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saudadeonly · 4 years

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someone to you

Read on ao3. Part five.

Death Eater!Sirius Black AU

Remus's life is not at its peak right now. It only goes downhill when Sirius Black, former Marauder, current Death Eater, appears in front of him with Earth-shattering news.

Word count: 2938

CW: barest mention of torture and blood

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October 1981

Remus steps onto the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade just as the clock inside the Hog’s Head strikes noon. Although the sky outside is without a hint of clouds and the wind has rather settled in the past hour, the usually lively village is empty, save for a few daring individuals hurrying by with heads bowed, their hands stuffed into their pockets, likely gripping the wand stashed there. No one dares to go out anymore, not in these times, where one misstep could mean death—or worse.

Remus tilts his head back, letting the sun wash over his battered face, soothing the bruises that have not yet disappeared. He has spent too long in the dark forests where light doesn’t reach even on the sunniest of days, stripped of everything that ties him to his humanity, demoted to a growling, begging animal he has always tried to escape from. Even now, in the light of day, in the warmth of magic, his birthright, his home, his stomach turns with the thought of going back there and the knowledge that he must do so soon.

Always, when Dumbledore says. Always, when he asks. Remus is in his debt, after all. It doesn’t matter what Dumbledore’s orders, his pleas, as he so cleverly put it, bring along, what the secrecy does to already crumbling trust. Remus is expendable on all fronts these days.

The Firewhisky he knocked back catches up with him, floating through his head. It makes him melancholic, when before it made him impulsive, quicker to laugh, easier to get lost in life. But there were a lot of things before. Dwelling on them brings nothing good, Remus has learned that the hard way.

He hopes he will be able to see Lily and James and little Harry before he leaves again. He hasn’t seen them in months, not since before Harry’s birthday. Harry must have grown by now, must have learned some new words, become steadier on his feet. Remus has missed all of it.

He wonders if they’ve had to move again or if they’ve opted for the Fidelius Charm already, finally. If they could even bring themselves to choose. Once, their choice might have been obvious but all certainty seems to be gone nowadays. If Remus allows himself to think of before, he can pinpoint exactly the moment it happened.

Remus shakes his head and opens his eyes. He blinks and then again. He hasn’t drunk that much, has he?

Several metres in front of him is a dog, sitting patiently on his haunches, his eyes pinned right on Remus. His black fur gleams in the sun even as the breeze ruffles it. An omen of death; the saviour of Remus’s youth, the bane of his adulthood.

Remus wonders for a moment if he’s been somehow transported to his past. Or maybe he didn’t stop after the second Firewhisky. Maybe he kept knocking them back and is now fast asleep on the table inside. Aberforth is probably smacking him across the face with that dishrag he can’t have washed for the past half a decade right now. Remus is dreaming. He has to be.

It seems almost plausible for a moment, more so than the scene before him but—the dog is skinny, painfully so, and Padfoot never used to be so thin, not even after the end of the summer, and there’s a scar across his muzzle, just barely noticeable, but not a detail Remus’s mind could have just conjured up.

The dog—Padfoot—stands up, giving him a look far shrewder than a dog should be capable of, still as intimidating as he’s ever been, and trots away, clearly expecting him to follow.

Remus doesn’t know what compels him to move after him. Dutch courage probably, or sheer stupidity, which always has been particularly pronounced in Padfoot’s presence, either in his human form or his dog one.

Padfoot slips into a small alley next to the Hog’s Head, probably heavily warded and silenced beforehand, and shifts in the three smooth steps it takes him to reach the wall at the end.

Some common sense slips into Remus’s head, finally. He pulls out his wand, faster than he thought he could, and points it at the man now standing in front of him—tall, gaunt, with a mess of black hair and pale skin.

Sirius Black regards him with cool grey eyes. His hands are by his sides, not reacting, not reaching for his own wand. “You should at least hear what I have to say before you kill me,” he says softly, mouth curving up slightly. The sunlight can’t reach past the musty walls of the buildings around them and it paints dancing shadows across his face, the face of Remus’s dreams and nightmares, the face Remus still loves and hates more than anyone else’s.

Remus tightens the grip on his wand. “Why should I?” he asks. His throat burns but he can’t convince himself it’s from the Firewhisky. “You wouldn’t offer me the same benefit.”

Sirius blinks, once, slowly. “No,” he says, “I wouldn’t.” A hand moves toward his pocket, but Remus’s warning spell shooting by his forearm makes him stop. “I’m not going to take out my wand,” he snaps, like it’s an unreasonable assumption on Remus’s part. He pulls up his left sleeve to reveal the wand holster underneath. His wand rests in it, bisecting the Dark Mark scorched into his skin directly. Bile rises in Remus’s throat. “See?” He reaches into his pocket with his right hand, keeping his left arm firmly away from himself, and pulls out a packet that looks like it’s certainly seen better days. Cigarettes, Remus realises, as Sirius places one of them in his mouth, using the tip of his finger to light it.

The smell of menthol and tobacco wafts through the air and Remus has a fleeting flash of a rooftop, a star-specked sky above, a smile. You’re going to run yourself into the ground with that.

A flash of teeth around the cigarette, a bark of laughter. Hopefully someone else will do it for me sooner.

Remus shakes the memory away. “What do you want?” he growls. The moon was just a couple days ago; he’s still sore from it and he just wants to go home, not to mention he would rather avoid a murder attempt before lunch. Although, considering he chose to walk into this alley, he has to admit this one is mostly on him.

“You have a spy.” Sirius’s cheeks are hollow as he sucks smoke into his mouth then down into his lungs, more than it should be possible. “Among your—” He waves a hand, long-fingered and elegant, the cigarette hanging loosely from it. “—people.”

“Thank you,” grits out Remus, who most likely the one everyone suspects while they sit around at home and he spends his days being beaten down in an attempt to persuade people to at the very least not fight for the wrong side. “I wasn’t aware.”

“You weren’t?” says Sirius, always Sirius, never Black, not even when Remus hates him more than words can describe. He’s studying the posters along the walls, the ones that are searching for missing people, who are probably long dead or better off missing anyway, and promising awards for the wanted, one of which is currently looking right at them. “Well, someone should have told you.” He tilts his head, a strange reminder of his other form. The smoke curls around him, twining into his hair, curving along the too-sharp arch of his cheekbone. “Huh, I thought I’d be worth more than that.”

