you're gonna carry that weight

All in all, Augustus had no idea what he was doing.

If the sudden order after months of radio silence hadn’t been to send him spiraling, then the attack had surely pushed him over the edge. He wasn’t sleeping, was hardly leaving the house unless he absolutely had to, and he very decidedly hadn’t made any decisions on what he was going to do. The attack had made it all that much more real, people had died, Death Eaters had been here. Hell, his father could’ve been here, for all he knew, under one of their masks. It drove home the point that if he didn’t do what he’d been ordered to, if he followed the inkling that had only grown over the past two months and made his own decisions, it wouldn’t be so hard for them to kill him, too. To be safe, he’d have to tell the people who had trusted him for years that he’d always been a liar, and that was bound to lose him his safety just as quickly.

So he’d done a whole lot of nothing, in the few weeks since he’d gotten his message.

If he didn’t want to be disturbed, he shouldn’t have come here, and especially not now, when nearly everyone was trying desperately to surround themselves with other people in an attempt to calm the nerves and keep each other safe. But maybe there was a part of him that didn’t want to be alone. Maybe there was a bigger part that wanted to go to Fletcher’s, see if they were around, wanted to do something, but more than that he wanted them to be safe, and they weren’t safe with him. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, twisted his stomach, to even think what might happen either way.

Maybe he thought a change of scenery might clear his mind, maybe he was tired of his own moping, but either way there he was, sat at the end of the bar, already on his second firewhiskey, when a familiar voice hit his ears, and he looked up. 

“Oh, hey Marls, you alright?” he greeted them, trying for an approximation of normal.

     ‘Call me needy one more time,’ they said, voice a threatening growl between desperate kisses, but then again, wasn’t that exactly what this was? Wasn’t that exactly why they were here? They needed a distraction and, for some reason, he was the only person they could think of to provide it, they only person they wanted to provide it. And this wasn’t exactly the first time, though they usually managed to couch it in slightly less desperate terms. It was easier, after a few drinks, to admit it, or to ignore it, tactfully pretending that there was more to this than just physical need. It was easier in dark corners, easier when they only had a moment to spare. Easier when they knew they were going somewhere, crossing the border on a mission and maybe never coming back. Augustus calling it out, so blatantly, even as a joke, in broad daylight, made them feel naked, and not in the way they wanted to be naked. Speaking of which…

They pushed a hand up under his shirt, palm flat against his hot skin, the fabric of the shirt wrinkling up over his stomach and chest, high enough that it would be easier to just take it off than to keep it there, get rid of the obstruction entirely. Their sentence went unfinished, the I’ll just leave left unsaid. Because they wouldn’t: they knew they wouldn’t, and so did he, probably.

Some piece of armor, in the back of their mind kept reminding them that this was a bad idea—not just because Moody might walk in at any time and they were attempting to practically rip Augustus’ shirt off in the front hallway, but because this was getting to be too easy, too regular, too predictable. Too close for comfort, the way they kept finding themself gravitating back to him, ending up here again and again and again. But right now, it was that or facing the litany of their own sins, the bad news they had brought, subjecting everyone to its pull of despair. This was easier, so much easier, than all of that.

The growl of their words, the rumble that he could feel vibrate through their chest where his hands wandered was hot, even if that likely wasn’t the way they meant it. The threat was clear enough in their voice, call them needy, and they leave him needy, right, sure, as if they’d do that. He could’ve called them out on the fact that he was certain they weren’t going to leave without getting what they’d come for, but that would also mean having to admit that he would do the same, that there was a part of him, maybe not quite so small, that wanted them there. They were the distraction that he’d somehow come to rely on somewhere along the way. Worse than that, it went beyond a simple distraction. When he’d gotten the message, they were one of the first people on his mind, what it would mean for them, if they might end up as collateral. And worse, he wasn’t upset about it, no matter how much of his mind told him he should have been. 

It was easier not to think of that, though, when Fletcher’s hand was suddenly under his shirt, skin against skin mercifully. That part of the message was clear, too, and he wasted no time in breaking apart briefly to pull his shirt over his head, and let it fall to the floor, to give Fletcher full access to his skin. As soon as it was off, he was back to them, pressing their lips together in a way that may have been a little needy himself, but that was neither here, nor there. What mattered was there was nothing to think about in that moment but them. That and how easy it was for them to get him thoroughly distracted.

There was a palpable feeling of relief, in their stomach, at his answer, at the knowledge that they at least had a short time alone. This had been the dilemma, for going on two months now: there were so few places to be alone, and it was maybe the first time Fletcher really had any craving to be alone with someone else. But there was a kid living in their apartment, right now—Narcissa was doing her best to find somewhere else to stay, they knew, but that didn’t change the fact that she was still using their bedroom. And the last person Fletcher wanted catching them in any kind of compromising position was Mad-Eye Moody, who they imagined would certainly know about anything happening under her roof. 

