Run For Cover

SIRIUS

“I found them,” James' words woke Sirius from a pleasant doze. He lifted his head up from the stack of files he had used as a pillow and blinked through the dim light of the candles surrounding them.

Technically, they were not allowed to light open fire here, but the archives of the Ministry were supposed to a have an automatic heatless lightening charm, which did not work at the moment. So after half an hour of Lumos Maxima, Sirius had lost his nerves and gotten the candles. The archive could burn down for all he cared.

“Sirius, did you hear me?” James asked, sounding utterly annoyed. Sirius gave him a evil glare. James had no right to be annoyed. Yes, he had also been yelled at by Crouch for half an hour, being told that he was embarrassment for the Ministry, absolutely useless and if he didn't capture the two suspects within a week, he could clear his desk. But at least he had been somewhat dignifiedly trapped inside a quarantine-sphere when they escaped. He was not the one who had been fooled by a muggleborn and a wandless werewolf. Well, not so wandless anymore. Sirius didn't even want to think about what his mother would say if he, Sirius, confessed to her that he had lost the ancient wand that had been passed in his family for generations to a scrawny half-human. Well, to a muggleborn acutally, which was not better at all.

“You're such a prick,” James stated, dropping a file on Sirius head and sitting down next to him with another one, “Stop sulking and look, I have found them. Lily Evans and Remus Lupin.”

Sirius gave him another grumpy look and opened up the file. It was just a booklet, really, a few sheets of parchment stuffed into a folder. Lily Jane Evans, it read. Born 1960. Attending Hogwarts School from 1971 to 1978. She must have been one of the last muggleborns graduating from Hogwarts, before the Act of Control and Registration of Magic, which excluded muggleborn witches and wizards from public education, had been entered into force as from 1979.

Sirius skimmed over the file. Lily Evans had only been registered by the Ministry twice, the first time when she got issued a caution attending a protest for the International Witches Right Foundation, and the second time when she did not answer the request to verify her blood-status.

Last notice delivered 15 May 1985, a short note read under this entry. Person of interest is a suspected muggle-born. And then, on the next line: Person of interest has not been come across at the registered address. Warrant of arrest has been filed.

The only other things in the file were a copy of Lily Evans Hogwarts diploma, and a picture. It must have been a few years old, as Lily was still wearing her Hogwarts robes on it. She was smiling brightly at the camera, waving from time to time. On her chest sparkled a patch reading Head Girl and she was proudly holding a certificate with the title Hogwarts 1977 Brewing Competition. She had gotten first place.

“I didn't know muggleborns could be Head Girls,” Sirius mused, handing James the picture and studying Lilys diploma. She had gotten top marks.
James shrugged. “Other times, I guess,” he answered, examining the picture. “Here, let's swap.”

Sirius gave him Lilys file and received a noticeably heavier one in return.

“Remus John Lupin, born 10 March 1960,” Sirius read aloud. Then he blinked. “He attended Hogwarts too?” he asked in surprise. “Salazar, they took everyone there, didn't they?”
“Our parents surely knew what they were doing when they had us home-schooled,” James agreed, still looking at Lilys picture.

Sirius went back to studying the file. There weren't any pictures in Lupins file, but a lot more listings than in Lilys. 31 October 1979, Theft of Potion Ingredients (worth: 6 sickles) from a Pharmacy in Conwy,Wales.10 December 1979, Filed for camping in Public Space, Nocturn Alley, London. Sirius blinked. “He was homeless.”

“No surprise there,” James answered thoughtfully. “Aren't most werewolves?”
“I suppose,” Sirius murmured and scanned down the list of fines and admonishments. Public camping, small thefts, fare evasion in the Knight Bus and illicit employment at a shop called The Magical Menagerie.

“No violent felonies,” Sirius said aloud.
James looked up from his file. “As a human, you mean.”

Sirius blinked, then nodded. For a moment he had forgotten that the tall, scrawny guy with the anxious smile and the sad eyes turned into a flesh-eating monster once a month.

“Is he even on records for being a werewolf?” James asked, flipping with his wand and summoning a big book from an archive shelf.
Sirius looked through Lupins file. “Yes,” he said, frowning. “He was accused of it at least. By – oh,” Sirius gulped and looked up. “By his own father.”

James sighed, then shrugged. “It was the right thing to do. He is a danger to the public.”
“Yeah,” Sirius agreed thoughtfully. “Still tough.”
James gave him a sympathetic look. “Families are tough sometimes.”
“Tell me about it,” Sirius answered dryly and closed Remus Lupins file. “At least I can be sure that my mother would never officially report me as a werewolf.”

James looked surprised. “She wouldn't?”
“Oh no,” Sirius snorted. “She'd drown me in private and then tell everyone I died during a tragic accident or something.”

James half-laughed, half-sighed. “Lovely,” he said, opening the heavy tome he had summoned and scanning over a few pages. Then his face lightened up.

“I have something to cheer you up,” he said, pushing the book over the table towards Sirius. “We can leave now. I know what we will be doing tomorrow.”
Sirius frowned and looked down at the dusty pages. It was a register of muggle addresses. “Parents visit?”

“Parents visit,” James assured and gave him a bright smile.

LILY

To stay that her sister hadn't been exited to see her would be an understatement. If looks could kill, Lily would have been dying a slow but certain death right now. Remus however, who's sight made Petunia shudder in horror when he had appeared next to Lily on the door step an hour ago, would have dropped dead on the spot. But Lily had ignored her sisters shrill complaints about bringing the homeless into our house and forced Remus and herself into the neat entry hall of of Privet Drive Number Twelve.

