20 October 1978
Fingers tripped up Sirius's chest, and Marlene's breath was warm on his neck. He woke slowly, and with an ease he hadn't felt since he was a child, blinking awake, allowing the susurrus of sleep to fade away. Sirius turned to her; early morning light filtered in through the sheer curtains that covered her windows. She'd charmed them; though the window was closed, they stirred in a magical wind, and the scent of bergamot and honey wafted toward him. Marlene was fastidious; the scent of their middle-of-the-night sex was gone entirely from the sheets.
"Good morning," he said, scrubbing his eyes.
"Morning," she said, stretching like a cat beside him; her still-naked body was warm beside him.
There was a peculiar sort of smile on her face. Still baffled by sleep — and had he just been dreaming? Right before he'd opened his eyes? — Sirius just stared at her.
"You're up early," he rumbled finally.
"It's after ten," she informed him. Then, her smile slipped. Golden brows knit together. "You didn't sleep well, did you?"
"I didn't… not sleep well," said Sirius. There had been worse nights in his life; there had been thirteen years of worse nights, though Marlene did not know of his time in Azkaban. "I slept fine."
The blue eyes remained guarded. "Is there anything you want to tell me?" she asked, biting her lip.
Sirius brushed her lips with his. "The only thing I want to tell you, love, is how beautiful you are," he told her.
Her hand on his chest pressed him back. "I mean it, Sol," she said.
"As," said Sirius, "do I."
They held still, the two of them, staring at each other. She'd gotten up at some point, for her breath smelled as fresh as her linens. There was an anticipatory brightness cast on her features, though she still held him apart from her. Her fingers, tangled in the hair on his chest, gave a short yank, just hard enough for the rest of the dreams he'd been having to clear his brain.
"You've forgotten," she mumbled. "Sol, it's—"
But the origin of her annoyance was to remain unrevealed.
Flames erupted in the corner of the room. Sirius leapt from the bed, naked, grappling for his wand that sat on the bedside table. Blood pulsed through him, a word was on his lips, and it took a moment to recognize Fawkes, who stared down at him with eyes black as night.
"Fawkes," said Marlene.
The phoenix was still wreathed in flame; it took a few moments of blinking to see an envelope clutched in the bird's talons. "Is that for me?" Sirius asked cautiously. The phoenix inclined his head. He took it gingerly, but still managed to burn his fingertips.
Come to my office, if you would please. There has been a development.
There was no signature; with this particular delivery bird, there was no need. Sirius was being called to the headmaster's office. Perhaps he's figured it all out – we might go home today! – goodbye, 1978, and fuck you – wait, it's probably not–
Sirius' thoughts zoomed along in fragments long enough for Marlene to pluck the note from his hand and read it. "I've got to go," he said, reaching for his underthings and robes, and pulling them on as efficiently as possible, wand now tucked between he teeth. "I 'ave 'oo–"
"You have to meet Dumbledore, yes," she said. There was a flat little note in her voice.
Sirius pressed a kiss on her pouting lips, told her he'd see her later, and left the apartment. His whole body thrummed with excitement. Whatever this was, it would move them forward. He knew it.
By the time he got to Hogwarts, his urgency had faded somewhat, replaced with a steely sort of resolve. This was it; he could feel it. But he needed to get to Harry, first; so, instead of storming to Dumbledore's office, Sirius wandered the halls, hands tucked in his pockets, fisted to prevent them shaking, his heart beating faster when he came to a particular corridor. But instead of giving in to temptation, Sirius headed instead back down the stairs, where the muted roar of students grew louder and louder, until he found most of Hogwarts streaming into the Great Hall, ready to have lunch.
He checked himself at the door. It happened that his eyes landed on Harry straightaway; there was a certain stillness about him, sitting there in his disguise. He'd always been pale, but he was even paler now. His broader face had thinned; the skin was stretched tight over his cheekbones. For one moment, worry gnawed in his belly, before it passed. This would all be fixed once they returned to their own proper time and place.
Sirius slid onto the bench facing Harry. "Hey, there," he said.
Harry blinked at him. "Hey," he said. "What're you doing here?"
Sirius ignored this, gesturing at Harry's still-full plate. "Why aren't you eating?" he countered.
"I was just about to," said Harry, grabbing his fork and tapping it on the table. Nearby, Nearly Headless Nick drifted closer, pearly white eyes interested.
"Mm hmm," said Sirius.
Harry scratched at his arms, scowling a little. "I was," he said.
"Just try to eat something."
"Not hungry."
"Have you even eaten yet today? Or this week?"
"Of course I have!"
"Did you go to your classes?"
