59. Talks

Apollyon found herself alone in the dimly lit room, the weak rays of light filtering through the cracks of the closed curtains doing little to dispel the shadows that clung to the corners. Her initial panic subsided, replaced by a pervasive feeling of disorientation and weakness. It was as if her very muscles had forgotten how to move, each attempt to stand a monumental effort that left her breathless and dizzy.

The room was unfamiliar, oppressive in its silence and the stark, uninviting austerity of its furnishings. The walls were lined with shelves filled with dark, leather-bound books, their titles embossed in gold but speaking of subjects that felt cold, distant. A heavy wooden desk sat under the window, covered in scattered papers and a lone, unlit candlestick. The air was stale, thick with the dust of disuse, hinting at long periods of abandonment.

As Apollyon's eyes adjusted to the dimness, she noticed the symbols adorning the walls, the unmistakable mark of the House of Black. A chilling realization washed over her: she was in the ancestral home of the very man who had betrayed the Order, the home of Sirius Black. The thought that this dark, foreboding place was her unintended sanctuary, her prison, sent a shiver down her spine.

The door was locked from the outside, confirming her fears. She was a prisoner, trapped not just by physical barriers but by the constraints of time itself. Her body felt incredibly weak, as though she had been lying in the same spot for years, a shell of her former self. The effort to even lift her arm was a struggle, the sensation foreign and alarming.

Apollyon's emotions cascaded through her in waves—fear, anger, despair. The thought of being so vulnerable, so utterly alone, in a place that had housed generations of darkness, was almost too much to bear. Yet, beneath the turmoil, a flicker of resolve began to stir. The memories of her past life, the life she had been torn from, fueled a determination not to succumb to the despair that threatened to engulf her.

She dragged herself to the edge of the bed, each movement an agony of effort. The room seemed to close in around her, the shadows whispering of isolation and loss. But it was the silence that was most oppressive, a tangible presence that weighed heavily on her chest.

Apollyon's mind raced, searching for a way out, a way back to her life, to her fight. But the truth was inescapable: she was alone, lost in time, with no clear path back to the world she knew. The reality of her situation was a bitter pill to swallow, the knowledge that she had to start over, to rebuild from nothing, a daunting task that lay heavily on her weakened shoulders.

In the depths of despair, her thoughts turned to the creatures she had sworn to protect, the people she had fought alongside, the mentor who had believed in her. It was the memory of their courage, their strength, that ignited a spark within her. Apollyon realized that even here, in this dark room, locked away from the world, she was not truly alone. The lessons they had taught her, the love they had shared, were a part of her, etched into her very soul.

With a deep, steadying breath, Apollyon focused on that spark, allowing it to grow, to fill her with a sense of purpose. She might be weak now, her body uncooperative, her situation dire, but she was still herself. She still had her magic, her will, and her determination to fight, to find her way back to where she belonged.

The room's oppressive silence was suddenly broken by the sound of a key turning in the lock. Apollyon, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation, watched as the door creaked open to reveal a figure silhouetted against the light from the hallway. As her eyes adjusted, she saw Sirius Black stepping into the room, but not the Sirius she had braced herself to confront. This man's demeanor lacked the cold, ruthless edge of the betrayer she had known. Instead, the surprise and concern etched on his face were those of the Sirius Black she had read about, the loyal friend and godfather, a man who had sacrificed so much in the fight against darkness.

"Apollyon," he said softly, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and relief. "You're awake. After all these years, I'd begun to lose hope."

Apollyon stared at him in confusion, her mind racing to make sense of his words. "Years?" she echoed, her voice weak. The dissonance between her memories of Sirius as a foe and the man standing before her was jarring.

Sirius moved closer, his expression one of deep, genuine concern. "Yes," he continued, hesitating as if searching for the right words. "You've been in a magical stasis. A protection spell I cast when I realized...when I realized what you were becoming. An Obscurial. But not just any. My daughter."

His revelation struck Apollyon like a physical blow. Daughter? In her timeline, Sirius had been a mentor, a friend, but never family. The implications were overwhelming, a torrent of questions flooding her mind. But one truth pierced the chaos: in this world, she was Sirius Black's daughter, a bond forged from a narrative she had never lived.

Apollyon's mind whirled, grappling with the dissonance between the life she remembered and the reality before her. The thought of being Sirius Black's daughter, of belonging to a family she had only read about from a distance, was as disorienting as it was startling. She realized she stood on the precipice of a narrative vastly different from anything she had experienced or anticipated. Having been an orphan in both of her lives so far. Let alone to such a man, that she had learnt to hate and fear. Turned kind and caring for her.

As Sirius watched her, waiting for some sign of recognition or acceptance, Apollyon knew she had to tread carefully. The depth of her confusion was genuine, her lack of knowledge about this timeline's specifics rendering her as much an amnesiac as she decided to pretend to be. It was a role that, under the circumstances, required little acting. The real challenge lay in navigating the delicate balance between learning this new world and revealing nothing of the discrepancies in her memory.

"I...I don't remember," she began, her voice faltering. "Everything is just...blank." The lie slipped out smoothly, anchored in enough truth to lend it weight. Her gaze met Sirius's, searching for any sign of skepticism, but found only concern.

