Klara returned to the Grimmauld Place house through unauthorised Floo, clipper bag in one hand, wicker hamper in the other. She hadn't even been aware one could connect a fireplace to Floo without Ministry authorisation, but of course, Dumbledore simply did as he saw fit.

It was Remus who pulled her out the fireplace in the dining room. One look at his face explained what he and Sirius had been discussing in her absence. She straightened and brushed off the ash in as dignified a manner as she could muster.

"So. He's told you then? What he did to me?"

"Um." Remus turned away, pretending to busy himself setting her clipper bag down on the carpet. He seemed a little alarmed at the heavy thud it made upon contact, but kept from looking at her. "Yes. That's—yes."

Klara tilted her head to look at him.

"No need for you to be discomfited, Remus," she said airily. "We might all be a bit older, but you needn't treat me as if I'm a stranger."

"What? No, I wouldn't—that's not at all—"

She smiled and folded a hand on his shoulder.

"We were friends before, Remus. I'd like it very much if that did not change."

After a moment, he smiled in return.

"It was always impossible to change your mind."

"I believe the term you're looking for is "woman of conviction."

He had the decency to try to stifle his laugh.

"Now then," Klara said, reluctantly surveying the dining room. "Is there one room in this house that's actually fit for human occupation, or is this room the one in best condition?"

"What?"

She lifted the wicker basket.

"Dinner, Remus. I'd like to eat somewhere not surrounded by decay and all manner of—" She turned her eyes up to pixies buzzing about the brassy chandelier, "—guests."

"Oh." His brows furrowed, and for a moment he stared at her like she had just spoken to him in Old Norse. Klara lifted an eyebrow, and watched his confusion melted into what she hoped was optimistic surprise.

"Oh! You brought dinner?"

"Yes, Remus. Are you quite alright?" asked Klara, fighting between an urge to laugh and a mild concern. Maybe the mould growing in this place was releasing toxic fumes. She'd heard of muggles developing a condition known as "brain fog" from living in mouldy houses.

"What? Yes. Yes, I'm fine," said Remus distractedly, eyes still glued to her hamper. "Uh…this room and the kitchen are the only ones we've attended to, except for our bedrooms. I'd like to say the kitchen looks a bit cleaner than this, but it's actually a lot worse."

Klara heaved a resigned sigh. She hadn't exactly expected anything different. It had been why she'd asked Dumbledore to sit and have tea while she packed a passable dinner from leftovers. It was probably a miracle that Sirius and Remus hadn't poisoned themselves cooking in a kitchen that was likely overrun with all variety of creatures and fungi.

"We'll just have to make do, then," she said, nodding. "This house does have a back garden, does it not?"

Remus' eyebrows shot up.

"You want to eat in the garden? We haven't even ventured back there. Not sure what's been growing all these years."

"Not to worry. I'll take care of it. Show me the door, and if you could please bring out dishes and cutlery that would be wonderful."

Remus opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, looking thoughtful.

"Alright then," he said, motioning them out of the room and towards the back of the house. At the top of the stairs to the basement, he nodded to a set of heavy wooden doors at the end of the hall.

"Garden's just through there. I'll get Sirius. He'll be looking for the dishes you asked for."

Unsure if Remus was mocking her, Klara narrowed her eyes at him, but he turned swiftly and all but bounded down the stairs.

Klara, of course, had noticed Sirius' absence the second she'd stepped out of the fireplace, but she wasn't going to bring him up voluntarily. It was rather inconvenient, her instinct to seek him out in every room. It had become a habit when they had been twenty, and it seemed some habits lived in the subconscious forever.

The garden door was locked. She'd been prepared to try every unlocking charm she knew. but to her surprise, a simple Alohamora was enough. Wand out in case something dangerous really was living on the other side of it, Klara pushed against the door with her shoulder. Slowly, it gave way, and as it opened late-afternoon sunlight poured in, illuminating the pealing wallpaper and rotting wood of the hall.

She stepped out onto the stone patio and looked around. Remus needn't have worried. A building that no doubt housed generations of dark magic was not an attractive home for most magical plants. Nothing grew in the stone patio and garden bed within ten feet of the house, and beyond that, clumps of muggle weeds shot up in clusters, mostly under the crumbling stone walls separating the space from those of the neighbours.