Harry was silent, his lips pressed firmly together.
Sirius eyed him. Nominally, Harry was still a student at Hogwarts. He'd gone off on September first with the rest of the students. But he was taking full advantage of being seventeen and not compelled to attend his classes. It might have been the middle of October, but Harry had spent more time in Godric's Hollow than he had at Hogwarts. It was, in fact, a surprise to find Harry here now.
"What're you doing here, anyway?" They both asked each other, at exactly the same time.
Harry capitulated first. "Mr. and Mrs. Potter went traveling, trying to find one of the last ingredients they need… they're in Greece, and they've locked his office up tight."
"Truly?" Sirius asked, eyebrows flying upward.
"They're researching it," said Harry. "It's all about the balance – remember I told you about that? – they have to balance this one vicious little poison… they think they need something from the west, or maybe the sunset, but–"
But Sirius could wait no longer. "I've brought news," he interrupted abruptly.
"Oh?" Harry asked, dropping the book in his lap.
"It's why I'm here," said Sirius, looking around at the students. "Dumbledore wants to… you know… meet with us. Today. I think he'll have news about when we can… go on our field trip."
That got his attention. "What?" he said.
"Thought it might never happen, did you?" Sirius asked. It had been a very long summer, and an even longer autumn. The days seemed to stretch out their minutes and hours as much as possible; how was it possible it had not, in fact, been five years since last month, when they'd received word of what, exactly, they'd needed to liberate from Nurmengard.
"Yeah," said Harry, sitting back. "Wow. Yeah."
But when he made to stand up, Sirius snapped out a laugh: "No. Eat first."
Harry glared but obeyed, and it was another thirty minutes before they were finally stepping off the last moving staircase that led to Dumbledore's office. "Treacle Twists," Sirius said firmly to the gargoyle, who stepped smartly out of the way. It was a matter of seconds before they stood knocking at the door; when Dumbledore let out a quiet "Enter", Sirius felt a surge of… something in his gut that went away quickly enough that Sirius could not give it a name. But still, he felt oddly out of sorts as he stepped over the threshold.
"Good afternoon," said Dumbledore, leaning back in his chair.
"Hello," said Harry, politely. "How're you?"
"I find myself well as well as I can be," said Dumbledore. "And you?"
"I'm f–" But Harry paused in the middle of the word. "I'm actually…"
Sirius looked at him, curious.
"I'm itchy," said Harry, finally, scratching at his arms. "All the time, and it's getting worse."
"Ah," said Dumbledore, brows rising. "You did tell me that some time ago. I am sorry I had forgotten–"
Sirius glanced from one to the other. Harry had mentioned the itchiness some time ago, but he didn't know that it was an ongoing issue, nor that he had told Dumbledore about it. But they hadn't had much time together, even though they'd lived in the same house for the summer. Once Harry had been taught to Apparate, Sirius couldn't keep him in one place, he was always off at Godric's Hollow.
"-Potter made me a poultice, actually," said Harry, "and it helped, but it's run out. It's not from the pox…"
"Yes," said Dumbledore, climbing to his feet. The portraits behind him murmured and muttered, painted eyes glinting in the afternoon light. There was a cabinet behind him, which, when opened, revealed a stack of old books, several quills with varying feathers, one of which must have come from Fawkes, and a crystal pillbox. "I made this for you – well, I've got to put the finishing touches on it." He took out the pillbox, brought it to the desk, and opened it.
Nestled on the black velvet interior was a small, white pebble about the size of the tip of Sirius's thumb. There was an opalescent quality to it, a hint of color that could not come from the lighting in the office.
"What is that?" Harry asked.
"It's a focus object," said Sirius.
"As you would know," said Dumbledore, with humor, "if you spent more time in your classes."
"Well, I've heard of them," Harry mumbled. "And I've seen one, but…"
"You can tell by the subtle shine," said Sirius, pointing at it. "Focus objects will often look ever so slightly different."
"Indeed," said Dumbledore.
"So how does it work?" said Harry.
"First, allow me to take my enchantment off of you," said Dumbledore, coming around the desk to stand beside Harry's chair. Sirius watched with curiosity as – when Dumbledore touched his wand to Harry's forehead – ripples spread outward across Harry's disguised face, again and again, leaving subtle changes to the physique every time. Brown hair turned black. A muddy hazel faded to a formless gray before brightening to emerald green. Bit by bit, Harry reappeared as himself, looking more like James than ever.
"I'd nearly forgotten what you look like," said Sirius, swallowing down a lump in his throat.
"Me too," said Harry.
"Are you still experiencing discomfort?" Dumbledore asked.
