Chapter 35: Solemn oaths of murder between tentative acquaintances
Sirius did not, in fact, come across his godson as he headed towards the general direction of the DADA corridor, even though the sixth years had gotten out of that lesson less than twenty minutes before.
Instead, he found himself looking at Ron and Hermione, without their usual friend.
"Did Harry already get detention from Snape?"
Of course, detention time was in the evening, but Snape would appreciate dragging his heels after class to meticulously inform Harry of any unpleasant detail concerning an upcoming detention. He'd always liked taking his time infuriating people, veering just left of being outright aggressive.
The two teens exchanged a look and, yep:
"That was on Monday, actually?"
Sirius was impressed.
Which probably wasn't the proper reaction to finding out your charge had gotten detention on the first day back at school, but knowing Snape, the potion master had most likely needled his students on purpose, so why would anyone be surprised when one of them ended up reacting?
"Well, in that case... Where is Harry, then?"
The teenagers exchanged another look.
Hermione was biting her lower lip when she finally answered:
"He... He's convinced Malfoy is up to something."
Sirius raised an eyebrow.
Ron helpfully added:
"Like, not the usual dragon dung, ow, Hermione! I mean, he thinks..."
Hermione ended that sentence for her friend, when the boy's voice drifted off. Hers was but a whisper, her eyes scanning the empty corridor for any straggler.
"Harry thinks Malfoy got himself a Dark Mark, and he's been a bit obsessed with proving it. Which is ridiculous, Malfoy isn't even of age and for all that he talks big and has good grades, he's..."
The face the girl made as she said those words told it all: she didn't like saying it – how could she, when Draco Malfoy has spent a good part of his years at Hogwarts harassing her and her friends, implying she deserved to die because her parents were muggles? – but it didn't make it any less true.
"...not really dangerous that way."
Sirius would have to check that for himself, but he was starting to see the overall picture of who Narcissa's son was more clearly.
But back on the matter of a possible Dark Mark...
Sirius checked the corridor himself – and no, still no one, good – and leaned against the wall to appear more casual – not like he was going to vaguely reference the fact that his own brother had been Malfoy's age when Bellatrix and the others had gotten him a place inside Voldepants' ranks.
"Don't be too sure of how ridiculous it could be, even if it sounds like it, Hermione. Voldemort isn't above enlisting minors who have no idea of what they are doing in order to better convince them of his... teachings. Especially if they have connections or skills he can use."
Or, in Malfoy's case, and according to what Dumbledore and Bella had told him in the summer, a father who needed punishing. The only question was whether or not the boy himself realized that.
Ron made a face, half-incredulous and half-afraid.
"You believe it too?"
"Eh. I'm just saying, maybe the boy has a Dark Mark, maybe he doesn't, both are possible."
Not that Sirius had many doubts on the matter of his youngest cousin's involvement with the Death Eaters, but not all Death Eaters were marked – only the closest followers were, and even then, the Dark Mark was, most of the time, hidden from sight, both by clothes and by magic.
No point in making a magical tattoo that allowed easy identification of the terrorists within your group of murderers. The Auror Office and the Order had spent the entire first war unaware of the tattoo's existence – they'd gotten one witch who had it visible at the moment of her death, but they had thought it a choice on Electra Vaisey's part, not a standard practice.
Years later, they now knew a few more facts – most likely with Snape's input, and lately with Sirius' own experimentation: when Voldemort was weak, the mark faded to almost nothing. When he was in complete control of his abilities, it was pitch black, but it magically evaded sight unless the Death Eater in question – or the Dark Bastard himself – wanted it seen. If it wasn't hidden at the time of death, it couldn't be hidden again. Someone had created a spell to reveal a hidden Dark Mark – Dumbledore, probably – but you had to get your suspect immobile and unable to murder you on sight to get it to work, so it wasn't exactly something you could use in all circumstances.
Draco Malfoy being marked at sixteen sounded like one more layer of punishment – a way to ensure the boy would be sent to Azkaban with his father if he actually got caught.
