Chapter 30: In trust and in loyalty
The kitchen – dark and gloomy, always, and yet so much more suffocating than Black Manor's – hadn't changed at all. The people sitting there – some standing against the walls, staring silently at the others – were not the ones Sirius had grown up with, not the ones he'd eaten dinner with all those years – some of them weren't even there during the last year, when he'd had no choice but to stay here – but the general atmosphere was still the same.
Home meant anger and disappointment and thoughts best left to fester in a centuries-old teapot.
Sirius had his eyes on the fireplace, its fire hot and burning and yet darkening the whole room, greedily keeping its light to itself, glowing shades amongst deep shadows.
Mad-Eye was one of those standing against a wall, not offering his back to anyone just yet – but he would sit down, sooner than later. The older wizard hadn't had the wooden leg when he'd been Sirius' ATP supervisor – or the missing eye, or the halved nose – but Sirius hadn't had much to do while homebound. He'd noticed Moody not spending longer than necessary on that leg.
The other one who stood still was Alexander White – the only muggle present, and also Regulus' brother-in-law, apparently. He'd gotten there exceptionally early, and hadn't said a word to anyone but Kingsley – who he'd come with – preferring to just listen in on what other members of the Order were saying. To Sirius, it looked like he was busy categorizing everyone, trying to guess why they were here and what they brought to the game.
It was understandable. The Order of the Phoenix wasn't the Auror Office.
Some of the members were or had been employed by the office, true – Moody, Frank and Alice, Kingsley, Sirius, Nymphadora – but not all of them were fighters – or at least, not professionals. Molly Weasley could be a dangerous one to tussle with, and her oldest son wasn't far behind, Remus could hold himself in a fight if he wasn't keeling over from exhaustion, no one wanted Snape on their bad side in a fight – except Sirius, but Sirius wasn't claiming rationality on the matter of courting death and destruction – and McGonagall wouldn't let anyone hold her down without a fight. That worked, because not all Death Eaters were trained hit-wizards either.
The other side did have some experience – you did learn from attacking people randomly, or you died or got caught, whichever turned out to be the worst outcome – but not all of them were Bellatrix or Evan Rosier. Some of them were Lucius Malfoy, who could use perfectly a large variety of dark spells and held his own in a large battle but fell behind in duels, when mastery of magic wasn't the only thing that mattered and the opponent's focus was on him and no one else. Some were Marden Burke, who fell upon unsuspecting victims like a storm and left wails in his wake, compensating his lack of finesse with sheer strength and abject horror. Some were Regulus, standing behind the front line, not fighting – but healing the others, gathering information, crafting curses and artifacts for the others to use.
It was the same in the Order. Some of the people present this evening were good enough to fight but not to ensure a win, some were never on the front line. Mrs Figg, who'd stayed home for this reunion, couldn't have fought a mugger – but she knew how to listen, how to watch, how to remain discreet. Emmeline had taken a few lessons with Sirius and James during the first war and Moody had deemed her a reasonable fighter – but she flew fast enough to actually avoid spells on a broom, and her skills with wards made her a cornerstone of their safe-house system.
They were not the Auror Office or the Hit-Wizards Squadron, but that was alright. They weren't meant to be either of those institutions.
That might not be obvious to White yet. From what Eleanor and Regulus had told him – both from a different angle, at that – White would classify as a fighter, if he'd been a wizard. A former soldier, they'd said – just like his sister, just like Regulus' wife.
It could turn into something important, aside from the work the muggle and Armand Malfoy were now doing for the Ministry – and reporting to the Order on the side. Sirius wasn't quite certain of how they could exploit White's background, but...
Wizards and witches always needed a better grasp of wandless fighting – and by that, Sirius meant muggle fighting. Auror training did touch up on it, but depending on your supervisors it wasn't necessarily a big point after phase 1. Sirius had gotten lucky there, because Smith had been an enthusiast of using whatever could hurt your opponent and Moody had never objected. James' supervisors had offered to teach him about using a battle staff, as Fawley relied on one in battle more than on her wand, but Sirius' best friend hadn't been very interested.
