Chapter 49: Spells uttered and angry words
Everyone in the shop shrank back on themselves, which was probably for the better. Sirius didn't need anyone to get in the way and be hurt. Left hand with his wand, the other one on the door handle already, he still said it:
"You people stay inside and don't get ideas, I'm going to check this out."
No one contradicted him.
The street outside was dark, now, only lit up by the occasional window and several perpetual fire lanterns by the houses' entrances. Sirius caught a glimpse of someone quickly slipping home, but not much more: between the hour, the night and the scream, no one wanted to linger outside.
The scream, he remembered, had been strong but far away. Probably not in this part of the street itself, a bit further up? He couldn't hear anything anymore, but...
Wait. He would probably be much more efficient as Padfoot here, if he couldn't hear anything as a human and nothing gave him more hints as to what was going on.
Sirius transformed into a dog – wispy and huge and apparently someone had in fact followed him out of the shop because he heard a yelp and a door closing hurriedly behind him – and listened.
Padfoot's ears prickled up almost instantly: whoever had screamed wasn't dead or that far, because he could now hear the sounds of a scuffle, spells uttered and angry words lost to the night.
The dog-who-was-a-wizard broke into a run, heading straight up the street, then taking a violent turn into a side alley – not far from the Tofty house, actually.
Oh, look, a Death Eater attacking an old woman!
Padfoot turned back into a wizard and prepared himself to intervene before the attacker could notice his presence. A nice stunning spell would do the job, and then he'd get to let the asshole to law enforcement – always nice, a stunner, but harder to pull off in the middle of a full-blown duel, when the opponent expected an attack... which the Death eater did not yet.
...The older witch was defending herself surprisingly well, all things considered. She had some blood running down her hairline and looked like she wouldn't last much longer, but she was at least seventy, not in the best of health, and yet still alive and conscious.
Not the time to wonder about that.
"Stupefy!"
The Death Eater stumbled under the Sirius' spell, but something weird shimmered along their hooded cloak and they didn't actually get knocked out, turning around instead to look at the one who'd just attacked them.
Sirius had to quell the urge to curse in frustration: the Death Eaters had obviously found themselves a new magical seamstress, or at least someone with a hobby that would make battles even more unpleasant. One of the very few advantages of going against people who hid their identity was that they couldn't wear tailored clothes for fear of being recognized, which meant they usually didn't have magical protections woven into their robes, but if this one wasn't a fluke...
No stunner, then, unless he could aim for the face after having gotten rid of the mask – which was another layer of protection, of course.
Sirius cast a new spell as the Death Eater raised their wand – wordless transfiguration that one, because he wanted to know how far the enchantments in the robes went and there was nothing quite like attempting to turn someone's clothes into constrictor snakes to see what the protections entailed – but the dark robes only shimmered, hissed a bit, and fell back against their owner.
He'd have felt disappointed, if he wasn't busy countering a blood boils curse.
Sirius took the snapping hex right in the face, though, just as he managed to tear the right side of the Death Eater's hood, revealing short, greyed hair with messy curls behind the mask.
Both fighters took a step back, eyeing – he guessed, because once again, the mask – each other warily. There was something odd in the Death Eater's demeanor, as if they'd been trying to leave after having been interrupted but had now changed their mind.
...Was there a price on Sirius' head? More than on the other members of the Order, he meant.
Eh. It wouldn't be that surprising.
"In need of spare change, perhaps? Mugging old witches under the cover of the night, are we now?"
The Death Eater's head tilted in – what, disdain? Difficult to say with the mask and hood on and no tone to judge. Something negative, anyway.
The next spell that came for him was nonverbal – and weak, barely fit to be considered an attack at all. Sirius squinted, unsure of where this was going. The old woman behind the Death Eater seemed to be catching her breath, almost recovered from the earlier attack, and not very scared by all this – vindictive, almost petulant. The Death Eater sent another weak, silent spell, easily countered with a shield charm – better to let that one up, then, but that meant having his wand occupied.
More weak spells came his way, each dying with a small "pshhts" as they crashed against Sirius' shield.
He really didn't get what the Death Eater was trying to pull here. However, staying on the defensive wouldn't be productive, and unless someone interrupted them – say, Patroller Patterson, if he hadn't been taken out already – it could go on like this a long time.
