If It's True What They Say

“I don’t like this,” her father said, face set. Mother called it his Auror’s Face, and she supposed he needed it, with all of the awful things happening every day.

“Neither do I,” Jaime Lannister said easily. Aunt Lyanna’s partner looked a lot like his nephew, but with sharp edges and purpose, rather than Joffrey’s wormy softness, the sort of pampered cruelty that so often went with beauty. “But we need to catch Clegane, and he is angry with your daughter. Our sources say that his eyesight is still ruined from when she hit him, and he has ordered at least one attack meant for her that we know of.”

Sansa looked at Rhaenys, who didn’t flinch at the reminder, just kept her mask of politeness on. The older witch was wearing a muggle outfit, with flaring dark jeans and Sirius’ motorcycle jacket. Even her shoes blended in, dark trainers that would allow her to run.  She was glancing carefully at the shadowed alleys. It was almost sunset, and the full moon would be rising. (Bran, Aegon, and Remus were a carefully warded section of the wolfswood in Winterfell for the night, with Remus testing the Martells’ variation on Wolfsbane.)

She couldn’t think that someone was spying on them already, could she? Sansa shivered in her light blue coat, a present from Myrcella that wasn’t quite warm enough in the damp winter’s night.

“If you’re scared, Sansa, you don’t have to do it,” Rhaenys said kindly. “I’m pretty sure we can catch Clegane’s attention anyway.” She flicked a glance at Jaime, who was looking at her with his normal smug amusement. “After all, that’s why I was called for backup, wasn’t it? Giving Clegane a chance to finish his set- Elia Martell-Targaryen and both of her children? I’m amazed you didn’t call my father in, just to sweeten the pot.”

“He said he had a project to work on,” Jaime said with studied casualness. “Though I didn’t mention your involvement to him.” He shrugged. “Probably should have.”

“He won’t kill you for letting me risk my life, you know,” Rhaenys mused. “Though there are plenty of things he could do that would not, strictly speaking, kill you.”

“That would be my worry, yes,” Jamie said dryly. “Stark’s as subtle as a bludger to the head. Your father is far more… complicated.” Father looked at Jaime and merely scowled. (Silence was the better part of valor, where Lannisters were concerned. Five years at school with Tyrion had taught her that much.)

“By which you mean you’d spend whatever was left of your miserable life in a whimpering ball of fear and pain?” Rhaenys quirked a grin, looking surprisingly like Danarys before a dueling club match.

Jaime shot her a glare with no real heat, despite the fact that most references to Auror Lannister’s hand resulted in bitterness and sharp remarks. “I doubt your father is capable of that.”

Rhaenys raised her eyebrows. “Lannister? There is a reason they are called Unspeakable. Trust me, I’ve looked through the books in Dragonstone’s library.”

Sansa chimed in. “There are some quite fascinating spells in there. I quite wanted to examine the stories and work involved, though, as some of it seemed to be a bit dodgy. Or perhaps they were trying to keep their work from falling into the wrong hands? Some of the results were a bit messy, after all.” The library wasn’t as large as the one kept by the Hightowers or Hogwarts, of course, but it had a strange blend, with books collected by Baelor the Blessed and Brynden Bloodraven both, as well as a glass case containing the research tomes of Visenya Targaryen. Rhaenys had allowed her the run of it after the older Ravenclaw had graduated, merely warning her to avoid Viserys when he was in a mood.

Father raised his eyebrows in amusement, and Rhaenys was grinning wickedly.  Lannister was looking at her with a mixture of horror and awe last seen when Arya, Aegon, and Myrcella had made a trebuchet that fired wet-start fireworks below the guest room Tywin Lannister had been using at Storm’s End. (Tyrion had laughed himself off a chair, when he’d heard about it, and Mrs. Targaryen had gone white at the thought of Aegon so near the Old Lion.)

“Not that I would actually do anything like that outside of carefully prepared circumstances, of course,” Sansa said hurriedly. “But, academically speaking, they show the loss of specialized spells and can lead us to understand the processes and tricks to show how they were lost, and with work some of the more beneficial spells can be brought back into everyday use.”

“Yes, I can imagine quite a few of them would be useful,” Jaime said dryly. “The Aurors would love them, for starters.”

“Robert and the Hit Wizards,” her father said without thinking. As soon as he realized what he had said, the most extraordinary expression crossed his face. Father agreeing with Jaime Lannister was something like snow falling in July- rare and unlikely to last long.

Rhaenys’ tilted her head and bit her lip. “Or the Death Eaters. And given the tales of spies and turncloaks…”

“You can’t be sure of a man’s first loyalty,” Father said, words heavy. “Not with everyone looking over their shadows and torn by family.”

