Chapter 4: dancing queen by abba [august 1976]
Summary:
You all are so kind, thank you thank you to all who commented, subscribed, bookmarked, and kudosed! This is the longest chapter yet, over 11k words!
SUNDAY, AUGUST 12, 1979
"Mr. Black, we apologize if our meeting is boring you," the ice blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore bored into Sirius, who glanced up from his watch peevishly.
He levelled his stone gaze onto his former headmaster, who frowned at the hostility and lack of apology from the younger man. Dumbledore turned away from the disquieting tableau, returning to asking Remus for an update on the past full moon with the werewolf packs in the North.
"Oi, what gives?" James leaned across his wife to whisper to his best friend.
"Wanted to see Reggie off, he leaves for Munich tonight for his first exhibition match," Sirius glibly let the half-truth fall from his lips. "All of this is just more 'information' gathering—bloody waste that they won't let us just off the bastards."
James and Lily ignored the latter comment—Sirius had been clamoring to fight fire with fire, exact blood for blood for months. While they weren't contented with their friend's cold cruelty, they took comfort that Dumbledore would never unleash him on the public.
It was just his hot head, Remus would usually excuse Sirius, after he detailed a particular entrail slicing curse he'd like to use on a Death Eater.
(They all thought it was Sirius's Black bones that made him that way—the family's beauty had always disguised the savagery of the stars below their skin.)
"Still think he's bloody wasted on the posh shite," James said with no malice in his voice. Lily rolled her eyes and hissed at them to listen to Remus.
It hadn't been a lie that Regulus was leaving the country that night, but the Black family had more pressing engagements that night than seeing its youngest scion off to the Continent.
Sirius bolted from Headquarters without so much as a goodbye, causing the eyebrows of many Order members to lift.
The White Sheep of the Blacks had been making quite the splash in the media, properly following his mother around Diagon Alley (laden with shopping bags as a glorified mule) one moment, while flirting with scandal the next, as he escorted his married cousin to the theater, his hand resting just a tad too low on the open back of her dress.
Some wondered if Sirius was baiting the known Death Eater, seeing if he could draw the egotistical wizard into a duel.
Molly Weasley's aunt, the renowned gossip, had put a different bug in her ear.
('They always did love each other too much, those Blacks.' Muriel had cautioned her as to Molly's husband's maternal lineage. 'Best hope you keep having just boys, or else!')
James and Lily found it sweet, protective, in the same vein that he had held up his baby brother's accomplishments with pride in the pub.
Peter Pettigrew could feel that hard jealous, rat-like part of his heart harden. How was it that Sirius Black got everything he wanted, no matter if convention, pride, or sin stood in its way?
And Remus… Remus could only feel some relief that Sirius had at least found something distracted himself with in their mutually agreed upon 'break'—he couldn't smell like wizard when he went to the camps, especially ones as well-bred and cloying as the scent of Sirius Black.
Midnight filings were unusual for the Ministry, but not for ones with such connections as the Blacks.
"About ruddy time you got here boy! Can't start this party without a messenger," the booming brogue of Ignatius Prewett echoed across the court offices on Level 5.
"Sorry," Sirius panted, his pitch curls especially wild in his hurry. "Is it ready?"
Pollux Black took a piece of parchment from Lucretia's husband and examined it.
"Petition for Annulment between the Viscount Lindinus, Lucius Malfoy, and the Lady Narcissa Black filed at 5:17 p.m. on grounds of lack of intent to remain in said union and lack of heirs," he read and looked up at the burly older man. "Medical records already filed?"
"Of course, my clerk isn't an idiot," Judge Prewett said in his very brusque manner. His aunt's husband never minced words. "Not attaching them, of course, we must leave something for the bloody journalists to investigate."
"And there's your signature, Ignatius, asserting that this is legal, lawful, without coercion, blah, blah, blah," Cygnus read over his father's shoulder. "First contest hearing set for…"
"Wednesday, you ponce," Ignatius groused. He looked at Sirius. "You good enough at disguises to ensure I won't be reading in the Prophet about family misconduct?"
He raised his bushy white eyebrows, long faded from the ginger that all his family sported. Of course, his wife—or his chatty nephews—had informed him about Sirius's alter ego.
"Yes sir," Sirius sighed reluctantly, snatching the scroll from his Uncle. Cygnus looked offended in a mocking sort of way and then grinned at his nephew who was stalking towards the fireplace.
"Diagon Alley!" he said with a shout, disappearing into the green flames with a turn of his black tail.
Barnabus Cuffe liked the headline about the still vacant Defense Against the Dark Arts post, but he didn't love it.
They would go to press in a matter of 6 hours, Skeeter was holding them up, something about a tip on Lucius Malfoy that had led him to approve a quick Portkey to Paris. The 'young' reporter (everyone knew she drank youth draught like gin) had seemed to have quite the information lately—Tuesday's photos of the reclaimed Heir Black had been sold to Witch Weekly, who had practically cornered the market on rapid mamas looking for matches.
A thud came at the door to their offices at 60-66 Diagon, like a large tail being knocked. Frowning, the Editor crossed the newsroom to pull it open. At his feet was a rather thick scroll, embossed with a magical seal. He glanced around to see if he could spot the anonymous tipster fleeing, yet all he could see was a well-bred hunting dog walking down the street towards the Leaky Cauldron.
With half a mind to call the Alley's Animal Control team, Cuffe picked up the scroll and broke the seal, unrolling it as he went. It took approximately 13 wags of the dog's tail (who had paused to watch the newsman in the doorway) for him to understand exactly what he had in his hands.
"TRECUS, staff meeting now! Someone get Rita on the Floo and wake Doge, I'm going to need a legal opinion on this thing," the editor jubilantly yelled.
"What is it?" a bespeckled assistant looked up from his desk in alarm. He frowned, noticing the large grin that stretched over his superior's face, wondering what could possibly be good news.
Cuffe only made these kinds of last-minute changes for big news—murders, deaths, the like. In his two years at the paper, Kirk Trecus had never seen the Editor happy about changing the front page.
"Black family just filed to annul Narcissa Malfoy's marriage," Cuffe practically was skipping through the rows of desks. "Get me Hortense too, see if she can pull the original Sunday Times' Rich List pre-marriage and derive the dowry, hell, this says nothing about damages, but if what this says is true…"
The assistant slammed the door shut, not before noticing how odd it was that a dog could smirk.
MONDAY, AUGUST 13, 1979
Sirius Black had been deployed as a failsafe distraction for hungry reporters the morning that the Prophet ran with the headline 'Black Bride Says Bugger Off to Cheating Lord!,' attending Parliament by his father's side.
The piece de resistance of the whole paper was the comment by the recipient of the divorce documents.
"The husband in question could not be found in the home he shares with his wife. Instead, the Viscount Malfoy was discovered by our intrepid reporter, Rita Skeeter, in his family's Parisian apartment.
'She's doing WHAT?' had been the partially dressed Mr. Lucius Malfoy's response to our reporting informing him of his wife's filing. A scantily clothed witch, whom sources at Le Cri de la Gargouille identified as the charming Vicomtess Paetina de Pointilleux, was startled into approaching the door at his reaction."
The father and son had chuckled over their morning coffees at stuffy old White's, in muggle London, but no less well-heeled than the Jarvey or Merlin's, allowing the poorly conceal photographer to spot them as they made their way to Parliament.
The stretch of Conservative MPs walking the mile long route to the House of Lords would have been considered unusual for such wealthy men, but it was tradition at this point, for last minute vote whipping and negotiations, under the guise of a fine morning's promenade.
