RIGHT. Given that something's obviously wrong, and I don't know what it is ...
by Cassandra
I'm just going to post all the chapters on the board. Please excuse the lack of italics and the like, though. I'm rather busy at the moment (Clean the house, wrap the presents, iron the clothes, duck out of the various family dinners ...), and I don't have the time.
So here goes ...
Part One - The Summoning.
Dear Sirius
The letter began cordially; the rest was short and curt.
As you no doubt are aware, the situation, both within the Ministry of Magic and elsewhere, has deteriorated to such a point that a meeting of our allies has become mandatory. However, as written messages are not an option, I have asked everyone to meet in the staff room of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at midnight on October the twenty-third. There is also a matter of some concern which touches you, Sirius, and those close to you. I hope that you will be able to join us at the appointed time.
Regards
Albus Dumbledore
The heavy parchment on which the letter was written kept folding in on itself and rustling to and fro in the fierce headwind gusting over the speeding motorbike's handles, making it almost maddeningly hard to read. Despite the almost overwhelming urge to blow the flaming thing to pieces for its recalcitrant refusal to co-operate, Sirius Black perservered, pinning it down again with one hand and continued to re-read it over and over.
It wasn’t the words that seem to change every few seconds, he realized, it was the meaning behind them.
Voldemort couldn't be after him… He couldn't be after James, or Peter, or Remus. There was no reason for Voldemort to be after any one of them. It was Dumbledore he wanted to get rid of…. Voldemort should know that Dumbledore would never give in to him, even if every single one of his friends and supporters was killed. It defied all reason…
But then again, and the voice that lingered in his head, clearly audible beneath all the wild hopes spoke up, Voldemort had little use for reason.
The parchment buckled over again. Sirius flicked his head up into the icy wind again and squinted ahead over the handlebars. Nothing but empty blue-black sky ahead and a patchwork of fallow farmland interspersed with windswept moor a mile beneath him. He glanced down at his watch:
Eleven-fifty p.m.; ten minutes to go. Good.
Kneading his numb hands on the bars a little to restore the blood to them, he sped up, the wind pressing on his icy cheeks as though it were a solid wave of arctic water and not mere air.
At twenty years of age, Sirius Black was a tall, muscular young man. Wicked dark eyes, long, lank, black hair, a broken nose, and an omnipresent shading of stubble made him look more like some underground rocker than an alumnus of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – and one of the more brilliant students ever to be taught there. He refused to wear cumbersome robes now that he was out of school, and as such he cut a rather odd figure in perfectly ordinary jeans and tee-shirt, topped with a long, black, billowing cloak, all of which only added to the impression of a Muggle nightclub musician.
These clothes, interesting as they might look, caused something of a problem for Sirius tonight: the icy wind gusted down the neck and up the sleeves of his thin shirt, chilling him to the bone and bringing dampness to his stinging eyes.
Should’ve worn something a little warmer, he managed to admit, taking a hand off the motorbike’s handlebars in order to wipe away the tears and rub some of the goosepimples out of his other arm. But the cold was the least of the problems plagueing Sirius Black’s mind tonight, no matter how he wished that it wasn’t. What he would give, to lose all his fears to the night, to fly away from these troubles? A king’s ransom? A queen’s burial trove? No: no treasure fleet could carry it away.
His head was filled with shadowy, fluttering fears. Half-heard voices whispered the promise of a thousand terrible fates in his ears. The clammy shreds of mist that blew across his face and chilled his neck formed themselves into words and pictures. The very night itself mocked him for a puny, mortal thing.
Helpless… Helpless… Child… murmured the voice of the wind. Tiny, helpless child… Voldemort will win… Voldemort will always win… And you will die like the mewling babe that you are… Your friends will die… The night will swallow your soul… The night will have your soul… And Voldemort will have the world…
Sirius tossed his head angrily and took a great breath of acidly cold air, let the biting ice of it fill his lungs and clear his mind. Ahead, a mass of tiny pinpricks like floating gold dust rose out of the night in the distance … Hogwarts.
But the menacing little voices in the endless rush of air seemed to know that respite for him lay near. They hissed louder and louder, calling his name, while he fixed his eyes upon the huge mass of the castle, and urged his motorbike to a greater speed.
Sirius …
No …
Sirius …
Shut up … Stop it …
"Sirius …"
Go away … No … Stop …
"SIRIUS!"
