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wunderkind

STUFF GOES IN HERE

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From:

jurisimpudent

[And then there's Miles Edgeworth, who is the thickest of the thick.

Edgeworth knows Black plenty well. After all, Gregory and Sylvia Edgeworth had been muggles, and all Edgeworths going back to the root of the name had been muggles, and all Gardners and everyone else on his mom's side of the family; his blood isn't mud, it's damn well dirt, and he takes a certain pride in that. Perhaps that's why he'd been sorted into Gryffindor those years ago, instead of Ravenclaw, the more natural fit; that train ride to Hogwarts, the elegant young heir to the Black clan had been the first boy he'd talked to - him and a few others who'd ended up in Slytherin, and talk had turned to heritage and Miles hadn't known what you were and weren't supposed to say so he'd naively chattered about everything. By the end of the train ride, he was nearly in tears - but by the ride up to the grand castle, that had hardened into a righteous sort of indignation, and that's what had been in his mind when the Sorting Hat had touched his head.

He's a prefect now. Of course he is. Every moment of every day has been devoted to being a model student - the paragon of what the wizarding world wants, adept with magic and rigorously obedient and eloquent and serious, all while still proudly a mudblood. So when he walks the grounds, and sees Sirius Black breaking a rule, he's hardly not going to approach. That's obvious. Because by confronting him for breaking that rule, Edgeworth will once again prove that the lowly muggle-born is far more righteous and obedient than the wealthy, handsome heir.]

What do you think you're doing, Mr. Black?

[His back is straight; his face is an uncanny imitation of that of the Head of his house when she's displeased.]

Smoking is prohibited; you know that.

From:

doggedly

[That voice. That's a voice like a barky little mutt, and Sirius glances up, dark-eyed, at first--really more of a glare, which his smirk does nothing really to improve. It twists over his mouth and all, yeah, but his eyes stay resolutely cold.

Miles Mudblood Edgeworth, as tenacious as any yappy little dog, wearing that irritating little expression of his--the one he clearly thinks strikes fear in the hearts of troublemakers and wrongdoers, the prefect expression that is meant to turn blood to ice. But Sirius isn't some sniviling little first year. He's taken on Edgeworth before, and today is a day that he feels very capable of doing so. Antagonising him a little first is fair game, and so he crumples the bit of parchment in his fist and shoves it in his pocket, plucking his cigarette from his mouth with an elegant little gesture, holding it just away from his mouth, between index and middle finger.]

Yeah? So why are you reminding me, Miles?

[It isn't any effort at all to replace the cigarette in his mouth, with an air as snide as if he'd outright thumbed his nose at Edgeworth.]

From:

jurisimpudent

[Edgeworth's hatred for Sirius Black is identical to his hatred for all of Sirius Black's friends. The thing is that, when you're mocked that viciously, you never really tend to register who started it and who was just standing by and failing to stop it. Or when you're ambushed in the halls, cursed from behind, you don't really spend much time considering whether the Slytherins in the corner are laughing because they'd participated or merely heard about it. You just grind your teeth and spend a bit of time loathing each of them.

So the sneer that Edgeworth directs towards Black is as hateful as the one he'd give any of the actual perpetrators of real violence. The insult he delivers is as vicious.]

Because for some reason, there's evidently some sort of neural disconnect between your knowledge and your actions. [He narrows his eyes like he's thinking about this proposition:] Must be a result of the inbreeding.

Cigarette out, now, or I'll be taking points from your rotten House.

From:

doggedly

[Sirius stands up, a little straighter--it's not really a conscious action so much as it is an all over thing, that happens. Everything sort of goes sharper, from the lift of his shoulders to the expression on his face.

Slowly, he takes his cigarette from his mouth, but he does not drop it on the ground--just holds it, gently smoldering, between his fingers.]

You'll want to take that back, Edgeworth. Both the insult to Slytherin, and the insult to my family. That last one is especially important.

[In his pocket, the crumpled parchment--thick, heavy stuff--pokes against his leg, a little pressure that's still impossible to ignore.]

In fact, I suggest that you just keep walking, prefect, or perhaps we'll see for ourselves just what colour your blood really is. Muddy, I suspect.

