Note: Regarding werewolves and silver… it's a Hollywood convention, not founded in folklore. JK Rowling's world is full of examples of Lupin having contact with objects that are ordinarily silver: his Prefect's badge, the serving dishes at Hogwarts, the Sickles on the Knight Bus, and the goblets at – you guessed it – Grimmauld Place.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Dinner at Number Twelve

The shadows were long and the light over the housetops had a distinctly orange hue when at last the hollow ringing of a gong sounded somewhere below. Arcturus Black rose to his feet with an agility that belied his years and offered his hand to Mrs Black's mother.

'Shall we remove to the dining room?' he asked graciously, though his lip curled ever so slightly as he looked at her.

She took hold of his arm and hauled herself to her feet, leaning heavily on her cane. As they moved to the door she apparently found herself less reliant upon it, for she paused and used it to whack Sirius soundly in the shin. He was apparently accustomed to such treatment, for although the noise of the blow rattled through the room he scarcely flinched.

'Stand up straight!' she barked, then made a great show of leaning on the cane once more as she was escorted from the room.

Orion was the next to rise, extending his arm to Druella. At once everyone else was standing, moving to pair off. Remus got to his feet, swaying a little. He had taken a light luncheon at eleven o'clock, but he was beyond famished now and his head swam as he adjusted to the exertion of standing. Remembering what Sirius had said about Andromeda, he tried to slip between the sea of elbows and voluminous dress robes to reach her. James, however, was much nearer to her and he beat Remus to it, offering his arm graciously.

'May I have the honour of seeing you to the dining room, Miss Black?' he asked cordially.

'Thank you, yes,' she said, smiling as she stooped her shoulder so that she could rest her hand on his arm. They followed Orion and Druella.

Bellatrix held out her arm expectantly, casting imperious eyes on Sirius. He shook his head. 'Don't even think about it,' he said.

His mother took a sharp step towards him, but suddenly Regulus was between them, offering his hand to the young witch.

'Please, Bella, may I escort you?' he asked, smiling charmingly at her.

With a peculiar twitch of her lips, Bellatrix acceded. In height they were hopelessly mismatched, and yet somehow each seemed to carry off the manoeuvre with grace. Their departure left only five people remaining: Walburga Black, her father, Narcissa, Sirius and Remus.

Remus held out an unsteady arm to Narcissa, realizing too late that he had offered the wrong one. He switched swiftly, but he knew that she had seen. She curled her lip disdainfully, and looked ready to refuse until Sirius shot her a savage look that clearly communicated she'd better not. Delicately, so as to make the least contact possible, she planted her fingers on Remus's wrist.

Sirius followed after them, without anyone to escort, and Walburga and Pollux brought up the rear. Remus glanced back as he reached the drawing room door. He was quite certain he had not been meant to see, but he could not help noticing when Walburga reached out with her left hand and pinched Sirius savagely in the soft flesh just over his kidney. Sirius closed his eyes and bit his lip as her sharp fingers dug into him, but he did not make a sound.

Remus kept his eyes front after that. He knew that the assault was punishment for Sirius snubbing Bellatrix, but it made him rather ill to think that he might have been the cause of Sirius's reticence. If he had not made himself an object of scorn perhaps Sirius would have been willing to escort his cousin, as was clearly the expectation.

Narcissa sniffed indignantly as Remus failed to take the first stair smoothly. He minded his feet very carefully after that, gripping the banister with his right hand and following Regulus and Bellatrix down into the entrance hall and through a set of doors into a very grand dining room. A heavy dark table stretched the length of the room, laid with china and crystal and great silver goblets. There were serpentine candelabras at intervals down the table, their light diffusing over the rich emerald of the tablecloth. Along one wall was a sideboard lined with decanters of port wine and spirits. The other held a massive dresser in which the family china was displayed; all of it exquisitely hand-painted with what Remus presumed to be the family crest.

The couples were dividing now, and everyone was beginning to migrate around the table with its massive carven chairs – the heads of which were inlaid with ebony. Remus wondered anxiously how he was supposed to know where to sit. He looked about helplessly, and his eyes lighted on James, who was on the other side of the table. He grinned and pointed surreptitiously to the second seat in from the end. Grateful, Remus hurried around towards it. Only then did he realize that there were place-cards made of the same black parchment as the invitations, embossed in silver leaf. His read, of course, Master Remus J. Lupin.

