Black Dog

Black Dog

Chapter Ten

Sirius Black awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in the pre-dawn greyness, a shout dying in his throat. He sat frozen for a moment, his breath catching sharply, before turning his head to look down at the body sprawled beside him. He drove the heels of his hands into his eyes, fingers lacing through his hair, and let out a deep gasp of relief.

"Thank God," he whispered. "Thank God."

Jeannie, either in response to his whisper or to the sudden absence of his warmth, murmured a sleepy protest and rolled over, gathering his pillow into her arm and cuddling her cheek into it with the smallest and smuggest of smiles.

He pulled the duvet up to cover her bare shoulders and touched her cheek tenderly with the backs of his fingers, then turned and stood up.

Once in the bathroom, he turned on the shower and stepped into the stream of water. It was only then, with his hands braced against the tiled wall and the plastic curtain clinging icily to his back and calves, that he lowered his head and let the first sob shake him.

He had been this close - this close - to killing her. He rested his forehead against the wall as well. He would have done it, too, his mind filled with hateful and enticing memories, of curly hair bunched in his fist, of honey-brown eyes distended with terror and pain, and with the hissing urge to break and tear and spoil. But when he had drawn back from that first bruising kiss, the sick thing inside him expecting her to be horrified and appalled, he had seen only a weary acceptance in her eyes. For Jeannie, this is what love meant; she expected nothing better and to her all men were the same. Suddenly, such a rage had come over him that the gleefully sniggering little presence that couldn't believe its luck fled, cowering, and the sick thing, the beast within, was crushed and beaten back into the darkness. He had kissed her again, properly, a gentle salute born from a growing certainty that, at some time in his life, this situation had been sought eagerly and he had been accounted something of an expert. Jeannie had looked warily at him before smiling and kissing him back ... oblivious to her narrow escape.

He had set himself to please, pride demanding that that look of resignation be banished forever, and felt he had succeeded pretty well. She had cried at the end, her tears hot and salt on his lips, but they were shed for the best of reasons. Then, when she had stopped crying and had calmed down and got her breath back, he started all over again, determined to prove that while people do do things just because they can, sometimes it's with the intention of bringing sweetness and laughter and joy. It had been close to dawn before he allowed her to sleep, and he had lain wakeful, watching her sleeping face in the growing light until he dozed off to a dream of blood and pain and loss, followed by an awakening not just of the body, but of the mind.

He turned under the stream of water, leaning back against the cold tiles, and looked down at the water cupped in his hands, streaming away through the gap left by his missing little finger.

"You owe me an index finger, Padfoot, me old mate," Wormtail gloated. "But I think I'll start small and work my way up to it."

It hadn't hurt as much as he had thought it would, but by then, he was almost past feeling. None of the many pains inflicted upon his body could compare with those he had already inflicted upon his own soul, and even those were insignificant set alongside what he had felt looking down at the blackened and bloody faces of Remus and Harry.

"Get away from them, you devil," she raged, her body arched protectively over them. "They can never be hurt by you again." Hermione sobbed and shuddered as she met his eyes. "To think we once loved you!"

He splashed the water against his face, wondering if he would ever feel clean again.

"Stop right there, Black," Harry spat his name as though it was caustic and he turned, facing his godson with a wry smile as the onlookers scurried for cover. Harry's knuckles were white upon his wand and he was shaking with fury and distress.

"Think you can take me, boy? Come on, then. Give it your best shot."

He rested his head back against the tiles, feeling the water beat against his eyelids, pretending with gratitude that all of the hot drops coursing down his cheeks were no more than the shower water. The water was almost scalding but he wrapped his arms around his shoulders to try to still his shivering.

"I don't think I can face it," he whispered, and covered his black eyes with bloodied hands. "I know how he'll do it. He knows, above all things, I dread ending up like the Longbottoms. If it was just the pain...." He turned towards the door where laughing voices could be heard then turned back, his lank black hair swinging against his gaunt cheek, fear and appeal naked on his face. As the door opened and their deaths approached, their hands met and clung together.

"Time to face the facts," he murmured to himself. He could never return to the wizarding world. At best he was considered dead, at worst there was a Dementor with his name on it and a holding pen where he would drool his remaining months away.