"No," Harry said with enough wonder that made Sirius think that Harry had misled them as to how uncomfortable he'd been. "No, there's no discomfort at all! The itching is gone."
"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "Now, pick up the focus object."
Harry did so. There was no gradual change of form: One moment, he was Harry Potter, the next, he was Harry Peverell.
"And now?" Dumbledore pressed.
"Uh, no," said Harry. "No, not at all."
"What happens if he drops it?" Sirius asked.
"I could keep it somewhere," Harry offered, "like my shoe."
Dumbledore furrowed his brow. "I had a more… shall we say 'permanent' idea," he said. "I had thought to bind it to you physically."
"Uh," said Harry, "What?"
"Where?" asked Sirius. "My Uncle Alphard had one just above his collarbone–"
"What?" repeated Harry. "Why? For disguise?"
"No," said Sirius, "For protection. He had a shield charm in it; when he felt unsafe, he'd tap it with his wand, and he'd be more protected."
"From what?" Harry asked, startled.
"From what I gather," Sirius said with great humor, "It was from his family. He wanted extra protection against jinxes and such… he was an interesting man."
"Does that work?"
"It would have its limits," said Dumbledore, "But an object such as that would protect against jinxes and even some minor hexes."
"But not curses," said Harry.
"No, too strong," said Sirius. "The charm would shatter."
"So… you want me to embed it in my skin?" Harry said, holding the white pebble between thumb and forefinger, peering at it curiously. "By my collarbone?"
"I would suggest your wrist," said Dumbledore.
Sirius watched, fascinated despite himself, as Dumbledore grasped Harry's proffered wrist and opened it up. Both Sirius and Harry hissed when the skin parted, revealing veins. These, too, were lifted to one side or the other.
"It doesn't hurt," Harry said.
"It had better not," said Sirius.
"I have suggested to your nerve endings that – instead of being exposed – they are still quite warm and cozy," murmured Dumbledore. Now, there was space enough for the small pebble. Dumbledore placed it in carefully, using a tool he brought from his desk that resembled the wishbone of a small bird.
"Are those tweezers?" Harry asked.
"Oh, my goodness no," said Dumbledore. "Tweezers? Dear me." The magical tool vibrated, letting out a hum, as the pebble came to float above it. Within the opalescent depths, there was a flare; then, Dumbledore dropped it into the opening in Harry's wrist, where it nestled against the bone. "That, Mr. Peverell, will allow you to change appearance at will?"
"What?" barked Sirius.
"Yes, indeed," said Dumbledore. Skin and veins and nerves knit together once more, concealing the pebble safely within. "It does not destroy the focus object, merely…"
"I can switch it off," said Harry, wonder suffusing his tone.
"I thought," said Dumbledore, "you might like that. I imagine that it becomes wearisome after a while, to see a stranger in the mirror day after day."
"You've no idea," said Harry, quite fervently.
Not that Harry would have to use it, thought Sirius, shifting in his chair, but he supposed it would be good for Harry, to have a way to look at his own self in a mirror. In fact, Sirius was so used to the changes in his own face – which were, to be fair, far more subtle than the changes in Harry's face – that he hardly ever even thought about it. His was the face that went to bed with Marlene; he hardly remembered the face of the younger Sirius Black.
While Sirius had been lost in his thoughts, Harry had come to some internal breaking point.
"Professor." His voice cracked out. "I know Moody and Mr. Longbottom can't come with us – but couldn't you?"
"Alas," said Dumbledore, "I cannot go. There were certain… efforts Grindelwald went to in order to prevent me from coming to Nurmengard. Those remain intact. My presence would end your expedition swiftly."
Sirius glanced at Harry. "But the same won't be true of us? Not that I'd mind a battle."
"No," said Dumbledore. "Although you will want to avoid the roots of the Hesperidean grove."
Sirius whistled. "Grindelwald stole that?"
"As it happens, a seedling was stolen long ago," said Dumbledore, "and when the wizard who stole it was pursued by something much greater than he and realized he could not get away with, he dropped it where he stood. And, by all accounts, met a rather grisly ending. I believe Grindelwald chose the location because of the grove that grew there. But it remains… not sentient, but aware, and will raise an alarm should you disturb it."
"The Trees of the Evening," muttered Sirius, "don't like intruders. Got it."
Beside him, Harry stirred. "The Trees of the what?" he said.
"The evening," said Dumbledore. "Or the West."
Sirius's mind conjured up an image of trees bathed in the sunset, out of place in the high mountains, before an image of a book intruded. His stomach clenched. "Stay away from them," he muttered, "should be easy. But where do you believe the book will be?"
