The Aurors remained at Hogwarts investigating until the train left to bring students home for Christmas on the following Saturday, but if they found out anything they didn't share it with us. At various times myself, Marcus and Fred made vague inquiries to learn more about it, but we were not great shakes as detective, and none of us found out a thing. As the holiday approached, increasingly the murder was out of my mind. I was not looking forward to going home. School was so much nicer. I could spend time with my friends, and Professor Tremens was being even more generous and free-spirited than normal since her return, making life in the Ravenclaw dormitory a joy as she randomly produced candy for us, or decorations, or Christmas gifts. Her effusive spirits were contagious, but their effect on me was strictly temporary. When I realized that I'd soon have to go home and be alone for the entire 10 days except for my family – who, given their disapproval of my choice of boyfriend, might well arrange me a marriage before the break was out – I was miserable.
Of course, there are always a million and one things for those students with authority to do on the train ride. Why, oh why, can't Hogwarts students be trusted not to get in to mischief for even one 6 hour train ride? But they couldn't be so trusted, not in the least. My lot was still better than that of Marcus and the WAP boys. Due to fears that the train might be attacked on the way to London, they were forced to accompany it on broomstick. The only reason that the girls were not doing the same was that GAB training hadn't officially started yet. With those 5 prominent, often restraining, upper class influences absent from the hallways, it seemed that more trouble was made even then normal, and so I hurried up and down the train putting out at least a dozen figurative, and one literal, fire.
It was a relief when the train pulled in to the station. I hadn't gotten to sit down once the entire time. The students disembarked as fast as they could, their heads full of loving families, warm fires, Christmas trees surrounded by gifts, eggnog, and snow ball fights (though there was not an inch of snow on the ground, only an awful muddy slush, so in this at least they were certain to be disappointed). The WAP boys landed, looking frostbitten and miserable, and though the prefects and I were to stay behind and make sure that all of the students and their belongings were off the train and to take care of cleaning it, I managed to sneak away to say my farewells to Marcus before he left.
"Delia," he said with a warmth that was only apparent in his voice – his face was almost blue, and his lips a frightening white, "I was worried I'd not get to see you before I left."
"I was worried about that too," I smiled shyly and pink flushed his frozen cheeks.
He took my hands, apologizing for how cold his own were, and looked around. Most of the students and their families had left. All those that remained were the relatives of students in WAP. "Is your family here?" he asked. "Have you received any more word of them?"
"They're not meeting me at the station," I replied, "and no, nor was expecting to. Why do you keep asking me about that?" Once again, my announcement at this lack of communication seemed to bring acute disappointment and he sighed. I continued, feeling incredibly nervous. "So, um, is your family here?"
"Oh!" exclaimed Marcus, and color was definitely return to his skin now. "Just my father, but how rude of me!" Letting go of one of my hands he pulled me after him to a man who looked very little like Marcus. I'd never have thought them related if he hadn't told me. His father was kind of short, and kind of round, and very jolly looking. He had the look of a person who smiled often; and he smiled now, and broadly, to see his son.
"Marcus!" his father exclaimed, and the family resemblance emerged from his tone and general enthusiasm. "Capital! How are you, m'boy?"
"I'm well dad," replied Marcus. He wore a respectful and caring expression as he looked at his father, and his father wore a proud and doting one of his own. I felt a distant stirring of what I hated to acknowledge was jealousy. "There's someone I want you to meet." All thoughts of jealous flew from my mind. Meeting Marcus' father!
"Oh ho ho," chuckled father with a knowing look, "so is this the young lady you were so eager to have at Whitebrook for the holiday?" He turned to me, and I colored. "He has written us no less than four times to make sure that it was all right. I'm very sorry to hear you won't be able to."
"Me too," I said ruefully, and then caught myself. "That is to say, Marcus described it as so near on idyllic that I think it would truly have been a delight for me to be able to come, but unfortunately my parents are unable to part with me – with so much of the year spent at school, we get to see so very little of each other."
"Don't worry, don't worry," hastened father, "I understand perfectly. I'd have been reluctant to let my boy spend the holidays with strangers, too, and I haven't a daughter's dignity and virtue to be concerned about." He was still smiling, but his eyes betrayed a shrewdness. "Well, where are my manners!" He thrust a hand at me. "William Relious. Work at the Ministry, domestic affairs division."
I took his hand, reluctantly releasing Marcus'. "Delia Prince. I'm in Ravenclaw," I continued.
"I know. Head Girl, too! But of course Marcus has told us all about you," his father was chuckling again, and Marcus colored beet red. I was only a shade lighter. "Well, I imagine you have to see about your duties. And we have to get going! We're staying at the Black House in town through the 25th, and then we'll be returning to Whitebrook for the duration. Who knows, maybe our paths will cross again!" And he turned away firmly and walked about 10 paces, making no effort whatsoever to encourage Marcus to come with him, before stopping and dithering in a sort of practiced obliviousness. I goggled. What an amazing, wonderful fellow!