Voldemort's lips thinned still further into a mirthless smile. "Stop, stop, Lucius. I appreciate your anger but do not exhaust yourself unnecessarily. Lift his head so he can see me - that's right. Black - Sirius - can you hear me? Ah, still so brave! Let's see - how would you like to meet an old acquaintance - from Azkaban?"

No.... no, there could be no going back. With that decision made he straightened up and reached for the sticky shower potion. Muggle life wasn't so bad, he thought, working up a lather in his hair, then spreading the bubbles down over shoulders and chest. He could blend in, he knew, he'd done it often enough over the years. He supposed he could get a job, but until then he could arrange for funds. One thing about Gringotts - they didn't care what crimes you committed as long as you didn't exceed your overdraft. Goblin exchange rates were wicked but, as long as he was careful, his income would be adequate for a long time. He even had a home of sorts. He knew that Remus - his hands stilled for a moment as another great pang of loss struck him - Remus would have wanted him to go back to that little unplottable cottage they had shared for such a short, but such a sweet, time. But first he had a duty, a sacred duty to perform.

"If I die..."

"Don't be stupid, Moony."

"No... if I die, promise me you'll lay a stone for me at the Towers of Sadness. It's time I faced up to what I am."

"I'll tell you what you are, Moony, mistaken. They'll have to kill me first, and that's a promise!"

So many promises broken, so many lives lost. He knuckled his eyes and swore mildly at the sting of the soap. Oh, for a decent cleansing spell. He lifted his face to the stream of water again, smiling as it trickled, like tickling fingers, from throat to breast to belly and on down. He'd have to get used to it - and to his new responsibilities.

"Let them come. I'm here. He won't touch you. Never again. He's why you got me, isn't he?"

Jeannie was relying on him, for help and protection and - yes - for love, too. He watched the last of the bubbles streaming away and reached up to turn off the shower. Then he stepped out and faced himself in the mirror. The reflection looked back - frowning black brows, jaw shadowed with a two-day stubble, full lips tight and compressed in an uncompromising line, blue eyes cold as a winter night - but it didn't speak to him.

"You," he told the man in the mirror, "are a liar, a murderer and a rapist. You deserve to have your soul sucked out and consigned to oblivion." The rustle of bedclothes and the sound of a sigh made him flinch then he met the chilly gaze again with a bleak sneer.

"But you're also a coward," he said. "Last chance, Black, you bastard. Leave, leave now, before she wakes up. Go north to the Towers and lay a stone for Remus then it doesn't matter what happens to you. You've broken promises to just about everybody else, why not Jeannie? If you stay, you'll hurt her and she's been hurt enough."

There was another sigh from the bedroom and he sighed as well and wrapped a towel around his hips. Then he went with a heavy heart to do what he knew to be the right thing.

**

Jeannie's awakening came in three distinct stages. Initially, she became aware that she was wholly warm, utterly relaxed and very, very pleased with herself. Then she stretched and winced a little at the numerous, pleasurable, minor aches and pains before smiling broadly at the memories they invoked. Finally, she reached out questing hands, found only rumpled sheets and sat up with a gasp of loss. His jeans were there at the bedside but his boots were gone and the wardrobe where she had hung the rest of his own clothing was standing open.

She pulled on her robe as she ran down the stairs.

"Dog," she called, sensing a current of cool air, and dashed into the kitchen. The back door stood open. Framed in the soft morning light, he turned to face her and she caught her breath.

Her repairs had been sound. The black breeches and green robe looked adequate, even if clearly past their best, but he had obviously disdained to put on the ruined shirt. His hair was still damp from the shower, slicked severely back and tied at the nape of his neck, and his face looked in some way younger. The fine lines around his eyes were less obvious as though some conflict had been resolved, but his expression was stony and his gaze slid evasively away from hers.

"Good morning," he said, and Jeannie saw a flush of red darken his cheekbones. "I - I'm sorry," he continued. "What I did last night was unforgivable."

Jeannie's cheeks reddened, too. "There's nothing to be sorry for," she protested. "It was something wonderful, something we both wanted, needed. How can you regret it?"

He looked towards her then and Jeannie thought she had never seen such pain in a face. For a moment the situation quivered on a knife edge and she thought that he would turn tail and flee, then his breath left him in a guttural moan and he took one quick stride and folded her into his arms.

