Chapitre 10: Heavy with memories
After his visit to Ollivanders, Sirius went to Gringotts, thinking absent-mindedly that he'd better watch himself when using his wand, if he didn't want to cause some incident of excessive power in his spells. Who knew, trying to change the green to gold in the manor could as well end up coloring every single thing gold. And as much as he liked a golden color here and there, he wasn't called Midas and certainly didn't want to live in a golden palace.
On his way, he didn't pay any attention to the witches oggling him, but he didn't make the effort to button up his shirt either. Some people were shocked to see him walking in broad daylight, two aurors following him sternly, and many purebloods winced when they took in his clothes. The Black lord, not even wearing a robe! The nerves of him! But the day was hot, it was the beginning of July, and Sirius looked good in anything, thank you very much.
His first steps into Gringotts after fifteen years didn't go unnoticed. The goblin who had managed the Black wealth for the past decades looked up from his desk instantly, his calculating eyes riveted on the wizard from the other side of the room. He knew very well that some purebloods who had been on the Death-Eaters-suspected list of the Order were eyeing him suspiciously, and he frankly didn't care. The other people in there had mixed reactions, going from fear and disgust to curiosity and sympathy. That was still better than what he had known the last few years.
Once he was done reviewing the family estates, how many galleons, sickles and knuts he had, and how he wanted to cut ties with any business owned by Death Eaters, Sirius went down to get the things he had had on him when arrested, since they were always deposited in the convict's vault.
He was particularly happy to get back the pocket watch Fleamont Potter had given him on his seventeenth birthday, and he felt some warmth in a forgotten part of his heart when he took the other watch he had gotten that day, given in secret by his father – because, obviously, his mother would have objected if she had known. The Potters' was gold, the Blacks' was silver, and he loved both. The first one was a sign of acceptance in a family that wasn't his, the second one was a reminder of love from a family he had deserted.
Alone in his vault – because there was no way he'd let anyone else than a Gringotts goblin or a Black into a Black Family vault – Sirius looked around.
Vault number seven hundred and eleven. The vault he had inherited as a Black, and which his grandfather had secured after his disownment. Most of the gold in there was from his uncle Alphard...
After a long time, he decided that he wasn't going to go down to the Black vault, number eight hundred and thirty-two, in the deepest level of Gringotts, next to the Lestrange and Malfoy vaults. He didn't need anything in there, even if someday he might go and see if any of the artifacts stored could he useful. Unless he wanted to kill someone in a slow and painful way, though, he doubted it.
But Sirius stopped as he went for the door, his eyes on a book he had put away in his vault many years before. A book he couldn't let go of, but that he couldn't bring himself to look at either.
He stood there, alone, for some time – more time than necessary, more time than he thought, anyway, his eyes riveted on the black and silver cover of the book. He knew that if he took it and put it the right side up, there would be "Blacks" written on it in silver lettering. Not the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, nothing of the sort, but just "Blacks".
In it, the pictures from days past, the rare times of happiness in his family, or the hardly more frequent times when, at least, it hadn't been so bad.
Rares pictures of Andromeda with her sisters and parents, pictures of Alphard and Sirius, of Sirius and Regulus. The pictures which had been destroyed, thrown to the fire, over the years following his Sorting. The only ones that he had managed to salvage before all the copies had been methodically wiped off the face of the Earth by Walburga Black.
He hadn't looked at them since his running away – and yet, he had kept the book for a day when the memory of this family wouldn't hurt so much anymore. His other family, the Potters and the Marauders, had been there to fill the void.
Maybe it was time?
The Marauders had been betrayed by one of their own, and another was dead with his wife, leaving behind his orphaned godson. Fleamont and Euphemia Potter were dead. And Sirius himself had regained a part of his birth family. His two families were only half of what they used to be, but maybe now, he could accept both of them, seeing as they weren't as big as before.
The picture book, left unopen for now and shrunk into his pocket, was heavy with memories.