"Abraxas not sending a proxy today?" the Earl of Dalriada, Horace Slughorn, asked Orion in a knowing whisper.
Clearly fishing for gossip, as he faked a double take of surprise, pretending to notice Sirius for the first time.
"As I live and breathe, I scarcely recognized you dressed so properly, Sirius. How are you, my dear boy? Settling in well, back in the Family? I must say, I never thought you were the right fit for my house, but clearly I misjudged your ambitions!" A severe look from his father quelled any sarcastic remark from Sirius.
"Thank you, Professor, I am doing quite well, although it is not as though I ever left my family name," he said through gritted teeth. His father gave him a marginally approving glance.
"Of course not! You were the spitting image of your father, I recognized you as a Black the second you walked into the Great Hall. Pity you never inherited your mother's prodigious Potions' talents, like your brother did," Slughorn took a drag from his pipe, his beady eyes glittering as he clearly teed himself up for why he interrupted the father and son. "Speaking of Regulus, I was just remarking to Albus that we must have him up to speak to the Club—show them that there are other sports besides Quidditch!"
Sirius and Orion exchanged a look.
"I'm sure Regulus would be delighted to make a visit, if his schedule permits," Orion said evenly.
Slughorn's bushy moustache wobbled in delight.
"Excellent, excellent, perhaps Sirius could accompany him? If I recall, you were quite the horseman as well, lead the Hunt at 15," Orion jumped in before his son could emit the go-fuck-yourself that was clearly perched on his lips.
"Sirius is quite busy with his duties as Heir," Slughorn's eyebrows shot up to his non-existent hairline. That was a new tidbit. "I'm sure you've read the whole mess in the paper, poor Narcissa will need an escort as she weathers this terrible storm—can you believe the gall of Lucius?"
Slughorn was not usually one to disparage his alumni, especially not those as wealthy and influential as the Malfoys. But House loyalty was something he tried to instill in all his Slytherins. He had choked on his breakfast that morning, upon reading the Prophet; Narcissa and Lucius had seemed like the picture-perfect couple, golden and ivory like angels.
"Please give my sincerest condolences to the lovely Narcissa," the Potions Professor told the Lady's uncle. "I'd advise his father be checking him for blinding curses, as I cannot imagine what possessed him to be unfaithful to such a beautiful English Rose."
He then turned his gaze to Sirius.
"Surely not all your time will be occupied, I'd would love to have all three of the young Blacks at my Christmas Party, if the Lady feels up for it," Sirius choked a groan from his lips, knowing that, of course, by December, he would be bludgeoned into a litany of Balls.
"I'm sure they all would be delighted to attend, Narcissa and Sirius would do well to get re-acquainted with the scene," Orion answered for his son, his sharp flint gaze asserting the order and Sirius glared at him.
Slughorn trotted away towards the Marquess of Ulaid, Aster Greengrass, no doubt to pollinate the new gossip about the Black Family to the rest of the 28.
Sirius turned to his father.
"She's not a piece of meat to be presented for a meal," he bit out. His father looked amused.
"She's a Daughter of House Black, she is a jewel to be admired," he answered, eyes firmly fixed on the doors before them.
"Dad," his son said seriously. His father turned back to fix him with a look, imploring him to say his piece. "I know I won't get much of a choice, but the least you lot can do, after her last fiasco, is let her choose."
Sirius had never corrected one of his mother's critiques, that he was unambitious. He had ambitions, grand ones, to force this family to come into the 20th century, to update their values, to allow them choices.
"And what if she selects someone unsuitable? You know she is Cygnus's last chance for an heir," Orion said.
"You know Cissy, she won't go for the destitute half-blood or the scrappy muggleborn," Sirius twisted the Black family ring on his finger. "She always wanted a Prince, not a pauper."
Orion considered his son's words for a moment.
"You're not kicking up a fuss about your own nuptials?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.
His son let out a huff.
"No," Sirius said sullenly.
"Why," his father pressed him. It was a test, it had to be Sirius thought.
"Because I get a lot more freedom within a union than Cis would, as a man," he answered. "She deserves to have someone who doesn't cut her down and lock her up like the last one did."
Orion's expression was indecipherable, as he stared at his younger doppelganger.
"You weren't lying to Professor Slughorn, earlier, when you said you never left the Black family name," he observed, pulling over the doors to the chamber. "Black family values run quite deep with you."
He turned to look back at his son as he put one foot through the doorway.
"You remember what I said to you last before you ran away?" Sirius nodded the cold 'you are me' still rang in his head.
"Have me remembered as a prophet, Sirius," his father remarked casually, entering the chamber.
Sirius was not given time to puzzle out his father's words before he was dragged behind him into the House of Lords.
Narcissa Black was forbidden from using the floo; her father had tested it this morning to have himself hounded by Prophet stringers no less than 7 minutes after he had arrived at White's club for a late morning meeting.
The walk to Cadogan Garden was a pleasant one; she had taken a bit of delight letting the photographer from the Witch Weekly trail her for a while before giving him a wicked little smirk and ducking into a Tube station to apparate.
Sloane Square was busy, as it often was at school pick-up time, awash with nannies and mums with prams and small children taken by the hand. Narcissa magically shortened her hem of her floral sundress to mid-thigh as she made her way to the quieter square, emulating the muggle fashion rather than the dowdy wizarding one. She could do nothing about her hair, pinned up in a proper updo and stiffly sprayed to perfection with American mag-made hairspray.
"Auntie Cissy! Auntie Cissy!" the delighted voice of her niece rang out from the schoolyard, her (thankfully) still brunette curls wildly escaping their bow as she ran towards the gates.
"Nymphadora, you cannot just go off with whomever!" the harried aide ran after the child, shockingly not looking winded with the child's wild pace. She had very short blonde hair and was impressively tall—a statuesque beauty like Narcissa's sisters.
"I am so sorry to ask, but do you have some kind of identification on you Mrs…" the teacher's marvelously blue eyes had strayed to the large ring that (unfortunately) still rested on Narcissa's finger.
"Lady," Narcissa corrected her, pulling out her passport from her purse. "Lady Narcissa Black, how do you do?"
The teacher did not look impressed by her rank (after all this was Thomas's), however, she did look surprised.
"Usually, her Grandmother Tonks picks her up, so when her mum telephoned us saying otherwise, we were a bit surprised," the woman smiled as them warmly, where Tonks was clutching her aunt's hand. "It's so lovely to meet Andromeda's side of the family."
Narcissa could not quite ferret out if the woman was a Squib, a snob, or merely just sweet, as she smiled graciously and taking her niece's hand to lead her out of the schoolyard. Nymphadora took to skipping along the sidewalk, her pigtails bouncing exuberantly.
"Your mum never did tell me, what sort of summer camp are you in?" she asked her.
"That's my school during the year, but Mummy sends me to it to do dance class for the summer. I like it, but she says its so I can work on grace and poise," Nymphadora answered with an undignified snort.
"I used to be a dancer," Narcissa said wistfully. "What types do they have you doing?"
"Well," Dora started her sentence, gazing adoringly up at her aunt. It was rare that adults spoke to her in such a serious manner. Aunt Cissy wasn't as fun as Uncle Sirius, but she did seem to have the same kind of earnest respect for the six-year-old's opinion. "I'm not good at ballet, it's much too slow for me, but we do tap and jazz and oh! I love musical theater class, that's new this term."