...Sirius hadn't thrown back a spell in years, and perhaps it wasn't the best idea with a civilian cowering – ah! no, the older witch didn't seem cowed in any way – behind his target, but. With some luck, his brand-new, twenty-one-again – wait, it should be twenty-two now, shouldn't it? – body hadn't actually lost the reflexes he'd painstakingly built up despite Moody's objections.
If anything, trying it out when it was only weak spells thrown at him was better than attempting it on a killing curse. Now, sure, training with allies would be even better, but hey.
The Death Eater didn't expect it when Sirius suddenly let go of his shield and instead grazed the bolt of light from an incoming spell with the tip of his wand, turned it around in a smooth move and let it go only when it was aimed at its original caster, flying to the asshole's stomach.
Sirius' fingers twitched on his wand – taking in someone else's magic, even for a moment, was unpleasant most of the time – and smiled sharply. He'd need to practice a bit more to be able to pull off a salvo without getting distracted, but this might actually be enough for today.
"What is it, did you eat something that isn't agreeing with you?"
Throwing back spells was a dueling practice few people actually mastered. Sirius knew Augusta Longbottom was able to do it, or had been when she'd still been doing competitions, Caradoc hadn't been half-bad at this, and a handful of aurors were able to throw back an attack under the right circumstances, but you were more likely to find a hit wizard with the right skills... if they lasted long enough to get there.
Maybe Holly could do it, now. They'd been training together, back then.
Sirius had been just that close to actual mastery, and then... Peter had blown up a street without actually aiming at him and none of it had mattered anymore.
Anyway, the point was that you could throw back any spell that had a physical manifestation – bolts of light and equivalent – if you managed to steal it right out of the air with the tip of your wand, keep the movement continuous without breaking the curve, and not get distracted by the foreign magic within your wand. It worked on anything that followed the first rule, too – even the Dark Arts or spells you couldn't identify.
The best thing was, even if you threw back a lethal curse at your attacker, it only counted as self-defense, and since you hadn't cast the spell yourself neither the rules of dark magic nor the law considered you responsible for the consequences.
Sirius wondered if Harry would be interested in learning how to do it. It might be a bit too "taste of your own medicine" for the teenager, but it couldn't hurt to ask.
That said, it could be a good idea to disarm and restrain the Death Eater before they could apparate out or pull whatever trick they'd been stocking up on while doing their suspicious weak-spells-no-words dance.
The old witch behind them spoke before Sirius could do more:
"He's still chanting."
Sirius stopped in his tracks – "he", uh, but he guessed that if she'd been threatened before he'd rushed over she'd heard the Death Eater's voice, and the mask altered it slightly but not that much – and took only half a moment to consider what she was implying here.
Nonverbal spells, because that left the Death Eater able to cast something on the side. Chanting, because arie were long to cast, if effective. With the sounds of the weaker spells crashing against his shield, Sirius wouldn't have heard anything above a mumble.
Shit. He needed to spot whatever the chant was affecting, before he got caught up in it. Arie were James' things, and while his best friend had taught him a handful of those, he'd never given him a real crash course on how they worked or what to look out for.
The Death Eater straightened up, an arm still on his stomach but his voice clearer: he had no reason to hide what he was planning anymore, and he'd been at it long enough that the aria was probably approaching completion.
Something gripped at Sirius' ankles. A quick look and he was gritting his teeth: a blood-like substance bubbled against his shoes, slowly making its way up, and he didn't know what the goal was or the consequences, but damn if this Death Eater didn't have a problem with blood.
...Not that he was the only one, but usually they weren't being so literal.
"You little... Avis."
The blast from his wand had the Death Eater jump slightly – but he kept on chanting – and the old witch grimacing, while three ravens zoomed out of nothing to harass Sirius' opponent.
There was no point trying to make the aria's effect disappear, not as long as the caster kept chanting. However, having three massive birds pecking at your defense – entirely willing to pierce an eye or two if necessary, too – was a sure way to impede the Death Eater's focus.
...Not enough to stop him, obviously – and Sirius considered a good old reducto to the face, if anything it might get rid of the mask and its protections – because something bubbled under the edge of his robes, leaving the shadows of blisters against his skin.
Progressing up, still.
The aria's effects were moving more quickly, Sirius realized, and whatever it was doing...
He could feel the magic writhing along, his own power bristling at the intrusion. The tendrils of blood and curses crawled over his heart – something shorted out in his chest, a terrible growl of aggression, the feeling of an insignificant pest trying to poke at his being, the sheer arrogance of...
