wunderkind | OPEN POST pt III

-1-
pick a character

-2-
leave me a comment. maybe a scenario, maybe an AU scenario, maybe a picture, maybe a word,
maybe a request to resume old game canon, maybe just a comment.
i don't care. do your worst.

-2a-
helpful note: i am currently obsessed with the Walking Dead, coffee, summertime, AUs, and vampires. can you combine those into one tag?

-3-
let's get it on, like we did last summer

disclaimer: we probably won't get it on
+ there are no promises i will take this seriously

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

doggedly

The year goes on, but there isn't much of it left. And the world has changed, without Voldemort, but in so many ways it is just the same. Maybe it's that the differences should be more obvious, painted in broader strokes, brighter colours and sunnier skies, a sense of darkness lifted from everything and everyone.

But it all feels the same, generally. After the celebrations die down, life goes largely back to normal. The Prophet is still reporting on the incident at the party. The trials for the few remaining Death Eaters are ongoing. The Ministry is piecing itself back together, reconstructing its former structure without much thought to change. And some of the structure of the wizarding world is climbing back into place. The downfall of Voldemort was crippling for some of the old families. For others--for the Blacks--

It's all about endurance, outliving your enemies. One of the oldest Black family traditions. Maybe their crest ought to be a couple of cockroaches. Toujours Pur.

The semester is nearly over. Last year at Hogwarts. Things should be very different to that regard, too. The hallways are crammed with students eager to be free of their exams, eager to be in the thick of their summer, a jovial chaos that Sirius has no part in.

He hasn't been home since the night that it happened. When he tries to frame a homecoming, he comes up only with the sight of the front door of Grimmauld Place.

He's sitting on the windowsill of one of the upper floors, smoking a cigarette out the window and watching a group of second years down in one of the courtyard. This vantage point suits him, far away from everything else.

A footfall behind him catches his attention, and he looks around, sharply, the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

From:

jurisimpudent

Edgeworth isn't exactly used to going unnoticed. He's spent the past year as a prefect, after all - and in spite of what he'd expected, he hadn't ended up stripped of that title. (In truth he probably ought to have been. After all, one doesn't break that many rules - one does not kill a man - and retain one's badge. But Dumbledore had asked him if he'd wanted to retain his position, and he'd honestly said yes, and that had been enough, and so he's a prefect still.) You get a certain presence when you're a prefect, get looked at, but only as a figure of authority. People run away. They don't goggle. They don't whisper when you pass. They treat you as a threat, not as a curiosity.

He wishes he could go back to how it was.

And that's why, when he sees Sirius leaning out the window across the way, he makes an immediate line for him. Things certainly aren't normal between him and Black, but Black treats him like a person. He can come up behind him, and when he turns, he can say -

"No smoking indoors."

And then lean against the wall next to the other boy, and look out the window, down at the kids down there. He feels old in a way he's never felt before.

From:

doggedly

Sirius' mouth jumps, briefly, into something that's very close to a smile--more an acknowledgement of his presence, and the near-joke of forbidden him the right to smoke where he wants. He does not like Edgeworth, still. He does not like that he understands him at all.

But he doesn't snarl at him and order him away. Instead, he flicks ash from the end of the cigarette, lets it fall into the courtyard below.

"Says who," he challenges, somewhat flatly. "The prefect, or the hero of Hogwarts?" Which is a very particular phrasing that Edgeworth is sure to hate, but Sirius says it anyways, and raises his cigarette to his mouth again. "I'd offer you one, but I don't want to waste my breath."

From:

jurisimpudent

"Don't," Edgeworth says in response to both that sardonic not-offer and to that question. When other people use terms like that, when they start speaking of heroism and all that nonsense, Edgeworth gets very quiet; this quiet discomfort has the unfortunate side effect of making him appear stoic and modest, which is quite becoming in a hero, which helps the image that he hates. When Black uses that word, though, he's droll and sardonic, and so Edgeworth can be caustic back at him, and it all feels very natural and comfortable.

Especially because he can add this: "Or I'll start talking about your heroism as well." There's a cold, frightening edge to that mock-threat, of course, because it is the noble Black family and the threat of their hatred that's kept Sirius quiet, more than anything else, more than any modesty, more than Ministry pressure. Sirius' awful damned father, if he knew the truth, would cut his son out, or worse...And Edgeworth does know that. And so that's why he makes it sound wry and sardonic, like that's not a factor, like it's a simple threat of making Sirius face all that idiocy. And that's why he lowers his voice when he says it, and looks away. But he still says it, because...

