Fleamont and Euphemia Potter's funeral was splendid. In the light rain of a grey spring afternoon, and draped in black crepe and ribbons, the procession wound through Godric's Hollow led by a handsome young man and wife. The sight of the strange mourners in St. Jerome's churchyard was enough to make the Muggle townspeople stop and stare. They saw the hearse made to look like an old-fashioned carriage and wondered at how quiet and well-hidden its motor was. It was actually drawn by thestrals, which James and Lily could now see.

Albus Dumbledore gave a tribute to the old Potters. The new Potters, along with the lads and Bathilda Bagshot, bowed their heads and dropped white roses into the open graves. And then, as quickly as they came, the magical mourners dispersed, leaving the town as ordinary as they'd found it.

The last of the magical folk to leave the churchyard stole away unnoticed by anyone, which was exactly her aim. She was a new hire at the Daily Prophet, trying to attract a promotion by bringing the editors a society page scandal. She had pitched an investigative report on the sudden, simultaneous deaths of the Potters, but the paper had rejected it. An obituary was enough for old people, they'd said. And though no one else was following the story, her senses wouldn't stop sparking at it. That was the reason she had come all this way on a Saturday to find something - anything - at this funeral.

And she had found it.

No, she didn't mean the shiny wedding rings on young Potter and his girl. Early marriage was odd, and she would report it. But no one got hurt in a story like that. That's what made a scandal.

The real find came completely unexpected. Peeking out of the back of a heavy black stole pulled over the head of a willowy young girlfriend of one of the Potter boy's friends, were the neatly trimmed ends of a sheaf of long platinum-white hair. The girl's face has been almost completely shadowed by her head covering and her enormous Muggle filmstar-style sunglasses (an odd choice for a rainy day, to be sure). The rest of her - her slim build, her age, the distinctive fine sharp nose and flashing hair - it all matched the description of the schoolgirl daughter of the House of Black reported missing the night before.

She was the girl whose engagement pictures ran on page 4 last fall, exquisitely coupled with the delightfully dangerous Malfoy heir. Now here she was, eloping to the Potter funeral with some nobody schoolboy with an oh-so interesting scar on his face. That should make it easier to find out who he was, but it would have to wait until later. For now, the photos needed to be developed and submitted in time for the paper's Sunday morning gossip, er - society news page.

Rita Skeeter snapped back to London.

After the funeral, the manor was full of members of the Order of the Phoenix and solicitors. There were parchments to sign and seal, all of it keeping James, Lily, and Bathilda busy while dinner was cooked. Tonight would be the first time the Order met with the young Potters and with the lads.

While he waited for dinner, Dumbledore took his truant student Narcissa Black aside. She sat with him in the empty ballroom, the smell of wilting gladiolus still hanging in the air, telling him everything.

After what Snape had done to James in the potions lab, Dumbledore was hardly surprised when Narcissa identified herself as the school's Veela. Lucius may have denied it when Dumbledore asked him, but the headmaster had never ceased to suspect it. He was surprised, however, to hear that it was not her fiance who had made her romantically active. And he was positively dismayed to hear Malfoy had forced Legilimency on her trying to answer these questions, especially since it happened within Hogwarts, where Narcissa was under Dumbledore's own protection.

"My dear girl, I am truly sorry. You deserved better from both of us," he said. He tapped his finger against his bearded jaw. "Of course, this betrayal of your trust breaks the pledge Mr. Malfoy made upon your engagement, and puts you at liberty to leave him, if you choose."

Narcissa nodded. "Yes, sir. It does. If there are penalties to be paid, they ought to be his to pay. Though Lucius will never admit any wrongdoing, of course."

"That's no matter. We can extract the memory from your mind and show it in a pensieve to any tribunal who cares to see it," he said, miming dusting off his hands.

But Narcissa squirmed in her seat.

