"The pangs of despised Love"

1981 – 6

"Are you nervous?"

"I wasn't nervous until you mentioned it, no, so thank you for that," Sirius replied sarcastically, before exasperatedly wrestling his robes away from his younger brother.

"Don't worry." Regulus shrugged as he leaned back against the door. "You're only competing against her dead fiancé. You'll be fine."

"What did you put me in anyways?" Sirius ignored his brother's troublemaking as he turned to the mirror, grappling with the bowtie. "This – this – this thing –"

"You're getting married," his brother replied drily. "You need to be in formal robes. Why do you complain so much, anyways? All you do is complain. Complain, complain, complain –"

"I wouldn't complain so much if they were comfortable. Why is it so hard to get comfortable robes?"

Regulus stepped forward, batting his hands away. "Calm down," he muttered, twisting the tie this way and that until, magically, it hung comfortably on Sirius' neck. "There you go."

"Thank," Sirius said quietly, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He bit his lip. "Do we – it's time to go down, isn't it?"

"Yeah." The silence hung in the air for a little too long. "Mother would have been really happy for you," Regulus said finally. "She liked her. They all did."

Sirius nodded stiffly. "At least she went quickly. The healer said it was painless, going in your sleep like that."

Regulus smiled at his brother. "I hope you and Rhiannon have as happy of a marriage, Sirius." He swallowed. "I really do."


"What's your name?"

Her voice was sweet, like how She talked to Dudwey. But – he glanced over to where She and He were, trying to sink into the ground. Dudwey had run ahead again, barging into her.

"What's your name?"

He peeked up under his overgrown hair.

This one looked pretty. Like how Dudwey's fwiends mummies looked. She smelled nice. Like clean clothes and the flowers She made him cut. But then she tried to reach out to him, and he shrunk back reflexively – and then she seemed unhappy.

Then She and He were there, and they weren't happy, and he tried to hide himself, tried to hide –

"Mummy!" The golden-haired girl yelled, barreling into her. "Mummy! Look what I – " The girl stopped as she noticed She and He. "I –" she smiled nervously. "Mummy, look at my flower," she whispered, tugging on her skirt. "Mummy –"

But She spoke first.

"How... pretty."

He glanced up at her. Her wasn't smiling anymore.

"What's your son's name?" her asked quickly. "He seems very sweet."

He opened his mouth finally to speak, but –

"His name is Harry," She said coldly. "And he's our nephew. Is that your daughter?"

"Yes," her replied, hesitating.

"Ah."

"We'll be leaving," He said gruffly. "Bo – Harry. Dudley." They swept into that harsh light.

"My name is Hawwy," he whispered, but no one besides himself heard him. "Hawry."


"Mummy? Mummy?"

"Yes, Nymphadora?" Andromeda turned quickly, catching her daughter in a hug before she ran into the table and knocked all of the tea over. Nymphadora squealed in delight as her mother swung her up into the air, spinning her around – just like Daddy used to do, Andromeda recalled suddenly, but pushed the instant pang right back down. "What is it sweetie?" She pinned the smile back on her face. She wanted her daughter to grow up happy – not with some sad mother to keep company, with only ghosts around her.

"They – they were sawying cowsin – cowsin –"

"Cousin?" Andromeda asked gently. "I have two cousins, sweetie. You haven't met them."

Nympadora nodded determinedly. "They said he was getting mawwied. But they weren't happy," she said with a frown. "Why weren't they happy, Mummy?"

Andromeda didn't let the smile drop from her face, laughing happily. "Don't worry about it, darling. I'm sure they were happy. What else did you do at the Weasleys?"

Her adorable little munchkin frowned with a big pout. Andromeda could see the cogs going in her head – she just has to get everything right, she marveled. Her daughter was so stubborn – but it'd serve her well.

"We –" Nymphadora bit her lip. "I told them abowt Rose's new flowers," she said suddenly, beaming. "Abowt how the flowers that turned yellow. But they didn't care." Her pout returned. "Mummy?"

"Yes?" Andromeda said absentmindedly, pushing Nymphadora's bangs back.

"Do I have to go over to the Weasleys'?" Nymphadora asked suddenly. She bit her lip, turning away guiltily. "I cowld – I cowld stay here with you," she offered up. "I cowld help you in the howse. They don't have to watch me."

"Sweetie, I just want you to play with your friends," Andromeda replied in surprise, frowning. "Are the Weasleys not your friends?" she asked slowly.

Nymphadora still wouldn't look at her. "... no," she finally responded.

