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From:

jurisimpudent

[And Edgeworth sees that Sirius is focused on him; he responds by looking away, trying to seem casual.]

How do you think it will end, Black? With Voldemort. He destroys all of us, the Muggles and the Muggle-borns - removes us from the world or enslaves us - and then, what? He tips his hat, you tip yours, and the Blacks return to their rightful place in boardrooms and dinner parties? That's not how men like him operate. Join with him now, and ten years down the road, when his ends are accomplished, you and your father and your brother will find yourselves his thugs.

The Black name will be of no consequence in his new world. He doesn't care about names. Because he's not a Malfoy or a Carrow or a Yaxley; he doesn't give a damn about ensuring the Pure-bloods live in glory and prosperity. He cares about getting power and crushing Muggle-borns. And he will drive all of you, with your fine blood, to death to do it; he'll sacrifice the heirs of all the fine families, not caring about the continuation of that name; and if somehow your family survives this war entire, even if your line remains intact, you'll just be any other servant of Voldemort - just with a few more signet-rings than the others.

[He nods tightly to the silver that weighs down Black's hand.]

From:

doggedly

[He stares at Edgeworth through the whole of that little speech; he lets him get through it. It's a stare that grows more incredulous the longer it's fixed on Edgeworth, until--at the conclusion, there's a brief, ringing silence--and then Sirius barks a laugh, pushing his hand over his face. The rings in question are cold against his skin; he tries not to show the sudden twist of revulsion that feeling inspires.]

And you know all of this how.

[But before he can answer, properly, Sirius leans forward, his eyes dark.]

Because I think you're talking out of your arse. If he cares about blood, about keeping muggles and mudbloods separate from us--then he's got to care about names as well. That's what purebloods are. They're names, and houses--not that you'll ever understand that.

From:

jurisimpudent

Muggles have names and houses as well, you know. There are nonmagical people who are every bit as worked up about their lineage as all of you are. All this elitism has nothing to do with magic; it's just having your nose in the air -

[But that's ultimately not an argument he's going to win against Sirius Black, and not an argument that it would help him to win. He's gotten a rise out of Sirius; that much is clear, and he needs to push his advantage, not get tied up in yet another argument over his inferiority.]

He doesn't do this because he loves Purebloods. He does this because he hates Muggles. If he were doing this to help all of you, he'd be striking at the Ministry, taking it over, giving all of you positions of importance. He'd be recruiting soldiers amongst the half-bloods or sending out Imperiused Muggle-borns to fight on the front lines. Instead, he's using all of you - getting you killed, at times - just to kill Muggles. Often at random.

You're useful tools, the lot of you, because you're rich and you're connected and you're desperate to reclaim what you lost. But once the dust settles, you'll just be serving him. You'll be down on bended knee before Lord Voldemort. You won't be bribing Ministers or sitting on boards, because all infrastructure that allows any voice but Voldemort's will have been smashed to pieces.

From:

doggedly

[The worst part about the argument is that it is likely true, truer than Sirius would care to consider. He has no real love for Voldemort, no real love for his followers--not his cousins, not even his own brother (not a follower yet, but dying to become one). All he wants is to be left alone. If he has to be heir to the House of Black to do it, then he will. If he has to play this part, completely, he will do it, and detach himself, and find meaning elsewhere.

But he isn't stupid. Voldemort is madder than he seems--the fervent adoration of his followers is testament enough to that. They would do anything for him. So that makes them disposable, just as Edgeworth says.

Damn him for making sense, Sirius thinks, furiously, and stares down at his hands for a moment before he jerks his gaze up to Edgeworth.]

But we'll be better off than you and your lot. Bent knee is better than dead. That's what they'll say.

[It lacks conviction; that second bit helps strip even more conviction away. Because it isn't better. Because Sirius' pride is a great thing, and when he makes a noise of disgust, it isn't necessarily intended for Edgeworth alone.]

It's a pretty speech. But it won't sell. Not to them.

From:

jurisimpudent

What about to you?

[The gaze he turns on Sirius is an unsentimental one. Because it's Sirius who concerns him. The rest of them - the thought of killing them gives him real distress, yes, but the thought of seeing them in court does not. They might not have murdered Muggles yet, but more likely than not many of them have; it's just a trial which Miles wants, and evidence. Once their guilt is established, he'll be glad to see those Dark bastards shut up for all eternity.

