Aftermath
I: Sirius
1 January
Os Kervo
When Sirius awoke, it was to the sounds of murmuring voices, distant bells and chirping birds.
He didn’t get up a first, just breathing as he tried to assess his surroundings. He clearly wasn’t at home, it was far too late in the day for him to be at Grimmauld and he could feel the sunlight beating down on him, warm despite the frigid temperature. Grimmauld never had the blinds open, it took away from the broody aura that seemed to practically suffocate the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. That and whatever surface he was lying on was most definitely not his bed, instead something hard - a bench, perhaps? - that had been poorly padded down with a blanket or two. It wasn’t the worse thing in the world. He’d take it over the cramped wardrobe Walburga used to lock him in until he became too big to fit.
The thumping of footsteps thudded all around him and occasionally, Sirius heard James’ voice call out orders.
Sirius peeked an eye open, almost immediately slamming it shut again as he was practically blinded. He couldn’t surprise the small groan that slipped past his lips. His hand came up to rub the soreness from his eyes and next to him, someone gasped.
"Captain!" called out the girl beside him, voice different from the Healer he had met last night. "He's waking up!"
The footsteps grew louder as someone, predictably James, ran to his...bedside? Benchside? Whatever.
"Sirius?" James whispered, his towering figure acting as a wall between Sirius and the sun. Sirius made a small noise, prying his eyes open once more. James was knelt next to him, dressed in his crimson privateer coat and his crewmates gathering behind him, far enough Sirius didn't feel crowded but close enough he knew they were all watching. "How are you feeling?"
Sirius thought the question. Of course he was alright? Why wouldn't he be? It wasn't like something had happened or anything-
Oh. Something very much did happen.
Sirius heaved himself to a sitting position and James backed up a step. Sirius rolled his shoulders and stretched out a crook in his neck. He felt fine. But he knew from experience that, sometimes, the mind was devious and didn't exactly perceive pain as it should.
He knocked his wrists together and slowly trailed a hand up his arm, down his leg and across his chest, pressing his fingers against his heart to test it's beat.
"I did that already," the Healer from last night, Marlene, said, Ravkan heavy with a Fjerdan accent. "There isn't anything physically wrong with you."
"Just-" Sirius cleared his throat, voice thick. Someone, a tall redhead with a mullet, passed him a glass of water, which he gratefully took. He raised it a bit in thanks before knocking it back in one big gulp. "Just checking for myself."
"What happened?" Marlene demanded. "You pass out on the deck of The Golden Snitch and there's nothing wrong with you?"
Sirius snorted. "There's plenty wrong with me."
James frowned at him. "There's nothing wrong with you."
Sirius raised an eyebrow at him. "Really? Really? You sure about that, mate?"
James paused and made a displeased face. Sirius laughed, knowing he agreed. Sirius was all sorts of fucked up. No one grew up as he did and wasn’t. Even Andy…where ever she is, would be no better than Sirius.
“Who are you?” Sirius’ eyes snapped to a girl who couldn’t be more than a few years older, evidently Ravkan. She stood with her arms crossed, red bandana tied tightly around her wrist. Her fingers tapped against her elbows, heart rate slightly elevated. She was nervous, despite her seemingly unbothered exterior.
“Are you a Healer?” The man next to her asked, also Ravkan.
Sirius gave them a little bow, or as much as he could from his position. “Sirius Black, Heartrender of the Second Army. Or, well, former Heartrender of the Second Army.”
Both Ravkans stiffened and the woman paled. The guy took a small step backwards and Sirius rolled his eyes. Here we go.
James glanced between them. “Alice? Frank? Everything okay?”
The guy, Frank, swallowed thickly. “Black as in…Walburga Black? Orion Black? Bellatrix Black-“
“Yes, yes, keep listing off my family tree why don’t you.” Sirius snapped, shoulders bunched high. The mere mention of their names was enough to send skitters down his spine, enough to feel the echo of their rotten, looming presence. He felt the phantom memory of Walburga’s claws digging into his skin, the burn of his blood while he twitched and screamed on the floor. He felt the metal of his father’s blade, parting skin with ease, especially after it was freshly sharpened.
Sirius’ fingers twitched, inching slightly towards the dagger in his boot. He clenched his hand tight in a fist. No. He already threatened one of Prongs’ crew mates, he won’t do it again.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Asked another red head - how many fucking redheads are on this ship? -, his hand wound around a slightly younger Kaelish woman.
“It doesn’t.” Sirius said firmly at the same time Frank answered, “They’re the Second Army’s best.”
Unease rippled throughout the group and Sirius’ eye twitched. He’s been out of Grimmauld for less than twenty-four hours and he’s already being judged for his family. He wanted out. He was supposed to be so why was everything about his fucking family?
“He won’t sell anyone out…will he?” Someone whispered and whoever it was is very lucky Sirius couldn’t tell who.
“Enough,” James ordered firmly, glaring harshly his crew. They averted their gaze and shuffled awkwardly on their feet. “Each and every one of you was given a fresh, blank slate upon joining this crew. Why would Sirius be treated any differently?”
Muttered apologies fell on deaf ears. Sirius grinned at James, who smiled back when he met his gaze. He could always count on James. Always.
“I still need to know what happened,” Marlene said. “So I know what I need to look for if there is any lasting damage.”
The assault of memories at the reminder were painful, not near as painful as the event itself but a different kind of deep rooted pain that sent Sirius into defence mode, mind shutting down as his walls went up. “It’s fine. I checked already.”
“You’re a Heartrender.” Marlene reminded.
“Corproalki abilities are interchangeable. A Heartrender can heal, a Healer and Tailor, and so on.”
“You aren’t as thorough as me and you never will be.” Marlene said, crossing her arms.
