Beginnings

by ceirdwenfc

Justin meets a girl. Takes place seven years after DH. One-shot, stands alone.

***Fall 2005***

In the Leaky Cauldron, Justin Finch-Fletchley always sat with his back to the door to the Muggle world, the place where he now spent most of his time. Hannah had joined him at the table usually and only occasionally did they mention their missing third. Ernie was a like a phantom limb to them. He wasn't there, but he was. Very rarely did Susan come into London, but on the rare times that Justin was working on her fund with her, she would join them there.

Today had been a busy day for the Cauldron. It was back to school season, and there were a couple of Quidditch matches left and customers wanted to hear the games on the Wireless. The game was loud and had just ended, but another was scheduled for tomorrow night. The kitchen wasn't serving any more this evening, but they were in preparations for tomorrow night.

Most of the patrons were filtering out. Susan had left over an hour ago, but Justin lingered, enjoying this rare time with Hannah. She was his closest friend and he saw her so very little between her taking over the pub from her grandfather and her babies and his insane schedule with the RAF Academy and the Wizengamot, they hardly had a moment together.

He smiled at her small joke that he only half-heard, and she seemed to know that he was distracted. He wasn't used to sitting still for so long. She reached out a slender hand and touched his, rubbing across his knuckles. "Are you all right, Justin?"

"I'm fine, Hannah." He took a deep breath, coming close to admitting his heartache for Ernie, whose birthday was in about eight weeks. Justin didn't need that excuse to remember and miss his friend, though. Ernie would have been twenty-six and his daughter would be seven in a couple of weeks herself. She was getting so big. He hoped he'd remembered to pencil her party in on his planner.

"Are you hungry?"

"No, I told you, Hannah, I'm fine."

"You're not fine. In fact, you look like you're losing weight." She made to get up. "I'll just pop into the kitchen –"

He took her hand and nodded his head, directing her to re-take her seat. "No, you won't pop in anywhere."

"Then you will. Just go into the kitchen and ask the cook for a bowl of stew. Go on. I'm a mother now. It'll make me feel better."

He shook his head, but laughed, his eye catching hers. He squeezed her fingertips which he still held in his hand. "Oh, all right, fine. I will get a bowl of stew. For you."

He watched as more and more of the patrons headed towards the Diagon Alley door while he headed in the opposite direction towards the kitchens.

"Florence," Justin called ahead of his entrance into the kitchen. "Hannah sent me in to get a bit of stew. Is there any left?" he laughed, entering the kitchen, stopping short as he caught sight of the woman ladling out his stew.

She had already scooped a large portion into the bowl, setting a chunk of bread in it and turned to hand it to him, but his hands became fixed to his sides, his smile fading into the look of an idiotic stupor.

This wasn't Florence. This woman was…not Florence. His brain wasn't quite working, and he didn't quite know why. She was lovely, though not normally what he would say caught his eye. Her sandy hair was pulled up in a ponytail, bits of it sticking out from all over, giving her a disheveled appearance that made Justin look twice. Her apron was tied tightly at her waist, showing off her slimness, but also her appealing curves.

She smiled at him, taking one of his hands from his side and bringing it up for him to cup the bowl of stew. "Here you are," she said simply, turning back to her ladle.

"You're not Florence," he stated plainly, pleased with his keenness, bringing the spoon to his mouth for a taste, leaning his body against the door frame. Delicious. He was distracted by the new flavors assailing his tongue and he paused in his swallowing when she laughed.

"No, I'm not. I'm her niece, Fiona. Which friend of Hannah's are you? Or are you a friend of Professor Longbottom's?"

"I'm a friend to both, but Hannah and I were in the same year and House. We're very close. I'm Justin. I don't recall you from Hogwarts. Did you attend a different school?"

"No, I went to Hogwarts. I left three years ago. When did you say you finished?"

He spoke through a mouthful of food. "I left eight years ago, but I missed my seventh year. I should have left in 1998, but actually didn't return after sixth year."
"Eight years out then?" her eyes widened. "That's a while ago. What do you do now?"

Justin watched as she busied herself, getting things ready for the next day's crowd. She set the stew to simmer and the ladle to stir. Knives were busy chopping carrots and parsnips and then depositing them into storage bags. A masher was working on a pile of potatoes. How did she manage it all? he wondered. He'd seen Florence in the kitchen often and Hannah's grandfather once while he was still running things and this Fiona gave each of them a run for their money. His musings stopped when she paused to look at him, seemingly waiting for an answer. "Sorry?" was all he could think to say.

"I asked what you do –"

"I'm a member of the Wizengamot."

"Yes, I see the robes now. I bet that keeps you busy," she said, flicking her wand and depositing the carrot shavings in the bin beside him.

"It does. I also have obligations in the Muggle world."

"Are you Muggle-Born then?"

