In the dreary little kitchen, Kingsley listened patiently as the tale unfolded before him. Across from him, Black refrained from speaking as much as possible, allowing Remus Lupin to do the bulk of the explaining. The rest of the Order was seated around them at the scrubbed wooden table or else leaning against the dark marble counters. Patiently, Lupin detailed how his three friends had become illegal Animagi at school, how they had later joined the first Order, and the Potters had been forced into hiding. Kingsley followed the story patiently But when they had arrived at the point when Black persuaded the Potters to switch Secret-Keepers, he had insisted on hearing the account first-hand.
“Why Pettigrew?” he had asked, staring pointedly at Black.
Leaning his chair back on two legs, Black rather spoiled the effect of graceful nonchalance with a bitter smile. “I was convinced it was the perfect solution. Everyone knew James was my best friend; Voldemort was bound to come after me””
“You didn’t know that when you became Secret-Keeper?”
Black dropped his chair with a quiet thud, looking Kingsley full in the face. “It didn’t matter to me,” he said flatly. “I knew I would never betray them. But then I started to think of all the ways other than force that information can be extracted from unknowing victims. Suppose I took a drink from a fellow member of the Order, only to discover too late it was a Death Eater in disguise who had just handed me Veritaserum?”
Behind him, Moody gave an approving snort. Black ignored him. “With the lives of my best friend and his wife and son in my hands, I didn’t feel I had the right to play the hero unless I could back myself up. That’s when my brilliant idea occurred to me.”
The self-loathing in his voice was horribly clear. The kitchen had gone quite silent, but Kingsley could not look away. Black’s face had become smoothly unreadable, his features schooled into a haughty mask, daring Kingsley to shake him.
“Switch,” he continued lightly. “No one would think to go after Peter, I could still act as decoy, and everything would turn out swimmingly, you see?”
Lupin made a move as though to stop him, but Kingsley was determined to piece the puzzle together once and for all.
“But you were there the night of their deaths, before almost anyone else knew,” he prompted.
Black drew in a long, quiet breath. When he spoke, it was without expression. “I had gone to check on Peter. He was gone. I knew something was wrong, so I went to Godric’s Hollow. Of course, when I saw the house…and then…” His eyes continued staring at whatever invisible scene his voice had failed to describe.
“All right.”
Kingsley turned to look at Lupin, whose soft voice lit gently on the silence. Without further preamble, Lupin quickly outlined the remainder of the story, picking up with Pettigrew’s inspired disappearance, sans his forefinger, and continuing through Black’s escape from Azkaban and later meeting with Harry Potter and his friends at Hogwarts, from which the second daring escape had been made two years previously. Somewhere along the line Sirius Black had recovered his careless attitude, once more leaning cavalierly back in his chair. It occurred to Kingsley that he had bought the truth of the man at an uncomfortable price.
Now he sat in the dark stone kitchen, tea cold in his cup. The story was well over and around him, light chatter filled the room, Mundungus having insisted that Kingsley was exhausted by all the revelations and dinner should precede any further attempts at business. Kingsley could not help but feel grateful, although he suspected Mundungus had not had his interests at heart when the suggestion was made. Tonks was laughing merrily as she helped (and hindered) Lupin as he prepared the meal. Black goaded them on from his seat, occasionally getting a tea towel thrown at him for his trouble. Arthur Weasley was making careful diagrams on a long sheet of parchment, with Mundungus jabbing a grimy finger here and there to correct him. Halfway through the preparations, a young witch Kingsley recognized as Hestia Jones arrived to general cheers and agreed to stay for supper. He stared, numb, as she flirted casually with Black, trading insults and gossip as they set the table. It was as though the world had shifted from beneath his feet and he was the only one caught stumbling.
After a merry supper during which Kingsley was ceremoniously introduced to those members of the Order he did not know, Tonks rose at last, yawning ostentatiously.
“Well, I’d best be off. I’ve got guard duty at midnight and I want to catch a quick nap before I go.”
“You could stick around here,” offered Black.
Tonks wrinkled her nose. “Nah. No offense, cuz, but this place gives me the creeps.”
Black conceded the point with an amiable laugh, but Kingsley could not help but think he looked disappointed. The impression was reinforced when the other members of the Order took their leave one by one, whirling off through the fireplace, each off on some errand or other. Black watched them go, growing more and more quiet. When only Kingsley, Mundungus, Moody and Black were left, Moody too rose stiffly from the table.
“Got some business of to take care of for Dumbledore. S’pose I ought to put some protective spells ‘round Shacklebolt’s place, now he’s in the Order.” He fixed both eyes on Kingsley and Black. “If neither of you are averse to the idea, I was thinking Shacklebolt could stay the night. Just as a precaution”I’ll check and make sure no Death Eaters got wind of your induction, Kingsley. Sirius, you could fill him in and so forth.”