“Sounds like,” interjected a smooth voice. Sirius’ eyes snapped over to a towering man leaning his back against the grand pole of the main mast. Sirius has never properly met this man and hasn’t seen his figure in quite some time but he was still able to tell who he was. Though, in all the times Sirius pictured the legendary Moony James talked so highly of, he never imagined the plethora of scars crisscrossing across his face and trailing under the neckline of his shirt. “Nothing happened at all, to me.”
Sirius let out a startled laugh that quickly evolved into a manic cackle. Every admirable thought Sirius had ever felt about Moony and his inventions were thrown off the ship, sinking deep into the rapidly growing waves of dislike. Every drawing he ever made theorizing about what Moony would look like, every hour spent pondering was a waste.
How fucking dare he.
“Sirius.” James said cautiously.
Sirius’ laughter cut off as abruptly as it started. He gave Moony a sharp, ruthless grin, every insane fibre of his family’s curse rushing to the surface as he tilted his head. “Nothing? Nothing?! How about I boil your blood and then you tell me it’s nothing.”
James inhaled sharply and gasps broke out throughout the crew. Marlene took a step forward, arms raised and Sirius’ hand flew to his dagger. She froze and James gestured for her to back away.
“Sirius,” James said quietly, holding out a hand. “Give me the dagger.”
Sirius’ fingers tightened protectively around the hilt and made no move to oblige.
“I know you don’t want to but it might be best, for the moment, while your first instinct is to hurt.”
Sirius’ gaze slid from Marlene to James. “If you think the fact that you have my dagger will stop me from causing harm, you’re delusional.”
“That says a lot about you.” Moony commented.
With the speed of a lightning strike, Sirius drew his dagger, resting it in his lap while still keeping a firm grip. All around him, weapons were drawn and a throwing star whipped across the deck, burying at least an inch deep into the meat of Sirius’ bicep.
Strangely, it was relieving. Stinging pain bloomed from the weapon, sending zips through his arm. Sirius didn’t know ships. He didn’t know privateers and crews and softness. He didn’t know how to be gentle, open and understanding. He didn’t know how he was supposed to react. But pain, Sirius knew pain. It was familiar. It was all he’s ever really known. It was home.
Everyone held their breath as Sirius eyed the weapon without even a hint of emotion in his expression. He didn’t wince or make even the smallest of sounds as he pried the metal from his skin, ignoring where his shirt was rapidly staining red. He looked at the star, turning it over to watch crimson droplets drip down and soak into the fabric of his trousers. Then, he looked up and met Moony’s eye. “I bet this says a lot more about you than it does me.”
“Doesn’t that hurt?” Asked the woman who’d informed James of his consciousness.
“Of course it hurts,” Sirius said with a scoff, tossing the star onto the deck. It had barely touched the wooden planks before it was zipping back to Moony’s hand, which he slipped into one of the pocket sheaths on his belt. “It’s a hunk of metal in my arm.“
The woman tried to get closer but James held up a hand. “Lily. Leave him.”
Lily made a displeased face, eyes focused on the wound, but stayed put.
Sirius rolled his eyes and flicked his wrist. The wound healed over and nothing but a thin scar remained, just another brushstroke on a full canvas.
In the silence that followed, two older folks joined the wide huddle. The man was a near copy of James, minus the skin tone. The woman, unmistakably Zemeni, held that same twinkle in her eye that James does. In her hands was a plate piled with food.
The man seemed to understand the severity of the situation much faster than his wife, pausing cautiously next to James, a hand on the pistol at his hip. The woman either didn’t notice or didn’t care, stepping forward anyways.
“Mum, don’t.” James said, reaching a hand out to clasp his mother’s wrist.
Mum. Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum. The word echoed around Sirius’ head, bouncing off the empty, cavernous walls as his mind went blank. He felt his blood run cold, especially as James’ mother shook off her son’s grip and turned back to him. Sirius didn’t believe the caring smile on her face, didn’t trust her gentle aura. It was fake, a facade. Walburga had tried that on him a couple times when he was younger, when he was five or six, but had given up quite quickly when it failed to work. Regulus was always more susceptible to things like that.
Sirius leaped to his feet and jumped a few steps back. Mrs. Potter paused in her slow approach and Sirius’ dagger clattered to the ground. Before he could even think about lungeing for it, his weapon snapped into Moony’s grasp, much like the throwing star.
Sirius’ hands began to shake, slight trembles he could feel in his soul. He tucked his hands into the small of his back, griping his own elbows until his knuckles turned white in a desperate attempt to hide the evidence. His thumbs pressed into his brachial pulse points, forcing his heartbeat steady. His shoulders pressed back, his chin raised and his emotions switched off.
The woman gently set the plate down on the bench and raised her hands, like trying to sooth a skittish animal, which wasn’t quite far off. “Sorry, my dear. I don’t mean to scare you. My name’s Euphemia, but you can call me Effie. I’m James’ mum and this is my husband, Fleamont, but you’d know him more as Sol. You skipped out on breakfast so I brought you some. Has James introduced you to everyone yet?”
Sirius blinked in confusion. She was giving him food? Why? Was it poisoned? Sol was an Alkemi, he knew that, so did Effie get him to spike it? He had just pulled his dagger out on everyone - not that she saw and he wasn’t planning to hurt anyone, it was just to prove a point but he did it nonetheless - and she was rewarding him?
He realized after a bough of awkward silence that she had asked a question and he slowly shook his head.
“James! Where are your manners?” Effie chastised, though she kept a smile on her face all the same. Sirius’ arms tensed as she raised a hand but all she did was ruffle James’ hair, even as he ducked out of the way and whined protests.
What? He was so confused. Realistically, Sirius knew he was abused at home. Hands had been brought down on him even though he hadn’t technically done anything wrong but…didn’t every parent do that?
“I was getting there, Mum, but it’s just been a very hectic few minutes.” James said.
Effie waved the very true excuse away and begun to list off every member of the crew and their Grisha order, if they had one.
