Artemesia was unsure why she had said what she had. After all, this was the epitome of a bad idea. Actually asking out Sirius… Merlin, what had she done? They had to remain friends and friends only. There was definitely no way they could go back to what the had been to one another, especially not so soon! They had only been in contact for two—fine, she would concede three—months, but before that, there was a gaping chasm of fourteen years where they had not spoken. Granted, it had hurt, but Artemesia felt that the injury had scarred over and healed. There was no reason for her to be so bloody emotional. They were fine. Just because Sirius was out of prison did not mean that she would become a blubbering mess who couldn't take care of herself. It wouldn't happen. There was no reason for it to happen. She hadn't been weak before, so she would not be weak now.

Granted, none of that made Artemesia feel any less nervous. She was sitting at a table in the back of the Three Broomsticks, waiting for Sirius to make his appearance. He was late, so she felt that she had a complete and total right to be nervous. Right? And this wasn't a date. It was just dinner between two friends (who happened to have almost been engaged in the distant past—the very distant past) because she wanted to apologize for her behavior and the behavior of the madman she called an in-law. That was all. Nothing more, nothing less. For those reasons, she was staring sullenly at her butterbeer, wishing Sirius would hurry up and be on time for once in his life.

Besides, Artemesia couldn't deal with a relationship. She had responsibilities she couldn't shirk, even if Sirius seemed to be able to ignore his all too easily. She cared very much about her job, and she wasn't going to endanger it. She had to look after Gemma, pay the bills and the mortgage, and worry about the war. She didn't have the time to do anything more. She had too much to lose, and she wasn't going to bet it all on a game of chance again, not with the absolutely spectacular results from the last time she had played with fire. The problem with the brightest flame was that it burnt the worst, and burned she had been. Sirius was a good man, but he always rushed into things and never thought about the consequences. She could not risk that. Now, now she needed balance and order, not chaos, and not uncertainty as to whether or not she would be a widow in the morning. She could not handle that, not anymore. The first time there was a major battle, Sirius would be gone. It was as simple as that. He would be off to fight again, and she would watch him walk away again.

When their class had graduated, they had all been naïve, believing themselves invincible. As the war wore on, Artemesia had noticed how weary each and every one of them became. It had been little things at first, like Remus grimacing whenever someone brought up the increasingly frequent attacks or Lily frowning when James complained about some inane rule the Ministry had enacted because of fear. Later, everything had worsened: James would sometimes jump at loud noises, Lily was always worried about her parents and sister (the former with good reason, it turned out), Remus looked more and more haggard with each passing month, and Sirius slowly stopped talking to people. By the time the thirty-first of October had rolled around, there were few people he spoke with. Artemesia sometimes struggled to remember who had been in Gryffindor in their graduating year. There couldn't be more than a third of them left. Well, that may have been an underestimation, but absolutely no more than half of them made it. With those that did survive, it was barely so. They were alive, yes, but living was certainly a different matter. Remus was alive, Sirius was alive, and those others Artemesia couldn't put names to were alive. Were they living? Probably not. They were all probably still fighting that damned war, and soon they would be fighting it for real again. So Remus and Sirius and the others would put their lives or lack of lives on hold (or would they be picking them up again?) and take up arms once more. It was only inevitable, and it was tragic. It didn't matter that she had been part of that tragedy herself. She had chosen that path.

Now she was choosing it again. She was choosing him again. In her mind, she knew she shouldn't, but her bloody emotions said a different story. She was still in love with him. She, Artemesia Vector, was still in love with Sirius Black. She loved him. She bloody loved him. There was no way in hell Artemesia was going to admit it, though. Not to Auriga (it would be spread around the castle by morning), not to Remus (even if he would be a good confidant), and certainly not to Sirius. He could not deal with it. That was the alpha and omega of the problem. His bloody guilt complex would drag him down so far into despair, and there was no way that… God, she could drag him out of it, and she would, but she wished he wouldn't blame himself for everything.

