Chapter 11: Repercussions.
"God, Sirius, how could this happen?"
Sirius started. What was that?
The voice went on, echoing in a way that prevented him from telling where it was coming from, until he wasn't even sure of the exact words anymore, just a murmur that might be comforting if it weren't so eerie . . .
It sounded like Aletha—but she couldn't be here, there's no way anyone else could be in this place, if it even is a real place, which I doubt—
His memories of the past hour were rather fuzzy, but tinged with bitingly sharp edges that left him perfectly willing not to explore them.
I got captured, Regulus was there, something bad happened to me—I think something happened with Reggie, not sure—and then next thing I know, here I am. A beach, right up against the ocean, in the middle of nowhere.
And I think the water's rising.
"That's why I love you so much, you know. . . . you never give up "
That's definitely Aletha. But where is she—where am I?
Remembering something Danger had mentioned once, Sirius stomped the sand he was standing on. It recoiled slightly, then rebounded.
So this is a dream. Or something like one.
He began to pace back and forth along the shore. Now how do I get out?
Walk inland. Duh.
But when he tried that, he didn't get very far . . . it felt like each step he took up the beach doubled his exertion and his dizziness; there was no way he'd be able to get to safety before the water caught up with him . . .
Having no alternative, he continued to pace the shoreline, beginning to panic. First it'll cover my feet. Then my legs. Then my torso. Then my neck, so only my head is above it, and I still won't be able to move, and then—
Sirius abruptly cut off that train of thought, closed his eyes and focused his will on waking up. Get me out of this place! Get me back into the real world. Get me where Letha is.
It felt like he was pushing against a barrier of some kind in his mind. The barrier was taut, but not very sturdy; it seemed to be strained, near its breaking even without his efforts against it. That must be what's keeping me here. Is this a curse they put on me or something? Wake up! Now!
The barrier burst.
The memories came flooding back.
Sirius staggered and fell face-first into the sand. Holy mother of Merlin . . .
The memories were one thing—that feeling of complete helplessness at his captors' hands, watching his brother stand stoically by, with the thought of maybe getting through to Regulus the only thing besides his own innate stubbornness preventing him from surrendering to the darkness that felt so inviting at the time—
"Is this what you stand for?" I guess it is, for him . . . that's the last thing I remember . . .
The pain was another.
Sirius had known, intellectually, that something very bad had probably happened to him to get him in this state. People didn't ordinarily wake up to dreamlike visualizations of dizzying seashores, with no memory of how they'd gotten there. There was probably something he'd been suppressing, maybe he'd been tortured . . .
But "maybe" was nowhere near as terrifying as "was."
He could still feel it, he realized suddenly—how had he been ignoring this before?—his arms, legs, ribs, breaking under that curse, still felt shattered into a million pieces; so did every other inch of him, for that matter; it felt like the Cruciatus had never been lifted—
". . . now just come back so you can hear it!"
"Damn it, Letha, I would if I could! I'm sorry!" He tried to shout, but he had forgotten the hoarseness that came from so much screaming. The words came out louder than they probably would have in reality, but nowhere near loud enough . . . Sirius could tell that they didn't reach their destination . . .
On the tip of his left index finger, the sensation of fire was suddenly replaced by one of cleansing wetness. Then his first knuckles, then the whole hand . . .
The water's rising.
And there's no way I'm going to be able to move in the state I'm in—even if I could crawl up a ways, the water would still catch up with me, and I don't even know if it'll ever stop rising—
The water continued to rise. Where it touched, the burning pain of the Cruciatus receded to a dull throb, and Sirius welcomed the respite—but it also seemed to make him more and more lethargic, with a bone-deep, penetrating fatigue. He almost welcomed the thought of rest, too, but for where it might lead . . .
If I fall asleep in a dream, does it mean I wake up? No, there's no way, it can't be that easy. Probably, it means . . .
He caught himself drifting off and tried to force his eyes open, even concentrating on the pain to stave off the drowsiness.
Because I think . . .
The grains of sand wove a cool, comforting pattern on his limbs. He caught himself imagining how he could run around in it as Padfoot for hours at a time, or better yet, sleep in it . . .
if I fall asleep . . .
He tried to concentrate on something, anything, but his thoughts kept running in circles and slipping away from him, broken up by the pain and the fatigue . . .
I'll be—
"I won't let you die!"
A blinding flash of blue filled the sky.
Aletha looked around, startled. It didn't feel like she had moved, but last second she was leaning over Sirius in the hospital wing, and now she was—
On a beach, facing the ocean?
Her sharp eyes alighted on a form that had just been pulled into the water. A very recognizable form.
"SIRIUS!"
There was no reply.
If he gets much further out, he'll die, I'm sure of it. I don't know how I'm sure, but I'm sure.
Only one thing left to do, then.
Aletha ran to the edge of the island and dove in. It didn't look far, she could easily swim out and take him ba—DAMN that's cold! She was fighting to breathe, to keep her head above water, never mind making any forward progress—
One of her flailing arms seized upon something.
That's him! That's Sirius!
And he's not broken, physically he's completely fine, but he still feels the same things he's afflicted with in reality—
How do I know all this? she wondered suddenly.
No time for that now. Swim now, think later.
Wrapping one of her arms around Sirius's chest, floating on her back and using her legs and other arm to push back towards the shore, she swam.
