As Sirius had expected, the reprieve from Kreacher did not last.
The following morning, after feeding Buckbeak, he, Remus and Klara began work on the first floor drawing room, the three having managed to clean, scrub, and debug the entire ground floor the day before.
Tonks arrived early, coming in after a night shift guarding Privet Drive. She brightened all their mornings by setting off Walburga's portrait. Sirius' sweet mother managed to insult all four of them—including Klara, for her "unkempt hair"—before he could pull the curtains over her again.
Tonks, for her part, had apologised profusely, then gaped at the newly revived dining room in rare silence, inhaled three of the fried apple rings Klara made for breakfast, and volunteered to help them clean despite her lack of sleep.
Sirius could tell Klara liked Tonks right away. Tonks was everything she was not—boisterous, extroverted, familiar upon first meeting and entirely ungraceful. Sirius knew from watching Klara with her school friends that this was the sort of presence Klara seemed to crave around her. It hardly mattered that she was never so unreserved herself.
In the drawing room, Tonks made the same mistake with the curtains that Klara had her first afternoon, opening them on instinct upon entering. Instantaneously, she was bitten by a Doxie that came shooting out from under the drapery.
As Remus poured antidote down Tonks' throat and tended the bite, Klara showed Sirius how to cast a sort of enveloping charm that covered the entire window areas, enveloping them in shiny bubble structures. She then charmed the Doxycide to mist themselves inside.
"This is a muggle technique called tent fumigation," Klara had explained, watching with a satisfied nod as unconscious Doxies began dropping through the yellow-tinted gas. "We'll let them stew for a few hours."
When Tonks had been revived, (despite Klara's admonitions for her to rest), they moved on to the various suspicious objects in the glass-fronted cabinets against the walls. Tonks managed to drop a box of Wartcap powder when it, too, tried to bite her, sending up a cloud of powder that turned all their faces brown and crusty.
For a moment, everyone froze. Then all four collapsed into hysterical laughter, waving their wands to fix one another's skin but missing horribly as they looked around at each other. Even Klara couldn't help descending into bouts of giggling. Sirius revelled in the bubbling, warm sound, not minding at all that his face resembled the back of a toad.
Most things they threw into rubbish sacks—a pair of spider-like tweezers, a heavy old locket, a crystal bottle filled with dark blood—though Sirius hadn't yet determined how they were to dispose of them.
There was an intricate tree statue made from bone and dried sinew, (creature origins unknown), and a set of eerie nesting sarcophagus dolls that were constantly hot to the touch. Who knew what kind of dark magic might explode out of them? Most of the curios had been collected by his grandfather, and Sirius doubted even his father had known the function and origins of most.
Either way, he was happy to get rid of it all. Klara, however, seemed significantly less eager to simply dump everything in the rubbish. A few times, Sirius caught her studying an object that did something interesting and harmless. Seeing her fascination, he suggested she could keep a sleep-lulling music box and a large glass jar with a hurricane swirling inside if she liked.
She blushed a rare pink colour, but did not refuse. She also gently but firmly insisted that Sirius keep the ring with his family seal on it. He was the head of the family after all, she reasoned, and might need it for things like official documents and identification. He was about to protest, but one look at the way she had disappeared into her head as she stared at the crest, and Sirius decided to hold his tongue.
She'd told him the previous day that her family estate had long since been inherited by a distant cousin. How could she not wonder now what that cousin had done to her parents' personal belongings?
He thought he ought to say something, to draw her out of the abyss of imaginings, but did not know what he could possibly say. If he hadn't forced her abroad, she might have been able to sort through her family's things and bring about a modicum of closure—fact about which Sirius didn't fancy reminding her.
Like the dining room downstairs, the drawing room did not improve for Sirius upon its cleaning. Klara had by default dusted and scrubbed the walls, and this included the tapestry of his extended family tree. Before they headed downstairs for lunch, the four of them had tried every severing spell they knew, to no avail. The bleeding tapestry simply would not budge.
