Disclaimer: I only wish I own Harry Potter.

A/N: My apologies for having taken so long. I got buried in a mountain of schoolwork. Anyway, enjoy reading. :)


Reunion

Just seven years had passed, but that morning, she felt that she had lived for three more decades.

It was almost ten in the morning, but in the bedchamber of the mistress of the house, the windows were shut, and the curtains drawn. The door was locked as well. The only source of light left alone was the stuttering fire at the hearth. Somehow, in the dim light, everything looked even more forbidding, and the fire created intimidating shadows.

"You have come," said Violetta. She could feel her normally steady voice quiver. She sat in front of her vanity, looking at her pale reflection in the mirror. It looked even paler in the darkness. She had always worn an imposing mask on her face, a façade of arrogance, but at this instant, she felt bare. Her face was full of fear.

"I do not forget, my dear Violetta" he said, his voice menacing, even from behind her, sending chills down her spine. Even as he said "my dear," every word sounded like a threat.

"I know," she said. "Neither do I. The announcement shall be... soon."

"How soon?" he asked softly.

"I – I need time," she said, failing miserably on her attempt at self-composure.

"Be sure," he said, and when he was gone, Violetta breathed. Reflected in the mirror was a photograph on her bedside table. It was the photograph of a beautiful child with brown tresses. The child smiled sweetly at her. She eyed her ruefully for a moment, and sighed.

He could easily recognize her even from behind. He knew, somehow, that it was her, though they had not seen each other for seven years. As he looked at her, sitting by the back porch, in a pale dress and with letters on her hand, he felt how time had worked its way between them.

She looked into the distance, her beautiful face wistful. Her hair was twisted in a French knot, but loose honey-brown tendrils framed her face and tumbled in the breeze. With her skill, she could feel him walking to her, but she did not turn. She did not need to turn to know he was there. She did not even need her skill to know it, even if she had not seen him for seven years.

Those seven years had wrought so much in each of them, and so much between them. Somehow, they both knew that they had left that time when they could sit by the porch and laugh together.

"You remind me of the portrait of my mother, back home," he said lightly, though, smiling a warm, welcoming smile that she probably did not see, as he was standing right behind her.

She still did not turn her head, but she smiled. If he had seen that smile, he would have found it rather lacking. It was a little too distant, very much like the seven years that had distanced them. Not that he had neglected to keep in touch. He wrote as regularly as he could, but her responses got shorter and shorter until he got nothing at all.

"I don't know if I should feel insulted or flattered," she replied. Even her manner of speech was different. It was less warm, somehow. It was less sincere. It was less…Peia.

Janus walked around, so that he could see her better. "Well, that was no flattery, but you know I won't insult you for all the galleons in the world," he said, still smiling. "All you need, though, is this," he paused to hand her a bouquet of beautiful red roses, which he procured from thin air. "Now, I daresay you are truly picturesque," he announced.

And she was picturesque. He knew it was Peia, but he had not anticipated, even in his dreams, that she would look so beautiful. Yet, despite all its beauty, her face was a blank mask of aloofness. There was a certain feminine grace and elegance with the way she sat, emphasized even more by the curves of her body and the flowing fabric of her dress. There was something with the way she carried herself that was fascinating and intimidating – intimidating because it was a self-possession bordering on arrogance. And all those things made him realize she had grown. He remembered her vivacity, and wondered at the change.

"Thank you," she replied softly as she accepted the bouquet, but to Janus, her words were as cold as her manner towards him. His dark brown eyes held her ocean-colored gaze, trying to fathom, perhaps, what they had both lost in the process of growing up.

Cassiopeia did the same thing. Janus was taller, looking incredibly dashing and gentlemanly. He stood with an aristocratic bearing that he probably did not realize he possessed, looking rather at ease and moving with masculine grace. His face, she knew, was a face that could capture any woman's eyes. But she, Cassiopeia, broke her gaze and looked away.

She did so, before she lost herself in his eyes' dark depths.

"Peia," he said. It was the first time, in seven years, that he had spoken her name aloud. He tasted it in his mouth, unsure if it was still the right way to say it. He was always at ease, speaking with anyone, but somehow, she made him feel a little tenser.

She could taste the tension in the air, too. She listened to him speak her name, immediately squashing that curious sense of euphoria that was starting to blossom in her soul. It was the first time in seven years that anyone had spoken her name the way he did.

He saw her move her head slowly, in his direction, and he wondered, again, at how strangely she acted, and how strangely he felt. In between their words, the silence hung heavily between them, oppressive. He would not let it triumph. He spoke.

"Had I known that you were arriving, I would have been here earlier."

She just looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

Seeing that she betrayed no emotion, he went on, "but evidently, I wasn't important enough to be informed." He spoke pleasantly, but it seemed to Peia that she was not the only one who had learned to conceal feelings.

She raised an eyebrow, to let him see she was surprised at his accusation. "Frankly," she said, though there was nothing frank in her manner, "I didn't think you would have cared."

"How can you say that?"

Peia shrugged. Back at Beauxbatons, his letters got less and less frequent until she received none at all. If she told him that, though, she knew he would deny it.

