Walburga glanced across the dining room to the clock on the fireplace mantle. Five minutes to eight. She had sent the elf up to Sirius's bedroom at half-past seven to ensure he was awake and make it clear that he was expected to be dressed and downstairs promptly at eight o'clock for breakfast. He had precisely five minutes to follow through on her orders.
She took a deep sip of her strong, black coffee. The thought of having to go marching up to her son's bedroom to force him out of bed in time for breakfast was none too appealing - it never had been - but if Sirius Orion had intentions of falling back into his old teenage habit of attempting to waste away the morning in bed, Walburga was prepared to to whatever she had to..
Thankfully, she was spared the ordeal of having to head upstairs in search of her son. At exactly one minute to eight, Sirius entered the dining room, wearing the bleary-eyed frown of one who clearly would have rather still been asleep - and his pyjamas and dressing gown.
"Good morning to you too, Mother" Sirius offered sarcastically in reply to his mother's silent, taken-aback stare. He took his seat at the place laid out for him at the table, sitting directly opposite his mother.
To the side of them both, the chair at the head of the table - the traditional seat of the father of the house - lay glaringly empty.
Sirius slumped forward, resting his head lazily in his palm, his elbow dug into the table top. A slobbish posture, clearly put on to provoke. Beneath their sleepy haze, his eyes glimmered with a far-too-familiar challenging glint.
Walburga refused to indulge her son with the response he clearly craved.
"Sit up properly, Sirius Orion"
Somewhat to her surprise, Sirius did not argue with her, nor did he question her muted response his his obvious display of rebellion. Silently, and with a moody expression, he slowly hauled himself up into a more appropriate posture.
Walburga lifted her coffee cup to take another sip - and to hide the victorious smirk spreading across her face. In times gone by she'd have surely risen to the bait her son had thrown her, and would have insisted he return to his room immediately to change.
But Walburga required answers of her son Answers she was unlikely to acquire if he would be allowed to retreat back up to his room in a furious sulk.
Sirius looked down at the empty table before him.
"Wouldn't mind a cup of that myself" He nodded to the coffee tray set up beside Walburga.
"Breakfast will be along any moment" Walburga replied, dismissively.
As if on cue, the dining room door swung open and in walked Kreacher, his arms laden with a silver breakfast tray. An almost identical tray floated along beside him, save for the fact that it also bore a teapot, cup and saucer.
"Your breakfast, Mistress" The elf gave a respectful bow of his head as he walked over to stand before her.
Walburga noted with a hint of irritation that he did not acknowledge Sirius's presence with the same level of respect that he was always careful to afford her.
Irksome, insolent creature.
"No, no" she said sharply as the elf attempted to lay the tray in his arms down in front of her. "Serve Master Sirius first"
For a fraction of a second, she almost thought she could see a hint of a hesitation in the elf's movements, but thankfully for his sake, he did not dare to disobey her direction. He gave another silent bow of his head and shuffled around the table to stand beside Sirius, sending the floating tray downward to rest in front of him.
"Breakfast for the young Master" Kreacher muttered in his forcibly humble tone.
Sirius did not reply, simply shot the elf a look of obvious distaste from the corner of his eye as he reached out and removed the silver dome covering his plate.
"Well, this is a treat" Sirius remarked as he observed the plateful of toast and scrambled eggs accompanied by a small bowl of chopped melon. "All out of porridge, are we?"
"I can have the elf prepare some, if that is what you would prefer" Walburga quipped as she removed the cover of her own food - an almost identical meal, save for the lack of toast. She had little stomach for much food in the morning.
"I'll spare him the trouble" Sirius wrinkled his nose in distaste at the thought of the dreaded porridge. "Wouldn't mind a bit of bacon to go with it, though"
"One step at a time" replied Walburga. "We wouldn't want you to overdo it before you're yet used to rich foods, would we?"
Sirius's cocky expression faded, but he chose not to retaliate.
At last, he seems to be learning to pick his battles, Walburga mused to herself as she speared a forkful of eggs.
"Oi, hang on a minute. What is that?" asked Sirius as he stared at the steaming, pale green liquid that he'd just poured from his teapot.
"It is green tea"
Sirius stared at his cup in disbelief for a moment before jealously eyeing his mother's cup of black coffee.
"Bagged the last of the coffee for yourself, then, did you?"
"Don't talk nonsense, Sirius Orion" Walburga replied dismissively, forcing herself to focus on her breakfast in spite of her growing urge to snap at him to be silent.
"Come on, be reasonable!" Sirius argued back. "You can't seriously expect me to start the day without coffee"
"Absolutely, I do. For now, at least. You aren't yet back to your full strength, the caffeine will prove too much for you. You'll only get overexcited with all that extra energy"
Sirius was far from convinced.
"What, so all I get is this muck, then?"
"It is not muck, Sirius Orion. Green tea contains many health benefits. It will help you regain your strength"
"As if your cocktail of potions isn't enough on that score already" Sirius scoffed. He picked up his teacup and grimaced at the steaming tea before setting it back down with a tad more force than necessary, sending the liquid sloshing over the edge of the cup. He slouched back in his seat and looked away from his breakfast, staring off into the distance.
Walburga took a dainty sip from her own cup of coffee.
"Oh? Suddenly you've decided you approve of my medicinal efforts after all?"
"I didn't say that"
"Well, I had been considering the thought of allowing you to stop the nutrition tonic in a day or two," Walburga placed her cup back onto the table with a thoughtful sigh. "But of course, that would depend entirely on your being sensible enough to accept an appropriate diet by way of replacement"
Sirius Orion had many natural talents, of that his mother had always been proudly aware, but the ability to mask his thoughts had never been one of them. She could see as clear as day the cogs of his mind at work as he struggled with the decision of whether or not to concede the fight.
Walburga hid her approving smile behind a bite of her eggs as Sirius finally snatched up his cup and took a sip of his tea - a smile which melted into a bemused smirk when his face broke into what could only be considered a childish grimace.
"You'll get used to the taste," she told him. "Perhaps you may even grow to like it"
"I doubt it," said Sirius shortly as he snatched up a piece of toast and ripped off a corner, chewing roughly to take the taste away. "Even the Animagus potion wasn't as rank as that"
Walburga frowned, though she wasn't certain whether it was due to her son's careless table manners or the reminder of his illegal dabbling in advanced magic whilst still at school.
"How apt you should raise that particular subject again" she remarked as she scooped up a forkful of eggs. "I have some more questions for you regarding your new... ability"
Sirius looked up in alarm.
