Chapter 5: Eleanor Rowle was odd
Eleanor closed a file and left work a bit early, but she couldn't have cared less.
She had somehow managed to do everything that had been assigned to her despite the fact that she had glared for minutes at the sheets of paper each time her brother's name appeared as a suspect. She herself thought that her uncle Leif and her cousin Freydis, both members of the House of Rowle, had done their part in the recent Death Eaters attacks, but she had no proof and couldn't really tell her doubts on her own family to the aurors without any.
And, well, truthfully, she had better things to care about.
Such as, Sirius Orion Black.
Everyone had laughed at her, when the word had got out that she read The Quibbler. Then again, everyone had laughed at her when they had heard about her meetings with actuals muggles – not even muggleborns, but muggles! As if being on friendly terms with muggles was a complete waste of time. Muggles who knew, for a reason, were few... and fascinating.
But when Harry Potter had spoken the truth through The Quibbler... She had been the first to know.
Of course, she also knew that everything Xenophilius Lovegood published wasn't accurate, that most of the things he wrote or accepted in his tabloid was rubbish and / or mad ravings. Obviously, she knew that anything Rita Skeeter wrote was possibly wrong and manipulated to give off a completely different image. Evidently, she knew that believing everything Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore said because they were Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore wasn't wise.
She also knew the teenager and the old wizard to be trustworthy. A lot more than her own brother. She wouldn't believe them because it was the way things worked, but because she knew she could believe them. Whatever the Ministry – or rather, the Minister and his toad-faced admirer – said.
And the fact that the article was a sum of The Quibbler, Rita Skeeter and Harry Potter defending Dumbledore's views was odd enough to stir up reactions in the whole of wizarding England.
Even if Harry Potter hadn't talked about his godfather to Skeeter, Eleanor remembered her first year at Hogwarts, the only year Sirius Black had attended Hogwarts during her scolarity.
She remembered Sirius.
She wasn't sure he would remember her – after all, at the time, she had only been a first year while he had been a seventh year. But she remembered Sirius Black.
Eleanor Rowle knew things about Sirius Black that others, even his best friends, didn't know. With what she knew... she had been willing to consider that he hadn't betrayed the Potters. True, what she knew could also be used to argue that he had had the potential to betray the Potters, and kill Pettigrew and twelves muggles. But the important thing was that with her knowledge, his culpability as well as his innocence were arguable. It was a lot more than simply saying "He's a Black, he's guilty.".
The witch sighed as she walked to the Atrium, the only place in the Ministry of Magic where one could freely leave – through the employee floo, or the official entrances.
She really wanted to believe Sirius would make it. She knew there was no way he'd have to suffer the same accusations as before, but... There was still the problem of how-the-hell-had-he-survived-a-trip-through-the-Veil, as well as the everybody-now-knew-his-health-had-more-to-do-with-the-Dark-Arts-than-with-his-Azkaban-time issue. And the fact that he was in bad shape. Last time she had been allowed in his room at St. Mungo's, he had ended up very awake, and very trying-to-rip-his-spin-out-of-his-body. Eleanor wasn't sure he would ever get better.
Well, the fact that she wasn't an expert in the field of dark magic was kind of a relief. She didn't know if the man would ever heal completely... because she had no idea how the Dart Arts curse he had used would act upon his body, not because she could expertly say he was doomed to a life of suffering and hopelessness.
That sounded too much like divinitation, and Eleanor loathed divination. If anything, she'd say the whole thing was a lot of hoaxes, and the few prophecies which had been proved correct were generally so because the concerned people had somehow heard about them and acted to prevent the prophecy from being fulfilled... and so had walked right into the trap of divination, causing their actions to be the very beginning of the fulfilling.
From what she could tell, that was exactly what had happened with Harry Potter and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named... if she were to believe the rumors the Daily Prophet had started since the so-called Battle of the Department of Mysteries.
She was finally in the Atrium... and many people were looking at her oddly. She ignored them.
Eleanor wasn't stupid. She was even rather clever, if her Hogwarts years and her career in the Ministry were anything to go by. So she obviously knew why everybody was suddenly gossiping about her.
Frankly, it wasn't very hard to figure out.
Eleanor Rowle. Sirius Black.
Two names, and the rumors were already flying high.
A witch. A wizard. Two purebloods. A Rowle. A Black.
