PLACEHOLDER. Who: Evan Rosier & Sirius Black What: A scuffle. Where: Behind the Hogs Head. When: 19 May, 1979. around 7pm. Warnings: PG-13. Hehehhe.
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Sirius could have spent his day in a more productive environment than the Hogs Head but as much as he adored spending time with the elder Potters, it was a bit like spending all your time with parents. Sometimes, he just needed an hour to himself before things started to drink, swear and make lewd comments: basically, do all the things he would never dream of doing in front of people he gave a damn about thought might offended by it. Besides that, he needed to blow off steam before sitting on his backside for most of night doing damn all. As it happens, watching the clients of the Hogs Head is a brilliant spectator sport, especially when you have a few drinks in you. It was more or less what he needed, more in the way that he was at least doing something half interesting and less in the fact he was pretty sure he tried to get the pent up aggression that had been building for some time out on the regulars, he was going to be slung out and he'd never live that down.
So when he began to feel that pleasantly numb feeling where nothing was blurred yet and he could still, for the most part, walk in a straight line, he headed out of the pub. He knew Mrs Potter would probably be wondering where he was right now, as for all he could say about he and James watching her, she watched them like a hawk too. He couldn't say he minded, really but he thought he should get back and give James a break to spend some one on one time with the missus before he had his own patrols to do.
Evan knew that it wasn't necessarily his job to lurk around Hogsmeade, watching people and biding his time (as if he were a cat, merely waiting to pounce on an unexpecting and unfortunately blooded passerby). But like the rest of his colleagues, he had needs and desires that often took him outside of his flat. It seemed intelligent to remain a visible part of Wizarding society and so he had spent his day combing through the quaint village, watching people behave differently now, as if they were aware that a war was in progress. He appreciated their caution - no friendly smiles, no meeting of the eyes for anyone - and would have remarked upon it with some pride. They weren't animals, after all.
His day had lingered into evening and as it wore on, he pulled a flask from his pocket to enjoy the crisp country air through draughts of strong firewhiskey. Through the glow of lights, he could see a form quit the Hog's Head - one that looked terribly familar - Regulus? No. He coughed, then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It was Sirius, then. The blood traitor. How lucky he had been to have a choice in his destiny. How lucky he had been to have the power to say No and mean it.
Many years of walking the halls of Hogwarts looking for some joke to pull on some unsuspecting victim had taught Sirius to always look around his surroundings rather dilligently, especially if he was on his own. He didn't trust many people to watch his back (though in the unfortunate case of Marlene, that often meant because she was too busy attempting not to die herself) so it seemed, as none of the guys were here, a good precaution to take. One that the citizens going about their business also seemed to be being attention to. There was a great sense of paranoia in the air and he wasn't sure if that nausea-like feeling was brought on by the disgust of that or by the drinks at the Hog's Head.
Though there was a slightly feeling of familiarity to one of these shapes, something itching in the back of his mind. The same kind of itch he tended to get when he thought about what he refered to as "regaining his sanity." Of course, this presumed he was actually born with sanity, so the thought amused him greatly. He searched through a mental list of people that, up until (bugger, it hadn't even been two years yet?) severing ties with The Family (Regulus not withstanding, he didn't count) until the name popped into his head. Rosier. Ah, one of the supporters then, but a very quiet one, all things considered. "You really shouldn't be out alone, you know. There's a war going on." His tone was loud, but overly sweet and definitely heavily accented to sound like more of a Londoner. His voice had a tendency to adapt to situation much the same way he could when he chose to and if he wanted to sound like a sickly sweet over pompous arse, he could do on demand. "You'd be better off going home."
"How kind you are to be concerned for me," Evan replied, licking his lips as he stepped out of the shadow and into the faint moonlight. Sirius was coarse (but he admitted that he liked to see Pureblood boys acting coarse) and beneath that layer of saccharine concern he saw malice and malaise. "Though perhaps you should do better to place your concern elsewhere, Sirius."
