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 Six:

Helena's birthday is heralded by the sound of enchanted trumpets, with a shower of confetti, with Leo and Phoenix piled onto her bed for early morning birthday wishes (and begrudging birthday hugs).

As the boys grumble about how they're too old for cuddles, Carina makes herself comfortable on Helena's lap, presses a sloppy kiss to Helena's mouth, and sits back to applaud her own brilliance.

It's utterly endearing.

"You're carrying her downstairs," Nix informs Helena, "She's heavy."

Helena is alarmed, and her reach for Carina is entirely reflexive. "Did you come up here alone?"

Leo sighs, long-suffering. "No. Bill came up with us."

"Merlin, don't scare me like that!"

A couple of days ago, a grandfather clock spontaneously decided to launch nuts and bolts at Remus. They were silver, he'd only managed to avoid them by the grace of his lycanthropic reflexes, and they'd possessed enough force to embed themselves into the wall directly behind Remus' head.

Helena had been in conversation with him at the time, had been - and remains - horrified about the attempted murder, and had been extremely wary of the house ever since.

It could be argued that Leo, Phoenix, and Carina - as pureblood scions of the Ancient and Noble House of Blackthorn - are safe from any curses Grimmauld Place has to offer, but no one is willing to chance it. Sirius, in particular, is convinced that Walburga put in safeguards to 'protect' the house from her eldest son - he's certainly been confronted with his fair share of violent, often lethal, curses since their arrival - and no one wants to find out if those (probable) safeguards extend to attacks upon his children, as well.

Whatever the case, the whole thing has left Helena's nerves shot to pieces, and she's convinced she'll be a blubbering wreck by the time she has to board the Hogwarts Express once again.

"Sorry," Phoenix says, sheepish.

Helena flicks him on the forehead, and he scowls, disgruntled. "It's fine. Now, let me up. I'll just grab my dressing gown and we can go. What's for breakfast?"

"Crepes, obviously," Leo replies, "Your favourite."

Helena takes a moment to freshen up in her attached bathroom, but it's not long before she's donned her dressing gown, before she has Carina in her arms, before Leo and Phoenix are hurrying her along the dimly lit hallways of Grimmauld Place. They chatter all the while, about breakfast and presents and birthday plans, and despite the dread Helena feels for yet another - surely unendurable - high tea with Great-Grandfather Pollux, Great-Grandmother Irma, and Great Great Aunt Cassiopeia, her foster siblings' unfettered enthusiasm is contagious.

"Happy Birthday, Hallie," Remus greets her first, with a warm, familiar hug, with a kiss to her crown, with a sincere, earnest smile.

"Thanks, Uncle," Helena acknowledges. She leans into his embrace, breathes in the scent of him - old books, cocoa, pine - and knows without asking that her former tutor can't stay. It's a weekday, he's taken on a temporary job for the Summer - to keep himself busy, more than anything - and Remus Lupin is nothing if not dutiful.

"I have to go, but I hope you have a lovely day."

"I'll do my best."

"I expect to hear all about it."

"Don't worry; You will."

Remus smiles. "In that case, I look forward to it."

Remus continues on his way, and Helena runs the gauntlet of birthday wishes from everyone else gathered. Sirius draws her into a bear hug, marvels over the passage of time, laments his own ageing state. He offers her his best wishes - for her birthday, for the year ahead, for life in general - before she's passed on to Emilyn, who is as snap happy as she ever is, determined to capture Helena's - and her own children's - every milestone, for posterity.

The photos had begun as a way of recording Helena's life - for the unlikely event of her parents' recovery - but it had evolved into a full-blown hobby - including scrapbooks - and these days, it's easy to forget Emilyn's initial motivations.

Helena wonders if that makes her a terrible daughter.

"Breakfast first," Sirius reminds her, "Then presents."

Helena doesn't roll her eyes, but it's a near thing. "I remember."

As indicated by Leo, Helena's breakfast consists of crepes, accompanied by fresh fruit and whipped cream and an enormous glass of orange juice. In light of the criticism she'll inevitably receive from Great-Grandmother Irma - about her weight, her diet, about anything and everything under the sun - Helena, determined to be contrary, savours it.

"I didn't realise you and Neville were born on the same day," Hermione addresses her.

"Their mothers shared a hospital room," Sirius replies, expression reminiscent, "Neville was born first. Frank and James started joking about betrothal contracts almost as soon as Helena came out. Augusta supported the idea, but Lily nearly punched their lights out."

"They used to have joint birthday parties," Emilyn contributes, "But things change."

"We're still friends," Helena defends.

"I know, and there's nothing wrong with change. You have different friends now, and different interests, and it's simply that a shared birthday doesn't make as much sense as it used to."

They have different and simultaneously similar priorities, responsibilities, and expectations, too, but Emilyn doesn't mention those. Rather, she clears away Helena's empty plate with a deft flick of her wand, summons the pile of Helena's presents with another, and settles them all in front of the newly-minted 15 year old.

