Archive of Our Own ^beta

It only took Fudge two weeks to get sacked since Voldemort had been seen. The headline was unavoidable as you walked through St. Mungo’s, SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDS FUDGE . You glanced at the lion-like face of the new Minister of Magic as you headed towards the Specularri Wing, his photograph clasped in the ocean of hands holding today’s copy of the Daily Prophet.

It reminded you of a few years ago, when Sirius Black’s cruel, laughing face had been plastered to every shop corner, every street light, and how different he looked from when he had attended Hogwarts.

You’d hated that flying lessons were compulsory for first year students. Though you had only been a few feet off the ground you fell on your hip hard, knocking the breath out of you.

You gasped and hiccuped as tears filled your eyes, more out of shock and self consciousness than pain as you heard laughter coming from the other side of the pitch. That had been Sirius, leaning against the shoulder of Gryffindor’s star quidditch seeker, James Potter. Those four boys were heroes to the Gryffindors in your term, somehow achieving top marks while also receiving more detentions than any other students. They caught everyone’s attention during feasts in the Great Hall, making a spectacle out of themselves and driving Professor Mcgonagall absolutely mad.

You’d seen them pranking Filch in the corridors between classes and sneaking out of the grounds during the night. Really, plenty of older students acted like that, but those four seemed to attract more notice than anyone else.

“You okay?” James had asked, kneeling down before you. He smiled at you reassuringly, even as his three friends continued to chuckle. It clicked then, those other two had been Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. Notorious in school as well as out, the four of them.

“Yes-“ you had stammered, forcing yourself up despite how badly your side still hurt. Behind James, Sirius was clutching his own chest as he laughed again, he pantomimed falling off of a broom. Peter burst into laughter, nodding.

“I bet it was the broom. Those rentals Hooch gives you first years are pathetic. Here-“ James held out his own for you to try, “I bet you’ll be able to show me a thing or two now!”

“I don’t like flying.” you replied, taking a step back from James’ broom.

“What a relief-“ James laughed, “Now I don’t have to worry about you showing me up!”

You watched as James winked and then flew to his friends, kicking off from the ground powerfully. Sirius raised his arms into the sky above him, and as soon as James got close enough, he grabbed the neck of James’ broom, digging his heels into the earth, laughing as he tried to drag him down.

It had seemed like Sirius was always laughing, though it was very different from the laugh he had in those posters.

The memory unnerved you as you suddenly realized that you now knew Remus. That he was the only surviving member of that group. They had felt like titans back then, untouchable- but that hadn’t been the way of it, not really. They ended up just as vulnerable as anyone else.

You wondered if the Ministry had ever used a Specularri to reach out to James and Lily Potter for Harry’s sake, or if they had reached out to Peter for details on Sirius Black.

As you walked into the Specularri wing, Aurelia waved you down.

“Yes?” you asked, walking over to her desk.

“Good afternoon!” she smiled brightly at you, “There is a client waiting for you in your office.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, a Mister Timothy Le Tor?”

“Ah, Timothy.” you nodded. For the last three years, Timothy had met with you once a month to scour your mirror for someone named "Shelby" who he claimed was a lost love of his. Unfortunately, Shelby had never before appeared. Though Timothy's general demeanor was always a little discouraged, he never seemed to mind too much, always enjoying the long chats he got to have with you.

As you walked to your office a sinking feeling took over you. It has been almost two weeks since the first time you’d tried Asterius’ candle. It had taken you days to feel normal again, and on top of your health you had appointments to keep. A large part of you wished you could have wholly focused on Padfoot, but Byron had made you promise to wait until he found some herbs to help keep you stable and safe.

The coincidences unfolding around you of Sirius Black’s death, Asterius being connected to Regulus Black, and your involvement with the Order of the Phoenix only further pushed you into wanting to devote yourself entirely to Padfoot’s aid. How would it connect? That conundrum vexxed almost as much as not having spoken to Padfoot in so long- since it seemed likely that it was connected to him.

You just hoped, very much, that it wasn’t in the way you feared.

As you sat down, Timothy smiled lopsidedly at you from across your table. You poured water into your phiale and ignored the sinking feeling of guilt in your stomach- you wished that Padfoot had somehow appeared through any of the sessions you’d had in the last week.

“How have you been?” Timothy asked, as you focused on the mirror.

“Oh, you know, very busy.” you replied, squinting into the darkness your mirror reflected.

“Of course.” Timothy granted, nodding slowly. “Probably getting just as much work as is good for ye, hm?”

“Yea, Tim-“ you replied, raising your wand.

Fifteen minutes passed of multiple attempts to call Shelby, but it all went up in black smoke. You ended up doing as you always did, lighting the candle mundanely to see if ‘Shelby could find her way to you’. This always seemed to reassure him, even though you knew it was nonsense.

Timothy was busy telling you  what he’d been up to for the last month when a dark silhouette appeared in your mirror.

"You’re smarter than this, mate... you know there’s no Shelby, eh?" Padfoot asked.

Eyes widening, you choked on your breath and coughed. “Padfoot?” you exclaimed, spluttering.

Timothy looked over at you, alarmed. “Are you alright my dear?”

Stunned, you glanced between your mirror and Timothy. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to you.

“Oh- um, yes.” you replied, waving away the handkerchief, “Sorry. There was just a disturbance but it’s nothing.”

“Rude-“ Padfoot murmured.

“You didn’t see her, then?” Timothy asked.

“No, not yet. I am happy to keep looking nevertheless!” you assured, giving him a strained smile. Timothy smiled back at you. Of all the times for Padfoot to come back. You felt a lightness in your chest as you recognized his silhouette, the messy shape of his long hair. Your heart ached- he couldn’t possibly be Sirius Black, could he?

“Do you have loads of customers today?” Timothy asked with a bashful laugh. “I don’t want to be too greedy with your time.”

You heard Padfoot snort. “He does want to be greedy with your time, actually.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral as you focused on your client, “No, Tim- don’t worry at all. We have time to keep looking for Shelby!”

“I could be a right good Shelby…” Padfoot purred, running his hands through his hair. “Want to give it a try for this poor bloke?”

You shot a glare into your mirror. “Quiet-” you whispered.

“What?” Padfoot cried innocently, “I’m telling you! He’s not mourning! He’s here for you!”

“Ah yes you usually work well into the night, don’t you?” Timothy asked.

“Yea, it’s a great job for night owls.” you replied distractedly.

“I suppose that means Mrs. or Mr. Specularii doesn’t get to see too much of you?”

“Huh?” you replied, dumbly.

“Oh, come on now, Tim…” Padfoot sighed solemnly.

“You know…” Timothy nodded, you watched his tongue run over his teeth. “Whomever I’m taking you away from?”

Timothy’s question left a wake of silence that Padfoot eventually broke.

“Well,” Padfoot mused, satisfied. “He shot his shot.”

