The next few weeks felt nothing like the Christmas season. Sirius spent them in continuous pain, obsessively reading over every war-related headline with an intense feeling of frustration and helplessness. He hated being in hiding. Worse, he was still alone most of the time, except for James' ancient pet puffskein that followed him everywhere. Fleamont was constantly brewing, either at his potions company or in his home lab making specialty concoctions for the Order. Euphemia and James were usually out of the house tailing Death Eaters along with Remus, Peter, and Lily, or they were responding to the frequent Death Eater violence. They had anticipated the retaliatory spree of course, but it was still dreadful to read about. Most of it was anti-muggleborn terrorism, with high fatality rates. There was also a nasty attack on Longbottom Manor. Algie Longbottom and three muggleborns sheltering with the family were dead. The aurors Frank and Alice both survived relatively unscathed. Lady Augusta Longbottom ended up in St. Mungo's and was not expected to walk again after taking a Dark curse to her lower back and injuring her spinal cord.
When the Potters were home, he found himself paradoxically avoiding them. There were too many awkward questions from James. Sirius found it much harder than it used to be to redirect their conversations to lighter topics and banter. It was the Erumpet in the room: talking about anything but the war and the fact that James had watched Sirius murder Abraxas felt like they were desperately avoiding the most important topic of conversation, which made everything so... uncomfortable. Even though James had forgiven him completely, so much had happened to Sirius in the past year, neither of them knew how to act around eachother now. James developed a new tendency to fill uncomfortable silences with wedding planning, which bored Sirius to tears. Every time James brought it up, he silently thanked Merlin that Pete was still saddled with Best Man duties and that Snape was, surprisingly, shaping up to be a fantastic Man of Honor for Lily by all accounts.
There were way too many tense glances from Euphemia, and not enough silence. They did, indeed, talk about It some more.
"Tell me what happened with Rabastan Lestrange," she asked over lunch one day when both James and Fleamont were out.
Sirius sighed. "What do you want to know?"
"It happened the night of the McKinnons, right?" He nodded. "I know what you did for Marlene and Benny. Alastor brought them here initially, to hide and for Fleamont to revive them with his potions before moving them out of the country. I was... alarmed to see what you had done to Marlene at first, until Alastor explained that the combination of spells allowed you to fake their deaths convincingly, even to Voldemort. And then Fleamont remembered Alastor had requested multiple batches of mandrake draught earlier in the year as well, and we realized you must have done the same for others before..."
"Muggles, yes," Sirius supplied. "When I could."
She nodded and smiled at him. "And we were so proud to realize the good you were doing, the people you were saving, even though we worried about you every minute. It's just... Sirius, why didn't you do the same for Rabastan? Why kill him when you have such a wonderful alternative?"
Sirius fought not to roll his eyes at her, even though he really wanted to. "Firstly, stunning, petrifying, shielding, and disillusioning people wouldn't work on someone able and willing to fight back. Marlene didn't fight me because she knew the alternative. The muggles couldn't fight me, even if they wanted to. If I had decided to stun Rabastan and missed... then I would be dead, and so would Marlene and Ben. That was also a risk with the Avada, but the killing curse can't be blocked, only dodged. And there was no risk of being interrupted while casting multiple other complex charms. From that perspective, it was kill or nothing. Secondly, I expected the Death Eaters to want the body back. If someone had gone upstairs to retrieve it before we left and found not a limp corpse but a petrified but otherwise uninjured body... then I would be dead, and most likely so would Marlene and Ben."
"Then why kill him at all?" Euphemia asked stubbornly.
"Really? I love and am so grateful to you, and Fleamont, but seriously, how willfully blind can you be? You're in the Order! You know what these people do!"
"Don't talk to me that way in my own kitchen, Sirius Black! Yes, I'm in the Order. And that's why I know there is always a better way!
He stared at her uncomprehendingly. It was inconceivable that she didn't understand. How could she not? "Let me tell you about that night," he said slowly, his voice low and angry. "All of it. It started with burning down a muggle rock concert. That was my mission, and I took pains during the planning stages to limit the casualties as much as possible.
"I remember that," Euphemia said. "I helped the Obliviators. There were no deaths there."
"As far as I and therefore Moody knew, that was supposed to be the end of my involvement. But it wasn't. I was recalled to Headquarters. Rabastan met me there and side-alonged me to where a bunch of other Death Eaters were gathered. My cousin was in charge. I had no idea where we were. I had no idea what to expect until Bella explained we were going to trap everyone inside the house, and then kill them. She told us to 'have fun,' because the Ministry was distracted. I am so lucky that Bella assigned me a specific task, to destroy the floo, rather than tag along at her side, or else I am sure I would have been asked directly to torture and/or kill one of the McKinnons."
"Would you have done it?" she whispered.
Sirius shrugged uncomfortably. "Probably. I would not have had a choice. Everyone in that house was doomed before I arrived. I went upstairs because I saw Benny on the landing. So did the Dark Lord." Euphemia blanched in horror. "The Dark Lord told me point-blank that I must kill an eight-year-old child."
