I Shot The Sheriff
I shot the Sheriff
But I didn’t shoot the deputy
Reflexes got the better of me
And what is to be must be
Every day the bucket falls to the well
But one day, the bottom will drop out
23rd March 1974
The Hospital Wing was oddly bright that morning. Sunlight leaked through the open windows - rays of gold across the sterile space. Pomphrey scuttled around, busying herself with potions and bandages as two of the Marauders made their way to the bed furthest from the doors.
A common occurrence, were it not for change of guest in the Wing.
“Hiya, guys.” James Potter beamed from his bed - tucked in tightly and donning the classic hospital pyjamas. He seemed oddly chipper, considering the large bandage wrapped around his head; his glasses poked through a gap around his ear to keep his vision.
“Bloody hell, mate.” Pete swore, rushing closer to his bedside with a furrowed brow.
“Oh, don’t worry, Pete.” James laughed, brushing his sweet friend’s concern away. “It’s really not that bad.”
“You look like a mummy!” Pete exclaimed, frowning deeply as he hugged his friend. It seemed so out of place on the often smiling boy.
“I just hope I’m out in time for Remus’s birthday.” James again tried to wave their worries aside, despite his friends concern as he winced at the action. Pete stayed close, helping James to sit properly upright.
“Worry about yourself first, mate.” Remus frowned, shaking his head at his friend’s casual demeanour. “What happened, anyways?”
“Don’t tell the twins,” James’s eyes darted across the Hospital Wing as he chewed his lip, nervously, “Sirius’d probably try to fight the whole of Slytherin about it all if he knew that Avery snuck up on me when I was trying to set a dung bomb and got some older years to hex me.”
“He did what?” The words were spoken sharply, two voices blended in distaste. The boys turned to see the twins by the end of the bed - a plate from the kitchens packed with sandwiches and treacle tarts held by Sirius. The three boys winced at the barely contained fury that struck the twins.
“I’m fine.” James tried to reassure them, though the disbelief on their faces was obvious. “Pomphrey said that I’ll only have to be here for a day, and Fabian promised to take me for an extra practice to make up the one I’ll miss.”
Without comment, Ara placed the tray on his bedside table. For a moment, she scrutinised him - clearly identifying each injury and its cause despite the coverings. She brushed a hand over his head, a light frown across her brow. Blushing, James met her gaze, offering a nervous smile.
“Ara-” Sirius began; halting as his twin shot him an indecipherable look. One that only her siblings understood.
Wordlessly, Ara spun and walked out of the Hospital Wing.
“Odds on her just going to lunch or meeting up with the girls?” James asked, wincing as he tried to adjust in the bed - Pete rushing to again give him a hand. Sirius snorted.
“More like, Avery might be joining you shortly.”
The three non-hospitalised boys shared a look; a mix of grimace and intrigue. With a nod to their bespectacled friend, they promptly followed Ara from the Hospital Wing - Sirius guiding the route.
They barely made it to the Great Hall in time to see Ara storm through the doors. Chin raised defiantly as she glared at the Slytherin group.
Sirius didn’t think he’d ever seen Ara so mad as she stalked towards the Slytherins - shoulders rigid and chin tilted up. Without a word, she tapped on Avery’s shoulder. As he spun to face her, an almighty thud was heard throughout the Great Hall.
She had punched him so very hard that the boy fell on his bottom.
“You loathsome little cockroach!” Ara exclaimed; fist twitching, desperate to get in another hit. “I swear, just give me an excuse again. Come on and give me another excuse to hit a coward like you!” She spat, the boy cowering below her - fear turned to rage as he looked from the stone to her eyes. They both burned.
“You’re mad!” Rosemary cried, rushing to her brother’s side. The boy pushed away her helping hands, forcing himself to his feet as blood streamed from his face.
“What of it?” Ara hissed. “You’d think that you might have the intelligence to know when to quit. Let this be your warning, Avery. Don’t fuck with my friends.” She spat at the boy; Hercules flinching as she edged closer. “You think you’ve seen my madness, do you? Trust me. There is so much more, and I work very hard to keep it contained.”
Rosemary scoffed, Ara turning and locking onto the girl with narrowed eyes. She gulped.
“Just give me an excuse, Rosemary. I’d just love another excuse.” Ara growled, inching closer - fingers on her wand as she slipped it from her sleeve.
Unfortunately for Ara, her display had silenced the Great Hall. Student looked to the scene with stunned expressions; not a whisper or a gasp to be heard. It took a moment, a second of stun before their professors all rushed to try and separate the group before further violence occurred. Without thought, the Gryffindor boys ran to Ara’s back.
“Miss Black!” Professor McGonagall cried, stalking across the Hall towards the scene.
“I know,” Ara sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You can give me detention later.” The older woman gawked briefly at the girl, smoothing it into a disapproving frown.
“What is the meaning of this?” Their Head of House tried to ask, her stern frown clearly having no effect on the enraged Black.
