AN: Here we are, a week later in both real life and in the story. This chapter will be something akin to setting the board before the one-sided (or is it…?) battle can begin, and a number of visitors will stop by number eleven. And on that note, this is AU in that not only Sirius is alive as I really wanted to fully utilize their circle of family and friends to parade in front of Mrs Miller. But more on that in the coming chapters. For now, I hope you will enjoy this one. (Standard disclaimer applies.)

And a huge thank you to everyone reading and leaving feedback!


The following Saturday, Mrs Miller had just put the last finishing touches to their breakfast when she looked out the kitchen window to see why Mr Miller took so long fetching the paper. She frowned at first, seeing their small front garden empty before her gaze travelled further, across the street, to find her husband standing in front of number eleven, talking to Mr Black, who also held a paper in one hand. At least those people seemed to rise at a proper hour during weekends.

Seeing as her husband had yet to meet Mr Black and Mrs Granger Black – she scoffed at the thought of the name Granger and decided to only use it when necessary – it was little surprise that he would take this opportunity. But did he really need to take such a long time just introducing himself? She always made a traditional full breakfast on Saturdays and Sundays because she knew how much he liked it, but now the food was getting cold.

As the two men continued to talk a while longer, both of them looking happy about the interaction, her frown returned and soon her mood started to sour. Mr Miller knew her opinion on the new arrivals so there was no need to be more friendly to them than propriety dictated. While never as outspoken on the subject as she was, he also knew what was right and proper and would never dream of deviating from that.

At long last the two said their goodbyes, Mr Black disappearing into number eleven while Mr Miller crossed the street and entered their home. She walked out into the entryway and watched as her husband pulled off his shoes, the paper still in one hand, with an irritating small smile on his face as if he had actually enjoyed his little talk.

"Oh, sorry for taking a while" he said as he looked up an noticed her in-between one shoe and the next, "here, would you take this please."

Mrs Miller automatically reached out and accepted the bundled-up paper, but remained where she stood, an expectant look on her face.

"Well, come on then" Mr Miller went on, as if he did not even notice, after putting both shoes away and standing up, ushering her with him into the kitchen where he plopped down by the table and poured a cup of tea before digging into the food on his plate. "Mmmm, delicious as always, dear."

Softening a little under his praise, Mrs Miller decided on a less scolding approach to the topic and joined him at the table, allowing for a few minutes of silence before necessity had her broaching it again.

"I saw you talking to Mr Black."

"Yes" Mr Miller replied, his eyes now on the paper which he had just laid out next to him so he could read this morning's headlines, meaning she had to start now or he would be lost until the last page was finished. He was such a dedicated reader.

"What did you make of him then?"

"Seems a nice chap."

"How could he be? He wears a leather jacket, drives a motorbike and is tattooed" she replied while she counted the offences on her fingers and then holding them up. "While bad enough on their own, those three are never a got combination. Maybe he is a criminal. Maybe that is where they get all their money and the story about his family is just a lie."

"Dear, don't get ahead of yourself just yet" her husband said, looking up at her. "There are plenty of law-abiding people with that combination of things in their lives. Besides, you can always ask them next time you meet them about what they do for a living."

"Well, I suppose I will have to invite them over for tea sometime in the next few weeks seeing as they served me some when I went over with the cake."

"There you are then. No need to speculate wildly before you can interrogate them again."

"Interrogate? Dear, you do exaggerate sometimes."

"Yes, I guess I do" Mr Miller replied, once more returning his attention to the paper and putting another forkful of beans into his mouth.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence, enjoying the calm of the morning, before Mr Miller rose from the table and held out the now folded up paper to her.

"Are you already done?" she asked a bit surprised.

"Yes. I need to get a few things together for later. Remember, I'm hosting the crossword group today."

"Of course, I have not forgotten" she said, accepting the paper from him. "I baked a sponge cake for you yesterday. You can find it on the second left-hand shelf in the pantry."

"Thank you, dear. Oh, and speaking about that, I invited Mr Black to join us and he agreed. Though, he'll be joining us next week as they were going away today to visit some friends."

"You honestly think he could have anything of value to add to your group? I truly doubt he has ever solved, let alone looked at, a crossword puzzle in his life."

"I guess we'll have to wait and see. But if he does have experience with them it will be from crosswords the rest of us aren't used to doing, though I don't know how different they could be."

"What do you mean?" Mrs Miller could not help but ask, even if she did not share her husband's hobby.

"Well" he said, a slightly mischievous smile suddenly lighting up his face as he tapped the day's issue of The Daily Telegraph in her hand, "they read The Guardian."

