Chapter Thirty-Five
A/N: As requested (and it makes so much sense to do) — Last Time On Ouroboros:
After much teasing about glowing trees, Salazar discusses his and Godric's House Seats while collecting potential wood for the Black part of the pregnancy ritual before being forced to practice dancing. Godric had Nimue and Romulus over for lunch, which Salazar was slightly late for. During it, they learned a little about the Potters and Potter luck, and the basic complicated mess that is Potions craft.
The next morning, during ass crack of dawn when the sun hasn't come up yet, Salazar shows Godric how to mediate outward into the metaphysical outer world to see if Godric could sense the Mother, ie the leylines. Godric could so he was given the next step before Salazar wandered closer to the leyline to connect with it himself and then was jared from the metaphysical space by Tommie boy's anchor acting up. A little blood is no big deal though, no reason to worry Rie.
Not knowing there's a legit reason for Salazar's grumpiness besides Godric's insistence on connecting with blood family that hasn't done shit for him, the founders head over to visit the Bargeworthys. It surprisingly goes well but that might be because the kids are cute and the adults kept quiet for most of it. The boys grab some pizza afterward while they discuss what to do for those little cousins.
Surprisingly we somehow reached a second day in which nothing interesting happened until Salazar left for Cassiopeia's place. There she finishes her once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of dressing Salazar Slytherin up, tries to play it cool when he casually casts runic magic with a flick of a hand, and does what she can to keep his present hidden in plain sight at the ball.
The Malfoys accept her attempts with grace, though it might be mostly due to the sheer number of photographs occurring and their having no clue that Sally's runic magic should keep people from connecting rather obvious dots. Florean Fortescue ends up accidentally revealing Salazar's name as Harry. 50/50 chance anyone in that group besides Florean's wife and his brother, Pater Fortescue, immediately realizing which Harry Florean was talking about. The rest of the party was mostly smooth sailing with a bunch of gossip about various interesting but not earth-shattering information. Even the little kids gossiped while forcing Salazar to learn how to play actual kid games for once. Salazar and Cassiopeia quietly leave when everyone is distracted by the Malfoy's illusionary glowing apple trees but they don't leave quietly enough as Mr. Patil catches them at the exit. He speaks parseltongue at Salazar and Salazar's response reveals Salazar was a parselmouth too—whoops.
Oh well, off to the Ministry to chat with a certain Godfather now.
oooP1ooo
(Arcturus)
Being a recluse of a highly dangerous, ancient House had its perks. Still, the junior ministry workers who jumped over backward to accommodate him while their superiors were on holiday were a pleasant surprise. He didn't even have to bribe them. Just who he was had been enough to get the meeting. Adding that he was dying made it possible to set the time and place.
If this got out to the holidaying managers, there would likely be hell to pay for the employees. It wasn't every day the ministry transferred a high-security prisoner to a holding cell for a family visit after all. They would have to deal with the consequences just like he would. If it became public knowledge, everyone would whisper of dark deals in dark corners and excessive privilege for purebloods.
At this point, Arcturus couldn't care less, though. House Black would be saved from the stupidity of the younger generation. That was all that mattered now.
His cane tapped against the floor of the Ministry's atrium and echoed across the expansive room as he and Nimue strolled past the gaudy golden fountain. Near it stood Cassiopeia and Pater Slytherin in their formal attire both glittering under the lights, and Pater Gryffindor dressed far less formally and almost looked like he was ready for school with a leather satchel across his back. Both founders stood with their house-colored hats on, looking the proper part of young magicals though Slytherin's hat didn't particularly fit the rest of his outfit. The two offered various nods to him and smiles at Nimue.
Cassiopeia swept up to him with outstretched arms and smacked a kiss to the air on either side of his face before she announced, "Pater! It's so lovely to see you."
Arcturus twitched but held back his desired scoff. It was a good act for the security guard who had been watching them since Arcturus and Nimue had joined the group.
She sighed dramatically as she added far louder than necessary, "It's too bad it's under these circumstances, of course."
"Yes." He stated flatly, "Terrible." Arcturus nodded at the boys and led the group past the guard, flashing a glare as the man rose to speak up. "House Black is here for House reasons boy."
The guard spluttered at the blatant overstep but once more Arcturus didn't give a damn. Technically there were three Paters in their group. All three of them had the legal right to skip the check-in. Their wand and physical appearance were all stored in the Wizard Council's files if needed—or was usually. He supposed the founders had skipped even that when they claimed their seats without presenting themselves to the Council.
He ordered, "Second floor," as everyone entered one of the golden elevators. Nimue, his definite favorite Black at the moment, helpfully reached out and hit the actual button.
Holiday music jingled in the background as the elevator rattled into motion. A few moments later, an annoying woman's voice announced as the door opened, "Floor two for Law Enforcement processing, offices, and holding cells, Office of Azkaban, and Office of Complaint."
A bespeckled man dressed in a law enforcement uniform blinked confusedly up at them from the front desk. The entire reception room was otherwise empty. Said officer's confusion vanished as he realized who Arcturus was and he sprang up from his seat to offer a polite nod.
"Pater Black, your grandson was just brought in a few minutes ago. We appreciate your timely arrival. Nothing good can come of having him here longer than necessary. This way," He waved them past the half-wall separating the reception from the offices and led them down a hall. They were led into the depths of the second floor where Arcturus knew the holding cells and interrogation rooms were.
Distant murmurs reached them from the processing reception room as they passed a crossing of halls. Arcturus glanced down the hallway they weren't guided down but only saw large double doors at the end. The department would be busy dealing with overly enthusiastic celebrators for the New Year. He supposed whatever muffling charms on the door weren't enough for the rowdy drunks already collected.
Slytherin somehow got to the front of the group and began chatting with their guide like a cheerful child—which was horrifying and gloriously manipulative all at the same time. He both enjoyed watching it and wanted to cringe away from it.
"So you're an Auror? I didn't know they had uniforms. Seems like the purple robes would stick out a little too much for chasing dark wizards though–"
"Oh I'm not, son." the officer explained, distractedly looking down and meeting Slytherin's gaze a few times as he guided them through the halls, "I'm just part of the regular old officers. Been working on my oblivating skills though. If I get a badge in that, I'll be working closely with the Aurors."
"Fassccinating," Slytherin said, drawing out the word before he shot question after question at the man, "Do people have their memories wiped often? Isn't it dangerous? Non-magical folk have none of the mental protections and fortitude magic adds to the mind so it must affect them worse, right? What about squibs? Do you wipe animal memories? House elves? Babies?"
"Umm, I don't know about that," grumbled the man as they finally turned into the hallway with the integration rooms. He called out to another officer, "Duccie they're here." He flashed a fake smile down at the Slytherin founder. "I've got to return to the front desk." Then he all but fled.
Arcturus met the unimpressed stare from Slytherin as the founder watched the man retreat. He decided not to say anything when he overheard the soft curse of "Bloody Ravenclaws" from the fleeing officer. Arcturus did raise an eyebrow when Slytherin turned about with an odd bounce and began to bother the new officer in a similar childish manner.
It wasn't until they entered one of the interrogation rooms that he realized Slytherin had done something to the officers. Officer Ducan—"Duccie"—let them in the secured room but didn't follow as procedure demanded. The man just stood there holding the door open and staring blankly ahead.
Arcturus shared a sharp look with Cassiopeia.
Once everyone but the officer was in the room, Slytherin pulled out a long, flat stone and flipped it up into the air. Magic rippled out of it as it headed up toward the ceiling and then stuck there. Runes crawled from the stone, across the ceiling, and down the walls, covering the entire little room, including the doorway. The doorway became obscured and the little sound from outside the room faded to nothing. Slytherin turned to the room at large and Arcturus forced his gaze to follow.
