Black Dog

This is the final chapter and the Epilogue of Black Dog and both are dedicated to a specific Draco and his best beloved Neville, a marriage made heaven and also in Manchester. For those of you who haven't read A J Hall's Lust Over Pendle, you don't know what you've been missing! For those of you who have, a sequel is shortly to be published – look out for Dissipation and Despair!

Chapter Twelve

Jeannie wrung her hands. She'd read about people doing it but had certainly never done it herself. In fact, if she had been asked, she would have said she had no idea how to do it and, moreover, couldn't imagine any circumstances under which she might have to learn. Now, she tangled her fingers together under her chin and moaned as the stranger in her living room laughed happily and made a gesture that caused her husband and her brother-in-law to convulse again, screams tearing from throats already raw from screaming.

"Sirius," Jeannie wept. "Oh, please, Sirius."

"Who?" He tilted his head towards her and eyed her sidelong. "Be quiet," he warned, almost playfully, "and wait your turn."

Jeannie felt the blood leave her cheeks then, suddenly and wonderfully, she was angry. This was her house – at the moment – and she had had enough of being bullied and pushed around. She snatched up the loop of rope with which she and Dog had had so many excellent games and slashed him with it as hard as she could. It felt so good she did it again, and again.

Sirius, meanwhile, was fighting a battle of his own. The shock of the bullet wound had stunned and disoriented him – just long enough for the sick thing with it's gibbering attendant to emerge, roaring its glee to be back in charge of a body again. Snarling and writhing, Sirius battered at them with his will, clawing and grappling for self control. At Jeannie's first blow, the attendant fled, wailing. Sirius' heart lifted and he struggled the harder, crushing and pressing the sick thing into a smaller and smaller space until it was no more than a small dark kernel – like the worm at the heart of an apple. Then he was back and opened his eyes and saw what he had done.

Jeannie's hand was drawn back for another blow when she saw him come to himself. She saw his eyes close and his mouth open and his head go back. He made no sound that she could hear but she knew that somewhere, perhaps deep in his heart, he was howling.

"Sirius?" she asked.

He looked down at her and took the hand that had hit him and kissed it, holding it and the bloody rope to his face.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you, Jeannie." He paused, gazing down at the two men, and a hopeless, defeated look crumpled his face. "Where are the papers?" he asked.

"Papers? What papers?" Jeannie, confused, looked helplessly around.

Sirius sighed and said a word. Her handbag flew open and sheaf of folded sheets zipped into his hand. At another word they were joined by a pen.

"You," he said harshly to Steve who was still lying, panting, on the floor. "Sign these."

Steve looked up at him with eyes dulled with terror then did one of the bravest, and possibly most stupid things, even Sirius had ever seen. "No," he said. "She's my wife and I love her. I won't sign the papers."

"Steve," Jeannie protested. "I won't come back. Sign them and let me go."

Steve, his eyes still fixed on Sirius, shook his head once and braced himself for a renewed onslaught of agony.

Sirius looked at Jeannie and took her hand again. "I can make him," he said. "If you say the word, he'll sign them. Everybody cracks eventually."

Jeannie drew breath to give the word. "No," she sighed. "We'll run and if he follows us we'll run again."

Sirius nodded sadly and raised his wand. "I thought you'd say that," he told her, "and I can't let you live like that. It wouldn't be fair." He levelled the wand at the two men and almost sighed "Imperio." Steve and Darren's tense bodies relaxed and they listened attentively as he told them to get up.

"You," he pointed to Steve, "will sign these papers and you, Darren, will witness his signature. From this point on you will consider your marriage to be at an end. You will make no attempt to contact Jeannie and if at some time you should meet her accidentally you will treat her with care and consideration and courtesy. You will forget this address, you will forget me but, if you ever think of Jeannie again with anything other than wistful regret, you will remember the pain."

Under his instruction Darren turned to make a back for Steve to rest upon then they turned about while Darren countersigned. Sirius took the papers, folded them and placed them in Jeannie's hands. "You may go," he said to the two men.

"Good bye, Jeannie," Steve said softly. "Good luck."

"Good bye, Steve," she replied, holding her freedom tightly in both hands.

Darren, obviously wondering why his trousers were so wet, said nothing but followed his brother to the door – which burst open.

