A/N: Hi folks! A new chapter! Hope you all enjoy it! Picking up right where we left off. As always, I do not own Harry Potter.
AU Changes: Invisibility cloak production & origins of the Imperius Curse.
The Tragedy of Harry Potter
By. Momento Virtuoso
Edited By. BoredBarrister & mymindisverycomplicated
Chapter 11
To Rennervate, New & Old Wounds
Evening
13 hours Before the Wizengamot Vote
"Rennervate," a motherly voice said over Harry, pulling the young man up from his slumber.
Harry woke up to the bright lights of the Hospital Wing shining over him in a blur. There was no sunlight bleeding through the tinted windows of the building, as the sky outside was dark and filled with the brightness of stars.
Standing over him was the Matron, Poppy Pomfrey. Harry could barely make out her features but he noticed a considerable difference in between her past and future self. He could see through the fog of his near-sightedness that the nurse was considerably younger than when he last saw her tending wounded in the Great Hall during the Battle of Hogwarts. This Pomfrey was beautiful, stunningly one would have been quick to claim.
This Madam Pomfrey possessed flawless skin, with barely a wrinkle marring her face. Not a single gray hair could be seen underneath her neatly tucked cap, which hid a mass of rich hazel brown curls. Her eyes were a warm, golden-brown that looked upon him kindly as she checked him over.
"Up and at it, Mr. Evans. You've been asleep for a while now. Figured it was best to check you over while you were out— a stunned patient doesn't make nearly as much fuss as an awake one," she said with some mirth. "Rest easy, now— the Headmaster is on his way."
Madam Pomfrey handed Harry a Pepper-Up potion before leaving the hospital hall. Harry greedily downed the concoction, the minty flavor soothing his parched throat, and a warmth settled in his gut. He quickly felt renewed. The headache that had been plaguing him in the hallway was receding.
'Shouldn't have tried that trick with Legilimency,' he chided himself. It was a moot attempt, reaching out to sense forms of intelligent life with his own mind. His head had already been compromised enough by the Imperius, so it stood to reason that the attempt only shredded what was left of his mental capabilities.
Harry racked his brain in recollection of the events— he had been talking with Verona outside of the classroom, and they had just closed the door before they were hit by their unseen attacker. He had been Imperiused, blasted backwards by an unknown spell, and then finally stunned. The last thing Harry remembered was some subtle clues as to the identity of his assailant. Frantic magic, a shallow breathing that he hadn't picked out before, and the dragging of a foot… then he had been overcome by the flash of red seemingly appearing from nowhere, dimmed as if cast behind a curtain.
And now he was here.
"Oi, he's awake!" a voice called out, sounding nearly identical to his own. Harry reached out for his glasses— which he knew from memory, if Pomfrey's habits were the same, would have been placed on the nightstand next to him alongside a flower vase and a pitcher of water. There was a small comfort in the familiar act.
As Harry's vision restored itself, his eyes adjusted to see James Potter approaching his bed from a few spaces down. There were several others gathered in the large hall lined with hospital beds. All the Marauders were present, including Lily from where James was, and then a small group of Hufflepuffs across the room.
Harry couldn't tell who was surrounded by the Hufflepuffs, but he could make out the form of Sirius within the Marauder's coupling. Another bed bore a beleaguered third-year sporting a quidditch injury, but it was the bed closest to his own which captivated Harry's attention.
Two beds down from Harry's left, white drapes largely obscured vision to a mousy-haired person. A horrid smell wafted vaguely over, and Harry swore he could see the faintest wisps of smoke hovered around the curtain.
'Verona— Merlin. What the hell happened?' Harry glanced over his own body, seeing and feeling nothing out of place. It was like their attacker hadn't cared for him after removing his consciousness. It was odd. For once, Harry had not been the direct target of whatever had landed him in the Hospital Wing.
To Harry's right, Sirius looked no worse for wear. He appeared physically fine except for two swabs of cotton stuck up his nostrils, as if the muggle method for stemming a bloody nose was all he was in for. However, Harry could spot the tell-tale signs of spell burns on him. From the worrying glances of the other Marauders, Harry concluded Sirius had been attacked as well.
"What the hell happened?" he gestured over to Sirius. Harry's voice was hoarse, as if he had swallowed the extra cotton swabs not used on the young troublemaker. James, finally making his way over to Harry's bedside, poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand. He offered it to Harry, who greedily gulped it down, a chill sliding comfortably down his throat.
"We were hoping you'd know, mate. Some sixth-year Ravens found you as they were heading up to Ravenclaw Tower. Turned up with you and Verona stunned out right there in the hallway— they called over a nearby Professor and Remus. Managed to get you both here in time but figured it was best to keep you both under it still. Sorry Harry, Poppy's wartime orders," James recounted, inspecting his lookalike for any damage they may have missed. Compared to the girls, it seemed both Harry and Sirius had gotten off relatively scot-free.
Harry opened his mouth to formulate a response, but another question, nasal in tone, cut him off from answering James.
"How'd they do it? Who was your attacker, Evans?" Sirius asked. His eyes were watching the new Gryffindor closely.
Harry looked over at the boy, raising an eyebrow at the remark. "Like James said, they found me stunned. All I remember is a red light— I don't think they did anything else to me."
"But did you see them?" the wizard with cotton up his nose repeated. Harry shook his head.
Harry rolled his tongue under the roof of his mouth in bitterness. 'How the hell did they manage to get that close?' He had tried to sense the ambient magic, but it appeared he had performed the technique wrong. He had spotted no sight of a disillusionment charm; the air would have been disturbed by the magic and their casts.
"So, you were just stunned? That's all?" Lily asked curiously, speaking up for the first time.
Harry shook his head once more. It was becoming a recurring action for him of late.
"I was also Imperiused. They wanted me to attack her first?" Harry gestured to the bed where Verona lay undisturbed. He didn't know what to make of it. He had been too frustrated with the act itself to consider any deeper meaning. His head still felt too clouded by it.
It felt odd. Not much different from when he had experienced it in his fourth-year, but still off, like tasting a drink one loved as a child but in one's twilight years found no agreement with. Sweetness ripened to be bitter. Still, he had resisted the curse, albeit with much more difficulty this time. When he had not performed the act demanded, the voice beckoning him got panicked and scared. Why had their attacker been in such a state?
Sirius's eyes widened at the claim. "You were Imperiused too?! Did you do it? Did you attack Jennings?" his eyes narrowed at the bedridden wizard beside him.
"No." Harry shortly responded, unwilling to shake his head another time.
Sirius gripped the sheets of his bed tightly as the memory of attacking Amelia Bones flashed through his mind like he was a spectator, a passenger in his own body. A sliver of jealousy entered Sirius at that; why was Evans capable of resisting the curse, but not he? 'Probably has experience with it and other dark magic,' Sirius thought to himself darkly.
