Pure Bloody Irony Chapter Thirty, a harry potter fanfic

A/N: Sorry this took me so long to get out—it just went on and on! Also, this contains sort-of-extracts from my favourite book, Jane Eyre, which obviously I do not own. Enjoy the chapter!

Chapter Thirty

Despite the vastness of the space, the music completely filled it. Helena could almost see the melody, like a river, washing through and submerging everything. It seemed so thick she could taste it. With her eyes closed, she was buoyed up by it, floating. It was no tune she recognised, but its beauty was powerful. It reminded her of Veela song—or what Veela song did to men, anyway. It required her to dance. So, dance she did. She raised her arms as if she were waltzing with a partner, and began to turn on the spot, circling and spinning around the dancefloor, quite alone in her own imagination. One two three, one two three, one two three…

The soft clearing of a throat; she opened her eyes to see Sirius, in dress robes, of all things. She looked down at herself, surprised to see she was also dressed up, though in a muggle evening gown, modest but for a slit, right up her thigh. It was scarlet in colour, the shade of fresh blood. The imagery made her frown, but that disappeared when Sirius held his hand out for hers. When she gave it, he pulled her close to his body, inclined his head as though he wanted to kiss her. When she went to join their mouths, though, he pulled away with a dark, low chuckle. Her skin burned for him—he carried on teasing though.

He clicked his fingers, and the orchestra that wasn't there struck up again. Helena looked around, but could only see the spotlight on she and Sirius—not even the floor under her feet. Was here a floor under her feet? The music surged, demanding once more that they dance. It was latin this time; strings and a piano. Sirius led them in a tango, or a rumba, or some dance she couldn't remember the name of; quick-moving at times, slow at others, but passionate, sensual all throughout. His breath was hot against her neck, his hands possessive and his eyes the colour of a winter sea. They had not wavered from her gaze. Helena took a shuddering breath and prayed that he might always make her feel like this. More than desired, needed. She felt it too, like a line, a thread which was knotted under her ribs, connected to one in the same place under his. They were connected, but how strongly? What would happen if it snapped? Would she ever stop bleeding for the wound that could cause?

"You didn't mind me cutting in?" he murmured in her ear, voice warm and low.

She looked at him strangely. "There was no one else. There never is."

"So you were imagining me then?"

She nodded, though now she wasn't sure. It seemed to be the right answer though, since Sirius continued to dance with her. Helena lost all sense of time or space—just like when they came together physically, there was nothing but him; his smile and his eyes and his hard body beneath her hands. It was pure happiness.

Then the music changed. It was no longer tuneful, and the strings turned too high, too shrill, too up and down, seesawing. The piano was being pounded, bass notes being forced, booming, into the room. Hands that weren't hands curled around Sirius' shoulders, tore him away from her. Shadows swarmed around him at the edge of the spotlight. She could see him, but when she went to reach him, a hand curled around her own arm. This was far from shadow. White, almost luminous. It turned Helena to face her father. Have gave a warm smile which was not corresponded by icily-cold red eyes. Like Sirius, he offered a hand.

Sirius broke briefly away. "Helena! Helena, run-"

Voldemort snapped his fingers. "Hold him."

Helena could only stare as the shadows wrestled her lover back. Then she turned wordlessly, back to Voldemort. He shouldn't be here, Sirius couldn't see them together, it would ruin everything. This, apparently, did not concern the Dark Lord. His long white fingers beckoned.

"Shall we, my dear?"

She couldn't look away, couldn't say no, couldn't think, but her hand was coming out to take his anyway. It was a waltz this time, graceful and terrifyingly elegant. His robes billowed outward as he turned her around and around the dancefloor.

"Why are you here?" she asked, hearing her own voice sound weak and hazy. Issued from some point far beyond her mouth.

He didn't give an answer, only a smile which chilled her blood. She wanted to stop dancing, to make him release Sirius, or to beg if she couldn't make him. If it were up to her they would have stopped dancing, but she was unable to. Neither could she blink, she suddenly realised. The viper had her mesmerised.

There was a commotion from the shadows, then Sirius wrenched her away from Voldemort. Her legs fell back automatically into the latin steps. Sirius spoke quickly, urgently. "Helena, you have to listen to me."