You had to tilt the mirror away from you for fear of laughing. Taking in a deep breath, you forced your expression to stay neutral. “No,” you responded finally, bearing a small smile, “the only thing that is waiting for me at home is ignored mail.”

Then you stood up and held out your hand to Timothy. “Until next time? Aurelia can help you book an appointment at reception.”

“Yes, perhaps better luck next time too!” Timothy chuckled, shaking your hand before seeing himself out of your office.

With a heavy sigh, you slumped back into your chair.

“…I may not know my own name but one thing is clear: I definitely understand the underpinnings of romance.”

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your mirror back into view.

“But, more importantly… no spouse, Specularii? Odd.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you hissed, frowning.

Padfoot barked a laugh. It was a sonorous, low sound that came from deep in his chest. Despite all of the anxiety and concern that has taken hold of you in the last week regarding him, you felt yourself smile. "I meant nothing at all. What a high standard you hold me to! You should give me at least as much leeway as you give dear Timothy."

“Yes well, I know Timothy.” you explained, rolling your eyes. “You’re still strange to me, a mystery, you could be suspicious of something-” you felt a lump well up in your throat at the thought of this half joke half conjecture. Please don’t be Sirius Black, you wished inwardly.

"What? You, who makes a living speaking to the dead, is calling me suspicious and strange?" he chuckled.

“Alright alright-” you laughed, “So, how long has it felt for you since the last time we spoke?”

“I couldn’t say. I was quite angry with you, you know… for endangering yourself like that. I spent some time avoiding this place in the hopes of deterring you.”

You bristled, offended that he did not better appreciate your efforts to help him. How could he know how dangerous scrying could be, when he had admitted he was never interested in divination? But before you could respond, Padfoot continued.

“But then I remembered something about myself. Something small, but something that feels as if it must be very important… and I realized how much I need you. How much I am going to need you to help me, not for my sake as much as theirs.”

Holding your breath, you leaned closer to your mirror. “Who? What did you remember?”

“Just a name, but really- I can’t think of anything else. It’s obsessive.”

“What name?”

“Harry.”

You sat back in your chair as an unsettling chill fell heavily over you. This was it. He must be Sirius Black. You kept silent out of panic, as your hands rose to cover your mouth. You forced yourself to breathe through your fingers as you felt your skin prickle, hair stand on end.

This was the murderer of Peter Pettigrew, one of the most loyal servants to the Dark Lord. He had to be.

“Hello?” Padfoot called, his voice was still so pleasant despite the turn that had come over you.

You frowned, hadn’t he called the Black family degenerate? You pressed your hands to your face and made yourself breathe again- it was so hard to make sense of. It was all too frustrating.

Did it really matter who he was? Your oath to heal was not conditional… but you didn’t think it was inappropriate to have concerns about freeing a murderer, either.

“What is it?” Padfoot asked wearily.

“I’m thinking.”  you replied sharply, then immediately felt guilty for snapping. Padfoot didn’t know who he was, he still seemed so innocent. You shook your head and pulled your hands away from your face. “The only way to get you out of there, as far as I have found, will come from using those candles, Padfoot.” you started, tone heavy with the weight of your turbulent feelings.

“But, will they work or will you just get sick trying?” he replied, voice darker, skeptical.

“I know that they are …designed to do that, yes. Whether or not anyone has been successful, I do not know.”

“No-“ Padfoot cursed, pacing frustratedly. “I can't let you do that- it’s too dangerous.”

You felt your face grow hot, whether out of flattery or indignation you were not sure.

“To be frank with you, Padfoot, you don’t really have the luxury of making these decisions.” your arm jerked as you fought the impulse to reach out to him, to touch the side of your mirror. “I am a Specularii, and I took an oath when I began my practice to help anyone I can. Even if you did not want to be free from whatever place you’ve become trapped inside, it is my responsibility to help you and understand it.

“What if others are vulnerable to being trapped there too? What is that place? Is it a place? How can we help to make it safer? These are all thoughts that have kept me awake at night- I need to understand what happened.”

“I see.” Padfoot replied, coolly.

“What is it?” you asked, why did he sound offended?

“Nothing at all…” Padfoot said, clearing his throat. “I just thought we-“

“…We what?” you asked.

“That we… got along, too.”

“You’re ridiculous.” you frowned, shaking your head. “I- I mean I do like you, you’re so-” you stopped yourself from continuing as you thought about how easily you’d relaxed around him. How you caught yourself wondering if he thought of you throughout the day, and replaying the conversations you’d shared with a smile on your face. “You’re upset that I’m not only interested in helping you but also wanting to understand the place that was capable of trapping you?”

“You’re quite good at sounding empathetic and invested.” Padfoot replied coolly. “But I suppose that is a part of your trade. And I… Well, I guess I have just been lonely enough to read something more into all this. Not that I enjoy admitting that.”

Your mouth fell open as he continued.

“I understand better now, I am a strange unknown man and this place is a mystery- waiting to be solved. A professional inquiry. It doesn't matter what I am comfortable with- how you may endanger yourself. You’re calling the shots.”

“Padfoot!” you exclaimed, frowning.

“All I know is that I need to get to Harry.” Padfoot continued, “Whatever it takes.”

A sharp pain flitted through your chest at his words. Whatever it took? Meaning, for Harry’s sake your safety was a worthy compromise? It was contrarian to be offended since you were insisting on using Asterius’ candles, but it didn’t matter- something about Padfoot’s acceptance still hurt, regardless of how stupid that felt. You watched as Timothy’s candle bubbled and pooled with hot wax, it was getting close to putting itself out.

“Alright.” you nodded, “Then we start again, tonight.” 

You couldn’t see your kitchen table beneath the piles of morning glories that Byron brought over. With repeated swishes of his wand, Byron heaped the flowers into a large pot, set to boil. “This tea should do the trick!” he hooted, looking over at you with an optimistic light in his eyes. “You’re gonna feel great.”

You looked up from the stack of old divination books you had unearthed from storage. Most of these contained your  notes from your studies in Greece and Rome, few were handwritten by your mentors, who as far as you knew, still dwelled in those sacred caves and temples, teaching whoever was clever enough to find them. You had been going through every line of them, looking for anything that referenced the place Padfoot was trapped in.

“You just think this wouldn’t have been the first time this has happened-“ you groaned, pushing a book away from you hopelessly.

“You mean apart from myths?” Byron asked, stirring his concoction.

“What myths? What myths can you think of where someone is trapped inside a mysterious temple?”

“Eurydice and Orpheus? Uh… Dante’s inferno?”

“Those are both about Hell.” you snorted.

“Well you haven’t made it sound like a holiday there.”

“But Eurydice and Dante were dead.” you laid your head down on the table. “Padfoot isn’t dead.”