Artemesia sighed and shook her head. She couldn't be acting like this, especially if Sirius appeared at that particular moment. There was no way he would leave her alone if he knew how she was feeling. It didn't even matter that he was even more of an emotional train-wreck. She smiled to herself and downed the rest of her butterbeer. That was something that had always puzzled her: butterbeer was nonalcoholic. How did that work out? It was beer, yet it was not. Actually, it wasn't worth the brainpower to think about it. Nope. None at all. Granted, it was better than going back down the path she had just been on, but that was a horse of a different color.

Thankfully, a voice saved her from further contemplation: "This seat taken?"

Artemesia twitched. Her thanks were obviously premature. Why was Terry there? Why? Turning around and glaring, she reminded him, "You are supposed to be in the Hospital Wing, you suicidal idiot." As expected, the man's grin did not fade, and he sat down at the table anyway. "I mean it, Terry. Go away. I'm meeting Sirius for dinner. Please don't make a scene," she begged. Artemesia belatedly realized that she might have said the worst thing possible.

Terry grinned like a Cheshire cat and said, "Oh, really? Arty likes Siri?" Artemesia could only assume that the horrified look on her face was what made Terry laugh and reassure her earnestly, "Don't worry, Artemesia. I wouldn't mess with your love life like that. Plus, I figure Sirius deserves a bit of a break." Terry adopted a look of mock seriousness as he continued, "After all, Mr. Black has been through some hard times as of late. It would be a little cruel to start screwing him up again like that so soon." A pause. "I'll wait a week."

"Terry!" Artemesia exclaimed, mentally willing him to silence himself. She really did wish that Terry had a filter between his brain and his mouth. He certainly was in need of one. Granted, she did not really expect that he would ever get one outside of his work, but it would have been nice were he to not say anything and everything on his mind around friends and family. Artemesia still sometimes wondered how he had managed to reach adulthood, disregarding the war. "I'm serious! Please go and bother Snape or Poppy where you are supposed to be, I should remind you. If you really want to avoid the Hospital Wing, then camp out in the library and read to your heart's content. Just don't get me involved!"

Terry was still grinning, and Artemesia really felt like hitting him in the face. He shrugged and said, "I dunno. Pince doesn't seem to have ordered new Muggle books for the library in ages, and I mean ages." Artemesia stared at him dispassionately, which made him a little nervous, because he then explained, "I just managed to escape again. You know how much I hate that place. It's too… I don't know, but I finished the You Only Live Twice." He looked proud of himself for finishing the book so quickly, but he became penitent again when he noticed that Artemesia looked like she was going to murder him if he didn't come up with a better explanation as to why he was bothering her. "Well, then I kinda realized that I, uh, may have been a bit inappropriate earlier today, and I figured I should apologize, so I found Auriga and asked her where you were," he finished. The expression on his face essentially said, "Please don't kill me!" which Artemesia found rather fitting.

"I honestly don't know why I put up with you," Artemesia muttered. At least the lunatic seemed to be over whatever had caused him to act strangely. She then realized that for all intents and purposes he should have not been able to stand, much less run around Hogwarts like a headless chicken as he had been. Looking up, Artemesia demanded, "How the hell did you get here, anyway? Weren't you half-dead yesterday? You shouldn't even be conscious, much less hyperactive!" Shaking her head, Artemesia continued, "If Vesta knew what you've been up to, she'd throttle you for even thinking about walking so soon. Oh, and I suspect that your daughter has disowned you for that lovely performance today in the Great Hall. Surpassed both the Orange and Purple Exploding Cauldron Incidents."

"Everyone talked like Shakespeare, and I astrally projected myself as the Cheshire cat?" Terry demanded, seemingly horrified by the thought, which made Artemesia realize he did not remember much of what he had done under the influence of whatever had happened. "Dear God, I thought she would have started to use less effective pain medication over the years, what with that spectacular track record," he mentioned, half talking to himself. Terry had noticed that he had yet to answer Artemesia's question, so he continued without waiting for an answer, "I just lost a lot of blood, that's all, and, sure, the pain was a little intense this time, but there was nothing permanent. So, after she gave me the Blood-Rejuvenating Potion, Poppy was going to ive me some painkillers, but I hadn't been able to tell her about the potion the Blood-Rejuvenating potion negatively reacted with. She wants me to stay awake for a while longer, but when I crash, I'm going to be stuck here for a while."

