Petal in the Rain
Chapter 22 – That's Show Biz
Inside my heart is breaking,
My makeup may be flaking,
But my smile still stays on…
The show must go on.
-Moulin Rouge Soundtrack
August 1940: Day of the Hogwarts Gala
9:30 a.m.
Sirius Black stood before the floor-length mirror in his bedroom at Number 12 Grimmauld Place looking as handsome as ever. Outfitted in jet-black dress robes—which resembled traditional muggle tuxedos, but additionally featured sharp starched collars, exaggerated sleeves and regal coattails—and sporting a new, shorter haircut that accentuated his enviable bone structure, the playful lord looked ready to strut into the nearest high-class event.
Buckling the sleeves of his dress shirt with silver cuff links, Sirius spun around to scrutinize the new, expensive ensemble he had purchased from Madam Gladrags. Satisfied with his slick appearance, he ran his fingers through his newly-styled hair and stared back at his dashing reflection with piercing russet eyes. He smirked sexily, unable to stifle his overconfidence. He was dressed to kill.
Tearing his gaze away from his mirror, Sirius removed his coat and unfastened his white dress shirt, putting the clothing aside for later in the evening. He crossed his room—which was purposely papered with Quidditch posters and crimson Gryffindor banners to hide the grotesque serpentine wallpaper—and jerked open the window beside his unmade bed, leaning out of it toward the puddled street, littered with busy, dour-faced muggles. He lit the end of the rolled cigarette he'd tucked behind his ear and took a sustained, relieving drag.
He could already tell it was going to be a long day. Though he normally didn't protest a party—only too eager to take advantage of the free champagne and soak up the adoration of the ladies in attendance—Sirius had no desire to attend the annual Hogwarts Gala. While it was usually an entertaining evening, filled with dancing, boozing and dark-cornered kisses, he knew he would not enjoy this year's Gala, too distracted by worrisome thoughts of his best friend, whom he hadn't seen or heard from since he had found him hiding in one of the Potter's abandoned manors nearly a month ago. The absence of James from the event, coupled with the mission Dumbledore had given him, predicted a very boring evening for him.
Fucking Gala…
A knock sounded on Sirius' door, breaking his train of thought. He rolled his eyes, in no mood to deal with either the manor's deranged house-elf or the despicable boy his despicable mother had insisted was his brother.
Pity one cannot choose their family…
"Bugger off, Kreacher. Go bother Regulus; I'm sure he'd be only too happy to let you grovel at his feet and spew profanities about muggleborns," Sirius called out, expelling a cloud of smoke from his mouth as he butted out his cigarette on the windowsill, flicking it into the grey street below.
When the door creaked open, Sirius grimaced and turned on the spot, ready to give the intruder a piece of his mind; however, instead of coming face-to-face with his repulsive brother or the manor's nasty house-elf, he beheld the strange appearance of his best friend.
"Do I look like a house-elf to you, Black?" James inquired with subdued humour, crossing the bedroom threshold and soundlessly closing the door behind him.
"Prongs!" Sirius gasped enthusiastically after a moment's hesitation, his face a mixture of astonishment and gladness as he descended upon James and seized him in a hug, clapping him on the back. "What the bloody hell are you doing here, mate? I was beginning to worry about you!"
A small smile flitted across James' face as he embraced him, but Sirius could immediately tell he was not yet back to normal, his usually animated eyes still sheltering quiet despair. "It's good to see you too, Padfoot. Sorry I haven't written."
"It doesn't matter—you're here now," Sirius replied heartily, his voice pulsating with keenness. He was making it no secret that he was pleased to see his best friend. "Sit down so we can talk. I'd have tidied up if you'd owled me to let me know you were coming—"
"No you wouldn't have," James smirked briefly.
"You're probably right," Sirius mumbled, chaotically piling his dress robes onto his bed and shoving a green chair toward James. Once he was finished scrambling around, his face became determined. "Now sit down and tell me what the fuck you've been up to, Potter."
James waited until Sirius positioned another chair across from him before offering his explanation. "I've mostly been travelling between properties, careful to avoid any contact with my mother. Some of the staff alerted her to my presence a couple weeks ago and she's been looking for me ever since. Meanwhile, I've been staying at Godric's Hollow; she's never known about it and it's virtually unstaffed."
He's still hiding…still running…
"You've progressed to liveable accommodations…that's encouraging," Sirius said cynically, thinking back to the decaying mansion James had first holed himself up in.
Though he had seen him a month earlier, upon James' arrival Sirius had noticed his change of appearance. To begin, the previously-dapper lord appeared much slimmer, his jaw-line more pronounced, his muscles less evident and his eyes hollow behind his glasses. Additionally, James' hair was longer and messier than usual, his face unshaven—dark stubble lining his chin and upper lip. Arriving dressed in a plaid shirt and ragged jeans, his skin golden-brown from sun exposure, Sirius thought he resembled more of a lumberjack than an aristocrat.
Despite the fact that James' sense of style and personal hygiene appeared to have fallen victim to his misery over the loss of Lily, Sirius was relieved to see his best friend looking less crazed and distraught then he had been before.
"Sorry you had to see me like that," James said somberly, meeting Sirius' worried stare. "I wasn't in my right mind when I saw you last. I haven't had an easy go of it…but I'm trying to make my peace with…with her death now…"
He can't even bring himself to say her name…
"So you are beginning to feel…better?" Sirius questioned, finding himself at a loss for words. He fidgeted with his cigarette case, snapping it open and closed repeatedly.
"If 'better' means less tempted to throw myself off a cliff, then perhaps," James replied in a grave voice, his weary eyes fixed on the ground. Sirius gulped, hoping his best friend was exaggerating. "The pain…it hasn't lessened. She…she's still all I think about, but as the days go by I learn how to handle it better."
"I'm sorry, mate," Sirius whispered, his eyes betraying his uncertainty and—as James discerned it—melancholy. Like his best friend, Sirius felt helpless, unsure of how to act or to handle the situation. There was no clear solution.
"I am as well," James breathed, collecting his face in his hands and wretchedly rubbing at his eyes. "It's been hell, Padfoot. I was at a complete loss as to how to manage my grief—but, then again, I didn't even think about how to manage my grief until a few days ago. I just…succumbed to it."
"Well, I can see a change in you already," Sirius grabbed James' shoulder to demonstrate his encouragement. He offered a weak smile in return. "You're calmer and you're beginning to think rationally…although you're also beginning to look like Bigfoot's cousin with all that scruff."
James snorted, tiredly looking up at his friend again. "Pardon me, I wasn't aware of the new dress code in the Black household. Why are you wearing coattails, exactly? Are you practicing your posture in the mirror, hoping Witch Weekly will invite you to model the front page?"
There's a bit of the old James…
"How clever. Dumbledore's roped me into doing some reconnaissance at the Hogwarts Gala tonight," Sirius explained, fishing another cigarette out of his pant pocket and pressing it between his lips.
"Ah ha, hunting for aristocratic death eaters," James articulated aloofly, watching Sirius blow a smoke ring from his mouth. "Can't say I envy you."
"If I recall correctly, this was supposed to be your mission," Sirius interjected, rising from his chair and checking out his new haircut in the mirror again.
"Your point?"
"Well…now that you've emerged from your seclusion, why don't you come to the Gala? Two pairs of eyes are better than one and it'll help distract you for a while," Sirius proposed, settling back into his chair and casually crossing his legs. "Seeing you would also put the Order at ease; many are speculating about your disappearance."
James' grim facial expression communicated his answer before he even delivered it. "You've jumped to conclusions, Sirius. There's a reason I've come to speak with you today, and it isn't to tell you that I'm ready to return to the Order and re-join society as if nothing's happened."
"What? I'm not proposing you forgot about Lily's death altogether—I'm just suggesting you begin transitioning back into your normal life," Sirius pressed, immediately regretting the use of Lily's name as it caused James' eyes to darken and his teeth to clench.
"Whatever you're proposing, it's not going to happen," James returned, some of the madness returning to his expression. "This is my life now. I will live with the realization that I killed the only woman I've ever loved for the rest of my existence."
"How can you say that?" Sirius demanded, both he and James suddenly rising from their seats, prepared to wrestle the other to the floor. "You didn't fucking kill Lily; you tried to save her and all the other muggles from those German lunatics! It isn't your bloody fault London was bombed."
"You still don't understand, do you? I was the only one who could have protected her. She had no one! I could've taken her away, to somewhere safe…I could've remained behind to be with her, to protect her…but I didn't. I deluded myself into thinking I was doing something valiant…that I was doing it for her, but I was just fucking scared of what was going on between us! I did what a coward would do—I ran. I ran away from the only woman I've ever truly loved, and now her blood is on my hands."
Sirius shook his head, the passion with which James spoke a sign of how deeply he believed he was responsible for Lily's death. There would be no changing his mind; obviously he was not thinking as rationally as Sirius had supposed. The stubborn wizard that he was, he sincerely doubted James would ever let himself off the hook, blinded by anguish and his own code of honour.
"How is blaming yourself for her death and hiding away from the world going to resolve anything? Living with regret and sorrow is no testament to her memory," Sirius whispered defiantly, determined to restore his best friend to his former glory, rather than let him slip into deep depression. "Do you think Lily would've wanted you to go on like this?"
James' eyes filled with bitterness. "I guess I'll never know, will I?"
Sirius sighed, shaking his head in frustration. "If you won't go with me to the Gala tonight, at least meet up with Dumbledore soon. Prongs…the Order needs you. Why not use your anger and pain for the good of the wizarding world?"
His messy-haired friend did not meet his gaze, though his features softened, making him look more despondent than infuriated. Sirius adopted a pleading tone, praying he could get through to James. "Remus and Peter miss you…I miss you. Please Prongs…won't you let us help you?"
James turned away and walked over to the room's open window, Sirius' words appearing to have made whatever it was he intended to say more difficult. When he finally managed to speak, Sirius braced himself, aware of how miserably absolute his tone was. "I'm sorry Padfoot, but the good of the wizarding world isn't what I'm invested in right now. I've decided…well, I've decided that I'm going to Australia to re-enter the war."
Sirius froze, James' words refusing to compute in his brain. The fearful alarm and immediate panic that resulted from his friend's assertion were not new to him; he had felt the same way when James had originally told him of his intention to join the war-effort.
Re-enter the war…in Australia? Merlin…
"Australia is half-way across the world," Sirius said, the rawness in his voice taking James—who had expected him to start yelling or cussing—by surprise.
"I know…" James began, treading lightly due to Sirius' cool demeanor. Their roles had suddenly reversed. "I can't join up again here—the Order would locate me soon enough. But, if I'm on another continent—or at least fighting on behalf of another continent within Europe—I'll likely be able to elude detection."
Disillusioned, Sirius scrunched up his handsome face, looking at his friend as if he'd lost all his senses. Pausing to absorb the news, he realized there was only one question he wanted answered. "Why?"
Attuned to Sirius' disappointment, James felt guilty for his friend's remorse, aware that his actions were causing him pain. "I blame myself for her death, but I also blame the Germans. I don't think I'll ever be able to find closure until this war is over…until I avenge her. I've got to see this battle through, Padfoot."
Following James' rationalization, the room went deathly quiet. The two men stared at each other, both sadly regarding the other, both wondering how they had arrived at such a moment. In just a month everything had fallen to pieces; their boyish energy had been brutally sucked out of them, replaced with remorse, worry and fright. Like all those whose lives had been touched by war—both Brits and Germans alike—a part of their youth had been stripped away. Suddenly the world seemed a very dark place.
"I see," Sirius whispered, unmoving as he gazed at his broken friend. "You know, that's the first explanation of yours I've actually understood. I don't suppose you'll let me come with you again?"
