AN: I make no money from this and I don't want to. I do this for fun.
This is a reupload. I purged my account in October 2018 when the profile hack happened. Originally posted in June 2017.
Ascended Vices
Book Two of Dark Triad Trilogy
PROLOGUE: Perspectives
Part 1: Sirius
Sirius threw open the door of the shadowed hall. The others were already seated at the long table. All heads turned to him when he entered, offering no apology for his lateness. His Knights have learned not to question him. As he walked past the seated attendees, he nodded at the muted murmurs of 'Knight-Marshal'. He hardly expected them to fall to their knees, but at these gatherings he insisted on ceremony.
He made for his high-backed chair at the head of the table, the only piece of furniture in the room that stood out as more than strictly functional. He sat down with his back to the unlit fireplace, on a cushion half a step higher than his Knights – all of it a subtle statement that required no words. The Silver Knights were equals, but he was first among them.
"Evening," he began, leaning forward with his elbows on the polished, empty table. "Percy, what says the Wizengamot?"
The wizard on Sirius' immediate right sat perfectly straight. He had taken to Knighthood more readily than anyone else. "Scrimgeour is furious with you, Knight-Marshal."
"Yes, well, when is he not?"
"He's attempting to convince the warlocks that because our involvement had come at the request of a signatory to the Statute of Secrecy, we acted as representatives of Britain, thus the Ministry, which nulls the Writ. He wants you in Azkaban."
Sirius' eyes narrowed. "He said that? He actually invoked Azkaban?"
"Nothing so careless, no," Percy said. "He knows where he's vulnerable. But he's building a bloc in the Wizengamot."
"I don't suppose he listened to your arguments?" Sirius asked, injecting a hopeful note.
"No, sir. And he claims the involvement of goblins is another point to strengthen his case. Supposedly we undermined the authority of Dirk Cresswell and the Goblin Liaison Office."
"Not that Cresswell has much of a position left to undermine," a comment came from the middle of the table, eliciting several chuckles.
Sirius held back most of the hungry grin curving his lips. "Everything according to plan, then. Keep Scrimgeour angry for a few more days, until we can embarrass the Goblin Liaison Office enough to replace Cresswell with someone suitably incompetent. The Ministry will have no choice but trust the Silver Order to talk to Rakeharlaw instead."
The imposed condition of keeping his fingers out of the Ministry pie had turned out to be a bigger hindrance than Sirius was willing to tolerate. The only way was to force the Ministry to come to him. Fortunately, the agreement didn't bar him from having others meddle on his behalf. If the government wouldn't endorse the Silver Order, he would replace it with one that would.
"How is Rufus holding up in the Wizengamot?" Sirius asked. "Is he frustrated enough to resign?"
"Only if he can be Minister instead," Percy said. "He's made no secret of his ambitions. It won him no friends among the warlocks, and several prominent opponents. Scrimgeour is not a forger of alliances."
"Well, he'll have to wait his turn," Sirius said, drumming his fingers on the table. "Barty Crouch is long overdue for that honour. Speaking of people we own..." Another round of laughter rang out, this one less subdued. "Is Fudge quite comfortable?"
Percy Weasley, youngest Senior Undersecretary and Sirius' foremost agent in the Ministry, had a malicious glint in his eye. "I think he's looking forward to passing on the wand. These last few weeks have been particularly trying on his nerves... and his hairline."
"Very well!" Sirius clapped his hands. "Percy, Anton, and Dellan, remember to stay behind after. I have new orders for you regarding the Auror Office.
"Now... you all must be wondering why I've summoned our full membership tonight, seeing as I've a custom of meeting with smaller groups. There is an administrative matter to be settled. Quite frankly, I don't have time to develop strategies for every front myself. The Silver Order will continue to grow. Soon enough we're going to run out of chairs."
Heads turned toward the far side of the table, where only three empty spots remained. The Argents had grown tenfold in the last year. Sirius pushed away from the table and stood up.
"To ensure smooth operation, I am establishing several new positions. As we take on new members, we shall require officers beyond merely myself to share the load of command. I have made selections for these positions solely under my own council, but don't take this as a slight. Every single person in this room can rise. After tonight, all such promotions will be decided by a vote of the officers."
Not without reason the wizards on his immediate left and right had never sat anywhere else. Sirius trusted one of them more than the other, but both have proved their worth.
"Percy Weasley, Anton Robards. You are raised to the rank of Knight-Commander." Sirius looked out over the entire gathering. "In my absence, these gentlemen are to be obeyed as I am. There is no place for insubordination in the Silver Order.
"Further, Dellan Grayson, Mallory Grant... bugger me, now I realise I don't know your proper names. Ribs and Shins!" Sirius paused to reflect Ribs' wry grin with one of his own. "The four of you are raised to the rank of Knight-Captain."
The largely restrained atmosphere loosened up after the announcement as new officers accepted congratulations, some genuine, others laced with understated jealousy. Sirius let it slide. He wasn't going to stifle ambition for the sake of conformity. As long as the Argents ultimately remained loyal to him, a little friendly backstabbing would keep everyone sharp.
Sirius gave leave to depart and soon found himself in the sole company of his newly appointed officers. Those working at the Ministry received additional instructions on top of orders to be disseminated among the Order's general membership. Sirius never shared the full spectrum of his agenda with anyone, but they had to know enough to do what he wanted done.
Once orders had been dispensed, only Mallory was asked to remain behind still. Her illicit portkey business conducted under the guise of the Dungeon Keeper and the relationships she'd cultivated with some of the sharpest hired wands of Europe made her a particularly valuable acquisition for the Silver Order.
"Any word on our mutual friend?" Sirius asked, his head tilted as he leaned on the mantelpiece behind his throne.
"Regrettably, no. I've cast a wide net, but I can only do so much from behind my bar."
Sirius nodded in understanding. Fair enough. "What about Hessberg?"
"He hasn't responded to my inquiries and I doubt he will. Regardless of the Grindelwald connection, he has enough powerful friends left that he won't be intimidated. Can I ask, sir..." Mallory sat on the edge of the table, arms crossed. "What makes you so sure someone like Benedict Hessberg will know where to find a hired wand like Sturgis? Granted, he's got more of a reputation than just any mercenary, but..."
