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Sirius Black and Severus Snape had argued incessantly on the way to the Death Eaters' meeting.
“It's not my fault, Snivellus, if you—”
“Shut up, Black. It's a mystery to me why the Dark Lord is allowing you to attend the meeting—”
“Apparently, one slimy poisoner isn't enough as a spy. You must have screwed up pretty badly if Vol—the Dark Lord—prefers to have me there too,” Sirius taunted, stumbling over the name of his new... “master.” Of course, if it were up to him, he wouldn't be here either, and would rather cuddle up to Buck Beak with a bottle of Firewhisky in his hand than run to a meeting where his damn cousin would be participating. But what wouldn't he do for his godson... Even if it meant working with the murderer of his best friend. Or standing up to the man he thought he could trust - Dumbledore. It should have been clear to him in Azkaban, at the latest, that the headmaster was no more trustworthy than he could throw a lead cauldron. But somehow he had clung to the idea that there was a bigger plan behind letting him rot in the wizard prison all those years, even though Dumbledore knew Sirius was innocent. That Peter had been the Secret Keeper. And not him.
And yes, there was a bigger plan. One that had caused him to turn his back on the light side and defect back to the other side. Dumbledore wanted Harry Potter, his own godson, dead. And to make matters worse, it was now Voldemort who was protecting Harry. Not the other way around. Neither Snape nor Harry nor the Dark Lord himself had told Sirius much about it. Why his godson was now suddenly essential to Voldemort. Why the dark wizard would prefer to have him by his side 24/7 and had almost not allowed him to return to Hogwarts. And why he had almost personally shown up at the gates of Hogwarts to drag the pink toad out of her classroom by her bow, subjecting her to the strongest Cruciatus Curse because she had dared to let Harry write with a blood feather.
Admittedly, Sirius would have done the same. Maybe not necessarily a Cruciatus curse—okay, maybe he would have—but he never would have expected that it was Voldemort, of all people, who summoned Harry to him immediately after the incident to tend to his wounds and heal them carefully, very carefully. Had he already mentioned how carefully?
He had felt a little queasy in the pit of his stomach as he watched Voldemort's pale white fingers stroke Harry's palms. How Voldemort had leaned over him. How close he had come to his godson.
And Harry? Harry had just lain there—on the Malfoys' satin sofa—and looked into the other man's eyes for what Sirius thought was far too long. And when Voldemort had then almost tenderly pushed Harry's hair aside with his fingers and let it slide over Harry's lightning scar, which he himself had inflicted on him, he had almost lost his temper!
“...ack? Black?” a voice brought him back to the present, and Sirius shook his head. “Have the Dementors robbed you of your last bit of sanity?”
“I'm fine,” the Death Eater recruit shot back, stomping toward his other cousin's front door with his head held high and pushing it open.
Opulence. That was the first word that came to mind every time he found himself in the entrance hall. Golden chandeliers. Diamond-studded picture frames from which pale-faced ancestors stared down at him with wrinkled noses, following his every step in leather boots and ripped jeans. Really—he had no intention of starting to dress like a purebred idiot who had a stick shoved up his ass. They would have to tear his leather jacket from his dead, cold hands!
With a sideways glance at Snape, the man would probably volunteer to send Sirius over the threshold of death.
“Our Lord's ways are unfathomable,” Snape snarled, glancing at Sirius's shirt, which was hidden under his jacket and bore the logo of a well-known Muggle band from the seventies.
Sirius rolled his eyes and ignored the other man's comment. He certainly wasn't going to discuss fashion with a man who had the taste to dress like an oversized bat and only wash his hair at the change of seasons.
With long strides, the Black heir headed for the large double doors at the end of the entrance hall, but stopped in front of them.
“Scared?” asked the Potions Master with a sleazy smile that didn't even reach his eyes.
Sirius snorted and pushed the doors open in response.
Behind them lay a long room. Paneled with dark wood, a marble floor so highly polished that one might think it was water rather than stone, and a long black table with about two dozen chairs on each side.
Curious heads turned as Sirius and Snape entered.