She was too busy looking around to see where Voldemort had gone. He was still circling, him and his shadows pacing at the edge of the dancefloor. "Helena!"

At Sirius shaking her, she returned her gaze to his. "I don't understand what's going on."

"It's simple," he assured her. "You're in check, but it's really easy; all you have to do is move diagonally. He's expecting you to move left or right. Sacrifice me if you have to."

Aghast, she shook her head. "No! Padfoot, I would never-"

He kissed her. "It's alright, Hellfire. What else are pawns for?"

"Sirius, run-"

Then Voldemort was snatching her back. "Well?"

"Well what?" she asked, feeling increasingly as though she were falling.

"You must take your pick. Choose one of us."

"I can't," she whispered, ashamed.

"You have no other option," he replied, tone cruelly amused.

"But I want you both. I need him—I love him—but what you offer-"

"Then you choose me?"

"No, I… Don't make me. Please."

There was a flash of angry contempt on his face, then he was forcing a knife into her hand. It was wickedly sharp, and in the spotlight, violently bright. "Do it."

Then he pulled away, and there was more noise now. The shadows had coalesced into Death Eaters now, but they curled around Voldemort. Sirius was flanked by blurry faces she recognised: the Order was here. But no one was helping her, no one was telling to drop the knife. They were all yelling, all screaming for her to kill one of them: Sirius or Voldemort. She knew what the right choice was, so why couldn't she make it? Every time she advanced toward him though, something seized control of her legs and marched her back the other way. Helena was spinning again, blinded and crushed as the crowd closed in. She couldn't think, much less breathe.

She lashed out suddenly, the decision made in a fraction of a second. Silence immediately fell. So did Helena's jaw. The knife, handle still in her hand, was buried, hilt-deep, in Sirius' chest.

All the others vanished in a moment, and Helena could only stare in utter and complete horror at what she had done. Incredibly, Sirius smiled gently. No anger, no disappointment. Just the deepest sadness. As he died, the laughter began. Cold, high and cruel, filling her lungs and choking her.

She was left alone with that laughter, those cold hands and those red eyes.

It was the shaking that woke him, not the noise. That was muted anyway, soft little whimpers which spoke of fear and grief. She was sobbing, each one moving the sheets more as it rocked her. Her face was wet with tears, though her eyes were tightly shut, and she appeared to be still asleep. Sirius' heart sank. She was having another nightmare.

Gently, he stroked down her face. "Helena. Hellfire, wake up. Wake up, sweetheart."

His words appeared to have no effect, but a few seconds after that, she bolted upright, hand outstretched. "No!"

"Helena? Helena!"

She didn't seem to hear him, and her eyes flew wildly around the room. When they landed on him, they bulged, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. With a trembling hand, she reached out to touch him, her fingers touching just above his heart. "But…"

She ran her hand over him again, harder this time, her fingernails scratching him a little bit. Then again, harder still, so that it actually hurt. "Ow. Helena, stop, you're going to make me bleed." He caught her hands when she didn't.

"Bleed?" she questioned blankly. "I killed you."

He frowned. Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't that. "You what?"

When she continued to stare at him like he wasn't possible, he reached over and flicked the bedroom lamp on. He had to shield his eyes from the sudden onslaught of light, but Helena didn't even blink. She stared a little more, then threw herself into his arms, shuddering with sobs again. It was some time before he could get a shred of sense out of her.

"It was a nightmare. Oh thank God. A nightmare…"

"Yes, it was a nightmare. A nightmare about killing me, apparently."

"I- I didn't mean to, I didn't want to, I couldn't think-"

He put a hand to her mouth. "It's alright. I'm here, you're here. No one's dead. Calm down. It's alright… It's alright."

Helena went to sleep like that, her head against her chest and his fingers stroking through her hair, him repeating those words. Sirius lay awake for a long time though, long after her breathing had steadied and slowed. What was happening to her? It was rare adults had nightmares period, without some kind of major stress going on, let alone with the regularity she was. So was there something going on? She kept insisting there wasn't, but he'd noticed. She was paler, darkening circles were under her eyes, and she wasn't eating properly. Not to mention whatever the smoking thing had been about…

He must have fallen asleep worrying, because the next time he opened his eyes it was to pale grey daylight outside the curtains. Helena was gone too, though he could hear her rummaging about in the kitchen. Yawning, he got dressed and went downstairs. The smell of bacon frying greeted him when he pushed the door open.

