I'm adjusting back to the trilogy school / blog / fanfiction.
With some luck, I'll be back on tracks by the end of the year...
By the way, who invented exams, so that I can strangle them one of these days?
Chapter 13: A glint of kindness in a world of despair
No matter how long they waited, the aurors and Remus didn't see Sirius come back the next morning. Noon was getting near when the werewolf decided it might be a good idea to wake the Black lord up, and that for various reasons, amongst which were the fact that the relief team of aurors would be there soon, and the fact that Snape needed hellhound hairs before two pm to finish the sinemendatium in time.
Grumbling about dogs and stubborn lords, Remus left the manor for the forest under the prying eyes of Gulch and Flume. He knew exactly where to look, and for once he was happy to be a werewolf. Even if he wasn't part of the Black Family, the beasts out there wouldn't jump at his throat for trying to get near the Lord of the House of Black while the man was sleeping. Hopefully.
Remus walked more and more slowly as he came nearer to the place he knew he would find Sirius.
Contrary to popular – and muggle – belief, being a werewolf did in no way grant superstrength or hearing or anything else. At best, a werewolf could be considered stronger than what was expected for their sickly built, but it stayed at a human limit. True, they usually had great senses, but nothing more than what was humanly possible.
Yet Remus was there, listening to every sound, his nostrils searching for scents, as if he could pick those up so far away from their sources. He knew that wasn't possible. But he was nervous.
Exactly, nervous. Nothing else.
The fact that when he was upset, Sirius usually took off as Padfoot and went to the dogs of the property to sleep it off wasn't frightening at all. That was, they were only dogs. Big, magical, terrifying, mythical dogs, but dogs nonetheless. Remus would certainly find his friend curled into a ball, either as Padfoot or in human form. Sometimes he transformed back while sleeping and the dogs didn't mind at all, because they knew he wasn't the same as them, they knew he was their master, too, their owner and yet their friend, because the wizard had that weird ability with animals. They wouldn't harm him in any way, and would certainly defend him if it came to that someday.
So yes, Remus knew he was going to walk right into a cave which was some supernatural dogs' den and he was going to try to wake up the very man they considered their responsibility. Obviously, he'd be nervous if he had to do that. And he actually had to. So he was nervous.
After a while, the werewolf walked into the clearing outside the cave. Stopping at the entrance, he took a deep breath and listened for a while to the multiple breathings he could hear coming from the cave. They weren't far inside, and if he squinted his eyes a little, he could actually make out something that looked like a ball of dark fur.
A huge ball of dark fur.
Remus lighted his wand, keeping it to the ground, not sure of how the beasts would react.
There, against a wall of stone, a gigantic three-headed dog was sleeping peacefully, other smaller dogs lying around on the ground, and a man with black hair curled up between two of its heads.
A yellow eye opened up somewhere on the left of the cerberus, and a bear-like dog – which didn't look as enormous when compared to the adult three-headed dog – stared at the intruder, its eye gleaming in the dark. A low growl escaped its snout, but it wasn't really aggressive.
Yet.
Remus flinched a bit as he heard the growl and turned around very slowly to look at the animal. He certainly didn't want it to think he was a danger or anything.
When he saw the beast, the light from his wand lighting it a bit, he felt quite better.
The animal wasn't one to joke with, he was very much aware of that, but he really liked it better that he had to deal with one of those first, rather than a hellhound, or worst, the cerberus itself. At least, he knew one thing or two about grims.
First of all, grims themselves weren't an omen of death, though they used to live in very dangerous or deserted places when untamed. Hermione had talked with him of her suspicions during the preceding summer, and he had been able to inform her that she was mostly right. Grims didn't bring death to those who saw them, but their presence was usually a fair warning about dangerous lands. And with time, the rumors had grown out of hand and now it really happened that wizards and witches convinced themselves they were done and so died of fear and stress. Rather stupid, he'd say.
After all, no one during their Hogwarts years had died from meeting Sirius, and Sirius' animagus was unmistakably a grim. They had checked, and there was no race of dogs that looked like a grim aside from, obviously, grims. And Sirius was a copy of Black Manor's grims, only with silver eyes instead of yellow ones. But that much could be expected, after all, James had been an almost black stag, and stags weren't usually black.
Grims were dangerous, still. If they lived in dangerous lands, it was because they could hold their own in front of many things and monsters. But they weren't naturally aggressive, and usually left you alone unless you went after them... or those they cared for. Here, Sirius.