Andromeda swallowed, but she could feel him glaring at her back, and she'd kept him waiting too long. "Go up to your room and look at your book," she murmured, drawing her daughter – unwillingly, she noted – into a hug. "We'll talk about this later. But you don't have to if you don't want to."

Nymphadora started to smile a little bit as she looked up shyly at her mother. "Ok," she said happily.

"You let her talk about Lily?" Severus whispered angrily, after the door swung close.

"Don't worry," Andromeda replied coolly, dusting off her knees as she stood up. She turned back to the table, fussing over the tea. The water had cooled off just a bit, but that was how Rose liked it. "It doesn't matter."

"It –" Severus reached her in two long strides. "It. doesn't. matter?" he hissed angrily.

Andromeda glanced up, taking in Severus' angry glare before going back to fixing the tea. "It doesn't matter," she confirmed. There. She straightened her back, turning to Severus with a reassuring smile. "It doesn't matter. You'd be amazed how much they ignore her," she said dryly. "Besides, Molly surprised me one time and noticed someone else was living here. I told her it was just a girl I'd taken in after the war, to help out. She didn't question it. And now nobody will question it if they see the odd person around the garden."

"The odd person is not Lily Evans," Severus noted coolly.

"If that happens, there's nothing we can do," Andromeda said calmly. "Besides," she went on, her voice getting quieter. "I can't change her face. Would you have me leave her on the streets?"

Severus stared at her, his face unreadable. "And it's wise to let Nymphadora see her?" he said abruptly. "Maybe it'd be better if –"

"No." Andromeda's shut down was firm. "I –" she sighed. "There's no one else for Nymphadora to talk to," she confessed, glancing towards her daughter's window. "She – none of them return my notes. I've been sending her over to the Weasleys, but – well, she likes to study. Her children would be happy playing in the mud. And I think Molly's been saying some things –"

"She has," Severus said quietly.

Andromeda nodded, sighing. "I thought she might. But they've been –"

"What if I started tutoring her in Potions?" Severus interrupted. Andromeda turned back to him, startled, her eyebrow raised. "It wouldn't be an issue," he assured her quickly. "It'd be simple stuff, very easy – and Lucius asked me to tutor his son, too. I'm already over here every afternoon, anyways."

Andromeda bit her lip. "It would get her doing something useful," she murmured. "If you're sure –"

Severus shrugged. "I have to practice teaching on someone," he said.


He could hear the locks twist shut one by one.

He'd always been in the darkness, but this time was different. This time he wasn't a lost boy in the darkness. This time, he had a name.

Harry.

All day, he'd been practicing it quietly. Even his growling stomach couldn't stop him. He kept practicing until he could say it right, just like She had said it.

But now he could, and now he had nothing to keep the hunger at bay.

Harry shivered, trying to get the ragged blanket to cover his whole body. If he went to sleep, it'd only be a few –

Why are you hungry? a voice said suddenly.

Harry shrank into his bed. They told him not to make things up, what if They caught him, They always knew –

"You're not," It said suddenly.

It wasn't a voice in his head, he realized. Or maybe it was, but It seemed...

"I am real," the voice interrupted. "Why are you hungry?" It repeated, more curious.

"I – I don't get dinner," Harry said softly.

"Why?"

Harry frowned. "I was nuw – I was bad at Church," he pronounced. "Food is for good bowys, like Duwdey."

"You're not a bad boy," It said.

"I am," Harry insisted. "That's what She says all the time. I'm very bad, and I must be tawt to be better."

"You're not," It said again. "Is that why you're locked in here?"

Harry nodded, but he didn't really know why.

"That's not right," It said firmly. "They shouldn't lock you in here."

"They – they shouldn't?"

"No," the voice said again. "No one should be locked up like this."

Harry frowned again. "But – but my pawents were vewy bad. That was what She said."

"They weren't bad," the voice said softly. "They weren't."


"Molly!" As always, James greeted her with a beaming smile and a hug – which she returned, albeit with exhaustion. "The kids are in the backyard – the twins are teaching the boys some tricks," he said laughingly, with a little wink.

Molly rolled her eyes. "Boys will be boys," she said wearily. "Is your aunt outside?"

"Of course! I'm just going to go back and play with the kids – Charles is so great –"

"Mhm." Molly let her body rest for a moment as James barreled back out into the yard. She could hear all the kids – James included – yelling from here.

"Molly," Dorea called, just through the doors.

"Lady Potter," she greeted. It must be a good day, Molly mused. She's never outside.

