wunderkind | (no subject)

wunderkind

STUFF GOES IN HERE

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From:

doggedly

[The dog's upper lip twists, a snarl--because this is stupid. If it's going to happen, let it happen, do it, but for Christ's sake--and he thinks this so fiercely the dog growls again, a low, rumbling sound--for Christ's sake don't be a child about it. What good is it dying for stupid childish bullshit? A hero, who the fuck cares about heroes? It isn't even the potential for dying that matters, it's the stupid bullshit that Edgeworth this--unfair, casting judgement on that, everyone thinks stupid shit like that, you never have the chance to read it right out of their heads, that's all--but here Sirius is, reading every last idiotic fantasy, like this is going to end in any way that isn't shit.

There's no titles. There's no legacy. There's not even going to be Rosier, leading him away. This is fucking real. And Sirius isn't afraid--when he read that invitation, it was disgust that he felt, more than anything else--but he knows that he probably should be, that the only reason he isn't is because he's too fucking stupid to be afraid. There has to be something meaningful to make you afraid, something to be threatened, and what does Sirius have besides his name?

What does Edgeworth have, when it comes down to it?

And it's that empty hopelessness that gets him to agree: no. He's not warning anyone. The dog sags a little, like someone let the air out of him, and his growling stops, for now. And that's it. He's as good as betrayed his family, by agreeing to that. But what fucking choice does he have and God, he's tired, he's tired from all of this.]

Edited (i hate using the same icon too many times you understand) Date: 2013-09-09 02:08 am (UTC)

From:

jurisimpudent

[He wants to defend himself, because there's an exquisite sort of embarrassment at having those things read and surfaced and known. He knows about death. He's thought about what it would be like to die. Of course he has. He sees the names in the newspapers, every day, and he knows: that will be him. Sooner or later, that will be Miles Edgeworth, victim of the Killing Curse, a footnote on page 4. Maybe when he's still a student here, maybe once he's graduated; but it will happen; he'll die to the Death Eaters.

How can you be afraid when you don't even have a future?

And so he feels that sorrow, feels that exhaustion, from the dog - the boy - in his arms. And how strange it is, that this whole venture begins by clasping the enemy and crying into his fur; Miles doesn't know whether that's a good omen or a bad one.

It's one that prompts this question, though, desperate and needy. Promise you won't become a Death Eater. You're too... The end of that sentence doesn't come in a single word, but instead a strange welling up of complicated feelings: a sense of Sirius' strange gruff kindness, a sense of his humor and warmth and the energy and vim of that boy who used to run around 12 Grimmauld Place, Miles' nervous jealousy over Sirius' careless academic aptitude and the way he flies in Quiddich, and the pride and loneliness Sirius is weighed down with and all that he's managed to become in spite of that, and the discomfort he feels when the others become too vicious, and that sad queer hope of one day seeing Father smile again.

Promise.]

From:

doggedly

[First instinct him is to reject that impression that he gets from Edgeworth--too close to pity, too full of something so close to admiration it's sickening. So much of this moment is temporary; when they go off apart from each other, they will forget all of this, these impressions of one another--what they've learnt--because Sirius has learnt things as well, the little touches of foolish courage that Edgeworth has in him, the heroism and selflessness and loneliness--that kid, at the kitchen table with Dad, and how whatever was there has grown and changed, changed with him--to this, to the inevitability of death, so certain when he should fight, if he's going to be brave then he ought to fight--

But Sirius' promise is there, in his head. He could never join up. He's not a joiner--but there's always a part of him that stands off, watching, silent, uncertain, and that's the part that would always hold him back. Stupid, because he'll get himself into trouble if he doesn't do it, everyone is doing it, everyone who matters, it will be expected of him (but will Father expect it)--

Don't get killed. Two promises that hang in tension. If Sirius becomes a Death Eater, he might be the one to kill Edgeworth. Before, he might have, without much thought; if he'd lost his temper, if he'd burned hot enough--but it would be difficult, now, he's been inside his head, he knows him-doesn't really like him, still, but that's all right.]

From:

jurisimpudent

[And it's a measure of just how stupid and needy Miles is that those thoughts curl inside of him and rob him of his resolve. There can be that not-liking, and that doesn't matter, because beside it is that want for him not to die. And there's no one, no one in the world, who cares, except for this boy who doesn't even like him but thinks that he's brave -

Miles feels too close to crying. He cuts the spell.