“How long will you stay?” Petunia asked now from where she was leaning against her surgically clean kitchen counter, arms crossed and face as sour as the lemons embroidered on her flouncy apron.

“Don't know yet,” Lily answered casually. Remus was sitting next to her at the table, eating his third plate of stew, unbothered by Petunias death glares. Outside they could hear her husband cursing loudly about cadging relatives and unemployed welfare cases. He had wanted to kick them back out right when they arrived, but Petunia had ground her teeth and grumbled “'S alright, Vernon.”

“Can you lend us some muggle clothes, Tuney?” Lily asked now and saw her sister flinch when she heard the old nickname.
“I guess so,” Petunia snarled. “I should have some old things for you. But I don't think Vernons old clothes will fit your – boyfriend.” She gave Remus an accusatory look, as if his manly charms had lead her innocent little sister astray into a world of magic and homelessness.

“He is not my boyfriend,” Lily answered casually, warming her hands at the cup of tea in front of her. “We just fuck sometimes.”

This sent Remus into coughing fit, causing him to spray pieces of stew over the tabletop. Lily calmly patted him on the back, ignoring the disgusted look her sister gave them as she left the kitchen.

It had not even been a complete lie, but wildly exaggerated. They had tried to have sex once, a few weeks ago, when they had been at an exceptionally low point. It hadn't worked though, and they had talked afterwards and decided that being partners in crime was enough, they didn't need to be partners in bed too. Lily had been surprised that Remus had even wanted to try, as the only affairs he had ever talked about had been with guys. Maybe that had been part of the problem.

“Why do you try to hurt her so much?” Remus asked now, giving her a severe look over his plate of stew. Lily shrugged.
“She's narrow-minded,” she answered, playing with her teaspoon. “And she criticises everything I do.”
“She let us in, didn't she?” Remus asked. He looked tired, even after the healing at St. Mungos and the meal. Lily suddenly remembered that he hadn't slept since he transformed back into his human form.
“I'm her sister,” Lily answered. “That was the least she could do.”
“My father wouldn't have,” Remus murmured. Lily caught his gaze and sighed, leaning against his shoulder to console him.

Petunia, who must have rematerialised out of thin air, cleared her throat loudly, starling them both.

“One night,” she said sourly, slamming a laundry basket full of old clothes on the kitchen table. “And you sleep in separate rooms.”

SIRIUS

When Sirius grouchily strolled through the high doors of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, he was already twenty minutes late for his mothers birthday dinner. Originally, he had planned on skipping it completely, especially because his usual excuse – too much work at the Ministry – would have actually been true this time. But when he and James had reached the Potters home, which they shared as room mates since James' parents died two years ago, a tawny owl with big eyes and puffy feathering had waited in their kitchen. Don't you dare leave me alone with our family, Reggie had written and in the next line crudely reminded Sirius how he (Regulus) had once covered up for him (Sirius) drinking half a gallon of absinthe and then puking in their mothers pearl casket.

Sirius had cursed his blackmailing shit of a little brother and changed into a black cape with emerald-green lining, causing James to snort and calling him a cheese ball. Sirius had rolled his eyes at him and apparated to London with a raised middle finger.

“Master Sirius, Sir,” the Blacks old house-elf, Kreacher, screeched and almost fell over his own feet trying to catch the travel coat Sirius had just dropped over his shoulders. “What a pleasure that you could make it, Sir! Your mother will be so happy!”

“Of course she will,” Sirius sighed and took the glass of brandy the elf was handing him from under the weight of the travel coat. He emptied it in one large gulp and gave the entry hall a once-over, trying to stall. Unfortunately, the dark and gloomy hall could hardly cheer him up. If he, Sirius, would inherit the place, it would need a full renovation. These amounts of green velvet and silver snake symbols were downright tacky. It looked like Salazars arsehole in here.

“Then up I go,” Sirius sighed and gave the house elf a side-eyed look. “You look like shit, Kreacher.”
“Thank you, Sir”, the elf piped as Sirius climbed the mahogany staircase.

When Sirius entered the dining room, the atmosphere was just as icy as expected. And – even worse – there was even more family present than he had feared. Not only his brothers pale face was turned to look at him, also his three cousins were lounging in uncomfortable ebony chairs, as well as his uncle Alphard (who looked as displeased to be here as Sirius felt) and his aunt Druella, who was sitting next to -

Sirius quickly looked away. That's what he got for listening to his little brother.

“You are late!” the accusatory voice of his mother echoed from the opposite end of the long dinner table and made the candelabras cling.
“I'm sorry,” Sirius answered, rushing past the table full of unwelcome family members and leaning down to kiss his mothers hand. “I was delayed at the ministry.”

Walburga lifted a thin, black eyebrow, but didn't comment. Sirius was sure that she would have found some quite clear words, if they had been alone, but one didn't cause a scene in front of the family. Sirius, utilizing his advantage fully, gave her a bright smile. “Forgive me please?” he asked and tilted his head just the smallest bit.

