Christmas dinner at Hogwarts was delicious, with hardly anyone present, I sat between Tom and Professor Sinstra.
"Cassie owled me," she said over the Christmas pudding. "Apparently Orion has a black eye." Tom sniggered into his goblet.
I just smiled uncomfortably and adjusted my top hat self-consciously.
After lunch and chit-chat we left the hall and Tom stuffed his admiral's hat into a suit of armour.
He looked at his watch exaggeratedly and sighed.
"So, my room and a bottle of wine?" he proposed in a bored tone. I nodded and took his arm.
"I think two might be in order," I replied with a smile.
We were arguing about whether it was an important enough a tradition for us to play Pixionary by ourselves. I said yes definitely, and I was trying to get out of his room to go and find a board when he grabbed me back, swinging me around so I bumped into his chest. The contact sparked in the air, I looked up at him through my lashes I knew he felt the change too.
The colours of his eyes churned as he looked down at me, flickering in the light of the candles on the walls.
"Either you have to play Pixionary, or you have to kiss me," I murmured, his gaze was on my lips as I spoke. His own spread into a grin before he dipped his head.
Our lips fused and it struck me how everything had changed in the last year. But Tom's lips still tasted like fruity red wine and cinnamon.
I wound my arms around his neck as he pulled me in by the waist, flush against him. Soon his lips were roaming, ghosting kisses down my neck and over my exposed shoulders.
I directed his lips back to mine, the feel of his tongue sent electricity down my spine. It felt like magic was pouring from my fingertips as they ran through his thick, silky hair.
I started it.
I know my fingers were deftly opening his shirt before he touched me anywhere improper. But as soon as he felt me undressing him, his fingers were on my back, -dragging the zip all the way down. Blood red silk pooled around my feet and he lifted me, strong hands cupping my thighs and he carried me over to the bed, our lips never breaking contact.
He lowered me down onto the feather bed, he ran his fingers over the lace of my basque and raised an eyebrow.
"Were you planning this?" he asked, lips quirked.
"No," I replied almost guiltily, tugging him by the collar back into a kiss. "Everyone wears their best underwear at Christmas." I felt him smile against my lips.
His lips left mine, but my shoes had slipped off, and I could feel his fingers sliding my stockings down my legs.
It was only when I was sat only in my underwear that I realised that he was still wearing all of clothes. With eager hands I all but ripped open his shirt, the muscles of his shoulders rippling as he shrugged the thin material to the floor.
I didn't leave Tom's room until three hours later.
Dear Poppy,
Rumour has it you and your family have had a bust up. Cassie said Orion called you some quite vulgar names in front of all the family. I want you to come and stay with me in the summer, so you have to see less off him. I do not find his behaviour towards you acceptable. I'm sorry I have to keep this letter brief, but Merry Christmas. I miss you; can you find a fireplace in the castle which links to the floo network?
My office, Château de Montaigne.
Yours, Raimond.
I placed the letter in my desk and grabbed a pinch of floo powder.
"The office of Raimond Lestrange, Château de Montaigne," I declared, plunging my face into the embers.
I opened my eyes and I was looking up into a large, airy office decorated in typical Raimond style and painstakingly neat. I smiled as I saw the man in question sat at his desk, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he read through stacks of parchment.
"Psst," I hissed, smiling as he looked up in confusion. His face spread into a beam as his eyes met mine.
"Poppy," I exclaimed, rising from his desk chair and dropping onto his knees next to the fireplace. "It's so good to see you."
"It's good to see you too Raimond," I replied. "You look well, I've missed you."
"Not half as much as I've missed you," he said with a smile. "Come on, come in have a drink." I sighed and rolled my eyes.
"Fine, step back," I said.
I removed my head from the flames, and this time stepped through the flames normally. I stepped out of his fireplace and Raimond enveloped me in a hug.
"Come on," he said with a smile. "It's a nice day, warm. We can walk as we talk about your holiday."
We walked around the grounds of the castle as Raimond prised the details of Orion's outburst from me.
"You haven't asked for your Christmas present yet," he said after he was satisfied.
"I wasn't expecting anything," I pointed out. He smiled.
"You sent me a very interesting book," he said, pulling a box out of the pocket of his slacks. "Here."
"Thank you," I said, pulling the ribbon from the box. I opened the box and was stunned by the necklace inside.
"It's beautiful Raimond," I breathed. "But I can't accept such a thing, this must be an heirloom."
