A/N: Thanx to everyone who reviewed on chapter one! I love getting reviews! Originally chapter one was going to be like 772 bizillion (or a real number) pages long but I just couldn't end it, so I decided to break it into two parts Of Muggles and Motorbikes 1 and Of Muggles and Motorbikes 2. Anyway this one's pretty choppy and it's giving me grief but since you're reading this it's better now. Hopefully XD!. I just realized I got the title wrong on the first chapter. Jeez stupid "Noble and Most Ancient" that one makes the least sense to me. Whatever, I got it right where it counts. LoL. Anyways thanx for readin'/reviewin' and I hope you enjoy. This is part of the previous chapter so it's also third person. But the rest of the fic will be written by: Amethyst (Do You Believe in Magic?), Amethyst and Sirius (Letters From Hogwarts), Sirius (I don't believe in Love), Regulus (Brothers In Blood), Sirius (A Child Of The Noble And Most Ancient House of Black) James (The Making of A Murderer), then Sirius (Refuge) and finally third person (Conclusion). This is gonna be a looooong story so this may take a few months to finish. But bear with me XD!

Check out my profile page for a link to my myspace, where, if you've got a myspace, you can join the fan fic blog group I just started. SELF PROMOTION! LoL! All car terminology is correct. I googled minibuses! P !

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-The Evil Duck.

WARNING: Minor American bashing in this chapter, but since I'm from Jersey it's allowed, 'sides it moves the plot. Also references to child abuse. Yay for Padfoot angst! You have been warned!

The Child of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

-Part 1.5-

Of Muggles and Motorbikes 2

July 1975

And suddenly, Amethyst realized, it wasn't such a bad day after all. She was glad for the first time in weeks that she'd listened to the little devil perched on her left shoulder instead of the angelic voice in her right ear.

"You're not sane are you?" Amethyst asked.

"Never claimed to be," shrugged Sirius. He had been watching her with much more interest since they left the garage. He was after all, 14, and without the bulky, stained coverall her good looks became much more obviously Her hair, although it was still trapped in it's too-tight ponytail, was soft and silky, glistening in the sun. It was red, but was also streaked with lighter blondes and deeper auburns, as gemlike as her eyes. Freckles dotted her pale cheeks bridging her dignified European nose. She was tall, slightly lanky, and thin.

"I'm really surprised I'd never seen you before," he said, walking backwards in front of her.

"Me too, actually," said Amethyst sweeping her ponytail back over her shoulder, "never seen you at school or anything."

"I don't go to school around here," Sirius told her, "I go to a...er...exclusive school in Scotland."

"Why?" asked Amethyst.

Sirius shrugged, "family tradition," he decided finally.

"Where are we going?" asked Amethyst for the three hundredth time since they'd left the garage as Sirius turned seemingly randomly down a side street.

"Dunno," said Sirius calmly as if this was his master plan. "Where ever. Same as before."

"You know, I am so glad I decided to stop working on my van and come with you," she said sarcastically.

"What kind is it?" He asked.

"What kind is what?"

"Your van," he was walking slower now catching her eyes and holding them with his own, "what kind is it?"

"A violet '61 VW minibus," said Amethyst with relish, "Type 2, rear engine, split window, Kombi." She laughed at Sirius's look of confusion, "girls like cars too you know."

"It's not that at all," he said smiling, "I just...have no idea what you just said, I don't know a damned thing about cars, wish I did, but I don't. So run that by me again starting from the word 'A'."

"A violet, purple that is," she grinned, "1961 Volkswagen minibus, 1961 being the year it was made--"

"I gathered," said Sirius.

"---Type 2, meaning it's the second generation of minibuses. Type 1 was made in the 1950's...it may have been 1950, I don't remember, rear engine, the engine is in the back and there is no boot, same as the VW Beetles and a lot of American cars, like Ford's Econoline and Dodge's B110. Split window means the windscreen is in two pieces instead of one sheet of glass, and Kombi comes from some German word...oh...give me a moment...it'll come to me...Kombinationskraftwagen, or something like that. I think it means traveler, or is it compound vehicle? I can't remember, anyway all that means is that you can take out the seats in the back and there are windows in the back."

