Thanks again to my wonderful beta TheUnrealInsomniac for taking his time to polish and shine this behemoth of a chapter.
Silver
Blood
When Hermione opened her eyes the next day, she had been moved out of the Room of Requirement.
To say it had been unexpected or that it had caught her off-guard would have been a lie. Having an overdue panic attack in the presence of her former headmaster was bound to leave an impression after all.
Hermione understood his reasoning, accepted it even. She would go as far as admitting that it was the right decision. That didn't mean she had to like it though.
Back in the circular room and away from the safety of wish fulfilling and book supplying walls, Hermione had been forced to think. And the more she thought, the more things were beginning to seem bleak.
No longer in seclusion, voluntary or otherwise, and with no research allowed, Hermione had to reluctantly accept the fact that her situation was spectacularly out of her control. As Dumbledore had told her, answers to magic of that calibre would not have been found in a schoolbook.
Before she knew it, another week had passed. Bringing her time in the past to a total of two months.
It felt longer.
It came as a huge relief eight days later when Dumbledore summoned her to his office.
As she made her way up the secret passage, which connected her room to his study, she could hear two men speaking. One was clearly Dumbledore but the other she didn't know. The Headmaster called him Croaker.
Saul Croaker resembled a walking, talking potato who snored with each inhaled breath.
Thick, salt and pepper eyebrows above small beady eyes, gave him a perpetual glare. His eyebrows were the only bits of hair on his entire head.
He was short and as round as Professor Slughorn had been and as the Headmaster had previously reported, a grouchy bugger.
The way he spoke, it was clear that he was long accustomed to having his orders followed. His tone that of a man used to being right.
To the Headmaster she may have been a book, but underneath all the inquisitive glances, he still saw her. When Croaker looked at her, it became obvious that he was seeing an interesting object. A thing. Meant to be studied, poked and prodded. To him, Hermione was a specimen.
She didn't know which irritated her more, that he looked at her that way or that she didn't really blame him.
Five minutes into their meeting, the young witch began to dislike him.
Especially because he kept finding holes in every plan she or Dumbledore proposed.
'In theory,' argued the Unspeakable yet again, 'that is correct. In all actuality, it's a fairy tale made to give a happy ending. In the real world, it is not that simple. One cannot simply travel through time as they please! The idea of time-travel itself is farfetched, but traveling back to the future?! That's completely absurd!'
'There has to be something other than letting time catch up to itself,' she said through gritted teeth.
'In theory, yes. Factually, no. So no Miss Granger, I cannot simply give you another Time-Turner to use. As I have said to you both repeatedly, only a Time-Turner from the present time can be used. I can easily give you another one, but it. Won't. Work! A Time-Turner cannot travel to a place that does not exist. Only a Time-Turner from your time would be able to return you to your correct timeline, otherwise the magic fails and the time piece overheats causing it to melt.'
'What is the metal made of?' asked Dumbledore. 'Gold?'
Croaker nodded. 'That was my question as well. Time-Turners are no longer produced, not for well over a century. Presently, we only study the magic behind them and their effects, not their actual properties. I had to dig into the old archives until I found documents which detailed the actual forging of a Time-Turner. In its planning stages, many metals were tried and tested. Most failed or cancelled out the magic. Eventually, someone figured out that gold was the best conductor for this particular spell. Problem was, they melted soon after.'
'Stronger gold was needed...' Dumbledore's curious gaze settled on the powerful trinket. 'Goblins.'
Hermione's eyes widened. 'I thought Goblins only used silver...?'
Croaker shook his head, 'A common misconception.'
'Goblins specialize in silver as it is most susceptible to their magic,' explained the Headmaster. 'However they are first and foremost master metal-charmers Miss Granger. Of all metals not just silver.'
Croaker nodded in agreement as he flipped a few pages, stopping at a diagram of an older and thicker Time-Turner. 'Yes. The goblins were paid for their services and we now had stronger gold. Charms were then added to them-'
'Which spells?'
'Wait a second.' The shorter man flipped ahead, quickly running a stubby finger down each page. When he found what he'd been looking for, he flipped the book over presenting it to Dumbledore. 'An Hour Reversal Charm, a Localized Containment Charm, a Temperature Regulating Spell, Safety and Protection Spells, Spatial Charm and a Flesh Memory Spell. Seven total. Any more than that and the Time-Turner begins to malfunction.'
'So it's Goblin forged gold, charmed with powerful spells, and impregnated with my blood,' she said.
Croaker's bit his bottom lip. 'Yes. There is another factor as well... the Time-Turner that the woman took, that you used, was not for years. It was for months.'
Dumbledore looked as shocked as she was. 'I'm afraid I don't understand Professor.'
'Months?' she asked.
The Unspeakable looked like he'd sucked on a lemon. He opened and shut his mouth several times before he spoke. He clearly didn't want to share whatever it was that he was about to say. 'Several Time-Turners were made. This one, prior to its transformation, was one of several Month Time-Turners.'
'Whenever a new spell is created, more often than not, it becomes a matter of excess. Was that the case Professor?' asked Dumbledore.
The shorter man gave a reluctant nod. 'It was no different when Hour Reversal Charms were discovered. Before a spell becomes patented, we are assigned to judge its safety and test its limits. As you may be able to guess, there was an urgency to find this particular spell's limit. Eventually, an hour became a full day, days turned to weeks. Weeks became months until finally, we held the power of infinite time on our hands. As of today only three kinds of Time-Turners exist. Hours, the only one most of the population know of. Months, which only a handful of individuals are able to access. And years, which only I and the Department Head - and now you two, are aware of.'
Hermione slammed her eyes shut, desperately trying to calm the tension building behind her eyeballs. As interesting as all this was, it was completely pointless.
'What does this have to do with me?' she spat out.
'Everything,' Croaker said. 'It tells me that the magic was completely affected. It also tells me that the Unspeakable did not mean for you to travel this far back in time. She meant to only send you a year and eleven months in the past.'
The headmaster frowned as her mouth fell open, 'To ... 1996?'
Professor Croaker nodded. 'July 1996 to be exact.' He gestured to her with a lazy hand, 'That is if you were still in the month of May when she sent you here.'
She furrowed her brow as she struggled to clear her mind.
July '96? What happened in - and then it dawned on her.
The 'start' of the Second Wizarding War. When the Ministry had officially acknowledged Voldemort's return and brought the war out into the open.
'Judging by your stunned silence, I take it the period was of some importance?'
Nodding, she opened her mouth to answer when he made a shushing gesture.
'It does not matter!' he said loudly. 'I shouldn't have asked! My point is, that her intent was not to send you this far back. All signs point to it. You were meant to travel to July 1996 Miss Granger. Had she succeeded ...' Croaker shook his head, once again waving his hands in the air, 'Doesn't matter! That's an entirely different story... It all amounts to this: the Time-Turner failed. And more than once.'
Dumbledore's voice cut through the air, 'How?'
Croaker licked his lips, 'I have a theory.'
The Unspeakable turned to her.
'You turned the hourglass twenty-three times correct?' At her nod, Croaker continued. 'Had the Time-Turner been successful, you would not have travelled to 1979 Miss Granger. If a single turn equalled a year, then you should have travelled to 1975.'
Hermione swallowed a painful lump in her throat. 'I don't understa-'
Dumbledore abruptly interrupted her. '-What year were you born Miss Granger?'
'1979,' she answered nervously. She'd found it a bit ironic that she had travelled to her birth year but with that single question, it suddenly didn't seem so coincidental anymore.
Croaker's eyes lit up. 'I knew it! The Time-Turner brought you back to the year you were born, but no further. That is not part of its magic. Do you know what this means? The Time-Turner actively stopped functioning. A normal time piece would have been unable to do that. It would have sent you to the appropriate time, equal to the exact amount of turns.' The Unspeakable's bright eyes moved over the silver artefact. He was actually flushed and panting. 'Whatever this is,' he breathed. 'It is unlike anything I have ever seen before.'
