"Am I to understand," said Phineas Nigellus slowly from Harry's left, "that my great-great-grandson—the last of the Blacks—is dead?"
"Yes, Phineas," said Dumbledore.
"I don't believe it," said Phineas brusquely.
-J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
CHAPTER 36
December 27th, 1979
He could hear voices.
"Shit, shit, shit …where the hell were you ?"
"It's not like I could apparate—what, four legs isn't fast enough for you ?"
"He won't wake up. He's—he's not waking!"
"Probably for the best, if he knew what we were putting him in, his heart would give out then and there. Now—do it quickly."
"He's too heavy."
"Shut up! Are you a wizard or not?"
He knew the voices well. He also knew that they were not in his imagination only. He never had much of an imagination, in truth, and he didn't think that at this late stage in his life the one the Good Lord had endowed him with would be capable of such a perfect facsimile of personality. No amount of sly calculation on his or anyone else's part could've replicated that reedy, irritable snap in response to such brash and brazen cheek.
Wholly original, the pair of them.
He opened his eyes—and found a pair of eyes staring back at him. The edge of his vision was foggy, so the only thing he could make out was the eyes. They were identical to his. Then they blinked, and suddenly, they weren't.
How odd.
The face started to swim into view. As it came into sharper focus, he noticed there was something about it that wasn't quite…right. The features kept changing…a nose getting longer, the eyebrows flashing blue, brown, white in rapid succession, too unnatural for reality and too plausible for him to have dreamed up.
"Who are you?" Orion asked, though it was the last question that mattered to him in the current moment. He wanted to know where the those two voices had stopped—or rather, where their owners were.
"My name is Dora."
It was only when she spoke that he realized he was staring at a child.
"How did I get here?" Orion tried to move his head, but his entire body felt immobilized. "Where is here?"
"You're in our house," she replied, matter-of-factly. "You flew here."
"That's impossible."
Whatever had happened, he knew he hadn't been in a state where he could have sat upright on a broom.
"It's not. I saw. You were riding pillion." The word was new to her, and so she repeated it a few times—as if she were trying it out and deciding whether she liked it or not. "Daddy says I can ride pillion, when Mummy is out shopping for the day."
"I also told you not to go around laughing about that, Dora," said a new voice. "You'll get me into all sorts of trouble."
Dora giggled, and her eyes turned from green to blue to black in front of him, while her hair rebelliously follow the opposite course. Her father lifted the girl gently off the bed and shooed her away. In the distance, Orion heard the door softly shut behind her.
"How are you feeling?"
This man—he most certainly did not know. An unfamiliar voice, an accent that was decidedly east London—very common.
"I can honestly say I don't think I've ever felt worse."
The stranger let out a low whistle, and Orion's lip curled into the feeblest sneer he could muster. A stranger, to be sure. Certainly no one he knew would be so vulgar.
"Do you remember what happened?" asked the man.
"Oh, yes. My niece tried to kill me." He attempted to move his neck. His new companion gently but firmly held him down. "I think I'm—going to have to speak to her father about her."
The stranger stifled a snort.
"Would that do any good?"
"It will certainly make me feel better."
"I don't think she'd mind him, somehow. She's too far gone for that," the man said. "Believe me, I speak from personal experience."
"Oh? What did she do to you?"
"Cursed me. Not quite as bad as you—but almost."
"Did she?" He tried to sit up again, curiosity piqued. "What was your crime?"
"Taking her sister out on a Hogsmeade weekend," he said, in a blunt voice. "And then marrying her."
Orion blinked slowly.
"You're Andromeda's husband. The…the—"
"—The mudblood?"
Mr. Black let out an involuntary, pained chuckle.
"Yes. That ."
The man smiled with real warmth—and a flash of pity his plain and honest face could not hide. Orion was grateful for the gesture, though he knew what it said about his current state.
"Name is Edward Tonks. Everyone calls me Ted."
"Whatever for? Edward is the name of the king. 'Ted' sounds like a bricklayer."
"Well, my father was a stone mason."
"At least you seem to know your place." Ted gave him a somewhat ironical look. "Orion Black."
His manners being what they were, Orion couldn't help but attempt to raise his arm and shake Ted Tonks' hand.
"Yes, I know. I've heard of you." He watched him with a look of mild amusement—the sort that Orion might've thought insolent, under different circumstances. "You're 'Dromeda's favorite uncle, you know."
"That's hardly a mark of distinction." Mr. Black groaned. "The rest of the competition are dead. And I'll soon be with them."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that. You're stronger than you look." Ted gently pushed Orion's arm back on the bed. "Easy, there."
Mr. Black's eyes swam in and out of focus, but he could hear the door opening and shutting again, a new set of footsteps entering the room, the pressure of someone sitting on the bed, and then a cool hand on his cheek. This gesture he recognized—nothing tender or familiar, the matter-of-fact and businesslike action of a paid nurse or matron.
"Was that your daughter that was in the room before, Andromeda?"
"I'm afraid so. Aren't her manners appalling ?" His niece stood up. "I keep trying to explain to her that changing her hair color and the size of her nose is gauche. But my husband thinks it's hilarious, so you see, it's a hopeless case."
"How did I end up here?"
"Sirius brought you. I don't live that far off from Bella, believe it or not. Sometimes I do wonder if it's tempting fate. Sit up, please."
Orion felt the bandages around his torso as he pulled himself up.
"Do you remember what happened?" Andromeda's husband asked.
A stab of irritation punctured the inside of Orion's skull.
"What the devil is it any of concern of yours?"
"Ted's had some healing training, uncle," Andromeda soothed. It worked, and Orion felt his annoyance drain away as fast as it had come. Perhaps it was the fog his head was in, or exhaustion, getting old or—worst of all—going soft. Ten years ago he would not have brought himself to speak to his wayward niece, let alone her wholly unsuitable husband.
"Invictus curse," Orion grumbled.
"That's what I thought," said Tonks. "But you've been out for a while, and I wondered if I had mistaken the signs. Square in the chest is a strange place to aim it."
"She wasn't aiming for me at all," Orion said, flatly. "She was trying to kill my son."
"Which one?"
"The moronic one."
"That doesn't narrow it down," said Andromeda.
Still as deadpan as ever. He recalled some distant Easter when she'd claimed she'd found a chimera egg in her basket. Her grandfather had believed it.
"Do you remember anything else?" asked the muggle. "And how do you feel, now?"
Mr. Black shut his eyes—and the gesture seemed to make the buzzing in his ears, the incessant din, grow louder. This was why he detested healers.
"For the last time, I feel—" Orion clutched his chest, and realized. That tightness, that clenching of the fist over his heart, the sensation that he plagued him for the better part of the last year. "—I feel…"
Something was wrong.
"…Nothing."
Orion sank back into the bed. His niece's face tilted, then the rest of the world did, and he saw a figure standing behind her.
For a moment he didn't recognize the slim figure.
"What are you…what are you doing here? You shouldn't…"
It was impossible.
"Do you remember, Orion—Mr. Black—did anything else happen—"
She tilted her head and smiled at him, just as she always had.
"What…what does it matter?" Orion managed to croak out, his voice as faint as his heart.
"It matters, " said Tonks. "Because these are symptoms of something besides the Invictus curse, and I can't—"
"I told you," Mr. Black said. "I told you I wasn't long for this world—that's why she's—"
They were speaking at him, but the words ran together and became a droning hum, fragments coming in and out, like a wireless that had gone wonky. A familiar lullaby started, faintly at first, until it rose and overtook their voices.
Something rough behind his head. The sensation of his hair being pushed up, then a stench, ugly and bubbling, the acrid scent of burning human flesh—
"Damn—how did we not notice that— "
" She nicked him in the back of the head, he must've fallen face down. "
"Is it—"
The singing got louder, and he saw her face, clearer—then the other two, and the rest of the room faded away altogether.
"—Cycticero—we have to—Mungo's—"
He said her name.
A cool touch to his brow, and then the dark.
Cygnus never could fall asleep after a hunt—particularly an unsuccessful one. Not a mooncalf to be found, nor an Augurey. He would've settled for a stag, if he could've found one. He would've even taken a pheasant.
You'd have thought the earth around his estate had been salted and all living things driven out.
The last time I had a great hunt, Bella was here.
All that pestering from his eldest daughter about wanting to be taken along on hunts. For years he resisted, and only when he found her on the verge of tearing out the others' eyes if she didn't get to go, had he scorned tradition.
And from that moment on he never had a good hunt without Bellatrix there.
A damned willful girl, that's what she was. Ungrateful, too. it was all Rodolphus's fault. He let Bellatrix run roughshod over him, and it showed.
What a waste.
Cygnus had never liked his son-in-law. He had never liked his son-in-law's father, either, but Lestrange had gold and was from the right sort of family, and it was the only eligible match Bella had shown the least enthusiasm for, so in the end, he'd agreed.
Narcissa, by contrast, had her heart turned at age thirteen and never looked back. Lucius was the one who looked good on paper, but he was in some ways worse than Rodolphus, from where Cygnus was sitting. Forked tongue and two-faced was far worse than Lestrange's open, sullen resentment.
Cissy was having a child at least. A boy. That was something to look forward to, he thought, gloomily contemplating the inside of the brandy bottle with a philosophic mindset. Even if he would be a Malfoy.
"She's back."
He looked up and squinted through the darkness at the source of the interruption—a somewhat grimy oil figure standing in the picture by the door. It was a charioteer—one of his ancestors—wearing Roman garb. The painting was one of the few of his family members in this house, and like everything else here that belonged to him, it was second-rate.
"Shouldn't you be on the first floor landing?" Cygnus hiccuped.
"She's back." His great times whatever grandfather repeated, severely. "You swore you'd see her dead first and she's back."
Oh. He gripped his head. Daphne . Damn her, and damn Orion for finding out about her. Cygnus reached for the bottle, steeling himself for what might soon become a scene. The drink had put him in one of his rare contemplative moods.
In truth, wasn't there a small part of him that had been relieved to be done with her, in the end? It had all grown so tedious, and with the pleasure dwindling with each passing year, well—what was the point of a mistress if you liked her even less than your wife?
"Well? Do you intend to do anything about this?"
He groaned and stumbled to his feet.
He should never have had Daphne in this house. That has been a bridge too far, even for his elastic conscience.
"Just—direct her to the nearest box of jewels," he said, fumbling for his brandy glass. "I'm sure she will help herself and be on her way."
"I'm not here for jewels."
Cygnus sloshed the liquor onto the floor.
It wasn't Daphne's voice. For a minute he didn't recognize it, at least he couldn't identify the person it belonged to—though the tone, the intonation, the implicit accusations softened by age and time and by a rasp that might've been a winter cold or the after-effects of some crying jag—all of that he knew.
"…You."
You swore you'd see her dead first. He had said that, hadn't he?
His middle daughter stepped into the room and removed her hood. He took a step forward, stumbling over a footstool and cursing.
"You're foxed," Andromeda observed, her voice devoid of emotion.
"What the devil has that to do with anything?"
His traitorous daughter didn't answer. Instead she stared at him, her expression unreadable. He could have taken anger, contempt—he would have liked the admiration and awe that he hadn't seen from any of his girls since they were small, but that Cygnus had long since given up hope of receiving.
Instead he got this. The look of a stranger passing one on the street who happens to catch one's eye. Cygnus found it unnerving.
"You should be in bed," she said, at last. "You look dreadful."
He peered into the face, dimly lit by candle light.
"God, for a minute I took you for your sister."
Andromeda gave him a tired, forced smile—the sort of bone that Bellatrix would never have thrown him, not even on his deathbed. Cygnus could not believe he had mixed them up for even a moment.
" She would have said worse."
