Chapter 105 – Healing Hands
A dark, packed, opulent hallway made Augustus, instantly upon arrival, wish he were back in the clean corridors of St. Mungo's. Regrettably, he'd never again make his rounds in the various wards of the hospital since The Incident, needing to make do with other jobs instead. Most of which in backrooms of Knockturn Alley.
''Pye,'' a rough voice called out. Pretending he hadn't just made a slight nervous hop, Augustus warily faced the one called the Dark Lord's Hand. The man's youthful face and rather ridiculous costume (were those supposed to be dress robes?) didn't at all negate the threatening aura he emanated. With confident movements, sharp gaze and devotion on display in form of a cut-off sleeve showing a unique silver mark, it was no wonder that Crouch had made it out of Azkaban somehow.
Crouch's experience would be invaluable, if the current situation was anything to go by. Anyone who'd tricked the Dementors was someone Augustus would like to stay close to now a whole horde (fleet? murder?) had outright dared attack.
''Am I needed?'' It was a question he'd repeated what felt like a hundred times a day to Healer Selwyck until it had transformed into an ingrained habit. He fell in step with the other's strides as they passed many a pale face.
''According to our Lord, you're apt with mind healing. I wish you to become acquainted with Severus Snape. Follow his lead when getting to work: most of our people were affected in some way by those filthy things.''
''Professor Snape?''
''Ah, you know him?''
How would one be able to forget the most dreaded teacher at Hogwarts? ''I took his potion class for seven years,'' Augustus muttered in discomfort. Going by the funny look he received, some of that age-old fear had shown. ''I was a Gryffindor,'' he added in ways of explanation. ''The only one who made it into his NEWT class of my year. Not the most – errr, pleasant experience.''
For all that Gryffindor valued bravery, Augustus didn't feel bad for being afraid of Snape's stinging words and bullying. The only students who didn't have a healthy fear for the man were his precious Slytherins. One of his peers who'd also received an O for the potion O. W. L. had dropped the course regardless, just to avoid another two years surrounded by biting remarks in the dungeons that Snape considered his personal playground. It would be interesting to see whether the professor would act similar outside of it.
He certainly looked the part still, Augustus noted when reaching the back of the room. The sallow face, not exactly complimented by black robes buttoned all the way up to a sharp chin and equally black hair, was contorted in displeasure as Snape was locked in a furious conversation with a blonde girl that barely reached his shoulders. A typical shimmering of a silencing barrier was broken as Crouch briskly stepped through. They still caught the end of a sentence, uttered by the girl:
''- understand the difference between our group and yours.''
''We are still your superiors, Miss Greengrass,'' Snape curtly replied, then turned towards them. ''Crouch. Do talk some sense into these children about following the orders of adults.''
Unimpressed, the Dark Lord's Hand raised his eyebrows. ''Instead of arguing with kids, you should focus on getting your own job done, Snape. Anyways, she's one of Evan's, right girl? We'll see what he has to say about who has to follow your orders.''
Greengrass flashed a small, triumphant smirk before her face became a blank slate again. ''My point exactly, Sir Crouch. Thank you.'' With that said, she regally swept away.
Oh, he'd have to keep an eye out for this Evan too, apparently, if this guy could get Snape off one's back.
The potion professor was positively stewing as Crouch casually continued: ''So, you've had to deal with Dementors at Hogwarts twice in the past couple of years. I'm trusting that, as someone proficient in mind healing, you picked up some helpful tips against these creatures especially. We're dealing with hundreds of people who were affected to various degrees. This is Pye, worked in St Mungo's and recently joined our ranks as our Lord values his more experimental work. I trust you to exchange info on healing techniques, then get to work calming the crowds wherever needed. Pye can concentrate on the civilians whereas you, Snape, will be entrusted our fellow Death Eaters as you already know some of them personally. They'll be sequestered in the room next door upon arrival.''
Following Crouch's index finger that pointed at a greyish door to the left, Augustus nodded to indicate he'd understood. Snape didn't seem so pleased – then again, was he ever? – yet also dipped his head in the end.
''Great. I'll return to our Lord's side now to guide our brothers and sisters home.'' Crouch fiddled with the ring around his own finger and vanished in a blue flash.
Before Augustus could get a word in, Snape disdainfully probed: ''You worked at the hospital… past tense? Perhaps it really wasn't a career to consider after passing your potions N. E. W. T. with a mere Acceptable.''
There went all hopes that the man wouldn't recognise him… or be less of a harpy than at Hogwarts. Maybe losing an argument to a child minutes prior hadn't helped. ''I'm not here to start arguments, Professor,'' Augustus stated, calmer than he felt. Lifting his gaze to meet burning coals, he gathered all of his professionalism. ''The Dark Lord apparently appreciates my work enough to help these people so that is what I shall do to the best of my abilities. Although, I must admit that while I've dealt with the effects of many magical creatures, Dementors were not on that list so far. I have naught but theories of regular cures.''
''And the 'regular cures' you know of are?''
''Providing chocolate for those not affected severely and directly influencing the flow of serotonin, dopamine and endorphins through mind magic,'' he readily answered, averting his gaze to take in the abundance of patients. ''Though getting enough chocolate for everyone here will be a challenge, just like influencing everyone's minds individually will take too much time. Are there potions that imitate the process of either?''
Snape's ire seemed to calm as he took in Augustus. ''I'd not expected a rookie healer to provide an answer that includes influencing hormones. Isn't that Muggle theory?''
''Yeah well,'' Augustus mumbled, surprisingly pleased by Snape having heard of these non-traditional methods. ''I was fired from St. Mungo's for a reason. They were too afraid of applying Muggle methods on mages. It's true that it doesn't always work but… that's no need not to pay attention to the medical developments used by most of the world and improve those with magic.''