Sirius Black left Gringotts, seemingly oblivious to the sharp, curious, doubtful, alarmed, sad, longing glances he received. The two aurors behind him weren't so distracted as he was, and even had to stop one or two malevolent spells, while ignoring the disturbing and hungry looks many witches cast at the Black lord.
Sirius wanted to go home, now, he swore, but somehow, it didn't happen.
Somehow, there was a loud BANG! farther away in the street.
Somehow, blacks hoods and robes, dark curses and hexes happened.
Somehow, Diagon Alley found itself under a Death Eaters attack.
Well.
Not Diagon Alley precisely.
More like, Garrick Ollivander had caught the eye of the Dark Bastard for some reason – probably because he could make wands for his supporters who had been in Azkaban during the last decade, hence Voldepants' decision to go after the old wandmaker.
A shame that the attack had to happen just the day Sirius and his two aurors shadows were in the street, not far away from the fight.
None of them hesitated, and in seconds they were there, wand drawn, jinxing, hexing, cursing whoever had the bad fortune to be wearing black and suspicious hooded cloaks and even more dubious masks, because, really, who else than a Death Eater would wear a Death Eater costume?
Not long after that, the sound of other aurors apparating was heard, and the fight turned to chaos. Most of the passersby had taken refuge in a shop or another, but Sirius could see the body of a mother lying on the ground, right next to Ollivanders' door. Her child, a little boy with brown hair and glasses, was crying and trembling behind a barrel.
He cursed a Death Eater to the point of bloodshed, and ran to the child, blocking dangerous curses as he did this.
"You're alright?"
The boy had another burst of crying as the wizard asked him this, but managed to nod.
"Then, don't open your eyes until I come back, alright? Then it'll be okay to get out of here."
Sirius created a quick runes shield around the boy, and turned around just in time to see a masked figure entering Ollivanders while everyone else was busy fighting for dear life. But he didn't get the opportunity to follow them, because he heard someone scream and turned again to defend her.
It was a woman's voice. More importantly, it was the voice of a woman he knew.
Eleanor Rowle, ten feet away from him, had been hurt with a nasty curse, and blood was dripping from her left arm. Seeing as she was left-handed, and couldn't lift her arm properly anymore, she was in a bit of a situation.
But curse bad humor, Sirius wasn't going to wonder why in all freaking hell she was here this exact day, at this exact time, in this exact place. The fact that the Death Eater standing next to her had his wand right at her throat was way more important.
Sirius blocked a hex which would have sent him flying otherwise and walked to the two, noticing without caring that Eleanor had a bag of potion ingredients with her, and that she stood just outside an apothecary.
His wand was pointing at the Death Eater but the incantation never left his throat, as he heard the words the bastard was spitting on the young woman.
"You've been given your chance, Eleanor, but you dismissed it. The Dark Lord is no longer comprehensive, and you will face the fate of every other blood traitor."
At that the witch sneered at him, disgusted.
"And what, Thorfinn? Were you ordered to kill your own sister, or are you simply taking the opportunity as it is given to you? Waiting for a reward, I guess, as a good and obedient dog."
The voice under the mask was definitely more aggressive than before when Thorfinn Rowle hissed an angered reply.
But Eleanor didn't falter. Because she never did. Not even when her brother had tried to frighten her so that she wouldn't go back to meet muggles and muggleborns and halfbloods and squibs and blood traitors. Not even when he had first threatened her with the prospect of a Cruciatus curse in her third year, because she wasn't behaving like a proper Slytherin pureblooded girl. Not even when Thorfinn had taken the Dark Mark despite all her attempts to make him see that, at least, if she didn't hope to see him become anything other than a blood supremacist, there were other ways to obtain what he wanted, other ways to live while thinking of the purebloods' superiority than to exterminate all those who weren't pureblooded.
At least Eleanor had tried. And the coldness in her eyes made her brother remember why he and many others had feared her as students. She had a thing with talking, her words always pierced their souls, poking, hurting, ripping apart their beliefs, hitting right where it hurt.
