keelywolfe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
keelywolfe) wrote2006-01-16 03:59 pm
keelywolfe) wrote2006-01-16 03:59 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Do Wizards Dream of Magical Sheep? 1/? (WIP, Potterverse, Remus/Sirius)
Do Wizards Dream of Magical Sheep?
by Keelywolfe
Fandom: Harry Potter
Remus/Sirius
Overall Rating: NC-17
Spoilers for all the books, up to HBP.
Summary: Set during HBP. Dead is dead, unless you're a wizard. Then things can get...complicated.
Notes: Slight modifications in time and space may have been made, altering this from the books. But if you can't tell, it's already an AU, so hey, make of that what you will.
Warnings: Hey, this is sort of dark. If you don't like dark stuff? Please dial a different number. :)
*with apologies to the writer of 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?'. Haven't read it? You should, it was the basis for the movie 'Bladerunner'.
~*~
The scent of rubbish was what came to him first. The cloying green stench of rotting vegetables and the fouler stink of meat and other bits mingling into a swampy soup that drew him closer.
Almost there, then. His nails clicked roughly on the fractured cement, little more than a dark shape creeping between the yellowed pools of light beneath any streetlight that worked. Inside one house he could hear two people having a row, cursing and flinging furniture in the Muggle way. The other houses were quieter, either darkened completely or the flickering light of the telly wavering out of dirt-encrusted windows.
He paid them wary heed, a silent shadow on their street. Not for much longer, the absent number was close and he was tired, pausing only to lick at his worn, bloody paws, salt-copper and dirt mixing not unpleasantly on a tongue that was not, for the moment, human.
There was no drive leading to the house. He skirted a manhole, steam creeping upward from cracks in the metal. Just in front of the house that was not there, he sat on the sidewalk. His tail fanned behind him, flicking in almost a wag as he concentrated, imaging the peeling paint and dirty windows of twelve Grimmauld Place.
Nothing happened.
He whined, licking his chops and turning in a tight circle before sitting down again, staring with eerily intelligent canine eyes as he thought of a door that should be there, one that would open up to a shrieking hallway of portraits that would curse his birth.
Again, nothing.
The dog made a snuffling sound of fear and frustration, creeping closer on his belly. Several overflowing bags of rubbish lay open on the front porch to his left, their pungent odour nauseating and salivating to his hungry nose. Dirty children's toys mingled with broken beer bottles, one fractured bit digging into his already aching paws and he yipped, low and pained, digging at it furiously with his teeth.
Finally he was pressed against the rough bricks, matted fur catching. The only sounds were from the house across the way, its occupants still screeching their rage, and the telly in number eleven. The shadow of the dog shifted, lengthening and stretching until there was an entirely different shape pressed against the bricks.
He muttered words beneath his breath, fingers scraping the bricks as though he might prise them apart with his ragged nails. There was nothing revealed to his frantic touch. The bricks remained stubbornly where they were, unheeding to his rough whispers and angry pleadings.
A door creaked open and the man vanished, a large dog instead cowering in the rotten grass. Out onto the porch stepped a man, tossing another bag of rubbish into the monument already there. He lingered, the cherry-red glow of a cigarette flaring between his lips.
The dog began to creep away, choosing the direction of the broken fence rather than the sidewalk.
"Oi! Get out of here, you mutt!"
He scrambled away, too slow, yelping as a half-empty bottle connected with his backside. The gaps in the fence were barely big enough for a large dog to squeeze through, but he managed, limping along the sidewalk until he made it to an alley with no light at all.
More rubbish here, older, leaking its foul smell into the air. With his nose, he prodded the newest of his injuries, finding only bruises and no blood at all. The night was growing colder, March chill creeping through his fur and finding his bones. No matter; he allowed himself only a moment to curl into a ball, licking again at his injured feet before standing on them once again.
There was only one other place he could go then, and it would be a long journey on foot.
Whining a little, the only self-pity he would allow, he made his way down the street, pausing only to lap water from the cleanest looking puddle.
Then he vanished back into the darkness, heading north. He knew exactly where he needed to go.
Hogwarts.
~~*~~
Frost was still thick on the grasses and reeds surrounding the lake when the castle loomed into sight. Rarely had the rising turrets looked better to him than they did now as he padded wearily closer, taking care to stay hidden near the water's edge.
As exhausted as he was, there was little chance of him sneaking into the castle as this hour. At this point he was likely to stumble right into Filch's office by mistake and from there right into the delighted arms of the Ministry. Better to wait until dark, then, when he had had some rest.
