Three's a Charm

Remus grimaces at the Azkaban guard. He's honestly started to lose count of how many times he's been asked about why he'd want to visit Sirius Black. Nevertheless, he gives the same answer, "I have both personal and professional business with Black. On a personal level, I was very close to the Potter's and I've finally worked up the courage to ask him why. Professionally, I'm here as a Retainer to someone who has business with him. Anything more than that is confidential. Master Stonegrip is accompanying me for that professional business."

The guard eyes them both as he takes back the sign-in book he and the goblin had been filling out, "Life sentences are considered legally dead the moment they're convinced. What business could you two possibly have with him?"

He smiles tightly, "Confidential business that doesn't care that he's in Azkaban. I'm not legally required to tell you more than that, seeing as I'm bound by a confidentiality agreement."

The guard sighs, "Alright then. Black will be waiting in one of the High Security meeting rooms." He gestures to another Auror, "Auror Corbeld will escort you."

They follow the guard silently, even though he tries to pry more information from them. He's noticeably put off by their silence, his voice turning irritated at the end of their journey, "In there. Black should be inside already."

Opening the door, it takes every ounce of his willpower not to react to the state his friend was in. Like most High Security prisoners, it's fairly obvious he hasn't been allowed to shower very often in the five years he's been incarcerated, and he's lost a considerable amount of weight to boot. The look in his eyes is the worst though. Haunted and teetering on the edge of madness at first glance. Hopefully only being on the edge goes deeper than just the look in his eye. If he's already over the edge and his friend is gone … Remus doesn't know what he'll do other than fight with Moony in his head tooth and nail over either keeping his head down for his cub or getting a bloodbath of vengeance for his beta turned alpha.

Sirius eyes them wearily, and Remus holds up a finger, then flicks a look at Stonegrip, who's been steadily casting since the door closed. After a few moments, he nods, "All monitoring charms have been found and disabled and temporary goblin privacy wards are in place."

His friend's eyebrows shoot up. Goblin wards, even temporary ones, were generally the best out there, if it wasn't for the fact that they had their own business with Sirius and required confidentiality in all their dealings, that sort of service would normally cost a hell of a lot. Remus shakes his head at his friend as he takes a seat across the table, "Gringotts has its own business with you. We're just here at the same time since our individual business with you are about the same matter from different angles and we're basically the only way they can get access to you." He swallows thickly when Sirius tilts his head, then in a rough voice, "We only just found out, but we know you're innocent."

Sirius chokes, his shoulders hunch up. Then he opens his mouth, and the voice that comes out isn't the smooth perpetually flirty voice he was used to, but something as rough as rusty nails, "I'm not entirely innocent. If I hadn't suggested we make Peter the Secret Keeper while I acted as decoy… If I'd just trusted you…"

His head drops. Remus reaches out and squeezes one of his hands, "We all made mistakes back then. I should've asked questions when I heard you were arrested, rather than just accept it."

Sirius lifts his head and shakes it as he puts his other hand over Remus', "No. It isn't your fault." He laughs bitterly, "Peter played me masterfully. With your alpha gone and your beta seemingly a traitor... I'm so sorry Remus, these years had to have been hard on you."

He squeezes his friend's hand again, "Not as hard as they were on you, I'm sure." Seeing Stonegrip shifting in his seat out of the corner of his eye, he glances at the goblin then shakes his head, "Now isn't the time for things like that though. There are things we need to attend to."

Sirius furrows his brow as his gaze shifts to the third person in the room, "Life sentences are legally dead though. What could Gringotts possibly need from me?"

Stonegrip clears his throat as he straightens, "The evidence presented to us by Heiress Potter-Black-"

Sirius jerks, "Calanthe?! Not-"

His gaze had turned to Remus with the last cut off bit, and he ruefully shakes his head, "I wish I did have something to do with this, but I'm just Calanthe's metaphorical hands and feet. She's the one who orchestrated this and got the ball rolling."

His beta- His alpha, frowns, "It hasn't been that long has it?"

He sighs, then shoots a look at the vaguely irritated goblin, wordlessly asking him for patience, "It's been about six years. And yes, that means Calanthe is only seven, but she's…" His eyes unfocus for a minute as he contemplates, before he shakes himself back to the here and now, "As I'm sure you recall, Lily was very fond of contingencies. Always had to have a plan for every scenario she could think of. Unfortunately, her worst case came to pass. Dumbledore had the Potter wills sealed in the Ministry, made himself Calanthe's magical guardian, then tucked her away with the Dursleys."

Sirius shoots to his feet, unintentionally pulling the chain holding his wrists to the table taunt, "The Dursleys?! She was never-!"

He holds up a hand, "I know, but you need to calm down." His friend releases an explosive breath before flopping back into his seat. He runs a hand through his hair and grimaces, "Yes, she was sent to the Dursleys. We don't know what game Dumbledore is playing, but he put her with the Dursleys and completely neglected to get her the education she needs as the Heiress of two Houses, all while helping himself to half of her Potter trust vault every year as well as the Potter vote in the Wizengamot while trying to gain access to the family vaults and properties. She- Well, to be blunt, as soon as she realized she had money and could at the time legally request the keys to your apartment from Gringotts, she ran away. I've been staying with her as the room and board part of my employment contract as her Retainer since she doesn't fully trust adults and that lets her put me under a confidentiality agreement which makes her feel safe. That's why I said I'm basically her hands. She's worried what will happen if Dumbledore finds out she's not obediently rotting away with that bitch."

Sirius runs a shaky hand through his hair, his voice and eyes pleading, "But she's safe right now, right?"

