"I'll say she looks as clear as morning roses newly washed with dew." - William Shakespeare
This chapter is dedicated to LilyOrange, to whom I am giving the Nobel Prize for reviewing, as she reviewed 14 TIMES IN A ROW.
Five minutes left to go. Five minutes to eleven. Five minutes ticking quickly away. I carefully put the finished touches to my make-up and surveyed myself in the mirror in front of me. Not too bad, not too bad at all. As a person who enjoys the possibility of a lie-in on a Saturday morning, I had opted to meet Potter at eleven o'clock, rather than the early-bird time prescribed by Lily, who realised that she hadn't thought things through when she asked Black to meet her at nine o'clock. I had almost been tempted to arise early in order to observe the exceedingly rare phenomenon of Sirius Black before ten am on a Saturday morning. Not that I was at all aware of his predelicitions; it was hard not to take notice when he sauntered down the stairs and made a big announcement to the common room, where you have been working or relaxing most Saturdays for the past six years. Yes, I do do my homework on a Saturday morning; I am that fastidious.
My feelings were bordering on apprehensive, as they did before all dates that I embarked on, but I had managed to convince myself that this was not a real date, and therefore I would most likely be occupied listening to Potter drone on about Lily or quidditch or some such other mundane subject for the proceeding hours. I had, however, made the usual date effort with my appearance; wearing jeans and a well-fitting jumper, as well as applying a little bit of make-up. Most mornings I couldn't really be bothered with all the eye liner and mascara and foundation and what have you, preferring to spend the time reading, but every so often, I took the time to make myself up, and having had the time to both read my novel and apply make-up, I promptly did so.
Making my way down the stairs, I read the clock, and saw that it was one minute to eleven, but a scan of the common room alerted me the to fact that there was no Potter in sight. He had one minute to go. I arrived at the portrait hole to feel a tap on my shoulder, and turning round encountered my "date", holding a stemless, curled pink rosebud in his hand. He grinned, and held it out to me, and I couldn't but help smile at this lovely gesture.
"A rose for a rose." he declared.
Upon being handed it, I decided to place behind my ear, entwined in my hair, and then thanked him for the rose.
"Shall we?" he questioned, motioning towards the door, and he chivalrously held open the portrait for me as I stepped through. The walk through the castle and out of the grounds in Hogsmeade proved my fears to be ungrounded. Potter mentioned neither Lily nor quidditch once, and we were deeply engaged in conversation over muggle vs. wizard rock bands by the time we entered the thriving village.
He then proceeded to take me to Honeydukes, where we spent a good half hour choosing various sweets and at the end, as we came out of the shop, he presented me with a box of gorgeous truffle chocolates. He then insisted that we go into Scrivenshafts, where I bought an illustrated copy of Le Morte D'Arthur, by Sir Thomas Malory, which is a retelling of the legends of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. We spent time discussing this, especially the wizard Merlin, to whom wizards owe much of their knowledge of spells and potions. In turn, I insisted on taking him into Zonko's and we laughingly picked out the prettiest fireworks for the Marauders' next demonstration, my favourite being a little green fairy one, which reminded me of the muggle fairy Tinkerbell.
By then, it was around one o'clock, and ravenous from our shopping, we made our way hastily to the Three Broomsticks, in search of some nourishment. The pub was packed, as always on a Hogsmeade weekend, but James was able to procure a table in the corner, and we sat down to order our food. As yet, there had been no mention of Lily or quidditch and as we exchanged various witticisms and conversation, I began to forget that it was the price for getting out of detention, and began to enjoy myself. I do not mean that I was developing romantic sentiments towards James, I merely allowed myself to enjoy the male company, as il did that of my older brothers and their friends.
Thus it was that, as we were laughing over James's butterbeer foam moustache, Lily and Black entered the pub and made their way over to us. Interrupting our mirth, Black asked permission to sit down, and as both James and I acquiesced, Lily plonked herself down next to me, and she and Black both ordered their lunch. I could see that Lily was torn from wanting to sit next to me, but undesirous of to bearing Potter company, and so I decided to embark on the course of a neutral topic in order to avoid anything which might cause Lily to blow up and so ruin the light mood that James and I had created earlier. For the first ten minutes, it was rather awkward, with Lily and I talking, and James and Sirius talking to each other on the opposite side of the table, but as time progressed and the food arrived, we soon become once more ensconced in our little world of amusement.
