Author's Note: I re-vamped the chapter structure on July 15, 2020, to go from 11 enormous chapters to 25 reasonably sized ones. I didn't change or add anything, except fixing some typos or grammatical things, so there is no need to re-read.
Apologies if you got a message and though there was an update to the sequel. There will be one in the next day or two!
"BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"
Sirius's spell flew across the space and hit Dolohov's quickly erected shield with such force that he could actually see it shimmering and shuddering in the air. He had only a moment to appreciate that and the cheers coming from the other side of the room before he suddenly found himself flat on his back and unable to move. Dolohov still liked to petrify him whenever he had something to say, instead of just calling for a halt the normal way; he said it built character.
"Why all this shouting?" demanded the dueling instructor. "'I AM GOING TO TELL YOU WHAT I'M CASTING!' Do you see how fucking stupid that is?"
Then Sirius's entire body relaxed and he let his limbs fall fully to the floor with a sigh of relief.
"Sorry, Dolohov," he replied, knowing that his release from the spell meant that his instructor expected an actual response. "I know you're right. I just get so caught up in the moment."
The man snorted to show what he thought of that. "Dueling is about control. Channel your emotions into your spells, but don't let your feelings control you. Again."
Antonin Dolohov was not a man of many words unless he had some specific bit of wisdom to impart, but Sirius had long since learned to follow his brusque commands immediately and without question. If he did, then he learned something valuable and worthwhile. If he didn't, then he found himself nursing bruises even his grandfather's potions couldn't fully heal. He rose to his feet gracefully, gave a playful half bow to the corner of the room where his brother and Barty Crouch sat watching, and sent a Stinging Jinx across the room before he'd risen to his full height again.
Dolohov had obviously not been expecting it, as it was one of those exceedingly rare moments when one of Sirius's spells actually hit the man. He let out a little grunt of surprised discomfort and glared at his pupil as he sent back a barrage of Stunners and Disarming Charms and mild hexes, but Sirius knew him well enough by now to recognize the barest hint of a smile on his dour face.
The next few minutes were a whirlwind of ducking and dodging and Shield Charms and trying his best to send back his own offensive spells whenever he had a spare second. Although he was sure it looked to his brother and Regulus's friend as if he were getting his ass handed to him, the truth was that there had been a vast improvement since he'd begun his dueling lessons. In the beginning he'd barely been able to defend himself for ten seconds before one of Dolohov's spells hit him, and he certainly hadn't been able to even think of sending back any of his own spells. Now he could go several minutes without being hit, and he had learned how to find opportunities to send his own Stunners and jinxes. In fact, he'd gotten quite proficient at aiming while he was moving.
This time when it ended, Dolohov called a halt instead of petrifying him, which Sirius knew meant that he was particularly pleased with Sirius's performance.
"I haven't been hit with a Stinging Jinx since I was nine. My mother reddened my ass for cutting off one of my sister's pigtails," he said. Sirius wasn't at all surprised that he'd done something like that. "Mind you, if the only way you can hit me is by cheating…"
"Cheating? That's rich," replied Sirius, using the haughty, arrogant tone he usually reserved for hapless first years and Severus Snape. "You Slytherins are all the same: It's 'using every tactical advantage' when you do it, but it's 'cheating' when anyone else does it."
The burly Death Eater laughed, his booming voice echoing around the empty drawing room in a sort of pleasant-but-scary way, but from the corner came indignant shouts of "Oi!" and "Hey!"
Before the protests from the peanut gallery could gain traction, the door opened and they all turned as one to see who had interrupted them.
"Grandfather!" exclaimed Regulus as they all took in the sight of the tall, proud man still wearing his traveling cloak. "You're home earlier than we'd expected."
Sirius wasn't surprised that his grandfather had managed to conclude his business earlier than originally planned, but he was surprised that he had barged into the dueling lesson without so much as changing out of his traveling clothes. It was nearly unheard of for Arcturus Black to present himself to guests when he looked so disheveled, and Sirius's suspicions—and his hackles—were immediately raised by it.
