GLEH: Oh, pish posh - I'm blushing. You're such a silly budgie.
tommalfoy: Thank you!
Ihni: I'm bursting with love, doll! I'll try to fufill your wishes!
GaBo0: I know - so few, so few! It's a tragedy, and a conspiracy.
Chapter Three: Pressure Points
For years Sirius had heard tales of the moors. He remembered one in particular; when a man died of cold out on the vast lands. And he believed it wholeheartedly. In the middle of the night he rolled out of his bed, jarring his chin on the floor. Groggily he staggered passed a round mass in the center of Malfoy's bed; Malfoy himself trying to keep warm he guessed. At the least the kid was trying. On the other hand, the first shiver and Sirius was cursing everything including the sky, tossing and turning until he built up the courage to go on a quest of fire. Luckily he and Buckbeak had many nights by fireside and he knew how to make one.
Going to his new best friend the pantry - which had outfitted him not only with the best sandwich he'd ever tasted, but a banana avocado shake as well for dessert - he found a fresh book of matches. Guessing the wood to already be in the stove place, Sirius struck a match just to thaw out his fingers. He bent over against the will of his paining back, pulling up the latch. When he drew the door back, he was greeted by a blast of brightly hot fire in his face, singeing a few strands of his wily fringe.
"We'll not tell anyone about this," he said, closing the door and locking the latch securely. It must be triggered by opening the door. He studied the book of matches. "And my favorite magic pantry must know what we want, or need." Grinning, Sirius hobbled over on warming feet to his pantry, pausing to squeeze his eyes shut. Then he breathlessly pulled the door back and laughed quietly, using both hands to carefully draw out a wide drawing board with thick paper and a side pocket filled with sticks of conditioned charcoal. "I wouldn't have lasted long without this."
"That's even more disgusting than the last heinous crime against sense you ingested. I'd rather not take part in it." Draco continued dipping the heavy tea bag into his cup, eyes watching it bob up and down. He'd been more talkative than before, and Sirius guessed that Malfoy was one of those beings who could accept things, then adapt quickly. Well, to a certain extent. Obviously his waffles with barbecue sauce was found to be offensive. He came upon the concoction over in America in a crowded, noisy restaurant on last call for breakfast plates. Mistaking the row of bottles on the table for breakfast condiments, he'd selected the substance resembling syrup and swamped his plate with it. Since then, he's never turned back.
"No worse than plain tea." Sirius himself preferred strong coffee with sugar and cream, and sometimes some ginger for kick. Draco rolled his eyes, but said nothing more. Grinning, Sirius lifted a forkful of the stuff and crammed it in his mouth, moaning deliriously. Across from him, the blonde boy got up and sat on his cot, looking oddly out of place with his pinky raised daintily from the steaming cup.
After Hogwarts, Sirius had become accustomed to silences. So was the bachelor's life. But when there were other people around, silence bothered him like an immense thorn in a very small lion's paw. And now proved no different. Malfoy seemed to bask in the silence, closing his eyes and sipping his nasty plain tea without a word or even paying attention to Sirius's existence. That irked the man more than anything. His parents had told him it was a family problem; the need to be acknowledged, and when in first year Remus had informed him of the same opinion five minutes after the boys met, he actually grew to believe it. He found no shame in filling silences with anything he could; so smacking his lips loudly and slurping the thick mug of coffee squatting contentedly beside his plate, he tried to get Malfoy's attention.
It turned into a sort of game. Sirius thought of every way to be as annoyingly noisy as possible, and Draco made every effort evident that he didn't care a wisp. Back in school, Sirius's professors tried the same tactic by burying their long noses in their notes or snapping and turning Sirius into a turtle or something quiet. Of course, Dumbledore said that was unethical and they were told to stop, but McGonnagal ended up being the exception. Sirius spent more time in her class ducking in and out of his turtle shell than listening. He concluded that was the reason he slid into being an Animagus so easily.
