A/N: RIP RAB.
dearmaggie: Once again, I cannot thank you enough for your kind words. It really means a lot to me whenever I get one of your reviews - they're incredibly thoughtful, and it's really gratifying when someone values the details I place in the story because I definitely put a lot of thought into them.
I'm also really pleased that you've picked up on the Order members' relationships because the dynamic between comrades in arms is very compelling to me. I've been considering it a lot recently, especially as I plan the final story in the series. I'm glad that you find it interesting because there are a few chapters in the near future that focus a little more on the Order, particularly the Weasleys.
Anyway, thank you so much as always for reading and for taking the time to write me a review! I really appreciate it!
missalex3030: Haaaaa you're going to be so mad at me! XD
S38: Hahaha no shagging yet! But thank you! I really love Barty's character in a weird way. He's a lot of fun to write, so I'm glad he's compelling as a villain. Thank you so much as always!
sarahmichellegellarfan1: Thank you as always! I definitely agree that Rowan will need some explanations and convincing ;]
snuffles95: Thank you thank you! Please enjoy!
REVIEW MEEEEEE!
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Chapter 37: Of the Dark Ties Between Us
Late the next night – close to dawn – Rowan entered the kitchen of the Order headquarters to find Sirius sitting alone at the table. She had just gotten back from a late night patrol with Arthur around Knockturn Alley where there had been rumors of Death Eater activity, but they'd turned up nothing. She'd insisted that Arthur go home to his family and that she'd send a report to Dumbledore for them. She hadn't expected to see anyone else there, however.
The young man sat with his face buried in his hands, shoulders hunched and trembling slightly. A piece of crumpled parchment and a torn open envelope lay on the table next to his arm. She saw a broken wax seal of dark green on the envelope – the Black family coat of arms. The very sight sent a cold shiver of fear through her – she hadn't seen Sirius with anything pertaining to his family in many years. Everything about the scene felt wrong.
"Sirius?" she called quietly.
His head jerked up to see her at the doorway with wide surprised eyes. She was relieved that there were no tears on his face, but the lines were much deeper than she'd ever seen. His usually handsome features were heavy with shadows. It was eerie – disturbing.
"I didn't think anyone would be here this late," he said quietly.
"Patrol report," she explained. He nodded almost imperceptibly. She eyed him ruefully. "I can leave if you need some time alone."
Sirius didn't respond. He kept his hands on the table stretched out in front of him, gaze facing downward. He seemed be concentrating greatly on controlling his breathing, which was ragged and strained. She could see his back tremble with effort. The uneven thrum of his breath reverberated through her chest. She stood in the doorway, thinking desperately of what she should do. Sirius wasn't the kind of man to want company with his dark thoughts - she could count on two hands the number of times she'd seen him truly upset in all the years she'd known him. Just as she was about to make her way back to the door, he spoke.
"My brother is dead," he said quietly.
Rowan felt her blood run cold with ice. Her mouth trembled.
"Oh, god," she breathed. "Sirius, I'm so sorry," she said sadly. Her eyes stung with sympathy. She deliberated what to do once again before deciding to stay. She sat down next to him cautiously, but he made no move to push her away. She didn't touch him, just let her presence be known. He didn't look up her.
"How… Do you know what happened?" she asked carefully.
Sirius shook his head slowly but answered, "Voldemort… Killed," he said simply. "Got scared… Couldn't get out." His form seemed to shrink. "There's nothing left of him apparently."
Rowan let the words wash over her slowly. They left so many more questions in their wake, but she couldn't make sense of any of them. Regulus was – had been – a couple of years younger. The two brothers had never gotten on – Regulus had been a Slytherin and a notorious one at that. He'd run with the darker crowd while in school, and it'd been common knowledge at Hogwarts how much the two disliked each other.
But Rowan knew, at the bottom of it all, that Sirius ached for his brother's love, just as he had for his parents', perhaps even more so. He rarely spoke of his family, and when he did, it was usually with disdain, but when he'd moved into the Potters' home, he'd been quietly devastated. She and James had spent several days after trying to distract their friend from his dark thoughts with fun excursions and activities, and he'd been thankful.
But there was no distracting Sirius from this. So many years lost, a relationship undeveloped because of something so petty as blood feuds – it seemed too cruel. Her heart ached painfully for her friend. She felt a sour bitterness spread through her as she thought of his parents – what a terrible thing it is to turn one's sons against each other. She'd never felt so much hatred towards them.
"I don't know why I'm so upset. It's not like I even liked him," Sirius said bitterly.
Rowan watched him carefully, throat tightening. She wanted to reach out to him but didn't know how. She'd never had a sibling – James was the closest thing she had to a brother – and her parents had always doted on her, even if they'd had their problems. She couldn't claim to empathize.
