He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother (Reprise)
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
So on we go, his welfare is my concern
No burden is he to bear, we'll get there
June 1976
There were once three siblings, traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. As they drew further from the forests and green, the siblings reacheda river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. These were no ordinary siblings, however. Draped in black and gold; yellow and red pendants around their throats. Black curls and pale skin - eyes as grey as gravestones. No, they were not simple humans.
These siblings were practiced in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. Gravestone grey, firm and steady as though built decades prior.
They were halfwayacross it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure.
And Death spoke to them. She was confused that she had lost out on three new compatriots, for travellers usually drowned in the river. But Death was not merely cunning. Nor was She vengeful or prideful.
She was kind.
As She regarded these siblings, She smiled at their display and nodded solemnly. Death congratulated the three upon their magic and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade Her.
So the eldest sibling, who was a combative girl, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence; a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand strong enough to shield them on their way ahead. Protection above all else, power only as a means of salvation.
A reward for the witch who had conquered Death.
So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest of the three.
Then the second sibling, who was as arrogant a boy as he was a decent man, decided that he wanted to press Death further, and asked for the power to recall others from Her. For the future he knew would surely pass. A timeless grief to be swayed from his mind; that knowing of worse ahead.
So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead. So he would never lose the siblings he loved so very much.
And then Death asked the third and youngest sibling what he would like. The youngest of the brothers was the humblest and also the wisest, and he did not trust Death. He had never seen Her before, and though Her soft eyes shone with gentleness, he had no faith in her promise. No faith in anything but damnation for his own blood. So he asked for something that would enablehim to go forth from that place without being followed by Her. And Death, most unwillingly and yet with great pride, handed over Her own Cloak of Invisibility.
Death stood aside and allowed the three siblings to continue on their way, and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had, and admiring Death’s gifts. In due course, the siblings separated; each for their own destination.
The first sibling traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village to seek a wizard with whom she had a quarrel. A man that had claimed her hand when she was but a child, long before she had fled duty and destiny. Naturally with the Elder Wand as her weapon, she could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving her enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest sibling proceeded to an inn where she drank and drank until her tongue loosened. Bubbles of hysteric laughter; relief and terror in utter conjunction. As she giggled ofthe powerful wand she had received from Death Herself, and of how it made her invincible.
Too caught in her victory to spy the hunger in those that fed her cup after cup. Blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon frames.
That very night, that wizard crept upon the oldest sibling as she lay, wine-drunk and blissful, upon her bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest sibling’s throat.
And so Death took the first sibling for Her own.
Meanwhile, the second sibling’s journey home took a sharp turn as his mind seared in half. He found himself in the very same inn; arriving to watch his sister’s bloodied corpse being dragged away. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of his sister, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him.
Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him by a thin veil. Her mind was separate, silent and lost to him forever in this state. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as to truly join her.
And so Death took the second sibling for Her own.
Though Death had expected to search for the third of their number for many years, She found that would not be the case. It was only after the funeral, as he could no longer bear to be so very alone, that the final brother removed the cloak and passed it onto another. Shielded his mourning friend with eyes of hazel and hair of black, and bid a silent goodbye.
He greeted Death as an old friend, and went with Her gladly. Relieved to see his siblings again, hand-in-hand, they departed this life.
Three heads of Black and Grey, walking beside a cloak as dark as their name.
And for the very first time, as Ara Hermione Black woke in a sterile bed to the orange glow of the sunrise, she finally understood her Divination Professor’s interest in her.
Death was coming for the Black siblings.
But She was coming for Ara first.
——
There was something almost pleasant about being trapped in the Hospital Wing for the remainder of term.
For starters, the Slytherins were barred from the establishment - a welcome reprieve from bitter nicknames and taunts. There were no Ravenclaws gossiping about how she’d surely failed the twelve OWLs she sat, or snickering at her haircut. It was peaceful in the Hospital Wing.
Secondly, everyone she knew seemed to have gone out of their way to bring her little gifts.
Fabian and Gideon had showed up - fresh from their final exam and holding a bouquet each. Yellow orchids mixed with daisies, wrapped in gold and orange foil. And gardenias and jasmine bundled in brown paper, tied with a white string.
