Subplot

5 - Sirius

He waited patiently until Hedwig had finished preening herself, then tied the letters to Harry and Dumbledore to her leg. Stroking her feathery head briefly, he told her to hurry North to the great wizard school. He knew he needn't even have given the owl these further instructions, as it was a lovely, reliable bird, yet somehow telling her to speed made him feel a tiny bit less trapped. He would have liked to fly North, too.

Dumbledore had instructed him to stay where he was, namely the isolated house of Mundungus Fletcher somewhere near the rough coast of Devon. He was not to mount the motorcycle, or leave the house in the shape of Snuffles, or let anybody else see him. From his window Sirius could hear the seagulls cry as if mocking him in his cell. He told himself not to be silly as he watched the great owl soar away. After Azkaban, this clean, friendly room, completely devoid of the influence of the Dementors and utterly lacking the maddening screams of the tortured, should be heaven. He had a window to look outside and could smell the sea, something which, he reminded himself for maybe the seventh time that day, he would have wished for if he had even been able to wish for something during this time. Sirius gazed out of the window, trying to see as much of the little back garden with its trees and flowers as he could. Being locked inside for little more than three weeks had him back at craving to see the sky above him, to touch a tree or to Transform into a dog and run through the meadows as if there wasn't anything else to be done in the world. Not to mention... A sigh escaped his lips.

Among all the dreariness of his present situation, which was worrisome as well as slightly depressing, Sirius saw a ray of light at the end of the tunnel. Thinking of it he felt elated, in love, almost young again. He had indeed fallen in love, namely with Professor Varlerta's shiny Flying Harley. It was a neat little thing, well-made and well-enchanted, a little lighter than the motorbike he had owned a lifetime ago, but certainly a jewel among motorbikes. Presently it was standing in Mundungus' garden shed, hidden by some complicated spell. If he could only be sitting on it right now, free to fly where he pleased! When he had sped through the clouds on it, the wind in his face and the world gliding along beneath his invisible wheels, it was almost as if these years of torture had never happened, as if he was still a careless young man, full of hope, a life full of promises still before him. At least he had believed it was.

Sirius liked to stay on the move, if only to avoid thinking about these things. While still in Azkaban, sorrow had been omnipresent for him. It was as if the night when his life was shattered had never ended. Time did not really pass in Azkaban, you knew neither evening nor dawn there. For the two years he was out he had done his best to run away from time, but hardly succeeded. Every sunrise told him not only that most people he had ever cared for were dead and decayed, but also that the same could be said for the hopeful young man on a flying motorbike who had once believed the world his oyster, who had challenged the world to equal him in strength. The same could be said for twelve years of his life.

"Moping Myrtle," he chided himself and left the room to go downstairs and make himself a pot of tea just to have something to do. Keeping close to the inner walls he was sure he was not visible from outside. The window of his own room they had bewitched to hide him. Why not at least bewitch the other windows of the house so he could move around a little more freely? He decided to ask Mundungus to help him with that once he had returned from work and darkness had fallen, which would enhance the spell.

After he had filled the kettle in the windowless bathroom because the kitchen sink was too close to the front window he settled down in the gloomiest corner of the small, dusty kitchen, waiting for the water to boil. If Mundungus would only come home! Or if there was at least something to do in this house, maybe something to read, some books about anything else other than these accursed ancient runes Mundungus had dedicated his life to. For maybe the twentieth time he picked up yesterday's Daily Prophet, rereading articles and advertisements, pondering once more about the two words in the crossword puzzle he had not been able to figure out, and finally getting back to the article on the front page. Consider the effort: After being the focus of attention for three weeks now, and in spite of everything else that was happening, he was still making the front page. Because of everything else, he told himself bitterly. After all, once more he was the most famous murderer in the country in the eye of the magical public. Sirius reread yesterday's article even though by now he almost knew it by heart.

>>Aurors continue search, but still no trace of Black.