Some were already speculating about an upcoming wedding, and the young woman could only roll her eyes at their stupidity. Others were whispering things about Death Eaters and family and "that can only be a proof of their true allegiances". Then there were the idiots who were speculating about which one of the two purebloods had tricked the other into believing they were their ally.
The witch cast a nasty look at two other pureblooded witches, who were already planning to take the newly returned Lord of the House of Black into their bed, and, hopefully, into their lives, as soon as he'd walk out of St. Mungo's. As far as Eleanor was concerned, she didn't like to use schemes to get a man, and she usually despised anyone who did this. Some ambiguity was alright, but using love potions and other even less honorable means was shameful.
The young employee of the Office of Misinformation flooed to her family house. There, she found her uncle sitting in an armchair just next to the fireplace.
"Ah, Eleanor. Still planning to spend your time off in St. Mungo's?"
Theodore Rowle was her father's – and Leif's, because he unfortunately was still family – older brother, and the Lord of the House of Rowle. Unlike his second brother, he wasn't particularly interested in ridding the world of muggles, though he didn't like them much. His position was clear: let them be, and be done with it. Him, at least, Eleanor was sure he wasn't a Death Eater.
The witch sat in the armchair next to him, and took one minute of silence before answering. With Scrimgeour becoming Minister three days prior, the Ministry was completely upside down. A day of work in there was worth half a normal week of work. Well, the fact that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been revealed to be back and him and the Death Eaters were wreaking havoc in both wizarding and muggle England was certainly revelant in the Ministry of Magic's chaos too.
Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at her uncle, visibly tired.
"I'm not letting a head of House be sent back to Azkaban for something he never did."
Theodore nodded, entirely agreeing with his niece. If he hadn't had a child of his own, the girl would have been his Heiress – and certainly not Thorfinn. His nephew was... utterly stupid, reckless, dangerous, and misguided. The Rowle lord was even wondering how the boy had ended up in Slytherin while at Hogwarts. Not that he could see Thorfinn anywhere else... But still.
"Sirius Black..."
Theodore let his mind wander in search of what he knew of the Black boy.
His parents hadn't been really happy about him, and at some point, he remembered Walburga Black trying to disown her son, only to be countered by Arcturus. Luckily, the old lord had outlived his daughter-in-law... and cousin.
Theodore Rowle frowned at the thought.
The Blacks were... a painful reminder of what the purebloods had become. A bit too happy with inbreeding. If only they had been searching for wives and husbands in the foreign Houses... But no, they hadn't. There was hardly a pureblooded family with no ties to the others in Great Britain.
Really, the Rowle lord couldn't care much about blood purity. Yes, he wasn't eager to welcome a muggle in the family anytime soon, but he had nothing against halfbloods and muggleborns. He had been attentive enough to see that those witches and wizards didn't have any squibs amongst their children – well, almost none – while the old families had one every century at least.
Being a pureblood was nothing to him, while being a wizard was everything. For his own child, he wouldn't care about the purity of blood... as long as the name was old. The Potter boy was a halfblood... and yet he was the Boy-Who-Lived. Nothing wrong with being from an old family and being a halfblood.
The man looked back at his niece.
Well, Sirius Black was a pureblood, anyway.
Eleanor wasn't aware of it, it seemed, but she had said a lot about him since they had met at Hogwarts. For years, Theodore and Eleanor's parents had believed she had a bit of a crush on him. Now, the older Rowles wouldn't say that anymore. Maybe there was something, sure, they didn't deny it... but it was mostly that the witch was Black's admirer. Even after his jailing, she had refused to listen to the ones who were badmouthing the young man.
At first, it had delighted Theodore's relatives who had strong interests in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, for they thought Sirius Black would get her to see how she was wrong in her point of views. Also, it had worried Theodore and a few other Rowles, who knew nothing good could come from a Death Eater.
When Harry Potter had begun defending Sirius Black, Eleanor had been unbearable – and the Rowles suspected to be Death Eaters and other extremists had been unnerved, while the others had felt a lot better that, maybe, the girl had been right.
He sighed.
"It won't be easy. Right now, Scrimgeour is being cautious, for Black is a lord, backed up by Dumbledore, and more than possibly innocent. But as soon as he will be able to stand on his legs for more than one hour, the Minister will go after him."
Eleanor looked at her uncle with a raised eyebrow.
"Why would he do that?"
Theodore shrugged.
