Emma tried very hard to focus on her patients that day at St. Mungo's, but it was a laborious task.
That night was her first Order meeting, but before that she still had to still finish her rounds, file the typical amount of paperwork, and then head home quickly only to leave for the apparition point that Kingsley indicated in his letter. Six pm, sharp.
Her day was not technically difficult, as she was dispatched in the Magical Accidents and Maladies unit for the elderly wizards and witches, under another attending supervisor, as Eula was on a research trip somewhere in Wales, and Emma would not see her until tonight most likely. She had not seen her much that week, but her broody supervisor knew for sure of her invitation for tonight's meeting, as she playfully told Emma to watch all her galleons before she departed for her trip, something that confused the other staff around who probably thought that Emma had a compulsive shopping problem.
She had not spoken with Pia either, apart from some cryptic letters exchanged in the last few days. She had not told Pi that the meeting was tonight specifically, but rather, that the plan was going on well, and she had work engagements that week that would keep her occupied for the remaining weeks.
Pia replied with a cheerful letter, full of praise and Em knew that this was to bait her and keep her calm, to avoid confrontation that was due at some point–but she did not want to think of her sister at that moment, as she still needed to survive her work day and finish early to make the meeting with Kingsley.
She started off with Mrs. Vanasse, an elderly witch who had somehow managed to hex herself with an Uncontrollable Burns hex, and her forearms and neck were covered with patches of flaky skin that was now peeling off. Emma applied salamander salve and used multiple cooling charms on the old lady, but to her horror, the women would continue to scratch her blisters uncontrollably, and Emma had to cover her hands with magical adhesive bandages that smacked Mrs. Vanasse everytime she attempted to scratch—something that earned Emma a series of dramatics and tears from the older woman.
Her second patient of the day was an elderly wizard who was brought by his two nieces for having botched a levitation spell and got himself suffering the effects of Erratic Broomstick Levitation, which meant that the older gentleman, named Mr. Montescue, needed a levitation reversal spell, followed by prescribing a specially crafted Calming Draught to restore his limb control.
Emma's mind wandered in the midst of the treatment process to perform the counter-levitation spellwork, and she momentarily lost focus and accidentally levitated a nearby nurse's cubicle instead. Numerous objects floated mid-air, gently spinning as Emma's eyes widened in embarrassment.
She tried not to attract more unwanted attention to herself and made sure to diffuse those mishaps with a charming smile and an apology, but as she finished her rounds and headed toward the archiving cubicles, she sighed deeply, letting out her anxieties.
It was not only the upcoming Order meeting that plagued her nerves. A lot had actually occurred in the last week since she received the letter.
For instance, she did not have to deal with Willard anymore. After their encounter last week, she decided to put an end to this dysfunctional affair–and she knew that with Willard it could not be through dialogue.
She needed a different course of action, so this time, oddly, she chose transparency. Or, her version of it.
She penned a letter to Mary, Will's wife, and detailed all the history of the affair, from the beginning to the most recent interaction she had with Will. She confessed everything in the letter, including all damning information and details that could not be disproven, even by Will himself.
Yet, she preferred to keep the letter anonymous, albeit she did mention in the letter to Mary that it was indeed with her, Emily Franchi, her old classmate from the Healing Academy that Willard was having, until recently, a long-winded affair. Emma preferred it this way, not because she thought that she could not handle the public shaming or the demand for answers in case Mary decided to pay a visit at St. Mungo's, but because Emma did not think it mattered if she had signed the letter herself, if she had confessed to Mary that it was indeed her who was relating the affair, coming clean about it.
In fact, Emma didn't want anything to do with Willard or Mary–except getting rid of Willard, of course. But she thought that it was better to not sign the letter, as she did not want that kind of recognition of doing the right thing after years. She felt that it was pointless, and more honest that day.
At the beginning it was an odd feeling. She thought that it might upset her, or even plunge her back to some kind of self-pitying state she did not want to be in. But no, actually, she felt fine, calm, serene. She was expecting a confrontation though, which never came.