It was hard going, and the current pushed against her all the way. She was progressing steadily, but extremely slowly—and she could feel how tired she was becoming, how quickly her strength was fading, there was no way they'd make it back to dry land, and now it would be both of them who died—is that light just a reflection of the water? It doesn't look like it—too light—
"Letha?" mumbled a voice. "Am I dead, or is that you?"
"Sirius! No, you're not dead; at least I don't think so. Very nearly were, though—is there any way you could swim for a bit?" Aletha gasped for air. "I don't think— I can— keep this up much longer—"
How is the water rising and going out at the same time?
Sirius changed into Padfoot. The shifting of weight caused him to topple out of Aletha's grasp, and caused Aletha to emit a very undignified yelp—but now she had gotten a grip on his fur, and Padfoot was doing a very energetic doggie-paddle towards shore . . .
"Thanks," she said, breathing heavily.
Anytime.
"Wha— I can hear you?"
This is a dream-ish thing. You get anything you want in dreams.
"But sometimes you have to work for it," Aletha said ruefully. "Doesn't matter, though—you're here, we're safe in three, two, one, now—" their feet touched dry land— "and somehow, we're both going to get out of this okay."
Padfoot took the last few steps up past the high-tide mark, shook himself dry, and transformed back into human. He sat down on the shore, watching the tide recede back out. Aletha took a seat next to him; they both took a minute to catch their breath.
"Do you know where this is?" Sirius asked. "Or why I'm here, or why you are? I'm guessing I almost died, and you rescued me—thank you for that—but what happened?"
Aletha figured a blunt approach would work best. "Do you remember what happened before you were here?"
"Yeah." Sirius shuddered. "I had blocked the memories at first, but I tried to force myself to 'wake up' and I wound up going right through that block. I can officially say that was the scariest thing in my life. Couldn't move a muscle, water kept on rising, and I was trying to balance 'damn, that HURTS!' and 'can't fall asleep or I think I'll die' . . ."
"And then I came."
"And then you came, and just in time, too. And I feel like—well, I think you might've healed me, somehow . . ."
Aletha caught her breath.
"Letha?" Sirius asked, suddenly concerned. "What is it?"
"I didn't even—God, I didn't think—"
"Think about what?"
"I'm an heir of Ravenclaw," she said. "I've known since this summer, but I guess I just pushed it from my mind. Mum had the same gift—she used to use it to heal the birds she worked with, till she realized it was making her really tired and stopped. She was absolutely sure that was why she died over the summer. She used to make me promise never to try to heal anything by touch, because she didn't want to have the same thing happen to me . . ."
"Merlin."
"Mm-hmm," Aletha said sharply. "And now I've gone and done it, and for a really big thing, too, so even if you survive now, I probably won't, someone still has to die—"
Sirius interrupted her. "Stop it," he said. "Stop it right there. There are so many reasons why what happened might've happened, and very few of them are a death sentence for you. Letha, your mum was a Muggle; that might've had something to do with it, maybe it sapped her life energy because it couldn't use her magic."
"But—"
"No buts. Remember the stories? Rowena healed a whole class from the attacks of a rampaging dragon, and all she got from it was some white hair. Do you think her line would've survived until now if the power was so dangerous as all that? We've met the Ravenclaws. They would've warned you, at least!"
Despite herself, Aletha laughed. "They're not allowed to reveal who the Heirs are. What would they have said? 'You might or might not have a gift for Healing, but if you do, don't use it?'"
"They may be mysterious, but they're not sadistic." He grasped her hand comfortingly. "I really don't think you should worry so much about this. We don't have the answers."
"Who does, then?"
"Dumbledore."
With her free hand, Aletha slapped her forehead. "Should've thought of that myself," she muttered.
"You just saved my life. I don't blame you."
"Oh? What do you do, then?"
"This."
He kissed her.
When they broke apart, they were both smiling widely.
"I think I love you, Aletha Freeman." Sirius shook his head, laughing. "Never thought I'd actually say that."
"I think I love you too, Sirius Black." She paused and cocked her head. "What?" she teased. "No pithy comment about never thinking you'd hear that?"
"Nope. I heard it already. Everything you said before you got here."
"Good. I meant you to hear it, even though I figured you wouldn't. Whenever you play a remarkably stupid prank on me that winds up getting me mad at you, remember what I said. It's the truth."
Sirius grinned cheekily. "No, you're the—"
Aletha's eyes flashed. "If you value my good humor, do not complete that sentence."
He rolled his eyes. "Yes, dear."
Hand in hand, the two walked inland . . . back to life.
Back in the Hospital Wing, Aletha and Sirius seemed frozen in time. A blue nimbus pulsated around them, and it seemed to be growing stronger . . .
"My God," Madam Pomfrey breathed. "It's— he's getting better! Bones are mending, heartbeat is speeding up—"
"Is Aletha okay too?" Danger asked. "It seems like she's using her energy to help him, but it would be bad for both of them if she ran out . . ."
Madam Pomfrey ran a second set of diagnostics. "You're right," she said. "She is using her energy—it's getting dangerously low, actually—but wait, there it goes back up again. I'm afraid I'm not the best person to be asking for answers; I really don't understand what's happening at all."
"Is there anything we can do to help them?" asked James.