"Looks like someone used a Permanent Sticking Charm on this too," mused Remus, studying a frayed edge with interest. Klara and Tonks had both given up the tapestry's removal as a bad job. They were staring fixedly at the char marks, Klara at where Sirius should have been, and Tonks at Andromeda's little black spot.
"Lucky us," muttered Sirius, his mood rapidly wilting the longer he looked at the tapestry. He heard in his head the list of ancestors he'd been required to memorise and list off whenever his father checked his studies; remembered with cutting clarity the spring night when he'd run out into a storm, dodging his father's spells, his ears filled with his mother's screeching.
Not knowing how else to get away, he'd Disapparated under the pelting rain even though he'd never done it successfully before. It was a miracle he'd ended up on the Potters' doorstep in one piece.
"I'll see what I can do about the ghastly thing when I redecorate," came Klara's voice, pulling Sirius out of his trance. He looked over to see that she'd turned her studying gaze on him. Embarrassingly, he felt hot blood rush to his face. Klara gave him a small smile, which Sirius assumed was meant to reassure him, then ushered them all downstairs for lunch before Sirius could fall back into another memory.
O~O~O~O~O
Somehow, Klara had been baking bread and simmering something on the stove all morning as they'd cleaned. Now she served them a garden salad she'd seemingly manifested with two waves of her wand, the fluffiest rolls Sirius had ever eaten, and a pasta dish of chicken braised with tomatoes, bell peppers, and various herbs. The pasta was perfectly chewy, the chicken juicy and tender with just a hint of bite. Sirius worked through two helpings before he even realised. Since Klara's reappearance, Sirius had possibly eaten more than he had in the previous three weeks combined, and he wasn't quite sure if it was her presence or her cooking that awoke the capacity for hunger in him once more.
They leaned back in their chairs an hour later, revelling in that lazy contentment that followed a satisfying meal.
Tonks reluctantly rose from the table. She was careful not to topple the chair, but her wand slipped from her robes and clattered to the floor.
"I've got to go to work," she sighed, crouching under the table now. "Kingsley can't cover for me all day, and I've got a report to finish. Aha!" She picked up her wand with a triumphant flourish, and if Remus hadn't scooted the entire table back just in time, would have hit her head on the table's edge.
"Anyway, thanks for feeding me, Klara," she said, giving them all a sheepish shrug as she made her way to the stairs. Klara stood too, following her.
"I'll see you out," she said. The complete nonchalance of her voice and the casual look on her face set off all the alarms in Sirius' head. He snapped his gaze to her. What was she playing at? Tonks didn't need to be "seen out." He gave her a questioning look, which she completely ignored.
"You don't need to see me out," Tonks protested, a little flustered. Klara just smiled, picked up the parcel of her apple rings she'd packed for Kingsley and Mad-Eye, and motioned her upstairs. Sirius watched her go. His curiosity gnawed, but he was too comfortable in his chair to get up and follow. As they disappeared through the door at the top of the stairs, Sirius turned his questioning gaze to Remus, who only shrugged.
"Don't look at me. You're the one who knows her best," he said, though Sirius was sure he saw Remus' face take on some sort of understanding. Sirius narrowed his eyes. Remus was quick to change the subject.
"I knew Klara was good at this sort of household work," he said, "but I had no idea she'd speed through the house so quickly. And cook for us as well? I'm beginning to feel like we're taking advantage of her."
Sirius barked a laugh. People did not take advantage of Klara Montagu. For the most part, she did as she liked, and what she liked most was keeping her standards of comfort sky high.
"Nah, we're not taking advantage," said Sirius. "You know what her flat looked like before…" He waved his hand, indicating the years right after Hogwarts.
"She won't live somewhere she considers substandard, and she's the pickiest eater. She'd be cleaning and cooking even if she lived alone, so just be grateful we're reaping the benefits of living with her."
Remus looked thoughtful, nodding slowly.
"I'd certainly say you're benefitting from her being around, even after barely two days."