“You’re thinking awfully literal for someone who has more magic in one pinky than most have at all.” Byron laughed as he took a cup from your cupboard and dipped it into the pot. He placed the mug in front of you and sat to your side. “Try it.”

You groaned again, sitting up to look Byron in the eye unenthusiastically.

“Don’t give me that face.” Byron laughed, nudging you with his elbow. “What do we have so far?”

“Well the candles seem to work, but they aren’t good for you.” you began listing, pressing your hands around the warm cup. “We think that Padfoot is a Black, and that's it!”

You didn’t have it in your heart to tell Byron about the Harry conversation, you wouldn’t be able to handle his reaction about the possibility that you were interacting with Sirius Black.

Byron wrinkled his nose at you. “Merlin’s beard, you're a pessimist. There’s Asterius? He’s obviously got some experience with this, and he knows the Black family.”

“How reliable will he be, though? Why would he even want to help me?”

“From what you told me it doesn’t sound like he’s changed much.” Byron mused, rifling through his bag. “When I used to work with him, well- knew him, rather… He was obsessed with some pseudo scrying that I bet you this Dorea aunt character taught him. He wanted to learn anything I could teach him to help him get better. He was fixated on Regulus, about connecting to his memory. I bet you anything if he knew that you were talking to someone from the Black family, in a place like you’ve described, he’d be desperate for details.“

“I suppose I could ask him the next time I go to buy these blasted candles.” you shrugged, smiling at Byron despite your mood. “Do you… really think it’s Regulus?”

“Dunno, but I do think it might be worth askin’ Tonks about-”

“Why?”

“They had you lookin’ for Sirius Black, right?”

“So?” you asked, surprised by the defensiveness in your tone. Byron didn’t seem to notice however, as he continued on.

“So they are obviously workin’ on something involving the Black family… probably some Auror business. They might know a thing or two we don’t about Regulus.”

“Even if that is true, why would they help me? Could they?”

“Why don’t you join me at the next Order meeting and we will find out?” 

Your heart did a little jump. Attending an Order of the Phoenix meeting felt like a level of involvement you didn’t know if you were prepared for. Byron watched you toil inwardly, reading your face as if it was a book.

“C’mon!” he chuckled, pinching your arm.

“You act like it’s a summer camp.” you said, raising your eyebrows. “I know you regret not being a part of it the first time around but please remember Byron, it’s very dangerous. You’re putting a huge target on your back being affiliated with these people.”

You were surprised to see Byron smile at you, an odd sense of calm overcame you as he listened to you with patience and an uncharacteristic grace.

“Alright.” he replied, simply.

You frowned, which seemed to make Byron smile wider. He knew you would be contrarian like this, he knew it would bother you if he didn’t argue.

“Well, when is it?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

With a hoot, Byron clapped his hands together, victoriously. “End of this week!”

“Oh good, hopefully I will be conscious by then.” you scoffed, glancing at the cup in your hands.

“Drink up-” Byron said, nodding, “and you’ll be fine tomorrow morning, I just know it.”

The morning glory tisane Byron had concocted for you was so bitter it left your tongue feeling shriveled and stuck to the roof of your mouth. Nevertheless, as the sun began to set, you forced several cups of it down your throat in the hopes of having a better time using Asterius’ candles. 

After your third cup a weighty calm fell over you and your limbs tingled as if they had fallen asleep. It helped to keep your nerves at bay as you, once again, set up your mirror and your phaile on your kitchen table. You didn’t know what to expect, after the last conversation you’d had with Padfoot he’d become so fussy. You shook your head to yourself as you thought about how touchy he was- so much for frightening you as one of the world’s darkest, most notorious wizards. 

Maybe it was the effects of the tisane lowering your inhibitions but Padfoot seemed far more petty than terrifying. You stopped yourself from thinking about how Padfoot might change when he remembered who he was and chuckled to yourself in the face of all your anxieties. At least if you were thrown in Azkaban for aiding a known murderer you would already be friendly with your cellmate. 

At dusk you sat down before your table and  placed the half melted candle in front of your mirror. With a deep breath you gripped your wand tightly and held your arm straight out to your side. “Padfoot.” you called out, your voice rang strong through your home as you flicked your wand. Immediately, white smoke bloomed from the spark your wand conjured. You hastily guided it to Asterius’ candle, and just like last time, the candle’s wick took to the spark instantly, with a strong hiss like a stick of dynamite. You watched it for a moment, noting the notch Byron had pressed into the wax last time to indicate where you should stop. Your stomach did a little flip, if things felt good, should you really stop? It wasn’t like Padfoot could wait forever to be saved. 

This time already felt different. Despite these candles burning much slower than the ones you usually worked with, the loud hiss of the wick burning up had made you feel rushed last time. Now you didn’t feel hurried at all, the sound was still noticeable, but it felt like a background element instead of something grabbing your immediate attention. 

Nevertheless, as the smoke began to waft up from the candle you felt an immediate sting in your chest. You coughed into your hands, eyes widening as you noticed that your coughs echoed over and over, as if the sound was traveling through a network of corridors. You forced yourself to take several slow, shallow breaths so you would not choke on the smoke and looked around. Once again, you could glimpse the darker shadowy pillars of temple Halls filling the inside of your flat. You reached over in your chair to try and touch one of the carved columns nearby, but your fingertips passed through it without resistance. You wondered if that would ever change. 

Forcing yourself to sit up, you looked around at your darkened flat, and shivered. You could faintly hear the whispers that Padfoot had described, but you couldn’t tell where they came from. Several slow, careful breaths later, you stood- instinctively ducking your head as you passed under an archway. 

“Padfoot?” you whispered, narrowing your eyes. “Hello?”

From across the room you could see Padfoot’s silhouette stumble into view through your bedroom wall. “Damn it-“ he growled, his hand on his chest as he lumbered over to you. 

Your eyes widened at his staggered approach. “What’s happened?” you asked under your breath. 

“That thing was following me-“ he growled, patting the left side of his chest as if it was burning him. 

Without thinking, you reached your hands out to touch where he seemed to be hurt. Your heart skipped a beat as your fingers actually met  his chest. You gasped, surprised that he wasn’t as incorporeal as the walls and quickly withdrew your hand, looking into his shadowed face with eyes wide.

“I’m sorry!” you breathed, holding your hands firmly at your sides. Padfoot glanced down at his chest, still registering the interaction. 

“Well…” he started gruffly, “First time I’ve had that reaction. Never had a complaint before. Usually gropers are more impressed… your standards do seem to be quite high.” 

“I WAS NOT-” 

“Hush!” Padfoot interrupted you, grabbing you by the shoulders, he pulled you down so that you were both kneeling. He pushed you against the corner of the nearest arch, standing up on his knees to shield you from whatever he heard down the Hall. Your heart sank as a thought came to you: these were not the actions of a murderer. He had to be someone else. He couldn’t be Sirius Black.  