"No. This is something I need to do on my own," James affirmed, approaching Sirius and gripping his upper arm to communicate his regret. "Sirius, I fear this is the only way I'll make it through the grief. Promise me you won't follow me and that you'll tell no one of my whereabouts."
"Haven't I always kept your secrets?" Sirius returned hollowly, James nodding.
"Yes. I couldn't have asked for a better friend," James said genuinely, slowly releasing Sirius' arm and retrieving his wand from his pocket.
As James pulled away, Sirius' stomach dropped. He looked down at James' wand, his face—if possible—becoming even sterner. "When did you say you were departing for Australia?"
"…I'm leaving tonight, Padfoot."
Though he had expected James' departure to be immediate, Sirius' throat became very dry, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as if he's been jolted. He found it hard to believe that—for the first time in almost 10 years—he would not see his best friend on a regular basis; would not be fighting alongside him. Even more alarming, there was a chance that he would never see him again; a chance that he would not survive the war, as they had narrowly done before…
"Tonight? Can't you delay a day so I can see you off? Dumbledore needs me at the Gala…" Sirius trailed off, finding the thought of him at a party while James—alone yet again—left for another country to fight a war to be an unnerving one.
"I've already arranged a fireplace with the Ministry. I'll be taking the International Floo Network at midnight so no one will be around to observe me leaving. I pulled some strings in the Department of Transport; someone will stay behind after hours to let me into the Ministry," James explained, demonstrating to Sirius the planning that had gone into his decision. "It's better if I leave on my own. You know me; I've never liked goodbyes."
"This isn't goodbye. You'll be back," Sirius countered, trying to convince both himself and James of his declaration. "When you get the chance, owl me to update me on what's going on. I warn you: if I don't hear from you, I will come looking for you, promise or not."
James grinned, digging into his jean pockets and producing two mirrors the size of magnetic compasses. "I can do better than that. I figured sending messages via owl might attract the attention of the muggle soldiers, so I bought these. They are communication mirrors."
Sirius caught one of the little mirrors James threw to him, examining it in the palm of his hand. He tucked it into his pants, deciding then and there that he would always keep it on his persons. "This will do I suppose."
"Good. Try not to get killed by a death eater while I'm gone, alright?" James instructed Sirius in mock seriousness, pulling him into another hug and smacking the back of his head for good measure. "Then again, it's much likelier you'll die due to alcohol poisoning or something party-related."
"Oi!" Sirius yelped, rubbing the back of his head and glaring at his friend. "Well try not to get blown up, or shot down, or sent rocketing into the drink in a blazing inferno. And watch your tail; that's where you got yourself into trouble the last time."
"Really? And here I thought I crashed my plane in order to save your ass from drowning," James smirked.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Sirius joked, their cheerful banter at an end and reality beginning to set in. He looked up at James, sincere. "I hope you can find closure, Prongs. Good luck to you."
"You too, Padfoot," James replied, drawing his wand and pointing it into his shoulder. "I'll see you later."
As soon as James disapparated, Sirius felt immeasurably despondent and alone—like he'd been left to defend against the horrors of the world on his own. He looked over at the crumpled robes on his bed and scowled, even more resentful of the Hogwarts Gala than he had been before.
10:30 a.m.
Severus Snape sat on one of the stone steps leading into the Hogwarts gardens, his most faithful friend—his Advanced Potion-Making textbook—spread over his lap. Squinting due to the midday sun's assaulting rays, he turned to the flimsy page in his book where he had mistakenly written Lady Rockford's name down. As he studied his neat cursive, admiring the way the light made the dried ink shimmer, an achy feeling, akin to hunger cravings, stirred in his chest.
His intense gaze shifted upwards and found her again. There, in the middle of the lush garden, Aurora danced on a marble floor that had been fashioned for party goers to enjoy later that evening. She practiced with her partner, Frank Longbottom, surrounded by pots of every kind of flower imaginable: buttercups, bluebells, chrysanthemums, lavender and roses. Above her hung multi-coloured paper lanterns, festively strung in the trees as if it were Chinese New Years, and in the distant backdrop the Black Lake glittered beneath the persistent sun, the tips of its modest waves glistening like polished diamonds.
Despite the arresting setting, the only thing that captured Snape's attention was Aurora. He watched as Frank twirled her about the floor, performing tricky lifts that made her long brunette hair sway pleasantly. He perked up when her laughter perforated the warm, moist air. She had been taking dance lessons for almost a month now, preparing to make her debut at the Gala, and—unbeknownst to her—he had been watching her progress. At first she had been awful at it, not taking to the 'art' of dance as quickly or as naturally as she had taken to the practice of magic (a fact which greatly amused him), but she had gradually improved and was now a more-than-adequate dancer. He was impressed by how gracefully she now travelled the dance-floor in her pink ballet slippers and white summer's dress.
Is there anything you can't do?
He sighed, aware of how much time he now spent thinking about Aurora Rockford. Ever since he had met her she had puzzled him. Every expectation he had formed about her she had proven wrong, right from the start. She was unlike any noblewomen he had ever met, for she lacked arrogance, a sense of self-entitlement and snobbery. She was always quick to challenge gender rules, fiercely maintaining her independence at every turn, and seemed determined to prove her own skill and intelligence to him. But Besides her natural magical ability and peculiar nature, what Snape considered most unusual about Aurora was the way in which she interacted with him.
Since he had begun teaching at Hogwarts almost three years ago, Snape had been met with disdain, disrespect and haughty contempt. With the exception of the scholarship children, the noble students of Hogwarts often treated him with unacceptable levels of insolence—largely due to his lack of title and 'pure' blood. Male students were habitually uncooperative and indignant, while female students—especially those enrolled in the Arts major—frequently exhibited little effort or willingness to learn any content viewed as being particularly masculine, such as Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration. Yet, unlike both the male and female students, Aurora not only demonstrated a thirst for knowledge and humbly considered his suggestions and corrections, but yearned to become proficient in the most male-dominated subject of them all: Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Snape smirked to himself: Aurora's academic development had been remarkable. She was reasonably good at Transfiguration and Potions, having already reached a fourth year level in both subjects in under a month, and she had quickly mastered History of Magic due to her eidetic memory, reading and memorizing all the books required for a seventh year level. She appeared to struggle the most with Herbology, which she had taken an immediate dislike to after being bitten by a fanged geranium, and showed little interest in Astronomy. Her best subject by far was Charms, which she seemed to have an inborn, near extraordinary talent for, and—though he had not committed to teaching her the subject yet—Aurora continued to express a desire to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts. While he had not yet given her any instruction in the subject, he was acutely aware that a handful of Dark Arts textbooks were missing from the library.
Her determination to succeed practically surpasses my own…
He never would've envisioned it, but—though he had only known her for a month, and though he abhorred the aristocracy—Snape found himself actually liking Aurora Rockford. There was something that made her particularly unique; though Snape wasn't sure what it was, he knew it wasn't only the power she possessed.
His eyes darkened as Frank and Aurora ceased dancing and the pig-headed lord—a dazzling smile illuminating his face—bowed toward her, gently taking her dainty hand in his own to kiss it. He scowled, the lord's lips lingering on her hand far too long. The dance rehearsal seemingly at an end, he climbed to his feet—irritably green-eyed—and began ascending the stairs, keen to escape into the castle before either dancer noticed he had been watching them.
11:00 a.m.
"—And once the dance has ended, you will curtsey and I will bow—but, before I arise, I will take your hand and kiss it like so," Frank coached Lily suavely, taking her hand and kissing it. He grinned when she rolled her eyes at his gauche gesture.
"Really, Frank: it isn't the formalities after the dance I'm worried about, but the routine itself," Lily chastised, removing her hand from the charming lord's grip and frowning due to her growing anxiety over the Gala.
Once physical preparations for the Gala had commenced, a sense of panic had overcome Lily, the realization that she would be confronting the magical aristocracy in a matter of hours becoming undeniable. For days the dedicated house-elves of Hogwarts had been racing about the castle, dressing dining tables in silk linens, polishing silver utensils, fixing flower arrangements and building towers of champagne glasses. The Dining Hall had been swathed in elegant white cloth and adorned with light blue and mauve flowers, an architecturally-spectacular chandelier with tear-drop shaped glass carefully hung in the middle of it. The long House tables had been removed, replaced with smaller, circular tables arranged around the outskirts of a furbished dance-floor, and a small stage had been constructed to house a plethora of instruments, including a drum-set, a set of brass flutes and a cello. Lily was certain she had heard the band practicing their set earlier that morning, the sound of a saxophone drifting out to the garden…
"Stop worrying, would you? We'll be fine tonight," Frank contended, offering the girl a cheering smile as he easily looped an arm around her shoulders. "You were bullocks at this dance a month ago, but you've really improved—"
"I wasn't bullocks!" Lily yelped in reaction to Frank's teasing, glaring up at the grinning man and tucking her right arm around his waist as he began directing her out of the gardens and into the back-end of the Dining Hall.
"You were, but it's not your fault you were born with two left feet," Frank persisted, chuckling as Lily playfully pounded against his abdomen with her free hand. "Ow!"
"You watch your tongue, Frank Longbottom, or I'll accidentally step on your foot tonight with the pointy heel of my shoe," Lily warned in mock-seriousness, secretly entertained by the lord's repartee.
"You dare and I'll accidentally drop you while we're dancing," Frank retorted, fondly looking down at the feisty brunette. "When I dip you low, my hands might just slip—"
"You wouldn't! My dear Uncle Albus would sack you if you attempted any such thing," Lily countered vivaciously, breaking away from the amused lord, the modest train of her summer dress billowing behind her.
"You wish you had that much power over me," Frank followed in her wake, his huntsman eyes attentive to her body's every sway.
"As I've been taught, being the niece of Lord Albus Dumbledore—discoverer of the twelve uses of dragon's blood and vanquisher of the evil Grindelwald—has its perks," Lily called out sassily, stopping in the middle of the Dining Hall, still bustling with house elves setting up for the Gala. She flashed Frank a devilish smile. "What makes you think I won't use my newfound power and knowledge against you, Frankie?"
"Little demon," Frank grabbed the giggling girl from behind and twirling her around until—between breathless gasps of mirth—she begged him to stop. "What did I say about calling me Frankie? I hate that nickname! It makes me sound like I'm three years old."
"Well you certainly act like you are," Lily teased, grasping her sides in case Frank attempted to tickle them in retaliation.
"You're so annoying," Frank claimed humorously, throwing up his hands in defeat and earning a satisfied smirk from Lily. "How I'm going to survive an entire evening with you is beyond me."
"Believe me, I share in that sentiment. I expect I'll have to consume copious amounts of champagne just to keep sane," Lily returned cleverly.
"I can see the tabloid headline now: 'Lady Rockford's Drunken Debut.' As if your dancing skills arent' going to embarrass you enough!" Frank barked with laughter, expertly dodging another swipe from the vexed girl.
"Keep in mind, Lord Longbottom, if I embarrass myself I embarrass you by extension," Lily cautioned, making Frank chuckle.
"You're quite right, Lady Rockford. Don't you dare mess up tonight, then; I can't have you ruining my fine reputation," Frank ordered, matching Lily's unimpressed glower with an arrogant smile as he turned on his heels and headed for the Great Hall.
Taken aback by his sudden retreat, Lily grimaced. "Where do you think you're going, Longbottom?"
Amused, he stopped and turned to look at her. "Time's a tickin', Aurora. I have a few errands to run before the Gala, which—if you hadn't noticed—is only a few hours away. As much as I'd love to stay and flirt, we both need to get ready."
Flirt? I'm not flirting! He has some nerve…
Choosing to ignore his taunt, Lily folded her arms, apprehension beginning to set in again. "Believe it or not, I don't need five hours to get ready for a gala."