For the space of several heartbeats, Arcturus surveyed the room with a severe eye. When he spoke, his voice exuded barely controlled anger. "Regulus, take your friend to my study and prepare for your lesson. Sirius, wait for me in my drawing room."
But he was eyeing Dolohov in such a way that Sirius would have had to be dragged out of the room kicking and screaming before he left them alone.
"I still have half an hour before my lesson is over," he said instead.
"Go, Sirius." There was no need for him to voice the "or else" part, but still Sirius couldn't bring himself to leave. He looked back and forth between his grandfather and his dueling instructor in indecision and not a little anxiety, until finally Arcturus snapped his fingers and the house-elf appeared already in a half-bow. "Kreacher, take Sirius to my drawing room and keep him there until I arrive."
Sirius tried to dodge the house-elf's knobby fingers, but Kreacher was nothing if not efficient in carrying out direct orders. Sirius did, indeed, go kicking and screaming out of the room, although the racket he made perhaps wasn't quite as disruptive as he'd hoped since Kreacher Apparated him out of the room instead of dragging him.
When Grandfather Arcturus stalked in several minutes later, Sirius was standing defiantly in the middle of the room, waiting for him with a glare.
"What did you say to Dolohov? What did you do?"
If the older man was surprised by the vicious tone of his grandson's voice, he did not let it show.
"Dolohov has been dismissed from his position," he stated calmly.
Sirius's mouth dropped open in shock. "Are you mad? He's the best dueling instructor in the United Kingdom!"
"His pernicious influence over you has gone on long enough." Arcturus stepped up to the sideboard along the far wall and poured himself a generous helping of whisky, completely ignoring Sirius's protests as if he couldn't hear them. "And as soon as I am out of the house, he begins work on your younger brother!"
"It was my idea to let Regulus and Barty watch my lesson! I thought Regulus might not be so jealous if he were included in some way," insisted Sirius. "And he hasn't had a negative influence on me at all! He hasn't ever done anything except teach me how to duel!"
His grandfather's silver eyes were as hard as ice, but his tone was carefully controlled when he spoke. "He is a Death Eater and has been turning you against your family, no doubt in an attempt to groom you for his master."
"Turning me against my—" began Sirius, before it occurred to him suddenly where his grandfather's ideas had come from and he closed his mouth so that he could think for a moment. He had known that his grandfather had been shocked and appalled by his outburst over the summer; in fact, this confrontation was the most time they'd spent alone together since that day. He had also known long before this that his grandfather had not liked Dolohov and had been against his appointment as Sirius's dueling instructor since the first time Sirius had ever met the man. He supposed that now he could conclude that his grandfather must have known somehow that Dolohov was a Death Eater, and he must have placed the blame for Sirius's behavior squarely at the man's feet.
Sirius took a fortifying breath and said, carefully, "I had no idea that Dolohov was a Death Eater until a couple of weeks ago, and he's not the one who told me. He's never said anything to me or taught me anything that wasn't directly related to dueling."
"You knew?" asked his grandfather incredulously, and Sirius knew that it was probably the only bit of information he'd taken away from that little speech.
"Grandfather," said Sirius slowly, as if he were speaking to the mentally infirm, "most of the Slytherin boys are or will be Death Eaters, and some of the girls, too."
Sirius felt that he would be better off not mentioning the part about him only having learned all of this from Rabastan Lestrange a few weeks before. From the shocked and frightened look on his grandfather's face, Sirius knew that he'd made the right decision.
"Is it so pervasive? Have so many fallen?"
"Er… yes."
His grandfather moved across the room towards him and grabbed hold of his shoulders before Sirius had time to decide how to react. He peered down into Sirius's eyes with an intensity that was rather frightening. "You will not join them; I forbid it. Other Houses may have fallen, but no Black will be a servant—a slave! Your brother is entirely unsuitable, but I swear to all the gods old and new that if you become a Death Eater I will disinherit you and take him in your place. Do you understand?"