"Actually it is," he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. I raised my eyebrows at him. There was silence for a moment. "I'm going to ask Lizzie to marry me," he said abruptly.
"Good," I replied, a genuine smile lighting up my face. "Doesn't that mean you should be giving her your family heirlooms?" he smiled again and shrugged.
"You know Lizzie," he said. "She wouldn't wear anything with a hulking great emerald." I looked down at the pendant and nodded.
"I suppose not," I agreed. "Thank you Raimond, it is wonderful. I will wear it with pride all the time." I stood up onto my tiptoes and we embraced.
We hugged for longer than we should have, his arms around me calmed me. I brushed the hair off my neck and let him put it on me.
"How are you going to ask her?" I asked, the pendant sat heavily between my breasts.
"She's meeting my family on New Year's Eve," he replied. "Sure I can't tempt you to the party?"
"And be a third wheel," I said with a smile. "No thank you. But, good luck. I hope your palms don't get too sweaty."
He elbowed me in the ribs.
"Happy birthday," I said curtly. Tom frowned. "What are you doing in the library at seven in the evening on your birthday anyway?"
"How do you know it's my birthday?" he asked.
"I have my ways," I said mysteriously. He continued to stare at me with a deadpan expression. "Fine," I sighed. "Cygnus owled, me and he said say 'say happy birthday to Tom for me'… so happy birthday from Cygnus. I got you a book."
Tom gave me a small smile and accepted the book, running his fingers over the old leather cover.
"Thank you," he said finally.
"Come on," I said, taking his hand in mine. "How about we sneak out? It is your birthday. Your seventeenth, you're a legal adult now."
"I do not want to go to the Hog's Head if that's what you're asking," he said pointedly, shaking his head.
"We could steal some butterbeer from the kitchens and watch the stars," I proposed. He was silent. "You carry on then, it's your birthday after all," I said with a shrug. I turned to walk back to the common room, but Tom called out to me.
"Poppy." I turned back to him. He sighed as if I was a grievous annoyance. "Do you want to climb the astronomy tower with me? We can steal some butterbeer and look at the stars." I shook my head in exasperation, but did not hide my grin.
"What an excellent idea, I would love to, birthday boy," I replied wickedly.
"Tell me everything!"
I jumped, my spoon falling back into my porridge, splattering both of us.
"You're back!" I exclaimed, pulling my best friend into a one arm hug as I wiped my front with a napkin.
"Indeed I am," Lizzie replied, straddling the bench beside me.
"And rumour has it there has been Black… scuffle. Is scuffle the right term?" she questioned, a grin lighting up her face. "Why didn't you owl me?" I shrugged apologetically.
"Sorry," I said lamely. "I didn't think about it. How did you find out anyway?"
"Haven't you read the prophet?" she asked, I shook my head in confusion.
"The heir to Arcturus Black goes to a family supper on Christmas Eve, and comes out with a black eye, there is bound to be some speculation. They had photos and everything," she said in a low voice.
"Guilty," I sighed, face deadpan. "I punched Orion in the face."
"Are you joking?" she demanded, eyes wide. "Why on earth?"
"He called me a whore," I said with a shrug, going back to my breakfast.
"Wow, what an arsehole," Lizzie breathed, helping herself to some scrambled eggs. But she paused, fork in mid-air. "Wait, you mean you haven't been reading anything the prophet has been saying?" I shook my head.
"Shit Poppy, you were in it the first day of the holidays," she whispered, with evident alarm. "You did see it, right?"
"No," I said, my heart sinking. "What are you talking about?"
"There was a little piece about you and Abraxas breaking up," she said. "It just painted you as a woman scorned, nothing to worry about."
"Shit," I said, eyes suddenly widened. "I just remembered!" I reached for her hand. She giggled and blushed prettily.
"You said yes!" I exclaimed, leaning forwards to wrap my arms around her. "I'm so happy for you!"
"I take it he told you then," she laughed. I nodded.
"I went to see him in the holidays for a few hours," I said. "He did mention it."
Lizzie smiled.
"My father is thrilled," she said with a sigh. "Wants us to get married this summer." I nodded, looking back to my breakfast. Count Turpin was head of a House of the lower aristocracy, one that was neither ancient, nor particularly noble. They had only had wealth for the last three hundred years- making them practically social lepers as far as much of high society was concerned. One would expect him to be elated at the betrothal of his daughter to the Prince of Aquitaine. It would propel his house to new heights of wealth and rights.
