Chapter Fifteen

Sirius stood at the bottom of the stairs; his face was expressionless, but his scrawny hand clutched at the banister 'til the knuckles popped. A Silencing Charm had been cast, but one slip by Lupin had indicated the extreme anguish suffered within the room...the scream had ripped through the house. It had rooted him to the spot, his head twisting towards the sound and the cup he held slipping through his fingers. He had rushed to the foot of the stairs, his heart banging painfully against his ribs, to see the door to her room slam shut. The cry cut dead! It seemed that the walls still echoed the heart-wrenching sound, or was it the blood whistling past his ears? He felt his legs move, and before he could register what he was doing, he was part way up the stairs. Cursing himself for a fool, he stopped and turned back, storming into the kitchen. He wanted no part of it.

He made some tea, even though he wanted...needed...something else, but he saw Lupin's sorrowful and disappointed face every time he thought about the Firewhiskey in the cabinet. He slammed a mug down on the worktop and Summoned the tea caddy, but in his anger, it flew past his left ear and thudded against the wall in an explosion of tea leaves. Staring at the scattered pile, he saw it as the spreading mould that was his decaying world; nothing about his existence was pure anymore... even Harry was slipping through his fingers. Bitterness welled up; he had fought to escape for this! Swallowing the brewing rage, he tried to dispel his growing discontentment, but he still had that vicious nagging feeling that he was losing his grip. A few spells later, and the tea was back in the caddy, hot water in the teapot and Sirius feeling numb as he watched the sparrows fly past the window.

It seemed that his life had been one stay in hell followed by another; only those glorious days at Hogwarts seemed to suggest that he had ever known joy. Sixteen years in this stinking hole, so horribly called home, and then thirteen in Azkaban, suffering the same nightmares over and over, and then after all that, to be trapped within this hell once again. Left here while the others went about their business, their special and secret tasks that were so vital to it all. He gulped down his tea, ignoring the scalding liquid against his lip and the roof of his mouth.

But that scream had slid past his defences; it had resonated within him, the howl of pain and suffering. He suddenly discovered that despite his best efforts, he was sympathising with the witch, relating to her anguish now and the bleak future ahead of her. He had resolved himself not to be a part of it; he couldn't let himself be party to her abduction, her forced insertion back into this world and her imprisonment. He couldn't accept the cruelty of it.

A soft sound caught his attention, a sniffling sound coming from under the sink. Puzzled, he put his cup down and stepped over to crouch in front of the wooden doors. Tugging them open, he saw Kreacher curled up on his collection of tattered blankets and sniffling into what looked like a bedraggled handkerchief. The elf looked up desperately and quickly stuffed the piece of cloth down the front of his dirty smock before launching himself out from his hidey-hole and past Sirius.

"What does master want with Kreacher?" the elf said snidely, his manner belying the sniffling whimpering that Sirius had just interrupted.

"What was that cloth you had?"

The elf looked panicked and bounced from foot to foot. "Kreacher doesn't know what master is talking about?"

"Don't lie!" roared Sirius. He had found something to help vent his fury; this vile creature that had ruined his chances of freedom countless times as a child would now be his release. "Show me!"

The elf screamed, and with trembling limbs and eyes brimming with tears, he pulled out the cloth and held it out. Every tendon and muscle in the twitching elf's body cried out that it was against his will. Sirius pulled the fabric free and opened it up. It was heavily creased, and he grimaced at the damp patches on it, but he saw the embroidered initials in the corner. The green cotton was frayed and most of it had fallen out, leaving small stitch holes, but he could see that it had been R. B. stitched within a circle.

"Another keepsake?" he asked softly while he gently waved the hankie. "Another precious memento of the good old days?"

Kreacher looked suitably mortified at Sirius' treatment of his valued treasure and was wringing his hands and bobbing on the spot. The large tear-filled eyes never left the dirty piece of cotton as it swayed from side to side. Sirius knew that he was being vicious, but he couldn't stop; the elf had destroyed his hopes no end of times, and this was the beast's just rewards. He grinned, and his eyes felt wide as he drank in the sight of the frantic elf. Suddenly, it didn't seem funny anymore; he felt sickened, and he let the cloth slip from his grasp. Kreacher moved quickly to catch the falling hankie, and once he had it, he gripped it tightly between his small hands. The elf seemed to gather himself together and backed away with a nasty smile curving his lips.

