Black Blind Eyes.

Chapter 4: Black Dogs.

Not for the first time, Sirius Black wondered how he had got himself in this position.

Idly, he drummed his finger tips against the hard oaken table, but a murmured growl from the man seated next to him encouraged him to stop. A more contrarian Sirius – the old Sirius – might have continued to irritate his companion, to push the limits of the man's tolerance, but Sirius wasn't stupid.

He had matured, or if not matured then at least changed, in the past few weeks. In this environment the twin pressures offear and deference built up and built up, until they became an intrinsic part of you. Or perhaps it was because the man beside him was Fenrir Greyback that caused him to stop. The Red Wolf he called himself. Red on account of all the blood. In Sirius' first week with the organisation he'd seen Greyback rip out the throat of a fresh-faced new recruit for calling him a puppy. All things considered, he was not a nice guy.

In fact, it pained Sirius to realise that he'd forgotten the name of that newbie already. From what he remembered the boy had been an arrogant brat, but a death was still death and he wouldn't wish it on anybody. Well perhaps not anybody. There were twenty others in the room that he would gladly have wished death upon. Sirius himself, of course, being the twenty-first.

The dog animagus tugged softly at his hood. He'd never get used to the awkward black accoutrement. It wasn't that he hated what it symbolised – although he certainly did hate what it symbolised – but the damn thing was so hot and heavy he felt like he was liable to suffocate at any moment. And naturally when in the master's presence, full uniform, however uncomfortable, was compulsory.

"Quiet everyone," a voice at the other end of the table suddenly spoke up. Nobody had been talking, but it still seemed to Sirius that the room had somehow become even quieter anyway. The Dark Lord tended to have that effect on people.

"Now, Severus, I understand you have important news for us. Do please enlighten us."

The Death Eater stood next to the Dark Lord rose languidly to his feet and cleared his throat. Apparently that was a new policy. If you wished to address His Dominance (which he also now insisted upon) you had to stand. Sirius had heard no end of complaints amongst the Death Eaters about this, but he didn't see what the big deal was. Pompous pricks were always going to be pompous pricks. You just have to suck it up and deal with it.

"Thank you Your Dominance. Some new information has indeed come to my attention. From the Ministry no less. It would seem that somebody important has arrived at Fortress Azkaban, important enough that James Potter has taken them into custody, and important enough that even Dumbledore is taking an interest."

"Intriguing. And just who is this person of such interest?" the Dark Lord spoke softly, drawing out the 's' in 'person' so that it almost sounded like he was hissing. Another habit Sirius had noticed since he had joined the Death Eaters.

"I don't know as of yet, but there was talk of prophecy." Snape paused a moment before hurriedly adding, "Your Dominance."

"I do not like prophecies, as you well know Severus. The Longbottom boy caused me enough problems as it was. And now this. What exactly does this prophecy entail?"

"I don't know as of yet master, although I am working on it. It might not be anything; you know how that superstitious old fool is. He sees omens and prophecies everywhere he looks."

Sirius supposed they were talking about Dumbledore. This James Potter may be superstitious, or even foolish, but he would certainly not count as 'old'.

"That may be so Severus, but your denials sound worryingly similar to excuses, and I like excuses less than I like prophecies. Excuses are liable to leave me... disappointed. You haven't disappointed me have you Severus?"

It never ceased to amaze Sirius how long the Dark Lord could drag out the word 'Severus'. Hell, he could probably take a coffee break in the time it took the man to say "She sells sea shells on the sea shore."

"No master. I don't believe I have disappointed you. But if you wish to punish me..." Snape trailed off, but it amused Sirius to note the strange tinge of hopefulness when his old nemesis mentioned punishment. Perhaps that was just his imagination. But then again, it was Snape.

In fact the idea of punishing Snape seemed to perturb even the Dark Lord. "You are my faithful servant Severus, of that I have no doubt. I see no need for punishment. Good things come to those who wait after all, and I am nothing if not patient."

Sirius supposed there was truth in that. The Dark Lord had few enough virtues, but patience must be one of them. You'd have to be patient if you were to stand living in the back of Professor Quirrell's head for a year. A fate worse than death in his opinion.