Mrs Miller was too horror-struck to even register Mr Miller's chuckle as he left the room. They were reading The Guardian! Never before had there been such people on the street. With the occasional The Times thrown in, and the exception of poor Mrs Henderson who was under the delusion that The Sun was acceptable reading due to her son, everyone subscribed to and read The Daily Telegraph. Lord protect them, but it seemed they had socialists in the neighbourhood now.

Not even an hour later, Mrs Miller was over in number ten, anxious to share the horrible news with Mrs Sutton, barely able to contain herself while they waited for Mrs Jones. She was wringing her hands while she sat in one of the armchairs in the living room, wondering why it was taking her friend so long to get there. It was not as if number three on the same street was on the other side of the world.

Mrs Sutton just put a steaming teapot down on the small table in front of her, next to the plate of her famous lemon biscuits, when the doorbell rang.

"That must be Agnes then. I will go and get her. Do start on the tea meanwhile as I can see that you need it."

"Thank you, Mildred, you are a true friend" she replied and reached for the pot that she noticed, with much approval, was the second-best Mrs Sutton owned. Seeing as it was not a special occasion there was no need to bring out the beautiful and very expensive set she and Mr Sutton had been gifted by his parents when they married, but using the second best showed how much she cared for her friends.

Luckily, she did not have to wait long before all three of them sat down, a cup of tea each, and she could start unburdening her troubled heart.

"I just learned the most deplorable thing about the Blacks this morning" she began after greetings were exchanged, making the two other women lean in a bit, looking eager to share in this new development in the greatest calamity that had befallen their peaceful little part of the world in living memory. "They… " she had to pause in order to collect herself and steady her voice before she went on, "they read The Guardian."

"No!"

"Truly?!"

Disbelief was as clear on her friends as she felt it herself and she nodded in confirmation. This was the proper reaction and she wished Mr Miller was there to take notes. If there was one fault her husband had it was that she could not rely on him to understand the seriousness of certain situations. He believed most people to be boring, and consequently not capable of doing anything exiting enough to talk at length over. And should someone do something out of the ordinary, he felt it was not his business.

"Why would they ever read such a rag?" Mrs Sutton asked, as if either of her two guests would have been able to answer.

"They are socialists" Mrs Miller said, "mark my words. They will bring nothing but trouble with them. Did I not say so from the start?"

"You did" Mrs Sutton agreed, almost spilling some tea as she stirred it too forcefully with her proper silver teaspoon.

"Right on the very day they moved in" Mrs Jones said, nodding along.

"Oh, I had an inkling they were bad news all the way back when Ernest told me about them being in talks with young Mr Fletcher about buying the house. Oh, why ever did that otherwise so well-mannered and considerate young man sell his childhood home to such people, inflicting them on us?"

"Most disrespectful" Mrs Sutton agreed.

"Though, my Frank told me they offered quite the sum for it" Mrs Jones, suddenly looking nervously, said. "Maybe it was enough to make him accept the offer regardless? Such a large house outside of the cities can be a bit difficult to sell at a good price these days."

"Did Frank advice on the sale?" Mrs Miller asked, hoping it could not be so. The man might be a successful estate agent, but that was no reason to throw the neighbourhood under the bus just because he could help someone get a lot of money.

"Yes. In fact…" Mrs Jones went on, now sounding positively timid, "he was in charge of the sale."

A heavy silence settled over the sunny room while two of its occupants glared at the third. They could not fathom that someone from their own midst had sold out the rest of them in such a fashion. It was simply unconscionable and neither knew exactly how to address it, instead allowing the quiet to linger. It went on for so long that Mrs Jones seemed on the verge of an apology when Mrs Miller finally had collected herself enough to form words once more.

"Just because you have only lived here for seventeen years, are all the way down in number three and do not have to deal with having them across the street, like we must endure" she gestured to herself and Mrs Sutton, "do not mean you can go around letting just anyone with enough money come and live here. Do you know that I had to witness them near… near making out on the street the day they moved in?"

"You mentioned that when-"

"Not to mention the other day when Mr Black plucked one of the Ferdinand Pichards with his bare hand, not a single pair of secateurs in sight, to bring inside, no doubt to give to his young wife. Mr Fletcher won several prizes for those roses" Mrs Sutton continued the complaint, cutting off Mrs Jones. Luckily, she only had a biscuit in her hand since the tea would have ended up all over if she had still had her cup.

"Next thing you know, they will chop down the entire bush in order to make way for some hideous modern garden decoration. They seem to be changing most of the inside of the house as it stands. But, what else have you seen, Mildred dear?" Mrs Miller asked, her curiosity enough to override her ire for the moment.

