Looking at him now, it was a wonder he had never seen it before.
The ruffled, chaotic black hair, the facial features only generations of pureblood breeding could create. It all screamed James Potter. Exempting the slimmer, shorter build, and the electric green of his eyes, if you slipped a pair of glasses on, he was his father reborn. It was a miracle no one had made the connection yet.
It was a miracle it took him this long to make the connection.
True, he had not thought back to that night so many years ago, in almost a decade. His mind had been dulled by his continuous creation of horcruxes, and his want to eliminate any threat to his power had consumed him for the longest time, making his recollection hazy and unreliable. But if there was one thing he did remember as clear as crystal, it was James Potter and his defiant, bright eyes.
Voldemort held no high opinion of bravery. He saw it as a reckless, unsavoury thing that pushed people to take unnecessary risks. He had no time for fools that threw themselves to their deaths.
That being said, James came very close to changing his view on the matter. The young man had earned a quiet respect from him, for while his actions had been foolish, and had led to his demise, his determination to save his wife and son had given him a strength almost unmatched.
Voldemort might not entirely understand the concept of 'family', but he could certainly relate to the urge to protect what belonged to you.
James Potter had truly been a challenge to defeat. As much as it might gall him to admit it, had the man not been so preoccupied covering his family's escape, he might have had a chance of beating him.
And at the tender age of twenty-one.
Voldemort knew only a handful of witches and wizards who held that level of pure talent at that age. There was a reason James Potter was one of the highest ranking students to emerge from Hogwarts, as well as an accomplished auror and duellist.
If he had known of the potential there, he would have converted the man well before Dumbledore got his talons too deeply into him. Having someone of that strength working for him, and in such a delectable position, very well could have secured his victory over the old headmaster completely.
And while James' actions had allowed his wife and child to flee, Voldemort could hardly find it in himself to hate the man. James Potter had been an opponent that was worthy of his respect. It was the primary reason Voldemort had let the Order take the man's body from Godric's Hollow and bury it unobstructed. Any magical blood spilt was a waste, no matter how much of it stained his own hands; and despite how furious he had been back then, he knew how to honour a fallen enemy of that calibre.
James would have made a worthy follower, but now it seemed fate saw fit to give him another chance.
The last heir to the Potter House, the one prophesised to defeat him, Harry Potter. But that was not quite right.
For he was also Hadrian Evans, the Beauxbatons champion, and by far one of the most intriguing individuals he had met in years.
Once his anger had cooled, and the bitter sting of his pride at being tricked had ebbed away, he saw this for the opportunity that it was. He did not want to kill the boy, not yet at least. There was so much he could gain from this unexpected revelation, and he still had to satisfy the curiosity the child had managed to invoke in him.
Now that he knew of the threat, he could take ample measures to keep Hadrian from attempting anything.
And, when all was said and done, when he had squeezed ever last drop of usefulness out of the boy, gotten every announce of amusement he could from him then – then he would kill him.
Loose ends did annoy him, after all.
He had barely read a sentence of his book before he sensed a miniscule shift in the boy's magic. Instantly, his gaze locked onto his face, and a smile bloomed when Hadrian opened his eyes.
"Hadrian," his teeth flashed, "I believe it's time you and I have a little chat."
A barely recognisable flash of fear shot through those green eyes, and Voldemort felt a rush of control.
"Tell me, what do you know of the Order of the Phoenix?"
To his credit, the boy did not even hesitate in replying. "Nothing you yourself don't."
He tilted his head, amused at the non-answer. He had expected the initial resistance.
"Truly? You expect me to believe that you never – not once – had any contact with Albus Dumbledore or his gaggle of supporters, in all your years in hiding?" He tsked mockingly, though there was no mistaking the threat in his tone. "I detest lying, Hadrian."
The boy pursed his lips, thoughts swirling behind the green of his eyes. He could watch him think all day.
There was just something incredibly alluring about Hadrian's intelligence and seeing the calculations form in his mind. Unfortunately, he did not have come here for that.
Seeing as he was not going to respond, Voldemort pulled free a vial and held it up to the dim light. It was clear, like water, but he noted how Hadrian's attention zoned in on it and his entire body coiled in preparation to attack. "Thankfully, I have something here that might make you more agreeable."
Hadrian shot upwards, but barely managed to get anywhere before his magic latched onto him, weaving around his limbs and pinning him back to the bed. Voldemort watched him battle the invisible bonds with interest, especially when he noticed how Hadrian's own magic reared up at the assault.
