Chapter Twenty one

Veronica shuddered. This was a strange and bizarre thing! Tentatively reaching out, she brushed her fingertips over the shimmering wall. It was a perplexing puzzle. It must have measured only a few feet in diameter, but it followed her wherever she walked, as constant as a shadow, but not as unobtrusive. Beyond it, she could see indistinct shapes moving, but no matter how she moved, she couldn't see past the obstruction. Frustrated and mystified, she tried to ignore it as she followed the memory of her younger self through the grounds of the hospital.

Despite the austere building and the barbed fencing around it, the grounds were quite pleasant. Years of neglect on the part of the staff contrasted with the tender care of some of the patients had created little islands of beauty...a herb wheel of tricolour sage and lemon balm, pink hyssop and feverfew; a rock garden of alpine flowers and broken breeze blocks, and her favourite spot... a hollow within a copse of trees. In summer, the hollow was resplendent in blue, a bevy of bluebells, and as autumn neared, the ferns would slowly turn a burnished gold, their fronds hiding the pale domes of mushrooms; crocuses and snowdrops thrived in the spring, and over winter while the earth was at its quietest, the holly would shelter the hollow.

It was to that hollow that her younger self trudged. The ferns were dry, and an early frost coated the tips of the copper fronds. The woollen-clad girl settled herself on one of the many thick roots that sprouted from the hard earth and wrapped her arms around herself in a bid to trap as much heat as possible. Veronica shrugged and leant against a sturdy trunk; she was as much a prisoner in this memory as the girl had been in the hospital, and she wondered why her mind lingered over these images from her stay in Edmont.

Perhaps it was because this was the only place where she had felt safe; such an odd thought that in this hospital, she had felt more secure than anywhere else, despite the drugs and the late night crying that had become her lullaby. Tugging on the ends of her hair, she rested her head against the bark and closed her eyes; she had been safe, but it had been an illusion... hadn't it? Shaking her head and scowling, she tried to oust the thought that Ophelia had made her feel safe.

Movement made her turn her head, and she saw a darker shadow just beyond the strange, flickering barrier, and then, it seemed as though it breached the surface, and from it emerged the ghostly silhouette of a young girl. Fascinated and anxious, Veronica edged away from the tree for a better look. The young girl was her, she was sure, but from a time before her accident and memory loss!

With her breath stuck in her throat and her heart thumping wildly, she stepped over to that glimmering screen and the pale form, and as she approached, it grew like a tsunami; before she had the chance to scream or run, the strange wave of images and shimmering light broke over her head.

oooXooo

Sirius sat in the drawing room, staring at the dust motes dancing in a shaft of light that had fought its way past the thick curtains. Late last night, he had heard soft mumblings and then the front door closing as Minerva had left to seek her well deserved rest.

He thought back on the previous evening, thought back to the panicked commands and the worried glances, and he even reflected upon the sneering condescension that Snape had bestowed upon him as he had asked for help, but nothing occupied his mind more than the sight of his cousin as she had lain in a growing pool of blood.

He had looked at her, and it suddenly had seemed so wonderfully clear what he wanted. He wanted to know exactly what she was and what she had done; he wanted to know why... wanted her to explain everything. What had twisted her from a sweet child, all wide smiles and innocent eyes, into the vile thing that would kill family as easily as scorch their name from a Family Tree?

Hadn't he done enough to convince them all that there was another way, that he could have helped and saved them? He'd left the family home, made his stand and shown his true colours; it had been a hard decision, but he had done it. Regulus had never shown such strength, instead choosing to stay and rot in the filth of the Black mentality.

Hadn't he loved Ophelia enough that she could have joined him, left all that darkness and stayed with him in the sun? Why had she preferred that to him? Hadn't he done enough to ensure that his friends and fellow Order members should have sought his release from Azkaban? Hadn't he done enough? Hadn't he bloody well done enough to have some peace?