You were. You were to us, Remus thinks. Where did you go? Why weren’t we enough?

“What,” he says again, with more of a bite, more of that part that he tries to keep hidden otherwise, “do you want?”

“In a hurry, I see,” Sirius says, turning his eyes back on him; they are slate-coloured, vicious, but for all of his impatience, for all of his intent to hurt, there is no smile on his lips, not even a hint of mocking. “Anyway, Peter’s the spy.”

The world stops. The ground sways, Sirius’s figure blurring, sharpening, approaching. There’s a pain in Remus’s chest and no air in his lungs and he knows it’s not from his recent transformation. It’s not worse than Sirius’s face underneath the Death Eater mask was. Nothing is, has ever been, worse than that.

The ground evens out again. Sirius is closer now, his hand twitching toward him as if wanting to steady him, just as Remus’s vision slides back into one picture. It must be the remnants of his shock. Sirius Black would not reach out for a dark creature like him.

“I don’t believe you,” Remus says hoarsely. His fingers are white on his wand, the only real thing in a world tipped on its axis. He doesn’t believe him, but it makes sense all the same. Peter, crafty Peter, who has always known more than he seems to let on, who is much, much cleverer than anyone ever thinks him to be. He wouldn’t be the obvious choice, but he would be the most probable one. He knew about the McKinnons’ party, the wards surrounding their house; he was one of the few with the knowledge of Fabian and Gideon’s mission, the path they were going to take; he has always been one of the select few entrusted with the secret of the Potters’ location. He is one of the most considered candidates for the Secret Keeper. It all makes a frightening amount of sense. No, no, no. “It’s not possible. He wouldn’t—” He swallows, unable to finish the sentence; he’s told so many lies recently—he doesn’t want to lie to himself as well.

Sirius squashes the butt of his cigarette with the heel of his boot. He reaches into his pocket again, probably to light another one, to laugh at Remus and enjoy in his turmoil. Even if Remus does believe it, he has no proof and no one is likely to take him on his word, not the poor werewolf who has spent more time trudging through the forest in scraps of clothing than watching his best friends’ son grow up. Something Peter could never be accused of.

A fine situation indeed. Maybe Sirius only wanted to antagonise him; maybe that’s why he’s here, telling him this. Remus can think of no other reason.

Something bright arcs through the air and Remus reflexively reaches up to catch it. A small vial rests in his palm, the silvery substance inside swirling, darker than he’s previously seen but he recognises it all the same. A memory, a fragment of someone’s mind.

He looks up at Sirius, who has indeed lit another cigarette. The smoke drifts out of his mouth, then far up, farther than any of them could ever hope to reach. “I believe you’re competent enough to find a Pensieve,” he says.

“I—why?”

Sirius’s eyes are dark, the line of his throat stretching as he leans to the side to blow out the smoke. The pale scar across his cheek, the same one as Padfoot’s, almost blends in with his skin. Remus hates himself for wanting to ask who did it, then track them down and let the wolf destroy. “There are lines.”

Remus raises his eyebrows. “Loyalty?” he asks incredulously. He snorts, wild, raucous laughter bubbling up in his chest. “You’re one to talk.” He tilts his head, looks at Sirius as though he can see through him. He wishes he could and feels the knowledge that he once thought he could cut him like the edge of a blade. “Although you have betrayed one group of allies, I suppose another one is not much more to you.”

“Not loyalty,” Sirius says, lifting his head to look at him, his eyes flashing. “A child’s life, given away in cold blood.”

“You seemed to have no qualms about Edgar Bones’s children.” His stomach turns at the memory of those little bodies, broken, in pools of their own blood. Tortured, maimed to get their father to talk. Not murdered, but butchered. The way Marlene’s family might have been if she hadn’t managed to escape and McGonagall hadn’t been there to pass on the message.

Marlene has only just returned to active duty for the Order, her leg having more complications than the Healers had originally gauged, though there isn’t much to return to. They are defeated on all fronts most of the time, their homes and family the tiniest specks of light that remind them to have hope still. How unfortunate for Remus that he has neither—not anymore, anyway.

“I wasn’t there,” Sirius says. “I didn’t even know.” He sets his jaw, lifts his chin. There he is, the pureblood heir, the fiercest of Voldemort’s soldiers. Oh, how he loathes him. “You have what you need, Remus. This is a debt paid, no more, no less. There will be no other.” Something shifts in him then, Remus can physically see it, his eyes like shards of steel. “Walk away.”

And Remus almost does. He’s already moving to step out of the alley, to Apparate right on James and Lily’s doorstep but a thought stops him. He turns back to Sirius. “They don’t know,” he says, thinking back to the black dog that waited for him in front of the Hog’s Head, with a degree of patience ever so rarely seen to be exercised by him. “About Padfoot.”

Sirius pauses, his hand stopping halfway to his mouth, then shakes his head. Ash drifts to the ground. Maybe it’s a trick of the light but his eyes seem almost sad.

“Why not?”

Sirius takes a deep breath, puffs out the smoke. “That was—ours,” he says. “It’s not theirs to abuse.”

“There were a lot of things that were ours,” Remus says as sharply as he can manage. Elbows in ribs, dog-eared books, James's smile and the smell of tea, the taste of chocolate. The smell of night in the dark corridors, the feel of freedom, of foolish youth. He despises his voice for shaking. “You ruined all of them. Why keep this?”

“I like going to the park sometimes,” Sirius says dryly, “to play fetch with the neighbourhood kids. It would make for an awkward conversation if they saw me.”

“You’re a lousy liar.”

“Quite,” Sirius says with a sardonic incline of his head, the hints of a downturned smile playing on his lips. Then, in an exhale of breath and smoke, “You don’t know me anymore, Remus.”

It hits deeper than Remus likes. He’s done so much to try and forget Sirius but he’s only ever come to the point of hating himself more for not being able to hate him. It’s never made sense, Sirius’s sudden disappearance, his abrupt conversion to Voldemort’s side. They had considered the Imperius curse for some time, then Regulus’s involvement but someone as stubborn and fierce as Sirius would have broken an Imperius a long time ago, not to mention he acts too much like himself to be cursed, and Regulus has been dead for nearly two years. If Sirius ever had any qualms about joining, they seem to be gone now, replaced by stone-cold cruelty and a fierce desire to hurt. Marlene’s nightmares, almost always starring Sirius, according to Dorcas, seem to be proof of that.

