Pedantic canon moment, sorry. Had to reload chapter.

Chapter the Third: Her love

The village of Skenfrith, Wales, November 1978.

'Mum?' Caradoc let himself in. The house hadn't changed much, in all these years. It was one of those places that would stay the same no matter how much time passed. This house could be counted on, it seemed to say.

'Mum?' Caradoc called out again, hanging his coat in the hall and putting his keys down on the cabinet. 'Are you home, Mum?'

'In here, love!'

Caradoc smiled as he headed into the kitchen, where his mother was patiently doing this morning's crossword. Bright autumn sunlight filtered in through the kitchen windows, causing the countertops to sparkle. The room glowed in the midday sun.

A radio played Frank Sinatra on the windowsill. Caradoc smiled to himself.

'How's things, Mum?' He asked, leaning over to kiss her cheek. She smiled.

'Just fine, dear, just fine. How did your interview go yesterday?'

Caradoc rolled his eyes. 'The usual. That Fenwick bloke's a git.'

Elain laughed softly. 'So you've told me. I suppose you want a cup of tea?'

'I'll make it,' he offered with a smile, heading to the sink to fill the kettle. He didn't use magic in his mother's house – it was … uncomfortable. In fact, magic didn't have any place in this village at all as far as he was concerned. If he'd had any choice in the matter it might not have had any place in his life, but as it was …

'Spoken to your father lately?' asked Elain. Caradoc sighed and shook his head.

'I've been avoiding him. He keeps asking why I'm not married yet.'

'Huh! He's a fine one to talk!'

'Yeah, well.' Caradoc pulled some mugs out of the top cupboard as the kettle began to whistle. He flipped it off quickly. 'He seems to think I ought to get either a 'proper' career or a wife. Something about saving the family name from complete dishonour. I didn't catch the finer points of his reasoning.'

He placed a mug on the table next to his mother's hand and took the seat next to her at the scrubbed wooden table.

'In any case, I'd rather not talk about him,' he continued matter-of-factly. 'How're you? We didn't get much of a chance to talk the last time I saw you - did you get my letters? From America?'

'Yes, dear, I got them. It sounded like you had a marvellous time.'

'It was all right. A bit tiring. Impossible to find a decent cup of tea in the whole country, and I kid you not. I was dying to come home by the end of it all.'

Elain laughed. 'Too true. Did you meet any nice American girls?'

Caradoc shook his head in disbelief. 'You're beginning to sound like Edward,' he warned. 'And the answer is no. Not that I was looking, mind you.'

Elain smiled in an amused, motherly way. 'I wasn't implying anything, Caradoc. Just asking. You spend too much time alone – it wouldn't hurt for you to find a nice girl.'

Caradoc raised his eyes to the ceiling. 'Thank you, mother, that will be quite enough,' he said in a world-weary voice. Elain laughed.

'This is what mothers are for,' she reminded him lightly, sipping her tea. 'Besides,' she added, more seriously, 'I worry about you. You're always working – you never seem to go out and have fun. That's what this time of your life should be about, but all you do is waste the days and nights writing sad music for people who don't know or care about you. You're only young once, Caradoc.'

Caradoc nodded patiently. 'I know,' he sighed. 'You worry about me, I get it. But I'm fine, really – I am,' he added, because Elain had rolled her eyes in a sceptical manner. 'Really. I just – just …'

He shrugged.

'I'm fine,' he concluded lamely.

Elain reached out and patted his hand.

'If you say so, dear,' she said in that comforting and yet somehow disconcertingly knowing voice that all mothers perfect sooner or later. 'Will you be staying for dinner tonight?'

'Yeah I guess,' he said, shrugging. 'There's no food in my flat.'

Elain laughed and ruffled Caradoc's blond hair as she had done when he'd been a boy. 'How did I know that was the case? No wonder you can't find a girlfriend. You're hopeless, and that's the truth.'

Caradoc smiled at her .As always, he was glad to be home.

Ten years ago in 1968, in the Ravenclaw common room…

Hestia sighed loudly. She was bored. She was often bored.

She lounged sideways on an overstuffed armchair next to the fire. Caradoc was in the chair next to her, poring over the essay he hadn't yet completed. He took no notice of her predicament – that's how often she was bored. Besides that, the deadline for his essay was tomorrow morning, and he didn't quite understand …

'Do you know all the limitations put on animagi by the Ministry?' he asked, frowning.

Hestia shook herself out of her own thoughts.

'What?' she asked.

'Never mind,' Caradoc muttered, hastily scribbling out a sentence with his quill and writing another one.

Hestia shrugged and went back to her own internal monologue.

