The Sins of their Father
Author's Note: Harry Potter and the rest is to J.K. Rowling.
This will be SBRL eventually, I promise. And yes, 'mud-colored' is indeed a most romantic way of describing Remus' eyes.
Thanks to sakuya01 and tehru for acting as beta and sounding boards.
*
Chapter Two: House of Cards
"So, you're new here as well?"
Remus looked up from the piece of parchment he had been perusing with a carefully filtered expression of irritation on his face. It would never do to be openly hostile to the other servants, since he didn't really want to draw attention (bad or otherwise) to himself, but he wasn't planning on making any friends either.
"You could say that." He had, for the record, been received into the household staff a fortnight before the other boy even saw Slughorn, but Remus didn't think it necessary to mention this fact.
"I'm James Potter." The boy sat across the table from Remus, leaning down both his elbows to look at the parchment between them. "What's that?"
"A chart. Did you want something?"
"Just to talk, you know? Body needs to relax once in a while, see, get to mingle with others." Potter leaned further across the table. "That's a moon chart, right?"
"Sharp, aren't we?" said Remus, pushing the chart away from himself with a slight shrug. "What do you want?"
"Well, you could tell me your name, for a start."
"I'm Remus Lupin, much good it does you," said Remus, standing up. Someone from above was ringing the bell labeled 'study', where Orion Black was talking with one of the Jorkinses. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some things to attend to."
Potter smiled, leaning back against his seat and rocking the chair a bit. "So, you're French, or something?"
Remus sighed. "What I am or where I'm from is certainly none of your business, Potter, but no. I'm not French. Now if you please."
He tried to close the door gently behind him, but failed.
*
Dear Wormtail,
Working here is a bitch, you know that? If I wasn't earning fifteen Galleons a month, I'd gladly kick Slughorn's fat arse scarlet to kingdom come.
There's a new bloke working here as well. Funny fellow, that one. Name of Remus Lupin, like the flower. I asked him, but he says he's not French. Doesn't hang about with the rest of us too much.
Would want to write more, but Slughorn never sleeps. Think you can give me a nice bedtime story?
Ta,
Prongs
*
Bertha was on her fourth helping of cake, chattering all the while about someone's affair with somebody else's wife. To be honest about it, Sirius liked a woman with appetite. He liked his birds curvy and with stature, unlike those waifs you saw in the pictures who all looked like they'd break at a glance. But this was just ridiculous.
"So I figured he was still carrying on with her, even though she said their relationship was purely professional."
Sirius nodded, tracing the carvings on the end of his spoon lazily. He contemplated thrusting the blunt side of it into Bertha's fleshy neck, wondering if she would let out a pop like a small balloon once it punctures her. Surely the sound would be better than the ones she was making now, which were reminiscent of his last stroll down the aviary with his mother. All that screeching and squawking and the presence of Walburga emanating waves of disapproval behind him, which made the adventure a memorable one and not something he'd want to try again in a while.
He stood up, the spoon in his hand, when the door opened without ceremony and that cursed servant entered again bearing a decanter of wine.
"I didn't ask for wine," said Sirius, frowning.
"Courtesy of the Master Orion," said Lupin, bowing his head. He sounded a little out of breath and his hair looked like something Walburga's precious birds would want to lay eggs in. "If you would just—"
"Where is he?" hissed Sirius, barely restraining himself from clawing at the boy's bony wrist and giving the latter a violent shaking.
"And where is papa as well?" Bertha called out, accenting the last syllable to her 'papa'.
"Listen to other people without interrupting, then I can say that your honorable sires would be here shortly and wish you to ready yourselves accordingly," Lupin went on, his eyes fixed on the spoon in Sirius' hand. "Can I have that, sir?"
"What," said Sirius, in his best arrogant voice. "Has brought your knickers in a twist?"
The boy looked like Sirius had just slapped him in the face with a piece of cold herring. "Wh—I beg your pardon?"