"Which means that this is a temporary high point for you, and once you pass out, you're going to sleep like the dead for a couple days," Artemesia summarized. Now, she couldn't send him back to the Hospital Wing knowing he would be trapped there for about a week, especially if Poppy had let him out. Sighing, Artemesia said, "Terry, I understand that you really do not want to go back, but you do realize that the longer that you stay outside of the Hospital Wing, the longer you will have to stay there, so the more angry that your… let's call them employers, will be with you when you return?"

Terry grimaced but replied, "I don't particularly care what they think. They're already pissed off, and I went to Hogwarts instead of somewhere normal, like St. Mungo's, so I'm screwed anyway." Shaking his head, he continued, "Plus, the longer I'm incapacitated, the longer they'll keep from trying to hurt Vesta to send a message."

Artemesia was taken aback. "What? They found you out?" she demanded. This news was the worst she'd heard in a long—well, since she heard Voldemort came back to life. If the Death Eaters knew who Terry was—She couldn't bear to think about it. She looked at him in concern and suddenly exclaimed, although quietly so, "You aren't wearing the glamours!"

Terry snorted. "It's not worth it anymore, Artemesia. Since Bellatrix knows, there's no point in hiding now. No one seems to recognize me anyway," he replied, brooding. Artemesia knew he was more nervous than he seemed, if his hand-wringing was anything to go by. Artemesia didn't blame him. In fact, she was pretty damn worried, too. Bellatrix Lestrange was going to go after her cousin for the simple fact that Terry had hidden his identity. Artemesia did not blame Terry for that, either. It was hard to blame the man when he looked to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Aside from the danger to Vesta, he was under an inordinate amount of pressure, which was vastly unfair for all those involved.

"But what about—" Artemesia started to protest before realizing that there was no reason for her to bring it up. There was no doubt that the problem was not very likely to come up, if recent events were anything to go by. She supposed that disappointed Terry on one level. After all, it was pretty pathetic that almost no one he had known recognized him in the slightest. Of course, for all Artemesia knew, that might be a bit of a lie, judging by some people's behavior. Finally, she said, "You mean to say that no one at all, aside from me, has recognized you?"

"Nope. No one," Terry confirmed bitterly. He looked off to the side, irritated at himself or maybe certain former friends. After a moment, he amended a bit sadly, "Well, maybe one person, but she is unlikely to tell anyone anytime soon, if I know her well enough. Still know her well enough, I mean."

Artemesia nodded. She supposed that if someone did recognize Terry, then he would be better off in terms of mental health, but he would be much worse off in a conducive-to-living sort of way, even if his best friend was the one who recognized him. Well, maybe it would be fine if his (former) best friend knew, and Terry did not seem too upset that "she" knew. However, there were some circumstances that prompted Artemesia to ask, "In that case, are you going to tell—"

"No," Terry responded quickly and resolutely. "I'm not. It's too dangerous. I can't; you know that. All my superiors would collectively blow a gasket." He glared at the table and continued, "If they had let me then, I swear to God I—" Terry cut himself off and just shook his head. Looking back up at Artemesia, he made an attempt to smile and said agreeably, "Just forget it, Arty. Really. Look, I'm sorry I brought it up." With more of a genuine smile he said jokingly, "Have a nice time with your loser boyfriend, all right?"

"You know, I can't decide whether you're suicidal or just plain stupid," a third interjected good-naturedly into the conversation. Sirius was standing off to the side of Terry with a rather amused look on his face, while Terry looked caught between surprised, horrified, and quite proud of himself. Continuing, Sirius said, "Then again, judging by your recent escapades, I'd have to say both. Why the hell aren't you in the Hospital Wing?"

"I escaped," Terry replied shortly, narrowing his eyes. Artemesia felt a headache coming on. This was not going to end well. She remembered that well enough. All too well, as a matter of fact. "No thanks to you and Severus. Why couldn't you have just left me in the library?"

"And let the school think someone let a bloody leopard in? Fat chance!"

"Hey, accidents happen! I could have just as easily been a hapless fifth-year who screwed up a transfiguration! It's happened before! Certain people know that from personal experience!"