Chief Auror Gerold Hawks emphasizes that public accusations of a fouled-up investigation in the case of fugitive Black (as reported by the Daily Prophet) are unjust: "While the public outcry for an arrest is understandable, people should keep in mind that even Aurors cannot do more than magic." Claiming that Black uses sophisticated Dark Magic to kill as well as to elude capture, the disconcerted official refused to take the blame for the Aurors' continued failure to catch the alleged serial killer who is the chief suspect in the brutal Kinney and the Figg murder cases. After the sighting of the Dark Wizard on a Flying Harley in the town of Little Winging on September the 10^th, in spite of a broad international search no further traces of Black have been found.

While Hawks refused to comment on the rumour that Black's heightened activities of terror are connected to a general rise of Dark Powers, Ministry officials claim they have proof that this is not the case. "Getting hysterical about a possible connection to You-Know-Who is just the thing that is harming this investigation," Cornelius Fudge repeated to the Daily Prophet. "It is obvious that Black is working alone for reasons of his own. We should not forget that after more than a decade spent in Azkaban, he is probably not of a sound mind - if indeed he ever was."<<

Sirius put the paper down, trying to fight down the desperation growing in his heart. He tried not to look at the picture the paper had printed again and again: He was on the motorbike trapped in an everlasting sequence of take-offs, his face distorted as he had just made the most grisly of discoveries after three days of searching. A scream of frustration lurked in his throat when he thought about the article. Wasn't it enough that he had spent all those years in prison, that he had spent most of the last two years hiding in squalor? He would have liked to live the rest of his life if not in peace, then at least not in hiding. His thoughts wandered to Harry. When they had first met he had believed he could be a surrogate father for the boy, but he had come to realise that if his name was ever cleared, Harry would be grown by then. Contact with his best friend's son had always been rushed, cut short by more urgent demands. He'd said he'd be back in a few hours - and now more than three weeks had passed, and with the country full of blood-thirsty Aurors, there was little chance for him to get to Hogwarts alive any time soon. Not for the first time, his thoughts strayed to Gerold Hawks. The chief Auror of Britain had been at the meeting of Dumbledore's secret "Order." Hawks must know that Dumbledore trusted Sirius, that he sent him to find Arabella Figg and her elderly mother to make sure they were safe, not to butcher them. Was Hawks' head-hunt only a show, or did the Chief Auror disagree with Dumbledore? Sirius was sure the Hogwarts headmaster would have told him if it was safe to come out of his hideaway, so it could not be wholly a show. They were out there to get him, to hand him to the soul-sucking Dementors, and once more he was framed for mass murder, not to mention claimed to be insane. Gnawing at his lower lip in confusion and anger, Sirius poured the boiling water into the teapot, then practically crawled over the floor to get the milk out of the magic-powered fridge beyond the window.

When Mundungus came home a few hours later, Sirius was eager to talk to him, actually to talk to anybody at all. The golden-haired, slightly chubby scholar of magical runes sat down with him at the table, pouring himself a cup of Sirius' ninth pot of tea. The rune expert leaned back in his chair to tell him the latest news.

"It is as I suspected. The Figgs were Leagues, just like the Kinneys. This leads us to a pattern we've had before, and I do not like it at all. There is no claiming You-Know-Who's murders are pointless anymore."

Sirius had heard the expression 'League' before - some time before he went to prison. He could not quite remember what it meant, so he asked and got a longer answer than he had expected.

"Well, in short the 'League for Magic and Non-magic Cooperation' are an international group of political activists, so to say, who believe that Witches and Wizards should cooperate with Muggles and do what they can in solving the world's problems. They strongly oppose the general praxis of keeping Muggles ignorant of our existence."

Sirius frowned. "Sounds like they are looking for Mayhem."

Mundungus took off his chipped glasses to wipe them on his robe's sleeve. Sirius noticed the deep imprint they had made on the nose of the near-sighted wizard. Squinting a bit, Mundungus looked at him.