While she was awaiting an angry Mary bursting into her unit, all she actually got was a pained expression from Willard Longbow, who looked like he had been hit with a confundus spell. He looked odd, and she was surprised to detect hurt on his face.
She was sure that he knew that it was her who wrote the letter, but strangely, and to her favour, he never tried to talk to her up to this point, never tried to ask any questions or communicate any demands. She was sure that if he had not initiated a confrontation by this point, he probably wouldn't do it anytime in the future.
And for that she was glad because this sealed the end to whatever they had, whatever they had been.
This also meant that she could continue her Order business uninterruptedly, starting from today, officially.
With swift movements, she completed the paperwork, grabbed her things and headed to the apparition circle at the exit of the hospital.
As she materialised near her home, her heart pounded with anticipation. She knew she had precisely an hour to prepare herself mentally and physically before heading to Islington, where she would meet Kingsley and head to the Order headquarters.
When she entered her flat, she wasted no time shedding her ordinary clothes and looked around her wardrobe for something different than her usual attire.
She needed to look professional, but also to not attract attention to herself. What would a Healer wear at a meeting with a secret organisation of vigilantes?
She needed to keep her cool, to not look suspicious, as this was the time she would meet the Order members. She had rehearsed in her mind what she would say, how she would handle any questions that were too personal or too precarious. She was also curious to see how many of them actually were, who they were, and what she could learn about them. Did any of them know Peter? Did they know something that could shed light on the gaping hole between what she knew from her family and what the Prophet said about Black's exoneration? Would Harry Potter be there? She huffed another deep breath, and she fiddled around in her closet, taking out various clothes she had not worn in a while.
What about Black? whispered an insidious voice in her head, as she was trying to contain the racing images in her mind. She would have to see him after all this time. She knew how he looked from the papers, but last time she saw him he was seventeen, and it was almost twenty years ago at her parent's home, at her brother's birthday. Her dead brother's birthday. She swallowed hard and tried to evict these thoughts. First, she needed to arrive there and keep her composure, show them what they wanted to hear from her, that she is dedicated to fight the Dark Lord, and she will offer her healing expertise. Then, she would start her own investigations, she told herself.
There was also, of course, Dumbledore. Could he remember her? Could it be possible that he would recognize the plump and innocent-faced teenager after all those years? She exhaled loudly looking at her reflection in the mirror as she examined her face. She was twenty-nine years old now and she could not see a glimpse of her thirteen-year-old self in her anymore. She looked mature, self-assured, as she touched her face.
She needed to focus.
There was it, she thought, as she grabbed the forgotten pair of pale blue robes. Her mother's robes. She was already wearing her mum's watch and her wedding band, but she had never worn the robes though, as they remained under preservation spell deep in her wardrobe. Her mother's initials, P. F. P. were sewn on the inside and were not visible to the eye along with an embroidered flower in the collar.
Emily felt the softness for a moment and decided that she needed her mother's presence today, her energy. Perhaps the fabric would embrace her like her mum did, she thought sadly. The garment also covered her white button down and her long skirt, and she felt oddly shielded.
Emma caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. Her gaze met her own big blue eyes, and she saw her feelings written all over her face. There was anticipation, expectation, and something else that made her throat dry.
She knew that this meeting was not just another gathering—she had a role to play. She needed to do this, for Peter and for herself because she could not live in this darkness anymore, in the heaviness of a broken family history, of all this sadness.
She thirsted to know, to find out what had really happened.
One last look in the mirror confirmed that her appearance was immaculate. She decided to put her hair in a plait which kept every strand of hair in place and gave her a polished Healer look, as she often tied her hair back when dealing with potions, or counter-spells.
She inspected her appearance one more time before fastening her wand on the holster. She did not look like a spy, she decided. She actually looked like an ordinary woman, like someone above suspicion–but she also knew she was not the typical girl from next door, and her mind raced as she steeled herself, looking at the clock.
With a determined look, she left her flat quietly and headed back to the apparition point, unravelling her plaited hair and ruffling it. "Fuck it," she murmured behind her teeth.