"Mallory, darling – I've never made a secret of the fact that I know some things you never will."
She pressed her lips together, but said nothing. The reprimand, however gentle, had been received. Sirius didn't want to crush her free spirit and she was smart enough to know not to push.
"The girl, Camilla," Sirius said, turning away, absently studying the angle where the floor met the wall. "Have you been able to find her?"
"I confirmed that she used to work for Jorgen Vanard, but she's gone as well. Perhaps..."
She paused and the silence prompted Sirius to look at her. Her apprehension was palpable.
"The chain of command has its place, but I want you to speak up if you have something to say," Sirius said, adopting a warmer tone. It wouldn't do to cow one of his new officers too far.
"Sir, I think I've got as far as I could have by merely asking."
Sirius frowned. She had a point. "Are you suggesting my personal involvement? Hmm... You may be right. Thank you, I'll think about it. In the meantime, I want you to make overtures to whoever you know in France and Italy associated with their governments."
"I don't know any such persons in Italy," Mallory said, straigthening. "But I do in France. Overtures regarding...?"
"Sylvestre Malfoy. I want to know if he's protected like Benedict Hessberg."
Mallory's smile had a dangerous edge to it. "Yes, Knight-Marshal. I'll inform you as soon as I know something."
The door had scarcely closed behind her when it reopened to admit Tonks.
"Meeting's over. Do I still have to title you properly, Knight-Marshal, or can we just talk?"
Sirius fell back onto his chair and propped his legs up on the table, hands together in his lap. "Where are we?"
Tonks assumed an expression to match how unimpressed she apparently was with the locale. "An old mansion you bought off Titus Selwyn and paid Ragnok Rakeharlaw to fix up."
Sirius extended his arms to indicate the room. "We are in the headquarters of the Silver Order," he corrected, his face stony. "Family or not, take care what grievances you bring before me in this place. We're not the Order of the Phoenix and I am not Dumbledore."
"The Order of the Phoenix–"
The rest of the sentence died on her tongue when Sirius met her eyes. Her hair darkened from bright pink to a shade of purple-blue seen on someone choking. Not for the first time, he found himself questioning his decision to extend Tonks an invitation to join the Argents. She leaned on their familial ties to skirt his authority too often for his liking. Perhaps he should have waited before recruiting her. Perhaps he shouldn't have recruited her at all. A year ago he hadn't yet known what he wanted the Argents to become, he'd been desperate to swell the ranks while the Writ issued by the Wizengamot held some influence in the public mind. He saw his goals more clearly now.
He intertwined his hands in his lap again. "Was there something else?"
Tonks never stayed cowed for long. The rebellious gleam in her eyes sparked up again. "I've been in your Order longer than Mallory Grant, or Ribs, or Shins."
The unspoken complaint was clear. Now Sirius had to scramble for an answer. He had expected his appointments to be questioned, but not to his face and not by Tonks. He settled for a half-truth – these not-quite-lies came easier than their purebred cousins.
"I value your loyalty, Tonks, but you expect more in return than you give. I've always made clear that this isn't a democracy. Do your part – I always pay attention, even if you don't see it. That's when I look most closely."
A diplomatic solution. It sounded much better than 'I trust you less than I used to because you think our shared blood entitles you to something you don't deserve'. Tonks struggled to broker peace between her craving for respect and lack of talent for leadership. She wanted to give orders, but she simply wasn't cut out for it.
When Tonks didn't move from her spot, Sirius felt an eyebrow climb his forehead. "I can't help but notice you're still here."
She shuffled her feet, nudged the nearest chair with the tip of her boot. "I don't know how to say this..."
"English works. My French is a bit rusty."
She glared, but there was no spirit in it. Something had her worried, something which trvialised the Silver Order. Best get it out of the way. "I don't have all night, cousin."
Tonks grimaced. "I was at Grimmauld Place the other night," she blurted out at last. "I peeked inside the library. You weren't there, but I noticed... I noticed that the journals of Cygnus Black were missing."
Sirius inhaled deeply, playing for time. "What of it?" he asked, promptly berating himself for sounding defensive.
"Sometimes it's hard to... look at yourself, erm, objectively," said Tonks, wringing her hands. She looked very much younger than she was, just then, hesitant, while he was quietly irritated. He gave no answer, settling for a flat stare. Let her say her piece.
"You always said that you hated your family for what they were. 'Wretched Blacks', you call them." Tonks stepped closer, worry and apprehension marring her face, her tone pleading. "Don't you see?You're becoming like them. You've changed. But it began earlier, after Harry and Dumbledore bargained for your release from Voldemort."
Feet came off the table and Sirius assumed a position more suited to reflect authority. "Are you implying I'm a secret Death Eater?"
"No! Of course not. Just... Merlin, Sirius, have you been reading Cygnus' memoirs?"
"No one can read them, dear. We don't know what's in them."
"We do," Tonks protested. "My grandfather was twisted and cruel. Whatever he wrote will be just as repulsive."
A brief silence hung between them, just long enough for Sirius to compose himself. He let his shoulders slacken, his fingers disentangled themselves from each other, he let out a breath through his nose. "I removed those journals because they were useless and dangerous. Poisoned blades were hidden in the bindings, almost took off three of my fingers." He raised a hand to emphasise this point. "Books I can't read and they try to maim me as well? I destroyed them."
He didn't believe his own lie. If Tonks detected the falsehood, she didn't press him for truth.
"All right," she said, her fingers curling on the backrest of a chair. "I was just worried. We're supposed to make the name Black mean something again, something good. Don't become like Cygnus, Bellatrix, and all the rest of them."
There was a distrustful note in her tone, but perhaps she'd decided this wasn't a fight she would win. She turned away to leave. The moment her back was to Sirius, he levelled his wand at her. The Memory Charm clung to their conversation like tar, seeping into Tonks' mind to erase it, then deeper, soothing the burgeoning suspicion she harboured. Sirius didn't smother it entirely – he didn't want to hurt her – but he eased the feelings back far enough to leave Tonks merely wondering. Perhaps she could be persuaded to his line of thinking, perhaps not. This would buy him time to decide how to deal with her. First order of business would be to replace Cygnus' journals with convincing copies.