Marcus hurriedly took his opportunity. He took my hand, and we gazed into each other's eyes in what could only be called from an outside perspective as a very silly fashion, and then he embraced me warmly. I returned the hug with as much warmth, and felt tears in my eyes. I was bitterly unhappy that my parents had not let me go with him, and it bothered me that I was to be divided from him for more than two weeks. He patted my head and murmured something I couldn't make out. All too soon, we each forced the other away. With one last lingering touch of hands, I turned away and went back to the train, sniffling and ignoring the tear that streaked down my cheek. I didn't look back. In truth, I'm quite mortified by how very silly we were, oh, the sacrifice of an entire two weeks, but we were young, and I was very much in love with him - we were very much in love with each other, I was beginning to understand.
Once the train was clean, the last few delayed cantrips that might have caused havoc dispelled, I made my way home. It was a long walk from the station, but I hadn't any muggle money to hire a carriage, and in those days there were few alternative modes of transportation. I had known this would be the case, and so carried only one small bag which contained the items from Hogsmeade and a few odds and ends that I could not do without, some potion ingredients and toiletries. I had potion equipment and clothing aplenty at home which I could use, so I was not concerned.
My parents greeted me with restrained goodwill, and we spoke of nothing for a good while. I sensed there was something awkward in the air, though I had no idea what, and as I did not have the sort of family where one asked such things, I instead "enjoyed" being home. When I'm away, it's easy to forget how nice home could be before my parents remembered all the ways in which I was a disappointment. For now, they were delighted – in their own quiet, proper way – that I was back. So we talked of things, and mother told me of society, and father spoke of work with dark mutters thrown in about politics – but politics was not something to speak to a daughter about, of course! – and in this fashion we passed a pleasant dinner.
After the meal, we adjourned to the sitting room, and I noticed something odd on the table by my father's chair. It was a letter on thick parchment, and it sat atop a black envelope on which the Black family seal stood out in sharp silver.
"What's that?" I asked, curious, "Is everything alright?"
Both of my parents glanced at the letter, and I knew at once that it was the source of the tension that I had been feeling. I felt a stab of concern that I could not dispel. This had something to do with Marcus. Perhaps the Relious family and their happy-go-lucky tendencies had earned the wrath of the Black family? If that were the case, though Relious was a pure blood family, my parents would strictly forbid me having any more contact with him. It would pain me a great deal to have to go against them, which I certainly would.
"Ah," said my father into the silence, "that." He settled heavily in his sitting chair, and mother delicately followed suit. He gestured for me to take a seat, and I do so, nervously, not even attempting to get comfortable. My stomach was tied up in knots. This could become an argument quickly if the letter was what I feared. "You haven't been honest with us, Delia," he proceeded sternly. I wanted to protest that I had been perfectly honest, for I more or less had been, but I held my tongue. "You informed us that this boy was a member of the Relious family, but you neglected to inform us of who his mother was." I wracked my brain. Had I not said that his mother was a Black? I couldn't recall for certain but I thought perhaps he was right. It hadn't occurred to me. We wizards of pureblood families are taught family trees with our mother's milk, and I assumed my parents would know the Black tree as well as our own, well enough to know where one of the Black daughters had married. "This changes things, puts them in a new light."
"Your father and I have talked to over," my mother continued. "You understand, this is very serious?" She waited for me to answer. I still wasn't even sure what the matter was, though I was beginning to think my assumption that it was bad might have been incorrect, so I nodded. I wished I knew what "this" was. "Good. You've always been a very perceptive, astute girl." It felt odd to hear the compliment. I wished they'd get on with it.
"We feel that it would be best if you spent the holiday with the Relious – with the Blacks," my father added with emphasis.
I gasped loudly. My mother sniffed at my lack of breeding, but I couldn't help it. I started to laugh. "Really?" I asked. "I can spend the holiday with Marcus – at Whitebrook?" I hastily corrected.
"Of course, you silly girl!" my mother snapped. "If you had told us from the first that he was a Black, not this silly Relious nonsense, I'd never have stopped you. You did very wrong not to say so! As it is, we expect you to rectify this mistake and make sure that they perceive no slight in our initial refusal. We're in no position to offend a family like the Blacks." Her lecture done, she broke in to what – for her – was a warm smile. "My daughter, with a Black interested in her! When I heard the boy was a Hufflepuff," she sniffed, not finishing the sentence, "but a Black, and Head Boy! Oh, you've done quite well. I had hoped…but that is no matter."
"I wouldn't be a Black," I said, slowly. I didn't want to cause her approval to slip, but she – and father, too – would be more angry later if they realized the truth then if I didn't say anything at all.
