Chapter One: The Basil Vendor
"...Never give anyone unlabeled Basil..." Rodale's Encyclopedia of Herb's on making Tussie-Mussies
Time: Morning, July 13, 1995: The summer that begins the OotP
Place: The Black mansion at 12 Grimmauld Place
Molly Weasley was staring out the front window of 12 Grimmauld Place with a furrowed brow. A cleaning rag was rotating aimlessly a good six inches from the glass, as the tip of her wand sagged unheeded in her hand. Not two yards distant, on the other side of the half cleaned panes, a woman stared back. Wide set dark eyes peered intently from under her strong brow, but seemed not to see Molly.
"Mom?", came her son's voice from behind, making her jump and the rag splat on the sill. "Are you OK?"
"Ron! Don't sneak up on me like that!" Molly gasped, pressing her hand to her heart. Then she pointed at the window. "Look, she's doing it again."
The woman walked a few paces to her right, squinted in their direction for a long minute, then retraced her steps. She repeated the process moving to her left, then returning to the spot where she had started. She ignored the walkway to the front door, but seemed to be scrutinizing the whole front of the house.
"It's like she's looking right in the window!", exclaimed Ron.
"She's been there since before I started cleaning it," his mother replied." She doesn't seem to see us; how could she? Without a direct invitation she should be looking at the solid wall of one of the muggle houses; yet, she acts as though she expects to find something here." Molly fidgeted absently with her wand and continued staring out the window.
Ron asked, "How can she know we're here? Do you think Dumbledore sent her?"
"If he were sending someone we don't know, wouldn't he have told us? And wouldn't he have told her the location?," Molly reasoned.
The woman outside looked barely over five feet, with a thick, black braid of hair falling to her waist. Her face had the firm jaw and smooth brow of youth, but her eyes seemed older, and were rimmed with dark circles that stood out above high cheek bones and slightly gaunt cheeks. She moved with a puzzled hesitation, but also a cat-like grace; balancing lightly on her toes as she turned. She seemed to be holding something in her left hand, which was buried at her hip in the flowing folds of her blue cotton skirt. Below the skirt, she showed a few inches of leggings and sturdy short boots. She was draped against a chilly morning mist in a rough woven, fringed blanket, which was decorated with bold geometric designs that were partly obscured by what Molly assumed to be grass stains. This was pinned across her chest with a silver brooch set with a small blue stone. A large backpack lay nearby on the pavement.
At that moment, a tall, dark man and a teenaged girl entered from the hallway, carrying a bucket that exhaled an essence of fish bait. "There must be some way to feed Buckbeak that doesn't involve having to fumigate half the house," the girl was saying. "Sirius, what's wrong?"
Her companion had stopped dead in front of the window, his mouth open and sunken gray eyes fixed unblinking on the woman outside. His already pale face blanched and froze like ice.
"See this woman in your front ...," Molly began; then turning and seeing Sirius' face she stopped. "What is it? Do you know her?"
His mouth formed the word,"How...", but no sound emerged. The woman outside suddenly gripped the skirt folds on her left hip with both hands. Her face turned toward the spot where Sirius stood and her eyes, already large, widened. She stepped forward a few paces, then slowly extended a hand. When her fingers touched the window glass, she drew them back quickly with a look of astonishment. She felt for the glass again, then retreated a few steps. For a moment, she closed her eyes and was still except for the slight movement of her lips.
"She's casting a revealing spell!" whispered Hermione.
"No, Hermione, I don't..." Sirius had begun, when the woman opened her eyes again. With a look of resolution, she reached back for her pack, and began singing in a clear, carrying voice.
"Basil, lavender, rosemary, marjoram,
yarrow and ginseng, rose hips and rue.
Fresh herbs and dried herbs, for cooking and healing.
Herbs to find out if your love is true.
Ginseng's best picked when the moon is waning,
Basil as summer's star dries off night's dew.
Only the best herbs ..."
"What's this noisy woman doing outside the window?" said a beak- nosed man with limp, black hair as he entered from the far doorway and flung aside a decidedly damp, long black cloak . He too stopped when he saw Sirius; but his initial expression of distaste was replaced with puzzlement, when he assessed the state of the other's countenance.
"Severus, shush!", Molly whispered.