But no, Thorfinn Rowle was an idiot, and his sister knew that all too well. Despite his fear, despite the unease she could create in him, he knew he had a physical advantage on her, he knew she was never going to bow to the Dark Lord, and that was enough for him to know what he had to do.
"Don't try to be smart, little sister. You'll all die anyway, all of you blood traitors, even that Black who escaped his demise the other day, even him, even when we all know how dangerous he can be. The Dark Lord will have no pity for filth like-"
"The filth is pleased to hear that you consider him dangerous. But maybe you should drop the wand, unless you wish to simply drop dead?"
The Death Eater paled and his wand was immediately pointed at the wizard who had interrupted his uttering of death threats. His eyes fell upon the Black lord who had him at wandpoint, not bothering with the hexes flying at random and that two aurors were apparently blocking for him.
And Thorfinn Rowle shuddered.
Sirius Orion Black had grey, silverish eyes.
As cold as the metal.
He had once known a man with the same eyes. A man... well, a boy, really.
Regulus Arcturus Black, Lord Black's younger brother. Slytherin. Very... perfect. Not as wild as his gryffindor blood traitor of a brother. But not as dangerous, too. Yes, a knack for the Dark Arts, but not prone to using them, when his older brother obviously had the same gift with dark magic, but didn't even need to bother with its worst forms to frighten.
Jinxes, hexes, curses were all forms of dark magic, but not all of them could be considered spells belonging with the Dark Arts. A Curse of the Bogies could be dangerous if not treated, but using it certainly wasn't considered as using the Dark Arts. Even students used dark magic, and no one in their right mind would think of calling them dark wizards and witches for that.
The Dark Arts were meant to hurt permanently, to control someone to the point that their own ideals could do nothing to stop them, to inflict the worst fates upon their targets. It was there that you really needed to be willing to hurt for it to work. No one could use the Dark Arts if their soul wasn't tainted, even for a moment.
Well, either that, or being a Black. After all, there was a reason the House of Black bore that name.
But the thing with Sirius Orion Black was that, even while at school, he hadn't needed the Dark Arts, or any back up, or a political influence from his parents – who were usually happy enough to let him deal with his own gryffindorish felonies. Him being himself was enough to instil fear in his fellow students. He used dark magic, yes, like any other student, but it was much more than that.
The young lord – heir at that time – had simply been terrifying.
He had ideas, and wasn't afraid to share them with his victims.
Ideas involving simple dark magic, sometimes magic that wasn't even dark to begin with, but if used as he suggested...
And he never used them.
But there was something in his tone, something in his eyes, that told them everything they needed to know.
If Sirius Black had wanted, he could have tortured anyone into oblivion, and yet not felt disgusted with himself, because if he had wanted it, it'd have meant that he had a damn good reason to hate his victim beyond human comprehension.
When he talked about it, they could always hear that sharp, cruel threat under the perfectly casual tone. It was there, they knew it, but they didn't know where exactly, they had no proof that he actually meant more than what he said.
And so many times, the students who had truly gotten on Black's bad side – mostly Slytherins, obviously – had wondered how in hell the boy hadn't been Sorted in Slytherin.
Thorfinn Rowle rambled a curse and Black deflected it.
Black smiled, and Thorfinn Rowle felt very cold.
"I've been having a problem of overloaded spells lately. I wonder what a simple Revulsion jinx would do to a wizard's head if increased tenfold..."
And Black's wand slowly moved up to the Death Eater's face.
A scream. An order to retreat. Anti-disapparition wards going off.
Rowle disapparated.
And the street was silent.
And there were four dead on the pavement.
And Garrick Ollivander wasn't in Diagon Alley anymore.
Sirius sighed heavily, half-angry, half-relieved that he hadn't gotten to blow up the head of someone three days before his trial. Granted, it was a trial to prove that he wasn't a traitorous bastard, and killing a Death Eater was not something a traitorous bastard would have been likely to do, but still. Killing Rowle by blowing up his head wouldn't have looked good, even if he hadn't used anything more than easy dark magic. And well, despite what he had said to the guy, Sirius wasn't one to enjoy killing, and if he could, he tried not to. Besides, blowing up Rowle's head would have surely had some unwanted side effects – such as, being covered in blood and brain.
