Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sirius had a free period, and he was bored. Therefore, he was hunting Snivellus. He was alone. He was usually alone in this, now. Moony had cooled on the tradition ever since becoming a prefect two years ago. Prongs had pulled back for three reasons: Lily Evans, the incident where Sirius had let slip to old Snivelly the way through the Whomping Willow last year, and the fact that after the Whomping Willow affair, Moony had renounced his prefect duties and forced Prongs to take it up. Prongs was deeply affected by Moony's anger and took the responsibility more seriously than literally any other project he had ever taken on, to the point he got the Head Boy badge this year. And then there was the Rat. The Rat, well, he may be a Gryffindor, but he was afraid of Snivellus as their only remaining opposition, and he wasn't good back up anyway.

Snivellus walked down the otherwise empty corridor just in time. Sirius had been lying in wait for him for ten minutes already and was getting even more bored, almost ready to leave. But there was the greasy-haired, long-nosed git. Said nose was buried in a book. He wouldn't even see Sirius in his hiding place. Dolt. He waited until Snivellus was about to pass him before suddenly brandishing his wand and shouting "Depulso!" He followed the banishing spell immediately with a silent disarming charm and a Levicorpus. Snivelly didn't even cry out as he slammed into the opposite wall and then was strung up by his ankle. "Hah! Walked right into that one, you git!"

Snape didn't answer right away. Sirius' grin slipped as the other boy's suspended body slowly rotated around, revealing a face not twisted in anger as per usual but rather slack and unconscious, with a line of blood trickling out of one oversized ear.

"Damnit," he whispered. This wasn't what he had meant to do. He liked messing with Snape because Snape always fought back, and viciously. Overpowering him so easily like this wasn't, well, fun. Disappointed, he let Snape down, carelessly dropping him like always. Almost as soon as the Slytherin's head struck the stone floor he stiffened. Sirius grinned and raised his wand again, ready to defend himself against what was bound to be a right and properly pissed Snivellus... but then Snape didn't open his eyes to glare at him, didn't draw his wand. Instead, his body convulsed. "Merlin!" Horrified, Sirius watched as Snape's rigid limbs jerked. Bloody drool started leaking out of his mouth, and his skin started turning purple. Sirius realized he wasn't breathing through the seizure. That was when he started to panic. "Help!" he shouted a few times, then "Expecto Patronum!" Snape finally stilled again as the great silver dog appeared, which was good, because the only person Sirius could successfully direct his patronus to yet was James. He sent the spell away regardless, then crouched down, watching Snape warily.

It took a beat to realize he still didn't seem to be breathing. Heart suddenly in his mouth and thudding about three times faster than normal, he rolled Snape over onto his back and checked for a pulse in his neck... which was there, thankfully. He heard running. James pelted around the corner, followed closely by Lily Evans, of course. That was both good and bad. Good, because Evans was brilliant and knew more about healing magic than either he or James did. Bad because...

"What?" James sputtered in confusion, wand in one hand and Marauder's Map in the other. Sirius realized his panicked message of Help, seventh floor, Snape had probably been misinterpreted.

"Oh God, Sev!" Lily cried, and flung herself at the skinny Slytherin. The two were no longer on speaking terms, but she still cared about him and hated when James and Sirius fought with him. She looked up at Sirius accusingly. "What did you do to him?"

"I didn't mean to. Well, I mean, not like this. I shoved him into the wall, but then he just went down, and then he had a seizure or something."

Lily wadded up her sleeve and wiped the bloody foam from Snape's lips. She turned him from his back onto his side. "Come on, Sev... James, he's not breathing."

"You two get him to the hospital wing... looks like McGonagall's in class between us and there. I'll run ahead and grab her." He folded up the Marauder's map and sprinted off.

"Immobulus. Wingardium Leviosa," Lily intoned, lifting Snape gently from the floor.

"I should do that," Sirius offered shakily. "You can try a Renervate or something -"

"I'm not going to touch a brain injury, you arse," Lily snapped. She started walking briskly down the hallway, her wand on Snape's chest. Sirius saw the faintest movement there and sagged in relief. Snape was alive. He wasn't a murderer. He hurried after Lily.

James and McGonagall intercepted them quickly. McGonagall fell into step next to Lily, casting charm after charm over Snape's unconscious form. The Slytherin was now gasping intermittently. Her lips collapsed to the thinnest of lines. "He will be fine under Madame Pomfrey's care I believe, but there is nothing I dare do until then. Miss Evans, if you would take your housemates to my office, please?" So saying, she cast her own levitation charm, then some other wordless spell that propelled both her and Snape down the corridor like an arrow.

Lily turned to Sirius with wrath in her eyes. She grabbed his wrist and dragged him towards McGonagall's office one floor down. James followed soberly. As soon as they arrived, Lily rounded on Sirius. "You! One hundred points from Gryffindor, and you can have detention for the next three months. At least. We'll see what McGonagall has to say; I'm hoping for suspension. You almost killed him Sirius! How could you?"

"I didn't mean to..."

"Oh, sure, you just meant to torture him like you always do."

"I don't-"

"You know, Sev was right when he said you're just as bad as if not worse than the Slytherin crowd."

"Lily, you know Sirius would never-"

"Never what, James? Oh, oh, I know, you and he never use 'dark magic.' But don't you see, you don't have to. You can hurt, injure, even kill someone with household charms. You almost drowned Sev too when you cast Scourgify in his mouth back in fifth year. You can't keep that holier-than-thou attitude when you're bigger dangers to most other students than actual up-and-coming Death Eaters are!"

"So now you're agreeing he's a Death Eater?"

"No. Five points from Gryffindor for that. But I'm starting to understand why Sev doesn't have a problem hanging out around Mucliber and the others. Sirius wouldn't have targeted him if he wasn't also alone. Would you?" She rounded back on him.

"No," Sirius agreed in a whisper. Not anymore. The Slytherin seventh years were all too free with dark curses to risk dueling against more than one at a time. He sank down into a hard-backed chair. "I didn't mean it," he repeated, more to himself than her. It had been so unreal at the time, watching Snape dangle, unconscious and helpless from his spell. The memory of it was very real though, terrifyingly so. He felt himself shaking.

He wasn't a murderer, but he could have been, and so easily.

After a few more minutes, the door opened. Professor McGonagall stepped through. Sirius shot up out of the chair. "Is Snape going to be okay?" he asked.

McGonagall stared down her nose at him judgmentally, a rather impressive feat given he was now taller than her, but she gave a brisk nod. "He will need some time in the hospital wing, but yes, he should make a full recovery. Madam Pomfrey is not even sending him to St. Mungo's." Her eyes narrowed. "She likely would have done if there were much more delay or if his injury was just slightly more severe. Would the three of you care to explain fully how Mister Snape came to be in such a perilous state?"

Sirius looked back down at the floor. "It's all my fault, Professor. We were fighting..." he bit his own tongue furiously. "No, we weren't. I was hiding behind a statue, waiting for him and hit him with a banishing charm without warning. I only meant to rough him up a little bit, provoke him, not actually hurt him, but he must have hit the wall harder than I expected. It knocked him out. And then there was a seizure."

Professor McGonagall's eyes flicked from him to James and Lily. "And how were you two involved?"

"They weren't there," Sirius said. "But when I saw that Snape was really hurt, I sent a message to James for help."

"And why did you summon your friend instead of one of the staff? Or call out more generally?" she asked dangerously.

"I did! I mean, I shouted, but I don't think anyone else was close enough to hear since most everyone is in class. I didn't want to leave him alone. It was a patronus message I sent to James, but I don't know how to send them to anyone else."

"That's true, Professor," James said. "Lily and I were down in the library together when Sirius' patronus showed up. We've been practicing the charm a lot, but he can't get it to go to anyone else consistently. And the message wasn't clear, just 'help, seventh floor, Snape.' Honestly, I thought there was an ongoing duel that Snape was winning or something."

Professor McGonagall sighed. "If you and Miss Evans are innocent, you may both go."

"Can I visit Sev?" Lily asked.

"Of course. Madam Pomfrey may ask you to wait awhile, but I don't expect it will be too long." Lily nodded and left.

"Do I have to go?" James asked quietly. Sirius felt a rush of gratitude.

McGonagall's eyes flicked between them for a moment, deciding. "No." She gestured for both of them to sit but fixated on Sirius with her undivided attention, which was admittedly quite intimidating. "Mister Black, you fractured Mister Snape's skull. I should not have to tell you that this is a very serious thing and could have proved fatal to the young man. I am sure you consider this an unfortunate accident, but I can assure you I do not."

"But-" James objected; Sirius was speechless.

"Do not interrupt, Mister Potter. The both of you have exhibited a pattern of reckless and violent behavior ever since entering this school. While Mister Potter has endeavored to reform, you Mister Black have not. I understand you did not intend to end Mister Snape's life this afternoon, but that does not change the fact that you were perfectly willing to endanger him without provocation. I confess I am at a loss as to how to deter this foul behavior. Neither of you have ever been inclined to respond to traditional punishments."

"Lily already took a hundred points and gave him three months' detention," James supplied.

"Is there a form of detention that either of you think will actually work?" she asked derisively. "I think not. Assuming you stay at this school, Mister Black, you will absolutely serve those detentions, under Miss Evans' discretion. I on the other hand will be writing to your family, and to Mister Snape's, and will be discussing with Professors Dumbledore and Slughorn what punishment would be most suitable."

Sirius' stomach sank at the mention of his family. He had run away from home to James' house when he turned sixteen, with no intention of ever seeing his parents again if he could help it. Falling back under the control of Orion and Walburga Black was a fate worse than death... and one he didn't think he deserved, even considering what he had just done to Snape. "Don't..."

McGonagall peered at him. "Don't what?"

James coughed. "Er, Sirius moved in with me. Dumbledore knows."

McGonagall rolled her eyes. "Yes, and I know that as well, but you were not legally emancipated from your family, Mister Black, nor have they officially disowned you. While Hogwarts has no influence over your living arrangements outside of school, we still have to correspond with your parents under the law while they are paying for your education. If it is your desire, I will write to the Potters as well as the Blacks. You are of age and may give me that permission."

Sirius grimaced. "I'll write them." He wanted to be the one to explain it. Even if he would never be as scary as Orion Black, Fleamont Potter would be just as angry, maybe even angrier since he actually disapproved of fighting... or more likely, he would be deeply disappointed, which was probably worse.

"You are suspended from classes for the rest of the week and confined to Gryffindor tower. If you are not there when I come looking for you after speaking with Albus and Horace today, you will regret it."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Dismissed."

Sirius was expelled two days later.

His wand was ceremonially snapped, and the pieces were given to Snape to dispose of. Snape was reportedly quite surprised by this when he woke up, as he remembered nothing of the attack.

The only reason Sirius wasn't brought up on criminal charges was because the Black family didn't want him to be and put pressure on Snape's mum. Or at least, that's what Fleamont Potter told him when he met him in Hogsmeade to take him home via side-along apparition. Sirius cried when he saw Fleamont, and the only thing he could think to say was "I'm sorry." The Potters had given him the chance to have a better life, but he had stayed a Black through and through. He just spouted a different justification for violence than did the rest of his family. He was a perpetual, fated screw-up.

At least he had his O.W.L.s. He was still a qualified wizard, still able to purchase a new wand to replace the one that had been confiscated. Fleamont offered to go with him to Ollivander's even, but Sirius turned him down. He felt too ashamed to allow himself the company. So he went by himself in the middle of a rainy morning on a weekday, when Diagon Alley was its least busy. He kept his hood up and met no one's eyes on the way to the wandmaker's shop.

The bell tinkled as he entered the cramped, dusty store. It looked the same as he remembered from six years ago with its worn counter and shelves lined with narrow boxes. Gray-haired Ollivander stepped out of the back room and greeted him with a frown. "Sirius Black. Fifteen inches, unicorn hair, black-walnut with runic etching. Snapped."

Sirius looked down. "Yes, sir." There was nothing to say really.

"And now you're wanting a replacement."

"Yes, sir."

"One I trust you intend to take better care of."

"Yes, sir." He yelped when something floppy and yellow suddenly struck his nose. He jerked his head back and realized the thing was Ollivander's measuring tape.

Ollivander was no longer looking at him, instead perusing his shelves. He kept talking though. "You are far from the first customer I have had in this position, young Mister Black. I sell to all and leave to the law to judge who is worthy of having a wand. We will find a wand for you. The only way we won't is if you decide you do not want or do not deserve one. Here. Twelve inches, dragon heartstring, white maple." Sirius accepted the first wand wordlessly. Nothing happened, and Ollivander snatched it back before he even flicked it.

"No. No, not in opposition... Try this." The next, darker looking wand was just as lifeless and taken back just as quickly. As were the next three. The sixth was... different. It was a vibrant red, thin, and plain with minimal decoration. It felt warm in his hand. A quick twirl conjured red and gold sparks, and his first smile since leaving Hogwarts. Ollivander grinned in satisfaction. "Twelve and seven-eighths inches, dragon heartstring, cherry wood. Quite flexible. Good for transfigurations." His hard silver eyes softened. "Wands of cherry wood are very moldable to the witch or wizard even after years of use. Appropriate to one hoping to redefine himself but not yet certain as to how, and more able to be passed on in the family successfully. And the heartstring of a Hebridean Black is very powerful, lends this particular cherry wand more durability for defensive spells than other cores might."

"Thank you," Sirius said automatically. Merlin, he was never going to understand wandlore. "How much?"

"Six galleons, twenty sickles."

Sirius paid him and left the shop.

His cousin Bella was waiting for him outside. "Fuck, Bella!" he swore, simultaneously casting a silent shield charm.

She grinned. "Rude. Now, Siri, I'm not here to curse you, not here to berate you for bringing shame to the family, and I'm already married so you don't have to worry about that either. Can't cousins enjoy a nice spring stroll together?"

He gestured at the pouring rain. "What do you want?"

"I just heard you've left Hogwarts, thought we should catch up. Come on, I'll buy you a drink. In public and everything." She extracted her own wand and tapped at her head, switching her hair into blond ringlets rather than black and slightly softening her facial features until she would not be recognizable to a casual observer. She had been wanted by the Ministry since the elections in 1975. At first he thought it was a silent human transfiguration and was mildly impressed, but then he noticed the effect rippling slightly and realized it was a much simpler glamour charm.

"I'd rather not."

"I'd rather not make you." Her grin broadened, and he scowled. But he followed her back down the street towards the Leaky Cauldron. It was definitely smarter to talk than to fight with a brand-new wand, no matter how horrible she was.

When they got to the bar, she provided the galleons, but he ordered the drinks. He got himself mead and got her a gigglewater. She raised her eyebrows at his choices but failed to comment. Neither of them actually drank. "What do you want?" he repeated.

She smiled deviously. "I want to know what you did to get yourself expelled from Hoggy-Warty Hogwarts. That's not an easy thing to accomplish with Old Softie as Head."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Guess."

"I know. You got in a fight with Severus Snape. But come on, you're always fighting with him, so I hear. What was different this time?"

"Why do you care?"

"Of course I care about my favorite cousin!"

He snorted. "Since when am I your favorite cousin?"

She simpered at him. "Obviously, since you won a duel in such a way even Albus-fucking-Dumbledore decided to expel you for it. I've never been so proud of you." Sirius glowered at her, and she studied him silently. "It shouldn't have been easy," she said silkily. "We've been working on Snape for years."

Damnit, now he was interested despite himself. "Excuse me?"

Her evil grin broadened further. "Snape's good. Really good. You and your little Gryffindor friends saw to that, bullying him ever since you were eleven. Cute, really. The Dark Lord notices talent, even in half-bloods. Ever since Snape came to our attention, we've controlled the people around him, made him better. No doubt, you've noticed, you and he are so... invested in each other. I know he's won most of the little spats you and your friends get into with him, for the past year anyway." Ever since James and Remus stopped helping him except when he was already losing, Sirius realized, but did not comment. "We are expecting to recruit him come June, even if he has been rather slippery on officially saying yes... and then you come along and take him out all by yourself, and no one can tell me how you did it. It must have been awful, though."

Sirius' stomach sank. He was beginning to see where this was going. "What do you want, Bella?" he whispered.

"You've caught the Dark Lord's attention again, Siri. And now that you've dashed your hopes for most reasonable offers of employment, you might want to reconsider his patronage."

"You want to recruit me."

"It is the family business, after all. You can't live off the Potters' generosity forever, not with your potions grades," (How did she know these things?) "particularly given their tender sensibilities. You hurt that boy, because you hate him. I may not know how, but I know you hurt him. Badly. The Potters and their ilk will never be able to accept you after this, not really. Deep down, you know that. Deep down, no matter what you've said in your dramatic, youthful rebellion, you are a Black, and you always will be. Toujours Pur."

Sirius was glad he hadn't touched his mead as he was now thoroughly nauseated. He knew she was manipulating him, but she was saying exactly his own thoughts. Still, he wasn't tempted. He'd been trying to escape his heritage so long, he'd rather die than give in to it. He wasn't quite stupid enough to tell her that right now, though. She probably had back up here, and there was no doubt in his mind that Bella would be just as happy to murder him as recruit him. "Can I think about it?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Hmm... I suppose. If you decide you're interested, meet me here next week, same time. If you decide you're not... then I might decide young Severus is my best friend and seek vengeance for him."

"Have you even met him?" Sirius asked curiously.

"No," she answered flippantly. "Slughorn doesn't invite me to his parties anymore. But I've heard he's such a charming, talented, and good-looking young man, it warms the heart just to read his roommates' reports about him."

Sirius almost laughed. "Talented, maybe. Charming or good-looking? No."

Bella shook her head. "How unkind. You've really got to work on your people skills now that you've got an expulsion on your permanent record, or however will you succeed in life?"

"Not by making friends with Severus Snape," Sirius grumbled. He couldn't stand her condescension, never could. "If he's in, I'm out."

Her eyes narrowed, and he realized she was taking him seriously. "We'll discuss that at our next meeting. If that's your condition, you better be prepared to impress me with how you beat him. We're not exchanging silver for steel."

Merlin's balls, now he was actually negotiating for a job as a Death Eater. He decided to end the conversation before he dug his hole any deeper. He picked up the shot of mead and drained it in one gulp, then stood up and bowed extravagantly at his cousin. "See you around, then."

"Until next time," she said sweetly, with a victorious smile.

He slowly walked out of the tavern and apparated away as soon as he hit the alley. He collapsed to his knees on the soggy lawn of Potter Manor; his legs could no longer hold him. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit... He could not think intelligently at the moment. He was too much in shock from what had just happened. This wasn't right. He was supposed to graduate from Gryffindor and join Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix! He wasn't supposed to be expelled in his seventh year and fall into Voldemort's clutches... He was crying again, and he didn't care that he was.

He stayed on the lawn getting soaked for several minutes until Euphemia Potter noticed his return and ran out to check on him. "Sirius! What's happened? Are you alright?" Wordlessly, he nodded and accepted her embrace. She didn't trust his answer and twisted her wand to detect injury or residual dark magic. Finding none, she tugged him to his feet. "Okay, okay, let's get you inside, and then you can tell me about it..."

Once they were inside and he had his hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate, he was finally able to tell Euphemia and Fleamont about his unexpected meeting with Cousin Bella. Both of them knew her well from before the war. They knew all about the madness rotting the Black family tree, and they knew Bellatrix was the most afflicted of the younger generation. They were both suitably alarmed when he informed them Bella was trying to drag him into the wizarding war now that he was at loose ends. And neither of them knew what to do about it. Bella had basically told him he would be her next target if he refused the invitation. He didn't have the option of staying neutral even if he wanted to.

The idea of joining the war was much, much scarier when he didn't have a choice, he found.

"I need to talk to Dumbledore," he decided.

"You're not joining the Order. You're too young," Euphemia said stubbornly.

"I'm of age. I've got nothing else to do, and I'll have to stay in hiding if I don't," Sirius said. He sighed. "He might not even want me to join, considering he just expelled me. But I still need to talk to him. He needs to know what Bella said, about how they're targeting students even while they're still in school. Not just over the holidays even."

"He already knows," Fleamont said sadly.

"Sure, he probably knows it's happening, but he needs to hear her words. Maybe he can use them to figure out how to stop it..."

"I'll call him," Fleamont said, shooting a look at his wife to overrule any objection. She seemed to agree, though.

"Think it'll be tonight?"

"If not tonight, then tomorrow. I'll let him know it's important," he promised.

"Yeah." He took a sip of cocoa then drew the cherry wand out of his robes and glared at it. "Guess I should practice with this in the meantime." His life would depend on it soon.

"Tell us about it?" Euphemia said softly. He looked up at her. She looked so sad, but she was trying to smile encouragingly. After all, it was an important and special thing, getting a new wand. It represented a new page in a wizard's story, new era, new choices, new opportunities... He turned the wand over in his hands. Flexible, Ollivander had described it. It was. He just wished his life could be so flexible.

Chapter Text

Albus Dumbledore listened to his story quietly and gravely. At the end of it, he sighed. "I am sorry you have been put in this position, Sirius."

Sirius wilted a little. He had been half-hoping Dumbledore would have had a ready fix to his problem, even though he knew that was unlikely. "Yeah. Don't have a lot of options, do I?"

"I will of course offer whatever protection I can..."

Sirius shook his head. "Honestly? If it's a choice between hiding and fighting, I'd rather fight." He ducked his head. "It's what I'm good at."

"Sirius, you are young. You have many other talents."

"And I'll waste all of them if I'm locked up until the end of the war. I'll go insane like everyone else in my family does."

Dumbledore studied him. Sirius felt the nudge of a Legilimens in the twinkle of those blue eyes and closed his mind automatically before it occurred to him not to. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "What is it you want from me?"

"Er, well, I thought I would join the Ministry as a hit wizard, but that's out now I'm expelled. Could I, er, join your group?"

"My group, as you so elegantly put it, requires just as much discipline, teamwork... and good judgment... as the Ministry does." Sirius winced at the clear implication that he didn't really qualify.

"I didn't mean to hurt Snape," he whispered.

"And I believed that, the first time you endangered his life," Dumbledore said gently. "I do not believe you are a bad person, but you are reckless. Your temperament is a danger in a war, to your enemies, to the people who rely on you, and potentially to innocent bystanders. That is the reason you were expelled. You need the kind of support and supervision we simply cannot offer at Hogwarts if you are to become the wizard you could be."

Sirius blushed at the put-down. He needed a moral education. Fleamont's hand found his shoulder, and he looked over at the only father-figure he actually respected. "Can I talk to Professor Dumbledore alone?" he asked. Fleamont and Euphemia both frowned, but with a nod from Dumbledore, they left.

Sirius leaned forward. Dumbledore was right. He was reckless, and that wasn't going to change in a hurry. "I don't want to go into hiding. If the Ministry won't have me, and you won't have me, then I'll meet again with Bella next week."

Dumbledore's eyes widened in surprise, and his spectacles slipped slightly on his nose. After a moment, he said, "Sirius, I cannot believe that of you."

"Not like that. If I go with Bella, you get a spy."

"I do not desire your services in that way."

"Nonsense. How could you possibly refuse free information? Because that's what you'll be getting, one way or another."

"No. You will stay here with the Potters. I will ward the house myself..."

"I won't stay, not forever." A thought occurred to him. "This is even better than just joining the Order, really, both for me and for you. And even for Snape. This is our chance to save him from them, too!"

"You are not obligated to sacrifice your life for your classmates," Dumbledore said irritably. "Severus is my responsibility, not yours."

"He's doomed. Bella said so," Sirius scoffed. "Unless my joining them is conditional on his exclusion, because as everyone knows, I hate him."

Dumbledore glared at him, clearly not impressed with his cleverness. "You will never make it to that meeting," he said in a tone that was meant to be authoritative and final. Too bad Sirius couldn't listen to authority.

"You can't watch me all the time. Eventually, I'll escape. And when I do, assuming Bella doesn't kill me on sight, she'll accept that I was prevented from meeting her, particularly if I show her the memory of you threatening to lock me up."

Dumbledore's eyelid twitched. "You think you're that good an Occlumens?"

Sirius snorted. "Heirs in the Black family start learning at age five. Try me."

Dumbledore did. His mind slammed against Sirius' with a force he hadn't felt since his mother was trying to coerce his obedience three years ago. It wasn't hard to keep his own thoughts closed, though. "What am I seeking?" Dumbledore asked after a moment. Sirius blinked. He hadn't been trying to figure that out, but he did now. Dumbledore's own mental barriers proved slippery and impenetrable, to him at least; Sirius had only rarely practiced Legilimency, back when his parents actually trusted him. So instead, he relaxed his own control slightly, letting his mind just begin to wander... he saw Snape in the seventh floor corridor and threw Dumbledore's probe back out.

"You're trying to view the fight with Snape."

"Correct."

"I'm not much of a Legilimens."

"Clearly." Sirius flushed, even though Dumbledore's tone had been perfectly neutral. "I will seek the same again. Show me something misleading."

"Okay." He waited for Dumbledore, then as soon as they saw Snape in the corridor, he diverted the memory to another, where the setup was similar, but Snape was followed by two other Slytherins, and James was with him. Sirius opened with insults and dodged Snape's first hex. A short duel ensued, broken up by Professor Flitwick.

"You made it too obvious," Dumbledore stated. "The light was different. Severus' clothing was different."

Sirius frowned. "Try again." This time, he allowed Dumbledore only a glimpse of Snape's face in the target memory before switching over to the distractor.

"Better. Now I'll search for something else."

This task was trickier, but he knew how to to do it. As soon as he felt Dumbledore's probe, instead of throwing up a barrier, he raced through a circuit of pre-planned, unimportant thoughts. It was a different Occlumency technique entirely. He let Dumbledore choose one and flicked from one related but unimportant memory to another: hanging up a cloak in the house on Grimmauld Place, eating breakfast while reading a book in Grimmauld Place, lying in front of the fire in Grimmauld Place with his eyes closed, taking in the view of London from the balcony at Grimmauld Place... when they got to flushing the toilet at Grimmauld Place, Dumbledore chuckled and stopped. "You certainly know how to weaponize minutiae, Sirius. I must have seen every room in that house by now, yet I know nothing of its construction or secrets. I'm afraid Lord Voldemort would see through that ploy, however. He is an excellent Legilimens."

"Yes, well, I couldn't figure out what exactly you were looking for since you never pushed that hard on any one scene. If it was, er, him, and he was going to kill me if I didn't show him something, I'd probably just hide the things I really don't want him to see and give him free access to everything else."

"Show me. Make me believe you have a good relationship with Severus, if not a close one."

That was hard. It was relatively easy to hide all his fights with Snape and even the gossiping the Marauders engaged in about him. There wasn't much to draw on in terms of friendly memories though. He found himself mostly recalling instances where he glimpsed Snape smiling at or laughing with Lily. There were a few times early in first year they had behaved civilly to eachother. There was the time last year where Moony had talked him into apologizing after the Whomping Willow incident - edited to leave out the part where they cursed each other back to the hospital wing. There were a handful of clever but not too bad insults they'd launched at each other over the years, which could be interpreted as ordinary banter once mixed together with typical Marauders fare. There was a nightmare where Snape had sent him a Valentine's card and chocolates (he hid the part of the dream where the chocolates proved to be poisoned). And finally, calling for help as Snape lay stricken on the floor, and the conversation in Minerva's office, anxiously asking "Is Snape going to be okay?"

Dumbledore withdrew. "That was... most impressive."

"Thank you, sir."

"But I don't think you understand precisely what you are asking to be involved in."

"I really think I do. I was at the dinners for Voldemort my parents used to host."

"Yes, but you must understand, if you join the Order of the Phoenix, your life will be on the line."

"I know."

"And if you decide to become a spy, he will not just kill you when he finds out but torture you in every way he knows, which is many."

"I know."

"He will come after the people you love."

"I won't see them. It's safer that way, better cover."

Dumbledore peered at him expressionlessly. "Moreover, the reason he desires you is not the same reason he desires Severus."

"Er... it isn't?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Severus does not initiate your conflicts, does he?"

"I mean... no, not usually. Sometimes?"

"Voldemort desires Severus for his skill with dueling, but also for his talent with potions, his fledgling talent for spell creation, and, if I may point out, his deliberative nature under stress. Voldemort has duelists aplenty. They flock to him. Potions masters and arithmancers are harder to come by. You on the other hand, he desires for your perceived viciousness."

Sirius blanched. "But... but I'm not."

"You do not wish to be, no, but you could be."

"I'm just good at fighting. That's all he wants, surely."

"You are good at dueling, for a eighteen-year-old who has yet to take his N.E.W.T.s. But as I said, Voldemort has duelists aplenty, older and more experienced than you. What I would surmise he is looking for in you is for you to match your cousin Bellatrix, who he favors heavily."

"There's no one like her!" Sirius spat.

"Exactly."

"...Oh."

"If you succeed in joining the Death Eaters, he will want to see that ruthlessness."

Sirius swallowed. "I- I can show him that."

"With preparation, I'm sure you could. But he will also want to continue to see that ruthlessness. He will want you to torture and to kill. From someone like Severus, he might accept reluctance and hesitation. From you, he will not." Sirius could say nothing, at which point Dumbledore smiled bitterly. "That is why I have never asked anyone to become a spy."

Sirius was defeated. "I get it." He dropped his head in his hands. "You still have to let me join the Order though. And you have to figure out a way to save Snape from them. I don't like him, but it's my fault he doesn't have any other options lined up at the end of June."

"I do not have to let you join the Order," Dumbledore said firmly. "As for Severus..." he sighed. "He attends Horace's club sessions regularly. I am hopeful he will find a suitable position through them. I'm afraid my own ability to extend assistance his way has been hampered for the last year." Sirius bit his tongue. Snape hated Dumbledore after the Whomping Willow, blaming him for not expelling Sirius then.

"Right. Changed my mind again. I'm meeting with Bella."

"Why?" Dumbledore almost growled, clearly exasperated.

"Because this is my fault."

"It's as much your fault as it is my fault for failing to reign you in sooner and never expelling anyone until now! That's half the reason for Bellatrix's interest!" Dumbledore snapped.

"Yeah, well, pants to you then. I'm still meeting with Bella."

"And what do you plan to do when they inevitably ask you to perform the Cruciatus? Or execute someone?"

Sirius shrugged, though he knew he was entirely failing to look nonchalant. "Fake it 'til I make it, I guess. I'll tell them I've never cast Unforgivables before, so they'll have to train me up before trying to get me to do anything big. You'll just have to get Snape a job and win the war before they catch on and kill me."

"You know Minerva hates you?" Dumbledore said suddenly.

"Yeah, I know. Poor woman."

"I sympathize with her."

"Lucky for you there's a good chance I'll be dead in six months."

"Child..." Dumbledore reached out and grasped his hands. His grip was too tight to be comforting. "You are just eighteen. Your life is important, Sirius. Do not throw it away."

A lump came to his throat. "It'll be worth more if I stop ruining it, Professor, and ruining other peoples.' I want to do this, and I'm going to. Hopefully, I'll help you save someone before the end."

Dumbledore sighed. "I don't want you in the Order, but I definitely don't want you facing Bella unprepared. You would need to figure out what to tell Bella, and show her, ahead of time. You would need a method of communication ahead of time. You would need to know what sorts of actions you would and would not be willing to take to protect your cover. And you would need a reliable extraction method."

Sirius grinned shakily. "Yes, sir."

Dumbledore beamed at him and let go of his hands. "Not that I'll let you defy me. Fleamont!" he called. The door opened immediately. "Please try to talk some sense into your foster-son. He's trying to blackmail me into letting him join the Order of the Phoenix, and worse as a spy. I really don't want to and have failed to dissuade him. Good-day to you both, I will check in tomorrow to see how you are all faring. Ta!"

With that, he sauntered out. "Wait!" Sirius called after him, but Fleamont and Euphemia both grabbed his shoulders and held him down. Sirius grimaced and settled down for the lecture and the pleading.

He was a Black, though. Pleading didn't work on him. He had no pity.

Bella was in the same disguise and sitting at the same table when Sirius arrived. He flopped into the chair across from her and grabbed the mead she already had waiting for him. "Hell is other people," he declared, and downed the drink.

Bella laughed. "I like that. Who said it?"

Sirius shrugged. "Some muggle, I think. You were right, Bella, I can't stand the way they look at me. Like they're sooo disappointed, but at the same time so not surprised."

She smiled, took his hand, and squeezed it. "You're a Black, Sirius. It's not your fault. It's not even their fault. They just don't understand us. Now, you have got to tell me what you did in that fight."

He smirked at her. "Would you rather see it?"

Bella's eyes danced. "I would," she breathed.

This was the real test. If he couldn't fool her, he couldn't fool Lord Voldemort, and Auror Moody would extract him. The auror was a rather frightening man who had almost certainly been sitting somewhere in the tavern and reading the paper for the past two hours, occasionally downing Polyjuice Potion. He had tried and failed to talk Sirius out of what he was doing after Fleamont and Dumbledore had, then spent the rest of the week coaching him on his dueling, helping him put together what he was about to show Bella, and generally telling him how to survive in a hostile world. Most of his advice came down to raising paranoia to an artform. All the while, Fleamont was working on barricading him inside Potter Manor with no intention of going along with his ploy to join the Order, though Dumbledore had shown up to attack him with Legilimency at odd times. Signals were definitely mixed. Moody wasn't technically going along with Sirius' plan either, having warned him to stay put or else upon leaving the manor yesterday. Knowing Moody though, the odds were nil he wasn't here just in case Sirius made it out. As it happened, neither Dumbledore nor Fleamont thought to ward against wild animals, so Padfoot got out quite easily while Fleamont frantically searched the premises behind him.

Sirius offered Bella an excited smile and settled his chin on his fist, then met her eyes, welcoming her into his thoughts. The duel she was seeking was right on top waiting for her, of course. She wouldn't see what he did perfectly with Legilimency, which played to his advantage. She would need a Pensieve for that, and Moody had helped him construct a very convincing false memory if it came to it. Pensieve memories carried no emotional flavor, though, so he doubted Bella would bother. If Dumbledore was right, she and Voldemort were looking for the Black madness in him. The disguised sadism. The rotten soul that escaped others' notice for years until it was too late.

The duel started the same. Sirius crouched behind a statue, waiting for Snape. Snape appeared, nose in a book, and Sirius rammed him into the wall. He followed this up with a silent Levicorpus but then incanted "Natrium Morticai" instead of disarming Snape right away. Snape was able to liberate himself from the Levicorpus easily and cast a Protego, but it was too slow to stop Sirius' insidious and invisible curse.

Sirius had never heard of the Natrium Morticai curse before this week, actually. Moody showed it to him. It was obscure enough the wily auror was pretty sure Snape wouldn't be familiar with it, but he also knew for a fact several Death Eaters were, so it wasn't a risk to show to Bella. It was a weird curse that took some time to show its effects, slowly draining the sodium levels in the victim's body, at least that was the theory. It was completely reversible with an easy counter-curse, so it wasn't all that much use in a matched duel. But if Snape didn't know it, as they were betting, it was easy to see why it would be disabling. Who knew salt was so essential to keep the body and particularly the brain functioning?

In the fabricated memory, Sirius and Snape traded off several more spells. Sirius had taken the imagery from some of their more impressive fights over the past year. But Snape inexorably slowed down, relying more and more on defensive spells and narrow dodges until Sirius successfully hit him with another Levicorpus. The original memory temporarily resurfaced, Snape dangling and unconscious, then dropped on his head, then convulsing. This time, the seizure didn't end, just kept going and going, as it had in Sirius' nightmare the day he was expelled. He never called for help, just crouched down and watched, heart beating wildly, although he tried to overlay a recollection of excitement rather than fear. It was unnerving how little practice he needed to develop that skill; he was frequently excited when tormenting Snape in the past. The convulsion kept going until James and Lily showed up and put a stop to it. His explanation to them became a petty and unconvincing lie. Lily's fury was evident. "You know, Sev was right when he said you're just as bad as if not worse than the Slytherin crowd." James' raw anger he took from the night of the Whomping Willow incident. "You son of a hag, that isn't a prank, that's attempted murder!" He allowed his mind to flick to some of his other, sulking thoughts before breaking off eye contact.

Bella twirled a curl of hair around her finger, like a coy teen. "That was beautiful. Were you just going to leave him there, breathless and twitching away, until he died?" she asked curiously.

"Pretty much," he lied.

"Did you like it?"

"I mean, it's Snape."

She giggled. "Your little school rivalry is adorable. This does rather explain why Dumbledore decided you were hopeless, dear cousin."

"I might have gotten carried away."

She patted his hand. "It was the third spell you cast. Face it, Siri, you wanted to kill him, so you figured out how to do it, and you did it. It's only bad luck for you that you got caught. I'm surprised they stopped at expulsion."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you?"

She grinned wickedly. "No. I was visiting when Uncle Orion and Aunt Walburga were arguing what to do after they got the letter about it. They were hoping to avoid your expulsion as well, family honor and all that, but Dumbledore's harder to influence than the Ministry is." Her voice lowered further, even though they were speaking under a muffling charm. "I'm sorry you got caught."

"And here I thought you were such a fan of the charming, talented, and good-looking Severus Snape," he drawled.

"Hah. That was before I saw you in action, Siri. Your little classmate Avery writes the reports, and he hates you. So unflattering. No, forget Snape. You, my dear cousin... you deserved the thrill of the kill. You had won it, and it was taken away from you. That's very unfair." She pouted at him.

He licked his lips, calculating his posture and his hesitation exactly. She would know it was contrived, but that didn't matter, because it would be, regardless of motivation. "Have you... killed anyone, Bella?" he asked slowly.

She looked him in the eye. "Don't you read the newspapers, Sirius?"

He jerked his head. "They're full of lies, though. So..."

"I've killed, Sirius. They were enemies, and they deserved it, and it felt good. I want that for you too, Sirius. I want you to know how good it is."

"I... I'm not sure."

She took his hand and squeezed it. "That's because you're only eighteen and have been living in a godawful tower surrounded by goodie-goodie Gryffindors. You need to come home, Siri."

"I don't like it at home either, Bella," he snarled.

"No, you don't like to be controlled. That was Uncle Orion's mistake. But you don't have to be. You don't have to come back and be the 'perfect Black scion.' Reggie can do that. He can play nice. You can play dirty. You'll only answer to the Dark Lord, and trust me, you'll like his rules. You'll have fun. You'll feel... free." Still, he hesitated. She rolled her eyes. "It's not like I'm going to make you go kill people tomorrow. That's something you work up to. So... are you interested?"

"Snape's out?" he asked, instead of answering her.

She pursed her lips then seemed to make a decision. "So long as you're in, Snape's out. Can't have the two of you killing each other when you're supposed to be working together, can we? He can get a nice job in a potions lab somewhere, smart lad like him."

"He can get fucked," Sirius muttered.

"Merlin, you do hate that sweet boy, don't you?" He flashed a two-finger salute at her. "Almost makes me wonder if you're going along with me to spite him, not that I care." She clapped her hands. "Right. I'm guessing you don't want to move back into Grimmauld?"

"Nope."

"Then you can stay with me and Rodolphus. Do you want to come now or go back to the Potter place and pack?"

He hesitated again, then shook his head. "I've got my wand. Got my watch. There's nothing valuable back there, just school robes, school books, and stupid, childish junk no one actually needs. I'm done with school." He smiled grimly. "Plus, I wouldn't put it past Fleamont to try to follow me, and notify Dumbledore, if he were to find me packing up my stuff without warning or explanation. Better to just not go back."

"You would know," she observed.

"Yeah, getting good at this."

"You are!" she praised, "But you get to stop running soon." She took his hand and led him out. He did not resist.

Chapter Text

The first few weeks that Sirius lived in the Lestrange residence was oddly like going back to school, without the friends. Bella assigned him books to read and spells to practice in her absence, and when she returned, she quizzed him about what he had learned and had him demonstrate spells. The big difference of course was that he was now studying dark magic almost exclusively. Bella had also decided he needed to work on silent casting more and learn at the minimum to summon and apparate wandlessly, but otherwise it was curses and countercurses, malign rituals, poisons and antidotes. He had to admit, his cousin was an effective teacher. She always coached him on how the magic could go wrong before letting him attempt anything practical.

He waited until Bella and Rodolphus were both out each day before opening the fancy, traditional watch he had received for his seventeenth birthday and whispering to the tiny portrait of Alastor Moody that lurked there. Moody's idea, of course. He had one of the other Order members who had some talent as an artist produce a series of portraits of himself made for everyone in the Order of the Phoenix, apparently reasoning that he was not so immediately recognizable as Dumbledore would have been. The tiny painted figure in Sirius' watch was even less recognizable, hidden in a dark, forested landscape. Portrait Moody usually had his back turned when Sirius looked, fishing in a stream. The portrait had been shrunken, trimmed, fitted, and charmed to look like it had always been part of the decoration of the watch. At the moment, Sirius was not privy to any plans, so there was not that much to tell to Dumbledore, but there was some. He whispered the names of everyone he heard Bella or Rodolphus mention and his best guess as to whether the names belonged to Light or Dark from the context. He told Moody everything Bella taught him, so that the Order could be prepared with the countercurses and antidotes. He told Moody when there was a change in Bella's routine, or when he heard mention of a big meeting. If nothing else, he told Moody he was alive.

A month in, Sirius graduated from practicing curses on objects and animals, or on Bella, to practicing on prisoners. Bella brought back a muggle from one of the raids. He knew this was coming of course, but it was still sickening. This was not something he could refuse, he told himself. This was the price of entry to more and better information. This muggle had only been spared death in the field in order to die later at his hands. The best thing he could possibly do for the poor man was perform well, so that Bella allowed his death to happen sooner rather than later. When Bella came for him and told him it was time to practice, he sent a silent prayer to the muggle Christians' god, begging forgiveness for himself, and grace for his unknown, soon-to-be victim.

They started easy, with the Imperius curse. Bella thought it was important for him to feel the distinction between casting it on muggles in contrast to a powerful witch or wizard, so he would be able to gauge the strength of his control and how long the spell was likely to last. He thought it rather ironic that she emphasized the difficulty of controlling a powerful wizard, when he knew perfectly well from both his reading and his lessons as a child that magical power didn't matter against the Imperius, but rather willpower did. Muggles could throw off the curse, and powerful wizards could fall to it. That was the very reason it was considered so dangerous, so different from something like the Confundus charm. He figured this must be Voldemort's 'Magic is Might' philosophy speaking, since Bella would have had the same lessons as any other Black child.

As far as he could tell, casting the Imperius on this particular muggle was almost the same as casting it on a stray cat. The man offered no resistance whatsoever to any commands he gave. He made sure one of the first spoken commands was simply "tell me your name," so that he could inform Moody and the family could get some closure, eventually. His name was Ivan Butler. Among the silent instructions he laid on Ivan was to remember that although he was about to endure horrible pain, it would be over soon, that he should feel free to cry or to pray, and that afterwards his remaining family would be safe. It might not help, but it made Sirius feel better. Bella then had him cast a second Imperius on a cat, and a third on her. It was difficult to hold all three spells simultaneously but entirely separate, giving different instructions to each target. Bella broke his control as soon as she felt like it, naturally. She broke through just as easily when he was practicing solely on her; Moody of course knew she could resist the Imperius. He knew Sirius could as well, now.

The first torture curse he cast on Ivan was Ragnuk's Blindness. The countercurse was lost to history, so they did not practice that. Quick legilimency confirmed Ivan was now blind, and terrified. This was followed by a petrification curse. They tested the mandrake root draught Sirius had brewed to reverse it; this was mostly successful but still left Ivan's movements unnaturally slow and stiff. Then they used the Imperius to force Ivan to touch game pieces Sirius had cursed with Flagrante and other pain- or illness-inducing but non-deadly curses. Then the Cruciatus. This was the one Sirius had expected to struggle with the most, since Bella explained you had to actually want to cause pain and even enjoy it in order to cast it effectively. As soon as he cast it on Ivan, he knew she was wrong. He didn't have to enjoy it. He just had to want it badly enough, even if the reason was his hatred for and desire to fool Bella. Spite was a powerful enough negative emotion to fuel any of the Unforgivables, it seemed. They moved on to the Transmogrifian torture curse and the head-growing curse, and their countercurses. They finished with the other mostly irreversible curses, first the Sleepwalking curse, with the efficacy again confirmed by legilimency, then the Entrail-Expelling curse. With the Gormlaith curse, Ivan was doomed to sleep forever anyway, so it barely made a difference to Sirius' numb psyche to let him go with Avada Kedavra. At Bella's prompting, he finished with a Morsmordre, a ghostly green Dark Mark floating out of his wand to dance across the ceiling and up through the roof. Sign of death, indeed.

As soon as they were done, Bella whooped, grabbed his hands, and spun him around the room in pure joy. "I knew you had it in you, Siri! I'm so proud! My baby cousin's all grown up! We have to celebrate! What's your favorite dessert? I'll tell Posy to make it for you. And you're getting firewhiskey tonight! Do you mind getting rid of that before it starts to smell much more, by the way?"

Sirius looked back at Ivan. He didn't want to just vanish him, which was what Bella was asking. She was shockingly bad at advanced transfigurations and blamed Dumbledore, who had been her transfigurations professor before he took the Headmasters' job. Vanishing the brutalized corpse felt sacrilegious somehow. He couldn't exactly bury it with respect, though. "I can't keep it?" he asked her, awkwardly.

She laughed. "Attached, because it's your first? That's nice. Fine, you can make it into a souvenir if you want to. Just keep it tasteful." She danced and hummed out of the room.

He drew the cherry wand. Flexible. Good for transfigurations. He wondered if the Slytherins' collective dislike of Dumbledore and to a lesser extent McGonagall meant he, Sirius, was now one of the few Death Eaters who was actually proficient in the subject. He swept the wand in a wide arc. The matter of Ivan's body rolled up into a ball and turned to dark, smooth stone, with the wedding ring he had noticed lodged unchanged in the very center. Then he shrank it down until it fit in his hand. With another flick, a Celtic knot was engraved into the surface of the sphere. He took it back up to his room and set it carefully on a shelf. It wasn't a trophy. As soon as he was able, he would find a way to give it to someone in Ivan's family. He knew that was a false promise. He would probably be dead before he had that chance. Maybe he could move it to a muggle cemetery at some point. That would be better than nothing.

It wasn't a trophy. It wasn't a trophy.

Even though Bella was downstairs, he took out his watch and opened it. He whispered, barely audible even to himself, "I killed Ivan Butler today. He was a muggle taken in a raid, brought to me for execution. He died bravely. He wore a wedding ring. His wife should know. I'm so sorry."

He wanted to cry, but he couldn't. Bella wouldn't tolerate that if she found out. So he took out Most Potente Potions, the least offensive of his current study materials, and pretended to read while actually doing Occlumency exercises. Bella wouldn't notice if he failed to retain much from the book; he had already been failing his N.E.W.T. potions work and would never be able to make most of the brews in this.

"What was your favorite part?" Bella asked him at dinner. She sat across from him in the formal dining room, a forest of crystal dividing them. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Lucius, Narcissa and Lucius' father Abraxas Malfoy, and his Uncle Cygnus Black were there as well, to celebrate his success, according to Bella. He could only be grateful she hadn't invited his own parents.

"Transmogrifian," he answered eventually. It was hard to figure out which answer would be most acceptable to Bella without signing himself up for the worst kinds of jobs that he simply couldn't stomach.

Bella cocked her head at him. "Why?"

"It's slow, and I can see it happening." It made it a highly impractical curse to actually perform in a duel or almost any setting besides a pre-planned execution where there would be no hope of him freeing the victim anyway. And unlike the Cruciatus, it didn't matter who cast it; the effect was always the same, all or nothing. The books all agreed bad as the Transmogrifian was, the Cruciatus in the hands of a master like Bella was the worse torture.

Bella smiled. "You naughty thing. I suppose that's to be expected though, especially after what you showed me before. You're so visual." She said it as if they were discussing his artistic qualities rather than his newfound skills with evil curses. He forced himself to smile and preen under her praise. "You should have seen him today, Father," she said to Cygnus. "Such a Black. Got every one on the first try."

Uncle Cygnus nodded approvingly. "Well done, Sirius. I'll be certain to tell Walburga. I'm sure you and she can make up."

"Yeah, thanks... It's not that impressive, though. We practiced on animals before," Sirius pointed out.

Rodolphus waved his spoon in the air. "No, no, it's very different when you're casting on a person for the first time."

"Even a muggle?" Sirius asked, despite himself. He had no doubt for him there would be no difference in his aversion to casting a Cruciatus on a defenseless muggle as opposed to a witch or wizard, but he was talking to a room full of racists who said muggles were basically animals. He was curious to know how deep that conviction went.

Cygnus, Abraxas, and the Lestranges laughed uproariously, as if he had made a joke. It was his cousin Narcissa who finally answered, "Even a muggle." She didn't look particularly happy about it, though. Maybe there was some hope for Cissy after all.

Bella shook him awake one morning with the most delighted expression he had ever seen on her face. That couldn't be good. She tugged him out of bed and kissed both his cheeks excitedly. "Today's the day, Siri! You're going out on the town."

She didn't mean shopping, of course. His heartrate picked up, and his eyes widened. He hoped Moody was in his portrait right now. "Really? With you? Where? What are we doing?"

She laughed and tweaked his nose. "Not with me, no. You're still a little green for that. But I promise you'll have fun. You're going muggle-baiting with Lucius. Not sure where, actually. I think he must pick half his targets by pointing blindly at a map or something. Now remember, listen to Lucius. Blow up whatever he tells you to when he tells you to do it. Don't go off on your own. You're allowed to curse any muggles you fancy, but make sure someone's around to watch your back if you decide to indulge in your delectable Transmogrifian. And for Salazar's sake, apparate out of there straight away if either the Order or any aurors show up. You're not going along to get in a grown-up duel and get yourself arrested or killed. You're going along to get some experience and have fun." She squeezed his hands. "If you do well, I might even take you out to get a new tattoo."

Sirius raised his eyebrows and chuckled wryly. "I've already got too many, from 'rebelling' against Mum and Dad." Even James had said he overdid it when he came home with a dragon covering most of his back and the lyrics of the entire Beatles song "Black Bird" spiraling around his bicep. Little did James know those were covering up additional, runic ones meant to protect against blood-based magic. He'd been seriously paranoid that his family would try to kill him when he first ran away. The tattooist in Diagon Alley had been reluctant to hide the runic tattoo within a second one because of the risk of smudging and fading altering the effect over time, even with magic to create the images precisely (and quickly). The first attempt to hide the runes in a snarling Grim's (Padfoot's) head had in fact gone badly, necessitating three additional rings of runes to negate the botched ones, after which it was safe to obscure the lot... with a fucking huge dragon. The second attempt concealing the runes inside decorative muggle text was much better, and free of charge as the tattooist was thrilled to have a new technique to offer his other patrons. He'd gone back a few more times for smaller jobs.

"This one's special," Bella said knowingly. He wasn't entirely sure what she meant by that.

Lucius collected him personally after breakfast, brought him over to Malfoy Manor, and introduced him to the rest of the group: Amycus Carrow, Gaius Goyle, Titus Crabbe, and Percival Parkinson. They all jostled, joked, and elbowed at him, clearly in high spirits. Sirius had met all of them before when he still lived at Grimmauld, and here they were ready to "take him out on the town," as if they were going on a pub crawl with the boys rather than preparing to commit murder and mayhem.

Lucius gave a brief rundown of the plan over an early lunch that Sirius didn't eat. It wasn't complicated. From the sound of it, similar operations happened every week, terrorizing muggle towns with a handful of deaths and property damage of the sort that kept the Ministry busy covering it up but wouldn't be a problem for wizards moving into the area in the future. He repeated the instructions Bella had given Sirius almost verbatim. And Bella was correct; he had a huge map of the British Isles pinned to the wall and some honest-to-Merlin nonmagical darts to throw at it.

They apparated into the town of Newbury, in a purely residential district, making no effort to conceal their arrival. The few Muggles on the street froze and stared at them in shock. Lucius calmly cast knock-back jinxes at the nearest two, then pointed his wand at his own throat and muttered, "Sonorus." After that, his voice rang commandingly through the air, "Everyone out of your houses! Now! Staying inside invites disaster!" He started walking, repeating his message occasionally. The rest of them started lobbing jinxes at random muggles who obeyed the order to come outside, and casting summoning charms at those they spotted lingering near windows. They were sowing confusion and fear but not yet terror. Lucius had explained earlier that it was better to start out "having fun" with non-lethal means, in order to ensure they were seen by as many as possible. Most of the muggles would in fact be permitted to escape, in order to keep the Ministry Obliviators busy. The ones in the most danger, ironically, were the ones who did not obey Lucius' orders and stayed in their homes.

Their movements were leisurely still. The trickle of retreating muggles increased to a stream and then a tide. None were permitted the luxury of a vehicle. Sirius had to join in messing with them, of course. He decided to use the opportunity to practice his speed and aiming, shying away from tripping jinxes and levicorpus to things like the conjunctivitis curse (which only worked if you actually hit the eyes) and the sponge-knee jinx (which likewise only worked if it hit the knees). He threw in a couple flashier or nastier things once in awhile to make sure the others wouldn't question his restraint.

Eventually, people stopped coming out of the houses, either because they had already run or had decided to hide. The mob of muggles pulled a little away from them despite the constant harrying. Lucius cancelled his Sonorus. "Homenum revelio," he said. He calmly surveyed the muggles fleeing before them, as well as the handful of bodies littering the street (disabled, not dead), then gazed around the silent buildings. "Hmm... Sirius, that house over there offends me. Would you like to take care of it?"

Sirius looked at the unassuming structure. Presumably, Lucius had detected some muggles still hiding inside. He forced a snicker. "I'd love to."

"Excellent. I prefer fire and explosions, but you can take your time and your pleasure. We'll come back for you if needed. Rest of you gentlemen, with me." The five Death Eaters ambled away, alternately casting jinxes at the muggles. They were like cats playing with their food. They still weren't actually trying to kill people yet. No, Sirius was to have first honor today.

Sirius turned to the house and cast his own silent Homenum Revelio charm. There they were, a whole family hiding in the upstairs of the house. Lucius probably wanted him to burn the house down with them inside. But he wouldn't. He could bring himself to execute Ivan when Ivan was already doomed. That had been necessary and unavoidable. This, he decided, wasn't.

He walked into the house. He did not know what he was going to do until he crossed the threshold. Once he decided, he acted quickly. He leapt up the stairs, taking two or three at a time and burst into the room where the muggles were hiding. One of them threw something at him, which he easily deflected before immobilizing all of them. "Do you have a basement?" he asked. He released the charm holding the older woman. She screamed. He silenced her. "Do you have a basement?" he repeated. Frantically, she nodded. "Good. That's where I'm putting you. You should be safe there." With that, he stunned them all and levitated them down the stairs. He found the basement easily and deposited them all at the foot of the steps. Then he cast the Petrification curse on them; it froze thoughts as well as bodies and thus had the benefit of rendering their minds invisible to the Homenum revelio charm until its effects were reversed. If Lucius was paying attention, he would think them all dead now. He placed a powerful shield over top of the family. Hopefully, that would be enough. He left the basement and transfigured the dining room table and chairs into a small herd of pigs, smiling at the cherry wand as he did. It was indeed good for transfigurations. He needed the evidence of shredded flesh, even spell-flesh, in case the Death Eaters came back this way, so they wouldn't look too closely and discover his deception. At the last moment, he took out his watch and whispered the street name and address into it, not even looking to see if Moody was listening. The aurors would know where to go soon enough.

He sauntered back out of the house. When he reached the middle of the street, he spun on his heel and hit the house with the most powerful blasting curse he could.

The explosion was huge, deafening. It flung the whole house from its foundations, ripped the outer side walls off both its neighbors, and sprayed debris across half the block. He stared at the destruction in shock. He'd never put so much force into that spell before. He hadn't known he had that power in him. Frantically, he felt for his own shield spell and almost fainted in relief that it was still there; he had thought he must have killed that family after all. He dropped the spell, now, and turned his feet towards Lucius and the other Death Eaters.

He looked up to see they were all waiting for him with huge grins on their faces. No one was even bothering to stop the muggles who were gradually getting to their feet and sprinting in the opposite direction as previous jinxes wore off. Sirius walked slowly, to give the muggles just a bit more time, whichever ones could get away, including a few bolting out of more distant houses. There would be more deliberate killing starting now. Lucius strode forward to meet him and grasped his shoulder, pride in his face. "Now that was an explosion! Well done, Sirius. Well done." He gestured to the nearest house. "Take that one too. I'd like to see it up close this time."

Sirius swallowed, but a quick silent charm showed this house was empty. Lucius really did just want the explosion, apparently. That was fine. He blasted this one too, still somewhat in awe of his own ability.

Lucius laughed and brushed blond hair out of his face; they had all felt the wind from the curse. "Boy, that is a talent you have. Amycus, can you believe he's just eighteen?" He pointed down the street slightly. "There. See if you can completely take out two at a time."

Fortunately, this was a task Sirius was fine with, as all the houses were abandoned now, as far as his spell could see. He obligingly took aim at the next two houses, utterly destroying one and heavily damaging the other. A few of the Death Eaters suggested minor modifications to his wandwork, and they flattened the rest of the row through experimentation. He finally succeeded in taking out three houses at once with the last spell, before the telltale crack announced the arrival of the opposition. Bella's and Lucius' warnings in mind, Sirius apparated away immediately, before the anti-apparition jinx went up and he became stuck in a fire fight against his secret allies.

He did not have to feign breathless exhilaration when he arrived back at the Lestrange manor. Bella wasn't home, but Rodolphus was, emerging from the library shortly after Sirius let himself in. "Well?" he asked.

Sirius grinned maniacally at him and spread his arms. "BOOM!" he shouted. It didn't matter that he looked and sounded like a child with the simple response. It was better he did, more in keeping with his character.

Rodolphus laughed. "Come on. I'll pour you a drink and tell you what to expect for tonight."

"Tonight?"

"You're meeting the Dark Lord."

"Oh... wow." He didn't know what else to say.

"I'm alive. I destroyed all those houses in Newbury, but I didn't kill anyone. I got out before the Order arrived. The family of Number 14 is petrified in their basement but can be revived with mandrake. Lucius. Amycus Carrow. Crabbe. Goyle. Percival Parkinson. I met the Dark Lord, and now I have a shit tattoo on my left arm: skull and snake. It's cursed, I think. And also, I'm really drunk, but he still didn't get in my head. Take that Dumbledore." He hiccoughed, then concluded his whispered message, "The others left again, some late-night mission. I'm going to a meeting tomorrow... Goodnight."

He crawled into his bed and set the watch on his pillow next to his ear, slightly cracked open. "You did a good job, kid." Moody's voice somehow still managed to sound gruff even in a quiet whisper. "We found the folks at Number 14. Keep this thing cracked during meetings. It's safer the less you have to remember and repeat. Don't risk what you don't have to. We want you to survive this. Remember, constant vigilance."

Sirius smiled as he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Sirius wasn't sure where exactly the Dark Lord's headquarters were; Bella escorted him to the meeting via side-along apparition. He vaguely recalled she had done the same the night before, though he had gotten too drunk with Rabastan afterward to remember very well. Everyone inside except the Dark Lord himself wore masks, most also remained hooded, and there was a ward on the place that distorted and stripped the resonance from human speech, making individual voices hard to recognize. The headquarters itself was dark and rich, decorated in black and deep greens primarily. All the windows were shuttered. They had apparated into a covered drive and immediately hustled into the main entrance with no chance to examine the exterior. It was altogether a surreal sensory experience.

Being the very most junior member around, Sirius' presence at the meeting was brief and entirely silent. He took the opportunity to study the Dark Lord in more detail than he had the night before. The man was not what he had remembered from ten years ago at Grimmauld before the official start of the war. A decade ago, Lord Voldemort had still been strikingly handsome, with a well-proportioned facial structure and thick, dark hair. Back then, the only evidence of his nature had been his aura of menace, terribly frightening to eight-year-old Sirius. What made him strikingly not handsome now was thinness and pallor. He was easily recognizable as the same person, but he looked sick and starved, like he hadn't seen the sun in years. And his eyes looked bloody, both whites and irises. They could put a picture of him in introductory Defense textbooks as a cautionary tale: here's what happens to you when you use too much dark magic, kids. His ill appearance was deceiving though; he moved with grace and deadly precision.

Besides Bella and the Dark Lord, he figured out Lucius was also there pretty quickly, as the subject at hand was the strategy for anti-muggle violence. It must have been Lucius describing the details of both yesterday's venture and those of the previous few weeks. Voldemort was pleased at "our youngest member's affinity for the blasting curse" and said that would have many uses. He was also pleased at someone else's description of the Ministry's reaction to the attack, for the Obliviators still weren't done over twenty-four hours later. Sirius concluded the Death Eater speaking about it actually worked in the Ministry. He observed the man, trying to identify any recognizable features around the mask, but unhappily decided he would remain a mystery unless someone carelessly mentioned his name, which didn't seem likely. The Dark Lord directed Lucius ("my slippery friend") to increase and if possible prolong his attacks to further bog down the Ministry. Sirius ("our young associate") was officially assigned to his team for the time being.

When that meeting was concluded, Bella plunked him down in an outer chamber and told him to stay put until she came for him, then went back into the conference room. He sat by a wall and watched, and listened. For hours. He only heard a single new name. Of the dozens of people passing by, he counted a grand total of ten distinct women, though it was hard to tell everyone's genders behind the masks and mostly nondescript black robes. He did notice that contrary to popular belief, most of the Death Eaters were obviously poor. The silks, satins, and velvets favored by the likes of Bella and Lucius were startlingly rare. He counted only a dozen people who were definitively upper class. No, most robes were unadorned cotton or linen, and though all of them were black, most of them were at least a little faded, and some were positively threadbare. Severus Snape would have blended right in with this crowd, he realized guiltily. He wondered how many people were actually here by choice and how many had been pressed into it, either with blackmail like him or through lack of other prospects, like Snape? Poverty wasn't something Sirius really understood all that well. He had never met a poor person before going to Hogwarts.

Three hours in, he asked someone randomly where to find the bathroom and took the opportunity to snoop around a little. Besides the foyer, main parlor, and large meeting room, he passed a library, a mess hall, a staircase, a closed door that smelled like blood and offal, and a closed door that smelled like it probably led to a potions lab. The bathroom had stalls, so this most likely wasn't a private mansion originally, unless someone had bothered with rather extensive remodeling. Even with magic, plumbing was a pain; one had only to read the section on late nineteenth century renovations in Hogwarts: A History to appreciate that. More likely this building had always been commercial, with charms and quality décor disguising the fact.

Four hours in, he was certain the Death Eaters operated as a series of semi-independent cells, each with some kind of dedicated purpose. Like Lucius' muggle-baiting operation. He really didn't witness much cross-talk between different groups except for a few obviously senior and mostly rather rich members, like Bella. It was a sensible and effective security measure, Sirius thought unhappily. It definitely limited his usefulness as a spy. He would have to get really close to the Dark Lord in order to get a view of the organization as a whole.

That was a problem for another time, obviously. It might even be an insurmountable problem, he conceded. For now, he would bide in Lucius' group and try to do as little damage as possible, even though it seemed his blasting curses were likely to feature prominently for the foreseeable future. Maybe forewarned, the Order could do something to get at least some of the muggles out of the area ahead of time and arrive sooner. How Moody and Dumbledore might accomplish that without making it immediately obvious there was a leak, he had no idea, but it wasn't his problem what the Order decided to do with the information he sent them. He was ready to die for the greater good if they decided to sacrifice him.

He did make a mental note to ask Moody's advice on whether there was a different kind of cell he should try to get into, eventually. It was early days, but he knew Bella wanted him to be "happy" in her twisted understanding of the word. If he expressed an interest in something besides muggle-baiting, she might just be willing to arrange a transfer.

May was monotonous. Once or twice per week, he left the house to join Lucius' missions. He caused a fortune in property damage but managed not to kill any muggles that he knew of, instead employing the same petrification and shielding trick over and over when there was no one to look over his shoulder. The rest of the time, he continued his intensive study of the Dark Arts. He practiced dueling with either Bella or Rodolphus most nights. Bella declared he was improving, but still not ready to take on aurors or the Order because he wasn't "fodder." He took that to mean rather a lot of other new recruits were dispensable in her view. Dumbledore's comment that the Dark Lord had duelists aplenty and was looking for something different in him came back to haunt his dreams as his sleeping mind ruminated on what exactly Bella and the Dark Lord were looking for.

May 23rd was a day like any other, until the evening.

"Dolohov got both of them! Can you believe it?! An operation it took weeks for me to plan, and where I was present the whole time, he just ups and turns the Avada Kedavra on both of them!" Sirius heard Bella's furious shouting through the floor. He couldn't hear Rodolphus' more measured response. "No I'm not happy to just count the mission as a success, Dolph! I had the meat torn from my mouth! And no, they wouldn't have got away while I was playing with them. It took all five of us, but we had them both in hand. We could have trussed them up and taken them to the Dark Lord if we wanted... It was too fast, Dolph. I don't like it when it's so fast." She was getting quieter as Rodolphus expertly soothed her temper. Sirius stood up and walked casually out of the room.

He picked up the conversation again as he descended the steps. "Not even a single Crucio. A quick death is too good for blood traitors like that."

"There's more where they came from, Bella. Didn't you tell me that whole family would have to go?"

Bella giggled. He could just glimpse her in the parlor now, sitting on the loveseat and tossing her head. "I did. And it's a big family. You're right about that, I'll get another chance, to do it right." Sirius' shoe scuffed against the tiles in the hall at the most inopportune time as she finished speaking. She craned her neck around to look at him. He kept walking, not too fast, not too slow. He did not want to look like a furtive eavesdropper. Fortunately, she smiled rather than accused him of spying. "Ah, Sirius. There's my sympathetic ear!" She stretched out a hand towards him and gestured for him to take the chair opposite her loveseat, near the empty hearth.

"Good evening, Bella, you're back late."

She pouted. "I would have been back later, if someone hadn't decided to steal my fun."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Anyone I know? Do I need to go avenge you?"

Bella cackled delightedly.

Rodolphus snickered and said, "I don't think you're quite ready to take on Antonin Dolohov, lad." Sirius filed the name away.

Sirius grinned and pulled out a cigarette. He had first tried smoking to piss off his parents in Grimmauld place. It hadn't become a habit until he moved in with Bella, though. "I'll hold his arms, and you punch," he offered jokingly.

Surprised at the unusual muggle phrase, both Bella and Rodolphus laughed again. "That's it! That's it exactly. See, Dolph, I knew Sirius would understand."

"What do I understand?" Sirius mumbled whilst lighting up. He couldn't do a full Incendio wandlessly, but he could summon sparks and heat from his fingers. The trick was not taking too long and burning himself.

Bella leaned forwards. "I had two - two mind you - Order members cornered tonight. They were trapped, wandless, blind, and bleeding, under four stacked anti-apparition wards and a Petrificus. They was no way for them to escape, and they knew it. They were mine. And then Dolohov just... killed them. No fanfare. No artistry. No nothing. Just," she snapped her fingers, "gone." She pulled a face at him. "I wasn't asking for much. We were all tired. I wasn't going to make everybody sit through a Transmogrifian." She giggled again, eyeing him knowingly. "But don't you think there was time for one little Cruciatus?"

"You mean one each," Sirius commented without thinking.

Bella whooped. Apparently, that had been a brilliant thing to say. "Oh, Siri, I wish I had you on my team already."

"Yeah?"

"You'd love it. I know you would. And maybe I could finally get rid of Dolohov as my muscle man on high-risk targets."

Sirius shrugged, feigning disinterest. "I'm pretty happy with Lucius so far."

"Boom!" Rodolphus interjected, helpfully. Sirius blew a smoke ring at him.

Bella scoffed. "Random muggles. Meaningless! Come on, Siri, tell me why was Snape the one you kept going after at Hogwarts?"

"Because he's a slimy git."

"Because you know him, and hate him, and he gave as good as he got," she corrected. "And that made it more fun. Trust me, Sirius, it's much, much more fun when you're going after someone who really deserves it, not just ignorant, terrified muggles who can't fight back."

Sirius offered a well-practiced smile. "I did like it when he fought back."

"Which was every time," Rodolphus pointed out idly whilst running his fingers through his wife's wild hair.

"Yeah."

"Like I said, you'd have fun with me," Bella said.

"Do you only go after Order members?" Sirius asked curiously.

"No, no. That was just today. My prey is blood traitors." Her lips twisted. "The hypocrites are worse than the half-bloods they spawn."

"You think so?"

"Of course! Giving away their bloodlines for nothing, to nothing, risking squib children." She shuddered. "I think I'd cut out my womb. There are decent half-bloods who know their place and wouldn't dare even look at one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight without permission. They marry amongst themselves for at least three generations before trying to move up and are willing to work to better themselves and make up for their impurity, rather than drag the rest of us down to their level." She grinned slyly and said brightly, "Like Snape!" Sirius mock-glared at her. "You're too easy to needle," she told him.

"Not true. If I were, we'd be dueling right now, and every time you brought him up. Also, you're sadly mistaken if you think Snivelly humbly averted his eyes every time I hexed him." Sirius stretched in the chair and yawned.

"Hmm. Getting late for little school boys. Bella and Dolph should send you off to bed, eh?" He flicked a wandless stinging hex at her nose. She yelped, then grinned. "Aw, Dolph, look how our boy's growing up."

"Does a fellow proud," Rodolphus agreed. He wasn't looking at Sirius though. He leaned over to kiss Bella's reddening nose, one hand slipping around her waist.

"Ah! Hands! Naughty thing!" Bella told him playfully.

Sirius mimed retching. "Right. I'm going to bed." He stubbed the cigarette into the silver ashtray the house elf had recently placed on the side table in this room and strolled out of the room.

"...be your Dark Lord tonight?" he heard Rodolphus murmuring as he walked down the hall.

"Mm... show me the glamour... oh, those eyes are exquisite work, Dolph. They're his!"

Merlin, Sirius might actually vomit now. He walked faster. When he got back to his room, he opened the watch. He frowned. Moody was gone. He set the watch down and started getting ready for bed. He took a long time in the shower; he felt the need to be extra clean after that conversation. When he returned to the bedroom, Moody was back. He brought the watch close to his face. "Were you here earlier?" he whispered. The little Moody shook his head. He continued his report. "Bella was out late. She and four other Death Eaters killed two Order members. Dolohov cast the killing curses. Bella called them blood traitors and said all the people she targets are blood traitors. Also, I think she and possibly Rodolphus are sexually attracted to the Dark Lord. I need to double-soundproof my room and wash my brain."

Sirius brandished his wand, and five whole houses blasted apart. Debris pelted against the Death Eaters' shields briefly.

"Nice one, Sirius!" Goyle called to him from across the street.

Sirius grinned lazily at him and mock bowed. "You too...Gaius. Very colorful." Goyle was currently engaged in arson; the house in front of him was burning black, silver, and green. Sirius just couldn't shake the habit of thinking of this group by their last names and kept tripping over their given names, except for Lucius who he knew rather better. They were all men who had been sixth and seventh years when he started at Hogwarts. Before Hogwarts, he knew each of them as "Heir to the House of X."

Sirius' smile slipped slightly as he noticed a horrible choking and gagging sound. He shouldn't have noticed such a small noise in the general cacophony of roaring fires and occasional explosions around him, except that his ears were primed for this, the sound he least wanted to hear. He looked around and spotted a muggle lying in the street in a growing pool of blood, just beyond the furthest house Sirius had blasted. Several fragments of wood and metal were poking out of her body... product of Sirius' blasting curse without a doubt.

Sirius couldn't ignore it. He couldn't. He forced his face to remain neutral and his gait to remain slow and calm as he walked towards the woman. He looked down at her quivering body. The blood was mostly coming from a gaping slash in the side of her neck. She looked up at him with no comprehension. There was terror, but it was not for him. He slowly crouched down next to her and vanished his mask. She deserved to see a person in her last moments, not a demon. He looked into her eyes, but then decided he really didn't want to know her thoughts. "Imperio. Tell me your name."

"Marcia Edgewood," she said effortfully, then coughed. A spray of her blood stained his robes and hands.

"Why do you care?" Lucius asked curiously from beside him. Sirius had not noticed his approach.

He shrugged. "I like to know their names." He glanced up. Lucius had also temporarily vanished his mask in order to talk unencumbered. He was watching Marcia twitch with a look of disgust, until he turned his steely eyes towards Sirius. Sirius grinned reflexively. "The ones I know I killed," he clarified.

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "Do you keep a list?"

Sirius started rattling off muggle names. "Ivan Butler, Louis Leonard, Merle Kim, Wilma Kim, Yvette Adams, Ernest Smith, Doreen Smith, Christie Smith, Chase Smith, Jimmy Houston, Faith Arnold..." Lucius kept staring with ever-widening eyes, and he trailed off. He realized Lucius' question had been facetious. He also realized he'd have to remember all the names he'd just made up in case anyone else asked. He suddenly wished he had access to a muggle newspaper, for studying the death notices and obituaries. His cover could unravel so fast if Lucius ever looked into it.

"Why?"

Sirius smiled again, stalling while trying to come up with an explanation. By the time he answered, his smile must surely have changed from friendly to creepy simply based on duration. "Because it's different from other animals. Other animals can't tell me their names, and I... want them, I guess."

The lingering vague disgust in Lucius' expression briefly intensified, and then abruptly vanished. Sirius was relieved. That probably meant Lucius found the whole thing disturbing rather than suspicious but decided not to betray his reaction on his face. Sirius did not look down at Marcia again. He climbed to his feet, turned towards the next intact house, and smashed it to smithereens, praying no more muggles would get hit with debris today, hoping he looked just as insane as Bella at the moment.

He was exceedingly drunk again when he confessed the murder of Marcia Edgewood to Moody's portrait late that evening. Hers was the only new name, at least.

It came as a shock to Sirius the day Richard Avery joined the group at Malfoy Manor, ready to head out to another muggle town. It shouldn't have. The Hogwarts term had concluded over a week ago. James, Remus, Peter, Lily, Marlene... they were all graduates now. Somehow, the event had slipped right by him. But now, here was Avery, all done with his regular N.E.W.T.s and ready to commence his final, unofficial examination, followed by induction into the Death Eaters.

Avery stood with him awkwardly in Lucius' formal parlor. Lucius himself and the other older men were distracted with some gossip about Amycus' sister Alecto, which neither Sirius nor Avery was particularly interested in. Alecto was ten years older than them, and she wasn't pretty. Sirius was bored, but he could think of nothing to say to Avery. They had known eachother as children, but he had always disliked the Slytherin boy on principle once they started Hogwarts. Once they were Sorted, he never really thought much about him apart from being one of many generic, snotty, rude, Snape's friends that he occasionally hexed. Or Snape's acquaintance rather. He doubted that friendship would be lasting, with Snape still barred from joining the Death Eaters. "You... look good," Avery ventured.

Sirius looked at him and raised his eyebrows.

Avery flushed. He appeared nervous, and his gawky, pimpled face did him no favors. "You look, um, confident."

Sirius smirked. "You don't."

Avery straightened slightly and frowned. "Yes, well, unlike some, I had to wait until after Hogwarts to start killing people."

His bravado would fool no one. He sounded positively terrified. Sirius lowered his voice. "Is today your first time?" he asked.

"Screw you, Black," he whispered furiously.

"Oy, same team now. And I didn't even manage to kill your mate Snivelly. I'm not asking to mess with you." Why the bloody hell was he asking, then? Avery didn't answer back, but he found himself talking again, still quietly. "It's different from animals." They know their names. "It's different from just fighting. It's nothing like the duels we got into at school."

Avery was growing paler. "If it's so different, how'd you transition so seamlessly? You were a Gryff four months ago, but Mum said you've got your tattoo, back in April."

"I may not have gotten the training you Snakes do over the holidays, but I worked with Cousin Bella a lot, as soon as Dumbledore kicked me out. She's... amazing." Avery shivered. Amazing wasn't the word most people chose to describe Bella, but when it came to the Dark Arts and psychopathy, it was dead accurate. "The first person I killed wasn't on a raid or anything. It was a muggle Bella brought back for me to practice on."

"Wish I had that. I'm almost pissing myself here, Black."

Sirius actually felt sorry for him. Avery was even younger than him, hadn't turned eighteen yet. "Did you tell Lucius that?"

"Hell no!"

"Maybe you should." He didn't know what kind of a relationship Avery had with Lucius, but it couldn't be that bad. They were quasi-cousins, like most purebloods. Lucius would have been his prefect back in first year. Lucius wasn't actually a sadist, unlike Bella. And even Bella knew better than to make a seventeen-year-old murder someone on day one.

"No, I can't do that. I'm supposed to- to prove myself today."

"No, you're supposed to get some experience and have fun," Sirius said, echoing Bella's instructions to him on his first mission. Then he bit his tongue. Had he seriously just told a nervous Avery to "have fun" murdering muggles? What was wrong with him? He was getting way too deep into his cover.

Didn't work anyway. If anything, Avery looked even more spooked. "You're so... nonchalant."

"Good, confident, and now nonchalant. Your compliments are going downhill." He shrugged. "Honestly, you might not even end up killing someone today. That's not really the point. The point is to make a mess for the Obliviators."

"Oh. Good. I mean, good to know..." He really did look relieved to hear that.

It made Sirius angry, and unspeakably sad to realize that all the students at Hogwarts who blustered about joining the war... most likely none of them really wanted to, on either side. They were all being pulled in, by their families, by a sense of duty, or anger, or simply drafted for their potential. It wasn't right, or fair, and there was no way out. Merlin, he hoped James and the others had come to their senses since he was expelled and didn't try to join either the Ministry forces or the Order of the Phoenix. He even hoped Snape got out. Really, no one deserved to be forced into this.

A burst of laughter announced the end of the Alecto anecdote, finally. Lucius ushered them all into the lunch room and walked through his usual spiel in slightly more detail for Avery's benefit. Sirius tuned it out, concentrating on his food, until a sudden thought occurred to him. Audacious, yes, but good. Marauders good, in fact. When Lucius got to the part of where they would actually be going today, he piped up, "Hey, can I throw the dart this time?"

Lucius chuckled, as did Crabbe and Goyle (Sirius still couldn't bring himself to call them by their first names, not in his head). "Sure, if it makes you happy." He passed the dart across the table, and Sirius stood to take aim at the map on the wall. He'd only thrown darts twice before, when he and James had sneaked out to a muggle pub. They were both terrible at it. He hefted the dart, carefully feeling its weight so he could remember it later, then threw it without really caring where it landed. Not today.

Amycus leaned over to read the place name. "Looks like we're going to Ripley."

Chapter Text

Only one thing changed in Sirius' routine in the weeks after the addition of Avery to the muggle-baiting team: he started throwing a dart in his room every evening after placing silencing charms on all the walls. He transfigured the dart out of a stone he had found in the woods that seemed the right weight, and he changed the dart into a figurine of a grim when he was finished. His target was a page of the potions notes Bella assigned him back in April. By mid-July, he could consistently hit the paragraph he was aiming for, but not the word. That was inadequate for his purposes, so he started working on cheating with silent, wandless magic. By the end of the month, he could dot all the i's.

Meanwhile, he continued asking Lucius if he could throw the dart to choose destinations. Avery asked the same. Lucius indulged them both, passing the dart between the two of them on alternating missions whilst the older Death Eaters leaned back in their chairs and commented on "youthful enthusiasm." Sirius thought that was a bit rich, since the oldest of the group, Titus Crabbe, was barely twenty-seven. And an idiot; that family looked to be going the way of the Gaunts.

Only when both Bella and Rodolphus were out of the house, Sirius plotted quietly with Moody's portrait, sometimes whispering to it, sometimes showing it ideas he wrote down whilst pretending to take notes from different books on Dark magic (he always vanished the ink later when he did that). His original plan had to change when Lucius instructed him to make sure Avery got out before he did whenever the aurors showed up, thus increasing the odds of him getting stuck behind the anti-apparition ward. Luckily, Bella had him practicing breaking the ward every night before allowing him to go to bed as soon as he informed her. It took him about an hour the first night they practiced, but he managed it in five minutes more recently.

The issue of Richard Avery was becoming more uncomfortable the more Sirius got to know him, and the longer Sirius plotted against his coworkers. He definitely wanted Lucius, Amycus, Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson arrested and sent to Azkaban if he could manage it. He wasn't sure about Avery who had rather latched on to Sirius like an annoying younger sibling after their first outing together. Avery outside of school wasn't quite what he had been when they were both at Hogwarts or even what he had been several years ago before Sirius left Grimmauld and he would see Avery in passing at social gatherings over the holidays. He made plenty of blood supremacist comments and jokes, but then, so did Sirius in order to blend in. He was just as likely to make awful puns. He knew a lot about the Dark Arts, but no more than Sirius did. He knew much more about Ancient Runes, which had been his favorite subject of study. He even offered to lend Sirius his notes from the last few months of classes he had missed, since Professor Babbling's lectures often included original material from the book she was working on.

He was perfectly comfortable with dealing out non-lethal jinxes, even nasty, painful ones. That hadn't changed since Hogwarts. However, unlike Sirius, Avery had gotten cold feet on that mission in June when Lucius sent him to demolish the first, still-occupied house. He had turned pale and sweaty, then cast a verbal Homenum Revelio of his own, which he really shouldn't have in Sirius' opinion if he was afraid of what he would find. He had been visibly trembling when Lucius urged him towards the house, and then he had simply gone in and thrown the family of four onto the street before setting fire to the place. To his credit, Lucius had not criticized Avery's performance, nor had anyone else. He didn't have to. Lucius merely cast the killing curse on all the muggles before proceeding as if nothing had happened. Avery did not meet the Dark Lord that night, and to Sirius' knowledge still hadn't. He definitely did not yet have an ugly skull and snake tattooed on his arm. He had learned his lesson and stopped checking for people before burning down or blasting houses, at least not so obviously. Still, Sirius knew for a fact that Avery hadn't killed anyone. He knew because ever since the last of his own accidental deaths - a family of three - he magically watched for muggles throughout the entire operation start to finish, no matter how much it hurt to see.

What he didn't know was if it would be better for Avery to let him be captured and sentenced to prison or to keep him as a junior Death Eater. Unfortunately, Portrait Moody didn't know either, now that Bartemius Crouch, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had started sending every suspected Death Eater captured directly to Azkaban while awaiting trial, and not even in the upper levels. No, they were all right next to the dementors. Sirius had never met a dementor, and he never wanted to, Patronus be damned. The thought of sitting next to one without a Patronus was horrible, mostly because he knew it would force him to think about Ivan, Marcia, John, Billy, and Barbara non-stop.

Bella hadn't really been interested in the Azkaban policy when she heard of it, but Abraxus Malfoy was. "The Dark Lord should care about this," he grumbled when he unexpectedly joined them over lunch. "The ones who make it back out of there won't be as much use to him. It will break them, or drive them mad, or both, and he can't just leave them there once we win. They will be our problem again." The Malfoy patriarch eyed Sirius then and concluded, "Of course, our magnificent lord never did consider insanity to be a significant limitation."

"Madness is just one of the Black family's charms," Sirius told him winningly. "Pass the caviar, would you?"

"One of its uses," Abraxas said. His pale blue eyes were cold and face calculating as he wandlessly levitated the dish across the table to Sirius.

Sirius arched on eyebrow and dug his soup spoon directly into the serving bowl. The amount of roe he shoveled into his mouth in one heaped spoonful was probably worth several Galleons. It was also frankly disgusting, far too rich and salty in such quantity without bread or crackers to dilute the taste, but Abraxas' appalled expression was worth it. Lucius and Avery goggled at him with wide eyes. Crabbe and Goyle stifled laughter. Sirius swallowed and set the spoon down. "One of our defenses," he corrected. 

On the fifteenth of August, all plans were laid. It was Sirius' turn with the dart, and he threw it unerringly at Kettering, in the East Midlands.

They apparated into town and started rounding up muggles, setting fires, and blasting houses as usual. A lot of the houses were already empty, their inhabitants out for the day. Sirius knew that was because the "amusement park" on the other side of town was having a big event all week, according to Moody. Lucius, fortunately, was completely ignorant of the existence of amusement parks (to be fair, so was Sirius most of the time), would never have anticipated this hiccup, and would never have thought to target the park itself. In four months of muggle-baiting, Lucius never once raised the possibility of figuring out the schedule for some popular event and for instance targeting one of the muggle sports stadiums Sirius had seen from a distance. No, they always hit residential areas, town centers, or big infrastructure like bridges, targets they could count on always being important, even if the human impact was often middling. Sirius had long since decided this was mostly because Lucius was lazy, but he wasn't about to suggest new ideas that might get more muggles needlessly killed.

The first warning of the enemy this time was not the telltale crack of apparition. Nor was it the light of a curse or the sound of an incantation. No, this time, the first warning was Sirius screaming in agony when Moody's silent transfiguration hit him. He had been expecting it; it had been his idea, in fact. It was brilliant, because transfiguration spells were almost always invisible. Silent castings were harder and more likely to be partial or even botched. Botched transfigurations took longer and more skill to undo. It was the perfect way to very obviously incapacitate him without actually taking away his wand or rendering him unconscious. None of the other Death Eaters would be able to help him in the midst of the fighting even if they wanted to. And he wouldn't be able to summon help by touching his own Dark Mark, either.

It really hurt like hell, though, when his wand arm seized up, twisted around on itself, and sprouted leaves and tree bark. His wand remained clasped in his useless, wooden fist. His shoulder felt the worst, where the transfigured wood merged un-gently with his own flesh. It felt like the nerves were clenched in a vise that was slowly ripping them out from the roots. "Finite," he wheezed. He couldn't reverse it with just a Finite, just arrest it. Peripherally, he saw Avery twist on the spot, attempting to apparate away as he had been told. There was a sound like a bell as he hit the anti-apparition ward tied to a particularly ferocious knock-back jinx and fell to the ground, senseless.

Two down, five to go, Sirius counted on Moody's behalf.

"Sirius, stay close to Richard," Lucius ordered harshly. Then the curses started flying.

"Protego," he said through gritted teeth. He edged a little closer to Avery so he would be protected from any wayward spells by Sirius' shield, even though none of the aurors or Order members were aiming at the two helpless teenagers.

Mostly helpless. Sirius did have an image to uphold. He couldn't actually duel in his current condition, but he did, technically, still have his wand in his hand, even if it was stuck pointing skyward. He also had to act quickly to do his bit before it was over. The ambush was going extraordinarily well. Crabbe was already down. Goyle and Parkinson would be next. Moody had the same tactics Sirius used to in school when facing multiple opponents: confine, distract, take out all the minions so no one could hit your back, and only then focus on winning the main duel.

Sirius bent his body nearly in half to level his wand, aiming towards Moody who knew to expect this. Moody was currently distracted casting hex after hex at Parkinson, but he wasn't the only one. He waited for Moody to slow his movements and make eye contact. As soon as he did, he shouted out an Avada Kedavra. It was really screwed up that the Unforgivables were amongst the few curses that didn't require any flashy wand movements, just pointing. Moody was expecting it and dodged of course. Someone else launched a stunner Sirius' way, but it bounced off his shield.

Parkinson was down. Sirius took a few more pot-shots at Moody, then straightened up and switched to a frenzy of left-handed tripping and stinging jinxes. They wouldn't significantly hamper anyone here, and Sirius' wandless casting was only successful about seventy percent of the time. He did surreptitiously aim one of the tripping jinxes at Amycus' back when none of the Death Eaters were looking.

Goyle was down. Lucius darted past, casting a quick Rennervate on Avery that didn't take. He must be badly concussed. Sirius had learned after the incident with Snape that Rennervate did not often work on physical brain injuries and could in fact make them worse. He forgot about pretending to fight for a moment and knelt down to check Avery instead. Breathing with a strong pulse.

Lucius rolled under another curse and came up within Sirius' shield. "Synchronized Finites against the anti-apparition jinx. If it works, you get Richard out. If it doesn't, I'm calling him." Lucius set off a blistering wave of stunners and killing curses, forcing their opponents to shield or duck for cover. "Now! Finite Incantatum!"

Sirius and Amycus shouted the spell too. Sirius was even putting in a fair amount of effort, but all the while hoping the jinx would hold a bit longer. It did. Lucius cursed. "Keep trying, Sirius. That's the best help you can be right now." So saying, he dove away, trying to find sufficient cover to roll up his sleeves.

Sirius obediently kept casting Finite at the sky. It was just Lucius and Amycus now... then all at once, Lucius snapped into a full body bind. Amazing someone had gotten him with a first-year spell. It wouldn't last, surely. Except then whoever it was just kept layering more and more basic hexes on top. And then a purple spell splintered Amycus' shield. Sirius did not hesitate any longer. He cast Finite skyward again, this time pouring all his strength into it. Moody would know to let his part of it down, but even so, Sirius wanted to break it himself, for some reason. And he did. There was a great flash and rending sound from above that caught all the aurors and Order folk unawares, except Moody who took the opportunity to finally disarm Amycus and encase him in a kind of golden haze.

Then he looked at Sirius and raised his wand, in mocking challenge. Jolted back into action, Sirius grabbed Avery's hand, twisted, and apparated them both away, first to an alley in Hogsmeade, then to Malfoy Manor to further cover their trail, and finally to the lawn outside Lestrange Manor. He looked quickly at Avery to check that he wasn't splinched. He wasn't. He turned towards the manor. "Bella!" he shouted. "Rodolphus!" He waved his left hand at Avery but failed to manage a wandless levitation charm. Crack. He jumped and turned towards the sound. "Posy?"

The house elf bowed low. "Master Sirius is hurt!" she squeaked. "Posy will finds Mistress Bella."

"Are they home?"

"Posy will finds them."

"Wait! Take my friend inside first."

"Posy can does that." She snapped her fingers and levitated Avery easily, just as if he were laundry or a tea tray. He followed her in, wincing with each subtle movement that jarred his arm, now that the excitement was over. The elf settled Avery on the settee in the drawing room, then vanished. Sirius sat in another chair but ended up moving to the piano bench so he could rest his wooden arm there instead. It was a better height than the small desk. He fiddled with his collar, attempting to undo his robe enough to see how bad his shoulder looked.

Bella blew into the room while he was still fumbling with the buttons. She grabbed his wooden arm roughly, and he howled at her in agony. It felt like she was ripping all the tendons in his shoulder. She didn't let go. "Who did this?" she snarled. "I will murder them."

"I don't know," Sirius groaned at her. "I was the first one hit, before we even knew we were being ambushed."

"Ambushed? What happened?"

"I got Richard out once the anti-apparition jinx finally came down, but everyone else was captured."

Bella stilled.

"How did that happen?" Rodolphus asked, voice low and dangerous. Sirius hadn't even noticed him come in.

Sirius shook his head. "They were ready for us. I don't know how, but they were." He used his left hand to lift his right arm out of Bella's slackening grip and turned around on the piano bench. He gestured weakly at his arm. "This will keep. Check on Richard. He's been out cold ever since slamming into the anti-Apparition ward at the start of it. Lucius tried to wake him with a Rennervate, but..."

Rodolphus nodded grimly and turned to the younger boy. Bella picked up Sirius' hand once more, muttering obscenities. Then she dropped it carelessly again, causing Sirius to wince. "Sirius, we were at headquarters, and yet we heard nothing until Posy came for us. Why didn't you call for help?"

Sirius rolled his eyes and waggled his left arm closer to his right tree branch. It was immediately obvious what he meant. Meanwhile, Avery had yet to be branded, even after over a month of accompanying Lucius' attacks.

"Why didn't Lucius call for help?" Bella amended.

"He meant to, but he was pinned down and never got the chance. There were dozens of them, Bella."

Bella clenched her jaw. When she took up his hand yet again and turned her wand on it, she was trembling with rage. "I'm glad you got out, Siri."

Unfortunately, rather than detransfiguring his hand, she set it on fire. She put it out quickly enough, but Sirius snatched his hand back. "Maybe let Rodolphus try?" he suggested.

"But-"

"I appreciate you, Bella, I do, but I only just broke this wand in. Ollivander will be furious if I show up again and tell him I set it on fire and need a new one." She smiled slightly at him. "Besides, don't you think someone should let headquarters know what's happened?"

She cursed. "You're right. You're right, right, right." Her brow pinched. "Siri, you're brilliant with transfigurations. If Dolph can do enough to get the wand extracted, can you finish the rest left-handed?"

"Er, probably." That had been his plan all along, actually. He had even practiced, surreptitiously, first on a chipmunk in the woods, then on his own little toe. He had to be reasonably sure he wouldn't permanently handicap himself before proposing the plan.

