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Fool Me Once... by Crickette

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For the next few days, Miriam kept herself busy setting up her clinic in the basement of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. She was certainly enjoying herself more than she would have thought possible, given the present circumstances. If there was a place where Miriam felt more at home than with anything else, even medicine, it was wherever children happened to be. It was one of the main reasons she had decided to become a Healer; children seemed to trust her, perhaps because Miriam herself seemed so comfortable in their presence. Unfortunately, Miriam had been unable to care for children in a very long time.

Perhaps it was because of the long hiatus that Miriam was so delighted by the presence of Harry and his friends, who often came down to visit her in the clinic several times a day. Ginny would come scrambling down the stairs at least three times a day with a question about either love potions or cures to obscure jinxes, mostly the former.

Ron came down once with a Doxy hanging on for dear life to his finger by sharp fangs, and once detached, became so fascinated by the various instruments Miriam (who was also an well-trained in Muggle medicine) used to cut people open, he too made regular visits to examine each and every one.

Hermione enjoyed discussing certain experimental theories regarding the use of restricted potions and herbs, and Miriam was never to busy to set down whatever she was doing and brainstorm with Fred and George about remedies and counter-curses to some of their more experimental products for their joke shop. Her drawers and shelves were also stocked with so many treats, sweets, and candies, that they could have rivaled Honeyduke’s Sweet Shop. Despite Mrs. Weasley’s objections to sweets before dinner, Miriam would swear backwards and forwards that they were an indulgence necessary for the upkeep of one’s general well being. Once or twice, Ron and Harry even caught Mrs. Weasley stuffing something chocolate-looking into her mouth before making quite a show over stirring a pot of stew only minutes before supper.

It was the visits form Harry, however, that Miriam most looked forward to. He would come down frequently with Ron and Hermione, and they would help her arrange the basement, setting up two folding beds, a work desk, shelves of jars, liquids, talismans and colorful plants, and a bookcase so tall it reached the ceiling. They hung whatever posters or pictures they could come up with, wherever they could find space for it.

“No one wants to be sick in a depressing room,” she had told them. “You’re already miserable when you come in, so what’s the point of that?”

Ron had put up a few posters of his favorite Quidditch team, the Chuddley Cannons, and they would fly around the walls, passing Quaffles from poster to poster; Harry brought in one of a golden snitch with its wings flapping ferociously, and another chart with pictures of every brand, make, and model of broomsticks in the market. Ginny and Hermione, on the other hand, favored pictures of animals, especially cats, which caused Ron to roll his eyes and gag each time a new one appeared.

Even the adults were getting into it. Mr. Weasley hung a poster involving a muggle school bus, which he found insanely funny looking, and Moody tacked up a long scroll of parchment that read: 50 Ways to be Constantly Vigilant. There was no signature at the bottom, but Miriam and Harry both were pretty sure of the author’s identity. Miriam herself was fond of places, and stuck postcards of all the exotic locations she had traveled to randomly throughout the room. Having spent three of the fourteen years since she became a professional Healer studying muggle medicine amongst actual muggles, many of the postcards did not move. Ron, not realizing this of course, spent ten minutes one day standing in front of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, expecting it to come crashing down at any second.

Harry himself usually came down in the evenings, after everyone else had gone to bed. Miriam didn’t sleep much these days, and Harry could always find her in the basement, mixing ingredients in a large cauldron, or scribbling away at her desk. They had developed somewhat of a routine, in fact, and Miriam was becoming rather fond of it. Miriam could almost always expect Harry to come tip-toeing down the steps, careful to avoid the twelfth one for it made a rather obnoxious creak, and would then sit on one of the enormous, plush pillows Miriam provided for visitors, meditation, or whatever else one would need to sit on a pillow for. Miriam would make a small cauldron full of hot cocoa, and she would sit on another of the pillows by Harry, sipping the warm beverage, and they would talk.

