The Book Of Jude

Chapter Twenty-One: A Fine Mess

'They called it Paradise

I don't know why,

But call someplace Paradise,

Kiss it goodbye.'

The Eagles, 'Providence'

Harsh daylight poured in, unhindered, through curtain-less windows. Jude blinked against the cruel light, but was thankful for the interruption of her dreams. Looking around, she wondered where the hell she was. The room she found herself in was a wreck and the slant of the sun belied that it was well after noon.

Then, she remembered--everything. The dream she'd been struggling to wake from was glaring reality. Rhys was, in fact, dead. And her Paradise was lost. But that was her own doing, she understood. It was an attachment she never should have made; letting someone or someplace become too important was just asking for pain, like the acute, unrelenting feeling that enveloped her now.

The only person to blame was staring back at her through the shattered glass that was once a mirror. She'd set that other world up on a pedestal--she'd set him there as well. Paradise, she called it. And just like Eden, she was barred forever from its gates. She'd made a mess of everything there. Still, if she had it to do over again, would she choose the safe road? No, even through the misery she now suffered, she would never trade a second she'd spent with him, in that Paradise.

Well, what's done is done. If she refused to trade that time for blissful indifference, then she would have to pay for that. But no longer would she fall apart--sulking every now and then would be acceptable, but no more perching atop cliff ledges, contemplating her demise. There was a duty, a commission to fulfill in Rhys' name. She couldn't change the past and what she'd been--she'd come to terms with that already--and her death would never right any of her wrongs. But she could ensure that Voldemort never hurt another again, as he'd hurt Rhys.

Unfolding her legs from under her, she got up off of the bed, looked around and sighed. If she didn't have something to busy her hands with and occupy her mind, she'd sink further into that muddled pool of despair again. Shaking her head mournfully, she surveyed the mess at her feet. She couldn't believe the scene she'd made the night before--it was truly embarrassing to have been that unhinged and vulnerable in front of another person. And of all people, it had to be the professor. How humiliating.

Groaning as she took tentative steps through the debris, she felt every movement she made through her tense and aching muscles. Swiveling her stiff neck to loosen it a bit, she bent down to begin the long task of making sense once again of this disorder. It would take hours, but she had enough of those to spare. It was a thorough job she'd done on this room a few days before, and no mistake. She just wondered how much of this could be righted and just how long that would take.

Jumping slightly as the door opened, Jude turned to see Fritzy's tiny, pink face poking through the door.

"Oh, Miss is awake," the elf squeaked with delight.

Jude only managed a weak smile that felt more like a grimace, and bent back to the shattered remains of an inkbottle that had bled its contents onto the rug.

"Let Fritzyhelp, Miss." The elf hurried over to where Jude knelt amidst the disordered heaps.

"No, Fritzy," Jude held up a weary hand and begged the elf to halt. "Thank you, but I made this mess and I intend to clean it up."

"But it could take hours, Miss," Fritzy protested wide-eyed and shaking her head doubtfully.

"I hope so, I need a distraction." She returned to pulling the shards from the rug and casting them into a wastebasket, cutting her fingers slightly, but ignoring it. She could not damage the rug further, so why not add a little scarlet to the indigo?

"If Miss wishes," the elf sighed as she picked a precarious path back to the door. "But Fritzywould have gladly helped." She sounded stricken by the refusal.

"I know," Jude reassured kindly, but firmly. "But I need to do this alone."

With head hung, resigned, Fritzy left Jude to the mess.

The sky was a deep purple-black by the time Jude had finished righting the ravaged room. What she could fix was mended and what she could not repair was discarded. Everything else was stowed in its proper place--the room was as it had always been. Almost.

Picking up the worn piece of parchment, she folded it carefully and placed it in her back pocket--the last item out of place had found its home with her always. It was Rhys' letter, now a memento of what could have been, who she could have been. Before leaving the room, she glanced up at the mirror--that would remain broken. She had no desire of seeing the reflection clearly ever again.

***

Looking up from the various parchments and books that littered the desk, he watched as she walked into the study, dragging her feet sullenly. At least she was no longer wearing the rain-soaked jeans and shirt she'd lived in for three days. That had to be a good sign.

She shuffled to the sofa in front of the fire and plopped down among the stiff pillows. Pulling her bare feet under her and tucking her arms inside her robe, she rested her chin on her knees and stared blankly at the flames. The professor noted with a little relief that the dead and hollow look of hopelessness was gone from her face, but dark clouds still hung heavy over her expression.