"Anyway, thanks for hearing me out," Tonks said, standing by the door with a wobbly, distracted smile on her face.
"Of course, cousin."
She offered a yawning goodbye and left. Sirius waited until the front door closed behind her before ascending the stairs. If Tonks was going to be trouble...
"Decisions, decisions," he sang quietly as he climbed to the second floor, which he had claimed exclusively for himself. The building couldn't hold a candle to truly senior estates like Malfoy and Mulciber manors before they had burned. He should look into finding better accommodations for the Silver Order soon.
His spartan study spanned the girth of the octagonal tower at the south-eastern corner. The darkened room was cast in a clear, warm light as the enchanted chandelier bloomed to life at his entrance. The décor was severe and funtional; bare stone walls, a desk, a chair, a pair of cabinets with a worktable between them. On that table, an arithmantic device puttered away relentlessly. Headmistress McGonagall had been kind enough to lend it to him. Dumbledore had left it, along with the rest of his eclectic collection, in the office at Hogwarts.
The device was an intricate array of gears, stuffed into a sphere of rune-engraved rotating brass rings. From that constantly shifting globe sprouted a series of clockwork arms equipped with magnifying lenses, claws that measured distance between their span, sharp quill tips and a dozen other instruments.
The sphere rested on a circular base between the two volumes of Cygnus Black's memories. The arms flew along the lines of unreadeable cipher. Cygnus' writings had been encoded, but this device broke such codes. Apparently Dumbledore had designed it himself. If the staccato of clicking and spinning gears were any indication, Sirius would be able to read the journals soon. Four days ago the gears had been motionless, even as the arms moved about vigorously. MgGonagall had assured him that as the device gained momentum, it would defeat the encryption faster.
"Don't worry, cousin. I'm not Cygnus Black," Sirius whispered, coming closer to admire the device at work. "I'm just curious..."
~~oOo~~
As months passed, Sirius had to admit to himself that the resentment for Sturgis Podmore he had enkindled in his heart was no longer there. He had been furious at first, but after a time, Sirius realised he had no clear idea what he was even angry about. Oh, there were valid reasons to distrust the mercenary, but there wasn't a spark to ignite true hate. Not when he had Snape to compare Sturgis to.
The damned Hit-wizard knew something that Sirius felt in his gut was important. Not as important as some other things, though. While primarily busy with building up the Silver Order, he had sent out inquiries, sought clues, wrangled information from those unwilling to part with it, but Sturgis Podmore was fiendishly good at not being found. Camilla was the last reliable lead. Thus, armed with Mallory's information, Sirius made his way to the heart of Europe, where a number of largely autonomous territories were tenuously united under a single German banner.
The Chancellery sat smack dab in the middle of Berlin's wizarding quarter, a handsome gothic palace in the centre of a paved plaza, surrounded by a blade-topped fence. Passing one of the brick fenceposts, Sirius felt the thrum of wards. Aurors in bronze-brown robes stopped him at the gate.
"Herr Black, yes?"
Sirius nodded and handed over an invitation – both in English and German – extended to him by his host.
The Auror scanned the document, apparently satisfied. "Yes, sehr gut. However, you won't be meeting the Chancellor here."
The guard captain sent for a cute young witch who introduced herself only as Anna, the Chancellor's personal assistant. "The Chancellor is expecting you at his home, Mr. Black." Her English was flawless.
Sirius allowed himself to be escorted through the district into a quaint neighborhood of isolated urban mansions. They would have been dwarfed by Malfoy Manor, but himself a resident of London, Sirius found the Chancellor's residence worthy of envy. Not too big, not too small, and with a respectable bit of lawn. There were no Aurors in sight, but by the owner's reputation, Sirius doubted the man required guards.
Anna excused herself once they were through the gate and hurried back to the Chancellery. Sirius ascended the front steps alone. The house-elf who opened the door looked somewhat strange in the getup reminiscent of typical goblin attire. Or perhaps Sirius was just used to seeing Kreacher in his preferred rags.
"Sirius Black. I'm expected."
The elf said nothing, but gave an enthusiastic nod and let him inside. The mansion's foyer was a harmony of vaulted ceiling, polished parquet, and panelled walls, all in wood. Four puffy sofas symetrically filled the grand space, giving an impression of hospitality. Sirius didn't wait long. He'd had just enough time to admire the room before the Chancellor arrived, descending the central staircase.
Jorgen Vanard seemed to ennoble the immediate space he occupied. Dark blue robes, slicked back salt-and-pepper hair, and a smile that stopped short of sharp eyes made a greater impression up close than seeing the man on the podium more than a year ago. A handshake was all it took to ascertain that yes, Sirius was in the presence of a wizard who could challenge Dumbledore.
"I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Black."
"Likewise."
Vanard gestured toward the stairs. "Are you in a hurry? I was just about to sit down for dinner."
Sirius weighed his options. He'd been looking for Sturgis for a year, an hour or two wouldn't make a difference. It couldn't hurt to make a friendly acquaintance of a wizard like Vanard.
"I'm in no rush."
"Splendid.I should like to ask you about the Silver Order, Mr. Black," Vanard said as they started upstairs. "I'm sure you can understand my curiosity."
"I'm sure you understand I probably won't answer most of your questions," Sirius replied. Vanard's smile only grew hungrier. Between it and the cold gleam in his unsmiling eyes, Sirius felt a sense of camaraderie with this man he'd only just met, the kind, he now realised, he'd been missing since Remus had left – the company of a dangerous man. There was something familiar about the Chancellor that Sirius couldn't pin down.