The ravens started tearing at the Death Eater's robes, a worrying silver in their eyes, and Sirius didn't care in the least.
"Who do you think you are, rooting around where you do not belong?! You have no idea what lies there, no understanding of the cost to your folly!"
Sirius didn't recognize his own voice, barely acknowledged the words, but it didn't matter. It was still him speaking, feelings he shouldn't know, an outrage he had no reason to suffer, but still his reaction, his rage and desire to make the other pay.
Something primal and hidden, a knowledge lost within his flesh, and this pathetic excuse for a wizard thought he could...
"Evanes..."
"Silencio!"
The spell shot out from the other side of the alley, barely missing the old witch and hitting the Death Eater right over a spot in his clothes that had been torn up by one of the ravens. The aria fell on itself, the bubbling blood losing both its intent and blistering effect, raining back down, inert.
Sirius blinked, thrown by the unexpected turns this fight had taken – the aria and its frankly worrying effects, and the last-minute intervention with the most adequate spell in this situation.
Though, in his defense, the silencing charm wouldn't have worked if the ravens hadn't torn up the Death Eater's robes. The first protection any worthy seamstress would have put into a battling habit was something against being silenced in the middle of a fight.
Sirius shook himself and focused back on the Death Eater...
Just before the asshole apparated away, slipping through their fingers when he saw how outnumbered he'd become.
The old woman grew sour – you'd think she was used to this kind of thing – and Patroller Patterson appeared by her side two seconds later, just as disappointed.
"...And they got away."
Sirius allowed himself a moment of respite – no primal wrath echoing against his chest anymore, he wasn't going to complain about that – and let himself fall against the nearest wall.
"What the hell was that?"
The old witch threw him a hard look.
"You're the one who suddenly started talking like a mirror wraith, and I'm pretty sure you were trying to vanish an entire person here at the end."
Sirius opened his mouth to retort... and found nothing to say.
Vanishing spells technically sent things "somewhere else", or made them "disappear" for a short while – very powerful attempts could last longer – and the more complex the target, the less likely it was to work. Hogwarts taught it in transfiguration up to kittens, and further mastery could include magical objects or slightly bigger animals, but no one had ever managed to vanish an entire person, and Sirius knew it.
Attempting that in a duel was a waste of time, honestly.
"...I did try that, uh? I have no idea what was going on in my head, but that aria completely messed me up, I think. I mean, it was like foreign magic trying to seep under my skin, and..."
His hands trailed against his torso, lightly touching the trails of small blisters where the bubbling blood had crawled over him. He winced, hoping there was still enough bubotuber salve left either at Grimmauld or at the manor to take care of this. Also, his clothes were damp with blood.
Patroller Patterson squinted at him from behind the old woman.
"You should see a healer, just in case, Black. And did you know about this? You and your lot were hanging around during the day."
Sirius ignored the recommendation – worst thing, he'd drop by the Tonks, have Ted do the work – and bypassed the accusation in one fell swoop:
"Entirely unrelated, you might have noticed that the others aren't here. If something had been about to happen and we'd known about it, you'd have had Moody breathing down your neck for at least twenty minutes, pointing out vulnerabilities and strongly suggesting to call for reinforcement. The old hardass never let retirement get in his way, I'm sure you know. Patroller Patterson, right?"
The middle-aged patroller – about a decade older than Sirius, perhaps? – seemed somewhat mollified by the assertion, if still a bit dubious of the whole accidental nature of Sirius' presence here while an old woman had been targetted by a Death Eater.
"I suppose you're right. Now, as to this incident, madam..."
Patterson turned to look at the old witch – and stopped talking almost immediately, his face shutting on itself. Guarded.
The patroller knew her.
Sirius squinted, trying to figure out what was going on here, but he didn't recognize the elder woman. He didn't think he'd ever met her, or only in passing – or else when he was much younger and she'd changed a lot since then, that was a possibility too.
The old witch's back grew straighter, as if to show she was unbothered by the patroller's stare – but she was obviously ill at ease here, if not outright anxious.
"Randall. Ask your questions, go on."
Patterson's glare was anything but friendly, and he gritted out the next words:
"Robards. What did you do? Again."
Oh. Sirius didn't move from his wall, his fingers still busy pressing lightly on the itching blisters under his robes – not sure he should do that, but they were there and he couldn't ignore it – and kept a wary eye and ear on the situation. Patterson looked tense, his wand hand hovering just a bit too high, and Madam Robards was doing her best not to twitch at the sight.
