His father was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper, looking for all the world to be completely oblivious to what was occurring in the rest of the house. The teenager thought it was silly to hide from reality like that, although he had no right to talk, reading a Dumas novel in an attempt to ignore the terrible argument his mother and brother were in the middle of. It did not sound like the fight had become physical as of yet, but he would hear a slap soon enough. His brother would quiet after that, but his mother would continue shouting. His father tried to ignore it. The teenager tried to ignore it.
This time there was a sickening crack then little. The teenager ran up the stairs to find his brother sitting on the floor, his right leg bent in an unnatural direction. "An accident," he said, grimacing. The teenager was not falling for that. He wondered why his brother was submissive when it came to this but would rail against everything else. His brother was not short of bravery, and he wondered why the older boy took it. The stubborn fool didn't take anything else.
"You 'fell down the stairs?'" the teenager asked skeptically. "Will you lie about this, too?" He did not understand it. Why did his brother keep getting into trouble if he knew this was at the end of it? He continued to observe, confused and wondering if his mother was planning on calling the hospital so the bone could be set.
"It's my fault," his brother stated, staring penitently at the floor. "I deserved it." There was an ugly blue-black bruise starting to form near his right eye. "I did."
He really wished his brother would make up his mind. If he had see his brother like this again, he swore he would bring it up with his father in a very public area. There would then definitely be a discussion of some sort. Awkward, possibly. Career damaging, certainly. Of course, he would infinitely prefer that his mother and brother cease fighting. "You could always leave, you know," he finally said quietly.
His brother stared at him and asked, "What did you think that argument was about?"
"I don't know," the teenager replied, biting his lip. His brother was about to say something, probably to calm him down, but the teenager cut him off and said, "I'll go get Dad." He ran down the stairs.
They stopped mid-duel, finally recognizing each other. The Auror stared and, forgetting himself, lowered his wand. The Death Eater, likewise shocked, mirrored the action. "Oh, my God…" the Death Eater breathed, reflexively taking a step back.
The Auror grimaced and looked off to the side. He sighed and, turning to leave, paused. After a tense moment, he murmured quietly, "I never saw you. Run away. Don't come back to the battle," before walking down the alley into the shadows.
The Death Eater watched the Auror leave to rejoin the fray where they had started their fight. He exhaled the breath he did not realize he had been holding before Apparating away. Luckily, no one witnessed their exchange. If someone had, it would have meant both of their lives. There would be no time to explain and no good explanation. There never would.
According to everyone else, they did not have one.
There was a dark lake in a cavern. Poison in a bowl. Dead men walking. A dying man retching, oblivious to the dead and their fell intent, the poison he had taken running over the cavern floor. He tried to escape when he noticed the inferi, but he drowned nonetheless.
The unexpected occurred: his friend saved him, dragged him from the water, calmed him as he coughed up the rancid liquid. They had almost gotten away—but she came. His friend left, and he did not blame him. He wondered vaguely how his friend had known where he was.
She grinned maliciously, and he knew he was worse than dead.
Sirius Black awoke from the nightmares, still slightly shaking, and tried to ignore all of the memories that resurfaced, wishing he could quickly go back to sleep. He couldn't stop staring at the ceiling, trying to will the pain to go away and wondering why he dreamt from the wrong point of view. Most of all, however, he wondered where that last nightmare had come from. Chalking it up to his already overactive imagination, Sirius dismissed it all as a reaction to the run-in with the American and the earlier discussion with Remus about his brother.
He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It read four-thirty in the morning. Still much too early to be awake by any standards, especially because it seemed he was not going to be able to fall asleep again. Slowly sitting up, Sirius surveyed his surroundings and realized that he had crashed in his old bedroom for the night. He stifled a sigh and got out of bed. Sirius figured he might as well go downstairs and make coffee for whoever awoke next. He dressed quickly and acted mostly on autopilot as he went downstairs to the kitchen. There, he remembered the date: September 1, 1995. Sirius cursed. It was his first day of work this year, not something he was particularly excited for anymore. He had no idea how to deal with telling Harry. Sirius felt he could conduct himself in a professional manner; that was not the problem. It was more how Harry was going to react when he found out that Sirius was the new Defense teacher.
