Chapter 11 - Greengrass Mansion

Josiah lay perfectly still, staring at the shadowy blankness of his wall and thinking uncomfortably.

The sex had been good, he told himself brightly; but then, the sex was always good. The conversation had been acceptable, in the vein that they were both boys and Noah wasn't exactly the type to share his feelings. But there was something missing, and its absence made everything else feel slightly out of place. In the silence of the after-the-afterglow, Josiah questioned his feelings.

He felt Noah's socked foot brush up against his linen-covered leg, and he tilted his head back to look at the other boy. He was in fact solidly asleep.

He had a nearly angelic face when he was sleeping, Jo thought absentmindedly, which made it all the worse. He squinted very solemnly at the other boy, as though staring at him harder would make Jo like him more purely. He sighed softly instead.

Noah woke up when his foot hit something hard. He struggled against the fogginess of sleep. "What the…?" He opened his eyes to find Jo next to him on the bed. "Sorry," he mumbled, shifting back into his side of the bed. "It's not morning yet, is it?"

He blinked hard, trying to keep his eyes open. "Something wrong?"

Josiah made a small, negative noise in the back of his throat.

"Just thinking." He rolled over to look at the digital clock on the nightstand with its huge, red letters. "It's only two in the mo'."

He smiled in an attempt to be reassuring, then joked into his pillow, "It's fine, but I really will Full-Body Bind you if you do it again."

Noah didn't reply for a while. He wasn't very good at picking up hints when it came to people's moods, but that hadn't sounded like the cheerful, bubbly Jo at all.

He reached out under the covers timidly, until his fingers touched Jo's arm. "'you sure?"

Jo rolled over again, putting his hand over Noah's. They were laying face to face.

"Noah, what are we?" He asked in a half-whisper, knowing that was a loaded question but needing the answer desperately.

Noah looked into Jo's eyes, now fully awake. He was very aware of Jo's warm hand on his. It pinned him in place, even if it wasn't a physically forceful touch. He couldn't run away now. If he did, he would probably never be allowed back in Jo's life.

He swallowed, as if trying to get rid of the tightness in his chest. "I don't know…" he said honestly, feeling guilty. "What do you want us to be?" He whispered.

Jo laid his head on Noah's arm, relaxing his hand over the other boy's and sighing.

"I'm not sure," he replied, which felt slightly anticlimactic. "Just together, I suppose… just… you know."

Noah looked up at the ceiling. "There's no one else I'd rather be with," he said quietly. It was easier to say it in the dark; less embarrassing, even if the guilt was still there. For what, he wasn't sure. For hiding? For fear of losing something?

"My parents… my team…" the words slipped out unintentionally. He almost hoped Jo wasn't listening, as the words kept pouring out. "I need them to respect me. If I fail… it's my dream… It's the only thing I'm good at."

"But I…" he closed his eyes, exhaling softly. He lowered his voice until it was little more than a breath. "I like you. I don't want to let you go."

"I know," Josiah murmured, quickly beginning to wish that he had said nothing at all. He respected Noah's dreams and his decisions, but that didn't stop it from hurting.

"But I don't think it's all you're good at," he whispered a bit stubbornly, cuddling into the crook of Noah's arm.

-/-/-

Josiah rubbed at his eyes wearily, watching the pots and pans gracefully bubble and swing and pour. It was a miracle that he could still do his magic properly, he thought to himself. Usually when his emotions got too… well, emotional… things didn't go exactly as he planned.

The grey-blue morning light was just starting to tint the curtains, and he looked up the brown-black shadows of the empty staircase. Even in a full house, he felt very lonesome.

Noah stared at the ceiling, painfully aware of Jo's absence. He'd woken up to find himself alone in Jo's bed. He felt like an horrible person; he'd hurt Jo, had let him down.

He certainly wasn't acting like a Gryffindor now; he was being selfish and a coward. That realization made him ashamed. He'd been so worried in trying to satisfy his own desires while keeping his perfectly planned life, he'd forgotten about Jo's feelings. Jo hadn't demanded anything from him, and Noah had happily taken advantage of that.

He left the bed – clearly Jo wasn't returning soon – pulled on a sweater and searched his backpack. A minute later, he made his way down the stairs, through the empty rooms, following the muffled sounds and the smell of food coming from the kitchen.