Malfoy was fully indulging in his tea; inhaling the steam, sipping leisurely, completely ignoring Sirius and rubbing it in his face. He looked like such a stuck up ponce. The mannerisms in the long hands were painfully like Lucius though. Sirius narrowed his eyes over the rim of his coffee mug. Why do sons have to resemble their fathers so damn much. It was enough that every time he looked at Harry he saw James. That grew painful sometimes, admittedly. He missed James. The boy was the bravest and most sensible person he'd ever known. And studying Draco now, a shorter, thinner Lucius sipping steaming tea, Sirius remembered James again. When the day before he had thrown the knife to pin Draco for the potion, the sight took him back to the only other person he'd ever thrown the knife at; Lucius. The git had done something to Peter - irony made Sirius smile bitterly - and while Peter fought tears, Sirius had gone after the Slytherin. He'd cornered him on the Quidditch pitch, fists raised. Even years later, Sirius still couldn't figure why he'd gotten so angry; the rage he radiated had little to do with Peter. The anger that swamped him was mixed with disgust and.... disappointment. All those emotions guided the knife into his hands, through the air, pinning the arm with the hand holding Lucius's wand. The blonde had curled his lips in a venomous sneer.
He wanted nothing more than to pound that arrogant face into mush, but something stopped him as he stormed up to the other boy, staring him down. Remembering now, Draco's form becoming unfocused in the fog of the past, Sirius began to recount details that had been sleeping in his subconscious for years and years. Lucius had glared viciously back at him, snarling and spitting in Sirius's face. Calmly wiping the saliva off, Sirius caught the long blonde hair roughly in his hands, jerking Lucius back so that his crown collided with the bright house colors of Ravenclaw covering the audience tower they stood in the shadow of. He guessed the Slytherin had made some snide comment, because Sirius remembered scoffing and shoving his shoulders sharply into Lucius, their heavy breathing mouths tasting each other's breath. A sensation raw and powerful issued in the clash of their battling gazes. Suddenly a dawning struck Sirius, how delicate the lines of the boy's face were, how fierce and bright were his eyes. And how alluring his red mouth was, puffing hot breaths in the cold air onto Sirius's flushed lips. Their closeness seemed to fall on them in startling clarity. Both the urge to push away, and the pressure to remain that close, fought. He was lost in the veils of silver making up the unique coloring of Lucius's eyes, caught by the fact that the other boy had become quiet as well. In that moment Sirius was gripped with an almost unwilling sensitivity, his eyes watering under the intensity as he leaned closer, aware of the electricity crackling between their lips as they crept nearer. Lucius's eyes rolled shut, his tongue peeking within the red, red mouth. Sirius could taste the other boy even before he touched him, his hand wandering around the slender waist. They were very near, lips trembling, both their breaths cut and short with tainted apprehension. Lucius opened his mouth, his tongue darting out to sweep along Sirius's bottom lip-
Sirius choked on his coffee, reliving the shock of James's voices shattering the careful tension creating the boys' would-be kiss so long ago. Everything after was shady. Explaining things to James had been agonizing, as Sirius barely knew what happened himself. His friend looked betrayed, even exhausted. For a few days the only way Sirius could communicate to James was through a reluctant Remus. Things changed. And after that, Lucius hadn't bothered to acknowledge his existence any more. They weren't enemies anymore, they weren't.... anything. Like the time Lucius ran into him in the hall and just stared at him blankly before walking off.
"Merlin," he murmured throatily, gulping half his mug. From the cot, Draco glanced over sidelong at him.
"I think your stomach is trying to tell you something." He motioned vaguely at the coffee and sauce stains on Sirius's front. "Either that or you need a bib." He went back to his tea without another word, and Sirius took a deep rattling breath, sounding like the rickety stove in the Weasly's house with the creaking door.
Uncomfortable, Sirius cleared his throat. He blanked his mind, dismissing the look on James's face, or the sight of Lucius's back as he walked away. Damn silence, he judged critically. Anymore of it and he'd drown himself with unruly memories again. That shows I'm really getting old, he thought, When my only entertainment comes from lost times back in the stone age.
"In a few days we're going to start the procedure," he said. "It's not rough if you don't make it rough, but knowing Malfoys, I'm sure it will be a picnic."
Draco shot him a dirty look. "And you would just give in if our side took you as a hostage."
"My not giving in would save lives, whereas what you tell us can save lives as well. Don't you want that?" Sirius didn't meet the gray eyes, looking out the small white-silled window. The area looked desolate, just like yesterday, and just like it would tomorrow and the next day.
