"It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward thought the ragged veil hanging from the arch…"
-J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
CHAPTER 35
Five minutes and thirty-four seconds….thirty one seconds…
Funny how not being able to move made your mind that much clearer. Even as a dog his ears had never been this sharp…he could hear the sound of the family watch ticking in his head, despite the fact that Bellatrix had taken it from his pocket and put it God knew where. For all he knew that sadistic bitch was taking it apart right now, spring by spring.
Sirius hadn't even lasted as the steward of this most precious heirloom for twenty-four hours.
His awareness of time—and it fast running out—had never been so acute.
Five minutes and seventeen seconds….
He could see his wand out of the corner of his eye—on his person, tucked in a pocket, but not in his hand. Useless. A strip of wood he couldn't wield with wordless magic because it was a foot away from where he needed it to be.
Four minutes and fifty-four seconds….
Unlike the portkey that Regulus had shoved in his hand, which would take him far, far away from this place in a few precious minutes, with no way of getting back.
Damn Reg. Damn stupid, swotty Reggie and damn him for letting the twerp get the jump on him. Sirius should have seen this coming, that the little idiot would think jumping up and down on a self-flagellating sword would fix things for everyone else.
Just like Dad.
Sirius was so angry at the pair of them he could have torn them to shreds in that moment, ripped every stitched and embossed set of initials Walburga had sewn onto their robes.
He had the worst feeling in the world, the feeling he'd been fighting for all his life—utter powerlessness.
There's one type of magic that doesn't require a wand.
He knew, in theory, that he should be able to transform. He had spent the better part of three years reading every book on the subject, and though he was not a bookish or studious wizard by nature, with the right motivation he could be quite single-minded in pursuit of knowledge.
Three minutes and thirty-eight seconds…
He had an incredible power for retention when the words really mattered to him. He could see the page in that particular book in his mind's eye, could imagine the typeface, the splatter of ink on the margins from some careless student Madame Pince had probably flayed alive for damaging one of the precious charges she valued more than the students.
With enough time and skill, the witch or wizard in question will be able to turn into their animagus form without the use of a wand or verbal incantation. Be wary, though! One should never attempt the transformation without another wizard present to change one back, lest one be stuck in their animal form.
Not unlike the Patronus charm, a unique emotion is required to perform this magic without the aid of a wand. The desire must be singular and focused on the emotional state—in as much as there is one—of the animal in question. The wizard subsumes the identity of their animal form, taking on its primary quality which facilitates the transformation sans incantation. As the animagus form is the reflection of the personality and core being of the witch or wizard in question, a wizard with the maturity to know himself and his own heart should be able to turn into his animal form at will.
Two minutes and twenty seconds…
Sirius never liked to admit failure. He'd certainly never told his friends that the only two times he'd managed that transformation without a wand were when he was up against the wall with his father breathing down his neck. Perhaps those were the moments he knew who he was best.
Just a fool desperate to prove himself.
That wasn't the feeling that would sustain him now, though.
One minute and thirty-one seconds…
He concentrated every ounce of energy, every fiber of his being on the one emotion that would.
Need to get to them…to protect them.
The glass sphere rolled away from the paw of an enormous black dog, then vanished.
Frank Longbottom poked the smoking sausage on the camp stove he'd tried to gerry-rig with magic.
Get into law enforcement, they said. Become an Auror. It'll be exciting.
This was not a civilized way for any man to spend Boxing Day Night—holed up in a freezing apartment across the way from from the supposed stronghold of an Eastern European class-three dangerous magical weaponry smuggling operation, or at least that's what their information said.
Even the damn Death Eaters took the twelve days of Christmas off. The people that supplied them with dangerous goods from the continent, apparently not.
When the baby comes, I'm saying bugger off to anyone who suggest night shifts. It's not fair to Alice.
"Longbottom—" Fernsby, his partner for the evening—a middle-aged and paunchy Auror that Moody had been known to describe as a shirker more than once—came out of the other room and swiped one of the burnt sausages off his plate, despite them being very clearly blackened to the point of inedible. "Floo for you. Other room."
Frank frowned.
"We're supposed to be off the grid for this."
Fernsby shrugged.
"'S'not me they called for."
Frank got to his feet and cracked his neck—funny how craning out a window for five hours would do that to you.
"Fine, but if Moody finds out, it's on your head."
His companion followed him into the other room. Frank tried to ignore the sound of chewing overcooked sausage in his ears.
He bent down over the fire.
"Enid? You know you're supposed to wait for us to floo you."
Enid tittered out an apology. Part of this mission relied on no magic until they had proof of what they suspected, and their paranoid boss was a stickler for such things. She would have to endure at least forty minutes of Moody's ranting about broken protocols leading to death and destruction if he ever found out about this.
"I wouldn't have bothered you, Frank, but something's happened." The secretary squinted at him through thick glasses. "I've picked up a couple chaps in the wee hours—arrested for fencing stolen goods."
"In the middle of the night?"
"You know the type that hangs round the Leaky Cauldron. Tom floo'ed it in." She frowned. "I booked them, but—thing is, one of them claims he's got the right to speak to you. Says it's urgent. A matter of life and death. He says he's your grass."
Fernsby spit out a bit of grit onto the floor.
"Grass?" he repeated, wiping his mouth. "What are you, Inspector Clouseau?"
Longbottom's frown deepened. He didn't have any confidential informants—not these days. There weren't any wizards he thought he could trust who trusted him to keep them alive long enough to be of any use.
"Did he give a name?" asked Frank.
"Yeah, but it's as phony as an aluminium sickle. Dodge Updike. What a nom de plume!"
Frank's brow furrowed. That was one of Dung's favorite aliases.
"Honestly, I'd have given them the fine and sprung them loose, but he and his accomplice say one floo call with you and everything will be set to rights. They were determined."
"What's the accomplice look like?"
"Dark hair, glasses—stringy thing, looks like he fell off the Hogwarts Express, except he's wearing a wedding ring."
Frank stood up.
"Put him through, right away—I want to hear this."
There was a time for sneaking about, keeping quiet and your head low to the ground. Stealth. Prudence.
And there was a time for not giving a damn.
Sirius knew what this was. His strategy for finding Bellatrix was to follow the sounds and signs of destruction. His cousin was sure to be at the center of whatever was the worst thing going on in this castle.
He crept down the long hallway—so far he'd got lucky and not bumped into anyone. At the end of the hall he could see a door that he was almost sure lead to the upper floor. All he had to do was cross the narrow hallway that cut across it—
"I'm telling you, no one else could get in. He's bluffing."
"If he is, he's a better liar than I give him credit for. It's not easy to fool your wife. And what about Reg? He caught one."
Sirius's skin crawled as he twigged the two all-too familiar voices.
Rosier and Lestrange—shit.
Their voices were coming from the right side of the adjacent hallway—they couldn't be further than twenty feet away, if he crossed he would be walking straight into their line of sight—and if he stayed still and they happened to turn left, they would walk right into him.
He searched for a place to hide, an alcove, anything—all Sirius could find was a suit of armor on the right corner in front of him, right where the corridors met. It was hardly big enough to shield him, even if they didn't turn left down the hallway where Sirius was hiding and see him crouching there like an idiot.
He noticed that next to the door he hoped to reach was a wall covered with spears, swords and cutlasses. He flicked his wand and ducked behind the suit of armor right before the gigantic crash.
