Grim Dawn

Grim Dawn

Dawn.

Harry had been up all night, waiting. Every noise he'd heard he had hoped would be Sirius coming home--but nothing had happened. Night had passed, and Sirius hadn't come.

Decision hardened his features, and Harry set his jaw stubbornly, heading upstairs to fetch his father's invisibility cloak. Deep inside, Harry knew that something had gone desperately wrong. Sirius wouldn't have been gone for so long without letting him know, and if he'd been spotted by the Ministry--don't think about that, he commanded himself sternly. Even though Sirius never said so, Harry knew that twelve years in Azkaban had scarred his godfather deeply. What the Ministry didn't know, though, was that Sirius didn't deserve that kind of pain. He was innocent, and did not deserve to live a life of daily hell.

He pulled his trunk open and began to rummage around. Harry was the only one who could help him, the only one who knew. Everyone else thought Sirius was a mass murderer and a traitor--so he had to act. No one else would. But what will you do? a nasty little voice taunted him. What can you do? Angrily, Harry shook his head, batting the voice away. But the truth stayed with him, no matter how little he liked it. He didn't even know where Azkaban was. As a matter of fact, Harry didn't even know how to reach the Ministry of Magic, let alone the most secure prison in the Wizarding world. Cold finality began to creep in.

You promised, an inner voice that sounded eerily like Sirius reminded him. Above all else, you have to remain safe.

"Shut up," Harry said irritably, aware that he was talking to himself and feeling like an idiot. "I have to go."

"Whatever happens, stay here," Sirius had said quietly. "I know it's hard for you, even if something happens to me, the Fidelius Charm will protect you. Trust me on this. I won't betray you."

Harry stopped moving, the invisibility cloak dropping lifelessly from his hands. He remembered asking if Sirius thought he wouldn't come back, and Sirius had answered, very softly, that there was no way to know, but that he wouldn't abandon Harry while there was breath left in his body. "Trust me," Sirius had asked him.

Slowly, Harry bent and began replacing the items in his trunk, taking care to bury the invisibility cloak on the very bottom. Who was he to betray that trust? Harry had to take a deep breath to still his fears, and in doing so he learned a valuable lesson. Family trusted, Harry realized. Independence had its strengths, but there were times when one had to depend upon someone else. He had to trust Sirius.

Harry closed the trunk with shaking hands and slowly sat down on his bed, smiling ruefully at his owl. "I guess it's just you and me, Hedwig."

She hooted softly, her large eyes meeting his sadly. All Harry could do was hope that he'd made the right choice. Waiting went against all of his instincts, yet he had to trust. He had to start somewhere.

---------------------

Their second meeting was more civilized than the first, and simpler, too, since both Arthur and Molly Weasley had been inducted into the Order of the Phoenix. Since then, Moody had dubbed their small group "the Hunters" in a rare bout of good humor. Remus knew that the entire matter was bothering the ex-Auror as much as it bothered him, and like Remus, Moody had thought the painful memories dead and buried when Sirius had been locked in Azkaban. The fact that they'd both been wrong only made the hurt burn all the deeper, and bitter feelings contributed to everyone's edginess.

Snape was late; they had finally started without him. Discussions seemed to go much smoother without him there--his absence meant that Remus didn't have to deal with his infuriating insinuations of I told you so. More than once, Remus had had to stop himself from rising in defense of the boy Sirius had once been. For the sake of his sanity, he had to believe that his onetime friend hadn't always been a traitor, though Snape would have it so. Snape's viewpoint was also infecting the Weasleys, who'd never known Sirius, and Remus often ached to tell them what his friend had really been like. Only hatred stopped him. He might have loved the boy like a brother, but he loathed the man Sirius had become. Good riddance. He deserved the slander.

"He's always been a risk taker," McGonagall was saying. "I doubt even a century in Azkaban could change that. Sooner or later, he'll do something foolish and get caught."

"Not foolish enough." Moody snorted. "You're forgetting, Minerva, that he was an Auror. He won't be found if he doesn't want to be."

"He was an Auror?" Molly asked with vague alarm. Remus felt a sinking feeling invade his stomach, too; this wasn't just about power and darkness. They had to remember that Sirius knew how the game was played.

"He was," Moody confirmed darkly. "The most brilliant student I've ever had."

Silence fell, and Remus could feel the pain and regret in the air. Everyone at that table, with the exception of the Weasleys, had once been touched by Sirius. McGonagall had been his head of House; Moody had been his Mentor. Dumbledore had welcomed him into the Order of the Phoenix, and Remus had been his friend. But now they all hunted him, and would do so in the name of the boy whose parents Sirius had betrayed.

"His glaring weakness is impatience," Moody continued after a moment. "When he can't stand hiding any more is when we'll get him. Probably not before."

