ＦＩＦＴＥＥＮ

𝕚𝕧𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕟 𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕗𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕

NOBODY EVER FOUND THE BODY of Vanille's first husband, even with differing Selwyns coming to the manner, asking about whatever happened to Alek Mulciber. Vanille would smile, make pleasantries, and distract his friends with charming wit. It was Greggory Selwyn who always asked the most questions, the most inquiries about his 'friend'. She played the part of a grieving widow as if she was just as shocked as everyone else.

It was the first years of the war, and Mulciber went missing just as many wizards had.

And nobody found the body. Then again, there wasn't one to be found. Vanille had made sure of that, dragging her blade across his throat in a swift cut. There was always a possibility of spell checks to be performed, especially with his high position as a Death Eater in the Dark Lord's 'army'.

It was the act of dragging the body that was harder than the initial killing. She had placed her hands under his armpits, watching as blood leaked over the stones underneath him. It created a trail, like the slime left behind from a snail. Vanille had been covered in it, but, then again, she hadn't been prepared. In years' time, she would look back on all the mistakes she made that day, the different ways she could have been caught. She would look back on it and wonder how she ever could have been so stupid to commit murder out of passion instead of calculation.

Vanille had been distraught, filled with anxiety, a bubble of fear that was impossible to quell. She had been pregnant of all things.

But nobody would ever find his body. Nobody would ever find his money.

So, Vanille moved on to the next, and the next, and the next.

Her son looked up at her, his eyes wide as she continued to stare back down at him. He had a dark complexion, matching her own. He had her nose, he had her cheeks, he had her brows, he had her lips, but he'd always have Mulciber's eyes. They were dark, with just the tinge of hazel with a scar just above his brow. It was done by the same curse that had made the hair never grow back. To a trained, magical eye, they could see the shape was the same as the swish of the curse that had been fired upon his face just one year and one marriage ago.

"I do believe you've yet to apologize," Vanille said, crossing her arms. She had already applied her makeup, her earrings dangling low and her black ballgown dripping over her skin like water. There was music in the manor, a violin playing in the corner, enchanted in the soft tones that all the wizards seemed to like. She wanted to laugh at the irony in their enjoyment of it.

Blaise Zabini was already so tall, just having turned four. Vanille figured he got that from her too, but damn those eyes. He looked down at his feet, causing her gaze to narrow, her fingers tapped against her elbow with long nails scratching into the fabric of the lace sleeves. She continued to cross her arms as her son went silent.

"Look at me," she said, already hearing the loud chattering filling the other room. Now truly wasn't the time for her to give a lecture, but she was still a mother. "You don't lower your head for anybody. Not even me."

Blaise steeled his shoulders, fidgeting with his tiny little suit. He lifted his head high as if he could get taller by stretching his neck. Vanille was unmoved. The music echoed over the corridors, over the stones of the Zabini mansion, but hers and Blaise's voices would not carry past the bubble she had created around them. "I'm sorry, mum."

Vanille bent down, arms crossed, so she could look him in the eye. He seemed to shrink back from her, more out of respect rather than fear. Her face was expressionless, as was his, both knowing to keep appearances in front of any wandering eyes of their guests.

"You're sorry, mother," she corrected him, fingers tapping against her elbow. "Address me properly, or don't address me at all."

"I'm sorry, mother," Blaise repeated, but she saw that spark of defiance in his eyes. She wanted to smile because he hadn't gotten that from his father. There was some of Vanille in her son's eyes after all.

"For what?" Vanille said, her back bent forward, eyes hard upon her son. "If you cannot repeat your mistakes, however, will you learn?"

"I fraternized with the wrong family. I was wrong," Blaise told her, and her lips quirked up once again. She was staring down at her son with no amount of affection since affection had no place tonight. No, tonight was chess, and they were always playing the game. "But mother," he began, that defiance growing. She had taught her son how to speak properly, and it was almost impossible to tell he was four. Age has no meaning and childhood was a thing for muggles.

Vanille raised both brows, but her eyes narrowed, cutting off his sentence. "You're going to say that you do not like them? That you find them dreary or pompous or annoying?"