Remus walked slowly to the animal, his left hand towards the magical dog, for it to smell him if needed. The grim eyed him one moment without moving an inch – gauging him, probably – and started sniffing his hand, his growl becoming less and less audible.
Around them, other eyes, yellow and red ones – grims and hellhounds – were opening, and watching. If the grim deemed the visitor alright, they wouldn't mind him. If not...
Remus tensed a bit, but managed to stay calm.
And the grim looked at the man with curious eyes.
This smell...
This was no man.
The beast's hairs pulled erect, and the growl came back, worse than before.
Grims and hellhounds all around got on their four legs, came closer, all senses alert, looking at the man, no, no, not the man, looking at the wolf, looking at the man, at the man, looking at the wolf, the wolf in human skin, the wolf that had come to them, the...
Werewolf.
Growling, snarling, baring their teeth, the supernatural dogs moved to surround Remus, and the wizard shivered, knowing full well he was at a turning point. If he showed no fear – or rather, no weakness, because fear was also a form of respect – if he managed to do just that, maybe the animals would hesitate long enough and get a catch of Sirius' scent on his clothes.
Just his luck the Black lord had been in need of a hug last evening.
If not, he'd just have to run for it. And hope.
Please, make it so that the cerberus wouldn't wake up too.
Remus tried to calm himself.
There was no way to escape a grims and hellhounds hunt. At best, Sirius would be woken up by his horrible screams as he'd be torn to pieces, and stop them from utterly killing him.
He let out a shaky laugh, because he was overdoing it again and he knew it.
The grim which was gauging him tilted its head to the left, surprised with the wolf's reaction.
There was something about the werewolf that marked him as a friend, and that was the reason why it still hadn't gone for his throat. That, and the wood stick in the wolf's hand. The grim wasn't stupid, he had seen his masters use the wood stick before, and he knew that it could do much damage, though he wasn't sure how. And, well, it felt like the wolf wouldn't really attack, if not for defending himself... So it was going to leave it at that... and watch out for Sirius, just in case.
Seeing that the werewolf was staying still, the magical dog stopped growling once more, and inspected once again the wizard's smell.
There it was, the marking that said the werewolf to be a friend.
The master's scent.
And a scent of friendship, greatness, goodness...
And despair.
The wolf in the man was angry at himself, considering that he was a monster, a monster, worse, worse than actual monsters – that was, magical creatures such as the grim. The man behind the wolf was ignoring that in the end, he was the wolf. There was no other monster, hidden in his guts, waiting for the full moon to possess him and make him do everything he dreaded. There was only the insanity of twelve nights in a year.
No monster.
Only insanity, and pain.
So much pain.
Flesh and bones and muscles and tendons, all of his limbs, breaking, moving, changing forms, over and over, for an entire night, every month. Teeth into fangs, nails into claws, man into wolf, and pain into pain. More pain, for one night. More pain than ever... up till next time.
Werewolf.
Of course, the grim knew nothing of the man's past. It knew nothing of the man's fears. It knew nothing of the man's lone years. But it knew what it could smell, and it knew of the pain, the despair, the fear and the hurt. It knew that the wolf was part of his master's pack, when his master took on their form. It knew that the werewolf and the human grim were the only ones remaining.
It withdrew, ceased its growling, and bent its head to be petted.
Remus blinked, but the sight didn't change when his eyes opened again, and he had to admit, the sudden acceptance, if surprising, was conforting. At last, he carefully began to stroke the enormous dog behing the ear.
"I have to wake Sirius up. He doesn't have much time to prepare if he doesn't want to go back to Azkaban, you know."
The dog whined. It knew that whatever it was, Azkaban wasn't a good thing. The wizards it had heard talking about it had always sounded either horrible or frightened to no end. And the master hadn't come for years, and when he had come back, a few days prior, there had been something changed about him. Not only the scent he gave off, but also his eyes.
The silver-eyed grim that was the Black lord had felt surreal, even more so than what a grim usually felt like, he had felt dangerous yet not aggressive. Sirius Black had always been powerful, the grim knew that. But it wasn't the same anymore. There was something dark – not something evil, but definitely dark – about the human with the silver eyes, as if he wasn't really human anymore... There was something cold about the man...
But that wasn't all.