Definitely yuck.
Sirius looked around, checking that Eleanor was alright, and went looking for the boy, hoping that his runes ward had been efficient enough, and no one had paid the child any attention. He knew for fact that the shields he had put up were simple at best, though powerful, and if anyone had tried to destroy them and get to the child, the boy was certainly dead. Such simple wards could withstand powerful curses, but were easy to put down. If the kid had been left alone, he was surely safe.
Sirius smiled a bit when he saw the boy's shivering frame, eyes closed and ears covered with his hands. He put down the wards.
No one had paid the boy any mind.
He crouched down, and gently took the tiny hands away from the ears.
"Here, here... Everything's okay, now, you can open your eyes."
Sirius knew very well that everything wasn't okay. The child's mother had been killed in front of her son, and the street looked half-destroyed. But at least, the boy was alive and mainly unscathed.
The kid looked up at him, stubbornly looking anywhere else than where his mother had last stood. Sirius certainly wasn't going to blame him.
"Where is your father?"
The boy's eyes were teary, and Sirius had to help him to get on his feet, but the man thought the kid was being incredibly courageous right now.
"Dad's a muggle... He's working today, and Mum... Mum... wanted to buy something... to... to put wards on the house... I think. She... she couldn't leave me alone at home, and..."
"It's alright, calm down."
The child's gaze flickered to his mother's form, and he started crying again.
Sirius didn't know what else to do, and was saved by Eleanor, who had followed him as soon as her wound had been more or less tended to. She'd still need to go to St. Mungo's, because her brother was a brute without a brain, but she certainly wasn't going to die in the hour.
The witch crouched down next to the child, and gently took him in her arms, effectively blocking his sight of his mother's body. She had a soft expression on her face, which made Sirius' heart jump in his chest, and once again he wondered why Eleanor had this effect on him.
It wasn't as if they knew each other. Or was it?
They stayed there, Sirius really feeling awkward, until some officials came to see what was happening over there. One of them looked at the Black lord and the Daughter of the House of Rowle with a suspicious glare, but they both ignored him. Even when he snorted disdainfully when Eleanor told them she was pretty sure one of the attackers was her own brother.
The boy was reluctant to let go of her, but the young witch had to go to St. Mungo's to check her wounds, and a Ministry employee was already taking him back to his father. Whatever they would tell the widower, the shock would be hard for the muggle, Sirius knew that all too well. How many times had he been told that one of his friends or fellow members of the Order of the Phoenix had been killed in an ambush, an attack, a fight with Death Eaters? Too many times.
Sirius and Eleanor watched him go, a half-hearted smile on their lips, and soon, they were alone once again.
Or, well, as alone as one can be when they're with someone else and there are dozens of officials roaming the street to help victims, count bodies, and swear under their breath they'd make the culprits suffer one day or another.
Sirius was about to turn to Eleanor and say something, some sarcastic comment about what a poor job the decorator had done with this street, surely, but his gaze fell on the woman's injured arm, and he thought better of it.
"What did he hit you with? Cutting hex, severing charm, slashing curse?"
The various answers she could give to that question weren't all bad, nor were they all good. Depending on the exact spell which had made her bled, the gravity of the injury wasn't the same. Some possibilities wouldn't even let a scar if treated cautiously. Others... were far more dangerous, maybe even life-threatening, though Sirius doubted that Rowle knew any of the darkest spells running in the young lord's brain at the moment. Some were Black secrets, other were simply too difficult to grasp for the idiot's intellect.
Eleanor smiled fondly at him, as if she was remembering something about the two of them that the wizard had no knowledge of.
Sirius didn't like that, but he found that he liked the witch too much to care.
Erm, appreciated the witch, not liked.
