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I'm sorry this took so long. I've been at my house and my house has no wifi. However, now I am in my apartment, which does have wifi, so now I can post. Yay!
I do not own Harry Potter.
December, 1971
When the car pulled up to the sidewalk outside her house, Blair was surprised she hadn't killed Petunia.
For reasons she'd never understand, Lily's parents had deemed it—appropriate to bring the older girl on their trip to pick the two witches up from King's Cross. It was a testament to their naiveté—Petunia had been nothing but sour and rude since Blair had entered the car and, despite the fact that Lily sat between them, she couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much trouble controlling herself. The Evans, naturally, were entirely oblivious and Lily, though she wasn't making a spectacle of the tension between her best friend and her sister, was obviously trying to keep it that way.
"Thank you, Mr. Evans, Mrs. Evans," said Blair, wrapping her fingers around the door handle even as she spoke. Petunia snorted under her breath and Lily, to the brunette's relish, put an elbow in her ribs.
"You're most welcome dear," Mrs. Evans said around her head rest, "And remember, you're welcome to visit anytime."
Blair offered what she hoped was an agreeable smile and pushed the door open. Mr. Evans had already left the car and was pulling her luggage out of the trunk.
"I'll see you later," Lily murmured and Blair nodded as she slipped out of the car.
The front door to her house was not locked and her father's car was not in the drive way. Blair glared at the empty spot for a second, then stalked inside, intent on finding her mother and demanding some answers. She was tired of being treated like a child, tired of being left in the dark. Her father was having multiple affairs, her mother was deeply depressed and there was a darkness growing in the world outside of her unhappy little home life. She let her trunk fall to the floor just inside the door, kicked off her shoes and shouted:
"Mum!"
The first thing Lily's parents wanted when they arrived home was a detailed description of her first term at Hogwarts.
She was tired, more than anything she wanted to take an early night and just go to bed. But her mum was blinking widely at her over her coffee and her dad had this curious, almost child-like smile on his face. She'd known her letters weren't all that descriptive—she'd mentioned a few of her classes, she'd talked briefly about her house and she had told them once or twice about her new friends. But there was only so much one could fit onto one side of parchment.
Lily sighed and settled in to talk.
Remus knew his mother meant well, but when she'd noticed the small smile he'd flashed in Blair's direction over her shoulder as they'd left the platform, he knew he was in trouble. He'd seen that sparkle in Catherine Lupin's eyes far too many times to think he could escape whatever bizarre thoughts were churning her mind.
He could only thank Merlin that she'd waited until they were in the car to start in on him. The last thing he needed was for Blair to hear—
Catherine turned in the front seat merely moments after they'd left the parking lot at King's Cross and said, "Who was that lovely young lady on the platform?"
Well, that.
"A friend," he said shortly, keeping his eyes on the city rather than on his mother's smirk. In the driver's seat, his father shifted slightly and glanced at his wife.
"What lovely young lady?" John asked. There was a devious smile dripping all over his voice. Remus let his forehead collide with his window, the forlorn thump reverberating around the small car.
"Remus smiled at her as we were leaving," Catherine replied, "I think he may fancy her."
"I do not," he snapped irritably. As much as he loved his parents—and he loved them more than anything in the world—they were absolutely terrible when it came to girls. They'd teased him so many times when they'd left their small cottage in the woods to go shopping in a nearby village—"Oh, Remus, that girl is smiling at you," and, "Stop staring, Remus, if you like her, just go and talk to her,"—that if he hadn't known so much better, he'd swear they were encouraging him to mingle with members of the opposite sex. Besides, he was still quite young—twelve, for Merlin's sake, much too young for anyone to be involved romantically, even when one ignored the fact that he was—
Well, Catherine and John both knew better. And he did too. So he just didn't understand why—
"Then why are you blushing?" his mother was peering at him severely around her headrest. Remus scowled deeply at her.
"I'm just imagining what she would have done to me if she'd heard you talking like this," he grumbled.
His parents laughed.
Blair was sitting in the seat Thomas had vacated barely an hour before, looking pointedly at her full ashtray and crossing her legs in a perfect imitation of her uncle.
Eileen sighed and lit yet another cigarette to calm her nerves.
Talking to her daughter had never been easy, especially when the girl fixed her in one of those piercing looks—the sort of look that demanded answers, even if they were complicated and painful to give. But now, in the wake of what had just happened with her brother, Eileen just couldn't find the words she needed to give Blair the explanations she wanted—deserved. She inhaled deeply and released a slow stream of smoke.
"I need to know," Blair said after a pause, "I need to be prepared."
Yeah, she knew that. Of course she knew that. She'd lived through that bloody common room, hadn't she? She'd survived it. But then again—she'd been a pureblood, near royalty at that. She hadn't had nearly the number of enemies that Blair had inherited due to Eileen's severe lapse of judgment.
Marrying Tobias. What the hell had she been thinking?
"Mother," Blair breathed with exaggerated patience.
