Written for Quidditch League, Semi Finals

Team: Harpies

Position: Beater 1

Main Prompt: [Steampunk] Steampunk merges the science fiction genre with alternate history and the design aesthetic of the 19th and early 20th Centuries. The basic idea is the introduction of modern (or futuristic) concepts and technologies into an earlier setting, or vice versa.

Optional Prompts: Sirius Black / Antique Compass / Purple

Word Count: 1384

Warning: Character death, mentions of suicide.

nothing left to lose (everything to gain)

Sirius adjusted the hood of his cloak, making sure to hide his face in shadow. The streets of London were empty, as they always were at night. Almost empty. In the distance, he could see the shadowy figure of a squat man just beyond the soft glow of the gaslight. The other man raised a hand, indicating that he had seen Sirius, gesturing him forward. Sirius followed, even as the man disappeared down an alley.

"Well, well." Mundungus Fletcher adjusted his raggedy tan coat as he studied Sirius. "You got the gold?"

"That depends," Sirius responded, though he tapped his own pocket. The distinct sound of coins rattled within, clanging noisily together. "Do you have what I asked you for?"

With a huff, Mundungus shoved a hand into the inside lining of his coat. "It's always the same with you lot," he said with a sneer. "Too busy to bother with niceties. Couldn't ask how my day's been, could you?"

Sirius considered pointing out that the hustler was the first one to talk business; Sirius had simply responded in kind. Mundungus wasn't good at the social aspect of business, it seemed. What he lacked there, he made up in talent. Rumour had it that the man was such a brilliant career criminal that he'd once stolen the Queen's pearls right off her neck. If he wanted to complain and call Sirius rude, he could. As long as Mundungus delivered, he could fuss and whine all he liked.

Mundungus pulled out a vial that glowed, dull and violet. Sirius frowned and took a step forward, squinting. He had never actually seen aether before, but the books described it as a vibrant purple, like a field of lavender on a spring day. What he had before him did not live up to the stories. It was wispy, like smoke swirling around in glass.

"It's genuine," Mundungus said, like he somehow knew what Sirius was thinking. "Swear on me mum's life it is."

Sirius hesitated. Aether wasn't easy to come by, and its sale among civilians was strictly prohibited. He couldn't exactly take it to someone and have them vouch for its validity. He would end up in Azkaban in a heartbeat, and he had no intention to spend even a moment slaving away in that madhouse. All he could do was trust that it was pure and hope for the best.

What did he have left to lose?

"Thank you for your trouble." Sirius plucked the small leather pouch from his pocket and held it out.

Mundungus accepted it, trading it for the glass vial. "What do you need aether for?" he asked, dark brows arching curiously. "I don't mean to pry, mate, but ain't it a bit funny? A Black out here, doing business with the likes of me. Bit scandalous."

Instead of answering, Sirius pressed his lips into a hard, thin line and tucked the vial into his pocket. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away. Yes, it was scandalous. If his parents were still alive, he imagined they would be horrified to find him in the grimy streets of the unsavoury side of the city. If anyone ever found out about his black market dealings, it could destroy him, especially if they knew what he was planning to do with the aether.

The small vial felt suddenly heavy in his pocket. Sirius ignored it and carried on. He had work to do, and nothing would come between him and his mission.

xxx

Growing up, his childhood home had been a cold, dark place. Not much had changed. It was still just as uninviting and gloomy, though it was at least quieter now without his mother's constant screaming and swearing. Sirius hated returning, but he didn't have much of a choice. Where else could he go? People would only ask questions or, worse, try to stop him.

Maybe he needed to be stopped. What he was doing was unnatural and unholy. No sane man would dare attempt it.

But he was a Black. Maybe that meant he wasn't quite sane. Didn't madness run in his family? If his mother and eldest cousin were any indication, he would think so. He shook his head, forcing himself back to the present moment as he descended the stairs into the basement. If he let his thoughts stray, he might rethink this whole thing. He had come too far to turn back now.

Once in his makeshift laboratory, he lit the candles close to his work table. The soft orange glow cut through the darkness, illuminating the cogs and springs that littered the floor. Sirius really needed to clean up. Maybe he would eventually, but not now. He had to see this through. Even the smallest distraction could mean failure. He nudged the bits of discarded silver with his foot, pushing them out of the way and clearing a path.

"Hello, James," he whispered, pulling the sheet away.

It wasn't James. Not really. James was the bravest airship pilot Sirius had ever known, but his ship had been captured by the airship pirate, Captain Riddle, and the whole crew was slaughtered (except for Peter, the bastard who had betrayed them all). James had been so full of life.

The thing before him wasn't. The metal was cold and hard, unfeeling and unmoving. There were no veins filled with blood, only oil and grease. In place of a brain, there were cogs and wheels like those on a clock.

James was gone. Sirius had tried to support Lily as best he could. As James' body was lowered into the ground, he had held Lily, allowing her to sob into his chest.

Nothing would bring James back, and Sirius knew that. It didn't stop him. The weight of his absence was too heavy. The day Lily jumped from the London bridge, joining James in death, Sirius knew that he could not just sit back and watch his friends and loved ones die. Why should he? He didn't have to; with all the gold he had, he could so easily play God.

And so he would.

"If you are a success," he says to the clockwork man, "I will make Lily too. I can bring you back, James. I know I can."

He pauses, grabbing James' old compass from his workbench. The weathered metal is dented and scuffed after nearly a century of use. It was all he had left of his beloved friend, other than the memories in his head of a full and wonderful life. Giving it up now felt wrong, but he needed something personal in order to bridge the gap between human and metal.

Sirius placed the antique compass in the hole in James' chest, where the heart would go. With a trembling hand, he reached into his pocket, extracting the aether. This was it, the final test. Sirius' heart pounded frantically, and, for just a moment, he forgot how to breathe as he watched the soft purple wisps of aether swirl within the glass. He tipped the vial forward and removed the lid.

The aether rolled like fog, the color brightening as, little by little, it flowed into the chest cavity. This was what he had expected; this was what the texts had prepared him for. It was the field of lavender, the purple that was so vibrant and full of life, that he had waited for.

Once the vial was empty, Sirius closed the compartment and waited. A tense silence hung over the basement. It felt like an eternity passed, but Sirius didn't move, even when his feet and ankles began to ache from standing for so long.

Then he heard it. It was a soft, subtle sound, like the winding of a clock. A beat passed, and he heard the spring set and the steady tick, tick, tick as the mechanical innards began to move. Another moment, and the clockwork man sat up, eyes opening to reveal the familiar hazel that Sirius knew so well.

"Hello, Sirius," James said, and though the voice sounded jagged and strange, it was still James', if not perfectly.

"Hello, old friend." Sirius breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't know how the aether worked, only that it did, and nothing else mattered. He grinned. "It's good to see you again."