Note: *Pant! Pant! Puff! Gasp!* Sorry about the delay in posting! I've got a good long one for you, though. Enjoy!

Chapter Thirty-Six: Vipers in the Drawing Room

Remus was waiting on the back step when his father Apparated into the garden. He stumbled as he arrived, scarcely missing one of Mother's rosebushes. Remus watched as the wizard righted himself, smoothing his rumpled robes before looking up to stare at his son.

Remus resisted the urge to fidget under Father's scrutiny. He was wearing his newly altered robes and he felt very grown up and dignified. The broad belt disguised the thinness of his frame, and the sweeping sleeves grazed against the silk sheaths on his arms – so smooth that they almost seemed to have been painted on. Mother had combed his hair neatly for him and she had shined his Christmas shoes, declaring him to be a perfect young gentleman. She had even taken a picture to be added to the family album. Yet Remus wondered what his father was thinking as he looked at him.

'Very handsome,' he said at last, his voice a little ragged. He held out his hand. 'Come now; we mustn't be late.'

'I didn't know she would do it,' Remus whispered, begging for absolution. 'It isn't what I would have wanted.'

'But you're happy to wear them, aren't you?'

Remus looked up, startled and shamed by the words of reproof. But instead of chastisement the man's face held only a sort of wistful yearning.

'Father?' he said hesitantly.

'She wants you to be happy,' Mr Lupin said, a disconcerting vacantness to his voice. 'It's all she's ever wanted; for you to be happy.'

'I'm happy,' Remus said, because he hoped it was what his father wanted to hear.

'Are you?' The question was flat, devoid of any emotion but a dilute, lingering sadness.

'I'm trying to be,' answered Remus. There was a silence, during which neither of them moved.

'We ought to go,' Father said at last. 'Take my hand.'

Remus obeyed timorously, fearful lest the man should flinch at his touch. He did not, however, merely curling his fingers around those of the boy. A moment later there was the unpleasant pulling sensation as they Disapparated.

They appeared with a crack in a small, grassy square. Realizing it was surrounded by tall old townhouses and a tarmac roundabout, Remus looked around frantically for observing Muggles. There were none to be seen, so he stared at the houses instead. They were much the same sort found in Belgravia, only rather less modernized. Only one sported a television aerial, and several of the others appeared to be home to more than one family. There was a rusty old bicycle chained to the railing above one of the area stairs. Though a hundred years ago this must have been a very distinguished neighbourhood it scarcely seemed the sort of place Sirius would be likely to live.

Abruptly Remus realized that his father was breathing very heavily, as if he had run a great distance. He turned to find him doubled almost in two as he clutched at his side. His wand-hand was trembling.

'Father?'

Mr Lupin looked up at him. His face was grey and his lips were very pale. He put his hand on Remus's shoulder, clutching it for support as he struggled to catch his breath. 'I'm fine,' he panted at length. 'I'm just fine.'

'Did you splinch?' Remus asked, taking inward inventory of all his own essential body parts.

Father shook his head and straightened. 'I'm tired; that's all,' he mumbled. He looked about as if trying to orient himself.

'Are you sure this is the right spot?' said Remus softly.

The man nodded, pointing to a signpost that did, indeed, read Grimmauld Place. 'I came up here last night to scout points of reference,' he mumbled. 'That's number twelve, there.'

Remus followed his nod, and saw number eleven and number thirteen butted up against one another.

'It's Unplottable,' said Father. 'All you need to do is walk up to it.'

Remus moved to do so, but a shaking hand grabbed his trailing sleeve. He turned to discover that his father had put away his wand and was holding out a small stoppered phial. Remus took it reflexively, rocking it so that it made a soft swishing sound.

'Floo Powder,' Mr Lupin muttered. 'I'm sorry; I know Sirius Black is your friend, but I don't trust these people. As soon as you get in there you find out from that boy where the connected hearths are. Then if you need to you can make a quick escape. Do you understand? At the first sign of trouble I want you to get out of that house.'

Remus nodded, pocketing the little vessel. Somehow it was comforting that his father cared enough for his welfare to think of this. It emboldened him a little. 'Father,' he said, very quietly; 'you said that Mother wants me to be happy. What is it that you want?'

His father looked down at the crimson cloth in his hand. He rubbed his finger and thumb together against it, and a look of sorrowful nostalgia flooded his eyes. Remus knew he was thinking of his wife in the red dress, and wondered which occasion was now brought to mind.