"Jeannie," he breathed. "Oh, my dear...dear girl."

She gripped him fiercely, burying her face at the base of his throat and moving her mouth blindly across his skin.

"Don't leave me," she begged. "Please....please don't leave me."

There was another moment of palpable tension then he groaned again. He took her hands and led her to a chair and seated her then sank to his haunches at her side.

"I've been many things," he said haltingly, "but I have always been honest with my lovers. Until last night. You don't know who I am or what I've done. You don't know the danger I could put you in."

"Oh," Jeannie's eyes spilled over with angry tears, "I thought I made myself clear last night. Or weren't you listening? Or did you just want to go to bed with me and, now you have, you'll be on your way?"

He bowed his head and took her hands, carrying them both to his mouth and kissing them.

"You don't know what you're dealing with," he whispered. "It isn't safe for you to have me here - not like this..." he nodded down at his human body and Jeannie looked too and gave a groan of mingled despair and desire.

"Yes, I do," she said, snatching her hands free and gripping his hair to make him face her. "I don't care what you've done to anyone else. God, Steve was the ideal husband as far as the rest of the world was concerned - so sweet, so generous, so kind and thoughtful - and he used me like a punchbag. But you....nobody has ever touched me like that before. You made me feel precious and fragile and - and cherished. You made me happy." She said it as though being happy was something so far out of her experience that it was a source of wonder.

"You made me happy," she repeated, her eyes searching his face. He looked up at her for a long moment then he rose to his feet, carrying her with him and held her tightly with his cheek pressed to the crown of her head.

"That must be a first," he said lightly. "I don't think I've ever made anyone happy before. Or, when I did, it wasn't for long." He smiled down at her and smoothed her tangled hair away and added, "You make me happy too."

They kissed - a kiss that to Jeannie seemed to go on forever - then she stepped back and sighed.

"Breakfast?" she asked.

He smiled and nodded. "I'll make it," he told her, "while you get dressed."

"You can cook?" she said, incredulously. "As well! Is there no end to your talents?"

He blinked and looked uncertain for a moment then smiled again.

"You don't know the half of it," he said.

*

Porridge wasn't something that Jeannie would normally have considered as a preferred option for breakfast but, as made by Dog, it was surprisingly tasty.

"It reminds me of my youth. Sticks to your ribs," Dog said with relish.

"You could do with a double helping, then," Jeannie said critically, eyeing the narrow strip of flesh visible where his robe parted. "There's not enough fat on you to grease a pan. I didn't know you were a Scot. You don't sound Scottish."

"I went to school in Scotland; the benefits of public school education - enormous breakfasts and learning to speak like a newsreader."

"As opposed to the drawbacks of regular floggings and being buggered by the prefects?"

He choked on his last spoonful and gave her a wicked look.

"Whoever said they were drawbacks?" he said and dodged as she flicked at him with a tea towel.

"You're getting your memory back," she said. "Good grief, maybe you're gay!"

He smiled back. "I think we might have noticed last night if I was," he pointed out. "Have you finished your breakfast? Good, because I want to talk to you and I need you to pay attention."

"Ooh, getting a little dominant aren't we?" Jeannie grinned at him, happy to see his growing confidence.

"Last night," he began, taking her hand and holding it tightly between his own, "last night I said that eventually you have to face up to your fears..."

"You're perfectly right," Jeannie agreed. "I can't let Steve get away with it. Let him come!"

"Ah," Dog looked a little sheepish. "The thing is... that was before my memory started to come back...I've changed my mind. I think that we should leave."

He hesitated, looking down at their clasped hands, before adding, "I promise I'll explain it all to you, but we should leave, and leave soon. I have to go somewhere first but, afterwards, there's a place I know where you can be safe. Steve will never find you there and, if you like..." he hesitated again, "I could be there with you?"

"I... I would like that," Jeannie bit her lip, "but would you be you or the dog?"

"The dog, for most of the time, until we get there," he admitted, "but then I'll be whatever you want me to be."

"You," she said, definitely, and squeezed his hand. "Where are we going first?"