“We will have to keep quiet for now…” Padfoot whispered, glancing at you from over his shoulder. “I don’t think it knows this place but I’d rather it not find out.” 

“...What is it?”  

“Dunno.” he sighed, “It glows so… as soon as I see any light at all I avoid it.” 

“It… glows?” you asked, frowning. This place made you feel like you didn’t know anything about the topics you were supposed to be an expert on. “What do you mean it glows?” 

Padfoot raised a hand, at a loss. “Sorry I think I left my thesaurus at home… it emanates light? Very shiny? Candle-like?” 

No… maybe he was an awful, murderering, dark art fanatic. 

“You’re very good at looking angry even when I can’t see your face.” he continued, nodding. “Quite impressive.”

“You know-” you sighed, tone flat, “I am starting to see why you might have ended up in a place like this. You were probably banished here by all you hold dear.”

“Is this the charm and professionalism you grant to all your clients?”

You opened your mouth to respond before you noticed that Padfoot was still pressing one of his hands against the spot on his chest. He saw your attention snap to it and his hand fell immediately. 

“Padfoot…has it hurt this whole time?” 

“Hardly,” he replied, standing up. “I think we’re safe.” 

Padfoot leaned down and offered you a hand. Curiously, you took it and he pulled you up easily. It really felt as if you were in just a dark room with him, you could feel the lines on his palms, the jerk of his muscles contracting as he pulled you up so you stood beside him. You appraised his silhouette, trying to conjure the Sirius Black from your school memories and transpose your recollections against the man before you- but quickly decided that felt too unreliable and desperate. 

You looked around the corridor for any traces of light. “How often do you run into it?” 

“Not often at all.” Padfoot answered quietly. 

“Good…” you replied, unnerved. You frowned down the corridor. “Is there anything else you know about it?”

“I’ve heard it talk?”

“Oh-kay.” you wheezed, running your hands through your hair. “So it’s a person? What do they say?” 

“Well it's not like I usually stick around to find out.”  

“Of course.” you nodded, scratching your chin in thought. Padfoot’s injury had persisted since you’d met him nearly a month ago. It would be horrible for him to come to any harm while here, since you were unsure why he wasn’t recovering and had so little understanding of how or even if he existed physically in this place. You on the other hand were not really there… it would not be so dangerous for you to look into whatever else wandered these Halls. “Padfoot, can you take me to the place you usually speak to me? Through the glass?” 

“That depends.” He replied. “You do this in your home, right? What if you bump into something, or what if it is outside?” 

“I think I can manage those sorts of mild inconveniences as they come.” 

You felt his hand wrap around yours and tried to hide the impression it had on you, but quietly, you marveled at how real he felt, as you resisted thinking about touching his face, running your fingers down his jaw, trying to get a sense of what he looked like by touch alone. Padfoot brought you through Halls with an unthinking familiarity. It made sense that he would have spent his time memorizing the Halls, what else was there for him to do? You had to follow along slowly, avoiding furniture and walls in your flat as he carefully led you along. The truth was, the longer you stayed with him, the harder it was for you to see your flat beneath the superimposed shadows of the Halls. It thrilled you as much as it scared you. 

When you passed by your kitchen table you slowed down to check on the candle. It had already burned down to Byron’s mark. 

“What is it?” Padfoot asked wearily. 

“I was just checking on the candle. We’re in my kitchen.” 

“Oh really?” Padfoot hummed, coming to a halt. Curiously, you squinted to where his eyes should have been, hoping to illuminate his features but it did nothing.  You watched his shoulders rise as if he was tensing up. 

“What are you doing?“ you chuckled. 

“Trying to see your kitchen!“ Padfoot replied, as if it should be obvious. 

“Nosy. It’s a one way street, I’m afraid.” you smiled,

“So how is it supposed to work, then?” 

“The candles?” you sighed, bracing yourself for Padfoot’s dissatisfaction with how little you really knew, “Based on my… research, if I had burned these candles until the next new moon I would be able to exist here just like I do in the real world.” 

“Damn.” Padfoot huffed. 

“Right- so, the new moon is this weekend, and this is only the second time I’ve burned them so I doubt we will have success-” 

“How many times would need to burn them for it to count?” 

“There are eight moon phases- so I believe it would have to be at least that many.” 

“But you are doing much better this time than last time.”

“Yes! My colleague Byron is exceptional with divinitory herbology and he developed this potion for me to drink before burning the candle. It seems to be helping a lot-”

“That is a relief.” Padfoot squeezed your hand. You fought the urge to squeeze his back. 

“I am thinking that it being so close to the new moon is the reason why we can touch, but I still go through the walls?” you thought aloud, running your hand through a pillar. 

“Why would I be different than the rest of it though?” 

“Because you haven’t been here long, you’re more like me than you are like this place.” 

“Well, that is reassuring.” Padfoot replied tugging on your hand. “Are we good to keep going?” 

You glanced back at the candle, the line that Byron’s mark had been burned through. A dart of excitement shot through you as you answered, “Yea- let’s get to that room.” 

Padfoot pulled you through your kitchen, watching as you had to shift around furniture he couldn’t see, before he passed through the wall beside your front door. “Oh! Hold on-” you called, waving your hand over your knob to unlock it. You stepped through, closing the door behind you. 

“Fuck this is weird, for Godrick’s sake.” Padfoot laughed under his breath. “You out of your flat now?”

“Yes-” you grinned, the air felt electric with excitement. A shiver ran through you, elated by how little the candles were affecting you. The corridor you’d stepped out to was even darker than your flat, allowing you to see more of the Temple than before. 

“Just thought of something-” Padfoot started, pulling you along. “When we met for the first time you were at St. Mungos? That’s where you work, yea?” 

“Yea-” you nodded. 

“So, how's the walk from your place to St. Mungos?” 

“Oh.” you stopped. “Is it really that big?” 

“Yes.” 

Your mind reeled with this information. “Alright-“ you hummed, thinking. “No problem.” 

“Oh no?” Padfoot asked brightly. 

“No- that’s fine. Because you know how to get there and you said the place where we meet tonight, where my flat is, is a safe place too. So, there are two places where we can rely on meeting with one another.” 

“True.” Padfoot replied, it sounded like he was smiling. He pulled you down the hallway of your apartment building, but as you neared the stairs, the feeling of his hand against yours thinned. You frowned, glancing back behind you. It hadn’t occurred to you in your excitement that the further away you got from Asterius’ candle the less powerful it would be. 

“Stop-” you called out, now completely unable to feel his hand. The faintest suggestion of Padfoot turned to look at you, head tilted. 

“What is it?” 

“I didn’t think about this-” you groaned, sighing frustratedly. How could you have been so stupid. “I can hardly see it all anymore- I’m too far away from the candle. I don’t know how to-” 

“What?” Padfoot called over your explanation. It was clear he was having a difficult time seeing and hearing you, too. 