"The library, most likely," said Dumbledore, who'd been looking at Harry, but now returned his attention to Sirius. "As I have mentioned… little of Grindelwald's collection has been disturbed out of fear of a curse that may follow."
"Well," said Sirius. "We have the key, and we have the date of the changing of the guard. What else is there?" Turning to Harry, he lowered his voice. "You don't have to come," he said, as gently as he could, for Harry had seemed slightly alarmed by the prospect of sentient trees that could give away their position — a treacherous prospect, given the location.
Harry looked at him, green eyes intense and lips thinned. "Yes," he said grimly, "I do."
SBSBSBSBSBSBSB
Sirius's foul mood had nothing to do with his location. Late October in the Austrian mountains was cold, but his and Harry's cloaks had been specially treated by Dumbledore for the cold that was both physical and magical. It might have been near winter here, but Sirius was toasty enough he might have been back on the beach in Gran Canaria. No, his foul mood had nothing to do with the effectless wind pinning them to a small peak opposite the imposing figure of Grindelwald's stronghold.
Nor did it have anything to do with their task. After Azkaban, Sirius was not afraid of a little prison break.
And, it had to be said, Sirius was quite pleasantly surprised at his company. Harry had not given up on the sleepers, no matter what reassurances he'd been given by Sirius, by Dumbledore, and by Dorcas Meadowes. Much of his time had been spent in Godric's Hollow, learning the craft of potion-making from Fleamont Potter, who had little reason to suspect he was teaching his own grandson. Sirius stamped his feet, kicking snow around the charmed, smokeless fire they'd made well-hidden from any wardens on the mountain opposite him.
No, his dark mood had nothing to do with his godson or Nurmengard: It had to do with Marlene, who had not been at home or anywhere to be found since Fawkes had interrupted their late-morning love-making.
A sharp nudge in his side brought him back to the frozen mountainside.
"C'mon," said Harry, with half a laugh. "We don't have a lot of time."
"Right," Sirius said sharply, banishing Marlene from his mind. It took all of his concentration. "Right."
Tilting his head back, he caught his first glimpse of Nurmengard in person, rather than in grainy-edged photographs. Based on outward looks alone, it had little in common with the wizarding prison with which Sirius was far more acquainted with. Unlike Azkaban, it sat in a sea of ice and mountains and snow, rather than the furiously boiling waters of the North Sea. Azkaban, too, was ugly, jutting forth from the water like the fin of a shark. There was little else it could be but a prison. Nurmengard, with its tower and high stone walls and clearly recognizable as a castle built in an impossible place, had more in common with Hogwarts.
It had, of course, functioned as both Grindelwald's home – Sirius was sure that the upper floors were as graciously appointed as any fine pureblood manor house – and the prison where he kept his political opponents. Feeling in the pocket of his robes, he grasped the key. The cool metal and stone dug into his palm. Though it looked like a small cousin to Hogwarts, it lacked the warmth. No light shown from the narrow slits in the wall; no color beckoned from flags posted outside. It had all the coldness of Azkaban; Sirius felt it now: a chill that had nothing to do with the wind and everything to do with the purpose of that stone edifice rising above him.
The crunching of snow beside him reminded him of Harry's presence.
Dragging his attention away from it, he jerked his head toward the right. "This way," he said.
The two of them floundered through the deep snow. Here and there were stone sentinels covered in markings. Avoiding them, knowing them for the wards built by the IFC, they trudged downward until they were in the shadow of the mountain.
"-thought I heard something," called Harry.
Whirling around, Sirius found his godson several feet away, looking back in the opposite direction. "What is it?"
A moment later, Harry said: "Nothing, I guess."
Despite the warmth of Dumbledore's charms on his cloak, Sirius felt a coldness sweep up his arms. "Stay closer," he said. "The last thing we want is to get caught out here."
"No shit," muttered Harry.
Sirius wanted to go over the plan again. And he did so. "-as soon as we get the journal, we're out of there, yeah?" he said. Patting his pocket, he said, "We'll grab our escape and get back home."
But Harry wasn't paying him much attention; instead of answering, he was silent.
Sirius paused, concern flickering within him, there and gone again. He's nervous, Sirius told himself. Harry knew the plan as well as Sirius did; he was the only one Sirius trusted with this. Harry, like Sirius, had the same motivation: they needed to return home, to the future, where instead of floundering about in a place not meant for them, they would be returned to somewhere they could effect change without worrying about catastrophic changes.
Harry was now several paces ahead of him.
"Wait!" Sirius called. For, as promised, the key within his pocket began to vibrate. "Harry! It's here! Hurry!"
