29 June 1978
Even early summer in London was crowded. The city was swollen with Muggles on holiday trips; the trains were slicing by at a rapid pace dictated by need more than safety. It was less pleasant than Sirius remembered to make his way to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. As he stood, holding tight to the silver bar above his head, eyes purposely focused above the head of the portly lady in a purple coat, he remembered the first time he and the others had come here.
"C'mon, give me the map, I can read it," laughed James.
"Not a chance," retorted Lily, holding the map just out of reach.
"I'm the one who should have it," Sirius pointed out, "I'm the one who's lived in London all his life. C'mon, Lily, give it over."
Their voices echoed in his ears. But these ghosts of his lacked staying power. Unlike the tiara, whose voice had been near constant, and whose company had seemed nearly as physically present as anyone else, James and Lily came and went at random. The train screeched to a halt. A pack of black-clad youths came on, packing them in even tighter. All wore guitars slung over their shoulders, giving them the appearance of single-winged ravens.
Sirius held tight to the silver bar at level with his forehead, gripping tightly enough his hand grew hot and his knuckles white.
It had not been easy, these last weeks. It had been over a month since the pox and since the grisly discovery in Gryffindor Tower that someone had given the inhabitants therein the Draught of Living Death. Whoever it had been had not left so much a single hair behind; nor had they used traceable magic within the tower itself. It had been weeks, and Dumbledore was no closer to an answer than he'd been that first night.
Scowling, Sirius swiped his forehead with the hand not gripping the bar. It was not easy, keeping to his inward promise that he'd stop communing with the voice in the tiara, especially since he knew the thing would have an idea or two of what was happening. Shaking off that thought, he glanced again to the left, where the black-clad boys were now singing a Muggle song very loudly and very inconsiderately.
They were a tight group, much like the Marauders had been.
His stomach panged.
Even without the advice of the tiara, Sirius had snuck away from his responsibilities for an evening and paced up and down the street upon which a small, discreet little house sat. Peter Pettigrew and his mother lived there, nestled in a cozy corner of the midlands, where a couple other wizarding families lived. Sirius had stood there for hours, stomach churning to the point he was nearly sick, wondering if Wormtail was already so far gone that he'd snuck back to Gryffindor Tower and put his friends into a sleep from which it would be difficult for them to awaken. It had seemed so smart to him, to follow the advice of the tiara, and smooth away Harry's memory of Wormtail's behavior.
But now, a part of Sirius wished he'd let Harry at the rat.
The train halted again, throwing Sirius forward. "My stop," he grunted to no one in particular. The doors were closing by the time he pushed through the oblivious guitarists. A quick freezing charm, there and gone again in a blink, and Sirius slipped through the crack and onto the platform. Even here, it was crowded, and it took a bit of work to open the small service door that Dumbledore had hidden from Muggle view without anyone noticing a man walking into a concrete wall. Now free to do so, Sirius pulled his wand from his pocket and lit the end of it.
The air in this small space was redolent with moisture and the scent of rats. Nose twitching, Sirius pushed Pettigrew from his mind. He'd made his decision weeks ago. If he never saw that particular rat again before he was returned to the future, that would be fine with him. It was too tempting to do something. But the voice in the tiara was right… it was much too rash to change things so violently, not when he had no idea what would happen.
Squeaks and screeches filled the air as Sirius rounded a corner. There, in the light of his wand, two rats tussled with each other, biting, clawing, ripping patches of hair from one another. With a flick of his wrist, the two rats were flung from one another, landing in quivering heaps on opposite sides of the abandoned service corridor.
A rather more ornate door stood at the end of it. Sirius murmured the password, and it opened of its own accord, hot air whooshing by him, ruffling his hair.
He was late, of course.
The abandoned Harrogate Station had been taken over by Dumbledore in the last few years; layers and layers of protective charms layered over it, creating a magical sort of haze that hung in the air. Trains still came and went, but not nearly as many as on the other lines; and no one ever stopped here. It was a pity, thought Sirius, as he looked around. The Muggles would quite like the look of this station, with the smart furniture and seats for the weary. Quite a few members of the Order of the Phoenix were there now, perched on seats, some taking notes, most staring raptly at Dumbledore, who stood at the center.