"I got the curse on me, too," the raven-haired boy growled. He paused for a moment to collect his own harrowed and jumbled memory. "Made me attack Ame— Bones. I did it. I actually fucking did it, couldn't fight the fucker's control at all."
Sirius's voice dipped in condemnation for himself. His face fell, guilt flashing across his features as his gray eyes adopted a far-off stare for a moment. Did he not possess a strong enough will? What more did a person need?
Seeing Sirius's state, Lily shook her head. "None of that now, Sirius. It's an Unforgivable spell for a reason. You couldn't stop yourself, and neither have more accomplished magicians before you, understand me?" Lily said, reaching over and slapping the back of the boy's head over his moody behavior and self-deprecating thoughts.
"Lily!" James gasped at what his girlfriend did.
"Ay! Watch it, Witch Evans! Have you no mercy? No shame? I'm a helpless invalid over here and you're taking advantage of my weakened state. I've already been involuntarily tortured and beaten up by Bones for it!" Sirius cried, covering his head from the redhead's blow.
"Involuntarily tortured, Padfoot?" Remus smirked at his friend's choice of words. However, Sirius simply turned more downtrodden.
"Oh, not you too, Moony. The betrayal! You're supposed to be on my side. Marauder code for life and whatnot," Sirius claimed innocently.
"It's a story for another night, Lils," James said shyly. The girl's eyebrows raised in question, but she nodded her consent nonetheless, ceasing her abuse of Padfoot.
Remus even reached out and held the hand of the sullen wizard, a smile on his scarred face. If there was anyone in the room besides Harry who could truly grasp what Sirius had endured, it was Remus— the werewolf who lost his sense of self every full moon.
"Thanks for the brain damage, Lils," Sirius said sarcastically, needing to get the last jab in between them. "And you too, Moony." Looking over at the werewolf in a soft appreciative whisper despite the scarred-wizard's ridicule of his vocabulary.
"I doubt we did much damage," Remus replied with a smirk. "Your brain was already barely hanging on by a thread."
James, Lily and Peter all tried to hide their chuckles while Sirius glared at Remus with a pout.
Harry took notice of a silent spot in the boisterous group, Peter. He stood off to the side of the others, offering Sirius a smile. The look on his face drew Harry's ire and attention. No one else in the room was any the wiser regarding his future intentions, but Harry had the gift — or curse — of foreknowledge. He'd have wagered his past life's Firebolt that the attacks had been conducted by the future Death Eaters currently enrolled. To go unnoticed as they had in order to carry out such actions… well, there was none so unmatched in the ability to go unseen as Peter Pettigrew. Loath as Harry was to admit it, he deserved more credit than was given.
'He's capable— kept Crouch under a curse for almost a whole year under everyone's noses.'
Cursing himself for his inactivity thus far since hurtling back through time, he vowed to watch the would-be-traitor very closely from now on. It wouldn't do to keep someone like Peter close and not be aware of the man's agendas and goings-on. There was something in Harry's gut telling him that Peter was in some way involved, the same uneasy feeling he had felt all year when Draco had been working on sneaking Death Eaters into the school under everyone's noses.
However, Harry would have to plot about the rat later, for the doors to the Hospital Wing swung open to the admission of two new people.
Creon's nerves were worn desperately thin as Dumbledore marched alongside him, humming a merry tune as if not a thing was wrong in the world. The pair were on their way to the Hospital Wing after being informed that Harry was finally ready to be awakened. It was fortunate he had been present, arguing with Dumbledore when the Headmaster had received the notice. Creon didn't believe in the Matron's findings, for all the love he bore her. They had yet to even begin inspecting Jennings yet, waiting instead for the girl's bones to regrow some. 'No use in waking her up for that,' he supposed.
"What do you think we will discover this time, my dear friend?" Dumbledore asked his faculty member.
"Oh, I'm a friend now? Not 'dear boy'? Careful Albus, you're close to telling me how you really feel," Creon quipped, a huff of frustration escaping his lips. "We'll find what we did before — students in hospital beds — and you, chasing your phoenix's own tail in Abraxas' game again. Four students this time, Albus! Four."
Creon could barely keep the disappointment from his tone. It wouldn't be prudent to reveal his state to the man alongside him.
"Hmm, yes. I will admit, I was not expecting such a clever ploy from Lord Malfoy at the time. Withholding investigation into these poor circumstances only to use it against me in the Wizengamot Chamber — a master craftsman of his political trade, he is. But perhaps, this time, whoever is conducting these attacks felt assured of their safety given the power of those favoring them?" Dumbledore countered, ignoring Creon's frustration. In truth, it was the only hope he had.
The only thing the two men agreed on at the moment was that more had to be done this time around. Nonetheless, they could not help but bicker as to what precisely it was that they should do.
Dumbledore sought to control the information allowed out of the castle more extremely this time, seemingly not learning at all from his prior exposure in the press. The old headmaster shook his head with a twinkling smile, telling Creon that many favorable opinions of him never found their way onto the Daily Prophet, even on his best days. As of yet, they hadn't sent any word to Lord Bones or Jennings, except that their children were breathing, while opting not to alert Arcturus Black whatsoever, instead entrusting the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black to take up the volatile task at its convenience.
Time, to a portrait, was inconsequential. Lord Arcturus Black would be lucky to hear the news before his deathbed, Creon thought laughingly. Naturally, this had prompted Creon to hatch a plan to send all the Lords letters behind the headmaster's back at the first sign of opportunity. He even included Charlus Potter in his mental list, knowing the heir's connection to Sirius and the Lord's connection to Bones, Jennings, and Black himself. Creon had served with three out of the four men on the Continent.
'They deserve to know. We've spent too many years at the mercy of the marked letter.' It was never the spell-fire nor the disease one feared most on the front lines, but a marked letter from the owls. Envelopes dropped upon their heads like bombs, the words inside—whether from friends, families, lovers, or military orders—arranged with devastating precision. The news they carried was more explosive to a man than a Bombarda Maxima, capable of tearing a man asunder the instant he unfolded those lethal packages.
Creon shook his head at the old man's words. It didn't matter what backing these vandals possessed, not if Dumbledore was willing to continue turning a blind eye. The Defense Professor calmed himself as they came to the closed doors of the Hospital Wing. With a tap of his green wand, Creon opened the doors, entering a veritable trove of conversation instead of the morose setting he had been expecting. The two staff members held grim faces as they approached the students, who, except for Harry, exchanged questioning looks.
Harry narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore's flickering orbs. Their eyes met briefly, and Harry could feel the Headmaster's curiosity wash over him. He had spent a lifetime being looked at by Dumbledore as if he were a puzzle box. Since his return to school, Harry had done his best to avoid the Headmaster, not yet ready to engage in any conversation that wasn't about life, death, or Voldemort's defeat. Harry supposed that a string of attacks on five students, himself included, warranted at least one clause of that determination to bear Dumbledore's interloping presence for now.