"What about, exactly?" he asked, taking another nibble on the corner of his toast - an attempt so flimsy at feigning innocence that it was almost laughable.
Except Walburga Black was in no mood for laughter.
"About the circumstances I found upon entering your bedroom yesterday morning, Sirius Orion" she replied, coldly. She placed her knife and fork neatly down on her plate and folded her hands in her lap, clearly in no further mood for false pleasantries.
Sirius looked uneasy.
"I don't know what you mean"
"I'm quite sure you do" Walburga was clearly unconvinced. "So by your reckoning, my entering your bedroom to find a dog cowering under the bed with the window flung wide open before the winter is fully behind us was a perfectly acceptable state of affairs?"
Sirius's eyes flickered with unease, but he held firm. His toast had fallen carelessly from his grasp, half-eaten.
"Eat your breakfast, Sirius" Walburga ordered.
"I've already told both of you all there is to know about it," Sirius snapped, his expression darkening at the vague mention of his grandfather - but he obediently snatched up the toast and tore off another chunk of toast with his teeth. "We were fifteen and it was a laugh, that's all there is to-"
"I remember perfectly well what you said yesterday" Walburga snapped impatiently, frowning as Sirius sent a spray of bread crumbs spilling from his mouth onto the table. Had her years spent drilling appropriate table manners into him been for nothing? "I am not referring to that particular element of the matter. What I am far more concerned with at this moment is precisely why any sane person would see fit to sleep on the floor instead of a perfectly good bed, and with the window wide open. Drink your tea"
Sirius let out a laugh which failed to reach his eyes as he drained the rest of his tea in one large, enduring gulp.
"Well in all fairness, the state of my sanity has a history of being questioned by various members of this family, if memory serves" He hid his grin behind his hand as he wiped it across his mouth.
"Sirius Orion!"
"Alright, alright" Sirius rolled his eyes, the image of careless insolence - but his mother's trained eye did not miss the way he tensed at the sharpness of her tone.
"Now, tell me the truth," Walburga ordered. "Why were you sleeping under the bed?"
Sirius had no further sarcastic quips to offer. His smile faded. He sighed and tossed the final corner of his toast back onto the plate.
"It's nothing," he mumbled, staring down at his food.
Walburga couldn't have been less convinced if she tried.
"You never could manage a convincing lie" she stated as she took out her wand and directed the pot of green tea to refill Sirius's cup. Her son glared at it irritably - but did not protest. "Not to me, at least"
A flash of annoyance at the unspoken order to accept the second cup crossed Sirius's face, before being replaced by the same look of ease as he met his mother's stern gaze.
"It's just-" Sirius paused for a moment to consider his words. He ran a hand through his newly-cropped hair, thinking. "Easier"
"Easier?" Walburga's fingers drummed on the table top impatiently.
"It's easier to sleep like that" Sirius's gaze remained fixed downward. "On the floor. As a dog"
Walburga gave herself a moment to try and process these absurd words which she was quite sure she had heard correctly, but somehow just couldn't seem to accept.
"How so?" she asked, quietly. "What could one possibly have to gain by electing to sleep as an animal, as opposed to one's proper form?"
"It's not a case of gaining anything, simply of keeping hold of what you've got left" Sirius spoke in a low, dark voice. "I could hide inside my Animagus form. There's less for the dementors to steal in the mind of a dog"
Walburga observed, silently, the unpleasant change which came over her son as he recalled his experiences in Azkaban. Sirius's eyes fell away from her, returning to stare at the plate once again. His face was empty, devoid of all emotion.
He was certainly long-past bothering to attempt to show any interest in his food.
"In Azkaban you've got nothing except who you are. And if you lose hold of that that - if you let them take it from you, you won't last long"
Walburga felt all the warmth drain from her body as her son alluded to the dreadful fate he had come so close to falling victim of.
"They can't get to me as much, as a dog. There's less to take from an animalistic mind. It keeps your human self hidden, to an extent" Sirius continued, unprompted. "As for the bed, it's too… soft. I'm not used to it"
If Walburga hadn't been so preoccupied with attempting to make sense of all that Sirius told her, she'd have been fascinated by how uncharacteristically subdued - how downright uncomfortable - her son looked.
"It's just easier to sleep on the ground, now. After so long. And the room was too warm. You don't-"
Sirius let out a shudder, as though the mere mention of the dreadful cold that Walburga sometimes swore she could still feel herself had sent a cold shiver down his spine.
"You don't ever really feel warm in Azkaban, even in the summer. Except it's never really summer in Azkaban. In the end you get used to the cold. You have to. Or else you-"
"Stop it!"
The sharpness of Walburga's words cut through the air like glass as she sprang to her feet.
Sirius flinched, his eyes darting around the room for a moment as he snapped out of a daze that he didn't seem to have realised he'd sunken into. Emotion returned to his eyes - confusion with a flicker of fear - as he looked up at his mother.
Walburga's breath shuddered as she fought to control the cocktail of anger and disgust at what she'd heard rising within her. Slowly, she lowered herself back down into her seat, smoothed her skirts, and dealt her son a stern look of utter composure.
It was painful to hear her son talk of such things. A deep, bruising pain like a blow to the stomach which throbbed within her more intensely with each of his words that reached her ears. To think that her son, her firstborn child, was more comfortable sleeping on the cold, hard floor…
"I shan't hear another word of this nonsense" she said firmly as she busied herself with pouring herself another helping of coffee. The china pot shook slightly in her wand's unsteady grasp. Truly, she's lost all desire for any more refreshment, but the action gave her an outlet for her restless hands, if nothing else. "I've heard quite enough on the matter"
She took a sip, forgoing a cooling blow beforehand. The hot, strong liquid seared its way down her throat - a strangely comforting sensation in this moment of high emotion.
Opposite her, Sirius seemed to be finding the same odd comfort in his own cup. He didn't even pull a face as he swallowed down the green tea.
Neither of them spoke for a minute or so. Every few moments, each would steal a hesitant glance across the table at the other, as though checking to see if the other was looking at them. Neither mother nor son seemed to be able to summon the words worthy of breaking the silence between them.
It was Walburga who finally spoke first.
"Your grandfather will be here again this evening for dinner" she said, picking up her knife and fork and delicately scraping up the last of her eggs. "You ought to have a proper rest this afternoon, to ensure you are at your best before he arrives"
"I'm fi-"
"You are not fine!"
Walburga surprised even herself with the force with which her words left her. Seeing the startled look on Sirius's face, she gritted her teeth and forced herself to regain her composure.