Everyone was near their chairs now, and Pollux Black sat down with a gouty wheeze. Remus was paralysed. His mother had said that the gentlemen were supposed to help the ladies to their right to sit. Then he realized that James was standing to the immediate right of the aged Mr Black. He nodded at Remus and pulled out the chair between them so that Andromeda could sit.

Remus turned to his right and did the same, finding it more than a little challenging to haul the heavy piece of furniture along the marble tiles. Across the table, Arcturus Black was drawing out the chair for Bellatrix, who slid into it and sat so erectly that her spine did not touch the back of the chair. Arcturus pushed the chair gently forward, just as Mrs Lupin had described, until some unseen signal from Bellatrix made him stop.

Irma Black was sitting now in the chair Remus had drawn. Wondering who on earth he was going to move the thing now that there was someone sitting on it, Remus braced his right foot against his left and reached out to grip the back of the chair.

Out of nowhere, the old woman's cane came smashing down on his toes. The impact and the resulting pain startled him, but miraculously he did not cry out.

'Don't touch me, you vile little scion of Mudbloods and filth,' she snapped. 'In my day you wouldn't have been thought fit to eat the scraps that fell from this table.'

Remus felt his throat constrict. Of course, if they knew the truth the Blacks would not think him fit even to rummage in their bins. He backed away from her chair, letting his hands fall useless at his sides. Walburga cleared her throat, glowering at the old woman. With a crook of her finger, she sent her husband – who had been seating Narcissa – around the table to push in her mother.

Regulus had the place of honour to the left of the head of the table. It was he who pulled out his mother's chair so that she might sit. She favoured him with an approving look that might almost have been considered a smile.

With the ladies all seated, the men took their places. Remus pulled out his chair only just far enough to allow himself to slip onto it. In doing so, he inadvertently brushed against Andromeda's shoulder, but she did not chastise him and indeed did not even seem to notice he had done it. Thankful for this small mercy, he sat, only to realize unhappily that his feet did not quite touch the ground. The tall, severe back of the chair was very hard and uncomfortable, and a carven gargoyle's head dug into his ribs. Hypothesizing that this was the reason that all the girls sat so straight, he tried to emulate them, but it felt too much like pretension and so he sank back, huddling in his seat and enduring the discomfort as best he could.

He realized with enormous relief that Sirius was seated across from him, slightly offset because his side of the table held six people, while Remus's held only five. Nevertheless he was near enough that Remus could follow his movements if he needed to – and almost near enough that they could talk together.

Then he looked down, and disoriented anxiety took hold yet again. His mother had spoken of silverware laid out to be used from the outside in. Yet he had not imagined anything like this. There were fourteen pieces of flatware set before him; three spoons of different shapes and sizes, five unique knives, and six forks. Most were arranged in the usual manner; forks to the left and knives and spoons on the right – but a long slender knife and a strange looking fork with a bar between the tines were laid across the table at the top of the gleaming underplate. There was a black silk napkin, a large ornate goblet, and a little bread plate laid with a butter knife. Remus glanced furtively up the table. Everyone else had identical settings, which meant that between the thirteen of them there were very nearly two hundred pieces of silverware.

Mrs Black took her wand from her robes, and tapped the tip once against the table cloth. Abruptly, a bowl of creamy white soup appeared on each underplate. Paper-thin slices of cucumber flecked with dill floated atop the fluid, but the dish seemed strangely lacking in scent.

Recalling what his mother had said about waiting until the host began, Remus watched Arcturus Black out of the corner of his eye. When the man reached for his spoon, Remus shifted his gaze to Sirius, waiting for him to do the same. When he did, Remus reached for the large spoon with the perfectly round bowl and picked it up with fingers that quivered only a little.

Soup, at least, he knew how to eat. He dipped the spoon carefully away from him, raising it up two-thirds full. He paused for a moment lest any should drip, but the soup was thick and did not seem inclined to do so. Carefully he touched it to his lips, sipping soundlessly. As he drew it across his tongue, however, he had to struggle to keep from making a sound of surprise.