Besides, that name. The current head auror was Gawain Robards, Molly's cousin, except this witch did not look like a Prewett by Blood even if she was about the right age to be Mr Robards' mother. It also wouldn't explain Patterson's reaction, not unless the head auror's mother made a habit of getting into trouble.
What sounded more likely was that this was Rowena Robards, from another branch of the Robards family. Seventy-five years old, married to Cameron Burke – so, Rowena Burke, but she'd gone by her maiden name at work – mother-in-law of Aurelia Malfoy, grandmother of Marden Burke.
Of course, that wasn't the real problem – as Sirius knew all too well, everyone had relatives they weren't proud of.
The real problem was that Rowena Robards had been an auror for almost thirty years, and she'd been accused and convicted of closing cases that still had active leads during the last war. Nothing more definitively damning had been found to add to her sentence, but she'd still spent six years in the Prometheus wing of Azkaban, from 1977 to 1983.
No wonder she looked so frail – and also didn't let herself be intimidated.
Though, probable Voldemort sympathizer. Sirius wouldn't pretend he knew why she'd done what she'd done – there had been talk of an Unbreakable Vow during her trial, if he remembered the articles right, and because of that they hadn't been able to push her to admit everything – but even if, maybe, she'd had an excuse – Marden Burke being outed as a Death Eater came to mind – she'd still been complicit in several murders, and for all they knew she'd done it of her own free will.
Her word, here, was therefore quite unreliable.
The old witch glanced where her aggressor had been standing before he'd hightailed it out of there.
"That was Augustus Rookwood. He used to..."
Rowena Robards closed her eyes for a moment, bit her lips, and Sirius had the impression she was looking for a way to tell them something she shouldn't, something her Unbreakable Vow made difficult to divulge.
"Back when I made that mistake... I stumbled on something I shouldn't have, or maybe something I couldn't handle is the better phrasing. I panicked. I was a young mother, and a young grandmother after that. What I'd seen... I lost it for a moment, I thought I could hide it and wrangle things back into place, except it wasn't half that easy. Marden wasn't yet seventeen, he was still a sixth year for crying out loud. After what happened, though, Rookwood came to me and said he could help if I swore a vow. He wanted access to the Familial Affairs Unit's archives and me to keep an eye on some particular cases, in my 'best interest'. After that it was too late."
The whole story sounded disjointed, full of missing parts, but they knew already that Robards had an Unbreakable Vow to contend with. While you could argue that her life wasn't worth the victims her silence could cause considering the choices she'd made, Sirius drew the line at causing the death of someone who was actually trying to help.
"...So, Rookwood was the one who told you which cases to shut close. And considering the fact that he wanted access to the FAU archives, you're pretty much responsible for a lot of attacks on muggleborn families."
Patterson's jaw was trembling, but he'd kept the anger out of his words – if not out of his tone.
Sirius couldn't blame him, honestly.
Robards looked like she wanted to evade their eyes, but she didn't budge.
"It's... possible. I don't think his main goal was to find the home addresses of muggleborns or opposing parties, he wanted something else and there wasn't a big wave of attacks right after the day I let him in, but he could have used the opportunity nonetheless."
Patterson checked his record book – patrollers, magestigators, hit wizards and aurors all used the same system of linked notebooks, but each division had its own set and attached record keeper who would reach out to their neighbors if needed – instead of answering something biting.
"Alright, two aurors are on their way. I've notified them that the Death Eater got away, so the hit wizards aren't coming, but they are going to want to check the village anyway. Black, they'll want your testimony, and you, Robards, you are going to tell them everything you can, this time."
Talk about an obvious throwback to the old witch's lack of cooperation during her trial – that said, at least she'd had one, it wasn't Sirius' business if she'd decided to throw it.
"Hmm, if I can ask while we're waiting...?"
Patterson and Robards stared at him for a moment, then the patroller looked at the night sky in exasperation:
"Would you even listen if I said no, Black?"
"Probably not. I did notice, Madam Robards, that you'd sprinkled your story with several crumbs that lead nowhere. Now, as you are still under an Unbreakable Vow, I can't help but suppose they were put there on purpose, present but not obvious enough to count as a betrayal of your vow."
The old witch watched him warily.
"...If that was true, I wouldn't be able to confirm, Mr Black."