He nods, "Yes, I've been keeping an eye on her." He smiles faintly, "She's a lot like her mom. She hasn't even been aware she's a witch for a month and she's already working on multiple projects at once."

His friend snorts in amusement. Before the conversation can continue along that vein, Stonegrip clears his throat again, "Which brings us fairly neatly into why we're here. Heiress Potter-Black is working to have your innocence proven in wizarding law, but in the meantime, the proof she's presented to Gringotts has already cleared your name and made it obvious that you are being falsely imprisoned to the Goblin Nation. Unfortunately, that puts Heiress Potter-Black in a strange position. Gringotts doesn't consider her a thief since we were the ones who wrongly gave her access to your vault and properties, but now that it's become clear that you are innocent, you aren't legally dead to the Goblin Nation as you are to wizarding society, which makes her access without your permission very much illegal."

Stonegrip's lips twitch, "Though she did manage to retain the keys to your old apartment with a rather clever defense that while the Ministry may have sealed their copy of the Potter Wills and therefore blocked our ability to properly carry them out, the Potters made it clear, in separate writing, that in such an event, they wanted Gringotts to carry out their Will to the best of their ability. She argued that between that and your obvious innocence, as far as Gringotts is concerned, you are her legal guardian, and as such you are legally obligated to take care of her physical needs, including housing."

Sirius gives the goblin a surprised look, then with a surprising amount of Noble regality given his situation, he draws himself up and proclaims, "Then I give her permission to access all that is mine, as well as forgive the former illicit dealings."

Stonegrip grins, "We at Gringotts were hoping you'd say that, since it clears up the issue rather neatly. I have all the parchmentwork you'll need to fill out for that." Then he shakes himself, "Before that though, Gringotts needs to be sure you are sane enough to make legal decisions. It certainly seems like you are giving the conversation until now, but we must be sure. I'm a certified mind healer, so with your permission?" Sirius nods and meets the goblins eye, then they both go unnaturally still. After a few moments they break eye contact and Stonegrip begins pulling out forms from his briefcase, "A bit of expected mental damage from prolonged Dementor exposure, but surprisingly sane."

Sirius bares his teeth in a humorless smile, "I held onto the thought that I was innocent like a niffler holds onto gold. Given the circumstances, it's far from a happy thought, so the Dementors can't take it from me."

Then he accepts the stack of parchment and begins looking it over.

Remus clears his throat, "Well, while your looking over that parchmentwork, I'm actually here in a fairly official capacity as well." His friend hums in confusion, but doesn't look up, so he elaborates, "Officially, I'm here as the Retainer to Heiress Potter-Black to ascertain the mental and physical status of the Lord of House Black and notify him that she is doing everything she can safely do to right the injustice done to him. Though she is holding certain things back, she requests the understanding of her Lord of the circumstances."

Sirius jerks his head up, "Of course! In fact, tell Prongslet this for me, as her Lord I'm officially ordering her not to endanger herself in any way for me. Her safety is far more important."

Remus smiles, "I figured you say something like that, but you know how Noble obligations are." Sirius nods in understanding, and he sighs, "Especially since there isn't a huge difference between what she's doing and what she could do. She's already clued Andromeda into the truth of your situation and given her evidence she can use that doesn't link back to her, but she still has some other evidence like the copy of her parents wills from Gringotts and Lily's letters and journals. She's also staying in the background and leaving things to Andromeda for the most part. It mostly boils down to a difference of being directly involved and risking Dumbledore realizing she's not wasting away ignorantly at the Dursleys, or using proxies and hiding her involvement."

Sirius smiles, "Clever as her mom. Andy's vicious when it comes to protecting her family." He sighs, "I'm just worried she won't let it go even if it becomes obvious that she's never gonna get anywhere. The Ministry doesn't like to be made a fool of, and nothing will make them look so horrifically foolish as tossing the Lord of an Ancient and Noble House into prison without questioning or trial only for it to come out that he's innocent." He hands the finished parchmentwork to Stonegrip, "That's the other reason I'm perfectly fine handing all this over to Calanthe. I want her to have the safety of my apartment of course, but also this is only going to turn out one of two ways. Either Andy is gonna get blocked at every turn and I'm gonna be stuck here unable to use any of it anyway, or I'll be freed and the Ministry will owe me reparations. At bare minimum they'll owe me a hundred galleons a day they illegally held me without trial past the one month they're legally allowed to for the sake of setting everything up." Then he frowns, "Do either of you have a spare bit of parchment?"

Remus nods and fishes some out of his bag, then hands it over. Sirius writes on it for a moment, then pushes it over to Stonegrip, "Please make a copy of that. One for Gringotts and one for Calanthe." Seeing his confused look he smiles faintly, "It's a signed notice that I'm authorizing Calanthe to act as de facto Lord while I'm pretty much unavailable, since my only possible contact with the outside world is visitors. From what you've told me so far, I'm fairly confident that she's reasonable enough not to abuse it or use it recklessly. It should help her out."

Then he runs a shaking hand through his bangs and gives a painful forced smile, "I suppose that's probably everything and it's time for me to go back?"

He grimaces in sympathy, then shakes his head and pulls a stack of blank parchment out as well as a quill. The parchment was different from the regular one he'd handed to Sirius earlier, though it was visually subtle in that it only had a silver edging along the top. The quill, likewise, didn't appear to be very special, beyond the strange silvery sheen to its black color. The almost plain look was deceptive though. These were the sort of instruments sometimes used by the DMLE in questioning, and were enchanted so that if a person magically swore to tell the truth then the ink would change color when the quill wrote down what was said depending on whether a statement made by them was truthful or not.

