*How is it possible, Sirius is wondering, to skate through school without a care, breeze through Auror training, and then suddenly have all that easy talent come to a screeching halt and be forced to take up studying? But that's what has happened. He has to give Peter some credit; Arithmancy is beastly difficult and the wards he's looking into are increasingly complex. But the Auror office has taken to relying on him for wardbreaking, and now that it's a specialty he has to stay current and keep getting better. He could have been a curse-breaker or an obliviator or even played the market and turned into a moderately affluent layabout, but no: some fit of nobility, and the desire to stick with James, had put him at the Auror office. And now he's a bookworm. He can sense the horror at these bald facts bubbling up inside what's left of his sixteen-year-old self, but there it is
( ... )
*A waiter’s already bringing her a tiny golden cup of thick sugared coffee the consistency of mud--he knows her on sight, as does every shopkeeper in the country. She doesn’t look away from Sirius, doesn’t blink, just raises it to her lips.*
*And there it is, in a flood. It only shows on his face for a split second, but that's more than enough for Bellatrix to see it, and now he can't just shrug it off. But he's not going to give her anything to work with, and he doesn't trust his voice, so he just closes his book, puts it in his bag, and takes a sip of his own tea.*
*Bellatrix takes a moment to enjoy it, that little flash of pain and grief on his face. It's exquisite. She speaks softly, a mad little glimmer in her eyes.*
Comments 53
Reply
I’m so sorry for your loss.
Reply
Reply
Closed caskets, I hear. Pity.
You're so wonderfully brave, to be an Auror.
Reply
Leave a comment