A startled flock of birds burst from the concealing marshes. It was reflex by now to lunge for them, catching warm, feathered flesh between his teeth. Bones crunched and there was little of his humanity evident as he tore into the warm meat. In the two weeks it had taken him to travel to Hogwarts on foot he'd had little to eat, scrounging for small animals and in trash bins for whatever he could find.
The bird had been small but it satisfied some of the gnawing hunger in his gut. A long drink at the edge of the lake quenched his thirst, the water cold enough to feel like it cut at his mouth. With a weary sigh, Padfoot crept deeper into the brush until he found a spot that was dry and concealing. He curled into a ball, tucking his tail over his nose to keep it warm and was asleep before the sun finished cresting the horizon, melting away the velvety-ice coating the reeds.
His nest of grassy weeds, barely-warm and not-quite-safe, Sirius slept and dreamt of food that came on plates and beds that held nothing more complicated than sheets.
~~*~~
It was a scent that woke him, as familiar as his own though he had not smelled it particularly often. The sun was high in the sky, lending some warmth to the cool air. It was April, he realized blearily, still tired and aching to the bones. Crawling out of his nest of dry weeds, Padfoot kept low to the ground and moved closer to that scent. A black dog was not well hidden in a tawny coloured fringe of plants but the smell was compelling, pulling him closer almost unwillingly.
Through the tall grasses, he could barely see the outline of people sitting not all that far way, on the edge of the lake where the reeds had been cleared away. Low to the ground, he crept closer, sniffing at the air and that clear scent that made him think green in the way only a dog could think of it, his nose telling him it was the smell of spring, layered beneath sweat and other scents that told him human.
"Come off it!" His ears perked up at the voice, again, familiar. "Why should he return it? The book's been dead useful."
"Useful for cheating!" A girl's voice, sharp with anger, "It's not fair to the rest of us, Harry, using the Prince's notes. I still think you should turn in it."
"Yeah, along with his map, and his invisibility cloak and—"
He didn't hear the rest of it, sounds dimming away to a distant hum at the back of his mind. Another boy, his hair black and mussed, was facing away from him. As his companions continued to squabble, he turned away to look out over the lake and a glint of light caught on the lenses of his glasses.
Blood need blood, death there must be death, blood, must have, must take, blood, yes, blood.
He could already taste it, slick and briny at the back of his throat as he lunged out through the bushes and towards the children, towards that boy, green eyes widening behind a layer of glass, white throat covered in fragile human flesh and his teeth would be yellowed and brutal against it.
Pain flared along his nerves, supernova bright and he heard his own yelp of pain, collapsing in the soft mud near the water. Again, green eyes, green, his hind legs refusing to work as he snarled and dragged himself on his front paws towards it, blood, there must be blood and the pain returned, sharper this time and darkness came with it.
~*~
Someone was slapping his face roughly. Sirius grunted out a protest, flinging out an arm to stop the abuse. It didn't work. Another, harsher slap came and along with it a voice.
"Wake up!" The voice commanded, deep and reverberating with power.
"Knock it off!" Sirius snarled, lashing out with a closed fist. It didn't connect with anything other than air. Another slap and Sirius jerked away, sitting up and blinking in the too-bright light. It stabbed at his eyes and he cried out in pain, slapping a hand over them, still seeing dancing skeletons of light behind his closed lids.
The sound of shuffling feet and breathing made him squint out from between his fingers. There was still some pain, not quite as bad, and a few moments later he was able to pull his hand away completely. His eyes were watering, the world about him washed in blurriness and Sirius thought perhaps he was still dreaming, his thoughts sluggish and thick.
"Wha—where am I?" Sirius looked about at the bewildering collection of items, an eclectic gathering of magical and muggle things surrounded by a dozen or so portraits of grim-faced witches and wizards peering down at him from on high. Behind a large and wildly cluttered desk sat another wizard, a living one and even with watery eyes, Sirius recognized the man with some relief.
"Dumbledore?" Sirius made to stand and three wands suddenly made their presence known against his throat. He looked around a bit wildly and found familiar faces around him, though their blurry expressions were not encouraging in the slightest. Snape, Minerva, and Tonks, her hair a rather depressing shade of drab brown, were looking down on him with bleak eyes and downturned mouths.
"Please," Dumbledore said, gesturing them away. They stepped back, though Sirius could feel their reluctance, their wands still at the ready. He rubbed his throat, wincing at the pressure he could still feel. The chair he was sitting in was hard and wooden, his aching muscles protesting the unexpected discomfort. This had to be a dream of some sort, he decided, muddled thoughts clinging to the hope. The chairs in Dumbledore's office were overstuffed and cushy, threatening to absorb first-years into their depths.
In this office he was the only one sitting in his uncomfortable chair, the others standing a bare step away from him. He couldn't see Dumbledore's chair, and this simply had to be a dream.
