And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house (blanketforts Day 28)
Title: And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them because I like them.
Wordcount: 2701
Prompt: Now is the winter of our discontent
Notes: Remus and Sirius travel back to Hogwarts to question Steven Yarwood about his father. Title (and prompt!) from Richard III.
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Remus was having a very good dream.
It was the sort of dream that was half-memory, and all Sirius. Not that Sirius was in it, as such. It wasn’t formed enough for that. There was just warm red rushes, and the drowning sense that his bones were melting and his senses washing away. It was the sort of dream which could only mean Sirius, and only be a dream, because in real life Sirius would never have his mouth closed over Remus’ cock. Not any more.
There was something wrong with that thought, but his brain was spinning and he couldn’t pin down the error. Instead, he wound his fingers into the sheets and whimpered, letting his hips buck up, thrusting into that dream mouth. He didn’t want to wake up.
Firm hands pressed his hips down against the mattress, and that hot, wet mouth slid down, surrounding him. He felt soft hair brush his thighs.
Remus woke up, his breath catching in his throat.
He opened his eyes, blinking down. It was still dark, though the streetlight glowed orange through the curtains.
Sirius looked up at him from between his legs, eyes flame-bright with glee, cheeks hollowed.
“Oh,” Remus managed and sank back against the pillows. What was happening? What had happened? Oh, why wouldn’t his brain work?
He felt the shudder go up his spine, and yelped something he hoped was a warning. Then he was coming, and Sirius, fuck, was swallowing, and he couldn’t think, couldn’t…
The next thing he knew was Sirius thumping down next to him, pressing against his side. Remus turned his head to stare at him, his sleep-fogged mind beginning to remember.
Sirius smirked at him, looking all too pleased with himself.
There had been the bookshelf, and the wall, and the bed, and then they had got hungry, and there had been the kitchen table, and the sofa, and bloody hell no wonder he was aching.
“Morning,” Sirius said smugly.
“When’s the train?” Remus croaked.
“Nine.”
“Time now?”
“Early,” Sirius said, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.
“Good,” Remus said, propping himself up on his elbows.
“Why’s that?”
Remus pounced.
*
Inevitably, they had to run for the train.
Remus hobbled up platform nine-and-three-quarters, tickets clutched in his hand. Sirius was hanging out of a door in the first class carriage, one foot on the train and the other on the platform. A red-faced guard was trying to lever his leg onto the train.
Remus swung his foot onto the step, gasping, “Excuse me,” to the guard.
Sirius dragged him in, and the guard spluttered, “You mean to say you didn’t even have a ticket!”
“I’ve got one now,” Sirius said, slamming the door shut.
The guard looked like he was about to protest, but the engine was billowing steam, and he stepped back and blew his whistle.
“Hah!” Sirius said, leaning out the window.
Remus shed his coat, and turned around in time to drag Sirius back in just before they entered the first tunnel, as was his traditional duty.
Sirius chuckled, and said, “Do you know what’s special about travelling first class, Moony?”
“The price?” Remus said. He didn’t have Sirius’ ideological objections to travelling standard class.
“Nope,” Sirius said, and crossed the compartment. With a smirk, he drew the blinds down and locked the door. Then he turned and began to pace towards Remus, grinning.
“Not on public transport,” Remus said hastily.
By Doncaster, an hour and a half later, he’d changed his mind. The seats were just wide enough that he could lie back in Sirius’ arms, and the slow happiness bubbling through him made him loath to argue when Sirius worked his hand under his coat and into his trousers.
“What if someone comes to check our tickets?” he murmured, turning his head to kiss Sirius’ jaw.
“They’ll have to knock,” Sirius said, stroking slowly.
Remus stared at the rain running down the windows, and felt his brain begin to melt again.
At York, the sun came out, reflecting off the snow that still blanketed the vale. Sirius chuckled in Remus’ ear and said, “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York.”
