"Hm." Rowena eyes Godric critically, tapping the handle of her wand against her lips. It's a habit Godric has never been able to break her of, regardless of how it makes him twitch. His cousin Alaric was deeply devoted to the idea of wand safety, and Godric heard more than enough lectures on the subject for the matter to stick, even a thousand years later.

Because trying to correct Rowena's habits is an exercise in frustration, Godric doesn't bother snapping at her for it, just crosses his arms over his chest and glares at her from under his hood. "Rowena. This is an attack on a Dark wizard, not Paris Fashion Week."

Rowena rolls her eyes at him, though she at least flips her wand around to hold it normally. "Yes, yes. It's just a shame your hair isn't longer. A red braid against the black would be striking, and a little more association with the color red certainly never hurt you."

"I had long hair," Godric retorts, and debates taking a step out of range, more to make a point than anything. "A nesting Chinese Fireball burned it off, if you recall. And keep your charms away from my scalp, Ravenclaw. I haven't forgotten what happened in Moscow."

Huffing in offence, Rowena slides her wand up the sleeve of her robe, gives him one last displeased once-over, and says, "Well, I suppose it will have to do. You look like a Curse Breaker from the eighteen hundreds, but that is rather dramatic enough to suit our purposes."

"Well, you look like a librarian," Godric retorts. It's not entirely true; Rowena is easily the most breathtakingly beautiful woman Godric's ever laid eyes on, and putting her hair in a bun and donning a pair of wire-framed spectacles hardly changes that. It should be enough to pass through Diagon Alley without too much attention, though, especially since Godric will be walking separately and they're both aged up to their adult bodies again.

"There are far worse things to look like," Rowena tells him, acidly sweet, but then she frowns a little. "You're sure you don't want a disguise? At least until we've found the house? If someone notices—"

She's worried, and it's entirely understandable. This is easily the most noticeable, the most public any of them have been since the very first time they agreed to stage their deaths and live in anonymity. Still, there's no helping it if they want to draw Voldemort out, and Godric offers her a rueful smile.

"We want them to notice me," he points out. "That's what all of this is for. You're my backup, so I need you hidden, but—"

"You have to be the one in the spotlight," Rowena finishes for him, and she looks anything but happy about it, but she still nods, shakes out her pointed hat, and sets it primly on top of her head, tipping it enough to shade her face. "Fine. If someone tries to stop you, I'll hex them so hard they won't wake up until next week."

"You are my favorite backup," Godric tells her, grinning.

Rowena tosses him a wink, because the promise of chaos always makes her spirits rise. "I should hope so," she drawls, then takes a breath. The tunnel under Hogsmeade is as dark and cramped as ever, but she surveys it like a queen, nods once, and glances over at Godric. "I'll be right behind you," she promises, then turns on her heel and vanishes with a crack.

Godric smiles, can't help but shake his head. This is far from the most dangerous thing they've ever done—the four of them have always gravitated towards struggles, largely because of the help they can provide with less scrutiny than they might be subject to elsewhere—but, Godric supposes, this is different because it's Hogwarts that's at risk. People say that the only reason Voldemort failed to attack the school last time he rose was Dumbledore, and Godric doesn't have faith that the same thing will hold true this time. Voldemort seems very much the type to escalate. If they don't manage to stop him…

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Godric puts a hand on the hilt of his sword, rubbing his thumb over the ruby in the pommel. It doesn't matter, because they will stop him. Voldemort is after Harry's head, and Godric will never let him get close enough to touch so much as a corner of the boy's robes. Four times already Voldemort has nearly managed to kill Harry, and Harry's only gotten away through luck, bravery, and his own cunning.

There won't be a fifth time.

Godric tugs his hood down a little further, then turns on his heel, bracing himself for the awful twisting compression of Apparation. One second of disorientation and he's stepping into the Apparition spot in Diagon Alley, another witch appearing just inches to his left. She startles a little at the sight of him, but Godric pretends not to notice, steps down into the street and heads away from the shadow of Gringotts in the sunset. A narrow side street cuts towards the magical neighborhood right behind Diagon Alley's shops, and Godric takes it without pausing, not bothering to look around for Rowena. She knows how to blend in, and if she said she would be right behind him, Godric knows nothing on earth will stop her from being there.