Sirius blinked once, then twice, before his mind caught up.
"I understand," he managed to say in a clear voice, although he was preoccupied thinking about how Bellatrix was already a Death Eater, and Narcissa was going to marry one even if she never took the Mark herself. He was glad that he hadn't named any names before, because if his grandfather was willing to separate him from the best dueling instructor money could buy and threaten to disinherit him, then he would probably have no trouble at all forbidding him to see his cousins or Rabastan. And if he really would disown his own grandson, then he'd likely go immediately to blast Bellatrix off the family tapestry.
"If I swear it," he began, recklessly clinging to the possibility of getting his teacher back, "will you allow Dolohov to keep tutoring me?"
"No," his grandfather replied at once. "What is done is done, and it was done for the best. We will find you a new instructor."
The days that followed were dreadful. Sirius refused to come out of his room the day after Dolohov had been dismissed. He wasn't hiding out of any misplaced notion that his refusal to come downstairs would punish his grandfather, like he knew the adults thought. Rather he knew that if he had to face the man again so soon that he would undoubtedly speak his mind and say something that, while he wouldn't regret it exactly, would only make their relationship all the worse.
The day after that he was ordered downstairs by his mother. It was phrased in polite tones as a request, but Sirius knew that his mother didn't make requests, so he dragged his feet all the way to the downstairs drawing room. The conversation was even more horrific than he'd imagined.
"Walburga, he's getting so big and so handsome!" Aunt Lucretia exclaimed as soon as she saw him, as if he weren't in the room for her to address directly.
Sirius dutifully said how glad he was to see her and asked her how the trip from France had been, but both of the women ignored him.
"And so wild, too, worse than his father ever was," Walburga informed her sister-in-law. "Detentions all day and night, imagine!"
Sirius sunk down into the nearest sofa while Aunt Lucretia clucked her disapproval.
"My dear, I'm sure he isn't any worse than my brother was. He probably just doesn't have the Slytherin knack for not getting caught." If Sirius hadn't known that his mother wouldn't be pleased to hear it, he would have informed his aunt that he did at least three or four times as many things as he actually got caught for, thank you very much. "Perhaps what he needs is a fine girl to keep him in line. Orion improved drastically after he became engaged to you, and Sirius is only a year younger than he was."
Sirius sat up straighter in alarm. "What?"
"Ooo, yes!" Walburga crooned. "I had been thinking of Lucilla Lestrange!"
"Lucilla Lestrange!" he cried. "I'd rather marry a Muggle!"
Both women turned to look at him. Aunt Lucretia's severe hairstyle made her expression seem even more pointy and severe than it probably would have otherwise, and his mother's dark eyes were coldly calculating in her otherwise flawlessly beautiful expression.
"Now, my darling, I know that she's a plain little thing, but she's more well-bred and wealthy than anyone else you're likely to find in England," Walburga told him, sounding almost as if she were sympathetic about him marrying someone who wasn't beautiful. "The Black blood is strong; I'm sure that your children will take after their father."
Her looks had absolutely nothing to do with why Sirius felt nauseous at the thought of marrying her, much less impregnating her. Memories of her words and Rabastan's reactions flitted across his mind.
He glared at his mother. "If you try to set up an engagement between us, I swear I'll treat her so badly that no amount of money would make her go through with it."
He stalked out of the room without a backward glance, only belatedly realizing that perhaps he should have made it clear that he'd do the same to any girl they tried to set him up with without his permission. Knowing his mother, he'd come back downstairs to find that in his absence he'd been engaged to that Parkinson twit in fifth year, or maybe to Alastair Greengrass's nine-year-old sister whom Sirius had never even met.
