The problem with waking up next to someone you care about, Elodie realized, is that the next time you fall asleep alone, you end up missing their presence, even if you aren't in a relationship.

Elodie had spent the last week waking up with a feeling of vague loss, so much so that on day six, she actually had lengthened one of her pillows and cast a long-lasting warming charm on it. When she'd woken up that next morning, she'd loved the feeling so much she'd rolled over and hugged her pillow, only to realize that she'd basically created a simulated Sirius Black.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" she'd said, then.

The problem was, on the morning after the full moon, Elodie had woken with Sirius's arm casually slung over her hips. She'd been curled up on her side, and Sirius had apparently slept pressed up against her, with his left arm draped across her in such a proprietary way that she'd felt kind of touched by how careless it was. His warm, solid presence at her back felt like belonging, even though she was sure he hadn't intended to migrate quite so close to her.

Extricating herself hadn't been that difficult, and Elodie hadn't noticed anything odd from Sirius since, so she had decided that there just wasn't a way to sleep in a bed with someone as physically affectionate as Sirius Black without ending up with one of his limbs intruding on your personal space.

Attunement went wonderfully that first week of December. The only problem was that Sirius was inordinately interested in her attempts, and would drop by to figure out what emotion she was working on almost every day. She'd warded the door shut the day she'd woken up with her Sirius Black pillow, because she felt she was ready to attune her feelings for Remus into the potion, and there was no way in this universe or her old one that she was going to let Sirius walk in on her doing that.

Annoyingly, 'love' attunement was pink, and all the literature she'd read about the process said that it was easy to accidentally get frustrated during the process and end up with something that looked pink but was actually mildly red, from the frustration/irritation.

The other thing she needed to make was a Fidelity potion, which was the easiest potion that drew on emotions to brew. For the Gâteaufidél, she didn't have to make her own Fidelity potion. She could buy one, but of course Elodie didn't want to pass up the opportunity to make one for herself. She'd dropped by Slughorn's place a few days earlier and returned his Color Purple book, and told him the good news about her successes with attunement.

The thing she hadn't done was to tell him she was planning to try to make Gâteaufidél, though. The sense that she got about that recipe was that having an unmarried, single person bake them was on par with a high school drama student star in their own Disney film. It probably wasn't completely unheard of, but it was the kind of urban legend story you never heard from the actual source, always from a friend of a friend. If she managed to do it, then maybe she'd tell him, but she doubted it. Something (probably the books themselves) gave her the impression that he was a bit of a gossip.

The fun thing for Elodie about brewing the Fidelity potion was picking the fact that she would focus on as the basis for the strength of the potion. Fidelity was brewed by using the brewer's faith in something or someone to create cohesion between ingredients that wouldn't ordinarily bond together. That was one of the ways you could know for sure that you succeeded in brewing it, too. Dragon Claw Ooze and Thrice Dried Goosegrass were two of the ingredients, and they would not mix together properly without magic. The brewer would place the four main ingredients into a cauldron with a plus symbol drawn in oil that very loosely separated them. Then, after casting a Constantia Charm, you focused on the light that appeared in your cupped hands, focusing with all your strength and magic on a fact that you firmly believed to be true, or sometimes a person who you trusted completely.

The book Elodie had read about love and constancy charms had guessed that the Fidelity potion actually involved some wandless magic, due to the way the person focused their mind on the light in their hands, but however it worked, after a period of thirty seconds, the orb of light was placed in the center of the prepared cauldron. It would cause the oil separation to be destroyed, and the four ingredients then bonded together, causing a thin, watery liquid to result. The result didn't look anything like the ingredients that went into it.

When used, the potion would take the belief infused into it by the brewer and bestow it on the person who drank it, for a period of time. During the Spanish Inquisition, some magic users would slip doses of Fidelity to their Muggle and Squib family members to help them survive the questions they had to face about Catholicism and belief. It was a shame that potions weren't part of the scope of Remus's articles for Orion's Belt, Elodie thought, because that was exactly the sort of magic history stuff that she loved to read about.

Since it wasn't an attunement potion, Elodie had forgotten to lock or ward the potion lab door when she started making Fidelity. She was already past the part where she had to focus, and was simply standing and watching the swirl of magic in the cauldron when Sirius snuck into the room.