Sirius thought that if Lily Evans could see him right now, she would kick his arse out of his room, tell him off for his unshaven appearance and the lack of a change of clothes for a few days.
She had done that after all when Reg died, when he was a menace to be around, irritable, distracted, and broody.
It's not that Sirius wanted to be this way, he just could not control it, and also was uncomfortable about the alternative. For the last three days, he mainly spent time between the solace of his room, which reeked smoke, and Buckbeak's little shed at the backyard at Grimmauld, covered by a copious amount of privacy enchantments because Sirius did not want to let the creature go somewhere else, he had grown attached with him and it seems that the rest of the Order members just probably knew that or pitied him and kept their reservations about the massive hippogriff in the yard.
Perhaps that was what his fellow Order members thought of Harry too, that he was a poor creature trapped here by Sirius' whims, his inability to admit he had fucked up his chance to be there for the boy the first time.
Sirius sighed heavily and slouched in the dimly lit room, his body heavy with all his regrets. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, the strands tangling further under his touch. He knew he was due for a haircut and he could simply take care of it with his wand, although he was not great at it, but he had no desire, no care about his appearance.
Sirius did not understand how he was once considered to be a handsome bloke, as his friends used to joke–and various girls, meaningless and faceless flings, not even proper girlfriends. Ghosts of a short youth.
He sighed bitterly, avoiding the heavy mirror that was hanging by the armchair near his bed.
With a frustrated grunt, he retrieved a pack of cigarettes from the worn table and he lit one with a match with shaky hands, cursing frustratingly. Taking a long drag, Sirius leaned back against the chair, his bare feet resting on the cold floor and watched how the smoke curled and danced in the air, mirroring the swirl of conflicting emotions within him. He felt the heat of the smoke fill his lungs, but it did little to quell all the burning feelings he had inside him.
He's been through worse, he tried to say. At least now, he had access to a bed, food, cigarettes, and firewhiskey–so why was this hurting so much? He started to panic and his heart was beating in a rapid rhythm at the presence of some wayward hot tears stinging his eyes. But he refused the primal urge to shout and cry at the same time.
He exhaled shakily and watched the smoke drifting lazily through the air, as his fingers fumbled with the buttons of his white linen shirt, unbuttoning it one by one with a mix of anger and resignation. The fabric hung loose around him and he roughly rolled up his sleeves, exposing the pale skin on his arms, his green and blue veins large and throbbing on his wrists that were still bony, delicate.
He slumped further and laid his head back and closed his eyes, moaning all his unresolved feelings. He knew he had let down James and Lily. Their memory haunted him, their voices echoing in his mind, reminding him of the promise he had made to protect their son when they called him that day and told him they had to go into hiding.
And yet, he had attacked the very person he had vowed to defend, he had lunged at his godson in an outlandish manner like a madman.
Sirius winced as he remembered Harry's expression, the rapidness of his panting and fear all over his face. He had managed, in the span of only a year or so of being reunited with Harry to traumatise him, to make him fear him, confirming what everyone had said all along: that he was damaged, unpredictable, impulsive, dangerous.
He might not have been the notorious mass murderer, he might not have killed Peter, but he broke his relationship with his godson and he deserved double the time in Azkaban for it.
He was sure this was what the boy was thinking.
The worst was that he was trying to reach out to Sirius, he would often hear him at his door, knocking or he would hear whispers and small talk down the hallway with Remus or Harry's friends. Harry was probably thinking that not only did Sirius attack him out of nowhere, but he was also running away from his responsibilities, abandoning Harry once more.
Being attacked by another round of angry tears, Sirius took a swig from the bottle of firewhisky beside him, not bothering to get a glass, and he welcomed the burn that seared his throat. He tilted his head back, the liquid coursing through him, in an attempt to drown out his thoughts.
The heavy knock on the door interrupted his trail of thoughts. It was an odd knocking pattern, a different one, brisk and annoying, and his eyes were bleary and bloodshot, so he rubbed them hastily but he did not get up. Was it Harry, again?