'Her blood altered all its magical properties,' murmured Dumbledore as he too studied the Time-Turner. Croaker once again nodded.
'Somehow,' continued the Unspeakable. 'It mutated the Time-Turner's magic.'
'How?'
At her question, Croaker visibly deflated. 'I don't know.'
Hermione absentmindedly fiddled with her sleeve, refusing to look up as she asked the question she'd been anxious to ask. 'Could that be why my magic has been so affected?'
The silence that followed was loud to her ears. She felt several pairs of eyes, painted or otherwise, staring at her. Humiliation and embarrassment raged through her, tainting her cheeks a rosy hue.
'Dumbledore did mention ... has your menstruation adjusted back to its regular schedule Miss Granger?'
Her blush deepened, and she felt hot around the collar as her body flushed with heat.
Eyes wide, and completely horrified, she stared at the Unspeakable. 'What does that have to do with anything?' she asked. Her voice a note higher than normal.
'It has often been proven that a witch's menstruation cycle affects her magic and vice versa,' he explained. 'They are quite synonymous with each other. No logical reasoning behind it of course, it just is. By that reasoning, if your menstruation adapted then your magic should have followed.'
If that was the case, then her body had adjusted fine. Her magic on the other hand, hadn't.
She shook her head once, her eyes blurring with tears as frustration at her own body welled up inside of her.
'Then your magic has not been affected. In your situation, a case could be made for an Extreme Emotional Upheaval.'
The young witch tried not to flinch. She really did. Extreme Emotional Upheaval is what Dumbledore believed was affecting her magic too. She'd been rather defensive and a bit too stubborn about it.
There was an unspoken stigma behind losing one's magic. It made you less than a wizard, but a grade above a squib. Definitely, worlds apart from Muggles. The fact that one would permit such a thing to happen was not looked down upon exactly, but it was almost disgraceful. She wished her lack of power didn't matter so much. She felt disgusted at the truth of it, but fact was, her lack of magic bothered her.
She was a witch. Without her magic, she'd lost a vital part of herself. She was desperate to get it back. It was irrational she knew, to think her magic permanently gone.
But.
What if it was? What if Dumbledore was mistaken and it never came back?
She was in the past. Where Voldemort was alive. With no magic.
Those facts were doing a number on her. Which in turn was inhibiting her ability to perform magic. It was a vicious circle.
Her magic wasn't exactly gone though. It was just ... faulty.
It didn't respond to her like it normally did, rather it came out in minor outbursts akin to accidental magic. It was frustrating.
To test her magic, and due to a lack of an actual alternative, Dumbledore had allowed her the use of the Elder Wand. The moment her hand closed around its handle, her magic had hummed and sang. It had been a heady sensation. With increasing excitement, she had waved the fabled wand ... and nothing happened.
She'd swished, pointed, jabbed and flicked it, reciting spells as she did. She may as well have been brandishing a stick. She knew the wand chose the wizard and all that rot but surely the Elder Wand should have at least given her something?
Prior to her arrival in the past, she had learned to master some wandless magic. Now, even with the world's most powerful wand at her disposal, she was unable to so much as make her toothbrush levitate.
She had been too overwhelmed with her situation to focus on much of anything. She had been physically unwell: her body weakened from lack of proper care, her mind far too distracted to say nothing of her emotional state. All these things had excused away her inability to perform magic.
Once inside the Room of Requirement, she'd had no need to perform spells. Now however, the longer she was here, the more she began to heal the more obvious it became that her magic was wrong.
She nodded to no one in particular to show she understood.
'Is the Time-Turner still functioning?' Dumbledore asked, kindly changing the topic.
'It's possible...' the Unspeakable slowly answered. He shook his head. 'I don't know.'
'Can the effects be reversed somehow?'
Croaker sighed and the sound inexplicably caused her anger, which was so close to the surface these days, to spike. Hermione snapped.
'Do you know anything?' she screeched. Even to her own ears she sounded hysterical.
'Hermione! That is not helping.'
She looked away from the foul little man that didn't know anything. Dumbledore should have let her research. She would have had some answers by now. All that the man had said amounted to nothing. The potato was talking, but he wasn't saying anything. Okay, granted the 1975 thing was new but she didn't care. She just wanted to know if - how - how she could get back to her time. Everything else was pointless.
Croaker wasn't telling her what she wanted to hear. The implication of what that might mean caused the pressure in her chest to tighten.
A comforting hand settled on her shoulder. A body, clad in warm silk robes, brushed against her side and the smell of sweets engulfed her. It was on these things that she focused. They were familiar. Safe.
Dumbledore's voice broke the awkward silence, 'Please Professor, continue.'
She felt the shorter man's eyes on her. Growing ashamed at her outburst by the second, she bit her lip and fought against the tears stinging her eyes. When she looked up again, Croaker was focused on Dumbledore.
'I already tried to clear all the spells, or clean it, as we say. It was unsuccessful.'
'What were your conclusions?' asked Dumbledore.
'My conclusions were incomplete as the spells refused to budge. Which means that the spells didn't unwind and so the Time-Turner remained unaffected. It did not work!' Croaker's voice had risen higher and higher with each sentence spoken. She had the sense that the agitated man wasn't so much speaking to them, as he was thinking out loud. 'I have tried everything and yet... nothing. Not a single change occurs. It's obvious that her blood altered something. Yet, with the exception of the colour change, there are no other outward appearances... The hard part has been trying to figure out the how and why. As of yet, I've been unable to find answers. Which was why I asked to speak to you Miss Granger,' he looked at her. 'With little to no details, I need you to truthfully answer my questions. Preferably with a yes or no. Can you do that?
Slightly frightened at his request and with a pounding heart, she nodded.
'Had you previously been in possession of a Time-Turner?'
A reluctant nod and Croaker blinked. 'Interesting,' he muttered. In a much louder voice. 'When you returned it, did I perform any counter spells on you or it?'
Hermione didn't know how to answer that. Everything had gone through Professor McGonagall. Until today, she had never met the man. Until The Woman, she'd never even heard of him.
For the first time in her life, Hermione realised that her first round with a Time-Turner may have been far more complicated than endless amounts of paperwork as Professor McGonagall had claimed.
Never trust those who hold the power, to tell the truth Hermione.
'I-I don't know how to answer that,' she blurted out. Images of The Woman fresh in her mind. 'No to the countercharms and no to you performing them. I'd received and returned the Time-Turner through my Head of House. I'd not met you before tonight.'
'Your Head of House? How old were you when you used this Time-Turner Miss Granger?' he breathed out.
She hesitated a bit too long it seemed because he began to coax the answer out of her. 'Just a number Miss Granger. It is quite possible that your age at the time, may have become a factor.'
Quietly, barely above a whisper, she answered, 'Thirteen.'
Both wizards froze. And stared.
The longer their eyes remained on her, the more she began to feel guilty. As if she had done something wrong. An overwhelming need to explain herself came over her.
'I-it was so I could do homework.' It was as she said it, that she realised how utterly stupid it sounded.
It was the truth however, which somehow only managed to make the whole thing worse. She suddenly realised how careless and flippant the whole situation had been.
At fourteen, Hermione had handled an extremely powerful and dangerous object, and had been allowed to run free in a school full of children.
Why hadn't she questioned it?
'Were you aware that you were in possession of a Month Time-Turner Miss Granger?'
'No,' she answered. 'I had been given an hour long Time-Turner.'
Brown eyes roamed over her face. 'Interesting,' breathed the Unspeakable. 'I am sorry to inform you Miss Granger, but that is not exactly correct. I found that an alteration was made to its runic equation, which serves both as identification and permits us the ability to adjust the amount allowed to travel. The Time-Turner you used was modified. It had been switched from Months to Hours.'