"I thought that I'd told you to go away," Sirius said despondently, finally managing to break the awkward silence. With that subtle command, Kreacher ran, laughing, from the kitchen.

For several moments, Sirius stood frozen on the spot as his mind went over and over what had just happened. How low had he sunk that tormenting elves was sport? How terrible was his life that this had been his one moment of happiness in far too many months? He licked his lips and took a deep, shaky breath. Things would change; they would have to.

--X--

Lupin had cursed and slammed the door shut as the piercing scream filled the room. Minerva woke with a start and jumped up from her chair, her face pale and frantic, contorting with pain as she watched the young woman fight with unseen things. Ophelia's nails scratched deeply, leaving long, bloody welts on her bare skin, and her sobs and screams were heartbreaking. Minerva had resorted to Transfiguring the duvet into straps that criss-crossed the writhing woman to prevent her injuring herself, but that had just increased the desperation and volume of her screams. Lupin dragged his fingers through his hair; he was at a loss. Ophelia had screamed herself hoarse, and pathetic whimpers and moans now tumbled from her dry and cracked lips.

"It's been two days already," Lupin whispered incredulously. "It doesn't seem to be easing."

Minerva looked ready to weep and then inhaled sharply as she rallied. "She will remember very little of this, Remus; we must endure this as best we can." She smiled wearily and turned her attentions back to her ward.

"I hope this is worth it."

"It has to be," mumbled Minerva. "Otherwise, what have we become?"

Finally, Ophelia's energy and breath seemed to flag, and she lay limply on the bed, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, her breath coming in hitching pants. Her skin was glistening with sweat, and her cheeks were flushed and bloody from her frantic attempts to dislodge some unseen foul things. Soon, her eyes began to roll in their sockets, and her breathing softened and deepened; her guardians watched anxiously as she finally settled to sleep.

"We take regular breaks," said a gruff voice from the opposite corner of the room. "This is hard, and we'd best make it easy on ourselves." Moody had thought himself sturdy and immune to seeing suffering, but this went beyond what he was used to. It hurt all the more knowing that he was part of the cause, that he had thought the end worth it. "From now on, two watch while the third rests, ready to assist when needed."

Lupin and Minerva nodded; they were fatigued and the thought of dealing with her distress and their own troubled minds was overwhelming. It had seemed so easy when they had discussed it in the kitchen, the anguish a necessary evil as they sought something so vital. Here and now, the necessity of it seemed inadequate. In fact, it seemed quite monstrous.

"Now that the students are doing their OWLs, my timetable is fairly clear," Minerva explained quietly. "I will carry on here if either of you wish to take a break and grab some sleep."

Lupin noted with some amusement that Moody had settled himself in the rickety rocking chair. "I'll go and get some sleep," he offered redundantly with only the mildest hint of irony in his voice. It seemed that the verbalisation of his intent exacerbated his exhaustion, or maybe he really noticed it now that he could relax, but it seemed that aches and pains were blossoming throughout his body; he stifled a yawn.

"We'll wake yer if we need yer," Moody said. "Rest well, lad."

And so they had taken turns; one resting, eager to be out of the room to doze uneasily, while the others sat and suffered with the memory-tormented woman. The morbid monotony was disturbed violently when she unleashed all the magic she had in order to free herself from the horrors she was enduring. They had been forced to counter these displays, their wands flashing furiously as they worked to keep the damage and chaos under control. Exhausted and trembling, they had grown to fear those outpourings of magic, the madness and desperation condensed into mere moments.