"No, I don't think there is. Whatever's happening . . . I'm afraid to break the connection between them. There's some very powerful magic at work here, and meddling with it could kill both of them."
Silence pervaded for a minute while the blue continued its ebb and flow. Suddenly, Hermione gasped. "I think I know what it is!" she exclaimed.
"What?" said Ron.
"It's the Ravenclaw gift! The Founders book mentioned it exhibiting a blue light, and we already knew Aletha had Margaret Ravenclaw's brooch—"
"Great," Harry said, relaxing a bit but still very tense. "That makes perfect sense—and it means Sirius will survive, I hope . . ."
"I think it does," said Ginny. "Look!" And sure enough, the light was glowing far more brightly than before, steadily, for several seconds; it faded one last time, then both Aletha's and Sirius's eyes opened.
Aletha gently took her hand off Sirius's forehead, turned to face Madam Pomfrey, managed to ask "How is he now?", then fell back on Sirius's bed, asleep.
Madam Pomfrey ran the spell, and smiled. "He'll be fine. He's not completely healed, but what's left is well within my power to fix. Aletha has exhausted herself with the effort, but she will recover with nothing more than some good rest. They should both be out and about in a few days."
With that, it seemed, the joyous reality finally permeated the Pack. Moony barked happily; Harry and Danger transformed and echoed him. Excited chatter filled the air, and hugs were given all around. Again, they had come to the brink of disaster—again, miraculously, they had subverted it.
Amidst the happiness, Lily stalked up and tugged sharply on the sleeve of Danger's robes. "We need to talk," she said icily.
Danger frowned and followed Lily out of the Hospital Wing, where the red-haired girl cast a Privacy Spell.
"What is it?" She was rather worried; Lily had her hands on her hips, and was giving Danger the coldest glare she had ever seen from anyone.
"'What is it?' I generally like you, Danger. I think you're a nice girl, and exactly what Remus needs, most of the time. But I will make one thing abundantly clear:
"I am more than capable of fighting my own battles. I most definitely do not need to be 'rescued'. Especially in a crisis like the one that occurred tonight."
Danger was flabbergasted. "Lily, that's not it at all! I was only trying—"
"Let me guess," Lily interrupted. She was still speaking in that terribly cold tone; Danger would almost rather she were yelling. "You wanted to keep me safe. Well, that's all well and good. But I do not need rescuing."
"I wanted to keep everyone safe, Lily!"
"Then why was I the only one who got Portkeyed to 'safety' tonight?"
"Because I didn't have time to get to everyone!" Danger shouted. "Damn it, Lily, the wards were going up, what did you expect me to do? I only had a few minutes' warning, and even then I wasn't sure there'd be an attack! I didn't want anyone to have to fight. Sorry for caring!"
Lily fixed her gaze, if possible, even more intently. "Let me get one thing through your head, Danger. This is a war. In justified wars—and I can hardly think of a way war could be more justified than this—the right thing to do is fight. Sometimes that fighting leads to deaths, on both sides, and that's the tragedy of war. But the people who fight and die are acting far more admirably than those who refuse to resist at all."
"I did fight, Lily! I killed a bloody Death Eater, and I still hate myself for it! Don't you lecture me on why we have to fight!"
Lily's expression changed not at all. "So you fought. Good for you. That doesn't change the fact that you forced me into being a coward. You made a decision for me that I had the right to make myself, and you definitely did not choose the same thing I would have. Think about that."
She cancelled the Privacy Spell and stalked off.
Over the next few hours, the various couples of the Pack drifted back home, or something like it. The four time-travelers returned to the Lair; Peter, Rachel, Sirius, and Aletha went to Potter Manor; James and Lily stayed in the Den, and that left Moony and Danger with Katherine at the Lupins' cottage. They Apparated into the entranceway—mercifully, someone from the Order had removed all traces of the attack. Remus and Danger walked into the den room, saw the mattress they had put there just before moonrise—seems so long ago, now—and collapsed on it.
Danger stared out the window into the near-dawn sky. For a while, neither one of them spoke.
"I feel filthy," Danger said finally.
Moony cocked his head at her. You could go take a shower or something . . .
"That's not what I mean and you know it!" she snapped, then relented. "Sorry."
Me too. Sometimes I really should think before I think.
"Har har. But what I mean is— well, I finally got my revenge on the people who killed my parents. One of them is dead, the other has a nice set of teeth marks in his right thigh. I still don't even know their names. And I hate myself for having done that to them. Don't tell me they deserved it; I know they probably did. I just feel completely hollow inside."
Did you mean to kill the one?
"Obviously," said Danger acerbically. "It's rather hard to bite someone's neck as a wolf without meaning to do it."
That's not what I mean, and you know it. Did you want to kill him? Did you realize who they were, then plot it out and think, all right, I'll jump at this instant to cause him the most—
"No, not at all. I just snapped, I guess. I couldn't take it anymore—they'd killed my parents, they'd killed John, and at the time I was sure they'd killed you . . ."
Moony went mentally silent for a bit.
He shifted to look at Danger more directly with big brownish-blue canine eyes. Do you want my opinion?
"Let's hear it."
I don't think you have anything to be ashamed of.
"Remus, I killed him!"
What are you afraid of, really? That this means you're like them?