Cuts both spells, disentangling their minds and loosing his hold over Sirius' form both. He scrambles back at once, of course, scrubbing at his face with the sleeve of his robe, because it is and will be different as soon as they're two boys facing one another again. They both know what happened, what they felt, but to acknowledge it now will be strange; to acknowledge, even, that Miles held tenderly onto Sirius-as-dog and rubbed at his ears and murmured words of encouragement -

No. That is embarrassing on an entirely new and fantastical level.

He's recovered, in essence, by the time Sirius is a boy again. But even so, the only word out of his mouth is:]

Sorry.

From:

doggedly

[It's almost like a relaxing, like someone was holding him pinned to the wall--not just by his throat, but by everything--and now, here, thank God, let go, and everything flows back to what it's supposed to be--not only in his head, but everywhere, it almost hurts, it happens all at once, too quickly--

And then he's himself, with a gasp. Something in him feels hollow--maybe that's what it feels like, being stripped bare--so well-known to someone, someone he doesn't even like, and his face feels hot and his hands feel clumsy, as if they're still paws. He's shaking when he touches his fingertips against his forehead.]

Yeah.

[What else do you say? He pulls his knees towards his chest, curling into his crouch. His mouth tastes weird, and there's a ringing in his ears, but maybe he's imagining that.]

From:

jurisimpudent

[Edgeworth is quiet a moment. Then he raises his wand and mutters a spell. There was a boy, Lupin - a Gryffindor - driven out of the school two years ago by the outrage of furious, righteous parents when it came out that he was a werewolf. Edgeworth misses him, a bit - the boy was always strange and distant, but very clever, and he never seemed to mind Edgeworth's background or his love of rules. When he'd been expelled - or left of his own volition; no one was entirely certain which had occurred - Edgeworth had written a strong letter protesting the Ministry's handling of the incident. Nothing had come of it.

Edgeworth thinks of Lupin now as he summons a bit of chocolate from his room. That had been the boy's remedy for nearly everything, it seemed, and at times it does quite nearly seem more effective than counter-hexes and all the rest.

He breaks the bar in half, offers it to Sirius. Quietly, he says:]

Here.

[He doesn't look at him. Not quite. But he doesn't have to; he can feel the proximity of the boy, can hear his shaky breathing.]

From:

doggedly

[He hears Edgeworth murmuring the summoning spell, but it's not till the loud snap of the chocolate bar breaking that he looks around, startled by the noise--and then he wished he hadn't, because even if Edgeworth isn't looking at him, he's looking at Edgeworth, who now knows more about Sirius than anyone--and the same in reverse, he knows more of Edgeworth than he ever would have wanted.

He glares, vaguely, at the bit of chocolate in Edgeworth's hand (Miles, the urge to correct himself is still there), but eventually he reaches out and takes it, careful not to make much contact.]

Cheers.

[There's nothing cheerful about the way that he says it, and he shoves the chocolate into his mouth, shutting up anything else he might say. There's another silence, and then he drags his fingers through his hair.]

What-- was that, what you did.

From:

jurisimpudent

The summoning spell? And here I thought you were supposed to be clever, Black.

[The taunt is listless and leaden, quiet. It feels unnatural coming out of his mouth, too. Because two hours ago, it would have been a vicious bit of mockery, just yet another string of words spat out to form a shield about him, to show this Pureblood bastard how little everything he did affected Edgeworth. Now it...seems like it ought to be a bit of good-natured ribbing, except that they don't like each other and never will - or, well, Sirius doesn't like Miles, even as Miles finds in himself a strange sad sort of affection for Sirius, a stupid desire for there to be some sort of...

He wearily cuts off his thoughts with a shake of his head. Bites off a piece of chocolate, chews it unenthusiastically.]

A spell I made. Legilimency is an adequate tool in certain contexts, but not in others, such as during undercover work if one needs to maintain contact with an informant; moreover, it's too powerful a tool in many situations, since it can be exploited for abusive purposes with relatively little oversight.

[There's a pause as he rolls a blade of grass between his fingertips.]

It...wasn't supposed to work like that. I did it wrong.

From:

doggedly

Funny.

[That's for that sharp little comment, lacking in sharpness. Sirius even grins a little, bitter, barely there, just a little lift of the corner of his mouth. He doesn't like jokes at his expense; if anyone were to ask, he wouldn't be able to say why he'd even smiled.

The spell is more neutral conversational territory. Sirius tries to fix onto the words, to make sense of what he's being told. His brain feels sluggish to respond, as if his time as a dog left him a little doggish at the edges, a little unfocused. He rubs his hand over his chin, hard, and shoves the rest of his chocolate into his mouth.]

What's it meant to do, exactly?