When his mother was young, she had been considered quite a beauty, Sirius knew. He had been told that his father, Orion Black, proposed to her the very night they met, charmed by her beautiful face (even though Sirius suspected the quick proposal rather to be the result of marriage arrangements between two mighty pureblood families). But age and alcoholism hadn't been kind to Walburga. Her pale skin stretched like thin paper over her skull and the precious dress she was wearing had been tightened twice to fit her meagre figure. And Sirius knew all too well that the luscious black curls on her head belonged to a wig.

“Sit down then,” Walburga answered now, dismissing him with a sharp gesture. “At least you had Regulus hand me your present beforehand.”

“Yes, am I not very organised?” Sirius asked good-humoredly, dropping into the chair next to his brother and giving him a bright grin.
“You are indeed,” Regulus agreed. The corner of his mouth was twitching and he looked away quickly. Sirius would have to ask him later what his present had been and how much he owed him for it.

“And how is your incredibly important work at the Auror Office going, dear cousin?” Bellatrix asked from across the table. She was wearing a black lace dress that left not much to the imagination and her curly black hair was piled on her head like a nest of vipers.

“It's going great actually, Bella,” Sirius answered, leaning back to let Kreacher serve him soup and accepting a glass of wine from Regulus. “It's such a nice feeling being useful, you know? Oh, by the way, how is the housewife-thing going? Did you find new curtains for the bathroom yet?”

“I am not a housewife,” Bellatrix hissed angrily, clenching her hands with the long nails around her goblet.
“Oh, you are not?” Sirius poked, taking a sip of wine which rose straight to his head to join the effect of the brandy from earlier. “Let me congratulate you! Where have you started working?”
“I have not – I am not -” Bellatrix stuttered, her dark eyes glistering of hatred. Sirius was enjoying himself surprisingly well for a family dinner.

“Sirius, enough,” Narcissa said reproachfully and covered her sisters hand with her own. Her white-blonde hair was sleek and shining and her dress high-necked and elegant. Sirius assumed if you were one of three quite good-looking sisters, you had to find your niche.

“I have just tried to make conversation,” Sirius said innocently and took a spoon-full of soup. “How nice that you joined us, Lucius,” he added then.

The tall man next to Narcissa turned to look at him. Lucius Malfoy, son of the officiating Minister for Magic, had been one of the most sought-after bachelors of the wizarding community for years. And then last year, Narcissa had cast her nets and brought the big fish home. Her trophy had been a shiny silver engagement ring of her finger and the envy of every young pureblood witch in England, which she enjoyed a lot.

“I was really happy about the invitation,” Lucius answered slickly. He always said the right thing, which bored Sirius to death.

“Of course you were,” Walburga answered shortly, letting Kreacher clear up her untouched soup plate. “To join a Black family dinner is an honour.”
“It is, Ma'am,” Lucius answered and turned his pale face to her. His silvery blonde hair shimmered in the flickering light of the candles.
“But you will be family very soon, so I decided it was fair to invite you,” Walburga softened her tone. Sirius caught the gaze of his third cousin, Andromeda, and looked away quickly, suppressing a grin. Meda did the same, hiding her trembling lips behind a curtain of dark hair. She was the only one at the table wearing a real colour, everyone else was dressed in black, grey or silver with the occasional green detail.

Meda was wearing a purple dress with little ruffles at the neckline and Sirius found she looked quiet lovely. But maybe he was biased, since she was the one cousin he liked the most.

“Speaking of family,” Sirius interrupted the boring small talk that had evolved between his mother and Lucius, “Where is your lovely husband, Bellatrix? Wasn't Rodolphus granted the – honour of an invitation?”

Bellatrix looked as if she was tempted to stab him with the salad fork. “He is busy,” she answered.
“What could be more important than the family?” Sirius teased. He could feel Regulus kick him under the table but didn't blink.

“He is being way more useful than you at your stupid ministry desk!” Bellatrix hissed. “He is actually making a change in the world.”

The conversations at the table suddenly died. Sirius stared at his cousin, a suspicion growing.

“You can't be serious,” he snorted. “Rodolphus is one of them? And I really thought he couldn't become even bigger of an idiot.”

Bellatrix was now rising off her seat, leaning forward over the table with her hands pressed on its surface. “He is not sitting on his arse like you cowards! He is fighting for his beliefs!”

Now Sirius was actually laughing, leaning back in his wooden chair. “Fuck, Bellatrix,” he said. “Rodolphus is a Death Eater? You must be kidding me.”
Sirius could see Regulus wince at the word. The atmosphere at the table had shifted. No one was talking, instead they tried to carefully avoid eye contact with anyone. Sirius frowned.

“Have you all known that?” he asked, now not amused any more.
“Enough!” Walburga said in a loud voice. “It's not the time to discuss politics.”
“Then when are we going to discuss it?” Sirius asked, his voice rising. The carefully built nonchalant facade he had built was crumbling. “When are we going to discuss Bellatrix' husband being a criminal?”

“That's a bit harsh, Sirius,” Narcissa said. Sirius stared at her, but she avoided his gaze.
“It is?” Sirius asked. His gaze wandered over to Lucius, who was carefully turning his wine goblet between his fingers. “You're not romanticising these brutes, are you? They're fanatics!”
“They do hold the same beliefs we at the Ministry do,” Lucius answered in a calm voice. “That muggleborns should not participate in the wizarding community. That we must uphold the purity of the blood to pass on strong magical abilities.”
“Yeah,” Sirius agreed sarcastically, now standing as well. “With just one small difference, innit? They want muggleborns dead. Without trial, without registration. It's called vigilante justice, Lucius, and it's illegal.”
“You are just jealous,” Bellatrix hissed. “Because the Death Eaters are getting stuff done much more efficiently than you and your stupid Ministry.”
“Oh, yes, very efficient,” Sirius sneered. “Shall I shut you up, Bella? It'll be so efficient, you will never be able to talk again.”
“Why don't you try it,” she growled.

