In deadly hate, the one against the other (2/3) ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
blanketforts Day
Jan. 9th, 2006 02:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rosie_ruesTitle: In deadly hate, the one against the other (2/3)
Rating: PG for language
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them because I like them.
Wordcount: 2781
Prompt: Avenue of trees in a cold mist.
Notes: Continued directly from day 6. This one grew. Title from Richard III.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7
By the time the night greyed into pale dawn Sirius hurt with the cold. Below him, Remus had fallen silent, plowing doggedly along the snowy beach. The mists gathered across the flat fields, rising off the sea in glittering banks. The sun, rising over the dark water, was red and heavy, its light bleeding through the clouds.
Sirius scanned the ground, looking for trouble and hoping for the signal summoning them back to the farm. He wanted to go home. The emptiness of the air and the unending sweep of the flat fields were leaching into him. He felt laid bare before the angry dawn. He didn’t want to look on his soul in this cold light. It was too much of a red and angry thing, too malformed for the clarity of day.
He preferred to live behind the mask. The mask could pretend to be a hero. The mask could pretend to be gallant and rebellious and outrageous. The mask didn’t fight those instincts that demanded he judge by blood and birth. When the mask laughed and smiled with Muggleborns, it was truth, not rigorously enforced decision. The mask didn’t sometimes find it easier to talk to Andromeda or Felix Peverell rather than Lily or Ted, just because they understood. The mask wasn’t a Black.
Remus had told him once that Black was one of the hundred most common Muggle surnames. He’d laughed at the time but he wondered at it now. Could he claim to be a Muggleborn, unfortunately named? Would anyone believe him?
He doubted it. He knew his manners were too Pureblood. He could feel himself doing it, when the whispers and raised eyebrows were too much. He was Black to the bone, Black-hearted, full of Black-intent, Black-tempered-
“Are you brooding?” Remus’s voice was light but he could hear the concern, even through the distortion of the communication spell.
He grunted.
“Sirius?”
“No.” All anyone really needed to do was look at what he’d done to Remus. Then they’d know it was all a sham.
“I shall be forced to desperate measures.”
“I’m fine.”
“What’s white and goes up?”
“What?”
“A confused snowflake. How did the snowman get to work?”
“Remus.”
“On his icicle.”
Sirius winced.
“Who hides in the kitchen at Christmas?”
“No more.”
“A mince spy. I can keep going for hours. My dad collects the jokes out the crackers.”
It really wasn’t fair. Everyone went on at him to think more and now, when he was thinking, Remus wouldn’t let him.
“Why are Christmas trees like bad knitters?”
Sirius rolled his eyes. Fine. “I don’t know. Why?”
“They both drop their needles.”
Sirius groaned. “Whole fucking flat’s full of them. Bloody Christmas. Chucked all the decorations away today. Bloody flat.”
Remus sighed. “What did the big candle say to the little candle?”
“I have no fucking idea.”
“I’m going out tonight.”
Sirius winced. “Look, mate, I swear to you that I’m not brooding. Promise.”
“Talk to me, then.”
Sirius considered. “You staying at mine tonight?”
“Sirius,” Remus huffed.
“Be sensible. We’re both going to be knackered by the time we get back to London. Not worth apparating home just to come back tomorrow morning.”
“Dad needs my help.”
“You can only do one job at a time, mate.”
“I know,” Remus said miserably.
Sirius sighed and they continued in silence. Above him the clouds were beginning to layer over the sea. Oh, Merlin, let someone find the kid before it started snowing again.
In front of them, a long avenue of trees led up from the shore. There was a boathouse there and a landing stage, both obviously long abandoned. At the end of the avenue he could see the ruins of a house, walls blackened by fire.
“Moony.”
He saw Remus look up, batting his hair out his eyes with gloved hands. Sirius pointed and Remus turned his head to look that way.
“Worth a look?” Sirius asked.
“I think so. Carefully, though. There could be anyone hidden in there.”
The avenue was overgrown and the bare branches criss-crossed overhead. Up here, Sirius couldn’t see through them. The mist had gathered around the trees and lingered in the dark furrows of the fields.
“Talk to me,” Sirius said grimly. “I can’t see you. If you stop talking I’m coming down.”
Remus’ head bobbed and he held his wand out, squinting down the avenue. “What shall we talk about?”
“Something cheerful,” Sirius suggested, without much hope. “Quidditch.”