"Well, Madame Pince would have a heart attack, not to mention the first-years, and Pomfrey would murder me for letting you roam free!"

"Well, that's nothing new, is it?"

The two were now glaring daggers at each other, and Artemesia wanted to slap both of them upside the head or find some aspirin. Both would be rather nice, and both options were equally about as likely to happen, which is to say very unlikely. It was true that she was more irritated at Terry for being so stubborn, but Sirius wasn't exempt from her ire as he managed to lower himself to Terry's current level of immaturity. All Artemesia had wanted was a nice, quiet evening, but, no, her idiot-in-law had to start a fight with her idiot colleague, whom she wished for the first time in quite a long time would grow up. This was not the time for either of them to act like immature teenagers. Honestly, did exile and Azkaban do nothing?

Taking advantage of her distraction, the two men almost started a fistfight, which led to Artemesia grabbing Terry by the collar and saying, "Look. Here's what's going to happen. Terry, you're going to calm down and go sit at the bar until you decide that staying is what you typically refer to as a 'Bad Idea.'" Turning to the other, she ordered, "Sirius, apologize. Then we'll have dinner. If Terry's still here by the time we leave, I'll help you drag him off to Madame Pomfrey." She looked between the two of them. "Agreed?" she demanded. Both of them nodded (they thankfully knew when to back out of a fight), and Artemesia said, "Good."

After a grumbled apology from both sides, Terry slunk off towards the bar, and Sirius sat down at the table, looking rather sheepish, although he obviously was unrepentant, as he then complained, "What the hell is wrong with that man?"

Artemesia chuckled and shook her head. Grinning, she replied, "I've known him for eleven years, and he still makes no sense." Sometimes, that was, but Sirius was right that Terry had more than a few screws loose recently, hence why Artemesia said eleven years instead of twenty-two. Prewar Terry was much different than Postwar Terry, and now she was thinking about him in terms usually reserved for before and after the World Wars. Great. In somewhat of a non sequitur, she then wondered, "Is insanity contagious?" It certainly would explain why the Hogwarts staff was renowned for its 'eccentricities,' as one Durmstrang teacher had informed her the year before. (The Beauxbatons Arithmancy professor had been less tactful).

Sirius seemed to be considering the question quite seriously. He would probably know best, and not for the reasons most would assume. The Gryffindor class of 1978 was a veritable madhouse. "I don't think so," he replied thoughtfully. "After all, Remus is still sane, and Lily… well, you know." He smiled nervously.

That was an adjective that Artemesia rarely applied to Sirius Black. Nervous. What did she expect, though? He had obviously drawn the conclusion that this may or may not be a date, and since he seemed to be an expert at making his life implode, that conclusion made him overanalyze her invitation. It would also explain why he and Terry had a nonsensical argument. "Of course," she replied good-naturedly. "Well, I just had to ask. Otherwise, I think we're doomed to go mad. Terry could start an epidemic."

Sirius seemed to relax a bit and rejoined wryly, "I thought we infected him, what with Auriga's madcap ideas about closets and other things in general and … Have you ever found out why Dumbledore has such strange taste in clothes? I've been wondering about that since we were first-years. I mean, at least McGonagall's tartans aren't…" He trailed off, realizing that he was essentially speaking nonsense.

Artemesia started laughing and said, "Oh, no. Don't stop on my account!" Smiling and looking at him pointedly, she continued, "Sirius, I'd have gone crazy long ago if madness was communicable." Artemesia thanked her lucky stars that they were managing to keep up with the light banter. The conversation—dinner—would be so much more painful if they ended up going off onto topics better left alone. Actually, she kind of wished they would get farther away from the topic of Terry, which was a can of worms she wished vehemently to avoid opening. Now that she took the time to notice, Sirius looked much better and far healthier than he had even at the beginning of the year. The job agreed with him, even if he would rather be working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Then again, maybe he had finally found his niche? He had loved being an Auror, but the job had been visibly affecting him. His breakdowns in the last year of the war were inevitable. Artemesia had known something was coming, but she had not thought the results would be so devastating for all of them.

