The next morning, Number 12 Grimmauld Place was as boisterous as ever. In addition to Sirius Black, the owner and Azkaban escapee, and Remus Lupin, werewolf, it currently housed the majority of the Weasley clan, Hermione Granger, a friend of the family, and Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived.
When Neville was just a baby, barely a year old, his family had been attacked by Lord Voldemort's right hand, Bellatrix Lestrange, and her cohorts. His parents had been driven to madness by her infamous cruciatus curse, but while Neville had shown evidence of suffering under the same spell, his mind remained intact. It was therefore speculated that Neville was in possession of great power, a theory that made him famous.
The orphan had been taken in by his Grandmother, a forbidding woman who put up with no nonsense but was proud of her grandson's fame. The result was a somewhat shy but not downtrodden boy who had so far shown no particularly stupendous magical talent in any field save for Herbology.
Still, Neville's years at Hogwarts had been fraught with danger and it was just at the end of his fifth year, a little over a year ago now, that he'd been lured off the school grounds and into the hands of You-Know-Who himself in order to participate in a ritual that resulted in the Dark Lord returning to corporeal form. He had been stripped of his body in the casting of a botched spell on Halloween night the same year Neville's family was attacked, or so the story went.
No one really knew what happened that night in the Potter home, but everyone agreed that something about the powerful couple and their baby stopped him, for he was not seen for over a decade since. The lack of solid hypotheses was due to the fact that neither the Dark Lord's nor the Potter boy's bodies were ever found.
At any rate, since the ceremony involving Neville's blood, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been back in action, though he'd been acting quietly so as not to alert the ignorant Ministry of his return to power. One of his first moves had been to free the many of his followers who were incarcerated in Azkaban prison, including Bellatrix and Dolohov. The breakout had been attributed by the Ministry and the press to Sirius Black, who was innocent of his convictions of murder, but still wanted by the authorities and forced to remain in hiding.
Most recently, Voldemort had been caught attempting to obtain a prophecy which apparently held the secret to his defeat from the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic itself. Luckily, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore's renegade vigilante group, who had been posted to keep watch had managed to alert the rest of the Order to his presence. Dedalus Diggle, the guard in question, was the only casualty in the ensuing running battle.
More injuries were sustained than otherwise might have been, though, due to the presence of Neville, Hermione, and Ron and Ginny Weasley, who had managed to get themselves to the Ministry and ended up more of a hindrance than a help, as had been their intent. It was for this reason as well as for safety's sake that they were now under house and magic arrest and on cleaning duty at Number 12.
The single good thing that came of the fight was the revelation of Voldemort's return to the Minster of Magic himself, who had arrived on the scene just as You-Know-Who and Bellatrix disapparated with the stolen prophecy. The Wizarding World of Great Britain had since then been in something of a state of panic. It was only the strong, calming words of Dumbledore and the faith pinned on an unfortunate Neville that remained as beacons of hope in the face of what could possibly be a war as bad as the last one.
Voldemort had been taking keen advantage of this and had sought to perpetuate the climate of fear by staging minor successful attacks with Dementors and, as recently as this summer, Giants. The enormity of the task for the Ministry to contain the knowledge of magic from the muggles was increasing weekly, and it was their recent call for foreign aid that may have spurred Voldemort's attacks against the politically affluent witches and wizards of Western Europe who were pushing to lend Britain succor.
Though where the Leclairs fit into that description, I will never know, thought Ashley grimly as he girded himself before descending the stairs to the noisy kitchen of Grimmauld Place. He fought to keep his nose from wrinkling at the rambunctiousness he could hear from those dining within.
He paused with a sigh outside of the door. He really did not feel like going in and being amongst people, especially these people, but he felt even less like being lectured by his father about looking after himself later on, which he would most assuredly do if he discovered that Ashley had neglected to keep up with meals and sleep.
With a last scowl at the tasteless gloom of the decor, Ashley blanked his face and slipped quickly and soundlessly into the room. Quiet and polite and unnoticeable. That was what he would be, and this would be as smooth and painless as possible.
