Chapter Text
TW:
- Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
- Implied Torture
- Reference to a past mass-destruction attack
- Conversations of murder
- Referenced death (though nobody that is known)
- Delivery of a graphic threat
- Threats to demand compliance
It was cold, on that bridge.
The dark clouds that hung overhead Muggle London and the generally stifling misery in the air did nothing to help Remus Lupin’s mood.
Where is the old man? he wondered, impatient and growing ever more irritable.
Ever since Greyback had discovered that he was a spy, sent by Dumbledore, Remus’ use to the Order had been… minimal, to say the least.
Well, that was, until more recently. It turned out that Remus had an uncanny talent for tracking down death eaters, both with his intellectual prowess and his wolfish instincts.
Only the week before, he had played a huge role in the apprehension of two relatively powerful death eaters, a blow to the enemy, losing some of their more powerful soldiers. Rosier and Crouch.
Once Remus had led the small team of Aurors to their location, and they had been taken into custody, but not without a fight. In the end, though, it had been a surprise how they had been caught.
It seemed even murderous bigots could fall in love, and all men were prey to it, and fool.
He stood there, on the bridge, as crowds of Muggles passed by, unaware of his existence or the war they found themselves surrounded with. Was the ignorance truly bliss? Because they were still dying, in attack after attack; they simply didn’t know why.
His impatience grew, as five minutes turned into ten, then fifteen, then thirty, and he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his oversized brown coat, trying to keep his fingers from falling off.
Finally – finally – Dumbledore arrived, looking entirely serene and placid as he noticed Remus, as though he had not just left the man waiting for half an hour. He looked in no way disgruntled by his apparition.
“Mr Lupin,” the leader of the Order of the Phoenix smiled.
Remus returned it with a simple tight nod of his head. “Why did you want to meet me?”
Straight to the point, as he had learned to do. He was no longer fool enough to be privy to the elder man’s mind games and pleasantries.
Dumbledore simply nodded. “Are you in a hurry, Mr Lupin?”
He rolled his eyes, not caring to hide his annoyance. He was no longer a young, terrified child starting out at Hogwarts, nor was he a prefect, trying to be worthy of the great generosity being bestowed upon him. He had been a child, and a child that had deserved an education. “Yes, actually.” After a considering pause, he saw no harm in adding, “James wants me to babysit Harry for a few hours.”
“I see…” Dumbledore hummed, and this infuriated Remus, inexplicably.
“Look, Dumbledore,” he dragged a hand over his face, “if you’re not going to tell me anything important, I’ll be on my way.” He turned his back on the man and took a step to leave when Dumbledore called out.
“I have a mission for you.”
His head swivelled around, and he arched an eyebrow, wating for Dumbledore to elaborate. When the other man made no move to do so, he sighed. “Well? Who is it?”
He already knew what kind of mission it was – the only kind he was given.
Dumbledore seemed to hesitate, before saying, “It’s not a capture mission. I want you to get me information from someone.”
Remus cocked an eyebrow, in bafflement. “An interrogation?”
“A conversion,” Dumbledore corrected. “First you would have to find them, then persuade them to turn on the Dark Lord.”
There was a long, heavy pause, and then, to even his own surprise, a laugh was coerced out of Remus’ lips. Once it started, it was hard to stop, and Dumbledore waited patiently for it to do just that, staring up at him in all serenity and entirely unfazed.
Finally, he took a wheezing breath and looked up, once more becoming serious. “You want me to bring one over? How could I do that?”
“For starters, they are not the most loyal of Voldemort’s supporters, regardless. They will be easy to persuade.”
“Oh, yeah?” Remus scoffed. “And who is this death eater, might I ask? Or am I not allowed to ask questions?”
Dumbledore ignored the last part, and answered, “Sirius Black.”
The words had their desired effect, and Remus froze.
Now, that was quite the name, wasn’t it?
One shrouded in whispers and rumours. Rumours circulated the Black Heir like vultures to their prey. One of Voldemort’s innermost circle.