She felt restless. The quidditch game was this weekend, and she wasn't sure if the Ravenclaw team was ready to face James Potter as chaser. They didn't seem to realise – she'd seen James fly, and he was good. Better than most, even she could admit that; and she didn't like the prat. But her fellow Ravenclaws had been fully prepared to dismiss him as just the snotty little third-year who sometimes interrupted their route to class by dropping dungbombs in the corridors. Underestimate James Potter at your peril, she'd said – but did they listen? Of course not.

She sighed again. She would just have to catch the snitch before he could score any goals.

Caradoc muttered something to himself and scribbled another sentence down. Then he flipped through the heavy textbook which was propped open on his lap. He underlined something and then went back to his parchment.

Hestia was glad she'd finished her essay in History of Magic earlier that day. She would have helped Caradoc out with his, but he preferred to do things like that for himself. She yawned, smiling at her friend. He was funny, the way he left things until the last minute and then panicked as he struggled to finish. She repressed the desire to laugh at him as he sat frowning at his parchment – it wasn't that she was being spiteful; it was just that Caradoc amused her so very much.

He was the only real friend she'd ever had. Oh sure, she'd talk to James Potter if she had to, and Sirius Black was also all right for a laugh, and Alice Lancaster was okay as long as she wasn't chasing after some quidditch player or another – but Caradoc was the only person she would call her friend. Her best friend. Who needed anyone else? Certainly it had never bothered her that she didn't have any more friends.

It wasn't like they were very similar. Hestia was … well, she was loud; she admitted to herself. Boisterous would probably be the word. She liked to have plenty of people around. She liked quidditch and loud music and telling jokes. Caradoc, he wasn't like that at all. He was definitely quiet. He liked playing piano and writing songs in his notebooks. He liked to read books. Being by himself didn't bother him at all.

He was never very bothered by things other people said. Hestia wondered if this was one of the reasons she liked him so much – she could say anything she liked and he would shrug it off, as though he didn't mind at all. He was always so calm about things – at least until the night before an assignment was due. Hestia was never very worried about schoolwork. She got the same marks as Caradoc without really worrying, so it didn't occur to her that she should try any harder. Besides, there were so many other things to catch her attention …

She noticed that the sound of Caradoc's quill had stopped. She blinked.

'I just wrote the same sentence three times,' Caradoc moaned, staring at his essay. 'I'm never going to get finished at this rate!'

Hestia laughed.

He sent her a reproachful look. 'It's not funny, Hestia. I'll get detention if I don't hand this in on time.'

'Sorry, sorry,' Hestia said, still chuckling. 'How much have you got to go?'

Caradoc sighed. 'Another eight inches, and I'm almost out of things to say.'

'Make your handwriting bigger, then. That's what James Potter does – he told me.'

'Yeah, I might have to.'

'Your handwriting's tiny anyway,' she told him. 'You'd probably be over the limit in my writing.'

'Yeah, probably. But I can't read your writing half the time.'

Hestia laughed again. 'I can't read my writing half the time,' she shrugged amusedly. 'Just keep going, you're nearly there.'

'Yeah, you're right,' he sighed again.

He frowned at it for another second, and then started writing again, this time slightly bigger than before.

Hestia watched him pensively. She liked how he wrote so neatly and precisely, she decided. And she especially liked that he cared so much about his schoolwork – even if he did leave most of his essays until the last minute because of his music practise.

She thought that she probably liked most things about Caradoc – even the silly things that no one else would notice. She liked that she knew him better than anyone else. He was so much more interesting than everyone else at this school. And in a strange way, even more interesting because he was, in a strange way, hers. Her friend. No one else's.

She couldn't imagine not having Caradoc. It would be like … like losing a limb. Like not being able to do magic anymore. Worse than that. Like never being allowed to play quidditch again.

Around them, the Ravenclaws in the common room filtered upstairs to their dormitories. The fire flickered down to its embers. Hestia closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of her armchair, listening peacefully to the sound of Caradoc's quill as it scratched its way across his parchment. She thought absently about friendship, and imagined what the look on Caradoc's face would be if she just leaned over and …

She came to her senses with a start, her eyes snapping open. She couldn't believe the image that had just passed, unbidden, before her eyes … but then, she realised, she'd seen it before, in her crazier dreams…

'There!' Caradoc exclaimed, throwing his quill down on the table. 'Finished! Finally!' He yawned and stretched. 'What a mission,' he said with a relieved smile, settling back into his chair and smiling absently across at Hestia.

She smiled back.

'Before you say it, I know I shouldn't leave things 'til the last minute,' he said sleepily.