'Is that a common occurrence?' asked Dumbledore.
The Unspeakable shook his head. 'I am currently the only person able to change the Runes system.'
'How curious,' murmured the Headmaster.
She had to agree. The longer she thought on it, the more she questioned certain actions.
Could it have been an odd coincidence that she had been given a Month Time-Turner the exact year that the suspected mass murderer Sirius Black had escaped?
Hermione began to wonder how deeply Dumbledore's manipulations had gone. And she, who prided herself on her intelligence, had been too blind and trusting to question anything and accept everything. She didn't exactly like being used, but she understood it had been a necessary evil.
The young witch was acutely aware of their continued stares. Croaker's eyes were once again calculating. A hunger for answers evident. Dumbledore's face on the other hand, was completely void of all emotion. His poker face was truly impressive. His eyes betrayed him however, as a man who was blatantly trying to solve a puzzle.
Much like Croaker's in fact but without a mad gleam in them.
Furious at the fact, she met the Unspeakable's eyes with her angry ones until the potato-man blinked and looked away. Small insignificant victory though it was, she was fantastically smug.
Hermione may have been the stupidest person in the room, but she didn't need vast amounts of knowledge to tell that Saul Croaker had abysmal people skills and would be unable to hold eye contact for long.
In the time it took her to bask in her gloriously won battle, Dumbledore had recovered from his curiosity over her answers.
'Is it possible then that the magic was then enhanced by her previous contact?' he asked the shorter wizard, now hunched over the time piece.
Croaker made a humming noise in the back of his throat as he gave some head spasm that may have signified a maybe.
'A Time-Turner's magic doesn't lay in the metal, but in the sand,' he explained. 'The sand is what holds and activates the Hour Reversal Charm. The Time-Turner itself is nothing more than a fancy bauble and hourglass with flesh memory, containment and spatial charms woven into them. It is possible that her age was an issue, but highly doubtful.'
'Then why...?' She forcefully gestured to the silver object.
'I don't know,' growled the shorter man as he raised his head. Frustration evident in his features. 'Blood Magic demands rituals, runes, potions... Mere contact should not have caused this.'
A flare of annoyance shot through her, 'You're an Unspeakable! How is it possible that you don't know? Don't your lot meddle with everything just to see what would happen?!'
The short man cracked an unpleasant smile.
'Blood Magic is very powerful. Highly unstable and extremely dangerous. For obvious reasons, we avoid it. The effects of blood on a Time-Turner are unknown because no one is stupid enough to try. Tell me Miss Granger, would you have intentionally and willingly used magical blood on a powerful object? Just to see what would happen?'
She ... wouldn't. He was right and she absolutely hated that.
Hermione felt foolish and Croaker sniffed.
'Unspeakables may be the mad scientists of the Wizarding world Miss Granger. Meddling with magic, at its most fundamental level, is what we do after all. But not even we are that stupid.'
Dumbledore cleared his throat at that and two pairs of dark eyes settled on him. She felt like a scolded child.
'Is there nothing else you can tell us Professor? Is there any chance you may be mistaken? Any way at all that she may find her way back?'
Croaker's face transformed into a blank canvas at that, void of all emotion as he pondered the Headmaster's questions. Brown eyes, much darker than hers, moved to the Time-Turner once more. The Unspeakable's lips began to move as he mumbled under his breath. Minutes, which felt like a lifetime, passed until finally and without lifting his gaze, Croaker shook his head.
Hermione's eyes fluttered shut as a stab of pain shoot through her gut. Her knees weakened and she swayed on the spot. Pressure gripped her upper arms, gently settling her into a cushioned seat.
That was it.
Her last hope had been Croaker and not even he had been able to find any answers.
Hermione took deep breaths fighting against the tightness building in her chest, trembling as a tide of emotions threatened to drown her.
Her heart was breaking. She could feel it.
'If that is the case,' said Dumbledore quietly. 'Then we must find you permanent accommodations Hermione.'
Her vision swam and all the air left her lungs. She couldn't react, couldn't focus on anything beyond the words the Headmaster had spoken. Nothing, beyond them, registering anymore.
She was permanently stuck in the past, and now the headmaster wanted to talk about removing her from the school? Now?!
No. It was too soon. Everything was happening too fast. She couldn't be moved away from Hogwarts. She had to stay here. Hermione shut her eyes as she licked her lips and shook her head.
'I could be a student,' she said. Not at all caring that she'd sounded completely desperate. Because, quite frankly, she was.
Hermione couldn't leave Hogwarts. She couldn't.
Croaker shook his head, 'You would attract too much interest.'
Hermione eyes flew open and stared hard at the talking potato through tearful eyes. 'From students.'
'Who write letters home, and inform their guardians of exciting news,' his tone one would use on a child to explain that yes two plus two, did indeed equal four. 'Even Death Eaters are capable of being loving and involved parents Miss Granger. One, if not all, will find it curious and worthy of mention that a young girl was given asylum within the walls of Hogwarts, when no other had been granted it before. No doubt the Dark Lord would find it curious and worthy of investigation.'
She glared at the foul little man. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at him, she turned to the Headmaster. 'You could pull strings!'
Dumbledore gave her a curt nod. 'Quite easily in fact.'
'But you won't do it,' she spat.
'It is not that simple Hermione. The Ministry was infiltrated long ago. I do not yet know the extent of it.'
'-It's quite severe,' Croaker helpfully chipped in. 'I myself suspect a fellow colleague. Rookwood.'
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, looking at everything but him. Croaker raised salt and pepper eyebrows, 'Interesting.'
She turned to Dumbledore, 'I could be a Professor, a-an apprentice! I-I could help Hagrid!'
Croaker chuckled as he shook his head, 'Miss Granger, we are at war! Everyone is hyperaware of their surroundings. Strangers are a threat. A new Professor or student, who suddenly appeared overnight, would certainly not go unnoticed. And keeping you under the radar is now key.'
Hermione shut her eyes, breathing in deeply through her nose. She felt attacked by the potato and betrayed by the Headmaster. Didn't they understand? She had to stay here. It was the only place she was safe.
'Then what,' she spat, 'will happen to me?'
'You must be Obliviated.'
Brown curls flew through the air as her head whipped around to stare at the unpleasant potato-man. 'What?!'
Croaker raised an eyebrow. 'Are you aware Miss Granger, of how utterly rude you are?'
Hermione blinked. Had he - Did he just call her ru- 'Sorry?!'
The potato raised a hand in a placating gesture, 'It's quite alright. No apology needed.'
Her mouth fell open. She could not believe the nerve of him. Before she could say anything, Dumbledore intervened.
'I hardly think that is necessary Professor.'
Croaker clasped his hands behind his back as he turned to the elder wizard. 'You're biased,' he said plainly.
Without a hint of hesitation, the Headmaster gave a slight nod conceding the point. 'That still does not justify such drastic measures.'
'I disagree,' Croaker said conversationally. It was like they were discussing an article from Transfiguration Today. 'She is, in no uncertain terms, a liability Dumbledore. You know as well as I, that as long as she remains cognizant of the future, that she will continue to be a threat.'
Dumbledore didn't argue the fact. Nor did she for that matter. They both knew the blunt little man was right.
'She will not be Obliviated,' stated Dumbledore.
The Unspeakable shook his head. 'Are you so sentimental a creature that you would risk the future for a single girl?' he'd said sentimental like you would a curse.
The Headmaster didn't blink, did not so much as move, but his voice grew cold. 'Miss Granger has suffered more than enough Professor. She will not be touched.'
Completely unfazed by Dumbledore's tone, Croaker moved his hand in a flippant gesture. 'Obliviate her and she'll get over it.'
'No,' the Headmaster said firmly.