Uh, when exactly did Regulus gets his? You didn't start in the inner circle of the Death Eaters, though Sirius guessed you could get there more or less quickly depending on various factors, but...
"Can I ask you a question?"
Sirius blinked – looked back at the two teens before him, remembered where he was.
"Sure?"
Hermione looked a bit hesitant – like she wasn't sure this was a good idea, like she almost feared, not so much the answer to her question, but perhaps his reaction, and Sirius wasn't certain of what it meant, but he didn't much like it.
Still, the girl was a Gryffindor.
"I... You weren't like that the last years. You were... more..."
Ron was looking at his friend weirdly, and it had Sirius wondering: had they spoken of it before, or was it something entirely new to the boy?
Hermione cleared her throat and looked him in the eyes, unflinching.
"You're less... volatile? Less likely to jump at someone's throat? And at the same time..."
She almost trailed off – almost.
"...You seem colder."
Oooooh, he knew where this was going.
She wasn't wrong about his personality, of course – and her underlying theory wasn't quite false either, even if that part of the issue was much less of a problem, in reality, than Sirius' entire self.
An uneasy glance around – alone, still, and for the better, because Sirius didn't like admitting to half of what he was going to say. He passed a hand over his face, looking for the right words.
"You're worried that... the means I used to survive affected me more than everyone thinks. Because the reciprocation curse isn't part of the Dark Arts only by the legal definition of those."
The girl winced – but seeing that he wasn't getting angry, she nodded.
Everyone used dark magic at some point – minor hexes and jinxes were dark magic, because they were used to hurt people – but the Dark Arts were another beast altogether. They needed to be fueled by a strong will of hate or cruelty, left lasting consequences, couldn't be easily countered, and violated one thing or another as they were used. The reciprocation curse fueled a rebirth with a murder – it didn't matter that the kill was a justified retribution, not on the magical side of things.
The law, however, defined what was officially considered part of the Dark Arts, and there was no law against the reciprocation curse – because of its conditional circumstances of execution, and also because it had been mostly unknown until Sirius' trial.
But just because it wasn't illegal to use the Imperius on an animal, it didn't mean that the magical consequences – degradation of the soul, mind, and body – were nonexistent. Something being legal didn't make it less dark all of a sudden.
Sirius exhaled slowly, gathering himself – and the entire collection of his faults, too.
"Yeah, no... That's just my personality, sadly. I've always been a bit..."
Inhumane.
"...problematic, I won't even pretend the contrary. You might have heard it said at some point, but us Blacks... We aren't really affected by the use of dark magic, not like anyone else. As for my personality 'change', I find that not being stuck in my house and having enough to eat every day does tend to make me more amenable and less likely to get angry."
Ron was the one with raised eyebrows, then.
"Doesn't explain why you're all... ready to tear into anyone you don't like and to destroy their life slowly but painfully, instead of outright punching them in the throat?"
Sirius refrained a snort at that imagery.
"Right, that. How to say... Well. I'm always willing to punch someone in the throat if necessary, but only if it's the preferred outcome, the most useful one or the only one truly available..."
He trailed off, but the teenagers weren't quite convinced – not unbelieving, but more confused than anything – and Sirius knew he didn't have much of a choice if he wanted them to truly understand.
"Alright. Time for an analogy. Is Harry overly reasonable and pleasant when his scar hurts continuously, are you two very open to discussion when you're hungry and worried and hurting?"
Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance, then looked away promptly – no doubt remembering moments of their friendship they weren't overly proud of, moments when that friendship had been teetering on the edge of a dangerous cliff. Every relationship had those, if it was deep enough.
Ron spoke first – then Hermione:
"Maybe I said some things I shouldn't have..."
"I may have been a bit callous on occasion."
Sirius nodded, and continued on – it wasn't meant to shame them, only to put things into perspective, so now they could move on from their failings and peer more closely at his.
"The less at ease you are, physically and emotionally, the more you risk exploding over the simplest things. I... I spent twelve years in Azkaban."
