02/14: Black Confessions
Title: Black, in the Smothering Dark
Chapter Title: Black Confessions 02/14
Words (this chapter): 7,028
Rating (this chapter): R (for language)
Story Info/All Chapters: HERE
Beta'd by littlevlahgirl and amelancholykiss with help from marry_me_draco.
-x-
Black, in the Smothering Dark
-x-
Chapter Two
Black Confessions
-x-
A week later, Harry and Sirius were still no closer to figuring out who had actually fallen through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, but Sirius didn’t seem to care much anyway. That irked Harry; he couldn’t understand why Sirius wasn’t more interested in this mystery, but nothing he said changed Sirius’ mind. All he would say was that he’d left for America in January of 1996-just days after Harry and the rest went back to Hogwarts during their fifth year-and returned the week before he got Harry from the Dursleys.
Harry had managed to wrangle out a bit more information, though: Snape had seemed surprised to find Sirius in Grimmauld Place when he returned, and Dumbledore had not. Harry got the feeling that Sirius knew something he didn’t, but decided not to push it. He’d satisfied his own uncertainties: he was positive that Sirius was who he said he was-he’d asked enough personal questions to make sure of it, and Sirius had even transformed into Padfoot again for him.
During that time, Fred and Ginger had attacked the house with a focused determination, cleaning rooms so thoroughly that in some cases, they sparkled. The house was completely clean, but due to the two house-elves’ thoroughness, it was also completely empty, save for the two beds that they slept on, the knapsack and Harry’s trunk. Just that morning, they’d breakfasted on the kitchen counter instead of the missing kitchen table, which Ginger had explained away by saying it was too scratched to eat on.
Ginger also said that the furniture was moth-eaten and disgraceful and informed them that they would be purchasing new pieces because a Black should not live in such squalor. Harry thought he had had enough to do with furniture for a while, but the diminutive house-elf was surprisingly forceful, and he quelled under her authoritative glare.
Ginger put her hands on her hips and squeaked one word. “Now.”
Sirius winced because he obviously hated furniture shopping, too. “Fine, fine,” he agreed with a winning smile and rushed off to his knapsack to grab a rather large bag of galleons.
There was a small wizarding village called Eweforic Alley in Edinburgh, and Sirius had decided that they could go there because it was only a twenty minute walk and the scenery was lovely. Unsurprisingly, he was great with glamour spells and, after a moment’s hesitation, turned them both into dirty blondes with brown eyes and American accents for the occasion.
They walked in comfortable silence for several minutes until Harry’s mind started overflowing with questions. “Why did we come to the River House?” he asked. “I thought you hated anything to do with Blacks.”
Sirius gave him a sheepish look. “Only my mother’s side. My father’s side was much nicer. My da used to bring me and Regulus to visit our Grandfather Arcturus when we were younger. He was quirky-paranoid-but not too bad. I’d rather live here than at my mother’s,” he said.
Harry nodded. “Oh,” he said, and then suddenly remembered why he’d been tied up at the Dursley’s in the first place. He knew now that Hedwig had found Snape, and for some reason, Snape had gone to Sirius instead of Dumbledore to pass on the message, but he had questions about other things. The stuff he’d seen in his aunt’s trunk had not crossed his mind once in the last week, but now it did. Hopefully, Sirius would be able to answer some of his questions, he thought.
“Tell me about my mother,” Harry asked.
Sirius jumped and stuttered incoherently for several seconds. “Your…your mother?” he asked warily. “What’s there to tell, eh?” he said with an overly bright smile. “Lovely woman.”
“You’re hiding something from me,” Harry observed with narrowed eyes. He’d become rather good at telling when Sirius was trying to hide something from him in the past week. He only hoped that he would be able to weasel this information out of Sirius, as he had not been able to about Sirius’ mission.
“Like what?” Sirius hedged, but Harry wasn’t going to fall for that. He figured he knew what the big secret was, but there was really no telling with his life, and if he could trick Sirius into telling him something else, then all the better. Maybe.
“I already know, so you might as well just tell me,” Harry said magnanimously. It was a very Slytherin tactic, he realised, but did not care. Sirius narrowed his eyes in return.
“Awfully Slytherin of you.” Harry only grinned. Their personalities were so much alike that it was almost scary.
Sirius sighed sadly. “Alright, alright. But I want you to know that it wasn’t just lust. I loved her.”
“What?!” Harry asked incredulously. He had not been expecting that. Sirius gave him a sad smile.
“I couldn’t help it. She was mine first, anyway. When I saw her for the first time right before she married your father, she was just as beautiful as she had been at school. I hadn’t seen her in nearly a year, but she took my breath away. How was I supposed to say no, you know? You can’t say no to your first love…even if they are married to your best friend.”
“You fucked my mother?” Harry didn’t know whether to be amused or scandalized. Right now, he was just shocked.
“Not just the once, and I wouldn’t call it fucking,” Sirius said with a wince. “Besides…wait, what? Oh, bloody hell. You didn’t know?”
“No,” Harry answered slowly. “I just wanted you to tell me about my mother in general. As in her life before Hogwarts-as in her life in America…with her New England Minister father.”
“Damn it,” Sirius cursed. He gave Harry a sheepish smile and they both made an unconscious decision to forget the previous part of the conversation for the time being. Harry was pretty sure that he should be offended or at least a little bit mad at his godfather for betraying his father like that, but then he realised that if he was mad at his godfather, he would have to be mad at his mother, and he didn’t think that was possible. Instead, he decided to be amused, and chuckled to himself.
Maybe he was crazy after all. He’d decided, after the first night at River House that he wasn’t…but there was always the possibility.
“Well, what do you want to know, then?” Sirius asked. “I met her parents once-Frank and Laurel-real stand up characters, they were. Her da never lost his Yank accent, but his mother was really…cute. Tiny little thing. You just wanted to throw her in the air or something. Lily got her good looks and perfect arse from Laurel, I think.”
Sirius coughed awkwardly while Harry studiously ignored the last comment. “Sorry. Perhaps shouldn’t be saying things like that.
“Anyway,” Sirius continued with another cough, “they were assassinated in ’78, but no one ever figured out who did it. Lily went to a muggle primary school in New York City with her sister, but that’s about all I know.”
Harry nodded, digesting the information. “But I thought my mum was muggle-born,” he ventured.
Sirius looked at him incredulously. “Don’t know where you got that idea from. The Evanses…they kept to themselves, mostly. I wouldn’t be surprised if people just assumed Lily was muggle-born, especially since they wouldn’t have known the name. Evans isn’t a line in Britain, but it’s pretty renown in America. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a dozen aunts and uncles over there with three times as many cousins.”
“Then what about Aunt Petunia?”
Sirius shrugged again. “Suppose she’s a squib. Lily never talked about her much. There was always that rivalry between them.”
Harry hummed noncommittally and thrust his hands in his pockets. He had a lot of thinking to do, now, and it would probably be for the best if he just shut his mouth right then and let them continue on the Eweforic Alley in silence.
The walk gave him the opportunity to notice the area, and he decided, quite firmly, that he was in the most beautiful place on earth. It was a lot like the area Hogwarts was in, and he wondered how far away they actually were, but it was much more peaceful here. Even the city of Edinburgh looked nice from where they were.
Sirius led him into town and over to an old, shady looking bar, tactlessly named The Burning Man. It was a stand-alone brick building with murals painted over the façade displaying bonfires and hinting broadly that there might be witches inside those fires. But at least the windows were clean.
Inside, the décor was even trashier. The wall sconces and table candles were fashioned to look like little people tied to stakes. When the candles were lit, the people were inside the flames-but Sirius paid no mind to all of this. He’d obviously visited many times before, and Harry caught himself wondering what Sirius’ life had been like when he was still young. He supposed that Sirius’ father had brought him and his brother to this bar quite a bit when they visited his grandfather.
Down a hallway off to the side of the main restaurant, were the loos, and Sirius gave Harry a quick grin before pushing the door open and stepping through. Harry hesitated for only a moment, wondering how Sirius could tell that it was actually the men’s room and not the ladies’ room when one was labelled ‘The Evil’ and the other labelled ‘The Wicked’.
Sirius was just stepping up to the last cubicle, which Harry could tell would look to be out of order to any muggle, when he stepped inside.
“Come on then,” Sirius said, and held the door to the stall open for Harry. It was a rather awkward situation, and Harry hoped-really hoped-that this was the entrance to wizarding Edinburgh because if it wasn’t, then he was about to be stuck in a loo with his allegedly dead godfather.
“Right,” Harry mumbled. When he stepped inside, Sirius closed the door and Harry got the feeling of being port-keyed in the bottom of his stomach. A second later, Sirius opened the stall door and there, right in front of Harry’s face, was Eweforic Alley.
It was nothing but old, gothic architecture, but it looked as though the area was populated by new-agers because he could definitely see contemporary influences all throughout. A couple of wizarding kids were skateboarding on levitated skateboards and an elderly couple was sitting on a bench feeding owls. A thought struck him, and he turned back around to look behind him.