"Nonsense," my mother dismissed my concerns, "that's an easy enough matter to deal with. The Blacks will understand that we could never allow the name of Prince to be associated with the name of Relious, and we'll discuss the possibility of this boy taking his mother's last name. They know what an advantageous match this is on both sides, they'll surely agree."
My head swam. They approved! Of course, this talk of switching the names sounded like a disaster in the making – the Blacks, I imagined, couldn't possibly disapprove of the Relious' like we did and still allow a Black daughter to marry in to the family without disowning her – but now was not the moment to argue such things. "It's a little early to be talking about taking names and such," I said in a hurry, realizing my cheeks were pink. My mother, perhaps catching something in my tone, looked at me intently.
"Indeed, indeed," my father said, noticing nothing. "Your mother is just excited. Alasdair has shown no inclination for marriage. Of course, with a daughter it's different – we've been keeping an eye out for a suitable wizard for some time, and we'd been approached on more than one occasion. We'd intended to settle something this summer – the Serences made a fine offer. But you've beaten us to the punch. A fine match," he picked up his pipe and puffed it thoughtfully.
The thought of my marrying Caius Serence, who was universally cold, arrogant and, I suspected, cruel, helped me to truly appreciate the trap that I had dodged when I set my own plans in action. "You'd have saved us a great deal of embarrassment…" my mother added threateningly.
I wanted to argue, but it didn't matter. They didn't disapprove now that they knew the quality of his blood, and they had given me their permission to go, which was all I'd wanted from the start. Thus, I assumed an appropriately contrite expression. "I'm sorry," I apologized, "may I go write a letter to Marcus to let him know about this? His family may no longer be able to accommodate another guest."
"Go," my mother snapped, giving me a look that made it clear that she didn't have any feeling whatsoever that she or father would be to blame if my prediction came true. My heart was aglow and I hurried for a quill and parchment.
"Dear Marcus," I wrote hurriedly, "My parents have informed me that I will, in fact, be permitted to spend the upcoming holiday in your company. I must say, I am rather bemused by this turn of events. My parents apparently had failed to realize that you are of the Black family as well as of the Relious family, but they are now better informed. Noting the letter that they appear to have received from the Blacks, I reflect with confidence that your hand is in this.
"Thank you. I am very happy that I will be able to visit and that, for once, we will be able to spend some time together without so many other concerns distracting us, weighing us down, preoccupying us.
"I unfortunately am at a loss for what else to say, save that I will see you shortly."
Marcus' surprise that things hadn't changed, every time he asked if I'd heard from my parents again, told me all that I needed to know. He had done something to bring about this change of heart and I couldn't help but reflect, as I attached my letter to the Prince family owl, a noble and refined member of its species, that I was the luckiest girl in the world. I had a man I cared for very much, and who cared for me. He was a good match, brave, trustworthy, handsome, intelligent, from a wealthy family, and my parents approved. I could have hoped for nothing more, and had expected far less.
I received a letter with surprising speed – perhaps not surprising, I reflected, considering that his family were staying in the city. "Dear Delia," it read, "I am ever so delighted that your parents had a change of heart. As we are in London until the 26th, it would be a simple matter for us to meet. My parents were intending to take a shopping trip to Diagon Alley tomorrow; perhaps your family could meet us there? My parents, in case you were worried, are delighted that you will be joining us, and have assured me that they will do everything they can make sure you know you are welcome.
"As to any part I might have played in this decision, well, I cannot think of much I might have done. The only thing I have done recently is send a letter – as I do every year – to my grandfather, telling him how the fall semester at Hogwarts went. I did mention you, and that your parents perhaps had some reservations about me. Now that I think more on the subject, I did mention in a bit of detail the virtues of Candice, the American muggle-born girl who is the Hufflepuff Quidditch captain. Perhaps he read too deeply in to this and grew aghast at the notion of Black blood ending up couple with that of a muggle-born. I suppose if I was not so busy with finals I might have mentioned that Candice is dating a Gryffindor third year. Oh well, people really should be less concerned about breeding, you know." He signed his name, and below that he had added. "P.S., Do you think me wicked?"
I laughed.
My parents were so relieved that my opportunity to impress the Black family hadn't been lost that it didn't occur to them to object to meeting Marcus and his parents at Diagon Alley. Instead, they fussed about the importance of making a good impression, and talked – always opaquely, of course – about how difficult it would be to do so without any money, and how they would have to lie about having a lot of shopping they intended to do and how they'd have to go to all the stores and say that "how sad, they couldn't find a thing they were looking for!" As such, they proceeded to make up the most outlandish shopping list they could, all while my mother wondering which of her walking outfits had been least seen about town and my father hoping that lunch would be involved, grooms' treat of course. This immediately sparked concern, for wasn't it more typical for the lady's family to pay? My parents couldn't decide. With a sigh, I took most of the funds that Zonks had given me the previous weekend and held it out to my father.