"I would not have my servants talking to me in that way," said Sirius, in a softer tone. He doubted Bertha, who was seated across the room from them, even heard. Of course she would take note of this and would most probably tell the next person she comes across to that Sirius Black was carrying on secretly with one of the servants. Maybe even adding with a (bitter) sniff that she never thought Sirius' taste would run in the 'scarecrow' side of slender.
Lupin held out a hand not holding the decanter. "You'll hurt yourself, sir."
"That's better," said Sirius, holding up the spoon and looking at it as if he didn't know what it was doing in his hand. "Father would be coming down soon, you say?"
"Yes." Lupin winced as he accepted the spoon, placing it quickly inside his coat pocket. "Would you be needing help with the wine?"
"Oh, yes. Pour Miss Jorkins here a goblet, would you." Sirius waved in Bertha's direction. If it's not poisoned, then more's the pity. "I myself would prefer another cup of tea."
"Yes, sir."
"And Lupin?" Sirius didn't continue until the boy was looking back at him. "Brush your hair once in a while, will you. There's a good chap."
*
Prongs,
Fifteen Galleons are the dog's bollocks, as you very well know. I myself get only five a month.
I don't know too much about bedtime stories, but try this one for a start: In the summer of 'sixty-eight, John went to the morgue for a visit.
The rest would be up to you.
Methinks you need to sing Slughorn a lullaby.
Wormtail
*
James leaned his back against the door and planted his heels against the cracked tiles. Beside him, he could hear Rita Skeeter chuckling a bit at the admittedly silly situation they were in.
"OK, let's try that one more time," she said. "You should really eat more, boy. Put more weight in that skinny body."
"How come the door's stuck, anyway?" said James, ignoring Skeeter's comment, which he had heard more than enough times to last him until his next incarnation. By then, he hoped, he'd have the same chiseled chest and powerful shoulders that Shacklebolt has now and make all the birds swoon.
"Well, we're starting this new archiving technique, see, called the microfiche. It was Evans who suggested it, brilliant young lady, that one. Muggleborn, of course, but nobody's perfect, right?" said Skeeter.
You should get to see the Blacks sometime, thought James. Out loud, he said, "Microfiche?"
"A Muggle concept. It's like a picture, you see, only you have to view them in this machine." Rita made a boxy hand gesture that James figured suggested the shape of the microfiche machine. "It saves a lot of time and space, and lasts better than actual paper." Skeeter had turned back towards the door, pushing so hard her face was turning alarmingly red. "Put your hips to it, boy! I think it's finally moving a bit. The morgue has been quite abandoned while we were trying to transfer all the 70s edition of the Daily Prophet—"
"Rita," said James, as he felt the door finally give way behind him. "I'm sorry, but what do fishes have to do with newspapers?"
He frowned ferociously when she let out a great peal of laughter.
*
"Are you sure you can manage? I have this deadline I need to meet, you see," Skeeter let her voice trail away.
James nodded, lifting a large box marked '68' and disturbing several inches of dust that gave rise to a protesting cloud so thick it obscured Skeeter's rather manly face from view. He sneezed.
"Just give us a call when you're done, right? I'll have Evans lock up after you." She left the door open behind her, and James didn't want to tempt fate by closing it back even a fraction. Besides, he reckoned he would look less suspicious if he acted like he was really just looking up the obits and wishing (like everyone else) that one of those rich blighters who died were related to him. Not that he was up to anything sinister. But being secretive about the whole thing would just attract unwanted attention.
James set the box down on the floor and sat down next to it. He didn't really have an idea what he was going to find in the paper that Wormtail thought important enough to refer to (and suggest James that he tell Slughorn about it) but James Potter liked to do his job right, and he was the kind of person who commits the cast of characters to memory before watching the play.
He just hoped that it was important enough to be worth skipping out on dinner and risking a flogging from Slughorn if he gets found out. Sighing, he searched through the pile of yellowing newspapers, punctuating the whole enterprise with several hearty sneezes and cursing Wormtail for being such a dramatic ponce.
