Tripping Down the Aisle
Chapter Four: The Girl from Kent
*** Wednesday, 5 October Six months, nineteen days
The girl from Kent was due at the upscale restaurant (where elderly women dripping in diamonds sat at the bar, keeping their pet Kneazles on short leashes while they drank tea from saucers; where expertly rich children as young as six perused the menu very seriously before deciding on rack of lamb or foie gras or something equally eloquent; where middle-aged men and their wives conversed tersely over coffee shot heavily with rum, trying to keep tight smiles on their faces so as to keep up appearances) any moment now. The place made Sirius deeply uncomfortable and reminded him horribly of his childhood. He was sure he'd been here before, probably attending some horrifically stuffy dinner party of his father's. He shuddered.
Sirius compulsively checked his watch. 7:27. She was late--attempting to be fashionable, perhaps?--which made no sense, because she had set the time and the place. Had she known she would have been unable to attend this little get-together, why would she make him buy a new set of dress robes, gel his hair, and put on his most expensive cologne just to sit (he was doing a lot of sitting), looking pathetic as he glanced hopefully around the room and continually downed martini after martini?
It made no sense.
Sirius drummed his fingers on the table, whistling quietly so as not to disturb the large, shiny faced Chinese man at the table next to him, who had fallen asleep in his filet mignon. Sirius licked the tip of his index finger and slid it on the rim of his glass, making an eerie whistling sound- -
"They frown upon that here," said a woman's voice, not sounding accusatory, but amused.
Sirius looked up, ready to retaliate, but found he couldn't.
The woman standing in front of him was not what would be considered beautiful by most standards. She was pretty, sure, but she wasn't beautiful. She was a little bit plain, with shoulder-length dark hair, set in tight ringlets, dark eyes, and cheeks so pink one would think she had just run a marathon--maybe she had ran to get here. But Sirius could not picture anyone running in a knee-length emerald green party dress, complete with gold heels and matching earrings, which was what she was wearing.
"Hi," she said. "They said--up at the front--that you're Cyrus Black."
"They're wrong," Sirius replied.
The woman frowned. "Oh," she said, flushing even more, if that was possible. "I'm sorry, I--"
"It's Sirius," he told her, standing up to shake her hand. "And you're Hestia?"
She smiled. "Yeah," she responded brightly. "Yeah, I'm Hestia."
Hestia had the handshake of a very weak little girl. With a little practice, he could firm it up. He just could not date delicate people; he was always afraid they'd break if he hugged them too hard...wait, what?
Sirius shook himself. "Um, this is a nice place."
Hestia glanced up from her menu, eyebrows raised. "No, it's not," she said, smiling. "I hate it here."
"But when I asked you to name your favorite restaurant...."
"I picked the first one that came to mind. I haven't been in England since I was seventeen." She returned to her menu, muttering, "I don't speak French..."
"Mind if I ask why?"
"If you think it pertains to your line of questioning."
Sirius was startled; he'd actually forgotten that he was supposed to be doing something other than...well, truthfully, other than trying to determine what kind of underwear she was wearing (if any at all....). "Um," he said. "Um, yeah, I think that'd....pertain. To my line of questioning."
Hestia set down her menu. "Well," she sighed, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest, "I ran away from home when I was sixteen, decided that I'd be better off in France."
Sirius's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "But...you just said that you don't speak French."
"I never said I was right. I moved to Ireland not long after." She grinned. "They speak English there."
Sirius resisted the urge to stuck his tongue out at her. "I know. Why'd you run away?"
"Family troubles," she said, noncommittally picking up the menu again. "Mostly."
"Um," Sirius said uncomfortably, taking a cue from James and running a hand through his hair, "I--I kinda need more than that....specifics, you know, Dumbledore is very..."
Hestia smiled. "I forgot that I can't be detached about this, because this isn't a date. It's an interview. Um...my family was rich. Muggles, the whole lot of them. They didn't understand about my magical ability. They wanted me to be home for cotillions, my father's dinner parties--he was a politian; ran for Prime Minister in '59, lost, of course; spectuacularly-- and such. I hated it. Rebelled. I waited until the end of sixth year, went home with my best friend's family for the summer and never went home."