"What the hell was that—"
As he expected, Rosier and Lestrange followed the direction of the noise, rounding the corner and going right towards the door and the mess of weapons that he had scattered on the ground.
"Who the hell—look, Rod—the door's open."
Yes, yes—take the bait. Go through the door, follow the intruder—
"Reducto!"
The helmet on the suit of armor above Sirius's head exploded.
Or…not.
He scrambled back from the armor, swearing loudly, as shards of metal scattered around him. In the distance Evan Rosier laughed with delight at the realization of who it was across the hallway from him.
"Come out from behind there, Black!" Rosier called. "Or the next time it'll be your real face."
Sirius brushed the rubble off his shoulders and coughed.
"We both know what a waste that would be, Rosier."
Rosier laughed again.
"You don't know how long I've been looking forward to this," said Evan. "You'll have to tell me who freed you, so I can thank him."
"How the fuck did he get a wand," said Rodolphus. "That's what I want to know."
Sirius tapped the suit of armor with his wand and muttered, "repercutio."
"From Bellatrix, can you believe it?" Sirius shouted back. "She thought I was ready to behave myself. I guess I must be her favorite cousin after all, Evan."
He was stalling and they knew it. Two against one—even Sirius didn't like his odds.
"Last chance to surrender, Black."
"Thanks, but I think I'll take my–"
"Confringo!"
Rosier's spell bounced off of the enchanted suit of armor and ricocheted into the ceiling, dislodging a chunk of crumbling stone and sending it crashing to the floor and (presumably, Sirius didn't have a great view from his hiding spot) on top of Evan and Rodolphus's heads.
He heard Lestrange swear loudly and grinned.
Got him.
Swirling dust and the pile of dislodged stones from the ceiling obscured the hallway in front of him and the direct path to the doorway he wanted to get to—though he had no reason to believe Bellatrix was there anymore than she was anywhere else in the house. He could risk fleeing, going the way that Rosier and Lestrange had come from instead, but that meant the chance of being pursued or running into other Death Eaters.
Either way, got to take them both out before I go.
Sirius grabbed the shield and pulled it out of the metal socket over the arm of the half-destroyed armor. He bewitched it feather-light, and, risking exposure, ran out into the center of the hallway where the intersecting corridors met.
"Furio!"
"Tagletio!"
The first curse brushed him—the burning white hot flame sent an excruciating jolt of pain through his left hand. On reflex he jerked the shield up and the levitation curse rebounded into the pile of rubble and sent the stones rocketing into the air.
Sirius leapt to the corner directly onto his newly injured arm—shit shit shit—then pointed his wand at the nearest stones floating lifelessly in the air above his enemies' heads.
"Accio stones—flagrante—propolso!"
The two boulders rocketed towards his wand hand, glowing red-hot from the charm. Sirius cracked his wand hand back like a buggy whip and sent them shooting through the air towards Rosier and Lestrange with the force of a projectile missile.
Barely able to see through the smoke and his own pain, his aim was less than stellar. One of the rocks exploded against the ceiling and rained hot coals down upon his adversaries, the other collided with another boulder Lestrange had drawn from the air and knocked it back towards the floor, like two comets ramming into each other and raining apocalypse down on the mere mortals below.
Rodolphus screamed.
"Aguamenti!"
Sirius could hear the hiss of burning flesh and the spray of water from Rosier's wand.
"Very clever, Black." Rosier's breathed heavily—he sounded excited. "But this isn't a demonstration in Charms. You don't get points for creativity here."
"What do you get points for?"
"Killing."
Now Evan was the one stalling. He seem to have a landed a hit on one of them, judging from their sluggish reaction to the attack—he would have expected immediate retaliation for that trick, if it was possible. Sirius heard the sound of something heavy being dragged across stone—Lestrange—at least a leg, maybe his whole body. Was Rodolphus injured enough that he could risk charging again? All he needed to do was stun them, and if Lestrange couldn't move, he would be an easy target. His massive frame made it difficult for him to hide.
You've enough provocation to do more than that. And nobody would miss these pricks.
So long as Rosier didn't get in the way he was sure he could pull it off…but the longer he waited the more time Evan would have to course correct.
"Your mate okay, Evan?" Sirius asked, testing the waters.
"You should worry for yourself," Rosier said, in a horrible, singsong voice.
Sirius shoved his now cracked shield—the charm he had placed on it could probably not hold out much longer, but they didn't know that—out from the corner where he hid. He heard a dark voice croak, "wingardium leviosa." The remaining pieces of stone that had been part of the ceiling a minute before levitated to the back of the hallway, barely visible from his current position.
Rodolphus must've been too incapacitated to move and was fortifying his position. That didn't mean he was out for the count, but he would be considerably less dangerous than Evan if he was injured.
Rosier was almost as reckless as Sirius at the best of times. With his friend down for the count, he would be very dangerous indeed.
The trouble was from this angle he couldn't see Rosier's position. He could just make out the door at the end of the corridor, still open from his own charm from across the hallway. There was always a chance that Rosier had fled through it in the hopes of getting reinforcements—his barricade was near it.
"Evan?" Sirius called out, in a mock-cheery voice. "Are you still there?"
No answer.
"Oi, Lestrange! Do you need me to call a healer for you?"
He heard the sound of plaster falling from the ceiling.
Alright. If they weren't going to a give away their position with a 'hello', there was other ways to smoke them out.
He doesn't know where I am, either.
He craned his head over the shield, and spotted it—a wall sconce for a torch on the corner diagonal from his current position. He wordlessly cast the reflector rebounding charm on it, then ducked his head back down.
If Sirius could give the impression he had given away his position, perhaps he could get Rosier to really give away his.
He sent a stunning charm towards the sconce. The curse bounced uselessly off the object and towards the interior wall where his enemies were barricaded. Sirius saw a green bolt of lightning from behind the barricade, heard Evan shouting something unintelligible but undoubtedly vulgar.
He was hidden in Sirius's blind spot—straight across the hall.
Still holding the shield, his only remaining defense, Sirius stood up and charged towards their hiding place. Rosier leapt over the stone wall to meet him. His handsome face had a large, ugly gash on it. The contrast was somehow more grotesque than it would have been on a plainer face.
He looked like an illustration of Dorian Gray Lily had once shown him—and ready to murder.
"Reducto!"
The shield split in two. Sirius let one half fall uselessly to the ground and hurled the other at Evan's head.
"That's more like it, Black!" Evan sneered, deflecting a hex back at Sirius and laughing at his ungainly head duck. "Hide and seek is beneath us."
"I didn't think there was anything beneath you."
Sirius caught Rosier's foot with a tripping jinx. He lost balance and fell to floor.
He ran forward, ready to press his advantage while Evan was down, but his opponent slashed with his wand, tearing at Sirius's trouser legs with a fiery burning cut that made Sirius stagger sideways, crashing into the wall. Lestrange, rallying the last of his not inconsiderable strength, rose above the barricade and roared 'impedimenta!'
Sirius's wand hand seized up, as though it had fallen asleep, and his fingers opened—his wand slipped uselessly out of his hand and scattered several feet to his right. The pain of the burn sent his knees buckling, and he fell to the floor just as Evan managed to stumble to his own.
Sirius leap-crawled towards his wand. His fingertips brushed the edge of the strip of ebony wood before a booted foot stepped down on his hand. He let out a cry of pain.
"Up and on your knees, Black."
The tip of a wand pressed into his neck. Presumably Olivander had not been the one to sharpen it.