The grims, hellhounds and cerberus had seen their master coming back, their friend coming to them once again, after more than a decade, and they had been overjoyed. The dark form of a grim, but with silver eyes, coming to them, the scent of Sirius Black, but with a certain coldness about him. A shudder running down their spine. But still, Sirius Black without a doubt.
And then he had come nearer, and they had greeted the human grim properly, and they had seen.
Seen what?
None of them were certain what it was.
But there had been suffering in the man's eyes.
Not that it wasn't usual with the master. Sirius had always had something cold, inhumane in a way, about him, even when they were pups, as if his life with his family had killed something inside of him. Something, like hope. Or trust. Only, it had never been so fierce, the hardness in his eyes.
Something had happened, while he had been away, and it would never back down from haunting the wizard. Sirius Black would simply do what he always did: acknowledge the pain, and cast it aside.
That was how the Black lord could so easily control his face and feelings. Some said one couldn't monitor their every feelings, one couldn't chose to ignore the hurt. And the fact was, that the man didn't do that. No pain was lurking at the limits of his mind, ignored and waiting for the moment when he wouldn't be able to bear with it anymore to invade his sanity and break him into pieces. Yes, the pain was here. Rationalized. Kept in check. Eating him alive. He had chosen to live with it everyday of his life, so that he wouldn't go down with one blow. In the end, surely, he'd be little more than a shadow of himself, but for now, he could take anything on. He didn't feel the need to talk to someone about it, to find someone to talk about what haunted him, because he knew it wouldn't do any good, and it most likely would blow up to his face in the middle of the war. It always had, it always would.
From time to time, the wizard let his heart out, sometimes he talked about it, with his friends, with people who needed to know they weren't the only ones suffering, with the ones who mattered. Not often, mind you, but sometimes he did. Yet, when he did, it wasn't out of need. It was only because he knew, and not because he felt – since, as he had learned previously, a feeling couldn't be trusted – that it was the thing to do. A little honesty will keep people's curiosity at bay, and they will be less likely to believe he had it perfect.
Remus knew all that, and he didn't mind. He was there to listen if Sirius wanted to talk, he was there to look after his best friend in case his feelings and pain, for some odd reason, got the best of him. After all, Sirius was only human, and even if he had more self-control than all of Slytherin House put together when he wasn't starving and on the run from dementors, accidents could happen.
The werewolf remembered their school years, and looking back, he now understood how innocent they had all been, James, Peter and himself. How, even if Sirius had always seemed to be like everyone else, with a bit of a temper, acting rash from time to time, doing things only irresponsible youths would do, the Black heir had in fact had complete control over what he did all along.
It wasn't that Sirius' anger, pain and sadness, his cheerfulness, joy and laugh, had been, or were for the matter, staged. It was only that the boy, back then, had always chosen whether or not he would let it out. The only exception had been that one time, with the Whomping Willow. And that time, the teenager had kept his anger to himself so well no one had seen the slightest difference in behavior. No one had suspected anything, and everyone had been so taken aback, when the truth had come to light, that they had finally realized how shut in Sirius' openness was.
What had happened after that...
Well, let's only say that the Black heir hadn't been so surprised when Remus had believed him able to betray his best friend, though he knew that the werewolf hadn't expected him to be willing to.
Remus was remembering all that, as he carefully made his way to the cerberus and to his friend under the vigilant eyes of the Black Manor watchdogs. He was thinking about how Sirius was a well-managed factory of destruction, a volcano ready to explode any moment and yet tamed by a will of steel, as he managed to wake up the Black lord, who looked at him oddly for a second, before shrugging and standing up. He was reminding himself that, if the House of Black had created a perfect lord, a wizard with scarce flaws who knew of humanity and yet was able to ignore it if needed, Sirius had never been really able to live fully, not because he didn't know how to be happy, but because he had seen too much of the world's horror, too much of human hatred, too many despicables personality traits, to be able to go blind and forget about the dark side of the world, even for a minute. The wizard was too clever, too powerful, too important.
And the worst was that Sirius knew all that, and had accepted it, way before Remus had even understood who his friend really was.
The Black lord looked around the cave, somewhat relieved that his dog friends hadn't torn his werewolf friend apart while he was sleeping, then looked back at Remus.
"What time is it?"
Sleeping on the ground wasn't exactly comfortable, but he couldn't deny that he felt better than the day before, as if he had had more than his fair share of sleep.
The werewolf tried with no success to tame a smirk and Sirius frowned in confusion, not liking this at all.
"Nearly noon, Sirius."