“Most of them already made their choices, they just use loyalty as an excuse,” Sansa said, remembering a few of her classmates.

“Mmm,” Rhaenys tugged Sansa’s braid. “Not all, though, little bird. And perhaps I should supervise your library visits from now on? I don’t want you blowing up my house!”

With that, Sansa and Rhaenys walked down the street, Father and Jaime hidden under a series of charms and shadows.

Supposedly, they were going to buy materials for the Exchange, a quick trip after inventory. The trip had been carefully mentioned to a school friend of Sansa’s, whose mother was known to be friends with Black Walder Frey. Sansa had also been reassured that no one outside of Aunt Lyanna’s team had been told about this plan, and that it was not written down anywhere.

Rhaenys kept up a cheerful stream of chatter, mostly on potions and academic questions, which allowed Sansa to worry and keep up her end of the conversation without much trouble.

But she still was hunched in Sirius’ jacket, and Sansa saw the tip of her wand peeking out from the sleeves.

They didn’t have far to go- a small alleyway, one that lead into a crossalley and various parking garages. Sansa felt the eyes on her before she heard movement, or before the arms had reached for her friend.

Sansa was pulled closer to her friend, shoes sliding a bit in the damp, and then they fell over, into the street.

Gregor Clegane, some tired, hysterical part of Sansa thought, had not had a healer see to his wounds. The scars around his eyes were ragged near the edges, and one eye was gone. Infection had set in at one point, to see the uneven line of bone, and an ear was mostly gone.

She had done that, she knew, saving Robb and Bran. She had caused a man years of pain…

…Well, what had he done to Bran? Or Mrs. Targaryen and her son, and countless others. What had his… associate done to Remus?

Sansa scowled and raised her wand. (Brienne was coming towards them, telling Clegane to stop, but it was almost full dark, and he was twitching…)

Rhaenys slashed her wand first, shielding Sansa, and the green firewhip spell pulled tightly around Clegane’s middle, digging in with a horrible smell.

“Brienne, no!” Aunt Lyanna shouted, just as Clegane’s claw-hands went for Brienne’s face in one final blow.

Brienne didn’t fall when he struck out, faster than Sansa could follow, or when a green spell from Jaime connected with Clegane and caused him to fall. Father was coming towards them now, running straight for Sansa.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted a hug or to just find a quiet place to throw up.

“Brienne?” Rhaenys asked, getting up. Her voice was as shaky as Sansa felt. “Brienne, I had him, dammit. I don’t have license to use unforgivables, and you need something tangible or one of them once it starts…”

“It wasn’t your job,” Brienne said firmly, blood dripping down her face. “We promised we would keep you safe.”

“Err, Brienne, I wanted a chance to hurt him? Jaime kind of promised me that,” Rhaenys admitted. “Mind you, he forgot to mention Sansa’s part until it was too late, but still.”

Jaime laughed at that, seeming unconcerned as he moved a witch in dirty ragged robes to the edge of the alleyway. “Bloodthirsty little thing, still. Not that I blame you. Wench, are you going to survive?”

Brienne got a mulish look on her face. “Of course I will, Lannister.”

“Lovely,” Aunt Lyanna said, looking at the rather mangled corpse of Gregor Clegane. “Then we clean up this mess first, and then you will go to Ashara Dayne’s house- she’s one of the experts on injuries of this sort, and half-transformed…” she gave Brienne a considering look.

“There’s no risk of a complete infection,” Sansa said firmly, enveloped in her father’s reassuring hug. She’s done her own research, both on her own and under Healer Dayne’s guidance. “There probably will be some side effects, but Healer Dayne can tell you more. Going sooner would be best,” she adds, not wanting to see the body any more.

But she could tell Bran that Clegane couldn’t hurt him anymore, and Rhaenys could know that the person who hurt her family was dead and gone.

Though someone had set Clegane on them fourteen years ago, between dark wizards, and as far as Sansa knew, they had never been caught.

But that was an old worry, and they had just killed Gregor Clegane with relatively light causalities, and she would go home and get yelled at by her mother for being so reckless with her life.

She would call this a victory.

~

There was a pattern in all of this, Rhaegar knew, if only he knew where to look. Some innocuous side remark somewhere in the world would set him off on the right trail. Something about these raids should tell him what he needed,

“Hello?”

Rhaegar reached for his wand.

~

“Mum?” Rhaenys frowned at the tarnished mirror that held her mother’s image. When Robb had found out about Sirius’ mirrors, he’d suggested making some for the various safe havens and heavily warded homes the Order used. Sirius’ home on the coast of Sussex was one of them. “What do you mean you can’t get into Dad’s study?” Sirius looked up from his notes at that. He’d expected Rhaenys to be dancing around the news of last night.

