A/N: Thank you for the reviews! All is revealed in this chapter, let me know what you think in a review at the end of the chapter!
Chapter Eleven
"Rise and shine Padfoot, time to get me a house!"
There was nothing quite as unpleasant as being hit in the face with a pillow as you were trying to sleep.
"Come on, it's nine 'o' clock already."
Except maybe the room being flooded with sunlight when your fuck buddy threw open the curtains. Sirius groaned, grabbed the pillow she'd chucked at him and turned over, burying his face into it with a sigh of satisfaction. Now she couldn't-
"Sirius, come on!"
Without warning, Helena yanked the duvet off him, exposing his far-too-naked body to the cold February air. "Damn it, woman!" His voice was muffled by the pillow, but she'd got the gist.
The mattress sagged a little on his left as she sat down. "You have to get up; we have a viewing in less than an hour and I already missed the three we had booked yesterday. Other…things got in the way."
He turned over finally with a grin. "They could get in the way again."
"Sirius, for Heaven's sake! Every morning?"
"Pretty much." In his defence, the morning erection wasn't about to go down when she was still naked herself, her hair tousled and sleepy-sexy in a way that made him want to pull her back down onto the bed and make it even messier. All that smooth skin and those perfect curves—it really wasn't fair. "Plus, how can I help it? Look at you, Hellfire."
She raised an eyebrow. "Is this where I blush, melt and you get laid again?"
"That's the idea."
"Well tough. I'm still sore from last night."
He grinned. "Really?"
"There's no need to look so happy about it!"
He laughed, and then got out of bed, pulling on his jeans without bothering with underwear. Helena took rather longer to get dressed, and then even longer to deal with her needing-absolutely-nothing-doing-to-it hair. He pointed that out, but apparently the fact that he was male made his opinion completely irrelevant.
"Right, well now we have ten minutes to get all the way across London."
"Are you a wizard or aren't you?" she asked. "I saw it advertised in the Prophet, and the estate agent is a witch anyway, so we can just apparate in there. It's probably what she expects anyway."
"Oh okay. Hmm…what can we do in ten minutes…?"
Helena gave an exasperated sigh. "Sirius."
"What? It was worth a try."
She rolled her eyes, but grinned anyway. "Come on, Cassanova."
The estate agent was early, and the house was gorgeous. The entrance hall alone was spectacular: red oak flooring, polished to an impeccable finish, with a front door painted a deep, shiny purple, brass knocker in the shape of a lion's head. The staircase swept in a gentle upwards to another two stories. The rooms all had high ceilings, and in the first-story living room, floor to ceiling windows. Light flooded the entire house. The garden was narrow, but long, disappearing into mysterious wooded areas and flower beds that Helena immediately wanted to explore. The master bedroom had its own balcony, complete with access to a roof terrace.
Helena turned on the spot, looking over the incredible views of London that it offered, taking it all in with a breathless smile on her face. "I'm in love."
Sirius smiled. "Well, I'm fond of you too, but what about the house?"
"How much?" she asked the estate agent.
"Well, the deposit is five thousand galleons, with the mortgage one thousand galleons a month thereafter. For what you're getting, in the location, it's an extremely reasonable price."
Unlike muggle property ladders, the estate agents had already liaised with the building society to negotiate a mortgage—the witch or wizard could afford it or they couldn't, it was as simple as that.
Helena nodded. "The mortgage seems reasonable. But the deposit seems a little steep."
Aware that she could not really afford to alienate a client with the last name of Malfoy, and also acutely aware of the world of the upper class Helena's recommendation could take her bosses to—and utterly unaware that Helena wouldn't be recommending anyone with the equivalent of her name or wealth—the estate agent panicked a little bit. "I'm sure we can negotiate the deposit down. How much would you suggest might be appropriate?"
"Hmm… One thousand?"
"That would be impossible, I'm afraid. Three?"
"Two and a half."
"Done," the witch beamed.
Smiling slightly smugly, Helena shook her hand. "Wonderful. Shall we get the contract signing out of the way now? Where are your offices?"
"Chiswick, Turbot Street. If you'd like to follow me, we can sign straight away and you'll be a home-owner, Miss Malfoy."
The rest of Saturday afternoon and all of Sunday—post signing—was spent in haze of naked skin and almost endless pleasure for both of them, so much so that they almost missed McGonagall's seven p.m. deadline. There was a mad scramble for clothes as well as everything else they'd brought with them, and Helena almost forgot her deeds to the house, which had somehow ended up in the bathroom, along with one of two empty bottles of champagne. The second bottle was on the bedside table (and had not been used for drinking).
"Got everything?"