He took grasp of the child's neck and shoved his head back, baring his pale throat. He unstoppered the vial with his thumb and tapped the rim teasingly on Hadrian's clamped lips. "Say 'ah'." He murmured.
The boy glared up at him mutinously.
Voldemort narrowed his eyes for only a moment before he was standing, looming over the bed. Hadrian thrashed, but could do nothing to stop him from jamming his knee into the tender flesh of his side. Tears erupted in the boy's eyes immediately, but they did not spill.
More importantly, his lips remained closed.
Voldemort put more weight on the healed wound, knowing that the pain would eventually get to the boy. He studied the emotions twisting on the boy's face curiously, because years of experience had taught him that while the emotions might be similar, everyone reacted differently to pain. He watched as Hadrian's breathing grew harsher.
They both knew it was only a matter of time before he succumbed, but Voldemort appreciate the fight nonetheless.
Seconds later, when Voldemort's full weight was bearing down on him, Hadrian finally cracked. He shouted in pain, the noise loud enough to have woken the nearby healer across the hall if not for the silencing charm he had placed.
While the boy's lips were parted, he poured the potion down his throat and curled a hand brutally over his mouth and nose to force him to swallow. He waited patiently while Hadrian struggled beneath him. His binds must have loosened – either that, or the boy had managed to free it himself – because one of Hadrian's fists smacked against his chest.
He almost smirked, because with the little distance between them, there was no way the boy could gain enough momentum to harm him –
Pain burst in his lower abdomen, and he hissed more from the unexpectedness of it.
The bloody brat had shot his magic directly into his gut with his second hit, causing the muscles to spasm and his grip on his mouth to almost drop.
His second hand lashed out and snapped up the boy's loose arm, pinning that one back to the bed. Hadrian bucked, murder written on his face, but his eyes were growing glassy, and his movement less wild. He eventually slumped, throat working once, twice – having no choice but to drink or suffocate.
"So stubborn." He commented lightly, getting off of the trembling boy and moving back to his original seat. He ignored how quickly Hadrian was sucking in air.
"Y-" he coughed roughly, "You utter bastard. What did you give me?"
"The benefits of having a master potioneer under my command, is that all of his wonderful concoctions are passed through me before he publishes anything." He took a moment to tightened the magical bonds around the boy, just to be sure. If anything, it was minor revenge for the way Hadrian had subdued him in his mind. "The delightful little potion circulating through you right now is his latest creation. You have heard of Veritaserum?"
Even in his current state, Hadrian still managed to toss him an offended look. Any self-respecting witch or wizard would know that potion, after all.
"Then think of this as its...improved version."
Hadrian turned his head to stare at him. He graciously sated the boy's curiosity. "There is no way to resist this one."
And yes, there was the panic he had been waiting for.
But he barely had time to savour the expression, before something else took its place. Voldemort caught the slightest hint of defiance in the boy's eyes, when Hadrian's jaw locked.
Thrown, he could only blink when the boy grinned savagely at him, blood trickling down his chin and staining his teeth a vibrant red. His gaze followed the stripe of blood intently, heaving a sigh – because he honestly should have seen that coming.
"What am I going to do with you?" He asked, wand slipping into his hand. The boy grunted as he grasped at his thick hair, yanking him upright and snapping his head back again. The bonds changed to accommodate the new position. "Open your mouth." He ordered, wand ready to heal whatever damage the foolish boy had done to his tongue.
Hadrian spat at him, the mixture of blood and spit landing on his temple as he jerked his head to the side just in time.
For a long moment he simply breathed, reigning in the sudden urge to crush Hadrian's ribcage for his insolence. I still need him alive.
Instead, his wand slipped lower, until it was pressed against the boy's navel. He paused only long enough for Hadrian to realise the new danger he was in, before he cast the curse.
Hadrian's reaction was instantaneous.
Voldemort mercifully only held it for ten seconds. Pinned as he was, Hadrian could not clutch at his chest as he no doubt wanted, or so much as twist to get away. All he could do way lay, gasping in relief when the pain elevated, with his eyes squeezed shut and mouth hanging open as he tried to breath.
Voldemort wordlessly healed the boy's tongue, released him and waited for him to recover.
"I do hope that taught you a lesson about respect." He waved his hand and the pink-tainted spit vanished from his face. "I have enjoyed your spirit greatly these last few months, but my patience has limits."