"Wow," Sirius said lamely, "couldn't dumb it down a bit more?"

She shook her head, smiling now. "It has four wheels, drives on pavement, has a big mechanical thing called an engine in the back--" but Sirius was hardly listening now. He was entranced by her smile. It was subtle and small. It was warm, authentic, a rare find, as people tend to hide, tend to lie, to change to please others. Most smiles, he'd found, were fakes. Sirius wondered the last time he'd seen a smile like this. Or if he ever had before. Her lips were unmade-up soft, pink, innocent. Enticing.

"Are you even listening to me?" Amethyst asked, the smile disappeared.

"What?" Sirius asked, "yeah!"

Across the Thames, St. Paul's glittered in the white hot noon light, it's famous dome glowing like a star. In the distance Tower Bridge seemed to bend in onto itself twisting in a heat mirage. The street was practically silent except for a few cooing heat exhausted pigeons that waddled and bobbed across the sidewalk slowly like obese pedestrians, and the dull murmur of underpaid actors emanating from the Globe Theater that they now approached. Amethyst had never been one for theater, nor were her parents, so she turned toward the noise without much interest. Sirius watched her and listened, trying to recognize the play.

Unlike Amethyst, Sirius had been taught to read on Shakespeare and Marlow, and by the age of eight could recite Macbeth, Hamlet, Julius Caesar, and his least favorite, Romeo and Juliet, by heart. It wasn't his choice, but his parents'. It was supposedly proof that he was smarter and better than those raised on "Pat the Bunny," or "Dick and Jane." The actor's overly pretentious voice sounded faint, muffled by the plaster walls and thick humidity, "he jests at scars that have never felt a wound."

It was Romeo and Juliet, specifically act 2 scene 2, Romeo climbs the wall surrounding the Capulet manor to watch from the garden, delivering one of Shakespeare's most famous speeches. Sirius didn't skip a beat, "but soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Juliet is the sun! Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon," Amethyst arched her eyebrows and watched almost dumbstruck as Sirius jumped onto the curved railing that protected pedestrians from falling to their deaths into the Thames. He caught his balance quickly, showing no sign of fear although he did cast a nervous glance to his right into the still, thick, blue water. "Who is already sick and pale with grief that thou her maid art far more fair than she--"

"Get down from there before you fall and drown or crack your head open," said Amethyst exasperatedly, afraid to pull Sirius's arm and upset his balance.

"She speaks," said Sirius happily as he jumped back down, "O speak again bright angel for thou art as glorious to this nigh--"

"That's enough William," she grinned, "didn't realize you were such a literature buff."

Sirius shrugged, "old Shakey did much better than Romeo and Juliet. Whole bloody play's about two horny teenagers who think they're in love."

"But they're not?" asked Amethyst.

"No, just sex deprived," he said, but his mind was blaring no such thing as love Honestly he had never believed in love. After all, he'd never seen proof. His parents had been arranged to marry each other to keep the aristocracy alive. They didn't love him, he knew that. They viewed him as a way to get ahead, and since he wasn't even providing that for them he was just a nuisance. A permanent, annoying guest, or some sort of unruly creature that periodically had to be battered around to keep him in line.

His father had been the worst, but Orion Black died of liver failure due to alcoholism just before Christmas of 1973. Sirius hadn't stopped laughing for weeks. His mother wasn't as bad as his father, but she had periodically cursed him if he did something exceptionally dumb, but...there was that time with the Filibuster's No Heat Wet Start Firework. It had been just a joke.

It was just a joke...