"Good. Dolph, how's Richard?"

"He'll have a nasty headache when he wakes up, but he'll live."

"Right. See if you can get Siri's hand undone, quick-like. Then you can take Richard home while I accompany Siri to headquarters."

It took Rodolphus ten minutes to loosen up Sirius' right hand enough to drag the cherry wand out of it. Sirius inspected it briefly for scratches, relieved to find none. By then, his left arm had started to tingle. He noticed when both Bella and Rodolphus looked at their own arms grimly. "What?"

"He knows something is wrong. Come. We're going to headquarters. Now. You'll have to take care of your arm later."

Ah. Bella had mentioned his Mark would burn when he was called back when he first got it, but it had never happened before. Sirius nodded tiredly and followed her out.

There was rather more scurrying about going on in the Death Eaters' headquarters when Bella and Sirius arrived than there had on his several previous visits. Sirius attracted a few stares with his mangled arm, but they did not linger in the common rooms where just anyone could watch them. Rather, Bella led him straight through to the conference room, which was empty, and left him there to wait while she tracked down the Dark Lord and whoever else needed to be briefed.

Sirius went back to working on his arm. He could barely see his own shoulder through the narrow eye holes of his Death Eater mask and vanished the thing irritably to better inspect the problem. He ended up just using a severing charm on his robes to expose the shoulder properly. He swallowed when he saw it. The skin was tearing and oozing blood where it met the wood, and some rather impressive, deep purple bruising was springing up. That hadn't happened when he'd tried the partial wooden transfiguration trick on his toe, but then his toe wasn't so big and heavy as his arm. He dreaded to think what the damage was inside the joint, hopefully nothing a few basic healing charms couldn't fix. Not that he was very good even at basic healing charms. He'd never healed anything worse than a broken nose and the superficial scratches obtained on a night of the full moon out with the Marauders. First things first, he started the slow, painstaking process of reversing the botched transfiguration. "Reparifarge..."

Although his arm was still rigid and wooden, he'd at least gotten rid of the branch twigs and leaves by the time the door burst open behind him. He stopped what he was doing and watched the Dark Lord and select, senior Death Eaters file along the edge of the table. Disconcertingly, rather than taking his usual place at the head, Lord Voldemort stopped short and sat down right next to Sirius. Bella took his other side. The others hesitated for a moment before arranging themselves.

Voldemort studied him expressionlessly. Sirius came to his senses and bowed, as much as he was able while already sitting down. He couldn't really stand up or kneel with the chairs so close together. It was strange, when he bowed. He realized Voldemort's body exuded more than the usual heat, like a fever, or even a fire. He could feel the warmth on the exposed skin of his shoulder and back where his robe and shirt were cut away. It was also slightly mortifying to realize the Dark Lord and a bunch of Death Eaters were getting a good view of his ridiculously over-sized and ornate dragon tattoo. Its head was on the right.

Voldemort smiled, thinly. "You do not fear to show your face here, my young friend."

Sirius wasn't sure how to respond to that, but it became clear quite quickly that he was meant to. "Er, no, my lord." After a moment, he added cheekily and very foolishly, "Or the rest of me, I guess." Voldemort stared at him. "I couldn't see well enough with the mask on. Or the robes. To work on my arm, I mean," he added weakly and in a rush.

One of the Death Eaters on the other side of the table made a small, choking sound, and Sirius flinched slightly. Everyone else was silent. Voldemort looked lazily towards the other person, then back at Sirius. Surprisingly, he actually laughed. It was short, and cold, and too high, but it was laughter. He reached out and ran a single long, pale finger along the border where Sirius' flesh met wood. "You may proceed." He waited expectantly until Sirius raised his wand and recommenced detransfiguring his arm. "My favored lieutenant informs me that Lucius' mission today has failed, that your group was ambushed, that Lucius, Amycus, Percival, Titus, and Gaius were all captured, and that you alone escaped."

Funny how he didn't mention Avery, as if he didn't even exist without a Dark Mark on his arm. Also funny how real names were only granted to the good-as-dead. "Yes, my lord," Sirius answered simply.

"Tell us how this came to pass."

"Yes, my lord..." Sirius started describing the morning meeting at Malfoy Manor, lowering his wand as he spoke.

"You will continue with that," Voldemort interrupted, nodding at Sirius' arm.

"Er, yes, my lord." This was either some kind of test or the arbitrary whim of a madman, but he wasn't going to argue. He raised his wand again, splitting his attention between his maimed arm and his story with effort. By the time he finished the summary of the fight and his escape, he'd gotten his arm to look like an arm again, and feel like one to touch. He would have sworn it was on fire if he wasn't looking at it though, and he could barely move it.

"Show me," Voldemort ordered, drawing Sirius' gaze up with the power of his voice. Sirius realized Voldemort alone was not affected by the voice-distortion charm on this place. Which meant that girly cackle was really his. Sirius quickly hid that thought before meeting Voldemort's eyes.

He let the Dark Lord see his Occlumency shields before appearing to drop them fully and offering up the memory of today's events while carefully concealing every thought that would get him killed. Voldemort did not immediately take what was offered. He turned aside and perused Sirius' other surface thoughts. It was rather a blessing so many of them were currently concerned with pain and fear that he wouldn't get full use of his right arm back even with magic. The Dark Lord was not looking for anything in particular, fortunately, and quickly returned to the matter at hand. He dwelt on the meeting at Malfoy Manor for a surprisingly long time, causing Sirius to recall it several times. He only watched the dart throw once, seemed more interested in Lucius' perfunctory speech and the traditional socializing over the meal. He lingered on the instants leading up to Moody's transfiguration attack, probably looking for any warning signs that Sirius or the others should have noticed. He also lingered on Sirius struggling to aim an Avada Kedavra through his transfigured arm, his use of wandless stinging hexes, and especially the moment Sirius successfully broke through Moody's anti-apparition ward and escaped.

When Voldemort's mind finally withdrew, Sirius half-heartedly tapped his wand against his right hand some more. There was nothing left to transfigure there.

"You did well at the end, breaking through that ward," Voldemort said softly. Sirius heard Bella's sharp inhale behind him, and several of the other Death Eaters shifted in their seats. "Crucio."

His voice remained soft and level, and Sirius did not even see him draw his wand. There was just, suddenly, pain. Everywhere. It was like the burning in his arm had intensified and spread to envelop his whole body. At the same time, it wasn't, because there was nothing on this earth to which Sirius could realistically compare the sensation. It was far, far worse than the brief and mercifully rare seconds of the curse he had felt under his mother's wand. He was probably screaming, unless he had stopped breathing instead. He was probably convulsing in his chair, if he hadn't fallen out of it. But he could not say for sure, because his entire consciousness was consumed in the torment.

And then it stopped. Sirius fell back in his seat - he was still in it - gasping for breath, quivering in shock and relief. The pain hadn't gone completely away, though. Rather, his right arm hurt even worse now than it had before the Cruciatus. He lolled his head to the side to look at it and felt his stomach roil. The shoulder looked dislocated, forced out of joint over the course of the curse.

A warm hand took his. Voldemort gently lifted his right arm, supporting it expertly and then without warning snapping his shoulder back into place. Sirius bellowed in pain and clapped his left hand over his mouth, letting go of his wand in the process. "Shh..." Voldemort said soothingly. He started wandlessly casting healing charms. Sirius could see bruises yellowing and literally felt torn tendons knitting back together. It took longer before the burning started to fade, slowly. "The Dark Lord is merciful," Voldemort told him. "Do you know why I punished you?"

Because you're insane! Sirius forced a nod and answered, haltingly, "Because... we failed. We got complacent. And I should have broken the ward sooner."

"Correct."

It didn't matter that Voldemort had seen no warning of the attack in Sirius' mind. It didn't matter that all of them had been trying to take down the anti-apparition ward from the beginning. It didn't matter that Lucius was in charge, not Sirius, that Sirius had followed every order to the letter, or that Sirius had been injured throughout the whole fight. It didn't matter that Lucius was actually perfectly competent at his job, even if he was coasting in it, and that anyone else at this table with the exception of the Dark Lord himself would have been outmaneuvered today just as badly. When it came down to it, Sirius was the only one available to take the fall, apart from Avery who didn't count.

"And yet, I said you did well. And you did. You survived and escaped the ambush where others did not. You saved one of our precious youth where others did not. And you have demonstrated exceeding magical potential." His smile sharpened. "Where others did not. Do you continue to serve me?"

"I do, my lord," Sirius answered instantly. His voice did not shake.

"Good. Then you shall take over muggle-baiting operations in their entirety as of today. This may or may not be a permanent placement, if your service pleases me. You will retain your little friend as your assistant, but no others until and unless you can convince me you would use them more wisely than your predecessor."

"Yes, my lord."

Voldemort nodded and let go of Sirius' arm, which dropped like a stone to his side. With effort, Sirius bent it up part way again but had to use his left hand to lift it fully and settle it against his stomach. Voldemort frowned. "That will improve. I suppose you may wait until it is strong enough to wield your wand to launch your first mission."

"Thank you, my lord."

Voldemort nodded and turned away from him at last. "Our young associate has brought it to my attention that even amongst senior lieutenants, there is laziness and laxity. Lucius would not be on his way to Azkaban if had not turned his assignment into a game." Voldemort never raised his voice, but his fury was evident. "We do not fight for frivolous self-gratification. We fight for a cause greater than ourselves. I should not have to remind you of this. I will expect everyone to work harder and with more dedication after today. Now, what do we know of the casualties amongst the Ministry and Order after this? And have we yet confirmed that our brethren have been moved to Azkaban?"

The meeting grew boring from then on, but Sirius stayed and listened intently through all of it. Moody was listening too, he was sure.

Chapter Text

Avery showed up at the Lestrange manor the next day. He used a floo call rather than apparition, his head appearing in the hearth in the main parlor. No one was expecting him, and he shouted several times before Posy noticed and came to alert Sirius, who had been napping in his sound-proofed room. Sirius was not in a particularly good mood when he slouched downstairs with his arm in a sling to see what Avery wanted.

Funnily enough, Avery's head was still the only part of him present. Sirius smirked at it. "How long have you been there? Your knees must be dying."

"Ten minutes, I think. They are. Your house elf never came back."

"And yet you didn't give up. Come on through, then," Sirius invited him. He took a chair as Avery stumbled out of the fire. "Cigarette?" he offered.

"Aren't those for muggles?"

"You've never seen a wizard smoking in a pub?"

"Pipes, sure."

"These are more convenient."

Avery took one. Sirius pulled another from the almost-empty pack for himself, stuck it in his mouth, and touched the end of it to light it. He took a long draw to help wake himself up. Avery copied him and coughed. "This is disgusting," he said.

Sirius shrugged. "I don't smoke them for the taste. Put it in the ash tray if you don't want it. Or vanish it. Why are you here?"

"You saved my life yesterday."

"Yeah. And?"

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

Avery gestured towards Sirius' bum arm. "I remember seeing that happen. My mum says you managed to keep fighting despite it."

"What would your mum know about it?" Sirius asked, honestly surprised.

"She's close with Evan Rosier. He was there when you were telling the Dark Lord what happened. Sounds like you impressed him." Sirius grunted non-committedly. He couldn't remember if he'd told Moody Rosier's name before, although it wasn't exactly a surprise to hear. He might even be wanted by the Ministry, Sirius wasn't sure. There were a lot of people wanted by the Ministry. The Ministry was really bad at catching the rich ones. "He told mum the Dark Lord himself healed you."

Sirius grinned. "That was only fair. He dislocated my shoulder with the Cruciatus first."

Avery's eyes widened. "You were tortured?" he whispered.

"That is what the Cruciatus does."

"Why?"

Sirius looked at him strangely. Avery was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and not one of the 'nice,' blood-traitorish families like the Weasleys and Potters. Surely the Blacks weren't the only family to threaten their children with Unforgivables once they were old enough. "Does it really surprise you?"

"But... you were hurt, kept fighting, broke through the anti-apparition jinx, and saved me!"

"Sure, and I failed to save five other chaps who, no offense, are regarded as rather more useful than you. Still got a promotion out of it."

Avery frowned at him and abruptly said, "Let's go for a walk."

Sirius raised one eyebrow and nodded. Avery was a bit whiney, but he was a minimally competent Slytherin. He clearly had something to say he didn't want overheard, and he was wise enough to be cautious of Bella's or Rodolphus' leaving any listening spells around. Sirius had yet to find any, but the only room in the mansion he'd really thoroughly checked was his own.

Sirius led the way through the house and out onto the terrace, and thence into the grounds. There was a formal garden, but it was relatively small. Most of the grounds were well-kept woodlands, which included multiple valuable trees of wand-quality wood.

Avery kept pace with him, occasionally drawing on his cigarette and coughing.

"Don't you have other friends to hang out with on your day off?" Sirius asked when Avery failed to pick up the conversation again.

"Don't you?" Avery shot back.

"Nope. They were all Dumbledore-worshipping Gryffindors who'd probably hex me on sight now." And he hadn't seen Regulus all summer either, presumably because of their parents' influence. Not that he wanted to see Regulus. Seeing Regulus would mean one of two things: that Sirius was back in Grimmauld where he didn't want to be, or that Regulus was in a Death Eater stronghold, where Sirius didn't want him to be. He'd much rather Regulus keep nurturing his brotherly resentment and stay well away from the war.

"I haven't seen Felix since -"

"Who?"

"Felix." Avery paused and looked at him incredulously. "Felix Mulciber? Merlin, Sirius, we went to school with him for seven years!"

"I know his name. Just yanking your wand."

"Wanker. Anyway, I haven't seen Felix since graduation, even though I know he joined up. And of course, can't see Severus either."

"Mmm. Whatever happened with him?" Sirius asked idly, though he was intensely curious to find out.

"I don't know," Avery admitted. "When you ruined his chances here, he didn't really have a plan, since, ah, we'd all been secretly sabotaging any of his other opportunities up 'till then. I think he managed to line something up by the end of the year, but he wouldn't tell me what it was. He was awfully nervous. Felix and I thought that meant he'd either be leaving the country or gotten patronage and protection from someone on the Light side. Or nothing, and was just playing cool." He eyed Sirius. "Er..."

"Spit it out, man."

"Why did you join? You ran away from your parents, and everyone said it was because you hated their stance on blood purity. Even you said that. Even expelled, you had plenty of support in blood traitor families. You were out and could have stayed out. Why'd you come back?"

"I ran away from home because I fucking hate my folks," Sirius said honestly. Then he lied, "that has nothing to do with blood purity." It was only partly to do with blood purity. The biggest reason was that he was afraid of his parents. Bella and Voldemort he could handle, terrifying as they were. They would only torture and kill him if they found out he was betraying them. Not Orion and Walburga Black. His parents would crush him if they got the chance, never kill him.

"You were friends with mudbloods, and you weren't faking it," Avery said flatly. "You're not here for the glory of the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

"Can you picture me doing anything else?" Sirius asked, dodging the question now he'd been so effectively called out.

Avery's breath hissed out. "Honestly? No. It's like you were made for this. Nothing scares you, not the opinion of your family - the Black family - not killing, not fighting, not even the Dark Lord's Cruciatus. It's like you get off on it."

"Gryffindor is the House of bravery, is it not?"

"I don't know if it's bravery to voluntarily sign up for a job where your boss might torture you for doing better than everyone else did when it all went to shite."

Sirius grinned at Avery's impression his was a completely voluntary position. "If that isn't bravery, what is it?"

"Madness?"

"Don't let Bella hear you talk that way."

"I'm not an idiot."

"No, you're not, but you're out of your depth, oh Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Avery. Why'd you let me hear you talk that way, if you think I've got the Black madness? You trying to get me to hex you or something?"

Avery looked away. "Because... I don't think you care enough to tell anyone. You don't care about me. You don't care about the cause, not really. You'd have been just as happy fighting on the other side, only they wouldn't take you after you tipped your hand and showed them what you really are. That's why you joined up with us." A chill ran down Sirius' spine, and his wand hand twitched. Avery was hitting awfully close to home. The younger wizard continued obliviously, "And now you're my boss."

It took a beat to remember what he was talking about, and to release the urge to curse him. "Oh, yeah... And?"

Avery took a deep breath. "And so I'm trying to level with you so we don't both end up dead. I'm scared, even if you're not. It's all too real, Sirius! We could have died, or gone to Azkaban yesterday!"

"Keep your voice down," Sirius ordered.

His tirade fell to a whisper. "My parents are the ones who wanted me to be here. It wasn't even a question of whether I'd join, it was a foregone conclusion since third year. I told them that was fine, that I wanted it. I told myself I wanted it... If I'd been brave enough to run away like you did, I wouldn't have come back. But now I can't get out, and I can't do this! I won't be able to just sit there and take it like you did if the Dark Lord decides to torture me. I don't want to fight with aurors. I- I still haven't even killed any muggles."

"I know."

Avery stopped short. "You do?"

"It's pretty obvious. Lucius definitely knew."

"Dark Lord probably does too," he said wretchedly.

"Probably," Sirius agreed. "That's probably why he hasn't marked you yet. He knows you're not ready for it. He's not stupid, Avery."

"Richard."

"He's not going to torture and kill you just because you find it hard to kill people. That's not the way to win his war. He'll find other uses for you."

"Then why'd he torture you?"

"Because the mission failed."

"That wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't yours either. It wasn't even Lucius' fault, it was all of ours, for being unprepared to get caught."

"There's only the two of us now, Sirius. How the bloody hell are we going to do the work of seven people and 'be prepared' the next time half the auror department shows up to stop us? How are we going to survive the next few months?"

He was pale and shaking again. Sirius calmly took the cigarette butt from his trembling fingers before it burned him and stomped it into the ground. It was easy for him to be calm when he knew that he and he alone had the power to bring the Ministry down on top of them as had happened yesterday. He hadn't realized what an advantage that was, the respect he could earn amongst Voldemort's followers, simply by looking like the epitome of a true goddamn Gryffindor in their midst. "I don't know yet, but I will figure it out. The Dark Lord wants us to succeed, and we will. We'll just have to be cleverer than Lucius was. Quicker maybe, harder to track."

"We were already choosing our targets randomly," Avery muttered.

"I'll think about it tonight. Come by tomorrow or the day after and we'll plan." Sirius wriggled his right fingers. "We have until this is working again to figure it out."

"Right. You'll forgive me for wishing you a slow recovery."

Sirius grinned at him. "You're not so bad, for a Slytherin, Richard."

"No," Avery sighed. "I'm not. That's the problem."

"Siri, how would you like to visit Cissy for awhile?"

Sirius glanced up from his breakfast and looked at Bella suspiciously. "Why?"

Bella sighed dramatically. "Poor dear is ever so lonely without Lucius to keep her company, all by herself in that huge, solemn house."

"It's been three days. And she's hardly alone with Abraxas and Lucretia Malfoy there and all the Malfoy retainers and business associates popping in all day," Sirius pointed out. He'd spent enough time at the Malfoy residence this summer to know it remained a busy beehive of activity from dawn till dusk most days. The Lestrange Manor was only so silent most of the time because both Bella and Rodolphus took their business elsewhere, mostly to the Dark Lord's headquarters. Rabastan occasionally hosted business partners or a lady friend for a few hours, but not often. The family was mostly getting by on their extensive long-term investment income. Unlike the Malfoys' and Blacks', the Lestrange fortune was, in fact, dwindling slightly as the war dragged on. Sirius did not mind being an extra drain on it in the least. "I get it. Time to kick out the unwanted moocher cousin."

"Not at all, Siri, we love having you here, of course we do. It's just, Cissy needs her family," Bella said delicately.

Sirius raised one eyebrow and asked again, "Why?"

"Trust me. She does."

If that was the case, it wasn't for emotional support after her husband's arrest. Bella didn't understand that concept, and Narcissa was just as much of a strong-willed Black as her sisters. Nor was Narcissa in danger of being arrested like Lucius; Sirius' presence wouldn't exactly help with that in any case. Which meant there were only two options: Bella was worried about Narcissa's physical safety, or she was worried about Narcissa turning on them like Andromeda the blood traitor. Neither made much sense to him, but the latter seemed even less likely. "You think she's in danger?" Sirius asked quietly.

Reluctantly, Bella nodded. Sirius thought for a moment, trying to figure out what danger Narcissa could face from inside a household as well-to-do and heavily warded as the Malfoys. They were truly the richest family in the country, even wealthier than the Blacks. Even slightly better connected at the Ministry, since Malfoys were so power-hungry as to willingly associate with mixed-blood bureaucrats when necessary. House Black was only more influential amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight because they had enough children to marry into pretty much all the other families every century. And because of the reputation for unhinged retribution once crossed. 

The answer came to him eventually. "She's pregnant, isn't she? With a daughter."

Bella exhaled and finally took the chair across from him. "Yes. Lucius knew she was pregnant, but not the gender. She told him it was too early to know. And as everyone knows, the Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy is always male, and yet always first-born."

"And here I thought the rumors of abortion were all dirty lies." It was a horrible practice of course, and he was not surprised Bella and Narcissa would dare to cross Abraxas Malfoy about it, coming from a brood of only girls themselves. "I'm happy to help, of course. No trouble for me to move. I'm not sure what you expect me to do though. Surely she can't keep it secret from Abraxas much longer?"

"No, she's already three months along, almost four. She'll be showing soon," Bella agreed. "But she will tell him that it is a boy. Your task will be to help get her and our niece out of there after the birth, when the secret can no longer be kept."

"Why not leave earlier? Like now?"

"Because she will be under siege wherever she goes. She wants to delay that as long as possible, for the baby's sake."

A wave of nausea struck him. Narcissa thought it would be easier to hide a live, anonymous baby than a pregnant mother; her own fate was immaterial. Merlin, he hated the Noble Houses sometimes. "This is a terrible plan."

"You said you'd help," she reminded him.

"And I will, but it's still a terrible plan. Does anyone else in the family know?"

Bella shook her head. "Not yet. Cissy told me this week, after Lucius was arrested. She's miscarried before, you know, real miscarriage, so she thought she might be able to sway him, particularly if she delayed long enough. But she knows better than to hope against his father, if Lucius stays in Azkaban too long. Abraxas is very traditional, and Lucretia follows her husband as if she were a house elf, not a wife. Cissy doesn't have anyone in that house whose loyalty is primarily to her."

Sirius drummed his fingers on the table for a moment. "We should sound out the older Blacks," he said reluctantly. "Your father, my parents, Uncle Alphard. Bringing Narcissa here will be too obvious, and this place isn't nearly so well protected as Grimmauld." Not to mention, Rodolphus or Rabastan might side with Abraxas.

Bella nodded thoughtfully. "I'll mention it to Narcissa. Perhaps there can be a family get-together after she breaks the news."

"We could arrange a Black-only baby shower and just kidnap her," he suggested. "Abraxas can't blame her for that."

"Now, now, Siri, we have to win the civil war between the Dark Lord and the blood traitors and mudbloods before we start another one between the Blacks and Malfoys."

"Hmm. Good to know our options are open if the Dark Lord happens to win sometime in the next five months, though. I hate being bored."

Bella cackled and reached across the table to tousle his hair. "You naughty thing."

"What's he done now?" Rodolphus asked around a yawn as he trudged into the morning room as well.

"Just an inside joke between cousins," Bella informed her husband.

"What are you doing up so early anyway, Sirius?" Rodolphus asked.

"It's eight o'clock."

"For you, that's basically the crack of dawn."

Sirius shrugged. "I'm meeting with Avery later, to plan our strategy."

"Ah, the joys of leadership. Arm's all better?" Rodolphus asked as Posy appeared at his elbow with a full English breakfast for him.

"Not yet, but should be ready by Saturday."

"You and I will duel on Friday, then," Bella decided.

"You always have my best interests at heart, Bella."

"I do," she agreed, beaming at him.

"Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy."

Rodolphus shook his head. "Nah, that's the Imperius curse she's got on you." Sirius threw the crusts from his toast at him. Bella cackled.

"I imagine Abraxas is planning to bribe Lucius back out of Azkaban soon enough," Sirius ventured, as if that was all he and Bella had been discussing before Rodolphus' arrival. Half the reason the war had lasted this long - most of the decade - was because Voldemort's relatively small army was bankrolled by the wealthiest families in the wizarding world. The Ministry could crack down all it wanted with harsh sentencing, outlaw any contact with known Death Eaters, draft more and more aurors and hit wizards, requisition a dedicated unit in St. Mungo's for aurors' war injuries, and boast Albus Dumbledore himself leading the charge... all that had so far proved only a minor inconvenience to Voldemort's richest, most indispensable supporters, as were most things short of death. The ones who weren't rich enough to buy their way out of trouble also didn't cause as much of it.

Bella huffed. "Of course he is, only his first offer, a very generous one the day after the arrest, was rebuffed immediately."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "When did the Ministry become so flush with galleons?" he wondered aloud. Malfoy bribes were the stuff of legend, so large even Blacks would hesitate to refuse them.

Rodolphus grunted. "They didn't, but Barty Crouch is obsessed with winning, and he's not like Minchum. He knows how we work." Ah, yes, because the Crouches were pureblood and independently wealthy. Unlike the Minister for Magic Harold Minchum, who was only moderately well-to-do, had a halfblood grandmother, and made up for these deficits by politicking. "Minchum probably would have bowed to Abraxas, but Crouch is becoming the real power at the Ministry. He's the mind behind all the war-related policies lately; Minchum just goes along for fear of losing his support and consequently his own position." He scowled. "Rumor has it Crouch is pushing to legalize Unforgivables against Death Eaters next."

"That's not very pious and noble of him," Sirius commented lightly. Inwardly, he was quite taken aback. Yes, it might be a better winning strategy to permanently take people like Lucius and Bella and Rodolphus out of action where possible, but at the same time, Bella especially was the vindictive type. Deaths would be multiplying on both sides if the Ministry did that, and it would be harder to argue the moral high ground.

"He's not the noble type," Rodolphus informed them. "Pious, though, in an arrogant, self-righteous way. He was always like that. Head Boy in my second year, you know. Brilliant Ravenclaw, got all O's, stickler for enforcing even the most anal rules, speaks twelve languages and all that."

"What a swot," Sirius said.

Rodolphus grinned at him. So did Bella, before turning to look at Rodolphus coyly. "Should I kill him for you, darling? He's not a blood traitor, but he sounds so disagreeable, I could make an exception."

Rodolphus kissed her fingertips. "Not yet. I'm working on him myself. He'd be very useful if we could get him to see reason. But if he stays stubborn, I'll let you take him." Not for the first time, Sirius wondered what Rodolphus' specialty in the organization was. By the sounds of it, it wasn't murder, or at least not only murder, which left Sirius fairly clueless. The Death Eaters were a lot more complicated than he had vaguely supposed back at Hogwarts.

"When does his son graduate?" Bella asked.

Rodolphus frowned slightly and glanced at Sirius. "Two years, I believe," he answered.

"Is the son a swot, too, Siri?"

Sirius thought back. Barty Crouch Junior was two years younger than him, and a Ravenclaw like his father. Eventually, he shrugged. "I hardly knew him. Must have kept his head down. I don't even remember jinxing him."

"Twelve O.W.L.s," Rodolphus mumbled around a mouthful of toast. "Like father in that respect, at least."

Sirius felt suddenly cold, remembering Bella's intimate knowledge of his own grades, and the mentions of the reports the Death Eaters would get about Snape. Barty Crouch Jr. had just taken O.W.L.s this year, results would have been out for barely a month. There was no doubt in his mind, the younger Barty was being targeted for recruitment.

Because that's how the Death Eaters were so successful, especially amongst purebloods. They infiltrated families, marking one to eventually bind them all. It was obvious. Sirius had already known it, experienced it himself. He just hadn't realized it was quite so deliberate a strategy. Hopefully, it wasn't too late for Dumbledore to save Barty. He made a mental note to himself to see what Avery might know about other current Hogwarts students that might be under pressure. Much safer to pump Avery for information than Bella and Rodolphus.

Chapter Text

"Technically, we don't have to change the routine," Sirius mused. "I mean, it doesn't actually take seven people to destroy a block of muggle houses. I could easily just blast all the houses myself while you cast a few dozen summoning charms and tripping jinxes, and then get out of there when we've caught sufficient attention and caused sufficient mayhem."

"Didn't you say the point of all this was to cause problems for the Ministry Obliviators? If we just show up, blow up a street, and disappear, most of the muggles will have no idea what happened and won't even need to be Obliviated. They could send one guy who'd be done in an hour."

"You're right... that was the advantage of the bigger team. We could afford to take our time and be really thoroughly seen because we could handle the first wave of Ministry busybodies." He grinned darkly. "In theory. Until we couldn't." No doubt, Sirius could ask Moody to pull some strings to give him some slack, but that was a temporary fix. He thought silently for a moment while Avery... Sirius should really work on calling him Richard... massaged his temples. Unfortunately, the only strategic solution that came easily to him was the same one he had thought of ages ago. Too bad Avery didn't have any of his own original ideas and just expected Sirius to tell him what to do. Sirius sighed. "If we have to prioritize speed, then we need to go someplace where the eyes are all ready and waiting."

"Come again?"

"You know, sport, or a party or something. Whatever it is muggles like to do in large numbers."

Avery laughed. "You and I, pureblood heirs to two of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, are going to go to a muggle party," he drawled disbelievingly.

"Only to shake it and break it," Sirius said reasonably, though he too was grinning imagining it. Sirius could picture himself at a muggle event, maybe a concert or something, but stuffy Avery was another matter entirely.

"Right. Got any invitations handy so we can RSVP?"

"Obviously not, but I was thinking tickets, not invitations. Much easier to come by."

Avery stared at him. "You're joking. We're not actually buying muggle tickets, are we?"

"We can afford it." His grin widened at Avery's scandalized expression. "But no. If we want them, we'll steal them. Mostly though, I just want to know what sorts of ticketed events are coming up in the next few weeks."

Comprehension lit Avery's face, but then he frowned again. "How do muggles sell tickets anyway?"

"No idea. We'll have to do some field research. Come on, Richard, we're going to London."

Going out into the muggle world with Avery was even funnier than going with James, turned out. Sirius used to have a set of muggle trousers, button-down shirt, and leather jacket he was rather fond of, but he'd left them all at the Potters' mansion. Avery had none of these. They therefore went to Diagon Alley first and stopped at the one overpriced muggle clothing boutique there to pick up something besides robes. While Sirius chose plain black trousers and a lightweight long-sleeved shirt (he didn't want to show off his Dark Mark particularly), he barely restrained himself from letting Avery buy a sundress. Instead, the oblivious Slytherin was kitted out in a plaid waistcoat, lime-green pants, and orange paisley bow tie, but no shirt underneath. A lot of pureblood wizards assumed that since muggles clearly had no taste when it came to the shape and cut of their clothing, that meant they had no taste when it came to color either and intentionally chose clashing palettes in hopes of blending in. Sirius knew that logic to be untrue from simple observation, but it was the funniest thing he had seen in months, so he offered Avery no further suggestions. He looked forward to seeing what the muggles would make of it.

Sirius was comfortable in the city, even the muggle side of it, because he had grown up here. He had frequently absconded from Grimmauld Place to wander the streets, once he was old enough to manage it. Avery's childhood on the other hand had been spent in a country manor, and then at Hogwarts. The only parts of London he had ever seen before were Diagon Alley and Kings Cross station. When they emerged in muggle London, everything was new to Avery, and therefore alarming. He had never seen so many people crammed in one place. He had seen cars before, but not so many driving so perilously close together. He kept ridiculously close and even grabbed Sirius' arm when they crossed the street. He hadn't seen enormous skyscrapers before and leaned in to ask Sirius how on earth the muggles had managed to build them, to which Sirius could only shrug. He wasn't an architect, after all.

Sirius stopped at a newspaper stand and was contemplating the least noticeable way to break into it when Avery poked him.

"Merlin, what is that?"

"What? The siren?" Sirius mostly just tuned out muggle city noise.

"What's a siren?"

"The loud, screechy thing."

"Oh, no. I meant the smell."

"Smog? Sewage? It's not that bad right now..."

"No, you idiot, I know what that smells like."

"Well, then use your words, or I'm using Legilimency," Sirius snapped at him. So saying, he leaned against the newspaper box, vanished the glass, pulled out a paper, and conjured a replacement pane.

"If I knew what it was, then I wouldn't be asking. It smells...spicy?"

Sirius sniffed the air. "It's foreign food. There's a lot of immigrants in muggle London."

"Huh. You know, I've been to wizarding Paris, Rome, and Berlin, but never someplace that smelled like this. Where do you think it's from?"

Sirius gazed around, until his eyes came to a restaurant across the busy road called Lahore Kebab. He pointed. "Bet that's it. I've got no idea what a kebab is."

"Isn't Lahore in Pakistan? Let's try it," Avery said, sounding unusually excited about the prospect.

"Have you got any muggle money on you?" Sirius asked pointedly.

"No, but that's what summoning and Confundus charms are for."

Sirius groaned and laid a hand on Avery's shoulder. "Thievery? I've corrupted you. Whatever will your mother say?"

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her. And it's only from muggles, whom I'm supposed to be out slaughtering every week anyway. And it's not like either of us are getting the traditional grand world tour after graduation. We deserve a taste of something besides Britain."

So saying, he started off towards the restaurant in question. Sirius hastily grabbed his hand before he walked right into the street in his single-minded distraction. "Zebra crossings, remember?"

Sirius did take Avery's suggestion of summoning a change purse right out of a woman's handbag as they crossed the street. It was much easier than stealing from Filch and more discreet than Confunding the restaurant staff. He dragged Avery into an alley so they could count the contents before venturing into the restaurant. Even with both of them puzzling over the coins, it took a good fifteen minutes to work out how much they had.

"I could have sworn the muggle studies students were always muttering on about chillings, fartings, pennies, and hate-pennies," Sirius complained in confusion. "There's none of that, just pence and pounds."

"Maybe that muggle lady finds all the extra words just as confusing as we do and throws them out. I think pennies and pence are the same thing, though."

"Well, pounds are bigger than pennies, I know that much." The times he and James had gone to muggle pubs, Fleamont had given them exclusively pound coins and instructed them to bring the "small change" back so he could put it in a jar and eventually take it to Gringotts to be converted. It was an easy cheat to the system that Sirius still used to buy his cigarettes, but it meant he had never learned how muggle currency actually worked. He knew the abbreviation for pounds was £, at least.

"In which case there's more than fifty pennies in a pound," Avery commented, examining a coin marked with a 50. "Probably a hundred."

"How do you figure?"

"I think it's a decimal system. Look, they double most of the coins. Here's 1, 2, 5, 10, 20, and 50 pence. If they're going to keep the same progression, the next should be 100 pence, but they don't, unless we're missing those. All we've got is 1 pound and 2 pound, but that would keep the pattern if there's 100 pence to 1 pound."

"I think you're right. Damn, that actually makes more sense than the galleons-sickles-knuts conversions. Why didn't wizards think of it?"

"So..." Avery started counting coins back into the purse, starting with what they assumed was the most valuable. "That makes it 10 pounds, 67 pence."

"Sure," Sirius agreed. "Let's order something less than £10, yeah?"

Sirius tried the lamb kebab Avery ordered and agreed it really was quite delicious, but he let Avery have most of it while he perused his stolen paper. The paper was much thicker than the Daily Prophet and divided into multiple sections that made it initially more confusing. But then he found the sport and entertainment sections, and it didn't take long after that to find what he was looking for. He laid the paper down on the table and pointed to a headline. "Here we go."

Avery leaned over. "Football League Cup Second Round to Commence 29th August," he read. "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Football is a muggle sport."

"Ah."

"I think this is like the quidditch cup, but with a shit-ton of teams. First round finished up the week before last. That table is a schedule of all the games in the second round. Should be well-attended." He folded up the paper again and tucked it under his arm. "Go pay up, and then we'll figure out which game we're going to."

"Before you get too enamored with this plan, remember the 29th isn't until Tuesday. Aren't we supposed to be working Saturday?"

"Damn, you're right... fuck it, we'll do an abridged version of the usual gig on Saturday, and if that gets up the Dark Lord's nose for some reason, I'll explain the big show is Tuesday and beg him to hold off on killing us until he's seen it."

"Oh, cool, are you guys musicians?"

Sirius looked up at the sudden voice and blinked in astonishment. A young man had approached their table. What was astonishing was that his mode of dress was as loud as Avery's currently was, though not so tasteless. His pants were excessively tight blue denim. He had a red, sleeveless shirt that looked much too small for him, hugging his muscles like a second skin. The neckline was so low as to expose his hairy chest. He had a long-sleeved plaid shirt tied around his waist. His hair was dyed yellow and poofed high on his head though hung long in the back. "...Yes," Avery answered eventually.

"That's great! What do you play? Rock? Punk? Pop? New Wave?"

"Rock," Sirius answered quickly. He knew what rock music was, had no idea about the others.

"Nice! And you've got a gig on Saturday? Where?"

"Er, small club. You wouldn't have heard of it."

The young man's eyes turned knowing. "Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that..."

Maybe his clothes were so bad because he was actually another wizard messing with them? "Three Broomsticks," Sirius said.

His eyebrows lifted. "You're right, I never heard of it. Sounds kinky."

Sirius blinked again and shared a glance with Avery, who looked just as bewildered. Then another brightly dressed muggle man slid up. "Hey Pete, who's your new friends?"

The original intruder, Pete apparently, shrugged. "Haven't had time for formal introductions, love. But they're a couple of musicians with a gig this Saturday at a place called the Three Broomsticks."

The newcomer grinned. "Sounds like our kind of place alright." He inclined his head. "Gentlemen, pleased to meet you. I'm Jacob, and this is my partner, Peter."

Sirius finally caught on and grinned widely at Avery. Jake and Pete thought the Three Broomsticks was a queer establishment, and possibly a racy one. Well, now he knew what the muggles thought of Avery's eccentric attire. "I'm Star, and this is Dick." Avery's mouth fell open, but he appeared speechless. Sirius bouldered on gleefully, "Pleasure to meet you both. We're new to this part of town and don't really know too many people yet."

"Oh! We should show you around! There's a couple places young fellows like you really should know..." Jake and Pete sat down and proceeded to tell them all about every queer-friendly bar, restaurant, and club in the borough, pointing out which might be in need of musical performances in the near future. Jake politely attempted to pull Avery into the conversation several times, until Sirius took pity on him and said he was shy. The conversation turned to music, forcing Sirius to regurgitate everything the muggleborns in Gryffindor Tower had ever said about the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Queen, and the Lead Zap-line, even though the Beatles were the only group whose music he had actually heard. He did not count Lily's attempts to sing 'Somebody to Love,' off-key while drunk. Her rendition of 'Stairway to Heaven' was even worse.

An hour later when the gay couple had finished their own kebabs, the four of them finally left the restaurant together. Sirius wrote down a made-up address for the Three Broomsticks Bar in London and gave it to them. "Gig's at nine. We'd love to see you there. By the way, do you know the best way to get to Craven Cottage from here? We're supposed to be meeting a friend near there..." Pete nodded and pointed them in the right direction, and then they parted ways.

After a few minutes of walking, Avery glanced back, then at Sirius. "Why didn't we hex them?"

"What for? For striking up a conversation under incorrect assumptions?"

"Pretty much. They thought we were homosexual."

"Yeah, but coming from them that's definitely a complement. It's not like they actually propositioned us or anything. Better than them thinking we're wizards when we're not currently trying to break the Statute of Secrecy, eh?"

"True. My mum would have still slipped them a cursed coin or something. What's the Craven Cottage?"

"One of the game locations. I figured we should check it out to see how big one of these things really is."

"Good thinking."

"If it makes you happier, I did jinx the paper with that phony address," Sirius said. It was only to cause the ink to smudge to illegibility in five minutes, but Avery didn't need to know that.

"Oh... right. Makes sense."

Turns out, Craven Cottage football grounds could seat over 20,000 people. This must not be a regular stadium, he reasoned, but the one that hosted the cup finals. Sirius didn't figure the place would be full on the day, but it was still much, much bigger than he had imagined. Avery had been similarly impressed, but then had turned to Sirius with a look of both wonder and determination. "If we hit that..."

"Yeah."

There was no question of picking a different, smaller target in either of their minds. They spent the next seven days intensively planning, including two more trips to London to learn the layout. They took a break on Saturday as planned to apparate to three different, totally random villages, burn down a building or two, and leave.

Most importantly, Sirius warned Moody's portrait what he intended on Sunday morning when the house was empty and silent. It was Monday before he found Portrait Moody waving frantically for his attention. He raised his eyebrows at it and brought it close to his ear. "Did you know these football games can be televised?" Moody hissed.

"I don't even know what that means," Sirius whispered back.

"It means... they make... ermm... nevermind, I don't actually understand it. I'll have myself figure out how to take care of it on our end."

And then it was Tuesday. Avery arrived at Lestrange Manor bright and early. They sat in the parlor while Sirius used some human transfiguration to disguise both of them. Then they changed into their muggle clothing for the day, this time carefully chosen to blend in with the people they'd seen around the stadium. And finally they went to London and queued up with all the regular muggles to acquire tickets, entering the place entirely non-magically to avoid catching any kind of suspicion ahead of time.

They thought they would be early, but there were already several thousand muggles filling the stands. Sirius didn't like that. Maybe this wasn't a special football grounds, and the games always boasted audiences of 20,000, not just the final. He leaned in towards Avery. "If this gets much bigger, it will be impossible to control."

"Agreed," Avery said, sounding nervous.

"We're not waiting for the game to start."

"Pity, I was so looking forward to it..."

"Is that a joke?"

"Duh."

"Not the time." The two of them had reached the front of the stands and stepped aside to let others past them onto the stairs. Sirius surveyed the grounds and pointed. "That'll be our apparition spot. And that will be the area we clear and blow up." He checked his watch. "Five minutes."

"Got it." Avery turned around and headed back the way they had come while Sirius climbed the stairs to the very top, where hardly anyone was sitting. When he was sure no one was looking his way, he disillusioned himself, pulled on his Death Eater robes and mask, and when the time was right, apparated to the middle of the field. He Finited the disillusionment charm the instant Avery appeared right next to him.

Avery briefly met his eyes, then gestured to the stands and bellowed, "YOU ARE SWINE! BOW BEFORE THE SERVANTS OF THE DARK LORD!"

Of the two of them, Avery had the much more impressive baritone voice, and it was doubly alarming with the amplification of a Sonorus. They had already quite caught the muggles' attention with their sudden, unnatural appearance. With Avery's disdainful words, the first of them started to fear.

"Transmogrify!" Sirius shouted, pointing at the nearest muggle, who collapsed in a screaming heap as her arms and neck elongated and legs shrank in. He cast the curse three more times, fighting back the urge to cringe at the screams. The Transmogrifian Torture curse wasn't as bad as a Cruciatus, so the books said. He had reminded himself of that multiple times when planning this show earlier in the week. But it was still unspeakably painful, causing its victims' bodies to morph and twist for exactly one hour without the countercurse. It was like watching Remus transform, except it didn't stop. The curse had distinct advantages for today: he did not have to maintain it as he would a Cruciatus, and it got the point across to everyone who was watching in horror. He kept casting.

"GET OUT IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIVES!" Avery yelled. He cast a few Transmogrifian curses of his own, then turned to face the pre-selected, sparsely-occupied section of stands where he aimed an Enbublio, a stunner, and a few Jelly-Legs jinxes, which were bright purple, red, and orange respectively. The spells contrasted marvelously against the green grass, so the muggles could see exactly what was happening.

The muggles scattered away from the spell lights as intended. Sirius glanced at his watch. They'd allotted themselves only five minutes of action, and already used up two. He couldn't wait any longer. "Confringo!" He did not put as much power into the blasting curse as usual. The very emptiest part of the stands blew up. There was an instant stampede away from the area, and the Enbublio popped. As the dust cleared, he could see several muggles down, but so far all of them were still moving. Hopefully, none died.

"FLEE!"

Avery cast Incendio to burn an enormous Dark Mark into the field. Sirius silently levitated or banished a few lagging muggles out of the way, then blasted up two more sections of seating. As soon as he saw Avery was done with the grass, he pointed his own wand skyward. "Morsmordre."

They both disapparated as the Dark Mark bloated into the air. Sirius popped through three locations before reappearing at Lestrange Manor, and Avery joined him instants later.

"THAT WAS INCREDIBLE!" Sirius covered his ears. Avery blushed scarlet and pointed his wand at his throat to whisper "Quietus." His voice resumed a normal volume. "Sorry. Forgot I had that going. But I can't believe we did it!"

"You did well," Sirius agreed. He grinned. "And it was incredible." It felt good to come up with a plan and execute it perfectly... even when the plan was for terrorism. And terrorizing a crowd that big was, well, thrilling, if Sirius was perfectly honest with himself. Controlling so many people at once was a different sort of excitement from what he felt exploding houses, or even from the euphoria of last week's triumph. Merlin, Avery was right. Sirius was enjoying himself far more than he should or than was normal, particularly for the last month. He couldn't look guilty in front of Avery though. He'd save the feeling for later.

The two young wizards were still reveling in their success when an owl unexpectedly arrived and dropped an official-looking letter on Avery's lap before winging right back out again. Avery fell silent and opened the letter. His eyes widened in alarm as he read, and he passed the letter to Sirius with shaking hands. "They know it was me. How do they know it was me?!"

Sirius snatched the letter from him and read it quickly. It looked like a duplicated form letter, not actually hand-written.

Dear Mr. Avery,

You are hereby summoned to the Ministry of Magic immediately, on this day the 29th of August.

Report directly to the Office of Obliviation. Failure to report shall result in a fine of 20 galleons and possible additional legal action.

Signed,

Millicent Bagnold

Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic

As he read, his left arm started to burn. He looked back up at Avery, who still appeared panic-stricken. "This doesn't mean they're after you," he said firmly. "If they knew, they would be here arresting us, not sending you letters and threatening you with fines. This has got to be related to what we did, though." He stood up and gestured towards his Dark Mark. "I'm being summoned. I'll take you with me so we can figure out if you should report to the Ministry as instructed or not. Come on."

Chapter Text

When they arrived at the Death Eater headquarters, they joined a crowd, many of which appeared to be clutching letters identical to Avery's. That was reassuring to Sirius, and he thought he knew what was going on now. Someone was lecturing to the room to please stay calm and wait for instructions. Sirius ignored the speaker and steered Avery towards a potted plant. "Stay here," he ordered, and then started shoving his way towards the conference rooms. A rather large and imposing but otherwise unidentifiable Death Eater barred his way, until Sirius told him quietly, "I know why the letters were sent." This gained him immediate entry into the tense room where Voldemort and a table full of more senior Death Eaters sat.

Voldemort looked up at the interruption, and he looked displeased. Sirius decided to speak before anyone decided to either torture or murder him. "I can explain the letters," he said, loudly and as calmly as he could.

Voldemort raised his eyebrows. "Really? Enlighten us."

"They need more emergency Obliviators because I just led a mission to blow up part of a stadium containing several thousand muggles."

There were a few startled noises, and a laugh that might have been Bella's, just based on the cadence. Voldemort himself half-smiled and leaned back in his chair. "I suppose that could explain it. My friends, witness the impetuousness of youth. Lucius never ruffled so many feathers as our young associate." He nodded to the person at his right hand. "Everyone who has been summoned to the Ministry shall be permitted to go. Far be it from me to completely destroy the International Statute of Secrecy, today. You who must may go now and instruct our followers. Please do not of course descend upon the Ministry en masse..." Four people got up from the table and left the room, none of whom could Sirius recognize. "Join us," Voldemort said, pointing him towards an abandoned chair halfway along the table. Right next to Bella, Sirius discovered when she patted his arm under the table.

"How many did you kill?" one of the Death Eaters asked.

Sirius shrugged. "No idea. Not that many, I think. The point was not to slay all the witnesses but to be seen by as many as possible."

"That you clearly were," the Dark Lord mused, perusing one of the letters yet again. He waved a hand to silence someone muttering about exterminating vermin. "It is well you listened to Lucius when you were in his keeping. Whatever his failures, he mastered walking the fine line between mere nuisance for the Obliviators and overt criminality quite well. It surprised us all the aurors decided they'd had enough of him. As for you, well, I'm glad you did not eliminate those 'several thousand' this afternoon. The Ministry would hunt you with more efficiency than they did Lucius, and even the International Confederation of Wizards might have taken it poorly. We are not yet ready to make our cause global." He smiled toothily at Sirius. "Naturally, the muggle population must be curbed eventually, but I do not expect you to level another occupied stadium without permission from me."

"Yes, my lord." Sirius could say nothing more than that. It hadn't occurred to him that his and Avery's scheme might have been too big for Voldemort's taste. He braced himself for a Cruciatus along with the rebuke, but it was not forthcoming. Voldemort just kept thinking aloud.

"The chaos you managed to cause this afternoon is intriguing though. The Ministry appears strained to breaking containing this breach. I wonder, could you cause the same again? With a little more coordination, 'twould be an excellent distraction for a second mission."

Sirius hesitated. "I... probably could, my lord."

"Explain your limitations."

"It depends on what muggle events are scheduled when. I had the idea of attacking a big event, and happened to find out about their football League Cup happening this month, but they don't have those every day." Voldemort nodded, looking almost bored by the explanation. "Also, we had to change the plan and attack much earlier than originally intended today."

"Why?"

"Too many people. There were probably five thousand muggles there when we were in position, but more were coming every minute. There was room for twenty thousand in that place."

"That would have brought the International Confederation down on us for certain," someone said, possibly Rabastan. Sirius thought he recognized the embroidery on the collar under his outer robes.

Voldemort grinned. "Yes, it would have. And if you'd attacked during a League game, surely the news would have been broadcast electronically to many thousands more whom the Ministry could never track." Sirius blinked in surprise. The Dark Lord was supposed to be his parents' generation. He'd never met a pureblood wizard so old who could even pronounce the word "electricity," let alone conjugate the adverbial. He would have been hard-pressed to come up with it himself if put on the spot. Voldemort continued, "As I said, this is intriguing. If you had merely descended on that game in fury and destroyed everything and everyone in your path, well, the Dumbledores of the world would have wailed and cried outrage and rallied the sentimental masses against us, but the Ministry still could have cleaned it all up in a trice. They would disguise it as a muggle bombing and leave the muggle government to explain the wherefores. But by leaving the vast majority alive..." his grin widened, splitting his gaunt face like a fleshless skull. His eyes shone with churning thought. "I bade Lucius to use his muggle-baiting hobby to keep the Ministry busy. You will turn that hobby into an occupation and a weapon we can use to accomplish much, much more. Tell me, what do you require to, shall we say, calibrate your activities?"

Calibrate? It took a beat for Sirius to understand what the Dark Lord was asking, but the answers were obvious as soon as he did. "I need a halfblood." There were a few snorts, quickly stifled under Voldemort's glare. "Someone who can help me pick targets more precisely, who would understand exactly what we're getting into. Someone who would have known ahead of time how full that game was likely to be." An Imperiused muggleborn or squib would also work, but he wouldn't suggest that sort of crime. "And... if the goal is for me to go from tickling the Obliviators' noses to almost-but-not-quite toppling the Statute of Secrecy to everything in between at will, then I need a lot more information about the capabilities of the Office of Obliviation." He nodded at the handful of letters still littering the table. "Especially if they're going to pull tricks like that."

Voldemort inclined his head. "You have done well, and you ask little enough. Rodolphus, you shall find a halfblood willing to work with young Sirius on this most worthy endeavor. Tell Augustus he shall discover what is needful at the Ministry. Sirius, you will stick to smaller ventures for now, until we know exactly how much trouble you can cause for the Ministry without wrecking equal havoc on us." Bella tittered next to him and squeezed his hand excitedly. "The next time you attack a gathering of this magnitude, it will be on my orders."

"Yes, my lord," Sirius answered obediently. He was left to wonder why he suddenly had a name again. Then again, it would surely be both tiresome and confusing for Voldemort to refer to everyone by careful euphemisms at all times. The core of the Death Eaters must surely all know each others' names. Perhaps, if Bella's pleased reaction was anything to go by, Sirius had now proved himself sufficiently. Perhaps he would soon be gaining greater access. He smiled to himself and made a mental note to check that Moody had overheard the name Augustus, but also to ask that Moody and Dumbledore keep it to themselves for now. Augustus was not a unique name, but still it wouldn't do to out the person as a Death Eater the same day Sirius started moving up in the ranks.

Death Eaters Attack Muggle Sporting Event

By Barnabus Cuffe

Summons from the Ministry of Magic caused panic Tuesday as the Office of Obliviation fought to contain the most egregious breach of the Statute of Secrecy in over thirty years, since the end of Grindelwald's War on the continent. According to a Ministry spokesman, two Death Eaters apparated into a muggle sport stadium in London, lobbed multiple curses into the crowd, blasted apart a portion of the stands, and finally cast the Dark Mark into the skies before disappearing again. Remarkably, most of the muggle deaths and injuries are said to have been caused by the resulting stampede rather than by evil curses directly. According to Moneta Lethe, Head Obliviator, "The muggles were lucky in a way. Because there were only two Death Eaters, they didn't target that many individuals, and the ones they did were hit mostly with torture curses rather than lethal magic. We were lucky, too. There was a squib in the stands. She obviously couldn't do anything about the Death Eaters, but she did what she could to keep the breach [of the Statute of Secrecy] from getting even worse."

Reporters spoke to the squib in question, who preferred to remain anonymous due to the ongoing investigation and fear Death Eaters might target her. "I was there with my neighbor to watch the game. He's a muggle you see, and it was his birthday. Just as we took our seats, these two wizards in black robes and masks showed up and started cursing left and right. My neighbor doesn't know a thing about us, but he figured out right away that this was 'some sort of witchcraft or deviltry!' He wanted to take pictures, but I knocked the camera out of his hands. Then I hurried up to the press box, where they were just as excited of course and starting to call for policemen and things. I knew we couldn't have that happening, so I bashed everyone in there over the head with my handbag. I've got a bunch of cats at home, and there were a couple cans of cat food in my bag. Then I bashed their radio and television equipment too, just to be safe."

Policemen are a kind of muggle auror, and a television is a kind of muggle device like a radio that transmits moving pictures instead of sound. The squib assured me it was not magic but used elect-rice-tea, same as their street lights (which are no longer done with gas lamps).

Regardless of this brave squib's efforts, the Office of Obliviation was forced to call upon civilian resources to alter the memories of nearly five thousand surviving muggle witnesses. Emergency summons were sent to every witch and wizard in the country without a criminal record and with an Outstanding in NEWT-level Charms. Griselda Marchbanks, CDMG, APMO, fdBB, current Governor of the Wizarding Examinations Authority, explains, "It is impossible to achieve an Outstanding on the Charms N.E.W.T. without demonstrating proficiency in Obliviation, thus the emergency measure enacted yesterday was really the readiest option to temporarily bolster the Obliviators' numbers. My office has been asked to review all the living Exceeds Expectations recipients as well to identify other possible candidates should such a terrible attack on muggles happen again."

Obliviator Lethe adds, "We encourage every witch and wizard who is capable of Obliviation to register with the Ministry, and we thank Professor Marchbanks and other examiners for their assistance in certifying our civilian volunteers." When asked about the threatened fines and other legal action mentioned in the ubiquitous letters, Obliviator Lethe said, "That part didn't come from my department. You'd have to ask the Minister's office. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go back to the field. We still have over three thousand to go." Reporters were unable to follow up with Obliviator Lethe again before press time.

We briefly spoke with Undersecretary Bagnold, who signed the summons, but she said her office was still busy coordinating with the muggle government and referred us to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We attempted to speak with Director Crouch or his representative, however only managed a brief conversation with Auror Alastor Moody. "We are busy fighting a war. Obstruction of the war effort is treated as such. And I hope to Merlin whichever damn Death Eaters did this get an earful from You-Know-Who and decide not to do it again." We leave it up to our readers to conclude if Mr. Moody is correct that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might not have sanctioned Tuesday's violence and chaos.

Sirius reread the last paragraph several times. Moody knew it was him, obviously, so was this Moody's message for him? Admittedly, the more Sirius was learning about the fallout from his mission, the worse he was feeling about it. He hadn't thought the muggles would be hurt without actually being in the line of fire. He still didn't understand how they could have died in a human stampede. Humans weren't like dragons or horses where size and speed were meaningful dangers. He also still didn't know much about muggle radio and television.

"Sirius!" Narcissa waved a hand in front of his face, and he jumped. "You can dwell on your ego piece after we've finished moving you in."

"Right. Of course." He dropped Thursday's Daily Prophet back on the hall table where he'd found it and picked up the small box of personal belongings he had brought over from Bella's house. Narcissa's elf had already taken his clothes and toiletries over earlier that morning, and had probably already finished organizing them in the wardrobe of his new room.

He followed Narcissa up the grand staircase and past the upstairs sitting room to the hall with the family suites. Malfoy Manor was larger than either the Blacks' or Lestranges'--because it was newer. The current manor itself was constructed in the seventeenth century in a French Baroque style, completed not two decades before the signing of the Statute of Secrecy. Sirius only knew this because Narcissa had waxed lyrical and at length about everything and anything related to Lucius while he was still courting her. Sirius' mother meanwhile had not been impressed and decried the architecture as a muggle style. She naturally followed this up with a lecture about Black superiority: While the Blacks had lived in Britain since the early Middle Ages, the Malfoys came with William the Conqueror and earned their first lands and titles as dispensation from the muggle king. As such, their fortune was tied to royal interests for centuries, their wealth and influence primarily over muggle politics rather than the older British wizarding families. Despite vocal endorsements of blood purity, Medieval Malfoys even allowed a few marriages with muggle nobility for financial benefit, though the muggle names were left out of the official family tree. It was some of the old gossip Blacks kept as leverage over all the other Sacred Families. Malfoys kept up with muggle fashion for centuries, whereas the exterior façades of all the Black country estates were decidedly Gothic, similar to Hogwarts. Grimmauld Place was the only Black residence with a semi-modern external appearance, and that was only because it was enchanted to blend into its surroundings.

They passed Abraxas' and Lucretia's suite, where Lucretia was apparently still abed after a late night assisting in the Obliviation effort. Next they passed Lucius' and Narcissa's, then the first and finest guest suite, and then came to the second guest bedroom, which would be Sirius' for the time being. Sirius' arrival was quite sudden as these things go; the house elf was still puttering around, removing dust clothes from the chairs and arranging a vase of flowers when Narcissa pushed open the door.

The elf bowed low before them. "Dobby is almost finished putting things in order for Master Sirius! Dobby is just needing to dust the desk and mantle and oil the hinge on the wardrobe..."

Narcissa nodded vaguely and gestured for it to carry on. "This should have everything you need, Sirius, but do ask Dobby if you find anything lacking."

Sirius looked around. It was, of course, a luxurious room, with a wide four-poster bed, wardrobe and nightstand on one side of the room, desk by the window and armchair by the hearth. All the furniture was matching, finely carved mahogany. A door in the corner presumably led to the ensuite. The only thing he imagined he'd need would be silencing spells and other anti-eavesdropping measures, which he would place himself this evening. "I'm sure I'll be fine." He strode over to the desk, which was already bare of any dust so far as he could tell, and set down his box. He took out his sheaf of Dark Arts notes and shoved them into a drawer then carelessly emptied the box of its cigarettes, lighter, ash tray, penknife, dagger, wooden case of rings he'd cursed under Bella's supervision, fire whiskey, and various transfigured knickknacks. He shoved the empty box in the house elf's general direction. "You can get rid of this."

The elf took it silently. Narcissa came up behind him and glanced over his shoulder. "Those are pretty." She reached out and picked up the carved stone globe that was once Ivan Butler.

Carefully controlling his expression, he took that one from her and handed her the rock-dart-grim instead. He passed Ivan back and forth between his hands a moment with deliberate casualness. "This one's just a paperweight, but it turned out well. I transfigured them myself. I can make you something, if you like."

"You made this?" She peered at the little grim, marveling at the details of its fur.

"Yep."

"I did not know you were so talented, Cousin. You could give up on your current career and be a sculptor."

"And if you agreed to be my patron, that might even be a financially sound decision," Sirius said with a grin.

Narcissa smiled back. "I'd gladly accept one of your creations. And I'd love to help you experiment. We could get you some uncut gems-"

"To make you a new necklace?"

"Exactly. And maybe I'll set you loose on some of the uglier statues in the sculpture garden."

Sirius shrugged. "I'm game." It could be nice to have a wholesome hobby for a change.

Narcissa handed him the miniature grim back. "I'm very happy to host you, Sirius. You're not at all the wretched, argumentative boy I remember from that last, unfortunate Christmas party. It's about time the two of us got to know eachother better as adults."

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome. Now, we should get out of Dobby's way. We can wait for Abraxas in the formal parlor. He tolerates surprises better with that ambience."

Sirius snorted. "You didn't tell him I was coming?"

Narcissa shrugged. "I've barely seen him since Lucius' arrest."

"This will be fun, then."

Abraxas returned with a loud crack, apparating directly to the drawing room where Sirius was sitting with Narcissa and Lucretia Malfoy, awaiting the call to lunch. The lord of the house appeared to be in a terrible mood, and his scowl only deepened when he saw Sirius. Lucretia stood up immediately. "How did it go?" she asked without preamble.

Rather than answering his wife, Abraxas continued to eye Sirius. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Visiting Narcissa," he said blandly.

Lucretia looked between the two of them and frowned. "You didn't know, Brax? Sirius was here when I got up this morning, and Narcissa said he was to be staying with us until further notice."

All eyes turned towards him again. Sirius shrugged. "Bella thought it was a good idea," which was perfectly true.

Abraxas snorted. "So, the Dark Lord doesn't want me to go without a marked man in my house. I see how it is. I suppose it's no coincidence you're here today. Damn, do you move fast though. I should have guessed something was up by how chatty Antonin was." Sirius smiled slyly, even though he had little idea what Abraxas was on about. It was only to his and Narcissa's good if Abraxas believed he had an ulterior motive for being here unrelated to Narcissa's as-yet unrevealed pregnancy.

Lucretia's face paled. "What happened?" she asked softly.

"He refused," Abraxas said shortly, though his face was filled with anger.

"How can he refuse us?"

"I'm sorry, but what are you talking about?" Narcissa asked. Sirius silently thanked her. If Abraxas had concluded Sirius was here under Voldemort's orders, it would be very helpful to know why.

Abraxas glared at Sirius a moment longer, then sighed, apparently deciding there was no point in concealing his actions from his unwanted houseguest. "Since the Ministry is being stubborn, I asked the Dark Lord to...arrange for Lucius' freedom. I'm sorry I did not tell you, my dear, I did not want to get your hopes up. I was denied." Sirius wasn't surprised, either by Abraxas' audacity in wanting to break Lucius out of Azkaban, or in Voldemort's refusal to go along with it. Voldemort had no interest in coddling what he saw as failure, certainly not when it was someone else's idea.

Narcissa's eyes filled with artful tears. They might even be genuine, Sirius wasn't sure. She smiled prettily. "Thank you for trying, sir."

Abraxas nodded unhappily, then guided Lucretia back to the loveseat and sat down. He rubbed his neck. "I visited the Ministry again as well. They're still in disarray today, but Crouch's secretary at least consented to get Lucius' trial scheduled, in about two months. And I have a permit to visit him, next week."

"I should come with you," Lucretia said instantly.

Abraxas patted her hand. "No, I don't want you to see that. Nor you, Narcissa. I'll go alone. I will get him out, one way or another. I just have to do it in a way that doesn't complicate...other tasks."

It was at that moment that the chimes rang for lunch. Sirius offered Narcissa his arm to escort her to the lunch room as Abraxas escorted Lucretia. Conversation was polite and banal over the meal. No one appeared particularly hungry, least of all Narcissa, who had earlier informed Sirius she had been struggling with morning sickness on and off for weeks. Apparently, although the anti-nausea potion worked well to get her through breakfast, it tended to wear off by lunch, to the point she skipped the midday meal when it was bad.

As it happened, today was the day Lucretia finally decided to comment on that. Thank Merlin Sirius had moved in this morning and not tomorrow. "Narcissa, dear, you haven't been eating well at all. Is it simple worry for Lucius? You know he would want you to take care of yourself. Or are you not feeling well? I would be happy to call a healer for you."

Narcissa stopped scraping the cream off her dessert. She took a deep breath and summoned a new round of tears. "Actually... I'm pregnant." Lucretia beamed, Abraxas looked up and stared, and Sirius decided to copy him.

"Oh, Narcissa, that's wonderful!"

Narcissa nodded morosely. "It's almost four months now. W-we were going to make the announcement next week, once we felt th-the r-risk of m-m-miscarriage was past." She started crying in earnest, which Sirius felt sure was a façade but a very well done one. "And n-now L-l-lucius might not even be here for the birth of his son!"

Lucretia leapt out of her chair and hurried around to hug Narcissa. "Shh... there, there, dear. You must not stress yourself about all that. It isn't good for the baby. You know Abraxas and I will do anything to bring Lucius home. Shh..."

Narcissa allowed herself to be soothed and fanned her eyes. "I'm sorry for making a scene..."

"Nonsense, dear."

"You were right to tell us now, though I too wish Lucius could have been here to share in the moment and make it more joyful," Abraxas said slowly. He was smiling, sort of, but his expression looked surprisingly chill for someone hearing the news of an expectant grandchild.

Studying the three of them, Sirius decided Narcissa had the situation well in hand, with neither in-law inclined to do or say anything that might upset her further. The best thing he could do for her would probably be to leave, so there would be even less suspicion drawn to their secret purpose. He took one more bite of cake and set down his cutlery as quietly as possible. He cleared his throat and assumed a mildly uncertain tone, "Um, congratulations, Narcissa." He cringed slightly at Lucretia's disparaging glance. Narcissa did not acknowledge him and started digging in her pocket for a handkerchief. Abraxas hurriedly handed her one, which she accepted gratefully. "Right, I'm sorry, cousin. I'll get out of your hair. I have business today anyway..." he stood up quickly from the table and turned from the room.

"I'll walk you out," Abraxas announced. He briefly laid a comforting hand on Narcissa's shoulder. "I'll be back shortly, my dear. Why don't you two take a moment to freshen up, and then we can talk. Dobby!" The elf appeared instantly. "A pot of chamomile tea." The elf bowed and disappeared again. Abraxas strode forward and grabbed Sirius' elbow, practically dragging him from the room into the hallway. "Where are you going?" he asked suspiciously.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "London."

"And after?"

"Why do you want to know my business?"

Abraxas glowered. "You will not report ill of me to the Dark Lord. My ire over Lucius' situation is not directed at him."

Sirius did not bother to hide his reaction to the obvious lie. But he smiled. "I'm sure the Dark Lord understands your concern for your family," he said pleasantly. "A concern I share, as Lucius' friend and Narcissa's cousin."

"I'm glad to hear it. And you should know, I have been in the Dark Lord's confidence longer than you have been alive. He has trusted me with far more than he trusts you. He knows I will take no action that could endanger our cause, not even for Lucius. Seek to undermine me, and the consequences will be unpleasant."

"Good thing I wasn't planning to undermine you, eh? We are family, after all."

Abraxas eyed him inscrutably. "Indeed. Have a pleasant trip to London, Sirius. I'll see you at dinner."

Sirius inclined his head and turned away. It was interesting that Abraxas had known the Dark Lord for over eighteen years, considering Voldemort had only declared himself eight years ago.

Death Toll Climbs to 67 from Craven Cottage Stampede

So proclaimed the muggle newspaper Sirius had come to London to steal. Sixty-seven!? A muggle pedestrian joggled his elbow, reminding him he probably shouldn't stand panicked in the middle of London like this. He couldn't very well go back to Malfoy Manor though, not until he calmed down. He looked around and darted into an alley to keep reading. Three hundred and five injured, one hundred eighty-three still hospitalized... crush injuries... rib fractures... asphyxia... head injuries... bodies stacked four feet deep in stairwells... Sirius' horror kept mounting the more he read. The muggle casualties were probably worsened by the fact that the Ministry had erected magical barriers to prevent muggles from escaping Obliviation. Lucretia had mentioned that this morning, but she had said nothing about this horror. Maybe she didn't care, or maybe the Ministry Obliviators had kept the civilian volunteers well back from the front line of the deadly scene.

Sirius had thought nothing of the barriers at the time. He had thought he was being clever with the whole scheme, and yet his own ignorance had caused disaster. They had ordered the muggles to flee, but there was nowhere for them to go, not once the Dark Mark alerted the Ministry.

The newspaper dropped from Sirius' shaking hands. He ducked between a couple of garbage bins and fumbled for his watch. He burst into tears the moment he saw Portrait Moody's tiny, angry face. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it. I didn't know..." he kept babbling apologies.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Sirius yelped and ducked instinctively, eyes darting wildly to identify his opponent. There was no one else in the alley that he could see. "Homenum Revelio!" The alley remained empty.

"Kid, calm down, no one's attacking you, I just had to get your attention." Sirius looked back at Moody. "Constant vigilance, remember? Where are you?"

"Muggle London," Sirius mumbled.

"At least you're not where you're likely to be overheard," the portrait grumbled. "Idiot."

"I am an idiot. I'm so sorry. I didn't know..."

"No, you didn't know. You weren't prepared, you made a huge mistake when you got creative, and you got a lot of people hurt. Honestly, Dumbledore or myself should have seen that coming and made me reach out before you did on Sunday to help you troubleshoot your fancy new job, but we didn't. Do you want us to get you out?"

"What?"

"If this is too much, you tell me, I tell Dumbledore, he gets you out, you go into hiding."

"I... no! You can't! The Dark Lord wants to use big attacks like this, and if it's not me leading them, it will be someone else who won't care about the casualties, only about the strategic value against the Ministry!"

Moody nodded grimly. "I know. I was listening. But that doesn't mean we're going to force you to keep doing this."

Sirius shook his head. "No. I have to, or the next time it will be worse, and that will still be my fault."

"Kid-"

"Don't tell me you, I mean the real Moody, wouldn't feel the same way in my shoes."

Portrait Moody sighed. "I won't." Sirius sagged in relief. "Next time, tell me the day you start developing your plan. Take notes during your strategy meetings with your underlings and show them to me at night in your room. I'll have myself and Dumbledore go over it."

"And the squib. She was with the Order, wasn't she?"

"She was, and yes, good idea."

Sirius nodded and leaned back against the brick wall. He took some deep breaths, willing his heartrate to slow. "Good. I can do this."

"Is there a job coming up, or were you just looking for muggle papers to follow up after Tuesday?"

"I needed to know how bad it was," Sirius admitted. "The Prophet's coverage was too vague when it came to the muggle side of things. But I also told Avery to meet me at Malfoy Manor this afternoon to discuss potential targets in case the Dark Lord calls on us sooner rather than later. I don't expect that to happen."

"Not until after your meeting with 'Augustus,' no," Moody agreed.

"Do you know who that is?" Sirius asked.

"We have a guess that we'll be able to confirm when the meeting happens."

"Right." He bit his lip, then sighed. "I'm so sorry," he said again.

"I know, kid. You always will be. You just can't let it show."

Chapter Text

"Okay." Sirius dipped a quill to summarize their last hour of discussion. "Next task is to find out about as many football, cricket, and tennis matches happening in the next two months as we can." Those were all the sport names they had figured out from perusing their two sample muggle newspapers. "And also all the symphony, opera, rock, punk, and pop concerts," he listed off all but one of the music genres mentioned during their unplanned muggle encounter. Couldn't remember the last one. "Plays if the theaters are big enough. And any big dances or balls, if we can find them."

"And also any parades and any royal events," Avery added.

"I'm still leery about that idea," Sirius said, even as he noted it down on the list. "There's bound to be more security around those kinds of things."

"Still muggles though," Avery said dismissively.

"Sure, but there might be muggle military, who would outnumber us a hundred to one. I wouldn't know what to expect from that, nor would you. They could get lucky. And the queen might even have magical protection. I know their prime minister does."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. It was mentioned at one of the meetings. I can't remember if the prime minister outranks the queen or if it's the other way around, though."

"Muggle government is weird," Avery agreed. "Scratch anything royal. Even if the queen doesn't have an auror following her around, we'd probably never figure out whether the prime minister fellow was going to be attending whatever political event we pick. I don't know about you, but I like it better when we dodge the aurors completely."

"Spoilsport," Sirius said mischievously, even though he completely agreed. "Consider it scratched. Right, so I'll get newspapers in London, Birmingham, Liverpool, and Southampton. You get the ones in Plymouth, Bristol, Newcastle, Edinburgh, and Glasgow. Once we've got the list of possible targets, we'll divvy them up between us to scope out the locations, and hopefully by the time we're done with that Rodolphus will have set up my meetings with the Ministry insider and our halfblood teammate. I don't suppose you have any idea who that might end up being?"

Avery thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Severus was the only halfblood at school I knew they were actively recruiting, until you changed things. Other than him, I think there were a couple in the years above us. A Ravenclaw Audrey Bertram and a Hufflepuff Xavier Loyola, maybe."

Sirius had barely noticed those two existed. He shook his head. "Guess we'll find out soon enough. Last thing is just to decide when we're going to do another routine hit. Maybe tomorrow?"

Avery glared at him. "I am not going to go out and burn houses and things tomorrow."

"Er, okay. Already have plans?"

Avery folded his arms across his chest. "Today's my birthday. I was still rotating with the Obliviators until two in the morning, and I've been here since three this afternoon. I want to enjoy myself this evening without having to worry about being rested and sober in the morning."

Sirius blinked. How mundane. "Oh, right. That's fine. If you don't want to go muggle-baiting the day after your birthday, you don't have to. How about Saturday, or are you planning to get blackout drunk tonight and still be hungover then? If so, Sunday's the latest we should push it. I really think we should stick to an average of two or three hits per week like Lucius did, even on the weeks we pull something big. Otherwise the Ministry will know to expect a break. Happy birthday, by the way. Why'd you let me drag you over here to work today? We could have done this tomorrow."

Unexpectedly, Avery started blushing.

Sirius stared at him nonplussed. "What?"

"You didn't know it was my birthday?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Sorry, I forgot. We have been a bit busy, you know. And we haven't been friends since second year anyway. Do you even remember when my birthday is?"

"November third."

Sirius set down his quill and sat back, feeling both surprised and honestly guilty for the social faux pas. He shouldn't have forgotten. He and Regulus had always been invited to the parties when they were young children, being so close together in age (and of impeccable breeding). And the date was so easy to recall, being the day before Hogwarts start of term. The last time Sirius had celebrated Avery's... Richard's birthday was the day before they both started at Hogwarts. Funny, if the boy had been born one day later, he would have been in Regulus' class rather than Sirius', and wouldn't yet be a Death Eater. "Why on earth do you know that?"

The younger wizard sniffed judgmentally. "It's polite." To Sirius' surprise, Avery then reached out and cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. "Prat."

"Heh. So familiar with your boss, Richard."

"I'm sorry." Avery snatched his hand back.

"Joking, idiot." He started snickering at Avery's wounded look. "Merlin you're touchy."

Avery looked away. "Did you want to come to the party?" he muttered.

"Ha! Good one." Avery didn't look up, and Sirius' laugh faded. "Wait, you're serious?"

Avery's lips quirked. "No, you're Sirius."

"Hilarious. Never heard that one before in my entire life. Did you actually mean to invite me to your birthday party?"

"Well... yeah. I mean, we see eachother all the time, and you said you don't have any other friends any more."

Avery's reasoning was strangely touching. The power of his high-society, very British upbringing was incredible. "Who else is going?" Sirius asked.

Avery finally looked up again, cautiously. "My little sister. Felix Mulciber, Antonia Yaxley, Hypatia Gibbon, Ursula and Flavius Flint, Barty Crouch Junior, and, er, Regulus." The last name was almost a whisper.

"Regulus is going?!" Sirius hissed.

"Well, yeah. He was sorted into Slytherin and never stopped being my friend, and it's my last chance to see him before he and Barty go back."

No way in hell was Sirius going to allow his little brother Regulus to hang around with Richard Avery and Felix Mulciber unsupervised. Even though he knew that was a totally illogical reaction, particularly considering he was the senior, and marked, Death Eater of the lot of them. "I'll come. Where and what time is it?"

"My place. It's not a formal thing. Mum wanted it to be, but I dissuaded her after what happened last week with Lucius and the others. Officially, the party already started about thirty minutes ago, so you might as well come with me when I leave."

Sirius nodded thoughtfully. "Snape's not coming, is he?"

"No," Avery answered sulkily. "He hasn't returned any letters all summer. Not that Mum would have let me invite him anyway. She only allows purebloods in the manor."

Sirius chuckled. "I should check to make sure the Malfoys aren't quite as picky as the Averys, or where will we hold our planning sessions once we get that halfblood?"

Avery grinned. "The Malfoys are so rich they can't possibly deal only with purebloods. They probably have a designated Impure Sitting Room somewhere to keep the contamination contained."

"They might at that. I'll have to check with Lucretia. I should probably abstain from letting some halfblood track filth all over their favorite Persian rug or something." They both snickered for a moment, surveying the garish opulence around them. It was worse than Grimmauld in terms of ostentation. "Right, I think we're done for the day, Richard. Let's get you to your party."

"You bringing me a present?" Avery asked as he got up and headed towards the floo.

Sirius patted his pockets. "How about your very own pack of muggle cigarettes? I'll be sure to present them to you right in front of your mum."

"Careful if you do. She has a mean bat-bogey hex. Learned it from Miranda Goshawk herself."

"Wicked. It's a deal. I'll meet you there after I tell Narcissa or someone I won't be here for dinner."

"-to you! Happy birthday, dear Richard..." Sirius heard the cheerful chorus as he stepped out of the floo in Avery's parlor, but half the voices stopped singing the moment he did. The anthem was hollow on its final phrase.

Sirius smiled bracingly at the gaggle of current and ex-Slytherins staring at him. "Hi."

"I invited him," Avery said firmly before anyone else could say anything. The others slowly nodded, except Regulus who looked away with a muscle working in his jaw.

Sirius strode forward boldly and clapped the birthday boy on the shoulder. "Happy birthday, mate." He looked for the lady of the house and grinned when he met her eyes. Her expression remained perfectly blank as he withdrew two packs of smokes from his pocket, slapped one into Avery's hand, and pulled a single cigarette out of the other, so there would be no confusion as to what the very muggle-ish gift was. "Cheers. Now you don't have to steal mine."

"Thanks," Avery said sarcastically. "Please don't smoke in here, though. My mother won't appreciate the stench."

Sirius shrugged and sauntered past him towards the open doors to the terrace, lighting up along the way.

"Sirius Black, everybody," Mulciber drawled behind him. One of the girls giggled. Sirius did not hesitate or turn around. Best to let people get tipsy before imposing on them with his presence.

The summer evening was pleasant, at least. The terrace was surrounded by a formal garden, with several nearby fountains drowning out most of the surely scathing conversation behind him. A faint, balmy wind smelling of cut grass ruffled his hair. He just stood there puffing on the cigarette, watching the occasional songbird or pixie wing over the hedges. This was fine. He didn't want to be best chums with them anyhow. Nor did he particularly deserve to have a nice time at a party, given how many people he'd killed this week. He'd wait awhile, grab some food, make sure Regulus was still on the straight and narrow, and then he'd leave.

His fingers burned. He cursed and dropped the cigarette butt, then stamped it out with his foot. Absentmindedly, he found and lit another one. He was really going through these things today; the pack had been full this morning. That was when Mrs. Avery slid up beside him. "Those aren't good for you," she told him conversationally.

Sirius grinned darkly. Neither was fighting in a war. He proffered the nearly-empty pack to her, and she wrinkled her nose. "I'm disappointed. Richard thought you'd hex me for bringing these."

"I was tempted."

"What stopped you?"

She smiled faintly. "I've heard enough about you from Richard to know you would be only too pleased to engage in a duel with your hostess. It's a far more effective snub on my part to refrain from rising to your provocation."

"Wise woman," Sirius admitted. His own mother had never figured that out.

She inclined her head gracefully. "I'll confiscate your impertinent gift later." He chuckled, careful to direct his smoky exhale away from her. He recalled he used to quite like Mrs. Elaine Avery, when he was little. "Thank you for looking after Richard, Sirius. Are you fully recovered from your injury?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad to hear it. I was worried about you."

"Were you really?" he laughed.

"Of course." She peered at him, then patted his arm. "You can be as brave a Gryffindor as you want, the mothers in your life will still worry about you."

"You're not my mother," he said, maybe a little more harshly than necessary.

"No, but it seems to me you could use one." She shrugged. "I'm not going to criticize your relationship with Walburga. Merlin knows she's a stubborn woman with a terrible temper. But if you ever need someone to tell you to stop smoking, trim your hair, eat your vegetables, and generally take better care of yourself, there's plenty of us willing to do that for you, now you've come back to the fold. If you'd let us." So saying, she nodded curtly and headed back inside, leaving him staring after her.

He stayed out on the terrace until the second cigarette burned out, then turned on his heel and ambled back into the parlor. The party appeared to be swinging without him. Mrs. Avery had retreated to a comfortable corner where she could chaperone the young people without distracting them. Most everyone was circled around Avery, clutching drinks, nibbling hors d'oeuvres off of little floating plates, talking, and laughing. Sirius was in luck, though. Regulus was at the buffet loading up a plate of his own. Sirius made a beeline for him.

"Reg?"

Regulus spun around and glowered. "What?"

Sirius winced. "Can we talk?"

"No." He resumed selecting fruit and cheese as if it were the most important thing in the world.

"Reg-"

"I said no."

"Come on, you're going back to Hogwarts tomorrow! I won't have a chance to see you after-"

"You could have seen me all summer if you wanted. But you didn't. You didn't even write."

Sirius scowled. "Well, neither did you," he said petulantly.

Regulus smirked at him. "I'm the younger one. I'm the one who gets to be petty. Not you."

Sirius sighed. "Okay, yeah, I deserve that. I should have written. I'm sorry." He wasn't, not really. Writing to Regulus was dangerous, because he couldn't write anything real. He could not put in writing what he was doing, and certainly not what he was feeling. Nor could he write even a vague warning to Regulus with the risk that someone might see it. Any letters would therefore be misleading pleasantries at best, and at worst a lure to pull Regulus closer to becoming a Death Eater himself.

"You should have come home," Regulus said.

Sirius shook his head. "No, that I can't do."

Regulus didn't look happy, but his reluctance to open up suddenly thawed. He turned to face Sirius directly. "Why not? I mean, I thought I understood when you left to go live with the Potters. I didn't like it, but it made sense to me. You decided to be a blood traitor. Mum cursed you off the tapestry, and I was sad, but that was the end of it. Except it wasn't. Now you're back, not a blood traitor, living with Bella, and fight-"

"Don't finish that sentence."

"Everyone here knows," Regulus protested.

"Everyone?" Sirius said pointedly. "Are you sure? Did you check?"

"Well, no, obviously..."

"Exactly. Walk with me a moment, little brother. And then if you want you can turn your back and never talk to me again."

"...Fine." Regulus handed his laden plate to Sirius, then grabbed another and filled it as well. The two of them walked back onto the terrace and then out into the garden. Regulus opened his mouth to speak, but Sirius forestalled him as he took out his wand and checked for eavesdroppers - both living and magical. There was nothing.

"Better safe than sorry," he explained before stowing his wand away.

"You could come home now," Regulus said stubbornly. "Bella told us she recruited you. It's hard to tell with Father obviously but Mum's happy about it, mostly. She had Kreacher sew a patch with your name back on the tree."

"Who knew she could be so sentimental?" Sirius muttered.

"Now she's just angry you still haven't come back."

"Trust me, she'd be even angrier if I did come back. I haven't changed just because of this." He flexed his left arm between them. "Mother might approve of what I'm doing, but she'd still hate who I am if I was around to remind her of it every day."

Regulus didn't respond to that, just stared at Sirius' sleeve. "Can I see it?" he whispered.

"No."

"Come on!"

"No."

"You're kidding me. I was always the first one you'd show off to. This is the coolest thing you've ever done, and yet -"

"This isn't a game or a prank, Reg. It's much more serious."

"I know that! I'm joining, too, once I'm done with Hogwarts..."

"No you're not."

Regulus pulled a face. "You can't tell me what to do."

"You want to bet on that?" Sirius said softly. Something in his voice made Regulus pause and really look at him. Sirius smiled grimly and tapped his forearm through his sleeve. "I am telling you this three times, Reg. You do not want this. It is not for you. To take this mark means to become a killer. That isn't who you are."

"But... you and Bella and Lucius took it."

Sirius nodded. "We did." He jerked his head back towards the house. "Avery hasn't. And that stays between us."

Regulus furrowed his brow, looking confused at that information, but he straightened and said stubbornly, "If you can do it, I can too."

Sirius bit back a curse that Regulus wanted to compete with him. He decided to change tack and appeal to his little brother's sense of duty rather than morals or personal safety. That's what worked for Mum, afterall. "This isn't who I want you to be. And it isn't a question of whether you could but whether you should."

"Oh, so you're the only one of us allowed to serve the Dark Lord?"

"That's right. Want to know why?"

"Why?" he asked sulkily.

"Because I'm expendable. You're not."

Regulus' mouth fell open. "But... but you're the heir! I'm the spare!"

Sirius smirked. The reaction was perfect. "You're a better candidate for Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black than I would ever be, Reg, because unlike me, you actually try. That's why Mum hates me so much. When I'm dead, it'll be official, and it's far better for the family if you're un-Marked when the time comes."

Regulus grabbed his hand and stared at him, eyes wide and face pale. "You said 'when.'"

"Hm?"

"You didn't say 'if I die,' you said 'when I'm dead.' Why? Don't you believe we're going to win?"

Sirius forced another grin. "Poor choice of words, sorry. But the Mark is a one-way ticket, Reg. There's no backing out. I'm willing to die in this war." He would die before he let the Death Eaters win. And he would die if Voldemort discovered he was a spy. And he would die or go to Azkaban if he was caught in a losing battle with other Death Eaters, the odds of which would go up the more successful he was as a spy. Really, his only way out was to run to Moody and Dumbledore at just the right time, before it was too late, but not so early as to make himself Bella's and/or Voldemort's next target. He met Regulus' eyes. "I'm not willing to take you and our House with me."

Regulus looked awe-stricken rather than appropriately chastised, annoyingly.

Sirius slapped him on the back. "Buck up, little Bro. Not everyone who supports the cause is Marked anyway. You'll get the chance to ogle your hero again without risking the family to do so."

Regulus blushed and looked down. "I understand, Sirius."

"Good. And don't let Bella bully you into it," he instructed. "Or Mum. If they try, let me know, and I will, actually, come talk sense into Mum and Dad so they can forbid it like they ought to."

"Promise you'll come?"

"I promise." Assuming he wasn't dead, of course. "Don't abuse that, or you'll regret it. I know some pretty nasty curses now."

Tentatively, Regulus reached out and hugged him with one arm. "I'm glad I got to see you, Sirius. And I'm sorry you got expelled."

Sirius hugged him back briefly and smiled. "Come on. Let's get back to the party. I need a drink."

Upon their return, Ursula and Hypatia cornered him and started flirting shamelessly. It was nice for awhile; Sirius had not interacted with any girls besides his married older cousins since leaving Hogwarts. But after a few wine-flavored kisses, Hypatia asked rather breathlessly if they could see his tattoos, which rather soured his mood. He sent them packing with some choice insults.

Mulciber slid by next, raising his eyebrows at the retreating girls' hurt expressions. "I'm quite certain they were talking about the infamous dragon," he commented as he sipped a virulently green cocktail. "It was frequently gossiped about, even in the Slytherin common room."

"Even more scandalous, then, since I'd have to disrobe most of the way for them to see more than little bits of it," Sirius grumbled.

Mulciber grinned. "Yeah, I don't think Mrs. Avery would go along with that plan. And if she did, it would be even worse."

"Piss off, Mulciber."

"Sure thing, Black."

And then came Barty Crouch Junior. Next to the one with Regulus, it was the most awkward conversation of the evening. Sirius futilely probed to figure out how close Barty was to submitting to the allure of the Death Eaters, and Barty attempted and failed to behave like a normal person. The only thing Sirius definitely learned was that Barty was weird. He could make exquisite, cunning and cutting jokes but then blushed and apologized as soon as he told them. He asked repeatedly if he was being annoying. He had a tendency to embark on wild, academic tangents at the slightest provocation, which Sirius was hard-pressed to follow. At odd moments, he would abruptly reign himself in and assume the carefully refined air and expression Sirius recognized as the one all Heirs to noble houses were trained to adopt. The problem for Barty was he clearly wasn't comfortable with the mask. He could put it on, but his excitement, his exuberance, his ferocious wit just kept breaking through. Sirius used to have that problem, until he decided pretending wasn't worth it.

Barty had also shown up at Sirius' elbow clutching an open and completely full bottle of wine, but had yet to drink from it, too enthralled with Sirius' undivided attention. He got the impression the lad was noticed just as little at home as he was at Hogwarts, probably lauded for grades and not much more. It was sad, really. After a painful twenty minutes of chatter, he laid a hand on Barty's shoulder. "Listen, mate, you'll be much, much happier if you stop trying to please whoever it is you're worried about pleasing and just focus on what you want to do with your life." Barty's lip trembled. Sirius' eyes widened. "You're not... tell me you're not going to..." But there were tears forming. "Merlin!" He practically shoved the Ravenclaw boy out of the room. Fortunately they were already standing near the door. He recognized the hallway and guided Barty into the library, slamming the door behind them. Hopefully, no one was paying attention to their hasty exit. He turned to face the now-sobbing Ravenclaw. "Er... are you alright?" he asked awkwardly. Barty nodded but kept crying. Sirius prudently took the large bottle of wine out of his shaking hands. He also grabbed a blank piece of parchment from the nearby desk and transfigured it into a handkerchief. "Here."

"Thanks." He blew his nose noisily.

"What's wrong?" Sirius asked after a moment. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I-" The mask went back up. "I just need a moment."

"Ah... sure. Well, er, me too. I was just thinking I could use a bit of quiet. Lucky the library's right here. Also lucky you brought this." He raised up the wine bottle again before setting it down on the desk. He inspected a few ink wells and selected the cleanest to transfigure into wine glasses. He poured full glasses for them both and handed one to Barty. "To being Heir to a Noble House," he said ironically. "It's crap."

Barty smiled weakly and clinked glasses. "Hear, hear." He drank deep. He looked down again quickly. His whole demeanor brightened when he snatched up a sheaf of parchment on the desk. "These are next year's notes!" he said excitedly, sorrows bizarrely forgotten.

"Hm?" Sirius peered over his shoulder. "Oh, Richard's ancient runes notes. You're taking runes, eh? Good class. Here lemme see, Richard said I could borrow the ones from the months I missed..." Barty amiably handed him the bottom half of the bundle, and they both leaned against the desk whilst leafing through the papers. Barty went back to happy, academic chatter, thankfully. That was much easier to deal with than ugly-crying. What a Ravenclaw.

The wine bottle was nearly empty, mostly because of Barty, when the library doors burst open again. The rest of the party staggered into the room, led by a swaying Avery. "There they are!" he declared, pointing quite rudely. "Iss nah ffair t'play hide'n'seek withou' tellin' anyone..."

"I found you!" Regulus crowed, grabbing Barty's hand and pulling him out from where he had been comfortably slouching halfway behind Sirius.

Sirius bit his lip to keep from laughing at them. "We weren't hiding. We were just enjoying your excellent notes from Professor Babbling's lectures on Cuneiform and Hieroglyphic phonics." He enunciated his words very deliberately, pleased he managed not to slur. Gryffindors could hold their liquor, not like these lily-livered Slytherins.

Avery gasped. "I knew you'd like 'em!" He snatched the papers from Sirius' and Barty's hands, crushing them to his chest in a messy pile with an expression of supreme joy. He was still holding a half-full cup of what looked like mead, which sloshed dangerously. He staggered closer, exhaling what must be pure alcohol fumes into Sirius' face. "Idsh jus' nah fair! You leave four months b'fore th' end've term an' miss out on th' coolesh dishcovery of th' lash two centuries! Here! Here, you've earnened it." He thrust the wad of paper forwards.

"Yes, thank you very much, Richard," Sirius said gently whilst removing the latest drink from his hands. He figured Avery would be very upset if he woke up tomorrow and found his prized notes had bled away after being soaked in alcohol. Unfortunately, Avery took the opportunity to stuff the bundle of notes down the front of Sirius' robes and then clumsily hug him.

"You're a great boss, Shiriush..."