A gaunt, sickly pale man lay slumped across the wooden table. Long, matted black hair curled about the wood. His face wasn't visible. Chains dangled from limp wrists.
Gryffindor fickle a wand out and cast something which caused an invisible force to pull the man upright by the collar of his prisoner jumpsuit. The man's head dangled but his face was now visible.
"That him?" demanded the Gryffindor Pater as he leaned forward to look too.
Arcturus nodded dumbly as he stared at his unconscious grandson.
Cassiopeia spoke up, just as Arcturus realized Gryffindor couldn't have seen his nod, "Ten years has done a number on him but yes, that's Sirius."
"Well then," Slytherin walked over, "If you hold him like tha–"
"The ritual first!" Arcturus snapped, heart pounding at the sudden thought that whatever Slytherin would do to find his answers might kill Sirius. He needed Sirius alive. (Mellie's whisper of helping their grandson jumped to mind. He pushed it aside. Sirius was a mass murderer. He was exactly where he should be.)
Intense green eyes sliced over to him. Slytherin's head slowly tilted to the side as the reincarnated man took him in. Arcturus felt uncomfortably exposed and painfully reminded that Sirius had helped kill Lily and James Potter. Salazar Slytherin wasn't concerned with his grandson's health or well-being. The pater had no reason to be.
He shouldn't be either. They were there for the continuation of House Black. Once this was done, all he had to deal with was surviving a few more years and teaching Nimue how to be regent in case Cassiopeia wasn't able. Then he could see Mellie once more. (Sirius looked as bad off as Arcturus.—He only cared about that because Sirius needed to survive long enough to have an heir and spare. That was it. There was no other reason.)
"Vvery well," Slytherin said, his words held a faint hissing quality. The sharp green gaze turned to Nimue. "Ssit acrosss from him."
His granddaughter-in-law sank into the chair resolutely.
Gryffindor pulled something from the satchel he carried and handed it over to his fellow founder.
Slytherin stepped up to the table and set a ceremonial-looking rope of wood on the table. Three thick pieces of wood were somehow braided together so closely that they looked fused. Layers and layers of runes utterly covered it in swirls and lines. Some looked carved, some looked burned, and some appeared to be part of the grain itself, peeking through thin layers of wood over the top of them. Both ends had been shaped into handles. The three kinds of wood were visibly different colors. It was a work of art. Something to polish and place in a museum.
"Grassp one end," Slytherin ordered. He pulled Sirius's hand up and wrapped it around the handle on the other side. Somehow it stayed.
Nimue followed his orders with only a slight tremor in her hand.
Arcturus clenched his cane as Slytherin brushed a hand over the center of the rope of wood and spoke in an unknown language. He took an involuntary step back when magic rippled out of the wood and danced over Nimue and Sirius. The light display grew brighter as the runes on the wood literally pulled off and floated about the two in swirling circles until a sphere of magic whirled about them. Sounds of barking and the vroom of fireworks filled the air. The swirling sphere of runes sped up and spread out around the two, forcing everyone else to the edges of the room and blurring the runes into dazzling lines of light. Then it began to brighten and condense back toward Nimue and Sirius.
It became too bright to see. The sound rose in octave and almost seemed to roar and howl in triumph.
Then it was done. The sound cut off at the same time the light died.
He blinked away the afterimages of light. The ozone scent of intense magic remained. That was it.
The braided wood was gone, not even dust remained. Nimue sat in her chair panting from the amount of magic that had rushed through her. Sirius sat on the other side, breathing just as hard, his eyes swiveling about the room—crazed.
Slytherin shot Arcturus a pointedly annoyed look.
Cassiopeia moved, clearly intending to pull Nimue further from their mass-murdering kin. Her movement caught Sirius's attention. His grandson giggled.—It was too high-pitched to be considered chuckles.
The hair on the back of Arcturus's neck rose at the sound. It was entirely unlike any noise he had ever heard from Sirius and he had known the boy since he was born. It reminded him of a few of the less sane members of the family. Like Bellatrix.
"Cousin Cassie here to gloat? Here to tell me I should have known better? Should have gotten in line and followed everyone else?" Sirius sneered and his sneer only grew when he spied Arcturus. "Oh, grandfather? Come out of hiding to judge and ridicule? Here to tell me how grand and brilliant having a Slytherin heir is?"
His gaze swept over the rest of the room searching for someone. Arcturus's mouth went dry as he realized who. Sirius didn't know Regulus was dead. Orion's death had been in the newspaper but Regulus' had not been. The only reason Arcturus even knew Regulus was dead was the family tree. There had been no body and so Walburga had refused to believe her youngest dead. Since she was the boy's mother, there had been no announcement. To the world, the poor boy was simply one of the many missing.
Sirius's tone turned sing-song-like as he continued to speak, "Where is dear little Reggie? Too busy licking the ground of his lord's feet to come say hi? Too busy following that hag of a woman that birthed us like a little duckling?"
Then Sirius's gaze turned to Nimue who was still seated before him. His gaze had begun to clear, turn sharper and his tone shifted to sound more bitter than crazed, "You his wife or something? He couldn't be bothered to come himself and you thought he'd appreciate you coming instead?"
Nimue silently shook her head in denial.
Slytherin took a step forward and pressed his hands to the table to lean over, towards Sirius, and in between the seated couple. "Enough antagonizing everyone. We're here because I've questions and you may have answers for them."
Sirius's gaze swept over the founder and then dismissed him. His attention turned back to Arcturus. "You've nothing to say?"
Arcturus frowned and answered, "There is nothing to say. We really are here for his questions."
Confusion flashed across the gaunt man. "What?"
Slytherin huffed and yanked his hat off. "Look at me."
Sirius obeyed. His jaw dropped. He sprang up and back and fell over his chair as he scrambled away from Slytherin. Hands and chains danced in the air as the man panicked. "James? James! I'm sorry–I'm sorry–Immasorry. I'd tried to get him for it but he was a conniving little fucking ratand I'm sorry."
Arcturus gawked at his blubbering, begging grandson. Then he thought to look back to Slytherin in case he had done something, had decided to play with Sirius's mind as revenge or something. (He had no idea what he'd do if that was the case.)
Slytherin looked utterly bewildered. Gryffindor now stood slightly in front of his fellow founder, his red hat still on his head. It was a protective stance.
"Sirius," Cassiopeia called out, "Sirius, you're going to have to explain what you're apologizing for."
Wild eyes roved from Slytherin to Cassiopeia and back. "I killed them. I killed them. I–"
Slytherin finally spoke, tone sharp. "I am not James Potter."
Sirius looked hollowed out and lost at those words. "Wha–"
"I am your godson," Slytherin continued, "And you will tell me what you know about the night Voldemort killed James and Lily Potter and attempted to kill me." Left unspoken was the threat in his tone. Something Arcturus didn't think Sirius was in the right state of mind to notice.
"Harry."
Arcturus' gut dropped. He felt like he was headed toward a trainwreck.—Sirius sounded entirely too heartbroken and awed and terrified to be the man who had laughed at the murder of his friends and a score or so of muggles.
His gaze met Slytherin's once more. Something was not right and he wasn't the only one who thought that.
Cassiopeia made an annoyed sound and stomped over to Sirius, pulled out a tiny vial, and dropped three drops of clear liquid into his mouth before anyone could think to intervene. She turned to Slytherin and stated, "Ask your questions. He'll tell you what he believes is correct for the next twenty or so minutes."
