AN: Mrs Miller is about to both interact with and plot against the (Granger) Blacks. Since receiving "proof" of Mr Black's criminal past she is more determined than ever to find a way to make them leave. But a focused mind can miss other things, such as the way the rest of the neighbourhood reacts to its newest members. (Standard disclaimer applies.)

And once more, a thousand thanks to everyone only reading or reading and then clicking buttons. As this is my first story, it really means the world to me to get some form of feedback. I reply to every review I can and am happy to answer any questions that might arise while reading. No spoilers, though. ^^


After placing four cups and saucers of their second-best china on the coffee table in the living room, Mrs Miller went back to the kitchen to fetch the plate with the freshly baked Victoria sponge cake and the one with ginger biscuits. The small plates and the silver spoons were already in place and with the tea a mere minute away from being brewed to perfection, it was high time for the guests to arrive.

Among all the things she had suddenly remembered during the housewarming party, Mrs Miller had also taken the opportunity to at long last invite the Blacks over for tea. And now, two weeks later, they were due at any moment. It was the first step in operation 'Exposing Mr Black' that she, Mrs Sutton and Mrs Jones had come up with after she had revealed to them what she had overheard at the party. Mrs Jones had been impressively upset by it, lamenting that her husband would have – even if unknowingly – been responsible for inflicting them with such a misfortune, that she was back in her good graces. What they would do now was looking for information about the Blacks they could use as starting points to do research on their own, and the only place they could find it was from the couple themself at the moment.

Just as she moved towards the pot to pull the tealeaves out, the doorbell rang. They had arrived right on the agreed hour, but luckily Mr Miller was eager enough to greet them, rushing down the stairs while simultaneously wrestling the last button on the left sleeve of his shirt into place, so she did not have to compromise the quality of the tea. For it was of utmost importance that everything would be perfect during this visit. The Blacks' party had been a huge success. Even Mrs Sutton had commented on the rich and perfect blend of chocolate and raspberry filling of the small tarts that were served, as well as the lightness of the custard that came with them. And as opposed to the food, the dessert had been made by Mrs Black herself.

"Welcome, welcome!" she could hear Mr Miller out in the entryway, "do come in. The tea is just about ready I believe. The missus is always punctual and apparently you are as well."

Mrs Miller listened as her husband led Mr and Mrs Black into the living room, took a few fortifying deep breaths and then straightened her skirt before picking up the pot and following.

The other three were seated around the table when she entered, talking about cricket, or more specifically the Ashes. Mr Miller was an avid follower of the sport, especially when the national team played, and would bemoan Australia's winning streak ever since they secured their eighth consecutive win in early January to everyone who would listen.

"I tell you, they need to get better at hitting the ball or we might just as well forfeit the whole thing" he said to Mr Black, who seemed genuinely interested in the topic, even if he only listened. "It's that Shane Warne, he's making mincemeat out of our team. And they gave him only a yearlong suspension when he got caught in that test. He'll be right back out on the field, ready to humiliate our players, when the next test series comes around, mark my words."

"What kind of test did you say he got caught in?" Mr Black asked, suddenly looking slightly confused.

"Why, a drug test of course. Can't recall what substance it was, but he tried to excuse it with some crap-"

"Language, dear. We have guests."

"Sorry, love. -about some pill he took to improve his looks. Well, not that I would blame him for wishing to improve in that department, the smarmy bastard, but one year seems far too lenient if you ask me."

"I'm sure it is. People who cheat should be made a proper example of to deter others from doing the same" Mrs Black said, "no matter what field of sports or academics they're practicing.

"Just so" Mr Miller agreed. "But I do hope England can scrape together some decent players for next time. Drugs or not, that man is a wicked bowler."

Allowing her husband to vent a little now that he had found a new and willing audience, Mrs Miller amused herself with inspecting the young couple. They were almost fully properly dressed, as usual, just the button or two undone or the white of the top underneath Mrs Black's green blouse that was sheer enough to let a hint of cleavage show through.

They acted with the same kind of restrained affection that seemed to be their trademark in semi-public settings – apart from that time on the day they moved in - sitting closer than she herself liked, but not so close as to be indecent. There were also a few accidental touches here and there while they moved about the tea, cake and biscuits, as if they unconsciously sought out each other. It was apparent that Mr Black, though a criminal, did not mistreat his wife and she would probably be hard pressed to get anything out of the young woman.

