Chapter 33: The thorns were present
Sirius looked up from the stack of papers he'd almost finished looking through – paperwork day, great, and he couldn't even say it wasn't worth the time because doing a bad job here could mean a botched trial later – with the vague feeling that something problematic had just happened.
No one near him, James was nowhere to be seen, Smith and Moody were doing their own paperwork, no one was looking at him in the office, and no one was standing confused at the door.
Nothing that could betray a delayed spell either.
Did he perhaps forget something at the manor? At the flat? Was there...?
Sirius had no idea, though their midday break was in less than ten minutes.
Maybe he was getting a bit hungry. They had, after all, gone to interview Oram Walver early in the morning, which had somehow turned into a two-hours-long stake-out by Loosepeak Fall where the Stumps used to live – before, you know, Sirius had torn their throats off with the Ghost Claw curse a few weeks earlier. Which he didn't regret, Juliet and her brothers might not be alive if he hadn't done that, but the amount of paperwork he had to fill up had doubled and some of his colleagues had stared for days, even if they hadn't said anything.
Better that way, still. If it hadn't been to protect Juliet, it would have happened for something else.
Sirius didn't think you could call him nice: if it worked better that way, he would do what needed to be done. Besides, most of the staring had gone away, now, and Rapace would get tired of checking twice the amount of paperwork. One week, two weeks tops, and then the Auror Office would consider he wasn't a loose canon – just a dangerously efficient fighter – despite the incident.
If Sirius Black used such spells only when necessary and was willing to have his actions reviewed by the DMJ, then it would be acceptable. Not something they approved of personally, perhaps – but no rule had been broken, no law had been compromised. They could disagree, perhaps – but they wouldn't have to brand him as unstable.
...Hopefully. Paperwork, paperwork, make them see you are willing to be part of the rules. Only a few minutes and he'd be done, only a couple of pages and he could take a break, get something to eat in the mess. Keep his mind free of murders and traitors for an hour or so – and then, come back here, listen to his supervisors about the next steps, maybe start a round in Knocturn Alley until three pm and the time to go back home.
"Black."
Sirius' quill stilled: Patricia Cole, a witch who had a few years on him and thus had seen most of the war against Voldemort so far, had stopped by his desk with a folded note sticking from her fingers.
"An owl dropped this off at the welcome desk. No sender name, but it's for you."
Sirius frowned at the note and picked it up gingerly. His name was indeed written on the paper – nothing else.
"Slightly suspicious..."
Cole shrugged before moving back to her own desk:
"Might be someone who wants to tell the Auror Office something without actually coming in. It wouldn't be the first time. Better be careful, of course, but it could be harmless."
"...Sure, but... Why me?"
The witch didn't answer, already on her way.
Smith – who had finished her own share of paperwork – and Moody – whose eyes had left his work the moment someone had come close to their corner of the room – shared a look.
"Doesn't seem hexed on the outside, and it's a bit too small and the paper too thin for it to have a curse inside, don't you think, Alastor?"
"Hmpf, probably not. Still, the kid's right. He's still in training, and considering his background, not a lot of people would contact him rather than a full-fledged auror."
"Then again..."
Smith wet her lips, her head slightly tilted.
"It could be because of his background."
Sirius made a face and carefully opened the note.
"What, you think someone would rather speak to me because I'm from that kind of family? There are a bunch of us in the office, not just me."
Nothing happened, so he squinted at the tiny handwriting – vaguely familiar, in an almost-but-not-quite-maybe-years-passed-and-the-handwriting-changed-or-maybe-it-just-looks-the-same way.
If it was about being a pureblood, a good third of the office would qualify. If it was about coming from a noble house, then there was still enough choice that you wouldn't pick the trainee: Sirius and James, of course, but Evelyn Smith had married into the House of Sykes, there were also Frank and Alice, Arcea Fawley – and, until very recently and to everyone's displeasure, Julius Travers, who had single-handedly destroyed his family's reputation and a number of cases against Death Eaters.
Then again, Smith was implying more than him just belonging to a noble house. Sirius didn't think anyone in their right mind would talk to him, of all people, if they wanted sympathy on blood matters, but hey. He hadn't forgotten Adrian Nott either, so.
"...Uh. Apparently I'm meeting someone at the Café en Terrasse for lunch. No name inside either."