"Sirius, open the door, mate. It's, Dora" the voice said.
She kept knocking repeatedly and Sirius cursed loudly, as he flew to the door. He swung the door open and Tonks was sitting outside looking impatient, but with a cheeky grin.
"What the hell, Tonks," Sirius grumped, his voice scratchy like he had not used it a while.
"Well, well, look who's decided to grace us with his charming presence," Tonks quipped, her voice laced with a playful tone, which did not match her appearance, however, as Sirius had never seen her this tired and pale. Oh, he remembered.
"This place smells like a distillery," she noted, wrinkling her nose, as she made her way in. Sirius shot her a half-hearted glare.
"Don't start with me, Tonks," he grumbled.
"Well, I won't start," she said, moving deeper into his room and observing everything around her. "But you need to come down, at some point. These folks here are worried about you," she pressed, picking up a picture frame from his teenage years.
"You know, sometimes I think you spend too much time with Molly," Sirius said and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair.
Tonks smirked . "Well, it was not Molly who asked me to come up here and get you out of your lair," she said.
"Did Remus have you come here?" Sirius asked with a frown, but Tonks shot him a sudden sad look and she actually dropped the picture frame. Sirius moved fast and picked it up, exasperated and desperate to salvage his memorabilia from her clumsy hands.
"Not Remus, obviously. He won't even look at me properly but that's a chat for another time over butterbeer with my mum's favourite cousin," she said smirking but her eyes were brown and sad.
"Harry," she said, predicting his next question.
"Harry?" slurred Sirius in a cracked voice.
"Aha," she said. "He told me what happened and said you would not come out," she added, her eyes were filled with empathy but it was different. She was not pitying him.
He regarded her slowly, still confused. "Harry called on you?" he asked.
"Well, I came by earlier to drop off some things, you know for the meeting tonight and I was calling you but I was told that you have been brooding like a raging hippogriff into your room for the last two days," she said. Her hairline shifted a bit.
"Shit," he mumbled.
"Shit, you forgot about the Order meeting?" she quipped. "Or, shit, you have been shutting down your godson who cares about you? And Remus," she said.
Sirius said nothing and simply gave her a side look before slumping in the armchair again.
"Right, mate, we've had enough of this brooding in this bloody gloomy room," she said, her tone firm and a little exasperated. "It's high time you came down and had a proper chat with Harry. The lad needs you, whether you realise it or not."
"Ah yes, because I'm the epitome of stability and guidance. A fine role model, I am. No wonder Harry's life is in shambles," Sirius said, reaching for his pack of cigarettes again.
Tonks's expression softened. "No, you are not a great role model, and Harry's life is much more complicated than it should be. Yes. But he has chosen to live with you and Harry clearly sees something in his godfather."
He opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Tonks cut him off before he could utter a word.
"Sirius, Harry needs you because you're the only family he's got. He needs your love and guidance, even if you don't always feel up to the task," she pressed and for a moment he saw a fraction of Andromeda, whereas typically Tonks was all Ted, she had nothing from the Blacks.
"Sometimes I wonder if I'm just going to cause more harm than good," he said.
"Well, you are doing your best," she said in a bossy voice. "And actually, it's a bit disappointing that you do not follow your own advice," she said, as she took a seat at the edge of his bed and looked at him.
"What on earth are you on about?"he asked.
"Well, you told me to get out of my own arse and stop wallowing about Remus–and mostly–most times I do it because you told me that it was not me–that it's not about me, necessarily, while I was being insufferable and whiny and self-depreciating–" she rambled.
Sirius suddenly got upset. "That's not the same thing, at all," he replied dismissively. "Comparing your dating woes to my guilt over nearly killing Harry? That's a bit of a stretch, don't you think?"
"What–no, I am not saying that," she said . "And also, you did not nearly kill Harry," she rolled her eyes.
"You were not there," he said gruffly.
"No, but if you listened to what I am trying to say–you told me that I could do so as much, and if Remus does not fancy me, well in the end that's his loss," she said bitterly. "So, I cannot do more than what I can at this time and under these conditions. This is also basic Auror training," she said emphatically. "Survival tactics."