"Sirius," Dumbledore said, catching his faltering attention. He folded his hands on his desk, his expression disturbingly bland. "Your presence here is rather unexpected."
A bark of strangled laughter, from Tonks, although there was no humour in it. To him, it sounded more like a sob. Sirius looked from her to Dumbledore, and again, utterly lost. His head ached, a drilling throb at the temples and Sirius reached up to rub at it. Abruptly, three wands were again at his throat and this time Sirius had the presence of mind to flinch.
"A moment, if you will," Dumbledore said, a bite of impatience in his voice. "Let him gather himself so he can speak."
"Yes, thank you, I'll second that!" Sirius said hoarsely, sinking back into his chair as much as he could. He could feel the reluctance in the other wizards, as baffling as it was. Some bit of memory was coming back to him, the strange disappearance of Grimmauld Place, his long journey to Hogwarts. Something strange was going on, he knew that for certainly. Likely that was why the others seemed as jumpy as cats.
"Now, as I was saying. We—" Dumbledore hesitated uncharacteristically and Sirius could only blink at him, more confused that ever. What was going on here? "We weren't expecting to see you here at Hogwarts, Sirius. Perhaps you would care to explain?"
"I had to come here," Sirius said, slowly. His thoughts were still as slow as molasses poured through a strainer, and he thought he could feel half a dozen hexes still crawling over his skin. A Death Eater attack, perhaps? It seemed unlikely at Hogwarts of all places.
"Grimmauld place seems to have vanished permanently. I couldn't get in when I got back so I thought headquarters must have changed places." He shrugged, helplessly. "Hogwarts is the only place I could be certain to find you. Took me a bloody long time to walk here, too." He stretched, ignoring how the other wizards tensed when he raised his hands over his head. Muscles that had been too-long bent into dog shape were protesting the return to human.
Dropping his hands back in his lap, Sirius eyed the other wizards. If this was the new security procedures, he thought they were taking it a bit too far. Snape had always looked at him like something recently scraped from his boots, of course, but Minerva had never looked at him as she was now and certainly not Tonks, who looked as if she might be ill. Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his too-hard chair and met Dumbledore's gaze with his own, trying to fathom what would make them all look at him like they had.
Something with Peter, perhaps? Had something happened to make them doubt him again? A sick feeling twisted in his gut at the thought of Dumbledore turning him into the Ministry himself, sending him back to Azkaban.
No. Sirius took a deep breath, calming the panic growing in him. He'd given them no reason to doubt him, surely, and soon he'd understand what was happening.
"You walked here from London?" Dumbledore repeated slowly. "You didn't think to contact us by floo or to apparate closer?"
"You're asking me that?" Sirius asked, disbelieving. "After all your lectures about keeping hidden? Take the floo, he says, I might as well just walk right into the Ministry and ask them for my old cell back."
"And your attack on the students?" Came from his right from Snape. Sirius glared at the greasy bastard; of course he'd have something foul to say, tossing in an accusation about a…attack on the…what?
"What?" he repeated aloud, bewildered. "What are you talking about, attack on…the…" The sentence dwindled away, memory pushing through the cloud of hexes to remind him of blood and teeth, the smell of terror heavy in his nose and screams and…"What did I do?" he whispered, gripping the arms of the chair with bloodless fingers.
No one replied, their expressions even grimmer. Tonks was pale, her mousy brown hair seemed even lanker.
"You came back to Grimmauld place, you say," Dumbledore said finally, peering at him over the lenses of his half-moon glasses.
"Yes!" Sirius tore a hand through his hair. "I don't see what's so difficult about this. I went to Grimmauld place, only it wouldn't open up to me." Sirius frowned, remembering his anger and fear as he stood outside of where his childhood home should be. "It was the strangest thing."
"I see. And then you came to Hogwarts and attacked a group of students."
"I suppose I did," Sirius said, his lips moving numbly. "Are they all right? I…I didn't--"
"Physically, none of them are hurt," Dumbledore told him, ignoring a snort from Snape.
"Thank Merlin," Sirius tipped his head back to the ceiling, weak with relief. "I…I don't know what came over me. I just saw—"
"You saw Harry."
Sirius jerked, the colour of the world fading in front of his eyes to black and white. The snarls tearing from his throat could not be happening, brutal animal fury and there would be blood, torn flesh between his teeth, oh, yes…
The pain ripped through him like a dull knife and his screams were as human as his flesh. The stone floor was cold beneath his cheek and Sirius curled into himself, choking on moans and the taste of salt thick in his throat was nothing like blood.
A firm hand on his shoulder eased him up until he could sit, still dazed and ill. He looked up at Tonks, who was paler than ever and removed her hand from Sirius as quickly as she could.
