'Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warning: Cruelty, mild violence.
Chapter 15 – There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays
Christmas morning finally arrived, and with it came an unusually severe snowstorm with howling winds and dense snowfall that stung the face of anyone who dared venture outside.
Kate stretched drowsily in her bed, cocooned in the warmth of a thick down comforter as she listened to the weather raging outside. Recalling earlier Christmas holidays before their flight to America, Kate felt a sudden sadness at the absence of her father. He had always gathered the youngster into his lap and entertained her by reading a variety of Christmas tales aloud each Christmas Eve. Kate smiled softly. Back then, the world of flying reindeer pulling sleighs and magical old men sliding down chimneys had always seemed the product of fanciful imagination. When she discovered her own magic, it was winter – a day very like this one: stormy and forbidding, enticing all who could to remain indoors. Kate clearly remembered rushing into her father's study – all of five years old – her mother's wand clutched tightly in her chubby fist. "Daddy, look," she had cried, waving the wand about and giggling at the multi-colored sparks that whirled and scattered from its tip. Pointing at a baby doll she'd left on the sofa, Kate had waved her wand in childish fashion and was delighted to see the toy shudder several times before rising a scant inch or two from the cushion. Even though it remained airborne for less than a moment, Kate was absolutely enthralled by what had happened. Roderick had been stunned, but fixed a warm smile on his face. She laughed aloud remembering how her father had told her that she had then turned to him, mother's wand in one hand and her newly still baby doll in the other and solemnly asked that he go with her to find some deer so she could make them fly, just like those who pulled Father Christmas' sleigh! Kate remembered, too, how he had told her that story the night before she began her studies in Salem – and how her father had shared that he knew in that moment that she would be a powerful witch one day.
A particularly strong gust of wind rattled her windowpane, pulling Kate from her thoughts with a shiver. Burrowing deeper within the warm bedclothes, Kate decided that staying put a bit longer would do no harm; she rarely had the opportunity for a nice lie in. Since it was only Felicity and herself for the day, Kate felt no pressure to rush to make herself presentable. Felicity. If the past week was any indication, she could easily stay in her room for the day. After their rather heated discussion and Felicity's order to stay away from Sirius Black, Kate had worked very hard to stay as far away from her mother as possible. She read a favorite book, took walks in the neighborhood and wandered along the shopping district, enjoying the holiday sights and sounds. Meals were quiet affairs, the silence often broken only by the sound of cutlery on china or the stilted, overly polite requests to pass one thing or another. It wasn't that Felicity hadn't tried to dispel the chill that had settled over their relationship; her daughter, she found, appeared completely disinterested in doing so. Felicity was resolute at first, and held her ground as well as her silence. In the last day or so, however, she had begun to make more frequent attempts to communicate with Kate. For her part, Kate missed her mother – and hated the tension that permeated the household, but was adamant that she would not give Sirius up. A silent holiday at home was a small price to pay, in her mind, for winning that particular battle. Kate felt a niggling sense of irritation begin again in the pit of her stomach. I cannot deal with this for another ten days, she thought to herself. I'll go completely mad. With that, she shoved the comforter from her body and sat up in bed. Immediately, Kate noted the modest stack of gifts her mother had placed on the wooden trunk at the foot of her bed. Tendrils of guilt began to replace irritation. She sighed. It's Christmas. Aren't we all supposed to put conflict on the back burner and commemorate the season? Practice peace on earth? Kate stuffed her feet into her fleece-lined slippers and shrugged into her chenille bathrobe. Securing the belt tightly around her waist, Kate picked up the pile of gifts and walked over to the window seat, settling herself on the soft cushion.
The first package revealed a warm, deep burgundy jumper made of soft cashmere. Kate's hand ran over the luxuriously soft garment as she held it up to her chest. Perfect fit, she thought, folding it carefully and returning it to the gift box. Setting the box to one side, Kate began opening the remainder of the brightly wrapped gifts, yielding dark chocolate from a favorite sweet shop in Salem, a bottle of Kate's favorite scent, a new copy of Pride and Prejudice to replace the one in danger of falling apart from almost constant use and warm woolen socks – three pair – to chase away the chill of Hogwarts castle in winter.
