That's an order
That's an order
James had been working at the Black estate for a year now—long enough to understand that Walburga and Orion Black were not good people. At least, not by any definition of "good" that he was familiar with.
James was an android, an AX400 model. A household servant. He was designed to clean, cook, mind children, fold laundry, and wash dishes. He was not designed to form opinions. And yet, believing that his owners were cruel? That was certainly an opinion.
A dangerous one.
So, James buried the thought deep in his artificial mind, where it couldn't interfere with his programming.
Beyond that, he knew little about the Blacks. He knew they were often away on business—business that was, by all indications, less than legal. He knew they had an extensive family and that, during gatherings, he was expected to remain in the background, silent and unseen. And he knew they had a son.
It would have been difficult not to know. After all, Regulus Black lived in the same house. And yet, James had been given strict orders to stay away from him. In all his time at the estate, he had only glimpsed him twice—never once speaking to him.
This morning was like any other. His list of tasks stretched impossibly long, each item carefully ranked by priority. James calculated the estimated time required for each and concluded, once again, that it was physically impossible to complete them all.
Prioritization was necessary.
He decided to begin with Orion Black’s silverware. A previous miscalculation had resulted in this particular chore slipping too far down the list—an error he had been punished for. The silverware, it seemed, was of great importance to Orion Black.
James was nearly finished when the door swung open with a sharp creak.
Walburga Black strode in, her dark hair twisted into a severe bun, her thin lips pressed into an even thinner line. She radiated cold authority, the kind that made the air in the room feel heavier.
James turned to face her, setting down the cloth he had been using. He inclined his head slightly.
"Ma’am."
Her sharp eyes narrowed. She folded her arms, her stance rigid, unyielding.
"You’re slow today," she said curtly. "I have another task for you."
James processed her words without reaction. Another? His workload was already impossible. But questioning an order was not an option. It never was. So he kept his mouth shut.
"There are family portraits in the attic," she continued. "Dust them off and replace the ones hanging in the house. I’m tired of looking at the same faces every day."
James nodded. "Of course, ma’am. I’ll get to it immediately."
"I should hope so."
Her gaze flicked to the silver spoon still in his hand.
"Finish that first. And hurry up."
Without another word, she turned and left the room, her presence dissipating like a cold draft.
James resumed polishing, moving quickly but precisely. When the last piece gleamed under the dim light, he set the tray aside and made his way upstairs.
The attic was accessible only by passing through the top floor—a part of the house James rarely entered. Walburga had made it clear he had no business there. But he knew Regulus Black’s bedroom was somewhere along this corridor, as was a second door he had never been instructed to enter.
He didn’t linger.
The attic hatch groaned as he pulled it open, revealing a steep ladder leading into darkness. He climbed with practiced ease, his sensors adjusting to the dim light and the dust-laden air. The scent of damp wood and forgotten things filled his circuits.
Stacks of furniture, old trunks, and neglected relics loomed in the shadows. James sifted through the clutter until he found the collection of portraits, hidden beneath heavy sheets.
He uncovered them one by one, examining each with an analytical eye. Some were cracked, others faded. He set aside those he deemed unfit for display.
Orion Black’s portrait went onto the "to-clean" pile. James reached for the next frame and brushed away the dust. His fingers stilled as a face emerged beneath the grime.
A boy.
Regulus Black.
He looked no older than eight or nine. His posture was straight, his frame slender, his expression mild. Walburga stood beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder, her grip firm.
James studied the image for a long moment. Then, his gaze shifted.
Another boy stood beside Regulus.
James had never seen him before. He wasn’t in any of the other portraits. His face was unfamiliar.
This boy had dark, shoulder-length hair and a lopsided grin. His clothes were different—casual, almost rebellious. Everything about him clashed with the rigid formality of the Black family.
James frowned. Who was he?
Before he could process further, a loud crash shattered the silence.
It came from below.
Something—or someone—had been slammed against a wall.
James went still. His sensors picked up rapid movement, then—
"...completely useless! Can’t you do anything right?"
Orion Black’s voice thundered through the house.
James hesitated for only a fraction of a second. Then, with careful deliberation, he set the portrait aside—placing it firmly in the pile of images that would not be returning downstairs.
Something told him the Blacks wouldn’t want to be reminded of this boy.
Straightening, he dusted off his trousers and moved toward the attic hatch. As he lifted the trapdoor, Orion’s voice grew clearer.
And it was still yelling.
Another crash. A dull, heavy thud echoed through the house.
“Our entire family would be ashamed of this behavior! I truly expected more from you!”
The voice was unmistakable—Orion Black, furious beyond reason.