Dumbledore's eyes seemingly responded to Harry's thoughts, as though it stirred something inside him that the young man he had discovered on the grounds didn't seem to trust him. Their interactions that day had been strained at best, Mr. Evans seeming to do little more than humoring his curiosity. Dumbledore had fully expected Harry to seek him out at some point, even if just to discuss his adjustment to the castle or school life. Yet Mr. Evans had taken to Hogwarts like a merfolk to water, creating for himself a harbor out of the small circle of friends he was making — many of whom would one day hold positions of power and influence.
It was as if he had always belonged in the ancient school. It didn't sit well with him, seeing someone so comfortable in what should have been a strange environment.
Harry was the first to break their silent exchange, shifting his gaze elsewhere.
It struck Harry as odd that Dumbledore had finally made any appearance, seemingly concerned about the attacks only after their announcement in the Daily Prophet weeks prior. The headmaster had only elected to address the school the next feast after the publication, to assure them that precautions were being taken in the school. As always, it seemed whatever Dumbledore had planned to ensure the safety of his charges had failed.
"Hello everyone. Mr. Black, Mr. Evans — how are you both faring in the wake of your ordeals?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes tracing over Sirius next, observing the evidence of his state.
"All the misery of a hangover but without the wonderful flavor of firewhisky beforehand," Sirius answered blandly, opting to forgo all sense of tact instilled in him in his youth.
Several of the Marauders looked uneasily at the two faculty members, while Lily opted to hit Sirius once more, shaking her head at the bedridden wizard. "I'm sorry sirs, he's been attacked — he doesn't know what he's saying." Lily's apology was answered by the chuckle of the two men.
Dumbledore's eye twinkled infuriatingly, and Creon scratched his beard, not knowing quite what to make of the situation.
"It's quite alright, Ms. Evans. Heard worse in the classroom already, from younger wizards than him," Creon reassured, pushing the thought of his fifth-years to the back of his mind.
"Alas, if only every trial came with the merry enjoyment of a nip afterwards," Dumbledore speculated as well. "Unfortunately, there is always work to be done, just as there is now. Would it be possible for me and Professor Renault here to speak with Messrs. Black and Evans privately for a moment?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes sweeping over Peter, Remus, Lily, and James.
'I'd be a bloody alcoholic, then,' Harry thought to himself, recalling all the times he had ended up in one of these hospital beds alone.
The Marauders exchanged uneasy glances, frowning at Dumbledore's request, but it was James alone who decided to speak up against the headmaster.
"Sir, they both need rest. What both Sirius and Harry went through was traumatic, after all; they said they had the Imperius Curse used on them."
Dumbledore's glasses rose up on his nose in tandem with his brows at the Head-Boy's statement, while Creon sucked in a sharp breath. They shared a look, as if confirming a mutual suspicion. They had long speculated that one of the Unforgivable Curses had made an appearance, but to hear it was another matter. Madam Pomfrey hadn't speculated on the curse in her notes when she had summoned the headmaster; the confirmation meant they could shorten the list of suspects significantly. Only those people with access to a second wand—most likely purebloods or those with sufficient wealth and power to have snagged an unregulated wand—could be responsible.
"While Miss Jennings and Miss Bones are still resting—and will be for some time, it seems—these gentlemen are the only ones who can shed any light on what has happened. I, much like many of us, am currently in the dark," Dumbledore answered passively.
Creon quirked his ear at the Headmaster's fib.
"But sir—," Lily was cut off by the headmaster raising his hand, gesturing for silence.
"I promise you, Miss Evans, that Mr. Evans and Mr. Black will have their conditions exacerbated by neither me nor my colleague. We only need to hear their versions of the events," Dumbledore said.
The headmaster motioned for the extras in attendance to move aside so that the two men could continue their task.
"Chop-chop, all of you," Creon clapped his hands together, motioning for the Marauders and gathered Hufflepuffs around Amelia's bed to all leave.
The throng of students reluctantly departed, giving the four the space that the headmaster had requested. Sirius smiled at Remus and Peter while James returned to Lily's side, wrapping an arm around her before giving Harry a nod of his own and clapping Sirius on the shoulder.
Creon transfigured a stool between the two wizards' infirmary beds, taking a seat, while Albus remained standing behind him.
"Alright, lads. Now we need to know the truth, Harry. How about you go first, eh? Walk us through it?" Creon requested, giving him a kind nod. His kelpie tattoo neighed in encouragement, flicking its ears at Harry as it swam peacefully across the skin of his arm.
Harry found the image of the creature calming.
"Well— uh. I was with Verona Jennings when it happened. We were talking on the fifth-floor after we, well, were dueling. It was for your subject, sir. She approached me after class one day in the halls. We had only agreed to meet up the day before, though."
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed at Harry's words. Just like his last conversation with the young man in July, he could spot that Harry Evans was lying—albeit it was better hidden this time, and he found himself unable to discern where the lie was hiding in Harry's words.
Creon scratched his beard, avoiding the scar lines on his cheeks and mulling over the idea of Verona Jennings needing tutoring on his subject matter. Surely, she would have approached him? But then again, perhaps she thought he wasn't a good teacher. He sighed to himself at the consideration.
"What were you working on, Harry?" Creon asked, wondering if perhaps this had truly been a duel gone wrong in Harry's and Verona's case. He wanted to believe it, to absolve himself. It was morbidly preferable, since it would mean that two more students hadn't been attacked on his watch.
"Spell sequencing, like you taught us in our first class." Harry responded. He considered the next part of his story carefully, trying to piece together everything that happened in his disjointed mind. "We were tired, the lesson had graduated into a duel of sorts. We were just about to depart from one another when I heard a voice." Harry tapped the side of his head, deciding to act up his ignorance. "It asked me to attack her. It was — insistent — that I did it."
"And did you?" Dumbledore made his voice known for the first time since Harry had begun his account. The headmaster's tone was bordering on the accusatory, to anyone who knew him well enough.
Harry could feel the headmaster's eyes on him, as though they were trying to see through him; Dumbledore's nose was upturned, too, as if he was sniffing for the slightest deception from Harry.
"No, Sir. I resisted it. I didn't want to hurt her, so why would I listen to the voice?" Harry asked. "It was strange though… it made me want to," Harry lied, attempting to see the full scope of Dumbledore's mistrust in him.
However, Creon interrupted their game. A tone of excitement, in his voice, opposite of the headmaster's own inquiry. In truth, he was crestfallen that it hadn't been a dueling mishap but another attack, yet the news before him was outlandish.
"An Unforgivable Curse, lad—The Imperius. You resisted it? You swear to Saint Merlin and his Holly-jolly Hippogriff that you resisted it?!"
The man was in awe, wonderment crisscrossing his features. That was not the kind of answer he had been expecting from the seventh-year.
"If that's what it was, then yes," Harry responded, unsure what the man was getting at. The time he had been put under the nefarious spell by Lord Voldemort himself flashed before his mind's eye. It was the only time other than now in which he hadn't been able to completely throw off the curse quickly.