Spoken of as ruthless, a trained dagger to your throat. A run-in with Sirius Black, and you are as good as dead. You have as much chance against him as you do against Voldemort himself.
After a long moment, Remus gave an uncertain laugh. “Him? You want me to make him join us? People say he is more loyal to Voldemort than Bellatrix Lestrange!”
Though he had never met Black, he’d certainly had encounters with the mad-eyed woman that led most large death eater attacks.
He’d seen the aftermath of her work with the cruciatus curse.
An image of a small boy being dropped off at Potter Manor to play with Harry flashed in his mind. Dropped off by his grandmother, not his mother, nor his father.
And here Dumbledore was, asking him to persuade an even greater monster, as powerful as they were supposedly cruel, to what? What exactly did Dumbledore want?
“I want information. Intelligence reports have told me that Sirius Black is one of the few that know of this information and he is the most likely to crack.”
Remus stared up at the man, incredulously. “Did he, or did he not, eradicate an entire muggle village a few years ago? The deadliest terror attack in centuries.”
Dumbledore avoided a direct answer, instead saying, “I believe he received the Dark Mark by means of coercion, at a very young age. He is tortured regularly to be kept in line. He’ll talk.”
Remus’ eyes widened in surprise. “They torture their own?”
He was silent for a beat, before quietly correcting, “As far as I am aware, just him.”
A particularly bitter wind blew over the bridge at that moment, and Remus shivered as he digested that information. Or tried to. It was quite hard to imagine. “Why?” he finally asked.
Dumbledore’s eyes looked sad. “As I said, he’ll talk. I want him found and brought to me, eventually. But first, it’d be prudent of you to convince him to not murder everyone in sight.”
“But why me?” Remus pressed. “I could locate him, sure, but what makes you think I could persuade him? Isn’t James generally better at rehabilitating someone? Or Lily? Or Moody?”
Remus gasped, suddenly, a memory coming back to him. He looked up at Dumbledore with newfound horror. “Sirius… Black. He went to Hogwarts… didn’t he?”
Dumbledore blinked, and took his time, before answering, “He’s Durmstrang bred, but… yes. He and James Potter were quite inseparable that first year, before his parents saw fit to take him away.”
“That Sirius? James’ friend Sirius? That’s the guy you want me to convince?”
He nodded, and then sighed, readjusting his glasses. “That is not why I asked you to do this. You’ve never met him before, since you started in your second year.”
“I know that,” Remus snapped. “Why, then?”
Dumbledore’s blue eyes appeared distant, as he turned away to look at the murky river water below them. “Because he will already be looking for you.”
“Sirius, come here!”
Sirius Black, who had been in the process of blasting a metal dummy to pieces wandlessly, closed his eyes in annoyance.
His mother was calling for him.
Sighing, he quickly pulled on the suit that draped over the chair beside his desk, before glancing in the mirror to ensure he was presentable.
With a quick flick of his wrist, the mannequin vanished, and he left his room.
Walpurga continued to screech his name, and he followed the voice to her study, hesitating at the door.
Remember, behave.
His face contorted into some semblance of passivity – the best he could do – and, taking a deep breath, he knocked firmly on the door.
The cries stopped, and after a pause, Walpurga impatiently snapped, “Enter,” and he did just that.
Once inside the large office-like room, he turned and quietly shut the door behind him. Walpurga looked up from the papers on her desk, likely a pile of her correspondence from the Dark Lord, and she surveyed him.
He felt himself bristle, as he stood beside the door, unmoving.
“Come here,” she said, gesturing him forward with her finger.
Without much other choice, he did so, walking up to the foot of her desk, and eventually, she said, “Bellatrix told me about your last mission.”
A sudden fear gripped him, but he tried to not let it show, and he was fairly certain that endeavour was a success.
“What about it, Mother?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.
Her eyes narrowed, anger flickering in them, and he stood a bit stiffer. “Your cousin said that on one of your attacks in Muggle Bristol, you purposefully let a muggle man escape with his life.”
