and got in he did— the reminder makes her both proud and worried. sirius with his wits and skills, breaking in and out of places, with dementors on his tail, hungry for his death. her blood runs cold at that thought, and she bites down on her lip to draw some warmth.
she has never step foot in hogwarts, but she has heard of the riddling paintings and dizzying staircases. there’s such a difference in how the west and the east integrated magic into architecture and art, with the former oddly obsessed with often useless stunts and the latter more concerned with practical outcomes. then again, she has met wizards who ‘ cooked ’ with spells, forfeiting the tactile nature of culinary arts — she simply uses the microwave on lazy days.
his hand finds hers, still uncharacteristically chilling to touch. she doesn’t want him to worry about her, but she can’t lie about cold hands. she watches him, the despair on his face when he pleads his case, even to her, the one person who never once doubted his good heart, and it hurts. not because of any pathetic pride of hers, but for how desperate he has become.
“ i trust you, ” slowly turning her hand to hold his back, the long forgotten roughness of his fingers brush at the edges of her years of yearning. she blinks a few times, forcing the waterworks to retreat. now is not the time. “ peter pettigrew, ” she speaks calmly, dark gaze settling on his. she has done her investigation these years, hoping to bring him justice. “ he is the traitor, isn’t he? ”
i trust you. the words hit him like a stunner to the chest and suddenly emotion welled into a thick and choking lump within his throat. how could she trust him so easily when the rest of the world proclaimed his guilt? when so many of those that sirius had stood, fought and been raised beside suspected him, condemned him and would sooner skin his flesh from his bones if they were laid their eyes upon him, it was daozi that still trusted him.
sirius lowered his gaze to his plate, to the half-consumed pasta he could still taste in his mouth and he swallowed thickly as he nodded his head absently and squeezed her hand tightly. he could never explain the gratitude he felt for her then, the appreciation or the love, because it was certainly love that he felt searing away the years of torment and rage and pain that plagued him.
"yes." his voice was thick, but not with his love, nor his grief or his pain, but thick with his rage. it coated the single word like blood, thick and sticky and hot and the hate returned like a searing brand.
"we knew everyone would believe that i would be james and lily's secret keeper, we knew that anyone that tried to find out where they were, would come for me." sirius said, his voice low and carefully restrained for he knew that if he raised his voice now, that he would yell. he would scream and rage. and he did not want to do that, not in front of her, not after she had reminded him of what it meant to be warm. "but peter . . . everyone underestimated peter. everyone overlooked peter. no one ever noticed him, he would have been the perfect secret keeper. while you-know-who and his followers came for me, peter would be safe. james and lily and harry . . . they'd be safe."
sirius finally lifted his gaze to meet hers again and there was something dark and hollow in them.
"peter was the traitor. the spy in the order. he was the reason fabian and gideon fell into an ambush. he's the reason marlene and her entire family were butchered. he's the reason james and lily are dead, why harry's an orphan. he's the reason for it all."