"So you never graduated from Hogwarts?"
"No, I did graduate. I just lived at friends' houses during the summers, and after graduation, I moved to France, like I said."
Sirius folded his napkin in a preoccupied fashion. "I did the same thing. Sort of. Ran away the summer I was sixteen."
"Really? Where'd you go?"
"My best friend's house; his parents love me for some reason."
Hestia smiled. "Yeah, I planned to stay at Sarah's--she was my best friend when I was that age--but...I caused too much trouble." Her smile turned mischievous.
"What kind of trouble?"
"I am sure that that doesn't pertain to your questioning."
"You never know. You could've made enemies. What kind of trouble?"
She hesitated, surveying him. "I had an affair."
"With?" Sirius's interest was horribly piqued.
Hestia sipped her water. "Sarah's father," she replied deliberately.
Sirius paused, trying to figure out just what to say to that.
Hestia made a face. "Okay, it wasn't as bad as it sounds; you don't have to look disgusted like that."
"Well, how old was he?"
"At the time?"
"Of course at the time!"
Hestia concentrated. "Well, I was seventeen, so he would've been...forty- two."
"That's more than twice your age! Not to mention that it was illegal."
"It didn't last very long, once I realized that Liam--that was Sarah's father--only wanted a piece of ass and something to rub in Sarah's mother's face. I didn't want to be that person. And besides, once Sarah found out--"
"How did she find out?"
"I told her," Hestia replied simply. "I told Sarah everything."
"A stupid mistake, then."
"No, it's just that teenage girls are different from teenage boys. Anyway, once I told her, she told her mother, her mother threw me out--divorced Liam. That's when I moved to France."
"Do you remember Sarah's family's name?"
Hestia paused, and appeared to be thinking. "You know, I'm not sure...why? What are you suggesting?"
"Do you think there's any chance that Sarah's mother was still furious with you?"
"After eleven years?" She scoffed. "I don't think so."
"What kind of family was Sarah's?"
Hestia frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Like, were both of her parents magical? Did she come from a long line of witches and wizards?"
"I don't think that matters," Hestia replied airily.
Sirius sighed. "All right, fine. If you don't want to talk about that, then we could talk about your family."
Hestia surveyed him for a moment over her water glass. "All right," she said briskly, setting the glass down. "What do you want to know?"
***
"She's just like me, James, d'you know that? I've never met a girl who was so much like me before! We like the same things, dislike the same things-- get this, get this James--she loves whipped cream. I love whipped cream! And--and she hates the Wasps. And you know I wish the Wasps would rot in hell. Her family--her family is almost exactly the same as mine, 'cept they're Muggles. We both ran away from home when we were sixteen. And---"
"Whoa, slow down," James laughed, holding up a hand to stop his best friend's excited diatribe. "Breathe, Sirius."
"And what does whipped cream and the Wasps have to do with the Order?" Lily queried from where she was sitting on the floor with folders spread out in front of her.
James and Lily had elected to hire a wedding planner to deal with their nuptials, because, as James put it, Lily was overworked as it was; she didn't need an entire wedding on top of all of her usual workload. And he sure as hell wouldn't know what he was doing ordering flowers and stuff like that.
The planner had met with them just that day and given them "some information" that they might like to consider. "Some information", it turned out, consisted of no less than thirty folders of...stuff. Pictures of wedding cakes, maps and brochures for reception halls and "scenic locations", menus, photos of gowns, flowers and...well, they hadn't gotten to the rest of it yet.
"Well, we didn't just talk about stuff for the Order," Sirius admitted. "Eventually, I ran out of questions for that."
"But you got everything?" Lily pressed sternly.
"Everything I could get out of her," Sirius responded obediently. "Anyway, I...would it be weird if......I mean, I don't....." He trailed off.
"You want to ask her out," James said.
"Right. Would that be...."
"Insensitive, unprofessional, and wrong on so many levels it's difficult to even count them all?" Lily suggested.
"Yeah," Sirius replied. "Would it?"
Lily grinned. "Of course it would."
"But can I still ask her?"