"And until then?" McGonagall pressed.

"We keep looking," the ex-Auror replied tightly. "But don't expect miracles."

"And we hope," Dumbledore continued gently, obviously trying to head off more depressing announcements. "Harry is a resourceful boy. We may yet be surprised."

It was hard to hope, but... From James' son? Remus suddenly thought. I wouldn't put escape past him. Molly, however, was even less willing to accept the inevitable.

"We can't just leave him to his own devices!" the kind witch protested. "Merlin only knows what Black's done to him already! And if You-Know-Who has him--"

"He doesn't." A stormy and pale-faded Severus Snape strode into the room, letting the door slam shut at his back. "At least not yet."

They all stared at him in silence for a long moment, trying to figure how where such an unexpected boon might fit into the grander scheme of things. Unfortunately, the facts remained the same, and Snape's new revelation made very little sense.

"Do elaborate, please," McGonagall finally said, her nose wrinkled slightly in distaste. Obviously, she'd known of her colleague's 'night job' of serving Lord Voldemort for a long while, but that didn't mean she approved. Or perhaps she was thinking of something else; Remus saw the shadow of remembrance in her eyes.

Severus took his seat without preamble. "I have just come from the Riddle House. Potter is not there."

"That doesn't mean he isn't somewhere else in Voldemort's possession," Remus pointed out, ignoring the uneasy look on Molly Weasley's face.

"In fact, it means that he most likely is," Moody agreed in his gravely voice. "Unless the Dark Lord has taken to sharing all his secrets with his followers...?"

"Be it as it may, the Dark Lord is still searching for Potter," Snape replied haughtily. "And for Black."

A murmur of surprise raced around the table as Snape's words sank in. On the surface, it made no sense, but upon further reflection...McGonagall must have read his mind.

"But why?" she asked. "Unless...?"

"He was in Azkaban, Minerva," Dumbledore finished. "I estimate that the odds of Sirius Black being sane are much lower than the probability of him not being so. He is, very likely, unaware of his own actions."

"I wouldn't let him off so easily, Albus," Moody growled. "I'd rather bet on Black having decided to become a free agent and waiting to see who will bid more for the boy."

A cold shock ran up Remus' spine, and he had to fight the instinctive need to shout that Moody was wrong. But on second thought, he had a harder time deciding which option he liked less: Sirius being insane, or Sirius auctioning Harry off to whomever could offer him the better deal.

The worst part about this was that it wasn't just any boy they were talking about. Sirius had Harry. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived--but who Remus would always think of as James and Lily's son. This was the boy who had puked on Remus at his first birthday part, the boy who learned to say "Mooey" and had confused Peter and Sirius on a daily basis for the longest of times. Sirius had kidnapped the child who had been the sole light in their dark world: Harry, James' son, whom he'd sworn to protect. Remus shivered. Sirius had betrayed them again.

But a part of him still wondered what Harry looked like now. All his mental images were of an eighteen month old with brilliant green eyes and messy black hair. Lily's eyes. James' hair. Remus swallowed emotion back. Don't think about that. He wondered if Harry had ended up with James' features or Lily's finer bones. Did he like Quidditch? Did he play? Had he discovered girls yet or was he still just a little too young? Remus knew nothing about the boy whom he still loved so much. He didn't even know if Harry had inherited James' talent for mischief making or Lily's more studious genes.

Did Harry even know that the monster who held him now was his godfather?

The thought made him want to weep.

However, while Remus had been occupied with his own thoughts, the others had fallen silent, likely considering the same problems. Though it irked Remus to even think about negotiating with Sirius (he was hardly shamed any more to admit that he wanted his old friend back in Azkaban with the Dementors), doing so could become very necessary. And when push came to shove, he'd take Harry's safety over Sirius' capture any day. No contest.

"I suppose, then, that we ought to examine what Black wants, then," McGonagall said with distaste.

"Freedom." Surprisingly, it was Snape, and they all turned to look at him. "He fears Azkaban, and will do anything to avoid return."

"Can we offer that?" Arthur, who'd previously been very quiet, asked. "Legally?"

"I don't see why not," Moody replied immediately, an odd gleam in his one real eye.

"But we can't just let him wander around loose!" Molly objected, concern on her face. Probably for Harry, Remus knew. She, too, loved James and Lily's son.

"I never said that, lass," the ex-Auror smiled nastily. Remus' stomach churned.

"Lie to him?" he asked uneasily.

Snape sneered. "You have a better idea, Lupin?"

It was damn near impossible to keep his face impassive. "I think there might be a better way, that's all," he replied lamely.

"Like what?" Snape demanded sarcastically. "Say all's forgiven and offer the hand of friendship?"