"-conclusive, I'm afraid," said Dumbledore. His eyes caught Sirius's. "Despite the recovery, the political faction that pushes the pureblood mania still wants to blame the half-bloods and Muggle-borns for the pox itself. Edgar?"
"Unfortunately, this is true, and we have people in my own Department to thank for that… if only I knew who…"
Sirius entered further into the room. Concrete gave way to plush rugs. The hairs on his arms stood up as Sirius passed a particularly potent ward. Ignoring Edgar Bones – who likely couldn't tell Sirius anything new – Sirius let his gaze roam over those who were there. Frank Longbottom and Moody stood together at the back, expressions unreadable, and arms folded. A pretty woman with short, curly blond hair and dimples stood next to Frank. Whenever the other man looked at her, which was frequent, there was a softening about him.
Though Sirius had never met her in person, he assumed this was Alice, his wife.
There was a zing of connection as Sirius turned away from the Aurors. There, looking at him, was Marlene McKinnon, wearing pretty, flowery robes and her white-blonde hair in a bun. Involuntarily, he smiled, heart lifting at the sight of her. It took a great deal not to walk over to her and hold on to her. But there was an unspoken agreement between them that what they had together was private. Instead, after giving her a wink, Sirius found a bit of wall to lean against, scanning quicker now.
Ah!
There, sat in an armchair, head bent toward Dorcas Meadowes and not listening to a word Edgar Bones was saying, was Harry. Sirius eyed him. He'd gone thinner since the pox, and there were dark shadows under his eyes that appeared permanent. Over the last weeks, his godson had thrown himself very determinedly into learning how to Apparate. For the last week, he'd been doing it all on his own.
What was she telling Harry? Sirius gave a silent command: a small spark gathered at the end of his wand. But then, without sending the sensory charm flicking off toward the two, Sirius, instead, stumped over.
"—well you are learning, it will serve you well," said Dorcas.
"I like spending time with him," said Harry. His eyes caught Sirius's for a moment. "No wonder Sirius lived there between terms."
Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. "I told him things would turn out all right," he said, directly to Dorcas, having guessed the subject of their conversation. "It's like you told us last time, yeah? It can't be permanent because Harry, well, exists." His hand tightened. Hopefully, Dorcas would be able to put it in the blunt terms that Sirius could not: James and Lily and the others would awaken whether Harry helped or not.
Dorcas gazed at him, head-cocked. Puzzlement filtered into the weathered face, filling the wrinkles with questions. Her pupils contracted and then dilated. The wand in her left hand was swapped with the quill on her right; even when she dipped it in the ink she procured from a pocket of her robes, set it to the thick parchment that lay in her lap, and began to draw, she did not take her eyes from him. There was a glassy sheen in them; Sirius could see his own reflection wavering, as though he looked into a pond stirred by ripples.
"You," she said, "are heading into the dark."
"I am," said Sirius, as her hand flew across the page. A fortress appeared in a few quick lines – Dorcas Meadowes did not waste a single blot – in another few lines, it was recognizable as Nurmengard, with roots of trees growing out from under it; above it, the high Austrian mountains formed a dark crown, hiding the fortress from all light.
"Is that Nurmengard?" Harry asked, peering closer.
"Is it?" Dorcas murmured.
"With a few stylistic changes," muttered Sirius, eyes on the mountains. He cocked his head at Dorcas. "I have been," he said to her, "to darker places."
Her eyebrows rose, crawling up to the middle of her brow. "I am not sure you have," she said gently.
But Sirius could not pursue that argument. Edgar Bones had stopped speaking, and the members of the Orders of the Phoenix had dispersed, drawing into small groups. Frank and Moody were waving him over, beckoning to him. Sirius squeezed Harry's shoulder again, murmured, "Try not to worry over them," which he knew was futile. Hopefully Dorcas Meadowes could convince Harry where Sirius could not. Ignoring the offered drawing, Sirius strode over to the Aurors.
"You were late," growled Moody.
"I had other things to do," said Sirius. Actually, he had forgotten the time.
