I left all I knew
Was it worth the cost, this mask I wear?
A hero to some, but I was never there.
The sterile scent of St. Mungo’s seemed to cling to everyone in the room, heavy and suffocating. The soft beeping of Marlene McKinnon’s magical monitoring charms was the only sound breaking the oppressive silence. She lay motionless on the hospital bed, her golden hair dulled and matted with blood that no spell had been able to fully clean away. Her breaths were shallow, her face ghostly pale.
They were all there, the Order of the Phoenix, crowded into the small, dimly lit room. Moody leaned against the far wall, his magical eye swiveling as if even here he didn’t trust they were safe. Edgar Bones sat with his head in his hands, shoulders hunched as if the weight of the war had finally broken him. Emmeline Vance stood stiffly in the corner, her arms crossed so tightly it seemed she was holding herself together.
Sirius Black stood near the foot of Marlene’s bed, restless. He hated hospitals, hated the helplessness they reeked of. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, his face set in a mask of defiance that barely hid the anger simmering beneath. He’d been pacing earlier but had stopped when Moody barked at him to stand still.
“It’s Bellatrix,” Emmeline said quietly, breaking the silence. “Healer says the curse was her signature. The Cruciatus…” She trailed off, unable to say more.
Sirius clenched his jaw. Of course it was Bellatrix. His cousin had always been a sadist, even as a child. But hearing her name now, seeing the destruction she’d wrought, made him feel like his skin was crawling.He forced a smirk, desperate to shatter the tension. “Well, we all know Bella’s idea of a good time. This is mild for her, isn’t it?”
The room turned on him as one.
Edgar shot to his feet, his face red with fury. “Do you think this is a joke, Black?” he snapped. “Do you think any of this is funny? She’s barely alive, and you’re making cracks about your family ?”
Sirius’s smirk vanished, replaced by a scowl. “You think I don’t hate them as much as you do?” he shot back, his voice rising. “They’re not my family. Not anymore.”
Edgar laughed bitterly. “You don’t get it, do you? You’ll never get it. At least you know they won’t kill you, because even in death, your precious Black blood is worth more to them than ours. The rest of us? We live in constant fear that one day they’ll decide it’s our turn.”
“That’s not—” Sirius started, but Edgar cut him off.
“They’ll kill us, Sirius. They’ll kill every last one of us if they get the chance. But you? You’re their cousin. You’re safe.”
Sirius’s anger flared. “Safe? You think I’m safe? You think it doesn’t kill me knowing that the people I grew up with, the people I called family, are the ones doing this?” He gestured sharply at Marlene. “You think I don’t wake up every day wishing I could erase them from my blood, from my life?”
“Enough!” Remus’s voice cut through the chaos like a whip. He stepped between them, his calm demeanor undercut by the steel in his tone. “This isn’t helping anyone. We’re all angry, and we’re all scared, but tearing each other apart won’t bring Marlene back.”
James moved to Sirius’s side, his hand landing gently on his shoulder. “He’s right, Pads,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “We’ve got enough enemies outside this room. Don’t make one in here.”Sirius shrugged off James’s hand, his breathing ragged. He turned away, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
Edgar sat back down heavily, his anger giving way to exhaustion. “I just… I’m sorry,” he muttered. “But I can’t stand here and listen to him act like this is nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” Sirius said quietly, his voice hoarse. “But I’m not them. And I never will be.”
The room fell silent again, the weight of unspoken fears and unhealed wounds pressing down on everyone.From the bed, Marlene let out a faint, pained sound, and the group turned toward her as one.
“We’re all scared,” Emmeline said finally, her voice trembling. “But we have to stick together. That’s the only way we’ll get through this.”
Sirius didn’t reply. He just stared at Marlene, at the damage his cousin had done, and felt the familiar sting of guilt and anger settle deep in his chest. As he turned and paced the room, his thoughts were a storm of anger, sorrow, and something dangerously close to despair. We can’t go on like this, he thought bitterly. But he had no idea how to fix it.