He paused before he answered; putting the full spoon in his mouth to give him additional time to think while he observed her. It was such an innocuous question, but in days not so long ago, it was a question that could be simple and straightforward or fraught with subtext. Even today with the rise of the Unity party and more and more people choosing sides, he hesitated, but only momentarily. He wasn't ashamed of anything he was, and he would give her the benefit of the doubt that the question was merely a curiosity. "I am Muggle born and a member of the Peerage," he added a little smugly. "You may not remember the times, but," he paused to do the math in his head, "you would have been a second-year when it should have been my seventh at Hogwarts." He continued to explain, "I wasn't allowed back and continued my education at Eton." He noticed her eyebrows raise slightly and appreciated that she recognized the name and reputation of the school. "I have a life in the Muggle world and here." He nodded his head and they both laughed as the dustpan emptied into the bin next to him, raising a cloud of dust. Peerage, indeed, he smiled to himself, waving his hand at the puff.

Hannah stepped into the kitchen then, giving Justin a little shove forward, one eye on the goings-on with the food preparation. "It looks nearly ready. Thanks for pitching in, Fiona. You should get on now. I know you have an early day tomorrow. Do you think you'll be able to get the loan from Gringotts?"

Fiona nodded and untied her apron, drawing it over her head.

"Will you be able to come back and help out tomorrow night?"

Fiona waved her wand over the apron, cleaning and folding it, looking thoughtfully at Hannah and then nodding. "I think so. I may be a bit later than today though if that's all right. I have a separate errand to run right before."
"Oh, that's no problem. Did Florence say how long she'd be away?"

"No. I would expect a fortnight at least, but I should be able to help you out, especially with the back to school business." She grabbed her sweater from the hook behind Justin's head, smiling at him as she did.

"It's late," Justin said, glancing at his watch, but not actually seeing the time. "May I see you home safely?"

She smiled at him with a tiny laugh. "Thank you, but I'm just staying upstairs tonight." She brushed past him into the main room of the Cauldron, turning back to add, "But you can walk me home tomorrow night."

The first time that Justin walked Fiona home it had begun to rain. Her front door didn't have a covering and he had forgotten his umbrella in his car on the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron. She smiled her thanks, the rain splattering her face, and for a second, he thought he would lean in and kiss her cheek, but in that moment of hesitation she was inside the warmth of her flat and the door was closed with goodbye. He quickly Apparated back to the pub and dried off with a pint while Hannah laughed at his insecurity.

The second time that he walked her home, it wasn't raining. The noisy neighbors were on the porch and it made getting to the door a bit more difficult. They seemed to know Fiona well and were joking. He felt older than he was simply by not understanding their slang; annoyed by their familiarity to Fiona – a long look, a touch. Her laugh bothered him when it wasn't directed at him, but at the immature boys on the steps. She took his hand and invited him in, but in his mind it was too late. He squeezed her hand goodbye.

The third night, she was staying at the Cauldron again so there would be no walk with their nightly talk, but once the kitchen quieted down and she was cleaning up, he joined her, removing his outer-robe and rolling up his sleeves. She laughed when the soapy water splashed him, and his breath hitched in his throat when she stepped practically into his arms to run her fingers through his hair, removing the soapy bits. He stared at the pulse throbbing in her neck, a mirror of his own as he watched her scrubbing the pans and organizing things neatly.

The fourth night was Quidditch on the wireless at the Cauldron, which meant no sleep for the weary. Well, for a few hours at least. Her flat was unavailable since her brother was in town for a special meeting at the Ministry to discuss the future of the Wizarding world – sounds very ominous, Justin thought, but then suddenly caught in a moment of impulsiveness he didn't realize he was capable of, invited her to his flat for a glass of wine. She accepted, and after a quick clean up and change of clothes, they were off to the Muggle world.

As Justin slid the key into the lock, he glanced over his shoulder to see Fiona one more time. She was curling a strand of hair behind her ear, and when he caught her eye, she smiled at him. He grinned, but turned back to the door before she could see the heat rise in his face.

As the lock clicked open, he hoped that this was the day his cleaning woman had come. He could never remember such a mundane thing, and he tried to picture the two page spread in his planner. He thought today was one of her two days, but then he wondered if he remembered to close his hamper or cap his toothpaste. He did recall some stray papers that he left on his coffee table and last night's wine glass left on the worktop in the kitchen.

He let the door open wide and stepped aside for Fiona to enter first. One glance at the reflection in the picture window told him that the papers were no longer left on the table, and he therefore assumed that the cleaner had been there. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that everything was where it needed to be.

"Red or white?" he asked as he took Fiona's tweed jacket, hanging it on the hanger beside his own long black trench in the closet adjacent to the front door.

"Red," she answered, sounding distracted as she strolled around the flat, tilting her head at the artwork hanging on his wall, noticing his other details. A small sculpted piece kept her on the other side of the sofa until he handed her an almost-full glass and motioned her to sit on the dark leather.

He reached across the side table and grabbed the remote control, turning on his sound system. He had to lower the volume significantly from the last time he had played it.

She smiled, taking the glass and sipping as she made herself comfortable. "That's a beautiful trunk," she commented, nodding her head back in the direction of the carved ivory casket. "Isn't that from Sri Lanka?"