“Shakespeare?” Remus asked incredulously, pulling back. “You?”
“Why not?” Sirius demanded, looking affronted. “One of my third cousins married his great-granddaughter. Plus a few greats, of course.”
“Shakespeare was a Muggle,” Remus said firmly.
“Yeah,” Sirius said, “but his son was a wizard. You didn’t think The Tempest was an accident, did you?”
Remus eyed him suspiciously. The mention of Shakespeare made him remember what he had actually meant to discuss with Sirius on this journey, and his stomach turned. Now was the time - they still had almost five hours before they got to Hogsmeade which should give him enough time to calm Sirius down.
He removed Sirius’ hands from inside his shirt and said, “About Richard III? You remember Pete and Lily went to see it? Has Pete said anything about it?”
“No,” Sirius said, eyes narrowing. “Just that it was bloody boring.”
“So he didn’t mention the Death Eaters?”
“What Death Eaters?” Sirius demanded, jumping up.
Remus caught himself against the window and said, “The Death Eaters concealed in the audience who killed one of the actresses and were then embroiled in a battle with a group Turpin is convinced were the Order of the Phoenix.”
Sirius slammed his hands down on the luggage rack. “Fuck. Prongs doesn’t know. I’d know if he did.”
Remus, who was trying to do his trousers up, bit his lip. “Which means Lily’s not talking, either.”
Sirius’ fingers curled around the bars of the rack. Then he stilled, shoulders tight. Remus, who recognised the beginnings of inspiration, curled into the corner of the seat and waited.
“Alan Radcliffe’s tobacco tin,” Sirius said at last, his voice unnervingly mild.
“You thought the design was unusual - some sort of clown.”
“No,” Sirius said, still not turning round. “It’s the pied piper. And Alan Radcliffe didn’t smoke roll-ups. But you know who does.”
“Peter,” Remus said, though he was sure it was a rhetorical question.
“He’s in the Order,” Sirius said, which was a few jumps further than Remus had dared to go. “Him and Lily. And not us.”
“That’s-”
“Little shit.” Sirius swung round. “He knew Radcliffe! What’s the next stop? We’re going back to London!”
“Darlington,” Remus said, “and we’re not. Dumbledore is expecting us. If Steven doesn’t tell us anything useful, you can interrogate Wormtail tomorrow.”
“With ferrets,” Sirius hissed.
Remus snorted with laughter, then tried to swallow it and choked.
Sirius thumped him on the back and then sank down into the seat next to him.
“Ferrets?” Remus said.
“Ravenous ferrets,” Sirius said gloomily. “I can’t believe bloody Wormtail beat us to it. Him and his job. Paperwork. Gah.”
Remus put his head on Sirius’ shoulder. “I told you he wasn’t working in a strip club.”
Sirius muttered under his breath.
Remus yawned.
“Tired?” Sirius demanded, poking him in the ribs.
“Some wanker kept me up all night.”
Sirius beamed proudly. “I know.”
“Wake me up after Edinburgh,” Remus said, and wrapped an arm loosely around Sirius’ neck. If he was asleep on him when they got to Darlington, Sirius wouldn’t be able to run back to London.
“Edinburgh’s hours away,” Sirius grumbled, but wrapped his arms around Remus. “I’ll get bored.”
“Tough,” Remus murmured and closed his eyes.
When he did wake the sky was blue with dusk. He could see snow outside the windows, and mountains in the distance.
“Where are we?” he murmured.
“We just went through Kirkcaldy,” Sirius said. He had moved a little, but he hadn’t let go.
“Nearly there,” Remus said.
“Yes,” Sirius said, an odd note in his voice. Remus looked up at him, puzzled. Sirius was looking down at him, his face still and serious. Remus shivered.
“Moony,” Sirius said.
“Yes?”
“You do know that I love you, right?”
Oh. Remus felt the smile break out of him. “I hoped you did,” he said.
