With his dieing breath her father had given her a gift: called her Ashland because that was who she had always been. All she ever wanted to be. Not some branch in a twisted family tree. Not named for some star just because that was the way things were done. Not Muggle. Not Wizard. Not half-blood. Just Ashland—Beverly and Alphard's daughter.
After all, Adhara Ashland Black didn't exist. At least not to any of the hundreds of richies (as she liked to call them) milling around the Museum's new wing like a flock of jeweled hummingbirds sucking on champagne. Didn't matter if they were Beverly Ashland and Alphard Black's business associates, 'friends,' mere acquaintances or just wished they'd had an in on the Ashland/Black circles—not one of them besides the Duncan family even suspected a daughter existed.
They still didn't know that Beverly and Alphard had been married.
Oh sure—rumors had always circled the pair. But most just figured 'affair'—the usual Rich Boss and Lowly Assistant arrangement. Even though Beverly Ashland had been more than Alphard Black's personal assistant. She'd been the public face of all his vast dealings in America, specifically Texas and New York, running all his businesses in the States with her unique mix of sharp mind, quirky humor and no nonsense loyalty. And when Alphard Black 'died' she inherited all of his American holdings, kept all the businesses afloat and all his projects and charities on track.
No one guessed she also continued to live with her very much still alive husband, raising his then almost adult daughter at their remote estate in the Texas hill country.
And if Adhara Ashland Black didn't exist for all the movers and shakers flowing around her now, then she certainly didn't exist to the more oddly dressed inhabitants in the room. The ones who looked like they'd stepped right out of various period piece movies. Ashland counted twelve wizards and one witch in the room so far. Either coincidence was enjoying a field day or these were the Death Eaters who had killed her parents. She was pulling for the Death Eater option.
Sipping at her champagne flute to hide the cruel smile that she couldn't quite contain, Ash turned away from the crowd.
And nearly walked smack into her oldest friend.
"Woho…" Chris Duncan grabbed her upper arm to steady her as she jerked backwards to avoid the collision. "No need to tackle me. I did what you wanted!"
His tone was joking and his smile couldn't have been bigger, but she knew what he was really saying—he'd smoothed things with the press, stopped the inquiry on her father's estate, and met with the museum board. All without knowing why she couldn't do it herself or why there was to be absolutely no mention of her name or existence.
His efficiency and unconditional support nearly made up for the guilt she felt in involving a Muggle in events that he wouldn't understand even if she could explain. But the Duncans were used to weird Black behavior. Chris' dad had been Alphard's main lawyer, his mother had been Beverly's best friend. And Chris had been Ashland's only friend to grow up knowing who her parents were and—if not why then at least—that it was important that no on else know.
"Yeah well, we'll see about that." She smiled right back at him. He nodded once, understanding the message behind her sarcastic teasing: we'll talk later, somewhere else. "What I really want to know is where the good stuff is." She raised her now empty flute. "Tell me the richies' yearly donations can't cover a decent bar with variety. Where's Jackie D when you need him?"
Chris laughed as he took her arm and steered her away from the elderly couple glaring at her. "Was that last bit really necessary?" He was still smiling, his cheeks pushing his glasses into his eyebrows and making the laugh lines on his forehead even deeper.
"Definitely…" Ashland watched the one witch—dressed in a flapper-like dress that would have won the prize at the Museum's annual Halloween costume gala—pass within inches of her as she answered her friend.
Oh yes, it was necessary. I'm just another drunk society Muggle. Nothing special. Not a threat. Not worth noticing. Not connected to any wizards much less the Blacks. Not…
Black eyes framed by lanky black hair stared into hers from a darker corner across the room.
…not as invisible as I thought. And make that thirteen wizards.
This one was the least conspicuously dressed of them all. Simple black suit, cut well, plain white shirt and black silk tie. Timeless. Perhaps a little understated here among the mass of well-dressed philanthropists and social elite out to celebrate the life of one of their finest—or richest. But easily overlooked. Dangerous.
The wizard's eyes never left hers as Chris continued to guide her towards the bar. Right before she had to finally turn her head forward or risk twisting her neck completely backwards, he sneered. Ashland felt the hate in the gesture from clear across the room and couldn't help but feel it was personal despite not recognizing this man at all.
Chris ordered them both another champagne while Ashland looked back to the corner where the wizard was still standing. The flapper-dress witch had joined him; they'd put their heads together and were whispering furiously. Though the wizard had the sense to not gesture wildly like the witch. When a small group of Muggles near them finally turned to look, the wizard grabbed the witch's arms to stop her and drew her further back into the corner's shadows.
Ashland needed to be near that corner.
"Still jet-lagged?" Chris handed her a fresh flute and followed as she began to weave through the crowd slowly to where she could hopefully hear the couple's argument.
"Nah. I'm used to the difference. By now." She was—the flight between Austin and New York was nothing after all the times she'd made it. "Mom and I made the trip once a month this past year." Ash gripped her flute's stem a little harder than necessary. The pain was at times almost unbearable. How could it possibly be that she'd never see her mother or father again?