"God, 'Sia, you're so beautiful," Sirius murmured. Artemesia's train of thought halted at that. Had he meant to say that out loud? Judging by the fact that Sirius then looked horrified, she determined he had not meant to say what he had. That didn't mean he didn't mean what he had said, just that he had not meant to speak. Incredibly flustered, Sirius made an attempt to salvage the situation and corrected, "Well—I—Uh—I didn't—out loud—didn't mean—not—You are, but I didn't…" Looking down at the table embarrassedly, he silenced himself to keep from digging himself into a deeper hole. He obviously wasn't at his most eloquent. Sirius appeared unable to explain away his comment. Artemesia was also well aware of the fact that she was trying to avoid the fact that she thought it was sweet how flustered he was. She would have let it pass, after all, and it was so much like him to—

No. She couldn't let this happen. If she let him know she still… No. Was she wearing some sappy, lovesick look on her face, too? (And she was not admitting that she knew he felt the same way as her.) This was not happening. On the bright side, at least Umbridge wasn't around and Terry had so far managed to not—

"Get a room for Merlin's sake!"

Sighing, Artemesia decided that she could kill her brother-in-law later. She had more important things on her mind right then. Specifically how to salvage—Was she imagining things, or was Sirius blushing?

The exclamation had the desired effect, as far as Rosmerta could tell, anyway. Mr. White was certainly a character. Few others (even the regulars) would have dared shout something such as that at Artemesia Vector or Sirius Black, especially if they knew how touchy the former could get. No one needed warning about the latter, although he generally took that sort of thing much better. Rosmerta was aware, however, that the reason the comment had such an effect was because of the two's history. She wished that Mr. White would be a little less subtle. Those two were going to drive each other insane if they weren't careful.

Mr. White was right, though, even if it was understandable. Artemesia and Sirius were rather sappy. The young man was sitting in front of her; she wondered how he was still up and about. He looked like the living dead, to be frank. She had overheard some of the conversation he had with Artemesia, and Rosmerta inferred that White should have been under Poppy's watchful eye instead of loafing around in the Three Broomsticks. In fact, it was somewhat suspicious that he hadn't even taken one sip of the firewhisky he had ordered. Rosmerta thought it interesting that he was on relatively good terms with both Artemesia and Sirius. She also had the sneaking suspicion White he might have been that relative of Artemesia's that the Arithmancy professor complained about with great frequency. He was amiable enough, but there was something that Rosmerta could not put her finger on that made her think that this young man could be the only person Artemesia could have referred to.

In any case, Mr. White reminded her of someone. He was probably just another of the students who had gone to Hogwarts and visited the Three Broomsticks as frequently as humanly possible. While on the younger side, she imagined that he was not much younger than Artemesia. He was polite and seemed kind, but she distrusted him a little. It might have been because she was still hesitant around anyone who conscientiously wore long sleeves. The reaction was a leftover from the old war. She was well aware who had been working for He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and who was working for Dumbledore or the Ministry. The Death Eaters always wore long-sleeved shirts or robes. The others varied their clothing. White didn't seem the type who was working for the Dark, though. He was too melancholy; that much was obvious. She could tell a sad drunk at a mile away. For example, Artemesia became much more relaxed and giggly. Sirius, on the other hand, was of the former type, like White.

Now that the two Hogwarts teachers had seemingly gone back to talking amiably (or, as Rosmerta liked to call it, flirting), White was staring sullenly at his glass of firewhisky. His posture was actually rather familiar, now that Rosmerta thought about it, but she reflected that his body language must have been an effect of the war. She could tell he had been in the last war. There was no doubt about that; all of the evidence pointed toward that conclusion. White suddenly softly laughed to himself before asking, "How long do you think it's going to take before the two of them realize they both want the same thing?"

He was obviously referring to the couple in the corner he had earlier delighted in bothering, so Rosmerta rolled her eyes. That was not exactly a new question, after all. Auriga routinely asked the exact same thing, because Rosmerta was apparently the expert on the matter. She was, but that was beside the point. She knew about those bets the professors had. The question was a bit different coming from the young man in front of her, however. He seemed genuinely interested, which meant that he probably was Artemesia's cousin's husband or whatever relation he was. Rosmerta had the feeling that Artemesia was a bit foggy on the matter as well. Trust males to go all protective when another stepped onto the scene, though. Sighing in exasperation, she decided to answer, "Seeing as it obviously took them at least seven years the first time around, I suspect they'll be lucky to find out this decade."