To his credit, though, he must have seen that interrupting her might be dangerous to the brewing process, and when Elodie heard some fabric swishing noises behind her, she turned to see him poised to knock on the inside of the door. She immediately understood that he was trying to get her attention in a non threatening way, and she nodded and smiled at him.

"That looks way more interesting than anything I made at Hogwarts," Sirius whispered.

"You don't have to whisper," Elodie told him, using a quiet tone of voice despite herself. She felt a surge of affection for him. "It's at the 'fire and forget' stage now."

"What potion is it, if I may ask?"

"Fidelity. One of the easier potions for emotion attunement, just another in the steps to retrain myself," she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. He'd already guessed that she might be trying to make the Gâteaufidél, and this potion was an integral component. Elodie did not want to have to deal with Sirius teasing her about it.

"I've heard of that one. You focus on something you believe, right? What did you pick?" Sirius asked, shooting her a sideways look as if he thought she'd be afraid to tell him.

Elodie didn't hesitate. "That Voldemort will be completely defeated," she said. It was a universe-centric belief, one she felt she could firmly focus on, whereas things like 'Bill Clinton will be elected to a second term' or 'Albus Dumbledore is a good guy' might have been things she firmly believed, but probably not with as much conviction. There were nuances to the latter, and she didn't know if magic added any political uncertainty to this world when it came to the former. However, she'd forgotten how uncertain the eventual defeat of Voldemort might still feel to someone who hadn't read to the end of that particular story.

Sirius was staring at her as if she were some rare species of magical creature.

Elodie bit her lip. "I mean," she said, guilt making her question herself. "It seems clear that if Igor Karkaroff is scared enough to hare around Diagon Alley and Knockturn screaming at people to help him, that something's going on, right?"

"I'm not shocked because I thought he was gone," Sirius told her. "I'm shocked because you believe that so strongly you've made clear water looking stuff out of that mess of goo and red powder. That's… Well, that's conviction, right there."

"I wish I could tell you it was as blind a faith as you probably see it as," Elodie said sadly, knowing she probably sounded cryptic. She didn't deserve his praise or his awe, though. She knew it firmly enough to count on it as a catalyst only because she'd read the books, after all. The books that had him dying in less than two years, before the defeat she was so certain would happen.

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It was about two weeks since Elodie had asked Remus to pick up the supplies she'd written out for the Gâteaufidél when she finally felt like she was ready to give the recipe a go. Her friendship with Remus was valuable to her, and she felt like she couldn't hurt it that much further if she proved to him that she was up for the task of loving him wholeheartedly. Moony's frightening words still rang in the back of her mind like a gong that threatened to drag her confidence away, but a counter to that was Remus himself, from the meadow.

I am just never letting you go!

All that was different in that moment for Remus, she had convinced herself, was that he had felt genuinely loved by her, in that moment. That fairy dust had chased away all the spectres of werewolf danger, imperfect feelings, and any other impediments. Remus was happy in that moment. He'd been secure and delighted by having her by his side, and all she wanted to do was toggle whatever switch that allowed those thoughts free rein in his head once again.

The recipe would take almost five hours, so Elodie decided she would start it after breakfast on the ninth of December. By the tenth, she'd know whether she could persuade Remus that she truly loved him, or she'd know that she had been a fool to attempt such a difficult recipe in the first place.

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"You're being ridiculous," Sirius said from the other side of the magical barrier she'd conjured in the doorway to their living room.

"You poked me," Elodie said, her voice even and devoid of all emotion. She checked her stopwatch, counted the last three seconds down, and dripped the eighteenth and final drop of Veela Tear Extract into the saucepan. Only then did she look over at Sirius. "You poked me in the middle of the concentration section of the recipe. The only time I asked that you please leave me alone!"

"I had no idea you were at that part already!" Sirius protested. He leaned against the wall, trying to offer puppy dog eyes to her, but the barrier shot sparks when he bumped it with his elbow. It was far from the first time he'd sparked it, too.

"You couldn't tell I was concentrating?" she asked, widening her eyes in mock shock. "Was it the way I was standing, with my eyes shut, and my palms hovering over the cookie batter?"

"All right, that was probably obv-"

"Or was it the way the batter lifted up under my palms, all wobbly and unsupported?"

"Ellie, come on, I was just-"

"Oh! I know! It's how I did it all without a wand, through sheer force of-say it with me, Sirius-concentration!"