From:

jurisimpudent

[Sometimes Edgeworth wonders if he would be so proud, so inflexible, if he hadn't come to Hogwarts. The thing is that when you're a Muggle-born, you're expected to be timid. Pride, dignity - those are supposed to be the sole provenance of the noble and proud Purebloods. So out of spite, out of sheer hatred, Edgeworth has never backed down from a fight, just to prove that bastards like Black aren't the only ones with spines.

So he snorts.]

Oh, truly, Black, where's the insult? We're all forced to put up with your family trees being shoved under our noses, and it's all right there. Written right on them.

[The mockery fades, then, into something hard and cold and angry. It's just the two of them out here. Edgeworth wonders if he can take Sirius Black in a fight. He shifts slightly, so that his wand (oak, dragon heartstring, inflexible) presses against his leg, so that he knows where it is, so that he can have it in his hand in an instant.]

I know you're not very bright, and I know that your family's money usually buys you out of trouble, but it's not precisely the best idea to insult a prefect. I've authority over you.

From:

doggedly

[He laughs, a short and derisive bark.]

I'm not very bright. Funny, Edgeworth, I'm fairly certain I've outdone you in just about every exam. Are you waiting on N.E.W.T. results to admit complete and total failure, or are you just deluding yourself? Just because I don't wear my results on my shirtfront doesn't mean that I'm not more clever than you--but, then again, I s'ppose you've got precious little else to be proud of. Certainly not your parents, certainly not your name--you have to defend what little scrap of notoriety you have.

[He steps forward, coolly, and gestures with his cigarette toward the prefect badge pinned to Edgeworth's chest--a gesture that comes so close he nearly pokes the ash-end against that silver badge.]

That badge. And your intelligence, slight though it is.

[His eyes flash, as he grins--but it's not a grin that reaches his eyes; it's an expression far too fierce.]

Last chance. Going to take it back?

[And, defiant to the last, he puts his cigarette in his mouth again, and blows the smoke from it right into Edgeworth's face.]

From:

jurisimpudent

[Edgeworth's lips tighten at the beginning of that whole speech, because those are blatant lies - Black's outdone him in herbology, maybe - possibly potions - divination, almost certainly - the useless subjects, in short, if even those. And he's about to lash back at him, interrupt him, when that inevitable word parents enters the conversation, and he feels, like he always does, as though he's been slapped.

There are retorts to give once Black stops speaking. And clever retorts are the way to go. Let Black strike the first blow - that's the better way to do it. Attacking a prefect is far and beyond the crime of smoking, and if Edgeworth can get Black to do it, then not even his parents' money would cover it up. But Black's hit at an old wound, and Edgeworth can't keep his wits together enough to give the right insults, and so he just decides to hell with it and draws back his fist and punches Sirius Black right in his idiotic, smug face.

Dumbledore will be disappointed in him. McGonagall, too. He'll get in trouble. He's supposed to be above this, nobler than this. But that felt...really good.]

From:

doggedly

[In the wizarding world, you don't typically resort to physical violence. Sirius has, of course, been in fights, and Sirius has won fights, and come out looking really cool and everyone admired him for winning said fights. Sirius has punched his younger brother and a few cousins and, once, a house elf. Sirius has had tutelage in dueling as well, learning to read all the little tells that a face or a body might give--

But all of that is subtle, almost gentlemanly. That training doesn't prepare him for stubborn Miles Edgeworth and his punch, which is sudden and hard and very much like being hit across the face with a fucking rail, and Sirius stumbles back, too surprised to even think of blocking, and he tastes blood.

Blood. And it hurts, too, Merlin, it hurts, and he stares wild-eyed at Edgeworth for a second, shock written plainly on his face--and then anger floods in to take its place--]

Fuck you--

[He spits it out, and spits out blood as he does, and his nose is aching, deeply, but he shoves away that feeling and he goes for Edgeworth, grabbing for his shirtfront, wand forgotten, face already sticky with blood, he is going to fucking hit him back, how fucking dare he--]

From:

jurisimpudent

[How magnificently stupid this is. Edgeworth knows that. Even if the Dark-loving bastard doesn't respond with some attempt at a Killing Curse (which doesn't seem likely, surprisingly, given that the boy doesn't even start to go for his wand), this isn't going to end well. This is going to end with Edgeworth in trouble, the board clamoring for the expulsion of the Mudblood who hurt their precious baby boy - and yes, theirs, because Sirius Pureblood Black is the purest distillation of all their hidebound, prejudiced idiocy...