"Please, sit." Dorea herself was sitting stiffly in her chair, a blanket tucked tightly around her legs. "Poppy! Please bring Mrs. Weasley some water."

"Thank you." Molly smiled at Dorea, who only nodded stiffly back. "Charles is growing up quite a bit," she finally said, racking her brain with what to say about the child who'd torn apart her kitchen. And I'll have to find something new for the next week's dinners, she remembered, fighting back a wince at the thought. The chicken would have made several hearty dinners. Just need to get them to Hogwarts. Then it won't be a worry. But that brought up the issue of books, and more clothes, and wands – stop it, Molly.

"He is, isn't he. We had to start flying lessons for him – he's such a natural, it just didn't seem fair to keep him off the broom. I suppose we'll have to get a tutor next year, too. He's just too bored with playing in the yard all day."

Molly fought the urge to snort. To bored to play, indeed. He hadn't looked to bored tearing up her flowerbeds – but it wasn't like she could say anything. She could hardly keep all her boys in check anyways.

"And speaking of, Charles did mention you had my dear grandniece over to play." Dorea said quite suddenly. "How is Andromeda's daughter?"

"Quite well," Molly answered cautiously, testing the waters. "She – well, we've really only had her over a few times."

"Ah."

"I've been trying to keep an eye on her," Molly confessed. "I wanted to make sure she was being brought up the right way –" she winced, as she realized she'd insulted her hostess' family.

"And you were quite right to do so," Dorea replied firmly. "Quite right. That being said –" she gestured over to her grandnephew. "I'm not sure it would be... wise to have our dear Charles in such company. Not wise at all," she murmured. "Especially since Ron and your older boys will be joining him in flying lessons."

"Lady Potter –" Molly gaped at the offer. It'd certainly give them a leg up, befriending the Savior – but the cost of the broomsticks. "Of course, Nymphadora isn't too good of a fit for the boys," she replied hastily. And that mother of hers thinks she's too good for the Weasleys. Molly couldn't remember the last time Andromeda had actually visited – too busy taking care of the house. Too busy. She didn't have anyone to take care of, anything to do except laze around all day like a queen. Not that she could expect anything less of her – all the Blacks were like that, after all. "And Ginny is a little too young to be playing with –"

Dorea turned to her with a frown. "You have a daughter?" she demanded.

Molly smiled at little bit at the thought of her youngest. "Yes, she'll be – oh, four this year? I can never keep track –"

"So she'd be your youngest."

"Yes," Molly replied quickly. "The first girl – well, for several generations, actually..." she tried to calculate the exact number, but then shook her head. "Well, for several generations. And we never expected a girl after six boys!"

"Seven children," Dorea murmured under her breath. She smiled, a long, deep smile. "You are blessed indeed."


He was in the dark again, alone. He must have made the voice up, it hadn't come – She was going to find out, and be so upset with him, and then –

"Harry." It – Tom, Harry remembered. It's name was Tom.

"Tom?" he said softly. "Tom?"

Tom chuckled. "I'm right here, Harry."

"But – but, but you were gone and –"

"I couldn't stay for long," Tom said smoothly, calming him. "I'm not very strong, unfortunately."

"But – but –"

"I won't leave you," Tom promised, before he could even ask. "I won't leave you now."

Harry's stomach growled loudly.

"I have something to show you," Tom said suddenly. "Would you like to learn your letters?"

Harry bit his lip, but nodded. Letters sounded fun. Was that what Dudwey learned in school?

"Yes, it is," Tom replied. "Here. Come over to this corner." The inch of light that came through the crack shone on the deep layer of dust. Harry knelt, unsure of what to do, but then – he found himself tracing a circle. A weird one.

"That's an a, Harry," Tom said.


"Darling," Rhia draped her arm comfortably over Sirius' shoulder, just like she always did every night. "Won't you come to bed?"

Like every night, Sirius had stayed up late in the library, pouring over book after book. The candle was almost burned out, the wax dripping softly into the bowl and over the old desk, the light flickering in and out.

"Just a minute," he murmured.

"What's the book tonight?" she asked, ignoring him. Rhia lifted the cover up a little under his hand as soon as he turned to the next page.

Sirius gave up, and sighing, closed the book and leaned back. "Just another useless one on rituals. I was trying –" he bit his lip. "Bella thinks her child might have been used for something," he confessed. "I hadn't gotten anywhere on anything else, so I wanted to look into it deeper for her."

"She might be right," Rhia replied, to Sirius' surprise. "They might not have killed the child straightaway. Did she say anything about Longbottom as well?"