We must have stayed in the Three Broomsticks for a good two hours, laughing and chatting like old friends, and discussing topics varying from NEWTs to food to other wizarding sports to strange and clever muggle devices which baffled both James and Sirius. They were particularly intrigued by the aeroplane, which led to a long explanation from Lily and I about the Bernoulli effect, and aerofoils and lift and thrust and drag, and all types of Physics concepts.
Heading back to the castle, we started off a group conversation, but it seemed almost natural for Sirius and I to lag behind, and let an oblivious Lily and James continue on their conversation without us. I regarded the both of them, talking and laughing unconcernedly, and a small smile came to my face as I watched them converse.
"They seem to fit together, don't they?" commented Sirius softly in my ear.
I looked up at him, strolling along beside me.
"For once, Black, I may have to agree with you there."
He looked down at me, and catching sight of the flower in my hair, reached up to touch it with his fingertips, grazing the tip of my ear as he did so, and sending a slight shiver down my spine.
"But he who dares not grasp the thorn
Should never crave the rose." His voice was different from his quotidian, jesting tone. Soft, lilting, thrilling.
My eyes flew up to his, my feet stumbling as my mind attempted to ignore the rapid fluttering of my increased heart rate. Something passed between us, though I am still unsure whether it be a look, an emotion, an understanding, or something else, something not quite tangible…
It was the first, but not the last I am glad to say, time that I had had one of those moments. The ones that stay forever in your memory, that seem to have an otherworldly beauty and poise to them, like a favourite photograph on the wall.
Arriving back at the Gryffindor tower, Lily and I each thanked our dates, and then the other boy, for the afternoon, and then went our separate ways, up the dividing staircases, to our dorms.
"Well," sighed Lily, sitting down on the end of her bed, "That was a brilliant day."
"Did it have anything to do with the fact that you and James were able to hold a conversation without arguing for well over three hours?" I asked cheekily.
In response, she merely glared at me, and began to unpack the things that she had bought.
The days ran slowly through the hourglass of time, and suddenly school had broken up for Christmas. I spent my Christmas traditionally, with my family at home. As usual, my aunt and my little cousin and my grandmother came as well, and we spent a fantastic day together. We went to church like always in the morning, and spent the afternoon opening presents, playing games, and consuming all the delicious food that my relatives cooked. I was especially pleased with the new CDs that I received; Alice Cooper, Dire Straits and of course Led Zeppelin amongst them.
Yet It barely seemed as though the holidays had even begun before we were back on the Hogwarts Express, ready to begin the new term. I celebrated my birthday quietly on the 11th of January, with my friends in our dorm. Otherwise, nothing much interrupted the peaceful routine, and even the Marauders were laying low, much to Lily's delight. Although one day, walking in on Black eating the face off some nameless (and soon to be faceless) blonde, I did rather embarrass myself. Having come round the corner on the seventh layer of the castle on one of the reflective walks that I often partook of, I came across the aforementioned couple kissing, and they so kindly interrupted their snogging fest to watch me turn red at the ears.
None of us said anything, they just stared at me, and feeling that something was needed, I proceeded to utter the ludicrous words;
"As you were, men," and then continued on my way down the corridor. My whole dormitory was in fits of laughter as I regaled them with the story, blushingly, and upon seeing Black the next day, I hurriedly averted down another staircase to avoid seeing him.
My embarrassment continued for several days, until full immersion in his presence served somewhat to overcome my humiliation.
I encountered him in the Kitchens, whilst baking Alice a birthday cake, as Lily had prefect duty and Katie was keeping Alice occupied. In sauntered Black. He was alone, and at first did not notice me. I took the opportunity to study him; he looked tired, although not unhappy, and sat down at the table in the corner, when he happened to glance up and meet my stare.