He found Jo there – alone –, and quietly approached to stand behind the other boy. The things Jo had said were still playing on loop in his mind, as if they'd been said only a few minutes ago and he couldn't shake them out. He slipped his arms around him. "What do you want, Jo?" He asked again, seriously.

The feel of the other boy's arms around him made Jo lose focus, and one of the pans dipped threateningly mid-pour. Josiah jumped a bit, waving his wand and resting it on the stovetop. He lowered his arm to rest on Noah's.

"I love you," he said quietly, realizing that wasn't an answer to the question he'd been asked. His eyes threatened to water. His chest burned with the confession. "Are you hungry?"

Noah stared at the wall ahead of them for a while, speechless. He hadn't expected that. He'd never heard anyone other than his mother say that to him and really mean it. He held him more tightly, as if with that he could hold that… something… so precious that he feared losing.

"You just keep turning my world upside down," he whispered. He was silent for a while. Why couldn't he say it back? Why couldn't he be sure if what he felt was love? "I have something for you…"

Releasing the grip on Jo, he took his wand out of his pocket and summoned the package he had left in the living room. He'd done his best to wrap it up himself.

"Oh," Jo murmured, still blushing, his face a mixture of heat and shock and pleasant surprise. He wasn't sure what to make of Noah's reaction, but it didn't seem to be disapproving. An oddly-wrapped package came hurtling into the kitchen, and he looked down at the haphazardly taped paper. His mouth quivered into a smile. Somewhere on the stove, a pot of gravy hissed from too much heat.

With a small yelp, he tended to it before turning back to the package.

It was obviously a book; he peeled back the paper carefully and mouthed the title with a warm grin: '101 Quidditch Injuries; 102 Ingenious Treatments'.

"It's lovely," he said, still grinning. "Really, thank you. Don't go getting hurt so I have to use it, though." He shuffled a bit, holding the book to his chest with both arms.

"I have something for you, too, but um… you know, breakfast."

Noah grinned lightheartedly looking at Jo's state by the stove. His family had been right about that. How could anyone be that charming?

"I'm glad you like it." His grin became lopsided at his warning. "I wasn't thinking about doing that… until now." Giving in to a pressing need, he pulled Jo closer and pressed their lips together briefly.

"I'll help, I'm good at setting the table," he winked mischievously. "It was one of the first charms I've ever learned, so I could be done with the chore more quickly."

Jo gave a short, haughty moan into the kiss, then turned around and busied himself by putting scotch eggs onto a platter and gravy into a bowl. Honestly, what was this? He was practically having a… well, steamy love affair of some sort in his own kitchen. He knew he should feel a bit scandalous at the whole situation, but he honestly couldn't be buggered at all.

"Have at it then," he said with a twitchy grin, several full plates of food hovering mid-air and waiting for a proper place setting.

Noah flipped his wand between his fingers dramatically, his smirk now smug as he turned and hovered the plates onto the table. He still remembered how many plates he'd broken in the process but, apart from being unable to position them perfectly distant from each other, he was a lot more accurate at it now. Glasses followed, as well as forks, knives, and finally napkins.

When he was done, a couple minutes later, he puffed up, arms folded, and gave Jo a questioning look.

Josiah tried to keep a look of warm confidence on his face the entire time; if anything broke, of course, he could repair it near-instantly, no harm done. Growing up in a Muggle household as he had, he still did not relish the sound of broken glass.

He was pleasantly surprised. A fork was crooked here and there, sure, but it was solid charmwork. He beamed at Noah.

"You perfected that yourself?" He asked sweetly, gripping his wand and using it to lower the platters onto the table. "I learned mine from a book. Reputable, of course, but no guesswork involved… I can tell by the placement of the glasses counter-clockwise that it's your own spell." He realized that his compliment might not sound the way he had intended it to, and quickly backtracked.

"I mean, that's… that's a good thing."

Noah frowned and looked back at the table. Counter-clockwise?! "Uh…" He rubbed the back of his head, shrugging sheepishly. "I always had good intuition when it came to hovering things. Even before going to Hogwarts. But I didn't know I was placing them wrong, no one ever told me…"

"It's not wrong!" Jo assured him hurriedly, lowering himself into a chair. "Just different…" he trailed off, stuffing a scotch egg into his mouth and then having the decency to look sheepish about his appetite.