When she stopped at Moony, she shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Remus, give the boy his dagger back.”
Moony - Remus - shifted on his feet, twirling the weapon between skilled fingers. “With all due respect, Effie, that’s not exactly the safest approach.”
Effie rolled her eyes. “He’s a soldier, Remus, whether he still serves his country or not. He’s just as dangerous with or without his dagger, as are you, and Arthur, and Gideon, and Mary, and so on. If you are going to be attacking him with throwing stars - and yes, I saw that, you know better - I think it’s only fair he keeps his own weapon.”
Remus’ jaw ticked and he glared viciously over at Sirius, who might’ve been intimidated under different circumstances. At this moment, however, Sirius has zero respect for the man and couldn’t care less about what he thought of him. And besides, Sirius has been pinned under far more withering gazes in his lifetime. Remus raised the dagger, aiming to throw it but at one pointed eyebrow raise from Effie, he muttered what Sirius assumed to be curses under his breath in Kerch and slid the weapon across the floor of the deck, propelled by his Fabricator touch.
Sirius stopped the dagger with his boot and tucked it under the weapon before kicking it up into his own hand. Remus rolled his eyes at the theatrics, especially when James gaped at him and demanded, “You need to teach me how to do that.”
Sirius grinned at him and slipped the dagger into its holster. “I’m sure we’ll find time.”
In the distance, the hour bell tolled second twelve bells and James snapped to attention. “Alright, everyone, we should’ve been out of here twenty minutes ago! Moony, you show Sirius around while I get us out of here before we’re fined. Everyone else, you know what you’re doing!”
“Aye!” Answered the crew.
Or, well, most of the crew. Remus scrunched up his nose in a way that described Sirius’ mood perfectly. “Really, Prongs? You couldn’t have tasked literally anyone else?”
James gave him a hard look. “You two are both my best friends. It’s important for the sake of the crew, yourselves and my sanity that you get along. Go, Moony.”
“Aye, Captain.” Remus grumbled and then James was sauntering away, barking orders and making his way behind the wheel.
Remus glared at Sirius a moment longer before reluctantly giving Sirius a tour, giving the most vague description of everything he could give.
It was…different. Well, obviously it was different, Sirius was used to towering walls and vaulted ceilings, uncomfortable dress clothes and gold-inlaid doors. The ship was nothing like that. Hell, there barely were doors to begin with. Everyone was sea ready and cramped tight onto one grand vessel that felt so fucking small, despite it being quite the opposite.
As they dipped into the crew cabin, Remus pointed to a hammock that Sirius noticed already had his bag dumped on it. “That one’s yours. Hopefully it satisfies your needs.”
Sirius slowly turned his head to meet Remus’ steely gaze with narrowed eyes. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Actually, I don’t, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked in the first place. So please, oh wise First Mate, enlighten me on why you despise me so much.”
Remus scoffed, crossing his arms. “You ooze pretentiousness. I’m just making sure the confined, ‘rough’,” he used air quotes. “Way of The Marauder was up to your high and mighty Second Army princess standards. If not, there’s always the option to run back to your filthy rich mummy and daddy.”
It took every ounce - every fragment - of self control Sirius possessed not to beat the living shit out of him. But he was James’ best mate, his own First Mate and Sirius was not his parents. He was more than their heir - hell, he wasn’t even that anymore -, more than their failed marionette. He could be more than a Black and he was determined to prove it. It was, however, a bit difficult when this fuckwad wouldn’t let it go.
“Leave my family out of this,” Sirius hissed, fists clenching at his sides and chest heaving with each enraged breath. “You don’t see me bringing up your past as a Ketterdam indenture, now do you?”
It was a low blow and the words felt metallic on his tongue, the taste of the premature bleeding he knew it would cause falling on his sharp tongue. Remus gave a whole body flinch, his eyes widening before Sirius saw him visibly shut down. The swirl of guilt curled in Sirius’ gut, aching harder than the flames of searing anger. Walburga used to do the same thing to Reggie, to him.
So much for improving.
“How do you know that?” Remus demanded slowly. Sirius watched as he flicked his wrist, a throwing knife falling into his palm from under his sleeve.
Sirius nodded at his collarbone, where his slightly unbuttoned shirt didn’t cover. “No matter how much you try to heal a tattoo, the scars will never fade. You can drain the ink out of it, sure, but that’s as best as you’ll ever get. No where else really uses tattoos and you curse like Kerch is your first language, which is strange for someone I’m assuming is Kaelish and Ravkan.“
“So it was a lucky guess. You had no way of truly knowing.” Remus shook his head with a dark chuckle, gaze murderous.
“A logical guess,” Sirius corrected. “A lone Durast in Ketterdam? Especially with how young you would’ve been, given when you joined James’ crew? Not as likely as someone picked up or sold to slavers and indentured to some gang.“
Remus tucked the knife under Sirius’ chin, sharp point pressing just enough against his Adam’s Apple that he could feel it, but not enough to break skin. “Tell anyone about this and no one will ever find your body.”
Sirius snorted. “Is that all you could come up with? Really? Surely the first mate of Prongs the Privateer should be able to procure more terrifying threats than that. I heard so much worse at the Little Palace which, contrary to your belief, was not all sunshine and rainbows. It’s a military school, for fucks sake.”
Moony dug the knife in deeper and Sirius swallowed a hiss, feeling blood trickle down his neck. “It’s luxury compared to the First Army, to here.”
Sirius gave him an furious look. “This is a ship, obviously it’s less luxurious. Are some of the living conditions unfair? Yes, I’ll be the first to admit that. But most soldiers don’t even stay at the Little Palace. They’re more stationed around Ravka, or along the borders, or even in Fjerda and Shu Han. The food is the same. The training is different but the First Army doesn’t need the special courses we do. The difference is the First Army isn’t prying eight-year-old children from their homes to turn them into soldiers.”