Sirius gave a huge jump that sent his bike swerving sharply to the right. There was a burst of profanity from that direction, which he saw, as he pulled the bike back onto its original course, had been uttered by a hunched-up person who'd pressed themselves almost flat to the handle of the broomstick they were riding.
"Sorry!" he roared over the howl of the wind and the screech of his own engines.
The person sat up a little, and its reply came back ever so faintly, but plainly filled with indignance.
"Well, I see your flying hasn't improved!"
He knew that voice, though he hadn't heard it in two years.
"Cassandra?"
"What?"
He tried again:
"CASSANDRA?"
She heard that time.
"'That's my name, don't wear it out' is far too clichéed a greeting, but at the moment, it'll have to do."
Sirius gave a snort of exasperation, began to reply, thought better of it in the same breath, and asked instead:
"Dumbledore sent for you, too?"
"Oh no, I only felt like returning to my old school in the middle of the night, that's all. What kind of stupid question is that?"
"Sorry," he matched her sarcasm word for word. "I haven't had all that much time to practise my witty one-liners."
Cassandra mumbled something that didn't quite make it through the roiling storm around them.
Sirius was pretty sure he didn't want to know what it was she'd said, but curiosity got the better of him.
"What?"
"I said: 'I'll bet you haven't.' What's up with Dumbledore, anyway?"
The leaden weight hanging inside Sirius's chest grew suddenly heavier. The deep-sea blackness of the Forbidden Forest rushed by beneath them as though the ground had disappeared and been replaced by leaden sea that reflected no light.
"Whatever it is, I bet my life it has something to do with Voldemort. We'll know soon: there's the castle." The last ragged fringes of the Forest were clearing away, relinquishing the ground to the smooth grey lawns of Hogwarts.
Sirius pressed the pedals, and turned his bike to the earth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cassandra do the same.
*
Sirius's bike landed like a ton of rocks on the soft, cushiony expanse of carefully-tended grass that was the lawns of Hogwarts. Cassandra could almost see the little roll of mangled turf the jagged-tracked front wheel pushed up as she glided decorously to a halt beside him and slipped off her broom.
Most of a year younger than Sirius, Cassandra Ravenwood had grown into sleek, sturdy sort of woman whose steel-rimmed glasses, large yellow-hazel eyes, and incurable addiction to dark colours always gave the impression of a large and rather volatile cat. Her face was striking instead of delicate, and the top of her brown-haired head barely reached Sirius’ chin, but she was nevertheless rather pretty in a sharp-nosed, dangerous sort of way. She'd been in Slytherin at school, while Sirius, like his three best friends, had been in Gryffindor, and naturally prejudiced against all Slytherins, but that hadn't stopped her weaselling her own little place in their hearts. And even after two years of noncommunication, she was glad to see Sirius again, though, truly, by the grim look on his face, she couldn’t be sure that he felt the same.
Their footsteps echoed down the silent stone halls as they made their way up to the staff-room. A thin sliver of rich golden light under the old wooden door said that the meeting had already commenced.
"Sirius, Cassandra, thank you for joining us." Dumbledore rose and held out one of his long, thin hands first for Cassandra to shake, and then Sirius. Behind the aged Headmaster, at the long table sat James Potter and his wife Lily, who was holding their infant son, Harry, in her arms. Beside them were Remus Lupin, his light brown hair more unkempt than usual, his grey eyes tired; and Peter Pettigrew, who looked terrified. There were several others seated on both sides, including Minerva McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor House, but they only looked up briefly as he and Cassandra entered and sat down in a pair empty seats between James and Cassandra’s two best friends, An Chin and Therèse Calleron.
Sirius' three friends all looked at him with eyes filled with relief. He knew why: it would have been ridiculously easy for one of Voldemort's more reckless followers to attack him on his way here; to pick him off and thus rid their master of yet another enemy. It was a risk that every wizard against the Dark side ran, and which most – Sirius included – would run a thousand times over, and gladly.
Cassandra leant over and whispered something to Therèse, who nodded, her hazel-green eyes abnormally serious. An bent closer, adding her own opinions in a low voice. For a bare moment, the taloned hand clenched about Sirius’ heart eased, at the sight of them conspiring the way they had at school. A mere glimpse of a happier time gone into the spinning dusts of time, never to be reclaimed, only remembered in faded, imperfect memories like photographs left out in the rain and sun.
Dumbledore swept over to his ornate chair at the head of the table and seated himself. An, Therèse and Cassandra fell silent. So did the rest of the murmurs surrounding the long table as everyone seated there turned their eyes to Dumbledore. He steepled his long fingers and peered very seriously through his half-moon spectacles at them all. "You all know why you are here," he said, his deep voice unusually sombre.