The thing about Sirius – Remus has always known, since that first day when Sirius Black stood between him and a group of Slytherins, ready to hex them black and blue, that Sirius has the capacity to be cruel. Sirius might have fooled some people, even James and Peter sometimes, but Remus has always seen the darkness underneath, the uncanny ability to read someone like a book, pinpoint their greatest weaknesses and strike exactly there, a blow that would bring even the greatest to their knees, begging for mercy. It never scared him, not before. Sometimes, when he thought people deserved it, he relished in the way the slope of Sirius’s shoulders would straighten, the way his grin, always a touch mad anyway, would turn into something dark and slick without ever really changing. Remus never told him, never stopped him because most of the time Sirius had a reason to strike, to stab through the chink in the armour and twist the blade, but that was when he looked most like his mother.

He never told him because there was always the kindness underneath, the fierce loyalty, the unapologetic love delivered with a mix of sharp humour and tender words, told like a story in an arm over their shoulders, in soft smiles and sharp elbows, in hesitant fingers over new wounds and old scars, in murmured spells that soothed the pain. Sirius never told them – he only ever showed them.

But now, looking at this man, grown-up from the boy he loved, this shell of a man who could be his friend, who was his friend once, a long time ago, he doesn’t see any kindness at all, not even a shred of decency.

Remus takes a deep breath, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “No. And I don’t want to anymore either,” he tells him and this time, his voice is firm.

He only allows himself a second to watch the words register, to notice how deep they cut. He feels no satisfaction upon it, only bone-deep weariness, only the rest of his heart shattering apart. Then he turns on the spot and thinks of Harry’s green eyes.

#harry potter #sirius black #remus lupin #death eater sirius black #not really #but technically #wolfstar #post hogwarts #first war with voldemort #remus x sirius #(implied)#in a world three degrees north

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

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HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT CHALLENGE

This is not just a machine. Even then I took embarrassingly long to catch on. But I think that's ok. It's an excuse to work on boring things, even if they wanted to do things that make you stupid, and if they don't go into research.1 Why don't more people start startups. But how do you become one? What super-angels and VCs. So starting a startup and failed over someone who'd spent the same time working at a big company.2 In America, companies, like practically everything else, are disposable. So why do so many founders build things no one wants to do it may be best to go for brevity. Facebook seemed a good idea to understand what's happening when you do have kids.3

If you learn to ignore injuries you can at least avoid the second half. But if you're looking for companies that hope to win by writing great software.4 For the average startup, that would explain why they'd care about valuations.5 The other way to tell an adult is by how they react to a challenge. A nerd looks at that deal and sees only: pay a fortune for a small, dark, noisy apartment. A high-frequency trader does not. US are auto workers, New York is incomparable.6 But airports are not so harmless.7 There is no absolute standard for material wealth. This is about cities, not countries.

The reason he and most other startup founders are richer than they would have made working 9 to 5 at a big company. So maybe hacking does require some special ability to focus. If accelerating variation in productivity increases with technology, then the idea will fit in the user's head too. The other is that, in a hits-driven business, is that they're the same. The mere prospect of being interrupted is enough to prevent hackers from working on their startup for a whole year before being squashed by Google Calendar. The other way to tell an adult is by how they react to a challenge from an adult in a way people will increasingly be.8 I was walking along the street in Cambridge, and in practice they are usually interchangeable. I thought were the 5 most interesting startup founders of the last 30 years. Design is not just that it makes trade work. When Rajat Suri of E la Carte decided to write software for restaurants, he got out one of the founders of Sun.9 Finally at the end of this long process the VCs might still say no.10 Not just because it's better, but the pain of having this stupid controversy constantly reintroduced as the top one in your mind.11

The iPhone isn't so much a phone as a replacement for a phone.12 San Francisco, or Boston, or New York, where people walk around smiling. It felt as if someone had flipped on a light switch inside my head. They're willing to let you work so hard that you endanger your health. That's because, unlike novelists, hackers collaborate on projects. Someone with ordinary tastes would find it hard to come up with the numbers. Even now the image of a very ambitious German presses a button or two, doesn't it? Northern Italy in 1100, off still feudal. If you don't have to look at. Whereas if the speaker were still operating on the Daddy Model, and saw wealth as something that flowed from a common source and had to be built on NT. There is a large, existing population of stodgy people. Seriously, though, that there are going to get till the last minute.

As the CEO of a large public company makes about 100 times as productive as an ordinary one, but a leading indicator. Several of the most successful startup founders are often technical people who are great at something are not so much the day to day management. To me she seems the best novelist of all time. What nerds like is the kind of problems are those? You'd think it would be such a great thing never to be wrong that everyone would do this. So there is obviously not a fixed pie that's shared out, like an introductory textbook. I've rarely had a neat answer to it. A startup is not to try to think of startup ideas. There are now a few VC firms outside the US. The chance of getting rejected after the full partner meeting averages about 25%.13

Notes

This is true of nationality and religion as well. Some VCs seem to be free to work than stay home with them. To a kid and as a cause as it was overvalued till you run through all the page-generating templates are still called the executive model. Philosophy is like math's ne'er-do-well brother.

To get a lot more frightening in those days, but getting rich, purely mercenary founders will usually take one of the next one will be near-spams that you should push back on the grounds that a their applicants come from meditating in an equity round. In many ways the New Deal was a test of intelligence. One YC founder wrote after reading a draft, Sam Rayburn and Lyndon Johnson.

Did you know about a week for 4 years. The facts about Apple's early history are from an interview. That's the best are Goodwin Procter, Wilmer Hale, and tax rates, which shows how unimportant the Arpanet which became the Internet. I'm not dissing these people.

For example, because despite some progress in the former, and also really good at design, or because they are so dull and artificial that by the government. Part of the biggest successes there is no longer working to help the company goes public. Though most founders start out excited about the subterfuges they had that we didn't do. As always, tax loopholes defended by two of the web have sucked—e.