Sirius made an odd choking noise and grabbed him. Remus lunged up and kissed him, and was shocked to realise he was shaking.
The train shuddered as it left the main track, plunging into the tunnel that carried them under the mountains to Hogsmeade. For a moment they were in darkness, and Remus kissed him blindly.
Then the lamps flickered and brightened, and the train settled back into its steady clatter. Sirius sighed, and settled back against the seat, pulling Remus down with him.
“We’re nearly there,” Remus said.
“We’ve got twenty minutes,” Sirius murmured. “At least.”
“We should have spent more train journeys doing this.”
“Mmm,” Sirius said, nibbling his ear. “We’ve got the rest of our lives.”
It was cold when they staggered out of the train, so cold that Sirius half-coughed, half-barked, and Remus shuddered with it. They crunched along the snow-laden platform, and out of the side gate of the station. Someone had shovelled the snow to the sides of the lane.
Hagrid was there, with the trap, bulky and fierce in his heavy coat. Claw was beside him on the seat, head on his lap. He turned to stare at them as they came out, and Remus hesitated.
Then he said, “There yeh are, at last. Headmaster’s waiting for yeh.”
“Brilliant,” Sirius said, scrambling up. “Thought we’d have to walk. Bloody freezing up here.”
“Another three inches last night,” Hagrid said. “You alright there, Remus?”
“Fine, thanks,” Remus said, and settled beside Sirius. “And you? Everything okay at the school?”
“Jus’ fine,” Hagrid said, and leant forward. “Away now, Clover.”
They creaked off. The lane was black with ice, and the lamp cast red reflections from it. Clover’s hooves clicked sharply. A faint crack sounded from the forest; a branch breaking under the burden of the snow.
Sirius put his arm around Remus’ waist. Remus pressed warningly against his shoulder.
Clouds were building over the lake, low and heavy. The lights of Hogwarts seemed pale below them. The lake itself was dull, frozen and quiet.
Claw whined hopefully. Sirius reached out and scratched his ears. “Does he still like chocolate buttons?”
The dog thumped his tail at the words.
“Bad fer his teeth,” Hagrid said gloomily. “He’s off ‘em. Young Steven’s being trying to tempt him with cheese straws.”
“Poor old Claw,” Sirius said solemnly. “That’s no fate for a noble hound.”
“How is Steven?” Remus asked.
Hagrid gave him a sharp look, but said nothing.
The gates were open, but Remus noticed they weren’t bolted back. It would only take a moment to swing them shut, closing out the world.
Hagrid took them as far as the doors, then stopped. “Out with yeh, then. Need to get Clover in the warm.”
“Thanks for the lift,” Remus said, jumping down. Someone was already cracking the doors open.
The trap rumbled away, and Professor Flitwick said, “Quick, quick, boys. Don’t let in the cold.”
They hurried in. Remus paused on the threshold for a moment, dazzled by the familiar smell of school food and potions, sweaty Quidditch kit and damp corridors. He’d never realised Hogwarts smelt like home.
“Come on, Remus,” Sirius said impatiently, and he shook himself and hurried to catch up.
“Young Mr Yarwood is waiting with the headmaster,” Flitwick said breathily, half-running to keep up with them.
They both turned right automatically, heading for a different staircase.
“I see you already know the way,” Flitwick squeaked.
Sirius didn’t even have the grace to look abashed. He bounded ahead. Remus, who was worried that Flitwick might explode if he went any faster, slowed down.
At the corner before Dumbledore’s office Sirius stopped dead. He gestured sharply, and Remus crept forward.
“…wouldn’t want anyone to think I was being remiss,” Professor Slughorn was saying.
“Not at all, Horace,” Dumbledore said. “Thank you for being so, ah, prompt to inform me. I suggest you return to the dungeons, and if the students you have - what was it?”
“Mislaid,” Slughorn said, with the hint of a smirk.