Deciding that this would do rather nicely, all things considered, Klara pulled out the picnic blanket she'd packed in the wicker hamper and spread it over the patio, casting a pest-repellent charm around it just to be safe. Then came the pillows, which she arranged, enlarged, and charmed to prop themselves up like chair backs. She opened the hamper, set out food and wine, then ventured to where the weeds grew.

There were a couple of dandelion clumps, and she picked the larger flowers from those, as well as bunches of tiny purple flowers that looked like pinwheels. Returning to the blanket, she arranged them in the vase she'd brought, plucking dandelion leaves to even out the shape of the bouquet. Finally, she cast first an enlarging charm until the setup resembled a potted tree, then a replicating charm, so that the little picnic area was surrounded by arrangements of giant flowers.

Settling back onto the cushions, Klara blew out a deep breath, feeling like this was the first chance she'd had to breathe all day. A warm summer breeze wound through her hair, lifting a stray curl across her face, and it felt so wonderful she didn't even mind the inevitable frizz the humid air would impart. Klara felt herself relax. Really, the day could have ended very differently, and Klara was glad it didn't. Being forced by circumstance to live with other human beings—even a former lover who had so unapologetically tampered with her life—might just be best for the health of her present mind. Speaking, of course, from her purely professional standpoint.

O~O~O~O~O

She would never say it aloud, but Klara was relieved for a reason to leave her parents' old flat. When she had been planning her return to Britain, it had seemed the obvious place to live—why would she rent a new flat when she had one at the ready? Unlike her family's estate, which had long ago been inherited by some South African cousin she'd never met, this apartment legally belonged to her. It had taken only a couple of office visits and a few Confunding charms to resurrect her muggle existence and place her name on the deed.

However, the moment she had Apparated amid the dust-sheet covered furniture in the flat's sitting room, she had realised her mistake.

Her family had spent Easter evenings there, her father's cigar smoke swirling around them, her mother slipping into colourful German as she scolded her brothers for resting their feet on the 18th Century chairs. She had spent summer afternoons there, having tea with the ladies in society, bored to death of their chatter, but eager to stay to please her mother.

The September when she was 19, she had stood there in a blue ballgown, her mother tucking flowers into her hair while her father nodded with approval. She'd found that entire year of "coming out" as dull and ridiculous as everything else about upper class society, but her parents both insisted, and for once Klara had wanted them to be proud of the strange daughter they were saddled with. She had basked in the autumn sunshine, soaking up her parents' rare smiles. Then her brothers had bounded in, and for once all three had given her their attention for an entire evening.

Now the room was covered in shrouds. Ironic. There hadn't been bodies for them to bury at her family's funeral. Her funeral. Or what should have been. And again, that question, so very poisonous, that she'd asked herself in the weeks locked in Silas Nott's island lodge: Would it have been better if she'd died with them?

Unprepared for the ghosts in the room, she had let her newly uncovered grief drown her until she was curled up in the middle of the dusty rugs, a raw, trembling mess, unable to move. Then, when evening set in, she had pushed herself off the floor and set about setting the flat to rights. She wasn't going to let emotions derail her plans. There were things she'd come home to do. Plans to carry out. There was no time to be weak and sentimental, she'd told herself, especially about events so far in the past. She had decided she would live well in her parents' flat, and she had been prepared to do just that.

The aftereffects of Sirius' memory charm were strange and inconsistent. After the initial onslaught of emotional turmoil, Klara discovered that, at least during the day, she could keep those tortured memories of death and loss locked away—so long as she was present and prepared for triggers. The grief and trauma were fresh, naturally, but at the same time they seemed faded. The emotions did have fifteen years to settle in her mind after all, even if she had not dealt with them on the surface. And besides, Klara's Healer degree wasn't not for show. She knew minds, and could master her own best of all. So long as she braced herself, the flat itself would be unlikely to stir up too many unwanted memories.

But now…well, it wasn't her doing Grimmauld Place was better protected. She needed to give herself the best chance of staying alive, and it was circumstances, not personal weakness, that pushed her to move out. How convenient.