"Get. Up."
He forced himself onto his knees, hissing with pain as the ankles that Rosier had injured pressed against the grimy and caulk covered stone.
"Hands on the floor, if you please."
The triumph in his voice belied Rosier's appearance. He had a black eye and a cut above his eyebrow, his golden-blonde hair stuck to his forehead with blood. Behind him, Rodolphus looked even worse. The shoulder of the Death Eater's robes was burned through, and he leaned against the crumbling makeshift stone barricade, clearly needing it to support his weight. The sound of his wheezing, ragged breaths cut through the silence.
"I think this is really the position you belong in. All blood traitors are dogs."
Rosier really was a smarmy shit.
"At least I'm a mammal and not a reptile."
Evan grabbed him by the back of the head yanked his face up.
"If Bellatrix really wanted you to learn some manners," he whispered in Sirius's ear. "She would have brought you to me. There's only one way to teach the likes of you."
He released his hair, and in the split second before it happened Sirius didn't even have time to shut his eyes.
"Crucio!"
Pain. Pure and unadulterated as a gaping wound when a mixture of antiseptic and petrol had been poured on it and lit on fire. That strangled scream that filled his ears…Sirius thought it was a memory of Regulus, and the nightmares the book of unforgivable curses that they had sneaked out of their father's study had caused, until he realized the sound came from him.
When he came to his cheek was pressed against the floor. Sirius's entire body pulsed, like a heart that had been ripped out of a chest but was somehow still beating, raw and exposed to the elements. He felt like he should have been dead. Somewhere in the distance he heard the weak chuckle of Rodolphus Lestrange and realized that he wasn't that lucky.
"That didn't do much to shut you up, did it?"
His entire body ached with the sensation of phantom pain.
"If you're expecting me to lie back and think of England," Sirius coughed and spat blood onto the floor. "We're going to be here a long time."
Evan laughed—and even through the watery tears of pain, Sirius could see it was genuine.
"You always were good for a laugh, Sirius," he said, grinning—there was a sheen of blood on his perfect teeth. "Get back on your knees."
Sirius dragged himself up.
"Is this how you initiate all your new recruits?"
"Some people enjoy the pain," Evan said. "They find it…exhilarating."
"Yes, some people are fucked in the head."
"You're lucky you're pretty to look at, Black." He grasped Sirius's chin and tilted it up. "There's not much else you've got going for you.
Sirius stared up into a pair of flinty blue eyes.
"Enjoy it. This is the best you'll ever get."
Rosier's handsome features twisted with contempt. He raised his wand to perform the unforgivable again—
Using every ounce of strength he had left, Sirius threw himself bodily into Evan, slamming him straight in the solar plexus and sending them both skidding across the floor. The two men grappled for dominance, rolling about the floor. Rosier jabbed his wand towards his opponent's eye just as Sirius grabbed his wand hand—Evan sent shooting sparks an inch from his face—he could hear Lestrange screaming in the distance, this is probably it—
Then a shot of blue light whizzed over Sirius's head and Rodolphus screamed and keeled over. Rosier looked up.
"What the hell—?"
The distraction gave Sirius a split-second opening—he took it. He head-butted Evan, then gripped Rosier's wrists and flipped their positions. Sirius just managed to get on top of Evan when, out of nowhere, a force pushed him and sent him skidding across the stone floor and against the opposite wall.
At first he thought that it was Rosier himself, mustering some hidden strength that allowed him the superhuman ability to shove that hard without leverage…then he saw the corners of the threadbare carpet they had been grappling on a moment before twist up and around Evan Rosier and trap the wizard like a rabbit in a gunny sack.
Sirius watched, transfixed and unable to move, as Evan Rosier thrashed wildly around in the crude trap. The carpet—with Evan inside of it—rose in the air and levitated above the floor. Panicked, Rosier sent wild slashes of magic, trying desperately to break through his prison before it suffocated him. Each cut in the fabric proved useless, the threads re-knitting themselves, pulling the rug more tightly around him.
"Ignatocio!"
Desperate to get free, he switched his mode of attack to fire. Green flames lit up the rug at once, and in 15 seconds he was his engulfed. His head burst through he shouted "Aguamenti maxima!" and a gush of water doused the carpet.
Evan Rosier dropped to the floor with a thud. Still conscious, he tried to get to his feet—he made it as far as one knee. Sirius reached for the wand that had rolled next to him, picked it up and sent a stunner straight to the back of Rosier's head for the second time in a month.
Evan rolled unconscious across the smoldering remains of the carpet, just in time to reveal that Rodolphus, crawling across the floor, wand raised for one last stand, one of the cutlasses from the wall levitating above him, its blade pointed at Sirius's neck—
"Conjunctivitis!" Sirius cried, and Lestrange let out a blind howl of displeasure and groped wildly in the air. The sword dropped to the floor with a clatter. An invisible hand cuffed Rodolphus on the shoulder and dragged him across the crumbled stones of his makeshift barricade before a gust of concentrated pure wind pulled the Death Eater up into the air and slammed him against the outer edge of the open door, knocking him out cold.
Sirius lay on the floor, petrified, still gripping his wand as if it were a life preserver in the middle of the Atlantic. And he stared at the now lifeless bodies of Rosier and Lestrange, some distant part of his mind told him he needed to check they wouldn't pop out of the floor like goblins in a jack-in-the-box.
Then he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching. He didn't raise his head, he didn't have the strength to even lift his wand to defend himself. A pair of shoes stopped in front of him.
Immaculately polished, dragon leather finished, wing tipped.
He knew these shoes well.
"You know," Sirius panted. "I don't think I've ever been more impressed or terrified of you than I am right now."
"Let us hope that you can hold onto those emotions," the voice of his savior said, dryly. "They will make the next few minutes much easier for us both."
Sirius looked up and straight into his father's face. Mr. Black did not smile.
Orion knelt down next to his eldest son. The moment his father's hands pulled him upright, gently but firmly, Sirius felt himself breathe again. The knot in his stomach came undone, replaced with the kind of instinctive relief that only a few people in his life ever elicited.
Mr. Black checked his eldest son for injuries without speaking. He pulled out his tobacco case and extracted some red powder from it which he sprinkled over the burns on Sirius's ankles.
"Can you stand?"
"I…think so."
His father pulled him to his feet with both hands. At first Sirius felt shaky, but gradually he recovered his sense of balance.
"Go check Lestrange," Orion ordered. "See if he's alive and take his wand."
Sirius stumbled over to where Rodolphus lay prone on the floor, a nasty head-wound oozing through his dark hair. He felt the side of Lestrange's neck.
Heart still beating, in spite of everything.
He found the hawthorn wand by Rod's head and picked it up.
Sirius walked back over to his father and mechanically handed it over. Orion took it, then nudged Evan Rosier's prone body with his toe.
"He looks like his father," Mr. Black remarked, his face expressionless. "A most unpleasant man. I never liked him. He once made advances on both of your aunts at the same party."
"Well, you certainly got your own back," said Sirius, staring at the ugly burn on Rosier's neck from the carpet. "I thought you were going to kill him."
He didn't add the implied question that display had left him with…was that your intention?
Orion met his son's questioning gaze with a cool, level stare.
"'Those who live by the sword will die by the sword,'" he quoted, dispassionately. Sirius resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"I don't know if that's quite how our Lord meant to apply 'biblical justice.'"
Mr. Black's expression hardened.