He should have known better.
Ashley stood just inside the doorway for a moment, observing the scene within.
Four red-headed children sat at the middle of the long, wooden table in the low-ceilinged room, chatting loudly and eating gustily away at the heavy English breakfast before them. The tallest of them in particular seemed to have a voracious appetite and was unafraid of showing it, to the slight distaste of his bushy-haired companion. He made some comment (with his mouth still full) to her and the mousy-looking fellow next to her, to which she half-grimaced half-smiled in response, revealing buck-teeth and surprisingly sweet dimples.
These must be the Weasleys, Granger, and Longbottom, from his father's descriptions. The Boy-Who-Lived was shockingly unimpressive-looking, Ashley mused, but appearances can be deceiving as he knew only too well, and he would have been a fool to take the tales of heroic deeds without a grain of salt anyways. And Ashley made a point of doing his best to be labeled 'fool' as rarely as possible.
Down the table to one end were four Order members that Ashley recognized from the night before: the young healer, Jones he believed was her name; the even younger metamorph who, he noted with interest, wore auror robes and flaunted her talent with hair a shocking pink; a large dark-skinned man, also in auror robes, whose name he did not know; and the father of the Weasley rabble, who had a patient but tired-looking face. His wife, Ashley noted with a glance, was wearing a slightly rumpled, second-hand robe but was bustling away merrily at the stove and filling everyone's tea cups with a kind smile.
Not well-to-do, he decided, but a lively family who did well with what they had. And a high level of talent in the three eldest children, according to his father. He would have to watch and see if the younger years were as lucky, he mused, and saw with interest that the girl easily distracted her tall brother while one twin slipped something into this tea and the other tied his shoelaces together under the table. A fascinating dynamic, and one he would have to keep close track of if he was to survive here for two months.
His attention finally turned to the man at the far end of the table who sat slightly apart from the others. He was, Ashley noted impassively, watching him observe them out of the corner of his eye. The boy continued to examine the man while his presence went unannounced, testing to see what he would do while taking in his appearance. Tatty robe, but clean; unshaven, greying hair; lined face, though he believed his father had said they were of an age; and - ah. Amber eyes. So this was the werewolf. No wonder he'd noticed him come in.
Just as he concluded his initial analysis and was about to introduce himself, he heard a set of bounding footsteps right outside the door and sidestepped into the shadows, just in time to avoid being slammed into by the owner of the house himself.
"Morning, everyone!" Sirius Black cried joyfully and plopped himself down next to the werewolf. "Morning, Moony."
"Good morning, Sirius," the other replied with a mild smile. "Did you sleep well?"
"Like a mooncalf," Black said, but his grin quickly turned to a scowl. "Despite having Snape's spawn harboured under my roof. It's bad enough having to be stuck back in this house, but now I've got to put up with Greasy Git, Jr, too."
"Snape's got a son?" asked one of the Weasley twins eagerly, causing most heads at the table to turn. The exceptions were the Weasley elders, who exchanged concerned looks.
"And he's staying here?" the other twin cut in. "What for?"
"Yeah," Sirius went on, obviously glad to find someone who shared his opinion, or at least his interest. "The whelp's relatives from his mother's side died and Snape stuck him here. Poor brat's probably actually grateful, with that slime ball for a father." He turned to the werewolf. "Can you imagine, Moony? Snivellus, a dad?"
The amber-eyed man was then put in a very difficult position, Ashley thought to distract himself from the pit of roiling rage that was trying to lash out of him, that was absolutely begging him to sharpen his tongue and lance this pathetic creature to the WALL. But anyways. Would the werewolf agree with his friend and the majority opinion, thus gaining himself some small popularity when his kind was so frequently unaccepted? Or would he be wise enough, wary enough of Ashley's expressionless figure in the corner of the room (still unnoticed by all save himself), to dare to disagree?
Luckily for him, he never had to voice his thoughts as the Weasley mother chose that moment to step in.