“Mislaid,” Dumbledore repeated gently. “I see. Well, if Mr Black and his friends should return, please inform me immediately. Thank you, Horace.”
“No trouble at all, Albus,” Slughorn said. Remus barely heard him walk away. Sirius was utterly still. Remus grabbed his arm, digging his fingers in until it had to hurt.
“Trouble, Albus?” Flitwick asked, hurrying past them.
“Ah, Filius. There you are. Would you join us, please. Remus, Sirius, do come up.”
For a moment, Remus thought Sirius would refuse to move. Then the rage vanished, and he walked forward, pulling Remus with him. “Hello, Professor,” he said, grinning. “Is it boring without us?”
Remus decided not to look at his eyes.
“Strangely, Mr Black,” Dumbledore said dryly, “I believe most of my staff are enjoying the respite. Would you care to speak to Steven now?”
Steven Yarwood was staring out of the office window. He whirled as they came, his eyes wide with fear.
“Hello, Steven,” Remus said, as gently as he could.
Steven gave him a jerky nod. He looked pale, and there were shadows below his eyes.
Dumbledore sat down, and Flitwick steered Steven to the chair beside him. Remus sat down opposite, and Sirius leant on the wall behind him, crossing his arms.
“We’d like to ask you some questions, Steven,” Remus said gently. “I don’t want to upset you but it might help some other people.”
“I understand,” Steven said, his voice shaking.
“Tell us about your father, Steven,” Remus said.
Dumbledore sat up slightly. Steven’s eyes widened, and he said, “My dad? He- he was an Auror.”
“We talked to Mrs Forbes,” Sirius said. “She was close to your Mum, wasn’t she?”
Steven nodded. His fingers had clenched around the arm of the chair.
“Steven,” Remus began but Sirius spoke over him, “We know, Steven. We know, but we don’t know why. You can’t lie for him forever, Steven. Just because he’s family, it doesn’t mean he’s right.”
“He’s my dad!” Steven protested.
Remus heard Sirius’ breath hiss in, and knew he had heard the tense too.
“When did he last contact you, Steven?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steven said. “My dad’s dead.”
“And did you know Alan Radcliffe was too?” Sirius flashed.
“Uncle Alan?” Steven blurted, blanching.
Remus touched Sirius’ wrist, hoping he’d take the warning. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “Tell us about him, Steven. He was a good man.”
“He said - he said to Mum-”
“What did he say?”
Steven looked down. “He’d said he’d take us away. Somewhere safe. I didn’t want to. Dad - Dad was protecting us.”
“The moment protection means killing innocents, it becomes a lie,” Sirius said flatly.
Steven looked up, his face tight with anger. Remus saw him meet Sirius’ gaze over his head, and tried not to move. Sirius didn’t say anything.
Steven looked down, bringing his hands up to cover his face. “They were going to hurt us,” he said, in a whisper. “They made him do it. He was just protecting us.”
“What happened then?” Remus asked.
Steven shook his head.
Dumbledore cleared his throat.
They all looked at him, even Steven. He met Steven’s gaze, his face steady.
Steven took a breath. “They said he failed. Uncle Alan knew, and all the others could have worked it out. So he - he-”
“It’s alright,” Remus said. “We know about the others. What happened next?”
“He couldn’t catch him - Uncle Alan. He was too good. And they found us - the farm. And you - you found me.”
Remus nodded. “Where is he now, Steven? All the others are dead.”
Steven shook his head. “No. They’re not.”
“Oliver Sugden,” Sirius said, ticking them off on his fingers. “Lucia Peverall, Daffyd Powell, Hester Entwhistle and her family, Alan Radcliffe. That’s everyone who went after the Hexcombe coven.”
Steven looked down at his hands again. “Someone ordered them to investigate. There’s still one left.”
“Who?” Sirius demanded, and Remus felt his throat go cold. “Whose order was it?”
Steven looked up, running his teeth over his lip. Then he said, so quietly Remus could barely hear him, “Auror Tonks.”