"Dumbledore wanted to discuss something with us before the full meeting," said Frank. "He mentioned you… but he was late, as well."
"What was it?" Sirius asked.
Moody glanced over his shoulder, then back at Sirius. In a low rumble, he said: "We've got a good idea of what you need from there."
"From Nurmengard," said Frank, with an amused sort of smile at his more paranoid partner.
"It's not what you'd expect," Moody warned.
"I don't know what I'd expect," Sirius said, voice flat.
"You're really going to make a try for it?" Moody asked, a certain amount of incredulity in his tone.
The two Aurors looked at him, confusion written on their faces. Sirius supposed he couldn't blame them – they had no idea what was at stake. Dumbledore had not brought them into his confidence regarding the winds and the veil that had brought them back almost twenty years in time. These two men, talented as they were, could not fathom the road the Sirius and Harry were on: Their feet remained facing ever the same way, and their steps only brought them forward.
"I have to," said Sirius. "Harry and I have to."
"In fact," said Frank Longbottom, looking away from where Dorcas Meadowes and Harry still sat in a huddle. The puzzlement written across his forehead remained. "It was a member of your family we suspected of infiltrating Nurmengard in the first place. Did we tell you this? Perhaps not. But yes… Regulus Black–"
Sirius's insides jolted–
"-was seen in the vicinity of Nurmengard at the time of the theft."
"How was he found out?" Sirius asked.
"There's a charm," said Frank.
"Of course there is," Sirius muttered.
"Of course, the governments wanted to be able to study his collection, the benign bits of it, of course." The sardonic twist in Frank's words told Sirius that the auror had no doubt that the government would be interested in the not-so-benign items in Grindelwald's collection. Sirius was sure they would only be used in the "most dire of needs", but the temptation would be strong. "So they made it possible to take some such items, but nothing over a certain… er… metaphysical weight."
"Nothing with any of the larger curses?" Sirius suggested.
"It doesn't distinguish the darker magic from the more benign items," Frank said. "If the Austrians are to be believed, Grindelwald had everything from qilin tears to five-foot hands of glory to ever-burning flames contained in glass ornaments as small as a thumbnail. His collection is extensive."
"Thanks for getting us the itemized list," said Sirius, thoughts racing. "And what we want is–?"
"Do not be disappointed," Frank cautioned, "but it is a book."
"Fuck," Sirius growled, glaring at him. "A book?"
Frank grimaced. Sirius experienced a brief doubling of his vision, as though he still wore the tiara. There was a ghost of a thought drifting on his mind, reacting to the idea of a book. The tiara had been hungry for information; it was the echo of that hunger that had his shoulders relaxing and his tone warming.
"It'll have more information on what we're up against, then?" Sirius said, a moment later.
Frank eyed him. "That's what we think. From accounts we've gathered in the last weeks, it's about yay big"-Frank held his freckled hands apart about two feet–"and it's an account of every magical artifact created by some secret society a century or so ago." Curiosity burned like embers in his eyes. "It's not… an item that most would consider worth breaching the walls of Nurmengard for."
Sirius shrugged, thinking of Dorcas Meadowes and her quill, and the secret society that had created such a thing.
"Why do you need it?"
"Can't tell you that, Frank," said Sirius, mind still spinning. He clapped Frank on the shoulder. "Thanks for the work."
"You're welcome, Sol," said Frank. "Moody was about ready to give up, but… Look, there's Dumbledore… I think he's trying to get your attention."
In fact, he was. Dumbledore was a solid, calm presence. He was close enough to the graffitied wall of the Underground station to look haloed by the spray of deep, shining blue. Of course, this was not the normal graffiti of street artists, but stylized magical runes that offered the Order of the Phoenix protection against infiltration by the Death Eaters.
It would only work for a little while longer.
"He wants you, too," Sirius pointed out. Dumbledore was beckoning all three of them; all three made their way through it, excusing themselves past the Prewett brothers talking animatedly with Alice Longbottom, who gave her husband an affectionate squeeze as he passed her. Halfway across the train platform, Harry joined them, and it was only a few moments later that they all stood in front of Dumbledore.