"True, true. I'm just going to review what we know and what you've hinted at, then. First, your grandson Marden has been outed as a Death Eater by my very personal and slightly murderous ghost about two months ago, and he's been on the run ever since. Second, you've mentioned him without adding any context as to why, right after the thing you saw that made you panic. Third, when you got out of Azkaban thirteen years ago, Dear Sweet Marden decided to move in with you and your husband, to 'take care of his grandmother after what she'd gone through'."
Rowena Robards pinched her lips but didn't contest any of Sirius' claims – it would have been difficult, considering she'd said one herself and the other two were public knowledge.
Patterson, who'd taken to keep guard over the alley until the aurors got there, shifted on his feet.
"Are you implying what I think you're implying, Black?"
"If you think Madam Robards, also known as Mrs Burke and Auror Robards until twenty, no, nineteen years ago, might have caught her grandson redhanded when he wasn't even graduated yet, and that she deluded herself into thinking she could hide and potentially end his involvement with the Death Eaters, only for Rookwood to sweep in and trap her with an Unbreakable Vow that, amongst other things, kept her grandson's activities a secret and had her do things for them, then yes, I'm pretty sure we're on the same page. Also, she didn't cooperate during her trial because she couldn't see how to reveal what Rookwood had done without Marden getting exposed, and maybe she still had some attachment to her grandson then on top of her magical shackles."
This time Robards' countenance wavered, her face twitching and cheeks growing darker.
Patterson noticed that and focused back on the old witch.
"Right. Black just said 'then', and he's right to point out you didn't cooperate in 1977, but this time you are throwing your grandson and Rookwood to the dragon's nest, as best as you can, anyway."
The patroller looked back at Sirius, eyebrows raised, waiting for the rest of it.
Sirius obliged:
"I'd say she lost all form of affection for the little terror when she got out of Azkaban and he decided to come and police her every move in her own damn home even though she'd literally gone to jail for him. Might even have realized that he was still a cruel piece of shit despite the disbandment of his merry band of murderers."
"And now that Marden was forced out of her life..."
"Pretty much, yeah."
There was a moment of awkward silence, the old witch burning with – what, shame? anger? resentment? guilt? – unease as Sirius and Patterson waited for the aurors to get there.
Then Sirius realized:
"Wait a minute, with all that we didn't even ask what Rookwood wanted!"
Patterson threw him a pointed look.
"I'm a patroller. I patrol. Investigating crimes and attacks is a job for magestigators and aurors, which is what the two of you were, before. It's not my place to interrogate anyone, only to keep the peace. If anything, I got so talkative because it's Robards and I didn't trust the whole situation, didn't want another attack to get us."
The old witch looked like she wanted to say something to that, but abstained: she'd earned her reputation, after all, even if it wasn't anything to be proud of. Instead, she turned to look at Sirius.
"Randall is right, though. He isn't an investigator, but we were, and I know what you get up to even if you didn't go back to the Auror Office, Black. You might not be on call anymore, but you still do the job, don't you?"
"I'm not exactly hiding it, am I?"
Honestly, he'd tried hiding the first time, and it had only gotten him thrown in Azkaban because people weren't certain of his allegiance. Anonymity hadn't even been that protective, either, considering that he'd had a target on his back for other reasons – one of those was currently drifting around Black Manor, being a saner version of herself.
Well, the secret had been worth something, still, because back then the others hadn't needed a known associate with a price on his head, but now? Everyone knew about Remus, Harry was most likely the biggest target out here, Eleanor's brother already wanted her dead – Peter was a traitor, James and Lily were dead. There honestly wasn't much left to hide here, not on that point.
Robards took a moment – closed her eyes, breathed in the night air, tried to clear her head, probably – before she continued.
"I... Marden didn't come back, after Lestrange's ghost talked to the Auror Office. Didn't try to force me to do anything else, didn't contact his parents or us. He might have been right not to, either, because my husband vanished Marden's belongings without even caring where they ended up and warded the house anew the moment he heard and realized what had been going on. Cameron had already been growing dissatisfied with Marden's refusal to build his own life, but he really didn't appreciate that the reason for it was..."
The elder witch trailed off – unable to be more precise with her wording, certainly, and also a bit uneasy with the topic itself.