"You...didn't have a p-problem when I told you to go fuck yourself."
Still so bold.
"You believed you were speaking to Tom Riddle, not Lord Voldemort. If I had done more to discipline you then, you would have hardly trusted me further."
"I didn't-" Hadrian cut off, something like disgust rolling through his face.
Voldemort felt his mouth pull into a smug smile. Incapable of telling lies.
He knew all too well what the boy had been trying to say, and it pleased him more than he thought it would, to know on some small level, he had gained some of his trust. Even if the boy had been denying it for so long, he now had no choice but to confront the truth.
"I don't trust you." Was what was offered instead, but it did nothing to change the fact that Hadrian must also feel a sting at being tricked. His temper soothed rapidly at the knowledge that he was not the only one fooled.
"If that makes you feel better," he said with a mocking nod, enjoying the indignation he received. "now, I believe we had business to attend to."
And all at once, Hadrian tensed again. Voldemort was delighted, because that meant that the boy had relaxed to begin with.
"What is your name?"
"Hadrian Evans." It slipped out under the influence of the potion, and Voldemort frowned, momentarily confused.
"Don't call me that."
"Why shouldn't I? It is your real name, isn't it? Why shouldn't I call you Harry?"
"Because my name is Hadrian!"
Of course. Hadrian could only tell the truth of his own perspective. "My mistake. What is your full birth name, and those of your parents?"
Hadrian stared fixedly at the ceiling, eyes surprisingly clear considering what he had already endured tonight. He must be trying to beat back the potion's effects, but his mouth opened again automatically.
"Harry James Potter, James Charlus Potter, Li -" he choked, but could not stop himself. "Lily Joyce Evans."
"And how long have you lived in France?"
"Since November, 1981." Was the clipped response.
Voldemort looked down at Hadrian, searching for more. While the potion compelled him to speak the truth, the boy was smart enough to know he could get away with giving the bare minimum unless otherwise asked. But from what he could tell, Hadrian was not withholding anything in particular. He supposed it was too much to expect that the child was aware of every little detail during the early years of his life. He would have been, what – one? No, Hadrian would not know all the specifics about his and his mother's escape. But that was perfectly fine, he was more interested in other things.
One more question though, just to be sure the potion was truly working.
"Who entered you in the Triwizard Tournament?"
Hadrian's eyes widened, clearly having not expected that. Voldemort merely raised an eyebrow at the look, watching as a barely visible flush of anger spread across the boy's cheeks.
"Jacob Korin." Hadrian said stonily, all traces of unease fleeing in the wake of his rage.
Excellent. Now that he knew the potion was working – because he doubted Hadrian liked acknowledging that snippet of information aloud – he could finally begin his actual line of questioning.
"Where is Albus Dumbledore?"
Hadrian met his gaze solidly. "I don't know."
"Where is the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters?"
"I don't know."
"Have you or your mother ever had any contact with the group, directly or indirectly?" Frustration bled into his tone.
"No."
He sat back, openly scowling at the child.
Severus was one of the most gifted potioneers alive, and he had personally assured him that this potion was impossible to circumvent. No matter how strong the individual was, they would answer truthfully. It specifically rendered Occlumency barrier useless. He had seen it tested, had watched as some of his strongest followers were unable to stop themselves from answering whatever question he posed to them.
Severus himself had taken it, and if there was one thing the man was better at than potions, it was Occlumency. If anyone would have been capable of escaping the potion's effects, it would have been him.
He looked closer at the boy.
Hadrian's hands were twisting the sheets ruthlessly, bunching the fabric. His body was covered in sweat from the earlier curse, and while he had regained control over his breathing, his muscles still seized occasionally. Talented though he was, Voldemort doubted Hadrian would have the strength or ability to overcome the potion.
There was no possible way he could be lying.
But he had been positive that the Order was behind the boy's disappearance. The whole plan spoke of Dumbledore's conniving mind, relocating the remaining Potter's to another country to protect them – a country Voldemort would be in no way ready to move against for at least a decade. It was exactly what he would have expected from the man.
If Hadrian had never any contact with them though...
"Why?" He asked, and when the boy did not answer – could hardly do so, with such a broad question – he clarified. "Why are you not connected with the Order?"
Hadrian's lips pressed together futilely, eyes darkening. "She does not trust them."
"Your mother?"
"Yes." He bit out, and his magic crackled warningly around him. Voldemort ignored it.