“Ah,” a cold voice blew over to them, one that had made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end when he first heard it. “The last stragglers.”
Before Sirius could even open his mouth, the potions master had rushed past him with meaningful steps and bowed deeply. “I (bastard) apologize for the delay, my lord. The Order meeting took longer than expected.”
“Sit down, Severus,” replied the voice, and Sirius followed Snape across the room. He let his gaze wander over the chairs, lingering for a moment on the grinning face of his cousin and then again on the subtly twisted corners of his other cousin's mouth, before turning away and noticing with great surprise that sitting to Voldemort's right was none other than—
“Harry!” Sirius blurted out. Some of the Death Eaters flinched. How dare he not address the Dark Lord first? Not even apologize?!
His godson smiled at him a little too shyly. Apparently, he felt just as uncomfortable in the presence of people who tortured Muggle-borns in their spare time. Although, according to Harry, that was about to change. Apparently, his godson had a... certain influence on the darkest wizard of all time.
“I asked your godson to reside here over the winter holidays,” Voldemort said, drawing Sirius’s attention back to him. The former Azkaban inmate examined the other man. He tried to interpret his pale, hairless features, but came to no conclusion.
“Thank you?” he replied, as that seemed the best answer, and then hastily added, “M-my lord.”
Bellatrix cackled and Sirius shot her angry glances.
Voldemort smiled mildly.
“Sit down, Sirius. We've saved you a seat.”
And indeed they had. Right next to Harry. Thank Merlin. He wasn't too comfortable sitting at the head of the table, but he would even sit on Voldemort's lap if it meant his godson was safe.
Harry's smile grew wider as he walked around the table, coming a little too close to Voldemort for his liking, and then slid into the chair next to him. “Hey, kiddo,” he greeted the younger boy quietly. "Sorry I'm late. Snape is lying. It's his fault. He gave minute-long monologues until Molly pointed out that it was time for dinner."
His godson's grin grew even wider. “How are they?” he whispered back. “Ron was devastated when I told him I was spending the winter holidays... with the Dursleys and not with him.”
“The Dursleys?” Sirius raised an eyebrow, wondering which poor sod had been assigned to spend time with Harry Potter's family as his double.
“Barty,” Harry replied, as if he had read his mind. “His performance as Moody was too good—”
A clearing of the throat. Harry flinched and fell silent. Red eyes were fixed on them both. Sirius straightened up and squared his shoulders.
“Well,” Voldemort began, taking one last look at the young Gryffindor and Sirius. “...Now that we are all gathered here, Severus, please tell us what the Order has devised to protect the prophecy.”
Snape, who was interestingly seated relatively far back, leaned forward slightly. “The Order does not have sufficient resources. Until now, shifts have been worked to patrol the Department of Mysteries.”
“No protective wards? No additional precautions?” the Dark Lord pressed, tilting his head slightly to one side.
“No, my lord. The Ministry is not cooperating with the Order. This means that the Order is conducting patrols under the radar and is unable to erect magical protective barriers without attracting attention.”
“Good,” was Voldemort's only reply.
Meanwhile, Harry shifted around in his chair. The Black heir gave him a careful look before suddenly being interrupted by the cold voice: “Sirius? Your observations?”
And suddenly all attention was on him, and he followed his godson's example and shifted around in his chair as well. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Snape giving him a sour look.
Sirius, who wasn't quite sure what the Dark Lord wanted from him, finally replied, “The shifts are always carried out in pairs, if possible. However... the Order does not currently have enough members to always ensure double occupancy.”
He wondered if he should add that he had access to the plans and assignments. Judging by the look in his red eyes, that would probably be the smartest thing to do, so after a moment's hesitation, he added, "The plans for who is assigned where and when are stored at headquarters. However, only Dumbledore knows who is assigned where and when. We are not even allowed to talk about it among ourselves. It seems...“ Sirius paused, and suddenly his leather jacket felt too warm. ”...as if Dumbledore is afraid that someone in the Order might talk and pass on the information."
Someone. Him. Him and Snivellus.
A cackle. Sirius's head snapped around.