Sirius's ears hummed as Dumbledore cast a charm that would prevent anyone from over-hearing what any of the five of them had to say. "Well," he said, clapping his hands together. It was an oddly muffled sound. "Mr. Black, Mr. Peverell, our two Auror friends have found an unredacted list of that which can be found at Nurmengard… and, it includes a list of all known artifacts created by… the society we have spoken of before."
"A list?" asked Harry. "But…?"
"A list," confirmed Dumbledore.
"If it's any consolation," said Frank, "it's a rather long list… and I would consider it more of an almanac or a guide."
"Knowledge is power," said Dumbledore, and nothing more.
Harry made a face. "You know," he said, "I've wondered why all that stuff – if it's so valuable – is kept there…"
"Well," said Frank, "That'll go back to the fact that Nurmengard wasn't always a prison… it's a fortress. And it used to be Grindelwald's fortress. The Austrians have got powerful wards and charms guarding the place–"
"Not to mention an entire team of guards," Moody put in. "But that's not even the half of it."
"Dementors?" Harry asked.
"No, but there's a rumor they've got a dragon–"
"Everyone's got a dragon these days," Moody complained.
"But if there's all that guarding it, how did Regulus Black get in there…?" Unspoken was the question And how are we going to get in there? but Sirius heard it all the same.
"Grindelwald had his own way of doing things," explained Frank. "He rewarded his followers – the ones who were loyal to him – with keys to get into the place. And they haven't found all of them."
"Erm," said Harry, "Why not just change the locks?"
Sirius chuckled, though he felt a bit grim doing it.
"Don't have to look like keys," said Moody. "They could look like anything–"
"Like portkeys," Sirius suggested. It wasn't quite a question.
"And they're connected to Nurmengard itself," said Frank. "They resonate with it. It's a powerful protection even against the Austrian Ministry's charms. Sure, they knew Regulus got in, but they didn't stop him beforehand."
"I still think the Austrians ought to have ripped Grindelwald away from his precious castle," said Moody, looking rather annoyed. "That way we wouldn't have to worry about his followers gathering up their courage and using one of their precious keys to get him out of there."
"I can see why they left him there," countered Frank. "Considering all the protections Grindelwald put on the place – hiding it from Muggles, making it Unplottable, keeping outsiders away – almost all their work was done for them. The only problem is that he handed out who knows how many of the damned things."
Moody pointed at the large chunk missing from his cheek. "I got this nasty little bruise"-understatement of the decade–"from a witch named Vinda Rosier, who was most reluctant to give up her key."
A line creased Harry's brow. "But hasn't it been thirty years or so since his defeat?" he asked politely. "Surely there can't be that many keys left?"
"Perhaps, perhaps not," said Frank, kindly. "It has been a while since anyone breached Nurmengard, other than Regulus Black–"
"That we know of–"
"True – they might've either gotten away with it, or the Austrians neglected to publicize it," agreed Frank. He sighed. "They don't trust us," he added flatly. "And for good reason. There have been enough officials in our Ministry who have proven to be in sympathy with You Know Who. If they were to allow us in – or if we were caught trying to get in – we would create a problem."
"That's an understatement," grunted Moody. "Our best chance is getting one of those keys for ourselves–"
Of course.
"I think," Sirius said, on impulse, "that I might be able to help with that."
As one, Frank and Moody turned to him. One was baffled and the other disbelieving.
"How would you do that?" Frank asked, watchful.
Despite the fact he was only with members of the Order of the Phoenix, Sirius gave a quick glance over his shoulder. Marlene, the Prewetts, and Alice Longbottom were still in deep conversation, huddled at the back of the abandoned station. Edgar Bones sat with Benjy Fenniwick and Dedalus Diggle, looking far less careworn than he had the last time Sirius had seen him.
"It's Regulus Black you said had a key to the fortress? That he was seen there?" Sirius asked. "I know where he lives. I can nick it from him."
Moody snorted.
Annoyance stirred in his belly, making his next words short: "It'll be easy enough."