When, at long last, the subject of cricket had been exhausted, Mrs Miller decided to take the opportunity to ask the question she had been eager to know the answer to for quite some time now. Setting down her cup, so she could observe them without distraction, she seized the moment when her husband had just finished criticising the players on the English team, which tended to herald the end of his thoughts on the matter.

"So, Mr Black, I know you inherited a lot of money, but do you perhaps do something for a living as well?"

The corners of the man's mouth twitched a little, but it seemed impossible to tell if it was from annoyance or amusement. The following brightening of his eyes, however, would suggest the latter, and Mrs Miller braced herself for the upset he was about to cause her.

"While I mostly do investments, having gone in as a silent partner in a few businesses owned by either relatives or close friends, I do work part-time at one of the shops I have the most personal interest in."

"Oh? And what shop would that be? Something local?" Mrs Miller could not help to ask, eager to find out more, despite the man's expression.

"It's located some distance from here, which is why I only work some hours, and is a relatively small and unknown locale so I wouldn't be surprised if you haven't heard of it. It's called Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and it's a joke shop."

It was truly a good thing she had put away her tea, or Mrs Miller felt sure she would have choked on it in that moment.

"A-a joke shop?" she asked faintly.

"Indeed. I have always been a bit of a prankster, so it fits me perfectly."

"But why have wizard in the name?" Mr Miller asked, leaning forward a bit in his armchair. "Seems a bit odd."

"Not if you know the owners. They have a wicked sense of humour and wanted a name that would be both fun and speak of the wonders found within. You've already met them, by the way, Mrs Miller" Mr Black replied, looking from her husband to herself.

"I cannot recall ever being in a situation where I would come in contact with anyone who owns a joke shop" she replied, not able to fully disguise her contempt for such people.

"Oh. It was only a few weeks ago, in our front garden" Mrs Black said in the same tone of voice one would use when commenting on the weather. Not when letting your poor innocent neighbour know they had unknowingly come into contact with such riffraff.

"Their names are Fred and George Weasley. They have the same flaming red hair as the rest of their family and are identical twins as well" Mr Black explained in the same calm tone, and even went on to reach for his tea and take a nonchalant sip. How he managed to make it come across as such she would never know, but the man was clearly a master at affecting different airs. The big question was what was hidden beneath it all.

"I see" Mrs Miller replied, remembering all too well the two young men who had cornered her by the door to number eleven. That those two would run such a shop did not surprise her in the least since they clearly found enjoyment in inflicting discomfort on others. "And you had some investment with relatives as well, you said?"

"Not my favourite relatives, but these days we get on well enough for some joint ventures and the occasional dinner. They've been involved in the pharmacy field since its inception, more or less, and have also branched out into the wine business, doing really well for themselves. But the stock market is where they're mostly active and derive the largest part of the influx to their already substantial fortune. I simply joined up with them at the insistence of my cousin, even if her husband was less pleased about it. However, he wasn't really in the best of positions to say no to associating with us at the time. Had landed himself in a bit of tight spot politically, you see."

While she nodded, Mrs Miller did not see. What political clout could the Blacks possibly boast of? While rich, there were no signs of them moving in such spheres. Rather the opposite, going by who had come to visit them since they moved in. But what she could see was an allusion to shady dealings. Seeing how Mr Black did not come across as violent or malicious, him committing financial crimes would fit the bill best, and the stock market would be a good place to both acquire more ill-gotten gains as well as launder what he might have cheated and stolen his way to elsewhere.

"And what is the name of these relatives of yours?" she asked, looking for another piece of information to be used when trying to find out about his dubious past.

"Oh, you wouldn't have heard of them. They prefer to live quiet lives out of the public's eye" Mr Black replied, smiling.

Gritting her teeth behind a forced smile, Mrs Miller had to admit defeat in that battle, though the war had just begun. For if she asked about the name again after that she would come across as unreasonably curious and the last thing she wanted to do was alert the man to her being on to him. The element of surprise would undoubtedly be crucial in bringing him down.

"I'm sure we all have some interesting relatives or even family members" Mrs Black said, diverting the topic. "Mrs Howard mentioned that you have two children and a few grandchildren."

