The Last Gryffindor (Sirius Black)

Sequel Ch V

A hand fell upon my shoulder, fracturing the moment and startling me back to the present. With few exceptions — very few, mind you — I didn't care to be touched, especially without permission.

"Who—" I began, jerking away, before noticing Maellie's stony expression. It flashed by so quick, I might have missed it, replaced by a polite, if not stiff, smile.

"Do you mind if I cut in?" Maellie's original date asked, harboring enough audacity to momentarily freeze me in place.

Do you mind if I cut off that arm? I didn't say, though was sorely tempted to.

"And what if I do mind?" I drawled. Then, without giving him time to respond and smiling blandly, I slipped away from Maellie, turning to leave. "Kidding. Be my guest... Break a leg."

Before my back was turned, however, I sent Maellie a loaded look that I hoped conveyed the message, No, seriously, break his leg. Both of them, actually.

I made my way out of the throng of dancing pairs and friend groups towards the nearest set of doors. I could scarcely think through all the noise. I scoured my surroundings for familiar faces, careful to avoid watching Maellie and her unwitting victim, because as much as I enjoyed the image of her tormenting him, the thought of him so much as touching her after what he'd done made me liable to storm back over there and break his legs myself.

Alas, this was her revenge to be had, not mine, and unless she asked for help — she wouldn't — I'd stick to the sidelines, waiting until the merciful moment we could flee back to the carriage.

Interestingly enough, Harry Potter, the Champion and my father's number one potential murder victim also lingered near the door with his date. I wondered, if I attempted to ambush him with questions again like the other day during breakfast would he run away again, absconding through the crowds into the night? Or would he display slightly more dignity and answer my questions that the newspapers might have missed?

And what did I even want out of such an interrogation? Would the boy even know anything about the man on the run from the most notorious wizarding prison who'd supposedly broken out with the sole purpose of killing him?

As I stared at Harry, I felt another set of eyes set staunchly on me, prickling at the edges of my awareness until I turned to face the individual fully, not bothering with subtlety.

I planted myself in front of the man, tall and dark and familiar. "Can I help you with something?" I demanded accusingly, because this was the same Professor from a couple days ago that had gaped at me in disbelief like I'd spouted long white rabbit ears through my wavy black hair, and also because I was already in a very poor mood.

"Don't take that tone with me," the professor sneered, meeting my blue and gold ringed eyes for only in excess of a second before sweeping away.

Did I imagine his unnatural pace? The way his own eyes carefully hovered over my features?

No, this hunt for my parentage has made me paranoid, I decided.

I shoved him out of my mind, and back to manageable problems, such as the impossible task of finding my mother that not even the best Aurors and wizarding investigators had been able to uncover. The obvious solution would be to find a Death Eater, her nearest companions at the time of her disappearance. An easy errand if ever there was one. With most convicted Death Eaters confined to Azkaban, my pickings were few and far between. Those who'd been Imperiused likely didn't remember a thing from their time serving Voldemort, and those of merely suspected affiliation wouldn't out themselves by answering my questions honestly.

There was one Death Eater not behind bars, as loathe as I was to consider him, for my father had very publicly escaped his chains a year ago. Stubbornly — and hypocritically — I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeking him out, after all, he'd never sought after me and I was his son. The only obligations between us were the ones he should have had to me and lacked. While I accepted the argument that being stuck in Azkaban for twelve years was a pretty good excuse for not dropping by to see how I was doing as I was shuffled from orphanages to foster families and back to orphanages, it didn't erase the fact that the man — a mass murderer — had been on the loose for over a year and a half and spent that time trying to track down and kill Harry bloody Potter instead.