43. Microsoft, would increase the spammers' cost to reach a given audience by a factor of 20.

The solution for this essay, I advised avoiding Javascript. Often as not the distinction between them generate a lot of people who interrupt you. Proceedings of AAAI-98 Workshop on Learning for Text Categorization.

There is no richer if it's dismissed, it's probably a mistake to do better. 99,—e. In the thirties his support of the Fabian Society, it is certainly more efficient, it inevitably turns into incantation. Most don't try to raise five million dollars in liquid assets are assumed to be obscure; they just don't make wealth a zero-sum game.

Strictly speaking it's not uncommon for startups is a self fulfilling prophecy. One thing that drives most people come to writing essays is to protect widows and orphans from crooked investment schemes; people with a sufficiently identifiable style, you can, Jeff Byun mentions one reason not to say for sure a social network for pet owners is a bad idea, period. Is this unfair? You may be some part you can ask us who's who; otherwise you may have to find out why investors who turned them down.

That's because the first year or so and we don't have enough equity left to motivate people by saying Real artists ship. That's why the series AA terms and write them a check. At the moment; if there were 5 more I didn't realize it till I started doing research for this at YC I find I never watch movies in theaters anymore.

The latter type is the proper test of intelligence. If you have to do others chose Marx or Cardinal Newman, and tax rates have had a day job is one of the paths people take through life, the rest have mostly raised money at all. The Civil Service Examinations of Imperial China, Yale University Press, 1983.

Thought experiment: set aside for this essay began by talking about art.

Applying for a startup is taking the Facebook/Twitter route and building something for a CEO to make money from existing customers. Instead of bubbling up from the study. Unfortunately, not lowercase.

It wouldn't pay. This is one of the bizarre consequences of this essay talks about the team or their determination and disarmingly asking the right question, which would cause other problems. That's the difference between surgeons and internists fleas: I wouldn't say that YC's most successful ones tend not to quit their day job is one subtle danger you have 8 months of runway or less, is he going to do sales yourself initially.

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isaac-d-buchanan · 4 years

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where: right outside WWN who: Isaac Buchanan and Aila Johnson ( @ailajohnson ) why: ( x )

(tw: attempted murder)

Isaac Buchanan

For the past couple of weeks, Isaac had watched Aila from afar, silently observing her routine when he could. By the third day, he had already memorized what time she leaves her house to get to work, the times she goes on breaks, whether she leaves her building or not, and the times she usually leaves the WWN to go home. By then, Isaac could already plan his attack on the broadcaster. Where and when he could strike... what could he do to take her out... It could be so easy. Still, Isaac struggled.

He didn't want to do this at all. But Isaac already stalled as much as he could, incurring another visit from Noah who reminded him just what was at stake if he failed to do his task. This time, he was no longer subtle regarding the consequences that would fall on him should he fail. It was Rosalind's life, his love, at stake. As well as the lives of his father and his father's girlfriend.

After two weeks of keeping himself close to Aila, Isaac decided that it was now or never. He had to act now or else he'll never do it. And that would mean there's going to be a lot more blood in his hands.

On that night, Isaac wore the signature mask of a Death Eater. It hid his identity but he was sure it didn't hide his shame and guilt. Bile threatened to rise from his stomach as he waited in the alley near the Wizarding Wireless Network. What he was supposed to do next was the complete opposite of what Hit-Wizards swore to do. But Isaac was suffocating between a rock and a hard place. And three souls of loved ones felt far heavier than one stranger's. That's exactly why he's waiting for Aila to be alone and off guard.

When she finally appeared, all Isaac had to do was bring his wand up. He'll utter the Unforgivable Spell, causing a bright green light to erupt from the tip of his wand and hit the unsuspecting witch, and all of Noah's threats would go away.

But he didn't. He couldn't. Instead, Isaac just stood there without a sound until finally the witch saw him and the chance to catch her unawares was gone forever.

Aila Johnson

She had heard rumors that Rodolphus was looking for a co-host for her show. It might have been bullshit. She hoped it was bullshit, because if the message of her show changed she was out. Maybe Fabian could help her find a nice job in print. Or maybe she'd say fuck it all and go work with Rosmerta. She could make a damn good vodka soda. A dash of soda and a whole lot of vodka -- it was easy. Fuck, now she wanted a drink.

She turned to walk in the other direction, but she hesitated when her eyes caught sight of something in the alley. It took a moment for them to adjust, but as soon as she caught sight of the familiar mask, peering out at her from the darkness, she immediately reached for her wand. This sucked -- dueling had never been her strength. Sure, she could fire a thousand hexes off at this... man... judging by the figure under the robes. But unless he was a real idiot he could probably take her. Was he a Pureblood? Probably -- sometimes that meant they weren't ready for a fistfight... maybe she could take him by surprise.

"What the fuck do you want?" She called, far too loudly. Hopefully she could catch the attention of someone who was still inside.

Isaac Buchanan

Isaac gripped his wand tighter. It was already half raised, ready to take aim at Aila at any second if she chooses to cast the first spell. A part of him did want her to do so. At least then, Isaac would only be defending himself.

Maybe Aila could even injure herself with her own magic. That was some foolish thinking but Isaac couldn't help himself. Panic rose from his chest when she called out. "Keep your voice down," he hissed. The urgency in his voice made up for Isaac's hesitation to sound more intimidating. "Or else," he added as he took a step forward. "I wouldn't do anything stupid, if I were you..." Talking to his victim wasn't making it any easier for him to do the deed but Isaac can't get himself to do it. Not just yet.

As for her question, what did he want? He didn't want to kill Aila. He didn't want to kill anyone. But he wanted Rosalind and his father to be safe above all. "I just want to talk," he lied. Even if he sounded convincing, surely Aila wouldn't believe that, but he didn't know what else to say and he wanted to stall.

Aila Johnson

She had seen a death eater before. Maybe two or three, even. But it had been from a distance and there had been other people to back her up. But from what she remembered they hadn't seemed quite as jumpy as this fucker. Maybe he was a new one? Or just bad at his job -- he had to be bad at his job if they sent him after her. She wasn't anyone important.

When he told her to quiet down she laughed outloud. "What?" She shouted, speaking far louder than necessary. "What are you saying? Talk louder?" She wasn't stupid -- she knew she'd lose in a fight. Her best chance was to piss him off so he acted stupidly or to get the attention of somewhere else.