"Sirius, leave Elodie alone, she's asked you to go away eleven times now. Whatever she's making is important. I wasn't even home when she started it and even I could have told you that." Remus's voice came from the living room, and Elodie could picture him in his chair, reading the newspaper and looking frustrated at the way Sirius kept hounding her.

Sirius walked away from the doorway, and Elodie's timer beeped. She lifted the saucepan off of the stove and sniffed at it. It smelled gorgeously like almonds.

"Ellie, he has an actual fucking tally. On his newspaper," Sirius called out.

"That one counts. I'm adding a tick," Remus's voice followed, sounding amused.

Elodie's heart surged for the two of them. "I love you, too!" she called out, then she giggled. Of all the things to say, now of all times! she said to herself. Okay, back to making this monstrosity.

Complex was a mild word, when it came to the Gâteaufidél. She'd already brewed the Fidelity potion, which would then be used in a standard cocoa biscuit recipe, with standard ingredients, right up until the moment the baker would typically chill the dough. That was where Gâteaufidél was special.

Instead of a chilling charm, or even setting the dough aside on conjured ice, for this recipe, the baker/brewer would cast an infusion of their genuine love and adoration for someone, straight into the dough. This was done by attuning yourself to the fidelity potion, by drinking the other half of the dose that was in the batter, then casting a specific, specially designed attunement charm. This was a variation of the charm she'd been practicing all week; it was specific to this recipe in particular. The baker/brewer then would go into a meditative state, attuning their love and affection for their target to the actual potion in their body, relating that specific mixture to the potion in the dough, and focusing it. The result was that the molecules of Fidelity potion then became imbued with the actual emotional attachment of the person creating the biscuits.

If done right, that attunement would hold even after baking. Anyone who wasn't the baker or the person they loved would be unable to touch the finished biscuits without them losing all integrity and breaking apart into thousands of crumbs. At least, that was what had happened in ancient times, before a particularly brilliant witch named Wylda the Wonderful had altered part of the recipe. She had been obsessed with animals, and in her position as the head of a magical primary school, she'd spent a lot of time creating special charms and enchantments to delight the children in her care. It was said that one of the children had a father who was a widower. Wylda had fallen for him, and the two had married in 1284. Her new husband had married her for love but had refused to believe that she could have married him for any other reason than security, as he was much older and not very wealthy.

Wylda had spent two years altering the Gâteaufidél recipe (which, before that, had been known by some name Elodie could never remember, much less spell) to be more charming and attractive-she'd incorporated an animation charm that ended up inspiring the creators of Chocolate Frogs, centuries later. The result was a chocolate biscuit that was, it was said, incredibly delicious. The cookies were designed to look like a bunny, and while Elodie had the original (translated to modern English) recipe that explained how to do this with globs of dough, she had bought an actual 'official' cookie cutter for her attempt. The enchantment she would cast on it right before she put them in the oven would cause an actual chemical reaction, enhanced by magic. The molecule disintegration spurred a magical burst of energy in the baked cookie. That was the source of energy that would trigger if anyone but the baker or their loved one touched them.

The Veela tears were a more modern addition, as well. The original additive had a more explosive effect if the recipe failed, which had in the past caused some poor sods to lose fingers. Veela tears satisfied the recipe's need for some sort of potential longing, and they were commercially available bottled. The hardest part was already done, and that was the focused attunement, which Sirius had very nearly ruined. Elodie wondered if she'd been too hard on him, since she'd only been a few seconds into that part of the recipe when he had interrupted so rudely.

Wylda the Wonderful's husband had been convinced of her love, according to history. He'd handed the biscuits out to the children in the school, and the story said they'd all watched with delight as the treats hopped away. Elodie always found that part incredibly annoying-all that work, and most of the result was wasted!

Another alarm went off, and Elodie took the imbued dough, held to the correct consistency by the power of the magic inside it, and started to knead it, coating her fingers with the almond smelling Veela tear flavoring. She knew that she should expect to be a little emotional during this part, but she only needed to work the dough for five minutes.

"Is this only charmed against 'recalcitrant Purebloods?'" Remus asked her, quoting part of her angry rant.

"No, it's against everyone, sorry," she said, shooting a look at him over her shoulder. "Are you out of tea?"

"That, and I wanted to see what you were up to," Remus said, sounding a little offended.