Out on the lawn, the strange woman sang louder,
"Mint grows strong as the dog of Orion
follows Apollo's fire into the sky.
Hunting the hunter's dog , faithful's the hunter,
finding the best herb's your..."
"Sirius, she's singing about you!", said the teen girl.
"Hermione, take this bucket to the kitchen", Sirius muttered, still looking out the window. The girl took the bucket, but didn't move.
"Follow the dog star and find the best bourage,
or maybe he'll sniff out Skye lovage for you..."
Severus Snape reached into his sleeve with one hand. "Miss Granger, surprise us and do as you were told," he snarled at the girl. Then to Sirius, "your girlfriend will announce us to the whole world." He pointed a wand at the window. "Dissendium." As the window slid open, he aimed at the woman, but before he could speak again, Sirius leapt forward, grabbing the other man's wrist and forcing his arm down with one hand while producing his own wand with the other.
"Accio, rapier!" he cried.
Outside the woman bit off her song with a yelp and, dropping her pack, clasped both hands on the now obvious bulge at her hip. Drug by unseen forces, she slid across the pavement toward the open window. Severus roared with rage and switched hands with his wand, but Sirius shoved him hard in the chest and stepped between him and the window. Just as the woman left the ground, Molly called, "Occultus!" A blob of the surrounding fog condensed around the levitating woman, obscuring the strange sight from those who might be watching. Out of this cloud, and in through the window, the woman flew. Her eyes started like a wild thing as she landed on her knees before them. The hilt of a partly drawn sword was visible in her clenched hands
"Incarcerous", shouted Severus, shoving his way in front of Sirius; but the green sparks had not left the tip of his wand before the woman, with a gasp, rolled to her right and produced the rest of the sword. Even as she landed on her back hard enough to force a grunt from her own mouth, plus a puff 0f dust and an angry doxie from the ancient carpet, she lifted the blade and swung it up at the binding spell. As the blade and spell connected, she twisted her wrists and the spell was repelled back in the direction it had come. She did not wait to see it's originator's astonishment at being covered in snake-like cords, but rolled again, then jumped to her feet. She backed toward the window, from which everyone else had scattered as she flew in, and placed a chair between herself and her attacker.
"Hold, hold!" she shrieked, waving one hand while brandishing the blade in the other. "I don't want to hurt anybody!"
Severus Snape was struggling unsuccessfully to retrieve his dropped wand as the cords bound his arms to his sides. Ron and Hermione had both tried to take cover behind a coat tree and were still in sort of an awkward half embrace with the stinky bucket, while Molly and Sirius each had a wand trained on the window.
Sirius waved a hand at Molly and stepped forward to stand between the strange woman and the others. "Leave her alone," he said, not taking his eyes off her. "She can't hurt you if you don't try to hurt her."
"Cool wand!", whispered Ron, gaping at the ancient looking double-edged rapier.
"It's not a wand," Sirius corrected. "She couldn't use one if it were. Unless there's some polyjuice involved, she's a muggle."
The woman's eyes swept the room with one nervous glance, then fastened on Sirius. "Am I safe here?" she asked, panting from her exertions.
Sirius gave a wry grimace. "No one is safe anywhere, as you well understood when we first met, but you will not be attacked again by these people," he said, giving one glance over his shoulder at Severus who was now red faced and grunting as he strained against his bonds. Then, turning back to her, his face grew stern. "How did you find this house?"
"I ... I'm not sure I did. I think I found you, or rather the sword was drawn to you. The blade knows it's master." As she said this, she lowered the rapier, and setting her jaw, she slowly, even ceremoniously, held the hilt out to Sirius. He looked long and deep into her frightened eyes, then grasped the hilt with one hand. The blade glowed with a cool blue light, and the rubies and cat's eye set in the basket part of the hilt seemed to burn with red and gold flames. She breathed deeply, and seemed to relax a bit. "It's really you," she whispered.
There was a pause in which even Severus' grunts were silent.
"I am not who I was," Sirius replied flatly, "and you should not be here."
"I had to know." She said. "Fourteen years, Sirius. That's a long time to not know. I had to come if only to see that you still live and are well. You said such frightening things when you left; and lately I have felt that you might be in danger."
"I told you not to follow me under any circumstances. " Sirius sounded impatient now.
Without looking away from him she asked softly, " Is she your wife?"
