Chapter 2: Silver Spoons

Hoping his absence had not yet been noticed, Sirius crept down the stairs into the basement of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, creaked open the kitchen door and sneaked inside. From high above him he could hear both the tinkle of laughter and the tinkle of champagne flutes from the party going on upstairs in the Drawing Room. His odious cousin Narcissa had got engaged to the even more odious Lucius Malfoy, and the celebration was being held in his home.

All of magical high society was there, all of his parents' creepy friends - and here he was, gussied up in his velvet dress robes with its lacy collar (he looked a knob and he knew it), and sneaking away because he could not bear another second among the smugness of the pureblood elite.

His whole summer had been awful (and after the end of last term, when he had discovered that it was his own brother who was framing Sirius for a series of nasty attacks across the castle in the hope of getting him expelled, he had expected nothing else). His mother had ignored him, unless she was hurling insults at him; his father had tutted every time Sirius had crossed his path, and given him that cold, disappointed stare that he had perfected ever since Sirius had been sorted into Gryffindor almost three years previously. Various hideous members of their extended family had dropped by every day for extended visits, where they sat in the Drawing Room drinking tea and making idle chatter - and Sirius had been forced to sit there, politely, for hours on end, and not look bored or say anything rude. And all of the rest of the time, Kreacher, their ancient house elf, had followed him around the house, muttering a furious diatribe under his breath about what a filthy blood traitor Sirius was.

The only thing that had made his time spent at home even vaguely bearable was the fact that his younger brother, Regulus, had - after a disastrous first season on the Slytherin Quidditch team - been packed off to Quidditch camp for a couple of weeks to help him improve. (Having spent a small fortune buying the whole Slytherin team brand new broomsticks - buying Regulus's way onto the team - Walburga was not going to let him resign… But she was not going to let him make a fool of himself again either.)

There was one other ray of light at the end of the very dark tunnel that was Sirius's summer holiday - and that was that he was going to be allowed to go to his best friend, James', house for a couple of weeks towards the end. (Walburga looked down on the Potters - she looked down on everybody, but she specifically looked down on them - however she was always happy to get rid of her disappointing, muggle lover of a son for a couple of weeks, whenever the opportunity arose. She had often been heard to comment that home did not feel like home when there was a blood traitor under her roof, and she was as eager to be rid of Sirius as Sirius was to be rid of her.)

But for now, he was trapped at home, entombed within its four - rather grisly - walls and forced to endure an afternoon and evening of genteel celebration for the upcoming nuptials of two of the most loathsome people he knew.

It was a relief to have found a moment to have slipped away, and to be hidden in the kitchen - where he could tug at the lacy collar as it itched his neck, and flick v signs up at the ceiling, while he tried to guess at which exact spot his mother was standing.

Though everyone who was upstairs made his skin crawl. The guests were - almost all of them - followers of Lord Voldemort, the so-called "Dark Lord" who wrote articles in the paper about how muggleborns were scum and organised mass muggle killings and - somehow - managed not to get himself arrested. Everyone knew it was his followers who had murdered The Kneazles, the Wizarding World's answer to Rock and Roll, and smashed up Diagon Alley a few weeks ago in what was now being termed as "The Night of the Glass Shards". Everyone knew it - but no one said it, not out loud. And upstairs, those same murderous thugs were now smarming their way through a soiree, in their finest dress robes, quaffing champagne and nibbling on vol au vents and acting like they were civilised human beings after all, and not the vicious animals Sirius knew them to be.

Even listening to their tinkling laughter, from down here, made him shudder. Looking them in the face - wondering which one had pointed their wand and fired a killing curse at Bobby Darrow, tortured Roger Smith, which one of them had fired the mysterious sign of the skull over Diagon Alley as the whole street burned - was more than he could stand…

Narcissa's older sister, Bellatrix, was here, and Sirius found it very hard to believe that all these attacks did not have her sticky fingerprints all over them.

And to this end, he was hiding in the kitchen - and he sighed with relief as the door swung shut behind him, and he sat down at the scrubbed, wooden table - and helped himself to a meringue (the table was laden with trays, groaning under the weight of food Kreacher had yet to apparate up to the party above - Sirius saw no reason he should not help make those trays a little lighter).