“Quidditch talk means you talk and I nod occasionally. Not what you had in mind, I believe.”
“Quidditch is the game of kings, mate.”
“Shame we’re a pair of old queens, then.”
Sirius cackled which made him feel better. “I can just see you in a pink feather boa, mate.”
“I’m going to get Lily to give you the tolerance talk.”
Sirius cackled again. “Did I tell you what James thought about Peter?”
“Three times.”
“What do you reckon?”
“Honestly? I just think he’s got some really shit job. He’s probably cleaning pub floors and doesn’t want to tell us.”
“I like the strip club more.”
“You would.”
“Any sign of anything?”
“No. Anything up there?”
“Not a soul in sight. Fuckers.” Seven people were dead. He probably knew the people who’d held the wands. They’d probably sat at his table.
“Bastards,” Remus replied and then cleared his throat. “Um. What chance the Magpies, then?”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about Quidditch?”
“Can’t think of anything else.”
That wasn’t right. Surely he and Remus talked about things. Course, James and Peter were usually around. “Why won’t you move in with me?”
“Sirius, I don’t want to have this conversation again.”
“We’ve never actually had this conversation,” Sirius said, sticking one gloved hand into his armpit for warmth. “You always stop it before it starts.”
“That’s because there’s nothing to talk about. I have somewhere to live.”
“Living with me would be better.”
“I don’t need to live with you.”
“Why not?” He regretted the question as soon as he thought about it.
“Sirius. Look, I live with my dad. He needs my help.”
“You can’t be doing much,” Sirius said stubbornly. “You leave before its light and you don’t get home until after dark, and, unless you’ve got a bloody Time Turner, you must be sleeping all weekend because I know I am. How much do you actually do in the B and B?”
“Not enough,” Remus said. “And I’m not proud of that.”
“Then stop trying,” Sirius said, frustrated. “Move in with me and send home the money you don’t spend on travel because you’ll be able to walk to work.”
“I won’t save anything,” Remus said shortly. “I don’t have to pay rent at home.”
“You don’t have to – never mind. Why do you still support the Magpies? They’re crap.”
Remus paused for a moment, and Sirius tensed on his broom, preparing to dive. Then Remus said, “Their Keeper has a nice arse.”
Sirius thought about it. “Fair point.” The avenue was coming to an end below them and a wide drive opened out before the ruins. The snow was criss-crossed with the tips of grass. The whole place was a wreck.
Good hiding place, though.
“Can you see anything up there?”
He stared around. The light was still thin and grey but it was obvious they were the only people for miles. Unless someone was hiding in the ruin. “Not a soul in sight.”
“Get down here, then. I’m going inside.”
Sirius floated down, dismounting beside Remus, who had shoved his hands in his pockets and was studying the ground.
“Hello,” Sirius said.
Remus blinked at him soberly and then flashed him a quick smile. “Hello. No footprints.”
Sirius shrugged. “He’d be flying.”
“Let’s go, then.”
They squeezed through the empty doorframe. The inside of the ruin was mostly open to the sky and the low walls were softened by a covering of snow. Towards the back of the house the first floor was still intact, through the floor had crumbled in the corner, knocking open the lower walls.
“Could be bears in there,” Sirius muttered into Remus’ ear. He could see his breath fluttering around the side of Remus’ cheek, like the mist around the trees.
“No bears in England, Padfoot,” Remus murmured. “But look.”
He pointed and Sirius saw a twig caught in the stones above the opening. The wood was pale and no snow had gathered on it. “Willow,” he breathed. “Yarwood flies a Swiftstick V, right? Willow and elder, them.”
Remus turned his head, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “I don’t have quite your expertise.”
“Why we’re a good team, mate. Shall we go in?”
“No. He might not be the only one with that broom. Cover my back.” He slipped away before Sirius could protest, moving through the shadows until he stood just outside the gap. Then he called softly, “Steven?”
Sirius held his breath. There was a no sound, just the heavy silence of snow.
Remus drew a breath and spoke again, using what Sirius thought of as his prefect voice. “Steven, it’s Remus Lupin. From Gryffindor. We’re here to help.”
Still no reply and Remus sent an worried look at Sirius. Sirius shrugged and padded closer, holding his wand tightly in one hand and his broom loosely in the other. Remus held his hand up suddenly, lips tightening, and Sirius stopped dead. He heard the rattle of loose stones, suddenly curtailed, as if someone was shuffling deeper into cover.