"Yes, but I need to function, not simply survive!" shouted Sirius. Tonks kept looking at him, not blinking and she had a strange expression.
"All this time I have been surviving, and even in that I muck things up! I was duelling your crazed aunt and that bitch almost got me killed because I needed to feel useful, to prove to myself that I was alive and not simply existing," Sirius's face contorted with anguish. His chest was heaving and was visible through his loose shirt, his dark hair moving around frantically, and strands of waves were falling haphazardly across his forehead.
"I've made so many mistakes. I've been reckless, impulsive... I thought I was doing what was right, but instead, I brought pain and danger into the lives of those I care about. And now, Harry... Harry has suffered because of me" he hit his chest angrily.
Tonks gave him a moment but Sirius broke the silence.
"If I cannot protect Harry from my own damn self, how the hell am I supposed to help Harry defeat Voldemort? Eh? How?" he shouted, red-faced and angry.
"That's–that is what H-Harry has to do?" she asked, horrified. Sirius nodded frantically, a visible vein in his temple pulsed intensely.
Suddenly, Tonks got up without saying a word and started roaming through Sirius' belongings, leaving behind a trail of clumsiness.
Sirius was confused. "What the–" he started.
"Oh, go to hell!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing, as a stack of papers slipped from her grasp, fluttering to the floor in a disorganised mess. "Aha," she said eventually as she found a new shirt, a pair of trousers, and socks for Sirius to wear. Without a hint of hesitation, she threw the bundle of clothes at Sirius.
The clothes landed with a thud near the astounded man and he was left speechless.
"You will get dressed and get your arse out of this room now," Tonks said, her voice carrying a stern edge. "There's no time for moping. We have a war to fight, and you're going to help Harry survive it. You owe it to him, and you owe it to yourself after spending twelve years in that rotting cell," she said, her eyes glaring at him.
Suddenly her hair became wine-stained red, creating an antithesis with her heart-shaped pale face.
Sirius stoked there dumbfounded. He managed to blink in surprise, caught off guard by Tonks's sudden transformation into a harpy-like figure of relentless force. He tried to stammer a response but he couldn't.
The war. Harry–Harry needed him. What the hell was he doing?
Something shifted in Sirius. It was as if a wave of icy water splashed against his face, jolting him awake from his self-imposed wallowing. It felt like a familiar presence, reminiscent of another fiery spirit that had once called him out of his darkest moments.
Lily.
He was surprised and confused, but Tonks was speaking to him again with the same determination. "You're not going to wallow in self-pity while the world collapses around us. Harry needs you, and you're going to step up and be the godfather he deserves. And don't give me any of that self-deprecating rubbish again," Tonks retorted. "You may think you're a right mess, but Harry needs you to be the godfather he deserves. So, pull yourself together, mate, and get downstairs. I swear, I'll hex you if you don't," she said.
There was a moment of silence as Sirius absorbed Tonks's words.
"Turned around," he said suddenly.
"What?" she quipped.
"Turn around, I will change out of these rags and get myself ready for the meeting, turn around, girl," he repeated impatiently and she gave him a devilish grin and did as she was told.
Sirius stripped out of his clothes quickly and threw the ones that reeked of smoke and drink in a nearby corner. He adjusted his shirt and splashed water on his face from a basin on his boudoir. He knew he did not look good, but it was an improvement.
He decided to brush his hair neurotically and tie it with an old shoe lace, so it was out of his face. Finally, he told Tonks to turn back.
"Wonderful," she noted, as she motioned him to the door hastily. "Now let's go before Moody and King have our arses served for supper," she said, quickly examining her own appearance in the mirror. "You know we have a new recruit today, eh? The Healer," she said excitedly, as she decided to apply a purple lipstick quickly while Sirius was putting on his socks.
"Who, the hag?" Sirius pondered absentmindedly.
Tonks raised an eyebrow. "The hag?"she repeated, amused. "What hag, Sirius?"