"You need to rest, Sirius Orion" she said, sharply. "Properly"
A rebellious flicker lit up in Sirius's eyes - a flicker which Walburga, by both nature and, indeed, habit, was immediately challenged to snuff out.
"Allow me to make one thing perfectly clear," She leaned forward intently, capturing his gaze from across the table with an almost magnetic pull. "There is to be no more talk of sleeping on cold, hard floors - as a dog, or otherwise. I forbid it. From now on you will sleep only in a properly-made and suitably-warmed bed"
Sirius attempted to speak, but it must surely have only been a token protest at best, for he immediately closed his mouth again as his mother cut him cleanly off.
"I said, I forbid it," she repeated, firmly. "And you will take the sleeping draught regularly, as well. If you cannot sleep unaided, then the draught is a far more suitable solution than your current proposed solution"
"Don't need it" Sirius mumbled - a pathetic, childish excuse which even he did not sound convinced of, cemented by the way he sat, slumped back in his seat, staring off to the side, far more the image of one on the brink of conceding defeat than putting up a fight.
"Given what you yourself have told me this afternoon, and given that you look as if you've hardly slept, you can hardly expect me to believe that you are in any fit state to judge what is best for you"
Sirius did not reply. He continued to look at the wall, down into his lap, anywhere except at his mother. Perhaps he'd finally learned to identify a fruitless fight against her, Walburga wondered - or perhaps he was simply too tired to continue resisting. Either way, she was determined to eliminate the latter in favour of cultivating the former.
Setting down her knife and fork on her empty plate, Walburga stood up and strode silently around the table. Sirius's head lifted at the sound of the movement and his eyes followed her until she was stood right beside him.
Walburga firmly grasped her son's chin in her hand and tilted his head up to look at her. Rebellion still burned bright in his eyes, but behind it, hidden for all beside his mother's trained eye, he looked tired. Dark circles cast shadows beneath his sunken eyes, contributing to the gauntness of his already-hollow face. Confirming, to her immense irritation, that her son had not obeyed her command to take the sleeping draught last night.
"You will take the sleeping draught for as long as I deem it necessary for the good of your health"
A fresh spark of protest crossed Sirius's face, and his mother tightened her grip on his jaw before he had a chance to form an argument.
"If I find that you have been forgoing what is best for you, so help me, I will stand over you each night myself and ensure that you do take it. Do I make myself clear?"
Sirius swallowed once, then slowly nodded as much as his mother's hold would allow. His expression had softened somewhat. How quickly he had given in, Walburga mused privately to herself. One could almost believe he'd wanted to lose - but his mother knew better.
Satisfied, she released him from her hold, her hand lingering on his face for just a second longer than necessary before she backed away.
"Finish your food" Walburga ordered, nodding to Sirius's half-finished toast and untouched eggs and fruit.
"I'm never going to finish all this," Sirius insisted. "It's far too early for so much food"
"Nonsense" Walburga waved away his argument. "You've been without a proper, nutritious breakfast for three years. You need proper food and that is what you shall eat"
"You can't make me eat" Sirius shot back, irritably. "What are you going to do, force it down my throat?"
"Kreacher!"
A split second later, the ever-faithful house elf appeared at her side.
"Yes, Mistress?"
"Wait here with Master Sirius until he has finished his breakfast," Walburga ordered. "Do not let him leave until he had cleared his plate, and finished his tea"
"Of course, Mistress" Kreacher gave a humble bow.
"Oh, and one more thing-"
The elf's ears flip-flopped as his head snapped up eagerly.
"I expressly forbid you from obeying any and all orders given to you by my son"
Sirius's mouth fell open in stunned disbelief.
"You can't do that!"
Walburga shot a sharp glare down at her son.
"On the contrary, I think you will find that I can '' she replied, a mere slither of triumph leaking through into her words. "I will not have you using the elf to manipulate your way around my orders. Or did you think I'd forgotten your little trick with the bed covers yesterday morning?"
To his credit, her son did not shrink under her withering gaze.
"Excuse me for being of the opinion that holding someone in bed against their will is inhumane treatment" he seethed - but he snatched up his discarded fork from his plate, nevertheless.
Walburga stood beside her son, watching carefully until she had seen him swallow a mouthful of food before giving a silent, approving nod and heading towards the door.
"I shall be in the parlour" she informed Kreacher. "In case I am… required"
The elf gave a humble nod and bow of farewell before resuming his watch upon his young charge.
Once certain that her son was too preoccupied with scooping up a second forkful of eggs, his fork clanging angrily against the china to match his thunderous expression, Walburga treated herself to a triumphant smile as she observed him from the doorway.
"Cleared of all charges"
Bartemius Crouch had already begun to rise from his seat in the stands of the Wizengamont scarcely before the dreaded phrase had been announced. He kept his eyes low to the ground as he gathered his papers together. He stood and marched his way along the benches and out of the courtroom, trying to block out the low murmuring of his fellow members of the court as they began to pack up their things and follow his lead out of the benches.
From the centre of the hall below, a triumphant cackle echoed through the vast chamber.
"See! What did I tell ya?" jeered the coarse voice of Mundungus Fletcher. "I ain't never sold no dodgy cauldrons!"
Crouch forced himself not to give him the attention he craved, but as he made his way out of the room (passing by the court scribe on his way to collect the transcript of the proceedings) it was impossible not to catch a glimpse from the corner of his eye of the defendant he had just been forced to clear of having sold the faulty batch of stolen cauldrons responsible for a mild but still damaging explosion in a Diagon Alley apothecary last week.
Fletcher was something of a regular in the small courts of the Ministry of Magic, and the satisfaction of issuing the petty criminal with yet another fine for his misdeeds was something Crouch never failed to find satisfying. Occasions when the scruffy, ginger-haired wizard was able to slip through the Head of Magical Law Enforcement's net were few and far between, but each defeat was never less irritating than the last.
Crouch was glad to see the back of him and the courtroom to boot. He had a long afternoon of small-fry trials ahead to look forward to, one irritating pretty crime after the other, and to lose the first case of the day to Mundungus Fletcher, of all people, was hardly starting as he meant to go on.
"Wilkes!"
Crouch's junior assistant, who was stood waiting in the foyer outside the courtroom for his boss, jumped at the sound of Crouch's bark
"Yes, sir?" piped up the wiry-haired youth as he stood up soldier-straight at attention.