There, between two ice-covered boulders, gray and anonymous, was a shadow just slightly too black to be natural. Sirius arrowed toward it while Harry flailed back to him, having found a deep patch of snow.
"Hurry!" he said again.
"I'm coming," Harry said.
"Grab my arm," said Sirius, once his godson was within a couple of paces. "It's there." The key was gripped tightly in his hand once more. There, on the nearest boulder, was a tiny, dark smudge that could have once been Grindelwald's mark, now occluded by the passage of time.
They jammed into the tiny space. Darkness fell over them like a veil; the air sucked out. And then there was a terrible jerk in Sirius's navel, and he was pulled out of the tiny cave and through a tight tube that threatened to squeeze his insides out. A moment later, he landed on his feet in a dark space that was nearly as airless as the cave. Harry landed with a thud on his knees beside him. Reaching down, Sirius pulled him up.
"We're here," Sirius said.
His eyes were adjusting to the darkness. They were in a small, empty room that had a heavy feeling of disuse. But for a small fireplace in the back, it was empty. It might have been a cave, except for the clean lines and the wooden beams along the ceiling. An open door led to an immense room, also empty. Sirius's lips twisted. "This was his throne room, I'm guessing," he said.
"He set himself up as king?" Harry asked.
"Or something just like it," Sirius muttered. He strode forward. This room had been on the maps of Nurmengard they'd been pouring over for months; the tower, with all of its treasures including a journal, was this way. Just at the heavy door, he realized that Harry was not at his elbow, as he expected, but was stood in the middle of the room, staring back at the way they'd come.
It was cold enough in here they might well have been back on the mountainside.
"We can't risk being here more than an hour," Sirius said, impatient.
"Coming," Harry muttered.
It took both of them to open the heavy door. It screeched along the stone floor. Grindelwald's caretakers must never come this way. And who would want to? No one wanted to be reminded of when Grindelwald had effectively reigned over the wizarding communities of Europe from here, not when that reign had been marked by disappearances and savage deaths and blood sport.
Stairs wound upward in a tight circle, spilling them out into a room crammed with all manner of objects.
"Harry, look," he said.
Harry didn't reply; Sirius knew he must be overwhelmed. It could only be described as a museum, this room, full to the brim. There was a subtle energy in the room. It hummed with magic, powerful magic. Sirius scrubbed his arms briskly, then moved forward. His footfalls echoed oddly. Passing a table that held only a cauldron engraved with ancient runes, Sirius reminded himself they were there for a book.
"A book, a book, a book," he muttered.
His path had him skirting around the objects.
"Who is there?"
His heart hammered in his chest and his feet were encased in stone beside a cracked door.
"Who is there?" The voice asked again.
There were no guards here, during the highly secret changing of the guard. This could only be a prisoner… and there was only one prisoner kept at Nurmengard.
Grindelwald.
Sirius moved on. Grindelwald was properly dangerous. Luckily, Harry had seemed to take it upon himself to search the other side of the room: Sirius could neither see nor hear him. His godson had enough dark wizards in his life, he did not need to add an aging one to the lot.
There was a floating model of the solar system bobbing above a table; the sun was a giant yellow diamond, orbited by precious gems that represented the planets, each glowing with the opalescent flare that signified a focus object. Feeling queasy at the thought of how Grindelwald could have put such a thing to use, Sirius continued onward.
There was another pause, somewhat later, after he'd peered through the scant bookshelves, nearly on tiptoe, all senses alert, crossing the room and coming face to face–
–with another wizard.
Heart thundering in his chest once more, Sirius grabbed onto the nearest table. The wood bit into the fleshy part of his palm. Every sense told him that he was about to be attacked, that he was in danger. It was on the tip of his tongue to shout Harry a warning when he finally, at last, recognized himself. There was a smoky, unpolished quality to the mirror, one that made the reflection wavy and indistinct. Still, at last, Sirius recognized his own self staring back at him: pale face, heavy-lidded eyes. There was, Sirius noted, the diadem on his head, crossing his brow. It caught the light and began to shine, casting impossible light within the mirror, revealing the others who stood beside him. Attention fully caught now, Sirius noted other differences: His friends ranged behind him, looking properly aged; Harry, too, was there, face not quite so thin. There was an aura of happiness about the figures in the mirror that was palpable, even through cold glass.
Marlene was there, beautiful face alight, as she kissed his cheek.
Oh, Merlin.
A James who had reached middle age reached out and squeezed Sirius around the shoulders. Beside him, Lily laughed. Tears sprang up in his eyes. They were there. All of them were there.