The soup was cold.

'Well, now, Andromdeda,' Mrs Black said, looking down towards the centre of the table. 'Your sister is biding her time awaiting the perfect match. What are your intentions now you have left school? You're of an age to be thinking about marriage as well.'

'There was a Bones in your year, wasn't there, my dear?' asked Orion in a docile way that told Remus he was not genuinely interested but merely discharging his social duties.

'Edgar Bones, yes, Uncle,' said Andromeda levelly.

Remus numbly wished that Mrs Black had addressed someone else – someone who was not sitting right next to him. He was in an agony of embarrassment; cold soup was simply absurd, and he was torn between making polite mention of it and putting down his spoon in the hope no one would notice.

'I'm afraid he's already spoken for,' Andromeda added, taking another spoonful of her soup and touching it daintily to her lips.

Everyone else was eating, and Remus realized that this had to be some kind of trap. Perhaps they had given him cold soup in order to humiliate him – either so that they could laugh behind their hands as he ate it, or so that they forced him to raise his voice in objection. Hesitating only a moment, he took another spoonful and forced it down. They might mock him for his stupidity if they wished, but that was his own. His manners he had from his mother, and it would reflect poorly upon her if he made any complaint about the food he was offered.

'Couldn't have my poppet wed a Gryffindor anyhow,' said Irma Black, slurping up a curled piece of cucumber. 'Might as well settle for a Hufflepuff.'

'And we wouldn't want that, would we, Grandmother?' Andromeda smiled sweetly. 'In answer to your question, Aunt, I rather think I'll take a little time to consider my options. After all, I haven't had my Season yet, and in any case it would be positively ungracious to marry before Bella.'

'Quite,' said Bellatrix, smiling fondly at her sister. Druella nodded with propriety.

Remus found himself growing used to the chilled soup. It was cold, certainly, but it was not unpleasant. It had a creamy texture and a slightly tangy taste, and the dill and the cucumber complimented one anther well. He did not dare to take a piece as Irma Black had, but satisfied himself instead with the surrounding liquid. Yes, he reflected; the soup was not so bad.

'It's a pity that Adrian Fitzhenri is to be married next month,' Druella said, shaking her head. 'Such a well-bred young wizard, and quite wealthy enough even for you, Bella dearest.'

Bellatrix smiled, lowering her spoon in an ordinary gesture made disturbingly majestic by her long slender fingers. 'Ah, but Mother, I daresay I am not his sort of woman. He prefers them rather less dark than I.' She tossed her sable tresses haughtily.

'That silly ginger-haired girl!' Irma snorted. 'Her and her rag-tag band of sisters. Might as well marry a Weasley.'

Walburga shot her mother a withering look that made Remus shrink further down in his chair. 'Balderdash,' she said bluntly. 'There is simply no comparison. The Smythes have never had a blood-traitor among them – not in living memory, anyhow.'

'Of course,' Druella said nastily; 'they breed like Weasleys. Seven daughters? I ask you!'

'Trying for a son, I should imagine,' said Orion absently.

'Naturally,' said Walburga. There was a honeyed cast to her voice now, and as she spoke her eyes swept the length of the table before settling pointedly on her sister-in-law. 'But of course, not all of us are as successful in that endeavour as we would like to be.'

Druella flushed a horrid shade of puce and began to spoon her soup at great speed.

'Nevertheless, it's a sign of character to know when to admit defeat,' Arcturus said. 'I would have expected old Smythe to show more sense. If you aren't getting what you want out of the mare, stop putting quite so much effort into her.'

Sirius choked on his soup and ducked beneath the table, coughing furtively into his napkin. Bellatrix pulled away from him, frowning down her nose in disgust.

'It is a shame,' Walburga declaimed regally. 'A fine old name doomed to die out simply because the chosen woman could not produce a male heir.'

She turned to her left, almost smiling as she reached to pat the back of Regulus's hand. He beamed adoringly up at her.

'At least young Ananda is making a suitable marriage,' Orion said. 'Adrian Fitzhenri is a fine specimen of a wizard.'