Really.
"Nothing serious, only a cutting hex. I'll go to St. Mungo's so that it won't scar, but it would have healed on its own even if I didn't."
"Who hexed you?"
The two of them turned slightly to see an auror walking towards them, certainly having heard their conversation. The woman nodded at her two colleagues supposed to guard / protect – choose your side – the new Lord Black, as she passed by them tending to their own wounds, before looking back at the two purebloods.
Rowle's slytherin-blank mask fell back on her face.
"My brother, Thorfinn Rowle. He is one of the Death Eaters who were freed from Azkaban by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in January."
The auror immediately sneered as she took in her two witnesses / more-like-suspects-really.
Sirius Black. Always there when Death Eaters enjoyed themselves, wasn't he? Just the name of Black should be enough to cart someone right back to Azkaban. Even if he had been innocent back then – and she seriously doubted that – he certainly wasn't anymore. His stuntish survival recked of the Dark Arts miles away! Death Eater or not, this particular Black was certainly a dark wizard. After all, one didn't need to plead allegiance to a hateful murderer to be evil too, or else He-who-Must-Not-Be-Named couldn't be called evil, since, you know, he hadn't pleaded allegiance to anyone.
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, not evil? A good laugh, really.
The Lord of the House of Black, a good man? Same reaction.
And what to say about Eleanor Rowle? Accusing her own brother of attacking her, when she clearly could have hurt herself to make it look like she was a victim too.
Two purebloods, from families with ties to the Death Eaters all over the place, mainly unarmed on the site of a Death Eaters attack? Certainly not a coincidence, if you asked her.
"Are you sure it was him? After all, they wear masks and hooded cloaks..."
Neither Sirius nor Eleanor were deceived by her words; her tone said it all.
"I am able to recognize my brother's voice."
Sirius wasn't as smooth.
"I'd watch my tone if I were you."
A statement, more than anything else. Not a threat – well, nothing that could be proved to be a threat, but really, the meaning was obvious enough.
His voice, as cold and threatening as when he had talked to Eleanor's brother earlier, made the auror shiver, and, if anything, it comforted her that guilty or innocent, Death Eater or not, the Black lord wasn't one to cross, for the sake of her career, her peace of mind, and incidentally, her life.
Sirius, however, wasn't meaning any harm to her. His stance was relaxed, his wand in its holster, his hands visible. Still, he knew how to talk. And more importantly, he knew what to say.
Taking a step back, he observed the woman who'd just had the gall to accuse them, if not in words, at least in everything else. Her glances screamed "liars".
Then, he remembered this muggleborn girl from school, whose parents had been killed during her third year, by none other than Bellatrix Black. So he let go of some of his anger.
Some, not all of it.
"Miss Fell, do you perhaps know how many attempted murders I've suffered during the first war, because I wouldn't join a cause I didn't believe in?"
The witch stiffened a bit at the reminder of a peculiar rumor she had heard as a fifth year. Someone in Gryffindor, someone whom everybody knew but no one would name, had hardly escaped a Death Eaters attack during the Christmas break. Eyes had flicked for a whole week to a handsome young man whose name should have proclaimed his allegiance, and yet hadn't.
And Sirius Black hadn't cared. Where some would have tried to be invisible, where some would have boasted and told their misadventure to everyone, Sirius Black had frowned in distate. The day after that, he had come to the Great Hall with an altered school robe, no sleeves, showing the not-fully-healed-yet wounds. He hadn't seemed bothered by the blood which had dripped on his essay for Defense against the Dark Arts, and no one had had the courage to ask him about the wounds.
And at the time, Hannah Fell had thought that he wasn't boasting, nor was he searching for pity, even if the Slytherins had been saying otherwise. At most, it was a challenge. Because Black hadn't been proud of his wounds, but he certainly wasn't going to be ashamed of them. Yes, he had lost a fight, but against three masked figures. Not one, nor two. Three, at eighteen years old. The added bonus was that, even if not all the Slytherins of that time had been aspirant Death Eaters, none of the students from that House had been able to look the Black heir in the eyes for two weeks. The worst of them had tried to laught at Black, but the only thing they had earned was a cold smile and the feeling that the teenager belonged as much in Slytherin as in Gryffindor, that he was a Black, one of the purest purebloods, and a terrifying duelist.