Sirius stared for a moment longer at the splash of scarlet in his kitchen – White would never make a discreet operative, not with that hair or his attitude – and allowed himself to think on it a bit more, later. No matter what he decided, he'd need to spar a bit with the man to see what they could work with. That'd be an occasion to ask Regulus to invite his brother-in-law over, maybe.
The door opened, and Eleanor came in with – the nicer – Malfoy.
That was everyone, Sirius thought. A quick look at Dumbledore – who'd been checking up on Emmeline, not surprising after yesterday – and Sirius took out his wand to shield the fireplace's flames and fire up the light orbs he'd brought from Black Manor and set across the table.
When the room as a whole got darker and the table itself lit up, everyone stopped talking.
Dumbledore cleared his throat and sat at the other end of the table.
"Good evening to all of you. I hope to find you in relative health, considering these trying times."
Those who weren't yet sitting took a seat – except White who remained standing in the dark, almost forgotten, barely seen past the glow of the orbs and the shadows of those sitting around it – and a few greetings were exchanged.
Sirius caught Eleanor's eyes and smiled for an instant – then he went back to observing.
Snape was doing an impressive job of not even looking in the cruelty-free Malfoy's direction, and Sirius only caught on because the two were practically face to face. Considering the git had no problem being disdainful of Mrs Figg, one could only wonder if it had something to do with the squib's family name instead – the other, not-cruelty-free Malfoy was apparently the closest thing to a friend Snape could claim, not that he would.
Moody's eye was careening around, watching everyone – it paused for a moment on Sirius, who kept an eyebrow raised until it went away.
Nymphadora had pointedly chosen the seat next to Remus, who kept staring ahead.
Sirius would have something to say about that, except it was Dora and Remus wasn't wrong when he pointed out their age difference. It wasn't that bad, but still. The other problems were – not insignificant, because being a werewolf was a problem, of course it was – easily talked around, but that one was just a fact.
When everyone fell silent again, Dumbledore continued:
"Before we start on Emmeline's work, is there anything one of you wishes to bring forth?"
Hestia Jones raised an almost timid hand – but, fortunately, didn't wait for the headmaster to allow her to speak – and her eyes darted to Sirius.
Yeah, he'd seen that one coming.
"Sirius, I... Your brother, is there a problem there?"
Sirius would have been disappointed if no one had brought up that one glaring situation of lies and not-slander. Regulus didn't have that many rumors after his ass, but the Order knew enough to validate their reality – and Sirius himself hadn't been afraid to share his own thoughts on the matter, before his younger brother had somehow risen from the dead.
The older Black brother slouched in his seat, a slightly-too-bright smile stretching his lips.
"Sure there is. The idiot volunteered himself for the Death Eater junior squad when he was sixteen, which got him almost killed and amnesic, and now he has to deal with the fact that his muggle wife is likely a prime target for, what was it? Defiling a pureblooded line, or some nonsense like that."
He heard Molly whisper a "poor dear" a few seats over, and decided she was most likely thinking of Amanda. Regulus would probably appreciate the sentiment, even if Sirius thought anyone who'd met his brother's wife should know not to worry – or, at least, no more than for anyone else.
Uh, if he really tried that thing with White, he should probably ask Amanda too.
Moody's eye zeroed back on him. This time, Sirius grinned unconvincingly – on purpose.
"Do we have to worry about him, Black?"
Sirius would always worry about the idiot, but that wasn't what the former auror was asking, was it?
"He might get recruited back, but honestly, that kid would be incapable of murdering anyone. Self-defense or a preemptive strike to protect his family, perhaps. Murder, never. That's what got him, last time. Not enough of a heartless bastard, and as we all know, being simply prejudiced isn't enough a push to do the torture and execution yourself."
Sirius tilted his head, eyes on the shadowed figure of Alexander White behind McGonagall. He had a feeling the muggle knew exactly what Sirius was talking about. The man's face wasn't completely in the dark, but deep shadows made it difficult to actually read his expression.