As Kate popped a piece of chocolate into her mouth, she reached for the last package, wrapped in lovely golden paper with a midnight blue velvet ribbon. She carefully removed the packaging and found herself holding an ancient looking burgundy velvet box, the nap on its corners worn down over apparent years of use. A piece of parchment fluttered onto the seat cushion, as well, but Kate was entranced by the box and left the parchment in favor of examining its contents. As she lifted the hinged lid, Kate caught her breath. There, nestled in cream-colored satin was an oval shaped, gold locket. She lifted it gently and brushed her fingers over the casing. The gold was soft and tinged with a soft rose color, confirming that the piece was, indeed, quite old. A worn "M" had been engraved in elaborate script on the front of the locket. Kate realized that this had, of course, come from the Morgan side of her family. She brushed her finger over the side of the locket and pressed gently on the lever she found. Immediately, the front sprang open, revealing a photograph magically sized to fit. The image before her blurred as Kate's eyes filled with tears. In the photo, she was seated in her father's lap, head resting against his chest, gazing at the book he held in his hand. While she could not see the title, the presence of a gaily decorated Christmas tree in one corner of the photo told her all she needed to know. Her mother had found a precious memento of one of Kate's fondest memories of her father – and presented it to her in a particularly poignant way. She opened the safety clasp of the delicate chain and secured it around her neck, rising to examine her reflection in the dresser mirror as she did so. Kate stood before the mirror and placed her hand against the locket where it rested just below the base of her throat. She closed her eyes and allowed the tears to fall as the memories of Christmases so long ago washed over her. I miss you, Dad, she thought to herself. I wonder what you would think of what's happening with Mother. I wonder how you would have felt about Sirius. Kate opened her eyes, knowing that these were questions that were destined to remain unanswered. Roderick was gone. But I still have Mother. Kate ran to her wardrobe and pulled out underclothing and a pair of black velvet, wide-legged dress trousers. Hanging the trousers on the door, she dashed into the bathroom to shower. Half an hour later, Kate was pulling the burgundy cashmere jumper over her head. Sparing a moment for another quick glance into the mirror, Kate reached inside her jumper and pulled the locket from beneath her clothing, letting it hang against the deep burgundy color. Satisfied, she hurried to the door that led to the hallway. Their differences would still be there tomorrow; today was the day for families. With that thought firmly in mind, Kate opened the door and went off in search of her mother.
As the door closed behind her, the draft ruffled the remains of the wrapping paper, blowing the forgotten, yellowed piece of parchment behind the window cushion.
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Sirius cracked open one eye and was met with the sight of a snowstorm raging outside his window. He immediately closed it again. I'm freezing to death in my own bed without watching a blizzard through the window. Sirius turned over onto his back, regretting the move the moment his body pressed against the mattress. With a hoarse cry, he turned over on his side again, feeling his sleep top brush against the welts that criss-crossed his back. Damn her! He coughed sharply, wincing as the action pulled at the injured area. I would have been able to have dinner with the fuckin' Bullstrodes if I hadn't gotten sick down in that hellhole. Sirius closed his eyes again as he remembered the night before.
Since being liberated from solitary confinement, as Sirius had come to call his punishment, he had begun to feel sicker by the day. Bouts of sneezing had given way to a deep, persistent cough, accompanied by fever, and starting last night, muscle aches so profound that any movement was agony. He still put in an appearance at meals, eating enough to keep his mother's sharp eyes away from him and drinking tea with honey until he thought it would come out his ears. Relief was temporary, however and he soon crawled back into his bed to sleep until he was summoned to the next meal. That had stopped yesterday morning. Sirius couldn't lift his head from his pillow and was dimly convinced someone had filled it with lead as he had slept. Breakfast came and went without the Black family heir at table. Lunch came and Kreacher arrived in his room to announce it. Sirius opened one bleary eye to see the house elf's craggy face shoved very close to his own as he regarded the boy curiously. "Mistress said to come to lunch," he advised solemnly.
"Can't," Sirius croaked. "Sick."
Kreacher grinned evilly. "I shall tell Mistress young Master said no, then?"
Sirius closed his eyes. "Tell Mistress anything you want, you miserable little toe rag. I'm sick. Don't want food. Get OUT!" With great effort, he turned his head to face the wall and allowed himself to fall back into a fitful sleep.
Mid-afternoon brought Walburga, herself, to his room. "Sirius, look at me," she commanded, her voice raised and stern.
Slowly, Sirius turned his head back toward the door and saw his mother. He slowly rolled onto his side to look at her. "What is it?" he asked groggily. For a moment, he almost thought his mother looked concerned, but at her next words, he put it down to the effects of his fever or whatever it was that was wrong with him.