They'd reached a bottleneck in her path to the witch and wizard. She'd chosen the wrong way, of course, and they were passing the exhibit of the evening—most of the crowd was standing in their path, waiting to get a good look at the Black Star. It wasn't just that tonight was the Star's debut—the unveiling of the largest known blue diamond in the world. No, the story behind the unveiling was what drew most of the people closer, hurrying to get a glimpse of the gem at the center of such controversy and intrigue. Because after spending eleven years and hundreds of thousands of dollars creating a room for a permanent exhibit around the Star, Beverly Ashland wouldn't make an appearance tonight. Her greatest passion's unveiling had become a memorial for her after the mysterious and highly talked about circumstances of her death.
Rumors buzzed around the group vying for a glimpse.
"No, she was married to him…"
"Montey said she was in debt up to her ears…"
"It's karma come full circle—after all it's obvious she killed him all those years ago…"
"That curator's not right in the head, that's all I'm saying…"
"An affair? Surely not…"
"Why else would he have left it all to her…"
Ashland swatted each clip of conversation away as it zipped past her. She'd been hearing it all night—from the bizarre to the eerily almost on target theories about why her mother had died. Who she'd really been. How she'd really come to inherit Alphard Black's fortune. It meant nothing. Could hurt no one anymore. So she ignored it all.
But Chris' grip on her arm tightened every step they took through the crowd. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and saw that his generous lips had almost completely disappeared into a thin line—the sure sign that he was about to explode. When a woman they passed outright called Beverly Ashland a gold-digging whore, Ash had to haul Chris out of the crowd before he could turn around and pummel the woman to within an inch if her life.
"How can you stand to hear that garbage?" His eyes were slits, his hands gripping both of her arms above the elbows so she couldn't look away. She'd purposefully avoided discussing her mother yet with him because she knew the pain he was in. And she could barely handle her own, much less handle seeing her best and oldest friend, the man she loved most in the world, hurting just as bad.
"Because I know it means nothing. These people are nothing. You know that, Chris."
His fingers dug a little deeper into her arms and Ash welcomed the discomfort. "I know that!" His voice was a hiss, but it might as well have been a shout. "That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt!"
"I know that!" There were tears in her eyes now, tears that Ashland refused to shed in front of these people.
"I know you know that!"
"And I know you know that we both know!"
Chris pulled her to him and hugged her so hard that she couldn't breath. "As long as we have that clear."
She allowed the embrace to go on a little longer than she necessarily should have. If she had her way, she'd stay in his arms the rest of the night. The rest of her life. But Chris had never grown out of the older brother act. And the days that Ashland let herself be the pining victim of unrequited love were long over.
Plus there was a witch and wizard in a corner that might know a thing or two about her parents' murders.
Ashland gently pushed back from Chris. "I can't do this here."
"Tonight, Ash."
"Not here and not now."
"Tonight."
"Chris…"
"Things didn't go well with the museum board, Ashland…"
"What do you mean they didn't go…"
"Mr. Duncan," a tall man dressed in a perfectly tailored blue suit had joined them off to the side of the crowd surrounding the diamond. He gave Ashland the once over with his arched eyebrows and icy blue eyes. She was just about to give him a once over of his own with her fist when he turned his back to her and continued to speak to Chris. "They're ready for you."
Chris' laugh lines smoothed until they disappeared and Christian Harrison Duncan the Fourth, heir to the Duncan firm, stood before them. Ashland liked to think she could pull the whole haughtier-than-thou routine with the best of them and fit in with the circles she'd spent her whole life watching her parents move in. But she had nothing on Chris Duncan.
"Thank you. Gregory Kane, curator of the Star exhibit meet," Chris waved his hand towards Ash. "Leslie White, my date." His warm brown eyes turned indifferent as they flicked towards her behind his glasses. He patted her cheek as he walked past her. "Stay put and try not to stick your foot in your mouth."
Kane's derisive smile as he raked her once again with those blue eyes said mission accomplished. She was no one to yet another person in the room. Floozy date of the Duncan brat. Excellent. Rumors would circulate, cover was established.
Off to see the wizards.
OoOoOoOo
At first he'd thought it was all a terrible dream. The Department of Mysteries hadn't happened, the veil hadn't granted his fondest wish, and Sirius Black was in fact alive and parading around this twice-cursed American city in drag.
But no man could pull of a dress like that—black and slinky, a simple cut that screamed wealth and power to the person smart enough not to be tricked by the imposters like the rhinestone encrusted creation standing next to her. No, that was a woman eyeing the crowd with complete disdain and barely concealed anger over the rim of a champagne glass. A woman with black hair piled in soft curls on the head so that it showed off Bellatrix's swan neck. With the unmistakable aristocratic features that had haunted his dreams in the form Narcissa Black when he had been a teenage boy too stupid to know that elegance did not mean beauty.
And then the glass came down from her lips and she'd run into a man and she'd smiled his irritating, careless smile and she'd laughed his barking laugh—he heard it over the crowd, that sound that had plagued his dreams as well. Even after they'd all grown up and pranks and bullying were the past…
Severus Snape hated her instantly. Whoever she was.
So it had been like old times, no effort required, when her eyes had met his across the room and his sneer had slipped into place. And then Urien Goyle—whose placement on this mission Severus considered Voldemort's true punishment for his interfering with Malfoy (the Cruciatus was mercy in comparison)—had appeared, gesticulating like a windmill in a tizzy, wearing that ridiculous excuse for a Muggle outfit. He'd had to pull her into the next room before Mystery Woman bore down upon them.