Because, well: perhaps making the joke makes the issue of Sirius' rotten family seem a bit less cold and frightening. And perhaps because it sits so sickeningly with Miles, every single damned time that they call him a hero, that Sirius (who saved his life) goes unremembered.

From:

doggedly

There is, vaguely, a sick sense deep in Sirius' chest, when he thinks of that threat ever becoming a reality. Not out of modesty, but because of the exact reasons that Edgeworth thinks. And yet at the same time, he knows that he doesn't actually have to worry, because Edgeworth won't tell. Securing that promise from him had not been easy, because Edgeworth inclines toward honesty--and even more power than his honesty is his want to share in the apparent glory of the deed, to give Sirius credit. He had said as much.

Maybe that was another form of pity. It's absurd, to think that Edgeworth would ever have reason to feel sorry for him. It's probably more absurd to consider that as a real possibility. But, still: the impulse to share Sirius' role had not been one that Edgeworth had given up on so easily.

But so okay: that prickle of unease lasts only for a second, and then Sirius' dark little smile curves a little more firmly on his face.

"Prefect, then," he assumes aloud. He exhales through his nose, lets out the smoke that way. It burns a little, a tiny tingling feeling that he does not react to. "Heroism is a load of dragon shit anyways. Anyway, I wouldn't want to deprive you of the title, not when you've got just a half a week left to enjoy hearing it. Sad, isn't it."

From:

jurisimpudent

"I don't understand them." If there's one thing that Black has been shown, time and again, to appreciate, it's a bit of scorn leveled at worthy targets. So Edgeworth nods down towards the younger students in the courtyard - a bit of synecdoche, to indicate the whole of the student body. "They're out there weeping over their impending graduation. Or over the summer vacation and being away from Hogwarts." He plants his back against the wall and braces himself so that he can lean back on his heels. "I cannot possibly imagine why you'd sooner be in school than out in the world."

Unless, maybe, your family is dreadful. Unless, perhaps, that's what's in your future: going back to them. Edgeworth doesn't know what's coming for him - but it only just occurs to him that Sirius might. That Sirius might have to return to that horrible man, that house that Edgeworth has to assume is simply awful. That might have been a horrible thing to say, mightn't it?

So Edgeworth looks over at Sirius, to check whether he looks okay. And he asks, as dryly as he can, sounding as facetious as possible, "You're not one of the sorts weeping over it only being a week and a half, are you?"

From:

doggedly

"Yeah, Edgeworth." Sirius takes another drag on his cigarette, the very picture of noble carelessness. "I'm the sort of person that weeps. Can't you tell that about me, without asking?"

All careful sarcasm aside, Sirius does not know how he feels. There is something to Hogwarts, something beyond sentimentality. Other people grow up here, learn what it is to be responsible, to have expectations laid on your shoulders. But Sirius has known what he was going on to do, long before he'd learnt to realise the ramifications of that set path. And it's not that he hadn't minded that narrow course--it was more that he knew better than to mind.

But maybe that's going to be different, too. He thinks again of the dark door of Grimmauld Place, its gold carved knocker and ornate doorknob, every piece of it smooth and unmarked and unmarred.

None of it shows in his face. He flicks another bit of ash toward the students that they're disdaining. Even the other seventh-years seem stupid--not in the familiar and superior disregard that Sirius has held for his peers nearly all of his life. It's different, more world-weary.

"Big plans for you after graduation, prefect?"

From:

jurisimpudent

Big plans for you. That's an uncomfortable bit of phrasing, isn't it? The implication of it is clear, whether or not Sirius had intended it as such: plans for him. That means not his own plans, but rather someone else's...And there might very well be. Tomorrow he has a meeting with representatives from the Ministry, and he doesn't know what they're going to be offering him but it sounds as though it will be some work or something else, and he hopes they'll make him an Auror but he fears they'll just make him a celebrity...

"I was going to go work for the Ministry over the summer." He wriggles his feet around in his shoes - a pair of solid Muggle trainers, incredibly comfortable and very sensible. "An office clerk for the Wizengamot. Fetching coffee and the like." He gives a small shrug. "The implication was that that is now simply unthinkable."

He tips his head over towards Sirius.

"Where are you headed? I never did ask. Ministry as well?"

