Author's Note: Don't own Harry Potter, though I wish I did.
I started writing this fic about a year & a half before OoP came out, so it is definitely from that particular era. So, sorry if parts of the fic are utterly cliche now, but they weren't when I started this fic! I do take particular pride in my Hermione subplot. To my knowledge, I'm the only (?) author who's pulled that particular act of insanity, & it's based on SS & PoA. And trying to create the craziest plot imaginable. Hope I've succeeded.
I'm a traditional shipper, but I really enjoy putting strange twists on everything. And the ships I hate, I make it so the characters are related & therefore hooking up would be incest & morally wrong. I do add in a lot of OC's, because I happen to think they're fun. My main OC, Isabelle, is a type of anti-Mary Sue. If she had her way, she so would be. But where would the fun be in that?
Also, I do admit to using way too much music in my fics. Not songfic, but when a song is so perfect for the scene, who am I to resist?
It is so freaky to re-read this, since I wrote it so long ago. I have to admit it's not that bad, but it's not my best work. So, don't give up on me, 'k? And don't forget to hit that lovely review button. Love those.
Chapter 1
Severus Snape briskly walked through the hallways, and up to Professor Dumbledore's office. He paused at the door, knocked, and entered the room, closing the door tightly behind him. Professor Dumbledore, seated behind his desk, motioned for him to sit in the leather chair nearest to the desk.
"You wanted to see me, Professor Dumbledore?" he asked.
"Yes, Severus. As you know, Lord Voldemort has returned, to his full power. I need every available witch and wizard I can get to help defeat him. Because of this, I need to ask you a favor."
Snape bristled. He knew what was coming next, and he didn't like it one bit.
"Severus, you know that I cannot force you to divulge the whereabouts of Isabelle Evans and Grace Black. I helped you perform the spell, and I do not know who or where they are." He smiled. "I know that you have reservations about exposing Isabelle, but she would be a wonderful asset to Hogwarts in these trying times. And an asset to Harry, as well."
"Yes, but what of Grace? It would be nearly impossible to expose Isabelle, and not Grace. And we agreed, that as long as Black was a criminal, that it was in Grace's best interests to protect her from ridicule."
"Something tells me that Sirius might not be on the run much longer," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle in his eye, and withdrew a old, yellowed envelope.
"What is that?" Snape inquired, through narrowed eyes.
"It seems that Isabelle wrote a letter the night that the Potters died, right before you found her. A Ministry official found it among some old, undelivered mail, and gave it to me the other day, luckily. The letter, combined with the children's testimony, should be enough to set Sirius free."
Severus Snape stared into the fire. He was not fond of Sirius Black, and never had been. There were only two things that they shared in common, and one was lost to the past. The other, however, was a love for the same woman - Isabelle Evans. Isabelle. Severus knew that the one thing that Isabelle wanted more than anything was for Sirius to be free, and to have her family back. It ate at Snape that helping the one person he loved would also help the one person he hated. He thought for a few minutes, and looked at Dumbledore.
"Alright. Speaking of Isabelle, please excuse me. Tonight is her birthday, and I want her to have one good night before facing all of the demons of her past."
"Of course," said Professor Dumbledore. Isabelle Evans must be a snake charmer, he mused, if she was able to soften Severus Snape's hardened, bitter heart.
-----
Harry laid down on the bed, and stared at the ceiling. He had only arrived at Number Four, Privet Drive an hour ago, but it already seemed like an eternity. Memories from last week clouded his mind–the horror of Lord Voldemort's return, Peter Pettigrew's weak, sniveling face, Cedric Diggory, laying there dead, the ghost of his parents. His parents...
More than anything, Harry missed his parents right now. A dull ache filled his chest, as he thought of the parents that he'd never met. Lord Voldemort, the most powerful Dark wizard in a century, killed Harry's parents fourteen years ago. Miraculously, Harry escaped Lord Voldemort's curse, leaving Harry with a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, and Lord Voldemort on the brink of death. Everyone thought that Lord Voldemort was gone forever, but with Peter Pettigrew's help, he had returned, more evil and powerful than ever.
Wormtail. It was Wormtail who had betrayed Harry's parents to Lord Voldemort. Most people believed that Sirius Black, Harry's father James' best friend, was the Potters' secret keeper. But, Sirius and Peter Pettigrew switched places at the last minute. Peter framed Sirius for the Potters' murders, and Sirius was sent to Azkaban, the wizards' prison. Sirius escaped from Azkaban in Harry's third year at Hogwarts, and had remained on the loose ever since. Although Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Professor Dumbledore knew the truth, there was no evidence to free Sirius.
