Fictive Fodder

I remember feeling surprised and then deeply sorry, deeply regretful. Panicked, and sad, and sorry.

You squeezed your eyes closed and sighed through your teeth.

All I know is that I need to get to Harry. Whatever it takes.

You turned in your bed, groaning.

This was impossible.

You were never going to be able to fall asleep again. Not until you spoke with him.

Not until you were able to assure him that you weren’t upset any more, that you didn’t think you’d been betrayed.

The imagined scene played out behind your closed eyes over and over again of Sirius, battling Death Eaters through the Department of Mysteries.

The same place you’d walked through a week ago.

He’d risked his life for the right cause, for Harry’s life. Protecting him.

I remember feeling surprised and then deeply sorry. Panicked, and sad, and sorry.

You felt tears well up in your eyes.

He hadn’t even thought of himself as he was hit.

The course of Sirius’ life, the weight of its waywardness, the lies spun from it were too heavy for you to comprehend.

13 years in Azkaban. The loss of his friends.

The world thinking he was their killer.

And he had confessed, confessed, blaming himself though he’d risked everything he had to protect.

And now where was he? Trapped in a place you were not clever enough to free him from.

You turned again, pushing your face into your pillow.

You wanted your mind to turn off, but the scratching of your eyes, the soft rattle in your breath... The translucence of your hands…

How his eyes had shone so full of light, elated to see another human face.

How his lips had parted, near smiling, as he took you in with awe.

“Sirius.” you breathed, as if his name would be some spell for calm, for comfort.

And maybe it was. Because Padfoot was Sirius Black. And no, he was not dangerous.

He was good.

You felt yourself melt into your mattress at that thought, the relief of it.

How that golden light caught the sharp contours of his face. How his hair, dark and matted, so perfectly framed his overbright eyes.

You hummed in half sleep as you felt something brush against your hand, like a thumb was pressing against your palm- but it was too light to really be there. Perhaps I am already dreaming, you considered hopefully as you closed your eyes.

The gentle caress you felt against your hand moved, fingers gliding up to your hair, where they gently pet the top of your head, pulling against your hair as your breaths slowed and deepened.

-X-

“I said sit—”

You woke up to a clatter ringing through your home— a chair breaking perhaps, the snap of wood. Your body jolted up, feet on the floor before you could draw breath.

The world swayed as you stumbled down the corridor from your bedroom towards the front of your home, eyes widening as you see Remus pushing Asterius into a broken chair by the shoulders.

“Down, now—” Remus commands, breathless, his chest heaving. Just to his side, Byron stands wide eyed and tucked back as Remus binds Asterius’ wrists with a flick of his wand, no hesitation.

Asterius was even paler than usual, skin covered in a sheen of sweat as his glassy eyes settled upon you, breaths rattling in his chest as they took one uneven inhalation after another.

You blinked at the tableau forming in your own kitchen. You could still feel the soft press of a palm against the back of your head.

“Remus…” You started, voice still sleep soft as your brows knit together in slow coming shock. “Wh-”

Remus breathed out hard through his nose, eyelids fluttering closed as he allowed something between irritation and exhaustion pass over him. “Don’t worry,” he started, voice rough and hoarse. He turned his face for you to see a gash spanning from his jaw to mid neck, “He’s not as fragile as he looks.”

Asterius scoffed. “Forgive me for not being perfectly agreeable when a stranger ripped me out of my own flat.”

Remus’ eyebrows shot up, in naked disbelief. “I’d say from the look of it, I was doing you a favor. Now,” Remus starts, planting his large hand on the top of Asterius’ head, he forcibly turns him to look at you. “I’ll be happy to help you back to your rats nest as soon as you’ve answered every-” his hand tightened, “question we’ve got for you.”

But Asterius wasn’t reacting to Remus at all.

As soon as Remus had turned his head towards you, Asterius’ eyes swept downwards, to your fingertips, like he had been looking for it.

Translucent.

Asterius’ pupils dilated.

Your breath hitched and you immediately tucked your hands behind your back as nonchalantly as possible. You’d woken up in such chaos you hadn’t pulled on your gloves.

“Oh…” Asterius says then, slow. His smile was caustic. “Doubt I’d be any help now. I’m sure you’re doing everything perfectly, Specularri…”

You cleared your throat slightly, forcing your focus away from Asterius and towards Remus and Byron. “You have his wand?”

“Yea…” Byron starts, patting his robe pocket. “Just for the time being, until we’re done.” he assures quickly, voice soft.

You nod, running a hand through your hair before tugging your sleeves down low, and then crossing over to Remus’ side. You began to carefully examine the gash, squinting.

“Don’t worry about it.” Remus says quickly, voice far more gentle with you.

“It almost looks… cauterized.” you reply, distracted. You glance down to Asterius, wondering what sort of hex was that nasty, but all you got back is a satisfied shrug of his shoulders.

Remus smiles and shakes his head. “Enough.” he says quietly, nodding to the chair across from Asterius. “Let’s see this done, eh?”

“Again,” Asterius sighs, “I really don’t have anything more to tell.” He blinks at you as you slowly fall into the seat Remus gestured to.

You heard Byron open your medicine pantry, searching for a salve for Remus as you and Asterius locked eyes. It was very odd to just… have him in your kitchen, all of the sudden.

“We’ll be the judge of what use you are.” Remus retorts low, wand trained on Asterius. He then nods to you. “Go on.”

You glanced at Byron and Remus, suddenly feeling a little self conscious. “Right—” you start, clearing your throat and readjusting your sleeves over your fingers.

It felt like talking about a secret, exposing something precious and difficult to understand. Your lips parted long before you summoned words.

“I need to know what’s in your candles.” You start slowly.

Asterius tilted his head.

“It’s because— listen— it’s because if I’m really going to do it, scry eight times in one moon, like we talked about last time— I need, need something to stabilize the effects. And the travel—” you start, sighing, “I need to know how you walk through without it becoming a hazard.”

Asterius blinked. “If you cannot handle their effects, perhaps you are not meant to.” he chirped, and then— nothing.

The silence of the room fizzed in your ears.

You leaned forward a little more. “Last time…” you start, voice softening, “I asked you if you were looking for someone, too. But you didn’t answer.”

More silence.

“Right.” Remus sighed, reaching into his back pocket.

“Wait Remus no, don’t hurt him—” you start, jerking your sleeved hand out into the mid distance between you, Asterius and him.

But Remus waved you down, shook his head. “I’m not hurting him.” he assured tiredly. And then, from his back pocket Remus procured a very yellowed piece of parchment. “But, as far as handling candles goes… You may not be surprised to know, Asterius…” Remus starts, unfolding the parchment— a letter, “That since the downfall of the House of Black, I have had unfettered access to it.”

Asterius’ face twitches as he tries to temper a snarl.

“And Regulus’ old bedroom.” Remus adds, voice softer.

At that, Asterius’ entire face changed.

His eyes went wide, expression smoothing into one of suspended ache. The transformation of his demeanor was visceral, sudden— unnerving in how dramatically younger and brighter he suddenly looked.

“Don’t…” he breathes. Every line of him bent towards the letter as if he could still see Regulus’ fingerprints creasing it.

Remus continues, not even glancing at him. “And so when I was asked to find you, I decided to start my search in that room.” Remus levels Asterius with a pointed glance. “You wrote to him quite a lot.”

The letter crinkles in Remus’ hand. “This one is dated from 1978.” he starts, glancing down at it.

“Those were not meant for you to see.” Asterius says under his breath, his tone a bruise. There was no defensive coyness now. You feel your throat tighten with something uncomfortable and raw at Asterius’ expression.

“August 12th, 1978… Regulus, I hope this letter finds you, for if anyone deserves to be dealt a fair hand by fate, it would be you. You, oath bound to our Dark Lord, to be his sword and shield in this fight against persecution and ruin. A knight. Armored by your wit and noble blood, your magic a chain mail guarding your perfect skin…” Remus reads aloud. “A bit poetic, but the Blacks were all rather blessed with nice complexions.” he credits wryly.

Asterius’ shoulders crumple. His head bowing as he shakes it, brows knit tight.

Byron watches Asterius’ reaction, and in a sudden moment of pity interjects, “Don't worry, m’prose was way worse when I was a kid.”