He'd sent Urien off to find her husband and Merlin only knew if they could keep from drawing too much attention to themselves as they figured out the security in place in the back of the building. In the meantime Severus returned to exhibit hall's shadows, watching Mystery Woman look for him and noticing that she'd marked every wizard in the room. Her eyes never rested, skipping from wizard to wizard around the room in a seemingly random pattern that it took Severus four complete passes to break.
Lestrange, Nott, Gordon, Rankin, Fawcett, Munch, Tims, Malfoy, Grayson, Kiplinger, Underwood. He could almost hear her counting in her head, reaching ten and then pausing, hoping to see eleven and twelve and the witch, and then starting over. Her survey incorporated the Goyles as they rejoined the others in the Diamond's room but she never found him as she listened idly to the speaker drone on about Beverly Ashland, the Muggle who tried to be a Black.
Severus sneered at the thought. What he would give to still have access to Grimmauld Place and be able to tell Celaeno Black's portrait just what her very own brother-in-law had left the family for. To give her something new to moan and scream about. Surely the Order members would thank him for adding some variety to the old prune's routine.
Severus frowned, his mind skipping over the small snag in his enjoyment of that particular fantasy. The only time an Order member would ever thank him again would be on the other end of a wand and to die. And that was as it should be. Only a sentimental, Hufflepuff fool would wish it otherwise.
Where would they all be now, if it had been otherwise? …Coward…
He slowly relaxed his hand where it had been clenching his wand in his pocket—Oh how he hated them all—and moved a little further back into the shadows. She was moving this way as she surveyed the room, adjusting her position to the wizards as they roamed around the diamond on their assignments.
Draco joined him, discreet enough that Snape didn't feel like hexing the idiot's head off as per usual. "The Goyles say we're ready. The wards are down at the apparition point. Fawcett got the curator's hairs."
"Then we wait and fade away to the positions when the crowd disperses."
"I still think I should be paired with you. Urien is a bumbling fool…"
"Because you've never bumbled a job. Have you Draco?"
The boy shut his mouth, turned on his heal and stalked away with enough obvious disdain to do Lucious proud.
Mystery Woman had hit another stumbling block on her search for him—a tall thin woman in her early sixties dressed just as tastefully and obviously a friend. More of that ever-cursed laughter floated over the crowd to suffocate him.
"Now that is a Muggle I wouldn't mind baiting, hey Severus?"
Snape shrugged Lestrange's arm off his shoulders and stepped a foot away. He loathed the Lestrange brothers. "If she's a Muggle, Rabastan, then I'm still a Potions Professor."
"According to the crowd she's the Duncan boy's slut." Rabastan nodded towards the platform where the speaker droned on. "I bet twenty galleons she's as Muggle as they come."
How could the fool not see she had Black written all over her. He was Bellatrix's brother-in-law for Merlin's sake. "Look at her—don't you see it?"
"I see a throat made for screaming…you sure we don't have a little time we could squeeze in a good revel…"
"I swear if any of you so much as touch a Muggle before we have the Star and are well back home, I will make you wish the Dark Lord had gotten hold of you instead. I'll not take the blame for another mission gone foul."
"Right. Sure. Incentive to come back and tour the States again…" Rabastan wondered off as he spoke, and Snape turned back to see that Mystery Woman was leaving the party on the arm of the 'Duncan Boy.'
Maybe Lestrange was right. Maybe she was just another Muggle slut. Maybe he was still just as obsessed with his hate as he had been before the veil. But he had to admit it felt good. To have a physical focus again. Hating hadn't been nearly as much fun since Sirius had decided to die.
OoOoOoOo
Joanna Duncan had always made Ashland laugh. It felt good to laugh now.
"Well at least I still have the roses. Kraken's off to doggie boot camp first thing Monday morning though. You ought to come see him before he leaves. Really, dear, Christian and I would love for you to come down for breakfast tomorrow…"
"I can't Jo—I'm sorry. I'm leaving for England tomorrow."
"So soon? But isn't there a lot that needs doing…" she leaned in so that no one could overhear her. "Christian said that they'd be burying your father Sunday…"
"I have to go…he didn't want me to wait."
"You Blacks…I swear I'll never understand a thing you do." Joanna hugged her, and Ashland clung as though she were hugging her mother once again. "Well of course, dear. You'll let us know if there's anything you need. I know you asked Chris to take care of a few things but Christian and I are here for you as well."
"I know…"
"Did either of you even listen to my fine, eloquent speech?" Chris kissed his mother's cheek as he joined them. "I worked for hours on it."
"Well, Chris dear, I'm sure it was adequate baloney, but we had other things to discuss."
Ashland had to laugh at the frown on Chris' face. "Mom, who uses the word baloney?"
"I do."
"Of course you do. I have to steal Ash away…she's off tomorrow and we have to talk…"
"I'll leave you children to it."
Another round of hugs and Chris led the reluctant Ashland to the curator's office by way of the coatroom to get her purse.
They were barely through the door when Ashland rounded on him, choosing the topic before Chris could bring up her parents again. "What do you mean it didn't go well with the museum board?"
"It's a no go with the Star, Ash. Even Dad looked at the agreement between the estate and the Museum. The diamond is a permanent exhibit for at least ten years."
"Even if the Blacks want it back. We could say it was just for a few days."
"Even if. Apparently Alphard wanted it worded that way and Beverly saw it done. Of course that was nearly twelve years ago when the proposals first went up."