Mulciber choked on his own drink, and Regulus and Crouch collapsed against eachother, laughing. Ursula chose that moment to succumb to alcohol poisoning and vomit all over her brother Flavius Flint. Mrs. Avery appeared in the doorway with a strained smile. "Darling, it's getting late. I think it's time to let your friends go home. I have hangover cure potion ready and waiting. It's mandatory for those of you boarding the Hogwarts Express tomorrow. For everyone else, optional, but definitely recommended."

Chapter Text

The meeting with a Ministry Obliviator proved much more straightforward than Sirius was expecting. It turned out "Augustus" was an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, Augustus Rookwood. Sirius did not actually see him at all. Instead, his direct contact was Mulciber who inadvertently let Rookwood's identity slip when he mentioned it was an Unspeakable who helped distract the other occupants of the Office of Obliviation when Mulciber showed up to register as a volunteer with his Exceeds Expectations in Charms. Moody figured it out after the fact and said he would be working on exposing Rookwood without implicating Sirius, as he did with most of the names Sirius uncovered.

Anyway, Mulciber used the cover to cast an Imperius on the hapless Wayne Entwhistle. Mulciber then met Sirius for lunch in Diagon Alley, and Entwhistle "just happened" to join them when he wandered in fifteen minutes later. Entwhistle was only five years older than the two of them and a pureblood, so it wasn't that unbelievable. It was an interesting meeting. Mulciber employed a charm Snape had apparently invented, the Muffliato, which was subtler than typical privacy charms. Entwhistle blandly and docilly answered every one of Sirius' questions about the structure of the department, the various emergency procedures currently under development, and the numbers of ad hoc conscripted Obliviators the Ministry would be able to call on in future. He learned that while it took less than a minute to erase a memory and perhaps a quarter hour to construct a decent quality false one, the time factors exponentially increased when the memories were emotionally charged and when the implanted memories had to be uniform across a large number of people. That said, the underlying arithmancy of Obliviation was extremely well described, since it was so foundational to government operation for the past few centuries. To Sirius' surprise and bemusement, Entwhistle was able to write out simple equations for manpower and time estimations for general scenarios. With those, all Sirius had to do was determine how many muggles would be disturbed and for how long, and he could detour vast Ministry resources for very exact amounts of time. In theory.

The addition of Audrey Bertram, a Ravenclaw halfblood, to the team was likewise fairly simple. She was extremely nervous at Sirius' first meeting with her and obviously reluctant to plan a muggle massacre, until Sirius clarified that actually, her bookish task was not to figure out how to kill as many muggles as possible but rather to figure out how to cause extreme mayhem whilst leaving as many muggles alive as possible. Audrey took to that directive as a fish to water, treating the whole scenario like she was the brain enabling Sirius' greatest prank (apparently, she had been a fan of the Marauders when she was still at Hogwarts). With Audrey's help, the research into muggle venues went much, much faster. In less than a week, they had multiple tentative stratagems formed for attacking ballgames, concerts, and dances; Audrey dismissed the idea of targeting street parades or other similar events as too difficult to contain, and too susceptible to muggle aerial attack. She was convinced there might be muggles with a weapon called a gun perched on a balcony or rooftop overseeing the event, ready to pick Sirius or Avery off without warning. She had seen it happen before in a movie.

All they needed was a date. And so they waited. Sirius and Avery continued to harass completely random locations a few times per week, causing generally less trouble and definitely fewer casualties than Lucius used to. Sirius continued to duel with Bella on a regular basis. She told him he was getting good enough he might garner more complex assignments soon. She also told him that Uncle Cygnus was thrilled to be an almost-grandfather and was enhancing all the wards at both his principal manor and summer cottage in preparation for Narcissa's labor.

As for Narcissa, well, no one would guess from looking she was planning to flee Malfoy Manor in five months. Sirius had few occasions to talk with her about her plans, unfortunately, because she was so very cautious and so very patient. She made it perfectly clear through few words and very precise expressions that she wanted to wait until they could be certain of not being overheard, or failing that until the matter was more urgent. She did not trust privacy charms, even the Muffliato when Sirius showed it to her. She preferred to wait for an empty house. The day that Abraxas went to visit Lucius in Azkaban did not work, because Lucretia was anxiously hovering around the house. The days Abraxas spent at the Ministry, publicly donating to charity as cover for working on bribes and lobbying for legislation on behalf of the Dark Lord did not work, because Sirius was out burning down a village half the days and Lucretia had hired someone to renovate the old Malfoy nursery the other half. The day Abraxas had a big meeting with his accountants at Gringotts did not work because Lucretia happened to host a ladies' tea at the same time, to which Narcissa, Bella, Sirius' mother, and Avery's mother were all invited, amongst others. Sirius left the house as soon as he realized his mother would be there.

And so Sirius waited, getting frightfully bored and frustrated with his own uselessness. He spent increasing amounts of leisure time with Narcissa. She had him transfigure a figurine of a dragon for her, and later modify several of the garden sculptures, but after she discovered Avery's ancient runes notes carelessly stacked on Sirius' desk, almost all their time together was spent in the library. Sirius had not been initially enthused with the notes Avery had drunkenly foisted on him, but Narcissa had. This was because she, unlike Sirius, had only taken the subject to OWL, not NEWT, and regretted giving it up. Also she, unlike Sirius, knew the contents of the Malfoy library. Abraxas had a collection of scrolls and tablets supposedly salvaged from the Library of Alexandria. These were not the common glyphic inscriptions that had survived with semi-regular use in the wizarding world, where the power was in the individual symbols used. Rather, they detailed incantations, whose correct pronunciation had been lost to wizardkind when the Arabic conquest consumed the last Coptic-speaking magical community.

Narcissa had conjured up her own copies of the notes, scolded Sirius to return the originals to Avery, and fallen to translating Abraxas' collection with gusto. She encouraged Sirius to join her at every opportunity. Sirius did because he knew Narcissa's interest was not in academics per se but rather in having an excuse to sit with him for hours on end without arousing suspicion. Sure enough,

Abraxas had looked in only once and said he looked forward to seeing the finished translation before wandering off again. He had a meeting with the Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, apparently. He actually thanked Sirius for his good work muggle-baiting, since it had given him both evidence that Lucius had never been the ringleader in the Death Eaters' anti-muggle activities after all, and an ongoing excuse to petition a meeting with the wizard under the guise of offering additional financial backing to the strained department. It was the first words of praise Sirius had ever heard from his host, so he was mildly concerned he might have inadvertently enabled a significant coup for Abraxas. He hadn't, fortunately. Cornelius Fudge had his rank because he'd worked at the Ministry for years and didn't mind kissing the shoes of his betters, Narcissa explained disinterestedly after her father-in-law had left. He had met with Abraxas multiple times in the past, even come to dinner parties on occasion before Lucius' arrest. He was not a supporter of the cause, just someone likeable, gullible, and respectable enough to be useful to rehabilitate the family reputation while Lucius was still under legal scrutiny. The man was easy for the likes of the Malfoys or any other Slytherin to manipulate, now that Abraxas had an in again. 

After enough time in the library, even Lucretia became bored enough to leave them alone too. The Malfoy matron was obsessed with the impending birth of her grandchild, but she was not academically inclined, and she was a Latinate snob. She scoffed at the simple household spells Narcissa discovered. She was extraordinarily prudish and delicate when Narcissa read out her translations describing Egyptian curses and their effects, some of which were admittedly rather gruesome, like the skeleton-mutating one or its head-growing variant. Of course, they weren't sure if the curse translations and transliterations were entirely correct. Narcissa had no interest in testing out potentially lethal dark magic whilst pregnant, and Sirius was still deciding if he was willing to sacrifice an unspecified number of wild mice and squirrels to the cause. It was tempting. Learning a few of these ancient spells had one very obvious advantage: they predated the invention of wands, and so were designed to be performed without one. That could be life-saving.

September slipped into October. Summer started transitioning into autumn, though the trees around Malfoy manor remained green for now. The day finally came that the Dark Lord called on Sirius' team.

Sirius glared at a snow white peacock strutting across his chosen path garden path and rustling its fanned tail at him, but he refrained from kicking or otherwise spooking it. That ordinarily would not have been a struggle for him, but he was in a foul mood. He, Avery, and Audrey had just concluded their final planning meeting for the operation tomorrow. It was anxiety and anticipation that made Sirius agitated. It was the first big job the three of them had arranged, and the Dark Lord had given them less than a week's notice. Sirius did not want it to go so badly wrong as the Craven Cottage attack had. He did not want even more blood on his hands. His muggle death toll stood at seventy-eight, and he wanted it to stay there.

The plan seemed solid.

Tomorrow, they would attack a cricket match, in a more refined version of Sirius' and Avery's previous escapade. The magical intimidation spectacle would remain largely the same. The big difference was that Audrey would prevent the subsequent stampede with a complicated array of rune stones that would prevent anyone in the cricket grounds from running at all. In fact, the faster anyone tried to move, the more they would slow down as the kinetic energy was sucked into the enchantment. The only way out for the muggles would be an unhurried walk. Audrey had spent two weeks in September working out the arithmancy while supervising Avery and Sirius in the rune carving. She was sure it would work and at a wide variety of venues. Sirius hoped she was right. The array seemed to operate as predicted when they tried it in the Malfoy statuary garden, but they had not been able to test it on location ahead of time since the cricket players would surely notice something wrong if they were unable to run around the field during their practice times; thus Audrey was deploying the stones tonight as well as disabling all the muggle broadcasting equipment she could find. They would of course have to produce a whole new set after this, as Sirius was sure the Ministry would uncover and confiscate the stones. Since it would be beyond suspicious if the array escaped notice, he did not even ask Moody to try to save it for him.

If all went according to plan, they would terrify and nigh-immobilize thirty thousand muggles tomorrow. It could even be more. Audrey said the average "test cricket" match was attended by around fifty thousand people. They were anticipating lower numbers only because this particular match had been rescheduled following Sirius' attack on the football field back in August. Not everyone who had previously bought tickets would be able to attend, and some might still be too scared to attend. Audrey had reported low attendance at most sporting events for the past month.

Thirty thousand would be far too many without the runic containments. The Statute of Secrecy would surely fall if that many witnesses managed to scatter to the winds. As it was, they estimated it would take around four days to handle everyone at the cricket match, based on Sirius' interrogation of the mid-level Obliviator Rookwood and Mulciber had facilitated. In theory. It was the practical that Sirius was dreading.

He sighed. The light was growing dimmer. He took the next branch on the garden path and then the next. He came back through the sculpture garden. Eyeing one of the statues Narcissa had asked him to modify last week, he irritably transfigured it again from a graceful hippogriff to an especially dopey mooncalf. He smirked at the final result and set about transfiguring the rest of the garden as well. No more sleek, proud, or sophisticated creatures here. It was all mooncalves, murtlaps, nifflers, gnomes, trolls, house elves, mandrakes, and grindylows. It made him feel marginally better. He could always change them again if and when one of the Malfoys complained.

Speaking of which, he should probably find Narcissa. They would be called for dinner soon, and tonight it would only be the two of them in the dining room. Abraxas and Lucretia were dining with someone new in the Ministry, the latest of Abraxas' attempts to bribe Lucius out of Azkaban. They should have left by now. This was the best chance to talk to Narcissa alone he had had yet. Sirius carefully arranged his face into a cheerfully disaffected expression and re-entered the manor.

He found her in the cavernous library, naturally. "Cousin," he greeted her with an easy nod of the head. "Making progress?"

Narcissa leaned back and smiled at him. "Some. I determined the correct incantation for the servile clay animation spell I told you about yesterday: Ushabtis." She waved a hand over a lump of dirt on the desk as she said this. It reformed itself into something vaguely humanoid and started straightening her piles of papers.

"Cute."

"It's a fascinating spell, actually. If the clay is sculpted, fired, and painted with the incantation repeated multiple times throughout the process, the result is a permanently enchanted object with a specific purpose that can be used by anyone, regardless of their magical talent. A squib could use it."

Sirius grinned. "Or a muggle. Ancient Egypt did not have a statute of secrecy, after all. The wizards could probably sell these things at extortionate fees."

Narcissa laughed delicately. "True. I think I've also worked out a kind of construction spell, Pera'akatum, to firm up foundations in sandy soil, but I've no way to test it. It's another interesting spell from a theoretical perspective, though. 'Atum' was the name for one of their gods, the one that brought the primordial hill out of the primordial sea, according to this. It makes sense his power would be invoked for this kind of spell."

"Are you turning religious on me, Cissy?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Obviously not. I'm not superstitious. Ancient gods are not beings to be worshipped but rather the names for elemental or magical forces. Atum is a force of creation, structure, and order. Ra is a force of heat and combustion. There's a fire spell invoking Ra you might like."

"I might at that," Sirius agreed. A fire spell sounded more useful in a duel than the skeleton-mutating curse or the purification spell Sekadua Narcissa had found a few weeks earlier. They were pretty sure that one would inconveniently only work to remove traces of dark magic of Egyptian origin, since linguistic resonance was an important feature of most counter-curses. So far, the only real gem she had discovered was a shield charm Neneha'i Modessen which translated charmingly to "I can never fall into their knives." The problem with that one was one had to chant it continuously, so it was far inferior to a simple Protego in that respect.

"I haven't tried that one yet, for obvious reasons. I put it on the list of curses too dangerous to experiment with in my condition. The list should be ballooning soon; the whole second half of this papyrus gives off a vague aura of darkness."

"If you write them out phonetically and go over the gestures with me, I'll figure out how to test them," he abruptly decided. "Outside, and far away from the house." There were bound to be a few more duel-appropriate spells, and he would be guaranteed the only person to know them. That was worth an innocent squirrel or two.

"Just don't test them on yourself. I sort of need you, dear cousin."

Sirius lounged in the chair across from her. "Are you sure about that? You appear to have everything serenely in hand. I feel purposeless," he teased.

"That is because I brought you here during the serenity, intentionally." She glanced around, checking for the house elf most likely, and lowered her voice. "You need not fret right now. Your current job is to continue your practice with Bella for breaking through wards, and otherwise merely to draw attention away from me while Bella and I work on later arrangements. You do not need to endear yourself to my in-laws. In fact, I prefer if it is you they focus their complaints upon. For now at least. I will be leaving at thirty-seven weeks, earlier if the babe is precocious and will most likely require your assistance at that time, but I have not yet decided on any one end plan. It rather depends on what happens with Lucius' trial."

The trial was in three weeks, two days before Samhain. Sirius raised an eyebrow. "You might return?"

Narcissa's expression was unreadable. "He is my husband," she said finally.

He took that to mean that so long as her baby survived, she was not necessarily determined to raise it if that would end her married life. Feeling distinctly uncertain in the arena of committed adult relationships, Sirius chose not to question her further about that. Instead, he leaned back in the chair. "Well, it's not hard to irritate your in-laws, even with my winning personality. Lucretia I'm sure will despise the sculpture garden tomorrow even more than you will."

Narcissa sniffed judgmentally. She liked his transfigurations when they were artistic. She hated them when he used them as pranks. The first pendant he had made for her was less than auspicious, a rose of travertine that morphed back into a smelly owl pellet during lunch.

Sirius grinned. "As for Abraxas, he's still miffed I moved in at all."

Narcissa nodded. "He is."

"I know he thinks I'm here to keep an eye on him for the Dark Lord, but do you have any idea why he leapt to that conclusion quite so quickly?"

"Timing, I suppose."

"Sure, that's what I thought when I first met him, but he doesn't seem nearly paranoid enough for it now that I know him better. He's not an idiot. If he thinks I'm watching him, he must believe he's worth watching."

Narcissa shook her head instantly. "He's loyal to the cause. He's known and worked closely with the Dark Lord longer than anyone else, and I've no reason to believe he's lying about that. Even the Dark Lord did not contest the claim when Abraxas was bragging about it in the presence of us both."

"There must be something, though," Sirius prodded. Maybe there wasn't, but Abraxas' behavior bothered him. And Sirius was a spy, for Dumbledore, so he definitely wanted to find out. "Maybe... it's the house that's worth watching? Abraxas can't be here all the time, after all."

Narcissa's eyebrows rose, and her lips pursed in thought. "You might be right about that," she said eventually.

"What do you know?"

She shook her head. "I shouldn't say. Forget it."

Sirius leaned forward. "Cissy, if you know something, you need to tell me, for our sakes. I can't act the way Abraxas expects me to if I don't know what he's thinking. It wouldn't matter so much if he just thought I was slumming here like we originally intended. But since he thinks I'm here for a purpose, we can't safely disabuse him of his erroneous conclusions."

Narcissa frowned but nodded reluctant agreement. "I'm not certain," she began slowly, "but I think Abraxas is keeping something here for the Dark Lord. I don't know what it is. I can only tell you that Abraxas is very protective of the secret chamber under the family drawing room. I'm not allowed in there. No one not of the family is supposed to know about it. And Abraxas specifically brought Lucius there to show him something special before he left on a trip to Uganda two years ago. I did not hear the whole conversation, though."

Sirius nodded thoughtfully. He would not ask Narcissa to show him the secret chamber. That would be too obvious. But he would nose about when the opportunity arose.

There was a distant crack as the house elf apparated to the hall outside the library, close enough they could hear him arrive, but not in the same room as to disturb them unnecessarily. Dobby was a much better elf than Kreacher that way; he actually stayed discreetly out of sight most of the time and kept any judgmental obscenities politely to himself. That said, he was still an ugly creature with an annoying voice, and even if his hands were meticulously clean, his tea-towel toga was grimy. He looked like he had either cleaned out a disused cellar today or more likely hadn't changed clothes in days. Did house elves have to be ordered to attend to personal hygiene? "Dinner is ready, sir and miss," Dobby squeaked as he trotted into the room.

"We'll be there shortly," Narcissa answered without turning around.

"And get yourself a new tea towel," Sirius told him. Dobby looked at him with the oddest expression and bowed low before disappearing again.

Narcissa raised an elegant eyebrow. "Never thought I'd see you getting along with a house elf, Sirius. I distinctly remember you booby trapping Kreacher's cupboard multiple times."

"You didn't see him. That towel looked rank, and I do not want to smell ripe elf for the next hour."

He offered her his arm as they walked to the dining room. "You know, since you prank your friends just as much as your enemies, one could misconstrue those traps for Kreacher as heart-felt gifts," she mused. "Should I tell him next time I see him?"

"Kreacher is senile, and our loathing will always be mutual. He knows that."

"Right."

"I am not taking a liking to your elf, or pity or whatever."

"Of course not," she agreed condescendingly. "That's what Hufflepuffs are for, and you're not one of them."

"Exactly."

Chapter Text

"This is getting away from us, Albus," Alastor Moody said without preamble as he dropped wearily into a threadbare arm chair covered in cat hair. They had decided Arabella Figg's house was the safest place for these particular clandestine meetings. Other than Alastor, Albus, and Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, the squib was the only other member of the Order of the Phoenix who knew about Sirius Black, and ever since Sirius' tearful confession of his first murder, Fleamont and Euphemia had been kept out of the loop regarding Sirius' activities.

"Sirius' plan went extraordinarily well this time," Portrait Moody pointed out. Alastor glanced up at it. Arabella kept her version in the back of her collection of family portraits and photos, but it had elbowed its way into the frame of her grandparents' wedding portrait today, which had a premium location at the front. "Thirty-three thousand, six hundred twenty-six muggles were there, and not a single fatality."

"That degree of success is the problem. He tied up half the Ministry and all the drafted civilian Obliviators for almost five days! We got lucky that You-Know-Who only used that to murder Dorcas! If he'd done something bigger, we wouldn't have been able to stop him."

Arabella cleared her throat loudly. "Excuse me, but there were several other fatalities."

Alastor and Albus both looked at her in surprise. She glared at them. She sounded... peeved. "You forget I was stuck at Lord's for three of those days. The deaths were the Ministry's fault more than Sirius.' Did they really not record them? Sirius' rune field was brilliant so far as keeping things orderly and preventing the stampede. It was so helpful in fact the Ministry just left it up until the end and Confunded the muggles to all sit in place as they awaited Obliviation. Problem being, the muggles were all there for multiple days as well! Thank Merlin Sirius chose a test cricket match, so there was plenty of tea and biscuits and other food stuffs on hand to keep people fed and hydrated. The six who died were people who rely on daily medication to stay alive." At Alastor's surprised expression, Arabella rolled her eyes. "Muggles can't cure things like diabetes and epilepsy, you know? With the Confundus in place, I didn't realize anything was wrong until someone suffered a terrible convulsion on day three. With the field in place, no one could run to help him, and he died before I got there. After that, I very slowly walked to the nearest Ministry official, who hadn't even noticed the seizure, and got him to arrange health checks. We found five more people dead or in comas. After that, they had someone from St. Mungo's out to identify the muggles with dangerous health conditions for priority processing. And I was let go."

"I'm sorry, I did not realize," Alastor said. And he should have seen it in a report...

Arabella looked away. "Four out of thirty-three thousand still isn't bad. It could have been so much worse. Honestly, I thought it would be until I saw it happen. We've got to be as smart as Sirius and his Ravenclaw girl in future. I knew medications could be an issue if we were stuck for four or five days like Sirius anticipated, but I didn't count on the Ministry spelling everyone into complacency so they couldn't call for help."

"There are just too many variables," Alastor groused. "We're never going to control the situation perfectly, no matter how prepared and vigilant we try to be. Our best bet would be to get Sirius to back off."

"Unfortunately, You-Know-Who was just as impressed with the operation as you," Portrait Moody informed them. "From his perspective, this was more a test of Sirius' new team and of the Ministry response than anything else. Sirius believes that's why he used the time to hunt Dorcas Meadows down personally rather than risking his other operatives. The only other thing discussed at the meeting Sirius attended was who of the Death Eaters continued to be tailed throughout the duration of the Obliviation effort. They successfully identified six: Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Yolande Mulciber, Corban Yaxley, and Evan Rosier."

Alastor winced. They had had only enough spare Order members to spy on eight Death Eaters during the Obliviations, so now they had essentially confirmed for Voldemort which of his people were most closely monitored and which were not. Malfoy, Yaxley, and Rosier did not even have official arrest warrants out. It was going to be a mind game whether he left the tails on the same people in future or tracked others. Was Voldemort likely to delegate to new people in order to maintain secrecy or not?

"We cannot change Voldemort's intent to use Sirius," Albus said decisively. "Even were Sirius to come home now, young Avery and Ms. Bertram would simply take over, we would have no early warning to prepare, and more muggles would die. Dorcas is a great loss to the Order, and to the Ministry, and to all who knew her, but we must move forward to ensure her loss is not in vain. Now, it is clear that Voldemort's forces are also depleted during the Obliviation efforts; he does not yet wish to expose more of his operatives by forbidding them from answering the draft. And yet, we can be confident that every time Sirius does something big, so will Voldemort, and it will involve the Inner Circle or at least Death Eaters who have not come to the Obliviators' attention. We will focus our efforts on anticipating his targets. We will avoid overcommitting our own people on the days off the attack so we will be flexible enough to intervene. We will have all our non-combatants lay low during those days so as not to present a target..."

"This isn't an opportunity," Alastor snorted. "More people are going to die. It's inevitable."

Albus nodded, sadly and reluctantly. "It is inevitable, true. We will simply have to make the best of a bad situation, and as young Sirius once said, we must win the war before he, and many other people, gets killed."

Alastor looked at his own painted face. "Do you think Sirius can still handle it? It's going to be just as hard for him as for us."

The portrait nodded. "He's a tough kid, and a brave kid."

"That tough, brave kid is responsible for more deaths than a lot of true Death Eaters now," Arabella warned. "I understand he's in a terrible situation and he doesn't have a lot of options if he wants to survive. It's a situation you two never should have let him get into in the first place. He values his own life and believes in his own potential enough, he will keep himself there, and alive, until you sort out how to use him better than you are, Albus. Give him something definitive to do. He's clearly smart enough to figure out how, especially with us helping him."

Albus did not answer her. That he did not made Alastor's blood run cold. For the first time, he realized Albus did not actually have a grand plan end the war. Their strategies of picking off Death Eaters and protecting the Ministry from total usurpation were stalemates and had been for years. Their efforts to draw Voldemort into direct confrontation with Albus had uniformly failed, because Voldemort was deliberately avoiding the clash. Albus' defense of the status quo was immaculate, but it was not and never would be a victory except by attrition and slow annihilation of both sides. For the first time, he understood why Albus had allowed Sirius to become a spy when previous volunteers over the years had been refused; Albus had no other way to get new leverage over Voldemort and was losing hope. The fate of the war rested on Sirius stumbling across some valuable intelligence to present a new, winning strategy. The fate of the war rested on a miracle.

So, they were doomed. Alastor picked up the nearest cat. He needed something to pet right now. With any luck, it would purr for him.

The order for Sirius' next big gig came less than a week after the cricket game. The Dark Lord for unknown reasons wanted a nocturnal strike this time, so not a sporting event. Fortunately a shorter, one- or two-day distraction was acceptable, so Sirius looked through their list of potential venues at the end of the month and picked a concert, with a band called The Clash in Harlesden on 25th October.

Audrey was ecstatic, because she had always wanted to go to a rock concert with her muggle cousins, but had never been allowed because her parents "disapproved of the culture." The Clash was not a band Audrey had known of before, and the venue was a little shabby when they inspected it one night, but that was still good enough so far as she was concerned. She presented Sirius with a proposal the very next day wherein all three of them would go to the concert and actually stay there for the duration, only letting loose with the magical attack at the very end. Avery quickly warmed to the idea; his curiosity regarding modern muggle music had been piqued during the confusing conversation with the gay couple back in August. Despite warnings from Voldemort and from his own conscience not to turn the muggle-baiting job into a game, Sirius agreed. Damn it all, he was only eighteen. He deserved to go out and party at an edgy concert once in his life.

Audrey got them last-minute standing-room tickets, with confirmation the concert was nearly sold out (the Roxy Theater capacity was a little less than two thousand). She also got them a copy of the band's only album and rigged up an old muggle device called a gramophone to play it for them. The music was... interesting. It wasn't melodic like the Beatles. The beats were fast, the backing loud enough to nearly drown out the mumbling singers. And yet, it was compelling. They listened to it multiple times whilst furiously carving out more immobilization runes, this time into wooden tiles Audrey would stick to the theater walls. Sirius found himself at odd times humming the chorus to the song "Remote Control: Can't make no progress/ Can't get ahead/ Can't stop the regress/ Don't wanna be dead."

The concert itself surpassed Sirius' wildest expectations. Even while they were just milling about in the crowd before an empty stage, the hall thrummed with visceral energy. There were so many bodies packed so close together, some chattering excitedly, some dancing even without any music. The air was thick with smoke, and not just from cigarettes but from something mustier that smelled simultaneously gross and enticing that Audrey called simply "weed."

"I advise you lot not to accept anything anyone here offers you," Audrey said giddily.

"Yeah, I figured that out already," Avery said, sniffing the air distastefully.

That was when the lights dimmed throughout the hall. The stage lights came on, glinting off the drum set. Then they flashed and flickered wildly, throwing strange shadows across the excited crowd as the band trooped onto the stage. The crowd did not just applaud, they screamed in ecstatic joy. Audrey joined in, hollering the names of the band members. Sirius really wondered how she had ended up with the Death Eaters.

And then the music started. It started with a crashing drum pulsing like a heartbeat. A guitar joined in, its sound amplified through the muggle electronics in a way that to Sirius felt like it could be magic. His body began to move almost involuntarily in tandem with the rhythm. Avery and Audrey, locked against him, were just as consumed. Audrey was openly enthralled, Avery only slightly more restrained as the huge sound thrummed inside their bones. The singer was almost incomprehensible over the instruments and the noise of the crowd, but he still held sway over all with his riveting command of the stage, with the blunt emotions ringing in his voice. Yes, the songs had lyrics, and Sirius even knew some of them and found himself shouting along with them at times, but the meaning and the power of the music was communicated independent of the words. Sirius lost his sense of time, lost any sense of purpose. He was just one of a throbbing, sweating crowd of humanity, shoulder to shoulder with mostly muggles, sharing this indescribable, mind-altering experience.

He was brought back to cold reality when his left arm started to burn. He did not know why he was being summoned. He had not been expecting it, but there was no more time to waste. He fumbled in his pocket for his shrunken Death Eater robes. He looked around and despaired that Audrey and Avery were no longer at his side. No matter. They couldn't mistake his signal. He apparated up to the catwalk over the stage and froze the two muggle technicians on it who had been monitoring the lights. He pulled on his black robes and mask, muttered "Arresto Momentum" and jumped down onto the stage. "Petrificus Totalus." He cast the jinx at all four band members in turn. When they fell to the stage, rigid, the sudden silence of the hall and its stunned crowd was deafening. "Lumos Maxima." He directed the intense ball of light up to the rafters, illuminating the entire hall. Everyone would see and hear what was happening.

Avery apparated to his side at that moment. Several muggles yelped at his sudden arrival. "THIS SHAMEFUL REVELRY ENDS NOW!" Avery cried, perfectly on script. "YOU SONS OF INANITY, WITNESS THE POWER OF THE DARK LORD!"

Right then, Audrey levitated a random woman out of the audience. Sirius cast the Transmogrifian Torture on the woman, and everyone watched and listened in reverent, horrified silence as she screamed. Audrey slowly floated the writhing woman over the crowd's heads and settled her onto the stage like a sacrifice on an altar.

"YOU SHALL BURN BEFORE THE SERVANTS OF THE DARK LORD!" Avery shouted.

So saying, Sirius cast a silent flame-freezing charm at the stage, and then stowed his wand and said clearly "Inkhera." Flames leapt from both his open palms. He chose the Egyptian spell because a simple Finite wouldn't work on it. The Ministry would have to put out all the fires before starting the Obliviations, but they would have to use water. He touched his hands to the stage, which caught fire instantly. Finally, the muggles started to scream. The ones nearest the stage attempted to get away, only to be caught in the crowd and Audrey's runic net. The array had permitted them all to dance in place, but it did not allow them to run.

With a loud crack, Audrey joined them onstage. Sirius took the signal to jump down, both Audrey and Avery at his heels casting flame-freezing charms while Sirius set fire to the wooden floor and the pillars. The flame-freezing charm was truly wonderful, Sirius thought. It worked by altering the nature of combustion, slowing down the reaction in the wood, or whatever fuel was chosen, and transforming far more of its energy to light than to heat. Thus, the charmed fire would continue to consume anything with the same/lower ignition temperature, but nothing with a higher ignition temperature. And this time, when it reached the walls and the rune tiles stuck to them, the array would start to crumble for more people to get out, a timed safety valve.

Fortunately, the ignition temperature of skin was over twice that of wood, according to Audrey, as was that of their cotton robes. Rubber and synthetic fibers had a lower ignition temperature, so quite a lot of muggle clothing was bound to burn, but not the people themselves. No, even should they stand in the center of the flames, like the frozen band members back onstage, the muggles would only feel a tickling heat. Some of them nearest the drama had already realized this and had stopped trying to get away, instead standing near the fires, reaching their hands into it in bewilderment.

The biggest danger was not from the fire itself but from suffocation and from the collapse of the burning building. Thus, when the hall was sufficiently alight, Sirius closed his fists to extinguish the flame and thrust his wand skyward. He blasted the roof off to let out the smoke. Audrey and Avery chanted "Arresto Momentum," slowing the falling debris to non-lethal and very obviously unnatural speed that left the muggles staring in awe. The crowd were still afraid, and even the intoxicated ones could not mistake this for anything but magic, but hardly anyone looked like they were trying to run now. Sirius nodded. The plan was working well.

He turned to whisper to his minions. "I've been summoned. Finish without me. Richard, you cast the Mark, right before leaving." So saying, he disapparated.

Rabastan was the only one waiting at Headquarters. He took Sirius' hand as soon as he entered the building and apparated them both into a dark woods bordering a sturdy wooden cottage. Apparently, the Dark Lord had opened a temporary hole in the anti-apparition ward on the Headquarters while leaving all the other defenses intact, effectively negating any attempts to track their movements tonight. Shit.

Sirius had no idea what was happening, and Rabastan did not explain. He only grinned darkly at Sirius before donning his mask, then beckoned Sirius to follow through the trees. They joined four other Death Eaters, of whom Bella alone was unmasked. She smiled at them both, then assumed a more business-like expression. "Good, we're all here. Okay, the caterwauling charm is at the forest edge. The Dark Lord and Rodolphus are on the other side waiting for us to trigger it. As soon as we do, anti-apparition, anti-floo, and energetic perimeter charms go up. Rodolphus will reinforce and patrol the perimeter. The rest of us will storm the house." She beamed around at the group. "And then we kill anyone not wearing a mask. Sirius, you find and destroy the floo first. Anyone casting a Patronus gets a killing curse immediately. If the anti-apparition wards fail or anyone somehow manages to escape otherwise, killing curses immediately. But I anticipate that won't be necessary, and everyone can have some fun, since the Ministry will be fully occupied with other matters for quite some time."

Sirius felt vaguely lightheaded. This was bad. He didn't know what to do. Moody's watch was closed and stuffed in a pocket under his robes. He didn't know whose house this was. He was here as part of an execution squad with direct orders to block the exits. He didn't know how to refuse. Even if he did refuse, how would that help? Voldemort and six Death Eaters against one household...

"Let's go," Bella ordered, putting on her own black mask.

Witlessly, Sirius followed. When they cleared the trees and the residents' security charms began to wail, he and the others started running. Bella blew the front door from its hinges even as it was morphing from simple wood to iron. A wall of flame leapt up around the house, but Rabastan doused part of it long enough for them all to rush through. Each of the other barely-visible protection wards collapsed in turn as various Death Eaters collaborated to expertly take them down, barely breaking stride.

And then they were inside the house, with curses flying. The only thing Sirius could think to do was to stall. He cast a shield charm and ducked through the first door on the left, even though he had noticed the chimney was on the right side of the front door. He would search for the floo as directed, it would just take awhile.

He was in a music room, and the only door was even farther away from where the main hearth should be. He crossed the room and opened it, expecting a closet or a library. Unfortunately, this proved to be one of those doors that opened not to where would be expected topologically but rather to wherever you were trying to go. He was now in the kitchen. He bit back a curse, but there was nothing for it. He stepped through the magical door and blasted the hearth to smithereens as instructed. He covered the breathing holes in his mask against the brick dust and slowly moved towards the noise of the nearest fight. Rounding the corner, he almost ran into a stray entrails-expelling curse. He jerked backwards, then peered around the corner again more cautiously.

It was a terrible scene. Two bodies lay on the ground, one an old man without a mark on him, the other a still-breathing mass of blood. The last occupant of this room crouched behind a sofa that had been transfigured into stone and was fending off three Death Eaters, who were clearly toying with their prey. Sirius decided not to join in, since he was facing their victim's unprotected back and would have no excuse for an unsatisfactory performance, once spotted.

He retreated back through the kitchen. This time, the magic door led not to the music room but back to the foyer, near the base of the staircase. He stared up at a child who stood frozen at the top of the steps. He looked about eight.

There was a swish of robes behind him, and Sirius spun about, leveling his wand. He pulled up short when he saw it was Voldemort himself casually stepping through the twisted doorframe. Voldemort's eyes flicked from Sirius to the child. He smiled. "Were you about to spill innocent magical blood?" he asked softly.

Not at all sure what the Dark Lord wanted him to say, Sirius nevertheless answered impishly, "Bella did say to kill anyone not wearing a mask. Excepting yourself, of course."

Voldemort laughed dryly. "Don't let me keep you."

Sirius hesitated, then bowed, "As my lord commands." He turned and bounded up the stairs. Thankfully, the child turned and bolted away. Sirius shot several hexes after him, but deliberately just missed, destroying the banister instead. He heard Voldemort laughing again behind him, and breathed a sigh of relief as the Dark Lord's sure strides moved away, towards other, more exciting duels. When he reached the landing, it was clear he was not the only Death Eater upstairs, with more spell lights glimmering in the otherwise darkened hall. Fortunately, the child was wise enough to keep running up to the next landing, and Sirius followed. With any luck, Sirius would be the first and only Death Eater up here, and he would figure out what to do with that advantage before anyone joined him. He followed the child down the darkened hallway and into a bedroom with a sloped ceiling. Unexpectedly, a powerful cutting curse sliced right through his shield and grazed his shoulder. He hissed and dove behind the dresser, simultaneously recasting his shield charm. He followed that up with a silent Lumos maxima, temporarily blinding his opponent with the spell's radiance. He squinted to see who else was here, and his stomach plummeted into his boots when he recognized Marlene McKinnon, a Hufflepuff from his own year. They had dated for almost half of fifth year. The little boy must be the kid brother she had told him about. She was in her nightdress. This was probably her room. She had a large family, most of them older and dying downstairs.

Marlene cast a stunner in his general direction when the light started to fade. It bounced harmlessly off his shield. Sirius pointed his wand and summoned the boy. Both Marlene and her brother screamed. She lunged to grab him but missed. Sirius clasped the child in front of his chest. He kicked the door closed and shot a silencing charm at it. "Stop fighting if the both of you want to live," he commanded quietly, thinking fast. A plan was finally coming to him.

Marlene's mouth fell open, her expression undiluted disgust and horror. "Sirius Black?"

Damnit, she recognized his voice. He nodded once. "The Dark Lord is here to kill. I can't stop what's happening downstairs, but I will do what I can to shield you and your brother. Just keep screaming while I work. I'll tell Auror Moody how to find you when it's over. You two will have to go into hiding after this and pretend to be dead."

Marlene nodded, frightened tears running down her face. She took a deep breath, and started screaming, pleading for her life and for her brother's. Helpfully, that included his name, Ben.

Sirius whispered into Ben's ear. "This is going to be scary, Ben, but I need you to keep your eyes and ears open. You'll need to watch the magic I do so grownups can see it in your memory, if they need to." He let the boy go, and Ben flew to Marlene. "It's pretend, Benny," she said in a suddenly much lower and gentler voice. "I'm just pretending to scream. Sirius is my friend from school..."

Ben was crying. He didn't believe her, but Sirius couldn't wait. "Lie down." Marlene obeyed immediately, holding Ben's hand. Sirius pocketed his wand and raised both hands over her ankle. "Khetepet'akhew!" he incanted. Marlene started screaming again, this time for real as the skin of her leg split open and new bone thrust through it. He was really glad of the experimentation he had done with this spell; fortunate for them both the squirrel he had first tried this on had escaped its tether and skittered away so the curse landed on its tail instead rather than its head the way the scroll depicted. Ben screamed too and struggled to get away, but Marlene held him in place. Impatiently, Sirius drew his wand again. "Immobulus." Ben froze in place, fortunately with his eyes open and gaze directed where it needed to be for this. Sirius pocketed his wand again. It took less than a minute for the new skull to grow out of Marlene's bloody leg. He waited long enough for the flesh of the face to form and become recognizably Marlene's. He didn't wait for the hair to grow out, simply grabbed the thing and cast a wandless severing charm, leaving a raw wound all the way to the mutilated leg bones. And now the part that Ben had to see, in case Marlene started bleeding again when Moody found her. He covered the wound with his hand and said clearly, "Sekadua." Blood turned to black smoke curling around the edges of his hand. That was the residue of his original curse dissipating away, hopefully all of it. He then took out his wand, pinched the edges of the wound together, and sealed it with an ordinary healing charm. Hopefully, the Egyptian purification charm he had used was enough to ensure the cursed wound stayed closed.

Marlene's screams gave way to sobs. He stunned her, and Ben. He fished out his watch and opened it. His heart plummeted. No Moody. He was probably coordinating the Order or something, didn't realize Sirius' role tonight had not ended with the Dark Mark at Roxy Theater. Hoping against hope this wouldn't come back to bite him, Sirius pictured his fifteenth birthday at Hogwarts with James, Remus, and Peter, back when life was good and made sense. "Expecto Patronum!" There was his great, shaggy silver dog. He pictured Hagrid's hut in his mind; the affable Hogwarts groundskeeper was the only man he could think of who was definitely trustworthy, definitely didn't get an NEWT in charms, and almost definitely was not in the vicinity of anyone likely to recognize Sirius' voice and rat him out. "McKinnon's, top floor, second door on right. Tell Moody." The Patronus shot away, hopefully to Hagrid.

He cast his trusty petrification curse, then disillusionment charms, then Impervious and cushioning charms on both McKinnons. Lastly, he pointed at Marlene's owl, beating against the door of its cage. "Avada Kedavra."

Severed head in hand, he left the room without a backward glance and set fire to the hall, with another flame-freezing charm and also a warming charm to disguise the lack of heat. He walked sedately down the stairs. Casting a Homenum revelio charm as he went, he confirmed there was only one life sign left on the first floor, presumably the Death Eater. Sirius walked down that hall and found the man pawing through a jewelry box in the master bedroom, a naked woman's corpse wrapped in a bloody towel on the bed, another witch dead on the floor with wand still in her hand. The Death Eater looked up briefly at Sirius before returning to his thievery. Sirius leveled his wand and cast the Killing curse without even thinking about what he was doing. The Death Eater fell silently, gold trinkets slipping from his fingers. He turned on his heel and walked back out, heading back to ground level.

Sirius was still on the stairs when a man dashed into the foyer in front of him but was brought down by a killing curse. Bella followed after him. She had lost the mask at some point. There was blood streaking her face, running down from a slice hidden in her thick hair. She looked up at Sirius and grinned. She clearly recognized him, despite the robes and mask. "It's clean up time. Where have you been? Having fun by the looks of it."

Sirius glanced down at his robes and only then realized he was rather dripping in Marlene's blood. He lifted up the severed head. "Found my ex-girlfriend."

Bella's eyes widened, and so did her smile. "Was she the one to get the Patronus off?"

Sirius shook his head. "That was another bugger, hiding in the closet in the next room. Didn't notice him until he spoke."

Bella sighed. "You'll learn. Next time, it's important to clear all the rooms before settling in to play."

Sirius nodded and jerked his head behind him. "Clearly. We lost someone who didn't. Looked like his back was to the door when I found him."

Bella rolled her eyes and muttered, "What an idiot. I warn them, and they don't listen."

Sirius snorted and descended the rest of the way. The fire he had set was spreading behind him, crackling loudly. He lifted up the head and carefully transfigured it into another paperweight similar to Ivan's, then stuck it in his pocket. He had needed the evidence of murder to be seen, and now it had. He didn't want anyone looking at it too closely and realizing it had been formed of dark magic.

Bella's eyes lit up. "I want one!" She turned back to her final victim and severed its head, then levitated it over to Sirius, who accepted it without comment and commenced another morbid transfiguration. He apologized silently to whoever this was. "Yours was bloodier," Bella observed, sounding disappointed.

"Mine was still alive," he informed her.

Bella cackled. Someone behind her cleared their throat. Sirius looked up to see Voldemort watching them with raised eyebrows. "It's time to go," he said simply.

Sirius tossed Bella her horrible new paperweight and followed them out. Rodolphus dropped the anti-apparition wards. Another Death Eater cast the Dark Mark. They all left the blood-soaked, burning house, with not a single auror appearing to bar their retreat.

It was only when they returned to Headquarters and unmasked that Sirius realized the Death Eater he had murdered, the only Death Eater to have died in the attack, was Rabastan.

Chapter Text

The day after the McKinnon massacre, the Ministry legalized Unforgivables against Death Eaters. Sirius had to suppress a wave of hysterical laughter when Abraxas angrily read the article aloud for the whole household. Good to know he wouldn't be thrown in Azkaban for killing Rabastan. He suppressed more laughter when he later took the paper from a disgruntled Abraxas and saw his burning down of the Roxy Theater did not even rate the front page. The article about the McKinnons did list both Marlene and Ben amongst the deceased; he had yet to hear from Moody whether that was true.

Other Death Eaters greeted the news of Rabastan's death and the Ministry's retaliation aggressively. There was a spree of anti-muggle violence that had nothing to do with Sirius and his team, whom he instructed to stay home. There was no point in letting themselves get arrested or killed extra-judicially when they didn't even have a quota to meet. Bella called on Sirius to duel every evening, unleashing her anger and grief in a flurry of Darker-than-usual spells and advice for how he could ensure his own survival the next time he joined an execution mission. Rodolphus was conspicuous only in his absence. He was visiting other family while arranging the funeral for his younger brother, so between the silent house, wailing house elf, and manic Bellatrix, it was as if both Lestrange brothers were dead. It was a relief to return to Malfoy manor at night.

On Monday, Sirius finally heard from Moody that Marlene and Ben were safe and in hiding.

He did not tell Moody he had killed Rabastan. It was the first murder he had not confessed.

Tuesday was Lucius Malfoy's trial, which Sirius attended, both as a duty to Narcissa and, ironically, on behalf of the Dark Lord who expected the event to be something of a flashpoint with the sky-high tension in the wizarding world. He wanted a Marked Death Eater on the scene who could call him if needed, but obviously not one who was already wanted by the Ministry. Sirius was probably the only candidate who had every excuse to be at the trial as one of Lucius' extended family, and no reason to be called away from the proceedings should they drag on interminably. And so he sat next to Narcissa at the end of the Malfoy bench in the cavernous room.

It was only after he took his seat and noted that there was not one but five chain-bedecked chairs on the trial room floor that it occurred to him this was not just Lucius' trial but also Titus Crabbe's, Gaius Goyle's, Percival Parkinson's, and Amycus Carrow's. Merlin, he was a craven fool for not thinking about them.

The doors opened, and the temperature dropped precipitously as eight dementors escorted the five accused Death Eaters into the room. They all looked terrible, grimy and disheveled. Parkinson had tears streaming down his face. Goyle kept flinching and shivering. Crabbe and Carrow just looked supremely tired. And Lucius... had a blank, confused expression like he did not know what was going on. Odd. The dementors led the Death Eaters to their respective chairs, then turned to drift away. Bizarrely, Lucius appeared inclined to keep following the creatures, until Parkinson grabbed his ragged sleeve and directed him into a chair before sitting down as well. The chains slithered to bind all five. Lucius was the only one who pulled against them, repeatedly, and only with his right hand. Sirius shared a glance at Narcissa, who looked distinctly troubled. He looked to Abraxas. The older man's expression was inscrutable. There was something wrong here.

Bartemius Crouch Sr. was presiding over the trial. He stood up to call the court to order. "Criminal trial of the thirty-first of October, into offenses committed by Amycus Carrow, Titus Crabbe, Gaius..." he listed the names alphabetically, then the long list of crimes for which they were accused. Only the first two concerned muggle-baiting. The rest had to do with fighting with the aurors come to arrest them and membership in a terrorist organization. "How do you plead, Amycus Carrow?"

"Not guilty."

"Titus Crabbe?"

"Not guilty."

"Gaius Goyle?"

"Not guilty."

"Lucius Malfoy?"

Lucius looked up and smiled with eerie politeness. "Yes?"

"How do you plead?" Crouch repeated irritably.

Lucius blinked and assumed a puzzled expression which soon cleared. "Ah yes, we're thrilled you know, baby expected in early June. It's a good birth month, I'm sure you'll agree..." he blathered irrelevantly, jumping from inane topic to inane topic. The other four chained Death Eaters stared at him in mixed confusion and suspicion, exactly what Sirius felt. Sirius glanced at Narcissa again. She looked worried, as did Lucretia. Abraxas on the other hand looked almost comically horror-stricken. Crouch attempted to speak again, but Lucius' prattling continued unabated. Crouch slammed his gavel down, and Lucius startled and giggled. "Goodness me, was that a lightning strike?"

Abraxas leapt to his feet with an expression now of undiluted rage. These lightning emotional transitions were incredible, more like the volatile Blacks than a cool, collected Malfoy. "I demand a recess! There is something wrong with my son!"

Crouch sneered at him. "The only thing wrong with your son, Lord Malfoy, is a distinct lack of moral character and well-deserved dementor exposure."

Abraxas gestured wildly. "This isn't dementor exposure!"

"Of course it is. That or an underhanded ploy to plead insanity and escape justice."

"You cannot be sure. Will someone please check?"

There were enough disconcerted mutterings in Abraxas' favor, Crouch consented to this, with obvious reluctance, and nodded to someone Sirius could not see.

"Lucius Malfoy, do you consent to use of Legilimency on your person, for the sole purpose of diagnosis of mental disability and not for determination of criminal guilt?"

"I so admire the strides you have made in protecting our fair community from those dangerous hooliga-"

"Lord Abraxas Malfoy, do you authorize emergency use of Legilimency on your son and heir, Lucius Malfoy, for the sole purpose of diagnosis of mental disability and not for determination of criminal guilt?"

"Yes."

"Proceed."

To Sirius' surprise, he recognized the harried Obliviator, Wayne Entwhistle, that next walked down to the floor. He supposed Mulciber had dropped the Imperius by now. Yes, the curse could be sustained for weeks and months at a time, but that was risky to do and often not worth it, according to Bella. Sirius had never had reason to try. Entwhistle gently took Lucius' jaw in his hands and guided his gaze up to meet his eyes. "Legilimens..."

Lucius abruptly stopped talking, instead stared slack-jawed straight ahead as he had when he first entered the room. It did not take long for Entwhistle to let go and stumble backwards, blanching paler than the Azkaban inmates.

"What is it?" Abraxas called down anxiously.

Sirius leaned forwards. Entwhistle slowly turned and stared up at Crouch. He looked oddly guilty.

"Well?" Crouch asked impatiently.

"The... the last thing he clearly remembers hearing, you honor, is... 'Imperio.'"

Anything else he might have said was lost in the Wizengamot's angry shouting that Crouch completely failed to contain. Sirius fell back on his bench, shocked. This didn't make sense. Lucius could not have been under an Imperius this whole time... could he? He dimly registered a sobbing Narcissa grabbing his hand. He embraced her automatically. Maybe Entwhistle was still cursed himself and was lying? That must be it. Sirius shuddered. That must be it, because if not, if Lucius really was insane now, it was Sirius' fault for getting him sent to Azkaban in the first place. There was a reason the Imperious curse was such a solid defense for getting out of Azkaban. It wasn't because it was always believed. It was because sending someone to the dementors while under Imperious, Confundus, or other mind-altering enchantments or potions that inhibited one's ability to resist the creatures' effects was itself a crime, and the Imperious could only be detected once it started to obviously malfunction. Even then, there was no way to confirm when the curse was lifted, because the damage could persist for months or years...

Eventually, Crouch banged his gavel loud enough for people to notice when he called a recess. Six dementors escorted four Death Eaters back to their holding cells; the Wizengamot did at least vote not to return them to Azkaban pending further investigation and completion of the trial. The Malfoy family, and Sirius, escorted unresisting and unaware Lucius to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

The Dark Lord was furious at the meeting that night. Sirius arrived late, almost an hour after his arm started to burn, because he had still been at the hospital with the Malfoys, at first for moral support and then to fend off reporters attempting to harass Narcissa and Lucretia while Abraxas was tied up with the bureaucracy of admitting an accused Death Eater to the hospital.

The Dark Lord hit him with a Cruciatus the moment he entered the meeting room, dropping him to the floor. It was more intense and lasted longer than the other time he had experienced the curse. As soon as it lifted, the only thing he could see was the Dark Lord stooping over him menacingly, breath hot on his face. Where had Sirius' mask gone?

"Did you know?" Voldemort hissed.

"My lord?" Sirius gasped, struggling to pull his thoughts back to cohesion.

"Did you know Lucius would claim the Imperius defense?" Voldemort clarified, no less angry.

Sirius shook his head. "No, my lord!" He was rewarded with more pain. "I swear I didn't know!" The Dark Lord invaded his mind with Legilimency then, and Sirius frantically offered up his feelings of shocked confusion whilst watching the trial, as well as the horror and guilt that had developed at St. Mungo's, though he meticulously concealed the true reason for the guilt. Sirius cried out and jerked involuntarily when the mental contact abruptly ceased.

Voldemort growled, lifted him up with wandless power, and half-dropped, half-threw him at a chair next to Bella. Bella was also unmasked and bore the haggard appearance of torture. Looking around the room quickly, Sirius saw half the Death Eaters present had bare faces. He did not recognize all of them, but the ones he did were members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, men and women Lucius would have known well and had frequent contact with. He committed every face to memory as best he could.

The doors opened again, and in walked a masked Death Eater with Wayne Entwhistle. The Dark Lord whirled around to snarl at them. "You! Did you lie before the Wizengamot, Obliviator?"

"No," he said dully.

"Drop the damned Imperius, Mulciber," Voldemort spat. The Death Eater escorting Entwhistle flinched and bowed obsequiously. The Obliviator blinked several times and swayed in place, then his eyes widened in fear and alarm. He started hyperventilating and tried to back away. Mulciber conjured ropes around him but did not let him fall. "Did you lie before the Wizengamot today?" Voldemort repeated, eyes narrowed.

"N-n-nno." He stiffened suddenly, and his mouth gaped open in a silent scream. Sirius realized this was the Dark Lord's Legilimency at work. It was awful. When it ended, Entwhistle toppled forwards. Mulciber fell on top of him, now shrieking and twitching himself under Voldemort's Cruciatus.

"The Ministry man does not lie," Voldemort said, softly and viciously. "Did you do this, Mulciber? You have such an affinity for mind magics. Did you curse Lucius? Or cast a Confundus and implant a false memory, perhaps?" Mulciber did not answer, still panting and sobbing and unable to speak from the torture curse. "Crucio!" The screams resumed. Sirius wished he could block out his ears. He did not particularly like Mulciber, but he doubted the boy had cursed Lucius. Why would he have done it? When would he have had the opportunity? The Cruciatus lifted, thank Merlin, and Voldemort again got his answers through aggressive Legilimency. Mulciber was deposited in the chair next to Sirius, trembling, terrified, but alive and exculpated. Still gasping for breath, the young man ripped off his suffocating mask with shaking hands.

The Dark Lord paced the room, fuming. No one spoke. No one moved. Entwhistle whimpered now and then when Voldemort trod on him.

He stopped pacing quite suddenly and looked directly at Sirius. Mulciber subtly leaned away from him, and Sirius did not blame him for that. The Dark Lord took his seat at the head of the table and steepled his fingers. He said quite calmly, "One of our own has been mentally violated. This is an unacceptable transgression. The question is who did this, and when. The why will follow. Sirius, you accompanied Lucius most frequently of our gathered fellows today. Come. Sit by me." He beckoned with long fingers. Sirius did not dare disobey. He got up, moved a few places down the table and sat back down. "Show me what you remember of your time with dear Lucius," he commanded. Sirius moistened his lips and nodded. He met Voldemort's eyes and let him into his mind. The contact was much gentler this time. Voldemort silently sifted through Sirius' memories of the summer, all those carefree lunch meetings, and that last fateful day in August. He offered up as well his whispered conversation with Narcissa in the hospital, both of them wracking their brains for any hint of what had happened to Lucius. Even after dredging up all this memory, he was still perplexed. Sirius or at the very least Narcissa would have noticed a change in Lucius' behavior over the summer, and access to prisoners in Azkaban was highly restricted, with even men like Abraxas needing hefty bribes to see their own family. If this nightmare was real, and Lucius was under the Imperius curse, then most likely it had either been placed a very long time ago, or it was placed by someone in the Ministry. Neither of which made much sense, unfortunately...

Voldemort withdrew from Sirius' mind and reached a hand back towards Entwhistle, who slid across the floor to his grasp. He lifted the man up to eye level. "Show me exactly what you saw. You will not resist this time if you want to live." He stared into the man's panicked eyes for several minutes, then smiled. "Thank you for being so cooperative. Avada Kedavra." He let the Obliviator's body fall back to the ground. He settled back in his chair, looking disgruntled but somehow satisfied. He did not explain what he had seen in Entwhistle's mind. "Sirius, you will convey our sympathy to the Malfoy family and tell Abraxas I would speak with him privately at his earliest convenience." Sirius assumed that meant tonight, or else. "As for the rest of you... Tomorrow we mourn. There shall be no public retaliation for this or for the death of our dear Rabastan. This travesty is an opportunity for the Ministry to learn it must be unfailingly humane with the treatment of its citizens. We shall make no moves that could prevent our government from seeing the light. Mulciber, please dispose of your pet. Dismissed."

The only thing Sirius could think as he left the place was what hypocrisy. This war was making less and less sense the longer he was involved. He had a feeling the blood purist propaganda he had heard the most at Hogwarts, the story that had seemed to define the Death Eaters, was just that - propaganda, and only one of several campaigns. Blood purity was not the reason to slaughter a family like the McKinnons. Blood purity couldn't be the message that won someone like Audrey to the cause. It wasn't even what Bella had used to recruit him. Voldemort didn't care about muggle deaths, only about the strategic violence, which he used to massacre a household that surely contained mostly noncombatants, leisurely playing with their victims. What was the point of it all? Power, he supposed. Mindless sadism? The Ministry must be unfailingly humane with the treatment of its citizens... Fuck. Off.

No relief for the wicked. Rabastan's funeral was the next day, Samhain.

The funeral of a Death Eater was an odd thing, a mirror of the fractures in their society. For a family as prominent as the Lestranges, this event should have disrupted half the wizarding world with pomp and ceremony, but no, it had to be hidden as if in shame. Someone had to go to the Ministry to collect the body, but it couldn't be Rodolphus or Bellatrix. Instead, the closest living blood relative who wouldn't be arrested on sight was a younger first cousin, Maximillian Pucey. The funeral was invitation-only, and anyone un-Marked who wanted to attend, including Narcissa and Lucretia, not sure about Abraxas, had to sign a binding magical contract not to reveal the identities of other mourners nor to attack other mourners. Sirius thanked his stars he was Marked and so wouldn't further complicate his life with a contract limiting his usefulness as a spy.

There could be no public processional. Instead, the entire event took place within the warded grounds of Lestrange Manor. The ballroom was draped in funerary black. Rabastan's aunt and Bella had cleansed, dressed, and laid out the body in the center of the room in an open coffin. As one of Rabastan's comrades-in-arms on the night of his death, Sirius had the dubious honor of being pallbearer, along with Rodolphus, Maximillian, Sullivan Travers, Corban Yaxley, and Evan Rosier. Sirius felt extremely discomfited with the arrangement as Rabastan's actual murderer, but at least it gave him an excuse not to sit with his parents, who had joined up with the Malfoys just behind the last of Rabastan's second cousins. He sat in the front row next to Bella instead, who took his hand, squeezed it viciously, and then wouldn't let go. Voldemort sat right behind him, unfortunately. It rather felt like the Dark Lord was breathing down his neck the whole time as Rodolphus gave his eulogy in a slightly strangled monotone. Sirius honestly felt for Rodolphus, even though the man was evil. He knew what it was like to be the older brother, and Rabastan was eight years younger. Sirius wouldn't know what to do with himself if something happened to Regulus, and he would probably die if something happened to Regulus on his watch.

When the time came, Sirius and the other five pallbearers lifted the coffin and carried it out into the garden. They followed veiled Bellatrix on a winding course through the gardens and woods, far enough to ensure the line of mourners all made it out of the house. Bella and four other witches lit the enormous Samhain bonfire and threw the prepared sacrifices of bones and blood onto it, hopefully not human but Sirius wouldn't put it past this crowd. The pallbearers marched thrice around the bonfire, which burned ever higher with each circle, then they trooped back around to the front of the manor and right back inside. The ceremony may have all the trappings of Samhain and old money, but in the end they were still just walking the perimeter of a little quarantine.

Only the closest family descended with them down to the crypt below the solarium that used to be an ancient and disused chapel, converted sometime in the nineteenth century. They set Rabastan's coffin on a plinth next to his parents. Rodolphus and Bella took hands to chant the spells that would slow the decay of Rabastan's body to a crawl. Sirius decided he'd rather be cremated when he caught a glimpse of Rabastan's and Rodolphus' great-great-grandfather, who had been laid to rest in a time when glass coffins were fashionable. He had to force himself not to lean away from its gross, desiccated, open eyes sitting in a somewhat papery but otherwise surprisingly plump and life-like face fifty years later.

Then it was back upstairs to the reception. Sirius joined in the several ritual toasts to the dead, then spent the rest of it hiding from his parents. His father Lord Orion Black was fairly easy to avoid, since the man was quickly swallowed in a crowd of sycophants that rivaled the Dark Lord's. They would all be people who owed debts, or whose dangerous family secrets Orion held over them, all doomed to shower an evil man in the support and loyalty he did not deserve. Sirius ended up planting himself in Voldemort's shadow and then never leaving his vicinity, merely shifting position to keep as many people as possible between himself and his mother. Bella, Narcissa, and even Uncle Cygnus must have found this hilarious since they were obviously helping him, intercepting Walburga multiple times as she attempted to corner him.

His definitive salvation from talking to his parents came in the form of Rodolphus getting fed up with all the extra people imposing on his grief. The older man stomped over to Sirius and invited him to join him in the parlor "for a smoke." At first, Sirius was confused because Rodolphus didn't smoke, but he followed along anyway. When they reached the parlor, Rodolphus closed the floo, asked for Sirius' remaining half pack of cigarettes and tossed all of them onto the smoldering fire. The room rapidly filled with smoke, and the two of them sat in silence with bubble head charms. The door only opened once, and whoever it was quickly slammed it shut again, coughing loudly. They stayed there for over an hour before Posy came to inform them the guests were getting ready to leave and Rodolphus needed to come see them off. She could barely get the message out whilst blubbering dramatically as only an unhappy house elf could. Sirius lingered to open the flu and force the cloud of smoke back up the chimney where it belonged, then followed Rodolphus back to the ballroom.

The first to depart was Voldemort himself. Sirius was not surprised to learn the Dark Lord disliked funerals. Orion and Walburga Black left soon after and without a scene or even a last attempt to get to Sirius, but only after a somewhat heated-looking discussion with Uncle Cygnus. Sirius figured Narcissa had probably put Uncle Cygnus up to it for Bella's sake, even though Bella probably would have welcomed the distraction of a Black shouting match. The crowd thinned fairly quickly after that. Sirius rejoined Bella and Narcissa's circle just as the Malfoys were saying their goodbyes. Sirius was about to follow suit when Bella grabbed his hand. "Stay a little longer won't you, Siri?"

Sirius shrugged and waved Narcissa away. "Sure thing, Bella." He stayed next to her while the last of the matrons passed by to say their formulaic condolences and kiss the air over her cheeks. When it was only Rodolphus and some of his cousins and uncles left in the hall, Bella turned to face him, all her controlled, ladylike façade falling away. She tore off her lace veil and dropped it on the floor.

"Let's mourn Rabastan, Siri. Properly."

"What did you have in mind?" Sirius asked cautiously.

Bella grinned and extracted a familiar paperweight from the pocket of her black velvet dress robes. "I think my dearly departed brother-in-law deserves a whole set of these. I have some victims in mind I think he'd approve of, but feel free to suggest a few of your own."

Sirius stared at her. He couldn't grin and go along with her insanity, not this time. "No Bella, we can't."

She pouted. "Of course we can. He deserves it! How can you think otherwise?"

"That's not what I meant."

Her expression brightened, and she said soothingly, "I get it, you're worried someone else might get hurt, but you don't have to be! Rodolphus will come, and we can ask Evan and Walden." Who the bloody hell was Walden? "Not Antonin, he's a bore..."

Sirius shook his head. "No, I mean we can't because the Dark Lord wouldn't want us to."

She scoffed. "Of course he would! He loved Rabastan!"

Sirius highly doubted that. The Dark Lord had been far more visibly upset about Lucius Malfoy possibly being Imperiused not-on-his-orders than he had at losing Rabastan the other night. He had looked more uncomfortable than saddened at the funeral today. "You were at the same meeting yesterday I was. The Dark Lord specifically said there was to be no public retaliation."

She looked down for a moment, then her gaze snapped back up. "What if they're muggles? He can't complain about them. That wouldn't count as public retaliation. That would just be... letting off steam."

Fighting against simultaneous urges to roll his eyes and gag, Sirius took her hand again. "Dear Bella, didn't you tell me once it was meaningless to go after random, ignorant, terrified muggles who can't fight back?"

She glared at him. "Well, yes, but come on, you can't think it's meaningless, that's been your whole job!"

Sirius nodded sagely. "And I do find my job meaningful, but not because I'm hurting and killing random muggles. The meaning is in furthering the cause and foiling the Ministry. You were right before, though. The fight and the death itself is only truly meaningful when you choose the target for a reason. Would Rabastan want meaningless deaths in offering?"

Bella's lip trembled. "Maybe?"

Sirius shook his head. "No, he wouldn't. He died for the Dark Lord. He would want us to follow our Lord's command, to the letter." Actually, Sirius figured the frequently drunk younger Lestrange brother probably cared less about his duties as a Death Eater and more about his kicks, but that was neither here nor there. Bella was a proper fanatic for (her version of) the cause, so his best hope of preventing her from going on a killing spree tonight was to get her to agree it was against the Dark Lord's wishes and plans. He could see her wavering, her sense of duty warring with the wildness of her constrained grief and anger. He tapped her shoulder. "Let's duel tonight. That way you can 'let off steam' without disobeying orders."

She smiled slightly. "Let's. Thank you, Siri. I do still have a lot to teach you about how not to get killed like my idiot brother-in-law."

Sirius grinned. "Careful, I'll get whiplash if you keep swinging your opinions of him so far and so fast."

She shrugged. "He was always an idiot, if a loveable one. It'll be awhile before I can forgive him for dying on me."

Sirius offered her his arm. "To the lawn?"

She linked their elbows and practically dragged him from the room. "To the lawn!"

Sirius regretted offering to duel Bella. She had been more aggressive than usual all week, but that was nothing compared to today. The duel started out normal enough, the two of them trading off curses and counter-curses, Bella occasionally shouting off advice for him to improve. The trouble came when he let a hex actually hit him. He had been in the middle of the annoyingly complex wandwork for the Gemino curse and didn't want to stop. He was aiming the Gemino at the grass Bella was standing on; he was curious to see if he could bury her in turf with it, and if so, how quickly.

Bella was not amused, following up her original hex with a powerful knock-back jinx that blew him off his feet despite his hasty Protego. "What were you thinking, Siri?" She yelled, kicking off her shoes in order to escape the little mound of grass encasing her ankles. "Do you want to get yourself killed? This isn't a game! You can't let yourself be hit! You have to dodge! What if that had been an Avada?"

Sirius opened his mouth to argue that obviously the bright pink spell wasn't a killing curse, then rolled to the left instead as she threw the Avada Kedavra right at him. He rolled up against a stone lion statue.

"No, you idiot! Don't get yourself pinned against something. Dodge better!" she screeched. She cast two more killing curses in rapid succession. Sirius twisted his wand towards the statue, and the now animated lion leapt to his defense just in time to catch both spells. Its head and foreleg broke off with the impact, and Sirius dove to the side again. Bella just kept casting and casting, though mercifully she switched from killing curses to non-lethal options. Sirius fought her off as best he could, but she was too fast for him to do more than defend.

Eventually, he failed to parry or dodge fast enough, and she hit him with a vicious bone-breaking curse. She wasn't holding back, and the field was wide, encompassing his whole left arm as well as his shoulder and multiple ribs on that side. He was lucky she didn't hit his spine. He bellowed in pain and raised a silent Protego, which Bella sliced through almost instantly. "Bella stop, I'm hurt," he protested.

"You have to be able to fight when you're hurt if you want to live!" She lobbed another curse, and he twisted away even as his broken ribs ground together. He couldn't breathe like this. He broke into a staggering run, hoping to buy himself time to heal or at least immobilize some of his shattered bones, but she clipped his trailing leg with another bone-break. He fell to the ground, whimpering in pain. "Expelliarmus!" His wand flew out of his hand. "This is pathetic, Siri. Why aren't you listening to me? Protect yourself! Dodge!"

"You've won, Bella," he gasped. She didn't listen, and he rolled away from yet another Avada. Merlin, she was so out of control she might actually kill him tonight. He had never been more afraid of his cousin, never even as afraid of Voldemort. He couldn't keep dodging either, squirming around on the ground like this. He focused his intent and started muttering, "Neneha'i Modessen. Neneha'i Modessen. Neneha'i Modessen..." I can never fall to their knives.

The shield chant successfully blocked Bella's next three curses, but still she wasn't satisfied and kept banishing his wand farther away from him. "The Ministry legalized Unforgivables, Siri. Shields can't save you! If you can't remember that, you'll die! Why can't you get it into your stupid head?! Work through the pain! Dodge! I'll show you. Imperio!"

Sirius fought off the Imperius curse faster than he ever had before. No way was he going to stop the shield chant, and no way was he going to try to stand up with his broken leg.

"I'm trying to help you, Siri! Crucio!"

Bella must have poured all her anger and pain into the torture curse, because he felt the psychic wound of her raw grief and fulfilled fears just as strongly as he felt the physical agony of the curse. That was a component Voldemort's curse completely lacked; leave it to Bella to somehow surpass one of the darkest wizards in history in the art of causing pain. He could still hear her yelling at him. "Yes, drop your stupid shield. Fight through the pain. Fight me! Come on!" But Sirius couldn't fight this. At the same time, Bella wouldn't stop, wouldn't let him concede, wouldn't let him lose. In her twisted mind, she cared about him and needed to make him able to survive her. Because if he could survive her, he could survive anything.

As the pain went on, and on, and on, Sirius couldn't hear her anymore. Devoid of her constant demand, he decided quite suddenly that no, he didn't want to fight anymore. If he had to take this pain in order to merely stay alive, it wasn't worth it. So he didn't take it. He withdrew from it, locked his awareness of the torture, of Bella, of his body away like errant thoughts to hide from the Dark Lord.

Of course, the human brain doesn't actually function very well with half of it shut down, but that was a small price to pay to end the torment. Or so Sirius would have thought, had he been capable of consciousness.

Chapter Text

Bellatrix Lestrange was breathing hard. She had been holding this Cruciatus for over an hour, putting everything she had into it. It was exhausting, but it was working. She was sure of it. Yes, her foolish little cousin was still screaming like a banshee and flopping around like an earthbound fish, but she believed in him. He was so much like her, her favorite cousin. Any minute now, he would pull himself together and just cast one, miserable little wandless stinging hex. He could do that much. That's all she needed, then she would patch him up and let him rest. She laughed delightedly when Sirius finally, finally stopped screaming, though he continued to twitch spasmodically. "Yes, good boy. That's the first step. Now, hit me with something." She waited. Coming on two hours. Any moment now...

"Bella?" someone called her from the house. Dolph, probably. She ignored him.

"Come on, make me proud, Siri."

"Oh, Salazar. Expelliarmus!" Bella's wand flew from her hand. She spun to face her husband and snarled. "Don't interrupt me when I'm dueling, Dolph!"

"You weren't dueling anymore, Bella," Rodolphus said grimly. He darted past her and descended on Sirius, casting several diagnostic healing charms.

Bella rolled her eyes. "He's fine, Dolph."

"He's not fine."

All the anger suddenly fled her body. Nononononono. She lurched forwards, crashed to her knees next to Sirius and shook him. "Sirius, talk to me," she whispered frantically. Rodolphus cast a knock-back jinx at her. She growled at him.

"He's got blood in his lungs. Back off." She looked at Sirius again and really saw him, saw what she had done to her beloved little cousin. Half-lidded, staring eyes, left arm and leg twisted at unnatural angles... Still occasionally twitching. "How long were you holding the Cruciatus for? There's no physical head injury, but he's not waking up."

Panicked now at what damage she might have caused, Bella did the only thing she could think of. She yanked up the sleeve on her left arm and pressed her wand into the Dark Mark. Her skin blistered with the urgency of her summons.

And her merciful Dark Lord came to her, appearing less than five minutes later like an angel descended in majesty from heaven. She threw herself at his feet. "I'm sorry, my Lord. Save him, please. I'll do anything!"

"Apologies? From you? What have you done, Bella?" he asked, his words curious and unbearably slow.

"Tortured Sirius within an inch of his life," Rodolphus answered briskly.

Lord Voldemort made no move towards her cousin. "...Why?"

"I- it was a mistake, my Lord. I was trying to- to teach him. To fight through the pain..."

Voldemort tsked. "Bella, Bella, Bella, it is the Imperious curse that can be fought against and resisted, not the Cruciatus, not when cast by an expert as I trained you to be. Have you forgotten so quickly? Why don't you try? Crucio!"

The Dark Lord's power hit her like a thousand knives stabbing into her flesh, like hellfire burning her skin, like acid dissolving her insides. It was perfect, as always. And he was right, she couldn't fight it, only cower and writhe and howl in ecstatic agony. He let the spell go and dove into her mind. Bellatrix could Occlude, of course, but she never resisted him. He glanced through the disastrous duel, then reached back further, dwelling on the conversation she and Siri had had in the ballroom. The Dark Lord specifically said there was to be no public retaliation...Let's duel tonight. That way you can 'let off steam' without disobeying orders... disobeying orders... disobeying orders...

Voldemort wrenched his thoughts away, which elicited a horrible headache and urge for her to vomit. He turned from her to kneel next to Sirius. He pried open Sirius' eyelids. He gazed into Sirius' glazed and sightless eyes, frowning in concentration. Rodolphus fidgeted. Bella inched her way over to reach out and stroke Sirius' warm, slightly swollen hand. He would be fine. She believed in her Dark Lord. He could work miracles as no one else in this world could. Lord Voldemort leaned forwards, nose inches from Sirius' when he whispered, "It's over. You are Sirius Black. Remember that. Reopen your mind. Come back to us." Then he straightened up and idly tapped his wand against her cousin's forearm. She couldn't see the spell exactly, but thought it was a kind of glamour. "Rodolphus, come up with an explanation for how he came to be this way and have Abraxas or someone take him to St. Mungo's."

"Can you not heal him, my Lord?" Bella asked, shocked and afraid.

He glared disdainfully at her. "I did what was needful. I have better things to do this evening than correct your mistakes, Bella. He will be no use to me for weeks, because of your mistake. And if you ever need call me for a mistake like this again, you will regret it. It is hard to gain my favor, dear Bella. It is easy to lose it, and I have little patience for those who tamper with that which is mine. Assuming my faithful servant here survives, you will never have the honor of training him again. He will practice with Rodolphus, or Antonin, or myself. You will not even be permitted to watch. We will speak more of your further punishment in the morning." He stood up and flicked an immobilization charm over Sirius. "Go, Rodolphus."

Severus Snape was getting really, extravagantly bored helping Lily Evans organize her wedding planner. He almost regretted agreeing to be her un-traditional Man of Honor, but he stuck with it because he so much enjoyed Tuney's jealousy. He enjoyed James Potter's painedly tolerant expression at each planning session even more. Severus would have preferred Lily to pick some other groom, of course, but one took pleasure where one could these days. It could have been far worse. Sirius Black could still be part of their lives. Fortunately, the brute seemed to have slunk back to the mad, incestuous family that bred him and had not been heard from in months, much to James' disappointment, Lily's occasional concern, and Severus' glee.

He supposed he should thank the overly violent ex-Gryffindor. In a way, it was Black who had blessed him with his present, favorable circumstances. His brush with death had won back Lily's sympathy and friendship, which was worth losing Richard's and Felix's, all things considered. His humiliating defeat at Black's hands had eliminated the Dark Lord's interest in him. James' guilt over the whole affair led him, reluctantly of course, to recommend Severus for the open position in his father's potions company. Severus' initial job as one of several full-time potions brewers was easy and reasonably well-paid for a entry-level position, enough to cover his contribution to a modest two-bedroom apartment he split with Lily, at least until the wedding.

Fleamont Potter for Voldemort was a great trade in potential employer. Fleamont shared none of his son's worst traits (nor even a remote similarity to Voldemort, obviously). He had noticed and appreciated Severus' meticulous brewing and aptitude for invention within a few weeks and promoted him to part-time researcher, tasked with developing new Sleakeazy variants for different hair types and health conditions (including Severus' own greasy-scalp variety). He even blocked additional time in Severus' schedule for independent research towards a potions Mastery, without Severus ever needing to ask. Either sympathy and guilt went a long, long way, or Fleamont was a genuinely generous boss. He could never have achieved similar contentment joining the Death Eaters, even if he had somehow won himself a similar research-type position as Richard swore he could.

Severus found he quite appreciated comfort over excitement, thank you very much.

And so he helped Lily sort through tablecloth and napkin colors, floral arrangements, and so on and so forth without complaint.

They had just finished laying out fifty different shades of purple fabric swatches on the work bench in his research lab (the only table they could think of big enough to hold all of them), when the Terrible Trio burst into the room. They all looked pale and upset. James ran straight over to Lily, holding out the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. "Did you see this?"

"Calm down, dearest," Lily said with admirable patience. "See what?"

"Black Heir Admitted to St. Mungo's," he quoted immediately. Severus looked over Lily's shoulder to read the headline splashed across the top half of the front page. He gently tugged the paper from her unresisting hands.

"That's who it was?"

James nodded. "Pete sneaked in after the meeting and confirmed it."

"But... It sounded like Moody knew who it was when it came up. Why wouldn't he tell us? How could he think we wouldn't want to know? Need to know?"

"No idea."

Severus listened to the discussion with half an ear while he read the article. There wasn't much, more tabloid rumor than actual news.

Sirius Black, 18, was admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Daily Prophet reporters can exclusively confirm. The young Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black was seen being transported urgently through the hospital lobby in care of Lord Abraxas Malfoy, to whom he is related by marriage (see page 6 for pedigree reproduced with permission from Nature's Nobility author Theodosius Nott). He appeared unconscious, and representatives from St. Mungo's declined to comment on either his identity or his condition. However, astute observers can only conclude even the status and reputation of the Black Family cannot guarantee safety in these troubled times...

The rest of the article speculated on what might have befallen Black, with possibilities ranging from youthful experimentation with mind-altering potions, to an assassination attempt, to punishment by his decidedly strict and forbidding family, to torture by the Death Eaters for nobly refusing to join their cause, like only a good Gryffindor and/or privileged elitist would when pressed. The only evidence to support any of these speculations was the poor-quality photograph accompanying the article, in which Black floated across the hospital lobby, half-obscured by a sea of scurrying people, probably both healers and hangers-on. The article called attention to the asymmetry of his hands, suggesting the left one was swollen from some injury. It also spoke of bruises and subtle spell signs that Severus could see for himself were embellishment at best but more likely totally imaginary. He folded up the paper and set it down on the purple-swathed table.

"He looked bad, real bad," Peter Pettigrew was saying. "I think someone tortured him. I heard one of the healers say every single bone in his left arm was broken and half the ribs on that side, but I didn't see any visible bruising. That's a bone-break curse. Can't be anything else. And he kept twitching."

"His parents must have gotten their claws back into him somehow," James muttered darkly. "He left all his stuff at my folks' place the day he disappeared. They probably snatched him off the street and imprisoned him in that awful townhouse or something." Severus raised an eyebrow. This sounded a little extreme even for highly controlling and abusive parents. More likely Black had run afoul of the Death Eaters somehow, probably by doing something exceedingly rash and stupid. Not that he cared.

"I thought he'd been sighted at the Malfoys'," Remus Lupin broke in.

"Maybe that was actually Regulus?" Peter said. As if anyone could mistake the rakish, rebellious Sirius for the always perfectly proper, always perfectly groomed Regulus Black, Severus silently scoffed.

"It doesn't matter where he's been all this time. The question now is what do we do?" Lilly said firmly.

"I'm going back tonight," Peter said instantly. "I'll go back every night to keep watch, at least until he wakes up and can tell us what happened." Peter was always the one volunteering for any of the Terrible Trio's adventures that required much sneaking about, for some reason. Perhaps because he was quieter than James and wouldn't show up on Dark Detectors like Remus.

"And I'll talk to Dad about visiting or if nothing else setting up a watch during the day. We can't let the Blacks take him again."

"I'll be part of the watch, absolutely," Remus said. Lily nodded firmly.

For some reason, they all looked at Severus. Severus stared back. "What?"

"Will you help?" Remus asked impatiently.

Severus rolled his eyes. "Will I abandon my full-time job to loiter outside the hospital room of my most hated enemy in hopes of putting myself between him and his famously violent and prejudiced pureblooded family? Hmm, let me think. No. And you shouldn't either, Lily. The Blacks would happily put a curse on you for breathing in their presence if they knew you were muggle-born."

"I'll wear a bubble-head charm then," Lily said stubbornly.

"Very funny."

"You're not going to talk me out of helping Sirius escape from the people who hurt him, Sev. Sirius has done a lot of things I don't agree with, and I'll never forgive him for hurting you like he did, but I don't leave people to be tortured and killed, either."

Severus sighed dramatically. "Fine. Go do your silly, Gryffindor saving-people-thing. If you are determined I help, I suppose I'll brew you some polyjuice, so at least you can be a little less obvious in your celebrity stalking."

James scowled, understanding perfectly well that polyjuice took a month to brew and therefore would be useless to their endeavor in all likelihood. Lily smiled serenely, even though she knew it too. That was a bad sign. "Sounds good. And you can also help by taking over all the wedding planning if James and I are too busy with this."

Severus smirked. "You think that's a threat, eh? Better be careful. I might let Tuney pick a yellow dress or give you a bouquet of skunk weed."

"As if. Nope, we're nailing down colors today." She gestured at the table of purple swatches.

"Better run while you can, Marauders," Severus drawled.

"Go on. We have to figure out what's happening before we can do anything else. We'll talk later, James," Lily assured him. She kissed his cheek. As soon as the door closed behind the three men, she turned back to frown at him. "How can you be so blasé about something like this, Sev?"

"What part of 'he's my worst enemy' was unclear?"

"I know. I get it, and we will never be friends with him, but that doesn't mean we do nothing and let him be tortured. How can you be content to stand by when they're murdering people left and right?"

Severus groaned inwardly. That's what she was annoyed about. It wasn't about Sirius Black, but rather that Severus had no interest in joining Albus-bloody-Dumbledore's not-that-secret anti-Voldemort club. Lily and the Terrible Trio were all in it, he knew, although Lily was the only one who had explicitly told him so. He loved Lily like a sister, he really did, but she had a very annoying tendency to think all of her friends and loved ones should share her interests and opinions.

Severus folded his arms across his chest. "The same way you and Remus were content to stand by when Black and Potter were after me in school, I imagine. I don't care about the ideology of this war, Lily. I never did."

"Oh, really? You were going to join up on the other side if the Potters didn't swoop in and offer you something! Don't tell me you weren't."

"I was," Severus agreed. "Because I had no alternative. It was join, or else. I was working towards joining on my own terms, preferably in a non-combatant role." He spread his arms, gesturing around his laboratory. "But then this came my way. I'm neutral, and I'm staying that way."

"That's... that's so..." she struggled to complete the thought, because she didn't want to insult him out loud. The omission made her opinion obvious. Fill in the blank: cowardly, callous, evil. He had no insecure need to accept that kind of criticism from her anymore, though.

"You wanted me out Lily, and I am," he said in a tone that hopefully let her know he would take no helpful suggestions about his moral caliber today. "What more do you want?"

Lily glared at him. "You know why you have this job, don't you?"

"My peerless qualifications, surely," Severus said sarcastically.

"No. Sirius talked Fleamont into it."

"You're joking," he said after a minute.

"I'm not. He told Fleamont all about your potions grades, then told the Death Eaters he would join up but only if you weren't allowed in. And then he spied for Dumbledore for the last six months." She choked up. "And now he's in a coma or something." She scuffed her foot and looked up at him warily. "I shouldn't have told you. I shouldn't know in the first place, but I was there when Dumbledore brought Marlene and Ben McKinnon to hide with the Potters after the massacre. James wasn't. He was still helping with the Obliviation effort at that concert, but the Ministry had let me go by then... Sirius saved them, Sev, faked their deaths for them. He's trying to make up for what he did. That's why I'm so upset..."

Severus didn't know what to think, so he merely said, "That is the most stupidly Gryffindor thing I have ever heard." He paused. "And remind me never to ask you keep a secret, you are so bad at it."

"You won't tell, will you?"

"Should have thought of that earlier, Lils. But no, I won't tell. Like I said, I'm neutral, and I'm staying that way. In fact, you should Obliviate me of this juicy little piece of gossip so I can continue hating Black in peace, without fear of some Death Eater getting mad at me in the future for failing to leak it to You-Know-Who."

"...I'm sorry, Sev."

"You should probably ask Dumbledore or somebody to Obliviate you, too."

"I'll think about it, depending on what happens with Sirius."

"Especially if you're going to be bravely and foolishly lurking around his hospital room where you can bet undercover Death Eaters will also be keeping watch."

"Okay, that's actually a really good point. I'll have Euphemia do it this evening, once Fleamont and I are done with the mandrake potion for Marlene..."

Severus suddenly recalled a few other random requests for mandrake potion over the summer. He'd brewed it and delivered it to Fleamont's desk without question at the time, because he honestly didn't care. He decided he still didn't care. "Thank you. Do you want to Obliviate me now or later?"

"Now, I guess."

"Can you do an occlusion tag with the Obliviation?" Such a marker would let his subconscious recognize that he had submitted to Obliviation voluntarily and make it less likely for him to accidentally break through the memory charm. He was good enough at Occlumency it was worth the risk, since the tag would also allow him to occlude the memory charm. Paradoxically, putting an occlusion tag on an Obliviated memory in someone who was a mediocre Occlumens was as good as putting up a sign for any passing Legilimens to look here! Thank Merlin he had taken the seventh-year elective on a whim.

"Yes, if you think it's a good idea."

"Do it." He sat down in his desk chair and looked up at her, focusing intently on the conversation she needed to remove.

She pointed her wand at him. "Obliviate."

Severus blinked a few times and smirked at his best friend. "Going to jinx me, Lily? Was the threat of a bridesmaid dressed in yellow really that dire?"

"Yes. Can you imagine it with Tuney's complexion and my hair?"

"That was rather the point."

Lily lowered her wand and turned back to the table to admire the various shades of lavender, lilac, mauve, periwinkle, plum, and violet. "We're doing something with one of these purples, Sev, whether you like it or not."

"Well, it's your wedding. I suppose I can concede."

Chapter Text

Sirius did not notice when the unspeakable torment stopped, but he became semi-aware again an indeterminate amount of time after it did. The only coherent thought he managed to form (or hear?) was it's over. He still ached horribly and was exhausted, so rather than making the effort to struggle to full wakefulness, he sank back into a truer sleep.

The next time he awoke, sort of, he recognized that he was in bed. That was probably a good thing, given how awful he felt. The other thing he unfortunately recognized was his mother's voice. He flinched at the grating tone, and even that small movement brought forth a new wave of pain. He groaned. Someone touched him with hands of fire, and he pulled away from them. It was several cycles of painful touches, painful flinching, and inarticulate moaning before someone tried to drown him and an unnatural calm settled over his mind and body, sending him back to sleep.

Later, someone tried to open his eyes and communicate via Legilimency, but it proved to be a bad experience for them both. He instinctually struggled as soon as he felt the intrusion to hide the things that must never be seen, but the effort inevitably reminded him of why he hurt so badly, bringing the memory of the Cruciatus pain roaring back to the front of his mind. Both of them desperate to escape the sensation, he followed the intruder back to her mind in her hasty retreat. He realized this person was a healer before she managed to push his disoriented thoughts back out. They left his mind alone after that and just focused on making his body more comfortable, which he appreciated.

He drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he heard his mother's or his father's voice. Sometimes he did not. He did not open his eyes or attempt to speak or do anything else that might alert them to his presence-of-mind; he couldn't think how to say any real words besides "Ow," "mother," and "fuck," anyway, and his mother would definitely yell at or curse him if he accidently strung those together while acknowledging her unwanted presence.

He might have been content to stay half-asleep indefinitely, until he heard the most bizarre combination of voices yelling at each other: Walburga Black and Alastor Moody. Well, not yelling exactly, but close enough. "Ma'am, he was admitted to the hospital suffering effects of prolonged Cruciatus exposure from an unknown assailant. Of course there must be an official investigation!"

"If you so much as touch the Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, you will lose your job. No, I shall have your head to hang on my wall next to the retired house elves'!"

"And if you insist on impeding my forensic investigation, I could have you arrested!"

"How dare you, you filth! You-"

"Mmmf," Sirius interrupted. Merlin, his mouth was dry. His eyes cracked open. The lids felt like they were stuck together with glue, and they itched. He squinted up at the ceiling at first, but his eyes found his mother soon enough when she snatched up his hand and squeezed it in a death grip. His whole body jerked at the touch. At least the movement itself didn't hurt badly this time, just the hand she was squeezing all the blood out of.

"Sirius!" she cried.

Merlin, she actually seemed worried. He struggled fruitlessly to pull his hand away, then gave up and settled for complaining, "Ow." She did not take the hint, if anything clutched him tighter, scowling fiercely. His eyes wandered over to find Moody, who was on the other side of his bed. The auror was watching warily, exuding a cautious hope. Sirius' lips twitched as he attempted to grin. "'M alive," he mumbled.

Moody smiled, but before the auror could get a word in, Walburga started berating him. "Oh, you're alive, are you? Well, thank our ancestors for that. You almost weren't, you ungrateful wretch! You don't come home, you don't write, you hide when I try to see you and then go and almost get yourself killed! I should have been lucky if you had just died cleanly! You bring nothing but grey to my hair and shame to our house..."

Moody's grin morphed to a frightening glower. He drew himself up, and he towered over Sirius' mother. "Ma'am, you will desist."

"You. Do. Not. Speak in my presence, you lowly-"

"Then leave. You are distressing the victim of a brutal attack, and I must needs question him while he is awake if we are to bring his assailant to justice." Sirius almost laughed. If Moody thought this was a distressing-Walburga, he was sorely mistaken. Other than implying she wished he was dead, she was being remarkably civil at the moment. He could clearly hear her anxiety even if no one else could. He wouldn't say her presence was comforting, but it was sort of nice to know the woman who gave birth to him cared a little whether he lived or died.

"I'm not leaving him alone with the likes of you! Nor may one so unclean as you lay hand on him!"

"Fine, I won't touch him. I can have one of the Longbottoms come in for the forensic evaluation if it makes you happy. They're pure-blooded enough even for you. But he's not a minor. I'm going to talk to him, and you can't stop me."

"He doesn't want to talk to you! Or your blood traitors!"

"Is that true, Sirius?"

Sirius blinked, then slowly shook his head.

Walburga half-choked in rage, but Moody talked over her coughing and sputtering. "Great. Do you remember what happened?"

Walburga started yelling again, just generally objecting that he wasn't well enough to speak, and Sirius expertly tuned her out. He wasn't sure he should say much if anything, not on an official record in front of a witness, even if it was just his evil mother who most likely already knew exactly what happened. He ended up shrugging. This wasn't exactly valuable information to withhold since the guilty party was Bella, who was already wanted by the Ministry. He could always tell Portrait Moody the details later.

"The healers believe you were subjected to the Cruciatus curse," Moody said loudly. "Do you remember that?"

Sirius half-shrugged again, but grimaced slightly. "Tracks."

"Do you know who might have attacked you?"

Sirius met Moody's gaze for several seconds before shrugging again. Hopefully, the auror would correctly interpret that as yes.

Moody frowned, then sighed. "You are lucky, Mr. Black. The Cruciatus has been known to cause permanent mental injury. When Lord Malfoy first delivered you to St. Mungo's, the healers were not sure you would awaken again, let alone speak."

Sirius didn't remember any of the Malfoys being present for his duel with Bella. He furrowed his brow. "'Braxas?"

"Yes, he said he found you at the corner of Diagon and Knockturn Alley. Apparently, he sent his elf to find you when you did not return to the Malfoy residence that night."

"Dobby?" That was a bad cover story, and both Abraxas and Moody must know it. Disregarding the fact few could have missed a prolonged torturing session in so public a place even long past curfew, he was only a guest in the Malfoy household. He was related by marriage, but not by blood. He had no magical ties to Dobby. He flicked his eyes towards his left arm. He wasn't wearing the same black funerary robes, yet he hadn't been arrested. The Dark Mark must have been hidden somehow. He wondered if Abraxas had left his explanation deliberately vague so that he could more easily disavow Sirius if the Mark was later discovered. He allowed his confusion to show on his face and lolled his head over towards his mother. She abruptly stopped her ongoing tirade. He arched an eyebrow. Her face softened slightly, and she cleared her throat.

"That sounds correct," Walburga said in a perfectly normal tone for a change. "Our own house elf Kreacher woke me up after Sirius was taken here. I believe the Malfoy elf recruited Kreacher to help find my son." That made much more sense. Thanks, Mum.

"I see," Moody mused. "Thank you for your insight, Madam Black. Now, Sirius, do you remember what you might have been doing in Diagon Alley on Wednesday night?"

"No," Sirius whispered. He had no interest in inventing a story. Better to leave this as wide open as possible. Safer for him, better potential propaganda material for Moody if he couldn't be caught in a deception. After all, Moody wouldn't actually let one of the other aurors examine him and discover his Mark. And with no evidence of his role as a Death Eater, the Ministry would be sure to try to spin this against Voldemort, as proof that not even a Black was safe from harm in this insurgency. Sirius wouldn't help them, wouldn't comment, but a witness's silence never stopped the reporters at The Daily Prophet from publishing strong suspicions as truth.