Sirius blinked and removed his hand from the sword hilt. "What? Ah..., no, that is not the reason. These are friends and colleagues- guests in my house- but other than some cousins, I have no living family."
"Then, may... may I... can we talk?", she stammered.
"You should not be here. I recall making you promise not to look for me." he repeated.
The woman's voice was pleading now. " I didn't take that promise lightly. See, I kept it for 14 years! Please, Sirius; I'm here because there was no alternative- at least not one I could live with." She paused and took a long breath. "Two summers ago, the rose bloomed again, and then last July I had a terrible dream that Blackie was braying in terror. Only I think it was no dream. When I woke I heard voices outside the cabin saying strange things. They mentioned you. That night Blackie got ill and he wouldn't eat, or drink, or even move. He just wasted away, Sirius!" Above the high sharp cheekbones, her dark eyes were now glistening, but her voice was steady. " And there's more to tell. But you haven't forgotten the other part of that promise, have you? I have kept it till now. Talk to me, please?" Then with a hint of a smile, she added, " We let you stay three days when we didn't know you from Adam."
"Come," said Sirius brusquely, quickly turning and starting for the door.
Molly started to speak, but before she could, a voice from the far door growled, "Undo this spell!" .
"Oh, mercy!" gasped the woman; apparently really seeing Severus bound up for the first time. "Did I do that?" She took a step toward him and he tried to retreat, almost falling as the cords restricted his legs. She stopped and partly sheathed the sword. " I'm sorry! There was no time or space to chose where to deflect the spell. Please tell me you're not hurt?"
Ron whispered something that contained the words "bull's eye" into Hermione's ear as she pretended not to hear and turned a bit pink.
"He's fine, and you did what you had to," Sirius said firmly. "Anyone should be able to take as well as give! " Saying this, he gave the slightest smirk in Severus' direction.
"Unbind me!" Severus snarled, straining harder and growing redder.
"If those ropes are magical, I probably can't!" the woman said, as she, too, started to blush. "Can one of you please help him?"
"The blade would cut them off," said Sirius, obviously enjoying a momentary flicker of horror that crossed Severus' face at the prospect of having the woman wield a sharp sword around his bound body, "but you needn't bother. Molly, if you please," he said, steering the woman to the door by her elbow. "And summon her pack too," he added as the woman pointed back at the window. " She really can't do magic. I charmed my great great uncle's old cavalry rapier to deflect spells so she could protect herself." With that he practically dragged the woman out of the room.
There were several minutes while murmured conversation could be heard from the hall. Molly removed the bindings from Severus, who was muttering something about giving charmed swords to muggle women and mandatory sentences in Azkaban.
Hermione gave Ron's sleeve a tug as he tried to inch toward the hall door. "Stop eavesdropping!" she hissed.
@2,300 words, Written 7/05; Revised 2/07; Last Edit 4/07
Prologue: Sapphire's nightmare
Time: very early morning, July 7, 1994
Place: rural Polk County, Tennessee
She was cold, painfully cold, and her eyes strained against blackness that was almost palpable. Strange sounds surrounded her -- rattlings and scrapings, as though dry leaves were stirring -- but she felt no wind. Something big and wheezy as an asthmatic bear was breathing nearby, but in the unnatural dark, she could see nothing.
Then she heard the first scream. It was her mule, braying and screaming like she had never heard it do before. She tried to call it's name, but no sound came out. She wanted to run to it, but seemed frozen in place; perhaps literally frozen. She was so cold. With great effort she tried to take a step into the blackness where the sound came from. Instantly, there were other screams. It sounded as though her mule had been joined by an equine chorus that neighed frightfully from the very air above and echoed all around.
"Blackie!" she called desperately, but her voice was so weak it was only a whisper. The breathing sounds drew closer and along with them, human voices chanting together with seeming urgency in a strange language. Was that Latin? She knew lots of botanical Latin, but it was hard to understand these words. A blazing silver light exploded before her face and she let out a strangled screamed.
With the scream, she became conscious of the bed beneath her. She heard no more of the scraping noises or voices or braying, but the blackness and cold were still there. It was hard to think, but she did note that her clothes were damp and that she was on top of the bed covers, rather than under them. She felt for the edge of the mattress and under it. Her right hand connected with the cold metal object that she sought. Now her thoughts cleared a bit. She pulled the thing from it's casing under the mattress and sat up, concentrating on the way it felt in her hand. The blackness of night in the dense woods gave way the slightest bit to a slender ray of moonlight that had filtered through the space above the cabin.