"Unless," Dumbledore said, raising his eyebrows, "there is something in the memory you wish to keep hidden. Something, perhaps, to do with the wizard who did indeed make you into a romantically active Veela."

Narcissa was nodding. "Yes, sir. And it's not a simple question of protecting his privacy," she explained. "It's a matter of safety. Perhaps life and death. You see, the wizard - he's Remus Lupin."

Dumbledore hummed. "A fine young man, but a complicated partner indeed." He left off tapping his jaw. "And he has been here, in this house, near you all day long, yet no one is reeling under the influence of a romantically active unbonded Veela. Which tells me, Miss Black, that the pair of you must have bonded."

She wasn't at all embarrassed as she answered. "Yes, sir."

He settled his spectacles on his nose. "When?"

"Just yesterday," she confessed. "When I fled from Malfoy and went to the house where Lupin weathers full-moons. We were both transformed and our creature selves - they acted rashly, but not contrary to what we both wanted."

He nodded into his chest, thinking. "It's a creature bond? Complete with a mark?"

She pushed back her tight black sleeve. "Yes, sir."

He didn't look carefully at it, but seemed to take in all the same. "It will fade in a few days, as will its effects. If you were purely creatures, it would last a lifetime. As you are not, your human agency comes to bear, and quickly. As untransformed humans, you must either accept or reject this bond."

Alarmed, Narcissa leaned forward in her chair. "Accept it? How? How do I make it last?"

Dumbledore spoke gravely in spite of his twinkling eyes. "Now, Miss Black, there are many, many reasons why letting the bond fade may be the best choice - "

"I know," she said, interrupting the headmaster for the first time in her life. "My family, my future, Lupin's status as a registered - well, anyway. I know all of that. And I don't care about any of it. How do I keep him with me?"

Dumbledore regarded her over the flat tops of his half-moon lenses. "Your family is known to have dark, vengeful connections, to say nothing of the company the Malfoys have been keeping. In their rage and disappointment, they may hunt Remus Lupin like an animal, and you will lose him all the same. I fear the best you can hope for in a future together is to leave the country and disappear from our society for some time. I must be sure that you understand this."

Narcissa returned his look, her eyes glistening with tears she hadn't shed. "I am known to be spoiled, and selfish, slow to give up what I want. It's all true. Please, sir, tell me what must be done to make the bond permanent, or I will find out some other way. I won't try to force Lupin, but I won't just let him leave me either."

Dumbledore was standing up, dismissing her as if they were still at school. "Now, Miss Black," he was saying, "we will speak of this again later, after we eat. This is not a decision to be made in the throes of waiting for a late dinner."

Everyone in the house was invited to the Order meeting after dinner except for the Evanses and Narcissa. James felt badly when he asked her not to come but she answered, "Stars, no. I've already got enough secrets to hide if my family gets hold of me again. And your Lily has very kindly offered to lend me a most interesting book from the library," she said with a wink to her hostess. "I'll happily go upstairs and read while you get into your brave, noble trouble."

Dumbledore himself led the meeting, welcoming everyone in spite of the tragic occasion.

"Tragic? More like criminal," a voice called out. It was a stocky, wild-looking man dressed mostly in leather.

"That's him. That's Alastor Moody," Lily whispered to James.

"While you were all paying your respects," Moody said, "I was at Hogwarts with Slughorn going over the cursed letter the new Mrs. Potter collected from old Monty's sickroom. The one brought here by Corban Yaxley of the Ministry of Magic. And it ought to surprise no one to hear that it was indeed cursed - lousy with dark magic."

"From the Ministry? This is a strong accusation, Alastor, and most unfortunate if true," Dumbledore said.

"It's no accusation," Moody insisted. "It's proof. Proof that Yaxley is a Death Eater, proof the Ministry's been infiltrated, and proof that their plans include attacking the families of the soulmate pairs, trying to get them to turn themselves over."

A murmur spread through the room. Alarmed that there might be any doubt, Lily spoke up. "It's true. They sent thugs to capture my Muggle parents and we barely got them away safely."