Remus’ eyes narrowed and Sirius could see him refusing to side with him, despite his logic being entirely correct. “From what I’ve seen, you personally don’t seem too upset about that last part.”
The sheer amount of audacity this man had in him made Sirius’ blood boil - figuratively, of course. He’s experienced the real thing once and never again. His power crackled between his finger tips like static, hands twitching with the desperate need to wipe the floor with Remus, First Mate and James’ best friend or not. Remus didn’t seem to realize just how dangerous the fire he was playing with was, just how hot it burned, just how much damage it would cause. Maybe he was prone to scars. It sure looked like it.
Instead, Sirius settled for turning away from the blade, despite the shallow cut he received in result, and throwing his body weight into shoving Remus’ hand away. Sirius wasn’t surprised when he heard a sharp snap and the knife went flying across the room. Remus doubled over in pain, clutching his very obviously broken wrist to his chest with a shout.
Immediately, Sirius heard the thump of footsteps running across the deck and Sirius crossed his arms in preperation. Remus stared at him, eyes wide as if he hadn't actually anticipated Sirius to fight back. Ha. Fuck you.
Marlene ran down the stairs, took one look at Remus' floppy hand and Sirius' injured neck and dragged them above deck.
"Wormtail, take the wheel!" James shouted the moment he saw them. Peter oblidged, abandoning his post as the bow of the ship(where, from what Sirius gathered from Remus' very brief explination, he was clearing away all the choppy waves for a smooth ride) and took James place. Once he was free, James sprinted down to where Marlene had seperated Sirius and Remus, forcing them on opposite ends of a bench - the same one from earlier - while she tended to Remus' wrist.
"You broke his wrist?" James said incredulously and Sirius ignored the urge to shrink under his disappointed gaze.
"He cut my throat first but I don't see you yelling at him." Sirius grumbled, crossing his arms.
"It was barely even a poke, you made it worse," Remus snapped. "And stop doing that, you look like a child."
"You're knife shouldn't have been anywhere near his throat." James reminded and Remus looked away.
James sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face and rubbing his temples. "What part of 'get along' meant attack each other? Again?"
“It wouldn’t happen if Mr. Tall, Dark and Broody over there could admit that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t the only one who’s gone through shit,” Sirius turned to glower at Remus. “You aren’t the only one with scars here, princess.”
Remus rolled his eyes at him. “You don’t need to flaunt your extensive Corporalki knowledge just to prove a point.”
Sirius blinked at him. “What?”
Remus stared at him, unimpressed, and used his good hand to gesture to Sirius’ face. “Tailoring scars just as you said that? Counterproductive, don’t you think?”
Sirius’ hand flew up to his jaw, gently tracing the raised line of a mark he had long forgotten, one Bellatrix had given him when she was babysitting when he was around nine. Oh. Without Regulus, everything that was usually buried beneath layers of expert Tailoring would slowly be dragged back to the surface, armour plates peeled away one by one until the full tale of Sirius Orion Black was on display for everyone to see. “This isn’t Tailoring. This is Tailoring wearing off.”
James eyed him carefully, maybe even a bit guiltily. “How much have I not seen? How much have I not noticed?”
Sirius chuckled lowly, without humour. “All of it.”
“You know a Tailor?” Marlene asked, stepping back now that she was finished and Remus flexed his newly healed hand.
Sirius’ gaze went dark and his shoulders bunched up around his ears. He could tolerate with the reminders of his cousins. Though he’d very much rather not, Sirius would have to deal with hints of his parents.
But Regulus?
No. Sirius wouldn’t think about how he left-
You did the right thing. They would’ve killed you.
But Regulus…you left him there, alone-
“Don’t talk about him.” Sirius snapped.
Marlene raised her hands in surrender.
James took a deep breath, crossing his arms. “This can’t keep happening. You two need to be civil. Can you manage that?”
Remus suddenly became very interested in his boots and Sirius busied himself with healing the slice across his throat and cleaning the blood from his skin.
“You will,” James demanded, voice taking on a firm and authoritative tone. “As your Captain, this is an order. I can’t have a crew that won’t work together. If you don’t learn to tolerate each other…well, let’s hope we don’t come to that.”
II: Evan
The Slat, Ketterdam
It’s been two weeks since Evan was shot and Barty has been near unbearable.
At first, it was endearing. Barty would ask the same grouping of questions - ‘are you okay? How’s the pain? Do you need anything? Food? Water? Blanket? Zar? Casper?’ - every hour or so. Sometimes he’d scatter them out over a duration of time, sometimes all at once. Before, Evan would give him a small, adoring smile and shake his head. He liked have someone dotting on him, coddling him, even if he felt a bit awkward about it a first. Mikael never gave two shits about him, not even when he’d caught a nasty flu when he was five.
Barty cared, though. Barty sat with him, read to him, played with his hair(Evan liked that part the most). His comfort was soft in a way that was so unlike Barty but perfectly him all the same. His presence was enough to warm his entire being, even in the chilled nights of Ketterdam. He was jittery, a bit skittish at times but that’s alright. Sometimes, Barty would just stare at him and Evan had to pretend the redness of his cheeks was due to the heat of his blanket, Zar lying on his legs and Barty’s proximity. It kind of backfired because Barty immediately gave him his personal space when Evan wanted nothing more than to drag him that slightest bit closer.
That, however, was when he was in pain and actually needed assistance. Now, he was confined to light work. His stitches had already been removed and Casper had cut back his dose of painkillers. Dorcas wouldn’t put him in the field - not that Casper or even Barty, for that matter, would let her do so if she wanted to. The most he was allowed to do was count the bills the Viper’s Den racked in. Barty still followed him everywhere, asking those same questions again and again and again. Evan was getting a bit sick of it. He was fine. A little banged up, still? Sure. A little sore? Well, yeah, he had been fucking shot. But he was fine.