More silence. Then: ''I can see why the Dark Lord took an interest. As for potions, the draught of peace was most commonly requested by the matron at Hogwarts during the time the Ministry invited Dementors on the grounds. It combines the best traits of calming draughts and pepper-ups without the side effects. Tricky to brew, regrettably. The remaining stock at Hogwarts will barely be enough for the Azkaban escapees who have absolute priority.''
Said escapees arrived as if on cue, the room falling silent as ten people in black-and-white robes appeared, their faces haunted. They brought an air of danger, a chilling winter's wind. A warning example of what the Ministry did to those unlucky enough to get caught. They were the Dark Lord's most devoted, those who'd committed numerous crimes in his name and suffered for it when refusing to renounce his name.
Augustus had had a rather sheltered childhood and had thus been too young to consciously comprehend much of what had been going on in the Wizarding world during the war that had ended when he'd been only eight years old. Still, he of course knew their names and faces, having seen some of their victims who were just as unlucky, jailed within closed hospital wards for over a decade in a grim imitation of their tormentors' whereabouts.
How unfair life could be.
Now they were no longer under the Dementors' immediate oppressive influence, some of the Death Eaters were showing signs of recovering pride already. Bellatrix Lestrange stood tall in front, head held high as she inhaled and exhaled deeply until her whole form unfolded. The prison garb could just as well have been an expensive gown, knotted and twisted hair an elegant tangle, as she addressed the crowd:
''The Dark Lord-'' she rasped, jaw trembling with deep emotion, ''-has saved us once more. Our god-'' Trails of smudged dirt streaked her face when tears trickled down high-set cheeks. ''-knew our spirit would never be broken.''
Underneath the roaring applause from the crowd, Augustus almost missed Snape's whisper. ''Halfwits,'' the man muttered quietly. ''He'd have let them all rot as long as they inconvenienced him.''
It had indeed looked as if even the Dark Lord had been caught off guard by the Dementors' appearance. Nonetheless, Lestrange's exclamation seemed to wipe most doubts about how much of this had been planned away from the minds of the man's followers. Whether she truly believed it or not, the woman had singlehandedly saved their leader's image.
Our leader, Augustus uncomfortably reminded himself. He'd signed up for this too. Having nowhere else to turn, the offer he'd been made a few weeks ago had been far too tempting to pass up on. Regretting it now would be foolish, and Augustus had always hated that stupid prejudice that being a Gryffindor equalled foolishness.
''You do not agree to her claim?'' he whispered back equally as softly.
Snape twitched. ''There are questions better left unasked,'' the man snapped back. ''I shall deal with them, now. As for aiding the rest: the Malfoys and Black have house-elves that should be able to inconspicuously procure chocolate. In fact, I advise you to introduce yourself to the Malfoys and explain your role. Many patients here will hinder your progress by being protective of their secrets with Occlumency and not agree to intrusive mind-healing unless you are vouched for by one of high rank. For those who refuse it altogether, I recommend carefully using cheering charms instead. Less effective, perhaps, but it will curb the Dark Lord's anger by showing you made an attempt.''
The instructions were far more helpful than Augustus had expected to receive. Baffled, he thanked Snape, who might not have heard as a billowing cloak already disappeared into the crowd.
Wishing to get to work quickly, he approached Black first – not because he was intimidated by the Malfoys, but because Black too had escaped Azkaban. The man being a wanted murderer would have put Augustus off months ago, but he figured about half of the people present here had killed at some point in their lives. Many of his customers in Knockturn must have, too. Even if not, it was better to assume so and keep his guard up. ''Mr Black?'' he asked, walking up to the long-haired, grim man who'd started a manic pacing seconds upon arrival, lingering near the Portkey spots. Was he still waiting for someone?
''Talking to me?'' the other absentmindedly barked when Augustus repeated the question.
''Ah- yes. I'm a healer and was told you have a House-elf who could provide relief goods. We need-''
''Chocolate, course,'' Black sighed. His eyes hadn't left the spot he'd appeared at. ''Good luck getting my old elf to be helpful. Kreacher!''
The oldest elf he'd ever set eyes on appeared in front of them, blearily throwing its master suspicious glares. ''What does the ungrateful son of Mistress Black need?'' he asked with a toothy smirk, bow obviously mocking. That is, until Kreacher swivelled its head around and saw the rest of the crowd. ''Mighty many illustrious people here…'' it commented, eyes bulging.
''Yeah yeah, making dear old mummy proud after all,'' Black sarcastically snarled at the elf. ''I'm sure you'll love the opportunity to suck up to as many dark mages as possible, so how about you get a chocolate bar or two hundred?''
''Three hundred,'' Augustus interjected. ''To be on the safe side,'' he added with a little cough when grey eyes finally shifted to look at him. They had a strange glint. Desperation? Anxiety? It must have been difficult to be so suddenly confronted with Dementors after escaping the creatures' grasp.
Black's voice was tight as he answered: ''If you say so. Kreacher, get however many Honeydukes has in stock.''
Without another word of confirmation, the elf snapped its brittle fingers and disappeared. Black went right back to his pacing, but Augustus wasn't quite done with the conversation yet. ''You were in the first line of defence against the Dementor attack,'' he commented with a hint of concern. ''And seem very restless. If you wouldn't mind being my first patient, I'd like to have a look-''
Clearly, he'd said too much for Black positively snapped: ''I'm not going anywhere until Harry is here! The absolute outrage of Voldemort, keeping my precious godson away from my side.'' Lips lifted into a snarl and for a moment, he looked more beast than human. Was Black a werewolf?
Tucking away the surprise of the Dark Lord's name being spoken so openly – met with a few outcries and dirty looks from all sides that Black didn't appear to notice – Augustus decided not to be deterred. ''Hey, I just want to properly do my job. You're one of the few I'll have to help who has already been exposed to Dementors before. It would be useful if I could examine the effect they had on you first, Mister. Besides… won't it be better if your godson can see you safe and sound?''
A wand was whipped into his face. ''Don't you presume to know what is best for Harry! There's far too many people who pretend to think of his interests when truthfully only looking out for their own. Pah, whole country of idiots who claim to know him just because they praise his name when it suits them.''