“Enough!” Walburga boomed loudly. “This is not the time for politics! Bellatrix, Sirius, sit down!”

Sirius did as he was told, not without firing an evil glare across the table to his cousin. Wife of a Death Eater. The way she talked she would join him soon and then, hopefully, Sirius would never have to visit them at Azkaban.
“So,” Walburga said, taking a long sip of wine. “When will be the wedding, Narcissa?”
“I-in June,” the blonde cousin said. Her hand with the shiny engagement ring was trembling a bit. For the rest of the dinner, Sirius only spoke when someone asked him something directly, ignoring Regulus worried looks from the side.

After another hour, the dinner was finally over and the family members were leaving. Sirius completely ignored Bellatrix and pulled Andromeda into a tight hug instead.
“You're such a hothead,” she whispered into his ear. “Never change.”
“Don't worry about that,” he grinned and put her back on the ground.

“Good night, Sirius,” Narcissa said gracefully, allowing him to shake two of her fingers. Lucius was standing next to her, her coat over his arm. When Narcissa turned around to kiss the air next to Walburgas hollow cheeks, Lucius stepped next to Sirius and turned his head the slightest bit.
“Are you leaving too?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper. Sirius flicked a dust particle off his own robes.
“I'll stay another hour or so,” he answered cluelessly. “Catch up with Reggie.”
“You'll be in your room after?”
“I guess so,” Sirius yawned. Lucius gave him a unreadable look and straightened up again, helping Narcissa into her coat. Sirius watched them leave with a weird, knotted feeling in his belly.

JAMES

After had Sirius left, James had taken a hot shower and then started to cook. It was a funny quirk of him, cooking by hand instead of using household charms, but he liked it. It was a bit like potions, only that he had a delicious meal after and didn't need to fear that his project would turn into acid if he stirred it the wrong way once.

“And now, my charming witches and mighty wizards, we have a special treat for you,” the radio presenter announced with a brassy voice from the small wireless standing next to James' chopped onions, “It is none other than Madam Celestina Warbeck with her new hit Beat Back Those Bludgers, Boys, and Chuck That Quaffle Here.“

„I love this song!“ James said loudly into the empty room and hummed along as Celestina started to deliver the first heartfelt lines.

“You should really never confess that out loud,” an amused voice said from the fireplace and almost caused James' to cut his own finger along with the onions.

“You scared me to death there, mate,” he answered in relief and turned around, hips still swaying to Celestinas song.
The fire was just turning back from green to its usual golden glow, illumination the silhouette of a slender figure next to the fireplace.

“Sorry,” Peter said, cleaning his shoes at the fire place. “You said to I come by anytime, so I figured -”
“No, it's alright,” James said quickly and gave him a smile. “I just had a long day. You wanna stay for dinner?”

“I've already had some, thanks,” Peter answered, stepping next to him and James' his onion-free hand. He was a bit smaller than James, with flaxen hair, a pointy nose and watery eyes. James still remembered the times when Pete had been a chubby kid, always stumbling behind him and Sirius. But a few years ago, he seemed to had made a lifestyle change, lost weight and started to dress properly. Sirius had said that was exactly what happens at gay awakenings, but James was not so sure about that. Peter had always seemed quiet fond of witches, even if he was not exactly successful with them.

“Some wine then,” James said and summoned two glasses with a flick of his wand. Dutifully, they came flying from the living-room cabinet.
“Cheers,” Peter answered and leaned against the kitchen counter, ogling James' hand-made dinner preparations. “Sirius is not here?”
“With his family,” James said, pouring white-wine into the two glasses.
“Ah yes, it's his mothers birthday,” Peter said and accepted one glass. “Bella told me the other day.”

James didn't comment that. He knew Sirius hated Bellatrix and the few times James himself had seen the witch, he had been deterred by her idle pride and evil words. But Peter seemed to get along with her and her husband, Rodolphus, and James wouldn't judge him for it.

“How was your day, Pete?” he changed the topic, put down his wine glass and pushed the cut onions into his salad bowl. A few roasted walnuts would complete this, he decided.
“Usual,” Peter answered, taking as sip of wine. “Just two trials. Dolores had me write the records on both though.”

Dolores Umbridge, Peters boss at the Wizengarmot Administration Services, was known in the whole Ministry. James tried to avoid her at an costs, but sometimes he had to submit a record or sign an assessment for one of her trials. It always felt like calling on a gigantic toad.

“Any convictions?” he asked now, chopping the walnuts and throwing them into a pan.
“Yeah, both,” Peter answered, trying a walnut and making a face. “An old witch who was hiding her Squib granddaughter. And a muggleborn.”
“A muggle-born?” James repeated, keeping the walnuts in movement so they wouldn't burn. Lily Evans came to his mind. How she had pointed her want at him back in the woods, the green eyes sparkling with determination. Would she have tried to kill him, if Sirius' didn't call at that moment and made his presence known?

“Yeah, poor thing,” Peter said, taking another sip of wine. “Fourteen years old. Their parents had received a Hogwarts letter before it was closed and bought them a wand back then. It was a girl, insufficiently trained. She tried to run when she got called in for registration a few weeks ago. Got caught before she could reach the border.”