"It is bothersome, not changing your hair when you're dancing different roles?" Narcissa wanted to laugh at her niece's unrestrained joy in describing her life. It was infectious.
"YES!" the child groaned, relieved someone understood her struggle. "I mean, I'm clumsy, but that suits that type of dance."
"Of course it does," Narcissa then put on a scheming sort of smile. "You know, your Uncle Sirius's new flat has this big unfurnished space in it."
The child stopped walking, and returned the Black smirk with one of her own. It was quite marvelous how the young metamorphagus retained her family traits.
"And he does have a rather large record collection," she said. "And Mummy isn't off until 5 anyways."
Many would say that there was something Sirius-like in the child's wildness, as she grew up. However, Narcissa reveled in the conspiratorial nature of Nym; no one remembered that Andromeda had been as much of a mischievous rebel as any one of the family.
Sirius Black had to admit that he liked the hours that the House of Lords kept. Never staying past 4, gentlemen would rather commit ritual suicide than miss their tee time or their first round of martinis at the club.
He had begged off, Orion reluctantly not stopping him from where he was deep in discussion with new Leader of the House of Lords, who had just been selected as Thatcher's Lord President of the Council.
The eldest Black scion had hoped to return to get a bit of a kip in before dinner, but, the second he apparated to his door he was practically assaulted by his own sound system being played at full volume.
Fumbling for his keys, he wasn't sure quite what to expect, but surely wasn't his cousin spinning around her niece by her hands alone to the musical stylings of that ABBA record that he had sworn was well-hidden.
Andromeda was seated on the couch, still in her lime green healers' robes, dutifully watching the performance in front of her.
Nymphadora was practically hiccupping with giggles when Narcissa slowed and let her gently come back down to the earth as they both glanced at the door, faces brightening at the sight of him.
(It was actually quite nice, coming home to someone). She, for once, looked like him—a mixture of muggle and magical (no way in hell would that hemline have not caused her mum to faint).
"You moved in already, Cis?" he asked, bending down to lift the charging little girl into a bear hug.
"Prophet, Witch Weekly, the fucking Wireless guys, W! of course, even the bloody Wixenomist was there!" she answered. Her sister sighed.
"Of course, they were Cissy; the Black-Malfoy union was supposed to be the largest merger of vaults in British history," Andromeda tried to say in a kind tone.
It would have been her, who shouldered such an alliance.
(It should have been her, who bore such a burden, rather than her baby sister.)
"Well let's just hope he has a far larger stake out than you do—the French press is going to be out for blood," Sirius remarked.
"In the very least, the Pointilleux will be in be in damage control, given her sparse appearance in the Prophet, they are likely to do their very best to paint Lucius as unscrupulous as possible," Andromeda insightfully said.
"Do you think she's ruined?" Narcissa didn't bother to hide her gleeful expression.
"Some witches have come back from far worse," Andromeda cautioned sagely.
"Doubt it, you saw the photos, topless on the yacht of another woman's husband? All of them probably will be by the end of it," Sirius smirked. "Hell, their families are probably expecting us to curse them for their daughters' embarrassment. Corban Yaxley cowered to me today in session, his father is probably trying to bribe the Prophet as we speak."
"Was Abraxas there?" Sirius shook his head.
"Nor any of the Averys, I suspect they just unsealed the court records," he tacked on a malicious laugh at the end.
"I'm sure your grandfather is disappointed the Lord Malfoy didn't have a heart attack," Andromeda's dark grey eyes shone just devilishly as her kin.
Just then Nymphadora's stomach let out a rather loud growl.
"Oh god, I lost track of time!" Andromeda apologized, springing from the couch. "Ted will be home soon and heavens, I haven't even started dinner, I guess we could get take away…"
Her sister handed the school bag for the starving child in question.
"Mimsy came over from the manor this morning, I could send her along if that would be…" Narcissa offered kindly.
"Oh!" Andromeda look stunned that their parents had given her sister their childhood nanny elf. "It would be lovely to see her again, but it won't put you lot out too much?"
Her sister laughed.
"I can cook and have you seen Sirius's kitchen? He has two drawers full of menus from every restaurant in Central London. We'll be fine, it's just the two of us, Reggie is gone anyways," Narcissa smiled at her sister, knowing that a working mother needed an elf far more than a pair of adults scarcely out of Hogwarts.
Andromeda hesitantly called the elf, who appeared with a soft CRACK.
"Miss Andy? Miss Andy has returned!" the female elf squeaked in joy. Nymphadora looked at the creature with wide eyes.
"Mummy, what is that?" she asked, eyes bright with the appearance of a new playmate.
"That, darling, is our old house elf, she helped raise my sisters and I," the elf peered at the child.
"Another generation of Blacks for Mimsy to bring up," she said delighted, glancing back at her old mistress. "Since nasty Master Lucius could not do well to give Miss Cissy babies…"
Andromeda cast a stricken look at her sister, who had turned white.
"I suppose we'll be off! You both will be at Nymphadora's birthday dinner tomorrow, right?" Andromeda was quite good at misdirection.
"It will be good to see Ted again," Sirius answered for both of them.
"Don't forget to get some normal clothes, Auntie!" the little girl called after her as her mother dragged her towards the front door.
He allowed the silence to grow for a second after the Tonks women and the elf departed.
She had settled down onto the couch, frozen as if posing for an invisible portrait. The record played on, skipping to the next track.
"I haven't seen you dance in a long time," he remarked, gazing at her feet. Cleverly, her sandals had straps that only left the suggestions of the tattoos on the soles.
"I've danced plenty at balls, I know you read The Prophet," she crossed her arms.
"No, really dance, none of those stilted proper promenades," he said, coming to sit on the coffee table where she had propped her feet. "You used to dance like you are walking on air."
She gave him one of those sad little smiles of hers that she had begun to put on at age fourteen, when her sister had left and a contract had been signed in her name.
"I'm grown up now, besides, I've never had the right partner," she smiled at him. "Do you remember Madame Lapin?"
"Bloody tyrant, I still will never forgive her for the number of times she smacked my feet with the cane," he smiled impishly at her, before turning his attention to her feet, delicately unbuckling the clasps on first her right then her left foot.
"What are you doing, Rus?" she asked, regretting how her voice sounded as he caressed her feet to remove them from the shoes.
"Cis, you can't possibly dance properly in those," he grinned at her, tossing them into a nearby chair and springing up. He extended his hand in a mockery of the gentlemanly manner that their dancing instructor had taught them as children.
"You mean dance improperly, cousin," she rolled her eyes, but nevertheless grabbed his hand and allowed to pull her to her bare feet. For all their six-month difference in age, he had almost a foot over her in height.
"What even is this music?" she wrinkled her nose. He leaned down to bump it childishly with his own.
"No more stodgy orchestra music for you, although I will say I question Nymphadora's taste—Merlin knows why Lily made me buy this album," Narcissa raised one blonde eyebrow skeptically.
"You done pretending you don't love this cheesy stuff?" she asked him, knitting one of her hands in his.
He stepped back to lead her to the empty span, stretching both of their arms to the limits of extension, fanning her out, and then yanked her body back in towards him.
Narcissa lifted on her tiptoes and spun in four tight circles, her skirts flying out with her sharp turns, her spine colliding with his chest. His breath was hot in her ear, the strong body behind her in a closeness that her husband had never desired.
She twisted her head to gaze at him, finding the grey smoke stare studying her features as if he hadn't known them his own life.