They sat down in a small, cozy room where a table to seat six was prepared for the two of them. House elves brought in platters of honey-glazed meats, roasted vegetables, and side dishes cooked in a dozen ways. Sirius wondered if the Chancellor dined like this every day, or if it was all staged for him. Regardless, the meal was all sorts of excellent. When desserts were brought in, along with a selection of cold and hot sweet drinks, Sirius thought back to those several nights he had spent with Voldemort. This dinner lacked the atmosphere of lethality, but the setting and the wizard facing him across the table were all too reminiscent of the Dark Lord.
They passed an hour eating and chatting, idly at first, then delving into more serious topics. Inevitably, they arrived at last year's conference and the agreement Vanard had forged to allow Voldemort's appearance before the Confederation.
"I don't make a habit of explaining myself to other people," Vanard said, brandishing a dessert fork. "But I understand you have... a personal history with Lord Voldemort."
"Not just me," Sirius replied, "but yes, I lay a more special claim than others, if for no other reason than Voldemort's desire to see my godson dead."
Vanard sat back, straight against the backrest. "Well. I suppose we would have got there eventually."
Sirius raised an eyebrow.
"Harry Potter," said Vanard.
"He's a talented young man."
"About to enter his final year of schooling, as I heard. I've no doubt Hogwarts will be well served to count him among her alumni."
Sirius sipped on his wine. "Durmstrang yourself, yes?"
Vanard nodded. There was clear pride in his expression. "Dark Arts aren't villified there. Although..." He snatched another pastry from a pile nearby. "I've been told Mr. Potter is no stranger to this field."
A silence fell between them while Sirius decided on an answer. His eyes fell on the smudge of ice cream left on his plate and he realised he'd made enough smalltalk. "With respect, Chancellor, I did not come here to talk about my godson. I've made a specific request in my letter–" He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Frowning, he looked back to Vanard. "Are you expecting someone else for dinner?"
"Not exactly." Vanard rose from his seat and opened the door, then stepped aside to let the new arrival through.
Sturgis Podmore walked in, his black coat of many pockets billowing around his ankles. His cheeks appeared a little more gaunt, his features sharper, his eyes darker, but he was still undoubtedly the same man. He carried himself with an air of purpose that clung to him like a well-fitted cloak. Whatever he'd spent the last year doing, it hadn't been mercenary work.
Jorgen Vanard exchanged a knowing look with the newest guest. "I'll leave you alone, gentlemen. No doubt you have a lot to catch up on."
The moment the door closed behind Vanard, Sturgis turned to Sirius. "I heard you were looking for me. Well... Here I am."
Sirius took a long, painfully dragging minute to recover from the mild shock that had seized him, seeing the ghost he'd been chasing. "I don't even know where to start."
Sturgis took Vanard's seat. "First thing that pops into your mind."
The question left his lips before he consciously knew what he was about to say. "Why did you run?"
"I contest your employ of the word 'run'–"
"Don't," Sirius snapped.
Sturgis gave a drawn out sigh and stretched out one arm over the tabletop, fingers drumming on the surface. "When you confronted me, I had been thinking about leaving for a while. You just provided impetus."
"Were you going to leave that evening?"
"No," Sturgis admitted. "I probably would have stayed another week."
"So you ran because I asked you why let Grindelwald be killed."
Sturgis caught Sirius' look without evading. "Yes."
"You– what? You admit–"
"Yes, I wanted Grindelwald dead, and my reasons for that are my own." The hard line of Sturgis' set jaw seemed to cut this thread of conversation short. "Ask any other question, but you are not getting this particular answer, Sirius. Like you're so fond of saying... we all keep secrets."
"You understand that this won't win back my trust," Sirius said, lending his tone an edge.
"Sirius..." Sturgis' eyes lost all light for a moment, becoming cold steel. "If I cared to have your trust, I would have asked for it."
Two house elves popped in and out to clean up the table during the quiet moment that lingered between the two wizards. Sirius was keenly aware of whom Sturgis had just imitated.
"I told you this before, Sirius. We're not so different." Sturgis leaned closer, elbows on the table, his pose almost seductive. "I'm not you enemy. I really wish you would see that."
"But we're not friends."
"Oh, hardly."
Sirius breathed out through his nose. "Very well. You had your reasons to want Grindelwald dead and I know a lost battle when I'm in one. Why were you going to leave? Why abandon the Order of the Phoenix while Voldemort was still at large in Britain?"
Surprisingly, Sturgis smiled, though it was a cold smile, not unlike the one Sirius had seen earlier on Vanard. "I have been following your exploits with great interest, Sirius. The Silver Order... You've nestled into Dumbledore's niche quite nicely."
"Don't change the subject," Sirius interrupted.
"You didn't need me," Sturgis replied without missing a beat. "You had everything required to banish Voldemort."
"Banishment wasn't what we'd had in mind."
"If it had been at all possible to kill him then, I assure you I would have stayed."
Sirius almost spat out a retort on reflex, but paused, his mind racing, recalling the secrets divulged in Dumbledore's secret cache, the details and assumptions he'd scraped from his own experiences, and the brief encounter with Benedict Hessberg. There were pieces he was missing, pieces that – he was quite sure now – Sturgis had. And possibly one other person... someone not seen since the Battle at the Bone Mound, someone intimately involved in all of this.
"The last year..." Sirius said slowly. "Have you been tracking Mulciber?"
Sturgis looked idly away, towards the window.
He's stalling.
"We've crossed paths," Sturgis said, clearly displeased at Sirius' guess. "But that's not important."
"I'll decide if Mulciber is important to me, thanks."
"As I said..." Sturgis shifted in his seat again, pointedly ignoring the subject of Mulciber. "You had everything necessary to defeat Voldemort. I had done my part."
"Your part? You weren't there."
"And you weren't the one who sent Voldemort off to lick grievous wounds," Sturgis countered. "I taught Harry what he needed to know."
"Yes. You made him a killer."
"Not so," Sturgis protested hotly. Sirius frowned. He'd never seen the man object to something so readily. "No one needs to be taught killing, Sirius. I showed him why. And it will be that knowledge that'll make him a greater wizard than you or Albus Dumbledore could have imagined."
Whatever his motives, Sturgis' respect for Harry, at least, seemed sincere. Sirius wondered if Sturgis had been following Harry's 'exploits' as closely as his own.