Sirius shrugged. "She's never said anything about the trial. Or about Rudolphus. But you think she might be right...?"

His wife shrugged mysteriously, as if speaking to a child. "A mother knows," Rhia said simply. "And are you still looking for – "

"It burns, every now and then," Sirius said simply, both sharply aware how little they could say of the matter, even here, in the stronghold of the Blacks. "But it'll be nigh impossible, without knowing more of that night. All I know – all anyone knows is that Lily died, Charles Potter survived, and He was gone. But..." his eyes narrowed, as if trying to pierce through some fog. "But it was like He knew what would happen," he murmured. "And everyone said that – not just me. Lucius, Goyle, even the Lestranges before – well, before –"

"Wilkes said the same," Rhia said suddenly. Sirius startled a little - they'd never discussed her dead fiancée, not since she'd come to him before the hasty marriage. "That was why they were caught where they were," she continued quietly. "They always said they were on the run, but they weren't – not really. He'd sent them to find something."

"Did either of them say what?"

Rhia smiled sadly. "We never really talked about it too much. He sent them out right before – they only left after He fell. By that time, both of them wanted me to be able to deny that I knew anything. Not that it did much good in the end."

"No," Sirius murmured. The silence fell comfortably between then, both lost in thoughts of the past. "Did they ever find it?" he asked suddenly, glancing up at his wife. "Whatever they were searching for?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I only found out that they were caught in some town called Larkhill, but I had to flee so quickly before the Aurors came for me that I never was told the rest. And by that point, I didn't want to know."

"Larkhill?" Sirius asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Larkhill," Rhia confirmed. "They took a few of the Aurors down with them, thankfully. Blew up the whole shack. That was why I never really found out the rest – there weren't any bodies to bury. Nothing to do but move on."

"My aunt and uncle had a house in Larkhill," Sirius murmured, lost in thought. "The Order caught them there... and she sent the whole house up in flames."

Rhia raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. "Perhaps it's worth a visit?"

"Of course," Sirius smirked at his wife. "We're only looking at the house. Our Black house. As is our right, as Lord and Lady." Rhia smirked right back, and he rose, embracing her. "They can't touch you now. They can't touch either of us, Lady Black," he whispered in her ear, kissing her on the cheek.

She giggled a little, and whacked him over the head. "I think we'll need to continue this conversation in bed..."


" – how could you let her –"

"I didn't let her do anything!"

She kept playing with her puzzle, her gold-reddish hair hiding her face. She didn't like it when her parents fought, but if she pretended not to hear, maybe they wouldn't notice that she'd heard everything.

"Did you see the way that woman looked at me?" her mother demanded suddenly. She could just see them through the kitchen doorway. "At me! She knew what is was – she knew –"

"How could she know?" her father asked gently, trying to placate her mother. "How could she know? We don't even know what it is."

"I know, but –" her mother's voice softened, and she knew in an instant her mother had glanced over at her like she always did. Suspicious. Frightened.

Just a little bit. But none of her friends' mummies looked at their children that way, did they?

She frowned. Just one friend now, she corrected herself. The rest of the mummies had started looking at her that way too.

"It's not right," she heard her father murmur. "We know that. But what can we do? There's nothing to explain it, nothing at all –"

"She grows flowers in her hands," her mother replied softly. "They just appear. And I can never cut her hair, and the –"

"So we'll stop it," her father interrupted. "It's not natural."

"Discipline," her mother whispered. "Whenever she does – does something. We have to."

Their muttering continued, but she bent her head a little to focus on finding that corner piece. In her hand, she squished a flower. Lilies had been her mother's favorite.


"He's been so tired, recently," Petunia said to her husband as she considered the Boy. "What's gotten into him? He's not even doing as much work as he used to."

"Humph." Vernon snorted, glaring at the Boy over the top of his paper. "He's fine."

"He nearly dropped dinner," Petunia murmured. "And he's cutting the flowers sloppily. I think we'll need to feed him some more, just a little."

Vernon crumpled his paper at this comments, looking at his wife in shock. "More? When he'd already eat us out of house and home happily? More?"

"Oh, just a little bit," Petunia said firmly. "I'll feed him just a little more."

"As you say, dear," Vernon replied, giving in. "But not too much. We're stretched very tight these days, very tight."

"They were so wrong to deny you that promotion, but they'll see, you'll – yes, Dudley?"

"There's not enough bacon, Mummy."

"Oh, sweetie – oh, you're right. Let me go get some more made for you, you're growing so quickly. Boy!"