"What is the last thing you do remember?"

Sirius closed his eyes again. "Lucius..."

"Sirius was at the trial for Lucius Malfoy the day before this happened," Walburga explained quickly. "Supporting his cousin Narcissa."

"Of course. Well, I'm very sorry this happened to you, Mr. Black. If you remember anything more, the healers can contact my office for you. And I will send someone by later for forensics. We already have the healers' reports. A little more delay for our bit won't matter at this point. I'll let you rest."

He bowed to Walburga and left the private room. Walburga slammed the door shut behind him. Sirius' torso spasmed again at the noise. He opened his eyes to glower at his mother, but it was wasted effort. She wasn't looking at him. He let his face slacken again in hopes it would stop prickling. "What rude, supercilious slime," she muttered vengefully at the door. She turned back to Sirius then and pulled some semblance of a smile. "That went well."

"Hmm?"

"It's good of you to keep this a family matter, Sirius." She sniffed disdainfully. "The Ministry could never handle Bella anyway. We will deal with this in our own way." Her eyes narrowed. "And you will not see that lunatic again. You are coming home after this, Sirius."

Sirius was too tired to argue with her right now. Obviously, he wouldn't be going to Grimmauld when the time came, but he didn't feel like being screamed at for the next few hours. He closed his eyes instead and pretended to doze while she continued to criticize him, Moody, St. Mungo's, the Malfoys, and "that crazed bitch." She briefly paused to confirm to a healer that Sirius had indeed awoken and said a few words; she then threatened to curse the man if he tried to wake Sirius up again to examine him. Thanks again, Mum. Eventually, the feigned sleep became real.

Something tickled his nose, and Sirius awoke with a startle that turned into a sneeze and a series of involuntary twitches. There was a surprised squeak from somewhere near his chin. Sirius squinted in the darkness. He couldn't see, but that squeak could only be... "Peter?" he rasped.

The Rat skittered off his chest and gained the weight of a man, sitting on the edge of his mattress. "Yes, it's me." Sirius grabbed for his friend blindly, and Peter caught his trembling hand. "I'm here for you, Padfoot."

"I just woke up today," Sirius mumbled. "How'd you know?"

"I've been sneaking into your room as Wormtail every night since the papers reported you'd been attacked and hospitalized." Of course that was a thing. Fuck, Sirius had missed his friends. He felt a lump in his throat and tears heating his eyes. He reached his other hand towards Peter too, catching him in a weak and clumsy hug. Peter bent and hugged him back. "Happy belated birthday," he murmured. "Figures you'd want to have your party in a hospital room." Sirius smiled faintly at the poor excuse for a joke. "What happened to you, Padfoot?" Peter asked.

Sirius shivered, then whispered, "Cruciatus."

"Oh, Sirius." Peter patted his shoulder, which sent jolts of pain lancing down his back. Merlin, hunching his shoulders like this was a bad idea, but he refused to let go and lie back. Peter noticed his wincing though. "Sorry...We haven't heard anything, and now this... where have you been?" he pressed. So, Fleamont hadn't told James. Well, that had been Sirius' idea. He didn't say anything in answer. "We heard you'd been seen at Malfoy Manor. Why on earth would you go there? Did they blackmail or kidnap you or something? Did-"

"Pete, stop," Sirius managed.

"No, Sirius, I won't just stop. You're one of my best friends, and you broke off contact for six months in the middle of a war! Not cool. We've been worried about you! What happened?"

Sirius gave in. It wasn't safe for his friends to know the truth, but Peter had more than enough information to guess. Sirius was weak right now; he couldn't bear it for Wormy to guess wrongly and think the worst of him. "Bella happened," he confessed. Peter tensed. He knew plenty about Bellatrix. All the Marauders did after listening to Sirius' family anecdotes for almost seven years. He took a deep breath. "She cornered me the week I left school." There. He'd said it. Sort of. He wouldn't say any more, nothing that would truly endanger himself, or put his friends on a hit list.

"I'm sorry, Sirius. So sorry. You're safe now. It's over. You'll never have to go back there. I won't let your Mum take you."

Sirius closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the false comfort. "Missed you. And Moony and Prongs."

"Missed you too. Merlin, I'm glad we've found you again. You probably haven't heard. James and Lilly are engaged-" Sirius grinned sleepily. "-And James asked me to be his best man. Me. Can you imagine me at a society wedding like that? Unbelievable. It'll be you, obviously, now we got you back. Don't worry, it's not until spring, plenty of time for you to rest and get back into the swing of things..."

Sirius' tears leaked out as he listened to Peter's Marauders Update. Oh, did he want to go home to the Potters, celebrate James' wedding, run under the full moon, all of it. But he couldn't. He would be going back into the dragon's nest as soon as he could walk. He forced himself to sit up straight and face reality. "Pete, I love you. I love James, I love Moony, and I love James' parents Fleamont and Euphemia. Tell them for me."

Pete laid a hand against his cheek. "You'll tell them yourself, Sirius."

"We... we don't know that."

"I am not letting anyone else take you out of here."

"There's a war on, Pete. Any one of us could die tomorrow," he said hopelessly. "Tell them for me. Tell them I love them..." His shoulders shook. His grip loosened, and he collapsed onto his side, too weak to hold himself up with core strength alone under the weight of his fear and his guilty conscience.

"Shh... I'll tell them," Peter whispered soothingly. He helped reposition Sirius back against his pillows. He silently stroked Sirius' hair, murmuring meaningless reassurances, "It's okay, you're safe now. It's over..."

When Sirius' sobs dissolved back into hiccups, he murmured, "Tell me more about your summer. You and our friends."

"Well, you'll never guess who Lily's got on her side of the bridal party..."

Sirius fell asleep again to the sound of Peter's soft, gentle voice. He had a funny dream that night of Snape in witch's dress robes.

"No, you thieves of my son's love, you may not see him! Get out! Get out!" Walburga slammed the door shut again. He wondered if it was the senior Potters or the Marauders who had tried to visit him. Probably his friends. Fleamont and Euphemia would surely know better. It didn't matter. His mother was very determined to control all his visitors. He'd seen no one but healers, Moody, and Blacks since he woke up three days ago. He couldn't tell if she was doing it of her own volition or as a favor to the Dark Lord. She returned to her seat and took up the parchment and quill she had abandoned earlier.

"I'm writing to Regulus," she declared haughtily. "Would you care to add anything for your brother's benefit, or do you disdain him as much as me? He has sent six owls in six days asking after your health, I'll have you know."

Sirius winced in guilt, which turned into another spasm. Merlin, that was getting annoying. "I'll write," he said through gritted teeth. He pushed himself upright with some difficulty. She passed him a second self-inking quill and a blank sheet of Black family letterhead. He took hold of the quill and dropped it twice while attempting to grip it properly. The tips of his fingers felt numb and tingly, and his arm and hand kept twitching. This was going to be impossible. "Do you have a Quick Quotes Quill?" he asked.

"No," she said shortly.

He hadn't really expected her to. The quills were temperamental and produced mediocre penmanship at best, unsuitable to the dignity of the Blacks, but it would have been so helpful just now. He struggled for about five minutes and dropped the quill about a dozen times to produce a hundred ink blots and six shaky, nearly illegible words: I'm alive. Ask Mum. Love, Sirius. Merlin's pants, how long was it going to take for his nerves to recover? Would he recover enough to hold a wand and write legibly again? He threw the pathetic missive at her and flung himself moodily back onto the pillows. His spine arched painfully in another involuntary spasm.

Walburga picked up the letter and looked at it for a long minute. "I will get you a new quill," she conceded.

"Thank you."

She went back to writing her own letter. "That idiot auror came by again."

"How do you know he's an idiot if you won't let him get a word in edgewise?"

"Don't talk back to me, young man, unless you want a stinging hex. I'll wager that would hurt quite a lot in your present condition."

"I'm sorry," Sirius said quickly. He knew she wasn't joking. If he managed to ward off a simple stinging hex, she wouldn't let it end there either. She'd switch to something stronger, and he was pretty helpless to defend himself against a witch of Walburga's caliber at present.

"That's better. He confessed he sneaked in here again after hours to do his filthy forensics."

"I didn't know that."

"He said you were asleep. No respect for your privacy." She barred her teeth. "He said he had a few more questions for you based on what he found, and I say he's an idiot because if he was competent, he wouldn't have taken 'no' for an answer at that point and instead would have arrested you." They both glanced at his left arm. Someone had obscured his Dark Mark with another magical tattoo layer depicting a manticore. It was almost as ugly as the Mark in Sirius' opinion. There was no style, as if the image had been copied from a drawing in a textbook. Regardless, a really determined auror should have been able to sniff him out.

"Guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right. I'm your mother. You can hate me all you want, but I will always be right. I will always be wiser than you and know better than you. I will always have your best interests at heart, no matter how much you protest otherwise, no matter how much you disagree. You are my blood. I will never let you go."

Sirius took a deep breath. He had held his tongue long enough. "You are a bitter, cruel, and cold old woman and completely blind to your own inadequacies as a human being. You don't care about the happiness or well-being of your children. You care about me only insofar as you care about how my life reflects upon yourself. I honestly tried for years to earn your approval, and that got me nothing but dismissal and abuse. I'm not trying anymore, Mother. Hate me, dismiss me, or disown me, I am still going to make my own decisions and live my own life. And I am not going home with you to live under your controlling thumb, you bitch. There are so many things I dislike about our family, but you are what I loathe the most. I would rather return to live with Bellatrix than with you. I would rather spend the rest of my life in this hospital bed than step foot in your house again."

Her eyes flashed dangerously. She stood up, crossed over to the bedside, grabbed a handful of his shoulder-length hair, and twisted it. Hard. With his hypersensitive skin, it felt like she had ripped his scalp clean off. He howled in pain, and she slapped a hand over his mouth. She pulled harder. All the muscles in his neck tensed reflexively, his head pulling inexorably backwards until he was gaping at the wall behind him. Walburga leaned over him and hissed, "You think I'm bitter and cruel? Listen to yourself, you stupid, selfish child. With my own body I made you. You think this is pain? No man knows pain. Only mothers do, from the blood of birthing you ungrateful spawn, from the fear of watching you grow, from the betrayal of your worthless rebellions. You think you got away from me, leaving our house, dragging our name through the dirt, throwing our values in my face, but you're wrong. You pull away so hard because I hold you so tight." She smiled darkly. "I know what you have been doing. I know whose house you've been sleeping in, whose cause you've been keeping. Lie to yourself and say you're doing this for you, my little simpleton. You're not. You took the Dark Mark for me. You never escaped my womb, boy, and you never will." She let go of his hair. "You may apologize now."

"Go to hell," he panted.

"Hmm." Without missing a beat, she unpinned the brooch on the front of her robes, a silver reproduction of the Black family crest, and jammed the pin into his arm. He had no idea if it even broke the skin, but his whole arm seized up in response nonetheless. He opened his mouth, but before he could curse her out or even yell for help, she drew her wand on him. "Silencio. You need discipline, Sirius. I have been remiss." She stuck the pin in a different muscle. "This will stop when you're ready to apologize. You only need to blink twice, slowly."

The healers were concerned that evening that he seemed to have suffered a relapse, with uncontrollable shaking and spasms, barely able to speak. They treated him with an extra calming draught, an extra pain potion, and two different muscle relaxants. If Peter joined him again that night, he didn't know it.

Chapter Text

Sirius was pissing not-actually-but-looked-like blood again in the morning. He freaked out a bit until the healers told him it was from muscle breakdown from his vicious cramps, not from actual internal bleeding or something. Not that either scenario was reassuring. He was terrified of being too physically weak to run from Walburga when she decided to drag him back home.

He could have cried when he saw Narcissa coming into his room instead of Walburga or Orion. He would have been almost as happy to see Uncle Alphard or even Uncle Cygnus. He lurched upright and flung a leg out of the bed. His heart galloped with the effort. "Narcissa! You've got to get me out of here!" He squirmed in the bed, trying to extract his other leg from the twist of sheets. It didn't help matters that his hand cramped up into an unusable claw when he tried to grab the edge of the blanket.

Narcissa frowned. "That's not happening."

Sirius shook his head vigorously, and his head got stuck looking to the left for a few seconds with another savage cramp. "I have to get out of here before Mum gets back."

"Sirius, you can barely sit up in that bed, and you're taking something like twelve potions per day. You have to stay here."

"No. No, I can't. I can't see them anymore. You don't understand. You've got to get me out of here! Take me back to the manor! Hell, take me back to Lestrange manor..."

"There is nothing you can say that will convince me that's a good idea. Merlin, look at yourself!"

"I will burn this hospital to the ground if I am forced to stay here another day."

Narcissa snorted. "I'll believe that when you can hold your wand again."

Sirius glared at her and held up his non-cramping hand. "Inkhera," he gritted out. As soon as the mystical flame burst from his palm, he planted his hand into his abandoned pillow, which caught fire immediately. With no flame-freezing charm, the fire burned hot and spread very quickly through the bedclothes. His thin robe burst into flame as well, searing his skin. It hurt, a lot, and his sickened, over-stimulated body seized up and curled in on itself. Luckily, he toppled sideways off the bed rather than back into the pyre when he lost his balance.

"Aguamenti!" Narcissa cried, dousing him with water, and then the bed. "Sirius, you moron..."

"Get... me out... of here," he gasped again, stubbornly.

"What's going on?" a new voice asked urgently, one Sirius didn't recognize immediately. Presumably a healer.

"My brilliant cousin here decided to throw a tantrum and set his own bed on fire," Narcissa said.

The healer hurried to his side and waved a cooling charm over his new burns. "Accidental magic?"

"Oh no, it was entirely intentional," Narcissa corrected drily.

"Excuse me?"

"He got upset when I said I wouldn't take him home with me."

"Fuck you, Cissy," Sirius muttered.

The healer swore softly. "Maybe you should reconsider, Lady Malfoy."

"So I can listen to that kind of language all day? Is my cousin causing so much trouble for you already, sir?"

"No, so your cousin goes home to your house rather than his parents'. Lord Orion Black is already working on arrangements, and the staff here will be hard-pressed to oppose him, especially once the discharge plan to Grimmauld Place is finalized..."

"No!" Sirius protested. "I am not going back! Not with that murderous hag and... him! I'll curse all of you..."

"Don't worry, he doesn't know what he's saying," the healer said quickly.

"Like hell I don't..."

"Quite," Narcissa said wryly. "Sirius, calm down. If the healers think it would be better for your health to get you home with me today, we can make it happen. But if you keep threatening everybody, I'm leaving you here until you've regained your self-control." Sirius' mouth snapped shut. "That's better. What's your name, Healer...?"

"Jorkins."

"Healer Jorkins, I would be willing to take Sirius home to a more peaceful environment if we could be assured of a visiting healer to oversee his treatment on a daily basis. Expense is no issue, of course."

"I'll work on the arrangements right away. It will take a few hours, to modify the schedules."

Sirius gripped the man's robes, panicked. "Mum'll be here at ten. She always is, like a bloody clock. I have to get away before then! I'll go anywhere! Hide me in a broom closet or something... yow!" A sensation like lightning snapped through his raised arm, and his hand sprang open again. He hugged it into himself.

"You're due for your morning potions. I'll get them."

"You do that," Narcissa agreed. "And once he's taken them, I think the two of us should visit Lucius. What do you think, Sirius? He'd like to have visitors, and he's got guards on his door..." Sirius almost cried with relief at the thought of getting out of this room.

"He's hardly in any shape to go wandering the halls," Healer Jorkins protested.

"I'm sure we'll manage, if you believe he's good enough to go home. I'll just put him in a chair and levitate him."

Narcissa ended up enlarging the plain wooden chair in his room and sticking enough pillows to it to make it more comfortable than even his bed had been. She tucked Sirius into the plush monstrosity with a blanket over his lap. She gave him back his wand and watch, which he stuffed down his sleeve. They were away as soon as Sirius had gulped down five nasty potions, crossing all the way to the other end of the spell damage ward to the only other private room. It was barely nine o'clock, plenty of time for the house elves to clean out his abandoned room before his mother arrived. Hopefully, she didn't think to check Lucius' room. Hopefully, she didn't cause too much damage when she inevitably erupted at his unexpected disappearance. Sirius didn't see any of the Marauders lurking, fortunately. He hoped they stayed clear. He didn't want Walburga to hurt them.

"We're hiding from his mother," Narcissa told the pair of hit wizards guarding Lucius' door. They both grinned knowingly and opened the way to let them through; the pair must have been regulars here the last few days and witnessed the terrifying storm of enraged Walburga Black.

Inside, the room was a mirror-image of the one they had left. It was bright and spotless with cheery flowers on the bedside table. The main difference was the air smelled unpleasantly of peppermint from too many toilet-cleaning charms. Sirius glanced at the bathroom door, but it was closed, no reason for the room out here to be so odiferous.

Lucius Malfoy was sitting in a chair by the window, staring out of it with a blank face. He looked like he'd just gotten up, even though a house elf had clearly come by to make the bed already, the sheets crisp and perfectly tucked. A huge slice of chocolate cake sat untouched before him, with a full cup of tea that no longer steamed.

Narcissa settled Sirius' chair on the other side of the small table, then crossed over to kiss her husband's cheek. "Lucius, my love, it's me, Narcissa. And I've brought Sirius today, too."

"Narcissa," Lucius repeated. He blinked, and a ghost of a smile graced his lips. "Narcissa Black said she'd marry me."

"I did marry you."

"You did?"

"I did. I'm Narcissa Malfoy, now."

"Narcissa Malfoy... No, Narcissa Black. If she's a Malfoy, then I can't marry her. Father doesn't condone marrying cousins. The Malfoys aren't like the Blacks..." He rubbed a hand across his head, incidentally dragging a veil of blond hair into his face.

Narcissa glanced back at Sirius. She looked so sad, Sirius couldn't think of anything to say, his own restless energy paled for the moment with the help of the potions he'd taken. His cousin set to straightening Lucius' tangled hair and rumpled robe. "He's not good about taking care of himself yet," she explained matter-of-factly, as if she were describing nothing more sinister than the weather. "Usually, one of the healers feeds him breakfast, but I told them to wait for me this morning since I knew I would be coming by early. It's supposed to be good for him, for family and friends to be the ones giving him the chocolate. It's supposed to help rekindle his feelings of warmth and connection..." She picked up the knife and fork and started cutting the cake into bite-sized chunks. Lucius watched her hands expressionlessly.

"He really was cursed," Sirius said softly. He shivered and twitched. He remembered the meeting with the Dark Lord, but he couldn't recall if he'd told Narcissa the upshot of it before Bella up and fried his nervous system.

She stilled. "Do you know who? Or when?"

"No."

She speared a morsel of cake. "The healers think whoever did it must have now dropped the spell."

"They do? Why?" This Lucius didn't look particularly better than he had been a week ago.

"Mostly because according to the aurors, the curse is often dropped once the victim is in official custody, because as a general rule victims of the Imperious curse are more likely to remember their attacker if they broke through it themselves. Anyway, the healers are hopeful he will make a good recovery, in time."

"Imperious," Lucius said suddenly, sitting up straight in the chair.

Narcissa stiffened. "Yes! Yes, Lucius, that's what happened to you. Do you remember who did it?"

He shivered. "The dementors..."

"Yes, my love, you were in Azkaban, but that was a misunderstanding. You're in St. Mungo's now, and you're never going back to that horrible prison."

"I was in Azkaban."

"But not any more."

Lucius settled. "Not any more."

Narcissa sighed. "Unfortunately, all that Ministry man at the trial reported was that Lucius heard the incantation of the curse. He didn't say if he saw where it happened or who it was, and now he's vanished. You probably wouldn't have heard."

"He's dead," Sirius informed her dully.

"Ah... That's unfortunate. No one else who's tried to find the memory has managed it yet. Legilimency is tricky with an injured mind, and the healers don't want to push it too hard. They said it's more comfortable to minimize intrusions until the patient is recovered enough naturally to participate with the mind magics voluntarily."

"Tell me about it," Sirius said darkly, remembering his own nightmarish experience with the mind healer. He was under no illusions that he could resist a Legilimency probe with anything but the memory of excruciating pain at the moment, which was not conducive to healing. It probably wouldn't be all that effective against the Dark Lord either, to be honest. He didn't want to think about it. "Were you in Azkaban when you heard the Imperio, Lucius?" he asked.

"Yes."

Narcissa almost dropped the plate of cake. "You were?"

Lucius looked at her expectantly. After a moment, he asked, "I was what?"

Narcissa inhaled, gathering her patience. "You were in Azkaban when someone cast the Imperious curse on you?"

Lucius' expression softened into one of such extreme tenderness, Sirius almost couldn't bear to look at it, knowing he had gotten Lucius arrested in the first place. "My love, he said it was the only way I would see you again, and our baby..."

Narcissa's eyes filled with tears. "Who was it?"

Lucius smiled, shook his head, and tweaked her nose. "You silly thing, an 'it' can never be a 'who.' You mean 'he.' Or 'she.'"

"Abraxas," Sirius breathed. The answer just came to him, maybe because he'd spent so much time with his own awful parents again the last few days the idea was no longer unthinkable.

"What about Abraxas?" Narcissa grumbled. She offered Lucius another bite of cake, which he obediently took.

"He's the one who Imperioused Lucius, when he visited him in Azkaban." It was horrible, but it made sense, and it fit with the Dark Lord's behavior at the end of the meeting. Voldemort had gotten answers from Entwhistle, then killed him without sharing what he had found, but didn't seem all that angry really. Then he summoned Abraxas Malfoy, to talk privately. He met Narcissa's skeptical eyes. "Anything to get his son out of there and preserve the family reputation," Sirius explained bitterly. "He's been upset about the Azkaban policy all summer, and I bet there's already people demanding to repeal it after the scandal at the trial." He finally figured out Abraxas' role as an un-Marked man; he wasn't Voldemort's political tool, he was the political mastermind, perhaps the closest thing the Dark Lord had to a colleague. No wonder Abraxas was peeved when Sirius moved in without any forewarning, if he took it as an affront to his position as Voldemort's right hand. He might even have sacrificed his son's sanity as a kind of offering to Voldemort to prove his loyalty... His arm twitched again.

Doubt crept across Narcissa's face. "There are, yes... Shit. You're right. It fits. And he knew I was pregnant by then. Damn that monster." She glowered at her husband's gentle, concerned confusion. "Right. We'll get you back to the manor for now, Sirius, but as soon as you're well enough, we are both getting out of there. There's no reason for me to try to stay, not with Lucius as he is, not with that monster there."

"And go where, Narcissa? I am not going to Grimmauld, and you understand I'd rather not go back to Bella now, either."

"I'll go to Grimmauld. You can stay with my father or Uncle Alphard. Or go impose on the Averys if you'd rather. I'm sure your little friend couldn't say no to you."

Sirius considered. "That's probably true." It was a comforting thought. "Have you figured out a way yet to disappear that doesn't involve living under siege for the rest of your life while the Blacks and Malfoys battle it out?"

Narcissa scowled at him. "Not quite. I was hoping I wouldn't have to, that I could have just had some 'complications' after going into labor whilst visiting my aunt and come home a few days later all sad and forlorn having lost the baby afterall. Bella was even going to find me a dead baby to bury. That plan's out the window now."

Sirius swallowed. It was easy to forget sometimes how calculating Narcissa could really be, that she would have allowed an innocent baby procured by her murderous sister to die, no questions asked, to further her own ends. He forced a smile. "If you'd like to fake your own death, let me know. I have a lot of ideas for how to do something like that. Used to spend hours in Grimmauld coming up with them as part of my grand escape plan, until I decided to just hang it all and run away to a Light family."

Narcissa smirked. "And how did that work out for you?"

"Got bored, obviously."

"You would, you moron."

"Name calling isn't polite, my flower," Lucius said primly. It was so incongruous, both with the conversation and with, well, Lucius' typical personality, that Sirius laughed out loud. He regretted it when his diaphragm started spasming, with great gasps and hiccoughs.

Narcissa smiled at her husband and kissed his hand. "I'm sorry, my darling."

Sirius returned to Malfoy Manor, but he wasn't really good for much besides recuperating. He spent much of the first night filling in Portrait Moody on the details of his ordeal, but after he was done, there was nothing more to say for the rest of the week. He was confined to the upstairs because it was too much bother to go down to the main floor, so he hardly spoke to anybody. He had little to do besides read and practice Occlumency exercises, trying to get his shields back in order by the time the Dark Lord inevitably decided to call him and snoop around his head again. Narcissa and Lucretia both visited Lucius for hours every day. Abraxas often went with them, and when he didn't he was stalking the halls of the Ministry, bullying officials into parroting his reasonable proposals. Moody knew how that went long before Sirius did; like everyone else, it was through the Daily Prophet that Sirius discovered the policy of holding Death Eaters in the dementor levels of Azkaban pending trial was repealed on November 12th.

Abraxas drew his tide of business associates away with him. For the first time since he had moved in, Sirius was alone in the manor for much of the day, except for the elf. In the morning, Dobby helped him get out of bed and get dressed and walk down the hall to the family parlor where he now took his breakfast and five potions. The elf caught and quietly destroyed Walburga's daily howler, then popped in and out the rest of the morning, intermittently waiting on Sirius whilst also maintaining the house. Sirius ignored him for the most part, but the peculiar creature still somehow took a liking to him. He could tell because his breakfast was slowly aligning more and more closely to his subconscious personal ideal. His only other reliable company was the healer who came by at noon to check on him and adjust his potion prescriptions.

Avery visited once. It was flattering in a way, how worried about Sirius the younger wizard was. He was also very annoying, though. He kept hinting that Sirius needed to get up and exercise more in order to "get over it" faster. He warned Sirius not to rely so much on pain potions because they could be addictive, and encouraged him to "be strong, Sirius, I know you'll be back to normal in no time! You're too good of a wizard..." The words and advice were well-intentioned, but they really weren't helpful. The healers' consensus was that while Sirius would make a full recovery, there was little they could do to hurry up the process. The Cruciatus had no counter-curse, no quick fix. He was doomed to stay weak, twitchy, sore, and distractible for another three weeks at minimum. He told Avery muggle-baiting operations were on hold so long as other Death Eaters kept unofficially doing it for them, unless the Dark Lord called for another big mission. Then he sent him away.

Bella visited at the end of the week. More specifically, she sent a letter asking his permission to visit as soon as he left the hospital, a letter which Sirius burned. She sent letters to all the Malfoys next, begging them to intercede with him. Sirius finally relented when Abraxas stopped by his room one evening to say he was setting up an appointment for him to meet Bella in the formal parlor the next day, no excuses. Apparently, Rodolphus had come to Abraxas in a panic because Bella was threatening to go to Voldemort himself to have him talk to Sirius on her behalf. That was shear and utter lunacy, of course, which everyone but Bella realized. Since it was well within the realm of possibility for Voldemort to take Sirius to task for permitting him to be roped into the melodrama, Sirius agreed to the meeting to avert disaster.

Narcissa stayed home that morning and helped him get down the stairs. He didn't point out the irony of leaning so much of his weight on a pregnant woman, now that she was definitely showing. He sat in a winged armchair. Narcissa took the loveseat. Dobby served them tea. Sirius added extra sugar to his to wash out the taste of his nasty morning prescriptions. It was a good thing they came downstairs half an hour early; they were only waiting for Bella for five minutes before she stepped out of the floo with a roar of green fire. She threw herself sobbing at Sirius' feet.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Forgive me, Siri!"

Abraxas had warned him, but it was still a bit of a shock to see her shaved head. The loss of her thick, glossy Black hair was part of Bella's punishment, along with the words "I shall never disobey my lord" carved several times in ugly, uneven loops around her scalp. The cuts were scabbed over, but after this many days, that meant they must have been deep, and that she had been forbidden healing charms. Possibly, they were even carved with Dark magic. Eyeing some of the backwards letters, he suspected she had been forced to cut them herself in a mirror. Eventually, her hair would grow out again to cover the scars, and hoods and magic could hide them until then.

Sirius watched her cry and beg for awhile. He didn't have a planned response for her, really. He didn't want to see her. It wasn't worth it just to keep her happy. There wasn't really even much advantage any more; he had earned his own status in the Death Eaters. He didn't need Bella.

He hated to see her so upset.

She continued to cry on his shoes, and he and Narcissa continued not to say anything. Bella eventually got her tears under control. She looked up at him warily. "Can you forgive me, Siri?" she asked.

Sirius' arm jerked. Bella's lip quivered at the sight. He forced himself to focus and speak before she started sobbing again. "Not right now. I trusted you, and you betrayed my trust."

"I didn't mean to hurt you..."

"But you did. Don't tell yourself it was an accident and you were trying to teach me. I was there. The only lesson to be learned is that you cannot control yourself, not when you're enraged, not when you're grieving..."

He trailed off, his mind moving beyond his mouth. Bella had always been the easiest of his cousins to provoke, the most similar to his own mother. He used to dote on her, when he was very young, because she was so similar to Walburga yet never turned that anger on him. No, hers had been a protective wrath, at least at first. When Walburga punished him too harshly, he would run to Bella, who would quicken to his defense, fighting screams and curses with equal vehemence and viciousness. There were times, usually holiday parties, when Cygnus and Orion Black would simply pull the children out and ward the dining room door while the two angry witches battled it out. He never knew if it was Walburga's unshakeable belief in the value of the Black family or grudging respect for each other's power and sadism that kept them relatively cordial for so many years. He wondered idly when Walburga would be forgiving Bella for almost murdering him this time. She had been very upset at the hospital to the point of calling Bella foul names, but she was now very, very angry with Sirius again, even more than usual. He speculated Bella might even be invited over for tea before his mother got tired of sending him the daily howlers.

Narcissa cleared her throat, and Sirius blinked. He pulled himself back to the conversation, both cousins watching him expectantly, Bella biting her lip. "Right. I already knew that was your weakness ever since we were children, but now I see that it will destroy you someday. Either because you will make a mistake and die for it, or you will make a mistake and kill someone you weren't ready to lose." Walburga never made that mistake, never would. She held on too long instead.

Bellatrix reared her head back in arrogant offense, but Narcissa cut across her incipient objection. "He's right, Bella."

"Stay out of it, Cissy," Bella spat, directing all her anger at her sister since fighting with Sirius was out of the question.

"You almost killed our cousin," Narcissa said evenly. "I heard all about what happened. He would have died, or as good as, if the Dark Lord had not retrieved his consciousness in time and then sent him to the hospital. How would you have felt then? How would you have felt if he had fallen into enemy hands? You risked yourself too, and us, when you threatened to bring the Dark Lord into what is a family matter."

"Sirius wouldn't talk to me!"

"And that is my concern, not the Dark Lord's," Sirius said. Inside, he was less interested in Bella's whining than with what Narcissa had said about the Dark Lord coming to his aid. He had not heard about that and would never have expected that his fate mattered sufficiently to be worth the Dark Lord's time. But if that was true... he really didn't need Bella any more. She could die in a raid, and he would be fine.

"Of course it's his concern! You can't avoid me if we are to work together!"

"I do not have to forgive you in order to do my duty," Sirius said unsympathetically. But what had Voldemort seen whilst rummaging around Sirius' injured mind? Surely his broken thoughts could not have been that incriminating, or Sirius would be dead by now? Perhaps there had been nothing coherent to see, not then... He pondered the thought until Bella reached forwards and clutched his ankles. He kicked her away instinctively. He feet still felt like they were burning half the time, and the pressure of her fingers hurt.

He scowled down at her with his most imperious Heir to a Noble House face. "I am under no obligation to you, Lestrange. I do not have to see you or spend time with you except as our Lord wishes. Our squabbles are beneath him. If you ever hope for my good will in future, you will not think of troubling him again. That I will never forgive." Funny how his pureblood mannerism and elocution training was still so easy to draw on when he was sick when he'd been deliberately ignoring it for so long. Then again, his problem had never been assuming the façade but rather maintaining it to his parents' unreasonable expectations.

Bella flushed at his formal rebuke and the implication of his using her married name. "I swear I won't. It was wrong of me to try to control you... and- and him... that way. Tell me how I can make this better!"

Sirius looked at her blankly but with his full attention once again. That she thought she could apologize for literally torturing him to the brink of madness was, well, insane. Narcissa cleared her throat. "I don't think you can, Bella, not right now. You need to give him time, and space."

"You can torture me!" Bella interjected. She brightened up, as if this was a brilliant solution to the problem. "Tit for tat. Use the Cruciatus. I deserve it."

Sirius snorted derisively, unable to maintain his dignified demeanor. "Tit for tat, eh? You want me to hold the Cruciatus for... how long was it?"

"Two hours? You can go longer. I wouldn't blame you."

"Bella, don't be ridiculous," Narcissa said. "Best case scenario, you tire Sirius out and he still doesn't forgive you. Worst case scenario, he does to you what you did to him. I don't need either another invalid or another funeral right now."

"Fine, not the Cruciatus. There's plenty of other options, though! If Siri's too tired, we can just get the box of cursed rings I helped him make back in the spring. Would you like that, Siri?"

Sirius sighed. He couldn't deal with Bella's insanity any more today. "You want to be tortured? Would it make you feel better?"

Bella nodded eagerly. "I want to help you, Siri."

He slowly drew his wand. "Sirius, what are you doing?" Narcissa asked, jumping up from her chair.

He shrugged. "She's asking for it, and I'm already tired."

"Don't interfere, Cissy," Bella snarled. She sat back on her heels and looked up at Sirius with wide, excited eyes. "Do it, Siri. Make me proud."

Sirius carefully adjusted his grip on his wand. He had been practicing with it and could usually eke one or two spells out before he dropped it again. He pointed it right between her eyes. Merlin, he really wanted to use Ragnuk's Blindness or some other permanently impairing, irreversible curse to show her how utterly stupid and ridiculous she was being, but then Voldemort would probably murder him or something. So instead he cast, "Transmogrify."

Bella fell back and clenched her jaw, holding in her screams of agony through shear force of will. For now. It was what she had wanted him to do the other night, he observed coldly. He pushed himself up out of the chair and grabbed the antique gentleman's walking cane he'd used to get down here. "Narcissa, walk me back upstairs, will you? Bye, Bella."

"No!" Bella wailed. She reached towards him with one hand, which curled and shrunk away as its bones and sinews reshaped themselves. "No! You have to stay!"

"No, I really don't." He turned towards the door.

She screamed then, in pain but mostly anger. He pointed his wand at her again and said, "Silencio." He fumbled the flourish though, when his wrist jerked, and the spell died in his mouth. "Narcissa, could you take care of that?"

"Silencio." The screams stopped. Bella continued to writhe on the floor, alternately rolling her eyes and glaring at both of them.

"And take her wand, would you?"

"Are you planning to just leave her in here? Lucretia does have guests this afternoon, you know." She followed his instructions, though.

"It will wear off after an hour, and then she can leave."

"Alright. I'll tell Dobby to block off the room until then. I'll be back later, sister." She offered him her arm to lean on, and they set off back upstairs. When they were out of earshot she asked, "Why did you agree to torture her? I know she thinks you enjoy it, but I know better."

"Because she thought it would make her happy, same as she did the night she hurt me. But the pain isn't what she really wanted, not then and not now."

"She wanted your attention today, if she couldn't earn your forgiveness," Narcissa said, nodding. "And you showed her that couldn't be bought so easily. Merlin, you're going to force her to be genuinely nice to you, aren't you? She'll hate that."

"She can be nice," Sirius pointed out.

"Only when you're doing exactly what she wants."

"True. She doesn't have to be nice to me. She could leave me alone instead and accept that she's gone too far."

"She won't."

"Probably not. I can't see her for awhile though."

"I'll keep her away. For you. For awhile. But not forever. I have my own plans and priorities, you know."

"I know. Thanks, Cissy."

Chapter Text

Everyone was gone again. It was an opportunity. Sirius was still too ill to do much, but he could use his wand (mostly), drag himself out of a chair, and hobble about completely unassisted now. So he decided it was time to snoop around the family drawing room, find the supposed secret space Narcissa had mentioned so many weeks ago, and figure out what Abraxas might be hiding on the Dark Lord's behalf. He waited until the elf had taken his breakfast dishes and set out more tea and a large book Sirius had requested from the library before getting up. He should have at least an hour undisturbed before Dobby felt the need to check on him again. He started by checking the room for listening spells, then placed his own silencing charms. Then he started searching methodically for secrecy and alarm spells. He took his time edging around the room, both to keep from stumbling or dropping his wand and to avoid missing anything.

It was easier than anticipated to find what he was looking for. His searching spells turned up little, but the Malfoy arrogance would always be their downfall. There was a Hand of Glory resting on the mantlepiece that simply did not fit the pleasant, vaguely feminine décor of the rest of the room. Closer inspection revealed the enchantments on this particular Hand of Glory had been modified in some way. He cautiously picked it up, and when nothing happened he turned to look around the room again. He grinned in satisfaction. The skeletal Hand showed a number of hidden things, including a spy-hole in the wall and a host of secret lines, names, and annotations on the large mural of the Malfoy family tree. Closer inspection revealed these to be the names of squib lines and illicit affairs, even one instance of switching cousins' identities two centuries ago in order to preserve the main male line; the Lord Malfoy at that time must have been impotent.

More importantly for Sirius' purposes, the Hand also drew his attention to a sunken tile on the hearth. It was covered in Elder Furthak runes, which were easy enough to translate. Turns out, the secret chamber was opened mechanically. That would actually have been a clever defense against wizarding foes if they hadn't left the Hand of Glory key out in plain sight or maybe picked a different runic script that wasn't taught in third year at Hogwarts. Or just left out the runic instructions entirely and kept the place an oral secret. Sirius replaced the Hand of Glory on the mantle. He carefully knelt down on the hearth and reached inside the fireplace, running his fingers along the base of the chimney. He found the lever easily enough and slid it home. Then he eased back, dusted his hands, used the wall and his cane to stand back up, and shuffled across the room. He pulled aside the garish peacock tapestry and stepped through the new opening in the wall behind it. Here he paused again and lifted his wand, probing the defenses as Bella had taught him. There was surprisingly little. All the alarm and containment spells were trained only against intruders breaching the walls unconventionally. Since Sirius had used the lever correctly, most of them had deactivated. There wasn't even a blood ward to worry about. Such arrogance. A guest would never be able to penetrate the secrets of the Black house so easily.

Sirius carefully descended the shallow, gently curving steps into the secret space below the drawing room. This chamber was as large as the room above it, which led Sirius to believe it was created with an undetectable extension charm. There was no way a room this size would fit in the floor between the downstairs dining room and the upstairs drawing room without one. It was probably constructed originally as just a tiny cubby behind the concealed door and enchanted later. He stopped at the edge of the room and surveyed the interior. Most of it was filled with a huge, glossy black work table with absolutely nothing on it. The walls were lined with shelves and cabinets. A few of them held books, and Sirius wondered what could be in them that was so terrible even the Malfoys wouldn't want to keep them in the main library. Most of them held Dark artifacts, however. It would take a long time to sort through, and he had no idea what he was looking for, assuming there was something of the Dark Lord's here.

He walked further into the room, and the ceiling brightened automatically. He took out his watch and opened it. There was the tiny Moody, fishing in the stream. "I'm underneath the drawing room," he murmured at it. Moody immediately got up and turned to face him. Sirius flipped the watch so Moody could see the room as well. Silently, they perused the shelves. The contents were, unsurprisingly, horrible. The nearest shelf seemed to contain exclusively human remains, including several skulls and shrunken heads, but also jars of eyeballs, ears, and what looked like aborted fetuses. He wondered grimly if any of them would have been firstborn Malfoy girls. Grimacing in disgust, Sirius moved on. There was a shelf of knives, drills, mortars, cauldrons, and other implements. There was a case of cursed jewelry and other odds and ends. There was a glass cabinet of various poisons, each neatly labeled. There was a collection of artifacts from Africa and the Near-East that radiated powerful magic, not all of it Dark. There was a rack of old robes and cloaks that were all either poisoned or cursed. When they came to the first bookshelf, Sirius recognized several titles including Magic Moste Evil and Secrets of the Darkest Arts, but they were older editions whose covers glistened with blood. There were other books he had never seen before, such as Golgatha Renewed, Naturan Demanto, Altare Maleficarum, Complete Works of Ekrizdis, and Schicksals von Gellert Grindelwald. There were titles in scripts he could not read. Some of the books were secured with silver chains. Some of them were bound in human skin. There were also, oddly, several muggle books. These titles he tried to memorize, since Abraxas must have collected and stored them here for a pretty sinister reason: The Albigensian Victory, A Study of Caste, The Black Death, Chemical and Biological Warfare, On Genocide, Mein Kampf, Holodomor: Reflections on the Great Famine of 1932–1933 in Soviet Ukraine, and one simply called Pogrom.

"There," Moody suddenly whispered, just as Sirius was about to move on.

"What?"

"Second to top shelf, all the way to the right."

Sirius looked up. There was a slim, black, unassuming, leather-bound book. The only marking on the spine was T. M. Riddle in plain yellow script. He pointed to it. "That one?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Riddle was you-know-who's birth name." Sirius shuddered. He had never heard that before, which meant it was a secret at least the younger Death Eaters weren't supposed to have. Another thing to hide. He scanned the book for tactile and other obvious curses and found none. Holding his breath, he used a handkerchief over his hand to gingerly pull the thing off the shelf. They both sighed in relief when nothing happened. He quickly turned around to place the book on the table. He had no desire to remain in contact with it until he knew what it was. He set the watch down next to it, propped in such a way Moody could still see. He checked the time as well. Half an hour gone. Still enough time to investigate.

The front cover was unmarked. Sirius flipped the book over curiously with a wandless levitation charm. It looked like an ordinary journal. He didn't recognize the maker's mark and thought it looked distinctly muggle in origin. Certainly, the pages looked more like muggle paper than proper parchment. With trepidation, he opened the book. There was nothing written inside.

Odd.

And very suspicious. There was no reason to keep an unmarked muggle-produced journal in a room like this unless it was much more than it first appeared. Sirius pursed his lips and returned to the bookshelf. He made his decision and pulled down Secrets of the Darkest Arts. The book had extensive coverage of cursed items and detailed powerful detection methods that he only vaguely recalled.

The object remained stubbornly resistant to the first five diagnostic spells he cast on it from the book. It looked for all the world like a perfectly normal journal, which to Sirius' mind made it all the more disturbing. He flipped through his reference chapter some more to find the section on items that could actively resist magical methods of investigation. There weren't that many, and they were all rather dangerous. It took rather a lot of power to hide Dark magic. This thing was either absorbing, analyzing, and re-emitting his spells with negative results, or it ate magic, or it had some Legilimentic nature and was deceiving his mind rather than his spells. Or it really was entirely mundane. He cast Incendio on the corner of the book. The flame appeared only briefly and was quickly doused, leaving the book unscathed, and cold. Nope, definitely magical.

He reread the last section again. He transfigured the handkerchief in his pocket into a stick of chalk and slowly drew out the runic circle and enclosed pentagram he would need. It took awhile, and he had to erase and redraw several lines when his hand jerked or the chalk slipped in his fingers. He placed the book in the center of the pentagram and touched his wand to its center. "Hwæt-Cȳþ-Diern!" Magic poured out of him and lit up the ritual circle. Nothing happened to the journal. More and more power flowed out, and his fingers began to cramp and legs to shake. The journal sat quiescent. "Hwæt!" he commanded again. Four of the five runes at the pentagram's vertices flared and went out, leaving one to smolder as the spell died.

Sirius stared at the little blank book with its soft black cover.

"What was that, boy?" Moody hissed.

Sirius did not answer him. He slowly turned the pages of Secrets of the Darkest Arts to the final chapter. His hand shook when he touched the tip of his finger to the journal. "Oὖλε ὁλόψυχος," he whispered. His Greek diction was usually poor, but the magic of his intent overtook his tongue and lips such that he would have been perfectly understood in ancient Athens. The pages of the journal glowed with unholy light and flipped open. There was no pain, but still he lifted his hand away as if burned.

Words appeared in a fine, slanting hand: Greetings, Dark Adept. What is your name?

"Finite Incantatem," Sirius hissed. The evil aura he had awoken around the book faded. After a moment, so did the words. "Shit." He breathed deeply for a moment before picking up the watch again.

"Kid?"

"It's a horcrux," he said hoarsely.

Moody cocked his head to the side. "I think you know more Dark Arts than I do at this point. Explain."

"The Dark Lord used a ritual murder to rip off a piece of his soul and store it in this journal. So long as it is intact, he will not die. And unless Abraxas happens to have a vial of basilisk venom in that poison cupboard, the only other ways the book mentions to destroy this is Fiendfyre or a scary ritual involving a dementor."

"Well. Troll shit."

Sirius nodded and numbly closed the watch. There was nothing more to be said at present. Portrait Moody had to tell Real Moody and Dumbledore. And Sirius was coming up on his one-hour time limit.

Not knowing what else to do, Sirius picked up Secrets of the Darkest Arts and gently replaced it on the shelf. It left a bloody smear on the table that he cleaned with a silent Scourgify. Then he replaced the horcrux on the shelf as well. He did not know what else to do with it. Yes, Bella had shown him how to use Fiendfyre, but he would probably destroy half the house and/or kill himself if he tried something like that in his present state. Not to mention, if he did survive, the Dark Lord would come calling quick-smart.

He slowly made his way back across the room and up the stairs. He pushed aside the tapestry... to find Dobby standing by the tea service with its little arms folded across its chest. The elf was clearly waiting for him, staring right at the tapestry.

Fuck.

Now what? He could maybe, maybe kill or obliviate the elf if he acted fast enough, but house elves were perfectly capable of defending themselves against wizards they weren't bonded to. Sirius was anything but quick at the moment. As if to reinforce that conclusion, his wand hand jerked, releasing his grip on the tapestry. He stepped sideways out from under it.

"Dobby is not being allowed in that room," the elf said in an odd tone. Sirius said nothing at all. He was just trying to figure out what the hell the weird little creature was thinking. Suddenly, Dobby smiled. It wasn't the typical polite, professional house elf smile. It wasn't the beaming of an elf happily going about its work or the elf that had received praise from its master. It wasn't the reassuring smile of an elf taking care of the household children. Instead, it was a smile of intelligence and shared secrets. A smirk. Sirius had never seen a smirking house elf in his life, and the sight was unnatural and unsettling to say the least. Frightening, particularly in these circumstances. He tried to surreptitiously fumble for his wand, but his fear and his recent nerve damage made that difficult. Dobby blinked and looked at Sirius with wide, innocent eyes. "Master is not telling Dobby his guest isn't allowed in that room."

Sirius froze again. What the actual fuck? Humming to himself, Dobby turned around and ambled over to the hearth. It reached one long-fingered hand inside and easily found the hidden lever. The secret door behind Sirius closed softly.

Dobby then picked up the iron poker and clocked itself over the head with it with a loud shout of "BAD DOBBY!" Sirius jumped and stumbled against the nearest chair. Right. Seems the Blacks weren't the only ones with an insane house elf. He'd seen Kreacher punish himself before, but not... not like that.

The elf replaced the poker on the rack. It was cross-eyed and wobbling on its feet a little as it shuffled back over to fuss with the tea tray. "Are you alright?" Sirius asked despite himself.

Dobby looked up at him and beamed. It was that batty, contented look of an elf receiving approval from its master, complete with unshed tears of joy. It was just as unnatural and unsettling as the smirk had been, because Sirius wasn't Dobby's master. Nor had Sirius given it any praise, now or ever. He mostly tried to ignore other peoples' house elves, just accepted their service and disregarded their eccentricities. This little chap was shaping up to be freakier than usual with its apparent willingness to ignore Sirius' trespassing in the Malfoy's inner sanctum. Not only willingness but desire, if the self-punishment was anything to go by.

Perhaps the Malfoys were one of those families that liked to abuse their house elves when they were bored? He hadn't seen that directly since he'd been here, but then he mostly hadn't seen Dobby until his return from the hospital. Lucretia had shot a stinging hex at it last week, and Abraxas had kicked it out of his way at some point, but both times the elf had made a real mistake. He didn't think Narcissa or Lucretia would torment the elf for fun or assign it particularly harsh punishments. He supposed Abraxas and Lucius could. Abraxas' father Clovis Malfoy too had been a right terror from what he had heard. House elves lived longer than wizards, and they could definitely go mad if they weren't treated well or absorbed bad magics from their family or house over time. Like Kreacher, mad as his owners.

Sirius didn't know what to do with it. He probably should try to Obliviate it, but if it was already insane that could go very badly. A botched Obliviation would point to Sirius' guilt just as surely as a dead elf would.

And so he did nothing. Dobby collected the neglected tea, bowed deeply, and disapparated to the kitchen.

Sirius laughed shakily. Well. He would know by dinner time whether the jig was up. If it was, maybe he'd just burn down the house with Fiendfyre the moment Abraxas looked at him crosswise.

Chapter Text

"We need to get him out of there," Alastor Moody said as soon as he finished reading the absolutely sickening chapter about horcruxes in Albus Dumbledore's copy of Secrets of the Darkest Arts. They were sitting in Albus' office with silencing and obscuring charms hiding the content of their conversation and reading material from all the portraits on the walls. Albus hadn't wanted to move the evil book outside of Hogwarts, and Alastor didn't blame him now he'd read part of it.

Albus nodded gravely. "Perhaps."

Alastor glared at him. Perhaps. Young Sirius Black was proving to be an astonishingly effective spy to bring them this kind of information. At the same time, it was becoming increasingly likely for him to die in this war. No, there was no doubt in Alastor's mind that if they left Sirius to sit in the same house as something as evil and crucial to the war effort as this horcrux, then one way or another, the kid would be dead soon. There were too many ways for this to go wrong, now.

Albus continued in his usual, measured tone, "Certainly, if he tries to destroy the horcrux for us now, he's either going to die in the process or be found out and executed shortly after. He's too sick for it to go otherwise. It would be wisest to wait and arrange the horcrux' destruction when Sirius is better able to distance himself from the operation... but if we do nothing with this information, he will take it upon himself to act prematurely. It is his nature." His expression was bleak and conflicted.

"Bloody Gryffindors," Alastor said with a dark grin which Albus barely managed to return.

"Not just that, he's on a time limit. Several of them," Alastor's Portrait self warned. "He and Narcissa think Abraxas cursed Lucius."

"Yes?" That was old news. Sirius had relayed his suspicions about that the day he got out of the hospital.

"Well because of that, he's now planning on helping his cousin flee the Malfoy house. I overheard them talking about it, though he hasn't deliberately shared his plans with me."

Alastor grimaced. "He's making more problems for himself, the fool."

"Surely you understand young Narcissa's plight, Alastor," Albus admonished. "She's a young woman with a child on the way who has now lost her husband's protection. She is right to fear a man like Abraxas, particularly if he did curse his own son."

Alastor sighed. "True."

The Portrait continued, "I also overheard the house elf talking to him when he left the room where the horcrux is, a room which is supposed to be a Malfoy family secret. It was... a strange encounter. The elf was acting oddly and from the sound of it seemed intent on not ratting him out to Abraxas. Sirius did not say or do anything to make sure, though."

"Shit. That will only hold up until Abraxas directly orders the creature to report on Sirius' activities."

Albus frowned. "We must warn Sirius to treat that elf very well."

"That won't protect him from a direct order, Albus," Moody warned.

"I know it won't, but elves are more able than most wizards give them credit for. With sufficient determination, an elf can and will work against its master, obeying orders to the letter while exploiting every loophole to betray them. There was an elf named Hooky who worked for the Minister of Magic during the Goblin rebellion in the 16th century and so loathed her master she acted as a spy for the goblins, since she was never ordered not to."

"Really? Right, I'll make a note for all the Order members who own a house elf to please and as soon as possible order them not to betray us."

Albus' eyes twinkled briefly in amusement, but he did not belabor the point. Instead, he steepled his fingers and frowned again. "And then there is the obvious limitation: we cannot risk our chance to destroy the horcrux should Sirius resume his more dangerous activities amongst the Death Eaters and fall victim to a stray spell or otherwise be compromised. His period of ill-health is, unfortunately, also our best window to act. So, how shall we extract him, Alastor? I am sure you and I could break him out of that house ourselves this very day, but we would doubtless be interrupted, and Voldemort would realize that Sirius was a spy as soon as the horcrux is found to be missing. Sirius, the Potters and all of Sirius' other acquaintances on our side would immediately become priority targets. So would Mr. Avery and Ms. Bertram. They and their families would likely face immediate execution."

Alastor wasn't too upset at the prospect of Voldemort targeting people like the Avery heir, but certainly, they needed to reduce the inevitable murderous fallout as much as possible. "Sirius might not be able to safely destroy the horcrux right now, but he could steal it and meet us somewhere outside," he suggested. "Sirius can just vanish, quietly. Or loudly, if we stage something in public."

"That assumes Voldemort did not put any tracking spells of his own on his horcrux. If he did, he will move to intercept Sirius as soon as he leaves the manor, and we may lose this chance forever. It will also still be immediately obvious what happened as soon as the horcrux is found to be missing," Albus pointed out.

"Then we should attack the manor but make it look like Sirius died in the attack, defending the place, keep him in hiding after. There will still be risk of retaliation, but that's a given no matter what we do to get him out of there. The very worst scenario would be if you-know-who realizes he's been harboring a spy. He'd be livid." Alastor would be happy if they could avoid any more McKinnon-style whole-family massacres.

Albus nodded thoughtfully. "We will discuss logistics with Fleamont and Euphemia tonight and be ready as soon as Sirius is once again alone in the house."

"Mister Dolphy is in the floo in the greeting room. He is wanting Master Sirius. Is Master Sirius sir wanting to speak with Mister Dolphy?" Sirius instantly dropped his cutlery in surprise and alarm. His heartrate quickened with looming dread. This was it. He was going to die. The elf had reported on his little exploration yesterday, and now Rodolphus was here to kill him on behalf of the Dark Lord. Life had been fun while it lasted, he supposed. "Master Sirius?" He jumped again. Dobby's voice had moved from the door to underneath the table. He leaned forward to see the elf was cheerfully picking up the fork and bits of omelet Sirius had just dropped.

He could not tell if Dobby was genuinely insane enough to betray his own master's interests for Sirius' sake, or if the elf was psychotic in a different way and sadistically messing with him, luring him into a false sense of security. He forced a nonchalant tone he didn't feel. "Rodolphus, eh? What do you s'pose he's here for?"

Dobby smiled up at him toothily. "Dobby can only be guessing. Maybe Mister Dolphy is wanting to check on Master Sirius' clumsy?"

"My clumsy?"

"Master Sirius is very clumsy." Dobby's bat-ears waggled, and his eyes widened. "Dobby is not meaning to insult Master Sirius, sir!" He forgot the crumbs on the floor and jabbed the fork into his own arm. "BAD DOBBY!"

"Woah! Stop it, Dobby. You didn't insult me. I'm perfectly aware I'm still sick." Dobby stopped still, fork raised to strike his arm again. Luckily, he had failed to break the skin the first time. Sirius grinned weakly. "It's not like you called me ugly or anything."

It was Dobby's turn to drop the fork in astonishment. "Master Sirius sir is the most handsomest of wizards! His black hair is beautiful and silky! His-" Dobby gushed.

"Fine, yes, thanks," Sirius said hurriedly. Dobby's mood swings were something else. But they were oddly reassuring evidence that the elf did, for whatever reason, like him. Maybe because as much as Sirius despised and bullied Kreacher, the Black Family house elf, he had never ordered any elf to savage itself the way Dobby did. So, maybe he would live to fight another day after all. "I'll talk to Rodolphus."

"Is Master Sirius wanting to come downstairs or should Dobby be bringing Mister Dolphus to Master Sirius sir?"

"Send him up here." Dobby bowed low and disapparated.

Sirius decided to go ahead and drink his noon potions now, before Rodolphus joined him. They might keep his hands from shaking.

All too soon, Rodolphus Lestrange walked into the drawing room. He hesitated just inside the threshold. Sirius couldn't help but grin to see the usually unflappable Death Eater even a little bit uncomfortable. "Well, I'm not going to get up, so maybe you should sit down, Dolph." He gestured at a chair on the other side of the lunch table.

Rodolphus nodded and crossed the room. He sat down and studied Sirius for a moment. "How are you, Sirius?" he asked at last.

"Hmm... on a scale of one to mentally and physically incapacitated on your back lawn... maybe a five?"

The older wizard's lips quirked. "That bad, eh? I'm sorry. I should have realized what was happening and intervened sooner."

Sirius waved a hand. "It's not like Bella or I told you, or anyone, what we were doing. You did step in and save my arse as soon as you knew it needed saving."

"I'm glad you can see my actions with such... maturity. Now, tell me about your current symptoms. Bella said you're walking. How far? Can you run at all yet? What potions do they still have you on?"

"What, are you applying for a job at St. Mungo's?"

Rodolphus smirked. "Hardly. But I have rather more experience with your present situation than your healers do."

"Ah." Rodolphus had a lot of experience with managing victims of prolonged Cruciatus exposure, did he? He must serve as an enforcer and interrogator for the Dark Lord, amongst other things. That would certainly fit with his generally unsympathetic and analytical demeanor, Sirius supposed. Rodolphus did have a sense of humor, but it was dry and muted compared to most of the other Death Eaters Sirius had worked with. Interrogation probably wasn't a full-time job though, since the Dark Lord usually just wrenched information out of informants with Legilimency, from what Sirius had seen. He shook himself from his thoughts to answer Rodolphus when he noticed the older man's fingers tapping on the arm of his chair. "Sorry. I get distracted pretty easily. Walking you asked? I'm still using the cane and spending almost all of my time up here. Haven't tried the stairs again since Bella visited."

Rodolphus frowned. "You should. I can help you before I leave today."

"You're going to help me tackle the stairs, just to see if I can?"

He nodded. "Yes. I will be taking over from Bella as your primary dueling coach. You were doing well by all accounts before this... setback... but you will need help and supervision to recover to what you were. And the Dark Lord wishes to push you further than that. He believes you have the magical potential to be amongst our elite, if handled correctly."

"Huh. I am honored by his expectations. I'll practice on the stairs then. Should be safe enough even if no one else is here. Haven't had a leg spasm and give out on me all week."

"And which potions are you still taking?"

"Muscle relaxant at night, calming draught morning and night, nerve regenerator and a general nutritional supplement with every meal."

Rodolphus nodded thoughtfully. "And the cramping is better you say? Physiologically, you may no longer need the muscle relaxant... but the healers will still keep you on it awhile longer and taper off I'm sure. Otherwise, you'll suffer withdrawal effects. Three weeks at least, but maybe more." His brow furrowed a moment before he looked up decisively. He raised his wand and conjured a small target on its tip. "I want you to throw stinging hexes at this, as fast as you can for as long as you can. Try to be accurate."

"Okay, sure." Sirius leveled his own wand and flicked off a hex. The first one hit the center of the target, but his aim quickly suffered with speed casting. His fingers obeyed him, but they remained numb and tingly, which hindered his once-deft control.

"Faster."

Sirius sped up, and the hexes started missing the target entirely. One hit Rodolphus' shoulder, although the man barely flinched. The fast, repetitive wand movement proved unsustainable. His hand began to tighten. He strained to force it through the simple motion of the hex, but the muscles pulled inexorably into a paralytic spasm involving his whole hand, forearm, and elbow. The spells ceased. Sirius grimaced and used his left hand to straighten out the right. He massaged the muscles to relieve the cramp. "Guess I won't be taking on any aurors just yet."

"Not yet, no. Once the exertional spasms stop, your healer should taper off the muscle relaxant. The nerve regenerator you'll need to continue until the tingling in the hands and feet is completely gone. The calming draught... I don't know."

Sirius grinned. "Madness doesn't disqualify me from participating." If it did, Bella wouldn't be a Death Eater.

Rodolphus chuckled. "No, so long as you can follow orders. Distractibility is a problem, though. That is what I will monitor on behalf of the Dark Lord before recommending you join any delicate missions." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, the same brand Sirius usually chose. "Maybe these will help."

"Oh, Merlin's fat beer belly, I've been craving these! Thanks, Dolph."

"You're welcome. I figured none of your hosts were likely to resupply you. At least, not willingly."

"Damn Malfoys," Sirius agreed. He fumbled with the pack and held the whole thing up to his nose as soon as he got it open, just to breathe in the scent of tobacco. He was definitely addicted. A thought occurred to him. "Maybe next time I run out I'll Imperious Lucretia to get more. Can you imagine her in a muggle convenience store?"

Rodolphus snorted with mirth but didn't tell him not to. "Come. Let's see you walk. You can smoke when we get back, as your reward."

"Fine."

"I don't want to leave," Sirius whispered as soon as Portrait Moody filled him in on Dumbledore's and Moody's instructions. Not entirely true. Part of him did want to leave, to see his friends again, to wake up in a safe place, to never be asked to torture or murder again... But at the same time, he had never felt such a sense of purpose as he did as the Order's spy.

"Kid, you have to. This is too important."

"I know, but I've made so much progress. I don't want to give up now."

"This isn't 'giving up,' this is a strategic extraction to keep you alive. You're in an extremely precarious situation already after what Bellatrix did to you. If you-know-who gets just a hint of what you're doing and what you know, then you're not the only asset we lose now."

"I know..." Sirius bit his lip in frustration. It was obvious destroying this horcrux was pivotal to the war effort. It was equally obvious that if he did stay here after the horcrux was disposed of, Sirius would most likely die as soon as the Dark Lord realized it was gone, whether he determined who was responsible or not. Everyone in proximity would be in danger, not just Sirius but Abraxas and the entire Malfoy family for failing to protect such a key treasure. Even if he got Narcissa out now, she might still fall victim to the Dark Lord's rage. Dumbledore was probably right that the best way to mitigate that kind of indiscriminate collateral damage was to make this very obviously an overwhelming Order strike but not obviously focused on the horcrux.

But he still didn't like the idea of going into hiding now after everything he'd done to get here. "Why can't we try smuggling it out, again? It might take weeks for Abraxas to notice it's gone with everything else going on. Months even."

"Because it resists magical investigation! You've no way of checking for tracking charms on it! And it's literally part of you-know-who! We've got to assume he'll notice, if not the instant it's moved, then the instant it's destroyed."

"Yeah, you're right. Maybe instead of faking my death I can be captured? Keep my cover, take me prisoner, send me back when I'm fit enough to believably escape?"

"Right, that way you-know-who can torture and kill you later. Any prisoners the Order takes are surrendered to the Ministry, sonny. You'd probably be sentenced to Azkaban in short order. We'd have to break you out, and how would that ever be believable? Plus, after a bit of dementor exposure your Occlumency shields would probably crumble again."

Sirius winced. Then he shook his head. "It could be believable if the Potters are the ones to take me prisoner. Not that they lock me up as a Death Eater, but that James or Fleamont come on the mission and decide to 'rescue' me. And then I get hurt in the attack or something and can't sneak out from the Potters' wards right away."

"Why would that be more convincing?"

"Because James, Lily, and Peter were all skulking around in St. Mungo's hoping to spring me from there, and Pete even sneaked into my room to talk to me. That memory can be my evidence that they really believed I'm a prisoner here and therefore took the opportunity to save me. The Dark Lord doesn't have to believe I was the primary target. He just has to believe James is foolish enough to take a chance on harboring a possible Death Eater."

The Portrait was silent for a moment. "Your school friends have actually been plotting to kidnap you. I've heard them." Sirius felt a warm glow of love for the Marauders. "Their plans are poorly formed, unrealistic, and going nowhere."

"Have Dumbledore and Moody bring them in on this, then," Sirius pleaded. "Even if we decide to send me into hiding, we should leave the door open for me to come back if at all possible. There's too much at stake to burn my bridges behind us."

"I will speak to him."

With that, Portrait Moody walked out of his frame. Sirius closed the watch and set it on his night stand. He turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling, thinking furiously. How could he make this work?

Chapter Text

Dear Regulus,

Sorry I didn't write back sooner. It's been hell, but I am walking again and even climbed the steps all by myself. I should, eventually, get back to normal. I'm sure Mum told you we fought again in the hospital. Sorry about that. I know you wanted us to make up, but I can honestly say I would not have been able to recover as much as I have if I'd gone home. Cissy saved my life by smuggling me out of the hospital (don't tell Mum, she'll blame Cissy).

I love you, Reg. I know I was always a prick to you at school, but I want you to know now that I  am  proud of your awesome grades and prefect badge and generally being perfect. You're a prissy swot, but you're also my little brother, and I wouldn't change a thing about you. (Besides your hair, now I think of it. Get with the times!).

Remember what we talked about the last time we were together. The most important thing to me is for you to stay safe and succeed in life. That's not just me being bossy and overprotective.  You  are our family's future. Don't forget that.

I'd love to see you over the break if you can talk Mum into letting you out to visit me. No, I'm not coming home for Christmas, and you can't make me.

Love,

Sirius

It was perhaps incautious to owl Regulus that letter the day before going into hiding, but in Sirius' defense, it had been a very difficult letter to write, and he hadn't had much time. He couldn't just not write his little brother before going into hiding after almost dying. Even if it was also cruel and manipulative.

Sirius was as gung-ho as any Gryffindor when Shit Needed Doing, but it was truly alarming how fast the Order of the Phoenix moved. It was Friday that Sirius discovered the horcrux and Saturday when Moody told him they wanted to break him out. It was the next Thursday that he learned all the Malfoys would be gone in the afternoon on Friday and dutifully told Moody. And it was Friday morning that Moody confirmed the operation would move forwards without delay. He had thought it would take more than a week to stage the biggest Order offensive Sirius had been aware of since ambushing Lucius and the others back in August. Apparently not. No wonder the Dark Lord was doing so well. He and his closest followers were all Slytherins and actually planned things, even if half of them were also insane.

Moody's agenda for today was terribly simple. Once the Malfoys were gone, Dumbledore, Moody, the Potters, the Marauders, and whichever other Order members they rounded up for the day would arrive and batter down the mansion's wards as quickly as humanly possible. Sirius would fetch the horcrux as soon as the wards fell. The Order would fake the scene of an impressive duel, and they would all go outside to set fire to both the horcrux and the walls of the second floor drawing room before clearing out to let the Death Eaters and/or Ministry clean up the mess as soon as one or the other noticed something was going down at Malfoy Manor.

The paranoid auror had been disinclined to take Sirius' suggestion to use the Marauders in the attack, but Albus Dumbledore overruled him. The headmaster could see the value of attempting to preserve Sirius' cover for as long as possible, even if it meant bringing less experienced Order members into a very dangerous and volatile operation. That was the only concession safety-minded Moody had allowed, but Sirius had some of his own modifications to the plan in mind.

Firstly, Sirius joined the Malfoys for both breakfast and lunch in the actual dining room. He had been attempting the stairs daily since Rodolphus' visit (and finding the horcrux), but this was the first time he had come down for mere meals in weeks. He even left the cane upstairs. Lucretia smiled and congratulated him on his progress. Abraxas offered congratulations as well when Lucretia glared at him. Narcissa on the other hand declared she was so happy for him she would stay home this afternoon instead of visiting Lucius after all, in order to celebrate his recovery with a walk in the gardens or perhaps a pleasure flight through the arboretum. Sirius put up a token protest only. Moody might want the house empty, but Sirius preferred Narcissa be on hand. He had promised to help her flee the house. And so they would today, in spectacular fashion.

By two o'clock, the cousins were ensconced in the family drawing room, Sirius having declared after bare minutes in the garden that it was too cold to stay outside for very long. Narcissa tasked Dobby with polishing all the silver downstairs to keep him busy while they talked.

Objectively speaking, their conversation was not very productive. There just weren't very many ways for Narcissa to abruptly move out that wouldn't set Abraxas Malfoy off and lead to a blood feud between their two houses. "Honestly, Cissa, I think we should just give up on being subtle and fake your death. That's much, much easier to explain than a sudden and inexplicable Ministry warrant for your arrest, a severe allergy to peacocks, or something else requiring you go live somewhere besides here. All we'd have to do is have Bella and me stage a duel with an auror while you just happen to be visiting Diagon Alley. Tragic accident, you know."

"And you'll put what in my coffin, exactly?"

"Two options. Shred someone else's corpse beyond recognition, or I transfigure something to look like you. Easy."

Narcissa pursed her lips. "I suppose it could work. It's just so... unrefined."

"Sometimes, simple schemes are better than twisty, sophisticated, Slytherin ones," Sirius said.

"Hmm. Wh-" She broke off when the house suddenly shook around them. Sirius glanced at the mantle clock. Right on time. That would be Albus Dumbledore, Alastor Moody, and Euphemia Potter punching through the wards on this place, while Fleamont and everyone else stacked up anti-apparition, anti-floo, and anti-portkey charms. Despite the danger, his heart lifted to know his friends were all outside.

"What was-" Sirius began for form's sake.

A caterwauling charm interrupted him. Narcissa's eyes widened in panic. "Someone's crossed the wards. We're under attack!"

Sirius drew his wand and cast the spells to confirm the anti-apparition and anti-portkey fields were already in place. "Morgana's tits, we're locked down already. Homenum Revelio! ...There's ten of them, at least. Two are already in the house," he said in a low voice.

"How? How did they get through so quickly?" Narcissa asked frantically, leaping out of her chair. Her fear and confusion were very real and valid. Old pureblood homes like this were defended with layers of enchantments that should stand up to attack for hours under normal circumstances. Of course, normal circumstances did not include resisting the most powerful wizard in the world, nor someone inside the house spending rather a lot of time cataloguing all the wards in great detail earlier in the week. That stupid Hand of Glory had helped him find and read all the ward stones pretty easily while Abraxas was out on Wednesday. He had transfigured a duplicate Hand to leave in the drawing room and then disillusioned himself in order to carry the original along the exterior of the mansion while Lucretia and Narcissa thought he was taking a nap. (Dobby was occupied giving the Ladies of the Manor their biweekly pedicure).

"They'll have cut off the floo too, Cissa," he informed her before she could bother with the pot of powder on the mantle next to her. "And I'd say the how is obvious. Dumbledore must be here, for some reason. Only he or the Dark Lord himself could bring the protections down like that. Dobby!"

The elf appeared immediately, wizarding wards no impediment to house elf magic. Thank Merlin Sirius had read up a little on house elf history and magic the day after his strange encounter with the little creature after finding the horcrux. Turns out, he would have seriously underestimated the elf before. "Wizards is invading!" Dobby shouted. "We is-"

"Dobby, get Narcissa out of here. Take her to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place in London. You have my permission as Heir to the House of Black to pass through the wards. Then alert Lord Abraxas what's happening." Moody and Dumbledore didn't want Abraxas here, but Sirius did. Abraxas would not hesitate to point the finger of blame at Sirius after this, even without evidence, which meant Abraxas had to go.

Narcissa held up a hand to stay the elf temporarily, staring at Sirius. "What about you?"

Sirius pushed himself out of the chair and hugged her. He quietly said in her ear, "Cissy, this the best chance you're ever going to get to leave, so leave. I have to stay and try to defend, well, whatever it is Abraxas assumed I was here to guard in the first place."

She stiffened. "We're not sure about that."

"Uncertainty will not be accepted as an excuse if a treasure belonging to Him is lost. Don't worry, I'll call for His help if it really is the Order down there. Go." He started rolling up his left sleeve, just to reassure her.

She grimaced, then nodded. She was a sly Slytherin and Black through-and-through. She would take the opportunity Fate had conveniently offered her to get out and let him cover her tracks. If and when he returned, she hopefully would be his best advocate. She took Dobby's hand, and the two of them disappeared with a loud crack. Quickly, Sirius bent down and pulled the lever inside the hearth. He crossed the room, slashed through the peacock tapestry with his wand, and descended into the secret Malfoy hoard. He walked to the bookshelf, retrieved the horcrux, and tucked it into his robes. He left the rest of the cursed trove without a backward glance.

Moody strode into the drawing room just as Sirius emerged from the stairwell again. They stared at each other. Sirius tapped his pocket where the horcrux was. Moody grinned. "Dumbledore's outside monitoring the wards and preparing to repel any reinforcements. Everyone else is trashing the place. Ready to go?"

"Almost. There was a hiccup earlier I couldn't communicate to you. Narcissa decided to stay home this afternoon."

"Merlin's saggy... Where is she?"

"Fled with the house elf, who will doubtless soon return with Abraxas. She deduced the Order was behind this right away. If Abraxas sees us..."

"Got it. Prisoner routine. Let's go. Bombarda." Moody's hex was pretty weak, but it still blew him back into the wall and left him with a bleeding lip, a few tears in his robes, and what felt like bruised ribs. Damned, crazy auror. "Incarcerous. Mobilicorpus."  Thick ropes sprung up around him, but they were tied so loosely he could easily wriggle his arms free if he wanted to. Moody didn't bother to disarm him.

"Thanks," Sirius wheezed as Moody casually floated him into the hallway. "I was going to say we might not want to wait for Dumbledore to destroy the journal if Abraxas arrives before we get out."

"That's a terrible idea."

"Because the Dark Lord will be close behind when he realizes half the Order is here," Sirius finished.

"...And if You-Know-Who interrupts, we could lose our chance entirely. Damnit, you're right. Good thing the Headmaster had me practicing how to cast Fiendfyre all week. We'd be toast if you had to do it. You look like my twelve-year-old niece could blow you away with a Ventus."

"Thanks again," Sirius grumbled. He wasn't that pale and weak any more.

There was a crack of apparition on the stairs below them, a sudden chorus of Protegos in his friends' voices, and then renewed spell-casting as the Order and Abraxas began to duel. "Speak of the boggart," Sirius groaned. He squirmed in his bindings, but Moody neglected to release him. Impatiently, he touched his wand and thought Liberacorpus. He fell to the floor. He next maneuvered the tip of his wand against the ropes that bound him and said "Avifors." He was too restricted to perform the usual wand movement, but the transfiguration still worked well enough. Half the ropes fell apart into a flock of songbirds that took flight and screeched away. Quickly, he pulled the horcrux free and flung it down the hall behind them. He cast a few blind Stunners and an Avada in the other direction to maintain the illusion of a fight in case Abraxas interrupted them or, Merlin forbid, got away. He glanced at Moody, who was frowning at the hole in the distant balustrade left by Sirius' offhand killing curse. "Ahem. Casting Fiendfyre is the easy part. If this gets away from you, we'll need either Dumbledore or the Dark Lord to put it out. Also, so long as Abraxas is here, we should probably pretend to duel, until he is stunned or until he sees you overpower me and apparate me away."

Moody scowled but nodded and helped him up. "I hate it when plans go this awry this quickly," he muttered. The auror took a deep breath and leveled his wand. "Ignis Diaboli," he incanted. A gout of white-hot flame erupted from his wand.

"You madman!" Sirius roared dramatically, for Abraxas' benefit, grinning all the while.

Moody ignored him, focused on his task. Fiendfyre was supposed to appear as a huge, continuous stream from the wand tip, and then with every flick produce monstrous flame-creatures that hunted down living prey and any loose magic. Moody kept his hand as steady as he could, his casting perfect. The plan had originally been to destroy the drawing room with cursed fire from outside the manor, where they could more easily flee the area. Trapped inside, it was crucial they create no difficult-to-contain flame beasts.

The horcrux had other ideas. As soon as the cursed fire struck it, the horrible thing screamed. With its death throes, it ripped the cursed fire from Moody's control. An enormous, fiery human head exploded upwards out of the journal. It slammed into the ceiling and shattered it, spreading in both directions along the hall.

Moody immediately stopped casting and tried to tamp down the flames with his will. He failed entirely. A burning tiger shape crawled out of the conflagration. Luckily, it clawed its way through the wall of the drawing room rather than pouncing on them, presumably attracted to the feast of Dark magic waiting for it in there. Both wizards shouted the counter curse at the next incandescent beast. "Mundarmori Annihilare!" The ravening wolf collapsed back into smoke, but the rest of the fire burned on, completely out of their control.

"Shit!" Well... this had been a mistake. The horcrux was destroyed, but it had a good chance of taking them with it. They needed Dumbledore now. Note to self, Padfoot, don't try to be sneaky. You're a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin.

"Run if you can, boy!" Moody ordered. He cast the counter curse again to cover their retreat. Sirius obediently started stumbling to the stairs as fast as he could, holding onto the walls to keep his balance. His tired legs refused to actually run. Moody growled and clawed his free hand, levitating him alongside while jogging away from the growing inferno behind them. It was only a little faster.

"What are you doing, you lunatic?" Sirius hissed. "Run ahead and alert the Headmaster before everyone gets caught in this. Get out of here! I'll follow as quickly as I can. Abraxas won't try to stop me."

Moody cursed under his breath, but he released Sirius, bolted down the hall and actually dove over the railing to the floor below. "Time to run!" he heard the auror yell at the other Order members downstairs.

"Carpe Retractum," Sirius muttered. A rope of golden light shot out of his wand and wrapped around the balustrade at the top of the stairs. With another flick of his wand, the spell pulled him forwards much faster than he could hope to move otherwise. He barely managed to keep his feet. A sheet of fire streamed over his head just as he reached the landing. He almost ran into Abraxas coming up the stairs. The man looked both livid and terrified. "Idiot!" he snarled, gesturing at the wall of fire. "Do you know what this means?!" The older wizard pointed his wand into the hellscape, no doubt hoping to quench the cursed fire and save his home, his Dark collection, and his master's horcrux. Sirius did not let him try.

"Avada Kedavra." He whispered it quickly, and softly. They were standing level with each other. There was no time for Abraxas to dodge, if he even realized what was happening. The lord of the manor fell backwards silently, his face illuminated by angry red flames from above and brilliant green death from below.

Behind him was Dobby, Sirius noticed, standing stock-still and dazed as the death of his master reverberated through his bond. Fortunately, the elf had been watching his master's opponents and protecting his back. He would not have seen what happened...

"Expelliarmus!" Sirius' wand flew from his hand, and Euphemia Potter caught it. Down in the reception gallery, Sirius could see James and Euphemia both staring up at him with expressions of shock and horror. Both their wands were raised and still pointing up the stairs. Sirius' heart skipped a beat as he realized what they were thinking. They had just watched him kill a man, and now they thought he was going to kill Dobby too.

To preserve his cover, he probably should. He could do it with a wandless levitation charm, throw the elf right onto the pyre while he was distracted. But he didn't want to do that. "Dobby, go to Master Lucius. Don't come back until it's safe," Sirius ordered. Dobby obeyed him immediately and without question.

"Sirius, behind you!" James bellowed. "Accio!" Sirius fell forwards with the force of James' summoning charm, out of the way of a gust of fire. He rolled the rest of the way down the stairs and groaned in pain.

"Agh! His robe's on fire! Diffindo! Expulso!" Sirius winced. The severing charm cut into his left arm, not just the sleeve. But at least he wouldn't lose his arm to cursed fire.

He flopped onto his back and watched listlessly as Fiendfyre curled along the carved wooden ceiling. It was moving fast, about to cut them off from the front door.

"Finite Incantatem!" Euphemia screamed, flourishing her wand at the fire. Not being the proper counter curse, this had no effect. "Sirius, do you know how to control this stuff?" She offered his wand back. He took it and pointed automatically at the nearest glob of fire. His arm wavered. He was seeing double after that fall down the stairs, and he felt the distinct urge to vomit. He was probably concussed. He started laughing for some reason. There was no way he could put out this fire.

That was okay, though. This was still all according to plan. Mostly. He wanted the house to burn down, because that would both allow Narcissa to disappear and disguise the purpose behind the Order's presence. He wanted Abraxas dead in the confusion, and he was. Now he just needed to call for help to cement his cover story. Moody hadn't endorsed that part of the plan either, but with the Fiendfyre spreading ever further, it seemed like an increasingly good idea to summon more people who could actually put it out. So he flipped the wand around and touched it to the ridiculous manticore tattoo before Euphemia could realize what he was doing and think to stop him. The Dark Mark hidden underneath burned. Sirius felt a strange duality, an awareness of Headquarters where the Dark Lord was, as well as his own awareness of being in mortal danger in Malfoy Mansion. He let his arm fall. "Drop the anti-apparition wards and go," he said, then lost consciousness.

Chapter Text

Alastor dove over the railing of the grand staircase to avoid Abraxas Malfoy, who was creeping up the stairs while fending off Euphemia and James Potter, Lily Evans, and Gideon Prewett all at once, mostly with killing and blasting curses. The bastard's house elf was helping to shield him, cowering at his heels.

He used a charm to slow his fall sufficiently that he was able to hit the ground running. "Time to run!" he yelled, and barreled out of the room. He found Albus less than a minute later when he ran out of the front door of the mansion. He was monitoring the wards with Fleamont Potter, exactly as planned, oblivious to the inferno building inside the walls. "Albus!"

The old man spun around. "What has happened?"

"Abraxas showed up with his house elf."

Several second-story windows shattered loudly. Albus' eyes widened, looking past Alastor. "And you decided to cast Fiendfyre earlier rather than later, I see."

"Pretty much."

"Merlin's hat!" Fleamont sputtered.

Albus swung into action. He pointed his long, grey wand at the flames spewing out the window and intoned, "Mundarmori Annihilare!" That clawed arm of fire vanished, but more took its place. Urgently, Albus strode into the burning building. The Fiendfyre had not yet reached the entrance hall, but it did block the way back to the room with the grand staircase, where Alastor had left the others. "Mundarmori Annihilare!" Albus repeated, biting a gap in the fire. Gideon, Fabian, Remus, Peter, and Lily tumbled through one after another.

"James is back there!" Lily coughed, even as the gap closed behind her. Albus nodded and raised his wand again. He slowly bored his way through the fire, smothering flames with each footstep, though they clearly resisted even him.

"This fire has fed on something uncommonly vicious, Alastor," Albus said, his tone deceptively mild. Alastor's stomach twisted. Albus had told him that Fiendfyre gained the magical energy of whatever it consumed, yet he had not accounted for that before giving in to Sirius' reckless suggestion. Not that he blamed the kid. Sirius had trusted him to know his own limits, and he hadn't. Yes, it could also have endangered the mission to fight his way out with the horcrux, but now they might lose two brilliant kids due to his carelessness. He and Gideon joined in battling the fire, although their counter curses were less effective than Albus'. Finally, the gap opened sufficiently again for James and Euphemia to come through. They were cowering under shield and bubble-head charms and dragging a bloodied and unconscious Sirius with them. Thank Merlin for small miracles, that the brave lad wasn't burnt to a crisp.

"Abraxas?" Albus asked.

"Dead," Euphemia said dully. "Voldemort will be on his way. We should get out of here."

Alastor nodded briskly. "Teenagers out first, then the Potters. One of you lot give a heads-up to the Ministry. They would have been here by now, except Malfoy's wards weren't installed to regulation standard to notify them. Prewetts stay with me to greet the company while Dumbledore tends the fire. Move!" He hustled everybody out the door. "Fleamont! Open a hole in the anti-apparition ward!"

"Right where Remus is standing," Fleamont called back easily. The young wizard nodded and disapparated readily. Peter Pettigrew followed suit.

Just then is when a powerful blasting curse blew down the wall and wrought-iron gates enclosing the front garden. The anti-apparition field extended about two hundred yards beyond the gates, and just past the perimeter of the ward stood a figure robed all in black. Voldemort. Death Eaters were apparating to either side of him, more every second. Eerily silent, Voldemort rose up into the air as if under a levitation charm. Then he started flying closer, and fast. The cluster of Death Eaters broke into a run, racing across the empty space between them, wands raised to attack.

"James! Now! Protego Totallum!" Fleamont cried.

Alastor heard more people disapparating behind him and inwardly sighed in relief knowing Sirius and the other young ones were clear. This would be a real battle, the kind of head-to-head confrontation Voldemort and his accursed Death Eaters had been avoiding for years. People were going to die, but with luck, Voldemort would be one of them now that his horcrux was gone. Shame they had hellfire threatening their backs.

Alastor, Gideon, and Fabian formed a defensive triangle around Fleamont and Euphemia, who were both contributing to a powerful shield charm.

"Thought I told you two to clear out," Alastor muttered.

"And we ignored you," Euphemia said. "Alarte Ascendere!" That particular spell was invisible, the only reason to cast it in a fight. The masked Death Eater in the lead suddenly shot high into the air. She shrieked out a killing curse that missed by a wide margin, and one of her fellows slowed down to arrest her fall back to earth.

"Bloody civilians," Alastor grunted whilst casting a nonverbal stunning charm at a distracted Death Eater, who barely dodged.

Fabian erected crenellated earthen barriers in front of them, shielding from Unforgivables that could not be parried otherwise. A dark purple curse splattered across the embankment as soon as it was raised. Albus was still inside battling the flames. Alastor was not worried about being separated from him. The grand sorcerer was as much a force of nature as Voldemort, both unable to work on a team according to what he had seen.

The five Order members were quickly pinned down by a barrage of deadly curses from about twenty masked Death Eaters. Luckily, Voldemort himself ignored them. Instead, he darted into the burning building, blowing out a huge chunk of the wall with the force of his passage. He was looking for his horcrux, Alastor thought with satisfaction. Well, good luck to him. And better luck to Albus. The clash was sure to be awe-inspiring, but Alastor had his own work to do.

"Prewetts! Focus on disabling the weak! I'll keep the elite busy until we get our reinforcements. Potters! Hold the anti-apparition ward until the Ministry gets here. Attacks of opportunity only, and clear out once more aurors arrive. No arguing. Get to it!" He launched stunner after stunner towards the Death Eaters, chaining the wand movements together as quickly as possible. It was a simple spell to cast, and a simple spell to block or dodge, but it got the job done. He observed the enemy ranks, quickly picking out the better fighters from the way they reacted to his attack. There were five expert duelists here, the ones he would try to contain until help arrived. Another five had some talent. The other dozen were inexperienced footmen, and the faster they could be cleared out, the better.

Gideon and Fabian were a stellar team. Right away, Fabian sent out a wide-sweeping but otherwise narrow-field Deprimo, blasting earth, gravel, and flagstones across the front rank of the charging Death Eaters. The majority could easily counter that attack, casting the debris back down into a solid path, but Gideon stunned three that were tripped up. Next, Fabian animated a phalanx of garden statues. Most of them weren't very big, but they were still made of stone. Half the footmen were bogged down fending them off. Gideon followed that up with a cascading Kinesia jinx, which hit and bounced off about ten people. It failed to take any more down but left them bruised and limping. The Potters managed to hit someone with multiple stunners at the exact moment as a stone rabbit jumped on their foot.

Meanwhile, Alastor hit two of the better duelists with partial tree transfigurations. It really was a good strategy in a melee that no opponent had yet managed to totally preempt; he had employed it several times since that victory in August. And now, one Death Eater was quite literally rooted to the spot, while another was shuffling about blindly; his face and both hands had turned to wood. Alastor quickly stunned the blinded one. Unfortunately, the one who had grown roots remained perfectly able to shield and would probably be back in the fight soon enough.

He saw Gideon break through one of the enemy shield charms and sent a nonverbal Avifors at the unsuspecting villain. His aim was true, and their wand arm burst apart into five crows that squawked around for a moment before flying away. That was more effective than he had anticipated; the Death Eater collapsed in a screaming heap, clutching their shoulder. He silently thanked Sirius for the idea, but he'd rather not see what happened with a more central hit. It would probably be both lethal and grisly. He dodged an incoming Avada and cast a finger-removing jinx and horn-tongue hex at another Death Eater who was aiming at Gideon. The large man howled wordlessly and bent over, folding his mutilated hands to his chest. Merlin, Alastor loved those spells. The only problem with using them against these bastards is they were reversible, if you had access to Skelegro and a sufficiently talented healer.

They all had to duck behind the crenellations when ten killing curses fired towards them at once. When Alastor lifted his head again, the Death Eaters had spread out. They would have to change tactics. Indeed, both Prewett brothers turned to aim at the Death Eaters on their farthest flanks, trusting Alastor to mind the center field.

Alastor grinned when a newcomer with the unmistakable red mane of Rufus Scrimgeour suddenly appeared in the distance, beyond the limits of the anti-apparition ward. The cavalry was here. Just in time, too. "That's your queue, Potters," he said without looking back. He rapid-fired another round of stunners and blasting curses. Meanwhile, Rufus fired off a few freezing jinxes at the Death Eaters' backs, followed by multiple stunners and the ropes of an Incarcerous.

As soon as Fleamont dropped the anti-apparition ward, Rufus apparated closer, mere meters behind the Death Eaters. Alastor grinned and shouted, "Incendio!"

He aimed not at the enemy but at Rufus, who caught the spell with his own "Incendio Duo!" Now they had a line of fire linking their two wands, the spellfire hotter and more powerful than either of them could (safely) manage alone. Rufus cast a wandless shield charm and started running along the line of Death Eaters, herding them before him. As they started bunching up, Gideon lobbed a blasting curse into their midst.

Only the enemy footmen could be caught in such a way, unfortunately. Two quicker, wilier Death Eaters, a man and a woman, managed to apparate out of the line of fire, to reappear right next to Fabian's little earthen fort.

"Confringo!" the man cast, his deep voice shaking with rage. The embankment blasted apart. Alastor was forced to drop the Incendio Duo in favor of shielding himself. The Potters, thankfully, finally, took his advice and apparated away from the scene entirely. Gideon and Fabian apparated closer to Rufus, surrounding a band of Death Eaters and quickly enacting an Incendio Tria and a new, tiny and therefore very strong anti-apparition jinx to confine them. That was a textbook auror technique. If the team were not interrupted, they would be able to rapidly stun and secure everyone inside the enclosure.

Alastor twisted on his heel as well, popping up directly between the pair of Death Eaters. He spun his wand in his hand, clenching it across the middle of the shaft in his closed fist. "Hasta!" The wand instantly lengthened into a pointed spear, whose strike would deliver enough electrical energy to stun a hippogriff. Both Death Eaters managed to dodge away, but Alastor cracked away again before either could land their own attack on him. He shrank the wand back to normal and recast his shield.

The man whirled to face him the instant he reappeared. Oddly, the woman didn't. Instead, she ran towards the still-burning mansion. "Sirius! I'm coming!" she screamed.

"Bellatrix, get back here! If Sirius is still in there, he's done for!"

"No! Mundarmori Annihilare!" With that, Bellatrix Lestrange abandoned the battlefield and plunged instead between the arms of the inferno, beating down the cursed fire more effectively than Albus Dumbledore himself had. Actually, the flames had generally shrunk. Albus and Voldemort must have made some progress putting them out before finding eachother. As of the moment, a quarter of the building was a smoking ruin, a quarter still on fire, a quarter intact, and the last quarter encased in some kind of silver dome that could only be part of Albus' and Voldemort's duel. As he watched, the dome turned glassy and shattered, blowing shards out explosively, only for them to arc in the air and hurl themselves back down towards an unseen target. There was a great sound like a buried explosion. Part of the manor's remaining outer wall collapsed, and Alastor felt the earth beneath him tremor moments later...

Alastor paid for his momentary distraction. His shield splintered under a killing curse, and only his years of reflex training saved his life. He dropped to the ground and rolled back up into a crouch. He rolled straight into his opponent's wand; the man had apparated into his path. Alastor ducked again, but that only meant the Arrow Curse took him in the left eye instead of the throat. Oh, did it hurt, but Alastor swallowed the pain. He knew he would lose the eye, but the cursed arrow clearly hadn't reached his brain with its skewed trajectory. He would live, so long as he made no more mistakes. He tucked for a roll again but simultaneously touched the tip of his wand to his opponent's foot. "Orbis!" he gritted out. It was impossible for the Death Eater to dodge the vortex of dust and stones that rose up and swallowed him, burying him up to his nose in dirt. "Stupefy, Petrificus Totallus, Obscuro," Alastor said, leaving nothing to chance. The buried Death Eater disappeared from view. Assuming nobody tripped over his head or used Homenum Revelio, Alastor would be the only person able to find and retrieve him later.

That done, he disillusioned himself as well. He surveyed the battlefield. The original Incendio Tria was gone, its four captives lying prone and secured inside a conjured, warded silver cage. He could not see four of the Death Eaters he had previously disabled and presumed they had managed to flee the field. Gawain Robards, Theresa Proudfoot, and five Hit Wizards had joined Rufus, Gideon and Fabian embattling the ten Death Eaters still free. Frank Longbottom, Montgomery Savage, and the new recruit John Dawlish were working on a second Incendio Tria but seemed to be having a hard time holding it; as Alastor watched, a green killing curse shot out of a vertex and hit Savage. The auror crumpled, as did the confinement. Three Death Eaters emerged, including the one Alastor had temporarily given tree roots, now recovered apart from a limping gait. The trio engaged their would-be captors mercilessly.