Having to move in with Sirius was not ideal—she didn't appreciate her constant simmering anger every time she thought of what he'd done—but the honest part of her had to admit that staying in his decomposing excuse for a house was infinitely preferable to living in her parents' old flat, surrounded by ghosts. Besides, at least it seemed Remus would be there too. They wouldn't be alone, thank God.

And, of course, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place would not stay in its decomposing state for long. Klara was already making cleaning plans, and she would make the house fit for human habitation, even if it killed her.

O~O~O~O~O

Sirius had insisted on carrying the dishes and cutlery as they made their way to the kitchen. Remus had offered to take half, but Sirius had given him a dark look.

"I did spend twenty full minutes picking the ones in the best condition," he growled, "and you're not the one she's furious at."

"Do you actually think being the one to bring the dishes will help you return to her good graces?" Remus asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Sirius glared. "It can't hurt," he said, though he doubted there was anything he could actually do to coax forgiveness from Klara. He had known it fifteen years ago, and he knew it now; she would either choose to forgive him, or she would choose not to, and he could only hope beyond hope for the former, though the latter seemed most likely.

But maybe, if she had yet to make up her mind—well, the dishes were rather nice, all things considered, and Klara did appreciate good china.

She had left the garden door ajar, and Remus pushed it open, not without apprehension. Sirius wasn't sure what he had been expecting. Maybe the years had changed them all, but Klara was still Klara, and he wondered, staring at the scene before him, how he could possibly have thought she wouldn't materialise an entire oversized garden among which to have dinner.

Amid the huge leaves and yellow and purple petals, Klara had set out mountains of pillows on a picnic blanket, and in the middle, she had laid out a veritable feast. She herself was lounging back on one side, swirling a wine glass, her eyes closed and face tipped up to catch the rays of evening sun.

She opened her eyes at the sound of the door opening, and smiled her quiet smile at them. The sunlight caught her heavy-lidded eyes, making the irises glow like Firewhisky, and Sirius nearly dropped his dishes. Beside him, Remus too had stilled, staring at the entire scene as if something had glitched in his brain.

After a moment of complete silence, Klara pushed herself up to sitting.

"You see," she addressed Remus. "There's nothing nefarious growing out here. Much more pleasant than inside." She gestured at her Bedouin tent setup with her wine glass.

"I hope the two of you don't mind sitting on the ground," she said, and turned to look at Sirius for the first time since they'd emerged. "You're welcome to conjure some chairs and a table if you'd prefer. That's beyond my Transfiguration capabilities"

"What? No," Sirius was quick to reply, walking over and sinking into the pillows. His folded leg was too near hears, and as she shifted her foot came dangerously close to skimming his. "This is—uh, perfect."

"Yes, it is," said Remus, also coming to sit down. "We were just surprised by the food. It has been mostly canned beans and fried eggs around here, though Kreacher does roast beef every so often."

Klara tried to keep her face neutral, Sirius knew, but the horror still manifested in a little wrinkle of her nose.

"You poor things," she frowned, setting glasses in front of them and pouring chilled wine. "I did notice that both of you appear rather on the thin side, especially you, Sirius."

Their eyes met, and he saw a flash of what he thought looked like anguish pass over her features, but it was gone before he could be sure her expression had even changed. She looked down.

"And uh…what is this Kreacher?"

Sirius scoffed. "He's my family's old house elf. I'm sure I've mentioned him to you some time or other. Great company, that one."

She tilted her head. "Oh. Yes, I believe you have. How unpleasant for all three of you, then, living together." She took another sip of her wine, then gestured to the dishes she'd laid out before Sirius could mutter any more complaints about Kreacher.

"I'd flatter myself a better cook than an ancient elf, so I expect you both to fill out during my stay here," she said briskly, reaching for an empty plate and cutting a large slice of what appeared to be quiche. It was dotted with cherry tomatoes in various shades of yellow, orange and red. The rich scent of pastry swirled in the air, and for the first time in a long time Sirius could feel his mouth water.

"Unfortunately, I had to use the replicating charm on most of this, so they have suffered on flavour. You'll have to excuse me. I did make everything thinking it was just for me."

