A/N: Sorry for the delay people. I hope you enjoy the chapter - however, I should warn you that it is mostly filler, so chapter 42 is being uploaded at the same time to make up for that. Enjoy!

Chapter Forty One

When Sirius' eyes rolled back in his head, his face more than pale, Helena fought down her panic. She knew how to heal this type of injury. She knew. Without room for emotion, the spell came tumbling from her lips as she ran the wand above his abdomen. The magic didn't respond as quickly as it normally did, the unfamiliar wand hampering her.

"Come on you bastard thing," she muttered, "come on, come on, come on!"

It was working slowly. The bleeding was stopping as the flow clotted, and the damaged organs were made whole again. It left a slightly jagged scar an inch long, but when the spell was complete, Sirius was out of danger. He woke slowly, pale and suffering from the lack of blood. She had no blood replenishing potion, nor any possibility of brewing one. His weakened state made her want to check the cupboards anyway. She moved him gently so that his head was cradled in her lap.

"Hellfire?"

"I'm here, Padfoot."

"Thanks," he murmured. "That wasn't fun."

She healed the cut on his jaw as well. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't cry, will you?" he joked. "You'll get me wet."

That made her cry harder, of course, though she laughed as well. Her wrists burned, for the first time bringing her own wounds to her attention. She wouldn't ask him to perform the magic now—he didn't have the strength. She conjured some bandages and wrapped them clumsily around her wrists, wincing. What had that bitch done? Apart from try to kill him, of course. It took singlemindedness to a new level, rubbing your own wrists raw to get out.

"Was I tied up?" she asked.

"Yeah. After Lady V came back. Had to."

"Doesn't look like it stopped her though." She helped him into a chair. "No sudden movements. No standing up."

"Wasn't about to."

She got up to make a cup of very sweet tea. Without a potion, he needed sugars and fluids to help replace the blood he'd lost. As she put the pan on the range to boil, he spoke again.

"So … the attempted murder's new."

"Yes," she said quietly. "I suppose she's desperate. She must know we're trying to stop her."

"Well, she's going the wrong way to unmotivate me," he muttered. "Are you back fully?"

She nodded. "I don't remember anything."

"You wouldn't. Nothing really happened. When she emerged I tied her up. Unsuccessfully, apparently."

"Not that unsuccessfully. But you may have underestimated how much of a psycho she is."

A heavy silence fell, and Helena made the tea and managed to find a packet of biscuits before she broke it. "Are we in over our heads yet?"

"No," Sirius said instantly. "Well, maybe. But there's no other choice. Where else is there? What else is there?"

"I don't know. Magic usually prevents mental illness in the conventional sense, but obviously this is exacerbating it," she said, gesturing at the Dark Mark. "Or even causing it, I don't know. I'm not used to not knowing, I hate it."

"Never would have guessed," he smiled.

"But … muggles have been dealing with mental illness for centuries. Not well, but at least they have asylums and padded cells and-"

"That can't be what you want," Sirius broke in, looking disgusted. "To be locked up like some animal, forced to be poked and prodded by muggles who've go no idea-"

"I never claimed it was a good idea."

"It's a bloody terrible idea!"

"I can't ask you to give up your entire life for me, Sirius."

"Tough. You didn't ask me, and I'm not giving the choice to do it now. I love you, and I am going to heal you. Now shut up and accept that, or don't bother talking to me at all." He made to get up, and then immediately wavered on bloodless legs.

Helena pushed him back into the seat. "Now who's being stupid? No sudden movements, I mean it!"

"Fine. But no more stupid … ness from you."

"How witty your repartée is, darling," she said sweetly.

"Witty no, but it's more sensible than yours. Now, we carry on with the plan, alright? We analyse all the reasons you liked it, and you accept them. But not now please, I've got a headache like I've gone ten rounds with a troll."

"You need to lie down. I'll clean this mess up."

"Alright. Give me a hand?"

With an arm around her shoulders, she helped him limp to the bedroom and lie down, sitting down on the edge of the bed and brushing the hair from his eyes. "You're not going to do anything sappy like watch me sleep are you?" he asked.

"Only for a little bit," she smiled.

