duties as Headmaster to their satisfaction during this current crisis. And have therefore ordered me to step down. For the time being at least." Dumbledore explained, his voice clear, but tinged with sadness.
Hogwarts without Dumbledore? Hogwarts without Dumbledore while there was a Basilisk lose in the castle? Merlin's balls, the Muggleborns would be sitting ducks. What the hell were the governors thinking?
Shaking off his shock, Sirius refocused on the conversation and on the Headmaster in particular. There had to be some kind of mistake.
But apparently not, as was made clear as Dumbledore continued to speak. "As my Deputy, you will of course take on the role of acting Headmistress until such time as the governors decide whether or not a new permanent Head needs appointing. Unless you have any objections, I believe Severus would be wise choice to take over your duties as Deputy in the interim."
"Of Course." McGonagall replied dazedly.
"Now really Albus, I really think this is most untoward." Fudge tutted, shaking his head and frowning deeply at Malfoy.
"The paperwork is all in order." Dumbledore returned tiredly, ignoring the triumphant look on Malfoy's face. "And now, if there are no other matters that require my immediate attention, and given that I am shortly to become homeless, I believe I have some packing to do."
"Don't even think about it!" McGonagall barked as the Headmaster moved past her, and as she followed him into the school, the others trailing behind, Sirius could just make out her rather vehement objections to everything from taking his office, to Hagrid's arrest, to the idea of the Literacy professor, someone called Bateshead, taking over as head of Gryffindor House.
When her objections were finally cut off from hearing by the closing of the great doors, Sirius sat for a moment in thought, his world feeling alarmingly off kilter where it had, less than an hour previously, finally started to feel more stable.
He needed to find Remus. It looked like they were going to need a new plan.