Sirius might never have looked away, if the voice of Grindelwald had not rang out like a gong in the next moment.
"I SAID, WHO IS THERE? HAVE YOU COME TO STEAL MORE OF MY THINGS?"
"And what else has been stolen?" Sirius rasped out, whirling away from the vision, before he could stop himself.
"I ASKED, WHO IS THERE?" Grindelwald repeated. There was menace in the air around them, swirling there.
"We're not here to steal," said Sirius, backing away, instinct telling him to flee. "We haven't come to take any of your things." The enchanted mirror was a cold obstruction against his back.
There was a delicate pause. "WE? THERE IS ONLY ONE OF YOU IN MY CHAMBER."
Sirius might have slammed into a wall, realization hit him that hard. He had assumed Harry, too, was searching the room for the grimoire they needed to return home. Stomach clenched tight, Sirius peered around the room, hope plummeting by the second. Harry was not here. Likely, Harry had never even come up the stairs with him, Sirius had just assumed that he had, and ignored all evidence of his senses. Knocking into a vase, ignoring it as it shattered on the floor, Sirius charged through the cursed, magical artifacts and back to the door where he had come.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Halfway down the stairs, a wail rose up from the stones. It was like nothing Sirius had ever heard: it had within its ululating notes the rustling of leaves and the setting of the sun. The wail increased in volume.
He skidded down the last few steps, heart breaking: he knew what this sound was — and, damn it, he knew why.
And then, moments later, he found Harry clipping determinedly at the thin, shining branches of the Trees of the Evening. Disturbed earth revealed he'd already gotten at the roots. Horror suffused Sirius.
Sirius had thought they might have an hour to search for what they needed. Now their time was measured in seconds.
Harry gave him a fleeting look as the branch tumbled down. He wrapped it gently in his invisibility cloak, bundling it out of sight. To Sirius's disbelief, he clipped at another branch and shook down some of the small fruits.
Sirius stared at his godson, who had never looked more like a stranger. "Why?" he cracked out. Around them, the stones rumbled. The eerie wailing did not let up. Instead, it grew stronger. They would have to move – quickly – to get out of here. But Sirius had to know. "Why the fuck would you do this? You know they'll be safe–"
"It's not about them," Harry spat out. "It was never about them, Sirius!"
"You just couldn't leave it the fuck alone, even though you know they'll wake up. They have to in order to have you–"
"But I don't know if Ginny would."
Sirius rocked back in disbelief. The wailing was seeping into his feet. They had to move, now, but he'd just learned that Harry had destroyed their chances of breaking free of the past because of – what? A schoolboy crush?
"You–"
With deliberate movement, Harry stuffed the cuttings he'd made from the tree into the pocket of his robes. The small fruit followed.
Sirius watched, still disbelieving.
"We'd better go," said Harry.
"We–"
"You know what Dumbledore said," said Harry. "We've got about five minutes before they land on us."
Five minutes. There was no time now. His godson, wearing the face Sirius had known best, gave him an insolent look. Rage surged inside Sirius, rocking him back on his feet. How could Harry do this? How could he sentence them to more time in the past, where Sirius would have to watch his friends die – again – and be even more powerless to stop it? How could he? And just for what – Ginny?
"You did this – for her?" Sirius rasped out.
"Yes," said Harry, "I did."
There was no time to argue. Sirius forced himself to move, first one foot and then the other. Then they were running, climbing over the roots of the system of trees that had been their undoing. There was little time for thinking, as they scrambled out of Nurmengard. Clouds boiled in the sky: There was a threat coming now that was more than rain or snow.
The sky split.
"HURRY!" Harry shouted.
They tumbled down the side of the mountain, floundering in the deep snow, part running, part falling. Out of the jagged split in the sky, a coach appeared, pulled by thestrals, galloping in the air toward the prison. Wizards leapt out of it, robes billowing upward as they sped to the ground. How could Harry have done this?
"SIRIUS!" Harry roared, flapping his invisibility cloak at him.
Gathering himself, Sirius staggered to his feet and plunged downward, not wanting to share the cloak.
"Let's just go," he muttered.
SBSBSBSBSBSBSBS
31 October 1978
It was raining in the Forbidden Forest when their portkey brought them there.
Harry was on his feet and running his mouth while Sirius peered around. A strange sort of calm settled over him; still, he could not look at Harry.
"I've got to get this to Mr. Potter," said Harry. His excitement was jagged at the edges, biting into Sirius's flesh like needles. "It's exactly what he needed to wake them… it counters the Morningstar perfectly… I didn't tell him anything–"
"Did you tell anyone," said Sirius, bracing himself against a tree, staring at the bark of the tree.