But Sirius isn't them. He's not anything like them. There's a core of goodness in him, of bravery and joy, which he hides thoroughly. If it had been Sirius Black at Dad's home that day, he'd have turned on whomever he was with and stopped them killing him. If it's Sirius Black who joins up with the Death Eaters, he'll end up backing out within a week, getting himself killed. Miles knows that as surely as he knows that the likes of Bellatrix Black would not.

And so it's Sirius he wants to reach. It's Sirius who's worth reaching. Even if he doesn't become an ally to them, even if they don't get any material advantage out of him - at the very least, he has to be kept away from Voldemort.]

You'd sooner die than bend your knee. You said it yourself: you're not a coward.

From:

doggedly

[It isn't fair, how well Edgeworth knows him. They were bloody enemies one minute, and now they know each other nearly inside and out--or else they can guess at one another, make conjectures that are unfortunately incredibly true.

That's one just there. Sooner die than bend a knee. Yeah, it's true. That's him. Stupid and proud, willing to do what he has to, to preserve the family name--but like hell he's going to let them break him, use him, ruin him. These thoughts run hot through his head, quick; he fights them down.]

What exactly are you trying to convince me of, Edgeworth?

From:

jurisimpudent

[What indeed? To be a spy? The thought that Black would - the thought that Black is even capable of acting subtly, out of subterfuge - is a bit absurd. Even if his pride would allow it, his nature would not.

So what, then?

He's quiet a moment. Then he looks over and answers honestly, frankly, and simply. No grand plans, not even any real advantage gained - just a single, solitary hope. For the sake of Sirius Black, who might be a Pureblood but who's still a person.]

Join our side. Not as a coward, not as a sneak. As yourself. Join with us.

From:

doggedly

[He stares back at him--blank at first, and then his expression takes on a bit of actual true confusion. The longer the stare goes on, the more confused it gets, before it sharpens back toward incredulity--but there was a moment, there, where Sirius had no answers, no idea of what was being asked of him--and why.

It's a trick, he thinks, but he doesn't know why he would be tricked. A trap, then. But there's no why to that, either.

He barks another laugh, uncertainty clear on his face.]

You're joking.

From:

jurisimpudent

[I don't joke is the stern response he'd give to most, but Sirius has been inside Miles' mind, has seen the memories of laughing around the kitchen table with Mom and Dad...No; Miles just doesn't joke with those whom he doesn't trust, and there is no one alive whom he truly trusts.

Instead, he doesn't have that clipped and ready response; all he has is a frown of his own uncertainty as he examines Black's clear confusion.]

Why would I be?

[And that's a real question. Even before Miles grasped the depths of Sirius Black, he'd still have acknowledged that Black would be an asset to most teams. His magical ability is undeniable.]

From:

doggedly

[He answers straightaway, nearly talking over Edgeworth.]

Even if I was going to--even if I'd consider it--you think they'd trust me? Any of your lot? You think they'd want me? You think I'd agree to slum it with all your muggle-loving pals? And here I thought you knew something of me, Edgeworth.

[And then some. He pushes his fingers through his hair, with a tight, bitter smile.]

And how, exactly, would joining your side not be betraying my family?

From:

jurisimpudent

Have you ever actually met a Muggle, Black? Have you ever actually spoken with one?

[But he cuts himself off, shaking his head a bit bitterly. Because Black might be the best of them, but he still is like this. He might never murder a Muggle, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have those old prejudices. And there's no point fighting him on it.]

It's not betraying your family because your family hasn't sworn allegiance to Voldemort. Go and talk to them, say what I've said, point out that down this path is nothing but destruction. Convince them.

From:

doggedly

You didn't answer my question.

[Stubbornly, he narrows his eyes. The rest of that-- he'll have to consider it, later, when he's not face-to-face with Miles Edgeworth. He'll do this on his own fucking time, thanks very much.]

What about your lot. They're going to welcome me, with open arms?

From:

jurisimpudent

It's the Purebloods who hate the Muggle-borns. We don't care one way or the other about all of you.