Which meant that their moments alone in private were few and far between, relegated to dark corners or quick moments. But right now, in this very moment, they were alone. And that was exactly what they needed right now. 

They didn’t answer Augustus’ question. At least, not in words. Instead, they took two long steps to close the distance between them, and kissed him, not exactly gentle, hands moving to grab his face and hold him there so he wouldn’t lose his balance with the force of it. Messy, imprecise, a little desperate, they tugged at the hair at the nape of Augustus’ neck with their fingers as they pulled themself closer, pressing against him, making sure there was no question of what they’d come here for. 

He joked and complained about being treated like a teenager, but then there was a whole lot about their whole situation that was exactly that. They weren’t exactly sneaking around, per se, but it sure as hell felt like it the way they had to get so creative to snag even a few minutes of alone time. It made it all the more interesting, a lot of the time, but sometimes, with more and more frequency lately, he wished they had their own space where they wouldn’t have to worry about being quick or getting caught. He didn’t like to dwell on that thought too much, though.

And there was certainly no time to dwell on that now, or on the fact that Al might reappear at any given moment, considering he had no idea where she was, as Fletcher answered his snark by closing the space between them, and grabbing his face to kiss him. A little noise of surprise left his lips, muffled, before he managed to respond in kind. Maybe he should’ve been used to it by now, but every bloody time it took him by surprise that he was allowed this with anyone, yet alone Fletcher. It was too good to be true.

His hands instinctually went to their hips, following their lead as their fingers tugged them closer. The kiss was messy, and so good, and the feeling of their lips made it possible to let go of all the worry for a second. It was hard to think of anything mattering more than feeling like this, after all, in the moment. Augustus deepened the kiss, pressing forward until Fletcher’s back hit the wall, hands wandering, before lips trailed along their jaw. “Bloody lucky Al’s gone, someone’s needy this morning,” he hummed, teasing, before kissing them again.

It was almost unfair, that just the sight of his face was enough to loose something in their chest, just a little, like something had been stuck there and Augustus’s surprised look had dislodged it and knocked it free. They didn’t particularly feel like laughing, but they did it anyway, letting out a rough breath that could have sounded like a chuckle if you squinted right and felt particularly generous. 

     ‘Yeah, yeah—’

They slipped inside the instant the invitation fell from his lips, one fist clenched to try to stifle the impatience, the antsy nervousness their muscles were tensed with. For all the effort the put into seeming effortless, they were fairly certain Augustus was learning to see through them, to tell when they were on edge, when they needed a distraction, when the facade was beginning to slip, and that probably should have scared them for all it was worth. Instead of thinking about it, though, they just shoved their hands further in their pocket, ducking past him enough to glance around the apartment, into the adjoining rooms, looking for any sign of Moody’s presence—or, hopefully, absence. 

      ‘Your warden around anywhere, or’ve we got the place to ourselves?’

The laugh that left their lips was hardly a laugh at all, and it probably said something that that alone was enough to send a pang of something indescribable through his chest. It would’ve been easy to explain it away as worry that maybe somehow Fletcher knew; if anyone was going to find out without meaning to, it would be them, and how cruel that was the case. But that wasn’t it. It would’ve been easy if it was a feeling that selfish, but instead it was worry for them, that maybe the mess with Sirius was affecting them just as much as it was him.

Closing the door behind them, Augustus watched them go through the motions of very clearly trying to assess if anyone else was around. Cute, that wasn’t a word that many probably associated with Fletcher, but that was exactly what he found himself thinking watching the familiar motions, the dance they played during the before, something a little more tense to it today. They needed a distraction, that much was sure. And maybe he needed one, too.

“Haven’t seen Al since last night, probably a secret meeting or some other shite she thinks I shouldn’t know about. You’d think I’m, like, a bloody teenager, the way she acts,” he scoffed, giving a nonchalant shrug, like there wasn’t a heat brewing in the pit of his stomach, knowing the reason they usually wanted to know if they were alone. 

The next sentence comes out closer to teasing, a perfect eyebrow arched, looking back at them, “Why d’you ask?”

Marlene stuck their tongue out at his but wore an easy smile. “I am an expert,” they confirm, nose in the air. “Bow down.” They laughed with him but that levity faded quickly as the boy went on. There was no question, they were cut from wholly different cloths. Hell, Marlene had thought he was Pureblood back in school, even. But something about the clear bitterness his words are washed in, something about the way he had been sitting on his own before they came over… It makes them think about Augustus and about themself and about the way that all of them, too young, were made alike in the face of the war. It makes them think of Remus, righteous fury in his veins.

“You’re not so much an asshole,” they say with a bit of a grin. “Or at least, you’re the kind of asshole that I tend to like, I think.” That never would have been the case in Hogwarts. Self-preservation meant that Marlene strayed far from most Purebloods, certainly those in Slytherin. But their time in Hogwarts was long past; now here they both are on this side of the barrier.

