99. A Matter of Time

"Well, so far we've reached the front door without exploding into flames," Mora commented arily as the pair stood upon the threshold of Twelve Grimmauld Place. "You sure pureblood elitists used to live here?"

Sirius cracked a smile. "'Friad so," he shrugged. "Good old mum and dad, may they rest in anything but peace..."

"And now us...I'm sure you can sense my excitement."

His grin broadened. "You're just just the sunshine this dusty old place needs."

Mora laced her fingers between his own, forming their usual seam together. "Really? I'm so bloody wonderful?"

Drawing their clasped hands to his mouth, he planted fervent kissed over each of her fingers. "You make this place Buckingham Palace, m'lady." With that, Sirius pulled his wand from his pocket and placed it against the door knocker, a bronze serpent. At the touch of his wand, there was a click. "Ready, luv?"

Mora forced a smile, much as Lily had when the Potters had been forced to vacate their home last summer. "Why not..."

Sirius ushered her inside. "Home sweet -"

"HOW DARE YOU RETURN!

Affronted by the hollers, Mora had to fight the urge to run back out the door and down the street. But, Sirius' hold on her hand and his unsurprised, yet annoyed air kept her in place. "Don't mind, that's just...erm...mother."

Mora snorted. "Your...mum? Your," she dropped her voice, "dead mum?"

"The portrait of my dead mum..."

In the shrieks, Mora took the opportunity to soak in the first few steps of her new home. They stood at the head of a long hallway, with doors at various places, as well as portraits lining the walls. A chandelier hung above it all, shimmering elegantly in the mid-afternoon light. It was all very grand, Mora thought. Towards the front, one full-length canvas had been covered with lush velvet curtains, though they did not stop the painting's torrent of shouts.

The pair drew closer. "Ah... your mum's portrait..." She examined the cloaked painting, far too afraid to peak beneath. "Can't you just...you know...take her down?"

"HOW DARE YOU MAKE SUCH A SUGGESTION!" the painting roared in its most appalled denouement. "TO SUGGEST I BE REMOVED FROM MY OWN HOME! FILTHY WRETCH THAT YOU ARE!"

"...as daft two-dimensionally as she was in life," Sirius said, his head hung. He ripped the curtain away, ready to give the lady that sat behind it, the deceased Walburga Black, a piece of his mind. "Shut up, you bloody cow."

The woman, poised in her frame like a lioness, was anything but a cow. Walburga Black wore a sheik black cap, as well as the finest clothes money could buy. Though, that was the extent of her good-looks. In her age, she had become sunken, with yellowed skin that stretched over her boney face like wax-paper. Perhaps she had been ill when the portrait was done? "I WILL NOT -"

"She's pureblood, first of all, so you might as well get your blood-traitor jokes in-line," Sirius shouted down the likeness of his mother.

The painting looked down her nose upon Mora, who simply gazed up to her in a mix of confusion and intrigue. "Pureblooded...? You, taking up with a woman of noble birth?" The painting narrowed her stare upon Mora. "Tell me, child, if you be a pureblood, of what house do you hail?"

"Cartea."

Missus Black offered a non-commital noise. "French family, are you not?"

Mora fought the urge to shuffle back. "That's kind of creepy," she hissed into Sirius' ear.

"Point is, you aren't going to be bothering her, you hear? This is her home now, so I don't want you -"

"A NON-BLACK CANNOT LIVE IN MY HOUSE -"

"IT'S NOT YOUR BLOODY HOUSE!" Sirius roared. "And she's not going to be a non-Black for much longer... looks like you'll no longer be the lady of the house, 'Burga."

Just as it appeared Missus Black would leap from the constraints of her frame to throttled Sirius, he snapped a silencing charm. With that, the velvet curtains soared together, cloaking the painting into darkness and her screams into an eerie quiet.

After one short, draw of breath, Sirius turned back to his fiance. "Well, now that you've met the in-laws..."

It took another moment for Mora to find words. "She's...wretched."

The auror laughed. "That she is, just like she was in life... at least in life I was able to get away from her..."

"So, why don't you just burn that rudy thing?" she asked. "I doubt you keep her around for sentimental reasons."

"Bloody witch has a permanent sticking charm on it," he groaned. "No matter what I do, there's no way to get her off the wall and out of my house."

