Terrible Deeds Suite

The Price of Betrayal

Padfoot trotted down the stairs from the hospital wing, across the entrance hall, and out into the night. He had much to do for Dumbledore, gathering up their supporters and not least getting himself to safety at Remus's house. But as he loped down the path toward Hogsmeade and the edge of the anti-Apparation charms, Harry's story came back to haunt him. Harry had nearly died. A boy had died, and Voldemort was back for real. And it was all Peter's fault.

His time in Azkaban was nothing compared to this new betrayal of Peter's. His own fate he could live with... but knowing that Harry needed him had been one of the few things that kept him going these last months. Since Peter's second escape from justice. If anything had happened to Harry.... He growled and barked despite himself. Several dogs in the village answered inquisitively. It brought him back to himself. Right. Apparate to Fletcher's. Figg. Tell them....

Round and round in his mind it went... Harry's sickening tale from that night. He desperately wanted to stay with him. But much as he wanted to watch over Harry, he knew that Albus would keep him safe as houses. His place was here, doing this work.

No! part of his mind protested. He needed to sleep. He needed to be safe, himself. He put on a good front for Dumbledore and Harry, but he was in no condition to do this now. If it hadn't been for Harry's letters, Sirius still could be on that beach, a cool drink in his hand and a breeze blowing in his hair. If it hadn't been for Peter, Voldemort would never have managed to regain a corporeal state.

Peter had to pay for his crimes. Someone had to prove that he was still alive after all this time. Harry identified the men who were with Voldemort in the graveyard. Damn Fudge! The Ministry should be picking them all up for questioning, just to be sure. Perhaps one of them would reveal Wormtail, to prove that they were all right, and Fudge was blind as a bat.

Padfoot stopped dead in his tracks. He could make it happen. He could make one of the Death Eaters tell him where to find Peter. He could go there, spy, bring back some sort of evidence... he was sure he could do it. This nightmare would be over as soon as it started for Harry. His own life only meant nothing so long as he could protect his godson. It had to work.

Cold shivers ran down his spine and shook him to his fur. He pressed aside an unbidden memory of one of his worst moments of self-doubt. The images were a frequent guest in his tiny cell in Azkaban, but he would not repeat his mistakes this time. He would not trust anyone else with this task. He would find a Death Eater who would tell him where Peter was. And then he would find Peter. And then Peter would pay.

The thought recycled through his brain all during the time he alerted the people on Dumbledore's list. The interviews took the better part of the entire day, especially since Arabella insisted he have a little sleep before she would let him go on to his next operative. He had barely dozed, however, twitching at every noise from the street, and preoccupied with his mission. Both his missions. He saved Lupin for last, of course, since he was to stay there when his messages were all delivered. Before his final stop, though, he had more calls to make.

He ignored his weariness, ignored the incessant whispers from the edge of the darkness, and went back over the list of names Harry told them. Avery, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle... he didn't know them. Malfoy. He knew of the Malfoys. James's parents were friendly with them, along with most of the upper-class wizards of Britain. Dimly, he recalled James relating very fuzzy memories of garden parties and Christmas receptions at Malfoy Manor. During the first conflict against Voldemort, Lucius was one of Dumbledore's most likely suspects, Sirius knew. More than once they had considered raiding the Manor. Where was it? Somewhere around Coventry, he was pretty certain. It was nearly ten o'clock; he could risk appearing in a secluded alley. He Apparated to the Coventry railstation, pulled out his wand, and incanted a spell to locate places with anti-Muggle charms. He was certain the Manor would have them, and he was right.

There were at least five points that glowed positive from the spell. It was a modified dousing spell he had developed in Advanced Divination, and the wand kept jumping from one to the next while Sirius tried to imprint each trajectory so he could follow them one at a time. The trails led him to two buildings that looked like businesses from the darkened windows and bland architecture, a private wizard's club that was decidedly open for business, and an inn. The fifth had to be the Manor.

It was an imposing monstrosity, built around an original bailey tower but sprawling with Georgian influence and Victorian outbuildings. The hoops of a private Quidditch pitch peeked out over one wing. A brilliantly maintained, expansive garden extended around the house and over to a small cropping of woods. Given the late hour, only a few lights lit select windows.

Sirius pointed his wand at himself and transfigured his robes, turning them black and adding a hooded cloak. He walked boldly up to the door and was not at all surprised to see a house elf standing in his way. His approach must have triggered alarms or wards.

'Master Malfoy is not expecting visitors this evening,' the elf told him in a polite, but haughty way. 'May we tells him who is calling?'

'Yes.' Sirius smiled his most charming smile. 'Tell your master that I am here on urgent business from... Wormtail.'

The elf's eyes widened a fraction, which was impressive, considering their already saucer-like quality, and the door swung open behind him (Sirius thought it was a him, anyway). 'Please wait inside, sir, while we tells him you are here.'

Sirius nodded, careful not to show too much appreciation for the elf or pleasure at getting past the front door. The elf showed him to an elegant parlour and a fire blazed to life when they entered, lighting the room but not too brightly.

While he waited, he thought about whether he could use further subterfuge to get what he wanted. He supposed he could try to convince Malfoy that he was another Death Eater... but assuredly Snape's comment about the Dark Mark would mean Lucius could ask to see it? Then again, was it even visible by now? It had been more than twenty-four hours, and Snape had said something about it growing clearer throughout the year.... He shook his head in frustration, raking his hands through the shag he called hair these days. He didn't know enough about the mark to use it as a bluff, he decided. Perhaps he could frighten Malfoy with the reputation of Sirius Black, murderer? Tell him that he was part of Voldemort's forces all along? No, that was probably no good. Malfoy would most likely see through that, as well, and moreover, he could turn round and report a Black sighting to the Ministry. It would be just like everything Sirius knew about Malfoy to seize yet another opportunity to endear himself to Fudge and his crew. Sirius wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

He pulled the hood up over his head, shadowing his face. Simple, direct, and anonymous. That was the way.

