Chapter Text
Part One: The Order and the Heir
March, 1980
Sirius
Sirius checked his pocket watch. He was never running late, but keeping an eye on the time never hurt.
10:07.
Excellent. He still had approximately 36 minutes before he needed to apparate to his latest press briefing with Skeeter. He barely contained a shudder as he thought of the woman's repulsive smile, the sickly sweet way she batted her lashes at him every time they had an interview. She was, he knew, new to the Prophet and very eager to make her way through the ranks. How she had been assigned to interview him, he would never know. He certainly wouldn’t have given her the job, too under qualified, a totally unseasoned reporter. Though, he had to admit, she did have a way of cleverly twisting people’s words into a story far more interesting than the truth.
Another reason to be focused. He was smarter than her, he knew that, but all it took was one slip up, one improperly worded phrase, and they would have a public relations nightmare, and Sirius would have to call on someone else to help him sort it out. If that happened, he would have to answer for more than just his wounded pride.
Focus, he told himself. He had dealt with Skeeter before, and he would have to do it again. Being the voice of an administration wasn’t easy, but they had chosen the correct person for the job. Sirius had a knack with getting people to like him, and for a new government regime with mixed reviews from the public, good press was an absolute necessity.
Good press he had achieved for them so far. He answered questions with a practiced ease that made reporters blush despite themselves. He knew he was attractive, and had been taught to use that to his advantage from a young age.
People will always see you as a pretty face first and foremost, his mother had told him on his graduation day. Let them think that’s all there is to you. There is nothing better than being underestimated by your opponents. It gives you an immediate upper hand.
And so it had. It also had the benefit of making him immediately liked by everyone he met which was why he had been chosen for this role in the first place. He had initially dismissed it as simple work and beneath him. Answering questions had seemed trivial and dull to him at first. He’d wanted hands-on work, researching provinces on the outskirts of their power and organizing liaisons to enter into negotiations with provincial leaders. Simply put, Sirius wanted to expand. Britain had only been under Tom Riddle’s leadership for a year, but the benefit to the magical community had been drastic. He wanted to extend those benefits to others outside of their current holdings.
Patience, Riddle had told him. That will come later. For now, I have something much more important in mind for you.
He had accepted, of course he had, but he had secretly been disappointed. That is, until he actually started the work. He quickly realized that Riddle’s public approval wasn’t where it should be. The community still viewed him with unease and distrust. It was well known that Riddle had murdered Albus Dumbledore, and though he did nothing to deny it, explaining that Dumbledore was a tyrant and that his death was a necessary evil, he was still viewed by many as a usurper.
That was where Sirius came in. He used his youth and his charm to win over reporters who then said kind things about Riddle in the press. The public opinion was slowly starting to change, and Sirius knew it was because of him.
But there was still work to be done.
He smiled broadly in the mirror, a toothy grin he had practiced thousands of times before. He had used the same smile to secure the best apprenticeship Durmstrang had to offer, to befriend all of his professors and convince them to write recommendations for him singing his praises. As the eldest Black son, he was already in a much better position than most, but Sirius Black was not one to be content with the minimum.
***
“What about the reports of violent magic being used by Riddle’s so-called ‘ambassadors’?”
Skeeter was playing hard ball today, Sirius noted. None of her usual flattery and self-perceived charm, she was all business today and was hitting him with tricky questions.
“Rita,” he said, flashing her the smile he had practiced just an hour before, “These reports are unverified. Likely, they’re just rumors being spread by the muggle supremacy groups we have been gathering intel on. They’re a small group, but still a concern. They believe witches and wizards should give up their magic and live alongside muggles.”
He paused and, seeing in Rita’s expression that she wasn’t satisfied with his answer, decided to turn on his famous Sirius Black charm.
“I don’t know about you, Rita, but I didn’t grow up around many muggle objects, and they have given me quite a shock! Did you know that they have to start fires by rubbing wood together? I mean, I had my share of that at Durmstrang -” he winked at her - “But I certainly couldn’t imagine using real wood to start a fire. I would be hopeless!”
Rita gave a light chuckle, but she didn’t relax on her line of questioning. He found himself irritated that his joke hadn’t softened her.
“We interviewed one of these ‘muggle supremacists’ you have mentioned, and they tell it differently. They told us, in a Prophet exclusive interview, that they aren’t advocating for a ban on magic at all. My source claims that they are advocating for muggle rights and say that Riddle’s administration has no place for them.”
Sirius was annoyed, and he tried to not let it show. Who was this Rita Skeeter to be questioning him with such petty nonsense? Everyone knew Riddle’s father had been a muggle; it had been a cornerstone of his campaign. Equal rights for all, he had said. A world where wizards could be openly themselves instead of hiding as they had been for thousands of years.
Still, he had to be polite. Charming. Had to win her over.
“Rita,” he said, continuing to smile even though his cheeks were starting to get sore, “These rumors are the work of a small group of dissatisfied wizards. We have learned they’re mostly squibs, who are jealous of our magic, and old followers of the late terrorist Albus Dumbledore.”
Rita shuddered, and Sirius knew he had her. He switched from charm to fear tactics.
“Dumbledore’s plans with Grindelwald would have sent all muggles into hiding if they had been put into action. Just because he got cold feet at the last minute doesn’t excuse the blood on his hands. The death of his sister, training students for a war that never needed to happen, the crimes of Albus Dumbledore are inexcusable.”
He shifted his tone and smiled kindly at Rita.
