Chapter Nine

"I don't quite understand, Headmaster," Lupin said uncertainly.

To his left, Sirius glowered and sat sullenly with his arms folded stiffly across his chest, and to his right, Minerva nervously played with her handkerchief. Moody sat across from him, both his eyes fixed resolutely and worryingly upon him, and Dumbledore sat directly opposite. He had been surprised when he had arrived to note that so few members were present and slightly cowed by the fact that it seemed to be for his benefit. Listening carefully to the headmaster's words while Sirius muttered under his breath and Minerva's discomposure increased, his own trepidation had spiralled from his gut, but as far as he was aware, nothing that the old man had said up to this point warranted such a negative reaction.

Dumbledore smiled fondly at Lupin and sighed deeply. "The procedure we intend to perform can only work under certain circumstances; in other words, the intended recipient must possess the ability to access those lost memories. Also, there are risks."

Minerva twisted the cloth in her hands, and Sirius hugged his chest more firmly; Lupin thought he could hear the man grinding his teeth.

"There is a possibility that the procedure will make her condition more untenable," Dumbledore said solemnly. "In the few attempts of using the Mnemosyne potion, the outcome has been catastrophic for some of the recipients."

"The potion is poisonous?"

"Hah!" Sirius blurted out, causing Lupin and Minerva to jump in their seats. "Should the Ministry decide to rid themselves of the Dementors," he said resentfully, "then they can always administer Mnemosyne to the residents of Azkaban."

"The potion is as effective as the Dementor's Kiss at destroying a person," Dumbledore explained quietly. "It has been used six times to cure individuals in the same position as Gilderoy Lockhart, and in three cases, the wizards were reduced to mindless shells. As with all things, there were those who corrupted it to a darker purpose, and the Office of Potion Accreditation classified it as a Dark potion, formulating heavy penalties for those who brewed it and those who administered it."

"But we aren't going to let the mere illegality of it stop us, are we?" Sirius whispered nastily.

Lupin had never seen or heard Sirius so angry, and it was creeping over him that the situation was more dreadful than he had originally thought.

"Whom do we intend to administer the potion to?"

"Ophelia Black," Dumbledore supplied softly.

"Ophelia Black?" Lupin repeated incredulously.

"Yes! Dear, sweet, Cousin Ophelia." Sirius said in a sickly sweet, sing-song voice.

"That will do, Sirius," Dumbledore warned softly. "I must impress upon you, Remus, the severity of our request and the importance of it; in accepting to aid us in this procedure, you will be using a potion and a procedure deemed Dark and, therefore, worthy of censure. If it should fail, the mind of a young woman will be destroyed; however, should we succeed, we will have a weapon against Voldemort that will turn the tide of this war.

"The decision to follow this course of action," Dumbledore continued, "is out of your hands; after much deliberation, I have agreed to allow the procedure to go ahead and will bear the full responsibility for it. All I am asking of you, Remus, is to help Alastor and Minerva care for Ophelia while she responds to the potion."

Lupin frowned and turned enquiringly to Sirius; his friend was glowering at the Headmaster, but at the unspoken question, Sirius smiled wryly and turned to look at him for the first time that evening.

"My presence," he said quite bitterly, "may be detrimental to the procedure," he sneered, "as Ophelia is close to me."

"Certain safety measures need to be observed," Dumbledore said almost impatiently while studying Sirius over the rim of his half-moon glasses. "Only six of us will know about this endeavour, and it is imperative that it remains so."

Lupin gave the matter some thought and quickly realised that the anonymous sixth wizard would have to be Severus Snape; who else would brew the potion? He gave Sirius another look and noticed that the broiling anger that had infused him moments ago now seemed to have deserted him and he sat rather limply, looking at the wood grain pattern in the table top.

Dumbledore waited for Lupin to turn back to him, and with weariness etched into every line of his face, he fixed Lupin with a sombre stare. "The procedure is unpleasant, both for the recipient and those witnessing it. The recovery of the memories is an emotionally painful event; she will relive the worst and best moments of her life in a very short period of time, and so I warn you that her experiences may be distressing to observe. There is the risk of defensive magic being unleashed as she suffers, and her reactions towards you and your companions may be threatening and vicious; as such, you will maintain protective wards at all times even and especially when she seems to have overcome her ordeal."

