Chapter Text
1 June 1985
Sirius rounded the corner of the lane that led to his house. It was the perfect little place on the Mediterranean in the South of France. No one ever bothered him there. Except for today, it seemed. A spritely looking 30-something woman was standing at the low gate leading to the pathway of the cottage. She was looking down at a notebook and talking to herself as if rehearsing what she was going to say. She'd be rubbish at any espionage.
As Sirius drew closer, the blonde woman stood up straight. She looked right at him with her big blue eyes.
“Hello, how may I help you?” Sirius asked in French. He probably had lived in France more of his life than in England, but he still had those proper English manners.
“Yes, ah, I was looking for Mister Sirius Black.” She said in choppy French. He could practically hear her British Accent bleeding out in the vowels.
“English is fine. Why are you looking for him?”
“You are him.” Her eyes widened at the realization.
Sirius laughed, “It depends on what you want.”
“Sir, I’m Luna Lovegood. I’m currently working on a book about spies during World War II. I have been sent to you after hearing from someone else what you accomplished then."
Sirius felt his jaw clench. He did his best to stay far away from anything involving the war. He never attended the ceremonies, the endless memorials. He didn't hang up any medals. Nor did he ever read those books detailing what happened. Those were times that he didn’t want to go back to. “I don’t think I’m interested Miss Lovegood.”
“I believe that your story should be out there. Not only because what you did was amazing, but your life’s story and-- you’re gay!”
“That’s enough, Mademoiselle, excuse me as this old gay man needs to go have a lie-down.”
“Mister Black, please think about it.” She shoved a business card at him. “Please think about it. People need to hear more stories.”
“Love, if Alan Turing wasn’t enough to realize we’re not all a bunch of pedophiles or what have you then I’m sorry. I'm not going to be able to change the image myself.” He took the card and dropped it into the bag of bread, fruit, and biscuits that he had been carrying.
“But it’s not just that—”
“Have a lovely day, Miss Lovegood.” He slid past her and went to his cottage. There were enough demons that he had to battle with every day. There was no need to drag all the old ghosts up to make it worse.
Sirius went into his quiet house. He put away his groceries and made a pot of tea, the whole while thinking about the past. There were many hard times, brutal times but it was always exciting. His life in the late thirties through the mid forties was filled with adventure. It was the opposite of what he had from then on. But he that didn’t mean he wanted to relive it and tell all his truths to some random woman who just wanted to tell his stories for her own gain. The bad tended out weigh the good when he took a journey through his memories.
****
19 July 1939
“Why, yes, this is a Roman vase. It was supposedly a favorite of a particular emperor.” Caesar, because these bloody Fascists loved that empire for some reason. It wasn’t like the thing actually came from there. There were ways to make new things look old. Sirius could forge with the best of them, another skill that made him attractive to the Secret Intelligence Service. Sell it with a song and a dance in his most charming manner, then there was an even greater asset.
Sirius felt his skin crawl every time he had to deal with a damn Fritz, especially ones with "important" ranks in front of their first names, but that was the job. No matter the rank he had to pretend to be nice and civil. He hadn’t met Hitler yet, but with the way things were going, he was about to one these times he was in Germany. As much as Sirius hated the man, he did want to be in the same room as him just to see what the big deal was about. Not that he could do anything to kill the man, he was just there to gather intelligence. Follow orders. When he was put into British intelligence, he was assuming it’d be a bit more hands on and less talk about art. Not that he hated art, he did study art history after all. Sirius just thought the life of a spy would be a bit more exciting.
“Herr Black, you do always bring the best.” The Kommandant appraised the artifact. The reason Sirius was put into this was due to his last name and the lineage of hate and racism he came from. He didn’t have to go too far undercover, in regards to dropping his name and such. The Blacks had close ties to the Nazis. He had seen cousins in the Gestapo as there was still some of his mother's family in Germany.
When things started to kick up in Germany, things were beginning to kick up in the Black household between Sirius and his parents. Their fights were becoming explosive. Sirius wanted out, and he wanted quickly. But Monty Potter got Sirius to make things right with them, and in return, Sirius would become a spy and help his government. He couldn't wait for the moment it was all over to tell his parents exactly how he felt and that he used them.
Sirius remembered the moment he realized that 1. He was going to have to continue a relationship with his family and 2. That Monty Potter was in the SIS and 3. He was about to join as well. They were sitting in the Potters garden on a bright summer day after he had come to the Potter estate following a terrible row with his mother about one thing or another. Sirius was going off about how horrid his parents were, and once he was done with Uni in three years, he was going to be out from under their thumbs. It was only a few more years. He could do it.
At that, Monty turned rather grave and asked him if he would like to do something important, for King and Country. Sirius had laughed loudly because he just wasn’t expecting it. The man he grew up with seeing as a kindly man in a world full of arseholes was a spy. The man who tended to his garden in frumpy jumpers carried a gun. James didn’t know, Effie didn’t know, it was a position of secrecy. A life and a secret that Monty wanted to extend to the brilliant and talented Sirius Black who grew up with a German mother, who hated those Jews and Gypsies and whoever else she saw as less than, and a French-British Father, who hated anything that wasn’t rich.