“None of the wards are working,” Elia said, her mostly-white hair pulled sloppily back. She’d spent the Full Moon in Dragonstone running, if he remembered right, in one of the deep mazes of cells. There were bruises under her eyes, and she looked almost as gaunt as her daughter, but was otherwise fine.

“Do you want me to get Nym? If we all work together we could probably crack it,” Rhaenys gave a brittle smile. “Dad probably just… worked himself too hard and fell asleep with the soundproofing wards on. Full Moon night and all that, probably wanted to sleep through all the cousins invading.”

Elia shook her head. “Maybe… he was working with Oberyn… well, you know what I mean. They had one of their little games. Could you come in now? Maybe we can sort this out before everyone descends on us.”

“Tyene volunteered to cook today,” Cheshire said wryly, a trace of satisfaction to be seen on the line of her neck and tilt of her head as her mother’s eyes widened.

“Well. Yes. I… do hurry?” Elia pleaded.

Sirius looked at Rhaenys, who was wearing what could reasonably pass as clothes, providing you didn’t notice that her shirt was a few sizes too big and flopping over her fingers. It hid the engagement ring, which was probably for the best. It was still too new to share. “I’ll get your shoes.” And a shirt. Shirtlessness would be bad.

“Such a sweet boy,” Elia said with a hint of wicked humor.

Sirius ignored this as he ducked in the closet and tossed her some boots while pulling on a mostly-clean shirt. He was happy to be a distraction right now, and most of the people he was likely to meet knew he was doing missions for Dumbledore. (And he was ignoring the voice in his head that said that this would end badly, damn it. Chesh needed support right now.)

Elia was gone by the time he’d pulled the t-shirt on and grabbed his jacket, and Rhaenys’ hand shook as she gave him a pinch of floo powder.

“The Red Keep!” she said with a flat voice, hair tangled and scraped into a tail.

They were taking a fucking vacation soon, even if it was only a day in Cornwall, Sirius swore as he stepped into the floo and stumbled out of the grate. Music, swimming, and pretty castles.

“One day you’ll get the hang of it,” Elia said kindly as he rubbed his knee. The stone floors were not very forgiving, and the fireplace had been meant to be tricky for newcomers. One of those little tricks older families used to convince others to be cowed, it meant that the fireplace had a step that it was damn near impossible to catch. (Aegon said he’d broken his arm arriving when he was six, and Sirius believed it.)

The whole room was meant to be terrifying, Rhaenys had told him, built by the first Aegon in England sometime before the Statute of Secrecy. Dragonstone was the family sanctuary, the Red Keep was the Targaryen’s flaunting their power. Bran Stark might have sung Winterfell from the stones, Storm’s End might have been built seven times, but the Targaryen’s commanded the Keep and its secrets.

High and dark, the shadows were oppressive and the stones of red and black reminded visitors that they were in another’s power. “Meant for men who were not men,” Rhaenys had once said with that Cheshire grin that meant he wasn’t quite sure if she was having him on. Everyone said the Targaryens were… odd, but Merlin knew that didn’t make it true.

(No, that was father and daughter playing old songs on a stormy night, the liquid movements that were more agile than even James, Rhaenys’ odd knack for seeing through lies.)

The handprinted bench and first aid kit were Elia’s idea, he knew.

“Hopefully,” Sirius said, giving her a practiced smile that did not focus on how heavily the older woman was leaning on her cane. Merlin, she was barely forty.

Was Remus going to be like that?

Rhaenys scowled at her mother. “Mum, did you take the potions this morning? They don’t help if they sit on the counter, you know.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “You ask one of the house elves to bring it here, and Sirius and I will go fetch Dad out of the study, and then we watch as Sirius gets roasted.”

“Your mum already did that, love,” Sirius pointed out. “About five years ago, and they can’t be any more terrifying.” Elia beamed at that, and Sirius waved as Rhaenys walked him out of the entrance room into the still overbearing hallway.

“Uncle Doran would tell you Mum is an angel compared to everyone who is not Trystane. Or Quentyn, I suppose, but he fell out of a tree trying to impress Dany last year, so…” she shrugged. “At least most of them are in Hogwarts right now. And you’ve survived everyone who isn’t Viserys.” She flicked her fingers as she tapped a stone with her foot, revealing a passage that took them up a floor. “This is faster.”

Sirius was very glad he’d spent the past two years working very hard at not being killed, it would have been embarrassing if he’d been winded when Rhaenys was navigating the place as easily as a cat.