I flushed, smiled, then looked away, and took up my cake-making with vigour, determined not to let myself look at him again. Footsteps behind me alerted me to the fact that he had patterned his way over to me. He peered at the mixed butter and sugar over my shoulder, and then at the eggs I was holding.
"What are you making?" he enquired.
"A cake," I replied, "For Alice. It's her birthday tomorrow."
He nodded in understanding, with his brow furrowed, and a moment later asked;
"Need some assistance?"
I looked at him.
"You can cook?"
"Well…I've made toast as James's before. And read a story where they made a cake once."
"A fully-fledged chef then," I smiled.
"The best. If you want, I can do it naked."
I flushed again, but managed to choke out a coherent, "Um, why?"
"I saw a recipe book in a muggle bookshop, once. It was called "The Naked Chef."
"Oh, right, no, that just means that the chef does everything with his bare hands, not in the nude. Plus you might mentally scar the house-elves..."
"Are you implying that my nakedness is mentally scarring?"
"To be honest, even the thought of your nakedness is mentally scarring at the moment."
To soften the blow, I managed to grin shyly up at him, the soft blush tipping my ears pink.
He grinned back at me, unoffended, in mutual amusement at our conversation, and then I handed him one of the eggs that I was holding.
"You need to break that into the bowl," I told him.
His brow furrowed in confusion, and he narrowed his eyes at the egg, as if his gaze alone could induce it to crack open. Then he whacked it on the side of the bowl, and it split open as he poured the white and the yolk into the creamed sugar and butter. I was surprised, but then remembered that for all his antics and lackadaisical attitude towards work, Black was highly intelligent. Not that I was going to tell him so; I didn't want him to hurt his neck by inflating his head anymore.
We made the cake successfully, only pausing once to coax Black into a flowery apron which he eventually put on. Surprisingly, it looked good on him, but then I'm sure he would look go in a dustbin sack if he ever felt the need to put one on.
After I had just put the cake in the oven, I turned and was shocked to feel a soft finger wipe across my face, just under my eye. Meeting my confused gaze Black grinned and explained;
"In the book I read when they were cooking, the girl had a smudge of flour by her nose. You didn't seem to be a complete chef without one."
I raised one eyebrow at him, (something which thoroughly annoyed Lily, as she was insanely jealous of my talent), and he raised one back at me. Cross to find that Black also possessed my special talent, I decided to be mature and stick my tongue out at him, before turning away, back to make the icing for the cake.
"You're not to eat any this time, by the way." I informed him as I grabbed the icing sugar. The making of the actual mixture had been punctuated by his reaching out to stick his finger in it, and my slapping his hand every time he did so. It soon turned into a mini battle, and although he won due to his Quidditch-honed reflexes, I wasn't far behind.
The making of the icing soon turned into a similar battle, and by the end of it we were laughing and poking each other in a race to eat the icing. Foreseeing this earlier, I had insightfully opted to make double quantities, and so there was just enough left to ice the cake substantially. Finishing up, I beckoned over a house-elf, and asked him to store in the larder until tomorrow, at which he bowed, and carried off the cake. I then thrust a tea-towel at Sirius, and made my way over to the sink.
"What's this?" he questioned.
"A duck," I joked, but then noticing his puzzled frown, I saw that he wasn't joking.
"It's a tea-towel," I explained. "You use it to dry dishes and other apparatus that we used when making the cake. You've never dried up before?" I had helped to clear up at home since I was 7. I thought wizards used tea-towels, even if with magic.
He shook his head.
"At home, we used to have house-elves to clear up, at school we don't have to, and now I'm living with the Potters, James's mum normally does it with magic anyway."
"You're living with the Potters?" I asked, hearing this information.
He nodded, and his face darkened. There was a long pause. Not wanting to pry, I didn't ask why, and so turned back to the sink, and started to run the hot water. It was possible to do this with magic, but I didn't know the spell, and not wanting to force any more work onto the lovely house-elves, I did it myself. I felt his presence at my shoulder, and handed him the bowl which I had just scrubbed.
"You just wipe it all over until it's dry, like you would yourself when you come out of the shower." I clarified for him.