"You brought veritaserum." groaned Arcturus, gaze helplessly darted to the technically open door and the bespelled officer.
"I think it's more—why did none of you bring the truth serum?" she snarked back.
"I cannot brew potions within Azkaban," Sirius answered in a monotone.
Everyone paused and stared at the man, his truthful answer reminded them of the time limit.
Slytherin frowned, looking no less thrilled at the turn of events, but asked, "What happened on October 31st, 1981?"
"I woke up to the girl I fucked the night before still in my bed and decided to wake her for anothe–"
"After–" Slytherin glanced at Gryffindor who shrugged. The boy shook his head and threw out, " What happened on October 31st, 1981 after 3 pm?"
"–she was nice and tig–" Sirius paused in the middle of his inappropriate, monotone delivered, description and then said, "I watched Harry fly on his toddler broom in a randomly chosen clearing James sent me the coordinates for. Eventually, Lily sent her Patronus to let him know it was dinner. I went home as I hadn't been told the secret to be able to visit yet and made my own dinner–"
"What secret?" Nimue blurted out.
Sirius immediately answered, "The Fidelius charm secret Lily insisted on casting to protect Harry."
"Merlin," hissed out Arcturus. He glanced over to his cousin in dawning horror.
She nodded at him and moved around the table to the two eleven-year-olds. Cassiopeia grasped Slytherin's arm and pulled him away from Sirius. Gryffindor followed as she whispered something. Most likely she was explaining the Fidelius charm to them, particularly how Sirius needed to be the secret keeper to have told Voldemort. Since he hadn't been the secret keeper, he couldn't have betrayed the Potters.
But he could still be a mass murderer.
Arcturus stepped up and settled a hand on the backrest of Nimue's chair. She looked up at him, confused and worried. He offered a grim smile.
He looked over to the potioned man and demanded, "Who was the secret keeper?"
"Peter Pettigrew."
Slytherin remarked from across the little integration room, "You killed him."
Sirius, taking it as a question, answered, "No."
"But," Nimue said quietly, her tone implying that she had realized the same as him. If Sirius hadn't killed Peter Pettigrew, had he killed anyone? "You blew up the street, didn't you? Only his finger was ever found."
"I have never blown up any streets," Sirius answered.
Cassiopeia asked, "Did you kill anyone between October 30th and November 3rd, 1981?"
"Yes."
"Who did you kill between October 30th and November 3rd, 1981?" Cassiopeia demanded, frustrated.
"James and Lily Potter."
Slytherin stepped up beside Arcturus as he asked, "How did you kill James and Lily Potter?"
"I convinced them to have Peter as the secret keeper instead of me."
Arcturus leaned against his cane and the chair, suddenly feeling dizzy. Nimue shifted about and grasped his arm to support him. His eyes met hers. She looked horrified. They had just married her to a wrongly incarcerated man. And they had already done the pregnancy ritual. If only he hadn't insisted—but then Slytherin had a plan to pull information from Sirius without waking the man so they may never have learned any of this if he hadn't insisted.
He should have listened to Mellie. He needed to open that box.
Slytherin walked over to Sirius and knelt. He looked tired as he sat on the ground beside his godfather. Slytherin asked, "Sirius, what do you know about Voldemort's attack against James and Lily Potter?"
"Voldemort could only have found them if Peter Pettigrew told him and the Fidelius charm only fails if the secret was no longer true. James and Lily Potter died and the second level of their cottage was destroyed but Harry survived," Sirius answered as monotone as all his answers had been, "Other inmates say Harry vanquished Voldemort. He wasn't there while Harry was so maybe it is true."
Pater Slytherin stared at him with a furrowed brow before he asked softly, "Do you know how Harry survived?"
"No."
"Do you have any idea who might know?"
"Yes."
"Who may know how Harry survived?"
"Albus Dumbledore. Voldemort. Alice Longbottom."
Gryffindor jerked at that last name. He leaned toward the pair on the ground as he demanded, "Why would she know? Why would Alice Longbottom know how Harry survived?"
"Lily and Alice started being around each other a lot after they found out they were pregnant at the same time. That friendship continued after they gave birth. James and I would often find them together, sitting around with a hoard of books. I overheard Lily tell James that the two were researching ways to protect Harry and Neville. They must have found something that worked."
The founders stared over at each other before Slytherin turned back to Sirius and asked, "Do you know anything about what they researched?"
"No."
Slytherin nodded and looked back at Arcturus, expression troubled. "I'm done…we need to set the room to rights and then I can free the officer. I can have him think we just entered or that we had finished everything but I need to give him a memory of a meeting."
"He needs to be freed," Nimue said quietly, "Have the officer see Sirius's confession. However feels natural."
"Without the serum involved," agreed Cassiopeia as she stepped up and gave Sirius drops of another liquid.
Slytherin nodded thoughtfully.
Sirius's voice cracked, "That was illegal to do."
"We're getting you out of here, Sirius," Arcturus said roughly in response.
His grandson stared disbelievingly up at him. Slytherin rose and offered his hand to Sirius, drawing his grandson's attention. Sirius's expression broke.
"Merlin, Harry," choked Sirius as he reached out as if to touch Slytherin's face instead of accepting the hand up, "You've grown so much."
Slytherin's expression softened and he caught Sirius's outstretched hand. "Come on, let's get you seated."
Arcturus felt his world tilting as he watched Sirius stumble upright. Gryffindor helped right the chair and Sirius reluctantly settled back into it, though he kept his grasp on Slytherin. Sirius used his hold to pull Slytherin into a one-armed hug.
"You look so much like James but have your mother's eyes," rambled Sirius, "They'd be so pleased with how you've grown. Merlin, how long has it been? Are you almost ready for Hogwarts? Don't tell me you ended up raised by Grandfather and Aunt Cassie?"
"I'm in my first year at Hogwarts," Slytherin answered softly before he added, "You understand that all those questions–"
"Imma not saying a word. Not one," Sirius rambled, still clinging to Slytherin, "Don't you worry Harry. I understand you want to find answers and you thought the absolute worst of me. I did kill your parents after all. And I didn't even get Peter for his part. He got away, Harry."
Sirius's grasp shifted and visibly tightened around Slytherin's arm. His gaze turned a little manic. Slytherin couldn't hide a flinch. Arcturus straightened as Gryffindor took a step forward with a displeased look.
"You got to be careful Harry. He's out there and he'll come to finish the job! He'll do it for his dark lord!" He turned to Arcturus with his wild-eyed gaze. His hold on Slytherin tightened further. It had to be painful. "He's a rat–"
Gryffindor tapped his wand against Sirius' head and his grandson collapsed. Slytherin guided the now unconscious man forward until he was slumped over the table once more and extracted himself from Sirius' grasp. Gryffindor immediately grabbed Slytherin's wrist and pulled the sleeve up, revealing tattoos and reddened skin already darkening.
"I'm fine," Slytherin muttered.
The two stared at each other for a long moment before Gryffindor let go and Slytherin pulled his sleeve back down.
They all looked down at the poor man for a moment. Then Nimue rose from the chair.
"We're going to have to recreate this on some level," Slytherin stated, "without revealing my presence…I don't think I can create a memory that would make the potioned part of the conversation natural, and hold up against any scrutiny for legal reasons."
Arcturus nodded. "We can bring you up and say we wanted to make things right for the Potter Familia so we need details…"
"An offer to bring Harry next time might help get him rambling," agreed Cassie.
"Should be good enough," sighed Slytherin.
Slytherin put his hat back on and went to the entry to remove the barrier and free the officer. The man entered and closed the door so they could have a repeat, though more legal and shorter, meeting with Sirius. It ended with a slightly panicking officer which Arcturus took as a good sign.