“Dad’s office is near the roof in case of explosions,” Rhaenys explained. “He has a tower in Dragonstone, but he said he had work that couldn’t be moved.” She bit her lip and tucked a loose bit of hair from her eyes, opening another door. “He swore he wouldn’t do anything dangerous, it was just a joke we made…”

The office door is made out some odd black wood that Sirius saw growing the Forbidden Forest, gnarled but unvarnished.

Rhaenys tapped the knob with her wand. “Lovelace,” she intoned carefully.

Sirius looked at her. Rhaenys shrugged, which sent his shirt sliding off her shoulder and revealed her rose bra strap. She scowled at it as she rearranged the fabric, eyes firmly on anything but the still wooden door.

“Dad’s passwords are all muggle inventors or philosophers,” she explained as the door refused to open. “But he showed me this trick… I wonder if Mom doesn’t know? She doesn’t like spending time here, not after…” She ran her hands across the granite, before resting on a stone roughly at Sirius’ eye level. “The Lady at Dragonstone demands entrance.”

The door groaned open a bit, and the smell hit them.

Sirius whirled on her without thinking, hands on her bony shoulders pulled tight. “Chesh, love, you shouldn’t go in. Please.”

She didn’t get it yet, eyes wide in the dim light. Something in her mind, though, refused to look at the study. “Sirius, it’s just dad, he probably messed up an experiment.”

“Then let me through first.” He met her eyes and gave her a quick kiss. For luck or sorrow or some mad form of prayer, he wasn’t sure.

He actually liked Mr. Targaryen, who had been absent-minded and arrogant and died thinking his daughter hated him. It would break Rhaenys if she knew that, though.

Sirius went through the door, wand hidden from Rhaenys’ sight.

The study had been nice at one point, with open wide windows overlooking a little garden and heavy wooden shutters partly closed, as if the unspeakable had been interrupted while fiddling with them. There was flexible metal over the bookshelves, and Sirius made a note to study the gap in the bookshelves. He could get his hands on a pensieve if he made an effort, and he knew Targaryen was working on something important.

He’d fought. Someone- possibly Elia- had told him that Rhaegar had been a madman on the dueling circuit, once upon a time, and he’d taken pieces out of his attackers as proof that his skills hadn’t faded completely.  Rodolphus was missing part of his face. And arm.

Those pieces also included organs, which explained the smell.

Rhaegar had died from a stray curse, a stupid move of fate that should never have happened. Something that nicked one of the big vessels in his leg and bled out quickly. He’d taken out two of his attackers, who were probably the only ones sent. After all, Targaryen was an academic, wasn’t he?

The sound of footsteps was quickly followed by the feel of fingers digging into his arm. Once again, he was absurdly happy that Rhaenys kept them short for her music. Arianne’s charmed nails would have dug to the bone, and crime scenes shouldn’t be contaminated. Then he realized that meant that Rhaenys was in the study.

He pinned her arms as she went to run through the wreckage, trying to make sure she couldn’t see any more. (He remembered her expression whenever she fought with Viserys, the utter rage in every line of her body when she thought Sirius had betrayed Aegon’s secret. Rhaenys defending her family was a terrifying and probably murderous creature.) “Let me go, Sirius, he’s hurt!”

“He’s dead, Rhaenys,” Sirius said, trying for comforting. “You can’t help him now, we have to call the Aurors. Your father probably laid traps, or there might be spell damage, or an experiment that was affected. That means that this room is a hazard, so please don’t let me lose you now.” He met her eyes, which turned that unearthly shade that meant she was about to cry. “I am being a selfish prick, but your safety is first. If there are so many protections your mother needed you to override it- and I do know an heir’s password, remember my family- the room needs to be cleared, and Merlin, I am not telling your family I let you die stupidly, because I will join you in being dead. It’ll probably take a while, but I will.”

He’d never been good at comforting. But something in that rant triggered the same half-wild laughter he’d evoked the first time he’d seen her cry, when Willas fell from his broom, and he relaxed his grip.

“Let’s go tell your mother,” Sirius said, patting her hair. “And I’ll deal with the aurors, and then I am bundling you off somewhere isolated until the funeral so you can grieve in private, I swear.”

Rhaenys straightened up at that, bumping into his chin.”Thank you.” She looked at her father. “I don’t want to leave him alone with them, but I don’t want to… this is silly, I know, but can you stay here while I find Mum?”

“I will,” Sirius said.

“Jon should know,” she said hollowly, tucking her hair behind her ears, hands shaking so much half the hair spilled back into place. “He has a right to know.”

Sirius would eventually get used to her casual habit of dropping important secrets as if he should already know them.