She nodded, and they headed down to the bar, bid farewell to Tom. He'd warmed up to Sirius over the weekend, mostly because of the amount of money the two of them had spent in his pub. Stepping into the fireplace, it was one minute past seven when they emerged in Dumbledore's office. McGonagall was waiting for them.
"Good evening, Professor," Helena said politely.
"Good evening. Black, stop dawdling in the fireplace, please. I take it your mission was successful?" she added to Helena.
She nodded. "Yes, Professor. I've put a deposit down on a townhouse in Kensington that I can move into once seventh year is over."
"Excellent news."
She escorted them as far as her office, and then they made their way to Gryffindor Tower from there. Moony and Wormtail were sat by the fire, Remus helping Pete with some schoolwork. Prongs was nowhere in sight; neither, he noted, was Lily.
"So how'd it go?" Pete asked as they sat down.
Helena unfurled the deed scroll. "You are now looking at the proud owner of number seventeen Kensington Gardens, West London. Well, I say owner—I've put a deposit down and I'm now paying a mortgage, but same thing right?"
Remus smiled widely. "That's wonderful, Helena."
"It's a shame we have to wait until June before you can all come and see it. I know you'd love it—though I guess you prefer a quieter atmosphere, don't you?"
"Why does everyone always think that?" he chuckled. "I know I don't go a lot but London's so diverting. Takes my mind off other things."
"So are you going to move there eventually? That'd be great, having all of us in the same city!"
"Getting a bit ahead of yourself aren't you, Hellfire? James doesn't want to live in the city anywhere—and if your master plan to get he and Lily together works as perfectly as you expect it to, then she might not either."
"That doesn't mean Lily can't be persuaded that she wants to live in London…and then she can persuade James," she replied smoothly.
Sirius frowned. "Sounds less like persuasion and more like manipulation."
"Works with you doesn't it?"
When she turned away, he stopped her. "Yeah, in bed is one thing—in everyday life it's less of a joke."
"So what are you accusing me of?"
"I'm not accusing you of anything, I'm telling you to be stop before you start."
"Before I start what? Are you imagining that by 'persuasion' I mean I'm going to put Lily under the Imperius curse? For fuck's sake, Sirius, I know my friends have the right to make their own choices! You're completely overreacting!"
"Am I? You're the one talking about just changing people's minds to suit your own desires!"
"So I want my friends close to me—that's a crime now is it?"
"Don't be stupid, it's just the way you go about it, that's all!"
"And apart from talking to them, what would you suggest?"
He had no answer for that; Helena turned on her heel and marched up the stairs to her dormitory. Sirius swore, and tried to follow her—but he only got a few steps up before the floor literally gave out from under him. The stone stairs were suddenly a very smooth, entirely slippery slide. Sirius ended up on his arse at the bottom.
"Having trouble, Padfoot?" Helena's voice echoed mockingly down to them.
He swore again. "You can be such a…a…woman sometimes!"
"Yeah? Well you can be such a guy sometimes!" she yelled back.
It was followed by the slamming on her door. Sirius kicked the wall and then turned to find the entire common room staring at him. "What?"
Most of them went back to minding their own business—one of the few who didn't was the Head Girl. She was standing with her hands on her hips and a stern expression on her face. "What did you do?"
"Me? Why don't you bloody ask her?"
"I will! But I swear, Black, if she's up there crying her eyes out, there will be hell to pay."
"I wouldn't worry about that, Lily," he snarled. "I'm not sure she has tear-ducts!"
Lily ignored him, and only headed up the spiral staircase. She put her foot where the first step would have been, and with a grinding noise, it reappeared. Sirius glared at it for another moment before turning back to Moony. "You don't think she really will be crying, do you?"
Helena was not crying—simply fuming. She was sat on the edge of her bed, arms crossed and glaring at the bathroom door when Lily entered, her voice overly casual. "Good weekend was it?"
"It was a lovely weekend, thank you. It was only after we got back that he decided to turn into an arse." She turned and offered a weak smile. "I suppose I should be grateful for small mercies…"
"So?" Lily asked expectedly. "I take it you found a house?"
Helena nodded. "Lily, it's beautiful. Three stories, Georgian…you're going to love it."
"I can't wait to see it," the redhead smiled.
"What about your weekend?"
Lily turned away to her own bed so that Helena couldn't see the blush she was sure was going up Lily's face. "It was fine. We went down to Hogsmeade, all the Gryffindors. I forgot my money though, so I couldn't buy anything when we got to Honeyduke's."
"So this would be what?" Helena asked, picking up a paper bag stamped with the Honeyduke's logo from Lily's bedside table.
Her friend snatched it from her, now a very definite shade of scarlet. "That's- Well, James bought me some toffees and stuff, just because- It was a nice gesture, Helena, don't look at me like that!"
Helena blinked innocently. "Like what?"
"So- So smug!"