Sirius sat down after making himself some coffee and stared at the wall. It felt very therapeutic for some strange reason and almost made him forget his worries. Almost. He finished off two mugs of coffee before anyone else came into the kitchen. Sirius did not even look up to see who had entered the room. Luckily for Sirius, it was Remus, who just sat down at the table with some coffee himself. Neither of them said anything for a good ten minutes. "I'm fine," Sirius finally said, not able to stand the silence any longer.
Remus shot him a disbelieving glance. "No, Sirius. You are not," he stated evenly, obviously controlling his anger. Sirius realized what his friend was referring to and cursed mentally. "How long have you been casting silencing spells for when you sleep?" Remus demanded coldly.
"It's not usually this bad," Sirius murmured. To be honest, it was generally worse. Well, maybe the part where his brother was almost killed by inferi merited a break in that status quo, but Azkaban nightmares had been much worse. Memories, though, like from Halloween or that cold day in January when he and James had found… Those memories were what he tried to forget, especially in Azkaban. It was sad that his mind could not find anything worse to torture him with than what he had already experienced, wasn't it? However, he was telling Remus the truth, from a certain point of view.
"It's normally worse, then?" Remus demanded coldly, making it sound more like a statement of fact than an inquiry. Sirius had not counted on his friend recognizing the maneuver, but he should have realized. He always should have realized. "Dammit, Sirius, you can't just bottling up your emotions," Remus continued, frustrated. "I get it; you don't want to worry anyone, but you're coming apart at the seams. I just can't believe that you would hide something like this!"
Sirius glanced over at his friend and said, "Fine. You want to know what happened to me? I demanded back then that I be interrogated with Veritaserum. They wouldn't do it. I waived every right known to man, and they still refused. After a couple of months of Crouch and his cronies trying to get their precious confession out of me by any means necessary, I tried to—" Sirius struggled with saying what he had intended, despite how much he felt like maintaining his angry monologue. Finally, he settled on continuing, "Well, 'to sleep—perchance to dream … for what dreams may come.' The next eleven years are a cold, painful blur. Escaping didn't bring much relief. Sure, the dementors weren't there to make me remember, but I couldn't stop myself. Stupid, right? It's so bloody like me. Then, with that whole fiasco last year, I ended up worrying about Harry, too. Oh, and now I have the incredible problem of the lo—of Artemesia now being my coworker and probably hating me or completely ignoring me (or, even better, she's moved on). To top it all off, because all that's still not enough, the damn American is painfully like my idiot little brother who was stupid enough to try to back out of the damned Death Eaters and got himself killed by dear cousin Bella. Regulus is—was such a…" Sirius trailed off, angry with himself and not even sure what he had planned on saying. Why had he even opened his mouth?
Remus stared at him, less in shock but more in concern. "You tried to kill yourself?" he asked quietly. Sirius wondered why his friend looked so surprised. He should not have been. It was the kind of stupid thing that Sirius was known for, even if no one would have thought he would go through with it. Unless, of course, Remus was amazed that Sirius had quoted Shakespeare. That could be forgiven.
"Yes. It was painful as hell, but sharpened slate worked well enough," Sirius replied with a scoff. "I almost wish they had given me the Veritaserum back then," he continued more quietly. An irritatingly severe allergy to an active ingredient of the truth potion had prevented him from recieving a trial, because apparently the wizarding court system did not think as highly of one's word as the Muggle one. "That said, if they had, and I had been able to remain conscious long enough, I could have been out of Azkaban, but I'd have traded it for a different prison altogether, and a much worse one at that," Sirius concluded, glaring at the kitchen walls. The law said he would have been sent to his parents for house arrest. If Azkaban had been hell, Sirius sure didn't know what Grimmauld was.
Remus's shock and concern seemed to have faded to anger and betrayal, as Remus made clear as he growled, "Don't act so fucking flippant, Sirius. You tried to kill yourself, you selfish…" Words failed Remus at that point, but Sirius understood. This particular rant would last some time. Sirius knew he should not have brought it up, but he needed to tell someone, needed someone to have this reaction. Remus was now half-shouting at Sirius, "How could you? How could you? Do you have any clue what that would have—what that would have done to the rest of us? Do you know how long it took for me to believe what everyone was saying? Do you? And what about Artemesia, Sirius? It took her years to be convinced that you might have been guilty. You idiot, Sirius, no one would ever have known the truth! For fuck's sake, you had always known, always maintained it was 'nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune' than to 'take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.' For God's sake, what the hell were you thinking?"