He licked his lips, craving a drink...just one to clear his thoughts: just to help him make sense of it all. He glanced over at the drinks cabinet hulking in the corner and the rows of glittering decanters; he saw the dark liquid, looking as sweet as honey. He snorted angrily and dug his nails into the leather of the chair arm. Resistance was easy; he knew that the drink would dull the edge of his anger, it would soothe his wound, and he wanted it to be fresh and raw, he wanted to pick at it and rip it... keep it keen. It had to be ripe and vicious when he spoke with her, he needed it to be hot and wild; he wanted it to burn out the love he had for her, scorch it and render it down to nothing. He wanted to hate her, needed to loathe her. Closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing, he turned his thoughts inwards to each treacherous memory of her. Around him, the dust motes danced and the shadows lengthened; the house creaked and sighed, and inside, his fury slashed and burned.

oooXooo

Whimpering and trying to crawl away as strange scenes erupted around her and forced themselves upon her, Veronica begged for help, pleading for it to stop. It made no difference where she went as there seemed no escape from the terrible images and the deafening cacophony. Covering her ears and closing her eyes against it, she stopped moving and curled up, her mind going over and over the mantra that should be keeping it all at bay.

It won't, you know, said a voice gently. That mantra can't keep me locked away now.

Veronica inhaled sharply and jerked away from the source of that tormenting voice...Ophelia hadn't helped then, and she wouldn't help now. But that wasn't right, Ophelia had helped! It was too confusing, too hard and too terrifying to contemplate. Keening and clutching at her hair, Veronica turned on what she saw as the cause of it all.

"Go away!" Veronica hissed out.

I can't, Veronica; I belong here now.

Sniffling, Veronica unfurled enough to look up at her deadly doppelganger. Ophelia stood there, looking radiant and so alive that it snatched her breath, and Veronica was left feeling ugly and broken. Behind her calm usurper, there was a gaping hole in the fabric of the new and terrifying images, and Veronica looked upon it hungrily.

If you go in there, Ophelia said carefully while gracefully waving a hand towards the tear in her recollections, you'll never come out.

Veronica stared up at her in embittered disbelief as she was forced to bathe in the serenity and the peace that Ophelia projected. Veronica shook her head uncomprehendingly; the gentle concern and affection that shone from Ophelia was a mockery...it had to be! Ophelia had hated her and used her; Ophelia had only ever wanted to destroy her so that she could take control. There had never been love... it had been a lie!

"How do you know?" Veronica snarled out.

It is where I was kept.

Veronica's gaze darted from door to demon; it was impossible to say what she feared more.

Ophelia stepped closer; her hand reached out, and her eyes beseeched, imploring Veronica to come to her.

Please, Veronica, just let it come... Please, trust me. Panic tore through her at the sight of Veronica shaking her head madly and scrambling backwards; if Veronica didn't accept this, then she feared the consequences; those wizards who whispered had hinted at a terrible outcome. When it came down to it, Ophelia didn't want to face existing alone.

"You're a monster!" Veronica cried out, pointing a trembling finger at her tormentor.

Ophelia straightened and stared coldly down at her foolish gaoler; her feelings were cut free with that declaration. Maybe she was a monster, maybe she wasn't; all that Ophelia knew for sure was that what she had done had felt right! No one, not even someone she loved, would take that comfort from her.

The memories were coming; neither of them could stop them, and Ophelia knew that she dreaded their return as much as Veronica did... but for a completely different reason. With their return, Veronica would know all of it, all that she had done and all that she had planned to do, and she feared that Veronica would be strong enough to make her start all over again. The thought of that was terrifying.

"Why?" Veronica asked plaintively.

Why what? Ophelia snapped back.

Hiccupping and sniffling, Veronica stopped rocking back and forth and fixed Ophelia with a penetrating stare.

"Why did you betray me?"

Me? Betray you? Me... betray... Ophelia repeated, dumbstruck at the accusation. The question completely derailed her train of thought. How could Veronica even dare to think that she was the one who had been betrayed?

"I needed you, and you turned on me!" Veronica spat out. "I was helping that man, and you tried to make me stop; you said... you said that once I was gone, you'd be in control... you wanted... nothing more than this... this shell!"

It seemed impossible! She had the gall to think that she'd been betrayed! What about being buried for twenty bloody years! Wasn't that the true betrayal? But Veronica looked so heartbroken and defeated, so lonely and terrified, and so utterly bewildered that it made Ophelia pause. Thinking back to that night, she recalled what she had screamed and ranted, and in a general way, Ophelia realised the horrific misunderstanding.

