A/N: I wrote this when I was sleep deprived, so let me know in a review if it doesn't make any sense and I'll take it down and rewrite it! Thank you for the lovely reviews!

Chapter Twenty Seven

Staring at the words, a cold shiver raced over Helena's skin. For a moment she was on the verge of tears. Fear seemed to fill her bones, punching gaping holes in them; she almost expected to see white shards poking up out of her flesh. The snakes were back in her belly again.

She looked at Sirius, still asleep and completely trusting that his girlfriend wasn't about to go haring off in the middle of the night to commit unspeakable acts for her Dark Lord father. 'Innocent' was never an adjective it had occurred to her to describe Sirius with, but it was true now. He'd never do this, and if he was forced to, he'd never find any exhilaration in it. And she had, that afternoon. Her stomach twisted in guilty knots when she thought about the bottle of Veritaserum downstairs—but it twisted in something else, too. She had found excitement in it. Sirius could never find anything like that exciting. He was too...pure for that.

The urge to burn the scroll and return to bed now was strong. It had been one meeting, she hadn't learned anything she didn't already know, there would be no reason for Voldemort to come after her himself. Stopping now, forgetting it had ever happened now, wouldn't put Sirius, James or Lily in any more danger than they were in already. The argument held no water, though, she pointed out to herself. It was already too late to pull out. She had met Voldemort, she had claimed her—her birthright?—as his daughter. If she did bottle it now, then he would be the one to come to kill her next. And he would, she'd no doubt of that. But in doing, he would also kill everyone she loved. Maybe James and Lily would be smart enough to stay out of it, but Sirius… Sirius was reckless. And in the event of losing the woman he loved, he could not be trusted with his own safety, she knew that much.

So, further down the rabbit hole it was then.

She crossed to the bedside table and picked up her wand, pointing it at her sleeping lover. "Solemnio," she whispered.

Nothing happened, but she knew the spell had worked anyway. All it was designed for was sleep; as Sirius was already unconscious it would just keep him that way, until she returned and lifted the spell. That done, she kissed him softly, brushing away a stray tear that had escaped. "Goodnight, sleeping beauty." She kissed him again. "And I'm sorry."

She didn't creep downstairs, since a bomb could explode in the street outside and it wouldn't disturb him. Once dressed, she retrieved the Veritaserum and disapparated. She headed straight for the antechamber she'd last left and found Voldemort there, along with one other Death Eater. Hooded and masked, she had no idea who he was.

She held the Veriteserum out to Voldemort, and he levitated it from her hand and into that of another Death Eater, stood just behind him. There was no word of congratulations. Instead he only spoke over his shoulder. "Well?"

"Yes, my lord. This is from the hospital. And there are rumours that one of the receptionists has a new twin who was in the potioneers' stockroom this afternoon."

Helena started at the familiar voice which sounded from underneath the skull-like mask. "Octavia?"

The woman looked at Voldemort, who nodded imperceptibly. She removed her mask and pulled back her hood, revealing that Helena had been right. She was Octavia Fantaine. She smiled warmly at the young witch, apparently pleased to see her. "You seem surprised, Helena."

"I am. Goes a little against 'harm none' doesn't it?" she asked, referring to the first law of Wicca, the fundament that all magical healing was based on. "And frankly I'm surprised you're needed at all," she added, glancing at her father. "I don't imagine you have many cases of dragon pox to deal with here."

"Do you not heal aurors at St Mungo's? My followers are as frail as any other wizards. Why should they not have healers?"

He gestured for Octavia to leave them, and Helena took the same seat she had the last time they'd been here. "Next?"

He ignored her question. "The woman whose form you imitated—she will be arrested and questioned."

"And be unable to identify me. Memory Charm."

"They can be broken, with adequate…persuasion."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"The Crutiatus Curse. Enough pain wipes the mind blank of anything except the agony of itself. Including enchantments."

Helena suppressed the shiver that threatened to crawl across her skin. She couldn't imagine any information that important that it was worth torturing someone for hours, perhaps days, to obtain it. She couldn't imagine torturing anyone full stop. Was that to be one of the tests, she wondered? Would he demand that she inflict pain on someone for the sheer point of pain? Would she do it? Could she?