The door he’d exited was labelled ‘Wizards’ and there was another labelled ‘Witches’. Well, at least he knew what women did when they needed to get out of Eweforic Alley.
-x-
According to a list courtesy of Ginger-who was fast becoming the lady of the house-River House needed full furnishings for one kitchen, one formal dining room, one informal dining room, one parlour, one antechamber-Harry didn’t know antechambers needed furniture-one drawing room, three studies, one sitting room, twelve bedrooms, two bedroom suites and a veranda.
This was because she’d tossed the original furnishings out, save for some china with the Black Family Crest and the portraits. Sirius had frowned at the china, and then shook his head, deciding not to argue. Ginger was definitely a force to be reckoned with.
Sirius was going to be spending quite a bit of galleons and Harry was going to be bored out of his mind.
Fortunately, all of this could be purchased at one or two stores, so with a resigned sigh, Sirius herded Harry to Pollack and Priggins, a store owned by two renowned wizarding carpenters on the west end of Eweforic Alley. A cheery little bell jingled on their way in and the two men were immediately accosted by the shopkeeper.
“Welcome to Pollack and Priggins!” a short, bald, and beaming man said as he rushed over and enthusiastically pumped Sirius’, then Harry’s, hands. “I’m Henry Priggins-what can I do for you gentlemen today, hmm?”
Sirius wordlessly handed Mr. Priggins the list.
“Oh my!” Mr. Priggins exclaimed. “Oh my, indeed! A full renovation. Well, we specialize in Victorian and minimalist styles, but we also have masters of gothic and middle-eastern carpentry. Had you anything in particular in mind?”
“Minimalist,” Harry said at the same time Sirius said, “Victorian.” They looked at each other and sneered playfully until they were interrupted by a cheerful chuckle.
“Not to worry, boys!” Mr. Priggins said as he looped an arm around each of their waists and hurried them over to the counter. He pulled out a huge tattered book of designs and cloth samples and plopped it down in front of them. “We mix and match!”
Mr. Priggins thumbed quickly through several pages, licking the tip of his finger as he went and finally stopped about a quarter way through with a triumphant, ‘Aha!’
Mr. Priggins excitedly showed them various tables, dressers, wardrobes, mirrors, chairs, divans, desks and beds. One hour and two-thousand-forty-two galleons later, Harry and Sirius had decided and ordered all of the furniture. It was exhausting.
Sirius was especially proud of a huge, ornate oak and ebony desk with matching chair for his study and Harry was pleased with his gothic-looking seven-foot-high reading chair, which he’d planned to place in the library-his new favourite place. Additionally, Harry also had a humongous four-poster bed with matching wardrobe and mirror-complete with carved gargoyles abundant-and Ginger would be pleased to see the new kitchen and dining room tables.
As an afterthought, Sirius had put in an order for a cute little child’s bed and matching cradle for the house-elves and their impending baby.
Next, they headed over to Madame Fabriek’s Fine Fabrics on Myrddin Street for the draperies, rugs and duvets. Harry, though tired, was beginning to enjoy himself and was oddly surprised to note that even though Sirius had put on a show about not wanting to shop for furniture, looked to be having the time of his life. Harry supposed it had something to do with being a wealthy pure-blood at heart.
The bell over Madame Fabriek’s was not nearly as cheery as the one at Pollack and Priggins’, and when they entered, it was to a dark, imposing little shop, lit by strategically placed candles which Harry assumed were for ‘atmosphere’.
“Welcome to Madame Fabriek’s Fine Fabrics,” a low voice said from somewhere to their right. Both Sirius and Harry jumped, startled, and turned to face the voice. A tall, rail-thin woman was staring at them expectantly, and Sirius stuttered out a thank you of sorts.
“What can I help you with today?” the woman asked, neglecting to introduce herself. Sirius, not feeling comfortable with just passing a list over to this woman, gave her a shaky smile and listed off everything they would need.
“Preferably in some nice…cheery…colours,” Sirius added warily.
The woman nodded thoughtfully and glided over to a display by the window, which was of a set of draperies made in heavy black velvet and lined with a faded blue silk. “Cheery like this?” the woman asked slowly.
Sirius hesitated. “No…not exactly, maybe if…”
“I like them. I want them in my room,” Harry interrupted with a cheeky grin. Sirius gave him a withering look and nodded to the shopkeeper, who pulled a quill from behind her ear and made several notes on a notepad.
They spent a significantly less amount of time in the fabric shop, mainly because even Harry was getting creeped out after a while, and left after purchasing Gryffindor red for nearly everything. Sirius’ office, however, was in blue as was Harry’s bedroom.
All of their purchases would be delivered later that afternoon so they had plenty of time to spare before returning home. Harry wasn’t certain, but he’d gotten the feeling that Sirius was a little wary of Ginger’s authoritative voice. He wondered if Fred was just as wary.
“Fancy stopping for a butterbeer?” Sirius asked once they were out in daylight again. Harry considered and then nodded.
“Bit hungry, too. You gonna buy me lunch?”
Sirius grinned and clapped him on the back. “Course I will. Got all this money that the Ministry can’t get to and nothing to spend it on except Ginger’s whims and your stomach.” They turned right and walked over to the shop were Sirius spotted a little café, made a pleased little noise, and steered Harry towards it.
“I used to eat here all the time when I was a kid. My da brought me and Regulus here when we were lads,” Sirius explained and Harry grinned while he did so because Sirius was starting to pick up the local dialect slowly but surely.
“This place,” Sirius said, gesturing to the café, which was cutely called Merlin’s Magic Mushroom and had an equally cute hanging wooden sign with a triple M emblem, “serves the best food in Scotland. Anything and everything you could possibly want with mushrooms in it.”
“What if I don’t like mushrooms, then?” Harry asked because it really was a very good question, considering.
Sirius shrugged. “Everybody like’s mushrooms, but I suppose you might be able to get something without them in it.”
Harry hummed noncommittally and followed Sirius in and to a booth near a window. The café was filled with people, mostly young, hip adults, Harry noted though there were some families seated around. There was lively music playing and the general atmosphere was rather fun.
Harry sat down and picked up a menu, raising a single eyebrow as he read over it because Sirius had been wrong: there was nothing that could be served without mushrooms. Well-he supposed he could have a supreme pizza with no mushrooms, but he’d never really been fond of pizza.
“Merry meet, what’ll you eat?” a cheery voice sing-songed from behind him. Harry cringed at the absolute absurdity of such a greeting and sent his pity out to all the waiters and waitresses who were forced to repeat that line at every table. Across from him, Sirius was hiding a smile behind his menu and Harry glared at him witheringly. He turned to the bright-eyed, blonde-haired waitress who was currently flashing him a smile so blinding he wanted to shield his eyes.
“Suppose I’ll have the stuffed mushrooms and a side of portabella chips,” he answered carefully. The waitress grinned and wrote his order down on a mushroom-shaped notepad with a self-inking quill she’d had behind her ear.
She looked expectantly at Sirius because she obviously didn’t have any more cutesy rhymes. He stared blankly at her, lips twitching-which she spiritedly ignored-and then abruptly coughed.
“What’s the soup of the day?” he asked, deadpan. Harry had the most suspicious feeling that he was trying to have them on. Harry had never even been there before and he already knew what the soup would be.
“Crème of Mushroom.” Supposing there was more than one kind of mushroom soup, of course.
“You don’t have the Mushroom Chowder, then, today?” Sirius asked, apparently disappointed. The waitress shook her head ‘no’ still grinning like a loon, and that’s when Harry realised why they called the café Merlin’s Magic Mushroom-everyone was obviously hopped up on something.
“That’s Thursdays.”
Sirius sighed. “I’ll have the Fried Mushrooms then.”
The waitress positively chirped and scampered off, presumably to put their orders in, and Harry took a moment to take in his surroundings. “Your father-a pure-blooded dark wizard,” Harry added significantly, “brought you to this place as a child?” he asked as he noticed that the table tops were painted to look like fairy rings.
Sirius shrugged easily. “He liked mushrooms.”
“I like mushrooms, too,” Harry said carefully.
“Well, we were Blacks. Blacks love mushrooms. It’s in our blood. Like bad tempers, insanity and dark magic. We’ll suffer anything gladly for a good mushroom hoagie.”
“Even fools?” Harry asked, amused.
“Even fools,” Sirius answered seriously, which was an amusing thought in and of itself.
Several minutes later, the chirpy waitress returned with their orders and Harry was pleased to see that his portabella chips were cooked just the way he liked them. They dug in, though Sirius looked like he would be using three forks if they were available to him. Harry supposed that it was just the pure-blood upbringing. Habit-Sirius could eat a plate full of fried, greasy, mushroom caps and still keep a pinkie out. Harry smiled to himself and they dropped all conversation in favour of mushrooms, finishing with satisfied smiles and full bellies.