Miriam and Harry found they could talk about almost anything, and Harry was eager to know everything; what Hogwarts was like back when Miriam and his parents were in school, how Miriam and his mother became friends, how Lily and James had met. Harry was particularly interested in anything to do with his parents, and though it often became very difficult for Miriam to talk about, Miriam would try her best to answer any question he had. She felt like it was the least she could do for him, and though Harry was unaware, Miriam owed him very much.

“When Lily told James that she was pregnant with you,” Miriam was telling Harry one night. “your father simply ran out in the middle of the street and threw the most extravagant fireworks display I have ever seen. I could have been mistaken, but personally I think he was a bit disappointed with the news,” she said with a wink.

“You, however, were the most well behaved child I ever saw,” Miriam said, her eyes twinkling. “Never cried, just looked around curiously at everybody with these huge green eyes. Your mother’s eyes. Lily always said you seemed to have this look about you, like you knew something nobody else did. James said it was a look of mischief.”

Harry grinned.

Finally, one night, Harry mustered up the nerve to ask about Miriam and Sirius. Miriam knew that Harry had the basic information; that they had had a romance, and became engaged. But Harry had always been too polite to probe any deeper, and when he would ask Sirius anything, Harry could tell that it made him very sad to think about.

“Why won’t you ever talk to him?” Harry blurted one night, afraid Miriam would become upset at him for being too nosy. But Miriam only frowned, and looked at Harry thoughtfully.

“I mean, you constantly avoid him,” Harry went on anxiously. “That’s why you almost never come to meals, isn’t it? And whenever he tries to pull you aside, you always say you’re busy or something, and…” Harry realized he was babbling, and was immediately ashamed at his forwardness.

“I was waiting for you to say something about that,” she said, and Harry was relieved to see that she wasn’t angry. “You’re very perceptive, Harry. Yes, that is why I rarely come up to meals. It’s…complicated.”

Harry nodded, accepting that Miriam was not going to discuss the topic further, but was surprised when she continued.

“Sirius and I have a history, and it’s hard…it hurts to go back. You have to understand, coming back and seeing him again after so many years, after thinking for so long that he had...” she broke off, her eyes beginning to glisten with the first sign of tears.

No matter how much she tried to deny it from herself, somewhere inside she had always known Sirius would come back. Sometimes she would try to foolishly convince herself that he had died, and she was nearly successful in willing herself to believe that he had gone mad. But that same little voice that told her Sirius would return was the same one that insisted when he did, he would be very sane indeed. Evil or not, Miriam knew Sirius inside and out, knew the way his mind worked, and was not stupid enough to think that even a place like Azkaban would keep him locked inside when he had other plans in mind.

“It’s complicated, is all,” she finished. She set her full mug down on the floor and forced a smile. “It’s getting a bit late, Harry. You should probably get up to bed now.”

Nodding, Harry stood. For the first time in Miriam’s presence, he felt awkward. A bit unsure of himself, he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned towards the stairs. Miriam rose as well.

“Hey.”

Harry turned back around and found himself enfolded in a hug. And strangely, though new territory it was, he no longer felt awkward. Miriam’s arms held him gently against her in a maternal fashion. Harry hugged her back, and felt a tightening in the back of his throat he discovered he didn’t find completely unpleasant.

She leaned back and brushed the hair from his forehead.

“Goodnight, Harry. Sweet dreams.”

Alone once again in the basement, Miriam shuffled over to her desk and plopped unceremoniously down in the oversized beanbag. She dropped her throbbing head into her hands.

Though it was late, Miriam didn’t feel the least bit tired. Thoughts were buzzing around energetically inside of her head like annoying flies she couldn’t catch up with to swat dead. How the heck was she supposed to get any rest when she couldn’t even quiet her own mind? She had the comforting idea of dragging herself upstairs and gulping down another vile of the blue potion she seemed to have an endless supply of before falling face-first into her pillows. In fact, the idea was so appealing, she would be shocked to awaken later at her desk, only to find she had fallen fast asleep right there without having moved an inch.