"Do you take milk or juic-" he had his wand poised to summon both of them when he spotted a shiny mass of golden hair just behind the couch. Pearl ducked quickly out of his view, and his wand shot out a couple of purple sparks. He wondered how long she had been there.

Noah had been hoping they didn't have to wait for everyone to eat, so he happily followed Jo's lead and filled his plate. He looked up at Jo, his mouth full, then followed his gaze.

His eyes widened a little at the sight of his sister. He'd thought they were alone… He offered a shaky smile, then looked back at Jo. "Juice, please," he said, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

Josiah smiled back, but his eyes were still wide with the shock. He summoned the juice, then pushed his chair back from the table.

"Just a moment," he murmured quietly, taking a few steps out of the kitchen. "Pea?" He called out, but not too loudly. "It's not nice to eavesdrop, you know."

Pearl crawled out from behind the couch with a tortured look on her innocent face.

"I know," she replied, her lip beginning to quiver. "I j-just came down because I wanted to watch you do m-magic," she stuttered, unable to hold back her tears now. He felt a pang of guilt.

"Well, you're not in trouble," he said gently, kneeling down on the carpet and pulling her into a hug. "Hush now." She snuffled against his nightshirt, and he wondered what was going on in Noah's mind behind him.

"Did you see anything other than magic?" He asked offhandedly, and the girl looked up from his lap, her face blotchy and flushed. She looked over his shoulder at Noah, then back to her brother.

"I've seen June do the same," she said rather defiantly after a few moments. "It's not a big deal to kiss boys. I've seen it loads of times." It was Jo's turn to flush.

"Right," Josiah chanced evenly, not sure how to proceed. "But – er – Pea, you've got to promise me you won't tell anyone, alright? Not Mum or Dad or Juney or anyone." She blinked.

"Why, is it a big deal?" Faint chicken clucking could be heard from the garden.

"Er, some people think that when boys kiss other boys, it's a big deal," he said, trying to choose his words carefully. She pondered this for a moment, then looked back up at Josiah with round eyes.

"Can I have a scotch egg and some juice?"

Noah started to get up when he heard the poor girl crying, only to sink back into his chair at her answer, his eyes piercing the scotch eggs in front of him. He followed the conversation without saying a word. Merlin's beard, he had gotten overconfident and completely lost his common sense.

"Sure," he said, a little too cheerfully, as he hurried to fill a glass for the girl. His mind was racing when he glanced at Jo. What would they do if she told anyone?

Pearl joined them at the table, looking at Noah in awestruck silence. Her brother was a wizard, sure, but this boy was a wizard, and his parents were wizards, too. She wondered what growing up in a family full of wizards must be like.

"Pea, remember when I told you about Quidditch?" The girl nodded fervently. "Noah plays Quidditch. He's a Beater. He's on his house team, you know. He's very good." Jo helped himself to another scotch egg.

"Is the food at Hogs Warts very good?" She asked, nibbling a bite out of her own egg. "You've gotten softer since the summer." Her tone was innocent and a bit delicate, but Josiah stopped midchew and blushed scarlet.

Noah choked on his juice; it took him a few moments to regain some self-control. He'd barely known Pearl for a day, and he could already tell she was a handful.

He looked from her to Jo still trying to catch his breath. He thought the safest option was probably to distract her with some magic story.

"Do you know how I learned to fly on a broomstick?" He asked her. "I was three years old or so; my parents had bought me a kid's broomstick, one that only hovered a little above the ground. One morning, I was playing outside with my dad. He was teaching me how to brake with his own old broomstick, because I kept smashing against the furniture. But he had to go inside for a minute. So, I took his broomstick – it was so big I could barely pick it up – and I climbed to the lowest branch of an old, twisted tree we have in the yard." His grin was dreamy and mischievous. "I'm still not sure how I managed to get up there. But I held on to the broomstick as best I could, and jumped off."

Josiah grinned despite himself at the look on Noah's face; it made his heart flutter in more ways than one. He turned sternly to Pearl.

"You must never try that with a regular broomstick," he said firmly. "Regular old broomsticks don't fly, and if you break your leg, Mum will have my head, do you hear?" He could see the look of disappointment settling onto his sister's face. She looked at Noah sullenly, seeking outside comfort.

"Well it sounds like fun," she mumbled, casting a furtive glance at her brother, the party pooper. She brightened a bit as she thought of a new question.