Mr Miller lit up at once and dived straight into a recount of their own family, allowing Mr Black's relatives to remain frustratingly mysterious. And while there might be a great many different kinds of people Mrs Miller did not want in her life, mysterious was definitely near the top of that list. Mysterious implied unknown, and better to deal with an evil one did know than go up against an opponent unprepared.

"Eleanor was the first both to get married and have children, never one to wait around for something she wanted, so our oldest grandchild is Emily, she turned twelve in the spring and then there's her brother, Jack, who'll be ten next month. Both so serious and studious already," Mr Miller went on, moving down a generation after having described their children. "Oliver waited a little longer, but when he met Julia we all knew he would leave his bachelor days behind. They also have two children, Matthew who's eight and little Aidan at five. They're precious boys the two of them, and so bright."

"Do you see them often?" Mrs Black asked.

"With Oliver it's not as often as we'd like, seeing that they live a few hours away, but we do as often as possible. Luckily, Eleanor and her family live much closer."

"Yes" Mrs Miller cut in, "it is always such a blessing to have one's near and dear close by. Do you have that here? Or do your family and friends have to travel far to come and visit?"

A quick look was shared between husband and wife before the latter replied.

"They live some distance away, but not so far as to make the journey tedious. And there's a handy shortcut to be used on some lesser travelled roads from where many of them live that we discovered. It's a bit dusty and sooty, perhaps, but that's never hurt anyone."

"Sooty?" Mrs Miller asked, perplexed. "Does it pass by some large industry?"

"More an area that contains a great many chimneys" Mr Black replied, his eyes twinkling merrily.

Thinking back, Mrs Miller could not remember seeing any of the visiting cars being anything other than clean, even if a few of them were older models - including the orange monstrosity - and could not help but wonder what was going on. It was as if they were alluding to some kind of private joke, but it would be such a nonsensical thing to joke about and she could make neither head nor tail of it. Maybe they were both a little mad. It would hardly be surprising, she though and then turned her attention back to the conversation to find that they had reached the older generations. It seemed a full exchange of family trees were on its way.

"Well, my father died the same year I turned twenty" Mr Black was explaining in response to a question Mr Miller must have asked, "and my mother followed him six years later."

"I'm so sorry. What happened?"

"I would guess he died from weakness after being constantly crushed under her thumb, while she choked on her own spite. Either way, they had it coming" Mr Black said, making a dismissive gesture.

"It seems a sad thing that a child would feel so about being an orphan" Mr Miller said, reaching out and putting a sympathetic hand on their guest's shoulder.

"Only sad for the child in this case" Mr Black retorted, sounding slightly defensive. "Let's just say their parenting methods are not something to be recounted in polite society."

"And that is when you inherited all your money?" Mrs Miller asked, unable to miss this second opportunity to find out more about the Black's finances, missing the disapproving look her husband shot her.

"I inherited some money and a house in London then, yes, but the bulk of the Black fortune wasn't mine until another six years later when my paternal grandfather died. He was the head of the family, so most of the money, various properties and other assets belonged to him. But he was as rotten as my parents."

"Yes, I'm endlessly happy I did not have to meet any of them" Mrs Black said, her voice soft but her eyes hard. "They would've hated me."

"Whatever for?" Mr Miller asked, sounding as if he really could not understand anyone finding anything amiss with the young woman. Then again, it did seem extreme to hate her.

"For not being able to trace my family back to the middle ages."

While Mrs Miller had nothing against people who were proud of and kept a good record of their lineage, even she had to admit that the middle ages might be a stretch for people outside of royalty and the nobility. But such a statement only added even more mystery to the Blacks, and she felt as if she was going in the wrong direction in unravelling the mystery. The whole point of having them over - except for being a proper neighbour of course - was to learn more about them. Not be faced with new questions. And although she did find out some, it only served to make her realise it was a much larger puzzle she needed to complete than anticipated before she could get the picture she needed.

"I for one am sorry to hear it" Mr Miller said, "I wish I knew more about my own family than I do. My father passed away when I was roughly the same age as you were when yours died, Sirius, but I still miss him every time I think about him. He was such a great and strong man. Lost his family when he was even younger, but never complained about it and built a good life for himself on his own. I guess you have some of that in you as well."

"Thank you. I can only hope to be worthy of such praise since that seems an admirable father to have. And I'm sorry for your loss. Is your mother still alive?" Mr Black asked.

