Harry
The door opened in one quick motion, as the blond woman - Vivian Lake - combat witch - Auror - madwoman with a death wish - from the fight at the Department of Mysteries came out of the room, anger written all over her face. Black dragonhide boots were on her feet, black pants and a ripped shirt covered her form, showing her tattooed hands. Smudges and blood coated her pale face, and the clearest blue eyes I ever saw in my life glared daggers in my direction. Her lip was split, her left cheek bruised, and her long, almost white hair was floating behind her like a curtain.
I refused to back down from her, mustering all of my courage and strength left. But she stood between me and Sirius, worked for the Ministry of Magic, and could get him arrested at any moment now, no matter that she dragged him out of that Arch.
I had long since stopped believing the Ministry. I had no reason to trust them after what Fudge did to Barty Crouch Jr a year ago. Umbridge and her educational edicts only reassured me that the Ministry of Magic was unwilling to help. It wanted peace.
Vivian Lake, despite helping us with the Department of Mysteries, was still an Auror working for Fudge. I didn't know what to expect from her. Was it even possible to convince her that Sirius was innocent or rather, like Dawlish, she would blindly follow the orders of her superiors? Would she hear us at all? I could use Remus now. He could surely convince her not to pass on Sirius to the Dementors.
Her face twisted in irritation did not evoke friendly associations. The witch in front of me was clearly in the middle of something important, and her snarl could even match Snape's. In the pit of my stomach, I felt that facing her like this was not the best of my ideas, but I couldn't ... wouldn't even think of going back to Hogwarts without knowing that I did everything in my power to save Sirius.
So I clamped my fingers around my wand and looked into her blue eyes. She looked like Lucius Malfoy's little sister, with white hair, a thin face ending with a pointed chin, and an aristocrat's demeanour similar to Draco and Narcissa Malfoy's. Maybe she was related to them? Unknowingly, I shuddered. The woman in front of me related to the Malfoys? But she stood by our side, not letting Bellatrix kill Sirius. Maybe they disinherited her like Sirius?
My heart felt lighter at the memory of Bellatrix Lestrange lying on the ground, beaten and bound. She took a few well-aimed blows instead of magic, which was quite strange and certainly unheard of. I have seen a few duels before, took part in a few myself, but it would never have occurred to me not to use spells. And she struck down one of Voldemort's most passionate henchmen with three blows. There were no fancy curses or flashing spells, but an ordinary muggle right hook. One blow to the ribs and two to the face brought the most dangerous woman in Britain to her knees.
But now she was staring at me as if to tear my head off. People were running and yelling around us. Somewhere in the back of my head, I registered that all the people passing us nodded her head or greeted her with a soft and respectful 'Miss Lake'. Instinct told me to back off, but I couldn't let go. I couldn't leave my only family, because I had no intention of ever going back to the Dursley's, no matter what Dumbledore had to say about it.
"What do you think you're doing?", she snapped at me, bringing me back to the present, moving forward almost in my face. I stood my ground and tried not to take a step back. Anger bubbled in my chest. Anger gave me strength, for the time being; giving in was not an option.
"Where is he?" I demanded with, voice hoarse from all the yelling, fighting down the shiver and taunt feeling of dread.
She was a few inches taller than me, but it took everything in me not to show any weakness and take a step back. Vivian Lake was intimidating as hell. She took another step forward as she gritted through clenched teeth: "Get out, kid. I have work to do and..."
At that, I pulled my wand out and pointed it at the blond witch. After thinking about it later, it wasn't one of my best decisions. It's been a really long day. She didn't look impressed; she didn't even flinch at the threat of a hex in the face.
"Take that stick out of my face," she breathed, her voice suddenly deadly calm, and I had the impression that I was in my fourth year again, facing the Hungarian Horntail. The notion was absurd, because the woman in front of me was nothing like a dragon. I took a step back without realising it. Her blue eyes narrowed and I saw something change golden in them for a brief second. But all I could hear in my ears was the steady rumble of my pulse as I thought of Sirius again. He would be free after all. We could live together like a family. A feeling soared in me with all the power, the thought of what could happen in the near future filled my mind to the brim and gave me courage. I didn't back down.