That was a Dementor, Veronica: a terrible creature that feeds off joy and leaves you a husk with nothing but nightmares. Ophelia sighed and slowly knelt between the roots next to her struggling counterpart. You had no particularly happy memories to incite its appetite and no horrible memories to suffer from. The Dementor would not have had such a terrible impact upon you, but on me... it was awful, drawing out everything that I hated and feared, she said in a strained whisper. I feared that it would bring it all out, summon all of it, and I didn't...couldn't...let you know about me.

Veronica watched on as Ophelia spoke and wrapped her arms around herself. Part of her wanted to believe Ophelia, wanted to discount her treatment and prescriptions and just gather Ophelia up. They had been so happy together, but Ophelia was just a figment... not a person. Veronica sobbed out... How could she trust it? Weeping and feeling so very torn, Veronica was overwhelmed with fear and indecision. She just didn't know what to do. But if someone asked, and there was no fear about just what Ophelia would do if she had control, then she'd scream out that she wanted Ophelia back! And the way that Ophelia sat there, looking so very vulnerable and desperate, it seemed that she needed her just as much.

I didn't want control, Veronica... not then. The thought of it terrified me, and I was pleading with you that with you gone, I'd have it all back, and I didn't want that. Veronica... she stuttered to a halt, her tears rushing down her cheeks. I didn't want you to... to... leave me; I can't be alone.

The held breath escaped in one long moan, and Veronica felt her whole world tremble as she thought over that time from Ophelia's perspective, and it made a horrific kind of sense...Ophelia's panicked screams and frantic ramblings...it hadn't been an intense possessive desire that had fuelled it; it had been abject fear!

And that was it! Veronica no longer cared if it was right or wrong, she no longer cared about the consequences: they needed each other. Half crawling and half lunging, Veronica hastened over to embrace Ophelia; the other woman looked at her warily, hesitating at what was happening, and then, she fell against Veronica, and they wept on each other's shoulder.

It was glorious! The sudden ecstasy of accepting what she had denied for so long stole Veronica's breath; she felt so liberated. The weight of her fractured existence was lifted as she supported Ophelia, and her release was stunning. Her tears now fell as a result of exquisite joy; it almost hurt. In her ear, she caught Ophelia's words of gratitude and joy, and Veronica felt whole. As she held onto her friend, her sister, her missed half, their minds finally connected, and Veronica began to experience everything!

Ophelia. I'm scared.

"It'll be okay, Veronica. I promise."

oooXooo

"Opella?"

She loved his voice... so soft and gentle, so smooth and melodic. It sent shivers over her skin whenever she heard it, causing her to thrum and smile with pleasure, and it made her stop whatever she was doing to revel in the soft tones. She smiled and turned to her benefactor and guardian. His smile was so sweet that her heart swelled at the sight of those lips curving up for her. A gentle and delicate hand was outstretched, a silent and undemanding beckon, and his eyes were intent upon her...those eyes with their scarlet depths had the power to draw her in; there was no more potent incentive for her to fall into him than knowing that it made him happy.

"Yes, Uncle Tom," she said, her arm lifting so that she could slip her small, slender hand into his long-fingered grasp. It was a joy to be this close to him; his presence soothed her in ways that she had failed to find beyond his embrace. Smiling, she allowed herself to be pulled onto his lap and snuggled against his chest, her eyes fluttering closed, and her lips parting...such bliss.

"My," he chuckled deeply, his breath ruffling her hair, "you cling tighter than Nagini!" He stroked her hair, running his fingers through the sleek strands, and gave the back of her a neck a gentle squeeze. She shuddered and eased her hold, giggling when he gave an exaggerated relieved inhale. "That's better!" he said with a grin.

It was a common enough thing for her to sit on his lap, so when he placed his forefinger under her chin and gently lifted so that he could look at her, he barely had to apply any pressure. The eyes that she adored bored into her, and she did as he had taught, allowing him to extend his mind into her brain. She could feel delicate, gentle fingers brushing over her memories, stirring up pleasant recollections of her time with Sirius and the serenity of the basement with Severus.

Relishing the closeness, she felt him delve deeper, past the eager, happy memories, to those darker ones that preferred the shadowed recesses of her mind far from her recollecting. He hushed and soothed her, his hands gentle upon her shoulder and cheek while he incited the memories he sought. Obedience was a talent that he encouraged, and she never questioned what he wanted, what he searched for in the recesses of her head, she just opened up for him and let him penetrate her mind. It was such a beautiful thing to her, her best way of showing her devotion, and he loved her for it.