"I quite forgot," I said, assuming the air of silly negligence that I always did at these moments; it wasn't the first time I had given my parents money, and I could never do so without the pleasant little lie. "I didn't spend all of my allowance this semester." And he took the galleons from me. They didn't apologize for having to take from their daughter. They looked mortified.
Still, I didn't reckon on how much more than usual my business dealings had garnered. My father gasped and before he could stop himself – showing more emotion than I had seen in him since the first time I had done this – he exclaimed, "how did you get so much?"
My mother gave him a dirty look, and I shifted uncomfortable. "I…" I swallowed. "I don't think you'd like me to explain that. I came by it honestly, I've done nothing to be ashamed of or that needs to be concealed, and that should be enough."
"Yes," my mother said coldly, though I wasn't sure which of us that chill was directed towards, "you shouldn't question your daughter about her allowance. You are such a generous father." He nodded vaguely, looking at the handful – there were 12 galleons in total, enough to take a party of 6 out to dinner with plenty, enough for a small family to live on, cheaply, for about a month! – his face filled with wonder. I wondered when my father had last held that much money.
At least the exchange cut off all further talk of the following day, aided by Alasdair arriving. As he explained at length over the remainder of the evening, he was very important and couldn't possibly be spared from the Ministry. Alas for rank and authority! He despaired of getting any free time for anything, he was so desperately needed! He asked me, right at the start, how my semester had been, and interrupted me after a single sentence, going on about how school was especially important in this current day, that his education was serving him very well at the Ministry. Indeed, that very day at the Ministry he'd been able to call in all his powers of arithmancy to resolve some very sticky points. Last week, he'd been able to resolve a confusion about some paperwork, would have messed up all kind of logistics. He didn't appreciate when I pointed out that this had nothing to do with his education, but kept on regardless. Without hardly pausing for breath, Alasdair regaled us with his "adventures" at the Ministry – using the word Ministry almost every sentence – and how important and indispensible he was there. My parents sat through it all with stony silence, and I wondered what the subtext was. There was something here I wasn't seeing. It surely had something to do with the war; I had never seen my parents so on-the-outs with my brother. Since listening to him was utterly dull, I used the time to try to puzzle out what was going on.
Last I knew, my parents had thought the war a muggle affair. However, in the time since the summer, more and more wizards had become involved. From my own experience I knew that wizards of the finest blood – the Patils, the Serences, the Malfoys, the Blacks – had been called in to work in support of the war or on the front lines. The Daily Prophet had run accounts of some of the WAP missions, and had been filled with articles of other wizards who had distinguished themselves on the front lines. A daily feature near the back listed the war dead, and there was at least one name every day. If most of those were Continent wizards who had gotten caught up in things, more than one English wizard had died, too, and a few had done so with glory. This had been bringing certain names to fame and to fortune in a way that a Ministry job never could have. Furthermore, Alasdair had yet to marry, didn't have a place of his own, and had worked at the Ministry for almost 2 years without a promotion. What better time for him to further a political career and to make an excuse for the lack of spouse, than to distinguish himself in battle! And here was Alasdair, babbling on about how necessary he was at the Ministry…yes, it made too much sense. Time to test my hypothesis.
"Oh!" I interrupted Alasdair mid-story, "speaking of the war, I wanted to speak with you briefly, mother, in regards to the Girl's Auxiliary Brigade."
"Indeed?" she didn't sound happy, though she looked slightly relieved to have something else to talk about.
"Yes. I wanted to reassure you that it won't do anything to bring shame to the family. Consider how much attention, positive attention, has been drawn to the boys in the Wizard Armed Patrol. As an extension of that, the Girl's Auxiliary will show that wizard women are as brave as wizard men, and that we can do our part as well!"
"When you put it that way," my father said thoughtfully, "then perhaps it is a good thing. This Relious fellow we're to meet, he's in that WAP thing, isn't he?"
"Oh yes, he's been on multiple missions to the Continent already. They've assaulted castles!" I eyed my brother and my parents while I made this pronouncement, and saw enough to convince myself my theory was correct. Alasdair's face turned the most peculiar shade of pale and colorless and he dropped his coffee cup. Meanwhile, my mother turned all the force of her good breeding in to an icy stare that spoke volumes that she would never say aloud. I wondered if, perhaps, my generally positive reception thus far was because of how out of favor Alasdair was!
Conversation continued in similar veins until the hour grew late, and I went up to my room, excited and pleased and looking forward to the next day. As much as anything, I was happy that Alasdair's disfavor reflected so well on me, and that my own accomplishments seemed finally to be impressing my parents. I went to bed with my thoughts full of joy. Not only would I be seeing Marcus, not only did my parents approve, but I was finally becoming the daughter my parents had always wished me to be, even if I never would be in Slytherin.
The following morning, I hastily packed, my parents made a great fuss, Alasdair decided – pleasantly – not to deign to accompany us on our errand though he had the day off because it was Christmas Eve, and soon enough we were making our way by carriage towards the Inn that marked the entrance to the alley.
