Chapter Twelve

Brian Topliss sat staring into the cold hearth; he had never felt so weary, and the very air felt a crushing weight upon his bowed shoulders. Beyond that fireplace sat a woman he loved, a woman he had cursed in a vile way, and a woman that he longed to be at peace with. He felt a wave of rebellious and frantic emotions bubble up from his gut, and he was tempted to allow them to erupt, to scream and rage, but he swallowed them... now was not the time. He glanced at the clock ticking on the mantelpiece and noted with a mix of dread, fear and guilt that it was very nearly eleven. He ran his tongue over his dry lips and dragged a trembling hand through his thinning hair.

"This has to be," he mumbled to quieten some inner turmoil. "There is no choice."

His red-rimmed eyes darted from the hearth to the dirt-encrusted window where the harsh wind had blown some grit against the glass. Heart pounding and his breath catching in his throat, he paused and waited for any other sound to suggest that his place was no longer safe. Content that he was alone, he settled back to combat that inner struggle that had twisted and terrified him for as long as he could remember: that inner desperate compulsion that made him do these awful things.

He let a sob escape his throat and dropped his heavy head into his hands. He had no choice; some all-consuming thought told him that, and he felt it resonate through his bones: he had no choice. He whimpered and felt those emotions crashing and colliding deep within, and he wondered where it had all started and what was so important about Ophelia Black that he would risk not only his soul but those of the people he loved. He sobbed again, not caring as the sound echoed in the small, darkened and dirty room, and he gently rocked in time to the ticking clock that callously counted down the seconds to his next crime.

She sat on the chair and counted her breaths... in, out, in and out, pause to swallow and then in. The fire crackled and popped in the hearth and although the heat of it caught her shins, she derived no comfort from it. Standing either side of the fireplace, like two prison guards, were Dumbledore and Moody; they stood serenely enough, and she wondered if their hearts beat as frantically or if they felt the weight of it all crushing their minds and chests. The clock began its charming and delicate tune on the mantle, and nausea welled up like storm surge. The first chime of the eleventh hour snatched her breath, and her eyes felt large as she peered into the flames. The second chime drew a whimper from her throat, and at the third, she gripped the chair arms. She knew that she had to be still; she knew that she was meant to be that mindless automaton he was expecting. But after all those months and knowing that her feelings were now going to be resolved, the fear, hope, dread and intensity of it all rushed through her veins and thrummed her nerves; she could barely keep herself still. With a panic, she realised that she had lost count, but some tension in her guards suggested that the eleventh chime was close.

The fire erupted in the hearth, and from somewhere, she drummed up the strength she needed to sit limply and listlessly in the chair while her husband's haggard face appeared in the flames.

His compulsion bested him again, and he knelt on the cold stone to push his face into the green, flickering flames. Through the distorting heat haze, he saw her sitting as she always did, and he was tempted to dive through, remove the curse and hold her close. Yearning to beg for her forgiveness, not caring if she did, but wishing some peace in knowing that his sin was ended if not cleansed, but instead, that obsession stayed him, and he merely wished.

"Evelyn," he called out softly.

She turned to him, and he stared into her eyes; those eyes reflected despair and hope, anger and love. He shuddered in ecstasy as some part of him roared in triumph that somehow, his terrible curse had been rendered moot, and another part screeched that he do what he must. He sensed movement, and then, exerting his own will in a way that had failed countless times before, he made himself stay still and waited for that seeking hand to close around him.

Moody pulled his hand out of the fire, and a shabbily-clothed, gaunt wizard fell heavily onto the hearth rug. Evelyn sat stunned in the chair, not quite recognising the man she knew to be her husband. The ex-Auror quickly disarmed the wizard and bound him.

Topliss lay there, sobbing and laughing until they couldn't distinguish one from the other. Evelyn slipped from the chair onto her knees and leant over the wreck of a wizard.

"Brian?" she whispered. "Oh, Brian!"

"Evelyn," he whispered harshly, "you must release me."

Evelyn reared back, looking horrified, her hand covering her mouth; she had looked into his eyes and seen such madness and chaos. The wide and mad eyes had burned with some fire that terrified her; had it scorched him and rendered the man she knew down to nothing but ash?

"Evelyn," he repeated more firmly, almost angrily. "You must help me."

Evelyn stood and backed away until Minerva's comforting hands gripped her shoulders. She watched in silent terror as the man she loved began to writhe and scream, struggle and curse on the carpet. Moody ended the man's wails with a Stunner, and in the silence, they looked at the man with the answers, lying insensate.

Evelyn had watched as they levitated her husband into the kitchen and sat him in a chair. Without protest, she saw them cast a Partial Body-Bind and place a vial of clear liquid on the table. Quietly, she sat on a chair in the corner and observed Dumbledore cast a series of complex charms over her unconscious husband. The reviled, enforced lethargy induced by the curse was now a soothing balm to her.