"Voldemort's strength has risen sharply in the last few months. Those who have risked their lives spying for our side tell me that he is more dangerous than ever, and beginning to look my way. You are all close to me, and this places you in considerable danger." He drew a deep breath, and suddenly looked as old as he must be, like a wrinkled old tree that has sheltered many nests of baby birds in its long lifetime, but which, after hundreds of years of storms, is about to fall. "I ask you all to exercise the greatest caution, and the greatest courage. Voldemort may try to seduce some of you to the Dark side. If such a time may come, remember that we are so few that the loss of one person, one witch or wizard who is willing to fight against Voldemort, will be a veritable catastrophe."
Dumbledore paused, and Sirius was sure that the light-blue eyes flickered momentarily towards Lily and James. The cold knot in his chest tightened a little.
"I offer sanctuary to those who need it," Dumbledore continued. "Should these dark times make it necessary. I will tell you all now that I have agents working at this moment, and a plan may yet come into the light that could save us all. But even I do not know if it will be sufficient. We must keep up hope." He paused again, and the staff-room filled with nervous murmuring. Finally, he stood up and bowed to them. "That is all I wished most of you to hear, and I am sorry that you had to travel such a distance to hear it. James, Lily, Minerva, if you would join me in my office? Sirius, Remus, Peter, if you could wait for us here, I would be much obliged."
Sirius, Remus and Peter all nodded their assent, and kept their seats as the staff-room emptied around them.
Cassandra was one of the last to leave. She hesitated briefly, and then stood, bent down, kissed Sirius's cheek, and strode out silently. He watched her go, feeling the icy pain around his heart ease again, but only a little.
Remus ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "Troubled times…"
"What do you think Professor Dumbledore wanted Lily and James for?" Peter asked tremulously. His smooth, pale brow was beaded with sweat in the warm room, and his small, watery eyes kept blinking uncomfortably.
"Come on, Peter, use your brains!" Sirius snapped, not bothering to keep his voice gentle. He had no patience for Peter’s half-hearted cowardice. "Lily and James are about as close to Dumbledore as you can get. They're probably first on Voldemort's list." Peter flinched the way he always did when the name "Voldemort" was mentioned. Remus, however, frowned at Sirius in a way that plainly said, be nice.
"Maybe they are. But it's even more probable that we're close to them on the list. They aren't the only ones in danger,"
Sirius scowled back. "So what? Voldemort won't come after us 'til he's sure that Lily and James are dead."
"If he can't get them, then he'll come after us," Remus stated simply. Sirius privately thought that Remus was right, but he shook his head anyway, not about to agree without a fight.
"I don't care what happens to me, but if Voldemort lays one slimy finger near them, I'll…" He clenched his fists furiously.
"But … But Sirius-" Peter began. Remus cut him off.
"You'd be killed, that's what," he said sharply. "You heard Dumbledore. One less wizard who'll fight Voldemort would be a catastrophe for our side. He asked us to demonstrate courage. That does not mean recklessly throwing away our lives-"
"And what would two less wizards be? " Sirius snapped. "No – two grown wizards and one who might grow to defend our side! If he isn't killed first!"
"Sirius-"
"I beg your pardon -" The staff-room door had opened, and Professor McGonagall poked her head in. "Black, the Headmaster wants you. Come along."
Sirius was loath to leave an argument unfinished, but seven years of being under the thumb of the formidable Professor were enough to teach him when to obey. He stood sullenly and followed her out of the room.
*
"Well, that was pointless," said Cassandra lightly as she, Therèse and An gained the safety of the halls. "We flew, Apparated, and walked from America, Paris and Connemara, just to hear Dumbledore give a midnight pep-talk."
"It was much more than that," An pointed out in her blunt Oregonian accent. "You know Dumbledore couldn’t have passed on any information like that through a letter. What if they’d been intercepted?"
Three pairs of feet clicked, clomped, and padded down the echoing stone hallways of Hogwarts. Here and there, a portrait they recognized hung, whispering at these visitors, or a coat of armour clanked past on its nightly business.
"Well, ‘ey," Therèse’s English had been somewhat dulled by two years in Paris. "It was an awful short meeting."
"Rallying the troops to holy war and all that," drawled Cassandra sarcastically. "He probably thinks we need our morale, as it where, raised."
"With You-Know-Who gaining power every minute, I’d say we need it," murmured Therèse with uncharacteristic solemnity.