Klara set the quiche on the blanket as Sirius and Remus both jumped in to assure her that they were happy for the meal no matter what. She didn't look up, seeming to focus on cutting a second slice.

"Neither of you have ever been this polite with me," she said quietly. "I meant what I said, Remus. I'm not a stranger, despite Sirius' efforts."

Sirius felt himself visibly cringe. He couldn't help it. Beside him, Remus, who had just taken a sip of the wine, seemed to choke, and coughed into his sleeve.

"Klara, I'm—"

She nudged the plates at them. "Eat, please," she interrupted, and again, the shock of it made Sirius shut his mouth.

Klara, as if she hadn't said anything out the ordinary, was now lifting a radish garden salad onto smaller plates.

Remus recovered, picked up a plate and cut a large bite with his fork. He gave Sirius a significant look, and Sirius, feeling a gloomy resignation settle in his stomach, also picked up a plate. So, yes, this would likely be his life now. Klara in a temper was covered in thorns one couldn't even see, and she didn't seem interested in hearing him apologise.

On the bright side, however, she was speaking to him, and she would need to continue doing so, living here. That was better than nothing, surely. Things had always been better when she was around, and again he snuck a look at her, dark curls framing her lovely, familiar face.

His mood lifting, Sirius bit into the quiche. The tomatoes were tart and savoury, the onions sweet, and the pastry itself was flavoured with rosemary and olives. There were pieces of spiced sausage spread throughout, their heat mellowed by the soft cheese that held everything together. Sirius didn't fancy himself particularly dramatic, but right now, this was likely the best thing he'd ever eaten.

"Klara, this is delicious," said Remus, already halfway through his slice of quiche.

"It makes no sense, but you always were the best cook I've ever met," said Sirius, reaching now for what looked like potato salad laced with red onions and tiny pickles.

Klara narrowed her eyes at him. This was one of the things he had liked to tease her over.

"I know I am, but there's no need for flattery, Sirius. And I've told you more than once. My cooking makes perfect sense. I'd rather not eat anything unless it tastes good."

Sirius laughed, the sound foreign even to his own ears, and watched as an answering smile spread reluctantly on her face. So perfect, the arc of her lips, and he wanted to trace it with his thumb. He wondered if her mouth still felt like velvet. How surreal this seemed, sitting here with Klara and Remus, drinking wine, surrounded by flowers and a dinner Klara had made.

For the tenth time that day, Sirius could almost imagine that he was twenty again, that the war hadn't yet taken their innocence and joy, that James and Peter and Lily would join them any minute now, and they would lounge here, drinking and laughing until the three stars one could see in London began to sparkle in the night sky.

O~O~O~O~O

The first time Klara had cooked for him was during the summer after graduation, in the kitchen of the flat she'd shared with Pandora Fawley. It had been back when people weren't yet so afraid to live, and they had planned to attend some party or other that evening. Sirius, feeling woefully cheated of her company in the month since leaving school, had arrived just after noon, hoping to catch her alone.

Klara had been chopping cherry tomatoes, humming to herself as Schumann's Kreisleriana floated in from the living room record player. Behind her, a pot simmered, a spoon charmed to stir its contents every so often. Sirius stood in the doorway, watching her, wondering where a girl like her had learned to use a kitchen knife. It was several minutes before she noticed his presence. She looked up, her surprised eyes meeting his as she absently popped a bit of tomato into her mouth. She licked a bit of juice from the corner of her lips. Sirius felt his throat go dry.

Her confusion melted into an expectant smile as he walked towards her.

"You're rather early," she said, leaning back against his chest. "The party doesn't start for another—" she peered at his wrist, now wrapped around her waist, "—oh, eight hours or so."

"I am nothing if not prompt," he said gravely, and she laughed.

"Utter nonsense. You'd be late to everything if James didn't send you daily reminders."

Sirius made a mock-affronted scoff.

"You think so little of me?"

"Hmm," she shrugged, returning to her tomatoes. "Who says I think about you at all?"

"Is that how it is?" he murmured into her hair, used to her little barbs. Klara smelled the way she always did—sweet and woodsy and soft—and he smiled when he felt her shiver at his breath on her neck.

"I...um…Sirius, keep doing that and there won't be anything to eat for lunch besides raw tomatoes."