He sat at the table, one leg tucked underneath himself, and bit down on his meringue - feeling the outside crunch and the inside splurge in a very satisfactory manner. A silvery gleam on the sideboard caught his eye, and he knelt up on the bench and peered at the whole vast array of Black family silver, which Kreacher had spread across the sideboard and polished to a high shine, ready for the banquet that evening. It seemed to glitter in the lamplight - and, feeling a bit like a magpie, Sirius felt himself drawn to it.

Checking he was still unobserved and alone, he went over to the silverware, ran his fingers along the whole lot of it, until he reached the teaspoons, and then wrapped his hand around the handle of one and snatched it up.

(He and his friends had a plan to become animagi - wizards who could turn into animals at will - and one of the things they needed for that was a silver teaspoonful of dew … And, as the poncy, pureblood prince of the group, it had fallen to Sirius to provide the silver teaspoon.)

He shoved the teaspoon into his pocket and then jumped, as an ancient, desiccated voice wheezed, 'and what is Master Sirius thinking he is doing?' From behind him.

He whirled around and saw Kreacher standing there, staring up at him pugnaciously.

'Filthy blood traitor brat breaking his mother's heart and stealing her spoons.'

'Er -' (he wasn't sure if Kreacher was actually talking to him or just about him) 'it's none of your business what I'm doing, Kreacher.' (Becoming animagi, underage and without registering with the Ministry of Magic, was illegal - and Sirius did not want his mother, of all people, finding out what he was doing - or why.)

'Hark at him - "not Kreacher's business" but Kreacher is a good elf to his Mistress, Kreacher tells his Mistress when the blood traitor brat steals from her.'

'Kreacher - I forbid you to tell my mother.'

Kreacher opened his mouth, but no sound came out - he was unable to complain.

' And,' Sirius's mind whirred as he thought of all possible loopholes that Kreacher may try to exploit, 'I forbid you from telling my mother that there's something you're forbidden from telling her - understand?'

Kreacher stared at him, and then swept into a low (but rather mocking) bow, his snout-like nose almost touching the floor. 'As the young master wishes… filthy little animal that he is.'

'Piss off, Kreacher.'

He felt a sudden stinging slap around the back of his head. 'We do not speak to our servants in that manner.'

'We only have one servant, mother,' Sirius said, rubbing the back of his head and turning to glower at Walburga, herself (for that was who had just loomed out of the shadows). 'Stop trying to make us sound grander than we are - it's embarrassing.'

'What is embarrassing is my eldest son hiding in the kitchen in the middle of an important social occasion. Half the Wizengamot - the Minister, herself - is here, and here you are, lurking beneath the ground like you're a skivvy - not a son of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.'

Sirius rolled his eyes.

Walburga gave him a clip round the ear. 'Now get upstairs; be charming, be gracious - be witty if you have it in you - and try not to disgrace your family for once in your worthless life.'

Sirius gave a bow, every bit as mocking as Kreacher's has been. 'I only aim to please, mother.'

She slapped him round the head again. 'And don't you dare spit at the Minister of Magic again.'

'I won't spit if she doesn't.'

Walburga aimed a kick at his backside, and he scurried out of her way - smirking infuriatingly. Then he squared his shoulders and headed back to the stairs - readying himself for a few more excruciating hours among the power elite of the Wizarding World. He slipped his hand in his pocket and squeezed the handle of the spoon, as he entered the Drawing Room. At least today had not been a total wash out.

…

About as far away from high society as it was possible to get, Lily Evans sat at the table in her small kitchen, in her cramped terraced house in Cokeworth, and frowned as she pored over her Arithmancy textbook. The coupon for the Littlewoods' Football Pools lay on the table beside her, and she was wrestling with the fixtures - trying to use Arithmancy to predict the outcome.

It was Petunia who had got her into this. Lily had gone into her bedroom one day to find Petunia in there, sitting on the bed, leafing through 'Numerology and Grammatica'. Lily had pulled up short, it had been a long time since Petunia had been in her room, she spent most of her time pretending Lily did not exist and had always refused to look at, never mind touch, any of Lily's school things.

Petunia had looked up, when she heard Lily at the door, and Lily had half expected her to be flustered and embarrassed to be found going through a spell book - as if she still longed to be a witch. But instead - Petunia's face had been hard and angry. 'What's this?' she had demanded, brandishing the book.

'My Arithmancy textbook.'

'What's "Arithmancy"?'

'It's where - well, it's quite complicated really - but it's where you use numbers and stuff to make sense of the universe, it can tell you what's going to happen.'

'You mean predict the future?' Petunia had snapped.