"Obviously you've never been to one," Frank retorted, suppressing a superior grin. "You'll see I'm right soon enough. Now, there should be attendants waiting to prepare you in Gryffindor Tower. I'll meet you in the common room at 5:30 sharp. We'll meet up with Dumbledore outside of the Dining Hall around 5:45. The pair of you are slotted to make your entrance at 6."
"Entrance?" Lily echoed, her features communicating her confusion.
"Did I forget to mention the entrance? As Dumbledore is the host of the Gala, he must enter the hall last. Due to your relation, you will be entering on his arm. The gesture represents him presenting and introducing you to high society," Frank explained calmly, aware of Lily's sudden trepidation. "It's nothing to fret about. Once you've arrived, Dumbledore will hand you off to me and the three of us will begin to circle the room together. After Dumbledore has introduced you to the most important people, the dancing will commence."
Lily gulped, the back of her neck tingling. Looking about the ornamented Hall again, she felt the sudden urge to pee, the sheer extravagance of the formal set-up causing dread to build within her. "I'll see you at 5:30, then."
"You'll be fine, just wait and see. I'm sure the evening will turn out to be quite humdrum," Frank assured kindly, turning on his heel.
Lily hugged her sides as she watched the young lord depart, quite sure the evening would be anything but humdrum.
5:00 p.m.
Sirius Black sat alone in a dark corner of the Three Broomsticks smoking a cigarillo and drinking a firewhiskey, his designer dress shoes lazily propped up on the table. He leaned back in his chair and sighed a drab breath of soothing, pungent smoke, calmly watching as the owner of the bar—Madam Rosmerta—scrambled to appease the growing number of highborn patrons flooding into her middle-class bar. It occurred to him that many guests were keen on enjoying a quiet drink in Hogsmeade before the festivities at Hogwarts began. He was glad no one noticed him in his shadowed alcove, eager for a moment's peace.
"Fifi, is that you, darling?" a female aristo with curly, cherry-coloured hair exclaimed in an irritably high-pitched voice as another young girl descended from the staircase across the room. Recognizing the caller, the girl—dressed in a canary-yellow gown and a feathered fascinator—crossed the room and exchanged air-kisses with her, smiling with impeccably white teeth.
Sirius groaned, massaging his temples as a headache began to set in. Upset his peace had been rudely shattered, he shoved his glass of firewhiskey away and glared up at the disruptive girls.
Ah yes; Lady Fifi Lafolle. If I recall correctly, I've sleep with her at least once or twice before…
He listened in on the remainder of the ridiculous girls' conversation.
"Oh, Laurentia! I was so hoping you would be attending the Gala tonight," Fifi expressed, pulling away from her redheaded friend to admire her dress. "Don't you look beautiful! Wherever did you buy such a lovely gown?"
"This old thing? I came across it when my mother and I were shopping in Berlin," Laurentia smiled proudly, twisting one of her curls around a gloved finger. "You look stunning as well, Fifi. What a marvellous little fascinator!"
"You're too kind."
"Nonsense! But do indulge me, Fifi, I noticed you came down from the bar's boarding quarters: Whatever were you doing up there? You and Barney didn't rent a room and start the party early, did you?" She winked, secretly delighted by her friend's uncomfortable squirming.
"Keep your voice down, Laurentia!" Fifi flushed in embarrassment, nervously looking about the room to see if anyone had overheard the lewd comment. She whispered very seriously. "You know I'm a virgin. Barney is very traditional...I'll have to wait until he proposes to me—"
HA! You little liar. Sirius grinned and downed the rest of his firewhiskey, deciding to ignore his headache. He cherished the bitter taste in his mouth—felt satisfied by how it burned down his throat. Looks like I beat you to it, Barney.
"—I had Daddy rent me a room for the afternoon so I could get ready for the Gala. I couldn't stand the thought of apparating here after I was done up. Can you imagine what apparation would've done to my hair?" Fifi inquired, looking simply horrified by the idea. Sirius rolled his eyes.
"What an excellent idea," Laurentia parroted conversationally. "I can hardly wait for the Gala to begin. Why don't we take a carriage down to Hogwarts together? I'm sure your parents wouldn't mind. We could catch up on our summers. I'd love to see Barney, too."
"That sounds like a darling idea! Did you bring a date to the Gala, by the by?"
"No…it's a little embarrassing, actually. If you can believe it, one of the Bagman twins—Otto—asked to escort me tonight. As if he'd be allowed into the event, the fool!" Laurentia scoffed, referring to the fact that Otto Bagman was not of noble birth. "I don't know where the Bagmans get their nerve, honestly."
"Perhaps you'll get lucky and find a dance partner for the night. I heard from a very reliable source that both James Potter and Sirius Black will be at the Gala tonight," Fifi smiled saucily, causing Laurentia's eyebrows to arch in contented surprise. "Regulus is supposed to be in attendance tonight too. He's such a dish, just like his older brother…although I think Sirius is the most handsome man I've ever seen!"
As the women giggled, Sirius' heart dropped, the mention of James unexpectedly distressing him. Just as I was attempting to push the whole ordeal to the back of my mind for the night…stupid birds. He unconsciously slammed his empty tumbler down on the table, causing the ice-cubes to bounce out and onto the table. Jarred by the noise, Madam Rosmerta hurried over to him and inquired if he wanted another drink, which he grumpily agreed to. "And make it a double-shot, will you, Rosie?"
At the sound of his masculine voice, the two noblewomen looked over at him, their eyes widening in delighted surprise. Fifi blushed violently, the erotic memories that suddenly flooded her consciousness making her tingle in all the right places. Sirius cussed under his breath, realizing they had spotted him, and readied himself to be inundated with adulation, "Goodness, is that you, Lord Black? You look positively…sex—I-I-I mean, smashing…"
"OI, Black! We've been bloody looking for you everywhere!"
The hot and bothered girl was interrupted as Lords Fabian and Gideon Prewett—dressed in matching tuxedos—cut in front of her and gracelessly took seats at Sirius' table. At that same moment, Lord Barnabus Cuff sauntered into the Three Broomsticks to collect his pink-faced girlfriend, the buttons on his polka-dotted dress shirt close to popping as his belly spilled over the belt of his too-short pants. As he impatiently escorted Fifi out, Sirius smirked cockily, the blonde-haired beauty looking back at him longingly as her chubby boyfriend spirited her away to the party.
"Boys, you have impeccable timing. Shall I order you a glass?" Sirius grinned at the identical red-headed men as he swished the amber contents of his refreshed glass about and drank down a mouthful.
"Good God, Black! How do you expect to conduct an investigation tonight when you're already half drunk?" Fabian demanded sternly, scoffing as his brother beckoned for the barmaid.
"I'll have whatever Black's having," Gideon ordered, pointing to Sirius' half-empty glass.
"I always thought you were the better brother, Gideon," Sirius joked, clinking his glass against Gideon's and removing another cigarillo from his dress-robe pocket. He took a long, relaxing drag to banish thoughts of his best friend from his mind. "So what did Dumbledore have to say?"
Fabian leaned in closer to Sirius, his hazel eyes brimming with determination. Before his brother began, Gideon lazily performed a charm that muffled their voices in order to prevent other patrons from eavesdropping on their confidential conversation. "There's a list of noble families we're to keep our eyes and ears trained on. In particular the Dolohovs, the Rosiers, the Yaxleys, the Malfoys, and…well, Dumbledore wants an eye kept on your cousin Narcissa and your brother, Regulus, too."
Sirius looked up from his drink uncertainly. "Dumbledore is suspicious of Reg? The boy is absolutely spineless; I can't imagine him having the guts to join You-Know-Who's ranks," he drawled, his eyes trained on the smoldering end of his cigar. Sirius wondered how much more bad news he could take in a day. "Narcissa on the other hand; the girl's a snake—absolutely ruthless. I doubt Cissy is as deranged as Bella, but at eighteen she's already associated herself with the likes of Malfoy. She seems like the perfect candidate for a death eater's wife."
"With a few glasses of champagne in her, she might just let a couple of Malfoy's secrets slip," Gideon chuckled enigmatically, finishing the remainder of his firewhiskey and smacking his lips together.
"Dumbledore has Elphias Doge on watch, too. Between the five of us, we should be in good shape," Fabian explained quietly, his eyes shifting about the room. "Dumbledore and Doge will focus on the older crowd. Gideon and I will try and dance the girls around—Lysandra Yaxley and Narcissa. It'll be difficult, especially considering how domineering Malfoy is, but we'll try and swing it."
"And who am I to focus on?" Sirius asked Fabian wearily, already bored by the thought of working during a party.
All I want to do is get knackered and shag a pretty girl to get my mind off James leaving…
"Dumbledore suggested you try and chum with Regulus' friends when he's not around. He seems to think they'll warm more to you because of your bloodline. See if you can't get them obnoxiously drunk and goad them into bragging about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
"Sound manageable," Sirius said, holding back his grumbles until the twins left for the Gala. He looked up as chairs began to scrape against the floor and nobles who had stopped in for a quick pick-me-up began to shuffle out of the bar. "Looks like everybody is departing for Hogwarts."
"We better leave as well. It's almost 5:30; Alice will be wondering where we are," Gideon pointed out, rising out of his seat along with Fabian. "Care to join us in our carriage, Black?"
"You two go on ahead. I think I'll have another drink before I make my grand entrance," Sirius lackadaisically signaled for Rosmerta, ignoring Fabian's disapproving stare.
"Another drink and you won't be able to walk straight. You'll also be terribly late."
"Fashionably late is the term, if I recall," Sirius grinned defiantly. "I usually stumble into these sorts of parties half-drunk anyway. Wouldn't want to raise suspicion by arriving on time and sober."
"C'mon, Fabian, he'll be along soon," Gideon pulled on his stubborn brother's arm, trying to relax the budding anger on his twin's face.
"You better show, Black," Fabian growled tetchily, Sirius matching his stony glare with a provoking grin. "Wouldn't want to earn a bad reputation within the Order like your best friend did. Nobody likes a turncoat."
"Sticks and stones, Prewett," Sirius nonchalantly responded, disguising how angry Fabian's reference to James had truly made him by lighting another cigar. "Now sod off. And do keep in mind, the next time you attempt to intimidate me with empty threats, I'll shove your wand up your arsehole and stir up your organs, got it?"
Incensed, Fabian opened his mouth to retort, but was disrupted by his brother's sharp, barking laughter. Gideon grabbed him by his shirt's starched lapel and dragged him away from Sirius—who impishly winked as Fabian flashed him the finger before he was brusquely shoved out of the bar.
Once the brothers were gone, Sirius was left alone with his tormenting thoughts again. He thrust a hand in his right pant pocket and pulled out the mirror James had given to him, turning it over in his palm to inspect the silver etchings on the back. He wondered how often he and James would talk—if there would be days or weeks between their correspondences. As he turned over the mirror again, taking in his dashing image in the spotless glass, he felt tempted to test out the contraption.
No, I shouldn't. He just gave me the ruddy thing…and if I bother him straight away he'll regret ever giving it to me and probably smash it to pieces. The man's got a ridiculous temper.
Sirius sighed and put the hand mirror back into his pocket. He'd need at least one more drink before he could stomach going to the Gala.
5:30 p.m.
Lily stood at her dormitory window, her posture woefully statuesque. She looked like the literary subject of a pre-Raphaelite portrait: her beautiful brown hair—twisted up into an elegant up-do—appeared golden in the late afternoon's light, while her unblemished, porcelain skin looked as if it had been coloured with rosy blush. The lids of her blue eyes, softened by the sun, were painted with charcoal eyeliner and silver pigment, and her lips were coated with cerise lipstick.