The crowds are slightly thinner than usual, given the hour, but there are still plenty of people on the street. A few eye him, but this close to Knockturn Alley he's hardly the only suspicious figure on the street, and most people are clearly on their way elsewhere. Still, Godric keeps half an eye on his surroundings as he walks, surreptitiously checking the beacon of his locating spell. It's not the most foolproof plan, honestly—he has no idea which Death Eater lives in this house, wasn't able to check given their new time pressures—but it's certainly showy enough, and Godric trusts himself to be able to handle anything Voldemort's followers can throw at him.

A flash of blue robes draws his eye, and he turns his head just slightly, in time to see two men rising quickly from their outdoor table at a restaurant. One is shorter, thin in a way that speaks of starvation, with black hair tangled around his face. The other looks worn, his robes patched and his hair streaked with grey, but his eyes are sharp as they land on Godric, and he's the first to step out into the street after him. The other man is close behind, though, and as they pass beneath a street lamp it's easy to recognize Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, very far from where Godric would expect them. He curses to himself, debates turning into one of the alleys to lose them, or maybe heading back towards Knockturn Alley, but before he can veer off Lupin catches up, falling in beside him.

"It's a nice night for a walk, isn't it?" he asks mildly.

Ahead of him, Godric catches sight of Rowena, watching him warily through the window of a shop. He meets her eyes for half a second, and shakes his head just slightly; there's too much risk involved in trying to hex a werewolf in the middle of an open street, and besides, this is Harry's godfather and friend. Godric isn't about to hurt them, even accidentally.

"A nice night for a date, as well," he returns, keeping his face away from the streetlights and his voice low. There's some small risk of Lupin and Black recognizing him, given that he met them as a student, but the differences should be enough to throw them off. "Please, don't let me interrupt."

From his other side, too close, Black laughs, all teeth and humor. "Sorry," he says, not sounding it at all, "but we couldn't help but notice that sword you're carrying. Very pretty."

Godric doesn't reach for his sword, doesn't rest his hand on it. It's mostly covered by his cloak, and they must have had the perfect angle to see just what he didn't want them to. "Thank you," he says lightly, and looks to where the road divides ahead of them, one street turning off towards the Death Eater's home. Since Godric isn't about to lead them that way, he takes three long strides into the deeper shadows, then turns to face his unwelcome companions. "Are you swordsmen yourselves?"

The tension in Lupin's body says he thinks this is a threat, and pale eyes study Godric warily. "We thought," he says quietly, "that it might be a family heirloom."

Clever, and more so than Godric would like. He watches them both for a long moment, debating whether to hex them and be done with it or to agree. There are definite advantages to the first, especially since it isn't a full moon, but…

Well. Harry seems fond of his godfather, and has had only good things to say about Lupin. Godric's willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

"It is," he agrees, and with their bodies blocking the view from the rest of the street he very deliberately puts a gloved hand on the hilt, letting the ruby catch what light there is. "And a very dear one, at that, so if this is some attempt at extortion, my friends—"

Lupin's eyes widen, and he raises his hands. "No," he exclaims. "Not at all. We're not—"

"I wanted to thank you," Black cuts in, before Lupin can trip over his own tongue. "For bringing in Pettigrew."

Godric pauses, debating, and then says lightly, "Seeing as I believe whoever did that is currently wanted by the Ministry, I feel I should make it very clear I'm not who you think I am."

Lupin makes a sound of amusement. "Just a stranger in dark robes, wearing Gryffindor's sword and going somewhere with a purpose. The Daily Prophet's sketch of you was quite flattering, by the way."

Rowena passes behind them, out of their line of sight, but catches Godric's eye. Her stare is sharp, and this time Godric doesn't bother warning her off. He needs to get back to things, and be back at the castle when Harry gets out of his detention with Umbridge. Also, the longer Lupin and Black keep him here, the greater the chance that an Auror will pass by and notice him. They're aiming for attention, but on their own terms, and that would be rather more than is ideal.

"I would love to stay and chat—" Godric starts.

"The Order of the Phoenix is looking for you," Black interrupts, and Godric goes still in surprise. He looks from one to the other, sees Rowena behind them is alert and listening closely, frozen with one hand close to her wand. And—well. It makes sense that Sirius Black would have been a member of the Order in the first war, and that, if other people knew he was innocent, he would be this time around as well.

