Arch of Death

Arch of Death - Chapter Two

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The most notable difference from his last visit to the Black house was not the lack of Ron and Hermione’s presences, rather the empty and echoing quality about the ancient stone. Harry stood in the middle of the entrance hall, staring quite stupidly at Remus Lupin as he tried to absorb the fact that Sirius wasn’t there. Whist he had only known the Black house for less than a year, he still believed he could never imagine the eerie halls and tingle of dark magic without his lovable and oftentimes rash godfather.

“Come on, Harry,” Remus said in a strangely gentle voice. “Dumbledore’s waiting for us.”

Harry complied, following the werewolf numbly through the door he had seen his guard walk through nearly a year before, but one he himself had never entered. As he stepped through the threshold, he found the War Room of the Order of the Phoenix to be no more or less impressive than the rest of the house; the only real difference was the maps and charts hanging from what seemed to be every available wall and surface in the room, and Headmaster Albus Dumbledore sitting in the middle, at the very head of a long and regal-looking table.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said with an inclination of his head.

“Headmaster.” Harry greeted him much in the way Dumbledore had himself. “What—why—”

The headmaster gave the briefest of smiles before spreading his long fingers out on the table before him and staring directly into Harry’s eyes. “Has Remus informed you of anything that has been going on?”

Harry shook his head. “No—well, I mean, some of it, but not—”

“Then you aren’t aware that an Unspeakable by the name of William Blatgure has now been promoted to the head of his department?”

Harry was taken aback by Dumbledore’s strange and seemingly random question. “I read it in the Daily Prophet, but I don’t see what that has to do with—”

Dumbledore sighed, and Harry abruptly stopped speaking. For some reason, the weariness the Headmaster portrayed frightened him; only once before had he seem him in such a vulnerable state, and that had been right after Sirius—

Don’t think about that, he snapped to himself, harnessing all thoughts about his godfather as he concentrated hard on the aged and tired eyes before him.

“William Blatgure was promoted for a single reason, Harry.”

Harry blinked. “What, did he manage to capture a Death Eater? Capture Voldemort? Dementors? Wh—?”

“Sirius,” Dumbledore said softly, and in an instant Harry froze.

“S-Sirius?” he stuttered. “But Sirius—he—but…”

Harry trailed off, vaguely aware that he was trembling. He felt a hand—Remus’, no doubt—upon his shoulder, and for a fleeting instant he explored what Dumbledore was telling him. Sirius was dead; he had been for weeks, and he was sure there was no way to raise the dead. Sirius had fallen through the veil, Harry had seen it for himself.

“Sirius is dead,” Harry finally said in a hollow and emotionless voice. “Stop pretending he isn’t, Headmaster—please.”

Dumbledore sighed once more. “That is where I’m afraid Remus and I have both steered you wrong, Harry. Sirius is not dead.”

Harry felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured upon him. Immediately, he made a motion as to grip the table, but his unsteady hand missed and he stumbled. He felt Remus’ grip tighten to steady him, but his knees felt so weak that he was sure the motion would do no good.

“Sirius?” he said weakly, his vision swimming in front of him. “He’s alive?”

“Yes,” Remus said in a gentle voice, his mouth so close to Harry’s ear that he could feel the werewolf’s warn breath upon his skin. “He’s been captured by the Ministry.”

Harry closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, in an attempt to cure the dizziness that had befallen him. He heard the scrap of a chair against the ancient wooden floor, and he knew Dumbledore had stood.

“The veil that Sirius fell through was the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead,” Dumbledore explained quietly. “The underworld does not accept the living into its realms. While we do not know how Sirius has returned, it is a matter of the greatest urgency that we return him to our care, else I fear he will die.”

“The Ministry isn’t aware of Sirius’ innocence,” Remus pointed out as he steered Harry toward a chair. Harry felt his body sink down onto the seat, but all he could register was Remus’ words and the suffocating darkness that had surrounded him.
“While we’ve been in contact with Fudge—”

“He refuses to give Sirius up without reasonable proof that he is innocent of the charges placed upon him fifteen years ago,” Dumbledore said slowly. “You, Harry, are the only person in the Order who has seen Peter Pettigrew alive.”

Harry opened his eyes suddenly. “But Headmaster, I’m not in the Order—”

“You are now,” Dumbledore said quietly, in a tone that left no room for questions. “While you will never be sent upon the same missions the others are, we have all agreed it is of the utmost importance that you be well aware of what is going on. You are the only one who can defeat Lord Voldemort, Harry, and that, I feel, registers a certain amount of leeway when it comes to age restrictions and the like.”

Harry lifted his chin up slightly higher, a feeling of pride flowing through him as Dumbledore’s words sunk into his mind.

Finally, he sighed deeply, his mind still wrought with confusion over Sirius’ sudden resurrection—or discovery, he supposed, as Sirius had never been dead in the first place.

“All right,” he said resolutely, pronouncing each word slowly. “What do I have to do?”