"And why is that? Why does she not trust her friends and allies, people she fought beside for years? Why does she not trust Dumbledore?" Lily Potter had always struck him as one of Dumbledore's most avid supporters. And despite her tainted blood, she was an intelligent woman; she would have known Dumbledore could have protected her.
The fact that she had run to another country completely to keep her son from both of their grasps was both intriguing and odd.
"Peter Pettigrew."
"Pardon?"
Hate, ugly and destructive, crossed the boy's face. "Peter Pettigrew betrayed us. One of their oldest friends – my uncle – served us up on a silver platter to you. If he could do that, there was no telling who else you had gotten to."
Ah yes, sweet Peter. So eager to please, so terrified of his own greed and lust for recognition. He remembered that moment well, flushed with success when the snivelling young man had given him the secret of the Potter's safe house.
He remembered how Peter's eyes had shined with tears, how his lips trembled even as he spoke. How one could almost smell the guilt emitting from him, even as he willingly betrayed those that trusted him completely.
He wondered what would happen, if he were to place Hadrian and Peter in a room together; there would surely be blood. He put that idea to the side for further evaluation.
He could perhaps understand now the terror Lily Potter must have felt when she realised they had been deceived. How the doubt would have flooded her, the questions of who could I trust, who could I turn to? that would have plagued her.
"So she fled with you. Took you to France, far away from the protection of the only man powerful enough to stand against me." Humour coloured his words. "What a fool."
Hadrian thrashed suddenly in his bonds, and Voldemort suspected he would have attempted to hit him again if his limbs were not currently preoccupied. "She had just lost her husband! We were being hunted like animals! What did you expect?" He spat, "Coherent thinking from a woman running for her life, trying to protect her only son from someone like you?" He laughed, loud and bitter. "No. She was acting on her instincts, and by doing so she saved my life."
The boy looked at him, piercing him with his eyes.
"Because of her I was able to live a life without war or bloodshed. I was able to grow up relatively normal. I was able to go to a school that wasn't drowning under your influence. My mother may have made a mistake not going to Dumbledore, I don't know and I don't care. All I know is that she has always done what she believed was right for me. So don't you dare sit there and try to insult her, when she has dedicated her whole life to keeping me safe."
Voldemort paused, noting how aggressively Hadrian had jumped to his mother's defence. He had seen small instances of this burning loyalty – how Hadrian was always quick to appear if he perceived any threat to the woman. It had been amusing in the beginning, and he had used that devotion to draw the boy out before. Now he wondered if there was more to it than that.
For while the words were nothing he would not expect from a child such as Hadrian defending their parent, it was the tone that invoked his interest. He did not know many children whose first reaction to something like this, was to bypass anger and descend right to homicidal.
He cocked his head, intrigued.
"Your mother was a fool." He repeated, carrying on before a new slew of protests could erupt, "But I cannot fault her actions, in fact, she has undoubtedly helped me by taking you far from Dumbledore's poisonous teachings."
And that was entirely true. He could feel the taste of victory on his tongue already. This here was Dumbledore's precious saviour, but one that had never met the man, had never been influenced by his ridiculous ideals. This was a James Potter without a steady Light mindset.
Hadrian might preach his lack of skill in Dark magic, but he was a liar. Some of the magic he utilised rested very firmly on the Dark side of the magical spectrum. Even the overall taste of Hadrian's magic was an intoxicating mix of the two branches. If the boy was already dabbling in the Dark arts, than Lily Potter was either more ignorant, or more open-minded than he had originally believed.
Whatever the answer, he could work with this. The Dark arts were addicting to most, and all it would take was a small push from the right angle, and Hadrian would fall to the pull of power.
Plus, the idea of snatching Dumbledore's little prophecy child right from under him, of turning the Light's one last hope Dark, was too good to pass up.
"You say you have had no contact with them, which I believe means until now, Dumbledore had no way to find you or your mother. He has grown desperate these past few years, his belief in winning had dwindled. Your return seems to have...reignited his hope."
If his increased movements mean anything.
He had Hadrian's full attention now, and it pleased him that the boy had settled unconsciously as he spoke. This might be easier than he thought.
"He will be quite eager to speak with you."
Hadrian frowned, and Voldemort decided to loosen the bonds around him slowly. Green eyes stared at him, swimming with curiosity and wariness, as he pushed himself upright. He let Hadrian rearrange himself in peace.
"You want to use me to get to him."
He refrained from smiling at the astute observation. If there was one thing he did not tolerate in others, it was stupidity. Enemy or ally. "Precisely."