Afterwards, they still had a few hours to kill before they needed to be back at the house to greet the delivery wizards, and Sirius had a wicked gleam in his eye that Harry didn’t like one bit.
“You need a haircut.”
“I need a lot of things,” Harry replied dismissively. “Like air and a massive collection of porn tapes.” Sirius smirked.
“It’s too long. You look like a ragamuffin,” Sirius replied easily. “Besides-James would have my wand if he knew I let you run around with long hair.”
“What did my dad have against long hair?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.
Sirius grinned. “Always said it was too nancy.” Harry choked on his drink.
“I don’t suppose teenage rebellion would have any effect on the outcome of this conversation, would it?” he asked hopefully.
“Not me you’re rebelling against, kiddo.” Sirius pointed towards the ceiling. “It’s the big guy up there. He’s the one you’re going to have to answer to.”
“What, you mean God?”
“Nope,” Sirius answered. “Your da.”
And so, Harry got a haircut at a little place called The Shear and Scissor on Eweforic Alley next to the carpentry shop. Cropped close in the back and longer in the front, and just because he was a little pissed off at Sirius for guilt-tripping him into it, he had the stylist charm the tips of his hair red. Sirius pitched an amazing fit until Harry convinced him it was Gryffindor pride.
When the stylist-who was, even in the subtlest sense of the words, a queen-suggested that Harry invest in a few nice clothes, and Sirius got another gleam in his eye, Harry decided he’d had enough.
“Delivery wizards are gonna be at the manor soon,” he said. “We need to head back.”
Sirius had known that it was a distraction, but he was admittedly quite excited about his new desk for his study, and subsequently caved.
“I reckon you’re right,” Sirius said, and they headed home.
On the walk back, Harry ran his fingers through his hair and scowled because there wasn’t enough there. It was another quiet walk in a comfortable silence and he began to think even more about his godfather’s unwitting admission to having an affair with his mother.
He was pissed, really. Because Sirius was James’ best friend and he shouldn’t have done that-Harry never would’ve done anything like that to Ron, but then again, he didn’t think Ron would ever date anyone Harry would lust after. Hermione, now-Hermione might need to keep an eye on anyone she dated. Of course, Harry wouldn’t do that to her anyway, which brought him back around to Sirius being a complete jerk.
And so unrepentant.
“I can’t believe you,” he finally muttered, breaking the silence after nearly ten minutes. Sirius, who was walking next to him with his hands in his pockets and his nose in the air watching bird fly around, looked at him surprised.
“What do you mean?” he asked curiously.
Harry shook his head in disbelief. “My mother…” he said, and Sirius cringed.
“Look, kiddo,” he began, but Harry shook his head again.
“No-no,” he said somewhat desperately. “I mean-I understand it. I think. Maybe. She was your girlfriend first, you said.”
“James didn’t know about it either,” Sirius interjected sadly. “We kept it quiet.” Harry nodded.
“I know-it’s just…I don’t know. It’s wrong. I mean…I understand love, but…why do that to your best friend? Why’d she marry him in the first place if she was going to just go and…” here, Harry floundered, looking for words, “…fuck you,” he finished somewhat lamely.
Sirius sighed, obviously not comfortable with the conversation, but Harry was relentless. He needed to know-he wished he’d never known, but now that he did, he had to know everything. “Well,” Sirius said, pulling his right hand out of his pocket and pushing his hair out of his eyes with it. “We were going to.”
Harry could see River House from where they were walking now and he waited patiently for his godfather to continue. “You’ve got to remember that this was a time of war,” Sirius continued. “And families were split right down the middle. My brother Regulus…” Sirius sighed, “….Regulus was a good kid. My mother favoured him, but my father treated us equally. He was so smart, and…I hated him for getting involved in the Death Eaters. I hated him so much, but he was my brother, you know.
“You can’t help loving your family even if you hate them, and James was so unequivocally good, you know?” Harry didn’t know. He didn’t even know where Sirius was going with this, but he nodded anyway and gave him his full attention. “James told me to help Regulus. Anyway, we were seventeen at the time and Regulus was sixteen. He’d been a Death Eater for about six months, so far as I knew, and I’d had enough. James was right.
“I was going to get my brother back one way or another,” Sirius said with a humourless laugh. “I’d been dating Lily for about two years-secretly of course-and when I told her my plans, she had a fit.”
“What were your plans?” Harry asked when it seemed like Sirius wasn’t going to continue.
His godfather was lost in thought, and he looked up, startled, at Harry’s words. “My plans,” he repeated faintly. “My plans were to become a Death Eater so I could watch over him.” Harry inhaled quickly and stared wide-eyed at Sirius.
“What?” he asked faintly.
Sirius nodded emotionlessly. “Yeah-yeah, and I had it all planned out. I knew all the dark spells and potions and I knew all about pure-blood supremacy. I could’ve done it. I could’ve done it, and I would have.”
“You could have killed?” Harry asked, barely controlling the shaking of his limbs. He had not expected that from his godfather, but then again, he sometimes forgot how his godfather was raised. Sirius gave him an odd look, and then quickly looked away again.
“I knew Avada Kedavra before I went to Hogwarts, kid, and you can’t learn that spell without practicing. You’ve got to remember the family I grew up in.” Sirius took another deep breath and continued without looking at Harry. “Anyway, I told Lily and she told me ‘no’. Just…no. She said she would take care of it. She was a Ravenclaw, you know, and I trusted her when she said it. I mean, we argued about it, but she was rather clever, and she eventually won.”
By then, Harry and Sirius were close enough to home to see the delivery wizards portkeying in with all of their furniture and cloths. He sighed quietly, hoping Sirius wouldn’t stop talking and slowed down his paces. Sirius slowed with him.
“I don’t know what she was going to do, but she disappeared for a month or two and when she came back, she just shook her head and said ‘I’m sorry’. We found Regulus’ body two weeks later.
“After that,” Sirius sounded very tired when he spoke, “Lily started distancing herself. I think she felt guilty for not succeeding, but…I needed her then more than ever. Dumbledore sent me on a mission for the Order to take my mind off things, I suppose, and it took me eight months to complete it.
“When I got back, she was engaged to James. May-December romance, I’d hoped, but she seemed determined to make it work with him. I suppose she loved him, and I couldn’t fault her that, but…it hurt…especially having to be James’ best man. I hated him that day.”
Sirius shrugged. “She got really into her research for a while-going to different places and studying Merlin-knows-what. A few months after that, when Remus was off herding in the werewolves and I was drinking myself into oblivion, she found me.
“At a bar, no less,” Sirius laughed humourlessly. “She came in and her hair was wet because it was raining and she just looked at me and said, ‘I’ve fucked up so badly…but I don’t regret it.’ I think I told her the only thing she should’ve regretted was scouting out an old boyfriend looking like a drowned rat.”
Harry looked at Sirius incredulously. He used that kind of language…but that was his mother. He couldn’t believe that she would talk like that, but somehow, it made her more human, and he liked that.
“You told her that?” Harry asked indignantly.
Sirius nodded, laughing genuinely now. “I did. And she slapped me. After that, things…” Sirius shrugged again, looking a little bit uncomfortable. “You know,” he said pointedly, “…we fucked.”
Harry coughed, blushing.
“A lot,” Sirius continued, gaining his stride and smiling delightedly at Harry’s discomfort. “It went on until…you know, that night.” He looked sad again, and Harry was amazed at how quickly Sirius’ moods could change. He wondered how his mother dealt with it, and supposed she did it the same way Harry did now: with amusement.
They reached the manor and Ginger caught sight of them as they trudged up the gravel drive. She was busy directing the delivery wizards to the appropriate rooms with their loads, but managed to come forward and greet them.
“Masters,” she squeaked, curtseying smartly. “Ginger is making sure delivery wizards do good jobs and Fred is hanging curtains.”
“Very good, Ginger, thank you,” Sirius replied and Ginger grinned.
“Dinner will be ready at seven. We is having Shepard’s Pie. Can Ginger do anything else for masters right now?”
“No, thank you, Ginger,” Harry answered. She nodded and popped back over to the delivery area, directing the placement of furniture with an iron fist. Harry felt a little bit sorry for Fred.
Sirius turned to him with his head cocked to the side and his shoulders a little tense. “So…kiddo…does that answer your question? Do you hate me? Do you want me to take you back or get Dumbledore or anything?”
Harry gaped. “Of course I don’t hate you, and of course I want to stay with you.” He paused thoughtfully before continuing with, “Dumbledore would have never allowed me to get red tips put in my hair.”
Sirius scowled. “I still don’t like those and if you were my son…” he paused, considering. “Well, if you were my son, I’d just be thankful that you’ve turned out better than I did,” he ended thoughtfully.
Harry laughed and ducked the cuffing that Sirius aimed at his head.
-x-
Sometime last year-when he’d still been negligent of his Occlumency lessons-before Harry’s sixth year at Hogwarts began, Harry Potter fell asleep in his bed at Privet Drive and woke up in audience of the Dark Lord.