Next to be called upon by the Dark Lord were a shabby, pinch-faced pair called the Carrows. For their 'failure' in apprehending some low-level Ministry pencil-pusher they were less lucky than Snape – extended exposure to the Cruciatus curse left them as snivelling wrecks, but they still had the decency to thank their master and crawl back to their seats. Even several minutes later they continued to twitch and shake. It occurred to Sirius that if he stayed with the Death Eaters for too much longer, he may end up undergoing the same treatment.

Of course, as one of the newest members, if not the newest member of the Death Eaters, he hadn't been tasked with any missions to complete yet. But he knew the time would come, and soon. His cover story, if that's what it could be called, had gotten him this far, but eventually he would have to show the others what he was made of. And to be honest, Sirius wasn't sure what he was made of himself. He dreaded the moment he'd be asked to execute a 'mudblood' or torture a 'blood traitor', but it was naive of him to think the day wouldn't come. He liked to think he would turn his wand on his erstwhile comrades, or even simply pull a fast one and ditch the black hood. But he couldn't be certain until that moment came.

And even then, where would he go? The snake and skull etched into his forearm sort of ruled out the Order, and he knew next to nothing about the Ministry. Sirius hated to admit it, but he had lucked out in joining the Dark Lord (ironic, he knew). They were a powerful group, who trusted him a good deal more than they rightly should, and they had their fingers on the pulse of Wizarding society. If he was going to find his godson, the Death Eaters offered as good a starting point as anybody.

The next name called out was enough to make Sirius look up and actually start paying proper attention to the proceedings. "Regulus Black."

Regulus. His long-dead kid brother.

And, incidentally, the reason Sirius was sitting where he was now, surrounded by people he would much rather brutally murder than engage in idle chit-chat with. When earlier he had thought to wish death upon all the other Death Eaters in the room, Sirius realised perhaps Regulus could be spared. Perhaps. They weren't really brothers, after all. His brother was dead and gone.

"Your Dominance," Regulus said as he too stood up. "Progress on my latest little research project goes well. Perhaps too well, even. I'vetrawled through every book I've been able to get my hands on, but now I've reached a dead end."

"I like dead ends even less than I like excuses," murmured the Dark Lord softly.

Sirius noticed his brother gulp, but his face remained a carefully schooled picture of calm. "Of course not, master, but it is an issue that can easily be solved. I have identified a book that should prove the solution to my problem. I know where it is, and how to get it. I just need some help."

"What sort of help?"

"Just some backup wands, Your Dominance. I was thinking my cousin could be of use."

Cousin. Him. Sirius. That was the cover-story after all. That was how he'd ended up here.

And how have I ended up here? Sirius mused. He supposed it was all because life was... complicated. And he himself wasn't entirely blameless for exacerbating those complications. A more rational, level-headed man, like Lupin or even James, upon exiting the Veil, would have stopped for a moment to think. A more rational, level-headed man might then have weighed up his options, laid low for a while, and got his bearings straight. A more rational, level-headed man would certainly not have apparated straight to No.12 Grimmauld Place, without ever pausing to consider the implications.

But Sirius, unfortunately, was not a rational or level-headed man. Which was how he'd run into Regulus, which had lead him right here.

It seemed Regulus was still talking too. About a book he needed, for his 'brother' had been spending long hours in the study at Grimmauld Place, working on something for the Dark Lord. At first Sirius had been very interested on finding out all he could about the little 'project', but as soon as Regulus started to talk about history and ancient artefacts and the linguistic origins of certain spells, Sirius began to lose the will to live. His brother had always been a bookworm after all, and Sirius was decidedly not.

Sirius absent-mindedly noticed the space next to Regulus was empty, when it had been filled by a plump pink-faced witch two nights before. That wasn't too surprising really, a lot of Death Eaters went missing for extended periods of time – sometimes never to return – but Sirius knew he recognised her from somewhere, and not from the Death Eaters. There were a lot of people he'd recognised in the Death Eaters who hadn't been a part of the organisation on the other side of the Veil. And there were some Death Eaters from his side that weren't on this side. He hadn't seen Wormtail yet, for example, but had at least learned from Regulus that the rat did at least exist here. Apparently as a bounty hunter. I'll believe it when I see it thought Sirius.