He taps his fingers against the hilt of his sword, wavering, and then says, "If they're looking for my head on a pike, I assure you, we're on the same side. There's no need for hostilities."

Lupin and Black exchange looks, and Black grins. "We knew that already," he says confidently. "Got a minute? Or a safe place to meet? We know someone who'd very much like to get to know you."

Rowena gives him a subtle nod, then slips away, heading towards the Death Eater's house. Clear enough, then, and Godric truly hopes she's willing to take the fall for this bout of improvisation, because he gets the feeling Salazar isn't going to be happy about it at all.

"I can spare some time," he tells the pair, shifting back on his heels and letting his cloak fall to cover the blade again. "Though I will have to run an errand before we meet up again. Rent a room at the Leaky Cauldron, and I'll find you."

"Half an hour?" Lupin asks, like he's weighing the odds of whether Godric is going to duck out or not.

That should be more than enough time, really, Godric judges. He inclines his head, then steps away, reaching up to tug his hood down a bit further. "Half an hour," he agrees. "Excuse me, gentlemen." Brushing past them, he catches a flicker of light from Lupin—a very simple but unnoticeable version of a tracking spell, he thinks with amusement; the man's quick enough that he should have been an Auror—but doesn't react, just follows Rowena.

She's waiting for him in a narrow alley between two houses, leaning back against the wall behind the dustbins with her arms folded over her chest. That frown is thoughtful, though, not angry, Godric judges, and steps into the circumference of her wide-range Notice-Me-Not spell, tugging his hood down.

"Now there's an unexpected opportunity," he says with amusement, settling against the wall across from her.

Rowena hums, tipping her head, and ignores when her hat starts to slide. Sharp eyes study Godric for a moment, and she pulls out her wind and flicks it at him. A spot on his robes lights up, a thin thread of brilliance leading back out into the streets, and she raises a brow in question.

"Lupin," Godric explains. "I thought I'd allow it, to put them at ease. There's no listening component."

That, at least, makes her relax. "I'm glad you're still that logical, Godric," she drawls, and re-crosses her arms, letting her wand dangle from two fingertips. "This is an opportunity we can't afford to pass up. They gave you time to get to our Death Eater?"

"Plenty," he confirms, and grins at her. "Don't look so tense, Ravenclaw. This is everything we wanted, isn't it? The Order will be able to help us identify the rest of Voldemort's followers, and they might have information on his movements. We need this."

"I know that," Rowena retorts waspishly, though the tension in her shoulders eases a little. "But if you go in there, you're going to have to go alone, and they'll likely ward the room against everything under the sun. I don't like it."

"I'm perfectly capable of defending myself—"

"But you shouldn't always have to!" Rowena snaps, then stops herself, pressing a hand over her face with a weary sound. Godric blinks at her, a little startled by the outburst, but when she raises her head her expression is…sad. It makes him think of Salazar, this morning, Salazar with his head on Godric's shoulder and the weight of fifty years in the curve of his spine.

"You shouldn't always have to," Rowena repeats more quietly, holding his gaze. "Godric, we—" A glance away, and her fists tighten, hand going white-knuckled around her wand. A breath, and she says, with more determination than Godric has heard in a very long time, "We made a mistake in our choices, and I regret it, so deeply. But letting you walk into a room with an unknown number of people, possibly enemies—do not think that there isn't enough care in me to worry about you in that situation."

Godric swallows, has to force himself to look away. It's so easy to remember the argument they had in Umbridge's rooms, the coldness of Rowena's face when Salazar said we're parting ways here. Easy, too, to recall their swordfight in the hallway after he and Salazar argued, or their dance in the Great Hall, or the dark film of corruption covering a blue thread of magic. Rowena is family, in a way not even his blood family ever managed to be. Godric would die for her, but some time over the last fifty years, he'd forgotten that the reverse is true as well.

"There has always been care in you," he says quietly, because all of Rowena's insecurities can be worn away to this one root. "Always love, with a ferocity I've rarely seen matched. Rowena, I have never doubted that."

She smiles at him, wan but grateful, and reaches out. Godric grips her fingers, squeezing lightly, and is only a little surprised when she uses the grip to pull him to her, wrapping her arms around him. A sharp chin rests on his shoulder, and Rowena sighs, then says, "Godric, the secrets between us…"

Godric could tell her he knows. Could show her the ring, tell her Harry's story about the diary. Could upend all of the half-lies and misdirections right now. It's incredibly tempting to have all of this done with, over and put behind them, but—

Instead he presses their temples together, hugs her tightly, and resigns himself to keeping it just a bit longer. He's still too angry to try making peace between them, too resentful of the lack of trust. Maybe soon, but not yet.