~

Robert Baratheon had never had a sense of timing or propriety, but Ned loved him. So Catelyn never did curse the man, not even when he rammed his way into their bedroom early Sunday morning.

“Ned! Big news, you’re needed,” he said, looking bizarrely cheerful. “Hullo, Cat, looking lovely this morning.”

“Voldemort is dead and you have decided to celebrate?” Ned asked blearily. His hair was sticking up on end, and only her disinterest in Robert’s frank comments on her breasts kept her from moving to straighten it.

“No, no, Targaryen’s dead,” Robert said, bemused. “Death Eaters got in the Red Keep- they really should overhaul their security down there.”

Cat thought with horror of her children’s friends, sweet-tempered Rhaenys and boisterous Aegon and the one with the ridiculous short hair. Edmure had told her about the aftermath of the raid on the Darry home, reeking of drink and Ned solemn in the Godswood. And the girls had just helped Lyanna and Brienne capture the elder Clegane, as well, a victory that should have been savored for a few days.  “A raid?”

“Apparently he was working on some project and the Death Eaters objected,” Robert shrugged. “No one else was there, and the building is undamaged. Stannis is adamant over the project being the cause, but he wouldn’t say was it was, curse him.”

“Whatever it is, I suspect it had something to do with whatever landed Jaime Lannister in St. Mungo’s,” Catelyn said quietly. “They had Marwyn working on him, and no one was allowed in the room until he was lucid again.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed. “And whatever hit Harranhall, I’d bet. Why else wouldn’t anyone answer questions, even that thrice damned Skeeter woman.”

“What are they hiding?” Ned asked, still sleep bleary. He’d gotten less sleep than even Sansa, staying up all night explaining things to her.

“And how long can they hide it?” Catelyn asked. Neither Ned nor Robert were the most suspicious of men, bless them, and if they noticed…

How badly would this news damage them all?

~

Tyene smiled as she handed him a newspaper a month after Rhaegar’s funeral. (And if it wasn’t for James, Remus, and Peter, he would have convinced Rhaenys that they needed to change their names and go from  musical city to musical city, just to see that look of curiosity and life in her eyes more often.)

 “Long night?” she asked sympathetically.

Sirius wisely chose not to be sarcastic. Though he did attempt to cover the love bite on his neck. (It was early morning, he was in his own home looking for edible objects. He should not need to wear a shirt, especially when the only other person who was supposed to be in the house was his fiancé, dammit.) “A bit of one, yeah. We were trying to clean up the giant attack outside Birmingham- one tried to use a car to smash us.”

Tyene gave a delicate wince. “And then you celebrated your continued existence, I presume.”

Sirius gave her a lazy grin and hoped there weren’t any needles in the paper. “I refuse to say anything. At all, really, because I do enjoy living.”

Tyene nodded. “Now, I want to see your reaction to this bit of news.”

Sirius looked at the newspaper. The headline was a death, which was unusual. It usually took something important- a higher than normal body count, or someone especially prominent- to get the death reported somewhere other than the war section, which was usually meant to minimize panic and avoid bringing the Death Eaters down on the Prophet.

This… was an important death.

“Old Walder Frey died?” Sirius said, tangling his hand in his hair and wondering if he should cut it. Maybe next time he had down time from the Order…

“Supposedly from one of the many aliments he courted,” Tyene said with a serene expression that mostly hid the razor edges in it.

It was spectacularly unconvincing.

“Supposedly?” Sirius asked dryly.

“Some rumors are holding it was poison,” Tyene shook her head at this show of mistrust and suspicion. “With Stevron Frey dead in the fight outside of Oxford last October, and Ryman Frey being… as he is,” Tyene quirked an eyebrow.

Sirius nodded. “Weak willed and more willing to throw his supposed weight around than throw a curse?” He pulled out a mug and teakettle before turning to the blonde. “Thirsty?”

“Do you have the blend Aunt Elia makes?” Tyene asked hopefully. Sirius pulled out Rhaenys’ tin and shook it.

“Enough, yes,” Sirius judged. “Rhaenys is going to visit Dragonstone this evening, and Elia usually has it waiting for her.”

“She keeps promising to teach me what she uses,” Tyene sighed. “She does something with it that I don’t recognize.”

“So how long before Bellatrix or one of the other Death Eaters loses their temper and puts him out of his misery?” Sirius mused. “Or Black Walder decides he wants the Twins?”

“You assume he’s taken the Mark?” Tyene asked curiously. There was no surprise there.

“He probably was approached before Stevron’s body cooled,” Sirius snorted. He’d liked Stevron Frey well enough- he was still one of the more conservative members of the Aurors, and more suited to administrative work than field duty, but he’d been honest and tried to follow the law more than some of the more disturbing Aurors.