And even if by some miracle it doesn't end in disaster, it's still just stupid. How many insults has Edgeworth heard over the years? To his intelligence, his capabilities, his breeding. Even to his parents. Some Slytherin a year ahead of him had even done his research, learned exactly what had happened to Edgeworth's father - murdered by Dark wizards on a lark, just a random and senseless act of violence against a Muggle - and Edgeworth had sat there with his fists clenched and face pale but hadn't acted out even then.

Black probably doesn't even know about that. The individual characteristics of the Mudbloods that Black hates are surely beyond his powers of memory. So the insult wasn't even that vicious, and yet of all the times, of all the insults, it's this one that's made Edgeworth snap and hit the boy so hard that his hand feels sprained.

(Maybe he just thought this would be better when he was a Prefect. He thought it would go away.)

The next punch comes under where Black's hands are tangled in his robes, driving under to sink into the boy's stomach. It's clumsy - Edgeworth is a clumsy, slow fighter - but it's also ungodly strong. And the third strike is stupid, and petty: instead of following up with some damaging attack, Edgeworth hits Black's hand so that that cigarette drops to the ground.

No good insults. Just a vicious, snarled:]

All of you can go to hell. You and all your sycophants.

From:

doggedly

[Sirius isn't beaten in fights--just as he is not beaten now, nose aching, blood in his mouth, twisted feeling deep in his stomach where that punch (however clumsy) struck home, like being kicked by a bloody unicorn; it's clear that Edgeworth thinks him beaten, but Edgeworth hasn't been in any real fights with any purebloods. Purebloods prize their names above all else, and their reputations, and their honour, the honour of the family name is always upheld, because God forbid your drop the weight of tradition that surrounds you, always, as comforting as a cocoon at times but as thick and oppressive as a fucking funeral shroud all at once, dragging you down, holding you bound.

So this fight cannot end here. And there is no notion of telling tales on Edgeworth, writing home to mum and dad, because Sirius knows he would be met only with silence, cold and disapproving. When you're a Black, you take care of each other. But you fight your own battles first. This is his, this is a mudblood, disrespecting him--but beneath even that is Sirius' own personal little store of anger, always waiting, even behind his smiles. The mania that infects him at times has a reverse side, and it's from here that Sirius--half-doubled over, his breath still coming short from that punch--it's from this store that Sirius actually laughs, a harsh, barked sound, and the gaze he turns on Edgeworth is pained, yeah, but mad overall.]

That's how you defend yourself? You fucking mudblood. Can't even manage the magic to do it, fighting like an animal--

[He shoves up, flexing his right hand--his left already has his wand in it, and he keeps on grinning, hard, blood in his mouth, on his teeth--]

Fuck you. I'm going to teach you a lesson, Edgeworth. For myself. Not for my sycophants. You don't mess about with shit you can't finish. I'd think your family had learnt that lesson by now, dirty blood's got to make you slow--

[And he flicks his wand up, once, a sharp and lazy movement, a stinging hex, right for his eyes--]

From:

jurisimpudent

[Edgeworth goes for his wand the moment he hears can't even manage the magic, because Edgeworth might not be like Black with his showy duels, his grinning for the audience, but no one excels him in Defense Against the Dark Arts; there he's applied himself with monomaniacal fervor, learning spells even Aurors don't know. He can show this future damned Grindelwald precisely how well a mudblood can fight...

But then -

I'd think your family had learnt that lesson by now.

Those words even now have, as they ever had, the power to leave him stunned and numb. His wand droops; he stares, miserable, transfixed, as Black's own wand comes up. He raises his hand too late; the counterspell hits only well enough to redirect the spell, so that it hits him in the chest instead of the eyes. He staggers back, eyes narrowing in pain, and then raises his head and tries to come up with something truly nasty, deeply vicious - he wants to hurt Black, whose family are all Dark, he knows it, and Black should be made to suffer - ]

Expelliarmus -

[That's the best he can do. That's the cruelest he can muster. Even after that, that's the best he can do.]