The curtains trembled at these words; clearly the Black matriarch was roused.

"So, I just cover the old bat up and hex her into sweet silence when I can... course, the silencing charms wear off after a time. So, it helps to let her scream once and a while, rather than let the charms fade on their own, and be woken up in the middle of the bloody night by her."

Mora nodded. "I think the bride is supposed to say her groom's mother is delightful or something along those lines... but I can't help but think she's ... sort of...well she's just a -"

"Horrid bitch?"

The couple erupted with laughter, the sounds of which bounced from the marble surfaces, still echoing once they had long-since finished. "Well... be honest..." Sirius prompted. "You hate it?" His question, though riddled with self-deprecation, was hopeful.

"It's very elegant, that's for sure..." she commented, as delicately as she could. "Honestly, with a few, homey adjustments, it will be great."

"Homey, eh..." Sirius echoed, "Meaning de-Slytherin-ie?"

The Healer smiled. "Precisely. Serpent decor should be kept to a minimum. Though that could be a problem with all the wall moldings... but, maybe, some of the other decorations?" She turned to a nearby end table, grasping the first thing she could reach - a vase which was, of course, outfitted with critalized snake designs.

"Yeah...sure...totally do-able," Sirius agreed, though it was clear his mind was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere that had less to do with decor. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Or..." Mora grinned, snaking one of her arms around his neck, while letting the other slip down to his chest. "I suppose we could explore a bit more...have a look upstairs...at the bedrooms..." Before she could string together another sentence, their lips fell together in a long kiss.

In those moments, Mora did not think of what they had been through, where they had just escaped; all she had, all she needed, was this. All she needed was Sirius. In those moments, as Sirius ruefully tossed her over his shoulder and bolted up the stairs, with her laughing all the way, she was as light as air. She was at home in Sirius' arms; and there, she could be anything, do anything, believe anything, even believe that everything was going to be alright.

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The fire cracked before him, dancing within the hearth with an amber haze. The glow soaked through the glass clutched in his hand, burning within the dark liquid. He turned the glasses about, letting the slosh of the liquor and the clink of the ice cubes rattle through the silent chamber.

Though he sat alone, staring into the fire, while his enemies were most likely patting themselves on the backs, he felt anything but defeated. How revolting it should seem, to imagine those fools in celebrations. Yet Voldemort could not find the image no less than delicious. Yes, give them their hour of triumph. Let them think, even for this moment, that they had prevailed. Let them think it was over.

Though Voldemort knew very well that it was far from over. And so did she.

He could feel her, even now. Even leagues away, it was as if she were still in the next room. No, it would take much more than such a distance to truly keep them apart. Their bond was deeper than such a triviality, wider than the country and the cities that stood between them. There was no way to seperate them. There was nowhere she could go that he would not be with her. Nothing could sever them; she was, and forever would be his. There was no one, nor nothing that could change that. It was truer than flesh and blood themselves.

Yet, despite all of that, despite the gravity and all-encompassing reality of his claim to her, he had let her go. Chuckling, he raised his glass to his mouth, pressing it to his lips against his ever-growing smirk. Of course, he had not actually relinquished his claim.

He would give them this moment. Their small reprieve, a short recess. Though, by no means was this the end. Much to the contrary, it was only the beginning. Let her and her foolish boy revel in his victory. Let Black boast this night away; let him hold her in the delusion that she was, or had ever been, his own. Let him have this night. It would be, after all, one of his last with her.

His plan had begun. Soon, his Ra would return to him; she would no longer be able to deny the truth, deny him, or deny herself. After all, she had no other choice. This was who she was; he was who she was. In time, she would see. In time, she would feel.

Voldemort leered in the darkness, drinking in this moment. It was only a matter of time. Let them have this dilusionary moment; it would make their fall all the sweeter.

In this freedom, there would be no escape. There would be no reprieve. It was only a matter of time.

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"SIRIUS BLACK!" Mora called up the staircase, her voice booming through the grand entrance way of their new home. "They're supposed to be here in five minutes - if you're arse isn't dressed and ready -"

"Gimme a minute, wife!" the auror's voice wafted down from the second floor. Though his nonchalant reassurance did nothing to ease Mora's nerves.

"Yeah, well, you don't get down here soon, I may not end up your wife," she snapped back.

"That's the stress talking, luv!" Sirius called down happily.