He nodded once more, face contemplative, and began to dry the bowl. We continued for a few more minutes in silence, and I was racking my brains to say something which would bring us back to our light-hearted banter of earlier when he suddenly uttered;
"I couldn't take anymore of the bigoted, racist crap that my parents were trying to instil in me. Just sitting at the breakfast table as my parents read the paper, my mother would tell us with this sick smile on her face the number of mud-blood attacks, or make us recite the pure-blood blood lineage of all the people we associated with at school. I used to try and stand up to her, and they would lock me up, or starve me, and sometimes she used to dangle me from the ceiling until I apologised.
The final straw came when she told me that some people were enrolling as followers of this new blood fanatic who wanted to kill muggleborns. She locked me in the cellar, and…" he trailed off. Then he took a deep breath. "She used the Imperatus curse on me to try and make me do it, and when I still wouldn't obey her, she decided torture was the more effective method, and used theCruciatus on me. I only managed to escape when my brother Regulus slipped me my wand, and I left during the middle of the night. I arrived at the Potters' bruised, battered and bloodstained, and they took me in without a word. I awoke the next morning to find James and his parents at the end of my bed, and they told me they weren't letting me go back." He stared at the floor.
My tongue seemed frozen in my mouth. I was aware, from the frequent howlers, that his parents were unimpressed about his diverging from their strict beliefs, but I had been entirely unaware idea it was so serious. To have the Cruciatus curse used on you by your own mother; the one person who you depended on in your childhood and sometimes adulthood, the person who had created you, the person who was supposed to love and accept you, this person had inflicted upon him the most painful experience, the cruellest torture, the most barbaric crime. Empathy swelled within me, and I could tell from the vulnerable look on his face that he needed me to say something.
"You know…" his darkened eyes swung to me. "People often say that family and blood relatives are so important, that these people are biologically programmed as it were to love you. I disagree. I think that you can still find that same love and acceptance from other people. People are often surprised when they find out that I am adopted, but the thing is, I don't feel as though I am any less important to my adoptive parents than many people are to their real parents. If I ever found my real mother, I'd most likely say "Thank you for letting me inhabit your womb for nine months", and that would be that. The people I would go to if I was upset, if I was in trouble, the people I care about most in the world are not the people whose genes I share, but the people who have looked after me when I was sick, made me laugh when I cried, sang me to sleep when I was scared, and who will love me no matter what. I mean," I turned to face him, "Those people who will take you in without a word, and accept you as their own child, even if you don't share their DNA."
He stared at me, eyes widening and face lightening as he contemplated this.
"Like the Potter." He nodded.
"Like the Potters." I agreed. "Although not just the Potters. Remus, James, Peter. Even Professor McGonagall, although she may not like to admit that she finds you amusing. Every person who has ever smiled at you, looked after you, lent you their Potions notes or let you have the last waffle at breakfast. All of these people have opened their arms and accepted you for who you are, have not judged you to be wanting, have not been disgusted with you for who you are and what you believe. These are the people who are your family, not the rest of the people on your family tree or those who share your surname."
He was quiet again whilst he contemplated this, and a few moments later, his face lit up into a brilliant smile, his lips quirking upwards, his cheeks losing their melancholy pallor, and his expressive grey eyes beginning to dance.
"You know, Rose Loganberry, you are truly an exceptionally lovely person."
I flushed and began to protest, in my customary way of disliking compliments, but he held up a hand and continued;
"No-one has ever put it that way for me before. I'd never even considered that you can choose whom to make your family. You are truly an epiphanical girl, and I'm not going to let you say otherwise."
"Epiphanical?" I questioned.
"A person who induces epiphanies – a sudden realisation or enlightenment in others. I just made it up." He explained.
"You can't just make words up," I argued, distracted for a moment from my protestations of his compliments.
"Yes you can. How else would words have come into existence? Humans must have learned to talk by inventing a language, and so therefore they must have made words up, which also gives me the liberty to do so."
I rolled my eyes at his flawed logic, and then threw my wet sponge at him. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of bubbles and dodging swiping towels as we finished clearing up and our conversation reverted once more to its earlier light-hearted course.