From:

doggedly

[When he was small, Sirius' great-aunt had explained to him, in no uncertain terms, how it was that mudbloods got their hands on magic wands. It was too much to think that they would be allowed in Diagon Alley, to purchase wands alongside respectable witches and wizards. They stole them, she whispered, her clawed hand pinching at his shoulder, if you weren't careful they would steal your wand off of you in a second, leave you to die like a dog in the street, desperate brutes that they are, and it had been years and years before Sirius even questioned this story. Mudbloods were disgusting, but they were also something to fear, except they weren't, because purebloods would always have advantages over them: superior magic, superior families, superiority in every way.

Despite his anger and pain, his great-aunt's account of magic is what Sirius thinks of, as his wand slips out of his grasp. It's idiotic; Edgeworth has got a wand, he's no need for Sirius', but that old prejudice comes back right away, how dare he, how dare he disarm, bloody coward's way out, and Sirius goes for Edgeworth again, with a snarl, and this time he will not be driven off, everything is suffused with this white-hot anger, clear and clean and burning in him, he will not be bested by some fucking mudblood, he won't have that on him, he won't add that shame to his family's good name. The throat, he ignores his wand and goes for Edgeworth's throat, fueled by hatred and determination, he will get his wand later, he needs to end this, first, right now, right fucking now--]

From:

jurisimpudent

[For some reason, Edgeworth registers how curiously warm Black's hands are. For some reason he expected them to be icy, like the grip of death, like the true nature of evil, and so that heat is a surprise. There are little points that pinch, where the flesh of his neck is caught between fingers and sigil rings or something like that. And Black has a startlingly good grip - a strong one.

These are all the things he notices as he arches back, struggling for breath around Sirius' fingers.

But it's a lost cause. Of course it is. No matter how strong Sirius Black's hands are, Edgeworth has his wand in his hand, and with a single abortive movement that wand is pressed against Black's gut.

How easy would it be. How many times has a Black participated in an attack on a Muggle? How many times has a Black killed someone? Hiding behind their masks and their rhetoric, playing superior and haughty in the light; they're animals, every one of them. And it wouldn't take an Unforgivable curse to wipe out this blight on the earth. A single reducto, and Black would be left clutching at the gaping wound in his stomach, and Edgeworth could just leave him to bleed out on this earth. How rich that would be, the Pureblood defeated, destroyed by the mudblood...

He...]

Incarcerous.

[He croaks out that spell. It's ropes, not destructive energy, that emerge from the tip of his wand, ensnaring Black's limbs. He jerks back at the same time, pulling away from those choking hands, coughing miserably.]

From:

doggedly

[His focus is such that he hardly notices the wand jabbing at him, he doesn't notice the way that Edgeworth's lips form the spell--because he isn't looking at him, he's looking through him, seething, his fingers tight and his jaw set and his breath caught in his throat, fucking end this, because he needs this--

The sudden snaking of the ropes only catches his adrenaline, does not cut it off. Dragged to the ground, he snarls, nearly like a dog in that moment--surging against the bounds for a moment, but they're good, even choked out of a spell like that--not that Sirius can think beyond the rawness blackening his mind, and he glares up at Edgeworth with a hate so dark it's practically palpable.]

Fuck you.

[Blood on his face, in his mouth, ropes binding him, but he's still got that spitting superiority, like a cobra, fighting against this to the last. Fucking mudblood, fucking cheating mudblood--]

From:

jurisimpudent

[There are all sorts of things which should be, by rights, rising to Edgeworth's lips right now. Taunts, coldly logical illustrations of a pureblood's lack of superiority, haughtily contemptuous insults that would make that look of hatred into one of shame...

They don't. Because Edgeworth doesn't feel triumphant right now. He just feels ashamed and small, and tired, with handprints on his throat and his chest still aching and stinging and the lingering sorrow raised by all of Black's cruelty surging through him. He wishes he could do anything - kick him, kick him in the goddamned chest, shatter a few of those perfectly-formed ribs - but it's against his code of honor to hurt someone, even someone like this, when they're defenseless...Of course, it was also against his code to start fights rather than defending himself -

Damn it.]

Right.

[He leans over, then, going for Black's pockets, trying to reestablish a prefect's authority.]

I'll be confiscating those cigarettes and reporting this directly to your Head of House and to the Headmaster. You can be quite certain that the punishment will be severe.

[His manner is crisp and professional, at least, when he reaches in and tugs the pockets outwards, spilling out their whole contents.]