He couldn’t bear to stay any longer. His presence here wouldn’t heal Marlene, and it certainly wouldn’t make him feel any less useless. With a final glance at her fragile form, he slipped out of the ward, his boots making a deliberate effort to silence their echoes on the floor.
The hallway was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against your ears. He didn’t stop to speak to the Healers or the Order member stationed by the entrance. He nodded briefly, offering a wordless assurance he didn’t feel, and pushed through the heavy doors into the biting cold of the London night.
The air outside was a welcome reprieve. It smelled of damp stone and the faintest trace of lingering rain. Sirius lit a cigarette with a flick of his wand, the glow of the ember reflecting in his stormy grey eyes. The first drag steadied his nerves. He took a few steps into the shadowed alley next to the hospital, leaning against the damp brick wall. For a moment, he just breathed, staring at the smoke curling into the night. The city was quiet at this hour, though it never truly slept.
But Sirius wasn’t at peace. The weight of everything—Marlene, the war, the fractures in the Order—settled on his shoulders like a heavy cloak. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were losing, that for every small victory, they were bleeding tenfold.
As he reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve his wand, his fingers brushed against something that shouldn’t have been there. A folded piece of parchment. Sirius frowned, pulling it out and immediately recognizing the slanted handwriting. Dumbledore’s.
His lips pressed into a tight line as he unfolded it under the dim light of a streetlamp.
Sirius,
My office. Tonight. We have matters to discuss.
—Albus Dumbledore
The message was succinct, giving no hint of what Dumbledore wanted. Typical. Sirius cursed under his breath, crumpling the parchment in his fist. He knew better than to ignore one of Dumbledore’s summons, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
He threw the half-smoked cigarette to the ground, grinding it out beneath his boot. Whatever Dumbledore wanted, it couldn’t be good. Not with the way things had been unraveling lately.
With a flick of his wand, Sirius Apparated into the darkness, leaving behind the hospital, the pain, and the smoke curling into the cold night air. He didn’t look back.
By the time Sirius stepped through the enchanted entrance to Dumbledore’s office, the anger simmering in his chest had cooled, replaced by a wary resignation. Fawkes let out a low, mournful trill as Sirius approached the desk where Dumbledore sat, hands folded and eyes heavy with something Sirius couldn’t quite place.
“You’ve had a long day,” Dumbledore began.
Sirius’s lips curled into a bitter smirk. “Is that your way of asking how Marlene’s doing? She’s barely clinging to life. Thanks for asking.”
Dumbledore said nothing in return, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the silence between them stretched, the weight of it almost unbearable. Sirius shifted in his chair, his hands clenching the arms.
“What are the chances, Albus?” Sirius asked suddenly, his voice sharp, his words trembling with barely concealed anger. “What are the chances any of us are going to make it out of this war alive? That one by one, we won’t just be picked off until there’s no one left to fight him? And then what? What do we do then?”
Dumbledore didn’t answer, his eyes still fixed on Sirius, calm yet searching.Sirius’s frustration boiled over. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Say something!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “Tell me this isn’t hopeless! Tell me we’re not just blindly throwing ourselves into a fight we can’t win! One by one, we’re losing people. Good people. People who’ve given everything for this war—and for what? To watch them be tortured, broken, and killed while we sit around playing defense?”
“Sirius—” Dumbledore began, but Sirius cut him off, his voice raw and trembling with anger.
“No! Don’t ‘Sirius’ me,” he snapped. “You know I’m right. We can’t keep fighting like this—hopeless, aimless, waiting for him to make his next move. It’s not enough, Albus. It’s never going to be enough.”
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him. His expression was calm, but there was a weariness in his eyes that Sirius hadn’t noticed before. “You are correct,” he said softly, the admission hanging in the air like a heavy weight. “This war has cost us dearly. And it will cost us more before it is over.”