Lily had shrugged. 'I suppose. That's the muggle way of looking at-'

But Petunia had risen from the bed, textbook still in hand, and had pushed past Lily and thundered down the stairs calling, 'Mum! Mum!'

Lily had frowned, and then chased after her sister, wondering what was going on. When she got to the kitchen, Tuney was showing their mum the book, gesticulating wildly. They both looked up as she entered. Mrs. Evans' eyes were disappointed.

'You said you couldn't use magic to win us the Pools, Lily,' she said.

'What?'

'At Christmas - I asked you to win us some money, and you said magic couldn't do that.'

'I-'

'But Tuney says this book tells you how to predict the future.'

'Well - I suppose it does, but…'

'We need that money, Lily - how could you be so selfish ?'

Lily was flabbergasted. 'I didn't - I mean - I didn't think…'

'Well of course you didn't think . You go back to your castle, and your magic and you forget all about us, here, struggling. What do you care if we've got enough to eat when you've got a three course banquet being served to you every evening on golden plates?'

'We don't use the golden plates every day…' (Even she knew how pathetic that sounded).

'Lily,' her mother had taken a deep breath and tried to sound calmer, 'this family is in dire straits - the whole of Cokeworth is.' (The three day week had been mercifully short lived, but money was still tight and the whole country was falling apart - there had already been one General Election that year, which had led to a hung Parliament and a nation in deadlock, and there was talk of another on the horizon just because things were so dreadful that something - anything - needed to change.) 'But you -' she had smiled, 'we are so lucky to have you. You give us an edge. You can help us. Tuney leaves school next summer - you don't want her to have to be a cleaner at the factory, do you? You want us to be able to pay to send her to secretarial college, don't you?'

Petunia had glared at her.

'You've already left Tuney behind once. You've got such a bright future ahead of you, Lils - just - help us give Tuney this leg up… Please .'

'I don't know if I can - I haven't been studying it very long.'

'Just try.'

'It doesn't seem right.'

'What's not right is raising a family in poverty,' her mother had snapped. 'But we all have to do what we must - and, if you still consider yourself a member of this family, you'll do what you can to help us.'

So - still feeling that it wasn't quite right - Lily had agreed to try and use her still fledgling Arithmancy skills to predict the football scores and win them some money, though she had written to her other muggleborn friend, Mary, and asked what she thought about it. (Mary, however, was a quite a lot looser, ethically speaking, than Lily was and she had written back in great excitement - ' That's a fantastic idea, Lils, I'm kicking myself that I didn't think of it. I'm going to start doing it for my dad.')

She had also spoken to Sev - Severus Snape, the only other magical teenager in Cokeworth - and asked his opinion. Sev had considered the question carefully and then pronounced that - as there was no wand waving involved - the trace almost certainly wouldn't activate. The Ministry would never know she had used magic, the muggles could never guess it and so - as she was almost certain to get away with it - she might as well.

'Will you do it, too, Sev? Like Mary? Help your dad out?' she had asked.

But Sev had made a disgusted, scoffing noise in the back of his throat, 'I'm not helping that drunken, animal, muggle out with anything .'

A frown line had crinkled into existence between Lily's eyebrows when she heard how Sev spoke about his father - and muggles in general - but she didn't say anything. Sometimes it felt like their friendship was stretched to breaking point - as they saw things so differently - and she didn't want to press it. She was trying to cajole him into seeing sense, especially when it came to the Dark Lord, but Sev's father had been a sore spot for a very long time - and she knew better than to correct him over his dad, if she didn't want a fight.

So in the end - when everyone told her it was a good idea and made her feel like a prig and a spoilsport for objecting - she had sat down at the kitchen table and started trying to use the art of Arithmancy to cheat on the Football Pools. It was difficult - and not made any easier by her dad giving his opinion on her findings.

'How's it going, Lils?' he asked.

'I'm not sure … Do you think Leeds will lose to Stoke City?'

'They've got a new manager… Don Revie's gone to England. Clough's only come from Derby - not quite the same as a big club like Leeds.'

'Well … I think they're going to lose three - nil.'

'Blimey!'

'And Carlisle are going to beat Chelsea.'

But Mr. Evans snorted, 'At Stamford Bridge? Not a chance.'

'Alright then… but it looks like they're going to have a strong start to the season. That's what the numbers say.' And she held out her text book and showed him her workings out and explained what it all meant and how she knew.