“That’s Sirius Black,” Remus said, still soothingly. “He’s here with me. I’m sure you remember him.”
“I remember him, the little bugger,” Sirius said cheerfully. “After that trick he pulled off in the last match.”
Remus rolled his eyes. “Was that the one where you oh-so-accidently chased a Bludger into the Slytherin stand?”
“Time honoured tradition, mate. Ravenclaw are up against Slytherin next, right, Yarwood? Maim a few snakes for my sake, yeah?”
There was another shuffle but whoever was in there stayed silent. Sirius really hoped it wasn’t a Death Eater, luring them into false complacency. He padded forward to join Remus, glancing around, watching for any warning flicker of movement. What if the kid was hurt?
“Steven,” Remus said. “I’m coming in.”
Sirius tensed but shoved his shoulder against the wall and kept watching. Fucking silence. It wasn’t like Hogwarts snow. There he could have filled the emptiness of the morning with noise; dragged everyone and their brother into a mock war of snowballs and breathless battle. This was a real war, though, and he had to listen.
Remus stepped into the doorway and a shrill, young voice said, “Stop! I’ll kill you. I will. I know the Killing Curse. I do.”
“I’ve stopped,” Remus said calmly as Sirius fought the urge to shove him somewhere safer. “We’ve come to help you, Steven. We’re Aurors.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re them. You were chasing me.”
Fuck.
“No, we’re not, Steven. We’re from the Ministry. Can you tell me about the people who chased you?”
Every shadow suddenly seemed dangerous. Too much mist, slithering around the far side of the ruin. Why couldn’t the sun burn it away?
“Why should I? You’re one of them.”
“I promise we’re not. By Godric’s sword. Your dad managed to get word to the Ministry.”
“My dad’s dead.” The boy’s voice soared defiantly.
“Yes,” Remus said gently. “But we got his warning.”
“You’re not fucking Aurors, then. The Aurors would have come on time.”
A shadow flickered to his right and Sirius whirled, wand stabbing out.
It was a crow, rising from the black spars of the trees, cawing contempuously.
“I’m sorry,” Remus says and he sounds like he means it which Sirius never can, even when he does. The sneer is written into his blood.
More crows, spilling out from the same tree. He glared that way. What had startled them?
“I’m going to make a light, Steven, so you can see I’m who I say I am.”
“I know about polyjuice.”
“Why would anyone polyjuice into me?” Remus said cheerfully. “Wouldn’t be much use.”
I’d polyjuice into you, Sirius thought fiercely and then realised it was the stupidest declaration he’d ever thought. There were shadows in the mist to his right, the other side of the house from the crows. Had they been there all along?
“Illumino,” Remus said and his wand sparkled with a circle of white light, glowing in the grey morning.
Green light flashed to his left and Sirius howled and leapt forward, knocking Remus down.
The spell hit the bricks above them and they blanched white and crumbled like salt. Sirius rolled them inside, swearing. Remus was hot beneath him and for a moment his hands tangled in Sirius’ coat but then he was shoving free, flattening himself against the side of the gap. Sirius took the other side, peering warily into the fog, his breath still coming fast. Behind him, in the shadows, he could see a pale blur of freckled face and striped pajamas. Steven Yarwood.
“It’s them,” he said, choking. “It’s them.”
“Too fucking right,” Sirius muttered. Where were the bastards?
“Language,” Remus said.
Sirius squinted at him incredulously.
“We need help,” Remus said and frowned. Then, very softly, he murmured, “Expecto patronum.”
The Patronus formed slowly, as if out of the mist itself, the dog, the stag, the rat, linked by flowing ribbons. The dog pressed low against the ground and the stag dipped his antlers for the rat to climb up. Then they shimmered into the mist, almost invisible.
Sirius, who still felt a hot burst of pride every time he saw Remus’ Patronus, grinned savagely and then muttered, “Expecto patronum.”
The lion reared out of the mist, shaking its mane out, and began to pace across the doorway, baring its teeth at the line of trees in a silent snarl.
“Good thinking,” Remus murmured.
“Don’t let the shock kill you.”
“You are, then,” Yarwood said shrilly. “You are.” He was shaking, long shivers which sent crumbling plaster skittering down the walls. “You can’t fake a patronus.”