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them because I like them.
Wordcount: 2701
Prompt: Now is the winter of our discontent
Notes: Remus and Sirius travel back to Hogwarts to question Steven Yarwood about his father. Title (and prompt!) from Richard III.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28
Remus was having a very good dream.
It was the sort of dream that was half-memory, and all Sirius. Not that Sirius was in it, as such. It wasn’t formed enough for that. There was just warm red rushes, and the drowning sense that his bones were melting and his senses washing away. It was the sort of dream which could only mean Sirius, and only be a dream, because in real life Sirius would never have his mouth closed over Remus’ cock. Not any more.
There was something wrong with that thought, but his brain was spinning and he couldn’t pin down the error. Instead, he wound his fingers into the sheets and whimpered, letting his hips buck up, thrusting into that dream mouth. He didn’t want to wake up.
Firm hands pressed his hips down against the mattress, and that hot, wet mouth slid down, surrounding him. He felt soft hair brush his thighs.
Remus woke up, his breath catching in his throat.
He opened his eyes, blinking down. It was still dark, though the streetlight glowed orange through the curtains.
Sirius looked up at him from between his legs, eyes flame-bright with glee, cheeks hollowed.
“Oh,” Remus managed and sank back against the pillows. What was happening? What had happened? Oh, why wouldn’t his brain work?
He felt the shudder go up his spine, and yelped something he hoped was a warning. Then he was coming, and Sirius, fuck, was swallowing, and he couldn’t think, couldn’t…
The next thing he knew was Sirius thumping down next to him, pressing against his side. Remus turned his head to stare at him, his sleep-fogged mind beginning to remember.
Sirius smirked at him, looking all too pleased with himself.
There had been the bookshelf, and the wall, and the bed, and then they had got hungry, and there had been the kitchen table, and the sofa, and bloody hell no wonder he was aching.
“Morning,” Sirius said smugly.
“When’s the train?” Remus croaked.
“Nine.”
“Time now?”
“Early,” Sirius said, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.
“Good,” Remus said, propping himself up on his elbows.
“Why’s that?”
Remus pounced.
*
Inevitably, they had to run for the train.
Remus hobbled up platform nine-and-three-quarters, tickets clutched in his hand. Sirius was hanging out of a door in the first class carriage, one foot on the train and the other on the platform. A red-faced guard was trying to lever his leg onto the train.
Remus swung his foot onto the step, gasping, “Excuse me,” to the guard.
Sirius dragged him in, and the guard spluttered, “You mean to say you didn’t even have a ticket!”
“I’ve got one now,” Sirius said, slamming the door shut.
The guard looked like he was about to protest, but the engine was billowing steam, and he stepped back and blew his whistle.
“Hah!” Sirius said, leaning out the window.
Remus shed his coat, and turned around in time to drag Sirius back in just before they entered the first tunnel, as was his traditional duty.
Sirius chuckled, and said, “Do you know what’s special about travelling first class, Moony?”
“The price?” Remus said. He didn’t have Sirius’ ideological objections to travelling standard class.
“Nope,” Sirius said, and crossed the compartment. With a smirk, he drew the blinds down and locked the door. Then he turned and began to pace towards Remus, grinning.
“Not on public transport,” Remus said hastily.
By Doncaster, an hour and a half later, he’d changed his mind. The seats were just wide enough that he could lie back in Sirius’ arms, and the slow happiness bubbling through him made him loath to argue when Sirius worked his hand under his coat and into his trousers.
“What if someone comes to check our tickets?” he murmured, turning his head to kiss Sirius’ jaw.
“They’ll have to knock,” Sirius said, stroking slowly.
Remus stared at the rain running down the windows, and felt his brain begin to melt again.
At York, the sun came out, reflecting off the snow that still blanketed the vale. Sirius chuckled in Remus’ ear and said, “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York.”
“Shakespeare?” Remus asked incredulously, pulling back. “You?”