“I have to go back-” you growled under your breath, your face hot with anger.  “Damn it-” 

You ran back towards the candle, surprised to feel tears in your eyes. It had been going so well. You hadn’t expected that you’d be able to touch him- the idea that your ability to be there had improved so much in two uses was beyond enthralling. You threw open your front door with a frustrated shove, eyes falling immediately to the candle on your table.

Just as before, most of it had melted onto your table. Your shoulders fell as you lunged towards the table, frowning at how small and useless the candle had become- the flame was taller than the remaining wick. You cursed again, your voice breaking under your breath as you stared, uselessly at the flame. You hated it- you hated not knowing what to do. It had been so long since you didn’t know what you were doing. 

A hot, wet hiss came from the candle as the flame touched a mound of wet wax. Surely, you had only seconds before it would go out. 

“I’m here-” Padfoot’s voice rushed back into your awareness. You could feel him standing behind you. “What can I do?” he asked, alarmed.

You tried to speak, but you were too frustrated with self helplessness. Could you use the flame to light the other candle, or was the connection going to break no matter what? You turned to try and look at Padfoot’s silhouette, eyes wide and full of hot, angry tears. With a normal client, you would have never let yourself get so worked up- it made you even angrier with yourself. 

“I’m sorry-” you hated how your voice wavered. “I didn’t think about how far away I could get. And- and I don’t know how to change that yet.” 

“It’s alright-” he said quickly. You felt Padfoot’s large hands run up your arms and grip your shoulders tenderly. “You have been the only hope I’ve had. You don’t have to know everything, just having you thinking of me is enough-” 

The candlelight died. Your balance wavered as Padfoot’s hands against your shoulders disappeared.  “No-” you breathed, spinning around to your table. “No, no, no- '' you moaned as you were able to just make out the wispy smoke wafting up from the candle’s freshly extinguished wick. A wave of self loathing flooded you- of course you couldn’t get too far away from the candles. Whatever Asterius used to make them, you had to be able to breathe in their vapor to gain the effects. 

You rubbed your eyes as hot tears rolled down your cheeks. You hated this. You hated not knowing what step to take next, not being able to explain everything to Padfoot, let alone yourself. As you gulped in air with your frustrated cries, your breath caught on the candle smoke, and you began to cough . You cleared your throat against your arm, holding the side of the table as you breathed through the burning sensation of choking in your throat, but then you continued to cough, unable to stop. 

Slowly, you made your way back to your bed leaning against the walls as you did, bent over with the force of your coughing. When you finally fell onto your mattress, you were coughing so hard you had begun to gag for air. 

You closed your eyes, tears still falling from them as you gasped. Part of you thought you could still hear Padfoot, even feel his hand against your chest, trying to urge you to breathe slowly. 

You rubbed your eye as Byron led you down a street in downtown London. Just like the first time you’d use Asterius’ candles, it felt like there was something like a hair, scratching your eye and irritating the periphery of your vision. 

“Stop touching it, you’re just going to make it worse.” Byron murmured as you halted in front of an old home. 

“Oh leave me be.” you grumbled, continuing to rub your eye.  

“Bit late for that, love.” Byron chuckled, wrapping a warm, heavy arm around your shoulders. “It’s all red now- are you sure you didn’t just scratch it?” 

You’d woken up that morning short tempered- only Byron would have been able to convince you to go out after work and deal with the outside world with the mood you were in. 

“Take a big breath with me-” Byron started, moving to stand in front of you. He plied as he started to dramatically inhale. 

“No- Byron, come on-” you groaned, exhausted. “I don’t want to breathe.” 

“In-” he nudged you, taking another performative big breath in. Scowling, you inhaled slowly, letting him count to 5 before you exhaled. “Good!” he smiled, pushing the pad of his thumb against your chin. “Don’t you feel better?” 

“Exquisite.” you replied flatly, looking up at the housing block you’d walked into. “Where are we?” 

“Here! I think-” Byron answered as he peered around. 

“Huh- not exactly what I expected.” you blinked, looking around at the old, aristocratic houses. When you had woken up that morning, you were positively surprised to realize that you’d woken up when you normally would have in the late morning. Even work had gone smoothly enough, all of your clients were familiar and easy- but it hadn’t stopped you from being in a terrible mood. You knew it was an accomplishment, but you were already starving to understand more of how everything worked- to answer the problems you’d discovered last night: How could you travel while maintaining a connection to Padfoot? Was there a way to make the candles last longer?

“I was told that we should just wait by this bench…” Byron hummed nervously, trying to look around inconspicuously. 

“So you were.” A voice said from behind the two of you. 

“Ho there!” Byron jumped, whirling around. You had also started, pivoting to find Remus Lupin looking at you both fondly.

“For you, Bryon-” he said, smiling coyly as he handed Byron a piece of parchment. “And for you.” he continued, handing you a similar piece. 

You unfolded it curiously, your irritation briefly forgotten as you read the long, slanted writing on the inside of the note. #12 Grimmauld Place. Before you could greet Remus properly, you were distracted as a new home suddenly appeared into existence before you. 

“Oh-” you began, glancing back at Remus, who nodded, encouraging you to approach. You had to admire the magic that would have gone into concealing a house in this way. You had no idea how it could have been done, but it was inspiring to wonder. Byron followed suit, watching as you stepped up to the top stair on the stoop and pulled your wand from your robes. Intuitively, you tapped a wooden pane of the home’s exterior with the top of your wand, and watched as the exterior wall slid open to reveal a long, dark, narrow hallway. Byron whistled low behind you.

“Say this Order’s got some real class huh?” 

“I’d hope so.” you tried to sound unimpressed. You felt Byron shift his weight behind you. 

“What are you waiting for?” 

“I don’t know.” you replied under your breath. There was something to the feeling of this house, dark and dusty, regal and outdated, that felt sad. “Doesn’t it…” you began, frowning. 

“Feel like when we make house calls?” 

“Yea-” you glanced back at Byron, reassured that he felt it too. Even though you hadn’t seen anyone yet, it felt like a house in mourning. 

The wall behind you slipped closed again with a clap of wood and stone, you and Byron both jumped as a scream came through the hallway. 

“BLOOD TRAITORS IN MY HOUSE! THE NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK HAS BEEN FOREVER STAINED BY YOUR PRESENCE! YOU ARE NOT WEL-” a woman screamed, before suddenly stopping. Two far less haunting voices followed, 

“I THOUGHT YOU TOOK CARE OF THAT!” 

“I said I would get it off the wall, not that I could get her to stop screaming!” 

“THROW IT AWAY!”

“I tried! Kreacher kept bringing it back in!” 

“Unbelievable!” the first voice growled. You felt Byron’s hands grip your shoulders as uneven footsteps fell heavily down the hall. Your eyes squinted as you made out a silhouette turning into the corridor before you through the low light. 

“Alright?” Byron called, his fingers digging into your shoulders. 