“No, I didn’t,” he denied, lying through his teeth, hoping she would believe him. He couldn’t lose – he needed to – “A muggle did escape, but I had been preoccupied with the Aurors. Moody sent a small army. Must’ve been tipped off that I’d be there. Bella was too busy with her own games. You know how she likes to, ah, play with her food. Mother.”
Her eyes narrowed even more, piercing him, and he straightened his spine under the weight of her gaze.
Finally, she spoke, “For your brother’s sake, I hope that is true, Sirius.”
Clasped behind his back, as always, his nails cut into his palms. “Regulus…” he began, hesitantly. Did this failure mean he shouldn’t ask? Would she not let him? It had just been one mistake… Should he? “I – can I –” he cut himself off. If he asked now, and the answer was no, it wouldn’t be yes for a long time.
His mother’s eyes glinted cruelly, and she leaned back in her seat, a smirk ghosting her lip, as she rested her elbows on the desk.
“Yes?” she prompted, raising a challenging eyebrow.
Oh, she loved these moments, whenever Sirius would be forced to ask her for these favours. She loved the power it gave her, loved the way it humiliated and broke him every single time she refused, which she did often.
He bit his lip, “It – it’s been a week. Can I –” he gathered his courage. “May I see my brother?”
He never felt more vulnerable than in these moments, the very distinct knowledge sitting between them that she could so easily refuse…
The general rule was that he was given an hour of time a week with Regulus, but those sixty precious minutes were like food. If he displeased Walpurga, the privilege was indefinitely postponed.
She did not grace him with an immediate answer, instead taking the time to lift her elbows off the desk and stand, the sound of her chair scraping backwards like glass against metal.
She stared at him for a long stretch of time, and he stayed so perfectly still, he hardly dared to even breath.
Please, please. Let me see him. Let me, please.
Walpurga hummed. “Before we decide any of that, the Dark Lord has use of you.”
He paled, his eyes widening. Not again. Not so soon…
“What does – the Dark Lord want?”
She shook her head, dismissively, “Whatever it is, you are to meet him at Malfoy Manor for your mission.”
After a pause, Sirius nodded, resignedly. “Yes, Mother.” He tried, as always, to ignore the constant cold thrum of energy weaved into the black ink on his left forearm.
As she leaned over the desk, reaching out her finger, Sirius tried his hardest not to outwardly flinch. When her long, cold finger tucked under his chin, he failed.
She forced his chin upwards, so he would meet her eyes, and added, a quiet threat in her voice, “I strongly suggest that this mission is completed flawlessly, Sirius. You know what the punishment for failure is in this house.”
He swallowed, the lump bobbing in his throat all the more painful for the way his head was lifted.
When she let go of him, he nodded, his eyes downcast. “Yes, Mother.”
It was funny – or ironic, call it what you will – how easy it had turned out to be, to beat the defiance out of him. They hadn’t even had to beat him at all… not that this knowledge stopped them.
See, if you fan a flame, it only gets stronger, but deprive it of oxygen and…
Walpurga’s lips curled up into a smile. “I have every faith that you won’t disappoint me, my son. You haven’t in a long time.”
I disappointed you a week ago. Not that she cared about that. Sirius knew what she meant. Even if it wasn’t perfect, Sirius’ nature in constant rebellion against it, they had a hold on him, and they never let him forget it.
Despite the knowledge of why he was doing this, despite all of that, it did nothing to relieve his guilt. He wouldn’t stop. He’d never stop. But, regardless, all those people…
He found that his throat had closed up, so he simply nodded in response. Because he wouldn’t disappoint. Not with the sounds of – not with the cries still echoing in his ears.
He couldn’t.
Walpurga drew herself up and turned away from him, examining the landscape painting of a forest behind her. “You’re dismissed.”
Like every other time, he swallowed back the defiant retort that had once come so easily, been so instinctive and simple to express, and simply nodded, despite knowing she couldn’t see. “Yes, Mother.”
And he left.
On the way back up the flights of stairs, he hesitated on the third landing, and his gaze flickered helplessly to the door on the far end of the corridor.