Sirius' earlier vehemence took on another dimension for Lupin after Dumbledore outlined the danger; the child that Sirius had loved may have been a devoted servant of Voldemort. The realisation slithered down his spine and coiled in his gut; those days in the sun for Sirius may have burnt him deeper than his skin. His heart clenched in sympathy; Sirius had lost his closest friend, his surrogate brother, betrayed by another and left to rot in a demon-infested prison by the last. The happy thoughts that he had protected behind his righteous anger, those precious memories that had warmed him while his body shivered in his squalid cell must be shrivelling faster now that he was hearing the truth than when he was food for Dementors. He could understand Sirius' anger at the constant crumbling of his world, the repeated disillusionments and the dashed hopes. He could empathise with Sirius' wish for one facet of his world to have remained untainted and wished that the dream of being loved by a loving child could have been it. The temptation to refuse Dumbledore's request on Sirius' behalf was strong in his mind, but it would help nothing; it would not ease the sting or heal the wound.

"I understand, Headmaster. I will do what is necessary."

Across from him, Dumbledore blinked slowly and then nodded gratefully; he was, Lupin mused, aware of his dilemma of choosing the Order over Sirius. "Thank you, Remus."

Beside him, Sirius shifted in his seat and made an attempt to speak, decided better of it and slowly, dejectedly, stood. "I'll go and leave you to it." He gave Lupin a weak smile and reached out to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze; without waiting, he left the basement kitchen. Lupin twisted in his chair and watched his friend pull the door closed behind him.

The silence lay heavily between them, each lost in their own thoughts and battling their own reservations; Lupin noted that even Dumbledore was uneasy.

"Alastor and I will visit with Veronica Speedwell this coming Friday and disclose to her the potential to recover her memories."

Lupin's eyes narrowed shrewdly, and he tried not to feel anger and disappointment at Dumbledore's duplicity. "And leave the rest up to her after she becomes Ophelia once again?"

Dumbledore pursed his lips, and a rare flash of anger glittered in his blue eyes. "There is hope," he said sternly, "that all is not as dire as it seems and our caution unwarranted."

Moody harrumphed sceptically and scratched at his scrubby beard. "Although it is highly unlikely. Be warned, Lupin, that Ophelia Black may be a devout and clever follower of Voldemort." His blue eye burned with fervour and his magical one was fixed on some point beyond the walls. "It would do yer well to remember that and not be befuddled like some others."

"We shall see what we shall see," Dumbledore finally interrupted Moody's scepticism. "We hope to start the process on Friday, Remus; I hope that gives you sufficient time to recover?"

Lupin swallowed rapidly to moisten his dry throat and smiled weakly in the face of Dumbledore's gentle concern. "Yes, Headmaster; I'll be perfectly fine by then."

Moody had then spent the rest of the evening outlining his security proposals, which were simple and direct and revolved around the principles that communication with the woman should be kept to a minimum and that she should not, under any circumstances, be allowed to acquire a wand. They had decided not to use Grimmauld Place due to the number of meetings and people traipsing through the place; Hogwarts was also eliminated as a choice due to the students and the presence of the Hogwarts High Inquisitor.

In the end, they decided to use her rented cottage and heavily ward it against noise, magical discharges and any surprise visitors. The next crisis point in the plans was the meeting with Veronica Speedwell; Dumbledore was desperate for her to see the appeal of his plan and to willingly take the potion, as it would prevent the alternative and leave his conscience merely troubled.

"Alastor and I will visit with her this Friday and present our proposal." His voice trembled minutely. "We will summon you both, Minerva and Remus, when we are ready to administer the Mnemosyne potion."

Minerva straightened in her chair, and while Lupin processed the headmaster's words, he heard her agree with ferocious directness: obviously, Veronica would have little choice to become Ophelia. "Yes, Headmaster," he said quietly.

Sirius heard them talking in the hallway and then the front door snapping closed. He heard the soft shuffle of footsteps across the carpet and the creak of a floorboard just outside the door to the drawing room. He could almost hear Lupin deliberating before there was a tentative knock against the wood and the creak of hinges.