"What about you, Mrs. Longbottom?" Marlene's mother said. "With Alice and Frank being a soulmate pair, have they come for you?"

She scoffed, as if to say the Death Eaters wouldn't dare.

"That's good. But from now on, we must be even more vigilant," Moody boomed. "Constantly! We're preparing special protection for you, Mrs. Longbottom. And I won't hear a single word against it."

A red-haired man jabbed his nearly identical brother with his elbow and said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "What'd ya reckon, Fabian? Mrs. Longbottom seems none too happy about extra security. And it does seem like the Death Eaters are focused on the Potter pair for now."

"Thank you, Mr. Prewett. That is exactly my feeling," said Mrs. Longbottom, hopping out of her chair to stand up and have her own say. "Our Frank is out of danger. He is. Clearly. Tom Riddle has chosen the Potters as his adversaries. They have my sympathy, my support, my grief, and also my thanks. Riddle has attacked the Potters through his agents, in person, and through their parents while he hasn't raised so much as an eyebrow to Frank or Alice."

Dumbledore fiddled with his spectacles. "I do hope you're right, Augusta. How elated we would all be if Frank and Alice were no longer threatened. But this is an assumption too dangerous to make. I agree with our comrades. We must begin additional security measures."

Frank was reaching for his mother's hand, coaxing her to take her seat again as she shook herself free. "No, Albus. Outlandish protections backfire. If we persist in over-protecting Frank and Alice, in marrying them off so young, bringing a child into their childhoods, we only draw more attention to them," she argued. "Let them fade into a peaceful, happy life. Let them go away from all of this."

Peter sat behind her, perhaps unaware he was nodding his head so furiously along with Mrs. Longbottom's argument.

"Mum, please," Frank was saying, succeeding at last at taking her by the hand. "Alice and I are of age and we know our role in the soulmate pairing is still vital, if only to draw fire away from the true pair, if it doesn't turn out to be us. We won't withdraw our help now."

Augusta huffed. "The moment you hold that child in your arms, you will want to disappear with him as much as I would have you disappear right now."

"Mum, it's okay," Frank said, standing up next to her now. "You didn't raise me to run away. That's not who I am. That's not who Alice is. And I know it's certainly not who you are."

Augusta looked up at her tall, brave son, her chin quivering. He closed an arm around her and lowered both of them into their chairs.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "If I may add another consideration. We have learned that our soulmate pairs are not the only ones in play. The dark always mimics what is best in the light. Riddle has been working to force a counterfeit soulmate match among his youngest members to challenge ours. It's a desperate ploy and he has nothing but superficial, outward appearances to guide him in it. These have led him to match the Malfoy heir and the youngest of Cygnus Black's daughters, the sister of his lieutenant Bellatrix Lestrange."

Remus sat bent over in his seat, the heels of his hands ground into his temples, his fingers grasping his hair. After a private meeting with Dumbledore about his lovelife, he had come to the meeting already uncomfortable. Now, he was slipping into agony.

"Both young people are from wealthy, land-owning families Riddle considers important. They look alike to the point of resembling siblings. They are healthy, young, handsome and - as far as Riddle knows - well-behaved and willing," Dumbledore went on. "He is acutely interested in their future heir, hoping to bring to life his own rival chosen one. He aims to conjure a miraculous child out of pride and fear, when only love will do."

The room fell quiet at this. Peter was still staring miserably at the back of Alice's head. Sirius sat between him and Remus with his arms still folded defiantly across his chest, but his head now bowed in thought. Remus remained bent in half, as if in pain, while James patted him on the shoulder.

"What Riddle hadn't counted on," Dumbledore resumed, "was Miss Black's admirable willfulness. Many of you will have noticed her here in our midst today. She has left Malfoy. When Riddle learns of it, he will be incensed."

"Then this house is a target," someone said.