It wasn't like they could have sent lengthy letters to each other, of course, because that would be like sending James back to Grimmauld Place wearing a banner with 'I have a secret!' written across with ink that changed colors. Instead, Dumbledore had provided them both with separate pieces of parchment that allowed them to communicate directly to each other. And even then they had to use some kind of code because a wizard with any kind of intelligence can translate the surges of magic that makes the two-way parchment work and 'read' what they had written there.
That was no excuse for being so damned mysterious about the whole thing, though. 'Went to the morgue for a visit indeed'! If it had been Skeeter who let him in, James sympathized with this John character a lot.
He found what he was looking for in the May issue. Smiling a bit, James pulled the newspaper out from the box and began reading the front page news:
Curse Breaker Reveals Voldemort's Deal with Gringotts
John Lupin, who works as a Curse Breaker for Gringotts, testified today as to the deal that Voldemort had made with Gaptooth, who is currently the head goblin of said bank. There has already been much speculation relating to Voldemort's connection to the Valley of the Kings project, wherein the staff of Gringotts are preparing to excavate treasure from one of the pyramids. It had been noted by several sources that Voldemort lately had been spending more time in Egypt than his own home and had even left some of his business to be taken care of by Lucius Malfoy, who steadfastly refused to comment upon the issue.
According to Lupin, he had overheard Voldemort talking with Gaptooth about the layout of the pyramid and the possibility of one hidden chamber—
James scanned the article desultorily. He had missed the particulars of this piece of news, since he was no more than nine or ten when it came out, but he knew enough to know that Voldemort hadn't been after the treasure after all, but the curse that one wizard had written in the hidden chamber. The agreement had to do with Voldemort funding the project itself in exchange for the hieroglyphs that the curse was written with. Several curse breakers have died during the extraction, one of them being John Lupin himself, who should have left things well enough alone, in James' opinion. Especially since he had a Muggle born wife and son waiting for him back in Leeds.
James did a double take. Muggle born wife. If John Lupin was indeed Remus' father—and James couldn't see why Wormtail would want him to find all about the bloke if that wasn't the case—then that explained much of Remus' taciturn nature. Considering that he'd get thrown out of Grimmauld Place in a blink if anyone finds out that he was a halfblood, James could see why the other boy wanted to keep to himself.
But there was also the question as to why Remus wanted to work for the Blacks in the first place. He was a skilled enough bloke; it stood to reason that some other family would take him in whose views on blood-standing aren't as strict as the Blacks. From what James knew of Remus, he didn't think the other boy was the kind of person who would act so rashly, even out of desperation.
No. Remus had a damned good reason for being at Grimmauld Place, and the fact that he got in without Slughorn finding out that he was a halfblood from his records showed that he had some sort of influence over the Ministry, or knew people who did.
James sighed again. Remus Lupin was turning out to be quite an unexpected variable in the game, and James wasn't even sure if the other boy was working for himself or with others.
"Excuse me?"
James turned towards the open door, startled. A girl was standing by the threshold, one hand stretched out towards the doorknob.
"I need to be closing the office now. Do you have everything you need?" she went on, stepping inside. "You have left the lights out, do you realize?"
"The streetlights were enough," said James.
"You should take better care of your eyes," the girl said, looking pointedly at James' glasses. "Are you finished with that?"
James looked down at the newspaper that he was still holding to hide his warming face.
"Yes." He leaned down, riffling through the box to find the place where he had taken the particular issue from.
"Oh, no need to bother with that. Just place it back in the box, the archivist would take care of it." The girl smiled, holding out a ring of keys and shaking them a bit so that the keys made a jangling sound. "Let's go then?"
James stood up too quickly, feeling the blood rush to his head so that everything looked black for several seconds. "OK."
"Are you all right?"
He took a deep breath. Now or never. "What's your name?"
"Evans," the girl said. "Lily Evans. Why?"
"The lady of the microfiche," said James. "Did anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?"
She laughed. "Well, no. Are you?"
"I just did."
"As far as I remember, you have asked me a question, which is quite different from stating a fact. Look, Mister—?"
"James Potter."
"Are we going to stand here talking all night? I need to go home."