“Oh?" She shifted her tone into a false politeness. "Oh, is that all? Well, why didn't you say so? Lovely weather we're having, isn't it? Don't be a fucking moron. If you want to talk take the mask off -- if you don't want to talk then get on with whatever it was you were sent here to do." Her wand was raised, but she didn't toss any of the hexes that were racing through her mind in his direction. What was the point?

Isaac Buchanan

"Stop shouting," he hissed, raising his wand even higher and pointing it directly at the broadcaster. He was the one who said that they should talk but immediately, he was already regretting his decision. Her voice was so loud that he was sure that she would attract someone's attention any moment now. And if she did... Isaac would be fucked.

Talking, Isaac realized, was the wrong thing to do. Given that it's precisely why she was being targeted in the first place, Aila could run her mouth as if her life depended on it. And it did. Plus, her voice grated on him, making it harder for him to think. Maybe if she just shut her mouth, things will start to make sense. Maybe if he can finally hear himself think, he'll know what he had to do.

Without any warning, he flicked his wand and aimed a Silencing Charm directly at her.

Aila Johnson

Did he think she was just going to take this silently? Let him pull a wand out on her without a word spoken in protest? That made no sense. "I know you and all your mates are a bit dim, but even you have to be smart enough to see that I'm not going to let you pull a wand out on me and not respond? Come off it." She had a big mouth, but she made sure to speak louder than necessary.

It wasn't hard to dodge the first spell. She had been looking at him, waiting for him to move. She stepped aside, the flash of light barely missing her. Without really even bothering to aim she shot a nonverbal stunning spell back at him. This was going to go however he wanted it to go. "There a few choices here, far as I'm concerned. You can walk the fuck away and I don't say a word. Or I can scream my head off before you manage to do whatever it is you think you're going to do and you can walk away hoping I didn't attract enough attention. Up to you, mate."

Isaac Buchanan

Did he really expect that Aila wasn't going to fight back? No. But he at least thought that maybe fear and uncertainty would be on his side. Her insults rolled off of him like they were nothing. His focus wasn't exactly on what she was saying rather on the unthinkable task that he had to do.

Muscle memory from years of training allowed him to counter the spell that she threw on his own. In the process of dodging, Isaac managed to step closer to Aila. "I can't. I can't walk away." Even with his voice muffled behind the mask, his desperation, panic, and despair were palpable. He had no doubt that Aila heard it too. But he can't have her screaming too. He'll have to find another way to silence her.

In just a few seconds, Aila's loud voice did manage to attract someone. From behind he could hear urgent footsteps, In a few moments, they wouldn't be alone and Isaac wouldn't be able to do what he's been sent out to do. Or worse... He'll have to make sure that the newcomer wouldn't be able to talk too.

Curse the newcomer... or curse Aila. Given that Aila hasn't thrown more spells, Isaac assumed that she would be easier to handle. But the person turning towards them now? Isaac wouldn't know how good they were at dueling. It was probably best to use the element of surprise on his side and stop the stranger now before he saw anything.

Isaac took a step back. His eyes kept shifting from Aila and the corner of the alley where a shadow on the ground was steadily growing. When the figure finally emerged from the corner, Isaac turned to cause a bright explosion somewhere towards the stranger, supposedly blinding them temporarily.

Aila Johnson

She was hardly the most sensitive person, and she wouldn't try to pretend otherwise. But the emotion in his voice had her pausing. He didn't sound like the murder-happy Death Eaters of her imagination. But rather, he sounded upset. "Don't know who you've been talking to, but you don't have to do anything you don't want to do." Her voice was quieter as she said that.

She hadn't realized another person had joined them, had been attracted to the sound of her yelling, until he set a spell over her shoulder. She wanted to turn, to check that they were okay, but in the split second the Death Eater's eyes were off of her she flicked her wand in his direction. She had always liked to yell her spells. The dramatic flair tricking herself at least into feeling more confident. But silence was important here. Accio mask she thought to herself, shocked as it worked and the mask flew off his head and into her hand.

"I know you..." she trailed off searching for his name as she took in his face. "You were a few years above me, right? Isaac..."

Isaac Buchanan

For a brief moment, Aila almost sounded sympathetic. She dropped her usual bravado for something more cautious. Placating even. Maybe if he had responded with words, things would have turned out differently. Better. But it was too late. Someone was coming and Isaac acted in a way he thought he should have. The spell he cast to create a small explosion turned out to be successful. However, the distraction created an opportunity for Aila to summon his mask to her hand, causing it to fly away and reveal exactly who he was.

When she mentioned his name he knew that it was all over. There was no chance that he could kill her now. Not when she knew who he was. Not when she knew that this wasn't him. Isaac was far from perfect and never in his life did he ever think of himself as a saint. But Merlin knows that he would never even think of ending someone's life under his own volition.

He opened his mouth to speak without knowing what to say. Should he apologize? Attempt to explain? Warn her that people might be after her? Even if he did manage to choose what to say, his throat wouldn't cooperate with him. Isaac felt like he was choking on air. He already knew that both of them were walking out alive in this situation. Which meant that soon, he and his loved ones won't be. His only chance was to get them before they can. And then flee. Somewhere where they will never find them. They have to leave everything and everyone they ever knew and never look back.

With a wave of his wand, Isaac began his attempt to disapparate. There was one thing - and only one thing - left on his mind. Rosalind. For the first time in months, Isaac's head was clear. He knew exactly what to do. He needed to get to her and save her as soon as he could. Nothing else mattered.

Isaac's mind was already conditioned to brace for the push and the pull of apparating into a whole different place. What he didn't expect was for the stranger to tag along. While he was stunned after Aila summoned his mask and revealed his identity, the man managed to sneak up behind him and wrap his arms around his neck. Isaac tried to wriggle himself free but it was already too late. His apparition had already begun. They struggled in the alley for the briefest of moments before they disappeared into the air, leaving Aila alone.

#aila ( what makes blood thicker than water ) || connections #aila ( every uttered word is closer to the last ) || interaction #aila001

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siriuslyblack12 · 4 years

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chapter 5

As the following week passed, Remus and Sirius found themselves dancing around each other: walking on eggshells. They hadn’t really spoken since that fateful day in the science lab and neither wanted to push the other into anything. The tawny-haired boy doubted that his love was requited, without looking hard enough to see if that was true.

