Chapter 14: Confucius with a Quill

Chapter 14: Confucius with a Quill

"I didn't know what else to do."

Fretful worrying tore ragged, tiny gashes in her bottom lip, strong white teeth tenderizing the flesh until blood seeped. Sirius wished he could reassure her. Gut instinct nagged he couldn't.

"It's quite all right, Hermione. You did the right thing, coming to me." Returning his heavy gaze to the parchment he held loosely, Sirius blindly stepped back to seat himself upon the scrubbed table, angling the message so as to catch firelight. Bleary-eyed from being awoken at two in the morn, it took moments to focus the untidy scrawl known from years gone by.

Ms. IKIA,

TCO

Wearily rubbing his eyes, sigh escaping, he considered the situation. It was as though the past four years had never been. Well, to him, they truly hadn't. Though still blotchy, his memory was improving in fair spurts. All except for the moment he'd been hit by Cousin Bellatrix's curse, through waking up in the band's flat. And that would be four years, minus the weeks he'd spent as Stubby Boardman. He hadn't even figured out how to gloss over his most recent disappearance of the past two days with that lot. But that was a chore for another moment; as for now, his godson and said's best mate were possibly in peril. That is, if Hermione was correct in her worry.

She usually was.

"I studied over it, time and again, but nothing makes sense." Hysteria slowly seeped into her words. She paced. "Well, nothing except for 'Snuffles' family,' which obviously means the Lestranges and other Death Eaters." Quavering entered this time, belying attempts at emotional control.

"That doesn't mean they're not safe, Hermione," Sirius softly reasoned. Extrasensory perception suggested otherwise, but he would not upset her further. "After all, he was able to get off a message. Coded, yes; but like his father, he knows the importance of secrecy. They've got a place to go. And a plan, you said. Something about a book...?"

Plucking her courage to still her nervous prowling, Hermione ventured to the table, seating herself before him in a rickety spindle-back. Long, lithe legs settled opposite her in masculine grace; one drawn up before him, flat-footed upon the tabletop and knee to chin, the other dropping to swing through emptiness at his side. Wrapping his free arm about the posed limb, he leaned his head upon it, watching her patiently, waiting.

Staring, feminine brows knit in puzzled thought. He thought at first she would burst forth some idealist philosophy, or have suddenly broken the cryptic phrasing. Her face read so. Instead, however, muddy eyes left their focus to his right, face clearing its troubled mar. "Genealogy." Eyes returned to his own, tired but coherent.

"That's his cover story. The whole Wizarding world knows he and Ginny married last year, and they all know he was orphaned – obviously. So after the, er, incident after graduation, he let it be known he was researching his family history. Made everyone believe he was going to write a memoir, but that he wanted to include detailed information – photographs, descriptions, anecdotes and the like. Things that required travel to foreign places, research into history and facts. Work that required someone to assist, thus Ron's presence. And since the general populace wanted their hero to write such a story, they bought into it easily enough." Put out would be her current expression, lips slightly pursed and askew, single brow quirked.

Details of the incident were not forthcoming, and he hadn't expected them so. Ginny had debriefed him only that shortly after their Hogwarts graduation, there had been another foray at the Ministry, another face-off with Voldemort – he hadn't known there was a first, even – where the end result had been another vanishing act of the Dark Lord. And again, the Ministry had played the part that all was well, that the Dark Wizard was no longer. But they didn't believe as they preached, keeping Aurors on alert and intelligence streaming.

"And he's been at this for over a year, then?"

"Yes. He and Ron come home when they can, but that's not been often, and not recently, either. Last return, he confided that they had a lead on Voldemort's whereabouts, but not on his plans. He knows he's up to something; he has to make up for Harry's destruction of the last Horcrux." Another history lesson Ginny had shared: the Horcruxes. A mouthful and then some to digest, but the summary had been enough. Now Voldemort was in hiding again, after his error in judgment at the Ministry this last go-round.

Sirius considered Voldemort's opportunities. Regaining great power from another weakened – though far from helpless – state required such a level of magic as to limit all resources available. Harry intended to stop him before he grew back to former glory. It was a race against time.

"So why this message?" he inquired, more to himself than her. Had there been a development? Or were they in real trouble now and needed a rescue?

Adding more crimson flow, Hermione bit down again, shadows hiding her worried eyes. "I'm afraid something's happened. Or is, rather was, about to happen. And they need help. But I just don't know what kind. I don't even know where to begin!" Abrupt return to standing, pacing, wringing hands. Sirius sought to calm her, but words failed him.

