The Summer of the Phoenix

Chapter 37

Owls went out to the other members of the Order asking for volunteers for Harry's escort, and many of them - more than they had expected, and even more than were needed - returned on the same day or the next, carrying avid confirmation that the senders would gladly be part of the rescue mission. But it still took days before the plan was complete and Harry's advance guard was ready to set out, and these days were among the longest that Sirius had spent in Grimmauld Place so far.

All the inhabitants of number twelve were waiting for Harry's arrival with bated breath. People talked only in hushed voices. They literally tiptoed through the house. Fred and George were most uncharacteristically quiet. Even Tonks had given up her dinnertime amusement programme for the time being. Sirius knew that they did it out of consideration for him, that they were trying to avoid anything that might annoy or provoke him. But he wished they'd realise they weren't helping him at all - Sirius could have done with a bit of noise and chaos around the place to take his mind off things, now more than ever. Time would have passed so much more quickly. But as it was, it seemed to stand still.

The members of the Order, in the same well-meant misunderstanding, now made a point of always reporting back to Grimmauld Place from their watch over Harry's house, telling Sirius so unanimously that Harry was fine and staying indoors that he almost began to doubt it, and assuring him so confidently that there was nothing to worry about that he began to believe that there was.

"I know!" he snapped irritably at Dedalus Diggle, just returned from a rainy night spent outside No. 4, Privet Drive, even before the elderly wizard could open his mouth to report the usual. Diggle looked slightly affronted, and Sirius was immediately sorry for being ungrateful to those who, without complaint, did what was really his duty.

* * *

The fourth evening after the attack on Harry finally came, and the sun was setting outside while Sirius sat waiting in the kitchen with Hermione, Ron and Ron's parents. Outwardly, Sirius seemed completely calm, sitting quietly by the fire with Crookshanks on his lap, but his thoughts were elsewhere, half-way between London and the place where Harry lived, hanging suspended in mid-air, refusing to return to him until he knew that Harry was here, and the advance guard had landed.

Sirius would have loved to see the others take off on the rescue mission, but they were all going to Apparate to Little Whinging from their own homes and assemble in Arabella Figg's backyard there.

Shortly before eight, Remus Lupin, broom in hand, poked his head around the kitchen door. "We're off to get Harry now," he announced. "If all goes smoothly, we can be back in an hour."

"Good luck," said Sirius.

"Be careful," Mrs Weasley added.

"Take your time," said Mr Weasley.

"No, be quick," Sirius corrected him, and Lupin smiled, gave him a wink, and left.

Sirius sat staring into the fire for a moment, then he got up abruptly, dropped a rather displeased Crookshanks unceremoniously to the floor, and followed Lupin out of the kitchen. He caught up with him in the empty entrance hall.

"Wait," he said.

"Yes?"

Sirius hesitated. He knew it was pointless to ask now, but he had to. The rescue mission wasn't going to be a pleasure trip, and Sirius knew he couldn't face Harry if he'd never even asked to be part of it, if he'd never even offered any help. "I can't come, can I?" he asked lamely.

"You don't have to," said Lupin reassuringly. "We're nine now, Sirius, Harry is in good hands."

"I know, it's not that. It's just - you said Harry needs me. You said so yourself. And I've done precious little so far to live up to that."

Lupin looked at him very thoughtfully. "I'm not going to do you the favour and say 'yes' now," he said quietly.

"No, go on, do, say it." It had been hard enough to say it aloud, but the words were almost bursting out of Sirius now. "I've done nothing at all. Nothing. I'm useless. And I hate it. God, how I hate it."

"I know you do." There was no hint of sarcasm in Lupin's voice.

"But?"

"But 'nothing' isn't true," Lupin said. "You wrote those letters to Harry, remember? Told him to keep out of trouble, and stay in the house."

"Letters!" Sirius snorted. "Anyone can write a few letters saying things like that."

"But Harry wouldn't have listened to anyone else, Sirius. Trust me, if it hadn't been for you asking him to, he'd never have held out as long as this." Lupin put a hand on Sirius's shoulder. "Harry has kept himself alive and safe by taking your advice," he said very firmly. "Now it's your turn. You take your own advice now, and prove it right."

It was his last word on the matter, and Sirius knew it. "Take care, Moony," he said quietly.

"You too, Padfoot," Lupin replied, and the two friends embraced.

Then Lupin was gone, and Sirius returned to the kitchen, his heart a little lighter than it had been before.