It had been at a Ministry Dinner, 12-year-old Sirius had gotten bored of being yanked around the room by his father meeting the Smiths, the LeStranges, the Williams, the Zambinis, and every other pureblood family in creation. He saw his cousin, Narsissa, across the room deep in conversation with Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy had graduated Hogwarts a year previously and was already a big name in the Ministry. The Malfoys and the Blacks were already tightly intertwined on the family tree, but it had already been 'suggested' that Lucius and Narsissa would make a perfect couple. After all, thought Sirius, they already were family. Malfoy looked around the room smugly with haughty blue eyes. Sirius felt his teeth grind and hands tighten to fists. Malfoy jumped to his feet, smiling as the Minister of Magic approached. The minister took the young man's hand in both of his, shaking it as if this was some great honor. If Sirius wanted to strike Malfoy's smug, pretty face, then would have been the best time.

Before his father knew what Sirius was doing the firework was already in the air, colliding with it's intended target, ash spattered Malfoy's robes, face, and hair. The Minister jumped backward in surprise, Narsissa was flecked with the powder as well and she shrieked as if in pain. Sirius was laughing, tears in the corners of his shining eyes, but it all ended very quickly. His father, pale-faced and royal looking bent down to Sirius's level during the chaos just after the attack and said with horrible practiced calmness brimming with rage, "don't think I didn't see that, and I promise you when we get home I'll really give you something to laugh about."

It had just been a prank, one simple, stupid, idiotic prank. But the scars hadn't faded on his back.

"You okay?" asked Amethyst seemingly suddenly and very loudly, "you stopped talking, are you just staring at my chest?"

Before Sirius could answer a loud American accented voice exploded like a gun shot around them, "Good day!" it said, and both teens spun around to face a tall fat man wearing a brown Disney Land baseball cap with the brim flipped up to reveal his sweating forehead, and a sweat stained t-shirt with the Union Jack printed on it. He had a hefty black camera hanging around his neck like a medallion. The strain of carrying the heavy thing was evident in the off color underarms of the tee.

Behind him was a woman with hair teased upwards into an unnatural beehive, her eyes were coated in dripping bright blue eye shadow behind a pair of cat's eye glasses dotted with rhinestones. She looked annoyed, glaring up at the sun then down at Sirius and Amethyst chewing her tongue as if they were the cause of the uncomfortable heat.

"Hello," said Amethyst as the man approached them.

"Do you...chaps...think you could lend us a hand? We're lost," he asked, stumbling over his accent awkwardly.

"Chaps?" mouthed Sirius to Amethyst who shrugged.

"Where're you headed?" asked Amethyst, Sirius was still mouthing the words 'chaps' to himself watching Amethyst with pity since she was actually talking to the man.

"Uh," the man looked around the street glancing at everything between Tower Bridge and Black Friar's, "where's the...historic district."

"I'm sorry?" Amethyst asked.

"S'no problem lass, just asking for the historic district," the man repeated, saying the last words far louder than necessary as if Amethyst was deaf.

Sirius snorted behind Amethyst muttering, "lass." She bit her tongue to keep from following suit and cracking up.

"You are Irish, right?" asked the American man nervously.

"Yeah, originally, top of the morning to you," she giggled, mostly to appease Sirius who was now almost rolling on the ground in a fit of silent laughter, holding onto the rail for support. "Now the 'historic district?'" she repeated.

"Look kid," the wife bustled forward shoving a map under Amethyst's nose, "we want to see old timey stuff, y'know? You Europeans should be a little more grateful, now show my husband to the historic area!" Amethyst stopped giggling and looked into the woman's angry eyes.

"It's okay, Doris," said the man. "It's fine, I've got it, this young lass is going to help us."

"It's just," Amethyst sounded as if she couldn't believe she was saying this, "there is no historic district."

"She's being smart with you, Marty," hissed the woman as if Amethyst couldn't hear.

"No, maybe, just, uh, listen lass, all cities have historic districts. Hell, some cities are historic districts, like Colonial Williamsburg, we're looking for that kind of place," said the man taking the map from his wife, holding it out in front of him for Amethyst to see although she was forced to read it upside down.

"I'm sorry, where?" she was getting more and more confused.

"Williamsburg! You know in Virginia?" He said loudly.

