#6.10.15

Sirius had figured if it was lurking in his messaging system, passing it to a computer for better study would be as easy as sending an email. “Easy,” however was a figure of speech when talking about a virus that effectively put his contact list on randomize. He sent himself blank emails about ten times before finally receiving it on a laptop that meant nothing to him. It was empty, used only for coding monsters, and older than sin. 

But finally. He had found it. 

It pressed its weight against the mirror of DOS the old Dell ran on, line after line of code, morphing every time he opened it; in a new location every time he left it alone for more than a few hours. He had never seen a virus more active; more certain of where to go to find secure information; more prolific. It made his stomach clench and his heart pump. 

They said it had come from the government. Whoever had been designing this could have been the most knowledgeable spy on the planet had they managed to develop it into something invisible. Even less than Sirius wanted to know what the virus would do next did Sirius want to know why the government had made this a project and on whom the government had hoped to have it unleashed. 

On his couch in the relative darkness gifted by his black-out curtains, Sirius balanced the laptop on one knee and a bowl of cereal on the other. He watched it, trying to read it as fast as the code sped across, scrolling at times, but usually too afraid to lose his place. If he could understand it, he could know where it might go next or at least how it jumped from place to place. 

In the middle of his mesmerized observance, Sirius heard a firm knock on his door. A simple 1-2-3, impersonal and startling. His muscles siezed for a moment to keep him from jumping and spilling everything in his lap, then he turned toward the sound. The knocking came again, not that of anyone he recognized, and Sirius forced out a breath. With one last glance at the code, he pushed the laptop and bowl away from him, putting them onto the coffee table, then stood. 

He opened the door, blinking at the light of the day. He kept the door close to him, only opened enough to show all but the arm poised to slam the door  back shut. When he saw the blue robes of an auror at his door, his arm twitched as if to do so. It was an effort not to let the door close, not to lock it with deadbolt and chain, and not to run. He had never trusted Aurors, and Moody hadn’t exactly made their case. 

This auror knew his address and full name. 

Sirius swallowed to rewet his throat before answering, “Yeah, that’s me. Something I can help you with?” He knew he looked messy: black jeans, tshirt. His hair was a mop from the many times he’d run his hands through it. He hadn’t exactly been sleeping well, either, half of his energy on his internship, the other half on the virus... the virus that was written all over his screen. He swallowed again, remembering how they’d gotten Septima. 

Merlin, let the man not look at Sirius’ computer.