"Sirius Black! That poor boy just lost his grandmother! I can't believe you'd say such things. And I'm sure that his father loves him very much." She turned to her children. "And I want you lot to be nice to him! He doesn't know anyone and he must be feeling very lonely right now! I mean it Ronald Weasley," she said threateningly, for the tallest redhead had just rolled his eyes dramatically.
"Alright, alright" he grumbled. "But only if he doesn't act like a poncey git."
This made his mother scowl and Black grin, but the girl Weasley spoke up, preventing any reprimand or congratulations from being made. "It's odd, really, if you think about it."
"What is?" asked the now green-headed auror.
"Well, for Snape to have a son," she said thoughtfully, "that would involve him sleeping with somebody, wouldn't it?"
Far from being offended this time, Ashley was actually quite amused by her comment. For, indeed, his father had to be the least sexual creature he'd ever come across. His amusement did not last long, however.
"You're right," Ronald said slowly, as though the thought of a child being produced by sex was novel to him. Suddenly, he let out a great guffaw. "Oi, Neville! Who do you reckon would sleep with Snape!"
Longbottom looked a little unnerved at being asked his opinion, and entirely uncomfortable with the whole situation which was a small credit to him, Ashley thought, but it would be more greatly appreciated had he actually done something about it. But like the werewolf, 'Moony', he appeared to be too cowardly to voice the wrong opinion, and like the older man, Ashley never actually go the chance to find out if he was, because he was never given a chance to respond as Ronald continued.
"Bet she was ugly as a troll! I mean, she must've been pretty desperate to bag Snape of all people!"
None of the females in the room seemed to appreciate this last comment at all, but by this time, Ashley had had enough. His pride and devotion to his family could only take so much before his sense of diplomacy snapped, and as he recognized that he was rapidly approaching that point, he felt that it would be best to step in before he lost all control.
"I believe that that is my late mother you are speaking of," he said silkily, stepping menacingly from the shadows and unconsciously reminding them all very much of his father. "And I assure you that she was considered quite beautiful."
Total, blissful silence.
The look of horror on Ronald's face was worth every ounce of restraint he was calling upon to not rip the offending boy to shreds, and the uncertainty of Black's expression as he wondered how much he'd heard was almost too much for him. But he maintained his facade of blankness, neither furious nor forgiving as he stood motionless by the door.
The Weasley mother was the first to react. "Ronald Weasley! You apologize, RIGHT NOW!"
Ronald's head was slowly turning a glorious red, starting from his collar and creeping up his cheeks right to the tips of his freckled ears. His twin brothers, Ashely was amused to note, were shaking with fits of silent laughter.
"Er... I, er... What I meant was... Er... Sorry," he finished lamely, his pasty skin now lobster red.
Ashley stared at him in silence for several moments, enjoying making him squirm, but wanted to remain the wounded party in the others' eyes, and so curtly said, "Apology accepted," and seated himself in the remaining space between the girl Weasley and the werewolf.
"Here, dear," said Mother Weasley, pouring him some tea and handing him a plate laden with toast and eggs.
Ashley took her gesture for what it was and smiled at her in genuine gratitude.
"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."
"Oh, it's nothing, dear," she said, flushing lightly. "You take as much as you want and be sure not to let my brood bully you out of your share."
Ashley merely smiled mildly and most people joined him in going back to their breakfasts.
"So mate," said one twin from across the table with an amiable grin.
"We never," continued the other, who also seemed oblivious to the lingering awkwardness.
"Caught your name," finished the first.
Ashley decided then that he would from now on treat the twins as a single entity: Twins Weasley, or TW for expediency's sake.
He smiled a little to make nice with them when all he felt like doing was going back to his room. Or better still, back to his home.
"How remiss of me. It's Leclair." He held out his hand and they both shook it at the same time. He did not bat an eye and shook firmly back, making their grins widen.
"Bit of an odd name that, isn't it?" Ronald asked, his mouth full once more and his vocabulary obviously devoid of the word 'tact'.
The Granger girl smacked him across the back of his head.