"Well, of course I am," Sirius straightened, trying for a casual tone. "You're good company, Moony, but, well, Klara is Klara." He shrugged. The ruth of his words settled in only after he'd spoken them.
The shock and subsequent ecstatic realisation that Klara was back and constantly around was unlikely to wear off anytime soon. Even their arguments and her deliberate avoidance of any physical contact couldn't dampen the little jolt of joy Sirius felt every time he remembered her presence. There was no one in the world like this woman. He had known it back then, and he knew it now. Lucky him, that she would stay for the time being.
Choosing not to consider that he'd probably never have back whatever it was that existed between them, Sirius shrugged again, stretching his feet on the table in a deliberately nonchalant way.
"Anyway, at the rate we're going, there won't be any house left to clean when the Weasleys move in."
"You know they're coming to stay for their children's safety, not to help us clean," Remus reminded him.
"Yeah, but even Dumbledore implied Molly Weasley would head up the cleaning of this place. I wonder what she'll do all day now."
"Padfoot, really, Molly Weasley is just as capable at other—"
"Oh, I know, I know, she could probably hex me into next week if she really wanted. Actually, I'm surprised she hasn't already, with all the dirty looks she gives me."
Remus smirked.
"That's only because she strongly disapproves of—"
A short, sharp scream pierced the air around them. At once they both froze, snatching up their wands. But before panic could set in, Sirius, who's spent enough time around Klara to recognize every offensive word in the German language, heard a muffled yet unmistakable string of German curses. This could only mean Klara had encountered something truly unsavoury upstairs.
Remus, who had deduced the same, turned to Sirius.
"Do you think she's encountered Kreacher?" he asked mildly. Sirius grimaced.
"Probably."
In the dining room, Klara was leaning against the doorframe, a hand on her chest the only indication that she'd been quite startled. She was staring, eyes round, at a mumbling Kreacher as if she'd never seen a house elf before. To be fair, Kreacher was not exactly the typical specimen. He looked as if his skin had once been stretched over something twice his size, and was filthy in a grimy sort of way that Klara would not appreciate, especially right after eating.
On the table, one of the sacks of drawing room objects had been overturned near Klara's open clipper bag, and Kreacher was attempting to fit everything back into the sack. He looked up as Sirius and Remus entered, then looked pointedly back down if three adult humans weren't standing in the doorway.
"…no, Kreacher won't let Master throw out my mistress' prized possessions, oh no, Kreacher will save them, yes, and he won't let Master and his unnatural friend…"
"I'm going to assume this is Kreacher," Klara said faintly.
"Wonderfully friendly, isn't he?" She gave him a weak smile.
"…oh, my poor mistress, if she could see the scum in her house now, the filthy werewolf, and now this new crony, Kreacher doesn't know who she is, but if Master brought her she can't be anything good…oh my poor mistress, what would she say about the filth Master invites to this house…"
Sirius' blood was starting to boil. How dare the fiend refer to Remus—
"I thought I heard noises coming from in here after I'd seen Tonks out," said Klara, pulling Sirius out of his murderous haze. "When I walked in he was trying to lug that sack off the table. Scared the living daylights out of me, but I think I scared him too. He dropped the bag when he saw me."
"Yeah, well, don't feel too sorry for him," muttered Sirius, wrinkling his nose. "I knew he'd show up trying to hoard stuff when we started cleaning. I had to physically restrain him from tearing my mother's curtain down. Kreacher!"
At his name, the elf gave an exaggerated jolt off surprise, then bowed so low his ears flopped against the edge of the table.
"Master, Kreacher did not see—"
"Yeah, alright, alright," said Sirius, waving his hand and feeling his annoyance rise. "Stand up straight. What are you up to with that bag?"
"Kreacher is…Kreacher is cleaning. Master ordered Kreacher to help clean."
Sirius narrowed his eyes. Bullocks. This elf was going to be the death of him.