"I don't know a lot about the USA," she replyed, "but if you want historic stuff it's all around you. London's like two thousand years old. I mean we're in front of the Globe Theater," she gestured towards the building and both tourists looked up in surprise as if they hadn't seen it there.

"This place is famous?" the man asked dumbstruck, "like people would recognize it."

"Yeah," Amethyst nodded, "Shakespeare's Globe."

"Oh, oh, that Globe!" he said faux-knowledgably, "Shakespeare's Globe. Romeo and Juliet, Alas poor Yorik, stuff like that. You speak old English?"

"No," said Amethyst flatly.

"Gaelic?"

"No."

"She's just teasing you, Marty," whispered the wife, "she's Irish, it was her first language."

Marty nodded, "so, lass, what else is there to see?"

Amethyst was getting exasperated, "Tower Bridge way down there, see? That's St. Paul's across the Thames there." She pointed towards the spiked peaks of the famous bridge through the thick humidity bearing down on them like a curtain, before turning to point out the obvious cathedral just behind Sirius.

"How did you just say it?" asked the man laughing slightly.

"What? St. Paul's?" Amethyst looked puzzled.

"No, no, no, the name of the river."

"It's the River Thames..." said Amethyst slowly.

Doris was laughing now too. "It must just be your accent," said Marty, "you just say Thames so oddly." He pronounced it phonetically.

Sirius gave way to a new fit of laughter, failing to pass it off as a sneeze as was his original intent. "Right," Amethyst kept going choosing to ignore this last comment, "Tate Modern is just down the road, it's a muesum...and..."

The woman, Doris shifted her weight uncomfortably shielding her eyes with a manicured but mannish hand muttering something that sounded like, "European punks...Bailed them out of World War 2..."

Amethyst stopped talking, a slow small smirk twitched at the corners of her full lips, "you know what sir, I'll tell you how to get to the best kept secret in London. Ready?"

"That's more like it," muttered the woman coming closer to hear.

"Right, just cross that bridge, Black Friar's," she pointed a few blocks to their left where the intricately carved, almost plastic-looking bridge spanned the Thames, "just take that street right there," she was still pointing, "take a left down Bruckner Avenue it'll be probably the fifth or sixth street, head down 'till you hit Fleet, take a left down a side street, past the...the... Partridge in a Pear Tree pub, you'll know when you see it."

The two Americans set off grumbling, Marty still fumbling with the overlarge map, Doris jogging ahead of him her thick, sweating arms dangling at her sides.

"Partridge in a Pear Tree pub?" asked Sirius when she turned back towards him. He was grinning. "You could have done better than that."

"I wouldn't usually do that!" she said quickly, "it's just they were rude and he called me 'lass,' and..and...you know I really could have thought of a better fake pub name, but they did buy it, and I was on the spot."

"Where do you think they'll end up?" he watched them boredly for a few more seconds, "after Fleet Street I mean."

"Probably just there," she said tugging once more at her ponytail, winding the red strands between her fingers, "they'll duck down every side street in the business district before they ask for directions and get laughed at by some executives at lunch. I wonder where they thought I was sending them?"

"Toward your pot of Leprechaun gold of course!" said Sirius as they set off again. The day seemed suddenly cooler, and the time which had been going so painfully slowly before was now passing far faster than was normal, the sun spinning like the wing of a pin wheel through the sky.

Sirius and Amethyst stopped to get something to eat at a small cafe a few blocks away from the Globe. Amethyst refused to allow Sirius to pay for her meal, and, despite his best efforts, she was much faster with Muggle money than he. Sirius struggled for a few moments with the notes like a foreigner, muttering to himself under his breath.

Amethyst looked at him quizzically, "having trouble?" she asked.

"Haven't you ever wondered what paper's worth?" he answered.

"Wait--what?"

"Paper. I mean that's all Mug--money is essentially, you know. Just little pieces of paper, why do people want to collect little notes with numbers written on them?"

"I never thought about that," she furrowed her brow but was smiling, "I dunno, to buy things I guess. I mean we've all agreed that those pieces of paper are worth something, right?"

