FIC: Compliance Issues - Hermione/Sirius - (MA) - 25/?
Previous parts can be found here.
Disclaimer: Any characters you recognize, along with the world they live in, belong to JKR, not to me.
“I'm sorry.”
She didn't look up at him when she said, her eyes fixed morosely on the mug of hot water she had her hands cupped around, but her tone was soft and genuine, and she hoped that would be enough.
When he said nothing in reply, she continued. “I thought my lack of energy, all the headaches I've been having . . . everything; I thought it was all due to stress over . . . you know. The wedding, the house, Lucius Malfoy's nefarious schemes . . .”
Hermione took a deep breath and though the steam rising up from the mug tickled her nose, its aroma was all wrong, and she couldn't help but frown.
“It wasn't?” Sirius asked.
Her gaze flicked up at the sound of his voice; or, more appropriately, at the note of concern in it. His dark hair was damp, which suggested that he'd taken a shower - which was puzzling since she couldn't remember putting a shower or bath into the house yet - but she didn't question it.
She had needed time and space alone to think after she'd stormed out of the bedroom not an hour ago, and if he'd Apparated elsewhere to clean up to give her that time to herself, then she wasn't going to start a fight over it.
She shook her head. “Yes and no. I'm sure some of it was, but I don't think that's why I snapped at you this morning.”
He lifted an eyebrow, a clear sign that he wanted her to continue.
“For almost a week now, I haven't had any coffee or tea. I have a rather significant addiction to caffeine, you see, have had ever since the war, and withdrawal from that addiction can be pretty brutal. I didn't immediately think of it, because I've had more important things to worry about than figuring out why I've been so on edge lately.”
And wasn't that a nice way to put it? She should just tell it like it was and admit to having been a complete and utter bitch.
“But the symptoms . . .” she continued without acting on the suggestion the snide little voice in her mind set forth, “they're pretty classic to what I've been experiencing.”
“Ah. So . . .?” Sirius trailed off with a pointed look at the mug she was cradling between her hands.
“Hot water. I was hoping that . . . I don't know. That I could ease some of the jitters by providing a substitute for some of the sensory input or something.”
“Interesting. But that wasn't what I was asking.”
'So?' alone wasn't a proper question unless both parties knew what it referred to, which technically meant that he hadn't asked anything at all, she thought moodily. But she'd already allowed her temper get the best of her once that morning, and she couldn't afford to let it happen again.
Not so soon, anyway.
With that in mind, Hermione bit back what would have been her response and opted for a considerably more polite return. “I misunderstood, then.” If he thought he was going to wrangle another, albeit merely civil, apology out of her, especially when he was the one at fault, he was sorely mistaken. “What were you trying to ask?”
“Why do you suddenly want to break the habit now?”
He was apparently comfortable with the discussion at this point, or at least reasonably sure that she wasn't going to chew his head off, he took the chair across from her and pulled it out . . . only to turn it around and sit on it backward, so that he could rest his arms on the too short back of it while they talked.
She made a mental note to fix the chairs later - or just buy some instead of taxing herself by transfiguring everything for the house.
“Correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems to me that if there was ever a time when you could justify an addiction to caffeine, it would be this last month,” he said, drawing her attention away from the long list of things that still needed to be done to make the house livable.
“You brought three people back to life and are still being romantically pursued by the god who helped you do it, you had to marry against your wishes, and you've had to deal with Malfoy, who's full-on barking and can't decide whether he wants to marry you or kill you.”
He grinned then, but it seemed reassuring, not mocking or amused. “I don't think anyone would blame you for needing something to help you get through all of that, and certainly not for relying on something that's legal.”
“Actually, I think a lot of people would - at least those in the Repopulation offices. The studies are somewhat mixed, but many Muggle scientists believe that women who drink coffee or other forms of caffeine, especially in the amounts that I was normally consuming, can have lower birth weight babies, and in some cases, may even miscarry.”
She returned his earlier grin, but hers was glib. “I honestly have no idea whether the Bureau for Magical Repopulation keeps up on the scientific studies that Muggles do or not, but I doubt they'd be pleased if I lose a pregnancy due to factors I could have personally controlled or eliminated early on.”
He said nothing in response, but he squirmed a little, as if he were no longer comfortable with the topic of discussion now that she'd elaborated.
She couldn't blame him; she wasn't entirely comfortable talking about it either.