“Didn’t you hear them?” Ara bit back, chin raised defiantly as she stared down the professor. Her eyes crackling with intensity; enough that the older witch’s breath hitched. “I’m the Mad Heiress, aren’t I?” Turning to glare down at the Averys, a small smile twitched at her lips. “You ought to go to see Madame Pomphrey. Your nose really doesn’t look right.”
With that, the girl spun and walked away - students parting on her way.
“Well, fuck.” Sirius let out a shaky laugh. His friends shot to face him, concern evident in their furrowed brows and wide eyes. “Reg is going to kill me.”
The boys turned in unison to face the Hufflepuff table. Sure enough; Regulus Black was watching them, hand gripping his fork so hard that he’d bent it. Without a word, he shook his head and stood - promptly rushing past them and out of the Hall after his sister.
——
24th March 1974
Ara Black had only been to one funeral.
Some great-grandmother of hers - married to a Rosier long ago, but never apart from her House and family. They had sat in a dark clearing as the sun set. Gnarled and twisted branches sheltering their altar, flames in every corner.
Afterwards, they had sat at Grimmauld Place, drinking tea and shrieking stories about this dead old lady that none of them had visited in years.
It had been right as Ara was almost betrothed to Malfoy; their mothers forcing them to sit together for hours. They’d gotten along in silent contempt for a while, but the arrival of Lucius’s house elf (and his subsequent mistreatment of the poor creature) had led to a great argument. The wake had ended very abruptly when half the sitting room caught alight and the Malfoy heir attempted to hit a child five years his junior.
She had to be dreaming this one, then, she decided.
She sat on a bench, her hand wrapped in a ginger girl’s that wasn’t Lily - head rested on Ronald’s shoulder. He was older in this dream, more filled out. Looking at her as though he didn’t not care for any other, quite as much as her on that dark day. It was odd. She had to be missing great chunks of information - clearly missing missing of time. The inconsistency and unchronological nature of her dreams were a little maddening at times. Especially when she just knew she was missing something. Something in Ron’s gaze that made her feel a little better, even in this dream.
There were dozens of rows of benches; the Black Lake shimmering behind them. It was odd, to see such melancholy at Hogwarts. It felt so utterly out of place. Too silent. People were whispering, but it washed over her in the wake of the birdsong. As though all the little birds had come out of the forest to pay their respects.
Siren song, a mournful display to haunt their ears. Ara involuntarily shivered - Ronald pulling his arm around her, as though to warm her up. Involuntarily, she looked up at him, spying something in his gaze that she couldn’t quite place. Only that it made her feel so very warmed. She could have watched him for hours, trying to count all his new freckles.
But the thunking steps of Hagrid pulled her from her observations as her eyes welled with tears.
There was a body in his arms. It may have been covered by purple velvet, but she knew it. It was felt, in the hopeful pit in her gut. The dread that clawed at her throat as she tried to swallow.
Hagrid placed the body on the mound with a great sniffle, pausing after to blow his nose in an almighty fashion. A short man in plain robes moved from the front row to stand by the body, looking to the silent crowd with great sorrow.
Ara steeled herself, dreading whatever name would come.
“Albus Percival Wulfric Brain Dumbledore had a nobility of spirit that brought great Light to our Wizarding society,” droned the speaker - sobs sounding at his words.
It felt as though her stomach was ripped out her bellybutton. The unsettling and nauseating reality of this dream, of this future, was paramount. There was a possibility of Dumbledore’s demise.
And she didn’t know how to feel about that.
——
“I am so very glad you were able to accept my invitation for tea.” The older man smiled, eyes twinkling as he poured their cups.
“I figured I ought to say yes at some point.” Ara muttered, eyes flicking around the crowded walls - the dark rings underneath them showing her exhaustion. She’d dreamt twice now of Dumbledore’s demise. Of his funeral and fighting in the Astronomy Tower - the words ringing clear as they’d set hexes at masked men. After the second nightmare, she’d woken to the girls in her dorm shaking her out of the terror; holding her close as she’d sobbed. Lily had stayed with her until she fell back asleep. Stroking her hair and whispering that she was safe.
If only she could believe it.
Ara’s gaze landed on the perch beside Dumbledore’s desk - lips curling upwards as she inspected the standing bird. It looked far healthier than the last time she had spied it. Feathers plush and glowing in magnificent golds and reds, stretching out into a long tail.
“Hello again.” Ara smiled, fingers itching towards the phoenix carefully. The bird seemed to sense her uncertainty, leaning upwards until its feathers brushed against her palm. With a faint laugh, she ran her fingers along its spine delicately. “It’s very nice to see you looking well.” The bird let out a chirp of agreement, preening under her touch.
“I have always found Fawkes to be an excellent judge of character.” Dumbledore spoke, sipping from his teacup. “In fact, he once helped me decide to hire Minerva to oversee my previous position.” He spoke mildly as Ara folded her hands in her lap. “Would you care for a lemon sherbet?”
“No thank you.” She replied, politely. “Forgive my curiosity-” she began.