"Not that I disagree that you are the most murderous Black still alive, but how exactly do you know what 'got' Regulus last time?"
Sirius' teeth almost ground together as Snape's grating tone reached his ears, and he did his best not to retort with an insult.
"What can I say? Bellatrix used to hold that title by sheer compliance to the facts, we're working on a list of her victims, actually. Anyway, we all know I'm a liar..."
He'd gotten into that mess with Azkaban – because Peter couldn't be trusted, because he hadn't seen it, because he'd believed in his friend, in trust and in loyalty – because he'd chosen to keep one particular lie a complete secret, when he should really have told someone, just one person. Dumbledore or maybe Moody. His doubts about Remus had been unfounded – kind of, though Bellatrix might have stuck his friend in a room with helpless innocents during the full moon and Sirius wasn't certain Remus would have survived that – but not irrational, but the older wizards...
...He'd have been more comfortable telling McGonagall instead, except she'd have tried to dissuade him of the whole thing – not just about Peter, but about using himself as bait, too, perhaps about...
"...and I might, maybe, have simplified the truth for our dear Ministry of Magic. While Regulus did lose his memories, there were enough hints for him and his wife to figure out part of his past, and eventually find me in Black Manor."
He didn't tell the Order about the whole truth, either – not about his brother's memories, not about the dark mark and the Black Core room – but well.
Sirius Black was a liar, when it suited him – when it was the only way to make something work.
Moody grunted a "hints?" on his right, and Sirius swiveled again to face his old supervisor.
"Oh, nightmares, scars, flashes of the past. A nicely-packaged trauma response. I must say, I reacted poorly when he showed up, but I think you all noticed that."
Snape sniffed, like the grouch he'd always been.
"Oh, that. Black, do you often close your mind even to the little there is left of your brain after the dementors? If so, we might need to prepare for such a liability..."
"Severus."
Sirius completely ignored Dumbledore's warning to play nice – not aimed at him this time, which was nice – and instead looked at his nails.
"Only when my brother comes back from the dead and I need to make sure it's not a trick despite feeling absolutely wrong-footed and uncertain if it's actually a good thing. I don't have any other dead brother, so we're clear on that front, no need to worry about me, Sevy."
He offered a nauseatingly dishonest smile to his childhood nemesis.
The potion master threw him a look that should, in Sirius' opinion, always be accompanied by spitting in disgust in the nearest glass – for dramatic effect if nothing else.
"Do not ever call me that."
"I don't think we're close enough for first names, but if you prefer Snivellus..."
"Sirius!"
He let a satisfied smile fall across his lips and looked away from Snape.
"Yes?"
"We've already had that conversation."
"Of course, Headmaster. Everyone here ought to be civil and not angle for a fight. However, I was under the impression I wasn't the only one it applied to here."
Dumbledore sighed and shook his head.
"Of course you aren't the only one. Nonetheless, you are not helping matters by responding so."
Sirius shrugged, but didn't argue. It wasn't that he disagreed with the old wizard – of course he was as much to blame for the continued hostility as Snape was – but he still had to see anything indicating that his childhood enemy deserved enough respect personality-wise to let him get away with his attitude. It was one thing to respect the risks the asshole took being a spy or to acknowledge that he was courageous in a roundabout way, but enabling that attitude was different.
Snape could only be a spy because he'd made the wrong choices first, because he'd spent his entire teenage years proving to the Death Eater junior squad that he believed in the same things they did.
He wasn't someone who'd been infiltrated, so he didn't get to act superior, point.
Regulus had made the same stupid choices, he'd found out the same disappointing answers, and he wasn't pretending to a moral high ground, him.
Moody spoke next, grounding them back to the matter at hand:
"Are you certain we can trust your brother, kid?"
Sirius took a moment to answer – it wasn't a difficult claim to make, but it might be a difficult one to believe if you weren't Regulus Black's slightly unhinged older brother.
Alexander White – maybe it was time to bring attention to the muggle in the wizarding home.