"Very well Regulus, you have me convinced. And you, Sirius Black," the pale faced monster at the other end of the table spoke, "are you capable of performing what I ask of you?"

"Yes, Your Dominance. It would be an honour to prove my worth to you," said Sirius, standing up and snapping to attention, but mentally he cursed himself for not listening properly. Shit. And nowI have no idea what I've signed up for. Just brilliant.

As Sirius stood before the iron gaze of the Dark Lord, he was inordinately glad for the rudimentary Occlumency training he'd received from Dumbledore, and the knowledge his mind was safe from the prying sight of Lord Voldemort. He was at silently proud of his ability to look the Dark Lord in the eye as he gave his answers. Most of the other Death Eaters couldn't do that, even if his legs did seem to threaten to give out on him at any time.

The Dark Lord continued to drone on, the hiss of his voice never seeming to end, and never having to compete for airtime with any other voices. According to Regulus, Death Eaters had once commonly interrupted each other during meetings, and even queried the demands of the Dark Lord himself on occasion. That had all stopped when Rodolphus Lestrange had 'talked over' Voldemort and lost his tongue because of it. Sirius had to concede that to call the Dark Lord a megalomaniac would not in any way be exaggeration. To call him a complete nutjob may even be closer to the mark.

At the end of the talk, after he had been sat down for over three hours (a not in any way unusual amount of time when it came to Death Eater conferences), the Dark Lord dismissed his followers and retreated to a back room. As Sirius watched the retreating black-cloaked figure, he heard a by now familiar voice at his side.

"So how about it? Working together at last."

"I'm finally going to become a real Death Eater?" Sirius couldn't quite manage to hide the sarcasm dripping from his voice, but if his brother noticed, he didn't say anything.

"You are indeed. We'll go over the plan tonight if you want, but I'm thinking we should leave it until Saturday morning to act. It seems old Gilbert is quite the drinker, spending most Friday nights down at the Badger and Basilisk. With any luck we'll catch him sleeping or hung-over at the very least," said Regulus.

Sirius no idea who 'old Gilbert' was, or even what they would be doing. Something about a book though. He hoped no violence would be involved, but with the Death Eaters you never knew. "Right you are Reg," he replied.

"Very good, cousin, should be fun then."

Cousin. That was strange too. Sirius wasn't quite sure what was stranger: to call his brother 'cousin', or to think of this doppelganger from another dimension as 'brother'. Probably the second one was stranger.

Nonetheless, he still thought of this Regulus as a brother, and called him his cousin. It was, after all, an intrinsic part of his cover story. Even now, Sirius was still bemused at how easily his story had slotted with the realities of the situation, aided in no small part by the naivety – if it could be called that – of his brother.

After exiting the Veil, Sirius had found himself in a post-apocalyptic Ministry of Magic, from which he entered a similarly lifeless Diagon Alley, before he apparated into Grimmauld Place. That's where the situation spiralled out of control. More out of control than it had been previously, at least. If that was possible.

Inside he had found himself face-to-face with a very startled Regulus Black.

The lack of recognition his brother showed when Sirius had announced his name was enough to tip him off that things might be different regarding himself on this side of the Veil. A quick glance at the Black family tapestry had been enough to confirm such doubts, and give Sirius his cover story. A black scorch mark between Cassiopeia and Dorea Black (two of his despised great-aunts) had jarred his memory of a squib great-uncle Marius, who had been always been pointedly not talked about. Clutching at straws, Sirius had claimed to be his son.

It had been a clever ruse. Whilst squibs were despised amongst the pureblooded elite of the Wizarding world, the children of squibs were still considered to be of pure blood, although admittedly not of the highest quality. That too conveniently explained how he had so easily entered the ancestral home of the Black family. The clincher, though, had been Kreacher. On the other side of the Veil, Regulus had always had a close (Sirius had sometimes thought unhealthy) relationship with the decrepit house elf and on this side it was no different. So when the despicable little beast had mentioned that he remembered old Uncle Marius, and that Sirius did indeed have the same "dirty squibbish look" about, well that had been the clincher. Welcome back to the family and all that.

Until then, Sirius had not known such a combination of happiness and revulsion to be possible at the same moment.