Harry sighed. Sirius was his godfather, and he desperately wished for Sirius to be proven innocent, so that he wouldn't have to live with his horrible relatives, the Dursleys, anymore. Mrs. Dursley was Harry's mother Lily's older sister, and hated magic. So did her stuffy husband, and rotund son Dudley. Dudley was especially cruel to Harry, bullying him around and generally making his life miserable. When Harry arrived at Privet Drive, his trunk with all of his spellbooks, wand, and broomstick were locked in the cupboard downstairs. The Ministry of Magic prohibited underage wizards from performing magic on holidays, but luckily Fred and George Weasley taught Harry how to pick locks last year. All Harry needed was an opportunity.
"Harry! Harry! Dinner," shouted Aunt Petunia.
Harry rolled his eyes, and sat up on the bed. He slowly made his way downstairs and into the kitchen, where two pieces of toast and a small piece of fried ham were on his plate. Obviously Aunt Petunia hadn't given up on Dudley's diet, considering the outrageous bill of his custom-tailored uniforms last year. Aunt Petunia was on a quest this summer to reduce Dudley's size to at least a small elephant. The only thing that kept Dudley's temper in check was that Harry got even less food than Dudley did, so Harry made a mental note to write his friends immediately for more food.
"So, Dudders, are you ready for our holiday to Spain?" Uncle Vernon inquired from behind his newspaper.
Spain? Harry thought. Why would they go to Spain?
"Oh, yeah, Harry. We're looking to expand the drill market into Spain this year, so the boss is sending me out there tomorrow to look at the potential mill site. Aunt Petunia and Dudley are going along, too, to look at the sights, so you're going to stay with Mrs. Figg for the week," Uncle Vernon said.
Ugh, Harry groaned inwardly. Mrs. Figg, with her house full of cats, and nothing to do except listen to her old stories and look at her photograph book for the millionth time. Luckily, Harry hadn't stayed with Mrs. Figg since before he went to Hogwarts, but it seemed that his luck had finally run out.
Harry poked at his dinner, and asked to be excused from the table. Sadly, he sat back down on his bed, and closed his eyes, thinking, can this day possibly get any worse? Fortunately, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon seemed to forget about him in all of the hustle and bustle of packing for Spain, so Harry was able to hide, quietly, in his room.
-----
Sighing, Isabelle exited the Interstate and turned onto Broad Street. The winding road with its magnificent view of the James River usually lifted her spirits. The view on top of Church Hill took her breath away the first time she saw it, and had never lost its effect. Richmond unfolded beneath Church Hill, a city full of industrial factories, antebellum mansions, and modern buildings. Often, Isabelle took her breakfast outside on the lawn, and watched the city wake up. But tonight, she barely noticed the night skyline as she pulled into her parking spot, and walked into her loft.Kicking off her shoes, Isabelle padded across the living room, and dropped into a leather chair. She grabbed the remote from the end table, and flipped on the television set. Surfing through five sports games, three action movies, and two infomercials, she settled on a rerun of the Fresh Prince of Bel Air.
Across the room, a shadow quietly crept up to the chair and pulled her hair. Isabelle jumped up, and laughed. "One day, you are going to get hurt doing that," she said.
"But not today," Severus Snape replied. She looks so fragile, he thought. What if Dumbledore was wrong? He didn't know what had happened to her, the intense pain of it all. What if she's better off here, where she can't be hurt anymore?
"Earth to Snape. Hello???" Isabelle's voice jolted him out of his thoughts. "What's with you tonight? I'm talking dinner, and you're off somewhere in never-never land. Is anything wrong?"
Swallowing hard, he chose his words carefully. Isabelle always saw through a lie, and luckily, she hadn't heard about what happened at Hogwarts last week. "Well, to be perfectly honest, there is something that I want to discuss with you. But, not now. I was just thinking about how long it's been since I've seen you, that's all. And dinner–that's already taken care of." Snape pointed in the direction of the dining room.
A beautiful antique lace tablecloth covered the dining room table, which was set with fine bone china. The soft candlelight reflected off beautiful, gold-rimmed goblets, filled to the brim with perfectly chilled wine. Tears filled Isabelle's eyes, which quickly turned to laughter when she recognized the food on the table. Chocolate frogs, fizzing wizzbees, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans–it looked like half of Zonko's candy shop!