“We are seeking to undo the wrongs he did. We want to show magical people that there is another way. No war is necessary, no children need to die fighting for a cause they don’t truly understand. Riddle has shown us that. I urge you and your readers to take these reports with a grain of salt as they are wildly inaccurate and, frankly, downright dangerous. Instead, feel free to owl our office with any concerns you may have! We are happy to answer all questions and put any fears your readers may have to rest. We are here for you -” and, with a voice like smooth honey, - “I am here for you.”
He was worried he may have overdone it, but Rita’s reaction calmed his fears. Her cheeks were pink and she was all aflutter. He smirked internally. It really was too easy.
“And if there’s anything else you need,” Rita was saying as she walked alongside him to the door following their interview, “Don’t hesitate to owl me.”
She was, Sirius thought, really very pretty, and if he didn’t know what she was capable of as a reporter, he may have taken her up on her offer. She had bright blonde curls that he imagined twisting around his fingers. It would be sweet, he was sure, but it would also be a public relations nightmare. Not worth the trouble, not when he had so many other options.
He checked his watch. It was thirty seven minutes past eleven. The interview had ended early, and Sirius found himself with a rare moment of free time before his next meeting. He grinned, momentarily letting his well practiced mask of professionalism drop. He turned down the road and walked not further into Diagon Alley where they had met, but outside, into muggle London.
His parents wouldn’t have approved. And he guessed Riddle wouldn’t have either. Tom had never said anything outright against muggles, he had told Rita the truth, but there always seemed to be a lingering disdain towards them that Sirius couldn’t understand. He guessed it had something to do with his relationship with his absentee father. Riddle used being half-muggle to his political gain, but everyone close to Riddle knew his father had been disgusted when his mother showed him what she truly was. He had wanted nothing to do with him or his mother. Sirius tried to not focus on it, but it was easy to see why Riddle might be wary of muggles and their technologies. He didn't let it worry him. Riddle had done so much good for the wizarding world; it was easy to ignore a small ingrained prejudice, especially when his policies didn't harm muggles in any way.
His parents were another matter.
They never spoke to him about any of their conversations with Riddle, but Sirius knew they saw muggles as decidedly beneath themselves. When he was younger, they had been much more outspoken on the subject. They had decreed muggles to be filth and anyone with muggle born parents to be an embarrassment to the wizarding community.
That had all changed when they learned about Riddle.
He never found out what Riddle had told them to change their minds, but after a rally they attended a year before he started at Durmstrang, they came back entirely different. Gone were the angry, virulent parents he had grown up with. Two calm, collected individuals replaced them. They stopped their anti-muggle tirades that had become a nightly ritual by that point. Instead, they cautioned Sirius and his brother against speaking out against muggles and muggleborns, instead telling them to focus on their studies and making friends.
He and Regulus had been utterly perplexed, but they had gone along with it, always secretly waiting for when they would turn back into the people they had been.
They never did.
Their change hadn’t affected Sirius’ attitude towards muggles. He had always found them fascinating, and a regular correspondence with his cousin Andromeda who had married one had only furthered his curiosity. When he began to realize their change in attitude seemed permanent, he was elated. He imagined being able to enjoy muggle curiosities in his home without having to hide from his parents. He could venture into muggle London and enjoy it as he pleased.
But when he told Dromeda about his plans in his fourth year, she advised against them. He had been angry with her at first, certain she was jealous that she wasn’t a part of the family now that everyone seemed to be less fierce. He called her out on it, furious with her for not agreeing with him. Acting, in short, as any teenager would.
Now, he was glad he had taken her advice. As he got older, he began to examine his parents with a higher degree of scrutiny. What had made them change their minds? What had Riddle said to take away their generational hatred of muggles and muggleborns? He would go through phases of obsessive curiosity before he would lose his confidence and back off, afraid of what the answer was.
One thing remained clear to him though, Although his parents had stopped their crusade against muggles, he was certain that if they knew about his affinity for muggle cinemas, they would not approve.
But they weren’t here, and Sirius had a rare moment of free time.
At a theater several blocks away, Mad Max 2 was playing. Dromeda had told him E.T. was all the rage, but it seemed like a kid’s movie to him. She always sent him newspaper clippings describing what was playing, who was starring, and what the plot was. And anyway, Mad Max was so punk. It had motorbikes and night clubs and high speed chases. Sirius sometimes thought that it was the wizarding world that was less advanced than the muggles, not the other way around. He was constantly surrounded by stuffy parties in ostentatious ballrooms where he had to rub elbows with distant relatives wearing robes that looked like they were from the 1800’s. Probably, he reminded himself, because they were.
But Mad Max was cool. Dromeda had liked it too; for nearly a month all their letters consisted of was talking about the movie and analyzing the ending. He couldn’t resist seeing the second.
Even if he didn’t have time for the entire show. He got lucky, it had just started five minutes before he bought his ticket so he’d only missed some of the opening credits, but he knew he only had time for about 45 minutes of it. Still, it was better than nothing.
45 minutes in, Sirius regretted getting a ticket. It was so good. He didn’t want to leave; he had to know what happened next. It took all of his willpower to pull him away from the bright screen and into the daylight. He munched his popcorn as he walked down the street, thinking about the sharp banter, the quick flung insults and the costumes. The mohawks and leather. A gang of marauders. He smiled to himself and imagined what it would be like to be in a group like that - dying his hair and wearing whatever he wanted. Driving muggle cars and getting into fiery collisions.
He was upset he hadn’t had a chance to see the end. He didn’t know when he would get a chance to go to the movies again. He used to go out every weekend to go at Durmstrang. There had been a muggle town just fifty miles away, and he had been sneaking off the grounds to apparate there every Sunday since he mastered the travel incantation at sixteen. Now, he didn’t have the time.
He sighed as he apparated away to his next meeting, thinking of mohawks and motorbikes.