Sirius let out a harsh laugh, the sound bitter and devoid of humor. “Cost us more? There won’t be anyone left to pay the price at this rate.”
Dumbledore’s eyes darkened, and his voice dropped an octave. “I do not wish for any of this, Sirius. But we must fight smarter if we are to have even a sliver of hope. Sometimes, that means making choices we would rather not make.”
Sirius’s brow furrowed, his anger simmering just below the surface. “What kind of choices?” he asked, his voice sharp.
“This war,” he said finally, “is not one we can win through strength alone. Voldemort has resources, allies, and a ruthlessness that we cannot match through conventional means.”
Sirius’s fists clenched. “Then what are we supposed to do? Just roll over and let him win?”
“No,” Dumbledore said, turning to face him. “We must change our strategy. We must fight fire with fire. We must start fighting dirty, Sirius. It is the only way we stand a chance against Voldemort and his forces.”
Sirius felt a chill run down his spine. “Fighting dirty?” he repeated, his voice laced with suspicion. “What are you suggesting, exactly?”
“Sirius, you are here because I believe you can do something no one else in the Order can.”Dumbledore reveals.
Sirius narrowed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “You said that before,” he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration. “ I assume you have some brilliant plan to magically end this war?”
Dumbledore didn’t flinch at the sarcasm. “Not magic, Sirius,” he said evenly. “Strategy. And yes, I do have a plan. But it will require something from you—something incredibly difficult.”
Sirius tilted his head, his skepticism clear. “What is it? You’ve already asked us to put our lives on the line a thousand times over. What more could you possibly need?”
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing. “I need you to go back to your family.”
The words struck Sirius like a physical blow. He took a step back, his face contorted with disbelief. “My family?” he repeated, his voice rising. “Are you out of your mind, Dumbledore? I walked away from them for a reason!”
“I am well aware,” Dumbledore said, his tone calm but firm. “But that is precisely why you are the only one who can do this. Your family is deeply embedded in Voldemort’s inner circle. If you were to return to them, they would welcome you back without question.”
Sirius’s lips curled into a bitter sneer. “Oh, I’m sure they’d be thrilled to have their prodigal son back,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But what makes you think I’d ever lower myself to rejoining them?”
“Because it is necessary,” Dumbledore said, his voice hardening slightly. “You are uniquely positioned to infiltrate Voldemort’s ranks in a way no one else can. Your lineage, your skills, your past—it all makes you the perfect candidate.”
Sirius’s laughter was sharp and humourless. “So, what? You want me to put on a mask, play the good little Black heir, and swear loyalty to Voldemort? Is that your grand plan?”Sirius stood abruptly, pacing the room. “They’d never believe me. I’ve spent years fighting against everything they stand for.”
“They are desperate,” Dumbledore said. “And desperation makes people blind. With the right words, the right actions, they will believe you.”
“And what happens when Voldemort tries to look into my mind?” Sirius demanded. “He’ll know I’m lying.”
“You are skilled in Occlumency,” Dumbledore said. “You can shield your thoughts. And I will teach you more advanced techniques to ensure you are prepared.”
Sirius stopped pacing, his hands shaking. “And what am I supposed to do once I’m in? Just… sit around sipping tea with Bella and pretending I don’t want to strangle her?”
“No,” Dumbledore said. “I need you to get close to one man in particular.”
Sirius’s brow furrowed, his instincts immediately bristling. “Who?”
“Severus Snape.”
The name hung in the air like a curse, and Sirius felt as though the ground had been ripped out from beneath him. He blinked at Dumbledore, his expression shifting from confusion to outright disbelief. Sirius’s lip curled in disgust. “Snivellus,” he muttered. “This just keeps getting better and better. You can’t be serious. That greasy, slimy git? Why on earth would I ever—”
“Sirius,” Dumbledore interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “Severus Snape is no longer the boy you knew at Hogwarts. He has become one of Voldemort’s most trusted allies—a master of potions and a formidable practitioner of the Dark Arts. He is deeply embedded in Voldemort’s operations.”
