Chapter 12: Picture Perfect

"Aunt Is-belle?" Harry asked plaintively. Isabelle shifted him in her arms, looked down at him and smiled.

"What, love?"

"Where are we going?"

It was a perfectly reasonable question, but she didn't really have a good answer for it. They'd spent the past few hours on public transit back to London, and were nearing King's Cross Station. By then, she hoped to have some sort of plan of where to go, or what to do. Her wallet was wearing awfully thin, and could be emptied in no time flat between she and Harry.

"Where do you want to go?" She turned the question back around to buy time to think. "What do you want to see? A Christmas tree? Lights? Santa Claus?"

"No, a picture of my mummy and daddy," Harry answered immediately.

Oh, bugger, Isabelle thought. He asks for the one thing I don't have. "All right, is that before or after Santa?"

"Before. And before tree," he added.

Isabelle's mind searched for somewhere that would contain a picture of Lily and James where Harry wouldn't be recognized. Even now, his likeness was in the wizarding media often, in stories concerning the aftermath of the fall of the Dark Lord. This was an incredibly tall order, because the Potters weren't important to the Muggle world.

In fact, she could only come up with one place where Petunia couldn't reach Harry, not that Isabelle expected her sister to care about their nephew's whereabouts, but no one would spot Harry. And would contain plenty of family pictures. The only difficulty was getting onto the property. It was supposedly impossible to break into.

But for her nephew's sake, Isabelle was about to attempt the impossible. Failure was not an option, and neither was getting caught. As she carried a sleepy Harry through the station, she went over her plan. If all went well, she and Harry would disappear without a trace.

The sheer difficulty of what she was about to attempt struck Isabelle as she walked down the quiet neighborhood streets of Chelsea. After the Potters died, James and Regina couldn't bear to return to the house, so they sealed it up against theft. As far as everyone knew, the charms they cast only had one countercharm, which they told no one, not even Lily and Sirius. But, one night, during the summer she lived with Sirius and Gracie, she learned of a secret entrance onto the property.

After Regina died, Sirius developed an alcohol problem, consequently spending most of his time off work in an inebriated state of some form or another. Highly delusional, he began babbling to his collection of bottles one morning about his pathetic childhood and the few good memories he had. One being sneaking into the coat closet on the main floor, lifting the floor panels, and sneaking to the Potters' house via an underground tunnel.

So, she cast a camouflaging charm on herself and Harry about a block away from the neighboring houses. All would work perfectly, as long as Sirius' father was out of town. Isabelle would break into the house and slip into the Potters' house, and no one would be the wiser. The only problem being that when she reached the Black house, every light was on.

"Is Sirius' dad having a party or something?" she mused to herself.

"Uncle Sir-us?" Harry chimed in loudly, looking around excitedly. Isabelle stopped and smiled at him, trying to figure out how to keep him quiet for the next few minutes.

"No, he's not here," she said, her face equally sad as Harry's. "But, we're going somewhere there are lots of pictures of your mummy and daddy. You'll have to be very quiet, though. Can you be quiet until I tell you it's okay to talk again?"

"Yes, Aunt Is-belle," he replied seriously, putting his head on her shoulder.

Isabelle took a deep breath and walked up the small flight of stairs, somewhat surprised to find the door unlocked. Careful not to put any fingerprints on the door, she entered the home and tried to remember where the coat closet was. Sirius had only taken her inside his old house twice, and both times were before she left for Hogwarts.

As she tiptoed by the living room, she spied the unconscious form of Sirius' father. Isabelle carefully sat Harry on the floor with instructions not to move, and crept into the living room. The sight was so disgustedly familiar that her stomach turned. She wondered how many times Sirius walked in on a scene identical to this in his own youth. Enough to replicate it when his own life became unbearable.

William Black grunted, opened his eyes, and squinted. "Are you an angel?"

No, just a blonde teenager, she replied mentally. And how much have you had to drink to think yourself a recipient of a visit from the divine? "Why do you ask?"

