AN: Since it was mentioned in a review, I just wish to begin with explaining that Sirius was away at the crossword group when the Weasleys arrived with Hermione's blessing last chapter. He and Molly still don't get along too well (especially since he married Hermione), so she was happy to let him off the first few hours seeing as their visitors would be there the whole day. But he'll be happy to see everyone else when he gets back.

This chapter will continue the direct interactions between Mrs Miller and the (Granger) Blacks. She'll even be reasonable for a little while before the housewarming party arrives and puts a spin on things. There will also start to be some magic sprinkled into things, though Mrs Miller is naturally clueless. (Standard disclaimer applies.)

Some cultural info: I have used what I deduced to be the British way of numbering floors, with the floor you enter through the main entrance being the ground floor and going up a set of stairs get you to the first floor. Please excuse me if I got this wrong (I'll fully blame google if so ^^), but thought I'd mention it here, so no one gets confused. Also, there's another reference to The Sun's page three, so I'll explain it for those unaware. While I believe it changed in some capacity a few years ago, it used to be (in)famous for featuring a photo of a topless young woman.

Also, I would once more like to thank all readers of this story. And a special thank you to everyone who has clicked to follow, favourite and/or review. I promise it all goes to a good cause, namely feeding my muse as she's working hard right now and needs the sustenance. So, if you have the time and the inclination, why not do one, two or all three of those. ^^

Sorry for the long AN. Here comes an extra long chapter to make up for it.


Absentmindedly tapping her finger against her cup of tea, Mrs Miller sat at the table in the kitchen, looking out through the window and across the street at number eleven. It had been three whole weeks since the whole debacle with, what she had come to name, the Red Clan, and she had finally managed to regain enough equilibrium to start serving fried tomatoes with their weekend breakfast. Everything else red was still banished, though.

In that time, she had not interacted with the Blacks even once and the only updated information she had on them was what Mr Miller had to say after the crossword group, which Mr Black had attended diligently. The two men appeared to be on their way to striking up a friendship and it seemed to be doing her husband a great deal of good. When he had returned home last week he had been in almost improper high spirits while he told her that their new neighbour had offered to attach the sidecar to his motorbike and take him on a drive sometime next month. Seeing as he was rarely so animated since their children moved out, or outside when they visited or was visited by them and their families, it had made her hesitate a little. Had made her doubt her conviction about the younger man being a criminal, for surely, he could not have such an influence on someone with such an impeccable character as Mr Miller if his own was rotten.

While she prided herself on being a good judge of character, she also acknowledged that Mr Miller was as well. At least most of the time seeing how he could be too forgiving of what he deemed minor flaws, even if they, when put together, made for a huge distraction. If it had been up to him the Sunders would still have been living in number eleven rather than them enjoying the Fletchers for three decades. But, it had to be said that he had spotted Miss Hoyle, the then new barmaid at The Crown and Bear, as being a bad apple while most of the town was half on love with the beautiful and charming new addition to their community. When many of the other regulars, as well as the owner who usually worked the bar himself, had not believed him, rather even mocked him for it, saying Miss Hoyle was nothing short of an angel, he had simply taken his patronage to The Three Elves instead. He had convinced a few of his friends to join him, which had been the establishing of The Monday Dining Club. Half a year later The Crown and Bear had shut down after Miss Hoyle had charmed the owner out of his savings and run away with them. To this day, it was the largest scandal their small town had to offer.

Taking another sip of Earl Grey, Mrs Miller then sighed. Maybe she should back off, at least for a while, and only observe from a distance. The Blacks currently seemed determined to make her do so anyway, going by how they were barely at home and able to accept invitations for tea. The only time she could be certain to catch one of them within visiting hours was when Mrs Black was at home when her husband was with the crossword group, but she was not yet recovered enough to risk running into any more visitors of theirs. However, neither Mrs Sutton nor Mrs Jones had been able to issue one of their own either and they were running out of things to discuss in relation to number eleven when they met.