A small, cold, unforgiving cell in constant shadow – daylight only filtering from further away in the corridor, and the rare visit of one of the human guards. Dementors – always present, always reminding you of your every failure, of your losses and of your moments of despair.
Sirius didn't fear Azkaban and its guards, not anymore – never, perhaps, because Sirius didn't do fear very well – but you didn't have to fear something to be hurt by it.
"The Sirius Black you've known these last three years... I'd just gotten out of a place I'd let myself starve in, a place that ate away any positive thought, twisting it into my worst memories, my most poignant worries, always. When you can only think of the same failures again and again... Anyway. I got out of that, and then I had to be constantly on the move, I could only eat the little I found, most of my nights were short and plagued with nightmares, and the only thing keeping me going was the fact that Pete... that Wormtail was at Hogwarts and I didn't know him anymore, I had no idea if he'd do anything to Harry or anyone else, I could only obsess over the fact that he might and I was the only one who knew he was even alive and everyone I cared about thought I was a Dea..."
His breath came short, and Sirius had to stop talking as a heavy weight pushed against his stomach. The memories of his time in Azkaban and on the run weren't plaguing him anymore, but bringing them up on purpose was just as painful as it used to be, back when he couldn't go to sleep without the cold rage and the acidic fears showing themselves.
He didn't look at the teens – he didn't want to and didn't need to – as he started speaking again:
"Then there was Grimmauld Place, the home where I grew up learning that my very family could hold the most monstrous views and believe I was in the wrong because I didn't agree. My mother had Kreacher push me down the stairs when I was six, after I'd gotten angry that she wouldn't let Regulus and I play with the neighbors because they were muggles. It never happened again, but it happened, and eleven years later I stood over my sleeping parents and thought that murder might be kinder for the world. The next day I packed my things and went to live at James', but not before Mother carved 'blood traitor' in my skin with a dark curse. I was trapped in that house, unable to help, forced to wait as Harry was dreaming into Voldemort's mind, as the others in the Order acted and risked their lives, as the memories of Azkaban and everything before that were still there."
He didn't give the teenagers time to dwell on his words – he needed to finish that discussion, to move on to another subject, and not to have them wonder what he meant by "murder". Telling Narcissa what had happened the night before he'd left was one thing – she was family, she was a Black, and she'd asked for the pain of that knowledge – but Ron and Hermione were another story.
Sirius didn't even think he'd ever talk about that with Harry, and Remus wasn't a certitude either.
"I wasn't... I was far from stable during the last fifteen years. There was always something; my weakened body, the hunger, the hatred, the powerlessness, the memories, the obsession... Of course I wasn't in the best place. And when you aren't in the best place, you start acting out of character. Some become cynical, defeatist, angry; some lose all conviction and strength of will; some doubt themselves, some only focus on their own beliefs and difficulties. I... I get cruel, I guess."
More than he'd always been.
Ron eyed him dubiously, while Hermione looked more concerned with each word he'd spoken.
"And you're doing better?"
Ron added – somewhat unnecessarily crude, but always right on spot:
"...No more dementors hanging out in your head?"
Sirius gave them a pained smile.
"Well, I still have the memories, but the advantage of having a brand new, young-again, hasn't-spent-years-in-Azkaban body is that I have half less triggers for them to plague me well into the night. So, you know. I might still get unpleasantly reminded of everything I used to be angry about, but at least I'm not constantly in such a state."
Ron was about to speak, mouth open – but Harry's voice rose from further into the corridor.
Ron, Hermione and Sirius turned around and saw the teen jog his way towards them.
"Hey, Sirius! What are you doing here?"
The invisibility cloak, Sirius noted, was protruding from his bag, just enough for someone who knew what it was to guess what Harry had been doing in the last minutes – namely, stalking Draco Malfoy while remaining unseen.
"Doing my part against the forces of evil, obviously. And, since Regulus and I were at Hogwarts, I thought I'd check up on you."
Harry's face twisted a bit, and Sirius knew right away that he'd said the wrong thing.