“I have gone through all of the Dorea’s notes. They are more familiar to me than my own reflection. I have made and remade her candles so many times. I am beginning to understand what she had meant... it is not madness. It is sight. We experience so little, and this path was created towards a greater life. The first few days of using the candles again were harsh. I had thought that since I am of Darnant's blood, I might not be so stricken with dysphoria as I acclimated to the truer world. She always said it was easier the more you practiced.”

Asterius flinches at the words ‘Darnant’s blood’ and glances back up. His eyes made even glassier as they well with tears. “Stop this, please…” he asks hoarsely.

“Lupin—” Byron starts uneasily, his eyes flickering between Asterius and Remus.

Remus glanced up, pressing the letter lightly to his collarbone as he hummed in mock attentive response.

Byron nodded to Asterius. “You okay? Who’s um… who’s Darnant? That sounds familiar.”

Your eyes tracked every shift Asterius took, every stuttered breath and shuddering blink. “Isn’t that just his surname?” you ask softly.

Remus, seeing that Asterius was making no room to answer, continued reading. “Nevertheless, I have began to add a fumigation of Storax, Myrrh, and Saffron. I have found that this balances my mind's reeling. Should you seek respite from your noble work, I have included a small candle for you to try with this blend, if you ever have a private moment, where you can allow the space and time between us to become thin. With many uses, it has allowed me to see the Halls in the waking world, to walk among it without disruption.”

“Storax, myrrh, saffron.” Byron repeated immediately, nodding in thought.

“Hah— Remus—” you started, sitting up a little straighter. He blinked down to your impressed expression. “You found a really good letter—” You say, mind racing with the knowledge. It was clever of Asterius to combine those, specially since he didn’t have the kind of training you and Byron did. Very impressive.

Byron’s eyes were lit up too, like he was tempted to remold one of Asterius’ candles with the additions right now.

“It’s great.” he starts, his whole body tensed like a coiled spring. “It’s really good… I mean what— Myrrh to bind, yea? Keeps you grounded. Storax for… for… man he’s using it like Kyphi. That’s brilliant. That’s perfect. And saffron? That’s…” he looks down at Asterius, who is still shaking his head as if in mourning.

“You.. you haven’t been calling on the dead at all in those halls…” Byron says slowly. “…have you?”

“It hasn’t felt dead.” you add, tilting your head as you watched Byron think.

Asterius closed his eyes and took in a soft, slow breath.

“Saffron’s got, I mean… yea it’s been used in a lot of rarefied consciousness, scrying, but also… kingship.” Byron explains slowly.

“Kingship?” you repeat, glancing between him and Asterius.

“Yea, yea— like calling golden blood.” Byron continues, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. He looks back down at Asterius. “You knew that?”

Silence.

Remus continues. “I have no concerns. I am so grateful to her, to you. I love you. I so appreciate to be counted in your second sight. Always, Asterius.”

The only sound for several moments is Asterius’ breathing. It sounded like he was holding back tears.

“Is who you’re trying to look for…” you spoke quietly, gently, “someone royal?”

Asterius lifted his head—slowly. His eyes fixed on you with something between disbelief and offense, glass-bright and wounded.

“Is that what you think you’re touching?” He asks, smiling thin, aching, and shook his head.

“You have only seen as much as it wants you to.” he continued with a soft snarl. “As you’ve been invited to. Your blood will not go far in the Halls. They were built to hide from you. Built to keep someone like you out. And you enter? Half-formed and expecting—”

Asterius’ breath hitched, eyes flashing overbright—

—and then he choked, folding forward sharply, pressing his lips to his shoulder as the cough tore through him.

You stood up quickly, summoning a glass of water just like you had the last time.

“Untie his hands—let him drink,” you said urgently, but Remus hesitated.

Asterius continues to cough, shaking his head again, hair falling over his eyes. “The last time someone asked me questions with that much candle wax beneath their fingernails I held—”

His jaw jerked, like something unseen had hooked under his tongue. “—I passed the tenth tournament of the fountain—”

He coughs again, harder, drool catching on his robes. “—some adventure appeared. Its signs were evident in the place around the fountain. On one side the people of the land were feasting, and the maidens and ladies of the castles were well-arrayed, even the merchants had learned the strength of the event, and brought upon their wagons such great wares as they had never before possessed until then. Even the pavilion’s front and the façade were so richly adorned with cloth-of-gold that the ironwork shone with all its pearls. The morning rays of the sun shone upon it, and still that was the least of it, for the maiden of the country who had taken the seven tournaments was set to be in the best place.”

“…What?” Byron asked, his body jolting to attention like he was going to need to catch something. He looked over at you, eyes widening with alarm. “Is he-?”

Asterius coughed again, harder. There was a bit of something by his lip now.

“And very often the young bachelor did not cease, where the people were seated around the place; for he passed the bounds of his desire in looking upon the maiden, as it seemed to him— for her bearing might say all. Also the knight watched him, loud in his displeasure, for it did him great harm to see him look so intently upon the maiden; for he well knew she was of all his heart. ‘Thus,” said he, to a bachelor— called the first knight— ’look, sir knight, at the valiant bachelor of the nine blows, how he renews himself in looking upon his lady so intently, that my own occupation is lost.’ ’In truth, sir knight,’ said the bachelor, ‘this is cause for many, in the evening, that the other knights will compare him and will give no heed; for when he departs he will be so seized in his thoughts that he will not be such a valiant knight to return, and for that he will fail in what belongs to his honor.”

“Asterius—” You start, leaning over to place your hands on his shoulders. You try to look into his eyes. “H-hey? Easy… wait… stop. Take a big breath.”

But it wasn’t any use.

Asterius coughed again, harder still, drool and flower petals sticking to his lips. You flinched. Remus moved to help Asterius keep sitting up so he didn’t choke, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to you to wipe away.

“And so I promise you, sir, and the fair lady, that I will never love loyally until she finds another who deigns to grant me favor; I will joust there my first lance, and by such sign, if I stand firm, I will strike down whoever that day does not bear arms in sign of my misfortune. ‘Sir,’ said the first knight, ’have you no lady?’ ’Certainly, sir,’ said the knight, it is in my nature that I cannot turn toward any other li—” Asterius started to choke. His whole body jolted.

“Hey—” You cooed again, holding onto his shoulders now. Remus waved his wand and Asterius’ wrists were freed of their binding, but he didn’t move away. Another hard cough— wetter now, before Asterius gagged.

You glanced up towards Byron as Asterius’ forehead pressed into your shoulder. Gently, you covered Asterius’ mouth with the handkerchief as you rubbed his back with your other hand.

“He’s completely mad.” Byron whispered.

“No—” Remus cuts in, sharp, eyes narrowing as he watches Asterius cough. He leans closer, eyes tracing carefully, and then he slowly shakes his head. “…it couldn’t be…” Remus mutters low, glancing at Byron.

“Imperius?” Byron offers, hugging himself.

Remus shakes his head.

“It’s like… a geas,” he mumbles finally, but even as he says it, Remus’ gaze flickers to the handkerchief in your hand— as if he’s waiting for the spell to break itself.

And then Asterius coughed harder, back shuddering against your hand, and you felt something warm and wet.

Involuntarily, you made a small, distressed sound and started to pull away, only to feel the unknown weight in your hand tug between your hand and Asterius’ mouth.

Byron was at your side in a heartbeat. “Step back—” he says gently, his hands moving to your shoulders, guiding you to sit back down.

Resting wetly on your palm was a flower stalk— with branching warm gold umbels and dark green, heart shaped leaves. It smelled resinous, sappy, heady as the petals clung to the handkerchief in Asterius’ drool.

“Merlin’s—” Byron started, leaning in closer as Asterius panted.

Remus’ face was as white as a sheet.

Asterius gave one more cough, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he leaned back into his chair. He watched the three of you, overtired, passive as he tried to catch his breath.

Byron was still staring at the flower. After a moment of hesitation he picked up the handkerchief to examine it more closely.

“It looks like fennel?” you suggest, glancing up at Byron.

Byron shook his head. “Leaves are too waxy. And the sap. It smells like— Opoponax, myrrh, storax… but it doesn’t look like them.” he frowned, bringing the handkerchief up to his nose. Then, brows knitting he carefully folded the handkerchief and tucked it into his robes. “I’ve never seen that flower before.”