He grasped at his memory, at the long hours he had rehearsed the speech he would make when this ungrateful wretch of a girl came crawling back to his house, expecting forgiveness. As the years had dragged on, and it had seemed less and less likely he would ever have to make said speech, the righteous indignation that had fueled its composition had apparently dissipated so much that all he could manage was to bleat out a feeble, " how dare you ?" at her when she finally did show up.
"I won't be long. No one else need know I'm here. Just tell me what room Walburga is in. Planket wouldn't say, when I asked him."
"Why should my servants tell blood traitors where our guests are?" He narrowed his eyes. "What the devil do you want with my sister, anyway?"
"I don't have time for this," she said, her voice curt. "I'll have to just have to find out on my own."
She swept out the door she had come through without ceremony. Indignant at this flat reception from the daughter he had not seen in almost a decade, Cygnus followed her with a wobbly step.
"Now, listen, here, girl—you have no right —"
She stopped and turned around.
"Daddy, just—tell me where I can find Aunt Burgie." Andromeda's voice cracked. "I'll be gone before you have a chance to sober up and realize this wasn't your worst nightmare."
He had let her walk away without any consequences once before. He could do that again. No one would blame him.
She started down the hall.
And yet…
"Wait."
His daughter turned around again. She looked as though she was on the edge of tears, fighting it with all the stubborn self-control Andromeda could muster.
"I—can't remember what room she's in," he said—just managing to retain his dignity. "I couldn't tell you if I wanted to."
"Of course." She groaned and rubbed her forehead, then looked up at a portrait of her own great-great-great grandmother, staring down at her with a look of intense disdain.
"Well? I know what you're going to do," Andromeda sighed. "You might as well get it over with."
Every portrait in the house came to life at once.
The sound was deafening.
"What part of keep him there did you not understand?"
Ted looked up at Sirius, still sporting a magnificent cut across his forehead and an expression of intense fury. It didn't phase him. Tonks's cloak sat draped over a chair on his right in the small private antechamber that the emergency spell damage ward at St. Mungo's kept for families and private visitors. The lump stirred and he patted it, absently.
"He took a turn for the worse," Ted said, in a low voice. "I had to make a decision. Given that this is likely the difference between your father's life or death—"
"—I am well aware of what the stakes are!" Sirius snapped. "I daresay I understand them better than you do. If somebody finds out that he is here, Ted—"
"They won't. I had him admitted under a false name."
Ted told him what it was. Sirius snorted—he had to appreciate a joke that good, even in the circumstances.
"Unless they recognize your father, no one will connect him with anything that happened tonight. Is that likely?"
Sirius paced the length of the small room.
"He only ever comes to this hospital to give them bags of gold, so I doubt the orderly would."
"Did you manage to track down his personal healer?"
"Fawcett? Yes, he's five minutes behind me. Lucky I got your owl when I did, he won't waste time, he's coming direct." Sirius grimaced. "I never thought having a healer on the family's personal payroll made any sense. Now I can't help but hope the gold my grandfather pays him is worth his discretion."
"I explained the situation as best I could to the healers here," said Tonks, getting to his feet. "As far as the extenuating circumstances of his condition goes, I could only make a guess at that. You may want to explain yourself, he wasn't conscious to do it."
"I don't know anything more than what I told you!" Sirius said. He looked around the empty waiting room. "Where the hell is your wife, by the way?"
"I…sent her off."
"Right now ? For what possible reason?"
Ted stared at him with a mixture of incredulity and mild pity.
"Take a wild guess, Sirius."
Through the door that led to the main vestibule of the spell damage ward, there was a sudden, violent crash, then footsteps—seven or eight sets of them, and a cacophony of discordant, piercing voices. The combination of sounds formed a unique and horrible symphony that Sirius Black knew all too well.
"She didn't." Sirius rounded on him. "You didn't ."
A flock of crows was called a 'murder'. That's also what he called a flock of Blacks.
Ted approached him, and though he was at least three inches shorter than Sirius, his expression remained unflinching.
"The man's wife has a right to know," said Tonks.
There was a shriek like a banshee.
"That's our gran, you know," Sirius said. "Do you have any idea what you've unleashed?"
"I'm not going to apologize. It was the right thing to do."
"You'll be singing a different tune when you walk through that door."
Sirius picked out the voices of the individual members of his family, cursing each other, the situation at hand, and the world writ large—each in their own distinct way, of course.
One voice carried over all the rest.
"If you don't tell me where my son is, I shall have you brought up before the entire Wizengamot—"
"What a piss-up," he groaned. "What the hell did Andi tell them, anyway?"
"As little as possible," Ted said.
"Oh, joy ."
"I thought that's what you wanted."
Sirius rubbed his temples, feeling a splitting headache already coming on—and this one wasn't from any injury.
"It is," he mumbled. "But I know that's not why she did it."
Andromeda could dole out revenge, in her own way.
Might as well get it over with.
"—My family built this hospital, and I assure you we can just as easily have it razed to the ground—"
Sirius kicked the door open.
"For the love of that which is sacred and profane—will you all for once in your lives SHUT UP ?"
Everyone in the room fell into a shocked silence. He heard Ted step forward behind him, braving the metaphoric storm—still at a fairly removed and safe distance, everything taken in the balance.
A strange tableau stood before them.
Andromeda led the pack, looking as though she'd aged ten years in the past few hours. Going to her parents' house must've taken all the courage and gumption she possessed, Sirius realized, and he made a mental note to apologize to her, first chance he got.
When this was all over she was going to murder him, so he supposed it made little difference.
There were his grandparents—Arcturus, with Pollux and Irma behind him, a tight pack of three standing at the welcome healer's desk. His aunts and uncle followed, all frantic, still in their dressing gowns—the effect would have been comic in any other situation.
"Sirius Orion…"
In the center stood his mother, Walburga, pale as a ghost. She was the one member of his family fully dressed, and Sirius realized with a horrible, sickening pang that it was because she had never taken off her dinner things from the night before. Somehow, she had known.
Womanly intuition.
Walburga took three steps towards him—each one looked as though it took every ounce of strength she had left. Mrs. Black's shoulders trembled, and before he realized what he was doing Sirius had put his own hands around them to steady her.
"Sirius…where is your father?"
Sirius tried to swallow, but found his mouth unbearably dry.
"Mother—Mum, I need you to—"
He needed her to do—what, exactly? There was nothing she needed to do. It was all on him—his responsibility, his duty. Never had he felt the weight of that word more or less worthy of the responsibility it entailed.
"It's going to be—" Sirius's voice faltered. "You don't need to—"
Her eyes filled with tears, her lips trembled, and he did the only thing that seemed sensible.
He wrapped his arms around her, and his mother buried her face in his chest and began to cry.
This shocking display of emotion did more to stupefy the murder of Blacks than a symphony played on Erumpent horns would have.
"Mum…it's alright. It's alright."
There were no words of comfort he could offer her that did not feel like lies, so Sirius settled for murmuring incomprehensible nothings into her hair into her hair. He squeezed her tightly, shielding her from the censure and gawking of their family—who, being insane, would decry this honest display of emotion as unbefitting of a Black the moment they recovered their senses.
Walburga, for her part, seemed to have entirely forgotten the presence of her parents and father-in-law. She gave herself entirely into the care of the son who resembled her husband so much and wept into his coat.
He met Lucretia's eyes over Walburga's shoulder. His aunt had hastily thrown her cloak over a faded night dress. Her pale face had never looked more careworn, her expression more fragile—as far as Sirius knew he'd never seen her without rouge. It occurred to Sirius that Lucretia was looking to him for answers.
The door behind Lucretia flung open again.
"Sirius! I got your—"
At the sight of his mother so beside herself, Regulus stopped short. The younger Black brother sported a cut across his shoulder that he had tried to bandage.
"….Erm—message."
Everybody in the room stared at him.
The moment she heard his voice, Walburga turned her head and attempted to pull out of her son's arms. Sirius held her fast.
"Where in heaven and earth—" Walburga cried. "—Have you been , Regulus Arcturus?"
"He was in Scotland," said Sirius, roughly. "I told him to go there. Well?"
"He's not back," said Regulus, watching Sirius hold their struggling mother with mild alarm.
Sirius cursed under his breath.
"Who let you in the castle, then?"
"McGonagall. I left a message with her."
"Did you see anyone else?"
"No." Regulus remembered. "Wait. No, Slughorn came out too."
"Great. Well, he's definitely read the message by now. Let's hope he has the sense to see it's to his advantage to keep his trap shut." He grimaced. "What about the other side of things? Does he know?"
"No."
"Nothing? Not about you? About what's happened tonight?"
Regulus shook his head with certainty.
"Nothing. He'd have tried to summon us by now."
"Some of them must have got away and are keeping it quiet, doing damage control." For as long as they could, anyway, which Sirius and Regulus both knew wasn't long. "Damn. What about James and the girls? Have you heard from them?"
"Nothing." Regulus eyed his brother, knowingly. "I'm sure she's fine, Sirius."
"Who's worried?" Sirius muttered. "That damn house elf should've turned up by now."
"It's not his fault."
"What the deuce," interrupted Pollux, loudly. "Are you two whelps on about?"
They ignored their grandfather.
"He left us in the death trap house!" said Sirius.
"We don't know why, though!" Regulus replied.
Their mother chose that moment to overcome her momentary lapse into womanish hysterics. Walburga pulled herself out of her eldest son's arms and crossed to the younger.
"Regulus Arcturus! What happened to your face?"
She reached out to grab his chin and Regulus—to her immense surprise—ducked her.
"It's fine, mother. Just a scratch. Superficial." He turned to address Sirius. "How is Father?"
Mrs. Black, who had never once in her life been ignored by her younger son, was momentarily struck dumb by this uncharacteristic brush-off. Arcturus wasn't.
"That's the only damn thing I care about," said the Black patriarch, his sharp eyes darting between his two grandsons with interest.
"You'll get your answers soon enough," said Sirius. "Fawcett is with him now."
"How do you know that?"
"I'm the one who summoned him."
"Since when," asked Walburga, peering at her younger son's injuries with an eagle eye. "Are you an authority on what is or isn't a serious spell injury, Regulus Arcturus?"
"Probably around the time that he became a Death Eater," Sirius shot back. "And became the recipient of dangerous curses."
"It's really nothing to worry about, Mother."
"Doesn't look like nothing," said Pollux, stepping forward and peering at his grandson through a monocle. "He looks like he's been in a damned duel."
"What are you talking about?" Irma asked, her voice slightly too loud. "Why would Regulus have been dueling?"
"An odd time of year for it, I'll grant you," said her husband. "I didn't think the Frogs went in for that sort of thing."
"Well, you know, Pollux—" Lucretia interjected. "They do say the Provençal are more like the Italians. Hot heads."
"Don't be insolent, Lucretia," snapped Arcturus. "That whelp hasn't been anywhere near France, a fact you damn well know. He never even left London."
Lucretia wilted like a flower in a furnace under her father's harsh gaze. The maternal grandparents, Cygnus and Druella all turned towards Arcturus with varying expressions of puzzlement and interest. Sirius stepped in front of his mother, shielding her from the head of the family.
Regulus tried to placate the patriarch with a feeble interjection.
"Grandfather—"
"—There has been a plot on in this family," said Arcturus. "And these two—" He pointed his cane at his two grandsons. "Are at the center of it."
He kept his eyes fixed on the older of the two accused. Sirius met Arcturus's cool stare, mirroring it. Regulus watched the standoff with trepidation.
They might've stayed there for hours, had Fawcett not chosen that moment to open the door.
"Thank God," said Andromeda, breaking the silence.
Sirius and Arcturus both snapped their heads around, but it was Mrs. Black that Healer Fawcett was looking at. He walked up to her and made a move as if to grasp her by the hand—before he thought better of it.
"Walburga," he said, in a gentle voice. "I'm very glad you're here."
"Orion—" Mrs. Black's voice broke. "Where is Orion?"
"I've just been to see him."
"And is he—is he…?"