Sirius raises an eyebrow, and he smiles, "I'm sure you recognize these?" Getting a nod, he holds the quill to the Goblin beside him, "Stonegrip?"

Stonegrip clears his throat then wraps his fingers around the quill as though he's going to use it to write, "The Veritas Quill may register me as Stonegrip. I hereby swear to tell the truth to the best of my ability as I know it, so mote it be."

The quill flashes silver, and is passed off to Sirius, who accepts it without hesitation, "The Veritas Quill may register me as Sirius Black. I hereby swear to tell the truth to the best of my ability as I know it, so mote it be."

Another flash of silver, then it's handed back to him, "The Veritas Quill may register me as Anonymous. I hereby swear to tell the truth to the best of my ability as I know it, so mote it be."

Sirius furrows his brow, so he explains, "This is part of me being here as Retainer. I'm here to get an official account from you of what happened, but this can't link back to Calanthe, remember? And she doesn't want me to risk myself either given I'd be vulnerable to the Ministry as a werewolf."

Then he sets the quill against the parchment and taps it with his wand and turns to Stonegrip, who clears his throat again, "I am certified Mind Healer Stonegrip of the Goblin Nation. Though there is some mental damage from prolonged Dementor exposure, after examination, I hereby certify the identity of one Sirius Orion Black, registered as Sirius Black by the Veritas Quill, and that he is sane enough to provide legal testimony and make informed decisions, as well as confirm that his memories are unaltered. Certified parchmentwork on the results of the exam will be given to the questioner to be included with the parchmentwork of the interview."

He nods in satisfaction, "Anonymous, exercising the right as questioner to remain anonymous, questioning one Sirius Orion Black on the crimes he allegedly committed. Questioning is occurring under the effects of Veritas Quill on Veritas Parchment. Sirius Orion Black, do you understand the circumstances of the questioning and consent to it?"

Sirius runs his hands through his hair again, "I, Sirius Orion Black, understand the circumstances of the questioning and give my consent."

He nods again, "For procedure, Stonegrip, please state an obvious lie."

Stonegrip doesn't even glance up from where he's started filling out the parchmentwork certifying Sirius' sanity, "Gold is worthless."

He snorts faintly, then glances down at the parchment to find the statement in red ink rather than the black everything else was in, "Confirming Veritas Quill and Parchment have successfully registered the lie. Sirius Black, for procedure, please state an obvious lie."

He grins grimly, "Dementors are lovely company."

He huffs a faint laugh at that one, then looks at the parchment again, "Confirming the Veritas Quill and Parchment has successfully registered the lie. For procedure's sake, I will hereby state an obvious lie. Creation of a magical artifact is easier to do from scratch than with blueprints. Confirming the Veritas Quill and Parchment has successfully registered the lie."

Then he clears his throat over Sirius' snickering, "Sirius Black, we will begin with your most well known crime. The betrayal of the Potters, leading to their deaths. In your own words, please tell me what happened."

Sirius takes a shaky breath and he reaches over and squeezes his friend's hand. This wasn't going to be easy. It was going to be painful for both of them, but it was necessary if they wanted to have any chance of freeing Sirius.

That's really the only reason he needs to steel himself in determination for the painful conversion they're about to have.

Calanthe sighs tiredly. For all that she's only seven it feels like it comes from the depths of her soul. It's been a few months since she officially got Sirius' permission to use his stuff and act as de facto Lord in his stead. Since then things have been fairly hectic.

Her personal top priority has been studying both non-magical emergency first aid as well as magical healing, which since she can't legally obtain a wand has been an awful lot of potion research. She hasn't really been studying to make them, for the most part she's been studying it from a healer's perspective. How various potions react to one another, which are safe to use together and so on. She'd been getting a hell of a lot of practice with her writing with the notes she's been compiling on the subject, mostly because potions were usually an aid to Healers, not the primary source of healing, so the information on potions has never been compiled into one source. Or at least, she couldn't find one. But since it's her only option for magical healing, she needs it all on hand in one easy place.

After an inquiry to Brightblade about non-magical medicine vs magical healing practices, Brightblade had gotten back to her that research was ongoing in a few countries, and had already wielded results, such as the fact that certain potions if modified to be administered via IV were more effective, and in America there were already a few companies selling supplies for the mixed practices, like the modified IV potions. She swiftly set up a magical mailbox to one such medical company in America that sold such things, as well as regular potions, and stuffed dummies that were enchanted for practicing various medical procedures like stitching, putting an IV in correctly, or CPR and gave feedback on how well you did and how to improve. She'd ordered one of each and been practicing with those as well. She had quickly found that she had little talent for healing, but that was fine. Other than wanting to save her soulmate she didn't particularly have any desire to get into healing.

All of it was because of her blue soulmate. Before she'd always hoped she'd have enough time to receive medical training of some sort in the hopes of saving them, as unless she could get them to a hospital in time, it seemed like her only hope, but now that she had access to magic she was not going to wait. She had no idea when they'd meet or what her soulmate's condition would be when they did, but she wanted to be as prepared as possible. Well, actually she'd prefer to take them to a healer, but there was a leftover law from the days of magical secrecy that certified healers weren't allowed to treat non-magicals that hadn't been repealed since the magical and non-magical governments were still busy arguing about how much non-magical law applied to the magical community.