"No," said Harry. "I couldn't, not if it got Mr. Potter's hopes up–"
"And you knew if you told me, I'd stop you," said Sirius. "And Dumbledore would have as well." How could you?
"I've got to go," Harry said again. There was a note in his voice that told Sirius that Harry thought he would be stopped, that Sirius would not allow him to go to Godric's Hollow with his tree clippings that had cost so much.
"Just go, Harry," said Sirius.
There was a pause, like Harry was about to say something else. Sirius didn't want to hear it. Once Harry was gone, sprinting up the path, Sirius sagged onto a boulder and put his head in his hands. He had trusted Harry. There had been no one else that he'd wanted to go with to Nurmengard; Harry was good in a crisis, had a cool head under pressure–
Does he?
There was a small voice at the back of his mind.
Did he not go to the Department of Mysteries in the first place because he was tricked? The boy is susceptible to that form of trickery; he is susceptible to making mistakes because of his emotions.
Sirius surged to his feet. There was still snow from the mountains of Austria melting into a puddle at his feet. He didn't need to think about Harry right now. He needed to forget him, actually; he needed to forget Harry's betrayal for at least a little while, long enough for Sirius to process what he'd done and what it meant. He couldn't think about it.
Dazed, Sirius walked to just outside the gates of Hogwarts, ignoring the brambles and branches of the Forbidden Forest that grabbed his cloak and tugged at his hair. He did not need to be at Hogwarts right now – he had to leave this place. And he didn't want to go to his home in the Cotswolds; not now.
As he jogged along the path, something sharp dug into his leg. Slowing, Sirius reached into his pocket. Something sharp bit into his fingers, but he managed to close his hand around it and draw it out. Confusion eclipsed his sense of betrayal.
There, in the palm of his hand, was a ruby the size of his fist. It was unfinished and uncut, and all the more priceless, magically speaking, than one that had been altered. It shone from within — and Sirius recognized it as Mars, from Grindelwald's model of the solar system. It's the planet that signifies war.
"How the fuck?" Sirius said aloud. A quick glance told him the lane was empty. But how had this gotten into his pocket? Had it been Grindelwald, planting it on him? Wishing he had worn gloves, he wrapped it in a handkerchief and returned it to his pocket.
The urge to talk to Dumbledore was squashed by a mountain of bitterness. Sirius bent his head to the rain and continued on to Hogsmeade, where he could Apparate to Marlene's family's building. Perhaps he could show her the ruby… she might know what it was about… perhaps the entire set was famous…
Instead of solace, when Sirius arrived in Diagon Alley, he found what was effectively a stone wall in place of his lover, Marlene McKinnon.
When she answered his knock, her smile of welcome slipped away and froze into a cold stare. "Why have you come, Sol?"
"I—"
"Oh, I can answer that," she said, "You've come for sex, yeah? Should I take off my robes right here, or can you wait for the bedroom?"
Sirius stared at her. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Sensing weakness, she struck: "Sorry to say, Sol, but I'm not in the mood for that. Now, or ever again."
"Marlene, you know I care–"
"No, Sol, I don't know that." There was little warmth in her tone, and none at all in the way she stood, arms crossed, beautiful face rigid.
"Of course I–"
"I think you're a complicated man, Sol," she interrupted. "You have depth. Last year, that's what attracted me to you, you know."
"I felt like I knew you too," said Sirius, shifting and hiding a wince.
"I'm talking now." She pointed at him. "You were familiar… I felt like I already knew you, but there were shadowy… places, I suppose, that intrigued me." Her face crumpled, just for a second. "I thought… Sol, I thought this – us – might be it for me. But you hold back. And you hide. And I'm no closer to seeing into your shadowy places than I was a year ago."
"You don't want to see inside those places," Sirius told her.
She shrugged. "I might have," she said sharply. "But Sol. It isn't just that. It's that, to you, I'm just a distraction."
"What? No–"
"You come over when you need a distraction," she said flatly. "Sometimes you come over just for companionship, but ever since last spring, I have come to realize that I am just a distraction from – I don't even know what. Maybe something you do for Dumbledore. Maybe for other reasons. But we aren't building a relationship. You're just using me to chase away some of that darkness you've got going on."
Sirius stared at her. "That isn't…" But he couldn't finish the lie.
Her golden brow rose. "Isn't it?" she asked unflinchingly. "It took me a while to see it, Sol. But that's not who I want to be in a relationship. I'm not just someone's distraction from the real things going on. You need to find someone else."
"But I don't want someone else," said Sirius.
I don't want you.