Marlene thinks for another minute, for once choosing their words carefully (Augustus seemed skittish, is all, and they don’t want him to close off). “I was never much one for the background. I’m a little bit too…much,” they reason with a laugh. There was a reason other than their blood status, after all, that Dumbledore hadn’t made them a spy. “Background is useful too, being able to disappear and all, I see that. But you don’t want to waste any potential option, is my only point.”

They take another sip from their free drink before sliding it across, a small offering but sincere nonetheless. “We’re all behind,” Marlene replied and it came out far more cynical than they meant for it. “No time like the present though, right?”

Even he could feel the slight change, when he admitted some of what he had been feeling. Probably not the wisest thing to say, especially to someone he didn’t know better than a passing acquaintanceship, as he sat here having no idea whether his mission was over or not. Who gave a fuck, though? He was here, stranded, alone, without a clue about what he was supposed to do next, no one to tell him not to be honest anymore. It was his choice, and he had a weird feeling that Marlene might understand that feeling, or at least be able to distract him from it.

Sure enough, their reply made him smile a little, some of the bitterness tucked away again, although not completely gone. “I take that as a compliment,” he laughed lightly. It made him wonder what would’ve happened if he hadn’t begged the Sorting Hat to give him Slytherin when it debated with him. Maybe he might’ve actually made some friends that cared, or stuck around, maybe he wouldn’t have been forced to spy, maybe his father would’ve abandoned him a long, long time ago, and he wouldn’t be in this position at all. He could’ve maybe been friends with someone like Marlene before now.

“Yeah, I get that. It’s fuckin’ true, too. Guess I’ve been feeling like I already wasted a lot of my options, lately, since...you know...” he said with a shrug, like it wasn’t an overly honest admission, like they were talking about the weather. They slide their drink over, a sort of offering of understanding, and he looked at it for a long second, before picking it up, and taking a sip. How fucked up, that even over here, even on what he’d realized was the good side of things, the people he had been spying on had their own selfish bastard taking their youth from them.

“Bloody right. No time like the present to change it.”

They grinned: they hadn’t expected Rookwood to agree, to take the bait, to rise to their unspoken dare. Maybe it was the booze– when they’d first started drinking, it had gone to them quickly, made them bolder and more reckless so much faster than it did now; Rookwood had had, what, one butterbeer at least before they left, had already gone through the sugary sweet cocktail in his hand far faster than he probably should have.

But there was something else in his eyes, some purpose hidden there far clearer than alcohol would usually influence. They could see the decision being made there, could see the forceful resolve once the decision had been made, the determination not to regret what they’d just said. It was… cute, honestly, except that cute felt like a weird word to apply to someone who looked like that, all six and a half feet of him.

     ‘As much as I’d love to watch that,’ they teased, and then finished their own drink, sliding the glass back across the bar to the bartender on the other side. They extended their hand, a joking semi-formal invitation for Rookwood to take it and pull them out onto the floor. 

All of this wasn’t something he could ever really remember feeling before. The boldness, the levity, the desire for something because it was what he wanted to do, not because it would serve his mission, or his father, or anyone else. Maybe later, once he was alone again his his bedroom in Al’s house, maybe he’d blame it on the cocktail he’d downed too fast, or the grief, but here, now, he was pretty sure it was the company, with Fletcher there looking back at him with that grin on their lips.

Maybe it was juvenile, the sort of thing sixteen year olds did, not twenty-five year olds, but he hadn’t really let himself have that chance nine years ago, hadn’t been given that chance, so what if it was a little late. Right now, in this moment, he wanted to dance, to dance with Fletcher, maybe get a little closer to them, maybe give them a reason to put their arm around him again. And that was all that mattered just now. Free, and certain.

And if his heart felt like it jumped against his breastbone when they teasingly agreed and finished their own drink, when they held out a hand for him to take, well, Augustus didn’t need to think about that too hard tonight.

He took their hand, with a mock bow and a grin wider than he was used to feeling, and then pulled them into the crowd.

She’s enjoying herself until he says that. Until he casually reveals his knowledge of her, as if he’d already known, as if he’d always known, maybe before she’d even introduced herself, had planned to run into her–and here she stopped herself, because that’s paranoia speaking and she needs to calm down. It’s not like her existence here has been a secret, after all; people knew her. People avoided her, mostly, and she’d grown accustomed to the secrecy, the trying-to-build-something-new of all of it. 

It was jarring, being recognized. Being known. And if her hand clung tighter to Draco, if she had to consciously force herself to relax, if she let her smile drop and her lips turn into a thin line and her brow furrow and smooth and furrow again–well, Augustus could not blame her for that, not after what he’s just said. She wants to be angry, because angry is a good cover for defensive. But angry is just a way to alienate herself further. Send away people trying to be good to her, leave her and Draco alone, unmoored in this country with only the one sister to rely on.