Sirius shrugged.

"I mean it makes more sense than trading or gold coins."

Again Sirius shrugged, sipping his soda slowly and fiddling with the overlarge gold coin in his jeans pocket.

The two wandered aimlessly around the city and without getting into a cab wound up in Hyde Park. Amethyst shook her head shouting, "you're something you know that," as Sirius took off at a run into a group of fat pigeons that took off around him forming a thick feathery cloud. They spent the rest of the afternoon in London's most famous park, telling each other stories and secrets they didn't even realize they knew.

"Azure's gay," Amethyst said as the pair lay on a grassy plot getting stared at by the dog walkers and other passers by who wanted nothing more than to get out of the sun. She had her hands behind her head, staring up into the bright blue sky. "He doesn't think anyone knows, but I do. I'm his sister, I know everything."

"I thought that was parents," said Sirius, "I thought parents and teachers know everything."

"Nah, you know same as me parents only think they know, same for teachers. What's it like at your boarding school?" asked Amethyst.

"I dunno," sighed Sirius, "same as here, you know, uniforms, homework, teen angst, crushes, sob stories, cliques, drugs, sex, rock and roll."

"I hate my uniform," Amethyst confided, "it makes me feel so...girly and awkward."

"Have you got a boyfriend?" Sirius asked suddenly, surprising himself as much as her. Sirius had had more than triple the number of girlfriends of any seventh year. His exploits with females over the summer were the stuff of legend. Sirius would melt your heart and have it in his palm in a matter of seconds, and he could toss it back to you later, all without breaking it. Every girlfriend he'd ever had felt special, even though they saw him with his tongue down the throat of a new one practically every week. He was a hero to the boys and a deity to the girls.

"No." she said frankly, "no never. I don't really have many friends at all actually..."

"Why not?" Sirius asked turning his head to face her.

"I'm just different, you know? I--I'm new I guess, and I don't like make up, or a lot of music, I'm Irish, I just came here, I've never been kissed, I don't want to be, I'm a strict Irish Catholic, I don't smoke or drink or anything."

"And I was just going to ask you if you minded if I lit a cigarette," said Sirius, "you're unique. That's what makes you wonderful. Care if I smoke?"

"Mind if I die?" she asked.

He sighed and slipped the paper tube back into his pocket, "do you try to make friends? I mean you're so much fun, it's hard to see you without anyone. Don't pretend to be so goody-goody, let your hair down. Literally and figuratively."

She had been fiddling with her ponytail and released it as he said this. "I...I don't really like talking to people..." she confided.

"You're talking to me," he pointed out.

"You're different for some reason."

It was around eight o'clock at night when they returned to 12 New Way and the sun was now a deep bloody red. The sky was bright amber, the clouds dyed yellow and orange. The buildings ahead of them were now a deep shadowy purple. Their shadows lay elongated and black on the sidewalk in front of them. The huge metal door of the mechanic's garage was pulled shut and the sign that had interested Sirius earlier on the smaller glass door now said "CLOSED" in big black letters. Amethyst smacked her forehead, "I said I'd be back before closing! What time is it," she turned Sirius's wrist so she could see his watch, "hell," she muttered before freeing his arm, "sorry," she added, "should've asked first."

Sirius asked, "how long ago was closing time?"

"An hour and a half," she grinned sheepishly.

"Oh, sorry," he grimaced, "are you going to be in a lot of trouble?"

"Not much," she said, "I think they'll be happy I was out with a real person. My dad might be bothered by the fact that your a boy. He worries."

"Right then, but he'll have no problems with me being a stay-at-home Protestant?"

"Not as long as there are no problems with me being a strict Irish Catholic. Respect me and my family and who we are and he'll love you, and if you ever meet him, just don't act scared. He's like a horse, he can smell fear." She laughed.

"I will get to meet him, one day."

"Will you? So I'll see you again? You're not just going to be some weirdo who pops into my life once and never comes back?"