"We should go," he says instead. "There's still a Death Eater to unmask, hm?"

Rowena curls her fingers into his hair for a moment, then lets go, allowing him to step back. A hand rubbed over her face banishes any trace of vulnerability, and she tips her head in a firm nod. "And then a meeting with the Order of the Phoenix," she agrees. "Where?"

"The Leaky Cauldron." Godric gives her his best winsome smile. "They shouldn't recognize me like this, even if I change after to avoid the Aurors. And I thought you could stay in the pub while I was upstairs, to keep an eye on things."

Rowena laughs, ruffles his hair like he's still thirteen. "Much appreciated," she allows. "Off with you. Let's get this done with."

Godric rolls his eyes at her, but fondly, and tugs his hood up over his head before he steps back into the street. The glow from his mapping spell brightens as he walks, just visible out of the corner of his eye, and he watches it as he nears the row of neat houses, tall and narrow but in good repair. The very last one in before the corner is the marked one, and Godric stops squarely in front of it, judging the best approach. It's a private house rather than apartments, and there's a family crest on the door, though it's not one he's familiar with. The Death Eater is certainly inside, given the way his spell is shining, and Godric hums thoughtfully and draws his sword and wand. The head-on approach it is, then.

A blasting spell slams into the ward on the front door with a sound like a massive bell, sending people scattering to the other side of the street with cries of alarm. Godric assesses, adjusts, hurls another spell into the ward nexus right above the threshold, then another two into the spreading fractures on either side of it. Brittle wards, old and in disrepair—clearly someone wasn't expecting to be attacked at home and didn't bother keeping them up, which is all good news for Godric. He smiles grimly to himself, hurls one last spell at the door, and feels the ward shatter with a ringing crack.

A moment later, the entire door vanishes in a gout of crimson light that flies right at Godric's face. He blocks it with a shimmering Shield Charm, then steps through the whirling wisps of magic and raises his sword to block a jet of golden light. There's a snarled curse, and a man stalks down the steps. He's thin and unpleasant-looking, his expression furious as he comes to a stop facing Godric.

"You," he hisses. "You'd best know what you're doing. I'm a Ministry employee, and this attack will not be taken lightly."

Godric smiles, summoning a dart of blackness that swirls around him like a mad firefly, keeping to a tight spiral as it circles him. "So this rot has even infected the Ministry's staff?" he asks, pitching his voice to carry. "How regrettable. Tell me, how many of them know you serve the Dark Lord?"

Shock flickers over the man's face, but it's buried in an instant. "Lies!" he spits. "Those charges were proven false fifteen years ago—"

"I wasn't referring to your actions fifteen years ago," Godric tells him mildly. "I was referring to how you answered Voldemort's call on the night he was resurrected. He activated that mark on your arm, and you went running to the graveyard in Little Hangleton like a good little dog."

The color is slowly shading from the man's face, but he doesn't back down. "I don't know why you've chosen to target me, " he hisses, "but this is pure conjecture. I've done nothing wrong, and I certainly wouldn't serve You-Know-Who! The Macnairs have been loyal to the Ministry for generations!"

Macnair, then. Harry hasn't mentioned much about him, beyond his presence at Voldemort's resurrection, but Godric's able to improvise. "And what a shame for you to break that streak," he says, mockingly sympathetic even as he readies a Vanishing Charm. "Come now, there's a simple enough way to prove me a liar. Show me your left arm."

Macnair's face twists, and he snarls, bringing his wand up sharply. "I don't need to prove anything to a criminal like you," he snaps, and Godric whirls, ducking under the jet of red light that comes flying at him. A Shield Charm blocks the next blow, and he flicks a hand, the dark orb that's been spinning around him suddenly launching itself forward like a bullet. It twists through three spells that Macnair hurls in quick succession, leaving Godric to deflect them to the side, and slams full-force into Macnair's chest, knocking him right off his feet.