“Why not?” Sirius demanded, looking affronted. “One of my third cousins married his great-granddaughter. Plus a few greats, of course.”
“Shakespeare was a Muggle,” Remus said firmly.
“Yeah,” Sirius said, “but his son was a wizard. You didn’t think The Tempest was an accident, did you?”
Remus eyed him suspiciously. The mention of Shakespeare made him remember what he had actually meant to discuss with Sirius on this journey, and his stomach turned. Now was the time - they still had almost five hours before they got to Hogsmeade which should give him enough time to calm Sirius down.
He removed Sirius’ hands from inside his shirt and said, “About Richard III? You remember Pete and Lily went to see it? Has Pete said anything about it?”
“No,” Sirius said, eyes narrowing. “Just that it was bloody boring.”
“So he didn’t mention the Death Eaters?”
“What Death Eaters?” Sirius demanded, jumping up.
Remus caught himself against the window and said, “The Death Eaters concealed in the audience who killed one of the actresses and were then embroiled in a battle with a group Turpin is convinced were the Order of the Phoenix.”
Sirius slammed his hands down on the luggage rack. “Fuck. Prongs doesn’t know. I’d know if he did.”
Remus, who was trying to do his trousers up, bit his lip. “Which means Lily’s not talking, either.”
Sirius’ fingers curled around the bars of the rack. Then he stilled, shoulders tight. Remus, who recognised the beginnings of inspiration, curled into the corner of the seat and waited.
“Alan Radcliffe’s tobacco tin,” Sirius said at last, his voice unnervingly mild.
“You thought the design was unusual - some sort of clown.”
“No,” Sirius said, still not turning round. “It’s the pied piper. And Alan Radcliffe didn’t smoke roll-ups. But you know who does.”
“Peter,” Remus said, though he was sure it was a rhetorical question.
“He’s in the Order,” Sirius said, which was a few jumps further than Remus had dared to go. “Him and Lily. And not us.”
“That’s-”
“Little shit.” Sirius swung round. “He knew Radcliffe! What’s the next stop? We’re going back to London!”
“Darlington,” Remus said, “and we’re not. Dumbledore is expecting us. If Steven doesn’t tell us anything useful, you can interrogate Wormtail tomorrow.”
“With ferrets,” Sirius hissed.
Remus snorted with laughter, then tried to swallow it and choked.
Sirius thumped him on the back and then sank down into the seat next to him.
“Ferrets?” Remus said.
“Ravenous ferrets,” Sirius said gloomily. “I can’t believe bloody Wormtail beat us to it. Him and his job. Paperwork. Gah.”
Remus put his head on Sirius’ shoulder. “I told you he wasn’t working in a strip club.”
Sirius muttered under his breath.
Remus yawned.
“Tired?” Sirius demanded, poking him in the ribs.
“Some wanker kept me up all night.”
Sirius beamed proudly. “I know.”
“Wake me up after Edinburgh,” Remus said, and wrapped an arm loosely around Sirius’ neck. If he was asleep on him when they got to Darlington, Sirius wouldn’t be able to run back to London.
“Edinburgh’s hours away,” Sirius grumbled, but wrapped his arms around Remus. “I’ll get bored.”
“Tough,” Remus murmured and closed his eyes.
When he did wake the sky was blue with dusk. He could see snow outside the windows, and mountains in the distance.
“Where are we?” he murmured.
“We just went through Kirkcaldy,” Sirius said. He had moved a little, but he hadn’t let go.
“Nearly there,” Remus said.
“Yes,” Sirius said, an odd note in his voice. Remus looked up at him, puzzled. Sirius was looking down at him, his face still and serious. Remus shivered.
“Moony,” Sirius said.
“Yes?”
“You do know that I love you, right?”
Oh. Remus felt the smile break out of him. “I hoped you did,” he said.