On top of that, she'd also been dutifully taking lessons in forging and weapon fighting from the mannequins. Now that she knew she had a heritage to be proud of, she was determined to uphold the traditions of her family. She'd quickly discovered that she had a little natural talent for daggers, but a surprising amount of talent for the traditional straight sword and shield combo, though learning it was slightly complicated by her small size making it more difficult to use both, so for now she was focusing on just the regular one handed straight sword.

On the other hand, much as she'd discovered with healing, she had little talent for potions. Actually, to be honest, she was kinda bad at it. It made her a little sad, seeing as it had been her mom's best subject. Her lack of talent in it felt a little like she'd lost one of the few connections she had to her mom. There was little to be done about it though. She continued to take the lessons from the mannequin her mom had made to teach her though, both so she could hold onto that connection at least, as well as the fact it was a core subject in the magical world and given that she was kind of bad at it, if she wanted to get decent grades when she had classes on it later, she figured she'd best get as much of a head start as she could.

The research, practice, and lessons alone would have taken up a huge chunk of time given how dedicated she was to them, but additionally since she was acting as de facto Lord on Sirius' authorization there were a lot of things she needed to do in regards to House Black. She'd needed to replace the Wizengamot Proxy for starters. Normally, that could only be done by the Head, or in her case someone who has the authorization of the Head, but sometime after Sirius had been tossed into Azkaban the Proxy he'd selected had suddenly retired. With Sirius unable to act and the proper Heir generally unknown but obviously existing since the Black Seat didn't automatically become inactive, a new Proxy had been selected by the old one.

Given that the Votes of the Black seat had suddenly changed after that, she highly suspected that the previous Proxy had been made to retire and his successor to the position likely selected by whoever pressured him in the first place. She'd bet money on Malfoy, given the way the new votes had been leaning. There had also been some run of the mill maintenance that was unavoidably necessary after the House had been without a Lord for so long, such as touching base with all the businesses the Black's owned for example. The sheer amount that had piled up in Sirius' years long 'absence' made her dread how much catch up she'd have to play when she could finally start sorting out House Potter without having to worry about Dumbledore. Especially since she'd have to find out if the man had abused the power he'd decided to give himself as her magical guardian to act with the authority of her and her House.

One might think that her acting as the de facto Lord would expose her as being active to Dumbledore and others, but that wasn't the case. Normally, orders from a Lord or Lady were signed with their name, but that was a social norm, not a requirement. In the past, when he wanted to keep the fact he was the new Lord quiet, Sirius had simply signed anything that needed his signature with the Lord Ring. With the authorization Sirius had given her, Gringotts had given the ring to her. She couldn't wear it, the ring would reject her because of her age, if nothing else, but the magic in it could sense that Sirius was allowing her to use it, so she'd taken to signing things the same way he used to. Given the Lord and Heir rings contained the unique magical signature of whatever family it belonged to and only released that magic into seals and stamps when the person using it possessed the authority to do so, the orders and letters she'd been sending out were easily verified as authentic without her ever having to reveal herself.

Because her handwriting was obviously different from Sirius', it had led to a belief that there was a new Lord of House Black, which had a few side effects. Groups within the Wizengamot trying to sway her to their side, people trying to take advantage of a new, possibly inexperienced Lord. She'd even gotten a particularly nasty letter from Lucius Malfoy demanding she relinquish it to his son Draco, the 'rightful, proper’ Heir of House Black. She'd contemplated responding before deciding it wasn't worth her time and just ignored it. As well as the following three letters that had somehow managed to get even more hostile and threatening then the first. They had all been dutifully filed in the temporary filing cabinet she'd acquired to keep House Black's parchmentwork separate from House Potter's.

And on the topic of House Potter and its filing cabinet, it had taken a little digging through the parchmentwork from 1282, but she'd found the proof disputing the Flint's claims she'd been looking for. She'd even gotten the full story out of curiosity by cross referencing the contract that had disputed the Flints with the same date in Iolanthe Peverell's journals. Essentially, back then the Flints had actually been a pretty decent family. They hadn't been pureblood supremacists, and they'd been fairly well off, whereas nowadays they'd almost driven themselves to ruin. Apparently, Iolanthe's older brother had saved the Flint Heir’s life when he rescued him, as well as a few other prisoners, from a group of vampires. While the young man had been on the mend in Potter Manor, he and Iolanthe had fallen in love.

Because the Flints were still decent people back then, the Potter Lord had been agreeable to the union. Since the Flints were well off at the time, the two families had come to an agreement. The Potters would waive the life debt owed to them and the Flints in turn waived the dowry. At the time, everyone had been perfectly happy with the arrangement. Though any blood relation was long since lost to time, it saddened her a bit that her great some-odd aunt's descendants had become such terrible people. Most purebloods seemed so sure they lived in a way that honored their family and ancestors, but from what she'd picked up of her great aunt and her husband's personalities through her journals, they'd be ashamed of their descendants. Absolutely rolling in their graves if they knew.

On another topic, though vaguely related, she'd set Remus to attempting to make another filing cabinet. It was… much harder than she expected. The enchantments on it were apparently maddeningly complicated. Actually, when she'd first told Remus about the cabinet, he'd seemed to think she misunderstood the explanations of how it worked. When he'd realized he was wrong, he appeared to just… shut down for a solid half hour. Apparently, while there were trunks with multiple compartments sort of like the cabinet, it was a generally accepted rule that no matter what material one used, it could only handle so much magic before it was overloaded.