"Happy thirtieth birthday, Isabelle," Snape said softly.
Laughing, Isabelle turned around, and hugged him fiercely. After all, he was the only family she had left, really, and he had always managed to know exactly how to make her feel better about anything. Even turning thirty years old.
"Come on, already!" she exclaimed. "Do you know how long it's been since I've had a chocolate frog?"
Between chasing frogs and spitting out unsavory Bertie Bott's beans, Isabelle caught Snape up on several months' worth of dancing anecdotes. She had finally quit performing in the Richmond Ballet, preferring to work instead as a dance instructor. The cut in pay had been difficult, but her joy of teaching more than made up for the sacrifice. She was so consumed with telling him about her lesson plans for the fall, that she didn't realize that she was completely manipulating the conversation. Which was perfect, as far as Snape was concerned. He was looking to avoid questions about his job, anyway.
-----
Sirius felt like a caged animal, pacing Dumbledore's office back and forth, wearing a trail into the rug. The door opened, and Sirius whirled around, expecting Professor Dumbledore. He only hoped the dementors weren't with him. Exhaling a sigh of relief, Sirius nervously laughed. It was only his longtime friend, Remus Lupin."Expecting someone else?" Remus asked with a small grin.
"Expecting something else," Sirius replied. After escaping from Azkaban, the dementors who guarded the prison had been hunting for him. Cold, lifeless beings, the dementors slowly drove the prisoners into insanity by removing all hope from their minds. As a final punishment, the dementors would administer their kiss, which sucked the soul of the prisoner out of his body, leaving only the empty shell. Sirius shuddered.
"Dumbledore sent me an owl last night. I figured that you would need all of the support that you can get. How were you discovered?" Remus inquired.
Sirius sighed. "I was talking to Harry in the hospital wing, and didn't realize that Madame Pomfrey had walked into the room. By the time that I realized she was there, she had seen me, and it was too late. She ran up to Dumbledore's office, so he had to report me to the Ministry of Magic."
Suddenly, the door flew open, and Dumbledore strode in and sat down behind his desk. Remus and Sirius nervously pulled up two leather chairs to the desk, and sat.
"Well, Sirius, the news is both good and bad. The Ministry will provide you a trial, if you voluntarily turn yourself in. Ministry officials are willing to conduct an inquiry into your case, since no trial was held fifteen years ago. However, the punishment, if convicted, is a life sentence in Azkaban. I was able to convince the Ministry not to allow the dementor's kiss. This is the good news."
"And the bad news?" Sirius groaned.
"The trial is tomorrow at noon."
-----
Isabelle tossed and turned for hours until falling into a fitful sleep. Her dream transported her to another place, to a memory long thought forgotten...The house was empty. Empty of furniture, and empty of people. Isabelle wandered up and down the hallways, stopping occasionally to peek into a room. She paused at her parents' bedroom, turned the handle, and walked inside.
A lump filled her throat as she saw the empty space where furniture once stood. The magnificent brass bed, the quilted coverlet, the rocking chair by the window–all gone. All sold by her sister Petunia, after her parents had died two winters ago when Isabelle was only six years old. Her mother had died first, of the cancer, people whispered. The cancer turned her vivacious mother into a lifeless ragdoll, and the change had been too much for her father to bear. Six weeks after her mother was buried, her father left the house with a pistol, and never came back.
Petunia and her new husband had moved back into the house to take care of the estate, and look after Isabelle. But, after the money had been sorted, the furniture sold, and the house scrubbed down, Petunia's husband took a job far away selling drills, and Petunia left with him yesterday. She overheard Petunia telling Vernon how happy she was that her other sister was moving back into the house so that she could get rid of Isabelle. It seemed that she simply was a part of the property, passed from sister to sister. Besides, she heard her sister say, what if Isabelle was one of them?
Isabelle's sister Lily was a witch, and Petunia hated magic. In fact, Petunia hated anything out of the ordinary, so it was no surprise that Petunia despised Isabelle's tomboyish ways and refusal to act like a "girl". Isabelle refused to be dressed up like a doll, so she spent most of her time outside hiding in the cliffs to avoid Petunia. She didn't really remember Lily, because Lily was usually away at school, and had been since she was born.
Lily had just graduated from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and was set to arrive at the house any minute. She had taken a nearby job in Dover, as an assistant researcher at the Institute to Preserve Magical Artifacts. Her best friend Gina also had a job there, so she was going to be moving in, too. Along with three other people, but Isabelle couldn't remember exactly who. It's awfully hard to make out names through keyholes sometimes.