What had he told the teenager about Regulus, already? It had been while looking at the burn mark on the tapestry, he recalled, something about his entire family buying into pureblood ideology and Voldepants' propaganda. Had he mentioned his brother's extracurriculars?
Most likely, he had. Ah, well. That topic had to be addressed, at some point, so...
"Are you alright?"
...Unexpected line of questioning.
"Of course I am?"
Harry looked a bit embarrassed, but still more worried than anything, and kind of suspicious, too.
"No, I mean... You've told me your brother was a..."
Harry looked around, just in case someone was within earshot, but no, the corridor was as deserted as it had been the last three times Sirius had checked before – themselves excepted, of course.
Who knew a school setting could make people – who weren't Sirius, already suspicious by nature and nurture – grow that paranoid? Alastor would be proud.
The only adult present supplied a nice euphemism, so that none of them would have to say "Death Eater" in public – especially as he'd done everything to keep that part of Regulus' failings a secret:
"Very convinced of blood supremacy and willing to defend his beliefs?"
"Yes, that. He didn't do anything to you, right? He really lost his memory?"
Ron muttered under his breath that he'd already heard something like that excuse before, except it had been about being imperiused and of course Lucius Malfoy wouldn't have done that out of his own free will, what do you mean he'd been sent to Azkaban two months ago?
Sirius gave his godson and his two friends a thin smile.
"It's a bit more... complicated than that, and I'm not against explaining, but not here."
He gestured at the open corridor, where anyone could walk in on them – his eyes wandered towards the corner of the invisibility cloak he could still see pocking out of Harry's bag. He doubted the other students had anything of the kind, but that didn't mean there weren't other ways to eavesdrop.
It wasn't only a matter of privacy here – of course he hadn't wanted anyone to overhear his previous conversations with Ron and Hermione, but if someone had, no one would die for it. Talking about Regulus' past allegiances, his errors and his betrayal, his continued memory, his future contribution to the Order of the Phoenix, on the other hand?
That could turn deadly fast.
Sirius righted himself and mentally reviewed where he could bring the kids – where he could ensure the secrecy of what he'd say to them. He didn't think letting the three friends in the dark – even with the promise that he knew what he was doing with his brother – would bring anything positive. The last years had shown that Harry had about the same grasp of what "none of your business, just trust me" meant as his father, that Hermione Granger was perhaps too clever for her own good, and that Ron Weasley would continue digging if his friends did too.
The teenagers followed him without Sirius having to say anything – they wanted answers.
"And, for your information: I can punch Regulus unconscious anytime, before he could even decide if he truly wants to curse me."
That was the exact moment a second year popped up in the corridor – and into Sirius' way – decked in slytherin robes, and decidedly not lost as he stared up at the adult he'd been looking for since he'd heard of his presence in the castle.
Sirius stopped in his tracks, one eyebrow raised, with the vague impression that he had, perhaps, already seen that boy before – or maybe a photograph?
Jasper Rowle was twelve years old, with light brown hair and green eyes, but despite that everyone always told him he looked more like his mother than his father.
A bit small for his age, he'd learned to get attention by taking as much space as possible – specifically by occupying the space others wanted to reach. That was how he'd decided to stay right in the middle of Sirius Black's path – after all, he was exactly the wizard he'd been looking for.
The man blinked at him, looking vaguely amused.
"...I assume you want something of me, or you wouldn't be standing in my way so purposefully."
Sirius Black, Jasper thought, looked like someone a bit too sharp to be real. Jasper wasn't quite sure of what that meant, and he wasn't certain if it was a good or a bad thing – but what he knew was that his cousin had taken a liking to him – years and years ago, and apparently that was still going strong – and he needed to know more about the wizard.
If only because El had enough problems with her brother threatening her life, without adding a Black to all that. Jasper didn't know much in the matter of Blacks – most had died or been approaching death by the time he'd been born – but he'd heard enough about them and their casual disdain for death and pain. The fact that Sirius Black was ostentatiously on the other side of the war didn't necessarily mean much in regards to his morals, unlike for his beliefs.
So, if Black might endanger El...