"Seven," Euphemia said softly.
"I couldn't do that. I think I would have let the Dark Lord kill me instead. I deliberately missed with my first curse and chased after Benny up the stairs. Luckily, the Dark Lord just laughed and moved on. It was lucky that Benny led me straight to Marlene and that she was able to trust me enough to save her and her brother, despite the highly questionable circumstances. I sent the Patronus charm off as soon as I was done because I had no other, safer way to alert the Order. That incidentally served as the other Death Eaters' cue to stop playing and start killing. It was when I came back downstairs, covered in Marlene's blood, that I came across Rabastan. I didn't know who he was. I just knew he had murdered two witches without care and was plundering the bedroom of one of them. Back. Turned. I did what was obvious, and natural, and right. If I had not, the Death Eaters would have gotten away from that massacre with no consequences at all."
It took her a moment for her to respond in the face of his glowering. "Vengeance isn't..." she began.
"If vengeance isn't worth it, Azkaban shouldn't exist. And I'd argue killing Death Eaters isn't just vengeance anyway. It is a necessary part of saving innocent lives and winning this war. No matter how you look at it, the only thing I could have done that night to maybe save more people would be to send the Order a patronus sooner than I did, but I probably wouldn't have gotten the words out before being cut down as a traitor. I would be dead. So would Marlene and Benny." He said it more forcefully this time, hoping the message was finally sinking in. "And yet," he finished softly, "how many people are alive today and in the years to come, because I did something about Rabastan and Abraxas? Merlin, I wish I could get them all so easily."
There was silence for a long time, and Sirius moodily finished eating his sandwich with one hand. Just as he was about to get up, Euphemia said shakily, "I wish you had never become a spy, Sirius. I wish you had never seen such awful things."
He shook his head ruefully. "I wish this damned war had ended before the time came for me to join it. Before James, Remus, Pete, Lily, and others of my generation were forced to join it. It shouldn't have lasted this long. It wouldn't have if Barty Crouch had more power than Dumbledore and Minchum. I don't regret my choices." He got up, moved his plate to the sink, and walked out of the room.
"I love you, Sirius," she called after him. He didn't respond. The reassurance felt hollow. No matter what she said, he could tell she had not and would not accept the choices he had made, not killing dangerous men who deserved it, not joining the Death Eaters as a spy in the first place. She wanted him to be a Potter, pure-minded and unsullied, and he just wasn't. In many ways, no matter how hard he had fought against it, he was a Black.
Fleamont wasn't so bad, but their encounters consisted almost entirely of him poking at Sirius' Marked arm, which he dreaded because that hurt. Even with access to phoenix tears, Fleamont had yet to come up with anything to both heal the burn and stop it from reopening. One mixture closed the skin but made the area more sensitive to the Dark Lord's call somehow. The next reduced the pain, but allowed blisters to form again. One caused so much itching, Sirius managed to scratch the original laceration open again while he was sleeping. After a week of this nonsense, the thing got badly infected and Sirius came down with an ague. Fleamont treated him aggressively with fever reducers and a regimen of anti-fungal potions in case it was Scrofungulus or Spattergroit. Fortunately, no cutaneous signs of either potentially deadly or disfiguring magical infection manifested. Unfortunately, that meant they needed to try other potions, because the fever didn't break either.
The day his fever reached forty-four degrees Centigrade, Sirius had a new idea while sitting with Fleamont in the potions lab, watching the man managing three different cauldrons at once. "Actually... might not be a bad idea... in th' long run," he said into the quiet. His words were slurred with fatigue, fever, and too many potions.
"What?" Fleamont asked distractedly.
"If it keeps not healing... jus' cut it off. Grow it back with Skelegro..."
"You can't regrow a limb lost to Dark magic," Fleamont reminded him gently.
"Wanna bet? I betchu could cut it off higher up... with an axe or summing... an' then regrow... brilliant, that."
Fleamont's only answer was a snort of laughter.
"I'll prove it. Gimme a mouse... they're great for experimenting with Dark magic..."
"Maybe tomorrow, Sirius. You should rest today," Fleamont said smoothly, completely dismissing him as if he were a small child.
He curled around his burning arm when it flared and spasmed again, and laughed dryly. "Fuck this. Lemme talk to Dubbledore. He can do th' arimancy..."
"Oh, I've got a better idea. I'll tell Severus your plan. If he knows it's your arm we'll be chopping off, I'm sure he'd be happy to help."
"'S good idea," Sirius mumbled blearily. In the end, for some reason, Fleamont didn't go for it, even after the latest combination of six potions gave Sirius such a bad nosebleed they had to brew an emergency blood-regenerator too.