Slowly, talk had turned back towards more traditional topics, such as family, Mrs Howard's latest display of clothes more fit for the Mediterranean climate, Mrs Henderson's terrible roses or even the speculation on how much longer old Miss Gilchrist in number thirteen would stay with them. The old woman was in her late eighties, already more than a decade past the estimate a few people had once given her, had never married and had dedicated a whole room in her house to the tea shop she had run before the second war. The only reason she had such a large house to live in was that she had inherited it from the eccentric woman, a Mrs Lansquenet, she had worked as a companion for the decade after she went out of business. She was a bit of an oddity, but by all accounts from those who had lived there back then, she was a vast improvement to her late employer, so no one really minded.

Just as she finished her tea, Mrs Miller spotted a group of men walking down the street. It consisted of Mr Miller, Mr Sutton, Mr Howard and Mr Black, returning home from number nineteen, since Mr Donovan had hosted this weekend. She observed as the former and the latter stopped in front of her home, waved goodbye to Mr Sutton and Mr Howard, and then started walking towards the door. Unable to comprehend that Mr Black was on his way into her home, she still sat down by the table, empty cup in front of her, when the door opened and she could hear them enter.

"…don't think you had much trouble with eleven across. No need to be modest about it" she heard Mr Miller say out in the entryway.

"Still, your insight on five down was inspired" Mr Black replied.

Slowly rising from her chair, Mrs Miller walked towards them, determined to greet any guest that came to the house when she was at home, even if it was by Mr Miller's invitation. While she walked along the hallway before reaching the opening into the entryway she could observe them for a few seconds before they noticed her. Her husband was once more in that enthusiastic mood the younger man somehow was capable of eliciting in him, gesturing wildly with his hands as he talked about what could only be that week's crossword puzzle. Mr Black also seemed to earnestly enjoy the conversation, nodding in agreement at times and laughing merrily at others.

"Oh, there you are dear" Mr Miller suddenly said after he had spotted her. "I hope you don't mind me asking Sirius over for a sip of whiskey. We'll be in my study and out of your way."

It hit her like a sledgehammer right in the brain. The pair had lived here for little more than a month and her husband was already on first name basis with Mr Black. It had taken every other person who had moved in at least four to manage that, if at all, and was sure to mean he would actively dislike any attempt on her part to encourage the young couple to leave. However, she would have to deal with that later. For now, she was a hostess and needed to act it. Plastering on a smile she felt sure was genuine looking enough, she affected a polite tone and replied.

"Of course not. Welcome, Mr Black, I am happy to see you here. How is Mrs Bl- eh, Granger Black?"

"Mione's great, thank you" he replied, getting a warm look in his eyes as he mentioned his wife. "Off visiting an old school friend who's back in the country after something of a long journey looking for exotic animals."

"Exotic animals you say?" Mr Miller asked, sounding intrigued.

"Yeah, she's a bit of an original, but also one of the kindest and sometimes scarily insightful people I know. A bit of a zoology nerd, I guess. Got it into her head that there's an untold number of species out there waiting to be discovered by her."

"So, she has no particular animal she's looking for?"

"No. She's more of a I know it when I see it kind of person" Mr Black explained as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

Mrs Miller decided that it would be best to get the two men into the study, and away from her, before she had to learn of any other of the clearly abnormal people the Blacks surrounded themselves with. Just the one would be enough to fuel her conversations for at least a week.

"Would you like me to fetch some of the almond biscuits I baked three days ago?" she asked, interrupting just as her husband opened his mouth to ask another question.

"Would you like some?" he asked, looking back at their guest, instead of replying himself.

"Sure, why not" Mr Black replied. "The cake you made us when we moved in was very good so I'm happy to try another creation of yours."

She felt the beginning of a blush at the combination of his genuine sounding praise and the dazzling smile he sent it off with, but managed to control herself. Already at their first meeting she had pegged him as a charmer, and it was disconcerting to find herself less immune to it than she had thought herself to be. With a small nod she made a hasty retreat to the kitchen and took some time selecting a suitable plate to place the biscuits on, making sure there were no lingering physical evidence of her momentary weakness on her skin, before delivering the promised treat.

The two men already sat sipping at a tumbler each, a measure of the amber liquid inside, when she entered. They occupied the two old leather armchairs by the fireplace and she placed the plate on the small side table between them with a murmured 'here you are' before retreating once more, barely hearing Mr Black's thanks before closing the door. They had started on the subject of racing cars while she was away, and she had as much enthusiasm for that topic as she had for burnt cakes. She knew they existed, but they had better stay out of her life.