"Yeah, could he still ask her?" James echoed curiously.
Lily frowned at him over her reading glasses. "Why, thinking of asking out someone from the workplace?"
"Yeah, Middleton from Financial Services is looking pretty good as of late," James yawned, smiling. Earl Middleton was about seventy-eight, clinging to a few solitary strands of white hair, and steadily losing his hearing.
"Anyway," Sirius said loudly, just as Lily opened her mouth to retaliate.
Lily smiled at him. "I don't know," she said slowly.
"Well, thanks, Lily," Sirius said impatiently. "You know, you should really consider running for Minister; old Fudge could use your help."
"Fudge isn't old," James pointed out.
"Go snog Middleton, Prongs."
"I think," Lily interrupted softly, "that you should wait. I mean, her sister just died, didn't she?"
"Yeah, but...Hestia hated her family. All of them. Said her sister was better off dead."
Lily's face fell, and James immediately said sharply, "He didn't mean it like that, Lily."
Alarmed that he had obviously done something wrong, Sirius asked quickly, "What? What'd I say?"
Lily plastered on a smile. "Nothing," she said, her voice too overtly bright to be believed, "it's nothing, Sirius." She looked down at her folders. "Well," she added, "I think...I think I'll just take these...take these to my room."
She gathered the folders up in her arms and hurriedly exited the room, James watching her progress down the hall.
"What was that all about?" Sirius asked quietly.
James sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Hestia's sister," he said softly.
"What?"
"Lily's sister pretty much shut Lily out of her life when she was twelve."
Sirius paused, thinking he had probably made the connection but wanting to hear more about this. James and Lily rarely discussed her family; at least not when Sirius was around. "Why?"
"Well," James began, loudly and dramatically expelling a breath, "you know her family are Muggles, right? Her parents are all right with her being a witch; they embraced it, actually. But her sister...." James paused, smiled sadly, and continued flatly, "Well, if it tells you anything, Lily still sends her sister a birthday and Christmas card every year. And every year she gets them back. Unopened."
Sirius didn't quite know what to say to that. "What does she do?"
"Locks herself in the bedroom, usually. Cries. See, Lily can't win. On the Muggle side of things, there are people who dislike her just because she's a witch. But on the magic side of things, there are people who dislike her just because she's not enough of a witch for them." James, who had not taken his eyes off of the bedroom door as spoke, turned to his friend now. "I think I should go talk to her," he said softly. "I'll see you later, okay?"
"Okay," Sirius responded. "Does--does Lily think that....that what I said about Hestia's sister...applies to hers? That her sister wouldn't care if she died?"
"That's probably what she thinks," James admitted. "But I've only met the girl once, so I couldn't tell you whether or not it's true."
"Tell her...tell her I'm sorry, okay?"
James smiled. "She won't blame you, Sirius. But I'll tell her."
Sirius nodded, and Disapparated.
James made his way down the hallway and knocked on the bedroom door. "Lily?"
She didn't answer, so he tried the door. It was unlocked.
Lily was sitting crosslegged on the bed, clutching a pillow to her chest and staring blankly at the wall in front of her. Her expression was tight, and she didn't look at him or say anything as he stepped into the room.
"Love," he tried. "It's not your fault."
"Sure it is," she responded quietly. "But..." She trailed off.
"Wanna talk about it?" James asked, knowing her answer.
"No."
He sat next to her on the bed, but didn't try to touch her, knowing she'd just get up and walk away if he did. He was thinking, and so was she.
"Lily, I won't let you invite her to the wedding."
She looked away from the wall now, turning her eyes to him, surprised. "What?"
"I won't...I won't let you invite her. I won't let her ruin your wedding day."
Lily laughed humorlessly. "Jimmy, you are such a drama queen."
"I'm not being dramatic, Lily. Really."
"Even if I did invite her," Lily said, turning her attention back to the wall, "she wouldn't come."
"But still."
Lily smiled a little, and that was progress, James decided. "Even so," she said, "we won't start guest lists 'till March, at the latest. I've got time to decide whether or not I want to invite her."
Her emphasis on the word "I", however subtle it might've been, clearly showed him that the matter was closed.
