Chapter Three: Dinner

"So then man says that he doesn't care if I got my Puffskeins there before! They do not sell them anymore."

Fastrada was clutching her necklace as though it was her heart, giving a mortally wounded look to Cassiopeia. They were in the middle of the casserole course of the dinner, seated at one of several dinner tables that had been pushed together to make room for all the guests. Though at first all the diners had done their best to be decorous and not make fools of themselves, by the post-cheese course the wine had softened everyone's tongues, and the room was quite boisterous. Even Fastrada was in a passionate mood and traded anecdotes about shopping with more horror and gusto than was strictly decent.

"How rude! You make that casserole every Christmas—delicious, by the way, your house-elf's cooking is wonderful—"

(Miss Meliflua glanced at her casserole, and then quietly excused herself to go to the drawing room and stuff it under the sofa.)

"Oh, thank you—but it actually came from a caterer, Chef Renée. You've probably heard of him, he's world-renowned and very expensive—"

"Although a bit dry…" quietly added Magnesio, who was sitting on her right. He had broken off from a conversation with Cepheus.

"Well, Mabby has recently given birth." Fastrada glared at her husband in a way that suggested that it was his fault that birth existed in the first place.

"Mobby." Magnesio glanced up from his plate long enough to see his wife's scowl, and then hurriedly back-pedaled the conversation. "Of course, how would I know what an elf's name is? It's not like I talk to them." His dark head retreated back down, the ends of his Dalí-like mustache dipping into the wine cup as though cowed.

"Regulus was playing with the creature all day," continued Fastrada, whose voice had come back at a conversational tone.

"Disgusting!" Cassiopeia sighed dramatically, nearly choking on her wine in the process.

"I know." Fastrada patted her coughing sister on the back lightly. She wondered if she had remembered to put a twinkling charm on the goblets and chandeliers. It was hard to tell in the dusky candlelight of the dining room. "But back to what we were talking about before: the shopkeeper really should have known. I wouldn't even shop at Agaue if the other shops weren't all run by Muggle-lovers."

"Considering you pay his wages, you're really entitled to high-class service. I mean, we're Blacks, not the average riff-raff that comes off the street..."

"Mind passing by a bottle, Annie?" Alphard, sitting next to Cepheus and Magnesio, motioned toward Andromeda, who was talking animatedly to Narcissa and enjoying the benefits of being a legal adult.

"Sure, Uncle Al!" Fully back to her old self, Andromeda giggled randomly and picked up a bottle of no doubt very old, very French wine. Sirius reached under her arm for some mashed potatoes. He had already mashed his peas, carrots, and ham, but that wasn't an unusual reaction to having to sit through Christmas Dinner. Sirius preferred to listen in on his cousins' conversations, as hearing about the latest fashions and gorgeous male celebrities was better than listening to the adults' slightly more inane gossip on so-and-so's blood purity or complaints of how such-and-such shop wasn't giving the service a Black deserved. But Fastrada and Cassiopeia had started talking too loudly to ignore.

"Thanks, love, that's the ticket…" Andromeda had somehow managed to evade burns from the dripping candelabras placed haphazardly over the table, and briefly let her attention span settle on her uncle.

"—I really shouldn't give my business to those people."

"Fastrada, you always complain about that store," admonished Alphard, albeit with a twinkly smile.

"I know. I could take my business my business elsewhere…if I wanted to."

"Then do so." Alphard put his attention back on his niece, noticing that her face was a bit flushed despite her giddy mood. "Want anything, Annie?"

"Pass the duck, Uncle Al. Thanks so much." Andromeda reached over for a wing and immediately got back to her discussion with Narcissa on whatever color was the new black.

"Leave the skin on the plate," reprimanded Fastrada. "It's terribly fattening. Honestly, Andromeda, you're starting to develop a belly already."

The laughter seemed to rip in half and thunk on the ground.

"A…a belly? Fattening?"

"Yes, terribly!" Fastrada swelled up, preparing to relay her knowledge on the atrocities of duck skin. There was a pregnant pause, and then: "I read it in Witch Weekly…don't you remember, Cassiopeia?"

Cassiopeia wiped her mouth daintily (probably to hide a burp) before answering. "There was an article…June/July issue." Exactly one eyebrow was raised. "Didn't I give it to you, Annie?"

Andromeda rubbed her eyes and temple, as though trying to remember. "Oh, yes…thank you for the advice." She was subdued for the rest of the evening, letting her eyes rest of the family tree tapestry in the next room instead of anyone in the dining room.