While the officer hopefully spread the news and let his managers know of the issue, Arcturus wanted to do what Mellie had wanted him to do for years: open a certain box.
oooP2ooo
As much as he wanted to open the box of Sirius's trial and everything, he was also painfully reluctant to do so. So Arcturus joined the ladies for nearly midnight tea. He needed to drink his medication anyway.
"Once Sirius is freed, he'll have to be sent somewhere for help. He's in terrible physical condition," Cassiopeia commented as she rambled at a subdued Nimue, "and his mental capacity is…questionable."
The blonde shook her head and continued even as Nimue silently nodded in agreement. "Of course, I've seen far worse mental degradation from Azkaban prisoners. Sirius was coherent. Which, I imagine, is an excellent sign."
Arcturus stared down into his cup of medicated tea and spaced out most of the one-sided conversation. All the younger generation had been utterly fool-hearted. The only one who had made it through the seventies alright was Narcissa and she married an obnoxious idiot.
The younger generation had ruined the Hou–
"You would blame a child for your negligencce?" hissed Slytherin.
Sirius had done stupid things, horrifically stupid things.
"Thiss entire ssituation would not have occurred if you had taken more care," hissed Slytherin once more.
Regulus was dead. His son was dead. Bellatrix was incarcera–
"An adult," snapped Salazar Slytherin, "sshould not put blame on a child when their actionss or lack there of were the true causse for the ssituation."
"You've never done anything useful as Pater." scoffed Cedrella.
Everything was–
"You continued to hide away from the world because you couldn't get over what you experienced during the war." Cedrella said.
Arcturus' mouth went dry. Cedrella's and Slytherin's scolding words echoed in his mind, growing louder and bolder and more damning by the second. He couldn't ignore it anymore. Until today, he had been able to avoid seeing the results of his inaction. Yes, his son and grandson were dead, his daughter unwell, and his cousins were incarcerated or all but disowned.
Each person's actions, and lack of action, were their own. Including his.
And he could have prevented this, at least. Cedrella and Slytherin had both been right. He had fled from his responsibilities and had refused to accept them when things went poorly, instead blaming others for his failures. They all could have chosen better themselves but he could have pushed them toward a safer direction. That was a duty of a Head of House after all.
His throat constricted and he set the medicated cup down. He stood up and headed for his office.
"Arcturus?"
The Pater Black looked back at the two ladies. Cassiopeia watched him with a frown while Nimue looked to be in slight shock at the circumstances she found herself in.
"I'm going to find out what type of failure of a trial they put Sirius through and connect with the lawyers for avenues on freeing him," he announced, sounding far more sure of himself than he felt.
Cassiopeia relaxed back in her seat and smiled up at him in relief as she said, "Perfect. Exactly where we need to start with this."
Arcturus nodded before he finally left them in the sitting room and climbed the stairs for his study. The box loomed at him from where he had left it for years. Arcturus stood over it and stared as his gut churned.
He should have listened to Melania years ago.
At a touch, magic flashed across the edges. It recognized him. An unsuctioning sound released from it. He pulled the lid off. His mouth dropped. He dropped the lid and pulled out the short stack of parchment at the very bottom of the large box as the lid clattered against the ground.
Summary of the Incident — Booked in Holding without Bail Notice — Emergency Review in Lieu of Trial — Transfer Transcript to Azkaban
There was no trial script because some small war council decided to ignore laws and executively claimed Sirius guilty. Sirius had never had a trial.
Bile rushed up his throat at the knowledge that he had waited this long, had left his grandson in Azkaban this long, and it was for nothing. Then blinding fury roared to life.
"How dare they," he spat out, "Sirius is of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black and they just tossed him into Azkaban and threw away the keys?!"
Heads were going to roll. But first Sirius needed to be freed.
"Elmore," he snarled out, "My lawyers. Here. Now."
oooP3ooo
(Harry)
St. Mungo's reception desk was deserted and the lights were dimmed outside the main sitting area. Faint pop-pop-pop sounds filtered into the building. A glance out the glass doors revealed fireworks lighting the night sky.
It was 1992.
He had interrogated Sirius only a little while ago. The boy touched where his arm throbbed as he considered everything. It felt like ages. He felt old.
Nothing ever could be simple.
Salazar turned his gaze from the sky and glanced over the dim hall Godric stood in. It was empty. Muffled sounds of someone celebrating filtered in from beyond the reception area.
"Come on," whispered Godric, "Patients will start showing up now that they've drunk enough to do dumb shit."
He nodded and followed his brother through the reception. Godric silently guided him up four flights of stairs until they reached a door with a plaque announcing Fourth Floor: Spell Damage. Salazar paused to consider that there was only one floor for that after everything he had heard during the Malfoy Ball before he hurried after Godric. Soft light glinted off the buckles of Salazar's satchel Godric still carried. It was the brightest bit of his brother and allowed Salazar to see that Godric was already halfway down the darkened hallway so the parselmouth sped past all the doors and plaques, and caught up as Godric chose a door to enter.
The other side was as darkened as the rest of the hospital. The little reception desk was just as empty. Salazar glanced over a large sign, Janus Thickey Ward for Brain Damage Due to Excess Spell Contact, before he once more rushed after Godric who hadn't paused to take in the room.
Gryffindor finally paused before a curtained-off area and glanced back at him with an expression that was too mixed up with emotion for Salazar to discern anything with certainty besides uncertainty. Then Godric straightened, expression smoothed out, and he reached out to push the curtain back but paused at the last second.
"There have to be notification charms around here," Godric whispered as Salazar caught up to his side, "She's mobile…they wouldn't want to lose her if she woke at night."
Salazar reached out and brushed his hand over the curtain. Citrus filled his mouth. After a moment, he shook his head. "Just sterilizing charms."
Godric pushed the curtain back. Beyond was a bed occupied by an emaciated woman who looked too worn and too old. Salazar would have never guessed she was Godric's mother. A Young grandmother, perhaps, but not mother.
The two stared at her slumbering form for a long few minutes. Salazar hesitated about what he came here to do. As much as he wanted to find answers, Alice Longbottom's mind was not stable. He could make it worse.
"Just…" Godric hesitated before he continued, his brother fully aware of the possible complications, "We'll be as careful as we can."
"Of course," Salazar muttered.
With that Godric finally stepped into the curtained-off area and leaned over the bed to lightly shake Alice awake. Salazar closed the curtain as he entered. The poor woman stared foggily at Godric and then at Salazar as he stepped to his brother's side.
Before she could do more than blink at them, Salazar leaned forward and pressed a hand to her shoulder.
Godric waved his hand out around them and the feel of his brother's campfire-warm magic settled over Salazar's shoulders like a cozy blanket.—Salazar vaguely recognized the notice-me-not aspect of the spell and nodded in appreciation.—Godric nodded back, reached out, and pressed his hand to Alice's other shoulder.
"Alice," Salazar whispered, "Do you remember Lily Potter? The moment you found out she was pregnant? The prophecy Dumbledore warned you of about Neville? The days you spent at Lily's side, searching for a way to protect your sons?"
Her too-large eyes for her too-thin face stared at him.
He thought he saw something like recognition but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Salazar continued to whisper of these moments to the woman as he slowly sank his magic into her metaphysical being and searched out for her mindscape. Godric's magic twisted about his own as his brother slowly followed. They both took their time, going as slow as they could while he whispered things that would hopefully raise the memories they wished to see to the forefront of her broken mind.
ooo
—"You're pregnant."