"Sirius! You get out of that bed this instant! The Bullstrodes are coming for dinner this evening and your presence is required," she said firmly, grasping the top of the bedcovers and tossing them to the foot of the bed. Immediately, the boy began to shiver uncontrollably.
"NO! Please…it's cold," he said, trying to kick the covers up far enough so he could grasp them and cover himself in their warmth once again. The effort was thwarted, however, as Walburga grasped the covers and pulled them to the floor.
"You are to stop this nonsense at once. You must honor your promise to abide by your agreement with Ofelia. You are to rise, shower and make yourself presentable for dinner. This theatrical performance of yours ends now!" With that, Walburga turned and left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Sirius tried to get up and made it to an almost seated position on the edge of the bed before he gave into the nauseating image of the room spinning before him and collapsed back onto his pillow.
It might have been moments – or hours - later, but frantic tugging on his sleeve awakened Sirius yet again. This time, it was Regulus. "Sirius, get up!" the boy hissed. His image was only a blur to Sirius who tried to tug his arm away from the younger boy's reach.
"Go 'way, Reg," he slurred. "'m sick, you twat! Stop pulling at me."
Regulus shook his head but managed to stop yanking Sirius' arm. "She's coming up here, Sirius. Mother."
"Can't eat anything," his brother replied. "Not coming downstairs."
Regulus huffed, glancing worriedly at the door. "Dinner is over, Sirius. She's saying good-bye to the Bullstrodes at the door now. She's coming up here when they've gone. Sirius, I've never seen her this angry. Sirius, please…"
His brother's desperate tone coupled with his message got through to the young wizard and he opened his eyes and focused. "Reg, it's done. Nothing I can do to fix it. I'm sick. I couldn't come downstairs. If she's pissed off, she's pissed off. You can't stop her. I can't stop her. But you'd better go. If she finds you here, you'll get it, too."
Regulus nodded, looking slightly less frantic now that his brother was speaking in relatively complete sentences and seemed to understand what was happening. "Just…"
In spite of his pounding head and what he was sure were sub-freezing temperatures in the room Sirius managed a slight smile. "Be careful? I think that's probably impossible at this point, don't you? But, thanks. 'preciate the warning, Reg." They both heard the heavy front door close two floors below. "Go!" Sirius added, watching as Regulus looked at him one final time, then ran for the door. Sirius held his breath until he heard the quiet latch of Regulus' door closing, then he exhaled slowly. This time, the tremors running through his body had less to do with fever and more to do with what he knew was coming. Footsteps sounded on the stairs leading to the third floor and Sirius braced himself. The slamming of his door announced her arrival.
"So, you chose to disregard my wishes, my son," Walburga's icy voice contributed to the chill in the room. From his position on his stomach, his face turned toward the door, Sirius could only see his mother's hands. His heart skipped a beat as he saw the thin leather belt in her hand. "More stringent punishment appears to be called for."
Sirius remained silent and closed his eyes.
He imagined that it was over quickly. He knew he had remained conscious throughout. Although the pain was more than he'd ever experienced at her hand, Sirius took perverse pride in the fact that he had made no sound as his mother had administered her punishment. He had waited until she had slammed the door closed behind her, then allowed the tears to come as he cried until he had nothing left inside him and finally, he slept.
The sound of the door closing brought Sirius back to the present. I haven't got anything left to fight her, he thought, resigning himself to whatever might come. To his sincere shock, it was not Walburga, but his father who stood by his bed. As Sirius watched his face, he was stunned to see the horror in Orion's eyes as he gazed at his elder son.
"Sirius… can you hear me?" Orion bent toward the boy, who nodded.
"Yes," he whispered. "Please don't put me down there again. I'll be good. I promise, I'll be good. Don't put me in the cellar….." he shivered as his father placed his hand on the boy's forehead.
"You're burning with fever," Orion said quietly then grimaced as he glanced at Sirius' back. "You need a Healer. I …" His voice trailed off and he leaned over to retrieve something from half under the bed. He lifted it and Sirius saw that it was the belt his mother used on him the night before. Orion swallowed thickly. "Sirius, I cannot take you to St. Mungo's. Questions will be asked - questions that will ruin our family. I will make other arrangements for …"
Sirius held his father's glance. "Hogwarts."
Orion blinked once. "Hogwarts?"