The dinner crawled through three more courses, a post-cheese platter, and a mid-dinner mint before finally collapsing into the after-dinner brandy. Everyone somehow managed to drag their inflated stomachs into the largest living room, where Cepheus and Alphard attempted to revive the Black Brother Band, consisting of increasingly silly renditions of Barkwith's Symphony--sans any exploding musical instruments. Exploding eardrums, however, were increasing exponentially. Even the portrait of Rodomontade XII was hiding behind his warhorse with his hands clamped on his ears.

"Merlin's ears, would you stop it?" someone at last shouted irritably. Everyone sighed in relief as the screeching of bagpipes stopped, before remembering to glare. It was really quite a sight when Narcissa, Magnesio, and Fastrada practiced their synchronized frowning, the same hard, thin line breaking into their cheeks as it often did.

"Because, um…someone has an important announcement to make!"

Meliflua, who had made the announcement under the influence of a suspicious-looking casserole, trembled off and tried to make herself invisible, but it was redundant. Everyone glared in the direction of the scowling Bellatrix and noticed neither Meliflua nor the sheet-white Andromeda, who had been feeling far too noticeable for several hours.

"Yes! How did you guess?" she squeaked, trying to play innocent.

"Guess what?" Magnesio was leaning forward in the armchair, an oddly creased expression in his eyes and between his brows. This niece was not the one who usually did anything noteworthy, aside from the occasional rebellious foray into Muggle fashion.

"I…am going…"

"Yes?"

"To…"

"Go on, Andromeda." Cassiopeia was bordering on being sharp with her, but she didn't want to call any more attention—though everyone in the room was already looking—to whatever was making her daughter rub her eyes with such trembling force.

"University." The room seemed to lie back with the anticlimactic answer; even Andromeda seemed a bit more relaxed.

"Which one?" It was Narcissa speaking now. Since when had her sister aspired to be some sort of scholar? Trying to get good grades was one thing, but there was no point in going to university unless you were planning to get a job, and then you'd have to quit it anyway once you were married.

"Padua University."

"Where?"

"In Padua."

"Studying?" asked Cassiopeia.

"What?" A thousand wide eyes were hastening through the air in order to crash into Andromeda's voice box, making it crack a bit.

"The proper term is 'pardon'," Cassiopeia said smoothly, and went on: "What are you studying?" The tone was cold and direct, as though Andromeda was skirting around telling her mother the exact nature of her report card. Really, it was terribly rude to stutter and pull back so. You would think that she didn't want to talk to them!

"Arithmancy."

"What sort?"

"What?"

"Pardon. What branch of arithmancy? Geometric?"

"Aah…arithmetric."

"Oh, do tell!" Cepheus was grinning, but it did not reach his eyes. Alphard himself had dark eyes, devoid of the twinkling light of earlier in the night. "I remember Italy. The best magic schools in Europe."

"Oh, surely Hogwarts is better!" The portrait of Rodomontade XII was mockingly outraged, prepared to make some sort of show that would divert everyone's attention.

"Hogwarts is not a university, and certainly isn't much to look at—"

"Oh! How dare you!" Rodomontade was busy making a scene as the cousins slipped out—both the Black sisters and brothers.

"I'm just going to the loo!" called out Andromeda, tripping out in order to fix her makeup, or perhaps vomit. No one in the room had any idea what a 'loo' was, but they had dark ideas of the sort of people Andromeda consorted with. She always came back from school using fanciful new words and wearing the most ridiculous clothing.

The other cousins didn't particularly care where they were going, as long as it wasn't near the adults.

Narcissa had been drawing in her room before her parents had required her to attend yet another party and wanted to continue without everyone staring at her and asking her insipid questions like "What are you drawing?" or "Isn't that kind of outfit physically impossible?" So she slipped into one of the less haunted upstairs rooms.

Regulus had an appointment with a young house-elf that needed (if not exactly wanted) a play date, and went on a quest to find it again.

As for Sirius, he daydreamed about Apparating. France would be nice this time of year: beautiful weather, he could visit James, and it was an extremely satisfying number of kilometers from the Annual Party. But for now, he would continue his play date with Regulus, and perhaps allow Bellatrix to join in. True, she was a bit psychotic, but that didn't mean that they couldn't have some fun together.

It turned out that Bellatrix was already busy, as she and Regulus were at some sort of house-elf tea party in the kitchen. Unfortunately, the house-elf was hot pink and kept on burping up slugs and the tea tasted horrid, so the party had to be suspended until the cousins got a counter-curse and a bowl of sugar.

"Hullo, Reg." Regulus ignored Sirius in a way that made it completely obvious that his presence was known, with a stiffened back and a cross look in his eyes that only served to make him cross-eyed.

