"Why were you in Azkaban?" he asked again, entering her bedroom. It was a majestic, enormous room, filled from floor to the tops of all cabinets with books, parchment, as well as magical objects. He watched her rummage through some drawers, before taking out a small, long, ceramic pipe, with a small chamber in the middle.
"Could you please close the blinds?" she whispered, and he did so, plunging the room in darkness.
Turning around, he watched her flick her wand as candles in a variety of sizes all lit up at once, making the room and everything in it glow in warm shades of amber. Approaching her, he watched her open what he thought was an ink bottle at first, pouring a few drops of a black liquid inside the small chamber. The process was meticulous, and Sirius couldn't help but notice her fingers were lightly trembling as he did the minutious work of closing the small chambers with the tips of her fingers.
Not knowing what else he could do, but awaiting his answers still, Sirius took a seat at the edge of the bed, watching the shadow of her against the wall. He could recognise that, now, as the shadow of a person, however he wondered, if in any other circumstances, if even slightly distraught, he would still realise that was a person, and not the shadow of his eternal tormentors.
"Here."
He looked up at her. Lost in his thoughts, once again, he had barely realised what was happening around him, and took the small offering from her hand. He smelt it - chocolate, and took a bite of it as he watched her sit down near him, just out of reach, pulling one leg under her as she made herself comfortable on her own bed. In her other hand, she held the long pipe, now lit up and emanating a sweet and earthy smell, not unlike cinnamon.
"How does that feel?" she asked in a whisper, and Sirius shook his head.
"It's supposed to counter Dementors, I know that well enough. But it doesn't do anything to me. The long exposure to them, probably. I've been eating it, after I escaped, you know, I've eaten so much of it in those first weeks, but..." he shook his head, and ate the rest of the piece. It was delicious, but it didn't make him feel any different from before.
"That's what I found in many cases. If we- if we as wizards would find out how to counter long-term effects of Dementors… the benefits of that research would be endless. It would help so many people, such as people that have been wrongly convicted, like you, Sirius."
"And like you?"
He watched the witch raise the pipe and take a long, slow swig out of it, cheeks sinking in as she finally shook her head.
"Never been convicted. Acquitted, with Dumbledore's help." she said in a nasal tone, exhaling an amber-coloured smoke as she spoke. "I didn't kill anyone, but the person who did kill himself used my wand, after I'd snapped his to stop him from doing anything reckless. With no witnesses around… Looked like I attacked and killed him - which, depending on how you looked at it, they were right, wouldn't you say?"
"I wasn't there. I can't tell you one way or another." Sirius shrugged, and the witch nodded, leaning against one of the bedposts as she took another swig from the pipe. She looked up as she spoke, yet addressed him.
"Whenever I think- there is a darkness, an emptiness, I feel here, right here. Or rather, I don't feel it. I can feel its absence." She spoke slowly, meditating on each sentence, each word, before uttering it. She pressed two fingers against her heart, and exhaled another amber cloud. "You know, there are many others like you, and many of them that I know are foreign wizards. I think, in the right circumstances, they would believe you, they would believe the injustice the Ministry made against you. But before that…"
Sirius stopped the witch from talking, as he motioned for the pipe. He was unsure what was inside it, yet like when seeing someone try a cigarette, he felt the need for a hit. And seeing how it mellowed out the witch, much more than alcohol would have in only a couple of breaths, he felt that he too, needed that. He watched her apprehensively look at her pipe, before standing upright, carefully handing it to him. She opened her mouth, probably to explain either how to do it or what was inside, but he couldn't care less, and raised one finger to stop her as he took a deep inhale.
How dreadful and terrible of a human being, to hide such comfort from someone who needed it to such an extent. While alcohol would warm his belly and slowly go through his veins and skin, while cigarettes would warm his throat, would calm his nerves, the warmth of the pipe went straight to his weary bones, enveloping him in a cloud of calm. It was no wonder she found within herself the ability to talk about suicide in one drag. He exhaled, enveloping everything around him in a cloud of fuzzy, amber, light, and took another slow drag.
"I dreamt of having hurt Harry. I saw a Dementor in the shadow - I can still see them. I heard the music stop, but no music stopped." he raised his eyes to her, and she shook her head, confirming once again that it was only in his head. "All those years are after me, every time I feel an emotion strongly enough, anything but apathy, they drag me back. How can I ensure Harry's future and safety, when I cannot feel I can keep him safe from my madness?"
"I wonder…" she muttered, leaning back even further, to the point he could barely see her face as she spoke.