"Sirius Black is a menace to the Ministry."
"I'm sorry, but I can't seem to understand."
Or maybe she didn't want to understand. That was more likely to happen. Eleanor wasn't one to admit that the good side of this war was this rotten – or really, afraid, rightfully but wrongly suspicious – even partially. She knew it. But she didn't like voicing it.
And there was also the fact that she always had this tendency to act as if she trusted everyone, never insulting anyone, always cautious with her words, a real Slytherin in that you never knew what she really thought. Theodore was almost certain the girl could lead someone to accuse someone else of doing something without ever formulating her own doubts.
Her recent outburst at the Ministry had been a surprise, and could only be explained by the urgency of the situation.
Nonetheless, Theodore Rowle gathered his thoughts and began explaining why Scrimgeour as well as many others wanted Black out of the picture. To get Eleanor to talk, he had to talk first. And listening to her was always pleasant.
She'd have been such a fine Heiress for the House of Rowle...
"He's a living proof that the Ministry can be wrong. Scrimgeour is trying to give off the feeling that everything is alright, they're in control. It's not exactly bad, since a panic wouldn't help, but it's not good either, because some of those who aren't panicking are relying on the Ministry to be secure, when they should be warding their homes and keeping an eye on the children. People are being arrested without consequent proof, so that the masses will think the aurors are on their way to rid the country of the Death Eaters, when they are actually struggling to keep things in order."
And the worst, he thought, was that the aurors couldn't do anything about that, since they had been ordered to arrest, interrogate and eventually send to Azkaban any suspicious person by the Minister himself. Yes, no one could or would argue that Scrimgeour wasn't a better choice than Fudge in the current situation. But some could and did argue that it didn't mean he was the best choice either.
"Sirius Black is a living proof that the Ministry can be wrong, and with his injustified jail time, with the lack of professionalism at the time of his arrest, with the constant threats which have been after him while he was on the run, he could rip the Ministry apart if he wished so. Now that the truth has been spoken, he's to be something of a war hero, a martyr even, and he does not stand beside the Ministry, but beside Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. As does Harry Potter. Both of them could be enough to give a new, reassuring idea of the Ministry of Magic... and they won't."
Not that they had any reason to. The Rowle lord had been dissatisfied with the Ministry many times during the last years, and no one had tried to make him look like an insane attention seeker or to have him Kissed for a crime he didn't commit. The Boy-Who-Lived and the Prisoner of Azkaban not wanting anything to do with the Ministry was understandable.
"And let's not talk about the fact that, as you so justly pointed out the other day, Sirius Black is the Black lord, the recipient of one of the greatest wealths in our society, not only nationwide, but seemingly on the continental scale, if not worldwide. No one is sure about how much exactly belongs to him, and some say that after being left unattended for so long, the Black wealth has surely tumbled down, but I doubt it. For all their lordliness, Orion and Walburga still had a goblin appointed to manage their estates. As a rich man, he's one of the most powerful in the country."
Rumor had it that the Rowle wealth was something like a quarter of the Black wealth. Theodore knew how rich he was. If the rumors were true, the Blacks weren't even "rich". They were insanely wealthy.
"Also, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is one of the oldest wizarding families. The Blacks became nobility centuries before we did, and their family before they took the name was another one of the old households, those that have died out since long and at the same time are part of the legends. They have close family ties with half of the purebloods in Great Britain, and remoted ties with all the others."
Speaking of which, Theodore observed his niece thoughtfully. Maybe he'd better look for the last Black who had married into the House of Rowle, and vice versa. The inbreeding was bad enough as it was, and he wasn't going to let Eleanor fall in love with someone who had less than five generations of remoteness in family ties.
Considering that Eleanor could fall in love.
Theodore wasn't sure his niece knew what the word meant.
Eitherway, he would be on the watch.
"What you're saying is that the Ministry is afraid of his political power?"
"Yes and no. Yes, they're afraid. No, it's not only that. You have to understand, Eleanor, that some family names have a reason to be what they are. Muggles and wizards alike, in the past, used to name people after where they came from... or what they could do better than no one. Today, the fact that some people have names from a different country, a different language, is misleading. The passage of time may have altered the names, or distroyed any link to the original reason for a name, but sometimes, it's still accurate. Some of our old wizarding families still display the qualities of their names. Ollivander is oddly similar to the word "wand"... and strangely enough, they are wandmakers. The Bones have affinities with necromancy they'd rather ignore. The Slytherins had the gift of parseltongue. The Blacks..."
