He is persistent, Sirius will give him that, not backing down on his story one bit, however impossible. Despite himself, Sirius feels a pang of something other than intense distrust when he lowers his head to murmur words that, to the untrained ear, sound enormously sincere and riddled with a guilt.
But Sirius has spent the last several years with an eye on betrayal, has learned to grow more and more suspect of even his closest friends.
And this boy is no friend.
Still, as he lifts his head again, those eyes so very much like Evans's, the words cut. Perhaps it's the name itself, those few putrid syllables breathed into the air so carelessly when even some members of the Order still refuse to utter them. Or perhaps it's the surety in the statement, the catch in the kid's throat. It's not the proud proclamation Sirius would expect of a Death Eater or even a sympathizer. It's not gloating. It's not smug.
It's... pained.
"You lie," Sirius says, lowly. A plea.
The panic and turmoil under his skin boils over and Sirius rushes forward, grabbing the boy by the front of his shirt, the tip of his wand pressed just beneath his jaw. Merlin, those eyes, wide behind wire-rimmed glasses, set in a face that could be a bloody mirror for James.
But it can't be. Not if--
Sirius's hands are shaking, his ears ringing. He digs the tip of his wand into the soft skin below the boy's jaw -- not Harry, he is not Harry -- and bared his teeth. "YOU LIE!"
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Date: 2016-01-26 03:17 am (UTC)But Sirius has spent the last several years with an eye on betrayal, has learned to grow more and more suspect of even his closest friends.
And this boy is no friend.
Still, as he lifts his head again, those eyes so very much like Evans's, the words cut. Perhaps it's the name itself, those few putrid syllables breathed into the air so carelessly when even some members of the Order still refuse to utter them. Or perhaps it's the surety in the statement, the catch in the kid's throat. It's not the proud proclamation Sirius would expect of a Death Eater or even a sympathizer. It's not gloating. It's not smug.
It's... pained.
"You lie," Sirius says, lowly. A plea.
The panic and turmoil under his skin boils over and Sirius rushes forward, grabbing the boy by the front of his shirt, the tip of his wand pressed just beneath his jaw. Merlin, those eyes, wide behind wire-rimmed glasses, set in a face that could be a bloody mirror for James.
But it can't be. Not if--
Sirius's hands are shaking, his ears ringing. He digs the tip of his wand into the soft skin below the boy's jaw -- not Harry, he is not Harry -- and bared his teeth. "YOU LIE!"