“Ouch, Byron! Stop being such a baby-” you hissed, trying to shrug him off. 

“Well who are you then?” The silhouette shouted as they began to hobble closer. Your eyes widened with dawning comprehension as you noticed the peg leg. 

“Alastor Moody?” you asked, incredulously. 

“Who’s there?” Alastor demanded gruffly, finally coming close enough to get a good look at the two of you, his magical eye swiveling wildly around. 

"Lupin invited us!" Byron whimpered, holding the sides of your arms like you were a shield.

"Could you please- STOP!" you ripped yourself free from Byron, pivoting to look at him, astounded. "Really Byron!" your severe stare was almost broken by the wide eyed look on Byron's face. You could feel yourself resisting a smile- why was he so difficult to stay angry with?

Moody watched the two of you, unimpressed. “Are you done?” he asked impatiently. 

“Yes.” you stammered, glancing back at Byron warningly. 

“So-” Moody growled, “Lupin thinks you're fit for the Order, eh?” with an abrupt pivot, Moody began to walk down the corridor from whence he came. You and Byron exchanged wide eyed glances before following him. 

“”Don’t tell me-” Moody continued fussily as he stomped along, “Not another pair of optimistic try-hards that can hardly conjure a Disarming spell!”

“We work for St. Mungos, actually-” Byron called over you to Moody’s back. 

“Oh well that’s very nice isn’t it.” Moody glanced appraisingly back over his shoulder. “So you’re both adept in healing?” 

“Well-” Byron faltered, you could feel him start trying to hide behind you again, even as the three of you continued to walk.The corridor had opened up into a dim sitting room, it looked as if it was half way through being renovated. Parts of the walls had the dustiest black filigree wallpaper you’d ever seen, but the rest of it had been stripped away to reveal light brickwork. The contrast between the dark, faded wallpaper and the masonry was difficult for your eyes to parse, as if you were in two houses at the same time. There was also a portrait sized hole in the wall above a fireplace. 

“Well what?” Moody asked as he stopped walking. Byron bumped into you from behind as you quickly halted in suit. You glanced around the room to see Tonks sitting on top of what was once an opulent dining table, cheerfully speaking to another Order member who’s robes were covered in paint. 

“They’re both Specularri, Alastor.” Tonks interrupted, leaning over the side of the table. Glancing over to exchange a smile with Tonks, your heart skipped a beat. The window behind them eclipsed Tonks’ silhouette in a cloudy haze and for the briefest of moments they looked just like Padfoot. 

The scratch on your eye was suddenly much more noticeable. You shook your head, physically willing the image to scatter from your thoughts as you smiled at them in greeting. 

“SPECULARRI?” Moody growled, glaring at you and Byron with his natural eye, while the magical one swiveled to the back of his head, supposedly to glare at Tonks. “So they aren’t even healers? How desperate are we to allow the likes of no good, snake oil toting, charlatans like this?” 

“Okay-” you cleared your throat, glaring daggers at Byron. “At least this is going about as well as I thought it would.” 

As Byron looked over to Tonks for aid, you heard the entrance quietly slide close again and Remus’ voice called from the corridor.  

“It’s alright!” Remus hushed, he seemed unable to keep a smirk off his face as he approached the group, looking at Moody. “I’ve been vetting them for a while. Byron worked in Knockturn Alley in the 60’s, and still has connections that could prove very useful to us.” 

“And what about this one?” Moody barked, gesturing to you with a sneer. 

“I’ve worked with the Auror office several times. That’s how I recognized you.” you spoke over Remus with a steely tone. 

“Pah-” Moody turned both eyes to you. “And what good has that ever done us?” 

You glanced toward Remus, shrugging. “I mean- that’s true.” 

You saw Byron roll his eyes in response. 

“It may not be the most useful skill for solving active crimes, Alastor.” Remus started, with the same disposition as if he was calming a spooked horse. “But it could prove very useful for the order. Not only because we can reach out to those who’ve been killed, but because these two are stationed at St. Mungos daily- a place that has to stay open. They have access to information we could not easily acquire otherwise.” 

“Bringing them to the Order’s headquarters before you even sought approval from the rest of us-” Moody growled.

“I knew!” Tonks retorted, raising up their hands. “What am I? Chopped liver?” 

“You may have ended up as much, bringing these two here- we still don’t know if this house is compromised!” Moody snapped back. 

“Alastor-” Remus interjected, “If it is compromised then these two haven’t learned anything valuable. They are here now.” 

Moody waved Remus away from you and Byron. You watched as he glanced up to the hole in the wall and smiled brightly at it, walking over to stand beside the painter and Tonks. 

Your attention snapped back to Moody as he raised his wand to your chest. “Well then, are you prepared to be initiated into the Order of the Phoenix?” 

Your body lurched to take a step back, but you forced yourself not to.  Meeting Moody’s eyes, you hoped you were coming off as far more sure of yourself than you felt. Was this it? You were already going to be a member of the Order? How many people were a part of it? What resources did they have? 

“Do you understand,” Moody continued, “that by pledging yourself to the Order, you are misaligning yourself with not only Voldemort and his supporters, but also with the Ministry itself?”

You couldn’t tell if Moody was just being paranoid about the Ministry, or if he knew something that hadn’t yet been made public. It made your blood go cold to consider. 

“Yes.” you replied, even as fear rose in you. It was as if you didn’t know yourself anymore, you’d never before committed yourself to something without being certain. 

“Really?” Moody challenged, “You’re prepared to trust the Order above the Ministry of Magic? They could take away your license, Death Eaters could target you if they discovered your loyalties, they could find out where you live, who your clients are, everything.”

“I’m not saying I’m not afraid,” you retorted, glancing over at Tonks, “but I know that this is right.” 

“Very well.” Moody said, “Raise your wand.” 

You pulled your wand from your robes, holding it up for Moody to see. Both of his eyes focused on your wand as he briskly tapped his against yours. A loud crack sounded and you pulled back with a start, fearing that your wand had snapped. Inspecting it, you saw that it had not broken or even split- but there was now a date carved into the wood near the base for next week.  

“That’s the time of the next Order meeting.” Moody explained, tapping Byron’s wand with the same spell. 

“Brilliant.” Byron grinned, looking at his wand excitedly. 

“Though it’s unlikely it will be here.” Moody said, giving a pointed look at Remus. “As I said , this location is still compromised .’

You jumped as you realized where you must be. The screaming voice had said the noble house of Black. You looked over to Byron with wide eyes as intrigue gripped you. Byron frowned at you, unable to understand your sudden excitement. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll be th-” Byron had began to assure Moody, before you blurted out, 

“This house was the Black family’s?” 

Everyone besides you and Byron exchanged heavy glances- you were surprised to see how sad they’d all suddenly become. 

“It is.” Remus answered, sighing. “Since Sirius died, we believe that it now belongs, legally, to Harry Potter.” 