Justin paused mid-sip. "The original was. You know the piece?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I've seen it."

"You've been to the Museum?" he asked obviously surprised by her knowledge of the 18th century reproduction.

"Yes," she nodded again. "We may not be Muggle-Born, but we have a shared history. My parents made sure we knew all of it."

Justin blushed, slightly discomfited that he had misjudged her. "I'm sorry. When you said the other night that your parents were against this new unification movement, I thought they were against all things in the Muggle world."

"Being a Separatist doesn't automatically make you anti-Muggle," she said with a huff sound, slipping her shoe off and pulling her leg up and under herself. "Hannah and Neville lean towards remaining separate." She finished her wine and handed the glass to Justin with a smile, and he knew she was asking for another.

He stood to oblige, but hesitated, turning the glass between his fingers. "Separatists, then? Is that their name?"

Fiona shrugged. "Some people call them that. Which side are you on?"

"Can't you guess?"

"I could, but then I would be making assumptions about you based on the very little I've heard from other sources."

He smiled at her dig at him as he refilled her glass. Standing at the worktop and facing the sitting room, he watched her, and kept her eye when she met his gaze. "I think unity is best for both worlds."

"It would certainly make things easier for you, from what I hear." She reached out to take her glass as Justin returned to sit next to her again.

"What is it that you hear? I can only assume from Hannah."

Fiona nodded as she drank. "She thinks –"

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, putting a hand on her knee before continuing with a smirk, "but she thinks I work too much."

"She does. Do you?"

"Not too much. I do what needs to be done."

"She told me that you need to relax; that you work so hard you collapsed –"

"That was a long time ago," he interrupted again. "It hasn't happened since that one time."

"How did that happen?"

He thought that she was referring to his breakdown and his time in St. Mungo's, but Justin was taken aback when she leaned towards him and ran two soft fingers along his scarred face. "I…I was attacked. By a dog."

"Oh. That must have been horrible."

"It was." Unimaginable, he thought, but before his mind could return to the truth of that day in the forest, he felt her fingers moving along the textured lines on his face. They were very soothing, and he smiled when she brushed the shock of white hair, also from that day, away from his forehead.

He was staring into her eyes – they were a deep bluish-grey, not dark, but deep, and he didn't know what made him do it. The only thing that he knew was that the feeling of her hands on his face was something he didn't want to end. They were a combination of gentle comfort and electric thrill, and he wanted her hands on him and not just on his face. He didn't notice that he was putting his wine glass down and taking Fiona's from her hand, but as soon as both glasses were safely on the nearby table, he leaned forward, the squelch of the leather announcing his intentions more clearly than he could have done.

His hands, not much rougher than hers, were on her face, his thumbs gently rubbing across her smooth cheekbones as his face drew nearer until there was nowhere else for him to go or to do until his lips touched hers, his tongue separating them and sliding inside and his body was alive with want, not exactly knowing what to do with all of it, but knowing that he didn't want any of it to stop. Did she want to stop? Merlin, he hoped not.

He was half on her, hands both holding her close and roaming over her. He had never noticed that he was ticklish before, and he was not pleased that he was discovering it as she touched him. His lips found every portion of exposed skin, tasting as much as he could, anxious that at any moment, she would put an end to this.

He knew it was over when she sat up, her hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him away. He took a deep breath and was about to offer to Apparate her home when she unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it down over his shoulders, and climbing into his lap. He knew the sigh he released was a bit louder than he might have liked, but the difference between caring and not was the difference between her jumper being on her body or on the floor where it now resided. He chuckled at her now truly messy hair and reached to pull out the clips still tangled in her locks, but another choice had to be made again.

Justin wanted her hair down, but he really wanted to touch the creamy skin of her breasts. He glided one finger along the curve of the scalloped edge of her bra, but that was about as restrained as he was to be. In one fluid motion, he pulled the strap down and grasped her breast while his mouth went in search of her newly uncovered nipple. They both moaned, and then and as their bodies moved against the other, he found her mouth with his.

He stood then, not breaking the kiss, and lifted her easily, hands supporting her, her legs wrapping around his waist to help him carry her into his bedroom. Her arms were around his neck, pulling at his short hair. He paused, pressing her against the wall, but that was only for a breath. He dropped his head and kissed her breasts, slowly moving his lips up to her neck and then taking her mouth once more. He had never felt so alive, and he knew precisely how many steps he would need to get to his large, comfortable bed.

He took her off the wall and kicked the door closed, more out of habit than any other reason, but the door didn't remain closed. He didn't care. He sat her on the bed, hovering over her, his mouth and hands moving freely across her exposed skin. His hands found her back and the clasp of her bra, and at the same time, her hands were easily unfastening and removing his trousers.

Justin hesitated only a moment, unsure if he should say anything. Would his inexperience be that obvious? In that moment of hesitation, their clothes were gone and their hands were everywhere, and from the sounds coming from Fiona, he was doing just fine.