"While they do not appear in their front garden all that much, I did get a glimpse of them on Sunday, when you and Ernest were off visiting Oliver and his family. They had some guests of their own and I happened to look out the window when they arrived. There were six people arriving in two cars a few minutes apart. First there was a couple with their young children. The boy could not have been more than five years old I would say, while the girl might have been about two. From what I could see, the man was respectably dressed, but the woman… dear me, the woman. She had bright pink hair and dressed in the same vein as Mrs Howard, if you understand my meaning" Mrs Sutton exclaimed while a slight pink tinted her cheeks.

Mrs Miller suddenly felt some regret at having missed such an event but reassured herself that if those were friends of the Blacks, they would no doubt return and she could witness the spectacle another time. Besides, after her son and his family had been unable to come and celebrate Mr Miller's birthday due to little Aidan having come down with the flu, she had been happy to go. While her new neighbours were frustrating, they would not be allowed to take time away from her family.

"Then there was another couple" Mrs Sutton went on, "both dressed reasonably enough, I suppose, though the woman had the misfortune of having garishly red hair. At least in her case it might have been natural, though I am unsure if it would be best for her if that is the case or not. I could not see much more than that since I do not live directly across as you do, Enid, but I could tell it was an unseemly affectionate greeting on all parts."

"I was afraid they would bring other unsuitable people into the neighbourhood" Mrs Miller said, reaching for the teapot as her cup was once more empty, "even if they are only here temporarily."

She paused as the object in her hand was not as heavy as she thought it ought to be and felt her anxiety go up when she realised why.

"Oh, it seems we are out of tea."

"I will go and put the kettle on and brew some more then. I am afraid I did not realise this would be a two-pot conversation. Just wait a moment" Mrs Sutton said and took it from her and left for the kitchen.

Still put out by Frank Jones' involvement in introducing the Blacks into her life, and without any soothing brew in her cup, Mrs Miller remained silent while she was left alone with his wife. The rational part of her mind knew her friend was not to blame, and in a way her husband was not either since he had only done his job, but she was still too upset to give in to that. For, no matter how she tried to reason, it felt like a betrayal. When the Joneses had moved in those seventeen years ago, she had taken the woman under her wing and taught her all about how she should behave as part of the neighbourhood. And this was how she was repaid?

"There we go" Mrs Sutton said when she returned a short while later, putting the refilled teapot on the table.

"Thank you. I think I will need a lot of tea to calm down right now" Mrs Miller said and reached for it.

"Now then, Agnes, if Frank handled the sale, do you perhaps know what the price ended up being?"

"I do not know the exact sum. Frank does not like to talk specifics like that, but he did say that Mr Black contacted him and offered an amount that was enough over the asking price that he advised that they should sell directly rather than go into a bidding" Mrs Jones explained while she started tapping one of her nails against her cup in a most irritating way. Mrs Miller vaguely though she would need to remind her friend that inflicting bad habits on others was wholly unsuitable. Something she had not had to do for at least a decade.

"I wonder why they would do such a thing?" Mrs Sutton asked half to herself and half to the other two. "I mean, they must have money to spare, but why would this neighbourhood interest them? They are young while almost everyone else living here have children who have already moved out. It is also a bit of a drive to the nearest city."

"Perhaps they are in hiding?" Mrs Miller mused, having enough tea in her now to take part in the conversation again and remembering her remark to Mr Miller earlier.

"From what?"

"The police?"

Mrs Sutton and Mrs Jones both looked thoughtful at this idea. The latter even stopped tapping her cup, thankfully, while her mind mulled over the possibility. It felt good to have friends who took her seriously like this, Mrs Miller though.

"It would be terrible indeed to have criminals in the neighbourhood" Mrs Jones eventually ventured, her eyes darting between the others.

"But how could we find out if they are?" Mrs Sutton asked, "we can hardly call the police without any proof, or at least sufficient grounds for suspicion."

"We will simply have to interact with them" Mrs Miller said, feeling much more determined now than earlier when her husband had asked her to hold off on making assumptions. If both of her closest friends shared her fear, it could not be entirely misplaced, now could it. No, they would have to get to the bottom of this and save the neighbourhood.

"Neither Agnes nor I have been over to welcome them yet, so we can start there" Mrs Sutton began to strategize. "I have the afternoon free, so I can bake some more lemon biscuits and go over there Monday afternoon. They are usually both back home at about five, so it would not be too late for such a visit.

"Perfect. And I told Ernest just before coming over here that I need to invite them over for some tea since they did offer me some when I was there."

"And we will do the same" said Mrs Jones, putting down her cup.

They all looked at each other, determination radiating from all of them. This was now a battle for the future of Carnation Lane, and they could not afford to lose. No, armed with as many biscuits, cakes and pots of tea as it took, they would emerge victorious.

Speaking of pots, Mrs Miller though as she sipped on her tea, they would likely need one more before this war council was at an end.


Next chapter: Mrs Miller finds that she has never disliked the colour red more in her life. At least she can tell Mrs Sutton that it must have been natural.