The door opened and Lucius Malfoy came in. 'My servant tells me you wish to see me?' he asked guardedly.

Sirius turned to look at him, and paused despite himself. The rich, powerful wizard who stood before him had silver-blond hair, neatly trimmed and cut close above the collar of his brocade and velvet dressing gown. It was deepest green and tailored through the body, with a full sweep from the hip to the floor, many folds adding to its weight. He had cinched it with a belt of green that ended in fringed tassles, and it cut a very handsome figure on him. His wand was tucked neatly into a slot in the belt. Icy grey eyes glinted in the firelight over a straight, pointed nose and chin. The overall effect could have been either extremely intimidating, or frighteningly compelling.

'Well?' Lucius asked again, and Sirius realised he'd been staring.

'I need to get to Wormtail,' Sirius stated flatly. 'Where is he, do you know?'

Lucius narrowed his eyes to slits. 'No,' he answered in an exasperated tone. He brushed his gaze over the robes, and Sirius held his breath. 'I thought you had come from Wormtail.... Who are you?' Lucius asked, wisely suspicious.

Sirius knew that under no circumstances could he allow Lucius to draw his wand. But years of thinking as a dog changed his instincts for duelling. Instead of casting a spell and overpowering Lucius with magic, he pounced.

He wasn't even aware of having turned into a dog on the way. But when he landed on top of Malfoy, he saw black paws on the man's chest. He cursed himself inwardly. He couldn't interrogate Malfoy like this! At least he was down, though he battered at Padfoot's head, yelling for help as he did.

Shit! Padfoot thought as he grabbed Malfoy's wand in his mouth and snapped it with his teeth. A shower of sparks lit the room. He willed himself back into human form before anyone else came in, and, still fighting Lucius off with one hand, levelled his wand at the door to lock it.

He punched Malfoy across the jaw with his free hand. 'Tell me where to find Wormtail,' he demanded.

Lucius said nothing, but kneed him in the stomach.

Wheezing for air, Sirius rolled off Malfoy, who scrambled to his feet. Sirius aimed his wand and cast the jelly legs jinx, sending Malfoy to the floor again. Surely he wasn't the only person in the house? Sirius thought. He had bellowed loud enough that the elves at least had to have heard him. What about Mrs Malfoy? He had to do this quickly.

He reached for the nearest item he could find: a metal bowl set decoratively on the end table near where they struggled. It was filled with blown glass beads that scattered as he swept it up in one hand and brought it down soundly against Lucius's elbow. 'Where's Pettigrew?' he questioned again.

'Pettigrew's dead,' Lucius said disdainfully. 'You're mad. I'll see you locked up for this - who the hell are you?'

Sirius cursed again. This was definitely not working well. 'Petrificus totalis,' he resorted, and Lucius stiffened all over and fell flat on the floor. His robes opened, the belt loosened from the skirmish.

Sirius loomed over the supine form of Lucius Malfoy, and the darkness crashed down upon him.

Moony--don'tbelieve--Jamesdead--Lilydead--Peterdidit--Peter'sfault--No,yourfault--mightaswellhavekilled--stayalive--stayaliveforHarry--stayaliveforMoony--PeterhurtHarry--punishPeter--punishyourself--Moony--sweetMoony--mightaswellhavekilledusall--Damnthem--damnitall--DamnDamnDamn--goingnutters--havetostayalive--havetofeelalive--please,Moony,don'thateme--wantyouback--needyousomuch--needyounow....

His mind a torrent of memories, Sirius desperately clawed at his robes to get them off. Their constriction reminded him of the cell, too close, too black, too threadbare. He freed his sudden and painful erection and stroked himself, retreating into the ecstasy just to feel anything other than remorse and shame. Though the display in front of him could never have been his packmate, in his trauma, he saw only his former lover.

He flicked a fold of the cloth away from Lucius's bare leg and bent over it, sniffing deeply, filling his lungs with what he believed was Moony's scent. The imagined musk drove him crazy with lust. He clawed at one shoulder to turn Lucius over and forced his legs apart. He spent the next three minutes awash with the delusion, lost in memory, madness, and mistaken identity.

His vision swam back, still hazy around the edges, but only faintly tinged with the swirls of red and purple that he had come to know as an episode. He was lying on top of a prone man in a brocade and velvet dressing gown. The man was completely stiff, as if under a body-bind. Sirius couldn't remember what he was doing here. He looked down at himself, and his nakedness brought it back to him.

Oh my God, he thought despondently. He felt sick. He needed to crawl somewhere into a hole and gnaw at his own limbs. He looked down again, and found he had retreated to Padfoot's form once more. He leapt across the room, bursting through the latticed windows, and ran full tilt over the grounds and away.

The curse wore off after about half an hour. Lucius, unable to move, unable even to speak throughout the ordeal, seethed with fury. Where were the elves to protect their master? Narcissa was visiting his sister in the Loire, or he could have relied on her... but the elves! There was no excuse. Even the locked door shouldn't have kept them out. The only explanation he could determine displeased him no end. He had been humiliated, attacked in his own home, and his sanctuary breached. It should never have been allowed. His slaves would pay, and pay dearly.

~*~Fin~*~