"Why visit me now?" he slurred in his Scottish brogue. "Where was God when my wife died? What about when my son turned traitor and killed innocent people, including my granddaughter? And--"

"Where were you when your son needed you?" Isabelle shot back.

"What?" His voice was hazy and confused.

"Sirius. Your son, who your wife died to bring into the world? We both know why she had Sirius, even though she wasn't supposed to have children. Instead of treating him like the gift he is, you cast him aside," she accused.

"He was too much like her. He had her eyes, her expressions. It hurt too much," he protested feebly, reaching for a bottle. "I heard him playing the guitar once, just as well as she did. I miss her so much."

"You're a selfish, pathetic excuse for a human being."

A blind rage consumed Isabelle. In her opinion, William Black was no better than her own father; so, they should share a fate by her hands. It was only fitting. Sirius didn't deserve the hand he was dealt. By eliminating his father, she was doing him a favor. One less person in the world to drag Sirius down and harm his self-worth. She took out her wand and pointed it at Sirius' father's temple.

"Avada--"

Her voice stopped abruptly when she saw a pair of inquisitive green eyes staring at her from the doorway. Harry had gotten bored and came looking for her, with a guilty expression on his face. Isabelle's arm dropped to her side limply. Even if she was capable of being a cold-blooded killer, she couldn't hurt anyone in front of Harry. Especially since he watched Lily die by the very same curse.

"Go scriosa cúnna ifrinn thú." (May the hounds of hell destroy you.)

Sirius' father passed out again before the words left her mouth. Still possessed by anger, she spat on him, turned around and left the room. Without saying anything to Harry, she scooped him up, located the underground passageway, and stormed through the low, narrow passageway. They emerged in the kitchen cupboard, which was empty, much to Isabelle's chagrin.

"Aunt Is-belle?" came Harry's little voice. "Are you mad at me?"

"No, I'm not mad at you," she replied absentmindedly. Being in the house brought back so many memories that Williamsburg seemed like a far-off, distant dream. Here, with Harry felt much more real. "This is your grandparents' house. Your daddy's parents."

"Oh," he said wondrously, taking in the kitchen reverently.

Isabelle took Harry's hand and guided him upstairs to a large spare bedroom, where she often stayed as a child. She blacked out the windows so that the lantern light wouldn't be visible from the street. The room looked exactly as it did when she last saw it when she was twelve. A flick of her wand freshened up the space, and she gazed around approvingly.

"Come here, Harry." She patted the space on the bed beside her, plucking a picture from the night stand. "These are your parents right after they got married. See your mummy? Doesn't she have the prettiest red hair? And, there's your daddy, making faces at the camera. He never did like having his picture taken."

"They're waving," Harry said, awe-struck.

"Yup. Wave back," Isabelle instructed him. "Now, I wonder if there's a cot in the attic, or if I should just Transfigure something...You're probably too big for a cot, anyway, aren't you?"

Harry didn't hear her question because he was too busy waving at the picture and giggling with delight. Extremely tired, Isabelle decided that the double bed was large enough for the both of them, at least for one night. So, she made quick work of getting the two of them ready for bed. Harry insisted on keeping the lantern lit so he could see his parents, and fell asleep mid-wave.

-----

Severus let himself into the apartment early Monday morning, with an uncharacteristic smile on his face. He'd had a lovely weekend with Stacey, the sort of weekend that made him reconsider his decision not to move to New York City. The two had walked up and down the streets, enjoying the holiday sights and smells. It wasn't quite the same as when he had been with Regina, but then again, Regina was one of a kind.

And, Severus felt nearly ready to move on, to think about making a life with someone else. That was what Regina herself wanted, and what she did. Although Severus wished that she had chosen someone else. Marrying Sirius Black was a severe blow to his ego, but thinking about him rotting in prison did wonders for Severus' humor. Revenge was sweet, especially during the holiday season.

He grabbed a drink from the refrigerator and flopped down on the sofa, still smiling. When Isabelle got home from school, he'd discuss possibly relocating to the city after her semester was over. She'd probably be thrilled; she always complained about traveling to her dance lessons via portkey. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't realize the telephone was ringing until the answering machine picked up.