Blaise began to nod his head, but upon seeing the expression on his mother's face, he spoke without her having to order him to 'use your words, Blaise'. He took a breath, a deep one. "They are annoying, mother." Blaise had wanted to converse with Lucy and Theodore Nott, mostly just Lucy since Theodore was a jerk and had splashed juice on his blazer. He was certain that his mum would scold him for that too.

"And yet," Vanille told him, her eyes hard. "We all must make sacrifices." She took out her wand, tapped it against her son's blazer, and the stain immediately cleared up. "And, your sacrifice is such a small one, Blaise."

Blaise began to pout, but Vanille watched him quickly put a stop to the expression, nodding his head once. It was barely a tip of the head, a sign of the pride that she was teaching him. Vanille smiled, only half, hiding the rest behind curly strands of hair that were purposefully hugging her cheeks.

"Very good," Vanille said, and she dispelled their silent bubble, nodding for him to get back to the party and mingle with the guests she wanted him to. He didn't look happy about it, but with her hand on the back of his neck, bringing him to the guests left him with little choice. Obedience is taught before love.

Vanille watched her son rejoin the crowd of socialites, mixed with the firey lights in the ceiling, the heat from the fireplace, the laughter of the crowd, and Vanille walked closer into the room. She approached the platter offered by one of the many of her help, holding up a glass of champagne for her. She took a small sip, her eyes scanning the room, scanning the floral wallpaper, the flowers, and decorations.

There were brightly colored flower arrangements, rows of white tables where some of her guests lingered off, chatting. In the ceiling were repeated octagon designs, lined with real gold. Vanille's dark skin peeked through the dress as she walked, her leg shown off through the slit in the dark gown.

She watched the crowd, her glass raised to the cup, spotting just the man she was looking for, off in the distance. Off, talking to Lucius Malfoy, was Thadden Rosier, brother to Evan Rosier who had died by Auror Mad-Eye Moody. Vanille finished half her drink by the time she reached them, Lucius Malfoy telling his story on how he had gotten back into the Ministery's good graces.

"Imperius curse has a long reach," Lucius said, his hand on Thadden's shoulder, fingers squeezing into the younger man's shoulder blades. By now, Lucius had told this tale to four influential men of intrigue at the party. "It was prudent at the time, but Lestrange is still at large."

"Lestrange is not a name I'd like here," Vanille said, approaching the gentlemen. "Any not invited are not smart to speak of, you understand?" Lucius's gaze snapped to hers with a clever little smile. By now, Blaise had rejoined with his son, Draco Malfoy, and their little socialite group. Vanille was certain she'd hear about how boring they all were later, but at this moment, none of that mattered.

"Oh indeed," Lucius said, taking a sip of his champagne. "I thought it brave of you to gather us."

'Us?' Vanille thought with a sly smile, wondering when it had become so inclusive or when she had been a part of their collaborative mission that they all abandoned. She lowered her glass, her nails circling the rim as she glanced towards Thadden again, who had taken to trying to catch her eye.

"Is it odder to act as we once did or to all go our separate ways?" Vanille asked, tapping against the glass again as the violin music changed its tempo, switching the melody again. She had heard many compliments on the music and how relaxing it was, or how elegant and masterful it was. Of course, Narcissa Malfoy had been the first one to pull her aside about it. "We'll be watched no matter what, but you have regained your position in the council, I assume?"

Lucius was leaning on his snake-carved cane, one that she knew housed a wand. She had told everyone to come unarmed, but so long as he did not take it out, she'd let it pass. "I did. Hard to turn away a man who funds that council and their endeavors."

Thadden chuckled, raising his own glass to his lips. "And when you threaten the right ones?" Vanille thought that classless, even inelegant, but she laughed with them.

"To our prosperous relationships," she said to the two of them, but her eyes connected with the surviving member of the Rosier family. He had cousins, Vanille knew as much, but his branch left far more in the ways of money.

"Indeed," Lucius said, his smug smile back, as if many of the men he once called allies weren't in Azkaban and rotting, or as if they weren't dead and rotting. He'd never lend a hand to help the ones on the run, the ones who believed in the cause so greatly that they'd abandoned all title to pursue it.

