Genetics • Sirius Black

Chapter Forty Six: Draw That Line.

"I was just having a chat." Sirius Black defended teasingly as he was pushed onto a stool at their lab. "Ow, touchy, touchy."

It was stupid. And a little mean. Sirius was at least a little aware of that fact. But, it was also really entertaining watching Bartemius Crouch Jr's face change from suave to entirely lost. He wasn't exactly sure why he did it; he knew something had compelled him though. Knowing Freya Grey was spending her time drinking champagne and rubbing elbows with people like Bartemius, slithering her way into their favor, had caused an itch that could not be fixed— in fact it grew legs and walked him straight into his dorms liquor stash and dragged Peter Pettigrew along with a playful grin. By the time, he reached the corridor outside the party, the fire-whiskey had managed to distract him enough that he was certain he'd just be strolling around till Flitch caught them. Then, he saw them, laughing and smiling in that posh way all the purebloods were supposed to. It happened in an instant, he began moving and he was vaguely aware she would be mad, but he was certain that he had to do it.

Now, the moment had passed and he was less certain about things. However, he was certain that he liked Freya's hair more when it was in its curly state rather than the sleeked way she currently wore it. It moved like silk down her back as she bustled through the lab, but it didn't match her eyes to him... if that made any sense (Sirius was now certain he was going mad).

"I know, you are not that drunk, if at all." Freya pulled something from one of the cabinets and set it on the space next to him. "What did you do? Swirl whiskey in your mouth and let it sit."

"Whiskey?" Peter questioned hopefully from his place on the floor across the room.

A snort left Freya as she shook two liquids together and then loaded them into a syringe. "Peter was a nice touch, I'll give you that." Without an ounce of sensitivity, Freya flipped Sirius's arm face up.

Pinch between his brows, Sirius asked. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure you are completely sober."

Sharp pain bit into Sirius's arm and he curled his arm back.

Shock slammed through his body and his heart pounded in his chest. What was in that? It was like his body had been restarted. Blinking, he held his arm to his chest and stared at her like she was a mad woman. "Merlin, Freya."

"Why did you do that?" She searched his face.

Discomfort formed in his stomach, not an ounce of delirium left in his body, and he shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. "It was a joke."

"No, it was not." Mind spinning, she could not believe he was actually trying that. More importantly, she could not believe he would embarrass her like that. "You know it was not. You are not a child."

"It was a little funny."

"It was humiliating."

"So, what?" He got a little heated at this. "Why do you care so much?"

"Not everyone can afford to be the rebellious prince." She matched his heat with coldness and then crossed her arms. "And, those people are far better company than you."

"I really doubt that." He scoffed.

For a moment, she was quiet, trying to pull for threads that weren't there. "Is this because of the Wolfsbane? The galleons? Was this a form of payback?"

"No." He seemed almost offended she asked that.

"Then what?" She pressed.

"I don't know!"

Shaking her head, she took a step back. "No, not good enough." He does not get to ruin her reputation— her future because he felt like it; it couldn't have been random. "Why tonight? Why then?" Something flickered in her head. "Does this have something to do with your obsession with Barty?"