However, more striking than her makeup, hair, and even the almond shaped diamonds that hung from her ears, was the deep violet dress snugly clinging to her slender frame.
It was the finest garment Lily had ever laid her eyes upon. When she had asked Madam Gladrags to order her a dress for the Hogwarts Gala, the shopkeeper—who Dumbledore had secretly owled to inform that money was no object—had immediately picked a dress her couturiers in Paris had been working on for months; a gown they had nicknamed Le rêve de Phenicienne, or The Phoenician's Dream. The dress, fashioned from silk dyed the colour of blackberry wine, was strapless and had a tailored bodice with a sweetheart neckline. Decorated with finely-sewn lace, it also had an ample skirt—supported with underwire—that accentuated Lily's waist and flowed behind her in a moderate train. Wearing matching elbow-length gloves patterned with the same intricate white lace, Lily was an absolute vision in the elegant dress.
Though she expected Frank to arrive and bundle her off to the Gala at any moment, Lily could not force her nostalgic eyes away from the still lake outside, its waters bathed in fiery orange. A strange feeling stirred as black carriages ambled toward the front steps of Hogwarts along the road adjacent to the lake and fabulous people, dressed in coattails and evening gowns, streamed into the castle. She'd been nervous about the Gala all day—afraid that she wouldn't convincingly fit in with the aristocracy and that her knowledge of the magical world was inadequate. She couldn't help worrying about the details: how was Frank was going to interact with her in front of the guests? What were his parents going to do when they met her, and what was he was going to tell them? Were they going to hold hands all night, or—even worse—was he was going to try and kiss her to guarantee the disguise?
"I used to wake up early in the summer, even in early autumn, and swim to the middle of the lake at my boarding school."
Lily's face fell as she continued to gaze at the majestic Black Lake. She and Frank had grown quite close over the past month, seeing each other nearly every other day in order to attend dance lessons together and prepare for the Gala. They had spent hours pouring over the particulars of her disguise, discussing everything from how they had purportedly met and started courting to which fork was meant to be used at dinner. During their time together, Lily had grown to really trust and know Frank, whom she now considered a friend. Though Dumbledore occasionally joined her for meals, he was often too busy to spend quality time teaching her about the magical world. Frank had explained that, as head of the Order of the Phoenix and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Dumbledore had many other things to worry about and attend to other than her protection. As such, Frank Longbottom had emerged as her one constant confidant—the person whom she had come to rely upon the most.
"Are you cold? You're shivering."
"Maybe a little…"
"Let me take you back to the house. You'll be warm there."
Lily turned away from the window and closed her eyes. Life at St. Madeline's seemed a blur to her now. After a month of hard study and preparation—a month spent away from civilization as she had known it, with three very different wizards who had wholeheartedly committed themselves to helping her become a full-fledged witch—she had begun to wonder if her previous life had even been real. Memories of London were like disembodied ghosts to her now; however, though the memories were becoming hazier with each passing day, the harrowing feelings associated with them lingered—especially feelings for Lord James Potter.
"I...I don't want this to be the last time I see you…"
Lily felt sick to her stomach. She had become so wrapped up in her new life at Hogwarts—her lessons with Snape and Frank—and so desperate not to disappoint Dumbledore that she had barely thought of James at all. All her time was spent learning, reading or worrying about whether or not she could credibly assimilate into the magical aristocracy. Consequently, the only time she ever had to herself was at night, just before she fell asleep; fleeting time to think, especially since—dead tired after days spent studying—she would fall asleep as soon as her head touched a pillow. Alarmingly, Lily realized James had literally been rendered a figment of her dreams...
And here I am now, wondering what it would feel like to have Frank kiss me…
Lily exhaled, grabbing for one of the wooden posts of her bed to steady herself, a wave of nausea making her feel faint. She began to breathe heavily, recollections of James making her feel dizzy with guilt and sorrow. Lily looked up at the dolled-up image of herself in the talking mirror and abruptly felt repulsed: she didn't recognize herself anymore.
What would you think if you saw me now, James?
A knock suddenly sounded at Lily's dormitory door, startling her. "Aurora, are you decent? Can I come in? We must get going, it's almost 5:45…"
Bullocks.
"Just a moment!" Lily called out in a strained voice, attempting to mask her upset as she recognized Frank's voice. Clutching her stomach, Lily crossed the room toward her vanity table and clumsily ripped open one of the drawers, removing a small bottle of emerald-coloured potion. Unstopping the little vessel, she swallowed a mouthful of pepper-up potion—which she'd brewed during one of Snape's lessons—and took a deep breath. After a moment's pause, Lily straightened up, her nausea subsiding. "Come in, Frank."
As Frank opened the door and entered, Lily was struck by how debonair he looked. The young lord's dirty-blonde hair was neatly smoothed back and his shoes were immaculately shiny, making them squeak as he strolled in. He wore a simple black tuxedo with coattails and embellished sleeves, and had a sharp bow-tie perfectly enfolded around his shaven neck. He cleaned-up nicely.
She offered Frank a weak smile as he came in, partially to hide her upset and partially because she was impressed by his attire, but immediately ceased as he abruptly halted—astounded—to soak up her appearance with stunned eyes. Crumpling her made-up face, Lily uncomfortably mustered, "Is something wrong…?"
Frank's eyes widened as he realized how ridiculous he likely looked. He cleared his throat and attempted to recover from his blunder. "No…absolutely not. It's just…Merlin, if you don't mind me saying, you look absolutely stunning. That dress…well I guess it just took me off guard. I've never seen you look so…so—"
Lily blinked, oblivious to Frank's compliment and deaf to the rest of his sentence as another memory from the day she had swam in the pond on the Potter property with James suddenly paralyzed her senses. She gasped, taken aback by the echo of his roguish voice in her mind.
"Merlin, you'll be the death of me! That's the thanks I get for saving you from getting run over? Drowning me? Sorry, but I had something else in mind…"
Lily stiffened, her eyes filling with shock and disbelief as her mind worked relentlessly to piece together the details that began emerging from her subconscious. Frank watched as her eyes widened in recognition and she turned away from him, as if he weren't there. He frowned, confused by her actions, and immediately suspected he had somehow offended her.
James said 'Merlin' that day in the pond…the only people I've ever heard say that are wizards.
"Aurora, are you alright?" Frank inquired, walking over towards her. Lily didn't seem to hear him, collapsing into a chair at her vanity table and collecting her face in her hands. She didn't know whether she was going to burst into tears or double over with laughter, the situation so overwhelming that she was having trouble figuring out how to cope.
"What about you? What school did you go to?"
"I went to Hogwarts School of Witch—er...I mean, Hogwarts School in Winchester…"
"Hogwarts? I've never heard of it…but then again, I suppose it's some posh school for the lordly type."
"Yes...I suppose the students admitted are somewhat…different."
Lily wanted to scream.
"Are you feeling ill?" Frank asked as he came up beside Lily and knelt beside her chair. Having forgotten his presence in her room, Lily sluggishly looked up at Frank when he placed an arm around her shoulder. "If it's nerves, I understand. We've been preparing for this night for nearly a month…but you really have no reason to worry, Aurora. I promise I'll be watching out for you."
Oh my God…James went here, to Hogwarts…but he tried to make it seem like it was a muggle university…he was trying to disguise the fact that he is a…a…
"I-I'm sorry, I'm just feeling a little lightheaded. I just took some pepper-up potion a moment ago," Lily managed, momentarily breaking her train of thought as she attempted to shield her emotional revelations from him. As another wave of unease washed over her, she grasped Frank's shoulder to hold herself upright.
"Oh dear…" Frank muttered as he held onto the shaky girl to steady her.
Is it really possible? James…a wizard?
All Lily wanted was a moment to think—a moment to contemplate the memories of James that were screaming for her attention, that were pointing to a startling truth—but she had a duty to Frank and Dumbledore—to herself—to go downstairs and attend a party that would help to ensure her safety in the wizarding world and solidify all the plans her protectors had put into place for her.
All along we were both wizards…all along I did belong in his world…
"Perhaps that pretty dress of yours is laced up too tight," Frank helped Lily to her feet, his eyes betraying his concern for the pale-faced girl. "Will you be alright? I hate to rush you when you're feeling sick—"
"I'm…I'll be just fine. Must be my nerves…but won't you help me down the dormitory stairs? These shoes are murder to walk in," Lily waved Frank off unconvincingly, grappling his arm as her insides twisted unpleasantly. She thought she might pass out at any moment, the overwhelming truth translating physically, but ignored her bodily discomfort, too preoccupied with her revelations about James.
I can't believe it's taken me this long to make the connection…
"It'll probably do you some good to get into the Dining Hall; much better ventilation in there. We'll sit out in the gardens for a while if you're still feeling green. The fresh air might help," Frank said encouragingly, watching her carefully as he lead her out of her room and into the crimson and gold common room.
"You're probably right…" Lily agreed, offering Frank a feeble smile before she looked away, her eyes clouding over again. Her lack of attention and presence did not escape the observant lord, who had become accustomed to her vibrant and curious nature.
Deciding not to barrage her with more questions and exacerbate her discomfort, Frank announced the secret password to the fat lady—who appeared to be hosting a small cocktail party in her portrait on account of the celebrations in the castle that evening. Once the picture swung open, Lily and Frank—arm in arm—quietly stepped out into the adjoining stone hallway and headed toward the moving staircases. As they walked, Lily's feelings of anxiety concerning both James and the Gala grew worse, manifesting in the pit of her stomach and causing electric shudders to snake up her spine and arms. Her mind was racing, and although she had ingested a pepper-up potion, newfound vertigo sprung from her angst.
Oh God…James is a wizard…and he'll never know I'm one, too. For all I know, he could be dead…
Lily's vision began to blur as tears which refused to remain hidden stung her eyes: she was going to be sick. "Oh no, I've just realized I forgot my wand upstairs. I'll just run and get it quickly—" Lily exclaimed, leaning down to slip off her tricky shoes and turning away from Frank before he could get a glimpse of her downtrodden face.
"What?You don't need your wand at a party!" Frank called out in a mixture of confusion and frustration as she hurried away from him in bare feet, her purple train trailing behind her.
"I'll be back in a moment!" Lily replied breathlessly, desperately pushing her body—which was on the brink of collapse—around the corner and out of Frank's sight; she did not want him to see her so disheveled, nor did she want to explain her distress. "Just meet me in the Great Hall! I'll be but a minute!"
"Wait! I'll come with—" Frank worriedly began jogging after her; he stopped dead in his tracks when he recognized the finality in her response.
"NO. You go and meet up with Dumbledore and explain why I'll be late! I'll be right back—"
Once Lily disappeared around the corner and safely out of sight, she staggered back towards Gryffindor Tower, blinded by panicked tears. She didn't know what she was going to achieve by going back to her room, having already drunk the only medical potion she had, but hoped to find an incantation in one of her textbooks that would calm her hyper mind and agitated body.
There's no way I can convincingly attend the Gala in this state…not when all I can think about is James and what could have been…
Feeling faint, Lily let a despairing gasp sound from her lips as she lurched into a wall and slid down onto the cold floor. Feeling disoriented—dizzy colours and images rushing by her as if she were riding an out-of-control carousal—Lily tried to get back up to her feet again, but fell onto her hands and knees as nausea rendered her helpless. She moaned in desperate frustration, aware of how powerless she was, and began to shake.
Everything is so FUCKED UP! I'm not in control of anything in my life…
She closed her eyes and attempted to dispel the blackness that threatened to overcome her senses, wondering how long it would take Frank to find her and what he would tell Dumbledore when she didn't show up to the Gala.