She turned from her seat by Fr- -Lily Potter stared bac- -Something about the redhead struck her and she blurted out without fully understanding why. (It was just this feeling. She just knew.) "You're pregnant too."
Lily nodded- -reached out.- -felt so oddly right to clasp the smaller woman's hand in her own. It was like she had been missing something all these years and never realized it until today.—
—She looked around the (foggy, incomplete) room. (Indiscernible) Faces looked over at her as she wandered through the crowd of Order members- -Lily beamed and she somehow knew that Lily had been looking for her too. They both spoke at the same time, with the same joy. "It's a boy."—
—(The space was entirely blank around the two women. The world did not exist outside the two.) Lily leaned over and whispered as they waited for Dumbledore to show up once more. "I'm pretty sure we conceived on Halloween or near about–"
Her lips parted in shock.
The younger woman chuckled. "I know. James has been joking that maybe we'll have his granddad reborn or some nonsense like that…I think it would be crazier if you also conceive–"
"We did." She choked out.—
—"Look here's your son," Doctor Smith stated as he pointed out the little blur of a child in the magic replication of her womb floating over her abdomen. "Leaning left…just like Lily's was leaning right. It's almost as if they're trying to get to each other!" he chuckled at his own joke.
She shared a look with the redhead woman.
It would be more humorous if it didn't seem truer by the day. Lily and she had started switching where they were physically positioned from each other during order meetings because the babies always seemed to gravitate toward each other.
Sometimes she wondered if there was more to her connection to Lily than being pregnant at the same time.—
—Neville was her perfect little boy, she decided as she cuddled the little red-faced baby. (He would live. Her little boy would survive to adulthood. No one and nothing would take him from her. Not this time.)
Even if he wouldn't stop screaming.
"James and Lily had their son," Frank stated as he stepped into the room, drawing her gaze reluctantly from her little boy. "Little tot won't stop screaming either—you want to visit? We're all but checked out now."
She nodded and accepted her husband's help as she carefully rose. She tucked Neville against her chest even with him wailing, already demanding something she didn't understand or know how to fix. It was go-
–Silence.
She stared across the room at Lily lying in the hospital bed. Both shared a look of wonder and fear as their husbands held each baby to the other, giving ridiculous introductions to each with perfectly straight faces. Neither man paid the sudden lack of screaming any mind.—
—"So," she finally verbalized the facts as she stared down at the two boys contently staring at each other. They did that a lot. (all the visuals were of the two babies. The room they must be in was just a blur of gray.) "Neville screams and screams and screams…until he sees Harry."
Lily answered (though she wasn't visibly present), "Food and cuddles and clean diapers only work for so long before he starts and won't stop until he screams himself to sleep…Or he sees Neville."
She decided, "Daily play dates."
"Merlin, yes."—
—The redhead stared across the sitting room at her. Their sons happily garbled nonsense at each other, though Harry liked to hiss more often than not. Her gaze kept jumping from Lily to the boys and around the (blured, incomplete) room. She didn't want confirmation that Dumbledore ha—
—Lily settled at her side, Harry warped up against her chest. Moody—
—Her friend set a stack of books on the table as Neville and Harry crawled across the floor. (Her face was fuzzy, out of focus. Everything but her son and godson was faded and worn and incomplete.) "Dumbledore told Jam– -nd I abo- -prophe- -Harry." Lily stared at her for a long moment before she added, "He's talked to you an- F-"
She reluctantly nodded. (The memory flickered, Alice's emotions a tumerent mess of horror and relief at not being the only one whose son was threatened, and visually faded away.)
Lily's voice echoed out, "Then we protect our sons. At any cost."—
—Runes blurred before her gaze as she tried to keep reading. Lily was right they needed to protect Harry and Neville. You-Know-Who couldn't take either of them away.—
—"What about a sōwilō rune at the center–"
–"If we use an inverted Anj in combination wit"– –"it could hold off a killing curse"–
–"Ansuz could"–
–"Lily, it's going to need a sacrifice"–
–"Three. It's powerful without being overly complicated."–
–"The chances of this working–"
–"It is all we got."—
—She stepped into the ruined cottage, horror rocked through her as she looke- -box of all their notes and plans- -flowery carvings on the box– -contents could have- -Azkaban for life.
She clenched the box to- -she nodded grimly at the empty space, careful to not look too closely at the red stain across the rug- -promised-"I'll raise- -brothers."—
ooo
Salazar stepped back as he slowly pulled his magic away from her. He rubbed at his forehead as he considered everything they had seen.—An ache throbbed to life across his forehead. He ignored it.—The more they looked, the worse the connections and the remains of her memories were. Some were better overall but none were whole.
A pensieve might have helped. It would have allowed them to view her memories from a third party perspective and separate the memory from her emotions and internal monologue but Salazar didn't want to hunt one down and didn't have time to craft one now. It was possible they would have learned less from her broken memories by using one anyhow.
"Our bonds bled into them," Godric breathed out in wonder, having watched the same pieces of memories, "They were drawn to each other as soon as they were carrying the both of us."
He nodded in agreement, "It does appear to be the case…which means our bonds weren't entirely dormant."
"Not even slightly by the memories," Godric agreed.
Salazar frowned as he slowly voiced his thoughts, "Whatever they did saved my life but also freed my past memories. With the bonds active in some fashion–" Salazar looked over at Godric. "–it's entirely likely whatever happened that night bled through the bonds and affected you."
"Leading to me regaining my own memories, if not considerably slower," Godric stated with a thoughtful nod, "I was remembering them in dreams. Eventually, I would have woken up one day recalling it all…It fits."
"Yes," Salazar muttered before he sighed. "So we have some confirmed answers…maybe that will be all we will get. There is the box, wherever that is."
Godric hesitated for a moment before he reluctantly stated, "Gran…Augusta Longbottom might know. She might even have it." Alice shifted to stand up and reached out for Godric. Gryffindor grasped her hand, guided her back onto her bed, and looked her over as he asked, "Since we're here, could you see what you can do for her? And Frank?"
Salazar hummed, hesitated only a moment as he imagined the anchor shift and prickle across his forehead (a migraine was no reason to avoid trying), and nodded in agreement. "Of course…but…what we already saw–"
"I know," Godric answered softly.
"There's also the possibility the curses used on them did more than mental and physical damage. Our theory that the spell contamination affects more than our cores, if there's enough or due to the spell effect, could also add to the issue here. I've no idea how to find out at this point." He noted. At Godric's nod, Salazar nodded back and stepped up to her bed once more. He grasped the closer of her wrists this time. "Alice," he called softly, "Alice."
Reluctantly, she turned from her son and looked at Salazar. This time Salazar didn't want her awake. He pressed a spell into her as he grasped her wrist. Her eyes grew heavy and she slumped back into the bed.
Salazar closed his eyes and squeezed her wrist slightly. There was the metaphysical aspect of a person but there were also the mental energies that one can sense in the physical world, the spiritus of one's body as the Romans and Greeks named it. (1) The energy muggles called the electrical output of the body now. The nervous system.
In response to his slight squeeze of her wrist, Alice's spiritus sparked up her arm and through the nervous system. He squeezed once more as he reached out to the spiritus and took a mental lift through her nervous system, like what he had done with the wards months ago. He could compare his past experience with a healthy person's spiritus to Alice's to estimate the damage and go from there.
It became clear quickly that the damage was massive but spread out outside the brain. It made sense with what he knew of the torture curse. Alice likely couldn't lift her legs easily. She may not be able to feel parts of her limbs. The nerves that connect her brain to her organs were in poor condition and possibly explained why she was so thin. Alice likely had no appetite. Her body could no longer tell her when she needed to eat or drink or even pee.
