Chapter 9

Flight of Songbirds

Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."

Then the bird said "Nevermore."

-Edgar Allen Poe

LENORA sat in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, eyes fixed upon the wall. She was still dressed in her funeral attire, the dark clothing not unusual in the bleak home. She had no more tears left after Lily and James' funeral; her body ached with grief, but she was too numb to feel it.

Lily and James were dead. She had been at their home only weeks prior. It all felt too unbelievable. The funeral had to be postponed for the safety of the Order; worries that an attack may fall upon the gathering by those who remained in the Dark Lord's ranks after his disappearance. She hadn't even been able to sit with the mourners, to grieve her friends properly. Instead, she had been tasked with perching upon a grave marked several rows down, instructed to squawk if anything seemed out of line. The last mission of Agent Songbird. Her final duty to her friends.

Sirius had been sentenced to life in Azkaban only a week prior, Lenora unable to bring herself to attend the trial. She couldn't face him, not after all he had been accused of; the murders of those muggles, of Pete, of betraying their friends. She would have killed him herself if she saw him.

And Remus… Remus was just gone. She had hoped for something; some sign of life, a letter, a call from a payphone. Instead, nothing. He was simply gone.

"Lenora," Walburga called from another room, pulling her from her thoughts. Lenora stood, following the sound of her mother's shouting to the dining room. Tea was laid out in front of the frail woman at the head of the table, the light of the fire illuminating her sickly face as she stirred her tea, her steely blue eyes fixed upon Lenora. She gestured to the seat beside her, "Sit."

Lenora lingered in the doorway. The room felt cold for a moment, as if a chill had run down Lenora's back at her mother's tone. Her lips are parted slightly, her breath catching in her throat. She slowly took a seat, feeling her heart race in her chest. They had not spoken in weeks, and the smug expression upon the old witch's face chilled her.

She gazed at her mother, noticing the thin, sickly appearance that seemed to have become a constant over the past few months. It was as if life was finally departing from Walburga's grasp, the old bitch too spiteful to let death overcome her.

She moved to the table, joining Walburga. "Yes, Mother?" she asked quietly, taking the seat across her at the table.

Walburga coughed, a deep wet sound rattling in her chest as she grasped for her handkerchief, bringing it to her lips. As her breathing steadied, she looked back over to Lenora, frowning.

"Young ladies don't slouch," she wheezed. "Where have you been off to?"

Lenora straightened her posture. Annoyance prickled her; she swore that her mother's last breath would be used to criticize her. "Out," she forced out.

Her mother nodded her approval, lifting her tea cup to her lips.

"I have news," Walburga said, "Despite the shame you and you and your brother have brought this family; the way you have tarnished the great name of the House of Black," her mother paused, face twisted into a disgusted expression as if she had tasted something foul, "I have found a suitable husband for you. A son of the Fesseln family; his wife died three years ago without providing an heir. Your father wouldn't be pleased that he is German, but we must take what we can get at this point."

Lenora listened to her speak, her heart sinking in her chest. Not now. Not another family shame. Not a marriage to another house that she had never met. Not another life she hadn't asked for.

Lenora remained silent as her mother spoke, her fingers tightening around her porcelain cup of tea in her trembling fingers. She had met the man her mother arranged to sell her off to at some soiree her mother had arranged years ago; he had been 43 at the time. A sick feeling came over her. She stared at her mother, a cold fury stirring in her chest.

"What?" she finally forced out, her voice a whisper.

"It was quite difficult, you know, with the way you've whored yourself around these past few years. Always around those awful boys... I would expect you to be far more grateful for the trouble I've gone to," Walburga snapped.

Lenora resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Walburga's tongue lashing. She didn't need this, not on the day she watched her friends be lowered into the ground. That word stung; whore. She wasn't sure if her mother knew of her relationship with Remus, but it was evident that the old woman knew that Lenora's time away from home was not as innocent as the stories she had sold her. At this point, Lenora didn't give a fuck what the woman knew or didn't know.