Indeed, rather than trudging up he stairs, Miriam found herself running down a long, narrow street. The scenery surrounding her was ugly and disturbing; houses, broken and destroyed, encircled her on both sides. Clouds of green smoke rose from the wreckage and debris to twist around her evilly and snake down her throat. Miriam’s heart was beating at a rapid pace so she could feel her unsteady pulse throb painfully in her throat, her temples, her chest. Sheer panic kept her running at a furious pace though each time she inhaled, all she could breathe was the green smoke that made her choke and caused nausea to roll ominously in her belly.

Footsteps, strong and booming echoed in her ears. Though they kept a slow, steady pace, Miriam could tell that her pursuer was gaining with each step despite her desperate sprint.

“Don’t run away from me, Miriam.”

Sirius’ voice rang in her ears. Miriam suddenly realized that she was carrying a small bundle in her arms. A baby. Looking down at it, she never saw the street ending, the dead end approaching her. Only when the numbing cold surrounded her, filled her lungs so they burned and became brittle did she stop running.

It was too cold, she thought, much too cold. Miriam held the baby closer to her heaving chest. She could reach for her wand, she thought desperately, but risk losing her clutch on the child that was squirming miserably in her arms. Trapped, she turned to face and fend off Sirius as best she could, only then realizing that there was no longer the cautionary sound of footsteps. Blind terror crawled along her skin, joining the cold to make her shiver helplessly.

The dementor floated towards her patiently. It knew she wasn’t going anywhere. She opened her mouth to scream.

Miriam jerked awake violently. Panting for breath, she lowered her head from her hands to lie it against the cool surface of her desk. She was soaked to the bone with cold sweat. Her pulse was still jittery, and her stomach was still rolling. The chilly wood did nothing to alleviate the vicious pounding that had spread to both temples, ice picks chipping gleefully away to a determined drum. She was shaking fiercely.

Miriam forced herself to gulp down air into her aching lungs, forced her pulse to even out. Pushing away from the desk, she wrapped her arms around her drenched robes and stood on legs that were wobbly still.

It was only a dream, she told herself. A dream, Miriam thought, and found that she was not only furious, but utterly disgusted with herself. She should have known better. She did know better. She hadn’t even been tired, after all! How could she let herself fall asleep?

Clenching her teeth against the powerful urge to be ill, she somehow stumbled her way towards the stairs, berating herself still. She couldn’t seem to stop her teeth from chattering. Miriam found comfort in the ironic sense of familiarity and knowledge that soon, it would stop. Never soon enough, but it would stop.

She’d had the dream so many times before, and still it managed to affect her like this. After the night’s conversation, she should have known it was coming. After the “incident”, as Miriam chose to call it, she’d had the dream almost every night; at least the ones when she had allowed herself sleep at all.

She knew the steps, the smells, the taste of the green smoke as it curled in her system. She knew it so well, Miriam thought, and yet she couldn’t shake the nearly paralyzing sensations it brought upon her each and every time.

One question itched in the back of her mind. In the past, Miriam had always assumed the baby in her arms had been Harry. But not once had she looked down and seen a scar shaped like lightening on his forehead, or the bright green eyes of his mother. Miriam supposed it was because before now she had only seen Harry number of times, and only once since he acquired the scar. But one would think that now, after she had spent more time with him…

“It was only a dream,” she said aloud, and was furious to find that her voice was still shaking. Resigned to the idea of another sleepless night, Miriam dragged herself up the stairs and into the kitchen.

As if waiting for her to emerge, Sirius leaned against the stove, his arms folded at his chest. Miriam held back a sigh. It seemed, at least for tonight, that Sirius was her fate. Thinking it would be beyond rude to leave the kitchen without a word when it was so obvious she had noticed him, Miriam stepped closer, careful to keep the dining table between them.

“Hi.”

“Hello.” Sirius noticed she was very pale, and her hair and robes were damp.