He looked rather impressed. 'Have you seen this, Hyacinth?' he called through to the living room, 'our Lils has got the whole season mapped out.'

'Not quite -' she started to say.

He picked up the textbook and peered at it, as if trying to make heads or tails of what it all meant. 'It's a shame we didn't know you could do this earlier,' he told Lily, after a while. 'We would have made a killing on the World Cup.'

…

'And here we are, witches and wizards, warlocks and wise-women, the 13th match of this - the 417th edition of the Quidditch World Cup - the first of our semi finals: Syria vs Liechtenstein - and what a match this promises to be…'

Sitting in James' kitchen, Remus, Sirius, Peter Pettigrew and James himself banged an excited drumroll on the table top. The boys had all gone to stay with James for the duration of the World Cup and had had a marvellous two weeks eating chocolate frogs, playing Quality Quidditch League (where they each picked their own international dream team out of every player taking part in the World Cup and then kept track of points scored and snitches caught by those players to see whose team "won") and screaming themselves hoarse at every match. (They had originally listened in the drawing room, with Mr. and Mrs. Potter, but had been kicked out and relegated to the kitchen after only two matches for being too raucous.)

'But before we get things flying - we just have time for the headlines and the weather…'

The boys groaned, and booed loudly.

'Investigations continue into the "Night of Glass Shards" - the last of the victims has been released from St. Mungos after the vicious attack on Diagon Alley in late June, and Insurance Wizards from Pshaw, Shaw and Sharpe's Surety say all claims have now been filed and they are looking at making their biggest payout in their 300 year existence…'

The boys stopped their booing and went quiet, looking sombre and solemn.

'But the biggest question remains who could be behind these attacks.'

'Oh for Merlin's sake!'

'Total bollocks!'

'I'll give you a hint - starts with "D" ends in "ark Lord".'

'Gotta be kidding me.'

'The Minister for Magic made this announcement earlier today'

Eugenia Jenkins' voice came over the air waves, the boys all glanced at each other.

'I understand that our magical community is deeply worried about the attack that happened just a few short weeks ago. However, I assure them that Diagon Alley is safe and open for business and that the Ministry is very close to making arrests. It has been a tough time, but we can all move on and put it behind us.'

'She - er - she doesn't sound too well, does she?' Remus said. And he was right, her voice wavered and cracked. She sounded tired and - perhaps - just on the cusp of hysteria.

'She was at Narcissa's engagement party, a couple of weeks ago - she looked like she was showing the strain.'

James snorted. 'Lemme get this straight? The woman in charge of stopping Voldemort's brutal attacks is off partying at your house and breaking bread with his most loyal supporters?'

'Er - yeah,' Sirius said, 'sounds about right.'

'She doesn't want to admit that it's them behind it,' Pete said seriously (though the solemnity of his announcement was perhaps undermined by the fact he had a mouthful of chocolate frog.) 'No one wants to admit that it's the power elite behind the attacks - or maybe they're just too afraid to admit it.'

'She's just a useless Minister for Magic and always has been.' Remus's voice was glum (he had had his own run-ins with Eugenia Jenkins, and good reason to doubt her competence and integrity). 'Maybe she'll find a way to blame the Night of the Glass Shards on the werewolves… it's probably what she's hoping for. I bet a galleon I don't have that, if anyone's arrested, it's a werewolf.'

'You're on,' Sirius said. 'James - you'll need to lend me a galleon.'

'Yeah - you'll need to lend me one too.'

'Stop gambling with my money!'

Jenkins' voice had vanished and was replaced again by the announcer.

'Well Diagon Alley might be open for business, but Gringotts will not be. The goblins are threatening to stage a walkout next week in protest of new laws the Wizengamot are trying to pass, which will give them greater reach into the running of Gringotts. Spokesgoblin Bugnug has this to say:'

Bugnug starting talking, over the wireless, outlining his grievances - and was then replaced with Chariton Nott of the Wizengamot, who was in charge of drafting the law:

'They'll do what we tell them - devilish, little blighters…'

The boys looked at each other again, 'oh - that'll work,' Peter said. They all snorted with laughter.