"And you get out of my way. I want to see him."
"We don't get what we want, boy. And, again, take that out of my face."
"Or what!?"
"Don't let your mouth get you into something your ass can't handle," was her only warning.
With lightning speed, she ducked under my outstretched hand and pulled my knee forward. I collapsed forward, my wand hand twisted outwards, and my face collided with the blond witch's elbow. Heat and pain spread across my face when my glasses fell to the ground and shattered. When my head tilted back, I felt warm blood running down my chin and a metallic taste in my mouth. My eyes filled with tears and I finally sat down heavily on the floor, holding my face. The woman ripped my wand from my hand when I tried to scramble to my feet. She pushed me down, and the only thing I could feel was exhaustion and defeat.
"Never, ever point a wand at me if you value your life," she hissed in my face, grabbing at my shirt. "I'm not here for your comfort, and I won't take any shit from you, no matter if you're the Chosen One or not. Now get the fuck out of my way, so I can help bring Black's mind back in one piece. Or would you like to waste more of my time?!"
She left me lying in the corridor, as she slammed the door with all her might shut.
Sirius
I woke up screaming.
The return to reality was quick and brutal when I sat up, grabbing my head in both hands. Images flashed on the edge of consciousness, dark shadows, screams and helplessness engulfing me on all sides. I was in Azkaban again; they locked me up again, for a crime I didn't commit.
Breath.
The rattling of chains sounded constantly as cold chills crawled down my back. Hands clenched on the blanket in front of me blurred, the world spun.
Breath, dammit.
I needed to get out of there; I needed to get out of here, get up, do anything, but my hands didn't move, my legs seemed like they were made of lead.
Breath, for fuck' sake.
Staring forward at the blanket in my fists, I first didn't notice a woman in the room. When she sat on the edge of the bed and extended her hand toward me, pulling from the numbness, I tried to move as far away as possible.
"Don't touch me," came my shaky voice, casting her a guarded look.
Her hand fell to her knees, bruised, with cracked skin under endless lines of tattoos. Her blond, almost white hair was tied up at the nape of her neck, lips pressed into a thin line when she gave me a once-over. Her eyes were big and blue as the clear sky after a storm, with dark lashes and light eyebrows, now furrowed in displeasure. They looked too old for such a young person, and through the terror I still felt, I wondered what made her have a look like Dumbledore. She also had a fairly long nose, a white thin scar through her left eyebrow, eyelid and part of the cheek. Freckles and moles dotted her entire face. If I wouldn't know better, I would have said Lucius Malfoy's younger sister was sitting next to me. The hair, the eyes, the long face and pointy chin were too similar, making the resemblance to the Malfoys not that far-fetched.
I saw all this only because she was sitting so close and holding me by the shoulder so I wouldn't fall face down. When did she grab my shoulder? Cinnamon and pomegranate, sweet and spicy, surrounded me.
My brain was still struggling to understand what was happening, so I tried to focus on one point in front and level out my breathing. I stared at the blanket where her other hand was laying holding a thin white wand.
"I got you," I heard suddenly and looked up at the woman. "Breath."
So through the cloud of fear, I still felt, I tried to grab one broken breath. Nothing happened, my chest was too tight to move, the air too heavy to let it in. But then I looked again up, saw only confidence in the blue of her gaze, and took a shallow, ragged breath. And then another. There was no pity in her eyes, only determination written on her face when she straightened her back and set her jaw, looking as if she could take over the world with me by her side. It was an empowering look on such a youthful face. "You're having a panic attack," she informed me matter-of-factly, voice steady. "Breath, Sirius. Everything's alright. Breath. In and out."