[It was used against him, but he can still--grudgingly--appreciate magic, the prescise inventiveness that it takes to put together a spell of your own. There is a secret part of Sirius that admires such hard work, takes pleasure in doing it himself. This isn't something to bond over, it's something to distract him.]

From:

jurisimpudent

It's - Well, it's supposed to do essentially what it did.

[He confesses that with a hint of embarrassment, as though it would have been better had it gone spectacularly wrong instead of just a little bit wrong. He supposes that's just what Gryffinor has drilled into him: better to be a spectacular failure than a quiet success.]

Legilimency can be used to activate portions of the brain not currently being used. That's why a skilled legilimens can go in and even take control of someone, and why they can access even the deepest memories. This spell is limited only to the neurons activated by the individual, so the other wizard is limited to reading only what the other person is already thinking. It protects people who haven't studied occlumency, and those who can't. [He plucks the blade of grass.] Like Muggles. And Squibs.

[He's quiet for a moment, starting to separate the grass into individual veins of vegetable matter.]

Anyway. It wasn't supposed to be like that. It was supposed to be more - You were supposed to have had more control. I wasn't supposed to have been able to see...all of that.

[And Sirius, too, wasn't supposed to have been able to see all of him.]

From:

doggedly

[Neurons, and things, that's stuff Sirius doesn't understand and doesn't make much effort to attempt to understand. For him, magic is more physical--not just about blood, but about something so woven into who and what he is that he can't imagine being able to separate it out the way that Edgeworth is talking about, to be able to think about magic in almost-- a muggle way.

But the spell worked. So clearly that way of thinking works, even if it went wrong.]

I'd have considered being impressed if it hadn't gone to shit.

[All of that is such an unpleasant reminder, and Sirius' face twists despite himself. No one should know half the stuff Edgeworth now knows--all of that deep earnestness, all of that idiotic loneliness that he hates about himself--and he can feel defensiveness rising in him, like he's going to be able to force Edgeworth to forget it.]

It doesn't matter.

[None of it does. He says it as dismissively as he can, trying to level out the edge that's in his voice. If it doesn't matter for him, it doesn't matter for Edgeworth, either, and that's what he will want. Right? Forgetting about it entirely will be mutually beneficial (even if, somewhere in him, Sirius knows he won't ever really forget).]

From:

jurisimpudent

It didn't -

[There's a stupid vein of defensive pride that rears up in Edgeworth at Black's last comment. Of course Black is going to turn his nose up at that spell; that spell could have done, and perhaps did do, considerable mental harm. But the spell's still his, and it's still a thing that was created to help people. And it's still - He's the only wizard he knows of who's made a spell of that caliber, so maybe - He doesn't need to be held in awe or anything like that; he would just like people to be maybe a little bit impressed with him.

(What a stupid line of thought this is. He's still fully planning to go off and court death at the hands of Voldemort, but he's more upset about the thought of someone being insufficiently impressed by his spellcraft than he is at the possibility of dying.)]

Look, you asked and I answered. Insults are not necessary.

[He admittedly finds his own annoyance a bit of a relief. He doesn't want to feel so indebted to and sympathetic towards Sirius Black that he can't get annoyed - because truly, even in spite of everything else, the boy is deeply infuriating.]

From:

doggedly

Whatever.

[Usually he would smirk as he said that, letting Edgeworth know that it is very much not whatever, that there's still a very precise order here--he ought to put a little something extra in it, just to combat that irritation that is so plainly written on Edgeworth's face--but he's too tired, and the whatever comes out like that.

Idly, he digs in his pocket for a cigarette and shoves one in his mouth. That's how this whole business started anyways, so he glances over at Edgeworth, hard-eyed for the moment--and then he pointedly offers him a cigarette as well. A weird gesture, maybe. Maybe he ought to feel dirty, sharing tobacco with a mudblood. But, whatever.]

From:

jurisimpudent

[Edgeworth looks down, his brow slightly furrowed, not fully understanding the gesture. Then he looks up at Black, his face, trying to discern whether it's exploding or - or what - and he takes it out of the pack and then immediately lets out a long breath - ]

No, I don't...even know why I - I don't even know how to utilize this. Here, take it back.

[He tries to hand it back. Maybe this could be time for a life lesson, pointing out the fundamental irony of the fact that these are a Muggle invention which Sirius so loves. That Muggles cultivate tobacco, and that these would have been manufactured by a factory full of Muggles. But he's too tired himself to turn everything into a life lesson; he just tries to hand it back.]

And I can't break the rules anyway.

From:

doggedly

It's yours. Merry Christmas.