Drilled into it was the silver plaque that read Regulus Arcturus Black.
His eyes stung at the memory of the last time he’d seen Regulus.
It hadn’t been the mission his mother had just mentioned. No, that had been a couple of days ago. But a week before, Sirius had pointed his wand at a muggle family – there had been kids, little five-year-old twins – and had… lowered it.
Another death eater had noticed him do that, and once the Dark Lord found out, that was it. He’d gotten a long bout of the cruciatus curse. The Dark Lord did not often punish directly, so he had felt relief, even as he writhed on the floor under his wand.
Until he’d been apparated into Regulus’ room.
His mother had then proceeded to punish Regulus for even longer. By the end of it, Sirius’ throat was raw from begging her to stop.
Please… please! I – I’ll be good – I’ll be good, I promise! Stop hurting him! It was – a mistake. I didn’t mean to! Stop it, please!!!
His baby brother’s screams were a torture in their own right.
This was how they kept him obedient. A dog. And his brother’s lifeline was his leash.
Reggie had not been let out of his bedroom in ten long years, and a plethora of rumours surrounded his sudden disappearance from the wizarding elite’s society. But nobody ever did quite hit the mark.
Ever since that fateful Christmas of 1975…
Sirius had once thought his life had been fixed on his dark path the day his parents withdrew him from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But no. He had been a fool, thinking those next three and a half years were what torture felt like. They had been nothing, nothing compared to the hell that the last decade had been.
He’d been so adamant on refusing the Dark Mark, then. So very adamant… No amount of any Unforgivables would make him compliant. He’d even resisted the Imperius Curse.
But that was no matter to Walpurga Black.
Sirius had not known what real torture was, not till that glint of triumph in Walpurga’s eyes had seared themselves into his memory.
Not till she had caught sight of Regulus, his eyes slammed shut so he didn’t have to watch Sirius’ body convulse on the floor.
Not till Sirius had accepted, so quickly. Only moments after the wand had turned on Regulus.
They wanted a Black Heir.
Well, they got a Black Heir.
They got their ruthless soldier, their trained assassin, their unrelenting storm and apocalyptical weapon.
Sometimes Sirius wondered, his thoughts filled with bitterness, what would have happened if Dumbledore had heeded his cries and begs for a way out. Would Sirius have still been sullied, not with muggle-borns and blood traitors, but with evil and darkness and death? Would it have been the Order of the Phoenix with one of the most powerful wizards of the age on their side, instead of the Death Eaters and Voldemort?
Because that was what he was, and sometimes – most of the time – he wished he wasn’t. He wished he was useless, weak, of no value, because then, at least he could cause little harm. But he was perfectly capable of wiping out entire villages with the sheer force of his power.
He was perfectly capable of killing an entire village in one fell swoop.
And he was the Dark Lord’s second-in-command, lower only to Bellatrix, because of her genuine adoration of the Dark Arts, and the man himself. A true hilarity, as he had less power than even the wannabes who arrived and mostly failed the initiation process of casting each Unforgivable successfully.
Most of those masked demons came grabbing for power, or safety, or for their own importance, but despite being right at the top, he had none of those things.
The mark on Sirius’ arm suddenly seared, and he stifled a groan of pain as he gripped it tightly, bounding up the stairs with a newfound speed into his own attic room. He hurriedly picked up the wand that lay on his bed and pocketed it before apparating away, letting the mark direct it.
He landed, much like he expected, in the large Dining Room of Malfoy Manor.
Blinking, he briefly scanned the environment while he gathered his bearings.
The room was mostly empty, brightly lit with its extravagant chandelier in a way that Grimmauld Place never was. There was a large, polished glass, rectangular table, much more modern than the mahogany of his own house, but no less prestigious, and it was lined with golden candelabras and readily set plates, but only one of the many seats were taken in the almost empty room.
At the head of it sat the Dark Lord.