"I didn't say that," Remus bristled. "I'm not on his side--"

"You could have fooled me."

"--I simply would like to point out that Sirius is smart enough to know that the Order can't offer him a legal pardon at all, even if we were willing," Remus continued doggedly, hanging on to his calm with a gigantic effort. "He was one of us. Don't forget that."

"Excuse it however you want, Lupin," Snape snorted derisively.

"That's enough, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly. "Remus does have a point. The Ministry would never allow Sirius Black to walk free,and insane or not, Sirius is intelligent enough to realize that."

"Perhaps all we need to offer him is a way out," Arthur mused. "Maybe to Americaor Canada...?"

"And invite further crimes in those countries?" McGonagall asked archly.

Several people opened their mouths to object, but Dumbledore interjected once more. "Minerva is right," he pointed out. "Voldemort is not solely Britain's problem, and it is not our place to foist one of his most loyal followers off on another continent and hope to wash our hands of him. No, we must discuss either what we can plausibly offer Black or how to find him. Alastor, have the Aurors made any progress?"

"Not at all," the scarred wizard replied, then explained for the others' benefit. "I still have several friends in the Auror Division, and I'm kept abreast of developments. They've checked all the usual places, and there's been no sign. Black's definitely gone to ground."

"He's waiting," Remus said quietly. It was so unlike the old Sirius, the loyal and happy Sirius; that Sirius had hated to wait. He would have preferred action, even dangerous action, to sitting still and doing nothing.

"Brilliant observation, Professor Lupin," Snape rolled his black eyes, but Remus didn't give him the satisfaction of a reply. It wasn't worth it. Not anymore.

Arthur's response, however, was bitter. "So we're back to waiting, then."

---------------------

Ron scowled, holding the letter in hands. Errol, the ancient Weasley owl, was staring at him blankly, probably waiting for a treat. Irritated, the red haired teen glared back. "D'you think I'm going to give you something for failure?" he demanded. "Not likely. Go bother someone else."

Just as he looked back down at his own letter, though, Errol pecked Ron on the hand. Hard.

"Ow!" He swung ineffectively at the owl, who, despite his age, moved away with remarkable agility. "Ruddy owl! What did you have to go and do that for? I just--"

"Just what?" Fred demanded, barging into Ron's room without warning. As usual.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" George repeated, hard on his twin's heels, making Ron's scowl grown deeper. As usual. "Is ickle Ronnekins having problems with the widdleowl?"

"Shut up, George."

"I'm not George," the second twin protested. "I can't believe you! And you call yourself our brother--"

"After this long, I think you'd get it--" the first chimed in. "I'm George. He's Fred. Thanks a lot, Ron, for mixing us up yet again."

Ron looked up and snorted. "Nice try," he retorted. "You can fool Mum, but that stopped working on me when I was five, George."

The twins exchanged grins. "All right, fine," George shrugged. "What's the problem, then? I haven't seen Errol so angry in years."

"Not since you were five, at least," Fred grinned.

"Will you two leave me alone?" Ron sighed.

"Nope," Fred replied cheerfully. "Not a chance."

"Share the problem with us, brother," George advised him with a grin. "We're older and wiser. Who knows? We might actually help."

Ron arched an eyebrow.

"Well, we're older, anyway," George amended.

Finally, Ron had to chuckle, though his amusement didn't last long. He was too worried. What the heck, he finally thought. Maybe they can help. He had to resist the urge to laugh at his own thoughts, though. The likelihood of Fred and George causing anything short of mayhem was very, very small. As usual.

"This is the third letter I've tried to write Harry this week," he explained. "Errol's brought them all back."

For a moment, even the terrible twins seemed stumped. After several long seconds in which they both only frowned, Fred finally offered, "Maybe he got lost. He is rather old, you know."

"No, that can't be right," George replied thoughtfully. "Errol's been to Privet Drive a thousand times, unless Ron's been using some other owl we don't know about."

Ron shook his head mutely, trying not to let his worry show. What if Harry's awful relatives had locked him up again? They'd done it the summer before, after all, until Ron and the twins had shown up to break Harry free. He was sorely tempted to try the same sort of thing again, but he and Harry had lost the flying car in the forest and his mum would kill them if they snuck out for a second summer in a row--

"D'you think that the Muggles are stopping your letters somehow?" George finally asked.

Ron shrugged. "I dunno. It's not like they haven't tried before, but Errol's always gotten through." He hesitated, swallowing. "I think--I think something's happened to Harry."

"There could be a lot of reasons why the letters aren't getting through, Ron," Fred replied immediately. Both of the twins were serious now; there was no banter and no poking fun at "ickleRonnekins." Despite the way Fred and George usually acted, they were his brothers, and the Weasleys were a close family. The twins understood Ron's worry; they would have felt the same way if their letters to Lee Jordan had mysteriously stopped arriving at their intended destination. However, with Lee one could usually be sure that it was a joke. With Harry...