"I guess . . ."
It means nothing like that at all. Remus's mental tone belied vehemence of a level Danger rarely saw. You fought, Danger—bravely and well. If you hadn't attacked him, there's a good chance he would've killed you. Yes, it's regrettable that he died. But don't blame yourself for it. Blame Voldemort, for ordering the attacks; blame the Death Eaters, for carrying them out; they bear the responsibility, not you.
Danger sighed. "My brain agrees with you. He deserved it. But my heart still thinks what I did was unforgivably gruesome and barbaric . . ."
I don't know what to say, Danger. Death is gruesome and barbaric. I've never been in this position before either, you know, and I hate it as much as you do, if not more . . .
Dawn heralded moonset, and Remus transformed back into human. Danger shifted to accomodate his new shape.
"I lost my father out of all this. I'm still trying to wrap my head around all of it. Just— just know I love you, and no matter what happens, I'll still be there for you."
"I love you too, and you know I'll be there for you too. And thanks. You've given me some much-needed perspective, if nothing else . . ."
Danger turned over, snuggled closer to Remus, and both of them fell into fitful sleep.
Lily lay on the padded floor of the Den's central room, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. She heard the small click of someone opening the library door, and was able to identify who it was by the shadow cast by his hairstyle.
"Hi, James," she said dully. "Have you heard?"
"Heard what?"
"The Death Eaters. When they saw my house was empty—they burned it down."
"Oh." James sat down abruptly where he stood, reasonably close to her. "Oh, Merlin . . . I'm so sorry, Lily. Did you lose much?"
"Did I lose much. Only everything that wasn't in my trunk, James." She laughed humorlessly.
"All right, stupid question."
"I'll forgive you for it." She sat up abruptly. "It's not like it's the end of the world—my parents have insurance, they'll be able to replace most of it—and I'm thanking God no one actually died . . . but still. It was my home."
James scooted closer to Lily and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I understand."
"Oh, and I blew up at Danger earlier. She Apparated to me just before the attacks, told me to get my family and get out. I was pretty upset at where that led, and I saw her right after Dumbledore told me the news."
"I can imagine," he said ruefully. "But if she hadn't gotten to you in time—Lily, you're great at Defense, but I don't think any of us could personally fight five Death Eaters at once. Some things—well, just be glad everyone was okay. The things will resolve themselves eventually."
"I know. And really, it wasn't like Danger was forcing me to evacuate. I could've ignored her just fine." Lily laughed humorlessly. "To be honest, I think I was scared myself. And that scares me, because I want to fight back against them, I know I can, I just need to convince myself of that . . ."
"Well, don't be scared of being scared of being scared. For what it's worth, I was too."
"James Potter, scared? That's reassuring. Maybe I do have a chance."
They laughed again, and this time there was real humor in it.
"Well, here we are," Harry said, lying in his bedroom that night. "Glad that's over."
"Me too," said Ginny from her spot next to him. "That's the third major battle I've been in, and it really doesn't get any easier with time."
"No," Harry agreed. "It doesn't." His expression clouded over. "But it can get harder with time . . . if one doesn't prepare as diligently as one should for the very real threat that's out there, and one lets one's Defense skills fade somewhat with time . . ."
Ginny propped herself up on an elbow to frown properly at him. "By 'one', you mean 'you', don't you?" Harry nodded. "Well, I certainly don't agree. You've been doing a great job with the D.A., your Defense classes, the advanced research I know you've been doing during some of your free time . . ."
"All right, so maybe I'm overstating a little bit. But when we first got here, I was completely gung-ho about finishing my mission. I was learning new techniques, practicing every day, looking for clues to the Horcruxes . . . lately, not so much. I let myself get too much into the rhythm of being a somewhat normal Hogwarts student, now teacher—"
"That's not a bad thing, Harry!" Ginny interrupted indignantly.
"—and as I was about to say, I like it a lot. But there are still two Horcruxes out there. I definitely know where at least one of them is, and I still have no idea how Voldemort might actually defeated even after I destroy those. So I feel like I've been pretty lax."
"Why now?"
"Because tonight made me realize just how powerful he is in this time. It's one thing to hear about attacks when Hermione reads the Prophet—we had that in my sixth year, too, and nothing really hit close to home. Even getting captured at the end of last year wasn't as bad as it could've been, because we were able to escape so quickly. But having the houses of every single one of your closest friends and family targeted, and having all of them have to fight for their lives—that'll do it."
"I guess, maybe, you have a point. But I don't want you to drive yourself crazy over this, okay? I'm not going to let you get Harry Potter tunnel vision again!"
"Slave driver," Harry grumbled, but it was with a smile on his face. "All right. Enough of that." His features changed into an expression that Ginny found immensely appealing.
"Yesterday afternoon," he explained in a casual tone, "I set activatable Silencing Wards around this room. Simply because I had nothing better to do with my time, you understand. It strikes me that, despite our wedding having been yesterday, we haven't had a chance to test them yet. Would you care to rectify that situation?"
Ginny grinned at him. "Why, of course."
Harry grabbed his wand on the bedside table and waved it vaguely around his head. Yellow lines criscrossed briefly on the walls.
"Silencio."
"Damn it, I just wish this war would end already!"
Rachel raised her eyebrows; Peter used profanity very rarely. She said nothing, merely let him continue.