Well. She was older than Jasper, of course – technically Jasper's father was her cousin, and the boy himself was once removed – and she could defend herself to a point, but if what he'd heard about Black was true, that point would hardly be enough.
On the other hand, he'd do a great buffer against Thorfinn's bloodthirsty manners.
Jasper steeled himself – he was great at making demands, but he wanted results, and that wouldn't happen if Black wasn't amenable.
The boy needed to make it clear that he wasn't joking.
"If Thorfinn ever touches Eleanor, will you kill him?"
There. That ought to be direct enough, right?
Black tilted his head, and Jasper couldn't look away from the thin line of the wizard's lips, crooked toward the right end and sporting an almost indistinguishable smile.
He almost missed the harsh glint in the man's eyes.
"Ah. If I ever get the opportunity to hunt down someone who targeted their own sister for the sole crime of not being a murderer, you mean? I'm pretty sure that at that point it's called justice, child."
The odd accentuation on the last word made the boy realize that no, he'd never introduced himself – and perhaps Black knew who he was, perhaps he didn't, and perhaps he had suspicions, but anyway Jasper should have started with that.
He flushed.
"I... I'm Jasper. El is my cousin."
Technically, Thorfinn was too, but Thorfinn wanted to hurt their family if they didn't side with him and Jasper's grandfather had cast him away as a family member, so. And anyway, they'd never met, because Eleanor's brother had been in Azkaban long before the boy's birth. Jasper didn't feel guilty at all asking El's friend to murder him if needed, because Thorfinn had started it.
Black took a moment to think, and nodded.
"Lord Rowle is your grandfather, and Everett your father. He married... Aurora Cox, I think?"
Jasper confirmed, relieved – somehow Black had kept up with the dynamics of the old families, which meant that he knew exactly who he was talking to right now, and the boy didn't have to justify himself further. That would have been awkward, after what he'd asked of the man.
Black's smile became a bit more visible – and honest.
"I have every intention to drag into deserved retribution anyone who would try and hurt Eleanor, I assure you, Jasper. I'm happy to hear you care, however, when her own brother doesn't. You're better family to her than he will ever be."
Jasper huffed, almost affronted:
"Of course I am."
"Of course you are."
Black was perhaps humoring him... But as long as that meant he'd protect Jasper's cousin – or at least avenge her if anything happened when Black wasn't there. It wasn't like Black seemed to fear killing whoever attacked first, if his own ghostly cousin was anything to go by.
Jasper scowled a little – yeah, he was twelve, and so what? – and made to leave.
"If you promise... Goodbye, I guess."
Sirius watched the second-year Slytherin turn a corner, a traitorous smirk on his lips. Trust a Slytherin to ask for a promise of retribution before any slight had actually happened – though someone might kill Thorfinn Rowle beforehand, with the way things were going.
Eventually, he turned back to the trio of friends who hadn't said a word during that peculiar exchange – and found them staring after Jasper Rowle's exit.
They probably weren't used to solemn oaths of murder between tentative acquaintances, come to think of it. That was a distinctly higher-class, slytherin-dominant-family move. The kind Sirius hadn't cast aside just because he'd been Sorted in Gryffindor, that most people didn't even consider.
Ron might have heard of it, perhaps – both his mother and father's families were higher-class, even if they hadn't grown a ridiculous amount of wealth over the centuries – but he wouldn't have witnessed it himself, because the Prewetts were equally Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, and the Weasleys were Gryffindors to the bones.
Ron's eyes snapped onto Sirius – and when he spoke, his face showed a disturbingly amazed look.
"Did you just promise a second year you'd assassinate his cousin if he attacked his other cousin?"
Sirius hummed, and took the opportunity of the teenagers' stunned compliance to usher them into the nearest empty classroom – it would have to do, a few minors wards on the doors and the walls and they should at least be warned if anyone was listening in.
He closed the door behind them and took out his wand, starting on his alarms.
"Did I? To be fair, I think Eleanor and I are dating, actually, so it wasn't anything I hadn't considered before. I'm going to her place in London tomorrow, we're having lunch together."