"I wasn't expecting any food at all. No great loss to me."

She swatted lightly at his arm.

"It is to me. I've been dreaming about this pasta all morning. Tomato and squash and courgette and…mmm..." He was nibbling at her neck, and it was several moments before he replied.

"Damn. Now you've made me hungry."

"Help me then," she said, composing herself and tossing him a squash to cut.

"Where did you learn how to cook, anyway," he asked, hopping up onto her counter and studying the squash with no intention of cutting anything. Growing up, he hadn't known a single Pureblood girl who had any idea how to even boil water. They had house elves for kitchen work. He had assumed it was the same for girls from muggle families like hers.

Klara gave him a long-suffering look, then retrieved the squash from his unhelpful hands.

"You know how my brothers are. They wouldn't play with me when I was little, so I'd spend hours in the kitchens, watching our cook. When I got a little older, I started asking to help out."

"And your very proper mother let you?"

Klara shrugged. "She was never interested in me long enough to notice, as long as I showed up to tea."

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. He had met Lady Sutton just the once, and she had vaguely reminded him of Walburga, but it would seem Klara's mother was cruel in a wholly different way.

Having finished with her tomatoes, Klara had moved on to hacking at the squash.

"You know," said Sirius, hopping down from the counter. "You are a witch. You don't have to chop things by hand. Actually, I'm pretty sure all this would be much faster if you charmed it."

"I know. Pandora got me a cooking charms book for my birthday, but I like chopping things by hand. I like touching everything."

Sirius heaved an exaggerated sigh, and returned to playing with her hair. She stared resolutely at her hands, but he could see her reluctant grin. Taking his window of opportunity, he stopped her hand, then ducked around to catch her mouth with his. She gave a little mew of protest, but melted into him, the knife clattering to the chopping board.

Her lips were cool, and she tasted like tomato and wine—tart and sweet. He slid one hand behind her neck, drawing her closer into him, while the other hand smoothed over the silk of her dress and drew it up so he could touch her bare leg.

She gasped, and he gave a satisfied hum. Eventually, she found the presence of mind to pull away, but lunch was made without Klara picking up the knife again. Sirius had thought then that that may have been the best meal he'd ever tasted, and afterwards she'd pulled him into her bedroom, her silk dress already a puddle on the dining room floor. They missed the party that night.

O~O~O~O~O

Sirius was fairly certain he'd gained about a stone in the past two hours. He and Remus had vanquished the quiche until there weren't even crumbs left in the tin, and in a lazy, post-meal stupor, the three of them had sat and watched the moon rise until a sudden evening rain had forced them back inside.

Klara resolutely refused to unpack anything from her clipper bag aside from a sleeping velvety sleeping bag and a bag of toiletries.

"If this is the cleanest room," she said as the three of them stood in the dining room, "I'll camp in here." She proceeded to levitate the tables and chairs to form a makeshift bed platform, even as Remus and Sirius both offered to vacate their bedrooms.

"That's kind of you both," she said, laying out her sleeping bag, "but neither of you has had a roommate in, what, seventeen years? You'll find it much less pleasant than you remember, especially as you'd have to share the bed."

"But you can't just sleep in the dining room," Sirius protested, eyeing the buzzing pixies with concern. They were fluttering mostly around their nest today, weary of the new human in the house, but it wouldn't last when they determined that Klara was not a predator.

"Why ever not? It'll do as well as any other room." She narrowed her eyes at the pixies too, and after a moment drew up a large Silencio charm that miraculously engulfed the entire chandelier. At once the room settled into silence, and they all sagged a little in relief.

"Besides," she continued, "I'll be able to move into a clean bedroom tomorrow." Both Sirius and Remus gave her sceptical looks.

"Klara, I know you're good at this sort of stuff, but this house isn't just old," Sirius said, hopping up on the table. "There are all sorts of dark things lurking, especially the higher up you go."

She waved away his concern. "I doubt there will be anything too dangerous, and if there is," she turned to Remus, "I've heard you were the most popular Defence Against the Dark Arts professor Hogwarts has had in a long time."

Remus looked flustered, his face turning pink, (the git). Sirius smirked at her.

