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wunderkind

STUFF GOES IN HERE

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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.

From:

doggedly

[He doesn't want to look at Edgeworth--but he's leaning forward again, with that same narrow expression on his face--narrower, nearly, as if all of his effort and focus is right here, on Sirius. It's a pinned down feeling, scrutinising, nearly worse than having him in his head--nearly, not really, because there couldn't be anything really worse than that.]

Get away from me.

[He bites out the words, shortly, and still doesn't look at him--but his hands are clenched into fists at his sides.]

From:

jurisimpudent

[Edgeworth doesn't back off at all. He just keeps staring, completely focused, completely uncompromising.]

No.

Would you murder me? You could kill me now, you know. My wand's in my pocket. And you'll make a considerable impression at this party of Voldemort's if you show up with the corpse of a Muggle-born. He's sure to make you his slave-in-chief after an entrance like that.

From:

doggedly

Shut up.

[He drags his gaze back to Edgeworth, trying to put as much warning into it as possible.]

I already know where your wand is, you git, you were obvious enough about it after you-- [Finished that fucking spell. His mouth sets into a firm line, a scowl--and, finally, he bites out:] I don't do what someone tells me to do. I'd think you'd know that, having messed about in my head like you did.

From:

jurisimpudent

Yes. And I also know the excuses you fall back on.

[Edgeworth doesn't so much as bat an eye: he just stares back at Sirius, steely.]

This isn't about your rebellious spirit. This is about you having moral fiber.

From:

doggedly

I haven't got any moral fiber. There's not room for it, there's nothing useful about it--

[He smiles, grimly--and for right now, he's able to match Edgeworth in that stare, to look back at him, steadily--]

What are you waiting for me to admit? That I'm secretly a good guy, that I like you, and wouldn't kill you-- I don't know what I'd do, Edgeworth. I wouldn't know until it was happening.

From:

jurisimpudent

[And again, there's that slight uncomfortable shift at like you, because it's not what he wants, really - this is about grand ideals, and righteousness, not about being liked. Not about making a friend.

Right. Not at all.]

Well, I do know.

[He gives a tight, firm nod - even though he doesn't know. But sometimes a lie like this is useful.]

I've spent a bit of time in your head, and even if you're not aware, I am. You wouldn't do it.

From:

doggedly

[Even though he's been thinking of it, and making his own references to it--Sirius still isn't prepared to hear about Edgeworth spending a bit of time in his head--not said aloud, not like that. It reminds him of everything that he knows, everything Edgeworth knows--all of the stupid secret shit that's now shared knowledge, all the impressions and memories that Sirius doesn't go talking about for a reason.

He snaps his glare over at Edgeworth again, his mouth a tight line.]

Really. You keep talking about that and I might prove you wrong.

[It's a hollow, stupid threat, because Edgeworth is right. Beneath it all, he wouldn't. Not when it came down to it.]

And it's not something to brag about, being so pathetic that even I'd feel bad about doing anything about you.

From:

jurisimpudent

[And that does get a slight rise out of Edgeworth, a tightening of the jaw, a narrowing of the eyes - which Sirius might well have expected, which he might well have known was coming, having been in Edgeworth's head as well. Or - no, he wouldn't even have had to have been in his head, given that prickly, stubborn, hostile pride that drove all of their reactions before this day.

He tamps it down; it serves no purpose here.]

Except that it's not about being pathetic. It's not about mercy shown to the weak. How many Muggles have died? And none of them with wands in their hands. None of them with magic. None of them even knew what was coming to kill them.

[Except Dad. Maybe. Targeted so early, no doubt, for having a wizard for a son. He'd been so proud, too, and so fascinated by magic - had written so many letters asking about new discoveries -

No. No time to dwell on that, either.]

From:

doggedly

None of them?

[Maybe that's an allusion towards Edgeworth's father--but even as he's saying it, Sirius feels a wrench of self-hatred. It had been a fair and easy target before, but now his own feelings for Edgeworth's father are ridiculously twisted up, confused by his memories, confused by the brief minutes that Sirius had seen what Edgeworth's father was like. So he abandons that thought; he shoves it away--he can't deal with the thought of fathers, not right now--]

It's always about mercy and weakness. We're stronger. They're weaker.

[We, but that includes Edgeworth, too. He's got a wand, he's got magic--he's in the weaker part of the stronger party, yeah, his blood works against him--but that's minor deductions compared to the points taken off for being a complete muggle.]

If I feel sorry for you, it might work to your benefit, but it doesn't make you stronger than me. That's the way everything works. Or haven't you learnt that by now?

From:

jurisimpudent

Are we really?

[Edgeworth looks Sirius right in the eyes, unflinching.]

Stronger? The Statute of Secrecy isn't in place for their sake alone. If it comes to outright war, there's no guarantee that we will end up on top. We have magic, yes, but I grew up amongst them; they - we - have destructive potential you cannot even imagine.

[He lifts his chin.]

But very well; let us keep to Voldemort's myth that wizards are the mighty and Muggles the lowly. My argument is this. There is not one of the Death Eaters who shows mercy. Therefore, by indulging mercy, you prove that you've no place amongst them.

From:

doggedly

[There's petty arguments that he could make, there's little digs and insults that he could pitch at Edgeworth--and he would be right. Magic is superior. If it wasn't, muggles wouldn't want it so badly. What do they have that wizards don't? Why be so quick and pleased to align yourself with a people so different and inferior they're nearly another species? There are some teachings that Sirius will always struggle with, some teachings that are ingrained too deeply in him--this is one of them, and he is nearly ready to reply when Edgeworth goes on, and then it's something cold that arrests his answer, something that starts deep in his stomach and rises, quickly--

Because there is something chilling in knowing that you're the only good one. Good, that's a term used so relatively it's nearly empty; good here just means mercy, and there's nothing wrong with mercy--

But there is. It's weakness, he can nearly hear his father's voice, and Sirius grips a little harder at nothing, his hands bunched into tight fists.]

You don't know that. Not for a fact. You don't know them.

[He never thought he'd defend any of them. He'd protect the family name, but outright defense--that's new, and he feels sort of hollow about it--]

From:

jurisimpudent

Not for a fact?

[Edgeworth's scoff is forced and bitter. It's a strange bit of sentiment to hear from Sirius. Of all the sticking points, of all the things to protest, it's the capacity for mercy amongst his compatriots? Particularly when - ]

The facts are on my side in this one, Sirius. How many Muggle-born wizards have gone free? How many have survived? They're on the warpath; their goal is extermination. If they show mercy, that is in direct opposition to their stated goals. Mercy is a failure for them.

From:

doggedly

The mental ones.

[Bellatrix. Rastaban. All of their mates, ugly twisted faces, sneering laughs--it's not even superiority of family name or blood that makes Sirius look down on them. There's so much more to it.]

The mental ones. The others-- I'm not saying cowardly is any better. I'm not saying I feel sorry for them, or I like them. I don't, not any of them.

But I'm the same as them. If you think there's something-- good, some capability-- [When they were kids, Narcissa used to punch her own arm until it bruised and then say that Sirius was the one that did it to her, and then he'd punch her other arm. She was a bitch, but not a killer.] They hate you. And they're scared of you, too, bloody cowards. But that's not the same as murderers.