There, a last sharp turn, and he tucked his wand back into its holster. Considering the only Death Eaters lurking in the castle right now were a sixteen-year-old and Snape – one of them with the same level of snooping skills as about anyone else amongst the students, and the other unlikely to go out of his way to actively spy on Sirius of all people – that should do for protection.
Sirius looked back at Harry and his friends.
"I'm looking forward to being invited to the Rowles', one day. I imagine the family dinner will be a riot, what with Leif Rowle and the Accringtons being there too. I mean, I've always hated the Black family dinners before, but blood supremacists would be the minority there, not I, so they would have to swallow their words or end up being formally cast away from the House of Rowle and possibly sold out to the Aurors, so that could be fun!"
Sirius wasn't against the occasional gloating of forcing someone in the wrong to endure what they hated so much or lose everything they had. Making it a weekly occurrence would be pushing it for him – he'd end up suffocating one of the damned supremacists, most likely – but once in a while?
He'd endured with his own family, he could appreciate the revenge by proxy.
That being said, his relationship with Eleanor and the potential developments with the rest of her family were not the reason he'd just spent a handful of minutes warding an empty classroom while Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged meaningfully weird glances.
"So, on the matter of Regulus!"
Harry raised a hand, and:
"Wait! Did you just say you have a girlfriend?!"
Sirius frowned at his godson.
"Come on, you probably saw it coming before I even realized what was going on. I've never been very in tune with the romantic part of my feelings, and I don't think Eleanor is much better, but I've been reliably informed by several people that they'd seen the writing on the wall weeks ago."
The boys looked dumbfounded – but Hermione blushed.
"Maybe it was obvious, but..."
Harry blinked at her.
"What do you mean, obvious?"
"Didn't you see the two of them on your birthday?"
Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Honestly... Anyway, so you and Eleanor Rowle? How is it going with the rest of her family? I mean, there's Thorfinn Rowle and those others you talked about, right?"
Sirius shook his head, amused, as Ron and Harry slipped out of their surprise to focus back on the matter of Death Eaters in Eleanor's family – like Sirius could comment without being a hypocrite.
It was kind of Hermione to worry – it also showed that muggleborns didn't really understand how everyone else was related, in one way or another, to someone who'd fucked up during the last war.
"Eh, it's alright, really. Eleanor has some pretty strong suspicions as to who is cavorting with the Dark Bastard, so I know what I'm getting into, and everyone else is at the very least neutral. I like the current Rowle lord well enough, too, so there's that."
Sirius did his best to remember the family trees he'd learned by heart decades ago.
"Currently, the house of Rowle is three brothers and their children. Theodore is the head of House, Njal is Eleanor's father, and Leif is the youngest. He's the one I have to look out for. Eleanor's brother, Thorfinn, the one who was convicted as a Death Eater, was always closer to his youngest uncle, and Leif's daughter is likely a Death Eater too. That's three potential dangers, none of them backed up by their current lord who thinks Voldemort's crusade is just a waste of blood and magic and anyone who purposefully tries to kill other wizarding folks for reasons like bloodlines is the greater criminal. Now, Theodore Rowle isn't going to accuse his brother and niece of foul play without proof, but the moment they publicly cross a line he disagrees with, like targeting family..."
Sirius wasn't going to be murdered over dinner, if he ever visited the main Rowle estate, because Leif Rowle was intelligent enough to realize the consequences of such an obvious attack.
"I've already told Harry that once, but everyone is related in some way amongst purebloods. That's even true for halfbloods, but there the ties are a bit more diluted. Ron's great-great-grandmother was a Rowle, did you know that? Little Jasper from ten minutes ago is second cousins with Lavender Brown in your class, and Harry, your great-grandmother was Priya Patil, which means you are third cousins once removed with Padma and Parvati Patil. For the matter, my great-aunt Dorea Black married your great-uncle Charlus Potter, and Ron's grandmother Cedrella was a Black too. I could go on for days... Muggleborns aside, we all have relatives we're not overly proud of, and generally when you aren't aware of them it's because someone was disowned and your side of the family doesn't want to talk about it."