'But Uncle,' said Narcissa; 'he works for a living.'

'Hardly,' said James, earning himself surprised looks from around the table. Clearly children did not usually enter the conversation around the Black table without an explicit invitation. 'The Fitzhenris could support a dozen idle sons. He enjoys his work.'

'Enjoys making a travesty of an ancient institution,' said Arcturus coldly. 'The mess he's making at St Mungo's – I've said all along that he was too young and naïve to be given that sort of influence.'

'Perhaps if you had been invited to serve on the Board of Governors you would have a different perspective, sir,' James said. His tone was light and courteous, but Remus very nearly inhaled his soup. The implication of the words could not be mistaken. 'My father – Fleamont Potter, you understand – says that Healer Fitzhenri is bringing about some important reforms.'

'If by reforms you mean throwing open the wards to be made into rest homes for filthy profligates, then yes, I daresay he is,' Arcturus hissed. 'I, for one, feel that the hospital should be rather more discerning as to the types of cases they treat.'

'But surely the purpose of a hospital is to give care to those in need,' said James, all amiable innocence. 'And someone has to put right the Muggles who run afoul of the wrong sort of wizards.'

Sirius was grinning enormously now, and seemed to have given up on his soup. His eyes flicked back and forth between his friend and his grandfather.

Arcturus curled his lip in scorn. 'I am certainly not disputing that,' he said. 'Naturally if we are to avoid the inconvenience of becoming objects of Muggle curiosity a measure of caution is needed in undoing such regrettable incidents. What I find distasteful is Fitzhenri's penchant for harbouring the dregs of wizarding society. You are aware, Walburga, that this winter he kept one half-breed in the hospital so long that they had to see to its… monthly considerations not once but twice?'

'Disgraceful,' said Mrs Black, sneering unpleasantly.

There was a hideous squelching noise, and Pollux Black piped up; 'Hanging's too good for 'em.'

Remus laid down his spoon across his bowl, feeling suddenly rather ill. In conjunction with the word half-breed, 'monthly considerations' could mean only one thing.

'For whom, Father?' Walburga asked, looking more than a little put out by his interruption.

'Muggles of course,' said Pollux. 'Muggle ran into our garden wall once. Great fat Muggle in one of those contraptions they ride about in. Scared my little 'Burga half to death, it did.'

'It did nothing of the sort,' said Mrs Black tightly, glaring murderously at the old man. 'Wipe your mouth; you look like an oozing Bubotuber pod.'

Narcissa made a tiny gagging noise in the back of her throat and cast her eyes frantically away from her grandfather.

'Ought to exterminate the lot of them,' Irma groused, her voice grating horribly in Remus's ear. 'Wouldn't think twice if they were Doxies, would we?'

'The trouble is,' said Druella; 'that they're not Doxies. They look too human most of the time; those ridiculously soft-hearted Mudblood types wouldn't stand for a proper extermination.'

'Really, Mother,' Andromeda huffed softly. 'Surely we needn't encourage this sort of conversation at the table.'

'Oh, I do beg your pardon, Drommie,' Druella simpered, looking irritated but clearly chastised. 'What do you suggest we talk about?'

Remus was suddenly very glad that he had set down his spoon, for Mrs Black tapped her wand against the table again and all of the bowls vanished. This left Narcissa awkwardly holding her soiled utensil. Her aunt frowned at her and twitched her wand. The spoon vanished, and Narcissa, empty-handed and red-faced, looked down at her place setting unhappily.

'As a matter of fact,' Andromeda said, turning in her seat and picking up her goblet; 'I rather wanted to ask your opinion, Aunt, on the matter of wealthy young witches and wizards turning their hands to paid occupations – merely as a diversion, you understand?'

'If you're talking about Adrian Fitzhenri, he only works because it gives him great pleasure to drive the rest of us to distraction,' growled Arcturus.

'Actually, I was referring to the case of a clever young witch who would like to invest a spot of money in a nice little going concern,' Andromeda said, still obviously addressing Walburga.

'Andromeda, really,' her mother said crossly. 'We've already discussed this.'