"He is cursed," Dumbledore said with some puzzlement. "But what that curse is, I have no idea." He stroked down his beard and studied the quiet, pale man; had this wizard been the victim of a curse as vicious and evil as the one he had cast upon his wife? The spells that he had cast seemed to suggest that Topliss was suffering some curse of coercion and depression of will.

Trying a standard counter-charm, Dumbledore was dismayed to discover that the spell had little effect. Together, he and Moody cast a complex array of spells and charms until they were content that whatever malignancy had gripped him had been purged. The strains of such were evident in the sweat beading on their brows and the trembling wands as they stood over Brian.

Moody took a shaky breath and sank into a nearby chair; Dumbledore slipped his wand into his inner breast pocket and patted the sleeping man tenderly on the shoulder.

"That should do," he offered gently, glancing over at the pale and visibly shaking woman. She slowly forced herself to look away from the man slumped in the chair and managed a weak smile of gratitude before having to bite her lower lip to stem the flood of emotion. "Alastor, would you administer the Veritaserum?"

Evelyn watched in morbid fascination as Dumbledore carefully lifted her husband's chin so that Moody could pour three glistening drops from the clear vial onto the exposed tongue. Still gently cradling his chin, Dumbledore cast Rennervate, and with a splutter and a shudder, Topliss woke, a new man.

"Brian?" Evelyn queried hopefully, tentatively, as she approached the table.

Brian turned his chocolate brown eyes to her and smiled lopsidedly.

"That's me," he answered jovially.

Evelyn let a burst of hysterical laughter pass her lips and sank into the chair next to him.

"Oh, Brian," she crooned while brushing some errant strands of greying hair from his forehead.

"Do yer know who we are, Brian?" asked Moody gruffly.

"O' course I do," he said. "Alastor Moody and Albus Dumbledore." He looked past his wife and bowed his head. "And Professor McGonagall."

Finally, he smiled, and his eyes flickered over Evelyn's face, drinking her in. "And my wife: my Evelyn."

"Brian," Moody repeated more firmly, "we need to ask yer some questions, lad."

Topliss sobered; with a sigh, his smile slipped, and he faced his inquisitors. "I thought as much; ask away."

"Did yer have anythin' to do with the disappearance of Ophelia Black?"

He frowned, and his eyes slipped out of focus as he trawled back through his confused and disjointed memories; the potion demanded a truthful answer, and he was struggling to bring together his recollections.

"Yes," he admitted quietly.

--X--

She had started at the sight of him, and for a moment, stood dazzled before whipping her wand round and casting a Full Body-Bind; shocked, angry and confused, he fell to the floor with arms and legs stiff at his side. The fall had been fortunate, and he could see her and the people on the carriage floor. Her face was dotted with tiny cuts and her left eye was swollen and red. The jeans and jumper were scorched and bloodied, and a tear in the denim suggested that her left thigh had been lacerated.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Avada Kedavra!" she screamed out again, her voice pitched with pain and desperation.

Perhaps she heard his heavy breaths or the sound of him picking his way through the debris, but she turned on him. He saw the dreadful desperation in those dark brown depths before she uttered a curse that crushed him.

"Imperio!"

Slipping into the soft and welcome grip of the curse, he felt all the fear and pain evaporate; somewhere, a voice screeched and demanded, but the lack of responsibility, the lack of effort after facing the enormity of what he was trying to combat was too tempting. He saw her press the sharp, glittering edge of the shard against the Muggle's throat; watched as her lips curled back and her arm trembled at the enormity of what she planned. Her grip on the wicked shard of metal shifted several times, and her breath came in short gasps. Tears mingled with the clotting blood on her face, and then she jolted back in alarm as the teenager suddenly went into spasm. Flopping weakly, the Muggle girl gave several glutinous gasps and then a violent shudder before collapsing; her head fell to the side and viscous blood trickled from her open mouth.

"Obliviate!"

--X--

They sat in stunned silence, each lost in their own thoughts while Topliss sat panting from the effort of talking. His mind was clear of the curse and potion that had directed and manipulated his will for two decades, and yet thinking freely was exhausting him. He was aware of his wife sitting quietly, but supportively, next to him, her hand still gripping his own, and he could feel the mounting tension emanating from his guests. For the first time in quite a while, he was concerned for himself and his wife.

"I used various curses to injure her and then made a call to the Muggle emergency services; they came and took her away. She had planned everything quite nicely; the Polyjuice confused the magical tests to determine the identity of the corpse, and the Draught of Living Death was in someway enhanced to make her magical aura fade, mimicking death, during the initial search. It was perfect. I then used my influence within the Ministry to keep her well hidden and, until just under a year ago, I was convinced that I had done my duty."

Dumbledore nodded while his mind worked frantically. "A young girl was left to die to keep her safe, Brian."

Here, Topliss bowed his head, and his breath became shallow and erratic. "I saw that girl, sir, and she wouldn't have lived long enough to receive aid; her life would have been only minutes longer, and I believe, even with that curse and potion gone, that the girl's death, at that time, served something."

