Chapter 206 - Reunion

Fate is a fine screenwriter. It cruelly snatches away everything Sirius Black has, then contrives to hand him a chance at a fresh start at the exact moment he is stripped bare and left with nothing.

Every day he has lived since surviving the Department of Mysteries has been a rebirth. He truly touched the boundary of death, and only then did he realize he couldn't bear to leave Harry, that child for whom he had never truly fulfilled his duties as godfather.

Being saved by Winnie Brown sits uneasily with him. He never expected the person who brought him back to be this former Death Eater who couldn't stand the sight of him. And yet he is grateful, too, grateful he didn't leave Harry alone in the world.

Winnie's scolding had woken something in him. So had the happy stories Ms. Purnell told about her time with Sylvia's daughter.

His life had been frozen at twenty-two for a very long time. Only at that moment when he looked death in the face and turned away from it did his true twenty-third year finally begin.

Sirius,

I think I've made a mistake and made a friend very, very, very angry.

Hermione thinks I should sincerely apologize to her, but I... there's something like a wall in my chest about it.

To put it bluntly, I don't really want to admit what I did. It feels like if I admit it, that makes me a despicable person. But I also feel like I should apologize, I really did make a mistake!

When you were young, if you pissed off a female friend your own age, what did you do?

Harry

A female friend. His own age, no less.

Sirius barely had male friends to speak of.

If he had to name someone, did Lily count? Did Sylvia, the swindling con artist, count? Stretching it further, did Winnie, Molly, and Ms. Purnell count? He scratched his head, genuinely trying to think of a witch his own age with whom he'd had a normal, functional relationship, and he couldn't even scrape together a handful.

Maybe he should count family?

His cousin Andromeda was a woman, wasn't she!

If he'd truly pissed off Lily, he wouldn't have lived long enough to apologize before James delivered a thorough mixed-doubles beating on her behalf. As for Sylvia? She would have simply cursed him with bad luck. Once the bad luck arrived, she'd have considered the score settled. No apology required.

Sirius chewed on his quill, thinking it over, migrated from his desk to his bed, then rolled off onto the floor.

He found this harder to fabricate than a Divination homework assignment. After considerable struggle he managed to produce something, and it turned out to be lifted almost wholesale from James's old homework.

...Write a long letter of apology. Explain your thinking and your faults. Ask for forgiveness. Promise it won't happen again...

Perfect.

Sirius lay spread-eagled on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, and a thought struck him out of nowhere: did this count as fulfilling a godfather's duty? He was, through his own efforts, helping Harry work through the friendship troubles of adolescence.

The thought made his heart lift. He folded his hands behind his head, crossed his ankles, and hummed to himself in quiet satisfaction.

Back to the present.

Sirius's heart is perfectly calm. He draws out the slip of paper Regulus wrote, tucks it into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, and holds out the fake locket.

Harry and Praeris's conversation stops dead.

Harry watches as Sirius extends the locket toward Kreacher.

Sirius's voice is low. "I admit I hate you, Kreacher. But Regulus was willing to entrust the locket to you." A pause. "This is yours by right."

"Ah!" Kreacher lets out a sharp shriek and snatches the locket from Sirius's hand with startling speed, as though terrified Sirius will change his mind. He fumbles it frantically into the tattered rag he wears, clutches it tight against his chest, and vanishes with a loud CRACK.

Harry watches him go, then turns back with something soft in his expression. "It's a shame Hermione isn't here. She would have praised you to the skies for that, Sirius."

The way Harry said it, it sounded exactly like a teacher patting a student on the head with a well done. Sirius felt an indescribable embarrassment clench in his chest. He couldn't have been that bad before, could he?

Mundungus's situation still had no clear leads. Praeris assigned Harry the task of asking around among Order members about Mundungus's life, and death. She herself planned to make a trip to Diagon Alley when the time was right and trace his sales channels.

"Why am I the one asking?" Harry blinked. "Aren't you staying?"

"Of course not," Praeris said, completely matter-of-fact. "My summer holiday isn't over yet. Don't expect me to handle everything. Goodbye."

And with that she swept out in a burst of motion, only to get cornered on the ground floor by Ms. Pree and her small cakes, loaded with a lethal double dose of cream, and lose the battle decisively.