She had never felt that desperate need to have children that some women had - although, to be fair, witches lived longer than Muggle women, and she suspected that the whole biologic clock thing might not kick in for another decade or two - but on the rare occasion that she thought about it, she could honestly say that she'd never pictured Sirius Black as her imaginary children's father.
Not until she realized that she was going to have to marry him, anyway.
Now every time the reason for the Marriage Law popped into her mind, she reluctantly placed Sirius in the role of husband and father - and then quickly banished the unsettling daydream to the dregs of her subconscious.
And now she was stuck living in a real life version of that nightmare with no way to wake up.
. . . Except, she thought, it wasn't. Sirius may not have been her first choice - or her choice at all - for a husband, but he wasn't bad. In fact, aside from the little things she'd let get to her because of her already high stress level and lack of caffeine to help her through it, he really hadn't been bad at all.
Better than Lucius Malfoy would have been, by far; and though she and Severus would have intellectual common ground, she doubted that they would have gotten on half as well as she and Sirius were in the 'mandatory copulation' department.
“You think you are, then? Pregnant, I mean.”
Hermione squirmed a little herself then, but it was because she rather ashamed of herself for the way she'd treated her new husband instead of because she was uncomfortable with the subject matter.
She shrugged. “Blood, sex, and magic. You said it yourself, the odds jumped high in favour of the possibility of conception when we had drive the Ministry's interference out of our bodies.”
“Right.”
The expression on his face was hard to read, and because he apparently didn't feel like adding to his response, she dropped her gaze back down to her cup. The water was starting to go cold; there was no more steam rising from it.
Bother.
“So!” A clap of his hands startled her, but managed to bring her full attention back to him, which she suspected was his intent. “Onto happier topics, yes?”
“Such as?”
“Honeymoon locations? Malfoy going to Azkaban where he belongs? Baby names?” The last was said with a smirk to let her know that he was teasing her.
Good thing, too, otherwise she might have had to reach across the table to swat him.
“Or, if you prefer a less happy, but more in-depth discussion over breakfast . . .”
“Uh . . . breakfast. Right. There's not actually any food here yet, I'm afraid. We can go over to my parents' old house to grab some things for this morning, but we'll need to get groceries in addition to furniture shopping today.”
“. . . You can tell me why you're so dead-set against me remembering the night Anubis used my body as a conduit,” he finished, pretending that she hadn't spoken at all.
She sighed. “Because . . . because they're not your memories,” she said. It was a lousy explanation, but it was the best way she could think to put it when she wasn't completely awake and was already drowning in guilt over her mistreatment of him. “I'm not trying to keep them from you just to be churlish, it's just . . . hmm.
“Okay, let me put it this way: how would you feel if someone wanted to go through a Pensieve containing three hours of nothing but your most intimate moments? The good, the bad . . . the embarrassing? What about the ones from your youth when the desire to keep going was there, but not the physical ability? Would you want me - or anyone else- viewing and remembering those?”
She recognized the moment understanding dawned on him, because his pupils contracted and his lips parted but no noise immediately came through them.
Hermione sighed again. The explanation, such as it was, was plausible, and even true to some extent, but the reality of it was that she had no real reason to keep him from remembering. At first she had, yes, because he had just returned from the dead and didn't need the guilt that would come along with shagging one of his godson's best friends, but now that they were married and had shared some intimate moments themselves . . .
“I suppose it doesn't really matter now, though, does it?” Especially since he'd found a way to access the memories, if only bits and pieces of them. “I'll go home - to my parents' house - and freshen up, get some food from the pantry and refrigerator, and contact him from there. Is there anything else you need while I'm out?”
Sirius looked utterly gobsmacked by the abrupt turnaround in her attitude, but he had the presence of mind to shake his head anyway. “No, that's . . . Do you want me to come with you? It might be easier to just eat over there instead of preparing it there and bringing it back here to eat.”
Oh, right. There was no stove yet either. Heating water was a low-level charm, but since she normally drank coffee or just put a kettle on for tea, and because her thoughts were a bit muddled at the moment, she'd almost forgotten that she had resorted to having to charm the water earlier.
She nodded. Throwing together what scraps were left in her parents' house at her parents' house would be easier done than trying to tax her energy even more by transfiguring a stove on an empty stomach.
She just hoped that Sirius didn't react poorly when she summoned Anubis and the god actually showed up - like she suspected - instead of simply returning her husband's memories to him from afar.