“Well, the old man isn't entirely wrong, is he... cousin?” Bellatrix giggled, giving him a look that hovered between lively delusion and foaming excitement. He felt slightly nauseous.
Sirius pursed his lips. “He never let anyone look into his cards, even before—” He paused over the next words. “the war. Even back then, he shared little with me and...the others.”
He was very, very reluctant to admit this, and he really didn't feel comfortable talking so openly about the fact that he had originally been on the other side. And not only that. He had fought with his hands, feet, and teeth. Bitter, determined, and perhaps even more obsessed than Bellatrix. Only to end up sitting here next to Voldemort because Dumbledore had led him on for years, he added morosely in his mind and glanced sideways at his godson again.
Bellatrix cackled once more. It made Sirius's hair stand on end, and he tore his gaze away from Harry.
“Before the war?” she repeated, leaning forward. Sirius did his best not to stare at her trembling breasts, which were spilling out of her corset. Even back then, Bellatrix had had a tendency to dress “lewdly.” Admittedly, at the time, he had even been relieved, because then he could bring Bella into the conversation every time his mother got upset about his tattoos.
It became clearer to him that he and Bella were more alike than he wanted to admit. Spirited, rule-breaking, and obsessive. No wonder they had gotten along so well back then, only to end up constantly fighting later on.
“It's crazy how times change, isn't it, cousin?” she teased, the corners of her red-painted lips curving upward.
Sirius' fingers curled under the table and his hand jerked out of habit toward his wand, but before he could reach it, a voice cut through the hall: “Enough, Bella.”
Sirius's gaze tore itself away from the witch and he looked at Voldemort, who was not looking at him but at her. “I will not tolerate my followers going for each other's throats.”
Not yet, thought Sirius, and it seemed as if Voldemort had heard his thoughts, because his gaze suddenly rested on him and one hairless eyebrow rose. And for a tiny moment, it seemed as if the corner of his right mouth twitched upward, but perhaps the former inmate had only imagined it.
Bella ducked her head and pressed herself back into her chair.
“Bella is right about one thing, though,” said Voldemort, raising his hand and placing it on Harry's shoulder. “Times have changed.”
Sirius could see Harry flinch at the sudden touch and then seem to... relax?
It wasn't the first time he had observed this. Harry had shown a similar reaction back when Voldemort had healed his hand. It was as if Voldemort had a... certain influence over him.
And that went against Sirius Black's grain.
His teeth ground together and he wanted nothing more than to jump across the table and tear Voldemort's hand off Harry's shoulder. But...
He gave Harry a second look. The young Gryffindor seemed so... different.
Normally, Harry always carried a certain underlying tension with him. Considering how he had grown up, that was not surprising, but it still hurt Sirius's heart when he caught Harry flinching at loud noises from time to time. His godson had told him a few times about his uncle and aunt, and it had only fueled Sirius's hatred for Dumbledore. Especially after Harry had also told him that he had begged Dumbledore not to send him back over and over again during the summer holidays. And that the headmaster had addressed the Hogwarts letter to “the cupboard under the stairs” at the time and must therefore have known how his protégé was growing up.
It had been the first time Sirius and Harry had spent time in Voldemort's presence, and Sirius, regardless of the Dark Lord's company, had started swearing so badly that none other than Voldemort himself had asked him to sit, take a glass of Firewhiskey, and calm down.
“That vile bastard!” he cursed nonetheless, tipping the amber liquid down his throat. “That manipulative son of a banshee. I swear by Morgana, if I—if I—”
He paused, unsure whether it was wise to say the next words out loud.
“Don't hold back, Black,” Voldemort's lips curled. He leaned back in his desk chair, a large leather armchair, and looked at him with what could only be described as amusement. “Go ahead and voice your death threats. I would be the last to judge you for it.”
He wasn't sure what to be more astonished about: that Voldemort was joking, that Voldemort was openly talking about his bloodlust, or that he was encouraging him to give in to his own.
Sirius glanced at Harry. He was crouching in front of the fireplace. But he wasn't alone. This huge, creepy snake was crouching next to him, and even partly on top of him, letting him stroke it. Almost like a long, scaly cat. He almost laughed at the thought. But only almost.