He saw Moody and Dumbledore a couple times, both of whom seemed increasingly reluctant to consider letting him leave given the state of his health. They told him repeatedly there was no way to stage a convincing escape until he was more recovered, if then. Deep down, he knew they were probably right, yet the risk of his return was growing with time too. It was a stupid conundrum with no good solution, and he complained at Moody every chance he got until the auror announced he would not return until after Christmas Day and stormed off in a huff. Then he started complaining at Portrait Moody instead; the portrait was actually sympathetic. Apparently, even though his watch was often closed, it had rather enjoyed being Sirius' contact, much more exciting than carrying messages between the other Order members, who tended to see much less action.
He couldn't complain to Pete and Remus when they visited, because they didn't know he was a spy, or a murderer. Spending time with them was hard, same as James. He missed them terribly the days they were gone, but every conversation veered inevitably either to questions Sirius didn't want to answer, reminiscences he found he couldn't enjoy, or discussion of recent Order missions. Those were the worst, because his friends, he realized belatedly, were softies. They agreed with Dumbledore's no-kill policy, reasoning more Death Eaters could be Imperioused "just like you were, Padfoot." Neither generally used anything stronger than stunners themselves. It was obvious Pete didn't even want to be on the front lines and much preferred the sorts of reconnaissance missions where he could spend the whole time as a rat to escape notice. Remus was interested in becoming the Order's liaison with the wild werewolf packs, with hopes of neutralizing them through peaceful diplomacy. Sirius thought that was far-fetched but didn't say so.
The one bright point was that Fleamont came up with a new and improved nerve regenerator potion that worked much better than the standard version he'd been taking from St. Mungo's. He was pleasantly surprised and confused when Fleamont told him Snape had helped revise the formula so as not to interact with Fleamont's Streeler-honey-phoenix tear burn paste. Fleamont had lied and told Snape it was a consultation for St. Mungo's, for a patient admitted with severe acid burns in a brewing accident that had destroyed the underlying nerves. Apparently, Snape was now continuing and expanding the work as his potions Mastery project, figuring out workarounds for all kinds of healing potions that usually couldn't be mixed.
Anyway, that meant Sirius' feet and right hand finally regained full strength and sensation, and he was able to make much progress with his dexterity. He took to practicing for hours at a time in his room, aiming jinxes as fast as he could at a shabtis figure that dutifully ran away from him and from the puffskein, Bridgit. The silly bird absolutely loved chasing the little thing. Fleamont let him stop the nerve regenerator eventually, but he kept taking the muscle relaxant, calming draught, and nutrition potion, mostly because of the disaster that was his left arm.
Even Christmas itself wasn't shaping up to be much fun. Remus and Peter were scheduled to come over early in the day, which was nice enough. In the evening, Lily and Snape would both be coming over for Christmas dinner after a day with Lily's parents. Which meant Sirius would have to hide upstairs, since Snape didn't know he was here. Not that Sirius would be eating much of the Christmas dinner anyway, since his fever had shot back up to forty this morning, totally eliminating his appetite.
Sirius stared at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror for a long time. He looked like shit. His skin was pale and clammy. His eyes were dark and sunken. His cheeks had grown a noticeable layer of stubble, and he couldn't for the life of him summon the desire to shave it. He barely forced himself to comb the tangles out of his uneven, shoulder-length black hair when the mirror scolded him. He really should wash more often.
All he wanted for Christmas was a packet of cigarettes and a good night's sleep, and he wasn't likely to get either. Maybe, he thought wistfully, he could at least convince Fleamont to give him the version of the burn paste that was more anti-pain than usual. He'd probably wake up with blisters and an open sore again in the morning, but if he took it with a muscle relaxer, he'd also get to be high as a kite for a few hours...
He got that wish, and he spent most of the morning leaning against Remus' shoulder and randomly giggling while watching James and Pete play Exploding Snap.
The holiday was well and truly ruined when four Ministry notices arrived over lunch, summoning everyone but Pete (and Sirius) to work as back-up obliviators for another mass anti-muggle attack. Happy Christmas, Avery, Sirius thought darkly. Pete apologized to Sirius but had to go as well, to group with the Order in preparation to deploy as soon as they identified Voldemort's target.
His discontent didn't last long. It took half an hour for his potions-addled mind to realize the opportunity before him, but once it occurred to him that he could leave now, he didn't hesitate. After all, he had his wand. He had his watch. Just as nine months ago, he didn't need anything else, not even whatever presents were waiting for him under the Potters' Christmas tree. He walked out the front door. The cold December air felt good on his fevered skin. He walked straight(ish) across the lawn, until he felt himself pass the wards. He turned in place, and disapparated.
Author's note: surprise! Air quality around here is gross with the wild fires, so I'm stuck inside rather than puttering around outdoors as planned. Hence, you all get new reading material earlier than planned. You Can't Go Home Again is a novel by George Weber, which I haven't actually read, but the title certainly conveys Sirius' current mindset. We'll see if he ever gets to the point where he can go home again and feel like he belongs. Thanks for the lovely reviews, and I'll still aim for a Saturday update too.