"The Ministry would never resort to Unforgivables against non-Death Eaters. Most aurors would be reluctant to use them even against them."

"You underestimate the hatred I inspire."

"The aurors I know wouldn't give you the satisfaction," she replied, the words sounding ludicrous even as they left her mouth. Had she really just said that? Had she really just told the Dark Lord that?

"The aurors you know would not be given a chance," he said, all mirth suddenly gone from his cold voice.

She acknowledged that with an incline of her head; she had overstepped.

"You may leave," he said abruptly. "I will send instructions by owl."

She stood. "Alright."

"You will bow when you leave my presence."

"Next time."

Before he could say or do anything, she disapparated.

It was still dark when she got home, though even at three in the morning, the streets weren't completely silent. London was active whatever time of day it was. She didn't go to bed straight away though, instead walking around the house and checking all the curtains were closed. Once sure they were, she looked in on Sirius—still fast asleep—and then went down to the library. Coming back here had only been to fool any Death Eaters Voldemort might have sent after her, as had closing the curtains. No one outside would be able to see what was happening inside now.

She grabbed a handful of floopowder and threw it into the grate. Stepping into the green flames, she said, "Westmoreland Castle," clearly, and off she went.

Spinning around at such breakneck speeds, it was hard to contain her nausea. Bile was already rising. When she stumbled out of the fireplace at the other end, it was with a hand pressed to her mouth.

McGonagall was the only person in the hall, though she wasn't doing Dumbledore's trick of pacing up and down. Instead she was asleep, or had been until Helena appeared. She scrambled up as her ex-student emerged.

"Helena. We weren't expecting you tonight—has something happened? Do you have a report to make?"

She nodded. "Just to-"

The vomit wouldn't wait anymore, so she cut off and looked wildly around for something to throw up to throw up in. There appeared to be nothing, so, left without a choice, she turned and threw up in the fireplace. She stayed there for what felt like hours, chucking up everything in her stomach and more besides.

When she'd stopped, a shocked looking McGonagall handed her a glass of water to rinse her mouth out with. "Thank you, Professor."

"It's quite alright, Helena. Are you ill?"

"She shook her head. "No, it's just…it's how I always feel after I leave him."

McGonagall nodded and said, "I take it you've come from there, then?"

"Yes. I passed my first test—I'm sure there will be more, but it's something. A start, at least."

"What did he want you to do?"

"Steal something from St Mungo's. I have a feeling the tests are going to get harder; more dangerous and more illegal—the longer I don't break."

"Have you any intelligence to give us? His overarching plan, or the names of any Death Eaters?"

"One. Octavia Fantaine. She's the Head Healer on the Dai Llewellyn ward at St Mungo's."

McGonagall nodded, pleased. "Thank you, Helena. Was there anything else?"

"I don't think so, Professor, no. At the moment he's contacting me by owl; I'll let you know when the next one arrives."

"Good. Then you should go home and get some rest."

She nodded. "Goodnight, Professor."

"Goodnight, Helena. Helena?" she added, just as she had one foot in the fireplace. "You need only go as far as you wish to…you do know that?"

"You mean I don't have to get any new tattoos?"

"Precisely."

"I'll bear that in mind. Thank you."

"Goodnight."

It was with a heavy heart and a guilty conscience that Helena finally did fall into bed, five minutes later. Once she was there though, she slept like the dead.

The nausea had not faded by the following morning, though she managed not to throw up. Too many questions from Sirius. After she'd had a very long, very hot shower, she felt a little better, though not ready for breakfast. Every noise made her jump, and she couldn't take her eyes from the window, convinced that at any moment there was going to be the sound of fluttering wings, an owl with a note in its beak. She looked at Sirius, who was oblivious, head more in his plate of bacon and eggs than anything else. What if an owl came, and he opened it first?

"You got a day off today or something?" he asked through a yawn.

"Hmm? No, why?"

"Because you're not dressed, you're not eating breakfast, you have to be out by eight, and it's now…seven forty five."

"Shit!"

