Where the Road is Dark
title: Where the Road is Dark
summary: James and Sirius are forced to confront the consequences of their own foolishness. followup to the not!prequel
characters/pairings: James Potter, Sirius Black, implied James/Lily, implied Remus/Sirius
genre: drama/angst (<--- FOR REAL)
ratings/warnings: PG-13 for swearing
word count: 2245
a/n: This is a collaboration between alohachary1851 and musicgeekgirl26. As per usual, Charyse was the charming Sirius Black and Sam was the incorrigible James Potter.
Chary: Can I make it known HOW MUCH WE STRUGGLED TO TITLE THIS?
Sam: PLEASE DO. Seriously. We almost named it "Carry on Wayward Son," I kid you not.
James fiddles with the tie of his Muggle suit, and looks up half-amused at his best friend and partner-in-crime who is struggling similarly, and has his hand caught in a knot. James wonders vaguely if this whole bit with the starched suits that scratch just enough to bother but not enough to be fixed is some sort of revenge plan of Moody's but then again, they're lucky that Moody is even trusting them at all.
Still, James dreams of chill-inducing heroics, and this is hardly that. Hell, James thinks with a wry grin, is boredom and a bad suit.
"This is a shite mission," he grumbles. "We should be doing something, instead of going around interviewing Muggles."
Sirius fidgets in his suit, too much of a reminder of fancy dress parties in the Inbred and most Twisted House of Black. "I. Hate. Suits." He squirms and furrows his brow as he tries to get comfortable. "At least we look good. Well, at least I look good." His antsy demeanor is, as James said, because of the shite mission. "This is our punishment. Our payment out of purgatory, Prongs. D'you like what I did there, alliteration or whatever?" Sirius asks, nudging James.
James rolls his eyes. "Yes, Pads, I loved your alliteration. I really feel as if I am blessed by your overwhelmingly clever presence," James concludes dryly, reaching down to check the laces on his fancy dress shoes. Fancy dress shoes, indeed, and he's entirely too used to wearing Converse. The leather cracks and pinches his toes, and James winces in pain.
"Bloody hell, alright, let's just get this mission over with," James states before patting his jacket pocket. "Do you have the piece of paper with all of the information?"
Sirius mumbles something about James being a killjoy and reaches into his pocket for a rumpled piece of parchment. "Helen Fisher, 23 Oval Court. We're just supposed to go in, ask questions and modify memories. This is bloody ridiculous." He handed the bit of parchment over to James. "And you know, this whole 'talking to people' thing, not my specialty. I'm not supposed to show emotion. 'Be sensitive,' that's what Moony would say."
He looks for street names and numbers. "Talk to Lily about this, yet? No, hang on, more like, did she scold you about this yet?" He asked as he tried to get his bearings.
James snorts. "Have you met Lily? My fiery temptress, Lily? Lily-tiger? She who hexed me once for singing to her? Of course she scolded me. What about you, eh? Moony have some words to say about all of this?" James fiddles with the tie and cranes his neck around trying to spot the number 23.
"Such and such about the shirt, which I still think is brilliant. You know. Typical Moony." Sirius says, his lips quirk momentarily into a grin. "Moony's much nicer to me. Have you tried making a face at Lily? Faces usually work. I mean, not messed up faces, you know. Use those big doe-eyes of yours Prongs."
James glares at Sirius askance. "Hardy har har, you know those faces never work for me. It's never 'oh look at the cute puppy, must forgive, blah blah fucking blah, lots of shagging', it's always 'James Potter, that makes you look like a chipmunk, don't make me hex your balls off, don't think I won't, because I will,'" James imitates in an uncanny imitation of Lily's angry voice.
James straightens the front of his suit as he finally spots number 23 and strides towards it. He calls back to Sirius, "And don't ever tell me what that grin means, I did see it, and I don't want to know. I never want to know."