“You work with my family?” she says instead, and it takes all her aristocrat training to sound unbothered, merely curious. He would have noticed the flash of fear and disquiet, and there’s a layer of coolness to Narcissa now, but she’s still aiming for friendly–companionable, at least. “In what capacity? You don’t look like the professor type.”

He silently curses himself for that choice, seeing clearly just how wrong he had been as soon as the words leave his mouth. Maybe it makes sense, that it freaks her out, maybe he’d been naive to think that she would feel how he would’ve felt if the tables were turned, would’ve wanted to know that he didn’t have anything to worry about with a stranger, despite everything. But the tables weren’t turned, and maybe it was all a rouse, after all. In which case, luckily, he had a backup plan of his own. Not yet, though, not until he knew for sure she wasn’t interested in the change of attitude she put out into the world.

Strange that he wants to save the conversation not just for the information he hopes she might be able to give him, but for the potential of actually just interacting with her. There’s something about it that it takes a second to put his finger on, but when he does, he realizes maybe that in and of itself is a way to smooth things over.

“Nah, no openings at Hogwarts when I graduated, unfortunately. Don’t think I’m smart enough to teach anyone, anyway. It’s more in the fire and ashes capacity,” Augustus shrugs, trying to make it seem casual. He lets out a sigh, though, shaking his head slightly after a second. “I’m sorry, that was...when I realized you were who I’d run into, though, I thought maybe you could use a friendly face. It can’t be easy, being here just you and Draco, only a few family members around. I guess I was thinking of what it was like when the border closed, and I was left here alone; all the other Slytherins my year went back to England, my family’s on the other side still. I could’ve used someone to ask me to lunch. Still could, in a way. So maybe it was a little selfish, too. I was thinking you might understand.”

“Of course you’re not,” Marlene agreed, taking another healthy drink from their glass. “See, and I immediately believed you because you’re so very pretty.” They grinned wide, nodding to him to indicate their point. “What are you supposed to use ‘em for?” they wondered with a bit of an eye roll. “Getting laid?” They shrugged. “That’s all well and good, sure, but yeah. I’m talking about much more interesting and useful things.”

Marlene held up a finger and mocked a serious face, indicating for him to watch and learn. They made quick work of moving back to the bar, smiling and bouncing their hair at someone, and then walking off with another drink. Returning to Augustus’s booth, they gave a little flourish. “That’s small potatoes, though: free drinks. I’ve gotten to where I can basically just insinuate myself into any conversation and people are happy to let me join, likely because I’m pretty.” It had come in handy more than once over the border, getting out of close calls, and even when gathering information on their side of the world. 

“Anyway, I’d be just bereft if I let a fellow gorgeous individual fritter their looks away without taking full advantage. Especially if you’re putting blood, sweat and tears into it, as you say.”

Augustus was only a couple years younger than them, maybe not even that much, but as they thought about it, he was always off to the side, by himself, more or less. If they remembered correctly he was Moody’s ward, but that didn’t make for much company around his own age. So maybe Marlene decided to adopt him. Maybe it had as much to do with his lack of a circle as it did with her distance from her own friends. Maybe there was even something to be said for the crossing of Order and Insurgency lines. But two lonely people could easily solve that problem for one another.

A breath of laughter escaped his lips at their agreement. They might’ve been joking, even just a little, but maybe in a way it was the truth. He had never once been questioned about what he was doing, or why he was doing it. From a young age, his father had taught him that being something noticeable was the ultimate goal, but that to get there, he would need to disappear into the background first. And he’d done that, and had done it well. He had to wonder if maybe now was his time to do something different, take that next step. It was feeling more and more like his own choice, after all, the more time that passed with no information from his father, or the other side.

More interesting and useful things. It probably said something that his mind went to finding secrets, and moving around unknown, even as they held a finger up and gestured for him to watch. They were just getting drinks, free drinks, yes, but something so minuscule in what he was supposed to find important. Here he was, though, thinking maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing if he started using his looks for things like that, and maybe the things Marlene deemed less interesting and useless, too. He gave a mock clap. “Bravo, it’s like I’m watching an expert. Didn’t realize I was going to get a full on lesson when you sat down,” he said with a small laugh.

“Dunno about inserting myself into conversations. It’s not like I’m an introvert or anything, but...guess it’s been easier to get by in the background, you know? Slytherin asshole without anything to even offer, like insight or a name, stuck on this side of the border too young? Way easier to quietly do my part in the Order than try to insert myself anywhere,” he scoffed, maybe a hint of something else creeping into his voice. Maybe it was booze, maybe it was the company, but he hadn’t really admitted the distance he felt from everyone here before, even if it had been his goal to keep on the outside. More and more he was realizing how alone he was.

“But, I appreciate it. Guess I’m, like, a little behind on the times with all of that sort of shite.”