The more compartments added, the fewer other enchantments like spacial expansion, or the search function, or just plain damage prevention enchantments one could add. Even with no other spells and the best materials for the job, supposedly no one had managed even 50 compartments. So her cabinet which held records going back well over a thousand years, with each year having its own compartment had almost broken the poor man. Then he'd gone out to give his compliments to her parent's portrait on managing to make another of the cabinets so she could have her own copies of the family records in the trunk.

She'd had no idea that the unassuming cabinet was such a magical marvel, though she'd been suitably impressed with her family for creating it and her parents for duplicating it. Needless to say though, even with the instructions contained in the cabinet's spell and invention drawer and with help from her parent's portrait, Remus was struggling to make another. He was very determined not to be beaten by a filing cabinet of all things though, so she'd refrained from telling him to forget about it. It was kinda funny actually. Of all the things in her trunk as well as the apartment, she hadn't expected her humble filing cabinet to be the most technically impressive.

In the meantime, he'd made her a significantly inferior version that only had compartments for the next ten years. They'd moved the desk into her room as she'd intended, and the Black Family cabinet had joined it, though the Potter cabinet had been left in the library for the time being so that Remus didn't have to go into her room anytime he wanted to examine it.

The snowy owl she'd purchased when she'd tested the disguise she'd come up with in Diagon Alley, which had worked delightfully well, comes in carrying a letter. She takes it from the beautiful bird and pets her a little while feeding her an owl treat in thanks. Her gorgeous new companion was named Gwyneira. She'd basically just searched snowy meanings on the internet and found it. Supposedly, it meant something like blessed snow in Welsh, though since she had gotten it from the internet, she wasn't one hundred percent sure of that. In either case, she'd liked the name and the owl seemed cool with it, so Gwyneira it was.

Opening the letter, she skims the update from Andromeda, then sighs again. She looks at all the parchmentwork she still has to go through, before deciding to take a break and find Remus. She finds him in the library, going over the schematics for the cabinet again. Despite the fact that its physical design was fairly straightforward, it had a lot of runes worked into it, along with the plethora of spells cast on it, so she often finds him pouring over it again and again.

She makes her way over to the table, then plunks herself down with a sigh, drawing Remus' attention, "Taking a break?"

She nods, "Mmm. I think I'm finally starting to get all the House Black stuff sorted out, but there's a lot I have to stay on top of if I don't want to end up playing catch up again, plus Andromeda sent an update about Sirius' case, and I thought you'd be interested."

He perks up hopefully, "Good news I hope?"

She shakes her head, "Unfortunately, no. She and Lady Bones are still being stonewalled at every turn. And every time they manage to break through one of those metaphorical walls, they find six more on the other side waiting for them."

He slumps, "He wasn't even questioned though, and Amelia is the Head of the DMLE. I could understand having issues getting him a retrial, but since he didn't get one in the first place, shouldn't she be able to just clear him of all charges?"

She sighs yet again, "Theoretically, yes. But in reality all of the Ministry departments are pretty much designed to be unable to act without authorization unless it's an emergency, and Dumbledore, Crouch, Minister Bagnold(1), and even the Wizengamot as a whole are all doing their damndest to tie her hands. They actually threatened to fire her and even pulled more of the funding from her department to distract her." She narrows her eyes angrily, "As if the Law Enforcement department wasn't already ridiculously underfunded already."

He sighs forlornly, "Will we ever manage to free Sirius?"

She shrugs, "I don't know, but we have to keep trying. Lady Bones has made it fairly clear that she's not going to stop. She seems to be personally offended by the injustices committed by her predecessor and the fact she's being prevented from righting them. I'm giving her all the assistance I can without endangering us and violating Sirius' orders."

Then she tilts her head at him, "As such, for the time being we'll focus on our other endeavors since we can't do more than we already are."

Years of being an assassin means that when he wakes, it's all at once, swiftly enough that most people might suck in a sharp breath or jolt. Years of training as well as his job itself have drummed such reactions out of him though. Despite the speed with which he wakes, his breath stays even, he remains still, and his eyes remain closed as he quietly takes in what's going on with his other senses. The lack of sun warming him or air circulating over his skin indicates that he's in an enclosed space and that if there are windows, either the blinds are closed or the sun isn't in a position to shine through. The strange taste in his mouth reminds him of times he's been particularly injured and given IVs, which would indicate that either the Syndicate had found him or he'd been taken to a hospital. However…

However, while the loss of blood made his memories fuzzy towards the end, he remembers how badly he'd been hurt. Bad enough that if the Syndicate had found him they would have either made excuses for his injuries and taken him to a hospital, or more likely taken him to one of their secure facilities where they had their own doctors and medical equipment. In either case he would've been hooked up to a heart monitor. And that was a problem, because the telltale beeping was missing. In fact, it was almost totally silent. If he was in a Syndicate facility, even if he was the only operative here barring the doctor or doctors, the facilities were usually small enough that he should hear them in the building, and he had been in critical enough of a condition that someone would have been left to monitor him at all times, so it's not like he would've been left in the facility on his own. And hospitals were much louder.

He couldn't even hear the sounds of cars and the like that accompanied city life. Years of constantly straining his hearing to make out the faint sounds of enemy assassins and other assailants had trained his hearing to be so acute that the sounds of a city in motion were distractingly loud, constantly pulling at his attention in his waking hours with, usually false, alarms of perceived danger, not to mention the problems it gives him whenever he tried to sleep, and as such he'd normally blissfully relish the quiet, but.

But, it was too quiet.