White observed the two a bit grimly before saying sincerely, "I hope it's sooner than later, for their sakes," and drinking some of the firewhisky. He was much more reserved when taken away from familiar surroundings It seemed (Rosmerta had already heard about the Great Hall Debacle from Minerva earlier in the day). Ironically enough, he was much more sober now that he had some alcohol in him. After sighing and turning back to stare dejectedly at his drink, White murmured, "I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing here. There's no reason that I shouldn't be in the Hospital Wing. Hell, I should have dragged myself off to St. Mungo's and not gone to Hogwarts. Why did I do that in the first place?"

Rosmerta raised an eyebrow. Somber mood? Check. Making sense? Somewhat. Tailspin into depression and angst? Check. This was a job for Super-Barmaid. Alas, she was not present, so Rosmerta would have to suffice. Besides, she did not have much else to do presently, seeing as there was a bit of a lull in business. Deciding to go on her hunch that the young man had been a customer in his school days and that he had had some business with Dumbledore, Rosmerta said, "Well, I suppose you thought of a place you knew was safe. Hogwarts is like that for most who've gone. As to why you aren't in the Hospital Wing, I can't help you. If it's any consolation, you only look half-dead and not mostly-dead."

"If I were mostly dead, then I suppose we'd have to go looking for a damned good apothecary," Terry joked darkly. He wasn't very cheerful when he said it. The tailspin seemed to be turning into a freefall. "Or a miracle worker. Can't bring back the dead, you know," he mentioned bitterly.

Well, that was a rather odd thing to say, Rosmerta thought. Obviously the man had some serious problems. There was probably a complex that dealt with whatever was wrong with him. She might have felt sorry for him if she knew what was eating away at him. She remembered how some students from back in the day had acted similarly when they had been on the verge of deciding whether or not to join the Death Eaters. There was a type, too. The Slytherin loner was the most popular of the minorities; others included the egomaniacal Ravenclaw and deluded Hufflepuff, which invariably decided against joining. The most popular had been the racist Slytherins, of course, but they weren't the ones that came and moped at the bar—tavern.

White disrupted her thoughts when he said, "I'm sorry. I'm not in my right mind right now. It's been a bad couple of days." He glanced back at the two Hogwarts professors. "I really hope they don't fuck up their second chance."

"Everyone feels the same way," Rosmerta commented. Granted, certain professors were waiting for the outcome of bets, and some wanted their sanity back. Still others had the same sentiments that White seemed to have. Rosmerta agreed with the final group. Those two did deserve to find happiness, even if they needed to get a room. "Are they dense?" she asked no one in particular after hearing some rather ridiculous dialogue.

"Possibly," White responded in a slightly scientific manner. "Those two particular individuals happen to have the most convoluted courtship rituals known to man."

Playing along, Rosmerta added, "At least they aren't repeating past behaviors." While she had meant their bickering, the thought that everything else was just as bad occurred to her. Although, she supposed this time many more Hogwarts students would be traumatized.

"If they were, my shout for them to get a room would not be unfounded. Seeing that once was enough, thank you very much," White agreed, shaking his head. He seemed cheerier, so Rosmerta was not surprised when White said shortly thereafter, "I think it's time I go back to the Hospital Wing and sleep like the dead for a week again." Smiling, he continued, "Thanks for suffering my oh-so-charming presence, Rosmerta. It was nice seeing you again."

He put his money down on the counter and left quietly. His behavior slightly puzzled Rosmerta because it was familiar. Had he been a regular in times past? Rosmerta thought she would have recalled him if he was. Then she remembered vaguely: "Thanks for suffering my presence yet again, Rosmerta. I don't know when I'll come back, but…" He smiled sadly. "Keep the change," he said as he paid his bill. "G'bye…" She never saw him again. If Rosmerta remembered correctly, he had died two or three weeks later. She couldn't remember his name for the life of her, much less what he looked like, but Rosmerta had the feeling that he had been a good kid, even if he had possessed a penchant for wearing long sleeves.