"Tonight—Rachel, I don't know about you, but for me that was scary. I was terrified. I'm surprised I didn't wet my pants. I'm even more surprised I actually fought effectively—or Mr. Potter said so, at least. It's kind of a blur in my memories. And then, about halfway through, I realized all of a sudden that not only was I in danger, so were you, and so was the baby—"
"And we've already discussed this to death—" Peter cringed— "sorry, bad choice of words—and you understand fully where I'm coming from, at least for the next few months."
"I know, but this is how I felt then. And more than being scared, I just hated the whole fact that Voldemort even existed as a threat we had to fight against. Not that I wouldn't fight him—I just wished we didn't have to."
Rachel nodded sympathetically. "The same for me. I really, really hate wars. They bring out the worst in people. Even normally good people—remember what Harry's told us about the Ministry authorizing Unforgivables for Aurors around this time?"
"Yeah."
They shared a few minutes' silence.
Rachel smiled. "But I think I have a name idea for our first child."
"What is it?"
"Well, assuming it's a girl . . . Irene. It means—"
"—peace," they both finished together. "I think that's perfect," Peter said. "And I'm assuming, since you came up with a girl's name, you want me to figure out a boy's?"
"If you can." Rachel smiled.
"Let's see . . ." He thought for a bit, trying to come up with something meaningful. Tom or Thomas is right out, as are all the names of the people who have bullied me over the years. I'm not good with meanings like Rachel is . . . I'm not even sure how I remembered Irene . . .
"How about Geoffrey? I'm not sure what it means, but I like it for a name."
"I'm not sure either, but I like it too. Irene or Geoffrey it is."
They kissed.
All the Pack slept contentedly late on Boxing Day. By common agreement, after visiting Sirius and Aletha in the Hospital Wing—Aletha was still asleep, but Sirius was awake and happy to see them—they met in the Hogwarts Den around four o'clock P.M. Lily and James were already there, and Danger winced when she saw the former.
"Look, Lily, I thought about what you told me, and you're right. I'm sorry; I guess I was being a bit too forceful about it . . ."
To Danger's surprise, Lily smiled. "It's fine, Danger. I overreacted too. Dumbledore had just told me the Death Eaters had burned down my house." Shocked expressions all around. "I wasn't thinking too clearly. As long as you understand where I was coming from, we're fine."
"Trust me, I do. And I'm so sorry about your house." Danger stuck out her hand. "Friends?"
"Friends." Lily shook it.
"Erm— Danger, James?" Harry asked. "I know this might be uncomfortable for you, but . . . is there any chance you could give me Pensieve memories of last night? I know a lot of the Death Eaters by sight or sound, and I might be able to identify some of them. I'm planning on going to the Ministry later today, and I'd like to be able to report some names other than the ones I saw myself."
Danger shrugged. "I'm fine with it; I just don't know how I'm supposed to give you a memory."
"Oh, okay." Harry pulled his Pensieve out of his pocket and enlarged it. "Concentrate on your memory of what happened, specifically on where it started and ended, then touch your wand to your temple and pull out a copy of the thought. It'll look kind of silvery and fine-stranded."
"Um— do I have to give you the whole thing? Because there's part of it I don't really want to concentrate on . . ."
"No, just enough to identify the Death Eaters is fine. Is everything OK, though?"
"Yes, it's fine, me and Remus talked it through—I just don't want to have to revisit it any more often than I absolutely have to." She closed her eyes for a few seconds, brows furrowed, then touched her wand to her right temple and pulled.
Nothing happened. Danger opened her eyes, scowling.
Harry smiled reassuringly. "It's fine," he said. "It takes some getting used to. I didn't get it the first time either."
It took her several tries, but Danger finally managed to produce the memory. Harry entered it; his body seemed to freeze prone over the Pensieve; about a minute later, he stood up. "Wow," he said. "Danger, you were great. And those Death Eaters were Igor Karkaroff and Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy was the one you bit on the thigh."
So now I finally know. I have names to pin the blame on. Karkaroff, whom I killed—Malfoy, whom I injured. They each killed one of my parents.
I remember, when Dumbledore told me the news, I swore I'd find them and kill them. I'm a bit more than halfway there, but I don't want to go any further.
Killing him didn't bring back my parents. It didn't make me feel good—it made me feel terrible, actually, which I'll take as a good sign. It didn't restore any of the lives he's destroyed.
At least now he won't destroy any more.
"Thanks, Harry."
It's all I can ask for.
Aletha and Sirius walked along the corridors of Hogwarts a few days later, exulting in the joy of having recovered from inevitable doom, considering what it all now meant.
And neither of us has the answers. So we're going to someone who does.
Dumbledore's never said anything to us directly about any specific knowledge of Heirs, but he does seem to be the one to ask about such things. God knows he has his fingers in everything else around here.
They reached the seventh-floor corridor that was home to the gargoyle guard and made to walk towards it, when—
Regulus Black burst out the entranceway to the Headmaster's office, walking purposefully away from them.
I think something's changed on that front, Aletha mused. Regulus could never be described as doing anything purposefully before.
"Hey!" Sirius called after him. "Where do you think you're going?"
Regulus whirled around. "Oh," he said. "You're alive."