'Oh, yes, Mamma, we have,' said Drommie; 'but I did want to know what Aunt Walburga thought. After all, you and Papa are understandably eager to see us all happily married, but Bella's quite right. All the truly eligible pure-blood men are either rather too young or far too old. My energies would be positively wasted on someone like Geraint Yaxley; he's practically a geriatric.'

'He's thirty-seven,' Druella said stiffly. 'And he's handsome and well-to-do.'

'Auntie, I would so value your opinion,' Andromeda coaxed, smiling charmingly. 'I was thinking of taking some of my dowry money and putting it into a little hat-shop. I know you spoke well of the silk orchids I made for the end-of-school party thrown by Thalia Smythe. Would they not look charming on a hat?'

'Then put them on a hat. What's to stop you?' Irma grunted. 'There's no need to muck about selling the blasted things.'

'But Grandmother, you were saying only last week that there's such a dearth of respectable, pure-blood establishments in London today,' said Andromeda, the very picture of innocent surprise. 'With the money Papa has promised to settle on me I could make it a most exclusive shop. Only the very best materials, only the very best clientele.'

'That money is for your dowry!' her mother snapped. 'Your father isn't about to give you forty thousand Galleons to toss away on a silly girlish whim!'

'I wouldn't be tossing it away; it's an investment,' Andromeda explained in a patronizing tone that Remus rather thought ought to be reserved for very young children or very slow trolls. 'I could always sell the shop on if I wished to, and I'm sure I could double the money in just a few years.'

She smiled charmingly at Walburga. 'What do you think, Auntie? After all, it may be a year or two before Bella's intended is – erm, ripe. It might behove me to find some pleasant, genteel occupation to fill my time. I'm afraid I don't fancy sitting like a pretty statue in the corner of the morning room, dashing off letters to all my old school chums. I should like to do something a bit more interesting; I'm sure you understand.'

'The idea has merit,' Walburga said. Remus wondered whether she meant it, or whether she was merely trying to see how dark Druella's angry flush could get. 'But I hardly think it would take your dowry gold to establish a little shop. Five or six thousand Galleons ought to be more than enough.'

'Oh, not with prices being what they are, Aunt, surely,' said Andromeda. 'I would need thirty thousand at least.'

'Ten.' Walburga tapped her wand, and low dishes of turtle meat floating in broth appeared. Her eyes were fixed shrewdly on her niece, as if they were two traders locked in negotiation.

'The premises alone would run to that much,' said Andromeda; 'properly situated and furnished, of course. One cannot hope for the very best of clients if one does not present the most elegant atmosphere. Twenty-five.'

'Twenty,' said Walburga. 'Half of your marriage settlement to invest, the other half to remain in your parents' care. In the ordinary way of things I would think it ridiculous, a lady of your station going into trade. But I daresay you need something to keep you occupied, or you're liable to get yourself into trouble.'

Andromeda shook her head. 'Twenty isn't enough, Aunt. I'll need materials and a shop girl, and a proper milliner from Paris to help with the practical side of things. And of course money to advertise and to offer samples of my work to prominent pure-blood ladies. Twenty-five thousand is the very least I would need.'

'Twenty,' Walburga repeated in a tone that was not to be argued. Her expression softened marginally. 'And your uncle and I will make you a personal gift of five thousand Galleons as a gesture of our support.'

Andromeda smiled enormously. 'How generous of you, Aunt,' she said. 'I assure you that you will never forget my gratitude!'

'It's settled, then,' Walburga said, picking up a fork with short tines and an indented bowl. She speared a piece of turtle meat and chewed it pensively. 'I shall write to your father tomorrow.'

Druella Black seemed to be choking on her own tongue, but it was obvious that she did not dare to contradict her sister-in-law.

'Hats!' snorted Irma. 'Absurd, that's what it is. Positively absurd.'

Andromeda turned to her, and Remus was startled by the glint of almost fiendish delight in her eyes as she said sweetly; 'I shall be sure to send you my very first one, Grandmother. You can wear it to Ananda Smythe's wedding.'

'Haven't had an invitation yet,' Irma said bitterly. 'Have you, Walburga?'