They placed them on her bedside table, kissing her cheeks as they told her about their final prank of the year and all its splendour. They would’ve waited until she was well to conduct it, they sighed, but Pomphrey had told them she was unlikely to leave in time.
“You’ll have to borrow the memory from your twin.” Gideon grinned.
“It was bloody spectacular!” Fabian nodded, sitting in the chair by her bedside to hold her hand.
“I’m sorry I’ll miss your graduation.” Ara apologised, to the dramatic gasps of the boys.
“Worrying about our graduation?”
“As though she hasn’t done enough to get us through our NEWTs in the first place?”
“What silliness!”
“Indeed, Gid.”
“You focus on feeling well.” Gideon squeezed her hand too, with a kind smile. “And over summer, maybe you might visit the Manor?”
“Mum really wants to meet you. Says she’s been waiting far too long to know her niece.”
“I’d love to.” She smiled, sheepishly. “Dorea says she’d love to reconnect with her cousin, she thinks the world of your mum.”
“Mum misses her too.” They nodded.
After the Prewett twins left, half a dozen Hufflepuffs arrived in their stead. Led by her youngest brother, holding comics and ribbons and hand-made cards wishing her health and well-being.
“You can’t do that again, Hermie.” Reg whispered as he hugged her. “You can’t… I was so frightened.”
“I promise I won’t.” She nodded as they parted, reaching a hand to stroke her baby brother’s cheek (much to his embarrassment). “At least I got all my exams out the way first.” She tried to jest, only to be met by a very flat expression.
“You like like an inferi.” He deadpanned, pulling back slightly. His fingers reached towards her fringe, brushing the long strands from her vision as he smiled with sorrow. “Just… you can’t do that again, alright? You have to promise?”
Ara tried to ignore the Hufflepuffs surrounding them; all politely pretending like they weren’t eavesdropping. Shacklebolt guarding the curtain opening, looking up at the walls. Henry and David pretending to busy themselves with sorting her cards on the table. The girls in her year all investigating her many bouquets of flowers.
“I promise.” She’d nodded, willing her eyes to stay dry.
After Reg was sure she wouldn’t keel over, he let the other Hufflepuffs wish her a good recovery. Sad smiles and delicate hugs before they filtered out with waves goodbye. Mary MacDonald lingered as the rest departed, pausing only to offer Ara a miserable smile before she too left.
She slept for a while after that.
A dreamless sort of slumber, without truly dipping into subconsciousness. She could hear Madame Pomphrey shuffling around. The Marauders visited at night, her twin curling into the armchair beside her bed until Pomphrey ushered him out. Lily came with the dawn to brush Ara’s hair. Careful and gentle not to jostle her too much as she slept on.
When she finally truly woke, it was under the soft eyes of her Head of House. She was done in her usual pristine tight bun and sharp makeup - with dark grey robes. And, strangely, her left arm was pulled into a sling.
“Professor McGonagall.” Ara squeaked, trying to sit upright in a frantic flurry.
“How is it that both you and the younger Mr Black are so polite, and the other Mr Black turned out as he did?” McGonagall smiled in that way that sorrowful people did. As though it were an uncommon gesture, but by no means unfamiliar.
“He was born with all the audacity.” Ara explained with a laugh as her shoulders dropped and hands unclenched in her bedsheets. “Is there… am I in trouble?” She winced as the elder witch froze at those words; brow pinching as though utterly pained by the notion.
“Miss Black, I would like to first offer you an apology.” She blinked, utterly taken aback. In truth, Ara had expected her Head of House to scold her for not looking after herself. Or to dive into planning out meals or plotting which teachers would force her to eat. McGonagall seemingly sensed her bewilderment, sighing lightly. “As a Head of House, it is my duty to look after my cubs. And I have failed you on that regard.”
“No you haven’t.” Ara shook her head, pausing at McGonagall’s stern expression.
“When you are in my tower, you are under my care. Now, I cannot undo the past, but I can help you to resolve this.” She pinned Ara in place with a sympathetic glare. “How can I help you?”
“I don’t… I don’t know.” She replied quietly. “I don’t know why I do it. And I don’t know how to stop it.”
“Then perhaps we should begin with a conversation?”
And so they did.
Despite all the pranks and mischief the girl and her brother got up to - it was clear the woman cared for them a great deal. How could Ara not be honest?