Two men darted inside, yelling, arms extended, and flame roared past Jeannie's head. She screamed and fell as something pushed her violently to the ground and she rolled over to see Sirius dodge another flash.

"'Ware Muggles," Sirius shouted as the two Aurors separated in a slick move he couldn't have done better himself. "Wands up." After pushing Jeannie to the ground he threw himself across the room, desperate to put some distance between her and himself – target of who knew what. He dodged one particularly vicious hex and blocked but did not return an immobilisation charm, then his luck ran out and he stumbled. The 'Contortio' curse hit him squarely and he choked on a scream as his body twisted, all his muscles forcing his joints back against themselves. It was painful, horrifically painful, but more to the point, with his spine bent like a bow, his jaws locked, teeth grinding and his fingers splaying sending his wand across the room to bounce off the fireplace, he was incapable of fighting back. There was only one thing left to do.

His moan of pain deepened to a gruff snarl as he began to transform, hoping that the Transfiguration would negate the effects of the curse but one of the Aurors spat a counterspell and Sirius slammed back into his own shape with enough force to rock him back, body arching. He toppled over onto his side then he screamed again as blue fire flickered from the end of the closest man's wand to play across his face and body, burning without consuming.

Jeannie was frozen with horror. Steve and Darren, cowering by the door, were too terrified to move, though they watched with sick avidity as one of the newcomers laughed and drove a kick into Sirius side.

"Got you," he gloated, then grinned over his shoulder to his companion. "Want a go, Jase?"

"Bind him, dammit," the other one said, his pale face betraying only weariness. "Leave him to the authorities. They'll deal with him."

"You think?" He slammed in another kick, nicely placed to hurt without incapacitating. "With his connections? He'll never go to trial. This way he'll get what's coming to him, the tax payers are saved the expense and as for the witnesses – well, they're Muggles. Who bloody cares?"

"I care," Jase replied as ropes spooled out from his wand, lashing Sirius at wrist and elbow and knee. "Dammit, Norden, this what we fought for – this is why he is as he is, poor bastard – so that there are proper trials, so that people aren't just thrown away… like he once was."

Norden snorted. "Azkaban's too good for this one now. I know … he was a good Auror once… but Dumbledore and the Order took him and twisted him. He did what he had to in the only way it could be done but, Fraser, somewhere along the line he began to enjoy it. If we take him back they'll find some way of letting him off and we can't let this – animal loose! There's no place for him now. It would be like taking a – a werewolf into your home. The only thing to do is put him down – now – quickly."

"No," Fraser said bleakly.

"Yes," the word was barely audible. Jeannie tore her eyes away from Norden, whom she had been watching with terrified horror, to see that Sirius had made it to his knees. "Yes," he repeated, "let it end, now." Jeannie cried out and he turned his head to face her. "They killed the dogs…the fighting dogs," he explained, "and they were like me so it would be the right thing to do. But, please, not here. Not in front of her."

"Bugger that," Norden replied with a leer at Jeannie. "It might teach her to be a bit more careful who she lets into her bed."

"No," Fraser said more strongly. "There will be a trial. He will give evidence… and we will identify and account for all the – missing persons. Then – let justice be done."

Sirius drew a sharp breath. "I won't go back," he said shakily. "Not to that."

"Scared are you," Norden sneered. "I bet you did things that would make me puke my boots up, things you wouldn't like to spend the rest of your life reliving, perhaps. Perhaps Azkaban's a better bet after all. What d'you think Jase? A small cell with a twenty-four hour watch and anti-transfiguration wards? No opportunity for your doggy tricks then, eh?"

Fraser went a shade paler and his eyes slid away from Sirius appalled face. "Shall I contact the Legate or shall you?" he asked.

Sirius caught Jeannie's eye and she saw both an apology and a farewell in his gaze as he gave her a lopsided smile. Then his face set and he sneered up at Fraser. "Don't be too quick to call your boss," he snarled. "There's only one question you want answered – you want to know what happened to Gail…you want to know how your wife died."

Both Norden and Fraser stopped dead and looked down at him.

"His wife and my sister, you sick bastard," Norden growled.

"Yes, she was, wasn't she," Sirius sighed. "After Lucius had finished with her they gave her to me. She died in my arms, Jason, in my arms. And I'd do it again."

Fraser gave an anguished gasp but turned grabbing Norden's arm. Norden shook him off. He howled a curse and levelled his wand at Sirius' rigid body.