"As you wish, oh man of awkward faces." Sirius snorts, brushing off the front of his suit. He follows a few paces behind James, "Let's just get this over with so we can have a pint at the pub, yeah?" Dodging past, he reaches forward and raps his knuckles lightly on the door. He clears his throat and stands up a little straighter as he waits for the door to open. "This better be quick." He mumbles to James.
The front door swings open to reveal an impeccably dressed woman in her early fifties, the type of woman that you might expect to see at a flower show, if it weren't for the vaguely worn down expression on her face and the red rims around her eyes.
James clears his throat. "Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you, but are you Helen Fisher?"
The woman nods, confused. "And who are you?"
Before James gets to speak, Sirius interrupts, "Ma'am, I'm Samuel Colt, and this one's Oliver Winchester. We're from Scotland Yard and we'd like to ask you a few questions." He flashes a badge briefly at her. "Is that all right?"
She looks at them curiously, "Er, someone from Scotland Yard has already come by."
"Yes, we know, ma'am and we're very sorry to bother you again. It's just, the man who saw you already, it turns out that he had some sort of drinking problem. He just came out with it and he's really not quite right in the head, and we wanted to make sure that all of the facts are straight," James replies, shooting Sirius an annoyed glance. 'Oliver?' he mouthes, annoyed.
Mrs. Fisher nods. "Well, alright, please come in."
The boys follow Mrs. Fisher into an emasculating sitting room, painted pink and covered from wall to floor with shelves filled with dolls.
James gestures towards a particularly creepy looking doll. "This is quite a collection that you have here, Mrs. Fisher."
"Ah, thank you," Mrs. Fisher mumbles before motioning for them to sit down. "Would you like a pot of tea?"
"Oh, no, we're fine," James answers but before he can finish his sentence Mrs. Fisher has already left the room.
James turns to Sirius and hits him in the shoulder. "Oliver?"
Sirius leans forward, grinning at James, and whispers "Yes, Oliver. You look like an Oliver. Besides Sam and Sirius, alliteration. What are we supposed to be asking her? What's the whole point of being here? Can't we just Obliviate and be done?" Sirius asks, wagging his finger as though it was his wand.
"We're here to ask her about her husband and what he may have told her because he saw us, you twat, and we want to make sure that no one else knows what happened that night. That sound alright to you, Samuel?" James asks mockingly.
Before Sirius can respond, Mrs. Fisher enters the room with a tray filled with tea and biscuits and sets it down on the table in between them.
"Thank you for going to all of the trouble, Mrs. Fisher," James says, ignoring the twinging pain from his shoes.
"Oh, it's no trouble," Mrs. Fisher responds softly, and James has to lean forward to hear her words. "You wanted to ask me questions?"
"Ah, yes, it's about your husband..." James starts, before being interrupted.
"He's been murdered!" Mrs. Fisher cries.
Sirius jumps a little at the outburst from the previously calm and collected host. "Murdered?" The word leaves his mouth dry and he feels himself sink lower into his seat. "But, sorry, the report says 'Missing,' ma'am." He looks to James for help. "What makes you so sure about ... murder?"
"It's just...he came home one night last week mumbling about something very strange, he had a run-in with some youths and he just sounded so...unnerved about the entire thing. He rambled about there being more evil in the world than he'd ever thought. I didn't...I didn't take him seriously at first, I thought maybe he just needed some rest. But then he didn't come home from work the next day. I haven't seen him since. It just...it doesn't feel right. He's dead, I know it, but no one will believe me." Mrs. Fisher crumbles within herself as it all comes tumbling out of her lips.
James runs his hand through his hair and looks at Sirius desperately. "Are you sure that...maybe he went on vacation with some of his mates?" James knows that he's grasping for straws, knows that mysterious and unexplainable disappearances are the Death Eaters' specialty, but he can't admit it to himself yet.
Mrs. Fisher's head shoots up. "He wouldn't be gone this long without informing me first. He's never done that. We have a daughter, you know, she's not far from your age. He wouldn't do that..." She trails off.