"Like what?" Ron demanded.

Identical blank looks were his only answer, and Ron plowed forward, giving voice to his worry and his frustration.

"Once or twice can be an accident. But this is the third letter! And Harry didn't say he was going for a trip or anything--and it's not like the stupid Muggles would take him anywhere, anyway!"

"What if..." But George swallowed and didn't finish. There wasn't, after all, anything to say.

"Something's wrong," Ron declared. "I know it. Something has to be wrong."

It was the first time he'd dared to even think the words, but Ron knew that he was right. Harry wouldn't let him down like this. Something bad had happened, and Ron wasn't as young as his parents thought he was. He knew that they were going to meetings of some kind, and that something wasn't right in the Wizarding world. Whatever that was, he could bet that Harry was stuck in the middle of it.

As usual.

---------------------

Alastor Moody paced the floor of his small living room, ignorant of the late hour. Step, thump. Step, thump. Step--

He growled aloud. Something wasn't right. Everything was going wrong, and damn Sirius Black was in the middle of it again. He'd gone of and done what--kidnapped the boy that Voldemort had to want more than anything else in the world, and then simply gone to ground? What the heck was he hiding for? Moody scowled, and resumed his pacing again. He didn't know what he had stopped in the first place; for a moment there had seemed to be inspiration at the corner of his consciousness, but it had escaped him somehow. He hadn't been so frustrated in years, and he was beginning to get angry, too. The ex-Auror was an expert at sorting out puzzles, but this one simply didn't make any sense.

Step, thump. Step, thump. Step, thump. Step, thump. Step, thump. Step, thump.

"Damn you," he growled at the world, but Moody knew who it was really aimed at. His words were intended for the sole hearing of the man who's Department of Magical Law Enforcement file sat on the ex-Auror's coffee table, labeled "Confidential." The curse was aimed at the most brilliant student he'd ever had, at the Black who had gone against his family and become an Auror--

"Bastard."

That, too, was aimed at Sirius. Black. Moody had Mentored the kid, had seen his phenomenal flair for the Dark Arts and had assumed it was something inborn. He hadn't ever even thought that Black might be spending his time preparing for something else--for someone else. The snarl Alastor let escape sounded feral even to his own ears. More the fool I, then, he thought coldly. Another mistake to make up for.

Intellectually, Moody knew that he hadn't made many mistakes in his career, but every single one of them was coming back to haunt him now. And all of them centered around Sirius Black. The traitor.

Step, thump. Step, thump.

"You're going to wear a hole in the floor, Deary," his hall mirror told him.

"Stupefy!"

A jet of red light flared out from his wand as he spun and took his frustration out on the mirror. It would have shattered if the ex-Auror hadn't put Anti-Breaking spells on it long ago; as it was, the mirror simply fell silent and bothered him no more. But Moody certainly didn't feel any better.

Step, thump.

Black's file was glaring up at him from the coffee table; he felt like it had eyes. Confidential. Sure. He'd had a copy of it for years. Alastor had, of course, scrounged himself up an updated version of it after Sirius'--Black's!--escape, but the file hadn't changed much. Only a few things had, really...except for that glaring omission of the record of Black's horrifying interrogation sessions in the beginning--Not relevant, he told himself firmly. Moody had put a stop to that long ago, pulling rank and blackmailing when others' morality had failed. No one, even Sirius Black, deserved to be questioned under torture--Notrelevant. Moody snarled again. Let the Dementors have him.

"He's at Hogwarts," Moody mumbled to himself. That's what they claimed Black had said, repeatedly, talking in his sleep. You had to be sane to talk in your sleep, didn't you? Thinking of that made the ex-Auror shudder. He remembered a pair of blue eyes staring back at him almost twelve years ago, eyes that were entirely too sane and understood exactly what was going on--Concentrate!

The meaning was obvious, though. Black was after young Potter. There was no question about that--and now he had him. What would he do, though? What did he want?

He was getting nowhere. Moody hadn't been so distracted since he had been a rookie Auror, clueless and fresh out of training. Now he almost wished for the mirror's senseless prattling. It was too quiet. Quiet could be a tool, under the right circumstances, but right now it just made him think thoughts that were best left unthought. Sighing, the ex-Auror stopped his pacing and headed for bed. It was well past midnight, and he'd been trying to puzzle through Black's motives for hours, having gotten no closer to the truth. Experience told him that he'd get no further that night, too. All he knew was that he was missing something.

And he knew that he wouldn't sleep well that night, no matter how hard he tried.

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