"Sorry. This-" Elodie lifted a hand, showing off the drippy, sticky dough she was working on, "-has actually got an ingredient with a warning on the label that says, if I can remember it correctly, 'Will Cause Emotional Instability in Higher Doses.' So, beware, I guess?"

"Apology accepted," Remus said gently. "What are you making, by the way? You've been in there for hours-and I'm not complaining, mind you. You know how much I love almond and chocolate together."

"This is the baking equivalent of the Wolfsbane potion, except all in one day. If it works, it's going to be freaking amazing," she told him. The emotional instability she'd been preparing herself for was hovering under the surface, and she resisted the sudden urge to tell him just how important to her the recipe actually was. How she'd waited months for the courage to even try to bake it. When Albus had gifted her the potion book, she'd read through it all, including Gâteaufidél. She'd been enchanted by the idea of such a romantic recipe, and (as she assumed many young women had, before her) had hoped that someday she'd have a reason to make it.

"Have I heard of it?" Remus asked, sounding intrigued.

"I hope so," she murmured. Then, louder, "Two minutes, tops, then you can come in and refresh your tea." She turned and favored him with a smile. "Just because I know you don't want to ask, and risk my being angry."

"Two minutes?" Now he looked very confused.

"Until I take down the zapper, Remus. The biscuits will be at least an hour."

"That's over four hours in total! How big of a batch does that thing make?"

She didn't blame him for his incredulity. It was an unconventional recipe in the first place, and she was, most probably, in the most unconventional situation to ever attempt it. "Hmm, probably about thirty? I don't remember."

"Elodie." Remus sounded like he was using Professor Voice.

She turned around, the Veela tears in the kneaded mixture prodding her towards boundaries she hoped she wouldn't need anymore, once she'd finished. Her voice was dangerously fond. "Remus, dearest? Go away."

He actually stood there and looked at her curiously for a long minute before he nodded and went back into the living room, his empty tea mug in his hand.

Elodie washed her hands three times, then cast a gentle cleansing charm on her hands before she turned toward the ordinary looking pile of dough. It was time to roll it out, use the cookie cutter, and then cast Wylda's charm. Then, all that would be left would be to bake them, cool them, and hand one to the man she'd just banished from her presence.

It would be an easy, zero stress afternoon, she joked to herself. Nothing at stake but her whole heart.

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Elodie had checked the oven temperature at least seven times before she finally put the three trays inside. Each tray had ten bunny-shaped cookies on it. They would bake for almost an hour, with a temperature that was atypically low by necessity. Magic kept them from burning, she knew. Even after they came out, they would need to air cool for a half hour. It was time for a late lunch-her housemates had been patient in that regard, which she was very grateful for.

"You may re-enter the kitchen, thank you for your patience, Remus," Elodie said, standing in the doorway to demonstrate that her force field of crackling magical energy had been removed.

"No 'thank you' for me?" Sirius complained loudly from the living room.

"Well, I made you a sandwich I know you'll love, the kettle just started whistling, and I haven't hexed you bald, so I think you have a lot to be grateful for, don't you?" Elodie told him.

"I know what you are baking!" he whispered to her in a sing-song, 'tattle-tale' voice as he paused beside her in the doorway.

"This is one of those situations where telling on me will just help, so tease away, I am immune!" she told him, but she was shaking a little bit, something Sirius noticed as well. He reached over and picked up her left arm, holding it in between them. As they both watched, her hand trembled as if she were affected by some sort of curse.

"It will work out, I know it will," he told her, his voice full of persuasive confidence.

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When Elodie's charmed alarm went off and she took the baking trays out, she had a moment of panic. Did they rest on the trays to cool, or on wire cooling racks? Would conjured cooling racks work? She wasn't ready to try to touch one so soon, she realized. Her stomach was a knot of knots as she raced out to the living room to grab her TOAm and check what it said about cooling the cookies.

Her anxiety must have made Sirius uncomfortable, because he had said something noncommittal about his motorbike being almost ready to test out and hurried outside. She'd thought sure he would want to see whether her recipe worked. Maybe he wanted to give the two of them privacy, though.

"You are more high strung than Phillipe Petit," Remus said, looking over the top of his book at her. "What's going on with you today?"

"I really love that you know who that is! Though if you tell me he is a wizard I'm going to be extremely cross with you. The beauty of crossing between the two towers of the World Trade Center on a high wire is completely and utterly ruined if he was a wizard!" Elodie said, her voice sounding jittery.