-o-

"Get some sleep, love. You're beat, and we're neither of us getting any further on this without rest."

Sirius' words hung in the pale gray dawn, the kitchen of his boyhood home chilled against the cooling embers in the hearth. Hermione inwardly agreed, eyes burning in desperate plea for moisture and ease. Cruel deprivation was not limited to denying coherent thought; invited in said thoughts' place were images and considerations never before entertained. And in clear-headedness, Hermione deduced, never would be.

Before her, Harry's godfather reclined wearily, one foot propped upon the table ledge, his chair tipped back on two legs. In normal mind, his presence would be reassuring – an adult with courage, knowledge, leadership. Even reckless, Sirius was a wizard in which one could put their faith. But sometime in the wee hours while they pored over the meanings Harry's message could offer, Hermione had suddenly realized that this wasn't fifth year, that she wasn't sixteen, looking for an adult to help. She also had realized just as suddenly that the dynamics between them had changed. Not only were they now peers, but maturity had brought an understanding and view she before had misplaced. Sirius, though driven by passion over contemplation, was by no means lacking in intelligence. Rather, he was extremely bright and gifted, such talents having been hidden those years she'd known him, hidden behind arrogance, cavalier attitude, and... well, passion.

With such revelation came others, these much more worrisome than their predecessors. It was these unorthodox considerations that had brought one of her endless paces to a standstill, had brought her to stare in abject horror while Sirius read through the parchment aloud once more, oblivious to her delusions.

He was a man.

No longer simply a godfather, an escapee, a forgotten casualty of a preferably forgotten war. Name of the past, name to be feared, name to be honored in memory... Best friend of James, brother to Regulus, nemesis to Severus, Argus... No longer merely these did he represent. No; Sirius Black had become – in no more than an eye-blink – a man. Period. And something about that new status unnerved her desperately.

"I'll Apparate to the flat, borrow Blue's owl, and send word to your boss you're calling out ill today." Snapped from her reverie, Hermione could only numbly agree. Nodding absentmindedly, she allowed Sirius to take her arm and guide her above stairs to the one inhabitable bedroom – his. Ginny and Harry had taken the room as theirs after marrying, but had done little to the others, as the Weasley clan refused to leave Ginny alone, given the state of things.

He mothered her, darting to and fro in the room, searching clothing he had retrieved from the band's empty flat the previous day. All she could do was stare, nervously curious, at this new sight. Frightened, she was, but not of him... exactly. Just...

"Here; this should make do," he commented, tossing heavy blue linen across the separating meters. His Asian collared button-down looked nearly new. Due to his height, it would serve its purpose as sleepwear for her petite frame.

"Get some rest." Drawing up to face her, Sirius' expression was weary, soft, paternal. "I'll kip downstairs after a bit; I've some errands I need to attend, first." Tired smile, then he turned toward the door, tossing over his shoulder, "I'll wake you later for lunch."

Though normal it may be for the door to click shut behind him, Hermione could not help but stare stupidly at it, attempting to shake the oddity of loss that fell over her. She wanted to talk further with him, engage him in intellectual conversation, delve into his opinions and views outside of schooldays.

But why?

-o-

Mid-morning rays wove brightly into corneas, stinging sleep-deprived eyes. Sirius squinted against the invasion, head already bitching over the excessive alcohol, lack of food and nary-proper rest. Without conscious thought, steps brought him back out onto the high street, many shops just waking for business. Mind muddled, he took vague notice of vendors preparing their wares, seeking only sustenance to ease the gnawing in his belly.

At least it had not been a total waste, he considered. Information could always be gotten at the Hog's Head, but the price was usually formidable. So he had hidden in the shadows of the bar, nursing an unidentifiable concoction and heeding all words of the watchful barkeep. Years had not altered Aberforth Dumbledore's appearance much, and had affected even less his perceptive, keen mind. Knowing beforehand that he had taken a year as Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts after his brother's death would have been beneficial. As it was, Sirius' innocent queries as to the current staff pegged him suspicious to the man, earning him a long, shrewd, calculated look. Not knowing the well-documented posting identified him as having been out of touch these past years. Deeply out of touch. He'd had to carefully mind his words after that.

James would have been proud of his son's deceptive skills. Sirius chuckled lightly to himself, remembering Harry's sly reference to checking with the Head barkeep when ordering. The insinuation was obvious, even if Hermione hadn't seen it.