[But that's not the truth at all, and Edgeworth knows it. The difference in truth is that the Purebloods are simply more organized and more motivated. Miles has heard the way the Gryffindors hiss in approval when Sirius Black gets his handsome face bashed in with a Bludger, the sound going beyond victorious into vicious; he's heard the flushed, late-night talks about more of us than there are of them, aren't there; if there's a war, if it comes to a war, not hard to know how it'll go, and I'm ready for it - It's a hatred born of desperation and fear, yes - none of them would give a damn if the Purebloods hadn't come for them first, if they hadn't started on the damned trains that damned first hour about purity and superiority.

But it's still hatred.]

Define my lot, anyway. You mean Muggle-borns? Is that my lot? Or people opposed to genocide - is that my lot?

From:

doggedly

You know what I mean. You're a part of it, so you know.

[This is just the way that it is. It's not as if he's secretly wounded by Edgeworth's lot--which is really a blanket term for everyone who's anti-pureblood, anti-Slytherin, anti-superiors. Haves and have nots, that's the way the world goes, in everything--and the have nots are, generally speaking, a jealous mutinous lot. All right, on occasion. But painted broadly, they are hateful and spiteful--

Maybe this is all justification. But there is something to it. It goes beyond sides in a war, it's something else, and Sirius levels his gaze on Edgeworth.]

You're not actually suggesting that you like me. If it wasn't for-- [He gestures, vaguely.] --for this, you wouldn't trust me.

From:

jurisimpudent

[Mortifyingly, he feels a stupid strange heat in his face at the word like. He's not flushed - he hopes he's not flushed, God - but he still ducks his head to hide his expression.

Which - no. Of course he doesn't like Sirius Black. It's stupid to even consider the possibility that he'd like him. But it's just that...The thing is that in those few minutes, Miles had seen so much, and so much that he recognized. There are so many positive qualities to Sirius - bravery, loyalty, intelligence, humor, that sense of duty...He doesn't think anything stupid or sentimental like in another life we could have been friends, because most likely they wouldn't have been. Sirius has, bizarrely, the makings of a fine Gryffindor, and Miles is a very not-fine Gryffindor. But in another life, there could have been peace between them, perhaps...

And he's still a racist, and he still hates you, and his family still dabble in Dark magic. Stop being enchanted by the fact that he's not as bad as he seems. That's just stupid.]

I'm suggesting that any reasonable person would consider you an asset. You're intelligent, capable, and well-connected. Moreover, the Blacks are - [For some reason is his still-mutinous thought - ] Well-respected amongst Pureblood families. If your family came out against Voldemort's agenda, that could well erode his support considerably.

From:

doggedly

[He observes Edgeworth for a moment after that little speech, sharply--there's no flush on his face, but he's still staring at him, hard--and then he barks an abrupt laugh, and leans back again, evidently having seen whatever it was he was looking for.]

Yeah. Figured as much.

[He goes for another cigarette, more for something to calm him than any real desire, something to do with his hands.]

Still about names, in the end. Definitely makes me feel valued.

From:

jurisimpudent

[Edgeworth is still embarrassed, still self-conscious, but he does have enough self-awareness to give a quick, impatient gesture.]

That's what you want, isn't it? To be recognized for your family association? Honestly, you can't make noise about wanting to be Black of House Black and then act the martyr when that's how people know you.

From:

doggedly

Because I don't want it.

[He snarls it out, his glare first on Edgeworth--but then he's said too much, hasn't he, and so he looks away, his shoulders hunched.]

But it's what I've got. So I suppose using it, and making the best of it--that's better than sitting around whinging about it. [A beat; savagely, he takes another drag on his cigarette.] Merlin. This is a waste of time.

From:

jurisimpudent

It's what you've got because it's all you try for.

[Edgeworth lifts a frown up to him, his eyes fixed firmly on Black's averted face. He doesn't address that waste of time, because if Black really thought that, he'd be stubbing out his cigarette instead of taking another drag on it.

There are more important issues at stake here than Sirius Black's fragile self-esteem - matters of global importance, without question. Yet at the moment it's the former Miles feels like addressing.]

You've any number of qualities that you could use to be more than that. But you don't use them.