Not only were there no city or hospital sounds, nor the near silence of a Syndicate facility, but there also weren't any wildlife sounds that would indicate he'd been taken out of the city. No birds, no crickets or other insects. Nothing. The lack of both city and wildlife sounds would normally tell him that he was in an underground facility, but all of the Syndicate's underground facilities were small enough that if that was the case he should be able to faintly feel the currents of air being circulated and sometimes even hear it moving through the vents. That was not the case.

Even weirder, ever since he became a contractor, he's been able to sense electricity to some extent. Normally when he was in a building like this, there was a faint background buzz along his senses of the various wires carrying currents through the walls. That buzz was absent too. The only time he'd ever felt that complete absence was when he was out someplace without electricity.

All of this together put him in a curious, and possibly alarming position. Somewhere near completely silent, barring his own breathing… and the breathing of someone else in the room. Again, under normal circumstances, that would've made him assume it was an underground facility, but if that were the case he would hear them moving around performing whatever tasks they had entered his room for, not to mention the previously mentioned lack of heart monitor.

The strangest thing, however, was that from the sound of their breathing, the other person seemed to be asleep. It was possible they were faking it just like he currently was, but what reason would they have to fake sleep in the room of a man who, as far as they should be aware, was unconscious?

Deciding to risk it, he carefully opens his eyes. He's immediately pleasantly surprised, and made further suspicious of the lack of glaring lights and bleached out rooms that both Syndicate facilities and hospitals share. It wasn't even that the lights had been turned off. It was just that the room was softly illuminated by a few dim lamps gently spilling their warm orange glow over the room. It only made the absence of the electrical buzz against his senses all the more strange.

The room was also a strange place to be waking in given the extent of his injuries. Regardless of whether he'd been taken to a hospital or a facility, he should be waking in the colorless white room they both favored. Instead, he found himself in an, admittedly beautiful, room of rich brown woods and dark blue colors which seemed to be an actual bedroom, which was incredibly strange given the circumstances. He takes it in, from the fact that no, there weren't any windows, to the tidy but far from empty desk, and the wardrobe and dresser. He's drawn up short by the bedside table to his right. Neatly folded up was his coat, his mask sitting on top, and his gear laid out beside it between him and his coat and mask.

He had been wondering if he'd been abducted by a rival of the Syndicate, or even picked up by some group hoping to recruit him, but no one in their right minds would leave all his knives tucked in their sheaths in easy grabbing distance. Not even the Syndicate would do that, though in their case it was at least due to a callous disbelief that he'd need them while he was recovering, ignoring the fact that he'd feel much more at ease, safer, if he had his weapons at hand, assuming they even know that about him. While he may have been something of a cry baby when it came to killing when he was younger, he's long since grown out of it, and even back then he did everything in his power to hide any weakness from them, out of fear that they'd try to separate him from his sister or just dispose of him, if nothing else.

The sight before him though… he couldn't for the life of him think of any other way to look at it than as his mysterious benefactor wanting him to be comfortable. They didn't even need to specifically know he'd feel uneasy without his gear nearby. It could just be a wordless reassurance that they mean him no harm, or even just a simplistic understanding that people don't like to have their stuff taken. The only real question was whether it was a genuine gesture or, more likely, just a ruse.

At least, he thought it was more likely. He isn't so sure when he finally turns to his company and finds a child. She looked to be only six or seven. And was also genuinely sound asleep in the chair by his bedside. His fuzzy memory stirs at the sight of her. He'd… seen her, earlier. He'd been about to pass out when approaching footsteps had jolted him awake. When he'd turned, he'd found her staring at him, expression painted with horror and a faint amount of… expectation? He'd told her to get lost, not wanting an innocent child to watch someone die. And then he'd lost the fight with consciousness.

He observes her for a few more moments before his gaze shifts, habitually taking in where the door somewhat behind her and the vanity sitting along the same wall, before noticing the tube hanging down. Following it up, he sees three IV bags hanging up. The closest one is empty and labeled 'Blood Replenishing Potion- Standard', the second is partially tilted away from him, but the 'Sal' he can make out as well as the clear liquid within indicates is probably just a saline drip, but the third's label is unfortunately completely hidden from him by the other two.

Dropping his gaze to the bedside table to the left of the bed, he finds three empty bottles, one bottle about half full of purple liquid, two small jars, a larger jar full of cotton balls, four rolls of gauze, a large box labeled to contain dressing pads, an open case of surgical needles and thread for stitches, and a book opened near the back.

All of them, barring the book, have a visible label. One of the empty bottles says that it used to contain 'Bone Mending Potion- Bethune', another says 'Concussion Concoction- Plundell', the last empty bottle reads 'Nutrient Potion- Standard', and the half full bottle reads 'Wound Cleaning Potion- Standard'. As for the two jars, they were small fat little things, though they weren't quite the same size. The larger was nearly empty, labeled to be 'Wound Sealer- Murtlap', the smaller but almost full one said it contained 'Burn Cream- Olaughlin'.

His gaze drifts back to the young girl. He still didn't hear anyone else, and he didn't think any responsible adult would leave her alone with a strange man. Especially given that she'd found him wounded in an alley, wearing a mask, and carrying a couple rather large knives, not to mention others like the two smaller ones he hides strapped near his ankles. Which kind of implied that the kid might very well be on her own. And if that's the case, then she's the one who nursed him back to health.

After a few moments, he turns back to the bedside table and reaches for the book. Laying on top was a sheet of loose paper with hastily scrawled notes that didn't make a whole lot of sense. Shifting it aside he blinks rapidly in surprise to find that the book was written in vaguely familiar, somewhat elegant handwriting, rather than print, and that isn't even mentioning the contents.