“And Edwyn was killed by Uncle Rhaegar in his last duel,” Tyene said thoughtfully, “leaving an ailing, weak-willed man in charge of the Freys, with Black Walder as heir.”

Sirius saw the cheerful look on her face, the careful sweep of her hands to settle, folded, on his table.

“Did Walder Frey support the attack on the Red Keep?” Sirius asked with studied casualness. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that the man had the balls to actually order an attack like that. Tyene stiffened.

“Officially, he condemned his son’s actions, but he called Uncle a fool for his outspokenness, and insulted Aunt Elia quite a bit,” she admitted. “He may not have ordered it, but he’s certainly sent sons into the Death Eater ranks to keep Voldemort away.”

“How many would actively support Walder if he tried to bring the Freys openly under Voldemort’s banner?” Sirius asked, tapping the desk. Remus would know, or Peter, who kept track of information like that.

“Not too many,” Tyene allowed. “The Darry-born children most likely wouldn’t, or Genna Lannister’s brood.” She shrugged. “Nor the Rosby ones.”

“Benfrey might,” Rhaenys said, slipping into the room. “Not so much out of malice, but out of loyalty.” She shrugged. “The downside to Hufflepuffs, I suppose, showing loyalty to unworthy causes.”

She’d lost weight she couldn’t afford to lose, her cheekbones sharp and pajamas hanging loosely on her. There were faint bruises under her eyes almost always, and Lily had spoken to him about trying to find a fourth potions maker for the Exchange, since Harry was starting to walk around.

Sirius handed her toast. He’d learned not to call her out on it, just try and dangle the food in front of her until she noticed it was there.

She picked it up and put strawberry jam on it. “Late Walder Frey finally lost to death, then?” She cocked her head. “Tyene, you didn’t…”

Tyene laughed. “Why does everyone assume that?”

Rhaenys raised her eyebrows. “Because you are a poison expert?”

Tyene allowed that. “I do promise this was without any manipulation on my part.”

“Please tell me Uncle…” Rhaenys started.

“No,” Tyene grinned. “It would have meant dealing with Death Eaters to have sold that poison.”

“Snape,” Sirius said firmly. “Talent, need for money, and lack of scruples? Sounds like him.”

“He’s an unofficial suspect,” Tyene admitted. “But no one is really willing to investigate.”

“Even if it means putting Black Walder in Azkaban?” Rhaenys mused, thinking about the malicious man who believed that women were only useful in bed. “Patricide is something even the more unethical families disapprove of, after all. It isn’t technically patricide, but Late Walder was head of the family, so legally…”

“He’ll get the maximum sentence,” Sirius frowned. “But it means honoring Walder Frey.”

“Childish prat,” Rhaenys said, picking up her tea tin and frowning. “Please tell me you aren’t finishing my tea.”

“I am not finishing your tea,” Sirius said promptly. “We are finishing your tea, since your mother is giving you a new tin this afternoon and talking politics gives me a headache.”

“Foolish Gryffindor,” Tyene said as Rhaenys took the kettle off. But she looked amused.

“I have honey here somewhere,” Rhaenys muttered. “If you take it to Stannis Baratheon, he’ll at the very least demand an investigation. Though I presume Frey’s already cremated, and unless someone is willing to provide some sort of evidence…”

“Not likely,” Sirius said thoughtfully. “Especially if Black Walder let his connections be known. Would you like to have a Death Eater floo you up in the middle of the night and ask you about how you lost them control of the Crossing and its wealth?”

Rhaenys shrugged. “Point there. Plus, old Frey was a bit obsessive on keeping the Crossing as his own personal fiefdom. Roslin doesn’t see the point in calling Aurors for inter-family issues.”

“Never mind the fact that those issues turn violent fast,” Sirius muttered. Rhaenys went a bit still at that, probably remembering what happened after he left Grimmauld Place.

“Mmm,” Tyene said through her tea. “A family that large all at each other’s throats.”

“It’ll tie up a good amount of the Death Eaters in petty squabbles, though,” Sirius pointed out with a grin. “Most of the good ones either don’t live at home, or are staying with relatives through the female line.”

“Or are married to Bolton,” Rhaenys murmured.

Sirius granted her that, as Teatray Waldawas nice. (And the complete opposite of Roose Bolton, who was cousin and nearly identical, personality wise, to Barty Crouch. Peter had gotten dead drunk when that engagement announcement was printed. Sirius had offered to help them run away together, but Peter had declined.)