All of a sudden, Isabelle heard a horrible racket at the front door. She ran for the closet, and shut the door.
"Isabelle! Isabelle, where are you? Isabelle!" shouted a voice from downstairs.
Lily Evans was in a panic. Her sister had been left alone, all last night, and all day. What if something had happened to her? She had thought Petunia would've at least had the decency to wait until Lily had gotten there, but as soon as Lily was on her way, Petunia left. Never mind that the average thinking person would realize that a cross-country journey with five people and all of their belongings would take more than a few hours.
"I'll kill her! I'll kill her!" Lily shouted in a rage.
Isabelle tensed up. She hadn't expected a warm reaction from Lily, but an actual death threat sent her into a panic. Quickly, she ran to the window, opened it up, and scooted down the lattice work to the ground below, careful to avoid the rose thorns. She looked around, saw no one, and ran for the cliffs. At least no one would find her there.
She ran, stumbling, through the open field, stopping at the cliff's edge. The house overlooked the magnificent white cliffs of Dover, and it was a spectacular sight. She slowed down, and walked down a crudely marked trail to an old Roman fort. This was her retreat. Covered by ivy and partially hidden by the cliff, the fort was undistinguishable from its surroundings. Isabelle hurried inside, drew up her knees to her chest, and cried herself to sleep.
Two hours later, Isabelle woke up, hearing the sound of a whistle. The whistle came closer and closer, until it stopped on top of the fort. Isabelle scooted further inside the fort, but the noise alerted the whistler to the fort below. Slowly, a figure came into view, and sat down at the entrance of the fort, leaning against the right side.
Isabelle stiffened as a pair of grey-brown eyes met her own. She crossed her arms, and sat in stony silence, not looking away.
The stranger's eyes looked away, towards the English Channel. "Beautiful view, isn't it?" the stranger said.
Isabelle replied, "It's prettier at sunset. The waves are positively nonexistent this time of day. So go away, and leave me alone."
The stranger didn't say anything in reply, but simply stretched out his legs in the doorway. He was younger than Vernon, she thought, but not by much. However, he's certainly a lot skinner than Vernon, she mused, and couldn't help but giggle thinking about Vernon's beefy frame. The giggle seemed to encourage the stranger, because he turned around to face Isabelle.
"Would you like to see a trick?" he asked, taking a deck of cards out of his pocket. Not waiting for a reply, he shuffled the deck. As he was about to finish, the entire deck of cards exploded in his face into little pieces. Isabelle giggled as the pieces reassembled themselves, and shuffled back together perfectly. Maybe this stranger wasn't mean, after all.
"Do it again?" she asked.
"Sure," he replied, as the pack exploded again. "Want to see something else?"
"Like what?" Isabelle inquired curiously.
"Like this." All of a sudden, bubbles of all different sizes and colors filled the fort. The bubbles suddenly sprouted, tiny, perfect gold wings and flew out the entrance over the water.
"Wow." Isabelle was enraptured by the figure before her, with his grey-brown eyes, dark hair, and chiseled face.
"I don't believe we've been properly introduced," said the stranger. "I'm Sirius. Sirius Black," and he put out his hand.
"Nice to meet you, Sirius Black," she said as she shook his hand. "I'm Isabelle Rose Evans, and no one wants me," she whispered softly.
"Now, why would you say that?" Sirius asked, his head cocked to one side.
"Because, my sister Petunia left yesterday, and when my sister Lily came, she walked in and shouted that she was going to kill me," Isabelle began to cry.
"Hey, come here," Sirius said. Isabelle flew into his arms for the first real hug she had received since her mother died, and cried on his shoulder. "Lily didn't want to kill you. She wanted to find you because she was worried about you. She wanted to kill Petunia for leaving you alone all night and all day."
"Really?" came the muffled reply.
"Really. She's been looking for you for hours. We all have."
"Who's we?"
"We are Lily, your sister, and James, her boyfriend, who also happens to be my best friend. And James' twin sister, Gina, and our friend Remus. Oh, yeah, and me. So why don't you come back up to the house with me, so you and Lily can give us a tour?"
Isabelle smiled. "Ok. Race you," as she scampered out of the fort, legs flying. For such a small girl, Isabelle was quite fast, and Sirius kept losing his footing on the cliffs.
"Come on!" she shouted.
"I'm trying!" came the reply from below.
"Try harder!"
Sirius finally got to the top of the cliff, and with great effort, caught up with the little girl, panting.
