To Be Loyal
Chapter Two
Disclaimer: HP is J.K.'s.
"It is important to fight and fight again, and keep fighting, for only then can evil be kept at bay though never quite eradicated." —Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
"PREJUDICED BASTARDS! I can't wait until the Aurors catch you!" —Sirius Black, screaming at his parents, winter of 1975
Late evening, July 10, 1976
That evening, Orion called a reluctant Sirius downstairs. He'd made his choice; he was almost free, but he still had to endure a final evening at Grimmauld Place. Despite the food Regulus had been sneaking him, Sirius was desperate for a good meal at the Potters. Sirius's eyes traced the lines of the Black family tapestry and hardened, as they always did, when they found the blackened spot next to Regulus's name. He sat down in front of his parents, the light of the fireplace opposite washing over his face.
"You are not responding to our methods," Sirius's father stated, his dark eyebrows narrowing. "No doubt you have been stealing food, although Kreacher has been unable to discern what was missing from the pantry. This will not be tolerated."
Sirius remained silent, his gaze fixed on his father's forehead. Not good, he thought.
"Thankfully," his mother drawled, "we have planned for this." With the backs of their chairs facing the fire, the Blacks were cloaked in shadows, but Sirius still saw Orion draw his wand.
It took all of Sirius's self-control to remain in place. Normally, Walburga and Orion only hexed or struck him, but it sounded like what was coming would be much worse. Surely Orion wouldn't-
"One last chance, Sirius," his father offered coldly. "Call your friends what they are: Mudbloods and blood traitors."
Sirius knew that it would do little harm at this point to give in. To lie and tell them what they wanted to hear. He would be gone come morning, out from under Orion and Walburga's thumb.
But Sirius Black was as stubborn as a dog with a bone, and he refused to give the Blacks the satisfaction of breaking him. It's time to make a point, he thought. He would show Orion and Walburga that in order to make their twisted dreams of pureblood supremacy a reality, they would have to hurt their own kind. Victory, if Voldemort ever seized it, would come at a terrible cost.
The Cruciatus Curse would not crush Sirius's fighting spirit. He was certain of it. This is for you, James, he thought, thinking of his friend who was probably even now sneaking out to the Potters' broom shed.
"I'll tell you what I told you last year," he stated calmly. "You're a pair of cruel, prejudiced bastards, and I can't wait until-"
His father had always been quick with Silencing Charms.
"Toujours Pur," his mother whispered, her voice almost tender. Always Pure.
"Crucio."
And Sirius screamed with the pain of a thousand knives without making a sound.
July 11, 1976
Padfoot stared up at Prongs's laughing face, watching as his friend slapped Moony on the back and leaned to the side to punch Wormtail's shoulder. Then the image of himself in the photograph laughed and shoved James into Remus. Staggering backward, photo-Moony struggled to suppress a grin even as he shook his head despairingly at James and Sirius.
Padfoot recognized the look in his friend's green eyes. Whenever the Marauders walked out from the beech tree and sat at the edge of the lake, he could see it in his own reflection. It was that sense of belonging, of finding your place after feeling lost for so long.
Padfoot had kept the photo of the Marauders hidden from his parents-no, call them Orion and Walburga, Padfoot reprimanded himself. He needed to get used to the fact that they were not his family. The photo was his only comfort amidst the violence that had consumed the House of Black.
He wished, more than ever, that he was with the other Marauders. Padfoot's canine form simplified his emotions to a degree, but if anything, the separation from the rest of his pack cut all the more deeply. Padfoot also still felt the nerve-prickling aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse and the pain from the beating his parents had given him after it had been lifted. Despite the pain surging through his body's nerves, Padfoot felt a strange distance between his mind and his injuries. Prongs will be here soon, he told himself with certainty, trying to shake off a lingering sense of helplessness. It was only a few minutes past midnight, and James had never let him down.
Padfoot's stormy eyes found photo-Wormtail's watery blue irises. The shortest Marauder cheered as photo-James produced a Snitch from his sleeve and snatched it out of the air. Padfoot's tail wagged slightly back and forth as he remembered charging after James into an abandoned classroom where Avery and Mulciber had cornered Peter. The two Marauders had taken the Slytherins by surprise and disarmed them. A simple Incarcerous had left Avery's right leg tied to Mulciber's left, and a few spray-painting spells had coated the pair in lovely shades of Gryffindor red and gold. Padfoot's lips curled up slightly as he recalled hearing Mulciber trying to drag his companion across the floor of the classroom while Avery cussed at him.
The pain in Padfoot's chest spiked, and he whined softly. He thought he might have cracked a rib. Experience allowed him to push through the pain and focus fully on the photo.
