Genetics • Sirius Black

Chapter Eighty Five: Condemn Me.

Deatheaters. Terrorist. Monsters. Nameless faces that always seemed so distant now sat before Freya. Puzzle pieces fit together almost too well. There was the whispering, the cryptic hierarchy. But could it really be them? They were children. No more than ten and seven.

Was Regulus Black just paranoid? Or had Freya stumbled too far?

One would have to understand Freya had a delusional sense of power until this point. That's why she sat across from Evan Rosier in a noir black dress. She knew he was cruel, power-hungry, and controlling. But the rest weren't. Alecto Carrow showed Freya kindness when others wouldn't. Barty Crouch Jr. picked her up from nothing. Severus Snape protected her from a young age. Were they really the monsters lurking in the dark?

"How did you learn to duel like that?" Evan took a sip of his dark wine. There was a spread laid out before Freya, complete with silver platters and wines. She was not exactly sure how Evan got them into the room, and it made her curious, but she supposed that was the point. Evan, the all-powerful, could get food into any room his heart desires. Part of her could not imagine Evan setting up the table by himself and humoring at the image.

She was not sure which answers he wanted, so she answered honestly. "Severus and I practiced with each other when we were young."

A brow went up. "You're on par with him?"

"We have different strengths." Freya took a swig from her own wine. A bitter, gross thing she did not like very much.

"Explain." He demanded calmly.

Demands made Freya's bone itch, and she looked him in the eye. "Duel us both and find out."

It slipped out her mouth, and before she could apologize, he curled up the corner of his mouth and leaned back. "With all these dueling skills, do you plan to simply be a housewife?"

"If I must." She admitted.

"You have a sense of duty. I respect that." He leaned forward on his elbows and laced his fingers together before resting his chin on it. "Is that why you kneeled?" The memory set Freya's body to frost. And she remembered that she was going to set this man on fire at some point, but she was not sure when. The question appeared rhetorical as he continued. "Duty. Honor. Respect. They all follow the same things. Tradition. Without tradition, we are lost."

"Indeed." She agreed, unsure if it was a lie or not. Freya was fond of patterns; they were comforting, especially when it came to people. But did she believe in tradition? That was hard to decide. On principle, she was sure she did. However, it should be noted she conveniently forgot tradition when her curiosity got the best of her.

"What would you do to hold up tradition?" He asked and Regulus's warnings echoed in her head... but so did her dreams. Without Evan, she would be damned in the ministry; she needed allies to be Great. However, at what cost? What if great meant no more Regulus, Lily, Remus... Sirius? Could she pay that price?

"I have been told that I can make the stars change their pattern when I set my mind to things." She spoke; those were Severus's words long ago. And it felt so long ago. Were those words still true now as she performed for scraps of royal affection?

"Forgive my forwardness, but I must be clear we are on the same page. What do you think about muggleborns?"

Freya knew the answer he wanted. She was meant to spit at the name. Ridicule the lowborn. But Freya harbored no ill will toward those people. Was she meant to lie? She could feel Barty's whisper in her ear, promising it would be worth it, and maybe it was? But she couldn't. "I have no strong feelings about them."

"You don't see the threat?"

"What threat do you speak of?" Her voice was flat, doing it's best to be neutral.