Everyone was frightfully punctual, such that at the designated time both parties arrived at largely the same moment at the correct spot. Marcus politely introduced his parents, and I introduced mine, and for a moment awkward silence reigned. This was broken, however, but the enthusiasm of both Marcus' father and his step-mother, who gushed about how pleased they were to meet me (or, in his father's case, to meet me again) and to meet my parents, and seeing as it was lunch time might we not all go out someplace? No surprises there.
I will not attempt to replicate the contents of the conversation that afternoon. Indeed, I scarcely remember them but that I found much of it embarrassing and upsetting. Much like Marcus' himself, his parents were outgoing, cheerful, unreserved people. My parents, on the other hand, are the height of proper decorum. The result was something like mixing oil and water. I truly don't think that any of the parties involved disliked the others, but my parents' quiet made his parents' concerned that they were making a bad impression, and his parents' vivre caused my parents a high degree of discomfort, for they didn't know how to respond to it. Marcus and I did our best to smooth things over. Strangely, it would be the only time our parents would ever met.
After the meal, my parents left to shop the Alley, with mentions of all of the different ideas my mother had concocted the previous day of what purchases they intended to make, and we left, for they had already completed their shopping before lunch. Another carriage took us through the streets of the city, which were thronged with muggles completing last minute preparations for the holidays. The roads were so busy that we eventually gave up, deciding it would be faster to walk than to ride and made our way through the streets past all the smiling people, window shoppers, happy couples, all decked out in their winters' finest to enjoy the Christmas cheer.
The house at which we arrived was on a smart little circle in a refined neighborhood. It was a townhouse, one in a line of identical homes which snuggled up close to each other. A fancy plaque on the row read "Grimmauld Place," and the building in question was number 12. While many of the homes bore wreaths, garlands, and tinsel to mark the holiday, number 12 had nothing but a small red bow which someone had seen fit to tie on the knocker. We didn't bother to knock, though, since Marcus was of the family and we were expected. His parents dropped us off; as neither of them were Blacks, they were spending the Christmas day with the Relious' family instead.
As is so often the case with wizard homes, the building was noticeably larger on the inside than on the outside, and bore all the signs of being home to wizards of the very finest sort. The hallways were lined with portraits of stern old wizards and witches who primly watched anyone who went by; one staircase was adorned with the heads of former house elves, which I thought might perhaps be one of the most grotesque displays I had ever seen. Not a piece of furniture but was of the highest quality and richest make, and the whole place reeked of money, austerity, and superiority. If it hadn't been for a modest dose of Yuletide joy to modulate it, I think I would not have liked it. As it was, Grandfather Black, for all his pride, seemed to like Christmas, and so a tree had been set up and the banisters had been – tastefully – ringed with evergreen, and the whole home was warmly lit.
A rather large number of people inhabited the residence. Children scampered about playfully as if they had no sense of the oppressive air surrounding it, and the adults, though they frowned, didn't make any effort to stop it. Grandmother Black had died some years previously, but Grandfather Black's brother, Great Uncle Sirius and sister, Great Aunt Elladora, were both present. Neither had married. Grandfather and Grandmother had been prolific enough to make up for this; they had 6 children, four sons, two daughters, and all but one married. Marcus' mother had died, but all the rest were here. The one unmarried was the our headmaster, Phineas Nigellus. The others had all brought their children, with the result that Blacks and Burkes – the daughters' married name – surrounded me on every side. The family tradition of giving children the same names rendered all utterly confusing. I was soon overwhelmed by Sirius', Phineas', Cygnus', Regulus', and Arcturus' and I wondered if I had not perhaps been sent out in to space to play among the stars. It was only good breeding that kept me from embarrassment.
Marcus, perhaps sensing that I was nonplussed by this rather large number of people, took me on a tour of the house. Afterwards, we rejoined the family, and I avoided the majority of them by speaking with the Headmaster about potions. I had never seen him outside of school before, and while I was very fond of him normally, outside of Hogwarts he was so much more open and congenial that I liked him even more. When he didn't have to constantly assert his authority, he was more relaxed. We talked of work entirely, and I was left with the sad feeling that whoever had chosen Phineas Nigellus as headmaster of Hogwarts had done every involved party a terrible disservice. The Headmaster would have preferred to work, and the students certainly didn't appreciate him. Oh, I despaired to think how many potions his great brain might have uncovered and brewed had he not had to worry about administration!