Fletcher had been an anonymous thing, unknowable and unknown, since they were a child, never anchoring an identity in anything other than the ability to go unnoticed when they wanted to, unbeholden to much of anything, too hard to pin down to be worth anyone’s time. It was a part of why they’d taken to the muggle world with such ease: it was even easier, there, to move about unknown, to make sure people’s eyes passed them over without really seeing them. To be somewhere like here, lost in a crowd, unimpeded, no one around them taking note of their actions.

And yet… here was Augustus. Looking at them, smiling at them. They’d brought him here, and they weren’t sure why. The people they’d chosen to keep in their life in any way greater than just delivery runs – Mert, Marlene, now Narcissa… they were people who knew better than to expect anything more from Fletcher than an occasional appearance, like a feral cat you might leave food out for every once in a while in exchange for the dead mouse they left on your doorstep. 

Would Augustus know better? If Fletcher stayed and didn’t just disappear to leave him here on his own, if Fletcher had a little fun tonight? Or was Fletcher just setting themself up for disaster, setting him up for disappointment? 

Did it matter? 

     ‘Depends. You asking me to dance, Junior?’

Maybe it wasn’t the right choice, maybe none of it really was, considering that all in all, his life was still in limbo. There was so little to be done, though, and certainly nothing to do tonight, and the taste of freedom, the knowledge that maybe this could be something he just did when he wanted, how he wanted, with who he wanted making the choice a little easier. The way Fletcher sat there, that amused look on their face looking back at him, made the choice a little easier.

This didn’t have to happen again; for all he knew, this was the only night he was going to spend at a muggle club, with or without Fletcher. And something about that was freeing, in a way, knowing that for once he could just think about tonight. There was no use in considering what came after. Tonight, it was just the now. The problem was how much he was liking that feeling.

He hadn’t really done this before, after all, any of it, but especially not this part, the ball in his court, the question posed, with that knowing smirk. The answer was already in the air, but again he had a choice. And it was easy, just now, somehow.

“Yeah, think I am,” he decided as the words came out of his mouth. Bolder than he’d ever really been, in a moment he’d never really had the chance to be bold during before. But it felt right, felt like the sort of thing he might’ve been used to doing by now if he had had the chance to grow up normally here. At least he could try now, though, in a place where no one but Fletcher knew him, and somehow it even felt like them knowing him was safe, that he didn’t need to worry about doing something wrong, saying the wrong thing. So he took a deep drink of his cocktail, and put it down decidedly, standing back up, stretching a little.

“Or am I gonna have to dance alone?”

Old Latin names almost makes her laugh, in a bitter kind of way. Old names, indeed. It’s a strange quirk of her bloodline, naming everyone after the stars–everyone except her. Old names are a sign of purity. Old names, choking in the history of those who came before. There hadn’t been a Draco in some time, is why she picked that one, not like Sirius had been marred by generations of men named the same. Augustus Rookwood had the same sort of ring to it. Repetitive use.

She follows, wondering if she’ll regret this new acquaintance. “Visiting for the day,” is her answer. “We have family near here. Are you a resident?”

He has to wonder if she really thought people wouldn’t recognize her, or if maybe it was more of a hope that they’d be too polite to say anything. Even if he hadn’t known she was here because of the Order, though, their school years had overlapped, and he’d been just as starry-eyed over every Sacred Twenty-Eight child in his house as any other half blood unfortunate enough to land in Slytherin. He settles on his strategy, hoping his instincts are right. And so he counters with truth, hoping it might gain some of her trust.

"I live nearby, been here since the border fell. I was lucky to have someone willing to take me in when I was a fifth year Slytherin abandoned by his family on the other side... Not that you need to know that,” he adds with a small, measured laugh. “I know your family here, Mrs. Black, just so you know. We work together. You deserve to be here if you want to, just as much as I do, no matter what anyone else might say...Here’s the place. You’re gonna love their shepherd's pie.”

He was laughing, so that was good. Or, at least, better than the affronted look that they sometimes got. “Oh, I’m sure you’re very special,” they affirmed with a little grinning eyeroll. The thing about people like Augustus, they guessed, was that everyone took every opportunity to tell them that they were special. They wondered for the first time if there wasn’t something similar between this boy and James. 

“That’s me!” Marlene answered laughingly. “The only straight I am is straight up honest.” A trait that had gotten them in trouble more times than once, but it had also gotten her the friends that they held closest. “Blood, sweat, and tears,” they echoed, nodding. And they thought of another friend – Sirius, this time, face lit up as they showed him different make-ups. Sure, there was a whole mess of problems with beauty standards and physical appearance and etc, etc. But it didn’t do any good to ignore the whole thing. 

“Did I say devious purposes?” Marlene countered with a smirk. “I did not. I said merely that you should use them to your advantage. But,” they shrugged, “if that turns out to be devious, I guess, so be it.” Their grin broke out fully then as they shook their head. “I fear I’ve created a monster, accidentally. If anyone asks, you didn’t get that advice from me, all right?”