"I don't know who you think you're fooling. I order you not to touch any of the things in those bags. Put down the one you're holding and back away, Kreacher."
Thankfully, Kreacher did not dare disobey a direct order, though he did fit in a deathly glare at Sirius before reluctantly letting go of the bag. He looked longingly at the objects scattered on the table. Sirius wanted to gag.
"I'll introduce you, shall I?"
He heard Klara sigh.
"I suppose you must."
O~O~O~O~O
The next morning Klara awoke to an increasingly insistent tapping on her window. Bleary eyed, she stumbled to the window and popped open the latch. Franz, her great horned owl, soared in very close to her head, hooting his annoyance. He made a loop around the magically enlarged bedroom Klara had cleaned out and claimed yesterday, his wings stirring a breeze so strong she could barely open her eyes. Finally, he landed soundlessly on her coverlet and looked up at her, foot extended.
"Finally waited her out, did you?" she asked, coming to untie the little rolled noted attached to his foot. "I hope she fed you." Franz hooted again. Klara took his failure to peck impatiently at her hand as evidence that yes, Louise had been feeding him these past three days, and feeding him well.
She couldn't help a little grin as she unfurled the note that simply read, "Fine. Come if you must." with an address listed below.
So very typical of Louise. She may be beyond angry with Klara, but naturally she hadn't neglected to feed Franz in the three days she took to fume over Klara's letter and decide whether or not to reply. And, just as naturally, she had replied.
When Klara had written to one of her best friends from Hogwarts the morning before her initial meeting with Dumbledore, she had known precisely that Louise would scream and rage at Klara for making her believe she was dead these past fifteen years; known she'd probably want to toss Klara's letter in the fire and ignore her completely.
She'd also known that, so long as Franz circled the house every few hours after delivering the note, eventually Louise would relent and invite her to visit. When they had been teenagers, Louise's anger usually lasted all of an hour and ended with her hurling a hairbrush at Klara's head or blasting all of Pandora's things from her trunk. Three days was quite the record. Then again, Klara had never done anything so despicable aa making Louise believe her dead, a crime all the more loathsome given that Pandora…But Klara tried not to dwell on the fact that their trio was now down to two.
No, this morning was too perfect for grieving. Klara usually liked to sleep until nine, but she didn't mind cutting her sleep a few hours short today. They'd managed to scourge clean most bathrooms last night, and Klara had enjoyed a heavenly, lavender scented bubble bath that led to a sweetly deep night's rest. Now, even at six in the morning, she felt she could face anything, even a fire-breathing Louise Bones.
Seeing that Franz did not need rest of any sort, (he soon began spritely hopping about her room), Klara tied the letter she had written to her mentor to his foot, along with vials of mental notes from her session with the Longbottoms, then sent her owl off to Vienna.
She hummed to herself as she made her way to the kitchen, her fingers itching to touch a piano, and almost fell off the stairs at the sight of Sirius sitting at the table. He was sipping from a steaming cup and reading a letter, rocking onto the hind legs of his chair. He had shaved and cut off some of his hair, and looked somehow fresher and younger than she'd seen him in the past couple of days. Her chest squeezed pleasantly.
Even as she scolded herself for being surprised at all—he lives here, you daft cow—she could hear the amazement in the question that tumbled out before she could stop herself.
"What are you doing up at this hour?" Like her, like Remus, Sirius was no morning person. Klara used to hear him wonder aloud if there was something medically wrong with James, who preferred, in his own words, to "rise with the sun" like some new-age television guru. And now here Sirius was, dressed and functional before six.
At once, Klara regretted having said anything at all. Sirius, who had glanced up with a grin as she'd come through the kitchen door, now looked stricken. The smile slid from his face, and a dullness seemed to pass over his eyes. In the next instant, she realised just why he had been up so early—the same reason she'd woken, trembling and drenched in cold sweat that first morning.
Twelve years of living with Dementors…how could he be exempt from nightmares? Oh Sirius. What scars those years must have left on his psyche. Just thinking about how he must have suffered—and for what?—made her blood burn and her stomach darken with pain.