Sirius folded the note back and pushed it towards his supervisors, if they wanted to take a look.
"I'm going to try and finish my paperwork first."
About ten minutes later, the wizard tucked his quill back in its support and stretched widely – yawned, too, perhaps.
"I'm off, I guess? And, I thought about it, but if I don't come back and someone finds my corpse, it's probably Evan Rosier. I saw him doing things he shouldn't the other night, considering his girlfriend, and it's entirely possible he'll try to intimidate me into keeping my mouth shut."
Moody's glare at these words was so intense Sirius almost hesitated with his ploy – but, nah, in the end he'd rather make that statement ambiguous enough that it would get right back at Rosier if anything did happen, but that it also wouldn't get them in trouble if he did manage to push the asshole with a muggleborn girlfriend to cooperate and not stay on the side of murderers.
Moody, of course, wasn't an idiot.
"Black."
"Yes?"
"If it's Evan Rosier, no, no matter who it is, don't leave the Café. And stay where there are a lot of people, where they can't attack without revealing themselves."
Even if he wasn't officially recognized as a Death Eater, Rosier did have a reputation. Mostly as the kind of pureblood Sirius did not frequent or appreciate, and beyond that as being a supporter of blood supremacy, no matter what could be proved.
Sirius nodded and headed for the Ministry's floo chimneys.
As he walked out of the green fire, Carkitt Market was slightly more alive than when they'd come with the children, but still very quiet and depressing. The walk to Fairen Square felt fine – and yet, not quite. The higher-end shops were almost all open, less likely to get in trouble because of a Death Eater raid, and still, no one stayed too long, no one stopped to chat or look around and stroll.
The most obvious part was, perhaps, the screens that had been put all over the Café's balconies and open roof. One of the main reasons to come and drink something in this coffee shop was to see and be seen, after all – and the other was to be under the blue sky during the good days, so the month of July should be packed with customers enjoying the view.
The Café's owner, Mrs Iris Gordon, greeted Sirius as soon as he came in.
"Mr Black, welcome. Will you be eating here?"
Sirius didn't ask how she recognized him – he'd never really stopped by after leaving the family house – as you couldn't look more stereotypically Black than him and the rest of his family did tend to frequent the coffee shop, but he did note the quick look she gave his trainee uniform.
The witch didn't comment, though. She was probably hoping he wasn't there for official business, unsurprisingly. Which he wasn't, but covert business wasn't much better in terms of danger, so.
"...Indeed. I should be meeting someone on the first balcony, too."
Maybe she'd confirm his theory.
Mrs Gordon didn't smile past her professional behavior.
"Of course, Mr Black. Would you rather order now or when your appointment comes around?"
Yeah, no, not even a hint on man or woman.
He glanced quickly at the menu: things would be easier if he didn't lose too much time waiting for food; his break ended in less than an hour and he had no idea how this would all turn out.
"I'll take a pasta salad with a side of carmina peas, and sprite water, please."
"It should be ready in ten to fifteen minutes, Mr Black. I'll let you choose a table upstairs."
As he walked up the stairs, Sirius counted the customers. On the ground floor, they were less than a dozen; voices reached him from the open roof, so they might be a bit more numerous on the second floor; the first balcony, however, only had three people – five, if he counted himself and whoever was supposed to come. For the end of July, it was really pitiful.
Sirius chose a small table at the end of the balcony, with his back against the screen, allowing him sight of the entire length of the first floor. The wizard, for one, was grateful for the screen: he might get away from here without sunburning despite the heavy sun.
Of course, he might get hexed for the trouble, but hey. Sunburns weren't funny, even if there were very efficient potions to get rid of the problem.
As he waited, Sirius watched the three other clients – just in case one of them was backup, should Rosier decide to get a bit too threatening, and maybe also because he felt it necessary to make hypotheses about people he didn't know no matter the situation.
A Ministry worker, judging from the robes, but unlike him, someone from Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Not someone who fought for a living, but you never knew people's hobbies.
The couple, on the other hand, was disgustingly sweet and probably unconcerned by plebeian concerns such as being murdered because you weren't from an influential family. One of the two witches, if anything, wore the Selwyn armorial bearings – Christine Selwyn, most likely. Around Bellatrix's age, and only half a scandal on her back because she and her wife had paid a halfblood to father both their children. It wasn't really clear if the outrage was because they'd paid someone or if it was because of their blood.