"He's alive."
But for how much longer? Fawcett didn't say, but he had the grave look of a pallbearer.
"If he's in this hospital, why the devil does this idiot keep telling me there's nobody here with that name?" demanded Arcturus, pointing his cane at the harassed front desk healer. "And why the devil did you not tell me the moment he arrived?"
"I just found out myself," said Fawcett. "Sirius came and fetched me. As for the name—"
"That's my fault," Ted interjected. "I'm the one who brought them in, and had him admitted under my father's name—Jack Tonks."
The elders of the Black family all turned in unison to look at Ted, a figure that had hitherto been treated like a piece of furniture, hardly worth noticing.
"Who the hell are you?" demanded Cygnus.
There was an excruciatingly long pause.
"He's your son-in-law," said Sirius, feeling helpful.
The silence that followed this was longer and, if possible, even more profound. Andromeda glared at Sirius, but he remained unfazed.
"Thank you for that."
"What? Did you think you were going to pass him off as your friendly neighbor?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "He's Andromeda's husband."
Ted was not one for self-consciousness, so he accepted the scrutiny of his wife's family—with all its varying degrees of confusion and hostility.
"And why," asked Arcturus, in a dangerous voice. "Was my son with him ?"
"It was too dangerous to use side-along apparition. I needed to get him somewhere safe, and so Regulus and I took him to their house."
"Tonks, isn't it?" asked Fawcett, peering owlishly into the younger man's face. "Weren't you in healer training?"
"Yes, for a bit. Then I had to give it up."
"And you were the one who was monitoring his condition?" Ted nodded. "I understand that the curse injury on the back of his head went unnoticed for some hours."
"Yes. Slow acting—my wife recognized the spell symptoms. He'd been nicked in the back of the head, but the wound was so slight it didn't bleed for hours, and by then we thought he was through the worst of it. Orion—Mr. Black, that is—he had woken up, and he knew where he was—he recognized my wife, and spoke quite lucidly to us both. Until—"
"—Until what?" asked Fawcett, gently.
"He—took a sudden turn, and began…seeing things."
"How did you know he was hallucinating?"
Ted hesitated, his eyes flicking from one pale-faced Black to the next.
"He started to…speak to his mother, who I understand has been dead for sometime."
An emotion, almost indistinguishable from his usual rage, flashed across Arcturus's face for just a moment. Lucretia let out a suppressed sob which she muffled with a handkerchief.
Walburga looked lost, and when she reached out her hand for an anchor, it was Sirius's arm that was there to steady her.
"I saw that what Andromeda and I had done for him wasn't enough," said Ted. "So I brought him here myself, and sent her to fetch the family—by then Sirius had gone off to get you and sent his brother up to Scotland. I hope I did right."
"You did the best you could with the hand you were dealt, Tonks," said Fawcett. "Your judgement is a credit to you."
Tonks nodded, but Ted was not looking at the healer. He kept his eyes fixed on Cygnus Black, who was gaping at the man who had been so bluntly introduced to him as his son-in-law with something between pompous effrontery and shell-shock.
Ted took a step towards him, undeterred, and held out his hand.
"I suppose I should introduce myself." Cygnus said nothing. "Better late than never. Edward."
Cygnus stared at the hand. Ted didn't lower it.
"Oh, honestly, Ted!" Andromeda said. "Haven't I always told you there was no damn point?"
Cygnus turned on his middle daughter.
"What the deuce do you mean by that?"
"That you are impossible."
Druella stepped between her daughter and her husband, already spoiling for a fight.
"'Dromeda, please."
"No, Mummy—he is, I'm not going to pretend otherwise. Nor do I think it's worth anyone else's time to do so."
"It's never sat right with me," said Ted, to his wife, his voice firmer. "And I would just as soon square it with your father, while I have a chance."
"Do you expect me to shake the hand of the wastrel who ran off with my daughter?" Cygnus sneered. "And thank him for it?"
"You might thank him for saving Orion's life," said Fawcett, pointedly. "If he hadn't brought him here when he did, your cousin would most certainly be dead now."
Walburga let out a strangled noise, and Sirius set his hand on his mother's shoulder. The action seems to calm her momentarily. Nobody in their family could remember Lucretia being so at a loss for words. Arcturus, cold and methodical, turned from Fawcett to Cygnus.
"Shake his hand," he ordered curtly.
Cygnus sputtered out an unintelligible protest, but the head of the Black family had no interest in it. He had a little patience for Cygnus Black in the best of times.
"I won't have anyone saying my family has no sense of gratitude—particularly not where my own heir's life is concerned. I don't care if he is a mudblood, you'll shake his hand and thank him all the same."
"I only did what any decent man would in the circumstances."
"I doubt it escapes your notice, Ted," said Sirius. "But decency is not something we take for granted in this family."
Arcturus shot him a quelling look, but said nothing. Cygnus continued to stare at his son-in-law's outstretched hand, which Ted, in a kind of stubborn pigheadedness that rivaled his wife's father, refused to put down.
"Bloody hell, boy!" Pollux snapped. "Shake his damned hand. Haven't you caused enough embarrassment to this family?"
A public chastening from his father was the ultimate humiliation, and Cygnus flushed and grasped Ted's hand. Tonks gripped it with unnecessary force before releasing it. Andromeda looked as though she didn't know which one of them she was more irritated by—particularly when Ted had the audacity to smile, as though he'd won something.
"What about Orion?" Arcturus said, looking back at the healer. "What is my son's condition?"
"He was hit with several spells, all of which we would have been able to identify except the Cycticero curse. I've never seen such a deadly example of its use, and of course, it is slow acting, making it difficult to catch in the best of times. Until he wakes up, we won't know what his state of mind will be."
"Are you saying my son will be out of his wits?"
The possibility that Orion might not wake up did not seem to have occurred to Arcturus—or at least he refused to entertain the idea.
"I'm not concerned about his mind, Arcturus," said Fawcett, delicately. "I'm concerned about his heart."
The old man's face dropped.
"Why?"
"To put it bluntly—it's failing him. The curse that struck him there is having far more adverse effect than it should. His heartbeat has slowed an abnormal rate. The healer said the man who admitted him knew there were some pre-existing ailment, but couldn't give me any more details."
"It's because I don't anything more," said Ted, looking around the room. "It was Sirius who told me that."
Everybody in the room turned to him.
"He's been having trouble with it for a year," Sirius admitted, after a moment. "His heart."
He refused to meet Walburga's eye. Sirius found it much easier to keep his focus on the old healer with the tired face than to look at any of them, though his imagination could conjure up an image of dismay and pain for Reg and his mother all on its own.
"What are you talking about, Sob?" asked Lucretia.
"How serious?" asked Fawcett.
"Serious enough that he has been under the impression he will not survive his condition. He didn't tell me any of the symptoms. You were supposed to be his healer, Fawcett, didn't it occur to you to ask him to come see you every once in a while? He was just here a few days ago, but you seem to think it was more important to tell him about my medical history rather than ask him how he was feeling."
The healer had a good sense to look abashed at this criticism.
"Sirius Orion!"
His mother stepped away from him, as if she saw him not as her son, but as an outsider, someone who had betrayed her.
"How long have you known about this?"
"Since Christmas day night," Sirius said. "He made me swear not to tell you."
"Made you swear ? Made you swear? "
"Do you think I wanted to?" Sirius's voice broke. "Do you think I like being part of a family that traffics in secrets and lies? This is your husband's idea of doing the right thing. Of being a man."
"I cannot believe that," said Arcturus.
Sirius, rounded on his grandfather, expression savage.
"Really? You can't believe it ? I would think you'd be the least shocked of anyone, Arcturus."
" What did you say to me?"
"This is your fault. You have spent your son's entire life teaching him to abhor weakness, to the point where he would literally rather die than admit there was something wrong. Just like Gran."
The air seemed to have been sucked from the room. Arcturus's expression went ashen.
"Don't you dare talk about my wife."
But his eldest grandson was not afraid of him. Nothing, not even Arcturus raising his wand, could have stopped Sirius from speaking his mind.
"She spent her whole life trying to please you, not be a fuss or a bother, to the point that she neglected her own health, and by the time they knew what was wrong with her it was too late. Everybody in the family knows it. Lucretia knows it. Why do you think your own daughter can barely stand to be in the same room with you?"
He pointed at Lucretia, who was staring at him in wordless terror and amazement.
"You are a great bully, Arcturus. And I should know, because I got written up in school all the time for being a bully, and I was always emulating you. I would watch you when I was a boy order my father and everybody else in the family about, and think to myself, 'look at grandpapa, he knows how to get what he wants, I'll do what he does.' Except it's not a very effective strategy if all it does is turn everyone into duplicitous schemers constantly trying to find ways around their leader because he's so unpleasant to deal with directly."
Everybody in the family stared at him with a mixture of shock and awe. Arcturus stood ramrod straight, gripping his cane. His bottom lip trembled with suppressed rage and something else. Nobody had ever dared to speak to him with such cutting words about anything, let alone the management of his own family, and he had no answer to it.
"If my father dies, Arcturus, I'm sure you'll take comfort knowing everything he did, he did for the good of your family ."
No member of said family who was present dared to speak after this righteous speech.
Healer Fawcett eyed Arcturus for a wary moment. Having known the Black family patriarch for many years, he understood well the immense pride and dignity attached to his position, and was likely waiting for an explosion.
It never came. Sirius had done the impossible—he had rendered his grandfather speechless.
"I will go back to Orion," Fawcett said, at last. "I'll let you know if anything changes. And I'll start looking into possible explanations."
Sirius and Regulus both muttered their thanks, but their mother could only nod, shakily.
"Wait."
Fawcett turned to look at Arcturus. The shock having worn off, the elderly wizard had recovered his senses and state of mind. He pointed his cane at the welcome desk.
"Take that woman with you."
The welcome healer, who was still standing at the front desk and had been an unwanted witness to the whole sordid family scene, started to protest. Fawcett cut her off.
"Amanda. I know it's unorthodox—"
"This is a hospital, Healer Fawcett," she hissed. "I need to be able to see admitted patients and their families."
Arcturus whacked the desk three times.
"Who do you think makes sure your salary is paid, woman?"
"I'll arrange something private for them on the upper floor, in the meantime. Amanda—please." She huffed a protest under her breath. "Healer Adcock."
She stalked out behind her superior, muttering about damned high-born purebloods as she went. The moment the door slammed shut behind her Arcturus set about sealing it with one elegant wave of his wand. Sirius knew the spell well. It meant that nobody but a true Black would be able to come in or out of this room or hear anything said inside until the family head saw fit to lift it.
"Now," Arcturus said, turning one dangerous, flinty gaze towards his eldest grandson. "You. Explain this."
It was funny, Sirius thought, staring into the sharp face of his grandfather. He had known from the start that this moment would come one day. He had even warned his father. And though the circumstances were nothing like Sirius had imagined, and he had never expected to have to explain it by himself, he felt neither urgency nor fear at the prospect. His words were important, other people relied on them, and he would take his time.
"Grandfather," Regulus said, stepping between them. "Perhaps it would be better if I—"
"No," Arcturus snapped. "I won't have your namby-pamby stuttering and stammering. It's to be this one."
Regulus's cheek twinged, and when he turned back to his brother, his mask was firmly back in place. The two brothers locked eyes, and Sirius saw something of relief and an annoyed lack of surprise there.
"Why should we believe a word this blood traitor says?" asked Cygnus, with a sneer.
Sirius turned in the direction of his godfather. He did not bother to hide his contempt or his anger.
"You've hardly a leg to stand on where trustworthiness or loyalty is concerned, Cygnus," he said. "In fact, you are the only person in this family who is more at fault for my father than Arcturus."
"How am I to take that?"
"Well, who—" His voice caught in his throat. "Who do you think did it to him?"