“What?” Byron asked, incredulous. “Why?” 

“James and Lily Potter had made Sirius Black Harry’s godfather.” Tonks said, their voice strained with an emotion you couldn’t place. Byron shook his head in shock. 

“But there is still a chance this home is now the property of Ms. Lestrange.” Moody spat, getting agitated all over again. “So it's very likely, until we can prove otherwise, that we will not be using this as our headquarters.” 

Your mind reeled with so many questions. How did they discover all of this? Had they only been using it since Sirius’ death a month ago? Is this why Tonks had asked you to confirm that Black was dead when you first met a couple of weeks ago? You supposed it could be possible, but it didn’t feel realistic. 

“Is Harry- does Harry-” Byron started hesitantly. 

“No, Harry is not part of the Order.” Remus said, with an exhausted air of finality. 

“Yet.” Tonks said with a smirk. Remus shook his head. 

You caught yourself smiling at the dynamic of this group, they all seemed so close. 

“I suppose this was better-” Moody said begrudgingly to Remus, “than having potentially untrustworthy newcomers show up at a more secure location.” 

Tonks gave a dismissive shrug at this, pushing off of the table to walk over to you and Byron. “Glad you decided to join.” they said, grinning at you. 

You couldn’t help but stare at them for a moment before replying. Tonks looked subtly different from before- the grief they’d experienced was still evident in the dark circles of their eyes and in the languid quality of their movements. But when you’d met them Tonks had seemed mousier, now they looked somehow paler and more angular, their hair seemed darker and messier. You felt ridiculous to think it, but it was as if the face you knew Tonks to have had been combined with the likeness of Sirius Black.

“You alright?” Tonks asked, eyes widening. 

“Sorry-” you jumped, “Yes I’m fine, it’s good to see you, Tonks.” you bit your lip, wondering if you could get away with asking any of the hundreds of questions you had. “Is this house really unsafe, or do you think there is a chance it’ll remain the headquarters for the Order?”

“We’ll know soon enough.” Tonks replied, raising an eyebrow at your question. “...Why?” You bit your lip again, which caused Tonks to laugh. “Go on, tell me.” they implored, intrigued. 

“You were asking about Sirius, or- I mean you’re investigating his death?” you asked, watching their expression closely for anything you could use to understand how they felt about it more. To your disappointment, Tonks managed to remain stoic. 

“Why?” their eyes squinted at you, as if they were trying to read your expressions too. You felt your face get warm. 

“I’m trying to help someone who may have been associated with the Blacks.” you replied, trying to keep your disposition as neutral as Tonks managed. 

“A client?” they asked. 

“Not exactly… it’s very difficult to explain.” you sighed, unable to imagine where to start with someone not already familiar with your work. “They do not remember much, but they seem to have an association with Dorea Black and, on top of that-” you frowned, considering your words carefully. “I… after careful consideration, am inclined to think this person may be a Black themselves.”

“May be, or was?” Tonks’ brow knitted together, perplexed. “There are few surviving members of the Black family. There’s my dear Aunts Bellatrix and Narcissa, my mother, and myself.” 

“You’re related to-” you gasped, stopping yourself from finishing the sentence, to Padfoot. You felt your skin prickle eerily- how could everything connect so neatly? Tonks watched your emotions overcome you, concern filling their eyes. 

“You don’t look well.” Tonks said softly, stepping closer. “Come sit.” 

Tonks’ hand slipped over your wrist, gently tugging you into a sitting room that had not yet been stripped of its original design.  There was a dusty velvet fainting sofa among ancient looking relics and a tapestry of a tree that covered an entire wall. 

“Thank you.” you sighed, sitting down and ran your hands down your face. “I apologize, I’m just tired.” you rubbed your eye again. 

“No problem.” Tonks said, walking to the other side of the couch to sit beside you. Their boot caught on a lifted floorboard, and they tripped into the couch, nearly falling onto you before catching themself. “Whoops!” they laughed, righting themselves. “Last thing I should do is tackle the sickly.” 

“I’m not sickly-” you hastily corrected, reaching out to steady them by putting your hand on their shoulder. “Are you alright?” 

“Yea-” Tonks blushed, leaning back into the sofa. “Wow, what a disgusting couch. So dusty.” 

Despite the day you had, you chuckled at this. “Yea-” you agreed with a sigh. 

Pulling your hands away from your face, you looked over to the tapestry. You could feel Tonks watching you, but it wasn’t intrusive. Considering this was only your second time seeing Tonks, you felt very at ease with them. You were grateful that they were so calm and kind, even while it was obvious they were grieving someone. It felt impossible that Tonks would be mourning Sirius Black, but if they were related, and Remus was so clearly also in mourning, how could it be anyone else? 

As you let yourself lean back into the couch, you read the banner embroidered at the top of the tapestry The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Even sitting on the other side of this dimly lit room, the intricacy was impressive and overwhelming. You wondered how it must have felt to be born into a family like this, the privilege and the pressure that would come with it. 

“Are you on there?” you asked. Tonks gave a satisfied smile. 

“Nope. See that burn mark beneath Cygnus and Druella Rosier? Between Bellatrix and Narcissa?” 

“Yea?” you squinted.

“That’s mum.” 

“Oh… wow.” Despite how weak you felt, you pushed yourself off of the couch to take a closer look. Your fingertips ghosted over the branch that connected Cygnus to his sister Walburga, and then down to Regulus Black and another scorch mark.  “So this was Sirius…?” you breathed. 

“Yes.” Tonks replied, their face twisted subtly with another emotion you could not read. 

“I bet she wished she could have undone that.” you thought aloud, tracing over the burn that had once held Sirius’ likeness and name. When Tonks didn’t respond you glanced back at them, jumping a little as you did. Tonk’s appearance had become mousy again, their hair and eyes had faded from a rich black back to a taupe, their skin tone duller, sallower. 

Catching your alarmed expression, Tonks looked down at themselves, their hair, their hands. “Oh-” they said, under their breath. 

Eyes widening, you reached for your wand. Every muscle in your body tensed as panic overtook your mind- what was this? Polyjuice potion? Was this a Death Eater?

Tonks saw the alarm in your eyes and held their hands up reassuringly. “It’s okay, you’re alright- I’m a metamorphmagus. My looks can change at will- sometimes when I’m not paying attention my appearance slips into something else!” 

You kept your wand pointed at Tonk’s chest as their words slowly sunk in. How were you going to cope with this new, more dangerous world of any disguised wix could lead you into a room alone and unsuspecting? 

“Prove it.” you ordered, lowering your wand slightly. 

At your request, the mousy wix before you turned seamlessly into Remus Lupin, then yourself, and then Byron but with the wrong nose. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, lowering your wand at once. “Thank you for being so understanding.” 