Swallowing, Sirius straightened and walked towards the intimidating man, his face an unspoken horror. He abruptly stilled several feet away from him, and Voldemort simply stared at him with his red eyes for a long moment, before saying, “Sirius… I trust you’ve learned your lesson from our last encounter.”
He pursed his lips tightly at the reminder and was unresponsive for a long time before he could muster the appropriate response. “Yes, my… lord.” He thought of Regulus, and added, “I won’t disappoint again.”
A smirk played on Voldemort’s white lips. “Good, good. I have your next target.”
His nails dug into his fingers, and he didn’t bother to hide it. After all, his coercion wasn’t a secret from the man. But he braced himself, saying, for confirmation, “An assassination?”
Voldemort shook his head at him, his gaze somewhat curious as he stared at his soldier. “No, a retrieval. The man has talent and much of it. He’s tracked down and directly caused the downfall of many of ours. I had been planning to solve the issue of his existence, regardless, but it turns out he is that werewolf spy that was passing Dumbledore information on our dealings with Greyback’s pack.”
Sirius nodded, remembering.
He’d heard of the incident years ago, back when he’d still be… defiant, moderately so. Over time, the threats to his brother had effectively squandered that flame.
“Why not simply have me kill him?” Sirius asked, thinking that would likely be far more efficient than a kidnapping.
Voldemort’s mouth curled into a smile. “With the devastation he has caused our numbers? I won’t let him off that easily.”
Sirius swallowed back the emotions that rose at the implication of torture. One would think he’d be desensitised to the topic by now, but no. He’d simply learned to hide his horror and fear and guilt. “I see…”
The Dark Lord stood, and in response, Sirius tensed. “Bring him to me – alive,” the man commanded. “Kill anyone who gets in your way, and do not hesitate. Is that understood?”
He once more swallowed, wanting to refuse, spit in this man’s face and run away from all this.
But he had a leash wrapped around his throat. He couldn’t run far enough to be free.
“Yes, my lord.” Reluctantly, he continued, “And… who is my target?”
“Remus John Lupin.”
Sirius held back a sad sigh. Whatever fate awaited this Remus John Lupin, it would not be pleasant.
He nodded. “Is there any more useful information on him?”
Voldemort looked up, and his eyes flashed with cruelty, making Sirius’ blood freeze up in apprehension. “You are likely to find him in Godric’s Hollow.”
The name sounded vaguely familiar to Sirius, a distant echo of the address surrounded by laughter, though it now felt as though it had been underwater.
Where had he heard of that place before?
Voldemort continued, “– living with his best friend and family. One infamous James Potter.”
Th effect was instant, even all these years later.
Sirius reeled back in horror, his eyes bulging as he looked up. “J-James?” he breathed out the name he regarded with reverence.
His first and only ever friend. That one year of heaven… No, not James.
He had not heard mention of that boy – now a man just as Sirius was – in fifteen years.
His few preserved memories were some of the only comforts he had left, and even those were few and far between, many now residing in various vials beside his mother’s Pensive.
Sirius looked up at Voldemort, his eyes desolate, “I – no.”
Voldemort arched an eyebrow, and Sirius was fairly certain the ceiling was caving in, about to collapse on him, and he didn’t know why it wouldn’t just get on with it, insisted on spinning around and terrifying him beforehand.
“No?” he questioned and laughed. When the laughs stopped, his face was starkly serious. “You don’t have a choice, Black. You will complete this mission, and bring me Remus Lupin in silver chains, or you will watch as I rip out your brother’s heart.”
He flinched at the words.
“Yes,” Voldemort continued, softly. “Nothing as merciful as the Killing Curse. I will make it hurt, and I will make you watch.”
He was stepping backwards, desperate to – to get away, and he hit one of the walls.
“And as well as Remus Lupin, I would set a price on James Potter’s head. His severed head.”
Sirius felt the colour drain from his face in entirety, as he choked out, “Why me? Why ask me? You know I’m – I’m not the best for this job. You know that, so why make me do this?”