He felt a bit better the next day, when no engagement was announced and Barty finally went home to his own family. The Crouches stayed for dinner at Grimmauld Place before collecting their son, and Sirius was quietly amused by the way his family and Mr. Crouch danced around the dragon in the room: the Blacks' obviously Dark practices, and Mr. Crouch's outspoken opposition to the Dark Arts as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Although he tried to be subtle about it, Mr. Crouch eyed everything around him suspiciously, as if he might find something incriminating about the silverware or the drapery. Grandfather Arcturus had been hard pressed all evening to find anything to talk about that didn't involve politics about which they disagreed.
"Barty tells me that he has a particular passion for herbology," Orion helpfully contributed into the awkward silence that had fallen between the men as Kreacher cleared away their dinner plates.
"Bartemius knows that excelling at useful subjects is more important than his little hobby," replied Mr. Crouch as he peered distrustfully into his pudding.
Still, it was clear that the Crouches weren't about to disapprove of the growing friendship between Barty and Regulus. Why would they, given that Arcturus was a member of the Wizengamot, and the Blacks had never been publicly accused of any crimes?
Sirius really ought not to begrudge his brother the friendship, but the truth was that he did. He was insanely jealous that his brother had a best friend he could talk about openly and actually bring home for a visit, whereas Sirius would never have dared suggest that James Potter or Peter Pettigrew or Remus Lupin be allowed to visit Grimmauld Place, and he wasn't anywhere near close enough to any of the Slytherins in his year to want to invite them for a visit.
The only part of the Crouches' visit he hadn't liked was when his mother and aunt had asked Mrs. Crouch, née Travers, all about her and her husband's families, particularly the girls. Sirius supposed that it was a good thing Barty was an only child, because if he'd had a sister then she and Sirius would have been engaged before the pudding had been cleared away and dessert served.
Although Sirius never would have thought it possible two and a half years ago when he'd first been sorted into Gryffindor, the common room in the tower was starting to feel more and more like home. It seemed that every time he left, he was more eager than ever to come back. (Of course, his increasing frustration with his life at Grimmauld Place probably contributed quite a bit to his warm feelings about Gryffindor Tower.) Even the red and gold, garish as it still was when paired together, was starting to grow on him. And he had to admit that the squishy, threadbare sofas, which he'd only ungenerously called tatty before, were the most comfortable sofas he'd ever planted his ass on.
Unfortunately, there were fewer seats than there were people who wanted to sit on them, so there was always quite a fight amongst the Gryffindors. Fortunately for Sirius, he and his friends had such a reputation at this point that even their housemates were wary of crossing them for fear of waking to find that all of their clothes had been changed to Slytherin colors or that their hair had been semi-permanently spelled off.
"Up you go," James told a pair of second years who had claimed the best sofa nearest the fireplace.
Remus looked on disapprovingly as the younger kids cleared out, no doubt because they had their potions books spread out around them and had seemed to be in the middle of an intense studying session before they'd been interrupted. However, Sirius knew that he wouldn't actually put up any sort of fuss on their behalf, not if it meant possibly offending James. Remus might have spoken up against Sirius or Peter if James weren't involved, but he had a special kind of loyalty to his first friend.
Sirius threw his arm around the slighter boy, wincing a bit to feel the bony shoulders. It was a reminder of the toll the lycanthropy took on his friend's body.
"Lighten up, Remus," he said jovially, pushing down those thoughts. "They deserve it for trying to study on the first night back."
Remus looked as if he were debating how to reply to that pronouncement when Sirius released him suddenly with a loud, "OI!"
James and Peter were scrambling around the sofa that the second years had just vacated; there was room for two of them to sprawl out, and the other two would have to pull up less comfortable chairs. Sirius took advantage of his long legs and vaulted over the back of the sofa, landing on his back across the cushions. A second later, James landed heavily across his stomach.
Sirius's breath was knocked out of his body with a loud "Oof!"
James laughed and bounced a bit as Peter came up short to stand next to Sirius's head. "Too slow, mate!"
Peter scowled at him, his small eyes scrunching even more in displeasure.
As soon as he was able to breathe again, Sirius shoved at Potter, who was still bouncing on his stomach. "Get off me, Potter!"