~

And as the weeks went by and the Death Eater attacks seemed to approach a lull, a few patterns began to emerge. There was an announcement in the Prophet of added Aurors who would patrol the Express and Platform 9 ¾, and Lyanna Stark confirmed to the Order that most of them came from pureblooded families who had yet to declare sides in the war. It had been one of Catelyn-Stark-via-her-husband-the-auror’s  ideas, serving as additional deterrent against a death eater attack- killing or maiming one of the Lannisters’ followers would prompt retribution, at least. Starting the next week, despite the failure of the greater bill, number of smaller laws regarding the custody of magical children were passed, as well as laws against those considered “less than the magical ideal.”

Arianne flew into a rage at a meeting of the Potions Exchange that April, curls flying and torn shreds of the newspaper in her hands. Tyene, her ever present dark gold shadow, was still and her dark blue eyes were flat, the bland smile not coming close to reaching them.

From her spot at the cottage’s dining table, Lily sighed and conjured a series of plain clay pots. “For both of you,” she said wryly. “Destroy them, not the Wizenmagot. Visiting you in Azkaban would be a pain.”

Tyene nodded. “So we make sure we don’t get caught.” She was perched neatly on her chair, arms crossed and face mostly blank. (Sirius wasn’t entirely sure that the story about Tyene’s mother being a nun was true. He liked his eldritch abomination theory, and Rhaenys had looked mildly thoughtful after she stopped laughing herself sick.)

Lily narrowed her eyes. “That wasn’t my point and you know it.”

That tone of her voice had been observed to stop rampaging first years as soon as the sound had gotten to their little hindbrains and self-preservation instinct. Tyene merely gave her a skeptical look. Lily wondered if perhaps pregnancy had softened her ability to organize unruly crowds. She hoped not.

“Something needs to be done,” the blonde witch pointed out. “And reason isn’t working very well right now.”

Rhaenys sighed. “Look, the spine of the proposal is gone. Which, quite frankly, is better than it would have been if Arianne and Remus had done nothing. And if the people behind this whole mess start dying in suspicious circumstances…”

“They don’t have to accuse either of you,” Remus said mildly. He’d been looking over the accounting book, quill tapping the corners as he tried to work out the math. “No investigation needed, though I have no doubt that they’ll do one for form’s sake. They just have to say that it was by persons unknown, and run articles on what they stood for. They won’t mention the people they hurt, they won’t mention their failures or paint anything but glowing paintings of them. And then they will write about the dangerous behavior of “undesirable elements”, and lament the lax Ministry standards. If I am very, very lucky, then the Ministry will respond by posting reassurances and a few meaningless regulations.”

“And if you aren’t?” Aegon asked, showing a bit of his father and older sister’s deadly poker face. Arianne winced.

“Angry mobs can be a problem,” Remus said with ruthless good cheer. Lily watched as Sirius adjusted his chair to hide behind the combined hair of Rhaenys and the older Stark girl. It took a lot for Remus to turn his sarcasm on a friend, Lily knew- using against the girl he was probably in love with was probably even worse on him. “Stronger registration laws, informants, mandatory full-moon shelters, requiring healers to report possible infections, someone stealing the registry records… and that isn’t discussing what could happen to muggleborns.”

“I’m sorry, I thought that was already happening,” Arianne said dryly. “Uncle mentioned a disturbing uptick in muggleborns who receive their letter but don’t make it to the school. There are too many for auror protection, of course, and the Order is apparently spread too thin to deal with it.”

“We are,” Sirius said, eyes narrowed. “We really are- we’ve been taking heavy losses the past few weeks.” Too heavy, really, especially over the past few weeks or so, Lily knew. (Marlene, Benjy, Crakehall, not to mention last week when Myranda and Edmure had nearly gotten killed in a trap…)

She saw Rhaenys stiffen, and flat violet eyes meet hers. Lily nodded. A spy was the most logical explanation, when all was said and done.

She didn’t notice as she curved her hand over her stomach, pregnancy now starting to show under robes. She had defied the Death Eaters enough to make her child a target, not to mention the less flexible members of pureblood society by virtue of her existence.

She refused to allow her child be another of those losses.

Arianne nodded, trying for understanding. “I heard.” The split between Order members and the Potions Exchange only made sense if you thought about it sort of sideways- one, that Tyene was too familiar with poisons for anyone’s easy acceptance of her as a Light Witch. Unless you were Lily, who pointed out that Tyene was hardly her first Slytherin friend of dubious morality. Two, that if it was assumed that the Order was in control of the Potions Exchange, a good amount of their customers- charity cases and those who wished for discretion alike- would stop using it. The Exchange’s stubborn independence meant that people who could not afford to be openly supporting Dumbledore could use their services.