What does it matter anyway? What does any of it matter if he's dead...?
As Lily began to surrender to the calm that was unconsciousness, she recognized the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps and sensed a presence beside her. She recoiled as a cold hand reached out and touched her forehead and face, but found she could neither open her eyes nor form words. As the stranger kneeling beside her removed his clammy hand from her warm face, she became aware of the acrid, pungent smell of chemicals that clung to his skin and robes.
I know that scent…
"Accio Wiggenweld!" Lily heard the stranger mutter under his breath, the muffled sound of rustling fabric and the squelch of a cork being squeezed from the top of a bottle following the magical command. Her mind raced as she tried to comprehend why the stranger's hand snaked into her hair, tilting her head back, and a glass container was put to her lips. Though her instincts cried for her to resist, the stranger tipped the contents of the ampule into her mouth and a mint-flavoured potion coated her tongue and throat, sliding into her belly.
"Open your eyes, Aurora."
Lily realized the sombre voice belonged to Snape. Her eyelids fluttered open, her senses magically heightened due to the potion that had been administered to her. She felt as if she had been shocked back into existence, the nerves and muscles in her body buzzing with newfound energy.
"P-Professor Snape," Lily stammered as he bore into her with his penetrating black eyes. A self-conscious hand flew to her forehead; she discovered that the fever that had been mounting within her had subsided. "I'm s-sorry—I don't know what happened. I was feeling ill and…well, I must have just collapsed…"
Remaining purse-lipped, Snape studied Lily's appearance with what she believed to be disapproval. When his keen eyes focused on her wildly elaborate dress and low-cut neckline—one of his slender eyebrows rising incredulously—Lily thought she might die from humiliation.
"Come on, get up," Snape said, extending a hand towards her once he had concluded his appraisal of her state.
"Thank you," Lily accepted his hand and inelegantly climbed to her feet. "What was that potion you gave me?"
"Wiggenweld potion. It awakens those who find themselves in magically-induced slumbers," Snape explained, pocketing a newly-empty potions vile and deliberately looking away from Lily's legs as she pulled her dress up to strap on her shoes, "Apparently I was right in deducing that you'd worked yourself into such a condition. I told you before that you need to get a grip on your magic—you're unknowingly internalizing it and turning it against yourself."
"You mean I'm the cause of my own blackout?" Lily demanded of her tutor, folding her arms across her chest, uneasy in Snape's presence dressed as she was. She'd known from the get-go that he had a strong dislike of the aristocracy and therefore felt uncomfortable parading around as a lady in front of him.
Why should I care what he thinks?
"What were you doing just before you began to feel faint?" Snape inquired as evenly as possible, painfully aware of how she squirmed endearingly in her gown under his gentle, but ravening gaze.
"Well…" Lily began, wishing she had her security blanket—her wand—with her as she faced him, "I was having a bit of a panic attack. I've never been to a gala before and I'm afraid that I…that I won't fit in, I suppose."
Though Lily had only revealed half of the reason why she bad been panicking, she wondered what had possessed her to even divulge what she had to Snape, a person whom she had never had a particularly personal conversation with. She predicted he would react with a witty jib or a superior smirk, but—to her surprise—his face registered only incredulity.
"You mean to say you've never been to a high-society party before?" Snape questioned, his eyes narrowing distrustfully.
"No…have you?" Lily returned uneasily, questioning whether or not she should have lied to him.
"Certainly not!" Snape snapped, offended by the very suggestion. "My family isn't noble or from money. My father, he's a…well, it doesn't matter, because you couldn't pay me to attend one of those pretentious events, even if I was of noble birth."
Lily blinked, aghast that Snape had revealed something private about himself. He seemed to realize how out-of-character he was acting and suddenly appeared flustered by his lack of usual control; Lily pounced on her opportunity to gain more information about him. "I can't say I blame you…but I'm sure not everyone in attendance is that horrible?"
Snape scoffed, grimacing wryly. "I went to school for seven years with some of fops you're about to meet, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that they only value money and status. Why would I waste my time listening to witches idly blather about irrelevant nonsense and wizards compare the size of their Gringott's vaults when I can dedicate it to attaining true power?"
Lily's eyes reflected her uncertainty as she considered Snape's condemnation of the aristocracy. Thinking back on what Frank had told her, she guessed that years of being tormented by the noble students had rendered him bitter towards them. Although some of his comments appeared justified, Lily still felt uneasy about how passionate his loathing of them was.
He's not alone in his feelings…James didn't seem to like the aristocracy, either…
Then, just as suddenly as her previous revelations had struck her, another one came to her. Oh my god…James is a lord…what if he was part of this magical aristocracy? The same aristocracy that I have now been inducted into—
—Oh my god, the Gala!
Panic swelled within Lily again as she realized that she was not only horribly late for her entrance with Dumbledore, but that Lord James Potter—who she now recognized was a wizard—might be a person known to many people in attendance at the Gala. Sweat beaded on her forehead as the enormity of her new discovery made her feel ill all over again.
Deep lines etched into Snape's face as he observed Lily's fresh anxiety. "I don't know what has you so unnerved that you're channeling your own magic into malady, Aurora, but you need to gain control of your emotions before you faint again."
Lily clutched at her chest as she breathed heavily, frustrated she was the cause of her own debility and that she was coming off as weak in front of Snape. She couldn't seem to get a handle on her terrified thoughts of James. "Can't you give me something? I have a duty to be at the Gala and I'm already so late…" Lily beseeched, ignoring her sense of shame as she flashed Snape a slavishly imploring look, batting her innocent eyes in a way which—unbeknownst to her—he considered quite erogenous.
Snape growled in irritation, trying to quell the sexual anticipation that was threatening to make his pants uncomfortably tighten. If she wasn't wearing that dress it wouldn't be so hard to say no. "Next lesson you and I are going to work on controlling your powers, understand? You're a bloody nuisance to yourself and to others in this state—Accio Calming Draught!"
"Thank you, Professor! I promise I'll work harder to control my emotions…" Lily announced as a small vile filled with bright orange liquid came zooming from the opposite end of the hallway and into Snape's outstretched hand. He reluctantly handed the potion over to Lily and frowned as she eagerly gulped down the entire mixture.
"You're lucky I happened to have made a cauldron of Calming Draught a few days ago. Don't think I'll so readily hand over my personal stores again," Snape warned her, stealthily nipping the empty bottle back from Lily once she was done with it. "That's two potions you've drunk in under an hour. I wouldn't have too many glasses of champagne on top of that if I were you."
"I also drank a vile of pepper-up potion about an hour ago," Lily bit down on her bottom lip, repressing a smile as Snape rolled his eyes; she was amazed at how tranquil she now felt and how clear and rational her thoughts had become. Compared to the panic that had plagued her only moments ago, the peacefulness that now enveloped her entire body like a warm blanket was absolute bliss.
I'll deal with the James situation after the Gala. Perhaps I could tell Frank the entire story and enlist his help. It's going to be alright…
"Well I hope you enjoy the company of those arrogant, pig-headed, money-grubbing numskulls downstairs," Snape drawled sarcastically, crossing his arms as he watched the beautiful brunette smooth the wrinkles in her dress, readying herself for departure.
Lily smiled serenely, unfazed by his negativity. Feeling extremely grateful for his help, Lily closed the distance between herself and Snape and—largely due to the effects of the potion—leaned in to peck him on the cheek. She chuckled merrily as his black eyes widened in a combination of shock and alarm as she turned away from him, heading for the moving staircases. "See you tomorrow, Professor! I won't forget what you've done for me tonight!"
As Lily left Snape alone to deal with his carnal distress, she wondered just how angry Frank and Dumbledore were going to be with her.
6:30 p.m.
When Lily finally descended the magical moving staircase and entered the Great Hall—enchantingly decorated with floating tapered candles, real fluttering, silver-winged butterflies, and lilac and blue-coloured flowers to match the party room—her heart skipped a beat. Dumbledore, handsomely draped in amethyst coloured-robes trimmed in gold, awaited her patiently before the gigantic, sealed Dining Hall, his serene gaze fixated on the Hogwarts crest emblazoned on the wooden entrance. From behind the double doors, Lily could hear a mixture of chatter, champagne and symphony—muffled sounds which indicated the Gala was already in full swing. Gulping back subdued agitation, she hurried towards Dumbledore, pulling at the folds of her dress to avoid tripping. Ever sanguine, he did not look up at her until she reached him.
"Good evening," Lily said shyly, her expression ruefully-innocent.
Though he had never shown her any unkindness before, Lily had expected Dumbledore to be angry with her; however, instead of conveying resentment for her tardiness, the graying wizard offered her a genuine, good-natured smile. "Ah, there you are, my dear. Heavens, don't you look lovely? Madam Gladrags has certainly outdone herself this time."
He's not even cross with me?
"Thank you," Lily cheeks reddened with embarrassment as his jaunty disposition made her feel even more ashamed of her delay. "Your robes are exquisite, Professor Dumbledore."
"Uncle Albus," Dumbledore reminded her, though he continued to beam. "And that's very kind of you to say. I chose a set of robes that matched my favourite pair of woollen socks."
Dumbledore pulled up the hem of his robes and flashed Lily a pair of deep burgundy socks, patterned with an assortment of Quidditch balls that zoomed and bounced along the knitted fabric exuberantly. She blinked a few times, biting back a grin; Dumbledore's eccentricity was both alarming and amusing.
Tearing her eyes away from his outlandish socks, Lily noticed the old wizard's wine-coloured robes looked nothing like the tailored tuxedo Frank wore. Made of crushed velvet, they flowed around him like a geisha's silk kimono, a braided, golden-haired rope cinching the expensive cloth around his midsection. Paired with his long beard and his oddly-shaped spectacles, Lily thought Dumbledore—quite unlike clean-cute Frank Longbottom—perfectly matched the fairy-tale imagining of a wizard.
"I apologize for my tardiness, Uncle Albus," Lily attempted awkwardly, feeling absurd. Though Dumbledore and Frank had insisted upon using her fictional name ever since she had arrived at Hogwarts—citing the importance of habit and the danger of eavesdroppers—it still felt odd to be role-playing in private. "I wasn't feeling well so I ran back upstairs to find a potion to calm my nerves."
"Yes, Frank informed me. Quite understandable…but are you sure you're feeling well enough to proceed?" Dumbledore inquired, searching her from behind his moon-shaped spectacles.
"I feel perfectly fine now, thank you," Lily responded, determinedly ignoring the butterflies half-heartedly quivering in her stomach.
I must focus on the here and now…push James to the back of my mind…
"Splendid. Shall we make our appearance then, my dear?" Dumbledore inquired good-humoredly, offering his arm to Lily. Feeling an unexpected surge of trepidation, she accepted it; almost immediately, the Dining Hall's magnificent double doors supernaturally swung open, revealing a glittering, unknown world to her…
Lily squinted as she took her first steps into the Hall with Dumbledore, light from the glorious chandelier and romantic floating candles bombarding her retinas. She looked around at the blurry crowd, trying to acclimatize to her surroundings, but was momentarily blinded by the brilliance of the overly-furbished landscape. She struggled to keep her facial expression even as the bustling noise of the Hall suddenly enveloped her and a booming voice—as pronounced and as startling as the ominous roar of a marine fog-horn—sounded from amongst the crowd of well-groomed guests. "MAY I PRESENT, LORD ALBUS WULFRIC BRIAN DUMBLEDORE, SUPREME MUGWUMP OF THE INTERNATIONAL CONFEDERATION OF WIZARDS, CHIEF WARLOCK OF THE WIZGAMOT AND HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY…ACCOMPANYING HIS ESTEEMED NIECE, LADY AURORA ROCKFORD."