"I have this theory, you know. Our souls, they don't long to be here. No, there is misery to a soul stuck in a body, there is terror in knowing that it is buried within our flesh. But souls are buried so deep within us, they don't know this. What happens is… what a Dementor does, I believe, is that they take one's soul close to the surface, close to realising where it is, and it reminds them they are stuck in this misery. For a soul, it's a fleeting moment, but the pain and misery it feels in knowing its existence here… that's what it is."
Sirius leaned back as well, turning his eyes from her rising and falling chest as she spoke to the whiteness of the ceiling. He was not sure what he believed in - surely, there was a soul inside each of them, yet there was something distressing in the phrasing she used, something that made his own heart beat faster, as if the very soul she was talking about was found inside his heart.
"Is that what you think?"
"What do you remember the most, since we've met each other?"
Pushing the hallucinations of Dementors and images of a harmed Harry away from his mind, he tried to think about the night she took him on the hill. Yet the memory was foggy, far from him as he could barely see Magdalena, could barely remember a single step he made, or the journey to the hill. He tried to picture her robes, yet the colours kept changing. He knew Dumbledore came at some point, he could not remember much of what he said, and he knew he took a long bath.
He took a long bath, in which he imagined himself drowning, just putting his head under water and never raising it again. And how easy that would have been. That was the memory he remembered most. It was a thought he pushed from his head as soon as it came, yet it was there, and it was the most vivid thought and vivid memory he had. He thought about meeting Harry again, listening to him, memories which he had barrel formed earlier today, yet those paled in comparison with a dark, fleeting thought.
"I need to leave." he opened his eyes and raised himself up, towering over the still-lounging Magdalena. The air felt thick and heavy, and he felt like he could not breathe anymore. Even her figure was shrouded in clouds, and he could barely tell whether her eyes were opened or closed, or where her dark her ended, and her robe began.
"You can go anywhere without worry. You can do anything. You've been asleep for quite some time, by now."
"Pardon?" Sirius furrowed his brows.
"You're asleep. You're in a state of consciousness, but outside of your actual body." she said in a calm, soothing tone, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Is that what was in that pipe, then?"
He watched Magdalena shrug her shoulders, sure that she was chuckling under her breath. How was he in a state of consciousness, of quite heavy alertness, if anything, while she had taken the same thing and seemed nothing but sleepy? Nevertheless, he had to get out.
Sirius threw open the door of her bedroom, going down the stairs and through the living room. He would test it then. If he truly could do anything and go anywhere… Wand in hand, he opened the front door, preparing to see the bright light outside, to feel the wind on his face.
Yet what he saw was not that. What he saw was another living room, one which seemed oddly familiar. He knew that house - he knew that living room, and he certainly knew the people surrounding him. There was Harry, as tall as he was and looking less malnourished, and certainly more mature. His scar was much more faded than when he had just seen, and his smile brighter, as he approached him. Sirius was not sure what happened, but looked to hug his godson, before realising there was a small bundle he was holding, a small, black-haired baby. He looked to the mass of redheads Harry was surrounded by, and saw, coming from behind him, Remus, alongside a woman with turquoise hair he had never seen before.
Not sure who, or whose it was, Sirius felt a sense of protectiveness over the small baby cooing at his chest, overlooking the people in the living holding glasses of champagne. There were Ron and Hermione, both taller, both looking more mature, as if in the few weeks he had not seen them they all grew five years' worth. Without knowing what to say, something came out of his own mouth, yet Sirius could not understand what he said, nor could he hear what Harry had responded, as his voice seemed drowned.
They all sounded like they spoke to him from depths, and Sirius was nothing but confused, as Remus motioned for him to give him the baby. He could not. The last time he had done that, the last time he had acquiesced to hand over the small child, it was Harry, and look how that turned out for him... He looked back down at the baby, and thought he could see a lightning-shaped scar on its forehead, and the baby's eyes, hazel when he first looked at it, were now green, just like Lily's eyes. He looked through the crowd, trying to find Magdalena - whatever this vision was, it seemed like one of the future, however, she seemed to be absent from it, the only person who could shed light on what was happening. Unsure what to do, and with Remus seemingly alarmed by him, Sirius handed over the baby to Harry, and went back through the door.
He could finally hear something. Small drops of water. He looked up, and instead of another living room, he found himself in a stone cave, grey and barely lit. The light that was coming was a small, greenish glow, which allowed him to see a small illuminated figure laid on the floor of the cave. Unsure what to do, but with the instructions he could do anything or go anywhere, he slowly stepped towards the figure. He grabbed what he assumed to be one of the figure's shoulders, and tried to lift the figure to face him, yet the contact with the figure's cloak seemed to have transported once again.