The announcer came back on:

'And finally, as the stadium begins to fill up, ready for the semi-final - we can report that this is the largest crowd to date. Royston Idlewind, head of the ICWQC's, controversial ban on wand carrying at matches has led to empty stadiums and dwindling crowds so far - with it looking like there may be a boycott on the World Cup altogether. But, as the competition has advanced, the crowds have seeped back in - and now Syria and Liechtenstein will be playing to a packed stadium. The Dissimulators - which fans have used to replace their wands - are out in full force and already the air is thick with lights and sounds. This is hotting up to be quite a match - with over 70 000 wizards here watching in person…'

The boys banged their drumroll again.

'And now time for the weather…'

'Just start it already, you great berk!'

Once the weather was over (brilliant sunshine - no rain - use aguamenti if your taps run out of water and spare a thought for the muggles in this drought) the commentary returned to the Quidditch Stadium, the atmosphere in the kitchen thickened, the boys started up their drum roll once again and then - with a shrill blast from a whistle, the brooms rose up into the air and the match was underway.

It lasted just under four hours, and when it was done the boys' throats hurt from screaming and their hands were sore from thumping the table. Syria had won by 350 points to 190 (and Peter was very smug - as he had chosen the Syrian seeker for his Quality Quidditch League team and was now in the lead), tomorrow's match would be Madagascar vs Brazil - and then the final would be held two days later.

They sat at the table, throughout the rest of the evening, playing exploding snap and laughing and chatting, while Mrs. Potter flitted in and out making them bacon sandwiches and, later, hot chocolates.

It was just as they were thinking of heading up to bed that a lull in the conversation meant they could suddenly hear the programme on the WWN again. It was a current affairs show, and they were discussing the proposed Gringotts walkout the following week.

'And here to give us his insights, we are delighted to welcome dark creature expert, Malicius Malidictus. Mr. Malidictus - thanks for coming on the show.'

'Thanks for inviting me - I think it is important that I first assure our listeners that goblins are not dark creatures and do not come under my remit as such. Theirs is an entirely separate race from our own, a proud one, with their own history, customs and magic and we would do well to respect that.'

'So you think the Ministry should leave well alone?'

There was a delicate pause.

'Matters are complicated.'

Malidictus said at last.

'As much as I wish to reassure the average wizard on the Knight Bus that all is well and the Ministry has things under control - all is not well in our little community.'

The boys all looked at each other in surprise.

'The balance of power is shifting - and believe you me, power always has gold behind it. The mass muggle killing by the giants last Easter, the Night of the Glass Shards - all this is being orchestrated with someone with access to a lot of gold. Currently the goblins are the only ones with access to the information on transactions, gold flow and in-bank account transferals. It behoves our Ministry to be able to access this information themselves, so they can start following the financial trail which will incriminate those seeking to destabilise our way of life. Yes, it is more interference in Gringotts than has ever been seen before, an overreach of Ministry power even, but the truth is: dark forces are at work and we need to use any means necessary to stop them.'

'Finally', James said, his eyes round and wide behind his glasses. 'Finally someone just came out and said it - dark forces are at work and we need to actually do something.'

But Remus looked troubled. 'My dad knows Malidictus,' he said. 'From the Ministry - it was Malidictus who wrote the werewolf,' (he whispered that last word) 'laws that got my dad in trouble with the Wizengamot. Dad doesn't like him at all.'

Sirius snorted, 'what a total git.'

'He might not be a good man,' Peter said tentatively, 'but that doesn't mean he's not right here, does it? He's actually advocating for the Ministry to get off their backsides and do something.'

'Doesn't mean he's advocating for the right thing,' Remus told him.

'Now what we need to consider is where this gold might be going to.'

Malidictus continued over the wireless.

'I do not believe the goblins themselves are a part of this, but they know which seditious groups are being well funded and how, and this is information that they must be made to share with us. We need to see who bribed those giants into committing the mass slaughter of the Rhondda Valley, we need to see who else is getting money - hags? Trolls? It is my deepest fear…'

He took a deep breath, which wheezed over the airwaves.

'It is my deepest fear that we will discover that the werewolf packs are being funded. That they are being paid to commit these attacks, these killings even, and - that as the darkness continues - we will see them start a concerted campaign of terror in their wolfish form, that their numbers will swell and that they will prove to be key in the ascendancy of dark magic over our world.'

Remus slumped back in his chair, like he had been hit in the chest by a stunning curse. 'I told you,' he said to the others, darkly. They stared back at him with worried expressions. 'I told you they would find a way to blame the werewolves.'

And though they had been in such high spirits for the whole evening, Malidictus's speech had cast a shadow over them right before bedtime - and it was four quiet, solemn and worried boys who went to sleep that night.