They still had numbers on their side, but not for long if the Death Eaters kept reviving their own. Alastor reached up with his free hand to lightly touch the shaft of the arrow sticking out of his eye. He vanished it wandlessly. He then pointed his wand in the general direction of his mangled eyeball and muttered "Episkey" to stop the bleeding. He apparated next to Dawlish. He threw out another partial tree transfiguration before dropping the disillusionment charm so none of his coworkers would blindly curse him. Shoulder-to-shoulder with Dawlish, he kept casting nonverbal hexes while he spoke. "Just me. I've been hit. Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'd like to take a few prisoners out of here sooner rather than later, if Crouch is ready on his end."

"Holding cells are ready, sir, count on it," Dawlish assured him.

"Meet me at the cage in one minute, then. Aquaglobus! Glacius!" He spun a sphere of water around two of the three Death Eaters and froze it before apparating away. Hopefully, Longbottom and Dawlish would manage to subdue the third before the ice melted. Longbottom was an excellent duelist and could easily hold his own against two opponents; three would be a bit much.

He reappeared next to the warded cage and quickly muttered the codes to dismantle it. Dawlish showed up the instant he finished. He grabbed the hands of the nearest two Death Eaters and apparated with them straight to the lowest level of the Ministry. Dawlish apparated in right behind him with the other two. "Four now, there'll be more coming," he announced. He grinned to see the captives rapidly levitated into a holding cell, with six security specialists working to strip off the masks and cloaks, confiscate wands and cursed items, and bind them with magical chains. Merlin, but the efficiency Barty Crouch had enforced on this department was a thing of beauty, no matter how irritating the man himself happened to be.

Alastor turned back towards the lifts and the lobby. The apparition wards on the lower levels were semipermeable and one-way, allowing aurors and no-one else in. Even aurors had to go back to the lobby to apparate out. It was a pain when Alastor was in a hurry to get back out to the field, but on the other hand, the one-way wards existed for a reason, to ensure the Ministry itself remained protected, both from without and within. He and Dawlish ran to the lift, which was already on standby while the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had the place on intake lockdown protocol.

The lift rocketed up to the lobby as soon as they were inside. "Just numb it," Alastor ordered the apprentice healer stationed inside the lift. She stared at his bloody eye socket a moment, then did as he asked without question. As soon as they hit the lobby, the two aurors disapparated back to the battle outside Malfoy Manor.

It had changed. Albus or Voldemort had done something. The fire was out. The sun was out. The world as far as Alastor could see was lit only in shades of red, and everyone and everything moved as if swimming through syrup. The exceptions were two towering fonts of magic blooming up from where Alastor had last marked the mighty duel. These lashed around each other furiously, and they were crowned by a crackling thunderhead. Shapes like human skulls and dragon snouts and bird wings roiled in the cloud. Lightning flickered at irregular intervals. Alastor had never personally seen such strange and powerful magic, almost formless in its purity, like a battle between gods rather than men.

He could gain no sense of who was winning. Looking about the human battlefield, it was clear the encroaching magical cataclysm had thrown Death Eaters and aurors alike into disarray. Everyone was equally affected by whatever Albus and Voldemort were doing, and no one was able to take advantage of it. Most were huddling in place behind shields. Two more of their own had fallen, and three more Death Eaters, dead or stunned. The few still attempting to fight could barely force their wands to work. Seeing the chaos, Alastor made a decision. The outcome here was too uncertain. It was time to cut their losses. "Go back, Dawlish." With effort, he cast a Speaking Spell to each auror and Hit Wizard still standing, ordering them to retrieve captives and casualties and then retreat on his mark. A minute later, he muttered, "Sonus Fragore." A loud sound like an explosion rolled over the area, startling everyone into action. Alastor apparated back to where he had buried and disillusioned his prisoner. He crouched under a shield and felt for the man's head. As soon as he found it, he apparated back to the Ministry.

The corridor outside the holding cells filled with people and the cracks of apparition. He shoved his unconscious captive into the nearest cell and stripped off his mask and outer robes. To his surprise, he recognized the man as Lord Corban Yaxley. Although he was a prominent pureblood and therefore automatically under Alastor's suspicion, they had never found any evidence or even heard any rumors connecting him to the Death Eaters, only Sirius Black's reports. Alastor finished patting him down, confiscating a cursed ring and spare wand, then conjured chains and stepped back out of the cell to let the regular security personnel take over processing.

He turned around to be met by Barty Crouch blocking his way. "It's over?" the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement asked crisply.

"For us, it's over," Alastor agreed. "We'll learn the final outcome when Albus gets back."

"You think he will?"

Alastor nodded curtly, not appreciating his boss's lack of confidence in his other boss. "I called the retreat because his duel with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was becoming a hazard to our own efforts. Albus Dumbledore is no fool though, Barty. If he decides he cannot win today, he will not needlessly lose either."

Crouch nodded neutrally. "Very well. Take care of your eye, then meet me in my office. You will tell me what happened."

"Officially, or unofficially?"

Crouch's eyes glinted. "All of it, and then we will decide on the official story to present to the Minister after Albus returns," he said quietly. He nodded sternly, turned on his heel, and left. Alastor grinned. Good man, Crouch. He knew about and disapproved of the Order of the Phoenix, and Alastor's membership in it, but he understood the necessities of war. The only way they differed was that Barty preferred to adjust the rules themselves, rather than unofficially appoint few, trusted individuals to go around them.

Chapter Text

Sirius awoke in misery. His head was pounding. He arm was on fire. His whole body felt like a bruise, as if he were back in St. Mungo's mere days after his bout of almost-being-tortured-to-death. He started to sit up but decided against it when a wave of dizziness and nausea sent him back down. "Fucking... Merlin's... bollocks..." he muttered.

"Sirius!" James' voice was too loud and sent knives into his temples. He groaned and fought down the bile that rose in the back of his throat. "Dad! He's awake." James took hold of both his hands, and Sirius screamed and jerked fully alert. Fuck did his left arm hurt... "Padfoot! It still hurts? Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry..." His voice was low and broken. Vaguely, Sirius noticed frightened tears running down his best friend's face. He gingerly folded his left arm close to his chest. With his right, he reached out towards James, hand wavering between them before catching once on his nose and settling on the edge of his chin. Good enough. He looked around a moment and recognized he was back in his old room at the Potters'. Good. He flicked his gaze back to his best friend, who was watching him with a terrified expression.

"Don't cry, Prongs," Sirius whispered. "You're ugly when you cry." James half laughed, half choked. Sirius tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace as the pain in his arm surged again. The arm bent up in spasm, and he curled around it.

"Sirius, what do you need? How can we help you?" Fleamont murmured from behind him.

"Muscle relaxer, calming draught, and nerve regenerator," he recited dully. He had no idea what time it was, but he was definitely past due for his usual prescriptions. "Can't remember doses just now... Probably vomit them up anyway... And if you've got something for a headache, I'll snog you senseless. Eaugghh! It's burning. Why is it burning? It hasn't burned like this since St. Mungo's..."

"I've got Betony and Apple Mint to stop the nausea... a quick infusion with moonwater might help the concussion pain too without interacting with the nerve regenerator unfavorably. James, run to my office and get his other potions. I'm an idiot; we should have had them to hand and waiting for him upon waking up. And get the jar of Star Grass salve and the extra bottle of Murtlap essence. One of those ought to work on that wound. Hang in there, Sirius."

James ran from the room while Fleamont tinkered with his potions kit. Hazily, Sirius tugged his left hand to release the spasm and looked down at his arm. It was obvious someone had already tended to it; there was a wide bandage wrapped from wrist to elbow. Something yellowish oozed out from under it. He didn't remember injuring it. Maybe after he had passed out? He was missing the rest of his robes too, clothed only in pajama bottoms and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He recognized the tang of bruisewort potion smeared along his ribs, though the bluish tinge of the ointment was lost amongst the deeper, blotchy purplish-red of his skin. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

Fleamont grunted. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Falling down the stairs."

"Ah. James and Euphemia got you out of the fire. And then your friends brought you here right about when the enemy showed up. There was a battle."

Sirius jerked. He had changed the plan, but he had still hoped to avoid a pitched battle where the Order could have been at disadvantage... "How bad was it?"

Fleamont looked at him a moment, then resumed mixing his potion. "Mixed. According to Alastor's initial report last night, the aurors took in seven Death Eaters, six alive, one dead. Unknown how many were injured but survived. One auror and one Hit Wizard are dead, one in St. Mungo's and will be for weeks. Alastor lost an eye. No one won. Voldemort retreated with his Death Eaters after the fire was extinguished and Albus started to gain the upper hand."

"Moody lost an eye?" He didn't hide the guilt in his voice. Two dead, two terrible injuries... his fault. His misguided sense of self-importance.

"He was hit with some kind of curse that means he won't be able to heal it."

"I'm sorry..."

"It's not your fault, Sirius," Fleamont said gently and sternly. "Alastor, all the Order members, all the aurors, they all know and accept the risks of fighting in this war. Just like you. And son, even though I have been worried out of my mind ever since you left, I cannot say how proud of you I am." Sirius' eyes instantly began to mist. Fleamont smiled. "Here, drink this." He brought a phial to Sirius' lips. Sirius drank automatically; it felt like a piece of ice sliding down his throat, pushing down the acid as it went. The cold feeling spread across his abdomen, calming his roiling stomach and cramping gut in seconds.

"Thank you."

"Of course. Now, let's see that arm..." Fleamont tapped his wand against the bandage to vanish it. Underneath, the arm was... rather disgusting. There was a raised welt from a freshly-sealed cut crossing diagonally from his inner elbow halfway to his wrist and bisecting the manticore tattoo. The skin around the tattoo, and the welt, was mottled, blistered, and weeping fluid. It was also greasy from some healing unguent that clearly wasn't doing much. "Damn cursed fire," Fleamong muttered while he inspected the burn.

Sirius frowned. "Fiendfyre would have taken the arm entire, not just left a cursed burn," he said slowly. The burning feeling intensified again as he spoke, and Sirius bit his tongue to keep from crying out. As they watched, the redness spread and another few blisters popped up. Oh. For a moment, Sirius could imagine the skull and snake hiding beneath the burn. He looked up and met Fleamont's wide eyes. "It's the Dark Mark. He's been calling me, now it's all over... He must know I survived."

Fleamont's expression darkened. "I wish you had never gone near that monster."

"Thought you said you were proud," Sirius said weakly, while his arm audibly sizzled and smoked at them.

"I am. So proud. But this... dear Merlin, Sirius, he's never going to let you go!"

"I'm sure it will... stop burning... eventually."

"When he gets bored or when your arm falls off?" Fleamont asked bitterly.

James ran back into the room before Sirius could answer that. James poured four more potions down his throat in quick succession while Fleamont coated his arm in another sticky potion. The brilliant orange Star Grass salve quickly made his arm and hand feel cold and tingly. Unfortunately, he continued to get insistent jolts of pain at regular intervals. Voldemort wasn't giving up on him anytime soon.

Once he was as comfortable as possible, Fleamont got up, his face drawn with grief and pity. Sirius couldn't meet his eyes just then. "I think I'll brew a variation on that muscle relaxer with more general pain-relieving properties, and a stronger burn salve. Maybe some Dreamless Sleep too. Keep watching him, James, and see if he can eat something in a bit." The elder Potter ran a hand through Sirius' singed hair, then drifted away.

James shifted closer and grinned weakly. "You're safe, Padfoot. We got you out."

"Should throw a party," Sirius said.

"Yeah, mate. I'll get us cake and firewhiskey and everything."

"Don't forget the pretty girls. I haven't seen any in... months." Not since Avery's birthday.

"Yeah. Yeah, loads of girls." James nodded, although his eyes were swimming again. Merlin, had he ever seen James weep like this before? He didn't think so. He didn't know how to handle it. Their trademark humor was falling flat.

"All for me, since you're spoken for. Congratulations on that, by the way. Good on you, and Evans."

"Yeah. Yeah."

Sirius shifted. James was breaking, trying to be strong for Sirius, trying to pretend like things were fine when they weren't, trying to pretend things could go back to normal when they couldn't. "Prongs... I love you, mate. Thanks for coming for me. You can, er, ask what you need to."

James' chin trembled. He took a deep breath in and slowly breathed out again, then shook his head. "I shouldn't press. Not before you've healed up and eaten. Lily made soup for you earlier. It's over there. I can heat it up." He made to get up, but Sirius stopped him with his good right hand.

"I'm not really hungry. You can force me to eat later. We should talk. Um, how much d'you know?"

James hesitated a moment longer, but Sirius squeezed his arm, and he relented. "Well, I know you vanished less than a month after you came home, and Mum and Dad were upset but couldn't tell me where you were. I know what you told Peter, that Bellatrix got to you. I know you were seen a couple times in Diagon Alley, at Malfoy Manor, and at Lucius Malfoy's trial before you got... tortured enough to end up in St. Mungo's. That's when we figured it out, Lily, Moony, Wormy and me. I mean, Lucius Malfoy was Imperioused. Not hard to figure out you probably were too, but you were fighting back, and they hurt you like that to keep you in line."

Sirius had to fight to keep from laughing, because James wasn't lying. It was really funny that his friends had honestly concluded the very cover story Sirius planned to feed to Voldemort. Oblivious to the humor of the situation, James continued, "I told Dad about our suspicions and that we wanted to rescue you. I thought at first he didn't buy it, but he must have talked it over with Moody or Dumbledore or someone. He's got the ear of the Order higher-ups. Anyway, Moody had information about a Dark arsenal at Malfoy Manor he wanted to destroy, so we combined two objectives... and here we are." He met Sirius' eyes at last. "Was Abraxas the one that cursed you? Moody figured he might have cursed Lucius, but he didn't have any proof. No one really believed him." Sirius stared at him. It was humbling how much faith James had in him. There was no uncertainty, no hint that Sirius could have been at Malfoy Manor except under duress and compulsion. Slowly, he nodded. Incongruously, James smiled. "I knew it. The moment you... killed him, I knew it."

"Can you forgive me for... that?" Sirius whispered. In his mind's eye, he could see James' and Euphemia's stricken expressions. They had been so horrified at what he had done to Abraxas. If he had realized they were watching... well, he still would have killed the man obviously, but he would have pulled Abraxas out of the Potters' view and done it more discretely.

"Pads... yes. I can't imagine what you've been through, how hurt you must have been to... to do that. There's just no way you'd... kill someone... unless they'd... well. You don't have to tell me what he made you do. Since he's gone, that means you're safe, Pads. The curse is broken forever."

Oh, sweet, innocent James, if only he knew how many deaths Sirius had caused of his own free will. So many he didn't feel even the least bit guilty for killing actual enemies like Abraxas and Rabastan. What the hell did that say about him? He wasn't Padfoot anymore. He was Sirius the Spy now. He bowed his head and started crying in earnest again. They were tears of grief, knowing he could never share his darkest secrets with his best friend. He couldn't break James' faith in him, faith in people. They were not tears of shame. He didn't regret his choices. He didn't. But he would regret the unsaid wall dividing him from noble James for the rest of his life.

"Shh..." James huddled next to the bed. He held his hand, leaned his forehead against Sirius' temple and let him cry. He didn't ask any more questions, for which Sirius was pathetically grateful.

The burning of the Dark Mark broke through Fleamont's Dreamless Sleep potion an hour before dawn. Good morning to you too, Lord Voldemort. Sirius clenched his jaw and bore it. There was nothing for anyone else to do about it. At least his headache had diminished. And the nausea and bruises were gone entirely. He distracted himself by getting up and poking around his room until the sun rose. It was mostly the same as when he'd left, with the exception of some dust and the pile of potions bottles and bandages. The robes he had worn yesterday had been cut up and left discarded in the corner. They could burn for all he cared. He did search them one-handedly to find, thank Merlin, both his wand, his watch, and the stone paperweight of Ivan Butler. The muggle's remains were the one thing he refused to leave in Malfoy Manor. He had promised himself and Ivan he would return the remains to Ivan's family, and he would. He set the weight on the desk. He'd ask Moody for help dealing with it, or maybe Lily if Moody hadn't managed to track down Ivan's family when he'd first reported the murder.

He ran into trouble when he finally thought to get dressed, because he found he couldn't move his fingers without excruciating pain. He took the expedient solution and didn't get washed or dressed, merely trudged downstairs in his pajama bottoms and sheet in search of food and caffeine. To his surprise, he found Remus and Peter both quietly waiting downstairs. They rushed to embrace him as soon as he entered the kitchen.

"We couldn't sleep, not knowing if you were okay," Remus managed eventually.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked anxiously.

"Mostly," Sirius equivocated.

"You smell like a bonfire," Peter informed him.

Remus' nose twitched. "I think he smells like an open wound."

"Stop flirting, I'll blush." When neither of them laughed, Sirius sighed and gestured to his wrapped arm. "Fleamont's working on it."

There was an awkward silence until Peter announced, "I'll make tea."

"And eggs? Or toast?" Sirius said hopefully. Merlin, he was starving. He'd only swallowed a few spoonfuls of soup last night before his stomach started acting up again.

"Both," Peter said brightly. He lit the kitchen stove, pulled some pans out of cabinets, and moved off to search the pantry.

"So..." both Sirius and Remus began at the same time. Remus politely gestured for Sirius to go first. "So, James said you were there yesterday too?" Sirius hadn't seen Remus or Peter and assumed that, like James, neither of them knew of Sirius' role as a spy for the Order.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was, um, intense."

"Glad you all joined the Order as we'd planned. I'm proud of you lot, mate. Was that the first mission you've been on?" Sirius asked curiously.

"No, I've done, um, reconnaissance and things before. Even got into a fight when I was tailing someone. But that was the first time I'd seen anything like Fiendfyre. I could hardly believe what I was seeing."

"Guess Moody didn't warn you, eh?"

"What do you mean?" Sirius cursed his mistake when Remus raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, um, Auror Moody was the one who cast it. I saw him. He was destroying Abraxas' collection of Dark artifacts, and it got away from him. We almost got eaten by a fucking enormous, flaming wolf, no relation I'm sure. Took both of our counter curses to escape it. I'm surprised at you though, Moony," he deflected. "Where'd a noble-minded former prefect such as yourself learn to recognize that curse?"

"From a book, naturally. I got an 'O' on my DADA NEWT. Moody even offered to recommend me for a mastery correspondence course, after I told him why I couldn't join the aurors with my grades and obvious interest."

Sirius cuffed his shoulder. "Good on you, you swot."

"Where did you learn to chat about most destructive cursed fire known to wizardkind as if it were no more sinister than the weather?"

Sirius grimaced. "Where do you think?" There was a bang and sloshing sound as Peter dropped the full tea kettle. He quickly retrieved it to set over the stovetop, but he looked back at Remus and shook his head warningly.

..."Right. Sorry, Padfoot."

"Yeah. Sorry. Yeah. Hey, it hasn't been all bad. Watch this." With a gesture, he wandlessly levitated an orange out of the fruitbowl, then carefully transfigured it into a humanoid clay figurine. He muttered "Ushabtis," and lowered his hand to rest on the counter. The figure immediately started cleaning the soot from his fingers and from under his fingernails. He grinned at Remus' surprised expression and Peter's gasp of unabashed awe. "I'm way better at wandless and nonverbal magic than I used to be, and I've even learned some cool Ancient Egyptian wandless spells that my cousin translated from the Malfoy library. I can apparate without a wand, too."

"That is quite impressive," Euphemia's voice came from the entrance to the kitchen.

James was plodding along behind her, covering a yawn with one hand and lugging a cauldron with the other. He heaved the cauldron up onto the countertop. "Happy early Christmas from Dad, Padfoot."

"He was up until two in the morning working on it," Euphemia added.

Sirius and Remus leaned over to eye the dark brown goop. "What is it?"

"An unholy blend of Tailoris honey, nasturtium petals, aloe, and pickled Streelers," James supplied. "At least that's what his notes said. I think he invented it just for you. Don't worry, I tested it, and the Streeler venom definitely doesn't dissolve skin."

"Oh, good."

"Let's see your arm, dear," Euphemia.

"Better you than me," Sirius muttered, but he carefully laid his left arm down next to the cauldron and allowed Euphemia to unwrap it. He broke out into a cold sweat and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from whimpering as the bandages tugged on his ragged skin.

The wound had not improved overnight. If anything, it looked worse. The center of the cut had reopened where it passed over the hidden Dark Mark. Parts of the burn were no longer merely red but actually blackened. The whole arm was swollen, and it smelled both bloody and partially cooked.

"Gross," James said after a moment. Sirius grinned weakly at him.

"Real gross," Remus agreed, sympathetically patting him on the shoulder. "And I'm something of an expert when it comes to gross bodily injury."

"Yeah, ick," Peter said faintly. He looked away and determinedly resumed beating a bowl of eggs.

"Can you move your fingers, Sirius?" Euphemia asked. She conjured a gentle stream of water with her wand to rinse the wound. Remus obligingly vanished the soiled water before it could contaminate the counter.

"Yeah, but it hurts if I do."

"Show me." Euphemia watched intently as Sirius slowly curled his fingers and straightened them out again. "I think the inflammation reaches down to the muscle layer," she concluded. She crossed the kitchen to rummage through the cabinet over the sink and returned with a half-full bottle of generic wound-cleaning Dittany solution. She conjured a cloth and dabbed his arm liberally with that until the laceration closed again, before slathering on Fleamont's specialty Streeler-and-honey burn paste. She conjured fresh bandages to contain it all and patted his hand. "We'll get there."

"Will we?" he asked pointedly. She knew about the Dark Mark just as well as Fleamont.

"Of course," she said firmly, narrowed eyes daring him to contradict her. "Eat up, dear. I've got your other potions for after breakfast, and at some point today, I imagine Headmaster Dumbledore or Auror Moody or both will want to speak with you."

"Think Dumbledore can un-curse his arm?" Remus asked.

"You think it's cursed?" James said.

"Well, yeah. It didn't look nearly so nasty yesterday when we first got him home, and it has a sort of Dark odor. Not the same as a werewolf bite, obviously, but... recognizable to me. I didn't know Fiendfyre could do that."

Because it can't. "Moony, I've said it before, and I'll say it again, the wolfy smelling thing is weird. Now, enough doom and gloom and body horror or you'll turn me off breakfast. Let's talk about James' wedding instead. I've missed out on ribbing him so much. James, mind explaining to me why I was dreaming about Snape in a purple dress after Pete visited me in the hospital? I'm hoping I was delirious and got confused."

Peter and Remus snorted. James blushed. "Er, well, you probably weren't. Lily and Severus-"

"First name basis now, are you? Wow."

"Shut it, Pads. Lily and Severus made up again after you landed him in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. You know she's always gotten on better with him than with the other Gryffindor girls for some reason."

"Yeah, 'cause they were all jealous of your crush on her. Whereas he was just jealous of her crush on you," Peter hollered over his shoulder.

James' blush deepened. "It wasn't like that..."

"Oh, it gets better," Remus interjected. "They're roommates. Got an apartment together!"

Sirius pretended to gasp. "Scandal."

Euphemia clipped both him and Remus on the head, frowning severely. "I don't want to hear you two impugning the honor of my future daughter-in-law. Lily and Severus are both responsible young people, and their friendship is completely fraternal."

"I think it's sororal, actually," Remus said with a grin. "You should see Snape's hair, Sirius."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Is it... not long, lank, and greasy?"

"Not since he and Mr. Potter came up with the new Sleakeasy for Fine Hair and Sensitive Scalps," Peter volunteered whilst dividing up his huge pan of scrambled eggs and sausages amongst five plates. "If he didn't have a beard, I'd have thought he was a witch, last time I saw him."

"I thought he should pose for before and after photos for the promotional campaign," Remus agreed thoughtfully. "He tried to hex me when I suggested it, though. Assumed I was teasing him."

"He's got a beard!?" The concept of Snape and facial hair was just... wrong.

James elbowed him, then with his other hand accepted a plate from Pete and slid it in front of Sirius. "Careful, Pads. One might think you're the one with a crush. On him. Could explain why you were so obsessed with him. You always curse the ones you love."

Sirius' face fell suddenly. "I... don't think that's funny," he said.

James frowned too. "Sirius, I won't tell you to totally forget our history with the man, but Severus is basically going to be my brother-in-law, and you're basically my brother. I need you to try to get along with him."

"That isn't the problem, James," Sirius said coldly. His feud with Snape was so far behind him, it felt like another life. He moodily picked up a fork and stabbed at his eggs. He had to stop a moment when his left arm randomly burned again, palpable even through the potions.

"Then what is the problem, Sirius?" Euphemia asked from his other side. He glanced at her. Her face expressed only concern.

He let out his held breath. "You know who curses the ones they profess to care about?" She shook her head. "My mother. My cousin. The Dark Lord. The other people I've been living with. It... wasn't funny."

The mood thoroughly killed, the four friends ate their breakfasts in silence.

Chapter Text

Malfoy Manor Burned Down

By Barnabus Cuffe

Ministry officials were notified regarding an ongoing arson and possible Death Eater activity at Malfoy Manor on Friday afternoon. Aurors arrived on the scene and engaged with over twenty persons wearing the robes and masks of the Death Eaters, according to Ministry spokesperson. The large, historic manor house was already thoroughly ablaze at the time of the aurors' arrival...

...Lord Abraxas Malfoy was visiting St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and was called away by his house elf minutes before the aurors received any alert. Although no identifiable bodies have yet been recovered from inside the mansion, it is the Ministry's opinion that Lord Abraxas, tragically, perished defending his home. This reporter was able to confirm that the Malfoy elf is now residing in the hospital room of Lucius Malfoy, which evidences the servant bond has likely transferred. Lucius Malfoy himself remains too ill to consent to interview, according to a hospital spokesperson. The Malfoy heir has been receiving care for four weeks following the shocking revelations at his criminal trial that he had been illegally exposed to Dementors whilst under the influence of the Imperious curse (for What's Next for the Addled Heir?, turn to page 7)...

...Lady Lucretia Malfoy was also visiting St. Mungo's at the time of the arson and has been offered protective custody by the Ministry. The whereabouts of Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, wife of Lucius Malfoy, are currently unknown. It is possible she was in the manor at the time of the attack. The whereabouts of Sirius Black, Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black, cousin of Narcissa Malfoy, and recent guest of the Malfoy family according to a source who prefers to remain anonymous, are currently unknown. It is possible that he was in the manor at the time of the attack as well...

...The Ministry has confirmed the arrests of Lord Corban Yaxley, Armando Snyde, Jerome Wilkes, Heath and Priscilla Lee, and Argo Pyrites, author of Alchemy, Ancient Art and Science, in connection with the attack. Additionally, an as-yet unidentified witch was killed on the scene, in Death Eater regalia, with old bite scars and other evidence of lycanthropy. (For more information regarding the accused Death Eaters, turn to page 3).

...The Ministry also has confirmed the deaths of Auror Montgomery Savage and Hit Wizard Ray Ulrich Lightfoot II in the line of duty...

Sirius finished skimming the article fairly quickly. He didn't have the energy to read every word of the lengthy propaganda piece. The gist was the Ministry had no reason to throw more dirt on the Malfoys now the family was basically wiped out, so whoever had spoken to the Prophet had passed off the whole thing as a Death Eater offensive against the Malfoys. Knowing the truth of the matter, it was an obvious ploy to discredit Voldemort amongst the pureblood families that had yet to be swayed to his side. Sure, Voldemort could just as easily use the same spin to threaten reluctant families into obedience, but quotes from Bartemius Crouch Sr. defending his department's response highlighted that the Malfoy wards had flouted regulations requiring certain alarm spells to the Ministry. The implication of course being, Malfoy Manor might still be standing if the family had trusted the Ministry more.

He set the paper down, rubbed his eyes, and leaned back in his chair. He looked over towards Moody, who had arrived at almost exactly the same time as The Evening Prophet and had been sitting with Fleamont and Euphemia, waiting for Albus to show up. They were all quietly discussing Order business after unceremoniously throwing the other Marauders out of the room. "The best defense you lot have from spies, interrogation, and casual legilimency is to be in the dark if Black knows something sensitive. Clear off."

Sirius cleared his throat to alert the others he was done reading. "So, that's the official troll shit, is it?"

"Language, Sirius!" Euphemia admonished.

He stared at her for a moment before looking back at Moody. "I'm sorry about Savage and Lightfoot."

Moody nodded curtly at him. "They died in the line of duty. Don't feel guilty for them, kid." He got up and crossed the parlor to sit across from Sirius.

Sirius couldn't help but stare at Moody's mangled eye socket. "I'm sorry for that, too," he said.

"Heh. That one's on me for getting distracted. Constant vigilance, constant vigilance. I broke my own rule, but at least I took down the guy who did it. Now, we'll hold off on the debriefing until Albus shows up. In the meantime, let's see the arm Fleamont was telling me about."

"Must we? It's not a pretty sight. You might lose vision in your other eye," Sirius quipped, even as he dutifully maneuvered it out of its sling.

"I've seen worse," Moody said confidently. Fleamont sat down next to Sirius and carefully unwrapped the arm again. "That is a doozy, though, I'll give you that," Moody observed.

"Looks better than this morning," Euphemia said, sounding pleased. It did, a little. The slice from James' severing charm was closed again, and the extent of the red and blistered skin had shrunk, apparent even through the residual Streeler burn salve. It was still just as swollen and just as painful, though.

"I was expecting better," Fleamont said, frowning down at his handiwork. He took out his wand. "Incendio." A small jet of flame erupted from the tip. He held his left hand over it and clenched his jaw as he let the little finger scald and burn.

"What are you doing?" Euphemia demanded.

"Testing it again. I'll be fine, dear." The fire died. Everyone winced to see the result: the tip of his finger was not just blistered but actually charred. He set down his wand. "Pass me the salve, please." Euphemia snatched up the large, glass jar from the coffee table and unscrewed the lid. Fleamont checked his watch, dipped his burned finger in the brown goo, then held his hand up close to his face to study it. A little while later he checked his watch again and nodded. "Exactly as intended. Pain is gone after thirty-six seconds. Should be fully healed in thirty-six minutes."

"Lucky sod," Sirius grumbled.

"Probably not working because the kid is right, You-Know-Who keeps burning him via the Dark Mark. How many times did he try to summon you today, Sirius?"

"It's not like that. It's not on-again, off-again whenever he reaches out. He started summoning me yesterday, sometime before I woke up after the battle, and it never actually stopped as far as I can tell. Sometimes it flares worse, but the pull and the burn is always there. Probably won't stop until I answer it."

"He does this to all his servants?" Euphemia asked, aghast. "How can they not hate him?"

"It's not usually so intense as this, not that I've been summoned all that much. And to be honest, I'm thinking a fair number are reluctant recruits anyway, even if they don't consciously hate him, even amongst the ones he hasn't personally tortured. Being evil is hard, scary work that most people aren't cut out for, no matter their politics."

"Oh, Sirius! Did he-"

"Not now, Euphemia," Moody interrupted. "You can coddle him later." Sirius shot the auror a grateful look. He had zero desire to wallow in the sordid and traumatic details of life as a Death Eater with his surrogate mother. She already knew he had been hospitalized for prolonged Cruciatus exposure. That should be enough for her to go on.

There was a burst of orange light in the center of the room, Albus Dumbledore flaming in with his phoenix.

Fleamont snapped his fingers. "Headmaster! Let me borrow your bird."

"I do not actually command Fawkes' movements," Dumbledore chuckled. "But if the cause is noble, he will surely assist you. Now, what is... oh, I see." Fleamont quickly summarized Sirius' predicament. The Headmaster nodded gravely and whispered to the beautiful, gold and scarlet phoenix perched on his arm. Fawkes trilled and hopped down to Sirius' lap with a flutter of his wings to stabilize his fall. Sirius had seen the phoenix before, when he was sent up to Dumbledore's office for discipline. He'd even touched it once, a careful, awe-filled pat on the head. He'd never been so close as to study every detail of the feathers and feel the fire bird's incredible warmth. It was like sitting in the most comfortable armchair in the Gryffindor common room next to a roaring fire. At Christmas, because everything was better at Christmas. He reached up with his right hand and ran his fingers along the phoenix's back feathers. They were softer than silk.

Distracted by the magnificent creature on his lap, Sirius didn't even realize what it was doing until Fleamont made a little noise of satisfaction. He glanced around and noticed Fawkes was weeping onto his wound. Right. Phoenix tears had healing properties. He had known that for test-taking purposes at some point. The burn visibly faded even as they watched. Fawkes chirruped in triumph and straightened his neck to nuzzle Sirius' cheek in comfort. Sirius patted his back. "Sorry, buddy, I think you're celebrating too early." The phoenix tears could heal the burn in an instant, true, but they hadn't touched the cursed source. Sirius could still feel the tug, itch, and yes, burn, of the summons. He looked back down and watched the skin gradually redden again. When the first blister popped up, right on the jaw of the tattooed manticore, Fawkes shrieked at it and leapt back up to Dumbledore's shoulder.

Fleamont sighed and conjured a bowl. "It was worth a try. Albus, if you can have Fawkes cry some more for me, I'll try to come up with something to prolong the effect." The bowl and the phoenix were left on the coffee table while Fleamont re-dressed Sirius' arm with the burn salve.

"I am sorry, my boy," Dumbledore said.

Sirius shrugged. "Price of doing business, isn't it?"

Moody coughed. "About that... I'm sorry too." Sirius raised an eyebrow. "During the battle after you left, You-Know-Who ignored the Order at first. He went straight for the house, straight for the drawing room in fact, countering the Fiendfyre."

Sirius grimaced. "You think he was looking for the horcrux."

"Yeah. Which means..."

"He couldn't tell when it was destroyed after all, or he wouldn't have bothered. Which means I probably could have just passed it to you lot and played dumb and been fine and still have my cover... Fuck."

"Yeah."

"We will not mourn our mistake," Dumbledore said firmly. "We made the best decision we could with the information at hand."

"Easy for you to say," Sirius grumbled. Fleamont squeezed his shoulder. Moody looked away guiltily, which made Sirius feel worse. Moody probably felt even worse than he did about this, since he actually knew the people who had died. "Sorry. I'm calm. You're right. We didn't know. No use crying over spilled potion and all that. Debrief time, yes?"

"Quite," Dumbledore responded. He shook back his wide sleeve to reveal a mokeskin pouch, its thongs braided along his arm. He extracted a thick sheaf of parchment from it. "These notes regarding the intelligence you have sent us never leave my person."

"Even in the bath?" Sirius butted in.

..."Even then. Mokeskin repels water, even from the opening of the pouch, unless I as the owner were to place water inside, I suppose... Moving on, once we have gone over the events of yesterday to everyone's satisfaction, I should like to fill in every detail you may have been unable to convey before."

Moody delivered his report first. It was concise, professional, and to the point. He recapped why he had made the decision to cast the Fiendfyre early, without pointing out that it had been Sirius' suggestion first, and then explained why it had proved a tactical mistake. He analyzed the subsequent battle in the same manner, which Sirius found fascinating, and wrapped up with what he had and hadn't reported to his superiors at the Ministry (both the horcrux and Sirius' existence remained secret; both Prewett aurors were trained Occlumensi). Euphemia spoke next, going over Abraxas' arrival with Dobby and the subsequent duel, where she and the others had been at a disadvantage despite their numbers, because Abraxas had appeared halfway up the stairs in a position that left them no physical cover from his curses, while he was free to duck behind his house elf's impregnable shield with ease. It sounded like Abraxas was a fearsomely aggressive duelist to boot, dealing mostly in killing and blasting curses. She avoided looking at Sirius as she spoke of him appearing at the top of the stairs and casting the killing curse on Abraxas almost the same moment.

"Is that true?" Fleamont broke in, laying a hand on Sirius' shoulder again. Sirius nodded. "Why?"

Fleamont's sorrowful and vaguely disappointed expression matched Euphemia's. Moody and Dumbledore just looked sad. Sirius looked at them all with annoyance. "Should I have stunned him and left him for the fire?"

"We could have taken him captive..."

"But to cast the killing curse..."

"Yielded the needed result," Sirius said coldly. "He was between me and the way out. At that point, anything short of offing him would have got me killed, either then or later when the Dark Lord declared me Enemy Number One. D'you really think this was the first time I've cast the killing curse?"

Both Potters looked instinctively towards Dumbledore, whose sad demeanor hadn't changed. They both wilted. "Who...?" Fleamont began, but words failed him.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "It's kind of an entry requirement. You don't get a Mark if you won't get your hands dirty." He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out Ivan's paperweight. He held it out to Moody. "Here. Ivan Butler. The muggle I told you about back in April? I promised him I'd get this back to his family."

Moody took it with a raised eyebrow. After a moment, he grimaced and nodded. "'Our squib' tracked them down. Will you transfigure it back?"

"Transfigure..." Euphemia whispered, going pale.

Sirius nodded at Moody.

"Then we can cremate him properly and give them the ashes," Moody said. He handed it back.

"And they'll have his ring. It's inside." Sirius cradled Ivan in his palm a moment.

"Is that-"

"Don't ask if you don't want to know," he told Fleamont harshly. "And don't look at me like that! What did you expect? That I could just hang about with Death Eaters for months on end and come back all pure and clean? You're not an idiot. Don't treat me like I am. I know I've done horrible things that neither of you ever would. I'm sorry if that hurts you and changes your opinion of me, but you know what? I don't regret it. I've seen the other side. As bad as I am, they're worse. I'm sorry that I have participated in the deaths of Ivan and other innocent muggles, whether it was because I was in impossible circumstances or because I made a mistake, or because I made decisions that caused more harm than good. I am not sorry for killing Abraxas Malfoy and Rabastan Lestrange."

"You killed Lestrange?" Moody asked in surprise. Sirius belatedly remembered he hadn't told Moody that at the time.

"Er, yeah. Golden opportunity, couldn't pass it up. It's alright. Everyone just assumed he got careless when I said one of ours was dead at the end of the raid. Didn't even realize it was Rabastan until we got back to Headquarters. It was pretty surreal being the pall-bearer at his funeral, though. And no, that's not why Bella Crucio'd me."

Euphemia dropped her head into her hands. Fleamont rubbed her back with one hand. "I think, my dear, that Alastor was right to cut us out from these discussions. We are not helping Sirius with our emotions."

"You want him to bring death without feeling?" Euphemia asked, voice a little muffled in her hands. Sirius winced at her words but held his tongue. He hadn't realized how bad it would be to be frank with the two of them. He had mistakenly believed they would already understand, even if they hadn't known everything. If Fleamont could convince her to step out, that would probably be best.

"Of course not, but now is not the time for him to confront all that he has seen, or he may not be able to finish with Alastor and Albus."

She took in a shuddering breath, then reached one hand blindly to squeeze Sirius' knee. "You're right. Sirius, I'm sorry I cannot hear this right now. I still love you. Don't you ever think that will change, because it won't. We will talk about this later."

"We will?" He didn't particularly want a morality lecture.

"We will. But only when and as much as you feel able to."

His heart melted at the compassion in her voice. "I... okay."

She squeezed his knee again and straightened up, without looking at him. Presumably, her face still reflected the disappointment she didn't want him to see. She continued her own disrupted report. "Sirius killed Abraxas. I confess I was afraid in the moment of what he might do next and disarmed him. I wasn't thinking and forgot his recent injury and that he might have trouble getting down the stairs under his own power. Fortunately, James kept his head and summoned Sirius out of the way of the encroaching fire behind him. Unfortunately, Sirius lost consciousness with the fall, and neither James nor I knew the countercurse for Fiendfyre. We stayed in position under our strongest combined shields until you came for us, Headmaster. The rest, you know. I have nothing to add to Alastor's account of the battle. Excuse me." She got up and paced out of the room, dabbing at her eyes. "What are you three doing? Out!" they heard her cry as soon as she got to the hall.

"Don't worry," Fleamont chuckled. "I knew James at least would try to listen in and warded against them before we started." He leaned over and kissed Sirius' hair. "I have nothing of my own to add, Albus. Sirius, do you want me here, or should I leave as well?"

"You're not mad?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"I'm not," Fleamont assured him. "I am sad that you have been exposed to such evil and become desensitized to it. I am sad you have found yourself able to cast a curse so dark as the Avada Kedavra. But I know you, Sirius. I trust your heart is in the right place, even if it has been battered."

Sirius nodded. "If you want, you can stay. But... if you want to leave, you should. I wouldn't blame you." It didn't really matter. The worst had already been said. It probably would be easier to just talk with Moody and Dumbledore, though.

Fleamont seemed to understand. "I'll go and start working on a new salve for you with the phoenix tears. Who knows how many patents I'm going to get out of treating you?"

"Thank you."

Once the door closed behind him, Moody said, "Don't know if my portrait told you back in the spring, but almost every auror ends up killing someone if they do the job long enough, even pre-wartimes. We try to limit cruelty and death as much as possible, of course, but sometimes, it's inevitable. And although it's important to keep in mind the sanctity of life, you can't let the job crush you, either."

Dumbledore nodded. Thankfully, he chose not to preach at the moment. "Sirius, tell us about yesterday. Why did Narcissa choose to stay at home?"

Sirius took a breath and started recounting his version of events. He left out the part where he specifically told Dobby to come back with Abraxas. He didn't need these two judging him for his premeditated murder too. He did admit to summoning the Dark Lord, but that was pretty much the only thing he added to the story they didn't already know or guess. Surprisingly, although Moody was a bit pissed about that, Dumbledore wasn't. He agreed the Fiendfyre had gotten quite out of hand by that point, and "While I would have been able to put it out myself, eventually, I would have expended much more of my energy and would have been less prepared when Voldemort did eventually, inevitably, arrive. Better for Voldemort to show up faster and do his fair share of fire-fighting. Young Bella was also quite helpful in that respect. She is a talented witch and clearly still cares for you. I admit I was surprised when she barged in on Voldemort and myself, having finished putting out the fires and still searching the mansion for your body... but I digress. You have done well, Sirius. Frankly, you have surpassed my every expectation from when we first spoke of your desire to become a spy. Your bravery and perseverance humble me."

"Er, thanks, Professor."

"Thank you. Now, let us move on to what is, hopefully, a less grim business." He moved to sit next to Sirius and spread his notes across the coffee table before them, divided into several stacks. "We should first confirm our list of known Death Eaters." This part was fairly tedious. He had no new names to give the Order, nor had he any significant interactions with most of the people on the list. He was able to confirm a few of the names on the suspect list, more specifically their faces when Moody brought out surveillance photographs. He recognized a few from the dreadful meeting after Lucius' trial, when so many had been de-masked. He also added a few to the suspect list who had been in attendance at Rabastan's funeral. If they weren't bona fide Death Eaters, they were certainly sympathizers. Moody and Dumbledore fell to discussing ways they could use this latest information, who they should prioritize for surveillance, who they should attempt to ambush for arrest.

It sounded like a rather tired argument to Sirius. After Moody grumpily reminded Dumbledore of Antonin Dolohov's fifth escape from the same kind of ambush they were discussing, during which the Death Eater had managed to kill two aurors and a car full of muggles, he finally interrupted. "Look, I won't pretend to know more about the Order's resources and logistics than you, but seriously, why are you aiming to capture people like Dolohov and my cousin at this point? If they're that slippery and that dangerous, assassinate them! It's not like you even need a killing curse to do it if you're wary of Dark magic! A well-aimed, well-timed, nonverbal Diffindo will work to decapitate them!"

"It's not so simple, Sirius," Moody said impatiently. "I'm the Head of the Auror Department. If I start authorizing extra-judicial killings, then the enemy has halfway won. I can't be the one to break the law, not so blatantly. There's a long history, both wizarding and muggle, of people turning against a government that becomes too authoritative, too cruel, too unaccountable. If the Ministry goes too far, especially if we start operating outside our own laws with impunity, it'll be that much easier for people to think of You-Know-Who as a viable alternative."

"The Ministry already legalized Unforgivables," Sirius pointed out in disbelief.

"A move neither I nor Alastor supported. That was Barty's initiative," Dumbledore quickly contended.

Moody didn't look in full agreement, but he didn't contradict the headmaster either. Instead, he clarified, "You'll note if you read the actual law, rather than the Daily Prophet's or Abraxas Malfoy's interpretations of it, Unforgivables are legalized only in life-threatening combat situations. Additionally, aurors are guided to use the Imperious rather than killing curse if possible, as a way to neutralize our foes. It would not be legal for me to sneak up on Bellatrix Lestrange while she's shopping and cast a killing curse on her without warning. None of our warrants go so far as a 'kill on sight' order. I admit that is partly down to blood purists and other Death Eater sympathizers inside the Ministry; the only sub-department I am reasonably certain remains free of You-Know-Who's followers is my own. Still, the more important reason for our measured approach is because there's no way to be sure we wouldn't hit a relative or someone glamoured or Polyjuiced by mistake. Also, the moment we do issue orders to kill, you can bet your inheritance the Death Eaters will start dressing up captured muggles and muggleborns in enemy robes and faces and set them wandering the streets either Confunded or Imperioused, just to get us to kill them."

They would, too. Bella would think it was hilarious. "Fine, whatever. That is so half-arsed, but I'm not a politician. So why can't the Order do it? You're constantly tailing them. You're already an illegal paramilitary operation..."

"And one which stands in defense of the Light," Dumbledore said, firmly but gently. "Our members join because they believe in the nobility of our cause. They choose to fight without killing not because it is easy but because it is right. Perhaps Alastor and his team could have killed ten Death Eaters yesterday, perhaps even your cousin, if he were willing to fight as they do, without discipline and without conscience. It is not only strength and ability that defines us and our conflict, however. It is our choices."

"Troll. Shit," Sirius snarled. "You held back on the Dark Lord yesterday, didn't you, with your stupid 'capture, not kill' philosophy? You think it's easy to do as I've done? Fuck you! Moody, if you or anyone else had the chance to kill Bellatrix yesterday, you should have taken it without a second thought, as common sense and a moral imperative. You both know what she is! I've told you! Letting her go free is not some virtuous high ground; it is a death sentence upon her next innocent victim that you failed to protect. Rabastan was literally helping the wholesale slaughter of an entire family when I got him! Sure, Abraxas was in my way when I killed him, but I wouldn't have wanted to kill him if he wasn't also an evil git who decided it was politically expedient to destroy his own child's mind and had a personal library of 'how to eliminate a civilization' hidden in his house." Sirius had looked up the words genocide, pogrom, chemical warfare, and biological warfare in the Malfoy's unabridged Oxford English Dictionary on Wednesday. (The OED was the one muggle publication all the poshest pureblood families in England owned; it was a fad dating back to the publication of the second edition in 1933, championed by the late dowager lady and polyglot Agrippina Crouch). He had then gone down the world's most horrifying rabbit trail reading the cross-references. He hadn't been able to rest that night with the knowledge of what the man sleeping a few doors away was probably planning to do with the power he was so diligently seeking. He slept much better on Thursday night, once he decided to murder the problem.

Dumbledore bowed his head. "You are right, of course, Sirius. You have been far closer to the horror than anyone else of late, and you desire nothing more than to stop it however you can. Believe you me, that desire is not what concerns me. I sympathize with it entirely. I even once fought as you did, believing a good end justified all means. The first steps down that path are so deceptively uncomplicated, it is only too late that one realizes..."

"I know. You're talking to the bloke who broke down in tears in an alley in London after I read the newspaper coverage of the stampede. I know there's consequences, that taking moral risks can come back to bite you in the arse."

"It can do more than that," Dumbledore warned. "You should know that better than I do, too. You have read and understood Secrets of the Darkest Art! Sirius, killing without regret tears your soul, and there is no other way to cast Avada Kedavra."

"Oh, yeah? Have you cast it?" For the first time, Dumbledore's calm expression of cool omniscience faltered. Moody raised an eyebrow. Dumbledore quickly shook his head. "No. I have not. I will not."

Didn't say 'I cannot,' Sirius barely refrained from pointing out. "Well, I have. Don't tell me my business. The first time I cast it was on a mouse." He patted the stone paperweight still resting in his lap. "The second time was on Ivan. I dare you to look me in the eye and tell me I don't regret that Ivan had to die. But I tell you, when I cast the Avada on him, it was easy because I was full of pity, after everything else I'd already had to do to him. I've also cast the Avada at nothing at all, yesterday while pretending to duel Moody. And I'm told I'm a fair hand at the Cruciatus, again courtesy of Ivan, when I'm concentrating solely on the goal of fooling Bella and sticking it to the Dark Lord. Yes, it takes negative emotion to cast the Unforgivables, but it doesn't have to be soul-rending sadistic intent. It can be spite, or fear, or grief, or empathetic pain and be just as effective if you know what you're about. That's what Bella used to send me to the hospital, you know. She was grieving for Rabastan, and she was projecting that grief into a fear of losing me. She's nuts, and I hate her, but she's brilliant."

"Beware, Sirius. The Dark arts can warp the mind even as they tarnish the soul..."

"There's too much mystique wrapped up in Dark and Light magic alike. Both you and the Dark Lord spread lies about it. Insanity correlates with the use of Dark magic, because either you or your circumstances have to be mad to consider using it. But the only magic that actually causes insanity are the ones deliberately inflicting it on a victim, like the Cruciatus or the Essence of Insanity. There's other Dark rituals and things that will guaranteed cause horrendous physical effects, but destruction of the mind and soul is not inevitable, I think. I say the killing curse is a tool, and a valuable one. We should use it, for the greater good."

Dumbledore actually recoiled from him. "The Order of the Phoenix will not stoop to assassination," he said firmly.

"Shame," Moody muttered. Dumbledore glared at him. "What? The lad's not wrong. We'd all be in a happier place right now if you'd strolled up to You-Know-Who back when he would still occasionally appear making speeches in public and just blown him up. It would have caused a hubbub, and you might not have escaped with a clean soul and clean reputation, but the rest of the world would have."

"Except you didn't know about his horcrux then," Sirius pointed out with a grin. "But thanks for the vote of confidence, Moody. And yeah, Professor, even if you're right and I've torn my soul and whatnot... that's not a bad trade from where I'm sitting. My soul is worth a lot of lives."

Dumbledore and Moody were both silent for a moment. Then Dumbledore said, "Your willingness to sacrifice yourself is also humbling, Sirius. I will not argue with you further, not now, though I would still caution you against killing too easily."

Sirius shifted. "You know what the one really good thing about the Avada Kedavra is?" Dumbledore shook his head wordlessly. "There's no collateral damage. There's almost no chance of killing someone by accident with it, like I have with blasting curses, stunners, and a simple Sonorus. The only way to do that is to have bad aim. Tell you what, though, if you ever think I'm going too far, pull me back, oh conscience."

"I think, if ever you go too far, it will be because you are no longer reachable," Dumbledore said slowly.

Sirius shrugged. "I know how to curse paired jewels now, for you to take me down remotely. I can make us some friendship bracelets before I leave." Dumbledore grimaced. Sirius grinned mischievously.

Moody cleared his throat. "About that, leaving. You'll understand I hope we never have to send you back out there in general. More importantly, we need to discuss if it's even an option now."

"Why wouldn't it be?" Sirius asked quickly, glad of the change of subject.

"Two reasons. One, the Dark Lord has been calling you for over twenty-four hours, and you have yet to answer. How likely is it he decides to kill you first for ignoring him and ask questions later if you come back too late to his summons?"

"Eh. He'll start with the Cruciatus. He only finishes people off when he's no longer mad at them. And it's hardly my fault you lot knocked me unconscious and kidnapped me and force fed me a ton of experimental potions in the misguided belief you were helping to rehabilitate a victim of the Imperious curse. I'll make sure to take a pain potion or something right before leaving so I'm suitably perturbed. He'll probably think it's funny once he gets over his initial fury. I'll be fine."

"Are you certain that what you are feeling is merely a summons? And not an effort to eliminate a traitor, given its resistance to Fawkes?" Dumbledore asked bluntly.

Nope. "Of course I'm sure."

..."Right. The other problem is the house elf. You know, the one who was right there both when you found the horcrux and when you murdered his master."

"Oh, Dobby? You're seriously not complaining I let the little guy live after the discussion we just had, are you?"

Moody scowled at him. "No."

"Just checking. I think we should be safe there. He was pretty shocked. He wasn't looking at me. He had his eyes on Euphemia and James, guarding Abraxas' back. And he couldn't have heard me over the Fiendfyre. He will probably assume the Fiendfyre got Abraxas once he stops to think about it. Plus, he likes me. I even yelled at him to clear out and save himself, which he might not have thought to do without an authority figure to tell him. If anything, he'll probably be ecstatic to see me. He's probably been twisting his ears over not thinking to bring me with him. Elves are funny like that. And if not, if he did blab to Narcissa and the Dark Lord and whoever about me, well, it was worth a shot."

Dumbledore finally smiled slightly again, while Moody's frown only deepened. "I see your reckless, self-destructive tendencies are alive and well, dear boy," Dumbledore said.

Sirius shrugged. "Gryffindor."

"Touché."

"Bloody Gryffindors," Moody huffed.

"On that note, I think we should let young Sirius rest, Alastor. You especially are going to have a lot of work to do in the coming days."

"The Dark Lord's vengeance," Sirius said grimly.

"Indeed."

Chapter Text

The next few weeks felt nothing like the Christmas season. Sirius spent them in continuous pain, obsessively reading over every war-related headline with an intense feeling of frustration and helplessness. He hated being in hiding. Worse, he was still alone most of the time, except for James' ancient pet puffskein that followed him everywhere. Fleamont was constantly brewing, either at his potions company or in his home lab making specialty concoctions for the Order. Euphemia and James were usually out of the house tailing Death Eaters along with Remus, Peter, and Lily, or they were responding to the frequent Death Eater violence. They had anticipated the retaliatory spree of course, but it was still dreadful to read about. Most of it was anti-muggleborn terrorism, with high fatality rates. There was also a nasty attack on Longbottom Manor. Algie Longbottom and three muggleborns sheltering with the family were dead. The aurors Frank and Alice both survived relatively unscathed. Lady Augusta Longbottom ended up in St. Mungo's and was not expected to walk again after taking a Dark curse to her lower back and injuring her spinal cord.

When the Potters were home, he found himself paradoxically avoiding them. There were too many awkward questions from James. Sirius found it much harder than it used to be to redirect their conversations to lighter topics and banter. It was the Erumpet in the room: talking about anything but the war and the fact that James had watched Sirius murder Abraxas felt like they were desperately avoiding the most important topic of conversation. It made everything so... uncomfortable. Even though James had forgiven him completely, so much had happened to Sirius in the past year, neither of them knew how to act around eachother now. James developed a new tendency to fill uncomfortable silences with wedding planning, which bored Sirius to tears. Every time James brought it up, he silently thanked Merlin that Pete was still saddled with Best Man duties and that Snape was, surprisingly, shaping up to be a fantastic Man of Honor for Lily by all accounts.

There were way too many tense glances from Euphemia, and not enough silence. They did, indeed, talk about It some more.

"Tell me what happened with Rabastan Lestrange," she asked over lunch one day when both James and Fleamont were out.

Sirius sighed. "What do you want to know?"

"It happened the night of the McKinnons, right?" He nodded. "I know what you did for Marlene and Benny. Alastor brought them here initially, to hide and for Fleamont to revive them with his potions before moving them out of the country. I was... alarmed to see what you had done to Marlene at first, until Alastor explained that the combination of spells allowed you to fake their deaths convincingly, even to Voldemort. And then Fleamont remembered Alastor had requested multiple batches of mandrake draught earlier in the year as well, and we realized you must have done the same for others before..."

"Muggles, yes," Sirius supplied. "When I could."

She nodded and smiled at him. "And we were so proud to realize the good you were doing, the people you were saving, even though we worried about you every minute. It's just... Sirius, why didn't you do the same for Rabastan? Why kill him when you have such a wonderful alternative?"

Sirius fought not to roll his eyes at her, even though he really wanted to. "Firstly, stunning, petrifying, shielding, and disillusioning people wouldn't work on someone able and willing to fight back. Marlene didn't fight me because she knew the alternative. The muggles couldn't fight me, even if they wanted to. If I had decided to stun Rabastan and missed... then I would be dead, and so would Marlene and Ben. That was also a risk with the Avada, but the killing curse can't be blocked, only dodged. And there was no risk of being interrupted while casting multiple other complex charms. From that perspective, it was kill or nothing. Secondly, I expected the Death Eaters to want the body back. If someone had gone upstairs to retrieve it before we left and found not a limp corpse but a petrified but otherwise uninjured body... then I would be dead, and most likely so would Marlene and Ben."

"Then why kill him at all?" Euphemia asked stubbornly.

"Really? I love and am so grateful to you, and Fleamont, but seriously, how willfully blind can you be? You're in the Order! You know what these people do!"

"Don't talk to me that way in my own kitchen, Sirius Black! Yes, I'm in the Order. And that's why I know there is always a better way!

He stared at her uncomprehendingly. It was inconceivable that she didn't understand. How could she not? "Let me tell you about that night," he said slowly, his voice low and angry. "All of it. It started with burning down a muggle rock concert. That was my mission, and I took pains during the planning stages to limit the casualties as much as possible.

"I remember that," Euphemia said. "I helped the Obliviators. There were no deaths there."

"As far as I and therefore Moody knew, that was supposed to be the end of my involvement. But it wasn't. I was recalled to Headquarters. Rabastan met me there and side-alonged me to where a bunch of other Death Eaters were gathered. My cousin was in charge. I had no idea where we were. I had no idea what to expect until Bella explained we were going to trap everyone inside the house, and then kill them. She told us to 'have fun,' because the Ministry was distracted. I am so lucky that Bella assigned me a specific task, to destroy the floo, rather than tag along at her side, or else I am sure I would have been asked directly to torture and/or kill one of the McKinnons."

"Would you have done it?" she whispered.

Sirius shrugged uncomfortably. "Probably. I would not have had a choice. Everyone in that house was doomed before I arrived. I went upstairs because I saw Benny on the landing. So did the Dark Lord." Euphemia blanched in horror. "The Dark Lord told me point-blank that I must kill an eight-year-old child."

"Seven," Euphemia said softly.

"I couldn't do that. I think I would have let the Dark Lord kill me instead. I deliberately missed with my first curse and chased after Benny up the stairs. Luckily, the Dark Lord just laughed and moved on. It was lucky that Benny led me straight to Marlene and that she was able to trust me enough to save her and her brother, despite the highly questionable circumstances. I sent the Patronus charm off as soon as I was done because I had no other, safer way to alert the Order. That incidentally served as the other Death Eaters' cue to stop playing and start killing. It was when I came back downstairs, covered in Marlene's blood, that I came across Rabastan. I didn't know who he was. I just knew he had murdered two witches without care and was plundering the bedroom of one of them. Back. Turned. I did what was obvious, and natural, and right. If I had not, the Death Eaters would have gotten away from that massacre with no consequences at all."

It took her a moment for her to respond in the face of his glowering. "Vengeance isn't..." she began.

"If vengeance isn't worth it, Azkaban shouldn't exist. And I'd argue killing Death Eaters isn't just vengeance anyway. It is a necessary part of saving innocent lives and winning this war. No matter how you look at it, the only thing I could have done that night to maybe save more people would be to send the Order a Patronus sooner than I did, but I probably wouldn't have gotten the words out before being cut down as a traitor. I would be dead. So would Marlene and Benny." He said it more forcefully this time, hoping the message was finally sinking in. "And yet," he finished softly, "how many people are alive today and in the years to come, because I did something about Rabastan and Abraxas? Merlin, I wish I could get them all so easily."

There was silence for a long time, and Sirius moodily finished eating his sandwich with one hand. Just as he was about to get up, Euphemia said shakily, "I wish you had never become a spy, Sirius. I wish you had never seen such awful things."

He shook his head ruefully. "I wish this damned war had ended before the time came for me to join it. Before James, Remus, Pete, Lily, and others of my generation were forced to join it. It shouldn't have lasted this long. It wouldn't have if Barty Crouch had more power than Dumbledore and Minchum. I don't regret my choices." He got up, moved his plate to the sink, and walked out of the room.

"I love you, Sirius," she called after him. He didn't respond. The reassurance felt hollow. No matter what she said, he could tell she had not and would not accept the choices he had made, not killing dangerous men who deserved it, not joining the Death Eaters as a spy in the first place. She wanted him to be a Potter, pure-minded and unsullied, and he just wasn't. In many ways, no matter how hard he had fought against it, he was a Black.

Fleamont wasn't so bad. He didn't press, didn't judge, either with words or demeanor. Didn't talk about it, really. But their encounters consisted almost entirely of him poking at Sirius' Marked arm, which he dreaded because that hurt. Even with access to phoenix tears, Fleamont had yet to come up with anything to both heal the burn and stop it from reopening. One mixture closed the skin but made the area more sensitive to the Dark Lord's call somehow. The next reduced the pain, but allowed blisters to form again. One caused so much itching, Sirius managed to scratch the original laceration open again while he was sleeping. After a week of this nonsense, the thing got badly infected and Sirius came down with an ague. Fleamont treated him aggressively with fever reducers and a regimen of wound-cleaning and anti-fungal potions in case it was Scrofungulus or Spattergroit. Fortunately, no cutaneous signs of either potentially deadly or disfiguring magical infection manifested. Unfortunately, that meant they needed to try other potions, because the fever didn't break either.

The day his fever reached forty-four degrees Centigrade, Sirius had a new idea while sitting with Fleamont in the potions lab, watching the man managing three different cauldrons at once. "Actually... might not be a bad idea... in th' long run," he said into the quiet. His words were slurred with fatigue, fever, and too many potions.

"What?" Fleamont asked distractedly.

"If it keeps not healing... jus' cut it off. Grow it back with Skelegro..."

"You can't regrow a limb lost to Dark magic," Fleamont reminded him gently.

"Wanna bet? I betchu could cut it off higher up... with an axe or summing... an' then regrow... brilliant, that."

Fleamont's only answer was a snort of laughter.

"I'll prove it. Gimme a mouse... they're great for experimenting with Dark magic..."

"Maybe tomorrow, Sirius. You should rest today," Fleamont said smoothly, completely dismissing him as if he were a small child.

He curled around his burning arm when it flared and spasmed again, and laughed dryly. "Fuck this. Lemme talk to Dubbledore. He can do th' arimancy..."

"Oh, I've got a better idea. I'll tell Severus your plan. If he knows it's your arm we'll be chopping off, I'm sure he'd be happy to help."

"'S good idea," Sirius mumbled blearily. In the end, for some reason, Fleamont didn't go for it, even after the latest combination of six potions gave Sirius such a bad nosebleed they had to brew an emergency blood-regenerator too.

He saw Moody and Dumbledore a couple times, both of whom seemed increasingly reluctant to consider letting him leave given the state of his health. They told him repeatedly there was no way to stage a convincing escape until he was more recovered, if then. Deep down, he knew they were probably right, yet the risk of his return was growing with time too. It was a stupid conundrum with no good solution, and he complained at Moody every chance he got until the auror announced he would not return until after Christmas Day and stormed off in a huff. Then he started complaining at Portrait Moody instead; the portrait was actually sympathetic. Apparently, even though his watch was often closed, it had rather enjoyed being Sirius' contact, much more exciting than carrying messages between the other Order members, who tended to see much less action.

He couldn't complain to Pete and Remus when they visited, because they didn't know he was a spy, or a murderer. Spending time with them was hard, same as James. He missed them terribly the days they were gone, but every conversation veered inevitably either to questions Sirius didn't want to answer, reminiscences he found he couldn't enjoy, or discussion of recent Order missions. Those were the worst, because his friends, he realized belatedly, were softies. They agreed with Dumbledore's no-kill policy, reasoning more Death Eaters could be Imperioused "just like you were, Padfoot." Neither generally used anything stronger than stunners themselves. It was obvious Pete didn't even want to be on the front lines and much preferred the sorts of reconnaissance missions where he could spend the whole time as a rat to escape notice. Remus was interested in becoming the Order's liaison with the wild werewolf packs, with hopes of neutralizing them through peaceful diplomacy. Sirius thought that was far-fetched but didn't say so.

The one bright point was that Fleamont came up with a new and improved nerve regenerator potion that worked much better than the standard version he'd been taking from St. Mungo's. He was pleasantly surprised and confused when Fleamont told him Snape had helped revise the formula so as not to interact with Fleamont's Streeler-honey-phoenix tear burn paste. Fleamont had lied and told Snape it was a consultation for St. Mungo's, for a patient admitted with severe acid burns in a brewing accident that had destroyed the underlying nerves. Apparently, Snape was now continuing and expanding the work as his potions Mastery project, figuring out workarounds for all kinds of healing potions that usually couldn't be mixed.

Anyway, that meant Sirius' feet and right hand finally regained full strength and sensation, and he was able to make much progress with his dexterity. He took to practicing for hours at a time in his room, aiming jinxes as fast as he could at a shabtis figure that dutifully ran away from him and from the puffskein, Bridgit. The silly bird absolutely loved chasing the little thing. Fleamont let him stop the nerve regenerator eventually, but he kept taking the muscle relaxant, calming draught, and nutrition potion, mostly because of the disaster that was his left arm.

Even Christmas itself wasn't shaping up to be much fun. Remus and Peter were scheduled to come over early in the day, which was nice enough. In the evening, Lily and Snape would both be coming over for Christmas dinner after a day with Lily's parents. Which meant Sirius would have to hide upstairs, since Snape didn't know he was here. Not that Sirius would be eating much of the Christmas dinner anyway, since his fever had shot back up to forty this morning, totally eliminating his appetite.

Sirius stared at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror for a long time. He looked like shit. His skin was pale and clammy. His eyes were dark and sunken. His cheeks had grown a noticeable layer of stubble, and he couldn't for the life of him summon the desire to shave it. He barely forced himself to comb the tangles out of his uneven, shoulder-length black hair when the mirror scolded him. He really should wash more often.

All he wanted for Christmas was a packet of cigarettes and a good night's sleep, and he wasn't likely to get either. Maybe, he thought wistfully, he could at least convince Fleamont to give him the version of the burn paste that was more anti-pain than usual. He'd probably wake up with blisters and an open sore again in the morning, but if he took it with a muscle relaxer, he'd also get to be high as a kite for a few hours...

He got that wish, and he spent most of the morning leaning against Remus' shoulder and randomly giggling while watching James and Pete play Exploding Snap.

The holiday was well and truly ruined when four Ministry notices arrived over lunch, summoning everyone but Pete (and Sirius) to work as back-up Obliviators for another mass anti-muggle attack. Happy Christmas, Avery, Sirius thought darkly. Pete apologized to Sirius but had to go as well, to group with the Order in preparation to deploy as soon as they identified Voldemort's target.

His discontent didn't last long. It took half an hour for his potions-addled mind to realize the opportunity before him, but once it occurred to him that he could leave now, he didn't hesitate. After all, he had his wand. He had his watch. Just as nine months ago, he didn't need anything else, not even whatever presents were waiting for him under the Potters' Christmas tree. He walked out the front door. The cold December air felt good on his fevered skin. He walked straight(ish) across the lawn, until he felt himself pass the wards. He turned in place, and disapparated.

Chapter Text

There was a reason you weren't supposed to apparate while drunk or otherwise incapacitated. Sirius materialized on the front drive of the Averys' country house (the nearest Death Eater stronghold he knew of) and immediately collapsed onto the wet pavement. He'd splinched himself. It shouldn't be a surprise. He looked at his left hand with dizzy detachment and watched the blood running down his wrist to soak his bandage. Three fingers and half of his hand were gone. At least he still had the thumb and index fingers. Be annoying to lose those. Figures it would be the left arm he'd splinch, the pain, numbing potion, and infection in it making it hard to concentrate. Too bad he hadn't splinched a bit higher up, to get rid of the stupid burn.

He heard a crack and the sound of little feet slapping against stone. The wrinkled, brown face of a house elf of indeterminate age, gender and approbation suddenly loomed over him. "Mister Black, sir?"

Sirius grinned at it. "That's right. Sirius Black, at your service. I'm back." He giggled a little.

The elf's eyes widened. "Wizards is not at elf's service!" it scolded. "Isn't proper!" The little thing frowned. "Sir is bleeding. Sookie is checking with Mistress if Mister Black is to be coming inside." So saying, it disapparated again.

Sirius blinked up at the cold rain, then decided to sit up. He had just about managed it, despite the lightheadedness and the onset of vigorous shivering, when the house elf reappeared, this time accompanied by Elaine Avery. "Sirius Black?"

"In the flesh."

"Merlin, child, you're covered in blood! Is that... where are your fingers?! Ferula! Where have you been? Richard was so upset and worried! We thought you were dead! Let's get you inside. Sookie, take him in." More bandages appeared and wound around his mutilated hand as she spoke. Then the house elf snapped its fingers to levitate him inside. She bustled him through to a cozy sitting room and deposited him on a couch. "Winston! Young Sirius Black is visiting. Keep him company for a few minutes but don't touch him. Sookie, fetch the healing kit. I'll be right back." She whipped around and stalked back out of the room. The house elf vanished again.

Sirius looked around to spot a middle-aged, rather fat wizard sitting in the chair between the hearth and a heavily decorated Christmas tree. It was Richard's father, Winston Avery. Sirius had met the wizard before, when he was a child, but not in a long time. From what he could remember, the man was... odd. Winston was currently staring at him with a curious expression.

"Do you like brooms?" he asked suddenly.

"Er... yes?" That was not the question Sirius would have expected the Lord of the House to ask of an unexpected guest who was supposed to be dead and who showed up to bleed all over the cushions on Christmas Day.

"Wonderful! Look at this!" He got up and crossed the room to sit down next to Sirius. He held up the latest issue of Quidditch Times and started showing Sirius all the pictures. Even weirder, he seemed most interested in the various broomsticks for their shapes and colors rather than their speed, maneuverability, who was riding them, or other more practical qualities. Fortunately, Sirius was still high enough on his various potions to just roll with it. He started pointing out the interesting cloud formations in the backgrounds of the quidditch photos, which Winston seized upon with utter delight. "That one! That one looks like a fwooper!"

"And that one looks like a billiwig."

"And that one looks like a niffler!"

"And that one looks like a-"

"Sirius!" He had barely turned his head before Avery slammed into him from the side and crushed him with a hug.

"Ow, you-"

"You're alive!"

"Yeah, I know, and you're squeezing my bum arm."

"Oh, sorry!" Avery... No, Richard, Sirius corrected himself. In a house full of Averys, he really needed to use first names, even in his own head. Richard let go of him immediately, but his hands instead found their way to Sirius' cheeks. "I couldn't believe it when Mum told me you were down here..."

"Why are you wearing a dressing gown at two in the afternoon on Christmas?"

Richard laughed. "That's the first thing that comes to your mind?"

"It's pretty shocking. I can see your hairless, pasty chest. Also, your hair is bleeding into it." There was a dark pink stain slowly spreading down the fuzzy white collar.

Richard's face fell. "I... I was in the bathroom. I don't want to talk about it."

"Something happen on the raid today?"

"How did you know there was a raid?"

Sirius grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "Most of my jailors were called to obliviate the muggles. You saved me, Richard! You and Audrey."

..."Oh." He sat back and looked at Sirius with a critical eye. "Mum said you were hurt..."

"So I did. Let's see what we're dealing with, Sirius. Winston, go back to your chair. We're busy," Elaine said. Sirius hadn't even noticed her come back. She started muttering basic diagnostic charms.

"This one looks like a griffin!" Winston whispered loudly, brandishing his magazine, before obeying his wife.

"Merlin's teeth, Sirius, no wonder you splinched! You have a fever, and this burn..."

"Yeah, I could have told you that. I've been sick ever since they took me."

Richard took one look and snapped his gaze up to Sirius wonderingly. "You just got back, didn't you?"

"Yep."

"As in, you apparated straight here from wherever you've been."

"That's how apparation works, mate."

"The Dark Lord doesn't know where you are?" Elaine asked sharply.

"And he's been calling you?"

Sirius nodded. "He never stopped calling, not once."

"Why did you come here, then, instead of going straight to him?" Richard asked, clear fear in his voice.

"Because this was the closest. Way closer than headquarters. I'd never have made it there. Besides, if you were on a mission today, that means he's on a mission too. That can't be interrupted, Richard, not just for me. Don't worry. I'll go to him." He grinned again. "I just might need a little help getting there."

Richard slowly nodded. "I still... I don't have full access to headquarters, and I need to finish cleaning up and join the Obliviators anyway. I'll call Evan. Evan Rosier, I mean. Even if he's... out... his house elf can take a message for him to come here as soon as possible. He'll get you to headquarters."

"Thank you."

Richard squeezed his good hand and touched his forehead to Sirius'. He really smelled like blood. What had he done today? "I'm happy you're back, boss."

"So am I."

"I'll see you later."

He got up and hurried away. Elaine submerged his hand in a whole basin of Dittany, frowning as the solution rapidly turned a dark red. "You'll need a blood replenisher," she observed.

"Sirius Black, do you like end tables? Or- or maybe guillotines?" Winston asked. He was sorting through a magazine rack. Well. Something was definitely wrong with that man.

The fire turned green, distracting Sirius from Winston's latest picture-containing reading material, an old edition of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. A thin man with dark brown hair and a mustache stepped out of the fire. He looked about twenty-five. He was wearing the thick black robes of a Death Eater on a mission.

He froze on the rug before the fire, staring at Sirius in shock. "Black?"

"Yep. Rosier, I presume? Sorry, I kind of forgot what you look like..."

"Evan!" Winston shouted, bouncing up to shake the newcomer's hand. "Happy Christmas, sonny!"

"Happy Christmas, sir," Evan Rosier said automatically, still staring at Sirius.

"Do you know if the Dark Lord is back at headquarters?"

"Tom!" Winston cried. "Oh, invite him to dinner tomorrow, won't you, boys?"

Rosier flinched. "Mr. Avery, you're not supposed to use that name!"

"Oh, sorry. Voldemort! Invite Lord Voldemort for dinner!"

"Shhh!"

"Dad, go to your room," fourteen-year-old Morgan Avery said. It was she who had explained to Sirius, after Elaine and Richard left for the Ministry, that her father Winston had run afoul of an incorrectly brewed Baruffio's Brain Elixir a few years out of Hogwarts while studying for an Arithmancy mastery. It had left him with odd obsessions (picture books, carpentry schematics, and philosophical proofs of blood supremacy), complete lack of interest in anything outside his obsessions and his social life, utter fearlessness, and an unpredictable temperament that collectively amounted to an inability to function independently. It was less than a year after he'd married Elaine, and less than a month before the old Lord Avery abruptly died of dragon pox. All of Winston's siblings remained underage at the time, leaving the brain-damaged Winston to inherit the seat, with Elaine quietly taking the reigns as his regent. The timing of it all was not lost on Sirius, nor on Morgan, who spoke of her mother in awed tones. She and her brother still treated Winston with love and respect, fortunately, even if they had both surpassed him years ago in terms of attention and self-control.

"Morgan, you should go to your room too," Rosier said quietly. The young witch obediently got up and left without another word, pulling her addlepated sire along behind her.

Once they were gone, Rosier finally answered Sirius. "Yes, the Dark Lord has finished his task and returned to headquarters."

"Great! Let's go."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I've been waiting for someone to take me there."

"And you have been waiting to drag someone else into this... why?"

"I'd rather not splinch myself again." He held up his hand with its two remaining fingers, then just to be extra convincing heaved himself to his feet, wobbled a little, and staggered over to Rosier, almost running into him.

"Oh."

"Thanks for this, Rosier. I'll owe you one." He offered Rosier his right arm. The Death Eater sighed.

"I'm doing this for the Dark Lord and for Richard and Madam Avery, Black, not for you. Are you going to mask up?"

"Mask burned down." Sirius pulled the white, monogrammed towel Sookie had given him over his head instead. He took out his wand and jabbed it at the towel, which became an enormous curly white wig and beard. "Ho ho ho, Happy Christmas." He pocketed his wand and once again offered his arm. Rosier sighed again, and took it. Merlin, messing with Death Eaters really appealed to Sirius' current, chemically disinhibited state of mind. Spending time with Winston hadn't helped. He should probably try to curb that impulse when he got in the room with Voldemort.

Rosier's grip tightened, and they disapparated to the covered entryway of Death Eater headquarters. Sirius nearly collapsed to his knees again, only kept upright by Rosier's steady hand. He waited a few seconds for the world to stop spinning, then started walking, allowing Rosier to guide him as if he were more off-balance than he actually was. Unsurprisingly, the place was pretty quiet, with so much of the usual foot traffic diverted to the Ministry's obliviation squads. Rosier led him not to a conference room but rather into a malodorous hallway Sirius had only passed by before yet never entered. They turned into a small infirmary with only two beds but a huge potions stock. Rosier pushed Sirius to sit on one of the beds, lit the nearest candelabra with a word, and ordered him to wait.

He didn't wait long. Bella burst into the room first, shrieking his name like a war cry. She ripped off his Father Christmas wig, shrieked again in wordless delight, and hugged him. There was no gentleness in her savage embrace; she squeezed as if she was trying to stop his lungs, all the while sobbing into his shoulder. Her short hair tickled his neck.

"Ow... can't... breathe..." he whispered.

Voldemort arrived next, his face a mask of fury, eyes wild and red. He banished Bella off of him, throwing her across the room to smack into the far wall. Then he turned his wand on Sirius. "You! Crucio!"

Sirius knew it was coming. He had even joked about it to Moody. Foreknowledge was no preparation. Living with pain for weeks on end was no preparation. Every nerve that had healed burned again. Every muscle contorted. Every bone groaned and begged to break. He joined his voice to the silent screams of his body. It was a symphony of agony, though fortunately only a short overture to the great opera he had previously suffered at Bella's hands. It stopped. He felt Bella's hands on his shuddering flesh and heard her voice pleading with the Dark Lord, "No, please, punish me! Spare him, my Lord!"

"Step aside, Bella," Voldemort snarled. Sirius started laughing, mostly at Bella's madness. It would be so funny if Voldemort ended up killing her one day because of this kind of thing.

"Sirius?" Bella whispered. Her hopeful, worried face swam into his vision. Two hands reached down, grabbed her shoulders, and hauled her backwards. "No! Sirius! Let me go, Dolph!"

"Control. Your. Wife. Rodolphus," Voldemort hissed.

"My Lord! Please do not kill him! He did not betray us! I know it!"

"Silencio. Locomotor mortis."

"Thank you." Voldemort knelt down next to Sirius, who was still breathlessly laughing. Delicately, the Dark Lord took hold of Sirius' wounded arm and lifted it up. He ran a finger along the bandage, and Sirius could feel a whisper of magic seeping into his arm. The Dark Lord glared down. Sirius took a few gulping breaths and forced himself to stillness.

"My Lord," he finally managed.

"You have returned to us."

"The first moment I could, my Lord."

"Oscausi." Sirius' mouth was sealed shut, lips melded together with the rest of the skin of his face. "I do not believe you. Crucio!"

Sirius writhed and screamed again, though muffled now, more like loud, desperate humming. Then the curse abated, and he was left weak and sucking in air through his nose on the floor.

"I say you are returned only in vain effort to save yourself from the rot I have inflicted upon you from afar. After all, the Order could not mend what Lord Voldemort has cursed. Is that it, Sirius? Have you come crawling back to beg for healing?"

Sirius could not answer, obviously. Rather than using the Oscausi countercurse, Voldemort ripped his lips open again with a severing charm. Sirius yelled out hoarsely in pain and spat blood. Voldemort kept casting severing charms, tearing new wounds in his chest, belly, and legs. Sirius realized hazily coming back like this had been a terrible mistake. Voldemort was too angry, perhaps too afraid, to pay heed to his justifications. "Accio." Sirius' right eye leapt from its socket. He yelled again and clapped his hand over it, surprised to find the globe still there, hanging on his face, rather than flown all the way to Voldemort's hand. He even watched the vision in it flicker surreally for a few seconds before it faded. Sirius trembled in fear and shock. He almost preferred the Cruciatus. It hurt more, but it hurt so much as to eliminate thought. He was terrified now that the Dark Lord was going to slowly rip him apart. Since he wasn't using Dark magic to do it, he could take as long as he liked, healing the wounds only to re-inflict them...

"Well, Rodolphus? Young Rosier? I have heard Bella's opinion, baseless and deluded by familial ties as it is. What say you two? Is it possible Heir Black returns to us without ulterior motive? Morsmord-Flagrante." Sirius' Dark Mark seared white-hot. The bandage overlying it started smoking. He yelped once then bit down hard on his tongue, forcing himself merely to breathe, rather than make any noise. He knew instinctually the Dark Lord would be even more annoyed if the others had to shout over him to answer. Voldemort was asking Rodolphus his opinion, and he hadn't done anything permanently disabling with Dark magic yet. That meant he might still have a slim chance to survive this. Maybe. If the stars aligned and he didn't cock it all up. Voldemort looked to the two corners of the room.

"I reserve judgment, my Lord," Rodolphus said quietly. It was the same tone he tended to use to calm Bella when she was in a fury. "Sirius has shown great promise. I will not deny I have been proud of his successes and... dispirited when we thought him lost. I saw him days before the attack on Malfoy Manor, and I can attest he was still weak. I was therefore not surprised he was overcome in that fight, because of physical disability. I was surprised when he was reported missing and not captured or dead. I would like to hear his explanation for that, if he has one. Yet I acknowledge my bias, my Lord. If his story and the evidence in his mind are unsatisfactory to you, I bow to your wisdom. Always."

Rosier coughed when Voldemort next glared at him expectantly. Reluctantly, he spoke. "My Lord, I cannot profess to know him or therefore guess his motives. I can tell you he returned to the Avery's house under his own power: he said his hand he injured during apparation, and I believe him. There were Dittany and blood-soaked bandages still there when I came to fetch him that would support a fresh injury. And that he came to that country house and not straight here is also no surprise to me, if he were held at Potter mansion as you suspected. The Averys' is much closer than here or Lestrange Manor would have been. He could barely walk as it was. Frankly, I'm astounded he managed to apparate at all."

Voldemort impatiently flicked his wand. The Flagrante curse, thankfully, he dismissed, though the pain of the hideous burn it had left remained, biting deeper into his flesh than it had even the day of the attack on Malfoy Manor. The smoldering bandages were also vanished, and Voldemort grabbed his arm roughly to inspect his oozing amputated fingers.

Voldemort snorted. "No, there was no burn here. No matter. It changes nothing. He has merely hurt himself more on the way, like an idiot."

This time, the Cruciatus lasted longer. At the end, Voldemort dove into Sirius' mind with a vengeance. Sirius could barely keep up, shoving every safe memory he had to the forefront in no particular sequence. He thought of pressing his wand to his own Dark Mark to call for help, and how it had burned, a pain that had never ended ever since. From that thought, it was only too easy to relive the pain of Bella's Cruciatus as well. He held onto the awful sensation for as long as he could stand it before allowing Voldemort to move them along, because he knew even the Dark Lord would not be unaffected and would (hopefully) be more cautious not to prod too deep. He recalled the sound of Moody summoning the Fiendfyre, and the sight of it roaring uncontrolled through Malfoy Manor, the feeling of horrible, smothering heat. He remembered sitting in Fleamont's lab, half delirious and burning with fever. He remembered casting the Fiendfyre countercurse to no avail. He showed glimpses of himself dueling with Moody (back in March, and not very well by his more recent standards, but there was no way to distinguish the location or time of year). He remembered James tearfully asking, no, telling him unprompted that they believed he had been kidnapped and held under the Imperious curse. He remembered Walburga shouting at people to "go away!" outside his hospital room while he struggled to hold a quill to paper. He felt the pull of James' Accio, sending him tumbling down the stairs, just barely escaping the reaching flames. He remembered the texture of Fleamont's goopiest burn salve, and the sight of six other potions lined up for him to take. He remembered watching four Ministry owls carrying summons for all but two of the people gathered 'round a lunch table. He broke his wand out of a locked cabinet in the Potters' kitchen (again, back in March). He asked smiling, dripping Richard where the Dark Lord was. For kicks, he showed old Winston and his strange furniture catalogue, prattling face lit by Christmas lights. He remembered the most recent time he Confunded Peter (last Christmas, as a lark to make him go looking for strawberries in the snow). And finally, with most attention to detail, he remembered how he had felt, walking alone across the Potter's lawn with an almost euphoric sense of purpose, right hand gripping his cherry wand, left hand in its sling, zig-zagging a little as he walked because the potions Fleamont had given him upset his disequilibrium, only to splinch himself when he apparated, at which point it was plain he could go no further without help.

Voldemort reached further, then, seeking out more, about his friends, about the Potters, about Moody. Sirius had to scramble to find memories that would seem to justify his friends' belief in his innocence despite what should be clear evidence to the contrary. The Marauders were easy enough, mostly Hogwarts memories. He threw in a few awkward conversations from the last month, mostly the bits where they fretted over his health or anxiously tried to reassure Sirius they didn't blame him for anything he had been "forced to do" and that he could decide to talk to them in his own time. He focused more on Fleamont than Euphemia, the frustrating time the experienced potioneer had had fighting the Dark Mark's burn, and his initial opinion that it was caused by Fiendfyre. Remus' voice drifted across: I didn't know Fiendfyre could do that... He flicked back two years ago, when Fleamont had brought him home from Grimmauld Place, after his mother had delivered yet another terrible beating and his father had locked him in the basement without light or food forthree days. Moody was a struggle, and he settled on a recent complaining session where he'd been more angry about having to live in hiding than anything else, and also scenes from St. Mungo's where Moody had witnessed and suffered Walburga's infamous temper while Sirius looked on mutely. Voldemort looked for Dumbledore next, but here Sirius was resolute, showing only his countless disciplinary encounters at Hogwarts and innocent snatches of his meeting with the headmaster back in March (I am sorry you have been put in this position, Sirius... I will of course offer whatever protection I can...). Again, there was no sign in that memory to give away the season.

Finally, it was over. Voldemort withdrew. Sirius breathed again and closed his uninjured eye a moment. "Did the old fool not think to confirm your presumed Imperious-cursed innocence with Legilimency?" Voldemort asked softly.

"He did," Sirius said. His words were slurred from his ragged lips, and thick with blood, but he ignored the discomfort and kept speaking, coughing occasionally when blood dripped back in his throat. "He ffound exaggly what he was looking for, Vellatrix casting the curse on fme... It was when she was teaching it to hme vack in the sfring, and we... fragticed on eachother. Vut then the negz thing he... found was her casting the Cruciatus on me, and unlike... you, fmy Lord, he could not, or at least would not, fpush fpast it to find anything else... of value. He told fme he pfitied me, and left it at that."

He heard a satisfied sound above him. When he opened his eye again, Voldemort was grinning down at him. "Your friends are so... indescribably gullible." He laughed, high and cold, not the strange breathy giggle Sirius had heard before. "Truly, you were a rose amongst thorns in that circle, my treasured servant. Rodolphus, Bella, you may rejoice in my mercy." He ran bare fingers over Sirius' bleeding lips. It was a gentle touch, alarmingly intimate. "Osaperi. Episkey. Anapneo." Sirius' mouth was mended, oh, sweet Merlin. And his throat and windpipe were cleared. Voldemort gently picked up his dangling eyeball next and pushed it back into place, whispering spells to repair the damaged tissue and ward off infection. It was revolting, but Sirius was not stupid enough to flinch.

"Thank you, my Lord," he murmured. "And thank you for never giving up on your summons..."

"It hurt you," Voldemort reminded him, now sealing up the other cuts he had inflicted in his rage. "It hurt you terribly, if I say so myself."

"It did. But it saved me. They fooled themselves first, but if I had not been so ill, they would have surely questioned me more closely. Nor would I have been able to summon tears so easily to confirm their fears on my behalf."

"Nor would you have lost your fingers returning to me," Voldemort mused.

"Worth it," Sirius said, simply.

"We will restore them to you, for your faithfulness," Voldemort promised, almost crooning now. He was amazingly expressive, Sirius thought deliriously. "Vulnera Sanentur." The gaping wound in Sirius' hand knit closed in an instant. "Frigus, Lenire..." He blew on Sirius' arm, and his breath fogged in the air it was so cold. Whether the cold soothed the burn, or Voldemort's newfound lack of ire did, Sirius had no idea. Whichever it was, he was glad. He relaxed fully for the first time in weeks. Voldemort then picked him up and set him on the bed, again without using magic. Why was such a thin man so physically strong? The Dark Lord paused and arched one eyebrow. He reached down and picked up Sirius' Father Christmas beard, that had ended up beneath him. He held it up for a moment. Bits of it were tipped in blood, now. "What is this?" he asked the room at large. In the far corner but still in his line of sight, Sirius noticed Rosier twitch.

Sirius grinned weakly. "My disguise, since I lost my old Mask. Seemed seasonal."

There was the creepy giggle! Voldemort draped the mass of white curls over Sirius' chest and patted his shoulder. "Invigore!" Sirius' head suddenly cleared of its weary fog with the strengthening charm. Hopefully, that was just a bonus gift from the Dark Lord and he wasn't actually expected to get up and do anything in the near future. "I missed my jester. You will never leave me again. Rodolphus, you may release your wife. Bella, go summon Theodosius. He will prepare a new batch of Skelegro, same recipe I wrote for Selwyn's arm. We have fifteen bones to replace, Sirius," he explained as Bella ran from the room, "and no scaffolding available to us. It will take time, but I will make your hand whole again. Until then..." he drew his wand and traced a circle in the air. A trail of quicksilver formed in its wake. The liquid fell together at the center of the circle, writhed a moment in the air, then formed three ghostly silver fingers and flew to Sirius' hand. It felt like cool water. It looked like very pretty poison.

"Looks like mercury. It isn't, is it?" he asked without thinking. He watched the strange fingers curl and straighten as if they were his own. He pressed the little finger against his thumb. It had a lot of surface tension, but there was some give. He decided it was still liquid, even in this shaped and more solid-looking form. The apparent solidity must be the result of the mystical container.

Fortunately, although there was at least one strangled gasp at his cheek, probably Rosier, Voldemort only grinned. "It is, actually. But it is contained and will not harm you. That is why I healed the area first. Your life and your mind are too precious to us to risk poisoning it over time, but nor would I have you handicapped and suffering even longer than you have. The sickbed has claimed you too long. No more. You are mine. My weapon, my wand, my chosen follower."

"I live to serve, my Lord."

"You do. You do, indeed..." He reached a pale hand out to the side and summoned a large, empty jar over from the shelf. He waved his wand, and several little red rivulets rose up from the floor and from his clothes. Sirius' spilled blood coalesced into a dark red orb that Voldemort caught in his jar, filling it halfway. He pointed the wand inside the jar and effortlessly moved it through a very tight, very intricate pattern with a mutter of "Geminio." The blood bubbled and multiplied to fill the whole container. He poured that off into another flask that he handed to Rodolphus, then used a refilling charm on his own. Voldemort smiled coldly and straightened. "Rodolphus, you will come with me back to the home of Sirius' erstwhile captors. Assuming we are in luck and the house remains empty still, we will tear down the wards and vandalize the place. It may behoove us all to preserve the sympathies our enemies yet hold for young Sirius. Likely the ruse will not be believed a second time, but... imagine how the Potters will weep when they find they failed to protect their foster son from us yet again, their home painted in his blood. And on Christmas no less! Come. There is no time to waste."

Chapter Text

Voldemort swept out of the room with Rodolphus on his heels, leaving Sirius alone with Rosier, forgotten in the corner.

Sirius forced a grin again, wide, obnoxious and off-putting given the circumstances as he could manage. "That went well, didn't it? Thanks again for all your help." Rosier shook his head at him slowly and stalked out. Thank Merlin. Sirius had to put that strengthening charm to good use while it lasted, before his energy levels crashed back down to where they should be after so many curses and so much blood loss. He dug in his pocket and pulled out his watch. He had cracked it open earlier when he was at the Averys'. He was relieved to see Moody had, fortunately, checked in, heard strange voices, and stayed put to figure out what was going on. The surly little figure was crouched by the stream, pretending to fish as per usual. He put the watch back in his pocket as he heard footsteps in the hall. Two Death Eaters rushed back into the room, Bella and presumably the 'Theodosius' she had gone to fetch. They closed the door behind them, and both de-masked. It was indeed Bella, and her companion was Lord Theodosius Nott. Sirius recognized him now, from the photographs Moody had shown him of Death Eater suspects a few weeks ago. He hadn't been able to place the name before.

Nott ignored Sirius for the moment and moved about amongst the shelves selecting various potions, utensils and ingredients; like Fleamont, he seemed in his natural environment in a potions laboratory. Bella returned to Sirius' side. She knelt by the bed and reached out to run one hand over his silver fingers and one along the side of his face. When he did not immediately shove her away, she beamed at him and moved both hands to his cheeks. "Oh, Siri, I'm so glad you're back!"