And for the first time, Croaker became impatient. A hint of anger broke through the Unspeakables words, 'Why not?'
'She has a right to her own memories Professor.'
'She does not exist!' hissed the Unspeakable.
'She is a human being.'
Croaker glared. 'She does not belong!'
At his words, Hermione snapped. 'She is right here!'
'-and that is exactly the problem!' spat Croaker.
Hermione glared at the round wizard.
'-You think I wanted this?' she hissed as angry tears threatened to fall. 'How dare you act like I did this on purpose!'
'Sweet Jesus,' growled the Unspeakable as he massaged his temple. 'You poor, poor girl. Traveling to the past and surviving. At least you're alive! Did it ever occur to you, you inconsiderate little girl, that the only way this Unspeakable of yours was able to steal the Time-Turner was to literally take it over my dead body?'
Hermione paused. Actually ... she hadn't.
The curly haired witch didn't know the man, but everything she had witnessed told her enough about his character. There was no doubt in her mind that, as unpleasant as he may be, he would not have given in and just handed over the powerful trinket. Everything in her told her that the wizard would - had - died doing the right thing. And that, if nothing else, demanded her respect.
A pang of shame came over her.
She stared at the short, bald man, as he shook his head sadly. 'To think of all my unfinished work left in the hands of bloody morons... Who'll feed the brains and tickle the planets?' He groaned as he ran a hand down his face. 'The Death Chamber.'
Memories of planets, brains, orbs and purple flames came to mind. An old ache burned through her torso. She thought of falling...
'Is that what the veil room is called?' she asked, completely uncaring of the fact that her question would be very telling.
Croaker turned to her. 'No,' he said slowly, his eyes rapidly scanning her face. 'The veil room is The Veil Room... The Death Chamber is a different room, the contents of which doom and destroy, ruin and suck away at our very life source... It is essentially a black hole. The room is usually locked.'
'I'm sorry... Are you talking about The Love Room?' she asked, equal parts amused and incredulous.
'Yes,' answered the Unspeakable curiously, even as he frowned. 'What's the difference?'
Hermione shook her head, not the least bit shocked at his outlook on love. When Croaker spoke again, his tone was professional and very matter of fact - but much quieter than before.
'I insist that you remove all evidence of her arrival Headmaster. Including her own memories.'
For several minutes, Dumbledore said nothing.
'I understand your concern Professor, and I appreciate your opinion...'
Croaker straightened his back and squared his shoulders as the Headmaster continued to talk. It truly was a sight to see as the round Unspeakable, in all of his five foot something splendour, stood in opposition against the taller frame of the Headmaster's.
It was like watching a kitten as it tried to stop a train.
Croaker didn't stand a chance. He knew it. She knew it. The Headmaster knew it. And yet... he stood tall and proud as he opened his mouth to argue on behalf of the world, for a future he suspected was in danger.
Saul Croaker had died a hero.
'-What will you do when she can no longer remain passive Dumbledore?' he interrupted the powerful wizard. 'When the deaths pile up and she can no longer sit idly by?'
Dumbledore took his time before answering. 'I can assure you that that will not happen. Hermione understands the risks.'
'-Understanding the risks means nothing when human emotions become involved!' growled Croaker.
'Unspeakable Croaker,' said the older wizard. 'I give you my own personal guarante-'
'-For God's sake! Your guarantee means nothing! Face the truth Dumbledore! You can't control her any more than I can control you!'
His words rang across the room, the enormity of them rendered everything mute.
Not a single painting moved, even Fawkes stopped his distracting scratching. All eyes settled on the shorter man. 'Powerful you may be Dumbledore, but that does not give you the right to jeopardize the fate of the world for the life of a girl.'
Dumbledore gave him a curt nod that was more noncommittal than anything else. The Unspeakable's eyes burned with anger as he stared at the Headmaster. After a prolonged silence, he turned to face her. Hermione's heart beat wildly in her chest. She really didn't want to hear anything he had to say.
He looked her straight in the eyes.
'In 1899,' he began without preamble, 'an Unspeakable became trapped in the year 1402 for a period of five days. During that time, reports began to come in of Wizards and Muggles alike vanishing from thin air. The most interesting tale of which involved an older woman, a midwife in fact. Imagine her confusion and shock when in the middle of birth, the baby suddenly vanished from within the birth canal, and the father disappeared before her very eyes. To her utter horror, she had to explain to the distraught mother that she had been in the process of giving birth and that that was the reason as to why she was bleeding so profusely between her legs. In the blink of an eye, the young woman had forgotten all about the existence of her husband and refused to believe that she had ever been with child, even as her body continued to bleed. When we finally managed to retrieve Unspeakable Mintumble, we asked her to recount all her actions. Nothing damaging, she claimed. She appeared in the past and hid in the woods soon after. She'd had zero contact ... with the exception of one. She admitted to having spoken to a man she had accidentally come across. She swore she only stopped him to ask the date and that once given, he'd continued on his merry way. Contact between the pair lasted but a minute and yet, twenty-five people were un-born.'
Long after he finished, he continued to stare. It made her itch and she shifted from one foot to another. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore and she focused on his Department of Mysteries cloak. Its silver crest stood out beautifully against the royal purple.
As she watched, Croaker flicked his wrist and his wand fell to his hand. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dumbledore stiffen. The Unspeakable paid him no mind as he waved his wand. The books and parchment he brought flew back into his Mokeskin pouch. The Time-Turner however, didn't so much as move. Croaker seemed genuinely surprised and intrigued by this. The Unspeakable shook his head as he made his way towards the Headmaster's desk. He picked up the silver object and started muttering under his breath as he rotated it between his thumb and index finger. The metal caught the fading sunlight perfectly, causing the Time-Turner to shine a beautiful faded yellow. With a final shake of his head, he unceremoniously chucked the powerful object into the furry pouch, which he then dropped on the large desk.
'I'll leave you lot to dispose of that,' he said to no one in particular.
He made his way towards the Headmaster, who was now standing beside the door. As he passed her, he stopped.
'Were I a powerful wizard Miss Granger, I would not permit you to leave this room with your mind intact. As it stands, I know my limits.' The wizard flicked his dark eyes to the imposing figure of Albus Dumbledore before returning to meet her stare. 'I will be Obliviated Miss Granger - Don't look so shocked you silly girl! These are dangerous times and you are from the future. Of course I'll be Obliviated! It's been Dumbledore's plan from the very beginning...'
Her eyes moved to the Headmaster, who didn't even blink at the accusation. When she turned back to the Unspeakable, she found him studying her face.
'I don't know who you are Miss Granger, but you were clearly of some importance. Don't try to deny it,' he hastily added when she made to open her mouth. 'A Time-Turner's flesh memory guarantees that only the designated person can activate it. I cannot begin to fathom under what circumstances I would have allowed you the use of one, a Month Time-Turner no less. Why I hadn't deactivated the flesh memory spell is beyond my level of understanding... Or why you were taken and held within the strongest runic circle only we Unspeakables are known to employ. As you are a Muggle-born, I can-'
Hermione gaped. 'How did you...?'
'-You understood all my Muggle references,' he said with a slight shrug. 'I can only assume that the dark wizard Voldemort has gone between now and 1990. Otherwise, you would have been rounded up and slaughtered long before you knew of Hogwarts or Dumbledore. Yet, here you are. Asking questions about your magic - but that is irrelevant ... All these facts point to the ultimate conclusion that you alone, were somehow important... Having said that Miss Granger, you will do well to remember that you do not belong here. This is not your time. All that you know must come to pass, as it is not your place to alter it. If you do, then unknown dangers posed to the future will increase. Your selfishness would result in unprecedented consequences, and you will have become no better than the Unspeakable who sent you here.'
With a pointed look and a swish of his cloak, Croaker was soon standing beside the headmaster who, with a parting nod, closed the door behind them.