[He folds his arms over his chest, his own unlit cigarette still in his mouth, and he's not looking at Edgeworth again, as if by avoiding his eye he'll avoid having to take the cigarette back, and avoid talking to him about anything of substance, anything of what he saw or what he now feels.

Helpfully, he adds:]

You smoke it.

From:

jurisimpudent

[Edgeworth pulls a face at Sirius' lowered head. It's a bit childish, isn't it, pulling faces, but honestly - ]

I'm not an idiot.

[He looks down at it and rolls it between his fingers. Finally, decisively, he tucks it into his pocket. No further commentary; he's come to a decision, and the firmness of his gestures match that.]

From:

doggedly

[He flicks a glance at Edgeworth--and actually smiles, a genuine little smile, though it's half-hidden by the way he's got his face turned away.]

You asked.

[Edgeworth kept the cigarette, so Sirius takes that as a sort of permission, and gets out his lighter again, lights his fresh one with a sigh.]

Give me back the letter.

From:

jurisimpudent

[And Edgeworth hesitates. The lawyer in him cries no, cries that this is evidence and must be kept, filed away, categorized, against the possibility that Sirius Black might turn to the Death Eaters after all. This will be deeply incriminating, if it comes to that day; this will be the key to his conviction...

But today is not really a day he's listening to his inner lawyer. He hands it over without even a protest, though he does warn:]

I have it committed to memory now. It won't help destroying it.

From:

doggedly

Don't be stupid.

[He doesn't bother with folding it--just crumples it in his hand once more and shoves it back into his pocket. His arm feels a little stiff, and he shakes out his hand before he plucks his cigarette from his mouth, ashing it in the grass.]

You're not seriously thinking anything'll come of you going.

[This is all wrong. He should-- do something. He shouldn't be sitting here, calmly discussing infiltration of this meeting over a cigarette. But he doesn't move; he takes another drag on his cigarette.]

From:

jurisimpudent

Maybe not.

[There's no use lying, of course; Sirius saw into his mind, saw how his thoughts on this matter broke down: his wild, fanciful daydreams saw him winning, while his sad sick feelings of dread were all centered around what would happen when he failed. But it comes down to this:]

But I have to try. Even if I die, I want to show him that we'll stand up for ourselves. That we won't just let him trample upon us. That we won't just lay down and die when he wants us to.

From:

doggedly

And you'll show him that by dying. Well done.

[He takes another drag on his ciagrette, looking away across the grounds. Fucking hell, what is he doing arguing this at all? He'd be better off just getting up and walking away. They're done now--perhaps they can be done forever.

But he doesn't. Maybe it's something to do with what he saw in Edgeworth's head, the bleakness of the fate that he's certain he's down for. It's a different bleakness, but the echo is there.]

Don't be stupid. This party isn't the place to do that.

From:

jurisimpudent

[Miles had been expecting that bit of sarcasm. It's a perspective that's quite outside Sirius' worldview, isn't it - laying down your life for something like that. When you're a Black, you've a responsibility to continue on so that the line continues. To marry, to father sons, to carry on the name. Just that, if nothing else.

(How utterly bleak and depressing that is. It's no wonder that the Purebloods are terrified of all of them, the Muggle-borns and the Muggles, because they've been stagnant for years.)

That second part, though, turns his head; he furrows his brow, not quite certain he catches Black's meaning. Don't be stupid is clear enough. But this party isn't the place - He asks, cautiously:]

Then where is the place?

From:

doggedly

[He shrugs, moodily. This feels very much like betrayal, even if he's not actually saying anything, and not planning to say anything--]

Dunno. But not there. [A beat; he sucks at his cigarette, shrugs again.] Think about it. They're all our age, bit older, maybe. They're mad for him. It's like a bloody concert for them, nearly a religious ceremony--if you start something there, you'd better be ready to finish it.

If you'd manage to finish it, which, given the crowd--wouldn't be likely. [He smiles, grimly.] I know these people.

From:

jurisimpudent

[It's not that second comment that gets to him; it's the first. He turns towards Sirius fully, his brows drawing together, his lips tightening - he looks scared, then, and sad. The question he asks is:]

You're saying I'd...have to kill - the people following him? [He shakes his head at once - ] No. That's - I won't do that. I shouldn't have to. It would - Surely it would just end when he died.

From:

doggedly

[But he's already shaking his head, even as Edgeworth is rambling through that protest.]

You were thinking they'd just give it up without him? Cutting the head off the king cobra, that's good. But you're still standing in a snake pit, and now they're pissed.

You're not really thinking, if you thought it was going to be that easy.