"Me too," Sirius said quickly. "I'm lucky they only left Pete to guard me this afternoon after the rest left." That was all he dared to say about it so openly, but hopefully Portrait Moody took the hint and made sure Peter wasn't seen anywhere that would poke holes in his story until he could give a fuller report. "Can you tell Reggie and Narcissa I'm back, and I'll be okay? And my parents, I suppose."

"Of course I will. Have you forgiven me, Siri?" Bella asked, her voice flavored with hope and desperation. Didn't take her long to move on from concern for him to concern for herself.

"I... I don't know, Bella," he said after a brief hesitation. "I'm not as angry as I was, I think, but now... I'm just too tired to think about it."

"I didn't mean it, Siri. I didn't. You have to believe me! I even stopped dueling the aurors to put out all the Fiendfyre looking for you."

"Bother him on your own time, Madam Lestrange," Nott said coldly from above them. "I will not listen to a woman's simpering."

Bella's happy expression darkened. "Bitter old misogynistic creep," she muttered. "It's no wonder the Dark Lord had to Imperious your fiancée for you," she said, louder. Sirius bit back a grin, which Bella shared readily.

"Keep your rumors to yourself, woman, and get out of my way. I have work to do." Bella obediently, if reluctantly, moved aside. Nott did not kneel but rather loomed over Sirius' bed, staring down at him. His stern expression was eerily reminiscent to Sirius' father's, who was a similar age, although Nott otherwise bore little physical resemblance to Orion Black with his short-clipped and yellow hair and scraggly yellow-grey beard. Perhaps it was the disdain. Neither his hairstyle nor his wardrobe flattered his squat and slightly hunch-backed frame, yet this clearly did not indent his pride one bit. He looked at Sirius as if he were an irritating distraction from much more important work. "What else is wrong with you beyond the obvious?"

"Depends. What's the obvious?"

"The hand. The eye. The burn. The fever. The attitude."

Sirius laughed. "I doubt you'll be curing the familial madness. But I think you spotted everything important. I'm finally over the Cruciatus spell damage from last month, I think. The last person who was treating me stopped the nerve regenerator anyway. They still had me on a muscle relaxer and calming draught but were tapering them. The Dark Lord's attentions today were mild in comparison." Bella struggled to hide a smirk from behind Nott's shoulder. She would take a perverse pleasure in that comment, regardless of her professed regrets.

Nott frowned and summoned a piece of parchment and a quill over from the work bench. "You'll need to resume the nerve regenerator to reinnervate your missing fingers, once the musculoskeletal framework is restored. Tell me about all the potions you've been exposed to for the past two weeks. The Dark Lord will be displeased if I accidentally poison you."

"Sure. Some of them were experimental, though."

For the first time, Nott's eyes showed a spark of interest. "Then tell me what you remember about them - their appearance, their application, any ingredients you were made aware of."

"You might want a chair. This will take awhile."

As predicted, Sirius' energy dropped precipitously halfway through the conversation with Nott as the Dark Lord's strengthening charm ran out. He went from alert to groggy and confused so quickly, Bella even checked him over again for more wounds the Dark Lord might have forgotten to close and talked Nott into giving him an extra blood replenisher. That didn't help, and he sank into a dead faint.

Lord Nott did not believe in coddling patients, so he offered nothing for Sirius' pain. He also believed the dregs of Sirius' post-Cruciatus regimen were now causing more problems than they were worth through their interactions with other treatments, thus he decided to taper off both the muscle relaxant and calming draught as quickly as possible, in less than a week. Nott also prescribed a new treatment for wound poisoning with a particularly foul-smelling brew that seemed more of a purgative than anything else from the way it affected Sirius' bowels. The older Death Eater swore it was effective though, and standard treatment for those bitten by Nundu, the jaws of which were notoriously foul. He unsympathetically stood over Sirius as he drank it down without offering anything but a glass of water for the side effects.

The upside of this plan was that Sirius should be back on his feet and ready to resume terrorizing muggles and so on in perhaps two weeks, maybe three. The downside was that Sirius was extremely miserable and had to stay in the infirmary. Yes, the burn healed, finally, but Sirius felt incredibly nauseated and feverish (Nott said that was his imagination, but the shivering and sweats were real enough), weak, off-balance, jittery alternating with panicked and disoriented, and completely unable to sleep after that first exhausted stupor. At least for the first four days. He continued to feel miserable but fell into a kind of uneasy doze on the fifth day. Still, he was tormented by anxious thoughts and waking dreams: that Voldemort discovered his duplicity, that Bella tried to teach him to resist the Cruciatus again, that his mother and father came to headquarters to drag him back to Grimmauld, that Regulus had a Dark Mark on his forearm, that Bella killed the Potters for the temerity of believing him to be better than he was... He awoke screaming to the vision of James strung up by his entrails, Bella urging him to turn the corpse into a wine glass for her.

His strangled yell quickly morphed into a coughing fit; the infirmary was thick with astringent fumes. Sirius squinted to see Lord Nott, wearing a bubble head charm, bending over a cauldron that emitted brilliant green sparks. The potioneer shot him an irritated look. Sirius quickly fumbled for his wand and conjured his own bubble of clean air. He sat up and breathed deep for a minute, waiting for his racing heart to slow down. Merlin, his throat was parched. He reached for the glass of water on the floor and refilled it with his wand. He drank three cups before the strange thirst was quenched. "What in Merlin's name are you making?" he asked eventually.

"An experiment of the Dark Lord's," Nott answered curtly. He added a few drops of something-or-other to the potion, stirred it, and reduced the heat of the flames. He then turned to Sirius with an expression of peculiar excitement. "Why did you scream? What did you see?"

"Uh...that's sort of a personal question. Why do you ask?"

Nott gestured impatiently. "This drink the Dark Lord has designed to cause perfect despair. It is an ingenious thing! He has been working on it for months, though only recently delegated the experimental brewing to me. One good outcome of the Malfoy debacle." The last sentence was an annoyed mutter.

"Yeah? Thanks a lot for brewing it in a poorly-ventilated infirmary where I was sleeping, then," Sirius said grumpily. He wondered if Nott had been assigned to brew this potion because he had taken over someone else's role, who had been captured or killed in the raid, or because the Dark Lord had no time to do it himself. Or perhaps because the events at Malfoy Manor meant this brew was needed sooner?

Nott laughed coldly. "Next time, I'll charm your head first. Or retire to my proper laboratory and leave you alone to suffer your withdrawal unsupervised. Perhaps you would be fine, but perhaps you would suffer a seizure and choke to death on your own tongue. Who knows? But tell me, Sirius, what did you see? All my other test subjects died unable to speak of their experience. I would like at least to be able to tell the Dark Lord we are on the right track!"

Sirius was silent a moment. He was contemplating what on earth the Dark Lord could be designing such a foul potion for. Unfortunately, he was unlikely to find out by alienating Nott. He sighed. "I saw...visions of futures that I fear. Hurt to myself. Hurt to people I care about."

Nott frowned. "It was supposed to cause the drinker to relive their worst memories, not imagine new scenarios," he muttered. "I wonder why..."

"Well, I didn't actually drink it, did I?"

"True. Perhaps because you were already asleep and dreaming, the fumes merely influenced your dream content, since one does not usually relive memory in dreams in any case. Hmm. At least I will be able to tell the Dark Lord something promising if this batch again proves to be lethal."

"I'm not volunteering to test the final product for you."

"No, we have muggles for that," Nott said absently, turning back to his evil elixir. He stirred it three times with a long bone.

"What kind of bone is that?" Sirius asked, just to keep the conversation going. It looked disturbingly like the leg bone of a human child.

"Femur of a Pogrebin," Nott answered.

"Oh. That's a Russian gnomic subspecies, right?" Sirius asked, vaguely recalling his Care of Magical Creatures O.W.L.s.

"Yes, one that causes unwary travelers to sense the futility of life, sink into an existential fugue, and eventually become incapable of fending off even a gnome."

"Right, right. What else is in the potion?"

"You do not need to know, nor do I have any interest in explaining to a mediocre potioneer such as yourself."

Sirius huffed. He had acquitted himself poorly in the potions interrogation the other day; Nott would not take his fever and exhaustion as an excuse either and declared him a halfwit. "Fine. Does that thing at least have a practical purpose in mind, or is it just a new way to torture those who deserve it?" Sirius asked. "I mean, there's way more cost-effective means to-"

Nott snorted. "Such concern for the treasury. Of course the Dark Lord has a purpose! Think, fool. What is the advantage of a potion over wandwork? Once brewed, it is always ready to be used, no matter which incompetent carries it. Moreover, most wizards are fools like you who wouldn't recognize the subtle threat of a novel potion like this one..." he smiled deviously. "Imagine it, Sirius. A thief comes and sees a treasure - unguarded! He need only reach out and take it, yet the act of reaching, the act of touching, that itself is the trap. And unlike a mere poison, the thief will still be salvageable for interrogation..."

"You're making it to absorb through the skin? That sounds hideously dangerous to more than just the 'thief.' Hope you you've got a method to clean it off if you ever want to touch the 'treasure' again."

Nott shook his head, smiling indulgently. "Not yet, and perhaps not ever. We must first obtain the desired effect before tinkering with the delivery system. There are other means to ensure the trap is sprung if it must remain oral. Now be silent. This next bit is sensitive."

Sirius watched quietly, mulling over the conversation in his mind. He wondered what else did the Dark Lord need to guard, now that his most precious treasure was destroyed? And where was he planning to build this 'trap,' assuming Nott was speaking of more than a hypothetical? He probably wasn't going to find out anytime soon though.

Chapter Text

Rodolphus retrieved Sirius from the infirmary almost the moment Nott was satisfied he was well enough to leave. They went straight to another part of headquarters that Sirius had never visited, this one clearly a practice room for dueling. Mulciber was there, lazily aiming hexes at an old snitch.

"Keep going, Felix, and faster," Rodolphus ordered. "I'll be working with Sirius for a few minutes first."

Mulciber nodded curtly.

"I assume you had no chance to practice in captivity?" Rodolphus asked while simultaneously twirling his wand to conjure a target.

"I did some. On the days when I could get out of bed anyway." (So, almost every day, but Rodolphpus didn't need to know that). "You can still practice wand movements with an inert stick. And wandless magic, obviously."

Rodolphus looked vaguely pleased with him. "Show me. Speed and accuracy with stinging hexes like last time."

Sirius grinned and took out his wand. He started casting. Unlike the last time he had attempted this with Rodolphus back in Malfoy manor, his hand moved precisely and efficiently, and his spell hit the target every time. It probably still wasn't as fast as he could have managed before Bella cursed him, but it was already better than he had been at Hogwarts. Rodolphus started moving the target, and his accuracy only suffered slightly, hitting nearer the edges of the target but not wildly off-base.

"Good. Very good. I honestly thought we'd have a lot more work to do."

"I said I was practicing."

"Out of curiosity, what was your routine?"

"Variable. Anywhere from a few minutes to several hours, depending on how I was feeling and who was around watching me." He shrugged. "I spent a lot of time bored, alone in a bedroom. My casting was still pants until a little over a week ago, around the time they were able to stop the nerve regenerator."

"Still, accuracy is difficult to improve in an enclosed space without a proper target."

"I had a proper target." Sirius conjured a lump of clay, quickly formed it into a homunculus - much easier with two hands - and muttered "Shabtis." He set it down, and the little fellow started running in zigzags around the floor. Mulciber aimed a curse at it, and it dodged to hide behind Rodolphus' shoes.

Rodolphus stomped on it. Or tried to. The shabti jumped aside and hightailed it to hide under a cupboard. "It does use its environment better than a snitch," he observed wryly.

"Yeah. I can tell you right now I'll be abysmal at dueling though. I haven't been in a position to practice balance and dodging worth a damn."

"Well, let's see. I'll cast stingers, you dodge." So saying, he launched a rapid volley of hexes Sirius' way. Sirius was absolutely right. He managed to dodge the first one. The next three all hit, then he dodged again, before taking one right on the bridge of his nose that made both his eyes swell shut and thus ended his ability to see and avoid anything else. "Well," Rodolphus laughed dryly. "We have our work cut out for us. Hold still, I'll fix it."

After reducing the swelling in Sirius' face, Rodolphus walked him through some stretches and agility exercises for him to practice on his own time. He promised they would actually duel next time, when Sirius would hopefully be a little more prepared.

"But that's not the only reason you're with me today. Felix, get over here."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, Sirius, I believe you are aware of Felix' skill with the Imperious curse?"

"Yes, by reputation," Sirius said slowly.

"Good. Now, Felix, Sirius has successfully thrown off the Imperious curse multiple times."

"Really? Who cast it?" Felix asked, sounding quite surprised.

"My wife, when she was training him. I want you to cast it, see if he can resist you as well as he can her."

"Ah." He gave Sirius a considering look. He broke out into a grin. "A galleon says you won't," he said mockingly.

"Two galleons," Sirius said immediately. "You're no Bella."

"No, with the Imperious curse, I'm better."

"Whatever, Mulciber."

"Imperio!"

Sirius quite enjoyed being under the Imperious curse. He always did. It was a soothing, relaxing place to be. It was a blissful reprieve from the constant stress of his current existence. If he could trust someone to put him under just for relaxation purposes, he totally would.

"Stand on one foot," came Mulciber's silken command.

Sirius did without a second thought.

"Recite the twelve uses of dragon blood."

Again, Sirius did, but he did it in German. Rodolphus started to smile. Mulciber frowned.

"Sing the Hogwarts Song in falsetto."

Sirius grinned wildly, now conscously fighting the compulsion to burst into song. There were two or three false starts before he managed to say, rather than sing, "I did that at the opening feast once, in fourth year, I think. Used a Sonorus and everything."

Mulciber scowled at him. "I remember. It was terrible."

"Then why d'you want me to do it again?"

"First thing I thought of."

"Really? I would have commanded me to pull my pants down or something. Be funnier."

"Well, I guess he can resist," Rodolphus interjected.

"Obviously. He hasn't fully thrown it though."

"Only because this is a serious high, and I love to annoy you," Sirius said. Still standing on one foot, he started bouncing and moving his arms, dancing in place like a giddy child.

"Are you making him do that?"

"No. Sirius, stop it. Stand still."

"Repression - gonna start on Tuesday" Sirius sang suddenly, with no idea which muggle song he was quoting. He continued to hop around on one foot, giving a little pirouette with every line of the song. "Repression - gonna be a Dalek... Repression - I am a robot... Repression..." He blinked and set his foot down at last. The pleasant Imperious fog cleared. The song was from that Clash concert. He remembered now. "Actually, no, I do not obey. Cheers, Mulciber. You owe me a galleon."

"Maybe it's a Black thing," Mulciber ventured, lowering his wand. "Want me to try again?"

"Not right now."

"Shouldn't have made me do schoolwork. You know how much I hated that," Sirius told Mulciber.

"Any idea how you resist, Sirius?" Rodolphus asked.

Sirius shrugged. "Combination of being able to recognize exactly what's going on and being generally contrary whenever someone tells me what to do, I guess. The books all say it comes down to willpower, but you know that. Why?"

"Bella cannot describe it, and the Dark Lord's teachings on the subject are... too technical for most. And yet, with the Ministry's recent Unforgivables policy, it is important we increase the numbers of Death Eaters who can resist the curse, if we can."

"It's not a standard training?" Sirius asked, honestly surprised.

Rodolphus smirked. "Well, most will have the experience at least once, certainly the Inner Circle, but training... let us just say Bella is an unorthodox instructor and pushes further than most would think is reasonable." Understatement of the century, that. "Historically, wizards have an aptitude to resist the curse, or they do not. Repetition does not help those without aptitude, only addles their minds over time. Even amongst the Dark Lord's followers, few have learned to resist the curse, and none so young and inexperienced as you."

Sirius side-eyed Mulciber. "What about you? When's your birthday?" Mulciber flushed. "Hah! My cousin's still got you beat there, then, you so-called Imperious Prodigy."

"Behave, Sirius. Now, I would like you to practice with Felix, see if he can learn to resist as you do. Depending on how it goes, we might do the same with a larger group in a few days."

"Sure."

"I'll leave you to it, then." He nodded at them both and left.

Struck by a sudden thought, Sirius leaned close to Mulciber. "Can he resist the Imperious? I never asked," he muttered.

Mulciber regained his customary smirk. "Not mine."

"Nice. Imperio." Mulciber's expression turned vacant. "Open your eyes and mouth as wide as you can, then stick your tongue out and waggle it at me." Mulciber complied instantly, just as compliant as any muggle Sirius had tried this on. He directed the young wizard through a host of silly faces with a mixture of verbal and nonverbal commands before getting bored and dropping the curse. Mulciber blinked and scowled at him. "Were you even trying to resist?" Sirius asked curiously.

"Of course!" Sirius raised an eyebrow. Mulciber flushed and looked at his shoes. "I mean... well, I meant to resist, but you surprised me. It's harder that way."

"No, it isn't. Bella used to jump me coming out of the bathroom and curse me. You need to decide to fight back as soon as you feel that overwhelming peace, regardless of whether you were expecting it or not."

Mulciber looked back up at him. "How in Merlin's name do you decide you don't want to feel that good?"

Sirius shrugged. "Dunno. Same way you decide you'd rather take a chance on Sorting into Gryffindor than do the thing Walburga Black desired and expected and be a Slytherin."

Mulciber sneered. "So it is the Black family madness that lets you fight off my curse."

"Maybe. What I don't get is why you can't fight it off if you're so good at putting it on others. The books always said it was a 'battle of wills,' but if that was true, you should have no problem with this. Are you an Occlumens?"

"Of course."

"A good one?"

"Decent."

"Well, then, that's not it either."

"Are you saying you use Occlumency to resist the Imperious?"

"Eh, not really. Occlumency is all about focusing your mind. The Imperious is about emptying if of anything but the controller's command. You do need to be able to focus on resisting to throw it off, but... I suck at teaching, don't I? Let's see you try again." He cast the curse again and this time made Mulciber jump around and dance, which the wizard did with aplomb. He decided to try something else. "Take off your robe, slowly, like I'm a pretty girl." Now that was uncomfortable to watch, Mulciber gradually undoing his buttons whilst making fervent eye contact. He dismissed the curse after about six buttons, unwilling to make Mulciber actually strip for him.

"What the fuck, Black?" Mulciber hissed as soon as the light of sapience returned to his eyes. He held his robe closed again and turned slightly to redo the buttons.

"I thought you might have more luck if I gave a command you'd be more genuinely reluctant to follow."

"If that's all it took, it would be impossible to force anyone to commit murder with the curse," Mulciber pointed out acidly.

"Yeah, but it was worth a shot." He didn't have to ask to know there had been no thought of resistance in Mulciber's mind. He had no idea how to teach what he did, and little inclination to, either. He, and Moody, had assumed back when Bella was first working with him in the spring that most if not all of the Death Eaters had some resistance to the Imperious curse, which was a point of frustration they shared regarding Crouch's Unforgivables legislation. But if that was not the case, then perhaps they should use the curse more. "Say, Mulciber, who else besides me and Bella can resist you? Even a little bit?"

"I don't know all their names. Maybe ten people all told. Dolohov was one, although he had trouble throwing it off completely. Lord Yaxley. Lord Malfoy. Abraxas, that is. Actually, Lucius too. Resist, not throw off. It was one of the reasons the Dark Lord was so angry about what happened at his trial, I think."

Yes, Voldemort would indeed have been miffed to think there was an Imperator more capable than Mulciber not already in his pocket. And what had Lucius said at the hospital? He said it was the only way for me to see our baby... Merlin, Lucius had agreed to be Imperioused and chosen not to resist, until it was no longer a decision. Even more evidence against Abraxas; Lucius would not have trusted anyone else's judgment for a plan that ruthless, would have doubted anyone else's power over him.

"What does their resistance feel like to you? With Bella, it felt like I was the one losing focus on controlling her."

"That's not it at all! She's like trying to push a door closed against a raging hippogriff." He paused, considering. "Funny, now I think of it, you're all different. With you, it's like there's nothing to hold on to at all, as if my curse were a net and your mind a swarm of flies too small to keep trapped in it."

"Charming."

"Abraxas was like a heavy stone, too heavy to hold for long. Dolohov is like... like the coals of a bonfire. You disturb the wrong place, and suddenly it starts to spark and smoke, ready to leap back into flame. And Lucius just felt... human. A foolish one. Like I had to constantly tell him and remind him what to do, and he would think about it but then eventually do it. I suspect if I had ever held the curse long-term on any of them, they would have broken through inevitably. It just might have taken longer than with you and Bella."

So, every interaction was unique, depending on who was casting and who was resisting. Interesting. Weird. Sirius had no idea what to make of it. "I've never tried holding the curse for more than half an hour or so," Sirius mused. "Bella went over the theory, of course, but do you have any tips, Imperious Prodigy?"

"Don't call me that. I can tell you're mocking me."

"I would never, World's Greatest Imperator."

Mulciber flipped him the bird, and Sirius grinned at him. Mulciber did answer, though. "The most important thing with long-acting Imperious is to keep it simple and as close to their normal behavior as possible. The command should be something like, 'collect information on whatever subject and deliver it to person X every Saturday, otherwise act as normal. The hard part is leaving them enough freedom that they can act as normal."

Sirius nodded thoughtfully. "Lemme try again. I'll do that kind of delayed-command curse, to have you do something innocuous in five minutes and until then act as normal. Maybe you'll have an easier time resisting if you've got a bit more of yourself to work with. Imperio." In five minutes, do fifty pushups. He pushed an impression of a muggle workout into Mulciber's mind, in case he didn't know what a pushup was. "If that doesn't work, we could try using a Legilimency probe at the same time as the curse to figure out what's going on in your head."

"I don't know. It's dangerous to experiment with multiple mind magics at once," Mulciber said, a little distantly.

"True. Hey, did you ever hear the Dark Lord's Imperious didactic first hand? I haven't. I know Rodolphus said it was super technical, but if that's the case, Bella really dumbed it down for me. She was going on about a wizard's strength and whatnot."

"I did, once," Mulciber said, slowly and a little dreamily. "He used a lot of terms I'd never heard before. Id and Ego. He said the caster must exert his Ego, while in order to resist one must use the Id to access Ego and Superego sequentially to resist, and that to throw off the curse is to achieve an internal harmony of the three."

"What in Merlin's name is that supposed to mean?" Sirius asked, utterly mystified.

"He said the Id is the part of the subconscious that governs baser, animalistic desires, that we share with muggles. It's why there are rare muggles who can resist the curse, if not throw it off. The Superego is the part of the subconscious that is self-governing and self-critical, and this is distinct between muggles and wizardkind, because we are governed by the laws of magic which is ultimate truth, not of their science and laws and superstitions which are all based on misconceptions, fear, and deceit. The Superego of mudbloods is contaminated by their dogmatic upbringing, which is one reason why they are inferior; more could be saved if they were taken from their muggle homes at birth and brought up properly. Although lack of proximity to biological family often also causes contamination of the Superego. Only those with exceptional magical heritage can survive separation of the blood unscathed, or even forged and tempered by it such that the Superego becomes more powerful and more closely entwined with fundamental magical truth, and outside influences fall away.

"The Ego is the part of the subconscious that mediates between Id and Superego and experiences reality, and..." He suddenly stopped talking and dropped to all fours to do fifty pushups. Sirius sighed. It was getting interesting, too. What a load of shite Voldemort spewed! He was now quite convinced that nobody actually knew how the Imperious curse worked, not Voldemort, not the anonymous author of Secrets of the Darkest Art, not even Emeric the Evil who supposedly invented it. Everyone was just making explanations up based on their own biased experiences and observations and arithmantic equations with too many unknowns.

His musings were interrupted by Mulciber's moan of pain. He had finished his pushups and immediately fallen to the ground, breathing hard. "Ow... why did you make me to that?" he whined.

"Exercise is good for you."

"I hate you."

"That's fine. Do you want to keep practicing and troubleshooting this, or are you a quitter? We could go find a bunch of cats or rats or something, so I can try multiple curses at once. Since I have a harder time casting multiple, maybe you'll have an easier time breaking out."

Mulciber glared at him, then reluctantly nodded. "I've got some muggles at my house we can use."

Oh, joy. That wasn't a disturbing thing to say.

"Did Felix go with you on the Christmas mission, Richard?" Sirius asked quietly. He and Richard were sitting in the Averys' cozy parlor playing wizard's chess. They were the only two people still awake in the house. Morgan had returned to school even before Sirius had moved in. Winston went to bed at eight-thirty without fail, and Elaine one to two hours later. The quiet darkness after midnight was for the young. Well, mostly they were still awake because Sirius' silver hand was full of new bone splinters in the process of reinnervating, an experience he would have happily foregone. Richard was being a good friend and keeping him company. Two nights in, three nights to go, and his hand would be flesh and blood once more, according to Voldemort's lecture. He had come to Sirius' most recent appointment with Nott to inspect the arm before giving the go-ahead to start the Skelegro and the rest of Sirius' latest potions cocktail. He had also modified his quicksilver charm to vanish as living tissue replaced it.

Richard knocked over his rook with his elbow. The little chessman grunted and shook its fist at him before crawling back to its carven feet. Sirius waited. Richard glanced up at him quickly before looking away again. "How did you know?"

"You haven't mentioned him once since I came back. And I've been working with him some since getting out of the infirmary at headquarters, getting to know him better." Watching him perpetually Imperious ten muggles to slave for him like house elves, down to punishing and otherwise degrading themselves. It was an awesome, terrible power the youngest Mulciber wielded, and one he did not hesitate to abuse, or to inflict on his family and lesser guests when the mood struck him. His older sisters had already married and moved out, and now they never visited. His own mother had moved out of the family home as well over the summer to live in her brother's vacation cottage. His father who was himself another Death Eater quietly shared the son's largesse. And yet, Felix Mulciber was still somehow susceptible to the curse himself. It defied all logic and made Sirius return to his initial impression of how the Imperious was resisted: Sirius and Bella were contrary by nature, that was all. Mulciber wasn't; he was merely a minion infatuated with the trappings of wealth and power. His tastes and depravity were wholly predictable considering his upbringing as one of the pureblood but not Sacred Twenty-Eight. He fell into line and took every fad and stereotype to its logical, gauche extreme.

Getting to know Mulciber made Richard's friendship with him frankly mysterious.

"Knight to G2," Richard said, voice quavering a little.

"Tell me what happened."

"I don't want to," he replied wretchedly.

"Too bad, I'm your boss. And I'm your friend, the one you came to when you were scared shitless after Lucius' arrest, remember? Talk to me."

"Give me your cigarette." Wordlessly, Sirius passed it to him. It was the last of the pack he had given Richard for his birthday, and that Richard had saved untouched in a drawer ever since. He watched Richard breathe in the smoke, hacking and coughing with every inhale, until only the butt remained, which he ground into the ashtray between them. He coughed once more, then burst out, "He didn't used to be like this! At Hogwarts, I mean. He was... cool."

"Queen to D5."

"He was my best friend in Slytherin. Him and Severus. They were friends with me, not just with my title."

Sirius scoffed. "Oh, come on. They were not. Or at least, Felix wasn't if the way he was sucking up to me the other day counts for aught." At Sirius' second visit, Mulciber had offered him the services of a young, very attractive muggle girl, casually recommending her sexual favors with a wide, arrogant, toad-like smile. Utterly revolted, it was all Sirius could do not to curse Mulciber on the spot. He had ended up assuming the Condescending Noble voice and likened Mulciber's suggestion to bestiality. He then channeled his inner Bellatrix to explain that he, Sirius Black, Heir of an Ancient and Noble House, only touched muggle flesh if he was tearing it apart. And no, Mulciber, hanging out with the muggleborns in Gryffindor was different because he was only pretending to be friends with them and never physically touched them, except for the onetime drunken groping of voluptuous Mary MacDonald that he had, naturally, regretted once sober again.

Meanwhile, prim and proper Richard who dutifully remembered everyone's birthdays would surely have been horrified at the very idea of a carnal encounter with anyone outside the marriage bed, let alone a muggle. The two Slytherins should not be natural friends. They had nothing in common but their families' politics and a dormitory so far as Sirius could tell.

Richard grimaced. "He used to do that with me, too. Stopped eventually when he noticed how annoying he was being." Annoying was one way of putting it. "Felix was the one who noticed Severus was so good at the Dark Arts, better than anyone else in the school. He's the one who wanted to recruit him, initially. Then I wanted to as well, after I got to know Severus. Severus is just... so smart. I loved doing homework with him, listening to his mind work... Felix loved watching Severus inventing spells, especially curses."

"Oh yeah? What did he invent besides Levicorpus and that toenail-growing hex?" He tried to sound dismissive, but he'd been secretly, resentfully impressed with Snape for inventing any spells at all ever since Levicorpus first made the rounds in fifth year. Seriously, what fifteen-year-old was that good at Arithmancy?

Richard counted off on his fingers: Libracorpus obviously, there was a tongue-tie jinx, Muffliato, and a healing charm Vulnera Senentur." He hesitated. "He had to come up with that one, to counter his otherwise irreversible cutting curse. That's the one Felix used on Christmas. We were supposed to be going by the same playbook as we did burning down that concert in October, all cold flames and Transmogrifians. But then just as Audrey had some muggle levitated over us, Felix cast Sectumsempra. We were both completely covered in blood. It was disgusting. It's really different from using Diffindo. If you put a lot of power into it, it's like slicing and stabbing the target twenty times all at once. There's massive blood loss, really quickly."

Sirius grunted to cover up his surprise. "Glad Snivelly never tried that one out in any of our corridor spats."

Richard shook his head. "He knew he wouldn't get away with it. He'd be lucky to just get expelled if he sliced up the Black or Potter heir, assuming he didn't kill you. He'd almost certainly have landed in Azkaban, and your mum might even have made a successful push for a kiss."

"True."

"I don't think Severus ever really wanted to kill anyone, either. He wanted to get you expelled, and he wanted to hurt you all sometimes. But not kill you."

"Well, he got his wish."

"The muggle died."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. Well, duh! "Does that bother you?"

Richard looked away. "Should it?"

Only if you're sane, and I think you just might be. Sirius shrugged. "I'm not here to judge you. It's not like we don't both know you're squeamish about murder, even muggles."

Richard grimaced. "Yes. It bothered me. I felt... proud... of how we'd been managing the missions. You, me, and Audrey, I mean."

"It is pretty wild to pull one over on the Ministry like we did, where we didn't hurt anyone, much, and yet they do cleaning up afterwards. It's just like pranking Filch. Brilliant."

"Exactly! I like the- the cleverness, and neatness of it all. Brutishly slashing and burning isn't as satisfying."

"Well, you'll be glad to know I have zero intention of incorporating Snape's nasty cutting curse into our next hit. There's a time and place for that kind of thing. Directly over our own heads while we're trying to keep our witnesses alive is not it."

Richard smiled weakly. "Yeah."

"As long as I'm your boss, Richard, I'm not going to make you do anything you really don't want to. If something's too much for you, you tell me, yeah?"

"Er, yeah."

"Good man. I'll still have you teach me that curse, though. Might be useful sometime. We can do it tomorrow. I'll even transfigure a pig so we don't have to kill any real animals, just for you. Your move, by the way."

"Oh. Right."

The next day, he dueled again with Rodolphus and received clearance to resume his usual muggle-baiting activities as soon as he was off the Skelegro, with the assurance he would soon be invited on additional missions too.

When Sirius then met up with Mulciber and some other Death Eaters to practice the Imperious curse some more, he cast his first indefinite command. He had gotten much more proficient in casting the curse under Mulciber's tutelage, so at least he got some practical use from their sessions, even if no one else did so far. The curse would not lift, unless Sirius rescinded his order, his victim learned to resist, or the command was fulfilled. And watching the Death Eater interact with the group, he doubted anyone, even Voldemort, would ever suspect the curse was in place until it was too late.

Chapter Text

Sirius' arm starting gently burning after the second blasting curse, and he cut the routine muggle baiting mission short. He accompanied Richard back home with the intention of dropping off the two new packs of cigarettes he'd stolen before following the pull of the Mark back to headquarters, only to find Evan Rosier waiting for them in the parlor. He had been there for some time, judging by the large pile of magazines and picture books Winston had stacked up around their feet. Rosier stood up quickly and carefully stepped over the teetering stack. "You're wanted at headquarters."

"Me too?" Richard asked, instantly on guard. "Why?"

"You're Sacred Twenty-Eight. Come on. Your mother's already there, Richard."

"Is mine?" Sirius asked in an undertone. Rosier smirked and winked at him rather than answering.

Oddly, Rosier did not redon his mask and motioned for the others not to either. It became obvious why soon enough: the outer rooms of the headquarters were utterly empty. The building had been closed to any not invited to the meeting. When Rosier led them into the largest conference room, there was not a mask in sight, and Sirius recognized virtually everyone. Of course, he was related to most of them, as every single face belonged to one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Besides the Blacks (including Uncle Cygnus; Sirius' parents were, mercifully, absent), Averys, and Rosiers, he saw old Aeneas Carrow, Lucretia Malfoy, Rodolphus Lestrange, Theodosius Nott, and one or two representatives each of the Bulstrode, Flint, Greengrass, Parkinson, Rowle, Selwyn, Travers, and Yaxley families.

The exception was Voldemort, of course. The Dark Lord's origins were mysterious, and probably lowly judging by his common-sounding secret birth name. He pointed at Sirius the moment he entered the room. "There. As of today, that is the only person amongst you who has leave to commit anti-muggle violence at will. No one else shall act without his or my direct instruction." Sirius froze in surprise. What in Merlin's name was going on? Had he missed something? Was he supposed to respond?

Luckily, the answer to that last questioning thought was a decisive no, as Voldemort waved him and Richard towards the empty seats next to Bella and continued briskly, "Now, as some of you are no doubt aware, Lord Aelius Flint was arrested today. He was an idiot. He allowed himself to be caught cursing teacups in a muggle shop. I should not have to tell you he was stupid to be caught. In stark contrast, young Sirius Black who authored our recent strategies using muggles and the Statute of Secrecy against the Ministry has only once in over two hundred anti-muggle forays run afoul of the aurors' surveillance, and never in a mission he has led. He approaches his assignment with fervent dedication as the work it is, not as a mere hobby. While the current, backwards Ministry holds power, putting muggles in their rightful place is a privilege that must be earned, even for your sacred houses. Do not cross me on this. Sirius, you have my leave to accept or decline assistance in your duties from any here gathered who approach you. Your word is final, your work more important than the desires and egos of any of your cousins and uncles gathered here."

Sirius fought to contain a wince while testy mutters chorused through the room. Thanks, Voldemort, for pitting all of these very, very entitled and influential people against me. Not that most of them were likely to heed Voldemort's warning; if Uncle Cygnus wanted to hunt muggles, he would. Sirius only hoped he didn't get blamed the first time someone broke the new rule. Bella's hand quested under the table to pat his knee sympathetically. The Dark Lord's eyes gleamed red. He knew exactly what he had done and took sadistic pleasure in indirectly punishing Sirius for success.

Voldemort sat back in his chair with posture like a king. "Perhaps this seems trivial, and in a way of course, it is. Just harmless muggle baiting, after all." Voldemort slammed his hand down on the table. "It is not so harmless when the curses involved are illegal, lethal to muggles, and thus in the present context carry the strong potential of an Azkaban sentence! Lord Flint is now a weapon that has been lost to us!" Until he got out of prison, Sirius thought jadedly. Cursing teacups wasn't quite the same as getting caught red-handed in Death Eater robes and fighting the aurors as had happened to Lucius. Lord Flint's bribes would be effective. "You, the purest of the pure, are not invulnerable. Not any more, not with Lord Bartemius Crouch, one of your own, controlling the keys to Azkaban where five of your fellows are now imprisoned! So. Aelius has utterly failed to live up to our dear Abraxas as my chief political advocate -"

Ah. The Dark Lord's wrath became clear, if Aelius was supposed to be keeping his nose clean to build his standing in the Ministry.

"- and I find myself in need of a new one. I hope the next appointment will be more fruitful. I am tired of chiding the foolish and indiscrete. It is soldiers I need, not children. Thus, the true matter for which I have summoned all of your illustrious personages. The matter of politics. Who amongst you is most qualified to be the architect and chief advocate of our cause? Who amongst you will not fail me again?" He glared around at them. No one seemed particularly eager to speak first. His eyes settled on Rodolphus, sitting on Bella's other side. "Well?"

Rodolphus grimaced. "My Lord, I wish with all my heart that I was in a position to better serve you in this matter, yet you know I have no influence in the Ministry now. Not officially." He pointed around the hall. "The Carrow, Parkinson, and Yaxley families are in a similar position, with their family heads or heirs already in Azkaban or killed in action."

Aeneas Carrow quickly nodded. "Any view I express to the Ministry is second guessed, ever since Amycus and Alecto were arrested. It is the very reason Lord Abraxas worked so hard to reclaim poor Lucius' reputation when the Daily Prophet dragged it through the dirt. He knew his use to you would decline if the public lost faith in his family name."

"It is the same for me since Percival's arrest," Lord Gaheris Parkinson affirmed.

"Then which families remain clean, to the public eye anyway?"

"House Nott, Avery, Black, Greengrass, ironically Malfoy, Rosier, and Selwyn," Lord Nott replied readily, counting them off on his fingers.

And so the bickering commenced, with various noble houses pointing out the failings of their rivals, and none volunteering to do actual work. It would be fascinating to watch the good manners slide away so quickly amongst "family" and "equals," if Sirius hadn't seen and suffered it so many times before.

"Clean? The Rosiers are still digging their way out from Vinda's scandal with Lord Grindelwald!"

"Which Selwyn do you imagine is eligible? The nineteen-year-old heir or his sociopathic father who never learned to fake emotions correctly? Or perhaps the senile grand-dowager?"

"Cross out Lord Nott, too. You need a pleasant personality to succeed in politics."

"We can't trust Megaera and Sullivan Travers to pull this off, not when old Torquil is still the family head. He's former DMLE and will always choose the side of the aurors..."

"If you use that logic, Bulstrodes are out too. Lady Beatrice has refused every offer our Lord has sent, the impudent crone."

"The only thing a Greengrass can plan well is a menu."

"Or a pub crawl. Alcoholics, the lot of them."

"Would anyone take the Rowles seriously? The main line is going the way of the Gaunts and Goyles - halfwitted brutes the lot of them." Interestingly, William Rowle was not the only one scowling at that characterization; Voldemort was too.

"Madam Avery would be splendid at planning a revolution. Of course, everyone in the Ministry already knows her for a grasping harpy..."

"How dare you!" Richard leapt to his feet, pointing a shaking finger at Aeneas. His face was flushed and twisted in anger. Sirius raised one eyebrow. He hadn't ever seen Richard angry before. Not really. "How dare you speak of my mother so shamefully, the leader of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight? How dare any of you shame our families so, speaking with such crass incivility?" Lord Voldemort leaned forwards a little, watching with interest. Richard noticed, and his flush deepened. He surreptitiously braced his leg against Sirius' knee; Sirius could feel a tremor in it. But he did not sit back down. He still commanded the room's attention. "We are the Most Noble and Ancient Houses of Magical Great Britain. Our Lord has called us here for a serious purpose, not to squabble like children and air our grievances with our relatives! This is beneath us!"

"Are you volunteering, Heir Avery?" Voldemort asked into the ensuing quiet.

Richard almost fell back into his chair as his leg suddenly gave out. Elaine cleared her throat. "My lord, my son is too young and inexperienced to shoulder this purpose."

"He seems to have a better grasp of the gravity of the subject than many others here."

"He is intelligent, well-trained, and mature, and I am proud of him. But he is unknown at the Ministry, at least for himself. He will serve you well in the future, but he is not ready to replace Lord Abraxas and Lord Aelius. Not today."

"You know," Megaera Travers said musingly, "It seems obvious to me, the best candidate our lord could choose would come from the House of Black. If that most prestigious of houses would deign use their influence for public good, of course. I see Lord Orion and his Lady wife did not deem it necessary to attend today."

"The Lord of the House of Black cannot drop everything on short notice," Uncle Cygnus replied tartly. "The Dark Lord understands our position." Nor was Lord Orion the only head of house in absence; besides the Travers and Bulstrodes and the lords in prison, Evan Rosier's father had not attended the meeting either.

"A position of accruing power but delegating any mixing with the masses to those beholden to you in the lower classes, yes. Meanwhile, some of us are willing to give everything for the Dark Lord!"

Sirius snorted. Megaera turned to glare at him. "I'm sorry, Meg," he drawled. "I was just imagining my parents queuing up to meet our neuveau sangre Minister for Magic. Mother's expression would be quite comical. She has a specific sneer for greeting those with muggle great-grandparents. It's different from the one for muggle grandparents. Yes, Lord Orion and Lady Walburga Black, or even Cygnus or Alphard, breaking decades of precedent and ingrained behavior to personally approach impure Ministry officials with suggestions and requests would be very believable. Nobody would suspect an ulterior motive." Voldemort himself was one of the ones who winced at the mere mention of Orion and Walburga Black, Sirius noted with unanticipated pride.

"Ah, but you see, cousin, this is the perfect time for your parents to descend from their lofty thrones and be seen in less exclusive circles for a change. They have every reason with your recent press coverage, poor victim of terrorism that you are. Does the public even know you're alive?"

"If the Dark Lord's cause relies on my parents and me portraying a happy family unit, or even me playing dead and my parents convincingly mourning for me..." Bella's smothered giggle made his point for him.

"The face of our movement does not need to be a head of house, so long as the resources of said house is behind them," Voldemort mused. He eyed Sirius again. "Could you do it, I wonder? You are the heir..."

Fuck no. Sirius hated politics at the best of times, let alone politicking for a cause he detested. Not to mention running around the Ministry all day would limit his usefulness as a spy and take away any chances to remove more Death Eaters personally. Abraxas had certainly never gone on violent missions in Sirius' experience. He pretended to consider it, even as Uncle Cygnus sent him an odd look, half pride, half warning. "My lord, I have neither the interest in nor the right temperament for politics, and I actively resisted learning in the past because of disagreements with my father."

"His recent celebrity is the stuff of the gossip pages, not the beginnings of a political ascendancy," Nott said dismissively.

Sirius nodded at him, catching the surly potioneer by surprise. "Exactly. Plus, a Hogwarts expulsion on my record won't help me make inroads with straight laced politicians. If you commanded me, my lord, I would of course try, but I fear I would not serve you well in this role."

Voldemort smiled, the expression cold and reptilian. "I see there is an argument against everyone. Very well. Shall we discuss other pureblood families that are not here represented?" There was a collective shudder as the Sacred Families contemplated sharing power with an upstart.

"I can't think of what would be worse, neuveau sangre or neuveau riche..." 

Voldemort frowned, and Sirius thought the man was fighting not to roll his eyes. Surely not, it was such a human reaction to this mass invocation of elitism.

"Narcissa," Bella said.

Nott burst out in laughter.

"What?" Bella snarled, glaring at him.

"She's a woman," Nott said, as if that explained his rude reaction.

"She's a Black," Sirius and Uncle Cygnus corrected simultaneously, while Bella, Lucretia, and Megaera all shouted "And?"

"She's alive?" Someone muttered from across the room.

"She's a Black, and she's a Malfoy," Bella continued, with a nod to Lucretia. "She has every reason to continue Abraxas' noble work. The Ministry wronged her dreadfully in what they did to Lucius. Plus, she's a pregnant mother who, if you believe the Daily Prophet, may have died in the fire that the Ministry has already laid squarely at our feet. No one will want to accuse her of anything but sainthood."

"Down to the miraculous comeback from the dead," Megaera said sarcastically.

"It's perfectly understandable for a woman in her condition to seek refuge with her family in the frightening and uncertain circumstances that claimed both her husband and father-in-law in so short a time. She has been living with Lord and Lady Black while awaiting confirmation from her beloved mother-in-law Lucretia that the Ministry's investigation is complete, and it is once again safe for the mother of the Malfoy heir to be seen in public," Uncle Cygnus explained condescendingly. Then he smiled. "My youngest daughter is a fearsomely intelligent young woman with the poise and grace to soften even a stone-hearted bureaucrat."

"The Madonna of the Malfoys with the resources of House Black," Voldemort mused. "I do like it. Very well. Cygnus, arrange a meeting for me with your daughter. I trust you, Bella, and young Sirius of course, will help her to remain focused on our cause when the distractions of motherhood press her. Madam Avery, your experience may also be of assistance to Lady Malfoy in her new role."

The meeting adjourned.

In the subsequent weeks, Sirius was very irritated by the many, high-born Death Eaters who as predicted came calling at the Averys', hoping to invite themselves along to torture muggles. He relented to allow one additional person at a time accompany their routine missions, or else he'd make enemies of all of them. He absolutely refused to have anyone but Richard and Audrey working on their next big operation, targeting some kind of parade the muggles were planning in order to avoid working (Sirius wasn't clear on the details, but both Audrey and the Order's squib were, and had opinions). It was ironic, how Voldemort had praised Sirius' planning and dedication to his job, when it was really Audrey and Richard doing most of the work. Sirius was just the bloke with the Mark, on hand to call for help if needed.

He might have had more time for other work if his presence were not suddenly required at so many damned meetings. He wasn't sure when he had been promoted to the Inner Circle, which was mostly comprised of his parents' generation of Death Eaters and foreigners. The younger members were sadists like Bella, and Sirius presumably. He imagined Mulciber would get an invitation eventually. Membership didn't seem to come with any perks besides not having to wear a mask during the actual meetings. He only gained a slightly better impression of what all the other Death Eaters were up to. Most of the discussions centered on what Narcissa should be doing and various strategies to bring down Crouch, i.e. the parts of the Dark Lord's ineffable grand design that were not currently going smoothly. Narcissa seemed to have become a weird half-member, present at some of the meetings by virtue of her new appointment but barred from others that did not concern her. Funnily, Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix rarely rated a mention, even less than the aurors: Bellatrix and Dolohov had free reign hunting down Order members and blood traitors, and they had no need to report on their activities except when requesting backup or when an assassination was successful. They murdered a wizard named Benjy Fenwick on 15th January.

"You're management now, Sirius," Audrey told him one day when he was called to yet another meeting of the Inner Circle. "It is the fate of all managers to complain about their endless meetings to their underpaid and underappreciated employees," she continued gaily.

"I do appreciate you." He had no idea if Voldemort actually paid people like Audrey who weren't independently wealthy.

"Sure you do, boss. Sure you do. Richard, would you like to make some picket signs with me while the boss is out?"

"What's a picket sign?" both Sirius and Richard asked.

The sign of death is  risen.

He will ravage the ravenous;

His food is the six-part soul.

The Dark Lord will die with the Grim at his back,

The pure shall bow to the greatest Black.

The sign of death is risen, and hunts.

Alastor Moody stared at the tiny, bespectacled, bug-eyed seer floating in the pensieve for a few more moments, until she collapsed back into a swirl of silver thought. He rubbed his forehead. He hadn't slept yet since Voldemort's bloody raid on the Crouch and Bones residences. No, he had come straight here after seeing the desecration of the Bones' house. Sirius had managed to warn them, but they were forced to prioritize their battles with so many people summoned to assist with obliviation after Sirius' team attacked multiple crowds of muggles who had been marching in the streets protesting something-or-other. Both the Order and the aurors had prioritized the head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement and his family. The Boneses had paid for that choice, dearly and horribly.

He couldn't fathom how someone as old as Albus Dumbledore had the energy to conduct job interviews in the morning after such a grueling night. "Really, Albus? You were just interviewing a prospective Divinations professor, and she spouted this at you? What do we do with this?" He blanched. "How do we keep her from spreading her vision around?" He dreaded to think what Voldemort would do if he got wind of the prophesy; probably decide to kill all possible vague interpretations of it.

"Well, for one thing, I hired her on the spot. She'll be moving into the castle this evening. For another, since it appears to have been a true trance, I doubt she remembers what was seen or said."

"I always hated Divinations."

Albus stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Like you, I have always found the subject far too nebulous and misleading to be useful, particularly as so many famous examples proved to be self-fulfilling. Croesus. Oedipus Rex. Ja'far ibn Yahya. Oleg of Novgorod. King Macbeth... I sometimes think the nature of Divinations is not in perceiving the future but in influencing it, by speaking the right words and showing the right signs to the right people with the will and ability to bring the prediction about. Certainly, Nostradamus theorized prophetic visions occur when human decisions bring the course of the future to a tipping point, and a seer is in proximity to the right witness for the weight of one particular possible future to break through. It is like the lure of a hinkypunk in the mists of a swamp."

"Albus, I really don't care about the metaphysics of prophetic visions. That said, I like the bit about the Dark Lord dying. I'm completely on board for causing that, but if we need the rest of this prophesy to be actionable in order to accomplish it, what does it all mean?"

"It is impossible to be certain with prophetic interpretation except in retrospect. But... the 'sign of death' seems to be a person, not merely the Dark Mark or an evil situation."

"Is Sirius the 'greatest Black'?"

"Entirely possible."

"But then why would the pure bow to him, who used to be a 'blood traitor'? Does he turn on us? Or somehow become the Dark Lord's second-in-command?"

"That line and interpretation could as easily apply to his cousins, his brother, or his parents. Or one could take it that this 'Black' will supplant Voldemort entirely in the affections of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, or that he will be named Minister for Magic, or perhaps merely that young Regulus will encounter a herd of unicorns that takes a liking to him in his N.E.W.T.s this year. Meanwhile, one could also liken the 'ravenous' to the Death 'Eaters,' in which case the 'sign of death' is on our side for a change. The line I find most interesting about this character, though, is that 'his food is the six-part soul.'"

"Yes? ...Oh, shite."

"Quite. We know Voldemort split his soul once. If there is a soul wandering around split six ways, it is probably his. The odds of more than one witch or wizard making a horcrux in this day and age are slim to none. Even more telling, it was the day I returned from the destruction of Malfoy Manor that I discovered my new Divinations professor's application waiting for me on my desk."

Alastor stared into the swirling pensieve again, watching the seer's face slowly rotating around as she silently repeated her dire message ad nauseum. He drew in a shaky breath. "If... if your guess of this is right, if You-Know-Who has a six-part soul, and we've destroyed one horcrux... does that mean that he has five more horcruxes hidden somewhere?"

"No more than four, I should think. He would need one part to remain in the body. I would have to read up more about the subject to know if he could have two distinct shreds of soul lodged in one container, body or horcrux, but I think it is safest to assume there are four more horcruxes to destroy before Voldemort himself can, well, fall to his Grim. Of course, we could be counting incorrectly if the destroyed horcrux is no longer one of the six parts..."

"Ugh. What could they be? And where? How on earth are we supposed to look for them when it's so bloody hard to positively identify them in the first place? You remember what spells Sirius had to use to identify the journal!"

"I do not know, I do not know, and I do not know. Yet."

"And- and can he just keep making these things?! If there's four now, could there be twelve in a month? Is there a limit?"

"There must be a limit of some kind; I just don't know what it might be. But one imagines the soul would become too unstable to function at some point. Again, I shall have to read more on the subject, though it is also possible Voldemort is treading new territory with this particular atrocity."

Alastor reached towards the middle shelf behind Albus' desk. A decanter floated right through the bookish glamour to his hand. Albus helpfully conjured two tumblers for him to fill with brandy. Each of them drank in silence, contemplating the hope and turmoil of the strange prophesy. Eventually, Alastor sighed again. "You know, Albus, I'm amazed you actually decided to trust me with this, rather than keeping it close to your chest like you usually would."

Albus chuckled drily. "In this case, Alastor, I did not think I could keep it from you, not entire."

"How's that?"

"Because if we must hunt down more horcruxes, I know of only one man in a position to help us search all the most likely places, and the only means of contacting him is a portrait of you. I think you'll agree, your portrait is more loyal to you than to me and certainly would have repeated whatever I asked it to relay to Sirius to you as well."

Alastor's face cracked into a hard grin. "Good point. Best decision I ever made, commissioning those. Keeps me from ever being cut out of the loop, even by the likes of you."

Chapter Text

"Dolph! Get over here! It's Siri's turn, and you've got to see it!"

Sirius kept his wand steadily pointing at Edgar Bones, bound and helpless and terrified. Sirius had notified the Order about both of the night's objectives. Moody and Dumbledore made the understandable, gut-wrenching call to prioritize Bartemius Crouch and leave the Boneses to their own defense. That said, Sirius did not understand why the target, Edgar Bones, was actually here. Dumbledore must have told him what was coming, for the man's elderly parents who owned the house were both absent. Was Bones expected and allowed to die tonight, a sacrifice to prevent Voldemort from realizing there was a spy? Or was Dumbledore expecting Sirius to work miracles to save the man? Or was Bones merely a brave fool who refused to flee? Had he simply left it until too late? If Bones was planning to stay, why alone, and why hadn't Dumbledore reinforced the wards more than this?

A tall Death Eater walked up beside Bella and rested a hand on her waist. Rodolphus looked at Sirius. "Well, what'll it be? We have plenty of time."

"Isn't he the one that always chooses Transmogrifian?" another Death Eater drawled in a deep voice with a trace Eastern European accent. Antonin Dolohov or Igor Karkaroff, one of the two. Sirius had trouble keeping them straight from their brief interactions at meetings. One of them was here, the other was with Voldemort's group, trying to ambush Crouch.

"No! Not always, although it is his favorite. Come on, Siri, you're so creative! Show Karkaroff!"

Fuck. It was bad enough they were making him execute the man. Far worse to have to torture him to death. Sirius cast the Cruciatus, stalling for time.

"Boring."

"Natrium Morticai." And then, silently, Imperio. Take this curse and do not feel your own suffering; it is the only gift I can give. Bones's face turned blessedly blank.

"What is that one?" It was Edwin Mulciber, Felix's father and the last member of their team, who answered Karkaroff.

To hell with it. No one was coming to rescue him from this nightmare anytime soon. He knew that, and he had to accept it. Bella wanted Sirius to get creative, so he would. He would be as horrible as he could imagine. Sectumsempra, he cast, again nonverbally as he was unwilling to spread the curse around more than he had to. There were two surprised shouts of "Merlin!" as blood burst forth from Bones's body.

Bella gasped and cackled. "I love it!"

He slashed his wand down, and a whip of flame burst out of it to wrap around Bones's knee. He twisted his wand, and the lasso of fire tightened and sizzled through the flesh and bone, severing the wizard's lower leg while leaving the wound cauterized. He levitated the leg wandlessly and transfigured it into a half-dozen roses, which he wafted over to Bella. "For you." She giggled and took the bouquet eagerly. He severed the other leg too but left it where it lay.

Next came the Entrails Expelling curse. Sirius studied the arrangement of the viscera and carefully transfigured the mess into a cornucopia overflowing with fruit. Edgar Bones died as he worked, and nobody but him noticed the subtle moment.

It felt different from killing muggles, even Ivan. Worse. And he hated himself for thinking that way. Yes, he was now desecrating a corpse, but the act of murder itself should have been no different. The fact that it was made him feel the worst kind of hypocrite, a blood supremacist that denied it. A blood supremacist who killed other blood supremacists, blood traitors, and muggles alike. Just a simple murderer, then. Nothing special. Nothing principled. He resolutely took the rising feeling of self-loathing and buried it beneath an occlumency shield. He could not afford to feel that way right now. He could not afford to feel anything right now. He had to keep calm until this awful night was over, and he was back in his safe room at the Averys.

Completely dispassionate, he used the fire whip again to sever the head. He transfigured it into a stone sculpture of a manticore gnawing on the protruding neck bones. Finally, he prodded the pool of blood to crawl up the wall and used it to draw a crimson, stylized Dark Mark on the plaster.

"It's beautiful," Bella breathed.

"Thank you, dear Bellatrix. Adumbratio Locomotor." The painted snake opened its mouth and silently hissed at them all.

"Avada Kedavra." The killing curse came from no where, aimed straight at Bella's head. She shrieked and ducked under it. Rodolphus shouted and raised a thick shield, looking around for the aurors that must be attacking. Yet there were none. Instead, it was the two Death Eaters with raised wands pointing at Bella.

"What do you think you're doing?" Rodolphus snarled at them.

"Avada Kedavra. Avada Kedavra. Avada Kedavra..." Both Karkaroff and Mulciber Sr. kept casting killing curses at Bella. The Lestranges yelped and dodged left. Sirius dodged right. The killing curses kept following Bellatrix. Watching the Death Eaters, both of whom had been enjoying the show of Edgar's execution just moments ago, he thought he knew what was going on. It was the Imperious curse he had placed on Felix Mulciber three weeks ago. He had placed one, simple, long term command, just as Felix had instructed. Identify Death Eaters who share your perverted tastes, who cannot resist the Imperious curse, and force them to attack Bellatrix Lestrange. It had seemed poetic justice at the time, using the worst of the worst against each other in a way that was unlikely to be traced back to him. He hadn't planned on being in the same room with Bella when the attack happened, of course, but then, this might might well be the first time these two Death Eaters had been in the same room as Bellatrix since they were cursed. Or at least, the first time they had known they were in the same room. Sirius had just positively identified his cousin for them, after all. Although hadn't he seen Edwin Mulciber at an Inner Circle meeting? Maybe Felix had included a trigger somehow... her name?

"Stupefy! Impedimenta!" Rodolphus roared. "Sirius, snap out of it and help us subdue them!"

"Reducto!" Bella screamed before Sirius could even think to raise his wand. Both Death Eaters exploded, painting the walls and the three of them in shredded flesh.

"Fucking Merlin's arse, Bella! Why did you do that!?" Rodolphus cried, wiping red ooze from his eyes.

"They were traitors attacking me! Swift death is too good for them!"

"They were probably cursed, woman!"

"Then they should have resisted!"

"Not everyone is so willful as you!"

"I think we should get out of here," Sirius interjected.

Rodolphus scowled and nodded. He summoned the splintered remnants of the two hapless Death Eaters' wands. "Sirius, cast the Dark Mark and collect as much of the remains as you can. When we get back to headquarters, I'll do the talking. This is going to be bad."

It was only as they left and Sirius frantically reshuffled his thoughts behind his Occlumency shields that he realized he had tonight, with his Imperious curse, turned Felix Mulciber into a patricide. He buried that thought deep.

He watched silently that evening as Voldemort, already angered for the failure of his own mission to corner Bartemius Crouch, tortured Bella for almost an hour for the unsanctioned killing of a fellow Death Eater. It seemed the Dark Lord knew her limits intimately; she awoke with her mind intact and groveled before him when he was finished. Then Voldemort tortured Dolohov for recruiting Karkaroff, someone self-serving enough to attack a fellow Death Eater. Then he tortured Rodolphus for suggesting both Karkaroff and Edwin Mulciber could have been placed under an Imperious curse by either the Order or an auror sometime recently and sent back to cause havoc. Then he tortured Sirius because he was there. Then the Dark Lord tortured Dolohov again, because he had been second-in-command of the attack against Crouch, and Lord Voldemort certainly couldn't take the blame for the failure himself. Sirius was glad Felix Mulciber wasn't here to take the punishment on behalf of his slain father.

It was a long night. Sirius, still covered in blood and too tired to magic it off, returned from headquarters around the same time as Richard and Elaine returned from helping the Obliviators. Richard turned a striking green and immediately emptied his stomach into a bush at the sight of him. Elaine took one look at him, flicked her wand to scrape off most of the dried blood, if not the sticky chunks of human meat, and pointed him to the bathroom. Sirius went upstairs to clean up, followed Richard's example by vomiting into the sink, and contemplated the morality of drowning himself in the bathtub.

Sirius slept through most of the day after the Bones-Mulciber-Karkaroff killing. Or if he did not sleep, he at least did not get out of bed. If he were not in a Death Eater household, he would have transformed into Padfoot to curl up under the covers and hide from his oppressive emotions. Or perhaps he wouldn't, since even his human nose kept detecting the faint traces of blood and death on his person he had been unable to scrub clean. Regardless, he didn't. He could not give Voldemort the gift of a disciple who was an unregistered animagus. Plus, he would probably be killed if he were found to be holding back a secret of that magnitude.

He finally got up when the heat of the Dark Mark dragged him to another meeting of the Inner Circle in the late afternoon. Apparently, Karkaroff had been leading Voldemort's recruitment and diplomatic efforts in Eastern Europe. His most obvious replacement was Antonin Dolohov, which would require a major restructuring of several Death Eater cells and would probably make Sirius' assignment to Bellatrix' team permanent. Luckily, in Sirius' opinion, there was a major problem with this option, the same reason Dolohov had recruited Karkaroff in the first place: many purebloods of the East had cut ties with Dolohov when several major European magical governments and the International Confederation of Wizards took up the British Ministry's warrant for his arrest and extradition. If there was one thing magical governments disliked since the fall of Grindelwald, it was people sticking their noses across political borders, risking expansion of a local conflict into something regional or global.

After some back and forth, Dolohov agreed to cultivate another old contact, Ivan Poliakoff whom Karkaroff had also used. Until he was successful and Poliakoff was Marked, major plans for Eastern Europe would be on hold.

After the meeting, Sirius did not return to the Averys'. Instead, he apparated to the Lake District, within walking distance of the Casterligg stone circle. He knew the place because Uncle Alphard had occasionally taken him and Regulus on picnics there when they were young, and to other stone age sites around the British Isles. Uncle Alphard was eccentric in a different way from most Blacks. He was reserved and academic, interested in deep magical history, and an apologist for Professor Binns who had died in his N.E.W.T. year. Whenever he took his nephews somewhere, Alphard spent most of the outing checking for signs of ancient magical activity, though he rarely if ever found anything. He did discover multiple notice-me-not charms on three stones at Casterligg, though he determined they were originally placed only three hundred years ago, within a generation of the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy. He published an article about it, "Early Instance of Muggle-Baiting in the Era of Secrecy." He renewed the old charms whilst on a picnic when Sirius was eight.

Sirius walked over lank brown grass through a harsh winter wind to reach the circle. He sat on one of the stones, back to the pitch-black Derwentwater, facing the nearby craggy hills. The hills were snow-blanketed, their gray peaks the only feature of the landscape visible at a distance through the dim twilight. The sky was further darkened by clouds and spitting sleet. After about five minutes of stillness, he took out his cigarettes. His hands were cold and clumsy. He smoked two in a row before pulling out his watch and opening it. Moody was there. "Hey. I'm alone. Outside in the Lake District. It's nice."

"Doesn't look it." A fat globule of slush had just fallen right in the center of the portrait. Sirius wiped it away. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Were you listening to the meeting?"

"Yes. We'll be watching Dolohov and Poliakoff closely, keeping that stalled as best we can."

"Okay. Edwin Mulciber's dead, too, not just Karkaroff. I killed them. Well, I'm responsible anyway. Technically, Bella killed them. And I killed Edgar Bones."

"You did that?" Moody asked, clearly startled. Sounded like the portrait had seen the bloody room; Sirius wondered if Edgar Bones had had one of the Moody portrait series.

A lump came to his throat, for the first time since the murder. "Yes. I did that. I'm sorry."

"Ah, kid. I won't ask any more. I'm glad you came out here, though. We have something new to talk about that absolutely cannot be overheard. As of this morning, Dumbledore's got a prophesy you need to know about, at least part of it."

"A prophesy."

"It predicts the fall of the Dark Lord."

Wild. If Fate was going to intervene, why not sooner, before Voldemort's war had destroyed so much? "Okay."

"...Did you hear me?"

"Yeah."

"Right. Well... the first part is what you need to hear. 'The sign of death is risen. He will ravage the ravenous; His food is the six-part soul.' It goes on from there to make it clearer that the prophesy relates to You-Know-Who. Long story short, Albus Dumbledore thinks the line about the six-part soul means You-Know-Who made more than one horcrux. There's still four more horcruxes hidden somewhere that we'll have to destroy before the bastard can be buggered for good."

As if the stone he was sitting on had truly slipped into Faerie as the muggles believed, Sirius felt time around him stop. There was no wind. There was no sleet. There was no stone; rather, he felt as if he were standing on the rocky peak that was in front of him, looking down, down, down at his own dark, endless path. The path led not back to his body but onward, through a strange, threatening wilderness into an utterly black abyss.

It wasn't the horror of what Voldemort had done that affected him. The horcruxes were a crime against nature, yes, and a heinous corruption of magical gifts that should not have been so used. But their creation was in the past. What Sirius saw was the impossibility of what he and everyone else at Hogwarts had innocently hoped for, one way or another: a swift end to this wretched war. There would be no momentous duel between the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore as had ended the Global Wizarding War. Such a confrontation now would be meaningless, futile... and it always would be. Sirius couldn't go casting horcrux-detection spells on every random object he came across in a Death Eater household. He had stumbled on the first horcrux by chance. Even if he, Dumbledore, Moody, even the whole Order of the Phoenix were now to search for the others in earnest, they did not know what to look for, or where to look, unless the prophesy said anything else useful. That seemed unlikely or Moody would have said so up front.

No, the only way out was through. If the Dark Lord was immortal, the end of the war would come through the annihilation of his army, down to the last Death Eater.

"Kid?" Sirius blinked and looked back down. "Did you get all that?"

"Yeah."

"And you're sure you're alright?"

"Oh, I'm fucked just like everyone else."

Portrait Moody sighed. "I hear you. Listen, Dumbledore and myself are working on it, and I'll get you any leads they come up with. In the meantime, you cannot risk yourself. We need your eyes and ears like never before. Do whatever you need to do, and stay safe."

"There will be more like Edgar Bones."

"Aye, there will. But there will be even more if you get yourself killed and can't help us end him."

"I understand."

Sirius closed the watch and set it down on the rock next to him. For the first time in ages, he transformed. The young, tired, shivering, dark-haired wizard was replaced by a huge, shaggy black dog. Padfoot curled up on the stone, chin resting on his watch. It would only be for a short while, until he went back to the Averys. He just didn't want to be human right now.

Chapter Text

Sirius looked around the Averys' empty drawing room with an appraising eye the morning after Moody's prophetic revelations. There probably wasn't a horcrux in the Averys' home, but if there were... it could be one of any number of their rare or unmarked books. It could be one of the spindly-looking gold ornaments. It could be one of the fine portraits on the wall Sirius had never paid attention to before. It could be Winston's armchair. Or the coffee table. Or the curtain pull. Or the iron poker by the hearth. Or one of the tiles comprising the hearth. Or... anything. The only way he would know for sure would be by testing every single item individually. Yes, he was right the first time. If Dumbledore took the prophesy seriously and decided to chase horcruxes in earnest, it was going to be a waste of his, the Order's, and everyone else's time and lose them the war to boot. Of course, cut off from everyone besides Moody's portrait, Sirius was not in a position to influence the Order's decision making on the matter. It was out of his hands.

Frustration and numb rage at the impossibility of it all rapidly replaced the self-recrimination, self-pity and despondency he first felt after his triple-murder. He would not delude himself regarding the nobility of his purpose anymore. He was a weapon, plain and simple. The only thing he was allowed to feel was grim determination to see through this task that he never should have chosen.

His rage manifested in his magic, unsurprisingly. His more technical spells were harder to control, while his curses blossomed in strength. He fought Rodolphus to a standstill for the first time in a practice duel simply by wearing the older, more experienced wizard down. The next time he accompanied Richard on their twice weekly muggle-baiting spree, Sirius leveled half a block with one blasting curse, after first summoning every single muggle out of the mostly empty church, parsonage, bookstore, and warehouse. Richard was impressed. So was Sullivan Travers, who had asked to come along. Travers was almost twice Sirius' age and had started the day complaining rather condescendingly about the Dark Lord's new restrictions on muggle-baiting by the Sacred Twenty-Eight. He had stopped throwing curses of his own halfway through, too distracted and rattled by their dizzying multi-town agenda and loud explosions. He left grumbling that Sirius had "taken all the fun out of the tradition."

Lord Greengrass complained about Sirius' methods as well when he invited himself along. He was even more annoying and disgusting than Travers. Apparently, he preferred to torture and kill muggles one at a time on his rural estate and to combine the activity with large amounts of alcohol. When the job was done and they had all returned to Richard's house, Greengrass declared he would at least find a good vantage point to watch the festivities in the last town. Nothing Sirius could say, neither reason nor orders nor threats, would persuade him against this foolishness.

Supremely irritated, Sirius told Richard he was going out to stock up on more cigarettes. Instead, he checked his watch. He was in luck. Moody was there. "Stay with me a bit," he said quietly. Then he followed Lord Greengrass' apparation trail back to a rooftop in that last village. The man was sitting in a very out-of-place leather armchair, drinking directly from a bottle of gin, and watching a handful of Obliviators chasing down panicked muggles.

"What would you do if the Ministry folks found you up here like this, my lord?" Sirius asked.

Greengrass jumped at his unexpected voice, then chuckled and raised his bottle in acknowledgment. "What do you think? I'd say I saw the whole dreadful thing from a distance, but there were too many for me to intervene. And then I'd pay them to keep quiet. You'd be amazed how much you can get away with, so long as no one files that damned initial report, young Heir Black. Oh, yes. Any rumor, any smear against someone like us, it is only quickly-forgotten noise if you can avoid the all-important parchment trail."

"Oh? What have you gotten them to ignore?" Sirius asked.

"You name it - everything from smuggled non-tradeable goods to putting down a mudblood who had offended my niece. I don't know why the Dark Lord is so wound up about Yaxley and Flint getting arrested. So long as they're not sent to the dementors like Lucius, then in the long run, it's meaningless."

"Yes, well, in the short term, it's a problem." Sirius came level with him. "It is a good view up here. I'll grant you that. Avada Kedavra." Greengrass folded forwards silently, face still sporting his jaded grin. He was sitting a little too close to the low wall and tipped over the edge to fall to the street with a sickening crack of bones. The gin bottle shattered next to his chair. There were multiple startled shouts from the nearby muggles and Obliviators. Sirius ducked down where no one on the street could see him. It wouldn't do to be spotted too soon. He hadn't exactly planned this through beforehand, and he definitely should have tried to catch the body to buy himself more time. He thought for a moment, then grabbed his watch. "Greengrass is dead, fell off a roof in Westwick with a little help, in Death Eater regalia. Someone needs to claim responsibility, preferably not me. And there's Ministry Obliviators in town already."

"I didn't hear much of a duel."

"Nope."

"Then fake one with stunners, some fire spells, an Incarcerous, an Orbis, and whatever spells Greengrass used most recently and get out of there," Portrait Moody said, then walked out of his frame. Sirius silently cast Muffliato followed by a dozen spells all around the rooftop, careful to keep the spell lights well below the lip of the flat roof. Then he used the Death Eater's wand to vanish the chair and broken glass, and cast a bunch more, darker curses. He left the Death Eater mask where it lay and dropped the incriminating wand. The moment Fleamont Potter appeared on the roof, back turned towards him, Sirius apparated away.

He picked up four cartons of cigarettes and a bottle of mead on the way home. He shared the mead with Winston and spent two hours tipsily proofreading the man's latest longwinded dissertation on blood purity before Voldemort summoned him. He suffered through two or three Crucios before the Dark Lord let him explain that he had indeed both ordered and threatened Lord Greengrass not to go back to the scene of the crime. Voldemort then had Sirius cast the Cruciatus on Greengrass' wife and each of his siblings and young children in turn, once Lady Greengrass had returned from the Ministry. Voldemort instructed him to back up his threats with actions in future, then forced Oliver Greengrass, the next oldest brother, to execute both his sister-in-law and the six-year-old Heir to the family seat, sparing only the four-year-old girl child of the lord's nuclear family. Sirius was dismissed.

Late that night, safe in the bathroom with the shower running, Sirius dared to open the watch again. He had to be even more careful in the Averys' house than he had at the Malfoys' or Lestranges', because Winston had no sense of his own or anyone else's privacy and thus had a bad habit of barging in at all hours of the day and night without knocking. The addled lord might not recognize what Sirius was doing as espionage, but he could easily mention it to someone who would.

Sirius wrote the names Henrietta and Honoria Greengrass in the foggy mirror to show Portrait Moody. The portrait glared at him and mouthed "we need to talk." Sirius wrote "noon." The portrait nodded. Sirius closed the watch, wiped the mirror, and undressed to wash.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Portrait Moody asked as soon as Sirius assured him they were alone the next day. Sirius was sitting with his back against a round barrow in Dorset, soaking up the meager winter sunlight.

"What do you mean what happened? Greengrass wanted to come muggle-baiting, and I killed him at the end of it when he decided to go back. There's nothing else to it. Don't worry, Avery wasn't there, so no witnesses. If you're asking what happened to Henrietta and Honoria, that was the Dark Lord taking out his anger on the family."

"I meant why did you kill him if he wasn't on to you? Especially out in the open right over the heads of the Obliviators!"

"Hmm, let me think. Oh yes, because the opportunity was there, and I had just spent all day watching him torturing muggles and listening to him confess to torturing and killing Merlin knows how many other people over the years. He was an evil man."

"Yes, he was, but you took an incredible risk."

"My whole life is an incredible risk."

"You're risking more than your life, Sirius. You risked Fleamont's and Gideon's freedom."

"Gideon?"

"Gideon Prewitt. The auror who took the fall for you." Portrait Moody fairly growled at Sirius' surprised expression. The fabricated details of the murder hadn't made it to the morning papers. "The Order has had a protocol in place for this kind of thing for years. Our members are not licensed by the Ministry to kill, remember? They get caught in a lethal duel with someone as powerful as Greengrass, and they will definitely be charged with murder and must hope their plea of self-defense is accepted. Our auror members are the only ones who can get away with killing, legally speaking. It's extra tricky covering for you. I was unable to contact my real self, which is why I had to send Fleamont first. He claimed your kill as his own to protect your identity from Gideon, and then Gideon claimed it to protect Fleamont from prosecution as a vigilante."

"How does all that work?" Sirius asked, interested despite himself.

Moody irritably rattled off the protocol. Apparently, Gideon ran interference with the other Ministry workers looking over Greengrass' body while Fleamont re-cast a series of hexes and curses with Gideon's wand so as to fake the Priori Incantatem that would be taken in evidence for Gideon's official report. They were lucky that Greengrass' wand proved so damning as it was (besides what Sirius had added, the man had spent most of the afternoon casting Cruciatus and Flagrante curses at the hapless muggles), and doubly lucky that neither the Obliviators nor Gideon had seen Sirius.

"And now Gideon is on administrative leave while myself goes through the motions of a formal investigation. Don't you dare do something like this again, Sirius," Moody ordered. "We don't have many aurors in the Order. We might not be able to protect you next time."

"Then don't bother. I'll figure it out on my own."

"Figure what out?"

"Alibis and cover stories for the Dark Lord. You can just find a random dead body. Or not find it. The Death Eaters deserve to know what it's like to fear mysterious disappearances." He could start a new collection of paperweights. Or maybe add to the stones at Casterligg. Or burn them, but that would smell worse.

"You won't need alibis if you refrain from recklessly killing Death Eaters and focus on tracking down the damned horcruxes instead, once we're ready."

Sirius snorted. "Yeah? Where would you like me to look for the horcruxes? What should I be looking for? How long do I sit idly waiting for Dumbledore to have an epiphany? At least I can find Death Eaters to destroy!"

"Easy there. We found one already, remember? And that was when we didn't even know about them."

"It literally had his name on it! And you're the one who found it at that. I was just your hands."

"What do you want me to tell you, Sirius? Dumbledore's working on it, but it's going to take time. He's reviewing every pensieve memory he can about the Dark Lord from when he was younger to figure this out. He's reading every Dark text about horcruxes he can find. Until then, you-"

"I could help with that," Sirius broke in. "I can help with the research. I've got access to loads more Dark books than he does, I'm sure of it. Just tell me what he needs." Research was still most likely a waste of time, but he wasn't going to win the tactical argument. He needed something to fill the empty hours besides intrusive thoughts about the innocent lives he'd taken anyway.

Moody frowned. "Promise me you won't needlessly kill like this again first, then we'll see."

It wasn't needless. "If you promise not to leave any more Order members where I've no choice but to murder them for my cousin's amusement, then we'll see. In case you forgot, I'm on the Inner Circle now, on the front lines of the violence. I'd at least like the tallies to stay somewhat even while Dumbledore's got his head stuck in the fucking pensieve."

"Dumbledore said it wasn't the plan to leave Edgar there. I double-checked after you told me it was you that killed him. Something must have come up on Edgar's end."

"Somehow, that's not reassuring. Look, I do get it. Springing something like this on you with no preparation time is both dangerous and not fair to the Order. I'll try to be more careful."

"'Be more careful' isn't quite what I said."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "If you're waiting for me to promise not to kill someone like Greengrass when I think I can get away with it scott-free, well, don't bother. I'm not going to promise that."

"Sirius, you are worth more than any Death Eater I could name."

"I'm really not," Sirius told him bleakly. "Don't you see? This prophesy thing, it's a distraction. While we're faffing about with horcruxes, my cousin will defang the Ministry's most successful policies, the Death Eater ranks will swell, the Order of the Phoenix and the aurors will keep losing members one by one, and the Ministry will fall. My best use is knifing through the opposition."

"Neither Albus Dumbledore nor myself believes that."

"Well, I do. And I'm going to keep doing what I'm good at until Dumbledore gives me something actually useful to do."

Moody closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them again, he said, "You are more than a killer, Sirius. Even if you're doing it at random, we need you to test for horcruxes when you can. Focus on objects with some intrinsic value, like books, musical instruments, and ornaments, enchanted or otherwise."

"There is no reason a horcrux would have to be made from something of actual value."

"Dumbledore knows that, but he's also read up on every historical horcrux he could, and not once did a Dark Lord or Lady choose to invest a piece of garbage with part of their soul. The only outlier was a very evil fig tree almost two thousand years ago in the Levant. It's a gamble, but we're betting on You-Know-Who's pride."

"I suppose," Sirius grumbled. If Voldemort was smart, he'd make at least one of his five horcruxes out of an old sock. If there was already a hole in the toe, no one would realize the yarn had since become indestructible. Hell, if Sirius was an evil maniac squirreling bits of his soul away, he'd probably use one of them to curse the shit out of a toilet seat or a random doorknob or something, just for laughs.

"Read up more on them too, if you must. See if anyone has come across a more efficient means of identifying them than the one you already know. But do it inconspicuously. The last thing we need is for You-Know-Who to be tipped off as to what we're up to."

Chapter Text

The Horcrux, properly prepared, shall be impervious to decay and all mundane means of damage. A Horcrux fashioned of wood or paper shall not burn. One of metal shall neither rust nor melt. Nay, it shall withstand even the hottest of Dragon flame. A blade of adamant shall not score it. The hammer strike of a giant shall not crush it. The jaws of a Lethifold shall not rend it. No potion brewed by witch or wizard shall dissolve it. Nor may it be Vanished or Transfigured. All previous Enchantments contained within shall continue but be bent to the enshrined soul. Verily, daring practitioners including the originator Herpo the Foul have weaponized the Artifact, which can ensnare and possess the unwary. This strategy is not without risk, for even the protections detailed above suffer select weaknesses. The Horcrux will be destroyed if it is submerged in or penetrated by the venom of the King of Serpents, the Basilisk. It shall also be destroyed if the container is immolated entire in Fiendfyre. Lastly, the soul fragment contained therein may be subjected to the attack of the Horror of Ekrizdis, if the unholy spirit is empowered and controlled with the Ritual of the Feast of Innocents, as the Horcrux of Loxias fell to Livius. This last is the most difficult to ward against, as the Horrors themselves are fully indestructible even in the face of Fiendfyre...

Sirius skimmed the rest of the page and cursed. As he had thought, Secrets of the Darkest Art did not actually go into details about the Ritual of the Feast of Innocents. He'd probably need to track down the Complete Works of Ekrizdis to figure out if the ritual, vile as it no doubt was, would be a better way of destroying horcruxes in the end. After all, dementors were semi-intelligent spirits that fed on memories and souls. If there was a (un)natural horcrux-hunter, they would have to be it. Maybe Ekrizdis had even created them in order to hunt down a rival's horcrux or something. Too bad the only copy of the book Sirius had ever heard of let alone seen had been destroyed along with the rest of Malfoy Manor. The Averys certainly did not own one. There might be one at Grimmauld Place or some other Black stronghold, but Sirius couldn't bring himself to go there, not for such a thin lead as this. Maybe if he already knew there was a horcrux there. He didn't think there was, though. He couldn't see Voldemort trusting Orion and Walburga or even Cygnus with something like that; they were more devoted to themselves and the Black Family than to the Dark Lord. No, if one of the Blacks was custodian of a horcrux, it was Bellatrix.

Honestly, Sirius thought it more likely that the Dark Lord had trusted none of the arrogant and unstable Black family members with something so important as his own soul and instead favored someone more dependable. Of the members of the Inner Circle who were still alive, British, and not in prison, Lord Nott, Lord Rosier, Sullivan Travers, and Rodolphus were probably the best candidates by that criterion.

Since it would be ludicrous for him to kill another Death Eater whilst muggle-baiting in the near future, Sirius swallowed his pride in order to visit Bella one day while Rodolphus was absent. By way of explanation for his abrupt about-face in his efforts to avoid her, he decried the Averys' collection of Dark books to her and claimed he needed more challenging reading material to hold off Winston. Bella enthusiastically agreed to show him all her various Dark and historical books without question. She added in a tour of all the Dark artifacts they passed and some of her cursed jewelry in an obvious ploy to prolong his visit, helpfully providing the detailed history, powers, and properties of each piece. Since that was precisely what he wanted, he made no effort to stop her.

The manor house was of course stuffed with potentially suspicious knickknacks and books that Sirius had largely ignored while he was actually living here. It was all just the expected window dressing of an old pureblood residence, nothing special because everything was valuable, rare, and/or antique. There was, unfortunately, no way for him to secretly test any potential horcruxes, because Bella was so excited he had finally accepted her frequent invitation to visit, she did not leave him alone for even a moment. He would have to move back in to do that, and he really didn't want to, no matter how much Bella nagged him to "come back to the family." He supposed he could discount the artifacts for which Bella was able to give very clear and easily verified acquisition pedigrees, but she didn't know the history of all the supposed Lestrange heirlooms. One of them could easily be a recently added horcrux hiding amidst a dozen other more impressive pieces just as the journal had been.

Or he could be entirely on the wrong track. Even if he accepted Dumbledore's logic that the cursed object was probably a prestige piece, for all they knew, only one horcrux was ever hidden in a Death Eater household. Every time Sirius thought about it long enough, he quickly concluded again the hunt was hopeless without either more information or better methods for magical detection. He stuck with it only because that was what the Order had asked of him. Sirius may be contrary by nature, but it felt too weird to deny the wishes of Albus Dumbledore outright.

Bella did not have anything by Ekrizdis, at least not that she showed him, so he ended up borrowing a book on ancient curses and curse-breaking instead, reasoning the detection spells described might at least be helpful. They weren't. That is, there were definitely approaches to curse-detection that were completely novel to Sirius, but not once did the authors mention horcruxes and whether said approaches worked on them. He finished the book anyway, because Winston really was being rather annoying with a bound compendium of the illustrated home and style sections of nineteenth century Witch Weekly Morgan had given him for Christmas. Why that publication even existed, Sirius could not say, but learning more Dark arts was infinitely preferable than looking at it.

Bella started inviting him to accompany her to visit Uncle Cygnus' house, not just her own, in another very obvious ploy to "trick" him into spending more time with her. He went along the second time she asked in order to see Narcissa, to peruse Cygnus' library, and on the off-chance he could stumble across a horcrux. No such luck, but the time felt oddly well-spent. Narcissa currently shared his general anger and frustration with a monumentally difficult task she did not want: she had been royally pissed at both Bella and her father when she was informed of her new position as the Dark Lord's chief propagandist, but she did not have the option to refuse. It was an odd, sometimes contradictory task she had, visiting both the Ministry and St. Mungo's almost every day and spending all her free time writing numerous anonymous pamphlets endorsing the Dark Lord's cause. These were directed towards all kinds of unlikely groups that should not be natural allies. The only pamphlets Sirius had ever encountered before now had targeted wealthy purebloods, but there were others she let him read with almost entirely different messages directed towards purebloods of lower classes, halfbloods, werewolves, hags, vampires, and other marginalized groups. These described a future with freedom from the Statute of Secrecy, return of magical traditions, and resumption of a "natural harmony" of a simpler world the bureaucratic Ministry was trying to erase. It was a dream world, obviously. Halfbloods like Audrey were kept out of sight of the more intolerant purebloods and largely scorned by the Inner Circle of Death Eaters. The only use he'd heard Voldemort's werewolf allies being put to was terrorizing mixed-blood communities on the full moon and as additional expendable foot soldiers in clashes with the aurors. There was no equality in the offing. Narcissa was quite careful in not explicitly promising there would be.

Narcissa even wrote pamphlets directed to muggleborns, surprisingly. Unlike the others, these did not aim to recruit their readers, but rather turn muggleborns and their allies against the Ministry and its current policies. After all, if the government was willing to legalize use of the Unforgivables against someone like Lord Yaxley who had every advantage in their society and to shrug off their use against the likes of Lucius and Abraxas Malfoy, surely the most vulnerable had no chance at all against Ministry abuses. The aurors did not even seem to be investigating all the tragic losses and disappearances of muggleborns and squibs anymore! Did they not care? Yes, Narcissa was good at political rhetoric and currently beloved by the Daily Prophet. In fact, her arguments against the barbarity of government-sanctioned Unforgivables and demands for Ministry accountability were more eloquent than Abraxas' had been, and better received judging by the Letters to the Editor page, which Narcissa both contributed to and read religiously as a measure of her own effectiveness.

That said, Bartemius Crouch was incredible at stalling and/or stomping out opposition to his legislation, pulling all the Ministry levers as ably as any Malfoy and with more legitimate authority, so Narcissa's primary assignment to reverse the Unforgivables policy was not going well. Her only saving grace was that Voldemort was bizarrely enchanted with the concept of the mother of the Malfoy heir, going so far as to suggest names for the baby boy. Voldemort had so far refrained from hurting her when she failed to report significant progress. He tortured whoever else was in the room instead, red eyes alarmingly fixed on her gravid belly. Narcissa had not informed him the fetus was actually female and already named Lyra.

Bella interrupted the griping session after several hours to complain about the fact that she had been forced to deal with three more Death Eaters Imperiused to attack her. Sirius had heard nothing of this and listened in conflicted silence as she described the encounters in excessive detail. She did not sound particularly upset about the attacks, excepting that the Dark Lord was miffed they kept happening and had told her to please stop killing the suborned Death Eaters outright. She, devoted follower, had of course complied. She piously detailed her efforts to try to break the Imperius controlling her most recent assailant, Narses Selwyn.

"Poor Narses - I always liked him, you know, cute child, great sense of humor when he grew up. He came to my house three nights ago. He even floo called ahead of time to check that I was in and ask if he might pop by to chat. Very polite, the Selwyns, don't you think, Cissy?"

"Yes, very polite," Narcissa said blandly.

"Anyway, he came through the floo, asked if Dolph was home, and when I said Dolph had already gone to bed, he chatted a bit about his sister's wedding plans to Lord Nott - poor thing. Imagine being married to Nott! Then as we're sitting down, he deliberately spilled his wine all over the settee Auntie had given us for our fifth anniversary, you know the one Cissy. I started to vanish the mess, and you know how bad I am at vanishing, Siri!"

Sirius nodded automatically.

"Sneaky bastard. So, while he thought I was distracted, he up and drew his wand on me and tried to get me with a killing curse!" She cackled. "I'll admit, his set up was better than the other four, but the thing with the wine tipped me off. Too obvious, you know? I had already used a sticking charm on one of the throw pillows and whipped it up between us as a shield at the first syllable. Pity, it was the nice one with the embroidery you gave me, Cissy. The curse destroyed it, can't be fixed."

"I'll make you another."

"You're sweet. Well, Narses isn't a good duelist, and he blew his only chance. I had him disarmed and tied up in a trice. I had to think what to do then. The Dark Lord told me not to kill any Imperiused allies again if I could help it, as I said. I thought about waking up Dolph to see what he thought, but the poor dear has been so tired lately, trying to do the work of three people now that the Ministry's got Yaxley, Dolohov is still in Estonia, and Greengrass got himself killed by an auror. I thought about just keeping Narses a prisoner in the cellar, but that didn't seem very practical either, so I decided to experiment a little instead. I started with the Cruciatus..." Why she thought that would work, Sirius did not know. "But then he tried to strangle me when I untied him again. So then I tried to figure out who had placed the Imperius in the first place with Legilimency. It's logical, no? The Dark Lord says I'm the only one they've targeted like this so far, so it's probably one person cursing them all who has an especial grudge towards me. I figured I could kill whoever it is and save Narses."

She paused a moment and poured herself another cup of tea, staring into it contemplatively. Growing a little nervous, Sirius cleared his throat, "So, did that work? Do you know who's behind it all?"

"Oh, no. Turns out, Narses has been going to young Felix Mulciber's Imperius training sessions, so that's all I found when I was looking for memories of the curse. Much good that so-called training did him. Some auror probably cursed him when he was out in public without him even knowing." Sirius noticed Narcissa's raised eyebrow at that. Probably because she had a more accurate understanding of what the current Unforgivables law actually said than Bella did. From what Moody had told him at Christmas, it was still against the law for an auror to prime unsuspecting Death Eaters to assassinate eachother or even the Dark Lord. A slight chill ran through him as he wondered what Narcissa actually thought of all this, then, and how she had advised the Dark Lord himself. Hopefully, they both just blamed the Imperiuses on the Order of the Phoenix and did not suspect a traitor in the ranks.

"How's Mulciber supposed to teach people to resist when he can't do it himself? It doesn't make sense. I offered to do the teaching, you know. It worked great for you, Siri. I don't know why the Dark Lord gave the job to Mulciber."

"Probably because he doesn't want to sacrifice all the recruits who don't have what it takes to resist just because you won't stop trying," Sirius said flippantly. "Rodolphus had me try to teach Mulciber, too, and so has the Dark Lord. Some people just can't learn. Unlike you or me, though, Mulciber can cast the curse with a light enough touch to figure that out. He can tell when it's time to stop."

"There is that... Shame about the boy, though," Bella mused.

"What boy?"

"Narses."

"Why? What did you end up doing with him?"

"Nothing. Only, my Legilimency probe might have been a tad too forceful for someone under the Imperius. He started gibbering like an idiot when I released him. Dolph had to call Evan to take him to St. Mungo's. Lord Nathaniel came over to yell at me the next day, said I'd ruined the family line and that I owed him for committing his son to the mind healing ward for the rest of his life." Sirius' heart fluttered a little. Narses was only eighteen months older than him. "I could see straight through him, of course. He doesn't really care, he just wants to claim a debt he can call in later. Even if Narses ends up like Lucius for the long term, all the Selwyns have to do is find him a smart, ambitious wife who won't mind bedding a simpleton if it means she gets to be the de facto head of a noble pureblood family. Just look at Lady Avery."

Bella sipped her tea primly. Narcissa discreetly covered her look of disgust with her napkin. Sirius decided it was time to change the subject. "Narcissa, how is Lucius getting along? Is he doing any better?"

"A bit," Narcissa said with a grateful smile. As he listened to her talk about Lucius' therapies, he couldn't help but think his impromptu Imperius strategy was proving startlingly effective, with five Death Eater casualties in less than two months. There may be some risks involved that he didn't exactly understand very well, but still, that was a better rate than the aurors, who had only made two arrests and one kill since Christmas.

Two agonizing weeks passed with absolutely nothing of importance happening other than Bella reporting three more Imperiused assassination attempts that all ended with trips to St. Mungo's. Rodolphus forbade her from answering floo calls. The Dark Lord now hesitated to contrive new confrontations with the aurors, because the "strategy" of cursing seemingly random Death Eaters to go after Bella, and only Bella, did not make sense to him. He thought there must be many more compromised Death Eaters whose actions were currently invisible, especially more cursed to turn on their fellows during battle. But how many more? For the first time in years, he was on the defensive against an enemy he could not fully anticipate, either a Ministry that had decided to flout its own regulations or an Order that had finally surrendered its sacred moral high ground. Maybe both. The ideal solution would of course have been what Bella suggested: figure out whoever was casting the curses and kill them. She doubted the moralistic Order and Ministry had more than one or two highly skilled imperators between them. It was sound reasoning, except of course, even Bella had to admit they had no idea who to target.