"Bell, you can't hold Dobby like that, you'll break his back…"

"What, it has a name now?" she replied with unusual friendliness. Bellatrix had made no show of ignoring Sirius, because it was her natural state anyway.

"Yes.… Dab and Mobby makes Dobby…" Dobby burped out something in a gibbering elf language and deposited another slug on some priceless faerie statue. Mother would be furious, but that was just another incentive to stop force-feeding him counter-spells and let him burp all he wanted.

"You're not supposed to name a house-elf until it does its first chore," piped up Sirius. He crouched down, letting a plan against Regulus form in his mind. Simply ruining the floor wouldn't work at getting Regulus and his toy in trouble; Dab was a master of brightening up hardwood. Weren't house-elves supposed to have some sort of thing about protecting their children?

"Well, that's a stupid tradition," snorted Bellatrix, sitting proudly in a new dress robe made in the oldest style of robes available, a very traditional silk-and-lace concoction. "Trifidus!" she said sharply to the struggling elf. Even without a wand, Dobby seemed to understand what she meant and sat still, whimpering/burping into her lap softly.

"How'd you do that?" asked Regulus.

"Well, I've done the spell before—"

"When? When were you playing with Dobby?"

"Oh, loads of times. It's always getting into my makeup and having to be shooed away somehow."

"So you cleaved its head in three?" Sirius had no sympathy for the struggling creature, as anyone with a whit of self-preservation knew to stay away from Bellatrix's things, but the trifidus spell seemed slightly cruel. Regulus looked absolutely horrified and was clutching the elf closer to himself.

Bellatrix looked up at Sirius, somehow managing to look down at him at the same time. "Have you already forgotten the lessons of second year? Trifidus causes only a splitting headache." Sirius got the feeling that such spells were never in the standard Hogwarts curriculum, but various espionage missions had taught him that Bellatrix had her own little Forbidden Section in her room (and that you should never go into said room without several amulets and a helmet).

"Anyway, it already knows what happens when I say that word and knows it's a bad thing even when there's no pain. Dobby learns quickly."

No, framing Regulus for some petty crime would never work. Besides, simple cruelty wasn't any fun unless you were in a bad mood. It had to be something clever. Sirius considered just leaving him alone for now. After a few days at Grimmauld place, and his mind would be suitably depraved and desperate to think of a good prank.

"Why are you playing with a house-elf anyway?" asked Sirius condescendingly, though he honestly was curious. He knew that Regulus was an animal-lover, but wasn't quite sure what a house elf was considered.

"Considering the alternatives," sneered Bellatrix, "it's not a bad choice." She grabbed Dobby, who had been trying to eat the hem of her robe, and held him to her chest. The gesture, though motherly in spirit, could hardly calm him down or fail to make Regulus nervous, considering what Bellatrix normally did to small, helpless animals. Dobby began to make shrieking, hissing sounds unique to young house-elves.

"Oh, thanks. I'll pass that on to Narcissa," said Sirius sourly.

"Don't shriek, you little twit—oh, pardon?" She dropped Dobby, who looked quite relieved.

"I said I'll pass—"

"Oh, that. Well, go on then, leave us alone. She's in the fourth-best guest room with Andromeda."

"Later, I meant." Even when Bellatrix was in one of her bad moods, her company was still more edifying than an hour of watching as Andromeda and Narcissa pored, enthralled,through the fashion section of Teen Witch Weekly.

"No, go right now. It's an emergency," piped up Regulus.

"Oh, of course it is. I'm so gullible—"

"No, no, Andromeda's very upset. Bawling her eyes out. Simply terrible." Bellatrix grinned. (Although that was possibly because there was no doubt in her mind that Regulus would botch up Dobby's counter-curse.)

"What did you do?" yelledSirius. He could understand it if Andromeda was simply in a cranky mood; that happened all the time—but she hadn't cried for seven years. What in the world had happened?

"What? Me?" Bellatrix, the picture of innocence, looked shocked, simply shocked! The very idea!

"Oh, Merlin, now you've managed upset Annie? This is just lovely..."

"Hibiscus!" The counter-curse went exactly as Bellatrix expected, and Dobby did not change at all except for now smelling of potpourri and melted cauldrons.

"What? Bellatrix, you gave me a bad spell," accused Regulus.

"No, you didn't articulate, how many times must I tell you—" started Bellatrix, with the air of someone who had asked 'how many times' quite a lot.

"No, it was on purpose, you tricked me—!"

"Guys! What did you do to Annie?" interrupted Sirius. Of course, it was possible that this was another practical joke, but if anyone could make Annie cry, Bellatrix would be the one to do it.

"Why don't you go up her room and see?"