Miriam wanted very much to shuffle her feet. She had made every effort to ensure that she and Sirius were never made to be alone in the same room together despite obvious attempts from some of the others. Now, it seemed she would just have to put on a brave face and get it over with as painlessly as possible.

“You’re up late,” she said, trying to make casual conversation.

“As are you. I couldn’t seem to sleep “ ”

“Lucky,” Miriam muttered beneath her breath.

“- so I thought I’d make myself some tea. Care for some?”

“No thank you “ ” but Sirius was already pulling down two mugs from the cupboard. She sighed, and allowed herself to collapse into a chair.

Sirius frowned, looking down at the stove. She didn’t look well, he mused. And she was obviously upset enough to neglect putting up the careful wall she constructed around her expressions each time he was in her presence. Sirius could count the times that Miriam had ever been sick on one hand. Now, looking as fragile as glass, concern washed over him. He knew asking would be futile though, and as soon as she realized he had noticed her condition the wall would be back to keep him away. So, without a bit of guilt, he decided to take advantage of her vulnerable state. They would talk at last, he thought. He resisted the urge to draw her into his arms to comfort her, to soothe her, and instead poured tea.

Miriam watched him at the stove. Since coming to Number Twelve, she couldn’t help but notice certain changes in Sirius despite herself. He was different, she thought, and not only physically. He brooded more. He was quieter. Darker somehow. Only around Harry did he ever really seem happy. Twelve years in Azkaban would do that to a person, she supposed. For once she didn’t have the strength to fight back the pity that stirred within her each time she allowed herself to look at him.

He set down the mug in front of her and she eagerly wrapped her icy hands around the warmth of it. Taking a sip, she nearly moaned as the burning liquid trickled down her throat, warming her insides and soothing the sickness.

“You’ll have to excuse me for a second, this is a private moment.”

He chuckled at the way her eyes fluttered closed in obvious ecstasy.

Finally, with reluctance she lowered the cup from her lips. He sat across from her, watching. For the first time she didn’t need to fight the urge to squirm.

“I miss you Miriam.”

Her cup dropped to the table with a clatter. But before she could say anything, he went on, changing tactics fast as lightening.

“I hear congratulations are in order. The greatest Healer in all of Europe, they’re saying. That’s quite an accomplishment. It seems your dreams have come true after all.”

“Yes,” she said, fighting to catch up with him. Slick as spit, Miriam thought. Some things, it seemed, don’t change at all. “It’s very exciting. I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

“Are you happy?” he asked.

“It’s very exciting,” she said again. “I love my work.”

Sirius decided to leave it at that for now. He asked her a few more questions about her career, leading her into her own comfort zone, so soon she was smiling and talking animatedly with him, caught up in conversation. Miriam hadn’t even realized she had finished the entire mug of tea before he stood to put another pot on the stove.

“What did you mean when you said I was the first thing they took from you?” She blushed, suddenly embarrassed at her forwardness.

Sirius smiled to himself. He had been waiting for her to ask. Hoping that she would.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“In Azkaban,” he said, startling her. “the dementors, they suck out everything that’s good and happy inside of you.”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I know.”

“Well, after the attack, you were it. You were all that was left, the only thing happy inside of me. So, you were all that they could take from me. Not all at once though. It seemed that you were just everywhere, buried into the deepest crevices. So it took them a while to erase you completely. But once they did, I suppose, you were gone. It took such power to get rid of you, it took seeing you again for me to remember.”

Miriam was silent. Sirius fought the urge to turn and look at her.

“I met Harry coming up from the basement as I was coming down,” he said, changing the subject abruptly once again. “You two seem to be getting on well.”

“Yes,” she said, blinking. “He’s wonderful.” Her ears were buzzing.

“That he is,” Sirius agreed.

“He also seems to be very fond of you,” she smiled. “He, ah, talks about you all the time. You’ve seemed to become something of a hero to him. I suppose it’s good for him “”

“Suppose?” Sirius said dangerously. He was surprised at the sudden anger brewing inside of him.