Thinking about the World Trade Center was not helping her anxiety, either. She wondered how long a magical alarm clock could be set for. It wasn't like she was going to be able to forget that particular event she would want to prevent, but magic had a way of insulating a person from the cares of the everyday Muggle world. Elodie had every intention of trying to make every part of this world a better place, and stopping 9/11 was definitely not exempt from that. Neither was the 7/7 bombing, years afterwards.

"All the color just drained out of your face," Remus said, setting his book down.

"I just remembered something I dreamed about, something horrible," Elodie told him evasively. "Let's just say I don't want anyone to fall from that far, and leave it at that? And change the subject," she added. She had years to worry about those particular global problems. The most important one to her right now had about fifteen minutes on its timer.

"Before I change the subject: no, Phillipe Petit was not a wizard, I'm sure of it," Remus told her, smiling gently. "But one of his friends was. He made a Wizard's Oath not to use any magic on Petit unless he was already falling, and then, only to put him in a stasis coma that would prevent pain on landing, not to save his life." Elodie gasped, putting her hands over her mouth in surprise, but Remus wasn't done. "I know about it because his friend had an article in a French magical newspaper explaining that while he did help with the rigging and the sneaking around, all the Muggle way, he had to make the Oath or Petit wouldn't allow him to assist at all."

"I am never going to get over the way magic and Muggle cultures intersect, sometimes," Elodie said, lowering her hands but not her eyebrows. "I feel like Muggles are getting only about 65% of the story, ever! I don't know if I even want to know if you have anecdotes about the Titanic, or the burning of the library in Alexandria!"

"Oh! Fake ash," Remus said, then clapped his own hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

"Remus!" Elodie stood up and put her hands on her hips and stamped her foot. "I mean, I'm glad to hear that, but I just said-"

"I remember I was nine years old when I learned about that fire," Remus said, placing his book on the end table and crossing one leg over the other. "I was completely devastated," he said, his hands moving in emphasis in front of him. "I actually cried. My mother looked up everything she could find about it, in both Muggle and magical literature, to find out if it had really been the great loss the history books call it. It took her two weeks." Remus scratched his eyebrow, but Elodie suspected he was actually hiding how emotional the memory had made him. "I will never forget how determined she was. I have not looked to make sure she wasn't lying, but I think if she had lied to me, she would have pretended to know it was fake ash remains from the beginning."

Elodie stood spellbound through his story. She didn't feel uncomfortable or anything, she just stayed still and listened. When he was finished, her heart was so full, she felt like she could have attuned a room full of potions. She didn't get a chance to say anything, though, because in the kitchen, an alarm sounded.

"I thought you got them from the oven already?" Remus asked, looking surprised.

"I have. This is the alarm that says they're probably cool enough to eat, now," Elodie said. She stood still and looked through the doorway of the kitchen. She could see the Gâteaufidél trays on the counter and stove, waiting.

"It's almost three in the afternoon," Remus commented, putting his wand away after having cast his Tempus charm. "That's a long process! I hope you won't be disappointed in them, after all that."

Elodie looked over at Remus, feeling her anxiety forming a kind of lens that made everything look sharper and more in focus, more important. "They're not for me, anyway. They're for you." Before Remus could react, she walked into the kitchen and hovered her hand over one of the cookies. With a deep breath, she shut her eyes and let her hand drift down.

The cookie felt solid, with a slight give that came from its cakey texture.

She picked it up and looked at the perfectly formed bunny shaped cookie-biscuit, Remus would call them-in her hand. Now was the moment she'd been waiting for. Elodie walked out of the kitchen and came up to stand beside Remus's chair. He'd grabbed his book again, and when he saw her out of the corner of his eye, he placed his bookmark inside it and set it on the end table again. The way he always gave her his full attention made her feel like all of the stress she'd gone through that day was utterly worth it.

"Would you like to try one?" she asked. She lowered her hand so that she wasn't just handing him the cookie in a way that obscured its shape. The shape of Gâteaufidél was iconic, and there were even mini 'Enfantfidél' bunny cookies with chocolate edging that were sold at treat stores.

"Thank you!" Remus said. He picked up the biscuit. It didn't disappear.

Elodie's heart soared. That he could touch them shouldn't have been surprising to her, given that she'd been able to touch them. Still, she'd just done something extraordinary, and she felt like she was taking her place in a long line of Potion Masters who had succeeded in showing their true love in a tangible way.