There was a moment when time stopped. They were completely naked; he on his knees over her, she on her back, open to him in every way, and he paused to look at her. She was perfect, chest raising and lowering with each breath, her eyes dark with her wanting, her hair untidy across his pillow.

He was afraid to speak, and when she touched his lips with a fingertip, her movement readjusted him, her leg rubbing against his, and he smiled, wanting her to know.

"I…I've…that is to say…I haven't and I –"

"It's all right, Justin." She sat up on her elbows, bringing her face close to his. "We don't –"

He cut her words off with a kiss. The idea of stopping now, no that would not do. "No, that's not what I meant. It's only, I need something."

She looked at him oddly, but he stretched, twisting himself sideways-- which was its own reward-- and rummaged through the drawer in his bedside stand.

"We'll just need, well, I'll need a condom."

He continued to rummage and she continued to look confused. She sat up, running her hand along his side and up his arm, kissing his chest. "Isn't that what you called your flat? While we were talking at the Cauldron? Condominium?"

He stopped, turning to her, hand still moving in the drawer. "Sorry?"

"Condominium. Wasn't that your Muggle name for your flat?"

"Yes, but…oh, oh, no. Yes, a condominium is where I live. A condom," he stopped speaking long enough to show her the shiny silver packet that was now in his hand, "is what I'll need to wear; you know…you must know." She still looked puzzled, so he opened it and took it out. "It's a barrier, so you don't…you know, no babies, no maladies."

"Oh. No, I've never…I'll just get my wand." She turned to leave the bed, but he grasped her arm gently.

"No, really, it won't hurt. It's just a bit of latex, rubber, and I wear it…" His words trailed off, but he shrugged and she followed his gaze down.

She was emphatic in her resistance. "And then you put it…no! I'll get my wand."

"No." He was equally insistent, but then a gentleness came over him when he saw that she was genuinely anxious about using the condom, the idea of which came to him so naturally. He could understand that. She'd probably never seen one before. "This is what I was taught. It won't hurt you. I promise…but if you want, we'll stop. I can't without it. What I mean is I won't."

He put the condom packet down and used both of his hands to hold her head as he kissed her, gently. He wasn't sure if the kiss was ending their evening or beginning it, but he wanted so to taste her again.

She murmured against his lips. "How's this, Justin? I trust you. I know you won't hurt me with that…Muggle thing, but I was also taught something, so I'll use my wand, and you'll use your, um, condom." He nodded, closing his eyes as she pressed her body against his and kissed him – a long, deep, trusting kiss.

When she returned, her wand made a soft thump as it was dropped to the floor. While she climbed into the bed, he was fumbling a bit with the condom, and he glanced at Fiona, hoping that she didn't notice his nervousness. He could feel the heat in his face change from the earlier delight to mild embarrassment, but with each of her touches he both relaxed and craved.

Fiona seemed to ignore what he was doing as she ran a hand along his shoulder, edging closer. He smiled, easily distracted by her proximity, and when she pushed her body against his side, he closed his eyes, trying to regain his bearings. She kissed his shoulder and his neck and her hands twirled in his short hair until his task was complete.

Justin turned towards her then, his hands ghosting over her softness until he pulled her closer and their lips met. He couldn't have imagined the feelings that were assailing his body. He had an overwhelming desire; a want to not only touch Fiona, but to be part of Fiona. His lips and his hands found new places to explore, grasping and tugging and massaging. He pushed her down gently and rubbed his cheek against her stomach, gradually sliding his way up her body, looking into her face intensely.

She gave him a small smile and shifted her body until they moved as one and Justin had never felt such pure joy before as when he pushed inside her. The painful throbbing he had been feeling had also been unlike anything else he'd ever experienced and he was both excited and surprised as that sensation began to subside as the warmth of her body tightened around him. So lost was he becoming in the newness and the vibrations of her body and her movements that he didn't realize that he was moving, inside her, until she made a sound that rivaled the beauty of a choir he'd recently heard.

He could hear the sounds he was making and really, they didn't embarrass him, but they were peculiar to his ears and each sound that Fiona made caused his body to respond causing a cacophony of more sounds varied and wondrous and arousing in their own way.

He tried to imprint it all on his brain – the emotions, the tastes, the smells, the fall of her hair, the roundness of her breast, but somewhere along the way with their bodies moving with and against each other, his brain stopped working. Rational thought had left his brain, and it wasn't just that he was thinking in syllables instead of words, it was all sensations. He knew he wanted to tell Fiona how beautiful she looked beneath him, but her hand did something and he shuddered and gasped as the pleasure overtook him, and the word was supposed to be beautiful, but sounded more like guhn.

His head crumpled into the crook of her neck. He kissed her there. Once. Twice. After the fourth kiss, he was moving down to caress her breasts with his lips, and he blurted out, "Bloody Hell, Fiona, that was brilliant!"

She quivered with mirth, and he joined her in the laughter. It didn't take long for him to take comfort entwined with her or long to fall asleep, cocooned in her warmth, Fiona's light snoring music in his ears.