He goes down with a choked cry, wheezing for breath, and Godric straightens. Lazily, he flicks his wand, and silver ropes slide out of the tip to wind themselves around Macnair, pinning him to the ground. They bind his arms at the wrist, but go no further down, and Godric taps his wand against the man's sleeve, vanishing it all the way up to the shoulder. There's a concealment spell underneath, and he does away with that as well even as Macnair twists and curses.

"Well, well," he says, makes it languidly amused and more than a little mocking. "If you're not a Death Eater, I suppose this is a just a tattoo? Perhaps it's an abstract image, or you got drunk one night? I'd take umbrage with my tattoo artist, if that's the case. Because it certainly looks like the Dark Mark to me."

"Bastard," Macnair hisses, but Godric just laughs and rises to his feet, letting go of the man's arm. There are several people huddled back on the other side of the street, watching from a safe distance, and Godric inclines his head to them.

"This is the third," he calls. "The third of many! By the time I'm through, Voldemort will be nothing but a lone worm, cringing from the light. This man is a Death Eater. Watch him. Be wary. He is a snake in your midst, but once you've recognized him for what he is his venom loses its potency."

Helga was the one to come up with an actual image for the mark they agreed upon, and Godric takes a moment to fix it in his mind before he flicks his wand. Red fire curls from the tip, swirling for a moment before it rises, hovering right over Macnair's door. The flames twist together, and for half an instant they look like a lion roaring before they change again, shifting into a burning replica of Godric's sword. It hangs point down, blade bared, above the doorway, and Godric smiles to himself. It's blatant and entirely noticeable, but that's rather the point; anyone who looks at it, who's heard of this, will know precisely what it means.

Lifting his sword, Godric offers those watching a salute, then turns sharply on his heel as he ends Lupin's tracking spell. The Hogsmeade tunnel snaps into focus, and Godric catches himself on one wall with a grimace. He hates Apparating, and he's going to have to do it at least two more times before the night is over. What joy.

Still. That's one Death Eater identified, and the Aurors will likely be there soon to investigate the disturbance. They might be able to find evidence of Macnair's activities, but even if they don't, the rumors will spread. People will watch him, hopefully refrain from trusting him. He won't be able to hide any longer, and that's more than enough for Godric.

With a simple charm, he alters his clothes, shifts the gold-trimmed black coat and red-lined cloak into a more regular winter coat, hides his sword under a simple charm. A cap is enough to hide his hair and shadow his face, and Godric makes himself slouch a little to change the cut of his figure. It's a ludicrously simple disguise, but then, wizards often overlook such things. He looks different enough from himself at fifteen that he's not overly worried about Lupin or Black realizing it's him, as long as he speaks quietly and changes his speech patterns a little. They only met him briefly, after all, and like this, Godric certainly looks like a man who's lived his years. He fingers his crooked nose for a moment, considers hiding some of the scars on his skin, but then decides to refrain from it. They only change his face more, and right now he needs that.

When he reappears on the Diagon Alley side of the leaky Cauldron, Rowena is already waiting, standing just beyond the archway. She smirks when she sees Godric approaching, and as soon as he's close enough reaches out to tap his coat with her wand. It shimmers, shifting from black to emerald green, and she nods. "Better. Aurors were just arriving as I left, so hopefully everything will be over with shortly."

Godric grins at her, and though the urge to offer her is arm is present, he refrains. Better that they're not seen together, after all. "Good. Wouldn't want a commotion like that to ruin our night, would we?"

"The only ruined night is Macnair's," Rowena says with no little satisfaction, pushing her glasses up. "Send a Patronus if you need me to rescue you, remember."

"Yes, yes, I know." Despite the aggravation, Godric offers her a smile. "Far be it from me to deprive you of the chance to bash a few skulls in, you violent harpy."

Rowena sniffs, tipping her chin up in a way that might be arrogant if she weren't trying so hard not to smirk. "You'd better not, Gryffindor. Respect your elders. Or I'll tell the whole world how Godric Gryffindor tried to seduce Salazar Slytherin on his seventeenth birthday."

"Not that it worked," Godric mutters sourly, because it's still a sore point.

With a laugh that's only a little mocking, Rowena pats him on the cheek, then urges him on. "Off with you. Scream if they try to torture you."