"He's still your brother," she said sadly. He held her gaze from the corner of his eye warily. The lines in his face seemed so out of place. He should be smiling, always.
"No matter how terrible our families are, how much we want to hate them for whatever reason, they're still family. And you still loved him," she said fervently. Sirius' mouth tightened and twisted.
"You're not just grieving his death – you're grieving for what you lost, what you never got the chance to have with him. And that's okay," she said. "It's okay to love him."
Sirius held her gaze, and she had to push her own sorrow away. His lips trembled minutely – she nearly missed it – before he turned away from her again and looked back down at the table. His shoulders didn't tremble again, but she saw a steady flow of tears drip from his face down onto the wooden surface where they began to pool quietly. She looked away and stared up at the ceiling, allowing him a moment of silence.
They sat together quietly for a while – she didn't know how long. When he finally sat up again, his eyes were dry, though red, and his mouth had taken on a determined line. She watched him carefully from the corner of her eye. Finally, he turned towards her.
"Thanks, Row," he whispered.
She smiled softly and leaned against him reassuringly. She knocked her head against his playfully, and she heard him release a small breath.
"You should get home. I'm sure Mina's worrying about you," she said.
The corner of his mouth twitched in response, and he took a few deep breaths before rising slowly from his seat, picking up the open letter with uncharacteristically gentle hands. She stood with him.
"Do you have someone to walk you home?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed.
She smiled. "I'll be fine," she said reassuringly. "I still have to send a report to Dumbledore anyway."
Sirius frowned. "Moony wouldn't like that," he said.
Rowan scowled, which made Sirius smirk. A part of her felt slightly relieved at the sight.
"I don't give a shit what he thinks. Go home," she said defiantly.
He snorted. "Fine, but be careful, okay?" he said.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine," she said chidingly as she reached for a piece of parchment. "Now shove off. Your ugly face is putting me in a bad mood."
Sirius scowled and mussed up her hair roughly. She groaned and pushed him off ungracefully. He let out a laughing bark.
"Now, who's ugly?" he teased. She punched him in the arm, and he squealed, hopping for the door. When he reached it, he turned back, smiling warmly.
"Hey, Rowan?" he called.
"What?" she asked exasperatedly, turning back from the parchment.
"Thanks," he said simply. She smiled.
"Anytime, mate," she said.
A yellow-haired man shrieked in pain as a flash of red light seized him. He writhed and shook wildly on the cold floor of a dark hall, surrounded by a small group of dark-robed figures who each cowered in fear at every jerk and quiver of their colleague's body. A dark-haired woman floated above them, her body twisting and turning slowly in a dull fog of blue light. Their pale-faced master roared in anger over the screaming man. It shook the very walls of the room.
Finally, the red light subsided, and the young man moaned in pain, trembling against the stone floor. A thin film of sweat stuck to his face with hair clinging to his skin. He curled up and rocked slowly, groaning and whimpering in his agony. The room echoed with the sound.
"What is wrong with young people these days?" the Dark Lord asked the room. His arms gestured dramatically around him. His servants trembled as his mouth stretched maniacally yellow. "No sense of obligation or responsibility! No vigilance!"
He shot another flare from his wand at the young man at his feet, who screamed. His back arched up from the ground in agony, writhing and seizing. His master pulled his wand away, and the light disappeared again.
"Have we come to an understanding yet, my boy?" the pale wizard asked softly. "It would be a great pity for you to just… disappear like your old schoolmate Black." The young man whimpered vaguely in response. His master sneered.
"You were given a place in this circle because you showed great promise. Was I wrong to assume that?" he asked softly.
"N-no, my Lord," the young man gasped. His frame continued to tremble. His face twitched slightly, muscles spasming uncontrollably.
"Then you will follow through with what you have promised me!" the Dark Lord hissed. "What use is that comfortable position of yours at the Ministry if I cannot make use of it? Can you not handle that dim father, boy?"
He twirled his wand between long, thin fingers. Barty mumbled incoherently against the stone floor.
"You also swore a way into the Order with this little charade of yours with the Delacroix girl, did you not? Have you grown soft or are you just incompetent?"
"I can still give you Delacroix!" the young man blurted desperately. A few derisive snorts could be heard from his peers. "I can! I can get you James Potter a-and Black and Longbottom and even the werewolf Lupin! With more time, I-"
"With more time, I could just do it myself," the dark wizard spat.
"I swear, please," the young man whispered desperately. "Just give me more time. I swear I can-"
"My Lord," a drawling voice called over the silence. The congregation turned towards a dark-haired wizard with a large, hooked noise and sallow skin. He stood very poised and straight. His lip curled almost sneeringly at the cowering man in front of him. "Might I make a suggestion for our dear friend?"