After a few seconds, she heard Remus let out a happy sound. "Mmmff, this is delicious, Elodie, my goodness. I know I wasn't the one working so hard, but as the person eating this, I have to tell you, that might have been worth the wait," Remus told her. He hardly ever spoke with his mouth full, but he did now.

The only problem was, he clearly hadn't recognized it as something more significant than a delicious chocolate biscuit that took a damnably long amount of time to make. The funny part was that this just made him all the more lovable. Here Remus Lupin was, being handed one of the most iconic biscuit recipes in the magical world, and he just thought it was a pretty damned good cookie. Oh, Remus! Elodie thought to herself, full of affection and exasperation.

Just then, Sirius opened the front door. He shut it behind him, but the breeze that came through wasn't as cold as early December usually was. They were experiencing a bit of a warm spell, with temperatures in the mid fifties, Fahrenheit.

"They're finally cooled, then?" Sirius asked, winking at her.

"Sirius, you need to try one of these, honestly," Remus said, holding what was left of his cookie. "This is, hands down, the best biscuit I've ever eaten."

"Oh, is that all?" Sirius joked. It was funny as a reaction to Remus's over the top declaration, but to Elodie, Sirius's comment had an extra layer to it, a mild rebuke that went over Remus's head entirely. Gâteaufidél was, of course, never only a delicious biscuit.

"Here, I tell you what, I'll go pick one out and you can watch my face when I get to try it," Sirius said, making eye contact with Elodie as he spoke.

Elodie turned around and walked into the kitchen, finally allowing herself to make a face in response to Remus not having recognized the significance of what he was eating. She covered her face with both hands when Sirius walked in.

"Don't say it," she whispered with a groan.

"How did you not see this coming?" he said, anyway.

Elodie glared at him.

"Ellie," Sirius whispered, moving to stand beside her, resting a hand on the counter.

Elodie grabbed the tray of Gâteaufidél closest to his hand and moved it out of the way, in case he slipped up and hand-planted in the middle of the entire tray. She did not spend all day making cookie crumbs, after all.

"Good call, actually." He leaned over to speak close to Elodie's ear. "Grab a plate, right? Put a couple of them on it. Then I'll follow you back out there, and you can give Remus a second one, and I'll reach out to pick mine up straight from the plate. Then I can explain to Remus what just happened, when it hops off?"

Elodie took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, of course. It'll be so much easier to explain, then. I'm just a ball of worry, don't mind me!"

"You're amazing, Ellie. He sees that, I know he does. He just…" Sirius trailed off, unwilling or unable to explain Remus's issues.

"Here we go, then," Elodie said, reaching up for a plate and placing two of the cookies on it. Both of them stuck out a little bit over the sides.

"You would not believe how long it took for her to pick the perfect one of these blasted things for you, Remus," Sirius complained loudly as he followed her out into the living room.

"Another?" Elodie asked, holding out the plate. It was shaking a little, because she was shaking a lot.

"'Twist my arm,' I think the saying goes?" Remus said. He reached out a hand to steady the plate as he took one cookie with the other.

"My turn," Sirius said. Then, with great ceremony that had Elodie almost, almost calming down enough to roll her eyes at him, because he was just honestly so ridiculous sometimes, Sirius reached out to pick up the remaining cookie on the plate.

He grabbed it quickly with one hand, tossing it like a hot potato onto his other outstretched hand. Where it sat, completely unmoving. Like any other cookie.

Elodie dropped the plate. Remus reached out and caught it, his werewolf reflexes making it look easy.

"What?" Sirius said, looking at the cookie on his hand. "Elodie?"

Elodie just stared. This was impossible. Flat out not possible.

"I-" her throat closed up, and she shook her head. She knew she hadn't made them wrong. She'd read the troublecasting section in her book, in multiple books. If the recipe failed, no one could touch it. "Wait, just-" she broke off and ran into the kitchen and grabbed another cookie without ceremony. Then she ran back in and thrust it at Sirius. "Take it!" she hissed at him. Sirius looked at her with such a confused expression that she just shook her head, grabbing his free hand with hers and placing the second cookie into it.

It did not hop, disappear, or do anything out of the ordinary.

"What's going on?" Remus asked from his chair behind them, his mouth full again.

