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

[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.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

YOU DOUBT HIS POWERS. He'd have sacked me ages ago if son-sacking didn't look so bad on paper. And not just tree burning nonsense. Proper taking-me-out-into-the-middle-of-a-forest-and-leaving-me-there sacking.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

Some don't care how bad son-sacking looks on paper. I've been torched off the Black tree. Surely you've seen that much. Dear old Walburgia did it herself.

*He lifts his wand and pantomimes a spell.*

Pow. Up in smoke, just like that.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

Regulus told me that was just because you ran away. I tried to run away once. I was eight and I had a bicycle and everything. I was set. I got to the beach and I stayed there for hours - long after dark. I snuck back when I got hungry. No one even noticed I was gone.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

That--

That actually might be the saddest thing I ever heard.

*He shakes his head.*

And Regulus has selective memory.

Not that I'm sad about it. If I had stayed I'd be stuck with Higgs, and it's much more entertaining to watch Reg squirm on that particular hook.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

That can't be the SADDEST thing. There's probably parallel dimensions out there where we both live on the back of milk cartons and never had this talk.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

I think there are a number of people who would prefer that dimension.

*But despite how strange the Crouch boy is, despite everything, Sirius feels a pang of kinship he hasn't felt in a very long time. There has been a strange little plan sorting itself out in the back of his brain, and now it presents itself, fully formed, as Probably A Bad Idea But Why Not? He has been ordered to get close to Crouch, after all. This is a Crouch.

He leans forward, pulls out a parchment and another quill, his head just under Barty's dangling fingertips, and begins scrawling out his address.*

Listen, if you ever need a mouse-hole to hide in--I've got a decent collection of bad Muggle horror movies.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

*He's noticed it in Regulus too - that Strand. The one that invariably goes against the rest - sticking up and out from the usual formation. It's easy to get caught in and it's loose to the pull, coming away without any fanfare. Barty curls his fingers into his palm, his prize acquired. He smiles broadly.*

I love mouse-holes. And films.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

Good.

*Sirius hands over the parchment with his address.*

We're not hooked up to the Floo, but we're not hard to get to if you use the Tube.