"North," he said, " a long way north. There's this place, a tower in a forest, a place of mourning. I have to go there to - to say goodbye to someone I cared for." His face twitched again as though at a memory too painful to contemplate and he shuddered. "I can't say goodbye to all the others but I must do this. Then we can come south again to my old home. Nobody lives there now and we'll be safe."

Jeannie hesitated, it was on the tip of her tongue to demand explanations, descriptions, details and reassurance, but his face had paled and his eyes were overbright. The returning memories were obviously agonising. Besides, as long as she was going to be with him she didn't really care where she went. So she squeezed his hand again and gave him a brave smile. "I suppose we had better start packing then," she suggested. "But first - well - I don't believe that your name is really Dog!"

"It's not," he agreed. "My name is Sirius - Sirius Black."

She drew a sharp breath, her eyes searching his face for any resemblance to the horrendous images that had been plastered over the newspapers eighteen months before.

"Sirius Black the murderer?" she repeated. "I saw the reports on your appeal year before last? Twelve years in Rampton for a crime you didn't commit, wasn't it? But didn't you get off?"

"I was exonerated," he corrected. "A full pardon, apologies from the authorities for wrongful arrest and a whacking great lump of compensation. I promise, Jeannie, the police aren't involved this time. I'd just rather avoid - the others of my kind."

"Your kind?" Jeannie didn't withdraw her hand but it tensed in his grip. He turns into a dog, she reminded herself. Did you really expect him to be human?

"Oh my God," she gasped. "You're an alien, aren't you?"

Sirius jaw dropped for a moment then he began to laugh, a low gentle chuckle of genuine mirth. "An alien!" He laughed again, the expression wiping years from his face even as he wiped tears from his eyes. "Oh, Remus would have loved that. No, I'm not an alien. It's just that there are people in this country who can do things that most other people can't do."

"I know," Jeannie agreed rather wildly. "There's a girl at work who can lick her own earlobes."

"And I expect that she's very popular too," he said. "Though, that isn't quite what I meant. Just as some people have a talent for music or maths, there are others who can do things that - that might be described as magic. We tend to keep ourselves secret."

"And how do you do that?" Jeannie scoffed. "I'd have thought people might have noticed if there are dozens of people about who can pull rabbits out of hats and bouquets of flowers out of their underwear."

"Oh?" Sirius smiled at her, "and how many people have you told that you have a dog that can turn into a man - and vice versa?"

"None," Jeannie protested, "because they wouldn't believe me if I did."

"Good," Sirius sighed. "That means that the 'noli me videre' charm my parents put on me when I was born is still working. I thought it probably was. Your neighbour, Mrs Arkwright, saw me yesterday but I bet she hasn't told anyone that she saw a big black dog turning a key in a lock and hiding it under the doormat! And none of the children playing in the street when I came back with my mouth full of flowers ran screaming for their mothers either. A couple of them patted me and said what a clever boy I was, though."
Jeannie laughed at his pleased expression, then nodded. "OK," she said. "Packing first ... but then I think I might need you to tell me all about it - like the dog thing?"

"I promise I'll tell you about the dog thing," Sirius said and gave her a smile that made her heart thump.

Quickly, they put the kitchen to rights and Jeannie began to sort out her own possessions from those that came with the house.

"We need boxes," Jeannie said as she looked at the growing pile. "Luckily, I kept all the ones I used last time in the shed. I hoped I wouldn't need them again but...."

She wandered from the kitchen to the sitting room looking for her bunch of keys. When she had come in the previous afternoon, she remembered, she had been laughing at Dog and had put them down.... Yes, on the arm of the couch. Sighing, she slid her hand down between the side of the couch and the cushion and felt for the cold metal, wincing as she felt other things slide and crackle under her fingers. She pulled the cushion off onto the floor and scowled at the accumulation of sweet wrappers, magazines and loose change. There were her keys, though, right over at the back beside - something else. She frowned at it and wriggled it out from its snug nest under the back cushion and sat back on her heels with it balanced across her palms. A smoothly tapered bar of wood, polished not with beeswax or lacquer but with use, it weighed heavily, cold against her skin.

From behind her she heard a soft sound and turned her head. Sirius was standing, staring, in the kitchen doorway, a pile of clean washing spilling unheeded from his hands and she remembered the night she had taken his green robe from him, how the material had snagged between the cushions, how she had tugged at it until it had come free.