Creon whistled. "That ain't no easy feat, Mr. Evans…" He thought of everything he could remember about the Unforgivable and the history which it had painted across.
"It's a dark curse. Perhaps the darkest one of the whole lot, between us four. Resisting the Imperius is hard enough, but to shrug it off? In what? Ten minutes? A minute?" Creon asked, snapping his fingers at Harry for an answer.
"It didn't feel that long to me. I'm not sure how long I was under it really— less than thirty seconds? I really can't say." Harry shrugged, unable to truly form an answer.
Creon nodded thoughtfully, mumbling as if to himself before turning back to Harry. "It's unheard of nearly — throwing it off that quickly — it has a reputation. One that's much darker past these shores in recent centuries. It's been used to have fathers murder sons and sons fathers. Topple monarchies. Turn armies upon themselves in battle. And if the legend is to be believed, it was the cause for a massacre on what muggles call St. Bartholomew's Day. That spell is the creation of a witch whose name I'm not comfortable speaking out loud in even these halls. But she was known as the Siren for everything she could make you do — even kill yourself — if she sang it."
The dark implication hung over everyone present; they were lucky it was not a stronger or more proficient cast of the spell. That it wasn't whatever 'Siren' Creon spoke of behind the wand.
The Professor paused for a moment, inspecting Harry's head closely as if looking for the cause of his resistance. "I've felt that curse on myself before… I couldn't resist it when he cast it. I don't think anyone alive resisted when its creator proliferated it across the annals of history." It was a hard admittance for Creon, to admit he failed at something. "Take some pride, Harry— Mr. Evans. You did something amazing."
While Creon recognized the potential within Harry at that moment, Dumbledore couldn't help but see danger. Harry Evans possessed a strong will, that was clear to him, but what was his perception of being ordered, or following a leader? Was a man capable of throwing off the Imperius Curse even capable of subordination? He had told him that the circumstances for his state were from being on the wrong end of the dark wizards. Dumbledore was beginning not to doubt the story, but rather to question why it had ever occurred in the first place? The old man stood silently, plotting.
The query returned. Harry nodded in appreciation of Creon's words before continuing on with the retelling of his tale.
"You couldn't see them, but could you hear them, by chance?" Creon asked, leaning in closely, as one might when listening to a story around a campfire.
"Yes. I heard their footfalls; they dragged one foot, like they were unsteady on their feet for some reason," Harry answered.
Creon nodded his head in thought, leaning backwards on his stool. His gaze flickered to Albus who seemingly wasn't paying attention anymore. Perhaps the old man had learned all he needed, but Creon wanted to be thorough. "An invisibility cloak. It's the only answer I can think of. It would make sense if the light was dim. They don't do well with light sources underneath them." Creon chuckled at the thought of sneaking across the front lines with a lamp under one. They had all learned to navigate in the dark soon after testing that hypothesis. "Wonderful inventions— not for the demiguise used to make it, mind you. It's hell to produce; demiguise are illegal to hunt, and good luck even finding one; they can tell the future." Creon paused, thinking of the one time in his life he had interacted with a demiguise. "But more importantly, their fur needs to be treated properly… crafty things. It's why cloaks aren't the least bit reliable in combat situations. Casting through one is dangerous — you're likely to light the fabric on fire doing that if there was a mistake in the production."
Harry blinked, not at all knowing how the cloaks were even made in the first place. His own cloak had been cut from the shroud of Death. It was certainly more reliable than demiguise fur, from the sound of things.
"They limited themselves. Your attacker. They'd be restricted to non-physical spells, bludgeonings, body-binds, and a few other curses or jinxes." Finishing his account of the cloaks, Creon shook his head at the foolishness of it. The item was perfect for espionage, but combat was another matter. One errant spell and your comrades would never find your body.
"So, only the footfalls? Never heard their voice? Any other features that may have slipped out from underneath the cloak? A wand? A hand?" Creon asked, getting back on track.
Harry shook his head. The only way he could ever prove there was truly someone else there was the fact that he and Verona were hospitalized. That he had been stunned before Verona had been brutalized. "Professors— if you don't mind me asking, but what happened?" Harry pointed to Verona's curtained off bed.
However, Dumbledore shook his head. "Another time, Mr. Evans. Now is not such a moment."
Creon sighed to himself, shaking his head in displeasure. "Morrigan be damned. It was worth a shot at least." Turning to Sirius, he nodded at the other bedridden wizard. "Alright, Mr. Black — you're next. Give us your side now, if you would?"
The Professor offered a kind smile to him, certainly aware of just the kind of man Sirius was growing into, cut from the same cloth as his grandfather—and Creon himself.
Sirius nodded, gulping audibly. Harry had never seen the man more nervous than he was now.
However, it wasn't nerves that Sirius was feeling—it was shame. Shame for failing to resist like Harry had, and for turning his wand on a fellow student, intending to hurt or even kill Amelia.
Creon saw the expression on the young Black's face, and a look of understanding and recognition sparked upon his own visage, utterly pitiless.
"Hey, lad, it's alright, you know," Renault said, trying to offer some small sliver of comfort. "Believe it or not, I've been right there myself. I got Imperiused once and was forced to open an old, dusty tomb. I was halfway through peeling back the lid to some nastily-cursed sarcophagus before the quick actions of a friend freed me. I would have killed everyone on my team if they hadn't intervened," Creon admitted, extending a branch of understanding for the young man, hoping to pull Sirius back from the brink of his own despair—to save him from the eternally labyrinthian Styx of 'what ifs'.
"I met with Amelia on the third floor— we were… um…" Sirius trailed off, struggling to find the right words. He knew he would rather seal his fate with Bones than openly admit in front of Evans his doubts about his character. "We were meeting to see each other, and we thought the abandoned corridor was as good a place as anyway," he said slowly, punctuated with a shrug. There might have been a fleeting chance that Amelia could have forgiven Sirius for hurting her, knowing he had been under the Imperius Curse. But with the obvious lie he just told? There was no doubt now—she was going to kill him upon waking up.
Creon, spotting the obvious lie, just smirked at the young man, the scars on his cheeks peeking out from underneath his beard.
Neither Harry nor Sirius had ever seen a Glasgow smile before. Creon's scars were faded white, neatly curved from the corner of his mouth upwards to his ear.
The one on his right side seemed only halfway complete, as if suddenly stopped. Harry wondered how the Professor had come about such a disfigurement. What great beast had he launched himself at, or what foe had managed to claim the upper hand against him?
"We aren't going to punish you for doing that now, Mr. Black. You and Miss Bones are young, after all— it's natural. You're both of age, but please refrain until you graduate, eh?" Creon requested, trying to diffuse the tension in Sirius with humor.
Dumbledore, however, stiffened at the mention of the abandoned third floor corridor, something only Harry appeared to notice. He remembered seeing it on the man in his own timeline every time he brought up the pain in his scar.