"Take them with you to eat!"

"Really, there's no need!"

"They're delicious!"

"I have to go!"

"Why are you being so polite, child? Take them!"

After a full skirmish, Praeris walked out onto the busy street of Grimmauld Place expressionless, clutching a large parcel of cream cakes, feeling strangely bereft.

The house in Southend-on-Sea. The living room.

"So polite?" Dumbledore said with a beaming smile. "You brought me a gift on your way out the door! Ah — these are Pree's, aren't they? Her grandmother, Mrs. Purnell, used to make them just like this."

It was an odd coincidence, Praeris thought. She hadn't realized until now that Ms. Pree also took her mother's surname. Perhaps that was part of why Ms. Pree had always been fond of her.

"Don't celebrate yet, sir." Praeris settled into the seat across from Dumbledore. "One piece of good news. One piece of bad."

The good news: Harry was alive. The bad news: the Horcrux was also alive.

Dumbledore listened to all of it and was quiet for a while. "I understand your doubts," he said at last. "In fighting Voldemort, we must unite as many forces as possible. Mundungus could always bring us word from the grapevine. That was necessary."

Then he sighed, and some of the composure went out of it. "But in war, death cannot be avoided."

"Why not say that you're sad?" Praeris said, her voice calm. "Why not say that you blame yourself? Why not say that Mundungus's death causes you pain? It isn't as if I don't know."

Nearly every member of the Order of the Phoenix had chosen to join because of Dumbledore. No matter which of them died, he would grieve, and he would blame himself. All he could do was keep telling himself this was the price that had to be paid for victory.

Even knowing that Mundungus was no pure-hearted soul, Dumbledore still couldn't help it. He was not a hard-hearted man. He simply had no choice but to wear the calm a leader was expected to show.

"Sir, I'll leave you to it." Praeris stood. She looked at him and said, "Let the rain fall as hard as it needs to. But the sun should come out quickly. Don't let the wet season drag on too long."

She went upstairs to the second floor, the room where her magic had once spiraled out of control. She sat cross-legged on the bed she'd slept in as a child. Lying down would have been a little too small. She tapped the two-way mirror and waited.

Several minutes passed before Snape's face appeared on the other side. "Anyone who didn't know better," he said, his tone razor-sharp, "might think Miss had been killed by an enraged Dark Lord and fed to his snake."

"I assumed the Death Eaters were all busy absorbing Voldemort's fury," Praeris said evenly. "Rest assured. Neither Dumbledore nor I was injured. The Order lost Mundungus. George Weasley lost an ear. The others' injuries weren't particularly serious."

What she didn't say aloud, but meant: she hadn't contacted Snape sooner because she'd known he was occupied managing Voldemort, while she herself had gone to the Order to assess things.

"The ear — can't it be healed?" Snape asked.

Praeris shook her head. "Last night must have been chaos. There was no helping it. I didn't arrive until the afternoon, and by then it was already too late."

She believed, without question, that Professor Snape had not intended to hurt George.

Snape let the subject pass. "The Dark Lord was furious. He grabbed each person in turn and used Legilimency on them, then killed the ones whose mouths had been too loose — as a warning."

So Professor Snape had successfully talked his way through it again. Voldemort believed one of his own underlings had let something slip, which was what led to last night's attempt on Nagini.

"The Dark Lord is now moving through his Horcrux sites one by one." Snape's eyes stayed fixed on her. "He returned from Gringotts, punished Bellatrix, and left again shortly after."

Praeris nodded. The places Voldemort could check were the cave, Gringotts, and the old Riddle house. Once he confirmed all three had been compromised, he would likely start to come apart.

The problem was that the locket's current whereabouts were still unknown.

If it had already been destroyed, the final battle could begin at any time. But the locket's uncertain location left their side without a clear next move.

"Are you all right?" Praeris asked quietly.

Snape paused for a beat. "I can handle it," he said, clipped and dry.

"As for you, Miss — you've become quite capable." His tone shifted and sharpened; she recognized the rhythm of it. "Do you think you're omnipotent? Whatever Dumbledore tells you to do, you do it. You believe you can accomplish anything, so you're afraid of nothing?"

