Ebb and Flow

emberlivi

Story Summary:
When Althea Morrigan attended Hogwarts, classmates considered Muggle Studies a joke. Unfortunately, as Muggle Studies professor, not much has changed. Why would anyone take the job? Sham marriages, staff room brawls, Centaurs, murder, and Puffskeins abound.

When Althea Morrigan attended Hogwarts, classmates considered Muggle Studies a joke. Unfortunately, as Muggle Studies professor, not much has changed. Why would anyone take the job? Sham marriages, staff room brawls, Centaurs, murder, and Puffskeins abound.

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When Althea Morrigan attended Hogwarts, classmates considered Muggle Studies a joke. Unfortunately, as Muggle Studies professor, not much has changed. Why would anyone take the job? Sham marriages, staff room brawls, Centaurs, murder, and Puffskeins abound.

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[I]They’re so much older than me[/I], she thought as a brown-haired girl kissed a purple-faced boy on the cheek. [I}Good Lord, purple faces! I doubt that soot will wash off their faces…and they don’t seem to care. Witchcraft is frightfully bizarre[/I].

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"He's never thought highly of Muggles—" "I guarantee no Muggle would ever think highly of him," she interrupted, kicking her heel against the floor. "Honestly, I wouldn't trust him with brewing the potion," she remarked, continuing to kick her heel against the floor. "I wouldn't trust him with anything."

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Professor Binns’s monotonous voice droned on inside Althea’s ears, and created the soothing sound of honeybees buzzing about in multiple beehives.Mmm…honey, she lazily dreamed—slightly licking her lips.

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Althea grimaced as she studied the photograph—a horrible caricature of her former self, a self she desperately wished to forget.

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Everything she had been taught in Defense Against the Dark Arts suggested that the werewolf was a dark creature—one of the darkest of creatures—a damned soul.

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“Am I not good enough for you?” she teased and Sirius bit the inside of his cheek. “Not enough of a Muggle?”

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Althea closed her eyes once more. So, this is my death, she thought as she tried to steady her breath.

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"Where is your House loyalty?”

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“After mum died, I never saw England until I was eleven. I was happy…dad and me…but it caught up to him.” Althea sighed. “It would’ve caught up to me,” she said and shrugged. “To us.”

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“This isn’t bloody funny.”

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“Forget about a Wizard’s Debt?” he snorted and laughed once more. “Morrigan, you can’t forget about something as powerful and profound as a Wizard’s Debt.”

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“I thought you could fly better than that,” Sirius said casually as he knelt next to her. “Some Seeker you are.”

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“Miss Lily Evans, Gryffindor Prefect and bane of Sirius Black’s mischievous existence, includes herself in the gaggle of silly girls that would like to see him naked? Shameful and shocking, indeed. I’ll owl your mother.”

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“Peter would have been a better choice, wouldn’t he?”

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“I like to forget he exists. I don’t want to be like him: jinxing students because he feels they deserve it—just because they’re not pure-blood and don’t fancy a bit of the Dark Arts.”

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Is this another ‘I warned you about Sirius, but you didn’t listen to me and now look what happened’ talk?” she asked and folded her arms. “Because if it is, I remember the last one: ‘Althea Rosemary, nothing ever decent came from the Blacks. If Voldemort, himself, could have come from any family, he would have chosen the Black family. Sirius cannot help his dark tendencies. It is in his blood.’”

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“He is, but his hair is too perfect. I’ve never seen it move,” Lily replied, resting her hands behind her. “I like hair—” “That looks a bit wind-swept,” Althea interrupted and smiled teasingly.

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Not again, she thought, and raised herself up onto her elbows to see the uproar. She watched as Lily turned on her heel and left James standing, dumbfounded.

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He kissed you, you silly girl, she thought and clasped her hand over her mouth.

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Sirius, pale, sat next to James and seemed to force a smile as James cheerfully slapped him upon the back.

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“Please, don’t.” Althea frowned as she smelled something familiar—a scent she found pleasant. “One of us has to be happy.”

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“So you’re the one,” Althea heard a woman say behind her.

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The grasses and wildflowers grew untamed around the faded, forgotten tombstones of Althea’s ancestors. Sirius took her hand and led her through the archway of the decaying church. The roof had long since crumbled away and only a few pillars of stone and one wall remained.

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“Aren’t you a little old for such escapades,” Phineas sneered, looking from Althea to Remus. “A werewolf…it suits you. Next, it’ll be a centaur—”

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Professor Erlenmeyer, in his taupe dressing gown and nightcap, absentmindedly paced up and down the Hogwarts roof. Periodically, he would stop as if in deep thought—either scratch his head or fold his arms—and continue to pace again.

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She rounded the corner, and there upon the ground laid Lily—panting from the last curse.

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"I think he's more miserable alive," she said, stroking the cold windowpane with her index finger. "Always like him though, to escape that way—so pompous."