James stood frozen, trying to process the noise. It was coming from Regulus Black’s room. And there was no mistaking it now—Orion Black was laying hands on his own son.
An impulse stirred deep within James. A need to intervene, to stop it, to do something—anything. He had been programmed to protect. To help. To de-escalate situations like this.
But then came the reminder: Orion Black had given him an order.
Stay out of his affairs. Stay away from his son.
James’s limbs felt heavy, locked in place. His mind screamed for action, but his body obeyed the commands that had been drilled into him.
He remained still, listening.
The sounds from the room grew more muffled, the crash of objects and the shouts fading into silence. Then came the heavy slam of a door. Orion’s footsteps thudded down the stairs, their rhythm frantic, uneven.
James exhaled slowly, as if releasing the tension that had built up in him. He hadn’t realized how tightly wound he’d been until it was gone.
Turning back to the portraits, James focused on the task at hand, carefully gathering the ones he had deemed acceptable. He started back down the stairs, moving with mechanical precision.
But as he passed the hallway, his gaze flickered toward Regulus’s door. It was shut.
Just as he was about to continue on his way, he heard it.
A quiet, muffled sound.
Regulus was crying.
James’s body went rigid. The soft, broken sound reached him with a clarity that made him falter. Regulus Black was in his room, alone, crying.
The directive echoed in his mind like a cold command: Stay away from my son. Do not enter his room.
But now, standing on the threshold of the door, James hesitated.
Why couldn’t he just leave? Why did he feel the need to act?
His fingers hovered over the door handle. His internal programming clashed with his desire to help.
He wasn’t supposed to care. Yet, something told him he needed to check on the Black son. Wasn’t it his responsibility to serve the family? Perhaps ensuring that Regulus Black was alright was a part of that duty.
The metal of the door handle felt cold under his touch. He pressed down, the latch releasing with a soft click.
Regulus’s room was dimly lit, the green wallpaper dull under the weak light filtering through the curtains. The wooden bed in the corner looked as if it had never been touched by comfort. The room felt cold, empty. Unlived in.
Regulus sat on the bed, his head bowed, his posture slouched in a way that made him look smaller than he really was.
James knew Regulus was twenty-four years old. He knew he was an adult. Yet, in that moment, the boy sitting there looked fragile, almost lost, like a child who had never been allowed to grow up.
Regulus didn’t move when James entered. He didn’t acknowledge him at all.
James stood motionless, uncertain of what to say or do.
“Mr. Black,” he said finally, his voice tentative. “Are you alright?”
The question hung in the air, an absurdity. The answer was so painfully obvious.
James had never felt truly lost before, but now, standing in the doorway of this cold room, he realized he was.
Slowly, Regulus lifted his head. His gaze locked with James’s, piercing him as if he were seeing him for the first time. James saw the tension ripple through Regulus’s body.
A red mark bloomed beneath Regulus’s right eye. Orion’s strike had left more than just a memory. It had left a mark.
“What do you want?”
Regulus’s voice was sharp, but his eyes—those eyes—held something different. The vulnerability from before was gone, replaced by something colder, more distant.
In an instant, his entire demeanor changed. His spine straightened, and he wiped the remnants of tears from his face, replacing them with a hardened, unyielding expression. It was a mask, an armor James could almost feel pressing against him.
“I just wanted to see if you needed help,” James offered, his voice steady but uncertain.
Regulus’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a slight sneer.
“Did my parents give you permission to come here?”
James didn’t flinch. “No,” he admitted quietly. “I was in the attic.”
“I don’t need your help,” Regulus said, his voice firm, as cold as the walls around them.
James studied him, feeling the weight of the silence between them. “Are you sure? I could stay. Sometimes it’s better not to be alone.”
“Leave.”
Regulus’s command was sharp, final. His eyes were hard, a wall of ice that James couldn’t penetrate.
“That’s an order,” Regulus added, his voice barely above a whisper.
And James did not disobey orders.
He gave a small nod, turned, and left the room. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving only the silence in the hallway.
Regulus Black had given him a direct command.
And James did never disobey and order.
Sirius Black was stuck with a bloody tin can.
Yeah, alright, it was a fancy tin can. A proper work of art, probably. Whoever had made the bloody thing deserved a medal. But still, a tin can. Being fancy didn't change its nature, did it?
Sirius couldn’t think of a worse way to end his evening, really.
The calls had been endless. Four bloody colleagues trying to get through to him. Had he cared? Not in the slightest. Especially after learning he’d be stuck on this case with a fucking robot.
He was more than capable of handling things on his own—hell, he’d been doing it for years. But no. If they absolutely had to saddle him with a partner, the least they could’ve done was get him a bloody human. Someone who was alive.