As it turned out, Mr Black had something to tell the both of them before he left. And while Mrs Miller had preferred to accidentally miss him leaving, she could not help but perk up at what he had to say. After explaining that the renovations were complete, they intended to use the coming fortnight to put everything in order, with the help of some friends, and on the Saturday afternoon at the end of that period would hold a housewarming party they would invite the entire neighbourhood to.

Eager for a chance to see the inside of the house again, this time hopefully free of cardboard boxes, as well as to observe how the Blacks performed as hosts, Mrs Miller's smile was genuine when she accepted along with her husband. It seemed the next teatime with Mrs Sutton and Mrs Jones would be a bit more exciting.

While she could talk about the party with her friends, Mrs Miller soon found herself disappointed in the fact that she never managed to catch a glimpse of the friends Mr Black had mentioned would come and help them. No matter how much she tried to find things to do to keep her at the front of the house - risking killing her plats in those windows by overwatering them in the process - the two cars would always appear when she was elsewhere. She recognised the silver car as the one the couple in which only the female was a redhead had arrived in that day, but had no idea who the owner or owners of the white one could be. Still remembering Mrs Sutton's description of a pink haired woman that first week she had hoped the car might belong to her and to catch sight of her but was out of luck so far.

Mr Miller seemed mostly amused at her mounting frustration at the elusiveness of the visitors of number eleven, even chuckling a little when he commented that she had done nothing but complain about the last set of them a few weeks ago. Not deigning to acknowledge his sound logic, she simply replied that these were not the same people. Or at least one of the cars was not the same. And did she not have a right to know who stopped by on the other side of their street almost every day? She never got more than a barely supress indulgent, though affectionate, smile in reply.

By the time the long anticipated hour arrived, Mrs Miller stood by the door, ready in a tasteful dark green summer dress and one of her nicer silver necklaces, impatiently waiting for Mr Miller, who seemed incapable of putting on a shirt faster than a snail. When he finally came down the stairs she had long since lost count of the number of times she had tapped her foot on the floor. While he pulled on his shoes, she picked up the tin with almond and ginger biscuits she had baked only the day before, which she was going to gift them as a housewarming present and opened the door.

It was a sunny and warm day and the door of number eleven stood open in invitation to all the guests, with the host couple standing in front of it. Going by the gossip, she knew that everyone would show up and a quick glance down the street showed her that more than those actually living there would make an appearance. For, it was not only Mrs Henderson who emerged out on the street from number seven, but also her son. Lord save them all!

Once more, Mr Miller seemed incapable of dressing in time and when she turned around to see what was taking him so long, she discovered that he was in the middle of changing shoes.

"What are you doing?" she asked, not believing what she was seeing.

"Well, I know we need to dress nice for this, but now that I can feel just how warm it is outside, I think I would boil in those black oxfords. Better go with these I think" Mr Miller replied and held up the one beige linen loafer he had not yet put on. He had bought the pair while they had been on holiday in Spain a few years back and she liked them as little now as she had done then but kept quiet since she knew they would be even later if she made a protest. At least they did not clash with his clothes.

Despite her valiant concession regarding propriety, they did not reach number eleven before Mrs Henderson and her son. In fact, they arrived just in time to witness them being greeted by the Blacks, despite Mrs Millers best efforts to slow down their pace when crossing the street. To have to wait to be welcomed because the hosts, even if it were the Blacks, were busy with Mrs Henderson was not something she wished to experience. But alas, for all his dilly-dallying earlier, it seemed Mr Miller was now suddenly impatient to reach their destination, completely squandering the extra half minute she felt sure she could have given them.

"Mrs Henderson, welcome" Mrs Black greeted, "we're happy you could come."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world" Mrs Henderson replied and offered a bouquet of wilting roses in the short amount of time it took her to take a deep breath in order to continue. "Mr Fletcher never invited me over, so I haven't seen the house since Mrs Fletcher died. I'm so excited to see what you've done with the place. It was so dreary when they lived here you know… oh, wait, how silly of me. Of course, you would know as there was nothing done to the place, from what I heard, after he died. Oh, and this is my son, Robert. He comes by for lunch or dinner now and then, so I invited him along. I hope that's fine."