*****

Justin was in a bleary-eyed oblivion. Waking up warm and feeling sated, he went to stretch as he did each morning, but his arm was restrained. He hadn't time to process why, and then as his body began to awaken more fully, his senses were overwhelmed – a mass of hair that wasn't his own across his shoulder, his thigh stuck to another, a taste on his tongue that he longed for more of and the scent of the woman beside him.

He took hold of Fiona's shoulder with his pinned arm and concurrently pulled her towards him and rolled himself towards her, burying his face in her breasts, licking and suckling and tasting. His hand smoothed down her side, stopping in the spot where her thigh began, rubbing his thumb back and forth. He hesitated to wake her, but instinct was beginning to take over, and Justin let his body lead the way as his hips found hers. Her soft moans spurred him on, telling him that she wanted him despite her drowsiness, although he couldn't imagine that she could want as much as he could.

"Mmm," she mumbled through hair that she pulled from her mouth. She kissed his ear, whispering into it, "What are you doing, love? I was asleep."

"Hmm? Do you mind?" he asked, a bit cheekily, but his brain seriously hoping she wouldn't mind at all.

"I don't," she said huskily, wrapping her arms around him. She grunted as he entered her, this time, he noted, much more smoothly than last night, and when he rolled under her, practically lifting her off the bed with his hips, it was his turn to groan.

He was about to speak, to attempt at coherence, but all he could do was shudder as her hand massaged his chest, two of her fingers taking his nipple and rolling it between them, and when she brought her head down, licking the hollow of his neck before their mouths crashed together in a fury that was mirrored below as their bodies became embroiled in thrust-counter-thrust.

Their breathing labored, heat against skin, he caressed and laved and got lost in her, rubbing his face against her. Justin curled up into her body, resting his head once more on her breasts, breathing in the smells he wanted to carry with him for the day; forever if he could.

He held Fiona tightly in his arms, afraid that he would wake and she'd be gone and all of it a dream. He chuckled remembering something that Hannah had told him once about sex. She must have been complaining about his schedule. She always complained about his schedule, but this must have been right after his stay at St. Mungo's. "You should really get laid," he recalled her telling him. He couldn't believe the words had come out of prim and proper Hannah's mouth.

His only response was that he didn't have the time.

"You should make the time. It's worth it."

He ran his fingers through the sand-colored hair across his pillow as Fiona used his body for her pillow and thought, hmm; it is certainly worth the time. He would have to check his schedule for the rest of the week.

*****

Justin awoke what seemed like hours later, an ache in his body that he was unaccustomed to, but that he wouldn't mind having on a regular basis. He stretched his arms above his head and rolled from his back onto his side, and was disappointed to find himself in the big bed alone. He sat up, hoping that with this level of dishevelment to the room that he'd not been dreaming all night. He finally spied the black lace of a bra under one of his pillows and smiled.

Now, where is she? He thought for a moment and grabbing his shorts, he slipped them on before he went in search of his bedmate. It didn't take much effort to find her. He was surprised, however, to see the door to his office opened, light and color playing off the neutral carpeting that was throughout the flat.

He stepped across the threshold and stopped at the sight of her. She sat, wrapped in his blue plaid sheet, curled up in the leather chair, the cushion for his back tossed on the floor. She was staring at the window where he had the shelves of his glass. Normally, he'd like to sit and stare at the beautiful colors and dancing patterns of light, but now he was completely absorbed by Fiona. Her hair was a mess – the just risen from her lover's bed look, which had always seemed cliché in the cinema, but was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. The sheet was covering most of her nakedness, but the smooth creaminess of her skin that was visible shone like the glass itself – her delicate shoulders, the line of her neck, the tops of her breasts, one foot and half a leg hanging over the end of the chair.

She must have heard him come in, because he heard her whispered breath, "Beautiful."

He couldn't help but echo her sentiment, but when their eyes met, they both knew they were talking about two different things. She smiled and he kneeled next to the chair, placing a hand on her knee. "I was afraid you'd left while I slept."

"I hope it's all right that I'm in here. The door was ajar, and I could see the colors dancing on the carpet. I needed to see what was making them." She gestured to the various bottles and vases and bowls. "They're just beautiful. Where did you find them all?"

"Mostly auction houses."

"They look expensive."

"They are, but they are worth it, don't you think?"

She smiled, and he couldn't help but smile back. Her hands were running through his hair, and he rested his hand on her leg. Her fingers massaging his scalp soothed him. He couldn't remember the last time his day had started this late, but he also couldn't remember the last time he didn't care. He pushed aside the sheet and pressed a kiss to her thigh, standing up.

While he stared at her, he was determining whether if he climbed into the chair with her if it would tip over-- and if it did, would it hurt that much-- when she suddenly grabbed his hand and tugged him towards her, throwing off his balance and the balance of the sheet which fell to her waist, and he didn't much care about the chair anymore. He leaned and she went to her knees and they were pressed together.

He lifted her from the chair, kicking its wheels to move it out of the way and laid her down in the light reflecting through the glass that played on the floor. He covered her with his body and barely took his lips from her for air. He never did hear his cell phone ringing or his pager going off. He had never missed a day's work in his life, but, well, there was a first time for everything.