"Any man who is willing to use an unforgivable curse on a member of my family must learn to live or die with the consequences of that act."
Sirius bent down and checked Rosier's pulse.
"He's still alive." He looked over at his father. "We need to tie them up and go find—"
"—The only thing you need to do," said Mr. Black, in his softest and most dangerous voice. "Is explain to your father what the devil you are doing here."
For one brief, suicidal moment Sirius considered telling Orion that Bellatrix had invited him. He lifted his shoulders in what was meant to be a casual shrug. It turned into a wince of pain.
"I had the same question, actually. You know, you've bungled everything. If you had just left when Regulus told you to—"
"—I knew that wretch was hiding something!" Orion snapped. "But even I could not have imagined he would have the brazen impudence to lie about your presence in this house."
"We had the situation under control—"
"'Under control'?" Mr. Black repeated, gesturing at the prone figures of the two Death Eaters on the floor. "This is your idea of under control? I have scarcely seen someone with less control over a situation than what I just stumbled upon."
"Look, I don't know how much of that you saw—" stammered Sirius, feeling self-conscious under Orion's scrutiny. "But you caught me at a delicate moment."
Sirius watched his father's face turn an alarming shade of red.
"He had you unarmed at wand point. He was using an unforgivable on you!"
"Yes, but Rosier wouldn't have killed me," Sirius pointed out, in a superior tone of voice borrowed from his teenage years. "That would have taken all the fun out of it for him. Besides, I would've got out of the situation…eventually."
His son's sheer gall sucked the anger straight out of Orion, replacing it with flabbergasted disbelief that the boy would dare to use this moment as an opportunity to argue.
"How, pray tell?"
Sirius rolled his eyes.
"I don't know how, it's the sort of thing I come up with in the moment. That's what makes it exciting."
Orion stared at him in transfixed horror.
"If I didn't know better, boy, I'd say that you were enjoying yourself and feel I—that I interrupted you!"
His son grinned.
"It's been too long since I've had a good scrap—you had Dumbledore ground me, you can hardly expect me to not enjoy a chance for a duel when I get it." He waved a finger in his incensed father's face. "Besides, you're no different. You were enjoying yourself, admit it!"
"Saving your skin is hardly what I would call enjoyable," Orion growled.
"If this is what you're capable of with a fatal heart condition," Sirius gave him a rueful up and down. "I'm sorry I never got a chance to see you in your prime. That was—brilliant. In a morbid, ghoulish sort of way—but that's our family's brand of magic, I guess."
If he was expecting his father to return the compliment, Sirius was left disappointed. The sheer cheek left him sputtering with indignation.
"Who says I'm not still a man in my prime?"
"Well, I think we made a pretty good team."
"'Team'?" Orion repeated, voice dry. "What part of that did you contribute to, pray tell?"
"Give me some credit, Dad, it was two against one. Besides, I softened them up for you."
Mr. Black crossed his arms.
"Why did you engage in the first place? They weren't blocking the front door, so you can't claim you were trying to escape and they prevented you."
"I needed to get to the other corridor to rescue your idiot son." He gestured at the door behind him. "Speaking of which, we need to get to Reg—now."
Orion grabbed the back of Sirius's shirt before he could run through the door.
"The only one who needs to rescue my idiot sons is me. You will be leaving this place forthwith—Kreacher! Kreacher, I summon you."
They waited. Nothing happened.
Déjà vu all over again.
"Where is that damned elf?" Mr. Black seethed after thirty seconds. That was as much time as it ever took Kreacher to arrive—if he was coming.
"Apparently he's gone AWOL," said Sirius, wriggling out of his father's grip. "I was using him to smuggle people out of the house earlier, but he disappeared before he could get Regulus and I. We figured you were the one who summoned him—Reg and I were swearing up a blue streak, cursing your name. I take it we were wrong about that?"
Orion rubbed his chin and shut his eyes. Sirius recognized the look—when his father really needed to think, he had to block out all distractions. As his eldest son had long-since been the biggest distraction to clear thinking in their entire family, Sirius had witnessed the exercise countless times.
Maybe I can run off while he's not looking…
As if sensing his son's train of thought, Orion reached out and grabbed Sirius by the forearm before he could act on it.
"He must be with your mother," Mr. Black said, opening his eyes. "Better the elf stay with her, anyway—if he's called away at this time of night she'll grow suspicious."
"You mean she doesn't know where you are right now?"
"No," Orion snapped, cuffing his son on the head. "And if you value your hide you'll make sure she never finds out!"
They both heard the sound of footsteps down the hallway at the same moment. Orion flicked his wand at the pile of dust and stones. They flew into the air and up into the ceiling, fitted back into their proper places—only somebody who was looking for it would've noticed the missing pieces that have been incinerated during the duel. The scattered weapons followed, each returning to their places on the wall. Mr. Black crossed the hallway and fumbled beneath a tapestry. He pressed a hidden panel underneath, and part of the stone wall next to it recessed, revealing a hidden chamber and passage behind.
"What the hell is that—"
"—Never mind. You get Lestrange," Orion ordered. Sirius levitated the prone body of Rodolphus into the chamber, while his father did the same with Evan Rosier.
They had just managed to shut the passageway when a wizard rounded the corner.
Before he had a chance to protest, Sirius's father cast a silencing spell over him and shoved his elder son unceremoniously up against the stone wall directly behind him.
At the sight of Orion standing in the middle of the hallway, Rabastan Lestrange stopped. Sirius expected him to lift his wand immediately, but the slower Lestrange brother's roughhewn face bore no emotion beyond mild puzzlement.
"Orion!" He frowned. "I—didn't know you were still in the castle."
Mr. Black turned his head and gave the younger man a look of well-bred approbation, as if this were any other night, any other party, and Rabastan any one of his son's insolent young friends.
"I am afraid that it's been such a long time that I've forgotten where the apparition point is on the grounds. My wits are catching up with my age at last, I suppose."
Rabastan gave him a long and uncertain look.
"It's—behind the arbor, by the gazebo."
He didn't so much as glance at the wall. Sure, Rabastan was thick—but he wasn't blind. Sirius moved his head and looked down. Then he realized his entire body was the same stone color as the wall he'd been shoved against.
Well, that explains it.
"Oh yes, how could I have forgotten?" Orion rubbed his forehead. "You wouldn't by any chance have seen Regulus, would you? I forgot that there was something his mother wanted to tell him."
"I…" Rab hesitated. "Think he might be outside, with the others."
"Hunting?"
"Of…a sort."
"Oh. Well, I suppose I should go directly to the source. I need to pass on something from my brother-in-law, where is Bellatrix?"
"Upstairs. I think. She said she didn't want to be disturbed." His voice sounded dreamlike, far away. "That's usually where she goes when she doesn't want to be disturbed. You haven't seen my brother or Evan Rosier, have you? I was supposed to meet the two of them, they called me."
"I haven't seen either of them all night, I'm afraid."
Rabastan's whole body went still.
"That's odd, because—"
He stopped. Sirius saw where his eyes rested, on the sleeve of Orion's robes, where there was a clear and obvious splatter of blood.
Rabastan displayed a quickness of mind that Sirius would not have believed he was capable of. He reached for his wand—
"Stupefy!"
—And fell, face down on the floor—dropping like a sack of dragon eggs.
"That," said Orion, voice stern. "Was entirely unnecessary."