From:

doggedly

[Say something, there's a quiet voice at the back of his mind that's urging him, some logical bit that's been shoved in the back seat while everything else--hatred and instinct and that ringing black rage that Sirius always carries in him--takes over. Say something, some insult, something so cutting Edgeworth will have to free him so he can earn his way back from this fucking humiliation--the thought of which only edges up Sirius' anger,--

But then he goes for his pockets, and it's like nothing he's saying matters. Sirius' eyes fly to the parchment, crumpled. There are worse things than confiscation of cigarettes, worse than stupid petty school punishments and disapproval from Slughhorn--fuck Slughorn, the old man doesn't know what he's about--and fuck Dumbledore, too, weak stupid old man. Sirius jerks his eyes away from the parchment, but they keep straying back. It's innocuous, a bit of rubbish among the jumbled contents of his pockets--the cigarettes, a heavy lighter bearing the Black family crest, a silver penknife--and the parchment, crumpled up as well, he will pass over it, he will; Sirius doesn't answer Edgeworth but glares at a fixed point, not at the parchment, he will pass over it--]

From:

jurisimpudent

[But of course he doesn't pass over it. This is Edgeworth; even more than stubbornness, even more than that constant burning anger, Edgeworth is motivated by his curiosity. So he goes through the contents of those pockets: the penknife is set aside with care enough, out of Black's reach - no doubt a Pureblood is too lofty to think this way, but a knife like that could be used as a weapon; the lighter is dropped and "accidentally" trod on a moment later; the cigarettes are, of course, pocketed as evidence.

The parchment is picked up with careless fingers. It's unfolded without comment, uncrumpled and unfurled, spread out for Edgeworth to read. And he mutters, half to himself, half to Black - ]

What is this?

From:

doggedly

[He can't possibly play this off now; Edgeworth has the parchment, spread out in front of him, and Sirius surges against the bonds suddenly with a wordless harsh noise between his teeth, little more than an exhale--]

Put it down. Fucking put it down, it's none of your business--

[He can see the slanted handwriting, the thin spider hooks of the g's. An invitation will not be extended twice, Narcissa's script with Bellatrix's signature at the bottom. Neither of them have ever written him a letter before. Narcissa, out of Hogwarts only a year, already married, pale and cool and prim, and Bellatrix, who already smells of something old and cold, her smile always a little too wide, he's never liked her--but they are envoys, family ties will see Sirius in their same fate. A meeting, next Tuesday, in London. His father would expect him to attend, even if he would never dare do it himself. All the best people will be there. Like a reunion of all his parents' parties.]

Put it down. Now.

From:

jurisimpudent

[To Edgeworth, this thing is hardly a thing. An invitation to some horrible party where they'll sip sparkling wine and laugh through their teeth about the latest rash of Muggle murders, did you hear, so divine. Of what consequence is it to Edgeworth whether Black's there in his dress robes that cost more than Edgeworth spent the whole of his first year at Hogwarts? Of what concern...

But it matters to Black. It matters deeply, and that piques Edgeworth's curiosity - and, more rewardingly, his cruelty. Edgeworth couldn't take revenge on the bastard by causing any physical harm. Letting him squirm and suffer psychologically down there, though - ]

What is it, Black? A betrothal party? A business arrangement so that you can be put to countering the rising tide of mudbloods...

[But no; something about it bothers him. He goes back to that text, reading again, this time paying more heed. Perhaps it's that invitation will not be extended twice, perhaps it's...With greater concentration, Edgeworth asks - ]

Whom is this in celebration of?

[Because he's heard the names. The name. Of course he has. Edgeworth, who will become an Auror or die trying in the process, knows what's on the rise now. So he crouches down and asks, urgently - ]

What event is this.

From:

doggedly

[She even writes in green ink, it's this ridiculous flourish that Sirius sneered at when he first opened the letter. And then it went on, and even if Edgeworth can't see exactly what's between the neat strokes of the quill, Sirius can. He has been raised to read things just like this, to understand the precise meaning of what is being asked of him. Like it's just another social engagement to endure. All of the best people will be there, a heavy sentence, and your absence will not go unnoted.

And here's Edgeworth, with his stupid plain muggle face, his brows furrowed--Merlin, he looks so stupid, and Sirius actually barks a laugh, his eyes dark and hooded.]

It's none of your business, like I said. It's nothing you'd be invited to.