A breath of laughter escaped his lips. He let himself relax a little; even if he didn’t know them well, they seemed like the kind of person that it would be alright to give himself a little bit of freedom with, just like Fletcher had made him feel. Well, almost like they had made him feel. Which was another thing entirely that he hadn’t really let himself think about too hard, when it felt like his life was hanging in the balance, waiting for any small piece of information from his father, or anyone else.

Normal interactions like this, though, that were verging on familiarity, a sort of easy casualness to the joking, they were something that he was used to, he was realizing more and more lately. But he liked them; it made him consider who he might’ve been if he’d been a normal teenager, instead of one forced to spy, abandoned in a country with no one. Maybe he would be like Marlene, if he had, friendly and open and good, without the effort of having to worry about each and every move he made.

He scoffed at their joke, but couldn’t help but consider the words. He hadn’t really thought much about himself in that way ever, but now, he realized, maybe he could. Being stuck in limbo in one way, was being freed in another. “‘Course not. I’m not a snitch,” he shrugged, as if he was only talking about keeping the potentially harmless, but devious purposes he could use his looks for. Maybe it was something about their easy smile, or maybe it was how at a loss he felt in what he was supposed to be doing, but it made him want to keep talking. “I’ve never really, I dunno, like, done that. Used my looks for something. Even what they’re supposed to be used for, I guess.”

     ‘Alright, well, now you’ve got a mate to drag you.’

With no more preface than that, they slung an arm around Rookwood’s shoulder – despite the height difference and the way they had to stretch up to do so – and, without warning and with nothing but a loud crack, they apparated away from Hogsmeade to a location a bit more their speed. A familiar alley, not far from their own flat, warded so that no muggle walking by ever looked into it, one of the designated safe apparation spots not far from the Scottish Ministry’s entrances. 

It was only a few blocks from there to one of their usual haunts, and Rookwood seemed stunned enough that it was all too easy to loop an arm around his and drag him through the handful of twists and turns that took them there, til they stopped just outside a door, a bright sign designating it SNEAKY PETE’S. 

A nod to the bouncer and the two of them were in, a nod to the bartender and there were two elaborate and brightly colored cocktails in their hands, and they passed one of them to Rookwood and then leaned back against the bar, taking a sip of their own as they looked at him, evaluating his reaction. The loud music, the colorful lights, the dense crowd of drunk muggles doing their best to have a good time. The feeling of absolute anonymity – except that now, for once, they were here with someone who knew who they were, knew anything about them even if he didn’t know all that much. 

     ‘Well?’

The reply was enough to make him acutely aware of how unusual a normal thing like a mate taking him somewhere was. But he didn’t have time to process before Fletcher continued to take him off guard. The arm around his shoulder was something a little jarring, might’ve made him freeze for an instant if he had had a chance to think before they were suddenly apparating away. It took a second for his stomach and his thoughts to catch up, just enough to think what is happening, before they looped an arm through his, pulling him onward. They could’ve taken him bloody anywhere, for how hard a time he was having focusing on anything but the places where their arms touched. The ease and casualness wasn’t something he was used to, but it made him think that maybe he’d like to be.

There wasn’t enough time to truly take everything in, just the distinct sign outside the place, the way the bouncer clearly knew Fletcher, then suddenly surrounded by warm bodies, bright lights, adrenaline pumping as they took him straight to the bar, cocktail in hand in no time. He was still pleasantly overwhelmed with the dozens of people dancing to the deafening bass, drinking like nothing else could matter. 

“Yeah,” he said, with a laugh he couldn’t contain. The stunned look turned into something of a smile as his eyes went back to Fletcher. Something about seeing them here, under the colorful, flashing lights, in a place where no one knew him but them felt like something new, good. He never would’ve let himself do this, before now, but the thrill of being unknown doing the unknown was as intoxicating as the generous sip he took of the cocktail. “Fuck yeah.”

This night was supposedly about showing him the many wonders of different alcohols, but he was a lot less focused on the bright, delicious cocktail in his hand than anticipated with so much contagious energy flowing around him.

“You dance, Fletcher, or you just watch?”

Day after tomorrow, Marlene would be at the border – doing just about the least they could do, checking supplies and safe-houses. They hadn’t yet decided whether they would take the opportunity to cross over, to see if there wasn’t anything to be found in England about their family. Likely, they wouldn’t make the decision until they were right there, against the barrier.

And so, it was a problem for future-Marlene, while present Marlene just enjoyed their drink. The Three Broomsticks was having a usual night – plenty of familiar faces milling about, exchanging greetings and news and drinks. Usually in the middle of all the socialization, Marlene had kept off to the side this night, content to let the happy ambiance wash over them. That was, until they spotted Augustus Rookwood tucked away in a corner booth. He was something of a mystery to Marlene – it wasn’t that they were suspicious of him, not quite. Just intrigued.