"Sirius?" she said. "Is this yours?"

He stepped over the pile of clean sheets and towels and looked down at her, his hands suddenly knotted in the sides of his robe as though he was afraid that they would be burned.

"Yes," he whispered. "It is. I ....I thought I'd lost it."

"It must have fallen out of your pocket," she suggested as she stood up and offered it to him. "What is it?"

"Wand. Lignum vitae, fifteen inches, harpy wing tendon, nice for transfiguration work but it'll do charms a treat, too. Don't think Ollivander realised how good it would be for curses... Ollivander said I should take better care of this one. Ollivander said if I took care of it, it would take care of me," the frantic babble died away as he extended his hand, his fingers trembling slightly. Slowly they closed around the thicker end of it and he lifted it from her hands, eyeing it as though it might explode.

"What does it do?" Jeannie asked, interested but slightly apprehensive. She stepped across to his side and put a comforting arm around his waist.

"Things," he replied. "All kinds of things."

She slipped her other hand into the front of his robe feeling the hammer of his heart under her palm. She moved her hand gently, combing her fingertips through the strands of hair.

"Do you want me to take it and put it away somewhere?" she asked, gently.

He flinched away from the suggestion almost as much as he was flinching from the object. Then he drew a deep breath and shook his head.

"No," he said firmly. "It's a part of what I am, a part of me." He straightened up and smiled at her, his free hand clasping warmly around her shoulder. "Without it I'm not whole, not complete. Cut, neutered. But with it ....look, I'll show you."

He stepped across to the dresser and opened the drawer. From it he withdrew the little cardboard box and turned the broken pieces of Jeannie's brooch out onto the surface. He hesitated for a moment, biting his lip, then directed the tip of the wand at the twisted pieces of gold.

"Reparo fibula," he said, quietly.

Nothing happened.

"Sirius," Jeannie put her arms around him. "Please. There's no need."

"Yes there is," his voice rose, determination mingling with fear. "Reparo fibula."

This time the hair lifted on the back of Jeannie's neck, an icy cold thread of air touched her cheeks and stung her eyes and she smelled the harsh scent of burning. Panicking, she tried to let go of Sirius, to step away from him but he caught her waist, pulling her into a tight embrace, his muscles almost crackling with building tension.

"Reparo!" he cried in desperation, then his body arched as the power flooded through him tearing a scream of release from his throat. The pieces of the brooch flew together, the cracked stones reforming, the missing stones reappearing to glitter frostily. Jeannie gasped. Pain stabbed her right arm as the bone broken in a childhood fall was made whole. Sirius' clothing suddenly gleamed, fresh and undamaged, and all around the house cracked plates were no longer cracked, frayed or stained linen was made good, the dripping tap in the bathroom ceased to drip and outside, in the street, the elderly car that Jeannie's neighbour had been trying to coax into life started with a roar. Old Mrs Pearson's arthritic hip twinged for a moment as she made her halting way down to the corner shop then she stepped out with a spring in her stride. The sub-standard components languishing in the skip up at the factory were suddenly perfect. Up on the ridge, Sam threw another stick for Tag and found that he had ceased to think about the pretty but worthless girl to whom he had once been engaged. He frowned and blinked and wondered what Jeannie was doing.

But Jeannie was transfixed by the look of ecstasy on Sirius' face as he collapsed into her arms.

*

In the Ministry office, the monitoring station went briefly crazy, vibrating across the table and onto the floor where it skittered across the parquet scattering components and extruding a length of ink blotched parchment like an ulcerated tongue.

"What on earth...?"

The witch at the desk jumped again as an alarm began to chime and she rounded the desk and tore off the strip of parchment with shaking hands.

Two minutes later she was in Legate Malfoy's office watching him scan the read-out with a white face, and five minutes later he was clambering out of the fireplace in Harry's sitting room under the astonished gazes of Harry and Remus.

"Malfoy?" Harry gasped, as Draco straightened up, heedless of the soot and ashes darkening his face and hair. "Whatever's the matter?"

"No more than fifteen minutes ago Sirius' wand performed a simple repairing spell," Draco announced but shook his head grimly at Harry's glad cry.

"Where is he?" Harry demanded.

"That's the problem," Draco said. "The wand is somewhere in the Wenslydale area but we couldn't get a proper triangulation."