"Oh good, you're up. Breakfast is ready," Helena beamed when she saw him. "I was going to bring it to you in bed, bit since you're here now! Coffee?"

"Um, yeah, thanks."

"No problem." She picked up the cafetiére and poured him a cup of fresh coffee, then tipped some into her own mug.

"Just guessing, but that's about your sixth cup this morning, isn't it?"

She gave him a quizzical look.

"You're perky. You don't do perky, Hellfire, it's creepy," he said bluntly.

Her face fell. "Oh, well you're welcome for the breakfast."

"I'm grateful. It's just not you."

"I suppose I'm just trying to make up for last night."

"You don't have to. Dreams can be weird sometimes."

She shuddered. "Tell me about it."

"Anymore weirdness?"

She looked up sharply, eyes suspicious. "What makes you say that?"

"You seem off. And if you're not pregnant and it's still going on, any ideas what's up?"

She shook her head slowly.

"Maybe you should get checked out. Talk to your Head Healer. What's her name? October Fountain?"

"No," she said immediately, "I don't want to bother Octavia. I'll ask Lily to look me over."

He nodded. "Alright. Make sure you do though, right? I'm worried about you."

She gave a wan smile. "You don't have to, you know."

"Boyfriend's prerogative."

"Fair enough." She kissed him and walked toward the fireplace. "I'm off. Love you."

"Love you too."

Sirius finished his bacon sandwich and then left for work himself, getting to the office just before nine. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Walter Dawlish were already there, and Moody, of course. Sirius was pretty sure he never actually left the Auror Office, unless it was to go to Westmoreland Castle. James was nowhere to be seen yet, but he'd probably been celebrating all night with Lily.

She enough, one minute past nine, James came in. "Morning."

"Morning, Prongs. How're the doe and the fawn doing?"

James frowned. "Huh?"

"Potter! You're late!" Moody barked suddenly.

"Sorry about that, Mad-Eye. Woke up late."

Suddenly, Moody's eye was zooming in on James with a disconcerting whirring noise. "Why? Someone spoke your food? Cast a sleep spell on you?"

James blinked. "No. I just overslept."

Moody continued to scrutinise him for a moment, then abruptly his attention snapped and he was addressing the room at large again. "Right, today is all about investigation. Identifying and tracking down these bastards takes time, patience and constant vigilance. You all know what you're looking for; I'm not going to bother repeating it. On your desks you've got ciphers—I want to you crack them. Find out what the message says. You have five minutes, and after that a Death Eater's going to burst in on your and you'll be dead. So hurry up."

Neither James nor Sirius needed more than three minutes to crack the code—it was simple enough, once you worked out the sequence of numericals interspaced with idiograms. It appeared to be Moody's shopping list. Tinned sardines seemed to be staple of his diet; he wanted thirteen cans of them. Maybe he had a cat. Though knowing Moody, it would like be a kneazle.

"Just so you know, it's insane," Sirius whispered to James with a grin.

"What is?"

"The idea of my two best friends becoming parents. You two are making me feel old before I'm twenty one."

It was an odd moment: they each had identical expressions on their faces. Dawning comprehension as James slowly worked out what Sirius meant—could only mean—and Sirius realising with a sick feeling that Prongs had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. Or hadn't had, anyway.

Then he knocked over his inkwell, his hand was shaking so much. "You- You mean- Lily's… We're going to have a-"

"Yeah," Sirius said awkwardly. "Helena told me yesterday. Sorry, mate, I thought you knew-"

"You two old women finished gossiping?" a growling voice interrupted.

"Yeah, yeah, we're finished, and you want six bananas and two chicken breasts and some washing up liquid, as well as a ridiculous quantity of sardines," James said at top speed. "I have to go, Moody. I need to see my wife."

"You'll see her at the end of the day, Potter, not one second-"

"Sorry, can't wait. We're having a baby!"