"Did you always know you were a wizard?" She asked, resting her chin on her palm.

Noah winced a little under Pearl's pleading gaze, but he gave his best serious nod. "Yes, you definitely shouldn't try that with a regular broomstick, or by yourself. I broke my arm with that little stunt. I could search my old broomstick, and tea-" He glanced at Jo and swallowed the rest of the sentence. "Uh, I mean, one of these days… if your parents allow, of course." He put another forkful of eggs in his mouth to keep it busy.

He pondered her question. "Hmm… not until I was a little older than the episode with the broomstick. I vanished the whole contents of the soup pot one day, because I didn't want to eat it…" he hesitated again, then offered Jo an apologetic look. "Sorry, I'm a terrible role model."

Jo raised one eyebrow in gentle warning, slurping the last bit of gravy off of his spoon. If his mother was nervous around motorbikes, it was a far cry from how she felt about magic broomsticks. Pearl looked a little too excited for his comfort.

He gave Noah a teasing look, crossing his utensils on his plate.

"Well, I don't think I've ever done anything quite like that," he joked at his own expense. "Never met a soup pot I didn't like. One time, though, I kept the boat out on the lake out of sheer force of will 'cause I didn't want to go home yet. Threw Dad for a loop, that did. Wind was blowing in his favor and all."

Noah sobered up after Jo's look. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to get Pearl that excited.

"Well, that's a good way to introduce Muggles to magic," he said cheerfully, finishing his breakfast. "Did you know how you were doing it?"

"I was pretending the water was treacle," Jo replied a bit sheepishly. "You see, apart from not wanting to go home, I was also rather hungry, and..." he stopped and looked down at Pearl, who seemed a bit dejected.

"There, now, Pea," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. He gathered up the plates by hand and carried them to the sink. They slid in with a clatter that made him wince.

"I'll put the leftovers in the fridge, I expect," he murmured offhandedly. "Haven't the foggiest what's taking them so long to wake up, what with all the racket we've been making." He looked at the clock wearily.

Noah sighed; that had been one of the weirdest, best weekends he'd ever had – despite being caught with Jo. It made him a little sad that it was almost over.

"Maybe Pearl used her own magic to keep the noise from reaching upstairs," he teased, winking at her.

"Must've been," Jo said with a small grin, which made Pearl giggle despite herself. He turned to Noah, a little more seriously.

"You'll wait until it warms up to start traveling again, won't you?"

"I can't wait too long, mom is expecting me back tonight… but I can stay a couple hours longer, I suppose. It'll be warm enough by then."

He rose from his chair, realizing he was still in his boxers. He flushed a little, discreetly pulling his sweater down. "Er… I'm going to go back up and…" get dressed, he finished to himself.

Jo offered him a warm, lopsided grin, waving him off. Just knowing that he would have Noah's company for a few more hours made him feel better about the whole ordeal. Then again, he still wasn't sure exactly what the ordeal was; the sex? the murky relationship definition? the kiss? It was anyone's guess, really. He just couldn't be buggered.

"Morning cartoons ought to be on, Pea," he reminded her, and her eyes lit up with anticipation. She planted herself in front of the television just as June came down the stairs, yawning, taking a second look as Noah walked by her with his sweater pulled over his bum. She raised an eyebrow at Josiah, who shrugged with a half-smile.

Noah's eyes widened again at the sight of June. Flushing and barely containing a pained groan, he made his way up to Jo's room as quickly as possible, his heart skipping a nervous beat at the offhanded thought that all that was missing now was Jo's mother showing up for him to die of embarrassment.

-/-/-

Daniella brushed her hair back carefully while Logan Apparated next to her. "You could've waited, Dany," Logan said, brushing off his sleeves. He looked over her, rolling his eyes. "You don't need to try that hard to look pretty, sister. But I'm glad you're willing to try. We have a great chance tonig-"

"Save the speech, Logan," Daniella interrupted him, starting towards the building with the most lights on and people in fancy clothes walking into.

She was still very angry with him. He'd just barely escaped being sent to Azkaban, and he was acting like everything was just fine. His quip about having the right friends when she confronted him made her uneasy.

She was also not sure what she was doing here; maybe she was a masochist. That must be it. She'd raised her expectations about tonight, but this stupid party promised to be nothing more than a nightmare, judging by the taste she'd gotten in Diagon Alley meeting Ezra's mother. But she had bought a very expensive dress and very uncomfortable high heel shoes, so she might as well put them to use.