"Many wizards feel that way. They think the League are simply crazy. It's an illegal organisation, too, strictly speaking, even though I never heard of anybody who was punished for being League. - See, we are talking about a movement that is thought to have its origin in the Middle Ages, if not earlier, and which has weathered many storms through time. It's not like You-Know-Who is the first to try and do away with them all. Though that may be difficult - no one knows how strong the league actually is, especially if you think globally."

To Sirius, who had not been involved with either politics or medieval history very deeply before he went to Azkaban and who presently had other, more pressing things on his mind, all this was rather new. "What's Vol- excuse me, what's You-Know-Who got to do with a medieval bunch of lunatics?"

Mundungus chuckled, rubbed his bruised nose and put his glasses back on. Pushing a few long, golden stray hairs back over his forehead, he said:

"Ok, I better start from the beginning so you'll understand. Do you know anything about how society was organized among wizards and Muggles in the time of Feudalism, maybe earlier? I mean, anything besides the things Professor Valium Binns taught you?"

Sirius scratched his cheek, the place where other men who had not experimented that recklessly with Animagus spells had beards. What in the world was Feudalism again? He shook his head:

"Always hated History of Magic. Could not stand to listen to the old ghost for a second. I can't figure out how you could."

The golden-haired former Hufflepuff, two years older than Sirius, had been notorious not only for being the top student of the school when it came to Ancient Runes, but also for being one of the few who was interested in History of Magic. Sirius had always considered him to be quite a nerd. Surprisingly, Mundungus did not seem to respect their ghostly former teacher overly much. Now he slapped the table with his palm, a look of grim triumph on his face.

"See, that's what you get for trying to cut down expenses by keeping on ancient or deceased teachers! Their knowledge is just not up to date, and the price you pay is a generation of witches and wizards that is virtually ignorant of all things that matter! With You-Know-Who and the League at war again, we should really know what we're up against! - See, when Binns was alive and started teaching, all they taught you in History of Magic was an euphemistic view of all things that were not-so-nice. Students weren't supposed to worry about history, so all they gave us was surface information about Goblin Wars, which were nothing but a mere symptom of the bigger struggle behind it all."

Mundungus started to get heated up with talking. His hands were underlining his emotions in wide, expressive arches. Obviously, this was one of his favourite topics. He dived into it with visible relish.

"In ancient times, it is believed, witches and wizards lived with Muggles, were part of the tribe, had their special job and were honoured for it, just like Shamans, Medicine Men or whatever. In return, their tribe kept them fed and everything. In some old rune documents, this is called the Ancient Order. Then in many places, especially in Europe, witches and wizards started to dominate their people. Many tribe leaders and later many Feudal rulers used magic to control their Muggles as well as magical creatures. They used them as slaves, basically, controlling them with the exact spells that today are considered to be Dark Magic. Of course, there was a lot of disagreement throughout history, among wizards for one thing, because some opposed things like will-power controlling magic. They believed in re-establishing the Ancient Order. These can with some justification be considered the spiritual parents of today's League. Others believed witches and wizards had some kind of natural right to rule the world, that they were a superior class chosen for this job. To preserve that right, witches and wizards should not intermarry with Muggles. Here we've got the pure-blood position, upheld by many of the so-called old wizard families whose wealth was basically founded on the exploitation of Muggles - Feudalists, you name it. Salazar Slytherin was an early leader of that position, but You-Know-Who is known to have embraced it, even though, irony of fate, he is said to have had a Muggle father. - Anyway, it is proven that You-Know-Who hated not only Muggles and relished in their murder, but also that he had it in for the League. Even though You-Know-Who's aims during his first rule of terror remain a general mystery, many people believe that they may have included re-establishing the Feudalist rule of pure-blooded wizards over the Muggle world - with him as top dictator, I suppose."

Sirius felt as if his head was swimming and would have liked to ask a question or two, but Mundungus was not to be stopped.