Speaking of the devil...
Some Death Eaters gasped and flinched when something suddenly slithered past under the table next to their feet. Hissing sounds could be heard, and a few seconds later, a huge snake head appeared right next to him and lay down on Harry's shoulder.
Sirius stiffened a little. He wasn't afraid of the snake like the other Death Eaters, who were clearly green in the face. But he still had respect for reptiles that were so poisonous that just one bite was enough to incapacitate an entire elephant. Harry assured him that Nagini would not harm him. He even laughed and said that Nagini and Sirius were very similar: “You two are just as territorial.”
When the former inmate asked what Harry meant by that, he just grinned and remained silent.
The Gryffindor boy hissed a few sounds, and Nagini suddenly turned to Sirius and seemed to sniff the air beside him with her nose. Harry hissed again, but the snake apparently didn't want to listen, because she leaned even closer and suddenly her snout was resting right next to his cheek, and a forked tongue flickered over his stubble. More hissing sounds, but this time from the snake itself. Suddenly Harry laughed, and if there hadn't been a poisonous snake perched right next to his head, Sirius would have given Harry a really nasty look.
More hissing sounds, but this time they came from Voldemort. Nagini let go of him and his shoulders visibly slumped. He had apparently even been holding his breath. Sirius felt his fingers trembling under the table and was just about to give him the nasty look when Harry leaned over to him and whispered: “She asked about you last time and wanted to know where you were. I told her you were back, and she just wanted to see how you were doing and told me you were shaking ‘like a rabbit’ and that I should put you in front of the fireplace so you'd stop. She thought you were cold.”
He would have loved to tell him that he wasn't cold, but that he was scared that a giant snake would sink its fangs into his neck, but then he would have had to admit that he was afraid of Voldemort's pet. And he certainly wasn't going to do that. Especially not in front of his lovely cousin and bootlicker Snape and bootkisser Malfoy.
“Sirius,” Voldemort's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “Stay after the meeting. There are certain matters that require attention.”
The Black descendant nodded quickly and glanced down at Harry with a questioning look, but Harry was busy pampering Nagini.
The Lord's attention returned to the remaining Death Eaters, which helped him get over his snake phobia a little and ponder a few things that had been building up over the last few months.
At first, he had been angry.
Really angry. How could his godson dare to conspire with the murderer of his best friend, Harry's own father? But little by little, the anger had dissipated. The more information he received, the more sense Harry's decision made. His godson had told him that the whole thing had started with the resurrection ritual. Voldemort had touched him—he shuddered again at how Harry had phrased it—and that this had opened the Dark Lord's eyes.
“He said it feels just like touching Nagini,” Harry explained, stroking the dusty floorboards of the howling hut. There had been no better meeting place. No one knew that this place wasn't really cursed, so it was perfect for a secret meeting in between. The only problem had been getting to Hogsmeade undetected, now that the Ministry knew about his dog form...
“What exactly do you mean?” Sirius asked, leaning forward. He was also crouched on the floor, but instead of drawing confused symbols in the dust, he was playing thoughtfully with his wand. He still missed his old one, but he wasn't going to complain, because as a man on the run, it wasn't easy to get hold of wands legally.
Harry swallowed and looked away. “It feels... it feels like...” he stammered, his face reddening. He didn't like the look of it at all.
“Did he do something against your will?” Sirius asked sharply, his fingers clenching around the rune-engraved wood.
Harry burst out laughing. “Sirius. What? No. Merlin. You're misunderstanding something,” his godson tried to reassure him. “It... feels like two pieces of a puzzle are falling into place, you know?”
“Harry, you're reading too much Witches' Weekly.”
“I don't read Witches' Weekly!” protested the younger boy.
“Like two pieces of a puzzle,” repeated Sirius with a toothy grin. “Yeah, right. Next thing you know—”
“Sirius!” Harry interrupted, throwing an old, tattered pillow within his reach at him. The older one laughed.