So I breathed as she told me, in and out it gone, moved even more at the use of my given name rolling from her lips. Seconds changed to minutes in silence. The entire time she didn't even flinch, looking me straight in the eyes. A thousand things flew through my head as I tried not to drown in the blue of her gaze. Her hand fell from my shoulder to my wrist and long, icy fingers wrapped around my pulse point.
"Who are you?" I whispered, fascinated. The fear, the rattling and the shadows were somewhere on the edge of my mind, shoved further and further away. When my breath levelled out, and the smell of cinnamon and pomegranate wrapped around me even stronger, I finally reached out and grabbed the woman by her forearm. "What spell did you put on me?"
She smiled at that, a little crooked upturn of her lip that made my insides turn weirdly. I took a deep breath and when I finally felt some resemblance of calm washing over me; I released her hand.
"My name is Vivian Lake. I'm a Combat Witch for the Auror Department."
"An Auror?" I couldn't hide my surprise, and alarm bells went off in my head. But she didn't show any sight to arrest me, so I tried to stay as calm as possible.
"Of sorts," she said, letting go of my wrist and standing up. "I train students in duelling at the Academy."
I shot her a disbelieving look and took a moment to look around the room. Pushed into a corner at the far end, far from the door, stood the bed I've been lying on. Bookshelves lined two of the walls; the two others had pages, drawings and charts attached to them. Stacked against one wall stood also an enormous desk, cluttered with piles of books bound in black leather, and here and there balls of light illuminated the entire room. Vivian stood between me and the door, black tattered clothes and smudges of blood on her left arm, a wand in one hand and a vial with a reddish liquid in the other.
"You?"
She couldn't possibly be older than me. In her late twenties or early thirties, probably.
"You need to have more faith in me, Lord Black. Graduates of the last 10 years owe me their current employment." Her tone was amused, like she heard this line a thousand times. "Drink up," she gave me the vial. "It's a Pepper-up Potion. In less than an hour, we need to see Amelia Bones and Fudge."
Cold sweat covered me from head to toe at that statement, bringing my brain back to the gut-clenching feeling of fear.
"No," I rasped. "I'm not going back." I tried to get up as the blanket tangled around my ankles.
"Sirius ... wait. It's not like that." Vivian pulled away from me a few steps, wand pointing at my chest, and I finally saw the tattoos on her hands. Black lines twisted around her wrists, crossed her forearms to form runes, figures and alchemical forms. Each of her fingers had a line with symbols most of I didn't recognise, and on the top of her right hand sat a small Pictish fire symbol - a spiral whose end connected to the rest of the tattoos on her wrist. She only shrugged, seeing where my eyes were wandering. After a moment, I looked over her shoulder and saw the door. All I had to do was to be faster, overpower her, and get away from wherever I was. My animagus would be a great help. Then finding Harry...
"Where's Harry?" I muttered out suddenly. "Where's my wand?"
Vivian sighed with relief and lowered her wand at that.
"Gods, you remember him," she remarked, taking a step toward me. "I wasn't sure if your memories came back or were still behind the Veil."
"Veil?" I asked, surprised, and I wondered for a moment. Memories of darkness and pain surround my head when I thought back.
A battlefield covered in corpses and blood, crows and ravens croaking overhead as my body lay in the dirt bleeding out into the grass. My heart pumping the last of my life out of my chest as I gripped at a sword. And a woman - in leather armour, face and white hair smeared red - standing above me, mumbling in a foreign language. It was her, supplied my tired mind. Then Azkaban flew before my eyes, and I shuddered at the memories of cold and wet stone walls, at the suffocating feeling of injustice and hopelessness.
"The Department of Mysteries," I snapped. "Bellatrix shot a spell at me, then a stone wall appeared and when I took a step back, I fell behind that stone arch. I was dying on a battlefield and then returned to Azkaban," I added in a small voice.