From:

doggedly

If the implication was inadvertent, it's only because Sirius has his own future in mind, the preset big plans that have been in place for him since before he was even born. He's not the hero of the wizarding world, Voldemort's executioner--and what ministerial department wouldn't be lucky to have him. No, the finality of Sirius' future is more social.

Should be. He thinks again of that door, and then digs the heel of his hand against his right eye, as if to push it out of his head.

"Don't worry, I'm sure they'll still let you fetch the coffees, if you want to keep up that humble routine." His cigarette is nearly smoked down to nothing, but he takes another drag. "I'll have interests at the Ministry. There's enough to do without complicating it with work."

This is the way that it should be, the way that it was going to go until that stupid fucking party. Sirius doesn't write home with any regularity, nor does he receive correspondence from his parents. But there has been a distinct lack of direct communication, and barely an owl has flown between Grimmauld Place and Hogwarts--or, at least, no owls for Sirius. Regulus dutifully passes along the necessary news. Sirius hates those conversations with his brother most of all, not in the least because they always end with anxious little glances, as if Regulus is trying to work up the courage to say something.

In fact, irritation strikes Sirius at the mere thought. He busies himself with getting out another cigarette, though the first one isn't quite smoked out yet.

"When I'm at the Ministry, I'll make sure to look you up. You can give me one of your coffees."

From:

jurisimpudent

He guesses that's what's to be expected. Edgeworth knows all about Sirius Black's fine expectations - the weight of responsibility and expectation placed on his lanky shoulders. The way those things have crushed him over the past seventeen years. He knows the hatred Sirius feels for them; he knows about the way that Sirius is happiest when he feels free, and independent. He knows about Sirius' pride, and his prickliness, and all the ways in which he isn't what they'd wanted him to be.

Over the past few months, Edgeworth has waited and hoped for evidence that the Black family collaborated. All of them except Sirius. That's something he'll never tell the boy, but he wished that the manor had been ripped up by the foundations - and not out of spite against them, but purely out of a desire that Sirius not have to face what they want from him.

(Maybe Edgeworth's compassion for Black will fade with the memories he pulled from his head. Hasn't happened yet.)

"You'll get bored." He looks away from Sirius and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. He tries to make that sound lofty and disinterested. "You should come work with me instead. It'll be a decent amount of adventure, at least."

From:

doggedly

"Adventure?"

He repeats the word with some incredulity, as he finishes off that first cigarette and flicks its end out the window. It falls into the courtyard below, a burning ember that is swiftly put out by its own descent. Sirius glances back at Edgeworth, with a little smirk.

"Fetching coffees is suddenly adventurous, is it. And so rewarding--when you get that order just right, that success is just-- indescribable. Or that's what I've been told, at least. Merlin, I'm so jealous that you'll get to experience that thrill. You'll have to owl me with all the juicy details."

He lifts his unlit cigarette towards Edgeworth like he's making a toast with it, an elegant little gesture before he slips it into his mouth.

"Anyways, I've been to the Ministry. There's not a lot of adventure there. Even the world as it stands these days can't have changed that much."

During the Voldemort days, it was probably a hive of activity, or else dead silent as everyone tried to get to they were going very quickly. There were days where all the offices must have been full, and memos jamming the lifts along with ministerial employees--and days when the place was dead silent, days when Aurors were preventing access except for the very senior staff. See, the world really has changed. Everyone's gone back to the way things were, except when Sirius looks at Edgeworth, he still sees someone that he knows far too well. He hasn't yet worked out how to feel about that. Whatever this moment is, here--it can't last beyond Hogwarts. He knows that. But he doesn't get up and leave the scene, he stays where he is--and whatever that makes him, he can't quite say for certain.

From:

jurisimpudent

"There is for Aurors."

How will Sirius react to that suggestion? Laugh in his face, maybe. The thought of a Black, the heir to Black, becoming an Auror might seem absurd on the surface. But Sirius...Well. He's smart, and cunning, and good, a skilled wizard - smarter and better than Edgeworth. Edgeworth was the one to bring down that rubble that crushed the Dark Lord, but it was Sirius who saved their lives, wasn't it...That's the sort they need. Especially nowadays.

He tries to still seem studiously casual. He doesn't look directly at Sirius. After all, if he comes on too strong, Black will of course shy away; he has to seem half ironic, half like he's joking or talking idly.

"That's what I'll go on to, I suppose. Eventually. Being an Auror. You can't tell me that's not a bit intriguing."