Sirius looked at his friend and smiled sadly. They sat there in silence for a moment, before Sirius quickly apologized, "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I couldn't. I—it hurt so much. I just couldn't take it. Yes, I was weak, but… James and Lily were dead, and it was my fault, just like with Reggie in that alleyway." Sirius was looking past Remus, haunted by the memories.
He refocused onto his friend and continued in a semi-detached fashion, "It was just after they had left me alone. The human guards were making their rounds that day. I either thought I had more time, or deep down I knew I didn't want to die. They found me after I'd scratched my arms bloody with a loose piece of slate. I don't remember how much blood I had lost, but I remember a medwitch patched me up. She looked at me in disgust the whole time, kept glancing at my face then back to the gory mess I'd made of my arms. The guards beat me after she had left, shouting at me that I had 'no right to take the easy way out, you rich, bloody bastard! You've probably never known what it's like to suffer; you're not getting to escape that bloody easily, you murdering traitor!' And they were right. I was broken, and it took me years to piece myself back together. They never let me forget what I had tried to do."
Sirius took a deep breath before concluding, "I don't expect you to forgive me for it, Remus. I guess I just wanted you to know. It's not something I'm proud of, and I would much rather forget what I tried to do, but I'm no fool. I know you'll be angry with me for a long time past now. I just ask you to try to understand."
Remus stared at Sirius, with a look halfway between disgust and forgiveness. He shook his head. "I don't know why I put up with you, Black," Remus muttered, frustrated. "I really don't. One minute, you're acting like that nigh carefree kid from back in third-year with your obsession with the dust covering everything in this house, and the next, you're sitting here, trying to justify your own botched suicide attempt." Remus sighed and grinned before continuing, "However, I should have known you'd do something like this, especially with what had happened. Yes, I noticed, Sirius. James and Lily were watching you like a pair of hawks afterward. Of course you would make another attempt after they were murdered." Remus collected his thoughts and continued, "It still hurts that you'd do something so inherently selfish, Sirius. I suppose you felt deserted, and that's not wise in Azkaban, is it?" He stared purposefully at his friend. "Before I can forgive you, Sirius, swear to me you'll never try that again. I refuse to make peace otherwise. I've lost too many people to risk losing anyone else."
Sirius nodded distantly. "I swear I won't," he said, even if the words sounded hollow to him. Remus did not comment. "Thank you," Sirius almost whispered.
"You'd do the same for me," Remus replied, shrugging the thanks off. He lapsed into silence, and the two friends slowly finished off the rest of the coffee Sirius had made. Sirius felt terrible, not just because of the argument, but because this confrontation dredged up memories of what his mother had always called him, a weak coward. In a way, she was right. Sure, he could act brave, but faced with a real problem, he tried to find the quickest, most painless way out. Exhibit one, his first escape attempt from Azkaban. (Many people had escaped the dread prison before him; he was just the first to escape alive.) Exhibit two, his suggestion to do a fake-out and make Peter the Secret-Keeper. (Sirius had never really trusted himself, so he couldn't let James and Lily.) Exhibit three, the scene he had caused at his brother's funeral. (That was the first time his father had ever said a harsh word to him or laid a hand on him.)
"Do you think I should go on the train with the kids, or do you think I'd be best be off now?" Sirius asked out of the blue, hoping to get as far away from the former topic as possible.
Remus paused, mulling it over. "Well, it would bring up some questions," he replied honestly. "If you happen to sit in our old compartment, you're likely to run into Harry and his friends. I swear, there has to be some sort of charm on that space, but you might be better off on the train, taking the time to calm down. It would allow you to at least observe the students a bit. Although, if I remember correctly, you still haven't told Harry." Remus paused before finishing, "Just do what you feel is right, Sirius. From the look of you, I'd say that you're going to either be taking that train or Flooing into Hogsmeade. I don't trust you Apparating today at all."
Sirius nodded and finally asked a question he had been afraid to even think, let alone consider voicing: "How did she react, two years ago?" It was a simple question, although those seven words meant and asked so much. He could only hope Remus could tell him.