 "Expelliarmus," the quietly spoken word cut across what Norden had begun to say. Norden's feet left the ground and he flew the few feet back to crash into and slide down the wall.

"Sir," Fraser gasped, his voice shaking.

Jeannie gaped at the new arrival, standing at his ease in the kitchen doorway. Tall and slender, robed from neck to ankles in the darkest of blues, he was fair and pale and had the coldest eyes she'd ever seen. He stepped into the room, allowing four more similarly attired men to enter, and looked down at Sirius, his wand in his hand, and shook his head.

Sirius, still on his knees, lifted his chin and stared up into the newcomer's eyes.  "Do it," he said through bared teeth. "Just do it, boy."

A tense silence fell as the other men paused with what they were doing. Two stooping over Norden, froze, bent at an uncomfortable angle. They all looked, aghast, at the fair young man.

"Boy?" he repeated, then his lips twisted in an approximation of a smile.

"I'll take that from you," he conceded, but the glance that raked the room warned that nobody else had better take any liberties. "Stay put and shut up… Fraser, can you report?"

Fraser drew a deep breath and, very succinctly described how they had come by Jeannie's address. "We were just about to contact you, sir, when we heard him use an Imperio, so we decided not to wait. When the door opened we just burst in and Norden…"

"Norden decided to save us all the bother of a trial," 'Sir' finished for him  then spoke over his shoulder to the two men supporting the unconscious Norden. "Take that back to Headquarters and toss it into a cell," he ordered. "I'll deal with it – in the fullness of time. Protheroe, take those two Muggles into the kitchen and find out what's been happening here. Young … lady, I suggest you take a seat. Matthews check the street. If anybody saw anything – you know what to do. Fraser, fetch our two observers if you will." He took a pace towards the door with the older man, laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly for a moment or two. Fraser replied, raising a hand to cover his eyes, and the hand clenched on his shoulder then fell away. "If you would be so kind, Fraser?"

"Yes, Legate," Fraser left by the front door, squaring his shoulders with a visible effort.

"I believe I instructed you to take a seat, madam." The Legate stooped to take Jeannie's hand and raised her to her feet and placed her in a chair facing Sirius.

"Legate Malfoy," Sirius voice was weak, and all his defiance seemed to have drained away. Yet he still looked up at the fair young man and spoke quite clearly. "Jeannie…the Imperio...I beg you, if you lift it, establish wards so those two men don't return. It was for her protection."

From the kitchen they could hear Steve's excited voice gabbling that 'his eyes lit up like traffic lights' and Darren's gruff confirmation. The Legate's head scarcely moved at all yet Sirius relaxed and gave Jeannie a wan smile and she realised that some kind of bargain had been made.

"No," she said, her anger beginning to return. "I don't understand any of this. I don't know who you are but, please, leave us alone."

"I'm sorry, Jeannie," Sirius told her sadly. "I'm so sorry. All I wanted was for you to be happy. I know I promised I'd look after you but the Legate is an honourable man." The Legate's eyebrows rose at that but he said nothing. He folded his arms and nodded for Sirius to continue. "He will see that you come to no harm when – when I'm gone," Sirius faltered. "I – I have debts to pay and …" he glanced up at Malfoy and flushed to see his interested and derisive expression. "Malfoy? Draco?"

"Oh, don't stop," he replied. " I just love it when you're being heroic."  The Legate's smile broadened and he bent a lucent and benign gaze upon Jeannie. "Your knight in shining armour," he told her, "is more than he seems. Far more dangerous, for a start. I'm sorry but, for your own safety, I just daren't leave him here. I only wish I could; the paperwork is going to be horrendous. For a start, he is officially dead."

"Then let us go," Jeannie suggested. "The car is packed. You could – say we escaped."

"You escaped from me?" the fair brows rose in incredulity. "Nobody would believe that." He paused, considering Sirius whose head was down again. "If my old friend and mentor there had his hands free and his wand, then yes, perhaps. But I'm afraid those ropes stay on." Jeannie took a breath to protest but he gestured with his wand and murmured a word and she sank back in the chair, fuming but temporarily - she hoped - lost for words. Legate Malfoy turned to look down at Sirius again. "You see, even I don't know where all the bodies are buried but between us we should account for most of them. The families, you understand, need to know. For instance, I can't begin to describe the feeling of – of closure that I experienced when I could see, with my own eyes, that my father was truly and irrevocably dead. And Mother, poor dear, is still euphoric."