Hermione stood rooted to the spot. Unblinking, unbelieving, struggling to grasp the fact that yes that had just happened. That her nightmare had been made very much a figment of her imagination. She couldn't process it. Everything felt surreal.
A song broke the silence.
A melody so heartbreakingly beautiful, she knew it was her pain turned to song.
She'd heard it once before.
She turned her head in time to see Fawkes' eyes close as he stood perfectly still, it seemed as if the musical notes came from within.
An emotion, so similar to hope and love, spread throughout her body. Courage and strength filled her.
But it wasn't real. It was part of the Phoenix's magic.
The hope was false. The love was a lie. It was all fake.
And she wanted no part of it.
Numb, Hermione grabbed the Mokeskin pouch and slowly made her way back into her room.
'Are you afraid of dying?'
Sirius cleared his throat at the question. Shifting his arm a bit, secretly hoping that the blonde would finally get the damn message and move. His arm was getting tired. Plus her questions were getting too personal.
Marlene wasn't budging though. Completely at ease as she continued to draw patterns on his bare chest with a dainty finger.
He squirmed a bit more, went as far as shoving her head a bit, but nothing. She wasn't moving and Sirius was beginning to get increasingly annoyed with her games. He took his time answering her damn question.
'There's no real point is there?' he answered. 'If we die, we die. At least I'll go out fighting the good fight.'
'True enough,' she said. 'But that's still not an answer is it?'
He didn't respond. He didn't want to talk about this damn it.
Sirius knew girls liked to talk after shagging but he really didn't fancy a heart to heart right now. Or ever.
Sirius was many things. A man of deep and thought provoking words was definitely not one of them. Especially after sex and particularly not with her. He'd no problem with Marley's need for mindless pillow talk but he was damned if he was going to start sharing his feelings. It was too intimate and to start down that road...
Six years they'd been shagging. In the past two years or so, Marley had begun to drop subtle hints that she wanted more. As this year progressed, her hints had become increasingly obvious. She was clearly on a mission but she was gonna fail.
It was an odd limbo they were maintaining. She wanted more and though he didn't, he didn't want to stop fucking her either. They had been each other's firsts, but he'd not stopped at her. The truth of it was, that the curvy blonde knew exactly what he liked and he didn't want to lose that. At times he felt guilty. On occasion, it made him feel trapped and it completely fucked him off. Like it was doing right now.
'Are you scared of dying alone?' she asked. Her Scottish brogue soft and sweet.
He shifted a bit more.
Bloody witch had to know he wanted her off. Were she anyone else, he would have simply shoved her off and left. He'd done it plenty of times before but Marley had his respect and he refused to treat her like he did the slags.
He couldn't really describe what they were, except that she meant more to him than a random girl but less than a girlfriend like she wanted.
He didn't know when her feelings began but his first brush with death had urged her to really get to know him. In her words, to become a confidant. Someone he could talk to at any hour of the day.
He understood the heavily implied hints and though he'd twigged early on he easily ignored her by playing at being thick.
He enjoyed their hook-ups, she was a laugh and though she had the sharpest tongue of any bird he knew, he still wasn't interested in anything more.
Relationships were not for him. Especially now. His family already suspected he and Marley were more than friends. Darling Bella had been a bit too aware of her the past few battles. There was a possibility that the psycho bitch knew something.
Sirius had made it more than clear that he was only good for the occasional shag. He had neither the patience, time nor did he actually want a girlfriend.
Marley was beginning to forget that.
Sirius moved his arm away from around the blonde's waist as he sat up. Pulling on his boxers and trousers as he stood.
'Sirius?'
He didn't turn to face her. Rather he walked around her room, pretending to be too preoccupied with finding his clothes.
'Yeah?' he reluctantly replied.
'What are you doing?'
Fleeing. 'Getting dressed,' he answered as he put his band shirt on. 'I have to get back before the missus begins to worry. She gets jealous.'
He turned his head to smile at the blonde now sitting up in bed, staring at him. The sheet had fallen to her waist, exposing her lily white flesh for his viewing pleasure. Hair mussed, deliciously pale pink nipples hardening as she bit her bottom lip.
Marlene McKinnon was a bloody siren.
He had to leave.
He'd been more than willing to use his hands and mouth to start her up for another round. But then she'd started talking and put a stop to any more fucking.
'You don't have to leave,' she said. Her sexy little accent tempting him much more than he cared to admit. 'You could spend the night. We'll put on a Led Zeppelin record, and I'll ride you to the rhythm of the song playing ... See which one of us lasts longer.'
To complete the very tempting offer, she winked. Which did wonders for that wicked little gleam in her deep blue eyes.
There was a reason why sirens were dangerous.
For lack of an actual reply, he laughed. It sounded forced and fake as hell.
Judging by the look on Marlene's face, she agreed.
The grey eyed wizard ignored the guilt he felt, knowing damn well that what she wanted he couldn't give. Sirius knew he had to stop this before she got hurt but he didn't want to.
He wasn't what she needed. He was all wrong for her and to delude her into believing otherwise was just wrong. He'd never actually told her these things however since he had a tendency of either putting it off or running away.
Sirius knew he wasn't the relationship type. If she believed she could change that, then she was sadly mistaken. He didn't have the courage to actually say it.
'Right then,' he said awkwardly, looping his arm back into its sling and trying desperately to make it seem like he hadn't just rejected her. 'Talk to you later?'
Marlene gave him a stony glare.
'Don't you mean fuck you later?' she spat, her accent much thicker. 'Talk to you later implies actual talking. All we do is shag.'
'Yeah... Well... Fuck you later then!' he said awkwardly.
He quickly made his way out of her flat. Wincing at the fact that he'd actually said fuck you later.
He never claimed to be a genius.
He made his way towards the alley behind Marlene's building.
A casual glance at the surroundings, he reached for his wand, and turned on the spot. He appeared in the middle of a small clearing with the familiar pop of Apparation.
He whipped his wand around making damn sure that no one had followed him. Once certain he was alone, Sirius relaxed as a gentle breeze greeted him.
All around him silk smooth blades of grass swayed and danced. Trees, Conifers and Oak he'd eventually learned, towered over him, forming a canopy of emerald and light green leaves as beams of moonlight escaped them to caress earth.
The smell of tree mould hit him next. Filling his nostrils with the scent of life, centuries old and yet rough with the sharp bite of new life coming from the leaves and grass all around. Cannock Chase was beautiful. He loved it here, it was so calm and so very very alive.
Upon inheriting the property from his Uncle Alphard, he'd instantly appreciated the land. The trees created a natural ceiling that barred his home from view and gave him ultimate privacy. It was part of what had made it perfect for Moony and later, when it became a necessity, Order headquarters.
He started up the walked in path of grass, he used to just Apparate closer to his cabin but the new wards Dumbledore had insisted on left him with an Anti-Apparation ward to walk through from the bottom of the hill. There was an Apparation point within the wards, but you could only Disapparate from it. He might have been the house's owner but the Headmaster's spellwork didn't discriminate. So ... walking.
It wasn't all bad.
Birds sang from up in the surrounding trees, tweeting out little calls to one another while squirrels and other small critters scrambled over the branches.
Every so often the odd rustle of fallen leaves gave away a bigger animal moving around somewhere nearby. Probably just a deer. He'd have been jumpy if he wasn't so used to animals coming near his cabin since he moved in. Not for the first time, he began to suspect that they were attracted to the cabin's magic.
Didn't really matter anyway, the most dangerous creatures in these woods were some lively stags. The Muggles in the nearby villages and towns had kept the animal numbers down and cleared out the real predators decades ago.
A slight breeze ruffled through his hair and Sirius sneered as the smell of animal shit hit him.