When had Yarwood seen their Patronuses? After a moment, it came back to him. “Oh, yeah. The pogrebin in the changing rooms. Little git in Hufflepuff brought it back as a souvenir.”
Yarwood made a little choking sound and then burst into tears. Remus murmured, “Stay here,” and padded over to him. Sirius heard him say something gentle and hunched his shoulders. He was no good at comforting the young.
His Patronus was still pacing. He couldn’t see anything through the mist and couldn’t hear over the boy’s harsh sobs. Would it be heartless to tell him to keep it down?
The lion stilled and then turned, crouching down, as if to spring. Sirius said, “Hush!”
A shadowy figure emerged around the corner of the building. His robes hung straight and limp in the still air, and he was hooded and masked, his whole body a shapeless mass of dark fabric. He stepped forward softly, his head turned towards the Patronus.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Sirius called from the shelter of the shadows, wishing his voice sounded ten years older. “I can see you and you can’t see me.”
The figure stiffened at the sound of his voice, swinging to face him. His robes swirled around him and Sirius saw the heels of his boots. Black leather, tooled and edged with silver. Expensive boots.
The Death Eater didn’t speak but after a moment he backed into the mist.
Sirius’ wand hand was shaking and he dug his other hand into the gaps between the bricks, desperate for steadiness. He could hear the rough pant of his own breathing.
“Sirius?”
“He’s gone,” Sirius said shortly, watching his Patronus shake out its mane and yawn lazily. “He’s gone.”
He recognised those boots. He’d had a pair just like them once.
Shadows swept across the ground and he tensed. Then he heard the soft pop of apparation from the mist and looked up.
Aurors were circling above, wands pointed towards the fog.
Moody was stumping towards them all too soon. Remus, who had handed Yarwood over to the healers, came and stood at his shoulder.
“Are you alright?” he said softly.
Sirius bared his teeth in a smile. “Yeah. Great, mate. We won, right.”
“Black. Lupin. See any of them?”
“One,” Sirius said.
“Recognise him?”
Sirius shrugged and shook his head. “All togged up in a mask.”
Moody swore and stumped away again, snapping, “Report to Tonks.”
Remus was looking at him thoughtfully. He looked away, slumping against the cold brick and closing his eyes to black out the red sun.
Rating: PG for language
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them because I like them.
Wordcount: 2781
Prompt: Avenue of trees in a cold mist.
Notes: Continued directly from day 6. This one grew. Title from Richard III.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7
By the time the night greyed into pale dawn Sirius hurt with the cold. Below him, Remus had fallen silent, plowing doggedly along the snowy beach. The mists gathered across the flat fields, rising off the sea in glittering banks. The sun, rising over the dark water, was red and heavy, its light bleeding through the clouds.
Sirius scanned the ground, looking for trouble and hoping for the signal summoning them back to the farm. He wanted to go home. The emptiness of the air and the unending sweep of the flat fields were leaching into him. He felt laid bare before the angry dawn. He didn’t want to look on his soul in this cold light. It was too much of a red and angry thing, too malformed for the clarity of day.
He preferred to live behind the mask. The mask could pretend to be a hero. The mask could pretend to be gallant and rebellious and outrageous. The mask didn’t fight those instincts that demanded he judge by blood and birth. When the mask laughed and smiled with Muggleborns, it was truth, not rigorously enforced decision. The mask didn’t sometimes find it easier to talk to Andromeda or Felix Peverell rather than Lily or Ted, just because they understood. The mask wasn’t a Black.
Remus had told him once that Black was one of the hundred most common Muggle surnames. He’d laughed at the time but he wondered at it now. Could he claim to be a Muggleborn, unfortunately named? Would anyone believe him?
He doubted it. He knew his manners were too Pureblood. He could feel himself doing it, when the whispers and raised eyebrows were too much. He was Black to the bone, Black-hearted, full of Black-intent, Black-tempered-
“Are you brooding?” Remus’s voice was light but he could hear the concern, even through the distortion of the communication spell.
He grunted.
“Sirius?”
“No.” All anyone really needed to do was look at what he’d done to Remus. Then they’d know it was all a sham.
“I shall be forced to desperate measures.”
“I’m fine.”
“What’s white and goes up?”
“What?”
“A confused snowflake. How did the snowman get to work?”
“Remus.”
“On his icicle.”
Sirius winced.