"Say, Alexander, what do you think of your brother-in-law?"
A lot of people around the table turned around or looked up with surprised looks on their faces. Most of them had spoken at least a few words with the muggle man since he'd joined up with Malfoy Lite and Eleanor, but – and Sirius hadn't realized that until now – they'd had no way to know that the wizard brother-in-law would turn out to be Regulus Black. It hadn't been long since his younger brother had reappeared, even if the last week had gone by at an odd pace for Sirius.
White scoffed – and squinted, perhaps? Hard to say.
"I'm still not sure why my sister married him, if that's what you're asking, but he cares about her and their son. He will lie for them, but that's likely the worst he could be forced to do even with their lives on the line. I've seen children who are more dangerous than Cadf... than your brother."
Eh. Not an inaccurate description of Regulus as Sirius had known him – and of course White had seen more dangerous children, after all, Alshain was a firstborn Black. Regulus' son could only be more dangerous than his father – also, children could be horrible even when they were great.
It did bring the question of how much Regulus had changed, how he'd matured since then, but Sirius knew his devotion to his family would never change.
It would do for the others, though.
"Sounds about right. Anyway, our esteemed leader knows all about it, and, I'm sure, will propose a course of action if it ever becomes necessary to handle Regulus. I'm not asking any of you to trust my brother, I'm barely even asking you to trust me, all you have to do is trust that Dumbledore knows what he's doing."
It seemed to suffice for most of the attendance – Moody was the only one to raise a gnarled eyebrow at first Sirius, then Dumbledore.
"That true?"
The old wizard gave the former auror a genial smile that told him absolutely nothing.
"Of course, Alastor. I did speak with Regulus, and I have seen him with his wife. I do know a thing or two about controversial relationships, and I can assure you nothing of the sort is going on there."
Seemingly satisfied, Moody grunted in what could pass as approval:
"If you say so, Albus."
It was time to move on – Black drama was hardly the most important thing in this war, even if the kid and his little brother could individually throw a great many wrenches in all their plans – but of course, Snape had to be difficult.
"I feel we should clarify one last thing."
Alastor fixed both his eyes on the man – a double-edged traitor, and though Albus kept saying he trusted the slimy snake, the former auror thought they ought to keep their eyes open. Albus was more often right than wrong, but nobody was perfect, and Alastor didn't like traitors, no matter the side they ended up on.
You couldn't trust someone who'd already shown themselves willing to betray trust.
Maybe Snape was honest in his goals, or maybe he wasn't. No matter what, Alastor wasn't comfortable with the lines the wizard had drawn for himself over the years – trustworthy or not.
Trusting Black again, after Albus had told him the truth of the matter, had been easy – not like trusting Snape would ever be. After all, his old student hadn't been a traitor – it was simply that Alastor hadn't known it. So it'd taken him a few weeks, a few visits to the homebound fugitive, and yes, he'd been convinced that nothing had changed.
Snape, him... You had to believe that he had changed, just like Pettigrew had. Harder. Much harder.
Maybe Snape deserved to be trusted, but Albus was already doing that. Alastor, himself, would do what he did best: he'd verify. Though, Snape might be easier to trust if he wasn't constantly trying to undermine the other members of the Order of the Phoenix.
A glance at Albus made it clear that the older wizard could feel what Snape was angling for – a taunt, a disparaging comment, an accusation – but wasn't willing to cut him off preemptively.
"I suppose you can always ask, Severus."
That was alright, Alastor guessed, because Black could more than defend himself. Last year had been tense on that front, true, but they'd also gotten through several meetings without actual fights happening, and Black had hardly been in the best place back then.
The kid waited for Snape's next words with a squint and a wide, narrow smile.
Alastor wasn't certain how anyone could forget who had raised the boy, the family he'd grown up with before he'd somehow landed himself in Gryffindor House, when he acted like that. Most people never forgot it – it was part of why all the others, those who knew nothing of Sirius Black, had been ready to declare him guilty without a second thought, all those years ago.