The damage to her nerves was beyond his skill. It required an extremely delicate touch, and a deep knowledge of how the nerves worked within each section of the body, and the generally correct flows of spiritus. He knew much but not enough to confidently attempt such healing without spending a long time studying a healthy woman, preferably one closely related to Alice.
Salazar reluctantly turned to the mind and slowly shifted into the mindscape while still tied to her spiritus and focused on the aspect that held memory, the part he might be able to help with.
With her asleep, he had to go from newest to oldest memories instead of prompt her to bring forward older memories for easy access. Alice had only the fuzziest memory of Godric and him waking her up. She was already forgetting it happened. There was nothing of her day before bed.
Her ability to keep recent memories was gone. With his connection to her spiritus, and split focus between the physical and the metaphysical, he could see the burned-out connections, the brain damage.
Salazar shifted to the next memory and found it was the last memory Godric and he had already seen. He searched and used the spiritus paths to try to find anything newer. There was nothing. All memory after her visit to the Potter cottage and before this midnight visit was gone. Her mind had not been able to hold onto them.
Memory before that visit to the cottage became progressively better, though few in number. There was some logical progression from memory to memory so that she might have some sense of the passage of time in the memories she had. Of course, as with most old memories, after a certain amount of time, they had faded into knowledge and vague remembrance. Her ability to recall this knowledge was as broken as the rest, which explained her lack of speech when she clearly remembered speaking.
In the end, her strongest memories were good memories at least. She had the various moments they had seen of her pregnancy and of little, tiny Godric. School day memories flickered past until her sorting at Hogwarts. A couple of particularly emotional childhood memories came. And went.
He considered the broken connections between her memories and her abilities like speech and facial recognition. Here he could help, though it was as delicate, if not more, a procedure as what he suspected was needed for the spiritus of the rest of her body.
Salazar shifted his connection more firmly within the metaphysical so that he could more easily visualize the work he needed done. His will and her mindscape combined so that the broken connections took on the visual appearance of broken pathways and crumbled bridges. He carefully, with the slightest touch he could, touched Alice's mind with his magic and slowly, ever so slowly, twisted his magic in hand to match hers. Once he was amalgamated with Alice, Salazar was able to magically commune with her.
Alice would now consider whatever he did a part of her. His magic would feel like her magic and it had a higher chance of being accepted instead of considered a foreign entity to force out—This was something that took a great deal of time, though her being unconscious and ill made it easier on his part to complete since she wasn't fighting his touch to understand such an intimate aspect of herself.
With this new communion, he was able to pull and twist and craft pathways within her metaphysical mindscape. First, he built the missing bridges and solidified the crumbling ones between the memories he could with the section of her mind he was in. Then he carefully, every so slowly, crafted the first of many needed pathways from those memories to cognition, specifically for speech.
Exhaustion slammed into him as he made this latest connection—one of the likely thousands needed for the woman to be able to properly speak once more. Salazar hissed in frustration at himself. Once he could have done at least a little more. Yet, now, before him, the metaphysical manifestation of Alice's mind wavered as if his mental connection was breaking.
Colors danced even as he tried to focus. He hadn't lost his touch with legilimency. He could do this.—Pain stabbed through him but a migraine would not stop him from doing a little more—The metaphysical world he was invading rippled and turned white.
Salazar blinked rapidly as he found himself on the floor. Sparks of pain fluttered across his brow. The dim light glared like little violent stars in his sight. Exhaustion yawned over him. A desperate need to close his eyes wared with pain and panic as he recognized the sensation stabbing through him. Something pushed at his mind's natural barriers. Familiar pain echoed across his brow. The sparks of pain flared with pressure. Heat from his ritual marks sang through him as if chasing away the attacker. Something shifted and the pressure faded away, leaving only a migraine.
Hands grabbed him and pulled him to the side. Salazar rolled over, attempted to sit up—pressure slammed against his mind again—and promptly threw up instead. He slumped back, vaguely aware that he was leaning against Godric as he tried to focus and find the person mentally attacking him.
Heat rose once more from his protective ritual marks across his lower back. The pressure and the related pain faded again. Blinking through the star-like flares of light, he spied healers swarming Alice.
Alice convulsing.
There was no one else in the room.
Where was his attacker?
Pressure slammed against his mind yet again. Sharp pain rushed over him. He threw up as warmth sliced through his senses, chasing the pain in his head. Then nothing.
oooP4ooo
(Neville)
Godric banished the bile before its acidic smell was noticed by the busy healers crowding Alice's bed. His Notice-Me-Not charm buzzed against his skin as he tucked Sally more firmly against himself. The curtained-off area wasn't large. It was pure luck that the healers hadn't stumbled over their bespelled corner.
A violent shudder rocked through Salazar. Terror shot through Godric at the thought that his brother was about to start convulsing too but Sally thankfully stilled.
As soon as he relaxed, his brother shuddered violently again.
The sharp worry returned viciously as Godric shifted his grip and his view of Salazar. Blood spilled down his brother's face. He tugged the emerald hat off with a trembling hand, stuffed it into Sally's satchel, and found the sōwilō runic scar open. The thing looked like it had been freshly cut.
Tom Riddle's anchor, the insidious little shit of a thing, responded to the mental arts used on Sally. Of course, it would react when Sally used the art.
He needed to get them out of here.
Godric's gaze snapped back to Alice and the healers and found them still working on stopping the convulsions. Tears stung his eyes and his throat constricted at the sight. This was his fault. He was the fucking idiot that asked Salazar to do this when he knew his brother probably couldn't do anything, not after seeing the condition of her memories.
If he hadn't asked–
The Gryffindor shook his head sharply to shake the thoughts from his head. Now was not the time.
He glanced once more at his mum before he shifted his hold on Salazar. He plucked the glasses off and stuffed them in his empty pocket. Then Godric rubbed his sleeve over Sally's face to soak up some of the blood and ended up smearing a decent amount of it Sal's face instead. Then he shifted the satchel, hefted Sally up, and pulled the smaller boy over his shoulder as he got to his feet. Godric magically tugged at the Notice-Me-Not charm and pulled it with him as he carefully shuffled around the room to the open curtain. He let it dissolve as he left the ward.
He made it down the hall and a flight of stairs before Salazar shuddered violently enough he almost dropped the brunet. Godric set his unconscious brother down and rested Sally against a wall before he knelt. There was so much blood covering Salazar's face. Convulsions shuddered through him, twitching his limbs.
Godric's hands darted through the air in aborted actions as he tried to think of what to do. He was no healer, would never be a healer—couldn't be no matter how much he wished—but what healer could help Salazar with this?
Finally, the reincarnate swallowed his worries and pressed his palm over the wound. He slowly pushed his magic into the scar and searched out Voldemort's anchor. It wasn't where it had been before when he had checked during Samhain. The thing had moved from its little metaphysical scar-cave within Salazar.
Where had it gone?
Godric pushed further within while he tried to stay aware of Salazar's response, and the physical world. It was hard to split his awareness as he sank into Salazar's metaphysical self but he did it. He found a faint "trail", for lack of a better word, and followed it. A sense of pain and echoes of memory of Alice's little curtained-off space told him he was nearing Salazar's mindscape when he finally spied it.
The anchor—weirdly manifesting as an old man-baby-horror-blob within the metaphysical world—was slamming itself into Salazar's mental shields. It was literally attacking his brother before his eyes.
Ritual marks flared across Salazar's mindscape, reminiscent of the marks that lit up across his back, and violently forced the anchor back. Under normal circumstances, the marks would have evicted such a thing entirely but other ritual magic flared across the anchor-monster, grounding it to Sally's metaphysical sphere. Salazar's marks flared brighter in response only for the anchor-monster's own ritual marks to respond.