After much kicking and shoving and good-natured name-calling, they finally sprawled comfortably, Sirius's long legs hooked over the back of the sofa and James's extended beside Sirius's body. Still grumbling over the loss of his spot, Peter slouched into the nearest armchair, which Sirius knew from experience was slightly less comfortable. Remus had pulled another chair up closer to the fire, which was his usual habit since his thin frame couldn't seem to hold onto any heat in the drafty tower.
Things settled down quickly. For a bunch of reputed troublemakers, most of their time was spent doing rather boring, mundane things. Of course, Sirius thought, for a famous magical castle, Hogwarts could be rather boring and mundane itself at times, especially for somebody who had grown up in the magical world and wasn't surprised by moving staircases and ghosts and other such things. James was dividing his time between studying a Quidditch tactics reference book with animated diagrams and interrupting Remus's concentration on his advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts book. Peter was trying to teach Sirius the finer points of Muggle poker, but Sirius was having trouble remembering all of the rules.
"Is it better to have all of the same little symbols or to have two of the same person?" he asked, tapping his finger impatiently against the backs of the cards in his hand. "I can never remember."
Peter let out a grumble of exasperation. "The point of the game is to keep your hand a secret, Sirius!"
Sirius shrugged in unconcern. "Maybe you're just a bad teacher."
From behind his tatty textbook, Remus lifted his golden brown eyes to look at them in amusement. "He was probably hoping you wouldn't notice that on account of your overwhelming arrogance," he told Sirius, his eyes crinkling in amusement. "Then he could win plenty of Galleons off you."
Sirius's laugh barked out across the common room, drawing attention from the scattered groups playing chess and catching up with the friends and rushing to complete homework assignments they ought to have finished over break. Lily Evans and Emmeline Vance, who were inexplicably sitting together at a table next to the stairs leading up to the girls' dormitories, both glared in his direction. As the commotion died down and Peter's halfhearted protests of innocence subsided, Sirius rose from the sofa, inciting a brief squabble with James, and made a show of stretching.
"Where're you going?" demanded James as he took the opportunity to stretch out along the entire length of the vacated cushions.
"To snog Edgecomb," inserted Peter, even as he rolled his eyes at the way James had taken up the entire sofa as if nobody else had wanted to sit there.
"Where else would he go after such a long drought?" picked up Remus. "How long has it been, Sirius? Two whole weeks?"
The three of them dissolved into laughter at his expense, but Sirius wasn't bothered. He allowed an easy smile to cross over his thin, well-formed lips.
"That's right. I am sure that one of these days some poor girls will take pity on you boys and then you'll know what it's like. Maybe Evans for you, eh Potter?"
James spluttered and jerked far enough off the sofa so that he could see whether Evans had heard the comment. Remus and Peter burst into renewed peals of laughter at his reaction, but James was clearly not at all pleased to have the joke turned on him, if his dark look was anything to go by. Sirius would have to be sure to check his bed for booby traps before crawling into it that night. Although they had all agreed that they were all off limits in public, minor pranks in the privacy of their dormitory were fair game, and Potter was a sore loser. Sirius was already planning his counter-prank before he'd even crossed the common room to the portrait hole.
As an ancient magical castle, Hogwarts had layers upon layers of magic that had been built up for nearly a thousand years. Unfortunately, there apparently wasn't enough magic in the world to make the stone corridors any less drafty in the dead of winter. Sirius cast a charm on his robes to help warm himself, but he really wished that he'd thought to grab his cloak and maybe a scarf before he'd left the tower.
The individual rooms were a bit better than the halls, but the classroom where Janice was waiting for him had long been unused and the spells not maintained as religiously as occupied parts of the castle. Their breath puffed out in a cloud of steam between them as they leaned in for a kiss, which produced a giggle from Janice. Sirius smiled and closed the rest of the distance between them. Her lips felt soft and smooth against his own, and he briefly tasted the butterscotch flavor of her lip gloss before she pulled back.