"Why did you meet me?" Sirius asked. "You've not given me a single satisfactory answer and the Chancellor is obviously on your side. You could have remained a ghost."
"Firstly, I wasn't hiding from you Sirius, or anyone else. I've simply been very busy. You can ask Dumbledore, if you want."
"You've 'crossed paths' with him too? Is Snape with him?" Sirius growled the question.
Even in the moment it had taken Sturgis to answer, the tension had build up to erupt. "Yes."
"Goddamnit!" Sirius leapt out of his seat, his fist coming down on Vanard's table like a hammer. Sharp pain lanced up his arm, but he paid it no mind. "Where are they? When did you see them?"
"I never saw Snape," Sturgis explained, almost apologetic. "Dumbledore confirmed they were travelling together, and believe this if nothing else – I would have brought him to you if I could."
Strangely enough, Sirius did believe it. "When? Where?"
"Romania, six weeks ago. They were after Lortannes Vergir."
Sirius grunted in realisation. Lortannes Vergir was the last of the three remaining lieutenants of Gellert Grindelwald. A Dark wizard who slinked through shadows, continuing his master's work. Single-handedly responsible for the strained wizard-goblin relations in the Balkans. If Vergir didn't know something about horcruxes, Sirius would eat Kreacher's liver raw. He couldn't imagine another reason for Dumbledore's interest.
"Thank you for telling me this," Sirius said, meaning it.
"Are you going to look for them?"
"Dumbledore will come back eventually. He said as much."
"I doubt Snape will return with him."
"I know that."
"Well, if you ever–"
"Why come here?" Sirius repeated. "If you weren't hiding, there was no reason to entertain my desires."
Sturgis gave a throaty chuckle. "I told you that when I walked in. I came because you were looking for me."
"What are you–"
"There are much more important things for you to spend time on than looking for me," Sturgis interrupted. "Know this – Voldemort is a common enemy. While he lives, you needn't worry about what I might do or not do."
Sirius tilted his head, regarding Sturgis critically. "And once he's dead?"
"Then..." Sturgis rose and approached the door. "...we shall see, I suppose."
The Hit-wizard left. A moment later, Jorgen Vanard returned, as coolly jovial as before. "Have you found the answers you sought, Mr. Black?"
"How do you know him?" Sirius asked instead. "There's something strange... about..."
"Yes, my brother can be strange."
Sirius stared. Vanard stared back.
Brother?
"Whose idea was it to invite Voldemort to appear before the Confederation? What in Merlin's name is Sturgis planning?"
"That would spoil the surprise."
Vanard remained perfectly polite, but Sirius knew when he was being pushed out. The Chancellor offered a half-hearted endorsement of the Silver Order and Sirius couldn't tell if he wanted to say more, but his position prevented him, or if he'd rather have said nothing, but the politician in him dictated otherwise. All the same, Sirius didn't protest. Sturgis had the right of it – there were more important things to do. Perhaps he had needed Sturgis to tell him that.
The next day, Mallory lingered briefly after the officers' meeting had concluded, handing over a letter she assured him was from Sturgis. Inside the envelope were only a few sentences.
The Order of the Phoenix was the stabilising factor in Britain for decades. Now that role falls to you. I believe your Knights will play a vital role before everything is done.
I recognise that my silence may have been a mistake. Mallory will be able to contact me for you, but please limit inquiries to a necessary minimum.
Sturgis
Sirius studied the letter in the seclusion of his octagonal study. To his disappointment, it was precisely what it appeared to be, no hidden elements. He shoved it into a drawer and at that moment, Dumbledore's Crypto-Catcher stopped moving, plunging the room into silence.
He looked up, glaring at the device. "Took you long enough."
~~oOo~~
Every pair of eyes vied to catch his gaze. Sirius' attention shifted quickly between them, always away from the camera flashes. They were peppered throughout the crowd, professional and amateur reporters, and just people wanting to immortalise a historic moment. Lenses stared from every direction, blinding light flooding his vision with every click.
He had forgotten how much he detested dealing with the press. Fortunately, he wouldn't have to face them alone. Though Rita Skeeter worked for the Ministry, she owed her position to him and he had never let her forget it. A reluctant ally, but she knew how to handle reporters.
"There will be no questions at this time. The Minister will now make his statement," said Rita. She stepped away from the lectern set up in front of the Fountain of Magical Brotherhood – the favoured spot of Ministers to deliver good news. Bad news was announced in an enclosed chamber – it accommodated fewer people than the Atrium.
Fudge looked acceptably Ministerial as he took Skeeter's place. Sirius almost couldn't tell he was looking at a puppet dangling from strings. The statement was brief and to the point, according to Sirius' orders. If the public wanted more details, they could gorge themselves on the past week's editions of the Daily Prophet. Fudge spat out a handful of necessary facts and finally announced the agreement Sirius had hammered out in a private meeting with Ragnok Rakeharlaw.
Once the last word was out of Fudge's mouth, the relative peace was shattered by a flurry of questions drowning each other out. Rita gestured for the crowd to quiet down.
"The Minister and..." she spared Sirius a glance over the shoulder and he nodded, "...Knight-Marshal Black will now take some questions. Please remain orderly. Yes?" she asked, indicating a former colleague from the Prophet.
"What is the position of the Goblin Liaison Office on this?"
"The Office's operation is temporarily suspended, pending an inquiry into its recent dealings," said Fudge, pointedly avoiding the reporter's eyes. "For the moment, negotiations with Chief Rakeharlaw will be handled by myself and Knight-Marshal Black. The Ministry takes gross incompetence, such as was displayed by the Office in recent weeks, very seriously indeed."
Rita pointed out another reporter – an Irish fellow. The Prophet didn't have much of a market west of the Irish Sea.
"Was Director Plateau at all consulted regarding the negotiated debt payments?"
Sirius cursed the man, then himself. He should have forseen that Plateau's absence might draw questions like this one. Don't fuck this up, Fudge...