“Fourteen?” James asked in surprise. The convicted muggle-born had still been a child then. “What was her punishment?”
Peter gave him a look. James gulped and tried to focus on the walnuts. Right. Why did he even ask?

“She can thank her old headmaster for her conviction when she meets him in Azkaban,” Peter continued while James dumped the roasted walnuts on his salad and added the vinaigrette. “If Dumbledore wouldn't have raised all these poor muggleborns hopes by inviting them to Hogwarts, they wouldn't have to be punished now.”
“You mean if they wouldn't even have found out they can use magic?”
“Yes,” Peter nodded, following James to the kitchen table, where he set out two plates and the freshly baked bread from the oven. “It's better for them to live with their peers anyway.”
“If you say so,” James answered non-obligatory. He didn't want to fight.

Peter sat down opposite to him and James filled up their plates, ignoring his friends initial statement that he had already eaten. Peter didn't protest.

“I brought you something,” Peter said after a few minutes of silent chewing. James was quiet happy with his salad. Maybe a bit more vinegar next time.

Peter opened his briefcase made out of shiny dragon-leather and pulled out a thin booklet. It was made out of paper, not parchment, and its cover was decorated with a colourful cartoon.
James frowned and took the booklet Peter was handing him. The cartoon showed two men. One was wearing a pinstripe suit and robes with the bright red emblem of the Ministry for Magic on its back. The other was dressed in a black, dementor-like cloak with a pointy hood. A white skull mask was pushed to his forehead so he could passionately make out with the Ministry wizard, their cartoon tongues tangled raunchily.

James could feel a grin spread over his face and quickly clenched his jaw. Peter was looking at him reproachfully, his forehead set in deep folds. The cartoon was captioned with Get a room already – the Ministrys dirty affair with Voldemorts henchmen.

“That's horrible,” James said with twitching lips. The magazine was titled The Quibbler. “Where did you get that, Pete?” The cover was filled with various article outlooks, like Twelve Tips To Avoid Registrations and How To Make The Most Out Of A Broken Wand.

“It was confiscated off the muggle-born that was in court today,” Peter said seriously. “We suspect there has been about twenty issues published already.”

Now James actually laughed. “Well, it's hardly dangerous, is it?” he asked, skimming through The Quibbler. “I mean British Wizarding Politics Funded By Grindelwalds Secret Order? Please.”
“It's complete nonsense, of course,” Peter said quickly. “But we need to find out who publishes it and stop them. This is spreading misinformation and confusion.”

James snorted. Albus Dumbledore – In Azkaban Or On Free Foot? Ridiculous.

“James, I need you to keep an eye out,” Peter said now adjuratory. “This is incredibly embarrassing for the Ministry. Dolores wants this magazine eliminated as soon as possible and without any stir, okay?”
“So you didn't just come over for dinner,” James sighed and closed the magazine.

Peter stood up. “Promise you'll inform me if you get wind of anything to do with it, okay?” he demanded and shouldered his briefcase again.

James sighed, then nodded, “Sure, Pete.”

Peter gave him a slim smile. “Thanks, James. Say hello to Sirius for me.”
And with these words, he turned around and stepped back into the green fireplace, leaving his salad plate untouched.

SIRIUS

“Cheers for the present,” Sirius told his brother, after they'd said goodbye to their mother and made themselves comfortable in the conservatory. The small room had three glass walls, protecting them from the cold air but still allowing for an impressive view over London by night. Apart from the lounge suite they were sitting in, the furniture consisted mainly of plant pots of any sizes, surrounding them by a jungle of leaves and sweet scent. Sirius knew that at least half of the plants in here were poisonous.

“Couldn't let you down,” Regulus answered, handing Sirius a crystal glass with a clear liquid. “Besides, mother would have been very upset for days, and I do live here, after all.”

“Always calculating,” Sirius mused, pulling out his silver cigarette case. “That's little Reggie.”

“Perhaps you should start calculating a bit more,” Regulus said sharply, leaning back into his basked chair and fixing his blue eyes on Sirius. “Bella is probably waiting in a dark corner for you now.”
“She can rot there,” Sirius answered, pulling out his wand and lighting a cigarette with it. “Rodolphus is an idiot and they'll both end up in Azkaban.”
“Do you really think the Death Eaters are that bad?” Regulus asked, stretching out his free hand. Sirius rolled his eyes and handed him the cigarette.
“I mean, Lucius is kind of right,” Regulus added, taking a deep drag. “Aren't they doing the same thing as the Ministry, just – faster?”
“You sound like father,” Sirius answered, giving him a sharp look. “It's not the same thing, Reggie. What they are doing is cruel and completely random. Have you heard about the witch in Eastwick, found dead with a human skull engraved on her back? That was them. And she wasn't even a muggleborn. Besides,” he added, pulling a second cigarette out of his case and putting it back into his pocket. “Even if she was, the sentence for unregistered muggleborns is not death.”

“No, but Azkaban,” Regulus said. “Where they die even faster than wizards.”
“Yes, but they get a process before,” Sirius argued. “Where it would have been discovered that the witch was not actually a muggle-born.”
“Maybe she sheltered one.”