'To turn back time,' Father whispered at last. He released his hold on the sleeve, and sighed. 'You had best go; it's nearly two, and it would never do to be late.'

Remus nodded solemnly, and despite his discomfiture and a sudden attack of paralysing apprehension he turned his back on his father and walked forward to the place where eleven and thirteen met.

As he stepped onto the pavement before the houses they leapt aside as between them an identical building seemed almost to inflate, windows and railings and front steps expanding and settling into hard contours. Drawing a deep breath, Remus mounted the stairs toward the door. At least it looked like a door: it was rectangular and glossy black, and it had a knocker shaped like a silver serpent. But there was no handle, no keyhole, no sign of hinges. Wishing his hands would not shake so badly, Remus reached up to rap the knocker.

When the deed was done he glanced over his shoulder, unsure whether his father could still see him. He was standing in the square, watching, and as Remus turned he offered a small, reassuring smile. Then the door swung inward, and Remus found himself face-to-face with Sirius.

The taller boy wore a set of fine velvet robes, rather too hot for a summer's day but lighter at least than the horrors he had worn for the Easter Honours. He bowed low against the door, ushering Remus in with a sweeping hand.

'Welcome,' he said solemnly; 'to the Noble and Most Ancient Ancestral Residence of Black.'

Remus stepped over the threshold and had to leap out of the way as the door yanked itself from Sirius's fingers and swung closed behind him.

'And here are the ancestors,' Sirius added, much less grandly, jerking his thumb over his right shoulder.

At first Remus did not ever register the sight of the portraits, so awed was he by the grandeur of the entryway. It was a long room with a great vaulted ceiling: looking up Remus could see the bannisters of the landings above. A huge chandelier with stems shaped like serpents furnished most of the diffuse, greenish light that bathed the dark flocked paper on the walls and the rich, deep carpet. The rest was provided by old-fashioned gas lamps set between the portraits in their ornate frames. On one wall, flanked by heavy silken curtains, was a framed painting of a stormy sea, upon which a long, slender boat seemed to sit like an exultant bird of prey, dark sails billowing in the wind. The prow was carved in the likeness of a sea monster, and just behind it a bold-looking wizard with flowing black hair and a narrow beard looked out imperiously toward the approaching cliffs. Near the back of the ship, looking rather humble and effete, sat a clean-shaven man wearing a lopsided crown.

'William the Conqueror,' Sirius hissed, pointing at the sorry-looking monarch. 'That nasty-looking piece of work in the front is supposedly the first Black to land in England. Ironic, of course, as Black is an English name and there's absolutely no proof we had an ancestor at Hastings. Well, practically no proof.'

The wizard turned to shoot Sirius a reproving look, and among his soldiers King William sighed. It would have been comical, save that every brushstroke in the painting seemed calculated to exude a sense of daunting might.

'I'd watch your language if I were you, young man,' said the portrait of an unpleasant-looking witch wearing a low-cut gown embroidered with what appeared to be human eyes rendered in beetle wings. 'You are speaking about my illustrious forbearer. And straighten that spine.'

'Yes, Great-Great-Great-Aunt Elladora,' Sirius said stiffly, in precisely the same tone he had used with the picture of Phineus Nigellus Black in Professor Dumbledore's office.

'Stooping like a Mudblood,' said another painting; this one of a sneering wizard with beady black eyes.

'Never amount to anything,' remarked one still further along.

Sirius had his hands balled into fists. He jerked his head at the staircase. 'C'mon; let's go,' he said.

Remus followed him, skirting carefully around an umbrella stand that looked suspiciously like an enormous severed foot. Sirius ascended halfway to the first floor and stopped.

'I wondered what you'd wear,' he said, looking Remus over and flicking one of the flowing sleeves with his forefinger. 'Awfully nice. Very latest style, aren't they?'

Remus nodded, unconsciously straightening his shoulders and holding his head a little higher. If Sirius recognized the robes as having once been a school uniform he was kind enough not to say. Sirius glanced furtively at a set of large double doors at the head of the landing above.

'Listen, we haven't much time before someone comes looking for us,' he said. 'There's a few things you have to know about dinner with my family. First of all, it's a trap.'

Remus felt his eyes go wide. 'What?' he gasped, his hand groping for the phial of Floo Powder in his pocket.