She was in front of me now, wand tucked in a holster at her hip, eyes searching my face for... what, exactly? In my mind, I saw her again on the battlefield, standing above me. She was still leaning over my dying body, her lip cracked and sword in hand as she mumbled to herself, stretching her marked hands over me. The impression was surreal, impossible to comprehend when I looked at the same beautiful woman dressed in black in front of me. This Vivian had something soft in her eyes, smoothing her long face. That Vivian had a hard, sharp look, mercilessly peering down on an enemy.
"Sirius, please, sit down and I'll try to…" she tried to grab my arm again, but I heard muffled voices coming from behind the door.
"Vivian!", we heard Kingsley's voice. "Open the door!"
The woman looked at the door and then at me, probably wondering what to do. I didn't hide my relief at hearing a familiar voice. This meant that the blond haired woman hadn't kidnapped me, she hadn't kept me locked in a bunker, and that she knew Kingsley.
"I'm coming!" she answered after a moment.
She pulled a short knife from behind the belt on her back and, looking at me uncertainly, cut the skin on her left hand. Then she touched the wounded hand to the door, and it bounces open, showing a sweaty Shacklebolt. Blood wards, flew through my head.
Harry's dishevelled head unceremoniously pushed aside Kingsley. Ignoring the woman, Harry ran and threw himself at me, wrapping his arms around my middle and holding on to my shirt as if tomorrow was not to come.
"Hi, kid", I muttered in a choked voice. "You're good?"
"I thought I'd never see you again," he croaked into my shirt. "I thought you died."
"You won't get rid of me so easily," I replied in a low voice, my arms tightening around the boy. My heart was beating madly. Out of relief, emotions, terror - I didn't know myself. When I rested my chin on Harry's head, for the first time, I felt real peace. The nightmare of Azkaban, swam away for a moment, replaced by the rising joy of holding my godson in my arms.
Vivian was cleaning her bloodied hands with her wand and talking to Kingsley in a low voice at the door, and I saw two black wands stuffed into her back pocket and looking slightly familiar. Harry stepped back from me, looking me over from all sides, making sure I was all right, causing a chuckle to rise in my throat.
"We need to go," was heard from the door, Kingsley stepping to the side to make room for us to head out. Harry's turned, standing between the Aurors and me.
"You can't take him," he said, clutching his wand in his right hand. The blood on his face was already drying up, but the bruises on his face were getting darker by the minute.
He was trembling with fatigue and I could see he was barely standing. I was moved that the boy wanted to defend me even at such a moment, however, I would have to fight this fight alone. But before I could do anything, Harry staggered forward, flying face towards Vivian. She leapt up and caught him, hissing as his head hit her left arm.
"Bloody hell," Vivian muttered. She moved him to the bed, crowding over the boy. "Kingsley, look for Chandler. He should be around here somewhere," she shot to the man, brushing Harry's hair away from his forehead.
"What's happening to him?" I looked worriedly at my unconscious godson, not knowing how to help him. Panic again crept its way to my stomach. The shadows under Harry's eyes seemed almost black, his hair stuck with sweat and blood on the pillow, his clothes ruffled and soiled. Looking at the bruises on his boyish face, and the boy's pallor and general thinness, I couldn't help but sigh in regret. I tried not to see the body of James lying on the ground in Godric's Hollow. He was so young, so, so young, and yet he was here fighting a goddammit war.
Vivian Lake snapped me out of my numbness again, pressing a wand - my wand - in my hand and ordering me to conjure some water.
"Can you help him?", I asked, handing her the cup.
She ignored me again and stood over Harry and spread her hands over the boy.
"Dadansoddiad. Clwyfau a swynion hud. Deuddeg mis."
White smoke emerged from the body, turning into sparks after a while, which formed fiery letters shifting into words. Two rows of words floated in the air as Vivian grabbed them with her hand and moved them to one wall. What, the bloody hell, was that? Wandless magic in the weirdest language I've ever heard.
No, that was not it.
I heard it before.