He gave a weary wink, and closed his eyes. It seemed only seconds until his breathing had evened out into sleep and he seemed peacefully still. Continuing to be rather too pale, but the deep slow breathing comforted away any lingering fear she had for his health. Once she was sure he'd be fine, she crept out of the bedroom and back into the kitchen. And then she sat down at the table and cried for half an hour. Merlin's beard, Morgana's shoe buckles, this couldn't continue. So there were two options ahead of her: the coward's way out, and the really tough, really long, really dangerous way.

"I'm a Gryffindor, I'm a Gryffindor, I'm a Gryffindor …" she chanted, steadfastly refusing to look out the window that would show her the cliff and the sea. She didn't remember the suicide attempt, but she sure as hell remembered the promise she'd made on Lily's wedding day. There was no coward's way out here, not one she'd be choosing anyway. So, what had brought out Lady V this time? There'd been no hint that she might lose Sirius, no danger- No danger to Helena, no danger to the body that she inhabited. But danger to Lady V was clear and present; Sirius had said it himself, she knew they were working to get rid of her. To stop her acting independently of Helena's will. It had been self-preservation – but that meant some part of her needed Lady V preserved. Why?

Helena rummaged around in a drawer until she found an almost bare quill, some old cookery books and an ink pot that was almost glued shut. She tore out a page from an Italian cookery book and began a bulletpointed list on the back of it.

- Lady V made her feel powerful

- Lady V performed complex magics she was afraid to

- Lady V was capable of preventing any harm from ever coming to those she loved (but just as (if not more so) capable of inflicting it)

Those seemed enough to be getting along with. She tackled the in reverse order, pacing around the darkening kitchen whispering aloud. The first sentence nearly didn't make it past her mouth; it was too horrible. But it had to be contemplated. It had to be admitted as a real possibility.

"If he … If Voldemort wins … then Lady V has power. She has influence, she has his ear. She could keep some of them alive. Not Lily. Lily would die. She and – and the baby. And James would die before he let anything happen to them. But Padfoot … Lady V would keep him alive. I'm convinced of that. If she's willing to torture some poor woman for him then she wants him alive. But that's the common point. I want him alive. I'd do almost anything to keep him that way. But Voldemort's not going to win. I'm afraid that he might, and that's combining with the desire to keep Sirius alive." She stopped, staring hard at her shadowed reflection in the glass of the window. "So I have to be brave. And by Merlin I should be able to manage that. I'm a Gryffindor. I will always be such. There is no part of me that is ashamed of that." She waited for some dissent, for some dark shift in the back of her mind, a pit of doubt in her stomach. None came. Apparently that was true. She was a Gryffindor, all the way through, all the way down. Helena smiled. "Right then. Fuck being afraid."

She looked back at the table. Back at number two. "Complex magic like fiend fyre … I don't envy her the Unforgivables. I have no reason ever to want to torture someone, no need to control someone's every thought and action. But she is me. I can do those things. There's no spell I'm incapable of. I can control fiend fyre – alright, I don't remember doing it, but I can. If I ever need to, I will. She's not bigger or cleverer than me. She's not tougher. I'm as strong as I want to be. Which leads onto point number one. Why do I want to be powerful?"

That was ambition if she'd ever recognised it. Power. Surely only crazed, despotic, megalomaniacs wanted power? "I don't feel like a tyrant. But that has to be the problem. How can I like that she feels powerful unless part of me is tyrannical? And evil," she added. "Alright, alright, alright … perhaps I'm looking at this the wrong way. Reconcile, reconcile … what would I do with power? Well, ha, win the war. Save everyone. Make sure that Lily and James can raise the baby in peace and happiness … Keep Hogwarts as more than just a Death Eater factory … Not what you'd call evil, I don't think. So if they're not evil, then- Alright, so it's not as though I want power for power's sake, I just don't want to feel powerless." She stopped, feeling suddenly very stupid; such a thought could hardly be called a revelation, yet it felt like one. That was why she didn't want to let go of Lady V, or at least why Lady V kept rearing her ugly head. Helena had allowed her strength to be siphoned off into her other personality, kept none for herself, so of course it was difficult! "She's not a victim," Helena said, repeating her previous words. "She's not a victim of anyone, and all I've done is be a bloody victim, is feel vulnerable. No wonder she sticks around." She found herself once more looking at her own reflected face. "Well too fucking bad. I'm owning that power now – and I'm going to own you."