"I'm sorry," she replied, quickly schooling her expression. "It's just that not so long ago you wouldn't have accepted any such 'gesture', not from him. Are you coming round?"
"No! Well, I… I don't think so, not- I- I'm confused," she finally got out.
"So I see. Don't sweat it, Lily. There's no shame in changing your mind about someone. In fact I think it's a good thing. He's a nice guy, you're a nice girl—even if you never get further than that, it's still a good thing. Right?"
Lily was forced to nod, even if she didn't want to. "Moving on, I have a note for you." She handed over a small scroll of parchment addressed to Helena, though not in any handwriting she recognised—loopy and neat.
Reading through it, it was just a brief, if surprising, message. "It's from Dumbledore. He wants me to meet him in his office after dinner tomorrow but he doesn't say why."
"D'you think it's because of the letter from your solicitors?" Lily asked. "I mean, the whole school knows by now you're a wealthy woman."
"I have no idea. Don't know why Dumbledore would care about that though, do you?"
"Maybe he just wants to congratulate you for getting out," Lily said, laughing.
From the expression on the headmaster's face, the next evening, he did not want to congratulate her for being free of her family. Instead he looked very grave, and very sad about something.
"What's this about, Professor?" she asked politely, sitting in the chair he indicated.
"It's about the letter you received from Dragonbeard-Griswald & Sons," he said, folding his hands. "Are you aware, Helena, that your background has been of interest to me for some time now? Your real background?"
She shook her head. "I had no idea, sir. So I'm not a Malfoy then? We're right about that?"
"Yes. I've had my suspicions for a while now, and they've recently been confirmed. I believe your mother was a muggle by the name of Cathy Elms," he said, handing over a yellowed newspaper.
The pictures on it were still; it was the Independent. On the front page was a colour photograph of a woman with Helena's eyes, along with five other people, male and female. "Death Mystery Continues," she murmured, reading the headline. "She died?"
"She was murdered," Dumbledore said gravely. "By a killing curse, which left no traces detectable to the muggle authorities."
Helena frowned, and looked back at the woman who was her mother. She read through the article slowly, determined to get everything out of it that she could. It wasn't a lot. She'd been twenty-seven years old, and almost no history. That was because nine months before her death, she had turned up at a police station—without any idea who she was. She'd had a previous criminal record for petty theft, nothing particularly bad, so London Metropolitan Police had been able to match her fingerprints, and give her her name. They had not been able to give her the identity of the father of the twins she was carrying.
"Twins? But I- I don't have a twin. There's Lucius, but-"
"Keep reading."
The birth had gone badly, and needed a caesarian section. It was risky in the 60s, and the rate of mothers who died was higher than it was now. But that wasn't what had happened. Instead, some unnoticed, unidentified person, had managed to get into an operating theatre and slaughter everyone in there. The surgeon, the midwives, the nurse, the anesthetist: everyone. And mother—and one child. A boy, no more than three minutes old when he was killed. Cathy's stomach was still cut open, still waiting to be sewn back up.
"Of the baby girl there was no sign. Police are baffled and are appealing to the public for information." Helena looked up at Dumbledore in horror. "This is terrible! It's horrific!" Then her forehead creased. "But it doesn't make sense! Why would anyone murder an innocent woman, or all of the muggle healers? Why would whoever it was save me but…but kill my brother?" she finished sadly.
"I suspect you know the answer to that, at least for the most part."
Helena sighed. "Someone like my- the Malfoys. And just because they were muggles. There didn't need to be any other reason."
"I think so. But unfortunately I also have my suspicions as to the identity of the killer."
Helena frowned, thinking. "Wait…there's no way the Malfoys would take me in if I was a muggle-born. Which means my father is a wizard. And if they were killed by a curse, then- My father killed my mother? My brother—all those people? Why? If he loved her-"
"He didn't. It's my belief he's completely incapable of love or anything approaching it."
Helena squeezed her eyes shut. "Just tell me, Professor, please. I need to know."
"It's impossible to prove, but it is very likely your father is Lord Voldemort."
Her eyes snapped open. He looked completely serious. "That's not- That's not possible. He's not even human!"
"He isn't now. But he once was."
"But- Why? Why would he sleep with a muggle, of all people?"
"He probably raped her. And it was probably more an experiment than anything. Voldemort testing for any weaknesses he might have before he launched his bid for power. Interest in sex is not one of them, that much he proved."
"I don't understand. Why wouldn't he just kill her after the rape? Why would he risk a child? Why would he save me but kill my brother? And why would he give me to the Malfoys? Why would they agree?"
"The article says Cathy had been suffering from amnesia for several months beforehand, had no idea how she had become pregnant or even what her name was," the elderly wizard reminded her.
"A memory charm?"