~*~*~
He should have been expecting it. That he had a valid excuse for not expecting it after everything that had happened in the last few days was unimportant when it actually happened.
A visit from Anubis.
Oh, joy.
The deity had a thing about paying early morning social calls, he thought acerbically. Winter light being less than other parts of the year or not, there was only the faintest hint of sun starting to leak into the air outside.
It couldn't be any later than eight, and that was too damned early as it was on the day after his wedding.
Granted, he'd been up and about for a couple of hours already, but that didn't mean he was awake enough or in any other way prepared for a visit from the God of the Underworld.
But then, Anubis hadn't just popped by uninvited this time, because Hermione had called for him, so he really should have been prepared, if only as much as he was able. Still, she'd been pretty specific about what she was requesting, and the god's presence wasn't anywhere in the description.
Sirius fought the urge to rub his hands up and down his arms. He wasn't sure why the temperature in the room always seemed to significantly drop when Anubis or Horus showed up, and for the most part, he didn't really care; he just didn't like the discomfort it caused him.
At least he could face the deity this time without wanting to collapse down on to the floor and start screaming like a scared little kid; a side effect of his blood bond with Hermione, no doubt.
While he couldn't say he was psyched about the all the responsibility having a baby entailed, he was quite pleased that the ritual exchange of blood with his wife apparently had a couple of marks in the 'Pro's' column - like not wanting to flee from the room or scrape out his eyes with his blunt fingernails when in the presence of a higher magical being, for instance - to make up for it.
“She's in the shower.”
Ha! Take that, wanker!
Should've come when she called for you instead of a full half-hour later, huh?
Naturally, those thoughts stayed firmly imprisoned in his mind. Petty triumph or not, he had no real desire to piss off someone - something - that could make sure the rest of his life and death were absolutely miserable.
“I am aware.”
Unfortunately, Anubis's voice - and his physical reaction to it - hadn't changed. It still sounded deep and metallic and made every inch of skin on his body prickle into goose-flesh. It still made him want to run as far and fast as humanly possible.
Changing into his Animagus form wasn't an option, though; not if the god was there for the reason Hermione had summoned him.
“Right. So . . .”
“It is a relatively painless procedure,” Anubis assured him.
Funny, he didn't feel assured. In fact, he felt more on edge than he had before the jackal-headed god said anything about it.
“Hold still.”
Sirius grimaced. The last thing he wanted to do was hold still; the very last thing. The urge to flee was growing stronger every second Anubis stood there staring at him like he was a Potions experiment gone wrong.
He closed his eyes and tried to focus on staying still as the god requested, but it was an almost impossible task, when he felt cold, ghost-like fingertips touch his temples - and then sink through them into his head. Silver and gold lights danced behind his eyelids, making him dizzy and even colder than he'd been to begin with; making him want to regurgitate the breakfast of eggs and bacon and tomatoes that he'd consumed not long before.
A swirling sensation whooshed through his brain and memories that had been there but buried deep before rose to the surface in a fast jumble of pictures that wouldn't make sense until Anubis's magic was complete and he was left alone to think on them.
The pressure released sooner than he expected, and he stumbled forward when the god removed his fingers from his temples and stepped away. He was going to be sick; even sicker than the worst hangover he'd ever suffered. He could feel the bile inching up his throat already . . .
“Do you really wish to know why I chose you instead of the wizard she thought herself in love with?”
. . . Huh?
He wasn't sure how he did it, but the contents of his stomach remained there. He wobbled as he tried to straighten up to a full standing position instead of a semi-crouched over one, though.
His confusion must have been evident, because Anubis continued without him having to say a word.
“It was the strongest question littering your mind.”
“You went through my thoughts?”
Indignation, it seemed, did wonders for one's constitution. A mere moment before he had hardly been able to stay on his feet, but after finding out that the god had performed Legilimency - or something similar - on him, and his balance returned with an outraged glare.
“It was necessary. I had to find the locks I put in place and undo them.”
Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but he wasn't terribly surprised when no words came tumbling out. That was, until what Anubis had asked him finally struck a chord.
His conscious mind hadn't given the question as much thought as it was due, but now that the god had mucked about in his brain, his subconscious mind was speaking with a louder voice, and he found that he did want to know why the god had picked him over Harry.
He said as much to Anubis, nodded once while he did so, and then flinched when the jackal's black lips spread into what could only be considered a smirk.