"Why?" The word seemed to be dragged out of Sirius on hooks. "Why did you have to find me? Why didn't you just let your men finish me off?"

"That's your fault," the Legate smiled. "You taught me that when in doubt I should go with my instincts. We couldn't leave you alone… not with the amount of power you have sloshing around inside your head. The potential for accidents is enormous even without the malign promptings you must be getting from your – um – passengers. But it was also my instinct that even with your niggling little possession problem, the combination of Pettigrew's cowardice and your sheer bloody-minded strength would be enough to offset the –  other presence squatting in your psyche like a big fat leech. And I was right. Score another success to the Black Principle[1]."

"Oh…fuck," Sirius groaned.

"Yes, you've always been your own worst enemy – homicidal, malignant megalomaniacs excepted – oh, and Severus Snape." There was a short silence as their eyes met. "I never thought I'd have the chance to thank you for what you did for him," the Legate said, very softly. "You crazy son of a bitch."

Behind Sirius the front door opened and Fraser entered followed by two men. Jeannie eyed them with apprehension as they approached. One was tall and dark with a cold impersonal gaze behind narrow rimmed glasses that fixed upon Sirius to the exclusion of everything else in the room but the other's wide set, long lashed eyes met hers, warming her to the marrow.

"So," the Legate said, raising his voice a little to mask the sound of their footsteps. "Thank you and let's have no more of this tedious death wish. We both did some disgusting things and now we have to live with it. If I can do it, so can you."

"To what purpose?" Sirius asked. "What is there left for me to do now?"

"Oh, please," the Legate's lip curled delicately. "I'll accept certain things from you – up to and including you calling me 'boy' – but not and never self pity." He made an imperious gesture and the ropes fell away. "You two…you can take him now."

Hands were laid upon Sirius' tense shoulders and his eyes fixed upon Jeannie as he was raised to his feet. Jeannie drew in a breath on a sob – he looked so utterly desolate – then his nostrils twitched and his whole aspect changed. His arms swept wide and the two men flanking him were snatched off their feet and clasped to his sides, their three heads, black and tawny, close together.

"I thought you were dead. Oh, my boy, I thought you were dead." She could hear him whimpering as he held the dark young man close, kissing him on the cheek so hard that he dislodged his spectacles while at the same time trying not to lose his grip on the other one. The young man's cold mask had eased into a smile of utter relief and he stepped out of Sirius arms to urge him to pull his friend into a closer embrace, then wrapped his arms around both men.

"Gods, Moony, I've missed you so much," Sirius gasped. "When I thought you had both died I…"

The other man laughed, a joyous bubble of sound even though there were tears in it, and pressed his forehead to Sirius bloodstained cheek. "Oh, Padfoot, it was just like you not to check."

Sirius gave a wild whoop, his breath tore in his throat and he collapsed in their arms, choking on his happiness and grief.

Jeannie wiped tears from her cheeks and found that she could speak again. "There," she said, "I knew it was too good to be true. He's kind, civilised and can cook. Of course he's going to be gay!"

"That's going a little far," the Legate commented coolly, with the barest suspicion of a genuine smile curving his lips, "though he's certainly elated."

The dark haired man laughed at the Legate over Sirius shoulder. "Ignore him," he advised, "he's ignorant. This is a family reunion, Miss Lawrence. My names's Harry and Sirius is my father and Remus is – well, the closest thing he has to a brother." He gently detached his arm from Sirius grip and stepped across to take her hand. "I understand that I have to thank you for looking after Sirius while he's been so ill."

"Ill?" Jeannie began to ask but was startled as the Legate clapped his hands violently and glared round at Matthews, on the doorstep, Protheroe at the kitchen door and Fraser, who was looking on smiling wryly.

"What's this? A bloody circus?" the Legate demanded. "Matthews, get that car shifted, Fraser, Protheroe, deal with those Muggles. When Hubbard gets back I want to see him. Harry, can I trust you to question Miss Lawrence sensibly? And  Mr Lupin, Mr Black," he fixed them both with a high-nosed glare, "would you kindly stop horsing around and sit down!"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Sirius and his friend chorused. Sirius turned and seized Jeannie around the waist drawing her down beside him as he seated himself on the couch. Mr Lupin sat on the arm of it, gave her another beaming smile and seized Sirius' head between his hands, the better to examine his scalp-wound.