At first, it was accidental. According to extensive research, Harry had inadvertently called out to Voldemort with his mind while asleep, instead of the other way around. He wasn’t sure how he’d done it at the time, but knew he’d been thinking-worrying-about Him constantly that day. Research called it Astral Projection.
It was a subconscious longing, he finally decided, that allowed it to happen. Deep in his mind he had wanted answers, and he knew he wouldn’t get them from Dumbledore or the Order, so he subconsciously looked elsewhere. That brought him right to the Dark Lord’s personal sitting room-wherever it was.
To say that Lord Voldemort was surprised was an understatement; he was well and truly gob smacked when he looked up from his reading to find Harry Potter staring at him wide-eyed.
He’d thought it was a spy tactic. He’d thought it was a trick, an illusion. He’d thought it was anything but Harry bloody Potter confused and angry-coming to him just for a bloody chat.
Ironically enough, Harry had asked him about the weather-mainly because he was too scared to think of anything else; said it seemed much cooler in wherever they were than at Hogwarts. Of course, he hadn’t been at Hogwarts, but he hadn’t been keen on releasing that information. Lord Voldemort had set his book down on a side table and looked up at the boy with a quirked eyebrow.
“Indeed,” Voldemort had replied coolly. “But I’ve found plenty of rocks to bask on.” And Harry had laughed-stiltedly, but laughed nevertheless.
Conversation came naturally after that, and neither was able to offer any decent reason why an evil dark lord and a boy hero trying to kill each other could handle such a thing. Know thine enemy? At first, perhaps.
Truth be told, they both secretly enjoyed the midnight talks, and Harry began to subconsciously call out for him more and more until their meetings became weekly. Voldemort found himself waiting up for him on many nights, though he would never admit it.
Slowly, the conversations became more intelligent with each of them firing off political, economical and moral opinions for hours. That’s when they found that they shared several similar if not identical views-mostly relating to the rights of magical creatures-and many that they didn’t share, they were able to work hypothetical compromises out for. It was all hypothetical, but it scared Harry more than anything.
In Voldemort’s opinion, the boy was intelligent. He was sly and cunning, and well and truly a Slytherin-if Potter would only admit it-at heart. That didn’t mean Voldemort wouldn’t kill him if it came to it, though.
Additionally, Harry Potter had everyone wrapped around his little finger, and having him as an ally would be most beneficial. Voldemort could defeat him, there was no doubt about that, but why waste such an intelligent mind if you didn’t have to?
Voldemort told Potter this occasionally, and Potter always got upset. He would flash his eyes angrily and say something like ‘why would I join the guy who killed my parents’ and Voldemort would respond with a lipless smile and ‘excellent question, Potter. You tell me.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ Harry would respond and Voldemort would cackle because it was such a Potter sort of answer. When Potter got like that, Voldemort found that he was rather fond of him. It would be a shame to kill him.
But Harry knew none of this, and when Harry fell asleep that night, he found himself in the same sitting room that he had the first time it had happened. Voldemort was standing with his back to him, oblivious to Harry’s arrival, staring out of a window and muttering quietly to himself in Parseltongue.
Behind him, curled up on a chair, his snake Nagini looked on with detached interest. She was obviously used to this kind of behaviour.
“Hello,” Harry said, and was not surprised when his voice came out strong, even though when he looked down at his body, he could see through it. He couldn’t believe this was happening again-actually, he could, really, he just didn’t want to.
Abruptly, Voldemort turned and stared at Harry with unreadable eyes. “Good evening,” he said cautiously. No matter how many times this happened, Voldemort was always cautious of Harry when he first arrived. He must have expected it by now, with as many times as it had happened, but nevertheless, Voldemort never let his guard down.
Harry looked around, and seeing an empty chair, glided over to it and sat down, though it really made little difference what he did with only a semi-corporeal body. Voldemort sneered at him for his rudeness.
“Won’t you sit down?” Voldemort asked sarcastically. Harry gave him a cheeky grin. He wasn’t real. He wasn’t all there-only his mind-and there was no way Voldemort could hurt him in any way while that was the case. He could insult and threaten him all he wanted, but in the end, Harry would still wake up in his own bed. The research had proven that.
“Thank you,” Harry replied, and with a withering glare, Voldemort took the chair across from him and conjured a tea set.
Harry always found it slightly humorous that every time this happened, Tom always conjured tea for them, and every time, Tom’s tea-cup never matched the rest of the set.
Voldemort glanced at him, said ‘I presume you still take two sugars?’ and dropped them in before Harry could even answer. Harry supposed this was what it was like to be a ghost because when the Dark Lord passed his tea over to him, he was able to hold it, but he wasn’t able to feel it in his hands or taste it when he swallowed.
Voldemort knew this because the second time Harry had ever popped up in his sitting room, he’d laced the tea with cyanide and there were no adverse effects. Sometimes, he still laced the tea with cyanide, just for the hell of it. Harry was aware of this, and still drank the tea-even when Voldemort made it a point for Harry to notice him tipping the little vial of poison in the cup.
Harry accepted the tea with a smile and watched as Voldemort glided across the room to a cupboard on the far wall, retrieved his personal tea-cup and returned.
Tom took his with one sugar, no cream and a slice of lemon. Harry could see the steam rising from the kettle as it was poured into the little pewter cup and brought to the Dark Lord’s thin lips. His red eyes peered at Harry over the edge of the double-handled tea-cup and regarded him curiously, settling back into his chair.
“I presume you are enjoying your summer with your disgraceful muggle relatives?” he asked almost politely. If there was one thing Harry could say about Voldemort, it was that he was an impeccable host.
Harry gave him a look, anyway, because he wasn’t entirely sure how much he could give away and still remain safe. He decided not to reveal anything at the moment. The blood-wards on Privet Drive were void now that Voldemort had Harry’s blood running through his veins, but Voldemort had never felt it necessary to risk that. He wasn’t completely certain he wouldn’t be harmed if he tried to cross them, Harry suspected, and there was no use tempting him further by telling him that he was no longer there.
“Distasteful as ever,” Harry answered instead.
Voldemort barked out a surprised, hissing laugh and gave Harry what he suspected was meant to be a smile, though he couldn’t be certain, what with Voldemort not having much of anything for lips.
“Would you like me to have them taken care of?”
Given recent events, Harry was almost tempted to allow it, but knew that he couldn’t. If he did, what would that make him?
“No,” Harry answered, taking a fruitless sip of his tea. It was all for effect, he decided, and he needed something to do with his hands or he would fidget without a body. “So…how was your day?”
Voldemort grinned. “Lovely. I had Lucius under Crucio for eleven minutes and thirteen seconds. He’s getting better. He used to only be able to hold out for seven and a half.”
Harry scowled, but it was not for the normal reason. “I don’t like Lucius…wait, he’s in Azkaban.” Voldemort shrugged, noncommittally and Harry wanted to pull his hair out. So Lucius wasn’t in Azkaban. The Daily Prophet hadn’t reported it. What the fuck was going on? “I noticed that you didn’t attack Manchester last weekend,” he said, changing the subject.
Voldemort shrugged again. “You were right, I decided. It would have been too much work with too little reward. The wizarding area of Manchester is rural at best, and there’s no sense attacking a flock of muggles if they don’t know why they’re being attacked.”
“That’s what I said,” Harry said.
“I know,” Voldemort replied, sipping from his little pewter teacup. “And when Fenrir told me it was a great idea to attack, I decided that it couldn’t possibly be, so I cancelled.”
“They’ll get restless,” Harry interjected sarcastically. “The Death Eaters I mean. If you don’t let them rape and pillage enough,” he said with a scowl. “They might start defecting.”
Voldemort raised a single thin eyebrow. “It’s not all rape, murder and pillage, you understand.”
“Bellatrix?” Harry asked snidely, remembering what she’d done to…someone. He still didn’t know what had actually happened and who had actually fallen through the veil. He wanted to ask Dumbledore about it, but then, he also had a funny feeling that Dumbledore might know something about it that Harry really didn’t want to know.
“She’s in Azkaban,” Voldemort replied coolly. “I didn’t feel it was worth either my time or my resources to extricate her.”
“You and me both,” Harry muttered.
“We agree on something?” Voldemort asked rhetorically. He looked thoughtful, and then said, “We agree on many things, Harry Potter. We could make this world great, you know.”
Harry was silent for many minutes. “I know,” he replied quietly. He looked Voldemort in the eye. “If only you didn’t kill so many people and I killed more.”
“It’s not all about the killing,” Voldemort repeated, and Harry felt himself slipping. His fingers flickered in and out of view and Voldemort watched as he disappeared completely.
At River House, Harry rolled over in his bed and clutched his scar.
-x-
A/N:
1. Burning Man is a festival held in the desert for hippies who like to run about naked and burn huge wicker dolls. I’d really like to go. www.burningman.com
2. The idea for the theme of the bar is inspired by Dracos_DirtySecret, who writes the awesome fanfic, The Burning Times. I’m surprised she’s not grossed out, but she read over it and didn’t complain.