"I don't know how easy it would be," cautioned Frank. "Alice — my wife — had a turn a while ago, watching the house. Says it was blasted difficult; Orion Black's made the thing Unplottable… among other things. I don't know how feasible that would be."
It's feasible if you grew up there, thought Sirius. There had been times, when he'd been wearing the tiara, that it would respond to him. "Nothing's impossible," Sirius said lightly.
It was Harry's turn to snort.
Despite Dorcas Meadowes's prediction of nearly a year ago, Moody still had two eyes. Both of them were leveled on Sirius at the moment, dark and piercing. "Even if you have a key," he said, with enough doubt in his tone that told Sirius that Moody did not believe that he could acquire such, "there are still other considerations. You'll want to wait until the guards change, for one, and they've just done that, which is how we got the list. It may not happen again until autumn. And… I cannot go with you; neither can Frank." His gaze flicked to Harry. "International incident, you know. Dumbledore's already said he can't go either. Who else is going to stand with you?"
Sirius rather thought that he and Harry could manage on their own. "We'll take that portkey when we find it," said Sirius. "But I'm sure that Harry and I could manage quite on our own–"
"It won't be safe," said Frank.
"Nowhere is safe," Sirius said flatly.
There was an awkward silence after that; Sirius could feel the weight of the Aurors's disbelief on his shoulders. But if they knew that Sirius had once escaped Azkaban… perhaps they might not be so skeptical. What, after all, did Nurmengard have that compared in the slightest with the presence of the Dementors?
"Professor." Harry's slightly raspy voice interrupted Sirius's thoughts.
"Yes, Mr. Peverell?" Dumbledore inquired, his eyebrow twisting.
Sirius paused. He had not been quite ready to relinquish Dumbledore's attention. But Harry was hollow-cheeked, pale, and glittery-eyed. His conversation with Dorcas had not seemed to go in his favor. And what do you think that was about? But no one answered.
"Have you had any news? You know… about – Ginny… and James, Lily, and – er – Sirius?" There was a tendril thread of hope there. "Have you found anything out? It's been over a month…"
Dumbledore shook his head. "Alas, no."
Harry's shoulders fell.
"But it'll all sort itself out, won't it?" Sirius said, clasping Harry's shoulder.
"But it means there's someone at Hogwarts who–"
"Not necessarily." This was from Moody, who was now leaning heavily on his staff. Moody went on: "While no one breached the portrait, we'd already suspected whoever it was came in through the window. There were no signs of charms used upon any of the windows in Gryffindor Tower–"
"Can you always tell?" Harry interrupted. "Is there a way to – to mask that?"
"Possible," Moody said gruffly. "But it takes a bit of effort. Quite a lot of it, even. Mostly, when we've run into magic like that, it's an enchanted object that provides a protective field that dampens any sort of magical signatures… and that usually leaves a sign."
"Quite heavily so," said Dumbledore. "I am afraid that until our sleeping friends awaken–"
"But when will that be?"
"-we will not know who did this to them," continued Dumbledore, as though Harry had not interrupted.
Sirius tightened his clasp on Harry's shoulder, spinning him until Sirius could grasp his other shoulder. The hollowed out look was one of despair. "They will wake up," Sirius swore, staring him straight in the eyes. "We just have to be patient and allow it to happen as it will."
Harry scoffed.
Moody caught his eye, offering Sirius a skeptical little jolt of his head. But despite the old Auror's skepticism, Sirius knew James and Lily, at least, had to awaken. And young Sirius. Remus and Ginny might not have had the assurance that those three did, but surely if Fleamont Potter was able to awaken his son, his son's future wife, and Sirius's younger self, he would not stop there.
And Ginny, of course, may have to wait a year or twenty, Sirius reminded himself.
"What did our friend, Ms. Meadowes, have to say?" Dumbledore asked gently.
Harry mumbled something Sirius did not quite catch. Moody was jerking his head toward him, wordlessly asking for a conference. Sirius strode over to him, leaving Harry to be consoled by Dumbledore over the plight of his parents and friends.
"What is it?" Sirius asked.
Moody stumped a couple of feet away from the others. "Wanted to mention something to you," said Moody.