Just for a second, the mirror image of her face sneered, lip curling upwards and the eyes gleaming red. Her ears caught a faint, sibilant hiss. Then she was alone in the kitchen again, and the only glow was coming from the tinge of the dawn.

Sirius woke with serious dry mouth and a splitting headache. Grimacing, he groped around for the details of what he'd been drinking last- No. Not drinking. He was dehydrated not through alcohol. Blood loss. Lady V had stabbed him, Helena had fixed it, he remembered that and then nothing except blissful unconsciousness. His fingers moved to find the scar, a tiny little thing an inch across and looking far too innocuous to have been as painful as it had been. It was a purple line across his abdomen, jagged and shiny skin stretched taut. Not his first war wound. Hopefully the last, although he doubted that. Sitting up slowly and carefully (and even that came with a powerful head rush), he reached for the glass of water which had been left by the bed. It was gone in several noisy gulps, just blunting the edge of his thirst.

"Hellfire?" he called.

"Kitchen!"

He had to steady himself against the wall getting there, and feeling his head swim every step of the way. Helena was, literally, scrubbing the floor on her hands and knees, brush in hand and a bucket of soapy water next to her.

"Morning, Cinderella."

"Oh sorry, did you want to leave the blood on the floor? It'll be an original form of decor. Your wand is over there by the way," she pointed.

He pocketed it, getting another glass of water. Helena had finished by the time he had. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Hungover. Which is annoying, considering I didn't get the fun, drunken part."

"You lost of couple of pints of blood. I was thinking of writing to Lily and seeing if she could send some Blood Replenishing Potion. Not that I'm planning on stabbing you again," she added.

He frowned. "It wasn't you, love."

"It was though. As much as I hate it, Padfoot, if this is going to work then we need to stop compartmentalising me. Part of me stabbed you, because you were preventing that part of me getting away. But I think I've … worked it out. Lady V and I actually want the same things, just in different ways."

"What d'you mean?"

She explained to him the thinking she'd done over the course of the night. He still wanted to disagree with everything she said, but she did look better. She had dark circles around her eyes from the lack of sleep, but other than that – her eyes themselves were brighter, she had more colour in her face and her mannerisms were less closed off; she kept making open hand gestures. She looked at home in her own skin again. Less like a flower stem just waiting to be broken.

"I suppose I'll simply have to become used to being a slightly more violent, more volatile me," she concluded.

"'Become used to'?" he joked.

It had the desired – and predictable – effect. She slapped him lately on the arm, then laughed. "D'you think you could get used to it?"

"Yeah, why not?" He reached out and fingered a strand of her dark hair. "'Long as you're directing that violence away from me in future, right?"

"Right."

She leaned forwards and kissed him. He responded quickly, pulling her onto his lap. As soon as the blood started going south, however, his head went again, and he had to pull back from Helena's mouth. "Fucking hell."

She smiled ruefully. "Bugger. Should have thought of that. Maybe give it another twenty four hours?"

"Maybe. You mentioned something about writing to Lily?"

"Yes, although she wouldn't know where to send the parcel to. Unless … are owls bound by Fidelus Charms?"

"You know, I have no idea. We can but try. And it might be a good idea to ask for a chess set or something too. Otherwise we'll end just strangling each other - without the aid of Lady V."

"I could just bake a lot. Of course then you'd be too fat to fight off Death Eaters."

"Too fat?"

"Well, yeah, without Quidditch all the time you're getting a little chubby you know."

"You just keep pushing it, Hellfire, see where it gets you."

She did end up baking that afternoon anyway, and for dinner they demolished an entire chicken and mushroom pie, as well as an apple crumble and fresh vanilla custard. There had been some kind of spell put on the cupboards, and they were instantly refilled with food again.

"Thank God for Dumbledore," Sirius said, before burping loudly.

Helena shook her head. "No, this is Lily – or McGonagall. I'm not sure Dumbledore thinks of stuff like this."

"He doesn't think about food?"

"It's not lofty enough."

"I'm sure he eats."

"Really? When was the last time you saw him do it?"

"Well, we were at Hogwarts for seven years, every- There were all the feasts and- Bloody hell."

Helena gave a smug little smirk and returned to her pudding. "Mmm – more cinnamon next time."

A/N: Review if you feel so kind - if not, onto the next chapter!