Sirius made an odd choking noise and grabbed him. Remus lunged up and kissed him, and was shocked to realise he was shaking.
The train shuddered as it left the main track, plunging into the tunnel that carried them under the mountains to Hogsmeade. For a moment they were in darkness, and Remus kissed him blindly.
Then the lamps flickered and brightened, and the train settled back into its steady clatter. Sirius sighed, and settled back against the seat, pulling Remus down with him.
“We’re nearly there,” Remus said.
“We’ve got twenty minutes,” Sirius murmured. “At least.”
“We should have spent more train journeys doing this.”
“Mmm,” Sirius said, nibbling his ear. “We’ve got the rest of our lives.”
It was cold when they staggered out of the train, so cold that Sirius half-coughed, half-barked, and Remus shuddered with it. They crunched along the snow-laden platform, and out of the side gate of the station. Someone had shovelled the snow to the sides of the lane.
Hagrid was there, with the trap, bulky and fierce in his heavy coat. Claw was beside him on the seat, head on his lap. He turned to stare at them as they came out, and Remus hesitated.
Then he said, “There yeh are, at last. Headmaster’s waiting for yeh.”
“Brilliant,” Sirius said, scrambling up. “Thought we’d have to walk. Bloody freezing up here.”
“Another three inches last night,” Hagrid said. “You alright there, Remus?”
“Fine, thanks,” Remus said, and settled beside Sirius. “And you? Everything okay at the school?”
“Jus’ fine,” Hagrid said, and leant forward. “Away now, Clover.”
They creaked off. The lane was black with ice, and the lamp cast red reflections from it. Clover’s hooves clicked sharply. A faint crack sounded from the forest; a branch breaking under the burden of the snow.
Sirius put his arm around Remus’ waist. Remus pressed warningly against his shoulder.
Clouds were building over the lake, low and heavy. The lights of Hogwarts seemed pale below them. The lake itself was dull, frozen and quiet.
Claw whined hopefully. Sirius reached out and scratched his ears. “Does he still like chocolate buttons?”
The dog thumped his tail at the words.
“Bad fer his teeth,” Hagrid said gloomily. “He’s off ‘em. Young Steven’s being trying to tempt him with cheese straws.”
“Poor old Claw,” Sirius said solemnly. “That’s no fate for a noble hound.”
“How is Steven?” Remus asked.
Hagrid gave him a sharp look, but said nothing.
The gates were open, but Remus noticed they weren’t bolted back. It would only take a moment to swing them shut, closing out the world.
Hagrid took them as far as the doors, then stopped. “Out with yeh, then. Need to get Clover in the warm.”
“Thanks for the lift,” Remus said, jumping down. Someone was already cracking the doors open.
The trap rumbled away, and Professor Flitwick said, “Quick, quick, boys. Don’t let in the cold.”
They hurried in. Remus paused on the threshold for a moment, dazzled by the familiar smell of school food and potions, sweaty Quidditch kit and damp corridors. He’d never realised Hogwarts smelt like home.
“Come on, Remus,” Sirius said impatiently, and he shook himself and hurried to catch up.
“Young Mr Yarwood is waiting with the headmaster,” Flitwick said breathily, half-running to keep up with them.
They both turned right automatically, heading for a different staircase.
“I see you already know the way,” Flitwick squeaked.
Sirius didn’t even have the grace to look abashed. He bounded ahead. Remus, who was worried that Flitwick might explode if he went any faster, slowed down.
At the corner before Dumbledore’s office Sirius stopped dead. He gestured sharply, and Remus crept forward.
“…wouldn’t want anyone to think I was being remiss,” Professor Slughorn was saying.
“Not at all, Horace,” Dumbledore said. “Thank you for being so, ah, prompt to inform me. I suggest you return to the dungeons, and if the students you have - what was it?”
“Mislaid,” Slughorn said, with the hint of a smirk.
“Mislaid,” Dumbledore repeated gently. “I see. Well, if Mr Black and his friends should return, please inform me immediately. Thank you, Horace.”