She dashed upstairs and threw her robes on, raking her fingers through her hair—no time for a proper brush—and pulling it up into a ponytail. When she came back down, Sirius was still where she'd left him, plate empty now but with his head propped up on his hand. He was asleep again. Another wave of guilt crashed over Helena. That had to be a side effect of the spell she'd cast on him last night. Merlin's beard, she had no right.

She crossed to him and shook his shoulder. "Padfoot. Padfoot, wake up."

He did, with another jaw-cracking yawn. "Blimey, sorry. Must've been more tired than I thought. Slept like a log though."

She nodded and made a noncommittal noise. "Come on, or we'll both be late."

She wanted to step into the fireplace with him, to be whisked away to some distant place, just the two of them. Run away just like he'd once suggested. But they had to go into two different places. She settled for reaching her arms around his neck and kissing him, long and lingering. She'd never melted into his arms now, and she wasn't doing it now, but she wanted to. God, she wanted to. Instinctively, he gave her what she needed, though he didn't understand why she needed it. His lips were gentle, and his hands tender as they brushed through her hair and over her cheek.

"I love you," she whispered as he let go.

"I love you too."

"H-have a good day," she said hesitantly as he put a foot into the green flames.

Instantly, he was alert. Helena didn't stammer. She didn't hesitate and she didn't stand there looking scared. At least not scared without reason. He came out of the fireplace and took her hands, turning her to the light so he could see her expression. "What's wrong, what's happened?"

She swallowed and shook her head. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"You don't look it. You're pale and there are massive bags under your eyes."

She snorted. "Just what every girl wants to hear, thanks for that, Padfoot. I was going for 'ghost' this morning."

"Helena. Seriously."

"Seriously I'm fine," she emphasised. "Now get your perfect arse out of here will you? I don't fancy Mad-Eye coming after me if I'm the reason you're late."

"Okay, but-"

"Go."

He gave her one last kiss and then went. Helena took the floo as well, trusting to the flames to dry the tears slowly rolling down her face. They were gone by the time she stepped out into St Mungo's.

It was strange seeing Octavia when she got to the ward, who greeted her in exactly the same manner as he had the day before and all the days before that. She would have to learn that, Helena knew, learn how to mask true thoughts and feelings, and she wouldn't just have to do it part-time. This morning had told her that much. If she let her guard down even a little bit of the time, showed some vulnerability, it would be leapt upon. Leapt upon and dissected until the cause was found. No, if she had been strong before then she must be stronger now. A completely false person.

When Lily arrived, slightly late, twenty minutes later, it appeared to be working. She didn't say a word, and Helena didn't catch her giving her any funny looks. She was sure to keep her attention on her patients today, working diligently for the whole day. She still didn't feel brilliant, but then it seemed neither did Lily. She was as pale as Helena was, and made frequent dashes to the loo.

"Are you sick?" Helena asked, after Lily's sixth visit that morning.

"I think so. James took me down to Brighton yesterday for dinner. Fish restaurant. I think there was a funny oyster."

"Do you need to go home?"

Lily checked her watch. "I might actually. Do you think Ocatavia would mind?"

"I'll ask her for you, if you like."

Lily brightened. "Good plan, she likes you more than she likes me. Thanks, Helena."

Helena smirked at Lily's assumption. It had been hers too, until last night. Now she knew it was because she was under orders to keep an eye on her. Or, a part of her whispered, it was because she knew how advantageous showing favour to her was. She recognised her potential and did not wish to make an enemy of her. Blinking at the dark voice in the back of her mind, Helena shook her head as if to dislodge it, and it didn't come back. Octavia was loyal to Voldemort, no one else.

She went to Octavia's office and knocked on the door. "Come in."

She pushed open the door, and on seeing her, Octavia's eyes sharpened. There was also…a wariness, if Helena wasn't imagining it? She gestured the door to lock behind the Junior Healer, and only then invited her to speak. "What is it?"

"Nothing sinister, Octavia," Helena smirked. "Lily is unwell. She wants to go home early, if you can spare her."

Octavia's lip curled. "I hardly think my ward will suffer from the absence of one mudblood."