From there he had learned that Regulus was still a member of the Death Eaters, and in fact one of the Dark Lord's favoured lieutenants, which had in turn led to Sirius' joining. It would have been suspicious if he hadn't. At least that's what he kept telling himself. The priority was finding Harry, and the best way to find Harry was to stay at the centre of things – if the centre was held by Death Eaters then so be it.

And he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it. Not the Death Eating, obviously. Never the Death Eating. But being back with his brother was invigorating, and kind of... fun. Without James around anymore, with Lupin barely around either, and Harry stuck in Hogwarts for most of the year, Sirius had grown lonely. He'd forgotten how much he missed his little brother. And his brother, left alone with Kreacher for so long, also seemed desperate for some level of human contact. Maybe that was why he had accepted Sirius' story a little too readily.

A low snarling broke Sirius from his thoughts, and he looked up to see the werewolf Greyback with a hand in his brother's chest. A big, hairy, clawed hand at that. "I've been meaning to have a little word with you Black," the beast rasped.

Regulus tried not to back down under the fierce gaze and bared teeth of the brute before him, but the fear was plain to see in his eyes. "W-what about?"

Greyback made a strange noise in his throat, and after a moment Sirius realised it was laughter. But not really. A crude mockery of laughter coming from a monster that had never quite understood humour.

"You're kidding with me aren't you Reggie? Always the little joker. You know damn well what about."

Regulus might know, but Sirius didn't. Slowly he edged his way to stand behind his brother. Although the Dark Lord would punish any violence between Death Eaters severely, it was never clever to take any chances with Fenrir Greyback.

"Not now, not here Fenir," his brother pleaded, holding up his hands in a placatory manner. Submissive. "We can talk later."

Now that is interesting, thought Sirius. Just what was going on here?

"Later. It's always later with you. I wonder if you'll still be saying 'later' when I rip out your throat and feed you to my pack."

Sirius put a supportive hand on his brother's shoulder and bared his teeth. The werewolf may talk big, but Sirius knew how to handle werewolves. They were like dogs really, just bigger. And a lot meaner.

Regulus whined in response. "Come on, Fenrir. You know you can't do that. The Dark Lord – I'm protected – he'd kill you. You know that."

"that may be, but I can still scratch up that pretty face of yours. Maybe give you a little... nip."

The threat dangled in the air momentarily before Sirius stepped in. He spoke to his brother, but his grey eyes fixed the werewolf in his gaze. "You know cousin; I think this fellow might be a little on the slow side. He doesn't i seem to grasp what the Dark Lord will do to him if he lays a finger on you."

Greyback snarled again, thrusting a clawed hand at Sirius' throat. Although he deftly stepped back, the beast's nails still scraped against his skin. "Do you want me to kill you?" he growled.

"Well that's a stupid question isn't it? Obviously I don't. Like I said Regulus: this one's a little bit nutty," Sirius retorted, pulling a face and twirling his finger near his temple.

Greyback's eyes widened and his lips pulled back to reveal some surprisingly long – and sharp – canine teeth. But before he could make a move a voice interrupted them.

The cut-glass, nasal whine was unmistakable. "And do you know what I think is... nutty?" asked a certain Lucius Malfoy, pausing with obvious distaste over the last word. "Calling the clearly irate werewolf – who has shown no previous inhibitions when it comes to attacking those that irritate him – 'nutty'. In fact I might say that is positively moronic."

Sirius had to admit he made a good point.

"So if you chaps would all run along and stop making a scene in my manor I would be very appreciative. Otherwise I might let slip to our master which one of you has been passing secrets to Albus Dumbledore," Lucius continued.

Greyback looked dumbfounded, and Regulus hardly seemed any better. "I – what – I would never do such a thing! Who said so? I swear on my honour as a Black –"

Lucius smiled archly, cutting off the protests. "I didn't say any of you were passing secrets, I'm merely reminding you that I have the Dark Lord's ear on such matters. A spymaster can make mistakes as easily as any other man, after all."

Needless to say, they all left without a fuss. Lucius Malfoy had that effect on people. But even as they stepped out into the gardens, neatly sidestepping a cawing peacock, Sirius realised there was something more going on. He needed to find out what was going on between Regulus and Greyback. It was a hunch, nothing more, but somehow Sirius knew it was important. And even more importantly, he needed to find his godson. Life was not getting any less complicated.