'I don't know what she's planning, but she's planning something.' Sirius had an eerily intense expression on his face as his voice lowered to an urgent whisper. 'So don't speak unless spoken to. Make sure you keep your hands out of your pockets—' Remus removed his hand at once, clasping it with the other behind his back. '—and try not to slouch. She hates that. When we go down to dinner you'll have to take one of the girls; I'll try to make sure it's Drommie. She'll know what to do, but you just need to put her on your left arm and—'

'Girls?' Remus echoed, his anxiety mounting.

Sirius donned a pained expression. 'She's got Aunt Druella and the cousins in,' he moaned. 'To round out the table, she says. But do you see what I mean? It's obviously a trap.' He cast his eyes toward the chandelier, pupils flicking to and fro as he ran through something in his mind. He began to tick points off with his fingers. 'Napkin goes on your lap, don't put your used utensils on the tablecloth. Oh! If we have pears for the fruit remove, pick it up with your fingers: don't use the fork and knife. That trick's as old as the hills. And if there's asparagus… best just say you're allergic.'

'But—'

'No,' Sirius said, nodding curtly as if he had made up his mind. 'You're allergic. Say it.'

'I'm… I'm allergic to asparagus,' Remus stammered.

'Don't look at Granddad when he's in the soup,' Sirius went on. 'Don't swing your feet no matter how they start to ache. And don't make eye contact with Bella.'

'Who's Bel—'

The double doors above swung open, and a spindly blond-haired witch dressed in garish apple-green robes overlaid in orange gauze strode out onto the landing. 'Why are you dawdling on the stairs, boy?' she asked. 'Show him up!'

'Yes, Aunt Druella,' Sirius said in the same deadened, obedient voice he used with the portraits. This time, though, there was a tiny malicious glimmer in his eyes. He started up the stairs again, beckoning Remus after him. 'This way,' he said, his tone dry and very formal. 'My mother and my noble grandfather are receiving their guests in the drawing room.'

Remus followed timidly, passing the witch with mounting apprehension. She was looking down the length of her nose at him, her eyes cold with spiteful disdain. She looked as if she would quite enjoy kicking him down the stairs. He fixed his eyes on Sirius's back and followed him into the drawing room. As he went he realized that he had forgot to ask his friend about the Floo fireplaces.

If the entryway had been rather daunting, this room was entirely overwhelming. High windows, partially obscured by hangings of black crepe, looked out over the square below. In the middle of one wall was an enormous fireplace, which despite the summer warmth was roaring with flames. It was flanked on either side by exquisitely carved cabinets set with panes of glass in the doors. These held a vast array of curios and strange-looking objects, including an exquisite crystal decanter filled with a dark fluid that looked suspiciously like blood. Remus turned swiftly away, and saw on the other wall an enormous tapestry depicting a tree of consanguinity.

The furniture was dark and heavy, upholstered in rich brocades executed in variant shades of green and black and shimmering silver. Sitting on the chair belonging to a large old writing desk was Andromeda Black, legs crossed elegantly so that her bright blue shoes peeked from beneath the hem of her rich purple robe. She was watching Remus, and she was not the only one. His innards crumbled to dust as he became achingly aware of the multitude of eyes upon him.

'Mum – Mother,' Sirius said, bowing a little. 'This is my friend, Remus Lupin. Remus, my mother, Walburga Black.'

Remus forced himself to look at the woman seated domineeringly in a large wing-backed armchair near the fire. She was wearing black silk robes adorned with a large quantity of silver jewellery. Her bony hands were encrusted with rings; there was one at the base of every finger and several of her second knuckles were bejewelled as well. She had her steel-grey hair coiled into a complex but somehow unbecoming chignon, adorned with a black lace cap that gave her the look of a Victorian spinster. Her face was gaunt and jaundiced; her expression very severe.

'Come here,' she said, crooking one finger. Remus realized that her nails were twice as long as they ought to be, and honed to finely tapered points. Swallowing his terror he took a step around Sirius and inched forward towards her. 'Nearer, boy. Let me look at you.'

All the other people in the room were watching Remus; he could feel their eyes, and yet he did not dare to turn and look at them. The cold, dictatorial stare of Mrs Black held him as one entranced. He took another step closer, and another. He was near enough now that had she wished she could have swiped with her hand to scratch out his eyes. Instead her taloned fingers drummed on the arm of the chair.

Remembering his friend's warning against slouching, Remus tried to square his shoulders and keep his head level despite his urge to slink away and hide.