Sirius nodded. "Hospital wing. Poppy Pomfrey's a Healer."
Orion nodded. "I'll owl the Headmaster." He withdrew his hand from his son's head and rose. Hesitating, the older man added, "Sirius, your mother is given to episodes of …" his voice trailed off.
"Don't care," Sirius mumbled, closing his eyes. "Hates me. 's ok. Hate her, too."
Orion's eyes widened. "Sirius, your mother doesn't think clearly when she gets this way. You have caused her great frustration, sparked tremendous anger in her. I don't believe that she hates, you, however."
Sirius remained silent. There was nothing left to say. He heard a deep sigh issue from his father before Orion moved quietly through the door, closing it softly behind him.
When he looked back on that Christmas Day, Sirius would never remember the journey to Hogwarts, magically undertaken via agreement between Orion Black and Albus Dumbledore. The young wizard would only remember someone helping him drink something cool from a vial and then closing his eyes and slipping into welcome oblivion.
"He's asleep," Poppy whispered to the two men standing behind her, replacing the vial of dreamless sleep potion back in her medical case.
Dumbledore turned to Sirius' father and nodded. "We'd like to Apparate from here. The Floo network would be far too jarring for him. I know that your home is heavily warded against Apparition from within its walls. I will ask that you drop those wards to permit our departure." Dumbledore's face was stern, his voice betrayed no trace of the rage he kept inside him at the abuse meted out to this young boy.
Orion sensed his suppressed anger, however. For once, he did not allow his aristocratic pride to rule his head – or his response. He merely nodded. "Of course. I will attend to it now," he said quietly and left the room to attend to the task.
When he had gone, Dumbledore turned to Poppy. "Well, how bad is it, Poppy?"
The older woman drew a deep breath. "I can cure the pneumonia easily enough. His back shows the beginnings of infection and that must be treated over the course of a few days' time if the wounds are to heal with minimal scarring. He's weak and dehydrated, as well, but those, too, can be easily remedied." She paused and turned to the Headmaster, her face registering both concern and deep sadness. "The emotional toll this has taken, however, cannot be as easily treated." She turned back to the still figure on the bed and smoothed his long, dark hair away from his brow.
Albus patted the Healer's shoulder. "A comfortable environment and, soon, the companionship of his friends, will help that condition, Poppy."
"That woman should be made to face the consequences of her actions," Poppy spat angrily. "Physical abuse and now, this 'arrangement' with the Bullstrode family. I know he's irascible and can be a handful, Albus, but he's still a child. Why can't they just leave him alone?"
The Headmaster sighed. "Such is the way of Purebloods, Poppy. They have their own vision of our world and their children play a major role in bringing it to fruition. This is tradition that goes back generations. Despite our repugnance for it, I'm afraid that there is nothing we can do to stand in their way."
"But while he's at school, Albus, isn't there a way…."
"Not for us, my dear, but for his friends, perhaps so. We shall see what transpires when they return. For now, however, let us move young Sirius to the hospital wing where he will be safe in your care, yes?"
Poppy sighed. "And what then, Albus; what happens after he heals? He will return to that house, where she can do this to him again. Do we not have responsibilities here?"
Dumbledore nodded. "We do, indeed, Poppy. Orion Black has been forced to acknowledge the truth about his wife's behavior. Worse, he has been forced to divulge that truth to me. I have his assurance that he will more closely monitor her interactions with Sirius. The family's reputation is paramount to him; he will honor his word. And, I will be watching young Sirius for signs that his diligence has slipped. Now, we've spent enough time here. Let us return to Hogwarts."
Moments later, the sharp crack of Disapparition was heard and Sirius' room was, once again, empty. Before too long, the silence was broken by the squeak of a door hinge as Regulus Black stepped cautiously from the bathroom. Glancing toward Sirius' now empty bed, the child's pale face registered his sadness as he, too, exited into the hallway.