"To our long future together," Thadden said, his eyes on Vanille as he spoke, and she smiled, the melody marking the occasion for the room of Pure Bloods. Never mind that the music was that of muggle composer and violinist, Friedrich "Fritz" Kreisler. Never mind that the champagne they drank was muggle made in France. Vanille took another long sip, finding the entire idea hilarious.

She glanced towards her son, who looked as if his soul was leaving his body as he sat next to the Malfoy boy along with Goyle and Crabbe. It was a safe trio, the best option for securing bonds between family, without looking too suspicious, as opposed to Nott. Theodore Nott's own uncle was currently on the run, somewhere with Bellatrix Lestrange.

Obedience before love, but pride before family.

In school, these parties always happened, put together by frivolous parents who spoke of a time where all life could be as vain as one of these gatherings. Vanille still remembered them, remembered the magic in the air, forced to mingle as Blaise did now. She had been with the same people now, minus a few, hating their conversation. They were all the ones her parents always pushed onto her.

"It's important to combine the houses of Black and Zabini," her mother had told her, before pushing an eight-year-old onto Regulus Black, as if they'd be married by the morrow. It never happened, Vanille always saying the marriage beneath her.

"Why would I want to marry a younger brother, mother?" Vanille had told her mum back then.

Her eyes searched for him, thoughtlessly before she pushed thoughts of him away completely. Now wasn't the time for reminiscing, now was the moment for planning and this was the next step.

━༺✧༻━

Remus Lupin almost turned away from the manor. He almost went back the way he came. Holding up the letter in his fingers, his stomach twisted in intricate knots, he stood up straighter.

The doors blew open the moment he neared them, and silence filled the empty air. The inside was beckoning him, filled with pretty lights and marble stone and the intricate golden glow from the high ceiling. On either side of him were stone statues of two giant serpents, both spectacular and intimidating.

A house elf had opened the doors, not wearing the signature rags that many of their kind was known for, but instead, a small and custom-made suit. It was a grey little thing, with a button-down blazer that looked to have been fit especially for him.

"Master Zabini told you noon." The little elf didn't greet him, just moving to the side to usher the wizard in. Remus, feeling uncomfortable and out of place, entered the extravagant room. Music had begun to play, a piano, enchanted in the corner. The melody was unfamiliar but elegant.

"I apologize for being early," Remus said, but the elf had already disappeared and the doors closed behind him. The letter of invitation felt heavy in his hands, like a large weight.

"Whatever are you wearing?" Vanille Zabini asked, causing Remus to look at her from where she had begun to traverse down the steps of the magnificent staircase. She wore a dark blue gown, and its tail dragged behind her as she walked.

Remus didn't have many fancy clothes, no need for them when they all tore every full moon. He had put on one of his best suit blazers, but it rested over a plain white t-shirt.

"I didn't come to discuss clothes," Remus said as she reached the last step. The next moment, she had raised her wand and said a swift spell, pointed towards him. He likely could have deflected that, but he saw no point. It hit him, transforming his clothes into a magnificently soft suit.

"Whatever would people say?" Vanille said with a haughty smirk, just as her servant had reappeared with two glasses of champagne. She took hers, but Remus didn't touch his. "Not to your liking?"

"I'm trying to quit," he said with a frown, the lines set in his face from the bags of sleep he hadn't been getting. Even now, he wanted to take the glass to his lips, drown out all these feelings of uncertainty and grief that were crowding his mind. He held them off, but the strain of doing so was beginning to take its toll in all his nerves, frayed and worn.

Since the end of the war, he hadn't gone a single full day without drinking. The spell to turn water into rum was one he'd been using without pause for months. Now, his body craved it as it craved air. Vanille must have seen the strain on his face, the set of his jaw because she did nothing to move it from his eye. She had an amused smile on her lips, the plum coat of them curled up.

"Well," she said, drinking her champagne with a languid pace. She had one hand crossed and resting on her other arm, her lace gloves pressed into her bare skin as she continued to lift the drink to her lips. Without moving her gaze from Remus Lupin, she said, "Makdey, go ahead and finish your day."

Makdey, the house elf, nodded his little head. His long nose and big eyes were the last things Remus saw of him before he disappeared. In his disappearance, he took the extra glass of champagne with him. Vanille was watching Remus carefully, her long black hair pulled up in intricate braids, thin and of many, all wrapped in a bun. She had enough hair for most to be in a braided bun, but many other braids were elegantly down.