'What are you hiding on that floor, this time?' Harry wondered, intrigued. It seemed the place where the Philosopher's Stone had been hidden had a history of secrets. He didn't want to guess what might be currently sitting in that dungeon below their feet.
Sirius continued recounting the events, unaware of the tension his words brought up within Harry and Dumbledore.
"I felt the curse on me immediately. It felt … good. I couldn't fight it— I didn't want to fight it," the young man croaked out in regret. His shaking hands quickly grabbed his bedsheets to steady themselves. "Like Harry, I heard a voice whispering to me to attack. Before I knew it, I was trying to take Bones's head right off her shoulders. If she wasn't as skilled as she is with a wand, it would've happened. She put me down but only after I landed the cutting curse that nearly bled her out, and that's when Avery showed up."
Creon held up a hand, halting Sirius's story. Both he and Dumbledore perked up. They finally had a name; an end they could begin pulling on to unravel the whole thread.
"Avery— as in Josephius Avery? Are you sure?" Creon asked for clarification, his tone edged with intensity, his eyes locked in a duel with Sirius's own.
Sirius nodded in confirmation, torpedoing the sinking feeling that Creon had for weeks to an even further depth.
"It was him. He stepped out after Amelia subdued me. She was handling him well too. Just as she was about to overtake him, there was another voice down the hall. They cast behind her and she got hit." Sirius gestured to where the girl was lying in her bed, her closed eyes pointed up to the heavens as her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.
"Before I lost consciousness, I heard Avery call them 'Brute', that's what he calls Brutus Mulciber; they're friends, sir. Mulciber hit Amelia from behind, but I don't know what the spell was. Then they used the Cruciatus Curse on her — it was after Amelia got a cheap shot on Avery of some kind. I couldn't see what happened clearly, but I heard her screams," Sirius said in a low, somber tone. His voice trembled as he remembered the girl's agony. He thought he imagined seeing her body twitch to-and-fro from the corner of his eye as he lay bound on the ground, but he wasn't certain that had been a fragmented figment of the nightmare.
Creon sucked in another breath at the revelation.
'Just like Miss Wilkes,' Creon thought grimly, remembering the condition the young Hufflepuff had been in when he had examined her in this very room weeks ago. 'Did they attack her too?'
It wouldn't be remiss to believe so. They would have launched their attack on Wilkes and then again on Sirius and Amelia when emboldened. But why? Despite the poor teacher he was, Creon wasn't foolish enough to believe the two seventh-year Slytherins were acting on their own. They had a plan, the targets were selected, and very intentionally so. He recalled how Abraxas Malfoy had used Jeanne Wilkes's case against Dumbledore to have him expelled from presiding over or voting in the Wizengamot when his legislation was proposed.
'The vote to ratify the law is tomorrow— are we seeing another repeat of sorts?' Pushing the political machinations to the side, Creon thought of each victim and their potential connections to the Wizengamot. Everything fit except for Harry Evans.
The Professor's eyes settled briefly on Harry. 'He's potentially the only one who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Every other victim was possibly stalked and hunted through the castle,' Creon thought, suppressing the grimace which wanted to creep onto his face.
Dumbledore looked towards the window, a sad reflection staring back at him. The old Headmaster's heart broke at the thought of two more young boys going dark so young.
'Oh Tom, what have you done this time to instill such loyalty into ones so young?' Dumbledore was dismayed, not wanting to think of the hold his young pupil had on his own generation, let alone a younger one. The optimist in him wanted to believe that the two young boys were coerced into their actions, but Dumbledore knew it wasn't that simple. They were likely devoted to the radical movement that had been sowing seeds in the country ever since Gellert Grindelwald stepped onto the world stage in the 1930s. There was nothing new under the sun, and Tom needed only to stoke the old sentiments.
Creon was about to continue speaking to Sirius when Dumbledore stopped him with a raised hand. The Defense Professor looked up at his employer, puzzled by the sudden halt. He frowned, struggling to understand. Dumbledore turned to the two Gryffindors.
"Thank you both. You have both shown tremendous bravery and exemplified the finest qualities of your House and your peers in light of these troubling attacks. I will award Gryffindor ten points each for your courage in resisting the control of such a malicious spell as the Imperius, whether your efforts were successful or in vain."
Dumbledore nodded his head, and turned to leave the Hospital Wing. Creon frowned, and Harry joined the professor in his dissatisfaction, though for different reasons.
'Surely, he can't be satisfied with just that? There's still more we need to learn— Merlin! We need to write out official statements,' Creon thought, his frustration mounting higher by the second.
Harry, meanwhile, couldn't help but glare at the retreating form of the headmaster. 'It's always house points with him and never taking any real action,' Harry seethed, now fully understanding the plight that so many others went through during his tenure under the man's older self.
"Come, Professor Renault, let us allow Mr. Evans and Mr. Black their rest. I'm sure their friends are most eager to resume their visitation before curfew calls," Albus suggested as he waited beside the door of the wing.
Creon nodded, grumbling at the use of his title as he transfigured the stool he had used back into nothingness. Before walking over to Dumbledore, he turned to both Sirius and Harry.
"For what it's worth, I'm proud of you both. Well done lads, Albus is right. You both showed bravery but more importantly, you each showed loyalty like a good sol— like a friend would," Creon stumbled, offering the kind words.
The Defense Professor quickly followed the headmaster out of the Hospital Wing.
Harry couldn't help but think of Professor Renault's parting words as he turned once more to peer at the curtains around Verona Jennings's bed.
Dumbledore and Creon progressed down the hallway in silence, each lost in thought. Dumbledore tapped a quiet rhythm against his palm, hands clasped behind his back, while Creon gazed at the ceiling, still somehow aware of the space before him as he walked forward.
It was Creon who finally broke the silence.
"Strange that he was able to fight off the Imperius Curse. Not many can do that… but in a way, it makes sense," he mumbled, deliberately avoiding any comment on Dumbledore's abrupt dismissal of their questioning. He referred instead to the claim that Harry had made.
Dumbledore turned towards his friend and colleague, motioning for him to elaborate.
"The lad is strong, granted, but it's his wand, Albus. He has probably the most corrupt wand in the school—barring a few shady characters we need to keep closer eyes on now," Creon revealed.
The Headmaster suddenly stopped, spinning on his heel to face Creon.
"Corrupted, you say?" Dumbledore asked, his mind racing. He recalled the letter he had received from Ollivander informing him that the second phoenix-wand had been sold: Holly, eleven inches, with a core from Fawkes—his very own phoenix's tail feather. How could Evans have corrupted such a powerful piece of magic so quickly? Phoenix wands were notoriously resilient to dark magic, unlike any other wand core. Even Tom's wand would have taken years, perhaps decades, for the first signs of necrosis on the wand to appear. It couldn't be the same wand.
"His wand, what is it composed of?" Albus asked urgently.