The Black lord's eyes almost rolled out of their sockets.
"What the hell?! I've got no-time-to-waste. Right, hellhound hairs, hellhound-hairs,-hellhound-hairs... I'm stupid, you knew that, Remus? I'm stupid, because-there-are-hellhound-hairs-all-around me-and-I-can't-get-myself-to-even-remember-that. And seriously, I've slept for more than twelve hours? Seriously?! I won't ever be able to-remember-every-single-law-I-need-to-remember-for-tomorrow-at-this-rate! I-lost-more-time-than-I-can-afford. Hellhound hairs! Ah, found it."
The wizard was whirling around, and Remus could swear he had seen amusement in most of the supernatural dogs' eyes in the cave as they looked at their master running around the cave as he spoke faster than what Remus thought possible.
For a moment, the werewolf could have forgotten that, in fact, this honesty, this frankness in the reactions of his best friend, he could see it only because the man had allowed it. No one, while seeing the Black lord acting like that, so humane, so truthful, could have guessed that Sirius Black could simply make it disappear if he wanted to.
A master at deception, really. And yet, the feelings shown at the moment were real.
Remus smiled genuinely.
There was nothing to fear about tomorrow's trial.
"Come on, let's go, Sirius. You already learned these laws by heart, and you know it."
The man calmed down a bit, and sighed. Then, he turned to the closest hellhound.
"You'd let me have some hairs, right?"
The beast cocked its head to the side, apparently aggreing and visibly curious. Sirius' hand ran through its hairs, and when he drew it back, the wizard had a dozen of hairs between its fingers.
"Thank you."
Then, turning to Remus once again, he grinned.
"Shall we go, then?"
The werewolf shrugged.
Sirius made to leave, but stopped on his tracks. He gazed at the dark figure that was Remus in the dimly lit cave, and, his hand patting absently the head of a grim, he added:
"Right, just one thing. Could you go to Snape with those? I don't think someone seeing me near that greasy git would do any good, be it Death Eaters or regular people."
"No problem. I'll go as soon as we get back to the manor."
"Thanks, Moony. You can't use the floo, though, they certainly have my fireplaces monitored. They'd know where you go if you use the main one, and if someone use the one in my office, they'll be suspicious. I don't want that, I need all the odds on my side for the trial..."
"Not a problem, Padfoot. I'll just walk out of the property and apparate."
They were about to go when the cerberus opened its eyes. Remus took a step back, still not certain about the safety of a giant three-headed dog waking up to find an unknown werewolf in its cave. Sirius smirked as he saw his friend wavering. There was really nothing to fear from the dog, unless you actually tried to harm someone it cared about in front of it.
The cerberus barked at him softly, and, intrigued, Sirius transformed.
The proposition, more like, the statement the beast made was exactly what the wizard lived for. A glint of kindness in a world of despair.
If your wolf friend wants, he can come for the full moons.
Sirius and Remus were the only Marauders left, because Wormtail was as good as dead. Padfoot alone would not be enough to contain Moony. It was true that, with the wolfsbane, there was no need for containing. But Remus would never accept the risk to go out with Padfoot during the full moon, even with a clear mind. After all, who could pretend they knew everything about lycanthropy or the exact effects of wolfsbane? What if the potion failed to work properly for a while, just a minute, just an instant, just long enough for the werewolf to lose control?
But with a pack made of magical beasts willing to stop the werewolf if he went mad, there was no danger. A cerberus, watchdog of the gates of hell, with its outrageous size, its snake tail, its three heads and its lion claws. A dozen of hellhounds, meager but dangerous reddish black dogs turning invisible at will but leaving afire paw prints on their trail. Seven grims, bear-sized ghost-like dogs, black fur, gleaming yellow eyes, and prone to disappearing in the foggiest night. Hellish dogs, certainly, frightening hounds if there ever were any, but as nice as any other dog with the ones who weren't actually trying to hunt them down.
Sirius smiled, a bit a happier than before.
This was what he needed to survive in this world of hatred, fire and despair. A bright light in the dark, a shine of hope, just once in a while.
Even coming from a cerberus.
Remus arched an eyebrow as the grim transformed back into a man.
"What was that about?"
For a second, the animagus thought of telling his friend, but he refrained from doing so at the last moment. He didn't want to bring Remus' hopes up, in case the trial didn't go as well as it was supposed to. He himself didn't believe his strategy would backfire, but you never knew. There was only so much he could prevent.
