wunderkind | (no subject)

wunderkind

STUFF GOES IN HERE

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From:

doggedly

[Of course he still doesn't shut up. Sirius huffs a grim laugh, as he lights his cigarette.]

It's not. So what is it, then? I mean, it was more or less the eradication of all of the shit that they believe in, since it at least throws a bloody bubotuber into their precious system and society--but tell me, how that wasn't a betrayal.

From:

jurisimpudent

[He gives an uncomfortable half-shrug. This is a weak argument:]

You hardly swore allegiance to their beliefs. And I cannot really think that...prejudice and hatred are some central tenants of their belief systems.

From:

doggedly

[He doesn't answer, at first--just gets out his watch and holds it out to Edgeworth, closed. It's a heavy silver thing, much like his lighter, and the front is etched in the Black family crest. The motto runs along the bottom, in tiny block letters: TOUJOURS PUR.]

My father gave me this in first year. It wasn't even my birthday. He came to Hogwarts because the Board of Governors was meeting and he summoned me afterwards and gave me this watch--because I needed reminding, he said.

Toujours Pur. 'Always Pure'. That's the bloody center of their beliefs, and everything they are.

From:

jurisimpudent

[What a strange, sad thing that is, he thinks as he looks down at the crest. He has a watch as well, back in his room in the Gryffindor Tower; it's silver as well, and burnished, but lighter. The inscription on it, on the inside of the cover, is To my dearest Gregory. He's been given lessons, as well, lessons that he's carried to the present day even if at times he forgets them: to be honest, to be forthright, to follow the rules, to treat others as he wants to be treated. To not presume to stand in judgment over a man until you've walked a mile in his shoes. To treasure kindness. That no matter what happened, no matter what calling he found in life, he would always be loved.

Always Pure is what Sirius Black got.

It's a strange, sad thing.

He raises his eyes to Sirius' again. And he asks:]

Why did he think you needed reminding?

From:

doggedly

[He smiles, bitterly, shifting back in his chair a little so he can put it back in his pocket. Compulsively, he smooths his thumb over that surface again, the grooves of the carving catching a little at the pad of his finger.]

Because he'd heard that I was sitting through double potions at the same table with a muggle-born Ravenclaw. By my choice. That's the sort of thing you don't risk.

So there's your answer. All we've got is money, and a name, and our catalogs of peerage and prejudice. Anything else is a betrayal.

From:

jurisimpudent

Was it Quirrell?

[He doesn't look up at Sirius. He just explains his guess:]

He defended you when I had some...unkind words some months back.

[A long moment of silence. Then:]

Why are you different from them?

From:

doggedly

[He smiles, thinly, as he raises his cigarette to his mouth again.]

Then he's not yet learnt his lesson. Slytherins are bastards.

[Himself included. Quirrell, what a useless clod. That's what he'd say now, if he were asked, and he'd be right. There's nothing of first year Sirius in him. The watch weighs down his pocket, exactly the reminder his father meant it to be.

So at Edgeworth's question, he shrugs, sharply.]

I can't be that different. I went along with it, all of these years, didn't I. [But going along with it--that suggests that there was some doubt, somewhere in him. Before even this, there was doubt.]

From:

jurisimpudent

But your intentions are different. Your -

[He raises a hand uncomfortably to his chest, narrowly avoiding some idiotic and nebulous talk about Sirius' heart. He drops his hand a moment later, shaking his head. But not to avoid the topic; just to ask the question yet again, in a different way, anticipating Sirius digging in his heels a bit more.]

You went along with it, but you never believed it. Why not? Who influenced you to think otherwise?

From:

doggedly

[He shrugs, sharply, his expression closed and narrow, as he puts his cigarette to his mouth again.]

Does it matter?

From:

jurisimpudent

No, I'm asking for no reason.

[It's a quiet sort of sarcasm - devoid of anything really scathing, uttered more as a comfort to himself than anything else.]

From:

doggedly

Well, you do like to hear yourself talk.

[He lets the smoke out his nose in a long exhale. It stings, a little, but he doesn't so much as flinch.]

What's your reason, should I ask that instead? [But without waiting for an answer--] My cousin, Andromeda. She's a few years older than us. I don't think you know her.

From:

jurisimpudent

[Edgeworth shakes his head. If he heard the name, he'd guess she was a Black, but only because she keeps to the name scheme; the Purebloods all put such emphasis on who belongs to which family, but for his part, Edgeworth is completely unable to keep all of them straight.]

She...was sympathetic to Muggles?

From:

doggedly

She married one.

[He smiles, grimly.]

That's whose name my mother was burning off the tapestry. Andromeda married Ted Tonks, who's a muggle, and she got chucked out of the family. But she was my favourite cousin. She used to try and write to me, but our house-elf would always get to the post before me. Once she smuggled a letter in a box of chocolates that her sister sent to my mother. I don't know how she did it, her sisters hate her as much as anyone.

[There's a degree of fondness in his voice when he speaks of Andromeda, even now. He can't suppress that.]

From:

jurisimpudent

[And Edgeworth looks up at Sirius, watching him as he speaks - and at the end of that, he offers a smile. It's not remotely grim, but instead quietly glad - because he heard that open warmth in Sirius' voice. It's the very first time he's sounded like that - not gruff, or angry, or haughty, but just sort of...happy.]

She sounds lovely.

[A pause, then, and his happiness fades as he asks, tentatively - ]

She is...weathering this war all right?