Klara sank her teeth into her lip, wondering if this was the right time to ask him about Dementor aftereffects. Sirius, seeming to sense her deliberation, pasted a stiff smile back on his face, Levitated a pot of coffee and an empty mug her way, and lied to change the subject.
"Oh, just reading a letter from Harry," he said, and Klara was forced to put the subject to rest for now. She returned his smile, then slipped into the pantry to gather ingredients for breakfast rolls and an apology pastry she was offering to Louise.
"It's wonderful he writes to you so often. What does he say?"
"Oh, just bits of this and that, what he gets up do during the day now that he's on holiday. He doesn't complain much, but his aunt and uncle are real knobheads, and his cousin sounds pretty nasty. He's pretty frustrated he can't come here, and eve more that I can't tell him anything about Voldemort."
"Poor boy," frowned Klara, setting knives to chop up summer apples and dumping dry ingredients into a mixing bowl. "Honestly, I don't know why Dumbledore thought Petunia Dursley would be anything but beastly to Lily's son. I met her once. Did I tell you? On the platform at King's Cross our Fifth Year. I said hello to Lily and I don't think any girl's ever scowled at me that hard."
Sirius gave her a weak smile.
"Yeah, that sounds like good old Petunia. James told me Lily cried for a whole evening when she refused to come to their wedding."
He sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands before rising to help crack eggs into the mixing bowl. Sirius had explained to her that first night why Harry needed to stay with his aunt for his protection, as well as Dumbledore's warnings about the possible connection between Harry's mind and Voldemort's.
It was perfectly practical, of course, what Dumbledore was doing, though in Klara's unsolicited professional opinion, keeping a boy of fifteen isolated from his friends and all news of anything he cared about was not exactly healthy or productive. Especially, in this instance, when said boy had recently been assaulted by his parents' killer and witnessed said killer murder a friend. Nor did being unable to help his godson do any favors for Sirius' depressive state.
Still, Sirius had not mentioned any outright objections to her, despite his general displeasure at the situation. It wasn't really Klara's place to say anything.
Instead, she plucked the bag of salt he was about to empty into the bowl out of his hands and gave him a long-suffering look. She realised her mistake at once.
She had come close enough to catch a hint of Sirius' woodsy shaving soap, and Klara had to force down the sudden urge to press into his body heat and luxuriate in the smell of him.
"You're no help, as usual," she said, horrified at how faint her voice was. Reluctantly stepping back, she motioned to the table. "This is salt, not sugar. Sit back down and drink your coffee.'
Sirius, not noticing her temporary daze, gave her a cheeky flash of teeth and returned to his letter. Klara could not help the idiotic grin that spread over her face as she turned away. There was a comfortable sort of silence for some moments, before he burst out into a barking laugh, then promptly choked on his coffee.
"Really, Sirius," Klara shot a glance heavenward, then cast an airway protection charm she recalled from her emergency ward days. "What on earth?"
"Listen to this," said Sirius, snickering between coughs. He read from the letter. "I nearly forgot to tell you. Do you remember that Skeeter woman who wrote all the rubbish about me last year? It turns out, she's an unregistered Animagus—a big fat beetle! I'm sure you're very shocked and horrified at her breaking the law this way. Hermione figured her out at the end of last year, and caught her in a jar for a few weeks. She's let her go now, but I think that's that problem solved. Hermione's threatened to tell the Ministry if Skeeter writes any more nasty stories about any of us."
At the line that Sirius should be shocked and horrified, Klara, too, had chocked, nearly dropping the jars of jam she retrieved from the fridge. Then she was laughing—wheezing really—because of course Lily Potter's son was cheeky and sardonic, especially in dealing with Sirius Black.
"Oh my God, what a gem," Klara managed to gasp.
"Yeah," said Sirius, dabbing at the corners of his eyes. "Merlin's beard, 'I'm sure you're very shocked and horrified. Lily would be so proud."