The Inner Circle debated the wisdom of forming a special unit of those with known ability to resist the curse to use on all major offensives, thus side-stepping the problem. Even though Sirius would obviously be on the team doing more horrible things, he seconded the proposal, secretly reasoning he might be able to set up another ambush like the one that brought down Lucius and the others back in August. The idea was discarded for several reasons. The strategy would be logistically difficult since "resisting the Imperius" was not a trait that correlated much with other talents, meaning the few candidates were scattered in different units. Half of them were on the Office of Obliation reserves list. Most of the ones Sirius had not already known were mediocre fighters at best (he memorized the new names in case Moody missed them). Finally, Rodolphus pointed out the very risk Sirius had hoped to capitalize upon: it could lose them the war if a mission went badly and they lost all those valuable assets at once, leaving the rest of the ranks to be gutted at will with mass Imperius attacks from an emboldened Ministry and/or Order. The possible dire commands Rodolphus came up with sent shivers down Sirius' spine: a Death Eater commanded to unleash Fiendfyre during a meeting at the headquarters, or to orchestrate an assault by their werewolf allies on the manors of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, or to raise up an Inferius army against them, or to carry the conflict to another country now while they were weakened and bring the International Confederation of Wizards down on their heads. Lord Voldemort had god-like magical power, but he was only one man. He could not conquer a country with zero trustworthy lieutenants.

Next, they debated the merits of an Imperius counter-offense. The curse was already very much in use infiltrating the Ministry and Daily Prophet, of course, but its primary purpose had always been inobtrusive information-gathering or one-off commands, not total usurpation of their targets. Now, masters like Mulciber and the Dark Lord himself could surely enthrall the minds of many Ministry employees if needed without losing control of the spells and permanently damaging the victims' minds. The problem Augustus Rookwood (their strategist inside the Ministry) faced was that there was only so far controlling low-level, accessible people could take them in the Ministry. Particularly since, as only Sirius knew, Moody was fully aware of Rookwood's Death Eater status. The head auror controlled the movements of sensitive personnel and kept them as far removed from anyone in the Department of Mysteries as possible. Indeed, the vast majority of war-related information Rookwood referred to Voldemort at this point was heavily censored by Moody by the time it made it to him. Thus, getting Mulciber or Bella or Voldemort himself the access they needed to actually take over the Ministry was no easy task. Even though Mulciber's name remained clean legally (while Moody waited for evidence that couldn't be traced back to Sirius), his family had no political connections to speak of outside of the Death Eaters. His access to aurors and department heads was nonexistent until and unless official business could be contrived. No, in order to place an Imperius on the right target, they would most likely have to take the risk of forcing their way into the victim's private residence.

Where boldness might have served better, uncertainty and the many recent losses amongst the loyalists in the Sacred Twenty-Eight drove the Dark Lord to be cautious in the end. Operations would be strictly siloed to prevent information leaks. More efforts would go towards recruiting new, "clean" minds. More Death Eaters of all ranks were, ironically, shunted off to Mulciber's training sessions. Those who could not resist the Imperius were ordered never to go out alone. Those who could resist the Imperius were ordered to increase their battle training, and wait. The upshot was that the Order and the Ministry got some breathing space, and Sirius got increasingly bored despite nightly practice duels with Rodolphus. In light of the uncertainty, there would be no call for Sirius' larger anti-muggle operations until Voldemort settled on his new strategy. At least Sirius still had two outings per week to blow up muggle houses with Richard; Lord Voldemort had rescinded permission for anyone else to invite themselves along.

After reading every likely book he could find and turning up nothing new about horcruxes, Sirius used his suddenly abundant free time to practice casting more complex and lethal curses nonverbally. After two weeks, he did manage to cast a weak Cruciatus on the spider in his closet. He ran into a brick wall with the Avada, though he was resolved to keep at it. When he was too frustrated to practice, he tinkered on the cursed bracelets he had once flippantly promised to Dumbledore. He managed to make them fully unbalanced: Sirius' bracelet could kill whoever was wearing it very quickly once activated, while Dumbledore's was not only perfectly safe for the wearer but could only be used to activate Sirius' by someone named Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Inscribing the phonetic rune work for the headmaster's many names had been horrible.

Just when Sirius was weighing the risks of murdering a Death Eater without the cover of a legitimate mission, Bella came to Sirius for assistance with her own project, the assassination of some Order member named Elphias Doge. Of all duties of the Inner Circle, her mandate to kill Order members was the only one in this lull that had actually stepped up, in case she managed to slaughter the imperator by chance. Accordingly, she was acting immediately on fresh information regarding the safe house Doge was using. Her team for the evening was whoever was available and thus did not include either Dolohov, who was still out of the country, or even Rodolphus. There was no time, she said, to plan one of Sirius' muggle distractions; there was no time, Sirius thought, to get away and warn the Order to get this Doge to safety. He could only hope Moody was listening in his portrait, as he donned his Death Eater robes and mask, shook Winston off, and followed Bella out of the house. Hopefully, he would at least have a chance to hit someone with an Avada in the back if they ended up in a chaotic firefight. Maybe he'd get really lucky and learn Mulciber had cursed one of the others to attack Bella.

The safe house was in a muggle neighborhood in the outskirts of Kent. It was tiny. It should have been under a Fidelius, as there was frankly no security in geographic obscurity anymore. The small size of the property made it simple for Bella to order the team to fan out around the place and construct anti-apparition, anti-floo, and anti-portkey wards just as quickly as Albus Dumbledore himself had around Malfoy Manor. She had Sirius help her take down the protective wards on the house, putting his recently acquired curse-breaking knowledge to good use. The wards were a step up from the Bones' house, but still not good enough. And then they were inside, all six of them against one Doge. They had surprised the old man in his bath, it seemed. He got to his dressing gown and wand before they burst into the place, and he came at them dripping wet.

It was over before it even started. Doge slipped on the wet floor, and Bella hit him with a full body-bind as he went down. "Quick, layers!" The rest of the team dutifully disarmed Doge, silenced him, blinded him, and bound him in fiery ropes. Bella lowered her wand. "That was disappointing. Well. Who wants to play?" She took the first turn at the Cruciatus, then urged Sirius to go next. He complied, not seeing another option. Then came Lord Nott, who had joined them at the last minute already masked, but Sirius recognized his voice. Then Evan Rosier. Then Megaera and Sullivan Travers.

"Siri, can you show the others the transfiguration thing you did last time? It was so interesting. I want to see it again, without pesky interruptions."

Sirius bit back a curse and started locking down his emotions as best he could. "It will be my pleasure." He stepped forwards slowly, trying to figure out if there was any way to make this less horrible. Maybe... he did not cast an Imperious, nor did he cast Sectumsempra or any other Dark curse this time. Instead, he just started transfiguring. That was bad enough, of course. Sirius knew how painful it could be from personal experience. Bella laughed delightedly as old Doge's eyes rolled in silent agony. "Ooh, let him scream. Sonorus!"

Sirius ignored Doge's yells and whimpers and kept working. He had started by transfiguring first one foot and then the other into a cluster of potatoes and aubergines. Next came the legs. He turned small segments into the semblance of apples and cheeses. He was mimicking a bizarre muggle painting he had once seen on a book cover, the head and shoulders of a man made entirely of vegetables. When he had transfigured the legs all the way up to the hips, he moved to the hands, turning the left into a bundle of carrots and the right into sausages. He was basically just stalling for time, hoping against hope that the Order realized what was happening and came to Doge's rescue before Sirius got around to transfiguring any vital organs. This kind of segmental transfiguration would not have an easy fix, but Doge might at least survive if someone saved him quickly enough.

"I have never seen work like this before," Nott said while Sirius carefully changed Doge's thick white hair into artful clusters of green grapes. The older wizard had removed his mask and leaned over the body to see better. Sirius fantasized about decapitating him, if the situation were slightly different. His neck was right there.

"I know! I feel like I'm watching a master portraitist at work! And he's my cousin!" Bella purred.

"It is fascinating," Nott agreed. "I like how you have managed to preserve the contours and even some textures of the body with careful selection of your transfigured objects. It is as if he were always made of these foodstuffs, hidden beneath a deceptive skin wrapping that you are slowly peeling back for us. You could perform such displays in a theater, and many would pay for the pleasure of seeing it."

"And it looks so tasty, too," Bella added. "I almost forget it's human." Meg Travers looked away with dry heaves at that particular comment.

"It's taking forever, though," Sullivan muttered. "If he's not too fast, he's too slow."

"You can't rush great art," Nott said with a shrug.

Rosier pointed out the window. "The aurors can. Time to wrap up. I'm pretty sure that's Alastor Moody getting ready to take down our barrier."

Thank Merlin. Sirius lowered his wand.

Bella took one look out the window "Damnit! Avada Kedavra!" There was a flash of hideous green light, and Doge was dead. Sirius stared at the corpse. All that for nothing. He silently apologized to the dead wizard he had tortured and failed to save. Bella must have registered some disappointment in the set of his shoulders. "Aw, Siri, I'm sorry. I'll get you a mudblood to work on next time you visit me so you can actually finish uninterrupted for a change. Okay? Right, people, Madeye's not dumb. He likes to come with reinforcements, so get out of here as quick as possible. I'll distract him." She led the way out of the room.

Sirius hesitated just long enough to pull Dumbledore's cursed bracelet out of his pocket and hide it amidst the gourds that used to be Doge's arm before following the others. He cast the Dark Mark as he went to account for his delay. He pulled up short despite himself when he saw Moody. The auror had a new eyeball to replace the one he'd lost at Malfoy Manor. It was bright blue and looked too big for its socket. It also moved independently of the other one, with a more extensive range of motion. Moody took advantage of his surprise to send a stunner his way. Sirius dodged reflexively. He belatedly realized the spell never would have hit him anyways. Maybe Moody recognized him somehow, even through the mask. Regardless, he did not hang around to find out. He ran after the others, firing hexes in Moody's general direction as he went, though deliberately just missing. He helped Nott take down the anti-apparition ward Moody had hastily erected just outside theirs, and then he turned in place and was gone.

Chapter Text

"I found this with the body," Alastor said, concluding his brief to Albus regarding Elphias Doge's death. He laid the silver bracelet on the desk. It had been tucked into the side of the pale and mutilated corpse of the wizard who had been the headmaster's closest friend since they attended Hogwarts together.

"Does he recognize how disturbing this is?" Albus asked quietly, staring at the bracelet without picking it up. It was the first thing he had said since the start of their meeting. The headmaster's face looked as old and careworn as Alastor had ever seen it. Alastor did not need to ask who "he" was. His own portrait had blithely relayed the message that Sirius Black had hidden "Dumbledore's friendship bracelet" on the body of his latest victim.

There was no blood on the silver bracelet, just as there had been no blood on Doge's body. It was possibly the most gruesome bloodless murder Alastor had ever seen in his years of service as an auror, right up there with burn victims. That said, few outside the Order and the centenarians had been aware of Albus' and Doge's friendship. He doubted Sirius had known about it. Nor could he imagine Sirius had been intentionally so macabre. But... "I'm not sure he recognizes anything as particularly disturbing anymore. He has been acting more erratically ever since we told him about the prophesy. He didn't take it the same way as we did, probably because you didn't want to share the whole thing with him. I think he's losing hope."

"He hasn't been the same since he killed Edgar," Alastor's portrait corrected. "That's what started it."

"We need to do more to help him before he is lost to despair entirely," Albus said. As usual, he ignored Alastor's criticism of the decision to give Sirius only the first two lines of the prophesy. Of course, today he might not have even noticed the criticism. Even the great Albus Dumbledore could be shaken by the murder of his best friend of many decades.

"Yes, clearly."

But what to do? Alastor knew perfectly well from their interactions over the Christmas interlude at the Potters', Sirius did not do well with a feeling of powerlessness. It made him moody, and worse it made him reckless, as evidenced by his impulse to return to the Death Eaters on Christmas Day without telling anyone ahead of time. When Sirius became careless, the Order had to scramble to clean up after him. Albus had barely pulled Fleamont Potter and young Peter Pettigrew away from danger in time on Christmas and had to Obliviate Peter afterwards. Poor Gideon had only just returned from administrative leave while they went through the internal review for the Greengrass debacle. They were very lucky Sirius' teammates, Mr. Avery and Ms. Bertram, were keeping the muggle-baiting efforts organized and non-lethal for him.

The thing was, Alastor understood and sympathized with Sirius' feelings. They had set the young wizard a truly overwhelming task searching for horcruxes. Unlike Alastor, Sirius had no one to talk to about it except for furtive whispers with a portrait. Now, Alastor's conversations with Albus on the topic had yet to bear fruit, but they still served as an outlet for the uncertainty, one that Sirius had no access to. Plus, Albus had decided to conceal the exact language of the latter lines of the prophesy from Sirius because he did not want to provoke the wild youth to worse than usual imprudence if he decided he was "the greatest Black." It was a precaution Alastor also understood, although it now seemed to be backfiring on them.

He sighed and thought back over what little they had learned about the horcruxes since first hearing the prophesy. None of it had seemed worth passing on to Sirius at the time, but they had to give the lad something so he wouldn't feel so alone. There just wasn't much. Albus had confirmed much of the horcrux theory he had already previously proposed, and found there was no known precedent for making multiple horcruxes. He had produced an Arithmantic matrix for the problem and concluded that if one were insane enough to make multiple horcruxes, the most stable number was probably three (two horcruxes, one living body). Since Voldemort had not stopped there, the next most likely goal was probably seven, and twelve at the outside. He had also examined Alastor's all-too-brief memory of the journal horcrux in the pensieve and after reviewing many of his old memories of Tom Riddle, realized he recognized the journal. He had witnessed Riddle writing in it while he was still at Hogwarts, in his fifth year. Albus was currently expanding his personal memory review, reasoning he might have seen other horcruxes without realizing it, but he had yet to find anything potentially helpful.

"Maybe... outside of the attacks on Order members, Death Eater activities have been dying down while they're on Sirius' Imperius wild diricawl chase-" Alastor ventured.

"A blessing if ever there was one."

"Amen. Anyway, things are calmer at work since I'm keeping more of my aurors bunkered in the office. I have time. I can help you more directly with the horcrux affair."

"I am open to suggestions, Alastor, but you never knew Voldemort when he was still Tom."

"Sure, but I'm an auror. I have security access even you don't. Trust me, since most of us aren't iconoclastic Hogwarts professors old enough to remember every single suspect and potential witness from their school days, we've developed other means of finding the information we're looking for." Alastor said wryly. Albus straightened slightly in his chair, a bit of spark returning to his tired eyes. Alastor grinned. "I'll pull the old auror files for anything connected to Tom Riddle. You say he was poor, raised in a muggle orphanage. If you're also right that he would have wanted valuable objects for his horcruxes, there's a good chance they're stolen. He might have at least acquired the objects when he was younger and not so good at covering his tracks."

"Oh, he was always good at covering his tracks, even when he was still at Hogwarts," Albus said darkly. He did not elaborate, which was not uncommon for him. Albus did not like to share his bitter memories, nor his theories until he was convinced they were more than likely facts.

"Don't underestimate the value of fresh eyes looking at old paper," Alastor told him. "I know how to search muggle police records too. It's a place to start at least."

Albus' lips quirked. "Perhaps you will find something at that," he said. He prodded the morbid bracelet a few times with his wand before finally picking it up. He studied the runic engravings a moment before carefully clasping it to his wrist. Alastor swallowed. Constant vigilance and preparation for the worst was all very well, but still, he hadn't expected the incorruptible leader of the Order to actually keep the means for Sirius' Black execution on his person at all times. "If you will excuse me, Alastor, I must pay my respects to Elphias' sister, and his partner."

"Of course."

Alastor took up his new horcrux angle when he got to the office the next morning. It was the work of a moment and two wand flicks to confirm there had been no mention of Tom Riddle in the auror records for the last five years, all of which were kept in the filing cabinets in the busy open office space of the Auror Headquarters. Alastor was not surprised. All of Voldemort's recent activities had been catalogued under the name of Voldemort, since no one in the department had realized who the man was for years. Most people still didn't know his real name, because Voldemort had very publicly and gruesomely murdered the first few people who had tried to disseminate his identity to the public. Filing crimes under one name or the other was not worth risking lives. All the older records were archived.

Since Alastor did not want to draw attention to his project, he did not take the lift to the Ministry Archives level until his lunch break. The witch minding the archives entrance scanned his wand and waved him through. He walked far enough into the dimly lit forest of shelves to escape her hearing range before he said distinctly, "Query: auror records, subject Tom Riddle." There was a rustle of parchment, and four folders floated out of the darkness towards him. Alastor grinned nastily. "Got you." He collected the files and proceeded to a reading table tucked into the corner where he could not be easily seen but could watch for anyone approaching with his magical eye. Merlin, he was in love with this eyeball. Damned useful, it was. If he had known such devices were possible, he would have sacrificed his natural vision years ago. He sat down and scanned the dates, then paused. Albus remembered seeing Tom Riddle with his journal while he was at Hogwarts around 1943, when Riddle was sixteen. Why then was the oldest file dated 1925?

Curious, he opened the 1925 file first and began reading the arrest reports of Morfin and Marvolo Gaunt. He recognized the writing style instantly as belonging to Bob Ogden, who had run the misdemeanor magical law enforcement squads for decades, retiring about two years after Alastor started in the department. Both Gaunt men were sentenced to Azkaban for several months after hexing a local muggle in Little Hangleton, Tom Riddle (!), and then attacking multiple Ministry officials including Ogden when confronted about the violent breach of the Statute of Secrecy. Interesting. It could be unrelated, but it was a hell of a coincidence for Lord Voldemort to share a birth name with a random muggle who made it into an auror report the year before he was born. Did Albus know about this? He might not, since he had been aware of Lord Voldemort's identity from the beginning and so had no need for tangential investigation until now.

Alastor reached for the next file. This one was about the sinister Chamber of Secrets affair at Hogwarts, in spring of 1943 so around the same time Albus had seen the journal. The Ministry had not been much involved, since this was the height of Grindelwald's War. With scant resources to spare, the magical mystery was left to the Hogwarts staff to sort out, until a student, Myrtle Warren, actually died. Auror Chang was dispatched at that point, only for the case to be solved while he was still crossing the Hogwarts grounds. It seems prefect Tom Riddle called attention to third year Rubeus Hagrid's illegal pet acromantula (Really, Hagrid?) mere hours after the girl's body was found. According to Riddle's statement, he had been peripherally aware of young Hagrid's love for questionable magical creatures for several months but as they were not in the same house thought nothing of it, even after the strange petrification attacks started. When he heard of Warren's death, he suddenly, so he said, remembered he did know of at least one "monster" in the school and became "distraught." He tracked Hagrid down and found the third year in the act of smuggling an acromantula the size of a dog out of the castle. Riddle reported the enormous spider tried to attack him, but he repelled it. The creature ultimately got away, unfortunately, so Chang was unable to obtain a venom sample that might have positively confirmed it had killed Warren. Hagrid's statement did not fundamentally contradict Riddle's, although Hagrid of course attempted to defend his ridiculous pet's "gentle nature," to Chang's utter disbelief. There was a note that Hagrid was to be expelled, and that the case of the missing acromantula was to be referred to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. There was no mention of the fact that acromantula venom was not known to cause petrification. It was shoddy work, but then, so were a lot of the reports filed nowadays, with the department so overworked with the war effort. If Riddle had managed to somehow convince multiple Hogwarts professors who should have been experts in their fields with this story, Chang probably would have looked no further and seen no reason to document more than he had in an open-and-shut accidental death case. Alastor wondered what the real monster was and what had happened to it, or whether Riddle had just been using the Petrification curse that Sirius so loved on his fellow students and used the Chamber of Secrets as a cover story. The latter was definitely the simpler explanation. Which meant Warren most likely got the Avada.

Alastor opened the next file and stared. It was the muggle Tom Riddle again, murdered by Morfin Gaunt in August 1943 at age 38, along with his parents the local Squire and his wife. All slain with the killing curse, confirmed with Priori Incantatem. Gaunt freely confessed to and even bragged about the murders to the aurors who came to arrest him. He was sent back to Azkaban and was probably still there. Probably without cause, if he guessed correctly. Well, Gaunt surely made a more convincing scapegoat than Hagrid's acromantula. Too bad Alastor wouldn't be able to file an appeal for his case any time soon.

The last file was from 1961, another accidental death report. The witch in question was Ms. Hepzibah Smith. Cause of death: accidentally poisoned by her old and demented house elf Hokey. Really? Well, there was Hokey's "confession" of putting something that she thought was sugar in her mistress' evening cocoa. And there was the forensics report demonstrating the white, crystalline powder Hokey had indicated was actually strychnine rat poison. That was pretty clear-cut. So why was Riddle in the file at all? He searched the stack and finally found Riddle's statement. He was not a suspect, but he was the last human to see her alive according to Hokey, when he had called on her for business two days prior. When questioned at his workplace, he apologetically could not comment on the house elf's memory but expressed his sadness for the lady's death, as he had enjoyed their occasional appointments even if he did not know her well. Perhaps the Ministry might ask her family for an opinion about the house elf? Alastor raised an eyebrow. If he assumed this wasn't an accident but actually another murder, then why? It must have something to do with the business meeting. His eyes sought the header on Riddle's statement:

Witness Name: Riddle, Tom

Sex: Male

Age: 35

Wand Type: Yew with phoenix feather

Relation to Victim: Business associate

Place of Work: Borgin and Burkes

...Ah. The motive was either blackmail or theft. It seemed he would have to look more into Ms. Smith. And it might be worth a trip to snoop around Little Hangleton, after he'd let Albus know what he found. He closed up the files and sent them drifting back to their dusty shelves of origin. He should have done this weeks ago, should have known even Albus Dumbledore's great intellect did not an efficient detective make.

Chapter Text

"The fulcrum is Bartemius Crouch and always has been," Rodolphus said. "If we can get to him with an Imperius, then he can reign in the aurors for us. Even if the ones that are loyal to Dumbledore go rogue, they will lose Crouch's backing and access to Ministry resources. Once we've neutered the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, we can pick off the other departments and the Minister himself at our leisure. The Order won't last once the Ministry falls."

"Yes, but we've tried to go after Crouch before, multiple times, and never succeeded," Rookwood pointed out. "Moody and the other aurors know how important he is. The Order is protecting him too. His security is tighter than Minister Minchum's."

"Minchum doesn't matter," Uncle Cygnus said in a bored voice, clearly siding with Rodolphus. "If we target Minchum and even a hint of foul play gets out, which it will, Crouch will leap at the opportunity for a 'no confidence' vote based on the mere possibility of Minchum being compromised. Minchum isn't popular. As it currently stands, we will lose the vote. Crouch will take the top job, and the Ministry will be more closed than ever. Even voices like Narcissa's might be shut out if that happens; Crouch does not tolerate his critics."

Narcissa glanced up when her father mentioned her name but offered no opinion herself. This was only the third meeting of the Inner Circle to which she had been invited, and she had yet to speak unless the Dark Lord specifically asked for her input.

"Won't the same thing happen if we Imperius Crouch?" Sullivan Travers asked. "If they think he's compromised, Moody will step in, won't he? Which means Dumbledore will control the DMLE."

"Not necessarily. If a department head is sacked or incapacitated or dies in office, the Minister appoints the temporary replacement. It won't automatically go to Moody or any of the other subheads, although those would be the expected candidates," Rookwood explained carefully.

Voldemort raised a hand in acknowledgement. "I would not leave Bartemius Crouch uninjured in the raid anyway, not with what he has done to us, even disregarding that that would be too obvious. His wife at least we will kill, which should help explain inconsistencies in his behavior. But what is my chief political advisor's assessment?" he said silkily.

Narcissa looked up to meet his expectant gaze. "Minchum's bribable, especially if he suddenly loses Crouch's support. There's a good chance we could pick the replacement if needed," she said neutrally.

"We could just forget the Imperius thing, break into the Ministry during work hours, close off the exits, and kill everyone inside," Bella suggested. Most everyone fell silent, and Rookwood's expression was one of horror. He must really like his job and coworkers. Bella looked around and giggled, "I mean, if you think about it, it's all underground and already warded against casual entry and egress. If you don't mind destroying everything in there, a bit of Fiendfyre will do the job and won't even get away from us. That bunker is a perfect death trap!"

Cygnus chuckled and patted her hand affectionately. "My girl."

"Sadly, I was talked out of that very strategy years ago, dear Bella," Voldemort said. "There are treasures in the Ministry I am loath to give up, and there seemed merit in a measured approach at the time. It's very annoying. A coup d'etat via full frontal assault on the Ministry probably would have worked when I first proposed it, back when allegiances were not so entrenched and no one was ready for the realities of war. We are hoisted by our own petard."

There were a few confused glances at that particular turn of phrase. It was probably some muggle idiom Voldemort nee Tom Riddle had never bothered to fully lose, Sirius thought cynically. The Dark Lord was not as careful with his speech when he was in a mood, which was most of the time, lately.

"Abraxas was not wrong. There are still benefits to a democratic mask, my Lord," Cygnus assured him. "So long as our eventual takeover does not appear too unsavory to the public eye, Narcissa will be able to make them welcome us and the end of the war in Britain, won't you, Narcissa?" She nodded curtly. "Bella, dear, killing everyone at the Ministry is counterproductive when we need the paper pushers and tax collectors to keep doing their work after the transition, not to mention all their family members would be upset."

Bella sighed dramatically. "I suppose."

"Are there any other suggestions?" Voldemort asked. None were forthcoming. "Then is the consensus to focus on Crouch?" There were reluctant nods all around the table. "In that case, you may be excused to rest, Narcissa dear, while we turn from politics to war. I know how these meetings tire you." Merlin, Sirius would never get used to seeing the Dark Lord being so solicitous. That he behaved that way only around Sirius' heavily pregnant cousin was beyond creepy. Narcissa left, offering Voldemort a graceful, silent curtsy. She took the one tangible symbol of the Dark Lord's mercy with her. As soon as she was gone, the tension in the air shot up. Voldemort took out his wand and idly toyed with it as he resumed speaking. "We must consider the strategy carefully. We must not be overambitious and split our forces again."

"Of those able to resist the Imperius, Bellatrix, Sirius, Melliflua Snyde, and Lady Catherine Rosier are mission-ready," Rodolphus said with a steady voice.

"Was Lord Black finally tested?" Voldemort asked irritably.

"Yes," Cygnus said quickly. "I did it myself. He did not resist. Nor did my sister." Voldemort stared at him a moment, no doubt sampling his memory of the encounter. Sirius watched his uncle thoughtfully. Did not resist was not quite the same as tried and could not resist. Neither Orion nor Walburga Black were in the Inner Circle, but now Sirius thought of it, he'd never seen either of his parents at headquarters at all. Even masked, he was certain he would have recognized them from their shoulders, robes, and stride. He was probably reading too much into it. It would be too incredible if even more Blacks could resist. Nothing he'd read suggested it was a hereditary trait.

"Damned Blacks," Lord Nott muttered. Voldemort glared at him, and his arm sizzled in punishment. Bella giggled.

"Fine. Continue, Rodolphus."

"Yes, my Lord. I would add Antonin to the count of course, once he gets back from Russia. Do we know when that will be?"

"Whenever I summon him to return," Voldemort said coolly. Which meant Dolohov was probably still stymied in the East. Good.

"The others are not yet ready for combat. Six show promise but will need a minimum of two more weeks of intensive training. The other four... to be honest three of them are hopeless duelists and always will be."

"Indeed? Who are these mediocre names?"

"Ingmar Qvist, Gloriana Jones, and Audrey Bertram."

Voldemort's eyes flicked towards Sirius for the first time that meeting. "Your halfblood. Do you neglect your underlings?"

Sirius' arm started to burn, but not badly. He ignored it and shook his head. "I'm not surprised that Audrey's no duelist. That's just not where her skillset lies. She's very intelligent, but she's not one to make decisions on the fly, nor is she very aggressive."

"Meanwhile, Ingmar has no focus while fighting, and Gloriana no spine," Rodolphus explained. The burning abated as Voldemort's attention moved on, thank Merlin. Or rather, thank Rodolphus.

"And the last?" Voldemort asked.

"The werewolf. Greyback. He's perfectly aggressive but remains incapable of following instructions."

"Typical, and unacceptable for a mission of this importance." Voldemort leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "We had twenty last time, not counting myself. Granted, Bella, Rodolphus, Sirius, and the other two" who shall remain nameless in disgrace and death "were not there, but still... Ten are not enough to take Crouch with the aurors and Order defending him. We will need more muscle regardless of the chances of infiltration. We could perhaps lessen the risk by positioning our at-risk associates where it will be immediately apparent if and when they turn against us... If we treble our forces, assigning a resistant Death Eater to monitor every two at-risk... but that will be another distraction for our best, a distraction we can ill afford."

"Could we practice that?" Sirius asked. "Set up a mock battle where you tell one or two to pretend to be Imperiused and turn against us, see how it goes?" He was mostly interested in seeing ahead of time which Death Eaters had difficulty keeping tabs on two other teammates and who did not. It could be invaluable information for Moody if they tried to convert the raid to an ambush. It would probably also delay the mission, which could only be to the good.

Voldemort tilted his head to the side. "Yes, it may be helpful... I shall have to think further on how to structure the teams in order to best coordinate the assault. It will be an unusual hierarchy to say the least."

"We should do more to draw off the aurors this time, if possible," Travers said. "Whatever the Gryffindor did with his little muggles last time, it wasn't enough."

"Last time, I calculated my part based on time needs, not scale," Sirius pointed out, careful not to directly impugn the Dark Lord's tactics. "I can make this bigger to make sure they call all the Obliviation reserves including off-duty aurors."

"Yes, but can we count on that?" Travers said belligerently. "You can make them call up half the country, sure, but how big a difference do a few aurors make to the Obliviators in those circumstances? They were ready for us last time. They know we're up to something when you put on these shows. I'll wager the aurors will abandon the Obliviators the moment they realize Crouch is the target again. Face it, Sirius. The moment they figured out the pattern, you became obsolete."

"Crucio." Voldemort said it so casually, almost lazily. Everyone watched Travers writhing and screaming in his chair for a minute or so until the Dark Lord released him. "On the contrary, master Travers. Heir Black during our last operation organized exactly the distraction I had asked for, to precise specifications. And it worked perfectly, for the secondary objective of that night. To demean him is to criticize your lord. But your point is taken. Since our target is predictable, we need to push the Ministry as near its breaking point as possible in order to ensure success this time. We need a big event with maximal muggle witnesses, as Sirius achieved with the test cricket match in the fall. Sirius, what suitable muggle events are upcoming?"

"There's some more political protests. Funny thing, they're having more of them because the muggle public is blaming a lot of our activities on the incompetence of their own government. Audrey thinks their Prime Minister might be voted out soon." A few Death Eaters chuckled at the irony. "There's also the football League Cup final and some kind of famous boat race on the River Thames."

"Muggles race boats?" Bella repeated doubtfully. "That's got to be the most boring spectator sport imaginable."

Voldemort looked suddenly amused. Sirius shrugged. "Apparently."

"When is the Boat Race?" Voldemort asked.

"March 17th, if I recall correctly."

Voldemort clicked his tongue. "Too soon, then." He sounded really disappointed. Sirius wondered if he disliked boat races in general or this one in particular.

"The League Final is the same day, unfortunately. But there's a Women's Boat Race the week after," Sirius offered.

"Really? How progressive. I wonder if the course along the Thames may be too long and spread out for our purposes. Or, the larger area could play to our advantage if it ties up more Ministry personnel."

"Only if the aurors are the ones tied up," Travers pointed out shakily. Sirius was surprised he was brave enough to speak up again at all. Then again, he wasn't like Bella. He wouldn't be keen to go up against more aurors than he had to. "There were too many of them guarding Crouch last time. We have got to do something to force them to be elsewhere."

"For that matter, since they have guessed the strategy, is there any guarantee Crouch will return to his home where we want him once Sirius makes his move?" Rookwood asked. "My Lord, was Crouch in residence during your attack last time, or did the aurors move him? I only know he did not return to the Ministry."

Travers flinched and hunched into his seat. Rosier grimaced and coughed. "Ah, we never found out."

"He was home, according to the letter he sent his son," Bella said. "Reggie mentioned it in his last letter."

"But that is no guarantee this time, since they are clearly expecting another attack on Crouch," Rookwood commented. "I assume this muggle boat race is in broad daylight anyway, so Crouch will be at the Ministry when it starts. He works seven days a week since making department head, same as Moody and half the aurors. Whatever Sirius does will have to tie up the aurors through the night and leave Crouch at ease enough to return home."

"I'll have to ask Audrey how many people actually attend this boat race thing, but if it's big enough, I can make it so the cleanup effort will drag out over several days. He'll go home eventually."

"Ooh, if we're planning on delaying the main mission a day or two, we can kill some other less-protected target first, as a feint to make them think we're done and Crouch is all clear," Bella said.

"That should work," Rookwood agreed, "Depending on whether we add something new to the show to ensure the aurors are occupied as Sullivan suggested. What exactly did you have in mind for that, incidentally?"

Travers shrugged uncomfortably. "Give them something to fight that the Obliviators can't manage themselves."

Voldemort smiled. Rodolphus nodded thoughtfully. "That could be a use for Greyback, actually. When's the full moon this month?"

"Tomorrow. No werewolves unless you just want to use them as expendables with wands," Bella informed him.

"I could work with that, but I'd prefer people who will follow instructions," Sirius said carefully. "I deliver specific results because my team makes specific plans and then sticks to them. I don't want a loose cannon like Greyback ruining things."

"No," Voldemort conceded. "In fact, you may not want additional human help at all, not if anyone we might assign you could be under the Imperius and apt to betray you to the Ministry. I might go so far as to suggest leaving young Avery out of your plans this time. Not to mention initiating a wizarding battle with the aurors would surely force Crouch to stay at the Ministry longer anyway, overseeing the operation. No, we want creatures. Something Dark and vicious enough to warrant aurors, but controllable and not noticeable until the right moment. Can you and Bertram both cast a patronus?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "I can. I've never asked Audrey. Why?"

"Dementors could make an excellent accompaniment to your revels. Certainly, their presence would demand the aurors'."

Sirius' eyes widened. Fuck, no. He did not want to be responsible for dementors in London. Weren't all the dementors at Azkaban, anyway?

Nott cleared his throat. "Ah, I do not think we will have sufficient numbers of dementors by then to make a meaningful impact," he said apologetically. He gritted his teeth as Voldemort glared at him and set his arm sizzling again.

"Other suggestions, then?" Voldemort said.

"Vampires?"

Sirius shook his head. "Daytime attack, remember? Unless we pick a different target. Or unless we're sending vampires in a secondary attack, which will probably mean Crouch gets called back if he goes home." Mostly, Sirius did not want anything too far outside his control. Less control meant more dead muggles.

"I could wrangle a quintiped down to London for you," Macnair said with his quiet, raspy voice. "That would give them something to think about."

"No, thanks," Sirius vetoed immediately. "How about a kraken, since it's a boat race?"

Sirius had meant it sarcastically, but Voldemort grinned widely and answered anyway. "That would certainly liven up the proceedings. But there's no way we could guarantee obtaining any non-native XXXXX creatures on such short notice, let alone get something so large as a kraken into position on the Thames without being noticed prematurely by the muggle water authorities."

"Giants?" Macnair asked.

"We could forget adding elements to the boat race and just use giants somewhere else, I suppose. We would not be able to smuggle them into the city proper, but they could certainly cause a stir in the suburbs."

Rookwood shook his head. "Giants are Control of Magical Creatures department now, not DMLE. The aurors wouldn't even be called, not for most creatures you might name. It has to be properly Dark."

Voldemort breathed in through his nose. His red eyes glinted with inspiration. "Inferi, then. Sirius, I shall teach you how to create Inferi, and that shall be the ritual you show to all those poor, unsuspecting muggles. We can ask the werewolves and the Outer Circle to contribute corpses to the cause and deposit them in the river these next two weeks for you to raise when the time is right." He sat back, looking supremely pleased with himself. There were no objections, and no other proposals.

Sirius' mouth was dry as he said, "yes, my Lord." What else could he say? No one argued when the Dark Lord was so happy.

"Should we use Inferi against Crouch too?" Rodolphus asked distantly. Once Rodolphus' proposal was discarded, Sirius couldn't listen to much more of the meeting. He'd read the ritual for the raising of Inferi in Magic Moste Evil. He was not looking forward to practicing it.

"Sirius?"

He looked up tiredly to see Richard standing in the doorway to the library. His neck cracked, and he looked back down at his reading with a wince. "Yeah? What is it?"

"Can I talk to you?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Outside?" He said pointedly. Sirius looked back up at him. He looked distinctly anxious. "Only you've been in here all day. Ever since the last meeting really. You need a break," Richard explained hurriedly with a glance over his shoulder that Sirius took to mean he didn't want the rest of the family to overhear whatever he wanted to talk about.

Sirius nodded. "A break sounds good." He closed and latched Magic Moste Evil; it was one of those books that could cause horrible things to happen if it wasn't taken care of and secured properly. He put a bookmark in the Arithmancy reference text Winston had found for him, then got up and followed Richard out of the house into the garden. It was chilly and damp from the rain earlier, but there were some spring flowers budding up. "What is it?" he asked softly when they were far enough away from the house.

Richard hesitated and cast a few privacy charms before he answered. "Felix came by earlier. He said he and I are supposed to work together preparing for something big later this month."

"Pretty much everyone will be working on some part of it, yes. I swung by Audrey's yesterday to assign her some research work. I was going to update you at the planning meeting with her on Thursday, but I guess Rodolphus put together extra assignments for the Outer Circle gents like you in the meantime."

"Yeah. We're... supposed to be collecting... bodies."

"Ah. Yes, that's a big part of the plan."

Richard took a deep breath. "You said as long as I was working for you, you would make sure I didn't have to do... anything I really don't want to. And I don't want to kill anyone, Sirius. Not even muggles." His voice broke towards the end, and he swiped a hand at his eyes. "Is there a way I can... not?"

Sirius' heart ached for Richard right then. The sheltered young wizard didn't deserve this. His only sin was making the supremely bad choice to obey his family and thereby getting stuck in his role of reluctant Death Eater. Sirius reached an arm around Richard's shoulders and pulled him into a side hug, while he tried to think of a solution. He couldn't just countermand an order that came from Voldemort, even indirectly. Nor could he offer to do the dirty work on Richard's behalf, when it was his task to become an expert necromancer in a matter of weeks. He absently took out a cigarette and offered Richard one while he thought about it. Merlin, he hadn't lit up all day, absorbed in his books. An answer came to him as he blew smoke into the brisk air.

"The Dark Lord needs bodies, Richard, but not necessarily freshly murdered ones. Would you feel better about grave robbing?" Richard coughed in response. "You wouldn't even have to dig them up," Sirius mused. "Not if you went to muggle funeral homes with, what do you call them, the things where they burn the bodies. You could just take the corpses and Obliviate the muggle employees to think they burned 'em already. Have Sookie save you some ashes from the hearth to exchange or something."

Richard took in a shuddering breath. "And that's okay?"

Sirius shrugged. "I don't see why it wouldn't be." If you could make Inferi out of a corpse that had been moldering in the earth for a few months as Magic Moste Evil suggested, there was no reason you couldn't use one fresh from a muggle funeral home dead from natural causes. It's not like they all had to be ritually slain, only some of them.

"Felix won't like it. He was excited about going out tomorrow, the two of us."

"Bugger Felix. If he complains, bring him to me, and I'll tell him in no uncertain terms that this assignment isn't a way for him to get his kicks, and the funeral home method is the best way to avoid tipping off the Ministry about our next move, both safer and more efficient than killing all the muggles fresh." It probably was, actually, for those of the Outer Circle like Richard and Felix who were proficient in memory charms. He should tell Rodolphus about the idea and make it official policy, save some more lives. There would still be plenty of killing, since the werewolves were involved and many of them were not fully qualified witches and wizards, not being given the option to finish at Hogwarts once they were bitten. Moony was the lucky first trial case.

Richard smiled and hugged Sirius back. "Thank you. Thank you. You're a good friend."

"I'm a good boss who keeps his promises."

"Yes, boss. You are, boss. Can I get you a cup of tea, boss? Or maybe a sandwich?"

Sirius laughed and elbowed him.

"What are you reading about so diligently in the library anyway?" Richard asked, his voice much lighter than it had been.

"What do you think the Dark Lord is collecting all the corpses for?"

Richard's smile vanished instantly. "...Oh."

They walked in silence back to the house.

Chapter Text

Sirius followed the pull of the Dark Mark to a forest clearing. Voldemort was waiting for him, sitting on a tree stump with a body lying prone at his feet. It was a muggle woman, Sirius guessed from her clothes. She was clearly under the effects of a full body bind curse. Assuming she was still alive, she could probably barely breathe with her face pressed into the soggy leaf litter. He bowed. "My Lord."

"Sirius. Make yourself comfortable." That struck Sirius as an odd instruction given the Dark Lord was sitting on a rotting stump. Could easily be a kind of trap. He took out his wand and conjured a plain wooden students' desk for himself a few feet from Voldemort, with the muggle woman between them. He then stepped to the side slightly and elaborated Voldemort's stump into a lightly padded, vaguely throne-like chair before sitting down himself, on top of the desk rather than behind it. The Dark Lord smirked at him and rearranged his robes for a moment before speaking again. "Have you practiced ritual magic before?"

"A few times," Sirius said cautiously. The initial Animagus transformation was one of the very few ritual transfigurations, and he'd participated in a handful of family rituals over the years, weddings and funerals and the like. "Nothing like this. Nothing Dark."

Voldemort nodded. "And you reread the relevant chapters in Magic Moste Evil?"

"Yes."

"And finished the entirety of Rite of Blood?" Sirius nodded. "Do you understand the difference between ritual and wanded magic?"

"Er... sort of? I mean, I can repeat the obvious: rituals channel magic through your own body, through the elements, and through sacrifices, not through wands. Honestly, though, I never took Arithmancy, and the theoretical explanations in the books were pretty, ah, technical." The step-by-step descriptions of various Dark rituals and expected results were all straightforward. Disturbingly so, at times. The ritual for the creation of Inferi, for instance, was horribly simple in its design, requiring only a sacrificial victim and a cutting edge. The descriptions of why rituals worked and how to modify them on the other hand consisted mostly of complicated equations. The principle book on the Animagus transformative process, Becoming Your Beast, was similar, but he'd had James and the whole Hogwarts library to help with the math, then. And more than three days of preparation.

The Dark Lord laughed, high and cold. "Oh, you are in for a treat. Let me be clear, you have never experienced the fullness of your own power until you have performed blood magic. If you could better read the equations, you might understand. Magic performed by ritual is raw. It will feel like accidental magic. This will make you feel more powerful than you have ever felt, and at the same time, completely powerless."

"How hard is it?" Sirius asked, intentionally injecting trepidation into his voice. The more he'd read about the ritual, the less he wanted to do it. If there was a chance that Voldemort would change his mind and not teach him this, even if it meant he got to be tortured tonight, even if it meant the Dark Lord raised the dead in London himself... Except, that would be worse, wouldn't it? If he could learn to do this well enough, then he could try to limit the damage. Voldemort wouldn't. Neither would any other Death Eater.

Voldemort's eyes glinted. "As you will have read, the ritual itself is simple. A child could do it... if you could find a child who would do it." He sneered. "Even amongst my Death Eaters, there are those that balk at taking a life with their own fleshly hands." The muggle between them whimpered. Voldemort idly kicked her and continued. "They cling to their wands as if physical distance makes a difference. They are fools, of course. I do not think that will be your problem, though, not from everything I have heard about you from others. You are unusual in that way."

"I am?" He rather doubted it from the number of sadists he'd encountered in the Death Eater ranks.

Voldemort's sneer morphed back into a sly grin. "Killing a human with your hands is a great leveler. Most of my followers are ready to kill because they convince themselves that their victims are lesser. Subhuman. It is why they all start with muggles and then move up to muggleborns, and then blood traitors. Even your own cousin Bellatrix, who is the most similar to you, I think, always speaks down of those she has killed, finding ways that they 'deserved it.' And she is the prototype of a born killer, the kind that strangled rabbits in the back garden as a child. Even she has trained herself to see some people as untouchable, even if only her family. And then there is you, the one whose victims whether of 'childish pranks' or wholesale slaughter have always been human. The one who was perfectly willing to reject our ideology until your first taste of blood. The one who asks his victims' names, chases down a wizarding child, takes the head of the woman who I understand was your own ex-girlfriend in a relationship you were the one to break off, plays with the bodies of his two latest, pureblooded kills... You are under no illusions that those you have killed were not human. You may not even truly believe they deserve it, and yet you terrorize and kill anyway, because it is what you want to do. You are like a werewolf, or indeed any natural predator without moralistic conceits, though with much better control over your base impulses. I'm sure you would have just as little compunction against killing me if I eventually displeased you and you thought you could get away with it. No, the sacrifice will not be difficult for you."

Sirius started. "My Lord, I-"

"Save it for a meeting room. I do not require your reassurances in private. I know why your loyalties lie with me, and how to retain them. It is why I appreciate your honesty with me when it comes to your own abilities and interests. I have no interest in forcing you into a position you do not enjoy just because it suits your family's ambitions for you. And rest assured, I will always find a place for one of your inclinations in the world that is to come. You will not need to turn rebel when the war is won, just to keep from being bored." Sirius could only stare at him. Voldemort let him stew in his surprise and resumed his lecture.

"Now, keeping the power released under your control and not losing yourself to it, that will be the challenge. That is what you will need to practice. The other challenge is learning how to make the Inferius do your bidding rather than mindlessly wander and attack. You have read the requisite enchantments for that of course, but will need an Inferius to practice them. Tonight, we will begin simply. You will practice the ritual in its most limited form, with only one sacrificial victim. If all goes well, you will practice placing the simplest command, to guard this clearing. We'll know if it worked if the creature is still here tomorrow."

"And if all does not go well?"

"You'll be fine. I'll break you out of the grips of the spell and take you home to recover. We'll try again tomorrow." Sirius broke out into a sweat. Great. If he didn't do it right the first time, they'd just let a rogue Inferius roam the English countryside. Brilliant.

"Right."

"Do you want to use the original Rhaetic or the Latin translation?"

"Er, I memorized both, but Professor Babbling always said I was shit at Rhaetic consonants, my Lord."

"Latin it is. The effects can be extremely unpleasant if your pronunciation is off in the first few lines before you've gathered enough magic to correct your fallible human tongue in a language you do not actually know. Practice the incantation now, paying utmost attention to the meaning. Since you're using a translation, your understanding of the words must be flawless, nuanced, and above all focused, or else your intentions with the ritual will be corrupted and yield unexpected results." Sirius recited the Latin lines, slowly. Voldemort listened with eyes closed. At the end, he nodded. "Good. Now, I don't care what Rite of Blood says, your wand counts as a cutting implement. It is by far the best tool for you to use on the Thames, so that is what you will practice with." Sirius nodded. He was starting to feel a little sick. "Then you may begin when ready."

Sirius took a deep breath, in and out. He pointed his wand at the muggle woman and muttered, "Finite Incantatem." Her rigid posture slackened. Seconds later, she surged upright in a futile effort to escape her murderers. "Imperio. Sit still. Do not struggle. And tell me your name." Do not feel your pain.

She stilled. "My name is Jessica Haywood."

"Take off your shirt." She obeyed him, of course. He did not ask her to take off her bra. He only needed the back of her neck and shoulders exposed. He used a silent cutting charm to carve three Etruscan runes into her back. She barely flinched. Since she was still alive, the blood flowed fast and free down the skin of her back. He carved a single rune into the palm of his left hand, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain. He pressed his palm into the wound on the back of her neck. He took a deep breath and began to incant. "Sanguis noster miscet. Sanguis tuus meus est. Me capiat." Our blood mixes. Your blood is mine. I take it. As soon as he claimed her blood, he felt the magic start to build, gathering at his palm. As if his words had severed some deeper artery, her blood flowed faster, pouring out between his fingers to soak his sleeve. Should have rolled it up.

"Corpus tuum meum est. Me capiat." Your body is mine. I take it. Warmth spread up his arm. He felt the world fall away, his awareness shrinking to just the sensations of the woman he was killing. The smell of the blood. The slick, wet feel of it on his skin. The deep, red color. The sound of her shallow breathing. He could feel a fast pulse pounding at his fingertips. He did not know if it was hers or his, or perhaps their hearts had synchronized with this unholy bond.

"Mens tua mea est. Me capiat." Your mind is mine. I take it. A strange, pleasurable disorientation hit him. He hadn't expected it and did not realize what it was until he noticed the recurring thoughts to sit still and not to struggle. He was experiencing Jessica's Imperiused consciousness, unfiltered and uninterpreted, unaffected by the familiar lens of Legilimency. She was not fighting the Imperius curse at all. He was very, very glad she was not really aware enough to experience her own suffering.

"Spiritus tuus meus est. Me capiat." Your breath is mine. I take it. Even as he spoke, she stopped breathing, though her posture remained perfectly upright. The river of blood slowed to a trickle. The disorientation of her mind fled as quickly and easily as it had come, as she lost consciousness. Sirius shifted slightly and realized his hand was now stuck to her back. He took a deep breath and spoke the last two lines. He barely had to think of them, the Latin springing naturally to his lips. He was now far enough along in the ritual, the magic just took over.

"Tua vita mea est. Me capiat. Tu manus mea est in aeternum." Your life is mine. I take it. You are my hand, forever. Raw force roared through him, reverberating up and down his arm and all through his body. It was like the sun rising in his chest. It was like plummeting earthward from the very edge of space. It was so much more than he had felt channeling a lightning strike during his first Animagus transformation. It was orgasmic... no, gross. He knew he was bad, but he wasn't that sick to take literal pleasure from the power of someone's death.

Nor did it quickly recede. The magic just kept building and building. The ecstatic feeling morphed to a horrible pressure underneath his skin, as if it would rip him apart. Completely overwhelmed by the intensity, he made no effort at all to figure out if he had successfully turned Jessica into an Inferius. He tried to push back against the pressure, but it was coming from everywhere, coming from within. He could not remember what he was supposed to do.

"Focus, Sirius. Focus on the limits of your own body, and lift your hand. That will complete the ritual."

Hand. He did not at the moment remember whose voice might be talking to him, but he ripped his left hand free from the burning nexus of Dark magic. The rush of power broke off and snapped back at him. He bellowed, more at the sudden loss than from pain, and he pitched forwards off the low desk to shudder on the ground. "Fucking...Merlin's... hairy arse..."

"Colorful."

Voldemort's dry comment managed to penetrate the haze of his mind. He gasped a few more breaths and swallowed, then muttered, "my Lord."

The Dark Lord chuckled. "Get up. That wasn't bad for a first attempt. It will be easier next time."

It took Sirius a minute to coordinate his rubbery limbs and pull himself back onto the desk, which helpfully transformed into a high-backed wooden armchair that, while hardly comfortable, was much easier to sit in. When he had caught his breath, he finally looked back at, well, the Inferius who used to be a human named Jessica. The ritual had drained every drop of blood, so its skin had turned almost gray. Its eyes had turned milky white, the one physical sign that distinguished Inferi from zombies and draugar. It was staring at him.

Voldemort started lecturing again. "Now, normally, you would raise more than one Inferius at a time, and we will practice that tomorrow. The ritual is slightly harder, only because you have to make sure the blood touches every corpse you wish to raise."

Sirius started to nod, then blinked and furrowed his brow. "How am I supposed to spread blood all over a river the size of the Thames?"

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Crucio." Not at all expecting it, Sirius screamed and slid off his chair again, even though the curse lasted only seconds. "Golpallot's second law, idiot. Magical properties are not dependent on the homogeneity of a solution if the complexity factor is less than seven. The complexity of combining water with something as miscible and potent as human blood with no other additives is almost zero. We'll be practicing this in a pond before you take it to the Thames."

Fucking potions theory was worse than the fucking Cruciatus, Sirius thought. He did vaguely remember a paragraph about the advantages of raising Inferi in water, but it was one that consisted mostly of numbers and symbols. He dragged himself back into his chair yet again. He was wrung out. "Sorry. Right. Sorry, my Lord. I... I just can't think. You were right. The ritual was... a lot."

"Yes, and you'll be practicing it every day until you're able to recover rather faster than this. I'd hate for you to drown in the Thames on what should be your day of triumph."

"How? How do I do this better? If I lose awareness like that in front of a whole crowd of muggles, one of them could walk, or swim, up to me and take me down with a blow to the head, and I'd never even see it coming."

Voldemort drummed his fingers on his knee. "It's like resisting the Imperius in a way. The euphoria of limitless power is very different from that of perfect repose, of course, but the principle of exerting your own ego is the same. Focus on your goal, on your body, and on the meaning of the incantation. The words and the runes are what make the ritual more than murder, remember. The power you are channeling is that of someone else's life, but you are taking it for your own. Try to take it faster. Don't just experience the influx of power, direct it immediately to reach the state you did at the end of the ritual today, and then stop it sooner. Remember, you did succeed today, or Jessica here would not be sitting so docilly and would have long since attacked us or run off. That success is what will guide you in future attempts."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Now pay attention. When we do this again tomorrow, the Inferius created from your living sacrifice is a different kind to the one created from a corpse." He gestured to the creature sitting silently between them, still staring avidly at Sirius. "She is your avatar amongst the horde. If she is destroyed, they all are. Therefore, while today you will practice placing commands on her alone, tomorrow you will learn to give one command to your avatar, and another to the rest. When you do this in earnest, while most of your Inferi will rise up to attack, your avatar you should command to hide in the riverbed. Or avatars, for you may need more than one depending on how large an area you need to affect. Or more to the point, how much water volume."

"Audrey's researching it with muggle maps and depth measurements."

Voldemort inclined his head. "Now, let's go over the spells to make her guard this place. Can you remember them, or do you need me to remind you, since you can't think?" he said dangerously.

"I remember them," Sirius said quickly. "Spells for vision, hearing, boundary definition, ally and foe recognition, optional concealment, and instruction for injury versus slaughter."

"Correct. Let us begin."

Sirius stood in a niche in one of the few intact arches of Tintagel Castle in Cornwall, hiding from the steady rain. He fidgeted in place, wishing he could think of a better spot for this. The whole country seemed to be sodden today. An abandoned barn or shepherd's hut probably would have been better shelter from the precipitation, but he didn't know where any of those were to apparate to. He was fresh from his latest tutelage with Voldemort, which left him both physically restless and mentally exhausted. This whole week he almost felt like he had on Fleamont's pain and calming draughts, rocketing up to a euphoric high while Voldemort coached him through each piece of magic, and then crashing into a half-sick low when the feeling wore off. He shook his head, stopped dithering, and took out his watch.

"I'm alone," he said to Moody's portrait.

"About bloody time," Moody said, straightening up and moving to the foreground of the portrait. "There's a hell of a lot to talk about."

"Nothing's really changed since the meeting last week. I thought you said you heard all of it."

"I did. And I also heard you talking to Audrey yesterday and know you're still determining the scale of what will happen in London, but we do need to talk about these things."

"Well, pardon me for prioritizing not setting too many Inferi loose in Yorkshire and not ticking off the Dark Lord by failing to do homework while he personally tutors me," Sirius said irritably.

Moody hesitated. "Fair point. What I've heard of it doesn't sound fun. How is that going? I missed today's lesson."

"You'll be pleased to know all of yesterday's crop stayed put, this time. Hence why I'm here with you instead of studying more."

"Good. Is there anything new or urgent on your end?"

Sirius shrugged wearily. "The Dark Lord is conducting practice drills this week to try to figure out the best team structure for the raid, but he doesn't want me participating until he's satisfied with my ability to raise Inferi quickly and control them well. Rodolphus did implement my suggestion to raid funeral homes for corpses, so there shouldn't be quite so many deaths, but you also won't be able to track the numbers at all. We'll have to wait for the tally at next week's meeting to know how many Inferi we'll be dealing with. I haven't been looking for or reading about horcruxes because of everything else going on. Oh, and if this doesn't work to get Crouch Senior, I think the Dark Lord will move on Crouch Junior somehow, maybe even while he's still at Hogwarts. Rodolphus was over talking to Richard about him the other day. That, or he'll take Bella's suggestion and storm the Ministry."

"I'll make sure Dumbledore knows. Now, a few things from our end... first, based on auror records, it is extremely likely that Tom Riddle stole a magical cup created by Helga Hufflepuff and a locket belonging to Salazar Slytherin back in 1961. They are almost certainly now horcruxes."

Sirius almost dropped the watch, he was so surprised. "You're joking."

"No, myself was able to confirm the authenticity of the objects through a routine inspection at Borgin and Burkes and valuation statements from Gringotts that were cited in the theft reports. The case was never solved, at the time."

"He made horcruxes out of fucking Founders' objects?" Sirius hadn't even known any relics of the Founders existed other than the Hogwarts Sorting Hat.

"Very probably. Myself even reviewed a memory of the objects from one of the family members that was archived with the rest of the file. There's no way to show it to you, obviously, but I have the descriptions. The cup is small, a goblet about four inches in height, made of solid gold with finely wrought handles. There is a badger emblem engraved on the side, and a black freshwater pearl set in each handle. The locket is also solid gold, of oval shape about the size and weight of a galleon. It has emeralds set into the front of it in the shape of an 'S.' It appears to be magically locked and impossible to open without the key, which is lost to history."

"Well, I can't say I've seen either of those lying around, but I guess I'll keep an eye out from now on," Sirius said doubtfully. Honestly, although he was excited by the tangible progress, there was no way that he would just trip across either of these in a Death Eater household. "You do realize emblems of the Hogwarts Founders are too recognizable to be put on display where some guest is bound to ask unwanted questions about them, right?"

"Oh, definitely. They'll have to be locked away out of sight from any but their keepers. Myself is working on a warrant to review the ledgers of known Death Eaters' Gringotts vaults, in case they're stashed down there. The goblins don't report the movements of stolen goods, but they still record them."

"I thought Gringotts never released its confidential records, not even to aurors."

"Depends on what the warrant says it's looking for. Like I said, they don't get involved with stolen goods and non-tradeables, but they have to cooperate with us a little bit if it's for a murder investigation. Any heirlooms that went missing after a murder could conceivably be considered in evidence if found."

"Does a warrant like that extend to vaults belonging to the Sacred Twenty-Eight?" Sirius asked skeptically.

"...Sometimes."

Sirius sighed. "I bet there's a special fee for the goblins to look the other way. You can bet Abraxas would have warned the Dark Lord about those kinds of loopholes. If there's a horcrux in a Gringott's vault, it's in one the goblins won't share the ledger for."

"You might be right, but it's still worth checking. And it's not our only lead, either. Myself is following up another one as we speak. But we need to talk about what's going to happen on the 24th."

"All I can tell you is that there will be over a hundred thousand muggles at the waterfront either for regular business or watching this boat race thing. We're not aiming for all of them to have to be Obliviated, since only those in the spectator boats and along the banks right where I attack will be able to see much, at least if I can keep the Inferi confined to the area. Audrey's researching ways to scramble the muggle cameras, so we won't have to worry about the telly vision audience."

"If she figures it out, let me know. The Obliviators need new tools for that very problem."

"Well, she says the amount of magic I'm going to be releasing will fry all the nearest muggle electricitish devices anyway. So there's that. I still don't know how many Inferi I'll be raising, but it'll be a lot."

"More or less than a hundred?"

"More. A lot more. The Dark Lord was speculating we may even end up raising skeletons of muggles who ended up in the river years and years ago. It's going to be really bad. That's why I'm trying so hard to learn to control them well. If I'm stuck with the basic 'walk in a straight line and kill anything that moves,' the death toll will be horrendous. And the Dark Lord doesn't care about minimizing muggle casualties this time, because he expects the aurors to be fighting even if the Obliviators end up with barely anything to do." He'd started having nightmares of a thousand Inferi prowling the streets of muggle London, more and more blood draining into the River Thames to raise more and more corpses. It didn't actually work that way - the ritual was not self-sustaining, thank Merlin - but that didn't stop him from dreaming about the nightmare scenario. What if some cemetery had flooded and washed into the river, depositing the bones just where he happened to perform his ritual? Or what if he happened to be over top of a bunch of Medieval shipwrecks?

"We have a plan to help with that, actually."

"Er, you do?"

"The squib's idea. We're going to set fire to the river."

"Aren't rivers are made of water and generally inflammable? I don't think cursed fire that can burn water is going to be very helpful."

Moody laughed drily. "That's what myself said. But it turns out, muggles are fair hands at setting rivers on fire, ever since their Industrial Revolution. All it takes is enough oil and a spark. Apparently, there's some river in America that's caught on fire a dozen times or something."

Sirius still did not understand how a large conflagration was supposed to help; it would reduce the Inferi numbers, but not casualties. "So your plan is to have everyone on the water burn to death rather than killed by Inferi?"

"No, the plan is to set fire to the river banks, only a little bit will be in the water. The fire will contain the Inferi, keep them from getting out of the river where they'll endanger more people and maybe be able to escape our perimeter. It'll also drive away a lot of the spectators before they can get hurt or see enough of what's going down to require Obliviation. And there will already be muggle crowd-control officers, so we won't have to worry about a stampede. Our squib says the larger boats should be able to outrun the blaze too, at least long enough for rescue teams to get to them."

"The race is between rowed boats."

The portrait hesitated. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Sirius, but you'll be killing at least one rowing team yourself."

Sirius looked away, out over the cliffs to the sea. "You're probably not wrong," he admitted. "The only way to reduce the number of sacrifices is to use witches and wizards, since their blood releases more magic. But that's a higher risk operation from our perspective, even if it saves time."

"That's what we guessed," the portrait said gently. "You have our sympathy."

"I'm not the one who needs your sympathy," Sirius said bitterly. "The twelve people I've killed in the last ten days are. The people who are going to die next week are."

"We know that, and I've listened for each of their names so myself can give some closure to their families."

Sirius breathed in, slowly. "Are you coordinating with the muggle authorities on this burning river thing?"

"We can't, not ahead of time, not without giving you away."

"Then give me away, damnit!"

"You know what will happen if we do that. Maybe we get lucky and You-Know-Who fails to identify you as the spy. But maybe we don't, and he kills you, then raises up the Inferi himself in revenge, on a day we won't be prepared."

Sirius breathed. "I know. I know."

"Myself will be ready to share stratagems with the muggle government as soon as it is apparent what is happening. We will take care of the risk mitigation this time, Sirius, as much as is possible."

"I'll do what I can as well. I'm already planning to get them to 'injure' rather than 'kill,' for what good that will do leaving muggles bleeding out where they land. If I get good enough though, the Dark Lord will show me a way to retain flexible control over a portion of them rather than rely on fixed-command enchantments. That will be a huge advantage if I can make it work." Voldemort had brought up the technique as something to aim for because Sirius would also be able to reclaim and redirect the dark magic into his own curses during the raid on the Crouch residence if he needed to. The Inferi he drew from would become inert if and when he did. Several of the Inner Circle were trained in the technique as well, but only Bella, Dolohov, and potentially Sirius were currently trusted to use it. Yet again, the Dark Lord cursed the loss of Abraxas and Lord Yaxley (still in prison), and he muttered about whether a raid on Azkaban would be worth it after this.

"Good. Now, there's one more thing we need to discuss. After much debate, Dumbledore and myself have agreed that You-Know-Who's concern about the Imperius curse is advantageous. We would like to feed those fears and make them real. We want this raid to fail badly, so that he doesn't feel justified in using a mass Inferi attack as a distraction like this again."

"Sounds good to me. Who are you going to curse?" He'd try not to stand next to them.

"That's just the thing. No one in the Order of the Phoenix or in the Auror Department actually has any practice in placing long-acting Imperius curses. The most any of us have done is short-term practice placing it on each other or in five cases using short-term curses as a de-escalation technique in combat, within the directives of the current law."

Sirius could see exactly where this was going. "So you want me to curse somebody, is that it?"

"Yes. Someone who will be part of the raid on Crouch's residence. Have them attack their fellow Death Eaters, just as You-Know-Who suspects might happen. Are you willing to do it?"

Sirius had to laugh. "Are you kidding me? Of course I'll do it! Serves him right." Sirius remained a strong believer in keeping the death counts as equal as possible. Whether it would do anything to convince Voldemort not to use Inferi was another question entirely, and one he didn't feel he would be able to answer until it was too late.

"If you could make your... target attack in such a way that would be both unexpected, difficult to counter, and have a chance at derailing the mission right away, it would be appreciated."

"I'll see what I can come up with. Depends on who I pick."

Chapter Text

"Your insistence on the both of us drawing up postmortem instructions for the Order before we leave is -"

"Justified," Alastor interrupted Albus. "We might be finding a horcrux in an abandoned building today. Who knows what kind of nasty curses You-Know-Who might have put on it? Or what kind of nasty curses the Gaunt family might have built into their walls for that matter. This is high enough priority it shouldn't wait, but it would be an absolute disaster if we both kicked it barely a week before Sirius raises a bunch of Inferi in London and we set the River Thames on fire before heading to a battle with the Death Eaters at Barty's place. Thousands dead, war over, we lose, guaranteed."

"Your point is taken, but it seems to me we could avert your vision of disaster by having only one of us go to Little Hangleton."

"Alright, then who do you want to read into the prophesy, horcrux, and/or Sirius situation? Because I can tell you, I'm not going on a dangerous mission like this alone, and I'm sure as hell not letting you go it alone when I need you next week."

Albus looked over his half-moon spectacles at him, looking highly amused. "No one, as I'm sure you understand. Very well, I see I'm not getting out of it. I'm not writing anything down, though. I think your portrait is more than capable of divulging our secrets to the rest of the Order."

Alastor scoffed. "You can't delegate leadership of a resistance movement to a portrait, Albus, even if it is mine! Lucky for you, I've already written down my bit, which should cover most everything in the short term." He pulled out a roll of parchment and placed it on Albus' desk.

Albus frowned and snatched it up. His eyebrows rose. "This appears to be a series of arithmetic calculations, not a will of any kind." He cast a few secrecy-sensing charms, coming up with nothing. "Also, the math is wrong."

"It's in code. A muggle code that I hand wrote, no magic needed. I gave the key to the code to the portrait," Alastor said smugly. "Portraits can't be Imperiused or otherwise magically coerced, you know. And if we put a traditional scrambling charm on top of it, then if someone tries to unscramble it without knowing the code, they'll think they've messed up the countercharm and assume they've rendered it unreadable through their own incompetence. Although the charm itself encourages them to look more than they might otherwise if you just crumple and toss these somewhere on this parchment graveyard you call a desk."

"I am... mildly... impressed, Alastor. I do not have the time to convert all of my notes regarding Sirius' intelligence and my own horcrux research into a similar code, nor do I think it wise to leave such profound secrets lying about, but... I suppose you do have a point." He reached up his sleeve and untied the mokeskin pouch on his arm. He took a single sheet of parchment from his desk. He looked up. "How would I write in your code, 'I, Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore, on this day the seventeenth of March 1979 hereby leave the contents of my mokeskin pouch, which I keep inside the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, to my brother Aberforth Amadeus Owen Dumbledore, in the event of my death'?"

Alastor thought for a moment, reviewing the rules of the cipher. "Hold on, if I try to do this in my head it will be wrong, and then your mokeskin might not accept the message. Let me just write it down for you." He drew his wand and scribbled Albus' message in glowing letters in the air, then waved his wand again to rapidly convert it to the proper code: I, Dmjvb Ddlisqd Ylaclwim Kyraq Ecnksndrsm, pw aqiv eiz con shwmoclnnwi wg Vhack 1979 imsnih lhbdf con crobfwab oi ng nxrnsnjv qxblh, ziqdq P tehq qobpme wim Ixnfauua Txyciqh Pbc, ax mb czpconr Dcmsovatk Bubmlds Rxmo Mbvboflpal, rn wim felwt rg uz mljtk. "Rewrite that assigning each letter of the alphabet its place number alternating plus five and minus five, and you've got it."

Albus raised his eyebrows and looked back at Alastor's roll of parchment. "Ah, the 'letters' of the 'words' are multiplied together, and you alternate addition and subtraction marks for spaces between words depending on the positive or negative value of the products. Which makes equals signs full-stops. No commas?"

"I wasn't writing mine in legalese. If you want your commas, you can just tag on the letter 'c.'"

"Very well. Incidentally, is this a shift cipher?" he asked as he started writing out his own message.

"Yes, actually. I just converted it to numbers to make it less obviously a coded message. Figures you'd know what a shift cipher is."

"I found muggle cryptography interesting once upon a time. What is the code for this one?"

"Tomorrow's date."

"The time you would expect these documents to be found if we do not return to destroy them. Sensible." He signed the coded parchment with a flourish and handed it to Alastor to witness, then got up and stuffed both the parchment and his mokeskin pouch inside the Sorting Hat. He held up his finger to the ratty old thing. "I expect you to give that back." He turned back to Alastor. "Shall we? Fawkes can take us outside the castle wards."

"We shall. I'll apparate us the rest of the way." Alastor had gone to the effort of taking an honest-to-Merlin Muggle train up to Little Hangleton a few nights ago to scope out the area in preparation for this. He was sure there were no anti-apparition wards, caterwhauling charms, unplottability, or other large-area anti-trespassing spells on the region. If there was something there, its containments were localized and clouded by the general pall of Dark magic that clung to the old Gaunt shack.

Less than a minute later, the two of them were walking down the road outside the muggle village of Little Hangleton. The evening was almost pleasant, cool without being chill, overcast and therefore starless, but not raining. Alastor lit his wand for Albus' sake. The road was easy to see with his magical eye, as was the Gaunt shack itself even through its enshrouding trees. He'd stopped his investigations well short of the grove earlier, not stupid enough to risk the obviously still-magical place without backup.

They stopped at the edge of the trees, where night became blackness, at least to his normal eye. Not even Alastor's Lumos ball penetrated the thick shadows, as if they stood at a true wall rather than a porous border of vegetation. Alastor took out another wand, one of the confiscated spares kept in the auror department. "Hasta." The wand lengthened into a spear, and he used it to physically probe the gap between the nearest trees. There was nothing. He touched a tree. Still nothing. This wasn't a conjured fog or other atmospheric effect, but it also wasn't a barrier of any kind he'd seen before.

Albus' long-fingered hand reached out to touch the nearest tree before Alastor could stop him. Fortunately, nothing happened, but still, "I know you're Albus bloody Dumbledore, but can you please not just explore suspicious wards with your bare hands? For me?"

"I probed it mentally first. It is a fascinating effect. But I do not believe the peculiar gloom here is Tom's work. It feels far older, and unintentional. An accumulation of accidental magic from generations of unhappy, twisted childhoods, perhaps." He lifted his hand from the tree, looking saddened and pensive. "The veil of misery and fear is not directly harmful, Alastor, so long as we two remain clear-headed."

Now knowing what to look for, Alastor used his usual wand to cast a variation of the Juvenile Trace spell and found, depressingly, that Albus was quite correct. The shadows were made almost entirely from untamed, immature, human magic. He grunted. "Alright then. Let's go in. But slowly, and by the book damnit!"

"After me, then?"

"Hell no, after me. I'm far more expendable."

"You are not expendable, my dear Alastor."

"I didn't defeat Grindelwald." Without waiting for Albus to protest that that was precisely why he should be permitted to go first, Alastor started casting all the trap-detecting spells he knew, which was rather a lot. "Appare Vestigium, Aparecium Agitante, Cave Inimicum Ocularis, Fianto Duri, Revelio, Specialis Revelio, Creatura Revelio, Inmortui Revelio, Revelio Inimicarum, Informus Regio, Oppugno Detectis, Geāsciġe Feorhbealu, Geāsciġe Nihtgenġena, Geāsciġe Aclæccræft, Hwæt-Cȳþ-Diern, Uppgötva Hið Illa, Bespeur Boosheid, Lorg Droch Ribe, Canvod Droog ..." The only thing all that made clear was an ungodly number of snakes infesting the grove, even more than he'd noticed just looking with his magical eye. "Vipera Evanesca." They vanished.

He edged forwards, probing the ground with his spear-wand, probing the cloying shadows with his magical eye, probing the air and trees with his magical senses. He didn't trust that his revealing spells had penetrated all the way through this grove haunted by the mystic griefs of long-dead children. Albus followed after him sedately, studying every tree as if he were merely appreciating nature, for all he was most likely growing impatient with Alastor's measured approach. It took them an hour to walk the twenty feet to the door of the hut. Alastor did uncover seventeen traps, but they were all extremely old to the point they had lost most of their power. And they were mostly directed at muggles anyway. He left them intact. No reason to tip Voldie off earlier than necessary that they had come here. He might even replace the snakes before they left.

Speaking of snakes, there was a partial snake skeleton nailed to the door. The rest of the bones littered the threshold. Interesting. Judging from the rotting look of the place, the preservation spell and wards against the varmints that should have long-since carted off those bones was somewhat new. Even if snakes were the only animals left in the grove with all the Dark magic in the air, the bones should have been buried by the weather alone after so many years' abandonment. The other interesting thing was that Alastor couldn't see through the door or walls to glimpse the interior of the ramshackle building. He smiled, now more certain they would find something. He recast all his trap- and curse-detecting charms on the door, and Albus added in a few wandless probes. They removed the obvious traps until the only curse still detectable was a ward that would make the door explode in their faces if they attempted to write or inscribe any runes into it. Alastor snorted in mirth. Voldemort would have been smarter not to ward the door, as the presence of that curse was as good as a note to "keep looking!"

Albus bypassed the antiscrivening ward by conjuring an entire runic circle and ritual pentagram out of silver wire and suspending it near but not actually on the door in order to identify the sixteen more subtle curses hidden in the door, threshold and lintel. One weird curse was of a design Alastor had never seen before, that Albus deduced would have eaten both their feet off the moment they crossed the threshold.

It took another hour to dismantle all the protections. At one point, they contemplated whether breaking down a wall would be safer, but closer inspection showed the wood of the walls had somehow been infused with potent poisons that caused Alastor's bezoar test particle to combust when he brought it too close. They resumed their careful assault on the door. Around midnight, they entered the shack. There were three rooms, if you could call them that given the collapse of half the interior walls. The main room they stood in was once both kitchen and living room, Alastor thought, while the other two must have been a bedroom and larder. There was no sign of plumbing for either the kitchen or any bathroom. The only recognizable pieces of furniture at this point were a single broken chair and an uneven table. A cast iron cauldron lay rusting in the hearth.

Alastor's eye was quickly drawn to the floor, or rather, the one part of the shack that had a floor, in the old bedroom. He pointed. "That's where we're aiming. There's a metal box under one of the loose floorboards over there, and I can't see the inside of it."

"My complements on your recently enhanced vision, Alastor."

They moved cautiously through the shack, continuing to check for traps as they went but finding nothing once they were past the impressive defense of the front door. Alastor levered up the loose floorboard with his spear-wand, exposing the box. The box itself proved impossible to move with a levitation charm, but Alastor had come prepared for that as well. He reached into his pocket for the funny muggle device Arabella Figg had given Albus as a joke Christmas present. He had shrunk it down to fit in his pocket, but it wasn't electronic, so it would still work once resized back to normal. A few seconds later, he held a long stick with a handle at one end and several prongs at the other. Arabella had told Albus it was to help old people pick things up off the ground without bending over and hurting their backs. Alastor thought it was a convenient way to handle potentially dangerous Dark items. He poked the box a few times to make sure it wasn't designed to explode or something with simple movement before grabbing it with the device and lifting it out of its hole to set on the floor. It was small and made of gold, but the decorations were entirely geometric, nothing to identify the box's origin or significance.

Oddly, although the box was completely coated with all the secrecy and magic-consuming spells that made it impenetrable to Alastor's magic vision, its lock was entirely ordinary. Which made Alastor think the box was more to keep traces of magic from whatever it contained in rather than to actually pose a barrier to anyone who knew what they were looking for. There weren't even any curses on it that either he or Albus could detect. Which was so bloody suspicious, he was tempted to set fire to the thing right then and there, except they really needed to confirm whether they had found a horcrux first. He touched the spear-wand to the box and muttered the same Greek incantation Sirius had used to identify the journal horcrux, "Oὖλε ὁλόψυχος." Nothing happened. The box was just a box.

He took a deep breath and muttered, "Alohamora, Aberto." The lock clicked. The box opened. Inside, nestled in dark velvet was a heavy gold ring inset with a dark stone, possibly black although it was hard to know in the bad lighting. "Lumos." Yep, the stone was black. He moved the light slightly, and the shifting reflection drew attention to a faint carving on the stone.

There was a sharp intake of breath beside him, and Albus' hand shot out.

"Claudo," Alastor said quickly, and the box snapped shut again just before Albus' fingers reached their target. The muggle grasper thing still in hand, he thrust that forward to pin the closed box in place. "Are you a toddler, Albus?! What makes you think touching that is a good idea?" he hissed. He looked up at his companion with his normal eye, the magical one remaining firmly fixed on the box. The old headmaster's face had turned deathly white. He looked stricken, as if in the grips of a powerful boggart.

"Did you see the mark?" Albus asked in a strained, hollow voice.

"Not well. I was too busy saving your hand."

"A triangle, containing a circle, bisected by a vertical line."

"Grindelwald's mark?" Alastor said, raising his eyebrows. No wonder Albus was shaken.

Unaccountably, Albus chuckled, though without much humor. "Only by appropriation. No, that was the Gaunts' and before them the Peverells' mark long before it was his."

Alastor's brow furrowed. He had no idea why Grindelwald, a Hungarian by birth if he recalled correctly, would take the emblem of an old British family for his own. More to the point though, "And you're shocked and alarmed to find what is apparently a symbol already associated with the Gaunt family in the Gaunt house... why?"

"You are familiar with the Tales of Beedle the Bard, Alastor?"

Alastor grimaced. "Do you remember that conversation we had about how little I care about the metaphysics of Divination?"

"Yes."

"I care even less about the legendaria of children's stories and how they elegantly tie together the Dark Lord of the previous war and the biological family of the current one. We are standing in a poisonous death trap, if you had forgotten, so get to the point."

Albus hesitated, looking uncommonly off-kilter, but then he offered a shaky smile. "Practical as ever, Alastor, and I am thankful for it. You must forgive my foolishness just now, for in my review of the Gaunt lineage after you brought them to my attention, it appears they are descended from Cadmus Peverell, who is thought to have been the historical second brother in the 'Tale of Three Brothers' by Beedle the Bard. I saw a black stone with the Peverell crest, itself the sign of the Deathly Hallows, belonging to the last heirs of Cadmus, and, well, I was overtaken by... academic excitement at the possibility that that ring is set with the Resurrection Stone."

Academic excitement? Alastor would bet his remaining eye it was more than that. He stared at Albus a moment, then laughed darkly. "No wonder the box wasn't locked. Anyone who could get through the door was bound to be well-read enough to recognize the mark, Grindelwald's or Deathly Hallows or otherwise, and be surprised enough to forget caution. That ring is definitely cursed. You are not touching it. I'm not touching it either." His magical eye spun around in its socket, quickly checking the house for other suspicious hiding places and finding none. "In fact, we are done investigating this place. We are taking the box out of here and burning it elsewhere, because I don't want to see what happens when Fiendfyre comes into contact with all the Dark magic around here."

"We still have to confirm it's a horcrux," Albus pointed out. His voice was reasonable, but the glint in his eye was not an indulgent twinkle but a spark of strange desperation that Alastor thought had nothing to do with Lord Voldemort and his horcruxes.

"Naturally. We will confirm it is a horcrux once we are in a safe location. And then I will destroy it, box and all, whether it's a horcrux or not."

Albus actually gaped at him. Alastor had never seen him gape at anyone before. "You can't just destroy the Resurrection Stone!"

"Why not?"

"It's... It's... It's a priceless historical artifact! Of a kind of magic that is utterly lost to us!"

"If it's the Resurrection Stone," unlikely, "then it's a historical artifact that killed its own inventor, according to the story. An artifact of Necromancy, the Darkest of Dark Arts, for all the stone's power in the story was less of an abomination than usual. Plus, it's definitely cursed. I'm not willing to risk one of us ending up disfigured or dead just so you can satisfy your intellectual curiosity, Albus. Plus, it's probably a horcrux, and I'm definitely not willing to risk losing the war just so you can satisfy your intellectual curiosity. You made me second-in-command of the Order of the Phoenix. That makes my most important job in the Order telling you when you're making a mistake. Right now, you are. We are going now."

So saying, he collapsed his spear-wand and stuffed it up his sleeve into its holster. He picked up the deceptively harmless gold box, locked it again, conjured a leather case to keep it secure, and tucked it in his pocket, along with Arabella's pickup tool, shrunk back down to fit. He led the way back out of the shack, Albus Dumbledore trailing quietly behind him, lost in thought. He closed the door. He vanished the headmaster's abandoned wire runic circle. He replaced the vanished serpents when they reached the edge of the grove. He led Albus a short way down the lane, took his arm, and apparated them both to an empty moor in the Scottish highlands. He strode in a circle, casting various muggle-repelling and concealment charms around them, then took the box back out and set it on the ground. He opened it again with a flick of his spare wand, then once again said "Hasta" to lengthen the wand to a spear. He wanted to do this from a safe distance. "Oὖλε ὁλόψυχος."

The ring bounced up out of its box, turned over three times in the air, then hung suspended as a ghastly apparition swelled out of it. It was like a ghost, but too solid, and too inhuman. It was like a gray-skinned, gray-clothed, gray-eyed animated sculpture of Voldemort, if the sculpture was made of wax and was in the process of melting. It opened its mouth to speak, and its inside was white fire. "Hail, Dark Adept," it said in a voice Alastor could not hear with his ears but felt in his very soul. It was the same phrase the journal horcrux had written to Sirius. And yet this was so much... more. Was it because Albus was right about the stone's original power?

"Finite Incantatem," Albus intoned in a commanding voice. The construct collapsed into a ball of white light and flew back into the ring, which fell back down to strike the edge of its box with a tiny plink. Albus looked down at it, expression a mess of warring sadness, triumph, and anger. "I should have spent the last few months hatching a basilisk," he said with uncommon bitterness.

Alastor snorted. "And even if that worked to destroy the horcrux but leave the stone intact, I'd still make you burn this thing. Its effect on you is rather alarming."

Albus' lips twitched. "I am a man with many regrets and many losses, Alastor. The second Hallow is the one I always craved the most, foolish old man that I am."

"Good thing I didn't let you go alone tonight, then. I don't care if you're wanting that thing to properly apologize and say goodbye to Doge and Bones, or if you're thinking about someone you didn't save from Grindelwald's War, or even just missing an old beaux, we need you here and present to win the current conflict. You can go into mourning afterwards. Now step back. Ignis Diaboli!"

They both watched as the jet of flame devoured the ring and box. Just as with the journal, the cursed fire exploded out of Alastor's control with a huge, screaming human head that lunged at them, but Albus incanted the countercurse at the same time as Alastor cut off the flow of magic from his own wand. The grandsorcerer easily quelled the angry flames this time, with so relatively little fuel to feed them compared to the contents of an entire wizarding mansion. Nothing remained where the box had lain but scorched earth. No gold, no black stone. Alastor tapped Albus' shoulder. "Come on, back to Hogwarts. You need a drink."

Chapter Text

It was a pleasant day, cool and overcast but not raining. A light wind stirred the water of the quickly flowing Thames. The river was engorged with spring runoff and smelled more of mud than anything else, which made for a positive change in Sirius' opinion. Sirius and his team stood in the shadows beneath the Hammersmith Bridge, their presence masked by muggle-repelling charms. It was doubtful the cheering crowds would have noticed them anyway, all completely focused on the two rowboats racing along in the center of the river. He had to admit, he was impressed with how quickly the muggles were able to propel their watercraft. If he were here for any other reason, he probably would have quite enjoyed watching two sets of excited, athletic, and rather pretty young women rowing their boats. He took a deep, steadying breath. "Ready?" he asked quietly of Audrey, Ingmar, and Gloriana.

"I've got your back," Audrey said. The other two nodded. He didn't know them very well, had only met with them a few times, but he trusted Audrey to keep an eye on them. Ingmar's job at least was very straightforward: he was substituting for Richard as their spokesperson today.

Sirius nodded. "Then let's do this."

Audrey and Gloriana raised their wands and pointed them at the boats. "Baubilious Incitatus Infrarubius, Impedimenta, Immobulus Totalum." The two rowboats suddenly stopped, their rowers frozen in place. Simultaneously, a silent and invisible pulse of magic expanded outwards to scramble the muggle telly vision cameras.

Sirius donned his mask and apparated to the middle of the nearer boat. Caught by Audrey's charms, it didn't even rock. He felt rather than saw Audrey's shielding charms rise up around him. One would protect him from magical attack. The other was a solid barrier to block muggle bullets. They even knew it worked; Audrey had stolen several guns from a military base to test it, much to Richard's shock and alarm (and Sirius' own, though he'd hidden it at the time).

Sirius pointed his wand in the air, making a noise very much like a gunshot. As the first few muggles shouted in alarm, Ingmar, now standing high atop the bridge, started declaiming his speech, his voice magnified to echo all across the water. The middle-aged and overweight Swedish wizard's accent was usually rather charming, but today it made his threats sound all the more frightening with the unusual cadence and certain words bent out of their native shape. "WITNESS! THE SAERVANTS OF DARKNESS ARE AMONG YOU. YOUR MEANINGLESS REVELS ARE ENDED! BOW BEFORE THE EMISSARY OFF THE DARK LORD..." One by one, Audrey and Gloriana released the freezing jinxes on the muggle rowers and replaced them with Imperius curses. The athletes shuffled around in the motionless boat, clustering closer and bowing their heads in supplication. The boat was too narrow for them to form a circle, so the ones in the back were bent over the ones nearer to him. Sirius twirled his wand, vanished the fabric covering their shoulders, and started cutting. He ignored Ingmar's thundering sermon. He ignored the horrified cries from the other rowboat, and from the nearest spectator boat. He had to work quickly and trust his team to keep the muggles off him. If he was too slow, it would be worse for him, because someone from the magical world would notice them soon enough and either go vigilante or notify the Ministry. Moody could not and would not delay the Ministry response, even if Sirius were still on the scene.

The runes in the muggles' shoulders were complete. The rowing team raised their right hands to him in unison under Gloriana's direction, and he carved the requisite linking rune in each proffered palm. It was so much easier doing this with someone else guiding the sacrifices' preparatory movements rather than having to position them himself. Each rower pressed her bloody palm into the sliced shoulder of her neighbor, forming an ersatz circuit around him. He cut the final rune into his own left hand and laid it down on the nearest set of shoulders. "Sanguis noster miscet. Sanguis tuus meus est. Me capiat..."

"YOUR BLOOD IS OURS, AND I TAKE IT! YOUR BLOOD IS THE WATER OFF A NEW AGE, A NEW EMPIRE..." Ingmar shouted distantly. This part of the speech was loosely based on the words of the ritual. Loosely.

Sirius continued his quiet chant, the profane words coming to him with the ease of repetition. He felt the power building and channeled it expertly, forcefully pulling life and its magic from his victims. The blood did not merely flow but burst out as if repelled from the veins with a blasting curse. Droplets rained into the Thames in a wide radius, and his magic followed, diving into the bloody water, seeking out the many corpses hidden in the murky depths. It didn't take long to find them. As soon as the evil magic reached the first body, the final ingredient, the whole river as far as Sirius could see turned black. What had been merely water became a vast volume of potion. Every human corpse the black potion touched shuddered to unnatural life, and Sirius could feel every one of them: a dozen, then a hundred, then several hundreds, too many to track with only the vague estimate of his magical senses. "Tua vita mea est. Me capiat. Tu manus mea est in aeternum."

"YOUR LIFES ARE OURS..."

Sirius lifted his left hand from the Inferius' back, balled it into a fist, and raised it over his head, using the motion to draw the underwater Inferi upwards. He could feel their weight dragging at him, feel the roaring magic threatening to pull him apart. It would be so easy to give in and allow his mind to be shattered into hundreds of pieces, to become one of the sacrifices and inhabit the horde fully. It would mean his death, but also a gruesome rebirth into a new mode of existence, each revenant an extension of his own body. It was what the Dark magic fundamentally wanted of him, but he planted his feet and held firm the edges of his mind and body against it. Finally, the flood of power lessened; the wound on his hand dried up and scarred over. Again. He'd carved that same rune so many times now, he was sure the scar would never fade, and he would have to conceal it with glamours the rest of his life.

With his right hand, he started casting the spells on the rowing team to control the horde the hard way. He started with the enchantments to give the Inferi vision and hearing and carefully removed an eye and an ear from the nearest rower so he could access those senses later. Fortunately, he only needed one of each body part, since the blood and bodies of the nine sacrifices were functionally all the same now. He transfigured the pilfered sensory organs into a pair of rings and slipped them on his fingers even as he kept incanting the next slate of spells. These creatures would have no designated allies but rather would attack anything living - to injure and maim, not to kill per se. As Voldemort had instructed, the rower-Inferi would conceal themselves in the riverbed except as needed. Also as Voldemort had instructed, half of the horde would aim directly for the riverbanks, while the rest would spread out up and down the river before emerging from the water, to divide the aurors' attentions and prolong their distraction. He severed the foot of another rower and made of it another ring, his totem to control the direction of the horde.

He was so focused on what he was doing, he missed the first few pale heads poking up out of the black water. When he was finished and looked up, he realized the first thing going wrong: Moody had said the motorized boats would be able to outrun all the threats on the water. That might have been correct if Audrey's interference spell and/or Sirius' ritual had not, clearly, blown out the motors in the nearest few boats. There must have been electronic components controlling them, not just oil-powered engines. And now what was supposed to have been the rescue boat for the second rowing team was dead in the water with a dozen Inferi scrabbling at its hull. Sirius did not have to turn his head to know the rowboat was already under attack as well.

Sirius could not do anything about it, not now with Audrey, Gloriana, and Ingmar all watching him. So he looked away, closed his ears to the panicked yells all around him, and growing sounds of rending flesh behind him, and raised his right arm. Nine Inferi stood in the boat next to him and, as one, stepped into the water, sinking straight down into the depths.

There was a loud BOOM and a visible ripple across the water. His magically stabilized boat even shivered. Sirius turned slightly and was only a little surprised to see a column of fire and smoke blazing skyward from just past the bend upriver. That would be the squib. Already he could see a line of fire sweeping along the southern river bank. Sirius raised his wand again and shouted "Morsmordre!" The Dark Mark glowed sickly green against the gray sky and reflected eerily off the still-black water. That was the signal to end the operation. Sirius glanced around one more time. He swallowed. Even with everything he had done this year, he had never wrought this kind of chaos before. Already it looked worse than any of his previous missions, both in terms of visible casualties and in terms of panic. The river was slowly recovering its normal brown hue, but he could see several injured muggles struggling in the water, their movements churning a brilliant red foam. On the banks, the crowds were jostling in multiple directions, some attempting to flee, some attempting to help people that had fallen in the river, some laying down barriers against the encroaching fire.

It was awful, but he would have to trust Moody and the squib whose name he didn't know to have it in hand soon enough. He turned in place and disapparated.

The Dark detectors in the auror department activated all at once at 4:09 pm on 25th March. Normally, that would have meant the department/Ministry itself was under attack. Thus, even though Alastor knew the massive outpouring of Dark magic was several miles away on the Thames, he immediately activated emergency lockdown procedures by sketching the runic passkey on the heavy ward stone tucked beneath his desk. The ward stone flashed gold. The gold flash darted across the walls and floor, spreading all over the building within seconds, carrying the lockdown charms and alarms with it. People could leave the Ministry through the Atrium, but it was impossible for anyone but aurors to get in. He had several aurors currently conducting inspections in Diagon Alley for exactly that reason: someone had to be outside to see Sirius' Dark Mark and report what was going on out there while Alastor was tied up running the fastest security sweep of his life.

"Two hit wizards per auror. Scrimgeour, level one. I've got level two. Robards level three. Dawlish level four. Williamson level five. Prewetts levels six and seven. Longbottoms take eight and nine. Move!" Everyone but him and two hit witches scurried towards the lift. "Tessy, stay here and monitor the Dark detectors, in case they give us anything more specific. Anika with me. He raised a shield charm and strode out into the hallway, efficiently clearing each room. Barty's office was last. Alastor could see that Barty had gotten up and was waiting with wand drawn next to the door, ready to attack whoever might try to come in. Good man. Alastor knocked on the door and announced himself before opening it.

"Alastor Moody. Piano."

"Bartemius Crouch. Puzzle."

"Pickles."

"Paprika."

"Pizzicato."

With the last of their agreed-upon code words for the morning, Barty nodded and lowered his wand. "What is the nature of the attack, Alastor?"