The Dark Lord's face contorted amusedly. "Please, Severus," he invited teasingly. "Share with us your thoughts."
"Perhaps he is approaching Ms. Delacroix the wrong way. Perhaps…" he paused. He eyed the younger man on the floor disdainfully. "… a more assertive strategy would be more appropriate." He sneered. "I think Mr. Wormtail could also be of use to him. Perhaps young Master Crouch could collaborate with Miss, uh… Eripice."
Silence fell upon the hall again. The pale wizard gazed at the oily-haired man thoughtfully, thin lips still twitching with amusement. Barty's form still trembled.
"Yes," he finally said. His high voice echoed throughout the darkness. "Yes, I think that sounds quite right."
"Barty… dear child," he breathed mockingly. The young man froze stiffly with eyes locked upon his master's feet. "I will give you one month. One month and I expect to see results in either the form that girl and her friends at my feet or the silence of those traitors in your father's care… or your place at this circle will be terminated."
Barty scrambled to his hands and knees and bowed prostrate before his master.
"Yes, my Lord! Of course! Thank you!" he sputtered gratefully. And with a wave of his master's hand, he struggled away from the center of the congregation.
The pale wizard then turned his gaze upward at the dark-haired woman floating above. She was silent but still rolling jerkily. He held a thoughtful expression.
"Bellatrix," he called.
The dark head of a tall witch jerked upward with wide eyes. She, her husband, and brother-in-law cowered to the side, all looking gaunt with cuts and bruises across their faces – Barty Crouch had not been the only one to suffer their master's wrath that night.
"Yes, my Lord?" she whispered. Despite the freshness of her punishments, her gaze burned into him with fiery adoration. Her chin jutted forward eagerly, swollen lip trembling. She could barely contain her excitement.
"I think Severus is right – our friend Wormtail could be of assistance to young Mr. Crouch," he said. He kept his gaze upward. The floating woman's skin glowed pale and sickly in the dim light. Her head lolled unnaturally. She emitted a low groan.
"My Lord," Bellatrix whispered reverently, "do you wish me to bring him to you now?"
"Yes," the dark wizard mused. "Yes, now would be an excellent time." With a flick of his wand, the floating form above fell in a mass of dark hair and tattered robes to the cold floor with a sickening thud. She cried out and writhed in pain.
"Please!" she sobbed.
Bellatrix scrambled to her feet and stalked over to the woman where she slowly, predatorily, crouched down and ran a hand through the woman's thick hair. She jerked and cried out, trying desperately to roll away from the witch's touch but could barely move. She whimpered, tears spilling onto the floor.
The dark witch gently took a lock of her hair, letting the individual strands run over her fingers until just one remained. She fingered it idly, gazing at it almost lovingly.
Then she tore it out of the writhing woman's head at the root. She yelped in shock and jerked away, pulling herself desperately with scrambling hands trying to find purchase on the smooth surface. She sobbed on her side, tears leaking out onto the polished dark stones of the floor. The other wizards and witches watched her coldly and silently.
"Let me go!" she wailed. Her body shook violently with her sobs, though neither the Death Eaters nor their master seemed to notice. She mumbled and sobbed in a foreign language, a staccato fluttering of fast words. They spilled like tears from her mouth.
"Bellatrix," the pale wizard called again. The dark-haired witch turned back towards her master quickly with eager eyes.
"Your family has already disappointed me greatly this week," he said softly. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange trembled, knees still pressed into the floor with eyes cast downward. "Make sure it doesn't happen again," he said. Her eyes shone with fierce adoration. She nodded eagerly.
"I will be back soon, my Lord," she said breathily, as if she were speaking to a lover.
As she sauntered from the dark hall, she grabbed a crystal goblet, dipping it into a bubbling cauldron of a thick, muddy brown potion that sat on a table by the wall. She carefully placed the long dark hair into it, and the potion turned to a bright, clear red, the color of sunset. She drank it down with relish, gasping with satisfaction at the bottom of the glass before tossing it carelessly onto the table, where it landed with a dull thud and rolled haphazardly. She strolled into the light of the hallway.
As she moved through the long hall, robes billowing in the light from the high windows, her heavy-lidded eyes widened and pulled upward at the corners. Light seemed to seep into their dark depths. They molted into a warm amber against pink cheeks. Her strong jaw melted into a delicate angle, and her thin lips swelled full and red. Her wild hair straightened out into billowing waves, and her tall form shrank down a few inches. Her dark robes hung from her frame luxuriously.
The lips curled into a smile, and as she set out into the hot August evening sun, she thought of the small, round form of Peter Pettigrew.
I hope you're ready for me, Wormtail, she thought gleefully, and with a pop, she Disapparated for London.