'Not yet,' Mrs Black said. 'I cannot understand young people today. There is so little respect for the old forms. Invitations ought to have been sent out months ago.'

'Oh, they were,' said James cheerily. 'We got ours at Easter. But of course, Pleione Smythe is my mother's cousin, and we're ever so close to them. It's a very exclusive affair; I don't suppose you rated an invitation, that's all.'

Walburga turned on him like an adder seeking its prey. 'Young man,' she said coldly; 'there is not a pure-blooded drawing room in this nation where the House of Black is not welcome.'

'What about the Weasleys'?' James asked, smiling broadly. As Mrs Black seemed to grow large in her chair, he took a bite of his food and sighed happily. 'Simply delicious,' he said. 'I've never tasted better.'

'Lamea's turtle is the very best there is!' Regulus said eagerly. Then he pressed his fingertips to his lips and smiled apologetically. 'Please excuse me, Mother,' he said.

'This time,' Walburga said quietly, nodding her reproval. 'But one does not speak of one's servants before guests, Regulus.'

'Yes, ma'am,' the boy pledged, bobbing his head vigorously. He turned his attention on his food.

Remus did not think much of the turtle meat. It had a very strong flavour, vaguely fishy, and the broth had a strange tang to it. He wiped his lips carefully, just as Mother had instructed, and reached for his goblet.

It was filled with something the colour of blackcurrant cordial, and he took a sip. As the liquid burned against his tongue he inhaled with a snort. The drink was not sweet at all; it was sharp and smoky and it seemed to shrivel the skin over his pallet. He looked down at it again, filled with consternation and confusion.

Bellatrix sneered dispassionately. 'It seems the little half-blood doesn't know a good vintage when he tastes it, Aunt. You're wasting your wine on him.'

Remus hung his head, raising his napkin to wipe away the dark fluid that had trickled from the corner of his mouth and trying not to feel the sting of mortification as unpleasant chuckles rounded the table. His cheeks were burning. Wine? What kind of wizards served wine to children? He glanced down at Regulus, who was taking a precise quaff from his goblet, and wondered whether it, too, contained alcohol.

'Now, Bellatrix,' said Orion; 'it does not hurt to give the common people a taste of the finer things in life – provided they do not grow accustomed to the courtesy.'

There was a loud clatter and turtle broth splashed onto the tablecloth. Sirius had dropped his fork into his dish. An exceedingly nasty smile spread across Bellatrix's beautiful face.

'Drink up, boy,' she said. 'I daresay you'll never taste its like again.'

Remus could hear the blood rushing in his ears, and he knew he was sunk almost as low in his seat as was mortally possible. He could feel Sirius's eyes upon him, angry and indignant and hurt on his behalf. The seconds seemed to stretch into eternity before a loud, affable voice filled the room.

'I've always rather thought a nicely aged Château d'Yquem superior to even the best wizarding vintages,' James said. 'It's a shame when our old families let silly old conventions stand in the way of the finer things in life, don't you think?'

Mrs Black rapped the table so hard this time that Remus was amazed her wand did not break. The shallow bowls were replaced with plates elegantly arranged with precise slices of roasted baron of lamb, potatoes cut into pieces the size of matchsticks, and slender stalks of steamed asparagus.

'Remus?' It was the first time Sirius had spoken since leaving the drawing room. Remus glanced up timorously, still unable to raise his head. Sirius pointed at his plate, jerking his head urgently.

'I'm sorry, ma'am,' Remus mumbled, turning approximately toward the head of the table. 'I'm… allergic to asparagus.'

Mrs Black exhaled sharply through her nose, but with a twitch of her wand the vegetable vanished from his plate. Remus could feel Sirius relaxing tangibly. He wondered what sort of pitfall he had avoided this time.

His question was answered a moment later when Bellatrix picked up one of the delicate stalks between finger and thumb. Parting her lips ever so slightly, she inserted the cut end between them. Then, with a single fluid rippling of her throat, she sucked in the vegetable whole – without taking a single bite.

Remus forgot his discomfiture as he stared at her. Surely she had not done that. Surely that was not the proper, pure-blooded way to eat aspargus.