"No need to worry" Mrs Black managed to get in edgewise into Mrs Henderson's stream of words. "Welcome, Mr Henderson."

It was a wonder the woman did not faint on the spot due to a lack of air, Mrs Miller thought while she was forced to watch the spectacle. At least it was not her being at the receiving end of overbearing visitors today. Maybe Mrs Henderson, in her overexcitement, could convince the Blacks to leave all on her own and she would not have to get any more involved herself.

"Please, call me Rob" the man replied as he took hold of Mrs Black's free hand and bent over it to press a kiss on her knuckles rather than return the handshake that had been offered.

"Yes, welcome both of you" Mr Black said and offered his hand to Mr Henderson, forcing him to let go of his wife's.

After standing back up, Mr Henderson just stood staring at Mr Black for a long while, his hand having stilled between the hosts, until his mother, not so subtly, nudged him in the side and nodded towards the host. Judging by the expression in Mr Black's eyes, even if there was still a smile on the rest of his face, Mrs Miller could only assume the interloper had been too intimidated by the protective husband to dare touch him. She also had to admit that Mr Black had handled the whole thing well, even if it was clear to see he had no patience for strange men who became overly familiar with Mrs Black.

"Ah… eh… yes… thank you" Mr Henderson eventually said as he shook hands with the other man before he seemed to come back to his senses. Or maybe it would be more aptly described as a return to his lack of sense, since he dived headfirst into displaying just how much he was his mother's son. "I'm Rob. Eh, like I just said. That's my mum, Cynthia. She's real nice. Makes the best tomato soup in the world. Should ask to be invited over for some some time. Anyway, I work as a journalist."

Here Mrs Miller could not help but snort. Both at the notion that Mr Henderson considered himself a journalist and the fact that Mr Black only just then managed to extract his hand from the other man's after what appeared to have been a small tug of war.

"Yeah, for The Sun" the man went on as if nothing had happened. "Ever seen page 3? That's what I do. Yeah, love working with all those ladies. And they're so happy to get the exposure, if you know what I mean" Mr Henderson went on, turning back a little towards Mrs Black.

Suddenly, Mr Black looked prepared to commit murder right there in his front garden and Mrs Black once more managed to cut off Mrs Henderson and usher her and her son inside, telling them there were food and drinks in the living room and that they could mingle as they liked on the ground floor and in the garden out back.

"Mr Miller. Mrs Miller" Mrs Black greeted them as soon as the Hendersons had moved inside and she had put the miserable flowers down on the ground. "We're so happy you could come."

"Yes, please head inside, grab something to eat and drink before you go exploring or just mingle" Mr Black said, looking calm once more but for the brief glance he shot through the door. The man was clearly still irritated by what had just transpired, but seemed well able to rein in his emotions.

"Just to let you know, we have the first floor closed off for guests" Mrs Black said. "It's really just our suite, a few guest rooms and a study up there, and not all put fully into order yet, so we're keeping it down here."

"I see" Mrs Miller replied, already deciding to try to find a way to get upstairs without someone noticing, entirely forgetting her resolution to back off for a while. They were clearly hiding something, after all, or why else would they give such clear instruction to stay away.

Being the proper and uncomplicated guests they always were, Mrs and Mr Miller were then ushered inside while the Blacks remained where they stood, ready to greet the Donovans who were approaching just then.

It took less than ten minutes before Mrs Miller, to her great dismay, had to admit that the house had been vastly improved. All the rooms were tastefully decorated in calm colours and furnished with those pieces of furniture, and more in the same style, she had witnessed and admired the first time she was over. The best way she could describe it was a most happy blend of modern style and ages past. If only the people who lived there had been of the same quality, she could not help but lament.

Taking a plate – and they did offer proper china and not those beastly paper monstrosities – she selected some of the hors d'oeuvres on offer on a table covered in a proper white linen table cloth, which were ironed to perfection, and then picked up a glass of lemonade before looking around for her friends. It might be best to ask for their help before trying to attempt the stairs, having them either as lookouts or a distraction.

Not finding either inside, she ventured out into the back garden, where she soon spotted Mrs Jones. Though, it was not her friend who steered her eyes in that direction, but rather the young redheaded woman who was a part of the Red Clan. Mrs Jones smiled far too genuinely for being alone with such company Mrs Miller decided at once and headed over to throw an intervention.

