Son of Sam, son of the shining path, the clouded mind

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

*It is not at all unusual for an Auror to work late into the night. There has to be someone on duty at all times, after all, particularly now. What is unusual is how feverishly Sirius is scribbling into his notebook. Open books are spread across the desk before him, and he is currently flipping through a musty-looking tome entitled Magickal Wardƒ & their Uƒeƒ. Discarding it after a moment, he picks up another, more modern but much more ill-kept, called Replicating the Task of Prometheus.

It will not easy to break into the Black household. Sirius remembers acutely coming home late one afternoon when he was twelve and having to wait for Orion to tell the gargoyles to let go of him. He is fairly certain that the punishment for being caught this time would be rather worse than it was back then. But it has been decided, and it feels good to work like this, alone in the office in the quiet but not-entirely-empty Ministry. Here and there, people are moving along, congregating in knots of two and three around teapots, still working. The night will buzz on like this, he knows, until it becomes morning. Typically Sirius enjoys wandering the huge place, taking a trip out into the city for curry, but Sirius has been so glued to this research that he's skipped dinner entirely and hasn't seen another soul since Dawlish left at 7.

Still, tiredness is creeping up on him as surely as ever. Only a few more hours here, and then he can give the shift over to Gloria Prynn and crawl into bed next to Remus. He shuts Replicating the Task of Prometheus and rubs his eyes.*

Comments

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

I'm not sure if it's a sack precisely--

*He inclines his head, though. Maybe it is a sack. If Sirius has discovered anything in the past few months, it is that he knows less and less about the world in which he lives. Still, he is getting the hang of speaking to the Crouch boy.*

Still. I don't think it's an excuse, being trapped in the sack. You've got to act as if you can prance about waving your tail, even if the limits of your world are rather . . . burlappy.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

*Barty smiles at this attempt at communication, there are few people who make an attmept to immerse themselves in his riddles.*

I like burlap, it smells so Old that it's like time travelling with your nostrils.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

I've never really been intimate with burlap or time travel, so I wouldn't know.

--You said you came to be because I was in the way?

*Sirius sidesteps, gesturing to the vacated space in the center of the cubicle.*

Does this put me less in your way, or is it more of a metaphysical in the way?

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

It's like an obstacle course, I must scale the you-shaped wall to get to the mud pit.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

If you told me more precisely what you were trying to get at, I might even be able to give you a leg up.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

What if I'm not trying to get there at all. If I can't climb the wall I can't get to the mud. Maybe that's better for everyone.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

*Sirius shakes his head. Just like that, of course, he's completely lost in the conversation again.*

Do as you will, then. Far be it from me to tell you how to do it. I don't even know what the mud pit is in this scenario.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

It's the same thing it's always been, I'm just changing the names to keep it interesting.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

Interesting or confusing?

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

Maybe the interesting part is seeing how much I can confuse you.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

Plenty, but I've never really been put off by confusion.

*Sirius takes a small breath, but really, what's to be lost in asking?*

I take it you're still Regulus' friend. He still look like death warmed over?

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

*Barty has never looked particularly lively himself, his ability to recognize peakiness diminished by years of failing to see it in himself. He's never legitimately seen how corpse-like Regulus can look, despite whatever skeleton based teasing he's lorded over him in the past. However, he has developed a high sensitivity to Reg's particular pattern of behavior - even the slightest deviation can reveal nearly everything to Barty's ever questing attentiveness. Suffice to say, Reg's recent misery hasn't gone under the radar.

Barty nods.*

He's living a cliche and he knows it. Dark Secrets and such. No wonder he's depressed.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

Well. The wife thing certainly isn't helping. Is she horrible?

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

*Barty's face crunches up unhappily, his rather dim view of Miss. Higgs made abundantly clear.*

He hates her. She hates everything but him.

Well. I suppose she likes other things too. Propriety, blood, money - but those things are all wrapped up in him like some majestic, aristocratic burrito - so it doesn't even count.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

Typical.

*Sirus' face crumples up to match. He almost wonders if they're bonding over this.*

I thought he might hate her. When we spoke about it he got all defensive over it. But of course he had to, Narcissa was there.

Did you get to see her try to kiss him? Did he squirm? I bet he squirmed like a hooked fish.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

He's ALWAYS squirmy that never changes. She turned him into an icicle though. We found him at Christmas on the porch, shivering, and then I took him inside and he melted and leaked and babbled. - He said he saw the Grim. Mostly I think that was wishful thinking.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

*It's not so much that Sirius' face changes precisely, hearing this, but there is a hiccup in his motion and in his face, as if he is a machine whose gears have just had a rock stuck in them. He chooses a few words carefully, using all of his not-inconsiderable skill at lying to smooth over his surprise.*

The Grim? That's what has him all shook up, a stray dog?

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

He says it was a ghost dog - which according to his infinite wisdom is the kind most likely to kill you. Personally, I think corporeal teeth are much more fearsome.

*Barty demonstrates this by barring his teeth and growling - quite convincingly.*

If I was the Grim I'd possesses real dogs and use their warm fuzzy bodies to strike fear into the hearts of mortals not just loiter around in the mist uselessly.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

Well, this particular mist-dog has done a rather good job of striking mortal fear without real teeth. Not that it's hard with Regulus, but--you get the idea. He thinks he's marked for death. But why would he think that? He's safe as houses. Safe from life-ending things, anyway. Right? I mean, when was the last time Regulus really risked his neck?

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

That's to be expected. It's always the safe ones who are scared. The real neck-riskers are too busy doing exciting things to wring their hands and cry.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

I've never been much of a handwringer myself, and I don't think you have either, Crouch.

*He smiles, but it's a bit too pointy to be all friendship and sunshine.*

Although that does beg the question--what neck-risking are you doing? Nothing too dangerous, I hope.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

Of course not. I'm a perfectly sensible man. I'm well aware that the only real danger is boredom.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

I don't know about sensible, but you're right about boredom. It can drive people to do truly insane things.

*He spares a rueful glance for the heap of books.*

Anyway. I expect you're not just here for me, and whatever you've come for, you're probably late enough to convey the fact that you don't give a damn but not so late to give real disrespect.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

Real disrespect is what I'm aiming for. If I never doled it out to the mother cat, who would?

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

You can disrespect him all you please, but don't bring me into it. It's not like you can get sacked from being his son, but real jobs are a bit more tenuous.