Promises Defended
Chapter Twenty-Eight: The World In Balance
He wore dark blue this time, satin and silk, more because he liked the robes than to make a statement. Still, navy was the Aurors' color, and Sirius supposed that he did intend to contrast with the Dark Lord's color choice. He was ornery if nothing else, and Sirius did not plan on playing the game by Voldemort's rules.
Grindelwald had been right about that. Somewhere along the way, Sirius had gotten lost in the greater picture and had forgotten himself. In his quest to do what had to be done and be what was needed he almost lost the quirkiness and attitude that made Sirius Black unique. His friends had tried to warn him, had asked him how far he intended to push…but Sirius always had been stubborn. Amazing how the words of a man he didn't even like had driven that point home.
Poor Mr. Salamander looked more than a bit rattled when Sirius arrived. Sirius had no idea whose name the reservations had been made under, but it clearly had not been T.M. Riddle. Salamander's usually composed face was pale, and when he bowed his movements were jerky and discombobulated.
"Lord Black. Welcome back to Salamander's."
"Sirius will do," he replied cheerfully, smiling. "I take it that he's on the balcony?"
"Yes." Salamander still looked uneasy. "I can escort—"
"No thanks. I can find my own way."
Salamander bowed again, perhaps a bit more smoothly. Sirius felt sorry for the restaurant owner; poor Salamander was accustomed to hosting the Councilarium on occasion, but this was different. This was the two opposing sides of the war closeted in the same room for hours, with outside forces to balance them out. I suppose he's thinking of the way Voldemort and I usually meet, Sirius thought wryly.
"I'll try not to break anything," he promised with a smile.
Salamander cringed slightly. "Thank you."
Sirius smiled again and headed for the wide spiral staircase on the edge of the main dining room. Salamander's had been built large, with a spacious ground floor dining area and four separate "half" dining rooms staggered on the floors above, where diners could look down at the majestic fountain in the center of the room and the patrons below. Above everything else was "the balcony," a semi-private seating area that held the hardest tables to reserve in all of Salamander's: seven tables spread out far enough that quiet conversation could not be overheard and privacy was guaranteed.
There were also private rooms available, of course, but Sirius somehow wasn't surprised that Voldemort chose the balcony. This night was not meant to be a secret.
Over two hundred eyes followed Sirius has he climbed the spiral staircase, and he was tempted—sorely tempted—to smile and wave. But this was not the time, no matter how much equilibrium he had regained. Even the old Sirius Black had understood when to shut up. Mostly. He smiled slightly to himself. I didn't often do it, but I did usually know when.
He supposed that he could have Apparated to the top, but at Salamander's that was considered a sign of supreme arrogance. Odds were likely that even Voldemort had not Apparated up to the balcony; he was always concerned with appearances and tradition. At Salamander's, both were law.
Finally, Sirius reached the top landing, not out of breath but sincerely sick of walking in circles. His eyes scanned his surroundings immediately; four groups ate uneasily at the corner tables, trying desperately to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary. But conversation was even more muted than usual, and no one was looking at Voldemort.
The Dark Lord stood calmly beside the center table, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. As always, he was perfectly groomed, with black hair slicked back stylishly and dark gray robes lint free and immaculately tailored. The dark robes set off his too-pale features and red eyes, making Voldemort look almost like a monster out of a child's storybook—or exactly like the nightmare that had haunted the Wizarding World for the past twenty years.
He'd always been good at drama.
"Sirius." A regal nod, definitely superior but also welcoming. Odd how the red eyes tracked him. Suddenly, Sirius smiled slightly.
"Hello, Tom."
For a split second, his daring was rewarded by a look of shock playing over the boney white features. Voldemort quickly regained his composure, but Sirius saw something different in his eyes. For so many years, only Dumbledore had ever dared: once teacher, and then enemy, Dumbledore had seemed to have the right to do call him by that old name. Sirius wasn't Dumbledore, but that was all right.
He understood.
"Do join me," the dangerous wizard finally replied.
Food arrived almost immediately; the first course of Salamander's customary hors d'oeuvres appeared on the table so quickly that Sirius almost thought the proprietor had broken his own rules and used magic. But no—the human servers were just that fast, clearly wanting to put as much distance between themselves and Voldemort as possible. Sirius accepted the wine list from one of them, wondering: And what about Sirius Black? Do they want to avoid him, too?
"My Lords, may we offer you some wine?" one female server asked. She was pretty, with black hair and big brown eyes. Her robes were white and pink—Salamander's colors—and she managed to smile even at Voldemort.
The Dark Lord placed the wine list back in her hands without looking. "The house red, if you please."
She turned to Sirius, who suddenly had the impulse to laugh. He quelled the urge, shooting Voldemort a mischievous look.
"I'll take the house white."
And the game began.