"Don't be such a baby, Padfoot," he murmured as Sirius tried to free himself.

Harry came to sit beside them and took her hand. "Now, Miss Lawrence or – please – may I call you Jeannie? Tell us all about it while Remus finds out whether we'll have to amputate."

She looked up at Sirius, who had his eyes closed allowing Lupin to part his hair with careful fingers.

"Is he going to be all right?" she asked Lupin who nodded, though his smile was a little strained. "Please, tell Harry what happened today," he asked.

After a couple of false starts she did, back tracking at a couple of points to describe how she had discovered that her dog wasn't the run of the mill family pet. As she spoke she felt her self control beginning to diminish. She had done very well up to now, she thought, but a bout of hysterics was long overdue and Sirius' face, under the streaks of blood, was turning grey.

"That's it, that's everything," she said, finally. "I can't tell you any more. But…but, I want to know – who are you, why are you here? Why was that man treating Sirius like he was – the Yorkshire Ripper? What," she begged, "is going on?"

Before she could draw breath she was enfolded in a loving embrace. Sirius pressed a kiss to her temple. "Don't cry Jeannie," he said. "Please, don't cry."

A hand stroked her hair and she looked up into the warm golden eyes of his friend, Remus. "Thank you," he said, "for caring for Sirius. He has the most remarkable facility for getting into trouble of anyone I know."

"Except for Harry," Sirius protested with an affectionate look at his son then winced, lifting a hand to his forehead.

Harry's eyes were dark with worry and he shot a sharp glance at Remus who sighed and nodded.

"Sirius," Harry said firmly, "That head injury must be treated – it can't wait any longer. You must come with us."

Sirius made an incoherent sound of protest and his arms tightened around Jeannie. "No, I won't," he growled. "I'm not leaving Jeannie. I promised I'd look after her," he added, simply.

"Sirius," Remus voice was very calm. "You can't look after Jeannie if you're ill, can you? Please, come with me." 

"What's wrong with him?" Jeannie asked, pulling free and standing up. She leaned forward and lifted Sirius' chin to look into his face. "Oh God, his eyes. I'll ring for an ambulance."

"No." Harry's protest was echoed by Remus and the Legate, who stepped in from the kitchen accompanied by Fraser.

"What's the problem?" the Legate demanded.

"He must have an ambulance," Jeannie cried. "Look at his eyes, look at the pupils – one's a pinprick, the other's enormous."

Sirius suddenly began to giggle. "Enormous pinprick," he said, delighted, the words slurring drunkenly.

"It's a skull fracture, then," the Legate sighed. "Would it be too much to ask that something should be simple for a change? Harry, Remus, get him up. Fraser, go ahead and warn them we're on the way. The – room is booked but tell them we want Shukely on the case, not that butcher Basing, and tell Shukely that he'd better come through if he doesn't want to die unshriven, and if he doesn't believe that, tell him that the message is from me!"

Fraser nodded and went back through the kitchen and into the garden.

"He needs to be in hospital," Jeannie said as Harry and Remus began to lever Sirius to his feet. He was shaky and kept covering his left eye with his hand.

"That's exactly where we're taking him," Remus assured her, staggering a little as Sirius dug in his heels uncooperatively.

"Jeannie?" Sirius murmured, as the two men drew his arms across their shoulders and began to move him towards the kitchen, half carrying and half dragging him. "Jeannie, come with me."

She followed, aghast, stopping to snarl at Darren . "If he dies," she said, "you'll be a murderer." But he just looked calmly at her, his face bland and relaxed, and she turned away and followed the three men into her little garden.

"Jeannie," Sirius was calling, his voice rising high and panicky as he struggled to turn around. "Please. No, no I won't go. I won't leave her. You don't understand. I have to look after her. I must! I promised! Jeannie!"

She ran to him and wrapped her arms around his chest. "Yes," she said. "I'm here." She glared at Harry and Remus.

Harry slipped out from under Sirius' arm and eased him more fully into Remus' care. Then he faced Jeannie squarely and touched her gently on the shoulder. "Do you really think either of us would do anything to hurt him?" he asked. "We are taking him somewhere where his injuries can be treated and he can be – kept safe," Harry told her. "We are very sorry but we can't let you come with us."