The world had just tilted on its axis. Severus Snape. The man he had despised longer than Voldemort himself. The man who had once been a schoolmate, but now, according to Dumbledore, was something more—something dangerous.Sirius snorted, his arms crossing over his chest. “And you think I can just waltz up to Snivellus and strike up a friendship? He hates me. Always has.”
“I do not expect you to become friends,” Dumbledore said. “But I do expect you to find common ground. Severus has always had a particular interest in the Dark Arts, and your return to your family will provide the perfect opportunity to align yourself with him. Voldemort values him greatly, and through him, you could gain access to information that no one else could.”
Sirius let out a bitter laugh. “You really think Snape will trust me? We’ve hated each other since school.”
“You underestimate the power of necessity,” Dumbledore said. “Severus is ambitious, and ambition often overrides caution. He is too valuable to Voldemort to dismiss an ally who appears genuine.”
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. The plan was dangerous, insane even. But it was also their best chance of gaining the upper hand.Sirius shook his head, his expression a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “This is madness,” he said again. “You’re asking me to crawl back to my family, join the Death Eaters, and cozy up to Snape? All for the sake of ‘intel’? Do you have any idea what you’re asking?”
“I do,” Dumbledore said quietly. “And I would not ask this of you if the situation were not so dire. Believe me, Sirius, I understand the enormity of what I am asking. But this war cannot be won through conventional means. If we are to have any hope of defeating Voldemort, we must be willing to make sacrifices.”
Sirius let out a harsh laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Sacrifices,” he muttered. “That’s all this war is, isn’t it? One sacrifice after another.”
Dumbledore rose from his chair, his gaze never leaving Sirius. “I know you are angry,” he said. “And I know you are scared. But you are also brave, clever and far too resourceful. And even if they suspect you, they won’t act until it’s too late. Only you can be the spy for the order Sirius.”
Sirius turned away, his jaw clenching as he stared into the fire. His mind was racing, filled with memories of his family, his friends, and the countless battles they had fought together. He thought of James and Lily, of Remus and Peter. He thought of the Order and all they had lost.Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “And what happens if I fail? What happens if they see through me?”
Dumbledore’s voice was steady but somber. “Then we will do everything in our power to protect you. But I have faith in you, Sirius.“Sirius turned back to face him, his eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and determination. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to like it.”
Dumbledore nodded, his expression softening. “Thank you,” he said. “Your bravery will not be forgotten.”
Sirius let out a shaky breath, the weight of the decision settling heavily on his shoulders. “And how exactly do you expect me to make my grand exit?” he asked, his voice tinged with bitterness. “With flowers and a tearful goodbye?”
“No,” Dumbledore said, his tone firm. “Leave them hurt and convinced that you won’t be coming back. No one can know the truth, Sirius. No one can know, Sirius. Not even James.”
The mention of James felt like a blow to Sirius’s chest. Cutting ties with James, with Remus, with everyone he loved—it felt like carving out his own heart.
“Fine,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’ll do it.” He stood abruptly, turning away before Dumbledore could see the tears threatening to spill.
As Sirius walked out of Dumbledore’s office, the weight of his decision settled heavily on his shoulders. Memories of laughter and friendship filled his mind: James and Peter grinning mischievously, Remus rolling his eyes at their antics, Lily scolding them with a smile on her lips.
He clenched his fists, forcing the memories to the back of his mind.“This is for the future,” he muttered to himself, his voice shaking. “For a better world.” Despite his resolve,Sirius felt a cold, heavy weight settle over him. He was about to walk away from everything he had ever known—his friends, his comrades, his very identity. Sirius hardened his heart and stepped into the darkness, leaving behind the ghosts of his past for the chance at a better future.