"Agnes, dear" she said in greeting before turning to the other person present.

"Enid", Mrs Jones replied, sounding a little nervous.

"Ginny Potter" the redhead unceremoniously said, offering her hand. "We've sort of already met, I know, but were never introduced after my nephew caused you to leave so suddenly."

There was a challenging edge to her voice and Mrs Miller felt a momentary stab of guilt before reminding herself that she had done nothing wrong that day. Drawing herself up to her full height, which did give her an inch or so on the young woman, she graciously accepted the hand and replied. "Mrs Miller."

"Oh, that's you. Well, I guess I shouldn't really be surprised should I. Sirius has always been good at impre- eh… describing people."

Mrs Miller did not miss the slipup, but by the look on the woman's face she had an inkling that it might have been intentional. These people were truly beyond rude.

"Mrs Potter and I were just talking about how it was to raise children in the neighbourhood" Mrs Jones hurried to explain, as if that would absolve her from entering any kind of conversation with the redhead.

"Whatever for? I believe it is your friends who live here, Mrs Potter. Not you."

"Oh, I know. And while it does concern them as well, I'm thinking more about myself and Harry. That's my husband by the way. He's around here somewhere" the ghastly woman said, making a vague gesture towards the rest of the party. "No, the fact of the matter is that we find ourselves looking for a good-sized new home in a calm neighbourhood now that we're expecting an addition."

Mrs Miller's eyes fell to Mrs Potter's midsection as fast as if a boulder had been attached to them and noticed that there was indeed a small bump protruding from her slim frame. It was new enough that her choice of clothes could hide or show it, but in the tight light blue dress she wore now it was as visible as it could be.

Then her brain caught up with her eyes and she felt a mild faintness. Surely, there could not be more of them moving in. The thought that there were no available houses calmed her for a moment before a discrete cough from Mrs Jones reminded her of the third person present, along with all the times they had discussed Miss Gilchrist's remaining time on earth only a few days ago. The topic seemed far less amusing now, and she sent up a silent prayer that the old woman would live at least another decade. If not, she ran the risk of having almost nothing but ill-mannered spectacles to witness across the street, considering that it would free up number thirteen. And why oh why did it have to be an unlucky number. Not to mention that Mr Ansell in number nine was also up in the high numbers and she knew Mrs Ansell would not remain in that house on her own.

"And seeing how Hermione have praised this area for just those kinds of qualities, not to mention the lovely people already living here, we might just buy if the opportunity presents itself. Mrs Jones, I do believe I heard someone mention it was your husband who sold this house to my friends. Does he usually manage the sales here?"

"Eh… well… he does, but… that is to say…" Mrs Jones began to stutter, her face turning redder by the second while her eyes darted between her companions.

"No matter" Mrs Potter cut her off when it was clear she could not string more than a few short words together, "I'll just go and ask Sirius to introduce me and Harry to him."

And with those words, she turned on her heel and strode off with a sense of purpose that was nothing short of frightening. That was a woman used to adversary, but also to getting her way, Mrs Miller observed. Not the kind of woman needed in this calm neighbourhood at all, especially since she sincerely doubted it would remain so for long if it gained such a member.

"I do hope you will discourage Frank from repeating his mistake" was all she said before she left as well, leaving Mrs Jones and the sound of her finger tapping against her plate.

It was clear she would receive no worthwhile help from that friend and after failing yet again to find the more reliable Mrs Sutton she decided to take matters into her own hands and attempt the climb solo.

Catching a glimpse of the Blacks talking to the Ellisons in the room beside the living room - which could only be described as a library - Mrs Miller walked back into the large entryway, and looked up towards what little she could see of the next floor. There was an open area at the top which then went off into a hallway on either side. However, there were only two armchairs there, with a small side table between them, on which a pretty orchid stood, and a huge landscape painting hung above, which was hardly the sort of thing to reveal any secrets at all.

Once more she started moving towards the stairs, but just as she was about to reach them, she remembered that she still had the plate and glass in her hands and that they would be in the way up there. In her emotional distress earlier she had clean forgot about them, but looking down at them now she decided to finish the few pieces left before putting them away somewhere. Leaving them in the entryway could give rise to suspicion.