Harry made a face – thoroughly distracted from his initial inquiry about Regulus, that much was obvious, and Sirius should work on bringing that back to the forefront, but first – and asked:
"I'm related to Parvati?"
"Through your father, yes. Potter, Fortescue, Wenlock, Patil, Yaxley, if we're sticking to the families you've heard of and stopping four generations ago. I could tell you more one day, if you're interested. However, since you wanted to know about my brother..."
They spent about twenty minutes going over what Sirius thought the teens needed to know about Regulus and his situation, with Ron not being completely convinced but willing to believe that the returned Death Eater might have changed thanks to his wife and son, Hermione asking acute questions about Alshain's safety in Slytherin, and Harry having to accept that he'd learn more about it all during his lessons with Dumbledore.
When the children left – Ron grumbling about homework – Sirius started making his way back outside, to where Regulus would be waiting for him if he was done with his own kid.
However, a voice a bit further away made him stop and consider how mad Narcissa would be if he threatened her son's life in between two life-changing conversations.
Sirius smirked – absolutely not deterred from the plan he'd just thought up – and cast a disillusionment charm on himself. It would be enough to sneak up on the Malfoy heir.
Cautiously, the wizard turned a corner – and there, found a few Slytherins exchanging terse words.
Three girls, two boys. One of the girls standing before the two others as if to shield them from the boys. One of the boys reminded him of Adrian Nott; he looked moody, barely interested in whatever drama was going on. The other one, a blond boy, Sirius recognized immediately – Draco, of course.
The adult continued his slow and discreet approach, absolutely unnoticed. It allowed him to listen, too – and to learn and confirm some things about Narcissa's son.
"I'm just saying, Monkleigh, your position will soon mean nothing at all. What would we need a mudblood minder for when they won't be allowed at Hogwarts at all, uh? So you might as well stop putting in the hours and let me correct that little piece of..."
The girl – Agnes Monkleigh, then, and Sirius had just been talking about muggleborn duty with his brother, too! – scowled at Malfoy.
"Why, because she said the truth? Your father is a murderer who got caught, finally, and just because you don't like it doesn't make it any less true! Theodore doesn't throw a tantrum whenever someone tells the truth about his father, does he? Maybe you could learn from him."
The boy in question didn't seem overly happy to have been reminded of Maximilian Nott's crimes and punishment, but he only glowered at Monkleigh, lending further validity to her claim.
Draco Malfoy turned to look at his – friend? – classmate, and seeing no support there, stormed off – right into Sirius' arms. He really was making it easy.
A few seconds later, the girls and Theodore Nott had left, and Draco yelped unseemly when something yanked on his left arm, bringing the teenager into a hidden – from sight and from sound, by magic and illusions – nook in the walls.
A hand pressed against his mouth, preventing him from calling for help.
A disillusionment charm fell away, and Draco found himself looking into Sirius Black's eyes.
The wizard had a finger to his lips, a narrow smile, and the eyes of someone a bit too happy to have caught an enemy red-handed. He'd never looked more like Draco's aunt Bellatrix.
That wasn't good news, at all, and Draco's heart sped up in what he'd never admit to being anxiety.
"Now, now, Draco, I thought we'd already talked about blaming others for your father's choices?"
The teenager's heart skipped a beat as he remembered the conversation, only a few days ago, between his mother and her cousin. He hadn't liked the cold impression he'd gotten back then.
Black's smile disappeared.
"Let me tell you a secret about the wards on Hogwarts."
Draco's eyes widened when the man produced a dagger out of his robes – a sharp, thin blade with silver accents and a light gray gem on a deep black handle. The Black crest on the pommel was unmistakable.
Black pushed Draco's left sleeve up with the tip of his weapon, letting it rest against the skin – right where the Dark Mark was, hidden from sight, and Draco couldn't help but wonder – for a second, before dragging it lightly and slowly across the teen's forearm without actually cutting into it.