She took a deep breath, her fingers grasping onto the edge of the table. She watched her mother, biting down hard on the flesh of her cheek in a desperate attempt to keep herself from firing off. The taste of blood filled her mouth, her stomach twisting. On the surface, Lenora attempted to remain an image of calm, keeping her eyes on her mother at the head of the table.

She watched her mother sip from her mug of tea, as if this were some sort of formal gathering after a ball.

"Am I supposed to be grateful? " she whispered, unable to control herself any further, "Grateful that you attempt to damn me to a life that I don't want? To be reduced to nothing more than a miserable wife for your gain, mother?"

Walburga's face flushed with rage at her daughter's outburst, her hand clenching the handle of the tea cup, nearly shattering it. She slammed it down on the table, the loud bang startling the servants that stood in the doorways awaiting orders.

Lenora swallowed hard, meeting Walburga's fierce stare. She wanted to let the anger out; let the rage overtake her and scream at the woman who was so eager to sell her off. Yet, something kept her in her place, her fists clenching the sides of her chair in an attempt to keep her anger in check.

"Or am I supposed to be grateful for being told of my marriage to a man over twice my age, for another house that I have never heard of? I am not a cow being sold to a butcher. I won't stand for this."

"You watch yourself," Walburga hissed, "I am not going to tolerate another word of this insolence from you. You should be damned grateful, Lenora, that I even care enough to find a husband for you. No man would want you the way you are now."

"And what is that, mother? The way I am now?" Lenora challenged.

Walburga narrowed her eyes at the challenge, her thin mouth pulling into a cruel smirk. "Do I need to remind you? A slut. A blood traitor. Running around with that boy- that scum. I should have thrown you out of this house when your brother left. I knew the moment I felt the two of you in me that you would cause me nothing but trouble. You're lucky I could even find someone to marry you after you have spent the last years with your legs open for that halfbreed. You disgust me." Her voice hissed over the words, the venom dripping through her teeth.

"You should be thanking me," Walburga continued, her eyes narrowing, "No man would want anything to do with you. Your father would be so disappointed."

"I won't do it." Lenora snarled, "Despite your best efforts, mother, I refuse. I won't go through with the marriage."

Walburga's anger only grew. She stood, her eyes blazing with rage as she reached across the table, her hand making contact with Lenora's face with a sharp slap.

"You don't have a choice, you ungrateful little bitch!" she hissed.

"This is your duty. Your father didn't fight for our heritage, our family, just for you to run around with some boy and shame your name. There is no one that would have anything to do with you except the man I have chosen and you should be grateful for that. You will marry him- I don't care if it is the last thing I do. If I have to chain you to the altar and drag you, then so be it. I will see this through."

Lenora's body trembled as she touched her stinging cheek, eyes burning with rage as she looked back at her mother. "I hate you," she spat.

Walburga stared at her daughter, her eyes hard with a cruelty that was all too familiar. "Hate me if you want," Walburga seethed, her hands gripping the armrests of her chair so tightly her knuckles turned white, "It does not change my decision. Your wedding will be in three weeks' time. I suggest you change your tune by then."

She turned in her seat, looking back at her tea before she lifted the porcelain to her lips once more, taking a sip of the hot liquid as she stared back at her shaking daughter. "Leave me."

Lenora turned from the dining room, leaving the sounds of her mother's wet coughing behind her. She hoped the old bitch choked. Her eyes burned with tears as she raced up the stairs to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Panic rose in her, head spinning. She fell against the bedroom door, the force of the slam against the door rattling the frame. Her breath came out in rasps of panic, her hands gripping her fists at her side. She could still feel her mother's words burning her mind, the harsh slap on her face. The thought of marrying someone she's never even met. Someone she had never even heard of. The thought made her want to burst into a million pieces. She couldn't do it. She couldn't marry some stranger, some house that she felt no connection to. She couldn't live life being reduced to nothing more than an extension of her mother and her wishes.

She couldn't do it.

She wouldn't do it.