“So be it.”
tbc
Disclaimer: Any characters you recognize, along with the world they live in, belong to JKR, not to me.
“I'm sorry.”
She didn't look up at him when she said, her eyes fixed morosely on the mug of hot water she had her hands cupped around, but her tone was soft and genuine, and she hoped that would be enough.
When he said nothing in reply, she continued. “I thought my lack of energy, all the headaches I've been having . . . everything; I thought it was all due to stress over . . . you know. The wedding, the house, Lucius Malfoy's nefarious schemes . . .”
Hermione took a deep breath and though the steam rising up from the mug tickled her nose, its aroma was all wrong, and she couldn't help but frown.
“It wasn't?” Sirius asked.
Her gaze flicked up at the sound of his voice; or, more appropriately, at the note of concern in it. His dark hair was damp, which suggested that he'd taken a shower - which was puzzling since she couldn't remember putting a shower or bath into the house yet - but she didn't question it.
She had needed time and space alone to think after she'd stormed out of the bedroom not an hour ago, and if he'd Apparated elsewhere to clean up to give her that time to herself, then she wasn't going to start a fight over it.
She shook her head. “Yes and no. I'm sure some of it was, but I don't think that's why I snapped at you this morning.”
He lifted an eyebrow, a clear sign that he wanted her to continue.
“For almost a week now, I haven't had any coffee or tea. I have a rather significant addiction to caffeine, you see, have had ever since the war, and withdrawal from that addiction can be pretty brutal. I didn't immediately think of it, because I've had more important things to worry about than figuring out why I've been so on edge lately.”
And wasn't that a nice way to put it? She should just tell it like it was and admit to having been a complete and utter bitch.
“But the symptoms . . .” she continued without acting on the suggestion the snide little voice in her mind set forth, “they're pretty classic to what I've been experiencing.”
“Ah. So . . .?” Sirius trailed off with a pointed look at the mug she was cradling between her hands.
“Hot water. I was hoping that . . . I don't know. That I could ease some of the jitters by providing a substitute for some of the sensory input or something.”
“Interesting. But that wasn't what I was asking.”
'So?' alone wasn't a proper question unless both parties knew what it referred to, which technically meant that he hadn't asked anything at all, she thought moodily. But she'd already allowed her temper get the best of her once that morning, and she couldn't afford to let it happen again.
Not so soon, anyway.
With that in mind, Hermione bit back what would have been her response and opted for a considerably more polite return. “I misunderstood, then.” If he thought he was going to wrangle another, albeit merely civil, apology out of her, especially when he was the one at fault, he was sorely mistaken. “What were you trying to ask?”
“Why do you suddenly want to break the habit now?”
He was apparently comfortable with the discussion at this point, or at least reasonably sure that she wasn't going to chew his head off, he took the chair across from her and pulled it out . . . only to turn it around and sit on it backward, so that he could rest his arms on the too short back of it while they talked.
She made a mental note to fix the chairs later - or just buy some instead of taxing herself by transfiguring everything for the house.
“Correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems to me that if there was ever a time when you could justify an addiction to caffeine, it would be this last month,” he said, drawing her attention away from the long list of things that still needed to be done to make the house livable.
“You brought three people back to life and are still being romantically pursued by the god who helped you do it, you had to marry against your wishes, and you've had to deal with Malfoy, who's full-on barking and can't decide whether he wants to marry you or kill you.”
He grinned then, but it seemed reassuring, not mocking or amused. “I don't think anyone would blame you for needing something to help you get through all of that, and certainly not for relying on something that's legal.”
“Actually, I think a lot of people would - at least those in the Repopulation offices. The studies are somewhat mixed, but many Muggle scientists believe that women who drink coffee or other forms of caffeine, especially in the amounts that I was normally consuming, can have lower birth weight babies, and in some cases, may even miscarry.”
She returned his earlier grin, but hers was glib. “I honestly have no idea whether the Bureau for Magical Repopulation keeps up on the scientific studies that Muggles do or not, but I doubt they'd be pleased if I lose a pregnancy due to factors I could have personally controlled or eliminated early on.”
He said nothing in response, but he squirmed a little, as if he were no longer comfortable with the topic of discussion now that she'd elaborated.
She couldn't blame him; she wasn't entirely comfortable talking about it either.