"She was devastated, Sirius. She wouldn't consider it, any of it. Not that you were supposedly after Harry; not that you had escaped; not that she wanted to see you, if only to curse you to hell and back. From what I heard later, she had reacted rather adversely to the news that you were in custody and to be executed," Remus answered cautiously. He shook his head. "Artemesia was a nervous wreck that entire year. I don't know, but she may have been still clinging to the small hope that you were innocent despite what she said she believed."
"Neither of us were really ever all that good with living in denial," Sirius murmured in agreement. Remus seemed like he remembered something and was about to continue but thought better of it, which prompted Sirius to ask, "What is it?"
"Sirius, I just want to warn you, many things have changed with her," Remus replied slowly and deliberately. "She's not the same person you remember, just as you aren't the same as she remembers. You may be in for a shock, regardless, and I just wanted you to be aware that things have changed. However, to head off your eventual question: no, she never married, and no, she is not currently dating anyone to my knowledge."
Sirius took a breath and tried to smile convincingly. One last question: "Is she happy?"
The answer: "I think so."
The conclusion: "Good."
Gemma was excited to be at King's Cross for the return of the school year. She was particularly happy because her uncle Terry had come to see her cousins and her off. He was her favorite uncle, but he had a mischievous streak that her mother hated occasionally. Her mum always became strangely upset when he acted like that. Gemma found absolutely nothing wrong with the behavior, and when she asked Aunt Vesta why, she would always smile and say Gemma would understand when she was older. Here she was, though, older and still as clueless as she had always been. Gemma felt it may have been connected to the man in her mother's old photographs, the one man who was always smiling and looked like he did not have a care in the world. Her mum was in very few of the school photographs with him present. The one that she saw that stood out the most to Gemma was one that had obviously been taken when her mum was in seventh year. Her mum had been trying to look displeased that the young man was paying any attention to her, but Gemma could tell. She saw them kiss once, despite their bickering. The photos were hidden in a box under her mother's bed that her mother never opened. Gemma had absconded with that last photograph and hid it in her room.
Currently, Leo and Macha were practically bouncing off the walls in excitement, very happy to see their father for the first time in a couple of weeks. Terry was paying a lot of attention to his children and failed to notice Lucius Malfoy approach him. Gemma watched and listened on, very interested. Terry sent Leo and Macha over to their mother, who was talking to some witch or another with Diana a little ways off. He turned to Malfoy and said with a smile that might have been forced, "Why, Mr. Malfoy, it's a pleasure to see you again." Gemma was pretty sure that her uncle despised the man, although Terry for all intents and purposes did not look it to the layman. Terry had a particular expression for talking to someone he could not stand. Gemma did not blame her uncle in the slightest. The younger ferret was not much better.
"White, correct?" Malfoy drawled disinterestedly. Gemma could not fathom the man. Why would you act like you were barely suffering another's presence if you initiated the conversation? It boggled the mind! "Your children are new to the school, correct? Just as you and your wife are new to the country?" Gemma really disliked Malfoy, had she mentioned that?
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, you are correct," Terry replied with a mask of cordiality. "My children are attending Hogwarts this year. I am sure that they will love it. I personally hope that they are sorted into Slytherin, but in the end, it's up to them. I certainly won't disown them if they are put into Gryffindor," Terry continued, the last two sentences pointed. Gemma thought that it was dangerous for her uncle to be talking like that to Malfoy, who most people thought had been a Death Eater. Gemma may have hated the man, but she sure was afraid of him. "That said, I hope they have the opportunity to get to know young Draco. I think they would find that they have many things in common."
Gemma really wondered what in the world was going on at this point. Why was her uncle speaking like that, with the pointed sentences and subtle barbs and the allusion to other things she never believed her uncle capable of? Her uncle, of all the people she knew, was talking amiably to Lucius Malfoy! Granted, he obviously hated Malfoy, but what he was saying didn't line up! Her uncle should not have even been speaking to Malfoy! If the (alleged) Death Eater found out about her uncle being a half-blood… Gemma did not want to consider it. Pureblood prejudice was the reason why her uncle had taken her aunt's last name in the first place!
Malfoy smiled frostily with his ever-present sense of snootiness. "I am glad to hear it, White," he said slightly condescendingly. "I hope that you will enjoy your stay in England. I am sure that it is much more beautiful here than many parts of your country. Still, it is nice to see that the feelings and traditions of our society have prospered even in the Colonies."