Sirius tugged at his father's bloody sleeve. Mr. Black lifted the camouflaging spell on his elder son.
"You're welcome." Sirius looked over at the tapestry that hid the secret chamber where they'd shoved their unconscious host and his sadistic lackey. "That was quick thinking, by the way. How did you know about this chamber?"
"There's one on every floor of this house in the east wing—interconnected. I once spent a very harrowing afternoon when I was ten locked inside one."
"That sounds terrifying."
"Your mother and aunt were amused enough."
Sirius let out a shocked laugh.
"That woman has put you through the ringer, you know that?"
Mr. Black did not reply. Instead, he examined Rabastan Lestrange. The younger Lestrange brother had a nasty cut on the side of his head from the fall, but other than that he looked no worse for the wear. At least, compared to his brother and Evan.
"He had done nothing to merit that. He was defenseless."
Orion seemed to find the sneak attack distasteful. Sirius did not resist the temptation to roll his eyes this time.
"That twat stunned me in the back of the head earlier this evening in his garden."
"And were you invited to be in his garden?"
"In a—manner of speaking, yes, actually—for Merlin's sake, he's a Death Eater."
"We've no proof of that, and it's not a crime for a man to defend his home from unwanted intruders. It is, however, frowned upon to attack unsuspecting people in their houses unprovoked."
"I wasn't going to give him a chance to have a go at me first—or you!"
"Well," Orion stood up again. "If you should come up for trial, do not expect me to testify on your behalf that this was merited."
Sirius nudged Rabastan with his foot. When he didn't move, the younger Black decided it was safe, and bent over his wrists and tied them.
"And to think," he muttered. "Colette's parents actually sent her here because they wanted her to marry this prick."
"Oh, I see where things stand." Orion's lip twitched. "Well, that's one creative way to rid yourself of a rival suitor."
His son looked up from the act of tying Rabastan up, deeply offended by the suggestion he might've had ulterior motives in attacking the sod.
"He is not a rival for anything! She doesn't even like him."
"If you wanted Rabastan out of the way, you should've waited for him to do something to merit this. The Aurors will have no grounds to hold him."
"'No grounds?' He and his brother tied me to a chair and left me alone with Bella!"
They heard the distant sound of shouting from the opposite wing of the house. Clearly the noise of ricocheting spells had not gone as unnoticed as they both had hoped. Sirius turned all business—he was a member of the Order, on a mission—the fact that his father had stumbled into it was of no consequence.
"We need to get to Regulus. Now. He's about to do something very stupid." Sirius turned to Orion. "Can you remember where the staircase that leads up to the family quarters is?"
Orion ignored the question, instead fixing his son with one of those all-too piercing looks.
"Your brother came here to rescue you, didn't he?"
"If you don't tell me, I'll just go find it on my own. You know I will."
Mr. Black let out a long and tired sigh.
"I'm not doing indulging you again. You have caused enough trouble for one day. One fortnight, in fact. And he would never have got half of these ideas in his head—"
"—Your son throwing himself on his sword because he thinks the whole family would be better off if he were dead is not him following my example, sir."
Orion froze, and though the mask settled on his face, for the first time in his life Sirius could see through it—into his father's eyes, where a wellspring of worry, guilt and fear were as obvious as he imagined the stubborn determination was on his.
They looked at each other, everything laid bare. He understood his father and was sure his father understood him.
The shouting started again, dangerously close. Sirius darted towards the open door. His father followed at his heels, and with amazing strength, shoved his elder son against a stone wall and shielded him with his body.
"Dad!" Sirius muttered into his ear. "What are you—"
"Be silent."
Shadowy figures ran straight down the hall, and the sound of their voices faded away. When they were truly gone, Orion released Sirius and stepped back from him.
Mr. Black stared at his son, contemplating that young, blood-stained face that was so like his own for a very long moment. Sirius stared back at him, his expression a mixture of defiance and pleading.
"…It's through that door and around the corner—second door on the left side."
The boy broke out into a wide, manic grin.
"Great." He clapped Orion on the shoulder. "Great. You can come along! If you think you can keep up, that is."
He ran through the door before Mr. Black had a chance to even reply.
Regulus had been a guest in this castle countless times since boyhood—even more-so since his first cousin had married its master almost a decade before.
He could count the number of times he'd been on the second floor—where the family's private rooms were located—on one hand.
If the layout of it was anything like his grandfather's house, then the third door on the left would be the mistress of the castle's bed chamber, and there would be a sitting room attached to it for private entertaining. It was difficult to imagine Bellatrix relaxing, at her leisure, sipping tea—doing the things other women did.
He opened the door.
The back wall was dominated by an enormous canvas of stretched animal hide. On it were painted triangles, diagrams, opaque symbols—some of them moving—in dark red.
Bellatrix sat on a damask sofa, leaning back languidly on the cushions, examining her handiwork at her ease. She seemed at peace, as tranquil as he had ever seen her.
His cousin turned her head towards where he stood in the doorway. She seemed to have been expecting Regulus. Madame Lestrange nodded, beckoning her cousin into this private sanctuary. He walked over to the canvas and examined it more closely.
"What is this?"
"It's a map of the grounds of Durmstrang—or as close to one as I can from memory."
Regulus ran his hands over the map. It was smooth to the touch, and warm. He could feel the magic coursing through it—like a heart beat. Beautiful and terrifying magic.
Just like her.
"I thought it was unplottable."
"There are ways of getting around that if you're…creative enough."
He pulled his hand away from the map. The red suddenly took on a new and frightful significance.
"How did you like it? I suppose this isn't the right time of year for a visit, but you always said you wanted to visit that place. With your father, I think."
At the mention of Cygnus Bellatrix's expression hardened. She stood up, and the relaxed atmosphere in the room drained out of it like bacon fat down the sink.
"This wasn't a sight-seeing holiday, Regulus. I was doing my master's bidding."
"You always say doing his bidding is your greatest joy," Regulus pointed out. "You said it would be mine, too."
Bellatrix crossed the room and tapped on the map. A small blue mark fanned out from the tip of her wand.
"The Dark Lord thinks it will be a useful place—both for recruiting to our ranks and as a base of operations. It's too far out of reach for even Dumbledore's crooked nose to poke into. Karkaroff is proving useful enough, even if he is an oily, odious Bulgar. It's easy to picture him slobbering over the wrist of some Czarina in the not-too distant past."
"Do you trust Igor Karkaroff?"
"As much as I trust anyone."
"So, not at all."
Bella went over to the sideboard and poured two drinks from a tall wine decanter into a pair of silver goblets that he recognized as wedding presents from their Uncle Alphard. He watched the action—she was very graceful, the years of domestic training from his Aunt Druella had not been lost on her—though perhaps they had been waylaid for awhile. Bella could be as elegant a hostess as Narcissa, if she put her mind to it.
It was just that she so rarely did, these moments stuck out.
"How is your mission progressing, Reggie?" She set the decanter back down on the tray. "You were on a deadline, if I recall."
"What, didn't Sirius tell you? You had him long enough."
Bellatrix didn't even flutter an eyelash at the accusation.
"Oh, so you noticed. You did seem so sure he was here, I wondered if you knew for a fact." She handed Regulus the goblet of wine and toasted him with her own. "Don't get in a snit. I was checking on your progress."
"And what's your takeaway?"
"You did better than I expected. Though I wonder whether Sirius hasn't always just been deluding himself about where his loyalties lie."
She tapped the map. It rolled itself up.