"You need to start using lip balm," she informed him matter-of-factly. She raised her hand to cup his cheek and ran her thumb gently along his chapped bottom lip. "I'll bring some to Arithmancy tomorrow."
"Do you think you can put up with it in the meantime?"
He didn't wait for a response but leaned down to press his mouth back against hers. She seemed more than happy to oblige him. Her hand migrated away from his cheek to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, and he let his hands span her waist to pull her up closer against him until her chest was crushed into his.
When she broke the kiss again it was only to rest her head against his shoulder and wrap her arms around his waist.
"Before you make me forget again," she mumbled into his shoulder, "I wanted to say thank you for the necklace."
He eyed the golden eagle that hung from a delicate chain around her neck. It was little more than a bauble, really—something he'd seen in one of the Hogwarts-themed catalogues that one of the Gryffindor girls had left lying in the common room. He had thought it would make a nice Christmas gift, since she had admired his Gryffindor pieces before and he knew that she didn't have any Ravenclaw ones of her own.
"Thank you for my books. I've really enjoyed the first two," he replied truthfully. She had sent him a fairly nice bound set of books by some Muggle bloke called Lewis. Sirius had been surprised at first—not at the fact that a Ravenclaw would give him books as a gift, but that she'd give him Muggle books—but they had really been quite entertaining thus far.
She beamed up at him. "I'm so glad! My sister's boyfriend told me you'd like them, but I wasn't sure."
Apparently one of her older sisters was dating a Muggle-born, but she usually refrained from mentioning it too much around Sirius, as it was clear that he was uncomfortable with the idea. Janice well remembered how upset he had been by The Andromeda Incident. Still, the fact that her family accepted the relationship threw into stark relief the differences between her family and his, and Sirius's thoughts immediately went to his mother and aunt's efforts over the holiday. He wondered if Janice knew that he would have to break up with her eventually, whenever he could no longer stop his parents from setting him up with some girl from a respectable family.
The thought made him feel awkward enough that she was able to tell something was wrong by the time he delivered her back to Ravenclaw Tower. But he had gotten ahold of himself by the next morning when he took his seat next to her in Arithmancy, and he gracefully accepted the small container of lip balm she offered him. (Fortunately she had managed to find some that didn't taste like butterscotch or strawberry or anything else, or leave any sort of shine or gloss or on his lips.) Still, there remained a sense of slight discomfort between them that hadn't been there before.
Sirius could also feel Evan Rosier's eyes on the back of his head throughout the class, and then later that afternoon when the Gryffindors had Potions with the Slytherins. Even James, who was usually too focused on what Lily Evans and Snape were doing at their station to see anything else (including what his own potions were doing), noticed Rosier's incessant staring.
"What's his problem anyway?" the other boy demanded as they were walking out of the dungeons. They were at a respectable distance behind the group of third-year Slytherins, but James was so loud that the group obviously heard. "He hasn't even tried to talk to you since that day on the train!"
Sirius almost pointed out that James had treated him worse than Rosier had back then—Potter had actively antagonized him, whereas Rosier had merely ignored him. Remus obviously knew where his thoughts were heading, because he gave Sirius a look somewhere between wary and pleading. He was probably right, so Sirius swallowed his retort.
"It's fine, James," he said instead. Evan looked back over his shoulder and their eyes met briefly. "I can handle it."
The Slytherin flushed and turned back around to respond to something Will Avery had said, and James eyed Sirius skeptically.
"I hope you aren't thinking of letting him get away with it just because you used to be friends," Potter told him with frown. "He's a Slytherin now; you're not."
He really wondered whether James knew that he was just as blindly biased as the Slytherins he hated so much. Sirius was no longer surprised by it, after having heard James's opinions on how Sirius and his own mother had chosen to rise above Slytherin and be something better and other Slytherins should be able to make that choice as well, but it was still discomfiting and annoying. His fellow Gryffindor usually refrained from saying anything too bad about Slytherins because Sirius's family were all in that house, but his feelings were still clear.