And then it all came spilling out.
Eileen told the little brunette about Thomas, about her grandfather Charles and about the powerful, illustrious House of Prince. She spoke of Dark witches and wizards, of their family's less-than-admirable heritage, of her own questionable past. She mentioned expectations and disappointments, decisions and regrets. And last of all, she whispered the growing rumors and the name that most wizards were beginning to say with fear.
"Voldemort," Blair repeated incredulously, speaking for the first time since Eileen's dam had broken, "Really? Isn't that a bit theatrical?"
Eileen chuckled morbidly, "I suppose. He'd probably disagree."
"And these Death Eaters that Avery mentioned—are his followers?" the child's wheels were turning, Eileen could see that very clearly.
"Yes."
"And they're anti-muggle."
Something in the way Blair said it—with distaste, even annoyance—relaxed her more than she cared to admit. Eileen pushed her half smoked cigarette into the large pile of ashes on the tray in front of her and left it there.
"You must be careful, Blair," she said flatly. Black eyes rose to meet her own. Blair's face had twisted in to a strangely pinched expression.
"I am," she replied, as if insulted.
On the second day of their holiday, Blair showed up at Lily's front door looking extremely put out.
"Let's go for a walk," she said flatly before the redhead could ask, "Really. A long walk."
Lily had seen Blair like this a few times before. It wasn't a Tobias mood—quite the contrary, it was almost the opposite of one. When her father set her off, the petite brunette turned surly, distracted, irritable. This, however, was merely evasion and a whole lot of it. It happened rarely and, she realized with a start, only when Blair's muggle grandmother, Clarice, was in town.
"Alright," Lily began to search the many hooks beside the front door for her coat, "Give me a moment."
Five minutes later, wrapped in a thick brown coat and a scarf bearing the Gryffindor colors of scarlet and gold, she followed Blair down the front walk and onto the sidewalk. The other girl, she realized, hadn't turned in the direction of their normal escape—the woods.
"Where're we going?" she asked, stepping awkwardly over a bit of ice on the pavement.
"Eggnog," Blair grunted, "Clarice was positively scandalized when she realized we didn't have any. Went on about it for hours before Tobias finally threw a bunch of money at me and told me to go and get some."
"She's visiting for Christmas, then?"
"Oh yes," a strange smile appeared on Blair's face, "If there's anything my parents can still agree on, it's that Clarice is worse than a vampire whose smelt blood. She's a nightmare, but at least they're getting along. He hasn't even been off with that blonde since I've been back, Clarice has got him so distracted," she paused a moment, before saying wistfully, "It'll be nice while it lasts."
Lily nearly stumbled on a stray snow drift as she stared at the side of her friend's head, quite unsure of what to say.
Christmas morning brought more gifts than Blair had expected.
The usual, or predictable, were all accounted for. A silver wool scarf from her mother, a book of higher level potions from Evan, a box stuffed full of chocolates and Bernie Bott's Every Flavor Beans from Lily. But then there were the unexpected—a quill from Lucius, of all people. And chocolates and ridiculous jokes from Lupin. Lucius, she knew, would not demand anything in return. But Lupin—
She could just imagine the hurt-puppy look she'd receive on the train. He'd try to hide it, but—and she'd never admit this out loud—she'd gotten quite good at reading him.
So Blair stole her mother's latest copy of the Prophet and scanned the advertisements. Surely there would be something that a stubborn Gryffindor boy would enjoy hidden somewhere in the pages.
Clarice had never thought much of Eileen.
It wasn't just an issue of looks—though Clarice had pointed out numerous times to Tobias the fact that his wife (fiancé, at the time) just wasn't all that attractive. She'd always supposed that it was a passion thing between them—though, even that didn't make much sense, given that their marriage had never been what one would call, well, stable. It was more of a feeling she'd always gotten from the younger woman, as if she was keeping a secret, a big one, and had no intention of ever divulging it.
Clarice had never been the type for secrets. She'd always viewed them as a sort of weakness, just waiting to be exploited. Not that she'd ever exploit Eileen, she was Tobias' wife, after all, despite any and all problems with their marriage, and it was clear that her son intended to stay with her, as he had for so long already. It was something Clarice accepted now—Tobias had made his choice and she herself would have to live with Eileen until the day her body finally gave out and she kicked the bucket (for lack of a better term). And she had grown to be somewhat alright with that, though she'd always felt that he could have done better, because she was also sure he could have done much worse.
In recent years, however, something had changed in her daughter in law, something Clarice had seen fit to ignore at first. It wasn't until Blair's tenth Christmas, a rather bleak affair in and of itself, that she'd even admitted that something was most definitely off in Eileen and that, perhaps, the cause rested somewhere near her son.
She had begun to question that following Easter whether or not Tobias was actually having an affair, something she herself abhorred, because when you chose someone, you either stuck with them or you left them—there was no in between. Clarice was almost ashamed. He was her son, after all. What did his behavior say about her parenting skills?