This time, he was back in Hogwarts, back in Dumbledore's office.
"Hello?" This time he could hear himself fine, and looked around for someone else, yet the only ones turning around were the portraits of previous Headmasters. Slowly, he took a seat on Dumbledore's chair, not knowing what else he was supposed to do. He was unsure what was behind the office door, whatever wild party or enormous cave was hidden, and he much preferred to not make another move, and instead relax on the comfortable chair, leaning back and closing his eyes.
The portraits of the Headmasters seemed to ignore him as well, and he could hear them well this time, buzzing with idle chit-chat he could not care less for. It was the closest, apart from going into the pub with Harry, that he had been able to simply be privy to hearing people talk. It was relaxing, and knowing that his actual body was sleeping, and there was nothing much he could do about the situation, was perhaps the most relaxing part of it. He put his legs onto the desk, reminiscent of how he used to nap in the Gryffindor's common room while James and Remus were studying next to him, and crossed his arms. Lulled by the portrait's chatter, he let himself be drifted to sleep for what seemed like a good couple of hours, until he heard the noise of a door creak.
Sirius opened his eyes and inhaled sharply, finding the sensation of opening his eyes while they were already open in his vision particularly painful. He rubbed his eyes and raised himself up, looking at the bright sun coming through the window in the witch's room. He found himself leaned back in the bed, the same position he took before he was told he had been sleeping all along.
He was sure he was awake this time. Slowly, he raised himself, aware now that he was hearing the noise of an open shower. That must have been the door he heard. He approached the door, and looked inside, trying to fixate his eyes, out of politeness, on the fat, rolling clouds of steam, instead of the witch inside the bathtub.
"What was that?" he whispered, not sure how to even address what happened.
"An old witch Dumbledore knows taught me that… I wasn't sure if you'd want it, but I thought you needed it."
"So you decide to drug me." he concluded, looking up at the witch this time. He found her to be looking over to him over her shoulder as well - he was unsettled by how serene she seemed regarding her own vulnerability, her own nakedness. As if it was the most normal thing in the world, as if he was now in her vision, where this time, she could do anything without worry. And how he could do nothing but try to fixate on her eyes, out of a sense of politeness.
"You took the pipe from my hands with your own two, never asked me what it was." He crossed his arms at her response, and looked down, focusing on the bathroom tiles now. "It's something they recommended when I got out of Azkaban. I'm not sure exactly what it is, it combines parts of the Draught of the Living Dead, and something else called… well, if only I could remember now..."
"What are the visions then?"
"No one sees the same thing twice. It depends… sometimes, you can almost use it as Divination. Sometimes, it wants to show you things. Sometimes the past, sometimes the future… sometimes, what could have been."
Sirius nodded to himself, listening to the water stopping. He waited until he heard the rustling of towels, and finally found himself able to look at her.
Only then did he realise, perturbed by his own realisation, why seeing her like this was frightening. It was not the nakedness, as he thought earlier, no, it was the vulnerability. Even seeing her now, even covered from shoulders down in towels, with her wet hair sprawled across her face and arms, he couldn't help but feel a sense of distress. He could not protect Harry, he could barely take care of himself-... he did not realise until now how much he needed someone around to be put together, someone to be in control. And how, all along, that person had been Magdalena, not himself, not this idealised version he had of himself after his break from Azkaban. It was seeing her in a vulnerable position that troubled him greatly, as the illusion was not there anymore - he needed her put together, well-groomed, in nice, ironed robes, to balance his madness, his delusions.
"You should close the door sometimes, you know." he finally said, trying to diffuse the situation, to minimise his realisation. "Decency and all."
"My bathroom, my bedroom, Sirius Black. I wonder… no one actually invited you in here, do you remember?"
"You know, when I first met you- " he responded, before clearing his throat. He remembered when she had mentioned how when she had first met him, she found him repulsive. And people thought the British were cold."I thought nothing of you. I thought you were just someone that happened to live remotely enough that Dumbledore figured I'd be safe laying low here. Thought you were just a hick he knew. Don't get me wrong, you're a piss-poor Occlumens, but I am starting to understand why he asked you to come during the war, and why he asked you to host me." He nodded to himself, before another realisation hit him. Dumbledore's office - the one in his vision. The empty office, the door opening.
"We need to contact Dumbledore. We need to ask him about Tom Riddle and what he knows."