“No trouble at all, Albus,” Slughorn said. Remus barely heard him walk away. Sirius was utterly still. Remus grabbed his arm, digging his fingers in until it had to hurt.
“Trouble, Albus?” Flitwick asked, hurrying past them.
“Ah, Filius. There you are. Would you join us, please. Remus, Sirius, do come up.”
For a moment, Remus thought Sirius would refuse to move. Then the rage vanished, and he walked forward, pulling Remus with him. “Hello, Professor,” he said, grinning. “Is it boring without us?”
Remus decided not to look at his eyes.
“Strangely, Mr Black,” Dumbledore said dryly, “I believe most of my staff are enjoying the respite. Would you care to speak to Steven now?”
Steven Yarwood was staring out of the office window. He whirled as they came, his eyes wide with fear.
“Hello, Steven,” Remus said, as gently as he could.
Steven gave him a jerky nod. He looked pale, and there were shadows below his eyes.
Dumbledore sat down, and Flitwick steered Steven to the chair beside him. Remus sat down opposite, and Sirius leant on the wall behind him, crossing his arms.
“We’d like to ask you some questions, Steven,” Remus said gently. “I don’t want to upset you but it might help some other people.”
“I understand,” Steven said, his voice shaking.
“Tell us about your father, Steven,” Remus said.
Dumbledore sat up slightly. Steven’s eyes widened, and he said, “My dad? He- he was an Auror.”
“We talked to Mrs Forbes,” Sirius said. “She was close to your Mum, wasn’t she?”
Steven nodded. His fingers had clenched around the arm of the chair.
“Steven,” Remus began but Sirius spoke over him, “We know, Steven. We know, but we don’t know why. You can’t lie for him forever, Steven. Just because he’s family, it doesn’t mean he’s right.”
“He’s my dad!” Steven protested.
Remus heard Sirius’ breath hiss in, and knew he had heard the tense too.
“When did he last contact you, Steven?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steven said. “My dad’s dead.”
“And did you know Alan Radcliffe was too?” Sirius flashed.
“Uncle Alan?” Steven blurted, blanching.
Remus touched Sirius’ wrist, hoping he’d take the warning. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “Tell us about him, Steven. He was a good man.”
“He said - he said to Mum-”
“What did he say?”
Steven looked down. “He’d said he’d take us away. Somewhere safe. I didn’t want to. Dad - Dad was protecting us.”
“The moment protection means killing innocents, it becomes a lie,” Sirius said flatly.
Steven looked up, his face tight with anger. Remus saw him meet Sirius’ gaze over his head, and tried not to move. Sirius didn’t say anything.
Steven looked down, bringing his hands up to cover his face. “They were going to hurt us,” he said, in a whisper. “They made him do it. He was just protecting us.”
“What happened then?” Remus asked.
Steven shook his head.
Dumbledore cleared his throat.
They all looked at him, even Steven. He met Steven’s gaze, his face steady.
Steven took a breath. “They said he failed. Uncle Alan knew, and all the others could have worked it out. So he - he-”
“It’s alright,” Remus said. “We know about the others. What happened next?”
“He couldn’t catch him - Uncle Alan. He was too good. And they found us - the farm. And you - you found me.”
Remus nodded. “Where is he now, Steven? All the others are dead.”
Steven shook his head. “No. They’re not.”
“Oliver Sugden,” Sirius said, ticking them off on his fingers. “Lucia Peverall, Daffyd Powell, Hester Entwhistle and her family, Alan Radcliffe. That’s everyone who went after the Hexcombe coven.”
Steven looked down at his hands again. “Someone ordered them to investigate. There’s still one left.”
“Who?” Sirius demanded, and Remus felt his throat go cold. “Whose order was it?”
Steven looked up, running his teeth over his lip. Then he said, so quietly Remus could barely hear him, “Auror Tonks.”