"I've given him some time to think it over," Bella continued. "And consider."
"And when you were luring him here, slapping him around and throwing him in your dungeon—did you ever once consider my plans?"
"Your plans?"
"Yes, my plans," he said, voice colder. "The plans that, thanks to your meddling, may already be ruined."
She narrowed her eyes. It was rare to catch Bellatrix off-guard, but when she was surprised, she was almost as much of an open book as Sirius.
"You're saying you planned this?"
Regulus sneered.
"Your problem has always been that you have no patience. Haven't you ever heard of waiting for the fruit to ripen before you pick it, Bellatrix?"
"Are you Eve, in this analogy?" Bella asked, lip curling. "Or the serpent?"
"My brother may be a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but he is also rash, impulsive, reckless and guileless. As a consequence, for Dumbledore he's nothing more than a foot soldier—dueling fodder. As things stand now, the best that can be said for him as an asset is that Sirius doesn't mind risking his life."
Bellatrix drank deeply from her goblet as she listened to his speech. She kept her eyes fixed on Regulus.
"'As it stands now'?"
Regulus set his untouched goblet back down on the sideboard.
"If he were reinstated in the family, re-introduced to his proper milieu—his value increases a hundredfold. Why do you think Dumbledore wasted no time throwing him at my parents' feet as an offering the moment he got leverage? The exact qualities that make him so supremely unsuitable for spying make him uniquely positioned for it."
"He'd wouldn't agree to do it."
Regulus smiled, grimly—an expression that, while rare enough, suited him. It made him look older.
"The thing you've never understood about my brother is that he doesn't have principles. He has loyalty, and if you can engender that from him it's absolute. He's not like you and I, because he actually trusts the ones he loves."
"The others would never trust Sirius."
"They won't need to. He knows it wouldn't be believable for him to return to his proper place too fast, and he'll want to sell the idea—gradually. In the meantime I'll be feeding him what I want him to know and getting from him what I need."
Two perfectly arched eyebrows rose almost to Bella's hairline.
"Why would I waste my efforts convincing him to spy for me, when I can make him one without him even realizing it?"
Her mouth twisted into a pert cupid's bow.
"Sirius may be a fool, but not in the way that you suggest."
"I have been sleeping three feet away from him for a fortnight. He sleeps like the dead, snores, and I could have slit his throat anytime I pleased."
"What's your point?"
"That the reverse isn't true. I sleep with one eye open. Even though I know intellectually he'd never try anything. It's the paradox. He trusts me and he shouldn't, I don't trust him and I should."
Regulus shrugged.
"For all the family has always mocked his guilelessness, it is the exact reason why everyone prefers him to me. People always admire the qualities in others they most lack themselves."
Bella tapped her long fingernails against the edge of her goblet, considering this.
"You expect me to believe such an outlandish story?"
"What part is difficult for you to believe?"
"That you would willingly give up your chance to be your father's heir," she said, bluntly. "That you would allow that honor to fall into the hands of someone so clearly undeserving and ungrateful."
"That's the part you don't believe?" Regulus laughed. "Honestly, it's the greatest relief. My father hasn't exactly given the impression it's an enviable job."
"Maybe. It's the only one you've ever wanted."
"The only way I could ever be truly free of Sirius being the heir is if he were dead, and he is worth so much more to me alive. You of all people should understand there's more to life than inheriting a pile of gold and a house. There are more…interesting ways of getting power."
"There's no reason not to have both—if it's an option."
"Which it never has been for you," Regulus pointed out. "Tell me, Bella, if you had been born a man and I were the only thing standing between you and becoming the family's heir, would you off me to get it?"
"It's not a possibility I've ever considered."
She found the thought exercise intriguing, though, and Regulus could see that she was actually thinking about it.
"You would be to me what I am to Sirius in that case. Those of us who aren't born with everything handed to us on a silver platter have to find our own ways. You're always telling me I should care less what my father thinks. I wonder if you had been born a man whether you'd follow your own advice."
Bellatrix smile widened.
"You know, I think your brother is right. I have underestimated you, Reggie. I shan't do it again."
"Give me the watch."
Her hand, which had been caressing her wand like a pet, froze.
"My father's watch," he repeated. "I know you have it. I want it back."
She pulled the watch out of her pocket.
"Why does it matter to you?"
"I need to give it back to my brother. It's a gesture of goodwill. I have to convince him I'm not working with you—that I didn't countenance his rather unfortunate treatment tonight. I don't think it bodes well for all our future social engagements."
"I would've thought getting his wand back was enough. Don't think I didn't notice that you palmed it out of my pocket."
"You let me do that."
"I wanted to see what you had in store for it. You gave it back, didn't you? It's how you knew all about his 'ordeal.'" She swung the watch around on her finger. "Surely he's not in that much need of this, too."
"Having repaired injury, I now find myself in the position of needing to apologize for the insult, too."
She tossed the watch to him. Regulus caught it in the air.
"Have you thought about how you're going to explain this to your master, Regulus? He may not be as circumspect about your…ideas. He may even think you were just using them as an excuse because you don't have the nerve to do what needs to be done."
"My master is the greatest legilimens who ever lived. And he doesn't suffer from your prejudices against me."
"Prejudices?" Bellatrix scoffed. "What prejudices do I have against you?"
"You think that just because I'm nine years younger than you, I couldn't possibly come up with an idea cleverer than yours. That I could find a way to manage the Sirius situation that's pleasing to all parties involved, including my master."
"How does your plan please all parties?"
"My parents get their heir back, Sirius gets to be the golden boy again and pretend he's doing it for noble reasons and not because he wants to, and I get unparalleled access through him to our enemies."
Her mouth split into a wide and devious smile, like a Venomous Tentacula spreading its fanged 'mouth', ready to strike.
"Look at you, Reggie—so cold and calculating. Somehow, you managed to turn not killing your brother into a more unfeeling act than the alternative."
Regulus gave her a rather cold smile.
"I see myself as considerate."
"Perhaps we are more alike than I realized. We both have had to suffer the indignity of a sibling who valued filth and degradation over their own flesh and blood."
She sat down on the sofa, fiddling with her wine glass in a nervous way that Regulus thought looked odd—it made her seem younger, less in control of herself, more uncertain. She drank deeply from it, then smacked her lips together with a lusty, unladylike pleasure that reminded him of Cygnus. Aunt Druella would not have approved, which he suspected was rather the point.
"I once went to Andromeda's house," she said, suddenly. "Did you know that?"
Regulus shook his head.
"I found out where she lives. I went there with the full intention of doing what my father did not have the stomach to do."
The memory washed over Bellatrix. In spite of everything, Regulus found himself a captive audience.
"It was dusk when I arrived. That…man she married was in the back garden, along with the daughter. I watched them eat something she prepared, at a table outside. It looked dreadful—of course she could barely boil water when we were children, so there's no shock there."
She laughed at the memory and downed the rest of her glass of wine.
"I sat there all night and never lifted my wand."
"Why not?"
"Can't you guess?" She said, softly. "It's certainly wasn't because she was more useful to me alive."
The two cousins stared at each other for a long moment, enjoying this moment of perfect mutual understanding. It was the first Regulus had ever had with her—and he knew it would be the last.
Not the worst final moment, considering everything that had happened between them. Reg had never thought that anything she could ever confide in him would move him.
"There's no shame in that," he said, at last. "It makes you—"
"—Weak."