"If it's about whoever it is who gave them the draught, I have no idea," Sirius said flatly. "Anyone could have flown in on a broom; anyone could have access to the numerous secret passageways from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts; anyone could have done it." Sirius gestured around the room. "Anyone here even."
Moody appeared to consider this. "I'd guess it isn't Dumbledore," he said.
For some reason, this struck Sirius as particularly funny.
"Can't trust anyone," said Moody. "You need to be constantly vigilant. It's a shame that's true even at Hogwarts. But, Mr. Black–"
"Please," said Sirius, "call me Sol."
"Sol, then," said Moody. Again, the intensity in his regard made the hair's on the back of Sirius's neck stand up. "Watch your back," he said slowly.
"Believe me," said Sirius, now feeling as grim as he had upon arrival at the abandoned train platform. "I am. I never assume that the person standing behind me won't curse me in the back."
Moody smiled. "Except your godson, I assume?"
"Except him," Sirius assured him. "He's the only one I trust." There was another echo in his thoughts, but Sirius shoved it aside. Besides having a voice, the tiara was not a person; it was merely a voice of reason and wisdom.
Without another word, Moody stumped away, leaving Sirius to think on the revelations of the day. They were that much closer to discovering how and why he and Harry were here; once that was understood, it could be countered. Sirius turned so that he could take in the platform. This place would not exist after the autumn of 1980. By 1981, many of the people in this room would be dead. Sirius did not want to have to stay to watch that happen and be powerless to do anything about it. He couldn't. For an inexplicable reason, Dorcas Meadowes's swiftly drawn fortune rose in his mind: the fortress with the dark crown of mountains looming over it…
Even if Nurmengard was a dark place, it could not beat the next few years for sheer ugliness.
"Knut for your thoughts?"
Sirius turned, banishing his dark thoughts and smiling, as Marlene McKinnon hooked her arm through his, her lopsided smile just for him. A bit of her shining hair had come loose into a tendril, falling over the smooth curve of her cheek. Her grip tightened on his upper arm, giving him a squeeze, and then loosening. By wordless accord, moving together, they paced toward a shadowy corner of the abandoned Underground station. Deep ruts marred the concrete here; they stepped over them. A tunnel loomed behind them: should they walk through it, they would emerge in London's most famous cemetery.
But they did not choose to leave the sanctuary. They brushed close enough to the boundaries of Dumbledore's wards that Sirius thought he felt a buzzing around his legs. Still, that might have been the way Marlene was looking at him.
For the most part, they'd chosen to keep their relationship private. There were few dates; Sirius did not feel he could walk with her down Diagon Alley, or be seen with her in Carne Alley, or take her to any of the more romantic wizarding destinations. There was a limit to how much scrutiny his disguise could hold up, and he didn't want to test it. Not with her. No. As he'd told Harry repeatedly, it was better not to provoke curiosity in any way. Even now, among the other members of the Order of the Phoenix, Sirius pulled ever so slightly away.
Her arm dropped to her side.
Smiling, so as to help smooth the sudden line on her brow, he said, "They're hardly worth a knut at all."
Marlene blinked. Then, after a beat, her lips quirked again. "You were talking to Dumbledore," she pointed out, dryly, "I was worried I'd have to put out a sickle for them."
"Nope," said Sirius. "He pulled all the thoughts right out of me. None are left."
Her smile grew. "I thought I was the one who did that?"
Sirius chuckled. "I wouldn't say you pull them from me, so much as… suck them out."
Her eyes widened, and a hint of color leapt into her cheeks.
Sirius laughed out loud. "You Apparated straight into that."
"And so I did," she murmured, a little shyly.
And Sirius could not blame her. Although they were sexual, that part of their relationship was new enough that teasing about it was not something they'd done yet. Casting a surreptitious look at the crowd – none of whom were looking at them – he took her hand, brought it to his lips, kissed it, and let it go again.
He shuffled a bit away from her, not wanting their fleeting affection to be speculated upon.
"Sol?" she said quietly.
"I saw you talking to Dumbledore as well," said Sirius. "Did he…?"