He could feel Salazar physically shake under his hand. The fight between his brother and the anchor was affecting him beyond the mental attack.
The creature scurried across on its feet and hand-like appendages, and slammed against the natural barrier protecting Sally's inner mind. The appendages gained claws as it hit the barrier, scrapping long grooves across as the anchor tried to burrow in.
Realization hit Godric hard. This thing would keep attacking until Salazar was worn down.—His expression hardened, mirrored between his avatar within Salazar's metaphysical sphere and his physical form.—This would not happen while he could help.
Godric snarled at the thing as he pulled up his own magic and flung a fiery whip out.
The door to the stairwell opened. Godric was vaguely aware of someone sputtering out, "What? Bloody hell."
Another voice demanded, "Who's bleeding? Son, move your hand."
His whip wrapped around the anchor. It screamed. Godric yanked it back from Sally's mind and dragged it to its little metaphysical scar-cave. He tried to continue on in a desperate attempt to remove it entirely from Sally but the whip failed to pull it further. The founder snarled over the screaming thing and ignored the immovable nature of it, now that it was back at the edges of Salazar's being, and attempted to brute force it out of his brother.
Magic clashed. Inhuman screaming seemed to echo. There was shouting. A backlash of ritual magic slammed into Godric in admonishment for his attempt.
Godric physically slammed into the railing of the stairs that had been a good two or three feet behind him. The world went white. He groaned as he slid to the ground. Godric was vaguely aware that he was blinking. He didn't know how long it took for his vision to return—but it couldn't have been long.
One of his feet dangled over the edge of the stairs. The world spun and jerked. There were afterimages of his foot and the stairs. It didn't look right. He couldn't tell where the real floor was.
He had hit his head. And far too hard at that.
"Merlin," gasped someone. Someone said that multiple times. Or maybe Godric was hearing an echo along with the double vision.
He could taste the copper of blood in his mouth but it was Sally he was worried about. Even with the spinning world, he could see his brother had slid sideways and down so that he was slumped awkwardly onto his side. A small puddle of blood formed under his head.
Godric tried to get up. A hand pushed him back. The hand belonged to a roughed-up, copper-haired, wide-eyed man. Godric hadn't noticed him move. The older man should have been at the door.
"Stay down son," ordered the man, "that was a bad knock you got–"
Another man knelt at his brother's side.
"Llleave him alllone," slurred Godric as he tried to ignore the hand pushing him down.
"Let us check you both over," insisted the older man as he looked down at Godric. His expression twisted to one of shock. "Merlin, you're Neville–"
"This is Harry," the other stated grimly, "His scar is bleeding Armistead!"
Panic rushed through Godric. They needed to leave. Now.
He pushed magic out, forcing Armistead to slide backward toward the door, and struggled up. The world spun and rocked even more as he moved. Godric used the stair railing he had slammed into as leverage up. Something in his back shifted wrong. Nausea and pain rushed over him. He gaged.
"You need to lay down, Neville!"
Godric attempted to ignore the spinning world and stumbled toward Salazar.
"Neville!" snapped Armistead as the man scrambled up and toward him once more.
"Leave Sal–Sal alone." He choked out even as he dropped to his knees because the ground wasn't where it should have been. A crumbled to-go mug lay amongst spilled, still hot tea. The cafe was on the top floor. These men must have come from there.—It wasn't a helpful thought. He needed to get to Sally.
The copper-haired man knelt at his side once more. "We're healers, Neville. You need to listen to us."
Godric stared blankly at the man. His words went right over him. All he could think about was Sally was in danger, and spilled cups, blood, and he couldn't help. Again.
They needed help. Baskets of healing things came to mind.
"Mipsy!" Godric called, "Olen!"
Armistead frowned. "Wha–"
The two House elves pop-clicked into the hallway. Twin gasps escaped them as the two elves took in the room.
Olen cried out in horror, "Master Rie!"
"Get away from Master Sally!" snarled Mipsy as she snapped a finger at the other man. The dark-haired man was flung backward and into the door with a crash. Mipsy grabbed Salazar and vanished with a pop-click.
Godric stared at the empty space, mind struggling with the concept of Sally being gone. (He couldn't be gone. He couldn't be. Couldn't be. Be.—Godric took a sharp breath as he realized he had been holding it.)
Armistead wasn't so slow or shocked at the realization that House elves could transport people. He cried out at Olen as he lifted his empty hands to the air, "We're healers. They need healing! You need to bring Potter back!"
Olen, though, didn't listen. He followed Mipsy's direction as he rushed over to Godric and grabbed onto him. The healer grabbed Olen just before the world blurred and squeezed into a horribly tight space. It was very reminiscent of apparition except it gave an even worse feeling of nausea. It was like Olen was forcing them through a space not made for humans.
Godric jolted as he landed on the stone floors of the Gryffindor Conservatory. Pinpricks of pain stabbed across his back and head. He rolled over and threw up, vaguely aware of a shouting argument happening near him. The world wouldn't stop spinning. All he could do was attempt—and thoroughly fail—to keep some of his dinner in himself. He trembled with effort from not flopping into his own bile and in his attempt to keep something in himself.
Sally—He needed–
The copper haired man knelt into his view, banished the bile and moved him onto his back, all the while trying to say something. Godric wordlessly snarled at him and flung his magic out. The man was thrown backward more forcefully than last time. Godric forced himself upright and searched out Salazar.
His brother was laid out on his back, blood draining down from the gaping maw that had once been a scar—his fault. If he hadn't pushed Sally to help Alice, this wouldn't have happened.
"Neville!" Armistead cried out as he scrambled up from near the doors into the manor, "You need to calm down!"
A pop-click rang out. An unknown elf in a yellow and black outfit appeared with the dark-haired healer and a gown-bedecked woman at Armistead's side.
Mipsy and Olen stepped up to his side, and the sassy little elf seethed, "You be trespassing!"
The unknown elf scowled back, "Yous be kidnapping!"
Godric swallowed back the rising bile, quite certain he must look ill as shit, and snapped fingers together as he summoned flames. Fire licked the air about him. He flung it out at the gawking intruders. Their House elf squawked in outrage and yanked one of the tables between them and the fireball. Letters danced into the air and burst into scorching flames.
Olen sent chairs flying. The burning table crashed into them as the other elf continued to use the table as a shield. Mipsy pop-clicked away and reappeared at the unknown elf's side. They tumbled together with outraged cries.
He swallowed thickly as the need to throw up became unbearable. There was too much happening and the world was spinning, spinning, spinning.
Spells flew out. With one hand Godric summoned a protego shield. Olen blocked most of the incoming spells with more furniture and not a few letters as he stepped before Godric protectively.
Godric attempted to say thanks but had to bend over and throw up.
"You will cease this nonsense at once!" screeched one of the adults, "I am Mater Hufflepuff, you must listen to me!"
Godric looked up with a weak scowl, ready to demand what the fuck she was talking about when Olen screeched back, "Master Rie's and Master Sally's safety trumps Mistress Hellie's grandbaby's wants!"
"We are healers, dammit!" shouted the dark-haired man, "Both of the boys need healing! Look at them!"
He heaved shallow breaths in an attempt to not throw up more and tried to look at the intruders properly. The shaking world made it a little difficult but he recognized Mater Hufflepuff in the fancy gown and the two men from earlier were dressed in the lime green robes of healers. Their elf had Hufflepuff heraldry on its pillow case dress.