"You're a hag," Godric tells her, rolling his eyes, then dodges the kick she aims at his ankle and ducks through the archway, letting himself into the pub. It's entirely crowded, and the barman looks harried, but that makes it easy enough to slip past him and take the stairs up. It's been almost exactly half an hour, so Godric pauses in the hall, then murmurs a spell. A veil of silver slides across his eyes for a moment, making the swirls of spellwork easy to see against the gloom. There are a few charms here and there, but the fourth room down glows like a beacon, so heavily warded that it puts Macnair's house to shame.

Of course, there's always a chance that it's simply a paranoid guest, but Godric is fairly certain it's for him.

Careful of the spells, he pauses in front of the door and knocks politely, listening for sound from within. It's well-warded, though; he gets nothing at all until the door actually swings open, and Lupin looks him over warily.

"You're—" he starts, then stops when he realizes he doesn't have a name.

"Call me Godric," Godric tells him cheerfully, because they're absolutely certain to assume it's a false name.

"Godric," Lupin repeats, clearly skeptical. He makes a sound of resignation, though, and steps out of the way. "That's quite the fuss your errand raised, I hope you know."

"If you're complaining about a Death Eater being unmasked, perhaps we're not on the same side after all." Even so, Godric steps past him, into the empty room.

"The others should be here soon," Lupin offers, and shuts and locks the door.

Well, Godric thinks, I can't wait, and gives Lupin a bland smile as he takes a seat on the windowsill, back braced against the glass. It will be easy enough to break, if he needs to leave in a hurry, and it's not an exit most wizards would consider.

Hopefully it won't come to that, but Godric has mixed feelings about how the night is going to go.

"We found him!" Sirius says, maybe a little too loudly, as he slams into the Grimmauld Place kitchen. Behind him, his mother's portrait starts shrieking, but with the door shut it's muffled enough to ignore, and it's not as if Sirius hasn't already been ignoring her screeching since he was a child.

Molly startles so hard she drops a loaf of bread, and Bill has to lunge to catch it. On the other side of the table, Kingsley is halfway to his feet, wand in hand, and he looks at Sirius, glances behind him, and then lets out a heavy breath.

"You're going to get yourself hexed one of these days, doing that," he says, and his tone is amused, but tired. "What's happened? Where is Remus?"

"Booking a room at the Leaky Cauldron," Sirius tells him, impatient. "The Heir of Gryffindor is going to meet us there."

This time it's Bill who drops the bread, though it thankfully lands on the table rather than the floor. "Gryffindor's Heir?" he repeats, brows rising sharply towards his hairline.

Kingsley stares for a moment as well, then snorts. "I would have thought he was too busy assaulting Walden Macnair to attend any meetings," he says wryly. "Tonks was just called in to assist. Apparently the Heir marked him as a Death Eater barely fifteen minutes ago."

"It couldn't have happened to a nicer man," Sirius says, showing teeth. "Remus and I recognized Gryffindor's Heir from your description while we were out, and he agreed to meet somewhere neutral. I need to get word to Dumbledore."

"I'll firecall him," Molly volunteers, and when Sirius glances at her in some surprise she brushes him off with a brief wave. "Go and hold him there, Sirius. The headmaster should be back in his office by now, so I'll let him know to meet you."

Sirius nods his thanks, then turns to leave, only to have Bill follow him into the hall, grabbing his jacket as they pass. When Sirius lifts a brow at him, Bill grins, white and sharp in the low light. "Like I'm going to miss meeting a man descended from the greatest duelist to ever live," he says, over the painting's shrieks about blood traitors. "I'm off for the night anyway."

Sirius grins back, and as soon as they hit the stairs leading down he says, "Upstairs in the Leaky Cauldron," and turns sharply on his heel. The new wand, purchased just that afternoon with Remus now that he's legally allowed one, still feels vaguely stiff and unfamiliar, but he doesn't splinch himself, so that's a plus. Bill is an instant behind him, and he touches down with a hard thump of boots.

There's a pause, and then the door at the far end of the hall creaks open. Remus sticks his head out, smiles in relief at the sight of them, and beckons them closer.

"Send a Patronus next time, Padfoot," he says, a little dryly. "You almost gave me a heart attack Apparating in like that."

"Sorry, Moony." Sirius grins at him apologetically, doesn't bother to say that he probably couldn't call up a Patronus if his life depended on it. Not enough happiness left for that, and what happiness he once had is dim and half-fogged by his time in Azkaban. Remus doesn't need to know that, though—he already deals with Sirius's nightmares as it is.