"Never mind," Harry was grinning. "It gives us a place to start. Remus, can you come with me? There can't be that many Sirius lookalikes in that area, whether man or dog."

Remus met Draco's gaze and his heart sank. "Harry, there's no guarantee that it was Sirius who set the spell," he warned. "Maybe someone found the wand? A child, perhaps. Such a weak spell that it wouldn't triangulate..."

"That's not the reason it wouldn't triangulate," Draco interrupted, angrily. "For God's sake, do you think we press the panic button for a kid's first efforts? The spell was set with such power that there was barely time for it to register and it covered almost the whole of Wenslydale. The power was off the scale - the bloody monitor broke!" He drew breath and shrugged. "Let's put it this way, if he was repairing a clapped out Cleansweep Seven for somebody, they are now the proud owners of a Zoroaster class Firebolt Mk Four with stabiliser fins, Impervius charms and a built in cocktail cabinet. And he probably threw in a panda hide carry bag to boot! On a more ominous note I doubt that there's a cracked plate in the whole of Yorkshire."

There was a tense silence and Hermione opened the door and stepped into the room, smiling as she saw their guest. "Draco," she said. "Did you know that your hair's full of soot?"

Her face fell as nobody replied.

"What is it?" she demanded then answered her own question. "You've found him haven't you! Oh, my God, what has he done? Who has he hurt this time?"

Remus turned to her and took her trembling hands in his.

"We know roughly where he is," he told her, "and, as far as we know, he hasn't hurt anyone. Harry and I will go and see if we can find him."

"Remus," Hermione's eyes filled with tears, "I'm sorry - I'm so sorry - but I can't...."

He made quiet hushing noises as he held her and scowled at Draco who scowled back.

"If you think you and Potter are going to bring in Black alone, White Fang, you're in for a disappointment," Draco snapped. "I've assembled a team. We're ready to go at a moment's notice - and you two civilians can stay well back out of the line of fire."

"Dammit, Draco," Harry flushed and took a step forward. "We don't know that he's dangerous!"

"Don't we?" Draco asked, sneering. "Forgotten what happened last time you pulled your wand on him, Harry? And you thought you had a real grievance, then."

There was a short and very unpleasant silence during which Remus transferred one hand from Hermione's shoulder to Harry's bicep, gripping hard enough, he knew, to leave a print, while Harry controlled his temper. Draco glared back, uncowed.

"So, what you suggested may be true, then, Draco," Remus began, his calm voice cutting through the icy atmosphere. "We don't know how the accumulated power will affect someone like Sirius..."

"What you're trying to say, Wolfman," Draco interrupted, "is that we don't know what pure evil plus the power of a treacherous coward will do to someone who's been fighting a battle with insanity for the best part of twenty years." His chin lifted at Harry's protest. "The power of the 'Reparo' spell is enough to indicate that we should be prepared to go in with "extreme prejudice". You can do what you like but I'm going fully shielded and taking plenty of curse fodder. If necessary, I'm certain I can bring him down before we lose more than half a dozen."

"Leading from the rear, Malfoy?" Harry's voice was silky. "High rank hasn't changed your style, I see."

There was another burst of flame from the fireplace and Ron stepped, coughing, onto the hearthrug. He stared round at the tableau of Remus holding Hermione, and Harry and Draco, eyes locked in fury. "All right!" he said with a grin.

"Ron," Harry didn't take his eyes off Draco's, "thank God you're here. Sirius..."

"I know all that," Ron interrupted. "I'm here to take Hermione to the Burrow to keep her company while you go to do what's necessary. Go on, get along with you."

"But how did - Malfoy?"

Draco's cold face split into a sneer of the utmost contempt. "I need you both to have your wits about you," he snapped, "not worrying about the little lady here. I sent for a competent baby-sitter - unfortunately she wasn't in, so I had to make do with what I could find in the time available."

Harry and Ron both drew breath to reply but Remus cut smoothly across them.

"Thank you, Draco, that was a kind thought," he said, noting with wry amusement that a tinge of colour had crept into Draco's cheeks.

"No kindness intended," Draco growled. "If I could be sure it was a simple search and destroy I wouldn't have even told you. As it is, I may need... Oh, just - get a move on."