He was so angry he had not thought before speaking, and in that instant the entire mood in the room shifted. A tenseness fell over them all, his mother's face drained of color again, and though there was some small part of him that regretted putting it in that way, he knew it couldn't be helped.
"What are you implying, boy?" said Cygnus, a sheen of perspiration already on his brow.
Arcturus turned his cunning gaze towards Andromeda.
"Girl. He said he brought Orion to you because you were close. Where do you live?"
"Gloucestershire."
"That's not far from your son-in-law's house, Cygnus." He turned back to Sirius. "Is that where this happened? Lestrange Castle?"
"Yes," said Sirius, in a tight voice.
"And you were present?"
"Regulus and I both were."
"Who did this to my son? Was it Lestrange?"
Sirius said nothing for a long time, keeping his eyes on Arcturus.
" Well ?"
"Andromeda," he said, at last. "Would you—please take my mother and Aunt Dru to the other room? I think—it might be better."
Druella murmured an unintelligible question, her voice started to quaver, just slightly. Andromeda nodded and glanced at her husband. Mrs. Black's eyes narrowed, looking between her brother and son—the former cool and steely, the latter frantic, calculating and desperate.
"Sirius Orion—"
"I think you had better go into the next room, Mother," he said, voice firm.
"But—"
"Mama. Please. "
Sirius had not called Walburga that in many years, since he was quite a little boy, and it softened her expression.
Mrs. Tonks crossed the room to her mother, and with a surprising show of gentleness grasped her by the wrist and started to lead her towards the door that led to the other room.
"There's nothing this blood traitor has to say," said Cygnus, with a sneer. "That my wife cannot hear."
Both women froze. Walburga had still not moved—and Sirius knew, instinctively, that she would not until he had told them all the truth.
"Well, boy? Out with it!" Arcturus demanded. Sirius looked at Druella, and his expression softened to something approaching pity. "I want a name."
Sirius dragged his eyes away from his godmother and towards Lucretia, who had never seen so implacable, all trace of playfulness and levity gone from her. Even his maternal grandparents, for all their blustering, had an aura of danger about their sly faces—Irma managed to look as severe as a dragon while wearing a hairnet and grey dressing gown. He glanced at Regulus, but his younger brother was far too preoccupied with watching Walburga to notice. Smart . Who knew what she was capable of?
He barely knew himself what he would like to do.
"It wasn't Rodolphus. Or—" Sirius hesitated. "—Lucius Malfoy."
Druella trembled like a leaf.
"Tell me," Arcturus said. "What happened to my son?"
Sirius swallowed.
"Bellatrix tried to kill him."
Ignatius Prewett had long since ceased to care for the opinions of others regarding his marriage. It was doubtful whether he had ever truly cared, though he may have made some pretense at doing so for the sake of his somewhat overbearing father-in-law, a man who, for all his gruff exterior, had not really wished to relinquish the position of masculine preeminence in his only daughter's life.
He and Lucretia got along, and they both did as they liked. He was accustomed to hearing only a selective collection of her exploits, usually from her bombastic father or uptight younger brother, but as she didn't seem to get into too much trouble (by his estimation) their strictures mattered little to him. His one caveat upon entering the state of marriage had been encouraging his younger bride—for though she was in her thirties by then, and quite an old maid, he was solidly middle-aged at forty-seven—to grow accustomed to his ways, for he was too old to change. She had, to her credit, gone in with open eyes. It helped that he was not exacting by nature. As a younger son, he'd always been allowed to do as he liked, with little expectation put on him. Ignatius was studious and retiring by nature, and his one past-time that required exertion was making a mockery of ridiculous people. Lucretia was quick to point out that in the pureblood circles they ran in, there was much meat of that score upon which to feast.
That fact did not make him any more inclined to card-parties or routs. It was not unusual for the Prewetts to go days without seeing each other, her being fond of social entertainment, he being more retiring in nature.
So it was that morning that he didn't realize until the knocking at the door continued for a full five minutes that she wasn't there to answer.
Of course , Ignatius reminded himself, getting wearily to his feet— the Boxing Day hunt. What a bother it was, to have to get up twice in one morning to receive a caller. This was why he hated socializing—it meant people called on you.
Ignatius was surprised to see one of his twin nephews at the door (he wasn't sure which, he never could get the two of them straight) at such an early hour, and looking so disheveled. There was a wide burn across Gideon or Fabian's cheek, which Ignatius supposed might scar and make him easier to identify in future.
"About time you got here!" said the boy, crossly. "I was about to break down the door."
"I can't imagine why. Is there some reason you think yourself entitled to get into my home at this hour?"
His nephew pushed in.
"Where is Aunt Lucretia?"
"You are the second person who's called to ask after her this morning. I've never known that woman to be in such high demand."
"Someone else was here?" his nephew asked. "Who?"
"Some old family friend. I didn't catch her name, though she left her card. It's on the table—somewhere."
He gestured vaguely to a sitting table covered with vials, papers and potion ingredients from some long defunct experiment of his that his wife, not being a particularly fastidious housekeeper, had never bothered to clear away.
"Did this person say what she wanted?"
"I don't have your penchant for interrogating people before breakfast."
"This is no joke, uncle! Haven't you heard what happened?"
"No. Does it concern my wife?"
"Yes—and her entire bloody family!"
If that was true, it couldn't be anything good. Where his in-laws were concerned, it never was.
"She is with them now, I believe," said Ignatius, slowly. "She usually spends the week of Christmas with them."
Improbably enough, her father had come to this house the day before and spent Christmas Day with them. Why he should have seen fit to come to a place that he always complained of being too drafty and far beneath his only daughter, Lucretia had not volunteered.
"I've been by her cousin's house Grimmauld Place, and your father-in-law's. They're shut up—impossible to get in, and no sign of life."
"If the Ministry has seen fit to arrest him, believe me, he will not be at the house," said Ignatius, philosophically. "Nor will any member of the Wizengamot who values his neck ever be made to prosecute him."
"What are you talking about?" asked his nephew.
Realizing his blunder, Ignatius fixed his face in an expression of polite puzzlement. He may not have cared for Arcturus, but he understood his father-in-law well enough to know that suggesting he may have committed enough acts of financial malfeasance to grant investigation would be a poor choice at this juncture.
"I merely thought you were looking for my wife's father."
"It's not just him! It's the whole family. They've up and vanished. Gone underground. Something happened last night at Lestrange Castle."
Mr. Prewett frowned with thinly-veiled distaste.
"The Lestranges are, thankfully, very distant relations of Lucretia."
"Well, Sirius isn't, and he is at the center of it!"
For the first time since the conversation started, Ignatius found himself genuinely interested.
"Yes, he usually is," Ignatius murmured to himself.
He had little feeling on the subject of his nephew, but he had listened to enough of Lucretia's strictures about Sirius's effect on his mother to know the boy was generally thought a rapscallion and exceedingly charming by his aunt. Who preferred to be at the center of things, just like her nephew.
"What happened at Lestrange Castle?"
"Ministry raid. Firefight. It's very hush-hush—I haven't been given the details, only that someone might've died, and word on the street is that it's a member of your family."
Ignatius's frown deepened.
"Any idea where they might be? Every single one of their houses, including this one—unless you've got the lot of them stashed in the parlor—is empty, or no one's answering the door."
"Am I assuming too little of the competence of the Ministry when I ask if anybody has checked Saint Mungo's?"
"That was the first place Fabian went," said Gideon—who he now knew by process of elimination. "But no healers would confirm anything."
"When was this?"
"Hours ago. They sent someone to check in the middle of the night. No Blacks to be found on the premises."
Ignatius stood up.
"I have heard nothing of this. I suspect my wife would have sent me a note, if there were anything serious going on."
His voice betrayed his uneasiness. Gideon scowled.
"Unless she was the one who was hurt! You should exert yourself more where Aunt Lucy is concerned. You can be careless of her.s"
Ignatius felt a twinge of conscience. It was an uncomfortable feeling, having the sensation that one of his wild nephews was in the right.
"If she ever does get around to telling you where she is, you will pass it along to me, won't you? They may want to question her."
Gideon made to go, but his uncle held up his hand.
"I suggest you try looking in those usual spots again, my boy."
"Why?"
"Because the Blacks are like Kneazles. They always go to an unexpected den when the Griffin comes to call—all underground, all together. But when the danger passes, they resurface."
The entire room went into an uproar all at once.
Druella let out a scream and fainted dead away, nearly bowling over Andromeda in the process. Lucretia and Irma crossed to the swooning, distraught matron, Ted fast at their heels. Pollux and Arcturus both started to shout, the former booming and indecorous, the latter sharp—nearly shrill, in one of the few instances of a total lack of control he had ever experienced in his life. Mrs. Black went still and then flashed to life, and Regulus was compelled to seize her wand hand before she turned it on her brother, who had turned the color of old parchment, the wind knocked out of his not insubstantial girth.
"I should say more precisely," said Sirius, coldly. "She tried to kill Regulus, and my father got in the way."
His uncle was the first to snap out of it.
"That's a lie," said Cygnus, giving his nephew a look of cold dislike. "He's lying."
Sirius snorted.
"What possible reason would I have to lie? I have no motive to discredit you, Cygnus, you've done enough of that all on your own."
His uncle recoiled and tried, without much success, to come up with the right description for his own outrage. Sirius didn't wait for his sputtering to take on meaning.
"Don't pretend to be shocked. There's not a person in this room who doesn't know what Bella's capable of—or that you have no control over your daughter whatsoever."
Nobody in the room dared disagree. Ted fanned Druella, still prone on the floor, but the rest of the family—including poor Dru's mother-in-law and daughter—were more interested in Sirius's story than her distress.
"What I want to know," said Arcturus. "—is why ?"
Sirius turned to address his grandfather, whose cold and flinty eyes resembled a cobra's—capable of striking to kill at the slightest provocation.
"Two weeks ago Regulus told Lord Voldemort to get stuffed, and not fancying how this would reflect on her, she attempted to recruit me to replace my brother in his ranks. When I declined this charming offer, she decided it was just as well and that she would off us both. Does that clear it up for you?"
"But what did Orion have to do with any of this?"
Sirius rounded on his grandfather, filled with a sudden burst of righteous indignation on his father's behalf.
"We are his children. He cares about us. I realize this may be a foreign concept for you, but as soon as he got wind of it—" Sirius glanced at his mother, careful not to give more away than he had to. "—He…intervened."
There was a long silence while they all absorbed this.
"How the devil did he even get into that house?" wondered Pollux. "That moldering castle of Roddy's is a damned fortress."
"I saw him on the stair last night," said Lucretia, her voicing sounding frail—nearly fragile. "He was—he mentioned going out and told me—not to, to bother anyone about it—"
"'Rion got the portkey from me," Cygnus admitted.
"Why didn't you say anything?" said Arcturus, rapping his cane on the floor.
"I wasn't aware there was anything to say. He was placid as always, he said he had to have a word with Reggie, and not to bother Burgie about it."
"Not bother me?" His sister hissed. "' Not bother me ?' Your daughter does this to my husband—"
"–This story doesn't make sense," Irma interrupted her children, apparently oblivious to the possibility that one of them was about to murder the other. "Why should Bellatrix attack Orion, of anyone?"
"She found out that Father helped me pass information about the Dark Lord to Dumbledore," said Regulus, in a muted voice.
Arcturus turned on his younger grandson.
"I don't believe it. My son would never do something so fool-hardy without consulting me."
"You aren't the only one who was shocked by it, Arcturus," said Sirius, his voice caustic. "I never knew he had it in him until last night."
"It did not happen," Arcturus repeated. His confidence in his own words seemed to be diminishing, as though the force of Sirius's diatribe against him had pulled back the curtain, revealed him for what he was—a tired old man who had left the business of understanding his children too late.
"Even if you're right," said Sirius. "Bellatrix certainly believes he did."
