Mid-October, while Hogwarts students enjoyed their first trip to Hogsmeade, Saturnine relaxed in the quiet silence of the library of 12 Grimmauld Place with a nice cup of tea, elf-made cookies, and a friend.
“I’m sorry to be dragging you into this,” Saturnine apologised once she finished telling Remus everything about the bargain she made with Dumbledore. “I’d do it on my own if I thought I could. But being a teacher takes up much more of my time than I presumed it would have. And I’m afraid the headmaster will demand results soon.”
“It’s all right, Saturnine,” the werewolf replied, giving her a wide smile. “I really do not mind, and I have more than enough time to help you with this.”
“I can easily get away from the castle for a couple of hours here and there on the weekends. But during the week—Sweet Circe, it’s like I’m on-call round the clock. I thought it was just classes and grading, but there are night patrols, and students showing up to my office all the time with questions about this and about that.” She sighed, enjoying the warmth from the fire burning away in the hearth to her left. “I have an all-new understanding of the job.”
Remus chuckled slightly. “You don’t have to tell me. But I’m happy to hear students come to you with their questions. It’s a sign you’re doing a good job and that they trust your expertise.” Then, growing more serious, he added, “I’ll help you with this all I can. Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do.”
Saturnine’s good humour evaporated at that. Remus had been cooped up in the Order’s headquarters for months now, and she wasn’t sure when he had last left the Black’s old townhouse. Ever since Sirius’ death, he hadn’t been doing well. His spirits had lifted during the summer. And the afternoons spent with Harry at the cottage had done him a world of good. But now that he was on his own again, he’d apparently gone back to his old habit of blaming himself for all the world’s troubles.
Reminding herself that Remus had always done better when he had a job to do, Saturnine felt a little better about dumping on his shoulders the bulk of their research. Still, she couldn’t let him off the hook completely. “Remus, dear,” she said in the most compassionate tone she could muster.
He raised a hand to forestall her. “Please don’t.”
Their eyes met, and she held his tired gaze until he looked away. She hadn’t forgotten the shame that poured from her friend the day he’d finally confessed the truth about his lycanthropy. She had never seen him so utterly wretched before; it had looked like the poor man didn’t think he was worthy of even being alive. It was a look she never wanted to see again. And whenever Remus veered towards the path of self-loathing, she saw it as her duty to put him back on track.
They both knew what she was about to say. They’d had that discussion many times before. She said it anyway—the short version, at least. “I trust you remember what I think of that attitude. And you know what my reaction will be if you keep it up.”
Remus sighed, defeated. He looked the picture of misery for an instant. Then he shrugged his shoulders once before straightening up. “Horcruxes,” he said. “Any idea where to start?”
“With the man himself: Tom Riddle.” She had thought about it in the days that followed her encounter with Dumbledore. “We need to find as much as we can about what he’s done with his life after leaving Hogwarts—and where he’s been to. For every Horcrux he made, someone had to die. We find the victims, we find the Horcruxes.”
***
That very afternoon, the news of young Miss Bell being taken to St. Mungo’s was a blow to their side’s morale. For Saturnine, it was a sign they had better redouble their efforts to locate the Horcruxes so that they could rid the world of Lord Voldemort once and for all.
As the school’s titular Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Saturnine’s presence had been requested at once. Realising right away that they dealt with a cursed artefact, she hurriedly erected mental shields in the girl’s mind to try to protect what was left of her sanity. Next, the dark-haired witch had performed whatever healing spell she had picked up through the years to try and lessen the poor girl’s pain. But it had been too little, too late.
Even if the healers of St. Mungo’s managed to repair Miss Bell’s body, Saturnine knew her mind would be scarred for life. To think that such a dark and nefarious artefact had almost made it into Hogwarts was astounding. They’d been lucky the seventh-year Gryffindor had only grazed it, for a more direct contact would have resulted in a quick, yet very painful, death.
As she had watched the healers take Katie Bell’s body away, Saturnine wondered if she would ever see the young witch again. Few minds, she knew, were strong enough to survive the trauma her body had been subjected to.
As she walked back to the castle, lost in her thoughts, she couldn’t stop her mind from pulling up memories of Frank and Alice Longbottom. The two Aurors had fought against Voldemort and his Death Eaters during the First Wizarding War until they were tortured into insanity by a group of Death Eaters.