The reincarnate swallowed thickly and tried to think as a sort of cease-fire occurred. He couldn't kill the lot. It would be really bad to kill Mater Hufflepuff. Helga would never forgive him. 50/50 on Gareth acknowledging the need.
Capture.
He needed to capture them.
So, capture the intruders. Heal Sally. Sally learns to obliviate them. (Might end up more complicated.—A future problem.)
Godric took a breath and closed his eyes. The spinning sensation continued. Less visually nauseating at least. No time for a wand, so less precision.
Sally pulsed in his senses at the other end of the bonds that tied them together. Little flames lapping across letters flickered in his mind and crackled in his ears. The heavy breathing of three House elves filtered through the mostly quiet room. No human had moved yet. He knew where all the intruders were.—Thank fuck for Sally's near blindness and all the blind training he had insisted on.
He imagined the spells he needed and willed the magic to twist into form at his fingertips. Godric mentally yanked the flames up into the air and toward the general area each human was in.
Outcries rang out.
Godric snapped his magic out, hand flicking about toward each adult as he rose, stepped over bile, and then ducked in case of return fire. He dropped back to his knees and heaved up pure, yellowish liquid—moving was not a good idea. He forced himself to check on his success slowly, even though all instinct screamed that he needed to keep moving. The three adults were hogtied and gagged by magic. They all were staring wide-eyed at him.
Mipsy and Olen were fighting the unknown elf. House elf magic was damn impressive.
He sank properly onto the ground with a groan. His arms were shaking. The shaking expanded across his entire form. It wasn't just exhaustion or adrenaline rushing through him. He needed to drink something. He felt light-headed. The sharp tang of his bile made him more nauseous.
But, now, heal Sally.—He couldn't heal worth shit.
"Mipsy. Olen," he gasped out, "Basket of healing things?"
Loud, muffled complaints rang out from the two healers.
"Right away Master Rie!" shouted Olen before he pop-clicked away, leaving Mipsy to handle the other elf but said elf vanished with a pop-click herself.
Mipsy hesitated, her large gaze jumped to the restrained adults and to Godric worriedly. "Master Rie, she might be getting others."
Godric grimaced.
A groan from Salazar drew both their gazes. Green eyes peeked out from behind thick lashes. "Riee?" slurred Sally.
"Are you alright?" Godric demanded as he tried and failed to scramble to his feet. Instead, he shuffled across the floor with his eyes closed and slumped down beside his brother with a few particularly harsh breaths as he tried to keep the nausea under control while ignoring the stabbing pain across his back and shoulders. And head—his head was also stabbing with pain when he focused on himself properly.
Sally opened and closed his mouth a few times. His hand rose to his head and his eyes squeezed shut as he slurred out an unintelligible response. Godric got the gist though.
He grimaced. "The anchor–I…it knows how to reach your mind."
A helpless noise escaped Sally. His eyes were particularly shiny as he blinked up at Godric. Pain was wrought across his features. Blood trailed down from the open scar hidden under his hand.
A revibrating pop-click, almost like two pop-clicks at once, announced Olen. The little brownie immediately offered a vial to Godric, "For nausea Master Rie!"
Noise from the gagged adults rose up again, reminding Godric that they were there. Godric ignored them as he accepted the vial. "How much?"
Olen frowned and flushed. "I not be knowing."
Mipsy huffed.
"You could," a new voice stated harshly, "free my parents and grandfather and they can help dispense all that correctly."
Godric snapped his gaze around even as the adults attempted to shout through their magical gags and nearly dumped the vial as the sharp movement sent him into another round of throwing up. This time barely any come out. He didn't think that was a good sign.
When he recovered enough he slowly turned to the speaker, silently surprised they hadn't attacked him.
A girl, a few years older than him, knelt at his side. Her coppery blonde curls popped out about her face from under a little hat. She had a hastily thrown-on robe that covered what were clearly pajamas—the little Zs that escaped the sleeping badgers were an obvious sign. A couple of half-burned letters were in her hands along with her wand, though she wasn't pointing it at him or Sally or anyone really. She looked both terrified and determined while slight tremors escaped across her form, most notably at her hands.
"Sneezewort said you tied everyone up…Where are Pater Gryffindor and Pater Slytherin?" she asked with a creak of terror in her voice. She waved the burned letters at him as she fought to keep the tremor at bay. "They're your and Potter's guardian, right? They'll make you free everyone! My mother is Mater Hufflepuff! They wouldn't want to ruin the rekindling of alliances. You're making that really hard for them, Neville!"
Her hard expression weirdly reminded Godric of Helga at that moment. He met her glaring, demanding, tearful gaze, speechless. A noise of pain from Salazar pulled his gaze back to his brother. A gasp escaped the blonde girl. Salazar dug his fingers into his scalp as blood gushed out from under his palm and his jaw clenched shut along with his eyes.
Olen squeaked and lifted the basket of healing things toward Mipsy. "I be bringing all I could!"
Mipsy stepped up and ruffled through the vials before she offered one to Godric "For Master Sally!"
The girl intercepted the offered vial, took it with a grim frown, and glared over at Godric. "My father and grandfather are healers. Free them so they can help you and Potter."
"You be giving that back to Master Rie now," complained Mipsy with a foot stomp before she flashed a glare at the unknown elf, "You had to bring a student!"
"Yous not allowed to attack students," agreed the elf proudly, "Yous not hurt her and yous Masters won't hurt her either."
Godric groaned. He couldn't think straight. Sally needed healing but the healers had been threats, right?
"Neville. Right? You're Neville. I'm right, I have to be. Harry said you were staying with him. I'm Lucasta Smith. That's my mum and my dad and my grandpa. They can help. I swear that they can and will," the girl said with a cracking quality to her voice and tears shining in her brown eyes, "You're hurt. Free them. Let them help."
A whine of "Rie," escaped Sally. It was full of pain and terror.
Godric tried to pivot about to see the problem. Nausea stamped through him and he doubled over. Nothing came out. His throat hurt from attempting it.
He had hit his head really badly.
A scream—inhuman and chilling—ripped through the air. Godric twisted the rest of the way around to see. The screaming was coming from Salazar, though his mouth was closed. Sally was convulsing.
"Merlin," Lucasta gasped and she grabbed at Godric's arm, "He needs help. Harry needs help, Neville!"
Tears welled.
This was Godric's fault.
It was the last straw. He couldn't help Salazar. He needed a healer. A bunch of creams and potions wouldn't do the trick. Godric mentally reached out and snapped the magic, releasing the adults.
He was pulled away from Sally. Magic danced over him. Someone stuffed a spoon in his mouth filled with something vile that he reluctantly swallowed. The nausea vanished entirely. Three other potions were stuffed in his mouth in rapid succession. Each eased various elements of the situation—the pain faded to a dull, vague ache being the most discernible change.
Then he was laid flat and orders to stay that way rang in his ears.
oooPooo
1. Spiritus described here is based upon the basics of surviving knowledge of the Roman physician Galen, as I've only come across the very basics on this and have not dug into it further. Galen, through dissection, determined the brain and spinal cord were the source of sensation within the rest of the body. He also insisted on the nerves being hollow tubes which the animal spiritus—his name for the source of vitality—circulated through. Seemed fitting to have Salazar know this due to his mastery of the Mind arts, and be able to understand it at least a little further than a muggle, Roman physician.
A/N: So…we might have two or three chapters to get through January 1st, 1992. Just warning you all. I personally blame adult characters actually being helpful, or trying to be. But hey we've reached the very Sirius part of freeing a Dogfather and understanding what the heck is going on with Sally's scar. Not really in that order since 2-3 chapters for this mess of a day but it's all coming together. Slow and steady a march, right?