"I can't-" Sirius started to say, but he shut his eyes for a brief second, went to the coffee table, and set down one of the two cookies she'd handed him. Then he walked over to the front door and walked straight outside without even shutting the door behind him. Elodie ran over to the door, and she watched him walk past his shed, still walking in a straight line. She pushed the door shut, her mind swirling with possible reasons for what had just happened.

"That was dramatic," Remus said. He was standing, the plate she'd dropped still in his hand.

Elodie leaned against the front door. There were few realistic options, here, and the one that was staring her in the face right now was so unexpected that she clung to the other one. Suddenly, she stood up straight, and looked at Remus.

"I need to go to Hogwarts for a minute," she said, decisively. She walked briskly past him into the kitchen, grabbing her wand to conjure up a transparent bag out of mid-air. She put a couple of the cookies into it, and then she turned around and walked straight up to the fireplace, tossing in a handful of Floo powder and announcing, "Office of the Headmaster, Hogwarts!'" before sticking her face into the fire.

"Albus, I need you, are you there?" she called out, immediately.

"Is that you, Elodie?" a woman's voice answered. Then, a second later, Minerva McGonagall walked into Elodie's line of sight.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, but this is kind of a strange emergency," Elodie said, wincing when she realized that Remus could still hear her.

"Of course, you can come right through," Minerva assured her. "Albus?"

"As soon as you wish, my dear," his voice sounded from where she knew his favorite bookshelf was, out of sight of the fireplace.

"Thanks!" she said, pulling her head up and away.

"You are acting like a massive catastrophe just happened, Elodie," Remus said. She jumped in surprise when she saw he'd come over to stand beside her while she'd been fire talking.

"I can't explain right now, Remus. I'll be right back. Don't worry, okay?" Elodie said. She bit down hard on the inside of her lip to stop the tears that threatened from showing themselves, and without another word to him, she threw in another pinch of Floo powder and spoke her destination with a voice that shook with multiple strong emotions at once.

"I know, this is crazy, and I am not even sure how nuts I probably look, but can the two of you please," Elodie blurted out in a rush, feeling like her words were tumbling over each other almost out of order in her desperation to prove herself wrong. "Please, trust me? Can you shut your eyes and hold out one hand? I'm just… I need to prove something, and if it works the way I think it should, we'll all laugh about it in a minute."

Albus had come down from his high desk, and Minerva came over to lay a gentle hand on Elodie's arm.

"Even if you don't want to tell us, please assure me you aren't in danger, that someone isn't hurting you?" Minerva said, her voice full of worry.

"No one is hurting me but myself, right now," Elodie told her. "I did something that went a bit sideways. I am here to verify the outcome. Yes, that's a good way to put it, verify. I just need you to touch something, and when nothing out of the ordinary happens, I'll explain everything, all right?" Then, she turned to look at Albus, and she narrowed her eyes, only halfway teasing him when she said, "And you, don't try to figure out what it is, okay?"

"I can't promise anything, Elodie," he said, smiling cheerfully, unmoved in the slightest by her hint of a threat.

"Fine," she sighed. "Hands out, eyes closed?"

Both Albus and Minerva nodded, and when she came over with her baggie, Minerva gave her a motherly smile and turned her back, holding her hand out behind her. Elodie was touched. Albus, of course, did nothing of the sort, but he did shut his eyes. Somehow, he exuded impudence, even without his eyes to twinkle at her.

Elodie lifted out a cookie and when she reached out toward Minerva's hand with it, she realized she was holding it tightly. Inwardly, she expected it to hop away. Shit, she thought to herself. I don't know what to do with this information! Shit!

She reached out again, and when she brushed the cookie against Minerva's hand, a surge of energy went through it, and it was such an unusual feeling that she let go. After one mighty hop, it seemed to implode, falling in on itself in little waves, until nothing was left.

Elodie forced herself to drop the second one into Albus's waiting hand, and she wasn't even surprised when she looked up at his face and met his eyes right as she did so. He spread his hand out to catch it, expecting the hop, just as Elodie did, now. He wasn't fast enough, though, and as Elodie watched the bunny cookie implode in cascades again, she had the thought that Remus himself was probably the only person of her acquaintance who could catch the damned thing. He wasn't the only one who wouldn't have to, though.

Elodie had succeeded in making Gâteaufidél. She'd successfully proved how much she loved Remus Lupin.

She also loved Sirius Black, according to the same exact recipe.