NEXT CHAPTER
Chapter Title: Black Confessions 02/14
Words (this chapter): 7,028
Rating (this chapter): R (for language)
Story Info/All Chapters: HERE
Beta'd by littlevlahgirl and amelancholykiss with help from marry_me_draco.
-x-
Black, in the Smothering Dark
-x-
Chapter Two
Black Confessions
-x-
A week later, Harry and Sirius were still no closer to figuring out who had actually fallen through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, but Sirius didn’t seem to care much anyway. That irked Harry; he couldn’t understand why Sirius wasn’t more interested in this mystery, but nothing he said changed Sirius’ mind. All he would say was that he’d left for America in January of 1996-just days after Harry and the rest went back to Hogwarts during their fifth year-and returned the week before he got Harry from the Dursleys.
Harry had managed to wrangle out a bit more information, though: Snape had seemed surprised to find Sirius in Grimmauld Place when he returned, and Dumbledore had not. Harry got the feeling that Sirius knew something he didn’t, but decided not to push it. He’d satisfied his own uncertainties: he was positive that Sirius was who he said he was-he’d asked enough personal questions to make sure of it, and Sirius had even transformed into Padfoot again for him.
During that time, Fred and Ginger had attacked the house with a focused determination, cleaning rooms so thoroughly that in some cases, they sparkled. The house was completely clean, but due to the two house-elves’ thoroughness, it was also completely empty, save for the two beds that they slept on, the knapsack and Harry’s trunk. Just that morning, they’d breakfasted on the kitchen counter instead of the missing kitchen table, which Ginger had explained away by saying it was too scratched to eat on.
Ginger also said that the furniture was moth-eaten and disgraceful and informed them that they would be purchasing new pieces because a Black should not live in such squalor. Harry thought he had had enough to do with furniture for a while, but the diminutive house-elf was surprisingly forceful, and he quelled under her authoritative glare.
Ginger put her hands on her hips and squeaked one word. “Now.”
Sirius winced because he obviously hated furniture shopping, too. “Fine, fine,” he agreed with a winning smile and rushed off to his knapsack to grab a rather large bag of galleons.
There was a small wizarding village called Eweforic Alley in Edinburgh, and Sirius had decided that they could go there because it was only a twenty minute walk and the scenery was lovely. Unsurprisingly, he was great with glamour spells and, after a moment’s hesitation, turned them both into dirty blondes with brown eyes and American accents for the occasion.
They walked in comfortable silence for several minutes until Harry’s mind started overflowing with questions. “Why did we come to the River House?” he asked. “I thought you hated anything to do with Blacks.”
Sirius gave him a sheepish look. “Only my mother’s side. My father’s side was much nicer. My da used to bring me and Regulus to visit our Grandfather Arcturus when we were younger. He was quirky-paranoid-but not too bad. I’d rather live here than at my mother’s,” he said.
Harry nodded. “Oh,” he said, and then suddenly remembered why he’d been tied up at the Dursley’s in the first place. He knew now that Hedwig had found Snape, and for some reason, Snape had gone to Sirius instead of Dumbledore to pass on the message, but he had questions about other things. The stuff he’d seen in his aunt’s trunk had not crossed his mind once in the last week, but now it did. Hopefully, Sirius would be able to answer some of his questions, he thought.
“Tell me about my mother,” Harry asked.
Sirius jumped and stuttered incoherently for several seconds. “Your…your mother?” he asked warily. “What’s there to tell, eh?” he said with an overly bright smile. “Lovely woman.”
“You’re hiding something from me,” Harry observed with narrowed eyes. He’d become rather good at telling when Sirius was trying to hide something from him in the past week. He only hoped that he would be able to weasel this information out of Sirius, as he had not been able to about Sirius’ mission.
“Like what?” Sirius hedged, but Harry wasn’t going to fall for that. He figured he knew what the big secret was, but there was really no telling with his life, and if he could trick Sirius into telling him something else, then all the better. Maybe.
“I already know, so you might as well just tell me,” Harry said magnanimously. It was a very Slytherin tactic, he realised, but did not care. Sirius narrowed his eyes in return.
“Awfully Slytherin of you.” Harry only grinned. Their personalities were so much alike that it was almost scary.
Sirius sighed sadly. “Alright, alright. But I want you to know that it wasn’t just lust. I loved her.”
“What?!” Harry asked incredulously. He had not been expecting that. Sirius gave him a sad smile.
“I couldn’t help it. She was mine first, anyway. When I saw her for the first time right before she married your father, she was just as beautiful as she had been at school. I hadn’t seen her in nearly a year, but she took my breath away. How was I supposed to say no, you know? You can’t say no to your first love…even if they are married to your best friend.”
“You fucked my mother?” Harry didn’t know whether to be amused or scandalized. Right now, he was just shocked.
“Not just the once, and I wouldn’t call it fucking,” Sirius said with a wince. “Besides…wait, what? Oh, bloody hell. You didn’t know?”
“No,” Harry answered slowly. “I just wanted you to tell me about my mother in general. As in her life before Hogwarts-as in her life in America…with her New England Minister father.”
“Damn it,” Sirius cursed. He gave Harry a sheepish smile and they both made an unconscious decision to forget the previous part of the conversation for the time being. Harry was pretty sure that he should be offended or at least a little bit mad at his godfather for betraying his father like that, but then he realised that if he was mad at his godfather, he would have to be mad at his mother, and he didn’t think that was possible. Instead, he decided to be amused, and chuckled to himself.
Maybe he was crazy after all. He’d decided, after the first night at River House that he wasn’t…but there was always the possibility.
“Well, what do you want to know, then?” Sirius asked. “I met her parents once-Frank and Laurel-real stand up characters, they were. Her da never lost his Yank accent, but his mother was really…cute. Tiny little thing. You just wanted to throw her in the air or something. Lily got her good looks and perfect arse from Laurel, I think.”
Sirius coughed awkwardly while Harry studiously ignored the last comment. “Sorry. Perhaps shouldn’t be saying things like that.
“Anyway,” Sirius continued with another cough, “they were assassinated in ’78, but no one ever figured out who did it. Lily went to a muggle primary school in New York City with her sister, but that’s about all I know.”
Harry nodded, digesting the information. “But I thought my mum was muggle-born,” he ventured.
Sirius looked at him incredulously. “Don’t know where you got that idea from. The Evanses…they kept to themselves, mostly. I wouldn’t be surprised if people just assumed Lily was muggle-born, especially since they wouldn’t have known the name. Evans isn’t a line in Britain, but it’s pretty renown in America. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a dozen aunts and uncles over there with three times as many cousins.”
“Then what about Aunt Petunia?”
Sirius shrugged again. “Suppose she’s a squib. Lily never talked about her much. There was always that rivalry between them.”
Harry hummed noncommittally and thrust his hands in his pockets. He had a lot of thinking to do, now, and it would probably be for the best if he just shut his mouth right then and let them continue on the Eweforic Alley in silence.
The walk gave him the opportunity to notice the area, and he decided, quite firmly, that he was in the most beautiful place on earth. It was a lot like the area Hogwarts was in, and he wondered how far away they actually were, but it was much more peaceful here. Even the city of Edinburgh looked nice from where they were.
Sirius led him into town and over to an old, shady looking bar, tactlessly named The Burning Man. It was a stand-alone brick building with murals painted over the façade displaying bonfires and hinting broadly that there might be witches inside those fires. But at least the windows were clean.
Inside, the décor was even trashier. The wall sconces and table candles were fashioned to look like little people tied to stakes. When the candles were lit, the people were inside the flames-but Sirius paid no mind to all of this. He’d obviously visited many times before, and Harry caught himself wondering what Sirius’ life had been like when he was still young. He supposed that Sirius’ father had brought him and his brother to this bar quite a bit when they visited his grandfather.
Down a hallway off to the side of the main restaurant, were the loos, and Sirius gave Harry a quick grin before pushing the door open and stepping through. Harry hesitated for only a moment, wondering how Sirius could tell that it was actually the men’s room and not the ladies’ room when one was labelled ‘The Evil’ and the other labelled ‘The Wicked’.
Sirius was just stepping up to the last cubicle, which Harry could tell would look to be out of order to any muggle, when he stepped inside.
“Come on then,” Sirius said, and held the door to the stall open for Harry. It was a rather awkward situation, and Harry hoped-really hoped-that this was the entrance to wizarding Edinburgh because if it wasn’t, then he was about to be stuck in a loo with his allegedly dead godfather.
“Right,” Harry mumbled. When he stepped inside, Sirius closed the door and Harry got the feeling of being port-keyed in the bottom of his stomach. A second later, Sirius opened the stall door and there, right in front of Harry’s face, was Eweforic Alley.
It was nothing but old, gothic architecture, but it looked as though the area was populated by new-agers because he could definitely see contemporary influences all throughout. A couple of wizarding kids were skateboarding on levitated skateboards and an elderly couple was sitting on a bench feeding owls. A thought struck him, and he turned back around to look behind him.