Night fell upon Grimmauld Place. Lenora stepped out in the darkened hallway, her mother's rattling cough echoing through the hallway. Lenora pulled the strap of her bag up onto her shoulder, stepping out into the hallway. She walked quickly, desperately attempting to not make a sound, her wand gripped tightly in her hand. Shuffled footsteps at the end of the hallway made her stop, Lenora letting out a small breath when she heard Kreacher's mumbled nonsense as he passed.

Lenora waited a beat, listening carefully to see if anyone else was around before she continued to walk down the long hallway, her footsteps silent. She finally reached the front door, her hand on the knob as she looked back at the stairs. She took a final look at her childhood home. She spat at the carpet, turning her back to it without a second thought. She twisted the knob and pulled the door open, stepping into the night. She turned into the sidewalk, walking quickly away from the home. She turned the corner, apparating with a loud pop.

Her feet hit the pavement outside of Remus's building, Lenora staring up at the pub that sat at the ground level of the old stone building. She and Remus had spent many a night at the bar of the pub, sharing drinks and laughing until they led each other by the hand to the small flat he leased above it. Chatter and laughter emanated from the pub, oozing out onto the street. She swallowed.

She hadn't been here in months, not since the night before he had been sent away by the Order. She had wept for the better part of the night, Remus brushing her tears away and kissing her face, whispering reassurances that he would return home as soon as he could and telling her of all the things they would do once the war was over.

She retraced the path she had taken so many times through the pub; past the oak bar and up the creaking stairs to the private residences that sat above. She knew it was improbable; that what she desperately hoped awaited for her in his flat sat on the other side of the door. She had provided Dumbledore with letters for him, begging the old wizard to tell him where he had gone, becoming more desperate as the days passed after Lily and James passed and Sirius was sent away for answers from Albus. Yet, not a word from Remus made its way to her; the man gone like a whisper in the wind.

She remembered her time spent with him here, the laughter they shared and the memories they had made together in this very flat of his. She closed her eyes, feeling her heart swell in her chest, the words he had uttered to her that night still ringing in her ears. She missed him so fiercely that she felt it in her core. Her eyes fell upon curling paper taped to his door; the eviction notice caused her heart to drop, confirming to her what she feared most. She turned, a hollow feeling in her chest as she descended the steps into the pub once more.

She descended the last step, the stairway spitting her out beside the bar. The barkeep looked up from where she poured pints, recognition sparkling in the old woman's eyes when she saw Lenora. "Nora, dear!" the woman called, "Haven't seen you in some time. You alright, love?"

She smiled at the old woman. "Mrs. McGann," she cleared her throat, "I've been…well."

The empty feelings in her chest still lingered. She felt hollow, mind reeling as she desperately tried to determine her next steps. She was so filled with grief and fear that she could hardly keep from the tears that threatened to make an appearance whenever her thoughts strayed to him, to the horror that awaited her at Grimmauld Place if she returned.

"I was looking for Remus," she called to Mrs. McGann, stepping towards the bar. Maybe he had returned home at some point. Maybe he had told the old woman where he had been off to. Her head spun, the sounds of the pub far too loud, the smell of beer filling her nostrils.

The stout woman pushed a mug down the bar, patrons calling out to her. She gave Lenora a quizzical look, "I'm afraid I can't help you with that, lovey. Haven't seen him in months. I assumed he was with you, dear. Broke my heart having to put that notice on his door, I always liked that boy. But the lights don't keep themselves on, you know."

Mrs. McGann turned from her, ripping a slip of receipt paper from the till and clicking a pen, "Leave me your number, deary. I'll give you a call if I hear from him."

Mrs. McGann looked up, but found that Lenora had vanished. The old woman shrugged, tucking her pen back behind her ear and turning back to the bar.

Lenora stood in the terminal of Heathrow, the foot traffic of the airport bustling around her. She watched muggles weave in and out of the crowd, pulling suitcases and walking quickly to their destinations. She had never been in an airport before, the crowd and cold, expressionless faces of travelers reminded her of King's Cross.

Mother had always denounced Muggle travel, calling it dirty and nonsensical. Lenora couldn't risk wizarding travel. Mother had enough people in the Ministry who owed her favors.