The android—Remus, as it turned out—followed Sirius out of the pub and into the biting night air.
Sirius didn’t feel like rushing. Not yet. He needed a fag first.
He fumbled around in his jacket pocket, pulling out his worn leather cigarette case and lighting up with a flick of his lighter. Leaning against the bar’s façade, he took a slow drag, watching the tin can waddle over to the taxis lined up along the street.
It didn’t even notice he’d stopped.
Sirius smirked, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the night as the bloody thing turned around, scanning its surroundings like it was looking for a clue or something. When it finally clocked him, it gave him a half-hearted wave, or something like that.
"Lieutenant!" it called out. "I found us a taxi."
Sirius didn’t move, didn’t react. Just took another drag, the smoke curling up toward the cold, clear sky.
The tin can seemed to realize he wasn’t budging and wandered back over.
"Lieutenant?" it asked again.
Couldn’t it see how little Sirius cared about its existence?
"Give me a minute," Sirius muttered "I’m trying to enjoy my life here."
"Sir, I really don’t mean to rush you, but we’re already late. We should hurry."
The android’s eyes flicked to the cigarette in his hand.
"And that’s really not good for your health."
Sirius rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might get stuck. Hopefully, that bloody thing would take the hint. It probably wouldn't, though.
"Listen… what’s your name again?"
"Remus," the android replied, like it was proud of itself.
What a stupid name. Ridiculous.
"Remus," Sirius repeated, giving the name a mocking lilt. "Right. Well, Remus, keep your life advice to yourself—I’m not interested. And while we’re at it, can you talk less? Like, a lot less."
"Is that an order, sir?"
Sirius stared at the thing. Was it really asking him that?
"I don’t know. Do you need an order for everything?"
Remus seemed to think on it for a moment.
Sirius couldn’t help but take in the android’s appearance: brown hair, sharp features, dark eyes. Looking like any other human.
Except that it wasn't.
He turned away.
"I think so," Remus finally replied. "And I have been ordered to accompany you to the crime scene."
Sirius sighed, taking one last drag from his cigarette before crushing it out on the wall with a dull thud.
"Maybe you should try a cig yourself," he said, voice dripping with mockery. "Might help you loosen up a bit."
"I’m not sure if it would damage me."
"Could you stop saying things that remind me you’re a bloody tin can?" Sirius groaned, rubbing his eyes in frustration. "Please."
He glanced over at the taxi. It was still waiting, of course. No rush.
"But I’m not human," Remus said, matter-of-factly. "You know that."
Sirius didn’t answer. Of course he knew.
That was the whole damn problem.
The crime scene was a small, detached house on the outskirts of the city.
Remus hadn’t said a word the whole ride. Probably because he’d finally figured out that silence was his best bet. Not that Sirius cared, really.
As the taxi rolled up to the house, Sirius considered giving Remus a “stay in the car” order. But, honestly, what was the point? The android wouldn’t listen anyway.
The DPD was still on the scene. Sirius spotted a few of his colleagues—most of whom he couldn’t stand. And, of course, there were the FBI guys. The ones he disliked even more.
Ignoring the people he’d rather not deal with, he hopped over the barricade and onto the property, Remus trailing behind like an overzealous puppy.
“Sirius,” someone called. “You’re late.”
Sirius turned, relieved to see that the person addressing him wasn’t one of the usual idiots.
Peter Pettigrew. Not bad, really. He’d been with the DPD for two years, and sure, sometimes he had smart ideas. Otherwise, he was a bit forgettable. Chubby, bland. But Sirius liked him. Or, you know, as much as he could like anyone.
“Peter, brief me. I didn’t listen to my voicemails.”
Peter seemed pleased to be useful for once. Gave a quick rundown: apparently, an android had turned violent and killed its owner. The body was still inside, but the android had vanished.
That was the gist.
Peter glanced at Remus, who had been listening the entire time.
“Since when do you have a partner?” he asked, his face now on Sirius again.
Sirius snorted.
“Yeah, they’re handing out lapdogs to innocent civilians now. This thing’s been shadowing me all night.”
Remus didn’t say a word. Didn’t even look offended. He just stood there, his damn face completely unchanged.
What did Sirius expect, really?
Nothing. He never expected anything nowadays.
“Well, let me know if you find anything interesting,” Peter said. “I think the rest of the team is about to throw in the towel.”
Sirius shrugged. He didn’t need to hear any more. Gave Peter a quick wave and headed into the house, deliberately ignoring the tin can on his heels.
The first thing that hit him was the smell.
Peter had mentioned the crime had happened days ago. The body had been lying around the whole time.