***Late February 2006***

As Justin apparated in to his living room, he hurriedly looked at his watch. 19:12. He had promised Fiona that he would have everything ready by 19:30, and he was running late from Parliament. As usual. Fortunately for him, it didn't take long at all using his wand to prepare all the ingredients for his cooking lesson.

Fiona had impulsively decided that she would teach him how to cook so that Justin wasn't always having his usual take-away. "With a little weekend preparation, you can eat all week with very little effort," she had said to him. Personally, he thought that picking up the telephone and ringing the Chinese for a delivery was much easier than working all day on a Sunday, but he thought he'd humor her, especially since his father's unexpected death had given Justin much more familial and governmental responsibility and less time with Fiona than either of them had liked.

There was a light rap at the door. Justin looked startled. He had given Fiona a key weeks ago, and although she hesitated to use it at the beginning, she was growing more comfortable coming and going as she pleased. He smiled remembering the time he'd discovered her in his bed. She'd fallen asleep waiting for him, but there was something reassuring about returning home after a long day at the Academy to find a beautiful naked woman in his bed.

He waved his wand, opening the wine and pouring two glasses, running a finger along the smooth edge of the mauve colored Art Deco bowl --the newest piece for his collection-- before opening the door with a laugh.

"I thought you had a key, love."

He was surprised by the figure in the doorway and failed at hiding it. "Mother."

She swept past him, arriving at the kitchen worktop and taking a sip from one of the wine glasses. "Expecting someone else?" she asked, but instead of waiting for an answer, continued with the reason for her visit, "I took the liberty of asking Amelia Needham to allow you to escort her to the Gala next week. I hope that choice was all right."

"Who?"

"Hal and Sarah's youngest. You remember her – you used to swim together."

"We were four."
"And now she needs an escort and you need a dance partner, so I asked her."

"I was hoping to avoid the –"

"There's no avoiding it now, Justin. And Amelia is not dating anyone. She has a lovely position in the –"

"Mother –"

"Justin, the time has come," she said firmly, placing her glass on the worktop a bit too roughly. They had this conversation before, and Justin held his own glass firmly waiting for her to go on. As she did, her hand knocked into the new mauve bowl, distracting her, but only fleetingly. "This is beautiful. Is this a new one?"

Justin nodded, sipping his wine, glancing at the clock on the microwave. "It was a Christmas gift from Fiona."

"Fiona?"

"Yes." He eyed his mother, unsure of where this conversation would be heading.

She was thoughtful. "It's very expensive. How could she afford –"

"I didn't ask her for a bill of sale."
"No, of course not, but still, Justin. She couldn't possibly have been able to afford this. I thought you said you were loaning her the money for her gift shop."

"It's a café."

"Oh yes, that's right, she's a pub cook."

"She's not a pub cook, Mother. She wants to own her own shop –"

"And serve people –"

"And the Goblins wouldn't give her the loan, so I am. It's her dream. I'm helping her with her dream."

"Yes, well, Justin, you can't take in every stray. Now Amelia is of that age that she should be thinking of marrying and I daresay that you are also –"

"I don't want to discuss this now," he said quickly, pulling out his planner and jotting down Amelia's name and the time he knew he would have to arrive to escort her to the Gala in the small square that said Saturday. "Is that the only reason you came?" he asked, taking her glass from her.

"Yes, but while we're on the subject, Justin." She paused to look at him for a long moment. He met her eye unflinchingly, which was easier said than done. "Dalliances," she continued, "are one thing, Justin, but now you need to start thinking about your future. You are the 18th Earl of Deskford and the time has come."

"Mother there's no reason –"

"Actually, Justin, there's every reason. Do you think that your father expected to simply drop dead at 53? You need to think of an heir, and this girl is simply not –"

They both turned towards the closing door. Fiona stood awkwardly there, arms laden with bags of what looked like groceries. Justin rushed over to relieve her of her burdens, kissing her on the cheek. "I used my key. I hope that was all right. I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"No, of course not. My mother was just leaving."

Mrs. Finch-Fletchley looked at her son one more time and then agreed. "Yes, I was just leaving. It's lovely to see you again, Fiona."

"And you," Fiona responded, adding, "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"Oh, no dear, thank you." She gave Justin a pointed look, and did not wait for him to take her to the door, he knowing that she would leave quietly.

Justin unpacked the bags, leaving out what they needed for their dinner and putting away the extras that Fiona always brought, somehow knowing what was lacking in his kitchen. He took the wand and scourgified the wine glass, refilling it for Fiona and handing it to her.

She placed it back on the worktop, untasted. "Is everything all right with your mother?"

"She's fine. She's worried about my future."

Fiona touched his elbow, and when he turned, stepped into his arms, giving him a long kiss. He was about to suggest skipping dinner when she stepped out of his embrace. "She doesn't like me, does she?"

"Don't worry about my mother."

"She thinks I'm beneath you."

"I'm hoping to be beneath you in about an hour."