The door he’d exited was labelled ‘Wizards’ and there was another labelled ‘Witches’. Well, at least he knew what women did when they needed to get out of Eweforic Alley.
-x-
According to a list courtesy of Ginger-who was fast becoming the lady of the house-River House needed full furnishings for one kitchen, one formal dining room, one informal dining room, one parlour, one antechamber-Harry didn’t know antechambers needed furniture-one drawing room, three studies, one sitting room, twelve bedrooms, two bedroom suites and a veranda.
This was because she’d tossed the original furnishings out, save for some china with the Black Family Crest and the portraits. Sirius had frowned at the china, and then shook his head, deciding not to argue. Ginger was definitely a force to be reckoned with.
Sirius was going to be spending quite a bit of galleons and Harry was going to be bored out of his mind.
Fortunately, all of this could be purchased at one or two stores, so with a resigned sigh, Sirius herded Harry to Pollack and Priggins, a store owned by two renowned wizarding carpenters on the west end of Eweforic Alley. A cheery little bell jingled on their way in and the two men were immediately accosted by the shopkeeper.
“Welcome to Pollack and Priggins!” a short, bald, and beaming man said as he rushed over and enthusiastically pumped Sirius’, then Harry’s, hands. “I’m Henry Priggins-what can I do for you gentlemen today, hmm?”
Sirius wordlessly handed Mr. Priggins the list.
“Oh my!” Mr. Priggins exclaimed. “Oh my, indeed! A full renovation. Well, we specialize in Victorian and minimalist styles, but we also have masters of gothic and middle-eastern carpentry. Had you anything in particular in mind?”
“Minimalist,” Harry said at the same time Sirius said, “Victorian.” They looked at each other and sneered playfully until they were interrupted by a cheerful chuckle.
“Not to worry, boys!” Mr. Priggins said as he looped an arm around each of their waists and hurried them over to the counter. He pulled out a huge tattered book of designs and cloth samples and plopped it down in front of them. “We mix and match!”
Mr. Priggins thumbed quickly through several pages, licking the tip of his finger as he went and finally stopped about a quarter way through with a triumphant, ‘Aha!’
Mr. Priggins excitedly showed them various tables, dressers, wardrobes, mirrors, chairs, divans, desks and beds. One hour and two-thousand-forty-two galleons later, Harry and Sirius had decided and ordered all of the furniture. It was exhausting.
Sirius was especially proud of a huge, ornate oak and ebony desk with matching chair for his study and Harry was pleased with his gothic-looking seven-foot-high reading chair, which he’d planned to place in the library-his new favourite place. Additionally, Harry also had a humongous four-poster bed with matching wardrobe and mirror-complete with carved gargoyles abundant-and Ginger would be pleased to see the new kitchen and dining room tables.
As an afterthought, Sirius had put in an order for a cute little child’s bed and matching cradle for the house-elves and their impending baby.
Next, they headed over to Madame Fabriek’s Fine Fabrics on Myrddin Street for the draperies, rugs and duvets. Harry, though tired, was beginning to enjoy himself and was oddly surprised to note that even though Sirius had put on a show about not wanting to shop for furniture, looked to be having the time of his life. Harry supposed it had something to do with being a wealthy pure-blood at heart.
The bell over Madame Fabriek’s was not nearly as cheery as the one at Pollack and Priggins’, and when they entered, it was to a dark, imposing little shop, lit by strategically placed candles which Harry assumed were for ‘atmosphere’.
“Welcome to Madame Fabriek’s Fine Fabrics,” a low voice said from somewhere to their right. Both Sirius and Harry jumped, startled, and turned to face the voice. A tall, rail-thin woman was staring at them expectantly, and Sirius stuttered out a thank you of sorts.
“What can I help you with today?” the woman asked, neglecting to introduce herself. Sirius, not feeling comfortable with just passing a list over to this woman, gave her a shaky smile and listed off everything they would need.
“Preferably in some nice…cheery…colours,” Sirius added warily.
The woman nodded thoughtfully and glided over to a display by the window, which was of a set of draperies made in heavy black velvet and lined with a faded blue silk. “Cheery like this?” the woman asked slowly.
Sirius hesitated. “No…not exactly, maybe if…”
“I like them. I want them in my room,” Harry interrupted with a cheeky grin. Sirius gave him a withering look and nodded to the shopkeeper, who pulled a quill from behind her ear and made several notes on a notepad.
They spent a significantly less amount of time in the fabric shop, mainly because even Harry was getting creeped out after a while, and left after purchasing Gryffindor red for nearly everything. Sirius’ office, however, was in blue as was Harry’s bedroom.
All of their purchases would be delivered later that afternoon so they had plenty of time to spare before returning home. Harry wasn’t certain, but he’d gotten the feeling that Sirius was a little wary of Ginger’s authoritative voice. He wondered if Fred was just as wary.
“Fancy stopping for a butterbeer?” Sirius asked once they were out in daylight again. Harry considered and then nodded.
“Bit hungry, too. You gonna buy me lunch?”
Sirius grinned and clapped him on the back. “Course I will. Got all this money that the Ministry can’t get to and nothing to spend it on except Ginger’s whims and your stomach.” They turned right and walked over to the shop were Sirius spotted a little café, made a pleased little noise, and steered Harry towards it.
“I used to eat here all the time when I was a kid. My da brought me and Regulus here when we were lads,” Sirius explained and Harry grinned while he did so because Sirius was starting to pick up the local dialect slowly but surely.
“This place,” Sirius said, gesturing to the café, which was cutely called Merlin’s Magic Mushroom and had an equally cute hanging wooden sign with a triple M emblem, “serves the best food in Scotland. Anything and everything you could possibly want with mushrooms in it.”
“What if I don’t like mushrooms, then?” Harry asked because it really was a very good question, considering.
Sirius shrugged. “Everybody like’s mushrooms, but I suppose you might be able to get something without them in it.”
Harry hummed noncommittally and followed Sirius in and to a booth near a window. The café was filled with people, mostly young, hip adults, Harry noted though there were some families seated around. There was lively music playing and the general atmosphere was rather fun.
Harry sat down and picked up a menu, raising a single eyebrow as he read over it because Sirius had been wrong: there was nothing that could be served without mushrooms. Well-he supposed he could have a supreme pizza with no mushrooms, but he’d never really been fond of pizza.
“Merry meet, what’ll you eat?” a cheery voice sing-songed from behind him. Harry cringed at the absolute absurdity of such a greeting and sent his pity out to all the waiters and waitresses who were forced to repeat that line at every table. Across from him, Sirius was hiding a smile behind his menu and Harry glared at him witheringly. He turned to the bright-eyed, blonde-haired waitress who was currently flashing him a smile so blinding he wanted to shield his eyes.
“Suppose I’ll have the stuffed mushrooms and a side of portabella chips,” he answered carefully. The waitress grinned and wrote his order down on a mushroom-shaped notepad with a self-inking quill she’d had behind her ear.
She looked expectantly at Sirius because she obviously didn’t have any more cutesy rhymes. He stared blankly at her, lips twitching-which she spiritedly ignored-and then abruptly coughed.
“What’s the soup of the day?” he asked, deadpan. Harry had the most suspicious feeling that he was trying to have them on. Harry had never even been there before and he already knew what the soup would be.
“Crème of Mushroom.” Supposing there was more than one kind of mushroom soup, of course.
“You don’t have the Mushroom Chowder, then, today?” Sirius asked, apparently disappointed. The waitress shook her head ‘no’ still grinning like a loon, and that’s when Harry realised why they called the café Merlin’s Magic Mushroom-everyone was obviously hopped up on something.
“That’s Thursdays.”
Sirius sighed. “I’ll have the Fried Mushrooms then.”
The waitress positively chirped and scampered off, presumably to put their orders in, and Harry took a moment to take in his surroundings. “Your father-a pure-blooded dark wizard,” Harry added significantly, “brought you to this place as a child?” he asked as he noticed that the table tops were painted to look like fairy rings.
Sirius shrugged easily. “He liked mushrooms.”
“I like mushrooms, too,” Harry said carefully.
“Well, we were Blacks. Blacks love mushrooms. It’s in our blood. Like bad tempers, insanity and dark magic. We’ll suffer anything gladly for a good mushroom hoagie.”
“Even fools?” Harry asked, amused.
“Even fools,” Sirius answered seriously, which was an amusing thought in and of itself.
Several minutes later, the chirpy waitress returned with their orders and Harry was pleased to see that his portabella chips were cooked just the way he liked them. They dug in, though Sirius looked like he would be using three forks if they were available to him. Harry supposed that it was just the pure-blood upbringing. Habit-Sirius could eat a plate full of fried, greasy, mushroom caps and still keep a pinkie out. Harry smiled to himself and they dropped all conversation in favour of mushrooms, finishing with satisfied smiles and full bellies.
Afterwards, they still had a few hours to kill before they needed to be back at the house to greet the delivery wizards, and Sirius had a wicked gleam in his eye that Harry didn’t like one bit.