"You see, the positions always seem to be the same, back in medieval times, under You-Know-Who's first rule of terror and, I fear, now. Of course there is a lot of neutral ground in between, which coincides not only with the politics of our contemporary Ministry of Magic but also with what most witches and wizards believe today: Muggles should be left alone, should solve their problems on their own but be relatively unmolested by the needs of the magical public. - Of course, I've hardly ever seen a witch or wizard grow their own food, but that may be another matter. - We make sure that Muggles generally don't even know we exist, but we permit intermarriage and accept Muggle-born witches and wizards into our world, instead of eliminating them, which was the general praxis among the Feudal wizard regime."

Had he misheard that? Sirius partly rose from his chair, forgetting the need to stay in the shadows for a second.

"They killed them?" he shouted. "They killed children for this nonsense?"

Mundungus pulled him back into his chair.

"Calm down, Sirius. Can't believe you're so naïve. I should think all those years in Azkaban had taught you the world is not a nice place where magical children roam for fun!"

Both wizards settled down into their chairs. Sirius stared down into the cold, milky tea in his cup. He stirred it with his spoon aimlessly. Then he looked up again to find Mundungus doing the same.

"You mean the things happening in our time are not an exception?"

"Nope." Mundungus ran his ink-stained hand through his hair, accidentally undoing what remained of his pony-tail. He shook his head.

"They say You-Know-Who is the worst and most powerful Dark Wizard of all time, but he surely wasn't the first one and won't be the last. His downfall brought us a time of relative peace, but he is not the cause for this. On his own he could easily be overcome, but as his ideas are rather popular with some, he can draw his true power from a wide pool of supporters. This is all about power, Sirius, as it has always been. Some want to rule, and some think they shouldn't. Those who suffer most are usually the innocent, Muggles, children, you name it. - Think of Feudalism, Sirius. There was the Muggle church, opposed to the wizard regime, many believe because they wanted to rule in their stead. They raised the Muggles against witches and wizards, and to what consequence? They could not harm us, so those who were brutally killed were Muggles. I bet Binns didn't teach you that, did he?"

Sirius shook his head. "How come you know all that, Mundungus?" he asked.

"Why'd you think I studied Ancient Runes? It's all still there, in rotting documents in secret writing, some written by pure-blood fanatics, some by the League, waiting for us to take the time and discover what is really behind all this." Mundungus indicated with his arm as if to include the whole dusty kitchen or maybe even the whole world in his sentence. Sirius suddenly thought of something:

"Are you a member of the League, Mundungus?"

The lips in the round, bespectacled face tensed up; he inhaled deeply through his nose.

"No, I'm not, I'm not even a proper supporter of them. Call me a coward, but I'm a peaceful scholar, not at all the type to blast fire all over the place with my wand. Maybe I forgot to tell you that the League is quite radical. They do more than just tell witches and wizards politely that as they share one Earth with the Muggles, they should care about problems like pollution, war or poverty, that by withholding their special gifts from Muggles they have to share the blame in causing these things. To state their point, they are said to have blown up mansions, to have lynched alleged Death Eaters and other things. Twenty years ago, there is supposed to have been quite a war between the groups. Aurors were involved in it, too, killing off loads of both sides to get back to peace, and innocent people in the middle of all of this. Nothing of this has ever been proved, of course. Anyway, if you ask me, I support the ideas of the League, but by no means their methods. Couldn't believe that Arabella was one of them, either."

Sirius remembered the pretty blonde Gryffindor schoolgirl whose mother had protected Harry for such a long time. Not two months before she was murdered, he had talked to her, told the woman she'd become that Voldemort had risen again and that Dumbledore wanted her support in their fight against him. Arabella had been shocked at first, but then promised to come to the meeting to see what she could do. She'd been kind to Sirius, had believed him at once when he told her he had not been the one to betray the Potters. He could not imagine either her or her mother as members of a group that blew up wizard mansions. Neither was it the thing he expected of the parents of two toddlers. But whatever these people had done or might have planned to do, Voldemort or his supporters had killed them brutally, and the Ministry was denying a connection. Oh yes, and he was getting framed for it, that was the punch line, wasn't it? Suddenly he felt dead tired.