Padfoot had always been a little suspicious of how reluctant Peter was to stand up for himself, even when James and Sirius were already fighting his battles for him. However, Padfoot couldn't deny the courage Peter had shown in overcoming his fear of werewolves to join Moony on his monthly visits to the Shack. As a rat, even, he thought.
Padfoot, who had always enjoyed Astronomy, had been the one to piece together Moony's secret, but it was James who had insisted that they inform Remus of their discovery. "We have to make sure he knows we don't care," James had said fiercely, and Padfoot had agreed. Padfoot had never forgotten the look on Remus's face when James told Moony that he'd actually done research and discovered a way for the rest of the Marauders to join Moony on the full moon.
As for himself… few in Padfoot's year had been willing to share more than necessary conversation with him during his first few years of Hogwarts. Spy, the older students had whispered behind Padfoot's back when they thought he couldn't hear them. A Black, a son of Death Eaters, in Gryffindor? He must have fooled the Hat. Only the Black fortune kept the Blacks from being questioned under Veritaserum about the disappearances of Edgar Bones and Augusta Longbottom….
As always, the Slytherins had been worse; they knew from pureblood social gatherings that he truly was a rebel, the shame of the House of Black for his refusal to follow proper etiquette, his admiration for Muggle machines, and his ridiculous belief that Mudbloods weren't any different from purebloods. James had been one of few to-
A light knock on the window jarred Padfoot out of the memory with a wild burst of hope. The great black dog padded over to the window, and Sirius Black transformed and leaned against the wall, silent tears gathering in his eyes as he tried not to cry out. From what Remus said, maybe this is like how being shocked by Muggle electricity feels, he mused darkly. Bastards. Sirius ground his teeth and glared at the door. Filthy, murdering, hateful, Death-Eating scum, he cursed them. Sometimes Sirius wondered if he could have survived this long without his friends. Would he have given in and become their little Death Eater?
Sirius threw the curtains back and found James Potter, complete with his customary mischievous grin, on the other side. Sighing with relief that he hadn't imagined the knock, Sirius opened the window, and James's smile faded as he got a good look at his friend.
"Merlin, Padfoot, what did they do to you?" James gasped, aghast.
"Quiet, Prongs," Sirius hissed, leaning on the windowsill as he glanced over his shoulder. "Thanks for coming, mate. I'll always owe you for-"
"None of that," James interrupted dismissively, his eyes narrowed worriedly. "I'd be the worst mate in the world if I left you to this. Padfoot, how could they? You look like you were mugged!"
"I've had worse," Sirius muttered under his breath as he touched the end of his broken nose and winced. James's parents were loving, kind people who-if Sirius was honest with himself-spoiled their son a bit, so James couldn't understand Sirius's situation.
"Maybe we should take you to Saint Mungo's," James suggested uncertainly.
"Your house first," Sirius said quickly. He'd expected that response. "We'll need your parents with us if we decide to visit Mungo's, or the staff will contact Walburga and Orion."
James blinked in surprise when he heard Sirius call his parents by their first names, but he refrained from commenting. "How are we going to do this?" he asked. They both knew that Grimmauld's wards would keep James from coming in through the window.
Sirius pulled himself up on the windowsill, then reached out with his right arm. James grabbed his wrist to steady him, and Sirius took a step out into empty air, feeling with his left foot for the shaft of the broomstick. He managed not to look down at the pavement three stories below.
Several nerves in Sirius's right leg suddenly flared with excruciating pain, and Sirius slipped from the windowsill. He fell freely for a moment before stopping abruptly in midair as he felt a sudden wrenching sensation in his right arm.
"I've got you, Padfoot," James grunted, his right hand locked around Sirius's wrist. As James slowly descended to the ground, Sirius stared up at his friend's face, memorizing the determined expression he could make out in the light of the moon.
They touched down, and James dismounted and threw his arms around Sirius. Sirius stiffened for a moment before relaxing and hugging James tightly. He felt his eyes well up with tears as he leaned into his friend's embrace, trying to keep his body from trembling and shaking from the Cruciatus.
"You're too light, Padfoot, though I suppose that was a good thing this time," James told him when they broke apart. "I believed you when you said they were starving you, but it hurts to see it. My mother's going to be all over you," he said with a strained grin.
Sirius smiled. "Looking forward to it."
"Up," James muttered, and his broom flew into his hand. Sirius mounted behind James and grabbed Prongs's shoulders to steady himself.
"Let's go, Padfoot," James said firmly, and they soared off into the night.
A/N: In case you're wondering, Islington is a borough in London. I have done some research on the fandom site, but I'm not really about to go hard-core on every small detail. Also, I'm American, and I'm not planning to worry too much about using British language.
Hope all of you are well!