For now, anyway.
****
Chapter Four: The Girl from Kent
*** Wednesday, 5 October Six months, nineteen days
The girl from Kent was due at the upscale restaurant (where elderly women dripping in diamonds sat at the bar, keeping their pet Kneazles on short leashes while they drank tea from saucers; where expertly rich children as young as six perused the menu very seriously before deciding on rack of lamb or foie gras or something equally eloquent; where middle-aged men and their wives conversed tersely over coffee shot heavily with rum, trying to keep tight smiles on their faces so as to keep up appearances) any moment now. The place made Sirius deeply uncomfortable and reminded him horribly of his childhood. He was sure he'd been here before, probably attending some horrifically stuffy dinner party of his father's. He shuddered.
Sirius compulsively checked his watch. 7:27. She was late--attempting to be fashionable, perhaps?--which made no sense, because she had set the time and the place. Had she known she would have been unable to attend this little get-together, why would she make him buy a new set of dress robes, gel his hair, and put on his most expensive cologne just to sit (he was doing a lot of sitting), looking pathetic as he glanced hopefully around the room and continually downed martini after martini?
It made no sense.
Sirius drummed his fingers on the table, whistling quietly so as not to disturb the large, shiny faced Chinese man at the table next to him, who had fallen asleep in his filet mignon. Sirius licked the tip of his index finger and slid it on the rim of his glass, making an eerie whistling sound- -
"They frown upon that here," said a woman's voice, not sounding accusatory, but amused.
Sirius looked up, ready to retaliate, but found he couldn't.
The woman standing in front of him was not what would be considered beautiful by most standards. She was pretty, sure, but she wasn't beautiful. She was a little bit plain, with shoulder-length dark hair, set in tight ringlets, dark eyes, and cheeks so pink one would think she had just run a marathon--maybe she had ran to get here. But Sirius could not picture anyone running in a knee-length emerald green party dress, complete with gold heels and matching earrings, which was what she was wearing.
"Hi," she said. "They said--up at the front--that you're Cyrus Black."
"They're wrong," Sirius replied.
The woman frowned. "Oh," she said, flushing even more, if that was possible. "I'm sorry, I--"
"It's Sirius," he told her, standing up to shake her hand. "And you're Hestia?"
She smiled. "Yeah," she responded brightly. "Yeah, I'm Hestia."
Hestia had the handshake of a very weak little girl. With a little practice, he could firm it up. He just could not date delicate people; he was always afraid they'd break if he hugged them too hard...wait, what?
Sirius shook himself. "Um, this is a nice place."
Hestia glanced up from her menu, eyebrows raised. "No, it's not," she said, smiling. "I hate it here."
"But when I asked you to name your favorite restaurant...."
"I picked the first one that came to mind. I haven't been in England since I was seventeen." She returned to her menu, muttering, "I don't speak French..."
"Mind if I ask why?"
"If you think it pertains to your line of questioning."
Sirius was startled; he'd actually forgotten that he was supposed to be doing something other than...well, truthfully, other than trying to determine what kind of underwear she was wearing (if any at all....). "Um," he said. "Um, yeah, I think that'd....pertain. To my line of questioning."
Hestia set down her menu. "Well," she sighed, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest, "I ran away from home when I was sixteen, decided that I'd be better off in France."
Sirius's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "But...you just said that you don't speak French."
"I never said I was right. I moved to Ireland not long after." She grinned. "They speak English there."
Sirius resisted the urge to stuck his tongue out at her. "I know. Why'd you run away?"
"Family troubles," she said, noncommittally picking up the menu again. "Mostly."
"Um," Sirius said uncomfortably, taking a cue from James and running a hand through his hair, "I--I kinda need more than that....specifics, you know, Dumbledore is very..."
Hestia smiled. "I forgot that I can't be detached about this, because this isn't a date. It's an interview. Um...my family was rich. Muggles, the whole lot of them. They didn't understand about my magical ability. They wanted me to be home for cotillions, my father's dinner parties--he was a politian; ran for Prime Minister in '59, lost, of course; spectuacularly-- and such. I hated it. Rebelled. I waited until the end of sixth year, went home with my best friend's family for the summer and never went home."