Breaking out of her reverie, Rosmerta saw some more customers come in. Well, time to go back to work. Lovely: they were students. Hopefully the poor children wouldn't be too disturbed by their teachers. Merlin knew their contemporaries had been…

"…and can you believe what the Weasley twins have been up to? I think they're the worst of the lot," Artemesia said irritatedly. Thankfully, the conversation had returned to more normal subjects, like how insane the students were, after Terry's interjection. "Speaking of the Weasley twins, did you ever find out about those parchments?"

Sirius cringed. That was certainly not a good sign. After regaining a bit of his composure, he replied hesitantly, "Kind of. It's a list of bets, but that's what we thought it was in the first place. There's nothing much else it could be, seeing as the Death Eaters recruit in person, and Umbridge has neither been around long enough nor was present when the papers were first distributed for them to be the beginnings of a secret society intent on expelling her from the school." Sirius paused thoughtfully and decided, "We actually need one of those. Maybe I should suggest certain students start one…" He trailed off as he noticed Artemesia was waiting for him to return to the previous topic. Sirius explained, "Well, Remus, as I suspected, knew how to break the charms, but he wouldn't tell me the specifics, so at least one is about us. I honestly can't think of any other reason, especially considering how the Weasley twins have been stalking you. Last time I checked, they hated Arithmancy."

Artemesia rolled her eyes. Trust him to draw that conclusion. To be honest, it was a bit odd that the twins and Jordan were practically stalking her, and Gemma had told her about how those three would randomly skip meals to search every closet in the castle. Artemesia had absolutely no idea why her daughter noticed these things, but she had to admit it was useful information under the current circumstances. "How do you know it's not just silly ideas the students invented?" she asked pointedly. "It could be nothing." Even if Gemma had been embarrassed about the contents of the parchment.

"Then Remus would have let me read the damn parchment," Sirius explained. "If the contents were something such as, say, that Moaning Myrtle would stop hitting on Harry or whatnot, then he would have told me, 'cause that's pretty amusing. However, Remus would avoid anything that hit a nerve, you know?"

"So the only thing that follows is that it's something about us," Artemesia finished. She had to admit his logic was reasonably sound, even if it was (at least in her mind) highly disturbing. If the conclusion were true, then the students had noticed their behavior, and if the students had noticed their strange behavior, then… Actually, she didn't need to worry. Sirius was not drawing the same conclusions as she did, even though he occasionally failed at flirting with her. In addition, the conclusion would explain Gemma's hesitation to talk about the parchment's contents.

"Well, that and the fact that Luna Lovegood deigned to inform me of what's written," Sirius admitted quickly, probably hoping that Artemesia would miss the fact that he had indeed said Luna Lovegood was his source of information. Artemesia had to admit that Luna was generally accurate, if one could decipher what she said, but Artemesia figured she had a right to be skeptical. However, Sirius then explained, "I wouldn't have believed her either, except she started flashing colors and sprouted rabbit ears. It was hard to take her seriously after that, even when she said that this stupid betting pool was not only started by the Weasley twins but that it was the reason why they've been running around the castle checking all of the closets."

Artemesia stared at him, wishing he would take it back, but Sirius just shrugged apologetically. "Couldn't the student body have found something more interesting to go on about?" she complained. There went her reputation as the sane teacher. Hopefully no one believed the Weasley twins, Jordan, and Luna anymore. Actually, Luna supporting the argument meant fewer students would be willing to believe the Weasley twins.

"Like what?" Sirius asked and proceeded to justify the argument, "In the past four years at Hogwarts, there's been the philosopher's stone hidden on the third-floor corridor, a basilisk running amuck around the school, dementors hovering around thanks to me, and the Triwizard Tournament. This year's positively boring in comparison!" He grimaced and continued, "The only interesting shit going on is that I'm teaching and that Umbridge is going to conduct an external review of the faculty. What's going to happen that will be so exciting aside from White running around the castle like a lunatic or, apparently, our love lives?"