"More weird Black…baloney." Ashland kicked the office chair behind the curator's desk. It spun and rolled across the room.
"You're sure Alphard wanted you to take it…"
"Oh, heck yeah, he did. I knew it wasn't going to be easy." Ash pulled open her purse and took out blueprints, unfolded them and pressed them flat on the curator's desk. "I really hoped I wouldn't have to do this."
"Do what?" Chris leaned over the desk and looked at the prints. "Ashland…are those of the Museum?"
"Yup."
"You're going to take the Star."
"It's mine. It's my father's and he wanted it to go to England. Therefore it will be on the plane with me tomorrow. No ifs ands or buts."
"No doubt." Chris stared at her as she went over the prints one more time.
There really wasn't a reason to, she'd memorized them on the plane after she'd read through—or stumbled through—Regulus' journal. But it was only 11:30. The party ended at midnight. The security shift didn't change until 2. She had to do something while she waited.
"You have a plan, Ashland? For the guards. The security. It's state of the art—Alphard saw to that too."
"Of course I do." She stepped away from the desk and unsnapped the catch hidden in the slight gather of material on her left hip. She twirled the skirt off, leaving just the black leggings beneath. And the black tank that had also been the dress' top. "He wouldn't have asked me to do it if he didn't think I could."
"You knew it would play out this way…"
"I had a hunch." She kicked the heels off, aiming at Chris' head.
He ducked with practiced ease. "It's dangerous Ash."
"Most things are, Chris." She pulled socks of the dress' material—with texture on the bottom for traction—from her purse and sat on the floor to pull them on her feet.
"We just lost Beverly and Alphard. Are we going to lose all the Blacks at once?"
So there it was. The topic he'd wanted to bring up since she'd landed in New York.
"I'm going to England. Not dying."
"Ashland…"
"You wanna make me cry Chris? Right now, before I have to have my act together and pick through some of the most high tech security I've ever seen…"
"No, Ash. I don't."
"Then distract me with something besides my parents being dead. We got hours to go here."
"Mom tell you about Kraken eating the hydrangeas?"
OoOoOoOoOo
This whole "get the Star to Dumbledore" thing was dangerous. And if Alphard had still been alive at that very moment, Ashland would have wrung his neck.
The security team was in mid-shift—the corridor outside the Star's new wing was empty. She was halfway across it and in front of the door to the Star's exhibit when she saw the curator walking towards her. He made eye contact and they both came to a screeching halt.
"Mr. Kane." Ashland smiled, watching his blue eyes and hoping they didn't wander like before. She even worked a little adapted Occlumency, picturing herself and projecting that image—suggesting that he only see the dress she'd been wearing earlier. Not hard considering how closely it resembled what she was wearing now.
"Uh," he blinked at her. A surprised and nervous gesture, none of his earlier disdain or harassment in his eyes. It was as if he didn't recognize her at all.
"Leslie White…we met at the party…Duncan pulled some strings, got me back in. I left my purse in the exhibit hall. Can you believe it?"
He obviously couldn't. He just stared at her, one hand clenched in his pocket. "I…forgot…my office…Excuse me…"
"Of course." Ashland narrowed her eyes at him as he turned and walked back the way he'd come. She'd come straight from the curator's office. The opposite way. No recognition, no disdain, just confusion, going the wrong way. "Hell."
All her plans shattered as fear gripped her. Polyjuice—the Death Eaters were here. Were they coming or going? She dashed through the doorway and into the exhibit hall just as the 'curator' whirled back around, wand pointed at her, and let a reductor curse fly. It blew a chunk out of the doorway, raining wood and plaster down on her as she slid across the marble floor. And right through the laser security grid.
She'd meant to apparate past that—had taken down her father's wards in the exhibit hall itself just an hour before, leaving the ones around the hall and the Museum in tact in case the Death Eaters did decide to show up. She didn't want these people to have an easy time getting in or out.
The alarm tripped, but she'd already aimed a reductor of her own at the glass case surrounding the Star. No sense in discretion now. It shattered just as the curator and another wizard in full Death Eater garb ran in through the cloud of settling debris.
Death Eater pointed his wand at Ash and yelled, "Crucio."
She disapparated before the curse hit her, reappearing directly next to the Star's case. The blue diamond was breathtaking. Ash had overdone the redactor, taking out the lighting her mother had worked months on to get just right so that it sparkled through the facets, making the Star look alive. A thousand different shades of blue. Now the Star lay quiet, a blue so deep it was black, resting in the curve made by the flexing wings of the bronze eagle statue beneath it. She shrunk it, eagle and all, with a silent wave of her wand just as the remaining Death Eaters and the Security team raced into the room, took one look at each other and began to fire. Ashland spared a moment of grief for all of her mother's hard work being destroyed by the bullets and spells bouncing around the room. And then threw up a shield as a stray blasting curse nearly took her down.
She plucked the star from the velvet cushion the statue sat on and tucked it in the pocket hidden on her right hip just as the floor beneath them shuddered. The marble cracked in half, exposing the cement and pier and beam structure beneath.
Ashland had a moment to think someone had really gotten carried away with the blasting and reducting when the floor gave way completely, sending the security team and those wizards who didn't think fast enough to the lower levels beneath.