"It's his last name, idiot," the girl Weasley told him, rolling her eyes. "It's French." She turned to Ashley and smiled in a friendly way. "If we're going to be living together we should probably get on a first name basis. I'm Ginny." She stuck out her hand and Ashley shook it. Her grip was firm.
"Ashley, then," he replied. "Although I prefer Leclair."
"Oh," Ginny looked rather taken aback.
Ashley moved to reassure her with an inward sigh. "It is what everyone at home calls me. In France, it is rare to use first names. Only my father and the few acquaintances of his that I have met ever call me Ashley. Even among friends and schoolmates surnames are used, except when differentiating between family members."
"Oh," she said again, but this time seemed much reassured. Thank Circe. He did not need to make enemies this early on. Especially ones with six older brothers, all of age and all too eager to hate him just because his father could be a bastard when he felt like it. "Well, Leclair it is then," she said amiably.
"Fred! George!" TW said at once.
"Ron," the gangly teen grunted.
"I'm Hermione."
"Neville." The Longbottom boy looked somewhat apprehensive, but Ashley did not react outwardly to his name and the fame it brought with it, and the moment passed.
"It's a pleasure, I'm sure," he said, nodding to those who were out of his reach. The adults at the far end had gone back to their own conversation and so did not take part in the introductions, though Ashley caught the young metamorph auror sneaking looks at him every so often.
"I don't believe we met last night," came a gravelly voice from his left, and he turned to see the amber eyes of the werewolf looking at him apologetically. Well, sorry was a word, nothing else. Proof of solidity was much more tangible and therefore reliable. Ashley was still waiting for it, but would not continue to do so for much longer.
"I'm Remus Lupin," the man continued.
Ashley merely nodded.
"Sirius Black," barked the dark-haired man roughly, looking almost challengingly at him from across the table.
Ashley decided to play the confuse and confund card. He would be unerringly polite and Black would never know the extent of the stories his father had told him. The uncertainty would frustrate him to no end. Hm. Ashley liked that.
"Thank you, Mr. Black, for allowing me to stay in your home."
"Just Sirius is fine," he replied gruffly again, looking away. Heheheh.
"So how come you don't go by Snape's name, then?" Sirius asked after a moment, a strange glint in his eyes. Ooh. Not very friendly.
"Madame wished it." Ashley shrugged. "And so, I am Leclair."
"She really had him by the balls, eh?" Sirius said, that odd glint still there.
"Sirius," Lupin admonished quietly, but said no more than that. Two strikes, werewolf.
Ashley did his best to diffuse the situation by shrugging again, though at this point he was wondering why he should even bother. "Madame had every man she met by the balls." He paused; then: "Every woman, too, come to think of it."
TW and Girl Weasley laughed and Longbottom and Granger smiled a little uncertainly, but Ashley only shook his head, reminiscing fondly. They thought he was joking; they had obviously never met Madame.
At that moment, Snape swept in with a swirl of his rain-drenched cloak; odd, for when Ashley had glanced out of the window just now, it had been overcast, but not raining. He had obviously come from abroad, then.
Ashley leapt to his feet as quickly as grace would allow, much to the shock of his new acquaintances.
"Father," he greeted him with a solemn and respectful nod. He then stayed perfectly still, following his father's tense form with only his eyes. He must be stressed to not reply to his greeting immediately, and lost in tumultuous thoughts if his sharp gestures to dry his cloak by the fire were anything to go by. He stared into the coals for only a moment longer before turning abruptly to catch the whole room watching him, waiting for him to respond to his son.
"Ashley," he barked. "Come." And swept out of the room.
"Yes, father," he said at once and stepped back from the table, turning to Mother Weasley. "Mrs. Weasley, thank you for a delicious meal."
"Oh that's alright, dear," she responded, looking warily after Snape.
"If you'll excuse me," he said to the table at large and moved to join his father who he could see was waiting for him impatiently in the hall. No, the news his father bore must be poor indeed.
Had he looked back, he might have seen the dark look Sirius Black was giving their twin retreating figures.