Remus smiles back at him, lets their hands brush as Sirius ducks past into the room. It looks precisely the same as the last time Sirius stayed here as a teenager, right down to the sheets on the bed, and he glances over everything, takes it in and—

The man perched on the windowsill grins at him, sharp enough to draw blood. Sirius had been expecting that hooded cloak, the concealing black coat, but instead the man looks…normal, almost. Except he doesn't, because there's a light in green eyes that sends a shiver of some instinctive animal wariness bolting down Sirius's spine. The Heir is young, looks younger than Sirius, with ruby-red hair half-hidden under a hat, a nose that looks like it's been broken several times, and scars scattered across his face and throat.

The way he's holding himself, even mostly relaxed, says threat, though, loudly enough to make even Sirius wary.

"Sirius, Bill." Remus gives them both a faintly strained smile as he shuts the door, and Sirius doesn't want to contemplate what being in a small room with a man like that is doing to Remus's instincts. "This is…"

"You can call me Godric," the Heir says, smile unwavering, and somehow that's eerier than the look in his eyes. Cold and calculating, Sirius thinks, and has to swallow at the memory of cornering him in the street. If he and Remus had been able to see his face, they might have followed at a distance, rather than confronting him. "It's a family name."

At Sirius's side, Bill makes an interested sound, eyes flickering down to Godric's hip. "That really is the Sword of Gryffindor," he says with enthusiasm that's only mostly contained, and Sirius frowns, looks at him, and looks back at Godric.

Godric blinks, tilting his head. "You can see it?" he asks, dropping his hand onto—

Not empty air, Sirius realizes. The sword, shining silver with a ruby set into the pommel, encased in a dark scabbard.

Bill grins. "I'm good at picking out concealment charms," he says.

Godric appraises him for a moment, then smiles back. "Still, well spotted," he says, and leans back. "You're all Order members, I take it?"

"We are," Remus confirms, and when he takes a seat on the bed Sirius casually drops down to sit next to him, leaning his weight into Remus's side. Remus gives him a grateful fraction of a smile, and a little of the tension goes out of him.

"Bill Weasley," Bill offers, and doesn't hesitate to hold out his hand as he steps closer.

Green eyes flicker over him, putting Sirius in mind of nothing less than some big cat sizing up its next meal, but Godric simply accepts it, grasping Bill's hand in return. Another pause, like Godric is weighing him, and the man inclines his head. "It's nice to meet you," he says lightly, and it actually sounds like he means it. As Bill steps back, though, his gaze flickers over to Sirius, and he asks, "Will Professor Dumbledore not be joining us, then?"

It's not as though it's difficult for anyone to guess who leads the Order, but to hear him say it so plainly is a little startling. "We have someone trying to reach him," Sirius says, then hesitates. It's likely they should wait for Dumbledore to ask any questions, but there's one that's been itching at Sirius since he first heard about Peter's capture.

"Why?" he bursts out before he can stop himself. "Why go after Peter first? There had to be other Death Eaters that were easier to find."

A long, slow blink, like a cat, and Godric's smile sharpens. "Do you want the tactical answer, or the sentimental one?" he asks, and Sirius has to swallow a bark of laughter at the thought of this man being sentimental, ever. Thankfully, before Sirius can likely offend him by saying so, he keeps going. "Pettigrew's capture was an opening salvo. The Sicilian Defense, taking control of the center of the chessboard before the black side has a chance to advance its cause. Voldemort hasn't managed to put any pieces into play yet, not in a way that has any relevance to the war. I'm going to capture all of his pieces before he can, and leave him vulnerable." A thin slash of a grin, all teeth. "And then it will be checkmate."

Well that's not an unnerving way of looking at it at all, Sirius thinks wryly, though Remus, who's always been far fonder of chess, is nodding like it makes sense. The hand curled around Sirius's tightens slightly, and then Remus asks, "And the sentimental?"

Sirius almost, almost pinches Remus for that, because clearly the man was joking and Sirius knows that Remus does in fact have a sense of humor. But rather than scoffing, Godric just—

Softens. He doesn't stop smiling, but in a moment some of the edges have been worn down, filed away. The entire set of his face eases, and for a second he no longer looks as if he's a predator trapped in a cage, but a man like any other. He looks away for a moment, and when he looks back to meet Remus's gaze his eyes seem lighter, the color of new grass.

