GOOD DOG || Sirius Black

(Twenty Two: Astrophile)

He knew, of course, that by using the term 'social gathering' his father was not-so-subtly referring to his pastime of helping to run a cult of racist terrorists with a murder-y vendetta against the Logan Mitchell's of the world. Whether Alex realised this or not was impossible to determine from her expression as he glanced it out of the corner of his eye. He sensed his brother sit up taller in his chair and instinctively sank downwards. 

"Of course." Helen was nodding at Orion's words, "And Alex has always had such an enthusiasm for astronomy. I can only imagine why she's struggling so much."

Sirius saw Alex's hands clench at each other under the table, but said nothing. She started fiddling with a flimsy string bracelet tied around her wrist, tugging at the loose ends. She always did that when she was frustrated.

"Whatever sentiments my husband might have about the subject," Walburga Black butted into the conversation, her tone so calculated that Sirius wanted to shout to the Fawleys to take cover, "Astronomy will not help your daughter continue the Great Work. She would be better turning her attentions towards potions and the dark arts."

"Defence against, do you mean?" Micah Fawley interrupted, frowning. Everyone at the table with the exception of the twins and the adult Blacks seemed to close their eyes for a moment, absorbing the impact of those words. Regulas, not quite as subtly as he thought, kicked Micah under the table.

Walburga Black set her wine glass down, "That is also a useful subject, I suppose. For deployment against some of the more liberal members of the resistance."

 Micah furrowed his brows. Helen Fawley was quite obviously working her brain for some way to interrupt the conversation. Next to Sirius, all of Mike Fawley's muscles had tensed.

"I don't understand." Micah sealed his parents' doom with those three words.

Walburga's surprisingly crane-like neck swivelled so that she was narrowing her eyes at Helen, "Have your children not been initiated yet, Mrs Fawley? How disappointing. Especially given the plan we have so carefully tendered for them, giving some of our most prestigious resources over."

"We... We thought it best to wait," Mike's Adam's apple bobbed obviously, "Until after their OWLs."

Walburga and Orion regarded the Fawleys for an impossibly long moment. Sirius had never wanted so badly to take Alex's hand. He wasn't even sure who he would be comforting.

"That is understandable." Walburga said at last, drawing repressed sighs of relief from the dinner attendees, "However unfortunate. And here I believed that we would be able to talk freely tonight, of all nights."

Sirius felt Micah and Alex exchange the sibling expression of reassurance that the other one didn't understand shit about what was happening either. He fought the urge to share a similar look with his own brother, the pointed cold shoulders and short responses of the past week a reminder of the promise he had made.

After dinner, Sirius was indeed ushered to follow Alex, who led him somewhat haltingly up the softly carpeted stairs in a silence so oppressive that Sirius could have mistaken it for the moments after a nuclear blast wipes out all life on Earth. Pictures littered the walls in the random places that proud parents choose for their too-many frames showcasing their children's accomplishments. There was an entire platoon of newly installed pictures of Micah standing in a hole, covered in dirt and holding a weather-worn ring proudly up to the camera. 

Sirius paused when he saw a recent moving one of Alex. She was on a farm, or somewhere rural, knee deep in mud, laughing, with her arm thrown over Logan, busy pulling faces at her. There was another boy in the background, who looked too similar to the Mitchell boy to not be a relative of some kind. He was rolling his eyes at the show. Sirius smiled slightly.