She had never felt that desperate need to have children that some women had - although, to be fair, witches lived longer than Muggle women, and she suspected that the whole biologic clock thing might not kick in for another decade or two - but on the rare occasion that she thought about it, she could honestly say that she'd never pictured Sirius Black as her imaginary children's father.
Not until she realized that she was going to have to marry him, anyway.
Now every time the reason for the Marriage Law popped into her mind, she reluctantly placed Sirius in the role of husband and father - and then quickly banished the unsettling daydream to the dregs of her subconscious.
And now she was stuck living in a real life version of that nightmare with no way to wake up.
. . . Except, she thought, it wasn't. Sirius may not have been her first choice - or her choice at all - for a husband, but he wasn't bad. In fact, aside from the little things she'd let get to her because of her already high stress level and lack of caffeine to help her through it, he really hadn't been bad at all.
Better than Lucius Malfoy would have been, by far; and though she and Severus would have intellectual common ground, she doubted that they would have gotten on half as well as she and Sirius were in the 'mandatory copulation' department.
“You think you are, then? Pregnant, I mean.”
Hermione squirmed a little herself then, but it was because she rather ashamed of herself for the way she'd treated her new husband instead of because she was uncomfortable with the subject matter.
She shrugged. “Blood, sex, and magic. You said it yourself, the odds jumped high in favour of the possibility of conception when we had drive the Ministry's interference out of our bodies.”
“Right.”
The expression on his face was hard to read, and because he apparently didn't feel like adding to his response, she dropped her gaze back down to her cup. The water was starting to go cold; there was no more steam rising from it.
Bother.
“So!” A clap of his hands startled her, but managed to bring her full attention back to him, which she suspected was his intent. “Onto happier topics, yes?”
“Such as?”
“Honeymoon locations? Malfoy going to Azkaban where he belongs? Baby names?” The last was said with a smirk to let her know that he was teasing her.
Good thing, too, otherwise she might have had to reach across the table to swat him.
“Or, if you prefer a less happy, but more in-depth discussion over breakfast . . .”
“Uh . . . breakfast. Right. There's not actually any food here yet, I'm afraid. We can go over to my parents' old house to grab some things for this morning, but we'll need to get groceries in addition to furniture shopping today.”
“. . . You can tell me why you're so dead-set against me remembering the night Anubis used my body as a conduit,” he finished, pretending that she hadn't spoken at all.
She sighed. “Because . . . because they're not your memories,” she said. It was a lousy explanation, but it was the best way she could think to put it when she wasn't completely awake and was already drowning in guilt over her mistreatment of him. “I'm not trying to keep them from you just to be churlish, it's just . . . hmm.
“Okay, let me put it this way: how would you feel if someone wanted to go through a Pensieve containing three hours of nothing but your most intimate moments? The good, the bad . . . the embarrassing? What about the ones from your youth when the desire to keep going was there, but not the physical ability? Would you want me - or anyone else- viewing and remembering those?”
She recognized the moment understanding dawned on him, because his pupils contracted and his lips parted but no noise immediately came through them.
Hermione sighed again. The explanation, such as it was, was plausible, and even true to some extent, but the reality of it was that she had no real reason to keep him from remembering. At first she had, yes, because he had just returned from the dead and didn't need the guilt that would come along with shagging one of his godson's best friends, but now that they were married and had shared some intimate moments themselves . . .
“I suppose it doesn't really matter now, though, does it?” Especially since he'd found a way to access the memories, if only bits and pieces of them. “I'll go home - to my parents' house - and freshen up, get some food from the pantry and refrigerator, and contact him from there. Is there anything else you need while I'm out?”
Sirius looked utterly gobsmacked by the abrupt turnaround in her attitude, but he had the presence of mind to shake his head anyway. “No, that's . . . Do you want me to come with you? It might be easier to just eat over there instead of preparing it there and bringing it back here to eat.”
Oh, right. There was no stove yet either. Heating water was a low-level charm, but since she normally drank coffee or just put a kettle on for tea, and because her thoughts were a bit muddled at the moment, she'd almost forgotten that she had resorted to having to charm the water earlier.
She nodded. Throwing together what scraps were left in her parents' house at her parents' house would be easier done than trying to tax her energy even more by transfiguring a stove on an empty stomach.
She just hoped that Sirius didn't react poorly when she summoned Anubis and the god actually showed up - like she suspected - instead of simply returning her husband's memories to him from afar.