She had never spoken to Frank, but seventh-year Alice had been part of the Gobstones club when first-year Saturnine joined. She remembered a kind, young witch with a fierce personality—and an uncanny ability to capture other players’ stones.
Saturnine and Remus had been about to celebrate their first Christmas in France when news reached them about the Longbottoms’ attack and the subsequent arrests of Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, and Barty Crouch Junior.
Remus had been friends with them both, and the news had hit him hard. All thoughts of Christmas and gift-giving were quickly forgotten. Saturnine had sat with the werewolf on the sofa, hugging him through the worst of his tears and rubbing his back soothingly until sleep mercifully came.
Saturnine had barely made it into Hogwarts when Argus Filch came to tell her that she was expected to the staffroom at once. Whether the old caretaker knew what had happened, she didn’t know, but she wasn’t fit to put up with his fool-mood and bitterness. She barely spared the man a word as she moved past him.
She reached the staffroom at the same time as Professor Sprout. The Herbology teacher still had dirt stains on her fingers and down the front of her robes. It was clear she had left her greenhouses in a hurry. Creeping inside, Saturnine found a corner to stand in on the opposite side of where her brother stood with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked as displeased as everyone else to have been summoned to an unscheduled meeting.
Headmaster Dumbledore wasted little time recounting what had happened. And after waiting a couple of minutes to let the shock and surprise dissipate, he told his staff of his decision not to make this event public. None of the students were to know what had happened, save for the seventh-year witch present when Katie Bell was injured.
Saturnine wasn’t sure this was the right choice. Sure, the news would cause panic within the school. But lying—for whatever reason—rarely led to good things happening. And it would be harder to investigate and find the culprit if they couldn’t ask direct questions.
Once the meeting ended, she flooed straight to 12 Grimmauld Place. It probably wasn’t the smartest choice, but the odds that she would find any sleep after a day like this were slim, and she needed the comfort of a friend.
Upon hearing what had happened, Remus had gone down to the cellar to fetch one of the Black’s finest vintages, and the two had reconvened to the old townhouse’s library to drink their sorrow away. The pricy whisky was far too much for the occasion. But alcohol was alcohol, and it did much to numb the pain and fear.
“I wish I could have done more,” Saturnine admitted between two sips. She was lying on her back on the sofa, the crystal glass precariously balanced on the top of her bended knees.
“There was little to do. We both know that,” Remus said, mindlessly twirling the amber liquid in his glass. “At least you managed to lessen her pain. That has to count for something.”
“Barely seventeen,” she muttered to her glass. “Still just a child.”
Looking around at the Black’s library’s vast collection, Saturnine was reminded that more than half the volumes surrounding them were devoted to the Dark Arts—the very thing they all fought against. Perhaps it was the alcohol in her talking, but at that moment, she wondered if winning the war would solve anything. Evil was evil, and it wouldn’t end with the death of one wizard.
“This reminds me of that French song you used to listen to,” Remus commented after a moment of silence. Seeing her puzzled look, he added, “The one with the Pakistani girl.”
The memory came back to her quickly. If she concentrated hard enough, she could still remember the melody. “Ah, Salômbo.”
The werewolf took a sip from his whisky and nodded. “That’s the one—the girl who had seen too much, done too much.”
“She wasn’t supposed to touch the sacred flower, but she did anyway,” Saturnine continued. “And in so doing, started a war.” It was apropos, she figured, in a sad but poetic kind of way.
“You liked it so much that I looked up the lyrics one day,” Remus admitted with a rueful smile. “I’m not sure I ever understood what the singer was trying to say, but your French was always better than mine. Clearly, it’s a metaphor for something—the loss of innocence, perhaps?”
She agreed with Remus’ understanding of the lyrics; it was a song about the loss of something. Saturnine wasn’t sure if it was innocence, but she wasn’t the best judge of those things. Unlike young Salômbo, she had never had much innocence to lose, and it had all been gone by then. Nevertheless, she had enjoyed listening to that song on a loop, haunted by the exotic harmonies and the melancholic voice of the singer. “Perhaps,” she agreed as she gazed at the ceiling.