Admittedly... it reassured him to know that Voldemort was no longer after Harry. And that Harry was even protected by him. Nevertheless, there was still this insurmountable bridge, and the first meeting had felt extremely... wrong. Sirius would have preferred not to show up at all, but somehow he had to show his appreciation that Voldemort no longer wanted to murder his godson.
And apparently—apparently he wasn't the only one who wanted to show goodwill, because Voldemort had presented him with a kind of olive branch. In the form of a rat.
“I'm sure Harry will appreciate it when his godfather is no longer locked up by the headmaster,” Voldemort smiled at him, holding up a cage in which a rat was squeaking wildly.
Sirius ignored the Dark Lord's choice of words and stared wide-eyed at the despicable, pathetic, filthy traitor—whom he would have loved to strangle with his own hands and—
“Black, rein in your murderous thoughts,” said Voldemort, pressing the cage into his hand. “It would be a waste of resources. Besides... what use is a spy in the Order if he's not even allowed to leave his house?”
At the time, he had argued long and hard that he didn't see the point in spying for Voldemort. After Harry's pleading look and the memory of Dumbledore's plans for his godfather, however, he had caved in. But then he had ranted and raved that he would never get such an “unsightly tattoo,” to which Voldemort had only rolled his eyes. Sirius had thought at the time that the Dementors might have affected him more than he had assumed. In any case, Voldemort's answer snapped him out of his thoughts: that it was out of the question anyway as long as “Moody was still alive.”
Anyway, long story short: Sirius was free and could now stroll down Diagon Alley without causing a stir and treat himself to an ice cream. Well... not entirely without causing a stir, because people were still staring.
Let them stare.
He would take the judgmental glances of strangers any day over the judgmental insults of his mother's portrait.
If only she knew, he thought, letting his gaze wander over the long table. He had already played out the scenarios in his head and wasn't sure whether he would end up laughing smugly or whether she would.
Bellatrix, at any rate, was very enthusiastic about the fact that her cousin had “finally come to his senses” and joined their cause. She didn’t let it show directly—her snide comments continued to prevail—but since Sirius had turned away from Dumbledore and toward Voldemort, she seemed...nicer. As far as Bellatrix Lestrange could be nice.
Narcissa had even started inviting him to the magical celebrations again. At first, he had considered declining, but decided to accept the invitation. Because somehow... he had to admit that he had missed his family. To be honest, the initial conversations had been quite tense, but that had subsided over time and he was now able to have relatively pleasant conversations with Narcissa. The same could not be said for her slimy husband, but then again... every family had a black sheep. Or several.
Somehow, the meeting passed more quickly than expected, and suddenly Sirius Black found himself alone with Harry, Voldemort, and the scaly, elongated cat named Nagini.
Voldemort leaned back in his throne-like chair and regarded the former inmate with a look he couldn't interpret.
“Have you been assigned to guard the prophecy?” the Dark Lord got straight to the point.
Sirius nodded hesitantly. Voldemort hummed contentedly, stroking Nagini's scales. “I will organize an attack on the Department of Mysteries. At a time when only you are guarding the prophecy. Of course, it must look like a... fight. I ask Bella and the others... to be lenient.”
The Black descendant couldn't suppress a snort. Voldemort raised a hairless eyebrow but ignored the disrespect. Sirius had been wondering what the reason for this might be over the past few weeks. It wasn't the first time he had behaved cynically in front of the other, and yet he hadn't felt a single Cruciatus. Was it because of Harry? Did Voldemort know that his godson would never forgive him? Or was Voldemort really changing?
Sirius regarded the other with an even more intense gaze. According to Harry, the Dark Lord had backtracked on many things. What had shocked him most, however, were the new views on Muggle-borns. Laws were currently being drafted to ensure that magical children were taken to safety as early as possible. Although safety was just another word for kidnapping. But then... everyone had to start somewhere. Empathy had to be learned...
And removing Muggle-born children from their parents so that they would not mistreat them as Harry had been mistreated was better than excluding them from the magical world or, worse still, hunting them down.
As mentioned, small steps.
“And when?” asked Sirius.