Ashland disapperated again as the floor fell out from beneath her, appearing on the solid flooring in the doorway to the exhibit hall just behind the two Death Eaters smart enough to try apparating as well. Their masks were torn, covered in so much dust they bumped into each other as they tried to run down the hallway ahead of Ashland.
They paused long enough to rip the masks off. It was the flapper-witch and the wizard who'd sneered at Ash from across the party.
The woman went left; the man went right. Ashland followed Sir Sneers-a-Lot.
Through the halls, down a flight of stairs and then another to the lowest levels of the Museum.
The basement halls turned and forked like a damn maze, but Ash kept her ear trained on the sound of his boots running in the distance. Suddenly she raced into an open room filled with crates and artifacts swaddled in cloth. She froze, turning slowly to take in the entire room. Silence. No footsteps, no heavy breathing.
She saw the yellow light from the corner of her eye and silently threw up a shield while throwing herself to the ground. The curse flew where her head had been, glancing off the upper boundary of her shield and arching away to spilt a crate wide open. Ashland rolled as soon as she hit the ground and ended in a crouch, wand and eyes pointed in the direction the curse had come from.
The wizard stepped around the huge square covered in cloth that he'd been hiding behind and took two steps closer to Ashland before stopping to stare at her, wand loose at this side.
"Not a Muggle? I shall enjoy spending Lestrange's Galleons. What then?" His hand was gripping his wand, tighter and tighter as he spoke. "Have we stumbled upon a dirty little secret? So dirty, it's black?" He spat out the last word. He didn't raise his wand, tried to still project that he didn't consider her a threat. But that anger—hatred—was back in his eyes.
Ashland stood slowly. "What do you want with the Star?"
"Do you have it?"
"Why do you care?"
"Do you expect me to answer that?"
Ash smiled, so Sir Sneer had a sense of humor. "Do you think answering questions with questions is the most effective way to distract me from what I want to know?"
He raised his wand. "Oh no."
Before Ashland's eyebrows could even crease in confusion images rushed to the front of her mind.
She closed Regulus' journal, wiping the tears from her eyes. She'd been so wrong to hate him after all he'd done to keep the Star away from Voldemort… Chris' rapier flicked her and she threw hers away in frustration. She was too distracted to fence… dad was so weak barely able to breath as he struggled to get the words out "and take… it… to Dumbledore… as well."… "I sometime's wish Sirius had found us"…Something was very wrong. "Mother! Mother where are you"…blood and screams and heels clicking on marble…
I don't think so…Ashland's mind pushed back expelling this bastard from her thoughts and running with practiced force back across the link into his…
A black-haired boy, glasses askew, blood and dirt covering him, hatred in his eyes, "Kill me like you killed him, you coward—"
Rage filled her, rage and pain beyond bearing, "DON'T CALL ME COWARD!"
Ashland flew across the room, crashing into a pedestal that held a vase sloppily draped with a cloth. The vase teetered and fell, raining porcelain shards around Ash as she shook her head to clear it. She was panting, and as she stared up through the hair that had come down and was now covering her face, she saw the wizard similarly sprawled at the foot of the crate his curse had splintered earlier.
How could she have been so lax with her shields? Her father had trained her in many disciplines, but none more than Occlumnecy. It was essential to their survival that no one be able to discover who they were, and being the only ones who knew, Beverly and Ashland had learned to guard that knowledge in their minds at all costs.
She hadn't been expecting an attack like that—and her stupidity shocked her. Granted she was under a lot of stress and she'd never had to face a mental attack while engaged in a real duel, but that's what she'd trained for.
He's good. Better than any Legilimens I've ever been around.
It was a fact. But that didn't excuse her allowing him that far into her mind. She was comforted slightly by the fact that she penetrated his mind at all—little that she did see.
He was breathing as heavily as she was, both of them eyeing each other through their hair and refusing to move until the other did. It was a truce of a kind—I'll let you get you're breath back if you let me get mine.
But it was short-lived. Suddenly he was levering himself to his feet. Ashland stood as fast as she could, wincing at the volume of his voice.
"Regulus." His voice was cruel, almost hysterical and definitely had an edge of disbelief. "Regulus! Oh I wish I'd seen Black's face when he met his little brother beyond the Veil—he must be so proud. I bet they're slapping each other on the back as we speak—wherever it is they ended up. I'm hoping it's hell, but we just can't always get what we want, can we?"
Ashland was shaking—and it wasn't because her head was ringing with pain. She'd never met her cousins in the flesh, but after hearing stories about Sirius from her father and reading Regulus' story in his own words on the plane up to New York, Ashland felt like she knew them. That little bit of her that believed in family, that maybe even wanted to be acknowledged as a Black, loved them. And she didn't understand who this man was or what exactly he meant, but she understood his tone and his disrespect. His sneering words made her want to throttle him with her bare hands.
"What veil?" She took a step towards him as she asked and his snort cut her short.
His eyes narrowed. "Out of the loop?"
Ashland shook her head once. Her stomach felt full—cold.
"Where's Sirius?" Her voice was a whisper. If this man knew where her cousin was…there was a chance she could still know him, meet him. Her father had loved him despite what Sirius had done. Who were the Potters to her? She wanted to meet the boy who'd made her father's eyes light up whenever he regaled them with stories of Sirius' pranks. Even if for a minute. Even if it was dangerous. Even if there was a chance he might betray her.