"Perhaps I'm not concerned for you," Sirius commented in a neutral tone, giving a shrug of indifference. Of course he wasn't concerned about him, he just had a dislike of known supporters of purist views who lurk and wouldn't want anyone meeting that in a dark alley. "Perhaps I think you should just go before you get yourself, and perhaps a couple of the residents, in a spot of trouble. Unless that was pumpkin juice, in which I case I humbly apoligise for indicating your lack of self control." He kept his tone light, but there was a level of amusement to it. He liked a little banter, even if it meant nothing at all, in the grand scheme of things, especially when it's with someone he knew held him with the same disregard.
With one finger extended in the air, Evan mimed a few long draughts of air through his nose and pursed his lips, clucking with faux displeasure. "You smell like a sty, Black. A dirty, mud-filled, whiskey-laced sty."
"Which, oddly, is still an improvement on you. Although I don't have my head up anyones backside, so perhaps I'm just not used to it." Sirius told him, losing all his faux pleasantness for the joy of a snide comment. It was such a little game, these little insults and sometimes, they were a lot of fun and sometimes, they bored him to tears. This could go either way at this point; pointing out filth was boring, it was easy and it wasn't worth his time. "Why don't you go read some more pretty poetry about death? It'll save me the trouble of having a battle of wits with someone who is clearly lacking."
It was odd that, in this moment, Evan could see the ridiculousness of their situation. They barely knew one another and simply due to their associates, they fed their hatred on prejudice and assumption. He laughed - a momentary bark - and settled down to the business at hand. Black seemed particularly gift-wrapped this night: his friends had terrorised (he could only assume) Regulus and Narcissa. It was time to even the scales. A minute movement of his wrist brought him closer to his wand as he bared his teeth in a malicious grin. "Sorry, Black. I don't speak Mudblood."
"For someone who has ties to what the purists think are the powerful purebloods, you really are rather thick. Do you think talk of blood will bother me, Rosier? I'm probably purer than you are." It was talk like this that tended to make his heart race. Once his blood was brought into it, or their blood, it tended to become less of a petty game and more of a challenge - one he was more than happy to except. Someone needed to show the egotistical, moody idiot how to talk to his superiors - morally, at the very least. "Besides, for your information, they're a lot smarter, a lot more fun and frankly, know how to use their wands and be subtle about it better." He didn't much care for his own subtlty - he knew his hand was visibily twiddling his wand in his hand.
"Probably? Old habits must die hard, Black, if you're trying to compare Purity with me. I haven't said a thing about Purity or blood. I just mentioned your particularly filthy odour." What a cur; a wild throwback to days of savagery and bloodletting. Oh, it was delicious. He could push this anger ... but Black would be the one to strike first. He twirled his wand through his fingers, smirking. "But I can talk about that filthy pack you run with, if you'd rather. McKinnon's mouth does more than flap needlessly -- she whores for her betters, which is the occupation of any lowborn girl. And you'll rue the day you became friends with Lupin. O'Hare will have her tongue cut out of her mouth for her cheek and I won't even begin to describe what Potter's wife does when his eyes aren't on her ..."
"Don't play that game with me, Rosier, I have no interest in it." Sirius' hand tightened on his wand at the mention of his friends. He liked using that trick himself but didn't like it reciprocated unless the person was going to be unconcious in the following five minutes. "I'd ask how your friends are, but considering you're skulking here alone, I don't think I'll bother. At least I became a blood traitor before people started ignoring me - getting a head start, are you?" It wasn't his best but it did stop him from attempting to strangle the bastard with his bare hands. "Just give me a reason, Evan. Right now, all I can see if a little fur jealousy and the obvious want for some mudblood blowjobs." He was trying to play it cool, but his wand was raised more steadily now. He wanted to control himself, but this looked way too good to pass up. Lily. Oh, Evan, you didn't just threaten Lily. Well, he could have it his way. He sent a gouging spell at Evan's stomach, hoping it would damn well hurt for that.