“No problem,” Black answered quickly, looking considerably brighter. Kingsley hesitated. He was unsure how comfortable he was with the idea of spending the night in the company of Sirius Black, however innocent he might be. Not wishing to offend, however, he nodded his assent.
Stumping over to the fireplace, Moody took a pinch of Floo powder in hand and turned briefly to glare at Mundungus Fletcher.
“You better get down to those pubs and see what your criminal friends make of this,” he growled.
“I just got off duty!” Mundungus protested, outraged.
“And now you’re back on it. I’ll expect you back by tomorrow night.” He pointed a scarred finger threateningly at Mundungus. “And put those back this minute; don’t you realize Dark wizards could trace that stuff back to this house?”
Mundungus started as Moody too vanished in the fireplace. For a moment there was silence in the kitchen, then Black turned Mundungus, who scratched his nose sheepishly.
“Dung, you reprobate, cough it up.”
Kingsley watched as the dirty little man produced a heap of tarnished but valuable-looking dinnerware from the folds of his capacious coat.
“Sorry, mate,” muttered Mundungus, “Old habits, you know…”
Black rubbed his face and picked half-heartedly through the loot. “Black family crest, Black family crest…and this one too…Dung, I wish to God you would use some sense when you nick stuff from me. Are you trying get us all chucked in Azkaban?”
Mundungus looked aghast. “No, I never, mate! That crest would come off easy with a bit of help. I know a guy what does that sort of thing””
“And he’s sworn to keep the Order’s secrets as well, has he?” Kingsley interjected mildly. He was beginning to wonder why Fletcher was allowed in headquarters at all.
Mundungus had the grace to look ashamed, but Black waved off his muttered apologies with an amused smile.
“Oh, go on, get out of here, you mangy old sneak thief. You can make it up to us later. Maybe I’ll have you help Kreacher clean my mother’s portrait…” he laughed outright at Mundungus’s horrified expression, and Mundungus gathered his rucksack to go, looking relieved that it was only a joke. Black called after him. “And watch you don’t wake her up again!”
Mundungus’s whisper of, “Not on yer life,” hissed back to them, and soon his fading footsteps and the gentle click of the front door told them they were alone. Kingsley stared across the table at Black, who looked a bit uncomfortable. Something clicked in Kingsley’s brain.
“That was your mother?” he asked slowly.
Black gave a short bark of a laugh. “Yeah. We didn’t get on real well.”
“I know,” Kingsley mused without thinking. Black looked even more uncomfortable.
“It…came up briefly when I was researching your family history,” Kingsley apologized.
Black grimaced. “Great. That must have been a laugh.”
“It was my job to know everything I could about you.”
“Except that I wasn’t a mad mass murderer.”
Kingsley snorted. “Yes. Except that.”
Black grinned at him, and Kingsley felt strangely guilty as he smiled back.
“Black…” he began, uncharacteristically unsure of what he was going to say.
“Call me Sirius. There’s enough ‘Black’ to go around in this house as it is.”
“Sirius.” The name fell strangely in his mouth. He had meant vaguely to apologize, for he knew not what, and perhaps Sirius sensed it, for he stood abruptly and with a swift, warning grin turned his attention to clearing away the dinner things.
“S’pose I could call in that mad house-elf, but honestly it’s not worth the trouble. Besides, I’m sure he’s enjoying himself burning me in effigy up in the attic or something.”
Kingsley chuckled, and thought how odd it was to be sharing a joke with the man he had sworn to arrest. Awkward silence fell between them, and he found himself staring at Sirius as he moved around the kitchen. The events of the past few hours seeped through his thoughts, and he tried once more to wrap his mind around them. Here was the real Sirius Black, living and breathing in front of him, humming absently as he dumped dirty dishes in the sink. He watched this new Sirius Black moving with restless energy in the confines of his old home, that look of being defiantly lost hanging about him like an outgrown cloak. He remembered the way Sirius had laughed and chatted easily with the Order and found it hard to believe that mere hours before, he had been staring at photographs that chronicled the man’s life, feeling frustrated and helpless because he could not solve the mystery of a murderer. Now he realized what was wrong with the puzzle. The missing clue was that there was no mystery. There was no murderer. No wonder he had never seen it.
Feeling his stare, Sirius turned, an ironic smile tilting his lips. Kingsley remembered the Potter’s wedding photo and thought that his eyes had not completely lost their humor. Black tipped him a wink.
“Why don’t you take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
Worth a Thousand Words by starscribe
Chapter Notes: Here's the last chapter! This was a fairly short fic, but I hope you enjoyed it. Many thanks to my amazing and supportive beta!!!