She spoke of her anxieties, of the ash on her tongue instead of taste. The awfulness of texture in her mouth, how difficult it was to swallow. In turn, she was offered kindness and understanding. Not pity, nor disapproval. Instead she received open ears and tender words. Promises to help her with nutrient potions and to help her guardians create a battle plan to fight this illness.
Ara broke down at those words. That it was not some mental deficiency, or form of attention seeking; but an illness plaguing her mind.
Never in her years at Hogwarts did she think the Deputy Headmistress would be comforting her. Never did she think the stern woman would wrap her arms around her like a child, and soothe her.
In truth, the woman had always had a soft spot for the girl. How could she not; seeing how much she had overcome. The nightmares that Albus had tried to hide for his own knowledge that left her bleary eyed and raw in class. The missed homework that Minerva simply looked the other way regarding, knowing that they would be handed in when Ara could focus enough to write.
“You are so very brave, my sweet girl.” Minerva whispered softly, cradling her. “And I am here to help. I swear it on my magic.”
——
He was an idiot.
A great big idiot.
How was it that Sirius Black could let his twin stray so far? It felt like every other year was another tear in their bond, another pull in the thread that bound them. Every time he took his eye off his twin to enjoy his own adolescence, he look back in time to see her fall.
He’d been thirteen and excited to make friends that he could prank with. And she’d gotten betrothed while he’d been in the other room.
He’d been fifteen and wanted to dye his hair red. Like a proper Gryffindor. And she’d gone to tea and not come back for almost a week.
She hadn’t waited two years this time. Instead, she’d simply withered under his lack of attention. Sirius hadn’t been watching her properly, and she’d starved herself. By the time he’d finally noticed, she was passed out on the floor of a classroom with a dozen spectators to her fall.
How could he not blame himself?
He was the eldest brother. There was a responsibility, a duty of care that he was messing up.
No more.
“Are you planning to dally all night, or are you going to see your sister before visiting hours end?”
Sirius blinked away wetness as he spun to spy his Head of House.
“Minnie!” He cheered, ignoring her slight frown at his splotchy face and damp lashes. He focused instead on her familiar pointed hat and matching shawl - both a pretty maroon that complimented her lovely blue eyes.
He was set to tell her as such, when he noticed the most peculiar thing. Minerva McGonagall looked utterly normal, no sign of any injury or bruise upon the few inches of skin visible past her long sleeves and high neckline. Her posture was straight and her expression was flat as usual.
Except her arm was pulled up against her chest in a sling.
“What’d you do to your arm, Minnie?” Sirius prodded, leaning against the wall as he folded his arms over his chest.
The older woman looked up at him unamused.
“I broke it while riding my motorbike.” She drawled, as though those words were not incredible to his ears. “Poppy’s making me keep it in a sling for a couple of days.”
“Seriously?” He breathed, too caught in admiration to make a pun.
“Indeed, Mr Black.”
“Oh that’s so wicked. I’m telling everyone.”
“Oh certainly, Mr Black. I would expect no less.” Her lips twitched as she glanced down at him. “Though the question is of whether anyone will believe you.”
They stared each other down for a moment, broken by Sirius barking a laugh.
“Well played.” He grinned. “I knew there was a reason why Ara thinks you’re wicked cool.” He smirked, the stern woman looking at him with a roll of her eyes.
“I shall thank her for the compliment.” McGonagall spoke, turning to walk through the empty corridor. “Be sure to get to bed before curfew!” She called over her shoulder, ignoring Sirius’s bark of laughter in reply.
——
It seemed that Ara’s day would simply not end, despite her exhaustion.
Sirius had just left to fetch her some jam tarts from the kitchens; both him and the kitchen elves desperately crafting foods she enjoyed with the hopes she might eat them. It was simultaneously the kindest and most stressful thing they’d done.
His absence, with the intent to convince their Head of House that he didn’t plan to spend the night in the Hospital Wing, was Ara’s perfect moment of alone time. She planned to pull the sheet above her head, lie on her side, and stare blankly at the filtered view of her little section of the wing.
She has been just about to pull the sheet over her head to spy the hazy impression of the flickering torchlight, when a shuffle behind the curtain of her ward had twitched her ear. There were the faint presses of footsteps, before a ruffling sounded at the curtain of her bed.