You blinked. “You haven’t?” Byron’s eyebrow twitches. “I don’t know every flower, alright?” he snaps, a little too fast.

“Right! Sorry!” you respond quickly, a breathy laugh. “I didn’t mean to— I mean— I was just surprised. I’ve never heard you say you don’t know.”

“Silphium.” Asterius wheezes, eyes watering.

You and Remus blink, but Byron?

Byron draws himself up to his full height. He looks down at Asterius’ panting, wilted frame with something tense, coiled and set.

“That’s extinct.”

Asterius’ expression lights up like Byron just told him about an entertaining weather phenomenon and shrugs. His gaze scrapes over to you, eyes tracing the details of your irises as his lips part to try speaking again. “Why don’t…” he starts, still catching his breath, “—why don’t you tell me what you’ve found?”

“What I’ve found in the Halls?” you ask.

Asterius nods, head tilting like he was waiting for something specific. “If you do,” he starts again, sitting forward, “I’ll make you a candle with that infusion. The saffron, the storax, the myrrh.”

You blink again. That was it? That was all it took? You glanced at Remus and Byron, who were both frowning wearily at Asterius as you shrugged.

And so you started, rehashing how you had been scrying on the new moon this past summer. How you’d slipped into a place you’d never seen. How you’d walked through Halls, holding a candle in your hands— only to wake up somewhere else, outside your home.

But as you began to describe the halls themselves, you watched Remus and Byron’s eyes widen, unsettled. And then you heard yourself.

“Epille listened to himself, hoping to learn more of the knight. And he had not waited long when he heard the knight say aloud: ‘Ha ha, wicked knight, you boast in too much confidence that you will love despite Fortune. Yet Fortune shall make it so that you will never be loved— for she has already gathered the rod by which you shall be tormented day by day. You already perceive your death, and your pain shall not be taken away.’” You started, voice tumbling out of you just like Asterius’ had. Your heart kicked hard, entirely missing a beat as you realized.

Asterius was smiling.

And you couldn’t stop.

A knot formed in your throat, tight. The words did not wait for permission as your mouth bent around them against your will. 

“’What say you? Or what think you? It is necessary that he die by your hands or that in the tourney you take from him his glory and victory, and thus he will fail his adventure.’ ‘Guard yourself, for I assure you there is no end except death or that you find him.’ Having said this, he fell silent, and Epille, who had understood all, began to sweat with anguish; for jealousy had so stirred him he could bear no more. And he began to think who the knight might be who spoke thus and threatened to take from him his love and bring him to death before he had achieved anything. And he suspected it might be Mozgaf, a powerful knight, for he felt himself strong enough for him— but he feared Mozgaf might pre… prevent his purpose—” your voice broke with a sharp gasp, and your eyes widened as you clapped a hand over your mouth, looking up at Byron, scared.

“It’s okay—” Byron immediately said, kneeling to look into your eyes. “It’s okay, it’s okay just—”

Remus stepped back, brows furrowed now as he glanced between you and Asterius.

Byron looked back over his shoulder to him, before reaching out and running his hands up and down your arms like you might be cold. “What did you say it was?”

Remus shook his head. “I said it might be geas. But I…” he shook his head again, hand tightening on his wand. “If it is… it goes much further than my education.” he admits soberly. “That’s magic that predates… Hogwarts even.”

Asterius hums.

You still have your hand pressed to your lips, scared to speak again, eyes wide.

“Interdiction magic…” Remus says uncertainly. “It’s not a curse, or a spell. This… can’t be undone. It’s natural consequence to speaking of it.”

Asterius chuckled, hands pressed over his chest as he leaned forward to you. “Older than spell craft. Older than a school. It’s written into your marrow.”

“So what, you knew that would happen and you just wanted to make fools of us?” Byron retorted angrily, hugging you against him.

“I don’t think it’s foolish.” Asterius replied, blinking up at Byron, wide eyed. “I think it’s beautiful. It means…” his eyes shifted back towards you, “You’re getting closer.”

Asterius’ knobbly fingered hands stretched across the table, out to you.

“Come here.” He said, voice still breaking roughly.

Immediately, Remus’ fingers curled around the scruff of Asterius’ robes and he pulled him back from you by the throat.

“Stay back.” Byron growled, hugging you tighter to him.

Asterius allowed himself to be handled, no resistance, but his hands remained on the table, palms up in offering.

“Byron,” he started, staring up into his face unblinkingly. “You don't know what it feels like. And I do.”

Byron’s arms tensed more, but you could feel him holding his breath now. You bristled, watching Asterius, still afraid to speak.

“It's a good sign.” Asterius offers, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. “You don't have to fear it. There's nothing wrong in you. That tongue has always been there. Always always. And even if you stopped scrying today, it would lie patient in your mouth.”

You felt your throat work around nothing as Asterius finally took a sip of the water you had given him. “And if you have children, they'll have it too, just as your parents, and theirs did as well. You're just…” he reaches his hands out to you again. “…unused to brushing up against something so pure. So whole. And vast.”

He nods to you then, almost encouragingly. “That place, that person, found you. Make no mistake. And now you are exactly where you are meant to be. And when I'm dragged back to my rats nest and my wax, you'll still be exactly where you should be.”

His eyes traced your fingers beneath your sleeves. You felt suddenly, uncomfortably seen.

“You are going to shine. Just like me.”

-X-

It took Byron and Solonie nine days to rebind Asterius’ candles with storax, saffron, and myrrh. Byron refused to allow you to participate, pleading for you to rest, to catch up on the other facets of your life. 

Clients. The mail pile building up on the sill. Sleep. 

But you couldn't distract yourself from the ache in your chest, a constant hum of thoughts bent in the shape of Sirius Black, in the arch of the Halls, that strange, golden, glowing creature, that Veil that Sirius’ body had passed through in the Department of Mysteries. 

Your fingertips stayed translucent. 

Byron saved the flower that Asterius had coughed up and pressed it for further examination. 

Time crawled. 

And then, finally, after a little over a week, you had your candles again. When Byron gave them to you, he closed both his hands over yours and crouched to make sure you looked in his eyes. 

“Be careful.” he said. But his eyes asked. 

That day, the sun could not have set slower.

-X-

This time, you had the wherewithal to push your furniture against the walls, setting your phaile and mirror at the end of the kitchen table. If going back to the Halls meant another night of wandering in the dark, the least you could do was spare yourself bruises.

And as your home slowly dimmed, you felt your heart begin to beat faster.

Ache.

There was so much you wanted— no, needed— to say.

To him.

To Sirius Black.

You drew a long breath.

Your tongue still tasted faintly of Byron’s tisane, tannic and warm.

You placed the altered candle in front of the mirror.

“Sirius Black.”

A flick of your wand.

White smoke.

Your heart leapt.

Slowly— hand trembling— you guided the small flame clinging to your wand to the candle.

The fire licked the wick. Once. Twice—

You froze.

It wasn’t catching.

Your eyes widened as dread pressed hard against your chest.

Why—?

The question rose as a knot in your throat.

No. No. You needed this. You needed to apologize. You needed to find him.

You were not above begging this candle.

And then, finally— a soft hiss.

The wick took.

Not with the flare-like roil you knew, but with a slower fizz.

No longer violent.

Controlled.

Relief burned through you.

You closed your eyes in silent gratitude, breathing for a moment before leaning forward to inhale the smoke. And as your eyes opened you were surrounded by the Halls.

You could have wept.

A breath tumbled from your chest, but as your fingers lifted toward your hair you jolted.

Your fingertips were glowing gold.

I can see you shining beneath your armor.

You will shine, just like me.

The breath caught in your throat as you stared down at your own hands. But then—

“You came back.”

A soft cry broke from you merely from the tone of Sirius’ voice. You turned towards it, falling forward, every nerve in your body tilting towards him like flowers to the sun.

“Sirius—” You choked, closing the distance before you could think and tightly wrapping your arms around his middle.

He embraced you back tightly, without hesitation, one hand coming to hold the back of your head, the other pressed to the small of your back, holding you to him just as tightly. Sirius’ breath shuddered, fingers curling into you as his body bent around you.