He tried his hardest not to breathe in through his nose as he continued his walk deeper into the trees. That was another great thing about his home. Unless you knew exactly where you were going, you'd be sure to get lost. A few Order members had learned that fact the hard way. Some more than once.
James had taken to calling his three house-elves as Sirius' Search and Rescue.
Five minutes later, he reached his cabin.
Shielded by a canopy of green and fading light, beams of moonlight shined around it. All wood and stone, rustic and serene, charming in its simplicity, his home was a relic of a time long gone. As he finally reached the door, it swung open on its own accord, welcoming home its master.
Like most magical dwellings, it was bigger on the inside.
Gone was the single shack, replaced now by a spacious three floor home. Rich hardwood floors beneath his feet, a large sitting room with a grand fireplace to his left, a luxurious dining room to his right, a master staircase directly before him and a flurry of activity all around him.
Sirius didn't bat an eyelash. He turned right, making his way towards the dining room turned operations room. Inside, pouring over paperwork, he found one of the Prewett twins. After two years, he still couldn't tell them apart. He'd feel guilty about it but because they were identical, he felt he was in the clear.
'Alright mate?' he said to the ginger.
An upward glance and a smirk firmly in place, told him which of the two he was dealing with.
Fabian then. Cos Gideon hated his arse.
The stocky wizard laughed, 'Alright, yeah. How are you mate?'
'Underworked, complaining, and bitter. How was your mission?'
The ginger shrugged. 'Not too bad. Could do with a bath, shave and some sleep though.'
Sirius nodded in agreement. The bloke looked like shit. 'I'll have one of the elves set up a room for you.'
'Cheers. Heard about the arm,' he said with a slight nod at the offending appendage.
'Yeah, it's alright,' replied Sirius, wiggling his fingers through the sling's opening. 'It still works, so not that bad. Just numb, a bit weak. Could've been worse.' He said for the hundredth time, still unsure as to who he was trying to convince. Himself or everyone else. 'Caradoc thinks it just needs a bit of exercise.'
Fabian nodded. 'Good. He gave you some exercises then?'
A smile pulled at the corners of his lips. 'Yeah. He told me to squeeze something several times a day.'
Fabian laughed. 'What do you do when your hand gets tired?'
'Swap to the other one of course.'
They both roared with laughter. Sirius gestured to the parchment and maps the ginger had been focusing on. 'Anything I can help with?'
Still chuckling, Fabian shook his head. 'Nah mate. Just writing up my report.'
The younger wizard nodded, he'd guessed as much. Bloke had been gone for two months, what else was he supposed to do here? 'Alright. Let me know if you need anything.'
'Cheers.'
Sirius turned to leave, entering the kitchen which was connected to the dining room by a single door. Sitting at the table, reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of tea was James.
'Alright?'
'Fabian's back,' said the stag Animagus.
'I know,' said the long haired wizard. 'He and I were discussing my wanking habits just now.'
James didn't look up from his newspaper. 'Once nightly, twice on bank holidays and three times every first day of the month for luck. You're a lefty normally, but don't discriminate.'
Sirius beamed. 'Bless dorm room life eh?'
James raised his cup in mock salute as Sirius left the kitchen. Back in the hall, directly underneath the staircase, he entered the Order's makeshift hospital wing.
Elves scuttled about as Caradoc Dearborn, the Order's resident Healer, sat in his corner desk his quill scratching away, his glasses perilously close to the edge of his long nose.
'Healer Dearborn! How are you sir?'
Said Healer peered at him from over his glasses. 'Busy I'm afraid.' He rose from his chair, 'Do you need help kid? Your arm?'
'No I'm alright,' he reassured the man. Raising and holding said shitty arm to shoulder level for his inspection.
The older man walked towards him with a clinical and steady gaze. 'That is much better ain't it?'
Grabbing hold of his hand, he pressed down on each fingernail, so that all at once his nailbed went white and quickly turned back to pink as blood rushed back into the tips. 'Blood flow is back to normal.' He raised his wand and with the tip, pressed firmly down on the inner hollow of his elbow. 'Do you feel that?'
He nodded. 'Some.'
'Excellent. Now ... fingers spread, close and open your palm five times, then touch each fingertip to your thumb.'
Sirius did as he was ordered.
'Good, good. Any pain? Stiffness? Tingling?'
'Nope,' he answered.
'Excellent. Keep squeezing your sponge ball and increase your exercise. Again, stop when you begin to feel discomfort or weakness.'
'Will do.'
The older wizard removed his glasses nodding. 'What can I help you with Sirius?'
He motioned to the three busy little elves around him. 'I was hoping to steal one of your nurses actually.'
'Well,' the older wizard said gravely. 'I sure as hell can't stop you now can I Master Sirius?'
'Tilny,' Sirius said to the smallest elf, who was cleaning the glass doors to the garden and pond. 'Fix a room for Fabian.'
Caradoc cleared his throat.
'Please?' Sirius added.
With a smile and a pop, the elf disappeared.
He ignored the chuckling from the older wizard and his mutterings of spoiled rich kids with the utmost dignity as he walked towards the study which had become Moody's office.
He felt the residual tingle of an Impervius Charm long before he reached the door. Must be an important meeting going on. He turned back around towards the kitchen, where he found his messy haired best friend shaking his head as he slammed down the newspaper.
'The Prophet's lying again. It's blaming some Irish Muggles for all the shit the Death Eaters are doing.'
'No surprises there,' replied Sirius. 'Bagnold doesn't exactly believe in complete honesty does she? No doubt she's behind it.'
'Stupid fucking bitch is as worthless as the bastard before her!' growled James. 'Giants and Death Eaters destroyed a whole fucking town! And she's blaming Muggles?'
Sirius made to respond, but before he could a sparrow patronus flew in through the ceiling. Landing before the pair of them, directed at Prongs, it spoke with Dorcas' voice.
'Dark Mark over Appleby safe house ... Death Eaters have gone ... House is burning ... Survivors are alive inside...'
A rush of movement had begun before the Great Obliviator's message had ended as all around him he could hear Order members leaving. His heightened hearing picked up Mad-Eye's clawed foot stomping its way out the door, Dearborn was ordering the house-elves to prepare all necessary salves and potions seconds before he heard their crack of Apparation. Footsteps pounded all throughout the house, from beneath and above him. James too had sprung up and he could be heard yelling for Lily who yelled for Remus to grab hold of the Portkey and all at once the door slammed shut with a sudden finality and his home was deathly quiet.
He wanted to run after them, to help, if only to escape the eerie silence. His heart raced and he itched all over.
But he couldn't. With his arm, he'd only be a nuisance and a liability. Sirius reached for James' discarded newspaper and slowly made his way to the sitting room. His footsteps were loud.
Sitting on his favourite lounge chair, Sirius opened the Prophet and only then did he realise it was three days old. It was a bit worn around the edges from it having been read quite a few times.
Sirius had actively avoided reading the newspaper as he healed. Almost having his arm severed off was apparently a serious injury. The anger he felt after reading about Voldemort's victories gave way to a wish to destroy and a need for revenge, which didn't exactly help.
Outwardly, his arm was fixed. Inside, everything was slowly knitting itself back together. Though his muscles worked fine, his nerves didn't. Not only did he have a weak arm, it was numb from the elbow down. Every now and then the damn thing would begin to spasm. According to the good Healer, he'd been lucky he reacted and Apparated when he did. Otherwise the spell would have successfully severed his arm and proceeded to the rest of his body.
He hadn't been aware of it at the time. Blood pumping, his heart beating wildly in his chest, adrenaline fuelling his system, chaos all around ... he'd only moved to avoid a blinding flash. He'd dodged it, or so he thought. It'd not been until he Apparated and had to be stopped from falling over, did he realize how dizzy he was. It wasn't until Peter pointed out the blood, that he became aware that he'd been hit. Days later, only when Caradoc told him that his arm had dangled from a single thread of muscle had he even realised anything had happened.