"Hello, this is the attendance office at Jamestown High. We're calling because Isabelle Randolph has not reported for classes this morning. Please give the office a telephone call as soon as possible with her whereabouts. Thank you."

The answering machine clicked off, as a cold chill ran down Severus' spine. Isabelle wasn't in class? It was unlike her to miss school, unless she was physically unable to go to class. She generally enjoyed learning, and definitely loved the socialization. He frowned, and walked to the boys' apartment down the hallway. Perhaps they had all arranged to cut class for the day, or would at least know where she was.

An agitated Jake answered the door, freezing when he saw Severus hovering in the doorway with a massive scowl on his face. He swallowed nervously, wishing that Phillip was here. But, he had reluctantly gone to the school library to finish his paper while he and Thomas looked for Isabelle. They had hoped to find her before Severus came home, but apparently that plan had failed.

"Do you know where Isabelle is?" Severus asked, raising an eyebrow that Jake hadn't opened the door all the way.

He began to think that the two were carrying on some sort of love affair that was more important to Isabelle than her education. If there was one thing that could keep her from focusing on her own life, it was a man. It hadn't taken Severus long to figure that out. Without a word to Jake, he walked into the apartment and nodded a greeting to Thomas, who looked equally uneasy.

"Uh, no," Jake said, trying to control the tone of his voice. "We, um, we need to tell you something."

"All right." This had better be good, Severus thought. It wasn't often that he was in a cheery mood, and it would be fitting for Isabelle to ruin it.

"We, uh, we know about Isabelle," Jake stuttered.

"Know what?" Severus wondered what this had to do with her physical location.

"I mean, we know about her. Who she really is. That's she's the missing Isabelle Evans." There, Jake thought. I finally got it out.

"What?" Severus said sharply, feeling a wave of dread overtake him.

"When I tried to talk to her about it Friday night, she got really defensive and ran away. Phillip looked for her for two days, but couldn't find her. Thomas and I were getting ready to go look when you showed up. We were hoping to find her before you got back from New York, but..." his voice trailed off.

"I see." Severus wasn't a man to show his anger, and did a brilliant job of controlling his emotions. He didn't know who he was angrier at – her friends for not informing him of the situation days ago, or Isabelle for thoughtlessly running away. "Well, both of you have Apparation licenses, right?"

"Yes, sir," both replied in unison.

"Then we're going to Hogsmeade. Meet me at the cemetery gate in five minutes." He Disapparated with a concerned pop, leaving Jake and Thomas to stare at each other uneasily.

"That went better than I thought," Thomas said, shrugging in relief.

-----

"Are you still hungry, Harry?" Isabelle asked, portioning herself some chicken and rice that she'd bought earlier that day from a nearby restaurant. The little boy shook his head no, but patiently waited for her to finish wolfing down her dinner.

"Can we go in the living room?" he asked several minutes later, eager to see the pictures. Isabelle hadn't worked up her nerve to face the old memories yet, but Harry's hopeful face caused her to take a deep breath, pick him up, and walk into the living room.

Harry beamed at the sight of picture frames throughout the room. He barely made a sound as Isabelle walked him from picture to picture, explaining who was who, and when the picture was taken. She tried not to become depressed that the picture chronology abruptly ended shortly after she left for Hogwarts, and hoped Harry wouldn't notice. Having to explain that his grandparents were killed by Lord Voldemort as well wasn't on her list of fun holiday activities.

"Who's this?" Harry pointed a curious finger to a silver-framed black and white picture.

Isabelle's breath caught in her throat, and time seemed to stand still. She fought to find her voice. "Who do you think it is?"

"Uncle Sir-us. But who is the girl? She's pretty."

"The girl," her eyes teared up, "is me. This picture was taken right after your mummy came to look after me, when I was eight years old. Your Uncle Sirius and I were in Inish Shark to watch your daddy play Quidditch. Do you remember what Quidditch is?"