"You know, I'm still pretty shocked by all of this," Mundungus broke out after a few minutes of silence. "I used to know Arabella, used to know her well, if you know what I mean."

"You were lovers," Sirius voiced his realisation.

"Couple of years ago," Mundungus said with hesitation in his voice. "Then she'd grown distant on me, and I never figured out why. If she'd only told me - I mean, now I think her membership in the League may have had something to do with it. Back then I thought she'd found someone else, but didn't press her to tell me, well, you know what it's like."

The problem, or one of the problems, was that Sirius did not know what it was like. It was not like he was burning to tell Mundungus that, but something beyond his control must have betrayed him, because Mundungus then said:

"I'm sorry, that was pretty tactless of me."

Sirius wished Mundungus would just leave it at that to make up for any previous lack of tact, but after gnawing at a stubby fingernail for a while, the round-faced wizard tortured him with a bit of sympathy.

"You never had anyone, Sirius, did you? Not before Azkaban, not after, right?"

Mutely, Sirius shook his head. Suddenly he once more felt young again, but in an altogether uncomfortable way.

"You liked Lily, didn't you?" Mundungus asked very softly.

That was going too far, even in the name of friendship or whatever this was going to be about. "Come off it, we all liked Lily!" Sirius said rather loudly. Mundungus nodded as if to console him.

It was true, too. Lily had been a girl beyond compare, and there had probably been no boy at Hogwarts who had not noticed. In her fifth year, she had turned every male head, including his. But he'd never envied James his success, at least not to the extent of liking his friend less. He knew Lily and James had made the perfect couple, and did not deceive himself by thinking he'd suit her better. It was just that she'd made him set his standard too high. He had wanted the same thing the two people he cared about most in the world had - perfect happiness, or so it had at least always looked to him. So he'd been picky, unwilling to settle on a girl that was less beautiful, less intelligent, or less kind than Lily. Up to that fateful night that had destroyed not only his life, he'd been confident there was someone out there just for him. After that night, the question had become a minor issue.

Mundungus, his blue, near-sighted eyes thoughtful, had probably by then decided to retrieve a minimal amount of tact, because he changed the subject.

"Any news from Hogwarts, then?"

"Owl post, but no news. Harry's ok, writing funny stories about the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher to cheer me up. Oh, and Snape's got green hair, that's the news of the day, actually. But on a larger scale, nothing. Dumbledore tells me to stay hidden. They are still trying to find out if there's anything funny about the fact that there just happened to be a wizard with a camera present the minute I found the bodies of Arabella and old Mrs. Figg, someone who may have known where to expect me, and when, and maybe even that I'd be riding a motorbike. But if there's a leak somewhere -" he felt a shudder run up his spine - "it's got to be a leak in Dumbledore's secret order, right? This person would know everything we talked about, and know all our faces."

Mundungus nodded. "Right. That would mean we're cooked right from the start, I suppose. Each one of us may then have Death Eaters knocking on our doors tomorrow, no matter if we are League or not. But Dumbledore says there is no leak. Let's hope he's right, and whoever sent your picture to the Daily Prophet was there to take it by mere coincidence. I mean, let's hope that because it's all we can do."

Sirius nodded. He wanted to get back to Hogwarts, be there to know what was going on, to protect Harry from further attacks which were quite likely (though he had to admit that Hogwarts was probably the safest place in the world). Most of all, he wished he could do something useful, to do all he could as long as there was still time. The things Mundungus had said made him feel open war with Voldemort and his supporters could break out any day now. Surely they were gathering up their strength now, preparing for attack. Any day might count, and here he was, hiding away in the countryside, biding his time until - what?

Even though he felt a strong urge to leave the house now, rev up the lovely motorbike including its Invisibility Booster, dive into the clouds and fly to Hogwarts right now, he knew he would not. It seemed less than prudent to act against Dumbledore's explicit advice which was almost a command. Stay where you are, Sirius, and keep your head down. He felt bile rising in his throat? but fought it down.

"By the way, Mundungus, think we could do anything at all with these other windows?" he asked.