Before they knew it, they were headed toward his seat, a welcoming smile on their face. “No,” they said with a bit of a laugh, “I haven’t got an assigned seat or anything. When Rosmerta does that for me, I think it’ll be time to quit.” They cock their head a little and then, without asking, slide into the bench opposite him. “I was just wondering,” they began, “if you were aware of quite how beautiful you are? Like, it’s something of a strength, to know that. ‘Cause then you can use it.” They lift their glass to drink but interrupt themself to assure him, “I’m not coming on to you! This isn’t, like, a line. So don’t worry about that.” 

After a healthy swallow, they meet Augustus’s eyes and laugh lightly. “Sorry, sorry. I’ve been told that this line of conversation can make some people uncomfortable, I guess. I just think it’s something that people should know about themselves.”

In theory, he had done such a good job of keeping himself a blank slate, such a good job of staying inside the circle, but on the periphery, that he wasn’t actually used to people just coming to talk to him, without a purpose. Part of that, of course, was due to the fact that he had made certain most of his time was spent alone when he wasn’t searching for information, so that he couldn’t end up becoming too entrenched. It had happened anyway, of course, although only with a select few people. The majority of the Order hadn’t been part of that, even if he had come to care about them in a roundabout way, knowing so much of their histories, their pain.

Still, it caught him off guard when Marlene smiled down at him, and took a seat opposite him without hesitation, insisting they’d come over to talk to him. Apparently, he hadn’t been as much of a blank slate tonight as he had thought he was, but that wasn’t a surprise. He was too distracted, the lack of information available keeping his mind full, desperate for answers he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find. And maybe there was a small part of him, too, that wanted more of the freedom he’d let himself taste that night that had begun here as well.

They were a lot, to say the least, but in an amusing way. He had to let out a breath of laughter when they told him he was beautiful and he should use it. Perhaps there was a good point there, maybe his methods weren’t going to work for this problem, maybe it was time to try something new.

“Damn, and here I was thinking you thought I was special,” Augustus said, a little sarcastically, but with a laugh. “Nah, it’s fine...appreciate it, actually, in a way. Not often anyone’s just, like, straight up about things. And, hey, it’d be a lie to say I didn’t put a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into looking like this, so cheers. Maybe I’ll take your advice, start using my wily good looks for devious purposes.”

He didn’t usually go to well known pubs like this, when he wanted to be alone with his thoughts, weighing the options, or when he needed a distraction from them. There was too much risk someone he knew from the Order would show up and disrupt the thoughts, and, after all, the alcohol wasn’t quite right for forgetting about those things, either. No, muggle pubs were much better for that, much better for the anonymity he craved, his all encompassing desire to be someone else and no one at the same time, until he could figure out who Augustus Rookwood was. So maybe it said something that he’d chosen the Three Broomsticks tonight anyway. Maybe he needed something different tonight.

And if, perhaps, part of him was hoping Fletcher might show up, and take him on another adventure, well, that wasn’t something he planned on admitting to himself. At least, not yet. 

Not until he could make a choice, and had room to be completely free, without the danger of fucking things up. Without the danger of hurting anyone he might end up caring about.

So it wasn’t so much a surprise when someone saddled up to his booth he’d been occupying alone. Maybe it was a surprise, though, that it was Marlene McKinnon when he looked up from his firewhisky. He didn’t really know them well personally, just knows that they’ve always been big in the Order, always been one of the ones who was the most passionate, the most driven. And now, apparently, that they’re one of the ones most passionate about another group.

“Hey...soz, am I in your booth?” he asked, shifting a little, unable to think of another reason they might be approaching him otherwise.

Merlin, she shouldn’t be so surprised by the possibility of someone being friendly with her. It’s just that nobody has been this friendly with her, probably not in many years. Friends in her old life hide shards of glass behind their smiles. People here look at her with suspicion. Andromeda’s kindness comes with strings, even, connections to their past. Sirius, too. Nobody here simply knows her and likes her.

It’s partially because, she thinks, she has been suspicious all her own. Not let anyone get close. Been terrified to let Draco out of her sight. But this man–Augustus–he talks to her, he talks to her son, he smiles quick and talks easy and it takes her off guard.

Draco quirks a little smile, and it makes Narcissa’s heart leap into her throat; he is a serious-looking child most of the time. He’s clutching his Padfoot toy, a black dog plush, and his eyes crinkle when he smiles and he looks less like Lucius when he does that. “’m Draco,” he says, and holds out a hand formally for Augustus to shake.

It’s the simple act that makes up her mind. Worry slides away. “We were heading towards lunch, actually,” Narcissa says. “We wouldn’t mind the company.”

This feels like the real moment of truth; he’s fairly certain if Draco decides he’s not worth the time of day, then Narcissa will be done with him in an instant. If he decides he’s entertained enough by his height, though, he might stand a good chance of continuing the conversation, and bringing up his own questions once feeling things out. 