Sirius thought, not for the first time, that his life had been much easier when everybody equally wanted nothing to do with him.
By the time he finally managed to slip away and meet Rabastan in their abandoned room in the dungeons several weeks after the start of term, he really needed an outlet for everything that was bothering him or else he was going to snap. Rabastan was leaning back casually on the tabletop, idly training his light-colored wand on a mouse that was screeching and writhing in a way that Sirius would recognize anywhere.
"Should you be doing that here?" Sirius asked, more out of worry for Rabastan being caught than any concern that his friend was going around Cruciating innocent rodents for fun.
The older boy turned his head just enough to glance sideways at Sirius with one sapphire eye that was glinting in morbid amusement. "No, but what are they going to do about it even if they catch me?"
Sirius thought about it for a few seconds and had to concede the point. "I guess nothing, as long as you stick to mice."
"Dolohov says that I have to think too much about my intentions before I'm able to cast Unforgivables," Rabastan said by way of explanation as trained his wand on the mouse and his brow furrowed in concentration, "and that the only way that I'll ever be effective at using them is if I practice so much that it's like muscle memory except for my mind. Avada Kedavra."
It was only the second time that Sirius had ever seen that particular shade of green, a ghastly bright color that seemed to trigger an instinctive sense of terror in him as the glow hung like a fog in the air around his friend's wand. The first time had been when his father had demonstrated the Unforgivables to him when he was young and had asked about them after having seen the term in a Dark book he'd snuck out of Grimmauld Place's library without permission. His grandfather had become quite serious when he'd asked—even more serious than he usually was—and had insisted that it was one of those private conversations that only a father ought to have with his son. Orion had taken Sirius into his office and barred the door behind them, even though Regulus, who couldn't have been more than five or six and hadn't known what was going on, had been left crying in the hallway at being excluded. His father's explanation and subsequent demonstration had been the first time Sirius had realized how great and terrible the power inside of him that he'd always taken for granted could be.
Rabastan noticed his discomfort and offered him a slight smirk. "I still feel that way too, whenever I watch anybody else cast it. It doesn't seem to cause that reaction when it's your own curse, though. I'm sure Dolohov will teach you soon enough, and then you'll see for yourself."
"No, he won't." The bitter words had been out of his mouth before he'd realized.
"Sure he will!" Rabastan frowned and tilted his head as he looked at Sirius, as if he couldn't quite figure out a puzzle. "Did he yell at you about how hopeless you are or something? Don't worry about it; he only does that to people he thinks have potential. He just curses everybody else and leaves them for their parents to sort out, if they can."
Sirius couldn't help the brief smile that flitted across his lips at that. It did sound exactly like the way Dolohov would handle things. But it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared.
"My grandfather fired him."
It would have been amusing the way the older boy's pink mouth fell open and his eyes widened comically, if Sirius hadn't been so upset.
Finally, after he'd opened his mouth as if to say something several times without any words coming out, Rabastan managed to exclaim, "He did what?!" Sirius knew that it was a rhetorical question, so he kept silent. Sure enough, within a few seconds Rabastan, who by that point had risen from the table and was pacing in agitation, turned on him with a hard look that Sirius knew wasn't directly aimed at him. "Why would he do that? Dolohov is the best dueling instructor money can buy!"
"I know," replied Sirius.
"You won't find anybody better!" Rabastan declared.
Sirius reached out to lay a hand on the older boy's arm to stop him from jabbing his wand around to emphasize his words.
"Rab, I know," he reiterated. "He… Well, he doesn't want me to be a—a Death Eater. He told Dolohov to get out and said that he'd disinherit me if I ever joined."
Rabastan gaped at him for just a moment until he regained control of his expression. "Disinherit you? Even my parents never threatened to do that! Still…" he trailed off for a moment in contemplation, "it makes sense, now, why your father has kept making excuses about why he can't take the Mark, even though he's given plenty of money…."