"The Death Eaters are active again," Artemesia reminded him. It was rather pathetic, she reflected, what lengths she would go to in order to avoid the subject of their failed romance. Sighing, she admitted, "Maybe you're right, though. The students probably just focusing on small, random, and inconsequential things so they don't have to consider the war, even if none of them are old enough to really remember much, if any, of it."

Sirius was glaring at the table and said darkly, "They shouldn't have to worry." Artemesia thought about waiting for him to continue and letting him sort through all the emotions that went along with what had happened. If he insisted on thinking himself into a depression, Artemesia would have dragged him off to Madame Pomfrey and have her confine him to the Hospital Wing until he sorted out his mental issues. Well, as sorted out as his issues could be. Luckily, Sirius continued, "At least we'll have the upper hand this time. We—the Aurors know who many of the high ranking Death Eaters are, and the majority of those are escaped convicts, so it's not like they can do anything under the radar." Artemesia noticed that Sirius still (at least unconsciously) considered himself to be part of the Aurors; she had heard that he routinely made the same mistake with the pronoun in class. He smiled grimly and continued, "There's no way Bellatrix can wreak as much havoc now as she did in the past. Sure, it was pretty damn obvious that she was a Death Eater, even then, but now she neither has access to her vaults (well, easy access to her vaults) nor 'Good Society' to fall back on for an alibi." Realizing what he was saying, Sirius shook his head and said wretchedly, "God, I can't believe I'm even thinking about her pathetic alibis. It's bloody obvious she'd be doing that shit now, but… Fuck, it's the law, you know?"

Artemesia smiled sympathetically. She hated seeing him like this. The subject matter made it worse. It was hard to believe, on one level, that Sirius was even considering how much evidence was needed to convict his cousin of murder. She was well aware that most witches and wizards thought he would have just given her the same sentence she gave her victims, but that wasn't the way his mind worked. Of course, the fact that he was considering Bellatrix made everything worse. To Artemesia's knowledge, Sirius had always been under the impression that Bellatrix had been the one who executed his brother. "I'm sure by the end of all this, she'll be back in Azkaban where she belongs," Artemesia said soothingly.

Sirius nodded mutely before looking up and apologizing, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't go off on these damn tangents. Can't be good for me, and I'm sure you don't enjoy them much, either."

Artemesia shook her head. "No, it's okay," she reassured him, wishing he would be less self-deprecating. Artemesia knew he thought terrible things about himself. She remembered his downward spiral from the last war all too well. "Honestly, Sirius, you can't just keep all of this bottled up," she continued earnestly. "We both know you can't take that kind of pressure. I know—I know you don't want to talk about any of it, but you do need to say it, even if you talk to—" Artemesia hesitated to think of the worst person imaginable and finished, "Terry, even."

"I think I'd sooner shoot myself in the foot," Sirius replied in a deadpan. "No offense to your cousin, but her husband is in need of a keeper. How in the hell has he made it to—how old is he?"

"Thirty-four this November," Artemesia answered automatically.

"Right," Sirius said, not missing a beat. "How has he gotten that old? Also, why does he work for who he does? Isn't it the worst possible vocation for him?" Artemesia shrugged in reply. She routinely asked herself the same questions, but she knew the answers and would not be sharing them. There was a breif lull in the conversation until Sirius said quietly, "I think I'd rather talk to you, if that's all right." He looked vaguely irritated at himself for asking, even if he knew he should.

Artemesia considered the circumstances for a moment. She could suggest Remus as a better alternative, and Sirius would go talk to him instead. However, she did want him to talk to her, even if they did have awkward conversations and bordering on the physically painful to bear witness to, which they would both be the first to admit, so her only course of action was to reply, "I wouldn't have mentioned it if I didn't mean it, Sirius."

He smiled wanly and murmured, "Thank you."

The conversation was markedly easier for the rest of the night.

Notes: You know, I was trying to post on time, but I am no longer stuck on chapter 31. Thank you all for reading and a big thank you to everyone who reviewed!

Coming soon: Nobody expects the Hogwarts Inquisition, during which Auriga emphatically does not talk about Death Eaters and Sirius finds his leather pants.