He went out of the morgue, turning back to watch Lily Evans lock the place up. The light was better in the hallways than inside the room, and he noted the deep russet shade of her hair, the cinnamon flecks of freckles scattered across her creamy skin. James suddenly realized that he liked cinnamon. He liked cinnamon a lot.
"Can I walk you home, then?"
Lily waved one hand down to her waist, where her wand was tucked in her belt. "I'm quite capable of protecting myself, thanks very much."
"It never entered your mind that I might be asking for the sake of keeping you company?"
"Good night, Potter."
*
Wormtail,
Voice not up to much singing tonight. It might even scare away young Lupin, who looks like a full night's sleep would do him wonders.
John's story is not fit for bedtime at all. Now I'm finding it harder to sleep you git.
Shaklebolt tells me that Bertha Jorkins is telling everyone who'd listen that young master Black is buggering Lupin. I wonder if there's something in all that. Is anyone else paying court to the blighter?
Prongs
*
The clock on the mantelpiece told Sirius that he had already missed three appointments and was quite late for two others, barring a theater party with the Prewetts, which promised to be a bore anyway.
"Are you listening to me, Sirius?" Orion leaned down his desk, tapping the fingers of his right hand against the polished obsidian surface.
"I don't see what it has to do with us," said Sirius, shrugging. "And Voldemort better leave things as they are if he knows what is good for him."
Orion nodded, sinking back against his chair and closing his eyes. "That's what I told Jorkins. Death Eaters!" Orion made a sniffing sound. "If you could pick an appellation more common than that! But there are rumors, you see, about Cygnus…."
"Does Walburga know?" Uncle Cygnus was, after all, Walburga's brother. Sirius held out one hand in front of his face and began to check on his fingernails.
"Of course not. There's really no evidence to support Jorkins' claim that Cygnus is one of them." Orion waved the idea away almost lazily. "See to it that Fletcher investigates the matter further. I don't really trust that Antony Jorkins, barging in here and telling me how to run my business."
"Probably he wants to remain in your list of friends, you know, sweetening you up a bit," said Sirius, conjuring a nail file. "Trading information and all that. Really, father, what did you expect? If what he'd said about Voldemort is true, we might as well believe that the foundations of this society—"
"Yes, I know what Voldemort is trying to do," Orion cut in, impatiently. He'd raised one hand to his face, massaging his temples with his thumb and forefinger. "And I must admit that he does have his points. But styling himself as a lord and gathering followers—this so called Death Eaters—well, who does this man think he is?"
"You hate him because he encroaches on your territory," said Sirius. "No need to splutter at me, father. Remember that Jorkins went to you, and I'm sure more would follow, to inquire as to your opinion. They'll stand where you will, if only for the sake of having someone powerful to back them up. In this case, yours would always be the hand that rolls the dice."
"You would think that Voldemort would approach me first." Orion smiled. He enjoyed the idea that Voldemort was afraid of him, and Sirius knew that his father's conjectures as to why the other wizard hasn't talked to him yet was probably right. "What do you think I should do as to this matter?"
"Why ask me?"
"What do you think I would do, then?"
"You would let them rot in hell, as you've always done." Sirius sat up. The clock has struck ten. "There would be people opposing Voldemort, too, I'm sure. And if there's a war, we'd have to weigh what we'd gain against what we might lose, wouldn't we?"
"Certainly."
"And if it is true about Cygnus?"
Orion shrugged, looking back at his son. "Then Cygnus must be eliminated. You know what to do."
"May I be excused then?" If Sirius hurried, he might be able to go to Dearborn's card party after all.
His father waved him away. Sirius was already halfway towards the door when his father called him back.
"Yes?"
"Be aware."
"Aren't I always?" Sirius gave Orion a small smile.
*
Prongs,
Because someone's being a git and has been questioning my literary prowess, I'm pleased to inform you that I'm now reading more books for inspiration.
Anyone could sing lullabies. If you're not careful, someone else's dulcet tones would have Slughorn's ears, and too much singing is considered noise. Just make sure that you sing a pretty song.
It would be safe to assume that you have a contender against young Black's affections. Consider flowers?
Wormtail