Somehow, Snape seemed to be the only one who never remembered any of it.
"Have you often simplified the truth, Black?"
It was like watching a deadly, poisonous snake start hissing at a king cobra...
"Sure. The few times I got caught stalking Karl Claridge at school, I never told the teacher that was because he kept cursing the same ravenclaw boy in the corridors, whenever there was a crowd and he'd get away with it. Never tried to justify dangling you up the Astronomy Tower to Lily, either, even if you'd done exactly the same thing to Rhonda Speke earlier in the week. I'd done the deed, regardless of the reason, and I had no hard proof to convince anyone. Might as well do the time."
...only to have that bigger snake swallow it whole.
This time, Snape didn't try to pursue. Alastor didn't know who this Rhonda was, but if Snape kept his mouth shut – instead of implying that Sirius Black, of all people, wasn't trustworthy because he'd kept part of the truth from figures of authority several times – it probably meant she'd been a muggleborn student, and he didn't want Black to bring attention to that fact.
Whether that was because he regretted it or because it would look bad to the other members of the Order was something Alastor could only doubt.
Eleanor Rowle had been watching the exchange with raised brows, Alastor noticed. He didn't yet know much about the girl, and would have to observe her too. To learn if she was trustworthy – if Black hadn't fallen into a trap, a familiar upbringing without the prejudice widespread within families like theirs – to learn what Rowle could do for them, to learn if she'd be the crutch the kid had always needed and lost with Potter, if she could also be more than that.
There was a moment of silence, as everyone around the table waited with bated breath for one of the two – not enemies, that would be too much, and rivals sounded a bit too respectful for what Snape and Black had going on – to continue.
Black didn't. His unkind smile remained, but no more words broke through.
When it became obvious the topic was closed, Albus redirected the reunion:
"This being dealt with, we ought to talk about Emmeline's through-room. It is finished, isn't it?"
The witch blinked – she'd been staring at Black – and shook her head slowly.
"I... Yes. All done. I brought the keys, too."
There was a wave of whispering around the table. The Weasley parents shared a look – the kind that promised a discussion, later – and Elphias Doge looked thoughtful. Frank bit his lower lip, as if he wanted to say something but didn't think it was time yet. Shacklebolt – the auror was too young for Alastor to know him well, younger than Frank, younger than the kid, but it was obvious he was the calm-and-posed kind – looked at Tonks – younger even – before their gazes fell back on Vance.
The witch looked tired. She'd chosen robes with a high collar, so nothing of what might be left of the attack could be seen, but it was obvious she hadn't slept well.
Still, she sat straighter as she presented over a dozen little locker keys, all grey and round at the end.
"I made a through-room for the Order. Basically, it's a room I've built buried under a nameless hill, and the door is only accessible through magic. Each one of you will get a key that you can use on any normal lock you wish, and the opening will lead into the through-room instead of wherever it's supposed to lead."
They'd discussed it, back when Vance had proposed the idea. Most people here ought to remember – but some hadn't been there, and it couldn't hurt to remind the others.
The witch's wand twitched, and each key slid carefully towards someone at the table.
"You can store things, leave a message, hide in the through-room. However, the way out will always be the same door as the way in, so if you can't go out that way, you'll have to wait for someone to open a door elsewhere. I suggest investing in some food rations to leave inside."
Dedalus took his little key to eye level, frowning.
"So... If I'm chased by Death Eaters, I can reach the first door available, enter the through-room with this key, close the door behind me, and wait for them to leave to get out again?"
"Exactly. They wouldn't have the key, so the door you used would lead to wherever it usually leads for them. And if they're assieging you, though they shouldn't know to... I could open a door with my key, somewhere else, and gain access to the room even if you're inside, and then you'd get to leave through my door rather than yours."
Shacklebolt pointed out something that had most likely gone over most heads:
"You said it can be used on any 'normal lock'?"
Vance nodded.
"The keys are enchanted, and the connection is magical, so if there's already an enchantment on the door or the lock, the key won't work. It'll only open the normal way. Also, there needs to be a lock."