“Who hides in the kitchen at Christmas?”
“No more.”
“A mince spy. I can keep going for hours. My dad collects the jokes out the crackers.”
It really wasn’t fair. Everyone went on at him to think more and now, when he was thinking, Remus wouldn’t let him.
“Why are Christmas trees like bad knitters?”
Sirius rolled his eyes. Fine. “I don’t know. Why?”
“They both drop their needles.”
Sirius groaned. “Whole fucking flat’s full of them. Bloody Christmas. Chucked all the decorations away today. Bloody flat.”
Remus sighed. “What did the big candle say to the little candle?”
“I have no fucking idea.”
“I’m going out tonight.”
Sirius winced. “Look, mate, I swear to you that I’m not brooding. Promise.”
“Talk to me, then.”
Sirius considered. “You staying at mine tonight?”
“Sirius,” Remus huffed.
“Be sensible. We’re both going to be knackered by the time we get back to London. Not worth apparating home just to come back tomorrow morning.”
“Dad needs my help.”
“You can only do one job at a time, mate.”
“I know,” Remus said miserably.
Sirius sighed and they continued in silence. Above him the clouds were beginning to layer over the sea. Oh, Merlin, let someone find the kid before it started snowing again.
In front of them, a long avenue of trees led up from the shore. There was a boathouse there and a landing stage, both obviously long abandoned. At the end of the avenue he could see the ruins of a house, walls blackened by fire.
“Moony.”
He saw Remus look up, batting his hair out his eyes with gloved hands. Sirius pointed and Remus turned his head to look that way.
“Worth a look?” Sirius asked.
“I think so. Carefully, though. There could be anyone hidden in there.”
The avenue was overgrown and the bare branches criss-crossed overhead. Up here, Sirius couldn’t see through them. The mist had gathered around the trees and lingered in the dark furrows of the fields.
“Talk to me,” Sirius said grimly. “I can’t see you. If you stop talking I’m coming down.”
Remus’ head bobbed and he held his wand out, squinting down the avenue. “What shall we talk about?”
“Something cheerful,” Sirius suggested, without much hope. “Quidditch.”
“Quidditch talk means you talk and I nod occasionally. Not what you had in mind, I believe.”
“Quidditch is the game of kings, mate.”
“Shame we’re a pair of old queens, then.”
Sirius cackled which made him feel better. “I can just see you in a pink feather boa, mate.”
“I’m going to get Lily to give you the tolerance talk.”
Sirius cackled again. “Did I tell you what James thought about Peter?”
“Three times.”
“What do you reckon?”
“Honestly? I just think he’s got some really shit job. He’s probably cleaning pub floors and doesn’t want to tell us.”
“I like the strip club more.”
“You would.”
“Any sign of anything?”
“No. Anything up there?”
“Not a soul in sight. Fuckers.” Seven people were dead. He probably knew the people who’d held the wands. They’d probably sat at his table.
“Bastards,” Remus replied and then cleared his throat. “Um. What chance the Magpies, then?”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about Quidditch?”
“Can’t think of anything else.”
That wasn’t right. Surely he and Remus talked about things. Course, James and Peter were usually around. “Why won’t you move in with me?”
“Sirius, I don’t want to have this conversation again.”
“We’ve never actually had this conversation,” Sirius said, sticking one gloved hand into his armpit for warmth. “You always stop it before it starts.”
“That’s because there’s nothing to talk about. I have somewhere to live.”
“Living with me would be better.”
“I don’t need to live with you.”
“Why not?” He regretted the question as soon as he thought about it.
“Sirius. Look, I live with my dad. He needs my help.”
“You can’t be doing much,” Sirius said stubbornly. “You leave before its light and you don’t get home until after dark, and, unless you’ve got a bloody Time Turner, you must be sleeping all weekend because I know I am. How much do you actually do in the B and B?”
“Not enough,” Remus said. “And I’m not proud of that.”
“Then stop trying,” Sirius said, frustrated. “Move in with me and send home the money you don’t spend on travel because you’ll be able to walk to work.”
“I won’t save anything,” Remus said shortly. “I don’t have to pay rent at home.”
“You don’t have to – never mind. Why do you still support the Magpies? They’re crap.”
Remus paused for a moment, and Sirius tensed on his broom, preparing to dive. Then Remus said, “Their Keeper has a nice arse.”