A few minutes later she had returned and was once more on the brink of setting foot on the first step when she remembered that she had put the tin with biscuits on the chest of drawers there in the entryway and not on the small table that had been set up for gifts in the living room. Best to get that done right away.

After being pulled into a conversation with Mrs Howard for a while, growing more and more tempted to yank the ridiculous fake eyelashes off of her before she managed to catch a fly in them, she succeeded in getting away and once more reaching the stairs unnoticed.

This time, it was the thought that she really ought to make sure the Potters were not talking with Mr Jones that hit her and she hurried off, determined to put a stop to such a disastrous conversation if it was taking place. It was little consolation to find the young couple in company with the hostess, since the damage could very well already be done. Still, there was nothing she could do about it now.

Starting to feel a bit silly, Mrs Miller returned to the entryway for the fourth time, but no sooner had she turned towards the stairs than she came to the conclusion that she ought to ask Mrs Black which catering firm she had used. The food had been superb after all, and she wanted to be able to offer the best when it was time for her and Mr Miller to celebrate their wedding anniversary next year.

This time, however, she was distracted by the stairs, or rather who was coming down them, before she could leave. Accompanied by Mr Black, a woman she had never seen the like of before in her life strode down them and all thoughts of hors d'oeuvres evaporated. She was dressed in a bright pink dress, which was an inch too short at the top and at least three or four too short at the bottom and hugged every last curve as if it was a drowning person holding on to a lifebuoy. Her nails were painted yellow, all twenty of them, as the purple sandals she wore clearly showed. At least her face was more modestly decorated with only some mascara, as far as Mrs Miller could see at least, but the effect was completely ruined by the pink bob that topped off the whole ensemble.

It was not impossible to see that the woman was very pretty, but one really had to make an effort in order to not be distracted by everything else. Mrs Sutton had been, off all things, mild in her description, which had left Mrs Miller woefully mentally unprepared for the visual assault and for the second time she found herself speechless in the face of the company the Blacks kept.

"Ah, Mrs Miller" Mr Black said when the two stopped in front of her. "I don't believe you've met this lovely lady yet. Allow me to introduce my cousin, Mrs Nymphadora Lupin, also known as Tonks or Dora."

A sharp elbow right into his ribs stopped the man from making the second half of the introduction as he coughed after wheezing out the air he would have used for it.

"Don't mind him" the woman said, dismissively waving at her cousin with the hand whose elbow she had just used to interrupt him. "I'm only known as Tonks or Dora. Or Mrs Lupin in a pinch, I guess. You must be Mrs Miller."

Dismayed at the fact that such a woman could identify her without an introduction, not to mention affronted by the fact that she had forgone proper introductions altogether, Mrs Miller only gave a curt nod in reply.

"How wonderful. I've been eager to see you ever since…"

"Tonks" Mr Black interrupted with a warning tone. "Let's not bother my neighbour with silly little stories. I'm sure she was just on her way back to the living room."

Glancing past them at the stairs, Mrs Miller sighed mentally and knew she would have to abandon her attempt to get up them. And she had, after all, been on her way to go look for Mrs Black anyway. Turning away from them, she began walking towards where the party was underway, but slowed down when she heard Mrs Lupin start talking again.

"So, when are you going to show me the new one?"

"Calm down, I still have one more session to go to before it's finished. I wanted a professional for this one, you know."

"It'll be the first in long while, yeah?"

"I did have Mione's name added just before the wedding, but other than that, yeah, it'll be the first new tattoo since prison."

Mrs Miller nearly fainted but thanked her good constitution when one faltering step was the only outward display of the mixture of shock and triumph that rushed forth inside her at that last word. She had been right! The man had a criminal history! Now it was only a matter of finding sufficient proof and then the neighbourhood could return to normal. And if the Blacks were gone, surely there would be no reason for the Potters to move in.

Giving the stairs a longing look, she was once more reminded that she needed to ask Mrs Black about the caterer, after which she could not delay in finding Mrs Sutton.

In fact, Mrs Miller's mind was so occupied that she did not notice that the two occupants of the entryway had stopped talking and were now only watching her, identical mischievous grins on their faces.


Next chapter: Hermione creates a society, but Mrs Miller is too irked to notice what's really going on before it's too late to do anything about it. Also, some big news gets shared.