Albus had told him that the Order would probably need to use Number Twelve as a safehouse in the future, and for that, it really needed to be safe, with nothing that could ambush anyone and bite them in the arse or the soul. And since Sirius had grown up in the house, he was the best one to figure out all the traps and get rid of them.
Sirius could understand that. Really, he could. But he still lay there, stewing with resentment, and wondered if the battle for Harry's soul was being won or lost, without him there to fight it.
He has to see that he's a Potter, really, that he's better off as a Potter, Sirius thought, taking another drink. Hell, I would have given anything to be a Potter. My soul, if I had to. I don't know why he wants to be a Malfoy so badly.
Sirius opened his eyes, sighed, and turned to the side of the couch, reaching down to scoop the golden locket that he'd found earlier that afternoon off the floor. It'd been stuffed back in the corner of a cabinet, forgotten like so many of the other "treasures" that Sirius's ancestors had squirreled away in Grimmauld Place.
Sirius had intended to leave it to rot there, but for some reason, it had called to him. Without quite recalling how it had happened, he'd found himself holding it, and he'd brought it downstairs with him.
He swung it back and forth now, staring at it, and feeling as though its golden surface reflected more than the light from the fire. There were points of light like…
Stars.
Sirius began to breathe hoarsely. He didn't know what was going on. Suddenly, the solid walls around him seemed to waver, and he could smell the ocean. It was as if he was back in Azkaban again. He shuddered and drew back into the couch, but the ocean smell followed him, only to be suddenly replaced by the chill feel of stone.
Was he having a nightmare? Had he drunk so much that he'd blacked out?
If so, it was at once the most real and the most surreal dream he'd ever had.
Sirius dropped the Firewhisky bottle and the locket, and tried to stand, tried to fight free of the dream. But he stumbled over something on the floor, and rolled his ankle. He collapsed to the floor, swearing, clawing at the wooden boards with his nails.
Something is happening!
Nothing changed. Everything was the same. This was always going to be the case. There was stone around her, and pressed against her shoulders. There was the smell of the sea beyond the barred window.
Burning within her, there was the devotion to her Lord that no one else could match. Crouch might think he matched it. Rodolphus might think she was as devoted to him as she was to the Dark Lord. But no one—
Coolness and open air flooded into her cell.
Bellatrix lifted her head, blinking. She was crouching on the shore of the sea. No, not the sea. A vast dark space. It felt familiar. Bellatrix edged forwards, not caring that she was probably dreaming or having a vision. One grew used to such things, in Azkaban. One grew used to many things, in Azkaban.
Then she saw the stars revolving in front of her, and cackled.
Of course. This was the Astronomy room that their mother had created for them when they were little girls. Her, and Cissy, and…Andromeda. Bella's mind snapped like a bowstring as she thought the hated name, but it was true.
They had all studied Astronomy with the devotion expected of Blacks, and Mother had created the Astronomy room for them. They could walk through the illusion of space and touch their namesake stars.
Bellatrix looked for hers out of habit, but instead, she kept seeing a different star. She focused on its cold glitter, struggling to understand. It took a surprisingly short time for her to dredge the name out of her memory, where it had gone but not vanished the way so many other things had.
Aldebaran.
That was the star. That was the star. That was the star.
The star was spinning in front of her. In fact, all the stars were spinning in front of her. Bellatrix's eyes widened, and her breath came faster. Someone was calling on the ancient magic of the Blacks, and it reached out to all the Blacks alive.
It must be powerful magic. They were doing powerful magic, calling on the Blacks and their connection to the stars, calling and calling.
Bellatrix did not mind answering. They were Blacks, whoever they were. They deserved her help. She released all her hold on her memories and her sanity and her madness, and let her strength and her magic flood in to help.
Coldness. Darkness. There was coldness and darkness, and nothing else. There had never been anything else.
But now there was. A thin, faint, feral chant, soaring up to a height that he couldn't touch and hadn't dreamed of, and calling on him.
It was no hardship to give his strength. It wasn't as if he were using it.
"Are you comfortable, Henry?"
Harry bit his lip and nodded. They had made him as comfortable as they could when he had to lie on the stone within the circle and touch it with his bare skin. Not even a robe could be between him and it.
....
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