"Sirius, don't try to stand until you feel ready," Dumbledore said, his voice quite testy, "I think a simple stun would be just as effective and as Tonks is the Auror, it should come from her."
"Albus, he's dangerous," Minerva's voice and that hurt as much as the hexes had.
"He's not going to hurt anyone in here." That seemed to end whatever protests the others had been about to make. Sirius took a deep breath, another, and then heaved himself back into the hard-backed chair. Nausea curled low in his stomach, hunger and pain colliding.
"All right, then? Let's go back a bit shall we?" Dumbledore tapped his fingers on his desk, considering. "You came to Grimmauld Place and then to Hogwarts?"
"Yes," Sirius mumbled.
"From where?"
He frowned. "What?"
"From where," Dumbledore persisted. "You came to Grimmauld Place from where?"
"I—" Sirius started, "I was—" Words drifting away. He closed his eyes, trying to think but there was only blankness. "I don't know. There's…nothing there. I was—I was at Grimmauld place and then I wasn't and I was trying to get back and—nothing." He finished, looking at Dumbledore's grim face with horror. "What's happening?"
"I'm not sure," Dumbledore said quietly, "But this I do know. Not quite a year ago in the Department of Mysteries, you died, Sirius. We had a small service for you and mourned your death and, until today, we had no reason to believe you were anything but lost to us."
"But…I'm right here," he whispered.
"Yes, you can see why this is a problem. You also tried to murder Ha—" A low growl was already rising in Sirius throat and Dumbledore broke off, waving an impatient hand. "Yes, a very thorny problem. Unfortunately, until it is solved, we obviously cannot allow you to roam free. It's only the fact that your godson is well trained in repelling attacks that he survived."
"I attacked…" Sirius swallowed back the name, unfamiliar rage already rising in his throat at simply thinking it. He buried his face in his hands, a low moan choking out from his throat, "Oh, god."
The touch of a hand on his shoulder startled him and he flinched away violently, looking up into Tonks's face. Still too grim, eyes dark and wide in her pale face, but there was some concern there now, some measure of belief. "It's possible that this is a variation of the Imperius curse," she ventured unsteadily. "If…if it is, we should be able to find a way to break it. It might take some time, but—"
"If I may," Snape stepped forward, skirting Sirius's chair with a flick of his robes. "There is ample room in the dungeons for one—" his lips thinned. "—man, as it were."
"No," Sirius croaked out, barely loud enough to be heard. But Dumbledore was already shaking his head.
"No, the dungeons are hardly an appropriate place for someone who may be our comrade and certainly not as a long term solution. We don't know how long it will take us to discover what has happened to Sirius or," Dumbledore sighed heavily, "Or indeed if this is even him."
"I am Sirius," he rasped, low and desperate. No one seemed to notice.
"In any event, I have already made other arrangements. Remus?"
For the first time, Sirius noticed that Remus was standing quietly near the door. He stepped forward at Dumbledore's word, his expression unreadable and his eyes flickered only briefly to Sirius.
"You'll be staying with Remus, at his flat, for the moment. It is not Unplottable but it is well warded, and we will be placing additional wards on it." He peered at Sirius. "I do hope you will understand that for your protection and for H—others," he amended, "You will be unable to leave his flat, even if you are accompanied by another person. Only myself and one other will be able to escort you from it, and their identity will be a secret to all others but myself. Rest assured, it is not Remus."
Sirius nodded numbly.
"I do realize how difficult this will be for you," Dumbledore said and, for the first time, his voice was gentle. "But it is for the best. The only other option would be the dungeons, as Severus suggested."
"I understand," Sirius said, his voice a bare whisper.
"Fine. You shall remain here, under guard, I'm afraid, while the rest of us ward Remus's flat. Perhaps you'd like some rest?" A wave of his wand and his chair melted into a camp bed, the thin mattress infinitely more comfortable than the chair had been.
The weeks of travel with little sleep suddenly surged to the front and Sirius was already close to sleep when he curled up on it, barely hearing the others leaving, their words a jumbled murmur to his exhausted mind.
~~*~~
end part 1
by Keelywolfe
Fandom: Harry Potter
Remus/Sirius
Overall Rating: NC-17
Spoilers for all the books, up to HBP.
Summary: Set during HBP. Dead is dead, unless you're a wizard. Then things can get...complicated.
Notes: Slight modifications in time and space may have been made, altering this from the books. But if you can't tell, it's already an AU, so hey, make of that what you will.
Warnings: Hey, this is sort of dark. If you don't like dark stuff? Please dial a different number. :)
*with apologies to the writer of 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?'. Haven't read it? You should, it was the basis for the movie 'Bladerunner'.