Sirius would really rather be a hundred other places at this very moment. He's never been at a loss for words until now. "About the run-in with the youths, erm-" he took a deep breath, "did he say anything else? Anything at all about that run-in? Or was it just the whole 'evil' bit? I mean, er, just curious. It might help tie some ends together."
Hastily, he grabs a biscuit off the tray and shoves it in his mouth awkwardly.
Mrs. Fisher fumbles with her tea cup, and James' thoughts unknowingly echo Sirius'. If he could be anywhere else but here, he would be, but he is here. Here and faced with the harsh reality of war, when all he ever wanted to do in life was to have a few laughs and maybe make his mark somehow. The time for laughter seems to be over.
"Nothing else specific, no, I think that he was too...scared, yes, scared and confused. He did say something about broomsticks, though, do you think that's important? Maybe the people who killed him, maybe they work for a cleaning service," Mrs. Fisher says.
"We'll be sure to make note of that in our report, ma'am," James reassures.
Sirius nods, "Men with broomsticks and a cleaning service." He doesn't want to know, but presses on anyway. She hadn't said anything about the motorbike. "That's all he saw? We need to know everything your husband told you, Mrs. Fisher." He doesn't realise it but he holds his breath waiting for a response.
Mrs. Fisher pauses before shaking her head. "That's all he saw...or at least all he told me, and that's all that matters now, isn't it?"
James sighs and mentally shakes himself. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Fisher, that's all we need to know." He turns and gives Sirius a meaningful glance.
"We'll make sure the boys up at the Yard are looking for your husband." He adds emphatically. "You've been really helpful, Mrs. Fisher." Sirius puts his hand in his pocket and hesitates. All he needs to do is perform a simple memory charm, he looks at James. "Are you ready, Oliver?"
James grits his teeth and glares, but more out of the habit of being annoyed at Sirius, because being annoyed at Sirius is familiar and safe. "Yes, thank you, I'm ready."
"Right." Sirius replies. "Er, can you tell me what those dolls over there are for" He points in front of him. He waits until Mrs. Fisher is completely turned around before he raises his wand, "Mrs Fisher, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
"Sorry about what-"
"Obliviate." She stumbles back and Sirius staggers to catch her. "Ma'am, men from the Scotland Yard have already come by to ask about your husband. They're doing all they can and will report back to you once they find out." He looks over at James and then back at Mrs. Fisher.
Mrs. Fisher nods, dazed, and James gestures towards the door. The two let themselves out the front door and then break into a run, not stopping until they're out of sight of the Fisher residence.
James leans over and tugs his tie loose, gasping for breath.
"Are you thinking... it had to have been. Shit. We shouldn't have left them with Death Eaters." Sirius reaches into his pockets for a cigarette and a lighter. "What, what do you think, Prongs?"
"I think..." James stands up straight and then moves to lean against the nearby fence. "I think that we really fucked up this time, Pads."
"Shit. We were just trying to make the job- shit Prongs. We got them killed. We might as well be their murderers." Sirius feels a whirlwind of nausea overcome him and takes a long drag from his cigarette. It doesn't soothe him and he flicks it away. "I want to go back, apologize. Fuck the Statute of Secrecy we got her husband killed. Fuck. And they have a daughter. Our age. What do we do, Prongs?"
James bangs his head backwards against the fence and drags his hand across his face tiredly. "There's nothing that we can do, Pads, and going back will only bugger things up even worse than they already are. We just...we just have to carry on, do our duty, write our report for Moody."
"D'you think we'll still get a lecture?" Sirius asks after a long silence. "I really don't think I need a lecture. I actually think I need to throw up. Or have a drink- no, I need to round up some Death Eaters." He shakes his head. "Let's write this report so that people back at headquarters don't think we're complete twats anymore. Here I was wondering why everyone was so upset."
"Back to work then?" James pushes away from the fence.