"Yes. Quaffle and Bludger and Snitch. Oh, and broomstick," he recited proudly.

"You have an amazing memory. Would you like to see your daddy playing Quidditch?"

"Yes!"

Isabelle sat him on the sofa with a large picture of James from the finals of the Quidditch World Cup, which completely enthralled Harry. While he was busy, she walked back over to the photograph of herself and Sirius. She closed her eyes, remembering when it was taken.

It was shortly before the match, and Sirius had taken her shopping for a bit. Not having traveled much, she grew tired, so he lifted her onto his shoulders so she could still see and hear everything. When Mummy P saw the two of them milling around, she found the sight hilarious and clicked the photograph. She watched Sirius pretending to drop her, and her eight year old self shrieking in mock terror and clutching to his neck and face.

"Sirius!" Isabelle's young, piercing voice called out. "I'm going to fall."

He laughed confidently and began twirling her around. "You're not going to fall, string bean. I've got you, trust me."

"But--"

"I won't let you fall," he repeated, smiling up at her.

"Aunt Is-belle?" Harry's cheerful voice interrupted her memory. She turned around, where he was pointing to a photograph on the end table. "Where's that?"

Isabelle smiled, and joined him on the couch, picking up the photo to examine it more closely. "This is our home in Dover. Our family, your mummy's family, has lived there for over a hundred years. That's a long time."

Harry nodded seriously. "Atari is there."

"Yes," Isabelle laughed disbelievingly, wondering how he could remember that. "Atari is there."

"So is Furry."

"What's Furry?"

"Furry," Harry repeated, unable to describe it further.

"Is Furry your imaginary friend?" Isabelle inquired, scooping him up in a silly, messy hug. "I had an imaginary friend once. Her name was Lucy. We used to play together in the wardrobe. Do you ever hide in the wardrobe?"

"Yeah," he said, in a very small voice. "Did Aunt 'Tunia find you?"

"No, your daddy did. Your Aunt Petunia's too stupid to know where to look, isn't she?"

"She's a dumb cow," Harry burst out, immediately adopting a false contrite look. His amused aunt laughed and tightened her grip on him. He was such a clever child.

Isabelle bit her lip, remembering the first few days after Lily moved in, before James left for Quidditch World Cup training. She hid in the wardrobe because Sirius knew about her fort, and would go looking for her there. It worked until she developed a sneezing fit as James happened to walk by the guest room.

"Aunt Is-belle, what does your shirt say?" Harry asked, changing the subject abruptly. Lost in thought, she looked down at the t-shirt and blinked rapidly.

"It says 'William and Mary Soccer'," she replied tightly, realizing for the first time that the t-shirt she grabbed to lounge around in was Phillip's. A sharp pang of guilt stabbed her as she thought of her friends in Williamsburg. As much as she tried to convince herself that they didn't care that she was gone, her heart knew that leaving the way she did was wrong. Very wrong.

"What's soccer?" he inquired innocently.

"Well, it's a game played on the ground," Isabelle tried to explain, her mind whirling with guilt. "It's like Quidditch, only with more people, and one ball."

"Do you play?"

"Actually, I'm not very good at it," she admitted.

"Then why have the shirt?"

"Because I borrowed it from a friend."

"Who?"

Isabelle pasted a saccharine smile on her face in an attempt to mask her irritation. "Someone named Phillip Spence. He plays soccer."

"Oh," Harry said, mollified. He picked up the picture of James playing Quidditch again, instantly engrossed.

Isabelle stared at the rug, wondering whether Severus had realized yet that she was gone. And if so, had he looked for her? Had anyone missed her, wanted her to come back to America? An unbidden image of Phillip invaded her mind, causing her to question why she instantly thought of him. Since when had Phillip mattered to her? She shook her head, attributing the oddity to Harry's last line of questioning.

She slumped into the sofa, remembering that this week was final examinations at William and Mary. If any of the guys was worried about her, it might negatively impact their concentration. Because of her stupidity, she may hurt someone else. But, what was she to do?