Neither person spoke; the silence remained untouched and pristine in the dark, but cozy room. The professor returned to his books and papers, and Jude sank back into thought. Was it going to be like last time, Jude thought? How long would the awkward silence last this time? A week, maybe. After the melodramatic incident in her sixth year, the worst part of the whole matter was the feeling that those around her were cautious, as if she were fragile, or unstable. She had to admit, it did seem as if she were a bit nutters, attempting to kill herself--twice. And she couldn't imagine that it was an easy matter to deal with for the professor. For a moment she felt a little guilty, having put him through all of this for a second time. She looked over tentatively at the desk where he sat, bent over papers, seemingly oblivious to anything else going on around him--it was almost as it had been before. How long would it take, however, for things to be completely normal again? Would things ever be normal again? She pondered this question, as her eyes raked the room for a distraction. It was laying on the small, octagonal cherry table to her right. The book she'd begun a fifth journey through a few summers before lay there still, unmolested and waiting her return. Les Miserables--thank God for Hugo and his immortal Paris. She opened the pages to lose herself in others misfortunes for once. She didn't want to read about a happy ending at the moment.

***

Jude allowed the rest of the summer to pass in much the same manner: curled up on the sofa in her bathrobe and bare feet, preferring books to sleep or conversation. Darcy could be found most nights on the rug at Jude's feet, sharing her depression. The study was their favorite haunt, because, even though company was obsolete to Jude, she preferred not to be alone too often.

This night was no exception. Jude sat with the book open on her lap, bent over it and engrossed in the story. The boys on the barricade died one by one, their efforts brave but futile--their small band the sure losers against the French National Guard. The valiant carnage in the story was interrupted by a tapping sound coming from the window, which Hobbs, a small, bluish house elf, hurried over to attend to. Jude, watching as the elf opened the window, letting the cool sea breezes in, returned to the pages of her book. An owl flew through the opening and landed on the professor's desk--nothing much of interest for her. Darcy, however, was very amused and rushed over to examine the creature, which screeched and ruffled its feathers in a none-too-friendly salutation. After the professor had taken the letter from the owl, it raced through the open window agitatedly and back into the night air.

"This one's addressed to you," she heard the professor remark, tossing a letter at her. She looked up in just enough time to snatch the letter from the air before it smacked her in the forehead. That would have been graceful, she thought ruefully as she turned the creamy parchment envelope over in her hands.

It was from Hogwarts--from Dumbledore. She promptly threw the envelope into the flames, and returned to her book.

"You shouldn't have done that," she heard the professor chide mildly. "What if it was important? And most of his letters are."

"So what?" she retorted blandly. "I'm done with that place. Rhys wasn't the only reason I left."

"I know." The professor bent back to his work. She was being silly and childish and there was no point in arguing with her at the moment.

Hours marched on in silence until the dull, gray fingers of dawn began clawing their way westward, chasing the indigo from the sky. Jean Valjean had traversed the catacombs of Paris, bringing a wounded Marius to safety and to inevitably replace himself as Cosette'scaretaker. Javert had long since perished in the raging Seine and now the hero was about to die alone, the ultimate payment for wrongs committed in his life. It was a cruel price to pay for merely stealing bread and attempting to escape from prison, but still Valjean died having lost everything that was ever dear to him and was buried and forgotten. He was merely a thief--how much more painful would her penance be for the sins she'd committed in her own life?

She closed the book and set it down on the table next to her as Fritzy and Milly entered with tea. Darcy, ever curious of the little creatures, jumped up from her spot on the rug and raced over to the two frightened elves, eager for another examination. Jude called the dog to order, only to lose her attention again as Hobbs came in with the paper and various other letters. He ceremoniously left them on the corner of his master's desk, unnoticed. The elf retreated from the room with a curious hound right at his heels.

Taking a cup of the steaming, but weak liquid in her hands, she entreated the two elves to stay and keep her company. Of course, they refused, eager to get back to their work. So she got up off of the sofa and headed to the desk to pilfer the paper before the professor noticed. But as she reached the desk, she noticed another letter, the same curious green ink and crest adorning its front.

"Well, you have to hand it to him, he is persistent." And she picked up the letter, smirking a little as the professor, who'd been engrossed in his work, jumped a little at the sound of her voice so unexpectedly close. He hadn't noticed her get up and walk across the room.

"Don't do that," he entreated her as she walked back to the sofa with her letter in hand. "Wear a bell or something," he grumbled, returning to his papers.

It had taken a little over a month, but indeed, things had returned to normal--or as normal as they ever would be. She sighed as she plopped back down on the sofa. Throwing back the rest of the contents, she set the cup down on the tray and turned the letter over and over in her hands. Should she cast it into the flames as she had the other letter? Or should she hear the old man out?