Puzzling the context clues together didn't take very long to conclude that this godson called Harry was none other than the Harry Potter. Since he'd been recruited especially to work with Potter, Augustus figured it wouldn't hurt to stay on Black's good side. ''Okay, okay. For your health, then. Would you allow me to examine your mind? Surface level, of course. Just to check your emotional state and see whether it needs adapting.''
One suffering sigh later, Black said: ''Persisting bugger, aren't you? Sure. But the second Harry arrives, I'll have different priorities. Dealt with Dementor influence for years on my own without having a bloody healer poke around in my head. I'll surely manage fine after being exposed for a couple of minutes.''
Augustus neither confirmed nor denied his patient's baseless theories. 'Dealing on his own' with it certainly wasn't a wise course of action and sudden exposure might have had a far more devastating effect than a layman could judge. ''Thank you for cooperating,'' he thus merely said, pulling his wand and carefully putting it to Black's temple. ''Take deep breaths and please keep eye contact with me as I have a first look.'' Now, Legilimency might not be technically necessary, but he was far too curious about the mind of someone who'd survived the devastating influence of these creatures for years. With Snape being tasked to take care of the other escapees, Black was his only chance. Besides, he reasoned, it really will help heal everyone else.
Staying on the surface as planned turned out to be impossible. As soon as their minds touched, Augustus was helplessly pulled into a chaotic maelstrom. Fighting for air or struggling didn't help: he was thrown from one flashing memory to another and assaulted with a rapid stream of changing emotions. Pain, shouting, loneliness and hunger all blended together until he could barely tell where one experience started and another stopped until at last spat out in what appeared to be the innermost part of Black.
He'd heard of mindscapes, but only people proficient in Occlumency had the ability to create one and few thought it necessary enough to maintain. As such, the only one Augustus had come across was his own, a temporary room he'd conjured up for the sole purpose of training mind magic. Now, he stood on a concrete platform amidst crashing waves, in front of the huddling and chained figure of Sirius Black. Other shapes shimmered close by, vaguely human yet not profound enough to really tell the identity of apart from coloured orbs where their eyes must be. The two closest to Black had brown and bright green orbs that stared into nothingness.
There was something terribly wrong about the man's mind. If Augustus didn't know better, he'd have been convinced to be caught inside a corpse. Many theories linked magic to colours. Both the sky and the ocean created in this mindscape were the exact same shade as the lingering magic on corpses he'd performed secret autopsies on. Although the dead of course didn't have minds to examine, the resemblance was uncanny enough to make note of.
''Mr Black?'' he called out, kneeling in front of the one who restlessly struggled in his chains. A result of the recent confrontation with the Dementors? Azkaban lay on an island in the middle of the North Sea, he'd heard. Surely not a coincidence.
The figure did not respond at all. That was alright, he'd not been tasked with completely healing this clearly broken man's mental scars, only make him more comfortable and recover from the short attack. That was doable. Even from within a mind, Augustus was in touch enough with his own physical body to simultaneously keep up this connection and cast spells to improve Black's emotional state. Being here might actually help directly observe the results.
Unexpectedly, the sun rose above the horizon, far faster than a natural sunrise. The deep purple sky and its reflection became streaked with gold in a flash. The chains, too, shone gold now, though they did not break. Rather the opposite happened as they became thicker and twisted, starting to wind around Black's entire form. The figures at his side swayed back and forth. ''Harry?'' the man asked, misty eyes brightening. ''Hey- hey you, what're you doing here? You're not supposed to be here!''
Not wishing this whole experiment to have been a failure, Augustus was quick to cast the spells he'd developed during his breaks and tireless nights, stimulating Black's mind to produce happiness while subduing the receptive fields for negative emotions. Just in time, too-
He stumbled when forced out of the foreign mind and took a moment to gather his bearings. When he managed, Augustus was surprised to find a weathered hand steadying him by the shoulder. ''Sorry,'' Black sheepishly grinned. ''Didn't mean to kick you out like that. Wow, I do feel better! Hey Harry, check this, I met a great healer. Feeling all hyped now.'' A brilliant smile was directed at one of the two newcomers who'd been central focus points of attention during the evening. Harry Potter looked tired, half-leaning on the Dark Lord's arm, though he still managed to pay attention to his godfather's words.
''That's the state you do best,'' Potter beamed back. ''Glad to hear you're feeling well again, was rather worried when the Dementors approached us…'' Green eyes (identical to the hue of one of the figures in Black's mind) curiously regarded Augustus. ''We've not met before, have we?'' the boy asked.
''I'm new,'' he blurted out, taking a step forward to hold out a hand without thinking. A slight hiss from the Dark Lord's lips came too late to reconsider the bold move. Potter didn't appear to care, enthusiastically shaking it with his free hand.
''Nice to have more healers on board. Dreaded the thought of needing to run to Snape for everything I can't do myself. I'm still training, you see. And not on the best terms with Snape.''
''Makes two of us,'' Augustus couldn't help but reply, trying to keep a straight face and not smile widely beneath the scrutinising stare of the Dark Lord himself. Potter seemed a likeable fellow, much to his relief. He'd pictured the boy rather differently, considering Potter had been painted as a tragic hero over the past years, been taken in by the rich Malfoys and apparently switched sides under the noses of those who'd cared for him before. Augustus had already braced himself for needing to work together with an entitled brat. Mercifully, those fears were clearly unfounded.
''Come, Evan,'' the Dark Lord coldly cut in. ''There'll be opportunities for socialising later. You've exerted yourself a great deal with ravaging magic and need more rest than the majority. I'll have a look at the state of your mind and body myself.''
Evan? Harry Potter is also the one called Evan? Augustus thought in slight befuddlement.
Potter's strong hand released his, though the boy did not quietly do as told, instead narrowing his eyes at the imposing man. ''Rest?'' he asked, almost offended. ''There's far too much to do here. I can help. Besides, I need to check on my ar… my students.''