“You came back even though I—” his voice breaks.

“I had to.” you start, eyes burning with tears. “Listen. I had to. I had to tell you—”

“I'm so sorry.” Sirius breathes, pressing his brow to the crown of your head. “I'm so sorry. I never wanted to scare you, but I can explain everything. I'm not— I'm no murderer—”

“No! No no no, Sirius, I know. I know.” You assure hurriedly, squeezing him until your arms shook. Your hands made fists of his shirt at the back, and you pressed your cheek to the thundering pulse in his neck. “Remus got through to me. He told me. He showed me the pardon the Minister issued in the Prophet, he explained it all.” You say, the words falling from you too fast.

A broken sob escapes him as you talk, his arms only pulling you tighter to him, rocking you gently.

“Fuck.” he gasps, sniffling.

All the explanations you wanted to give, the apologies you wanted to make, dissolved as you watched him cling to you. Your mind chased the impulse to soothe, to be a balm, to ground him. You unlaced your arms from the embrace and brought your hands up to his face, glowing fingertips catching his jaw. “Sirius…” you say— inwardly surprised to hear just how soft your own voice was.

Sirius pulled away just enough to look at you— your fingertips subtly illuminating his face.

His eyes were so dark. They caught the light like starlight reaching through black.

You felt your heart stutter.

Sirius’ eyes traced over your features hungrily, achingly, his expression a combination of slack jawed awe and desperation. You’d both only been given a moment of this last time. At seeing each other.

His hand at your back curled tighter, causing your spine to arch involuntarily.

Your thumb brushed over his cheekbone. “Sirius.” You say again, voice settling into something low, unmistakably warm, trying to call him back from his guilt.

His mouth parted, gaze moving back to yours. He looked like he wanted to respond, but his voice was trapped beneath the shock of seeing someone's face. Yours. Seeing you.

And holding you.

His eyes traced your lips.

His fingers tightened into your hair, against your back. He was holding you like he could keep you from vanishing if he tried hard enough.

Your heart was thundering. Your arms and chest suddenly flushed with tingling heat, even as your mind reeled. Oh fuck, you thought as your chest pressed against his. As you felt your stomach sink achingly at his puppy eyed expression, as he didn't let go, lips parted, breaths shallow.

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

You were supposed to update him on Asterius, the candles, The Department of Mysteries. He would want to know how Remus was, Tonks— how the Order was. Your mind was screaming at you for everything your body was ignoring. But you didn't let go, and Sirius hadn’t either.

“You can’t look at me like that…” he whispered, voice raw.

You jolted. “Wh— you looked at me like that first!”

A horrible, beautiful smile broke over his mouth.

FUCK. Your stomach dropped further.

His laugh caught in his throat— warm, stunned, disbelieving. That grin— Godric, that grin split him open, crooked and bright, like mischief carved from hunger.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, I did.”

There was stillness for the span of a heartbeat, maybe two, and then you both closed the distance with unanimous frenzy.

Sirius touched his forehead to yours, breathing hard, his hands moving to wrap around your wrists as you held his jaw. 

He pressed his lips to yours, humming with immediate and deep satisfaction. It sent shivers up your spine. He smiled approvingly into the next kiss. And the next. His grip on your wrists tightened momentarily, before running his fingers over your arms and down your waist. 

You pulled away, catching your breath, and pressed your forehead back against his. A moment passed, long, filled only with the harmonizing of your breaths, but you could feel him still smiling. 

“Don't say anything stupid.” You mumble, not pulling away. 

Sirius had to tuck his face into your neck as a startled bark of a laugh rose from him. “That's unfair—” he retorts, pulling you closer. 

“No, it's actually very fair.” You insist, stumbling into him. 

Sirius kisses your wrist before your hands fall to his shoulders, and then the crown of your head. You could feel how his hands kept moving up and down over your sides, hips, and back— tracing you out, trying to convince himself that this was real and allowed. You let him, heart fluttering in your chest like a trapped bird. 

Slowly, Sirius pressed you against the nearest arch, dragging his lips down your neck as you tried to seem less affected than you were. 

“I've l-learned a lot since the last time we spoke—” You started, fingers curling into his shoulders. 

“Mmn?” Sirius hummed, nuzzling his face against your clavicle, thumbs tracing your ribs through your robes. 

“Y… hnn- yea. We developed a better candle, and a-aah, um… I've learned a lot more about the nature of this place— but—” Your eyes closed as Sirius licked your pulse beneath your ear. Your hands started to run over his chest, glowing fingertips curling where you could feel his heart slamming against his chest. 

It felt too good. Dangerously— after so many months of war, saving him going so slowly, of Order business and death after death after nightmare. Sirius’ next kiss, a shallow bite where your neck and shoulder met drew a soft sound from you, completely against your pride. 

Sirius pressed his smile against the spot at your sound, hands squeezing the small of your waist. “Do that again.” 

You exhaled hard through your nose. “What is wrong with you.” It wasn't a question. Your voice sounded like a white flag. 

Sirius chuckled against your cheekbone. But it wasn't gloating, the way he hid his face into your hair, the way you could feel his smile twitch, was almost nervous. Shy.

You lifted your hand to comb your fingers through his hair, pulling gently, and tilted your head as you looked at him. “You okay?” 

Sirius blinked, his hands immediately loosening, assuming he did something unwelcome. But before he could step back, you kept him close with a gentle tug. “What is it?” 

He blinked at you, and then proceeded to look anywhere but at you. His eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. 

“…I’ve wanted this,” he said finally, voice hoarse, quiet—like it had cost him to admit it. His thumb traced a small, distracted circle against your hip, as if he was still trying to make sense of the fact that you were reachable, and letting him.

He swallowed. “But I wasn’t going to ask.”

He still wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“I didn’t think I’d get to… have anything like this. Not after—” He shook his head, mouth twisting faintly. “Not after everything.”

He breathed, a half-laugh that was bitter, reverent. “Didn’t want to ruin it. Or scare you off. Or make you think I…” 

Sirius finally looked up—just briefly—and the flicker in his eyes was not self-pity. It was hunger, barely bridled, curled tight around apology. “… that I deserved it.”

His hand squeezed your hip, a silent plea for you to stay. 

“You did scare me off.” You said, voice low. “But I still came back.” 

Sirius choked on another sudden laugh, nodding, eyes shut tight like he couldn’t bear how much that meant to him. His hands tightened at your waist, tugging you closer like touch alone might anchor him.

“You did. You came back for me.” he murmured again, but smaller now, to himself. He tilted his head, temple pressing against yours.

You nod, your heart flooding with a feeling so deep it made your hands and chest ache. Protective. Determined. Hungry. 

Burning, your hands moved to his jaw again, guiding him just enough— his breath stuttered as your thumbs brushed the stubble along his cheek. 

This kiss was nothing like the first. If the first had been bright shock, relief, stunned longing. This was claim.

Sirius kissed like he was trying to make up for time lost. Months of exile, ache, guilt. He kissed like a man who’d only imagined softness with his fists clenched. His hands gripped at your hips, your back, your waist again, pulling you flush against him. His mouth opened against yours with a low sound he wanted you to hear.

You gasped, and Sirius took it as invitation— his hand came up to the back of your neck, pulling you in deeper.

When you let him, his body pressed against yours, the groan that broke from him then was quiet, ruined.

“I can't—” he panted beside your ear. “Can't believe I can feel you.” Sirius’ fingers ran up your back in a slow press, as if counting every notch in your spine. “Damn it you're— I can't—” he mumbled, heat drunk. 

Your heartbeat felt like a pulse through your whole body, heavy and wavering, as your hand slipped beneath the hem of his shirt. His groan was low, shivering with disbelief.

“Fuck— sorry— fuck,” he whispered against your mouth, breath uneven. “I didn’t think I’d—” You cut him off by sucking against his lower lip.

The swell of your hip filled his palm. He gripped it greedily before sliding his hand around your waist, pulling you up into him. He kissed you again, harder now, until it was all tongue and breath.

Sirius stumbled back with you, one of his hands cradled the back of your head so it wouldn't strike stone as he pinned you back against the stone arch again. His hips slotted against yours with sudden, aching heat, as if he’d stopped thinking altogether.