Ara’s breath hitched, caught in her throat with any questioning as she twisted to wretch her wand from her bedside table. The familiar red wood warmed her palm ad she clenched it - eyes fixed as the curtain finally pulled open.
“Good evening, Miss Black.”
Though the voice was pitched to offer comfort, it provided anything but. Ara tensed an increment more as bright teal fabric swished past the curtain - a robe of bright and patterned fabric adorning the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
Albus Dumbledore had an almost pleasant expression upon his face - one of softness marred by the pinch of his brow like a child losing some silly game. The ageing wizard seemed almost sheepish despite how he swept into the space.
“Miss Black, may I join you?” Dumbledore asked politely, gesturing to the empty chair beside her bed.
“Would you even listen if I said no?” She sighed, slumping back onto the pillows. The Headmaster lingered by the curtains for a moment, uncertainly. “Sit down before you turn to stone.” She rolled her eyes. The old man did as bided, swishing his bright purple robes to sit gracefully in the chair beside her.
“I believe I ought to finish our conversation from earlier this year.” Dumbledore spoke, the twinkle diminished from his eyes. “For the past few months, I have thought deeply over your words. And I must admit, I have deliberately kept information to myself regarding you. I did it from a place of care, but I understand that it was not the correct move.”
“I don’t care.” She shrugged. “I can’t care about it, any longer. All that matters, is how you act now. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.”
“I appreciate it greatly.”
Ara gave the man a bland look.
“Go on then.” She huffed, arching a slender brow at the ageing wizard. “I presume you’re here for a reason?”
There was a pause, a solitary moment as Dumbledore seemed to steel himself - shoulders straightening - before he spoke a sentence she had not thought the man honest enough to offer,
“There was a prophecy spoken about you, by a Seer I believe you are aware of.” Dumbledore spoke gravely.
“Pandora’s mum.” Ara breathed, slotting the clues in her mind. “She spoke a prophecy that made Ollivander make my wand, didn’t she?” The teen looked to her Headmaster with accusation.
“Indeed.” He nodded, though his eerie eyes did not quite meet hers. “My contact in the Ministry, Unspeakable Weasley, has been protecting the prophecy for several years now. Since our first conversation, in fact. It does not reside with the other prophecies in the chamber; but rather in his office.”
“Smart.” She admitted.
“I can be, from time to time.” His lip twitched up in the ghost of a smile, as though he were flattered.
“Not often.” She pointed out, forcing her lips not to twitch upwards. “I think you often think yourself smarter than your actions. As though the underlying plots make every mistake turn to victory. All for your greater good, right?” She scoffed.
Albus Dumbledore, the fool that he was, seemed stunned still by her words. His blue eyes were dim, his brow puckered, and Ara wondered if anyone had ever actually told him off before. Had Albus Dumbledore, the great wizard he was, ever been told he was wrong by an alleged inferior?
And, well, while she had him there and quiet, the teen figured she ought to ask the most important question. It was time to confront her most dour suspicions.
“Why…” her breath hitched, blinking away the tears that lined her eyes, “you never helped. Why did you leave my brothers and I to rot?”
“I believed that I was doing the right thing.” The man admitted.
“Why? Why was leaving us to suffer ‘right’?” Ara scoffed.
“Suffering is what makes us human,” he sighed, “but you have simply suffered enough. Over summer, I would like to introduce you to a group I have been forming.”
“The Order of The Phoenix?” His blanch was confirmation enough. “I dream of them. Fighting against Voldemort, and losing again and again.”
“Then perhaps your presence might be our salvation.” He stroked his beard. “It is time for me to be honest with you. It is time for us to discuss exactly what I know, and everything I suspect. But not today.” He sighed. “I apologise for not looking after you as I should have. As your Headmaster, I have failed you.”
“So prove me wrong.” Ara spoke softly. “Show me you aren’t some calculating old fool, prove you care.”
“I promise to.” He nodded. “Will you be staying at the Potters this summer?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “My parents want us at Grimmauld, but we aren’t going back. Not ever.” She swore.
“May I visit? I believe your guardians would happily accept an invitation to join my alliance, and I would very much like to finally confess.”
“Alright.” She nodded, tensely. “Monty replies to his post fastest, and he actually likes you.”
“I shall send him a letter once the term has ended.”
And though she may not have entirely trusted the older wizard; she knew it was time to at least try.