"Write up these notes in full" Crouch thrust the roll of parchment that the court scribe had spent the duration of the hour-long trial frantically scribbling away at. The notes were rough vague recordings of what had transpired which would need to be copied out at length in a neat hand to be properly stored away in the Ministry records. A tedious job only fit for a junior member of staff just starting out. "I want the full report on my desk by six this evening"
"Yes, sir" Wilkes took the scroll and gave an eager nod.
"Study it as you go. Properly, this time" Crouch gave the lad a sharp look as he scuttled off to complete his task.
Crouch shook his head as he watched the youth hurry off in the direction of the staircase in the corner of the foyer which wound back up though the levels of the Ministry to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
The lad was attentive enough, but if he truly wished to get on in a career in magical law enforcement, he'd have to start learning to actually think of his feet rather than simply follow orders. It was simply not good enough to be able to offer no more opinion on how a guilty verdict was reached than to simply mumble "Because the court voted for it?" in an unconvincing tone.
If he cannot produce a credible explanation to justify a guilty verdict, he hasn't got a hope in hell or making head nor tail of today's farce, Crouch thought bitterly to himself as he marched across the marble floor.
He tugged at the high, stiff collar of his plum court robes and allowed his mind to wander towards the thought of a lunchtime pick-me-up in the Atrium bar. It was perhaps a tad early in the day for some tastes, but for Crouch, it was something of a tradition after having lost a court case to retreat to the seclusion of one of the bar's more shadowy corners where he could soothe his bruised ego over a glass of finely-aged scotch. It helped to quench the burning sensation of defeat - and to build the courage to face the worried stares of his junior staff who would be trying to predict what sort of a mood he'd be in once he returned to his department.
He was in the middle of debating with himself whether the scale of today's defeat justified ordering the 1869 label or if perhaps a good dose of the 1848 label was in order, when he was abruptly pulled from his thoughts by the sound of an irritatingly familiar voice.
"I say, Crouch!"
Letting out a sigh of irritation, Crouch reluctantly turned round to see the image of Cornelius Fudge hurrying across the hall to meet him, his ludicrous lime green bowler hat waving in the air to grab his attention.
"Fudge" Crouch greeted the shorter wizard with a stiff nod and no more of a smile than he was offered. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
If Fudge had noticed the thinly-veiled sarcasm in Crouch's words, he did not give any outward indication of it.
"Yes, I just wanted to ask-" The portly wizard let out a heavy puff of breath and dabbed a handkerchief over his shining brow before replacing his bowler hat atop his head. Crouch forced himself not to grimace at the contrast of the garish green hat against Fudge's deep burgundy court robes. "-if you'd be so good as to ensure that a copy of the report of this morning's trial is sent up to my department by this evening. No later than seven o'clock, if you please"
"Of course" Crouch gave a slight nod. "I will, naturally, ensure that you are provided with a copy of the report. As I do with every court case that is of your concern"
Fudge's mouth thinned a little at the obvious clip in Crouch's tone.
"In theory, yes" Fudge's brow furrowed disapprovingly. "In practice, however, I'm afraid to say that for the last three out of five cases my department was involved in, we did not receive the full report until a full two days day after the trial. On one occasion, we had to make several requests before the document was eventually provided a week later! I'm afraid it simply isn't good enough"
Crouch's expression hardened as he looked down at the wizard who dared to take such a scolding tone with him.
A fellow Head of Department Cornelius Fudge may be, but in the grand scheme of things, Crouch's position as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement placed him firmly at the top of the pecking order - second only to the Minister of Magic herself, unofficially.
As Head of the Department for Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, Fudge was by no means a lowly official in the Ministry ranks, but still one who, in Crouch's mind at least, possessed no authority to speak to him in such a manner.
"Very well," he replied, icily. "I apologise if you've found my staff's efficiency below your very particular standards. I will ensure the report is delivered to you by this evening"
"Very good" Fudge gave a nod of approval, his chest puffed out.
Without deigning to offer a word of farewell, Crouch turned to leave, only to have his efforts thwarted mere seconds later by his unfortunate companion.
"Ruddy awful business, all that in there with Fletcher"
Forcing himself to put thoughts of his longed-for scotch to the back of his mind once again, Crouch turned back to face Fudge.
"Indeed" he offered shortly in reply.
"Pure luck, of course, that alibi" Fudge continued, undeterred by Crouch's distinct lack of interest in the conversation. "Fletcher's a dab hand at all this by now, knows every last trick in the book"
"I daresay"
"Of course, we know that Fletcher simply left his true wand in the care of a confidant at the Black Griffin tavern in Huckleford Village on the day he purchased those cauldrons and used another's as a decoy to secure an alibi, but can we prove it?"
Fudge waved his arms and shrugged dramatically before continuing, relieving Crouch of the burden of composing a reply.
"Yes, most vexing indeed. It's high time we lobbied for use of veritaserum in the civil courts, I say. Ethics assessment be damned, it simply is a case of needs must, for the likes of Fletcher who know how to play the system. Tracing one's wand history simply isn't enough, wouldn't you say, Crouch?"
Crouch gave the slightest of nods and an agreeing half-smile in reply. With any luck, the pompous little wizard would take this hint and realise that even if Crouch was interested in discussing the ethical pros and cons of administering veritaserum to petty criminals, he was the last person Crouch was likely to seek the opinion of.
Tuning out the noise as Fudge prattled on, Crouch discreetly glanced up at the golden clock fixed high atop the opposite wall. Almost one o'clock. He'd have to make it to the Atrium bar soon before all the best tables were taken up by parched employees searching for a lunchtime pick me up before their afternoon's work. Slowly, he began to turn away.
"Fudge, I really must be-"
"-quite the commotion it made when those cauldrons exploded, let me tell you!" Fudge gave no indication that he had even noticed his companion's attempt to leave. "Quite a scene it caused. No fatalities, miraculously, but I'm certain I haven't seen a debris field that wide since the Sirius Black incident"
A spark of interest immediately lit up inside Crouch.
"What did you say?" Crouch turned back to face Fudge.
"The debris field" Fudge repeated, oblivious to the sudden spark of interest in his companion as he continued to ramble on. "In Diagon Alley, when the faulty batch of cauldrons went up. My goodness, what a mess! I daresay my staff are still working through the paperwork. Why, an accident of that size will fill enough rolls of parchment to repaper the whole-"
"You mentioned Sirius Black" Crouch spoke in an urgent but hushed tone. It wouldn't do to be overheard talking about a murderer in public, after all.
Fudge's expression darkened as Crouch took a step forward and loomed over him.