A rapid hissing that once again made Augustus reel, followed, first uttered by the Dark Lord and then answered by a flush-faced Harry Potter. The rumours that had floated around years ago about being the Heir of Slytherin were true?
''Army, then,'' Potter responded with a hint of exasperation. ''I'll consent to your mental prodding only if you give me ten minutes to organise them.'' No sooner had he said it, did a few teenagers appear out of the crowd, only three of whom Augustus recognised by name: Draco Malfoy, due to being from a prominent family that contributed so much to St. Mungo's that every employee had to be able to put a name to their faces, Pansy Parkinson for the same reason, and one of the Weasley kids. Their father had been one of his last patients; the stitches he'd attempted to use on the magically inflicted snake bite hadn't helped Augustus' case when called into his boss' office to defend his experimental methods.
Thinking of that wound made his attention shift towards the Dark Lord's feet, where a gigantic serpent curled. Huh. The size and shape of the beast's jaws would have fitted rather perfectly… Merlin, wasn't that an odd realisation to have half a year later. Hadn't Mr Weasley told everyone who would listen that Harry Potter had saved him by warning people about the attack? Back then, he'd been able to make heads nor tails of the story – not really his job as a Healer either – but somehow this was coming together. At least Weasley had made a full recovery and been dismissed soon after.
''Pye? I'd advise you to get to work,'' he heard. Slowly drawing his attention away from the intensely staring snake, he looked into a far more intimidating sanguine gaze. While he'd been busy pondering on Weasley Snr, Weasley Jnr and the rest of the kids had disappeared off to wherever.
''Ah- yes, right away, my Lord,'' he said, tripping a bit over the words, out of embarrassment more than nervousness. ''There should be a batch of chocolate on the way,'' he added to show he'd done at least something more than twiddle thumbs. ''A House-elf is delivering it shortly.''
The man hummed, seeming rather disinterested about the news. ''I'll give you two hours to soothe the minds of those most affected. Head over to the adjoining room after, regardless of your progress.''
As Augustus had rather dreaded, the adjoining room meant appeared to be the same one that Snape had disappeared into, which held the notorious Death Eaters. Well, he had an two hours to prepare himself and hopefully the potion master was good enough of a mind healer to calm any outbursts of violence for the time being.
Hours that positively flew by once he threw himself into the given task.
XxX
''-Snape wanted to order us around!'' Astoria sniffed. ''Surely he has no control outside of Hogwarts-''
''-You should have a look at Theodore, he's still so pale,'' Draco worried
''-trying to find ways for all of us to be useful,'' Hermione rambled in her typical brainstorming state. ''-Is there a study in this place?''
''-know if I they'll let me visit my father?'' Saeth urgently asked.
Even with privacy barriers separating his army from the rest at the far back of the rectangular hall, the cacophony of mingling shouting was enough to make Harry's head hurt. ''Hold on, all of you! I can't make out a thing, you're worse than the Twins right now. I get that you're all upset, but I promised Voldemort that I'll be back in ten minutes because he's worse than Madam Pomfrey when it comes to bed rest.''
''Don't have to tell me,'' his best friend softly muttered. ''Wouldn't even let me bloody sit up after I'd been attacked in the Ministry.''
Hermione put her hands in her hips, clearly restless after having been cut off mid-rant. ''That's because you had brain damage, Ron.''
'''Twas all good. My arms took the main damage. Don't have those scars on my head, do I?''
Before they would start a currently pointless argument over the subtle details of the life-and-death situation Ron had been in months prior, Harry decisively cut it short: ''Guys! Focus. We don't have long, so let me get our priorities straight: I want all of you to stick together as a group and look out for each other first and foremost. Those of you who don't feel well enough to help are to head straight to Healer Pye and request prioritised assistance. As part of those who protected everyone else, he should give it to you. If he refuses even after you relay it's per my instruction, talk to Barty Crouch, Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy or Sirius Black. Those of you who do feel well enough: get to assisting the healer. Yes Astoria, I know that means 'giving into' Snape's demands, but upkeeping hierarchies isn't our priority now, helping is. If you don't want to blatantly work under the Death Eaters, calmly explain the situation to everyone who musters up curiosity. Maybe best to get a story straight with Fleur before about the official version that'll be published in the Prophet. Even if Voldemort didn't get a chance to speak to her yet, she is used to running stories independently by now and will know what flies and what won't.''
''And your version? The true version that Delacour is supposed to base her story on?'' Pansy faintly asked. It was hard to tell whether her paleness was the usual kind or an effect of the attack. Harry recalled that it had been her calling out for him to kill the creatures. Ah, figured… she'd been the only one in his army who knew that he could.
He had not been intending to mislead them into believing anything but the truth. Perhaps Harry was overreaching a bit, and he prayed that his partner would see sense instead of being enraged at the initiative, but he could hardly wait until this had been calmly discussed. Voldemort had seemed rather distracted, rushing to the side of the recently freed Death Eaters. Their emotions, still connected strongly, were telling of distress and turmoil most of all, even if the Dark Lord would never stoop to openly show it.
Taking a deep breath, he took it upon himself to reveal: ''The Dementors declared themselves an enemy to us. Although the ones we fought that survived are trapped on that island, they communicated what happened to the remaining Dementors and called for war. From what I gathered, they aren't happy that no-one is willing to feed them as they wish, so they're… taking the initiative. As a direct countermeasure, Voldemort wishes to take over the Ministry. Although it wasn't voiced in so many words, from context I assume it's either to prevent the Ministry from giving into those crazy demands or because he knows the current government will fall into denial or chaos again. No matter the motive, we'll be going out into the open soon. Maybe best if that bit of info isn't spread too far yet by the way, not until Voldemort and I have visited the Ministry.''
''The both of you are visiting? When?''