But then Arcturus did the same thing. Remus twisted in his seat, leaning forward so that he could look past Andromeda at James. At school James always picked up his asparagus and bit off the tip, nibbling it down bit by bit just like everyone else. Now, he plucked it off the plate, and just as the others had done, sucked it into his mouth. He swallowed and smirked happily before focusing on his lamb.

Remus forced himself to pick up his fork and knife and to set to work on the meat and the julienne potatoes, but his stomach was churning. He wondered unhappily if his friends had spent all of the last year looking on with quiet scorn as he ate in the Great Hall. He felt suddenly very uncultured and ignorant – savage. The meat was rich and very tender, and there was the faintest pink hue to the centre. The thought that it was a little overdone flickered through his mind, leaving him feeling more than ever like an animal.

Arcturus was speaking again, launching into a long declamation about the state of the Ministry of Magic. Remus scarcely listened. He finished his food and laid the knife and fork he had used carefully across the plate. A roll and a pat of butter had appeared on the little dish to his left, and he ate that as well, nibbling on it not because he was hungry, but because he had nothing else to do.

When the plates vanished, crystal dishes appeared, each one containing a crimson globe of sorbet. For this they used the smallest spoon. The cold concoction was refreshing and cleansing. It tasted of strawberries and brandy, and Remus ate it gratefully, feeling his spirits reviving a little. Surely the meal was almost at an end; this was dessert.

He was mistaken. The dishes vanished and large plates appeared again. This time each one held a tiny roasted bird on a bed of spinach and almonds, bereft of its limbs but still largely whole. Narcissa let out a delighted laugh. 'Oh, Auntie!' she gushed. 'Grouse! My very favourite!'

'I am well aware of that, Narcissa my dear,' said Walburga regally. 'A lady does not raise her voice at the table.'

Subdued by the censure, Narcissa picked up the curved talon-like knife and the slender three-tined fork and began to carve the fowl expertly. Everyone else was doing the same, and Remus stared down at his plate. He did not know the first thing about carving a bird.

There was a tiny sound to his left, rather like a cough. He turned his head, wondering if Andromeda had been trying to catch his eye. She did not appear to have done so, but as he watched she picked up her fork and her knife and began, very slowly, to take long, precise slices off of the back of the bird.

Remus emulated her carefully. The position of the wrists was awkward, and his heart was in his throat the whole time he worked, but at last he had the grouse reduced to edible morsels that somehow he managed to force down – even though he had already eaten more than he was accustomed to, and the rich food was not sitting well in his stomach.

James was spearheading the conversation now, forcing Orion and Arcturus into a discussion of the British and Irish Quidditch League prospects for the year. It would have been comical to watch the two distinguished men so thoroughly at the mercy of a twelve-year-old boy, save that Remus could only wish unhappily that the dinner would end so that he could slink back to the safety of the little house in Falmouth, where he could eat without fear of rebuke and where he could have a cool glass of water with his meal. He was frightfully thirsty after the gamey flavour of the fowl, and he knew he would soon yield to the temptation to partake of the wine again.

'…the makings of an excellent Beater,' James was saying. 'Drommie knows a thing or two about Beaters, don't you, Drommie?'

There was a sharp ting as the game knife landed against the edge of Andromeda's plate. 'I'm afraid not,' she said, her voice carefully level. 'I don't play.'

'Yeah,' said James; 'but you're such good mates with that—'

'Bollocks!' Sirius yelped. He had upset his goblet, and a dark stain was spreading down the tablecloth. Druella yelped and pushed her chair back as if afraid the flood – which was moving in the opposite direction, towards Remus and Irma – would spill over into her lap. Narcissa tittered, trying and failing to hide it with the corner of her napkin. Bellatrix raised a scornful eyebrow and drew her wand.

'Evanesco,' she muttered. The fluid vanished. Another jerk of the wand righted the empty goblet.

Mrs Black was on her feet, hands braced against the table as she glared at her eldest son. He smiled sheepishly at her.

'Sorry, Mum,' he said, his voice quavering only a little. 'Silly old me, eh?'