"Ok. You win. How about a piggyback ride?" he asked, and Isabelle happily climbed on his back, and the two made their way back to the house.
From a hundred feet away, Isabelle could see Lily's face, framed in the doorway.
"Isabelle!" she screamed, and ran towards Sirius and Isabelle. "Isabelle!"
"Isabelle!" came a voice close to her ear. "Isabelle!"
Isabelle shot up in her bed, nearly hitting heads with Severus. "Oh, sorry!" she exclaimed. "I didn't realize you were here. I don't even think I realized I was here."
"Weird dream?" he asked.
"Very." Shaking her head, she firmly put the memory out of her mind. Those days were a lifetime ago. "So, what do I owe the honor of a nighttime visit?"
Severus knitted his brow. He still wasn't sure this was a good idea, but he spoke anyway. "Well, I forgot to tell you about your birthday present. The thing is, we have to disapperate to get there, and because of the time change, we have to leave at 5:30 a.m."
He wouldn't quite meet her eyes, as she mulled over his statement. "Five-thirty a.m.? Five-thirty–does that mean we have to account for another time zone?" she mused. Severus shifted uncomfortably.
"Time zone–five-thirty–hmmm...," she thought. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. "Five-thirty a.m. is 11:30 a.m. in England! You're taking me to England tomorrow!" she exclaimed with joy. "For lunch? Shopping? The ballet? Tell me!" she begged.
"Nope. It's a surprise. Now, go get some beauty sleep," he replied as he walked out of the room.
-----
Harry woke up with a jolt. Uncle Vernon was standing over him, yelling something that he just wasn't awake enough to hear."Harry! Wake up! We're leaving in ten minutes," Uncle Vernon puffed.
Harry quickly dressed and stepped out into the hallway. It was chaos. Clothes, shoes, and suitcases were everywhere, taking up nearly all of the walking space. Dudley was throwing games and toys out of his bedroom into a large duffel bag to keep him occupied for the plane ride, Harry guessed. Aunt Petunia stepped out of her bedroom, and snapped at Harry to start loading the car.
Twenty minutes later, they left the driveway, with Uncle Vernon in a very foul mood. He slammed on the brakes in front of Mrs. Figg's house, and ordered Harry out of the car. Harry reluctantly walked up to the doorway, and rang the front bell. A middle-aged lady opened the door, and let Harry in, as the Dursleys sped away. Harry plopped into an overstuffed floral armchair in the living room, his heart filled with despair.
Mrs. Figg's heart went out to the growing boy who looked so much like his father that it almost hurt her eyes to look at him. She closed the door, and turned around to Harry.
"Now, then, I think I'll show you to your room," she said, walking up the stairs.
Harry had no choice but to follow her up the stairs, and down a narrow hallway to the end. Mrs. Figg opened up the doorway, and the two walked into the room. Harry couldn't believe his eyes. His spellbooks were lined up neatly on a bookshelf. Parchment, ink, and his wand lay on the desk. The wardrobe was filled with his Hogwarts robes. And on the bed–was that his Firebolt? He turned to Mrs. Figg, mouth open.
"You're a–a"
"A witch," she finished. "And you are growing to be a mighty fine wizard, from what I've heard."
Harry was speechless. "All this time?" he managed to croak out.
"All this time," she replied with a smile. "You look a little hungry. How about some breakfast?"
After a delicious breakfast, Harry pushed back his plate with a grin. Maybe this year's holidays won't be so bad after all, he thought.
Mrs. Figg nervously cleared her throat. "Um, Harry, I have to talk to you about something." She swallowed hard before continuing. "It's about your godfather, Sirius Black. Last week, he was caught in Hogwarts by a faculty member, which forced Professor Dumbledore to turn him in to the Ministry."
Harry slumped in his chair. "And?" he asked, not really knowing if he wanted to know the answer.
"Well," Mrs. Figg went on, "Professor Dumbledore pulled a few strings with the Ministry, and arranged for a trial. He's asked for you to be a witness, as well as Ron and Hermione."
Sirius couldn't go back to Azkaban, Harry thought desperately. He just couldn't. Harry blinked back tears, and looked at Mrs. Figg.
Mrs. Figg continued. "I'm very sorry, Harry. Professor Dumbledore told me the truth about what happened the night your parents died, and I believe him. But, without some concrete evidence, I'm afraid that Sirius' chance of being found innocent is very slim."
"When is the trial?" Harry asked in a very small voice.