Terry's return smile frightened Gemma simply because it looked so much like the one Malfoy had adopted. "Yes, I know," he replied in a similar tone. "Many people I know are so disgustingly liberal with their views. It certainly is nice to be among friends once more." Gemma was stunned. What was her uncle saying? He was agreeing with that disgusting dogma that said that only purebloods were worth teaching like he believed it. He couldn't mean it. He just couldn't. Her uncle was not like that. No, he just wasn't.
"That is very nice to know, White," Malfoy replied conspiratorially. "I hope to see you soon." Malfoy turned and left, leaving Terry to keep his façade up until the man was far away. His expression disappeared once he turned away and was replaced with a disgusted look. He then noticed Gemma staring at him, but he managed a half-smile before walking over.
"How much of that did you hear?" he asked softly, concerned. He put a hand on her shoulder. "You know I did not mean any of that, right?" he continued frankly, with a hope she would believe him and not hate him. "I can't make any enemies, Gemma."
Gemma stared at him, unsure of what to believe. On one hand, her uncle had never spoken like that before. Maybe once or twice he had accidentally said "mudblood," but that was no reason to condemn him. He also seemed to vehemently dislike Malfoy for one reason or another. On the other hand, what he had just said was reprehensible. Those were ideals that Gemma inherently rebelled against. It was wrong, all wrong. All she could do was dumbly nod in response to her uncle's questions. She really wanted to believe him.
"I know you don't know what to think, but, Gemma, please believe me when I say I would rather hand myself over to the Dementors of Azkaban than willingly support what Malfoy and his ilk are planning," Terry swore patiently, hoping their conversation was not being overheard and that no other had heard his conversation with Malfoy. "I ran away for a reason."
Gemma blinked. She had not expected that last sentence. Her uncle had run from the British wizarding world? That meant that her uncle was from Britain. Did that mean he went to Hogwarts, too? That she could find a boy in the class of 1978 or '80 with the name of Antares? "What house were you in?" Gemma demanded suddenly. Yes, that would let her know the truth.
Terry recoiled a bit and grimaced before sighing. He stared intently at his niece. "Gemma, you need to promise me that you won't repeat this to anyone, all right?" he started. She nodded fervently. There was no way he would wheedle his way out of this. Terry nodded and said slowly and deliberately, "Gemma, one's house can mean nothing about who they are save that they are more likely to analyze a problem than rush off on some half-brained scheme or figure out a puzzle quickly and apply it than helping others who haven't after solving the puzzle. That's what the system was meant to do: allow those with particular strengths to develop them and to strengthen their weaknesses through friendly competition. Now, the system is obviously a little perverted from its original intentions."
Gemma raised an eyebrow. When would he get to the point? Terry smiled a little bit at her action and finally answered: "Slytherin." He chuckled softly, momentarily lost in a bittersweet memory. Noticing the shock on Gemma's face, he repeated, "Yes, I was in Slytherin. The only way to survive was to learn how to converse like I did with Malfoy. Your future depended on it: what alliances you could forge, the connections you could make before you were done with school. It was all part of the game, and you had to be on the right side." Quietly, he admitted to Gemma, "I did believe in Malfoy's ideology once, but I realized I was wrong once I got into the real world. There are shades of grey, Gemma. There may be a dichotomy sometimes, but even a storybook can be ambiguous. It just took me a little longer to come to the right conclusion than it took people like your mother and your aunts." As an afterthought, he added, "And, I suppose, your father."
"My father?" Gemma asked, her gaze snapping back to her uncle. What had he just said? "Mum told you who my father is?" she demanded quickly. Her mother never said anything at all about him. Never. Gemma had asked, of course, but her mother had never answered to a degree that satisfied her. Her mother would always change the subject or make an excuse.
Looking tired all of a sudden, Terry seemed to realize he had said the wrong thing. "Well, no, Gemma. I just have an idea or two," he replied delicately. "Your mother never mentions it; I never dare ask. Your mother won't talk to your aunt much, either. I'm sorry."
Gemma remembered the photos under her mother's bed. Maybe… But, no. There had to be a reason she hid them. The young man in the photographs did not seem the type to have run off and deserted Gemma's mother. Something must have happened. Other possibilities were just as plausible. Of course! Something had happened to him, the one in the photos, and her mother probably had just wanted to forget, and… Gemma realized she did not want to think about that. "Mum wanted me, didn't she?" Gemma asked very quietly, afraid of the answer.