'I remember once when we were up at the McKinnons',' James said conversationally; 'I dropped a whole bowl of raspberry punch. You should have seen the splash: like a fountain in the middle of the drawing room floor! Tell me, Mrs Black, have you ever tasted Mrs McKinnon's raspberry punch?'

She turned on him, her dark eyes glittering with malice and astonishment, as if she had never imagined anyone would dare to interrupt her at such a moment. But James had on his most ingratiating smile, and she could not seem to find the words to strip away his boldness.

'I only ask, you see, because that sorbet you served was far superior,' James flattered; 'and much less of a danger to the carpet.'

Bellatrix laughed, a less ominous sound than previously. She actually seemed to be amused. Mrs Black sat down stiffly and rapped her wand upon the table. Small plates appeared, each bearing a sprig of parsley and a wedge of strong-smelling blue-veined Stilton cheese. This was eaten with a slender fork rather like the one that had been used for the birds. The cheese had been made with raw milk, and the sharp flavour made Remus's eyes water. He was forced at last to take another mouthful of wine, which though it did nothing to quench his thirst at least masked the bitterness of the cheese.

Next, bowls of fluffy vanilla ice cream appeared. Regulus made a small, happy sound and tucked in without even waiting for his grandfather to take the first taste. Either no one noticed or no one minded his lapse in etiquette.

'While we're in London I think we ought to take in a show, don't you, Bella?' Andromeda asked with obvious effort. 'Perhaps you could recommend something, Uncle?'

Remus choked down the ice cream, though by now his nerves were in such a state that he could not even taste it. He did not dare to hope that this might be the last course.

It was not; the bowls disappeared to be replaced with cut glass dishes, tinted green and filled with stewed pears in a caramelized sauce. Remus felt the last of his courage leaving him. Sirius had warned him not to use knife or fork for pears, but the round halves in the sticky sauce looked impossible to eat with his fingers. Steeling himself and trying yet again to forget how thirsty he was, he reached out.

Something brushed against his thigh, very gently. He turned, and found Andromeda watching him. She shook her head almost imperceptibly. Then, with a deliberate motion, she picked up the strange fork with the crossbar and began to eat from her own dish. Wretchedly grateful for her timely warning, Remus did the same.

When these last dishes vanished they were not replaced. Mrs Black rose. Instantly, all the men did the same. Remus struggled to push back his heavy chair, but managed somehow to find his feet. The younger women stood as well: everyone but Irma Black.

'I think it is time to leave the gentlemen to their port,' Walburga said in a voice that clearly communicated the matter was not open for discussion. She strode around the table and swept out of the room. Bellatrix followed her, moving like a Grand Duchess in the palace of the Tsar.

Andromeda helped her grandmother to her feet, and let Irma take her arm as they followed. Then went Narcissa, with Druella bringing up the rear. As soon as the door closed, Arcturus sat again. He produced his wand and tapped the table. Empty port glasses appeared before each of the remaining people – even Regulus.

The others sat down again, and Remus did the same. He could not pull his chair forward, and so he sat unhappily with his hands in his lap, wishing he were anywhere but here.

Arcturus pointed his wand at the sideboard, and a heavy decanter of dark red fluid levitated smoothly into his hand. He poured out a generous portion and then passed it on to Sirius.

Sirius looked at the bottle and grimaced. 'May James and Remus and I be excused, Grandfather?' he asked.

The man's eyes narrowed. 'Why?'

Sirius set down the decanter loudly. 'Because we're too young for port and politics!' he snapped. Realizing he had taken a rather too defiant tone, he ducked his head. 'Because I would like to show my friends the rest of the house, sir,' he mumbled.

'I'd be quite eager for a look at the great Black family mansion,' James said brightly. 'After all, it has quite a reputation in my sort of circles.'

It did not strike Remus as flattering, but the remark seemed to placate Arcturus. He favoured James with a cold half-smile. 'Certainly,' he said. 'If you wish, Master Potter, you may be excused.'

'Thank you,' James said, rising and bowing. He strode to the door and opened it. 'Come along Sirius, Remus,' he said.

Unable to express or even truly comprehend his relief, Remus slid off the chair and hurried as swiftly as he dared into the relative safety of the entrance hall. Sirius followed swiftly on his heels.