"And his friend Hermione. Sounds rather brilliant, though a little scary."
"Oh, I've met her," he said, "and she is exceedingly bright and terrifying for a teenager. A little like you were, but I think she's actually got respect for authority."
"Hmm," Klara narrowed her eyes at him before turning to pull the Kaiser rolls from the oven. "I can't decide if that was a compliment."
"Ah, come on, Klara, I only ever have nice things to say about you," said Sirius. He shot her another grin, took a long, satisfied breath of the creamy bread aroma that now swirled around the kitchen, and reached for a steaming roll.
O~O~O~O~O
Klara Apparated to the Cornwall seaside holding possibly the most beautiful apple strudel she'd ever made, still warm in her hand. Glancing again at Louise's address, she walked along the winding country roads until she came upon the Georgian stone house perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. She had never been here before. When she'd last seen Louise, she had just married Oscar Galen, and Klara and Pandora had helped the new couple move into a terraced house in London.
Bunches of purple and pink flowers flanked the windows here. The path leading to the front door was lined with rocks painted with vibrant patterns of flowers and sea plants. Klara couldn't help the smile that spread over her face and settled right into her chest. Louise would always be Louise, creating art in everything that surrounded her. How Klara had missed her. She pulled the doorbell.
From inside came a puttering of footsteps down stairs, then…nothing. She waited. No movement. Finally, Klara fought to keep the amusement from her voice as she called through the front door,
"Oh Louise, do open up. You did send me your address, and I know you're standing right there."
Silence.
"I made you an entire strudel."
The door was yanked open to reveal a very small witch in a paint-smattered smock. Her sand-brown hair piled on top of her head, held with a paintbrush. Her thick brows were drawn down in a scowl, her hazel eyes glittered, and her wand was pointed directly at Klara's nose.
"You. Abominable. BITCH!"
Purple light shot from the wand. Klara managed to jump out of the way just fast enough to avoid what looked like a Tentaclifors Jinx.
"You DISAPPEAR, make us all think you were burnt to CINDERS, then write me a letter after FIFTEEN FUCKING YEARS? Expecting me to just invite you inside like NOTHING BLOODY HAPPENED? Do you have any BLEEDING idea how much Pandora and I CRIED for you, DO you? KLARA MONTAGU STOP RUNNING AWAY FROM ME!"
Louise was chasing her around the front garden now, her hexes becoming nastier but wilder with each variation. They were missing Klara so completely she didn't even feel the need to draw her own wand. However, knowing Louise, this would only end one way. Klara managed to slip the strudel onto the front step, then allowed the next hex to hit her right in the face.
At once, Louise froze, her eyes huge. Klara felt the sharp ache as her teeth went soft, then began to swell like sponges in her mouth.
"I know you're angry Louise" Klara said very fast, her speech already coming out muffled, "but if you just undo this spell and le' me eshplain I promish…"
"Oh, mother of Merlin, why didn't you duck?" cried Louise, bounding towards her and muttering the counter-jinx. At once her teeth stopped growing and began to shrink. Well, that was the violent episode over with then, thought Klara, rubbing her throbbing jaw. It wasn't the worst hex of the bunch, all things considered.
"Come in, come in. You've got a whole lot of explaining to do, but I suppose I can listen. Come in," Louise was saying. She ushered Klara into her house, sweeping up the strudel as she shut the front door behind them.
Louise led Klara to the breakfast nook in her vividly patterned kitchen. Geometric tiles in vibrant blues, greens and yellows covered the walls, and spindle-shaped Turkish lamps hung from the ceilings.
They settled into velvety cushions below a stained-glass window. The scene above them depicted a raging storm above sprouting greenery, the light spilling through the windows making the panes swirl like colored mist.
"It's supposed to represent life," Louise explained absently, setting spiced tea down on the table. "Rather soppy metaphor for my style, I know, but I had a fun time with the colours. Oscar's at work, by the way, apparently he's got these patients who've stuck their feet together, but he did tell me not to hex you too badly. The tea should help with the tooth ache. Now then." She turned the full force of her green stare on Klara. "Explain yourself."