''I assume in the morning. Not much of a point going this late in the evening, is there? Besides a couple of Aurors, there won't be any employees in the building. It's kind of awful timing and will give the Dementors a head start of several hours, but shaking people from their beds won't help solve this civilly. We need to get everyone – light and dark, pure-bloods and muggle-borns – working together real quick to stand a chance.''
''Can't the Dementors already reach the mainland and start eating away in that time?'' Pansy squeamishly asked.
It was a reasonable question and Harry wasn't an expert in predicting the actions of Dementors – even Voldemort had miscalculated their moves and he spoke their language. Seeing the importance in keeping a level head, Harry nonetheless attempted to soothe her: ''Now they know mages have a method to not only hold them off but also kill them, I doubt they'll risk wild attacks. They're also severely in the minority.''
Hermione nervously cleared her throat. ''They could pick Muggle targets. Doubt they care about the Statute of Secrecy, plus they have the added advantage that Muggles cannot see them.''
''One of the reasons they made deals with the Ministry in the past is because they specifically like souls wrapped in magic, though,'' Harry explained, having done a fair bit of research since Voldemort's too casual rebuttal of the Dementors' threat. ''The prospect of feeding on ten Muggles is not as enticing to them as a single mage. They agreed to deals with Voldemort that allowed them to hunt in nonmagical cities due to getting free reign without consequences, but if we're going to fight each other anyways, I bet they'll attempt to catch as many mages as possible and not bother much with Muggles. Of course, that's speculation.'' he admitted. ''Regardless, we're not going to save anyone by hastily breaking up in the middle of the night to spread the news to government officials in their homes. Panic will be much worse.''
His tactic at last appeared to work. Now his students were no longer worrying their heads off, they divided tasks far more efficiently. It was a shame that only so few he fully trusted were here. He'd taught many of the other Slytherins too by now, but that had only been since the Ostara holidays and been limited to a couple of soirees that were as filled with frustratingly empty social talk as it had been with teaching. Besides, none of them had gone through the same efforts in fighting Umbridge, a goal that had united those who'd been part of the D. A. He was still especially reserved with trust when it came to their year mates who'd either stayed neutral like Zabini or been pro-Umbridge like Crabbe and Goyle. He thus appointed the ones who had fought with him as de facto team leaders for now to govern the remaining pureblood children regardless of age.
After sending away most of the lot and having checked on Nott before sending the shivering guy straight to Pye, only Hermione, Ron and Saeth still lingered.
''Hey, Ron?'' he asked, a thought striking ''Why was Eloise Parkinson with you before? Moreover, why did Voldemort tell her to search out Bill?'' He'd seen Bill and Fleur only in passing and hadn't checked whether Parkinson had actually joined Ron's brother.
Interestingly, Ron pulled an uncomfortable face. Reddening ears betrayed his nervousness. ''Not to be shifty about it, but I really don't think this is something we should discuss right now. Can we talk about it tomorrow?''
Tomorrow, there'd probably be another hundred and one topics, but Harry let it slide for now, trusting it could not be anything damning. In his eyes, Ron had truly been the one to save the evening. A bit of trust was surely warranted. ''Fine, okay. Another time. Then for your task… I know this might be unpleasant, but could you and Mione try to brainstorm about how to best reach out to the Order? Perhaps get Bill on board too since he's technically in the Order still.''
He looked to Hermione as well, who seemed glad to finally be useful, already nodding along even when Ron hesitated, saying: ''Err, I don't think many of them will want to talk to us. My family maybe since I'm still writing mum but… what do you want with the rest? Thought You-Know-Who was happy letting them simmer in insecurities to make them break apart?''
''And that was the plan, before we unexpectantly had another war at our hands and need to somehow rally everyone against the Dementors. The Order may not be powerful enough that they can really cause trouble… but they do have a network. Some political influence. A couple of strong mages with far reach. All resources that could be of tremendous help. That Dumbledore famously distrusted Dementors and warned the Ministry about their usage speaks for the Order possibly seeing our side when it comes to this issue.''
''Makes sense. I'll see if I can ask Sir Crouch about it since he kind of is acting as Dumbledore…'' Ron nodded slowly.
This time it was his other friend who appeared uncertain. ''I don't know how far he plans on taking this imitation? Directly deceiving those Dumbledore trusted is a bit different from being spotted in cafés around Europe.''
''Best ask him,'' Harry decided, well aware that Barty had been doing a fair bit more than that, already meeting old friends of Dumbledore to influence the way they voted on certain issues in the Wizengamot. ''I need to run soon. Saeth, you said something about your father?''
Atypically wringing her hands, the woman answered in hushed tones: ''He is one of those who escaped Azkaban. We could barely exchange a few words before Sir Crouch insisted on activating my portkey. Am I allowed to see him? As family?''
Family… Though there was no 'Saeth' among the Death Eaters, she'd once mentioned her father having been an Unspeakable, hadn't she? It was why she'd been able to provide such valuable information on time-turners. Harry had read enough about all of Voldemort's followers to know their occupations and only a single Unspeakable had taken a mark: Rookwood. He wondered about why they didn't share a surname... or why Voldemort's file had not mentioned a family. Bit rude to ask now, maybe, as Saeth was visibly worried.
''Pretty sure I heard Voldemort tell Barty that direct family is to be granted access,'' he reassured. ''I've got no problem with you joining me.'' In fact, when walking into a room full of his partner's followers, most of whom he didn't know, it might be nice to have a member of his own army at his side.
Following that thought, he also searched out his godfather again, whose overjoyed grin lit up the room. Hopefully it wouldn't dim at his request. ''Siri, I'm aware you never got along with your other cousin, but being family of Lestrange is your only ticket to tag along with me. It sounded as if Voldemort is planning to keep me on bedrest away from the crowd until he's convinced I've 'recovered' so…''
The grin widened. ''Is that your awkward way to ask if your godfather will hold your hand while the evil dark lord performs blood rituals on you?''