"Certainly," Fudge said. He looked confident enough, but his hand sneaked towards his bowler hat on the lectern in front of him. No doubt the cameras caught it. It was well-known that Fudge was prone to molesting his hat in times of stress. "Marcus Plateau was a vital member of the Ministry's delegation during these negotations–"
"That's interesting, Minister, because he was never once referenced in your statement or any statements you've made this week," the reporter cut in, drawing everyone's attention. "It appears as though all credit was ascribed to Knight-Marshal Black over there, which I find even more intriguing, because you've never been shy to exalt your own accomplishments, no matter how questionable they were. One might think you've surrendered yourself to the Knight-Marshal."
Sirius scarcely held himself back, more surprised than angry. The Irishman had known exactly what to say to cast suspicion on the Silver Order and Sirius personally. The reporter looked away from Fudge and towards Sirius, meeting his eyes head on. The pull of the Dark Touch Sirius felt just then, and the man's cold smile, gone in a blink, would have been enough of a clue, even if the reporter hadn't then slinked away through the crowd, taking no notes on Fudge's answer, his job done.
An enemy, certainly. Possibly a Death Eater. And he was walking away unimpeded, because Sirius couldn't afford to follow him and ignore the expectant crowd. His reputation was on the line, which meant that the Silver Order's reputation was on the line. The four minutes that followed were a sorry spectacle of long pauses and carefully chosen words, altogether unconvincing. Sirius left the Ministry chased by distrustful looks cast from under furrowed brows, briskly retracing the faux-reporter's steps. The man had taken the visitor's elevator up. Out in the street, Sirius looked one way, then another, up into the sky, and paused, brimming with quiet anger like an old caged lion.
He stepped into the middle of the empty street, his wand slipping into his grasp. There was a tingling energy in the air, a scent of recent magic.
"Keep your wand where I can see it."
Four Disillusionment Charms melted away from cloaked forms, four silver masks stared with inhuman expressions, wands pointed at Sirius.
"I thought I recognised that voice," Sirius mused, turning slowly to look each of the masks in the eye slits. "If you're here, Rookwood, then I'm guessing Bellatrix is not – she wouldn't stand not being in charge. And if she's not here, then I don't imagine any of the Lestranges are, those three are inseparable. Let's see... Dolohov? Amycus and Alecto? There really weren't many of you left when Voldemort was chased out of Britain. How many silver masks has he had to give out?"
The mask to Sirius' left slid off into a puff of smoke, revealing the brutish face of Augustus Rookwood. "You seem awfully confident for being outnumbered four to one."
"I would say you seem awfully confident, knowing who you're facing," Sirius retorted. He grinned when Rookwood's calm veneer cracked for a fleeting instant, unnoticeable had Sirius not been looking for it. "There are only two in the Inner Circle who stand a chance against me and neither of them is here. In fact, Mulciber has abandoned you entirely, last I heard."
Rookwood's mask reappeared. "The Dark Lord is not defeated, Black. You will hear from him soon enough."
The Death Eaters disapparated amidst a salvo of air-splitting cracks, leaving Sirius alone in the street, just as the first heavy drops fell from thunderclouds overhead. He spun around again, his cloak whipping raindrops in an arc around him, and he smiled coolly to himself, only now realising he had longed for this moment. Peace made his blood run like sludge. It was good to feel his heart beating lively again.
His good humour didn't last long. Rookwood was a worm unfit to be squished under Sirius' shoe, but he had still shaken the foundations of the new order Sirius was working hard to install. Perhaps he could have gone back and answered more questions, quell the suspicion – but he hadn't. He had no answers and, honestly, no fucks to give about the easily swayed masses. He would be back in their good graces as soon as the Prophet reported on something appropriately heroic. He returned to the Order's headquarters, locked himself in the study, and turned the page in volume one of Cygnus' memoirs.
The journals were a confession, a manifesto of deeply held convictions of the darkest mind to bear the name Black since Mordanis himself. Cygnus had made no great secret of his sympathies during the war. His contempt for muggles and their blood had found fertile ground when Voldemort had begun his march through Britain. Fortunately for everyone, the wretched Blacks very much adhered to the primacy of elders, and so Cygnus had been prevented from resurrecting Mordanis' legacy. By the time he'd come into power as the head of the family, there was no one left for him to command.
More than once Sirius paused while reading, wondering if Cygnus' dreams had somehow come to life through his nephew. The Silver Knights were once more operating in Britain and their – Sirius' – goal was very much unchanged. Take over, consolidate power. Were his reasons that much different than those of the Black Knight?
If Cygnus' arguments were to be believed, no, not really. Cygnus would be dancing on the table if he were alive to see what Sirius had done. Was Tonks right? Was he really reviving the wretched Blacks he hated so much? Was his morality any better than the tenets of blood purists? Before he had opened these journals, Sirius would have answered this question without hesitation. Now, he wasn't so sure.
However depraved Cygnus Black might seem judging by these pages, his crimes had never been realised beyond being written down. Sirius had already gone further than his uncle could have hoped.
He shut the book abruptly and tossed it onto the desk, giving it the evil eye to make sure it wouldn't attempt something nefarious, then leaned back in his chair, kicked his feet up onto the desk as well, and stared at the ceiling, sculpted with the chart of a night sky. The artwork was impossibly detailed and accurate, a degree of craftsmanship unattainable without magic. His eyes drifted lazily along the perimeter, finding familiar constellations he had studied all these many years ago at Hogwarts, and naming them without fail. Astronomy was a subject all Blacks were proud to master. Since Mordanis the Black Knight, the first to name his progeny after a star, the Blacks had always looked toward the night sky, their ambitions similarly boundless, their hearts just as dark.
Sirius paused, seeing Cygnus leaping out at him, and woke from the half-dream he'd drifted into. He couldn't even remember his uncle's face, but his voice rang out in his thoughts as sharp as ever, the throaty drawl that promised violence. The content of Cygnus' character had been lacking, but he had saved the Black fortune from collapse by dealing with Rakeharlaw's predecessor, turning a gaping financial hole into a rejuvenated fortune.