The words hovered between them. As a small mercy, Marlene did not say them out loud; he didn't have to hear her say those words. They were there all the same. Sirius rocked back on his heels, his shoulders slumped as much as he would let them. He wouldn't leave here with her thinking she'd wounded him. He didn't need to do that to her, not when there was some truth to what she'd said.
"Marlene," he said. "Listen. You aren't… wrong. But…"
"No 'buts', Sol," she said, quiet and firm. "You see, that day you left so suddenly… it was my birthday. You'd promised to have lunch with me. I deserved better than that. I'm sure I'll see you around, Sol. But I need you to leave now."
"Right," said Sirius, nodding his head a little, already thinking of where he was going to go next. "Well… goodbye, Marlene."
SBSBSBSBSBSBSBSB
Sirius paced.
The Room of Requirement was nearly empty; there were no cozy sitting areas, shelves of books, or brightly decorated cushions. But it gave him enough room to burn off excess energy, and so Sirius took it. By the time his legs began to burn and protest each step, and his back began to twinge, Sirius's anger at his godson had dissolved, leaving behind a burning sort of bafflement. How many times had he explained to Harry that by Dorcas Meadowes's rules, his parents would have woken up in time to conceive him? So why had Harry taken it upon himself to explode their only chance to return to where they belonged?
"What the fuck, Harry?" Sirius growled.
But Harry was with Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, and was not there to have his ears blistered.
It wasn't that Sirius hadn't cared. His own younger self had been put into a deathlike sleep, for Merlin's sake! But he knew it would have taken care of itself. He had thought Harry understood that. They all would have woken up in due course; Harry hadn't needed to jeopardize everything.
And yet, he had.
"Fuck." How had he been so blind?
A chair materialized behind him just as Sirius slumped into it. He had been so focused on rescuing them from 1978 that he hadn't noticed certain warning signs. He had assumed that Harry and he were aligned in their mission to Nurmengard. Nurmengard, for fuck's sake. Fingers drumming on the arm of the chair, Sirius glared straight at the wall.
"He doesn't understand," he said aloud to no one. For all his good qualities, Harry was still only a teenager. Immediacy was all-important. He did not understand why Sirius did not want to relive the darkest years of the war. Perhaps if Sirius had not erased Wormtail's betrayal of Harry's parents… perhaps Harry would have understood why they had to leave. Harry would have thrown the sleeping Ginny over his shoulder and run with her back through the veil and into 1996 if he had known — remembered — how terrible and dark the war had been.
No, Harry didn't understand. And Sirius was partly at fault for that.
I am going to have to watch Marlene die again.
The words she'd said an hour earlier echoed through his thoughts, repeating and repeating until he forced them away. He'd deal with that later… later, but not today.
The stillness of grief fell over him. Sirius slumped into his chair. The McKinnon family — that entire clan — would die, and Sirius had to watch it happen. For a moment, Sirius was transported back to his cell in Azkaban. The happiness he had managed to cobble together in the years since leached out, leaving him with only lethargy and despair.
And in that moment, a plinth appeared. Upon it sat the tiara that — like the Sorting Hat — had given excellent advice.
At the same time, a stag appeared, filmy and silvery, and lightening the gloom. Sirius's stomach squeezed before he realized that of course it was not James's stag, but Harry's.
"The potion worked. Er, Mr. Potter — Fleamont — says they'll wake up soon."
James would have been far more reasonable than his son.
His gaze strayed to the tiara. The glow of the stag continued on, as though Harry were waiting for a reply or was still thinking of what to say. In one swift motion, Sirius stood and strode over to the plinth. The Room of Requirement had — yet again — offered this to him. There had been a reason why Sirius had laid it down… but for the moment, he could not remember it.
What Sirius remembered was how helpful it had been. It would have seen things Sirius had not. Harry's actions at Nurmengard would not have surprised it. It had seen, after all, that Harry's growing loathing for Wormtail was threatening their existence in the past. It had been quick work to take away those memories…
Just as Harry's stag finally faded away, Sirius took the tiara in his hands and put it on his head, feeling as though — at long last — he was saying hello to an old friend.
At last, it said.
And Sirius felt nothing but relief: warm, blessed relief.
SBSBSBSBSBSBSBSB
Author's Note: Poor Sirius. I love him, I promise. Hope all of you are well. I just turned 40 and, fittingly, spent the morning of my birthday at a funeral and the day after with food poisoning.
But the twelve hours in between were magical, thanks to LocquaciousLotusBlossom and mousewords.
As ever, the invitation to join GinnyLovers is open and you can find the link to it on my (never-used) tumblr. Thank you for reading!
(And yay! Ginny's AWAKE!)