Vanille raised her hand, motioning Remus to walk ahead of her. her long nails, painted with french tips, extended past the point of her fingertips. Remus, nervous but determined, walked into the sitting room. Vanille's heels clicked after him, and only when she sat across from him did he get a good look at the woman who everyone in school was always terrified of. Even now, he wasn't afraid and his shoulders straightened, trying to push that lack of fear forward, past his own exhaustion.

"I don't know where Ivy is," Vanille said, her head tilted. Remus had figured she didn't know but was still disappointed as the words left the woman's lips. Vanille ran her fingers over the wine glass, her lips curled into a smile.

"You could have included that in your letter," Remus reminded her, and moments later, Vanille let out a soft laugh. In the lighting, he could see the glow of her cheekbones, the same skin that many in his year had depicted in intricate detail.

"You know," Vanille said, her eyes narrow with amusement. "She was awful."

Remus leaned into the cushions, his palm over his forehead as he stared up at the twinkling gold on the octagon pattern's ceiling. It was an ostentatious show of wealth, but he wasn't surprised that she felt the need to show it. "Absolutely terrible."

"But she was inventive, you know," Vanille stood, walking to the fireplace that lit as she neared it. On top, bordering the fire was a stone mantel, elegantly crafted by magical hands. He could tell from the lack of subtlety of the birds, carved into the stone, blinking their beady black eyes at him. "Extraordinarily quick wit, but here's the thing." Vanille lifted a small little vial on the mantel, where a little flower rested in suspended animation. She ran her fingers over the glass, where the white flower rested, yellow in the middle.

She turned towards him now, holding out the vial. "She loves to show off. Loves to brag about what she can do." Remus looked at the flower, watching the way the petals held up in all their glory as if they had only just bloomed. "This is a moonflower, only blooms at night. I said once, how I'd love to see one." Vanille placed it back on the mantel. "She froze one in time, always in bloom, and ruined what I liked about them. How rare they are, how wonderful they are, how spectacular nature is, without magic."

"She gave you one?" Remus glanced towards the flower, its sepals extended.

"Not as a gift. Just to show that she can do it," Vanille laughed after she spoke, turning back over to him. Her dress trailed behind her as she walked along the length of the mantel, her fingers trailing the carved birds. "She's horribly arrogant, you see, and truly loves to brag."

"What is the purpose of this story?" Remus asked, his head now tilted to the side as Vanille twisted the emerald ring that she wore on her middle finger. It was an elegant thing, shaped with intricate and dainty white vines made of gold. The stone, Remus saw, as he got a better look, had a round-shaped, mossy green color. It was agate, he noticed, not emerald.

"You never knew how to talk to her or get your desired results," Vanille said, turning back towards her. "But that's how. I wanted an extraordinary, magical gift, and she got me one. Why?" Vanille smiled, taking a seat across from him once again. "It isn't because we were friends. It isn't because we were lovers. We were, but that wasn't why." Remus leaned forward, his elbows sliding across his knees. "It was because, when I wanted something, I appealed to her deluded ego and pride."

"I thought you didn't know where she was," Remus said slowly, his eyes running over Vanille's face. They had created a sort of kinship, in the Slugclub, but she'd never say they were friends out loud.

"I don't, but I didn't say I couldn't talk to her," Vanille lifted the ring, an extraordinary little thing that reminded him much of Ivy. "You can't just ask to meet. You have to offer something that she wants."

"What could she want?" Remus was exhausted by even the thought of her.

"Something magical of course," Vanille said with a roll of her eyes. "She doesn't care about anything else."

━༺✧༻━

There was something visceral about the feeling of loss that he had, lying there, in between sleep and that touch of awareness in the distance. Sirius Black couldn't get the memories out of his mind, and they were digging straight into him with a force of nature. Just as he became certain that he was dead, he felt something wet and soft against his head.

Sirius lifted his hand, his fingers brushing against a wet rag that was dabbing against his forehead. He forced open his eyes, expecting to see someone tending to the fever he undoubtedly had, but the rag was charmed. He was alone in the room, with only the light from the fireplace filling the space. He glanced around, his head aching as his eyes dared to move.