Well, she wouldn't, would she? Brilliant though she may be, her past does not include copious amounts of firewhisky at a Hogsmeade tavern, so coincidentally tended by the brother of the founder of the Order of the Phoenix. Aberforth was known for his ability to gather information, but it was high time he gave some up, as well.

That last part did not go quite as planned, sadly. But not all was wasted effort, as Sirius established – he was positive – that Dumbledore did not have acquaintance with a bloke by the name of Troy. It must be a reference Hermione would know, a code of some sort. It is the meaning behind the code they must ask Aberforth to explain.

Also deduced by idle chatter was that JR could be anyone, and apparently no one of consequence to the Order. Not the slightest sign of recognition crossed the barkeep's face at the initials, and though well schooled in controlling his reactions, Sirius did not believe he could so well hide even the slightest expression of familiarity. No, another alias or code it must be.

Adjusting the black bolero hat deeper over his eyes, Sirius slowed his pace, dropping his chin slightly to catch partial view over his right shoulder. He was being followed; had been since leaving the Hog's Head. Had Dumbledore become so suspicious so quickly? Surely not. He had disappeared into the back room on several occasions, long enough to Floo someone, but the question was, did he have reason? It was doubtful. But someone was interested in him, and at this point he was disinclined to treat them.

Quick duck in to Honeydukes provided temporary refuge. Secured behind window displays of Lizard Tail-ismans and Cobweb Candy, Sirius eyed his back trail, awaiting his pursuer. He needn't wait long.

Draped in onyx-violet velvet, the short figure drew near, its hooded head steadily facing forward with purpose. No hesitation befell the tracker, and, to Sirius' great surprise, they immediately turned right into the doorway of Honeydukes. Eyes widened in amazement, speechless, Sirius could only stare as the stalker glanced about briefly, caught his image, and walked straight up to him.

"You left your spectacles, dear." Proffered hand submitted his Muggle sunglasses, held gently by mottled, aged hands, bony in their flesh, wrinkled in years.

What could he do but take them? "Thank you," his hesitation relented. Puzzled, he could think of nothing else to say as he pocketed the eyewear.

"You are very welcome, dear," came the sweet, high voice again. Raising her head to meet his eyes, her cloak hood fell back enough to reveal a weathered face with bright, blue eyes and a heartfelt, grandmotherly smile. Before he could reply, her gaze turned abruptly to her right, and a girlish squeal of delight passed in laughter. "Sugar Quills! I haven't indulged in those since Bubby and I used to do summer research back at school." As she pored over the display, her voice became dreamy in memory.

"We'd take a small crate of these with us for study on holiday, traipsing hither and dither in search of long forgotten spells and rituals." Her tone suddenly grew amused. "Not that we did much essay writing with these, mind you." Giggle under breath. "Oh, we had such fun in those days."

Snapping up several packets, she rounded on Sirius again, joy spread across her lined face.

"You must come have tea with me; yes, you must! It would be wonderful to reminisce with such a handsome young man."

Sirius moved to protest, but her excitement cut him off.

"Oh, it will be so lovely to have young company for a change of course. Bubby was always young at heart, but his last years left him so busy and all... And I haven't thought of those candies and travels in years! What fun! Come, come..." Bony hands gripped his sleeve with surprising strength, dragging him across to the counter where she quickly paid for the sweets before ushering him out the door.

Finding his voice, he called to her as she led down an alleyway. "Look, ma'am, I really need to get back to –"

"Nonsense, dear!" Not even a glance back at him, she cheerily continued on, quick steps belying her advanced years. "Everyone has time for a cuppa, now and again."

Hating to disappoint the elder witch, Sirius nonetheless had to find an escape from hospitality. He needed to get back to Hermione, discuss what he'd learned, get a bite and some much needed sleep. Glancing behind, he desperately searched for some excuse as would deter her ambitious endeavor. A lone figure was just rounding quickly between the buildings into the alleyway they'd just left, on his way to the apothecary, to be sure. His rush suggested an emergency, but too far away they were for Sirius to offer the stranger assistance, thus stopping his own imposed exodus.

Disparaged of hope, Sirius watched the shopper disappear about the corner they themselves rounded. Apparently a back path to a country lane, the shortcut found them suddenly out of the hubbub of Hogsmeade. Despite himself, Sirius couldn't help but appreciate the serenity offered by the woodsy path they'd entered. Bird calls and squirrel chatter tugged a smile from him. It had been too long since he'd felt any sense of real peace. Not since... not since ever, really. Always at odds with his family, the closest time to happiness he'd felt had been his early school years with James, Remus, Peter. Before betrayal, death, and heartache.