According to Remus, Dearborn, as brilliant a Healer as he was, hadn't been able to stop the bleeding or heal the wound. Evans, of all people, had been the only one to know the counter-curse. When James had asked her how she'd known, a shaking and wild eyed Evans had mumbled something about potions and a book over and over again.
Honestly, he hadn't cared how the fuck she knew. Sirius had just been glad that she had. To show for it, he now had a thick, vicious looking scar inches above his left elbow and a weak and numb arm, with a month long holiday. He may hate it but he preferred rest over death.
So he'd avoided the newspapers. Which was understandable in his opinion as he eyed the bold headline He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Most Loyal Follower Leads Attack On Muggle Town!
Bella's face was smiling back at him.
Taken in the middle of a battle, which could easily be called a massacre, spells flew behind her. Her hair blowing in the wind and eyes bright, she threw her head back in what was obviously laughter. The photographer had caught her unaware and the poor kid, going by his scuffed trainers, whoever he was stumbled over a bin and fell. Bella turned and a look of undisguised joy came over her features as she stalked towards him, raising her wand. The image then began again.
Sirius felt something heavy in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't shocked at seeing her unmasked. Bellatrix had never been one to hide her beliefs, nor was he shocked at her blatant refusal to wear a Death Eater mask. It was bold and careless. Perfectly her.
He'd stopped looking at her and focused on the black robed figures behind her, running in and out of the photograph. Wondering if he was there.
Sirius threw down the newspaper, ignoring the mental image of a grumpy eight year old stomping his foot. He already had a photo upstairs, a mental one was too much.
He needed to get out of here.
Sirius made his way to the back of the cabin, ignoring the beauty of his pond, uncaring of the doe that watched him from behind a thick bush.
He walked towards a lonely shed and pulled open its door. Inside was the missus. Roxanne. The only woman he would ever need.
All chrome and matte black, she was freedom personified.
With no real destination, he mounted her and flew through the trees thinking of nothing, yet feeling everything.
As he reached the closest town, he touched ground. Without conscious thought and before he knew it, he'd found himself outside his favourite pub.
He felt the corners of his lips begin to curve and just like that, tension was replaced by growing amusement as he entered The Rooster in the Mule, an aptly named gay pub.
After two years, the locals knew him, so he was usually left to his own devices. Every so often however, a drunken idiot would try and tempt him with a trip to the loo or offer him a ride home. He'd been called a cock-tease a few times. It was amusing, annoying and slightly flattering.
He wished he knew why they kept coming on to him. It wasn't like he was actively flirting, sending mixed signals or leading them on or anything. Honestly, it confused him a bit.
Sirius pulled open the door, thoroughly enjoying the scent of beer that met him. Stepping into the pub, his eyes scanned the bar in search of a tall, black haired youth.
Sirius smiled and raised his good hand, wiggling his fingers at the glaring barman. In his campiest voice he yelled, 'Hey girlfriend!'
The pub's occupants all turned to look at him but he paid them no mind as he purposefully walked to the bar.
The young barman's scowl intensified with each of Sirius' steps.
Stood face to face, with only the bar between them, Sirius ran his eyes over the bloke, beaming.
'Oh my God hon,' he said with an exaggerated wink. 'You look absolutely fabulous today!'
In response, the barman pulled up a glass and put it down forcefully.
'The usual?' asked the bloke through gritted teeth.
Sirius' shoulders drooped and he lost the smile not appreciating the tone. Rude arsehole was clearly in a mood today. In need of cheering up definitely.
'A pint of Carlsberg yeah. Fish an-' he snapped his fingers. 'No. No!' He exclaimed, 'No fish! Know what I'm in the mood for mate? A big, fat sausage ... shoved in between two buns!'
Snickers rang out behind him, the barman simply glared.
Sirius squinted back at him. 'Are you always a grouchy bugger?'
The barman didn't bat an eye as he handed over his drink, 'Please stop flirting with me.'
More tittering from around them. He paid it no mind, watching the barman as he necked his pint.
'Do you enjoy seeing me swallow?' he asked holding out his glass. 'Same again.'
Again his pint was filled and slammed down harder than necessary.
He simply smiled, winking at the bloke when he presented him his sausage sandwich.
Before he turned away called by another patron, the barman's lips twitched.
Sirius mirrored it. The bloke loved him, truly.
He ate and drank, enjoying his meal. It was as he lit a fag, that he noticed a brunette looking at him from across the room.
Eventually, egged on by her mates no doubt, she slid up to him.
She reached for his packet of fags, pulled one out and held it between two slender fingers clearly waiting for a light. A glance later, he sighed.
The dozy cow stuck out her bottom lip, fluttering her eyelashes as she did. He didn't know if she was trying to seduce him or having a seizure.
Alright. Whatever. He'd play along.
He lit her damn cigarette. While she inhaled, Sirius finished off his pint. Half-choking on it, when he looked at her stupid face over the rim of his glass.
He hoped for her sake that she didn't lose her looks any time soon, otherwise the bitch was fucked.
He put his glass down and called for another.
Beside him, the girl simpered. 'I'll take a glass of Merlot if you're offering.'
He hadn't been but whatever.
'And a medium glass of Merlot as well mate,' he said to the barman. When their drinks finally sat before them, he turned to really look at the girl.
Light skin, brown eyes, brown hair, red lips and red nails. Stick thin. Small tits.
Her only redeeming quality were her Cupid's bow lips. They were the kind that practically begged to be wrapped around a dick.
He smiled at her, suddenly realising how interesting she was. 'What's your name beautiful?'
The stupid bitch's smile widened. 'Catherine,' she simpered. 'You can call me Katie though.'
He was extremely honoured.
'Yours?' she asked seconds before her dick-sucking lips puckered into a perfect little o, and met her glass. It'd been fascinating.
A moment's hesitation and then, 'Albus.'
He felt like an Albus today.
'Albus?' she repeated, scrunching up her nose as she said it. 'You don't look like an Albus.'
He had to agree, but he was determined to avoid the whole I'm-Sirius-You're-serious-about-what? mess.
Wordplay on his name had been funny, years ago, when he'd been younger and in Hogwarts. Now, it was just stupid and frustrating. The Wizarding community had a tendency of knowing about him through his family and surname, so they usually knew or had a vague idea as to what his name meant.
Muggle birds on the other hand, didn't. Sirius/serious puns usually ensued. Eventually he began to use other names just to avoid idiotic jokes that were supposed to be original and clever instead of irritating.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd pulled using his real name.
He nodded once, slowly stretching out his smile. 'I agree. I've been told I look like a Charles.'
Stupid bird enthusiastically nodded. 'Oh my God!' She laughed. 'You really do!'
He forced out a chuckle before taking a drink.
'So Albus... What brings you to the Rooster in the Mule?' She leaned in close, smirking. 'Not trying to pull are you?
He really did laugh at that. 'No,' he answered, still laughing. 'Why can't a bloke walk into a gay pub and order himself a drink without having his sexuality questioned?'
'Because it's rarely heard of,' she answered with a slight shrug.
Kitty licked her lips. Her lips really were quite impressive. If she hadn't worn so much lipstick, he'd have seen how soft they were. Instead, they looked slimy and sticky and completely fucking unappealing.
They'd just be wrapped around his dick then.
He turned his whole body in her direction. 'Are you wondering if I'm gay then?'
'No. Cos I know you're not.'
'Oh?' He said genuinely intrigued. 'How come?'
'Cos you keep staring at my lips.'
He smiled at that, winking at her as a blush bloomed in her cheeks.
Merlin she was too easy.
'So whereabouts you from?' he asked, only half listening to her answer. Not truly caring.
'Oxfordshire.'
Sirius made a vague nodding gesture.