"You're sure you want us helping out? You have seen the…er, progress we've made. All this has taken us three weeks."

"Sirius Black, are you trying to get out of cleaning your own house?"

"No, no, just warning you," he responded quickly, throwing his hands up in defence. It was Remus' turn to smirk.

"Well, thank you for that," said Klara, rummaging in her clipper bag. "Nonetheless. Tomorrow we start cleaning after lunch."

Remus raised an eyebrow.

"Lunch? You don't think we sleep in past noon everyday do you?"

"Oh," she looked up, surprised. "No, of course not. But I'm going into St. Mungo's in the morning, and—"

"You're what?" In an instant, Sirius felt the airy playfulness evaporate from the room, panic condensing in his chest. He must have not heard right. She was going where?

Klara had straightened, holding a neatly folded dressing gown in her hand, her expression once again unreadable.

"I'm going into St. Mungo's," she repeated, levelling him a steady look.

"Why the hell—"

"Sirius—" Remus tried for a calming hand on his elbow, but Sirius shook away.

"Why the hell would you do that?!" From the corner of his eye, he saw Remus about to speak again, think better of it, and slip from the room.

"What a question," said Klara, turning away to continue her rummaging. "I'm a Healer. St. Mungo's is a hospital. I'm going to see patients."

"Are you mad? You're just going to keep working in a public hospital as if a depraved madman hasn't just attacked you? Again?"

"Not that I'm obliged to tell you anything, Sirius," she replied coolly, still not looking at him, "but I will just be seeing two patients for now."

"Klara, you can't!" Panic swirled with frustrated anger, clouding his mind in a dark haze. Why couldn't she just stay put? She knew damn well Nott was probably hunting her, looking for every opportunity to strike. Why was she so damn stubborn?

"You can't go about in public as if nothing's out of the ordinary! I thought you moved in here because Dumbledore was concerned about your safety! And he bloody well should be!

A sound resembling a tumbling stack of rocks issued from Klara's clipper bag. When she looked back at him, the stony hard look from the library had returned.

"Who are you to have any say in what I do, Sirius Black?" She took one, then two steady steps towards him. "I'm an adult. I've always taken care of myself just fine. Let me remind you that I got myself out of Silas Nott's lodge in '80. I didn't need your help then, and I certainly don't need it now." She was so close how that Sirius could feel the angry heat swirling off her, her features hard as stone, her eyes brittle, and Sirius felt words die on his tongue. She was right. He hadn't managed to be of any use to her back then, not when it mattered.

"So. Unless you'd like to try that Greek spell on me again because you think you know best, I suggest you refrain from telling me what I can't do."

She turned away. The panic flooded back with his voice.

"Damn it, Klara!" Sirius all but yelled, pacing now and rubbing the heels of his hands against his brow. "I'm not trying to tell you—Oh, for Merlin's sake, why can't you understand the kind of danger you're in? You've got to be careful, and going to St. Mungo's, taking unnecessary risks, that's exactly—"

"Exactly what, Sirius?" Again, her quiet voice cut through his tirade. Her back was to him, but he heard every soft word, felt their sting.

"Exactly the reason I couldn't be trusted to make my own choices? Exactly the reason you forced me into an entirely new life? I wanted to stay and fight. I wanted—" She stopped, inhaling a shaky breath. Sirius wished he could say something—anything—but he was paralysed, his chest unbearably leaden.

"Whatever we used to be to each other, I never belonged you. You had no right then, and you certainly have no right now to decide what I do."

The stillness between them grew suffocating. It was long moments before Sirius could make a sound.

"Everything you said. It's all true, but I just—I couldn't let you—"

"And that's the problem. Please. It's been a long day, and I have an early morning."

"But—"

"Good night, Sirius."

He shut his eyes, trying to calm the crippling feeling that was starting to resemble despair.

"Fine. Good night, Klara."

A/N: So, yeah, things are going to be a bit of a bumpy ride for the next few chapters. Is Klara extra AF? Yes. She can't help it. Also, I HIGHLY recommend listening to Schumann's Kreisleriana #2. There's this Incandescently beautiful bit towards the end that just makes me swoon every time I hear it. Very fitting for the flashback scene.