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“Puffskeins—an allergic reaction to Puffskeins. The poor bloke!” “What d’you mean?” Remus laughed, shaking his head. “It was her!”

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Althea picked up her quill and frowned as the ink had dried at the tip. Dipping the quill in the ink, she stared blankly at her parchment. How can Lily believe he could overcome something such as this?

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“Whether he was nice or not had nothing to do with betraying the Potters, did it?” Althea remarked, lifting the shot glass to her lips.

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In one swift movement, Sirius raised his wand and roared. “STUPEFY! LEVICORPUS!”

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“What will everyone think?” Lily asked nervously, as she turned from side to side in front of the mirror.

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“I SHOULD HAVE LET HIM KILL YOU!” he shouted, knocking into Snape.

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Slowly lifting her head, she gazed at herself in the mirror and groaned. Her face flushed from alcohol, her eyes puffy and bloodshot, and her skin full of crease marks from her clothing. She was grotesque and ugly—a horrible old hag.

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What am I thinking, she thought as she stood in front of the door.

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Althea slowly opened her eyes. What happened, she thought and noticed her hands were bound behind her. She attempted to speak, but realized a gag had been placed in her mouth.

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Sirius, what do you do for the Order, she thought, as she continued to look at a grimacing and screaming Sirius. If only she had a second Healer, but calling on one would be too dangerous. Running her hands through her hair, she thought quickly at what would stop the spread of the potion, or at least, stop the suffering of death.

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Sirius—bruised and bloodied—returned to her cottage around four that morning to find Althea asleep at her kitchen table. Althea did not ask his whereabouts—more business for the Order. She mended the gash on his forearm without question.

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“I believe our baby would understand,” Lily replied and smiled weakly. “Motorbike maintenance is highly important.”

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Althea looked up and slowly smiled. Sirius, smiling, stood against his motorbike—his eyes wary of what was around him.

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“Constant vigilance,” he replied and yawned.

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Althea closed her eyes, enjoying the afternoon sunlight upon her face. In a few weeks, she would return to her Bermuda home. No more Hogwarts, she thought, imagining herself upon her beach—the saltwater lapping against her toes. No more Sirius.

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Sirius had a place to stay (Lily refused, she admitted that Harry was enough of a handful), and it would mean extra protection for her, and living as a single witch in a time of violence and uncertainty, the extra protection was needed. If it offered extra protection, she did not know—Sirius often spent days or weeks away from the cottage.

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Voldemort had made it known to give special privileges to Dark creatures that had been previously denied them, and many Dark creatures had already turned to Voldemort’s side. Sirius believed that it was only a matter of time before Remus was enticed by those freedoms denied him by the Ministry and Wizarding society.

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“He’s fine but those twelve Muggles aren’t,” he quipped, resting his quill against the parchment.

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Women, from all corners of Wizarding Britain, had come forth to tell their sorrowful tales of their tragic love affairs with Sirius. Tragic love affairs, which rendered the women heartbroken and knowing that something, something was amiss with him and now they knew why. I wonder if he left them with something besides heartache, she thought, dunking her head under the warm water.

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Clutching her bag tightly, she wondered if the pass ahead was passable, but she had to try—that child was sick with fever.

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Althea slowly eased herself upon her feet—out of her periphery she recognized a flash of faded scarlet and gold.

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You might’ve prevented me from finding her, she thought, pleased with herself at her cleverness, but a Muggle can.

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So this is the woman that killed my father, she thought, staring into the brown eyes of Pulcheria.

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“He had a great fondness for hoisting you into the air by your ankle.”

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Slowly opening her eyes, she scanned the flat bedroom or hotel room—she was unsure of where she slept. Few pictures and costly paintings covered the pale green walls as she looked for some sign of where she was—wherever it was, it was expensive.

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“Why would I trust someone that wants to kill me?” he remarked, taking two cigarettes from the pack.

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Althea crawled behind him. “Don’t you want to compare how we did it,” she whispered in his ear as she slid her arm around his collarbone.

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The hushed tones and refusals to utter his name were welcomed by her, for before her time in Azkaban, the mention of his name caused enormous amounts of rage and hate—to the point, she lost herself and became as evil as she thought he was—it took Azkaban for her to see the truth.

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Remus’s lips lingered on her fingers and Althea took a sharp intake of breath.

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Sirius rested his hands upon the window ledge—the curtain of black, matted hair obscured his gaunt face except for his glistening grey eyes that had found Althea’s form.

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Walking to the other side of the bed, she slowly climbed onto the bed, and reclined next to him—wrapping her arm around his thin waist.

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“I have given birth to the silliest girl in all of Britain,” she said with disbelief, rubbing her forehead.

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“Twelve years,” she murmured as she slid her arms around his neck.

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Sirius arms fell to his sides and his face paled as he stared at Althea. Quiet, he did not move, but a small tremble started at his fingertips, slowly traveled up his arms, and consumed his entire body. It was over.

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