He sat up, and the rag moved away, sliding back into a small, white dish of water. It folded itself and sat, submerged. Sirius stared at it for a moment longer, his mind in a haze. The memories came back a touch too slow, but when they did, he laid back on the couch, his hands shaking. He remembered all the memories that Ivy had forced herself into, watching without permission. He remembered her presence, rather like a shadow in the memory itself.

He stood, weak and dizzy, but only then did he notice a small bowl of soup float towards him, the same, brothy consistency as the last dish he had eaten. Sirius watched it rest on the dark mahogany table. Sirius frowned, but there was no sight of Ivy in the lower level of the study. The staircase led to the next level, rows of books covering the walls. He walked towards the stairs, his strength rather low, but he climbed each step until he reached the platform that wrapped in both directions on either side where more cases of books covered the walls. Sirius didn't see her, and the place was empty and quiet, except for the crackling of the fireplace just below him.

He walked towards the bookcases, running his fingers over the shelves, not a speck of dust or so much as lint in the air. Sirius pulled a random book from the shelf, but as he opened it, he noticed it blank. He flipped through page after page, but all of it was empty. Sirius put it back, repeating the process with another book with the same result.

"What a control freak," Sirius whispered, putting it back and continuing around the second story, his hand trailing over the wood railing just to his left. He was surrounded by the stained walnut walls and ceiling, both reinforcing that age old feel with Each of the hand cut ceiling medallions reflecting a personal milestone of the owner's life. However, Sirius doubted it was Ivy's life reflected.

Down below, on the ground floor, he could see the huge elegant freestanding desk, the dark wood floor. He stared down at the room below from over the ledge of the thin aisle of the second floor. It had a remarkable coldness in the space, with books that were spelled to be blank, and the lack of anything personal. Usually, in looking at someone's flat, he could get a view of their personality. James and Lily's home had been warm, with portraits on the walls and James's broom, always sitting in the corner of the dining area, resting against the wall.

"Put it away James," Lily would tell her husband, on days that Sirius would come to visit.

"Lily, darling, the broom is not hurting anybody," James would tell his wife, holding up little baby Harry as Sirius lifted a piece of string over the kid's face, watching him swat at it.

"What will you say if Harry gets on it?" Lily said as she continued to chop the vegetables.

"I'd be very impressed, yes I would," James cooed his son. "He'd be the next little star. Who's my favorite boy in the whole world-" James cut off with a grin. "Sirius put your hand down."

Sirius felt a smile drift to his face at the memory, the life of the Potter home, the table with one leg shorter than the rest because James had shot a curse at it when he tried to kill a spider. There had been another hole on the wall, from when that spider had crawled too fast to get away. Finally, there had been a scorch mark on the fridge, from where Lily had shot the curse, standing on the couch arm.

Ivy's place had no such memory. Everything was straight, organized, the paintings on the walls all at perfect straightness as if she had taken a ruler to it. The books were all the same color, bound with gold pages, looking vintage. Sirius continued walking around the ledge that wrapped around the room in a 'U'. He pulled books off, searching for one that wasn't blank, a detail she missed. As he got to the last casing, the soup raised up in front of him, beckoning to eat.

"I'm not hungry," Sirius told the inanimate object, but it didn't move. In fact, it got closer. "Go away."

"Do you not like my cooking?" Ivy asked, and Sirius jumped, his skin crawling with surprise and the tension flooding him. He turned towards her, and she was only a meter away her face blank. She wore a dark green velvet dress with puffy sleeves and it reached just to her knees, hugging her body. It had thin sleeves that wrapped around tightly. The front reached just under her chin, high and modest, yet when she turned towards the bookcase, pulling out one from random, he saw her back was bare.

The back of the dress was cut low, with a gold chain that extended from the top of the fabric, down her spine. What got his attention was the golden snake that rested against her pale skin of her spine, connected to the intricate chain that was sewn into the fabric.

"You've always had such pride in your house," Sirius whispered remembering how she always included Slytherin in her fashion, since the first year. He watched her fingers pause as she drew out the book, but she continued until it was in both her hands.