Helena couldn't stop it; her mouth fell open. She shouldn't have been surprised, especially after learning of the Head Healer's true identity, but hearing the word was shocking, and hearing it directed at Lily was vile. It immediately roused her temper. "Don't call her that," she spat angrily.

"Why shouldn't I? It's what she is."

"Use it in private and how long can it be before it slips out in public?" Helena demanded. "Don't be a fool."

The wariness was back, along with a gleam of confirmed suspicion. "Very well. Then of course…Mrs Potter may go home and go to bed."

"Thank you."

Without another word, Helena left Octavia's office and went back to Lily, who she found just coming out of the loo. "Thrown up again?"

The redhead nodded. "I feel awful."

"Then go home. Ocatavia said you could. I asked very nicely."

Lily hugged her briefly and disappeared so that Helena could return to her duties. It was a busy day after that, one Healer short, but she found herself grateful for it. If she was rushed off her feet then there was no time to think. She even worked overtime, for as long as she could, anyway. She would have continued till midnight if she could, but Healers were only allowed to work a set number of hours over. Something about sleep deprivation mattering when lives were in one's hands. At eight p.m., Octavia sent her home whether she wanted to go or not.

She arrived to a strong smell of burning, and then, once she'd climbed from the fireplace, thick clouds of black smoke. Choking, she just about made out Sirius' form over by the sink, apparently putting out the fire with water from the tap.

"What hap-" she had to cut off again to cough a little more lung up before continuing, "-h-happened?"

He jumped, and she realised that with the smoke filling the kitchen there was no way he could have seen her come in. "Helena?"

She waved her wand, and the smoke funnelled out of the window. "What did you do?"

"Well, I was…cooking dinner."

She laughed. "You were what?"

"Cooking dinner," he repeated, more sheepishly this time.

"But you can't cook."

"You don't know that," he said defensively.

She gestured to the dark stains on the ceiling. "You set my kitchen on fire, Padfoot."

"Alright, I…mistimed the steak, I'll admit-"

"You were cooking steak and you walked away from it? Sirius…" She sighed. "Come on. We'll go out for dinner."

"Okay. How about Brighton? James recommended a nice little seafood place."

The owl didn't arrive that night, or the next, but Helena snuck out in the middle of the night anyway. Partly to practice her stealth (she didn't want to cast any more spells on Sirius), and partly to improve her flying. She still had the annoying habit of hitting trees when she was going for a right- or left-hand turn. As a golden eagle, she wasn't exactly built for tight turning circles. Huge drives from astronomical heights, yes. Picking up am entire lamb from a hillside and flying off with it, yes. Delicacy in landing…not so much.

In any event, it didn't work. Unfortunately, her absence was noted by Sirius, who then upbraided her strenuously for a) not telling him where she was going and b) going at all. His points were valid enough, she supposed. As far as he knew the Death Eaters were still after her. A few times she had lied, said she'd gone to Westmoreland Castle to see Dumbledore. She couldn't use Lily and James as an excuse, since they spoke to and saw them so often that it was bound to come up in conversation, and then things would get sticky. But overall she wanted to avoid lying to him. She was so bad at it, after all.

Unfortunately, not lying to him involved him shouting at her. A lot. Mostly that she was needlessly placing herself in danger. The only good thing about it was that fights usually led to really great make-up sex.

Finally the owl did come though, with the name of a different stately home written on it, though not one Helena was familiar with: Coughton Court. Fortunately for her, Sirius was still at the Auror Office, on one of the night training sessions they ran for auror trainees. She didn't have to worry about disturbing him, and as long as she was back by four-ish, it shouldn't be a problem. She hoped.

She took floopowder to get there, and unlike at the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, no one offered to help her out of the fireplace.

She didn't bow to Voldemort, who looked unimpressed at the lack of respect but didn't comment on it. With him were four other Death Eaters, all of whom were hooded and masked. As always for these meetings, Helena had worn dark robes and a black cloak. In the warm early autumn, it was stiflingly hot, but no one else seemed to let it bother them, so Helena didn't either. She straightened, and waited.