'Not much to remark upon,' Mrs Black observed dispassionately. 'But then you never did have frightfully high standards when it came to the company you kept.'

The words were directed at Sirius, who flushed, turning with an obvious effort. 'Grandfather,' he said, addressing the man occupying the other place of honour; 'may I present Remus Lupin?'

The wizard nodded curtly. Remus recognized him at once from the article in The Daily Prophet; Arcturus Black, father of Orion. His hair, though streaked with grey, was still largely dark, and his arched brows gave him the look of falcon.

'How do you do, sir?' Remus said, forgetting in his haste to fill the silence that Sirius had warned him not to speak unless spoken to.

'How do you do?' Arcturus Black's voice was deep and very cold. He seemed quite the type of person to put his name to invitations including the words 'not welcome'.

Sirius turned again, indicating a wizard somewhat younger than Arcturus but still rather older than either of Remus's parents. He had a distant, haughty look, but seemed somehow less powerful than the other two. His robes were green, and he wore an enormous signet ring on the third finger of his left hand.

'My father Orion,' Sirius said. He nodded at the willowy girl seated on the sofa beside her uncle. 'And of course you've met my cousin Narcissa.'

Remus nodded, feeling his mouth going rather dry. He had not expected the presence of other young people, and Sirius's ornamental cousin with her pale hair and her upturned nose was a very intimidating creature. She spared him the merest scornful half-glance.

Next Sirius twitched his chin towards the corner of the room, where two armchairs were angled next to a little round table. In one sat an ancient-looking witch, knees spread so that her cane stood up between them, its opalescent ball clutched in two wizened hands twisted with the opera-glass deformity of severe arthritis. In the other chair was an elderly wizard, a complacent half-smile on his face. As far as Remus could see he had no teeth, and his thin hands rested on his rather bloated belly.

'My Grandmother Irma and Granddad Pollux,' Sirius said. His mother cleared her throat reprovingly. ''M sorry,' muttered Sirius. 'My Grandfather Pollux.'

The wizard snorted, a bead of dribble appearing at the corner of his mouth. 'Is it a dwarf?' he asked, his lips wrinkling over his gum.

'It's a boy,' said Sirius's grandmother crossly, eyes narrowing suspiciously at Remus. 'A Mudblood, I'll warrant.'

'He's not!' Sirius protested. 'He's a Lupin. His family's been witches and wizards for generations.'

'Hardly the best sort of witches and wizards, though,' remarked Sirius's Aunt Druella, curling her lip unpleasantly as she crossed the room to settle beside Narcissa. 'No refinement, no ambition, no money to speak of. Leto Lupin was in my year; a fat little Ravenclaw with none of the social graces. She never did manage to find a husband. I can't recall whom her shiftless little brother married. An Enys, was it?'

Remus felt an uncomfortable fluttering in his belly. It had been many years since he had heard anyone speak of his father's sister, but that seemed of little import next to the allegation that his father was shiftless. Remus knew nothing could be further from the truth. His father worked very hard indeed, at a job he hated, just to put food on the table. He worked such long hours nowadays that he was scarcely ever home. A burning anger bubbled up inside of him and he tried to get up the courage to protest on his sire's behalf.

Then a cold shower of shame washed over him, quenching his rage and leaving him weak in his disgrace. What right had he to protest the slandering of his father, when he himself indulged in it? In his selfishness and cowardice he had forfeited the privilege of indignation. He felt his shoulders stooping, but he could not stop them.

'No, no, Mamma,' Narcissa said superciliously. 'Everyone knows that the Lupin boy is a half-blood.'

The silence that followed this pronouncement was like the hush before a hurricane. Sirius's face went white, and from the twitching of his hand Remus surmised that he would have quite liked to slap his cousin. Andromeda cast her eyes toward the window as if the very sight of the little guest pained her. Orion Black stiffened, and Arcturus's lips curled into a sneer of disgust. Mrs Black drew herself up in her chair, clutching the armrests as if she could strangle the life from them.

A petulant, warbling voice rang loud in the hush. 'What is it?' Pollux Black demanded. Clearly he had not heard his wife's previous reply. 'Is it a dwarf?'

Remus found himself unable to breathe, waiting for the tirade of insults to begin. He had heard the vitriol Mrs Black was capable of pouring out, and he bit down on the tip of his tongue, promising himself that he would neither weep nor run nor beg for mercy once she began.