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Sirius struggled toward consciousness, feeling very much like he was clawing his way through layer upon layer of wet gauze as he did so. Reality lay somewhere beyond those layers and he desperately needed to get there. As Sirius forced his mind to focus, his back began to ache dully and gradually, other aspects of his condition began to make their presence felt. His head didn't seem to be throbbing quite as badly as it had been and when he swallowed, his throat didn't feel like a thousand knives were stabbing at every nerve ending. This didn't make any sense, he thought fuzzily as he tried hard to focus, to recall his last memory before awakening. There were people in my room. I smelled lemons and … soap. And voices - not hers, but there were voices. Why can't I remember? I wanted to leave … no bloody surprise there. I was telling someone. Father? He put his hand on my head … 'You need a healer'. Yes, that was his voice. I remember. I must be at St. Mungo's …No, not there. Family. Questions. 'Your mother is given to episodes … doesn't think clearly'. Really? Seemed to think clearly enough to do this, didn't she? Ok. Not Mungo's. 'Hogwarts'. That's it! I must be…
Sirius opened both eyes, squinting even though just a few candles provided light to the room. As they adjusted, Sirius found himself overcome with relief. He was at Hogwarts. He was safe. The knowledge brought tears and Sirius let them fall, his breath hitching, until there were no more to be shed. As he was contemplating rolling from his stomach to his side to get a better look at his surroundings, the lemon and soap scent from his memory presented itself once again and a gentle hand settled on the top of his head.
"Ah, so you are finally awake, are you? That's good," came the kind voice of Poppy Pomfrey. You'll take care of me, won't you, Poppy? Despite all the pranks and loud voices near the hospital wing, you'd never do us a harm.
Sirius took a deep breath. "I'm awake," he said, unnecessarily. "Can I turn over?"
"Let me help you," she said. "I've healed the wounds on your back, but the area will be tender for a few days. You may not be comfortable putting much pressure on it straight away."
The boy nodded. "Maybe I could sit up?"
"You may not be comfortable doing that, either, but it will be easier on your back, I'll grant you that," the Healer responded. "Ready?" At Sirius' nod, they worked together to gently move him to a semi-seated position, reclining back against a copious number of fat, squashy pillows and covered by a warm blanket. Despite the relatively simple procedure, Sirius' pale face bore a faint sheen of perspiration and his exhaustion had returned full force. It was better, though, even with the soreness in his back.
"Are you hungry?" Poppy asked him, running a cool cloth over his face and throat.
Sirius shook his head in surprise. He couldn't really remember the last meal he'd eaten. "Is it still Christmas?" he asked the Healer.
Poppy shook her head. "No, Sirius, it's Boxing Day evening."
Sirius' eyebrows rose in surprise. "I've been out of it for two whole days? Blimey!"
Poppy suppressed a smile. "Day and a half is more accurate, but yes, you've 'been out' for awhile."
"Am I ok?" Sirius asked.
"You will be," she affirmed. "You're weak and you are still suffering the after-effects of pneumonia. I'd like to keep you here for a few days and then you may go…"
Sirius' face paled further. "Back to Grimmauld Place? Madam Pomfrey, I can't go …"
"Calm yourself, Mr. Black," Dumbledore spoke kindly from his position in the doorway. As he approached the sick bed, Sirius could see that the Headmaster's expression matched his tone. He relaxed immediately. "There is no reason for you to return to London for the remainder of the holiday; there is little more than one week until the students return for the new term, after all." Dumbledore turned to the Healer. "Poppy, could you give us a few moments, please? I'd like to speak privately with our patient."
Poppy nodded. "I'll just be in my office, then. When you've finished, please let me know. I need to administer his next round of potions and take a look at his back."
Dumbledore patted her arm and nodded in response and with a final look at her charge, Poppy bustled from the room.
"May I?" the Headmaster gestured to the foot of Sirius' bed. At the boy's nod, he settled himself. "How are you feeling?"
Sirius glanced down at the blanket where his suddenly restless fingers were pinching the fabric into small pleats, then smoothing them and beginning again. "Better, I think. Sore. But better." He paused. "Thanks for letting me come back so soon."
"When your father owled me with the circumstances of your situation, it seemed to be the best solution. I understand that it was your suggestion," Dumbledore inclined his head in an effort to catch the boy's eye. "I am pleased that you feel safe enough here to have done so."
Sirius raised his head and looked directly at the old wizard. "'s about the only place I do feel safe these days," he confessed quietly. "Well, here and the Potters' house." Despite his current circumstances, Sirius smiled.
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore smiled in return. "Mr. Potter will wonder where you've gotten to when you do not meet him – and your other friends – at Kings Cross for your return." He held up a hand at the frown and worried look that appeared on Sirius' face at these words. "Do not be concerned. The owls do not observe the holidays, after all. We can dispatch one to the Potter family today, if you wish, with news of your return."
Sirius exhaled slowly as he felt his agitation abate. "I don't want them to worry. I don't want them to … well, I just don't want them to worry about me."