~*~
The scent of rubbish was what came to him first. The cloying green stench of rotting vegetables and the fouler stink of meat and other bits mingling into a swampy soup that drew him closer.
Almost there, then. His nails clicked roughly on the fractured cement, little more than a dark shape creeping between the yellowed pools of light beneath any streetlight that worked. Inside one house he could hear two people having a row, cursing and flinging furniture in the Muggle way. The other houses were quieter, either darkened completely or the flickering light of the telly wavering out of dirt-encrusted windows.
He paid them wary heed, a silent shadow on their street. Not for much longer, the absent number was close and he was tired, pausing only to lick at his worn, bloody paws, salt-copper and dirt mixing not unpleasantly on a tongue that was not, for the moment, human.
There was no drive leading to the house. He skirted a manhole, steam creeping upward from cracks in the metal. Just in front of the house that was not there, he sat on the sidewalk. His tail fanned behind him, flicking in almost a wag as he concentrated, imaging the peeling paint and dirty windows of twelve Grimmauld Place.
Nothing happened.
He whined, licking his chops and turning in a tight circle before sitting down again, staring with eerily intelligent canine eyes as he thought of a door that should be there, one that would open up to a shrieking hallway of portraits that would curse his birth.
Again, nothing.
The dog made a snuffling sound of fear and frustration, creeping closer on his belly. Several overflowing bags of rubbish lay open on the front porch to his left, their pungent odour nauseating and salivating to his hungry nose. Dirty children's toys mingled with broken beer bottles, one fractured bit digging into his already aching paws and he yipped, low and pained, digging at it furiously with his teeth.
Finally he was pressed against the rough bricks, matted fur catching. The only sounds were from the house across the way, its occupants still screeching their rage, and the telly in number eleven. The shadow of the dog shifted, lengthening and stretching until there was an entirely different shape pressed against the bricks.
He muttered words beneath his breath, fingers scraping the bricks as though he might prise them apart with his ragged nails. There was nothing revealed to his frantic touch. The bricks remained stubbornly where they were, unheeding to his rough whispers and angry pleadings.
A door creaked open and the man vanished, a large dog instead cowering in the rotten grass. Out onto the porch stepped a man, tossing another bag of rubbish into the monument already there. He lingered, the cherry-red glow of a cigarette flaring between his lips.
The dog began to creep away, choosing the direction of the broken fence rather than the sidewalk.
"Oi! Get out of here, you mutt!"
He scrambled away, too slow, yelping as a half-empty bottle connected with his backside. The gaps in the fence were barely big enough for a large dog to squeeze through, but he managed, limping along the sidewalk until he made it to an alley with no light at all.
More rubbish here, older, leaking its foul smell into the air. With his nose, he prodded the newest of his injuries, finding only bruises and no blood at all. The night was growing colder, March chill creeping through his fur and finding his bones. No matter; he allowed himself only a moment to curl into a ball, licking again at his injured feet before standing on them once again.
There was only one other place he could go then, and it would be a long journey on foot.
Whining a little, the only self-pity he would allow, he made his way down the street, pausing only to lap water from the cleanest looking puddle.
Then he vanished back into the darkness, heading north. He knew exactly where he needed to go.
Hogwarts.
~~*~~
Frost was still thick on the grasses and reeds surrounding the lake when the castle loomed into sight. Rarely had the rising turrets looked better to him than they did now as he padded wearily closer, taking care to stay hidden near the water's edge.
As exhausted as he was, there was little chance of him sneaking into the castle as this hour. At this point he was likely to stumble right into Filch's office by mistake and from there right into the delighted arms of the Ministry. Better to wait until dark, then, when he had had some rest.
A startled flock of birds burst from the concealing marshes. It was reflex by now to lunge for them, catching warm, feathered flesh between his teeth. Bones crunched and there was little of his humanity evident as he tore into the warm meat. In the two weeks it had taken him to travel to Hogwarts on foot he'd had little to eat, scrounging for small animals and in trash bins for whatever he could find.
The bird had been small but it satisfied some of the gnawing hunger in his gut. A long drink at the edge of the lake quenched his thirst, the water cold enough to feel like it cut at his mouth. With a weary sigh, Padfoot crept deeper into the brush until he found a spot that was dry and concealing. He curled into a ball, tucking his tail over his nose to keep it warm and was asleep before the sun finished cresting the horizon, melting away the velvety-ice coating the reeds.
His nest of grassy weeds, barely-warm and not-quite-safe, Sirius slept and dreamt of food that came on plates and beds that held nothing more complicated than sheets.