Eventually I had to mingle with the others. It was an awkward situation. While Grandfather Black had been very fond of Marcus' mother, his youngest child, some of the others clearly thought that Marcus' family had no place here now that she had died and considered the Relious family as my parents had, as blood traitors. Most had the good taste not to show this disapproval openly, or at least the intelligence not to let it be seen by Grandfather Black, but that didn't change that there were still many little ways in which it came out. Marcus was oblivious to all, though, and spent most of his time with the children. Due to random chance, not a one of them was of an age where they were at school with us – they were all either younger by a few years or older by a few years. I did my best to make the rounds among the adults, and therefore spent the majority of the day being sized up. No matter how they felt, Grandfather Black said that Marcus was a Black, which meant that his spouse would also be a Black. Every single one wanted to be sure that I was worthy of the Black name. They asked me about my parentage. They asked me about my knowledge of spells and magic. They inquired heavily in to my breeding – though usually subtly by asking testing questions like, "isn't the Prince family related to the Yaxleys?" and expecting me to be able to unhesitatingly state the degree of relationship accurately. I rose to every challenge as best I could and by the end of the day I was thoroughly exhausted, rather annoyed with almost everyone present, and glad that I had three people who I could talk to. The Grandfather took to approving of me vocally. This, I must say, was an infinite relief. I had been concerned that my parents oversight would convince the old man that I was not worthy of his name or his grandson, but that did not seem to be the case. In fact, apparently I was far superior to my parents in every conceivable way. I didn't argue.
Christmas day was, thankfully, far more pleasant. Everyone was more relaxed and the delight of the children at their presents was contagious. I think, perhaps, the eggnog helped as well. Whatever the cause, I had a genuinely good time. Best of all, in all of the hubbub of activity, Marcus and I were able to steal some unchaperoned time, during which we talked and, in a fit of naughtiness, carved our initials into a banister on the topmost staircase landing, covering our crime with a wreath. I also spent more time with the Headmaster, and had one very challenging – for I had to be on my best behavior! – conversation with Grandfather Black which implied that he would approve the match if his permission was asked. That was a relief. The Headmaster, I thought, was also spending a great deal of time watching us, as if he had never before noticed that Marcus and I were close enough that I might be invited to Christmas dinner, and wondering what it might signify. His questions indicated his concern, and I'll admit to being flattered.
In the end, all I can say is that the Blacks reminded me of the Princes, which meant that I liked them well enough when they were not being stuck up, and the rest of the time I smiled and nodded as if I agreed and looked forward to the conversation changing to a more genial topic. My parents had not brought up anti-muggle topics when I had seen them two nights previous and I noticed now that I found it even more irksome than I had in the past. Perhaps Marcus' tolerance was growing on me? Or the insight that the war had given me on the close relation between muggle affairs and wizard affairs had increased my sympathy? Whatever it was, I once or twice found myself attempting to change the topic, in the most vociferously offensive instances, as subtly and flatteringly to the speaker as I could. No one seemed to notice, thankfully, except – I think – Marcus.
On the 26th, Marcus' parents came in a very fine carriage and we said our goodbyes to the Black family. Grandfather Black suggested strongly that I should be brought again, and the Headmaster expressed his pleasure that Marcus had brought me, and I was pleased over all. Not all of the family had taken a liking to me; indeed, some had very obviously taken an intense disliking to me immediately when they discovered that I was there with their muggle-loving, blood-traitor relation, but the two who mattered most approved. That was all that signified.
Up to now Marcus' parents had seen little of me, but the journey to the estate at Whitebrook was long and cold, and given the lack of snow most of the country on the way was distinctly ugly. Thus, there was little to do but to distract ourselves from the unpleasantness of the journey by intense and animated conversation. After the maneuvering of the last day, it took me quite some time to get in to the spirit of such talk. It's not natural to my character, and I think that at first Mr. and Mrs. Relious found me frighteningly akin to my parents in terms of my reserve and restraint. However, Marcus went out of his way to draw me out – I think he feared his parents would not like me – and the two of them were such friendly, honest, forthright people that I soon found myself communicating more openly. There were, of course, many things one does not say to the parents of a suitor no matter how much openness there is, but within those boundaries were many acceptable topics, and we chatted pleasantly, about Christmas and travel and family, about the country, history and magic and all manner of topics. In a long trip, conversation will meander in a unique fashion, I learned.
There was something in their behavior that at first I could not place. We were seated facing each other, me next to Marcus and his parents together, and it took me sometime to realize that when I was speaking, they were watching Marcus, and when he spoke, they were watching me. In their subtle way, they were seeking to get an impression of how things stood between us. This, I feared, was doomed to failure. We were both so generally reserved in regards to our affection that I feared that they would conclude that we felt little. On the other hand, it felt utterly inappropriate, horrifyingly so, that I might "play up" my regard.
My concern might have grown to a frightening proportion if not for our arrival at our destination. Far from the hustle and bustle of the city, Whitebrook was nestled amongst forested hills much distant from London. My knowledge of geography was scanty, but I found it unlikely that any normal horse and carriage could have made the journey in two days, much less in 6 hours, but I did not ask. The building was a strange amalgam of styles; turrets and buttresses indicative of time spent in a former incarnation as a castle incongruously peaking from the slated roof and neat manor house. Built in a modern, Victorian style, the building sprawled. Even from a distance, it felt warm and cheery, and, for the first time, there were hints of snow around. It was colder here than in the city, and I wished I could get closer to Marcus for warmth.