"But where?" Jeannie demanded. "How will I find out how he is? When will I be able to see him again?"

"Jeannie," Sirius' voice was growing more slurred. "You know I never meant to hurt you…I wanted you to be happy…I'd have stayed …I would!…I'd have loved you."

"For pity's sake," the Legate's voice was like the crack of a whip. "Get that man to hospital or cut out the middleman and take him directly to the mortuary – either way, get him out of here!"

Harry seized Jeannie's shoulders and pulled her away from Sirius, who cried out as his hair caught in her clutching hands. Left with just a few curling black strands between her fingers she sobbed up at him as his knees began to buckle. Remus caught him up with astonishing strength and held him across his arms.

"Trust me, Padfoot," he said. "I'll be with you every step of the way. Jeannie, if it's any comfort, he meant what he said. He would have stayed and he would have loved you. Harry?"

"I'll follow when I can," Harry assured him, maintaining his grip on Jeannie's shoulders.

Jeannie's cry froze in her throat as the two figures winked out of existence with a dull pop. "What…where is he taking him?"

"Somewhere he can get the help that he needs," Harry replied, evasively.

"Whether he wants it or not," the Legate added, appearing at her elbow and deftly extracting the strands of Sirius' hair from between her fingers. "Stupefy."

"Draco," Harry scowled as the Legate swayed aside leaving Harry to grab Jeannie's unconscious body.

"Pretty little thing," Draco commented, "and, my, doesn't she look like your esteemed housemate. Sirius has some major baggage to unload…as, I understand, has Ms Granger. Perhaps, with them back together, your memory modifications will work properly." He nodded at the woman in Harry's arms. "Where do you want her?"

"Anywhere she can wake up comfortably, having had a peculiar dream. I feel so badly about this. She didn't deserve any of it."

"Sirius didn't deserve what happened to him," Draco pointed out, winding the black hair round his fingers, "and certainly doesn't deserve what will happen to him over the next few months, assuming they can mend that hard head of his. Shukely's the best of the bunch but they're all butchers in the secure unit at St Mungo's."

Harry looked sharply at him. "Sympathy for Sirius? From you?"

Draco's lip curled scornfully. "Don't kid yourself that you know the half of it, Potter," he replied. "With all that he went through so you could get your shot at Voldemort – it's a wonder he's even as sane as he is. And that is why, of course. You know, when I was on my Auror training, he was in charge of our Muggle Familiarisation Course. I hated it. I especially hated the night he took us all to what I believe they call a 'disco'. But that night I saw him pull the best-looking woman in the room by offering to take her out into the car park and show her his broomstick. There's just not enough of that kind of lunatic self confidence in the world."

As Harry laughed, remembering the night very well for his own reasons, Draco levelled his wand at his fingers, whispered a word and slipped a small dark object onto one of Jeannie's fingers. "That should do it," he said with a self satisfied grin.

"What?" Harry peered down at her hand. The ring was black and shiny, jet perhaps, and carved with a star. "Draco, what did you do?"

"There's powerful magic," Draco smirked, "in the last wishes of a dying man – even if he's subsequently revived. She'll be loved by somebody and whoever he is will stay with her. It only seems fair – after all, Sirius did …um…introduce me to my ... significant other."

Harry shook his head, having given up trying to guess when and how Draco would drop his pose and perform one of his occasional acts of grace. They both stood looking at Jeannie then Draco sighed.

"Well," he said, "are you going to stand there all day or are you going to do something useful?" He removed the woman from Harry's arms and went into the house where, after a moment, Harry heard his voice raised, its hectoring tone clearly audible.