Her eyebrow wriggled. "I was," she admitted, with a sigh. "Of course, the governors' decision to sack me is final. I'm most certainly not coming back as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor next year. A pity… I hardly got to even finish out the year!"
None of the students had returned even after the pox had run its course.
"They're losing an excellent professor," Sirius murmured. "A pity, that."
Marlene grimaced. "Apparently when your family isn't too keen on the Ministry grabbing control, it makes people in power nervous."
"It certainly wasn't fair," said Sirius, because he knew she needed him to say that. "I'm surprised that even with the referral from Dumbledore – and the fact that your family party didn't actually doom the wizarding community – they wouldn't reinstate you."
She shook her head. Laughing a little, she said, "I'm a bit relieved, actually…" She looked at him. "Hogwarts is different from when I was there. It's not as…"
"Cheerful?" Sirius suggested. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw white-haired Dorcas Meadowes take her abrupt leave, stepping onto a train speeding through the tunnel. It had not stopped for her, but she'd caught it nonetheless. It was a trick Sirius wanted to learn. His godson was now free of her conversation – hopefully she was reassuring him that there was little he could do for his parents, and to leave it in the hands of the experts.
Marlene was saying something. "-course. It isn't even that far-fetched."
"Hmm," Sirius murmured, hoping she would take it as agreement, when, in fact, he'd lost track of what she was talking about, aside from it being about Hogwarts. "I agree."
"You do?" she asked, mouth gaping open.
"I have no reason not to," said Sirius. Especially since I don't know what I've just agreed about. "But can we discuss it more tonight? Will you be free?"
Disappointment flickered across her features, there and gone again. "Yeah? Tonight? My place?"
Sirius nodded. "I've made inquiries into properties," he said, almost apologetically. He could not take her back to the flat he shared with his unsuspecting younger self. "I'm close to purchasing one."
"It's fine," she said. "I don't mind hosting you." Her dimple appeared. "Maybe we can discuss just what I do to your thoughts."
"I'd enjoy that," said Sirius, grinning, "as long as you let me return the favor."
With sexual promises made, to be kept later that evening, Sirius walked away. He ambled toward Harry, pausing to offer goodbyes to Fabian and Gideon Prewett, both of whom had arrived late and – mysteriously – soot-stained. Once he'd spoken to enough people that he hoped the crowd thought him and Marlene only friendly, he wandered over to Harry and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Are you ready to go?"
Harry paused, looking around, green eyes shadowed as they'd been for weeks. But he didn't offer a protest, only turned with Sirius. They walked together, steps matching, twin lights bobbing at the ends of their wands. The tunnel was empty of both trains and people. They might have been the last two people on earth. The feeling of solitude was so intense, that Sirius did not speak during their long walk toward a working station. It wasn't until the silence cracked in two and into the chasm poured the noise of a thousand people talking that Sirius spoke.
"Did Dorcas tell you anything you didn't know?" he asked, as sensitively as he could.
Harry blinked at him. It was obvious that his thoughts had been miles away – probably in Godric's Hollow with the sleepers. "Hm? Oh. Yeah. She said we do have to go to Nurmengard." The faint surprise in his tone startled Sirius.
They paused in the dark tunnel, extinguishing their wand lights at the same moment. "Of course we have to go!" Sirius said, laughing. The noise from the station ahead nearly drowned out his words. "It's the only lead we've got, yeah?"
"Yeah," Harry said, nodding slowly. "It is. Yeah."
"I'm glad you see it so," said Sirius, clapping him on the shoulder. "Ready?"
Harry cast a notice-me-not charm on both of them, and they stepped into the Muggle world. Sirius leapt up on the platform, and bent to pull Harry up – he was already reaching for him, ready to be swung up. It was an easy thing, to winnow their way through the waiting Muggles, passing by the musicians plying their trade, and the rings of people watching them at it.
They passed an old man with no legs who, nevertheless, coaxed a rich sound from a saxophone. There was a golden key emblazoned on his t-shirt; perhaps it was the logo of a Muggle band. Sirius didn't know. But it reminded him of their task ahead.