Tonks faded back into their mousier self, looking into your face with concern. “Come sit down,” they suggested softly, “you look like you’re going to faint.” 

You had expected Diagon Alley to be empty, but as you passed through on your way to Knockturn Alley, a crowd of people obscured your view of the center square. You couldn’t stop as you quickly made your way to The Coffin House- it felt cheeky enough to be in Knockturn Alley, let alone joining in on a random crowd. Pushing your way through the door, you saw Asterius right where you had left him, behind the counter. 

“Welcome back-“ Asterius greeted hoarsely. “You look well.”

“Hah.” you retorted. Even now, two days after you’d last used the candles, you still felt sick, your eye still felt scratched. “You would know.”

“Yes,” Asterius coughed through a chuckle. “I do. How can I help you today?” 

You scanned the shelves of product while Asterius watched you. 

“Those candles burn very quickly.” you mused, “If I had managed to use them as often as you’d suggested, I would have been back here quite soon.” 

“Oh, are they a bit strong for you?” Asterius tilted his head, his mouth twitching into a smile. “Not everyone is cut out for such involved scrying, perhaps you’re not up for it?” 

“If I wasn’t up for it, I wouldn’t be here.” you corrected, squaring your posture. “So how many candles would I really need to scry at least eight times between this weekend and the next new moon?” 

Asterius gave a nod of approval that you had found the sincere instructions from the abstract advice he’d given you the first time you’d met. Then, looking down at his hands,  he considered your question. “It took me five years to scry eight times in one moon.” 

Your heart thudded in your chest. “I don’t have five years.” you blurted out. You felt your blood cool  inside your veins as you watched Asterius’ eyebrow arch. He didn’t look sympathetic, if anything he looked entertained. 

“Why not?” Asterius probed with a fevered glint in his eyes. 

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came to you. You had to remind yourself why you needed to scry at least eight times before the next new moon, because in your haste and your obsession, you had begun to oversimplify. To save Padfoot, you needed to do as Asterius had said on your first meeting, ‘To breach the boundary you came to.’

Was it safe to assume that Asterius and you scryed into the same Halls? You looked into Asterius’ glassy eyes, feeling adrenaline wash over you. Though you held a strange fondness for him, Asterius didn’t seem well aligned, and didn’t seem trustworthy. Nevertheless, the knowledge he held about this practice was vital for your success- did you really have another option?

“Is it that presence you mentioned before?”

“Yes.” you answered, the way Asterius looked at you made you feel vulnerable. His smile had turned from vapid amusement to something more sincere, more sincere and more dangerous. 

“So you’ve been able to find them again?” he asked.

“They are there unless they do not want to be seen.” you replied slowly, careful with your words. Again, Asterius’ reaction took a dramatic emotional turn, the smile fell from his uneven mouth as he looked surprised, his brow heavy and creased. Had you offended him, somehow?

You remembered then what Byron had told you, Asterius had been connected to Regulus Black, a man who had disappeared after becoming a Death Eater.

“Are you…” you started softly, “Are you looking for someone, too?” 

“I am a follower of Ms. Black’s teachings.” Asterius replied with a snarl. Withdrawing a bone white wand from his robes, Asterius summoned ten candles between the two of you. “That will be 14 galleons.”

“You suggested two last time.” you argued, frowning back. “Doesn’t ten seem like overkill?” 

“If you’re going to try to fit 5 years of practice into one month, you may need to overcompensate and scry more than eight times.” 

“Fine.” you sighed, placing the galleons on the counter. Asterius took his time scraping each coin into his hand as you picked up the candles and pocketed them in your cloak. If this was how sick you felt scrying twice in two weeks, you couldn’t imagine trying to survive ten sessions in one month. Asterius seemed to recognize the concern on your face as he finished accepting your money. 

“I will keep you in mind in those Halls.” Asterius said under his breath, lost in your gaze. “And you will learn as I learned-”

“You had a teacher.” you retorted, annoyed. “You said Dorea Black taught this to you.” 

Asterius shook his head, smiling slowly. “We all come to those Halls in our own way. There is no guide that will bring you there. It is always by your own course.” 

“Then what did Dorea do?” 

“She discovered it, and me.”

“What do you mean?” you urged. 

Asterius leaned over the counter conspiratorially, “She found it.” he whispered, his eyes flickering between himself and you. “You know, for people like…us?” 

“...Seers?” 

“Bloody hell.” Asterius sighed, rolling his eyes. “No. Haven’t you felt the sentiments? I wished for you before you were known to me. Your face was in my mind before I saw you with my eyes? ” 

“No.” you replied, cautiously. Asterius looked suddenly frantic as he continued, 

“ Do not let the gifts of muddied blood fool you, as they are filled with anxious fear. I will give you what you should love. I’ll be bound by my words according to your rites: then, I’ll make ready for you to travel to my kingdom.”

Asterius began to cough violently, his hands coming to cover the lower half of his face as he doubled over. You jumped, startled, as you watched Asterius choke for air. Rushing around the counter, you placed your hand gently against his back. 

“Breathe.” you cooed, conjuring a glass of water with your wand in your other hand. 

With a final gasp, Asterius stood back up, pulling his hands away from his mouth. “Thank you-” he gasped, accepting the glass with a shaking hand. You noticed that between his fingers, it looked as if there were flower petals sticking to his palm. 

You didn’t feel well enough to apparate, and since the walk back home was a short trip through Diagon Alley anyway, it seemed harmless enough. As you passed the center square, you couldn’t help but glance over to where the crowd had congregated on your way in. The group was nowhere to be seen. Stopping, you looked past where they had been to see Ollivander’s shop door wide open, the inside dark, as Ministry officials paced carefully through it, wands raised high. 

Your legs ached by the time you stepped into your home. It didn’t feel right to stroll leisurely through Diagon Alley after seeing Ollivander’s like that. You’d have to ask Byron about it tomorrow. Taking off your cloak, you tossed it onto your kitchen table before making your way to your bedroom. You were exhausted, you would deal with the candles tomorrow. 

Falling into your bed was, bar none, the most luxurious feeling. You felt yourself drifting off before you had even finished waving your wand at the windows so the curtains would draw closed. Sleep overtook you swiftly and heavily. You sighed into the dark arrest, relieved that you had made it home, that you were safe. 

Occasionally, the odd sound pulled you away from sleep. A creek in your neighbor’s floor, the echo of a Hall, or water going through pipes. You sighed, finally finding sleep as you dreamed of a veil, softly billowing in a windless room. All was dark around you, so dim that it was difficult to make out your hand in front of you. You felt the scratch against your eye flair, as a crowned, figure adorned in gilded armor appeared from the Veil and spoke low, 

"And for you, who would reach this boundary, set foot on my threshold, to see the sun in the middle of the night, blazing with bright light, to approach me from below, from above, and worship me from nearby." The sound shook the Hall, the Veil quivered with its force. "You are saved from Perceforest this night."