'That's not what I was going to say,' she told him.

'Oh? That's what you normally say.' He laughed. 'Well, it's been said anyway, for the record. So what were you going to say?'

'I was going to ask you a question,' she admitted. 'But you have to promise to not to read anything into it.'

He shrugged. 'I've spent the last five hours analysing Transfiguration texts,' he said wearily. 'I'm not about to analyse your questions on top of all that. Ask away.'

She bit her lip.

'Caradoc, have you ever … you know, liked a girl?'

Caradoc thought about this for a moment.

'Not … not really,' he said thoughtfully. 'I mean, I've seen girls that I thought were pretty, but I never really thought about them any more than that. And of course I like you –' Hestia's heart skipped a beat – 'but, I mean, that's different, isn't it? So I guess I would have to say … no.' He shrugged again. 'Why do you ask that, of all things?'

'Oh, I just … wondered,' Hestia said, quickly focussing her attentions on the fire.

'Do you like someone?' Caradoc asked suspiciously.

'No, I … no.' Hestia looked back with a smile. 'In this castle? Are you mad? Who have I got to choose from? James Potter? Sirius Black? Gross!'

Caradoc chuckled. 'Fair point.'

She grinned. 'Sometimes I reckon you and me should just stick to ourselves. You're the only person in this castle that I can halfway stand.'

Caradoc nodded, sharing her grin. 'And you're the only one who puts up with me,' he agreed. 'You're probably right – we should just stick together.'

'We don't need anyone else,' Hestia said firmly.

Caradoc shook his head. 'No, we don't really.' He yawned again. 'I've got to go to bed, Hess,' he added. 'I'll see you in the morning, all right?'

'Yeah, all right,' Hestia nodded, turning her attention back to the dying embers in the fireplace. 'Good night.'

'Sweet dreams, Hess,' Caradoc yawned, standing up and gathering his books and essay before heading off towards the staircase that lead up to the boys' dorms. Hestia frowned.

'Caradoc, wait!' she called, turning in her chair. Caradoc stopped at the foot of the staircase.

'What?' he asked.

'I … I just …' Hestia faltered. She took a deep breath.

'We're best friends, aren't we Caradoc?'

'Of course, Hestia,' Caradoc said bemusedly.

'And we'll always be best friends?'

'I hope so, Hess,' Caradoc smiled.

Hestia paused.

'I just … wanted to make sure,' she finished finally, losing her nerve.

Caradoc shrugged. 'You're in a strange mood tonight, Hestia. Come and get me for breakfast tomorrow, all right?'

'Yeah, all right.'

Caradoc disappeared up his staircase. Hestia turned back to the fire. She stared at the glowing embers for a few minutes.

'Damn it!' she muttered finally, before heading up to her own dormitory.

1978, Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place …

'Hestia, darling! You look lovely, dear. Come in, come in, don't just stand out there on the porch!' Walburga Black laughed shrilly, setting the hairs on the back of Hestia's neck on edge. She smiled graciously at her hostess.

Mrs Black turned her dark eyes on the man who followed in Hestia's wake.

'Lucius,' she said smoothly and respectfully. 'How marvellous to see you. You look well.'

'Thank you, Walburga,' Lucius said courteously, taking Hestia's cloak from her shoulders as they entered the grand foyer of the traditional Black family home. 'I am quite well, I assure you.'

Mrs Black ushered them through into the drawing room, clad in its heavy green drapes and dark wooden trim. Seated stiffly on various couches and armchairs were the remainder of the dinner guests.

In particular, Hestia objected internally to the presence of Narcissa Black, Walburga's niece, and her sister Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix's husband, Rodolphus, was also there; and his brother, Rabastan. Sirius Black's younger brother Regulus was brooding by the window in a manner which echoed strongly of his older sibling. Orion Black, Walburga's husband, reclined easily in a large chair near the fireplace. He stood as Hestia and Lucius entered the room.

'Lucius!' he beamed, his smile just like Sirius's, but with none of Sirius's mischievous charm. 'How splendid to see you.'

Lucius inclined his head respectfully. 'We thank you for the invitation,' he said.

Orion waved his hand at a free couch.

'Take a seat, friend. Hestia,' he added in greeting, nodding at her. She smiled broadly back. I ought to get some sort of award for all the acting I do, she thought ruefully.

'We missed you at the Goyle affair last week, Lucius,' Rabastan said in a bored voice.

'Yes, I sent them my apologies. I had … matters to attend to.'

His hand rested on Hestia's knee as he said it. She wished that she could just jerk away.