Black gestured in the vague direction of Grimmauld's front entrance.
"In other words, it would work on the kitchen door, but not on the front door."
"Or on most doors in Hogwarts."
Vance looked over at McGonagall – who better than a school teacher to know how many doors in the old castle had some kind of enchantment on them?
"I don't think so, no. On the broom cupboards, perhaps."
Albus chuckled a bit.
"I suppose someone will have to try it out, then. Better to know ahead of time than when Death Eaters are already there and the door won't open."
Alastor rolled his magical eye, but didn't comment. While an invasion was unlikely in the near future, nothing was ever certain; the headmaster wasn't wrong. Paranoia often remained paranoia, unnecessary worrying about something that never happened – but when something did happen...
Lupin turned his little key around, looking at it from all angles. He didn't seem very convinced, but was too polite to outright state it.
"Isn't there a... risk... that they'll be stolen? If someone takes it off us, they'd have access to whatever else is in the through-room, and we wouldn't be able to use it as a safe house anymore."
Vance gave him a small smile, and reminded them of why she was a master warder and builder, unlike anyone else in this room. This was her job.
"The keys don't work yet, and no one would be able to steal any of them later on. I..."
She pulled several vials out of her satchel.
"...made these potions for the final step. They are lacking the last ingredient."
A snort – and, yes, obviously, that was Snape.
"The keys are the last ingredients."
"Indeed. We're entering the alchemical domain here, but I doubt you all care right now. Basically, you put your key in the vial and it'll be dissolved. Then you drink the potion, and a small tattoo representing a grey key outline will lodge itself somewhere on your non-dominant hand. If you use that hand when opening a door with a lock, you are using the key and opening the through-room. If you use your usual hand, it's the normal way to open a door."
Dedalus – Alastor would call the younger man a good soul, which wasn't exactly a compliment in his mouth and could qualify Hufflepuff alumni much too often to his taste – lost his grip on his own key, which fell in a distinct clatter on the heavy oak table.
"Tattoos?"
There were many things Dedalus could mean by that – surprise at the possibility of being recognized through a tattoo, surprise at the magic itself, surprise at... – but the Rowle girl spoke quietly, before anyone could ask why exactly he was reacting in such a way:
"Magical tattoos have been common in many wizarding cultures for millenia."
Black added, following along with what his girlfriend – that was obvious, even if neither had said anything on the matter, but Alastor had probably realized it before the two of them had, so he wasn't going to hold them accountable for keeping the changed dynamics a secret – had been implying:
"Voldepants doesn't hold a patent on the idea, no. It existed long before that bastard thought to brand his minions. East and South Asia, and in the Pacific Ocean, I think?"
Rowle nodded.
"Some African countries, too. North America has a fair share of it, though they've lost a few traditions along the way. The Rus'. Ancient Greece used it for punishment, generally. Closer to home, the Picts did it too. We've kept some of those practices, particularly in healing."
Of course the two of them were completing each other for random and almost-encyclopedical knowledge. Of course they did. It wasn't enough that Black knew everyone's family tree up to seven generations ago and had opinions on historical matters, now his girlfriend could tell you everything about magics used across the world.
Then again, she was Deondra Parkinson's daughter.
Alastor wasn't surprised.
Still, Dedalus had brought the subject and now he had to ask:
"On the point of branding, however. No risk of us being recognized through the tattoo?"
Of course, the enemies already had suspicions about a lot of them. Even when they went out with nobodyssee talismans – named after Odysseus, naturally, as it prevented people who didn't know the wearer to be there beforehand from recognizing them as more than a random individual they never met or noticed before – there was still the danger of being deduced out. The talismans would keep them masked as nobodies, but if the other side already knew who was coming...
Still. No point in wearing a confirmation for everyone to notice. Black may have chosen to wear his membership to the Order of the Phoenix proudly, but not everyone here could – or should afford to. Not everyone had one of the best-protected manors in the country to go back to, and not everyone had the reputation to bite back as surely as the kid did.