Black, during the time his wounds had taken to heal, hadn't seemed bothered by them. No one doubted him to be in pain, but it never had showed on his face. His life at school hadn't changed at all. It was as if the wounds weren't his, but everyone else's, especially the Slytherins'.
The auror refrained from gulping at the memory. Maybe Black had given in one day, it wouldn't have been surprising given the amount of effort the Death Eaters had displayed to either dispose of him or get him on their side. But what was more striking, was that if one attack had been heard about at school, how many had happened that none of the students had known about?
Seeing as the witch wasn't likely to answer his question, Sirius anwered it for her.
"When one has immediate family amongst the Death Eaters, one is to be given up to three chances to join before the hunt begins, depending on the witch's or wizard's skills, blood purity, utility in society, and number of relatives already in the ranks. I was given three chances."
Hannah Fell wasn't surprised by that. Everybody knew that while in school, the biggest flaws which had kept the Slytherins away from Black had been his disregard of blood purity, his neutrality towards half-humans, and, of course, his being a Gryffindor.
Okay, right, maybe she was a bit biased towards the young lord.
Everything from his past screamed "innocent". But still, everything from Halloween 1981 screamed "guilty". So maybe, just maybe, she could try to ignore her immediate distate.
"I reckon that Eleanor, given who her brother is, given the probability of two other people with the name of Rowle being amongst Voldepants' ranks, has been given two chances. I don't know anything about Eleanor's skills, nor do I know her Hogwarts House, so I haven't taken it into account, but either way, even if most Death Eaters are slytherin alumni, they are also a few people from other Houses, and yes, even from Gryffindor..."
A quick look of hatred took over Sirius' features as he said this, and none of the witches knew what to make of it. Gryffindor was the man's House, they all knew it, but apart from the accusations on him, only two other known Death Eaters had been in the House of the Lion.
No one commented on the derogative name Black had used, but a few people turned to look their way, looking slightly frightened. Black was so going to suffer for that...
Apart from that, one thing he said struck Eleanor hard.
"You didn't know? I was in Slytherin."
Despite her surprised tone, the young woman was more hurt than anything else.
He didn't remember her at all, did he?
Sirius froze instantly.
He certainly hadn't expected that.
Calming himself as efficiently as he could, he looked back at the young woman standing next to him, and forced himself to remember that, as he had just said, being evil did not go with being in Slytherin. And now that he thought about it, it was true that Eleanor Rowle had something a bit slytherin in her ways, though he hadn't noticed before because, as far as he knew, she was also as noble as a Gryffindor, as clever as a Ravenclaw, and as gentle as a Hufflepuff.
"Really? Strange, I thought I knew you from somewhere... But I didn't exactly associate with most snakes, so I must be wrong..."
As he trailed on the end of his sentence, Eleanor wasn't sure she was happy with the fact that actually, he remembered her, though faintly, or angry that he obviously hated anything to do with her House.
Berating himself that even if he had told no one about that, he too was half-lion half-snake, Sirius discarded his prejudices for the time being, and went back to berating Fell instead. Still, he had a feeling he wasn't as subtle as he'd like about his feelings on Slytherin, as he was clearly avoiding to look at the Rowle girl.
"Anyway, I take it her chances have run out, and now they want her hide. They did the same with me. Threats, some attempts at fright, but nothing serious until the third time I turned them down, and then, all-out war. Myself, I suffered eight real attacks between 1978 and 1979, which only ceased because after that, I joined the Auror Training Program and the Order of the Phoenix, so anyway, they wanted me dead."