--X--

She had stopped running. Running just exhausted her, and she knew that sooner or later, she always fell. It seemed that with this numbness, inspired by suffering such protracted fear, that she could think more clearly. She stopped to study the scenes unfolding before her; she saw idyllic days in the sun, playing with an older boy; he seemed so familiar that she almost called out a name only to feel empty when she couldn't. A smile tugged at her lips at the joy so apparent on their faces, and she wondered if she had felt such happiness. Was that young girl her? The day darkened, and she was in a cellar, watching a young girl and another young man chop and slice as they laughed and chatted. She seemed to resonate with the thrill that was so evident, that sense of discovery and achievement as the two figures worked and concentrated, the tension eased by pleasant companionship and delight. The young girl was older, and her heart skipped a few beats; the girl was her! Caught up in the moment, her lips parted and her eyes greedily watched; she tried to find clues, tried to expand upon the memory.

You know who they are.

She spun on her heel, her eyes wide and her breath lodged in her throat. The voice had seemed close, the speaker standing at her shoulder, but although she searched frantically, there was nothing to see.

Oh, laughed the voice, you can't see me, not yet anyway. But soon, you'll know all about me and them; you'll know everything. And then, my dear, we will have a little chat about your fateful decision...about your betrayal!

"Get away from me!" A dreadful thought was growing like a hulking mountain ready to spew forth ash and fire. She had looked for so long, dedicated so much to finding out about herself and trying to draw out the memories that she had lost. Now, it seemed that her hopes and efforts would be rewarded, and suddenly, she no longer wished to know, but, strangely, dreaded not knowing.

"I don't want you; I don't need you!" she shouted into the darkness, her eyes trying to pierce the thick shadows and the shifting shapes, indistinguishable, against the dark backdrop. She had never felt such fear, such desperation; she had always managed before, even after she had stopped taking her medication. She had left the hospital knowing and assured that she was healthy. Why should that horrible, terrible thing manifest itself now? Her mind was spinning with ideas and theories...she was merely reacting to her current ordeal; she was stressed and afraid. This was just the result of terror. She thought back on the little tricks that the doctors had taught her; those little mantras that she had used to smother and stamp on that little voice.

"I am Veronica Speedwell; I am calm and at ease."

You stand there shivering with fear, the voice sneered. And whether you want or need me is irrelevant; you have no choice.

"I am in control; you are nothing!"

Anthropomorphising your delusion! the voice said softly, giving a gentle, almost consolatory, sigh. You're falling back into bad habits.

"I beat you once, and I can do it again," she screamed out wildly. "Do you hear me?"

There was no reply, only the sound of laughter fading away.

--X--

"Protego!" screeched Minerva, her voice barely audible above the strange, screaming howl that filled the small room. Instinctively, she crouched as dozens of shards of shattered glass struck the shield and ricocheted off in various directions. Moody cursed under his breath as some of the larger fragments embedded themselves in the wall mere inches from his head. The bed was rocking wildly, the feet thumping heavily against the wooden floorboards, and the bed linen whipped around as if caught in some ferocious wind. Groaning walls bulged and the ceiling bowed; the wardrobe had splintered in sympathy with the smashing window, and needle-sharp splinters were darting through the air. The protective charms in place were crumbling under the ferocity of Ophelia's unconscious assault. Magic crackled in the air, discharging itself loudly into the charms and defences that they had carefully constructed.

Moody deftly cast Immobilus, and the vicious projectiles stopped in mid air. Breathing hard, Minerva and Lupin strengthened the charms designed to absorb and dissipate the magic Ophelia was releasing. Magic flickered and flashed brightly, startling the eyes and adding to the disturbing disorientation. But as with previous times, the magic began to weaken, and the scene calmed; the suspended splinters and shards fell to the floor with a series of melodic thuds and chinks.

The event had lasted minutes, but the madness and chaos condensed into such a short time had them reeling with exhaustion. They stood, still hunched defensively, and watched the witch anxiously, wondering if this was the end or just the eye of the storm. After several fraught moments, the witch slumped back against the mattress, and her eyelids fluttered closed; the eerie, screeching howl faded, and the last residues of magic fizzled and sputtered about them.

"Well, we're makin' progress," Moody said with forced enthusiasm while plucking inch-long, wooden splinters from his hair. "Really felt this time that that were an half-hearted attempt at killin' us." He sighed deeply and looked at the mess around him. "I'll fix the window, but I'll be buggered if I'm fixin' the blasted wardrobe again."