"I'll tell you once I'm free."
Remus rolled his eyes, and they made their way to the gates, where Gulch and Flume were waiting for them, while Moody Jr. and Dawlish waited outside. Sirius let the two aurors in, saw the two others out, and bid goodbye to his best friend.
Then the Black lord went to the room Remus had used for the night, wondering if, maybe, the werewolf had thought to bring him his Order mirror, which he had left at Grimmauld Place before leaving for the Ministry. Sirius could really use a talk with Dumbledore, again. And he'd be happy to have news, at least from Dora or Andromeda...
On the night table of the bedroom was a package, and the size fit. Remus had brought the mirror.
Sirius went back to close the door behind him, not willing to have any auror spying on his conversation. Then he sat on the bed, opened the package, but stopped, mirror in hand.
Would he contact Snape about the sinemendatium potion?
He pondered for a moment, but finally decided against it. Snivellus was able enough to make the potion, and wouldn't take it greatly if his school nemesis inquired about it, more so when he was making it for said school nemesis. The best Sirius could hope was that the man wouldn't be so vicious as to not make the potion, just to spite him and lower his chances at his trial.
So he settled with calling Dumbledore instead, hoping that the headmaster wouldn't be too busy, or, worse, talking / arguing with some Ministry official.
The image of an old man with a silvery beard appeared in the mirror as soon as he gave it the password, and for an instant, Sirius wondered if, maybe, the wizard had been waiting for his call.
It wouldn't be surprising, for Dumbledore always seemed to know much more than what was humanly possible.
"Sirius."
"Headmaster."
The old wizard's eyes twinkled merrily, always amused when a former student went on calling him as if they were still in school.
"Is there something you wish to talk with me about?"
"Harry."
"Ah, of course... Harry. Everything has to be about Harry, and it is just good that way. After all, if one day we want it not to be about Harry, then we first have to deal with it being about Harry."
Sirius blinked, not sure of what the old wizard meant by that, but eventually decided to simply ignore it.
Not that he had absolutely no idea of what it meant.
Just, for now, he'd rather ignore said meaning.
So he gazed over the mirror, into nothingness, just so that he wouldn't have to look Dumbledore in the eyes when he'd ask his question, still afraid of the answer, whatever it would be.
"Will he come to the trial?"
If there was one thing he was afraid of, it was this.
The Black lord wasn't sure whether or not he wanted his godson to come. He wasn't sure he wanted Harry to know everything he was capable of, everything he had already done, and how skilled in the Dark Arts he was. But he also didn't want to hide anything from the teenager, and not only because it would backfire if Harry ever learned of it from someone else – such as, the newspapers, or worse, other students at Hogwarts.
When he looked back at the mirror, Sirius was a bit surprised to see that the twinkle in the headmaster's eyes had almost completely disappeared.
"Everything is ready for us to get him first hour in the morning. Remus, Nymphadora and Alastor volunteered to go and get him to the Ministry, protecting him from attacks from all assailant, so to speak. I do not doubt the Daily Prophet and other newspapers will be as intent to get to him than the average Death Eater. But..."
The old man paused for a second, his electric blue gaze searching for something on his former student's face.
"Sirius... It is your choice."
The young lord didn't respond. He had no answer.
Dumbledore sighed, looking very old, very, oh so very tired all of a sudden.
"I did what I had to for him to come, if you decide he should be here. But I will not ask the Order to bring him to the Ministry if you do not tell me clearly that you want him here, Sirius."
Great, so he couldn't just ignore this conversation and get away with it by simply not forbidding – thus not allowing either – Harry's presence to his trial. And here had he been, hoping foolishly he wouldn't have to voice his decision, in fact, hoping foolishly he didn't need to come to a decision. It would have been great, if he could have just blamed Dumbledore if things went awry with Harry, because it would technically be his fault.
Seeing that Sirius wasn't going to say anything any time soon, the headmaster went back to talking, and, obviously, he was right. Sirius knew what the old wizard was saying was right, he had known all along, but still, it didn't make him feel better in any way.
"Harry will not like it if you keep him away from your trial, and he will have every right to be angry. After all, with what he has already been through, he can bear more than he let on. But even if the war is about Harry, even if everything is, in the end, about Harry, this is about you, Sirius. Will you allow him to see who you really are, each one of your flaws, and the sparks of cruelty that has made you who you are now? Will you tell your godson how terrible you can be, or will you shrivel away and be ashamed of yourself? If Harry can't accept you as you are, it will always be the case, even if he does not know it."