Sirius let out a bark of laughter. "Well, you know my luck with healers," he replied in a sarcastic tone. "Remember how I had to spend numerous evenings with Eula Shacklebolt? The woman's got the healing touch, but her bedside manner is as pleasant as a troll's" he grumbled. "All female Healers are hags. Unfortunately, I don't have enough direct experience with blokes who are in Healing–" he said, putting on his shoes., but something landed on his head.
"Oi, watch it!" Sirius exclaimed, a mix of surprise and laughter in his voice. Tonks had chucked a comb at him which missed his face by an inch.
"Alright, not all healers are hags. I'll give you that one," he said while she opened the door.
"Let's go, you tosser," she said laughing. They left the room and he felt lighter. After the meeting, he was going to talk to Harry.
As they descended the stairs together, Sirius turned to Tonks without much warning "He does, so you know. Fancy you," said Sirius in an impatient voice seeing her confusion.
"What?" she croaked, glaring at him for bringing this up when the house was bustling with Order members.
"Moony–he does fancy you," repeated Sirius, amused at her sudden coyness. "I know he does because I know Moony and I can recognize the signs," he rolled his eyes dramatically. "It's like James was with Lily all over again. Only Moony is a noble bastard and thinks you can do better than a lycanthrope over a decade your senior. James was a pompous bastard, and wouldn't have cared for this bonkers" he added grinning wolfishly at her.
Tonks hummed something and tried to hide the smile that was spreading all over her face, as her hair changed to violet, her go-to colour.
"Come on, let's go. It seems everyone's here," she said with a dreamy expression.
Emma apparated right at the corner that Kingsley had mentioned and felt a cool breeze attack her face as she found her balance. She had put a lot of force in the apparition. She straightened her robes hastily and looked around her.
Her eyes quickly landed on the chicken shop, which seemed pretty empty.
Was she late? Was she early–what was happening?
Feeling a sense of uncertainty, Emma's gaze shifted towards the galleon she carried in her pocket, hoping to find it shining with a message. However, the coin remained dull and inactive. Her watch indicated that it was two minutes before six, so she had made it on time to Islington.
As she was trying to assess the situation, she heard a sudden popping sound behind her and turned around.
Kingsley Shacklebolt was standing before her, his long yellow robes billowing in the breeze.
"Emma," Kingsley said, his deep voice. "Good to see you. We appreciate punctuality. Ready for the next steps?" he asked, smiling broadly.
"Y-yes, certainly," she said. Another popping sound was heard and Eulalia appeared.
"Kid," Eulalia grumbled when she noticed Emma, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You better keep up if you don't want to slow us down," she said and motioned everyone to keep going down the main parallel street, across the chicken place.
With this strange trio now assembled, Emma felt a surge of confidence.
Eulalia's short and energetic figure darted ahead in a neurotic way which contrasted with Kingsley's tall and imposing but calm presence. Emma found herself walking alongside Kingsley, listening to his casual complaints about his burnt supper.
However, Emma's anxiety heightened as they approached a seemingly ordinary courtyard filled with muggle townhouses. Her heart raced, and her anticipation grew with each step. She couldn't help but wonder how close they were at the notorious headquarters.
Coming to a stop in front of one particular townhouse, Kingsley motioned Emma to follow Eula up the staircase. Eulalia wheezed a bit from their ascending the wide steps and Emma was silent from her own surprise. She bet that the Muggles could not see them because their windows were visible and Emma and the rest could see a Muggle family preparing supper. It was mesmerising, the secrecy, the planning.
Kingsley then went ahead of her and tapped his wand against the brick wall. His voice rang out loudly, "The Phoenix Lair," he said loudly.
Emma's breath caught in her chest as the world around her seemed to shift and transform. In the blink of an eye, another old and mysterious townhouse materialised before them, standing between the muggle ones with an air of faded grandeur.
Eulalia stepped in first and disappeared into what seemed to be a dark long corridor.
Kingsley then turned to Emma and waved his long hand at her, "well, after you. You are the new recruit, after all," he chuckled and winked at her.
Emma took a deep breath and stepped into the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.