They waited in silence. Mrs Weasley was knitting, the needles clicking softly, like the ticking of a clock, minute after minute, row after row. Ron was building a house of chocolate frog collecting cards on the table, his face screwed up in concentration, patiently starting all over again every time it collapsed, never getting past the fourth level. Time wore on, creeping like a snail. Hermione looked up from the book on the table in front of her. She had never admitted that she had not been able to find a way to work around the Permanent Sticking charm, but her recent research had produced some results that she was only too happy to share.

"They can't expel Harry," she told Sirius for the dozenth time in the last few days. "I've looked it all up, it's in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery of 1875, you're allowed to use magic in a life threatening situation, even in front of Muggles, and I mean you could take the view that Dementors don't technically threaten your life, because you'd continue to exist biologically even when, you know, but arguing by analogy, Harry can definitely claim that -"

"You and Dedalus Diggle would make a great team," Sirius said dryly.

Hermione looked rather injured. "I'm only trying to help."

"I know."

Half an hour passed. If all had gone well so far, they'd already be up in the air now, flying towards London, Harry on his Firebolt that Sirius had given him for Christmas the year before last. They'd be all right, Sirius told himself. Harry was every bit as good a flier as James had been, and he had a guard of nine. But still, it was a long way, and they were so vulnerable up there in the air. Dodging Bludgers on the Quidditch pitch was one thing, but this wasn't the Quidditch pitch, and Bludgers were perfectly harmless compared to what they might encounter on their journey if anyone had spotted Harry and his escort take off. Whoever had set the Dementors on Harry must know that he had failed, and was bound to try again. Sirius tried very hard to force himself not to think about Moody talking about wiping people off the ground.

Another half hour passed just as painfully slowly, and still the advance guard hadn't come back. At a quarter past nine, even Mrs Weasley started to get nervous. "He'll be here soon, I think," she whispered to her husband.

Mr Weasley checked the time and nodded.

"Come on then," Mrs Weasley said to Ron and Hermione. "You can wait for Harry upstairs."

Ron protested, but his mother was not in the mood to be accommodating. With a sigh, he packed up his cards, and Hermione closed her book.

They had hardly been gone for five minutes when the silence in the kitchen was finally broken by the sound of the front door opening.

"That's him," said Mr Weasley with audible relief.

Sirius jumped up from his chair by the fire, listening hard. But it couldn't be Harry with his escort. A solitary pair of footsteps crossed the hall, and came walking down the kitchen stairs. The door opened, and Sirius came face to face with the last person he would have wanted to see there instead of Harry.

"Professor Snape!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed, getting quickly to her feet.

"It's so good to see you back," said Mr Weasley, and Sirius couldn't have disagreed more.

The news of Harry had completely driven Snape and his mysterious absence and silence of the past week from Sirius's mind. No one had told him that Snape was due at No. 12, Grimmauld Place tonight, too - or if they had, it must have gone straight past him. He'd clean forgotten that Snape even existed, and he couldn't pretend he was pleased to be reminded of it now.

The displeasure was obviously mutual. Snape gave the Weasleys the merest nod in return for their greeting. They were both looking at him expectantly, but he made no move to explain anything. His pale face looked a little drawn, but it bore the usual expression of irritation at everyone and everything around him.

Sirius was about to turn his back on them when Snape addressed him across the room. "How's the cleaning going?" he asked brusquely, taking off his black cloak and throwing it over a chair.

"Oh, quite well," Sirius replied indifferently. "Except for a bit of vermin in the kitchen that keeps coming back."

Snape's nostrils twitched very slightly, but his tone didn't change. "But surely nothing you couldn't deal with?"

"As you can see."

"The others will be here any time now," Mrs Weasley said almost timidly from her end of the table. "Would you like a glass of wine while we wait?"

Snape gave her a look as if she had offered him poison, and shook his head, rubbing his left forearm irritatedly as he did.

"Healing now, is it?" Sirius asked casually, and took a cruel delight in the series of facial expressions Snape went through in reaction to his comment. At first, it was mere annoyance, then Snape's eyes narrowed, and to his satisfaction Sirius could see something in them that seemed closer to shame than to anything else. For a moment, the pale face twitched as if with a painful memory, but then Snape was back in control of it, gave Sirius a cold, disdainful smile, and came over to where he was sitting. He leant casually against the table next to Sirius's chair, crossed his arms and looked into the fire.

"Tell me, Black," he said in a conversational tone, "have you risked your life lately?"