Mr. Relious and his wife emerged from the carriage with relief; he immediately pulled a pipe out of his pocket and lit it as if going without it for so long had been tortuous. Mrs. Relious, meanwhile, looked towards the house as if expecting something, and her gaze was rewarded when two young girls came bursting through the door – a demure governess trailing behind them bearing a bundle, surely Marcus' 1 year old sister, Victoria – and all latched on to their mother at once. Various cries – "what took you so long?" and "we got back ages ago!" the only audible ones – filled the air as the girls chattered excitedly at their mother.
Marcus stepped out of the carriage after his parents and held out a hand for me. His chivalry was not to be, though, as the girls noticed him and started to talk even more loudly and tackled – the only possible word – their brother. I was left to the difficult task of emerging on my own (woe!) and smiling. Marcus was an adorable older brother; he ruffled hair, spread compliments, and asked and answered questions, somehow all at once. I had virtually no experience with children and I could only marvel at his dexterity. The girls couldn't seem to get enough of it; they didn't notice me at all.
Whitebrook seemed enormous from up close, and it was decorated all over for Christmas. Fairies floated all about, tossing glitter negligently, and everywhere the glitter fell sparkled as if it had snowed. I wondered if the glitter might have any uses in potions and surreptitiously gathered some. Garlands of mistletoe with bright berries, hung all about, and pine branches with cones, and decorated Christmas trees were strewn about on the lawns. No one seemed to care that Christmas had past, and somehow that seemed only right.
During these reflections, I suddenly noticed that the girls were no longer making noise. They – and Marcus, and his parents – were all watching me, watching the house. "Oh!" I exclaimed, blushing, "it's charming! Delightful! I've never seen the like."
"Who's she?" asked the youngest girl.
"She's a friend of your brothers," Mrs. Relious.
Marcus, rising to the invitation to introduce me, said, "Delia, these are my sisters, Emily," the eldest, who was, I thought, perhaps 12, "Christine," the middle child, 8 or 9, "and my sister Victoria is with Ms. Littledon." He turned to the girls, who were waiting as patiently as excited girls that age could, and continued, "this is Delia Prince, a classmate of mine at Hogwarts, who has accepted my invitation to join us."
"Delia!" exclaimed Christine delightedly.
"Ms. Prince," corrected her older sister, with a look that made it clear that SHE was old enough to know her manners; the look was ruined by her giggles. The younger, meanwhile, didn't care, and I soon found myself bemusedly being hugged and fussed over by the girls as their brother had been. I, unlike him, had no clue what to do, so I answered what questions I caught, and laughed, and tried not to make an utter fool of myself. I thought, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marcus' parents smiling, but I couldn't be sure, since the two girls were as distracting as could be.
"It's freezing out here," Mrs. Relious suggested, "we should go in and say hello!"
The girls pulled me along eagerly; Emily asking her mother if I could stay in her bedroom, and then Christine said it should be her, and they proceeded to argue as their mother smiled indulgently and went inside. Marcus and his father trailed behind. The girls asked what I thought, and I had no idea what the question was nor how I should answer.
I was hit by a burst of warmth and noise as I came in. The manor was as full of people as the house in Grimmauld Place had been, but the atmosphere was so much more pleasant that no other comparison could be fairly made. The halls were decked out for the holidays, cheerful portraits smiled and waved and swayed as if they'd drunk too much eggnog, calls of merry Christmas came from every direction. Soon people were being introduced to me, shaking my hands and saying I was delightful, while Emily and Christine stood with me as if guarding me and marking me as theirs. Marcus disappeared amongst the family and I was left to try and keep track of who I'd met and what their relationship to him was. When I was free, the girls bombarded me with questions. What was Hogwarts like? What house was I in? Was I going to marry Marcus? Where did I get that purple ribbon? Did I keep a diary? What was my family like? What did I think of Whitebrook? Would I please, pretty please, stay in Christine's room? Emily's room? They also gave the kind of running commentary on their family that only little girls can be indulged in, and I blushed and was shocked that no one seemed to take any offense and, indeed, some of the comments were met by laughter and dismissal by the offended – or, indeed, not at all offended – party. I'd never seen anything like it.
A house elf, as round as he was tall, came up to me with a tray of sweets and insisted that I take some; when I took only one, Mrs. Relious appeared from the gathering and scooped a few more on to my hands. "A girl your age? You are far too thin! Here, try these, they're delicious!" And then she was off again, socializing and smiling and laughing; I was so startled that Emily stole from my hand whatever it was that was so delicious. It was for the better; if I ate that many sweets I'd never want dinner; I wondered how Mrs. Relious, who was only a little on the plump side herself, could ever endorse it. I wasn't so terribly thin, at that. I eyed my reflection in the mirror, only to notice that Christine had decided to play in my bustle.