Miriam blinked, unnerved by the sudden harshness of his voice.

“Excuse me?”

“You suppose it’s good for him,” Sirius said, his breath rushing out through clenched teeth, “that he should be spending time with a convicted murderer like myself?”

“Hold on just a second,” she said, rising. “That’s not what I “”

“Heaven forbid that anyone should be able to accept the fact that I didn’t kill James and Lily! That Harry should be able to accept the truth about me so readily without feeling the need to hate me as well.”

He could imagine the blood draining out of her face even with his back to her. But he no longer seemed to care. Frustration was fighting to explode out of him. With an effort he lifted the pot to pour the boiling water, but startled them both when instead he just slammed it back down on the stove with an echoing crash.

“Goddamn it, Miriam,” he said, whirling around to face her. “Where were you?”

Her head was spinning. She couldn’t keep up with him. Her breath was choking out of her lungs.

“What. What?”

She couldn’t move. She was paralyzed. That was the only explanation for why she didn’t fight when he strode around the table to grab her by the arms and give her a hard shake.

“Harry needed you! He needed you, and you weren’t there for him. How could you leave him with his wretched aunt and uncle for all those years? They didn’t love him! You should have loved him!”

“Me?” she asked incredulously. “Me?”

“It was your responsibility.”

“Responsibility? Look who’s talking about responsibility! What about you? I don’t recall you being in the picture very much, either.”

“I didn’t have a choice!”

“You made your choice!” she shouted. Her vision was becoming blurrier by the second, but she didn’t care. She blinked furiously, trying to clear her eyes, and startled him with the tears she let fell so freely in front of him. “I told you not to leave! I said not to go, but you didn’t listen to me!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Forget it,” she said, and tried to free herself from the fingertips digging painfully into her arms. “Let me go.”

“How am I supposed to understand anything if you won’t talk to me?” he asked, giving her another shake. “How are you supposed to understand if you won’t listen to me?”

“I don’t care! I don’t care. Let me go,” she said again.

“No. By Christ, you’ll answer me this: why weren’t you there for him?”

“I tried!” she cried. “Don’t you think I tried? Dumbledore wouldn’t let me, he insisted that he stay with-”

“Fine,” Sirius interrupted. “Is that why he hadn’t even met you until you marched into that courtroom fifteen years later? Or is it because the silly patients that you run around all over the bloody world to care for are more important to you than he is? More important than Harry getting to know his own godmother!”

CRACK.

Before she even knew what she was doing, Miriam’s hand had freed itself from his grip and flew across Sirius’ face with a sharp smack. But she didn’t care. For the first time in her life, she wanted to cause another human being pain. To hurt, she thought, as he had hurt her.

“How dare you?” she whispered. “How dare you! You weren’t there, you have no idea what it was like.”

“So tell me,” he said and released her at last. “How am I supposed to know if you won’t talk to me?”

Miriam was suddenly exhausted. The headache was worse than ever.

“I don’t have anything more to say to you,” she said quietly. Without another look at him, she started up the stairs.

“This isn’t over,” he called up after her. “You can’t keep walking away from this. From us.”

Her legs felt heavy as stone as she somehow made her way down the hallway. Eyes cast downward, she didn’t even realize Lupin was standing outside of his own room until he caught her arm.

He looked at her, pity filling his eyes. She hated herself for wanting crumble from it.

“Miriam,” Lupin said gently. “He has a right to know.”

“Leave me alone,” she said and with the strength of an infant wrenched her arm away and slammed the door to her own quarters.

Alone in the dark bedroom, Miriam went to her wardrobe and lifted a stone-like basin from the top shelf; a pensieve. It emitted a soft, silvery light that glowed bright against the bare walls. Placing it on the table next to her bed, she extracted her wand and touched it lightly to her pounding temple, closing her eyes and concentrating. The next moment she withdrew the wand and pointed it into the basin, a silvery, undulating strand flowing from head to wand, wand to pensieve. She did this twice more, then stripped off her robes and at last, collapsed into her still-made bed.