"Birch—right about eleven inches, give or take. It's an old wand; the style's reminiscent of the Dark Ages or late medieval period, I'd say. There's a focus stone of some kind embedded in the hilt. Can't say with any certainty though what it is. As for the core… well could it be serpentine in nature? That's what the magic feels like — cold and damp. Probably from something like a runespoor, if I had to wager my own wand on it," Creon responded, rattling off the traits of the wand he had gleaned from observing Harry in class.
"But that's not all, Albus. The wand's tip is nearly seared through. I don't know what could have caused such intense dark magic burns, but it practically exudes the residue left behind." In truth, that was the part which disturbed Creon. In all his travels, he could count on one hand how many times he had encountered such deep corruption. The wand gave him pause every time he looked too closely at it, as if it were aware of his scrutiny.
Dumbledore absorbed his colleague's words. 'He has a second wand then,' Albus thought, a tremor quaking his own wand hand. He recalled Ollivander's fear of the cold nature he had sensed within the young wizard, the questions that Harry Evans had asked regarding the limiting enchantments placed on wands, and the dark magic behind the scar on his forehead. It all added up unsettlingly in the Headmaster's mind.
At first, Dumbledore had shuddered at the purchase of the twin of Tom Riddle's wand, fearing whatever dark figure or tyrant this one might herald. But now, the existence of a second wand gave him yet more reason to worry. Why hadn't Evans hidden the wand instead of concealing the one purchased from Ollivander? The question weighed heavily on him. Was this second wand more dangerous than Tom's, even?
He didn't want to consider such a notion—that he might have allowed a dark wizard to freely enroll within the school. Harry Evans bore many of the signs of maladjusted youth, trauma that had certainly left its mark upon him, and now blatantly corrupted wand. It was all deeply concerning. Harry Evans had kept his cards close to his chest during their few interactions, revealing no secrets willingly. Furthermore, every conversation proved him capable of lying to get what he wanted—and willing to put that capability to use.
'He's enrolled in this school for that final reason,' Dumbledore chided himself silently. '—you fool, Albus. You bleeding-hearted fool.'
Just like another orphan who had wandered into his office on a July day nearly two decades ago.
Had the boy desired a place of refuge after whatever conflict had befallen him, or had he sought out Hogwarts with a personal goal in mind? There were too many qualities in this young man that echoed of another orphaned boy he once knew.
Dumbledore had treated the original article with a laissez-faire approach, his time occupied more by his duties as a professor and as Deputy Headmaster than on Tom Riddle's personal development within the castle and its grounds. Perhaps now, the opposite approach was called for—more hands-on. Still, he suspected that Harry Evans would be more likely to interpret his good intentions as meddling or manipulation.
"Creon, my dear friend." Dumbledore began. "Perhaps you would offer some guidance to Mr. Evans next time you meet in the classroom? He clearly has quite the talent for Defense. It would serve him well to have a mentor of sorts."
Creon looked at the old bearded wizard with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah, I suppose I could look into it. Hell, the kid duels an awful like me already. I don't know what I could offer him. You know I'm not exactly the best teacher." He certainly didn't believe he could measure up to any of the mentors who had helped shape his life.
"Good, good." Dumbledore nodded. "Now, I think it time we pay Messrs. Avery and Mulciber a visit. I'm sure Horace will be happy to lend a hand with his pupils." He resumed their walk towards the dungeons.
Creon couldn't help but glance upwards once more, shaking his head at the thought of mentoring anyone. He thought of his own mentor, so many decades ago. 'What did you think of me when you took me as an apprentice?'
With the exit of the staff members, the Marauders and Lily rejoined their two friends' bedsides.
James immediately began fussing over Sirius, propping up the man's pillow, earning a whine from the raven-haired wizard. While he was touched by his friend's actions, he was also embarrassed, especially after witnessing the teasing smiles on Peter, Lily and Remus.
"Merlin, James, quit it! I'm not some delicate flower that needs tending," Sirius tried to swat James's hands away.
"Oh, hush, Sirius," Remus chimed in with a grin. "Let James have this. He's just glad you're not dead."
"Be quiet, Padfoot, and let me take care of you for once," James shot back, his tone firm yet affectionate. "Do you have any idea how worried you've made me? I've been pacing around like a madman, imagining all sorts of horrible things."
From the sidelines, Lily watched the exchange with an amused smile. She was glad the group was acting normal and not letting what had happened affect their dynamic. She caught Harry also looking at them in amusement. The pair exchanged smiles once their eyes met.
"Bet you both wish you had this, hmm?" Sirius smirked, waggling his eyebrows at the pair.
The three Marauders joked with one another, but Peter stood off to the side, detached. He had seen the direction Dumbledore and Professor Renault were heading and couldn't shake the unease that followed. He couldn't bear to meet the eye of anyone after that, a deeply wounding guilt weighing heavily on him. Being in the same room as his friend Sirius—the victim of the very pair he had helped spirit away just hours ago—was almost unbearable.
A sense of dread and guilt pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe. Unable to endure the atmosphere he was creating for himself any longer, Peter made some excuse about needing to study for N.E.W.T.s and take care of other coursework, to slip away.
Everyone but Harry said their goodbyes and waved their off partner-in-pranks off. Sirius however, stopped Peter in his tracks for a moment, calling out to him with a smile on his face, his sour mood evaporating with the re-emergence of his friends.
"Oi! Come back later with some snacks, eh, Peter? You know the kind I like, right?"
Peter looked back at the dog animagus and nodded his head before departing. "I'll bring you something from the kitchens tonight."
Conversation among the group resumed briefly but quickly died once more several minutes later as Bellatrix burst into the Hospital Wing, the doors slamming open as she rushed inside.
Her appearance was disheveled, as though she had sprinted across the entire castle—perhaps even the whole school grounds.
On seeing his estranged cousin, Sirius's foul mood returned with a vengeance.
"OI! What the fuck are you doing here!? Come to finish the job now, did ya?" Sirius snarled, sitting up in bed and fumbling for a wand he couldn't find. Remus put a firm hand on his friend's chest, pushing him back down, but Sirius's eyes burned with fervent fury as he glared at Bellatrix.
Bellatrix's own eyes narrowed in equal anger. "Finish whose job, you blithering Neanderthal?" she snapped, the insult slipping from her tongue like a lance and finding it's home in Sirius's pride.
"Avery and Mulciber! And whoever the fuck attacked Evans!" Sirius shot back, then paused, wide-eyed, his confusion breaking through the rage. "Wait—what did you just call me?"
A million thoughts flooded Bellatrix's head at Sirius's accusation. She had come to find Verona after hearing she had been found in a corridor and moved to the Hospital Wing. Instead she had found her cousin—the traitor—had been a victim too. The idea that Sirius thought she'd harm her own blood made her want to curse him on the spot for his implication. Unlike him, she hadn't abandoned the family, hadn't left them to deal with the fallout of his betrayal. For a moment, she felt that strife he'd caused welling up, boiling inside and threatening to consume her. But she quickly swallowed it down, refusing to let it show and confining it to depths where it always burned. She let the anger sharpen her resolve as she glared back at him.