“Don’t be too harsh on yourself, ’Nine,” Remus said, as if sensing the dark path her mind was on. “There are casualties on both sides during the war—and victims who took no part in the fighting at all.”
“You don’t have to tell me that innocents die every day,” she said harshly, as parts of the lyrics echoed loudly in her head. “I know full well.”
Damn you for making me think of that song, she thought to herself. Talking about the loss of innocence and children getting hurt and paying the price of adults’ mistakes—it was hard not to make a twisted parallel with her own miserable life-experience. It was impossible to hold back the bitterness that wanted out of her, and it seeped into her voice as she said, “I know everything about being robbed of your innocence. About being forced to grow up in a world that is both unfair and cruel, surrounded by people who don’t give a damn what goes on behind closed doors.” She paused and turned her head to look the werewolf straight in the eye. “Thank you ever so much for reminding me; that’s just what I needed today.”
Remus held her gaze unwaveringly. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, rising and coming to sit at the end of the sofa, next to her sock-clad feet. “It never was.”
Saturnine had half a mind to throw what little whisky was left in her glass into his face. They weren’t talking about Katie Bell anymore, and she wondered if they had ever been. She looked into Remus’ warm eyes accusingly, even though she knew he’d be able to see the tears now pooling in hers.
“You need to make things right with your brother,” he advised, gazing at her levelly.
His words were like a tiny stab to her heart. “Don’t go there,” she pleaded with him. “Not tonight, please. I don’t have the strength.”
“He needs you,” Remus continued, placing a comforting hand around her calf. “Severus is all alone, on a very dark path. And trust me, that man hasn’t seen the light shine through the clouds in a very, very long time. He needs you to show him the way out; he’ll never be able to find it alone.”
It wasn’t like Remus to be waxing poetic like that, and Saturnine wondered if it was the drink talking. Thinking back on the French ballad she had discovered so long ago, she realised that something in its mysterious sensitivities had always made her think of Severus, and that realisation cut her deep inside.
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” she whispered. And something had to be said about ‘liquid courage’ because she had never dared voice these thoughts aloud before. “Or if he’ll even let me try.”
“I’d help if I could, but Severus can barely stand to be in the same room as me.” Remus looked away as old shame resurfaced. “I can’t blame him for that—what with all we’ve done to him. That poor boy.”
“Don’t,” she said, forestalling him. That, too, was a discussion they’d already had.
Remus downed the rest of his drink before turning back to face her. “For what it’s worth, I really hope your brother will let me apologise one day. I don’t care if Severus never forgives me, but I’d like to be able to say the words at least.”
Saturnine nodded in understanding. Liquid courage only lasted so long, she realised. Her eyes filled with tears again, and it was becoming harder and harder to restrain them.
“I love him so much,” she whispered. “I never stopped. Not even when—” A pained gasp escaped her lips. “But when I look at him now, it’s like seeing a stranger with my brother’s face. He’s so cold, so detached. I’m not sure if the person I grew up with is still there. And if he isn’t, I don’t want to know.”
“It’s just a mask, Saturnine,” Remus assured her. “To hide the pain inside.”
“Is it?” she asked, wanting to believe but not daring to.
He nodded. “During Harry’s third year, when Sirius was on the loose—that mask slipped. That night in the Shrieking Shack, we faced the same angry, bitter Slytherin boy we liked to harass so much. When Severus cornered us, he had that sneer on his lips and that familiar spark in his eyes. Oh, I promise you, ’Nine, it was like looking at the teenager we butted heads with when we were fifteen.”
Saturnine wished she could have been able to thank Remus for the hope his words brought her, but she was tongue-tied. It took everything she had not to break down in tears.
Remus’ hand moved up and down her calf, setting a soothing rhythm. “I think he will fight you with all he has, but you’ll have to hold on until you get through,” Remus said. “You have both suffered enough; it’s time that ended.”
Beyond words, Saturnine nodded, deciding she would. One last time, she would fight for her brother—for them both. And this time, no matter how much Severus pushed back, she wouldn’t give up. She wouldn’t abandon him again. Just like dear old Salômbo, she wouldn’t back down—never mind if she inadvertently started a war along the way.