Yeah, right, because that's absolutely normal, Hannah Fell thought. Whether Black was a liar, or only a nutter, she didn't know, but no one was supposed to talk so indifferently about their life being in danger. Then again, normal people hadn't spent twelve years in Azkaban with dementors.
The auror looked back at Eleanor Rowle, asking if the witch had anything to say on the matter.
Eleanor sighed, knowing she'd have to say it anyway.
"As Lord Black guessed, I have been offered two chances. One when Thorfinn escaped from Azkaban, the other when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return was made public. I knew it was the last one, and I still refused. Thorfinn was always an idiot, now he's a maddened idiot. I wouldn't put it past him to have begged for the right to finish me off himself."
Once again, the auror wondered what the hell was wrong with purebloods. They all talked about being on a hit list so offhandedly... Or, well, at least, Slytherins did, since they all looked like they had no feelings. Which was strange, since Sirius Black had been a Gryffindor.
Maybe he was simply mad.
Yes, that had to be it.
Sirius Black had finally gone bonkers.
The auror asked them one or two other questions, a bit divided as to what she believed about the two purebloods. Then Sirius apparated Savage, Gulch and Eleanor near the entrance of St. Mungo's, but this time he hadn't done his usual surprise side-along apparition, out of concern for their wounds. Savage glanced at the Rowle girl as she thought that it might be nice to have her around in these cases – no matter what Black claimed, it had more to do with her wounds than with theirs.
They walked to the old and unused shop where the magical hospital was hidden. Black, with a grand gesture, bowed down and waved to the abandoned department store.
"Here you are, Miss."
The humor in Black's voice was obvious, and the Rowle girl simply shook her head a bit, apparently used to a lot more antics.
Sirius, finally thinking about the two aurors behind them, asked them if they had any grave injury. Gulch said that no, but Savage looked away suspiciously, tugging at his right arm. Frowning sternly at the wizard, Sirius made them all go inside.
Same deal as ever, gasping and trembling and whispering as the people in St. Mungo's recognized him, and as usual, the young lord ignored most of it. As soon as they'd walked away from the entrance, Sirius turned to the auror once again.
"What is it, Savage?"
"Nothing, really. I was only hit by a spell on my arm, nothing much, I tell you. It just stings a bit."
Sirius sighed deeply before he put on his no-nonsense face.
"And you know what spell it was?"
Savage looked away, and Gulch looked at him astonished. Why had this idiot hidden that, exactly? He should have known that even an apparently inoffensive spell could very well be dark enough to kill an unsuspecting wizard slowly.
Sirius wasn't impressed, to say the least, and he wondered who they had put in charge of the Auror Training Program when Moody had retired, because he really needed to talk with them about the trainees' awareness to danger.
"Do you even know what it was, a hex, a jinx, a curse?"
As the auror still said nothing, Sirius grew exasperated, seized the man's arm and pulled up the sleeve. After all, the worst which could happen was that the Black lord would save the wizard's life. Or that Savage had a shameful tatoo on that arm. And no, he wasn't thinking of a Dark Mark, which was always on the left forearm, not the right one. What Sirius had in mind was much more entertaining, and no one could ever accuse him of not being a Marauder anymore, he thought with bittersweet joy and some pride too.
When he saw the suspicious yellow the skin had turned into, he winced a bit and looked at the auror with a disapproving glare.
"'Nothing much, I tell you'? You know you could lose your arm if nothing is done before tomorrow morning, don't you? No? Well, now, you do. Go and search for a healer, and then say that you've been hit with a decaying curse, you'll see their face blanch in horror and them hauling you off to the fourth floor. And no, I'm not doing this to get rid of you, but to save your life. Now, off you go."
Eleanor, Gulch and Savage looked at him wide-eyed, and didn't do anything, standing there like idiots. In the end, Sirius had to make a sign to a passing healer and force the auror to repeat what he had just said. Insurprisingly, the healer reacted just as Sirius had said he would, only checking on said injury before hauling Savage off to the fourth floor.
Turning to Eleanor, the Black lord suggested she'd better go get her own wound checked.