"How do you know that?" asked Arcturus.
"She told me as much—and showed me the proof. She had me tied to a chair in her house last night, and I had to listen to her spew all manner of vile things."
"Bellatrix did what to you?" demanded Walburga. Her father snorted and rolled his eyes.
"I can't see Bella tying your whelp to a chair unless he did something to deserve it, Burgie."
"Thanks for the vote of support, Granddad."
"I know you of old, boy. You've got the Devil's own temper, just like your mother."
"And as we all know, Bellatrix is a model of even-temperedness and mental stability."
"She never does anything without a reason," said Irma.
"She's one of them," said Andromeda quietly.
"Bella?"
"She's a servant of the Dark Lord."
Pollux stared at his estranged granddaughter like she'd sprouted a horn.
"But—she's a woman!"
Sirius, in spite of himself, snorted.
"Why is that the part of this story that everybody has a hard time believing?"
Pollux flapped his hand in irritation at Sirius.
"She always intended on joining him," Andromeda continued, not looking at either of her parents. "Ever since we were in school. She told me as much."
"Andromeda," Druella said, sniffling on the floor. "How—how could you not tell me?"
Any sympathy Mrs. Tonks felt for her mother vanished, replaced with a cold fury that marked her as a Black in blood, if not in name.
"Because it's none of my affair, Mummy. But if you thought that Bella would be content knitting doilies and serving tea, then you never knew your daughter at all."
"We know our daughter," said Cygnus. "And she knows her place. She would never betray the family."
Sirius laughed—loud and humorless.
"Please! Bella has no respect for anyone in this family. She has no respect for you , Cygnus. She told me as much last night."
"I will not be insulted by a wretched blood traitor—"
Cygnus Black reached for his wand. Sirius didn't reach for his.
"If I were you, Uncle Cyg, I would be more conciliatory," he said, coldly. "One day, sooner than you think, you may find yourself in my power, and I will recall this little disagreement we had and feel less inclined to loosen the purse straps in your favor."
Cygnus tightened his fist, and had he not been in the presence of his mother might've taken a swing at his nephew.
"What do you mean by that, you insolent cub?"
"I am still my father's heir, and if he should die, then that responsibility will fall to me automatically, in a binding magical agreement that not even Arcturus can break. In that case, everybody in this room will be stuck with me as the future head of this family, and let me tell you right off the bat that when Arcturus finally does kick it, the first order of business will be getting the women in this family under control!"
While Irma and Walburga looked aghast, Lucretia almost seemed as though she was smothering a laugh.
"I don't believe Orion would leave the care of this family to you."
"It really says something about his opinion of you if I'm the preferred option, doesn't it?"
His uncle took a step towards him, face reddening with anger. Sirius had a manic gleam in his eye.
"I will not tolerate being spoken to this way," said Cygnus.
"What are you doing to do, demand satisfaction?" asked Sirius, raising his voice. "Go right ahead. You don't have the stomach for it. It's why Bella doesn't respect you—"
"— Sirius Orion! —" Irma snapped. "Hold your tongue!"
"All due respect, madam, I will not. I'll have it out with him, and with anyone else here who wants to have a go at me, or my parents, or my brother. I have no doubt you will be the first in line."
" You dare—"
"—What is everyone shouting about?"
The small voice from the doorway to the side chamber had an immediate silencing effect on the room. They might behave this way in front of each other, but not in front of outside elements.
Even if they were eight-year-old girls.
"Dora—!" Andromeda rushed forward. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"….Mummy?" She rubbed her eyes. "Shouting…m'woke me up."
Nymphadora Tonks blinked and looked around the room.
"Wass' happening?"
The girl's entire maternal family all turned to look at Andromeda in unison. Mrs. Tonks went red in the face, all cool composure gone. With no other object of frustration in sight, she turned on her beleaguered husband.
"Ted, for the love of—why didn't you leave her with your mother?"
"It was four in the bloody morning, what the hell was I supposed to say?"
Dora, immune to her parents' occasional bickering, ran across the room to her father. At the sight of a frail blonde woman quietly weeping on the floor next to him, she stopped, concerned.
"What's wrong?" Dora asked, innocently. "Why are you sad?"
The sight of her estranged granddaughter only made Druella weep harder. Dora's hair turned the same soft shade of blonde as Druella's. Andromeda walked over to her and took her by the hand.
"What have I always told you about not speaking to witches and wizards to whom you have not been introduced, Nymphadora?"
"That it's rude," Dora said, naively.
"Yes. It is. Now apologize to your—" Andromeda hesitated. "—Grandmother."
Dora's eyes went wide, and turned the same shade of blue as Druella, who sniffed into a handkerchief, but kept her eyes fixed on the girl.
"You're my granny?"
"I—I suppose so."
She turned to her mother, confused.
"But—I thought my other granny and granddad didn't like us."
Never had such an innocent statement falling on a crowd less disposed to defend it.
"Who told you that, child?" said Cygnus, his voice sharp.
She turned to look at him. He stared at her as if he'd never seen anything quite like her.
"My mummy did." She tilted her head. "Who are you?"
"Didn't your mother just tell you not to address wizards to whom you have not been formally introduced?"
"You spoke to me first!" Dora pointed out. "Why won't you say your name?"
Her hair turned black, her eyes, gray, and she made her nose slightly bulbous to match her grandfather. Cygnus's eyebrows rose at this impressive display of natural magic and insolence. Ted suppressed a grim smile.
"That's your grandfather, Dora," Tonks said. Dora's mouth turned into an 'o.' "He's feeling a bit—out of sorts over some very bad news. Why don't you go over there and, er—cheer him up?"
Dora ran to her grandfather and threw herself into his arms. Cygnus caught her—an involuntary response for a man who had raised three boisterous young witches. He hoisted the child in his arms and held her at eye level, though he was careful to keep his expression disdainful, lest anyone later say that he enjoyed holding the imp.
"Hello. My name is Dora. Nymphadora, I mean." The girl scowled, and the resemblance between her and her grandfather became rather acute. "It's a silly name."
"It's the name your mother and father gave you, and you ought to respect it," her grandfather informed the child wriggling about his arms. She was immune to his severity, too fascinated by this discovery of new relations.
"That child is a metamorphmagus," said Irma, peering down at the girl from above her son's shoulders.
"Yes, mama," He maneuvered the girl in his arms. "I can see that."
"You still haven't said your name," Dora pointed out.
"It's Cygnus, but you can hardly expect to use it." His middle daughter walked over to him. "Here, Andromeda, take your brat."
"I am not a brat!"
"You must certainly are," Cygnus informed her, dryly. "And you seem quite proud of the fact."
Mrs. Tonks moved to extricate her daughter from her father's arms, but when the moment came to let her go, he hesitated. Seeing an opening, Dora kissed him on the cheek.
"Away with you," he muttered, feebly. His granddaughter giggled, and even Andromeda's mouth turned up for a moment.
"Our family is very odd, mummy," Dora mumbled.
"From the mouths of babes," said Lucretia. "I'm afraid, my dear child, it is rather a tangled mess at the moment."
"And one I intend to cut through," remarked her father. He turned back to Sirius. "Well? Are you quite finished, or are we to expect more theatrics from you?"
"I suspect, Papa, that the show is only beginning," said Mrs. Prewett. The shock of her brother's attack seemed to have worn off, and she had recovered a bit of her tried and true verve . "But you can hardly blame Sirius, when so much of this was put on him."
Lucretia's words blunted Arcturus's anger, and when he next addressed his grandson, it was with his usual tightly controlled imperiousness.
"Best start from the beginning."
"All right, all right. I'll tell you what happened." Sirius looked around the room. "But not everyone."
"What?"
"Only the men stay," said Sirius, flatly. "Arcturus, Pollux, Regulus, Cygnus. And Ted, because I need some sanity in the room with me."
Walburga bristled.
"Sirius Orion—"
"—You've been through enough as it is," Sirius interrupted his mother, gently. "You've lived it, you don't need to hear it again."
He had no intention of letting his grandfather bully his poor mother, and perhaps sensing that was his motive, Walburga unclenched her fists and relaxed.
"Andromeda." Sirius turned to his cousin. "Will you please take your mother and mine in the other room? Granny and Lucretia can help you look after Dora—"
"—Lucretia stays," said Walburga, cooly.
He rolled his eyes.
"Why? So you can have a spy?"
His mother didn't answer—not that she needed to, and Sirius had not the energy to argue with her when this was the most blatant 'losing battle' his imagination could conceive of.
"Fine, fine. Lucretia can stay." He turned to Arcturus. "Assuming her father gives permission, of course."
Sirius bowed at his grandfather with ironic courtesy. Arcturus gave his daughter a once-over. Headstrong as ever, she cooly met his stare.
"Lucretia…can stay." She gave Arcturus a tight smile he did not return. "She has much to answer for. As do you."
The women in the family all shuffled out of the room and into the antechamber where Dora had so recently been sleeping under Ted's coat (she yawned, and for her own sake, Sirius dearly hoped she would return to that safe haven.) Irma and Walburga lingered at the door the longest. Sirius gave his mother a reassuring nod, and Irma steered her daughter out of the room—something only his obstinate granny was capable of doing.
When the door was shut behind them he turned around and squared up Arcturus.
Of all the masks in the family, his was the most inscrutable.
"You weren't surprised," said Sirius.
Arcturus, true to form, revealed nothing in his reply except polite interest.
"To what do you refer?"
"Any of it. My part, in particular."
Arcturus shrugged his shoulders, nonchalantly, but he kept his sharp eyes fixed on his grandson.
"You ceased to surprise me before you were breeched. You are far less interesting than you give yourself credit for."
Sirius curled his lip. Typical of Arcturus to obfuscate the point. His grandfather was not one to tip his hand—that was what made him such a good card player.
"Did Burke tell you I went to see him about the entail?"
"What I discuss with my solicitor is between him and me."
Nice dodge.
"He must've," Sirius pressed. "My father said he would."
His grandfather reached into his cloak and pulled out a long ceremonial dagger. Arcturus held it in front of his face for the whole room to see. Ted took a step back, perhaps thinking the old man intended to stab someone in the room and not wanting to draw any more attention to himself than Sirius already had.
Sirius started to laugh.
"What the devil is that?" asked Pollux, coming up for a closer look. The rubies in the handle sparkled like great drops of blood—the intended effect.
"A ruddy big knife," said Ted, dryly.
"I received this as a Christmas gift from my son," said Arcturus, in a silky voice. "Knowing he would never dare give me something so insolent, I decided to investigate its provenance. It wasn't difficult to guess from where it had been purchased, and Borgin has always told me what I wanted to know."
"I notice you didn't return it," said Sirius. "So I guess I wasn't too far off the mark, guessing your tastes."
"The craftsmanship is fine," answered his grandfather, flatly.
"And the point sharp. I expect there's some people in this hospital you'd like to use it on right now."
Arcturus returned the dagger to the inside of his cloak. Pollux remained confused at the exchange, until Lucretia explained that her brother had put Sirius up to the task of doing his Christmas shopping for him.
"You don't mean you're the one who bought Irma that damned hat—"
"Well?" said Arcturus, cutting off his cousin's string of questions for their shared grandson. "You may begin any time."
Everyone in the room turned to look at Sirius. He sighed and began his story.
"It all started two weeks ago. Regulus showed up on my doorstep half-dead, bleeding all over the doormat. He was delirious, and I later found out he had been bitten by an inferi."
"Oh, Reggie!" cried his godmother. "Is that what did that awful thing to your arm?"
Regulus flushed and shrugged a half-nod, as if his fatal encounter with dark magic was a mere trifling and somewhat embarrassing detail of the tale.
"Reg was insistent that he needed to see Dumbledore. That he had some information for him, I gathered. I went up to Scotland to get Dumbledore and left Regulus in the flat with my friend, who was tending to his wounds. While I was in Hogsmeade, I got jumped by a gang of Death Eaters and had to fend them off. So I—"
"—What Death Eaters?" Arcturus interrupted.