They exchanged small talk at first, speaking of the weather and the menu, mostly, the only safe topics they could find. Sooner or later, Sirius supposed that they would arrive at the reason Voldemort had asked for this meeting, but he was contend to wait. Grindelwald had taught him that much.
Overall, even that conversation was not too bad; though Sirius certainly didn't feel friendly with his companion, he wasn't precisely uncomfortable, either. Strange how he could sit across a table and make small talk with a man who had spent the better part of ten years trying to kill him. Or to break me, anyway. But when it comes down to that, I'd rather die.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Voldemort asked softly. "That we can share a civil meal and speak cordially, but we cannot end the war with similar good faith."
"Not really." Sirius shrugged. "You and I both know that we don't want the same end to this war, so I fail to see what a civil conversation will do for us."
Voldemort chuckled. "You might be surprised by how much we are alike, Sirius."
"So might you." Then he smiled. "But we don't' have the same goals. That's what matters in the end."
"Is it?" Sharp black eyebrows rose—would Voldemort ever gray? Sirius had the feeling that he'd never allow himself to. Too much pride—unlike Grindelwald, he would never aspire to be a distinguished looking gentleman-villain. "Motivations change. Ideals warp with time."
"Except for yours."
Voldemort nodded appreciatively. "Because mine are right, Sirius. The world will change."
"It usually does," Sirius pointed out dryly.
Red eyes flashed.
"I did not invite you here to suffer through your immature posturing," the Dark Lord warned him.
"And I did not come to play by your rules," Sirius retorted. "Face it, Tom. I never have. I have no reason to start now."
A moment of silence passed; Sirius could see the famous temper being reigned in. He knew the expression well. It wasn't one the other wore happily, but one Sirius had seen quite often, weighing the consequences of striking out and rejecting that option as rash. Finally, the other steepled long fingers under his white chin.
"I would appreciate some common courtesy," Voldemort replied mildly.
"As would have I, long ago."
"Was I ever not polite to you? I have ever sought to preserve traditional forms of conduct."
Sirius snorted. "Rich, coming from you. I suppose that my ten-year stay in Casa Serpente and Azkaban was a vacation, then?"
"That stay was what you made of it, Sirius," Voldemort said coldly, nodding at Sirius' left arm. "I have offered you choices. I continue to do so. When you refuse such opportunities, the blame is yours alone."
"I agree."
Surprise briefly registered on his companion's features; Sirius flashed him a cool smile and continued. "I have made my choices, and I don't regret them. I have chosen to remain loyal to friends—brothers—who would do the same for me."
Voldemort chuckled softly. "Foolish. Loyalty amongst equals is never rewarded."
"I disagree, but then power is not what I seek." Sirius gazed evenly into the red eyes.
"Yet you seek to become what I am."
"I do what I must."
"As do I."
It was Sirius' turn to laugh. "Then it all comes back to what we want, doesn't it?"
"That it does." An edge crept back into Voldemort's voice, but Sirius leaned back and sipped his wine calmly. On one hand, the situation was completely surreal—here he was, sitting across from the man who had tortured him for a decade. But somewhere during those ten years, he'd forgotten how to fear Voldemort. He'd even felt his hatred cool a bit, replaced by a calm need to stop the dark wizard and not let anyone else share his fate.
Once was enough. No more.
"You invited me here for a reason," he finally said. "I doubt it was to eat, no matter how good the food is." And his chicken was quite tasty.
"I came to offer you one last choice, Sirius." He even sounded sincere.
"And I came to refuse."
"I thought as much." Now Voldemort sipped his wine; doing so was a good way to buy time. "Yet I must confess that I am disappointed."
Sirius quirked an eyebrow. "Are you?"
"Indeed I am. I do not offer you the role of a servant, Sirius," the Dark Lord replied. "I am offering you the place of a partner. The opportunity to change the world."
"That's the problem." Sirius rose, setting his wine glass back on the table with a soft clink. "I don't want to change the world."
Voldemort looked up at him calmly, his voice surprisingly compassionate. "You won't save them, my friend. They're beyond that."
"I know." Sirius smiled a bittersweet smile. "But I don't have to save them. I just have to stop you."
"So you do." At last, Voldemort rose. "Then may this be our final meeting, for I would hate to see you die."
"I even believe you," Sirius replied honestly. "Though that will not change a thing. There can be no peace between us."
Voldemort extended his hand.
Sirius took it without flinching.
"Farewell, then," the Dark Lord said. "May the strongest find victory."
Sirius smiled. "Not much for right or justice, are you?"
"I am justice, Sirius."
"And I am here to prove you wrong." Sirius released the cold white hand. "Fare thee well."
Voldemort nodded and Sirius left, oblivious to the stares.
He was ready.
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The Other Author's Note: Short but…it just didn't want to be any longer. Hope you enjoyed!