Hermione shuddered as Remus transferred her firmly into the supportive circle of Ron's arm.

"Please," she whispered, gripping his hand, "be careful, Remus. Don't let him hurt you. Don't let him hurt Harry."

Harry turned to her and touched her shoulder gently.

"Hermione," he said quietly but very firmly, "Sirius won't hurt anyone. I won't let him. Go with Ron, now, and I promise that I will come by before dark to tell you what has happened."

Ron met Harry's eyes and gave a grim smile then ushered Hermione towards the fireplace.

Remus watched the flames engulf them and drew a deep breath. Something was ending here, something that had been so sweet, and for a moment he felt a wave of panic wash over him. Then Harry spoke again, drawing his attention back to their current problem. His own selfish concerns would have to wait.

"Draco's right, Remus. We have to go carefully and find out whether Sirius is in control of himself." He paused and caught Remus' eyes, his face set with determination, and Remus was forcibly reminded that this was the young man who had survived everything the Dark had thrown at him for the past ten years. "I've lost too many people I cared about," Harry continued, "to be willing to lose Sirius again. Draco, I hope your men understand that. He is to be given every chance to come quietly."

"Understood," Draco said coldly. "We can't get away with summary executions like we used to - not under this Minister. Even so, Black's a fighter. My men must have the right to defend themselves."

"Agreed," Harry said sharply, turning to extract his and Remus' cloaks from a cupboard. "And there's something else to be taken into consideration. Remus, I may not be willing to lose Sirius, but that doesn't mean that I have any illusions about what we may have to do when we find him."

"I know," Remus agreed, gravely. "He and I promised each other long ago. If we find him and Sirius isn't...Sirius...I know what must be done."

"And that makes three of us," Draco agreed. Then he paused, looking from Harry's determined face to Remus' white one, and Remus suddenly noticed that he was trembling and his cold eyes were overbright. "Listen to us," Draco said softly, "coolly and efficiently planning to kill him," he drew a deep breath and his voice broke on a laugh, "when I, for one, will admit that I'd sooner stick pins in my eyes than do anything of the kind!"

**

Chapter Eleven is being betaed, Chapter Twelve is being written and the Epilogue is being thought about. This means, of course, that we are nearly at the end of the story and so please may I take this opportunity to thank the following people who have been kind enough to write reviews for previous chapters - sometimes more than one!! I have tried to thank every one of you individually but sometimes addresses haven't worked, mail has been returned or AOL has eaten my emails. So enormous amounts of thanks to:

Anise (Jewel of the Harem - if you haven't read it, why are you wasting your time with Black Dog?!), Ashfae (sorry your email died), Allemande, Aislinn Hart, Bonaldbuck, bmiller, B J Hage, Chimaera520 (your email boomerangs!), Ceitie, Cas (Nox Redux, All Debts, look out for Promises), Chibi Squirt, Camilla (I'll showed you mine coz you showed me yours) Bloom, Caitriona, Carfiniel, Eden, erised, fawkes, Fairy Tale, Green Lily (PMC going fine), gr33nscar, Ithica, Jocetta, Jessica C Malfoy, kizzibee (sorry I confused you), Loup Noir, Malfoys Mistress, Magpie Poet, Mariner, Maudite, Moonstruck (read Awaken Me if you're old enough to get into the RS), Marie78956, Morningstar, Nancy (Malfoy PI, swoon), Ocearna, Psychotic Amazon, S Hart, Tala Wolfstar, The 9^th Doctor and zen illusion.

I hope that's every one, if I've missed you out, flame me and I'll give you a special mention after Ch11. If nobody reviewed I'd still write but it wouldn't be nearly as much fun. Thank you again.

Big thanks and hugs to super betas Cas, Carfiniel, Camilla Bloom and Chibi Squirt (the comma queen).

I should also thank some people who will never know. If I hadn't read their stuff I wouldn't have had the fun of trying to do my own. So thanks to Al and Barb and Cassie and Heidi and Lori and Penny and Carole and the list should go on and on. Especial thanks to A J Hall (Lust Over Pendle) - who alerted me to the fact that it is permissible to write fan fiction if you are English as well as providing laughs, inspiration and suggestions of reading matter that have weighted my shelves and lightened my pocket.

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