Anyway, nothing indicated a potential enemy amongst these three.
Then again, his mysterious rendez-vous might not be Rosier.
...The only other option he could think of was Regulus, after the last time they'd crossed paths, but Sirius would definitely have recognized his brother's handwriting. More rounded and exemplary,-picture perfect. The note, as it was, was written small, pointy and with exaggerated capitals.
Sirius scrunched his nose and shook his head: his mother would never try something like that, and if – if, which would not happen – she ever decided they needed to talk, he'd get a formal letter with the Black armorial bearing and the sense you weren't allowed to refuse.
Not that such things had ever stopped Sirius from ignoring his parents' wishes.
About five minutes later, someone took the stairs from the upper balcony, ready to leave the coffee shop – and crossed paths with someone going up, visibly startled.
...The hair wasn't blond, at all. Not Evan – but it could also be someone who wasn't there to see Sirius, and Rosier would get there later...
No.
Sirius almost up and left the moment he managed to see more than just the curled black updo – but that wouldn't resolve anything, and at least here she wouldn't try and murder him.
Probably. Not in public, and not as long as she wasn't openly recognized as a Death Eater.
Thus Sirius gritted his teeth for a moment, took a deep breath, and finally got rid of all obvious signs of unease on his face and in his body langage.
He kept the displeasure, though. Bellatrix smirked as she sat by the wall.
"Cousin."
Wrong Rosier, not even the right name, but the thorns were still present.
"...Bella. I don't suppose this is an apology for the last time we saw each other?"
Of course it wasn't, but Sirius didn't want to ask her what this was truly about. He knew that, she knew it, he knew she knew, et caetera.
Bellatrix got comfortable in her armchair with a small laugh.
"Sirius, love, nothing happened last time, unless you count your mother asking mine how to deal with rebellious children."
What Bella was talking about had happened before he'd even left his parents' home – but the true last time, Sirius had been a seventh year and at the Potters' for the holidays. Out for a stroll, he'd been cornered by two Death Eaters: a warning, a "chance" to change his mind – and, because he'd recognized the voice even behind the mask, personal judgment on his life choices.
It would be such a shame to waste these powers and the rage in your blood.
He still had the scars on his right arm.
Her denying the encounter wasn't much of a surprise – maybe she would have recognized it if they had been in private, but not in public, and Sirius would never follow her in a private space, he wasn't stupid – and she'd just given him an opening.
Sirius relaxed in his seat – not really – and snorted:
"And? You are the wildest of your sisters, but my mother wouldn't mind that so much if I could... emulate... your mindset. And, if we're talking about another kind of rebellion..."
Of course they were.
"... Then Aunt Druella didn't see Andromeda coming, none of you did. Mother was only asking to make me feel bad."
Bellatrix squinted – then looked him over and scoffed.
"Aunt Walburga still had hope for you, then, but there was no point, was there? You hadn't given a damn about guilt and familial decency in a long time."
A wide and sharp smile spread across Sirius' face, almost against his will.
"Do not talk as if you care much for either, Bella. You harp on about blood and family then toss aside anyone who doesn't follow your principles to the letter, your respect for your relatives is conditional to them agreeing that you are right in claiming power and superiority, no matter the cost to others. I, at least, do not pretend to believe in something that crumbles under my ambitions the moment they cross paths. Tell me, when was the last time you got out of your way to harass Andromeda? I heard about her wedding and the Howler you sent, they mentioned your occasional hovering, like a tempest cloud ready to shock anyone foolish enough to come out in the open."
Something crossed Bellatrix's face – only a second, not enough to tell what, and then she was just licking her upper lip, slightly ticked off.
"...So you do keep in contact with my sister, then. Blood traitor to blood traitor, comforting yourself that you are in the right despite the truth of the matter."
Sirius rolled his eyes.
"I do care about family, Bellatrix. I only ask of them not to quantify that care with blind obedience and a lack of a mind of my own. As long as some people won't accept that, I'll stay as far away from them as possible."
