Best Laid Plans

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or Pride and Prejudice. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Part One: The Defence Association

Chapter Five:

Emilyn and Sirius had never believed that Voldemort was killed the night he'd murdered Frank and Alice Longbottom. A (dead) body doesn't simply disappear into thin air, and neither does a toddler have the power to defeat a fully grown, trained wizard.

In that vein - and in the aftermath of Neville's confrontations with Voldemort in the summers of 1992 and 1993, Helena has been training in Magical Combat since she was thirteen years old. She's by no means an expert, but she's gotten to a point where she can at least hold her own against multiple opponents for a reasonable amount of time. She is, however, hampered by her inability to cast wordlessly, her tendency to focus all of her attention on her opponents at the expense of everything else around her, and of course, her lack of real-world experience.

In the face of these things, Dora wipes the floor with her, though Helena hadn't expected anything else. The spar was fun though - not to mention educational - and Helena is in high spirits as the pair of them enjoy a continental breakfast in Blackthorn Park's informal dining room. They chat over their meal, about Dora's job and Helena's studies, about their respective impressions of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Sirius is very critical."

"Sirius doesn't care for all the cloak and dagger," Dora explains, "He'd prefer to be fighting Death Eaters with wand and sword, but instead, he's stuck making backroom deals with the old codgers on the Wizengamot. Also, he hates having to work with Snape."

Helena pulls a face. "Who can blame him?"

Professor Snape is the Head of Slytherin House, and also the Head of the Potions Faculty at Hogwarts. He only teaches N.E.W.T level classes, but he goes out of his way to terrorise the lower level students, and Helena's grown to dislike him - and his caustic tongue - immensely.

Dora nods her emphatic agreement. "I forgot how much I hated him. N.E.W.T Potions was a nightmare!"

Helena huffs a mirthless laugh. "Something I have to look forward to."

Dora shrugs. She survived N.E.W.T level Potions with Snape - it's an Auror Academy prerequisite - and she has no sympathy. "You'll live."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"That's what I'm here for."

Dora winks theatrically, Helena laughs, and their conversation drifts. They reminisce over childhood misadventures, tell stories over fresh fruit and pastries and tea, agree to (try) make their morning session a weekly event until Helena returns to school. Eventually, though, Helena has somewhere else to be, Dora has her own plans, and so they refresh themselves upstairs, meet up once more in Blackthorn Park's receiving room, and part ways at the floo.

"I'll see you later," Dora bids.

"See you," Helena agrees.

Her (second) cousin steps into the floo network - headed for the home she shares with her mother - and Helena follows soon thereafter, headed for St Mungo's. She has her own mother (and father) to visit, and after an uneventful trip through the Floo Network, Helena intends to do just that.

Before she can, she is diverted by Sirius' presence in the St Mungo's lobby. He's dressed smartly, in trousers and an Oxford shirt, a lightweight robe slung over an arm. He wears his customary dragon hide combat boots though, his long hair left loose to drape over his shoulders, and as Helena has come to expect every time she goes out with her godfather in public, his presence demands attention without effort.

"What are you doing here?" She greets him, baffled. In recent years, Sirius' visits to her parents have been severely curtailed by work and home and life, so his presence is unexpected.

"I thought, while you're here, we could speak with Healer Pendleton about moving James and Lily."

"Oh."

"Oh?" Sirius echoes, an eyebrow arched in question, "Do you not want to move them anymore?"

"I do. I'm just surprised. I thought you and Emilyn would think about it for a while yet."

"It's a good idea, Hallie," Sirius says, "Godric knows Voldemort has no respect for neutral territory. Might as well move them while there's still time."

"I suppose we ought to go find Healer Pendleton, then."

They make their way to the longterm care ward, Helena's hand tucked into the crook of Sirius' arm. He asks about her morning with Nymphadora, particularly interested in their spar, and their conversation - mostly about ways Helena might improve - is only diverted as they encounter Healer Pendleton, headed for the elevators they've just exited.

"Healer Pendleton."

"Lord Blackthorn," Healer Pendleton acknowledges, "Lady Clayton."

"Do you have a few minutes?" Sirius asks, once pleasantries are exchanged, "I wanted to speak with you about the Peverells' care."

Healer Pendleton frowns - perhaps concerned that Sirius is about to express their dissatisfaction with St Mungo's, perhaps irritated by the disruption to his plans, perhaps a combination of both - but regardless, he nods his acquiescence, and replies, "Of course. Right this way."

Healer Pendleton gestures them into an empty examination room, Helena follows Sirius inside, and they each settle in for a discussion about her parents. Sirius and Healer Pendleton do all the talking - about whether or not a transfer into in-home care is feasible, how her parents would take the transition, the logistics involved in such an endeavour - but Helena listens attentively, and by the time they part ways, there is a basic plan in place, and Helena's a little dazed by the rapidity of it all.

"That was quick."

Sirius offers her a sideways glance. "Say that again when we're elbows deep in interviews for a couple of suitable carers."

"We?"

"We," Sirius confirms, "You're old enough to have a say in your parents' care. Especially since they'll be living in one of your family's houses."

Helena nods, uncertain. She's not sure she trusts her judgement nearly as much as Sirius seems to, but she's not about to inform her godfather that she doesn't feel nearly old enough for that kind of responsibility, either.

Even with the knowledge that her parents' care will one day be Helena's responsibility alone, she's not sure she'll ever feel old enough for it.

"I've already visited," Sirius informs Helena, seeming drained by the experience. He still harbours a lot of guilt, and regret, and bitterness for the way things had turned out. "So I'll leave you alone to spend some time with them."

They slow to a stop outside her parents' private room, and she drops her hand from her godfather's arm. The corridor is empty, but Helena can hear Gildiroy Lockhart further down the wing, chattering in his way.

"Thanks," she says.

Sirius smiles, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I expect you home right after, all right? No lallygagging."

"No lallygagging," Helena agrees. She reaches for the door handle, "I'd best head inside. Before visiting hours are over."

Sirius nods and makes his way to the exit, and Helena slips into her parents' hospital room, oddly weary. Her parents offer her their usual, vacant smiles, Helena returns it with a halfhearted smile of her own, and she notes, quickly, that the curtains are already open. The animal statuettes are arrayed in a row on her father's bedside table, there's a new bouquet of flowers on her mother's, and both of them are calm.

Helena - as she blinks away inexplicable, emotional tears - cannot say the same for herself. She attempts a smile, James and Lily return the effort with vacant, uncomprehending smiles of their own, and Helena's heart hurts.

It seems it's going to be one of those days.

-!- -#-

Author's Note: Past midnight, and I'm writing cover letters after a gruelling day of moving house. At least semester is over.

Just wanted to thank everyone for their support and best wishes. I really appreciate it, particularly in these crazy times. Hope you're all hanging in there, wherever you may be. Take care of yourselves and your loved ones, and until next time, -t.