"It's not pride," Ivy said, opening the book, and it was, of course, blank as all the rest. "It is spite."

Sirius waited for her to continue, but she didn't and instead walked past him towards the two cushion chairs that rested at the end of the 'U' shaped ledge. Behind the chairs was a large, red-stained window, and between the cushion seats was a small, teak table. Sirius followed, sitting on the empty seat.

"Spite about what?" Sirius asked, watching her glance from the book she had opened in her lap. She pursed her lips but raised her right hand over the pages. He watched her make intricate symbols, and the words reappeared in between blinks.

"Slytherin was filled with people who didn't want me there," Ivy said, carefully, and Sirius wished she wouldn't. He wished she'd talk passionately, without worry or care. She didn't. "They wanted me to hate the colors, to hate the beds, the dorms, the common."

"Why?" Sirius asked, his brows drawn as he leaned closer into the arm of the chair, just to be closer to her. She flipped pages in the book, an uncaring aura around her.

"Why wouldn't they?" Ivy asked, and there was a tone of amusement in her voice. "The first step is always making someone feel like they don't belong. Once they are isolated and alone, it's easier to convince them how worthless they are or how undeserving of magic they are." Ivy spoke as if it wasn't her she was talking about, as if it wasn't her who was treated this way. Sirius was disappointed by it.

"How did you make them stop?" Sirius couldn't remember a time Ivy had ever been bullied, and he'd know, considering how intently he watched her.

"Mr. Black," Ivy said, staring intently at the page of handwritten notes, not looking at him. "I'm going to see Peter Pettigrew's mum."

Sirius froze at the change of topic, his eyes narrowing. "So that's why you wanted the memory of his family. You really think he'd hide away somewhere so obvious?"

Ivy looked at him, head tilted to the side. Something in her face was so very far away. "No, but I will find something else I'm looking for."

"And what is that?" Sirius asked, exhausted.

"His finger," Ivy said, her smile back as she raised the book of her notes for him to see. Her handwriting was impeccable, careful, and clear as always. On it was descriptions of a spell, of equations he didn't recognize, and hand symbols he didn't know. At the top of the page was the words 'poupe vodou'.

"What is that?" Sirius asked, watching her lower the book.

"You wanted to join me, didn't you?" Ivy said, her expression smug, her eyes cold. Sirius felt his heart leap, a shudder that was nearly painful. He leaned closer, the eagerness kept at bay with the knowledge that she could be toying with him as she usually did.

"I thought you didn't need me," Sirius said carefully, and those might not have been the right words, as the expression in her face had shifted to something more irritated.

"I don't need you," Ivy said, carefully. "But you have the right to take revenge on the man who got you sent to prison."

"What is the spell?" Sirius asked, reaching for the book, but she pulled it away from him at the last moment.

"You have no reading and comprehensive ability, do you?" Ivy answered back, with a particularly nasty grin. Sirius sneered.

"Now, Ms. Evans," Sirius began, exhausted by her lack of civility. "Where would you be, if I didn't give you a chance to shine with that quick wit of yours?" She stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

"It's an enchantment, but I need a piece of Pettigrew's flesh to do it," she said, vaguely. "I believe he is alive."

"How could you tell? There was so much smoke and death that day," Sirius said, running his hands through his hair. She saw something akin to guilt on his face. "I fired an unforgivable that day."

"Yes, you did," she said, they made eye contact again before he broke it. His gaze went out to the red stain glass to his right. Outside, he could see the vibrant sky, darkened with that red dye.

"I think I missed," Sirius whispered, his fingers clenching and unclenching. "I think I missed and it hit someone."

"Then they had a quick death, as opposed to a slow one due to incineration, asphyxiation, or worse," Ivy said, not wasting a moment to do so. Sirius's eyes ran to hers again, before he scoffed and stood in one dramatic swoop. She followed his motions with her own eyes, watching as he leaned his elbows on the railing, hunching over and lying his forehead against it next.

"All those deaths are on my hands," Sirius said, the memory that she had dragged forward, fresh. "If I had planned it better, taken him somewhere private perhaps. I led him somewhere public, and like a fool, I challenged him."

Ivy blinked, closing the book and placing it on the table to her left. "That's awfully noble of you, Mr. Black. Should we go through a list of deaths during the war?"