"A Neanderthal, you twit—which is what you're proving to be, even more than the mutt you usually are with your baseless accusations, Cousin."
"Oi! Hold up a second, Bellatrix—" Sirius began, but his words swiftly withered. Whether silenced by a wandless hex cast in anger, or by a rare moment of self-preservation, no one could quite tell.
"Shut it, mutt!" Bellatrix spat, her dark eyes were like deep pits. "I had nothing to do with you eating the front end of a wand. I'm not here for you Cousin—so wait your turn, like a good little boy."
Her voice, low and threatening, carried on its wings a silent promise that she would gladly rescind her denial of involvement if pushed. Bellatrix's gaze shifted from Sirius, dismissing him entirely as she searched the room for Verona. Her heart sank upon seeing Amelia Bones in a hospital bed; she was a kind girl, undeserving of this. Her lips nearly split into a grin at seeing Harry, who stared at her without even a trace of consideration for social standings. Finally, her eyes came to rest on the bed that was curtained off.
For a moment, her world teetered. Her ears rang, her mind scrambling to reject the reality before her. She nearly broke at the sight.
'She's alright. She's ok. She's just sleeping. Sirius and Evans are fine—she is too.' Bellatrix repeated the words in her mind like a mantra, trying to steady herself as she approached what she knew to Verona's bed. With a trembling hand, Bellatrix pulled back the curtain and took in the sight before her.
Verona appeared to be resting peacefully at first, her breathing shallow but steady. As Bellatrix looked closer, though, she noticed why, and her heart clenched. It was as if her diaphragm wasn't fully supported. Her arms were slotted limply into slings across her chest, lying flaccid and useless. Verona was missing bones—leagues of them. Her shoulder appeared to cave in on itself as though the joint had simply vanished. These were the largest among the signs, but Bellatrix dared not inspect any closer, terrified of the final count of bones her friend was missing.
'Who the fuck would vanish bones?' Bellatrix questioned, not comprehending the methodology of the culprit. She could spot the tell-tale signs of bruising, as if Verona had been engaged in a duel of some sorts. 'Spell burns? She hit a wall.' It was odd to her, since the aging of the bruises was younger than the bruises from the blunt trauma.
A stabbing guilt went through Bellatrix. She had promised to always stand by her friend, ever since that winter day in 1971. Yet, here she was, healthy and standing, and there she was, bedridden and hurt. She held back a cry from hatching within her throat but not the tear which slid down her cheek; she raised her hand to brush away the offending droplet before it sang the damnation she was feeling to the room at large.
"That's right—she's your friend," Sirius said stupidly, calling out from his bed as he elected to ignore Bellatrix's prior threat. He had forgotten Bellatrix had anyone who could be considered with such familiarity in her life.
A piece of Harry's own mind clung to the fact—despite knowing differently now—that the Bellatrix he once knew couldn't have friends. He watched on curiously as Verona's own words from the other day rang in his ears and head. "No, she was never one of my bullies." Verona had admitted to him that Bellatrix had been kind to her, but here was Sirius believing that she too was in cahoots with their attackers.
Harry didn't know which one to believe, nor did he know which one he wanted it to be.
Bellatrix ignored the others in the room now entirely in favor of Verona. Her mouth opened slightly, but Bellatrix quickly composed herself once more. Her face became a blank slate, wiped within a second.
To Harry, Bellatrix looked livid, her eyes possessing a fanatical glint of righteous fury. She also looked sullen and guilty too, which confused Harry. He never thought he'd see the girl feel compassion or guilt over any muggle-born, even if she considered them to be the single acceptable one upon the whole planet.
Bellatrix found herself sitting by her friend's bedside, not knowing when she had found herself at eye-level with the sleeping girl. With a shaky hand, she reached into one of the slings confining Verona's arm and gently took a limp, boneless hand within her own. She had heard gossip that another attack had occurred while studying in the library, waiting for Verona after having originally searched for her all morning. She had thought that Verona had hurried off to study alone, as she was known to do at times.
In a panic, she had even left her books upon hearing the gossip. As she traversed the halls, Bellatrix heard more and more rumors; two Ravenclaws stumbling across a pair of bodies on the fifth-floor. An all out battle on the third-floor corridor involving a few students and potentially a troll. A lone sighting of Josephius Avery cursing a storm as Mulciber carried him back to the dungeons, and so on. The halls surely were flooded with fifteen more rumors by now, or even fifty, such was the power of the Hogwarts rumor mill.
One that Bellatrix could no longer dismiss was that Harry Evans was one of the two found on the fifth floor. What he was doing with Verona, Bellatrix couldn't guess, but she'd have to question the girl later. She knew Evans wouldn't give her a straight answer as to why he was in a better state of health than Verona.
In truth, she didn't want to talk with him anyway, especially not with her cousin's band of fools around him. Even if it meant learning of their attacker—she'd find them herself.
Thinking of Sirius, the rage she had felt for her cousin's accusation turned its snarling fangs to the thought of the mysterious figures who had put her friend in this state. 'Two different locations for the rumors — four victims. Two attacks. Two attackers,' she deduced. The list of names was only so big, and Bellatrix ran her mind through the ones she and Verona had speculated over. No one would be sleeping soundly in Slytherin, nor the castle, as Bellatrix conducted her hunt.
Bellatrix's ears perked up, catching snippets of the Gryffindors' hushed conversation just a few bed spaces away. She couldn't resist overhearing her cousin and his infamous, marauding friends, their voices carrying far more weight than they likely realized in this moment of vulnerability.
"… It was Mulciber and Avery who attacked me, but who the fuck attacked Harry? He was Imperiused, so it had to be another seventh year or someone like Mulciber and Avery," Sirius asked, his wand waving erratically in the air, as if trying to catch the elusive culprit with his fingers.
The Marauders fell silent and racked their brains for an answer, before James scratched the back of his head, shaking it and mumbling softly enough that even Bellatrix had to strain to hear, "Well if we're going with an upperclassman than—well, it could have been… Snape…"
Bellatrix's eyes narrowed. It was just loud enough for all to hear the speculation. Sirius nodded, his head looking towards Remus who only shrugged. Harry, knowing full well the man's history and the magic at his disposal, wanted to agree with his progenitor. She wasn't so sure, however. There were darker forces at work here than mere schoolyard rivalry, and there was no reason to her knowledge for him to target Verona.
"He's friends with them both, after all, and we know they're all affiliated with the Dark Arts one way or another. We never did prove that he wasn't with them when they attacked Sturgis!" James said, finishing his statement.