Once upon a time, I heard this melodic rising and falling voice, guttural consonants and singing vowels; a language impossible to pronounce and write, if you didn't know it from birth. Welsh. Remus used to speak it when he was very nervous, a long time ago, at school. Nobody could understand him when he sometimes unconsciously switched from English to his strange language.
"What's going on?!" I asked once again, wiping the boy's forehead with a cloth and, with growing irritation, realising that I had no idea what to do. What kind of spell was that?
"Why is Potter wearing a tracking spell?" Vivian asked me while she was still studying the fiery words on the wall. "Come here." She added. "Look."
Peering over her shoulder, I felt pomegranate and cinnamon again, but tried to focus on what I saw in front of me.
"Here are the spells he cast in the last twelve months." Vivian pointed to the row on the right. "And here are the spells that people cast on him." She pointed to the list on the left. I looked fascinated as the words moved across the wall. Most spells I recognised, and like the blond woman next to me, I noticed the tracking spell. However, something else caught my attention, something that gripped my guts even more than the prospect of returning to Azkaban. I pointed to the spell at the top of the list with a trembling hand, which shimmered a little black and writhed in the air like worms.
Possessio mens omnino.
"That fucker..." I snarled, anger bubbling inside me. Anger and something even worse. Fear for the boy - cold and ugly wrapping itself around my head, throat, and heart. Taking a step back, I gave Vivian Lake a sidelong glance, noting the set jaw and a look in her eyes that made me shiver.
Her eyes were golden.
The blue disappeared, making her face look outright terrifying, unearthly even, her scar more visible. Instead of taking the next step back, I approached her with a haunted snarl of my own. She noticed me staring and I expected her to look away, disconcerted. However, she didn't avert her gaze and met my eyes head-on with cold fury, and at last, I felt something like a connection with her. She knew, she just knew, and in that one look from a woman met less than an hour ago, I saw the depth of pain and rage equal to my own. When I sat alone in the dark rooms in Grimmauld Place, I was certain I wore the same look. It made my heart skip a beat and my mind went numb for a moment. I know that here and now I gained an ally. Whatever reason this woman had and whatever the circumstances around her life were, I was certain that she would help haunt these Death-Eater-fuckers down.
"He'll be fine," she told me after a pregnant pause, the golden shade from her eyes shifting back into blue. "He's magically drained. Used up too much magic in a short time." She clarified, turning back to the boy. With a wave of her hand, the letters on the wall disappeared.
At that moment Kingsley burst in with a flourish through the door with a healer in green robes right after him. The man was the biggest, broadest and most intimidating wizard I ever met in my life. He looked more like a bouncer at a club or bar, not a healer, with a permanent frown on his lips and wrinkles embedded deep in his face. Over six feet tall, the man squished himself in the now crowded room and shoved me and Lake out of the way.
"There are a bunch of important assholes waiting for you in the Minister's office," he rumbled in a deep voice, not even bothering to look up at us. "Better not let them wait longer, or they will come to the conclusion that you kidnapped the most wanted criminal in Britain." His wand was up non-stop in motion, casting spell after spell, attention focused solely on Harry. Vivian didn't say a thing, only pulled at my sleeve, Kingsley pushed us out of the room and shut the door. A little shell-shocked, I stood now in a dark corridor with two Aurors at my side and a wand in my hand.
"What's with…"
"He'll be fine." Vivian cut me off, handing me the vial with the Pepper-up Potion. "Ambrose's a grouch, but he'll stay with the boy until we finish with that excuse of a Minister," she said, toying with her wand, a frown on her face.
"Not a big fan of Fudge?" I dared ask, perfectly understanding her reluctance.
"He's the bane of my life."
Kingsley snorted at that and shoved us into the elevators, and as we started going up I heard him mutter: "Funny," he deadpanned. "He's saying the same about you."
Dadansoddiad. Clwyfau a swynion hud. Deuddeg mis - Analysis. Magic wounds and spells. Twelve months
Possessio mens omnino - Latin - total possession of the mind