You're luckier than most: you were given a place that's your own, a name which you can use to found your identity and carve out your niche in the world. Most people have to fight for that. You haven't had to, so you haven't. Forgive me if I have a dearth of sympathy over that fact.

From:

doggedly

[His mouth is a firm, hard line; his jaw is clenched so tightly it's as if it's been wired shut, as if he won't be able to open it again.

And then all at once, he moves, stubs out his cigarette, and turns to look at Edgeworth. No friendly for it, still glaring--but fuck it, right? What does it matter what he says to him, he already knows so much--]

Right. Because it's brilliant, when it's all down for you. My mother's got this book, she keeps track of peerage and family trees and all that shit, and she's got a page, for each of us. One for my brother, one for me. And there's space there, but it might as well already be fucking written in, that space. It might as well be filled. I could tell you my whole life, and I've not even done anything of it yet.

So, yeah, thanks. A place that's my own, a name I can use, to do exactly what's expected of me. You're right. Don't feel sorry for me, I don't want you to feel sorry for me, but you don't know what the hell you're talking about.

From:

jurisimpudent

[And Edgeworth doesn't look away throughout all of that, but it's clear from the tautness of his mouth that he's just waiting for Sirius to be done before he speaks. And he starts immediately - ]

Except that my page is already filled out, too. It's just an obituary, written in green ink, a lifespan determined by people who have never even met me. Don't tell me I don't know.

[But once that's out, once that anger and despair - that false equivalency - is vented, he does take a moment to think about what Sirius has said. And he responds to it, his tone less vicious.]

What do you want me to say, Black? Do you want me to lie and tell you they'll be glad of you for your own sake, for your sense of humor and jolly good presence? The very thought is absurd. There's no one in this fight who's not a symbol in some way or another. You'll be your name because it's an easy shorthand in this effort to win the hearts and minds. What else would you want to be?

From:

doggedly

[He makes a disgusted noise at Edgeworth's first claim, a dismissal, and he looks away again, pushing his fingers through his hair in a gesture of clear irritation.

But he doesn't interrupt, he lets Edgeworth get through all of that--sulking, he looks as if he's sulking from the outside, but there's a whole load of thoughts running through his head, for all that he's listening. When Edgeworth finishes, there's a brief silence.]

The same thing you want to be.

[It's unfair. It's using knowledge of Edgeworth that he got from-- being in his head, in his memories--but it's true, for all that unfairness it's true.]

Everyone wants to be a hero, because of what they've done. But I'm not you. I'm not any of them. I've got what I've got, and you're right, I have to use that. If I use it for your side, I don't get anything. If I do what my parents want, if I follow with all of that-- something comes of that.

I don't have time to be selfless. I don't have time to-- win people to causes I don't fucking believe in.

From:

jurisimpudent

A cause you don't believe in?

[Edgeworth does flinch a little bit at being a hero, because it's shameful, really - thinking those sorts of childish things. But Sirius' confession of the same helps, for some reason - makes him feel a bit less ridiculous. So he forges ahead.]

If you don't believe in the cause of not-killing-Muggles, Sirius, then you believe in the cause of killing-Muggles. And is that what you want, truly?

[He leans forward.]

If Voldemort ordered it, would you murder me?

From:

doggedly

[He stares at Edgeworth, leaning in closely to him--wearing that stupid bulldoggish expression, that set of his jaw, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration--his stupid muggle face, Sirius has disliked and loathed him by turns but right now he couldn't say how he feels about him. He knows too much about him, and the same in reverse.

And he doesn't care about muggles, he could tell Edgeworth that, and it would be true. But part of that truth is that he isn't interested in killing people. Edgeworth, muggles--none of them, not for anyone, not by anyone's order.

Admitting that admits at something more than he wants to say right now--stupid, because Edgeworth knows so much. He rubs his hand over his mouth, savagely, leaning back, avoiding his eye.]

It doesn't matter.

From:

jurisimpudent

[Edgeworth's smile is humorless.]

It does to me.

[But he leans forward, trying to catch Sirius' gaze, because there's a more important issue at stake here.]

And it does to you as well. As a matter of fact, I believe that the whole of your future and your identity hinge on that one question. If it came down to it, if Voldemort ordered you to do so, would you murder someone for committing no trespass save being of the wrong blood.