"All we have to do is get the key," said Sirius, cheerful, as they wound their way through the crowds of Muggles. "And then we can make our plan. It may take a bit, is that alright with you?"
Harry grunted.
Sirius's smile faltered. "I can't imagine it taking more than a couple of months." But Harry was lost in his own thoughts, and hardly seemed to be paying him any attention. Perhaps he was worried? Had he ever left the country before? Surely, though he'd had adventures in the past – well, the future – but he'd never had to infiltrate a wizarding prison. "Everything will be fine," said Sirius. "We'll go in completely prepared; Dumbledore wouldn't let us do otherwise."
"I'm not worried," Harry said dismissively.
Sirius could not fault him for his bravado, which he'd noticed increasingly during their time in the past. "You were speaking with Dorcas for a while," said Sirius, with a deliberate change of subject. "Did she give us a bright forecast for what we have to do?"
"Mm," said Harry. They came to the top of the stair; they spilled out into London with the rest of the Muggles.
Sirius noted that they were not all that far from Grimmauld Place. Lips twisting, Sirius thought of what he was going to have to do. If it had been up to him, he would never set foot in that cursed place again, whether in the past or the future. Still… it was something he could do. And there would be a certain pleasure in stealing something from Regulus, who had hardly ever put his foot wrong, not like Sirius, who could do nothing right in the eyes of his parents. Regulus had always been the perfect son; by the time Sirius had come along, he could only fail in comparison.
Spirits suddenly buoyed at the thought of stealing something from under his brother's nose, Sirius threw his arm over Harry's shoulders. "Care to find a chippie?" he asked. "Planning makes me hungry."
"Oh!" said Harry. "Erm. I was hoping to visit, you know, the Potters today."
Sirius eyed him. This was the third time this week. "Again?" he asked, careful to keep any judgment out of his tone. "Harry…"
But his godson's pale face was set and determined. "Yeah," he said, nodding.
"I thought that Dorcas might have been able to soothe some of your concerns," said Sirius, pulling Harry to the side, where the Muggles could better stream around them. "You know they'll have to awaken. And–"
"I know," Harry said, waving an impatient hand. "But still."
"All right," said Sirius, clapping him on the shoulder, smiling cheerfully. "Go see them. Give them my regards." His own self, James and Lily, Remus and Ginny were sleeping deeply enough to be dead. They might as well have been Petrified. But it was only polite to send his regards, even if they would not know that he had…
"I will," said Harry. He glanced at Sirius. "He's teaching me a lot, you know. Mr. Potter is. More than"—his voice lowered—"Snape ever did, anyway. He knows why—"
"Why what?" Sirius murmured. "Why they were given the draught?"
"No," Harry said, impatient. "He knows why you stir counterclockwise, not clockwise… or why some things need to be chopped and others minced. He—"
"—is making a potions lover out of you," said Sirius.
"He's close to figuring out the cure," said Harry.
"I know he is," Sirius said; it was his turn to be impatient. "He's got a time limit, hasn't he? You're standing here, so he's only got a couple of years to figure out how to—"
"How to counter Grindelwald's own terrible version of the Draught of Living Death," Harry said coolly. "That's all." He paused. "But he is close."
Sirius looked at him. What did he have to say in order for Harry to understand? If Fleamont Potter was not close to figuring out how to wake up his son, then someone else was. James and Lily had to wake up in time to conceive their son. But Harry did not seem to have the ears to hear it; instead, Sirius felt like he was speaking Mermish to him, for all the boy understood him.
"That's good…" he said finally.
Harry nodded.
They strode down a tiny alley that was left in perpetual shadow due to the tall buildings on either side. There were no humans here, only cats, peering at them from behind bins and parked cars. Sirius had taken the time to teach Harry to Apparate over the last several weeks. His godson did so now, whirling on his foot, and disappearing with a tiny pop and an even tinier nod good-bye for his godfather.
Sirius waited five minutes, just in case Harry changed his mind about visiting the sleepers… just in case Harry decided to go to that chippie after all… But his godson did not reappear.
With a small sigh, and an adjustment of his cloak, Sirius left the alley. He might as well run a few errands before he went to Marlene's flat.