It was then that she realized she had no memory of how she came to be on top of the bed covers in damp day clothes. Her shoes were still on her feet, too. She reached left handed for a flashlight on the night table and swung her feet onto the floor. Her head swam violently and she gripped the bed, swallowing and hoping she wouldn't be ill right there. When several minutes and most of the vertigo had passed, she turned on the light. Nothing else seemed amiss in the room. Then she remembered Blackie. She switched off the light, pocketed it and stood. With great effort she steadied herself and began to move so quietly that even someone in the room with her would hear no footfalls. She reached the door of the cabin. It was closed, but when she felt for the latch, it's string was outside -- not the way she left it when she went to bed every other night of the world. She decided that the worst of the dizziness was over, and took a better grip on the thing in her hand. She put her ear to the latchstring hole. There were voices outside. Sapphire held her breath.
"Are you dead sure it worked?" said a slightly hoarse woman's voice.
"She's out cold. By the time she wakes tomorrow, she won't remember a thing," said the high, clear voice of what seemed a young man.
"I don't like it at all," said the first voice. "What will she make of this?"
"Don't that just beat everything? I never heard of dementors attacking an animal," said a deeper sounding man's voice.
Sapphire strained to hear; what had they said attacked an animal? Some sort of "demon"?
"Can we revive it?" said the woman?
"I suppose it will be all right. How can they suck the soul out of a dumb beast that hasn't one?" said the young man.
"I wouldn't be too sure about the beast not having a soul! I defy you to look into my Whisker's eyes and tell me that cat has no soul," said the woman in an offended tone. "Besides, there's something special about this animal. Did you see how it ran between her and them? I think it could see, or at least sense, the dementors and wanted to protect her."
"More than wanted," said the bass voice, "the beast almost surely saved her."
At this Sapphire realized that they must be talking about Blackie. Could she risk taking on three of them, assuming there weren't more, to see if the mule needed her help? She decided since Blackie wasn't calling her, and they hadn't made any remark that indicated they wanted to hurt him, she would stay still.
"This may be no ordinary mule," the older man continued. "Did you see how our mounts turned to it when it called out?"
"So, they're all horses of a sort," said the woman, "I don't see why they wouldn't be concerned if another of their kind was in distress. It's natural for herd animals."
"I've seldom seen a Thestral take an interest in a muggle horse. I think this mule may have mixed blood. Look at how dark it is, and bony. And even for a mule, the muscles on the shoulder are rather pronounced. Now isn't there a thestral breeder up near Lexington that's been crossing with muggle horses?"
"You're right at that!" said the woman. "So what is this muggle doing with a thestral crossed mule? It doesn't fit."
"What would a stable that breeds race horses want with a mule?" said the deep voice. "It was probably an accident, and they sold it as a farm animal years ago. She wouldn't know it's part thestral."
Sapphire thought some of this conversation definitely made no sense. She shook her head to clear it, and instantly regretted doing so, as she had to grip the door latch while the room swam around her. She had the powerful urge to sleep again. Almost she turned back to her bed, but stopped short when she heard the young man say, "Well, Sirius Black isn't here. And if this mule has had it's soul - or whatever the misbred part thestral freak has instead of a soul - sucked out, then there isn't a thing we can do. And if we stay around gabbing in this godforsaken forest, we'll be flying in broad daylight before we get home!"
"Why do you think the dementors came here if Black isn't here?" said the woman.
"Same reason we came!' the young voice answered. "They were sent here by the bureau -- obviously on poor intelligence, and likely because someone sited the mule and got curious. Having arrived and seeing there was no wizard to kiss, they took out their frustration on this animal when they couldn't get to the muggle. That would be just like those foul things. Believe me, when the Bureau chiefs read the report I'm about to write on their behavior tonight, they'll ban dementor use for enforcement activities, or I'll want to know why. But all of that aside, I swear if our own agents don't stop running out on wild Snorkack chases every time the Brits think they've sighted Black, we'll never do anything else. Ever since he escaped last year you'd think he was the only murderer in the world!"