"Of course not, I'll be a weirdo who pops into your life so often you wish I'd only popped once," he answered bending down.

"Are you going to try to kiss me?" she asked.

"Thinking about it," he smirked, "why?"

"Nope," she shook her head stepping back, "we're friends Mr. Black, nothing more."

"Fine, Miss O'Connor," he stood up and saluted, "I will see you tomorrow."

"When?" She asked.

"It's a secret," he told her, "meaning I have no idea."

"You don't know much do you?" she asked.

"Not a bloody thing. Well, lass, good night."

"You too, chap," she said pulling out a plain key ring and fitting a small gold one into the slot. He watched her disappear into the dark garage and stood there alone for a few moments, watching his own shadow stretched in front of him. He lit his ciggerette and furrowed his brow in thought. His mother was going to have his head but he wasn't thinking about that, he never thought about that. He was thinking instead of Amethyst O'Connor.

A/N: Awww teh cuteness! 3 I wanted to end this on a different note b/c he doesn't love her...yet. ;) he thinks of her as a friend, but he's Sirius and he kisses (and then some) any girl he meets so it was his natural impulse. Oh and the cigerette thing! Yeah I know it's gross but it's an ultimate act of rebelion. I mean it's muggle and it's grody as hell so it's sure to piss of his pure blood parents. I've got a whole story as to how he became a nicotine addict, but that's another story for another time...another place...a place and time where I am less lazy! LoL! Anyway, you've read...now REVIEW! LoL!

A/N: I've been to London and they have scary ass pigeons. I mean like FREAKIN' HUGE ASS pigeons like they probably ate the "feed the birds" lady from Mary Poppins, but NY Pigeons have more attitude and that's where it counts. Yeah New York! Okay I'm done.

A/N: Obviously not written by me, Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare, 1594. I've got "The Arden Shakespeare, Complete Works, Revised Edition" i

A/N: No the Smiths are not Zacarius Smith, it's Jack Smith IV, a guy I go to school with, the MOST Slytherin-y, Dark Wizard-y person I can think of. Like the definition Slytherin. Like every teacher loves him even though he never does his work, he's had about 100 girlfriends over the years, has slept with all of them, then broken up with all of them, but can still get more, like everyone knows him, like he would kill to get to the top, I'm sure he will. The Williams's are his girlfriend Caitlin's family. I just needed another last name LoL!

A/N: As an American I am supposed to make fun of them. This guy is heavily influenced by a story David Sedaris wrote called "Picka Pocketoni" in...I think it was Me Talk Pretty One Day, but it could be Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim. Whatever one of those books. David Sedaris GOD!.

A/N: okay personal pet peeve of mine. When I was in England, I was totally embarrassed to be an American for lots of reasons, one being because I saw some guy talking about the Thames River pronounced how it's spelled. It's pronounced "Tems" and it's the River Thames not the Thames River. It seemed to piss off the locals too, so...stuff...

A/N: The rest of these should come faster b/c I have a lot of the later chapters already started! Plus this one was deterred by studying for Midterms. 00 never mention midterms again...look what it did to my smiley! The other chapters also shouldn't suck this bad. I don't know what's wrong with my brain. I think my creativity died half way through...oh well

Final A/N: The Next chapter is called "Do You Believe in Magic" Here is be a taste:

"Do you believe in magic, Am?" he asked me, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel of my Kombi.

"That's a strange question," I said, "Of course not, not since I was little," his eyes flickered, maybe it was a change in the color or something but he looked suddenly upset. I hate the word "magic" it sounds so young, so demeaning. It's something you say to a little kid when they ask you to many annoying or inappropriate questions. "Magic" makes me feel young, stupid, helpless. Stupid word, stupid idea. "I believe in miracles, impossible things happening, I have faith in The Lord. But I don't believe in leprechauns, or banshees, or ghosts, or ghouls, or witches, and whatever."

"That's funny," he said with his brow furrowed looking at me with those intense eyes. His eyes say more than his mouth does and that's an accomplisment.

TTFN!