"Ah, Therèse, say Voldemort, will you?" snapped Cassandra, her Irish accent becoming more pronounced with irritation. "He’s no demon to be raised at the sound of his name. Well, not yet at least."
"Sorry," said Therèse, not sounding sorry at all. The great main doors opened soundlessly before them, and the wintry air hit them all like a sledgehammer.
"Children, quiet," An intervened through a puff of steam that was her breath. Two men strode past them, clomped down the steps and disappeared in the direction of Hogsmeade. She waved after them, and then pulled her cloak closer about her shoulders. "It’s freezing out here! No wonder we’re all in such a tense mood."
"Quite aside from Voldemort gaining power at an incredible rate," muttered Cassandra, slipping her fingers into her sleeves to warm them.
An grinned at her. "Come on, you two. Let’s go get some coffee or Butterbeer or something."
"Hah! You just want to catch up with Remus in the village!" Therèse jeered, jerking her head in the direction Remus and Peter had taken. An wrinkled her nose. "No I don’t!"
"I’d love to, truly, but I can’t." Cassandra nodded towards a sleek motorbike parked nearby, its chrome glimmering ghostly white under the moon. "I’ve a bit of an errand to run, as you might say."
*
"I warn you, James, the Fidelius Charm is powerful, but easily betrayed. The concealment of a secret inside a living soul ..." Dumbledore's ancient features creased with worry as he studied James's face through his spectacles.
"Sirius would die rather than betray us, Professor," James said firmly. He had his arms crossed. "How can you even suggest that he'd be in league with Voldemort?"
"I am not suggesting anything, James. But someone close to you and Lily must have turned traitor, for Voldemort to be so well-informed of your movements."
"I'm certain it's not Sirius."
"You can never be certain, James. Not without a Truth Potion, at least."
"Sirius would never submit to that," Lily spoke up. "James, perhaps we'd best use-"
"No!" James frowned at his wife. "I won't insult him that way."
A note of urgency crept into Dumbledore's voice. "James, I beg you, do not use Sirius. Use me as your Secret-Keeper instead."
"Sirius has been my best friend ever since I first came to Hogwarts, Professor. He will never betray us." James's tone was filled with iron finality. Beaten, Dumbledore sighed and raised his hand in defeat.
"Very well …"
There came a sharp knock on the door. Dumbledore sank back into the chair behind his desk. "Enter."
Professor McGonagall came in, followed closely by Sirius. "Thank you, Minerva," said Dumbledore. "Now could you leave us, please? James," he added, when Professor McGonagall had left, "would you explain?"
The expression on Dumbledore's face was so serious that Sirius felt the icy hand grip his chest again, but he was cut off before he could ask:
"Sirius," James began, as though unsure what he should say. "You know that Voldemort has targeted Lily and me and, and Harry…"
That simple phrase transformed into a spear of ice as it left James’ mouth, and cut straight to Sirius’ heart as surely as any steel blade. Involuntarily, it seemed to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and clenched his hands to hide their shaking. His worst fear confirmed. His mouth had gone dry, the words he forced out of it like the dry rasp of a prisoner.
"Yeah, I know."
"Professor Dumbledore has suggested the Fidelius Charm as a safeguard against Voldemort, but we need your help."
James seemed to be searching for his next words, but Sirius's quick mind had already worked out the details. "You need a Secret-Keeper, then?"
"Will you help us?"
Sirius tossed back his head and laughed, filled with relief. "And you thought you needed to ask? Of course I will! What sort of friend would I be if I didn't?"
"You will?" James's face relaxed into a smile of relief, and only then did Sirius realize how frightened his friend really was. "Wonderful! When shall we do the Charm, then?"
"The sooner the better, I say. How much time do you need to prepare?" Sirius asked.
James looked towards Dumbledore, who'd been sitting with his forehead resting upon his steepled fingers, staring at the surface of his desk, all the time they'd been speaking. He looked up as though feeling the weight of James's glance. "Five days at least. The spell-ring must see the light of two days and two nights before it is used, and after that there are other preparations to be made. Sunday night at moonrise would be best."
"All right then," Sirius grinned recklessly, the full weight of what he'd promised to do hitting him. He looked down at Dumbledore. "Anything else?"
Dumbledore turned his light-blue gaze on Sirius, who shivered suddenly, surprised by sheer the power in the Headmaster's penetrating stare. Dumbledore kept his eyes on Sirius for a moment or two longer, until the young man felt as though his mind were being sifted through at the ancient wizard's leisure, then shook his head, releasing him. "There is nothing else.