With a huff, he answered: ''We're both fully aware that you're jumping at the opportunity to do so. This is my awkward way of asking if you can do so without leaping at either Voldemort's or your cousin's throat. Or any of the other Death Eaters whom you may have either fought against or who got on your nerves in Azkaban.''
''You can be incredibly glad that I've had months of practise being nice to Death Eaters who get on my nerves on the daily. Lucius. Snape. Crouch.''
''Liar. You and Barty are far too close for that to be believable,'' Harry snorted quietly, already tugging on Sirius' arm.
''Don't destroy my reputation.'' The remark had no bite to it and the spring in the man's step did not waver even as they made their way to the grey door behind which Voldemort's most loyal and dangerous awaited.
The Dark Lord's attention fully shifted before the door closed. It was expected, the way Voldemort inhumanly moved to somehow twist behind Harry in seconds, lightly resting clawed hands on his shoulders. Enveloping him with pure aura. Frankly, by this point Harry would have felt slightly insulted if his partner would have reacted differently and yet, the move made a selfish sort of smug satisfaction pool in his stomach. It made perfectly clear to all that Lord Voldemort refused to wear any mask that would hide their connection, even from those who'd only known the brutality shown at the height of the last war.
Harry answered in kind by leaning back, the back of his head touching a cold chest as he waited for his partner to take care of introductions. The storm of emotions he'd felt from Voldemort's end calmed as soon as their bodies touched. They must make for an odd sight now, the Dark Lord looming over him while Sirius and Ursa Saeth stood on either side. They certainly had the attention of the Death Eaters, who were all sitting on uniform beds and chairs that reminded of the hospital wing. Even Snape was watching Harry, although his face betrayed annoyance at his work being interrupted more than anything.
''Evan,'' Voldemort started, and a slight thrill that Harry had never expected to feel a few months ago shot through his chest, one caused by newfound knowledge from his guardians' lessons in formal etiquette. He was named first, the one the introductions were being made to, placing his importance above every single person he wasn't yet familiar with on a personal level. If it wouldn't already have been odd due to his age, it would have been due to the sheer number of people present, all members of prominent families in their own right. Show-off.
''I would like you to meet those who have returned to my side today: Bellatrix Lestrange, my first commander in the last great battles of the war, whom I have taught most of my own repertoire, Rodolphus Lestrange, a renowned dueller and ward specialist, Rabastan-'' Harry took note of the order as his partner introduced the ten newcomers and listed what he considered their noteworthy titles. After the Lestranges came Rookwood (who kept restlessly standing up from his chair and sitting down again, eyes trained on his daughter who also dared not move towards him yet), then Dolohov, Mulciber, Travers, two Lees (married, if Harry recalled correctly from the files he'd read on quiet evenings) and Selwyn. Voldemort finished his speech with: ''You know of them, I presume, but it will please me if you'd make an effort to form your own impression of them over time as well.''
That he'd not quite expected. Risking appearing rude, he pointed out: ''You never cared whether I interacted with the other Death Eaters you gathered. I've not exchanged a single word with Crabbe, Goyle or MacNair. Wouldn't even have with many others if they'd not been friends of the Malfoys.'' He nodded to Narcissa, who sat at her sister's side for support.
The hands on his shoulders tightened. Should he have voiced the question In Parsel?
''You must know that loyalty means a great deal to me. The others had to earn my trust again first, and I invited those to meet you who had taken enough steps to show promise. Yaxley, Proudfoot, the Carrow siblings… Did you think I'd have allowed those gatherings and dinners before deeming them to be worthy of sharing meals with you?''
Maybe Harry should stop talking. The more praise he was being loaded with, the wider the Death Eaters' eyes grew. Of course, he just had to slip one more comment in: ''I'd not imagined much screening to have taken place considering Amycus Carrow practically flew at me in rage when I mentioned something as silly as cake.''
~You're a menace,~ Voldemort softly hissed, fondness obvious in the waves that pleasantly lapped at Harry's mind. ~Such fire still despite the exhaustion and pain that is clawing at you.~
~I'm fine,~ Harry defensively snapped. There was far too much to do to focus so much on his own health. Several uttered surprised noises were quickly ignored – he hardly noticed by now when other people could not keep up with the abilities magic – or more concretely Voldemort – had bestowed upon him.
Pale, spindly fingers covered most of his face as Voldemort gripped Harry's chin from behind and tilted his head, forcing it into an awkward angle to meet glittering ruby. ''You are not,'' the man concluded, all humour gone. ''You hurriedly crossed the boundaries of the dimension of the dead without proper protections in place. Those you saved due to it shall be grateful.'' A statement, as if Voldemort would personally flay everyone who dared to be anything but. ''I am grateful for your actions. Yet once again, your recklessness affected you negatively. You will rest until healed.''
''My Lord-'' someone called out. Bellatrix Lestrange, who appeared to act as the spokesperson of the escapees so far. Not surprising considering her previous high rank, he supposed. ''Will you grace us with revealing this mighty warlock's family name?''
Mighty warlock. Was that truly how these people saw him? Harry's first instinct was to awkwardly chuckle at the misconception. Then, in what felt like a strange out-of-body experience, he considered what he'd actually become. Someone who could rip Dementors out of existence, who had walked the path of Necromancy further than the one whose books he'd learned from. An immortal being who strove to delve into dark magic most humans would never touch.
Named equal to the world's most powerful Dark Lord, with whom he was so intrinsically connected that they breathed as one.
Well shit. Maybe he really was a mighty warlock.
Good thing his friends were there to keep him grounded enough not to let it get to his head. Hermione would probably hit him with a book if he dared spout grandeur nonsense.
''This, Bella, is Evan. Also known as Harry James Potter, the one who vanquished me and the one who helped me rebuilt to rectify that fault. You may be pleased to hear that he is part of your family, both by blood and by contract. You must know of his paternal grandmother, and he is currently the ward of your sister.''