"I don't know—I didn't stop to collect their damned dance cards."
"If you know who they were and what is good for you, you'll tell me names."
Sirius stared at his grandfather. He could see Arcturus was in a particularly dangerous mood, and it would not do to test him—not this early, anyway.
"Rosier. Evan Rosier was one of them, I know that." Pollux muttered under his breath about the Rosier family. "And Bellatrix."
"How do you know Bella was one of 'em?" Cygnus demanded.
"Because she was the only one who got a shot off on me," Sirius replied, tartly. "And she bragged about it last night, if you must know."
"I can well believe that," said Arcturus. "Your daughter has about as much humility as a jackal in a henhouse, Cygnus."
He was hardly in a position to deny the fact, so Cygnus retreated into resentful silence once more. Arcturus nodded at Sirius to continue.
"When I got back to the flat my—" Sirius hesitated. "—My mother and father were there. The house elf had told them where to find Regulus."
"And where is this flat?" asked Arcturus.
"It's in Lisson Grove," Lucretia supplied.
"Lisson Grove ?" repeated Pollux. "There's no houses fit for a wizard there."
"Oh, it's not fit for one, believe me," she laughed. "It's in a Muggle housing block."
His grandfather sputtered something incomprehensible. Sirius resisted the natural urge to tell Lucretia to mind her own business and Pollux to get stuffed.
"It really doesn't matter, Granddad," he said, with a touch of impatience.
"I should say it does! Who knows the riffraff you've been rubbing shoulders with the last three years?"
"No worse than the riffraff Regulus has been rubbing shoulders with. Which is no thanks to Bella!"
"Sirius—" Regulus pleaded.
"—What happened then?" snapped Arcturus, cutting his younger grandson off.
"Some—words were exchanged with my parents." Understatement of the century. "You can imagine it was a bit of a shock seeing each other like that—given what had happened."
"Was it, indeed?" Arcturus sounded acid. "I can only imagine what the two of them had to say about you."
"Then—Dumbledore arrived."
His grandfather leaned forward on his cane, more interested.
"— And ?"
"And—Regulus gave him something…important. Something that belongs to Voldemort."
"What?"
"Look, the specifics don't matter, all that matters—"
"—It's a piece of the Dark Lord's soul."
Sirius turned on his brother, incredulous. Regulus shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, 'you know he'll find out eventually, so why bother hiding it?' Which was true, of course—now that the cat was out of the bag there was little about this scenario they could keep from their canny grandfather.
"A horcrux?" Arcturus's eyebrows flew up. "The Dark Lord has a horcrux—that you found?"
"Reg retrieved it. And nearly died in the attempt."
Sirius explained that an agreement had been made between his parents and Dumbledore that Regulus would stay with him and him traveling abroad would be presented to the world as a cover story. His relatives seemed to find this the most fantastical part of the tale.
"Hard to imagine Orion sinking to the level of dealing with that wily half-blood," said Cygnus, with a snort.
"He must've made it worth his while." Arcturus turned to Sirius. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"What did Dumbledore offer your mother and father in return for this…arrangement?"
Sirius shifted uncomfortably under the dual scrutiny of his grandfathers.
"Who says he offered anything?"
"Don't play the fool with me. We both know your parents would never have agreed to this inanity without a great inducement."
Sirius was suddenly conscious of everyone staring at him, waiting for him to speak. It wasn't something he particularly cared to explain in a large group, or preferably, ever. He looked to Ted to sympathy, but found his cousin's husband was too busy studying his newfound in-laws and wondering at how he had found himself in this room to notice.
"Can't you guess, Papa?" asked Mrs. Prewett, with a little laugh. "There's only one thing that Albus Dumbledore has in his power Burgie and 'Rion want."
Lucretia smiled at the filthy look at Sirius gave her. It did not deter her, far from it—it only amused his aunt more.
"You?" Arcturus asked, tapping his cane on the floor. Sirius flushed. "Perhaps that half-blood is not so much of a soft-hearted fool as I thought. He knew exactly what line of attack to take, damn him."
"You can't blame me for this!" Sirius said. "I hadn't the faintest idea I was still my father's heir until he told me two weeks ago, and as I'm sure you know by now, I was only too happy to extricate myself from the line of succession. I even went to Burke to see how discreetly I could arrange it."
"Did you?"
"Oh, don't pretend you don't know, Arcturus," said Sirius, scornfully. "He probably wrote you a letter the second I stepped out of that office."
Arcturus did not deny it.
"What a damned insolent thing for you to do," remarked Pollux, with some feeling. "It's not a son's business to be disowning himself. That's for a father to decide."
"Well, I hope you remember that where Cygnus is concerned."
His uncle puffed up with indignation.
"Don't be absurd, boy," said his grandfather. "He's the only son I have left, I couldn't disown him if I wanted to."
Cygnus sputtered out a protest of his father's tepid defense.
"Well, Cyg, I guess you can count your lucky stars Alphard is dead. Of course, the line dies with you, and Granddad has Regulus. He could actually keep that branch of the family alive by siring some sons, instead of a passel of witches, most of whom are more trouble than they're worth."
"Very nice, Sirius," said Ted.
"I did say most. "
"Aren't you going to tell him about you coming to the birthday party?" asked Lucretia, with rather more steel than innocence. Sirius rounded on his aunt, annoyed.
"Yes, I—I would have got to that!"
"Not fast enough."
"What are you talking about, Lucretia?" asked Arcturus.
"Sob came to your birthday party, Papa. He was in disguise."
" You were one of the gatecrashers?" Arcturus barked at his grandson.
"One of them. If it makes you feel any better, my father caught me and chucked me out. I gather you put him up to that. Thanks, it just about ruined my night."
"I should say so." His grandfather couldn't help but look gratified. "What were you doing there?"
"I was gathering information."
"For Dumbledore?"
He shrugged and nodded.
"Some Death Eaters decided your birthday bash would be the perfect cover for passing on information."
"What Death Eaters?"
Sirius considered his the answer for a moment.
"I wasn't actually told. But you have spies everywhere, I'm sure you probably have a greater means to discover who it was than I do. Or you could guess."
The old man was clever enough to see a backhanded compliment for what it was, and canny enough to know when to not bother commenting.
"What is this drivel about Sirius being at the party?" barked Pollux. "I was there the whole damn evening, and I saw nothing of either of Burgie's whelps."
"Do you remember that enormous clod footed Norwegian?" said Lucretia. "That was Sob in disguise."
"I never saw any Norwegian."
"Well, there was one there, anyway, whether you saw him or not. That was Sirius."
"Oh, was it? I suppose you and my daughter were in on this, Lucretia."
"Hardly! I only found out later, and she didn't know either. Believe me, Walburga was quite furious when she discovered her precious prince was laughing at us all right in front of our noses."
"I didn't even know you people were going to be there, for the record. It's not exactly my idea of a good time having to spend an evening with you people."
"Well, I hope your mother took you over her knee when she found out."
"No such luck. She just made me eat pickled herring and brown cheese."
"Why did she do that?" asked Ted.
"It's what they eat for breakfast in Norway. I guess that's her idea of a little joke."
"I've always admired how inventive your mother is with punishments," said Lucretia.
"That's getting off lightly," said Pollux. "There's no excuse for not coming over and saying hello to your grandmother, boy, do you understand me?"
At this, Sirius could not help but roll his eyes.
"I couldn't introduce myself, Granddad, I was undercover . Granny would've blown it for me. Three years worth of her harping would've ruined the party for everyone else."
"Don't be smart. Where were you when all this was going on?" Pollux demanded of his other grandson.
Regulus, to his credit, didn't shrink back as he might've once.
"In Sirius's flat."
"That's where you've been all this time instead of France, apparently." Regulus nodded. "Insolent thing to do. Doesn't seem right, at Christmas."
Sirius patted his brother on the shoulder in solidarity.
"Why not? It's the one upside for Reg in this whole mess, not having to spend the entire month of December with you lot."
"Is that your opinion, Regulus?"
"Of course not—"
"—Well, of course he'd never admit it."
Ted strained to keep his face straight as both of the grandfathers in their own ways expressed displeasure—Arcturus, with an icy glare, Pollux with his more bombastic and slightly obtuse muttering of disrespecting and utter cheek.
"You didn't have to rile him up like that," his brother muttered in his ear.
"I can't help that he has no sense of proportion," Sirius hissed back. "Besides, you know I'm right."
He kept his eyes on his paternal grandfather. He had expected an interrogation from Arcturus, and instead found him reserved, even cautious. It occurred to Sirius that there was a great deal of this story the wily patriarch might've figured out all on his own.
"All I have to say," boomed Pollux. "Is that you're very lucky your father found you and not me, or you'd have had more than being thrown out to contend with."
"I don't believe he was there," said Sirius's uncle, who had been up until this point sulking in sullen silence.
"Why not?"
"This is all nonsense. His father didn't have time to catch him doing anything, he was in the hall with us the whole time. As far as I know," said Cygnus. "The only thing Orion threw out of that party was a stray dog."
"What are you talking about?" asked Arcturus.
"He was late to the game, remember? Someone—maybe it was Rookwood—said he he saw 'Rion dragging a dog down the hall on a lead."
Sirius felt his face flush. Lucretia watched him closely, a sly grin growing over her face.
"Oh, Sirius! You really are the cleverest little fool that ever was. How long have you been able to do that?"
Sirius ground his teeth. This was why he had not wanted any women in the room.
"A—few years."
"And you managed to keep it a secret all that time? Only to let the Kneazle out of the bag the moment your papa had you in his power. That is so like you, dear boy."
"It wasn't my fault!" Sirius said, momentarily forgetting there was anyone else in the room. "One of my stupid friends let it slip, and he threatened to tell her."
"What exactly did you think your mother was going to do with that information? Have you clapped up? What good would you be to her in prison? The Dementors could hardly handle you. Not that I can blame you for breaking the law—it is a rather stupid law after all."
"What law did he break?"
"Can't you keep up, Papa? That wasn't a stray Augustus Rookwood saw Orion dragging out of the party, it was Sirius. That was how he smuggled him out of Malfoy manor undetected, wasn't it?"
The room erupted it into a roar of disbelief, anger, and amusement.
"Do you mean to tell me that this whelp can turn into a mongrel?"
"Not a mongrel, surely," said his aunt. "With his breeding, I'm sure his pedigree as a canine is impeccable."
"I always said your father needed to keep you on a short leash," laughed Cygnus. "Never thought he'd take my advice quite so literally."
"Very funny, Uncle Cyg. Godfather of the year, that's you."
"Years?" said Ted, incredulous. "You did this years ago, when you were still in school? Are you off your head , Sirius? that's a real crime with actual consequences—not to mention it's dangerous."
"Only if you don't know what you're doing, which I did."
"Who cares about the ministry?" said Arcturus. "It's none of their affair. He should've told someone in the family. His father for a start."
"Funny, when he found out, that's what he said."
"Seems an awful risk," said Lucretia. "Whatever reason did you have for doing such a thing, Sob?"
"It was a noble cause, that's all you need to know."
"I'm sure you're a regular Knight Galahad," said his grandfather, somewhat acerbically. "And after your father threw you out like the cur you are, what then?"
"He did the most ridiculous thing a man could in the circumstances—he confronted Dumbledore."
"He did?"
"I wasn't there, but I gathered later from what was told to me that he didn't appreciate his son being sent on an undercover mission at his father's birthday party."
"Orion told Dumbledore that?"
Arcturus looked impressed, against his own instincts.
"Oh, yes. He told him off, if you can believe it."
"As he should. The sheer cheek of it—what else did he say?"
"He told Dumbledore what he wanted to know. He passed on the message that I was meant to get."