"Where? Who knows? But he's not coming back. The mangy mutt finally got what he deserved. Dead like his brother. Like all of them except the wolf and the rat."
And just like that, the little part of her that wanted to be a recognized Black broke. Only the idea of Sirius had kept it alive since her mother had died. "When? How?"
"When his arrogant little godson set out to save the world again, the mongrel ran to save him. And right into his cousin Bellatrix and a well-placed curse. I wish more than anything I'd been there to see it."
The ice in her stomach was spreading upwards, into her throat so that she could barely speak. Godson… "Godson?"
"Harry Potter…you really are an ignorant one aren't you?"
Potter… "Why would Sirius save Potter when…"
"When he betrayed his parents? Because he was innocent of that, if nothing else."
He took pleasure in saying it—Ashland saw that much in his hateful black eyes. She tried to keep the pain from showing in her face, but the image of her father, lying on the couch dying, wishing that Sirius had found them so he could ask him why. It broke her heart.
"Oh, Dad." The whisper slid from her mouth before she could stop it.
"Yes—and who would that be. Whose bastard are you? Arcturus'? And here I'd rejoiced that the Blacks were dead."
Ashland didn't know who this man was. She didn't care. But she did know one thing: she was tired. Tired of hiding. Of losing those she cared about or who meant something to her to these people who knew more about the magical world than her. Who used her ignorance as a weapon against her. She was a witch as well. And if she had her way, Voldemort himself would hear her name before long and this Bellatrix and whoever killed Regulus. And they'd know who was coming for them. That they hadn't destroyed the Blacks yet.
"I'm no bastard. I'm a half-blood. And proud of it, you sneering little greaseball." She approached him, stopping when they were toe to toe, his wand tip poking her chest, her wand tip poking his.
Ash dropped a mocking little curtsy, her wand never budging. "Adhara Ashland Black. Only daughter of Alphard and Beverly Black. Pleased to meet you Sir Sneers-a-Lot."
He pressed his wand further into her chest, trying to make her take a step back, but Ash refused to move. They stared at each other for several long, silent minutes. Then suddenly, so quickly Ash stumbled forward, he stepped back dropping his wand.
"Funny. I'm a half-blood too. We should form a club."
"Not every day I meet a Death Eater who brags about being anything but pure-blood."
"I could say the same, Black. Toujours Pur." He gave a mocking little flourish of a bow to match her earlier curtsey.
"Touché." She thought he might at least crack a smile at that witty comeback, but he just continued to stare at her. And sneer, of course. "Is your face stuck that way? Didn't take mom seriously when she warned that could happen, did you?"
Still nothing.
Ash dropped out of the staring contest and healed the cuts on her arm from the vase. "Do you…" She threw up another shield, and just caught the hex he'd hurled her way. And sent one straight at him.
Which he of course blocked.
So they dueled—Ash wasn't sure how long—but it was a hard fought battle against a well-matched opponent. Neither one spoke, relying exclusively on non-verbal spells and even the occasional wandless one as well. His skill impressed her, and she sensed as she tried several times to push against his mental shields that she impressed him as well.
His frustration matched hers—she read that mental message loud and clear and knew it came from that fact that he, like her, relied on using Legilimency to gauge an opponents moves and intentions—heighten reaction time and retain an edge. Neither one was able to gain that advantage against the other.
Finally, with sweat running into her eyes, Ash leveled a reductor curse—bolstered by her mounting frustration and annoyance—right at his stomach. It shattered his shield, losing much of its power, but slammed into him all the same, sending him skidding across the floor on his back.
He was still when his body stopped, but she approached him warily. And for good reason—as soon as her shadow fell on him, his hand twitched at his side and Ash's feet slipped out from under her as she landed hard on her butt.
"Umhff…" She sat, rubbing her right wrist, which had bent at a bad angle when she used it to soften her fall.
"Don't get too confident, Black. Or you'll end up just like your dear little Sirius."
"You weren't going to kill me," she tapped her temple with one finger, "I can tell that much at least." Under the frustration, anger and hate that had permeated the duel she'd sensed his intentions. He wasn't out for blood, he was testing her. Why?
"Your cousin," he spit out the title along with a bit of blood, "made a point to shun his Slytherin heritage. To place all of his stock in Gryffindor courage, to be blinded by emotion and stupidity. He was weak. Using excuses like honor and courage to let his anger and fear and hatred and…love…run rampant without restraint or care for what needed to be done."
She didn't get where he was going with this. But as he lifted his hand so that his wand stayed on the ground beside him untouched, she did the same and waited patiently for him to get to whatever point he was going for.
"So he made mistake after impulsive mistake that led not just to his death but to the destruction and abandonment of those he claimed to love so much." He swallowed. "So what are you, Adhara Black? Are you the same emotional fool, or do you just look like him?"
She let his words settle into her, hearing what he was really asking.
"You could be one of the Death Eaters that killed my parents, and here I am giving you the benefit of the doubt. You don't know what the hell I am, yet you're feeling me out for something—a confession, a cry for help. I don't know. I mean, we just dueled. No holds barred. One of us could have killed the other, intentionally or not. And now you're sitting here—or lying here pretty much a broken wreck thanks to my god-like skill with a wand—waxing philosophic on me with a bunch of mumbldeygook about Slytherdors and Grifferins…"
He actually winced at the maligning of the house names and Ash had to laugh before ranting on.