“You need a haircut.”
“I need a lot of things,” Harry replied dismissively. “Like air and a massive collection of porn tapes.” Sirius smirked.
“It’s too long. You look like a ragamuffin,” Sirius replied easily. “Besides-James would have my wand if he knew I let you run around with long hair.”
“What did my dad have against long hair?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.
Sirius grinned. “Always said it was too nancy.” Harry choked on his drink.
“I don’t suppose teenage rebellion would have any effect on the outcome of this conversation, would it?” he asked hopefully.
“Not me you’re rebelling against, kiddo.” Sirius pointed towards the ceiling. “It’s the big guy up there. He’s the one you’re going to have to answer to.”
“What, you mean God?”
“Nope,” Sirius answered. “Your da.”
And so, Harry got a haircut at a little place called The Shear and Scissor on Eweforic Alley next to the carpentry shop. Cropped close in the back and longer in the front, and just because he was a little pissed off at Sirius for guilt-tripping him into it, he had the stylist charm the tips of his hair red. Sirius pitched an amazing fit until Harry convinced him it was Gryffindor pride.
When the stylist-who was, even in the subtlest sense of the words, a queen-suggested that Harry invest in a few nice clothes, and Sirius got another gleam in his eye, Harry decided he’d had enough.
“Delivery wizards are gonna be at the manor soon,” he said. “We need to head back.”
Sirius had known that it was a distraction, but he was admittedly quite excited about his new desk for his study, and subsequently caved.
“I reckon you’re right,” Sirius said, and they headed home.
On the walk back, Harry ran his fingers through his hair and scowled because there wasn’t enough there. It was another quiet walk in a comfortable silence and he began to think even more about his godfather’s unwitting admission to having an affair with his mother.
He was pissed, really. Because Sirius was James’ best friend and he shouldn’t have done that-Harry never would’ve done anything like that to Ron, but then again, he didn’t think Ron would ever date anyone Harry would lust after. Hermione, now-Hermione might need to keep an eye on anyone she dated. Of course, Harry wouldn’t do that to her anyway, which brought him back around to Sirius being a complete jerk.
And so unrepentant.
“I can’t believe you,” he finally muttered, breaking the silence after nearly ten minutes. Sirius, who was walking next to him with his hands in his pockets and his nose in the air watching bird fly around, looked at him surprised.
“What do you mean?” he asked curiously.
Harry shook his head in disbelief. “My mother…” he said, and Sirius cringed.
“Look, kiddo,” he began, but Harry shook his head again.
“No-no,” he said somewhat desperately. “I mean-I understand it. I think. Maybe. She was your girlfriend first, you said.”
“James didn’t know about it either,” Sirius interjected sadly. “We kept it quiet.” Harry nodded.
“I know-it’s just…I don’t know. It’s wrong. I mean…I understand love, but…why do that to your best friend? Why’d she marry him in the first place if she was going to just go and…” here, Harry floundered, looking for words, “…fuck you,” he finished somewhat lamely.
Sirius sighed, obviously not comfortable with the conversation, but Harry was relentless. He needed to know-he wished he’d never known, but now that he did, he had to know everything. “Well,” Sirius said, pulling his right hand out of his pocket and pushing his hair out of his eyes with it. “We were going to.”
Harry could see River House from where they were walking now and he waited patiently for his godfather to continue. “You’ve got to remember that this was a time of war,” Sirius continued. “And families were split right down the middle. My brother Regulus…” Sirius sighed, “….Regulus was a good kid. My mother favoured him, but my father treated us equally. He was so smart, and…I hated him for getting involved in the Death Eaters. I hated him so much, but he was my brother, you know.
“You can’t help loving your family even if you hate them, and James was so unequivocally good, you know?” Harry didn’t know. He didn’t even know where Sirius was going with this, but he nodded anyway and gave him his full attention. “James told me to help Regulus. Anyway, we were seventeen at the time and Regulus was sixteen. He’d been a Death Eater for about six months, so far as I knew, and I’d had enough. James was right.
“I was going to get my brother back one way or another,” Sirius said with a humourless laugh. “I’d been dating Lily for about two years-secretly of course-and when I told her my plans, she had a fit.”
“What were your plans?” Harry asked when it seemed like Sirius wasn’t going to continue.
His godfather was lost in thought, and he looked up, startled, at Harry’s words. “My plans,” he repeated faintly. “My plans were to become a Death Eater so I could watch over him.” Harry inhaled quickly and stared wide-eyed at Sirius.
“What?” he asked faintly.
Sirius nodded emotionlessly. “Yeah-yeah, and I had it all planned out. I knew all the dark spells and potions and I knew all about pure-blood supremacy. I could’ve done it. I could’ve done it, and I would have.”
“You could have killed?” Harry asked, barely controlling the shaking of his limbs. He had not expected that from his godfather, but then again, he sometimes forgot how his godfather was raised. Sirius gave him an odd look, and then quickly looked away again.
“I knew Avada Kedavra before I went to Hogwarts, kid, and you can’t learn that spell without practicing. You’ve got to remember the family I grew up in.” Sirius took another deep breath and continued without looking at Harry. “Anyway, I told Lily and she told me ‘no’. Just…no. She said she would take care of it. She was a Ravenclaw, you know, and I trusted her when she said it. I mean, we argued about it, but she was rather clever, and she eventually won.”
By then, Harry and Sirius were close enough to home to see the delivery wizards portkeying in with all of their furniture and cloths. He sighed quietly, hoping Sirius wouldn’t stop talking and slowed down his paces. Sirius slowed with him.
“I don’t know what she was going to do, but she disappeared for a month or two and when she came back, she just shook her head and said ‘I’m sorry’. We found Regulus’ body two weeks later.
“After that,” Sirius sounded very tired when he spoke, “Lily started distancing herself. I think she felt guilty for not succeeding, but…I needed her then more than ever. Dumbledore sent me on a mission for the Order to take my mind off things, I suppose, and it took me eight months to complete it.
“When I got back, she was engaged to James. May-December romance, I’d hoped, but she seemed determined to make it work with him. I suppose she loved him, and I couldn’t fault her that, but…it hurt…especially having to be James’ best man. I hated him that day.”
Sirius shrugged. “She got really into her research for a while-going to different places and studying Merlin-knows-what. A few months after that, when Remus was off herding in the werewolves and I was drinking myself into oblivion, she found me.
“At a bar, no less,” Sirius laughed humourlessly. “She came in and her hair was wet because it was raining and she just looked at me and said, ‘I’ve fucked up so badly…but I don’t regret it.’ I think I told her the only thing she should’ve regretted was scouting out an old boyfriend looking like a drowned rat.”
Harry looked at Sirius incredulously. He used that kind of language…but that was his mother. He couldn’t believe that she would talk like that, but somehow, it made her more human, and he liked that.
“You told her that?” Harry asked indignantly.
Sirius nodded, laughing genuinely now. “I did. And she slapped me. After that, things…” Sirius shrugged again, looking a little bit uncomfortable. “You know,” he said pointedly, “…we fucked.”
Harry coughed, blushing.
“A lot,” Sirius continued, gaining his stride and smiling delightedly at Harry’s discomfort. “It went on until…you know, that night.” He looked sad again, and Harry was amazed at how quickly Sirius’ moods could change. He wondered how his mother dealt with it, and supposed she did it the same way Harry did now: with amusement.
They reached the manor and Ginger caught sight of them as they trudged up the gravel drive. She was busy directing the delivery wizards to the appropriate rooms with their loads, but managed to come forward and greet them.
“Masters,” she squeaked, curtseying smartly. “Ginger is making sure delivery wizards do good jobs and Fred is hanging curtains.”
“Very good, Ginger, thank you,” Sirius replied and Ginger grinned.
“Dinner will be ready at seven. We is having Shepard’s Pie. Can Ginger do anything else for masters right now?”
“No, thank you, Ginger,” Harry answered. She nodded and popped back over to the delivery area, directing the placement of furniture with an iron fist. Harry felt a little bit sorry for Fred.
Sirius turned to him with his head cocked to the side and his shoulders a little tense. “So…kiddo…does that answer your question? Do you hate me? Do you want me to take you back or get Dumbledore or anything?”
Harry gaped. “Of course I don’t hate you, and of course I want to stay with you.” He paused thoughtfully before continuing with, “Dumbledore would have never allowed me to get red tips put in my hair.”
Sirius scowled. “I still don’t like those and if you were my son…” he paused, considering. “Well, if you were my son, I’d just be thankful that you’ve turned out better than I did,” he ended thoughtfully.
Harry laughed and ducked the cuffing that Sirius aimed at his head.
-x-
Sometime last year-when he’d still been negligent of his Occlumency lessons-before Harry’s sixth year at Hogwarts began, Harry Potter fell asleep in his bed at Privet Drive and woke up in audience of the Dark Lord.