"...Are dark wizards, regardless of their use of the Dark Arts."
Theodore nodded. He knew there was more to it, but his niece was right.
"If a Black is a powerful wizard, he will always be a powerful dark wizard as well. If he is an average wizard, he will always be good enough at the Dark Arts. If he is weak, he will still be an average dark wizard. Even the squibs from that family are said to be able to use some dark magic, if not any regular magic."
He said no more, but he knew Eleanor had understood.
A powerful wizard wasn't always good at everything. Some could be stronger than anyone, in, let's say, charms, but dreadful at the Dark Arts. The members of the House of Black were what they were, and good at the Dark Arts. Always. How good, it had to do with how powerful a wizard they were. But they were Blacks. And Blacks were dark wizards.
Eleanor stayed silent for a while, then whispered something her uncle barely heard at all.
"And Sirius Black is a powerful wizard."
Theodore nodded to himself.
There was no telling that the Black lord was a powerful wizard. He was younger, less experienced than Dumbledore or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But he was powerful, and only needed to gain control of his power. He needed knowledge.
Knowledge was something he could gain with time.
And so the Ministry was afraid of him, of what he could become.
Idiots.
After all he had suffered, if Sirius Black wasn't yet a dark wizard – as in, using the Dark Arts to do evil deeds – he would never be one. Unless the ones who had made him suffer in the past tried to do so once again.
The Ministry was full of idiots – and people just clever enough to ask the wrong questions.
Eleanor stood up from her armchair, and bid her uncle goodbye. She apparently wanted to go and visit someone else before going to St. Mungo's. Theodore raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"And who is the lucky man?"
His niece didn't blink nor blush, so he guessed that either it was a woman, or Eleanor had really no idea of what the word "love" meant, as he had mused so many times before.
Or maybe she was playing with him.
"No one you know, though he was from our world."
The Rowle lord raised his eyebrow even more. This was strange. Usually, Eleanor didn't visit dead people. However, since the man "was" from their world, it could only mean that...
"Wait a second, is he a squib?"
The witch only smirked before flooing away.
Theodore sighed.
He knew his niece well, and she was definitively able to befriend a squib. Not that he disapproved. Only, he didn't see the point. Unless the squib was a nice bloke, of course. Maybe she was befriending muggles and squibs because those she knew were great people.
Still, that was odd.
Well, Eleanor Rowle was odd, so for her to act oddly was to be expected.
The witch walked out of her own fireplace, put her things away, and picked some muggles clothes to wear in London. She went to the bathroom of her loft, and took a look at her reflection in the mirror. She looked a bit tired, but well, it wasn't a surprise. The amount of work appointed to the Ministry employees was tremendous, lately, between the changes in the administration and the Death Eaters going on a rampage. The Office of Misinformation had never been so busy since Eleanor had started working here, seven years ago.
And there was also the fact that half the sleep she got was on a chair in a corridor of St. Mungo's.
She sighed, then tried to smile. It took her more than one try, but in the end, she was satisfied with the result, and almost felt as if she had been just fine.
Eleanor removed her wand from her hair. She always tucked it away in some sort of chignon when she had to fill files, and that since her second year at Hogwarts. In fifth year, she had been able to draw it faster than the ones who kept their wands in hand or in their pocket. The fact that some idiot would try to hex her every week surely had something to do with this peculiar skill.
Her long, blond hair fell on her shoulders, almost to the small of her back. A single spell brushed her hair, it being barely wavy and almost never tangling – the hair potions may have helped.
She dressed and took another look in the mirror. It could have been worst.
The witch left her apartment, looking as mugglish as any muggle, and wandered a bit in London's streets. As a child and as a teenager, she had always been confined to the wizarding areas of the city, and now she enjoyed her liberty. She would visit the capital at least once a month, just because.
It was during one of those outings that she had met Armand.
Armand was...
Armand wasn't anyone, though many would like to forget about him. His family usually denied his existence, but yet he was here. Of course, being who he was, though being a squib, he had been provided with enough money to have a more than decent education in the muggle world. His parents loved him, though they tried not to talk too much about his "difficult birth that had had unpleasant consequences". The main branch of the family, however... To them, he wasn't even worth considering.