“I need—” he whispered raggedly, eyes flickering open to search yours, “just— don’t go.”

Your hand curled in the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged. Sirius’ gasp was unguarded— sweet, pained, and desperate all at once. He leaned into it, lips parting.

Then, with a slow reverence that betrayed how badly he was shaking, he kissed your throat again and started to sink lower. The hand against your robes tugged, hitching fabric as he went, until his palm was on your upper thigh. He exhaled shakily, groaning into your skin.

“You have no fucking idea—” he muttered, eyes squeezed closed. 

“Candle is going to burn out…” You breathe against his neck. Sirius’ response was to pull your robe open enough to kiss down the line of your sternum, cradling your ribs in one hand, hand still against your thigh with the other. 

“But I'll be back soon—” You gasped, chest fluttering beneath his mouth. You watched him press kiss after kiss, then nuzzle your heartbeat. 

You felt your throat tighten as somehow, in the back of your awareness, you knew you only had seconds left. “Sirius, I'm sorry—” You blurted suddenly, causing him to pause. 

He looked up at you, chest rising and falling hard. 

“I'm sorry I left you alone so long. I'm sorry this has all taken so long and— we're closer now. I know we are. I know I'm going to get you out. I know it.” The words spill from you in a sudden deluge. Sirius blinks, sobering immediately, his hands coming up to hold your face. 

“I know.” He says calmly, even and assured. He kisses your forehead. “And.. I—”

-X-

Dawn was slowly illuminating your kitchen. Your hands were still raised, as if your fingers were still tangled in his hair.

The candle was a puddle in your phaile, the last of the wick burnt sideways and glued to the melted wax.

You froze for half a moment, blinking, breath held— and then dragged your hands over your face with a guttural exhale. “What did I just DO?” You moaned at your kitchen, flushing deeply, before stomping over to your counter to summon a glass of water for yourself.

“Idiot.” you muttered before drinking. “Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.”

Another long press of silence.

Your forehead made an impressively loud thunk as it hit the counter. You groaned again. “Why did I KISS HIM?!” you shouted at the drawer.

Staggering, you fell against the stack of books Byron never managed to organize by his front door. They toppled down to the ground, the slaps of them hitting the tile echoed down the corridor of his home. “Byron!” you called feebly through the cottage.

“What the-“ you could hear Byron sleepily exclaim as he lit his wand. You leaned against the nearest wall as you heard Byron stumble into the end of the corridor from you. “What on earth happened?”

“It’s Padfoot.” your voice trembled. Byron closed the distance between the two of you, his hands coming to hold your shoulders. “It’s him, it *is* Sirius Black. Then I was at Grimmauld Place and- Remus still knew him, Byron, they’re still friends.”

“Oh sugar.” Byron cursed, pulling you into a hug. Your head against his chest, Byron cradled the back of your head with one of his hands, his thumb petting your hair as you shuddered against him.

“What am I supposed to do? What does that mean about the order? What are we going to do?” you cried against him. Byron hugged you tighter to his chest, rocking you slowly.

“First thing to do is get through tonight.” he hushed, “Do you think you can do that?”

You felt a fresh wave of hot tears meet your eyes. Your mind was racing to create fearsome possibilities of what could happen, even as you became distracted every few moments with how extremely tired you were. Already, it felt like Byron was holding up most of your weight.

“Tell me you can do that, love.” Byron cooed under his breath.

“I can do that.” you answered, face feeling hot with self consciousness. You had never been so open with Byron before, but his ease with comforting you was nearly worth the embarrassment.

“Too right.” Byron affirmed, leading you over to the sofa in his sitting room. “How about you close your eyes for a few minutes and think about where we met. Tell me what you remember.” he continued, leaving you to lay down as he opened the window behind you. The cold beach air spilled in from the window like an unfurling blanket. You shivered, pulling a nearby throw woven from thick wool over your shoulders. The low rumble of the ocean waves rolling close by slowed your breathing. Suddenly, your eyes felt so heavy.

“You were lost.” you sniffed, closing your eyes to force yourself to visualize it. Apulia. The Adriatic Sea the only thing separating you from what you wanted most. The intensity of the sun in that region, the homes carved from limestone, olive trees. The sound of the ocean, just like here.

“As you would never let me forget.” Byron mumbled, sitting on the edge of his coffee table beside you. You heard him rub his hands together, covering his fingertips in a balm that smelled like chamomile, marshmallow root, burdock, mug wort, and vanilla- grounded, earthy, sweet. Then, as he waited for you to continue, he pushed his fingers gently against your temple, up and down the front and back of your ear, against the nape of your neck.

“I can still see them-“ you whispered, frowning as you felt hot tears well up in your closed eyes. “The Halls, they won’t go away.”

“Why was I lost?” Byron asked softly.

“Because-“ you wheezed, surprised by yourself having the ability to cry and laugh at the same time, “-you had successfully scryed that the college existed, but you didn’t know where to go.”

“But you did.”

“I might scry well, but I never had your talent with potions.” you said, your body had began to feel heavy as Byron began to rub his fingers through your hair.

“Didn’t you get dreams, too?”

“Once we made it to Phocis, yea.”

“What of?”

“The X in the underground stone that marked the breath of the gods at Delphi…” you answered quietly. “I dreamt of King Croesus insisting that the Pythia give him council on a war, even though it wasn’t the right time to divine. The Pythia initially refused, but once the king threatened to destroy the Oracle, she went down into the caves, the very same we ended up studying in, and inhaled the gods’ breath. But the moon wasn’t where it should have been, and the gases too strong. The king found her, crazed and frantic, seeing things that were not there, before she was overcome by insanity and died.”

“… I forgot how pleasant your subconscious is.”

“Well—“ you yawned, “pleasant or not, it got us in to the college.”

“You never did explain how.”

“The dream was about timing. We needed to be there on the right moon, or we wouldn’t be welcomed.”

There was a long pause in conversation then, the ocean waves beyond the window continuing their deep, soft roar.

“I’m glad I came here.” you mumbled, tongue heavy with sleep.

-X-

Someone was holding you by your waist. Enormous, armored hands with fingers as long as your ribs, effortlessly pulling you up into what, you did not know. You could not tell if your eyes were closed, open, or if the surrounding world was black. There was only the sensation of metal closing around your sides, darkness, and echoing breath.

“Can see your-” the breath took shape into words, distant, metallic, as if spoken through a tin. And suddenly you noticed there was a deeper darkness before you, outlining the contour of a helm, the black within it limitless and gaping.

With a jolt of panic you realized this armored creature was holding you up, as if inspecting you.

“I can see-” it breathed again. You struggled to move to no avail. You felt fear unlike any you’d ever known, as you comprehended that this nightmare, this monster, had overpowered you. You could not move, you could not speak, even your capacity to understand what was happening, where you were, felt stunted, tampered with.

“Your wounds- shining beneath your armor.” it hissed, metallic tongued, your stomach turning as it lifted you higher.

“No!” you cried, desperate to rip yourself away.

“Good Godrick-” you heard Byron gasp, as your eyes opened to the view of his sunbathed sitting room. The scent of fried potatoes filled your nose as you turned to see Byron, hand over his heart, startled. “You can’t do that to me- all content and asleep one moment, shouting the next.” he wheezed, shaking a wooden spatula in your direction. “Damn near stopped my heart!” ”Sorry-” you replied, shoulders falling as you looked around his home and relief washed over you. “Was I asleep long?” ”Not three days long.” Byron smiled, hustling to bring you a cup of coffee. “Just overnight.”

“Oh.” you frowned, accepting the mug with a nod of appreciation.

“How do you feel?”

“Not… not that bad?” you answered, sounding as surprised as Byron looked. “Had another weird dream, though.”

“About the Perceforest thing?”

“I don’t know…” your frown deepened. The heat of your cup of coffee spread through your hands, warming them. It helped you feel like you could breathe. Glancing down, you noticed your coffee was in a chipped novelty mug that said “Byron’s Bed & Breakfast ~ Grieve in Peace.” You smiled as the little ocean waves illustrated along with a rendition of Byron’s home rolled in sync with the actual tide outside. You hadn’t known that he’d wanted to start an inn, or used to have one.