Sirius remembered Marden Burke: a cruel, vindictive boy who'd taken to following Evan Rosier around, just like Snape used to trail behind Alan Mulciber and Carmine Wilkes when he wasn't doing Lucius Malfoy's bidding. They'd been in the same year, Sirius and Marden and Snape, but obviously Marden hadn't thought Snape worth his time, and Sirius himself hoped the damn asshole hadn't forgotten the taste of cauldron soap after he'd caught him playing "down-the-banister-we-go" with the school books of several younger students.
Not that Sirius had never played "down-the-banister-we-go", but only with the agreement of his classmates or his own stuff. The teachers hadn't liked it, but that was another problem.
Patterson scoffed.
"What, not a fan of his grandson abusing his wife under his own roof? Or was it the murdering, torturing, terrorist aspect that got to your husband?"
Robards' answer was quiet, less outraged on behalf of her husband than Sirius would have expected.
Perhaps because she'd been complicit in such acts, once upon a time – and it didn't really matter how willingly she'd acted, even if her first instinct had been to take care of her family.
"We aren't supporters, you know. I made my mistakes, ensnared myself in that web, but I rapidly realized what I was doing. I just... didn't know how to get out. At first I thought... I got scared, I thought someone had been taking advantage of a teenager's rebellion, that this wasn't entirely his choice. But the more things went on, the more I saw how absolutely delighted with my... 'help'... he was. Happy that I was there too. Not like he was trapped with me, like he thought this was right. And after Azkaban, after Marden came to live at the house..."
Sirius imagined what life could have been like, if he'd pretended to agree with his mother on everything, if only to be left alone. How she'd have loved that, how happy she'd have been to see him "on the right path".
How quickly the jig would have sent her spiraling when he'd have finally become an adult who didn't need to temporize and navigate around his parents' expectations.
Never mind that he probably wouldn't have lasted until graduation – technically he'd been of age early in his sixth year, but people rarely considered you independent until you finished your basic education – the backslash would have been absolutely horrific.
His mother had been far from stable enough to live through a volte-face of this magnitude without something breaking in the process, and honestly Sirius didn't think his dad and Regulus had deserved to suffer anything of the kind.
He winced.
"I'd guess Marden didn't take the whole fall of Voldemort and end of the Death Eaters well, and when you got out he was arguably worse than when you had to cover for him. He might have considered you his only true ally in the family, and that meant walking on eggshells around him unless you wanted to risk him turning on you."
"I wasn't well, after six years in Azkaban. Not... The Prometheus wing isn't as bad as high security, I wasn't starving myself or a constant victim of dementors, but I never really recovered either. I get sicker and more often, I don't sleep well one night out of two. I didn't think I could take him, if things turned bad, and Cameron... Cameron had no idea. He was too busy trying to better my health, trying to get me to explain why I'd... why I'd done what I did. He doesn't understand, he's angry at me for getting involved in the first war for the other side, it's been thirteen years and he's still trying to figure out what went wrong."
"And all that time, what went wrong was sharing a house with you two, uh."
Robards' answering smile was painful and Sirius decided it wasn't his place to ask how things were going with her husband since Marden's departure.
"So... Rookwood?"
The old witch shook herself straight, put on a new mask of fortitude and strength.
"Right. Rookwood. My point was, he didn't come here because of Marden. This time, it's because we live next door to a house he's interested in, but he didn't say why. The empty house behind the village square, in front of Rosa Lee's Teabag?"
That stopped Sirius short, who only let out an uninformative "uh."
Patterson didn't miss the obvious, either.
"Soft pink window shutters?"
"Yes, that's the one. The couple who lived there died a while ago, before everything happened, even. I think... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was starting to get recognition, perhaps? Anyway, they were both very old and died within months of each other, nothing suspicious about that. I think it's more likely that Rookwood wants something from the husband's research, since he was an unspeakable before and the husband was a mage."
Patterson squinted at Sirius doubtfully:
"Yeah, no, what's really suspicious here is that Black and his gang of double-shift aurors and associates, Mad-Eye Moody included, were staking out that very house earlier in the afternoon, and then they went inside. With the key, too."
Sirius threw the patroller a dry look.
"We weren't going to break into a house in full daylight when we had access to the key."
"That's not the point and you know it."
"Fine, fine. Malfoy tried to buy the property from the Rowles about a year and a half ago? We thought it was worth checking out, in case there was a reason why he wanted that particular house."
They all stopped a moment to look in the vague direction of the Tofty house.
Yeah, there was definitely something going on there.