"Now," in a flash, Dumbledore's usual vitality came back, and he straightened in his seat. "Voldemort will not be defeated by your exhausting yourself, Sirius. Go home and rest. James, Lily, if you could wait a moment longer ..."
Sirius shuddered once more, like a wet dog. James and Lily were watching him as thought he were a saviour. Their saviour. The one man who could save them both, and everything they held dear. What if I can’t do it? he couldn’t help thinking. What if Voldemort – he resolutely refused to finish the thought. I will. I’ll protect you, Lily, James, Harry.
For his best friend’s sake alone, Sirius managed a confident grin as he clasped James’ hand, kissed Lily on the cheek, and turned to go. Just as he left the office, he heard Dumbledore call after him:
"You may want to hurry, Sirius. You have something of a surprise waiting for you."
*
Out on the grounds, beside his bike, in fact, was that surprise. Cassandra was sitting demurely there on her broomstick, watching him intensely as he drew closer through the darkness.
"What are you doing, still here?" he asked, surprised.
"Waiting for you," she answered with annoying glibness.
"Well, I can see that! Why?"
It should be made known to the reader that Cassandra Ravenwood had an extremely irritating habit of ignoring questions she didn’t want to answer, and replying with one of her own. She’d picked it up somewhere through the sixth year – Sirius could remember being driven to distraction by the incessant, analytical quality of her queries, and her staunch refusal to answer his questions until she was good and ready.
And to think he’d forgotten all about it.
She waved this aside as though swatting a mildly annoying insect. "So? What did Dumbledore want with you?"
Sirius ground his teeth, seeing another of those one-sided conversations headed towards him at light speed.
"And why do you care?" he said roughly.
Cassandra's smile faded. "Call me curious. All right, let me guess, then. Voldemort has Lily and James on his ‘To Smite’ list, and Dumbledore wants you to do something about it. It couldn’t be Remus or Peter, because they left a good twenty minutes ago. Am I not right?"
All Sirius’ pent-up tension boiled to the surface in the form of a scowl. "If it had anything to do with you, I’d tell you. Too bad it doesn’t. I’m going home."
He swung one leg over his bike, settled himself, and turned the key in the ignition. The high-pitched roar of the engine shattered the silence.
Cassandra’s mouth moved, but over the racket, he couldn’t hear a thing. Impatiently, she, swooped around his bike and leaned close enough to yell in his ear. "I’m right, aren’t I?"
"It’s none of your business anyway," he yelled back. He should have realized that this was the worst thing he could have said under the circumstances.
"Look – come with me, Sirius."
"What? Why?"
"Come with me!" she repeated. And suddenly, though he hadn't thought of it in years, Sirius remembered that she was a Slytherin. A sly, untrustworthy, and cunning Slytherin, capable of anything.
"Come with you where?" he asked warily. As if she would stop at lying if she were trying to lead him into a trap.
"My place," she answered. "I need to talk to you."
"Your place?" Her family lived by Galway in Ireland! Or at least they had the last Sirius heard. "And why can't we talk here?"
"Where would you rather talk: sitting here in the cold, or somewhere warm and dry?"
"How about not at all?" he cut in brusquely. If he let her, she’d start splitting fine points of reason, and if he let her do that ... Well, he didn’t want to think about it. "I'll come visit you tomorrow. Right now, I want sleep. And so do you. So go home and get some."
"But-"
Deliberately, Sirius revved his engines high, and took off, heading for the long way home; a route that took him far off Cassandra's course. In his side-view mirror, he saw her scowl after him, and then take off herself. Thankfully, she didn't come after him, but turned at a sharp angle and aimed towards the Irish Sea.
The cold silver light of the false dawn had crept up from the eastern horizon and lit the mackerelled sky by the time Sirius touched down in front of the small, rather ramshackle house he'd occupied since one year after leaving Hogwarts. The roof might have leaked before he'd moved in, the walls might smell faintly of mildew, and the carpet in what passed for the sitting room might be worn down to the boards in places, but it was his. No Parents Allowed.
One step in the door, he shucked off his boots, kicking them casually out of his way against the wall. His cloak he slung over the back of a chair standing beside the entrance to the dining room and kitchen, which scuttled over sideways to recieve it. A thin ray of watery gold was already reaching into his bedroom, lighting up the threadbare spots in the bedspread and the waterstains on the wall, as he pulled the torn curtain over the window and, without bothering to undress, collapsed on the bed.