"A guilt trip has lost its effect. I don't care who lives or dies."
"You seemed to care when it came to your life."
"That's different; mine matters to me."
"You're a selfish little prick, Malfoy."
"I think I liked it better when you were rooting through your breakfast, and my tea cup was my conversational partner." He took a drink. "And what kind of Auror tells the kidnapped when the interrogations begin." Gray eyes sliced over. Sirius crossed his arms defensively. "Quiet bothers you, doesn't it?"
Sirius's mouth thinned.
"I bet it was frightening when silence filled the island prison of Azkaban," Draco wistfully mentioned. "Screams would be more comforting, at least that would cover up the breathing of those Dementors. I hear they aren't big talkers."
Tossing his hair, superciliously hiding his discomfort, Sirius forced a wry smirk. "What would you know, boy? Not that I doubt your experience or anything; by all means, know-it-all, go on."
Draco put down his cup. Sirius's smirk wavered. "It never gets old how everyone thinks I'm some ignorant little brat. That Manor was Azkaban. Although I didn't get the chance to lose my appetite from fear, being that we had no food for me to turn away from. But we had plenty of Dementors wandering around, growing restless and eating souls from the weaker of us who wandered throughout the house alone. There was no order, no control. If someone had a grudge against another, they would kill them and feed them to the Veelas, or to the hounds. The only reason I survived as long as I did in that house was because I made them all believe that the house was alive and would be angry if they harmed me in any way." He shifted on the limp mattress. "You've never killed anyone close to you, Black. You've barely taken lives at all; if ever, mostly inhuman creatures of darkness, right?"
Sirius leaned back, his head light.
"I've killed men that I grew up knowing. Men whom I trusted as much as a Malfoy should trust anyone. Which I must say, Black, is something."
"Why are you telling me this? I haven't put any questions to you."
Draco's eyes turned feral. "Would you believe I'm baiting you, Black? I heard once that anyone who has spent time in Azkaban has a trigger. We all do, I suppose, but Azkaban really does something to a person. It sucks something from their soul." He faced Sirius fully. "Curled up in the corners of open cells, staring out through bars that don't exist, fear choking your nerves every time you hear the rasping breaths approaching your cell, wondering whether you're going to get a Kiss hello from your friendly neighborhood Dementor. And otherwise thinking about your innocence, and the people who did this to you, knowing that being here was an accident, that your friends' hate you, thinking you're something evil and foul that has been lurking under their noses for years and years, gaining their trust and love just to stab them in the heart. Could you imagine, which I'm sure you have in those desolate cells, what James Potter would say, what his face would look like if he knew that it was your fault Lily is dead, that little Harry Potter is an orphan. That you turned down the responsibility as their guard to Peter Pettigrew. So in a sense, I guess we're not too far apart after all. It looks like you've killed those who are close to you as well. Maybe you even enjoyed it-"
"You little fucker," Sirius hissed, standing out of his chair and sending it flying against the wall. Draco looked phased only for a second, a nasty knowing smirk betraying his intentions. The boy rose from the bed, everything in the way he stood antagonistic, his eyes and face taunting the painful past. Why was it always the past with this contemptuous kid?
"Don't like what I'm saying, Black? Because it's true." He tilted his head in a grotesquely angelic way. "And to think that the Golden Boy has such faith in his Godfather, the murderer of his parents. It's almost poetic."
"Obviously your life doesn't mean that much to you." He withheld the bane of his tone, but couldn't stop the raging waver that tarnished it weak. "Don't ever mention any of my family or friends again. And never, never again mention Azkaban or I will make you wish you were there instead of here."
"Well, well. Oral threats instead of just shoving a knife in my face. I must say, Black, the latter is more effective."
"Don't push me any further, Malfoy." Sirius's voice had grown very dangerous. He hadn't been this angry since finding out the truth about that slimy vermin, Pettigrew. But he knew what Malfoy was doing, which helped him keep his head. The boy was trying to get rid of him, make him quit, or make him snap. And since he had eight Galleons riding on this assignment.... He grinned. Malfoy gave him a sharp reproachful look.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Nothing. I'm just sick of having my buttons pushed."