His cheeky grin was met with a shake of her head. She bit her lip. She seemed about to say something, but paused just long enough to let Justin take her in his arms again. "Change of plans," he laughed, picking her up.

"What are you doing?" she laughed.

"We'll have dinner in an hour. I want you. Now," he demanded, carrying her into his bedroom not bothering with the door.

*****

"I thought you were going to teach me."

Fiona laughed as she stirred the soup and set her wand to the washing. "It's too late for that. I'm hungry. Aren't you?"

Justin came up behind her putting his arms around her waist, nuzzling his nose into her neck. "Not all that much anymore."

She turned her head to let him kiss her, but refused to be distracted and continued her stirring. "Another ten minutes. I'll come by next Saturday and teach you then, all right? I'd come tomorrow, but I have a late appointment with the property owner."

"Did the money arrive in your vault okay?"

She nodded as she served the thick soup, a hunk of bread in each bowl. She handed him his. "Thank you." She kissed his cheek, adding, "I will pay you back."

"I know. Mmm. This is delicious. Honestly, Fiona how do you do it? You're brilliant in the kitchen."

"Thank you," she said attempting a little bow.

"Actually, you're brilliant in every room of this flat," he said, eyebrows raised, placing his soup bowl on the counter and taking hers from her hands and putting it next to his. He gently pushed her down to the floor. She didn't even attempt at protest, giving him a little giggle as she nipped at his ear playfully.

***Saturday***

"I'm sorry about this Amelia," Justin said, opening the door to his flat. "Have a seat. I'll just be a mome –"

Fiona had been sitting on the sofa and stood to face Justin as soon as the door clicked shut. He was more than a little startled to see her. The silence in the room was deafening and finally she broke it. "What's going on, Justin?"

"What are you doing here?"

"We had plans to make dinner. Don't you remember?"
"I'm so sorry. I must not have written you in."

"Written me in?"

"My planner. I can't believe that I didn't put your name in or tell you –"

"Written me in?" Her voice rose, and it was the inflection and change of tone that made Justin look up as he rummaged through the pages of his leather-bound book. "You need to write me in to make time for me?"
"Justin's schedule is very full. He lives through his planner. Oh wait. You must be that wonderful cook that Justin's given the money to?"

They had both forgotten about Amelia, and now that she spoke, they turned to her. Fiona sputtered. "I'm the what?"

"The chef. Justin's giving you money for your business. He's like a silent partner, isn't that right, darling?" She put her hand on Justin's elbow, and much to his miscalculation, he did not remove it. She continued talking to Fiona. "Justin and I are old friends. Remember that time at the lake? I recall that you were naked." She turned to him, but he was watching Fiona.

"I was four."

Amelia turned back to Fiona. "I'm sure Justin's money has helped you immeasurably. We'd love to pop in once you have the place up and running."

"Fiona, I'm sorry. I must have forgotten that tonight was the night we were going to continue our lesson –"

"Oh, isn't that sweet? She's teaching you how to cook?" Amelia interrupted, squeezing his arm.

He dislodged himself from Amelia, and stepped towards Fiona, who took a step back. "I'm sorry. I'll just be a few minutes. Will you wait? I'll take Amelia back to the Gala, and I'll return here to explain. Just wait for me."

"I can't go back alone," Amelia protested, but neither of them were listening to her.

"Fiona, I'll come right back," he answered her shaking head.

"I won't be waiting, Justin." He watched in horror as she pulled out her wand and Apparated away. In his living room. In front of Amelia who was-- in a spectacular movement of slow motion-- falling to the floor in a dead faint. He caught her, snapping his wand out, the Obliviate on his lips.

Amelia was disoriented for the drive back to the event, and Justin had no idea what he was going to do next. Halfway back, an idea struck him, and he asked the driver to take them back to Amelia's flat. She was already Obliviated. It wouldn't take much more to let her think that she'd had a lovely time at the rest of the dance and that Justin had escorted her home. He let the car go, and he Apparated to Diagon Alley in search of Fiona.

Starting at the Leaky Cauldron, he knew his instincts were dead on when he spotted Hannah's filthy look. It was obvious to him that Fiona was here or had been here because Hannah looked about ready to hex him. "Hannah?"

"Justin, how could you? You told me you weren't using her?"

"I wasn't using her!" he protested.

"You were on a date with another woman."

"It wasn't a date. It was an obligation."
"Semantics aren't going to win this argument, Lord Ogilvy. She doesn't want to see you."

"I need to see her, Hannah. I need to explain everything."

"What are you going to tell her, Justin? That she means nothing to you?"

"She means everything to me."

"So you'll marry her, then?" Hannah countered.

"You know I can't do that."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't. And I've explained it to you several –"

"Yes, but not once to her."

"Hannah, we've only dated a short time –"

"She loves you, Justin. Can't you see that?"
"I see it," he said tersely. "And, I… love her, but that changes nothing."
"What exactly is the problem?"
"The problem is that I'm part of a line that goes back to the 14th century. I could never marry her."