'He's a boy, Grandfather!' Andromeda said. She spoke very loudly, her voice deeper than usual out of deference to the deaf old wizard. 'His name is Remus Lupin, and he's a friend to Sirius!'

'Not a dwarf, then,' the old man said, shaking his head regretfully. 'Pity. Like a good dwarf, me. Tumbling tricks and juggling, you know.' He smacked his gums and slapped his stomach.

'Oh, I don't know, Grandfather…' A low, languorous voice drifted from the corner by the door. Remus whirled around to see who had spoken.

There, draped artfully across a silk-tasselled chaise longue, was a young woman. She looked very like Andromeda, with the same lithe figure and the same hooded eyes. But her thick, shining hair was darker – almost the fathomless black of obsidian – and there was a particular aristocratic air about her that Drommie, despite her grace and her patrician features, did not possess. Her glossy jade robes were very tightly fitted, with a black basque laced over top to lift her bosom and nip in her waist. She wore high dragonhide boots with spool heels, nestled against one other beneath the scalloped edge of her robe. The arm that rested against her shapely right hip held a long wand of some dark and highly polished wood, and she twitched it languidly at Remus.

'…I daresay I could make the little blood-traitor tumble if you wished it,' she said, curling her full lips in an unpleasant smile.

Pollux did not hear her, but the other adults all seemed to find her remarkably amusing. Sirius's grandmother snorted appreciatively. Druella tittered into her hand. Orion Black grinned and Arcturus let out a single barking noise rather like a laugh. Even Mrs Black's lips twitched appreciatively, in an indulgent way that told Remus the young woman sat high in her favour.

'He's not a blood traitor!' Sirius cried, whirling on the elegant young witch. 'He didn't choose the sort of parents he has.'

Remus felt his chin tilting downward as his head sank lower. He would never have dreamed of wishing for parents any different than his own. He was fortunate to have them; they were better than anything he deserved.

'A plebeian for a father and a filthy Mudblood mother, Sirius,' said Arcturus Black contemptuously. 'That's near enough to blood traitor that he should never have been brought within a mile of this house.'

Sirius's eyes grew wide, as if he had been struck by a sudden inspiration. 'His mother isn't Muggle-born!' he said vehemently. 'She isn't Muggle-born, is she, Remus?'

'No,' Remus said hoarsely, feeling the last of his valour ebbing away. 'No, my mother isn't Muggle-born.'

'It was his great-grandfather!' Sirius went on, gesticulating manically. 'His great-grandfather was a Muggle, and that had to be… what, at least seventy years ago? Your mum's dad's dad, Remus. He was the Muggle.'

Remus felt his eyes go wide as he realized that Sirius was trying to induce him to equivocate. 'M-my great-grandfather, yes,' he said. 'He was a Muggle.'

'So you see?' Sirius said. His voice trembled ever so slightly, and Remus wondered if anyone else had noticed. 'He's not… I mean, half-blood isn't quite… you see?'

'All the same, Sirius,' chided his father; 'you must learn to be more discerning. Who can say how many generations it takes to successfully breed out the undesirable Muggle traits?' He looked Remus over with thinly veiled distaste. 'A Mudblood grandfather,' he spat. 'That would account for quite a lot.'

Remus was staring down at the carpet now, aware that his shoulders were shaking. He had never been ashamed of his mother – his kind, clever, beautiful mother who had treasured him all his life. They could not make him ashamed now, he thought desperately. Not while he stood before them in robes she had cut up her best frock to make.

'Come now, Sirius,' cooed the witch with the long black hair. 'Aren't you going to introduce us? After all, it isn't every day that I have the chance to meet a scrawny little creature whose sole redeaming quality is that he is not quite a half-blood.'

Sirius stiffened, and Remus prayed that he would not say anything rash. The young woman was giving them a chance to move on as if the last five minutes had never happened. Despite the contempt in her words Remus was filled with abject gratitude, and he only hoped his friend would see the opportunity and take it.

'Remus,' Sirius said through clenched teeth; 'my cousin Bellatrix.'

'Charmed, I'm sure,' she said, only the tiniest hint of scorn in her melifluous voice. She laid aside her wand and held out her right hand very regally, palm down and fingers curled delicately forward. Her nails, too, were long, and painted with gleaming black enamel.