“Sirius, son, you know four languages, you’re highly skilled at forgery, your IQ is immense, and you’re the most charming Black to date. You've been on the radar, not just from me but from others in my unit. You’re a prime candidate, and I want you to join. You can do so much to help. You can save so many people. But you have to continue to be a part of the House of Black in order for you to do so.” Sirius couldn’t say no to Monty Potter. It was impossible. It was going to be hard to continue to deal with his family, but he knew this was what he wanted to do.
That was five years ago. It was now 1939, and Sirius was the best known black market art dealer to the Nazis and an asset for the SIS. The Nazis thought of him as one of them. They knew he was cultured and that he attended Oxford to study art history. Sirius was sure they did the full background on him, but they weren’t going to find any spot on his record. The SIS received valuable information from him.
“Yes, I do try to bring the best for you.”
“Tell me, where do you find these things?” The Kommandant always asked but he never honestly cared, he just wanted all the material goods he could lay his greedy hands on.
“We all have our connections, Kommandant Roitegg.”
The man laughed. He liked the mystery. Sirius had his elaborate back story, and some actual state sanctioned shady dealings so Roitegg wouldn’t find holes in his story and in the handing off of such art (or forgeries). “Of course. I’ll take it. The Führer will appreciate it greatly as it is a gift for him. What type of price are we thinking about my friend?" Sirius went through the usual dance until the Kommandant finally agreed on a price. Little did the Germans know, that the money would be going right into Great Britain’s hands and not to line the pockets of Sirius and his family.
“It has been a pleasure, as always, sir.”
“Herr Black, as a thank you, I’d like to invite you to a party at my home tonight.” And that right there was the ticket.
As much as the British enjoyed getting the money, they also enjoyed getting details about what was happening in regards to the plans the Nazis had in mind for the future of their glorious Fütherland. Everyone knew they were ramping up for war, to conquer more land to make their own empire. The prime way to get information on what was going on, other than a loose lipped appreciative client, was attending these horrid lavish parties. Luckily he had plenty of experience from growing up in an aristocratic family. He knew how to act, what to say, and when to be silent. He had been brought up to be the perfect window dressing at a party.
“Heil Hitler,” The man at the gate to the Kommandant’s home (palace, really. Probably not even his to begin with) greeted him. Sirius couldn’t wrap his head around the greeting. It’s not as if the Brits walked around saying “God save the king” to everyone they saw or the Americans something catchy about Roosevelt.
“Heil Hitler,” Sirius nodded before he proceeded to drive in. He was greeted that way a few more times as he left his car off with the valet then proceeded inside the den of wolves.
Inside looked like something out of propaganda films the British had got their hands on. Billowing Nazi banners, perfect Aryan men and women in their perfect evening wear, and so much bloody gold and silver you could have been blinded if the candles bounced their light off the objects in the wrong way. It was full of wealth, what they wanted all of Germany — all of Europe to look like. Well, for people like them at least.
Sirius went to playing the crowd, what he did best -- he would have rather be in his studio painting but he was so good at lying and playing people he wasn't allowed to hide out. It only took a half hour to gain three new potential clients after he showed them the artifacts and paintings that he had commandeered for the Kommandant thus far. His current clients also sang the praises of this British man with a sensible family. No one in that room disliked Sirius Black. Little did they all know he detested all of them. He’d be first in line to spit on their corpses after this all ended.
Eventually, Sirius drifted out of the sitting room to find where the rest of the guests were. There was far more noise and cars in the drive than there were people in the sitting room. He found the spot, a large ballroom not too far off from the giant sitting room. It looked like something from his days back on the Black estate. In the room was a quartet playing from German and Austrian classics. All German, all the time. Unless it came to art, it seemed. Austrian was fine too because of Anschluss. The quartet was making its way through Haydn’s Opus 76 Number 2 when Sirius wandered to get a better look at who was playing. Sometimes there were fellow spies in the mix of musicians he learned the other year. None of the band players looked familiar, but one of the violinists caught his attention. He was so into the music. It looked as if he forgot that he was playing in a room full of people. His eyes were closed, and he had a smile on his face as he swayed slightly with the music.
Sirius hadn’t wanted anyone in a very long time as much as he wanted this man with brown hair, dimples, and long fingers. For the last few years he had been so focused on work, there was little time for enjoyment. The only time Sirius lavished, he was pretending like tonight. Some days he longed for the silliness of his boarding school or the first year of Uni with James. He was long away from those times, though.
“Herr Black,” A familiar voice spoke next to him. “He’s rather — enticing, yes?”
“Frau Meadows, how are you?” Dorcas was a part of a lady spy network that Monty was overseeing. She had managed to work her way into the house of Kommandant Roitegg as a maid. But he took a liking to her, and she was now a bit more than that. Not that anyone but people on the ground near her knew. The ‘proper’ men back in Blighty looked down on sleeping with the enemy to get information, but Dorcas did what worked. Sirius felt bad that she was in the situation, but she insisted that it was all right. Roitegg was a gentleman and not as vulgar as some of the other power hungry men of his station. That is outside of the fact that he was a bloody Nazi, there was no getting over that. She said some days she thought of killing him in his sleep. Maybe one day she would.