“So what, if not that?” Byron asked, darting back into the kitchen.

And then with a jolt you noticed you could see the cup through your fingertips. You nearly spilled the coffee as you hastily set the mug down and stared at your hands. Your eyes widened as you moved the tips of your translucent fingertips, stomach sinking. You didn’t understand what he was asking, the confusion further upsetting you. What was wrong with your hands? This had never happened before. You could feel your mind begin to race and forced yourself to stop. It was too much to think about. And it wasn’t that noticeable anyway. You couldn’t bear worrying about it right now. Besides, they didn’t hurt and they worked just fine.

“Hey?” Byron asked, reappearing with two mismatched bowls piled high with potatoes and eggs.

“Sorry- the coffee was so good I lost track of what we were talking about.” you lied, accepting the breakfast with raised eyebrows. “Wow, thank you.”

“What was weird about the dream?” Byron pressed, sitting beside you on the couch.

“There was a creature?” you started through a bite of egg. “It felt old, powerful… as if it was surprised I was there, but also like it had been waiting?”

“For what?”

“Some… one or thing… to arrive… or happen.”

“And when you say creature?”

“Big and strong… and in armor. It was so dark it was hard to see. But around it’s helm there was a crown made from Blackthorn branches.”

“Could you draw it?” Byron asked, setting down his half eaten bowl to reach for a quill and parchment.

“The armor?” you asked, accepting it.

“Yea.”

“Why?”

“Just curious. Go on.” he encouraged. Feebly, you did your best to capture the particular shapes you remembered, surprised to see just how intrigued Byron was to take the parchment from you and tuck it into his pocket. “Was there anything else?”

“It spoke to me. It said ‘I can see your wounds shining beneath your armor.’”

“Did it sound like the same sort of voice?”

You thought about it, recalling the first dream. And for you, who would reach this boundary, set foot on my threshold, to see the sun in the middle of the night, blazing with bright light, to approach me from below, from above, and worship me from nearby. You are saved from Perceforest this night. “It wasn’t dissimilar.”

“Have you run into anything or anyone else inside the Halls?”

Your stomach dropped as the light filled your memory. The odd cry of excitement as its brightness grew. “Nothing like that dream.” you answered, and then proceeded to detail everything about last night to Byron. He listened attentively, with growing concern behind his eyes despite his best attempts to show calm. After you finished, he took a long time to respond. Then, with a hard look at you, Byron slowly set down his bowl, leaned over, and pulled you into a tight embrace.

“I know it’s a lot, but you don’t have to do this.” you mumbled against his shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” Byron replied low, sitting back. “I think we should let Solonie know everything.”

You fought to keep your expression neutral and receptive instead of the skeptical and defensive.

“I don’t think she’ll be upset.” Byron continued, running his fingers over his beard. “But I think she might know what could help and even if she doesn’t, there isn’t anyone with better resources to figure it out.”

“Help with what, though?” you asked, throat tight. You hid your hands beneath the wool blanket still over you. “What am I doing? Helping him? The crazy wizard who was strong enough to break free of Azkaban? You know, before he even remembered who he was he remembered Harry. He remembered needing to get to Harry.”

Byron’s frown deepened as he considered your concerns. “Solonie can give guidance on that, too. I mean, she’s been a Specularri longer than you’ve been alive. This can’t be her first instance of a morally ambiguous situation.”

“It’s just…” you started, feeling an itching agitation of just wishing you could know what you needed on your own. “You never heard of anything like this in Delphi, right? And neither have I. And if it wasn’t something to be learned there, than how does it exist? How does this whole… place exist? And why?”

“It’s not unreasonable to imagine that Dorea Black may have discovered something that the Specularris of Delphi didn’t know about.” Byron replied, shrugging gently. “They are steeped in Mediterranean traditions that go back before England was united as a country. Their focus was always on ancient wisdoms. Maybe their wealth of knowledge predates the Halls and whatever Perceforest is.”

You sat back, hugging your knees up to your chest. Everything Byron was saying made sense, but telling Solonie didn’t sit right with you. Why? Why did you feel so protective?

“We always think of magic as something still. Something cemented into history and never adapts. But what if it does? What if it evolves right along with us? And just as it shapes us, we shape it?” Byron mused, shrugging. The unease you felt only bit down harder as you considered his line of thought.

“Give me a moment.” you sighed, standing up and walking to the nearest toilet. You could hear Byron casting cleaning spells in the kitchen as you forced yourself to approach the sink. Your heart raced as you looked into your own reflection, wondering if you would hear Sirius Black’s voice calling out to you again. A pang of confusing pain shot through your nerves as you remembered how desperate he had sounded, how happy he was that he could still reach you. Growling, you rubbed your eyes, which were as irritated as ever after connecting to him, and forced yourself to look into the mirror. The Halls were still there, clear dark shapes in the periphery of the reflection, but nothing else. The sight, and the lack of him caused anger to rise in you, and shame, and betrayal. You grimaced at yourself in the mirror. Why were you upset that he wasn’t there? That was what you wanted. You didn’t want to keep helping him. You wanted him gone.

-X-

At first glance, the Ministry of Magic seemed unchanged despite all of the news. Voldemort may be back, but everyone was still coming into work, dressed in their business cloaks and talking Quidditch or whining about an inhumane deadline.You made your way, as was usual, to the Licensing Department, and just as always Pharien smiled as they saw you approach.

”Good morning!” They greeted with a touch of indulgent joy. You shot them a flat smile.

“Why do you always choose the earliest option to bring me in?” you greeted, taking the seat at the head of their desk.

“Do I?”

“Don’t play coy.” you groaned, rubbing your eyes with your gloved hands before you went to reach for all of your paperwork. The translucence to your fingertips hadn’t gone away. The Halls too, were still there every time you looked into something reflective, at this point you were just getting used to your eyes being irritated, light sensitive and dry.

“No no, I had a good reason this time.” Pharien promised, with a nod of thanks as they accepted the paperwork from you.

“This time?” you repeated, tilting your head. “So you admit you do this?”

“You see,” they started, leaning over their desk in a confidential gesture. “I have a friend that works for the Department of Mysteries. She’s an Unspeakable, right?” Pharien couldn’t help but give a victorious little smile as they saw your interest peak- Unspeakables were notoriously difficult to be familiar with, at least outright.

“How are you friends with an Unspeakable?”

“Wow, rude. I do have some very redeeming qualities.”

“Color me unconvinced. How are you friends with an Unspeakable?”

“Well, I guess whatever her job is there has something to do with your line of work, because she’s always asking about how being a Specularri works.”

“What do you tell her?”

“I told her I’d bring her a Specularri, one of the best.” Pharien waggled their eyebrows at you. “But they were busy. So you’ll have to do.”

You stood up then, looking at Pharien with a flat glare.

“Right, so we’re going! Yes! Off to the department of mysteries!”

-X-

You had never been so deep in the Ministry of Magic before. It felt like being back in the caves at Delphi- something about the human body could feel when it was being led deep beneath ground, even when it was as polished as a government office. Pharien nodded to the wix standing guard outside the office door, who regarded the two of you skeptically.

Immediately you felt self conscious, but your curiosity to see the inside of the department of mysteries overpowered your anxieties.

“Fortiger asked me to bring a specialist for something she’s working on.” Pharien explained to the guard. They nodded, waving their hand before the door that they guarded. You heard several locks releasing before the guard ushered you inside.

“Well-“ you started, looking over your shoulder to Pharien. “I expect my license to be processed first thing! And you’re welcome for all this!” You called out, before the guard closed the door on Pharien’s face.

You heard a low, silky voice say your name from the heart of the room. Turning to look, your eyes fell upon a tall, willowy woman, with platinum colored hair that shaggily fell to her shoulders. She regarded you with squinting upturned eyes, so blue they nearly looked violet in this light. The wide line of her mouth curled upwards in a grin as their eyes traced your features.

“Hello,” you started, reaching out your gloved hand towards her for a shake. “It’s a pleasure. Fortiger, right?”

“Yes.” She replied, her handshake was firm, rigid, and brief. With a bow of her head, Fortiger continued introducing herself as she led you down a corridor. “Gentian Fortiger. Thank you for accommodating this request into your schedule. I am sure you’re very busy in your capacity as a Specularri.”