'I've been there once. Only in passing, but it'd been a lovely area from what I could tell.'
'It is yeah. Drove through the area did you?' she asked, leaning into him so her knees were on either side of his.
Sirius nodded, he himself moving a bit closer as well. 'I was yeah. Grandfather had just passed and as the oldest son, I had to be in London for the reading of his will. So Roxanne and I drove past.'
Kelly stopped mid drink, '-Roxanne?'
Sirius smiled, 'My motorbike.'
Brown eyes widened. 'You've got a motorbike?!'
He laughed at her predictability, raising his glass and taking a drink. 'Aye,' he answered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Roxanne. I'll take you for a ride if you'd like?'
Shockingly, the bird sang along to his tune.
'I think that sounds like a possibility,' she answered slowly, in what was supposed to be a sexy way. 'I do love straddling things and being taken for a ride.'
He blinked at her. Dark eyebrows were raised. Stormy eyes grew wide with mock surprise. A measured smile spread across his face. He lowered his voice as he leaned closer.
'What exactly do you like riding love?'
Kaylee bit her bottom lip, tucking hair behind her ear as her eyes looked down.
After a moment, dark brown eyes sought out his own.
'Wouldn't you like to know?' she asked flashing him a coy smile. Two front teeth stained red.
'I really would.'
'Wellll,' she said as she scratched a fingernail on the inside of his wrist, 'if you play your cards right, you may just find out.'
Sirius shook his head, chuckling before necking the rest of his pint. He had a feeling that even if he didn't, she would've given it up anyway. Birds loved a bad boy after all.
He smiled before signalling the barman for another drink.
He'd need to be drunk if he was going to deal with her attempts at seduction.
An hour later found Sirius in an alley pressed against a brick wall, the taste of wine and lipstick in his mouth as Karen kneeled before him.
Her hot mouth closed around his rigid length. Brown hair bouncing in tandem with her bobbing head. Bright red nails and lips standing out amongst all her pale and lovely features.
This is why he and Marley wouldn't work out. Because while she was brilliant, he loved the hunt, the chase and the spoils too damn much.
Marlene McKinnon was no longer a part of that. She was a temptation that his body reacted to but were it not for the softness and wet heat her body offered, he doubted she could keep him interested in the long run.
Marley was a siren but what he wanted, he thought drunkenly, was a- a fucking Valkyrie - fuck!
Pale eyes slammed shut and his head fell against the brick wall behind him. He grabbed a fistful of hair as he began to thrust into her mouth.
He didn't last long, nor had he tried to stop his orgasm. It had been what he'd wanted after all.
There was also the small fact that he'd wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.
A few sucks in, it had become obvious that she didn't know what the fuck she was doing. She hadn't been great but hey, he'd had his dick sucked. So really, he couldn't complain too much.
He pulled out his fags and lighter. Enjoying the taste of tobacco in his post-orgasmic bliss.
Noises in his immediate left brought him back to the present. Fag clasped firmly in place, he pulled up his trousers and worked on his zip and belt as Kim coughed and gagged.
Honestly. So he'd cum in her mouth? Big fucking deal. She should take it as a damn compliment.
'You fucking bastard!' she spat as she in fact, continued to spit.
Sirius frowned. Now that he'd gotten what he wanted, he had zero patience for her.
He cleared his throat. 'Listen... Kerry.'
Her eyes grew wide, and her mouth fell open. 'Kerry?' she sputtered. 'KERRY?!'
Shit. 'Kandy...?'
An angry flush appeared on her cheeks. So perhaps not Kandy either. Fuck it. Endearments then.
'Look Puddle Duck...'
Sirius inhaled as she began to yell and curse him where he stood, which was the last thing he'd allow the slag to do. Exhaling, he turned and walked to spot he'd parked Roxanne.
The slag followed him, cursing and calling him names all throughout.
He wasn't too bothered though, come morning the drunk bitch would have probably forgot she'd given some random bloke head. Sirius was forgetting her altogether as he reached his parked bike.
She'd done exactly what he'd needed and now he was done with her.
'Next time love, maybe drink less and swallow more,' Sirius snarked at the drunken girl.
He didn't wait for her to spout out more drunken insults and with a push on the pedal his bike roared into life.
Sirius went off down a road he still hadn't learnt the name of but he knew there was an old Muggle pub on his right and a post office on his left as he turned right towards where the Muggle cinema was.
His head felt fuzzy and the sharp blast of cold March air was just the thing he needed to give his head a good clearing.
Sirius weaved an easy route through the streets until pubs and restaurants gave out to the fields and grasslands that let him know he was heading towards Cannock Chase and home.
Sirius considered lifting off the road once he passed another bloody church, Merlin did these Muggles love their gothic churches, his slightly sobering brain managed to remind him that there were still terraced houses to get past. And if he did use the bike's magic he'd probably get his arse in more trouble with the Great Obliviator again. He was finally feeling a little better tonight and he didn't need that bollocks.
Bossy bitch, he thought fondly.
So he waited, passing a grand building that was used as a rather imposing looking bed and breakfast.
The streetlights were framing the hill that took him out of the houses' view and once he'd reached the top of the hill and was crossing over train tracks, he pulled off the tarmac and used the surrounding trees to hide his climb into the sky. The starry night illuminating his path much more effectively than the Muggle electrics ever could.
A twitch of his hand and the light switched off. He rose higher, into the space well above the trees but that was not yet open sky.
The moon, not yet full, was bright. Stationary stars twinkled through unmoving clouds above him, swaying trees and life below him. He felt weightless.
When he passed Dumbledore's wards, he flicked the headlight back on and instinctively lowered his height. Guided by the pull of home, he silenced the motorbike as he dodged and weaved through the trees. From the darkness his cabin appeared, lit by a single torch he parked Roxanne and made his way inside. Ignoring the silence he climbed the two flights of stairs until he reached the top floor, the whole of it his and his alone.
Uncle Alphard, while one of the few 'good' Blacks was still a Black. Opulence, he had to grudgingly admit, was rampant in his bloodline. The giant bed looked welcoming, the spring breeze coming in through the balcony was heavenly and he wished for nothing more but to fall asleep and surrender to blissful oblivion. But he couldn't. Sleep was a luxury. As it was, insomnia was a nightly companion. Which only grew in strength when he wasn't clean.
He stripped off his clothes as he crossed the room, towards the loo. A cool bath in mind. The moment he entered it, the torches lit up and he saw himself reflected in the mirror.
His naked chest was littered with still healing and fading bruises. Evidence of spells hitting their mark.
He couldn't see them but he knew faded scars riddled his back. The outcome of moonlit strolls and foolish adventures from his youth, back when he'd been convinced of his own immortality. Grey eyes settled on his left arm and newest scar.
A person can survive severed limbs, but not the blood loss.
An artery had been nicked, and with everything that had been going on, medical care had not been fast enough.
There had been a moment where he'd faded away. He'd heard noises and frantic voices and though they were distant, those last seconds of awareness had been enough for him to accept his death.
He stared at his face.
His mouth was stained bright red.
He shouldn't have panicked, it was just smeared lipstick.
He aggressively ran the back of his hand against his mouth. Violently rubbing, desperate to wipe off all the red.
In his desperation, Sirius stumbled into the door behind him. Wide eyed and frantic he whirled around, wand raised and ready to defend or attack.
He fell against his wall and slid down. Breathing heavily, sweat running down his body, Sirius struggled to breathe. Minutes, or perhaps several hours later, his focus was interrupted by the abrupt appearance of a patronus.
'Appleby safe house has burned down ...' said the silvery wolf, 'There were no survivors ... We're okay ...'
His chest loosened as he took deep breaths and his shoulders relaxed.
Only then did he become aware of how tense he'd been. Of his sweating palms, shallow breathing and shaking body.
'We're okay,' he whispered.
We're okay.