Terry winced at the question but quickly reassured her, "Of course your mum wanted you. How could you ever think otherwise?" The expression now gracing his face was one of guilt. Gemma did not understand why her uncle would feel guilty about something he had nothing to do with. It was not his fault that her mother never talked about her father in any way, shape, or form.
Finally, Gemma decided to reply with the truth: "There were these photographs Mum has from when she was younger. Some of them had this one boy in them. He really seemed to get on Mum's nerves, but I thought, you know, that maybe Mum had fallen in love with him, but he had been killed in the war, since he was an Auror. Then Mum maybe was all distraught and looking for company, and…" Gemma trailed off, knowing her uncle would probably understand what she was getting at.
"Artemesia always wanted you, Gemma. She always has, and she always will," Terry swore, hugging his niece. "Never doubt that. She loves you and would not trade you for anything in the entire universe. Not for a ghost, not for her own life, not even for the three Deathly Hallows. She'd give up everything for you and more."
"So he is dead," Gemma stated, inordinately depressed that she would never meet that man who made her mother laugh.
Terry seemed to be staring off into the distance. "Death is a funny thing, Gemma," he murmured, "but not all death is the cessation of life." He shook his head and adopted a proper smile for the first time since Malfoy had come over to talk to him. "We should get back to your aunt," he reminded her. "She's probably worried that we've fallen off of the face of the earth."
Gemma mimicked her uncle's smile and nodded, deciding she was better off just acting along and discussing it all with Luna later. They walked back to the group. Everyone was saying goodbye to all of the children. Gemma felt rather upset as she watched the others say goodbye to their brothers and sisters and parents. All she really had around were cousins. No father, no sibling, and her mother was close but working. Sure, she would see her mother soon enough, but it was not the same not having her mother send her off. Gemma felt left out, but she always felt like a bit of an outsider.
The sight of the Weasleys coming through the barrier drew her attention. Of course, Harry Potter was with them, as usual. Who she did not expect were Professor Lupin and Mr. Black. Granted, Gemma knew she should have realized that Mr. Black would be taking care of Harry because he was Harry's godfather, but it was still somewhat surprising. She wondered if Mr. Black remembered her. Gemma realized how silly that question was once she remembered that he had recognized her this summer after not seeing her after almost two years.
Something her aunts said snapped her back to what her family was up to. Apparently everyone was saying goodbye to each other. Gemma got the farewells over with quickly before scampering onto the train. She found the compartment where Luna was residing rather quickly (it was the final one). Looking out the window, Gemma was slightly confused as she saw her uncle and Mr. Black doing double-takes when they noticed each other. After a second or two, though, they seemed to come to some sort of agreement and ignored one another.
"Don't mind them, Alphecca. It's just typical of a Slytherin," Luna mentioned, reading the Quibbler upside-down. Gemma felt like commenting on the strange position of the periodical, but felt that it was probably wiser to stay silent on the matter. Luna glanced out the window at the group with Harry Potter and continued, "The Gryffindor is in denial."
Gemma furrowed her eyebrows and asked, "Luna, how did you know that Uncle Terry was in Slytherin? I just found out myself." She shook her head. "Doesn't it figure, though?"
Luna smiled enigmatically and shrugged. "One cannot presume to understand why one would fight two of the four horsemen," she finally decided. "Although, he does seem to be one that would. The bitter lion does not take kindly to threats, but I know not why your uncle would avoid an alliance with those who serve the resurrection bird."
Gemma nodded absentmindedly, watching as the adults slowly left the train station and the children boarded the train.
Luna realized now that Gemma admired the Dog Star. She should have guessed earlier, but it was all too obvious now. Granted, she thought the Dog Star to be interesting as well, but there was a difference in the two opinions. Gemma was obviously dealing with abandonment issues. Since Black was the only adult male with whom Gemma spoke aside from her uncle (who was absentee like her father), it was only natural that Gemma start to associate him with a father figure. At that moment, Luna very much despised Gemma's father for running to what he had, and thusaway from Gemma's mother. She also hated Black in that short span of time for taking the man's place. Luna would not see Gemma hurt; it would be best for her not to get too attached to Black. He had an appointment with the Veil. Glancing at the platform, Luna hoped she were wrong again.
Coming Soon: Hogwarts and the Golden Trio returns!