"One of the protections for the children is that if anyone who isn't registered as a current student of the school actually causes harm to a student through magical means, the walls, ceilings and floors register it and send warnings to the nearest member of staff. A cursed dagger, of course, qualifies."
The tip of the weapon slipped a bit faster than before, and Draco felt a sharp sting, before a drop of blood rolled down his forearm.
In the next moments, the walls next to him glowed feebly with strings of minuscule runes that scattered away, presumably in search of someone to call for help.
Black didn't seem to mind, though. Instead, he drew back his dagger, holding it tip up – his other hand still on Draco's mouth, his grip almost painful but not quite, obviously not enough to register with the wards the wizard had just felt like explaining. There was a drop of blood at the tip of the blade, and Black made sure Draco could see it as it started rolling down.
"There are, of course, ways around those wards. First of all, if whoever comes to help can't find neither the victim nor the attacker..."
The drop of blood was almost down the entire length of the blade, now, and Black's eyes flickered to it. With a contrite – and certainly dishonest, too, but Draco couldn't muster enough irritation to break through the blind panic rising in his chest – smile, the wizard uttered a single word:
"Scopuest."
The teenager knew what it was, of course: an incantation. What for, he didn't know, but...
The gray gem on the guard of Black's dagger glowed red as Draco's blood disappeared.
"Well, let's skip ahead and get right to what matters here. This dagger, you see? It's Phineas Nigellus', and generally speaking it works like a normal dagger. But if I feed it the blood of a target and speak the right words, well."
Black's smile reappeared, twisted and unforgiving.
Before Draco could comprehend what was happening, the man had let go of the teen's mouth, and brought the weapon's blade against his own left forearm with a measured move.
Draco bit his lower lip at the unexpected sting of a shallow cut right next to the preceding one.
Black's own forearm was unarmed, and the walls hadn't reacted at all.
Black put his dagger back into his robes and ruffled Draco's hair, as if he hadn't just given him a light wound, circumvented centuries-old wards, and possibly marked the teenager as a perpetual target for any wound inflicted by that weapon.
"Write to your mother. Tell her to visit her sister's grave on Sunday. And don't forget, Draco: this is the kind of risks you face every day when you fight in a war of murderers. I could decide tomorrow to stab the nearest person in the heart with Old Phineas' dagger – and you would be the one to die, just because you did something I disagree with."
Sirius stepped out of the hidden niche before the boy could process what had just happened or regain his composure, this time really making his way to the outside.
On the way, he crossed paths with Snape, who looked mildly distressed – in other words, scowling – as if he'd just gotten a warning that a student had been very lightly injured by an adult and he had to follow the glowing runes on the walls to find them.
Sirius remained in the shadows, unwilling to explain himself right now – he'd have to, eventually, because there weren't three hundred different adults at Hogwarts at the same time, but that wouldn't be to Snape of all people – and aware that the professor's priority right now would be to find whoever had been injured.
Malfoy wouldn't tell on him – not officially at least – because then he'd have to show his injured arm – and any spell precise enough to detect the dagger's curse might also reveal something else.
As Sirius waited for Snape to be far enough that he wouldn't risk getting caught, a painting cleared his throat behind him.
Sirius rolled his eyes, and threw a look at Phineas Nigellus himself – or at least his portrait-self – who was eyeing him distastefully from an ironically sunny landscape.
"Can I ask what you're doing putting a death threat on your cousin's son?"
The younger – alive, real – Black gave a smile full of teeth.
"Teaching Draco Malfoy a lesson about cavorting with murderers, of course. Apparently his father didn't do it himself. I suppose you heard your name and got summoned like an ancient demon?"
The look the portrait of his ancestor gave him was chilling. Phineas Nigellus had never liked him.
"Get back to the manor and out of my school. I'll be talking with Dumbledore."
"Knock yourself out!"
Sirius raised an imaginary hat at the glowering portrait. His brother was waiting for him.
for the discussion between Phineas and Dumbledore, see "Private Council"'s first chapter. not necessary to read for this story, but, uh, worldbuilding and angst and my convoluted ideas about the Blacks?