He glanced over to her, his brows drawn, his stubble visible in the peaking light from outside. "What?"

"I'm sure we can find more to blame you for," Ivy said with a cruel smile, leaning her back against the railing next to him. He let out a breathy laugh, her arm was so close to his. He could feel her warmth, at least the warmth emitting from the flesh. Her words were as cold as ever.

"I would have thought you'd be the first to blame me. You saw," he said in a whisper. "I was fooled. I was foolish. I convinced James and Lily to have him as secret-keeper. I thought you'd come out of all that loathing me."

Ivy let out a soft hum. "I don't think of you enough to loath you, and if I did, what good would that do me?" Ivy turned her neck, staring down at him, her eyes nearly gentle. It was an odd thing, considering her comment had shot right through him like a bolt. "I saw Peter grow smaller in the wake of the smoke, just before you lost consciousness. He's an Animagus, it makes sense the rat would hide."

Sirius's nostrils flared, but the memory of it all was too hazy to agree with her completely. "We became Animagi in the fourth year," he said, his voice rough with emotion as he looked away from her. His eyes ran over the room below, the shelving and the painting of a vase. Ivy's eye twitched, but kept her bitterness down, even as her pride took a hit to know that he and his idiot friends beat her to being an Animagus.

Oh god, I lost to Peter Pettigrew, Ivy thought with her brows drawn, genuine horror in her face.

"We wanted to keep Remus company," Sirius whispered, but paused, glancing towards her one more time. She wasn't looking at him, and he watched the irritation on her face morph into a cool expression once more. His lips twitched up for a moment.

"Do werewolves not harm Animagi?" Ivy asked, leaning further into the railing. Sirius watched the red strands of hair hang over the wood, each one capturing the light. He almost wanted to trail his fingers along them to see if it was as soft as it looked.

"You knew?" Sirius asked, his eyes still trained on her hair, on her shoulders, on the bare skin of her back, pressing against the wood.

"About Remus Lupin?" Ivy said with a scoff. "Of course."

"How?"

"Because I'm not a moron," Ivy said, almost sounding offended that he'd even ask. Her eyes ran to his, and this time neither of them looked away. "How did you know that being an Animagus would make you safe? There is no research on it."

"We didn't," Sirius whispered. "We all just felt like we had to do something. You should have seen him on the days following a full moon. He looked like a corpse, lying there, and staring up at the ceiling for hours. He'd refuse to eat, covered in scars that didn't heal."

"Not many werewolves hurt themselves during transformations," Ivy said in a low voice, Sirius chuckled at her comment, but his heart was breaking again at the thought.

"You really knew all this time?" Sirius's question sounded rhetorical, so Ivy didn't comment on it. "We just had to do something."

"And he thought you a traitor? After that?" Ivy said with a sudden laugh. "What an asshole."

"I thought him one too," Sirius said, a frown on his face. "I'm no better."

"Well." Ivy pushed herself from the railing and snapped her fingers. The bowl of soup floated back towards him. She looked uncomfortable, he noticed this by the way she refused to stand completely still. She grabbed the book where the spell rested, and in a swift motion, all the words in the book went white. "Eat. Conserve your strength."

"You're not just going to leave without me?" Sirius asked, head tilting.

"You, you're not going to Hogsmeade," Ivy said with a laugh.

"You said we'd work together," he commented, watching as she turned towards him. Her lips were pulled into a half-smile.

"I said you'd join me. I didn't say when or where, but it won't be the grounds near your old school when you are the most searched for criminal in all of Britain," Ivy said.

"You act like there aren't ways around that," he said, both brows raised. "You have thousands of spells in here." He pointed to his own head, staring at her with an incredulous expression. "None can hide a measly identity?"

Ivy looked away for a moment before her eyes went back to him. "You're impulsive."

Sirius grinned, "I think some might call me fun."

"You're reckless."

"I think you find me fun."

She let out a hum, but slowly she raised one arm, wrapping it around her waist as her other rested on top of it, with her pointer finger sitting on her bottom lip. She inspected him for a moment. "His mum has never seen your Animagus form?"

"Of course not. It's not like we did it legally."