From:

doggedly

[His own happiness fades just at about the same time as Edgeworth's. It's stupid, getting sentimental over Andromeda--though now he can probably go round to her house, as it won't much matter any longer who he's seen with.

He shrugs, twisting his heel against the floor again.]

Are you?

From:

jurisimpudent

[That's a question that surprises him; he looks over, trying to discern whether that's pointed mockery or a rhetorical question. He decides to answer it, instead, like it's a real question.]

My situation is unlike hers.

From:

doggedly

[He shrugs, briefly.]

But they hate you both the same. Actually, I can't work out if they hate her more or someone like you. Maybe her, for being a blood-traitor.

It doesn't really matter though, does it, because in the end it's still shit.

From:

jurisimpudent

No, I didn't mean in that way. I meant -

[He gives a small half-shrug.]

They're different inasmuch as...students at Hogwarts are - sheltered, largely, from real danger. She would not be.

[The counterpoint to that, of course, is that he must also deal with the Slytherins, daily, must be confronted with such hatred...But that's hardly of consequence.]

From:

doggedly

She's a blood-traitor. That doesn't mean they want to spill her blood, that would be wasteful. There's only so many purebloods out there, we can't turn on our own.

[He smiles, grimly, staring down at his boot again.]

She'd be taken care of. It's her husband that ought to be worried. A bystander is easy to make into a casualty, for a cause that's got nothing to do with them, except that they made the mistake of being related to someone who's a target.

[And he's done talking about Andromeda, he doesn't want to confront the way thinking about her makes him feel. And he knows exactly how to wound Edgeworth, all the things to say, so he looks back at him quite steadily.]

But then, you'd know about that, right.

From:

jurisimpudent

[And, indeed, that makes Edgeworth fall silent; it makes him drop his gaze, feeling nauseated and sad. He doesn't have a response to that; like always, that particular blow hits so much harder than any of the others. And even though this one isn't as harsh as some of the others, it's the one that fells him; he doesn't have anything else to say to that, but just closes his eyes.

He wonders if he avenged Dad tonight. He wonders if he's made up for what he did when he got him killed - when he set a death sentence on Dad for being born different, being born some mutant with freakish, stupid, hateful abilities. He wonders if Dad would forgive him.

One moment passes, two - and then, finally, the door creaks open. Edgeworth's eyes open at once; he leans forward, fear leaping within him - but the two Aurors who enter are looking only at Sirius.

Sirius Black. Please stand up.]

From:

doggedly

[Sirius looks back at them for a long moment--not so long, but long enough, and he does not stand. His arms stay folded over his chest and his posture remains slumped.

He doesn't know them. There's no clue to tell him who they are--surname or standing or anything. The world doesn't work that way any longer anyways. What does it matter?

He stands, without looking at Edgeworth.]

What is it?

From:

jurisimpudent

[They don't reply, not verbally. Instead, they step aside to make way for a tall man, a man with imposing features, a handsome face, a tumble of dark elegant hair. Rings on his fingers. Edgeworth knows who this is at once; he recognizes him from Sirius' memories, a man both cold and distant. He spares Edgeworth a brief glance, contemptuous and dismissive; it's a strange thing, to meet his eyes, knowing all he knows.

Straighten up, is what he says to his son. His manner is imperious. And then, a moment later: Is it true?]

From:

doggedly

[The moment that he sees his father--it's like being called to attention. His shoulders go back, his spine straightens--he picks that point, in the distance, a fixed spot on the wall. Eyes up and forward but not meeting his father's gaze, never going that far. It's like he's shrugged on a coat, altering everything--gone is his slouch, his sneer. And he doesn't look at Edgeworth, or at the Aurors--they might as well have gone from the room. His focus is on his father, only his father.

But what he has to tell him is no easy thing. There's just a beat, of silence, and then:]

It's true. Sir.

From:

jurisimpudent

[Edgeworth watches that transformation, and he despises it. There's a certain degree of irony - he's spent years snarling and barking at Sirius-Black-the-arrogant-Slytherin for his lack of dignity, for his poor comportment, for his loudness, his lack of respect; the sight of the boy tipping back in his chair with lazy arrogance, year after year, had filled Edgeworth with such anger. A week ago, seeing Sirius soldier-stiff, staring at the wall like a soldier, disciplined as a soldier, would have given Edgeworth such satisfaction. Now...it just makes him feel ill.

And the cold expression of hatred that Orion Black wears makes him feel ill as well. How different this man is from Gregory Edgeworth. From what Miles remembers of his father, this man would be like Dad in stature, in age, in general appearance; and yet there would have been no true resemblance between them. For Dad never would have worn that expression of contempt; he never would have twitched his shoulders in that officious, angry way. He never would have gazed upon his son with dislike.

And that's why Edgeworth steps forth as soon as Sirius stops talking. Because he wants to unsettle this man - and, more, because he wants Sirius to stop looking so proper.]

Mr. Black, I think what is true quite depends on what you have heard. If you have been made to understand that Voldemort has been slain, then, indeed, that is true. Beyond that, you should be more specific.

From:

doggedly

[Edgeworth's voice breaks in, abruptly, to that silence, and it's surprising enough that Sirius looks around. A second later and he remembers himself, looks back forward--but he needn't have worried, because his father is staring at Edgeworth with narrow and singular dislike.

He doesn't answer. He just stares at him, long after he's stopped speaking, just long enough so that it feels uncomfortable.

Are you presuming to speak to me? he asks, and his voice is like silk, but the undercurrent of disgust is so strong beneath it.]