"…Here's the deal, Sneers-a-Lot. Hogwarts' neat little compartmentalization of character traits means about as much to me as whether or not you'll be able to stand once you get your breath back. I'm who the hell I am, and what that has to do with lions and snakes is beyond me. So you just go on and analyze what you see now and what you've seen already and come to your own conclusions. But remember this, you're gonna have to give me a reason to trust you as well. You deciding I'm worthy of your trust doesn't mean I trust you. I don't even know your name. Or why you want us to trust each other. So whatever it is you're wanting to tell me, just decide to spit it out or not. We'll go from there, my fellow proud half-blood, and see where the dice fall."
He blinked. That was all she got from him. Even his sneer was gone. She didn't push at his shields, but she could feel his confusion and surprise close to the surface of his thoughts.
"Whatever it is, you won't be able to take it to Dumbledore."
Ash winced—he'd seen way more than she should have let him see in her mind. "What—are you gonna stop me?"
"No. He's dead."
Ash's heart froze. What the hell was she supposed to do now?
He seemed to hear her question, or at least her despair and that sneer was back. His hand gripped his wand again and Ash had hers in hand and trained on him as he drew breath to speak.
"Tell Potter that Malfoy misses him." He disapparated, his last word echoing slightly in the cavernous room.
Ash poked at where the anti-disapparition wards should have been and found nothing. The Death Eaters had done their own remodeling during the party.
She chocked back a laugh and let herself fall slowly backwards so that she was lying on her back.
"Can anyone please tell me what the hey nonny just happened here?" Sliding a hand into her pocket, Ash clenched her fist around the shrunken statue and Star. "No theories? No one?"
She sighed. "Me either."
Dumbledore is dead.
"God bless it all."
OoOoOoOo
BANG BANG BANG!
Ashland moaned and rolled over to bury her face in her pillow. "With the banging…" She was back asleep before she could finish the thought.
BANG!
"Ash!"
BANG!
"Ashland!"
BANG!
"Adhara!"
She flew out of bed, across the room, wand aimed at the door, legs tangled in the sheets so that she could barely stand straight. No one knew that name except the Greaseball, her parents, and "Chris?"
"Ashland! Open the damn door!"
Ash untangled herself and put her eye to the peephole. "Why do I have a scar in the shape of a giraffe on my ass?"
"Because I was a fifteen-year-old idiot that left beer bottles lying around in chairs and you were and still are a clumsy nutcase who flops down so hard when she sits that we're lucky there are any chairs left standing in the world."
She opened the door and he pulled her into his arms so fast, she didn't have time to take a breath before she was shoved against his chest.
"Suffocating!"
At her mumbled protest, he pushed her back to arms length. "You're…" His hands were on her face, pushing her hair back tracing her jaw. Goosebumps broke out over her arms. "You're…" He frowned. "You're fine."
"Don't sound so happy about it."
"The papers. The news. How are you not hurt?"
"I'm just that good." At healing charms. Ash was unbelievably glad she hadn't let her self get into bed before healing her scrapes and bruises. Chris would not have liked the way she looked last night. But there was still that one cut on her back that she hadn't been able to reach…
"Why weren't you at breakfast like we planned?"
Well, hell. "I didn't wake up."
"I see that."
Ash pulled herself away from him, distinctly uncomfortable with him still holding her now that she'd remembered she was only wearing a nightgown. Slipping on her robe, she glanced at the clock. 9 am. "Egh. I am late. Sorry 'bout that."
He watched her out of narrowed eyes as if expecting her to fall over at any moment. "Are you sure you don't need the hospital?"
"I'm golden." She hid her flinch as the robe brushed against that cut she'd missed. Her aches and pains weren't all that bad, but she was damn tired. Four short hours of confused and demoralizing dreams—centered around that fact that she now had no clear path ahead of her—had drained her. She was more tired now than before she went to sleep.
Dumbledore's dead. What the hell do I do now?
She shook her head, earning another concerned look from Chris.
"Well, are you up to breakfast? It wasn't that crowded downstairs when I left."
"Sure."
Which is how she found herself, fifteen minutes and a quick shower later, out in the bright morning sun at the hotel's outdoor café, squinting behind her sunglasses, listening to Chris read the list of suspects and the damage report from her night's work.
The waiter slid her tea in front of her and Ash sighed with relief. "Remind me never to promise you I'll meet for breakfast. Ever again. I'm more of a spontaneous gal anyway. Promises are tricky when you never know when you'll need to sleep after blowing up half a building and chasing evil villains."
"That hard of a night, huh?"
Ash stared at Chris. "You just read out loud that half the ground floor of the Museum has collapsed. How smooth do you think it all went off?"
"You look unscathed to me." Chris smiled at her over the paper. Maybe she should have let him see her cuts and bruises. Where was a sympathy card when you needed it?
"There is this one cut on my back…." She was twisting around to point, unable to keep a bit of a whine out of her voice.
Chris patted her on the head. "I just like to hear the sweet sound of you annoyed in the early morning."
"Bless you for that." She took a sip and mumbled so he could barely hear her, "Sadist."
"The question is, did you get it? Because someone did." He pointed to the front page headline, Star Stolen…Ashland Mystery Gets Blacker
"Who makes up that sh…"
Chris shook the paper impatiently and Ash got back to the topic.