Taking Harry to Petunia's was not even an option. However, although she had her wizarding passport for international Floo travel, Harry didn't have any papers. And carrying around a small boy with a very noticeable lightning bolt-shaped scar through Diagon Alley would certainly attract attention. Neither of them had Muggle passports on them, or the money for airfare, so they couldn't use Muggle transport.

Which only left one way to return to Williamsburg with Harry: Apparation. Isabelle swallowed back her fear. Although she had gotten her Apparation license recently, the doctors at the hospital wouldn't let her use it because of her injuries on Halloween. So, her very first real Apparation (the American test was a joke) would be across the ocean with a toddler.

Well, she told herself firmly, may as well get it over with and live with the consequences.

She turned to Harry. "Love, how would you like to come to America with me for Christmas?"

"Could I?" His eyes lit up joyfully.

"Of course you can. I need to pack up first, then we'll be on our way, all right? Can you wait here for a couple of minutes?" Isabelle asked, standing up and sitting Harry on the floor.

"Yup," he said cheerfully, grinning up at her.

Isabelle rushed upstairs and quickly packed her knapsack. With a backwards glance, she closed the guest bedroom door behind her. She hurried into the living room, thankful to find everything as she left it, except that Harry seemed to have misplaced a shoe. After a ten minute hunt, she thought to use the Summoning Charm, which instantly brought the missing sneaker into her hand.

"Some witch I am," she muttered, laughing out loud. "Ok, Harry, I have space in my bag for you to take one picture with us. Which one would you like to take?"

The little boy's brow furrowed thoughtfully, and he walked about the room, finally settling on a photograph of his parents horsing around on the front lawn of the Dover estate. James was flying through the trees, shaking them and causing large piles of leaves to fall on Lily, who was not amused. So, she would retaliate by sending well-placed hexes after him. It was a happy, funny scene. Isabelle shrunk the photograph, wrapping it inside a sweater for safekeeping.

As she closed the bag, her eyes fell on the picture of she and Sirius from Inish Shark. A lump formed in her throat, and she teared up. With shaking hands, she removed the silver frame from the shelf and traced Sirius' face with her finger. She couldn't bear to put it back, so she smiled sadly, opened her bag again, and lovingly placed the photograph inside.

"Are you ready?" she asked, slinging her bag on her shoulder and picking him up. Harry nodded, and wiped a tear from Isabelle's cheek.

"I miss Uncle Sir-us, too," he said quietly.

"Oh, Harry!" Isabelle cried, clutching him like a lifeline. It took all her energy to not break down then and there. After composing herself, she took a deep breath, concentrated, and Disapparated. The pair disappeared with a faint, but distinct, pop.

-----

Rubbing his temples wearily, Phillip let himself into Severus and Isabelle's apartment and turned on the living room lamps with a casual flick of his wand. He threw his bookbag to the floor with a thud and collapsed on the sofa, which squeaked and complained nosily because of his abuse of it. Stretching out his aching limbs, he mentally went over the past few nightmarish days.

Part of him couldn't believe that it was already Monday afternoon, and Isabelle had been missing for three entire days. But, the rest of him thought that the past seventy-two hours had dragged by slowly and painfully, constantly reminding him that she was gone, perhaps forever. Not wanting to think about that idea, he forced himself to remain optimistic. Maybe Thomas, Jake and Severus would find her today.

He brooded that all three men insisted that he stay in town to finish his paper which was due earlier that afternoon. Somehow, he managed to focus long enough to get the treatise on Colonial Virginian political history done, although for the life of him, he couldn't remember what his main thesis argument was. Luckily, he had done the majority of the work for it earlier in the semester. Working himself into the ground was the only way he found to get Isabelle off his mind.

And now, with a couple hours study break, he immediately headed to her apartment, where Severus invited him to study and wait for any news. Despite his own agitation, Severus realized that the younger man wouldn't do a bit of work in his own living space, so he extended the invitation in a rare charitable moment. There was something in Phillip Spence that reminded the former Death Eater of himself, although he couldn't quite figure out what it was.