As Sirius prepared to cast his spell, Evan's grin seemed to grow in the lurid moonlight. He was feral, all bared teeth and snarls ... "Protego!" he ripped from his throat. "I'm afraid I've seen Third years deliver better hexes, Sirius. No wonder you're not protecting anyone." He waited a bit to let that sink in before he aimed a Stupefy with a Blasting Curse on its heels directly at Sirius's chest. He wanted to discompose the man before walking in to continue the job with his fists.
He wasn't getting away that easily. Unfortunately, he was so busy trying to get in a shot that he hadn't noticed the confundus charm, which had led to the blasting curse hitting home and he found himself slammed backwards, head slamming into the wall. Suddenly, he really wished they were in a more open space. "Bastard!" He growled, sure he could feel something wet that was probably blood on his t-shirt. He pushed himself into sitting, with a simultaneous croak of "Glacius!"
Evan managed to twist himself as he heard Sirius's spell but wasn't quick enough to extract his whole body. Both legs, from his knees to his feet, froze in place and his momentum carried him onto his back. Sirius was too close for him to immediately remove the spell and so he waited, propped on the heel of one hand while he held his wand tightly in the other. If Black charged him, he would start with the Unforgivables, he would not risk being noticed. He was finally being rewarded - there would be no more failure.
Gotcha, Sirius grinned, even through his wincing. Alright, that was worth the aches and pains he would have tomorrow. He wasn't above going for some real damage if that bastard wasn't worried about it. He pushed himself up with his legs, aiming slicing hexes at the wrists. Fuck, if he was bleeding out, his opponant should be as well. Plus, anything that incapacitated his arms could only be a good thing! "Is that it?" He threw at him, in an amused but slightly hoarse tone. "Pathetic!"
His teeth ground together as one of Sirius's spells hit its mark, laying into the delicate skin along the top of his wrist (thankfully not his wand arm) as he was able to reverse Sirius's spell to his legs and throw up a shield charm in tandem.
Springing to his feet, he held the shield long enough to tear a strip of fabric from the hem of his shirt and tie it tightly around his wrist before responding to Sirius's taunts. "You like to hear the sound of your own voice, Black. Try this! Crucio!"
Damn. Not the wand arm, he noted miserably, but he didn't have time to think about it as pain ripped out as if he was burning and tearing apart. Any height he'd gained was instantly lost as his limbs twitched violently of their own accord. He tried to grip his hands and shut his eyes and attempted to bite down so hard he wouldn't be able to open his mouth but it was horrific. The cruciatus, it had to be. He knew screams around the Hogs Head weren't that uncommon but this could look bad, really bad, if they got caught at it. He hated this loss of control, he hated that he couldn't control his own voice enough to stop screaming and mostly, he hated that he hadn't thought of doing it first.
Evan knew just as well that this couldn't last much longer, not with their taunts and Sirius's voice echoing between the buildings even has he attempted to keep himself silent. He wanted to kill him but some sense of vanity overrode the next possible hex (which was, of course, Avada Kedavra) and he paused. Just listening. Absorbing the diaphanous waves of pain that seemed to undulate from Sirius's twisted body. Did he do that? It was long enough to give Sirius a chance to gain his feet.
Feet would have been a metaphorical term, considering he deemed himself lucky not to be throwing up all over the place about now. Sirius went for two things - the penknife in his back pocket and his wand, which he'd dropped. Frankly, he wanted to skewer him but he needed to knock him back enough to do that without throwing it (and damn it, he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction) and focussed as well as he could into a blasting curse, hoping to give himself enough time to actually stand up without having wobbly knee syndrome. If he wasn't going to play fair, damned if Sirius would. He wanted him on his arse first.