Armand hadn't cared, and to piss them off, he had worked hard in the muggle world. But they had never looked his way. The man had gotten a job soon enough after the end of his studies. And now, he worked for some very important people. His career could become more than what his family had ever had. If they had known!
Eleanor rang the doorbell and waited. Armand lived in an old building in the heart of London. Sometimes, the witch wondered how he paid the rent, and then she remembered who exactly he worked for, or, more accurately, where exactly he worked, and she smirked. Between his job and his family, the squib could certainly afford the place.
The door opened, and she heard Armand's voice asking her to come in. She did so.
"You should be careful. The dementors are multiplying by the minute."
Armand's blond head moved slowly from right to left and then from left to right. Eleanor couldn't see his face from where she was standing. She wasn't sure what he was doing, but he seemed busy.
"I know. I saw them. They're lurking around, especially sticking to the kids, and I can't do a thing. It's one of the only times when I regret not being a wizard instead of a squib. Hell, even being a muggle would be better, at least I wouldn't see them wandering in the streets. Something to drink?"
He waved at the refrigerator to his left. Eleanor moved over there, and opened it. She looked at the cold bottles of beer, and surprisingly, of fruit juices. She glanced at her friend, who still hadn't looked her way. It was obvious the fruit juices were there for her.
"Thanks. What are you doing?"
Armand grunted something she didn't understand.
"What?"
"Stupid ring fell in the sink. Mum and Dad will strangle me if I don't have it next time I come over, with all the danger outside."
Eleanor took a sip of apple juice and walked to where the man was standing. She frowned at the sink, and searched for her wand.
"You'll let me help?"
"Go on, as long as it won't get you in trouble. Last time you used magic in my flat, the whole accidental magic team popped up, if I remember well. You still haven't explained why, by the way."
The witch smiled at the memory. It had taken her hours to explain that yes, Armand was a squib, no, she was the one who had used magic, yes, she had known he was a squib beforehand, no, she wouldn't use magic in his proximity anymore, she swore.
But that was before Armand's parents had given him the ring he was desperately trying to retrieve.
"Don't worry. As I'm sure your mother explained to you, the ring negates any magic charge in a seven feet circle around it."
She accioed the piece of jewelry and looked at it, fascinated. Such a magic object was worth thrice her salary.
Armand snatched the ring from her hand and put it back on his finger.
"Mine. I still don't know why she wants me to have it. It's not like I'm going to start doing accidental magic after twenty-eight years."
It was always strange when Eleanor remembered she was older than he was by almost three years.
"Don't say that. You still can, if something frightens you enough that you fear for your life. That's exactly why squibs get an everlasting Trace on them. Unlike everyone seems to think, you have magic. Only, you don't have enough to use it unless something really strong stimulates your magic. And even if that happened, you still wouldn't be powerful enough to use it again and at will. I've read something about a squib who, confronted to her greatest fear, turned seventeen people' hair orange. It's not something amazing, but it was obvious enough that the Obliviators had to come, undo the damage, and obliviate everyone."
Amrand crooked an eyebrow, interested.
"What happened to the squib?"
"She died on the spot. Scared to death."
"I definitely don't want that to happen to me."
"It won't. That's a rare occurrence, a squib who's shaken enough to do accidental magic. But that's not what the ring is for. It's only that the tiny spark of magic inside you, that allows you to see ghost and dementors, can be detected, and, I assume that with the Death Eaters running around freely, your parents don't want one of them offing you, since, you know, they're after muggles, muggleborns and squibs."
Armand sighed and let himself fall on his sofa.
"Great, so I'm doomed, with one of them as a relative..."
Eleanor sat in an armchair, drinking her apple juice slowly. She didn't know why wizards were so happy with pumpkin juice, but she had been better off with apple juice since she had discovered it.
The witch eyed the suitcase next to the door and frowned.
"You're leaving?"
Armand's black eyes followed hers, and fell on the suitcase. A wince took over his smile.
"Actually, I just came back from the south. I tracked down some archives which had mysteriously disappeared, about strange events that happened prior 1981."
If the man wasn't more precise, it surely meant that someone in Downing Street had remembered how the lastest catastrophes were similar to the ones which had plagued the United Kingdom up till the day He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been apparently annihilated by a baby. When things such as these happened at Armand's work, the squib was always feeling bad, for he knew the answers but couldn't give them to his co-workers.