With that, and to everyone's surprise, he gave Moody a hug and then raced to the fireplace. "Potter Cottage, Godric's Hollow."

The silence he left in his wake was stunned. Before anyone woke up, Sirius pulled a spare bit of parchment towards him and scribbled a very quick note to Helena. Lily wouldn't be in Godric's Hollow, she'd be at St Mungo's. In his state of fevered excitement, James' brain might be working just a little slower than an owl could fly.

It wasn't a good day for an owl to come tapping at the window. There had been an escape from a dragon reserve in Ireland, so there was a massive influx of burn victims, bite victims, and fall victims—some of them had been swept up by the escaping dragons and then dropped a little later on. Nothing worse than broken bones and a few concussions (the ones who had survived, anyway), but still, there were a lot of injuries. So she really wasn't in the mood to receive more bad news.

She didn't notice the bird at first, too busy mending a woman's broken arm. Once she'd done that, the witch tapped her on the shoulder. "Healer Malfoy, is it?"

"Yes?"

She pointed. "I think that owl wants to be let in."

Helena frowned and moved closer to the window. In its beak, the owl carried an envelope and on it was written her name. In Sirius' handwriting, which looked even more untidy and hasty than usual. She slid the window up and took the parchment, opening it and reading quickly.

I've done something stupid—James didn't know about Lily & I assumed he did. He knows now—was going home but probably go hospital when he realises Lily isn't there. When you kill me later, could you do it quickly?

When she got to the end of the letter, Helena found herself agreeing with Sirius in one point—she was definitely going to kill him, and/or otherwise torture him. Maybe some form of dismemberment would be in order. Though equally she was going to kill Lily. Why in the name of Morgana hadn't she told James? Sighing, she balled up the letter and shoved it in her pocket, then went in search of Lily. She needed to be warned—James would either be excited beyond measure when he arrived or completely incensed that his wife had kept the news quiet.

Spotting Lily, Helena grabbed her arm and pulled her into a corner. Lily frowned at her urgent expression. "What? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, but my boyfriend is going to be in serious pain when I get home," was the growled reply. "He let slip to James, Lily."

Lily's hand flew to her stomach. "Shit!"

"Yeah. And now James is probably on his way here, because he left the office to look for you."

"Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks!"

"Yes. Sorry."

"No, it's not his fault. I should have told James last night."

"Yes, why didn't you?"

"I got scared again," she grimaced. "He got home and he was in such a good mood that I didn't want to spoil it-"

"Well, he's here now. So here's your chance to spoil it all over again."

Lily whipped around, and all the colour drained from her face. James stood at the entrance to the ward, his face completely full of emotion, though Helena would have been hard-pressed to name precisely which emotion it was. Apparently not wanting to make a scene if a scene was going to be made, Lily went toward him. James met her halfway, and once he had, it was fairly safe to say he wasn't angry. He'd picked his wife up, wrapping his arms around her waist and twirling her around, kissing her passionately.

Helena beamed. Maybe she wouldn't be killing Sirius after all. Possibly just slap him or something. As James continued to kiss Lily senseless, she decided that even that could probably be dispensed with.

Finally he put her down, still grinning. "I'm so happy. I love you so much."

Wordlessly, Lily kissed him again, tears rolling down her she noticed everyone in the world staring at them. She sniffed and wiped her face. "Oh, he's my husband. That isn't part of the treatment we offer."

There were a few laughs at that, and people started to go back to their business. Helena did too, as Lily and James' body language became more intimate. When she got a quick break about half an hour later, she wrote a letter to Sirius, telling him not to worry, and that no punishment would be forthcoming. Unless he begged for it.