Remus hesitated, unsure of what was wanted. It was not the correct position for a handshake, and in any case he was apprehensive of touching Andromeda's dark doppelganger. 'P-pleased to meet you, Miss Black,' he said softly, executing a rather stiff bow.

Bellatrix chuckled, a low purring sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. 'At least he knows his place,' she said scornfully, lowering her hand and picking up her wand again. 'Most blood-traitors' brats seem to put on airs rather above their station.'

There was a small, excited noise from the other inward corner. 'Sirius,' a young voice said in an eager stage whisper. 'Sirius, don't forget me!'

Sirius exhaled sharply through his nose. He turned to gesture at a boy, cast in his image and about two years his junior, perched on a tufted silk stool behind the sofa. 'Remus, Regulus. Regulus, Remus.'

'Hello,' the boy said, grey eyes glittering enthusiastically. 'Pleased to meet you.'

'Pleased to meet you,' Remus replied softly, hoping that this counted as speaking when spoken to.

'And that's everyone,' Sirius said briskly, casting about the room. He had his usual confident grin on his face now, but Remus noticed him scrubbing the palm of his hand against his thigh. It left a dark watermark on the silk; perspiration.

'It seems to me that it's well after two,' Narcissa chirped, smirking at Sirius. 'I thought you had invited the Potter boy as well. Perhaps he's found something better to do with his time?'

From her tone and the cool half-glance she shot her mother, Remus gathered that the Slytherin girl was not especially pleased to be here.

'He'll be here,' Sirius said fiercely. 'He's coming.'

'Modulate your voice,' his mother scolded. 'And stand up straight.'

Jaw set, Sirius adjusted his spine. Remus was beginning to feel very vulnerable and exposed, standing in the middle of a room full of unpleasant strangers. There was an empty armchair just beyond the sofa, but he did not dare to move to take it. Instead he took a half-step backward, hoping that no one had noticed. With eight or nine more he could get his back against the wall.

'You are coming to the end of your Season at last, Bellatrix,' Mrs Black said, turning to her niece with the air of one deliberately turning the conversation to less repugnant matters. 'Tell us; have you found a suitable prospect?'

'Sadly no, Aunt,' Bellatrix said languidly, examining the nails of her left hand. 'It has been a veritable desert as far as eligible young men are concerned. Andromeda and I seem to be rather between crops, hmm?' She cast an indolent look at her sister, who shrugged and smiled a little.

'I've told her, Walburga, that she ought to consider Gideon Prewett,' Druella said, a rather fawning tint to her words. 'He's dashingly handsome and still unmarried. And his pedigree is unimpeachable.'

'Mother, I am not going to marry Gideon Prewett,' said Bellatrix succinctly, as if she had had this discussion many times before. 'He's far too stubborn, and not nearly wealthy enough to support me in the style to which I am accustomed.'

'I should think the marriage settlement your father and I have promised you will be more than enough to make up for the modest fortunes of the Prewett family,' her mother remarked primly.

'Nonsense; the girl is quite right,' said Walburga. 'Gideon Prewett is entirely unsuitable. Three years ago it might have been negotiable, but after his sister's appalling marriage there really is no question of an alliance in that quarter. After all,' she said, casting a disdainful frown at Remus; 'we can all seen the sorry outcome of indiscriminate miscegenation.'

'One-quarter a Mudblood is one quarter too much,' Irma Black agreed vehemently.

'I am certain,' Sirius's mother went on as if she had not heard the old woman; 'that a young lady of your particular charms can do much better than the brother-in-law of a penniless blood-traitor, Bellatrix.'

'I fully intend to, Aunt,' the young woman assured her. 'Yet we must all be patient. It may take some time for a suitable man to ripen for the plucking.'

'Have you someone in mind, then?' Druella said shrewdly. 'I have always said that young Lucius Malfoy would make a good match for one of my girls.'

Sirius made a tiny noise of disgust in the back of his throat, and Remus looked warily at him. He had only just been freed from Mrs Black's attention and he had no wish to put himself back under scrutiny.

'Perhaps,' said Bellatrix, shrugging her right shoulder ever so slightly. There was a strange smile on her face now. 'After all, surely the proper match is worth waiting for.'

From somewhere below, a great clanging rang out. Sirius stiffened, a look of immense relief on his face. 'That will be James,' he said, bolting for the door and hauling it open.