The journals exemplified Cygnus' prized ideals, the best of the worst the Blacks had to offer. Backstabbing, murder, and cheating were all encouraged in the service of the family name and your own agenda. Reading, Sirius heard the words recited in Cygnus' voice, like porous honey that clogged his ears, muting everything else. Sirius trusted himself enough to differentiate between the pragmatic passages and the mutterings of suppressed criminal urges, but Cygnus had had a way with words – the language remained steadily persuasive troughout.
Sirius picked up the book and flipped to the page where he'd left off, his eyes once again glued to the ink. "Harry must never get his hands on these journals," he muttered absently.
His leisure was interrupted again all too soon, this time by outside disturbance. Sirius ignored the first knock on his door, but then came another, and another, in unerring intervals. Growling, he locked the journal with its sister in the drawer behind a runic lock, and gestured haphazardly toward the door.
"Apologies, Knight-Marshal, but this couldn't wait," said Percy, not daring to cross the threshold without leave.
"What is it?" Sirius grumbled, waving the younger man inside.
Percy deposited a scroll on the desk. There seal had been broken and it unfurled a bit. Pressed into white wax was the image of a goblin's claw scratching numbers onto a Galleon, the personal seal of Chief Rakeharlaw.
"What does Ragnok have to say to the Silver Order?" Sirius asked.
"He's on a crusade, reclaiming old goblin properties across the Isles, even the meanest ruins. His scouts reported back that one such location has been appropriated by unknown trespassers. They didn't risk getting into a fight with wizards, but Rakeharlaw believes we might be interested in helping them take it – for a fitting reward, of course."
"He wants to take back some ruin? Alright, I'll bite. How much gold is he willing to part with?"
"No gold," Percy said, but the gleam in his eye told Sirius the reward was much more precious. "The scouts observed a wizard in Death Eater garb coming and going from the location. Rakeharlaw says we can claim anything useful we find there, barring gold."
Sirius almost leapt out of his chair. "Did the scouts specify what the Death Eater's mask looked like?"
"Silver, with black markings."
A grin cracked Sirius' face. "Knight-Commander, summon our best wands. I want them ready to travel in three hours."
Later, when the long summer day began turning to dusk, Sirius stood in an old feast hall – the only part of the small keep that hadn't been rendered unusable by the elements. He loathed to call the brief skirmish a battle. He had stood watch himself, waiting for the Inner Circle's Death Eater to arrive. When his prey had gone inside, Sirius had led Robards, Ribs, Shins, and Dellan against the enemy. The silver mask had been the only worthy opponent. The other six were a group of young witches and wizards, recruited to Voldemort's banner after his return. They couldn't be much older than Tonks and Tonks would have made short work of any of them.
"I don't know anyone by sight," Robards said, "but I think it's safe to say they'll be relatives of families associated with the Dark Lord."
They prisoners were sat up against a wall, gagged and bound, save for the one who'd been giving them orders. Sirius raised the silver mask in his hand to get a better look. The markings were intricate, covered most of the faceplate, and were utterly indecipherable. I wonder if the Crypto-Catcher could work these out. McGonagall won't like me asking for it again...
"Alecto Carrow is under guard at the headquarters," Robards continued.
"Who's watching her?" Sirius asked.
"Ribs, Grayson, and four others."
"Join them. I'll be there as soon as I can, but I have to deal with the goblins first. I don't want any trouble."
To his credit, Robards didn't question being delegated away to guard duty. Sirius strolled through the room. The other prisoners he could hand over to the Ministry. He didn't have the manpower to play jailer, and Robards would pass on whatever they spilled in interrogation rooms.
The hall was largely empty. Several pieces of mismatched furniture were burdened with what looked like a lot of forged documentation, some with remarkably convincing Ministry seals. Sirius browsed the stacks curiously, but without enthusiasm. Percy could take care of this. A unit of goblins was searching the crumbling ruins, bringing anything of interest to the hall. In short order they ascertained there was no lost gold anywhere, but a fair amount of other loot. Sirius kept the bargaining curt, invoking his agreement with Rakeharlaw.
"The ruin is yours. Everything else belongs to me," he insisted, to the visible displeasure of the commanding goblin. "That includes every last scrap of parchment."
"I see Gringotts forms there, falsified seals and signatures," the goblin snarled. "We have the right to investigate possible fraud."
Unwavering, Sirius barked an order at the Argents scattered about. "Collect the documents and the prisoners."
The goblin commander heaved heavy breaths, furious at the blatant display of arrogance. Ragnok would no doubt argue that 'gold' included 'anything in any way related to goblin gold', but Sirius cared little for Gringotts' fits. The threat of rebellion had hung in the air since Lucius' manipulations had taken Galleons out of goblin hands. If they started a fight, Sirius would spill blood until the despicable critters learned their place in the wizarding world, as they always did.
The goblins before him regarded his Knights with openly murderous looks, but they didn't dare raise their swords. Goblin steel or not, it was a foolish goblin that attacked a skilled wizard head on. His prize claimed, Sirius backed out of the hall briskly, leaving the keep's new masters to fume at their leisure.
Alecto, predictably, divulged nothing. The Inner Circle could be counted on to guard their minds with admirable skill, taught by their master. There could well be people among the Argents better suited to mind arts, but Sirius didn't trust any of them with whatever they would find. No yet.
He dismissed the Knights, though not before congratulating them on a job well done. Alecto would find herself in the wet embrace of the dungeon under Grimmauld Place. Kreacher was bound to love having some like-minded company.
"Knight-Marshal, one moment."
Percy had lingered, already arranging the forgeries into neat stacks for later review. They were in one of the unoccupied rooms on the ground floor, across the entrance hall from the long, dark room where the Order customarily met.
"What is it? Have you found something already?"
"So it would seem," Percy said, flattening out a scroll for Sirius to see. "Notice the signature at the bottom."
The cursive script was almost impossible to make out, but Sirius eventually read the name that instantly cast doubt.
"Keira Zabini," he recited slowly. "Why were Death Eaters forging something with her name on it? I thought she was uninvolved. Greengrass vouched for her."
"Aha," said Percy, tapping the signed name, his expression thoughtful. "This document isn't forged. It's quite genuine."