"Well I- I only spoke by way of comparison, of course" Fudge's voice, at last, quietened and took on the nervous edge of one who wasn't quite sure if he'd overstepped some unknown mark. "Merely to say that the damage caused by the explosion in Diagon Alley was comparable to the… incident, that day"
Beneath the lime-green brim of his bowler hat, Fudge's forehead began to shine with sweat once more.
"You were there that day. The day Black was arrested"
Crouch spoke mostly to remind himself of the long-disregarded fact rather than to ask for Fudge's confirmation, but that didn't stop the shorter wizard from seizing the opportunity to put in his own two sickles.
"Of course" Fudge stood up straighter. "As a member of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, naturally I was there"
Crouch suppressed the urge to let out a bemused smirk. Fudge could puff out his chest and put on as many airs and graces as he liked, but the reality was that three short years ago, he was a lowly junior employee in his department. Politics may have been a calling which had claimed him later in life than most, but that hadn't stopped Cornelius from barging his way up through the ranks with a sense of determination which one could almost be tempted to call vulgar.
But then, what could one expect from a Fudge? Pure of blood they may be, but one could hardly compare them to the likes of certain other families in the fold. Nevertheless, with this fresh nugget of information, Crouch found himself compelled to make an offer which, if someone had told him not even five minute ago that he'd be making, he'd have sworn them off as stark-raving mad.
"Mr Fudge, would you care to join me for a lunchtime drink?" Crouch asked, careful to keep his tone casual. "I daresay we both need one after that wretched trial"
Cornelius looked taken aback by the offer to say the least. The two men, as a rule, did not get on. It was no sort of secret either between themselves or indeed the wider members of the Ministry. Nevertheless, the temptation of a visit to the Atrium bar as the guest of the man widely accepted to be the Minister's right hand proved too tempting to resist.
"Do you know, I think I would, rather" Fudge replied with a naustingly pleased smile.
Crouch forced himself to offer a rather more restrained smile in return.
"Very good" he replied with an approving nod. He gestured towards the great archway at the end of the foyer which led to the elevators. "Shall we?"
As he led the way across the hall, being careful to always keep just enough distance between himself and Fudge to suggest to any passers-by that they might perhaps not be walking together, Crouch once again allowed his thoughts to wander towards precisely which drink would be most suitable to order.
The 1869 label was certainly out of the running. If one wanted to loosen the tongue of one's guest, he'd previously found that the 1851 was far more suited to the task.
The door to the library did not make a sound as Sirius pushed it open. For the first time in many years, since he was a small boy sneaking about the house on late-night adventures, he was glad of his mother's insistence that no door in her house should omit as offensive a noise as a squeak.
A sense of restlessness had driven him to leave the relative sanctuary of his bedroom in search of new walls to stare at, preferably ones which were not plastered with painful memories, but that didn't mean he no longer wished to be alone. The last thing he wanted was to alert his mother to his movements about the house, particularly since he still hadn't bothered to get dressed. In truth, it was sheer luck (as well as his quick mental revision of each squeaky floorboard from his memory before setting out) that he had managed to avoid running into her already.
With a quick glance either side of him to confirm he was indeed alone, he slipped into the room and eased the door closed behind him.
Sirius walked slowly along the floor-length bookshelves lining the entire length of the wall - one of three such walls in the library, save for the all at the far end of the room housing the matching carved mahogany fireplace. Each shelf played host to a vast number of books, many of them re-prints of the original works, commissioned by members of the family throughout the years for their growing collection. Each book was bound in plush leather with their titles embossed on the spine in gold foil lettering which glinted in the candlelight. Not for the Blacks the heaving bookshelves over-stocked with well-thumbed, dog-eared volumes. Such a scruff specimen of a book would never be granted a place in this library.
Though it housed what amounted to a mere slice of the family's entire collection scattered throughout their properties, the library of Grimmauld Place was as much a showroom for the works it displayed as it was a place of study. The room was kept immaculate, every surface spotless. Any guest who happened to enter the library would be made immediately aware that the Black family prided itself greatly on their collection of great works by worthy wizards throughout the ages.
Bullshit, the lot of it, Sirius seethed as his eyes fell upon the sickeningly familiar golden lettering gleaming back at him - Of Might and Muggles: A Study of Magical Superiority.
Feeling the growing temptation to throw the book into the fireplace, he forced himself to turn away. He hated to admit it, but he was worn out after his morning's encounter with his mother. As satisfying it would be to see the book burn, he would need significantly more energy than he currently had at his disposal to combat the rage his actions would undoubtedly ignite within Walburga Black.
Turning to look across to the far corner of the room, Sirius's eyes fell upon the object which he had deliberately avoided since he entered the room, in spite of it being the very reason he'd felt so drawn to this room in the first place.
The grand piano.
The reflection of the flickering flames of the fireplace bounced off the highly-polished ebony. The instrument almost seemed to gleam where it sat in a corner, though somehow still the centrepiece of the room. Not a speck of dust rested upon its surface, not a crease to be seen on the deep-red velvet of the seat. The piano, as with everything else in this library - in this house - was on display.
Sirius wasn't sure what precisely had triggered the long-disregarded memory which had called him here to come flooding back into his mind. Perhaps it was his brain's desperate longing for anything to combat the sheer numbness of hours spent laying flat out on his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking. Or perhaps it was the house's airborne poison seeping deeper into him, sinking through to his very bones until he couldn't ignore the memories which it carried, no matter how painful they may be.
But for whatever the reason behind it, when he looked at the piano, only one noise filled Sirius's mind.
Sirius glared down into his reflection in the piano's gleaming surface as he attempted to block out the delicate, perfectly-rhythmic notes his brother tapped out on the keys.
"Excellent, Regulus, very well done!" gushed their piano tutor, beaming down at his young student. "Not a note out of place - you have clearly been practicing"
Sirius rolled his eyes. At least his little twerp of a brother had the good sense to go bright red with embarrassment at the praise. Sirius couldn't imagine being proud of being good at something as pointless as piano. How sad.
"Sirius, do not lean on the piano like that. You'll mark it"
Shooting a moody look at his tutor, Sirius reluctantly took his elbows off of the piano and stood up straight, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his robes.
"Now, it is your turn," said the tutor. He gestured for Regulus to stand up and for Sirius to take his seat. The younger boy obeyed instantly. "We shall see if you have been practicing as diligently as your brother"
"No"
The tutor's eyes narrowed. Regulus's widened.
"I'm sorry?"
"I said no. I don't want to play"
The tutor sighed. He had long-since given up attempting to hide his displeasure with the elder and far more troublesome of his two young students.