Despite the vastness of the space, the music completely filled it. Helena could almost see the melody, a river, washing through and submerging everything. It seemed so thick she could taste it. With her eyes closed, she was buoyed up by it, floating. It was no tune she recognised, but its beauty was powerful. It reminded her of Veela song—or what Veela song did to men, anyway. It required her to dance. So, dance she did. She raised her arms as if she were waltzing with a partner, and began to turn on the spot, circling and spinning around the dancefloor, quite alone in her own imagination. One two three, one two three, one two three…

The soft clearing of a throat; she opened her eyes to see Sirius, in dress robes, of all things. She looks down at herself, surprised to see she was also dressed up, though in a muggle evening gown, modest but for a slit, right up her thigh. It was scarlet in colour, the shade of fresh blood. The idea made her frown, but that disappeared when Sirius held his hand out for hers. When she gave it, he pulled her close to his body, inclined his head as though he wanted to kiss her. When she went to join their mouths, though, he pulled away with a dark, low chuckle. Her skin burned for him—he carried on teasing though.

"You didn't mind me cutting in?" he murmured in her ear, voice warm and low.

She looked at him strangely. "There was no one else. There never is."

"So you were imagining me then?"

She nodded, though now she wasn't sure. It seemed to be the right answer though, since Sirius continued to dance with her. Helena lost all sense of time or space—just like when they slept together, there was nothing but him; his smile and his eyes and his hard body beneath her hands. It was pure happiness.

Sirius broke briefly away. "Helena! Helena, run-"

Voldemort snapped his fingers. "Hold him."

"Shall we, my dear?"

"Why are you here?" she asked, hearing her own voice sound weak and hazy. Issued from some point far beyond her mouth.

She was too busy looking around to see where Voldemort had gone. He was still circling, him and his shadows pacing at the edge of the dancefloor. "Helena!"

At Sirius shaking her, she returned her gaze to his. "I don't understand what's going on."

"It's simple," he assured her. "You're in check, but it's really easy; all you have to do is move diagonally. He's expecting you to move left or right. Sacrifice me if you have to."

Aghast, she shook her head. "No! Padfoot, I would never-"

He kissed her. "It's alright, Hellfire. What else are pawns for?"

"Sirius, run-"

Then Voldemort was snatching her back. "Well?"

"Well what?" she asked, feeling increasingly as though she were falling.

"You must take your pick. Choose one of us."

"I can't," she whispered, ashamed.

"You have no other option," he replied, tone cruelly amused.

"But I want you both. I need him—I love him—but what you offer-"

"Then you choose me?"

"No, I… Don't make me. Please."

There was a flash of angry contempt on his face, then he was forcing a knife into her hand. It was wickedly sharp, and in the spotlight, violently bright. "Do it."

She lashed out suddenly, the decision made in a fraction of the second. Silence immediately fell. So did Helena's jaw. The knife, handle still in her head, was buried, hilt-deep, in Voldemort's chest.

All the others had vanished, and Helena could only stare in utter shock at what she had done.

Incredibly, Voldemort began to laugh; cold, high and cruel. It filled her lungs, choking her—until he died, and she realised she was laughing too.

She woke with a gasp, but no tears this time. She was trembling though, still in shock and confusion at what she had done. Why had she done it? There had been so much she wanted to learn…

It was a moment before she recalled where she was, that just because she'd dreamed something didn't make it so. She looked to the left, to where Sirius was still sleeping peacefully. Thank Heaven. She moved over slightly and kissed him gently, spending a second reassuring herself of his breathing and his heartbeat. Well, this dream had been far more preferable to the other one, both in its content and the fact that she hadn't woken him up. She didn't want to have that conversation again.

She lay back down, closing her eyes and trying to persuade her mind to relax, to unscrunch and let her go back to sleep. It wasn't working. After ten fruitless minutes, she got up and went downstairs. Perhaps some cocoa would help.

The milk on the stove had just reached the perfect temperature as she pulled a mug from a cupboard, being careful not to clink it too much. It was unlikely Sirius would walk, but she didn't want questions to as exactly why she was awake at…actually, what time is it?

As she stirred cocoa powder into the hot liquid in her mug, there came a knock at the back door. Helena jumped, dropping the spoon. It hit the floor with a metal tinkling noise which sounded unbearably loud. As she stared at the backdoor though, there was no repetition of the sound. Maybe she'd imagined it? Though why she might imagine-

Knock, knock, knock.

She almost ran to the back door and pulled it open. Then she dropped the spoon again. Because standing in her back garden, looking like a particularly sour oversized bat, was none other than Severus Snape.

A/N: Review please!