It also meant that now, the Auror Office would butt in. Which, technically, wasn't a bad thing, as investigating and corralling dark mages was their job to begin with, except it could get complicated if it prevented the Order from doing their part. There was no way Moody would leave this alone, now, and the older wizard would storm the auror headquarters and invite himself to the team in charge of this case even if Gawain Robards tried to keep him out.
If only Kingsley or Nymphadora could be dispatched on this, but they weren't on call right now, and the head auror only reallocated cases if he had no other choice – logical, considering switching teams meant redoing all the interviews, going back to the scene, and hoping nothing had been forgotten in the middle.
He sighed.
"I'll guess I'll tell whoever comes to talk with Kingsley, he's the one who volunteered to handle this further down."
Silence again.
Then Robards frowned, her eyes going from one side of the alley to the other in a practiced motion.
"Speaking of which, aren't they being a bit long?"
Patterson shrugged, but he seemed dissatisfied too.
"They should be there already, you're right. Here's to hoping nothing more urgent happened. And yes, I checked, there are no anti-apparition wards apart from the houses'."
The last phrase was perhaps unnecessary, considering Rookwood had apparated away and it didn't make a lot of sense for him to come back and put up wards after the fact – they'd have seen him do it, anyway.
The aurors were taking their sweet time, though. It wasn't like Hogsmeade was a remote location without a public chimney or unknown to most people – no apparition in that case.
Now Sirius, Rowena Robards / Burke and Patroller Randall Patterson were standing – leaning against a wall for Sirius, but, same thing – awkwardly in the night, in a deserted Hogsmeade.
Sirius wondered if the clients from the bookshop had finally left or if they were still waiting anxiously inside even though there weren't any more screams.
Oh, wait.
He rummaged through his pockets for his bottle of essence of dittany and offered it to Rowena Robards, whose head wound was still bleeding, if only drop by drop.
"Use it. The aurors might grumble about evidence, but if they're late and you get an infection it'll be on their head."
The old woman accepted the bottle, but only started dabbing at her cut – it looked more like a rip, actually – after she'd reminded him that she had done that job before, and longer than him, too.
As far as Sirius was concerned, that only meant Robards was more likely to say the injury "wasn't that grave and pressing" because she was used to getting roughed up, without taking into account the fact that she was now in the middle of her seventies and, from her own words, less healthy than she used to be.
Patterson added in a grumble:
"Just let the blood that has already dripped down, so that they won't be able to miss the wound."
The witch's sarcasm was growing easier to spot in her answers:
"Thanks, Randall, I would never have thought of that on my own."
"Just saying."
She paused, closed the bottle and gave it back, then put her hands in her robes.
"Thanks, though. For caring."
Patterson looked like he wanted to say he didn't, but wasn't able to say it out loud. Sirius wondered if they'd worked together a lot, before Robards' fall from grace and subsequent time in jail.
If the knowledge of what she'd gone through was enough to offset the anger the patroller obviously felt towards her.
It brought a lot of questions to mind, starting with what was the limit between what could be forgiven and what couldn't. With the degree of responsibility in anyone's bad decisions. If the consequences mattered more than the intent, if the excuses and attempts at doing better were ever enough. If you could forgive someone who'd had only bad options to choose from and no tools to create another way.
It was Peter, of course – but it was so much more than Peter.
It was also people whose families were being threatened, people who thought it would come to that if they didn't volunteer, people who were afraid and wrong in their assumptions, people who stood between death and a chance to do the right thing, perhaps, later, if only they stayed alive.
It was the war knocking at their door once again.
Sirius had lived that once already, but he hadn't been there to deal with the aftermath – and it had been his own damn fault, in a way. Not only, of course – Peter, and Bellatrix, and everyone else who'd made it believable or had believed – but his nonetheless. He'd made the original mistake, and, as Holly had pointed out, he also hadn't always acted in the best ways.
He'd made mistakes, and he hadn't meant to, but the consequences were still there. James and Lily were dead, Juliet and Harry had grown up without him, Remus had been left alone.
If consequences were the only way to judge someone's guilt, could Sirius be forgiven, too?
Two silhouettes appeared under the perpetual fire lanterns, making their way from the village square. Patterson straightened up, Sirius felt for his wand, and they waited.
It was, most likely, the aurors, straight out of the public chimney.
Most likely.
"Oh, Helga saves us all!"
Dawlish emerged from a shadow, already eyeing Sirius as if he couldn't believe his luck – or lack thereof. The younger man couldn't help the grin that stretched across his lips then.