Destruction Where You Stand - chapter two
Chapter Two: That Cannot Sink or Cease
“On almost the incendiary eve
Of several near deaths,
When one at the great least of your best loved
And always known must leave
Lions and fires of his flying breath,
Of your immortal friends.”
-Dylan Thomas, Deaths and Entrances
Sirius wakes with a start, his face pressed into the open pages of the book in front of him. He jerks upright, scrubbing furtively at the pages with a sleeve, then stops dead when he realizes that he is not in the library at Hogwarts, or even in Order headquarters, and that there will be no James to laugh at him for drooling in his sleep. Ever. His chest aches, washed hollow by the sudden, shuddering wave of furious grief that accompanies this knowledge, and it takes him a minute or two to unclench his hands from the edges of the book.
The pale flames are still shining in their sconces, though Sirius can see sunlight shining through the edges of the heavy velvet curtains. It's Sunday, he thinks, and gets quickly to his feet before he can remember that he has spent every Sunday morning of the past year at James' house. At some point last night he managed to finish his shopping list, and he clutches it like a talisman as he makes his unsteady way down the hall to the bathroom, muscles protesting at a night spent in a chair. There are towels in the linen closet that need only a quick Scourgify to be usable, and the heating charms on the water tanks should be operating, as all of the charm-work that makes the house livable is tied directly to the wards.
He puts his list, the sack containing his worldly fortune, and the handkerchief containing Pettigrew's finger on the marble counter next to the sink, feeling slightly foolish. There is no one else in the house. Nothing, living or dead, can get in without triggering the wards; he is safer than he would be in a vault at Gringott's. Still, the habits of a lifetime are hard to break. Sirius has never lived alone before, and he doesn't trust the ringing emptiness of the rooms and corridors. He turns on the water, which heats almost immediately, and steps into the shower.
When he looks down, the water is grey with the ash of a Muggle street, and the ruins of Godric's Hollow.
***
“I don't have time for this, Dumbledore,” Moody growls, stepping out of the Floo. “The whole Ministry's in an uproar. Half the wizarding world seems to have gone mad with relief, while the other half are off gnawing their livers in private, that or plotting revenge. Even the Muggles have started to notice that something's going on, and now Crouch has decided to throw Dementors into the mix. Only a complete lackwit would do that now, with emotions running as high as they are. We've pulled three of the bloody things off of civilians already, and one of them attacked a group of Muggles, if you can believe that.” He shakes his head in disgust. “If the damn Prophet hadn't whipped everyone into a frenzy of terror over Black, we'd have pulled them all back to Azkaban after the first incident. As it is, I'm willing to bet that we'll be stuck with them until they catch Black - which will only happen if they are very lucky, or he is very stupid.”
“Oh? Why is that?” Dumbledore asks. Phineas' respect for Moody rises when he sees the skeptical look the Auror aims in the Headmaster's direction.
“Come off it, Dumbledore,” Moody says impatiently. “You know why as well as I do. If Black is anywhere near as smart as I think he is, he'll be holed up in one of his family's estates. One of the Unplottable ones, with the sort of wards that instantly eviscerate intruders and seal up tight enough to keep out even the Dementors. There's also the fact that all of the Black ancestral homes are connected by private Floo, and I'd lay galleons to gobstones that Malfoy Manor was added to the network after Lucius married Cygnus' youngest girl. If he really does intend on taking Voldemort's place in the Death Eaters, as Crouch is so rabidly insisting, he'll be admirably set up to do it from one of the old Black homes, not to mention he'd be practically untouchable.”
Phineas narrows his eyes. Moody is quite obviously too clever by half, and has a mind like a corkscrew with razor-sharp edges. If Dumbledore fails to convince him of the possibility of Sirius' innocence, Moody will most likely become the greatest obstacle in Phineas' path, and as Phineas isn't entirely certain that Dumbledore is convinced, he doesn't entirely trust him to convince Moody.
He is prompted into speaking by concern for the last of his House, and not out of any concern for Sirius himself.
“Good show, Alastor,” he drawls, using tones carefully calculated to irritate. “You've managed to be both completely right and completely wrong at the same time - which is not something one sees often.” The look Moody gives him in return should by rights set his frame on fire.
“Can't you put a Silencio on that bloody painting?” Moody demands, transferring his glare to Dumbledore.
“Really, Phineas,” Dumbledore murmurs. “Considering the circumstances, you might at least try not to antagonize him.”
“He's a Black,” Moody grunts. “They antagonize everybody.”
“Alastor,” Dumbledore says.