On the left page it was open to was a table graph. Each of the columns was dedicated to a type of injury, such as broken bones or lacerations, with subcategories for mild, light, intermediate, heavy, or severe, and under each of those was a recommended Potion to take care of it. The 'broken bones' category, for instance, recommended Bone Mending Potion- Magrath for mild, Bone Mending Potion- Hanrahan for light, Bone Mending Potion- Standard for intermediate, Bone Mending Potion- Bethune for heavy, and Skele-Grow for severe. Each of the rows off to the side was dedicated to a specific Potion, with the graph filled in with which potions it was safe to mix and which weren't, with listed recommendations of alternatives, which also, he found, each had their own rows dedicated to them.

The page on the right started with the note 'You aren't a healer, in either capability nor ambition, so don't forget this stuff, or at least don't forget to check these notes!' Below that were notes explaining the reactions between various potions and the consequences for mixing them anyway. He quickly learned, for instance, that he was given the Plundell Potion for concussions rather than the standard, because he'd also required a blood replenisher, and the standard version of both potions, when mixed together, caused the drinker's blood to boil.

Glancing back at the note, it makes a lot more sense with the context given by the book. It was really just a list of recommended potions, with ones that wouldn't work together scratched out. In other words, the little girl, assuming it really was her that tended to him, was simply working through the information given by the table graph to find a suitable treatment plan for his injuries.

Flipping through the book reveals a lot of research on the potions from the graph. Presumably this was the work leading up to the making of the graph. There were also odd little notes, reading things like, 'getting a lot better at stitches thanks to that enchanted practice dummy from that company Brightblade found for me, going to have to thank him', or 'still do it every now and then so I don't get rusty, but there isn't much point to me using the dummy for IV practice anymore. Built in enchantments meant to grade my work keep saying I've got it down to a professional level. Though I have been practicing for almost a year now, so it's not very surprising.'

A change in her breathing patterns draws his attention back to the little girl. He's unsurprised to find her stirring. It's easy to tell when she wakes, even without the indication from her breathing, since she scrunches her face up and rolls her head back and forth, likely trying to work the aches out of her neck from sleeping in a chair. A moment later she curls her back and extends her arms as far as they'll go to stretch out, and blinks her eyes open with a yawn. It takes a few moments of her stretching and sleepily trying to blink herself awake before her gaze shifts to him.

She jolts in clear surprise, any traces of sleep dashed from her in an instant. She opens her mouth, pauses, furrows her brow, then closes her mouth without saying anything. For a few moments they just stare at each other, then he breaks the silence, "Were you the one who healed me?" She nods quietly, and he stares at her for a few more minutes, "Why?"

That makes her furrow her brow further. She stares at him a bit, then lifts her left leg, plants the heel of her foot on the edge of the chair, then tugs her sock down the couple needed inches to expose her ankle. At first, he's confused.

Then he feels like he's going to throw up.

Because there, curling delicately around her ankle, was handwriting. His handwriting. In a dark blue matching his eye color.

'Get out of here kid, no one your age should have to watch someone die.'

He'd meant it to be a mercy. Not wanting to traumatize some innocent kid. Instead he'd scrawled a horrific Mark onto one of his soulmates.

No one should have to grow up with a Mark like that.

Despite the fact that he feels like bile is fighting to crawl up his throat, he forces himself to lift his gaze and meet her green eyes. The vivid green matching the elegant scrawl trailing down the nape of his neck. How had he not noticed? He'd never met anyone with such an electric color of green eyes before.

It also explained why the handwriting in the book was partially familiar. Her writing was already beautiful, but it wasn't the graceful elegance that would be her real handwriting when she was fully grown, and that was always the writing that people with Marks like theirs had.

Fuck. The book. The fucking book.

The book that outright stated that she had no interest or particular talent towards healing, but revealed almost obsessive amounts of research and practice anyway.

Fuck.

He'd done this to her.

A tap on his arm draws him out of his thoughts, and he finds himself staring at the book, her research journal, eyes burning with the threat of tears, vague nausea turned to a genuine danger of puking at any moment. He doesn't want to look at her right now, isn't sure he can. But. But.

She deserves better. She deserves far more than a weak pathetic coward who can't even look her in the eyes.

He forces himself to look up. 

He might actually throw up.

She's looking at him in concern. He doesn't deserve her concern. He was already The Black Reaper, and then he'd made his appallingMark on her. He doesn't deserve her at all, the best thing he could do for her would be to walk away and make sure she never saw him again. But. 

'Please don't leave me. I don't want to be alone again.'

It echoes in his head, as grim and striking as a funeral bell. The vivid green words trailing down the back of his neck in that oh so graceful handwriting. He doesn't know what her voice sounds like, and she hasn't spoken her words to him yet, but they echo anyway.

She opens her mouth again, then closes it. He's unsurprised. It isn't time for her to make her Mark yet. She bites her lip. Then she stands, circles around the foot of the bed and over to her desk. As she's going through the drawers he takes in the room again. Her room presumably. Dark blues and rich decadent browns. Now that he knows she's his soulmate, he realizes the wood is all stained to match the other words marking his skin. Their other shared soulmate. And on that second look he recognizes the particular shade of blue too. He sees it whenever he catches a glimpse of his reflection after all. She'd decorated the room in their colors.

A lonely child surrounding herself in the only comfort she can draw from soulmates she does not know.

He's once again drawn from his thoughts, this time by her scurrying past his gaze as she circles the end of the bed again, a notebook and pen in hand, writing as she makes her way back to her chair. For a moment there's a pause before she finishes writing, during which he tries to sit up, only for his sudden movement to be stopped by his ribs flaring in pain, as well as the painful stretch and pull of stitches about to rip.