"The Order is one of the only factions still actively opposing you." Hadrian raised his eyebrows. "Why on earth would I help you stop them? My entire life has been dedicated to killing you."
Voldemort crossed his legs, sending a small, indescribable grin in his direction. The boy's magic flared tellingly.
"Do you love your mother, Hadrian?"
The rage he was becoming accustom to blazed back to life in his eyes.
"Obviously."
"Would you do anything to protect her?"
"Yes."
"Would you willingly throw yourself into harm's way, if it was the only way to save her life?"
"Yes."
"Would you give up everything you have been working for, to keep her safe from me?"
The boy's head dipped slightly, eyes finding the stone floor. "...yes." He whispered.
"Then there is your answer."
Hadrian took a deep breath, face dropping into an impressively blank mask. "So either I help you find Dumbledore, or you will kill her."
"Oh no," Voldemort leaned forward, smile sharper than knives. He waited until he caught the other's eyes. "you will help me find Dumbledore, or for every rebellious act you commit, I will take a limb, starting with her fingers." He said, soft and light, "And once she is reduced to little more than a bloody stump, I will enter her mind, and I will make her witness the death of her husband again and again and again, until she is nothing but blubbering mess. Then, and only then will I return her to you, so you can see what your own disobedience led to."
Hadrian flinched, but it was the slightest of movements. Voldemort had to commend the child for his control. He had seen much older and wiser people crumble to their knees with similar threats. But it was not enough. He needed to see more.
"And your little friends," he continued mildly, pleasantly. "I will of course endeavour to come up with something particularly creative for them should you not do this. I can't kill all of them, true, but there are so many ways in which to destroy people."
He stood, smoothing down his front and slipping his outer robe back on. "I trust you will do the right thing, Hadrian. I am not a man to be tested." He adjusted his sleeves and reached into his pocket. "Help me end Dumbledore and his Order, and no harm shall come to your mother, your friends, or you."
He pulled out a simple wooden box and placed it carefully on the bedside table.
"I expect you to tell me immediately when they initiate contact with you, and know that should you mention any of this conversation to anyone besides myself, they will pay the price. Pleasant dreams, Hadrian, and I look forward to seeing you next class."
He headed to the doors, pausing just on the threshold to turn back. Hadrian had not moved except to tilt his head just enough to look at his parting gift. His expression was strange, but his eyes were whirring with thoughts and emotions.
He did not look defeated, not in the manner most would after such an ultimatum. No – he looked alive. And Voldemort felt like he was truly seeing the boy for the first time.
"I can't help but wonder," he called back, blood soaring when Hadrian's eyes slid to lock onto him. "that after all I have done, all I plan to do...Do you hate me?"
He closed the door before he heard the answer, content with the knowledge that Hadrian would do what he wished. He did not need an elaborate plan to get what he wanted. Often times the best way to keep someone in line was with the simplest threats.
The boy's one glaring weakness was his love for his mother. As long as he held her life in his hands, Hadrian would bend to his commands.
Oh, he had no doubt the boy would try and wriggle his way out of this, but the thought of playing this game with him was exciting enough that he was looking forward to see Hadrian's next move.
With what was almost a spring in his step, he made his way back to his office, only to stop just around the corner. He braced a hand on the wall and frowned at the ache in his abdomen.
His hand deftly tugged at his crisp white shirt, pulling it from where he had tucked it into his pants and lifting it high enough to see his stomach.
There, right where Hadrian had hit him. A livid bruise burned across his pale skin, a large blotch of purple and black. He pressed his hand lightly to the wound, hissing when the pressure caused a flare of sharp pain.
He leaned against the wall completely and immediately began to heal the damage the boy had done. He tilted his head back until he could feel the chill of the stone through his hair, eyes closing.
Voldemort laughed.
OoO
Sirius honestly expected to have the door slam in his face. Lily looked caught between two decisions, conflict darting across her face.
He held his breath, not daring to hope.
Her eyes – brighter than he remembered, more like Harry's fiery shade then the lovely green of his memories – turned icy as she stared at him. He could see her son in that calculating gaze.
She stepped aside, holding the door open in invitation.
Sirius felt like grinning as he ducked inside. He barely waited for the door to close before he was speaking. "Lily – I don't even know where to begin! You, you were gone. I don't -"
He turned to face her, and flinched backwards away from the tip of her wand. His hands lifted automatically, and he cursed himself for his own naivety. He should have expected this, should have been prepared for this reaction.