"Sirius," Lupin began and then sighed as his resolve floundered. He hesitated in the doorway and then moved to slip into the leather chair next to his friend's.

From the corner of his eye, Sirius saw Lupin sitting on the edge of the chair, staring at the cold hearth and nervously rubbing the back of his knuckles. The heavy shadows made Lupin's face appear more gaunt and sickly than ever, and exhaustion still rested heavily across his slumped shoulders. Sirius had forgotten how much his friend suffered and felt annoyed and selfish with himself for not noticing until now.

"I'm not angry with you, Moony."

Lupin started at the croaky voice and then smiled awkwardly.

"Let's just say," Sirius continued, "that my life is turning out to be less than I imagined it would be, and..." He laughed humourlessly. "I'm not adjusting to it very well." He rested his head against the back of the chair and stared up at the mottled ceiling. "I had all these grand ideas and high hopes when I first realised that I was really free. I remember sitting in your kitchen, drinking tea, wondering how something so basic could taste so wonderful and looking out of the window, watching the wheat ripple in the wind and birds swooping in the air." He stopped as a lump formed in his throat, and he blinked rapidly until his emotions quietened. "I had hoped to be right in the heart of it, to be right there with Harry and to...well, to have it just like it was in the old days."

Lupin remained silent; in the gloom, it was difficult to discern the expression on Sirius' upturned face, but his pale, bony hands hung limply over the chair, and his legs were flung out in front of him...a picture of dejection.

"From what I understand, if the potion is successful, her current personality will still have influence over her." Lupin spoke carefully, as if broaching his own tentative hopes rather than building another's.

"And see the error of her ways?" snorted Sirius.

"Possibly."

Sirius suddenly lunged forward, his fingers digging into the chair arms and his eyes burning with rekindled anger. "No," he snarled. "What is it with you?" he demanded. "You seem to have a blind spot when it comes to certain Death Eaters; you all think that deep down, they're just misunderstood and, with a little guidance, could redeem themselves and be better people." Spittle flew from his mouth, and Lupin sat frozen and aghast at the power of his friend's wrath. "She was instrumental in Regulus' death; she told the Dark Lord where he could be found and then completely destroyed his remains. No Death Eater was more loyal or devout. No matter who or what she becomes after the Mnemosyne potion, I don't want anything to do with it!"

In the ringing silence, Sirius was breathing hard, and Lupin could hear his own heartbeat.

"Don't look like that, Moony," Sirius said gently as he settled back into the chair. "You have to do what you think best, and getting the information from her is the best thing that we can do; don't think that I don't appreciate that. But," he continued, his voice tinged with bitter anger, "she's not, and never has been, my dear little cousin. She's a Death Eater through and through, and you would do well to remember it."

Punctuating his disclaimer and warning with a vicious stabbing of his forefinger into the air, he glared at Lupin, but then the fire was doused, and Lupin watched him slump back in the chair.

"Sorry, Moony," he whispered, screwing his eyes closed.

Lupin forced himself to move and stepped over to stand next to Sirius' chair. He reached out and placed his hand on the bony shoulder and squeezed firmly. Sirius' eyes opened and flickered up to settle on Lupin's face.

"I just can't see her," he pled, his eyes glistening and his lower lip trembling almost imperceptibly. "I just can't."

--X--

Smith strode from the decrepit house and into the stinking alley that had disgusted him only a few hours before. Now, his stomach clenched and churned for a different reason. It had taken a few moments for the name and then the significance to sink in, and when it had, it went straight to the bottom of his stomach. Topliss had been one of the trainee Aurors at the crash scene during Moody's initial investigation. The same Auror was now in charge of assigning scrolls, of organising surveillance missions and various other little tasks. With only starlings and a stray dog as witnesses, he cast the Patronus Charm; a silver raven burst from the tip of his wand, flapped its shimmering wings and landed on his shoulder.

"Go find Moody!" he ordered in a harsh whisper. "Tell him to meet me at mine as soon as possible...I have news."

The raven blinked, launched from its perch and flew high up into the air. Smith watched the bird as it seemed to gather its bearings and then, in a flurry of flapping wings, fly away.