"Never," he whispered against her cheek. His free hand reached up to delicately caress her jaw, pulling her face closer to his, brushing his lips against hers so delicately it could have been mistaken for a breath. Ever the rogue, he had stolen it from her.
They had kissed a thousand times, they were family after all. But, for some reason, Narcissa had always thought of a poem about her namesake.
Only reflection sanctifies him, longing for a mirror he can kiss
(Blacks were christened after myth, legend, and idols—conferred the burden of saints and sinners alike in their first name, just as the legacy of their last put a blight on their souls.)
The Black curses were many, Narcissa had always been thankful she did not inherit the madness.
(She had thought her curse was her face, near divine, placed on a pedestal of worship. She had forgotten that it was the act of love that had doomed Narcissus, not beauty alone.)
Monday night dinners had been a longstanding Marauders tradition since they had graduated school. Godric's Hollow Cottage of the young Potters and the Marylebone bachelor pad of Sirius Black alternated hosting, the cuisine wildly swinging from standard home-made English fare from Lily's wand to whatever Sirius's mood struck him in—caviar topping cheap Chinese food to the daily catch and champagne from Bentley's around the corner from his flat.
Lily Potter had not known quite what to expect when she walked through the door at 13 Montagu Square, but it certainly wasn't the scene before her.
Sirius Black was an excellent dancer; she knew as much from her wedding where he had danced a splendid gavotte with her. However, this was something all-together—wild, untamed, unabashedly Sirius.
A carnage of hairpins littered the wood floor, gleaming as gold as the woman's hair. It was uncertain who was leading whom, or even what dance they were moved to.
Full of kicks, lifts, twirls, their feet were a blur in steps that looked like a strange amalgamation of a muggle 50's dance competition and a classically trained flamenco—hell, she thought there were a few moves from Grease in there (she placed the blame for those squarely on her own head).
Lily supposed that was exactly how to describe the pair dancing it.
They wore what was nominally wizarding clothing, but the style was adapted to blend into the city in which they lived as much as possible, her hemline too short to be decent for proper witches, his leather breeches paired with a shirt that could only be worn by muggles.
The blonde's river of curls had begun to free themselves from their prison of hairspray, while his carefully tamed waves had already lost the battle against the late summer London humidity, crinkling into tighter and tighter ringlets as the day wore on.
They were a striking picture, his darkness and her lightness like the negative and positive of a photograph.
"Wasn't aware we were getting dinner and a show," her husband said cheekily, breaking into the Black's bubble.
The pair looked up, startled, her upside down from where he had her in a dip. One hand was between her shoulder blades, the other had her low back, leaning over her with a carefree grin.
"Shit, Monday dinner," Sirius swore.
Quickly, they both straightened up, separating to an appropriate distance.
Lily couldn't shake the feeling that they had walked in on something, given their reaction, even if there was no evidence of anything otherwise. They had probably danced together like that as children.
"Glad we got here early, I had assumed with your busy day you had forgotten," Lily said breezily, entering the flat and setting down her bag on the coffee table, which clinked with the sound of wine bottles.
She avoided the woman's mercury-colored eyes, remembering the snobby Slytherin Ice Queen from their prefect rounds. Narcissa had never been rude to the muggle born, but she hadn't been warm.
"Rem is going to be late, I expect," James remarked, flinging himself onto the sofa, eyes darting to the blonde woman to see if she, like her younger cousin, had figured out their friend's secret.
"You lot dancing on your husband's reputational grave?" He quipped to the woman, as Sirius went into the kitchen, yanking open a drawer based on the sounds.
"The press doesn't know about this place, I can't even floo without a gaggle trying to take my photo or ask me about Paetina bloody Pointilleux," the pureblooded Lady said airily, moving to the sideboard and retrieving a tray of goblets.
Narcissa had the kind of easy grace that girls like Lily weren't bred to have: every step, every gesture carefully placed. But her smile was kind at Lily as she withdrew one of the bottles of white wine that the Potters had brought.
"Good vintage," she said surprised, conjuring an ice bucket to rest the bottle in. She made her way over to the sideboard, busying herself with making martinis.
"James isn't as ill-bred as you would think, Cis," Sirius said, striding back into the room and flopping into an armchair in front of the chilly fireplace.
"Yet someone with even as good breeding as you have made some questionable decisions," she snarked back, with a malice-less smile.
Sirius stuck his tongue out behind her back.
"Oh, I forgot to ask twist or olive?" she spoke to Lily with delicate politeness.
"Olive is fine, Narcissa," Lily answered, realizing she had never actually spoken to the girl, even though they had been in the Slug Club for six years together, and prefects for two. She looked around noticing the subtle changes to the flat, a new hallway, a different configuration of the expensive furniture. "Did you… move in?"
Narcissa laughed.
"Well, I did say I could barely move in Kensington without the Prophet writing something; The Family deemed it best that I be placed in the chaperonage of the Heir for the time being," James spit out his drink into the glass.
"Sirius? A chaperone?" he laughed. "He is the most unscrupulous wizard I know, I remember just two weeks ago he…"
Sirius shot him a glare to cut him off. His cousin did not need to know about his bit part as an experimental third for Dorcas and Marlene.
"Why do you need a chaperone anyways? You are a witch, are you not?" Lily felt a bit of nastiness curl within her, the archaic system by which wizarding society was run grated on her nerves.
"The… things I alleged in the court documents for my annulment would motivate men to do certain things," she said quietly, staring at her Malfoy ring. "I may be a witch, but for women of my standing, we are shuffled from our family's protection to our husband's keep throughout our lives. My honor is in Sirius's stewardship, for the time being."
She looked so flimsy, Lily thought, like a china doll you had just dropped. Narcissa took a deep breath and collected herself, turning to her cousin.
"Would you like me to go get the things from Bentley's?" she asked. His expression was vulnerably soft, gazing at her with imploring eyes of concern, silently requesting confirmation that she was alright.
"Do you even know how to pay for it?" he reached over tucking a stray coil behind her ear.
"I know you Rus; you'd have a tab," she smiled at him, leaning a bit into the brush of his hand against her cheek.
"Here, take this for tip," he reached into his wallet, pulling out a crisp 50-pound note. She looked at the paper uncertainly, yet took it regardless, tucking it into her small handbag as she walked out the door.
Sirius looked at the Potter couple.
"Lily, could you be a bit kinder to her?" he complained, draining his martini. "She's just torched her entire life."
"Calm down, Pads, you have to admit it's a bit of an adjustment—your cousin was a bit of a sanctimonious bitch at school," James looked taken aback by Sirius's growl. "Not to say, she's anything like that now!" he added, warily looking at his friend.
It took a second, but the fight seemed to drain out of his closest friend, falling back against the cushions.
"I'm just worried for her, she could use a friend—I doubt any of her old friends will be allowed to speak to her. Their husbands will think her spirit could be catching," he ran his hand over his hair. "Her only semblance of a life of her own shouldn't be spending time playing with her niece."
"I'll try—you could always bring her to the pub after Order meetings," Lily offered charitably. Sirius grinned gratefully at her.
"Anyways, enough dreary Pureblood drivel, how are Monty and Effie?" he asked brightly.
"Old," James said in a half joking, half not manner. Sirius looked puzzled.
"They want grandkids, Padfoot," he explained. His friend scrunched his face in confusion.
"Don't they know that there is a war going on?" he asked. The Potters weren't even 20 yet, it was insane by even pureblood standards for them to be having children right now (unless of course, you were one of those 'accidental' children, Bellatrix had been one—born while Cygnus was finishing his seventh year of school and a scant six month after Aunt Dru's graduation).