"I'm sure he is," I replied, with a kind smile. "I'm really happy for you."
She did not have time to respond, all heads looked up, the flurry of breakfast owls were making the air thick. Since the post was reinstated, it seemed everyone was making up for lost letters tenfold.
I went back to my breakfast, as Lizzie accepted her subscription of the Daily Prophet.
I looked round to her when I heard the clatter of her fork, falling to her plate. I looked over her shoulder at the headline.
Prince to marry- true love or rebound peasant?
Then beneath headline was two photos, the official engagement portrait of Lizzie and Raimond, published yesterday evening, and one of Raimond and I.
My jaw dropped open. He was handing me jewels when I visited him in France.
Yesterday evening the engagement of Raimond Lestrange, Prince of Aquitaine and Elizabeth of House Turpin, a common British house of little note, was made official. But sources in the castle suggest Raimond approached a different suitor for his hand, that of renowned beauty Lady Poppy of House Black (pictured below, at his French estate last week) daughter of Lord Lycoris of the Dozen Council and niece of the High Warlock- a much more suitable match by many means.
"This is bullshit," I murmured to myself, I looked across to Lizzie, whose elation had quickly given way to horror. She was still staring at the photograph.
She nodded, numbly her eyes not leaving the page.
"Lizzie you know this is bullshit," I hissed in her ear. "Suddenly you're a peasant, of all things and they conveniently forget to mention that I'm a bastard." I ducked down so her blue eyes were fixed on face, hoping she would see past her own mortification and see the sincerity in my face.
"They are out to get us, Lizzie," I urged. "They resent that you have Raimond and no one else managed it. They would do anything to split you up, and the two of us. They are trying to pit us against each other."
Lizzie looked up; it looked like her blue eyes were shining with tears.
"We have to be strong, fight this," I murmured, eyes darting around the hall, people were starting to look round at us, having seen the front page. Her hand grasped mine under the table.
"We are strong," she repeated in a low voice, squeezing it firmly.
"We finish eating quickly, and with decorum and then we leave," I whispered.
And we did.
We left arm in arm, with straight backs and with the best display of grace and simple arrogance we could muster.
But inside I was fuming. I knew Arcturus vetoed all headlines of the Daily Prophet.
(AN- Sorry, in the last chapter I forgot to answer a question I had in a review, "is Poppy a pureblood?" Well- Lycoris and this unknown witch had a baby out of marriage. That means a huge scandal for the Black family etc. etc. even though Lycoris was already estranged from them. When they became a big happy family again, Sirius allowed Lycoris to come back into the family because he loved his granddaughter Poppy so much and he felt so guilty about disinheriting Lycoris (and effectively cutting off any of her ties to her house too.) When she first met her grandparents, before third year, she was only Poppy Black. But Sirius legitimised her, making her Poppy of House Black, though the latter is used only for formal occasions and settling scores. NOW, if her father is Lycoris then she is at least a halfblood, but Lycoris has never told anyone who her mother is, because her mother refused to keep her. Lycoris looked after her until the Black reconciliation, and told everyone then that her mother was a pureblood. However, it is unknown as to whether Lycoris was lying in order to win favour- something that even Sirius acknowledges- hence why he wanted to pull all of the Blacks out of school during fifth year and the chamber, because he wasn't willing to take the risk with Poppy's blood status.
Now 'Poppy' is a fictional character, even in this fanfic. The only people who know Poppy has not always been Poppy, is herself, Lycoris and Liam Bones. Her blood status is unknown, because there are very few clues as to her previous identity. Her lack of concern for her personal safety during the chamber of secrets would suggest she is at least a half blood. Unless she believes that it is Tom's knowledge that tracks down mudbloods, rather than the basilisk's senses and obviously he thinks she is probably a pureblood.
The problem is, that Poppy has been 'Poppy' for years and years, and adopted this persona in a time of war fare perhaps under duress. Thus, a combination of completely immersing herself in a lifestyle which is undoubtedly better than her previous and the effect of the post-traumatic stress she experienced when escaping the war-torn 90s, led to her kind of believing that she has always been Poppy Black. She definitely believes, because of her religion that the person she was before, was training for her current 'true' self.
The result is that Poppy, deliberately or not either refuses to remember or cannot remember many things about her previous life in the 90s. Including her blood status perhaps? Sorry for the long A/N this went from yes/no question into character analysis)