Finally, he turned to Gulch, the remaining auror.
"Maybe you could send a note from your report book to your oh-so-lovely boss so that he sends someone else to replace the idiot. Look, I'm sitting right here, and I'm not moving until your reinforcement arrive."
So he did, and the witch, still observing him warily, did as he'd said. She didn't question how she knew about the report book – the answer was obvious enough – and soon enough an answer appeared in her notebook. Marcus Flume would resume Savage's duties.
After ten minutes, a wizard presented himself as Lord Rowle, and Sirius was on his feet in a wink – though he'd managed to do that while looking perfectly bored and in no hurry to be polite. They greeted each other a bit stiffly, as the Rowles had always been political allies of the Blacks and Sirius wasn't going to trust anyone falling into that category as far as he could throw them this easily. The House of Black had a very particular reputation, and anyone in business with them could be considered at least a bit shady.
And there was also the fact that most of the Sons and Daughters of the House of Rowle had gone to Slytherin. Yes, Sirius was trying not to be too prejudiced about that, but still, statistics weren't in the Slytherins' favor...
They discussed the day's incident, as Theodore Rowle had only been informed that his niece had been injured in a Death Eaters attack, and when Eleanor came back, all patched up, the two wizards were on speaking terms. Seeing their grave faces, the witch raised an eyebrow.
"Did I miss something important?"
Theodore restrained his anger well enough to be able to smile at his niece, but his smile was freezing on his face, visibly forced.
Lord Rowle looked at the Black lord and at the auror before stating that he'd have to take an appointment with one of the Daily Prophet's journalists.
"Your brother's acts have warranted a punishment, and not only on the legal side. Being a Death Eater isn't enough of a shame, apparently, since he started threatening his own family.
"And what exactly do you plan to do, Uncle?"
The Rowle lord almost snarled his answer, and Sirius looked at the middle-aged man in suprise and approval at the same time. If this was the Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Rowle, he'd be more than happy to do business with him.
"As of now, Thorfinn Rowle is a Son of the House of Rowle by name only. He won't inherit anything, and the family won't help him to get out of the dragon dung he got himself in if he is ever caught. None of the family members are obligated to come to his help, though I won't force you to leave him to die under your porch if he comes home agonizing. His children, if he ever has any, will be members of the House of Rowle despite their father's failure."
It was more or less the opposite of what had happened to Sirius, who had been cast away as his parents' son, but not as a family member. Thorfinn Rowle wasn't a family member anymore, though he still was his parents' child.
Eleanor shrugged at the news, even if she was a bit sad. Vaguely so. Thorfinn was her brother, after all, but she had tried to make him see the light, and he had outright declined. His fault, then.
They talked a bit longer, the two Rowles and the Black lord, but Sirius began to notice people looking at them oddly. When he gathered that more than half the audience was made of witches, he remembered what Remus had told him about the current gossip on the possible relationship between "Lord Black" the handsome and incredible and Eleanor the beautiful Daughter of the House of Rowle who intrigued many people. He politely excused himself and went to wait for Marcus Flume somewhere else with Gulch.
Half an hour later, a greying wizard – who looked about Sirius' age – came in St. Mungo's with a grumpy look on his face, and Gulch waved for him to join them. The presentations were quick, and Sirius' mood brightened quickly when he heard that the man was the grandson of Honeydukes' owner. Two Chocolate Frogs and another sweet which Sirius didn't recognize later, all of them went back to Black Manor, but not without being yelled at by an elderly witch about eating inside a hospital.
It turned out that Marcus Flume was nothing like a killjoy despite his grumpy looks, while the new head of the Auror Office was driving everybody crazy back there, and Flume was really grateful for Savage's injury which had permitted him to get out of the hellhole early.
Not that he wished Savage to be injured, but.
Now, Sirius had met all the aurors assigned to his protection / surveillance, and besides Dawlish who was an arse anyway, he mused he could have been worst off.
If only he could shake off the disturbing feeling he had about Eleanor...