Harry followed him into an, apparently, empty house. Outside he could hear the powerful engine of a car receding down the street and Matthews voice speaking soothingly. Footsteps crossed the floor of the room above but, where he stood at the door between the kitchen and the sitting room, all was quiet. He looked about him – at the bloodstains on the carpet and sofa and sighed. The clean-up gangs would be arriving soon and he didn't want to have to run the usual gauntlet of hushed voices and pointing fingers. He retrieved Sirius' wand from where it had rolled against the fireplace and, after a moment's hesitation, picked up the loop of rope. He smiled at it, remembering the absurd picture on the television of a laughing kennel maid in a low cut t-shirt, stooping to play tug of war with an enormous black dog. How much of that, he wondered, had been genuine canine playfulness and how much his godfather's natural eagerness to cop an eyeful? He coiled the rope against his palm and went back out into the garden – Sirius would be needing something to remind him how to have fun. He shook his wand into his hand then stood, nonplussed. There was no point going to the hospital yet – Sirius' head wound would be being treated and Remus was perfectly capable of negotiating the exact terms of his subsequent – well, he supposed exorcism wouldn't be too strong a term to use. How that would be accomplished he had no idea but the thought filled him with disquiet. He felt the sudden need to be at home, for warmth, for understanding company, but there would be nobody there. Remus would be staying with Sirius until he was able to leave St Mungo's. Harry knew this. To leave Sirius alone there without the calming presence of a loved one would merely create the situations they all wished to avoid. Hermione … she would be staying at the Burrow, certainly until further notice, possibly for good.

Something Dumbledore had said to him shortly before he died suddenly came to him.

"It's a hard path, Harry," the old man had said, "and few of us are strong enough to bear it. And those of us who are, have to get used to walking it alone."

He sighed and hefted the piece of rope. There was nobody to hear the pop as he disappeared.

**

Jeannie awoke as the afternoon light streamed from the bathroom window, across the landing and into her eyes. She winced. That had to have been about the worst migraine of her life but she was feeling much better now. Slowly she pushed back the duvet and sat up, the pale green silk of her best nightslip sliding glassily over her skin. Puzzled, she smoothed the fine material. She must have felt ill to have put this on. Sighing, she reached for her dressing gown.

Downstairs, in the kitchen, she drew herself a glass of water and stood sipping it and looking down the garden. A patch of grass, a few tomato plants, pot marigolds, glowing more brightly in the warm light than such simple plants had any right to. The house was utterly silent and she had never felt so alone. She turned her head and looked at the hook on the back door.

"Pull yourself together woman," she said, shaking her head to dismiss the vision of a loop of rope and a long leather leash.

She had just turned towards the fridge to find something to eat when she heard a bark and the doorbell rang.

**

Epilogue

That day there was a lazy wind. At least, that's what Remus called it – a wind that couldn't be bothered to go round you but went straight through instead. However, the sky was bright and there were primroses growing in the sheltered spots and everywhere, bleating, skipping, suckling with their little tails awag, were this years lambs. He liked lambs, he remembered.

There had been hell to pay at the hospital. "I cannot see that it is the best interest of the patient to be reminded of such events," Shukely had said. "It would be better for him to put it all behind him, forget about her."

"I disagree," Remus had said firmly. "He is still desperately concerned for the woman, still assuming responsibility for her welfare. To see that she is well and content can surely only be therapeutic for him. Perhaps then he will be able make a fresh start but now…"

Shukely had pooh-poohed this, reminding Remus that he (Shukely) was an expert in magically induced dementia while Remus was only a concerned by-stander.

At the raised voices, he had felt the beginnings of the familiar panic, the overwhelming desire to retreat, withdraw, to hide behind a façade of warm black fur, but the binding spells prevented that. He hid in a corner instead, turning his back and attempting to lay his nose on his paws, but both nose and paws were the wrong shape. Shukely had sighed in exasperation and called for an orderly.

"See," the doctor said. "At every opportunity he reverts to his Animagus form. Failing that, he assumes the persona of the dog as he is doing now.  To keep him a human mind in a human body is requiring a degree of force that can only be applied here. No, Mr Lupin, he must complete his course of treatment and you must forget the unfortunate young woman. She can contribute nothing to Mr Black's recovery. She was only a Muggle, after all."

Remus had smiled sweetly and had produced incontrovertible discharge papers signed by the Minister himself and then laid into the man, telling him exactly what Remus thought of both Shukely's 'treatments' and his attitude.

"Antediluvian bollocks" had been one phrase that had particularly stuck in the mind and he said it again now, lingering lovingly over the syllables.

"Yes, that's right," Remus said, cheerfully, his cloak collar turned up and his scarf wound about his neck. "Come on, then. Let's see if we can find her."

Shukley had had to give in but not without many a protest. "How on earth will you cope with him?" he had demanded on the day they had come to collect him. Harry had shrugged, more intent on clipping the lead securely to the collar than mollifying Shukely's outraged medical pride.