Vance shook her head and presented them with her own hand.
"It's only a faint outline, and it doesn't react to most detection spells or devices. They'd have to know to look for it."
Alastor squinted with his normal eye – from where he was sitting, he could only see a vague mark, true, around the witch's thumb, but it could have been a faded smear of ink.
His magical eye, however, could detect a pale veil of magic behind the grey lines. The enchantment linking the key and the through-room together, most likely. Not that many people had anything like his magical eye to rely on.
The old wizard harrumphed, but gave his approval:
"Minimal risk, then. A risk's a risk, but nothing's risk-free."
Eyeing the rest of the room with suspicion, he added:
"Don't go telling anyone about it, though. Best not to let it slip at all."
Vance gave them all a faded smile.
"Go on, then. Put the key in, wait for a minute, and drink up! No reason to wait, and I'd rather you didn't leave with the keys and potions. They can still be stolen, if they haven't been drunk..."
...Or a traitor could give their own potion to someone else, giving them access to the Order's through-room and its future secrets. Alastor wasn't suspecting anyone in particular – but he was Alastor Moody. It was his job to doubt everything and think about the ways trust could be abused.
Strangers were always surprised when they learned he'd gone through Hufflepuff, the House of the loyal and fair. How could he be so doubtful, how could he have become so untrusting, when loyalty was supposed to be a main component of his personality?
What they didn't get was that loyalty to someone meant putting that person above all others. It meant being disloyal to others, if ever the situation called for a choice.
His father had been in Hufflepuff, too. When Alastor's mother had gotten sick, Jason Moody had lost all rationality, all his capacity to focus on anything else than his wife. He had barely noticed that his oldest son, Jove, needed help.
It wasn't that their father hadn't cared about them anymore – but he hadn't been able to help either.
Years later, Jove had been killed because of his job – and possibly his relationship with his criminal boss to whom he'd somehow become loyal, too – and Alastor had been the one to find him hanging from the rafters of his house.
All because their father hadn't understood, because he'd been blinded by his loyalty to their mother, ten years before.
Loyalty meant all that. You couldn't be loyal to more than one person, one organization, one side – not truly. Oh, it didn't mean you'd systematically go against anyone else – but you would, if a choice had to be made, if a situation arose. Perhaps you'd have secondary loyalties, people you'd care more about than others, but even they would fall short when confronted with your original loyalty.
Loyalties meant priorities. In choices as well as in reactions.
You couldn't be loyal and not be unfair, not be untrustworthy towards others.
Alastor still believed in loyalty, in being true to your oaths – but that meant he knew exactly how far loyalty could bring anyone, including someone on the other side.
"Vance, hand over the potions, but you'll prove your identity before I drink anything."
Nothing unexpected, really. Alastor did not drink potions handed to him so easily – but he trusted Emmeline Vance enough to drink hers, as long as he could be certain it was hers.
The witch faltered a bit – taken by surprise. Still, she sent a vial his way.
The former auror dropped his key inside the potion and settled on waiting – for the key to dissolve, for an answer to his demand.
Across the table, Alastor saw the kid throw him a look and a raised eyebrow – amused, only faintly offended at the slight against Grimmauld and its occupants' security measures.
Then Black grinned and took over the situation:
"Easy enough! What word deeply marked you yesterday, Emmeline?"
...Alastor had no idea what that meant. Which was probably a good thing, as others wouldn't, either – not unless they were there when it happened.
Alice's thunderous glare at the kid told enough on the matter. Black's smile only grew thinner.
Vance closed her eyes for a moment, as if in pain.
"It was your full name."
Black snapped fingers.
"It's her, Moody. Well, that, or she's the one who attacked Emmeline yesterday and somehow managed to pass herself off as her victim while getting inside Grimmauld, too. Can't be Frank or Alice or Eleanor, since they are here, and Callidora has much better things to do than infiltrate our reunions for no reason. And, me, well, I'm here and I asked. No one else knows."
