#oh lazarus

Oh Lazarus - Sailing // @OffLabelRecords

Oh Lazarus – Sailing Format: Vinyl – Digital Label: Off Label Records Releasedatum: 15 mei 2020

Their first record ‘Good Times’ explored genres and atmospheres that eluded any precise definition – now Oh Lazarus return with a brand new record, ‘Sailing’, which evolves their sound through an intricate mix of eleven tracks.

After the light-hearted journey of their first record, Oh Lazarus embark on an…

Somehow, Starrk thinks with atrace of amusement, it’s not surprise at all to find Shacklebolt in the kitchenwhen they get back from Diagon Alley. The man has a cup of tea and a plate ofbiscuits in front of him, so apparently Kreacher didn’t object overly much tohis presence, even if the house elf is nowhere to be found.

“Back again?” Starrk asks,stepping into the room as Harry heads up the stairs with his bags. Ichigo andKyōraku are in the main hall, Ichigo yelling and Kyōraku laughing at him, soStarrk carefully closes the door behind him to shut them out.

Shacklebolt glances up, givinghim a slightly tired smile. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want another wand around,”he says. “Both for those two and for less immediate threats.”

He means Sirius, Starrk knows,but it’s still…off. Unsettling, to think of his brother as anything like anenemy. Betrayed James, he tries to remind himself, but it’s more like readingthe words in a book than acknowledging a reality. He just can't believe it inany real, immediate way.

“Thank you,” he says quietly,instead of mentioning it. Shacklebolt is an Auror; even if he was Sirius’sfriend, it’s his job to find him and return him to Azkaban. There's no room fordoubt there.

Shacklebolt chuckles a little,leaning back in his chair and watching as Starrk takes a seat across from him. “It’salso nice not to have to cook all of my own meals,” he admits. “Kreacher ismuch better in the kitchen than I am.”

“Six hundred years of practicehelps,” Starrk says dryly, but his eyes are drawn down to his left arm, theDark Mark currently covered by his robes. “You didn’t have to help, after findingout,” he says, and looks up, holding Shacklebolt’s steady gaze. “Thank you forthat as well.”

Something wry shades acrossShacklebolt’s smile. “I’d like to think we’re friends,” he offers. “Even now.Everyone makes mistakes as a child, Regulus. Not everyone dies trying to fixthem. In light of that, I believe I can give you the benefit of the doubt.”

The words settle like a knotbehind Starrk's breastbone, and he can't tell whether he appreciates them ornot. The reality of Voldemort is a distant one, something only half-remembered,but…Aizen isn't. Aizen is something sharp and stark and all too close, and inlight of that Starrk wonders what he really is. Something Dark? Orsomething—other, not quite set to either extreme, maybe?

It makes Shacklebolt’s wordsfeel…undeserved, in a way. Regulus might have died trying to right a wrong, butStarrk turned around and made the same mistake as soon as he came intoexistence.

Not able to do anything else,Starrk nods, curling his fingers around the hilt of his sword and looking away.

Shacklebolt doesn’t push. Justhums, low and light and thoughtful, and asks, “Have you considered what you’lldo when Hogwarts starts up again? Harry will be gone for most of the year.”

Oh, Starrk thinks, and it’s—uneasy. Touched with dismay and toomuch trepidation. There were eyes on them in the alley, before Harry called theKnight Bus, and Sirius is supposed to be after him, trying to finishVoldemort’s work. Starrk doesn’t particularly want Harry so far away, giventhose facts; Harry isn't Lilynette, after all, and can't protect himself theway she can. Could have. Would have,really. Lilynette was another part of Starrk, all of his temper and drive, andshe wouldn’t have hesitated to kill.

Most people don’t work likethat, Starrk knows.

He wonders if he’s always beenthe way he is, or if it was a skill learned after his death. Doesn’t know whichone he wants to believe, honestly.

“Hogwarts is safe,” he says, andit’s instinctive, a certainty that goes beyond memory.

Shacklebolt nods. “Usually,” heconfirms, though there's a trace of grimness to the words. “Give Sirius’sthreat, though, the Minister is going to install Dementors all around thecastle’s grounds this year.”

Dementors. Starrk closes his eyes, trying to remember, but—all thatcomes to him is cold. “I should stay close,” he says, more to himself thanShacklebolt.

“There’s always Hogsmeade,” Shackleboltoffers, and when Starrk blinks his eyes open to look at him, he offers Starrk acrooked smile. “Surely there's a room or a house for rent somewhere in thevillage.”

Hogsmeade. Starrk remembers it.A bright village in the twilight, blanketed with snow, and warm drinks at anold pub. Students, and chocolate, and a long walk back to the castle, trailingbehind James as he and Lupin laughed and jostled each other, never glancingback.

Tagged by @mortesangriz, much appreciated!

On the other side of the table, slumped down in his chair and looking like the weight of the world is crashing down on top of him, Starrk eyes Kyōraku with a certain edge of you're actually insane and I have to deal with you, which Ichigo can't help but relate to.

Gone. Missing. Nobody knows where he could be. They’ve searched everywhere.

Where did you see him last? The auror had asked him, someone he saw often in the corridors of the Ministry, someone he had talked with sometimes, in the canteen, in that cafe by the river- not that Peter had given it a thought at the time.

Not since weeks ago, he remembers saying. Weeks ago. The memory of it pounds at his head, makes his fingers shake before he can control it- he Apparates with a pop in the back of an alley. The guilt is ceaseless, utterly wrecking. Weeks ago.

(if he had been there, would it have been different?)

He’s been dizzy since the morning. Nausea in his throat, bile pulsing at his tongue- how it could have happened. How had they let it happen. Missing, he reminds himself, missing, not dead.

(he remembers the reports that had come in, the muggleborns and the bloodtraitors, red pressed deep into bone, words carved onto their flayed skin. wonders if it’s worse that they haven’t yet found his body.)

Peter only hesitates when he reaches the doorstep of Remus’ place. A hand reached out, knuckles raised to tap on the wooden door, and then he stops- hand outstretched, and he falters.

Breathe, he reminds himself, breathe. And then he knocks.