"Here we are, my dear." Sirius' attention snapped back to present, taking in the neat-as-a-pin cottage they'd reached. Resigning himself to the good deeds of a lonely old woman, he graciously followed her in, prepared to make this tea a brief encounter. Just in case, his wand was tucked safely up his sleeve. He'd learned long ago.

"Have a seat and I'll put the kettle on," she called from the kitchen. Settling at the small rounded oak table, he glanced about at the bright yellow walls, décor of ancient photos and frilly keepsakes lining the white shelves and open spaces. Trinkets covered most surface areas, items odd with Muggle invention or foreign descent.

Cozy, charming were his words to describe her secluded home. Rising from his chair, he wandered about, taking in the memories of a lifetime. Several photos were of the woman herself – what was her name? – while most included a variety of witches and wizards, of every nationality it seemed. Many snapshots of his host included a tall, lean man, himself blue-eyed, auburn-tressed, crinkles lining his eyes in genuine smiles. Vaguely familiar in simple robes, he appeared with her in locales of desert, of mountain, of ocean, of meadow. The couple was blatantly happy, impish grins sneaking out of a pyramid; teasing nose-tweaking on a park tree limb; hand holding across a rocky beach.

"We were inseparable, he and I. Folks used to say, 'There goes Bubby and Zelda, again. One can't swing a Kneazle without hitting the other.'" She chuckled softly, setting the tea service on the table. At his shoulder she gazed lovingly upon the framed memory he held, this one touting 'Bubby's' scratch of beard, his shoulder-length hair drawn in a ponytail like Bill Weasley's. Photo-Zelda was toying with a pointy wizard's hat, alternately placing it upon his head, tilting it ominously, and jerking it back child-like before he could adjust it. Their laughter displayed what words never could.

"Well, they never actually said 'Bubby,' as I was the only one who ever called him that. He was my first love, you know. My only, really." Gentle sighs broke her monologue.

"What happened to him?" Sirius ventured, not wanting to cause any grief to this perky lady.

Wistful smile spread, easing of brows. "Everyone expected our engagement any day after graduation, and when that didn't happen, they expected after our two years of travel and research. But by then, Bubby and I realized he had a calling much greater than what he could accomplish with a family."

A moment of silence fell, more awkward for Sirius than Zelda, and she sighed again, turning back toward the tea. "So I later married a family friend and bore children. But Bubby and I remained friends until his death; I still converse regularly with his portrait, you know." A smile laced her words, and Sirius set the photo in its place and re-settled at the table, watching her pour.

"His calling... did he go into spiritual intervention, or the medical field?" Proffered cup before him accepted, he added sugar in spoonfuls.

Chuckling heartily, she answered while preparing her own cup. "Oh no, dear. Nothing so artistically dramatic. No, no. Bubby wanted to use all he'd learned in his studies. Went into politics – judicial politics, I should say – and a little of practical use of defensive spells."

Tea spurt out of his lips as he choked momentarily on the beverage. "He was an Auror?" Sirius had never seen a less-likely looking figure for a Dark Wizard catcher in his life. He seemed too... jolly.

Laughter even harder this time. "My, my, dear, you seem to have quite the vivid imagination. No; Bubby did do his part to rid our world of scum, but his greatest claim to life was his love of knowledge. Godric Gryffindor himself would have approved Bubby's rule as Headmaster all these years."

This time the tea found itself everywhere but Sirius' mouth, the china splintering upon impact with hardwood planks. Zelda only smiled and swished her hand across the shards, the fragments repairing without wand or word. At his comical expression, Zelda grinned bemusedly.

"Yes, my dear boy; Albus Dumbledore was my childhood sweetheart." Refilling his cup, she set it before him, settled across the table, and spoke with solemn clarity. "Now, let's discuss that man who was just following you..."

-o-

Lounging about in his shirt and a pair of athletics she had found, Hermione curled her slippered feet beneath the quilt and half-lay on the settee, sipping peppermint tea while jotting notes. Toast and marmalade devoured – she was hungry – focus could now be given on the message before her.