A sharp intake of breath draws his attention back to the girl to find her looking at him with alarmed concern, mouth open around unvoiced words. She closes her mouth and breathes out slowly, then sets her writing utensils where her medical journal had been and holds up a finger before scurrying out of the room. She isn't gone for very long before she comes back with extra pillows, and with quick but gentle efficiency, she helps him sit up partially and settles the pillows behind him for support. Once he's settled, she pulls her chair closer to the bed, grabs her writing supplies, glances at the clock on the wall, quickly finishes scrawling something on it, then hands it to him.

The first part is in the more elegant handwriting he'd seen in the journal, reading, "My name is Calanthe Potter-Black. Sorry for not talking, but it's not everyday you find yourself in the situation of knowing who your soulmate is before exchanging words. I don't kn-" then it shifts to the hastier, less graceful scrawl he'd seen in the note she'd used to piece together what potions to give him, "-ow what to say to be honest, hence the writing. Don't push yourself! You've only been unconscious for 16 hours! I gave you the standard blood replenishing potion so you wouldn't bleed out before I could see to your wounds, and because of that and the negative way some potions interact with each other in the body I had to use Murtlap and more stitches then I was planning on for your wounds rather than the Hoddle wound sealing potion, since I also needed to treat your broken bones afterwards. Some of the lacerations were too deep for the Murtlap to do much more than staunch the bleeding and only speed up their healing a bit. And while the bone mender will see to the broken bones, it does take time. In this span of time they would've only gone from completely broken to cracked and fractured."

He mimes writing and gets a confused look, but is handed the pen without fuss. In big letters he writes 'Hei' on it, then flips it around, "My name is Hei."

He taps the writing as he says his name, knowing that to an English speaker it sounded like the word 'Hey'. Understanding washes across her face, followed quickly by a warm smile. He hands her the writing utensils, then hesitates. His right hand drifts up to trace his fingers over the words he can never see fully without using at least two mirrors, "You… didn't see my Mark?"

She tilts her head at him, then begins writing. Now that she's not frantic to tell him to be mindful of his still healing body, she seems to have slowed down a little bit. As such, he's not surprised when she turns it around to find for all that she's shifted to writing a bit bigger so that she can just turn the notebook to him instead of constantly needing to pass it back and forth, her handwriting has returned to the more elegant version it becomes when she isn't in a rush.

The new text reads, "I saw it when I was cleaning the blood from your neck to see if there were any wounds I needed to treat, but I was more focused on healing you, so I didn't read it. Same with the Mark over your collarbone, though I couldn't have anyway for that one. I may not have been paying particular attention to your Marks, but that one was pretty clearly not written in English. I assume it's Japanese, and I've been starting to learn it when I can, but I'm still very much a novice."

He nods slowly, "I see."

Before he can think of something else to say, a look of curiosity passes over Calanthe's face, and she quickly turns the notebook back, a moment later it's turned to him again with new text, "Have you met her?"

He blinks in surprise, "No." Grows confused when he sees her disappointment, "Her? How do you know it's a woman if you haven't met her? I don't really care about gender, so it could easily be a man."

She smiles faintly at him, then shakes her head. Another pause for her to write passes, "My other Mark says 'Why yes, it's nice to meet you as well. I'm Kirihara Misaki. Generally, you're supposed to start with a greeting like that before you start dishing out life advice. Though given that you're about half my age, some people would find it rude anyway.' One of my old teachers was Japanese. She said Misaki was a Japanese girl's name. Which is why I've been learning it."

For a minute, he just stares at her, stunned. Then he glances away, "Misaki, huh?"

She nods. Silence settles between them, Calanthe apparently equally as unsure what to say now. Then his gaze finds his IV and a question pops into his head, he glances up at the bags as he asks, "Why saline? If I've only been unconscious for 16 hours, was it really necessary?" He pauses briefly, the quiet broken by Calanthe beginning to write before years of being a paranoid assassin forces him to ask, "And what's in the third bag? I couldn't make out the label."

His gaze drops to the young girl. He watches her write while he waits for his answer. She was so young. Whatever powers that connected soulmates didn't force them to like one another either way, but it was merciful enough that it was well known to outright block the development of romantic or sexual inclinations towards a minor whenever soulmates had more than a year of an age difference between them and met when one was too young. And he wasn't a pedophile to begin with, so he wasn't concerned about anything of that nature. But he was The Black Reaper. A ruthless assassin. A young innocent girl like her didn't deserve to suffer his company.

He forces himself to focus when the notebook is turned back towards him, "Potions accomplish their task by drawing on resources from the body. In a person with magic it isn't such a big deal because it can draw on their magic, and most don't even notice it. For someone without magic such as you though, it gets its energy from your body itself. With so many potions in your system, you would've died of dehydration and/or starvation a few hours ago without aid. The other bag contains nutrient potion for that very reason."

"Oh." He isn't sure what else to say to that. It goes quiet again. He finds himself staring at his hands in thought. The silence stretches significantly longer this time before he breaks it, "You… I appreciate you saving my life, I do, but... You'd be better off without me, you know. The best thing I could possibly do for you would be to leave."

Calanthe draws in a sharp breath, when he lifts his gaze, he almost flinches at the raw hurt in her gaze. The look derails him completely from what he meant to say, and he finds himself faltering, falling silent, and dropping his gaze.

Silence hangs over them, as weighted as a guillotine. Then, finally, it drops, "Please don't leave me. I don't want to be alone again."