"Well, you've tried thaumic shocks, immersion in ice water, sleep deprivation and plain old fashioned brutality," Harry replied. "So it occurred to us to try a different approach and we consulted an expert in animals. He recommended that we try rewards and kindness."

"It's got to be worth a try," Remus added. "Plus a little bribery, bargaining and a rolled up newspaper if absolutely necessary."

So far it seemed to be working and today Remus had decided that he was ready for this.

The house in Mafeking Row had been different. Children had answered the door and said no Miss Lawrence didn't live there any more and he had begun to feel really bad. Then their Mum had come and said that she had seen Jeannie going for a walk – that way. He knew what that meant and led Remus down the street and up the lane and onto the hillside overlooking the town. Remus had laughed, puffing a little at his heels.

"Wait a bit, my legs aren't as long as yours are," Remus had gasped and had grabbed his arm. But now they were high up on the windy hillside with all the little town laid out before them. There was the street, the pub where they had arrived and that – just there – was the butcher's.

He looked around, pushing his hair out of his eyes. That had been one of his big successes. Shukely had had it clipped short for the whole of the time he was shut up – short so it was easy to stick those things on his head. As soon as he was free he worked it out all by himself - they couldn't stick those things, the things that hurt, on properly if your hair was really long. Remus and Harry had been so happy, when they let him out one morning and made him change back, to find his hair had grown back to its old length. Once he'd cracked the skill of dressing himself he'd be almost back to normal.

There was nobody to be seen walking on the path so that meant she would be … yes.

In a hollow in the side of the hill, shielded by the ridge from the worst of the wind was an old wrought iron bench and there, as he had hoped, she was.

Remus stopped and lay a hand on his arm but he wasn't about to go any closer.

They sat together, his arm along the back of the bench around her shoulders, her head resting in the hollow of his neck. The dog with orange eyebrows trotted purposefully about with a large splintery stick clamped in its jaws.

He drew breath to speak but, as so often happened these days, he couldn't think of the right words to say. Instead, he looked up at the sky, at the clouds racing across the fine blue dome of it that slowly blurred into a dazzle of white. After a moment or two, he looked down again and Remus reached out with his handkerchief.

"You did this," Remus said softly. "Look, you can see it. She's happy."

"Happy?" he repeated.

"Yes, you made her happy. First when you were with her and then by letting her be with him. Who is it? Do you know him?"

He studied the man for a moment. Of course he knew him. He remembered a number of excellent walks, a strong hand patting his shoulder and rubbing his ears. A name came to mind.

"Tag," he said, then his breath began to come short and his eyes were wet again. He turned to Remus, putting out a hand. "Please," he begged.

"You must learn to cope, you know. We love Padfoot but we love you, too," Remus said gently. "Oh, Sirius! Well…it is the first time today…go on then, but only for a little while – just…as far as the top of the lane. Promise?"

"Promise," he replied and carefully gathered the enormous amounts of power at his disposal, feeling his pain distance then deaden.

The world was now drab and grey but the smell of it was … wonderful!

Remus' scent was sharp with concern and worry so he pushed his head against Remus' hip until Remus sighed and laughed. "Come on, Padfoot," he said.  Then Remus turned to walk away, murmuring something about needing a holiday and paying a visit to the seaside when the weather improved a bit, but he paused, looking back at the couple on the bench.

Happiness was what he had wished for her – did it matter so much if it was not with him? The man leaned closer and she turned up her face to be kissed. The little dog jumped up, his paws on her knee. Happiness was what he had wished for her and his wish seemed to have come true.

"Padfoot!" Remus voice rang down the cold wind and the black dog barked once in farewell and, plumy tail waving, trotted over the ridge and away.

**

END

**

Well…that's it. Many thanks to the few brave souls who read it right from the beginning, including those couple of chapters when I was messing around pretending to be Henry Williamson and following the rule 'why use one word when twenty-eight will do'.

Prequels are currently under construction. For those of you who are desperately worried about Sirius and want to know whether he makes a full recovery, a sequel already exists  - a one shot called Writer's Block. It's bad but answers a few questions. An illustrated version of Black Dog, including the R bits, is in the pipeline.

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[1] Ch3 The Black Principle still taught in Auror school – 'Instinct first, thought when the smoke clears'.