Sirius nods. "Back to work."
summary: James and Sirius are forced to confront the consequences of their own foolishness. followup to the not!prequel
characters/pairings: James Potter, Sirius Black, implied James/Lily, implied Remus/Sirius
genre: drama/angst (<--- FOR REAL)
ratings/warnings: PG-13 for swearing
word count: 2245
a/n: This is a collaboration between alohachary1851 and musicgeekgirl26. As per usual, Charyse was the charming Sirius Black and Sam was the incorrigible James Potter.
Chary: Can I make it known HOW MUCH WE STRUGGLED TO TITLE THIS?
Sam: PLEASE DO. Seriously. We almost named it "Carry on Wayward Son," I kid you not.
James fiddles with the tie of his Muggle suit, and looks up half-amused at his best friend and partner-in-crime who is struggling similarly, and has his hand caught in a knot. James wonders vaguely if this whole bit with the starched suits that scratch just enough to bother but not enough to be fixed is some sort of revenge plan of Moody's but then again, they're lucky that Moody is even trusting them at all.
Still, James dreams of chill-inducing heroics, and this is hardly that. Hell, James thinks with a wry grin, is boredom and a bad suit.
"This is a shite mission," he grumbles. "We should be doing something, instead of going around interviewing Muggles."
Sirius fidgets in his suit, too much of a reminder of fancy dress parties in the Inbred and most Twisted House of Black. "I. Hate. Suits." He squirms and furrows his brow as he tries to get comfortable. "At least we look good. Well, at least I look good." His antsy demeanor is, as James said, because of the shite mission. "This is our punishment. Our payment out of purgatory, Prongs. D'you like what I did there, alliteration or whatever?" Sirius asks, nudging James.
James rolls his eyes. "Yes, Pads, I loved your alliteration. I really feel as if I am blessed by your overwhelmingly clever presence," James concludes dryly, reaching down to check the laces on his fancy dress shoes. Fancy dress shoes, indeed, and he's entirely too used to wearing Converse. The leather cracks and pinches his toes, and James winces in pain.
"Bloody hell, alright, let's just get this mission over with," James states before patting his jacket pocket. "Do you have the piece of paper with all of the information?"
Sirius mumbles something about James being a killjoy and reaches into his pocket for a rumpled piece of parchment. "Helen Fisher, 23 Oval Court. We're just supposed to go in, ask questions and modify memories. This is bloody ridiculous." He handed the bit of parchment over to James. "And you know, this whole 'talking to people' thing, not my specialty. I'm not supposed to show emotion. 'Be sensitive,' that's what Moony would say."
He looks for street names and numbers. "Talk to Lily about this, yet? No, hang on, more like, did she scold you about this yet?" He asked as he tried to get his bearings.
James snorts. "Have you met Lily? My fiery temptress, Lily? Lily-tiger? She who hexed me once for singing to her? Of course she scolded me. What about you, eh? Moony have some words to say about all of this?" James fiddles with the tie and cranes his neck around trying to spot the number 23.
"Such and such about the shirt, which I still think is brilliant. You know. Typical Moony." Sirius says, his lips quirk momentarily into a grin. "Moony's much nicer to me. Have you tried making a face at Lily? Faces usually work. I mean, not messed up faces, you know. Use those big doe-eyes of yours Prongs."
James glares at Sirius askance. "Hardy har har, you know those faces never work for me. It's never 'oh look at the cute puppy, must forgive, blah blah fucking blah, lots of shagging', it's always 'James Potter, that makes you look like a chipmunk, don't make me hex your balls off, don't think I won't, because I will,'" James imitates in an uncanny imitation of Lily's angry voice.
James straightens the front of his suit as he finally spots number 23 and strides towards it. He calls back to Sirius, "And don't ever tell me what that grin means, I did see it, and I don't want to know. I never want to know."