There was more to it, of course – but the truth was, he could deal with people he didn't entirely agree with in his life, he could accept a divergence of opinion. Not one that led to outright murder and torture, like Bella made a hobby of, but anything that could be talked around? He could deal.
After all, when you could talk about your differences, there was still a chance of influencing the other's way of thinking. Maybe not changing it outright, but attenuating it, widening their view, yes.
Bellatrix didn't say anything to that.
...Mostly because the waiter was there with Sirius' pasta and drink, and a plate of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon for her.
Sirius did wonder how much tension could be felt from an outsider's point of view. Both him and Bellatrix were good pretenders and the point – whatever it could be – of this meeting wasn't to start a fire in the Café, no matter how tempting it could seem to just let it devolve into a fight. Even so...
As the waiter headed to the couple on the other side of the balcony, Bella smiled to herself and picked up her fork.
"On that matter, Sirius: how are you doing at the manor?"
Ah. There it was.
Sirius stabbed into his salad with just enough enthusiasm for it not to seem overly violent.
"As well as it can go. Grandfather Arcturus doesn't try to change me or criticize everything I do, which does make for a nice change in familial interactions, if you must know. Grandmother Melania is, as expected, the most gracious host. It's almost like not trying to mold absolutely every aspect of your relatives makes them more willing to spend time with you."
His cousin's eyebrows arched high.
"What about the children?"
A carmina pea popped roughly in between Sirius' teeth, splitting down the middle.
"They're fine, considering the circumstances. I'm certain you've read the article on the matter. Lord Black is certainly delighted."
A pause, with Bellatrix staring at him pensively.
Sirius wasn't interested in giving way: if his cousin wanted more details, she could ask – and he'd get to put down a line to how much she could inquire and get involved in. Which, to be honest, wouldn't be much, because Sirius wasn't even sure who of her or his mother he wanted the farther away from the kids.
Bella dabbed at her smoked salmon.
"What do you intend to do with them, cousin?"
"Send them to school, for a start. Until then I'm getting to know each of the children and trying to help them adjust, as they've lost everyone they've ever known, including their parents."
"Ah, and are they exactly what you expected, then? I'm certain you've given it a thought, since they've appeared in your life. Do they... live up... to your ideals, or did their fathers finally relent and admit where they belong?"
Sirius could feel that line – between what he'd let Bellatrix know and what was none of her business – coming close.
"I'm not the one telling people who to marry, Bellatrix. I've got no problems with anyone because of who they were born from, least of all a potential wife. Who they were raised by, maybe, but not their blood itself. Besides, Lord Black is thrilled with the assurance of a new generation of Blacks; that should be enough for you all."
Grandfather Arcturus was, after all, a blood purist, if a pragmatic one. The fact that enough of the children were pureblooded for him not to give a damn if the others weren't wouldn't even cross Bellatrix's head – and that way Sirius didn't have to lie. Saying nothing was often the best way to keep a secret.
And indeed, Bellatrix completely missed the implication.
"I suppose that's fine, and if Lord Black has a hand in their education... We wouldn't want all this blood of yours to go to waste, cousin. You can decide to throw yourself away, but don't..."
There.
Before Bellatrix could say more, she found Sirius' fork resting against her hand – not quite pressed against it, but present, obvious – and his whispering voice a bit too close to be casual.
"Stay away from my children, cousin, and don't, under any circumstances, even scratch their skin. If anything happens to them, I will come at you to kill, and let's be honest, it wouldn't be a great loss."
Bella didn't seem fazed by the threat – but interested, yes, not enough to want and needle him, to push him to it, but – and her smile sharpened:
"Would you, though? You do wear the Auror Office's uniform these days."
They were too alike for her not to know the answer to that.
"The difference between the two of us is that if I do the deed, I pay the price, Bellatrix, but even that won't stop me from doing the deed."
A long moment of silence – Selwyn and her wife were staring, but neither of the Black cousins cared – and Bella laughed, taking her hand back without a care for the way Sirius' fork grazed her perfect hand.
"If only, Sirius, if only..."
She didn't elaborate and went back to her scrambled eggs instead.
Sirius glanced at the time and at his plate – might as well finish eating before going back, even with Bellatrix present and the threats they'd just put on the table.
If they stayed there for lunch, however...
"Ah, fine... How are your parents?"
Sirius is going to finish that salad no matter what.