Quite unexpectedly, a shower of magical sparks rained down from the ceiling—enchanted to reflect the blue twilight outside—and into the cheering crowd. Lily quailed, sure the hot sparks would singe the guests and their expensive outfits; however, just before they made contact, the flickers transformed into the same shiny butterflies she had glimpsed back in the Great Hall. As the guests oohed and awed, impressed by the dreamlike demonstration, Hogwarts ghosts—including Nearly Headless Nick—concurrently filtered into the Hall through the walls and collected on the stage that had been erected earlier that morning. The haunting tune Lily had heard Nick and the other ghosts practicing almost a month earlier proceeded to fill the glorious Hall.
Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts!
Teach us something, please!
Whether we be old and bald,
Or young with scabby knees—
Affable applause erupted from the crowd as Lily's eyes finally adjusted to the dazzling environment. Her lips parted into a tremendous—albeit fake—smile when the ghosts finished their song and disappeared, for all eyes in the Hall turned to her and Dumbledore. As terrified chills, mostly deadened by the Snape's Calming Draught, crept along her spine, she wracked her brain trying to remember all of Frank's suggestions: Smile as brightly as you can when you enter. Carry yourself with an air of modest superiority. You want to come off as fabulously charming, the apple of Dumbledore's eye…a beautiful, charismatic girl with quiet wit, a humble demeanor and a high-class upbringing—a shining example of the Dumbledore name.
The chic crowd of guests parted as Lily and Dumbledore entered, their eyes following their every move as if they were royalty. Lily's introverted instincts screamed for her to escape, what felt like thousands of people watching her, but she couldn't flee—honour-bound to remain in the spot-light, smack dab in the middle of the aristocracy. She smiled courteously at the staring people she passed, reminding herself to keep eye contact rather than consider the floor shyly.
Once they reached the middle of the elaborate Hall, Dumbledore turned to face the growing number of guests and flashed his famous, secretive smile. He pressed his wand to his throat and proceeded to speak, his voice magically magnified: "Honoured guests, I would like to welcome you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the 993rd Hogwarts Gala."
Decorous applause followed; Lily was smiling so hard her jaw ached.
"As most of you know, Hogwarts is a most spectacular magical school—an institution which churns out learned witches and wizards who, every day, spearhead new magical discoveries in their areas of study. Many members of our alumni have achieved great things within the magical community, their names forever remembered in our history books. It is therefore with great pleasure that I invite all of you—many of whom are Hogwarts graduates—to take part in tonight's festivities and to celebrate those Hogwarts pupils who are currently excelling in their magical disciplines."
More applause erupted from the crowd. Lily willed herself not to turn pink as Dumbledore's attention suddenly shifted to her. "I would also like to take this moment to introduce someone very dear to my heart: my niece, Lady Aurora Rockford, who has kindly joined us here tonight all the way from the majestic country of Canada."
Even more applause ensued, though—unlike Dumbledore's previous announcement—Lily's bogus introduction garnered a few cheeky catcalls from the back of the crowd and prompted some of the older witches in attendance to whisper feverishly to one another. One sharply hissed to a friend, "Since when does Dumbledore have a niece?" while another bitterly murmured, "If I'd known Dumbledore had a niece I wouldn't have pushed Reginald to marry that Clearwater girl so soon." From the crowd's reaction, Lily gathered she was the new prize to be won; she hid her grimace when some of the younger men in the crowd competitively nudged one another following her introduction.
"Aurora will be staying at Hogwarts with me for the summer. Please join me in giving her a warm welcome tonight. Now, in closing I would like to thank everyone in attendance tonight for their generous donations to the school. The students and teachers of Hogwarts are in your debt. So, with that being said, let the Gala commence!" Dumbledore announced confidently, withdrawing his wand from his throat and confidently brandishing it into the air.
As his words echoed across the dazzling Hall, a flock of stunning royal-blue parrots lept from the end of his wand and stretched out their enormous wings, flying high above the delighted guests and out into the candle-lit gardens. In unison, house-elves dressed in black tuxedos popped into existence, carrying with them pewter trays filled with glasses of sparkling wine and lavish hors d'oeuvres. A small group of wizards and witches—dressed in eye-catching baby-blue robes—simultaneously climbed onto the stage and immediately struck up a jazzy number that mingled with the rising noise of the crowd.
Lily sighed in respite, relieved most of the guests had busied themselves with snatching up flutes of champagne. Taking a deep breath and relaxing her strained smile, she scanned the crowd, wondering if Mimi was one of the house-elves serving drinks.
"Would Madam care for some dragon tar-tar?" a crotchety elf squeaked from below Lily, distracting her from her search.
Lily craned her neck, barely able to hear his shrill voice above the noise of the prattling congregation. "No…thank you," she responded, feeling queasy as she looked down at the round, greenish balls of what appeared to be cheese inelegantly lumped on the house-elf's platter.
"Probably for the best," Dumbledore soundlessly whispered to her as the house-elf departed, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "It tends to give one very bad breath…"
Scanning the crowd again, this time wondering where Frank was, Lily realized that a collection of individuals—many of whom were pointedly observed she and Dumbledore—were waiting patiently along the fringe of their bubble. Aware of their presence, Dumbledore turned his attention to one of the individuals in particular—a plump man with broad shoulders and narrow, determined eyes—and smiled: a sign that seemed to indicate the headmaster wanted him to approach, for the stumpy wizard immediately lept into action, a self-important grin transforming his mouth as he reached for Dumbledore's aged hand.
"Minister Spavin," Dumbledore shook the rotund man's hand, smiling graciously. "So good of you to join us this evening. I'd like to introduce you to my niece, Lady Aurora Rockford—Aurora, this is the Minister for Magic, Lord Faris Spavin."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Minister," Lily said civilly, a tinge of sweetness in her voice. She suppressed a shiver when the public servant—whose head barely reached the top of her shoulder—grasped her hand and planted a whiskery, wet kiss on it.
"The pleasure is all mine, Lady Rockford," the Minister for Magic bumbled in a Yorkshire accent, struggling to keep his gaze away from her cleavage as it was at his eye-level. "How fine of you to join your uncle at Hogwarts."
Lily wrenched her hand out of his grasp as gently as she could manage; it took all her strength not to slap him across the face to correct his straying eyes. "Do indulge me: how long do you plan on staying in England? Do you plan on enrolling in Hogwarts in September?"
Before Lily could respond, Dumbledore effortlessly cut-in. "Though Aurora will be staying with me for the summer, she has yet to decide what she will do in the fall. I suggested a trip to the French Riviera…don't you think it would be lovely in the autumn, Minister?"
"Yes…yes certainly—I would imagine," Minister Spavin agreed like a sycophant, lazily eyeing Lily as he took a sip from his champagne and shoved a ball of dragon tar-tar into his fuzzed mouth.
To Lily's immense relief, it wasn't long before Dumbledore found an excuse to dismiss the debauched Minister, who—rather than talk about politics or Hogwarts—seemed sickeningly interested in her, and beckoned another individual towards them.
The next wizard, who looked to be in his late eighties, was dressed in an outfit very similar to Dumbledore's. He wore bizarre ginger robes that tightly enfolded his pot belly and clumsily trailed behind him and had a tuft of white hair that wound around the outside of his bald head like a friar's crown. As he maladroitly stumbled forward, a gleeful, toothy smile illuming his wrinkled face, Lily noticed his eyes were also slightly crossed.
Dumbledore leaned closer to Lily and quietly murmured, "An Order member."
"Albus!" Lord Elphias Doge chirruped brightly, extending a hand to Dumbledore, who shook it gladly. "What a marvelous party! You know, I look forward to the ghost choir every year."
As Dumbledore smiled in reply, the strange wizard turned to Lily. He stared at her for a moment, soaking up her features, then—to her immense surprise—regarded her with undue affection. "And this must be the niece I've heard so little about. Really, Albus, how did you keep this darling girl a secret? You are just as beautiful as your mother, Arianna, Lady Rockford."
Lily's smile faltered as she was taken aback by the strange Order member's familiarity with Dumbledore. From what Frank had told her, not many people were well acquainted with the Dumbledore family. Most were unaware he had younger siblings at all—yet Elphias Doge was not only on a first name basis with Dumbledore, but professed to know his ailing sister.
"Thank you…that's very kind of you, Lord—?" Lily began quizzically.
"My apologies; Aurora, this is my oldest friend, Lord Elphias Doge. As boys we attended Hogwarts together and we've been good friends ever since," Dumbledore explained congenially, winking playfully at his counterpart. "I daresay Elphias knows me better anyone—except perhaps Alberforth."
"Oh Aurora, the stories I could tell you about your uncle!" Elphias chuckled gaily, his merriment contagious; Lily giggled, while Dumbledore's face shone with amusement. "Don't you let your Uncle Albus fool you into believing he was always well behaved in school: he was only clever enough never to get caught! I maintain to this day that I've never seen someone so skilled at disillusionment charms…"
As the old wizards chortled impishly, trading school-boy tales from their youth, Lily felt a familiar hand slide across her waist and warm breath press against her ear. As Frank leaned into her hair and whispered to her coyly, shivers cascaded down her bare back. "Aiming for a fashionably-late appearance, were we?"
Instinctively, Lily moved to grasp Frank's hand, his sarcastic presence immediately comforting her—quashing her sense of isolation, though she was standing in the middle of a busy room. "Unexpected delay—I'll tell you about it later."
"Are you alright?" Frank inquired covertly, regarding her with eyes that failed to mirror his smooth, unaffected expression; a mask for onlookers.
"Perfect. I promise," Lily returned with quiet firmness, momentarily looking away from him and noticing how many guests had turned to gawk at their discreet exchange. "What took you so long to get here?"
"Rules of etiquette," Frank murmured, also taking note of the amount of people who had stopped—mid-conversation—to stare at them. "I'm technically not supposed to join you until Dumbledore has introduced you to my parents, but they're next in cue—ah, good evening Lord Dumbledore, Lord Doge…"
Lily watched as Frank formally shook hands with Dumbledore and carried on a conversation which—she eventually realized—was meant to disguise both her identity from eavesdroppers and the group's secret relations within the Order of the Phoenix. Listening to their exchanges, Lily found the amount of acting to be quite dizzying.
"How wonderful to see you again, Lord Longbottom," Dumbledore began ceremoniously, his smile clandestine. "You remember Lord Doge, I presume?"
"Yes, of course. How do you do this evening, Lord Doge?" Frank questioned courteously, bowing slightly, though his hand still firmly grasped Lily's.
A well-known Order acquaintance of Frank's, Elphias grinned puckishly when he noticed Lily and Frank's entwined hands. He looked to Dumbledore, as if waiting for him to break up the pair, and then back to Frank. "I'm doing well, thank you, Lord Longbottom. The evening is shaping up to be a lovely one! But how are you? Anything particularly new with you?"
Elphias stared pointedly at their hands, his cheeks dimpling; Frank struggled not to roll his eyes. "How very perceptive of you. I suppose you could say I'm keeping some new company," Frank returned slyly, looking down at Lily and winking handsomely. She blushed.
"So it would seem…" Elphias returned, amused by Frank's expert reaction and Lily's meekness.
Two strikingly-attired guests—a tall, gangly wizard in a beautifully-crafted tuxedo and a short, stern-looking witch festooned in a flaming cerise gown—approached the group. As they neared, Lily knew they were Frank's parents, for he shared the adult wizard's sturdy build and the witch's fair colouring. She breathed deeply, reminding herself to remain calm as Frank's hand tensed in hers.
"Augusta, Lyndon…how lovely of you to come," Dumbledore greeted warmly when the stately couple arrived, shaking Lord Longbottom's hand and kissing the top of Lady Longbottom's. "I must thank you both for your overly-generous donation to Hogwarts this year; your liberality never seems to fail."