If not for the previous days at Grimmauld Place, I think I would have found it rather overwhelming. But everyone was so nice and welcoming and solicitous that I found it hard to be put off. I listened to family anecdotes, answered questions about myself, got asked repeatedly – by those without Emily and Christine's excuse of youth! – if I was marrying Marcus, and seemed to meet with approval by most of the family. The general opinion seemed to be that I was a little on the dull side, and it was the first place I had ever been where my manners counted against me, for they all seemed to feel that I was no fun. I was amused to note that whenever this got mentioned in my hearing, the girls would stoutly defend me.
My favorite of his relatives, other than the girls, was his Uncle Greyweather, who would regale anyone who would listen with tales about his world travels. At first, I thought it was nonsense, but when he saw my skepticism, he started producing souvenirs from these adventures, including a dragon's tooth and a cockatrice wing. I took him more seriously after that – I knew enough to know they were genuine, and they were never the sorts of body parts that beasts would have parted with willingly. One particularly interesting tale involved him and a group of good-willed fellows in a run in with a fellow named Nox, over a coven of Werewolves.
The first day was a swirl of talk. As the holiday passed things calmed down. Family from afar began to leave, and the days grew quiet, though there were dinner parties every night. Marcus' father, who worked at the Ministry, turned out to be the head of the Ministry's Magical Education department, so a range of Hogwarts governors, ministry officials, and the Headmaster were there one night; another, the entire party, other than the family, seemed to be composed of half-blood and muggle-born wizards and witches and full-bloods who I knew to a one to be considered blood traitors. I'd never gotten to associate with such people before, and I was both surprised and not at all startled to find that they were much like everyone else.
Marcus' sisters, who failed to secure their mother's permission for my residence in either bedroom, followed me around the house like my shadow unless something more interesting came along, which didn't seem to happen often. They asked questions that I'd never expect, and seemed to think I was something very interesting. I would have thought it was my age, but for the fact that there were children of all ages amongst those who came and went; with so many friends and relations the girls must have more exposure to teenagers than that! Still, they weren't the only ones open about their approval of me. Mrs. Relious, always flouncing around and entertaining, always pink cheeked and smiling, was constantly trying to feed me, sending the house elf, Gregory, 'round my way with trays of the tastiest morsels available, and I did my best to please but I could only eat so much. Mr. Relious, in the meantime, asked me serious questions and listen attentively to my opinions, and met me in equal terms in a way that few adult men of his position would ever have listened to a 16 year old girl. Hardly anyone mentioned my upbringing. Those who did seemed to think it counted against me. I decided that I'd rather come from a family like mine than be trapped between a family like this one and the Blacks, as Marcus was. I'd rather have a family like this than any of the other choices.
The opportunity to see Marcus in his native element was the most precious part. It wasn't as easy to get time with him as I had hoped, for the house was busy and the girls were tenacious, but we were able to spend more time together than we had before. Indeed, after the first few days, as Mrs. Relious warmed to me, I noticed that the girls would get called away often, and only ever when there was no other task for Marcus or myself to be doing, and that at those times we'd suddenly find that there were no other adults around either. On one amusing time, Mr. Relious came in acting perfectly normal and prepared to settle down in a nearby sitting chair, then realized that we'd been alone before and hastily realized he'd forgotten something and had to go. It was nice to know that they thought well enough of me to go to the effort.
Marcus, as always, was charming, intelligent, and dashing. More so than usual, perhaps, when I could see him when there were no responsibilities or worries tying him down. We walked the grounds – which were stunning, for it snowed the day after I arrived – and explored. He tried to teach me to ride a horse, but he forgot that it's different for a girl in skirts than for a man, and the effort ended with me getting tossed in to the snow and him apologizing for it for the rest of the evening even though I insisted it had been no big deal. We toured every corner of the house, trolled for unknown corners and hidden holes in the highest towers and the deepest basements, and came back dusty and laughing over the "treasures" we had found, old bottles and buttons and little bits of nothing. And we talked, of everything, of nothing, making hour long conversations out of what others could have passed over in a moment. By the end of the week, I was certain I was in love.
All too soon, the holiday was done. No amount of importuning by Emily and Christine could slow the time, and when the day came, though they begged, pleaded, and cried, Marcus and I had to go to the station to return to school. His parents packed the empty space in our trunks with leftover food, the girls cried that we'd best return very soon indeed, and we took flue powder directly to the fireplace used for this purpose on the platform, to assume the responsibilities of school once again. I resented our necessitated return to your studies and wished bitterly I didn't have to go back. I wonder if I'd have felt differently if I'd known just how soon everything was to change forever.