Mora grumbled, fussing about the dining room, as if she were actually contributing to any of the preparations. In reality, however, it was the dilapidated house-elf, Kreacher, who bustled about, setting each plate in perfect order. She had certainly had her doubts about Kreacher when she and Sirius first moved into Twelve Grimmauld Place; it was rather obvious that Sirius despised him. Yet, the odd little elf seemed rather keen to Mora. He clearly saw her as the new mistress of the home - she was, after all, to be the next (and only remaining) Mistress Black. Sullen as he may behave, Mora did not find Kreacher that off-putting. And she was, after all, gracious for the help. Sirius warned her that the little bugger would rattle on about blood purity, the bigotries of the family he has so long served, but thankfully that conversation had not come up in Mora's company, yet.

They had been in their new home of nearly a week, trying to preoccupy them as best as they could: they dug through the basement, the attic; the emptied drawers and sorted through trunks; they tried their best to hide, dispose of, and blatantly destroy as much of the serpent decor as they could (they had not, though, foreseen how much of it had been cursed into place.)

Yet despite this week of activity, of in-house habitation (as they were, at the moment, under absolute lock-down as commanded by the Order) they could not busy themselves enough to ignore the absence of the rest of their family, their Marauders. With the current state of things, the Order thought it best to keep everyone put for the present time; meaning, the Potters in particular were not permitted to leave their hiding to reunite with Sirius and Mora.

Nor was anyone save for the highest of the Order - being Dumbledore, McGonagil, and Moody - allowed to visit Twelve Grimmauld Place. However, the lack of visitors at the Black home was less so a security measure, and more an attempt to allow Mora to ease back into some form of a routine without being bombarded with questioning and consoling remarks. Though everyone in the Order surely meant well, Dumbledore knew far too well that Mora would not have been ready for that yet.

Though, tonight, their solitude was to end. Finally, they had received the permission from Dumbledore they had been waiting (somewhat) patiently for. For the first time in two weeks, two weeks in which their entire worlds had shifted so irreversibly, the Marauders would be reunited. James, Lily, Reamus, and Peter would be arriving at Twelve Grimmauld Place in less than five minutes time. The family would finally be together again.

She should be excited. She should have been absolutely delighted, so incredibly elated at the impending reunion. Yet for some reason all Mora could feel was the weight of a thousand hippogriffs, pressing against her shoulders without mercy. She should have been thinking of the embraces, the laughters, the familiar and effortless camaraderie, yet all she could think of was silence and the knowledge that accompanied it.

The thoughts, the musings, the unintentional judgements. While she knew none of them would ever dream of admitting it, Mora knew they had to think of her in a different light now. Now, she wasn't just Mora, the accidental ex-girlfriend of the darkest wizard of their age, but the woman he still held a dark claim to, the woman he had released with full confidence that she would willingly return to him. Whether her mates would ever admit aloud or not, Mora knew that changed things.

A pair of arms snaked around her waist from behind. Instinctually, Mora jumped away. She spun around, met with the suddenly embarrassed, and even more frightfully concerned face of Sirius.

"Oh, bullocks..." she hurried out in her humiliation. "Sirisus, I'm so sorry, I -"

"No, I shouldn't..." the auror began. "After -" He stopped himself once the second syllable slipped from his lips, though that was all Mora needed to hear in order to get the rest of that thought.

Mora grabbed Sirius' hand, twining his fingers between her own. She kissed him softly on the lips with a silent understanding.

"So," she began, trying to put on her most chipper of voices. "They should be here any minute...or, more like, five minutes ago..."

"I'm afraid the gang is going to be fashionably late," Sirius reported smoothly.

The Healer's brow furrowed. "Huh?

"Yes, well, they had to give me ample time..."

Her arms crossed over her chest in an accusatory stance. "Ample time to what? Give me a bloody heart attack?"

"Close..." his hand slipped into his pocket. "To give you something, but I'm afraid it will not require your medical expertise..." He drew his hand out. "C'mon now, hold out your palm."

Mora eyed his closed first with rampant suspicion.

"Oy! It's not gonna bite!"

Sighing, she obliged and offered her palm. While she had been expecting him to put whatever this mystery item was in her hand, he took hold of it with his free hand. Slowly, he dropped down onto one knee before her.

Her cheeks pinked at the archetypal gesture. "Sirius...what are you...?"