"Chris. I wouldn't be sitting here, casually sipping tea if I hadn't gotten it. We'd be pow-wowing up in my room right now figuring out what cavalry to call."
He nodded. "Says here that the security cameras were destroyed. That's a bright spot."
"You're taking this awfully calmly. In fact, you've taken everything I've said, done or asked you to do since I got here awfully, awfully calmly and without a single question. Which is beyond me. I'd be scratching your eyes out for answers right now if I was as in the dark as you are."
"I love you. I trust you. I will do anything for you."
Ash's cup clattered against the saucer as she dropped it. "I'm sorry. I think the early hour has made me delusional."
"9:30 is hardly early…"
"Eh, eh eh!" she waved her hands quickly over her head. "Rewind. Play."
"I love you. I trust you…"
"You'll do anything for me. Yeah. I though that was it." Ash's stomach fluttered before reality tied it in a painful knot. He's not serious…is he…he looks serious…he loves you like a brother…
Chris had folded the paper and placed it on his plate. His full attention was on her now and his eyes were as serious as they could be. "When do you leave?"
"9 pm. Tonight."
He took her hand. "Ashland, I…"
"You can't come with me Chris. And I can't tell you anymore than I have."
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
She wanted to cry. "It's for your own good. It's not safe…"
Chris pulled her to her feet and into his arms.
Ash turned her face into his shirt, her words coming out slightly muffled. Now or never, Girlie. "It would kill me for you to be hurt over this." She raised her head and looked him in the eye. "I love you too much."
He smiled his wide smile that pushed his glasses up and made the laugh lines she adored so deep. "How about we forget breakfast and spend the day pow-wowing up in your room anyway."
"There are a few details you could help me work out. Strictly business—of course."
"Strictly."
He kissed her, softly. And if she hadn't had the dad's-unfinished-business and vengeance-left-undone problems still hanging around, she could have died happy then.
OoOoOoOo
They'd start calling the first class passengers any minute, but Ash still had things she wanted to say to Chris. There'd never be enough time to tell him all that she wanted to and she had no idea where to start.
In the end, he started for her.
"Forgive me." He was holding her tightly, his arms around her waist, their foreheads touching.
"For what?"
"Waiting so long to be with you. I have wanted you—have loved you—since, well since the beginning if I'm honest with myself. But I didn't realize it until you scared me into my right mind. I never thought I'd be grateful for that jackass George Wood."
"Oh God. Don't ever say that name—the shame the horror." She stuck out her tongue and Chris laughed. She loved the way his chest vibrated against her when he laughed. "Can you imagine me married to him now…ergh."
"No." It was a whisper and deadly serious.
"Took you long enough, didn't it." There were tears in Ash's eyes—she tried to stop them but she just couldn't. She'd never wanted him to know that he'd hurt her all these years. But she was just so happy now that he'd realized…they were tears of relief…really…
"I'm so sorry I hurt you." He kissed a tear off her cheek. "I love you, Addie."
"Oh I know." She smiled and rubbed her face across his shirt to dry her eyes. "You idiot."
"Guilty."
"Here." She pushed back from him and pulled a box from her purse. "I want to give you this."
He took it from her and opened it, staring inside for a solid minute before looking up into her eyes. "Are you proposing, Adhara Black."
"Oh shut up, jackass." She took the box from him and plucked the larger ring out. "This was my father's." She grabbed his hand and slid it on to his ring finger. It fit perfectly and Ash smiled at the surprised look on Chris's face.
"My hands are way bigger than your dad's."
Well Chris, there's this thing called an instant-sizing charm and…
"Not really. And it was always a little loose on him." She held his hand as she spoke and ran her thumb over the ring. It was a signet, platinum engraved with a fancy design that featured a rose, with a yellow stone at its center, and star, with a black stone at its center, side by side.
"And this was your mother's?" Chris had taken the other ring—a daintier twin of her father's—from the box as well as her hand and was sliding it on her ring finger. He kissed her hand and then held it between both of his. "I remember seeing them wear them."
"The cool thing about them is the legend behind them…"
"The legend?" His voice was appropriately intrigued—though maybe a little over done, no Tony's here—as he reeled her in by her hand and held her like he had earlier.
"Legend has it, that as long as two people who love each other are wearing these rings, all they have to do is make a fist and think about the one they love and they'll know instantly if they're ok. And if one needs the other, same thing. Make a fist, think real hard, and the other will know to come—and where—no matter how far."
"Is that so?"
She barely squeezed a whispered reply past the tears in her throat. "That's so."
Because you see Chris, my father was really a wizard hiding from the rest of the magical world. He chose to love a woman who wasn't a witch and he was desperate to keep her safe so he made these rings and enchanted them to do just what I said…
Chris titled her head back so he could see her eyes. "They're magic."
She smiled and mumbled against his lips as he kissed her, "Magic."
"We are now boarding first-class passengers for flight 46 to London Gatwick."
"That's me."
"You'll let me know when you land."
"I'll be in touch all the time… I'm not sure how long I'll be…"
"It doesn't matter. You're coming back. Just as long as you keep in touch." And he raised his hand showing her his ring.
She smiled, filled with hope. She would figure out what to do. And she would be back. Because she had a life here to live, just like her dad wanted for her. Knowing that, she could do anything.
They kissed again, and said I love you at the same time. Ashland turned then, laughing, and followed the line onto the plane.