She raised her wand.
"Human," said Regulus. "Just—flesh and blood."
He made no effort to raise his own wand. He did not close his eyes. He waited—and then he realized she was waiting, too. For what—him to beg? To make excuses?
Then, before either of them could do anything—the door burst open.
"Drop it, Bella."
Shocked Regulus spun around; Bellatrix turned her eyes towards Sirius. Her expression remained impassive. The elder brother stood at the door, panting, blood smeared across his face, the tears on his trousers still visible. The manic gleam in Sirius's eyes matched hers, though Bellatrix's eyes smoldered where his blazed.
Regulus, on the other hand, expressed his outrage with a feline hiss of disbelief.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he shouted. "You should be miles away by now!"
"Should-could-would—if 'shoulds' were galleons you'd be even richer, Reg. Did you think a simple body-bind was enough to take me down?"
"Next time I'll stun you."
"You won't get the drop on me again, runt." He stepped into the room and kicked the door behind him shut. "That was your one chance."
Bellatrix clicked her tongue.
"My my, Sobbie." Her eyes flicked over him. "You're looking worse for the wear."
"You should see your husband."
He started to circle her, she followed—like a demented family dance. Bellatrix moved in synchronicity with him through the room, each with their wands pointed at the other.
Regulus stood between them, but he kept his eyes on Bella.
"Why could you not have just left when I told you to?" Reg hissed in the direction of his brother.
Sirius didn't so much as glance at Regulus.
"Maybe you should have spent less time making dramatic speeches and more time making sure your spellwork was up to snuff."
"My spellwork is impeccable. You just always have to have the last word."
"Yes, Reg, that's what this is," Sirius snorted as he rounded the sofa. "Me keeping you alive so that I can say 'I told you so.'"
"Reggie was just spinning me quite the tale, Sirius. All about how he was going to use your trust to get information from Dumbledore for us. It was very…interesting."
"Sounds like it." Sirius raised an eyebrow. "…Did you buy it?"
"You know, for a minute I think I almost did. Or maybe I just wished it were so. I wonder if Regulus realized that might've been the better option for all of us. I really do think he would've been able to pull it off."
"Oh, he's a fantastic liar, when he puts his mind to it. Just like everyone in this family—except me."
"I suppose," Bella said. "That you have had enough time to think over my little proposition."
She stopped in front of the one meager bookshelf in her parlor, filled with novels and cookery books and whatever other domestic heirlooms their granny had seen fit to foist on her that Bella had probably not looked at in a decade.
"Yeah, I'm starting to rethink the whole thing." He shrugged. "Not really sure I'm Death Eater material. I suspect I have more lip on me then would entirely be suitable for your boss."
"I'm disappointed." And angry, too, if her eyes were any indication—but Regulus could tell she wasn't really shocked. "But if you can live with the consequences of where your loyalties lie—then so can I."
"I hope that's true, Bellatrix."
At the feeling of wand-point against her neck, Bellatrix's silvery gray eyes widened a fraction, the only indication of her surprise. Both Regulus and Sirius froze, like children with their hands caught in the proverbial biscuit jar.
Orion kicked the false wall built into the book shelf behind him with his foot.
"Give me your wand, girl."
Sirius unfroze and took a step forward—his father held up his hand, a silent order to stop which he obeyed on instinct.
"Don't give her a chance, Dad," Sirius said, eyes burning with righteous anger. "She wants us all dead."
"Sirius is right, Father."
To the surprise of both boys, however, Bellatrix handed her wand over to their father with an uncharacteristic meekness. Still holding his own to her neck, Orion tucked the other inside his breast pocket.
"Really, uncle? Three against one?" She wrinkled her nose. "That's so…ungentlemanly."
"As your grandmother is fond of saying, Bella," Mr. Black said, in a voice heavy with irony. "When you learn to respect the niceties of family life, then you will earn the benefits."
Orion steered his niece over to the sofa, with the same gait and mien he would have had if he was escorting her to a ball.
"I thought you had left," she remarked, idly. "Or are you so senile that I need to escort you to the apparition point?"
"Don't be a fool, Bellatrix."
"Regulus." She turned her head in his direction. "You know what will happen. You know the consequences of betrayal."
Her eyes danced like twin fireballs.
"But do you, girl?" Orion asked, steely beneath that veneer of civility his sons were amazed he could still hold onto, in such a moment. "You must realize there are some lines that cannot be crossed with impunity."
Bellatrix kept her eyes fixed on her youngest cousin. The color had drained out of his face.
"It won't be just you that gets it this time, Sobbie," she said, glancing pointedly at Sirius. "And you know whose fault it will be. It's just like I told you."
"That'll be a hard promise for you to keep, Bella," said Sirius, anger rising in his voice. "If you never leave this room."
"I'm sure it won't come to that," said Mr. Black. "Your cousin is perfectly capable of seeing reason."
"No, she's not, Dad—she's poisoned in the head. Voldemort made her go round the twist and she intends to take us down or die in the attempt."
Bellatrix placed one of her perfectly manicured hands on a crystal ball that sat in the center of the table on an onyx stand, ornately carved with dragons and sea-beasts.
"Father," warned Regulus. "You have to be—"
"—If I wanted either of you whelps' opinions," Orion snapped, with a fierceness neither of them had ever heard in his voice, not least of which because of the fear underpinning it. "I would ask. As it is, you're in enough trouble without adding to it through your moronic insolence. Be silent."
Bellatrix started to laugh—a high-pitched, mocking croon that made the hairs on the backs of all their necks stand up—except for Orion, who remained stoic in the face of his niece apart from a brief flicker of distaste at her total lack of self-control.
"Well, well, uncle. Finally taking that firm hand, I see. Aunt Burgie will be pleased—though I think you may have left it a little late."
Mr. Black circled in front of Bellatrix, still pointing his wand at her. The hand that gripped it relaxed slightly.
"Consider your position, Bellatrix. What do you stand on the brink of throwing away. I cannot believe your family means so little to you that you would believe it worth throwing in your lot with a wizard who will destroy everything we have stood for and built for the sake of his own ambitions. Think about your parents—"
"—Do you actually believe I care what my father thinks?"
Orion's expression softened, almost imperceptibly.
"As a matter of fact, I do."
She started to laugh—horrible and utterly mirthless.
"Look at you, uncle! The family man to the end."
There was an enormous crashing sound directly beneath them, followed by shouts of alarm from the Death Eaters and a shrill and piercing alarm noise—a whistle.
The kind that came from the enchantments that guarded this fortress being breached.
"What have you done, Sirius?"
"Why do you assume it's me? Sounds like your chandelier's finally snuffed it."
She narrowed her eyes at him—truly angry, with no amusement of childish mockery to temper it.
"I somehow knew it was a mistake letting your little blood traitor friend out of my sight. He's brought Auror scum into the house, hasn't he?"
"I wouldn't know," said Sirius. "Someone's making a ruckus down there, though, aren't they? You might have a few gate-crashers at this party."
"Sirius—" Regulus said, warning in his voice. "Don't bait her."
"It's over, Bellatrix," said Sirius, ignoring his brother. "You're outmanned. They'll be here soon enough."
"You have no wand. No recourse." Orion put a hand on her shoulder. "Give yourself up before the worst happens."
She smiled and arched an eyebrow, and all three of her male relations were reminded of an aphorism they'd all been brought up to believe as gospel truth and experienced first-hand, time and time again.