That was news to Sirius. It did make sense, though. His father had been the one to hire Dolohov, even though Sirius's grandfather had been against it from the very start. Clearly he supported whatever Dolohov was about. But if Arcturus had threatened to disinherit his own son if he became a Death Eater, just like he'd done to Sirius, then Orion would have known that it was no idle threat.
He eyed the Slytherin boy apprehensively. "Did you… expect me to join?"
"Well, yeah, I guess," answered Rabastan. He looked surprised that he'd been asked. "I suppose I just took it for granted that you would be with m—er, us."
Sirius had to have known that already on some level, if he'd ever bothered to stop and think about it, and now he felt a deep anxiety settle in his stomach. The Gryffindors were only his friend because they thought he'd separated himself from the Slytherins. Apparently the Slytherins were only his friends because they assumed that, despite his second life in Gryffindor, he was still one of them. Meanwhile, his grandfather disliked everything Gryffindor-ish about him but also forbade him from following his Slytherin friends' path. The pressure from all sides was overwhelming, and suddenly he felt the worries that he'd been holding in for years bubble up. It was absolutely mortifying, but he couldn't stop the tears of frustration that welled up in his eyes.
Rabastan looked incredibly alarmed at this turn of events. His panicked expression struck Sirius as so funny that laughter boiled up next to his tears, and he thought he would choke on his combined sobs and giggles.
He went willingly when his friend eventually decided that an embrace was the best course of action for dealing with a friend who had descended into hysterics. Rabastan's arms were solid around him, and his shoulder was strong under Sirius's cheek. It was probably one of the most comforting things Sirius had experienced in the past few years, but then he noticed the dead mouse on the table mere inches from their bodies and he couldn't help the increased laughter that shook his body. Laughter and strength and death… that was definitely the essence of Rabastan Lestrange.
"It doesn't matter, Sirius. You know I'd love you no matter what, don't you?" asked the Slytherin a few minutes later, when he deemed from the lack of tears that it was safe to speak. Sirius hadn't known that, in fact. He couldn't remember the last time that anybody had said they loved him—surely his mother had said it before, but he couldn't remember any specific time when she had. He let the feeling of calm wash over him as his friend added, "You could become an Auror for all I care. It wouldn't change my opinion of you."
Not that Rabastan could see it, but Sirius couldn't help but raise a skeptical eyebrow at that declaration. "Really? An Auror?"
He could feel Rabastan shrug. "Well, I'd probably be a mite perturbed if you arrested me for being a Dark wizard."
Sirius's bark-like laughter echoed in the narrow confines of the stone room as his friend released him and he stepped back. Rabastan's grin reached all the way to his eyes, still predatory for all that it was full and genuine.
"Speaking of Aurors, though," he plowed onwards, clearly having decided that they were to change the subject and never again speak of what had just happened, "what do you think of Crouch?"
"Crouch?" repeated Sirius. "You mean Mr. Crouch?"
Rabastan Vanished the mouse with an efficient gesture and hefted himself back up onto the table. "No, I mean Barty. Of course your brother is a welcome member of our group because, well, he is who he is, but we're all a bit wary of Crouch. He's got impeccable bloodlines, but his father…"
"I doubt he'll go running to his father about anything he finds out in Slytherin," said Sirius, understanding at once what the other Slytherins' concerns were.
"Yeah, that's the sense I got, too," affirmed Rabastan. "He kind of seems like he, well, you know…"
"Doesn't like his father?" filled in Sirius. "Yeah, I got that, too. I never saw him say two words to Mr. Crouch that weren't 'yes, sir' or 'no, sir,' and that was only when he had no choice but to answer a direct question."
Rabastan leaned back on his elbows. "Well, I'll give him a chance. The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's only child would certainly be a real coup for me, maybe even enough to make up for my having let the Black heir slip through my fingers."
His expression was neutral and he didn't seem to be making any sort of point, but Sirius was still quite uncomfortable with the idea that his friend might actually get into trouble over Sirius not becoming a Death Eater. His life really had been easier when he hadn't had to worry about anyone except himself.