Sirius thought about it. “Fair point.” The avenue was coming to an end below them and a wide drive opened out before the ruins. The snow was criss-crossed with the tips of grass. The whole place was a wreck.
Good hiding place, though.
“Can you see anything up there?”
He stared around. The light was still thin and grey but it was obvious they were the only people for miles. Unless someone was hiding in the ruin. “Not a soul in sight.”
“Get down here, then. I’m going inside.”
Sirius floated down, dismounting beside Remus, who had shoved his hands in his pockets and was studying the ground.
“Hello,” Sirius said.
Remus blinked at him soberly and then flashed him a quick smile. “Hello. No footprints.”
Sirius shrugged. “He’d be flying.”
“Let’s go, then.”
They squeezed through the empty doorframe. The inside of the ruin was mostly open to the sky and the low walls were softened by a covering of snow. Towards the back of the house the first floor was still intact, through the floor had crumbled in the corner, knocking open the lower walls.
“Could be bears in there,” Sirius muttered into Remus’ ear. He could see his breath fluttering around the side of Remus’ cheek, like the mist around the trees.
“No bears in England, Padfoot,” Remus murmured. “But look.”
He pointed and Sirius saw a twig caught in the stones above the opening. The wood was pale and no snow had gathered on it. “Willow,” he breathed. “Yarwood flies a Swiftstick V, right? Willow and elder, them.”
Remus turned his head, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “I don’t have quite your expertise.”
“Why we’re a good team, mate. Shall we go in?”
“No. He might not be the only one with that broom. Cover my back.” He slipped away before Sirius could protest, moving through the shadows until he stood just outside the gap. Then he called softly, “Steven?”
Sirius held his breath. There was a no sound, just the heavy silence of snow.
Remus drew a breath and spoke again, using what Sirius thought of as his prefect voice. “Steven, it’s Remus Lupin. From Gryffindor. We’re here to help.”
Still no reply and Remus sent an worried look at Sirius. Sirius shrugged and padded closer, holding his wand tightly in one hand and his broom loosely in the other. Remus held his hand up suddenly, lips tightening, and Sirius stopped dead. He heard the rattle of loose stones, suddenly curtailed, as if someone was shuffling deeper into cover.
“That’s Sirius Black,” Remus said, still soothingly. “He’s here with me. I’m sure you remember him.”
“I remember him, the little bugger,” Sirius said cheerfully. “After that trick he pulled off in the last match.”
Remus rolled his eyes. “Was that the one where you oh-so-accidently chased a Bludger into the Slytherin stand?”
“Time honoured tradition, mate. Ravenclaw are up against Slytherin next, right, Yarwood? Maim a few snakes for my sake, yeah?”
There was another shuffle but whoever was in there stayed silent. Sirius really hoped it wasn’t a Death Eater, luring them into false complacency. He padded forward to join Remus, glancing around, watching for any warning flicker of movement. What if the kid was hurt?
“Steven,” Remus said. “I’m coming in.”
Sirius tensed but shoved his shoulder against the wall and kept watching. Fucking silence. It wasn’t like Hogwarts snow. There he could have filled the emptiness of the morning with noise; dragged everyone and their brother into a mock war of snowballs and breathless battle. This was a real war, though, and he had to listen.
Remus stepped into the doorway and a shrill, young voice said, “Stop! I’ll kill you. I will. I know the Killing Curse. I do.”
“I’ve stopped,” Remus said calmly as Sirius fought the urge to shove him somewhere safer. “We’ve come to help you, Steven. We’re Aurors.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re them. You were chasing me.”
Fuck.
“No, we’re not, Steven. We’re from the Ministry. Can you tell me about the people who chased you?”
Every shadow suddenly seemed dangerous. Too much mist, slithering around the far side of the ruin. Why couldn’t the sun burn it away?
“Why should I? You’re one of them.”
“I promise we’re not. By Godric’s sword. Your dad managed to get word to the Ministry.”
“My dad’s dead.” The boy’s voice soared defiantly.
“Yes,” Remus said gently. “But we got his warning.”
“You’re not fucking Aurors, then. The Aurors would have come on time.”
A shadow flickered to his right and Sirius whirled, wand stabbing out.
It was a crow, rising from the black spars of the trees, cawing contempuously.
“I’m sorry,” Remus says and he sounds like he means it which Sirius never can, even when he does. The sneer is written into his blood.