"Enough of this silliness, now. You must play so that I can assess your progress"
"Well maybe I don't want you to assess my progress"
"That may be so, but I'm afraid that my purpose here is not to fulfil your wants. It is to teach you to play the piano. And the sooner you sit down and play for me, the sooner we shall both be finished with today's lesson"
Sirius groaned loudly in frustration as he finally stomped around the piano and flung himself down onto the seat. He stared down at the black-and-white keys and attempted to shut out the fact that the tutor was standing right beside him, the old wizard's critical gaze pouring over his every move. Biting the inside of his lip, Sirius slowly positioned his fingers above the required keys for the first note and began to play.
He played slower than Regulus had. His hands moved uncertainly over the keys, occasionally not quite pressing firmly enough on them to create a proper sound. Sirius struggled on, willing himself to get to the end of the music sheet. He made it just over halfway through the piece - and then he pressed a wrong note.
Sirius saw red.
"This is bloody stupid!" he screamed angrily and slammed both of his hands down on the keyboard, hard. The piano let out a horrendous noise of protest at the rough handling, giving both the tutor and Regulus enough of an unpleasant shock to distract them whilst Sirius stormed out of the library, making a run for it back upstairs to his room where he could let out his tears of frustration before he would inevitably be summoned by his mother to apologise for his behaviour.
Sirius's fingertips brushed against the ivory keys as the memories of his disastrous childhood piano lessons flowed through his mind. He never did truly develop the knack for the instrument. Perhaps he might have made a decent enough musician if he'd put in the practice, but he'd never found the willpower to try.
The musical talent within the family had never been his.
"He had such a natural talent for the piano"
Though softly-spoken, the sudden sound of his mothers voice gave Sirius such a start that he flinched - and pressed down hard on the key his finger rested upon. The sharp sound rang throughout the silent room.
Like a child caught reaching for a plate of biscuits, Sirius snatched his hand away from the piano and buried it deep into his dressing gown pocket.
He looked round to find Walburga standing in the library doorway. He hadn't even heard her approaching footsteps, let alone opening the door open, so deep had he been in his thoughts.
She was staring not at him, however, but at the piano. Walburga's eyes gazed upon it, absent-mindedly. She seemed to be lost in thought herself. Sirius supposed that excused him from having to provide her with a response, not that he had one to offer to begin with.
Walburga took several slow, gliding steps forward into the library, approaching the piano. She stood before it, on the opposite side to Sirius. At last, she lifted her head to look at him.
"Music was not quite as much your forte, if I recall"
It was faint, but there was a trace of amusement to be found in Walburga's dream-like expression.
Sirius felt his cheeks tingle with redness at the memory of his many angry outbursts over his inability to master the instrument.
"I never liked it much, anyway" he mumbled in reply. His stared down at the keyboard. Even now, he could still see those same slender fingers moving gracefully up and down the black and white keys, artfully manipulating them with perfect, delicate precision to make the chunk of painted wood and strings sing so beautifully in a way that Sirius never could. "Not as much as he did"
A silence followed, broken only by the slight rustling of the full sleeves of Walburga's gown as she lifted a hand to rest atop the piano.
"He'd stopped playing, you know. In the end"
Sirius couldn't help but look up at this. He was taken aback by his mother's words. The piano had been one of his brother's few redeeming qualities. Irritatingly better at it than his brother, he may have been, but Sirius had always harboured a small sense of secret admiration for his brother's genuine love of the instrument. When Regulus had sat down to tap out a few tunes behind the closed door of the library, he had played for himself; to have fun, to relax, to escape. Not to put on a show for the sake of the family image. It had assured Sirius that his brother had not entirely sacrificed his own wants and desires for the greater legacy of the Black dynasty.
But he had given it up, after all.
"He'd lost all interest in it," Walburga continued, her voice quiet. Her gaze returned to stare down at the piano. "He'd lost interest in most things. After your father-"
"I'm going upstairs"
Sirius walked quickly around the piano and out of the room without a backward glance. The library suddenly felt stiflingly small. It was a mistake, coming down here. He couldn't handle it. He needed air. He needed to get out.
He needed to not think.
Sirius walked quickly along the corridor leading away from the library, half-expecting his mother to screech her demands for him to return until properly dismissed from her presence, but wasting no time in waiting to find out if such an order would come. He hurried up the staircase which would lead him back to the relative sanctuary of his bedroom, his heavy footsteps having melted into the soft padding of paws and scraping of claws against floorboards before he was even halfway there.
Sitting snugly at the far end of the Atrium with a view of the golden fountain, the Lumos Bar, named for the way its gleaming surfaces almost seemed to glow, served as a meeting point and welcome retreat to those who toiled away their work hours within the Ministry of Magic. With its golden fixtures, black marble floor and glittering shattered effect glass backdrop behind the bar itself, it fit perfectly like a puzzle piece with the overall grandeur of the Atrium.
The circular bar sat like an island amidst a sea of tables and chairs, each of varying sizes but all with the same black marble surfaces polished to a high sheen with golden rims, and each spread far enough apart that a conversation could be kept reasonably private without one having to go through the suspicion-raising spectacle of casting a silencing charm around one's table.
A key feature within any drinking establishment attempting to appeal itself to the key cogs which kept the government ticking.
As Crouch and Fudge arrived, the bar was just beginning to fill with its usual lunchtime clientele. The single bartender remained unphased by the steadily growing crowd of customers vying for his attention all around him. No sooner had an order been called out to him than he had given an artful flick of his wand towards the various shakers, stirrers, glasses and bottles from the vast display behind him which quickly sprang into action, joining the already crowded bar surface where an array of other drink were in the process of being made at any one time, each of varying degrees of complexity - and value.
"Gentlemen" the bartender greeted the pair with a nod as Crouch led the way through the crowd which instinctively parted to make way for them both. Being second only to the Minister did have its perks. "What can I get you?"
"A glass of the 1851, if you would," said Crouch. He had no need to explain further. A bartender's greatest asset was to know the preferences of his best customers by heart. "A double"
If it was early in the day to be drinking at all, it certainly was for a double. But previous experiences of this sort had taught Crouch to lead by example. And besides, he had a strong stomach for hard liquor.
"Coming right up" The bartender gave his wand a flick and turned to Fudge. "And for you, sir?"
Fudge's eyes narrowed for a moment at the display of bottles lined up along the shelves behind the bar, considering.
"Am I to take it that the 1851 is a whiskey?"
Well it certainly isn't pumpkin juice.