"As you wish, oh man of awkward faces." Sirius snorts, brushing off the front of his suit. He follows a few paces behind James, "Let's just get this over with so we can have a pint at the pub, yeah?" Dodging past, he reaches forward and raps his knuckles lightly on the door. He clears his throat and stands up a little straighter as he waits for the door to open. "This better be quick." He mumbles to James.
The front door swings open to reveal an impeccably dressed woman in her early fifties, the type of woman that you might expect to see at a flower show, if it weren't for the vaguely worn down expression on her face and the red rims around her eyes.
James clears his throat. "Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you, but are you Helen Fisher?"
The woman nods, confused. "And who are you?"
Before James gets to speak, Sirius interrupts, "Ma'am, I'm Samuel Colt, and this one's Oliver Winchester. We're from Scotland Yard and we'd like to ask you a few questions." He flashes a badge briefly at her. "Is that all right?"
She looks at them curiously, "Er, someone from Scotland Yard has already come by."
"Yes, we know, ma'am and we're very sorry to bother you again. It's just, the man who saw you already, it turns out that he had some sort of drinking problem. He just came out with it and he's really not quite right in the head, and we wanted to make sure that all of the facts are straight," James replies, shooting Sirius an annoyed glance. 'Oliver?' he mouthes, annoyed.
Mrs. Fisher nods. "Well, alright, please come in."
The boys follow Mrs. Fisher into an emasculating sitting room, painted pink and covered from wall to floor with shelves filled with dolls.
James gestures towards a particularly creepy looking doll. "This is quite a collection that you have here, Mrs. Fisher."
"Ah, thank you," Mrs. Fisher mumbles before motioning for them to sit down. "Would you like a pot of tea?"
"Oh, no, we're fine," James answers but before he can finish his sentence Mrs. Fisher has already left the room.
James turns to Sirius and hits him in the shoulder. "Oliver?"
Sirius leans forward, grinning at James, and whispers "Yes, Oliver. You look like an Oliver. Besides Sam and Sirius, alliteration. What are we supposed to be asking her? What's the whole point of being here? Can't we just Obliviate and be done?" Sirius asks, wagging his finger as though it was his wand.
"We're here to ask her about her husband and what he may have told her because he saw us, you twat, and we want to make sure that no one else knows what happened that night. That sound alright to you, Samuel?" James asks mockingly.
Before Sirius can respond, Mrs. Fisher enters the room with a tray filled with tea and biscuits and sets it down on the table in between them.
"Thank you for going to all of the trouble, Mrs. Fisher," James says, ignoring the twinging pain from his shoes.
"Oh, it's no trouble," Mrs. Fisher responds softly, and James has to lean forward to hear her words. "You wanted to ask me questions?"
"Ah, yes, it's about your husband..." James starts, before being interrupted.
"He's been murdered!" Mrs. Fisher cries.
Sirius jumps a little at the outburst from the previously calm and collected host. "Murdered?" The word leaves his mouth dry and he feels himself sink lower into his seat. "But, sorry, the report says 'Missing,' ma'am." He looks to James for help. "What makes you so sure about ... murder?"
"It's just...he came home one night last week mumbling about something very strange, he had a run-in with some youths and he just sounded so...unnerved about the entire thing. He rambled about there being more evil in the world than he'd ever thought. I didn't...I didn't take him seriously at first, I thought maybe he just needed some rest. But then he didn't come home from work the next day. I haven't seen him since. It just...it doesn't feel right. He's dead, I know it, but no one will believe me." Mrs. Fisher crumbles within herself as it all comes tumbling out of her lips.
James runs his hand through his hair and looks at Sirius desperately. "Are you sure that...maybe he went on vacation with some of his mates?" James knows that he's grasping for straws, knows that mysterious and unexplainable disappearances are the Death Eaters' specialty, but he can't admit it to himself yet.
Mrs. Fisher's head shoots up. "He wouldn't be gone this long without informing me first. He's never done that. We have a daughter, you know, she's not far from your age. He wouldn't do that..." She trails off.