Currently, Barty was driving him insane.
They were lying in Evan’s bed, as was routine, and Barty was next to him, a book in hand. It was of Ravkan folktales and myths(Pandora’s book) and Barty had already stopped four separate times throughout the six paged story about a dragon named Frightflame to ask him the same set questions.
When Barty paused again, closing the book slightly to look over at him, Evan rolled his eyes.
Barty squinted at him. “What? Are you-“
“If the next word out of your mouth is ‘okay,’ you’ll be the one recovering from a gunshot wound.” Evan snapped.
At the foot of the bed, Zar’s head shot up. He took one look at the two of them before he launched himself off the bed and slipped out the door. Evan heard his claws tap against the floor as he retreated, presumably to Pandora’s room or, if she was out, Casper’s.
Barty raised an eyebrow. “What’s your problem?”
“Never mind, forget it.” Evan grumbled, slouching further down the bed.
Barty gently tossed the book on the floor, as it was Pandora’s and destroying her things was like kicking a puppy. A very cute, very deadly puppy. He scooted down so he was eye level with Evan and propped his head up on his hand, elbow digging into the sheets. “What is it? C’mon, tell me. Is your arm-“
“My arm is fine, Barty,” Evan said, glaring over at him. “As it has been every single time you’ve asked in the past few days.”
Barty’s eyes went hard. “I am trying to help you, my rose.”
“And as much as I appreciate it - and I do, really - I’m not fucking glass. I am fine. If I wasn’t, I’d tell you.”
“Would you, though?” Barty demanded, sitting up. “Would you really? I know you, Evan Rosier. You don’t ask for help. You think you can do everything yourself.”
Evan scoffed. “No, I don’t.”
“You do,” Barty insisted. “The first couple missions Cas sent you on, you despised the fact that I had to go with you because you had no fucking idea where you were or how to even speak the language.”
“You knocked me out the moment we met, sorry for being cautious.” Evan spat.
“Oh please, spare me the sarcasm. If you were me, a Heartrender, who just ran into you, a drüskelle, you would’ve done exactly what I did.”
“Ex-düskelle.” Evan corrected sharply.
Barty rolled his eyes. “How was I supposed to know that?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who claims to know everything about me.”
“Yeah, now. And you do think you can do everything yourself. You were saying you were fine the moment you woke up, despite the fact that you very much were not. You were fucking shot.”
“You’re delusional. I don’t think I can do everything myself.”
“Don’t try to lie to me. Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s useless to lie to a Heartrender? We can always tell.”
“Take a walk, Crouch,” Evan said with a scowl. “All this time cooped up in the Slat has messed with your head. Get some air, for fuck’s sake.”
“Y’know what? Fine!” Barty said, standing up and stepping back towards the door. “You want me to leave? I’ll go. Have fun being a fucking loner.”
Barty then slammed the door shut, the sound of his angry, stomping footsteps on the rickety stairs thumping away.
Evan tried desperately not to think about how much darker the room got. He tried to ignore the suffocating silence, the dull energy weaving through the air. It was fine. He was fine. This was what he wanted; to be alone. To not have someone asking if he was okay every five minutes. This was fine.
Evan turned onto his good side and sighed, staring blankly at a spot on the wall in hopes that sleep would creep up on him.
Not even two minutes later, Barty was throwing the door open, face pale. Evan sat up quickly, heart speeding up. Was everything alright? Was Mulciber here? Did he retaliate against The Viper’s Den?
It turned out to be none of those things as Barty threw himself onto the bed and pressed his ear to Evan’s chest. Evan tensed, mouth dry. Yes, Barty has always been physically affectionate, especially in these past two weeks, but this…this was different. Barty clenched the fabric of Evan’s shirt in a desperate grip, knuckles white. His chest heaved and Evan felt shaky breaths fan over his skin, felt the slight rattle trembling through his body.
Evan frowned and his heart panged. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around Barty, a hand delving into the brown and green curls. He tried to focus on the situation rather than how fucking right it felt to have Barty curled into him, like the space was carved just for him. “B? What’s wrong?”
Barty was silent for a moment and just before Evan was about to ask again, he whispered, “I almost watched you die.”
Evan made a small noise. “I’m alright. You saved me.”
“What if I hadn’t?” Barty’s voice wavered. “What if I couldn’t slow the bleeding? What if I hadn’t been fast enough? I would’ve lost you.”
Evan felt the fabric of his shirt begin to dampen and Barty sniffled. “Don’t cry, B. Please don’t cry. I can’t handle it. I’m fine, I promise I’m fine. Don’t worry yourself about what could’ve been.”
Then, quieter than anything Barty has probably ever said, a whisper of a whisper, so small it could be swept away by something as simple as an exhale, “It would’ve been my fault.”
And, no. Evan would not have it. The crying he would have to deal with, even though it made him want to burn the world. But Barty blaming himself in a way that was so unlike him, Evan was tempted to believe he had been possessed by the ghosts of Black Veil?
No. Never.
Evan gripped Barty’s chin in a firm grip, tilting his head up. Wet, red-rimmed chestnut eyes met firm, clear blue ones. Evan wiped away the slow dripping tears with a steady swipe of his thumb, rubbing gently into the soft skin of Barty’s cheek. “Listen to me, Barty Crouch Jr. Everything that happened in the AK that night and after, what did and could’ve happened, was not your fault. We are two men who were on a job that went badly. It happens, it’s written on the contract. You did everything right. Should I have died,” Barty whimpered at the word. “It would’ve been a cruel act of the fates, not because of you. Don’t you ever say otherwise.”
Barty stared at him, eyes wide and lips parted. Evan felt the heat of his slight pants over his lips and he swallowed, face heating up as he took in their proximity. He couldn’t help himself as his eyes fluttered down, fixated on Barty’s chapped and bleeding lips. Evan had thought about those lips - kissing them, biting them, caressing them - many, many times in the past two years, among other things. He’s never been this close, though, and trying to resist the urge to lean in was like attempting to keep two high strength magnets from snapping together.
