Out Of The Blue And Into The Black
Harry finds the book on his second day back at Grimmauld Place. It's not hidden, the way it would be at school, and it seems to call his name.
His fingers itch with power eager to be unleashed as he reads through it. His hand is unsteady as he copies the runes, over and over, until he could write them blind.
He wakes with stained hands, healed skin. Professor Lupin leans one hip on the edge of the desk. His face is drawn, his eyes measuring.
"The spell requires two people," he says, and Harry knows he has a co-conspirator.
They work quickly, moving the furniture in Sirius's room out of the way to paint the circle on the floor. Fear of discovery keeps them silent.
"You loved him," Harry says, clutching the knife Lupin gave him as a birthday gift, a replacement for the one he lost that day in the Department of Mysteries.
"I--" Now is not the time for lies or half-truths, and Harry knows Lupin knows it. "Yes," he says finally. "I did."
"Good," Harry replies. "It won't work otherwise." Lupin nods. "Give me your arm."
Neither flinches when Harry cuts him, then cuts himself.
Hermione recognizes the handwriting on the parchment, though the symbols are drawn with more care than Harry usually takes, in reddish brown ink that makes her stomach clench.
She rushes to Sirius's old room and pushes open the door.
Harry's drawing the same symbols on Lupin's skin, quill dipping into the bright red flow of blood from his arm. Lupin lies in the middle of a circle painted on the floor.
Harry speaks. Darkness falls.
A flash of light and then, in the spot where Lupin had lain, a different body huddles.
"Harry," Sirius says hoarsely, "what have you done?"
Sirius remembers dueling, laughing, falling, and then there is nothing. He has no notion of how he's come to be back in Grimmauld Place, except that the room stinks of blood and dark magic, and Harry kneels outside a circle, dripping quill in his hand.
"Remus," he says, because Remus will know what's happening. "Where is Remus?"
"He's gone," Hermione shrieks, emerging from the shadows. She's crying. "He was there, where you are now."
"He knew what he was doing," Harry replies. The certainty in his voice chills Sirius.
"What you did to him," Hermione says.
"It was his choice."
Sirius grabs Harry's shoulders, but it's not the embrace Harry was expecting.
"What have you done?" Sirius repeats, hoarse and horrified.
"What I had to do," Harry says, raising his chin. "I brought you back."
"Harry-- Dear God, you're bleeding." Sirius uses Harry's wand to heal the cut on his palm. Harry suddenly feels sleepy, the fury driving him spent with Sirius's return.
"Missed you," he murmurs, swaying forward into Sirius's arms, laying his head on Sirius's shoulder.
"Harry--"
"You would have done the same," he insists, and now he's crying, too.
"No," Sirius says. "No." But Harry knows he's lying.
Sirius sits back, cradling Harry in his arms. The room is lit only by moonlight.
"Where did you--"
"The library," Harry says thickly.
"Of course." Sirius knows what's in that library. "There has to be a way to undo--"
Harry shoves out of his arms. "No." He snuffles, wiping his face on his sleeve. "First, I thought of Buckbeak, but it had to be a person. Someone who loved you."
Sirius's chest constricts and he feels as though he's going to pass out.
"Someone who knew the sacrifice he was making," Hermione says. "Someone willing to make it."
"There has to be something--" Sirius stops, tries to breathe, head spinning. "Hermione, the book." Reluctantly, she leaves.
Harry says, "You don't understand. You're all I have, and you were gone." His jaw is set, so reminiscent of his parents. "You can't undo it. Even if you could, I'd just do it again. So would he, and you know it."
Sirius winces.
"Don't waste it," Harry says softly, embracing him.
He buries his face in Harry's shoulder, remembering every stupid, dangerous thing he's ever done. He is not worth this, and he knows he'll never stop paying for it.