~~*~~
It was a scent that woke him, as familiar as his own though he had not smelled it particularly often. The sun was high in the sky, lending some warmth to the cool air. It was April, he realized blearily, still tired and aching to the bones. Crawling out of his nest of dry weeds, Padfoot kept low to the ground and moved closer to that scent. A black dog was not well hidden in a tawny coloured fringe of plants but the smell was compelling, pulling him closer almost unwillingly.
Through the tall grasses, he could barely see the outline of people sitting not all that far way, on the edge of the lake where the reeds had been cleared away. Low to the ground, he crept closer, sniffing at the air and that clear scent that made him think green in the way only a dog could think of it, his nose telling him it was the smell of spring, layered beneath sweat and other scents that told him human.
"Come off it!" His ears perked up at the voice, again, familiar. "Why should he return it? The book's been dead useful."
"Useful for cheating!" A girl's voice, sharp with anger, "It's not fair to the rest of us, Harry, using the Prince's notes. I still think you should turn in it."
"Yeah, along with his map, and his invisibility cloak and—"
He didn't hear the rest of it, sounds dimming away to a distant hum at the back of his mind. Another boy, his hair black and mussed, was facing away from him. As his companions continued to squabble, he turned away to look out over the lake and a glint of light caught on the lenses of his glasses.
Blood need blood, death there must be death, blood, must have, must take, blood, yes, blood.
He could already taste it, slick and briny at the back of his throat as he lunged out through the bushes and towards the children, towards that boy, green eyes widening behind a layer of glass, white throat covered in fragile human flesh and his teeth would be yellowed and brutal against it.
Pain flared along his nerves, supernova bright and he heard his own yelp of pain, collapsing in the soft mud near the water. Again, green eyes, green, his hind legs refusing to work as he snarled and dragged himself on his front paws towards it, blood, there must be blood and the pain returned, sharper this time and darkness came with it.
~*~
Someone was slapping his face roughly. Sirius grunted out a protest, flinging out an arm to stop the abuse. It didn't work. Another, harsher slap came and along with it a voice.
"Wake up!" The voice commanded, deep and reverberating with power.
"Knock it off!" Sirius snarled, lashing out with a closed fist. It didn't connect with anything other than air. Another slap and Sirius jerked away, sitting up and blinking in the too-bright light. It stabbed at his eyes and he cried out in pain, slapping a hand over them, still seeing dancing skeletons of light behind his closed lids.
The sound of shuffling feet and breathing made him squint out from between his fingers. There was still some pain, not quite as bad, and a few moments later he was able to pull his hand away completely. His eyes were watering, the world about him washed in blurriness and Sirius thought perhaps he was still dreaming, his thoughts sluggish and thick.
"Wha—where am I?" Sirius looked about at the bewildering collection of items, an eclectic gathering of magical and muggle things surrounded by a dozen or so portraits of grim-faced witches and wizards peering down at him from on high. Behind a large and wildly cluttered desk sat another wizard, a living one and even with watery eyes, Sirius recognized the man with some relief.
"Dumbledore?" Sirius made to stand and three wands suddenly made their presence known against his throat. He looked around a bit wildly and found familiar faces around him, though their blurry expressions were not encouraging in the slightest. Snape, Minerva, and Tonks, her hair a rather depressing shade of drab brown, were looking down on him with bleak eyes and downturned mouths.
"Please," Dumbledore said, gesturing them away. They stepped back, though Sirius could feel their reluctance, their wands still at the ready. He rubbed his throat, wincing at the pressure he could still feel. The chair he was sitting in was hard and wooden, his aching muscles protesting the unexpected discomfort. This had to be a dream of some sort, he decided, muddled thoughts clinging to the hope. The chairs in Dumbledore's office were overstuffed and cushy, threatening to absorb first-years into their depths.
In this office he was the only one sitting in his uncomfortable chair, the others standing a bare step away from him. He couldn't see Dumbledore's chair, and this simply had to be a dream.
"Sirius," Dumbledore said, catching his faltering attention. He folded his hands on his desk, his expression disturbingly bland. "Your presence here is rather unexpected."
A bark of strangled laughter, from Tonks, although there was no humour in it. To him, it sounded more like a sob. Sirius looked from her to Dumbledore, and again, utterly lost. His head ached, a drilling throb at the temples and Sirius reached up to rub at it. Abruptly, three wands were again at his throat and this time Sirius had the presence of mind to flinch.
"A moment, if you will," Dumbledore said, a bite of impatience in his voice. "Let him gather himself so he can speak."
"Yes, thank you, I'll second that!" Sirius said hoarsely, sinking back into his chair as much as he could. He could feel the reluctance in the other wizards, as baffling as it was. Some bit of memory was coming back to him, the strange disappearance of Grimmauld Place, his long journey to Hogwarts. Something strange was going on, he knew that for certainly. Likely that was why the others seemed as jumpy as cats.