Near impossible.
And with Barty staring at him, looking like the textbook definition of temptation with his ruffled hair and wide eyes, Evan didn’t stand a fucking chance.
Evan dropped his hand to Barty’s neck and dragged him in. There weren’t sparks, it wasn’t like some of the stories Evan’s had read to him in the past two weeks. This was an explosion of literal years of pent up emotion. It was desperate as Evan tried to fulfill hundreds of fantasies in a few, small seconds before Barty pulled away and cut him off forever. It was rough, as everything with Barty tended to be, and Evan wouldn’t have it any other way.
Barty stiffened in his hold and Evan took that as his cue to back off. His cheeks were red as he cleared his throat. “Sorry, I shouldn’t’ve done that-“
Barty cut him off as he surged forward, reconnecting their lips with vigour. Evan made a pleased noise in the back of his throat and had to swallow a pathetic moan as Barty tugged on his hair. Evan’s hands came down to grip his hips hard enough he knew he’d leave bruises behind. Barty keened and broke them apart. Evan tried to chase after him but Barty dipped his head into the column of his throat and fucking attacked. Evan let out a little groan, head falling back and banging against the wall, not that either of them cared.
Casper, however, who Evan saw standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, did.
“B,” Evan panted, eyes wide as he tugged on Barty’s hair to pry him from his skin. “B, stop.”
Barty paused and glanced up. He followed Evan’s gaze and jumped away, landing awkwardly on his feet and tumbling to the floor. His head popped up from behind the mattress moment later. “Heyyyyyy Ghosty, how long have you been standing there?”
“I don’t think it matters how long.” Evan hissed at him.
Casper signed his answer anyways. Long enough. I recommend no vigorous activities until your arm is fully healed. And please refrain from giving yourself brain damage. I may have been able to heal a bullet wound but I’m rather useless when it comes to neurological issues.
Suddenly, Zar was sprinting into the room, Pandora right behind him, still dressed in her ‘stealth clothes,’ as she called them. She ripped the mask and tossed the hood off her head. “We heard crashing. Is everyone okay?”
Casper gave them a devious grin and gestured at Evan’s neck. I think they’re more than okay.
Pandora squinted and then gasped, hand flying to cover her mouth as she began to bounce on the balls of her feet. She gestured between Evan and Barty excitedly. “Did you two- did he- was-“
Evan dragged a hand down his face with a sigh. “Yes, it’s his fault.”
Barty smirked. “You liked it.”
Evan met his sly gaze and quickly looked away, clearing his throat as he crossed his arms. “No comment.”
Pandora shrieked in delight, nearly drowned out by Zar’s enthusiastic barks. Zar leaped onto the bed, worming his way under Evan’s arms and into his lap, licking at his face. Evan laughed and didn’t even try to stop him, long since accustomed to it. As quick as Zar had jumped at him, he zipped away and sprang at Barty, giving him the same treatment.
“What’s all this fucking noise about?” Dorcas demanded, her voice carrying down the hall until she appeared in the doorway.
Evan and Barty got their shit together. Casper signed, since no one else was in a fit state to answer.
Dorcas snorted. “Fucking finally. You two shitheads took your sweet time with it, drove me insane.”
Evan glanced back at Barty. “We weren’t that bad, were we?”
Dorcas barked a laugh. “Sure, Rosier. Sure.”
III: Regulus
3 January
The Little Palace
“Black! Black! Oh, fuck you, I know you can hear me! Regulus Black- don’t you dare speed up! Come talk to me!”
Regulus has been at the Little Palace for all of three minutes and he’s already being heckled. Great, exactly what he needs after these past few days.
Walburga glanced over her shoulder and scowled. Her chilling gaze, so cold it could rival a Fjerdan winter, fell onto him. “Be quick. Don’t tell them anything.”
Regulus nodded sharply and she turned, walking off towards the Great Hall with Orion. He stopped walking and waited until, eventually, Amelia Bones stood in front of him, flanked by her twin brother and their friends, Emmeline Vance and Zarah Zabini.
“Fucking finally,” Amelia grumbled. “What, can’t talk to anyone without Mummy’s permission?”
Yes. “What do you want, Bones?” Regulus demanded, eyes narrowed.
Don’t say it. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it.
“Where’s Sirius?” Edgar asked.
Regulus’ shoulders tightened. You fucking said it. “Not here.”
“Yeah, well we can see that,” Emmeline said with a roll of her eyes. “So if he’s not here, where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Amelia glared at him. “The fuck you mean you don’t know? He’s your brother.”
Stop. Stop asking me. Please. “Do you need anything else?
“We need you to tell us where Sirius is because, I don’t know about you but to me, Sirius Black, loyal as a fucking dog, doesn’t seem like the type of guy to brand himself a deserter.” Zarah snapped.
Regulus barked a laugh, as dark and cruel as his name suggested, as vicious as he would need to be from now on, lest the Death Eaters eat him alive. “Then you didn’t know him at all.”
A deadly pause.
“Didn’t?” Edgar said slowly and Regulus stiffened. “As in…past tense?”
“Is he alive?” Zarah demanded.
Flashes of Sirius writhing on the ground, the same ones that had haunted him again and again the past few days, flickered rapidly through Regulus’ head and he blinked them away. “Yes.”
Emmeline stared at him. “But you don’t know where he is?”
He’s with James fucking Potter galavanting across the sea. Regulus thought bitterly and the onslaught of stinging pain sprouting from the ugly, rotting hole in his chest was overwhelming. “Stop. Stop asking me questions. Sirius,” Regulus nearly gagged on the name he’s been unable to say. “Isn’t here and he isn’t coming back. Deal with it.”
Before any of them could force him to choke on more questions, he turned and rushed down the corridor.