"Scotch, to be precise" Crouch replied, stiffly. "A personal favourite"
"Very well, I shall take one myself" Fudge nodded towards the bar surface where Crouch's drink was now in the process of being prepared. "A double for me, as well. On the rocks, if you please"
Crouch fought the urge to cringe outright. Even the bartender looked uneasy as he waved his wand in the direction of the ice storage. To desecrate such a fine, expensive scotch - and at his expense, no less! - was almost painful to witness. But Crouch was here with an intention, and it wouldn't do to scare away the man he wanted details from by taking him to task on his lack of taste before they'd even made it to the table.
"My usual table, if you would" Crouch told the bartender with a nod to the two-seater table in the far corner of the bar.
"Of course"
The bartender flicked his wand towards their finished drinks, sending them floating up off of the bar. Two empty glasses quickly took their place, ready to fulfil the needs of the next wanting customers.
The drinks floated alongside the two men as they crossed the length of the bar, lowering themselves gently down on the table top as they took their seats.
"I must say, I'm not usually partial to a lunchtime tipple, but a morning like that certainly does leave one with a craving!" Fudge shot Crouch a joking smile as he lifted his glass and took a sip.
"Yes, it certainly does" Crouch lifted his own glass, giving an awkward cough to cover the atrocious sound of the ice knocking about in his companion's glass. The scotch slid down his throat, its fiery burn giving him an instant comfort.
He glanced around him at the steadily-filling tables, each one occupied by a group quite clearly locked in their respective conversations or solitary thoughts. No one so much as glimpsed their way. There was a peculiar sense of security to be found in a crowded room. One might be tempted to think that to be surrounded by people would be the worst time to have a private conversation. But in Crouch's experience, the opposite often proved to be true.
"Remarkable, what you said about the debris field" Crouch remarked, staring idly into his glass as he held it up to the light.
"I'm sorry?" Fudge, who sat up straight as a pin, looked up from over the rim of his own glass.
"When Fletcher's cauldrons exploded. You said they left quite the mess. A terrible bother for your department, I imagine"
Presented with the slightest opportunity to discuss his own affairs, Fudge required no further prompting to launch into a spiel.
"Oh yes, indeed it was!" Fudge took another generous sip of his scotch. "Did rather a lot of damage to the nearby shops. The insurance paperwork was certainly a headache. Do you know that Eylope's Owl Emporium is demanding compensation for a Blakiston's Fish Owl which escaped through a smashed window? The only one in Britain, he claims!"
Crouched feigned surprise.
"Goodness, really?"
"Oh yes. A rather impressive blast, it must be said, one can hardly imagine anything like-"
"But you can"
Fudge paused, his glass raised in mid-air in an attempt at another sip. His eyes narrowed in puzzlement.
"I'm sorry?"
Crouch leaned back in his seat and gave a casual smile.
"Do forgive me" he offered with a light chuckle. "I only meant to say that you rather suggested, back down in the courts, that you could imagine something like it"
A flicker of alarm crossed Fudge's already rapidly reddening face. Like a tiger crouching in the grass, Crouch planned his next move with careful precision. He took another sip of his scotch, pleased to see Fudge follow his example.
"Specifically, you mentioned that the debris field was comparable to the day of the Sirius Black incident"
Fudge tensed instantly. His eyes widened with alarm and he snapped his head about, as though expecting every ear in the room to have suddenly turned towards them.
"Well, I- Of course when I said- I only meant-"
Crouch silenced his spluttering with a light-hearted chuckle.
"Really, Fudge, there's no need to look so alarmed" he remarked. "I was merely taken aback, is all. I'd quite forgotten that you were there that day"
Fudge had regained his composure. He sat up even straighter in his seat.
"I envy your ability to forget such things," he said, quietly. He knocked back the last of his drink, clearly seeking comfort in the numbing powers of the alcohol. "I'm afraid I myself have been unable to do so. What happened that day was…"
Fudge shook his head dismissively.
"Awful thing, it was" Crouch swigged the last of his drink. "Terrible. That poor wizard. Peterson, wasn't it? Or Pettison"
"Pettigrew"
"Ah yes, of course" Crouch sighed. "A sad end indeed"
"Sad?" Fudge scoffed. "My dear man, it was horrific! Pettigrew and those Muggles were blown to pieces. There was scarcely anything left of the poor boy! Only a finger"
"Good lord. Shocking, isn't it? To think that anyone in their right mind could be capable of such violence"
"Merlin's beard, Crouch, no one who saw what I did that day could have accused Black of having been in his right mind"
Crouch eyed his companion with interest, feigning ignorance.
"Really? Of course, I myself wasn't there that day. One could be forgiven for wondering truly how bad it could have been, if one is not in possession of all the facts…"
A man of sharper wits might have picked up on the sly hinting masked within Crouch's words. But Fudge, who's cheeks were now flushed red with scotch, needed little prompting to launch into a topic of which he viewed himself to be the most knowledgeable.
"It was carnage" Fudge began, his tone tragic. "Utter carnage, I tell you. The street was blown apart, with an enormous crater right in the middle of the road. A blast that size was truly a remarkable feat of magic, sheer power in its rawest form. Those poor people…"
He shook his head with a mournful sigh.
"The Muggles?" Crouch asked, careful to keep his voice casual in spite of his unwavering desire for more.
"Yes, twelve of them, all together. Or so I was told, later on. It was hard to count them, at the time, what with all the missing-"
Fudge cut himself off as a shiver overcame him. He waved a hand and looked away.
"I'm sorry, it is still quite hard to-"
"Not at all" Crouch interceded. He nodded to Fudge's empty glass "Would you care for another?"
"Perhaps I ought to," Fudge nodded. "Purely medicinal, of course. Steady the nerves, so to speak"
"Indeed" Crouch waved a hand towards the bartender, who nodded in understanding. From their table, Crouch could see two fresh crystal glasses floating down from the shelves. Less than a minute later, they floated over to their table, replacing the empty glasses which vanished in an instant.
Crouch noted, with approval, that this time, both scotches were served neat. He made a mental note to add a galleon tip for the bartender to his tab.
"Thank you" Fudge raised his glass towards Crouch before taking a hearty sip of the amber liquid.
"Not at all" Crouch took a sip of his own. "It's the least I can do, what with bringing up such a discussion"
"Oh no, no, quite all right. It wouldn't do to truly allow oneself to forget such a thing. It does have something of a lasting effect. Reminds one to be grateful of the way things are, now"
"I'm sorry?"