At first, it was accidental. According to extensive research, Harry had inadvertently called out to Voldemort with his mind while asleep, instead of the other way around. He wasn’t sure how he’d done it at the time, but knew he’d been thinking-worrying-about Him constantly that day. Research called it Astral Projection.
It was a subconscious longing, he finally decided, that allowed it to happen. Deep in his mind he had wanted answers, and he knew he wouldn’t get them from Dumbledore or the Order, so he subconsciously looked elsewhere. That brought him right to the Dark Lord’s personal sitting room-wherever it was.
To say that Lord Voldemort was surprised was an understatement; he was well and truly gob smacked when he looked up from his reading to find Harry Potter staring at him wide-eyed.
He’d thought it was a spy tactic. He’d thought it was a trick, an illusion. He’d thought it was anything but Harry bloody Potter confused and angry-coming to him just for a bloody chat.
Ironically enough, Harry had asked him about the weather-mainly because he was too scared to think of anything else; said it seemed much cooler in wherever they were than at Hogwarts. Of course, he hadn’t been at Hogwarts, but he hadn’t been keen on releasing that information. Lord Voldemort had set his book down on a side table and looked up at the boy with a quirked eyebrow.
“Indeed,” Voldemort had replied coolly. “But I’ve found plenty of rocks to bask on.” And Harry had laughed-stiltedly, but laughed nevertheless.
Conversation came naturally after that, and neither was able to offer any decent reason why an evil dark lord and a boy hero trying to kill each other could handle such a thing. Know thine enemy? At first, perhaps.
Truth be told, they both secretly enjoyed the midnight talks, and Harry began to subconsciously call out for him more and more until their meetings became weekly. Voldemort found himself waiting up for him on many nights, though he would never admit it.
Slowly, the conversations became more intelligent with each of them firing off political, economical and moral opinions for hours. That’s when they found that they shared several similar if not identical views-mostly relating to the rights of magical creatures-and many that they didn’t share, they were able to work hypothetical compromises out for. It was all hypothetical, but it scared Harry more than anything.
In Voldemort’s opinion, the boy was intelligent. He was sly and cunning, and well and truly a Slytherin-if Potter would only admit it-at heart. That didn’t mean Voldemort wouldn’t kill him if it came to it, though.
Additionally, Harry Potter had everyone wrapped around his little finger, and having him as an ally would be most beneficial. Voldemort could defeat him, there was no doubt about that, but why waste such an intelligent mind if you didn’t have to?
Voldemort told Potter this occasionally, and Potter always got upset. He would flash his eyes angrily and say something like ‘why would I join the guy who killed my parents’ and Voldemort would respond with a lipless smile and ‘excellent question, Potter. You tell me.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ Harry would respond and Voldemort would cackle because it was such a Potter sort of answer. When Potter got like that, Voldemort found that he was rather fond of him. It would be a shame to kill him.
But Harry knew none of this, and when Harry fell asleep that night, he found himself in the same sitting room that he had the first time it had happened. Voldemort was standing with his back to him, oblivious to Harry’s arrival, staring out of a window and muttering quietly to himself in Parseltongue.
Behind him, curled up on a chair, his snake Nagini looked on with detached interest. She was obviously used to this kind of behaviour.
“Hello,” Harry said, and was not surprised when his voice came out strong, even though when he looked down at his body, he could see through it. He couldn’t believe this was happening again-actually, he could, really, he just didn’t want to.
Abruptly, Voldemort turned and stared at Harry with unreadable eyes. “Good evening,” he said cautiously. No matter how many times this happened, Voldemort was always cautious of Harry when he first arrived. He must have expected it by now, with as many times as it had happened, but nevertheless, Voldemort never let his guard down.
Harry looked around, and seeing an empty chair, glided over to it and sat down, though it really made little difference what he did with only a semi-corporeal body. Voldemort sneered at him for his rudeness.
“Won’t you sit down?” Voldemort asked sarcastically. Harry gave him a cheeky grin. He wasn’t real. He wasn’t all there-only his mind-and there was no way Voldemort could hurt him in any way while that was the case. He could insult and threaten him all he wanted, but in the end, Harry would still wake up in his own bed. The research had proven that.
“Thank you,” Harry replied, and with a withering glare, Voldemort took the chair across from him and conjured a tea set.
Harry always found it slightly humorous that every time this happened, Tom always conjured tea for them, and every time, Tom’s tea-cup never matched the rest of the set.
Voldemort glanced at him, said ‘I presume you still take two sugars?’ and dropped them in before Harry could even answer. Harry supposed this was what it was like to be a ghost because when the Dark Lord passed his tea over to him, he was able to hold it, but he wasn’t able to feel it in his hands or taste it when he swallowed.
Voldemort knew this because the second time Harry had ever popped up in his sitting room, he’d laced the tea with cyanide and there were no adverse effects. Sometimes, he still laced the tea with cyanide, just for the hell of it. Harry was aware of this, and still drank the tea-even when Voldemort made it a point for Harry to notice him tipping the little vial of poison in the cup.
Harry accepted the tea with a smile and watched as Voldemort glided across the room to a cupboard on the far wall, retrieved his personal tea-cup and returned.
Tom took his with one sugar, no cream and a slice of lemon. Harry could see the steam rising from the kettle as it was poured into the little pewter cup and brought to the Dark Lord’s thin lips. His red eyes peered at Harry over the edge of the double-handled tea-cup and regarded him curiously, settling back into his chair.
“I presume you are enjoying your summer with your disgraceful muggle relatives?” he asked almost politely. If there was one thing Harry could say about Voldemort, it was that he was an impeccable host.
Harry gave him a look, anyway, because he wasn’t entirely sure how much he could give away and still remain safe. He decided not to reveal anything at the moment. The blood-wards on Privet Drive were void now that Voldemort had Harry’s blood running through his veins, but Voldemort had never felt it necessary to risk that. He wasn’t completely certain he wouldn’t be harmed if he tried to cross them, Harry suspected, and there was no use tempting him further by telling him that he was no longer there.
“Distasteful as ever,” Harry answered instead.
Voldemort barked out a surprised, hissing laugh and gave Harry what he suspected was meant to be a smile, though he couldn’t be certain, what with Voldemort not having much of anything for lips.
“Would you like me to have them taken care of?”
Given recent events, Harry was almost tempted to allow it, but knew that he couldn’t. If he did, what would that make him?
“No,” Harry answered, taking a fruitless sip of his tea. It was all for effect, he decided, and he needed something to do with his hands or he would fidget without a body. “So…how was your day?”
Voldemort grinned. “Lovely. I had Lucius under Crucio for eleven minutes and thirteen seconds. He’s getting better. He used to only be able to hold out for seven and a half.”
Harry scowled, but it was not for the normal reason. “I don’t like Lucius…wait, he’s in Azkaban.” Voldemort shrugged, noncommittally and Harry wanted to pull his hair out. So Lucius wasn’t in Azkaban. The Daily Prophet hadn’t reported it. What the fuck was going on? “I noticed that you didn’t attack Manchester last weekend,” he said, changing the subject.
Voldemort shrugged again. “You were right, I decided. It would have been too much work with too little reward. The wizarding area of Manchester is rural at best, and there’s no sense attacking a flock of muggles if they don’t know why they’re being attacked.”
“That’s what I said,” Harry said.
“I know,” Voldemort replied, sipping from his little pewter teacup. “And when Fenrir told me it was a great idea to attack, I decided that it couldn’t possibly be, so I cancelled.”
“They’ll get restless,” Harry interjected sarcastically. “The Death Eaters I mean. If you don’t let them rape and pillage enough,” he said with a scowl. “They might start defecting.”
Voldemort raised a single thin eyebrow. “It’s not all rape, murder and pillage, you understand.”
“Bellatrix?” Harry asked snidely, remembering what she’d done to…someone. He still didn’t know what had actually happened and who had actually fallen through the veil. He wanted to ask Dumbledore about it, but then, he also had a funny feeling that Dumbledore might know something about it that Harry really didn’t want to know.
“She’s in Azkaban,” Voldemort replied coolly. “I didn’t feel it was worth either my time or my resources to extricate her.”
“You and me both,” Harry muttered.
“We agree on something?” Voldemort asked rhetorically. He looked thoughtful, and then said, “We agree on many things, Harry Potter. We could make this world great, you know.”
Harry was silent for many minutes. “I know,” he replied quietly. He looked Voldemort in the eye. “If only you didn’t kill so many people and I killed more.”
“It’s not all about the killing,” Voldemort repeated, and Harry felt himself slipping. His fingers flickered in and out of view and Voldemort watched as he disappeared completely.
At River House, Harry rolled over in his bed and clutched his scar.
-x-
A/N:
1. Burning Man is a festival held in the desert for hippies who like to run about naked and burn huge wicker dolls. I’d really like to go. www.burningman.com
2. The idea for the theme of the bar is inspired by Dracos_DirtySecret, who writes the awesome fanfic, The Burning Times. I’m surprised she’s not grossed out, but she read over it and didn’t complain.
NEXT CHAPTER