"Typically when a bloke gives his girl one of these, this is how it's done." He held up to Mora a sparkling, elegant pave band, curving into a dainty halo around a bright, oval sapphire. "You'll remember, we actually did this song and dance a couple weeks ago..."

"Sirius..." she gasped.

"I figured, since we couldn't get the first one back, it was just as well get a new ring, eh? I thought it would be best not to get one too similar to the first one, make it less of a comparison...course, when I say I got it, I mean I had to send the rather excited Molly Weasley to do it, seeing as we're still under a bit of house-arrest here...I know it's not our first ring, but, well...you like it?"

Lost for the right words, or for coherent speech in general, all she could do was nod, smiling brightly.

He smiled in return, and his grip on his hand strengthened. His gray eyes swelled wider, melting her with his gaze. "Mora Cartea, I promise to love you and cherish you, just as I did those weeks ago. I will fight with you through this all, because I know we're going to come out on the other side."

"Bloody hell, I'm crying!" she laughed as she finally sensed the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I didn't even do that the first time!"

"See? Two times is the charm," Sirius replied with a cheeky grin. "Well, Mora, will you marry me...still?"

Falling to her knees to be on level with him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. Finally, when their lips parted, she laughed, "Okay! Gimme the ring!"

Grinning devilishly, he held the diamond up once more. "Oh, this?"

She nodded. "Gimme gimme gimme!"

Obliging, he slipped the ring on her finger. "Well, what do you know? Fits like a charm!"

Three loud knocks sounded at the front door. Mora nearly fell over in her exasperation. "Merlin - I'm bloody crying on the floor in the middle of the bloody foyer, and now they show up?"

Sirius couldn't help but chuckle at his fiance's dispense. "Alright, up we go!" He helped Mora to her feet, and the two turned to the front door. "You ready for this?"

"Buggar..." she muttered, frantically trying to wipe away all evidence of tears. "Oh, right - yes." She took a breath, and then another. "Yes, I'm ready."

With a quick squeeze of her hand, Sirius moved to the door. He hardly had the chance to open it smidgeon before it smacked open in a blur of red hair and sobs. Lily had thrown herself into Sirius' arms, and just as to be expected, she was bawling.

"Aw come on, Lil, I know the house is ugly and all, but this is just hurting my feelings..."

"You...ruddy...idiot," she laughed, though her voice was still mingled with tears. She looked up from Sirius' shoulder to Mora. "And you!"

Mora stepped closer, just close enough for the redhead to grab her by the arm and wrench her into the embrace. "Yup, me," Mora managed to wheeze out, despite the bone-crunching strength of Lily's arms, not to mention the tears that had begun to rampage down the blond's cheeks.

"Lily, dear, you are going to have to share them," a voice teased.

"Padfoot, you git, get over here!" Sirius celebrated roundly.

Mora looked up, though she and Lily remained firmly entrenched in their hug. The remaining Marauders stood just within the threshold; James, Remus, and Peter, hardly a meter away. They were together again. Together, they were safe. Together, they were home.

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"Wormtail, hurry up with those drinks, why don't you?" James hollered towards the kitchen, straining above the happy murmurings of the Marauders around the dining room table.

"I-I...one m-minute!" the somewhat-panicked voice of Peter answered back.

Sirius opened his mouth to yell something else, but Mora shot him a disapproving look. Be nice, she mouthed at him.

"I'll go help," Remus offered, rising from his seat.

"Nah, Moony, we can just send for Kreatcher..." Sirius began. "I'm sure he's not doing anything in the least bit interesting at the moment..."

"Right, because that worked so well earlier this evening," Mora sighed, her face retreating into the palms of her hands. "Really, mates, I'm so sorry, I wasn't ready for him to be so... temperamental."

"Yes, I'll go help then," the werewolf said quickly, slipping out of the dining room.

No, Kreatcher certainly did not behave well in such mixed company. It took hardly five minutes for the mangey house elf to start in on Lily's muggle parentage. Lily seemed to brush it off, she had after all endured much worse prejudices than a two-foot elf could present, but James and Sirius came unbelievably close to strangeling the little creature. Mora had to easily written off Sirius' warnings when they moved in that even Kreatcher would be amiable to her, it was because she was a pureblood - the pureblooded-mania he had been entrenched burned as hotly as had it when Walburga ruled the household.