Harry couldn’t sleep. He lay awake staring at the ceiling, listening to the rhythmic snoring emitting from Ron’s bed. For some reason he was wide awake. He felt unsettled somehow, as though there was business he had left unfinished. He willed himself to sleep, but to no avail.

After about an hour, Harry had had enough. Deciding to go downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water, he threw back the covers and climbed nimbly out of bed. It was only when his fingertips touched the cool doorknob did he hear the voices coming from downstairs. They were muffled, so he couldn’t make out the words, but the emotions behind them were clear enough. Something hitched unpleasantly in his stomach. Pressing his ear to the door, he could make out one male, one female. Sirius and Miriam, he thought. Mixed feelings swirled throughout him. They were talking, that was good. Not talking, shouting, he corrected. That was not so good.

Harry had only been listening for a minute when the voices stopped, and he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. There were more voices, closer now, and then silence until the unexpected sharp slam of a door had Harry jumping away from his own, startled.

Willing his heartbeat to slow down, he listened for another minute or two, but there was only silence. As quietly as he could manage, he slipped out of his room, wincing when the ancient door creaked as he shut it again. Harry tiptoed down the hallway, pausing at the bottom of the staircase leading up to the attic, where Sirius typically kept himself closed away these days.

Harry instantly felt very foolish. What exactly was he going to say when he reached Sirius’ quarters? Would he try to comfort his godfather? Would Sirius even want to talk to him?

I just wanted to make sure everything was okay, I heard you and Miriam have a row with each other as I was spying on you from my bedroom.

Resigned, Harry walked slowly up the stairs. He would just make sure everything was alright, that’s all. Maybe Sirius wanted to talk to someone about it, and Harry would be doing him a favor, visiting in the wee hours of the morning.

Feeling more awkward than ever, Harry knocked softly on the door leading to the attic, and listened. No answer. He knocked again, a bit louder this time. Still nothing. Taking a deep breath, Harry gently pushed the door open and peeked inside.

”Hello? Sirius, it me.”

It became very apparent to Harry that his godfather was nowhere in the room. He knew he should have left it at that and gone back to bed, but something pulled at him. Surrendering to curiosity he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

The attic was as ordinary as could be; dark, musty, and cold. The walls were completely bare except for the occasional spider web attaching itself to the ceiling. A rocking chair sat motionless in the corner, and an unmade bed in the center. Harry thought the room probably looked as desolate as it had before anybody moved into it.

Harry couldn’t help but be a little disappointed. It seemed he wasn’t going to find out anything about the secret life of Miriam and Sirius that people seemed so keen to hide from him after all.

Harry didn’t even notice the mess of papers tossed together in the center of the floor until he very nearly stepped on them. Not papers, he realized, kneeling down to examine them more closely. Photographs.

He picked one up. A young Miriam sat by the lake Harry recognized from the Hogwarts campus smiling shyly at him. He picked up another one. Miriam again but older, dressed in her Healer’s robes and accepting a rolled up scroll of parchment from a reverent-looking wizard. They were all of Miriam, Harry realized. And they all belonged to Sirius. He looked at one more.

This one was of both Sirius and Miriam. She was dressed in wispy robes of a vivid red that clung to every curve and dip. Her hair was down and flowed around her bare shoulders, and her eyes were darker, her lips painted. Her arms were wrapped around the neck of a very well-groomed Sirius, who held Miriam close to him by the waist. They swayed slowly back and forth to music that Harry couldn’t hear, and gazed dreamily into each other’s eyes, obviously unaware of being photographed. Harry watched as Sirius lowered his brow to hers then tilted her head back until their lips were only a whisper away…

Suddenly very embarrassed, Harry blushed and turned the picture over. There was a distinctly female scrawl on the back that read: Miriam and Sirius, Halloween Ball, sixth year. The beginning of our eternal dance together. I love you. Miriam.