"I'm not sure. Level two is clear."

Just then, there was a distinctive crack of apparition behind them. Alastor, Anika, and Barty all whirled towards it, wands ready. Millicent Pettigrew conjured a shield and grimaced. "Lockdown procedure? The attack's not here, sir."

"Where then?" Barty demanded.

"The river. Some Death Eater just raised a shit-ton of Inferi, right in the middle of a huge muggle event."

"Go, Alastor. I can lift the ward in my office long enough for you and Millicent to get out from here. Then I'll alert the Minister," Barty said. "He'll need to inform the muggle Minister as soon as possible. Lockdown stays at level one for the time being."

"Anika, go back and tell Tessy what's up, then call in the rest of the aurors and look through the files for the Inferi protocol. Barty, Scrimgeour's on level one. Send him back down to run things from here while I check out what's happening on the ground."

They rendezvoused back at Headquarters. All three of Sirius' helpers were rather subdued. None of them said a word or even looked at him as he left them in the atrium and headed into the meeting room where he knew the Dark Lord would be waiting with the Inner Circle. He opened the double doors and strode inside. He bowed at the waist. "It is done, my Lord."

"How many?" Voldemort asked.

"I estimate somewhere between eight hundred and one thousand Inferi are now loose on the Thames. I have nine sacrifices with which to direct them." He raised his right hand with its three new rings.

Voldemort smirked. "You have done well. Bella, Antonin, you know what to do. Sirius, sit by me. I wish to see what is happening..." Sirius obeyed. He took the seat Bella vacated at Voldemort's right hand and met the Dark Lord's gaze, allowing the delicate legilimency probe into his surface thoughts. Then he twisted the ring on his index finger. With a jolt, his awareness returned to the river, vision only. He didn't want to hear this if he didn't have to. His viewpoint was of the muddy riverbed, naturally. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at all the muggle garbage, then urged his current avatar to ascend. Their eyes breached the surface, and Sirius paused to take in the chaotic scene, his avatar slowly rotating in the water. The fires on the south bank were well and truly ablaze. Sirius immediately twisted his third ring to redirect the Inferi headed in that direction, knowing Voldemort would expect him to. Inferi did have some instincts of self-preservation when it came to fire, but they reacted to the heat not to the sight of it. He sent them diving underwater and swimming towards boats or other less flammable-looking areas instead.

"How did the fire start?"

"I'm not sure," Sirius said honestly. It was clearly more complicated than just oil and a spark. "There was an explosion upstream just as I was finishing the ritual, and a lot of black smoke. It did not look magical. Part of the muggle panic, I suppose."

"Hmm. Depending on how the fire progresses, you may have to oversee this more actively than originally intended. Divert more of them upstream, past the source of the fires, and keep a portion in reserve underwater in case the aurors prove more efficient than anticipated."

"Yes, my Lord." Their avatar looked around again, and Sirius flicked their field of vision through another few Inferi by line-of-sight until he settled on one climbing onto a boat. Confusingly, a human hand reached down to pull them up, and Sirius realized with a jolt that some ignorant muggles were actually trying to rescue the Inferi, believing them to be ordinary, frightened and injured people rather than monsters. Their current host pounced on its would-be savior and tore the man's hand off.

"Although Ministry efficiency doesn't look like it will be a problem," Voldemort observed. A trio of aurors had just apparated onto the boat and were basically ignoring the Inferi for the time being in favor of extracting the muggles. The aurors were apparating in and out rapidly, but piecemeal rescue work was still a delay when it came to actually containing the undead. Sirius pulled the Inferi off this particular boat before the aurors could take the time to burn them.

There was a peculiar feeling like a... mental caress. Then Voldemort withdrew from Sirius' mind. "I'll leave you to it. Do not tire yourself too much. I believe Bella has a treat planned for you later. For your anniversary."

"My anniversary?" Sirius questioned, eyes still on the horror of the Thames. He sent his awareness down to the other eight Inferi avatars and set them to spread out along the riverbed, so he could use them as access nodes to control the rest of the horde as needed. He might try to slip one out of the river to hide in an elevated position, actually. Much easier to keep an eye on the whole field of engagement that way, since unlike Voldemort, he actually wanted to limit the casualties. Voldemort wouldn't care if he turned this into a game of cat-and-mouse anyway if it still appeared to achieve the results the Dark Lord wanted.

Voldemort laughed. "You didn't remember? It was a year ago last Tuesday that you were expelled from Hogwarts. It was a year ago today that you accepted Bellatrix's invitation to join us. She has a party planned for you and everything. Don't tell her I ruined the surprise."

Merlin, how had he missed that? Of course, it didn't feel like a year. It felt like ten. He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. "Time flies when you're having fun. And I'm sure she'll still manage to startle me somehow. She usually does."

Alastor had known what to expect, but he was still taken aback by the scale of what Sirius had done. About a mile of the River Thames was teeming with hundreds if not over a thousand Inferi. True to the plan, Arabella had already set fire to one side of the river and was likely working on the other side right now. Unfortunately, it also looked like the engines had failed in every single muggle boat in this stretch of the river. That wasn't part of the plan, and he swore softly. "Detectis Magi..." The only magical people in range were himself and Millicent. "Looks like the Death Eaters are gone. Thank Merlin for small mercies."

"They're probably using this to hit somewhere else," the aging witch said shrewdly.

"Probably. We'll deal with that as it comes. Construct a secure apparition point for the others. As soon as they get here, priority is getting muggles off the water and away from the banks. I'll erect a wide perimeter to contain the muggle witnesses for now. And get in touch with Hogwarts. We'll need a charms master for a Protego horribilis this massive." Assuming even Albus Dumbledore could make one this big. They'd need to encompass an area many times the size of the Hogwarts grounds, which was the largest warded plot in Britain, excluding dragon preserves which only needed muggle-repelling and dragon-containing wards.

"Yes, sir." She immediately leapt to her assignment. Alastor looked around for a high vantage point and apparated to the top of a church on the other side of the river. From there, he cast a wide, muggle-repelling loop, one that would both contain the muggles inside and prevent more muggles from wandering in until he could get the muggle police and military properly organized. Then he sent a patronus to Albus, letting him know the Inferi ritual was complete, before apparating back to auror headquarters. It was remarkably busier than when he'd left it. Alice Longbottom was distributing spare wands from the safe. Fabian Prewett was distributing goblin-made arm- and leg-guards and other protective equipment. Rufus Scrimgeour was bent over a desk, frantically reading through a pile of parchment and enchanting memos to other departments as he went; must be the Inferi protocol.

"Rufus!" he barked.

"Ministry's clear," Rufus said instantly.

"Millicent's making an apparition point. Send everyone we've got as quick as you can..."

A huge silver phoenix flew through the ceiling and landed in front of him. It spoke with Albus' voice. "Professor Flitwick will depart for London immediately. I will follow once Hogwarts is fully secured."

Rufus raised his eyebrows. "I asked for a charms master," Alastor explained. "I put up a muggle-repelling field a mile wide, but that won't hold for long. And we might actually need something even bigger, plus assistance with shielding against the Inferi themselves."

The other auror nodded, face grim. He picked up his sheaf of parchment and handed it to Alastor. "The Inferi protocol. I sent a copy up to Barty and Minister Minchum already. I also updated the Obliviators but told them to stand by until we've determined it's safe for them to go in. And I sent a notice to St. Mungo's to prepare for casualties. Aurors are ready. Hit wizards will follow. Also you should know, regulation for mass casualty Inferi event requires coordination with the muggle government, and not just afterwards. Since this falls under our department, one of us has to go with the Minister to talk to the muggles. Apparently."

Alastor scowled, mostly for Rufus' benefit. He had forged that part of the protocol a little over a week ago. He grabbed the papers. "I'll do it. They'll get freaked out looking at me and let me go sooner. Another perk of the eyeball. Get everyone to the river and get the muggles out of the way ASAP."

Rufus snorted, nodded, and shouted at the other aurors to move out. Alastor ran to the stairs, taking them two at a time up to Level one. He burst into the Minister's office without knocking.

"Alastor. How bad is it?" Barty asked, without looking up from the protocol he was reading.

"Massive."

Barty frowned and looked at Minchum, who looked both stressed and at a loss. "Which means we have to alert Minister Callaghan now, Harold."

"I don't understand why our own regulations should require us to consort with muggles in a time like this," Minchum mumbled, passing a hand over his eyes.

"Well, you can either blame Nobby Leach or the muggle-protection activists after the end of Grindelwald's War. Regardless, the law is clear. The Muggle Minister must be told what is happening and be permitted to use his own resources to secure his own people."

"Honestly, I could use whatever help I can get," Alastor growled.

"From muggles?" the Minister scoffed.

"In this instance, yes. There's hundreds of Inferi in the river, Minister, and thousands of muggle civilians far too close to them. And no doubt the Death Eaters are planning something else while we're distracted. I need all the help I can get."

"Then let's go," Barty said decisively. "I've reopened the floo here already, and Minister Callaghan's office is cleared for our arrival."

Barty took charge of briefing the muggle prime minister. Thankfully, this did not actually take that long. The poor man already knew something was happening: the smoke from the fire was visible out of his window. And he was well aware of the secret wizarding war that was slowly destroying his political career. He accepted the existence of Inferi with barely a whimper. He did seem genuinely angry when Alastor informed him the action was centered near the Hammersmith Bridge, immediately making the connection to the very boat race Sirius had targeted.

He laughed bitterly when Barty informed him that the official Inferi protocol required coordination of magical and nonmagical resources in the event of a massive attack such as this. "What do you expect us to do? Can we even do anything against these things?"

This was what Alastor had been waiting for. "Yes, you can. It is essential we keep the Inferi contained so my people can hunt them down. Your military can help with that."

"So what, I lend you a company of marines to fight a bunch of zombies, and then you wipe their memories afterwards?"

"Pretty much. I'll also need the assistance of your police or military or both to protect and regulate the crowds of muggles at the scene who already saw what happened and will require Obliviation."

The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom sighed. "What'll it be this time?"

"What will what be?" Barty asked.

"What cockamamy story are you going to feed my civilians to explain away the deaths, injuries, and however many days of fear it takes you lot to clean this up? Another stampede? Another accidental fire? Maybe a blown up bridge or a political riot? You know what, I want you to make it a political riot. Make it a mob protesting the way I run things, and then an illegal use of the military against civilians, and then when old Maggie finally wrests my seat from me, the joke will be on her when she has to pardon my 'abuse of authority' after all."

Alastor rolled his eye. He could sympathize with the muggle's frustration, but "I don't have time for this right now. Tell me who I'm working with, and let me do my job."

The muggle nodded tiredly. "Go to Horse Guards in Westminster and have them take you to the Chief of the General Staff. I'll call and tell him to clear his office for you."

Chapter Text

"No offense, sir, but I was top of the class at the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst. I may be a mere 'muggle,' but I could write a dissertation about all the holes in your so-called strategy," the field commander, General Jenkins, said rather bluntly as soon as Alastor finished telling him what to do with the two infantry battalions heading towards Hammersmith from Kensington. The two of them and Arabella Figg were standing atop a church roof Alastor had secured with both Dark-repelling and privacy charms, surveying the river and surrounding area.

"I have my reasons," Alastor said impatiently. Merlin, he hadn't planned for coordinating with the muggle government to be so bloody time-consuming and annoying. It probably wouldn't even help Confunding or Imperiusing the man, either, because these muggle military types had so many bloody codes and protocols, the second-in-command would probably notice something was up and lead a mutiny or something. Worse than the police, even.

"There's a time for fucking caution, and this" - he waved his arm at the flaming river - "isn't it. If you don't tell me why I have to go along with your ridiculous plan, I am taking this up the chain and calling in the airforce whether you like it or not. Seems to me we'll do this much faster, much safer, and much more effectively without your so-called help and expertise."

"You only think you know better than me. But the only way I'd tell you what you're asking when I haven't even told Rufus -" Alastor growled.

"That's his second-in-command," Arabella broke in.

"- is with an Unbreakable Vow," he finished.

"Fine. Let's do that."

"Woah, woah, woah! You can't break an Unbreakable Vow. If you try, you'll die!" Arabella explained.

General Jenkins blinked at her and raised his eyebrows. "I see how it got the name, then. I'm still not going to commit my men to a strategy that leaves fucking fairytale monsters within a few hundred meters of fifty thousand trapped civilians without an explanation as to why I can't just carpet bomb the area with precision strikes. It's not like these Inferi things have anti-aircraft weaponry. I can fly low and put my explosives exactly where I want them. And no, 'we need to be able to wipe everybody's memories afterwards' is not a valid explanation when this many lives are on the line. You want my cooperation, you tell me why this is a good idea. I won't make an Unbreakable Vow to go along with whatever you say, but I'm willing to make one not to divulge your secrets, if that's what it takes to get you fuckers to talk to me and treat me like an equal!"

"Ah, Merlin's bloody beard. I do not have time for this! You want to know the secret? Fine. Unbreakable Vow, and I am Obliviating you personally when this is over. Arabella, if I die, get in touch with either Albus or the Potters to Obliviate him. If all four of us die, then you kill him, got it?"

"What the fuck's wrong with you people? I make a potentially lethal magic promise, and you still threaten to kill me if you can't wipe my memory first? Why?"

"Because I won't take the risk of an enemy agent amongst the Obliviators reading your mind afterwards, muggle or not, vow or no vow. The intelligence you're asking for is beyond classified."

"Why authorize only those four people?" Jenkins asked, voice laden with suspicion and nerves.

"They already know the secret. The only ones who know. You still want in?"

The general hesitated, then nodded firmly.

"Then you two hold hands. Arabella, I'll write lines for you to read. Jenkins, all you have to say is 'I will' to everything she tells you." Quickly, he wrote out the vow in the air, then laid his wand on their hands. "Acceptable?" Jenkins nodded, or at least jerked his head in a reasonable approximation of a head nod.

Arabella smiled reassuringly, though her face had whitened at the instruction to possibly kill the muggle. She nodded and took a breath. "WIll you swear not to reveal the existence of magic to any person who does not need to know for the purpose of fighting the Inferi in the river?"

"I will." A line of bright white magic snaked out of Alastor's wand to wrap around and bind their hands.

"Will you swear not to reveal what Alastor and I are about to tell you regarding the reasons for our current strategy to anyone, even other witches and wizards, by any means?"

"I will." A second coil joined the first.

"Will you swear to accept Obliviation of this information only from Alastor Moody, Fleamont Potter, Euphemia Potter, or Albus Dumbledore on pain of death at my hand?"

"I will."

The third ring of the vow wrapped around the hands. The magic glowed brighter for a moment, then went out. Arabella shook General Jenkins' hand and let go.

"Right. Explain."

"I have a man on the inside. That's the secret only we six including you know." Everyone else who ever knew had been Obliviated of the information, including Hagrid and the two McKinnon survivors. "He told me about the Inferi ahead of time. The enemy is using this attack as a feint to tie up my people while they hit two strategic targets. The first of these murder missions is likely already underway and will, unfortunately, be successful because I don't have the details of it. The second is the more important one, though. They're planning to murder my boss."

"Basically our combined Deputy Minister, Minister of State for Crime and Policing, and Secretary of War," Arabella explained quickly.

"Which would be a disaster for our side. Our government is small and would most likely collapse sometime in the next month or so if they succeed. The ambush is supposed to happen tomorrow night, and I fully intend to turn the trap against them. But I can't do that if we clean up the Inferi too quickly, because the enemy will change his plans on me. If his strategy changes and schedule accelerates to compensate for our actions, I will be in a bind. I will have to decide whether to lose this battle against the Inferi, or risk losing the war. Or he could just change tacks completely and decide to go after my aurors here and forget my boss for now, if he thinks he missed his opening. And trust me, you don't want a full-out wizarding battle in London. I certainly don't want it."

Jenkins nodded slowly, then frowned. "You proposed to arrange my forces that way so you will be free to abandon us when the time comes."

"To put it bluntly, yes. You will not be without magical assistance, but I will need my aurors with me. I'm not just using you as a meat shield, General. Right now, the enemy is using the Inferi to harass us, to keep us in place, and I am letting him do that so that we can be fully prepared when he sends them all out of the water after us tomorrow night. We will take tonight and tomorrow to get as many civilians out of here as we can, get your men into the most advantageous position possible, and bring up all the equipment you need. That way you will be fully prepared to deal with the threat the way you see fit."

"Flame throwers, fire bombs, grenades, depth charges, whatever you want," Arabella added. "The enemy is watching us, but his spies won't really understand what your people are doing."

Jenkins grunted. "I don't like this. It's still shady as hell bringing us into your war and then wiping our memories afterwards."

"It will be your war if I lose mine," Alastor pointed out unsympathetically. "And you'll still have your memories wiped by the other side, and they'll probably think it's funny to make your lot fight a civil war amongst yourselves. It's happened before."

"Christ."

"The memory thing is international law since 1689," Arabella said gently. "And the Prime Minister's been aware of us the whole time."

"Our Prime Minister is incompetent."

"Actually, he's not," she corrected. "A lot of the stuff he's criticized for is our fault. Well, the enemy's fault. All those gas explosions, the increase in the murder and missing persons rates, the rabid dogs attacks popping up everywhere, that abandoned mine explosion in Wiltshire, the deadly riots this winter, that big fire at the Clash concert, the hostage situation at the cricket match..."

Jenkins' eyes widened. "Those were all cover stories?"

"Pretty much. I mean, the murders were murders, but a lot of them were our people."

The muggle general eyed her. "And yet you're still 'Down with Labour'? Won't it be harder for you lot to have to bring a new PM up to speed?"

That was the slogan on Arabella's T-shirt. She shrugged. "I needed help to get hold of two hundred barrels of oil to secretly spread along the riverbanks last night and blow up in that warehouse over there. Antigovernmental radicals are the easiest to find and convince for that kind of thing, since I couldn't tell anyone what I was actually doing it for."

"And you don't even have any magic... You're like MI-5, ma'am." He sounded genuinely impressed for the first time since being told the existence of magic. Ironic, that.

Arabella grinned and winked at him. "Just so. Don't be hard on Alastor. He's bound by the law and trying to do right by you. He could just get you to go along with his plan with magic, you know."

"He could?"

She nodded, face sobering. "Memory charms are the least of the mind magics. The Death Eater who was here raising the Inferi, well, I was watching with binoculars in order to time the fire right. I'll just say the nine girls he killed to do it didn't struggle one bit, just bowed down to him and let him cut into them."

Jenkins shuddered, then looked at Alastor. "I still don't like what you're doing, but I understand it. The group you're fighting... they're evil. I'll help however I can. I'll still have recommendations for how to improve your plan, though."

"Thank you. I will take them into consideration. Arabella, stick with him. You're my liaison."

"...Can we maybe get her a change of clothes so it doesn't look like I've got a civilian radical following me around all day?"

"Want her to have a uniform?" Alastor offered, taking out his wand.

"No, no, everyone would realize I'm not actually military when I fail to salute and so on," Arabella said. "Put me in a pant suit. Nice and ambiguous."

Alastor shrugged and transfigured her clothing into a dark blue suit for her. It was closer fitting than her shapeless jacket had been, and she had to catch the small picture frame that fell out of the shrunken pocket. Alastor caught the edge of her suit jacket and put an extension charm on the pocket so she could fit his portrait back in. The portrait knew to rotate only between Alastor himself, Albus, Arabella, and Sirius today. Everyone else in the Order would have to use other means of communication.

"You carry a picture of him everywhere you go?" Jenkins blurted, seeing it.

"Communication. It can't be bugged." Arabella informed him, tucking the scowling portrait away. She grinned. "Give me one of yours, and I'll carry it too. It can be my decoy."

Alastor rolled his eye. "I'll take you two back to your command tent, then I'm out. Rufus will have my head for dawdling so long anyway."

Sirius spent the whole afternoon with his body sprawled in a chair at Headquarters but his mind and vision flitting amongst the Inferi down in London. Within twenty minutes, the squib had set another fire along the north bank, trapping the vast majority of the Inferi in the water. This was followed by smears of flaming oil periodically poured and lit upriver to float down through the Inferi-infested area, refueling the fiery barriers and generally limiting the Inferi's above-water movements. He figured the squib must be working with muggle authorities by now to get that done. Indeed, when he quickly spied on the operation after an hour or so of redirecting his Inferi ever farther up- and downstream, there was a military-looking muggle boat overseeing the operation to pour out the next several barrels of oil into the river. There was also a pile of abandoned and smoldering picket signs littering the area around the burning warehouse on the south bank that looked to be the source of the initial explosion. A closer look at the picket signs revealed them to be criticizing the current muggle Prime Minister.

"Interesting," he said out loud. Voldemort had told him to speak up about any new developments.

"What?"

"They dropped the original Protego horribilis in the river in favor of more fire, probably because it only contained about a third of the Inferi anyway, and expanding the sphere further would defeat the purpose by enclosing muggles inside with the Inferi. The Ministry is struggling enough they seem to have coopted muggle military and emergency responders to a degree. Although the first fire seems to have been accidental," no need for Voldemort to question a serendipitous political demonstration, "and there are muggles fighting it, other muggles are now setting more fires along the north bank, further upstream, and some on the river surface itself. I bet they're using muggle please-men to keep the crowds contained and protected, too. Probably re-erected the Protego horribilis directly around them. That's harder to ascertain from where my eyes are, though. The aurors are quick to pursue any Inferi they spot on land."

"That must be why they haven't sent out the Obliviation conscription notices yet," Voldemort mused. "The Ministry does not wish to risk our own civilians against the undead while the situation is so uncontrolled, and instead they leave more muggles at risk. How hypocritical of them. But it matters not. They do not realize that mere muggle slaughter is not my aim. Fools. They are playing into our hands with their caution. Don't send too many of your Inferi after the crowds where they'll be easily spotted and potentially trapped by wards to be culled, then. Keep most of them in the water, and send out just enough at a time to keep the aurors constantly busy and harried without making the chase too easy. Increase your rate of attack if the Ministry seems inclined to pull any aurors away."

Basically what Sirius was already doing. "Yes, my Lord."

"Watch the banks carefully. It is possible to modify the Protego horribilis barrier to fit an irregular area using warding stones. Immediately kill anyone you see placing stones along the bank. The last thing we want is for our army to get caught under another area ward, so we will prevent even the attempt."

"Yes, my Lord."

The Dark Lord sounded especially pleased when he added, "I do appreciate the aurors' caution. This way, you'll have more in reserve to release when we go after Crouch. Keep track of where the Ministry is containing the muggles to be Obliviated. You can target them later at the most opportune moment."

Sirius nodded and dearly hoped the Ministry sent out the general Obliviation notices soon. Contrary to what he just told the Dark Lord, he did have eyes on two cordoned off areas full of nervous muggles on either side of the river, from one avatar's vantage point atop the Hammersmith Bridge. The perimeters were mostly manned by muggle soldiers, with aurors on the river-facing side and occasional other wizards and witches in Ministry robes on the city-facing sides, mostly clustered around what looked like command tents and designated exits. There must be some Obliviators working there, as there was a steady stream of muggles leaving the area, mostly in their flashy healing vans. The numbers of those leaving was dwarfed by the massive size of the crowds, though.

Probably, the Office of Obliviation was frantically revising its conscription lists in order to summon only those civilians who had also passed a Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. or something. Defense against Inferi was not covered until sixth year at Hogwarts.

His suspicions were confirmed after another hour as the sun was setting on the Thames and a courier brought one of the new Obliviation letters for Lord Voldemort to review.

"Finally," Voldemort grumbled. "I was starting to think Bella and Antonin would finish up their mission before the Ministry even called up the reserves... Ah, but these are rather different from what has gone before." He laughed, the high and cruel one. "Listen to this, Rodolphus,"

"Dear Mr. Burke,

This is an official Ministry alert. Dark creatures known as Inferi have been detected in the Hammersmith area. All residents and business owners in Greater London are instructed to remain inside and lock their doors, or to leave the city via apparition or the floo network. If you see an Inferius, you should retreat immediately or if necessary defend yourself and your family with fire spells (see verso for list of appropriate incantations and wand movements). The Ministry will provide additional updates regarding this evolving situation as necessary.

Signed,

Millicent Bagnold

Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic"

Voldemort snorted. "They included Incendio, really? And that illustration is atrocious. The state of our government is truly deplorable if this is the best advice they can give in a crisis of this magnitude." Sirius was mostly surprised it had taken the Ministry so long to issue the notice. Although he supposed it probably arrived at Borgin and Burke's shop earlier. The Dark Lord was right, though. The first-year fire spell was not nearly strong enough to take down an Inferius, particularly a waterlogged one. The Dark Lord read the second letter.

"Dear Mr. Burke,

You are hereby summoned to the Ministry of Magic immediately, on this day the 25th of March. Report directly to the Office of Obliviation. Failure to report may result in a fine of 20 galleons if you do not file the appropriate exemption (enclosed) within seven days. See verso for list of approved exemptions; other reasons for exemption will be considered on a case-by-case basis. Falsification of exemption paperwork will result in additional fines and possible legal action.

Signed,

Millicent Bagnold

Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic"

"Well, I suppose the Ministry doesn't think it's fair to force civvies to fight Inferi," Rodolphus chuckled.

"What counts as an exemption?" Sirius asked curiously. Even as he asked, he fingered his third ring to redirect a cluster of Inferi that had gotten past the fires and was getting dangerously close to a train station. There were an auror and a dozen muggle soldiers guarding it, but if the Inferi happened to overpower them and make their way underground, Sirius would basically lose control of them until and unless he could somehow track them down visually again. Since he had not given the Inferi a boundary to adhere to, the only ways he could stop them remotely if that happened would be by drawing the magic back out of them at some point or summoning all the Inferi to his own physical location. Much better for the aurors to find them, rather than the other way around.

"Let's see... inability to cast any of the fire spells in the other letter..."

"Are the Obliviators recruiting squibs now?" someone laughed.

"Also presence of children or other unqualified household members in London who need supervision and protection from the Inferi. Blindness or deafness, or physical disability. Pregnancy. Inability to apparate. Basically whatever possible safety concerns some bureaucrat could list off the top of their head." There was a rustle of paper as he handed the sheets back to whoever gave it to him. "As usual, our people should comply with the letter of the law. Anyone who qualifies for one of these exemptions should of course apply for it."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Sirius, how goes the distraction?"

"The Ministry has gotten more organized, and they're definitely cooperating with the muggle government, but they haven't reduced my numbers significantly yet. And I've discovered someone erected two more Protegos Horribilis, just downstream of the fire barriers. I've diverted more Inferi upstream."

"Send an avatar to watch for one upstream too, and get as many Inferi out of the river as you reasonably can without losing too many. Use sewers too. They're probably planning to cap the ends and corral you in. Keep a close eye on things until full dark. The aurors and muggle army will both be disadvantaged then, so you can dine with Bella and rest tonight. If all goes well, we will strike Crouch tomorrow night."

Alastor stood with Rufus on the riverbank, watching tensely for the next Inferius to surge out of the water. The first hour was of course the worst, with one hundred and twenty-seven muggles either drowned or torn apart before the aurors and muggle police had pulled all the civilians off the boats and back from the banks. Alastor had lost an auror and five hit wizards to the creatures during the chaotic evacuation. They had since reached an unpleasant steady state with the Inferi over the course of the last few hours. Just as the aurors and muggle military dug in and reinforced their own positions, the Inferi settled into the river and adjacent sewers like crocodiles, ready to spring out and bite the unwary. And they did, every few minutes pressing into a gap in the fires and wards or mounting the naval vessels manning the fire stations. There were thirty dead muggle soldiers added to the tally, another twenty injured, and two more aurors sent to St. Mungo's. None of the casualties were in the last hour, thank Merlin. Hopefully, the improving trend would continue now that all the necessary pieces were in place. There were no more single-manned stations. Aurors on the front line were doubled up, and every muggle unit inside the perimeter had at least one witch or wizard with them.

An intelligence - Sirius' intelligence - still guided the creatures and made them hard to catch. By the same token, he was sure Sirius had likely averted worse ambushes and infiltrations where he could. It was a waiting game, and apart from the initial worse-than-expected bloodbath with the foundered muggle boats, the evening was now going according to plan. The Obliviations had even commenced. They started with the injured muggles, but they'd be moving on to regular civilians soon enough. They were doing a staged Obliviation this time. Muggle police were currently sorting through the civilians, stratifying them according to how much they'd actually seen, how much would therefore have to be Obliviated. That was Arabella's suggestion although they decided to attribute it to General Jenkins both to divert any attention from Arabella and enhance Jenkins' standing with the other Ministry departments. Hopefully, by saving the more extensive Obliviations for last, they'd get the numbers down to something more manageable by tomorrow night.

The pair had been standing on the riverbank covering a fifty meter gap in the firewall pending the arrival of more oil for almost twenty minutes when the Inferi finally came for them. Six this time, pale bodies in varying states of decay, some bloated with water and decomposition, some more skeletal, surging out of the murky water onto the cinders. They were quick, crawling up towards him and Rufus on all fours like wild animals. Their white eyes glowed faintly in the gathering darkness. He and Rufus raised their wands in tandem and blew a wall of flame down the steep bank. The monsters made no sound as their flesh caught fire except for the clattering of dead bones. The four closest to the river fled back into the water, unfortunately still intact enough to attack again in a few minutes or an hour. One of the others collapsed on the way to the water, its body fully incinerated in the inferno. The last continued up the bank, even as the skin and muscle blackened and peeled off the bones. Its knee and elbow joints finally failed a bare two meters from where Alastor and Rufus stood. Having reached mostly level ground, it managed to extinguish the flames with the disjointed writhing of its torso. The body had been fresher than most and carried a lot of water in its swollen tissues. Disgusted, Alastor landed another fireball on it and held the flame until there was nothing but ash.

"This isn't going to end any time soon," Rufus said bleakly as they resumed their surveillance. "You realize the Death Eaters are planning something, don't you? We were caught off guard and too slow at the start of this. And now we're stuck here, playing hide-and-seek with these things, conserving our energy and relying on muggles. When You-Know-Who makes his move... You're going to have a nasty decision to make, Alastor."

"I know."

"And I think you've already made it."

"Have I?"

Rufus jerked his thumb back towards the muggle encampment. "You have that general building himself a fortress over there. That implies you think the Inferi could well attack his position, despite our efforts here."

"Constant vigilance," Alastor grunted.

"Quite. I don't disapprove, Alastor. I just hope we get enough of a warning when it all goes to shit that your gamble pays off."

"My gamble?"

"We could have burned and blasted a lot more of these things out of here if you'd authorized a more aggressive strategy from the start."

"If I had, we wouldn't have a hundred and fifty dead muggles on our hands right now. We'd have five hundred. More. Some of them dead from our wands."

"You might still," Rufus said cryptically. "Your General Jenkins might be smart, but he's a muggle in a wizard's duel."

"No, he's a muggle battling creatures that can only be defeated with fire or complete dismemberment. Those are modes of attack well within the capabilities of muggles, even hundreds of years ago, and they're no longer relying on swords and torches in this day and age. If the Inferi get past us, I'm sure he'll manage."

They lapsed into silence again. They watched as one of the other teams across the river and a little downstream beat back another group of Inferi. "When do you think he will make his move?" Rufus asked eventually.

"I don't know. Before we're anywhere near done here."

"That could be days at this rate. We don't have enough aurors to man barriers this long and dive down to clear the riverbed itself. And Flitwick says that drought charm Robards suggested won't work on a river unless you want him to dry out half the country."

"It could and probably will be days, yes. We should follow the muggles' example and plan to eat and sleep in shifts, just in case."

Rufus chuckled darkly. "Slow us down even further. I'd like to see you try sending one of our aurors home to sleep on a night like this."

"Then they can kip in the muggle encampment. But rest they will. For all we know, depriving us of sleep is part of that bastard's plan."

"True. Want me to draw up a schedule next time we break for you to make your rounds?"

"Please."

There was a crack of apparition behind them. Both Alastor and Rufus spun around with raised wands, although Alastor kept his magical eye on the river. The person he saw was not someone he expected, but his pocket sneakoscope remained silent, at least. It wasn't polyjuice. Could be Imperius. "Gideon? Why aren't you at your post?"

"Longbottoms are covering for me and Fabian," Gideon answered. His voice was thick, with more than just stress. Rufus must have heard it too, lighting his wand silently. The harsh white light illuminated tear trails down the younger auror's cheeks.

"What's happened?"

"You-Know-Who attacked his real target."

"Where?" Alastor asked quickly. "Are the Death Eaters still there?"

"They're gone. They hit my aunt Muriel's place. My sister saw the Mark from the top floor of her house in Ottery St. Catchpole. My brother-in-law went over to check before she could stop him. He's fine. My aunt's dead."

"Why?" Rufus blurted indelicately. Alastor understood his confusion, of course. Raising nigh a thousand Inferi in London was a bit extreme as a distraction to target one aging spinster in Devon, not to mention Muriel Prewett was pureblood.

"She was hiding muggleborns," Gideon said. "Had a dozen living with her last I heard."

Alastor winced. He'd known Madam Prewett had offered her home as a safehouse, but he hadn't realized how much use it was getting. "Also dead?" he asked softly.

"Nine are, according to Arthur. He's not sure if the other three had moved on before or were taken."

"I'm sorry, Gideon. Where's Fabian?"

"With Arthur. At Muriel's. He went as soon as Arthur's Patronus told us while I called Longbottoms over and came here."

"I'll still need you both, if you can manage it. Take two hours to move the bodies, re-secure the house, and make sure the rest of your family is safe. Then come back here."

Gideon nodded and apparated away.

Alastor turned back to the river. After a moment, so did Rufus. "A dozen muggleborns. That's a whole Hogwarts dormitory floor. Terrible loss." Alastor nodded silently. "Guess sleep deprivation wasn't part of the plan after all," his second-in-command commented jadedly.

"So it would seem," Alastor said. They watched another cascade of fire on the other side of the river, this time upstream, right close to the bridge.

"Too bad we're already entrenched for the long haul here. At least we won't have to keep the whole bloody Ministry on high alert for the duration."

Alastor did not respond to that, content to neither confirm nor deny Rufus' conclusions. At least the meat of the operation was still going according to plan, he consoled himself. He only wished the Death Eaters' feint had had a lower body count.

Dolohov returned to headquarters at eight thirty. "Success, my Lord. Bella has three captives at Lestrange manor."

"Excellent. Sirius, any updates?"

"Nothing has changed."

"Then you are done with that for the night. You've more than earned a rest."

"Yes, my Lord." He directed all eight Inferi avatars still in the river to sink down to the bottom. He took one last look around the area through the one atop the Hammersmith Bridge, mindful of any wizards and witches in the vicinity, then had her dive down into the water as well rather than risk losing her in the night if some auror decided to make use of the same vantage point. He could always get up early to reclaim the position before dawn. He withdrew his mind from the horde and blinked in the light of the many candles that had been lit since he last took a break. It was much brighter here than over the Thames, even with the still-raging fires. Plus, the night vision of an Inferius was very different from a living human's, perceiving heat and life and magic rather than light.

Most of the other Death Eaters who had been present earlier had left at some point. Besides Voldemort, only Rodolphus and Nott remained. Sirius slowly rose from his chair, twisting a little to stretch his neck and back after sitting so still for so long. He followed the others out of the building.

"You are eating dinner vit Lestranges' too, Lord Nott?" Dolohov asked.

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this," Nott said with a raspy laugh and a wink at Sirius. Sirius had a sudden terrible feeling he knew what "treat" Bella had in store for him.

"He practically begged Bella for an invitation," Rodolphus said.

"I had no idea your table vas such very popular, Dolph."

"Well, you know how it is. Sometimes, a wife just has the urge to throw a dinner party. And she knew her cousin would be... hungry... after his long day. You know, our house elf misses having you around, Sirius. And it's been so long since you've been for dinner, I'm sure Posy will have cooked all your favorites in anticipation."

"That will be nice," Sirius said blandly. Rodolphus smiled at him a moment, and disapparated home. Not having an excuse to go somewhere else, Sirius followed him, and the Dark Lord appeared at his side a split-second later. The five of them walked into the manor to find not only Bellatrix waiting for them but also Uncle Cygnus and Lucretia Malfoy, beneath an honest-to-Merlin "Happy Anniversary, Sirius" banner.

"Siri! There you are!" Bella trotted forwards and kissed his cheek. "Happy Anniversary! We're having a party and everything! Six courses and after dinner entertainment. Isn't it wonderful? Can you believe it's been a whole year since you joined us?"

"Well, calendars don't lie, I suppose." He surveyed the blood red banner and smirked at Bella. "Didn't occur to me to count the anniversary of moving in with you, considering I moved out again, though."

"You'll always have a home with us if you want it, Siri," Bella said firmly.

"Which is sweet, but still not how anniversaries work. I should have commemorated my expulsion instead. Or waited until next month for when I was Marked."

"We can have another party next month," Bella said brightly, undeterred by logic as per usual. "A bigger one. It'll be great! Cissy will come for that one, I'm sure. She was supposed to be here tonight, but she's having such terrible headaches and whatnot at this stage of the pregnancy, she didn't want to stay up too late..." Bella chattered continuously while serving up drinks to the newcomers and hovering a plate of hors d'oeuvres around the room. Voldemort grew quickly bored of the small talk and went to sit near the fire. Dolohov and Nott likewise moved around the hostess to talk to Cygnus. Lucretia and Rodolphus remained where they were, though only Rodolphus seemed genuinely interested in listening to his wife's words. Sirius was just glad he wasn't required to say much at this party supposedly in his honor.

Posy called them to dinner soon enough, since it was already so late. Sirius mostly ignored the dinner conversation, while making all the right noises to pretend he was listening. He spent a lot of time staring at the wine decanter, debating whether it would be better to be drunk or sober for what he was sure was coming after dinner. Drunk won. Drunk enough to keep his hands from shaking under the Dark Lord's scrutiny, not so drunk he couldn't control his magic or his expressions.

Sure enough, when Posy cleaned up the dessert plates, Bella not-very-discreetly crept out of the room, giggling to herself all the way, and returned minutes later with a paralyzed, bound, blindfolded, and gagged middle-aged, dark-skinned wizard. She floated him onto the table. Nott's expression brightened in anticipation. Bella beamed at Sirius. "Here's your present, Cousin! I told you I'd get you a nice mudblood to play with next time you came to dinner!"

Sirius raised his eyebrows, smiled as widely as he could, and downed the rest of his wine. "Is that the after dinner entertainment?"

She nodded happily. "We only needed two captives from the raid tonight, one for me to use tomorrow, and one for Anton. But I promised you I'd get you one, and I don't break promises, Siri. Even if my insistence did get up Anton's nose."

"No stopping her," Rodolphus grunted proudly, and clinked glasses with a rather surly looking Dolohov.

"While I do appreciate your thoughtfulness, isn't it a bit gauche to ask the guest to perform?" he asked, even as he drew his wand. Bella, Rodolphus, Cygnus, and even the Dark Lord snorted. "Sure you don't want to keep this one alive?"

Bella shrugged. "There's no one else who can use it tomorrow, and no other reason to keep it. It's yours. Have fun, Siri!"

Sirius smiled again, softer this time. He vanished the wizard's gag, then broke the full body-bind curse and immediately replaced it with a half body-bind. The man groaned and squirmed, futiley. "What is your name, mudblood?" Sirius asked.

The man's head snapped towards his voice. "Got to hell, Death Eater," he spat.

"How uncivil. You should know, you are in the presence of the Dark Lord himself. Few get the honor to die like this." The man blew a raspberry. Sirius grinned, liking him instantly. He held that feeling; he would need it to sustain the grin. "Imperio. Tell me your name. And for Merlin's sake stop wriggling." Scream but do not feel the pain that is coming. That is the only gift I can give you.

"...My name is Salim Hussein Sarwar."

"Do you mind if I ruin your tablecloth, Bella?" Sirius asked. There was no reason to drag this out longer than necessary.

"Oh, I insist you ruin my tablecloth," she purred.

Sectumsempra. Salim screamed as blood spurted from a half-dozen deep slashes. Lucretia screamed too, although she quickly regained control of herself and assumed a passable mask of excitement and surprise instead of alarm and disgust. Voldemort and Cygnus conjured panes of glass to block the blood spatters. Everyone else got at least a little blood on them. Sirius started transfiguring, faster than he had before. Fingers to breadsticks. Arms to rows of sandwiches and elbows to apples. Shoulder of cabbage. Shoes of trouts. Legs of golden beef Wellingtons lying amid stacks of roasted mushrooms that used to be robes. He sliced into the abdomen and turned the open body cavity into a basket of different kinds of cheeses. The chest became a full-English breakfast. And the head... he stared at the dead, accusing eyes.

He became suddenly aware of the quiet in the room, now that Salim had stopped screaming. Everyone, even Lucretia, was leaning forwards in their chairs, watching intently to see what he would do.

He didn't want to continue. He didn't want to take that final step of reducing a brave wizard to a pile of objects to be discarded later. He wanted to get out of here, run back into the night. Go hide with the Averys. Well no, he wanted to run to the Potters as he had when he was fifteen. Or turn into Padfoot, fun into the wilderness, and never change back. He couldn't, though. He couldn't stop.

The dark, staring eyes turned into snail shells. The cheeks were dark red plums, the nose an aubergine... He changed his mind and shook his head slightly. The partially transfigured face turned smooth, glassy, and red. Salim's head shrank down, and the surface rippled and grew ridges and facets. It became a lustrous ruby the size of his fist. He picked it up, and looked into the depths. With a tap of his wand, he added a tiny, golden flaw in the center of the gem. Even if Salim had not been Sorted into Gryffindor when he was a student, he certainly qualified. At least there would be something to return to his family.

"Restarting your collection, Siri?" Bella asked.

He shrugged and pocketed the stone. "My old ones all burned up with Malfoy Manor." Lucretia frowned.

"You were right, Bella, it is an entertaining spectacle to observe," Voldemort said.

"He's amazing. Makes me wish I had studied harder in Transfigurations at Hogwarts. Siri, do the painting with the blood again."

Sirius obliged, prodding the crimson stain to rearrange itself, first into an elaborate pattern on the tablecloth, then shooting up to the ceiling to become a portrait of Bella. She clapped delightedly. He twisted his wand again, and the portrait twisted into the Black family crest.

"I'm serious, Sirius, you could take commissions with this. Would you consider performing at my wedding reception?" Nott said appreciatively.

"Some vedding you're planning," Dolohov laughed, pouring himself another glass of wine.

"Very nice," Voldemort said drily. "Whenever did the heir Black encounter the works of Arcimboldo?"

"Who?" Rodolphus asked.

"A muggle painter who lived and died several centuries ago, famous for his surreal portraits of faces constructed out of fruit."

Perhaps more importantly, when did Lord Voldemort encounter him? Sirius merely shrugged. "Never knew the artist's name. I saw a reproduction once on the cover of a book one of the Gryffindor mudbloods brought to school. You must admit, the imagery is striking, even if a muggle came up with it first."

"It is. Perhaps next time, you might try your hand at Picasso."

"Is that another artist?"

Voldemort nodded and conjured an image of a... very odd painting indeed. It almost looked like a child had drawn it, with its bright colors and complete lack of realism, except there was clear, sophisticated purpose behind the strangeness. There was a person in the image, possibly even more than one, but...

"Looks like a Colovaria and a Transmogrifian," Nott said.

Voldemort blinked and looked again at his own conjuration. "It does, doesn't it?" He dropped the illusion. "Regardless, there are numerous art styles our young friend could explore in future. It is quite the creative murder method, I must say. Bella, thank you for dinner. Sirius, thank you for the entertainment. As it is now nearing midnight, I am going to retire, and I suggest the rest of you do as well, since we have rather important plans tomorrow."

Chapter Text

On 26 March, 1979, at twenty minutes before midnight, most of the Dark detectors in the auror department at the Ministry for Magic in London simultaneously activated, for the second time in two days. The reason for the activation was nearly identical, a huge release of Dark magic in a ritual to create Inferi. The difference was that this time, the ritual happened significantly farther away. This time, there were two killers. This time, there were just two victims, both of them magical. This time, only one person was left on the whole second floor of the Ministry to hear the alarm. They quietly closed their office door, and waited. After a few minutes, the wave of magic passed by. The floor was silent again, until a glorious silver Patronus sailed through the walls with a message, a message the individual in the office had been patiently waiting for all evening.

At twelve minutes before midnight, the seven hundred thirty-three Inferi remaining in the River Thames rushed the fire barriers along the banks at a dozen places. They overwhelmed the aurors minding the choke points, who retreated inexorably before the tide of the undead. Even the Prewett twins channeling their magic together could not hold a firestorm spell strong enough to prevent dozens of Inferi from escaping around them, into the arms of a great wall of muggle infantry, currently armed with flame throwers and grenades.

At midnight, the unmistakable, utterly magnificent dragon patronus of Bartemius Crouch Sr. flew over the melee, stopping right before Alastor Moody. It opened its mouth and said in a clear, calm voice that nevertheless carried far over the water, "My home is under attack by Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. If I do not survive, I nominate you, Alastor Moody, to succeed me as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Message also to be sent to Minister Minchum, Undersecretary Bagnold, and Albus Dumbledore..." The silver creature melted into smoke.

"Dear Merlin... you were right, Alastor," Rufus said bleakly beside him.

"Sonorus. THIS IS ALASTOR MOODY. HALO, HARKEN, HAPSBURG, HARBINGER, HOOLIGAN, HOBOE. DEATH EATERS AND YOU-KNOW-WHO SIGHTED AT CROUCH MANOR! ALL AURORS REPORT TO CROUCH MANOR IMMEDIATELY! GENERAL FITZWILLIAM JENKINS IS DESIGNATED FIELD COMMANDER AGAINST THE INFERI UNTIL AUROR RETURN! HIT WIZARDS TO REPORT TO GENERAL JENKINS AT MUGGLE COMMAND NORTH FOR ASSIGNMENT! Quietus. Expecto Patronum! Anika, go to General Jenkins, follow his orders, and relay his instructions to the others. There's a squib with him, Arabella Figg, who has my absolute trust. If Jenkins does or requests anything you disagree with, ask Arabella to confirm it. If Arabella asks you to overpower Jenkins, do it."

"A squib?" Rufus asked incredulously.

"What else? Even muggleborns don't understand muggle politics and military culture, once they've left that world. The right squibs do. Now move, Rufus!"

They both disapparated.

Sirius had never been to the Crouch manor before, which was odd in retrospect, considering how close Barty Jr. was in age to Sirius and Regulus, and the fact that his cousin twice-removed Charis Black had been Barty Jr.'s grandmother. Blacks were usually quite clannish, and Charis had only died four years ago. The manor grounds, hidden of course from the local muggles, spanned a good chunk of Foulness Island, the final habitable island in the Crouch River delta as it approached the North Sea. The Death Eaters approached from the seaward side, apparating into the long, sandy flats of low tide where there were no wards, and the sound of the waves would mask their approach in the black night. As they reached the end of the flats, Voldemort raised a hand to stop them all at what he must have sensed to be the edge of the outermost ward. He gestured to Bella and Dolohov, standing to either side, and the three of them began a complex group working.

Sirius watched Bella and shivered. He could feel the Dark magic rolling off her, and Dolohov. It was the magic they had harvested from their muggleborn Inferi sacrifices. He wondered if others could sense the same aura coming from him. Maybe not, since all his victims yesterday had been muggles, but then, there were nine of them. Sirius had never quite understood why his parents and other purebloods in their circle despised muggleborns. He had always dismissed the various explanations of diluting magic or stealing magic from its rightful owners as obvious propaganda based in pure lies once he was old enough to start questioning authority. And he still believed that, but now for the first time, he thought he understood the fear. As Voldemort had said to him several weeks ago, the Inferi ritual was so simple in its setup, a child could do it, if you could find a child who would do it. Personally, Sirius was pretty sure a child attempting the ritual would have their mind torn apart and end up insane, dead and/or an Inferius themselves, but in theory, Voldemort wasn't wrong. And if one was deep enough in the Dark Arts to realize it was indeed possible to steal magic from someone else using something like the Inferi ritual, and simultaneously believed magic could only be natural-born in those with wizarding or squib ancestry... then a true muggleborn was a terrifying concept indeed. A true muggleborn would be a child who gained their magic not through right of blood, but sick and twisted blood rites. Repeatedly. Perhaps, Sirius mused, that was one reason Voldemort himself had not created any Inferi for this operation. He had no doubt the Dark Lord had performed the ritual at some point, or he would not have been so effective a teacher. But publicly contrasting his magic to Bella's Inferi-augmented magic was as good a demonstration as any of the power inherent to his blood and therefore, in the minds of the followers who cared the most about such things, proof of its purity.

Sirius' thoughts were interrupted when Voldemort, Bella, and Dolohov unleashed their coordinated attack on the manor's wards. The spell looked like a huge drill made of white light. When it struck the ward, the whole dome around the grounds illuminated, flickered, and after a tense half minute went out. And then a second dome lit up, this time glowing faintly red before going out. And then a third. The breaching spell just kept punching through each protective ward one after another. Sirius' attention was caught by a bolt of silver flashing away through the back of the house.

"Patronus!" Rodolphus called, seeing it as well. He raised anti-apparition, anti-portkey, and anti-floo wards to enclose the house and grounds, two other Death Eaters helping him.

Voldemort growled in ire and snapped his wand up and down. His growl turned to a cry of wrathful triumph when one last domed ward flickered gold and went out. The spell-drill shot forwards and slammed into the side of the house, partially collapsing the stone wall. "Antonin, help Rodolphus block their escape! Everyone else, forward!"

Dolohov dutifully reinforced Rodolphus' wards. Bella ran head-first into a new Impervious shield that had just popped up out of the ground. She screamed and slashed her wand through it, destroying the barrier, only to hit another one two steps closer to the house. She brought that one down and encountered yet another. Whoever was in the house, they were damn good at raising shields, Sirius thought.

Voldemort clearly thought so too. "Rodolphus, alternate with Bella to take those down. We will devour the ground foot by -"

"Enemy incoming! Behind us!" Dolohov interrupted.

Sirius dropped into a crouch and at the same time turned towards the new threat. He couldn't even see the aurors, or Order members, whoever it was. He could only see the spell lights flashing across the sand flats. He could see that one of Dolohov's backup was down, presumably hit by a stunner before anyone had even noticed the newcomers. There seemed to only be two or three of them at first, but more people were clearly apparating in beyond the perimeter of the ward, with more spells coming from new directions. Half the Death Eaters turned to fight against the new threat, while Bella and Rodolphus continued their assault on the house, three other Death Eaters covering their backs.

Homenum Revelio, Sirius cast. He bit back a grin. There were already a dozen aurors/Order members fanned out, and more would be coming every minute as they figured out where exactly the battle was. Still crouching in a bush for cover, he reached for the slippery thread of the Imperius curse he had cast on Evan Rosier when the man visited the Averys for dinner last week. He snapped the curse leash taut. At the same time, someone else had the presence of mind to cast several Lumos Maxima charms out towards the sea, the spell balls acting as false moons to give at least a little light to the hectic battlefield. Of course, the light also served as a beacon telling any aurors who had apparated to the other side of the island where exactly the battle was. Six more people appeared on the salt flats and started casting hexes at the Death Eaters. One of them might have been Dumbledore, judging by the fearsome globe of white flame that appeared and zoomed straight towards Voldemort. The Dark Lord shrieked out a Greek curse in rage. The fireball splintered in midair, bits of it spinning off towards various other targets.

But that part of the battle was not Sirius' concern. About ten feet away from him, Rosier suddenly reared up from his position behind a hedge, turned into the ranks of his fellow Death Eaters, and cast a nonverbal Confringo directly into their midst. Sirius ducked under the curse with a shield held tight around himself. He was still knocked off his feet, though in his case it was backwards to collide with Rosier. His Imperius command was for Rosier to attack any Death Eater viciously and without mercy, and that included attacking Sirius himself with anything short of the Avada. Otherwise, it would have looked too suspicious. Rosier therefore was quick to throw Sirius off him and aim an entrails-expelling curse his way. Sirius conjured a flamingo to take that curse for him, wincing at the unsuspecting bird's strangled squawking before it quickly died. He continued trading spells with Rosier, content the Order would be sufficiently confused at the sight of two Death Eaters fighting each other not to intervene right away when they had more pressing threats to deal with. He took the opportunity afforded by a rolling dodge to assess the damage Rosier had done and was savagely pleased to see at least five Death Eaters still motionless on the ground, two of the bodies so thoroughly rent apart by the blasting curse, they were assuredly dead.

"No! Daddy!" Bella's screech startled him, enough so that Rosier's next curse actually connected with his left hand as he dodged a little too late. It was a flesh-eating curse, and rather than lose his fingers again, he hastily sent a Reductor curse Rosier's way and transfigured two of his fingers into sticks. Against his better judgment, he looked around for Uncle Cygnus too. He was wearing a mask of course, but Bella had recognized him... and now so did Sirius. Or at least, Sirius recognized the ring on his severed arm in the middle of Rosier's blasting field.

Sirius... honestly wasn't sure how he felt about possibly having murdered his own uncle just now. He ducked under Rosier's next curse. He aimed a flurry of Avadas at Rosier, who dodged.

Across the battlefield, Bella screamed again, and now her and Rodolphus' voices were also shouting dueling curses, attention stripped from the wards on the house. Sirius risked a glance and was rather surprised to see them battling another Death Eater, presumably one of Mulciber's Imperius-cursed ones. And then another Death Eater started casting stunning charms against his fellows, and not even at Bella. Sirius had no idea who that was, or who was presumably controlling them. Maybe Moody was adding to the chaos.

"Enough!" Voldemort roared. "Protego Diabolica!" A wall of deep blue fire flew up around the Dark Lord and fanned outwards from him in a concentric ring. The spell was like the mutant child of a shield charm and Fiendfyre. It would incinerate any of Voldemort's enemies who came into contact with it, and yet could be dismissed with a massed Finite Incantatum. Of course, as with Fiendfyre, this became more difficult the longer it burned and more it fed. Aurors and plain-clothes Order members retreated away from it, then started casting countercharms at it from a safer distance. Voldemort himself vanished into a column of smoke that darted across the field of engagement like an evil, blackened ghost. Sirius had never heard of such a thing in any of the horrible books he had read in the last year. It was as if the Dark Lord had transformed his very body into raw magic, held together with nothing but the force of his will and the bare shred of soul he still contained.

He didn't have long to think about the astounding sight, though. It became clear Voldemort was using the distracting peril of his dark shield-fire to issue new orders to his followers. The shadow flew straight through Rosier on its way to Sirius. Rosier fell to his knees, tearing at his chest. When the shadow spoke, it was directly to Sirius' mind, and less words than an impression of a whole battle strategy shoved directly into his brain. Antonin will release his anti-apparition shield. Those incapable of resisting the Imperius that yet remain loyal shall leave immediately. Those who can resist shall kill any who attack us, whether auror or Death Eater. We no longer aim to Imperius. I will continue to hold off the Ministry and the Order. Bella and Antonin will again break the wards on the house. Sirius will draw power from his Inferi in London and as soon as the wards fall, destroy the house and all those therein. Then retreat.

The shadow flitted away again and rematerialized as Voldemort in the middle of the sand flats, where he immediately conjured another globe of fire to send at the aurors' backs, drawing fire away from the Death Eaters.

Sirius stopped watching Voldemort. He turned to Rosier, who was still kneeling with his wand at his side and a haunted expression on his grey face. He tugged on the Imperius connection, forcing Rosier to shakily point his wand at Sirius again. "Avada Kedavra," Sirius said, and watched Rosier pitch forwards, lifeless. He felt a twinge of guilt, but he had never planned on leaving the wizard alive, not when Voldemort would doubtless try to interrogate him with Legilimency. He did not know what all Rosier had done in the war, but he had a Mark on his arm and a place on the Inner Circle. There was no doubt in Sirius' mind he had done something nasty to earn them.

Now the bigger question. His Homenum Revelio charm was still active. He could see four people inside the manor. So... should he obey the Dark Lord and kill all of them? On the one hand, that was obviously a terrible thing to do. On the other, he knew Mr. Crouch wasn't there. Portrait Moody had told him at their final furtive planning meeting four days ago that he wouldn't be. But Mrs. Crouch probably was, along with three other innocents. Of course, Sirius had killed plenty of innocents to gain and retain his position in the Inner Circle. Dumbledore and Moody had even assured him it was necessary and absolved him, sort of. Four more rather paled in significance to the tally he had already compiled. If he disobeyed now, there would be no place for him with the Death Eaters. Whether or not Voldemort realized he was a spy all along or thought he had just made a mistake, Sirius would be dead either way if he were blamed for this mission's failure.

Bella and Dolohov recast the ward-breaching spell drill they had started the night with. It wasn't quite as brilliant as it had been before, but then, it didn't need to be. They had already breached the strongest defenses. The spell crashed through every ward the house's inhabitants now frantically conjured within seconds. Inevitably, it would reach the walls again.

Sirius made up his mind. He pulled on the energy lines tying him to the Inferi in London, sucking the magic back out of the horde through his avatars. He ran towards Bella, legs pounding harder and faster with every step as the vitality of nine young lives surged into him. He reached Bella's side just as the drill spell reached the wall of the house again. He brandished his wand. "Confringo!" He shouted the curse, and channeled more magic into it than he ever had before. If he were merely muggle-baiting with Richard right now, he could have taken down a whole muggle village.

As it was, his spell was what broke through one last ward anchored to the very walls of the building. The house was vaporized. Nothing left alive. Nothing there at all but dust.

"Accio Daddy!" Bella cried.

Sirius felt a hand on his shoulder. He apparated away automatically. As he turned, he saw he was pulling a sobbing Bella with him, Uncle Cygnus' mutilated corpse clutched in her other arm. He hated Bella, of course, but she had always worn her emotions on her face. Inappropriate as they so often were, they were still affecting to watch. Now her shoulders shook, and her grip trembled.

He never apparated directly to back after a mission, habit drilled into him by Lucious Malfoy. This time, he had taken them to the empty and ruined Malfoy Manor grounds. He removed Bella's hand from his shoulder, and then removed her mask. Her eyes were full of tears, her lips twisted in a grimace of agonizing grief. He gently wiped away the tears with his intact hand, wrapped his arms around her and the corpse, and took them the rest of the way to headquarters. While most everyone else was already filing inside, unmasked Rodolphus was waiting anxiously by the entrance. "Bella! Bella? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Dolph," she snarled. Rodolphus tried to take Cygnus' body from her, and she snatched it back. "No! Don't touch him! He is a Black! This is for family only. Come on, Sirius, help me." Sirius met Rodolphus' eyes, silently pleading with him not to argue, and the older wizard just nodded at him tiredly. Accepting his wife's rejection without complaint, Rodolphus conjured a bier for them to lay out Cygnus' body. It was as mess. Besides the severed right arm, broken bones poked out of both legs and chest as well. Sirius could feel them as he manually straightened out the limbs and blood-soaked robes as best he could. When Bella reached to remove the mask, he snatched her hand back.

"Not here," he told her, looking around the court meaningfully. It was empty, but she instantly adopted his feigned suspicion and hunched over her father's body protectively. Mostly, he had just wanted her to calm down a little and lose the rest of her Inferi-augmented power before she saw Cygnus' no doubt pulverized face.

"I need to take him home," Bella muttered.

"We need to report in to the Dark Lord first," Sirius reminded her.

"He will understand," she insisted. Sirius highly doubted that. He glanced up at Rodolphus.

"Bella, you and I should go in to speak with him now, while Sirius keeps watch. And then you can take him home with the Dark Lord's blessing."

"Yes," Sirius agreed instantly. "I won't let anyone touch him." She nodded and allowed Rodolphus to help her to her feet and lead her away. As soon as she was gone, Sirius ripped off the Death Eater mask. It was just as bad as he had expected. Quickly, he used a Tergeo to scrape off the blood, Reparo to reassemble the bones, since he didn't care about scrambling the soft tissue anyway, and smoothed everything out as best he could, at least making Uncle Cygnus recognizable again. Then he replaced the mask. He only waited a few minutes before Bella and Rodolphus returned.

"He wants to see you," Rodolphus informed him.

Sirius nodded. "Give Cissy my love," he told Bella, leaving her to her anger and grief.

Inside the Headquarters, the scene was more chaotic, and the whole place smelled of blood. Rodolphus had followed him in and pointed him in the direction of the infirmary before joining Dolohov in the triage and debriefing process. Sirius wound his way through the crowd. There were a fair few with ragged, bloody injuries that must have come from Rosier's initial blasting curse. There were plenty more sporting the effects of Dark curses and hexes.

The infirmary held the worst. Nott was currently bent over a witch Sirius could not recognize through the terrible burns covering her face and shoulders. Voldemort was crouched by another blood-soaked cot, his back obscuring what he was doing from Sirius' view. He walked forwards quietly and heard the Dark Lord muttering the same incantation over and over again, "Pressio-Augere... Pressio-Augere..." Sirius looked over his shoulder to see Voldemort was casting the anti-shock charm with one hand, while reimplanting internal organs with the other. This Death Eater must have been hit by Rosier or one of the other Imperiused ones. He couldn't imagine an auror or Order member using the Entrails Expelling curse.

He stepped to the side a little and bowed. "My Lord."

Voldemort did not look up at him, but he smiled. "Sirius. I will not say that I am entirely pleased with the outcome of our mission, but... I am pleased with you. You have slain a great enemy of our cause this night. Pressio-Augere."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"Show me."

Sirius edged around the cot and knelt on the other side of it. Once he was situated, Voldemort's eyes flicked up and caught and held his own. Sirius called up the memory of Crouch manor in the few seconds before and after he destroyed it. Once again, he watched the four distant signs of his Homenum Revelio spell go out. Voldemort dropped his Legilimency probe quickly enough, returning his attention to healing. He grinned widely at what Sirius had shown him.

"Are you injured? Pressio-Augere."

"Not severely."

"Let me see."

Sirius extended his left hand. "The first Imperiused Death Eater-"

"Rosier," Voldemort supplied.

"...it was Rosier?" Sirius did not have to feign his surprise. Rosier had kept his mask the whole time, his robes were unornamented, and he wore no distinctive jewelry unlike most of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Maybe Voldemort could recognize them all through their Dark Marks or something. Or by flying through their bodies as an evil wraith, he supposed.

"It was. Pressio-Augere. Vulnera Senentur."

"I see. Well. Flesh-eating curse. I'm faster with transfiguration than I am with the countercurse, at least in the middle of a battle."

"Rodolphus will fix if for you. Pressio-Augere."

"I can probably fix it myself, now."

"I said Rodolphus will fix it for you, and you will tell him that these ministrations come from my hand."

"Yes, my Lord."

"You may go. You will assist others after you are healed."

"Yes, my Lord." Sirius bowed again and walked back into the other room to find Rodolphus. There had been a lot of progress made; all the deep wounds were covered in temporary bandages until they could be properly dealt with.

"How'd it go?" Rodolphus asked, even as he delicately removed Sullivan Travers' horn-tongue curse. Travers also appeared to have been the victim of a finger-removing jinx.

"He said you're supposed to fix my hand, and that 'these ministrations come from his hand.'"

Rodolphus smiled. "You are being honored, cousin. Wait a moment, Sullivan. I'll get your fingers in a bit. Let me see, Sirius."

Travers scowled at Sirius but said nothing. Sirius awkwardly raised his hand up to show Rodolphus. "There's a flesh-eating curse under the transfiguration."

"Ah. This will go better if one person removes the transfiguration while someone else stabilizes and then removes the curse."

"I can undo the transfiguration," Sirius said, digging in his robes for his wand.

"Not if the Dark Lord wants us to heal you on his behalf, you can't. Antonin, get over here!" Dolohov drifted over. Rodolphus explained the situation again. Apparently, Voldemort saw some ceremonial significance in healing his favored followers. That cast a new light on some of Sirius' previous interactions. The two of them made quick work of Sirius' hand. Dolohov returned to his side of the room. Rodolphus trained his wand back on Travers.

"How many did we lose?" Sirius asked softly.

"Too many," Rodolphus said in a low voice. "At least six dead, another eight dead or captured. We'll be working through the night here, I've no doubt."

Sirius nodded and turned away to find someone with the kinds of injuries he could potentially help with.

Alastor visually swept the grounds and beach with his magical eye, not trusting the Death Eaters' and Voldemort's sudden departure. But it seemed genuine. The final seven Death Eaters had even taken a few of their fallen with them, though not all. They had missed two that the aurors had buried and disillusioned in the sand after they were disabled. Quickly, Alastor issued orders to take those two in for processing. His gaze drifted up to the destroyed manor, now a cloud of dust and ash. Nothing moved except for the undulations of the silent, glittering Dark Mark illuminating the sky. He shuddered.

"Alice," he said loudly. "Take charge here. Secure the area, get our wounded to St. Mungo's. Search what's left of the house. Collect the bodies. Frank and Prewetts will be with you. Everyone else who can still fight, back to the Thames. We'll rendezvous at the muggle command tent and redeploy from there."

Fortunately, and as Alastor had anticipated, there was not much left for the aurors to do against the Inferi. General Jenkins was doing just fine, thank you very much. Every tree in sight was broken and/or on fire, several buildings flattened, and the parks and roads nearest the river transformed into a pitted wasteland, but there was not an Inferius in sight, even Alastor's magical sight, just hundreds of burning corpses.

"Fairy tale monsters don't hold up all that well against modern incendiary devices," Jenkins said with satisfaction. "Also, about half of them suddenly keeled over about ten minutes ago. Made the job rather easier."

"Ah yes, I thought something like that might happen," Alastor said. Jenkins and Rufus both raised their eyebrows, but Alastor did not explain himself. He had watched Sirius cast the final, devastating blasting curse. The curse had far too much energy for an ordinary wizard to wield in the normal course of events, and Sirius had told the portrait about the plans for him, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Antonin Dolohov to augment themselves with the Inferi somehow. Albus had muttered about looking it up in Magic Moste Evil, but for himself, Alastor decided he didn't actually need to know the details. He scolded himself for that now. He hadn't fully understood what Sirius meant, and people were dead because of it. He had thought the serial warding strategy would last much, much longer. He had thought he and Albus would be much closer to the house if and when the wards finally fell. Close enough to rescue the people inside.

"Rufus, you'll be in charge here," he said abruptly. "Do a sweep to check all the Inferi are destroyed, and then coordinate with the Obilviators.

"Where are you going?"

"To check in with our boss."

"He's alive?" Rufus exclaimed.

Alastor grinned without humor. "Did you really think I'd let him go home?"

"...I really thought you'd lost your edge when they stepped the threat assessment down to Level 2 in the afternoon. I will never doubt again."

"Constant vigilance."

"Yes. Well. I'll go arrange the sweep. Back in twenty, General." Rufus swept out of the tent.

"A word with you before I go," Alastor said in a low voice, beckoning Arabella over from where she had been pretending to work at a desk on the other side of the tent. He cast a privacy charm.

"Your mission went well?" Jenkins asked.

Alastor grimaced. "We achieved our primary objective and took out almost half the forces he had with him."

"I'd call that a success."

"It's not a failure, but our own losses were too many. When is the earliest I should Obliviate you, General?"

"Assuming your man gives the all clear, my part of this will be done as soon as I issue orders for the cleanup and troop withdrawal. My subofficers can handle the withdrawal itself."

"And the pace of that will depend on the Obliviations. I assume you'll still want them to finish civilian Obliviations first?" Jenkins nodded. "Fine. Arabella, when Rufus gets back, set up a meeting with Lethe, that's the Head Obliviator, so you all can coordinate. Send me a message with an estimate for when it will be Jenkins' turn. Only me or Albus. Don't call Euphemia." Arabella's eyes widened at what went unspoken. Jenkins' eyes narrowed, but he did not probe. Alastor dismissed his privacy charms. "It's been a pleasure working with you, General," he said briskly. "I'll be in touch later." He strode out of the tent and apparated to his next stop.

He appeared in the hall on Level 2 in the Ministry of Magic offices. Luckily, it was still dark and quiet. Alice must still be processing the dead and captured downstairs. Alastor walked to the end of the hall and let himself into Barty's office. "It's Alastor. Halo, harken, Hapsburg, harbinger, hooligan, hoboe," he said softly to the not-actually-empty room, magical eye locked on the person sitting behind the desk. "It's over."

There was a rustle of fabric as Bartemius Crouch quietly removed Fleamont Potter's invisibility cloak and set it aside. He looked amazingly composed for a man who a few hours before had been asked not to go home and instead allow a Polyjuiced doppelganger to take his place defending his house and his wife against an anticipated Death Eater assault.

"What happened?" Barty asked quietly. "I got Mr. Potter's message when the assault began, obviously. I had hoped your fears were unwarranted."

"I'm sorry, Barty. I tried. The house is destroyed, and Victoria was in it the last I saw through the wards."

Barty paled and nodded. "She would not have left unless she was with Mr. Potter when he sent the patronus and saw him for an imposter, or unless he admitted the deception to her. She would not want to leave me, even if Winky begged her to."

"Winky?"

"My house elf. I summoned her here before Mr. Potter left and told her not to betray his presence and to protect Victoria, but..."

"I'm sorry, Barty."

"It was the risk we took. I understand, Alastor. I agreed with you when you told me your suspicions and your plan tonight. Since the Death Eaters were determined to attack, it is certain they had eyes on the house and on the floo network. It would have been extremely suspicious to move Victoria, and they may have switched to an undefended target. I can only thank Merlin and Morgana it is March."

"March?"

"If it were summer, my son would have been there too. What can you report of the casualties? And what is happening on the Thames?"

"The battle with the Inferi is won. Rufus is checking for stragglers. At Foulness, ten to twelve Death Eaters dead, two captured. At least two aurors dead, in addition to the people in the house. Alice will have the final numbers."

Barty nodded again. His hand shook as he suddenly handed Alastor the letter he had been writing. "Read it, please. It's for my son. I've been working on it ever since Mr. Potter left. I don't know what to say."

Alastor took the letter. He furrowed his brow. "You wrote this before I came in to tell you what happened?"

"I knew it would be a difficult letter to write. I prepared another in the event that Victoria had lived and was injured."

My son,

You have most likely already heard from your head of house that our home was attacked this night. It was attacked by Lord Voldemort himself because of my position in the Ministry and my opposition to the criminal who wishes to overthrow our government. I am very sorry to tell you that your mother perished in the attack. The house elf, the Ministry security team, and I did all we could to protect her, but as you know, she was not strong. When a curse breached our defenses, she was not able to withstand it. Winky also was killed. I myself am injured. My son, you must be strong, and you must be very careful. Because I live, you will become even more of a target than you already are. I am writing to Professor Flitwick to revoke your permission to visit Hogsmeade, for your safety. It is my wish that you do not even venture out of the building onto the school grounds except for class and to attend quidditch games. Go nowhere without at least two trusted friends. I will write to inform you of funeral arrangements in the next few days.

Your father

Merlin, what an awful letter, Alastor thought. "Are you planning on visiting your boy at Hogwarts?"

"Perhaps once things are more settled..." he said vaguely.

Alastor slapped the letter down on the desk. "Sir, this letter is terrible. It sounds like you're writing to me, not to your son. You can't tell a teenager his mother is dead like that!"

"What should I say, then?"

Alastor stared at the man, seeing him for the first time in a new light. He had only ever had a professional relationship with Bartemius Crouch, and they worked very well together. Whatever else he was, the man was extremely capable as a leader. The only inkling Alastor had ever had about his boss's less-than-perfect relationship with his son came from comments relayed from Sirius Black. And yet, Alastor didn't think Barty was as coldly unfeeling as he currently seemed. Perhaps he was just very, very bad at actually displaying and communicating emotion under stress.

"Tell him you love him," Alastor said eventually. "Tell him you share his grief. Tell him what you told me just now, that you are so, so thankful that he wasn't at home. Tell him... you're sorry that your decisions have put the both of you in this situation, and that you will try to be strong for him." Alastor felt an unexpected heat in his own eye, and he blinked furiously to clear it.

Barty didn't notice. He had buried his face in his hands. "Victoria was the one who raised him, Alastor," he whispered. "I was always working. Always. I don't know how to be his father without her there to be his mother..."

"But you do love him?" Alastor asked.

"Of course I do! He's my son. And he's a good one. Diligent in his studies, understanding of the pressures our family is under. He got twelve O.W.L.s you know..."

"You've told me before. A little word of advice, you're going to have to get to know him better now, know him the way Victoria knew him, not just his grades and achievements, or else you might lose him."

"What do you mean I'll lose him?" Barty asked, head snapping back up.

"You-Know-Who is going to be pissed when he realizes you're still alive. I can guarantee he'll try to take it out on Barty if he can."

"Obviously. That's why I was trying to tell him so in the letter."

"Which is all well and good, but You-Know-Who also has a thing for seducing his enemies' children away from them. Just look at the Malfoys."

"...you're right. Thank you, Alastor. Will you be meeting with Albus tonight?"

"Yes, after I check in with Alice about the final casualty report."

"I'll go with you to speak to Alice. Tell Albus I desire to visit Barty in the morning, after I am released from St. Mungo's." Alastor raised an eyebrow. Barty's voice was perfectly steady as he explained, "Mr. Potter stressed the importance of making sure it seemed I was in the house, both before and after the event. I did not press him for an explanation as to why, but I will comply with his wishes. It is the least I owe him. I leave it to you and Alice to inflict the damage you deem most appropriate."

Alastor shuddered but nodded. That was the fire, determination, and sheer grit he so admired in Barty. "Yes, sir." Barty redonned the invisibility cloak, and the two of them headed for the lower levels. As they walked, all Alastor could think about was how he was meant to tell Sirius that Fleamont had died in the attack. Sirius should absolutely not learn of it through a missing persons report in the Daily Prophet. No, he should give the portrait a specific message to relay. One thing was certain, he would not be telling Sirius that Fleamont had been inside the house when Sirius had destroyed it.

Chapter Text

Every single Death Eater was aware of the Dark Lord's wrath when it woke them up at six in the morning, barely an hour after most of them had returned home. Sirius struggled into his robes and stumbled down the stairs, the hidden Mark on his arm on fire. He apparated to Headquarters at roughly the same time as the rest of the Inner Circle, everyone moving warily towards the open meeting room doors. He carefully reinforced his Occlumency shields, concealing all incriminating thoughts of Crouch and Moody beneath as many tangential memories as he could before bringing thoughts of the past two days' "victories" and desire for a shower to the surface of his mind.

When he entered the meeting room, he saw there was already one body on the table, a witch in robes identifying her as an employee at St. Mungo's. Her eyes were wide with terror but frozen in death. Lord Nott was slumped in a chair halfway down the table and looked semi-conscious at best, but he was breathing.

"Black. Come here," Voldemort said sharply, red eyes fixed on his.

Everyone standing nearest him unsubtly edged away, a few successfully disguising the movement as merely choosing chairs to sit in. Sirius meekly walked around the table. "My Lord?"

Long, pale fingers grabbed the front of his robes and yanked him down to Voldemort's eye level. Voldemort gripped his head in both hands and dove into his mind, hunting for Sirius' memory of the battle. Sirius immediately offered up what he was looking for, not bothering to hide his fear in the face of the Dark Lord's unexplained (no matter how anticipated) assault. Voldemort watched the entire battle at Foulness from Sirius' perspective, multiple times. Sirius made no effort to resist the probe, only to conceal his manipulations of the Imperius curse on Rosier by skipping his focus past them to the resulting and objectively dramatic events. After forcibly reviewing the final blasting curse half a dozen times, Voldemort released Sirius' thoughts, as well as his hold on his head. Sirius collapsed to hands and knees, panting.

"You saw the moment of death. You saw it. There were four life signs, always four, and you snuffed them out..."

"My Lord?" Sirius gasped.

"Get up and sit down," Voldemort said irritably. Sirius dragged himself into the nearest chair, shakily. "Bartemius Crouch lives," he announced.

There was an uneasy exhale around the table.

"He survived blasting curse?" Dolohov asked, astonished. "There vas nothing left..."

Voldemort silenced him with a glare. "He lives when he should not. Sirius employed a Homenum Revelio during the battle. There were no survivors inside the house. And yet, Crouch lives!"

Ever the peacemaker, at least so far as his Lord and his wife were concerned, Rodolphus cautiously said, "My Lord, we always knew the possibility of the aurors anticipating our strategy..."

Voldemort shook his head and flung a careless though mercifully short Cruciatus at his closest lieutenant. "He was admitted into St. Mungo's under a false name with injuries that he should not have. There is a spy among us. That is the only reason for the aurors to bother with such a deception."

Sirius recognized dully that he had inadvertently doomed himself with his habit of watching for human presence during battles. Moody's ploy to fake Crouch's injuries might have worked if his own head didn't contain the contradictory evidence. He knew where this was going. He got to work frantically adding complexity to his already substantial Occlumency web. He could only hope it would be enough.

"Vell, ve already saw three spies," Dolohov said philosophically. "Imperiused, turned against us in battle, now dead."

Voldemort was not appreciative of the Russian's blasé attitude and turned the Cruciatus on him next. "That is poor comfort when we cannot rule out the existence of others, fool," Voldemort snarled.

"My Lord, it is safest to act as if there is still a spy," Bella said, for once in her life sounding entirely serious. Her lips twisted into a bitter sneer. "Most likely one too weak to resist the Imperius."

"I agree," Voldemort said. "But I will not exclude the possibility of a willing traitor in our midst. Everyone who knew our plans to target Crouch will be interrogated. Bella, Antonin, Sirius, since you three are currently the only members of my Inner Circle who can resist the Imperius, I must interrogate you first, and the four of us will comprise the core leadership of our movement until further notice. Sirius, since you're closest... Believe me when I tell you, it brings me no pleasure to do this to you. Crucio."

The hot white pain lasted long minutes, so long Sirius could feel his mind starting to fray again, feel the temptation to flee as completely as he had last fall. He had more practice controlling his mind now, both from regrettable familiarity with pain and from his recent exploration of the Inferi ritual. And, Voldemort wasn't Bella. He concentrated on one idea, a concept that had decidedly not been true when Bella in grief and more than usual insanity had turned her wand against him: This is happening for a reason, and it will stop.

It will stop. He held onto the knowledge as he screamed.

It will stop. He held onto the knowledge as every muscle spasmed and contorted.

It will stop. He held onto the knowledge as his shoulder dislocated from the force of the muscles contracting around it.

It will stop. He held onto the knowledge as every other conscious thought dissolved into a mist of uncomprehending agony.

It will stop.

It will stop.

Stop.

Stop.

Please, stop.

Please...

Just when his concentration wavered and broke, the curse ended. Sirius was barely lucid enough to recognize that he was now lying on the floor. He listlessly watched a dark form looming over him, moving closer, limbs reaching out towards his face. His head moved by a strength other than his own (Voldemort picked it up). An awareness other than his own perused his empty, shocked mind. Have you met with any aurors, Sirius? Or anyone in the Order of the Phoenix?

The question floated through his bruised consciousness. Sirius did not have the wherewithal to answer intentionally, but images of Alastor Moody drifted up, followed by images of the Potters, and Dumbledore. (It was the first steps of the path he had laid for the Dark Lord's Legilimency probe to naturally follow, although neither he nor the Dark Lord currently knew that).

Where? When?

The Potter home, decorated for Yule. The hazy feeling of pain and disorientation he felt now was nearly identical to what he had felt then from his refractory burn, residual Cruciatus damage, and Fleamont's potions. What little coherent thought Sirius currently had naturally settled to focus on his friends and Fleamont and Euphemia Potter. Those were the more pleasant memories.

Aurors. After that. Recently.

Aurors recently. What was recently? A bit more of his mind ground back into action and oriented to the present. Sirius had seen lots of aurors recently, mostly watching them through the eyes of Inferi. He had been too far away to differentiate aurors from Order members in the dark battle at Crouch Manor.

Who have you been with in the last month?

The Dark Lord, mostly. Hours and hours with the Dark Lord, practicing the Inferi ritual. Memories of the intoxicating sensation of blood magic washed over him, and his body shivered involuntarily.

Who else? the other mind questioned. Sirius finally recognized the presence as another mind, and quickly realized whose. "Crucio." His newfound awareness crumpled again, but the pain lasted only seconds this time. Because there was a reason for it. It had served its purpose.

Who else have you spoken with in the last month besides the Dark Lord? Visualize their faces.

Richard. Elaine and Winston Avery. Bella. Rodolphus. Narcissa. Uncle Cygnus. Evan Rosier had come by, as had Felix Mulciber, visiting Richard. Audrey, Ingmar, and Gloriana preparing for London. Antonin Dolohov, Lucretia Malfoy, and Theodosius Nott at a dinner party. People at meetings - their faces flicked by in a blur. The only unexpected vision over which the external awareness lingered was when Sirius shoplifted his cigarettes and Obliviated the muggle proprietor of the store who opposed him.

Who have you sent letters to?

No one. Sirius didn't write anyone letters, not even Regulus except the one time to let him know he was alive and well after disappearing for a month. It was too risky to keep writing to him.

Communication mirrors?

Sirius used to have a set of those, when he was at Hogwarts. He used to lend one to James for them to communicate during detentions. He'd left them at the Potters' house, both times he'd sneaked out to come to Voldemort.

Patronus?

Sirius saw the patronus charm leaving the Crouch manor, too far away and moving too quickly for him to tell what kind of animal it might have been.

Floo call?

He had no one to call. He didn't like most of his family. He was friendless except for Narcissa and Richard.

Drop points?

Sirius could only sink into pleasant confusion at that, with no memories readily rising to the surface at the suggestion, and too little conscious cognition to figure out what the hell a "drop point" was.

Where have you been?

Richard's house. Headquarters. A clearing in Yorkshire. Hammersmith Bridge. The cigarette shop. Tintagel castle. Bella's house. Uncle Cygnus' -

Tintagel castle. Why?

His mind floundered again. Tintagel castle. Ruined. Raining. Why Tintagel? Why Tintagel? Memories welled up of picnics with Uncle Alphard and Regulus. Uncle Alphard had invented a device he thought might be able to trace evidence of Merlin's activities in the area, which had long been debated by scholars. Sirius and Regulus had played hide-and-seek in the ruins. Sirius was six and then seven and then eight, and then he never saw the place again until recently. He liked Tintagel, the gentle merging of ruined walls with eroding cliffs, the scene overlaid with the sound of the sea. He had chain smoked half a dozen cigarettes there.

The Dark Lord held his mind awhile longer, slowly coaxing him back to true consciousness and sampling the memories that drifted by before finally releasing him and declaring him a "good and faithful servant." When it was over, Voldemort fixed his shoulder, and Rodolphus helped him get up and sit in a chair, head resting on his forearms on the table. He tuned out the sound of Voldemort torturing Bella next.

That was close. Very close. He was lucky the memory association web had held. Thank Merlin Voldemort hadn't thought to ask about communicating via portraits, or Sirius would be a dead man.

The morning continued in the same vein, as Voldemort tortured his way through his Inner Circle. Or rather what remained of it, with so many of them imprisoned or dead in the past year. Walden MacNair apparently died in the battle, the Death Eater who had been Imperiused to attack Bella, and of course, Sirius had killed Rosier and indirectly Uncle Cygnus. Other than Sirius, Bella, Rodolphus, and Dolohov, the only other Inner Circle members still alive and free were Augustus Rookwood, Sullivan and Megaera Travers, and Lord Nott, assuming the latter retained his mental faculties when he eventually regained consciousness. Voldemort had taken out the sharpest edge of his morning anger at the news of Crouch's survival on the unlucky messengers. Nott had been the St. Mungo's woman's contact person.

The interrogations uncovered no additional spies or Imperius curses, unsurprisingly. The Dark Lord was considerably calmer once he had reassured himself there were no spies on the Inner Circle (hah!), and ordered a break while he rehabilitated Rookwood sufficiently to send him back to work. It was really a shame Moody or someone had never bothered to put an Imperius on Rookwood, but he supposed the Order liked having a way to feed Voldemort misinformation. Sirius and Bella listlessly got rid of the dead body, moved Nott to a cot in his infirmary, and cleaned up the stinking puddle of urine soaking the man's vacated chair. Rodolphus earned himself an extra round of the Cruciatus when he suggested they might want to take Nott to St. Mungo's. Voldemort must have viewed it as criticism.

No one felt like eating the food the Lestranges' concerned house elf brought.

The interrogations resumed in the afternoon with Marked Death Eaters in the Outer Circle. Here, the Dark Lord uncovered two more men under the Imperius curse: William Rowle and Felix Mulciber. Rowle's mind was weak, according to Voldemort, and broke when the Dark Lord encountered the subtle signs of the Imperius curse and angrily lashed out. He could pursue the curse no further. Megaera Travers quietly killed the catatonic body after receiving an impatient nod of assent from Voldemort.

Sirius' heart climbed back into his mouth as he watched Voldemort furiously ripping through Mulciber's mind an hour later, after the young wizard had successfully begged for and been granted a break from the ongoing Obliviations in order to answer his master's call. The Dark Lord uncovered the Imperius command for Mulciber to send other Death Eaters after Bella and barely restrained himself from destroying Mulciber's consciousness then and there as he had Rowle's. Fortunately for Sirius, Mulciber had exchanged Imperius curses with so many other Death Eaters over the past few months it was impossible even for Voldemort to know who had cast the operative curse. He flayed Mulciber's mind afterall. Mulciber... Felix slumped senseless to the ground, and Voldemort literally shredded the body. He was probably so vicious because of the humiliation of having foiled himself so completely by giving his enemy's weapon free range to target the Death Eater ranks, Sirius concluded numbly as he wiped a spatter of blood off his cheek.

Dolohov cleaned the room this time.

Most of the Unmarked were assisting with the Obliviations, but Voldemort dispatched messengers to summon them regardless, determined to continue purging his army no matter how long it took. Lucretia Malfoy was exempt from the Obliviations this time because she had been caring for Narcissa. Neither woman was exempt from the Dark Lord's wrath and paranoia. Narcissa appeared tired and squinted even against the candlelight. Lucretia supported her a little as she walked. Voldemort was mindful enough of Narcissa's condition not to torture her, at least. As it happened, Legilimency proved dangerous enough, not because she was under an Imperius curse, but because Voldemort's ungentle invasion of her brain did something no one had expected: she arched away from him with a strangled cry, fell, and started to convulse.

"Cissy!" Bella cried, hastening to her side.

"Narcissa!"

Voldemort lowered his wand, and yet the convulsion continued. For the first time since Sirius had met the powerful wizard, he looked genuinely baffled.

"My Lord, what did you do?" Bella asked urgently, tears in her eyes.

"I did nothing. Only looked into her thoughts. Does she have a history of epilepsy?"

"Of course she doesn't!" Bella said hotly, forgetting who she was talking to.

Lucretia gasped and paled. "No, but Bellatrix, the pregnancy, the headaches... she is suffering the Curse of Maternal Cerebritis."

"Who cursed her? I'll kill them!" Bella said.

"The what?" Sirius asked anxiously. He'd never heard of it.

"Eclampsia," Voldemort said, seemingly to himself. "She must be delivered of the baby, or she will die. Get her to St. Mungo's, Lucretia. Bella, no one cursed her. It is a known complication of both magical and muggle pregnancy."

Bella met his eyes frantically, gaze switching from him to Narcissa and back. "My Lord, I will accompany my cousin to St. Mungo's," Sirius said quickly, even as Lucretia directed her wand to prepare Narcissa for transportation.

Voldemort lifted an eyebrow. "That is women's business, and we have work to do."

"I know, but..." he took a deep breath. "I would not trust Narcissa's safety to Lucretia Malfoy -"

Lucretia stared up at him in outrage. "How dare you? You lived in my house, and you accuse me of -"

"Because I would not trust her to welcome a granddaughter as heiress to the Malfoy estate," Sirius said over her.

Lucretia gaped at him, then at Narcissa's unconscious form. Her face purpled in rage. Unaccountably, Voldemort chuckled. When Lucretia turned a shaking wand towards Narcissa's gravid belly, her lips forming the words to a deadly curse, Voldemort was the one to stop her, throwing her casually back against the wall with a snap of his wrist. "I knew lovely Narcissa's little secret already, discovered it months ago in her mind," he said conversationally. "It amused me to pretend I didn't, to watch your little political antics. But no longer. Lucretia, magical blood is sacred regardless of name and sex. You shall not endanger the child in whose veins runs the blood of Black, Malfoy, Rosier, and many other illustrious families. Sirius, take your cousin to St. Mungo's. I will correct her mother-in-law's moral failings. If you find the chance to assassinate Mr. Crouch while you are there, seize it. And... Bella, since Sirius shall be making his first public appearance in months, be so good as to arrange an alibi that will preserve his and Narcissa's, and your father's, unblemished reputations."

"My Lord?"

"Young Sirius has been sheltering with his uncle, the same as Narcissa, I think. Tragically, the home was attacked. Cygnus Black heroically defended his loved ones against the invaders, allowing Sirius and Narcissa to escape to safety. A pity the Ministry's incompetent handling of the matter in London left so many families exposed..."

"Yes, my Lord."

Sirius hastily conjured a blanket to wrap around Narcissa and levitated her.

"Now, Lucretia, shall we discuss whether or not you were visiting your daughter-in-law when her sanctuary was attacked?"

He fled towards the door, Narcissa's fragile form floating at his side. He passed through the hushed Death Eaters awaiting their own interviews in the outer rooms. He shirked his mask and transfigured his robe to something casual and patterned with light blue, something he could believably have been wearing around the house. Then he embraced Narcissa and apparated her to the lobby of St. Mungo's.

"Help! My cousin's dying!"

"Is that..."

"Sirius Black?!"

"He's covered in blood!" Oh, yes. Sirius glanced down at his robes. Funny, how he had thought to change them from Death Eater black, but had forgotten to do anything about the gore staining them after Felix' murder. He was getting far too used to wearing blood.

A healer and the triage witch rushed him. "I'm fine," he said quickly. "It's not my blood. Help Narcissa. She's pregnant, and she had a seizure when they attacked..."

The healer obeyed him, casting a slew of diagnostic spells over Narcissa. "Maternal Cerebritis... we need to get her upstairs, quickly."

"Mr. Black," the triage witch interjected, grabbing his elbow before he could move away. "Were others with you, where you were? Do they need help?"

He shook his head. "They already killed my uncle..."

She nodded, eyes full of compassion. "I'll notify the aurors and send them to you."

The healers took Narcissa from him soon enough, off to a maternity ward to cut the baby out of her so they could stabilize mother and child. Before he could follow, another healer grabbed him and shoved him into an examination room. He recognized the man, actually, Healer Jorkins. He had been there the last time Sirius was hospitalized.

"I'm fine," Sirius told him automatically, as Jorkins began casting his own panel of diagnostic spells.

"The tremors, stress hormone levels, muscle breakdown, tears in the shoulder ligaments, and huge amount of Dark magic in your arm says you're not," the healer told him bluntly.

"I... Okay, so I was hit, but it's not bad this time."

"I'll be the judge of that. This looks like... did they get you with the Cruciatus again?"

Sirius winced and nodded, thinking fast to figure out what story was going to be plausible with whatever Bella might be doing at Uncle Cygnus' house. He probably shouldn't name any specific curses, just non-committedly affirm whatever the healers guessed. "They didn't hold it as long this time, though. Uncle Cygnus got them off me..."

The door burst open again, and Sirius almost had a panic attack when he saw it was an auror he didn't know come to question and examine him. He was certain they were going to realize he was a Death Eater, whether through inconsistencies in his story or by recognizing the hidden Dark Mark or the meaning of the rune scarred into his palm. Fortunately, both Jorkins and the auror interpreted his reaction as a natural response to suffering through more Cruciatus torture. The auror stayed just long enough to help Jorkins determine his arm wasn't going to fall off any time soon, ask where the purported attack had happened, and listen to Sirius' stammered request to talk to Alastor Moody, who he knew and trusted.

Luckily, Jorkins didn't pressure him to be admitted to the hospital, at least after Sirius affected a paranoid belief that the Death Eaters would be sure to track him down here, and he therefore couldn't stay for long. Jorkins gave him a calming draught and a few other potions for post-Cruciatus care, and a change of robes, and led him to Lucius Malfoy's conveniently private and guarded room to rest in a chair.

Lucius greeted him politely but didn't recognize him. He was interested when Sirius clarified he was Narcissa's cousin, but he didn't understand when Sirius told him Narcissa was delivering the baby upstairs. He kept saying Narcissa wasn't a delivery woman, no matter how Sirius tried to rephrase himself. Eventually, Lucius got distracted crawling around counting the floor tiles. Sirius decided he couldn't be bothered correcting the bizarre behavior, and curled up on the chair to take a nap.