After moments of debate, curiosity got the better of her and she slid a finger under the wax seal. The elegant handwriting of the Headmaster filled one sheet of the thick parchment. She read:

Dear Jude:

It seems that my first letter experienced difficulties in reaching you. This one will, hopefully, find you, as it is a matter of great importance that I must convey to you.

A convict by the name of Sirius Black, I am sure you know of whom I speak, has escaped Azkaban. You are familiar with the reasons for which he is imprisoned, so I shall not bore you with the details. The purpose for alarm, however, is that he has been overheard speaking of Harry Potter. This naturally leads us to fear for the boy's safety, which is assured as long as he remains with his relatives in Surry. However, I have had information that Harry has run away from his relatives' home. But he has been found at the Leaky Cauldron and is safe for the moment--the Weasleys have been kind enough to see to it that he boards the train for Hogwarts.

And so I humbly seek your help once again, my dear. I need you to watch after Harry again, and aid in the capture of Sirius Black if at all possible. I rely on you. Please owl me your response as quickly as possible.

And please allow me to extend my apologies to you regarding the Stone incident. What can I say? Sometimes the wisest of men make the best fools. I am deeply and humbly sorry that I placed you and Harry in any danger.

I await your reply anxiously.

AlbusDumbledore

Headmaster

Jude let the letter fall onto the table as she buried her face in her hands. She wasn't ready for this--for any of it. If she went back now, she would only be operating on anger and hatred--a dangerous mindset for a mission like this. Rhys'sdeath still weighed too heavily on her, and she wasn't sure if that load would ever lighten. And she didn't want to go back. This would be yet another quest to prove herself to people who would never believe her to be capable of anything beyond murder and betrayal. She wasn't a hero--she had no business trying to catch the bad guy and save the world. It was ridiculous to even think that she was ready for this.

But there was that annoying, nagging sense of duty to Harry. She wished she could force herself not to give a damn about the boy, but that voice would not be silenced. This was something she could not turn away from. The only regret she had was that she would be pulled back into all of this and she was prepared for none of it. Oh, well. The world didn't wait for anyone.

She got up to find a piece of parchment to scratch a quick reply on. Naturally she turned to the desk, and saw the professor staring at the Daily Prophet with a clenched jaw and a murderous glare. She moved to see the front page, which he grasped in iron fists, wrinkling the paper between his fingers.

There was a picture of Sirius Black on the cover--a wanted picture showing a ragged and scrawny, deranged madman. Next to that picture was one of four men and a woman, all dressed in suits, except for the woman who was dressed in white--it was a wedding photograph. The woman and the man immediately to her right were easily recognizable. It was Harry's parents. There was a man that she didn't recognize, but next to him stood...Peter? It couldn't be. Her head swam and she felt a little unsteady on her feet. And next to James, Harry's father, stood the escapee, the man that had the whole of the wizardingcommunity up in arms. What the hell was going on? She made a mental note to pick up a copy of the paper as soon as she reached DiagonAlley. She hadn't the slightest inkling of the story behind the man that Dumbledore seemed to think her familiar with. It was all a curious puzzle to her.

She looked at the professor. His brow was furrowed, but in anger or concentration Jude could not tell. She finally spoke, shaking him from his thoughts.

"I have to go to Diagon Alley," she informed him. "I may be gone for a while. Dumbledore needs me for something."

"Black?"

She nodded.

"When?"

"Now, actually." She sighed. "As soon as I can write a reply, I'm off."

He shoved his chair back from the desk and folded the paper, gathering it into a neat pile along with all of the books and parchment littering the surface. He tossed a letter similar to the one she held in her hand on the top of the pile before picking up the lot and heading for the door.

"I'd better be getting back to the school." He looked at the letter on the stacks of books in his arms. "Ten to one says that's what this letter is about." He opened the door and headed out into the gray corridor. Then he turned and called back to Jude who stood, perplexed, in the doorway. "Be careful this time, will you?"

She nodded dutifully and retreated back into the room. This time she didn't want to make a mess of things; this time she would get it right. It didn't take long for her to dig up a blank sheet of paper to scribble her hasty reply on.

Headmaster:

I will do what you have asked, but on my terms alone. I will go directly to DiagonAlley to find Harry, and from there, I will play it by ear. Do not be alarmed if you do not hear from me for sometime, although I will do my best to stay in touch. I am going to try to lay low on this one, if you don't mind. Ministry trouble is the last thing I need at the moment.

Yours,

Jude

After having traded her robe and pajamas for jeans, a long sleeved shirt, and her trainers, she bounded down the stairs to look for Fritzy. When she'd found her and entrusted her to look after Darcy and to send her letter off as soon as possible, she was out the door and headed for the fog of London. In her pocket was the letter Rhys had given her and the tiny gold bracelet she'd kept from her childhood. They were the only objects she took with her.