"It was already a target," James called back. "I'm liquidating it, setting up house somewhere secret. Until then, we're all going back to school, where we'll be safe at least until the summer."

"So he speaks," Moody said, rounding to face James. "Young Potter, assailed by Riddle on every side, future father of the chosen one - he finally has something to say for himself."

James blushed, his usual confidence flagging for a moment under Moody's manic eyes. They seemed to dart and search the entire space even as he looked James full in the face.

"I've been speaking all along," James managed to say. "I've been asking, begging to know what we're supposed to do. We got married like everyone wanted. We sat and did nothing while my parents sacrificed themselves. And for what? Someone tell me what for? And what's next?"

Dumbledore took the floor again. "The truth is we're not sure how to proceed, at this point. We monitor Riddle and his agents. We mitigate harm where we can. When it is not horrifying, as it was in this house this week, our work is slow, maddening tension. In my way, I feel as you do, James. It's as if Riddle is stalling, working away at something while keeping his violence below the level where we could convince the authorities to act. We search for answers, and wait for you and the Longbottoms to grow into your families. We gather strength, we protect each other as best we can."

"It's unbearable," Augusta Longbottom said, her hand still gripped to Frank's.

"It very nearly is. And in desperation, I am driven to prophecy," Dumbledore said. "I have been interviewing seers to help us. I am claiming to be in need of a Divination teacher at the school. It is a ruse I continue now as a mere diversion. For I think," Dumbledore paused, extending his arm, "I think we have found the Order's own seer."

His arm remained stretched out, his hand open, motioning for Lily Potter to stand. She rose and took his hand as he led her out to present her to the group. "In the coming days, we shall see what young Madam Potter has to tell us."

She blinked at him. "Thank you, sir. I'll do my best."

"You will," he said. "But not on your own. You have the gift. We have help."

The room was suddenly warmer, brighter, as if the sun had rolled backward in the sky to light the place where Lily Potter stood. It was an effect of the arrival of Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix. It alighted on the arm Dumbledore held out between himself and Lily.

Somehow, James knew to stand with her, to ease her head backward, against his shoulder. As he did, the bird craned its neck toward her, and a tear spilled out of its eye, falling as if in slow motion, splashing onto the cornea of Lily's open, upturned eye. She blinked its magic into herself.

Fawkes had gone, the meeting had ended, James and Lily had gone to bed, and everyone was eating again when Remus filled his hands with biscuits and two yellow apples and dashed up the stairs to Narcissa.

He bit back his panic. Did she know what she meant to Tom Riddle, all this time? Had she guessed that there was so much evil and venom hidden within her connection to Malfoy? She must have thought their engagement was about a transfer of money and land, a preservation of family bloodlines, but this - this was beyond vulgar, beyond horrifying.

He heard his own nerves in the too-fast, too-hard rapping of his knuckles against her bedroom door. She was slow to answer, as if she'd been asleep. The door opened just a crack at first. The light was dim behind her, coming from the fireplace and a single lamp.

"It's you," she said, her voice high and soft with sleep. "Come in then."

He closed the door, setting the food on a dressing table. She was walking away from him, expecting him to follow her, returning to the bed where she had tucked herself in to read Lily's book on soulbonds hours before. He turned to face her, and choked.

"What - what are you wearing?"

She glanced at him over her shoulder, which was bare except for a thin black strap running over it. Each of her shoulder straps were attached to a small, fitted black dress just a little shorter than the dress she'd worn to the funeral. From the way it reflected the light, Remus assumed that the fabric must be satiny, smooth and filmy. There was movement in the skirt but she would have tailored the bodice herself, and it now fit as well as something painted onto her skin. And here she was, walking around in front of him like this was completely normal, unremarkable.

"Oh, this?" she said, her voice still high. "This is the slip I found in old Madam Potter's closet this morning. I've had it on under my dress all day. It makes fabric drape nicely and gives an extra layer, for modesty."