“Well I never thought it would lead me to an invitation here.” you answered with a chuckle. “What is it that I can do for you, Gentian?”

She smiled, continuing to lead down a set of stairs, deeper into the earth. You felt the temperature drop with each step downward. “Working as an Unspeakable has many challenges- nuances, that can make our work seem ambiguous, even superfluous. As a Specularri, I imagine that resonates with you?”

“That attitude is often extended to divination as a whole, yea.” You pushed your arms closer to your side as the staircase finally opened up into a wide corridor. As your eyes adjusted to the torches that flared to life at your presence, you had to withhold a gasp. The walls had lost their black lacquered tiles, and were instead a much older carved stone. The corridor tapered upwards to a high ceiling, with multiple columns supporting the sweeping, medieval architecture. It looked just like it. The Halls.

Gentian exchanged a glance with you, leading you down the hallway to an ancient looking wooden door.

“It’s musty down here- old.” Gentian remarked quietly, in the same way people lower their voices while looking at great art. There was a reverence in her tone, an understanding that in this deep and old place, there was the remnant of something artful, something precious. That it only still existed through generations of great care.

With a flourish of her wand, the door groaned open, revealing a large auditorium with a raised Dias in the center. You could easily sense an ancient, sacred quality to this place, but there were also signs of a more recent disturbance; chipped stones on the floor leading down towards the center, the few items in the room were haphazardly moved to one side, as if it had been cleaned recently but not reorganized.

This time, you were not able to hide your gasp as your eyes fell to the center of the room. A black veil raised on the Dias, billowing softly in a non existent wind. Your heart skipped several beats, throbbing thickly in your chest as you heard indiscernible whispers emit from it, just like the ones you heard in the Halls.

The weight of Gentian’s eyes studying you only exacerbated the Veil’s affect on you. The hair on the back of your neck and arms rose, and as you approached the itching in your eyes became profoundly worse, causing them to water.

“This is one of the two most ancient relics of our country.” Gentian gestured to the Veil. “This, and the pensive located at Hogwarts predate Hogwarts itself- the ministry, too. They are part of an ancient magic that was the foundation of what we use today.”

Slowly, as if in a dream, you reached your hand outward, but before it could even land on the lip of the Dias, Gentian’s hand caught yours in mid air, gently squeezing it as they shook their head. “I can’t allow you to get any closer than this.”

“So, the pensive and this? What does that mean this Veil is? Do you know?”

“That is why you’re here.”

You blinked, eyes shifting between the Veil and Gentian’s smiling eyes.

“There was a… disturbance, not that long ago.”

“Oh?”

She nodded, her face paling as she glanced at the Veil as if regarding a sinister entity. “The Veil has never in recent history been recorded to do anything other than what you see now. But since that disturbance, there have been periods of heightened activity.”

“Right, okay. And you wanted a Specularri because you think it has to do with the dead?”

“The dead have not changed from my understanding, they are still dead. I do not think they are the reason the Veil has been irregularly active.”

“What does active mean? And if not the dead- why would you want someone like me?”

Gentian sighed then, running their long fingers through their hair. “Occasionally, this artifact will become more active as the black cloth changes from moving gently to full on billowing as if in a non existent storm. Additionally, the whispering that you may, or may not be able to hear becomes very audible, the voices- if we should call it that- are raised, sometimes to the point of shouting, while still remaining indiscernible.”

“That sounds unpleasant.”

“Very much so.” Gentian chuckled, clearly appreciating the lightness of your response.

You waited for Gentian to answer your second question, struggling to pull your focus away from the Veil. You wanted to touch it so badly.

“I’d like, if you’re willing, for you to try your art on the Veil itself.” Gentian said, voice softer. “I don’t mean scrying necessarily, but whatever divinatory application you think might best serve me.”

You could feel your heart beating thickly in your temple, trying to seem politely curious and professional instead of the burning, crazed fascination you truly felt. You did your best attempt at a casual nod of consideration. It was like she was just giving it to you- all the access you could want with this thing.

“Do you hear the whispers?” She asked, glancing at the Veil.

“Yes.” You said, straining to sound normal.

-X-

It was never going to feel great, you had to remind yourself, telling Solonie about Sirius Black was never going to feel convenient, or easy, or calm. You were just going to have to do it stressed and anxious.

She looked at you from across her scrying table, eyes full of patient concern. The grace of this woman, while sometimes stern, was an unending source of value to you. Not many people could say they have fair and genuinely compassionate superiors, but Solonie was. You tried to remind yourself of that while you forced yourself to look into her face, wrinkles embroidering her gentle smile with calm.

“Hi.” She started playfully, and you could hear yourself gulp. You wondered with an abstract self consciousness if she heard it. If she knew how worried you were to tell her everything. How had Byron convinced you of this?

Calling you back to return to the present moment, Solonie said your name, reaching over to gently touch her hand to yours.

“Right…” you sighed, giving her a tight smile. “So, the new moon a few months ago.” You glanced up to the ceiling as chills went through your body. It was just a conversation, but somehow it felt like you wouldn’t survive it.

“Yes?” Solonie encouraged supportively.

“Well.” you breathed, and breathed again. Even if she wasn’t going to lose patience with you, you were. A flash of self annoyance lit up within you. Stop thinking. Just talk, you thought. “I encountered an anomaly. I experienced something that I never have before, and I’ve never read about, was taught about, anything.” ”Alright.” Solonie responded, head tilting. There was a trace of concern in her eyes, and even though that was embarrassing, you supposed you couldn’t be surprised. You had never been so emotional in front of her.

“Someth- someone, found me. From inside the mirror. And they were different, too. They felt alive. Reactive. Able to interact with the scrying materials… nearly able to see me, too.” Though Solonie’s face remained professional and stoic, her cheeks paled. You nodded, sighing again.

“I am guessing that means you’ve never experienced that before?” you asked.

“Nothing like that. Not ever.”

“So naturally, I was alarmed because it seemed like this person was trapped.”

“But where?”

You laughed, nodding gravely. “Where indeed.” you replied dryly. “I’ve managed to keep in contact, I’ve found ways to further explore this place, but I can’t understand how to get them… out.”

This admission cast you and Solonie in to a long moment of quiet. Her stoic expression flickered as she focused on the details you’d given. ”So tell me what you know of this place?”

“It’s a series of Halls. A light less place made up from cut stone- it looks medieval. It’s endless seeming. I found someone- not a Specularri, but someone who practices and they believe that this place is some kind of sacred space discovered by their teacher, the late Dorea Black.”

To this, one of Solonie’s eyebrows arched. Her expression sharpened wearily. “That so? Is that why you’ve been looking less and less yourself in the recent weeks?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, chest tightening with defensiveness.

“That you’ve been working away from this office more than ever. That you’ve managed to look sick every time I’ve seen you for the past nine weeks. What did this person tell you to do? Or give you?”

“Solonie-” you started, shaking your head.

“You can be offended. What did they give you?”

“They sell candles-” you started, voice hard. Why were you being so protective of Asterius? It was true, that candles were horrible. You would have reacted the same way if you’d seen Byron resorting to their use.

“Well what is in them?”

You blinked, and that reaction seemed all Solonie needed to condemn it. She groaned your name. “If you’re going to experiment with fringe practices, you need to be aware of what you’re using.”

You opened your mouth to retaliate to whatever criticism she might say, refute whatever harsh words may come, and blinked as you registered that she wasn’t severe at all. In fact, she was being very reasonable.

“So you’re not…” you started, “reporting me? Or, restricting my clients or I don’t know… punishing me?”

Solonie blinked back at you, her own flatness dwarfing your own sardonic sensibilities. “I’d sooner seek to punish whoever put that poor person wherever he is. But we do need to come up with a structure for you. It’s necessary that we help, but it is unwise to go into something so mysterious without fail safes. Now-” she turned to look at a moon calendar and ran her finger along until it rested against the next new moon. “The first thing you need to do is go back to wherever you got those candles and make sure you know whats in them. Then you can tell Byron and I, and we will look into the potion structure and see what are it’s risks, what makes it work, or fail. I wouldn’t be surprised if there is something we can alter that lowers it’s side effects. Or something we can make or use before and after hand to aid you.”