On Blair's eleventh Christmas, Clarice resolved to confront Tobias—if she was right and he was having an affair, it was her job as mother to put a stop to it. And so, when Blair had wandered off into the backyard around lunchtime—to do lord knows what—the day after Christmas and Eileen had retired to the basement to do chores—yet another oddity in her daughter in law, but one she was suddenly willing to overlook—Clarice cornered Tobias in the sitting room, using the sparsely decorated tree to block his exit, and fixed him in her best stern mother look.
"What do you think you're doing, Tobias?" she demanded harshly, shoving her fists against her slowly failing hips.
He blinked at her through a curtain of greasy black hair and she winced. He needed to learn to take better care of himself; he looked more and more like a street bum every time she saw him. What did his other woman even see in him, anyway? "What're you talking about?" Tobias mumbled, sounding for all the world like a petulant child rather than a grown man. Clarice bared her teeth.
"You know full well what. The affair that you're having. The affair that your wife clearly knows about," she exhaled harshly, "I taught you better than that."
Tobias looked taken a back for a fraction of a second. Then he looked angry.
"You don't know what you're talking about," he hissed, spittle flying from his thin lips and colliding with her cheek, "You have no idea. I didn't even invite you here, mother, but I let you stay. I don't know why. You're not welcome here. You're the one who makes everyone miserable." He capped this speech off with a cruel smirk and folded his arms, as if he'd accomplished something, though she couldn't begin to imagine what.
Clarice clenched her jaw—if he thought she was going to back down, he had another thing coming. He was her son. An ungrateful, spoiled, foul son, but her son nonetheless. And this was her family. And she was duty bound to protect them, even from themselves.
"Fine," she said coolly, "Deny it all you want, Tobias. But I think we all know what you've been doing. So think. If not of your wife, then of your daughter."
Something bizarre replaced the anger on Tobias' face. Something unexpected and inexplicable. And it was only for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough. Clarice blinked and Tobias' snarl returned full force.
"My daughter?" he spat, "I would rather not think of that girl."
And then he shoved passed, nearly knocking over the tree in his haste to flee. And Clarice was left standing and staring at the hearth, entirely unsure of what to think.
The holiday passed quietly for Remus.
With no full moon to contend with, he was able to merely relax about the small Lupin cottage: lounging in the sitting room and drinking Catherine's famous hot cocoa, curling up on his unmade bed with a book. As much as he loved Hogwarts, as grateful as he was that Dumbledore had made an exception for him, the break was a nice change of pace in which he didn't have to worry about homework, whether or not he was going to say the wrong thing and land himself on the wrong side of Blair's wand, or about James, Sirius and Peter realizing that they were sharing a dormitory with the only book worm werewolf on the planet.
It was much easier to think about it, at home, safe, with his parents. In the Gryffindor common room he hadn't even been able to say the word in his head—his paranoia had been so much for the first term, he had feared mind readers lurked around every corner. Never mind that the teachers already knew, never mind that Dumbledore would protect him—at Hogwarts, he wasn't the animal, the monster. He was just Remus Lupin, the boy with the books, the sweet tooth and the friends.
He'd received gifts from them, his friends—well, most of them, anyway. James had sent him a fake wand that had startled his poor mother so much on Boxing Day by shrieking and sprouting a head that suspiciously resembled the fifth year Ravenclaw who claimed to see the future, Sibyll Trelawney, that she sent an entire bowl of porridge soaring onto his father's head. Sirius had offered a surprisingly innocent gift in the form of a book of spells—though, Remus had begun to read through the first few chapters and was beginning to suspect that most of them were already part of elaborate plots to prank sixth and seventh year Slytherins. Peter and Lily seemed to have been on the same wavelength when choosing gifts and had both sent him boxes of Bernie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Only Blair, to whom he had sent chocolate and a rather cheeky card, had not returned the favor, though he hadn't really expected her to. Still, he was a bit disappointed, even in the wake of the warm, light feeling he'd gotten from his other gifts, that she hadn't thought of him.
At the end of the holiday, with his trunk packed and bundled up in a thick winter jacket, Catherine drove him the hour from their little country cottage back to King's Cross. They said their goodbyes and he entered the platform feeling rather down. He hadn't noticed it until it until the feeling was absent, but he'd been so tense for the entire first half of his first year at Hogwarts. So afraid that he'd slip up, that someone would learn his secret.
That he'd be forced to leave.
Remus paused on the platform and gazed at the Hogwarts Express. The scarlet steam engine snaked away down the tracks and families hugged their children, bidding them a good second term. And a tiny brunette was stalking through the crowd, making a beeline for him.
He blinked.
Blair?
His Potions partner came to an abrupt halt in front of him, standing closer than he'd ever thought possible for her, and thrust a package into his stomach.
"Sorry I didn't send it in time for Christmas," she snapped before he could ask or respond, "Don't sit with me on the train."
And then she spun and strode back to the Hogwarts Express, leaving him standing there, holding the package and grinning like an idiot.