"Well, I mean-" Fudge gave a half-hearted glance around him before he continued, his voice lowered. "Of course, what happened that day was truly awful. But at least one has the comfort of knowing that the criminal behind it all is now safely locked away because of it"
"Sirius Black" Crouch spoke grimly, his face fighting an automatic grimace as he spoke the name which had haunted him over the last week.
At the sound of the name, Fudge flinched as violently as if Crouch had spoken the name of You-Know-Who himself.
"Yes," Fudge replied, lowly. "I tell you, Crouch, Black was like a man possessed, that day. The carnage he'd created was nothing short of horrifying. And he was standing there, right in the middle of it all, laughing. A deep, from-the-heart laugh. I'd never heard the like!"
Crouch shook his head, thoughtfully. He could recall having read reports from that day regarding Black's behaviour. How he showed no remorse. But to read it on parchment was one thing, to hear it described in detail was quite another.
"The boy was unhinged," Fudge continued. His expression was dark. "Insane. There is no other way to describe it. Laughing like a demented hyena the entire time. Practically bent double, he was. The Aurors scarcely needed any effort to apprehend him"
The image was startling. Black had been rather young at the time, Crouch could recall. Twenty, twenty-one, perhaps? Hardly any age. It was a staggering thought, to think that such barbarity could be committed by one so young-
Crouch tossed back the majority of his drink in one in an attempt to stifle a deep, gut-wrenching pain which suddenly took hold within him.
When he looked up from his glass, he found Fudge staring across at him with a look of mild concern.
"My apologies," Crouch offered, stiffly. "It's all rather shocking to hear"
"Shocking to hear, even more shocking to witness, let me tell you" Beneath the mournful tone, there was a small flicker of smugness in the undertone of Fudge's voice.
A spark of annoyance flared within Crouch. Fudge could never resist an urge to claim the upper hand. It didn't matter what his opponent said, he always had to go one better, to remind Crouch that he knew more.
"Yes, well" Crouch cleared his throat, stiffly. "As you say, at least some good came out of it. Black is now safely in Azkaban, after all"
Was there a genuine satisfaction in knowing that Fudge incorrectly believed himself to be the most knowledgeable of the two on this particular topic, or was it simply the scotch beginning to take hold?
"Oh yes, indeed" Fudge agreed with a satisfied smirk. "Quite the downfall for the Blacks, to lose their last remaining heir in such a shameful way. When one thinks of how damned lofty the lot of them used to be..."
Crouch, taken aback, narrowed his eyes at Fudge, who gave a slight chuckle as he raised his glass to his now thoroughly-reddened face.
"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I rather get the impression that the Blacks might not be particularly close acquaintances of yours"
If he hadn't had a generous helping of scotch inside him, Fudge would likely have puffed himself up as tall as possible and have insisted on being offended by such a prying remark from a man he made no apology for not regarding as a friend.
Crouch knew he'd made an excellent choice in the 1851 label. It had yet to let him down.
Fudge gave a scoff into his glass.
"I'll not deny it," he said. "Between you and I, I often found them a tad vulgar for my tastes. Far too showy. Rather bad taste to make such a show of one's wealth, wouldn't you agree?"
As if you wouldn't do exactly the same - if your family vault was half as full as theirs.
"And then of course, after all that business with Eliza-"
"Who?"
"Eliza. My sister"
"Ah yes, of course" Crouch replied, feigning the voice of someone who knew or cared about his Fudge's relations. Nonetheless, he was curious for details. "Forgive me, but exactly what business did the Blacks have with your sister?"
Fudge gave a scoff of annoyance.
"Why, they only made an absolute public mockery of her! She was betrothed, originally, to one of them. Cygnus, Pollux's eldest boy"
Crouch's eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Goodness, I had no idea"
"Yes, well, my father did his best to try and hush up the whole sorry affair, but you know how it is. These things tend to have a way of leaking into the public ear"
Crouch glared off to the side. Having one's public affairs publically gossiped over was a feeling with which Crouch could sympathise.
"So what happened, then?" Crouch asked, casually, safe in the assumption that Fudge was by now too far gone to put too much thought into what he was being asked.
"Black turned out to be an unfaithful little toe rag, that's what happened! No sooner was the betrothal contract drawn up than Cygnus was caught messing about with the Rosiers' youngest girl!"
"Never!"
"Oh yes! Well, of course, that was that. The Blacks as good as tore up the contract without a second thought, hurried the pair into marriage in case of any unfortunate consequences and left my poor sister thoroughly humiliated by the whole ordeal"
Crouch shook his head. He had to admit, the scandal of a public jilting was a harsh hand to be dealt. But from the Blacks, he expected nothing less. Never a thought for those around them, only ever their own interests at heart - whatever the consequences.
"I say, that is awful"
"Indeed" Fudge sighed. "If only the silly girl hadn't gotten ahead of herself, giggling with her friends about the engagement so soon, getting herself all excited. It may have softened the blow a tad"
"Women"
The two men shared a very masculine chuckle, rolling their eyes.
"But still, every cloud, as they say," said Crouch. "At least she's not tied to that wretched family now. One more?" He nodded to their two empty glasses.
Fudge considered for a moment before giving a nod.
"Oh, go on, then. Why not?"
Judging by the way the wizard was starting to slouch sideways in his seat, several potential reasons sprang to mind, but that was of little concern to Crouch. He waved to the bartender, and the drinks were on their way.
"Yes, you are right, of course," said Fudge. "Eliza got over it, in the end. Father managed to set her up rather nicely with one of the Abbotts. All for the best, in the end. I dread to think what it would have done to her to be tied to that family - to that maniac"
Crouch observed the dark look that overtook Fudge, even in his current state, as he referenced Sirius again. His encounter with the young Black had truly left its mark upon him. If Crouch had instigated this meeting with the intention of refreshing his memory as to why Sirius Black could not be allowed to reclaim his freedom, he had succeeded. When he thought of the images Fudge described; the blown-apart street, the ruined bodies, the single finger… And Sirius Black at the heart of it all, bent double with laughter.
There was not a shadow of a doubt left in his mind as to what had to be done.
"Well, then. Let us be glad that Sirius Black will never again see the light of day" said Crouch as their two fresh drinks replaced the empty glasses. "Azkaban is where he belongs, and Azkaban is where he will stay, until the day he dies and beyond. Rotting in peace"
Fudge gave a chuckle as he took up his newly-arrived glass of scotch.
"I'll drink to that!"
Crouch raised his glass and clinked it to Fudge's.
"To rotting in peace"
"To rotting in peace"