"Is that what you think?" Praeris said, her voice still gentle. "You think I'm not afraid?" She looked at him. "No, sir. I am afraid."

She said it so calmly it didn't sound believable at all.

But she kept going. "Of course I'm afraid. When Nagini nearly bit me. When I almost ran into the Death Eaters."

"And when I sat in the dormitory waiting for news about all of you." Her voice stayed the same, quiet and even. "I'm afraid I'll die. I'm afraid you'll die. I'm afraid Draco will die, and I'm afraid Winnie and Ms. Pree will die."

"Sir, you know better than I do. A person doesn't live only for themselves. I intend to live. But I'd much rather live in a world where all of you are still in it."

Snape turned his face away quickly. "As long as you know that, it's enough," he said, cold and flat. "There's no need to say any of it out loud."

"Sir." Praeris looked at him. "I hope all goes well for you."

She said goodbye and extinguished the two-way mirror.

She hadn't asked about Draco. She didn't need to. Lucius was out of Azkaban now, she knew that. He and Narcissa would protect their son.

But Praeris also knew, with the same certainty, that Draco's days were not going to be easy. Narcissa's face last night had told her that much.

"How rude," Praeris said, looking toward the door. "Eavesdropping on other people's conversations."

Dumbledore smiled with great politeness. "My apologies, Praeris. I must state, however, that I had absolutely no desire to do so. The soundproofing in your house appears to leave something to be desired."

Ah. That was fair.

It was also why Praeris had been able to hear every word of Dipper and Sylvia's arguments with perfect clarity back in the day.

"I suppose I've saved myself a summary, then," Praeris said.

"It seems so." Dumbledore's smile didn't waver. "Severus is always like this — he values feeling deeply, and resists admitting it just as deeply."

Which was precisely what made Snape a master Occlumens. He understood his own emotions exactly, and was equally skilled at burying them.

"I don't mind," Praeris said, looking up at him. "I can always understand what he actually means. Can't I?"

Perhaps that would be difficult for most people. But part of the reason Snape was willing to ladle even a small measure from the pool of his feelings and offer it to Praeris was this: he knew that even when his words said one thing and his actions said another, she wouldn't get it wrong. There was a comfort in that.

Some people found that unsettling. Some found it a relief.

Dumbledore's smile warmed further. "Tomorrow, we go to Diagon Alley."

The locket's whereabouts had to be traced quickly. If the Horcrux found its way back to Voldemort, the entire trip to Malfoy Manor would count for nothing.

On the other side of the mirror, Snape tucked it away and walked quickly back through Malfoy Manor.

Quite a few Death Eaters had been injured in yesterday's battle. They were relying on Snape's potions to treat their wounds, because nobody, surely, expected them to file into St. Mungo's in a group.

After finishing that grim work, Snape pushed open a heavy door. Several of the inner circle were already seated inside.

No one remarked on his late arrival. A place had been kept for him.

"As you can see." Voldemort's voice was cold and without inflection. "Some among you are no longer present."

"Unfortunately." The voice dropped lower, soft as the hiss of something reptilian. "Yesterday we experienced a failure. Because of the stupidity of certain individuals among you — and, of course, because of my own arrogance, and my underestimation of the opposition."

No one interpreted this as self-reproach. Arrogance was the prerogative of the powerful.

"Those foolish ones have paid what was owed." Voldemort's pace was unhurried. "But we have also gained something new. A gifted Seer has joined our number." A pause, soft and deliberate. "Wormtail. Won't you greet your old classmate?"

The wizard beside Voldemort, draped in a voluminous cloak, reached up and removed the hood.

The face beneath it was a skull with skin stretched over it.

She was extremely thin. Sallow complexion. Sunken cheeks. Only a thin layer of flesh over the frame of her bones. Her gaze floated somewhere above the heads of the room, fixed on nothing.

The emaciation made her eyes and cheekbones stand out. Dark irises, ringed with too much white, drifting over empty air as though she hadn't heard a word Voldemort said.

"Sylvia!"

Peter Pettigrew looked exactly as if someone had stepped on his foot.

➤ Next: Praeris's Letter