Remus realized abruptly that he was about to be left alone with these people. His eyes flicked towards Andromeda, who was at least a familiar face, but she was on the far end of the room, and to reach her he would have to walk past five other people. His mouth went dry and he struggled to supress the urge to flee.

'Remus?' Sirius was lingering on the threshold, looking back. 'Would you care to join me in greeting my guest?'

'Yes, please,' he breathed, desperately grateful. He hurried out onto the landing and as Sirius drew the drawing room door closed he heard unpleasant laughter from within.

'Dear me. And Gryffindor is known for the valour of its students,' drawled Bellatrix Black. A high, giddy giggle followed that pronouncement. Remus wondered whether it belonged to Narcissa or Regulus.

Sirius's face was suffused with blood. He grabbed Remus by the wrist and stomped towards the stairs. 'I'm sorry about that. Merlin. She could at least be civil.'

Remus was unsure whether Sirius was referring to his mother or his cousin, but he was so thoroughly thankful to be out of that room that he did not have the strength to ask. He hurried after Sirius as the bell sounded again.

'Sirius, you lied…' he panted. 'You lied to your mother!'

'I did what I had to do,' Sirius whispered, cupping his hand over his mouth to obscure the movement of his lips from the watchful portraits. 'You saw how they took the news of one Muggle ancestor three generations ago. If they knew the truth they'd throw you through the drawing room window!'

At the look of horror that filled the smaller boy's eyes, Sirius repented. 'All right, so they'd probably just turn you out into the street,' he said. 'But they'd never let me see you again if they could help it, and if Mum found out I lied…'

The bell rang again.

'Answer that door!' Elladora snapped, glowering down from her frame at the two boys.

Sirius hurriedly crossed the entryway and yanked open the door. Rather than bowing he reached out to seize James by the front of his robes, dragging him unceremoniously aside. He waved to someone in the street, and then closed the door before it could close itself.

'Hallo, James. Good to see you. So nice of you to come,' James said loudly, strolling into the middle of the room and looking about appraisingly. 'Egads. I think Dad Apparated into the wrong place. We're clearly in the Slytherin common room at last!'

Sirius grew rather pink. 'Don't joke like that,' he said. Then his face creased anxiously. 'You're late. I thought maybe you'd…'

He let the sentence dangle, but Remus could finish it easily enough. Sirius had thought that maybe James had changed his mind and decided not to come. The prejudices James had against Slytherin and the sort of wizards that Sirius's family obviously were ran almost as deep and every bit as strong as the prejudices of the Blacks.

James grinned enormously and clapped Sirius on the shoulder. 'Don't be so glum!' he said. 'We're here to have fun, aren't we?' He ignored Sirius's look of jaded scepticism. 'I have to tell you, mate, that my mother was scandalized at that invitation. "Additional guests not welcome"? That's positively vulgar.'

'Yeah, well, they didn't want the parents showing up,' Sirius said. 'Especially not Fleamont Potter, Esquire. Children are easier to bully when their parents aren't around.' He shot a hangdog look at Remus.

'I think they'll find me rather challenging to bully,' James said with a sunny smile. His eyes fell on the painting of the Norman invasion. 'Merlin's sweaty vest – what the devil is that?'

'No time for a tour,' Sirius said, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other and glancing up at the first floor landing above. 'They're expecting us back in the drawing room for inspection and introductions.'

'No fear there!' said James. 'How do I look?'

He twirled in place so that the skirts of his dress robe belled out around him. It was a rich carmine red, tailored exquisitely to his form. The high collar was piped in gold, and there were thick bands of goldwork on the sleeves and the hem. He wore a belt of gold plate with an enormous buckle on which was emblazoned the Gryffindor lion, a ruby set in its eye.

Sirius whistled softly. 'Like a perfect prat,' he said, very solemn.

James snorted and cuffed him playfully. 'Better than yours,' he needled. 'I've seen more cheerful togs at a funeral.'

Remus rather hoped that James would say something about his robes. True, they were nowhere near as grand as the ones his friend wore, but they were neat and dignified, and Sirius had said they were 'awfully nice'. But James started towards the stairs.

'Let's go,' he said. 'No sense keeping our host waiting. Those Order of Merlin types are sticklers for punctuality.'

'Then why were you sodding late?' Sirius muttered, but he did so in such a low voice that James could not have heard. Sirius followed his friend, leaving Remus to take up the rear. It took every ounce of his conviction to mount those stairs, and all of it very nearly abandoned him again when Sirius opened the drawing room door and gestured that the other two should enter.