"M-modesty," was all he was able to mutter. Nothing she'd said explained why she had met him at the door in what she admitted was a kind of underwear. He felt like he should say something more, but he could hardly blink, let alone speak.

"Slips are old fashioned, I know. That's traditional pure-blood family backwardness," she said, turning in a circle as he continued to gape at her thin white legs, her graceful arms and shoulders, the pale decolletage bared by the low neckline, plunging to give more than a hint of her chest.

"Backwardness," he managed to stammer, shaking his head as she went on.

"Yes, my mother raised me to always be fully dressed underneath my clothes. Anyway, I'm glad I have it since it's doing double duty today. I didn't bring anything to wear to bed, and this has done the trick nicely. It's rather like a nightgown. Light and comfortable - Lupin - Lupin what are you doing?"

He had taken off his own cotton, button-up shirt and was standing in front of her in his white t-shirt, taking her wrist and trying to cram her arm down the length of his empty sleeve. "Cissa, you can't - I can't - please, whatever your mother told you, you are not fully dressed, not at all, you mad thing."

She laughed at him, letting him get the shirt over one of her arms, hanging it across her shoulder. She made no move to help him cover herself up.

He kept talking, arguing. "Honestly, I have never seen you so scantily dressed."

"You certainly have - "

"Not untransformed, I haven't," he insisted, taking her limp arm and working it toward the shirt she was still only half wearing. "Not even at the Yule Ball, in fifth year, when your dress bodice was made of that silvery blue lace that was sheer in all but - but the most vital places."

She laughed louder. "Why in the stars do you remember that? We weren't even friends in fifth year."

He grumbled and continued to fumble with her arm. "You may not have noticed me being in the same ballroom as you that night. But you made a profound impression on me, apparently."

She closed her arms around his neck, one wearing his sleeve, the other cool and bare. "Everyone notices Sirius Black and his loud, show-off friends. And if you noticed me that night, you should have asked me to dance. Think of all the wasted time."

He scoffed, his arms falling around her waist. "Me? Right. One of those bad seed friends corrupting your cousin, the cursed and maimed one, creeping up on you half-stunned at your beauty, asking to take you in lanky fifteen-year-old arms and dance you around in a room full of gawking schoolmates."

"Stop - "

"No, it never would have happened," he said. "For one thing, Sirius would have thrown a strop. And worst of all, you would have laughed at me and refused."

She gave a sly smile, tutting but not denying it. "Well, then hold me in your arms now." She began to sway, resting her head against his chest. "Dance with me here. Don't refuse me."

His sigh was noisy, blowing her hair. "There isn't any music."

"Move your feet anyway. Just a little, with a bit of rhythm. We've been robbed of a normal school romance. Let's take this one thing back. Isn't it nice?" she asked, nestling her cheek against him.

He muttered as he took one of her hands from around his neck and held it in something like a waltz position. "Yes, it is," he admitted as he turned with her, spinning slowly like they were on a ballroom floor. Her fingers caressed the back of his neck, and their motion echoed in his own hand in the small of her back, stroking the satin of her slip, finding it just as slippery smooth as he'd imagined.

She knew he was still worried about the propriety of it and as they continued to shuffle through their quiet dance, she raised her head and lifted her arm closer to his face, showing him the mark he'd made on her. Dumbledore was right. It was getting harder to see. But it was still visible, even in the near dark.

"There, remember this?" she said. "Our mark means whatever we see of each other is chaste. There's no need for you to be stodgy when it comes to how I'm dressed. Especially when we're alone." She was rising onto her toes, her cheek pressed to his, half whispering, half kissing his ear. "It's all chaste, and I'm all yours."

With a groan he stopped dancing and detached her arm from around his neck, holding both of them wedged and pinned between their bodies. This close, it wasn't just his hands that could feel her. Warm and curving, her body was pressed all along his.