Sirius took a few steps forward, glaring harshly. "Oh. Is that all you have to say, after letting me get tortured yesterday? Wish you'd helped them finish the job? Oh?"
Regulus backpedaled instinctively from the force of his brother's shout. "No, Sirius, I didn't mean it like that at all! I'm just surprised, damn it! I could barely believe—you looked so badly hurt when I saw you—"
"You don't care!" was the angry response. "You've joined with Voldemort. I tried to talk you around, but you'd already thrown your lot in with the crazy people, going all on about how 'some people need to be killed' and the superiority rubbish the Death Eaters spout by rote. You're one of them now—you just stood there and let me get tortured! Hell, I bet you enjoyed it, didn't you!"
"Of course not, Siri, you're my brother, I—" Regulus was visibly affected, fighting back tears, but Sirius didn't seem to notice.
"You have no right to call me that," he growled. "Officially, I've been disowned by our dear old Mum. You've proven by your actions that you're just like every other insane Black on the face of the magical world. So I'm not your brother anymore. I do so hope you're happy now." The sarcasm was palpable. Sirius paused, eyes still boring holes into Regulus's frightened visage—indeed, they seemed to look right past the emotions etched upon it. If he were in Animagus form, Aletha was sure, he would be growling through bared teeth.
Regulus seized the chance, however minute, that the pause granted him. "Not anymore!" he practically sobbed.
Sirius regarded him dumbly, the malevolence dropping from his features and changing his expression into one of simple befuddlement. "Not anymore? What do you mean, not anymore?" But within a few seconds, he had regained his steam. "There's no way you could flip-flop so quickly, you've decided already, now don't torture me by pretending you haven't!"
No, there's no way Regulus could be pretending all this. He looks absolutely devastated, and Sirius won't let him get a word in edgewise. And there's something I can do about that
Aletha cuffed Sirius sharply on the shoulder.
"What?" he asked her, scowling.
"Give him a chance!" she yelled. "Don't you see how upset he is?" And Sirius looked back, and for the first time he really did see—tears were running down his brother's face, and Regulus looked as though he might actually collapse if this went on much longer.
Something about his brother's despair made Sirius drop his anger in an instant. Abandoning all pretense, he ran to Regulus and engulfed him in a tight hug. "Reggie, I'm so sorry," he said. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't think, I just let my mouth run away from me—you know I tend to do that sometimes—"
They dropped the hug. "Yeah, I know," said Regulus with a poor attempt at a smile. "But I'm a double agent now, Siri. I already made my decision, true, but that doesn't mean I have to live by that my whole life. It's harder, but that doesn't mean it's impossible. Professor Dumbledore said something about choosing the right thing instead of the easy one . . ."
"Yeah, he's said that to me too. Usually when he assigned punishment for some prank I'd done."
They laughed.
"Really, though," said Sirius, "how'd you get here? Even if you decided last night that you needed to do something, I don't see how Voldemort would let you out of his grasp so easily, especially after someone escaped—and come to think of it, how did I get here? I thought he did it intentionally, to torment the Pa– er, my friends, but now I'm not so sure . . ."
Regulus looked up at him. "It was Snape," he said. "For both. V-Vol– well, you know— he didn't care about tormenting your friends, he just wanted to torment you. But Snape was manning the scrying station for your cell, and he saw everything that happened, and he saw my reaction after the three big Death Eaters had left."
"Your reaction?"
"I cried," Regulus said plainly, but with a trace of a hiccup in his voice. "You had just gotten a few words out before you fell unconscious—'Is this what you stand for?'—and I realized it wasn't, that I had made a really huge mistake I had no idea how to fix. I was willing to subscribe to their general ideas if it meant I'd have some friends for once, but I never realized how far they actually took it."
"You never realized?" Sirius's tone expressed shock, but not remonstration. "Reggie, the papers must've printed articles about attacks a few times a week! You didn't know about those?"
Regulus gave a helples shrug. "No. Basically everyone in Slytherin says the Prophet articles are biased against them, so no one talks about anything that might be construed as against the Dark Lord for fear of being called a Mudblood-lover or worse. No one in the upper years, at least. I think one of the second-years asked some innocent question about it last month. She wound up in hospital for three days."
Sirius shook his head. Merlin, how can this be going on without our realizing it? We just think everyone in Slytherin is evil, but they're not born that way, it's just a choice that some of them make . . . and then those try to suppress the others . . .
Why couldn't this all be nice and simple?
"Okay, you didn't know about how the Death Eaters generally acted like murderous bastards. I guess I can understand that—" not really, but that's not what Reggie needs to hear right now— "but where does Snape come in?"
So Regulus told him. How Snape had transported Regulus to see Dumbledore, and then, he supposed, transported Sirius too. It was the same spell, and they'd arrived within minutes of each other . . . Regulus had spent the past nights in the deserted Slytherin dormitory, trying to come to terms with his situation, not quite ready to risk everything on the whim of a wizard that could just as easily use the information he would be given as ammunition to ruin the rest of his life . . .
During this explanation, Sirius's face went through a number of very interesting facial expressions. Snape saved me? Snape saved me? Snape saved me? Snape saved me
And damnit, now I owe him a life debt . . . and he deserves it, too . . .