Therefore, needed medical care was given, a quiet network of support was building up around the Exchange, and they had no constraints imposed on them by anything but their finances.

Which didn’t mean that they had universal support. The Order was mildly disapproving of them as a whole, seeing the Exchange as too radical or too idealistic. And the Death Eaters were annoyed that the Exchange offered alternatives to their ranks.

Lily just had to hope that no one would ask her to choose. (Or ask Sirius to choose- he’d choose Rhaenys over Dumbledore, and the other boys would follow him without a word.)

~

“Now that they’re gone, and we have the house to ourselves for at least,” here she paused to nip down his neck, long hands playing with the hem of his shirt, “an hour or three, I have only one question to ask you.”

“Mmm?” Sirius was trying to grab her hairclip, which was a perfectly nice red dragony shape, but holding back too much of her hair for his tastes.

“How long have you had a spy in the Order?” she asked in the same wicked tones.

He let go of the clip, snarling it into a mess around her face. “You guessed?”

Rhaenys looked up at him, a gentle look of reproof on her face. “Sirius, my dear madman, you are many things. Wicked, twisty, and completely unwilling to do the obvious thing if you can come up with a crazier plan to do instead. Subtle is not on that list.”

He had to admit that was true. “We’re not sure. There are whispers about spies in the Ministry, turncloaks and Imperioused people reporting to Malfoy and his cronies. That’s the most popular theory right now- none of the information they gathered would be hard to get your hands on, as long as you can get to a meeting.”

“I can make extra Veritaserum,” she offered. “If they will take it from Mad Aerys’ granddaughter.”

He shrugged. “Opening an investigation could cause a panic, or desertions,” he pointed out. Moody had grumbled about security, and Sirius had to admit his points made sense. It was better to have some grumbling and chased-off prats who couldn’t see beyond their ego than to find your friends’ corpses.

“Standing offer,” she said dryly. “What did James and Lily want to ask you, anyway?”

Sirius grinned at the memory, strong enough to power the Patronus charm Lily was trying to teach the Order. “They want me to be the baby’s godfather.”

“And I’m to make sure you don’t go too terribly overboard?” she laughed. Her pants were unbuttoned, and Sirius wondered if side-along apparition to the bedroom would ruin the mood.

“Something like that,” Sirius admitted. Lily had actually done a fairly good impression of Professor McGonagall when she had told him that Rhaenys better keep him on a leash.

She bit her lip to keep from laughing, and he decided not to risk mood-ruining by apparition.

Their couch was remarkably comfy and long enough for him to stretch out. That was all he needed- well, that and the purring note Rhaenys could hit.

~

Sirius had noticed the deaths of a handful of neutral Freys. The handful in the Order- Perwyn, Roslin, and a fair few others- were pale and tight-knit, with Roslin giving her apartment to a few of the Darry Freys and staying in Riverrun with Edmure and Brynden Tully.

 So he and James decided to pick up Roslin and Edmure, since travelling in groups was wiser, these days. (Also, Lily and Rhaenys both giving pleading looks? Was far too effective for Sirius’ piece of mind.)

Roslin looked horrible, with a swollen lip and a burn running from armpit to the dip of her collarbone, robes scorched and missing chunks. Edmure was fussing over her, putting on some cool green burn salve that Sirius recognized from the Exchange workshop that Rhaenys and Lily shared. The recipe was only known to a four people- well, five, as Tyene had most likely shared it with her father. (Though he wasn’t entirely sure how much of it Snape knew- Lily still added new flourishes and adjusted the recipe, and after five years it was probably unrecognizable.)

 Sirius raised an eyebrow and looked at James.

“Patient went wild or narrow escape?” James asked lightly. “There have been a lot of both, lately.”

Edmure shot him a grateful look as Roslin launched into a stumbling, stuttering series of stories about patients in St. Mungo’s, and a doctor who was trying to come up with a spell to detect the Imperius curse.

Sirius noticed Olyvar trying to set his own finger. (Well out of Roslin’s sight- healers were a terrifying lot, even if they were as shy as Roslin.) He motioned for Olyvar to hold it as flat as he could.

It wasn’t bad, bruised and bleeding knuckles and one cracked finger, between the joints. He splinted it neatly and started the healing spell. “Had to use it a lot when pranks went awry,” he said offhandedly.

“Thanks,” Olyvar said. “I mucked up my apparition- Father always said I was hopeless- and I ended up half on a roof.”

That didn’t match his injuries at all. Sirius just shook his head and put as light a notice-me-not as he could on it,

The next day, the Prophet discreetly mentioned the “disappearance” of Black Walder Frey. Sirius didn’t say a word.