Draco smiled. "That was the goal."
"I say we press some of yours, Malfoy."
"I'm game. Starting the interrogation early, are we?"
"Well, we all have triggers you said, and the moor isn't full of entertainment opportunities. Seeing you squirm sounds like the high point of my day."
The boy frowned, and then a coy and suspicious light entered his eyes. "I bet seeing me do anything would be the high point of your day."
That hit Sirius like a triple decker Knight Bus. "What?"
"Like you said, it's just you and I out here for as long as it takes." His lips exuded poison as they curved into a sinfully pleased smile. "It must have been just murder on you to leave the werewolf behind, knowing you wouldn't be seeing him for a while."
Now he remembered, Malfoy had seen them kiss goodbye. He glared seethingly. "What the hell are you getting at?"
"Just that I haven't pressed all your buttons, pulled all your strings."
He hoped he wasn't gaping, although he knew he was.
"Pettigrew said you had a lot of audacity when you were my age. He said you paraded yourself around as being a flirt. All the girls loved you, and so did some of the boys, right? And it was the boys you were interested in."
When in the hell had Malfoy moved closer?
"The showers in the morning, sleeping at night; listening to them in the next beds, some of them sleeping barely clothed. Pettigrew said that not only Lupin used the Shrieking Shack, but that you would-"
"Enough." How did Peter know all that; Sirius had been careful, always. He shook his head. This brat was manipulating his thoughts, trying to fray his concentration. It didn't matter anymore.
"I'm only trying to identify with you," Draco cooed, putting a hand on Sirius's shoulder. Sirius ripped it away.
"We're here for one reason; information. You're still alive for one reason; information. And I haven't sewed your mouth shut with wire for one reason."
"Give me twenty guesses at what that reason is."
It was really hitting him. There was no way to escape this boy, or this place. Sirius was walled in with no chance of knowing anything. The world could be ending, and he wouldn't know. And this transformation from quiet brooding to alarming brashness in Malfoy was gnawing on his nerves. The boy knew that Sirius truly couldn't touch him. He could be seriously disciplined for harming a hostage, perhaps even banned from the Order, and that would kill him. Not to mention those damn Galleons he bet.
"How long will you last, Sirius?" Draco smoothly asked. "We all have carnal desires. And I wonder if an Animagus is even more liable to the temptation."
"What screw is loose in your head, kid?"
"Don't know what to do, Sirius? Mind if I make a few suggestions.... I know you may not have done this in a while."
"Shut up!"
"You're right, I really don't need to talk." And with Sirius nearly choking on the breath fighting to get out of his throat, Malfoy lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it at Sirius, who practically jumped away from it.
"I can't believe this," Sirius said, at a loss. It wasn't exactly common for a hostage to throw themselves at a member of the Order. Needless to add that this hostage being Draco Malfoy raised it to new levels. And in this situation, Sirius doubted even Remus would know what to do.
"My, you're a cold fish." Draco shook his head, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his pants.
"Don't!" Sirius was frozen where he stood. Malfoy dropped his pants and neatly stepped out of them, kicking them to Sirius's feet.
"It's cold out. You could tell by looking at me, but it seems like you're busy studying my clothes. Yes, they're off my body and I am standing here before you nearly bare. That's how the boys used to sleep back at Hogwarts? I'm sure you remember." He paused. "I guess you've forgotten what to do." Sirius could hear him walk over, tenseness rendering his limbs currently shocked out of use. "How long has it been since some guy threw himself at you, Sirius," he purred softly. "All those long years in Azkaban with no companionship. How lonely it must've been." He stopped in front of Sirius, and the man found his eyes trailing up Malfoy's legs to his narrow waist and shallow chest.
"This is insane," he breathed.
"I want nothing more than to get the hell out of this place, Black. And after surviving off of the bones of life for years, I've learned that you do what you can to get what you want. It doesn't matter what it takes, or who with it takes. I understand there are certain rules when it comes to interrogations like these: You can't hurt me, or have any relations. Emotional or-" he knelt down, peering up into Sirius's scared eyes "-physical." His fingers crept to Sirius's belt. "And the reason I'm being so truthful with you is that I know you can't resist me." He ripped the strap from the buckle. But Sirius backed hastily away, still looking shellshocked.