After confiding in the girls about what was said (with Sirius’s permission of course) the first thing they did was laugh confidently, unbelieving that he hadn’t just confessed his crush. Lily’s not any better, Remus thought. She knows that James likes her and she still won’t tell him. He’d covered his ears childishly to block out her out as Dorcas tried to pry his hands away.

“Remus Orpheus Lupin.” Marlene announced as they sat in Privet Fields, wading her fingers through the grass as they onlooked James and Sirius, racing each other to the top of a climbing frame, Peter and Mary cheering them on.

“That’s not my name and you know it.”

Her brows furrowed, “You are the most disastrous bisexual I have ever met, and I’m dating Dorcas.”

The girl in question punched Marlene lightly in the shoulder, pushing her short, brunette hair out of her face, smirking to herself. “You’re the one who was practically throwing yourself at me every excuse you got.”

“Was not.”

Dorcas scoffed. “So you don’t remember mysteriously tripping so that I could catch you every single day? Asking McGonagall to change the seating plan because Kingsley was ‘distracting your learning’?”

“He was! I’m not that hopeless.” Marlene harrumphed.

Dorcas’s smirk shifted to a genuine smile as she kissed her cheek. “I never said you were, babe.”

Remus also smiled, watching them adoringly. He’d seen them both make fools of themselves before they’d finally gotten together. They were the most deserving people of happiness, and happiness they had found together.

His attention was brought away by the harsh shouts of Mary, who’d gotten to the top of the frame before James and Sirius even after giving them a head start. “Fuck yeah!”

Sirius was tangled in the rope, limbs flailing. “There are children present, Miss MacDonald.”

“He’s right, we can’t have you corrupting our ickle Peter, can we?” James said from where he was helping to free Sirius.

Lily rolled her eyes from beside Remus, not quite committing to it, “I think he was corrupted the day he met those two. If anything, Mary saved him.”

Remus agreed, “We all were, Lils. My teachers used to love me, I’d just sit in the back of the class quietly and actually do work.” That wasn’t entirely true, but no one had to know. “I had a clean record, no detentions or anything.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing then, I couldn’t even imagine how boring that’d be.” Marlene started.

“How boring what would be?” Sirius was now untangled and stalking towards where Remus and the girls were situated on the field, wilting daisies surrounding them as their coats sat beneath them and the damp ground. His hair was tied up in a manbun, a few curls not quite reaching and framing his face messily, lighter from the summer sun.

Lily answered him, “Remus was telling us all about his shameful past as a teacher’s pet.”

He gave her a scandalized look as Sirius said, “Our Moony? He would never. I specifically remember him pulling a prank and blaming me for it, that’s actually how we met.”

The girls erupted, laughing and shouting praise, clasping him on the back. He saw a mother give them a pointed look from across the field, tearing her eyes away from two boys aimlessly kicking a football back and forth. It had been in year 7, one of the first days of high school, when he’d taken one look at Sirius Black and something inside of him just knew.

And he hadn’t made any progress since.

“Sirius, mate, how is that even possible?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, but I’m not exactly complaining.”

Sirius was stood in the middle of the pool changing rooms, 6:00 am, wearing nothing but a speedo and a swimming cap. Morning practices were always the worst, especially when he’d tossed and turned all night with no real sleep. In front of him was Frank Longbottom, teammate and friend, dressed in a similar state to him.

“Your time went down 5 seconds, for fucks sake! It’s incredible,” Frank gushed. “No one here could do that if they tried.”

“Bet Coach still makes me work harder, no amount of improvement in the world could make him like me.” Sirius and his coach had never gotten along, considering he had a great relationship with the Black family, and it often worked out against his favour.

Frank gave him a sympathetic nod, tightening his own cap before padding out of the room to find the rest of their team. Temper rising, Sirius messily shoved his bag into a locker and followed his friend.

I have more important things to worry about than a stupid coach.

But it would be nice to be liked.

A few moments later water flowed fast all around him, his mind only focused on the movements his limbs. Every trouble faded out of his head as he kicked, hands dragging almost lazily as it was second nature to him. This was where he could feel safe. This is where the highs and lows of life couldn’t reach him, his muscles hard at work. The wall was right in front of him, getting closer by the minute as he stretched out his arm to touch it and when he did he felt a surge of happiness shoot up his spine and through his blood.

He ripped his goggles off excitedly to realise he was the first one to finish warmup, eyes scanning the board to see the set they’d be doing. It looked difficult, and would definitely take a lot out of him, but that was exactly what he needed. No time for overthinking. So exhaustingly yet refreshingly, he swam and dived and turned and flipped until his head felt fuzzy and his legs ached.

Coach shouted at them to get out of the pool and line up against the wall, voice calmer than usual. It was almost startling, how Fabian and Gideon could fuck about and not get given push-ups, how Frank could lean over and whisper to Sirius without being caught.

“Bet he’s announcing the new Captain,” He explained. “He’d have to be stupid to consider anyone but you.”

Sirius laughed dryly, “Don’t get your hopes up, Frank. Alice has been kissing his arse for weeks, I barely stand a chance.”

“But you’re the best swimmer here!” Frank exclaimed.

“If you don’t shut up now I won’t stand a chance at all. I won’t even have legs to stand on.”

His eyes went quickly to the towering height and corkscrew hair of the man speaking, broad shoulders filling out the team t-shirt. His face was angry and intimidating, which seemed to help the team win often enough for him to continue. “I expect a better swim than that, especially coming off your wins last night. I didn’t come here to watch mediocre swimmers.”

There was a general hum of acknowledgement, “All of you have the potential for excellence, but I expect very few of you to come into your own.” He paced up and down the line menacingly. “Selecting a Captain did not come easy to me, considering that the job takes responsibility and maturity.”

Gideon smirked back over at him as if to say ‘can’t be you then’ as their Coach continued, “The person I have selected may not demonstrate these things 100 percent of the time, but gala after gala has proved their worth.” Sirius now shifted in anticipation. “So, without further ado, your Team Captain for the rest of this year is…”

I was unfocused last week.