They stopped in front of the building, studying it. It was quite magnificent, shouting wealth through every stone. If it looked like this on the outside, she could only imagine how much bigger and more extravagant it was inside.

"One day I'll live in a place like this," Logan said greedily. "You could too, Dany, if you wanted. This is what a real house is supposed to look like." Something in the way he said it made Daniella grimace. "Doesn't it look amazing?"

She thought of their house, a smaller, less wealthy version of that building. Then thought of Jo's house, warm and cosy, thought of the times she'd been there. "It looks like a prison," she muttered. Huffing out a sigh, she raised an open hand. "Did you bring the invitations?" When he handed them over to her, she approached the gate and the house-elf that was receiving the guests.

Pokey was busily standing by the door, sorting invitations into piles as Master had ordered her. She hadn't seen Young Master Ezra; he had forbidden anyone to enter his room for any reason, and that had been 8 o'clock in the morning. She would have sighed, but her orders were to appear pleasantly receptive.

"Mistress Daniella and Master Logan, your invitations, please," Pokey squeaked, holding out both of her long-fingered elf hands. "The floating holly bunch will direct you to your seats!"

Daniella offered Pokey a genuine smile. She liked the house-elf and she wasn't going to pass the chance of spending even a few seconds with someone pleasant tonight.

"Goodnight, Pokey," She greeted as she handed her the invitations. "You're not going to stay outside all night, are you?"

Logan was looking at her like she'd grown a second head, but Daniella couldn't care less.

Pokey bowed deeply, nearly upsetting the quickly growing stacks of invitations. Her ears flopped daintily, and she rose again.

"Mistress Daniella is very kind. Pokey shall stay outside until Pokey has finished carrying out her Master's orders."

Daniella narrowed her eyes. Which Master, she wanted to ask, but people were gathering behind them, huffing out as they realized she was wasting her time talking to a house-elf.

Logan took her elbow, firmly guiding her into the house. "Alright, Pokey. I will see you inside," was all she had time to say.

She took off the outer robe when they entered the warm hallway, adjusted the fabric on her dress and ran her fingers through her slightly wavy hair so it fell smoothly over her back. She wasn't used to wear jewelry; she was very aware of the light brush of the pendant against her neck. She was more used to high heels, which was good, because she had no intention of embarrassing herself by falling.

They were guided into the ballroom. She couldn't help but stare for a few moments at the magnificent decoration. "Impressed now?" Logan whispered against her ear, but Daniella wasn't paying attention to him anymore.

She'd spotted Sabrina across the room, near Ezra's mother – obviously. She started heading in the opposite direction when Logan spotted the hosts as well. "Come on, we should greet them."

Daniella pulled away from his grip. "You go ahead. I'll meet you there," after I've gotten drunk enough, she added to herself, trying to locate the bar.

Ezra took his time on the staircase. It was still a funny feeling even after all these years, he thought offhandedly, having everyone who was anyone in Wizarding Britain in what he referred to as 'the front room.' It was actually technically a ballroom, of course, but when one grows up in this environment, one does not make such unnecessary flourishes.

He went unnoticed for at least two steps before the hush began to settle in; everyone had to get in their good, long stare, he thought bitterly without looking up. He smoothed down the luxurious velvet of his green blazer instead, letting the conversations pick back up before scanning the crowd with his eyes.

There was Sabrina, of course, as though anyone could miss her while she was surrounded by what must have been all of the rhinestones in France. He kept scanning, becoming desperate, and then he found what – or rather, who – he was looking for.

The distance that physically separated Daniella from a much needed Firewhisky had seemed deceivingly short. Nobody, in Hogwarts or out, bothered to acknowledge her unless absolutely necessary. But now that she was in a party hosted by the all powerful Greengrass family, everyone seemed much more willing to address her; like she had suddenly become more important. She would rather be ignored; the effort it took to smile politely and make the same small talk over and over again was quickly getting on her nerves. Finally she reached the corner where they served the drinks.

She looked around the room while she waited her turn; followed the mass gaze towards the staircase when the conversations toned down momentarily. Ezra.

She turned quickly back to the house-elf at the bar, and asked for a generous serving of Firewhisky.