"Yeah, but they also want to live enough to see them—Dad always regretted that I didn't know mine," James sighed, knowing that he would be naming his son or daughter some kind of tribute his father's parents. Henry or Henrietta, in some stodgy variation.
Sirius smirked in solidarity with his best friend.
"Merlin, I'm just glad our parents haven't met—I negotiated with Dad to let me wait at least until my 21st before releasing Mum on Le Ton to acquire a bride for me," James and Sirius laughed, while Lily frowned.
"You're not going to seriously let your mum choose your partner, are you? I mean can she choose a man?" Sirius stared at her for a long minute before bursting into laughter.
"Oh Lily, you beautiful flaming idealist—marriage is a business," for all his heavy words, he was oddly light-hearted for someone who had been quite resistant to the yoke for so long. "I'll find my way to come out on top, I always do."
Lily narrowed her emerald eyes, wondering what exactly he was up to.
Sirius's cunning was vastly underestimated in light of his hot head, yet the former Head Girl was not above knowing how disruptive and destructive that combination could be.
"Just letting you know Sirius, the Maître's refuses to believe we are related!" Narcissa called letting herself into the flat, laden down with plastic bags. "Says you're a proper scoundrel."
She beamed with the joy of a poised hostess as Remus helped her with the bags, taking in the quintet that had filled her new home.
"She asked about you too, Mr. Lupin, wanted to know if you were still on the market since Sirius wasn't," the werewolf's eyes bugged out as he stammered a refusal.
"Good god, that woman is old enough to be my nan, curse her appetite," Sirius complained, setting out the dishes on the table. The girl toed off her shoes at the door and practically skipped across the room to the dining room table where her cousin was, a suggestion of black ink barely visible on the soles of her feet.
He bestowed a kiss onto her cheek as she hugged him in greeting, the pair clearly quite comfortable with each other, despite their long separation. Peter could not comprehend how no one else in the room was watching them—as jealous as he was of Sirius's charms with women, he could not deny that they made quite the picture with their similarly regal features wrought in dark and light.
"To be fair to her, both of you are quite handsome. Granny wanting to eat the wolf is only natural, I suspect," Remus stared at her twinkling mist grey eyes to see an expression he was so familiar with that he was startled by their resemblance.
Sirius let out a large guffaw.
"Does your entire bloody family know about me?" he complained to Sirius, who held up his hands in mock surrender. "All of Slytherin House?"
"Mr. Lupin-" Narcissa had a courteous way of speaking, but it was stilted, as if she expected someone to snarl at her any second.
"Remus," he corrected her.
"Remus, then, has Sirius told you of the Black superstition?" Sirius looked at her quizzically.
"Which one?" Remus snorted.
"Around names," she said. "I think my cousin's Animagus form is a minor attestation to it sometimes being valid."
"So, you divined I was a werewolf, based on my name alone? Are you a Seer, Miss…" Remus found himself at a loss for what to call her, Madam Malfoy would have been factually correct, Miss Black from school, Lady Black at her debut, and now…
"Just Narcissa, Remus," she waved her wand at the collection of boxes, allowing the food to unpackage itself and levitate to the appropriate plates. "And no, I'm not any kind of diviner, just someone who people believe doesn't think much. Future trophy wife and all."
Sirius narrowed his eyes at her, as she delicately took a seat at the opposite end of the table.
"Fess up, Cis, how much were you spying on us? You always did like to watch," he popped the bottle of wine open with an eyebrow quirked, as his friends sat down, watching them spar with interest.
It wasn't unusual for Sirius to make himself the center of attention, but it was interesting to see how his family seemed to tear away at the arrogance that he always held himself with.
(Peter tried to ignore Sirius's little dig. The prim Narcissa liked to watch what?)
She flushed. It was not unlike how he and James would neg on each other, or any of the Marauders, years of closeness eroding little that was a secret.
"Sixth year—Alice and my NEWT Herbology project was studying the Willow," Lily had forgotten that the Black Ice Queen hadn't been totally unfriendly to people, more so isolated than aloof. The cheerful Hufflepuff and the buttoned-up Slytherin had spent most of their time out in the Greenhouses. "Andy had remarked on your scars when she was Madam Pomphrey's intern and well… Sirius, you don't swim."
"Huh?" Remus frowned at his ex. A faint blush had spread across Sirius's high cheekbones.
"And you were never an early riser, seriously who wants to study a bloody tree at 7 in the bloody morning," Sirius blustered.
"Nor are you, which is why you tried to lure me to the Lake to join you for your "sunrise swim" so I wouldn't see those three coming out of the base of the Willow," the Marauders' mouths fell open as she took a delicate bite of the lemon caper ver blanc Dover sole.
She primly dabbed her mouth with the linen napkin and sent an amused smile at Lily.
"They really believed themselves invincible, didn't they?" she asked her in a companionable manner. "Sirius may have successfully enticed me away that month, but the Lake was too bloody cold for him to have taken up a new habit. So, I simply waited and saw, sure enough, the next full moon, there you lot were."
James laughed for some odd reason.
"Good god, Snivellus had to be fucking stupid if your cousin and your brother figured it out on their own," he remarked, digging into his dinner.
"Or, Sirius is a horrible liar, how come you never told us that charming story?" Remus's soft mint eyes look inquisitively at his friend, boring into his soul.
His cousin answered for him.
"Because, fifth year Sirius was, for lack of a better work, a bit of an idiot with a hell of an ego," she ignored the pleading expression on her cousin's face for her to be silent. "Oh Sirius, you'd prefer to tell them how someone decided to prank you by vanishing your clothes?"
('Prove it, Sirius, are you really taking up sunrise ice baths?' she practically dragged him to the shores of the Black Lake, the sun cresting the Highlands.
'Didn't you ever listen to Great-Grandmother Violetta? Helps our lovely Black marble!' she pretended not to notice how his shirt's buttons were misaligned, that he had seemed to have grown into the body of a man, filling out his 6'2" frame. Sirius was the handsomest boy in his year, some believed at Hogwarts.
Narcissa shouldn't have been in that number, but it was impossible to deny.
He gave her that familiar cheeky grin as he rid himself of his trousers. She didn't avert her eyes, all the Black cousins had skinny dipped together in the woods around Mansion Noire and Castle Black as children.
'Coming, Cis?' he took her slack-jawed, wide doe eyes in stride, wicked smirk on his face. She shook her trails of Renaissance painting curls before mirroring his own leer back at him.
'I don't think I will,' she brought her wand coyly to her lips, flicking it at the pile of his discarded clothes.
It was his turn to drop his jaw, losing his grip on the muddy bottom of the lake. He dunked himself and came up sputtering water, shaking his soaked sable waves out of his eyes to watch her flee, mad with laughter.)
Sirius's face was red even as Narcissa sniggered into the chardonnay, clearly thinking of the same memory that they withheld from their guests.
Normally, secrets were exclusionary, but how all the Blacks seemed to possess a secret world between them was a trait that Lily found it endearing, a bit how her and Petunia had used to tease each other, before Hogwarts.
"They were morons of the first degree until at least their 7th year," Remus added nicely. Lily raised an eyebrow.
"All of you still are idiots half the time," she corrected them with a light laugh, taking a bite of one of the crab cakes on her plate. As everything that Sirius served it was decadent and delicious.
"To the idiots," Narcissa saluted her with the glass of white wine.