~*~*~
He should have been expecting it. That he had a valid excuse for not expecting it after everything that had happened in the last few days was unimportant when it actually happened.
A visit from Anubis.
Oh, joy.
The deity had a thing about paying early morning social calls, he thought acerbically. Winter light being less than other parts of the year or not, there was only the faintest hint of sun starting to leak into the air outside.
It couldn't be any later than eight, and that was too damned early as it was on the day after his wedding.
Granted, he'd been up and about for a couple of hours already, but that didn't mean he was awake enough or in any other way prepared for a visit from the God of the Underworld.
But then, Anubis hadn't just popped by uninvited this time, because Hermione had called for him, so he really should have been prepared, if only as much as he was able. Still, she'd been pretty specific about what she was requesting, and the god's presence wasn't anywhere in the description.
Sirius fought the urge to rub his hands up and down his arms. He wasn't sure why the temperature in the room always seemed to significantly drop when Anubis or Horus showed up, and for the most part, he didn't really care; he just didn't like the discomfort it caused him.
At least he could face the deity this time without wanting to collapse down on to the floor and start screaming like a scared little kid; a side effect of his blood bond with Hermione, no doubt.
While he couldn't say he was psyched about the all the responsibility having a baby entailed, he was quite pleased that the ritual exchange of blood with his wife apparently had a couple of marks in the 'Pro's' column - like not wanting to flee from the room or scrape out his eyes with his blunt fingernails when in the presence of a higher magical being, for instance - to make up for it.
“She's in the shower.”
Ha! Take that, wanker!
Should've come when she called for you instead of a full half-hour later, huh?
Naturally, those thoughts stayed firmly imprisoned in his mind. Petty triumph or not, he had no real desire to piss off someone - something - that could make sure the rest of his life and death were absolutely miserable.
“I am aware.”
Unfortunately, Anubis's voice - and his physical reaction to it - hadn't changed. It still sounded deep and metallic and made every inch of skin on his body prickle into goose-flesh. It still made him want to run as far and fast as humanly possible.
Changing into his Animagus form wasn't an option, though; not if the god was there for the reason Hermione had summoned him.
“Right. So . . .”
“It is a relatively painless procedure,” Anubis assured him.
Funny, he didn't feel assured. In fact, he felt more on edge than he had before the jackal-headed god said anything about it.
“Hold still.”
Sirius grimaced. The last thing he wanted to do was hold still; the very last thing. The urge to flee was growing stronger every second Anubis stood there staring at him like he was a Potions experiment gone wrong.
He closed his eyes and tried to focus on staying still as the god requested, but it was an almost impossible task, when he felt cold, ghost-like fingertips touch his temples - and then sink through them into his head. Silver and gold lights danced behind his eyelids, making him dizzy and even colder than he'd been to begin with; making him want to regurgitate the breakfast of eggs and bacon and tomatoes that he'd consumed not long before.
A swirling sensation whooshed through his brain and memories that had been there but buried deep before rose to the surface in a fast jumble of pictures that wouldn't make sense until Anubis's magic was complete and he was left alone to think on them.
The pressure released sooner than he expected, and he stumbled forward when the god removed his fingers from his temples and stepped away. He was going to be sick; even sicker than the worst hangover he'd ever suffered. He could feel the bile inching up his throat already . . .
“Do you really wish to know why I chose you instead of the wizard she thought herself in love with?”
. . . Huh?
He wasn't sure how he did it, but the contents of his stomach remained there. He wobbled as he tried to straighten up to a full standing position instead of a semi-crouched over one, though.
His confusion must have been evident, because Anubis continued without him having to say a word.
“It was the strongest question littering your mind.”
“You went through my thoughts?”
Indignation, it seemed, did wonders for one's constitution. A mere moment before he had hardly been able to stay on his feet, but after finding out that the god had performed Legilimency - or something similar - on him, and his balance returned with an outraged glare.
“It was necessary. I had to find the locks I put in place and undo them.”
Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but he wasn't terribly surprised when no words came tumbling out. That was, until what Anubis had asked him finally struck a chord.
His conscious mind hadn't given the question as much thought as it was due, but now that the god had mucked about in his brain, his subconscious mind was speaking with a louder voice, and he found that he did want to know why the god had picked him over Harry.
He said as much to Anubis, nodded once while he did so, and then flinched when the jackal's black lips spread into what could only be considered a smirk.
“So be it.”
tbc