"So you never graduated from Hogwarts?"
"No, I did graduate. I just lived at friends' houses during the summers, and after graduation, I moved to France, like I said."
Sirius folded his napkin in a preoccupied fashion. "I did the same thing. Sort of. Ran away the summer I was sixteen."
"Really? Where'd you go?"
"My best friend's house; his parents love me for some reason."
Hestia smiled. "Yeah, I planned to stay at Sarah's--she was my best friend when I was that age--but...I caused too much trouble." Her smile turned mischievous.
"What kind of trouble?"
"I am sure that that doesn't pertain to your questioning."
"You never know. You could've made enemies. What kind of trouble?"
She hesitated, surveying him. "I had an affair."
"With?" Sirius's interest was horribly piqued.
Hestia sipped her water. "Sarah's father," she replied deliberately.
Sirius paused, trying to figure out just what to say to that.
Hestia made a face. "Okay, it wasn't as bad as it sounds; you don't have to look disgusted like that."
"Well, how old was he?"
"At the time?"
"Of course at the time!"
Hestia concentrated. "Well, I was seventeen, so he would've been...forty- two."
"That's more than twice your age! Not to mention that it was illegal."
"It didn't last very long, once I realized that Liam--that was Sarah's father--only wanted a piece of ass and something to rub in Sarah's mother's face. I didn't want to be that person. And besides, once Sarah found out--"
"How did she find out?"
"I told her," Hestia replied simply. "I told Sarah everything."
"A stupid mistake, then."
"No, it's just that teenage girls are different from teenage boys. Anyway, once I told her, she told her mother, her mother threw me out--divorced Liam. That's when I moved to France."
"Do you remember Sarah's family's name?"
Hestia paused, and appeared to be thinking. "You know, I'm not sure...why? What are you suggesting?"
"Do you think there's any chance that Sarah's mother was still furious with you?"
"After eleven years?" She scoffed. "I don't think so."
"What kind of family was Sarah's?"
Hestia frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Like, were both of her parents magical? Did she come from a long line of witches and wizards?"
"I don't think that matters," Hestia replied airily.
Sirius sighed. "All right, fine. If you don't want to talk about that, then we could talk about your family."
Hestia surveyed him for a moment over her water glass. "All right," she said briskly, setting the glass down. "What do you want to know?"
***
"She's just like me, James, d'you know that? I've never met a girl who was so much like me before! We like the same things, dislike the same things-- get this, get this James--she loves whipped cream. I love whipped cream! And--and she hates the Wasps. And you know I wish the Wasps would rot in hell. Her family--her family is almost exactly the same as mine, 'cept they're Muggles. We both ran away from home when we were sixteen. And---"
"Whoa, slow down," James laughed, holding up a hand to stop his best friend's excited diatribe. "Breathe, Sirius."
"And what does whipped cream and the Wasps have to do with the Order?" Lily queried from where she was sitting on the floor with folders spread out in front of her.
James and Lily had elected to hire a wedding planner to deal with their nuptials, because, as James put it, Lily was overworked as it was; she didn't need an entire wedding on top of all of her usual workload. And he sure as hell wouldn't know what he was doing ordering flowers and stuff like that.
The planner had met with them just that day and given them "some information" that they might like to consider. "Some information", it turned out, consisted of no less than thirty folders of...stuff. Pictures of wedding cakes, maps and brochures for reception halls and "scenic locations", menus, photos of gowns, flowers and...well, they hadn't gotten to the rest of it yet.
"Well, we didn't just talk about stuff for the Order," Sirius admitted. "Eventually, I ran out of questions for that."
"But you got everything?" Lily pressed sternly.
"Everything I could get out of her," Sirius responded obediently. "Anyway, I...would it be weird if......I mean, I don't....." He trailed off.
"You want to ask her out," James said.
"Right. Would that be...."
"Insensitive, unprofessional, and wrong on so many levels it's difficult to even count them all?" Lily suggested.
"Yeah," Sirius replied. "Would it?"
Lily grinned. "Of course it would."
"But can I still ask her?"
"Yeah, could he still ask her?" James echoed curiously.