Shifting uncomfortably, she clenched her jaw, thinking about the larger picture—about Mulciber and Avery, about the way things were unraveling. If anyone suspected Snape, the consequences would be severe. And as much as she loathed the boy, Bellatrix knew that Sirius and his friends were barking up the wrong tree. 'But let them,' she thought bitterly. 'Let them waste their time chasing ghosts while the real threats go unnoticed.'
Lily, however, felt her temper flare, breathing out harshly, as a creeping anger rose up her neck with a throbbing vein, her eyes zeroing in on the sheepish look James sported and her eyes practically crackling with frustration "POTTER!" she hissed in anger, but James held his hands up in peace, hoping to pacify the fiery witch.
"I'm not trying to pin things on him, Lils," James winced under her furious gaze, but he stood his ground. "I'm just saying! The truth is we don't know… but can you name a better candidate, honestly?" His voice was softer now, trying to reason with her.
Lily racked her brain for one, but there was little she could say. "It was probably one of the Lestrange twins, that's more probable. They've been hounding Harry for a month now and neither of them haven't made their opinion unknown about their housemate Jennings either," she said, deflecting the blame from her childhood friend.
In truth, the same thought had crossed Harry's own mind, torn as it was between past and present. He knew Snape had never been innocent, but he also knew what the man had done for him, and understood his long and painful journey, giving him an insight none of the others present would ever possess.
"Couldn't have been. Those two numbskulls would have hung it up in gold leaf to gloat they got one over Harry," James said, shaking his head.
"That's why it had to have been potentially Snape!" Sirius accused, reverting back to the original culprit.
Harry internally grimaced, his heart clenching in conflict. He didn't know what to say about the wizard who would go on to protect him so devotedly in his future, even if he had been a horror doing so. He opted to not speak any of his thoughts about Severus Snape. He had no recorded history with him yet.
Lily, however, was righteously enraged at the continued slander. "Oi! Shut it, Potter! You've always wanted him to be evil!" Lily accused, poking a finger under James's nose. The wizard went nearly cross-eyed staring at the appendage.
"W–wait Lily! Look, it's not like that —," James sputtered, trying to explain.
In truth, it had been exactly that. James felt the shame of it from all the years he had tormented the Slytherin. When he saw Snape with Lily in September of their first year aboard the Hogwarts Express, for the first time in his life James had felt jealousy. He had tormented Severus Snape because he had something he didn't.
He was the heir of a notable and prestigious pureblood family, who never had a want unfulfilled by either his parents or house elf. Then there was a scrawny, ragged boy who had everything in his eyes for years. The friendship of a person he had fallen heads over heels for. For so long, James had wanted Lily to see Snape how he had seen him. When it occurred though, it was a bitter ash on his tongue.
'We were just kids— all just stupid kids,' James justified in his head, swallowing his guilt.
"The greasy bat did call you a Mud-You-Know-What, Lily!" Sirius said, coming to James's defense, unaware of his friend's inner guilt.
"Which he apologized for! Sort of…" Lily said sheepishly, running her fingers through her long red hair. Deep down, Lily was aware that the Severus she knew was long gone. Their friendship was a thing of the past. Yet, she couldn't bear the thought of the boy she had met in the park of Cokeworth ever breaking bad.
"You never talked to him after what he said, though… you only heard him shout his apology through the Portrait," Remus said slowly, weighing in on the matter and reminding the group of what had come from Snape's apology. The werewolf had never actively tormented Snape like his friends, but he had never stopped nor discouraged their actions either. Remus was, however, picked at by remorse as if it were a flea on his coat, for whatever Severus had apparently become in the recent years—what they had all driven him to.
'We treated him as less than a human for the crime of being sorted into another house,' Remus thought. He didn't want to consider his own crimes of being … he was less than a human himself, once a month. If there was anyone who should have stood against his friends for Severus, it should have been him. 'A monster begets another monster — what a cruel cycle.'
"No… I just couldn't — no, I can't look at him the same again. He may regret what he did… even what he said. But you're right, Remus. I just — I just can't… I can't be close to someone that deep into the Dark Arts," Lily finally admitted to herself and everyone else.
Harry felt a pang for his own budding friendship with the woman who would have one day been his mother. There hadn't been much opportunity yet for him to get to know the witch personally, but the few moments he had shared with the group and her had meant the world to him. He feared losing that. Harry couldn't help but think Lily might feel the same way about him if he went too far one day? Could he risk losing her companionship if it meant doing what it took to keep her alive this time around?
Harry didn't have an answer for himself, nor did he want to make one.
However, as the group argued a distance away, Bellatrix's blood ran cold, but a fire lit within her gut at her cousin's claims. They had attacked her blood, and they knew who attacked Verona too…
Bellatrix couldn't care less for Sirius if he disregarded the family so casually; the lessons of her grandfather were absolute within her. Blood always supported each other, regardless of everything else. It was the most important thing, after all.
'If it was Mulciber and Avery— that means—,' Bellatrix's train of thought halted. Her mind had conjured only a singular face. A young Regulus smiling to her as he received his Hogwarts acceptance letter as a child; his cracking facade when he returned home with her aunt after meeting with the social circle she had wanted to bring her dutiful son into.
The witch knew exactly what the affiliations of the two boys were. She knew that Regulus was now caught in their web as well.
'He knew— and he didn't tell me—' she thought, her hand making a tight enough fist that her nails stabbed against her skin. She took in Verona's face. "They did this—" Bellatrix hissed quietly to herself, careful to not be overheard like Sirius and his friends were by her.
She felt her insides burn. She needed to get away from here. No, that wasn't it. She needed to do something else. She needed to hold those accountable, blood or not, under her wand till they repaid the debt they accrued a hundredfold.
A curse against Verona Jennings was a curse against her. A curse against her was one against the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. A curse cast by one Black against another meant one of them was a blood traitor—the most unholy sin.
Any attack against her was not one that Bellatrix Black could allow to go unanswered, conjuring to mind the advice her grandfather had given her when she asked how to repay those who wronged their family name. 'Never forget, never forgive, and always take double of what you are owed.'
Bellatrix, reaching over, squeezed the warm hand of her friend. She could feel the lack of bones, nearly recoiling at the alien feeling of structure-less human flesh. It only incited her more to arms, and she swiftly rose and left the Hospital Wing. The whole time, a pair of green orbs behind glasses watched her curiously, scanning her intentions.
Harry knew what Bellatrix on a warpath looked like. He had never seen the young woman so similar to her older self than at that moment.
A/N: Special shout out to mymindisverycomplicated, she's given us her Marauders & then a round of applause to BoredBarrister, who finished this chapter with a nice cap off after we split it in half. No Sayre Chapter for this one - It's been moved over into the next & frankly, I didn't want to write one on the Imperius Curse or Invisibility Cloaks to further expand what Creon expunged. Nothing fancy this chapter - just some fluff, characterization, and set up for the future. Like always, if you find grammar mistakes please let us know and we'll get to editing them out. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter - longer Author note in the next one to address reviews & what not. I am taking note.