“Oh, I’m wonderful. I didn’t know you were in town, darling.” She said softly with a smile.
Sirius just nodded, watching the violinist.
“He’s the most in demand musician, you know? A German violinist and from what everyone can tell he’s on the right side here. Unlike most artists. They tend to be communist.” She sighed.
“Right side, you say?”
“Mmm, for us I think. They think for them, though. I have my suspicions.”
“You mean…” Sirius trailed off as the song came to an end, and everyone clapped.
“You should talk to him. Ask him about his violin. It’s an antique from what I understand.” She waved a hand. Dorcas was obviously lying about the violin. She was just doing her best to get Sirius close to him. “I’m sure that a simple meeting about the instrument wouldn’t be too hard to put together for you, the art and antiquity dealer. I’ll put a hint in Roitegg's ear. He does appreciate the arts.”
“Frau Meadows you are—”
“I know.” Dorcas gave little wink before going to find the Kommandant.
Sirius removed himself from where he was in favor of chatting with one of his more loose lipped clients about how things were going. He revealed about how he may be taking a trip to Poland soon. Sirius doubted that it was going to be a vacation. He took a mental note of it and filed it away to report back to the home office. Just as Sirius thought the Fieldmarshall was going to show his hand a bit more Roitegg interrupted them, “Herr Black, I hear you are interested in the violin of Herr Lupin.”
“Ah yes, I think it could be a unique antique.” He didn’t. He had no idea what he was going to say to Lupin when he got him alone. He could have killed Dorcas if he didn’t love her. But he was good on his feet, the best improviser he knew.
“You do have an eye for these things. Herr Lupin is willing to let you look at it. I will provide you space in the library. I would join, but I must be a good host.”
“Of course,” Sirius said with a nod. “Thank you for letting me steal him, well the instrument for a bit.”
“Nonsense, I will make my remarks as you do your appraising. No music will be missed then. I’ll let you know what I said later.”
Great, Sirius thought, his own private speech on Jews are bad, and we need to make sure the rest of Europe knows this and Germany is the greatest country on the planet. “Wonderful, you’re very generous.”
Not five minutes later Sirius was in the library of the estate with Remus Lupin, who was holding on to his violin like it possessed secrets of the Fütherland. Maybe it did, that’d be something. “Herr Lupin, thank you for meeting me.”
“Not an issue. I hear you think this old thing may be something special?” Lupin was still holding it close to him. Sirius was sure his grip might end up breaking the neck of the instrument. “I can assure you that it’s not but if it will please you to take a look I have no objections to it.” He finally extended his arm, offering the violin.
Sirius knew nothing about violins, but he knew how to lie, and he knew that the instrument was beautiful. “Now, this is gorgeous. There must be a story here,” He ran his fingers over the strings. Sirius could see Remus tense as he walked away with the violin. There really must have been a story there. “Sadly I don’t know much about instruments. I’m more into other works of art. I know others who are.” Always lie the least amount possible. “Are you ever in Paris?” He said, setting the violin down on the Kommandant’s desk.
“I’m supposed to attend some concerts there in two weeks time.” Remus stepped closer.
Sirius smiled kindly, “I know people who would like to take a look at this if you don’t mind.” He still wasn’t confident what he wanted to do, there was no clear path to any specified destination other than trying to shag this handsome man. If he had someone who knew about instruments, they’d probably laugh in his face because it was most likely just an old violin not worth a damned unless someone with immense talent was playing it. This really was a lot of effort just to have sex.
“I’m unsure if I’ll be able to make it, with the way things are going that is.” He swallowed hard as if he had a lump in his throat. Something was interesting in Remus’ accent, something French. Sirius wondered what part of Germany he came from.
“Do they think you’ll attempt to make a run for it to greener pastures?” Sirius laughed before moving to lean against the desk and look at Remus.
“I am a prized possession. They'd hate to lose me.” He said, glancing sideways. Sirius wanted to know exactly what Remus was hiding. Was he playing at being a shy, quiet man or was he truly that way? Was Dorcas right that he was also undercover? This was suddenly turning into more of a mission, and less of a change for a shag.
“What if you had a sponsor for Paris? I do live in a wonderfully large apartment in the first arrondissement, and our friend Kommandant Roitegg trusts me with many valuable possessions.”
Remus laughed, the smile on his face revealing two deep dimples. “You collect people as well as works of art?”
“Well, if the people are works of art…” Sirius said raising an eyebrow. He saw Remus’ cheeks flush. “I’ll put a word in if you’re interested. I’m sure you’ll want to so that you can play for new crowds if anything. It must get old playing for the same group of people all the time.”
“I, ah, sure, yes, thank you.”
“Brilliant, I’ll go see to it that you’re able to come.”
“Why are you so interested in me, Herr Black? I'm just a violinist.”
Sirius shrugged one shoulder, “As I said, I’m interested in works of art.” He winked before moving to leave the room. Always leave them wanting more. It worked with securing new networks of intel and also getting into the pants of cute blokes. Who knows, maybe he could gain some information from this Lupin as well.