“Woah, Regulus, are you okay?” Narcissa asked when he nearly crashed into her just outside the Great Hall.
“Just grand, Cissa. Fucking perfect because that’s just how life is, all the time.” Regulus grumbled.
She raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’re mad at the world, I get it, but I haven’t done shit.”
Regulus rubbed at his temples. “I know. You’re the only one who's really on my side.”
Narcissa hummed. “You’ve got Rodolphus and Rabastan.”
He gave her a bland look. “Well they haven’t exactly lost a sibling, have they?”
She winced. “Guess not.”
A heavy weight slammed itself around Regulus’ shoulder, a hand gripped around his throat and squeezing, effectively snuffing all instinctual efforts to just fucking throw whoever dared to touch him. Regulus clawed at the hand and a high pitched giggle sounded in his ear.
“Bella,” Narcissa sighed. “Let him go.”
Surprisingly, Bellatrix complied and Regulus gasped. She did, however, keep her arm around him and shoved her face between him and Narcissa, who was in a similar predicament. “Why are you two hanging out out here? You do know the food is on the other side of the doors, right?”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “Obviously we know that.”
Bellatrix squeezed his throat again in a manner than could only be described as…affectionate? “Silly little Reggie. Let’s go in, hm? I'm starving.”
Regulus glanced over and raised a brow at the obvious purple splotch on the side of her neck. “I bet you are.”
“Are you in Rodolphus finally getting along?” Narcissa asked.
Bellatrix scowled and the air around her seemed to darken. “No. Never. You’re lucky I love you, Cissy, or I might’ve just killed you for that.”
She laughed again and Narcissa watched, eyes downcast.
As selfish as it may seem, Regulus was glad he wasn’t Narcissa. Abandoned by a lover, abandoned by a sister and forced to watch the other turn into something unrecognizable.
“Let’s go.” Regulus said and Bellatrix eagerly dragged them forward.
Fortunately, Bellatrix let them go the minute the door opened and led the way down the tables, sauntering to where the rest of the Blacks had gathered and plopping herself down next to her father. Narcissa and Regulus followed with much less enthusiasm. She took the seat between Aunt Druella and, much to her chagrin, Lucius, and Regulus sat next to Walburga.
“Tell me what the Squaller wanted.” Walburga ordered before he had even properly settled.
Regulus swallowed thickly, contemplating his answer. He couldn’t lie, they’d pick up on it immediately, and he couldn’t say anything relating to his brother without setting Walburga - everyone, really - on edge. Eventually, he settled on, “Nothing worth mentioning.”
Walburga narrowed her eyes and Regulus held his breath. “She seemed quite insistent for something insignificant.”
“That’s Squallers for you.” Regulus replied, fingers twitching with the need to pick at themselves. Please buy it. Please buy it. Please, please, please.
Across the table, Uncle Cygnus snorted. “Damn right.”
Walburga gave him one last scrutinizing look before she relented. “Fine.”
Regulus let out a little breath, a minuscule amount of tension seeping out of his shoulders.
Dinner carried on exactly as Regulus remembered it, an array of pickled herring and bland potatoes that made him contemplate starving. Mindless chatter he never bothered to tune into echoed all around him, mixed in the deafening, excruciating cacophony of grating cutlery. Regulus ate, lost in his own little world where thoughts didn’t exactly exist, until a gentle gust of Squaller wind wooshed down the table, accompanied by the fragile fluttering of envelopes.
Regulus went pale as a letter settled in front of him. There’s no way Bones could’ve reported him for anything, right? People stared, especially his parents, but he tried his best to ignore them. With a slight tremble, Regulus picked up the smooth envelope and peeled off the wax seal, stamped with the official crest of Ravka.
Dear Mr. Black,
I invite you to join me in my office after dinner. I apologize for disrupting your first night back, but it is rather urgent.
Signed,
Minerva McGonagall, Inferni General of the Second Army.
Walburga plucked the letter easily from his fingers, locking his wrist in her tight grasp when his instinct was to grab it back. Her eyes zipped across the page as she read the short but terrifying message before fixing him with a dangerous glare. “What did you do?”
“Mother, I swear I didn’t do-”
Walburga cut off his frantic babbling by tightening her grip, sharp nails parting skin with ease. She didn’t seem to care as his blood stained her fingers, instead repeating lowly, “What did you do?”
“I don’t know.” Regulus whispered desperately, a borderline whine.
Across the table, Narcissa cleared her throat. Walburga’s gaze snapped over to her, murderous and, for a second, Regulus was worried his cousin was done for. He was worried that maybe she’d be littered of cuts and bruises everyone would expect him to hide, ones he wouldn’t be able to, even if he tried. Which he wouldn’t, too paralyzed by the fear of causing permanent damage to even consider attempting it.
“If it helps,” Narcissa said, so calm for someone under that glare, the very one Regulus intimately knew how small, how insignificant, how scared it could make you feel. She held up her own letter with a similar block text expertly inked into the page. “I also got one.”
Walburga stared at her for a moment and Narcissa just blinked back at her, indifferent. She let go of Regulus, throwing his arm none to gently down on the table. She picked up her fork and continued eating like nothing had ever happened.
Regulus pulled his arm under the table, subtly healing the indents of his mother’s fingernails before too much blood seeped out. He took a napkin and cleaned up his wrist before attempting to at nonchalant. He tried not to think about it, tried to carry on as unperturbed as Walburga seemed but he didn’t even have to ask to know he was failing miserably. He pushed his food around his plate without ever taking a bite. Periodically, his leg would begin to bounce under the table. Sometimes, he’d stop himself as soon as it started. Others, Bellatrix gave him annoyed looks from across the table.
When dinner let out, Regulus felt moments away from emptying his already empty stomach on the intricate, lavish tiled floors. Narcissa walked with him, her hands clasped behind her back as she led the way.