“Maybe,” Sirius shrugged. “We would have found out in court. But as far as we know now, she was completely innocent. Which makes her murder a cruel, pointless crime of violence.”
Regulus fell silent for a moment, then he changed the topic: “Were you actually busy at the Auror Office today?”

“For once – yes, I was,” Sirius answered, lighting his own cigarette with his wand. Regulus gaze got caught on it and he frowned.

“Sirius, why do you have a new wand?”

“I don't have a new wand,” Sirius answered with a grin and drew on his cigarette. “I swapped mine.”

“You swapped yours,” Regulus repeated, still looking at the hazel wand. “You swapped the ancient, priceless Black Family wand. What did you get for it, a Chocolate Frog Card?”

“I got this other wand, you moron,” Sirius answered and waggled with it.
“Okay,” Regulus said patiently, as if he was speaking to a child. “And do you know where your old wand is?”
“No idea,” Sirius said, grinning widely. “But I know who has it.”

For a moment the two brothers looked at each other, Sirius grinning from ear to ear and Regulus with an expression of quiet suffering on his face. Then, the younger Black broke the silence. “Right, you got me. I'll ask. Who has it?”

“Some scrawny-looking werewolf on the run,” Sirius answered, taking a caution sip of clear liquid. It burned pleasantly in his throat.
Regulus coughed into his own drink. “A werewolf?” he panted.

Sirius grin widened even more and he leaned forward. “Okay, I'll tell you the whole story. But it's top secret, you can't tell anyone, Reggie, promise!”

“Sure,” Regulus answered in confusion.

A while later, Sirius tipsily on his way back to his old room. Telling Regulus had been a brilliant idea and his little brother had actually been helpful. Well, he usually was. Sirius would just never tell him that.
And now, Sirius was eager to try Regulus ideas about the swapped wands. But first, there was someone waiting for him in his old room. Or so he assumed.

“That was more than one hour,” Lucius said sourly when Sirius entered the room. He was standing next to the fireplace through which he had undoubtedly floo'ed here, his hands clasped around this ridiculous walking stick he was carrying everywhere. His face had lost the polite, non-committal look he had worn during dinner, now he was frowning angrily.

“Haven't seen Reggie in a while,” Sirius shrugged and closed the door behind him, turning the key carefully. “We had a lot to talk about.”
“About Bellatrix' husband?” Lucius asked sharply. Sirius looked at him with raised brows.
“Oh, are we making conversation now?” he asked, wandering towards Lucius until he was standing right in front of him. They were almost of the same height, Lucius maybe one or two centimetres taller. Their eyes met, grey in grey.

“I mean if you only came to chat I can ring for Kreacher to bring us some biscui -”

There was a loud clattering sound when Lucius dropped his walking stick to grab Sirius by the collar and pull him in for a kiss. Sirius buried his hands into Lucius' silvery hair and closed his eyes. Immediately, the older man started to walk him backwards, until Sirius' hollows of the knees hit the bedframe and they tumbled down on it.

Am I a bad person? Sirius mused, while his cousins fiancé eagerly opened his belt. It had started three months ago, when Sirius finally decided to give in to his family duties (a decision fastened by a few very sharp words of his brother) and show up at of his aunts soirées to meet Narcissas future husband.

Of course Sirius had known how the Ministers son looked like from pictures. To his pleasant surprise, Lucius was now quiet that stuck up in real life. And if Sirius was perfectly honest to himself (which he usually avoided to his best abilities), he was flattered by an older mans attention, who had a considerably standing in the Ministry and had half of London fawning at his feet. And it felt good, okay? It felt pretty fucking good to have Master Malfoy risk his engagement and reputation just because he couldn't keep his hands off Sirius. If worked perfectly with Sirius' too-hot-to-settle-down-philosophy.

There were only two rules to their little affair: first, Lucius sought Sirius, never the other way around. And second: handjobs, blowjobs, but no fucking. Lucius had mucked up about that a few times, but Sirius had stayed firm. There he drew his line. He didn't trust Lucius like this. This was a dirty, stupid affair and he, Sirius, would be damned if he gave up any control.

“I hate when you talk like you did today,” Lucius informed him now, unbuttoning Sirius' shirt and eyeing the revealed tattoos on his chest and rips hungrily.

“Like what?” Sirius asked absent-mindedly, busy with Lucius' fly.
“At the table,” Lucius said, his hands slipping further down to Sirius' trousers. “About Bellas husband.”
“You really want to talk about that now?” Sirius panted and closed his eyes in pleasure.

“I just think it would be best for you to be a bit more,” Lucius did something with his hand that coaxed a muffled moan out of Sirius, “Open-minded.”
Sirius looked down at him and gave him a lopsided grin. “Am I not open-minded enough right now?” He tightened a fist in Lucius' light hair as the other man brushed his lips down Sirius' torso.

“Just think about it, okay?” Lucius said, finally reaching his destination. Sirius groaned and laid his head back happily.
“Fine,” he panted. “I'll think about it. Will you now – Salazar, Lu!”

JAMES

After dinner, James brewed himself a hot cup of tea and climbed the stairs to his bedroom, the scandalous magazine tucked under his arm. As an only child of two elderly parents, he had gotten the best room of all, the one with the balcony which granted a pretty view over the big garden and the woods behind the house. Right now however, it was dark out and only a few stars were sparkling through the thin white curtains. James mindlessly opened one of the windows to let in Barnabas, his big grey barn owl, and then settled down onto the bed with his tea and the magazine.