"Speaking of idiocy, Sirius, did the redecoration get rid of Elvira?" James butted in.
"Who is Elvira?" Narcissa wrinkled her aristocratic nose.
"What is Elvira," Lupin corrected her. "I suppose Sirius hasn't acquainted you with his lovely motorbike yet, but then again you are his cousin. He only really uses it as wooing tactic."
Remus could not deny that he felt a bit of relief that his best friend (and ex) had not been hiding some clandestine, incestuous affair from him all these years. Sirius, after all, was a Black—their lewd consanguinity was topics of wizarding and muggle legend.
"Oi! I drive it too, sometimes I feel like going muggle," Sirius protested, before realizing his mistake. Narcissa was grinning at him from across the table, all too feline in how she looked as though she had caught a canary.
"Oh Sirius, those permanent sticking charms on your posters have vexed your mum for years," she drawled, swirling the white wine in her glass in one hand as she rested her chin on the other.
"Look what you did Prongs! Do you know how much I'm going to have to spend to buy her silence?" he complained to his friend.
James only laughed.
"I believe the term you used to use was Black's mail since you lot had such a love for it," the stag animagus answered.
"Talent and love are two different things," Sirius did not enjoy losing battles, sulking into his dinner.
TUESDAY, AUGUST 14, 1979
Andromeda could not thank herself enough for having the foresight to do birthday tea with Ted's parents. Being polite to a muggleborn was likely more than her grandfather could bear.
"Now, Nymphadora, darling, could you please put on these shoes? Your great grandmother won't like you walking around her house like a heathen," she negotiated with her child. She could imagine that comments already, concerning blood and breeding.
Her husband crept behind her.
"You have no reason to be nervous 'Dromeda," Ted delicately pressed his lips to the notches of her spine. "Even if they hate me, they love you and adore Dora."
The aristocratic woman bit back a moan, her head lolling back as her husband peppered kisses along the column of her elegant neck.
"Ted, we are going to be late," she feebly protested.
"We can't have that," he chuckled, pulling away from her, which caused to involuntarily let out a whimper at the loss of contact and exited the room.
Andromeda could hear him helping their daughter with her shoes, using a funny voice to encourage the stubborn six-year-old's compliance. She looked at herself in the mirror, collecting herself for a second.
Steel reflected back in her eyes; her outfit was an impeccably stylish black crepe dress, her mane of curls properly tamed into an updo, her makeup well-applied while understated.
She looked like a proper Black.
Mansion Noire was a stately, yet intimidating home in Cheshire, while it paled in comparison to the grandeur and majesty of Castle Black, the family's ancestral seat.
Pollux and Irma had always lived in the grand estate house, greatly preferring the country to the bombings and smog ridden air of London proper. Nymphadora was the first child in generations from the cadet branch to not be born in the manor.
That seemed to be of little consequence, as the child sat between her great grandmother and younger Uncle as they worked on the magical puzzle box Regulus had presented her, fresh off the Portkey from Germany.
Her grandfather and father had spent the night circling her husband, asking various questions to test that his legal degree was genuine. A Gryffindor would have perceived it as malicious, but Andromeda had known it was the old Black men's way to attempting to welcome Ted into the family.
Arcturus was speaking in low tones with his son by the fire. Sirius, for once, was absent from the conversation of the men in succession. Instead, he had been dragged to sit in the ladies' circle beside his mother, trapped in an earnest conversation about the upcoming St. Mungo's Charity Ball.
"Andromeda, I think we should have you sit at our table to get a nice round number, since Regulus is going to be sitting with the team," Druella remarked.
"Bella's going to curse her in the middle of the ballroom if you do that," Sirius said, taking a hefty long drink of his scotch.
His mother shot him a look.
"Bellatrix Cassiopeia will restrain herself—we are set to have tea with her next week," Walburga decreed. "She may be part of that dreadful group, but I will be impressing onto her the need for proper behavior."
Oddly, Narcissa snorted.
"You honestly think you'll get her to submit so that I can find a good match?" the lady-like young woman said.
"Bella responds well to threats, I doubt she'll want a trip to a fertility clinic in the Swiss Alps," Druella Rosier Black smiled into her coffee.
"Mother! She's dangerous, you shouldn't blackmail her," her middle daughter protested, as good of an idea that her mother's was.
"She is my child," her mother retorted. "And besides, she wouldn't do something untoward in the Jarvey."
Narcissa, Sirius, and Andromeda shared an eyeroll. Their mothers were still blissfully naïve, or forgetful—Bellatrix's tantrums had not improved with age.
"Bellatrix is not the only person who will need to be on their best behavior for the ball," Walburga Black sent a well-meaning look at her son, who brooded resentfully at the prospect of the gala. "Narcissa, have you chosen a gown yet?"
"No Auntie, I was going to go shopping this week," she answered dutifully.
"Take Sirius with you when you do and make sure he gets something tasteful for the Mungo's and the Malfoy Ball; he'll be escorting you so ensure it matches your gowns," she ordered.
Sirius's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"What? We are not still going to that, are we?" he asked. "I thought we'd be disinvited for sure."
"One cannot rescind an invitation once it has been extended," Andromeda lectured him.
"But why the hell would we want to go? After what that ponce did to Cis?" he complained, looking at the woman he spoke of to see if he was correct. To his surprise, she did not look stricken at the prospect of attending, instead she looked rather conniving.
"Oh, but it would be such an entrance, Rus!" she drawled. Her smile faded at his serious expression, adopting a somber one of her own. "Blacks don't run from things, Sirius."
Well, some Blacks he thought, observing the gathering family around him. He could scarcely believe that his grandfather was making polite conversation with a muggleborn or that Nymphadora was being spoiled rotten, Regulus slipping her bits of Turkish Delight from the crystal dish beside their grandmother. Druella running her hands through her returned daughter's hair, or the particular way Narcissa's eyes turned silver in the firelight when she looked at him imploringly.
Blacks didn't live with regrets either. Oh yes, they lived inside a rigid set of requirements, wrathfully exacting revenge where required for stepping out of bounds of The Family. It was that blasted idea, The Family, that he thought hadn't infected him.
Nevertheless, watching his brother, his cousins, his little niece, he knew that, like all Blacks, he'd never trust others quite as much as those with his blood. It was in his bones, the allure of the convivial secrecy, the armor at his back.
Sirius had fought for long against the worst parts of himself, the ones tucked deep down in his Gryffindor exterior. He did his best to disguise them when he walked amongst his friends, nestled safely within the white aura of their innate 'goodness.'
But, where had goodness got him? Where had denying himself this kind of unadulterated acceptance gotten him? It wasn't as though the world could see him for anything else than what he was—Black.
And the only people who could understand that feeling, could understand him, were those who bore the same burden.
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 15, 1979
"How did the hearing go?" Regulus Black inquired as the trio of residents of 13 Montagu Square dug into the lobster salad Kreacher had prepared for them.
"Dull, but Uncle Iggy's unsealing of the docs was a sight!" Narcissa giggled gleefully. "Avery tried to get some of them stricken from evidence, saying that they were indecent and damaging to the young ladies' reputations, and I swear you could hear him say 'Fuck Off!' all the way in the Atrium!"
"Tell him how your ex-husband-to-be attended the hearing," Sirius asked of her through a mouthful of lettuce.
"Sweet Circe, I hope they print the Prophet in color tomorrow so you can admire the magnificent shade of puce he turned every time someone said 'impotent,'" she had this animated lightness about her that infected the entire room.