"No," Sirius said pleasantly, "I don't need to do that to get attention."

Snape leaned forward a little, bringing his face close to Sirius's. "Then maybe," he said in hardly more than a whisper, and there was a chill in his voice now that belied his former tone, "you're not aware that you'll be doing just that if you choose to pursue this particular topic any further?"

Sirius turned his head to meet Snape's fathomless black eyes. "Oh, now you're scaring me," he said ironically. "Why, should I pursue it? Is it healing a little too quickly for us to know?"

The disdainful smile didn't waver. "That's what you're all afraid of, isn't it?" Snape said evenly, and there was an odd undertone of satisfaction in his voice.

Sirius shrugged. "Think what you like, if it makes you feel important."

"Talking of feeling important," Snape continued acidly, "what are you doing here tonight? Not rushing to your dear little godson's rescue? He'll be disappointed. Did the others not allow you to come along, or were you just too frightened of Dementors to leave the safety of your snug home?"

"I assure you that you will be out of my snug home quicker than you can say Dementor if you choose to pursue that particular topic any further," Sirius said calmly.

"Oh, I forgot, of course, you didn't really need to go, did you?" Snape sneered. "What's the big deal about a few Dementors anyway? He's fought them off before, hasn't he? Child's play for someone like Harry Potter. Didn't even make it into the paper this time, did you notice?"

Sirius felt his mask of indifference slide off his face. Whatever else Snape might say, he wasn't going to speak badly of Harry. "Yes, Harry has fought them before," he said through clenched teeth, "as you ought to remember."

"Oh, never fear, I remember that all too well. Well enough to know that Harry Potter is perfectly able to deal with a couple of Dementors without the need of my intervention." Snape gave Sirius a sickeningly modest smile, and suddenly, a horrible suspicion sprang up in Sirius's mind. His heart skipped a beat. He vaguely felt that it was simply too monstrous to be true, but he had to make sure.

"You knew?" he demanded hoarsely, struggling to keep his composure.

Snape looked back at him, his enjoyment of Sirius's unease more than obvious. "Of course I didn't," he said lightly, his smile more disdainful than ever. "You're jumping to hasty conclusions, as usual. You're so predictable, Black, it amuses me to no end."

Sirius rose abruptly from his chair. "I amuse you, do I?" he snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously. His blood, running chill only a moment ago, was beginning to boil now, shock giving way to anger.

Snape leant back and raised his eyebrows in mild disapproval. "Don't lose your temper, Black," he said. "Last time you did, you didn't come out of it looking too good, did you?" Still smiling, he surveyed Sirius's face intently as if he could still see the marks of Alastor Moody's hand there.

Sirius knew exactly that they were gone now, but the memory wasn't, and neither was the pain of it. He balled his hands into fists, his blood rising hotly into his face. He hated those cold black eyes, that cold smile, hated it with every fibre of his heart, hated it so much he knew he would burst with it if Snape said only one more word.

"What a touching scene that must have been." Snape said softly, and inside Sirius, something snapped. He plunged his hand into his robes and drew out his wand. At the other end of the room, Mrs Weasley gave a shocked little gasp. Arthur Weasley took a few steps towards them as if to separate the opponents, but then they all heard it, and froze. There were footsteps on the stone stairs outside the front door, announcing the arrival of a large number of people. The front door opened, and the many feet moved into the hall over their heads. Then they were all inside, and the door closed.

No, Sirius thought. Live up to it, at least now. Now it's your turn, he heard Remus Lupin's clear voice in his mind. You take your own advice now, and prove it right.

Words appeared before his eyes, written in his own hand. I know this must be frustrating for you... Keep your nose clean and everything will be OK... Be careful and don't do anything rash...

Sirius looked at Snape as if he was seeing him for the first time, then at the wand in his own hand as if he couldn't remember how it got there. His hand fell to his side as if someone had cut the string that had held it up. Don't do him the favour of letting him make you feel bad, he's not worth it. Harry hadn't seen Sirius sit in a corner and cry when he would have needed him most, and he wasn't going to see him lose his temper at a few feeble taunts from a dirty little Death Eater now. Harry would see him be the godfather that he needed, and deserved. Be careful and don't do anything rash. Yes, Sirius did know how to pull himself together. And he was going to prove that to them all, so they would never doubt it again. Keep your nose clean and everything will be OK. And so it would be. Everything else was irrelevant. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered now but one thing.

Harry was here. The advance guard had landed.

THE END

© by Jolie, July - October 2003