The room hadn't changed much over the years, posters of Quidditch players and moving photographs covering the walls. Over the desk, James' pride and joy was mounted on the wall: five shining racing brooms, fastidiously taken cared of and in good view from all corners of the room. James put his steamy tea on his bedside table, right next to the framed photo of his Mum and Dad. It had been taken on his eighteenth birthday, five years before their death. His Mum was wearing a silly hat that read They grow up so fast and his Dad was grinning from ear to ear.

James lighted the candles next to his bed with a snap and opened up The Quibbler. The table of contents was just as absurd as he had suspected: How To Make The Most Out Of A Broken Wand (p. 4-5). The Safest Places For Muggle-Borns In Europe (p. 6).The Most Effective Recipe For A Pepper-Up Potion (p.7-9). But to James' surprise, it was not only wizard-directed content. How To Protect Your House-Elf Family From Abusive Masters was equally covered as Aritis Story: Testimonial of a Centaur.

Another title caught James' eye. The Latest Death-Eater Murders The Ministry Doesn't Want to Know you About (p. 12).

With a heavily pounding heart, James' scrolled to page twelve. There was a black-and-white photograph of luminescent skull in the sky above a burning house. Out of the skulls mouth was a tick snake, curling sharply against the dark background. The photograph didn't move, which meant the photographer must have used a Muggle camera. Under the heading there was a short passage: We are mourning the brave wizards, witches, muggles and magical creatures that have found the end of their lives in this cruel and pointless war. James blinked. War? They will not be forgotten and their deaths will be avenged.

Then there followed a short list of names, some of them with pictured next to them. Half of the names James had never heard, but some sounded familiar. Caitlyn Buchanan. James stared at the portrait of a politely smiling woman in her fifties. He had never seen her face, but he knew Caitlyn Buchanan had been sentenced to Azkaban three weeks ago for smuggling two unregistered werewolves out of the country. Could she really be dead?

At the end of the list, another name sounded familiar. Hope Jenkins. The name of the woman found with a skull on her back. She really had been killed by Death Eaters, James knew that. Could that be true for the other people on the list too then?

With a raising sense of panic, James turned the page. He didn't want to look into the faces of these dead people. It felt like they were looking back.
The next double-page was almost completely covered in tiny writing. No photographs, no cartoons. The title was very short: Aren't We Magical Too? Below that: An Essay by our favourite fiery mudblood, Artemis.

James absent-mindedly pushed his round glasses up on his nose and started reading.

Twenty minutes later, a loud clattering noise informed James that his housemate had come home.
“Lock the chimney,” James yelled in the vague direction of the door. He heard a loud curse and then the rattling sound of the heavy iron grid, lowering down in front of the chimney. No more surprise visitors for tonight.

A minute later, the door flew open and Sirius stumbled into James room, not caring to say hello but letting himself drop face-first onto the bed instead. James managed to snatch the Quibbler just in time.
“Long night?” he asked compassionately and gently patted the back of Sirius head. The other Auror growned mutedly into the mattress.

“Is that a hickey?” James asked in bemusement and pushed away a curl of black hair from Sirius' neck. This actually made Sirius turn around, with an incredibly smug expression on his face.
“No idea what you're talking about, mate,” he lied very unconvincingly. Then he eyed James more closely.

“What are you upset about?” Sirius asked, drawing out the hazel wand and tipping the dark patch on his neck with it, making it disappear in seconds. Only Sirius Black could leave for his mothers birthday dinner and manage to get laid there.

James didn't even bother claiming that he wasn't upset about anything, but waved the Quibbler through the air instead.
“Pete paid me a visit,” he said, handing Sirius the magazine. “He made me promise to inform him if we had any suspicions about the publisher. He wants to impress his boss.” James rolled his eyes.

Sirius, who had discovered the cartoon on the cover and was now grinning widely, snorted. “He's such a suck-up, I have no idea why you keep talking to him,” he said and started to scroll through the magazine until he found the dog-eared page with the essay.

“He's our friend,” James said.
“Your friend,” Sirius countered and started reading the article. “Even though the boring idiot seems to somehow think that I like him, no idea why.”
“He does not think that,” James said, rolling his eyes. “Your insults are not as subtle as you believe.”

Sirius hummed non-committally and continued to read the article. James put his head on Sirius shoulder and re-read some of the passages as well.

And even if the Ministry will keep trying to make us believe we are unworthy of the magic we possess - there is no denying that it is there, running in our veins, inspiring our minds, strengthening our will to withstand. Our magic has been given to us by nature, by chance if you will, and it is our duty to defend this gift.

“Well,” Sirius said after finishing the essay and gently pressed his cheek into James' temple. “Is this what's gotten your wand twisted?”
“What do you think about it?” James asked.

Sirius frowned. “I get what they're saying. But I don't think it's helpful for you to read that, Jamie.”
James sighed, but didn't answer.

There was a moment of silence during which Sirius studied the cartoon on the cover of the Squibbler again and James wondered whose expensive aftershave he was smelling of.

“Up then,” James finally said. “Get out of my bed, I need to sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

“We do indeed,” Sirius said, putting the magazine away and stretching. “I just have one more thing to do. Sleep well, Jamie.”

And with these words, he pressed a sloppy kiss on top of James' head and pranced out of the room, skilfully dodging the pillow James threw after him.