"Is he going to press for proof?" Regulus questioned his brother.
"He might—but, he won't like what we have in mind as the petitioners," Sirius bared his teeth in an animal's rendition of a smile, his canines as sharp as his animagus's. "A coven of crones examining his prick? Yeah, he's going to fold."
The Black brothers grinned evilly, as Narcissa looked flustered at the unsuitable dinner conversation
"Enough about that dreadful affair, how has practice been Reggie?" Narcissa diverted the topic.
"Not too difficult, I'd say the social events are more so a drain than the practices itself," Regulus was more introverted than his brother and cousin, part of the reason why he and Andromeda had got on so well.
"Stop, you know that it's part of the fun—met any nice witches, yet?" Sirius sniggered with a twinkle in his eye.
Regulus rolled his eyes at his brother, the rake.
"I'll have plenty of time for that at our first exhibition match—I expect one of us will be hosting an after party of sorts at one of country estates," he answered, knowing the three vacant manor homes were eagerly waiting hosting privileges as the fall hunts and polo matches came.
"God, it will be so nice to see you play in England," Narcissa remarked. "Where is it you're off to again?"
"Avignon, tomorrow morning," he answered. "How about you two, any plans while I'm deep in enemy lines?"
Like all Englishmen, Regulus possessed a passing loathing to the French, even though he spoke the language impeccably.
"Oh goodness, I almost forgot to send that note to Alice, I'll be right back," Narcissa jumped up and hurried out of the room. The brothers watched her hurry off, pale pink gown again, spelled far too short to be acceptable by wizarding standards.
Sirius returned his eyes to his plate. Regulus had fixed his brother with his honey brown eyes, a peculiar expression on his face.
"What?" Sirius put down his fork, waiting for some snarky quip about his manners.
"Are you enjoying the role as chaperone, dear brother?" the polo player joked. "A dog at her beck and call?"
"It's better than trailing after Father and hearing Lord So-and-So brag about his prize crups or his docile and pliant fifth year daughter," the heir snapped.
"How was Parliament today?" Sirius knew when his brother was fishing.
"If you're asking if any Death Eaters were asking after you, no, the combination of me rejoining the Family as Heir and Cis's scandal have giving polite society enough sparkly objects to be distracted with," it was rare that Sirius disliked being the center of attention, yet he seemed to chafe at its utility.
"You both always did like to put on a show," the elder picked up a spot of resentment for the golden children in his brother's voice.
He examined the surly Baron, his sooty curls were wild from a day of riding, his polo and breeches stained with dirt. His features always looked younger than they were, giving his plate a scowl.
Sirius wisely decided to change the subject.
"Did you overhear Dad and Grandfather last night?" Regulus looked up, surprised his brother hadn't escaped their mother's clutches eavesdrop.
"Yes, I wasn't playing with the child all night," Sirius folded his hands on the table in anticipation for further details.
"That… thing, the locket—Salazar's chamber was opened while Father was still in school, in Aunt Lucretia's final year," Regulus informed him quietly. "They have going through the student rolls, trying to place all the Slytherins today."
"Why?" asked Sirius.
"Lord Voldemort is an alias—and that locket is an heirloom of Slytherin's—ergo, the Dark Lord is likely someone who attended Hogwarts, but has since disappeared from our world," Regulus relayed the quote he had overheard his father saying the previous night.
"And they're fairly certain two of the others are with Bella and Malfoy?" Sirius was thinking quickly now, slotting in that if indeed the Chamber had been open back then, it meant…
"Reg, Dumbledore was already a Transfiguration Professor by then, right?" the younger son had liked sitting in front of Phineas Nigellus's portrait on the history of magical education.
"Yes, why?" Regulus's eyes narrowed, his face mimicking the shrewd expression on his brother's.
"I bet he's known who the bloody Dark Lord really is this whole time, I mean our teachers recognize our magic best, right?" the pair smirked at each other.
"You would know, how many times did Professor McGonagall give you detention instead of James?" Sirius scowled with good nature.
He would present this spark of a revelation to his father tomorrow—the idea percolating in his head that, perhaps, Dumbledore had allowed the terrorist known as Lord Voldemort to be shrouded in unknown and fear by design becoming increasingly likely to him as logic began to take precedence over loyalty in Sirius's mind.
THURSDAY, AUGUST 16, 1979
Alice Longbottom hadn't been surprised to receive a thick cream card, asking her for tea and shopping in Muggle London, in the strong, beautiful penmanship of her old friend.
Monday, upon reading about the former Lady Black's pending annulment in the Prophet (Frank had been startled awake by her and Augusta's loud jabbering), she had sent a sympathy card—as well-bred Pureblood ladies did, after all, she was born an Abbott.
She had been surprised that her old friend had asked her husband to join them. Alice had jested in her acceptance that they planned to drain the men's vaults.
"Pardon me, we are here to meet the Blacks? Tall, dark-haired man?" Frank Longbottom asked the host at The Langham's Palm Court. The pair of aurors had the afternoon off, yet had taken the luxury of the walk from Whitehall to the hotel in Marylebone.
"Ah yes, you must be the Earl and Countess Longbottom, the Viscount and his wife are seated by the window," the man enunciated their titles with the kind of snobbery the Jarvey or the Ibis usually boasted.
Sirius Black had seemed to shed some of his James Dean impression attire, exchanging the motorcycle jacket for a tailored white Oxford with his initials embroidered on the breast, although he had kept the leather trousers that leant to his signature devil may care attitude.
"Hey SOB," his cousin smirked down at the scion of House Black, who turned away from the thrall of the blonde woman, his easy smile turning into a scowl at the old nickname.
"Francis," Sirius snarkily greeted him, jumping up to take Alice's proffered hand, kissing the air above it. "My Lady Alice, how do you put up with this insufferable scoundrel?"
His wife giggled as Frank sank down into his seat grumpily.
"I expect the same way, this charming woman puts you with you—tell me did we miss an invitation, wife of the Viscount Black?" she joked to Narcissa as she sat, a waiter appearing the seat she had brushed her skirts under herself, filling her glass with Dom.
The pair of cousins blushed.
"Going back to Black means the inference, the ink isn't even dry yet on my annulment filing!" Narcissa protested, selecting a cucumber sandwich from the tea tray.
"And that rock still on your finger!" Alice added. "But please tell me you'll let us throw you a party when it's final—there is the most charming attaché from Western Germany that you must meet!"
"You know our family, Al, carefully choreographed socials in Sacred Society will be the only wizards on Cis's calendar," Sirius said crossly.
"Oh? Is this sanctioned?" The heir to Northumbria raised his eyebrows.
The lady let out a very unbecoming snort into her tea.
"No, Sirius is encouraging me to live a little in the muggle world," she said with a light chuckle. "The Prophet hasn't spotted me yet and I've picked Nymphadora up from dance half the days this week."
Frank paused at his teacup. Interesting, the Blacks were allowing Andromeda to socialize with them again.
"You used to be so good, Cissa, I'm surprised you aren't teaching her," Alice complimented her, indulging in a generous portion of the clotted cream.
"The aide did mention that they were looking for aides during the school year," Narcissa said thoughtfully. "What do you think Rus, will Mum have a cow if I say I want to work?"
The Viscount Westerna cast her an all-knowing glance. It was an open secret that Narcissa's mother had a favorite child.
"It's Aunt Dru, she had hysterics before over how you pinned up your hair," he turned to the Longbottoms. "Seriously, Lis, please modernize her."