He didn't understand what was going on at all. What was he to do? Then he thought of Lupin's face, of Harry back home, and his mission. His jaw clenched. "You don't know who you're talking to, brat. If you think you can just prance around and expect me to give in-"
"-like the dog you are?"
"-then you have another thing coming."
"Actually, I was hoping to just have you coming, Sirius. Remember how good that feels when someone else jerks you off?"
Sirius sneered, "That mouth of yours is disgusting."
"You should feel what this mouth of mine can do, Sirius. But maybe you already have an idea. Pettigrew told me other things about you. That sorry idiot was obsessed with you, Black. He told me how you looked at my father. And he told me about that one day when James Potter came storming back into the common room from following you after Lucius Malfoy. He was upset over something he saw. Something having to do with you and my father. Mind filling me in, and maybe filling me later? Although I certainly can figure out all the pieces just fine on my own, but it's so nice to have a little help every so often."
Shaking his head, Sirius took a large step backwards. When he was in school, he remembered temptation, and he could handle it. Yes, sooner or later he would bugger whoever it was he desired, but he knew he had the will, and the sense to just back away from this. Too bad for Malfoy.
"Sorry to disappoint your elaborate escape plan, Malfoy, but I'm not biting - anything. It's actually quite pathetic of you to try such a thing with me. And all this-" he motioned vaguely to the boy's strewn clothing "-is just proof that you are nothing but an ignorant little brat. I'm stronger than you, it's that simple." Shrugging, Sirius brushed passed an impassive Draco and scooped up his drawing board by his cot. He could feel the stony eyes follow him out with silent scorn.
Certainly he'd made a very impressive exit, storming out like that. In school that had always been James's strong point. But now that he was done with his haughty exit and out in the dour cold of the moors with no jacket, he guessed that when James would storm out, he already had a place in mind to storm to. Oh well, his mother had always told him he had trouble planning ahead. With drawing board clutched in his arms, Sirius made a face. He hated it when his mother was right.
The sky was beautiful, all purples and yellows. But he used charcoal to draw. Sometimes he resented the devoid of color, yet in the end black and white always seemed more realistic to him. Every shadow, every stark cut of black on the creamy white paper imprinted images he created or recorded in his mind with a distinct flavor vision can't process with real life color. As if color gets in the way of things, complicates things. Sirius sat back against the flaking wall of the shack. Maybe he drew this way because Azkaban seemed too dead and colorless and it stuck with him, or maybe since he was always going around as a dog - and dogs only see black and white. Thinking about it, Sirius laughed. Leave it to Harry to come up with some strange reason like that.
For some time he watched the plays of light in the sky, clouds developing, retreating into the endless horizon. Until he got a knot in his neck and pitched forward painfully to knead at it with numbed fingers. The drawing board fell off his lap, spilling a few sticks of charcoal and making enough ruckus to cover the creak of the door swinging open. Although Sirius couldn't help but notice when he looked up again, tears watering his eyes as his neck grudgingly loosened, his lips shaping oaths damning old age. Draco was marching out from the house, not sparing a glance at Sirius, who glared at the young wizard bitterly. Just as he had discovered before, there really was no getting away from this kid.
But as he was watching Malfoy kicking at the maroon colored shrubs dotting the expanse of their space, his eyes took on a glaze that only an artist can experience when inspiration strikes; the sinking sun, the black stretching beyond the figure of Draco standing still, and how his shock-white hair stood out against it. Sirius reached for the board and a charcoal stick, smoothing the tip with his finger without looking, and touching the tool to the paper.
While he worked, strands of hair fell into his eyes and he dragged a hand across his forehead, forcing the distraction back in a messy pile on his head. Distantly he was aware of old calluses tempered by the grip he kept on the charcoal, and of the soothing, musical sound of the lines shaping on the paper. Time slipped in and out of cognizance, getting lost in the black and white and shaded gray on the board lying across Sirius's knees.
He held it up, breathing as if he'd just finished a hard run. The charcoal still in his fingers slipped unnoticed down his shaking palm and rolled into a group of pebbles, disappearing among the dusk colored stones.