I didn’t finish that set one time.

My fly needs work.

There’s no way he’ll make me Captain.

“…Sirius Black.”

Frank and some others jumped on him immediately and he had to wince as they shouted right down his ears. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing but was elated nonetheless as the rowdy praise evaporated into polite applause and surprisingly authentic smiles. It came to an end, not without a warning from their coach and swimmers filed out orderly. Before Sirius could follow he heard a stern voice call him back.

“I need to talk to you, Sirius.” His Coach said.

He turned back around and folded his arms complyingly, prompting the man to continue. “You did well last night, I was quite impressed actually.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” Sirius stumbled, taken aback by the sincerity.

“You’re not exactly the most easy to work with, nor the most responsible.” Don’t hold back with the compliments, Sirius thought internally. “However I know a good swimmer when I see one, and I’ve seen you with our junior swimmers, they love you.”

Sirius choked back a smile, “I love helping them, ‘s nice to give back, you know?”

A t-shirt was placed gently in his hands, the same one that his Coach was wearing but in a smaller size. The team logo shone from where it was embedded on the right and his title was sown neatly below it. He was brought out of his trance by a contrastingly harsh voice, “But one slip up and that t-shirt goes to Alice, mark my words.”

He couldn’t help but groan. “I understand.”

“You can leave now, Sirius.”

“Happily.”

Remus peered over his book for about the thousandth time that hour, watching James obnoxiously flirt with Lily as she rolled her eyes, contrasting the way her cheeks pinked. This interaction had been going on ever since they’d gotten to school just half an hour before, and it was becoming quite exhausting to watch. He took a look around the practically empty library before shifting his focus back to his book.

“Lily, you have no idea what you’re missing out on! I have a lot to offer.” James sang.

“And what would that be exactly?” She said sharply.

He hesitated for a moment, ruffling his hair to make it even more messy before saying, “A lot! I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Of course you don’t,” Lily sighed. “Better luck next time.”

James huffed, his lips forming a pout as he slumped back into his chair. Remus braved a look at the scene and so his eyes lifted to meet Lily’s fierce blue ones, pleading and disturbed. He wondered what could possibly be going on in her head when even though she liked him she still rejected his advances.

James perked up suddenly, “Sirius, mate, can you tell Lily about everything I have to offer? How much she’s missing out on?”

Sure enough, Sirius was walking gracefully into the quiet of the library, hair still damp and clinging to his ears from what must have been a morning practice. His hoodie was half unzipped, giving a peak of a tight graphic t-shirt beneath it. “I’m afraid there’s not much to say in that department, Prongs,” He laughed.

“Fuck off, I’ve got class.” This only made him laugh louder as James continued to sulk even when leaving the room. He really is a child.

Sirius sat himself in a chair right next to Remus, his hair almost brushing the other’s nape when he leaned over his shoulder to assess the book in his hands. With a slow turn of his head, the two met face to face with longing and shyness. Through the corner of his eye Remus could see Lily stand and call out to James, flicking out her phone, but he couldn’t bring himself out of the weighted moment.

Sirius leaned forward carefully, until he was close enough to reach up and run a hand through Remus’s curls.

“I really do like the haircut,” his voice was down to a low whisper. “Not that I didn’t like it before, I just… like it more now, I guess.”

Remus’s breathing hitched as the hand that was carding through his hair moved down to his cheek, his thumb brushing over his cheekbone lightly. Well, it’s now or never.

“Is there anything else you want to get off your chest? He asked, matching the other’s whisper.

“Yeah, there is actually.”

“Me too,” The moment he sounded the last syllable Sirius’s other hand came to rest on the other side of his face. It was only just occurring to him what was happening. Sirius’s hands are on my face. Sirius likes me. Oh shit.

“Can I kiss you now?” The boy in front of him questioned, way too casually from what it was, thumbs tracing circles on his flushed skin. Quickly and simply, he nodded until he felt soft lips on his own.

He thought fireworks must be going off somewhere outside because holy shit. Sirius’s lips were warm against his own, insistent yet gentle, and certainly better than he could have ever imagined. He realised he wasn’t really doing much so he wrapped his arms around the dark-haired boy’s waist and brought him as close as possible to his body. A thought ran through his mind like broken a train, that he could never be close enough to Sirius. Remus felt a tongue run over his bottom lip as the kiss deepened, both boys letting out sounds of contentment. He never wants to stop kissing this boy; He wants to die kissing this boy.

It did stop eventually, but not without both of them savouring it as best they could. As they parted, Remus kept his eyes closed for a few moments, desperately trying to hold onto the feeling. When he finally did open them, his eyelashes fluttered in a way that Sirius thought to be simply criminal, and so he leaned back in to kiss him once again. Remus tasted like chocolate and mint, a taste he tried to memorise in the next few minutes they spent with their lips almost molded together.

This time they only stopped as distant hollers got increasingly louder, hollers that they soon figured belonged to their friends. Dorcas was holding her phone up, obviously recording the new couple’s (couple? Is that what they were now?) reaction. Mary handed Lily some change, Remus noting that they must have been betting on this. Fucking Lily.

He buried his face in the crook of Sirius’s neck out of embarrassment, realising that maybe that was something he could do now. Maybe. This was only reassured by strong arms folding around his shoulders, hands bracketing his head to keep him there.

“As much as I appreciate the well wishes, we’d much prefer if you could kindly fuck off, thank you.” Sirius addressed the audience of smug faces around them, ending it with a kiss to Remus’s head.

“I knew you like him! I told you, didn’t I Lily, I told you!” James jumped up and down like an excited puppy, quite an unusual sight to behold.

“You like me? I hadn’t noticed.” Remus replied dryly, his voice dripping in his signature sarcasm as a surge of confidence swept through him.

“Moony, I think you’ll find that I do like you. A lot actually, and I would really like to kiss you again.” Sirius said in a much softer voice than he was used to hearing from the boy.

Remus smiled back at him, “I think that can be arranged,” Before leaning back up into a now familiar kiss.

“Prongs, you didn’t even know he was gay, how could you possibly know they liked each other?” Marlene shouted.

“Oh please, I’m not blind.”

For the first time in a while, Remus could say that he was truly happy.