"Lily." He stepped away from her, keeping his voice steady. "Let me take down my disguise. I'll prove it to you. I am Sirius."
Her hand did not waver, and she remained silent.
He swallowed at the lack of anything on her face. What had happened to the lively woman he had known?
"L-"
Her spell slammed into his chest, careening him back and into a leather chair. The material came alive, wrapping around his wrists and ankles and tightening uncomfortably. Sirius glanced from the leather restraints, to Lily's blank face, and felt for the first time that maybe he had acted a bit too hasty.
I knew I should have approached Harry first.
Her next spell, thin and purple, smacked into his face.
Sirius twitched as he endured what felt like worms crawling over every inch of his skin. He shuddered, but a simple look at his hands revealed that his disguise had been torn away. Trust Lily to know the exact counter to such an advanced charm.
He peeked up at her, trying for a smile even as his stomach churned. "See? Regular old me."
"What was the first thing you ever said to me?"
She had dropped the accent at least, which meant she either believed him and knew it was no longer needed, or she did not intend to let him go. He prayed it was the first.
He frantically tried to think back to his first meeting with the woman, but it had been so many years ago that he was not entirely sure. He squinted, and shifted, and took a guess. "'Have you done McGonagall's assignment yet'?"
Her wand rose an inch.
"Bloody hell woman! It was decades ago! How am I supposed to remember the first thing I ever said to you? I was eleven! Why not ask me what my best man speech was? I remember that. Or how you about you ask me about the time you took me as your date to the Christmas Slug Club party, because James pissed you off, and you thought it would be hilarious?"
Sirius watched as the hard look in her eyes began to waver. He continued swiftly, bringing up whatever he could.
"Or how about that time when James was on an assignment in Germany, and your sister didn't invite you to her wedding, and I sat you down and said that she was a jealous crone that couldn't stand the idea that you might outshine her?"
He closed his eyes, throat tightening. "Or how about that my last words to you and James were about how I would see you tomorrow morning, and when I tossed James his wand, I said he was a bloody awful auror because he never kept it on him?"
There was no word to describe the noise she made.
"...and he laughed and said that he'd prove you wrong...that he'd keep it on him all night and hex you when you came over again."
Lily's voice was so soft, so bloody sad, that Sirius had to open his eyes again. He watched as her wand fell to her side, and just stopped himself from sighing in relief. They stared at each other, and after a few moments, where his heartbeat was thundering in his ears, Sirius saw her face begin to ripple.
Hair as dark as night bled into the vibrant red he remembered, poisonous green eyes lightened, her cheekbones receded slightly, and her face rounded. All such subtle shifts, but in that instance she went from Amelia Evans to Lily Potter, and Sirius felt like he was home for the first time in years.
"Lils." He said, pushing himself up as the bonds fell away from him. He stepped towards her, arms coming up in an almost forgotten instinct. However, she shuffled back, arms crossed defensively. He could see her walls desperately trying to stay up, and his heart broke for her.
"Please don't, Sirius." She whispered. "I can't." She blinked rapidly, voice cracking. "I can't."
"Hey, hey," he slid closer, stopping only a few feet from her and fighting the urge to just crush her to his chest. "it's okay. It's okay. It's me, you're safe. I'm not going to hurt you, Lils."
"No," she said, though she did not retreat again. "you don't understand. I can't trust you."
He beat back how much those words hurt him.
"Lily, it's me. Of course you can. I'm your friend, we went to school together, I was James' best mate -"
"So was Peter." The interjection was quiet, but it stopped him cold. He had to wrestle against the hatred that burned through his chest at the mention of that...that...
"Peter was our friend. He went to school with us. I helped tutor him. He was like a brother to James. He loved Harry, he held my baby like he was the most important thing in the world, he played with him, he ate with us, spent time with us – and he still betrayed us. So no, Sirius, no I can't trust you. Nothing you can possibly say would make me even consider -"
He reached out and grabbed her, not harshly, just firm hands on her shoulders. She struggled initially, tugging away from him even as he reeled her in. She thumped against his chest, hands pressing against him. Sirius ignored the tautness of her as he wrapped his arms around her, trying to show her everything he could never say.
She did not melt against him, she did not lean closer or even tilt her head into his neck. But her hands, still so small and pale, curled into his robes in a quiet acceptance.
"I'm not Peter," he said into her hair. "I'm not him."
I would never betray you.