More crows, spilling out from the same tree. He glared that way. What had startled them?
“I’m going to make a light, Steven, so you can see I’m who I say I am.”
“I know about polyjuice.”
“Why would anyone polyjuice into me?” Remus said cheerfully. “Wouldn’t be much use.”
I’d polyjuice into you, Sirius thought fiercely and then realised it was the stupidest declaration he’d ever thought. There were shadows in the mist to his right, the other side of the house from the crows. Had they been there all along?
“Illumino,” Remus said and his wand sparkled with a circle of white light, glowing in the grey morning.
Green light flashed to his left and Sirius howled and leapt forward, knocking Remus down.
The spell hit the bricks above them and they blanched white and crumbled like salt. Sirius rolled them inside, swearing. Remus was hot beneath him and for a moment his hands tangled in Sirius’ coat but then he was shoving free, flattening himself against the side of the gap. Sirius took the other side, peering warily into the fog, his breath still coming fast. Behind him, in the shadows, he could see a pale blur of freckled face and striped pajamas. Steven Yarwood.
“It’s them,” he said, choking. “It’s them.”
“Too fucking right,” Sirius muttered. Where were the bastards?
“Language,” Remus said.
Sirius squinted at him incredulously.
“We need help,” Remus said and frowned. Then, very softly, he murmured, “Expecto patronum.”
The Patronus formed slowly, as if out of the mist itself, the dog, the stag, the rat, linked by flowing ribbons. The dog pressed low against the ground and the stag dipped his antlers for the rat to climb up. Then they shimmered into the mist, almost invisible.
Sirius, who still felt a hot burst of pride every time he saw Remus’ Patronus, grinned savagely and then muttered, “Expecto patronum.”
The lion reared out of the mist, shaking its mane out, and began to pace across the doorway, baring its teeth at the line of trees in a silent snarl.
“Good thinking,” Remus murmured.
“Don’t let the shock kill you.”
“You are, then,” Yarwood said shrilly. “You are.” He was shaking, long shivers which sent crumbling plaster skittering down the walls. “You can’t fake a patronus.”
When had Yarwood seen their Patronuses? After a moment, it came back to him. “Oh, yeah. The pogrebin in the changing rooms. Little git in Hufflepuff brought it back as a souvenir.”
Yarwood made a little choking sound and then burst into tears. Remus murmured, “Stay here,” and padded over to him. Sirius heard him say something gentle and hunched his shoulders. He was no good at comforting the young.
His Patronus was still pacing. He couldn’t see anything through the mist and couldn’t hear over the boy’s harsh sobs. Would it be heartless to tell him to keep it down?
The lion stilled and then turned, crouching down, as if to spring. Sirius said, “Hush!”
A shadowy figure emerged around the corner of the building. His robes hung straight and limp in the still air, and he was hooded and masked, his whole body a shapeless mass of dark fabric. He stepped forward softly, his head turned towards the Patronus.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Sirius called from the shelter of the shadows, wishing his voice sounded ten years older. “I can see you and you can’t see me.”
The figure stiffened at the sound of his voice, swinging to face him. His robes swirled around him and Sirius saw the heels of his boots. Black leather, tooled and edged with silver. Expensive boots.
The Death Eater didn’t speak but after a moment he backed into the mist.
Sirius’ wand hand was shaking and he dug his other hand into the gaps between the bricks, desperate for steadiness. He could hear the rough pant of his own breathing.
“Sirius?”
“He’s gone,” Sirius said shortly, watching his Patronus shake out its mane and yawn lazily. “He’s gone.”
He recognised those boots. He’d had a pair just like them once.
Shadows swept across the ground and he tensed. Then he heard the soft pop of apparation from the mist and looked up.
Aurors were circling above, wands pointed towards the fog.
Moody was stumping towards them all too soon. Remus, who had handed Yarwood over to the healers, came and stood at his shoulder.
“Are you alright?” he said softly.
Sirius bared his teeth in a smile. “Yeah. Great, mate. We won, right.”
“Black. Lupin. See any of them?”
“One,” Sirius said.
“Recognise him?”
Sirius shrugged and shook his head. “All togged up in a mask.”
Moody swore and stumped away again, snapping, “Report to Tonks.”
Remus was looking at him thoughtfully. He looked away, slumping against the cold brick and closing his eyes to black out the red sun.