"Today at noon. We need to leave in an hour, so we should go get ready."
Harry sadly stood, and walked upstairs to his room, sitting on the bed. How can I convince a jury of witches and wizards of the truth? Harry thought. I'll simply find a way, he decided, as he crossed over to the wardrobe to get dressed for the trial.
-----
Isabelle hummed as she walked over to her closet, peering inside. Picking out several possible outfits, she tossed them on the bed. Just when she had eliminated a red pantsuit and a blue dress, Severus knocked on the door."Come in," Isabelle called.
Severus walked in, shaking his head in amazement at the mess. Clothes were everywhere, covering every available square inch of space. Why do girls need so many clothes? he wondered. And Muggle clothes, at that.
"Trying to choose the lucky outfit amongst the thousands of possible choices?" he asked dryly.
"If you must know," she huffed, "I barely have anything to wear. And since you won't tell me where we're going, I don't know how to dress. Unlike some people, I don't like to wear the same drab black robe every day of the year."
He smiled. Isabelle was a master of the sarcastic comeback. "Since you don't have anything to wear, it's a good thing that I came in here, then," as he gave her a box with a red ribbon around it. "You're going to need this for today, and I know for a fact that although you have everything else under the sun, you don't have one of these."
Intrigued, Isabelle quickly untied the ribbon and lifted the lid off the box. Inside lay a beautiful, deep sapphire blue robe. "Witches' robe?" she puzzled.
"Yes, I can assure you that you will be on the cutting edge of witch fashion in this," he assured her. "I thought it would go well with your necklace. I've never seen you take it off, so I had the robemaker design a robe around it."
How sweet, she thought, as tears welled up in her eyes. "Why are we going to Diagon Alley?" she asked sharply.
"You'll see. Now hurry up. We need to leave in fifteen minutes."
Fifteen minutes! Isabelle scurried around, throwing the robe on, and quickly fastened her necklace. She tore her brush through her hair, fastening it in a loose French twist. Dabbing on a bit of lipstick and perfume, she stepped into the living room.
"Ready?" Severus asked.
"Ready," she replied, and they both dissaparated with a pop.
-----
Harry and Mrs. Figg quickly made their way through Diagon Alley, and hurried up the marble steps of the Ministry of Magic. Navigating the narrow hallways, they finally arrived in the dungeon courtroom. Harry remembered this room from Professor Dumbledore's Pensieve, and shivered. He spotted the Weasley family immediately, with their sea of red hair. Hermione sat next to Ron, and next to her was–Viktor Krum? Hermione waved at Harry, and he walked over to them."Hi, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "We saved you a seat, right between me and Ron. We just thought–well, that we would be nearby to give you support–for whatever happens." Tears began to stream down Hermione's face.
"It's ok, Hermy-own-ninny," Viktor said, as he put his arm around her shoulders. Ron looked murderous, and carefully turned his eyes away, towards the entrance.
"Hey, it's Snape," Ron said. "And who is that with him?"
Professor Snape entered the courtroom with an astonishingly beautiful woman. Heads turned as he took her elbow and steered her to a seat near the front of the room. As they passed, Ron hissed, "Why would a woman like that be with a person like him?"
"I do not know why they are together, but I know who she is," Viktor offered.
"Who?" asked Harry and Ron simultaneously. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Countess Isabelle Remizov. The most famous ballet dancer in the world. I had no idea she was a witch, although I should have guessed, considering who she is married to," Viktor said. "Her husband is Count Sergei Remizov. His 'business' is running the world's largest ballet company, but I do not think that is what occupies his time."
"Then what does?" Hermione asked.
"Let me tell you this way. Karkaroff and Remizov were best friends. The rumors were that Remizov was the leader of a group of wizards allied to the Dark Lord, awaiting his return," Viktor whispered.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione gasped. "And that's his wife?" Ron asked nervously. "Are you sure?"
"Positive," Viktor replied.
Harry tuned out Ron, Hermione, and Viktor's conversation, focusing on the pair seated four rows ahead of him. His eyes narrowed as he watched them engrossed in conversation. Hadn't Mrs. Figg said that a faculty member turned Sirius in? Harry remembered the hateful handshake between Professor Snape and Sirius last week. Snape had an old grudge against Sirius, and Harry wouldn't put it past him to turn Sirius in to the Ministry. In fact, Snape tried to have Sirius returned to Azkaban last year, but he escaped. Harry's heart filled with anger as he vowed to do whatever it took to make sure Snape didn't win...