They shared a look of suspicious realisation. "Knight-Commander Weasley, what was a document with lovely Keira's signature doing at a Death Eater outpost?"
"I can't tell you that yet, Knight-Marshal," Percy replied, "but I hope Director Plateau isn't involved in whatever this is, for his own good."
Sirius tilted his head. "Did you ever believe the rumours that Keira Zabini kills her husbands?"
"Can't say I've ever given it much thought, sir."
"Let's hope Marcus isn't about to make her a widow."
~~oOo~~
Sirius felt a sting of longing as he looked out of the window. He had stood in this spot almost two years ago, waiting to spring a trap on Fudge in his own home. Remus had been with him then. He hadn't heard from the furry bastard in months. Supposedly he was tracking Greyback, but for all Sirius knew, Greyback could have been dead for months and Remus was snorting parthdust and mauling people in a dueling circuit in Asia. There were other possibilities, but those Sirius had forbidden himself to think of.
He wasn't alone in the dark, quiet residence. Fudge was seated at the desk, slowly but surely drinking himself into an apathetic stupor. The man's wand had rolled from the desk onto the floor.
Fudge had became a man with no influence the moment his title expired. Barty Crouch had employed the full breadth of his charm during the ceremony. Scrimgeour had looked like a man suffering from food poisoning when he bestowed the Wizengamot's mandate on his colleague, now just another of Sirius' pawns. Of course, Crouch wouldn't roll over like Fudge had. He would test the waters and Sirius' patience, see how much rope he would be given before the noose tightened on his neck. That, however, was a game for another day.
The Auror guard at the gate let a visitor through. Marcus Plateau carried himself with an air of self-importance, something he could afford now that Fudge was out of office. Marcus was cleverer than Sirius had thought. He had downplayed his wit when they had been co-conspirators and Sirus had fallen for the ploy. No more.
The document with his wife's signature had led Percy on a thrilling hunt through the Ministry's bureaucracy. Keira Zabini's money wasn't her money at all. It was Marcus' – and she had appropriated it, apparently without her husband's knowledge.
Only Marcus' money wasn't his either. The chief accountant had stolen more gold from the Ministry than Lucius had paid in bribes. No wonder the government could scarcely afford to make debt payments to Gringotts. The new deal Sirius had negotiated would divert funding from the Department of Mysteries and the DMLE, which Croaker and Bones had loudly protested. Percy's discovery had changed several key variables. Marcus had to be brought to heel.
The thief entered the building and was directed by a house elf to the study. Sirius cast a quick glance around the room. Both other occupants were satisfactorily harmless. One piss drunk, the other unconscious.
Marcus entered proudly, but stopped dead seeing who had been waiting for him.
"G'evninnng..." Fudge slurred, spilling the dwarven whiskey down his front.
Sirius' arm snapped forward like an attacking viper and the door closed behind Plateau. Hinges flashed brightly, signaling the runic array Sirius had prepared setting into place. Fudge's house elves were for the moment barred from the study.
"Marcus," Sirius said, his tone unforgiving. "You haven't been honest with me."
"I thought–" Plateau stammered. He began to reach for his wand, but Sirius shut the notion down with a thunderous stare.
"Sit down," he ordered, waving his wand again. A chair slid across the floor, undercutting Plateau. His wand leapt from his belt and into Sirius' waiting hand. He stepped toward Plateau as the curtains closed behind him, masking the study from the outside world. Fudge had passed out at his desk and began snoring.
"Knight-Marshal, I didn't know you–"
"Before anything else, let me say that I applaud your ingenuity," Sirius interrupted. "I wouldn't have thought it possible to embezzle that much money and not get caught."
Marcus paled. "Embezzle? What–I don't know anything about–"
"Don't waste your breath," Sirius said. "I have proof."
Plateau slackened in the chair, defeated. "What do you want?"
Sirius allowed himself a smile. Now he had his attention. "It appears that your wife is smarter still. She has been stealing from you the money you've stolen from the Ministry."
"Keira?" Plateau's eyes grew larger. "I don't understand."
"I would hope so," Sirius said. "Because if you did, it would mean you have participated in financing Voldemort."
Plateau's fingers clawed tightly at the armrests. "Merlin... I have never–I didn't, you have to believe me–"
"Frankly, Marcus, whether you knew or not is of little importance to me. From now on, you will do everything I say, when and how I tell you."
"Yes," Plateau agreed, nodding frantically, "yes, of course!"
"I'm pleased to hear that." Sirius grasped Plateau's wand in his right hand, weighing the balance. "Your wand. What is it?"
"Vine, vine and unicorn hair."
Sirius regarded the wand critically. It felt limp in his hand. Impotent. He gave it an experimental wave and, true to his unspoken command, the whiskey Fudge had spilled gathered itself from the desk and floated back inside the bottle. Good enough.
"Look behind you, Marcus."
Plateau let out a raspy scream, seeing a Death Eater neatly tucked away in the corner. Sirius had made sure Alecto's robes and mask were spotless. The Crypto-Catcher had failed to discern the meaning of the mask's markings, but Sirius had found a use for it regardless. Only the Argents and the goblins knew Alecto had been captured at the outpost. Sirius couldn't safely keep her at Grimmauld Place, but it seemed wasteful to simply drop her off at Azkaban.
"I want to really impart the severity of your situation on you," Sirius said, drawing Plateau's attention back to himself. "Your fate is reliant upon my whims. Do as you're told, and no one needs to know about the murder."
"Murder?" Plateau asked, incredulous. "What murder?"
Sirius raised the Director's wand toward Fudge. "Avada Kedavra."
A few minutes later Sirius left Fudge's home unnoticed, having carefully staged the scene. By noon the Daily Prophet would have made Marcus Plateau a hero. The attention should keep him from attempting something stupid – like trying to outmanoeuvre the man holding his leash.
That night, Sirius retired calmer than he had been in weeks. Tonks was right. He was one of the wretched Blacks, but was that a bad thing? Uncle Cygnus had got one thing right. Sometimes, wrong things had to be done for the right reasons.