A small smile hushed over Narcissa's face for a fleeting moment as Lestrange turned to stare at her. ''He does all names proud, be it Potter, Black or Malfoy,'' Narcissa stated. Although a diplomatic answer, Harry was happy to hear genuine warmth. ''But Harry, I must fully support our Lord's concerns. I'm sure your own loyal subjects will be able to handle the situation in your absence.''
''Hear hear,'' Sirius made himself known, and Harry knew he'd lost. He could not argue with Voldemort, plead with Narcissa and appeal to Sirius' rebellious side all at once.
Lestrange's head almost snapped back. It seemed her eyes had been glued so starkly to her Lord that she'd not taken notice of those who'd stood at the side. ''Cousin?'' she gaped. In a flash, the awed look was gone, replaced by a snarl as she ripped herself out of Narcissa's grasp and sprang forward. ''Traitor! Scum!'' she shrieked, teeth bared and dirty nails ready to scratch. ''You are not worthy of setting foot in these halls, you-''
There'd been no change at all in Voldemort's emotional state, not the slightest waver, which is why Harry at first hadn't registered that his partner had moved at all. And yet, he now stood in between Sirius and Lestrange, having caught the woman by the throat with his bare hand and put a wand to her temple. She breathed heavily, a wounded animal hanging onto a bare thread of sanity as she looked up at her Lord.
''Bellatrix,'' he expressionlessly spoke. ''You have had to endure much sorrow in Azkaban, which I do not wish to add to on this day of reunion. So behave yourself, else I will be forced use your own favourite curse to bring you to heel.''
''My- My Lord. Sirius is-''
''-bound to Evan and bound to me. Much changed in the years you have missed, Bella. Did you not believe my message would reach the heart of even those most stubborn? Did you not have faith in my ability to spread magic's wishes?''
It was… uncomfortable to watch. Each accusation caused a flinch, Lestrange's knees buckled so Voldemort's hand around her throat was the only thing holding her up in the air. All pride was gone from those pained, crazed eyes and any buried feelings that had welled up through their link before were buried once more under ice and stone. Treating his own students this way, threatening torture to those already broken, was unimaginable and hurt Harry's own principles, especially now he strove to learn healing.
He did not step in. Not when this very morning – had it truly only been half a day ago? – he'd asked to see all. Narcissa's words rang true: this was how their generation worked, Harry could only make a difference for his own. Speaking of which…
''Saeth,'' the teen muttered, turning slightly to his wary student. ''You may join your father, now.''
The contrast was surely not missed by these people, who had learned to pick up social clues as if their lives depended on it from the day they'd been born. Harry didn't grant a request that went against Voldemort's wishes per se, but it affected one of the Death Eaters just as much as it did his own student. Whilst the Dark Lord was not yet through with his power plays, Harry broke the silence to bring an ounce of mercy into the room without asking for permission to do so. Implying that he didn't need to.
Almost mechanically, Saeth curtsied. ''Thank you…'' she whispered, eyes flicking between Harry and Voldemort. ''My Lords.''
He didn't correct her either, waiting while the woman made an awkward arch around the room to reach her father, to see if his partner would.
Lestrange sank to her knees when finally released from Voldemort's grip, bowing low to take the hem of silky robes and to lift them to her lips. No further flinch followed when the same hand that had held her captive before came to rest on the crown of her head. ''Your word in law,'' she rasped. ''Any change dictated by our Lord will be followed. We, your most loyal, will ensure it.''
Heavy-lidded eyes met Harry's for the first time after that statement. After all he'd heard about her deeds and the lengths she'd gone to to bend over backwards for her Lord, respect was the last thing he'd expected to find. Loathing had been far likelier, for being the one to kill the Dark Lord and land them all in Azkaban. Perhaps jealousy for having grown so close to the man she adored.
Bellatrix Lestrange's face split open in a wide grin. ''Lord Potter,'' she acknowledged, dipping her head to him as well. Instantly after, her wild gaze snapped back to Voldemort, searching for approval. Lestrange sighed happily as he absentmindedly pat her head and walked over to Harry's side.
The demeanour of the Death Eaters did not change much over the course of the next torturous hour, during which the teen lay on a bed in the far back, trying only to concentrate on his partner and godfather as Voldemort indeed performed several spells and rituals that involved runes painted on so many parts of Harry's body that he was only left in his knickers. It felt far too intimate for something as clinical as healing, the way Voldemort's blood-dipped fingers slowly drew patterns on his naked thighs, the other hand steadying Harry's leg by curling around his calf in a tight grip.
At least Parseltongue granted a semblance of privacy – the only downside of which was inevitably excluding Sirius all the same. Harry attempted to distract himself from the many open stares of reverence and the pressing embarrassment by filling his partner in on the roles his own army had taken. Voldemort thankfully agreed both to the approach of leaving the public story to Fleur and using the remnants of the Order of the Phoenix, weaving these plans seamlessly into his own during their conversation.
As the adrenaline slowly seeped from his bones, Harry finally noticed that which Voldemort had already pointed out: a heady fatigue filling his limbs and a dull aching making itself known in the back of his head. He'd strained himself past the limit, having needed to be pulled back from the brink by his partner. Once having noticed, it was impossible to repress again, and Harry found it hard to keep up with topics of importance. ~Where are we anyways?~ he asked instead, once Voldemort paused his murmuring of tomorrow's political decisions. ~Doesn't particularly look like the house of any of your followers, does it? Another thing you had built during the last war?~
~Not at all. This longhouse has existed for centuries and served as a meeting place for many a gathering in bygone eras. It fell out of use a few generations ago as light mages tend to meet in their own homes in smaller groups and I personally never considered the shape of it ideal for the celebrations I led myself. Technically, it is owned by the state. When our numbers grew, I decided it'd be an ideal safe house and ensured some of my followers restored it before I made it unplottable.~
~Is stealing land a favourite pastime of yours?~ he smirked. ~Riddle house, the prison you built, the islands we celebrated on…~ he listed off. Come to think of it, how had Voldemort wanted to gift Harry islands he didn't really own?