He knelt down on one knee, his eyes leveling with hers. And she knew then that she could not evade him. She could not escape him entirely. He was magnetic.

He reached for her hand. She met his gaze.

"I would have cared," he said quietly. "I cared, and still do. And I always will."

"Oh!" said an entirely different voice from behind them, and both turned their heads to look.

Callidora blushed in embarrassment, her already rosy cheeks glowing even more brilliantly. "I really didn't mean to – I am so sorry, Peia," she said, trying to recover herself as quickly as possible. Already, she was regaining her composure. It was a trademark of the Blacks, that cool self-possession. Or maybe, she thought wryly, of high society, when they tried to look unfazed by the trifling and the mundane.

"It's alright, Dora, you weren't intruding," said Peia coolly.

"Not at all," agreed Janus affably, straightening up.

Predictably, Dora's dough eyes were immediately drawn, quite appraisingly, to Janus. "Oh," she said again, not sounding surprised. She wondered who this personable young man was, and what he was doing, speaking alone with her cousin.

"How rude of me," said Janus "I had not introduced myself." As he walked towards Callidora, Peia could not help noticing the difference in his manner. While he had been intense just a moment ago, he was now being quite debonair. She watched him introduce himself to her cousin, lowering his lips to her hand the old-fashioned way, and conjuring a single, white stargazer for her sake. She didn't know he could act so charmingly, so differently.

To her, he was simply Janus. To her, he was Janus.

When he turned his back to her, Dora's eyes were approving, but Janus' were intense again. He was looking at Peia's, who looked lightly amused.

Coldly amused, he thought.

Dora cleared her throat to break the awkward silence, and to remind them that she was there. Janus turned his back to both of them, placing his hands in his pocket. He sighed discreetly.

"What is it, cousin?" Peia asked.

Dora glanced hesitantly at Janus' back, before replying. "Ta maman t'appelles, cousine," she said.

"Maintenant? Pourquoi ?"

She bit her lip. "Parce que…. Oh. Come to think of it, je ne sais pas."

Peia suppressed a sigh, and stood up to answer her mother's summons. "Entertain him, will you?" she jerked her head to Janus' direction. He turned just in time to see her back.

"Peia," he called.

Magnetic.

She turned, but her face was blank. "Yes?"

"You left your roses," he said, smiling rather smugly, the way he so charmingly smiled at Dora.

Disconcerted, Peia looked at his eyes, and was somehow relieved to see what she did not see anywhere else in his face. This time, she held his gaze a little longer, letting him a glimpse – just a little glimpse – of the Peia he had once known. Then she whisked her roses, and she was gone.

"So," said Dora, finally breaking the ringing silence that had followed her cousin's departure. She moved lithely to the seat Peia had vacated, still examining Janus with curious, cautiously approving eyes.

Janus noticed how similar and how different Peia was from Callidora. Physically, they had no resemblance, except perhaps in their imperious bearing. Dora was rosy-cheeked, bright eyed, and warm, while Peia was beautiful in a very different way – hers was the face that would haunt men's dreams at night. Perhaps it was the fact that she was simply so enigmatic, silent and somewhat haughty and indifferent. Callidora was certainly charming, but Cassiopeia was tantalizing. She captivated.

"I wonder why Peia never spoke of you," she said, breaking Janus' train of thoughts.

"Never?" he asked, his attention diverted.

"Hmmm," said Dora, leaning forward, resting her chin against her pretty white hand. "She never mentioned any man, actually. They would literally flock to her at gatherings, and flatter and fawn and be ridiculously sycophantic, but she wouldn't take interest in any single one of them. Not even," she paused dramatically, "the most handsome."

Janus could not help smile. "I'll just humor you, shan't I?" he said, certain that Dora was pulling his leg.

Dora laughed. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "she'd occasionally take notice of an Italian-looking young man, or someone with dark curls and dark hair…" She looked at him teasingly. "But again, she never really became attached to someone. We thought she just wasn't interested in men the ways other girls do," she finished.

Janus smiled, but this time, Dora noticed, it was a smile more sincere and more hopeful.

"Oh no," she wagged a reproving finger at him, "I'm not giving you assurances here," she said.

"Then why are you telling me this?"

"That's a good question, you know," said Dora, laughing again. "Well, I'll answer that, as well as tell you one more thing – consider it your assurance, if you will."

"What is it?" asked Janus, cautious now.

She stood up, and leaned to whisper in his ear. "I have never seen her look at any other man the way she looked at you." She straightened up, smiled conciliatorily, and left him much more befuddled than before.


Up Next:

"You will do it," Violetta insisted, but she already knew what Peia's reply would be.

"Why would I?"

"Because, if you are prudent, and I am sure you are, you would not want to go against your mother's will, my dear. I know you better than you give me credit, and believe it or not," she said in a soft, dangerous voice, "I can force you to do it. You wouldn't want that, of course, because I presume you value your dignity too much."

She brushed off the dust with her fingers, the turquoise ring that her Uncle Cygnus had given her clinking silently against the once-polished surface.

In the silence, she heard a low, groaning sound of stones sliding out of position, and she found herself looking at a set of narrow stone steps that led to the darkness. With growing sense of foreboding, she wondered where it led.


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