This time Remus did not hover in the middle of the room. He pressed his back to the wall beside the door, where he could keep an anxious eye on everyone at once. Regulus, sitting nearby on the tuffet, smiled up at him briefly before turning rapturous attention on James, who was being presented to his mother.

He cut a very elegant figure in his shimmering robes. James walked with accomplished dignity and an air of self-confidence that Remus knew he himself would never achieve. He certainly could not be accused of slouching as Sirius said, 'Mother, may I present James Potter, my friend.'

Walburga nodded ceremoniously. 'Welcome, Master Potter, to the ancestral home of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,' she said. Her tone was almost gracious.

'Thank you, Mrs Black,' James said with an accomplished bow. 'I shall endeavour to be worthy of the honour of your kind invitation.'

Judging by the grim satisfaction on Sirius's face as he turned to his grandfather, Remus was not the only one who had heard the subtle, mocking lilt in the other boy's voice.

Arturus was equally courteous. 'I had the pleasure of speaking to your father last week in the office of Orpheus Andrews. Such excellent work he is doing at St Mungo's. Please offer him my regards.'

Orion Black smiled unctuously. 'I do hope the journey down was pleasant.'

'James, my Aunt Druella,' Sirius said, rather tightly.

'A pleasure, Mr Potter,' she simpered.

'The pleasure is mine, I assure you,' James said politely.

Walburga's mother, at least, had nothing pleasant to say. 'Hopped up little Gryffindor peacock!' she snorted. 'Don't know what the world is coming to, dressing children up like little sheiks. In my day a boy wore a good, sensible set of robes. Why he'll outgrow those in a year's time, and then what?'

Pollux squinted. 'Is it a dwarf?'

'Andromeda you know; Cissy you know,' Sirius said, indicating the two younger women. Then he turned to the chaise longue. 'James Potter, my cousin Bellatrix Black. Bellatrix, this is—'

'James Potter, of course,' cooed the witch. 'Heir to one of the largest private fortunes in Britain. Enchanted, James Potter.' She extended her hand as she had to Remus, her dark lips curled in a siren's smile.

Undaunted, James stepped towards her. He held out his right hand, touching the first two fingers to the underside of her palm. He executed a very low, precise bow, pursing his lips to kiss the air an inch above the back of her hand. He straightened and let her withdraw her arm as he said, 'How do you do, Bellatrix?'

Her smile wavered for a moment; clearly she had been expecting a more formal form of address. But then she nodded regally and picked up her wand again, resuming the ominous business of toying with it.

'And me!' Regulus said, fairly bouncing on the stool.

'This is my kid brother, Regulus,' Sirius mumbled.

'All right, Regulus?' James said, extending his arm for a hearty handshake. 'I hear you're a good sport.'

Regulus grinned enormously. 'I've heard a lot about you, too,' he said. Glancing at his mother, he added; 'Welcome to our home.'

'Thanks,' said James.

'Please have a seat, Master Potter,' said Mrs Black, indicating the empty chair. James strode over and took it graciously, settling into it with the poise of one raised to assume he was welcome anywhere.

Arcturus and Orion fell to talking about politics now, and Andromeda drew her chair nearer to her grandfather, nodding politely as he rambled in her general direction. Narcissa looked demonstrably bored, and Bellatrix kept doing rounds of the room with her indolent and yet somehow predatory eyes. Sirius stood awkwardly next to the sofa, looking rather as if he wanted to hurl himself out the drawing room window. Remus stood straight for as long as he could manage, but his knees were beginning to ache and he was starting to feel rather lightheaded. At last he had to lean surreptitiously against the wall. He reflected unhappily that his own mother never would have neglected to offer a guest somewhere to sit, however humble or unwanted the visitor.

A clock somewhere far away struck four when Remus heard a soft tapping sound. He looked up from studying the band of silk at the hem of his robe to see Regulus smiling at him. He had shifted to one side of the stool, and he was patting the empty space next to him.

'Sit down if you like,' he whispered. 'It's a while yet 'til we eat.'

Remus accepted the invitation, sinking onto the low cushion gratefully. He fixed his eyes on Sirius, who was now trying to fidget without drawing any notice, and he tried to forget his discomfort and his shame. His friend, after all, had to spend every minute of every day around these people. The very least that Remus could do was endure one afternoon of insults and ignominy to purchase a few days of freedom for Sirius.