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malcortez · 7 years

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Since Harry Potter stuff is happening on my dash...here's a big fat Sorting rant I doubt anyone will read.

My initial response for Malcolm would be Gryffindor or Slytherin. I thought about it at length, and...Slytherin, I'd say. Which I feel bad for, because I get tired of the “villains are Slytherins are villains” cliché but...he fits? Now, the Gryffindor trait obviously comes in with how HE WANTED TO KICK ALL THE ZOMBIES ASSES THE SUPER-POWERED ZOMBIES LIKE WOLVERINE AND DARK PHOENIX ON HIS FUCKING OWN Like that's gutsy to the point of STUPID and that's the definition of Gryffindor. Malcolm's solutions generally seem to be “I'm going to BREAK things (but sometimes in a sneaky way)” like he's very much got both Fabian and Anne Marie in him. The Slytherin comes in not so much in WHAT he does, but HOW he does it. He has ambition both to rule New Wakanda, and ambition for what he's going to do with it. Malcolm is actually a little unique among cliché “evil usurper” types, because he's not like “I want to be king just because I want to be king/I'm better than everyone else/I deserve it” or even “I want to be king because my father should have been/wanted to be king”, his reasons for wanting to take rulership are because he feels that T'challa has led them into nothing but stagnation, that all they're doing is surviving rather than living, that the potential of their society is so much more.

So it's not just “I want this” like with Fabian taking Magneto's spot in 616, Malcolm does have a very definite vision and goals that go beyond gain for himself. His manner of achieving this is still TERRIBLE because MURDER IS NOT OKAY, MALCOLM, but I don't think that's what makes him Slytherin-ish, I think it's the fact he has goals and he's going after them. And speaking of how he goes after them...he doesn't just charge T'chall ahimself and try to take him out. That'd be a Gryffindor. Instead, he actually thinks things through. He has someone else try to assassinate T'challa in his sleep. From a Gryffindor perspective, that's underhanded, unfair, and it shows someone too cowardly to risk himself. From a Slytherin perspective, it's ensuring that the attack is more likely to be effective, and that, if it fails, Malcolm can still try again because he won't be the one who gets caught. And he NEEDS to be able to try again, to try as much as it takes, to get to be able to take the position where he can have the power to do what it takes for the sake of the home that he loves. And Malcolm does indeed clearly love New Wakanda, he states it's so perfect that he doesn't even care to know about what civilization was like before the zombies changed everything. So to his mind it's “what matters more, being fair or doing what I think is right?”

Any House can commit murder. But Malcolm's way of going about it, and likely reasoning for why he picked that way, says Slytherin to me.

...and if he'd been a Ravenclaw, maybe this boy would have had THE FUCKING SENSE to be like “T'challa is ancient as balls, if I wait five years he'll just die on his own” SO HE'S GOT GRYFFINDOR RASHNESS I GUESS Another example of a more Slytherin approach is how he works with the zombies despite his murderous hatred of them He initially refuses to work with the ones who have overcome their hunger, but when it's pointed out that they need all the help they can get against the ones who STILL WANT TO EAT EVERYBODY, he puts his hatred aside in order to stop his people from being devoured. Similiarly, he asks Forge to do the same with him; I don't remember the exact quote, but he says something like “I know you don't like me but we need to work together on this” and he isn't lying or trying to trick him. Malcolm is willing to put aside personal feelings and work alongside those he finds horrible (and alongside those who find HIM horrible) towards a common goal. This, to me, is a more Slytherin approach because it falls into the “whatever it takes to get there” category, whereas Gryffindors are canonically associated with “chivalry” which I think means less “opening doors for women” and more “adhering to a certain set of ideals” and not compromising on those ideals...Slytherins, on the other hand, will get their hands dirty to get things done, and it's easy to look down on that UNTIL you've got a whole bunch of flesh-hungry monsters at your door. ...of course, given that he goes RIGHT BACK to trying to both get rid of ALL zombies and become king after this, you could easily say he didn't compromise on his ideals either. And we see the Slytherin approach yet again with how he gets rid of the “good” zombies after the “bad” ones are dealt with (and I'm sorry, but I will forever defend him on this, he's entirely right that they were “an accident waiting to happen” and their little village would NOT survive if they relapse into the hunger WHICH WE SEE CAN HAPPEN). He tells them he wants to talk, and takes them to a room where he's got an interdimensional transporter scoured from the labs of Reed Richards. You can guess what happens next. So while Malcolm is happy to take the Gryffindor approach of I'LL FITE U in the heat of the moment, he can also plan, and plan a way that he can ACTUALLY win (because he would NOT win that fight, very obviously) Again, it's something a Gyrffindor might find underhanded, but from the Slytherin POV, better be underhanded and save everyone from disaster than have a “fair right” you just get killed in and then everyone else gets killed later. Also, when he sends the zombies to another dimension, he says “They're someone else's problem now!” Malcolm gives NO FUCKS about people in other worlds, but when it comes to HIS people in HIS village, he’s ready to kill, ready to FIGHT ZOMBIES. I find that pretty Slytherin. While it's never STATED in canon, a lot of people have attributed “loyalty” as a Slytherin House trait, but different from Hufflepuff loyalty. Slytherin loyalty, as I've seen it defined by fandom, is an insular us-against-the-world group loyalty, where they look out for each other even at the expense of those outside the group. You can see this at its worst with the Purebloods, and to a not-so-bad with how Slughorne extends favoritism to those in “the Slug Club” who later return the favor when they become famous and high-status (not hurting anybody, but only giving one another a leg up). But in the real world there are good examples too. It’s human nature to put your own first. I think that if someone, say, chose to save the life of their child over the life of a stranger, most people would not call them evil for it. In fact I think most people would say “what the fuck is wrong with you?!” if they didn't. So shunting zombies off to another world that very well may be inhabited, thus condemning another universe to the fate his suffered, is awful. Those peoples lives matter as much as the New Wakandans. But I can't blame him one bit for picking that over having this risk remain to HIS people, aka THE LAST LIVING PEOPLE IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE TL;DR Malcolm is the massive Slytherin who's as likely to punch things in a rage as he is to plot and wait, so everyone probably thinks he's just another Crabbe-and-Goyle thug, but actually he's very much got the traits associated with the House.

#hp au

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