“Curiosity is a splendid thing. I would never dare find it impertinent.” His eyes twinkled.
“Why am I here?” Ara asked uncomfortably. With an oddly kind smile, the older man placed his cup in its saucer - peering at her over his half-moon spectacles. It was bizarre, the shift in his attitude from their last meeting. Clearly, he had caught onto her trepidation. And perhaps it was unfounded. Dumbledore looked to her now with such worry and caring that she could hardly remember how uncomfortable she had been in their last meeting. He no longer looked at her as though she were some fearsome concept; he looked at her like the traumatised child she was.
Perhaps he sensed his funeral coming too.
“I believe you already know the answer.”
“I… it’s difficult to talk about my nightmares, sir.” Ara replied tersely, fidgeting her hands in her lap. “Especially considering I don’t understand them, myself.”
“I understand.” He nodded. “It is often difficult to discuss a matter that we do not fully comprehend. But it can also be a blessing to communicate the issue with another. I often find that talking through a problem can greatly help me to understand it.”
“But I don’t want to understand it.” Ara retorted, the words false even to herself. “I just want them to stop. I managed to make them stop for months.”
“I’m afraid I do not have a solution for such a problem.” He admitted.
“Do you have any theories of your own?”
“Most certainly.” He nodded. “Though, I can hardly argue their legitimacy if I do not fully comprehend the issue.”
“I dreamt that I was running through this corridor, once.” Ara finally confessed. “There were shelves lined with glowing orbs, Sirius thinks they’re prophecies. And I heard the words ‘constant vigilance’, over and over again.” For a moment, Dumbledore looked perturbed. “I’ve never met Mr Moody. But I knew his words.”
“How interesting.” Dumbledore stood, beginning to pace behind his desk. Ara merely watched on, wearily. “I maintain a regular correspondence with Alastor, and I am certain the man is unaware of your existence. How curious that you have dreamt of him.”
“I think it’s the future, sir. At least, Sirius thinks I’m dreaming of the future.” Ara blurted. “But it’s not right. It isn’t our future. At least, I don’t think so. I’m not a Seer.” She implored. “Can something be both a possibility and a memory?”
He seemed to mull over her words for a moment, hand stroking his long beard, thoughtfully.
“Perhaps you could write the exact details of this dream for my records?” He asked. “I believe this matter may be best resolved if we put our heads together. I am certain Alastor would be happy to answer any questions of ours.”
“I can do that.” She agreed. “I just… I want…”
“I understand. And I promise to do my best to help you.” He promised. “Will you be staying with the Potters this Easter?”
“Only for the final fortnight.” Ara sighed. “I promised Bella that I would be there for her anniversary. My mother wants us home for the first week.”
“Ah, Madame Lestrange.” Dumbledore’s lips turned downwards in the tiniest of frown.
“She’s not… she’s stuck.” Ara raised her left wrist - the glint of gold reflected in his spectacles. “The burden of the eldest.”
“And what a burden it is.” He sighed, deeply. “You know, I am an eldest child too.”
“I didn’t know that.” Ara admitted.
“I have a younger brother.” He explained, leaning back in his chair. “He never much fancied following our family’s footsteps, but then, neither did I.”
“Are you close?”
“Not anymore, I’m deeply ashamed to say.” He looked to the distance, a depth to his gaze that seemed impenetrable until he blinked and regarded her once more. “I shall consult my acquaintances regarding the matter. Nothing to suggest your identity, of course.”
“Who are you going to talk to?”
“Mr Ollivander, certainly. I have a friend in the Ministry, Unspeakable Weasley. His field of research centres more on the non-magical world, but he would certainly love to help. He is an incredibly kind fellow.”
“Alright.” Ara nodded, chewing at her lip. “Do you… promise you won’t tell anyone that its me? I’ve got enough in my life without people finding this out.”
“Whatever do you mean, Miss Black?”
Grimly, she held up her left wrist again; the golden metal shimmering under the lantern light.
“They said… my family keeps going on about this Dark Lord.” Ara hedged, watching intently as Dumbledore blinked in terror. “I think he wants one from each family. Each of the sacred twenty eight.”
“And he has your eldest cousin.” Dumbledore blanched, looking as though many different pieces were finally connecting in his mind. Clues from dozens of articles and investigations finally connected.
“I think he might be after me next.” She spoke wearily, fighting with her nails. “I think one from each House isn’t enough for him.”
“I will not let him claim you.” Dumbledore swore. “Let me speak to my contacts and I will find you again.”
There was nothing else to be said, really. Only a nod of understanding, of regret and hopeless optimism.
He would try, she supposed. That had to count for something.
Though, as she stood to leave, something halted her tracks.
“Sir?” Ara spoke nervously, the Headmaster looking to her with a curious brow. “It’s never too late to reconnect. I’m sure your brother misses you too.”
“I shall take heed of your words, Miss Black.” He replied, though the doubtful twinkle to his eyes suggested not.
With a nod, she strode away.