REMUS

When Remus opened his eyes, he had no idea what had woken him up. His muscles were arching and his back hurt, but that was normal. The normal pain that came after the moon – and with sleeping on an uncomfortable couch. He groaned and sat up, stretching and rolling back his shoulder blades. The room was perfectly silent around him, except for the ticking noise of a big clock sitting on the mantelpiece.

There had been no discussion regarding the sleeping situation: Lily had gotten the guest bedroom and he, Remus, had been ordered to squeeze himself on the ugly little couch in the living room and be thankful for it. He was, actually, even though he would say it out loud, at least in the presence of the Dursleys.

Then, he felt it. A slight prickling on his side, a hint of warmth. Remus blinked and fumbled for the switch of the lamp next to him. When there was at least some light, he drew out the wand that had been sitting in his trouser pocket, pressing against his hipbone and giving off that weird, warm prickling sensation.

“Interesting,” he mumbled to himself as he lifted up the wand into the light. He hadn't had any opportunity to inspect it yet and was now surprised about how different it looked from his own. Remus had always thought that all wands looked more or less the same, long pieces of wood in varying shades of brown.

But this one was a much more detailed work than Remus' own, simple wand had been. It was darker, for one, and much less pliable. Remus was not an expert on wand woods, but he would put a guess that this almost black one was made out of ebony. There were small symbols engraved into it and when Remus tilted it in a certain angle, the light caught on the wood and made the tiny words readable. Toujours Pur.

Remus snorted. These pureblood wizards were really living in another world. And then, just as Remus had decided that he imagined the weird prickling sensation and that he really should put away that black magic wand and get some sleep, it happened again.

This time, the ticking started in his palm and a warm rush shot up his arm, up until his elbow. Remus stared at the wand, then lifted it and tried for a gently swinging motion.
Nothing happened.

“What the fuck,” Remus murmured.

“What a nice choice of words,“ a voice answered.

Remus flinched so hard he almost fell off the small couch. Panic-stricken he looked around the room to find the origin of the voice – but there was no one there. Just an annoyingly tidy muggle living room decorated in ugly pastel colours.

“Who's this?” Remus asked now, his whole body trembling. Was this some Ministry tracking magic? Had they put some kind of bugging device on him?
But no, a bugging device wouldn't answer. That would contradict its whole point.

“You tell me first,” the voice answered. It was a male voice, undoubtedly, with a posh accent. Remus was sure he had heard it before.
“Sirius Black?” he asked disbelievingly. Then he stared at the wand. Did it somehow contact its old owner?

There was a laugh which sounded a little bit like a bark, “That is not your name.”
“No, but it is yours,” Remus answered.
“Still a better name than Lupin,” Black said. Remus could practically see him, a boastful grin plastered over his face.

“So you know my name now,” Remus answered, laying back on the sofa. He should find a way to stop this very unwelcome connection and go back to sleep. He really should. But he hadn't talked to anyone who knew his real name for months, except Lily.
“We have archieves,” Black answered. He sounded amused.

That was news to Remus, but he wasn't surprised. “So there's a file about me?” he asked, staring at the ceiling of the Dursleys living room.
“Yes, “ Black answered. “It's very thick and full of clues where you are right now.”
“Sure,” Remus answered sarcastically. “That's why you're contacting me via wand and not tearing down the door at this very moment.”
“Ah, so the place where you are has a door, yeah?” Black asked triumphantly. Remus snorted.
“How does this connection even work?” he asked then. “Is it because we swapped wands?”
“Yes,” Black answered. “Just imagine your own wand and flick the one you are holding.”
“So you can contact me anytime?”
“Only if you're answering.”
“I don't like that,” Remus said sceptically. He had never heard of anything like this. Since when did wands work like walkie-talkies?
“If you come here we could swap back and fix this problem,” Black teased. Remus rolled his eyes.
“You wish,” he murmured. Then he blinked. “Where are you, anyways?”

“Cambridge,” Black answered promptly. “Well, Cambridgeshire. Not in the city.”
“You live in Cambridge?” Remus asked in surprise. Blacks long drawl sounded very much like a true Londoner.
“Yes,” Black answered. Remus could hear him yawn.
“What, couldn't afford city rent?” Remus teased. His eyes became more and more heavy.

“Very funny,” Black answered dryly. “Just so you know, I am originally from London. I just don't live with my family any more.”
“And when you chose your new home town, you thought to yourself Where could I become even more of a snob?”

Black snorted. The wand vibrated a little bit with it. “I live with my partner, Mr Nosy Prefect. He inherited his family house, which happened to be near Cambridge.”
Remus tiredly noticed that Black knew he had been a prefect. That should alarm him, probably.

“Your Auror Partner, Potter?”
“Yes, indeed,” Black snarled. “And no, before you ask, he is not my partner partner. We just live together.”

“Sure,” Remus answered mockingly. There was a moment of silence.
“So I guess there is no point in me asking you where you live?” Black asked. His voice sounded thick with sleep already.

“I thought you read my file,” Remus answered and reached out to turn out the lamp. Velvet darkness surrounded him.
“I did,” Black answered. Then, after a moment, “Sorry about your dad.”

Remus opened his eyes again. Suddenly, he was very cold. “Finite,” he whispered and the tingling sensation in his wand-hand stopped. Remus waited for a moment, but Blacks voice did not come back. Remus pushed the wand back into his pocket, but this time outside of his shirt, so the wood did not touch his bare skin. Then he closed his eyes again, ignoring his heavily pounding heart.