The man chuckled, quietly, and looked up. “The only reason such a traitorous Gryffindor like yourself is still alive and so high up in my ranks is because you are a good soldier. Your talent, Sirius Black, is exemplary. A wandless prodigy from infancy, undefeated duellist and militant strategist. As well as being one of the most pure-blooded heirs in not only Britain, but the whole world.” He paused, before continuing, “Gryffindor filth or not, you are useful, and that is the only reason you still draw breath. Your brother lives because of his use in keeping you docile. After all, if you cannot have loyal soldiers, have obedient ones. Regulus – he keeps you obedient.”
Sirius blinked at this information, so much to process so quickly, and yet, Voldemort still wasn’t finished.
“You’ve proven yourself capable of anything for those you are loyal to, Sirius Black.” He returned to his seat. “Which is why I need to know who you are loyal to more. Your blood brother, or some boy you knew years ago. Consider this… a test of loyalty.”
Sirius laughed, bitterly, his eyes stinging, but he knew well enough not to cry. “Seems it is clear what my choice would be, the way you say it.”
Voldemort shrugged. “That boy represents something to you, though. A time before your responsibilities. It seems plausible that would lead to an irrational desire to protect it. Besides,” his voice became soft, “your predicament intrigues me – amuses me, as it were. But let me tell you this, if you… fail this loyalty test… it will cost you and your brother dearly, Black heirs or not. The name can always be reclaimed through your cousin’s line.”
Sirius looked down, his face burning with anger.
“Do you accept, then, Sirius?”
His head bowed, he clenched his fists for a moment. It passed, and he slowly relaxed them, choking out, bitterly, “Like I have a choice.” He raised his head. “I’ll do what you want, so long as you don’t hurt my brother.”
“Good,” Voldemort smiled, almost pleasantly, and leaned back in his high-backed chair. “You are dismissed.”
Too emotional to apparate, Sirius all but ran out of the Manor and into the forests that surrounded it and hidden from the world by the trees he once ran through as a child, he leaned against the hard bark of one such trunk and heaved out shaky breaths for the next hour until he’d composed himself.
Once he did, the exhausted man apparated back to Grimmauld Place, and opened the door, his mood as dark as the halls that entrapped him.
He made his way up the stairs, his thoughts occupied with a bountiful supply of multiple different plans half-formed.
Maybe he could minimise collateral damage somehow, avoid James, or –
Remus John Lupin.
This man – this werewolf – he was James Potter’s best friend.
He lived with James, and he’d be, what? Twenty-six?
Why didn’t he live alone?
What kind of person was he?
Did he care about James as much as Sirius cared about Regulus?
Could Sirius use that love?
These thoughts were half-cruel, calculating and ruthless, no room in his mind for sympathy as questions filed themselves away in his mind to be answered.
He opened the door to his room and sat down in front of his mirror, staring into the polished view of the unblemished glass.
The eyes of a merciless strategist stared straight back. He couldn’t recognise this man. Couldn’t reconcile this reflection with his own existence.
Godric’s Hollow…
He couldn’t kill Lupin, no, but that likely meant a bloodier fight, a longer struggle.
He’d have to trail the man – at least for a few days. Learn how he operated, what made him tick, who he loved, and how much. And his fighting style. That’d be important to know.
Most death eaters came up with simple, two-step plans, simple and foolish, and went with the moment, but not Sirius.
No, he left very little to chance, knowing he didn’t have the privilege to make mistakes.
This judicious planning of his worked, though, and his only failings had been more so due to the self-sabotage of a boy who still tried to live up to that look another had given him, laurelled in red and gold.
A struggle would mean the arrival of back-up…
So, Sirius had to either immobilise him or…
Or make him come willingly…
James Potter’s best friend…
Almost certainly a Gryffindor…
And unlike Sirius, one that had remained in the loving embrace of Hogwarts.
Remus John Lupin.
Sirius realised something, just then, about that name. He hadn’t been a first year with Sirius…
Looking away from the mirror, Sirius held out his hand, and a moment later, a book appeared in his grip, reading Waning Moon: Wolves and their Power as Men.
He flicked it open and began to read.