Refusing to allow thoughts to stray on Sirius' whereabouts, she concentrated on deciphering Harry's cryptic message. Instinct demanded she take it seriously, that the boys were in some sort of trouble, though they currently must have a temporary fix. But obvious still it was that Harry was requesting her help – Your friends need your help to stop was not a reference to alcoholism. And it was her friend James who pub crawled every weekend; she didn't even know a Troy.

"Cor, Harry; learn to spell," she chastised to the empty sitting room, correcting the Troyes' on her own sheet. "The Boy Who Lived could save the Wizarding world time and again, yet he can't grasp singular possessive. Honestly..."

"Hermione!" Sirius' voice resounded against heavy plaster walls, setting off complaints of napping portraits. Mother Black had again been Silenced, and should remain so for the next couple hours.

"In here!" she called out, alerting her host to her new location. Returning her thoughts before her, quill scratching continued, greeting Sirius in his breathless entry to stand before her.

"There you are." Childish joy spread across his features. In one hand he held what looked to be large photo. "You'll never guess who I met, and what tales I heard!" His playful excitement drew her in. And for a moment, Hermione let go of ciphers and riddles and sat up fully, intent on Sirius' story.

Twenty minutes and two cups' tea later, the pair were seated at the kitchen table, regaling their own tales of Albus Dumbledore, while Hermione gazed at the old photo Zelda had copied for 'Stubby Boardman.'

"It was good to hear stories of Dumbledore from years ago." Sirius was thoughtful, wistful. Hermione knew he'd lost so many years to Azkaban, to hiding, to the Veil. And now that he'd returned, he still could not admit his identity, and he'd returned to the loss of even more of the few who'd known him, who'd accepted him.

"Yes; it's amazing to see him so young, so, well... normal." They both chuckled; Albus Dumbledore was never quite normal, but everything was relative. "I wonder where they were," she pondered aloud, referring to the four faces laughing in friendship aboard an old schooner-type boat named the Solomon IV.

"Check the back," he suggested, leaning over the table to flip the photo for her.

"It says here: Zelda and Bubby – Bubby?" Sharply looking up, Sirius only nodded in amusement, motioning for her to continue. He'd explain later, it seemed. "Zelda and Bubby, with dear friend Jacob and little Argus – Autumn 1945, Mount's Bay." 'Little' Argus looked to be no more than five.

"Well, that doesn't tell me much," she commented deflatedly.

"Dumbledore never did tell much," he mused wryly. Rising heavily from his chair, Sirius strode over to the kettle, preparing for another round of tea. "Damn; out of tea and..." Pausing for a brief scouring of the cupboards, "...everything."

"Oh, God, Sirius. I'm sorry!" Popping up from her seat, Hermione joined him at his weary drape upon the counter. She pulled at his arm, its slender solidity surprising her. Demanding in her best motherly voice, "I had a nice nap, and you've been up all this time. Go upstairs and have a lie-down. I'll pop out for a bit of market shopping and have a nice meal ready when you wake." Brooking no argument, she shuffled him up the stairs, promising to wake him before six, as he had more information for her, but neglected to state of what sort.

As intended, Hermione gathered her rucksack and left the house to Apparate to Diagon Alley. Praying she'd not be seen by anyone from the Ministry (she was supposed to be ill today, after all), she ducked about her shopping, ignoring the quirked looks matrons gave her. Obviously attired in a man's shirt, the insinuation hung in the air what she'd been active with during the day, why her eyes bore smudges below in signs of sleep deprivation.

Stopping for a moment's rest before tackling the crowd at the twins' shop, she sat outside the ice cream shop where she and Ginny had rested only days before, contemplating the logistics of Sirius Black's return. Irony dripped with her melting cone, as she stared this time at the photo of her late professor and mentor. Of all people, crafty Zelda was his true love. Brief snort. Then again, that would explain the sherbet lemon sweets.

"I've seen that picture before!" Excited awe of youth proportions broke Hermione's study. She turned to Chelsea Chamberlain's enthusiastic face, her furrowed brow of interest changing to dark scowl at the interruption.

"Where?" Hermione's voice was flat with annoyance.

Eagerness twisted into smirking arrogance, as the teenager straightened her spine and tossed her head, a pseudo sense of sultry attempting to present. Even darker Hermione's narrowed glare became, tolerance for such childish games rapidly coming to an end. But Chelsea missed the silent warning, playing her part of womanly mystery, and failing miserably. Her Cheshire grin grew, and sing-song voice flowed in nursery-rhyme beat.

"In Raj MacGregor's bedroom."