"Now, as I was saying. We—" Dumbledore hesitated uncharacteristically and Sirius could only blink at him, more confused that ever. What was going on here? "We weren't expecting to see you here at Hogwarts, Sirius. Perhaps you would care to explain?"
"I had to come here," Sirius said, slowly. His thoughts were still as slow as molasses poured through a strainer, and he thought he could feel half a dozen hexes still crawling over his skin. A Death Eater attack, perhaps? It seemed unlikely at Hogwarts of all places.
"Grimmauld place seems to have vanished permanently. I couldn't get in when I got back so I thought headquarters must have changed places." He shrugged, helplessly. "Hogwarts is the only place I could be certain to find you. Took me a bloody long time to walk here, too." He stretched, ignoring how the other wizards tensed when he raised his hands over his head. Muscles that had been too-long bent into dog shape were protesting the return to human.
Dropping his hands back in his lap, Sirius eyed the other wizards. If this was the new security procedures, he thought they were taking it a bit too far. Snape had always looked at him like something recently scraped from his boots, of course, but Minerva had never looked at him as she was now and certainly not Tonks, who looked as if she might be ill. Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his too-hard chair and met Dumbledore's gaze with his own, trying to fathom what would make them all look at him like they had.
Something with Peter, perhaps? Had something happened to make them doubt him again? A sick feeling twisted in his gut at the thought of Dumbledore turning him into the Ministry himself, sending him back to Azkaban.
No. Sirius took a deep breath, calming the panic growing in him. He'd given them no reason to doubt him, surely, and soon he'd understand what was happening.
"You walked here from London?" Dumbledore repeated slowly. "You didn't think to contact us by floo or to apparate closer?"
"You're asking me that?" Sirius asked, disbelieving. "After all your lectures about keeping hidden? Take the floo, he says, I might as well just walk right into the Ministry and ask them for my old cell back."
"And your attack on the students?" Came from his right from Snape. Sirius glared at the greasy bastard; of course he'd have something foul to say, tossing in an accusation about a…attack on the…what?
"What?" he repeated aloud, bewildered. "What are you talking about, attack on…the…" The sentence dwindled away, memory pushing through the cloud of hexes to remind him of blood and teeth, the smell of terror heavy in his nose and screams and…"What did I do?" he whispered, gripping the arms of the chair with bloodless fingers.
No one replied, their expressions even grimmer. Tonks was pale, her mousy brown hair seemed even lanker.
"You came back to Grimmauld place, you say," Dumbledore said finally, peering at him over the lenses of his half-moon glasses.
"Yes!" Sirius tore a hand through his hair. "I don't see what's so difficult about this. I went to Grimmauld place, only it wouldn't open up to me." Sirius frowned, remembering his anger and fear as he stood outside of where his childhood home should be. "It was the strangest thing."
"I see. And then you came to Hogwarts and attacked a group of students."
"I suppose I did," Sirius said, his lips moving numbly. "Are they all right? I…I didn't--"
"Physically, none of them are hurt," Dumbledore told him, ignoring a snort from Snape.
"Thank Merlin," Sirius tipped his head back to the ceiling, weak with relief. "I…I don't know what came over me. I just saw—"
"You saw Harry."
Sirius jerked, the colour of the world fading in front of his eyes to black and white. The snarls tearing from his throat could not be happening, brutal animal fury and there would be blood, torn flesh between his teeth, oh, yes…
The pain ripped through him like a dull knife and his screams were as human as his flesh. The stone floor was cold beneath his cheek and Sirius curled into himself, choking on moans and the taste of salt thick in his throat was nothing like blood.
A firm hand on his shoulder eased him up until he could sit, still dazed and ill. He looked up at Tonks, who was paler than ever and removed her hand from Sirius as quickly as she could.
"Sirius, don't try to stand until you feel ready," Dumbledore said, his voice quite testy, "I think a simple stun would be just as effective and as Tonks is the Auror, it should come from her."
"Albus, he's dangerous," Minerva's voice and that hurt as much as the hexes had.
"He's not going to hurt anyone in here." That seemed to end whatever protests the others had been about to make. Sirius took a deep breath, another, and then heaved himself back into the hard-backed chair. Nausea curled low in his stomach, hunger and pain colliding.
"All right, then? Let's go back a bit shall we?" Dumbledore tapped his fingers on his desk, considering. "You came to Grimmauld Place and then to Hogwarts?"
"Yes," Sirius mumbled.
"From where?"
He frowned. "What?"
"From where," Dumbledore persisted. "You came to Grimmauld Place from where?"