"My son? I don't believe it."
"Whether you believe it or not, doesn't make it any less true."
"I won't believe it until I hear it from his own lips when he wakes up."
"If he wakes up."
Arcturus's chin trembled with barely suppressed anger.
"My son will not die before me." He said the words as if he could will them to be so. "And what was this message that Orion supposedly intercepted?"
Regulus and Sirius exchanged a glance.
"I don't think we need to—"
"It was for me, grandfather," said Regulus. "The Dark Lord wanted me to kill Sirius."
The room erupted into indignation. Sirius rolled his eyes. Way to ease them into it, Reg .
"Oh Reggie, is that why you changed your tune?"
"Why would that be the reason? Lord Voldemort's a bleeding madman. I suspect Reg just wised up."
"Well, of course that's true," said Lucretia, doubtfully. "But he has always adored you, Sob."
"I don't see what any of this has to do with Bella."
"Don't you? She found out about it, and knowing what it would look like if her dear master discovered that the cousin she had personally brought into the fold had betrayed him and started passing information to Albus Dumbledore, she made it her mission to flush him out of hiding and get rid of him."
"It was Bellatrix who got you in with that terrible crowd?" asked Lucretia.
"'Fashionable crowd' is what we used to call it," said Sirius. "And yes, don't deny it Reg, because I know for a fact it's true."
"How?" said Arcturus.
"She told me herself! She was feeling quite chatty last night. I never realized how much she admired me. Apparently, Bella thinks she and I are the only ones left who encompass the true violent and murderous spirit of this family. I don't know whether to be flattered or to throw myself off a bridge."
Nobody provided a suggestion.
"Anyway," he continued. "Bella used me as bait for Regulus, and our father realized what happened and came after us, and that's more or less how this happened."
"I still don't understand how the blazes any of this happened," said Pollux. "Seems a cock and bull story if ever I've heard one."
"Don't trouble yourself, Granddad. I doubt there's any possible way I could've explained this that you would understand."
Pollux cuffed him on the shoulder.
"What I want to know," cut in his other grandfather. "Is how Bellatrix discovered any of this. She was not at my birthday party, if I recall. And yet the whelp implies she knew of the intruders."
"Someone found out about the mission and tipped off a Death Eater about the uninvited guests. I have reason to believe she got her information from him."
"Do you know who this informant was?"
Sirius hesitated.
"I have suspicion, but I don't know for sure. I would hate to impugn anybody's good name until I've…gathered all the facts."
Arcturus stared into the eyes that were identical to his own for a long moment, and it took all his grandson's self-control not to blink.
"Well," said Arcturus, coolly. "When you've gathered all the facts, I hope you'll share them with me."
Sirius had every reason to believe his canny grandfather already had a sneaking suspicion who the culprit was, but he merely nodded along with the pretense.
"You know what puzzles me, Sob?" asked Lucretia. "However Bella got you there in the first place."
"She invited me, of course. It's the only way I could've got on the grounds."
"You hardly expect us to believe you went for that reason. Everyone knows you can't stand her set."
"Can you blame me? Most of them want me dead. Some of them tried to make it happen."
"Bella lured Sirius there," said Regulus.
"With what?"
Regulus's lip twitched.
"Not with what. With whom ."
Lucretia looked puzzled for a minute, and then she realized what her nephew meant and her face broke into another wide smile, though it quickly turn into a look of exasperation.
"Oh, Sirius! How on earth did she find out about her ? You really are too much!"
"Her?" Pollux repeated. "What her ? Who the devil are you speaking of, Lucy?"
"Sob's paramour. I suppose she did spend Christmas with Cygnus and everybody, but you are the most indiscreet boy, if Bellatrix managed to sniff her out."
"Sniff who out?" asked Pollux.
"You're not talking about that French chit that's been tagging after Cissy all this Christmas," said Cygnus, who was generally less slow on the uptick than his father.
"Yes, that's the one."
"What is she to do with this whelp?"
"Sirius left this part out of his story. They met at your birthday party, Papa. She discovered he was an imposter, and then Sirius had to make violent love to her to keep her from telling everybody present all his secrets!"
Her nephew's face flushed bright crimson.
"That is not what happened, Lucretia! You're off your gourd."
"Am I? Did you or did you not get caught by your mother trying to sneak that girl back into Grimmauld Place in the middle of the night?"
Ted started to laugh. It took Pollux five seconds to fully comprehend what Lucretia had said.
"Burgie caught him doing what ?"
"Evidently," said Arcturus, acerbically. "Your daughter's chaperonage leaves something to be desired."
"Burgie is out of practice managing Sirius. Though I'm not sure how good she ever was at it to begin with."
"You're twisting everything around and making me look like some sort of—"
"—Heartless rake? Libertine?" Lucretia laughed. "Oh, my dear boy, I didn't mean to imply anything untoward happened. You're much too like your papa for me to believe that ."
"Bella convinced Sirius that she had Miss Battancourt in her power," Regulus cut in. "And so he ran off to her rescue."
"Without checking her house first? The gallant, stupid Gryffindor strikes again."
"I did check her house!" exclaimed Sirius, indignantly.
"In the end, she had to be the one to rescue him, " Regulus plowed on. "Along with his best mate's wife. And me."
"That is a very selective version of events—"
The door that led to the outdoor hallway flashed scarlet around the edges, and there was a blinding light, visible from under the frame, and a resounding crack. There was also a string of curses from a voice that was as familiar to Sirius as his own—and usually more welcome.
"— James ?" he called through the door. "Prongs, is that you?"
His friend showed no signs of having heard him. Evidently the spell that allowed the room's inhabitants to hear when they were under siege didn't grant its victims the same courtesy.
"That seems like a nasty curse you put on the door, Papa," Lucretia observed, dispassionately.
"This only proves how necessary it was. You expect me to let strangers wander into my family's business in the middle of it?"
"You did choose a public hospital to conduct your business in," Ted pointed out. Arcturus did not spare the interloper a glance. It was evident he considered himself highly indulgent for even allowing Andromeda's husband to be present.
It took a little cajoling from his grandson to get Arcturus to allow James to bypass the spell that kept out all but the family circle. Sirius flung the door open and a great wash of relief flooded over him at the sight of his best friend. Apart from a nasty bruise on his cheek James Potter looked no worse for the wear.
"Prongs! Thank God ."
James gave him something between a punch on the arm and a hug.
"Where have you been, James? I was so—"
Sirius stopped himself when he realized that between his father and family concerns, he had hardly thought of James's fate at all. Not that he didn't care—but James Potter was no longer the overwhelming preoccupation of his heart, just as he knew that at some point in the last year Lily had replaced him as first in his best friend's.
It was an odd feeling.
James seemed to understand, and he gave Sirius a wryly knowing smile.
"I can take care of myself without you around, you know."
"Yeah, right," Sirius grumbled. "What have you been doing?"
"Nothing much—Mundungus and I got picked up by an Auror for dodgy and suspicious behavior down at the pub, that's all." Sirius raised an eyebrow. "On purpose, of course. To get ahold of Frank, but never mind that, now—Padfoot, where the hell have you been? Nobody has seen or heard—"
James stopped, realizing that the scene had onlookers.
"Who's all this, then?"
"My family."
"I know you," said Lucretia, eying him through one end of a spy-glass she wore on a chain from her wrist. "You're the one my sister-in-law hates."
James goggled at her.
"Erm...am I?"
"Dear me, yes! Just your name sends her into an incandescent rage. It's something to behold. It's too bad she's in the other room, you could see it for yourself."
Sirius's best friend, having some limited sense of irony, nevertheless caught onto the general tone and tenor of Lucretia's comment.
"I'll—have to take your word for it."
Ted Tonks was the only one who actually shook James's hand, though Lucretia studied him with lurid curiosity.
"What happened?" asked Sirius. "Has anybody been arrested?"
"I don't know—I mean, I was, but that was on purpose—"
"—Have you spoken to Dumbledore?"
"No, but I'm sure by now he's heard—"
"—And where the hell are the girls?"
Sirius's friend let out a growl of frustration.
"That's what I've come about, if you'd let me get a word in edgewise!"
James pulled a scrawled note out of his pocket and shoved it into Sirius's hand. He opened up and recognized Mrs. Potter's handwriting at once.
James,
We are safe. No idea when or if this will reach you. Colette managed to persuade the owl to wake up and take it for us (so haughty!) but I have my doubts about whether he'll do his job or chuck this in the nearest bin.
The elf dropped us at Sirius's parents', then disapparated without warning. The house shut us in. Apparently it does that when there's no one from the family around? Portraits are vague on this point. 15th century astronomer that looks like a ponce told me if no one comes back, they will inform the undertaker which set of bones is which.
We have been stuck here for hours, Colette is despairing. Please find someone in the family to let us out, I am learning more French curses than I have time to forget. Any illusions I had about her innocence have been shattered forever.
Lily
P.S. The Blacks kept Sirius's room as a shrine to him, which means it's a shrine to you. Pathetic.
Sirius read the note three times, though he skipped the postscript the second two. The first line had unclenched part of his heart he hadn't realized was stuck.
"Well?" demanded James. "Someone needs to go over there and get them out!"
"I can't leave the hospital," said Sirius, with real regret. "And you can sooner expect to be inducted into this family than see any of this lot leave it, either. How did you know to come here, anyway?"
"I ran into Gideon at the Ministry—he seemed to think there was a good chance I'd find you here. Said someone in your family was—"
He looked over at Regulus, and seeing the fresh wounds that had certainly not been there when he and the younger Black brother had infiltrated Lestrange Castle the night before.
"—Your father?"
Sirius sucked in a long breath and nodded.
"Shit. What the hell happened to you after we left? Is he alright?"
"It's a—long story." James swore under his breath, and Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. "There's—some parts I'm still piecing together myself."
His expression darkened—a black cloud, just for a moment. His friend noticed the change and frowned.
"What are you not saying, Padfoot?"
His friend considered him for a long moment before he spoke.
"When was the last time you saw Peter?"
The total subject change threw his friend off.
"I don't know—Christmas Eve, I guess," said James, confused. "What has Wormy to do with anything?" Sirius glanced at Regulus and didn't reply. "What is this about, Sirius?"
It was obvious that whatever this was, James Potter didn't like it by half. Sirius's mouth twisted in a grim smile.
"I'll tell you what I know, when I know it. In the meantime, there's Lily to think of, right?"
"Of course, but—"
Sirius crossed the room to his paternal grandfather. At the arrival of his grandson's unfortunate friend, Arcturus's expression had turned from his usual cool contempt to one of total neutrality. It was an expression that his friends would recognize from years of playing cards with him.
"So—where is he, then?"
Sirius expected a denial, for his grandfather to demure and pretend not to understand the question, but to his surprise and satisfaction, Arcturus didn't.
"At Noire House."
The corner of Sirius's lip turned up.
"All night I've been wondering why he buggered off when he did. Should've been obvious. It would've had to be you. He was your last resort, wasn't he?"
A look of displeasure flashed in Arcturus's eyes. Sirius shook his head and tutted.
"The servants always know. If no one else in the family will spill the beans, that's what you're left with—" From the look on his grandfather's face, Sirius could well guess the answer to his question, but he felt the need to ask it, just the same, if for no other reason than that he would enjoy hearing it from the horse's mouth. "What did he tell you?"
There was an ominous silence.
Sirius exchanged a look of alarm with Regulus.
"Merlin, you didn't have him kill himself, did you?"
"Don't be ridiculous," his grandfather scoffed. "That would be a waste of a perfectly good servant. He's loyal—to a fault."
"You mean loyal to someone who isn't you."
"The value of a house elf who can keep his master's secrets cannot be over emphasized," said Arcturus, with an uncharacteristic priggishness.
"He really didn't tell you a damn thing!" Sirius marveled. "Well, I hope it was worth the joy of asking. If you hadn't called him away, things might have been different."