So he’s very grateful when Draco offers his name, without any of the hesitation of his mother, almost as if she hasn’t told him maybe he shouldn’t be giving it so freely to strangers, and holds a hand out for him to shake, in imitation of what they’ve just done. It makes him grin, and he has to admit the grin isn’t just because of the chance for answers, but perhaps endearment, too.

“Lovely to meet you, Draco. Glad to add another dedicated member to the old Latin names club. You can be my second-in-command,” he laughs, an easy, genuine sound, reaching out to shake Draco’s tiny hand. He gets up finally, offering Narcissa the same grin at her acceptance of his invitation. Useful, yes, but in a way he’s also genuinely looking forward to having the chance to talk to her, to understand her. Even if she doesn’t have information, after all, maybe there’s something to learn, if the act is genuine and she really is a traitor of her own now. Maybe he could be, too.

“Great! There aren’t, like, many spots in Hogsmeade, but, like, it’s homey, and the food’s good, and it’s a nice place to have a chat with a new mate,” he nods, starting off towards the cafe. “So do you two live around here, or are you just visiting?”

He has such an easy familiarity already. As if they’ve met before, and this is just a reintroduction, a reminder of a name already drifting around somewhere in the back of her mind. He talks to her like friendship is assumed. Narcissa has never encountered anyone like this. Nobody assumes this level of comfort with her. Nobody has ever stepped into her life like this and smiled at her like it is normal to throw a life into disarray and finish it off with a casual handshake.

She’s bewildered, and when she’s thrown like this she tends to fall in step with what’s expected of her. So Narcissa tentatively reaches to shake his hand with her free one–the other remains around Draco, who is starting to gape at this very tall stranger.

She opens her mouth to answer him and begins to panic. She has no name, here. She has only introduced herself to people who already knew who she was, and this stranger seems entirely unawares. What name is safe? What name is correct? Narcissa is distinct; Malfoy is unmistakable. Black may be dangerous–

She realizes, though, that Black is held primarily by Sirius, and on this side, Sirius is a known spy. That may be safe. That may be protection. Her name is distinctive, and she’s got to answer, can’t wait too long or he’ll notice, he’ll realize, and thankfully she answers quick enough that there’s only a short pause before she stammers out–

“Um–Black. Mrs. Black is fine. I can’t say I’ve ever been able to recognize the faces of Hogsmeade, but yes, things are changed. Thank you for your concern, Mr. Rookwood.” She intends it to sound like a dismissal, but it comes out too soft, too much like a pleasantry. And she doesn’t move away from him, especially when Draco pipes in–

“You’re tall.” Five-year-old honesty. Narcissa makes an apologetic face.

There’s a split second of hesitation, not enough that he would’ve noticed the pause if he hadn’t been looking for every little thing, but just enough that he can tell this sort of interaction isn’t something she’s used to over here. Hell, maybe not even something she was used to across the border, either. It’s strange to think that his home is a place he wouldn’t recognize any longer, that if his father had brought him back with all of his other classmates, he might’ve grown up thinking friendliness odd, out of order. It may be an act with a purpose here, but it’s closer to his truth than the cold haughtiness he’s sure he would’ve cultivated on the other side of the border.

What matters, though, is she takes his hand to shake, and the smile he gives back is genuine, a small triumph in a greater game. He wonders, somewhere in the back of his mind, if she recognizes his name, or if it really is new to her. Either way, he can’t tell just by looking at her, or by the way she says it. Distantly, there’s a part of him that wants to laugh at the chance that she doesn’t. Wouldn’t that be hilarious, if all these years the whole reason his father was doing what he did, the whole reason he had left him over here, had been pointless, and the fuckin’ pureblood elite didn’t even bat an eyelash hearing the name Rookwood. What was worse than mediocrity, for the elder Rookwood? Being utterly and totally unknown.

“Mrs. Black,” he repeats, raising an eyebrow, trying to decide if he should make himself known as an ally either way. The Mrs. is a clear choice one way, but the Black seems to indicate the opposite, considering the two Blacks with the Order. Hard to tell which way to play. “The pleasure’s mine. Mr. Rookwood sounds like my father, though, just Augustus is good.”

Before he can go any further, though, the boy, the heir to an entire pureblood legacy, makes a very good point, and Augustus can’t help but let out a laugh at the surprise. Despite the dozens of kids running around the Order, he never really learned how to deal with them, but, Merlin, is he going to try now. He crouches down to get on his level, because that seems like the sort of thing he should do, before answering.

“I know, right? It’s, like, wild what bodies can do. Maybe you’ll be as tall as me one day, Mr. Black,” he says, giving him a smile, before looking back up at his mother. “I was about to grab a quick lunch at Brews and Stews, if you all’d like to join. On me, for nearly running you both down. Or, if you’re on your way, an IOU on lunch, maybe?”