"I—" Sirius started, "I was—" Words drifting away. He closed his eyes, trying to think but there was only blankness. "I don't know. There's…nothing there. I was—I was at Grimmauld place and then I wasn't and I was trying to get back and—nothing." He finished, looking at Dumbledore's grim face with horror. "What's happening?"
"I'm not sure," Dumbledore said quietly, "But this I do know. Not quite a year ago in the Department of Mysteries, you died, Sirius. We had a small service for you and mourned your death and, until today, we had no reason to believe you were anything but lost to us."
"But…I'm right here," he whispered.
"Yes, you can see why this is a problem. You also tried to murder Ha—" A low growl was already rising in Sirius throat and Dumbledore broke off, waving an impatient hand. "Yes, a very thorny problem. Unfortunately, until it is solved, we obviously cannot allow you to roam free. It's only the fact that your godson is well trained in repelling attacks that he survived."
"I attacked…" Sirius swallowed back the name, unfamiliar rage already rising in his throat at simply thinking it. He buried his face in his hands, a low moan choking out from his throat, "Oh, god."
The touch of a hand on his shoulder startled him and he flinched away violently, looking up into Tonks's face. Still too grim, eyes dark and wide in her pale face, but there was some concern there now, some measure of belief. "It's possible that this is a variation of the Imperius curse," she ventured unsteadily. "If…if it is, we should be able to find a way to break it. It might take some time, but—"
"If I may," Snape stepped forward, skirting Sirius's chair with a flick of his robes. "There is ample room in the dungeons for one—" his lips thinned. "—man, as it were."
"No," Sirius croaked out, barely loud enough to be heard. But Dumbledore was already shaking his head.
"No, the dungeons are hardly an appropriate place for someone who may be our comrade and certainly not as a long term solution. We don't know how long it will take us to discover what has happened to Sirius or," Dumbledore sighed heavily, "Or indeed if this is even him."
"I am Sirius," he rasped, low and desperate. No one seemed to notice.
"In any event, I have already made other arrangements. Remus?"
For the first time, Sirius noticed that Remus was standing quietly near the door. He stepped forward at Dumbledore's word, his expression unreadable and his eyes flickered only briefly to Sirius.
"You'll be staying with Remus, at his flat, for the moment. It is not Unplottable but it is well warded, and we will be placing additional wards on it." He peered at Sirius. "I do hope you will understand that for your protection and for H—others," he amended, "You will be unable to leave his flat, even if you are accompanied by another person. Only myself and one other will be able to escort you from it, and their identity will be a secret to all others but myself. Rest assured, it is not Remus."
Sirius nodded numbly.
"I do realize how difficult this will be for you," Dumbledore said and, for the first time, his voice was gentle. "But it is for the best. The only other option would be the dungeons, as Severus suggested."
"I understand," Sirius said, his voice a bare whisper.
"Fine. You shall remain here, under guard, I'm afraid, while the rest of us ward Remus's flat. Perhaps you'd like some rest?" A wave of his wand and his chair melted into a camp bed, the thin mattress infinitely more comfortable than the chair had been.
The weeks of travel with little sleep suddenly surged to the front and Sirius was already close to sleep when he curled up on it, barely hearing the others leaving, their words a jumbled murmur to his exhausted mind.
~~*~~
end part 1
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So, I come back looking for a re-read of A Lacking, which was over due since long, and what do I find? A new, completely new, very promising, utterly ill-timed and thoroughly engulfing first piece of fiction by non other than the lovely lady who brought my last years favorite.
If I weren't so busy being pleased as punch, I'd be angry with you for tricking me into reading a WiP, as I've sworn to quit them. And, yes, I'm aware that sounded alarmingly like a junkie in need of a fix, but I don't mind. Not much.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm absolutley thrilled to find this, and I hope to see more from you soon, and good luck.
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Really, I doubt this one is going to be 'in progress' very long. It's already more finished than not and it won't be as long as 'Foresight' (thank god ;)
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(in a good way *G*)
More pretty please? *bribes you with chocolate*
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Okay, off to read it now.
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Now I see you writing my other OTP....
wow....
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I hope you enjoy this story, too!
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I'm glad I was pushed by Mary though, this was great. I'm really looking forward to more, and seeing the interaction between Sirius and Tonks, she already seems a bit annoyed to see Sirius back.
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*friends you and waits*
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But, anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I can't wait to read it and I'll be sure to drop you some feedback as soon as I can.
yay! S/R
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Anyway...
I've been writing on it every day and so far neither of them will be quiet.
In my own writing, I've found S/R to be some of the loudest muses I've ever written for (if not the loudest). They always seem to have more to say.
Keep having fun!
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after seeing the chapters come up persistently for over two weeks now, i finally gave in and read this. and it's very good, probably one of the few stories i've ever bothered to follow. :D
great job so far.
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