"Yes, but she lives in a retirement home now and her memory is not what it used to be."

"Age comes for us all in one way or another" Mr Black said, "at least she's still with you. Even if I held no fondness for my own parents, I am no stranger to true loss."

The urge to comment that age would come for him much sooner than for his wife was strong in that moment, but Mrs Miller busied herself with refilling her cup and managed to keep the words from escaping. And while she truly regretted the loss her husband had suffered, and was in the beginning of suffering again, it seemed hollow to be comforted about it by a man who appeared to be nothing but pleased about his own parents being long gone. Mr Miller sharing it with the Blacks was also further proof of his growing attachment to them, Mr Black in particular, and since she could no longer ignore the stain their presence was on the neighbourhood she wished she could do something about it.

Oh, if only her late godmother was still alive. That woman had been a miracle of knowing what was proper and behaving accordingly and most of what she herself knew on the subject had come from her. Mrs Bouquet had been nothing short of an institution and no doubt the foremost expert in the country on how to deal with troublesome people in the politest way possible. Sorting out the Blacks would have been the work of a single afternoon for her, she felt sure.

Luckily, the visit came to an end soon after that, and it was bliss when she could stand up to escort them out into the entryway. She ended up with Mrs Black as the men delayed a little, talking about taking that long-awaited drive with Mr Black's bike before the weather turned cold, and was surprised to find herself addressed by her.

"Mrs Miller, before we leave, I just wished to discuss something with you."

"Of course. Whatever is the matter?"

"After meeting all of our charming neighbours the other week, I felt I would like to become better acquainted with everyone, so I was thinking about us women getting together to do something while the men are off to solve their crossword puzzles. I was thinking either a book club or perhaps something to do with baking. So many of you ladies seem to have a fondness for it."

"You have come to the right person if you wish to get anything of note done in the neighbourhood, but I am afraid an undertaking such as that simply is not feasible. It is most kind of you to think of something like that, though, it simply is not an activity that would fit in with our way of life. Many of us are busy with other things at that time, you see, and we are quite set in our ways. It might be good to be young and in the habit of scurrying around, but with age comes calmness and wisdom. Just a friendly piece of advice."

"Thank you, Mrs Miller. I'll be sure to take that under advisement."

Thinking that was the end of it, Mrs Miller was happy to say goodbye and watch the Blacks return home before making the first preparations for supper so they could eat before spending the evening by the telly. Fridays offered a few good shows still, even if many of the channels were in decline. Even BBC was afflicted. She still shuddered at the thought of that new sketch show Oliver had told them he liked. Just a few minutes of it and she knew she would rather watch paint dry than endure another second of that ghastly drivel. At least Small Britain was an appropriate name since there was not a single ounce of greatness about it.

The next day, however, she witnessed something strange. When Mr Miller went outside and met up with Mr Black to head up to the Ellisons, Mrs Black accompanied them. And not a minute later Mr and Mrs Howard walked past, arms linked. What could possibly be going on?

Being expected over at Mrs Jones, along with Mrs Sutton, for tea shortly after she could sadly not stay and wait to see when they would return. At least she had a lot of things to discuss with her two friends since she had found out at least a little about their new neighbours yesterday. And come to think of it, did not Mrs Sutton have a cousin who worked as a professor in English history. Maybe they could contact him and ask if he knew anything about any notable Blacks. If the family was as rich and old as had been implied, surely there must be some kind of record of them. They would also need to research joke shops that were within commuting distance, or just beyond. For even if the place did exist it sounded suspiciously like a front for illegal business and nothing would seem more natural than those horrible twins being involved as well.

The next few weeks saw the three ladies busy with their research and after not finding any shop, no matter what was sold, with such a bizarre name, they decided to investigate the few that did exist. It was highly probable Mr Black had given a false name to throw anyone of the sent should they come looking; a true hallmark of a criminal, she felt sure.

For places meant to inspire laughter, Mrs Miller decidedly felt anything but amused when they exited the last joke shop on their list five weeks later. They had taken to visiting one each Saturday while the men were busy, not wishing to draw attention to themselves, but it had all been for naught. The only thing they had learned was that people either running or working in such places were incapable of being decent. One particularly eager shop assistant had even accosted her by showing a fake piece of dog excrement in her face and asked her if she could feel how natural it smelt. His teenage years was no excuse for such abhorrent behaviour.