~I'll add the entirety of Britain to it, soon,~ the other muttered back, shifting on Harry's bedside to trap the teen beneath his arm. ~For starters. Now, lie down and sleep some. I wish to enter the Ministry at eight o' clock sharp, during the main bustle of employees coming into work so none can deny our presence.~
~Is your examination over, then?~
~For now. I determined you've wholly separated from the Cosmos and your vitalities have stabilised. From now on, you will carry the invisibility cloak on your person at all times, regardless of where we are. Relying only on being my Horcrux clearly isn't enough when your mind and soul are fully behind the Veil – it may be the only way to separate Tom from you, resulting in your deaths.~ An age-old fear made itself known, even as his partner instinctively attempted to block Harry out as it was said.
Harry swallowed thickly at that news, reaching out both mentally and physically to his partner. ''I'm sorry,'' he choked into Voldemort's shoulder, sitting up again to cling onto the man with trembling arms. ''I'd not thought it could – that it would-''
''You won't do it again.''
With a stifled sigh, Harry let himself be pushed down onto the pillows. ''I promise,'' he whispered, averting his eyes. ~Though that also means we'll have to find another way to kill Dementors.~
~Now I know there is one, more can be found. Sleep, my dear.~
Trusting that Voldemort's mind would not rest until having found a method to reproduce Harry's feat today, he at last dared succumbed to the fatigue.
XxX
No sooner had Harry's breath evened out, did the ever-demanding, grating voice of Voldemort drone in Sirius' ear again: ''There's nothing you can do for him here, Black.''
''Harry wanted me here,'' Sirius snapped back.
''That notwithstanding, you have far more useful places to be than staring at Evan for the next few hours.''
''Why, think that's your job?''
''Careful, Black.''
He swallowed down another angry retort when noticing movement out of the corner of his eyes. Snivellus had used the last hour well too, four of the Death Eaters having been deemed stable enough to function in public. All three Lestranges were amongst those. Not that Sirius thought Bellatrix had ever been fit to attend social events, always having been sadistic and a tad nutty. The way she eyed him now wasn't reassuring. Talking back to Voldemort would bring only strife and pain… Not even those he could usually count on to back him up to some degree (Narcissa or Barty, who had dropped in occasionally over the course of the hour) would lift a finger if Sirius picked a fight with His holy lordship. ''And where could I be more useful to him, then?'' he asked through gritted teeth, emphasising clearly that he'd only consider moving if there truly was a benefit for his godson.
''The Dementors' previous main ally was Dolores Umbridge, whom Evan condemned to become one of the creatures she hated. I doubt Umbridge forgot who contrived that punishment. At the same time, the Dementors have it out especially for the one person who revealed the ability to murder them… If you'd use your head for a moment, I'm sure even you could connect the dots and figure out what you should be doing.''
Voldemort may as well have punched him in the gut. ''Why did you not say so earlier?'' Sirius growled, jumping up from the chair he'd pulled as close to the bed as the arse had allowed. ''Can I apparate away from here without splinching? I need to reach Remus as soon as possible.''
''Greyback first, Black. The last thing I need is a power shift in the largest werewolf pack I count among my allies by you deciding to withhold crucial information from their leader to inform the newbie instead. Ask Barty for the apparition spot. As for why…'' (Sirius was honestly surprised that all questions were getting an answer and paused long enough to listen) ''It would have added unnecessary stress and conflict.'' For whom, he needed not add as a skeletal hand was tenderly placed on Harry's forehead. That the teen's face instantly relaxed at the touch even in sleep both pleased and irritated Sirius to no end. The injustice of it all…
''Take care not to need another grand-scale memory wipe,'' he warned. It came out less angry than intended, which he soon realised was because it was in Harry's best interest also if this newest batch of Death Eaters wouldn't start rampant gossip.
Voldemort appeared very unamused, reptilian nostrils flaring. ''Out,'' he quietly demanded, barely more than a whisper.
Having outstayed his welcome, Sirius marched away, although he could not help but cast another look at his pitiful cousin. Underfed, plagued, aggressive and scared at the same time no matter how much she tried to hide it.
This had been him just three years ago.
He escaped from the house – from civilisation – and into the wild woods. It did not help that they were wet with rain. As wet as the sea he'd swam through for two days straight to reach the shore half-dead. Sea as salty as the tears he'd cried in lonely night. Nights as cold as when rattling breath had frozen his heart. A heart that had stopped for hours until Harry had breathed life into it again.
The joy the healer had tricked his brain into feeling was long gone. So was Harry's comforting presence, the only one Sirius could pull himself fully together for.
Hairy black claws dug into fresh earth as if to make the grave he should have lain in months ago. He howled at the moon, two slivers past being full.
Moon. Moony.
The wisps of smell woven through the trees were a lifeline until he could collapse into warm hands that carried the only comfort left from a time before the black wraiths had ruined him.
''It's okay Padfoot,'' his friend whispered, holding him like he'd held Remus after so many painful transformations. ''It's all right. I'm here.''
'They're here too.' he tried to say, only a whine leaving his snout. 'They've come to take me back.'
''Let it out.''
Advise only a werewolf would give on instinct. Not 'calm down' or 'toughen up'. Let out.
He did, teeth clamping down on wood and blankets as he screamed away the fear.
AN: Yes, Sirius was trying very hard to keep himself together in those few minutes before Harry arrived from the island and only could because he didn't yet know whether Harry was really okay. Once he had that reassurance and no Harry around... well. Sorry?
Had actually wanted a Remus POV instead of Sirius originally but it would miss crucial bits dkfjladkhfl. Why does writing never turn out as planned? Hope to put in Remus' POV in the next chapter instead.
So yeah, next up: werewolves and a visit to the Ministry of Magic.
(I'm also super excited to finally write more about the other Death Eaters, Bella especially. I do not believe her loyalty knows any bounds.)
Please read and review!
xx GeMerope