"Yes. I've no idea how he found about the pregnancy, but evidently he did, and took you. The boy, I imagine he thought could a be a rival. As to why he gave you to the Malfoy family to raise, I imagine there was the possibility of you being an ally or follower later in life. They agreed because—well, of who he was. Even twenty years ago he was a force to be reckoned with."
Silence resumed. Helena became aware of the fact that she very much needed to be sick. Without feeling any embarrassment, she turned and vomited all over the floor of the headmaster's study, unable to stop for what seemed like an hour. Her throat burned and her stomach ached by the time all she had left was bile. The nausea had not subsided.
"You're wrong," she croaked. "You're wrong, you have to be."
"I wish I were," Dumbledore replied quietly.
"But if I were, how can- How can the school accept me? H-how could the Sorting Hat put me in Gryffindor? How can my friends…"
She'd heard her voice failing a little more with each word; at the last sentence her voice failed completely, disappearing into a wheezy squeak. Dumbledore spoke again, his tone still unbearably kind. "You have always believed a person should not be judged by the blood in their veins. Do not hold yourself to a different standard now."
She pushed away from the desk. "Easy for you to say! You aren't the child of a monster!"
"Neither are you. Your mother-"
"Who my mother was doesn't matter a fucking ounce! Not if everything I am is because of him!"
Fight or flight kicked in; she ran to the door and yanked it open, running down the staircase and ignoring the headmaster's calls to stop. She didn't know how long she ran for or where she was going, but eventually she just ran out of ground, finding herself on the edge of the lake at the far end. It had to be two miles or more from the castle. There was still late snow on the ground, ankle-deep. The edges of the water were garlanded in ice.
The fight-or-flight still hadn't faded though, and the only thing in her way now was the vast expanse of icy water. Her steps didn't falter—if anything her pace increased, and she ran full-tilt into the lake. It got deep quickly. The sweat she'd worked up on her run from the castle didn't take any time at all to be banished in the freezing liquid which surrounded her. It hurt to breathe, needles stabbing into every inch of her skin and taking her breath away, outward pain reflecting the anguish which filled her lungs instead of air. Before long her feet weren't touching the bottom, so she swam instead, still as fast as she could.
Front crawl served her not as well as it might have done; her sodden robes were dragging her down, slowing her pace. But she still made it to the middle of the lake before it hurt too much to continue. She trod water, becoming aware of how cold she really was. The cold air stung her dry face, and the water seemed to be pressing inward on her, doing its best to crush her. There was an odd sort of clattering sound: it took a few minutes before she realised that it was her teeth knocking together loudly. Something warm touched her face; the tears making tracks down her cheeks.
It wasn't possible. It just wasn't possible—it was Dumbledore playing some kind of sick joke, or he had no idea that April Fool's Day was months away still; he hadn't expected her to believe him. But then there was the voice which pointed out he was the kindest man she knew. The voice that said he'd never lied, as far as she was aware. The voice that said he might have known this for years, and never treated her differently from any other student.
Darkness fell, and she still didn't move, despite the fact that she knew hypothermia wasn't far away, creeping into the edges of her body. It didn't hurt anymore. She wasn't shivering. She should get out, she knew, but where would she go? Back to the castle, where Lily and the others were, tell them that the daughter of the man who would kill them all had been sleeping in the same bed for years?
The full moon was her only illumination, reflecting off the still waters around her. Looking up at it, Helena felt a fatalistic calm descend. I have to leave, she decided firmly. I have to get away and go where no one will have to know me. The Quidditch match tomorrow, that would be perfect. Everyone would be out of Gryffindor tower. No one would demand an explanation. She'd just be gone. Her friends would worry, but it would be infinitely kinder than telling them the truth.
Then splashing suddenly from behind her—when she tried to turn, she found that her limbs didn't want to obey her. Her fingers had gone completely white, and blue at the fingertips. Hypothermia. When she eventually did see what was causing the splashing, she stared. It was a huge black dog, swimming toward her as fast as its legs would carry it.
"The Grim…" she murmured. "Maybe… Maybe it would be the best thing… To die. How hard can that be after all?"
She kicked her numb legs out, just enough to propel her onto her back, floating in the water, arms stretched out. Waiting. The dog, it transpired, did not have waiting for death in mind. Jaws closed tightly around her right arm. She didn't feel it, though the grip was hard enough for the dog to begin dragging her back to shore. Still no pain, only a rough scraping when they got to the shore. With most of her body out of the water, the cold that had been missing hit full-force. She didn't so much shiver as she did shake uncontrollably, so hard it was once more difficult to breathe.
She somehow wasn't surprised when the black dog turned into Sirius Black. But that didn't mean she wanted to see him. "Oh God not you. Please not you."
A/N: Review please!