Meanwhile, Logan, chuckling at what Mrs. Greengrass was saying, noticed Ezra Greengrass coming down the stairs. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, ladies."

He quickly made his way through the crowd to meet Ezra.

"Good evening," he said quietly as he slipped in front of Greengrass. "Do you have a minute?" He asked. "We have urgent business to discuss."

Ezra made eye contact with the other boy, inclining his head in acknowledgement and motioning to the glass door near the back of the ballroom that contained a private balcony.

"Please."

Although the two boys were quite similar and, by some definitions, could even be called friends, it was a fact of nature that snakes did not travel in packs. Furthermore, Ezra had known this would happen – could smell the topic a mile off like a carcass in the summer heat – and he had already steeled his will against any more finagling on the part of the other boy.

He shut the door behind them.

Logan followed Ezra into the balcony, slipping his hands into his pockets when he faced the other boy. "You've been awfully quiet since last summer," he commented casually. "I thought you'd have news for me by now."

"You don't seem to have much faith in your sister's ability to keep out of trouble," Ezra mused with a half-smile. "I daresay I haven't been nearly as quiet as she has."

That made Logan chuckle. He shook his head, but he wasn't particularly amused when he met Ezra's eyes again. "No, actually I don't. Daniella is a romantic fool; she is also very stubborn. But she is my sister," he said emphasizing those two words, "and I will make sure she doesn't make the wrong choices."

He narrowed his eyes, looking thoughtful. "Are you telling me she hasn't been with that Mudblood?"

Ezra remained expressionless, but his temper flared with such force that he could practically feel the heat. His eyes were dark in the shadows, a smoldering brown-black, and he smirked.

"Was it your intention all along to interrogate me on my own balcony?" He asked silkily. "No. I haven't seen the Mudblood."

Logan pondered Greengrass's words for a while. He'd trusted the boy far more than any other potential informant, he really didn't want to stop trusting him now. And Daniella was certainly a lot quieter about her little friend, but still…

"Of course not. You've been such an accommodating host, after all. But you certainly understand my concerns, we'll do anything to protect her; including protecting her from herself." He searched Ezra's eyes, his smile growing more provocative. "I want believe you, my friend," he said softly. "I hope you're not trying to play me. And I definitely hope she isn't trying to play you."

"Yes," Ezra murmured, eyes flicking back to the warmly lit ballroom. "However, I would hazard a guess that, simply by accepting tonight's invitation, you have everything to gain, and I have nothing to lose."

He wrapped his hand around the ornate, antique silver handle, pulling the door towards him.

"If you'll excuse me."

Daniella studied the contents of her now empty Firewhisky glass as she spinned it slowly, wondering where Ezra was right now. She shook her head. Don't be stupid, she scolded herself. If she turned around, she knew where she would find him. And who would be glued to his arm like always. Maybe it was better this way. She wasn't entirely sure what she wanted to do if she saw his handsome, infuriatingly proper face right now.

"One firewhisky on the rocks and a shot of fresh cream," Ezra murmured, taking a seat at the bar beside Daniella, who had apparently not noticed his presence.

"Yes, Young Master Ezra," the house elf running the bar bowed deeply, and the drinks magically poured themselves and slid across the counter into his long, thin fingers. He took a deep, eye-watering swig.

Daniella stopped spinning her glass when she heard his voice. She chanced a sideways look at him. "How odd to see you here, completely alone. I thought you'd be receiving every guest, making sure everyone is having a great time."

Huffing at her glass, she pushed it forward to the house-elf, leaving a wet trail on the counter, which the house-elf promptly cleaned up. "I need another one."

"I'm not alone," Ezra said rather stubbornly, eyeing her with some disdain. "You're here. And Binky." The house elf immediately fell into a deep bow, smacking his forehead onto the counter.

"It is always a pleasure to know that the Young Master remembers Binky's name," he croaked, his voice heavy with emotion as he poured Daniella another drink.

"I don't suppose I could interest you in a tour of the house."

Daniella looked at Binky, then back at Ezra. "Merlin's beard, do they all worship you like this?" She frowned as she accepted her firewhisky, with a small voiced thank you.

She looked around the room, as if pondering his invitation. She would much rather argue with him elsewhere than put up with any more small talk there. "I suppose that's just about as fun as this party," she said a bit tartly, taking her drink and leaving her seat.