The older man added, "Your right about one thing. We aren't any more use here, and we're running out of night. Mount your thestrals and let's go. "
"Do you really think the muggle will be OK?" asked the woman. "I wonder if you really needed to stun her?"
"She'll be fine, thanks," said the younger man curtly.
"Oh, don't get your back up with me!" the woman responded. "Better wizards than you have messed up obliviation charms..."
As Sapphire tried to make sense of this, the voices moved away. Shortly after came the sound of hoof falls; which quickened, then died quite suddenly, as though the horses had galloped into thin air. After several deep breaths, she gently pushed open the cabin door. Staying in the shadows and silent as a cat, she crossed the porch toward the paddock. By the dim moonlight, she saw Blackie standing alone. He seemed asleep, his head down, his breathing shallow and slow. A strong exhalation of roses filled the almost still air, and she turned to see a pile of blighted petals lying at the base of an ancient pink tea rose growing near the porch. In bewilderment, she reached for one blackened, drooping blossom that remained on the plant. The cool velvet petals fell apart at her touch and it joined it's fellows on the ground.
"Sirius?" she thought to herself. "What did they say about Sirius?" It was very hard to remember what she had heard, but she knew she must try. She gripped the blue jeweled brooch on her shirt and focused her thoughts. Then, even in the warm July night, she shivered violently.
@ 1600 words written from @4:00 to 5:30 AM cdt on 7/7/2005 ; Last edit 6/04/'07
Summary and Acknowledgments
A woman from Sirius' pre-Azkaban life arrives unbidden, and sets sparks in the emotional tinderbox of 12 Grimmauld Place.
PG-13: Brief violence, discreet (I hope) sex, including brief nonconsensual contact, and minimal suggestive or profane language.
Almost slavishly cannon compliant as far as book six, you should expect the tale to be rather dark. Dates are from HP Lexicon circa 2005. I did not make adjustments re. the "Black Tapestry" circa 2006.
This tale is set between the end of "Goblet of Fire" and the first days of "Order of the Phoenix." It is only fair to tell you that Harry, though pertinent to the story, does not appear in it. (He comes near it once, but is obscured decorously by a draped diaper.)
You may expect to find almost any of the other characters with which JKR peoples 12 Grimmauld Place here, and especially Sirius, Severus, Molly and Remus. (These characters are borrowed with the utmost affection and no intention of trespassing on copyright, of course.)
Any two or four legged beings that do not originate with Ms. Rowling are entirely the possession and progeny of my disturbed imagination. Some of the places,
however, are quite real. If you are unaccustomed to the marvelously musical American Indian names that abundantly bless my native sod, you should assume that they are spelled phonetically, and pronounce accordingly. (Etowah = ET-oh-wah)
If you like puzzles, metaphor and hidden meanings, there are plenty. Look in "Rodale's Illustrated Encyclopedia of Herbs" c. 1987 by Rodale Press Inc., and "The Home Garden Book of Herbs and Spices" (c. 1952) by Milo Miloradovich for clues. Others will be found in American and Scottish history, and the mythology of gems and astronomy. You can also ignore these allusions quite easily.
I must also acknowledge my reliance on "Cherokee Plants: their uses-- a 400 year history," by P. Hamel and M. Chiltoskey (c 1975), and "Nvwoti: Cherokee
Medicine and Ethnobotany," c. David Winston AHG 2001. If you are a competent botanist, I sincerely apologize for my ignorance and promise to accept any
gentle corrections with humility. If you are foolish enough to construe what is recommended by a fictional character as medical advice, I am not responsible.
This is a tale of strong, determined, intelligent people who's lives are being defined by circumstances they can barely hope to influence, let alone control. They portray constancy and jealously, conquest and sacrifice, forgiveness and resentment, anger and gratitude.
Especially gratitude - which I express here to Mary H for extensive efforts at editors duty, Linda C for sharing her knack for names, the hard working "staff" of The Penseive.org for providing a place to post this, and therefore, a reason to complete it; to "Nim, the cat" for pointing me in the right direction and giving me a push; to my cousin, Isaac, for explaining to me why I needed to write this; and, of course, to Jo Rowling, for creating such a delightful playground for her fans' imaginations to romp in. Also thanks to you for reading this humble offering. I wrote it for my own therapy, but I hope it brings you a little joy.