"What do yer mean?" growled out Moody.

The Auror's head snapped up and he looked at Moody, his face set with grim determination. "The curse made me protect her, and in that, there was a loophole. It didn't prevent me from learning about her and meeting with her, to do what I considered best to comply with her request. I spent the best part of her recuperation talking with her teachers and doctors, studying her and learning about her."

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up, and he leant forward in his chair, focusing his attention upon the man who now had more pieces to the puzzle than anyone else.

"I am a proficient wizard, but I have always lacked skill with Memory Modifying Spells; the Obliviate was flawed. She was still aware of the Wizarding world, but in an abstract fashion; she was putting images onto paper that to her were dreams or nightmares, not realising that they were images from her own memory. The doctors encouraged these artistic outlets and I, of course, was privy to them too. As her pictures became more revealing and intense, so her behaviour and temper disintegrated." He shook his head sadly and gave a soft sigh. "I was at a loss as to how to help her, and I relied upon the Muggle doctors to heal her. In hindsight, that was an error in judgement." He swallowed and ran a trembling hand through his hair. "The things she drew and the nightmares she discussed were instrumental in a number of cases levied against wizards and, albeit unknowingly, she helped to incarcerate a number of Dark wizards. They also displayed how deeply she was caught up in that world, and I could understand why she wanted to leave it and forget everything. I suspect that she was escaping in the only way she knew how."

He looked up at Dumbledore, his eyes suddenly ablaze and alive. "It has long been thought that Lord Voldemort created Horcruxes, and I think that Ophelia knows what they are; it has always been imperative to keep her safe." He suddenly groaned and clutched at his hair. "Even if that curse hadn't made me, I would have protected her with my life, but I suffered; it pained me daily to know that I had the solution to our nightmare and my duty prevented me from using it. The things I've done over the years to keep her safe."

"And Norwood?" Moody encouraged.

"He died of a heart attack!" he said hastily. "I had nothing to do with it." He let out a whimper as the memories of what he had done over the years collided into one giant mass of guilt and despair. Amongst the milling throng of thoughts and questions, there was the overriding and insistent demand that he discover exactly why Ophelia Black had thought fit to manipulate and distort his mind. Was her reasoning worth his anguish?

"I think I can understand why she planned it all, why she fervently desired to get away from Him and the others, but I can't forgive her for what she's put me and those I love through." Brian wept, his cheeks glistened and his lips trembled. Next to him, Evelyn stood and pulled him against her, stroking his hair and muttering words in his ear, her tears falling to mingle with his.

"Ye weren't in yer own mind," said Moody smoothly, trying to ease the distressed wizard. "She has a mind and will for such things."

Sniffing, Brian pulled away from his wife's loving embrace, and his red, swollen eyes fixed on Moody. "Oh, you misunderstood me," he said softly. "She doesn't have it in her; that's why I can't forgive. She hated what she had done...her art and stories reflected as much...she must have hated it back then, and yet she still did it!" His face reddened with anger and his voice increased in strength. "Of all the options she had, and she chose to do that! She's no Death Eater; she's..." he hesitated as he tried to find the right description. "She's dedicated!" He smiled wryly and gave a short, angry laugh. "Thank Merlin that she had no intention to follow the Dark Lord!" He sobered and shook his head sadly. "I don't hate her; I am just so angry that it happened. We could have protected her. Hell! I would have protected her."

"It is no longer solely your responsibility," said Dumbledore. "There are those who can protect her in such a way that we can end this nightmare."

Topliss sagged with relief and gave a small smile of gratitude. "I want this to end," he whispered. "I want to carry on as though it were a nightmare; I haven't the strength, after all this time, to fight it." His head lolled to the side and rested against Evelyn's side, his eyes closed, and he sagged as one would after a gruelling battle. "It all could have been so different," he mumbled sadly.

Something occurred to him; his eyes snapped open and he looked upon Moody, sitting resolutely in the chair opposite. "The investigation into Norwood's death will be stopped; I will..." he said firmly, only to suddenly stop, looking pained. "I will tell the Aurors what I've done, and any suspicions regarding your involvement will be nullified." Topliss hastily moistened his lips, and his hands gripped desperately and fearfully at his wife's hands.

Moody nodded and waved a hand almost dismissively, as if it were a mere misunderstanding and not the precursor to a stay in Azkaban. Moody knew that the new Aurors would be hard-pressed to generate a scroll against him without the hairs and fibres that had been destroyed months ago. Brian nodded gratefully at Moody, his breath hitching and stuttering as he realised that it was finally over for him.

"I know where she lives;" he continued firmly. "I've been moving her around from place to place so as to keep her hidden."

"We know," Moody chuckled darkly.

The Auror blinked several times. "What do you mean?"

"We've been trying to find her for the best part of a year, lad, and if I'd have known that yer knew, I'd have come visitin' sooner with some grapes and well wishes."