"And today," Regulus continued, "I finally talked to Dumbledore, and he was amazingly accepting. He said he was thankful I realized my mistake so quickly, because most people never do, and it might be hard to fix, but at least I could still fix it. And I agree." He smiled faintly. "I, uh, have to go—there's some things I have to do—but I'll see you sometimes this term, right?"
"Absolutely, Reggie. I promise."
Regulus turned and left, with a bit more spring in his step than before.
Aletha had watched the whole exchange with a private smile. So Sirius exploded. I was kind of expecting that. But then he had the grace—okay, I pushed him into having the grace, or something remotely gracelike—to realize he'd been wrong, and he changed. Just like that.
And I think he was probably so sensitive about Regulus because Regulus really hurt him with his apparent defection. He was really upset when Regulus stopped listening to him much—what was that, last year?—and now he got hit with this, while he was captured, while he was tortured
I think I can understand. But that's no reason not to pass up a perfectly good opportunity to tease him. Aletha schooled her features into a carefully neutral expression as Sirius approached her.
"I'm still mad at you for blowing up like that, you know," she said acerbically.
"I'm sorry, Letha, I didn't think . . ."
"Yes, about that. This conversation made me realize something." Sirius looked stricken; Aletha was waging an all-out internal war against the laughter that threatened to erupt. This was just too good a set-up.
"What?"
"You're still stupid Sirius."
Sirius gaped at her, not sure where this was leading but sure it wasn't good. "What do you—"
Aletha cut him off, smiling, before he could take that train of thought too far. "But you're my stupid Sirius."
They laughed, and the tension was gone.
"Let's see Dumbledore now," Sirius suggested.
"Yes." Aletha allowed herself one last laugh. "Let's."
"Thus, no, Aletha, I do not believe you have anything to fear from your Ravenclaw gift, provided you do not overtax yourself—and for a person such as yourself, and in a place such as this one, such would be very difficult indeed."
"What do you mean, Professor?" Aletha asked. "Does Hogwarts do something to my magic?"
Dumbledore nodded, eyes twinkling. "Of course, Aletha. It does something to the magic of everyone who resides within these walls. The Founders poured into these stones the very essence of who they were, and in so doing, granted the castle powers I do not believe even they fully anticipated. Even now, nearly a thousand years later, the power still reinforces the unique magics of those whom they would have felt would most need the extra assistance—their Heirs."
"But what does that mean, Professor?" Sirius asked.
"To the point as always, I see, Mr. Black." Dumbledore smiled under his beard. "What it means, most directly, is that you, Aletha, who hold the Ravenclaw gift, as well as Harry and James Potter, who hold the Gryffindor gift, will find your powers much more readily available within the walls of the castle than they would be in the wider world. You will tire less easily when using them, and in extreme cases such as the one of a few days past, you will recover far more quickly than you otherwise might from your exertions. A comparable effort once left Rowena comatose for several weeks."
"Well, that's good to know. I wouldn't want to miss that much of my life." Aletha smiled, then remembered something she had meant to ask him. "Next year, I'm planning to take an additional course in basic Healing under Madam Pomfrey, with the thought that I might be able to complete Healer School that much faster—I've already decided that's what I want to do with myself. Would it be safe for me to explore this power as part of this course?"
"Indeed it would, Aletha. Madam Pomfrey will be able to advise you as to effective limits you should put on it—I shall speak with her on this matter—but ultimately, I believe the best judge of your capacity will remain yourself. As long as you do not willfully ignore the signals your body sends you, I have every assurance that you will be perfectly safe in the use of your gift. Though I would recommend it remain inconspicuous; no reason to deprive oneself of a potentional resource against one's enemies, is there?"
The three of them stood. Dumbledore shook Sirius's hand, then Aletha's.
"Thank you, Professor," Aletha said. "I appreciate the advice."
"It is my pleasure, Aletha," was the response. "Welcome home, eagle's daughter."
Aletha smiled. "It's good to be here."
"Your wand, please."
Harry looked up with surprise at the man behind the security checkpoint at the Ministry of Magic. I would've expected some job changes in this position over the course of twenty years . . . He fetched out his wand and handed it over; Eric Munch dropped it on a brass dish, which vibrated and spit out a piece of parchment. Harry received his wand back; the wizard kept the parchment and read it to confirm.
"Holly with phoenix feather core, been in use— ah, sod it, I always knew this thing would go haywire eventually. You can go on ahead."
"Thank you." Harry walked forward and entered one of the lifts alone.
I wonder what it said?
So. Time to meet with Crouch. I wonder if he's as ridiculously anti-Voldemort as he is in our history books. He did seem very eager to meet with me when I told him I had information about the Death Eaters . . .
A little too eager, if you ask me. I still wish you'd let me come along with you.
So do I, Ginny, but I think Crouch wants to talk to one person. It'd make him feel less intimidated, more intimidating—he doesn't know me—and he might actually listen to what I have to say.
A sarcastic laugh. Good luck with that. You'll need it.
Merlin, will I ever . . .
"Level two," rang out a voice in the lift as the doors pulled open. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement, comprising Auror Headquarters, the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, Wizengamot Administration Services . . ."
Harry was out the door before the message was finished playing. He knew exactly where he was going.
Auror cube farm, last door on the right.