Black eyes blinked back into focus as Malfoy's voice like a hook dragged them to his face, look of interest melting into a demure expression of Malfoy bred sang-froid; "Why, you looked dazed, Black. A little breathless. Thinking of me?"
Grunting with the cold clinging studiously to his joints, Sirius said callously, "Close; I was thinking of my stewed goose and jellied frog legs that I'm dining on tonight. A delicacy in France."
Malfoy appeared nonplussed, but he smiled. "You should dine on me, Sirius. I'm a delicacy anywhere."
He loved that pantry. It cooked the goose perfectly, and the frog legs were chewy and delicious as well. No one could understand his partiality to the French-born morsel. He'd spent months in France on the run with Buckbeak, and frogs were aplenty then. Both he and the beast enjoyed them night after night over a cheering fire, and so the taste stayed with him pleasantly. Needless to say, the limbs faired differently with Malfoy, who gagged. Sirius kept himself busy with them, appreciating how the boy seemed to keep a distance from the dish.
As Draco was was making furtherance with the mound of goose Sirius kindly left for him, the Animagus perched on his cot, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the boy was still eating while he drew out his drawing board to study it again. The picture started out as a profile, Malfoy against the layered sky. But Sirius had fallen into the contours of Draco's face, the sweep of his neck. Purely caught unawares, Sirius had depicted the boy standing and looking sidelong out from the paper, his eyes an identical slate gray to the unfinished clouds overhead.
With the silence as he studied his work, so came the slow and creeping current of memories, like unchallenged winds blowing over the moor's flat and unyielding face. Of a cold day when the rain shadowed the castle so that Sirius couldn't even see it from the pitch where he sat watching James at practice. He'd been drawing, what could have been a long time after that odd episode with Lucius Malfoy at the base of the Ravenclaw audience tower. On white the lines spun from the charcoal into contouring angles limning a familiar face. Slate gray eyes mirroring the rain soaked clouds stirring above the swirling Gryffindors as they practiced for a game. Sirius couldn't even start to answer the fluky practice of his fingers guiding the charcoal instrument. They were as of yet unused to the charcoal, to the stark black and white that stained the pages.
Sirius stared at the drawing of Draco on the moor. Ever since he was young, he drew. But he'd forgotten that charcoal started when he was in school. He'd forgotten that color didn't suit Lucius Malfoy.
Next to the familiar face was another face; his own. Eerily the two faces stood out lifelike, naturally made of blacks, whites and grays. Black hair, black eyes; white hair, gray eyes. As if this form of art had been made for these faces.
And years later his fingers had found that intimate niche again of whites and blacks and grays, that perfect combination that illustrated a face that this form of art was made for.
Sirius lay silently in his bed, watching the embers of the fire dying out through the caged black door of the stove. The red was vibrant, hypnotizing him, and lulling him to sleep at the same time. He was drained, hedgingly blaming his age again and the cold outside seeping in. Remaining focused on those fading embers, Sirius let his lids lower of their own accord.
It was Malfoy's voice again that brought him crashing back into reality. This time though, it was accompanied by a lithe body barreling into his bed.
"Oops, looks like I've got the wrong cot."
"Damn right you do," Sirius fumed, completely unamused. "And I suggest you redirect yourself before I throw you out."
Draco lifted the cover. "Let's not be too hasty, it might the right bed after all." He curled his legs and began to unfurl them under the blanket.
Much too tired to play games, Sirius growled, hurling himself out of bed and stomping over to Malfoy's untouched mattress. The boy pouted. Then, getting an idea as Draco smartly rose to his feet, implying that he would only follow Sirius if he moved, the rumpled man went to the pantry, took out a sludging bowl of uncooked bloated frog legs - poured it over his head - and came back to lie down in his own cot, tugging the blankets up desmisevely and giving a resounding snort before settling down.
Draco made a face. "That's a low move, Black."
Sirius yawned. "I just don't seem to have a taste for you, brat. I'll gladly stick to my delicacy: frog legs." He opened one eye. "You're just a spoiled recipe."
A/N: (gasping for breath) All that dialogue exchange tires me out!! It's hard coming up with sexual repartee. (grins) I should make tee-shirts. (waltzes around bearing 'I'm A Delicacy Anywhere' across her chest)