"There we go," he said, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. "All done."

She settled back, her cheek resting against his chest, and her hand splayed over his heart. Beneath her ear, his heart beat strongly; she could feel it beneath her fingers, and she could hear each intake of breath; she tried to be as calm, tried to slow her heart to match his steady, sturdy rhythm.

"Tomorrow, you will be visiting with Sirius, and you will tell him about the story we made up, about how those naughty wizards were going to hurt that family, and how he rushed to save them." His voice washed over her, lulling her, and she felt her mind become pleasantly sluggish. "Do you remember how to tell the story?"

"Hmmm," she said sleepily. "Yes, I remember."

"Good," he said proudly. "You are my clever little Opella: my sweet, little imp."

With her face buried in his robes, she grinned and snuggled. She was his; he said so. She was his... she was his... she was his.

"When you've had your birthday treat with him, come back here; I have something for you."

Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes popped open. She scrambled in his lap so that she could look at his face. He chuckled; it must have been at the awestruck expression on her face, how her eyes were wide and glistened, how her lips parted in bemused surprise.

"No need to look so startled. You don't think that I would have forgotten, do you?" His lips quirked as he gently mocked her, and she shook her head quickly. "How could I forget that you're ten?"

"I'm eleven!" she declared hotly.

"Eleven, eh?" He seemed to examine her closely, his scarlet-hued eyes scrutinising her for proof of her age. She tried to maintain her indignant stance, but she lost and sniggered. "Of course," he conceded, rolling his eyes at his own silliness. "How could I have gotten that wrong? In that case," he continued, "I will have two gifts for you when you return from cake and ice cream with cousin Sirius."

oooXooo

"Remus," whispered Minerva, her hand reaching out to clutch his forearm.

Lupin lifted his head wearily and took in the intent and focused scrutiny etched onto his former professor's face. His tired eyes followed her gaze, and he found himself looking deeply into chocolate-hued eyes. She was awake! Exhaustion evaporated like water from a salamander's back, and he jerked forward, hands gripping the chair arms. The questions that had scuttled in his head stuttered and scattered, even his heart and lungs seemed distracted by the sheer wonder of the woman's wakefulness. He watched as she struggled in the sheets to lift herself up, but her ordeal had weakened her, and she flopped back with a pained sigh: fatigue taking its toll.

Minerva recovered first and fired off her Patronus; a sleek, silver cat appeared and sped out of the room, its tail held high and proud. Overcome with maternal concern, Minerva stood and straightened the bed cover, tucking the witch in and making her as comfortable as possible. She even smoothed Ophelia's wild and matted hair and stroked her pale cheek. The potion had run its course. Minerva swallowed; now was the time that the victim of their possible crime found her voice. It was far from over.

Moody entered the room with his wand at the ready and his eyes upon the bed's quiet occupant. His magic eye took in her form; she was sleeping...not the potion-induced slumber, but a natural and deep sleep. He glanced at Minerva, her eyes reflecting remorse, and at Lupin sitting, frowning and staring at the eiderdown. He inhaled and slowly lowered his wand; he could sense the weight of the situation crushing down upon them, their resolve weakening as the plight continued. The apparent nobility of the principle morphed horribly into reality, and a strange unsettling notion emerged with the shift: what had they become?

"We'll put up wards to keep her safe," Moody said firmly, breaking the heavy silence. "Go get some hot food and some proper sleep; she'll be fine."

Minerva nodded and stood; her bones ached, and her muscles trembled with weariness. Her eyes felt gritty, and she longed for a bath. Casting one pained glance at Ophelia, she swept from the room. Lupin slowly eased himself out of the rickety chair; he winced as his vertebrae popped and a muscle went into spasm in his lower back. His mind conjured up images of a full stomach, a warm, soft bed and clean sheets. A flicker of guilt made a valiant attempt to disturb his dream, but days of worry and anxiety had rendered him immune; he was exhausted.

"I'll be back in about nine hours," he mumbled to Moody as he lumbered past.

"Aye," Moody said solemnly. "And then, we find out... Find out if this was worth it." When Lupin had gone, he added, "or what harm we've done."