The tiny hairs on the back of Phillip's head began to stand up, and his body tensed. He sensed the presence of someone else in the apartment. The light sound of footprints echoed down the hallway a minute later, and Phillip decided to make his move. In one swift movement, he sat up, grabbed his wand and pointed it in the direction of the hallway.

To his utter shock, a pair of confused, wide green eyes stared at him. The eyes belonged to a little, dark-haired boy. Phillip blinked rapidly, wondering if he was seeing things. But, the toddler didn't disappear. Instead, he cautiously sat down in the doorway to the living room and examined Phillip curiously.

"Hello," the little boy said softly, in a cheerful English accent. Between the accent and the tell-tale lightning bolt scar on his forehead, Phillip immediately knew the toddler's identity.

"Hello, Harry," Phillip replied, lowering himself to his level.

Harry's face fell into a befuddled expression. "How do you know my name?"

"Well," Phillip said slowly, "because you and I are old friends. Bet you don't remember me, do you?"

"No." His baby face shook from side to side sheepishly.

From her bed, Isabelle sat up, and opened her mouth to call her nephew back to her bedroom. But, she decided to eavesdrop instead. Phillip already knew she was here; may as well rest for a few more minutes before facing Severus when he arrived. The trans-Atlantic Apparation sapped her of all her energy, so she was still quite tired.

"I met you two years ago, when you were still a little baby at a Christmas party," Phillip explained.

"Ohhh," Harry said, his grin widening. "Did you know my mummy and daddy? And Aunt Is-belle and Uncle Sir-us? And Gracie?"

Isabelle smiled at being grouped with Sirius. 'Aunt Is-belle and Uncle Sir-us' – she loved the sound of that. Harry was obviously brilliant, she decided. And perhaps a Seer as well? Lost in her daydreaming of a future with Sirius, she nearly missed Phillip's answer.

"Yes, I met both your mummy and daddy. Your mummy and Aunt Isabelle were the prettiest ladies at the party by far." Harry's delighted expression inspired Phillip to search his memory for more details. "If I remember right, your mummy wore a light purple dress--"

"Lavender," Isabelle whispered softly.

"–and your Aunt Isabelle was in a dark pink dress."

"Coral. It was coral," she hissed indignantly, frowning childishly. Leave it to a man to call a coral ballgown 'pink'.

"And your daddy nearly punched me out for flirting with your aunt," Phillip recalled. Harry gasped and his little hands flew over his mouth.

"No," he breathed.

"But your Uncle Sirius saved my skin, thank God." He smiled, remembering the evening. It was one of the best in his life, actually, despite the run-in with James Potter. Besides, considering how ungentlemanly he had acted towards Isabelle earlier that fall, Phillip conceded that maybe Harry's father had a point. Phillip frowned.

"What's your name?" Harry asked in a rush, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

"Phillip Spence," he answered, puzzled while Harry's whole face lit up again.

"I know you!" the little boy exclaimed more loudly than he intended. "You play soccer, and Aunt Is-belle is wearing your shirt. She is sorry she stole it. Oh, and she missed you."

Isabelle felt like beating her head against her headboard. How could Harry say that? She immediately swore to teach him about secrets at the soonest opportunity.

"She missed me?" Phillip's heart leapt in his chest.

"Yup," Harry said with an authoritative nod. "Do you know where Gracie is? I miss her and want to play."

"No, I'm afraid that I don't," he replied sadly. "But, I'll play with you if you want me too. Would you like me to show you how to kick a soccer ball?"

"Oh, brilliant!" Harry clasped a hand over his mouth again.

"What is it?" Phillip wondered.

"Aunt Is-belle said that I had to be quiet if I wanted to play because she's tired. She's sleeping."

Not with all this racket, Isabelle thought ruefully.

"All right, how about I cast a charm so that no matter how much noise we make, your aunt won't wake up?" Phillip asked.

"Wicked!" Harry looked at the young man adoringly.

That is awfully considerate of Phillip, she admitted grudgingly before falling into a deep slumber.