"Because a boy lost his parents," Godric says simply. "They were stolen from him, and his godfather was taken away, and I could fix at least part of that and hurt Voldemort at the same time. So I did."

And—Merlin but Sirius wants this to be real. He wants this man to be everything he claims to be, just for that. Because no one else in the world cared, or thought Sirius's case was anything other than what it appeared on the surface, except for one man.

"How did you even know?" he demands, bewilderment and gratitude all tangled up together.

Godric laughs at that, warm and startlingly pleasant, and grins at Sirius with a mirth that makes his face into something else entirely. Something almost familiar, though Sirius can't quite put his finger on it. It's gone before he can pinpoint it, regardless, as Godric tips his head, and that danger is sliding back into his features like it never left. "A man's got to have some secrets, Black. Let me hang onto my aura of mystery a little while longer, hmm?"

"I really don't think that's going to be a problem for you," Sirius tells him, halfway to a joke, and it makes him grin, sharp teeth and intent. And—maybe this should be about determining whether or not Godric is who he says he is, but Sirius realizes with a bit of wry amusement that he already believes the man. Sirius hadn't been quite sure what to expect from the Heir of Gryffindor, but now that he's met Godric he can't imagine him any other way.

"This is all going to push Voldemort right 'round the bend," Bill says, halfway between admiration and a warning. He folds his arms over his chest, looking thoughtful, and adds, "You can't get to every Death Eater before he makes his first move. Not unless there are a lot more of you than I would assume."

Godric chuckles. "Get him angry and he'll get sloppy," he says easily, like the rage of a Dark Lord is a simple thing, easily weathered. "I have his weakness, and as soon as he comes to confront me I'm going to wave it in his face. Watch him panic a bit, in payback for at least a little of the grief he's caused."

Which is an appealing thought, Sirius allows. A hell of an appealing thought, really. The idea of Voldemort running scared isn't something he's ever thought to picture, but he definitely likes it.

"It might make Harry a target," Remus says quietly, and Sirius stiffens, panic aptly fluttering in his throat at the thought. Merlin, Harry is the only thing he has left besides Remus. The only remnant of James and Lily, and Sirius can't lose him, not when things are finally coming together—

Remus grips his hand a little more tightly, leans into his shoulder to ground him. He's a big man, though with the way he carries himself it's easy to forget sometimes, and the press of him is familiar enough to jar a shaky breath back into Sirius's lungs.

There's a moment of silence, and then Godric says quietly, "Harry Potter was the first in centuries to draw this sword." His fingers ghost across the ruby in the hilt, and he smiles a little, that same soft smile from before. "And he's the one who defeated Voldemort every other time he rose. Believe me, there is nothing I want less than to put Harry in danger. Protecting him is my priority, even over capturing Death Eaters."

Strangely, Sirius finds that he believes those words. Believes that Godric actually means them, and will keep them. Something about the look on his face, he thinks, steady and solemn, like he knows just how valuable Harry is not just as a pawn against Voldemort but as a person.

It's something Sirius still has trouble remembering sometimes, that Harry is a person outside of his ties to James. But—Godric seems to understand that.

Before he can say anything, a soft knock interrupts them. Bill slides over to open the door, blocking the view into the room with his body as he checks who it is, but a moment later he's stepping back, pulling the door with him so Dumbledore can enter. The headmaster is still dressed for the day, robes as blue as a robin's egg and scattered with lavender stars, and he smiles warmly at all four of them as he steps inside.

"The Heir of Gryffindor, I take it?" he asks lightly, as his gaze lands on Godric. "Truly, this is an pleasure."

Godric pushes to his feet, bowing to the headmaster. "I hope it didn't cause you any worry when I called the sword to me, Professor," he says politely. "I'm afraid I was rather eager to take Pettigrew, and may have overlooked other details in my haste."

Pale blue eyes twinkle with amusement, and Dumbledore chuckles. "None at all, my boy," he says amiably. "Hogwarts keeps her treasures close, and I thought she had simply returned that one to where she usually keeps it. I'm glad it ended up in good hands, however."

Godric puts his hand on the hilt of his sword, lifting his head. "Hands with a duty," he says, holding the headmaster's gaze, and in that instant he's a predator again, focused and feral. "One I intend to see through, with the Order or without it. The choice is yours, Professor."