He cleared his throat. "It's not about stodginess. It's about how much I can bear before I…" He didn't finish, distracted, indulging in looking down at the whiteness of her skin against the black of her slip.

She cut off his view, leaning forward, the tip of her nose tracing the neckline of his T-shirt, nuzzling past it, breathing on his collar bones. "Before you what?" she said, her lips brushing his skin, taunting. "We're not at before anymore, Lupin. It's done. We're in the after. There's nothing more to bear."

"By the stars, woman," he said as she laughed at him. Admirably willful was what they'd called her downstairs. Spoiled brat was what Sirius had called her at breakfast. All Lupin knew was he adored both, and he kissed her quickly, muffling her laughter for a moment, preparing to ask what he had to know. "You need to tell me what Dumbledore said to you today."

She was groaning now, rolling her eyes. "Nothing. I told him everything, he told me nothing. Well, except for that our creature bond won't bind us for long unless we accept it while we're not transformed."

Remus was nodding, as if he'd been told the same.

She went on. "I made the mistake of threatening to find out how to accept the bond another way if Dumbledore wouldn't tell me how himself. He is, apparently, fine with that and so I've been reading this book on soulbonds that I got from Lily, trying to sort it on my own - "

He was shaking his head, interrupting. "You're already that far along? Ready to accept it?"

She scoffed. "Obviously. If I wasn't, I'd have answered the door dressed in one of Euphemia Potter's floor length flannel nightgowns. Because that's how it's done, Lupin. I accept you by having my way with you as my untransformed self. Creature magic isn't complicated. And so," she said, grabbing his T-shirt in both hands and straining toward the bed.

"Wait," he said, not letting her move him. "Stop and listen to me. And don't be angry."

"Stars, Lupin, what now?"

"I made a promise - to Dumbledore. I promised him that before I accepted you, I'd sleep on it." He loosened his grip on her, expecting her to flounce away, annoyed.

But instead, she took advantage of her range of movement as he let go, and slid her arms underneath his, roving beneath the edge of his T-shirt, up inside to touch his stomach, her hands against his bare skin. "And so we pit your obedience to a school teacher against my capacity to seduce you, is that it?"

Remus was fighting for breath as her hands trailed up over his chest, no barrier between his skin and hers as she kneaded his shoulders, before dragging her hands back down to his waistband. "Cissa," he managed to exhale. "Please. Keeping my word isn't even half of it. I don't want to look back on this as an accident, as something based on creature appetites, or," he paused, swallowing hard, "as a reaction to you suddenly finding yourself alone."

Narcissa's hands stopped moving, and a sadness stole over her face, tearing at his heart as he watched it come. He was quick to slip his hand inside his shirt to hold hers, his grasp warm and sure. "I don't want you to ever remember tonight and wonder if I came running up here as soon as I could for any reason other than the real one. And the real one is that I'm happiest when I'm with you - happier than I ever believed someone like me could be. I love you."

Her head tipped forward, her forehead on his shoulder. He kissed her hair, waited a moment, and jostled her lightly, as if to shake the new sadness loose.

"You love me," she said, raising her head, her lip thrust out slightly, in that pout of hers.

"Yes, you know that," he said, outlining her lip with his fingertip. "Wear all the flannel housecoats you want. It doesn't matter. I'll still love you. Always. But let's talk some more before we decide to do this. Let me sleep on it, like I said I would."

She sighed and put her bare arm in the second sleeve of the shirt he'd been trying to get her to wear. He smoothed it over her shoulders and rolled the cuffs to shorten the sleeves. "Fine," she said as he worked on it. "But I'm not buttoning this up. Now do your talking."

They sat on the bed and ate what he'd brought. Her bare feet were cold so she wound them in the blankets. Her shivering worsened as he told her what Dumbledore had said about Riddle's plans to force her into a dark soulmate pair.

"They wanted me for a Death Eater chosen one breeding plot?" she said. "And my father agreed to it?"