He stopped. The door he sought was emblazoned, in very large letters:
Bartemius
CROUCH
Head of the Department of
MAGICAL LAW
ENFORCEMENT
I get the feeling Crouch thrives on intimidation, Ginny commented.
He knocked.
"Come in," came a clipped voice within.
Harry opened the door and stepped inside.
Yes, he definitely does.
Most of the space in the room was taken up by a very long desk in gleaming mahogany. Crouch sat at one end; as Harry entered, the Department Head stood and approached the center of the room.
Harry met him halfway and shook his hand. "I'm Harry Potter," he said. "I've heard quite a lot about you." Not anywhere near all of it good.
"Whereas, at the moment, all I know about you is that you possess certain information my Department would find useful." He waved his wand and conjured two hard-backed chairs, one on each side of the desk, sat down in one, and motioned Harry to the other.
This, of course, forced Harry to walk back around the desk—a trek that took a good twenty seconds. This is getting ridiculous.
"Now." Crouch steepled his hands in a poor imitation of a kindly attitude. "What is it you have to tell me?"
"Sir—" Harry thought it couldn't hurt, and would probably help, to feign as much respect of Crouch as he could stand— "I have the names of, and evidence pointing to, some two dozen Death Eaters. I'm not sure your Department knows of any of them."
"Let's hear it, then."
Without further preamble, Harry gave a list of names. "Walden Macnair. Lucius Malfoy. Igor Karkaroff, but he's dead." Crouch's gaze felt almost animalistic after that piece of news. "Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange. Fenrir Greyback. Augustus Crabbe." The list went on. A good number were Death Eaters who had attacked the Lair, Potter Manor, or the Lupins'; the rest came from Harry's foreknowledge, with very little (indeed, usually nothing) by way of corroborating evidence. Harry hoped Crouch's well-known knee-jerk reactions to anything having to do with Voldemort would help him here.
"Good, good. You said you had evidence, Mr. Potter?"
In answer, Harry pulled out a small collection of memory vials from his pocket. "Right here, sir. My friends and I were the target of Death Eater attacks on Christmas night. These are our memories of fighting them off. I regret that not all of the combatants were willing to give their memories, but some are quite traumatic . . ."
Crouch waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing wrong with that. I've got all the information I need. I'll have these rounded up and thrown in Azkaban as soon as I can find them. You've done the Ministry a great service, my—"
Harry scowled, interrupting his speech. "You're not going to give them trials?"
"How quaint, Mr. Potter!" Crouch laughed. "Your attitude towards justice is admirable, to be sure, but in a time such as this one, we must do everything we can to stem the tide of attacks! For this reason, just last month Minister Bagnold passed an emergency war powers bill. Anyone who engages in organized Dark activity witnessed by at least one member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement may be convicted of treason without further trial, and such organized Dark activity may be stopped with force up to and including the use of certain previously forbidden curses."
"Really, Mr. Crouch?" Harry's tone was icy, and he spat out his question through clenched teeth; Crouch responded in kind.
"Really, Mr. Potter. This bill will effect success in Ministerial efforts against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named; your misguided sentiment, I can assure you, will not."
"So the Unforgivable Curses aren't unforgivable anymore?"
"You shouldn't even need to ask, boy. They—"
"Don't call me boy." The vague, electrical feeling of a clash between two powerful, angry wizards filled the room. "I know far more about the results of such a shortsighted measure than you, Director. Fighting fire with fire will make us no better than them. Many Aurors have lost loved ones to Voldemort. Do you truly believe that giving them the power to legally torture his followers is a good thing?"
"Your arrogance does not become you, boy!" Crouch was truly furious now. "You know nothing about that of which you speak, nothing about what His followers are truly capable of—why, I might even suspect you to be a Death Eater yourself! Bandying about about 'truth' and 'justice' just so more of your buddies survive—"
"Crouch, I would never—"
"Silence! I always thought it suspicious you knew so many names—"
"Voldemort killed my parents when I was a year old!" Harry shouted. "I would never join him! Wondering why I know so much? Well, maybe it's because I fight him! We as a country are more than capable of stopping Voldemort without torturing his servants. It's attitudes like yours that threw Sirius into prison when he was completely innocent, that—"
"Sirius Black?"
"Yes, you idiot, Sirius, Black, my godf—"
Harry suddenly realized what he was saying—what he had already said—and cut himself off. He could feel his stomach sinking to what felt like the general depth of the Department of Mysteries, seven floors below them.
I just gave it away, he realized with mounting dread. Everything. Crouch is no idiot, he'll figure it out, I really am doomed now—
He stood abruptly and Apparated away.
In his office, Crouch stared at the spot where Harry had been.
So far as I know, Sirius Black has never been imprisoned for Death Eater activity. Actually, I'm sure he hasn't—he's still in Hogwarts, a seventh-year if I remember correctly. Quite the uproar there was at his being disowned for speaking out against his family's views.
So, young Mr. Potter—of whose existence I was not aware, and I do have quite a good knowledge of that family, Charles has always been in opposition to my more drastic measures—
—knows events that have not transpired, and speaks of them as though they have already occurred. I do not believe he is delusional. Which leaves . . .
I think a thorough investigation of Harry James Potter is in order.
(A/N: See, I can update more often than once a month! Yes, Harry's done something very stupid, and it's going to come back to haunt him soon.
If you liked it, please review!)