"You're to go to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. There is a bill which intends to alter the status of house-elves. At the moment, the penalty for an owner killing one—accidentally or otherwise—is a large fine. This would alter their legal status to household property. To be destroyed at the owner's discretion. It has been put forward under my orders, and it will be passed. There is but one member of the department who still stands firm: Prakesh Patil. Crabbe, Goyle, Knott—burn the Department to the ground. McNair, you will go with my daughter to his home."

It was the first time he'd referred to her as such, and the words caused a shiver to run over her skin, a frisson of electricity shooting up her spine.

Voldemort's scarlet eyes were fixed on her now, narrowed. "Do the same to his home. Reduce it to ashes. And take this." From thin air, he conjured a skull-mask and held it out to her. She reached out to take it, but he didn't let go right away. "Do not fail."

"I won't."

McNair's hand closed around her forearm in an iron grip. It lightened significantly when she glared at him. Satisfied that he wasn't going to do it again, she slipped the mask over her features, and they disapparated. Once the feeling of constriction had passed, McNair let go of her.

They were standing in front of a terraced house, in a row of terraced houses. A fire in one could easily spread to the others, and this wasn't a magical area. If the blaze spread it would have to be tackled by the muggle emergency services. She didn't bother looking at McNair; whatever she did or said would be passed onto Voldemort when they got back. She would simply have to trust that it would not spread.

But that didn't mean that she couldn't give the Patils some warning. She shot a blasting spell at the downstairs windows, and luckily, McNair did the same thing. The sound of shattering glass, and then breaking furniture from inside the house, was loud. Helena waited another few seconds, until she saw a light come on in the front bedroom, and then she pointed her wand at the house again. "Incendio."

There was an instant roaring noise as a fireball shot from the end of her wand and went straight into the window. There was no delay in the fire taking hold, and within a minute, it was billowing out from the blackened window frame. She turned to McNair. "Let's go."

"We were ordered to raze it to the ground."

"We have," she pointed out. "There's no saving it now. And if we stay any longer we risk exposure."

He looked back at the house in time to see part of the roof caving in, then gave a short nod. "Very well."

When they arrived back, it was to find the others had beaten them there, mainly because their task had necessitated a swift getaway, since they were attacking part of the Ministry of Magic itself. McNair was obviously a man of few words; he only nodded to Voldemort, bowed, and then filed out with the others.

"Well? Did I pass?" she asked.

"What makes you think it was a test?"

"As long as my arm is bare, I'll assume everything you order me to do is a test. So: did I pass?"

He nodded. "Now tell me the purpose of such a test."

Helena had already considered this. "It wasn't to see if I would willingly endanger life," she declared, sure of herself. "It was because you know I defended Dobby. That I cursed Bellatrix to protect him."

"Go on."

"And while I weakness for one piece of vermin may be…gotten around, weakness for the species cannot be tolerated. It was to see if I rank household servants at the same level as my peers. Now you've no reason to suspect that is the case."

"Good."

"In addition, you've learned that I will do as I am ordered to do, even to the point of endangering innocent people whom I've never met, much less who have offended me. Was there another purpose I've failed to divine?"

"There would have been. You've learned caution; you reveal as little of yourself as possible."

"Why did you spare me?" she asked suddenly. "Dumbledore told me." Indeed he had, in an owl he'd delivered the day before. She had requested the information, preferring to get it from him than from Voldemort.

"When you were a child?"

"Yes. When I was three minutes old and you could have killed me, why didn't you?"

"I was curious how you would turn out."

"And am I behaving as expected?"

No answer to that, save a smirk.

"Why not him?" she persisted. "Why not your son? Or are you anti-feminist as well as anti-muggle? Was I supposed to be less of a threat?"

The smirk disappeared. "Careful. I expect my followers to speak to me with a degree of formality."

Helena leaned forward. She spoke carefully, but clearly. "I'm not one of your followers. I'll do what you order for as long as I feel like it. And then I'll leave, or you'll kill me."

He took that quietly, then said simply, "Then I will kill you."