"It's not worship," Ezra mumbled stuffily. "We're fr-" he saw the elderly house-elf's eyes begin to water, and he thought better of his word choice before he gave the poor old boy heart failure. "Very good acquaintances." He downed the rest of his cream and offered his outstretched hand to Daniella, with every intention of it being ignored. He slid it back into his pocket.

He walked slowly but sharply toward the east wing of the mansion, the floor slowly changing from polished wood to ornate marble tile as they entered the deserted corridor.

"This is the kitchen," he drawled, wondering if she was even listening. He pushed the door open slightly to reveal a massive room containing a dozen tiny elves scurrying around with giant plates of food over their large heads. "The elves sleep across the hall, but you needn't look in there; they frequently run around naked when no one is looking."

Was it bad that she didn't trust herself to touch him right now? It was pretty bad, she had to admit. She closed her fingers around the fabric of her dress instead as she followed him out of the ballroom.

She peeked into the kitchen politely, her eyes following the moving plates of food, some of which completely hid the elf carrying them. She took another sip, choking on the fire-like liquid at his last statement. "They what?" She gasped with teary eyes.

"Run around naked," Ezra repeated with a relatively straight face. "When no one is looking. Many people are under the impression that house elves never take off their garments of servitude, but when left to their own devices, they are quite free-spirited creatures. They even have daily baths."

He closed the kitchen door and walked towards the end of the hall, which broadened into a round sitting room with three doors embedded in its magically modified walls. He reached for the handle of the first one.

"The library," he said simply, pushing open the heavy wooden door which did not creak, but merely gave a heavy, silent swish outward.

Ezra had very efficiently planted that picture in Daniella's mind and now, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't delete it. She stared at another passing elf and had to press her lips together more tightly to keep the laughter in. Maybe it was time to set down her glass…

She looked around the long room with walls filled with books from top to bottom. "Not too shabby," she commented, regaining most of her composure. She had expected the house to be bigger than it looked from the outside, but this…

Her comment coaxed a chuckle out of Ezra, who shut the door with a slight thump and continued on to the next door.

"Potions cupboard," he said lazily, pushing open the next door to reveal not so much a cupboard but a medium sized room, its walls stocked with Potions ingredients common and obscure; a large, heavy-bottomed copper cauldron sat in the center of the room.

"And this," he motioned to the last door, "is not a room, but a lift." The open door revealed a small, elegant elevator, and the corner of his lips twitched upward. "After you. Mind the rug."

Daniella followed him into the lift, taking the chance to say on the safe, easy topic. "You do have a staircase, I saw it. So, is there a practical reason to also have a lift?"

"We had to do something with the extra door," Ezra replied frankly as the lift carried them gently upwards. "Also, getting to the staircase requires re-entering the fray. Aren't you rather glad?" The bell in the hallway gave a small ding and the door swung itself open.

The uppermost floor was more sparsely decorated than the first floor, being that it was very rarely exposed to guests. That isn't to say, however, that it wasn't elegant by normal standards. The air was rather clearer and less perfumed, and many of the doors were open without care of presentability.

"My study," Ezra motioned to the door on his left. It had a large, heavy wooden desk and a plethora of school books. "My bathroom," he indicated the sparkling white-and-green tiled lavatory on his immediate left, which had an antique claw-foot bathtub. "And my bedroom."

The door to this room was not open, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked out of the far window as though he wasn't fussed about anything in particular.

"And there is the staircase you so astutely mentioned, should you wish to experience it for yourself. I don't personally recommend it; you might have to entertain an actual conversation."

Daniella waited, offering a small smirk when he didn't add anything else. "Is it so messy you're afraid to let me see?"

Obviously, she couldn't care less about the house or its decoration right now. She was still torn between two different needs. And here they were, alone once more, with all those people downstairs at the party. It was getting difficult to contain the words that threatened to spill out.

She looked at the glass she still held. "They're probably looking for you," she said, grimly. Just like every time before, this moment would end soon. "You wouldn't want to get in trouble, would you?"

Ezra raised an eyebrow, silently accepting the challenge and wrapping his hand around the cold doorknob. The door swung open, and he motioned an offer to step inside.