Yeah, well, that was exactly what he didn't want to think about.
"He is worried about you, and has been writing letters to everyone since the beginning of the summer break, Sirius. I believe you can trust him to see you are not so bad a man as you led yourself to believe, Lord Black. You are who your family, your friends, and a cruel world made you, and that is nothing to be ashamed of, even more when you fight for what is right."
"It doesn't change the fact that I killed people."
"People they were, but Death Eaters they were too. I would not say that death is an appropriate punishment, even for them, but sometimes it is a necessary one."
Of course... Dumbledore was all about offering second chances to everyone, even the mad heir of the House of Black who had tried to feed a classmate to a werewolf, even the Death Eater who gave away the prophecy that condamned the woman he loved, even the werewolf who had already deemed himself a human failure at age eleven.
Sirius wouldn't say he wasn't grateful for that, even if he felt some people out there deserved to die a thousand deaths.
After all, in a war, all sorts of people were needed. The compassionate ones, like the headmaster, as well as the ruthless ones, such as himself. And it wasn't as if Dumbledore was unable to kill if he had to. The old wizard never had had to, because he was powerful enough to overcome any enemy without killing them. Well, Voldepants excepted, but no one actually seemed to be able to properly murder the bastard...
"I guess he already knows I'm not an angel, but still... There are some things which will be revealed that I'd rather not have him hear."
A piercing gaze fell upon the young lord through the mirror.
"Sirius... What are you planning to say exactly?"
The headmaster wasn't asking for the specifics, Sirius knew that, but he still felt bad for not wanting to disclose them. There was simply no way he could formulate what he thought of doing without sounding insane, not now, not while not in situation. But the clear eyes of the old wizard, sitting in his office at Poudlard, believing in him, were two unintentional accusatory arrows sent in his flesh...
Once again, a flutter of mistrust in his own plans took him over.
Sirius knew it would work, because it had to, and because he knew there was nothing to answer to his own accusations. But still. It wasn't because he knew it that it was the truth. Lots of people had known him to be guilty, and yet he hadn't been.
A heavy sigh escaped him.
He certainly hoped his arrogance wouldn't be his downfall.
"The truth. All of it. All that matters. Even what will not please. Even my darker side."
He didn't want to endanger the work that the Order was doing. He didn't want to cause anyone trouble. He wanted to finally be useful, in the war, for Harry, against Voldemort.
If things didn't go his way tomorrow, he would be nothing more than a hindrance, once again.
"It is a dangerous bet you are willing to take, Lord Black."
Dangerous, indeed.
"But I do not fear, and even if I did, a second escape from Azkaban would only add to the legend."
Sirius said nothing, but he truly could't help the beginning of a smirk invading his face.
"So, what is your decision?"
Yuck, the twice-damned decision again.
Oh well...
"Let him come..."
Sirius took a deep breath, and really looked the old wizard in the eyes for the first time since the problem had first been mentioned.
There was approval in the old man's eyes.
He didn't need anything else.
Only a bit of approval, once in a while, and his courage would live up to what it was supposed to be. After all, the Black lord was a gryffindor alumnus. After all, he had always been brave. So why shouldn't he be able to act gamely?
"I don't want Harry to hear what I will say, to be honest. I don't want him to see me like that, using all the slytheriness I dismissed when I chose Gryffindor over my family House. I don't want him to know how much of a monster I can be, or at least, appear to be. But I need him to know I can play a part, I need him to realize I'm not only the maddened escapee from the Shrieking Shack, or the angered man locked up in a house as loathed as it is loved. I... guess I need him to know what I can do in the war, how influential I can be, up to which point I can protect whoever needs protection."
Sirius heard no answer to his tirade, but he saw the smile on Dumbledore's face, and that was enough.
Enough for now.
Enough to hold on until morning.
Until his trial at nine o'clock tomorrow.
After a while, he stood up from the bed, mirror still in hand.
"Well, Headmaster, I believe we will see each other tomorrow. As for myself, I shall watch a magically-converted movie Remus left here for me. Apparently, I will 'like the trial at the end so much I will not doubt another instant that tomorrow will be a magnificent day'. The sole fact he wrote that is disturbing enough, but still, I'll give it a try."
The old wizard simply chuckled in the mirror and finally cut the connection off.
Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, tired but less sad than what was usual since Tom had gone back to terrorizing the wizarding world. He looked around his office, not really paying attention, a bit preoccupied with the upcoming trial. He certainly didn't want to see the young lord sent back to Azkaban...
Then he thought of the movie Remus had given his friend, and chuckled again.
Since four decades ago, he had taken to going to the cinema and watch the most outrageous movies out there, and The Wall certainly had a place amongst these. It was so outrageous even wizards wouldn't have thought of it, and that was saying something.
It was one of the reasons Albus liked muggles so much. They were usually rational over anything else, but the most desperate ones had no limits, they could be pure genius of insanity, if only given the chance. Wizards couldn't do that, too used to the extraordinary. Wizards didn't know how to dream anymore.
One day, he had walked into a cinema, willing to forget, even for only one evening, who he was, and what had happened out there, the deaths, the suffering, the madness, and he had seen The Wall. Horrible, in a way. Completely in tune with what had just happened in the wizarding world, in a way. So wrong, and yet so true, in a way. The extravaganza, and the insanity of the wizarding war, in a muggle movie. Not the same story, of course, not the same tragedies. But a world so twisted, it could only be true.
It hadn't been a year since Sirius Black had betrayed them all, when the leader of the Order of the Phoenix had seen that movie. It hadn't been a year that, by a greater madness, a deed no one could have predicted, Lord Voldemort's folly had been brought to an end.
But Sirius had betrayed no one, and in the end, every single one of them had betrayed him.
Here was the real insanity.
"Headmaster, the two Longbottoms in St Mungo's seem to have completely recovered."
The statement, coming from a puzzled Dilys Derwent, whose portrait hanged next to many others on the wall of his office, brought Albus back to the present situation.
Sitting a bit straighter, the current headmaster of Hogwarts looked at his predecessor in her frame.
"Have they, now?"
The witch shrugged, still not really believing what she had heard and seen from her portrait in the hospital. There was no expanation to the couple's sudden and marvelous recovery.
"They have. The healers were leading them back to the Janus Thickey Ward when I left, apparently having finally convinced the husband, Frank, that he should stay at least for the night, so that they could run some complementary examinations. No one knows anything, and that is simply not normal..."
Albus Dumbledore simply smiled at that.
Let the mystery be, only for a moment more.
"Sirius really did the impossible, then."
Yes, this boy, no, this young man, Lord Black, was incredible. A genius, a humanitarian, if a broken man. And that, that made him priceless. Not only because he would be useful or powerful, but because he could be mended.
Despite all that had happened to him, Sirius Black was still human in his heart.
A mildly irritating voice came from another portrait, and Dumbledore, calm as always, happy for once, and not annoyed in the least, looked at the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black.
"What is it about my great-grandson doing something incredible?"
There was sarcasm in the wizard's voice, but at the same time, a strange and wry smile was making its way on his lips.
Albus took a second to consider the inquiry, wondering absently if the unpleasant former headmaster was actually complaining or not. After all, Phineas could pretend all he wanted, the wizard still cared, if not about Sirius, at least about the Blacks. And for now, the current Lord Black was the only one who could pass down the name of the House of Black.
Phineas Nigellus Black was a cold-hearted man, but he wasn't stupid, and anything great a child of his had done could only shine back on the family, he knew that.
The current Hogwarts headmaster smiled genially at his predecessor, knowing all too well the portrait hated it when he did so.
"Sirius fought off the insanity that had taken up residence in Frank and Alice Longbottom's minds when Bellatrix Lestrange, another one of the Blacks if you recall, Phineas, used the Cruciatus curse on them multiple times, leaving them as good as human vegetables."
The portrait arched an eyebrow, and Albus noticed many of the other former headmasters and headmistresses listening in. They liked gossip as anyone else. Life in a frame, even a magical one allowing them to move from paintings to paintings, might be a bit dull, after all.
"And how did he manage such a feat?"
Dumbledore had his idea about that, but he wasn't going to divulge it before Sirius did so himself.
As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the old wizard sighed once again. He did that a lot, lately. Tom was making too much of a ruckus, and Albus wasn't as young as he had once been.
Oh how he hoped everything would go right the next day...
For everyone's sake, but for Sirius' before anyone else's.
People who knew the Boy Who Lived and liked him tended to forget about the young lord when it came to that. But Sirius wasn't only Harry's godfather. He deserved to live, too.
"By being himself, Phineas. Nothing less than incredible."