Pacing outside the General’s office with his arms crossed was the literal last person Regulus expected to see(well, not the last but close enough).
Narcissa blinked at him in surprise. “Dolohov?”
Antonin Dolohov whirled on his feet to face them, eyes wide with surprise. His kefta, which Regulus could easily deduce as his red one, was half-unbuttoned, nearly falling off his shoulders. His skin-tight shirt left nothing to the imagination and Regulus had to consciously keep his gaze fixated on Antonin’s face. His left eye skittered around, wandering outwards and flicking back to its abnormal placing; his punishment determined by merzost. “Blacks? What are you doing here?”
Regulus lifted his letter. “Same as you, I imagine.”
Narcissa glanced between the two of them. “What do the three of us have in common that would be worthy of an urgent summons?”
Antonin raised a brow at her and Regulus pointedly stared at her left forearm.
Narcissa rolled her eyes. “It wouldn’t be that. What else?”
Before another guess could be thrown out between them, the door swung open and the General stood before them. Regulus straightened, arms clasped behind his back and his mouth ran dry.
He’s heard of Minerva McGonagall before(obviously, she’s his fucking General) and observed from a distance. He’s seen the greying hairs and bright blue kefta, gold rings stitched around her biceps to show her importance to the Second Army. Or, he had, back when those were things he could see. He’s seen her dead centre of the table for the higher ups in the Great Hall, seen her walking to and from the Grand Palace, seen her make speak in the Announcment Hall but never up close. From here, Regulus can see all the stress lines years of commanding an army has imprinted on her face. He can practically taste her authority and her stern gaze feels like a scalpel on his skin, peeling back layers of his soul until nothing but is true, vulnerable intentions and emotions are on view for all to see.
He doesn’t like it.
“Mr. Black, Ms. Black and Mr. Dolohov. Come in, please.” The General said smoothly, stepping away to allow them entry. She didn’t even look over her shoulder as she walked over to her desk, trusting they would follow her without a shadow of a doubt(which they did but that’s not the point).
Antonin claimed one of the plush chairs across the gleaming wooden desk without even bothering to offer it to either Black. Regulus rolled his eyes. For a man from a family with such high standards, his manners were abysmal.
General McGonagall cleared her throat and crossed her hands over the desk after Regulus had to practically force Narcissa into the other chair. “As you three know, the Tailor of the Second Army, Caradoc Dearborn, went missing just as the winter holidays had begun. Naturally, this has caused a gap in our patrols and a few soldiers need to reassigned. As of this moment, you two, Mr. Dolohov and Ms. Black, currently patrol Sevedar, one of Ravka’s most northern civilizations, only five kilometres from the Fjerdan border, correct?”
Narcissa and Antonin both nod their affirmative.
“As of two weeks from now, Mr. Dolohov will be reassigned to take over Mr. Dearborn’s patrol around Os Alta.”
Regulus watched Antonin’s eyes go hard. Closer to Os Alta means there’s more people of power to watch him, who might witness anything the Dark Lord could assign him. He’d be going from perhaps one of the easiest Death Eaters to send on missions to one of the hardest.
Regulus shifted on his feet. He has no idea why he’s here. He’s no where near field ready and even if he was, he has another six years before he’s reached the age requirement.
McGonagall paused and stared at him. “Have you got a question, Mr. Black.”
Antonin glared up at him, unimpressed.
“Sorry, General, but I’m just unsure as to why I’m here.” Regulus said quickly, picking at his nails.
General McGonagall winced. “Yes. Well, by moving Mr. Dolohov, we've created an open space in Sevedar and, as per the King’s personal request,” a burning rage lit in her eye. “That spot shall be filled by you.”
Regulus’ mouth dropped open and a chill ran down his spine. Antonin shouted an enraged, ‘what?!’ and next to him, Narcissa gasped.
“With all due respect, General, he’s only fifteen.” Narcissa said.
General McGonagall’s jaw ticked. “Which is exactly what I told the King but, when it comes down to it, his word overrides mine.”
“Why?” Regulus blurted and the General raised an eyebrow at him, guesturing for him to continue. “Why me? Of everyone in the Second Army, why me?”
General McGonagall sighed. “I’m not sure, Mr. Black, but I'm sure he has his reasons.”
Regulus swallowed and nodded. “Right.”
“This is bullshit!” Antonin cried, standing abruptly from his seat. Regulus flinched as he threw his hands in the air. “I am a decade older than he is! I waited ages to get where I am and some fucking child comes in and steals it?!”
“Mr. Dolohov,” General McGonagall said sharply. “If you’re a decade older, stop acting like you are the child. You are a soldier and any good one would know that this is out of my hands. Any good one would take it with dignity instead of throwing a temper tantrum in the presence of his General.”
Antonin snapped his mouth shut and clenched his fists furiously at his sides.
“Mr. Black, the first week Ms. Black and Mr. Dolohov will be responsible for showing you the ins and outs of Sevedar, as well as your patrol path. The second week, Mr. Dolohov will watch you from a distance and after that, you'll be on your own. Though, on weekends, you'll be brought back to the Little Palace to participate in your classes and someone will take over for you,” General McGonagall explained. “Any other information shall be provided tomorrow morning when you leave. You’re dismissed.”
Antonin stormed out of the room without another word. Narcissa stood slower and began to gently lead Regulus, who was lost in his own head at the onslaught of information, out by his arm.
“Mr. Black,” General McGonagall called just before he slipped out the room. “One last question.”
Regulus looked back over his shoulder, blinking slowly. “Yes, General?”
“The older Mr. Black. Is he alright?”
Regulus stared at her. She met his gaze steadily. She knows. She didn't bother asking where he was and Regulus couldn’t feel more grateful for it. “Yes.”
General McGonagall nodded sharply and Regulus saw the faintest glimmer of relief flicker through her eye. “Thank you. You may leave.”