'You ought to have come, Lucius,' piped up Narcissa Black from across the room. Hestia sent a cold look in the girl's direction. The tall, thin blonde smiled unwaveringly back. 'It was absolutely dull without you.'

'Well, that doesn't exactly make me sorry that I missed it,' Lucius said lightly. The room twittered with polite laughter. Narcissa blushed as if on cue. Only Hestia and Bellatrix gave no reaction to Lucius's comment.

'Where is that house-elf?' Bellatrix demanded, her dark, hooded eyes glancing angrily about the room. 'Shouldn't we have that tea by now?'

Walburga shrugged. 'Probably sulking somewhere.'

'Oh, Lucius, now I remember,' Orion said suddenly, clicking his fingers. 'I have that paperwork that you asked me for. It's in my study.'

'Excellent,' Lucius said. 'Perhaps we should go and check it over.'

'Yes, I think that would be best,' said Orion. 'We men shall take our leave, and leave the ladies to their gossip.' He laughed at his joke as he stood and motioned that the men should follow him. Rodolphus and Rabastan let him and Lucius lead them out without comment. Regulus reluctantly turned away from the window and went after them.

Hestia shifted uneasily in her seat. The Black women were much more difficult to contend with than their male counterparts. She silently gathered her wits about her.

Bellatrix tutted restlessly.

'I shall give that house-elf a beating next time I see it,' she muttered. 'Why do you put up with it, Aunt?'

Walburga smiled mirthlessly, but did not reply to her niece. Instead, she turned her piercing gaze on Hestia.

'I saw your mother the other day, dear,' she sad silkily.

Hestia was good at this. Her expression did not falter one bit.

'Did you?' she asked lightly.

'Yes. She was in Diagon Alley. She wouldn't stop to chat, though.'

Hestia smiled amusedly. 'Really? So unlike her.'

'That's what I thought,' Walburga said quietly, and for a moment it looked as though she would go on, but she was interrupted by Bellatrix.

'I can't wait any longer,' she declared, standing up. 'I am going to find that little piece of filth.' And with that she swept from the room, presumably to find the offending house-elf and beat it to within an inch of its life. Hestia felt that it probably didn't have much to do with dissatisfaction with the creature's service – Bellatrix just liked to torture living things that couldn't fight back.

Walburga sighed and stood up. 'I had better follow,' she said composedly. 'Who knows what that girl will get up to.' She, too, swept from the room.

Hestia was left sitting across from Narcissa. Their eyes caught across the coffee table – Narcissa had an imperious look in her cold eyes, and Hestia glared back as openly as she dared.

Narcissa didn't mince words.

'Don't pretend that you like me, Hestia,' she said loftily. 'I'm not as stupid as you might think.'

Hestia raised an eyebrow. 'I know your type, Narcissa,' she said dangerously. 'And I can see what you're trying to do from a mile away. I feel I should tell you that you're wasting your time.'

From the next room the faint sound of Walburga's voice rising in volume cut through the dusty silence.

Narcissa smiled frostily. Bellatrix's voice joined the argument from the next room. Such things were to be expected in Grimmauld Place – Hestia's previous visits had only confirmed this. It was best just to ignore it.

'I can't imagine that I know what you're talking about, Hestia,' Narcissa said sweetly.

Hestia didn't reply. She merely glared at the other girl through narrowed eyes. The shouting in the next room ended abruptly. Hestia and Narcissa stared at each other.

'You should be careful,' the blonde said finally. 'You can't string a man along forever without marrying him. And your parents have disowned you, haven't they? That will affect your prospects.'

Hestia set her jaw. 'You can't win at this,' she said.

'You see, this is where you would be wrong,' Narcissa replied calmly.

Walburga returned at that moment, Bellatrix in tow. They took their seats. A few seconds later a tray of biscuits and tea served in silver cups appeared on the coffee table.

'Finally,' Bellatrix muttered, taking a cup. The other women followed suit. They surveyed each other calculatingly over their tea.

'So, Hestia dear,' Walburga said finally, setting her teacup back on the table and fixing Hestia with a determined look. 'Have you and Lucius set a date yet? We're simply dying from suspense here!'

Hestia tried very hard not to choke on her tea.

'Not – not yet, Walburga,' she said carefully, putting down her cup with a slightly trembling hand. 'We both decided … that is, the pressure of his job …'

Narcissa smirked over the rim of her cup. Bellatrix raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

Walburga smiled and reached across to pat Hestia's hand. 'It's all right, dear,' she said smoothly. 'We understand.'

Hestia smiled blandly.

In her private thoughts, she took a deep, shuddering breath.

How long could she be expected to keep this up?