“Probably towards the end of the school year. Until then, I have to... take care of some other important matters. The prophecy is not our top priority at the moment,” admitted the Dark Lord, stroking Nagini's head.
The Black descendant nodded.
There was a brief silence.
“Any other important news from the Order?”
Ha! Sirius couldn't suppress a smug grin. Apparently, Voldemort trusted Snape less than him. “No. Since Fudge continues to insist that you have not returned, Dumbledore can't do anything. He lacks followers.”
“Hmm,” said Voldemort, looking at Harry, who was obviously quite tired from all the political discussions. “If anything changes in this regard, I expect you to report to me immediately.”
Sirius nodded once more.
That seemed to satisfy the other, because suddenly Voldemort hissed something at Harry, who jolted awake from his half-sleep and bumped his elbow on the back of the chair.
“Fuck,” Harry cursed, and Sirius grinned.
“Language, Harry,” Voldemort reprimanded him, visibly displeased.
“Damn,” the younger boy corrected himself with a grin, pushing Nagini off his shoulder. Voldemort rolled his eyes, and if Sirius hadn’t witnessed such interactions a few times by now, he would have wondered if he was dreaming.
“Your godfather and you are welcome to spend time together. However, I expect you to go to bed on the dot. Tomorrow is the ritual, and you will need to be fit for it.”
“Yes, my lord,” replied the younger man in the tone of a sullen teenager doing his best not to let his verbal eye-rolling show.
Sirius and Harry stood on the terrace of Malfoy Manor and watched the arrogant peacocks strutting across the meticulously manicured lawn.
“Ritual?” the older man broke the silence.
“Voldemort has found a way to seal the... connection between him and me.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow and turned to Harry, who was still leaning against the marble wall. “Seal?” he pressed, knowing there was no point in discussing the connection itself.
“Yes... it... um... will make me stronger... sort of?” replied the younger man, trying not to look the other in the eye.
“Is it dangerous?”
“It's black magic.”
“So it's dangerous.”
“He's already done it with Nagini.”
“Oh great — I didn't know you were a snake.”
“Sirius! What I mean is, it already worked for her, so there’s an eighty percent chance it will work for me too,” Harry defended himself.
“And the remaining twenty percent? Are we just going to ignore that?”
“Merlin!” his godson exclaimed. “He won't hurt or kill me in the process. He won't let that happen! You... you have no idea... how important...”
Harry broke off and blushed. He swallowed. “What I mean is, he won't let that happen. And if something goes wrong, we'll stop and he'll adjust the ritual.”
“I don't understand why you have to undergo something like this at all.”
“It's for my protection!”
“Yours or his?”
That silenced the Boy Who Lived, and he bit his lip and refused to look at Sirius. Anger was written all over his face. “Both,” he finally admitted. “His and mine. Who cares? Sirius... he... I...” Harry took a deep breath. “I'm better off here than anywhere else. I thought you would have understood that by now.”
Now it was the Black descendant's turn to avoid the other's gaze.
“I'm sorry, kiddo. I... I'm not good at this... this whole parenting thing. I have no idea how to be a good godfather or father. I'm doing my best...”
A hand rested on his shoulder. “I know, Sirius. I know. I wasn't blaming you.”
The older man finally tore his gaze away from the arrogant, expensive roast chickens and looked at Harry. “I know,” he muttered, placing his own hand on Harry's. "You just have to forgive me. I... I was locked away for years. Suddenly free. Then Voldemort rises again. Then you tell me that Dumbledore wants you dead. And suddenly I find myself on the side of the man who—who...“ He didn't need to say the words. They both knew who he was talking about. ”... Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that I'm behind you. No matter what happens. I just want you to be safe. And if... if this stupid ritual means you'll be better protected - fine. If it goes wrong, I can't guarantee anything. Then I'll personally punch Voldemort."
Harry laughed. “I actually believe you.”
There was a brief silence.
“Thank you,” Harry said suddenly. “Thank you for being there for me. Even... now.”
Sirius turned to Harry and put his arms around the younger boy. “I would send Dumbledore himself to his grave if it meant I wouldn't have to lose any more people I care about.”