"Happy Birthday, darling," Emilyn says, "I hope you like your gifts."

"Thanks, Emma," Helena replies, "I'm sure I will."

Ron, Ginny, and Hermione have gone in together for a hamper of sweets, Fred and George for a box of joke products they've developed themselves. Aunt Andromeda - who is, in actuality, her cousin (once removed) - gifts her with a set of eagle feather quills, and Dora with a lovely new, midnight blue satchel, filled with cheap paperback novels (of the tawdry romance variety). They're Helena's guilty pleasure.

Great-Grandfather Pollux gifts her with a set of delicate, white gold hair combs that double as throwing knives, Great-Grandmother Irma with a small (mercifully blood-locked) chest full of poisons in tiny, unlabelled vials, and Great Great Aunt Cassiopeia gives her a book called 'The Open Mind'.

It's a rare, highly restricted introduction to the Mind Art of Legilimency - to augment her background in Occluamency - and Helena is appalled that it is the most innocuous of the gifts from her eldest surviving relatives. She really oughtn't be surprised, though.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much. No one with sense actually expects you to use them," Sirius advises. He pokes warily at the chest with his wand, and it lights up like a firecracker. A diagnostic spell, to examine the protections set into the ornate, hand-carved piece. It's an heirloom that had, supposedly, belonged to her grandmother at one point, wards set into the ebony inlaid with Mother of Pearl, and it's almost as dangerous as the poisons within.

"That's reassuring," Helena replies, tone droll.

Sirius' resulting grin is all teeth. He's under no illusions about his family's predilections, and he's made sure Helena is just as cognisant of how things stand.

A little more wary of what else she'll find, Helena continues with opening the remainder of her presents. Leo and Phoenix gift her with a trio of vinyl records - to add to her collection - and Remus with a number of interesting, unusual books.

Helena is particularly taken with a book that discusses the Japanese Art of Raku - a clay firing technique that involves horse hair - and it takes Leo's impatient prodding to get her back on track.

"Who's left?" Emilyn wonders.

"Lisa and Padma, Susan and Hannah, Daphne and Tracey, Neville, Blaise, you and Sirius."

"A pretty decent haul," Sirius notes.

"A lot of thank you cards to write," Emilyn concurs.

The six girls seem to have collaborated. Lisa and Padma have given her a set of leather-bound art journals, Susan and Hannah have gifted her a new set of pencils, charcoals, and oil pastels, and Daphne and Tracey have gifted her with new paints (watercolours and acrylics), and a new set of brushes, as well. Blaise contributes to the art supplies with a number of different-sized canvases and a collapsable easel, and as Helena reaches for Neville's present to her, Helena half expects more art supplies.

She's only partially correct to do so.

"Do Neville and I need to have words?" Sirius asks. He can't seem to decide if he ought to be smiling or frowning, laughing or fuming.

According to Sirius, Frank and James had joked about a match between their children, but despite Augusta Longbottom's ambitions, it had been just that: A (long-running) joke. As far as her godfather is aware, neither of them had ever intended to follow through with any sort of formal arrangement.

That aside, Neville is Remus' and James' godson, the son of a Marauder, and one whom Sirius had helped raise into the responsible, reliable, respectable young man he'd become. Sirius trusts him.

Helena is no fool, however. She's become a daughter to him - in many ways, his first child - and Sirius isn't remotely prepared to see her grow up, fall in love, no longer need him.

Helena's only 15, though. She's still young, she's still got a lot to learn, and as often as they make her crazy, she's sure she'll always want and need Sirius and Emilyn in her life. She certainly can't imagine a future without them in it.

It's a moot point, in any case.

She pulls a face. "Gross."

Admittedly, Neville's a catch, good and brave and kind, strong and steadfast. He's the Earl of Lockvale, he's wealthy, due to be politically, socially, economically powerful when he's older (if he isn't already). He is, in essence, everything anyone could possibly want in a significant other.

Anyone other than Helena, that is. She knows him too well, has known him too long - through the best of times, the worst of times, and all the times in between - and somewhere along the way, he'd become another brother - like Leo or Phoenix - and that won't ever change.

"They are some very thoughtful gifts," Emilyn reasons.

Neville's gotten her a camera - to explore a new medium - and the assorted odds and ends needed to use it. He's also gotten her a box of her favourite (luxury) chocolates, an acromantula silk scarf, and a couple of books of piano music. Mozart, specifically.

In a letter to him, she'd mentioned - in passing - that she'd like to start playing again. Between her time at Hogwarts, and her own extra-curricula projects, it's been some time since she'd had the opportunity, and Helena has missed it.

Apparently, he'd taken the idle thought and run with it.

"It is," Helena agrees, solemn, and she wonders if she needs to have words with him.

Merlin help her, but Helena hopes she doesn't.