"No one said that," Remus rushed to say. "It sounded like it had more to do with Bellatrix Lestrange."

Narcissa scoffed. "Bella. Of course. If she had a thousand sisters she'd happily give them all to Riddle. Well, that engagement was even more of a near miss than I knew."

"Is it a miss though?" he asked, handing her an apple now that the biscuits were gone, clearing the crumbs from her sheets with his wand. "Or might they still come find you and drag you back? The stakes are higher than we knew. When they come, it won't just be pissy Malfoy. It might be Riddle himself."

She buffed the apple against the skirt of her slip. "I need to plan, I suppose. I should be terrified, shouldn't I? But I'm," she glanced up at him, coy. "I'm distracted tonight. It can wait, can't it? There are other things I want settled first."

"Like getting your dowry out of the bank?"

"Remus Lupin - no," she said, her voice rising. "Though maybe that is a place to start. I don't know. What I mean, of course, is that, now that it's started, I want to complete my bond with you. I swear, you play dense just to make me say these things."

"Say what things?" he said, lying on his back against her lacy pillows, blinking innocently at the ceiling, his hands linked behind his head. There was a hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

She fell onto her stomach beside him, nestled close. She propped her head and shoulders up on one elbow. "You're trying to get me to tell you that I love you," she said. "And I do."

He rolled toward her, his hand on her waist over that shirt of his. He moved as if to kiss her but he was still smirking too much, so she covered her mouth with the apple and bit into it instead. He veered to land the kiss on her cheek and took the apple from her as he drew away, biting into it himself.

"Malfoy and the Death Eaters didn't just want me," she said. "They wanted my Draco too."

Remus raised his eyebrows, swallowing a jagged mouthful of apple. "Your what?"

"Draco," she said, as if it made sense. "That's the constellation I've chosen to name my future son after. I had to claim it ages ago, before any of the other sisters and cousins of my generation used it. Surely you've noticed how we name ourselves for stars in our family."

"Yes, Sirius tipped me off," he said.

"Right," she nodded. "My Draco's been in my imagination for ages. He'll be tall, long arms and legs. Not lanky but not bulky either - the kind of boy who could just as easily dance ballet as play quidditch."

Remus breathed a laugh. "Dreamy. What else?"

"He's mine so he'll have to be fair. Hair no darker than," she twisted her forefinger into Remus's wavy mop, "no darker than a light, sandy brown but maybe as light as mine. Gorgeous either way."

"Is he spoiled though? I hear pretty babies get spoiled," Remus said, bumping his nose, doglike against her cheek.

"Terribly spoiled. That personality of his," she shook her head. "The more I love him, the more insufferable he'll be to everyone else. But he'll survive, Lupin. Whatever this nightmare society throws at him, my wolfish little boy will be clever and he will have me and a father who truly loves him and he will get by. No one will trade him to a Dark Lord, like my sister has done to me."

"Wolfish," Remus repeated, reaching over her, setting the apple core on the bedside table behind her. With the same motion his torso came to rest on top of hers. He pushed her hair from her forehead, looking down into her wide eyes, tracing her nose with his forefinger. "I've been meaning to ask. The metamorphagus quality that your little niece has, where her hair keeps changing colour - I'd like for my future son to have that. Is it a trait of your family's or is it the Tonks's?"

She settled underneath him, savouring the weight of him holding her down, shifting to urge him to cover her completely. He wouldn't, but he did lay his head on her shoulder. Her hand rose to comb through his hair. "That must be Ted," she said. "Though it's hard to tell with a Muggle-born."

"My mother's a Muggle," he said, lifting his head and closing in, face to face, a breath away from kissing her. "Maybe we could be lucky with our son's hair too."