“Right,” Phineas sneers, rising. “I'm done here, Dumbledore. He's obviously too predjudiced to give anyone with my surname a fair hearing, officer of the law or no. If you manage to come up with someone who can supress their biases, you know how to contact me.”
“Just a minute!” Moody roars. He too, is on his feet now. “I'll have you know that I'd have given Voldemort himself a fair trial, if the bastard could have been trusted to sit through one! I serve the law, not my own prejudices, and your damned grandson is no different, you supercilious, creeping snake! What's more, I am most likely the only one who will make sure he gets fair treatment, and if you know where he is, you'd best tell me. The Dementors won't give him the chance to scream, let alone to defend himself in court.”
Phineas ruthlessly supresses the urge to smile. “I'm hardly about to trust the last of my House to your word alone,” he snaps. “Especially when he's innocent.” The stunned expression on Moody's face is everything he could have hoped for, and he forces himself to be silent, to wait for Moody to ask the next question and to avoid ruining his advantage by pushing too hard. He doesn't have to wait long.
“Innocent?” the man demands, turning to Dumbledore for confirmation. “Is he telling the truth?”
“I believe he is,” Dumbledore says gravely, but Phineas notes with displeasure that the blasted twinkle is back in his eyes. “Or, rather, I believe that he is convinced of Sirius' innocence, and that there is the distinct possibility that he is correct in his assumptions.”
“How?” Moody demands, his eyes intent on Dumbledore's. Phineas remembers hearing that Moody had taken to mentoring Sirius during his Auror training, and a closer study of the man's face reveals tell-tale traces of supressed hope that seem to confirm these rumors. This time, as no one is looking at him, he allows himself to smile.
“It seems that Sirius may not have been the Potters' Secret-Keeper after all,” Dumbledore says. “From what Phineas tells me, he and Peter Pettigrew switched at the last minute, without informing anyone but the Potters as to their plans.”
“And the incident in Swindon?”
“Pettigrew is an Animagus - a rat Animagus. As, I suspect, is Sirius, though Phineas has not confirmed it. James Potter was one as well. Pettigrew blew up that street in Swindon himself, and disappeared in the aftermath.”
“Three unregistered Animagi?” Moody shakes his head. “That's difficult to believe, although it might explain how Black avoided us so easily in Diagon Alley.”
“When one considers just how talented Sirius and James were at school, and takes into account the affliction suffered by Remus Lupin, it is somewhat easier to accept,” Dumbledore says. Moody nods slowly, understanding dawning on his face. Phineas is pleased to see that his eyes have gone distant with planning.
“I'll need to talk to Lupin,” he says. “I can confirm that much of the story through him, at least. The rest of it - well, it's hard to swallow, Dumbledore, as much as I might want to.”
“Nevertheless,” Dumbledore says smoothly, “we can at least agree on the importance of finding Sirius before the Dementors do.”
“I'll give you that,” Moody says. says. “It'll do Crouch one in the eye, and no mistake, if we can bring Black in where he's failed. And if he does turn out to be innocent - ” Moody gives a nasty little chuckle that stirs an answering smile in Phineas' painted heart. “Let's just say it won't be one of old Barty's better days.” His expression turns grave. “We'll have to find Pettigrew as well, if Black is innocent. Crouch or no, the Ministry won't accept a word of this story without Pettigrew standing in front of them. If he has gone rat, he'll be nearly impossible to find.”
“I believe that Sirius, wherever he is, has definite plans to find Mr. Pettigrew,” Dumbledore says.
“Impetuous,” Moody growls. “With Black's temper, he's likely to kill the little rat, and be forced to spend the rest of his life on the run.”
“I don't believe that matters much to him at the moment,” Phineas says. “In fact, I very much doubt that he plans to make any effort to clear his name.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Moody growls.
“I,” Phineas answers, with all of the cold dignity he can muster, “am here because Sirius is half out of his mind with grief, and even if he weren't, the reputation and survival of the Black family would still fail to interest him. His own survival barely interests him at the moment. He certainly doesn't know I've come.”
“That's the only reason?” Moody asks sharply.
“Of course,” Phineas says quellingly, ignoring any memories he might have of a child too stubborn to give up. Moody snorts, but Dumbledore - damn him - gives Phineas a gentle, amused twinkle from blue eyes.
Phineas sneers at him.
***
Chapter Three: Auguries of Innocence
***
a/n: thank you all so much for the feedback! it's good to know that people are reading and (hopefully) enjoying. apologies for the short update, but the next bit should be longer.
title borrowed without permission from dylan thomas' deaths and entrances.
characters borrowes without permission from j.k. rowling.