Sirius would really rather be a hundred other places at this very moment. He's never been at a loss for words until now. "About the run-in with the youths, erm-" he took a deep breath, "did he say anything else? Anything at all about that run-in? Or was it just the whole 'evil' bit? I mean, er, just curious. It might help tie some ends together."
Hastily, he grabs a biscuit off the tray and shoves it in his mouth awkwardly.
Mrs. Fisher fumbles with her tea cup, and James' thoughts unknowingly echo Sirius'. If he could be anywhere else but here, he would be, but he is here. Here and faced with the harsh reality of war, when all he ever wanted to do in life was to have a few laughs and maybe make his mark somehow. The time for laughter seems to be over.
"Nothing else specific, no, I think that he was too...scared, yes, scared and confused. He did say something about broomsticks, though, do you think that's important? Maybe the people who killed him, maybe they work for a cleaning service," Mrs. Fisher says.
"We'll be sure to make note of that in our report, ma'am," James reassures.
Sirius nods, "Men with broomsticks and a cleaning service." He doesn't want to know, but presses on anyway. She hadn't said anything about the motorbike. "That's all he saw? We need to know everything your husband told you, Mrs. Fisher." He doesn't realise it but he holds his breath waiting for a response.
Mrs. Fisher pauses before shaking her head. "That's all he saw...or at least all he told me, and that's all that matters now, isn't it?"
James sighs and mentally shakes himself. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Fisher, that's all we need to know." He turns and gives Sirius a meaningful glance.
"We'll make sure the boys up at the Yard are looking for your husband." He adds emphatically. "You've been really helpful, Mrs. Fisher." Sirius puts his hand in his pocket and hesitates. All he needs to do is perform a simple memory charm, he looks at James. "Are you ready, Oliver?"
James grits his teeth and glares, but more out of the habit of being annoyed at Sirius, because being annoyed at Sirius is familiar and safe. "Yes, thank you, I'm ready."
"Right." Sirius replies. "Er, can you tell me what those dolls over there are for" He points in front of him. He waits until Mrs. Fisher is completely turned around before he raises his wand, "Mrs Fisher, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
"Sorry about what-"
"Obliviate." She stumbles back and Sirius staggers to catch her. "Ma'am, men from the Scotland Yard have already come by to ask about your husband. They're doing all they can and will report back to you once they find out." He looks over at James and then back at Mrs. Fisher.
Mrs. Fisher nods, dazed, and James gestures towards the door. The two let themselves out the front door and then break into a run, not stopping until they're out of sight of the Fisher residence.
James leans over and tugs his tie loose, gasping for breath.
"Are you thinking... it had to have been. Shit. We shouldn't have left them with Death Eaters." Sirius reaches into his pockets for a cigarette and a lighter. "What, what do you think, Prongs?"
"I think..." James stands up straight and then moves to lean against the nearby fence. "I think that we really fucked up this time, Pads."
"Shit. We were just trying to make the job- shit Prongs. We got them killed. We might as well be their murderers." Sirius feels a whirlwind of nausea overcome him and takes a long drag from his cigarette. It doesn't soothe him and he flicks it away. "I want to go back, apologize. Fuck the Statute of Secrecy we got her husband killed. Fuck. And they have a daughter. Our age. What do we do, Prongs?"
James bangs his head backwards against the fence and drags his hand across his face tiredly. "There's nothing that we can do, Pads, and going back will only bugger things up even worse than they already are. We just...we just have to carry on, do our duty, write our report for Moody."
"D'you think we'll still get a lecture?" Sirius asks after a long silence. "I really don't think I need a lecture. I actually think I need to throw up. Or have a drink- no, I need to round up some Death Eaters." He shakes his head. "Let's write this report so that people back at headquarters don't think we're complete twats anymore. Here I was wondering why everyone was so upset."
"Back to work then?" James pushes away from the fence.
Sirius nods. "Back to work."