"And you didn't think to mention that while you were shagging her?"

"My father was alive then."

"That makes a difference?"

"It does. It did. There was time then; possibility, but now I've taken on his title. I've taken on all his responsibility. I can't just marry anyone."

He turned when he heard the gasp from behind him. Fiona was beginning to shake, staring at him, silent. He could do nothing to take back the words. "I'm sorry you heard that. Can we talk? In private?"

She nodded her head in a resigned fashion, and he knew that whatever he said probably wouldn't matter. He went to take her hand, but she kept hers firmly at her sides, following him as Hannah nodded them into her little office off the pantry. Justin motioned Fiona to a chair, but she refused to budge from her place by the door. No doubt she wanted an easy escape if the need arose. Justin watched her warily, loosening his tie, not sure when this misunderstanding had taken place. Surely, she couldn't have expected that he would marry her. They'd only met six months ago. Even if they had know each other longer, he was still a Peer and –

His thoughts stopped suddenly as he caught a glimpse of her face, pinched and drawn, hurt. She had clearly been crying. He took a step towards her and reached out his hand. "Come sit down," he said gently.

She stared at him, but after a moment or two, she took his hand. He almost gasped at the feelings surging through him at her touch, but he ignored them as he ignored all his feelings for her when they were apart. He led her to the chair at the desk. He tenderly sat her in the chair and then kneeled in front of her so their eyes could meet.

He spoke softly, just above a whisper. "I'm sorry about tonight. I'm most sorry that I forgot you were coming to my flat this evening."

She laughed in disbelief. "You're not most sorry that you were caught with another woman, who obviously knew about me and yet, I've never heard her mentioned even in passing? You're most sorry that you forgot to schedule me in?"

"That wasn't what I meant."

"What did you mean then?"

He took her hands in his and rested them in her lap, looking into her eyes, deep and beautiful, but now red-rimmed. "I meant that I care deeply for you, and I look forward to our time together, and I'm sorry our engagement was forgotten. I would have much rather spent the evening with you."

"Well, that's rich, Justin. I suppose Amelia's not one for shagging on a first date, is she?"

"I don't know what she's one for. I wasn't kidding. I hadn't seen her since I was four. My mother arranged it. I explained to you when my father died that I would need to take over many, well, truthfully, all of his duties. I have his title now. I'm the Earl of Deskford, and with that comes much responsibility."

"Are you suggesting that your father would have taken that…" She took a deep breath and Justin knew that she was calling upon all of the self-control she could muster. "Your father would have –"

"No, of course not. My father would have escorted my mother and I'd still be in my flat cooking with you. However, my father's dead. I'm called upon as the new Earl to attend these functions and I'm expected to bring a woman with me."

"It never occurred to you that you and I have been dating since Autumn, and perhaps you might ask me?"

"Actually, no. That thought never came to mind."

She looked a bit offended by his statement and more hurt if that were possible. It was the hurt he was causing her that bothered him the most.

"You told me that you loved me, Justin. Was that merely a lie to keep me in your bed?"

"No, it wasn't. I do love you." The admission took a lot out of him. He should have known that his heart would betray his obligation. He hadn't been distant enough with Fiona. He'd regret that choice if he didn't regret it one bit.

"But you told Hannah that you have no intention of ever marrying me. What's the point in continuing on if there's no future? Can you tell me that?"

His words were measured. "Fiona, I never intended to hurt you. It never suggested itself to me that you would think any different. I'm a member of nobility. I have to marry someone of equal status. I really didn't think…I mean, I didn't, I thought you knew that from the start.

"Despite what my mother thinks, I don't need to marry right away. I can see whomever I like in whatever social circumstance I choose. I'm my own man."

"Who can't choose his own wife or who he escorts to a social event."

Their eyes met. He reached for her face and rubbed the back of his hand across her cheek until his fingers were brushing against her lips. He raised himself up and leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled her head back with a quiet gasp.

"I don't think I can do that. Being with you and having no future and then you'd be going to these fancy-dress events with other women and coming back to my bed. It just feels…wrong. The only thing missing is having you pay me –"

A gasp of horror escaped her lips before she clapped both hands over her mouth and he sat back on his heels, confused by her flare-up. "Oh sweet Merlin, you are paying me!"

"What?"

"The money. For my café. Oh bollocks! I am your whore – that's exactly what your mother thinks. No wonder she doesn't like me."

"I'm not paying you."

"Then explain the money."

"The Goblins wouldn't give you a loan. I gave it you. That's all. You'll return the money out of the proceeds of the café."

"Except that everyone thinks –"

"I don't care what everyone thinks!"

"Of course you do, Justin. Why else not walk away if you truly loved me if not for what everyone thinks?"

"It's not that simple. That's not about what people think. That's about eighteen generations, centuries of obligation."

"Your family hasn't given enough in all that time?"

"I can't."

"You won't. And I'm sorry, Justin. I don't think I can either."

She stood, but before taking her leave, and ran her fingers through his hair, whispering, "I'll need to think about all of this, Justin" and she closed the door quietly behind her.