"As always it was our pleasure. You know how much we adore Hogwarts, Dumbledore," Augusta returned curtly, quickly greeting Elphias—who hung around like a lost puppy—before turning to scrutinize Lily and Frank. "I believe introductions are in order, Frank."
Frank straightened up and cleared his throat. Though he acted rather rigidly in the presence of his mother, Lily could hardly blame him; the sheer austerity emanating from the small woman was quite frightening. "Mother, Father…this is Lady Aurora Rockford, daughter of Lord Dumbledore's sister, Lady Arianna Rockford, and her late husband, Lord Aquarius Rockford."
Lady Longbottom briefly bowed her head in response, while quiet Lord Longbottom extended his hand and feebly kissed the top of Lily's. "Aurora, this is my mother and father, Lady Augusta Longbottom and Lord Lyndon Longbottom."
Lily curtsied respectfully, attempting to hide the intimidation Lady Longbottom inspired within her. "It's so lovely to finally meet you both. I've heard so much about you from Frank—"
"Have you now? Curious, considering Frank has never once mentioned you before, Lady Rockford. Either—might I add—has your uncle," Lady Longbottom pointed out brazenly, her hawkish eyes trained on Lily, who tried not to quiver like a wimp. "Do tell, Frank: exactly when did you first meet Lady Rockford? How long have you known each other? I gather from the way you two are…mingling, this isn't your first meeting."
"You're quite right, Mother. I met Aurora almost a month ago, when she first arrived at Hogwarts. I had to consult with Dumbledore on a Ministry matter and I coincidentally ran into her," Frank explained rather mechanically, though Lily thought he sounded convincing enough. "We exchanged letters for a few weeks before I asked Dumbledore's permission to court her."
He turned to Lily and smiled sweetly to solidify his newfound "love" for her; she smiled back, well aware that he was a more persuasive performer than she was.
"Is that so—coincidence you say?—well, if that's the case, why am I only hearing of Lady Rockford now?" Lady Longbottom challenged, though a little less waspishly: Lily guessed she was unhappy about learning of their courtship at the same time as the rest of society.
"You cannot blame Frank, Augusta," Dumbledore cut in charmingly, flashing Lady Longbottom a charismatic smile. "You see, I asked Frank to refrain from telling anyone of Aurora. I wanted to give her the chance to adjust to Hogwarts before reporters and photographers descended upon her. It was with this stipulation that I agreed to Frank's proposal of courtship. Surely you can understand how persistent the media can be?"
Lady Longbottom paused for a moment, her eyes shrewdly darting between Dumbledore, Frank and Lily. Lily could tell she was an exceptionally clever witch; the kind who wasn't easily fooled. A strange sense of admiration swelled within her for the haughty noblewoman.
"We are a very loyal family, Dumbledore; we would've respected your wishes to keep Aurora a secret—" Lady Longbottom proclaimed proudly, subtly chastising Dumbledore for not trusting in them. "—but I understand you were trying to protect your niece. Reporters can be absolute vultures. That awful Skeeter woman is the worst of them. You should have seen the contrived piece she wrote about my family in the Prophet a few years back—absolute drivel. I daresay the media shall have a field day now that you've presented Aurora to high society."
"Yes…like it or not, keeping her name out of the papers will be quite impossible now," Dumbledore affirmed, plucking a champagne glass from a tray-wielding house-elf and offering it to Lady Longbottom. "I wanted to prolong the inevitable for as long as I could."
"Well, it seems my son has just thrust himself into the middle of this foreseeable media circus," Lady Longbottom commented wryly, smirking for the first time as she took a sip from her flute.
"Frank's smart—smart enough to capture Lady Rockford's heart before she was presented to society and positively bombarded by male suitors," Lord Longbottom finally spoke up, his tone conveying amusement; Lily had forgotten he was standing with them, his presence completely eclipsed by that of his dynamic wife.
"Oh, I don't know about that…" Lily whispered unpretentiously, flushing.
"You're being modest, Lady Rockford. You are a beautiful young girl from a prestigious family—who wouldn't jump at the opportunity to have you on their arm? I bet you've inherited some of your uncle's intelligence, too." Lord Longbottom winningly praised Lily, earning a smile of agreement from both Dumbledore and Frank.
"Thank you for saying so. It seems you are as generous with your compliments as you are with your charity, Lord Longbottom," Lily delivered perfectly, smiling prettily; Frank squeezed her hand to communicate his approval.
"You'll be having Aurora over for dinner next week, won't you, Frank?" Lady Longbottom more commanded than requested, Lord Longbottom fading into the background once more.
"N-Naturally," Frank agreed, unable to hide his bewilderment; his stumble made him uncharacteristically redden. "That is, if Lord Dumbledore allows Aurora to take a night off from her rigorous studies?"
"Certainly," Dumbledore beamed cheerfully.
"And of course, you are invited too, Lord Dumbledore—though I know how busy your schedule must be," Lady Longbottom continued politely, her brisk tone indicating that, contrary to her dismissal, she would be quite offended by his refusal.
"I would be simply delighted,"
"Excellent. I'll owl you the details next week," Lady Longbottom vivified with Dumbledore's acceptance and, for the first time, regarded Lily with enthusiasm. "I look forward to learning more about you, Aurora."
"And I you," Lily returned harmoniously, curtsying as Frank's hold on her tightened and he began dragging her away from the group of mature wizards.
"This calls for a glass of champagne. Shall we?"
Dumbledore winked impishly as Lily turned away from him and followed Frank through the bustling crowd of party-goers. Many people greeted them as they walked, a couple shouting "Frank, old boy!" but they did not stop to chat, Frank intent on locating a quieter spot to talk privately. Upon finding an empty patch of dance floor not far from a buffet table, which housed multiple magical delicacies, including kelpie caviar, chizpurfle canapés, pixies-in-a-blanket and stuffed fire crab, Frank procured two glasses of champagne and toasted Lily.
"Your mother is a force to be reckoned with," Lily teased, taking a small sip from her flute per Snape's instructions.
"I know she's tough, but once you get to know her—" Frank started defensively.
"She's wonderful," Lily interrupted kindly, stopping his defense mid-sentence. "I imagined all society women to be prissy and meek, but she's the very opposite. Assertive, strong-willed, clever…"
Lily could tell her assessment pleased Frank. "You know, she's never invited any of my girlfriends around for dinner before…yet, upon meeting you, it was practically the first thing to come out of her mouth. I could tell she was pleased when Dumbledore accepted her dinner invitation too," Frank laughed, shaking his head in ridiculous disbelief. "She's never been the type to drop names or rub elbows with the richest or most famous families, but she'll be sure to let everyone know you two will be over for dinner. She really admires Dumbledore."
"Seems like everyone does. I'm sure your mother only likes me because I'm Dumbledore's niece," Lily pointed out, finding the thought to be strangely depressing.
Before Frank could rebuff her, two fetching young wizards with identical red-haired features approached them from the dance floor, a pretty young witch following in their wake. As the small group neared, Frank's eyes clouded with an indiscriminate emotion, his gaze fixed on the lovely appearance of the yellow-haired witch. Lily frowned, perplexed, when his hand slackened and wordlessly slipped out of hers.
"Evening, Frank," Lord Fabian Prewett greeted, extending a hand toward Frank and shaking it firmly. After the brief exchange his gaze befell Lily; however, unlike Minister Spavin, she could tell the stern young wizard was scrutinizing her out of curiosity, rather than desire.
"Fabian, Gideon," Frank responded casually, shaking the second brother's hand. Once the youthful witch had arrived at the twins' side, Frank cleared his throat and bowed, taking the dainty girl's hand and kissing it lightly. "It's wonderful to see you again, Lady Prewett."
"Frank Longbottom, how many times must I insist you call me Alice?" Lady Alice Prewett inquired, smiling blithely at him once he straightened up from his bow and met her hazel eyes.
In stark contrast to her redheaded cousins, Lady Alice Prewett had long, curly-blonde hair, round, inquisitive eyes and a tiny, lovable gap between her two front teeth. Substantially shorter than Lily was, she wore a pale pink dress with a full, layered skirt—a dress that Lily thought accentuated her petit figure flawlessly.
"I apologize…your beauty must have distracted my thoughts," Frank smiled handsomely, charming as ever. Though he often came off as insufferably arrogant, it occurred to Lily that he acted much more bashfully than usual.
Interesting…
While Lady Alice Prewett blushed modestly in response to Frank's affectionate gaze, Lord Fabian Prewett routinely bowed toward Lily and kissed her hand, Lord Gideon Prewett quickly following suit. Lily smiled, observing the brothers carefully as she waited for Frank to provide introductions. Whereas Fabian Prewett appeared rather business-like, his perceptive eyes inexhaustibly trained on her face, Gideon Prewett seemed relatively non-pulsed, his carefree gaze roaming about the room as he popped a pixie-in-a-blanket into his mouth and drowned the rest of his champagne glass.
As the group lapsed into silence, Lily raised an eyebrow and finally spoke up, breaking Frank and Lady Prewett from their wordless exchange. "We'd appreciate introductions at some point, Frank."
Frank blinked and looked at Lily guiltily, realizing his neglect. "Of course, how rude of me. Aurora, may I introduce Lord Fabian Prewett, Lord Gideon Prewett and Lady Alice Prewett. As I'm sure you can tell, Fabian and Gideon are brothers, while Alice is their cousin—"
"It's lovely to meet you all," Lily said kindly, offering Lady Prewett a friendly smile. Though she returned it sweetly, the blonde witch's face faltered slightly as she watched Frank loop his hand with Lily's once again.
"Fabian, Gideon, Alice…this is Lady Aurora Rockford, Dumbledore's niece," Frank announced formally, turning to Lily and offering her a redemptive glance. "As I'm sure you heard, she'll be staying with Dumbledore for the summer."
"Living at Hogwarts?" Fabian piped up in interest, his tone grim with inquisitiveness.
"Yes. I'm temporary inhabiting a dormitory room in Gryffindor Tower actually," Lily offered, attempting to shift the tone of the formal conversation. "It has a beautiful view of the Black Lake."
At the mention of Gryffindor Tower, Gideon's face brightened considerably. "We were in Gryffindor, Fabian and I. Alice is going into her 7th year of Hogwarts—she's in Gryffindor too."
"Really? That would make us about the same age then, Lady Prewett," Lily said cordially, wishing she could release Frank's hand to alleviate the tension in the girl's lovely face. "What area of study are you specializing in? I hear there are some wonderful choices."
"I'm in the Fine Arts program. It covers everything from dance, to music, to drawing," Alice explained, taking a sip from her champagne and instantly becoming more bubbly. Lily guessed she had a low tolerance for alcohol. "I really enjoy my program, especially the dance classes. Hogwarts is wonderful…but where do you go to school, Lady Rockford? I've not familiar with any Canadian schools."
"I've never attended school. My mother privately tutored me," Lily clarified, having rehearsed the explanation with Frank hundreds of times. "I do envy you for having the chance to attend Hogwarts."
"Isn't that interesting?" Alice chirruped, genuinely intrigued. "Your mother sounds very dedicated! I daresay mine wouldn't have the patience to teach me. All the same, had you attended Hogwarts, what area of study do you think you would've specialized in, Lady Rockford?"
"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Lily replied automatically. She immediately realized how preposterous she must have sounded, for Fabian's eyes flew open in alarm and Alice squeaked in response. Just as Gideon was about to lapse into a fit of laughter, Frank—who was discreetly glaring at her—made a smooth recovery.
"Aurora has quite the sense of humour," Frank chortled, draping his arm around Lily's shoulders. She yelped in response to his subtle pinch and—noticing his threatening smile—instantaneously burst into a bout of girlish laughter. "Fabian, your face was priceless."