“Wait.” you started, eyes widening. “You’re not… I mean, you’re going to help? Me? You’re going to help me do this? Help him?”

“Of course.” Solonie replied, her eyes hard, as if it was insulting to assume otherwise. You felt tears rise in your eyes, a rush of pressure into your head. “What?” she exclaimed, only looking more offended.

“Sorry-” you tried to compose yourself, “I just didn’t think-”

“Yes. Not usually a problem with you. But I suppose we all have our moments.” Settling into her chair, she continued. “The next new moon is in October, will that give you enough time to source the materials of these candles?”

You started to say yes, but before you could say anything more, a soft knock sounded against her door. Aurelia apologized as she pushed in, eyes flickering nervously between the two of you.

“Yes?” Solonie asked. You were surprised when Aurelia’s focus shifted to you.

“Sorry,” she started, “There is someone in your office. Demanding to see you.”

“Oh-” you started, standing up slowly and glancing back towards Solonie for dismissal.

“I think we have a good start, go on.” she said, nodding.

As you walked down the hall towards your office, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of victory and dread. Byron had been right, Solonie was willing to help. Never would you have imagined that the conversation would have gone the way it had. Pushing into your office, you shook your head. What now? You hadn’t had the chance, or made your mind up, about telling Solonie who it was you had been trying to save. You hadn’t even made your mind up if you were going to continue to try and help Sirius. But- you thought with a grimace, how could you not?

As your office door closed behind you, you gasped sharply as your eyes landed on Remus Lupin, sitting at your table with a cadaverous pallor.

“I’ve been looking for you, everywhere. Both of us, Tonks and I.” he sighed in relief and stood up. Your eyes traced his path, breath turning shallow as you looked up into his face, your hand slowly reaching for your wand. His glance darted towards your hand and he shook his head.

“No. No, no-” he said low, holding one hand up in a gesture of surrender as the other withdrew his wand from his robes and placed it on your table. “I came here to apologize. For scaring you, for how everything happened.”

You snarled, your skin suddenly hot with a mix of embarrassment, anger, disappointment. “How what happened?” you seethed, teeth tight. “How you made a fool of Byron and I? How you tricked us into thinking that your Order was for something good? I ought to expose it all right now. I ought to march up to the Auror’s office, find whatever officer Alastor hates the most, and tell them the address of that horrible place-”

Remus’ eyes suddenly brightened, widening with vulnerability and alarm. You could see the pain in his expression deepen with your words, a frantic and desperate line to his mouth. His other hand drew upwards, until this tall, sullen soldier of a wizard was all but bowed before you, listening to you with increasing fear in his eyes. It satisfied you, it made you feel like there was still some part of your life that was not larger than yourself.

“Please.” he asked, his tone wavered. “Please allow me to show you just one, one thing- and then I will leave you alone. I just want you to understand one thing.”

The satisfaction you felt was immediately tempered by a sting of guilt as you watched how quickly this man came to begging. It scared you, the extremeness of your own emotions, of his- this entire situation. You shook your head lightly, trying to recenter yourself, trying to ground yourself.

“What is it.” you asked, voice hard and guarded.

Slowly reaching into a pocket of his robes, Remus pulled out a very wrinkled copy of The Daily Prophet. You blinked, having expected something stranger, wilder, not something as mundane as the paper. Your eyes traced the front as you recognized the issue. June 18th, 1996 HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED RETURNS.

“Everyone saw this.” Remus gestured to the headline, before his fingers slipped to the inside pages, there was a well thumbed corner you noticed, he hardly had to glance as he turned the page. “But not…” he started, his bottom lip trembling slightly.

Sirius Black: The Truth Emerges

Long regarded as a dangerous fugitive, Sirius Black lost his life last night in the Department of Mysteries. Recent revelations confirm that Black was not responsible for the deaths of James and Lily Potter and was never a dark wizard. Instead, he fought against He Who Must Not Be Named’s followers, sacrificing himself in the struggle against the Dark Lord's return. Black has been granted pardon posthumously by the Minister of Magic for all accusations made against him.

You were unable to focus on the words. Each letter a strange symbol- chaos, unreal. You had been holding your breath and shaking your head long before you realized you were. Before you realized that you were still in your office with Remus Lupin. Before you were able to finally register that he was innocent. Sirius Black was innocent.

Unable to find words, you looked back up into Remus Lupin’s face and found it wet with tears. He was trying to stop himself from crying, his shoulders jerking slightly with the effort. Whatever he saw in your face seemed to only make it harder for him.

“The last time I saw you,” he started, “And I heard you say ‘Padfoot’, I-” he made a sound between a sigh and a sob, trying to clear his throat as he wiped his hand down his face. “I didn’t, I couldn’t control my emotions. I didn’t think of what it would seem like to you, and for that I will- I’ll regret that my life over.”

Remus took a step towards you, that same pleading expression on his face. “You may never trust me again, and wish to never set foot in another Order meeting. I would understand. I would never again trouble you. I would erase any mark myself or the Order left on your life. But-” his voice wavered. Remus came closer, eyes red and bright with hot tears. “If there is anything I can do so that you will help him, even if that means accomplishing such without ever reminding you of my existence again, I would… I would move mountains. Reorder the stars. Nothing you asked of me would be too great a cost. You would never hear any form of refusal. I would offer my life.”

A shiver ran through you, and you jumped as you felt a tear drop from your lash and hit your own cheek. The air surrounding you pressed close, bent, magnifying Remus’ anguish. But before you could think of what to say, the door to your office slammed open from behind you.

With a yip of terror, you pivoted, Remus was just as shocked as Byron pushed into the room.

“YOU’VE GOT SOME NERVE, LUPIN!” Byron roared, one of his huge arms coiling around you and pulling you closer to him, as his other hand pointed his wand at Remus’ chest. “YOU DIDN’T THINK I WAS WATCHING? THAT I WOULDN’T BE HERE?” ”Byron-” you gasped, choking on your breath.

Remus looked into Byron’s yelling face with eyes as big as saucers. Hands raised into the air, he quickly resumed his gesture of compliance. “I-”

“WHAT?” Byron growled, as you tried to gently disentangle yourself from him. “YOU WHAT? YOU’RE SORRY? YOU THINK THAT’S GOOD ENOUGH? YOU THINK THAT WE-”

“BYRON!” you shouted, struggling to speak over him. You placed both of your gloved hands over his wand arm, lowering it. He jumped, looking between you and Remus with brows bent into a knot of confusion. “You’ve missed a very convincing apology and redemption.”

Leaning over, you grabbed the copy of the Prophet off of the table and showed Byron the small passage about Sirius. As he read, you watched as the furious twist of Byron’s expressions slowly undid themselves.

“Oh.” he said, cheeks reddening as he tucked his wand away.

“That’s more than I managed to say.” you shrugged, glancing at Remus. “Are you alright?”

Remus, white faced, didn’t look like he entirely knew how to respond to you and gave something between a shrug and a thumbs up.

“Right, so…” you sighed, glancing from Byron and then back to Remus. You turned towards him, face set. “You were telling me that you would do anything I needed. To get him back.”

“Anything.” Remus said.

Your mind was blaring with too many thoughts, from exhaustion. You felt Byron’s large hand move to rest on your shoulder and took a large breath. “The candles…” you thought aloud.

“Yes?” Remus said, perking up.

“I need- he works at The Coffin House. His name is Asterius. I need you to bring him-”

“Not here.” Byron interjected softly. “Being Ministry run and all.”

“Right. I need you to bring him to my flat. Yea… bring him to my flat.”

Sirius, you thought as a lash of pain tore through your chest. I’m sorry. I’m coming back.

“Asterius… Darnant?” Remus asked, frowning softly.

“You know him?” Byron asked.

“Vaguely. He was mates with Regulus Black, Sirius’ little brother… I’d see them at school.” Remus raised his eyebrows, as if appraising some passing thought. “He isn’t the most straightforward person. He might not be happy to… comply.”

“He has what I need to do this and understand it more.” you added, a new determination in your tone.

“Then he will come to your flat.” Remus answered, picking his wand back up from the table.

You felt your heart lurch. “Remus-” you started, taking a step towards him. “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for how everything has gone. For what you’ve lost.”