"Well, Alexander too was sent away for the same reason, and like me, I guess he will come back empty-handed. Even if he knew, he wouldn't be able to tell, so... And it's not like he could know, anyway."
Armand gazed through the window and right into the fog created by the dementors. He seemed a bit disheartened, compared to the last time they had seen each other. Eleanor glanced at the window too, and both of them froze when a black wraith floated behind the glass, hovering in the street.
Eleanor forced herself to think back to their conversation, trying to forget that a freaking dementor was just there, behind the glass, and that she couldn't do a thing because if she tried, ten others would come and retaliate, possibly by Kissing someone out of anger.
"Alexander?"
The man's tone when talking about his colleague had been a bit to hateful to be normal.
Her question startled Armand, but at least he wasn't glaring at the monster outside anymore. He looked like he was trying to remember what he had been saying and finally he answered.
"Alexander White, the muggle Lucius Malfoy. Red hair, blue eyes, a chinstrap beard and walking around Downing Street as if he runs the place. White is convinced his own kind is the only one worthy to live on this earth, and yet manages to appear as a moderate elitist who takes into account the future of the lower people."
Eleanor blinked, surprised that someone amongst the muggles could be so close to Lucius Malfoy's ideals. If Alexander White was really as Armand depicted him, there was no doubt they couldn't get along. The relationship between her friend and Lucius Malfoy had always been... Bad was a weak word. Considering Armand was a squib and Lucius was Lucius, it had been a foregone conclusion.
The witch looked at Armand.
The man's features were less delicate than his family's usual features, with a strong jawline and a muscular stature. Still, he had the noble attitude of his father. His eyes, his mother's black eyes, reminded the witch of black silk, while his pale blond hair obviously came from his father's side.
Armand still behaved the way his father had taught him, as befitting of a member of a Noble and Ancient house, his back straight and his face composed. But there was something sweet in his eyes, something that could only come from his mother's side. Yes, he looked aristocratic. No, he didn't look arrogant.
Surely, Lucius Malfoy and him couldn't get along.
"Well, at least, your Mister White is not a Death Eater. Malfoy can't say the same thing."
Armand growled, aware of what had happened to the Lord of the House of Malfoy. Despite being a squib, he had a suscription to the Daily Prophet, liking to know if anything had happened to the rare people he knew in the wizarding world. His parents, other members of his House – though they didn't want to hear about him – and one or two friends.
"Lucius is an idiot. As for your assumption about Alexander, I wouldn't say he's not able to kill someone in the name of his beliefs. He was a soldier for twelve years before working for the Prime Minister, and I suspect he's there as much as a bodyguard as as an employee."
"Being a soldier doesn't make him a killer."
The look in Armand's eyes was enough for Eleanor to see she held no chance of convincing her friend.
His words didn't betray this look.
"Say that to the man who tried to murder the Prime Minister last march. With the time he's going to spend in a hospital after Alexander broke both his arms, I'm sure he'd prefer being dead."
The witch felt vaguely incomfortable, and her eyes wandered around the room before meeting Armand's again. The man certainly wasn't joking.
"At least he's not a murderer."
Her friend winced, for he couldn't say she was wrong. Alexander White surely had killed before, as a soldier, it could be seen in his eyes, but he wasn't killing for the fun of it.
"Anyway, I thought you already knew, but since you've just come back, I ought to warn you. Scrimgeour is planning to visit the Prime Minister, as he was appointed Minister for Magic. He'll come as soon as he can, certainly late in the evening, between tomorrow and next thursday."
Eleanor still had something else to say, but Armand interrupted her, apparently unconcerned by the new Minister visit.
"Right, right, I'll do so that I won't be seen. I don't want my last name to be a problem, after all."
The witch sighed. If only this much precaution would do. But she couldn't even be sure that Armand wouldn't lose his job once it'd be revealed. And with what she had heard while passing by the auror Office, she was certain that it would eventually be revealed.
The squib saw her unease and his smirk disappeared. He patted her shoulder, unsure of what was disturbing her, but knowing he could cheer her mood up. His face morphed into the sweet mask which was both genuine and his everyday countenance.
"Hey, El, don't worry. Somehow, things always become better after a while. Granted, we might not all be here when the You-Know-Who issue is dealt with, but things will get better. Those who would have died in battle or in torture will finally be able to rest, and the others who survived will finally be able to live. It will take time, but the world won't end because of a single dark wizard and his bigoted followers."