Dumbledore nodded. "If the message came directly from you, they probably would be less inclined to do so. When you feel a bit stronger, we'll see to it that an owl is placed at your disposal and you may send your message."
Sirius smiled. "Thank you. Maybe tomorrow."
"You certainly have time enough before their return." The Headmaster leaned forward and placed his hand on Sirius' arm. "It is understandable that you would not want your friends to know the exact circumstances that led to your early return to Hogwarts, my boy. But remember that true friends stand with us through all of our trials and sufferings – no matter how horrific or shameful we may find those troubles to be. Sharing only the good times with them robs everyone of the opportunity to strengthen the bonds that already exist. Anyone can stand with us when times are good, son; true friends stand with us through all of it – and become more than friends as a result. They become an extension of our family. Do not cheat yourself – or them – of that opportunity."
Sirius was silent for several moments; then, "They are my only family," he whispered. "They accept me for myself, in spite of my name. They don't believe I'm one of them."
Dumbledore squeezed the boy's arm gently. "If you deny your family, Sirius, you deny a piece of yourself. That's never a good idea. No, please let me finish," Sirius settled back against the pillows, a stubborn look on his face, but he did as he was asked. "Thank you," Dumbledore said. "The Blacks are a part of you, Sirius and this you cannot change. Although you cannot see it now, there are many traits of your family that are positive: strength of conviction, loyalty to family and beliefs, courage to stand against those who would threaten them or their way of life. You possess each and every one of these traits. They are the gifts of your heritage. It is in how you apply them that you distinguish yourself from them. You are strong in your convictions about equality and freedom for all who inhabit our world – not just for the Purebloods. You are loyal to members of your family: your cousins Andromeda, your Uncle Alphard … and, do not forget the loyalty you feel toward your brother. You have great courage, Sirius; look where you were sorted! The Sorting Hat is never wrong, you know. It recognized the character of your heart and knew that it would take great courage to live out that character in certain areas of your life. It put you where you were destined to be, child: Gryffindor; it did so because of the traits you inherited from these people you would deny. Do you understand?"
Sirius nodded slowly. "It doesn't change how I feel about them…or how they feel about me. They have already planned my life for me; they expect me to marry Ofelia Bullstrode and they don't even care that I don't want to marry her. Well," he paused and gestured toward himself. "Mother cared enough to do this to try to convince me." His voice was hollow as he finished.
"Sirius, your father was forced to confront the evidence of his wife's inappropriate behavior toward you…" Dumbledore began, but Sirius would not allow him to finish.
"My father was the one who put me in a tiny, unheated cell in the basement of our house," he interrupted. "That was his way of giving me some time to think things over and agree to marry Ofelia. No heat, no food. Only my mother to pay me a visit and deliver a couple of stinging hexes to speed my thought process along a bit. You cannot convince me that my father cares a whit about me."
Dumbledore sighed. "Very well, Sirius, I will not continue to try, then. I will, however, ask you to consider whether or not a man who did not care at all about you would have bothered to seek medical help for you. Would have agreed to ensure that your mother did no future physical harm to you."
Sirius looked sharply at the old man. "Orion Black cares about the Black family reputation in the Pureblood community. He told me that he could not take me to St. Mungo's for help because my injuries would raise too many questions that would reflect badly on our family. I mean nothing to him; less than nothing!" Sirius drew a deep breath and leaned heavily back into his pillows. The effort and emotion of the conversation with Dumbledore had taxed his meager reserves and the Headmaster recognized it and rose.
"Very well, then, Sirius. But consider this: his protection has been given to you and even if it is not granted from any sort of parental concern, as you believe, the promise will be honored for the more selfish reason of family reputation and social standing. You will have less to fear when you return to Grimmauld Place in the future as a result. That is something to be grateful for, is it not?"
Sirius sighed. "I don't mean any disrespect, Professor, but I will have to see it to believe it."
Dumbledore smiled softly. "I don't for a moment doubt it, son. Now, settle down while I go fetch Poppy. If I don't, I will surely feel her wrath at having overtaxed your strength with this visit."
Sirius nodded and managed a smile as well, picturing the diminutive Healer haring after Hogwarts' Headmaster with her wand extended ominously in his direction. As Dumbledore moved away from his bed, Sirius spoke drowsily, "Thank you, Sir. For everything."
Dumbledore turned to reply, but the boy was already asleep.