"It's perfectly respectable for pureblood ladies to work now," Alice answered. Her friend's expression didn't change. Alice rolled her eyes. "I know, I know, until we have children, don't remind me Frank's mum does so enough."
"Bloody hell, James said the same thing about his folks!" Sirius exclaimed. "Does anyone know that there is a bloody war going on?"
"Wars happen every day, Sirius," Frank sagely said. "Gives people a reason to fight, to give their children a better world."
"I suppose you're right, but I will not be changing any diapers anytime soon," Sirius vowed.
"Really?" Frank Longbottom had one of those bushy eyebrows cocked in such a Black expression that Sirius instinctively braced himself. "Well, my mother says your mother is saying betting starts at the 21st birthday of one Sirius Orion Black."
"Oh fuck offff," he groaned into his scone.
"Besides, I guarantee Lily Potter will wrangle you into diapers if she manages to give the Potions Empire an heir," Alice vowed. "And trust me, I believe I can make you as well."
She shared a small secretive smile with Narcissa.
"Traitor," Sirius bite out, spraying crumbs onto the fine table. She lifted her penciled-in eyebrows innocently over the gold rim of the lovely blue teacup.
"Come off it, Sirius, we all have to grow up some time," Frank said jovially, motioning to the waiter to bring another bottle.
"Lord Bernicia, you have the Black match-making gene," Sirius said accusatorily.
"At least I haven't been cursed with some of the others," the pair of cousins dropped their jaws to protest their family's genetics weren't totally hopeless.
Albus Dumbledore hadn't been this worried in a while. Families like the Blacks didn't make noise like this unless.. well not unless anything.
Breeding, pride, and tradition kept them from wanting to move quickly, viciously, borderline recklessly.
"Phineas, has the family ever had such a busy week?" the Headmaster asked the portrait of his predecessor, pouring over the magazines and newspapers, news about the growing Death Eater threat pushed aside for salacious succession gossip, sports stars, and a good old-fashioned sex scandal.
The Thursday Prophet had gotten the unsealed photos of the multiple mistresses of the young Malfoy. Witch Weekly was running with the infertility rumors about the heir to the family name, advertising their genealogist was deriving potential claimants to the title (and Malfoy millions).
The portrait snorted.
"They are Blacks, just because they don't make a fuss doesn't mean they don't possess the dramatics to cause one," he sniffed.
"It doesn't make sense," Dumbledore said to himself. At first, it had seemed a commitment to the Dark side, a cord viciously tied around Sirius's neck. But, the matter of young Regulus was curious, he had thought the younger Black had joined the Death Eaters. Yet, a servant of the Dark Lord would not be permitted to be in the spotlight, as the Slytherin was—it was almost as though the family was ensuring that kind quiet disappearances attributed to the Lord Voldemort couldn't happen.
And then there was the whole business with the annulment. The Chief Warlock had learned long ago that adulterous affairs were reluctantly accepted by the wives of Pureblooded society, usually staying for the sake of the martial alliance or their children.
However, the ferocity with which the Blacks were cutting off their alliance with the known Inner Circle member worried Albus.
He hadn't remembered anything particularly extraordinary about the youngest Black girl—he had her school records in front of him to prove she hadn't elicited the same gushing words over her talents as her elder sisters.
She had taken the average number of NEWTS: Herbology, Arithmancy, Astronomy, Charms, Transfiguration. She had been recommended for W.A.D.A (the Wizarding Academy for the Dramatic Arts) by Professor Beery, the Herbology Professor, yet declined due to her nuptials. Notes of excellent performance as a Prefect by Professor Slughorn, a few infractions and detentions for retaliatory pranks against her cousin stained an otherwise spotless record.
Nothing about the girl indicated she would be a rebel; there was nothing to suggest she was anything more than she appeared to be—a proper Pureblooded lady.
Then again, so had a young Andromeda Black, jilting her proper fiancé for a muggleborn. So had Sirius every step of his school career, looking every inch the pureblooded scion but acting as if he wanted to burn the whole system down.
"Confused?" the portrait of the cousins' great-great-grandfather quipped, noticing how Albus was staring at yesterday's Prophet.
The Viscountess Malfoy had wrapped herself in black silks, tucked her blonde hair into a black snood studded with pearls, and looked remarkably fragile next to her indefatigable Grandfather and sharp-toothed father. It was a ploy, Albus could see, from the way she lips quirked in a positively criminal smirk as she met the eyes of her cousin.
Sirius, his father, and grandfather had been seated together in the Black seats (looking like the three stages of life, how similar their features and carriages were), the latter two dress in purple and white cassock style robes. Their faces portrayed nothing, while their youngest wore red and a grin that would have belonged in a fairy tale about in a girl in the same color.
He looked more like animal than man, yet his expression failed to clue Albus into what the family's motivations could be. Sirius was a man with the dogs of war baying inside of him, howling to be released.
Albus looked through his half-moon spectacles with distinct irritation. The painting laughed.
"The Black Mask is rather effective," he commented, leaning over the canvas. "You're never going to figure out what they're up to—until one tells you… or the rest of the world finds out."
And that was exactly what made the old Professor so afraid.
Notes:
Brian Cox is Uncle Ignatius. Duh, Succession is one of the more recent entries into the Big, Screwed-Up Family trop so of course his signature 'Fuck Off!' gets some screen time.
One of the biggest questions any pureblood fic always had to deal with is canon Blackcest—particularly how in the books, Harry refers to pretty much every family member as a smokeshow. Essentially, it leaves some movement within magical canon to figure out how the inbreeding of the Gaunts failed their line, while the Blacks are powerful, hot, and rich.
If anyone caught some of the historical references I'm *littering*… yeah, the Family is a big deal to all the characters; I think Sirius adopted the idea of the Marauders into his conception *of* family. Notice, he's still a rebel, but in this story, I think Regulus nearly dying spurred some pretty big character development in him—making him want to protect his family. Henry V vibes if you will. There is something intimate about family secrets, something that makes the Blacks so insular. If you can't trust your kin, who can you trust?
I wanted to play with how Sirius had in canon, some… less than grey methods for carrying out justice. He's not unambitious, he's maybe the most ambitious of them all, as he's trying to bend everyone's will to his own. From equal rights to allowing more rights to women, he's *trying* to force a change that would take generations otherwise.
Also, definitely working in a bit more of real history, (see if you can spot the Easter Eggs!) I chose Aerial Polo for a reason :)
No one yell at me about the leather pants. I *may* have read the Draco Trilogy when it was literally still a fanfic, but this trope is hot and so is Sirius Black. Plus, it's the 70's AND I've watched enough historical dramas to rule that European 14th-19th century period piece attire is doublets and leather pants.
Literally, I will never get over Dumbledore totally let Riddle rise unchecked as a narrative device for his own Light .v. Dark dichotomy.
I know that in fanon Regulus and Narcissa are usually more friendly/paired up, but I feel like their personalities are very different. Obviously both stayed and chose duty over their older siblings, but the whole extrovert/introvert things make me think their personalities are different.
Also. Alice. Good god I love her and feel like people rarely write her! Like a badass auror, Pureblood lady, and Mum in CANON! (I know people fanon her as a Fortescue, but I wanted her to be S28 to be friends with Cissa in school.)
But like come on Alice and Lily had to be friends because in CANON, a baby born at the end of July was conceived around Halloween. So yes, I'm writing a big Order Halloween party into this ;)
Thank you all for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks! Seriously, this is spurring me on, let me know what you think and if you lot have any head canons of your own :)