Believing Lily had made a joke they had gullibly bought into, the Prewetts' laughter mingled with Frank and Lily's phony hilarity, causing many guests to regard them jealously. "Of course, Aurora would have specialized in dance like you, Alice. Isn't that right?"
Ashamed by her blunder, Lily simply nodded cooperatively, wishing the prospect of women studying Defense Against the Dark Arts was not such a laughable matter.
As the group continued to chat—Frank and Alice discussing a Celestina Warbeck song and Fabian and Gideon relaying tales of the Forbidden Forest to Lily—a darker-clad couple cunningly approached them, their pallid faces glowing with prideful conceit. Engrossed in Gideon's grizzly retelling of the legend of the ashwinder, Lily didn't realize something was amiss until Frank's grip on her hand tightened and Fabian's razor-sharp gaze narrowed on a spot over her shoulder.
"Well, well, well…so this is the new debutant everyone's in a tizzy about."
A chill crept down Lily's spine when the voice reverberated against her ear drums. Her muscles seized up, making her uncomfortably stiffen, and undeniable fear gripped her, cooling her blood whilst simultaneously burning her cheeks as if they had been pressed against dry ice. As she turned to meet the pompous caller, unconsciously digging her nails into Frank's flesh, memories from the night two masked death eaters had come looking for her at St. Madeline's resurfaced…
When Lily's light eyes finally met Lord Lucius Malfoy's cunning ones, she knew beyond a reasonable doubt he was the cruel-voiced, silver-haired death eater she had seen disapparate from the grounds of St. Madeline's nearly a month earlier. Though she felt like running, the very same instincts caused her to plaster a defiant smile onto her lips—a smile that challenged his noble arrogance with her own. Though she knew the slightest error in her disguise could cause her demise, she couldn't bear to act meek in his presence.
"That's hardly a polite greeting, Malfoy," Frank replied brusquely as he, Lily, Fabian, Gideon and Alice turned to acknowledge Lord Lucius Malfoy and Lady Narcissa Black.
"How did that old rule go? Oh yes: Do not speak unless you have been spoken to. Why don't you give that a try, Longbottom?" Lord Malfoy said flippantly, disregarding Frank and setting his malicious gaze on Lily. She simply stared back at him, expressionless, though survival impulses bubbled within her. He turned to his gala date. "Narcissa, won't you introduce us? You have, after all, met society's newest celebrity."
Fucking death eater asshole.
Lily's blasé gaze, which disguised her hatred, shifted to the beautiful, stick-thin witch clutching Malfoy's arm: Narcissa Black, the very same noblewoman she had met in Madam Gladrags weeks ago. Still defined by her poker-straight blonde hair and self-righteous sneer, Narcissa wore a tight black gown that clung hungrily to her hips and legs and pooled near her feet. Her dress had a sharp, off-the-shoulder neckline that hid her minute breasts and split along the back, revealing her protruding shoulder blades and a modest train. With her hair slicked back into a taut bun, her eyes emphasized with black eyeliner and her dress constricting her frail body in a morbid cocoon, Lily thought Narcissa resembled a black-widow rearing to bite her mate's head off.
Doing as she was told, Narcissa launching into a smooth—albeit terse—introduction, "Lucius, this is Lady Aurora Rockford, Dumbledore's newest pet-project, no doubt."
Lily was amazed by how outright rude both Narcissa and Lucius were. Like Acantha, they both seemed to believe they were better than everyone else and therefore possessed the right to say whatever they liked without consequence.
"—Aurora, this is Lord Lucius Malfoy, sole heir to the House of Malfoy. Though I'm sure you're well aware, the Malfoys are one of the most prestigious wizarding families in England."
"If you don't start showing some respect—" Frank growled deeply, gritting his teeth at their attempt to belittle both himself and Lily.
Before Frank could continue, Lily interrupted, her eyes narrowing and a devilish smile flickering on her face. "Heir to the House of Malfoy? How interesting. It's strange though; for such a purportedly powerful family, the Malfoys don't particularly make a splash in Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy, do they, Lucius? I don't even think the Malfoy family made the footnotes…"
With Lily's biting statement came a series of diverse reactions: Frank's jaw dropped; Gideon snorted into his champagne glass loudly, startling Fabian and causing him to accidentally slop his drink all over his white dress-shirt; Alice—unable to stifle giggles—had to take refuge behind Gideon; Narcissa's face turned so red it looked like lava was about to erupt from the top of her head and spray out of every orifice of her face; and Lucius looked so irate it appeared he couldn't form words, his mouth merely opening and closing like a wind-up toy.
Though Malfoy appeared on the brink of strangulation, Lily persisted, pretending to be unaware of the commotion she was causing. "Now the Blacks, on the other hand, have a few chapters devoted to their family in the book. Your family in particular has a fascinating history, Lady Black."
Narcissa glared, though Lily's half-compliment seemed to have roused some of her pride. "I should think so. The Blacks are one of the oldest pureblood wizarding families in Europe—"
"Quite right. You know, one of my favourite chapters in that book is the one about how frequently the Black family turns to inbreeding. That explains a lot, don't you think, Frank?" Lily quipped, offering Lucius and Narcissa an insolent, superior smile while Frank, Gideon, Fabian and Alice burst into unceremonious laughter around her. "You two look quite alike actually; are you attempting to keep alive the incestuous family traditions?"
While Malfoy and Narcissa boiled over with rage, their pallid faces turning every colour in the rainbow, Lily took notice of a tall, handsome boy filling his plate up with chizpurfle canapés at the buffet table. His slicked back hair was black in colour, his eyes brown with flecks of green. When he looked up and returned Lily's inquiring gaze, she wondered who it was she thought he so closely resembled…
Her attention snapped back to Lucius as, in a fit of rage, he unearthed his wand from his robes. Quite suddenly, Frank's hand slipped out of Lily's and his wand appeared threateningly at his side, pointed toward the ground so the surrounding guests took no notice. Fabian's hand curled around Lily's arm and subtly pushed her behind him as he and Gideon stepped forward, flanking Frank. Surprised by the turn of events, Lily and Alice eyed one another in astonishment, both shocked by how intensely Frank glowered at Lucius.
"Make so much as one wand movement and I'll have you locked up so fast you won't have time to say Azkaban," Frank warned Lucius quietly, his blue eyes utterly scathing.
"I think your little whore should be taught some respect, Longbottom," Malfoy spat, his serpentine voice barely audible above the music in the hall. "I think a few rounds of the Cruiciatus Curse might do it."
"What did you just call her?" Frank stepped forward aggressively, the veins in his arms bulging.
"Let's go, Lucius," Narcissa hissed, her voice commanding as she tugged on Lucius' arm before he could advance. "Dumbledore is on his way over. Upset his little princess and you'll get me expelled—"
"More like his face kicked-in," Gideon offered offhandedly, causing Narcissa to glare daggers at him.
Begrudgingly, Malfoy pocketed his hand and took Narcissa's hand, pulling her away from the scene. As he passed by Lily their eyes met; she maintained an even face when he stopped to whisper to her, ever so sweetly. "I'd be careful if I were you, Lady Rockford. You won't always have your uncle to protect you."
The group surrounding Lily scowled fiercely as Malfoy stalked away in defeat. She bit down on her lower lip, beginning to realize how unwise she had acted. She wasn't sure what had possessed her to act so rashly; rather than acting meek and humble, she had outright insulted both Lord Lucius Malfoy, a death eater who was unknowingly on the hunt for her, and his girlfriend, Lady Narcissa Black, a member of the most powerful wizarding family in Europe. Most extraordinarily, her impulsive actions had nearly resulted into a wand battle in the middle of a party…
"That was so brave of you," Alice breathed, the first to break the silence that had overcome the group of young witches and wizards. Lily turned to her and weakly smiled; she wasn't sure how it had happened, but she and Alice were holding hands. "If you were sorted you'd definitely be put in Gryffindor…"
"Was it bravery I just demonstrated or just plain stupidity?" Lily echoed hollowly, looking to Frank; his expression was unreadable.
"You were brilliant," Gideon stressed eagerly, a grin cracking his lips as enthusiasm poured out of him. "You're a firecracker, Lady Rockford. It isn't everyday someone puts the Malfoy family in their place…bloody idiots, the lot of 'em."
"Thank you," Lily laughed hesitantly.
"If you hadn't noticed, Gideon is quite impressed by you," Fabian commented, a wry smile creeping onto his face. "Have you really read Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy?"
"I've read the first couple chapters, but it was so boring I stopped," Lily explained, Fabian, Gideon and Alice's amusement contagious enough to plaster a grin across her face. "I certainly had them convinced though, didn't I?"
Frank, whose face remained indecipherable, fell into position beside Lily and slipped his hand in hers as Dumbledore approached, a chorus of witches and wizards following in his wake. "Ah, there you are, my dear. The dancing is about to begin: why don't you and Frank get into position for the opening number?"
After bidding adieu to Fabian, Gideon and Alice, Frank carefully lead Lily to the middle of the marble dance-floor where the other young couples were assembling. Lily thought Snape's potion had begun to wear off, her nerves becoming more pronounced and her hands more jittery. She placed one hand over Frank's shoulder and folded the other in his hand, positioning herself for the dance. She watched as his eyes darting about the room, searching.
"Would you please just tell me how badly I messed up?" Lily whispered in Frank's ear, trying to keep her features calm as the dance floor became more crowded.
"Royally," Frank whispered back, finally looking down at her and frowning unhappily. "As much as I enjoyed the spectacle you've already made two high-profile members of society your enemies. Even worse, they are both suspected of being in connection with You-Know-Who."
Lily's stomach knotted as Frank affirmed what she already knew.
"Frank…?"
"If they are associating with the Dark Lord they'll naturally be against Dumbledore—and you by extension—but still, it was imprudent …" Frank murmured dolefully, placing his arm on Lily's hip as he continued to ramble. "Gideon was right; you are a firecracker. I appreciate you defending me, but you must remember it's my job to defend you."
"Frank…?"
"I suppose you didn't really do any harm…I mean, what's Malfoy going to do? Curse you in public? At least that little display helped you to win over Fabian and Gideon—they are both Order members by the way—but Merlin, what must Alice think of me now after I let you defend me like that?"
"Frank!" Lily susurrated, interrupting his nervous blathering. "It's worse than you think."
"What do you mean, 'worse'?" Frank stiffened, going quiet.
"It's Malfoy…he's one of the death eaters that came after me the night before I escaped," Lily whispered in his ear, careful to keep her voice down; anyone who was watching them would've thought they were sharing a flirtatious secret. "The death eater that got away…I recognize his voice, Frank. It's definitely him."
As Frank's eyes widened in distress, music from the stage began drifting onto the floor and the gathered couples began to dance to a jazzy, upbeat tune—"That Old Black Magic" by Margaret Whiting. Frank and Lily began to dance, the fanciful moves second nature to them as they had practiced hundreds of times together. Their eyes, filled with the consequential 'what ifs', never left one another's.
9 p.m.
Half-drunk, Sirius Black slipped into the Great Hall, his presence unnoticed as most of the guests had collected on the dance floor to sway to the first big-band tune of the night. Batting a silver butterfly away from his face in annoyance and almost tripping over a house-elf, Sirius snatched up two glasses of champagne and collapsed into a chair at an empty table, his bow-tie askew. After drowning the first glass he looked up at the posh crowd, searching for a recognizable face. Though his vision was blurred, he noticed Frank Longbottom dancing in the middle of the floor with a pretty girl in a vibrant purple dress.
Who is she?
He hardly cared. James was leaving for Australia in three hours.
Author's Notes
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