Never underestimate a Black witch when she's been cornered.
"I think I choose—the worst."
Bellatrix lifted the crystal from the table and smashed it against the floor. A black cloud of glittering dust enveloped the entire room in darkness.
"Bellatrix—" called Orion, from somewhere to Sirius's right. "Don't—"
He heard the unmistakeable sound of his father being body-checked and shoved into the sofa—a shower of red sparks briefly lit up Bella's face as she grappled with Orion for her wand, wrenching it out of her uncle's pocket.
Sirius saw red.
He lunged at her, transforming into Padfoot mid-air. The enormous, snarling jet-black dog landed square on top of his cousin and sent them both sprawling to the floor and away from his father.
Padfoot growled and snapped his jaws at Bella's throat. He was beyond reason, all instinct—the simpler mind of the dog gave him clarity. Bellatrix was one thing only.
A threat.
"Why, Sobbie—!" Bellatrix laughed over his snarls and the canines an inch from her jugular. "What a clever trick."
Bella smiled, blood in her teeth, lifted her hand and twisted his ear hard. The dog let out a wail of pain.
"Bad boy." She grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. "Heel."
Bella slashed her wand in the air and tossed the dog off of her like a rag doll. Padfoot yelped when he hit a chair and transformed back into a man. Sirius groaned and rolled onto his side and across the carpet, still clutching his wand for dear life.
"Volutagletio—!"
Regulus' voice boomed out, and the black dust swirled into a whirlpool in the air, light returned to the room. Orion wheezed in and out, his mouth bleeding, and dragged himself from the sofa to his feet.
Everything seem to happen in slow motion. Sirius watched Bella pull back her arm and curve it in a perfect arc above her head. His body froze. It was the most exquisite form of torture—everything slowed down, each nanosecond as clear as a crystal pool, and yet…the certainty, as inexorable as a guillotine blade dropping, that no matter how quick he was, it would never be quick enough.
The force of the curse lifted Sirius in the air and sent him smashing against the bookshelf. A sharp burst of pain kept him from passing out, the tangy sting of metal hot in his mouth. His face had scraped against one of the candelabras riveted to the wall, and like everything else in this house, the effing thing was poisoned.
Face stinging, he fell hard against a side table, some bric-a-brac crunched under his tailbone. Sirius was fairly certain it did more damage to him, and from his view, still punch-drunk but with perfect vision, he might as well have been in the front row of what Bellatrix would surely think was the greatest show any Black witch would perform, now or ever.
Regulus cried out, his father took two steps towards him—Bella raised one of her perfectly manicured hands and snatched a wand from the air. It was one that even from this distance Sirius recognized as well as his own.
Orion's.
She had used the moment he was distracted to disarm her uncle. Bella flicked Orion's own wand to the far side of the room, near the door. He rushed at her, there was another flash and Sirius heard a groan and the sound of his father's body collapsing to the floor somewhere far to his left, out of his sightline.
Two down…
If the world had been moving at quarter speed before, now it was like one of those old Muggle crank projectors from the turn of the century. Each movement was a still that would be burned into his brain for as long as he lived—which, admittedly, might not be very much longer.
Regulus stood in the corner, his mouth bleeding, face grimly determined, and for a moment—just a moment—his brother didn't recognize him.
The only one of them still standing held his own wand, but his grip on it was slack. Bellatrix could have disarmed him. She didn't bother. Regulus had come here for one purpose, and it seemed he intended to carry that purpose through.
"Now…where were we?"
There was the sound of curses knocking things off walls and people falling to the ground below them, shouts coming closer, the alarms sounding louder, every portrait in the hall screaming warnings to their painted fellows—flee! flee before the intruders and mudbloods burn us all away!
"Do it—quickly," Regulus said, keeping his voice steady. "You don't have much time."
She didn't listen, for her this was sport, a game—it was to be savored. Bellatrix advanced on Regulus like a cat stalking its prey.
It happened slowly—so slowly—time slowed to a halt.
She raised her wand, and then—and then—
The last thing Sirius could have ever imagined.
"What's that—is someone knocking at the door, Padfoot?"
"At this time of night?" Sirius snorted and rolled over on the sofa where he was sprawled out like an overgrown dog. "Who would it be?"
It happened fast—too fast to see how, out of nowhere. The curse hit him square in the chest. His body curved—Sirius could see before it did, but with the horrible, crippling certainty of too late, too bad, so sad—
When he opened the door at first he couldn't make it out—a figure, lithe and dark, shaking, soaking wet.
"God—it's—Reg."
"Who?"
"Regulus, my brother! Reg, what the hell happened—"
He vomited all over Sirius's feet.
"Sirius, look—"
Lily pulled on his arm, forcing him to look away from his brother to what he'd left behind on Sirius's puddle that surrounded Regulus—a deep red.
Blood.
"Sirius, we have to—he's dying."
Sirius willed his body to move, to hurtle itself in their direction, to redirect the blow or reorder time—but he couldn't.
All he could do was watch.
"No, he's not—he can't." Lily grabbing potion bottles—ramming something down Reg's face—he vomited again.
The spell—a flash of light, a body crumpling like parchment.
"No!" Sirius screamed.
He grabbed Regulus by the shoulders and shook him.
"Stay with me…you idiot, stay with me—"
Regulus was fading fast, his body convulsed with pain from wounds that gushed far too much blood for how deep the cuts were. What had done this to him?
"S…Sirius."
"Reggie!" He grasped onto that word and clung to it. He was still alive, he was still alive—he had to be.
"Sorry—couldn't—forgive—…my fault."
Shouting in the distance…the sound of half a dozen Aurors bursting through doors, yelling orders, explosions—a stampede up the stairs. A castle under siege, Death Eaters fleeing like rats from the ship.
He was still frozen in place—rooted to the spot. By magic or from shock, for years Sirius would wonder which it was.
"Bella—Bella!" Rodolphus. "Come on! We have to get out of here."
If she obeyed her husband, he never knew. She was gone when he caught up with time again and could move once more. Sirius sprung to his feet and rushed over to the collapsed figure on the floor. The sounds around him, the people, all of it—meant nothing. There was no thought of self-preservation, of where he was, of what was happening in this house or how they'd got to this point.
If someone had tried to attack him in that moment, he would have put up no resistance.
"Sirius—Sirius!" He felt his shoulder being shaken, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. "He's—he's not moving. We need to—to do something."
The sound of a chandelier crashing to the floor drowned out the words. He turned his head, and met brown eyes—the brown eyes of Melania MacMillan Black, wet with tears.
"Do something, Sirius."
"Do something—Sirius, we have to—get him out of—"
Sirius blinked, and the face came into sharper focus again, he saw the familiar features, like his—but different, and felt the hands gripping his shoulders, jerking him out of this strange fugue state he had found himself in.
Tears.
Regulus was crying.
Sirius was too numb to cry. All he could think to do was turn back and look down at his father's body—the body that Orion, using what might have been the last of his human strength, had thrown between Bellatrix and his son.
Sprawled out on the carpet, a dark stain fanning out from the spot where Bella's curse had hit him—straight over his heart.
He was as still as death.
Wow, who would have thought that after half a million words of Orion dying of heart failure, I'd kill him off with a magical bullet to the chest?
...Kidding. KIDDING.
We're in the home stretch now. This was one of the chapters that I'd been imagining since I started this story four and some years ago, never imagined that it would take me this long to get there. I hope it was worth the wait.