The man in front of her in the queue finished his transaction, the pretty dark-haired agent at the counter smiling at her brightly.

"Hello," she said cheerfully, Lenora nearing the counter, "Can I help you, miss?"

Lenora examined her surroundings, eyes falling upon the strange box before the woman, "I need to purchase a ticket."

The dark-haired woman nodded, the same polite smile still plastered onto her face. "Certainly," she said in a chipper tone, "Where are you headed to?"

"New York," Lenora said.

The agent nodded, fingers clicking against a pad on her desk, her eyes fixed upon the large box, "Lovely choice. I've heard it's beautiful there in the fall. You're in luck, we have a few seats left on the 11:15 flight."

Lenora nodded, "That will do."

"Very good," the woman behind the counter said, "Will this be a one-way or round-trip ticket?" she asked, a friendly expression still displayed on her face.

"One way."

"That will be five-hundred and twenty-eight pounds," she said, smiling up at Lenora, "I will need your papers as well."

Lenora counted out the muggle money on the counter. The agent watched as she attempted to count out the muggle bills, panic rising in Lenora as she regarded the strange bills. Remus had always helped her with muggle money, smirking and teasing her for still not learning the conversions. "What will you do if I'm not around, huh?" he would joke.

"I hope I never have to find out."

Lenora glanced up at the agent, tears stinging her eyes, "Sorry," she mumbled.

The agent's chipper smile had become replaced by a tight, concerned grin. The agent reached across the counter, gently taking the money from Lenora's hands and counting it out on the counter.

"I grew up using rupee. Took me a bit to get the conversion rates down," the woman said, offering Lenora an understanding smile. She took what was needed for the ticket, sliding Lenora the rest.

"Right then, your visa? Passport?"

Lenora looked up at her, "My what?"

"Your travel papers, miss. I will need to see them to finish the transaction."

Lenora felt a wave of panic flood her chest as the woman's words registered with her. Muggle travel was entirely too complicated, Lenora's ability to think clearly dissipating as her anxiety spiked.

"I," she started, sighing as she placed her hand on the counter, wand tucked in her sleeve.

"Cunfundo," she murmured.

The agent's eyelids fluttered, her eyes glassy as her chipper smile returned, passing the ticket across the counter to Lenora. "Enjoy your flight, miss."

Lenora took the ticket, pushing through the crowd of passengers. Her heart pounded, she felt like she could vomit, her whole body buzzing with anxiety as she made towards the gate. She finally located her gate, plopping down into one of the plastic chairs at the gate.

Lenora was quiet as she took her seat, her mind reeling as she looked out at the bustling airport from the terminal window. Her stomach twisted in her stomach, her breathing coming rapidly. She closed her eyes, the sound of the airport too loud, too chaotic. It's going to be okay, she told herself, her hands clasping together on the arm of her chair.

Time seemed to crawl forward slowly, each second punctuated by the steady clicking of the old watch she wore, far too big for her wrist. Her throat felt dry, her eyes stinging as tears threatened to well up in her eyes.

"Flight 125 to New York via Heathrow, now boarding at gate eleven," a woman's voice called over the loudspeaker.

Lenora stood, following the crowd of passengers that moved towards the gate, passing their tickets to the agent at the counter. Lenora pantomiming the actions of the passenger ahead of her, offering the agent a weak smile as the woman stamped her ticket. Lenora stepped past the counter, staring down at the line of passengers waiting to board the plane in the strange, dimly lit passageway. She wrapped her arms around herself, the line slowly shuffling forward. It's going to be okay, she told herself. It's going to be okay.

His voice echoed in her head as she trudged on, the door of the plane growing closer.

"Where do you want to go, princess? When we finally get out of here?"

"New York," she had said, playing with her fingers as she laid on his bed, her head on his chest.

"New York? What business would we have in New York?"

"I think it would be romantic, is all. I could sing, try to get on a bigger stage somewhere. We could find a cozy little flat, go for walks in Central Park. No one would know who we are- we'd get to make our own name. Just the two of us."

He had kissed her head, squeezing her hand, "The two of us."

She boarded the plane alone.