The first Saturday she spent at home after that a shock even worse awaited her as she watched no less than ten of her female neighbours enter number eleven. It was nearly half the street! Their kitchen also faced the front of the house and she spent the next hour looking on in horrified amazement as they bustled about in there. Then she could discern Mrs Donovan putting something into the oven, after which they all left the room.

Could Mrs Black's idea about the wives gathering for some baking while the men were busy truly have come to fruition? No! Impossible! She knew this neighbourhood like the back of her hand and there was no way all those women would willingly crowd a kitchen and produce a cake together. They all took pride in their individual creations, though maybe with the exception of Mrs Howard who seemed incapable of learning the difference between butter and margarine, and would never let others share in that most sacred art of making them.

Still, there it was. Proof that they must be doing something of the sort, and she had completely missed it, being away on an ultimately pointless quest for crucial information. This was simply not to be tolerated. Operation 'Exposing Mr Black' would have to be put on hold while they performed operation 'What on earth is Mrs Black doing in her kitchen'.

At their next teatime, Mrs Miller and Mrs Sutton decided that Mrs Jones would have to infiltrate the group and find out. She was best suited after all, seeing that it was her husband who had sold the house and started this whole nightmare, and could use that to her advantage when approaching Mrs Black. There was also the fact that neither Mrs Miller nor Mrs Sutton would ever endanger their own private recipes if it was indeed a group for baking and sharing was required. Mrs Jones blueberry jam-based Battenberg cake was simply not a secret worth keeping by comparison.

Luckily, Mrs Black seemed incapable of spotting a spy and just a week later Mrs Jones could give a full report while they gathered for tea at her house, seeing as Mr Jones was away for the weekend and they could talk without disturbance there.

"They do bake something every time" their timid hostess said, almost trying to hide behind her cup of tea.

Mrs Miller had noticed it was part of the best set her friend owned, rather than her second best, and subsequently knew bad news was to be expected. Having already fortified herself, she was now prepared to learn what kind of damage control would be needed.

"It is not personal recipes they use, however, but whoever is hosting is in charge of finding a new one they can try together. They are also reading a book, one chapter each week, which they discuss while whatever they are making is in the oven and then while eating it. Everyone seems to be enjoying it and I even saw Mrs Ellison talking animatedly with Mrs Howard at one point."

That was simply unheard of! While the old lady was not as strict on some matters as Mrs Miller herself, she could not tolerate anyone incapable of making a decent sponge cake. That she should be on amicable terms with Mrs Howard, and in a group where most of the time was spent in the kitchen, would have been deemed the same level of likelihood as magic being real, until now. Yet, here they were, and Mrs Miller was at a loss for words.

"They are calling it the Carnation Lane Women's Society of Baking and Books" Mrs Jones went on, tapping her finger against the cup still held abnormally high in front of her, "and while they are still active I think it might be a good idea if I continue to go. So that we will know what they are up to, I mean."

Only nodding her consent, while Mrs Sutton started enquiring about the details, Mrs Miller could only sit silent while she felt a sense of dread settling over her. Ever since her first meeting with the Blacks there had been something niggling at the back of her mind. Something that was linked to a memory, but she could not put her finger on which one for the life of her. Though, she was becoming increasingly convinced it was highly important she remembered.

When Mrs Jones next updated them on the Delusional and Ridiculous Amateur Baking Society, or D.R.A.B.S. for short, as they had dubbed them, it was with terrible news indeed. It would take a small miracle to oust the Blacks as they were now clearly set on settling down. Mrs Black had shared that she and Mr Black were expecting their first child and had known for a while - she was simply one of those women who did not show much - and had moved there with the intention of finding a good place to raise that child and any who would follow.

Many of the people who lived on the street had once moved there for the same reason, herself included. And with one new couple coming there with such intentions it could very well mean that others would follow, starting a generation shift. The memory of Mrs Potter talking about moving there surfaced. And with it came the mental image of every house but her own being filled with strange people who knew nothing of social boundaries and wild children running around unchecked with sticky little fingers they could not wait to grab hold of her poor clothes with.

Tea! She needed tea right this very moment! And preferably a whole bucket of it.


Next chapter: The average age of the people living on Carnation Lane is considerably lowered by a single person and many well-wishers stop by number eleven. Among them some new faces framed not by red, but by blond.