Though he attempted to brace himself with a shield charm, he misjudged the strength of Sirius's resolve and found that it simply was not enough. Before he knew it (oh and he cursed himself in the tongues of all the languages he knew), he was flying through the air, falling into a bank of garbage that did little to brace his fall. Crumpled, laying at angles and rather fed up with himself, he pulled a discreet little switchblade out of his boot and with both knife and wand in his fists, waited for Sirius to descend.
He wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to break the guys nose, now, was he? He knew getting really pissed off was good for something and despite the fact he was aching, adrenalin was doing its job and he was glad of a decent fight. He had never particularly cared for not kicking a man if he's down - especially if it meant you won. He pushed himself over and attempted to give a particularly nasty kick to the side, which if he was lucky, would break something in there in process.
Evan clicked the switchblade as Sirius's boot descended on his side, swiping it toward the offending leg even as he rolled out of range and struggled to his feet. He tried to take a deep breath as he cleared the garbage and a spasm of pain fluttered across his face. The little bitch had broken his rib ... or worse. Hate seared through his veins as he tottered forward, switching his implements to one hand so he could find the purchase to land a punch to the soft side of Sirius's nose.
Sirius pulled his leg back - barely a scratch, most of the damage happened to be on his trousers, which wasn't much better. He happened to like this particular pair. The skin connected with his face before he could do much about it, other than put his hand over the bleeding skin. That absolute fucker, that hurt! He wasn't against using physical violence but coming from someone like Evan Rosier? "And you say muggles are barbaric!" He croaked, despite the pain. He aimed another good, hard kick to his knees. This couldn't go on but he didn't want to lose either.
He was smart enough to sidestep that one, throwing his head back to laugh at Sirius's exclamations. Barbaric? Yes, he supposed so. But he was an instrument now, an object to be used for the Dark Lord's wishes. And if it was to barbaric proportions ... that was that. His grin showed all of his teeth. "Are you ready to die, Black? I will do your once family an honour, freeing their mind of your troubling existence."
"And starve Bella of the honour? Tut tut." This really was quite disgusting, tasting the coppery tang over his his lips. He haunched over slightly, trying to get his breath (or what he hoped seemed like it as much as it actually was for that reason) but he wasn't about to give up that easily. "You think a couple of broken bones will do it? You really don't know me." At the last utterance of the word, he threw his own pen knife into the air - aiming to send it right through the leg he'd just missed.
"It's only going to get worse ..." he began, missing the flying knife by Disapparating to re-appear suddenly behind him. He thanked practise with Regulus for that little trick. With a precise movement of his wand and a silent Flagrate, he drew a flaming line in the air and used a sticking charm to adhere it to the end of his wand. With an experimental flick, he watched the flame waver like a whip, coiling in the air. He grinned. "Worse!" And the fiery whip unfurled toward him.
Oh shit. Eloquent it might not be but it was a fair summation of fucking frightening that looked. He hadn't even really been aware you could do that! The shielding charm had to be quick; thank Merlin for Remus reminding to practice that one after the disaster that Diagon had been. He attempted the only counter spell he could actually think of - a flame freezing charm but he had no idea what effect that would have, if any. He summoned his knife back; this was definitely starting to look a bit beyond him as much as he despised to admit that.
Sirius's charm had its desired effect. The whip stuck in mid-air and even as Evan jerked, it would not move. He detached his wand from the line of fire and held himself prepared for whatever Black might have next. He wasn't going to be surprised and he'd be damned if he gave ground first.
It was definitely time to get out of here. Sending one last slicing hex into the air, not knowing if and where it would land, he apparated out. He definitely needed to patch himself up before he ended up getting himself killed over a pissing match.
The slicing hex was batted aside by his wand, even as Sirius Disapparated. Oh, he was never so glad than to see an opponent leave. A stumble backward brought him back against the wall of the Hog's Head and he gingerly felt his rib, hissing through his teeth as his vision swam. He was well-matched to Sirius Black. He wanted to best him ... It was time to leave. He would decide later who would know about this conflict. If anyone.