The witch gave him a little smile, and the man felt a bit better. There was no way to prove he was right, no way to be sure He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would meet his downfall, but what could he do beside providing advices and a bit of hope?
Armand was only a squib, not even a wizard, and he couldn't act in any efficient way in this war that had fallen upon his family and his friends. He wasn't even a muggle, who had no idea of what was going on, and could dismiss the pandemonium as a bit more bad luck than usual.
Armand was in the worst position during this war. Knowing, but literally unable to act upon his knowledge. He was only a squib.
Eleanor was a witch. She could act, and despite her apparent passivity, he knew she did what she could. If needed, she'd find a way to do more.
The man's optimism faltered a bit thinking she would put her life on the line, but she could defend herself. That was more than what he could do.
"So, will you tell me what is the matter? I'm sure there is something a bit more down-to-earth for you to feel so bad."
The witch gave him a pointed look.
"Are you perhaps implying that I am superficial?"
Armand grinned. His grim seemed a bit false, but it was still better than nothing.
"Dear me, no! But the more intellectual matters, you keep to yourself. I'm sure you occasionally break down too, with the weight of the world on your shoulders, but you never show it to anyone."
Eleanor shook her head in amusement, before remembering what she wanted to tell her friend.
Her face became grave, and Armand thought he'd better listen if he didn't want to be hexed. After all, he had the ring his parents had given him and therefore she could do what she wanted with magic without triggering the Trace. Just his luck.
"Listen, the Minister placed an auror as a secretary to the Prime Minister. He will see your last name when you go back there. You're a squib, so unlikely to help a Death Eater, but with your family..."
"We'll see, Eleanor. I thank you for the warning, but there is nothing you can do, and either I get away with it, or I don't. We'll see."
The witch smiled weakly, and stood up. For the first time, Armand noticed how tired she looked. He bit his lower lip, not concerned with his family upbringing. He was a squib, and as soon as they had found out, he hadn't been forced to be respectable anymore.
"Are you sure you're doing alright?"
"I'll be going, Armand. I have someone to visit at St. Mungo's."
And with that, Eleanor Rowle left her friend. Armand watched her leave, more concerned than he would admit. When his gaze went back to the window, his eyes fell again on a dementor. He shuddered.
Eleanor went straight to the hospital, and found Sirius Black's room open to visits. An auror was standing next to the door. When she came in, the sick wizard – if that could be called being sick – was sleeping, once again.
She still had to see him awake and not busy tearing down his own body, but it didn't matter.
Sirius Black made her feel better, feel safe.
Lately, she needed someone who could make her feel safe. Her brother, the attacks, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named... If Sirius Black could lift this weight off her shoulders, it didn't matter that he was asleep most of the time. Eleanor needed to feel safe, as she had before, in first year, when the older student had been, although not on purpose, watching her back.
Before she could take notice of what she was doing, the young woman was crying silently. Tired and frightened, she looked at the sleeping man beside her, and she felt, for once, safe.
Not long after she sat down on the chair next to the bed, Eleanor fell asleep, wondering why the room was so cold.
Bellatrix Lestrange's ghost watched over the two youngsters, once again wondering where she had gone wrong. Eleanor was a pureblood, Sirius was a pureblood. Both of them were going against the Dar... against Voldemort. Both of them were unhappy with the war.
Wasn't it all supposed to be to protect purebloods?
Bella sighed.
Sirius had been right all along, at least on most of the issues they had disagreed on.
She should have known.
And now she could do nothing to right her wrongs.
So she watched the two purebloods sleeping.
Sirius was trembling, sometimes, but he was asleep. He had woken up five times since Moody's visit, and had slept a lot. Only when he was sleeping, she could see a part of his suffering. And the ghost was terrified by this pain. The Reciprocation Curse, his death, the hunger, Azkaban, Regulus' death... and Grimmauld Place. The Blacks. Physical pain, and mental suffering. And yet, Sirius wasn't insane.
Bella would have been, if she had suffered as he had.
She had been, and she hadn't suffered twice as much as her cousin.
The ghost's thoughts drifted to the young witch sleeping on her chair, tears slipping down her closed eyes. Eleanor Rowle... Not happy either, obviously.
Why were all the purebloods she knew so unhappy? Why had she joined this stupid war which only made everyone miserable? Why had she listened to the mad man?
The ghost clenched her fists, disappointed in herself.