Sirius's reaction to Apollyon's claimed memory loss was a complex blend of concern, understanding, and a touch of fear. He paused, taking a moment to process her words, his gaze intensifying as he searched her face for something—anything—that might hint at the daughter he once knew. Then, his eyes locked onto hers, and his expression shifted, a new layer of complexity added to his concern.

"Your eyes," he murmured, more to himself than to her, a note of confusion in his voice. "They've changed. Before...before the spell, they were green and blue. Now, one is red, and the other purple." His voice trailed off as he studied her, trying to decipher what this change might signify.

Apollyon felt a jolt of panic, not having anticipated this kind of physical evidence of her journey through time and realities. She knew her eyes, the windows to her soul, now bore the mark of her turbulent passage, a visible sign of the internal chaos that had reshaped her very being. Yet, she also realized this detail offered a tangible excuse for her 'amnesia.'

"I don't...I don't know why they've changed," she said, her voice laced with a feigned mixture of confusion and concern. "Does...does it mean something is wrong with me? With my magic?"

Sirius regarded her with a mixture of intrigue and concern. After a moment, he sighed, the sound heavy with unvoiced worries. "I'm not sure," he admitted, his gaze softening. "It could be a side effect of the stasis spell, or perhaps something deeper, tied to your...to your nature as an Obscurial. But we'll find out, together. Your safety, your well-being, that's what matters most."

The mention of her being an Obscurial, even in this altered reality, reignited a flicker of fear in Apollyon's heart. The dangerous potential of her power, the threat it could pose to herself and others, was a stark reality she couldn't escape, even in this new life.

"Am I...am I still a danger?" Apollyon asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The fear of her magic, of the uncontrollable force within her, had been a constant shadow in her previous lives. The possibility that it remained a threat here was terrifying.

Sirius took a step forward, his presence reassuring. "We've managed to control it, to a degree," he said, his voice firm, yet gentle. "The stasis spell was part of that effort. But now, with you awake, we may need to find new ways to ensure you—and those around you—are safe. But remember, you're not alone in this. I'm here, and we'll navigate this together."

His words, sincere and filled with an unwavering promise of support, offered a comfort Apollyon hadn't realized she was seeking. To be acknowledged, not as a weapon or a curse but as a person worth protecting, was a novel experience for her.

"Thank you," she managed to say, the gratitude genuine. The complexity of her feelings towards this man, her father in this timeline, deepened. The Sirius before her was a far cry from the traitor she had known. He was a father determined to protect his daughter, regardless of the complexities her existence brought.

As their conversation reached a natural pause, Sirius seemed to notice Apollyon's physical state—her fatigue and the toll the revelations had taken on her. "You must be hungry," he said, a flicker of concern crossing his features again. "I'll ask Kreacher to prepare something for you to eat. Proper food, something to help you regain your strength."

Apollyon nodded, the mention of food reminding her of her physical needs, something she had momentarily forgotten amidst the whirlwind of emotional and existential revelations. "Thank you, that would be...nice," she managed to say, realizing only then the emptiness gnawing at her stomach.

As Sirius turned to leave the room to fetch Kreacher, Apollyon called out, "Sirius?" He paused at the door, looking back at her. Seizing the opportunity, she began to pepper him with questions, seeking to anchor herself within this new reality by understanding its contours.

"When...when am I? I mean, what year is it?" she asked, the question foundational to mapping out the landscape of this world she had been thrust into.

Sirius's eyebrows rose slightly at the question, but he answered, "It's 1995. You've been...asleep, for lack of a better term, for a long time."

The year resonated with Apollyon, a marker in the vast timeline of wizarding history. She was older than Harry in this timeline, a fact that shifted her understanding of her place within the ongoing narrative. "And Harry?" she ventured further. "How is he?"

"He's well, all things considered," Sirius replied, a softness entering his voice at the mention of Harry. "He's with the Weasleys now. They've been good for him."

The mention of the Weasleys, of Harry being well, offered her a sliver of comfort, a touchpoint to the world she knew, or rather, had known.

"And you?" Apollyon pressed on. "How...how did you get free? In my...before, you were imprisoned because of Pettigrew."

Sirius's expression darkened at the mention of Pettigrew, but then it shifted, a semblance of respect and gratitude replacing the anger. "A man named Steven Iron discovered the truth about Pettigrew and what really happened that day," he explained. "He presented undeniable evidence to the Ministry. It...it was a battle, but eventually, they had to release me."

Apollyon absorbed his words, the name Steven Iron unfamiliar yet central to the change in Sirius's fate. This detail, among others, highlighted the divergence of events in this timeline from the one she remembered. Sirius being free, herself being his daughter, her eyes—each element a piece of a puzzle she was slowly piecing together.

The conversation, though filled with questions and answers that danced around the core mysteries of her situation, grounded her. It provided a framework upon which she could begin to understand her new reality, to plot out her next steps.

As Sirius left the room to summon Kreacher, Apollyon was left alone with her thoughts, the gears in her mind turning. The revelation of her age, the year, Sirius's freedom—all were crucial pieces of information that helped her orient herself in this new world. With each question answered, she felt a growing sense of purpose, an emerging plan on how to navigate this unfamiliar landscape.

Yet, beneath the strategizing and the acceptance of her new reality, a deeper resolve took root. No matter the differences, no matter the challenges, Apollyon knew one thing for certain: she would find her place in this world, make a difference, and, perhaps along the way, uncover the reason fate had chosen this path for her.