"Mora, really, it's okay," the former head-girl offered. "Poor thing, having those people teach him those awful things, Merlin only knows how they used to treat him."

"Merlin, and well, maybe the bloke who grew up here," Sirius interjected. "Eh, I'm not saying they treasured him like a prized poodle or anything, but definitely wasn't the most abused member of this household."

He had meant it jokingly, in that undercut rueful air he always seemed to use in the face of sober subjects, yet reminiscing of his childhood could not help but bring the group to stillness. They certainly did not pity him, but they all felt deeply for him (though he would never let anyone console him about; it was not something he permitted. In his way, he thought that would be succumbing to his parents and his family, although they were dead and gone.)

Beneath the table, Mora reached for Sirius' hand. She had found that this type of smaller, intimate gesture was permissible when encroaching this topic. "Well, it's our house now," she said, "Snake decor and all."

"Here, here!" James cheered.

As if right on cue, Reamus and Peter appeared in the doorway, each with a platter of glasses. "Everyone ready for a bit of post-dinner -"

"Firewhiskey ahoy!" Mora called out, grabbing a glass off the tray. "Oh, I'm sorry, we were pretending these were fancy after-dinner cocktails?"

"Seeing as you went through so much trouble with this d-dinner," Peter started, passing out the remaining drinks. "We fi-figured it was the least we could do."

Mora smiled. "Well, while that's very sweet, fancy clearly isn't my forte." The group broke into hysterics, howling as she took a deep gulp from her drink without blinking, only to gag - it was well known amongst them that Mora was not one for hard liquor, nor any alcohol for that matter.

"That's my girl!" Sirius applauded, putting an arm around her.

"A toast," Lily offered, raising her glass, "To Mora and Sirius." There was a chorus of mocking ahh's from the remaining Marauders, but the redhead sushed them back down into silence. "I know we all agreed not to get into heavy drama tonight, but...when you two were gone, those were really the worst days of our lives. To have you here again, together, safe and...safe and sound..."

"Prongs, your wife is flash-flooding again," Sirius joked.

"Shut it," Lily protested, though able to break through her sudden tears with laughter. "The point is, you're back, and you better stay put, you hear me?"

Mora raised her glass in a salute. "The queen has spoken. No straying for us!"

"Amen to that!" Sirius agreed. "And you know what? It won't be long till you have to keep Harry from smuggling these into the house. Good thing Dumbledore's watching him tonight, or else who knows, your little tike might have been boozing as we speak."

"And I'm sure it'll be his Uncle Sirius who ultimately gets busted for supplying Harry with the aforementioned booze," Remus pointed out.

"Make sure you get him the good stuff," James mock-whispered across the table to him, eliciting a smack across the arm from his wife.

"You intend to make my godson a little wino, don't you?"

"Just like his godmother," Sirius said, patting his fiance on the back.

"Oh yeah, totally," the blonde agreed with a roll of the eyes. "You know me, can't keep my hands off the butter-beer..."

"Ah, yes, the drink of fourteen year olds," Remus mused.

"Fourteen year olds, and Mora..." James teased.

"Hey now, Pete likes butter-beer too!" the Healer defended, and Peter nodded enigmatically.

James, Sirius, and Remus looked at the blond blankly. "Yup, fourteen year olds, Mora and Wormtail, that sounds about right..."

"Oh, heaven forbid everyone doesn't guzzle down firewhiskey like you lot. That we actually have a liking for something besides a drunken stupor..."

"I don't know, Mora," Lily began, her fingers dancing around the stem of her glass. "Your tolerance could use a bit of a boost. You are twenty after all, it is time you be able to hold more than three in one night..."

Mora's jaw nearly unhinged. "Lily Potter, are you actually condoning I turn to the drink? You out of all people?"

The table erupted with laughter again. "That's right, my wife can drink like a champ," James bragged. "You are all allowed to show your immense jealousy."

"James, showing-off?" Remus began teasingly. "How unique..." Again, cackles enveloped the room.

For one night, Twelve Grimmauld Place would have been entirely unrecognizable to those who had seen it before. This night, it was bright, and warm, and full of laughter and stories and ease. It banished the outside world; for a few hours it was a world in of itself, and the outside was of no consequence.

They should have known such a refuge couldn't survive for long.