[He's not struggling right now; he's fallen suddenly still, his gaze leveled on Edgeworth's face.]

Put it down, and let me go. I'm not telling you again. [And here, now, he's finally coming back into himself, so much so that he actually affects a little sneer.] Prefects don't tie people up, you sadist. You wait till this gets out.

[Distract him, and he'll put down that fucking parchment and they can move on from it.]

From:

jurisimpudent

[And that does distract Edgeworth a moment - he looks up and snaps - ]

You were trying to murder me. I think I was well within my rights.

[Though that does set him on edge with nerves, because Edgeworth started it. This was all his fault. It will be a miracle if he doesn't lose his position, truly; maybe that's why he focuses back in on the parchment, to distract himself from his dread.]

Good to hear you're hypocritical, though. You criticize others for telling tales and then do the same yourself.

[He frowns, eyes flicking over the parchment. Maybe it is just an event, just some idiotic party, but Black had thrashed when he'd touched it - and he feels half-stupid, guessing like this, going off nothing more than a hunch. But the hunch is strong.]

Who are the best people? Tell me, or my last act before getting expelled by your miserable, corrupt father will be ensuring that he, and your mother, and all of your slack-jawed cousins, know every detail of how you were bested by a Muggle-born.

From:

doggedly

[When Sirius' father finds out--because he will, Orion Black isn't the sort of man that secrets are kept from, and his grim-eyed affection only goes so far, he will not be pleased--when he finds out, there is going to be hell to pay. One thing at a time, though, one thing at a fucking time--]

Anyone but you, mudblood. That's the best people. Anyone but you and your kind.

[There's a haughtiness even in his sneer, in the callous way his eyes sweep over Edgeworth's face.]

God, look at you, trying to reason this out. D'you really think it would end with you being expelled? My father won't let it stop there. Not for you. Or have you forgotten how that sort of loyalty works, Edgeworth--I mean, with your dad not around, and all--the memory sort of fades, I suppose--

He'll have you taken care of, Edgeworth. Trust me.

From:

jurisimpudent

[His wand is suddenly in his hand again. He's not sure how it got there, not wholly, because there was a moment when the blood was rushing to his head and he couldn't quite see - but he knows he must have grabbed it himself and yanked it out of his pocket and pointed it right at Black's face.

He's breathing hard. His voice shakes when he says - ]

Don't talk about my father.

[The parchment's still in his hand, crumpled again in a fist suddenly clenched.]

From:

doggedly

[Even tied up, more or less at Edgeworth's mercy, he still laughs, derisively, and when he grins it shows his teeth. Perfect teeth, perfect everything. Nothing has ever been hard for him.]

Why not? Does it make you sad? You should think about him more, Edgeworth. Let him be a lesson for you.

[The parchment, his eyes go to it, quickly, before they jump back to Edgeworth, narrowed.]

Don't get into shit you can't get yourself out of.

From:

jurisimpudent

[His foot comes back, suddenly, and as though of its own volition slams hard into Black's ribs. It's not even particularly effective; he's got a bad angle, and Black's arms are twisted in a way that shields him, but it's got enough fury and force behind it that it'll leave a mark.

Stupid. More evidence. Another thing the boy can point to. Another thing he can show to get Edgeworth expelled.

He should just take this to Dumbledore. Of course he should. He has his suspicions about this meeting, and Edgeworth, prefect, who doesn't break rules, perfect flawless Muggle-born making his shining life into a rebuff to all the racism of all the Purebloods, would of course just bring this right to the authorities. Do the right thing. The responsible thing. And it would keep him out of trouble if it is just some idiotic Pureblood party where they scoff at you for using the wrong fork, if his instincts are wrong. The right decision is to tell McGonagall and Dumbledore.

But fuck Sirius Black. Fuck his taunts. Fuck him thinking he can talk about Edgeworth's dad. Fuck him thinking he can use that to protect himself.

This will end up with Edgeworth in Azkaban. He knows it. Because this, what he's planning, is far far beyond an expellable offense; this is positively criminal. But his hands are numb with rage, and so he reaches down and he viciously yanks a half-dozen strands of hair from Black's flawless scalp. And, viciously, he shows them to him.]

Go on, Black. Keep talking. I could use a bit more practice with your speech patterns - I wouldn't wish to arouse suspicions at this party.