Before she could react, he fit his lips into hers, inhaling deeply to take in her smell, and then her taste as she opened up to him. He'd held himself back too long and the kiss was hotter than he intended. His skin felt electrified, vibrating with the energy of their bond and their feelings, maybe even their future. He didn't mean to lick and strain and paw at her, his hands and mouth ravaging her face and throat, his knees on either side of her as she lay fully beneath him now. His hand was inside the shirt, fingers threaded beneath the black shoulder strap of her slip, about to shove it aside. Her hands were inside his clothes too, her fingers in the patch of downy hair at the base of his spine.

Sliding deep into kissing her was so natural now, he didn't realize how far he'd gone until she broke away, reaching back at what he'd said. "We could be lucky with our - what? Lupin - "

"Hush, Cissa," he said. He wiped her glistening lip dry with the pad of his thumb and pushed himself away, rolling onto his back with an uneasy grunt. "Sorry. Read your book a little longer. I'll be over here. I nearly forgot. I need to sleep on this."

It was three o'clock in the morning. In two hours, the Sunday Daily Prophet would begin to circulate the story of the Potters' funeral and things would become much more complicated. But for now, Remus Lupin was waking up next to Narcissa Black in the Potters' manor. He could see her next to him by the light of the still nearly full moon, its rays clawing after him, as they always did, white and revealing, shining on the bed.

Even with her back turned, she was almost painfully beautiful to him. In her sleep, she looked small and sweet, but he liked her even better when she was awake and active. He liked her. He loved her. He wanted her so much, but not if it ruined her life. How could she want him too? It was ridiculous. But here she was, following him, waiting, asking.

He had fallen asleep beside her while she read a book about how they could stay together. It lay on the sheet behind her, along with his shirt, which she had taken off for sleeping. It might have been warm enough for her to sleep without it at first. But now the room's fire was a bed of ashy grey coals, and he was almost certain he could feel her shivering in her sleep.

The memory of her body joined to his was muddled by his creature brain but alive inside him, not a dream but real, magically pure - everything. And the creature in him needed to warm her. Without any more thought, he eased his arm around her waist and pulled her to where he lay on his side, her back against his front. Her bare shoulder was cold, and he breathed hot air onto it. She stirred and stretched, her voice soft and wordless. He waited while she drifted back to him.

She hummed sweetly as she wriggled closer. "You're up early," she said. "And so warm."

He rubbed his palm along her arm. "I don't know why this fire can't tend itself properly. These old houses. I'm sorry."

She sniffed a laugh. "I'm not. I was hoping we'd speak again before the night was over."

He found her wrist, the one he had marked, and lifted it to kiss it. Over her shoulder, into her ear, he whispered again that he loved her.

She answered with another high, contented hum. "Everything is chaos. But even so, I'm not sure I've ever been happier."

Remus had done his sleeping. Still holding her wrist, he turned her to face him. She opened her eyes, no longer tired, sliding both her hands inside his T-shirt, pushing it up to his arms. He moved to help her pull it over his head. And when he laid his arms back down, his palm was on her hip, smoothing the silky fabric of her slip, descending all the way to its hem, his fingertips on her thigh, barely grazing her skin, eager but shaking with nerves.

This close again, her nose on his bare chest, Narcissa's Veela was stirring. But she reached past her, wanting to feel Remus as herself, rushing toward him. Her face moved over his chest, following the lines of the hard, raised scars she could sense with the tender skin of her cheeks and lips.

"I won't rush you," he said as she bent her leg around his, urging him closer. "But I'm ready. I want you to know. I want everything in your life, even if it kills me. While we're alive, I want to be the father of your Draco. When we're dead, I'll want you in the stars."

She held him tight, speechless, her face against his pounding heart.

He went on, "So, will you accept our bond?"

She broke away from his skin just far enough and long enough to say. "Will I? I've been willing all day."

He brushed his lips over her forehead, smiling. "I'm sorry. I need to be cautious with this. It's too precious. It's you."

She hook her arm under his, gripping his shoulder and rolling onto her back, inviting him to bring all of his weight, everything he had, and lay himself on top of her. "My love, I accept."