Lily frowned at him over her reading glasses. "Why, thinking of asking out someone from the workplace?"
"Yeah, Middleton from Financial Services is looking pretty good as of late," James yawned, smiling. Earl Middleton was about seventy-eight, clinging to a few solitary strands of white hair, and steadily losing his hearing.
"Anyway," Sirius said loudly, just as Lily opened her mouth to retaliate.
Lily smiled at him. "I don't know," she said slowly.
"Well, thanks, Lily," Sirius said impatiently. "You know, you should really consider running for Minister; old Fudge could use your help."
"Fudge isn't old," James pointed out.
"Go snog Middleton, Prongs."
"I think," Lily interrupted softly, "that you should wait. I mean, her sister just died, didn't she?"
"Yeah, but...Hestia hated her family. All of them. Said her sister was better off dead."
Lily's face fell, and James immediately said sharply, "He didn't mean it like that, Lily."
Alarmed that he had obviously done something wrong, Sirius asked quickly, "What? What'd I say?"
Lily plastered on a smile. "Nothing," she said, her voice too overtly bright to be believed, "it's nothing, Sirius." She looked down at her folders. "Well," she added, "I think...I think I'll just take these...take these to my room."
She gathered the folders up in her arms and hurriedly exited the room, James watching her progress down the hall.
"What was that all about?" Sirius asked quietly.
James sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Hestia's sister," he said softly.
"What?"
"Lily's sister pretty much shut Lily out of her life when she was twelve."
Sirius paused, thinking he had probably made the connection but wanting to hear more about this. James and Lily rarely discussed her family; at least not when Sirius was around. "Why?"
"Well," James began, loudly and dramatically expelling a breath, "you know her family are Muggles, right? Her parents are all right with her being a witch; they embraced it, actually. But her sister...." James paused, smiled sadly, and continued flatly, "Well, if it tells you anything, Lily still sends her sister a birthday and Christmas card every year. And every year she gets them back. Unopened."
Sirius didn't quite know what to say to that. "What does she do?"
"Locks herself in the bedroom, usually. Cries. See, Lily can't win. On the Muggle side of things, there are people who dislike her just because she's a witch. But on the magic side of things, there are people who dislike her just because she's not enough of a witch for them." James, who had not taken his eyes off of the bedroom door as spoke, turned to his friend now. "I think I should go talk to her," he said softly. "I'll see you later, okay?"
"Okay," Sirius responded. "Does--does Lily think that....that what I said about Hestia's sister...applies to hers? That her sister wouldn't care if she died?"
"That's probably what she thinks," James admitted. "But I've only met the girl once, so I couldn't tell you whether or not it's true."
"Tell her...tell her I'm sorry, okay?"
James smiled. "She won't blame you, Sirius. But I'll tell her."
Sirius nodded, and Disapparated.
James made his way down the hallway and knocked on the bedroom door. "Lily?"
She didn't answer, so he tried the door. It was unlocked.
Lily was sitting crosslegged on the bed, clutching a pillow to her chest and staring blankly at the wall in front of her. Her expression was tight, and she didn't look at him or say anything as he stepped into the room.
"Love," he tried. "It's not your fault."
"Sure it is," she responded quietly. "But..." She trailed off.
"Wanna talk about it?" James asked, knowing her answer.
"No."
He sat next to her on the bed, but didn't try to touch her, knowing she'd just get up and walk away if he did. He was thinking, and so was she.
"Lily, I won't let you invite her to the wedding."
She looked away from the wall now, turning her eyes to him, surprised. "What?"
"I won't...I won't let you invite her. I won't let her ruin your wedding day."
Lily laughed humorlessly. "Jimmy, you are such a drama queen."
"I'm not being dramatic, Lily. Really."
"Even if I did invite her," Lily said, turning her attention back to the wall, "she wouldn't come."
"But still."
Lily smiled a little, and that was progress, James decided. "Even so," she said, "we won't start guest lists 'till March, at the latest. I've got time to decide whether or not I want to invite her."
Her emphasis on the word "I", however subtle it might've been, clearly showed him that the matter was closed.
For now, anyway.
****