Alastor stared – then he stopped, shook his magical eye, and downed the potion.
Others around the table took that as the cue to dissolve their own keys.
The former auror, him, had one more question for Vance and Black – and Alice and Frank and Rowle, in a way, because they had been there, they might know something.
After all, one of their own had been targeted the day before.
"Do you have any idea of who cursed you, Vance?"
The witch stilled a bit more – and Alastor noticed he had the Rowle girl's attention, too. Black was unabashedly listening in, but that wasn't surprising. He'd probably seen the question coming.
"I..."
Black threw a look at his girlfriend, who had her eyes stuck on Vance – maybe remembering what it had been like, when they'd gotten there. When she'd seen the curse itself, the wound the former auror didn't know much about.
Vance's breath picked up, and Rowle intervened:
"A woman. That's all she's certain about. It's also someone skilled with Arithmancy. Very, very skilled. I asked my mother for a few names, who went to her classes and could pull it off, who amongst the older generations had the reputation for it, too."
Alastor's eyebrows rose. Apparently the kid had gotten himself an investigative girlfriend, on top of everything else. A fast one, too.
That was most likely a good thing, especially as Eleanor Rowle was known for being discreet. People didn't get pissy about her personal choices, because they were only vaguely aware of what they entailed. Yes, she had acquaintances of all sorts, but even Alastor would have been hard-pressed to give you actual names before he'd gone and done his homework on the pureblood girl who'd been waiting at Black's door in St Mungo's.
Rowle passed over a small notebook with a list of names – "non-exhaustive, but mostly unfiltered", which meant she hadn't taken out names just because she didn't believe it was one of them. Alastor looked through it, committed the names to memory – he knew things about some of them, others he'd never heard about.
Then, something moved closer to him than anyone else in the room, and the former auror's magical eye whirled around. It was Snape, standing with a sour look on his face.
"Let me see."
There was a moment of silence, of pause, and finally Alastor complied. Just because he didn't trust the Death Eater didn't mean Snape had never brought them worthwhile intel.
Years and years ago, after Voldemort's fall, he'd confirmed the few names he'd known for certain to have participated in Death Eater activities. Not all of them had gone to jail – Lucius Malfoy came to mind – using lies of innocence and forced hands, but he had given the names to the Ministry.
These days, he'd added a few more names to that list.
Still. Not one Death Eater knew all the others. It was less true today than during the first war – Voldemort had become less prudent, more plague-like – but it hadn't become untrue for all that.
Snape spent a moment looking at the notebook without commenting – though, his face occasionally shifted. In annoyance, at one point. Some kind of surprised disdain, later on.
Eventually he put the notebook back on the table and shook his head.
"I can't say for certain. However, I'd note that Oakham's grandmother, on his father's side, is a Knight of Walpurgis."
Alastor scowled, and it tugged at the scar tissue on his lips.
The Knights of Walpurgis were the original followers, those who predated the Death Eaters and Voldemort's days of fame. Death Eaters later on, too, but distinct from all the others. Albus had identified several of them over the years – but not all, apparently.
Anthems Rosier was dead, and so was Reid Mulciber. Maximilian Nott was in Azkaban. Tarquin Avery wasn't going to curse anyone, sad and pitiful in his St Mungo's hospital bed since 1988.
It was Black – of course it was Black, this was genealogy – who provided a name:
"Tintwistle?"
For once Snape refrained from responding with an insult.
"Alcestis Oakham, born Tintwistle, yes. I've recently found out she is responsible for our continued supply of potion plants. Her gardens are famous, after all."
Yes, well, Alastor wasn't going to thank the sweet-seeming old lady.
The former auror grunted and looked the list over one more time. Maximilian Oakham wasn't a woman, so it was unlikely he'd been the one to attack Vance, but this bore thinking about.
They shouldn't rule out polyjuice, or other physical alterations.
The Rowle girl took her notebook back, and shortly after the reunion continued on. There was more to this evening's order of business, of course – but Alastor would keep mulling over the Oakhams and Vance's attacker.