She nodded, recognising the truth in that statement. If she was to die, there would be no one else who could do the deed. Voldemort, though, seemed completely unsatisfied with that conclusion. In fact he looked perplexed, an expression which did not at all look like it belonged on his skeletal face. "Why are you here?"

"I've told you that."

"More than that," he demanded, sounding angrily exasperated. "What do you want? If you don't want to be one of my followers and intend to flee eventually-"

"I want to kill Lucius."

Any confusion disappeared from his expression immediately. A cold, cruel smile descended instead, and his eyes gleamed. She could almost see him thinking: Better. This I understand. "Why do you wish to kill him?"

"He killed my mother."

"I killed your mother," Voldemort corrected.

"He killed the only mother I have ever known. Father—Malfoy—deserved to die; I would have killed him just as she did. Lucius murdered her, and I will avenge her."

"You wish me to gift him to you? It is not in my power…at the moment."

"Because he is in Azkaban, I know. But when he is not, yes. I wish you to give me his life. If I have to earn that reward-"

"You will."

"-then so be it. But I want to kill him. If you want my loyalty—my eternal loyalty—then let me. That is my price."

"The loss of one Death Eater for the fealty of another," he mused. "Is it a price worth paying?"

"You decide."

It started raining on the way home, and when she arrived, swooping in through the open bedroom window, her hair was wet, hanging down her back in twisting strands. She was still naked—Sirius still hadn't taught her how to do clothes—so she grabbed a towel hanging off the wardrobe door and started drying herself off with it.

"Hellfire? That you?"

"Who else would it be?" she called back, cursing how shaky her voice sounded. As always, once she was away from Voldemort, she felt weak, scared, needing Sirius more than ever.

She met him halfway up the stairs, wrapping her arms around him tightly. She buried her head between his neck and shoulder, breathing in that scent which meant protection and comfort, safety and love. He sighed shortly and pulled her closer. "Where've you been, woman? And why are you wet and why are you naked?"

"I went for a fly," she said, answering all his questions at once.

"You shouldn't go by yourself. What if you're attacked?"

"I think he's given up on attacking me, Padfoot," she said.

"Even so, it's dangerous. You should let him go with you if you just fancy a bloody jolly."

She snorted. "Really. Don't see many winged dogs, but if the breed you turn into has the power of flight then I would love you to join me."

"Then stop going!"

"Why does it bother you so much?"

"Why does it bother me that my girlfriend is going off for hours at a time by herself in the middle of a bloody and violent war which we're losing?" he asked. "Can't think."

"But I'm fine," she protested, heading back up to the bedroom and pulling out some clothes. "I can fight off anyone, you know that!"

"No, I don't! We've had this discussion, Hellfire, and I'm getting fucking tired of continually having it! It is too dangerous!" he said, emphasising each word with a stab of his index finger.

"Fine, then stop having it!"

"I would if you'd start listening!"

She'd had enough now, she suddenly realised, in the act of pulling on her jeans. She didn't want to hear any more about the danger; she knew of only two wizards in the whole country who would be able to take her down. Of course, she could not tell Sirius where this conviction came from, but why wasn't her assurance enough for him?

She turned to face him so quickly that he blinked. His gaze moved briefly down to her bare breasts (he was a man, after all), which ordinarily would not have bothered her, except she needed him to be looking into her eyes. She reached out and lifted his face to hers. "Sirius. I am in no danger," she told him, locking their gazes and not blinking. "While I fly, no one knows who I am-"

He frowned. "But-"

She pressed her point harder, willing him to grasp it. "No one knows who I am. If a muggle sees me, they thank their stars for a mere glimpse. With a wand in my hand, I can both heal myself and kill others if they threaten me. I have done so in the past. I will do so again. Please understand and accept this."

For a second, he seemed frozen on spot, paralysed somehow. Then he blinked, sighed, an shook his head. "WIll you at least tell me when you're going then?"

She nodded. "I promise."

He wrapped his arms around her waist. "I just worry about you. I know there's no need, but…"

She kissed him. "I know. I worry for you, too."

"Then don't put such a strain on my blood pressure," he muttered with a smile.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "I'll make it up to you."

He grinned. "Will you now?"

A/N: Thoughts? Review please!