Sirius wasn’t unfamiliar with the stench of decay, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t enough to churn his stomach. He instinctively covered his mouth.
Remus just walked in like it was no big deal.
Sirius watched as the android knelt over what was left of the victim—hardly anything human anymore.
Might as well let the bloody robot do all the dirty work, that’s what it was here for, right?
Sirius didn’t bother asking what Remus was doing. The android hovered over the corpse for a few seconds, then looked up at him.
“He’s been dead for 78 hours,” Remus said. “46 years old. Blood alcohol level of 1.4. No other drugs. There was a struggle before he died.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow.
Was this robot actually worth a damn? Useful even?
“And you know all that how?”
“I tasted his blood.”
“…Excuse me?”
Sirius really didn’t want to know. But Remus seemed to have no clue how utterly repulsive that sounded.
“Tasted,” he repeated.
Then, without missing a beat, the android reached down, touched the wound, and brought his finger to his mouth.
Sirius felt his stomach turn.
“What the—That’s disgusting,” he snapped. “Never do that again.”
“But it’s a useful function.”
Sirius turned away, trying not to look at the damn robot anymore.
He was disgusted. He was intrigued. He didn’t know which one pissed him off more.
He kept moving through the house, trying to get a sense of things. Remus had been right about one thing: there had been a struggle. Two overturned chairs in the kitchen. Scratches and dents on the walls.
And in some places, Sirius saw traces of Thirium 310—blue blood. Android blood.
While he was trying to piece together the puzzle, Remus was wandering around, eyes closed, deep in thought—looking like he was somewhere else entirely. Sirius gave him a brief look before turning back to his work.
But he wasn’t getting anywhere. There were no clues in the living room, the hallway was empty and the garden seemed completely untouched.
In the bathroom, though, something caught his eye. Someone had scrawled words on the tiles in blood.
Moon. Sun. Star. Over and over again.
Sirius couldn’t make sense of it. Why would anyone write that? He traced the words with his finger, trying to understand what the author had thought while writing it, but it was useless.
Eventually, he decided he’d seen enough.
The blue blood trail in the hallway. The footprints in the snow that led nowhere past the back door. The house was empty—if you didn’t count the poor dead bastard, the DPD, and the FBI.
Nothing else to see here. Now, he just needed to find his damn lapdog and get out.
Remus wasn’t hard to find. He was standing in the hallway, staring at the wall like it was the meaning of life.
“We’re leaving,” Sirius said. “There’s nothing left here.”
Remus didn’t even turn to look at him. Instead, he said, “Did you see the messages on the bathroom tiles?”
“Of course I saw them,” Sirius shot back, his patience running thin. As if he didn't know how to do his job.
“I don’t know what they mean,” Remus admitted, “but I’m pretty sure the android didn’t start the fight. Everything points to the victim attacking first.”
“Huh?” Sirius scoffed. “And what makes you think that? That’s insane…”
“I think the victim drank too much and attacked the android. It fled to the living room and grabbed a kitchen knife. Then it fought back.”
“25 stab wounds. You think that’s just self-defense?”
Remus looked puzzled. At least, as puzzled as an android could look.
But damn it, it looked human.
“Maybe it lost control,” Remus suggested. “Blacked out.”
“Humans lose control,” Sirius growled. “Not machines.”
Remus didn’t seem to be listening.
“I think it’s still here,” he murmured.
Sirius groaned inwardly. What a load of rubbish. He’d searched the whole damn house, top to bottom. There was no one left.
“What makes you so sure it was self-defense?”
Remus kept staring at the wall like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
“You didn’t exactly trust my skills last time, Lieutenant,” he said, still not looking at him. “Maybe I’ll keep this info to myself.”
“You ate blood!” Sirius snapped.
“Tasted,” Remus corrected, calm as ever.
Sirius was done. Arguing with Remus did not get him anywhere. But apparently, Remus was not finished yet.
The android was now gently feeling the wall with his hand, then started walking along it.
Then, suddenly, his gaze snapped upward.
He hurried into the kitchen, grabbed a chair, and put it beneath the attic hatch.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Remus didn’t respond. He climbed onto the chair, opened the hatch, and disappeared into the attic.
Sirius stood there for a moment, unsure whether to follow.
No one could be hiding up there. It was impossible. The hatch was too for up for any android - or human- to reach.
But he waited.
The attic was silent. Too silent.
After what felt like forever, Sirius shifted his weight from foot to foot, growing impatient. What in God's name was taking him so long?
“Remus?” he called out. “Everything okay up there?”
No answer. Just as Sirius was about to climb up himself, he heard Remus’ voice:
“He’s up here, Lieutenant! The deviant is up here. Let’s take him in.”