"If my son hadn't been keeping secrets from me, there would've been no need to summon him," said Arcturus. "And perhaps you and your whelp of a brother would not have been in need of rescue in the first place."
"If your son keeps secrets from you, perhaps it's for you to reflect upon the reason why."
Arcturus turned icy.
"You have said enough for a lifetime on that subject, boy."
"Says you! Personally, I don't think I've said—"
"—Sirius, stop ." Lucretia stepped between them. " Please ."
She gave her nephew such a pleading look that Sirius couldn't help but relent.
Arcturus summoned Kreacher. To the surprise of both brothers, their mother's temperamental elf was not covered in bandages from his rather masochistic tendency to punish himself. They gathered from their grandfather this was because Arcturus 'needed the damn thing whole for the present', and had ordered him to stand down. Besides, Arcturus had to grudgingly admit, the elf had nothing to punish himself for, as he had obeyed the orders of his true master, the head of the family. Kreacher, being a creature of habits and rules, could hardly argue with the logic, though he seemed miserable at having abandoned his rescue mission of his mistress's wayward children, and immediately burst into tears of contrition upon sight of the brothers, begging to know whether she needed him.
"Your mistress is perfectly safe," said Sirius, not unkindly. "Now, go let out Miss Battancourt and Mrs. Potter. They're still where you left them at Grimmauld Place. And—" He spared James a glance. "You'll take Mr. Potter with you, too. And mind you're not insolent to him."
The elf gave James a resentful look which he ignored. Sirius tried to open the door for them, but it had stuck shut behind James when he entered the room.
"Will you lift that damn spell, already?"
Arcturus did as he was asked. The handle of the door glowed silver for a moment and clicked open.
The moment he lifted the spell, the barrier to sound was lifted as well, and the family was treated to a torrent of new voices in the hall—to Sirius's relief, the voices of complete strangers. The the shrill tone of overlapping conversation bespoke the kind of domestic quarrel that happened all too frequently in hospitals.
"People need to learn how to control themselves in public," remarked Pollux, with not the slightest hint of irony.
"Yes," agreed Ted. "God forbid anyone 'round here make a scene."
Kreacher went through the door, James following close at his heels. When they opened it the interlopers' words became distinguishable.
"—I told you, madame, there's no girl of that description here, nor any man like the one you've described, not here, nor any other floor—"
"— Je vais en juger par moi-même ."
A harassed looking Healer pushed through the door, followed closely by a middle-aged couple and an elderly lady behind them.
The younger woman was a dark-haired and rather fashionably dressed witch of about forty-five, speaking in rapid, staccato French in the direction of the Healer. Her midnight blue sable-trimmed cloak stood in stark contrast to the drab olive of her beleaguered husband, who was struggling to get a word in edgewise and likely had been for the duration of his marriage. He was attempting to translate his wife's strictures, but she was so much louder than him that there was little value in the exercise.
The elderly woman trailed behind them at a safe distance, dressed in a more austere lilac cloak. She watched the couple with the amused detachment of someone who has seen such a scene many times before.
The Blacks (along with one Tonks and Prewett by marriage) were all more or less of such adaptable natures that the intrusion of these new people to their private family scene did not cause any of them to bat more than an eyelash. They fell into a haughty silence, with expressions that suggested absolute faith that the newcomers would quickly realize the error they had made in entering this sacred domicile and would exit whence they came, with polite bows and scrapes.
The healer went behind the front desk and slammed her calloused hands palms flat on its surface.
"I don't know anything about it, God's honest truth, anything like what you say, madame—and that's the end of it. I'm sorry for your troubles, but I've got enough of my own to be getting on with—"
"If I would be careful, my dear woman, in invoking our Lord," said the elderly witch suddenly. "You have come dangerously close to blasphemy."
"I beg your pardon?"
The old witch walked up to the desk. She had the polite, commanding presence of a dowager who has long since taken soul control over her domain, and she breezed past the other two with confidence.
"We were right to persist, in the end." She turned and nodded towards Arcturus. "The man I am looking for is right here—just as I knew he would be."
The healer adjusted her spectacles and frowned at Arcturus.
"Well, I didn't know anything about it, ma'am. I'm in charge of the patients, not every dandy and willy-billy that walks in."
But her interlocutor had already lost interest in the argument. She crossed to the Black patriarch, who was eyeing her with the same look of cool suspicion he did most men and all of the female species.
"You," she said, in a stern voice. "Are the most difficult man in England to find at short notice. How many houses does one family need, I ask you?"
Everybody in the family sucked in a breath of shock at this address except Sirius, who simply stared at the woman's face.
"Do I know you, Madam?" Arcturus asked, with cold civility.
"Far better than you wish, I'd wager." She looked over his shoulder with a kind of careless nonchalance that few dared show in his presence. "Lucretia, my dear girl, can that really be you? Come here, come here! Let me have a look at you."
Mrs. Prewett blushed and walked forward, looking more like a gawky school girl than a woman of fifty. The old woman tilted her chin up and inspected Lucretia's face with interest—then just as quickly released it.
"No," she said, with regret. "Not a trace of your mother. That's the Black in you. Do you know what we used to say about your family?"
"What?"
"That they're called 'Black' because they blot everything else out, save the sun."
Lucretia laughed.
"Why—it isn't Eulalie—my mama's dear own Eulalie Fawley!"
"The very same, my dear."
"It's been an age!" Mrs. Prewett said. "You are wicked, as always."
Eulalie smiled and kissed Lucretia in the French style.
"Oh. Eulalie," said Arcturus, in a withering tone. "Forgive me…I hardly recognized you. You've changed so much."
Arcturus was careful to keep his tone just on the right side of polite, but the woman was not fooled—she understood what he meant perfectly.
"Impossible to find when you need him, and without a shred of gallantry or tact when you do," she said. "You haven't changed at all, Arcturus Black."
Though this formidable lady spoke the words in a flat and matter-of-fact way, there was a wry look in her eyes that said she was, if not pleased by the familiarity of his proud manners, at least a little amused by them.
"I'm in no mood for your nonsense, Eulalie," snapped Arcturus.
"Then you're lucky I came on such urgent and serious business."
"Wait a tick."
Eulalie and Arcturus turned to look at Sirius, who was staring at the woman with bewildered confusion.
"But I—I know you."
The elderly lady returned his look of appraisal, but her bland expression showed no recognition at all.
"You must have an excellent memory, young man. The last time we were formally introduced was—oh, it must've been at your grandmother's funeral."
"I'm not talking about Gran's funeral! I'm talking about yesterday, in the Hogshead." Her face remained blank, and for a moment Sirius wondered if he had gone loopy and hallucinated the whole thing. "You know, the inn! We met there. We spoke at—at great length."
The woman—he was sure she was the woman from the night before, hang her—gave him a frank and curiously penetrating look.
"Well, you're not going to deny it, are you?" Sirius demanded, indignantly.
Her expression changed, just a fraction.
"Denial—is a strong word," she said, carefully. " Delaying might be more apt."
"Why would you—"
"—You'll understand in a minute, I think."
She turned back to Arcturus.
"You're the one I wanted to see."
"Why were you so desperate for my company, Eulalie?" drawled Arcturus. "You've never been before."
"It's a family matter." She glanced around at the assembled relations. Ted was the only one who gave her a weak wave. "I know you understand that."
"Far better than I would like."
Her expression softened.
"This, I must admit, is not where I expected to find you, Arcturus. I hope it's nothing—"
"—It's none of your concern. Don't trouble yourself." Arcturus nodded towards the couple still standing behind Eulalie. "I suppose that's your son. And his wife."
"I'm afraid so," she said, dismissing her flesh and blood with one careless shrug. "They insisted upon coming along. I suppose they are her parents, after all, and some license must be given to them."
Arcturus narrowed his eyes. A strange sort of calm came over Sirius…a feeling he imagined not unlike that which the residents of Pompeii had once felt, almost exactly nineteen hundred years before.
"What is all this about?"
"A mystery I think you may be able to help me solve."
Had the residents of that ill-fated city seen plumes of smoke rising before their futile lives were cut short? Had they a warning?
"...Oh?"
"It's my granddaughter. You see, I foolishly put her in my sister Eugenie's charge—"
" No ," Sirius whispered. "No, no, no —"
"—And it would appear she's misplaced the girl. She lost her sometime last night. Disappeared from right under her nose."
"What is that to me, precisely?"
Arcturus glanced at his grandson, who had turned several different colors in short succession. Regulus was the only other member of the family that seemed to have noticed, and was watching his brother with mild alarm.
"Well apparently , Eugenie foisted chaperonage of the girl off on various members of your family this past week. I thought for the sake of our old friendship, you might help me locate her."
Arcturus considered the problem for a moment, his cool expression not wavering.
"It was none of my affair," he said, at last. "The girl was staying with my daughter-in-law in London, I believe. You might ask her."
"Well, can you—"
"—There's no way ."
Sirius pushed past his grandfather to confront the old woman, who stared at him with equal parts equanimity and amusement.
"You're not her—that is, she's not your—"
Sirius couldn't bring himself to say the word.
"No," he said, in a voice that only convinced himself. "After what you heard—you would've said something."
The old woman's eyes glinted.
"Would I?" she asked, all disinterested placidity, at complete odds with Sirius's twitchy, neurotic pacing.
"Of course!" said Sirius, in a voice somewhere between terrified and appalled. " Anyone would."
"Most, I'll grant, would. But not all." She raised an eyebrow. "I find when one is hearing an interesting story, it does little good to lose the thread by stopping it midstream."
He turned on his heel and jabbed an accusing finger in her face.
"You sly old fox—you knew ! You knew the whole damn time."
"Guilty, I must confess." She indulged in a smile. "Do you know, Arcturus, your grandson has the most shocking resemblance to you at that age?"
"You drew me out!" Sirius cried. "You—you took advantage."
Her expression hardened.
"Are you sure you wish to speak about advantages being taken, young man?"
Sirius turned to his brother.
"Reg—go down to the apparition point. Head them off. Warn them!"
"Warn who about what ?"
"Disaster!" Sirius cursed. "Oh, forget it—I'll do it myself—"
Sirius pushed past Regulus and launched himself towards the exit. He yanked the door open and rammed into a rumpled, blue-creped and tear-stained witch barreling at him from the other direction.
"Excuse me—" He grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
Then he realized who it was.
"—Hurt you. Oh—hello."
"Hello," said Colette.
Colette's face was flushed, and she was out of breath, as any girl would be from running up four flights of stairs. Sirius looked down and met her gaze, almost on instinct. Her impossibly blue eyes were bloodshot from many hours of crying.
"Hey—are you alright?" he asked, softly, all thoughts of the room behind him and its many inhabitants forgotten.
Her lip trembled and her blue eyes filled with tears.
"Colette." He raised a thumb to stroke her cheek. "Sweetheart—I need to tell you—"
She threw herself at him, cutting off the word with a kiss born from the frustrated passion of hours spent locked up in a Georgian townhouse and too many novels.
"Oh, my darling! Oh, thank God!" Colette cried, when Sirius managed to yank himself free of the lips he would have liked to savor. "I was so afraid. I—I thought you were d-dead."
"I'm alright—I'm fine, see?"
Colette reached up and stroked his injured cheek. Blushing, Sirius pulled her hand down.
"You are hurt—oh, who did this to you?"
"Just Bella—darling, listen, you need to—"
She wrapped her arms around the back of his head and pulled him into another long and passionate kiss. Sirius didn't bother to extricate himself from it this time, and it seemed an age before it ended.
"Tell me," she said, in a husky voice quite unlike her. "What is it I need?"
Sirius coughed and gently pulled the girl from his arms—and stepped aside, revealing the shocked couple who had just watched the young lovers' display in its entirety.
"Erm—to say hello to your parents."