It was a solemn fact that not even Sabrina had been inside of his bedroom; oh, they had fooled around in several other places in the house, of course. Ezra considered his bedroom slightly sacred, if only because it was the only place he had ever been alone. His mother hadn't even entered it since he was six years old; the only other soul that was allowed in was Pokey, whom he had painstakingly taught to play Exploding Snap. It had taken him another three years to teach her to win without punishing herself.

"I am frequently in trouble in any case," he murmured.

Daniella took a small step into the room, looking around with much more interest than she'd shown for the rest of the house. The furniture was dark and elegant, giving the room a feel that suited the owner. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of a tiny little bed. She raised an eyebrow, then spun around to give him a questioning look. "Am I missing something? Or a little someone, maybe?"

Ezra looked at her, momentarily puzzled, then realized she was referring to the miniature bed in the corner of the room. He stepped over to it, gently pulling back the worn blanket to expose the front of the crib. The words 'Pokey's Bed' had been painstakingly carved into its front in childlike handwriting.

A shadowy figure moved in the darkest corner of the room, and Ezra held out his arm for it. A large, soot-colored owl swooped across the room and landed on his elbow.

"Sorry for waking you up," he murmured to the owl, which cooed comfortingly and ruffled its feathers. "I expect you'd like to go hunting for a bit." He opened the window and the bird hopped daintily onto the windowsill before taking off. He closed the window again, shivering a bit against the chill.

"Well, is it all that you expected it to be? Do relieve me of the suspense." He smiled wryly.

Daniella looked at the words carved on the bed for a long time, not sure what to say. Not sure what to think. He'd found yet another way to pull the rug from under her feet.

The chilly winter breeze made her shiver, spiking her temper. She set down the glass before turning to look at him, trying to understand how the boy in the Leaky Cauldron, dimmed and subdued by his mother's presence and the one in front of her right now, sharp and confident, looking so lovingly at a simple bed could be the same person.

"I cannot, for the life of me, understand you!" She snapped. "How can you-" She shook her head, confused and angry. "You're hot and then you're cold; you follow orders like a nice, little lamb and then you sneak your way into, into…." She huffed. "What the hell do you want, Ezra?"

"A few more mugs of firewhisky, at the moment," Ezra murmured with a devilish smirk. "But I suppose that isn't what you meant." He leaned against the wall casually, but his eyes were sharp and calculating.

"What would you have me do?" He asked after a few moments of tense silence. "Shall I tell my mother that I'm going to run off from home and be a blood traitor and she can go stuff herself? What purpose would that serve?" His cheeks were slightly flushed, although whether it was from alcohol or anger, he couldn't tell.

"You think we're in the same position, but we – we're – you haven't got nearly as much to lose," he spluttered, slightly incoherent as he had just noticed how beautiful she looked tonight. "At least no one is breathing down the back of your neck trying to force you into some barbarian arranged marriage."

"Oh, I have nothing to lose, is that you think?" Daniella inhaled sharply. "Every single day of my life, I've seen what resigning to this stupid pureblood proper lady role who obeys in everything and never has an idea of her own has done to my mother! I've seen her become a shadow of what she could've been… I've seen what my future will be like if I do what they want me to do. It would kill me to stomach that for even one day!"

She closed her hands into fists to keep them from shaking and took an angry step towards him. "I'm losing my brother, and every day I expect to look at his arm and see that fucking mark that will tell me I've lost him forever."

She was breathing heavily now. "And I am already a blood traitor," she spat the word, like he'd used it. She stared at him, thinking she could see the fiery anger she felt reflected in his expression. "So, I don't have as much money or as fancy of a house to lose…" She took another step, trapped in his haunted eyes. He was close enough that she could breathe in his scent. It was intoxicating… She wanted more. So much more.

"Please, don't marry her," the words slipped out in a faint whisper before she could realize it.

Several thoughts zipped through Ezra's mind; approximately five retorts, two regrets, and one desire, to be precise. He heeded only the last one, pressing his pleasantly warm but slightly wind-chapped lips against hers.

"I'd really rather not if I have any say in the matter," he murmured, closing his eyes and resting his head gently on top of her soft, flowing hair.

Daniella's thoughts fled at the feel of his lips on hers. She'd been breathless after the angry outburst. But she couldn't remember why she'd been so angry anymore. All that mattered was that she wanted him.

Her fingers searched blindly for the buttons of his blazer. "We have unfinished business," she breathed, searching his mouth again for a deeper kiss.