And so, Klara explained to a gawking Louise the events that led to her disappearance fifteen years ago. She was careful not to elaborate on details of her weeks in Nott's captivity, but a shrewd understanding seemed to flash in Louise's face. This, however, was immediately overtaken with an explosion of indignation as Klara detailed Sirius' memory charm, her move to Austria, the truth about Sirius and the Potters and finally, Nott's most recent attack in her Vienna home.
Silence followed. Louise rose from the table and came back with two ice-filled glasses and a bottle of what Klara recognised as arak, which she opened to release the pungent scent of liquorice. She poured the drink over the ice, the liquor turning milky upon contact, and handed Klara a glass.
"Santé, Klara," she choked out, her voice heavy with irony, her hazel eyes glittering. "And you're right. I'm not angry with you anymore." Louise downed her entire glass in one gulp, then pulled Klara into a breathless hug.
O~O~O~O~O
Klara had liked Louise Bones the moment she met her in their Ravenclaw dormitory. The First Years had been instructed to unpack their trunks and get ready for bed. Klara, whose eyelids had been dropping closed after a day of entirely new experiences, was jolted wide awake as she watched Louise pull an entire bookshelf's worth of books from her trunk, followed by three boxes of paints, then a whole easel.
"You don't mind, do you?" she asked, looking around innocently at the nine other First Year girls. "I'll keep everything clustered around my bed, I promise. I just really need to paint stuff, all the time." Pandora Fawley, blonde, ethereal, and always aware of the invisible around her, had taken one look at the bright, whimsical paintings Louise unpacked from her trunk and pronounced them nothing but good energy, then proceeded to hang them up between the ancient tapestries lining their dormitory walls.
Klara was not sure how it happened. That first weekend, she found herself sitting below one of the yellowing trees in the Hogwarts courtyard, Louise braiding autumn pansies into her mass of curls while Pandora sat cross-legged in front of her cauldron, mixing together petals for a potion that was supposed to turn their all their eyelashes baby blue.
Reserved, bookish and introverted, even at eleven, Klara had spent her whole life to that point feeling like a sore thumb in her family and her entire world. It was like a wall was constantly erected between herself and all the other children her age. She'd expected more of the same at Hogwarts—had resigned herself to it—but Pandora had announced the first evening that she, Klara, and Louise had a "karmic resonance" with one another or something equally mystical. By the end of first term Klara felt as if she'd known her new friends all her life.
Mrs. Bones had made a habit of inviting Klara to their home at the start of each summer. In 1980, things were no different. So it was that on a balmy June night, Klara lounged in the Bones' garden with Louise, her parents, and her brothers and sisters-in-law, drinking arak and eating from little plates of artichoke, pita and grape leaves stuffed with rice. Allan Bones rubbed his pregnant wife's feet. Edgar's three children ran around them, playing with the sparkly toy unicorns Klara had charmed to fly.
Edgar and Mr. Bones were deep in a wildly uneven game of chess, and both his wife and Klara kept giving him nonsensical advice, giggling behind his back.
Louise was trying every tactic she knew to convince her mother that it would be a good idea for her to join the Order of the Phoenix.
"Mama, you didn't object at all when Edgar joined. You all think it's for a just cause."
"Yes, I do think so, Ya Albi, but you are very young, and Edgar is a much better fighter."
Louise pouted dramatically.
"But Klara's been in the Order for a year, and so have a whole bunch of our Gryffindor classmates." At this, Soraya Bones shot Klara a surprised look.
"Oh, Klara, Azizti...I wish you were not...The danger...It is doubly dangerous for you, with these blood purity fanatics. You are like a daughter to me, you know? You must be careful."
Klara could only give her nervous smile and shrug, even as her heart warmed.
"My mother had no objections, but of course she's a muggle, and doesn't really understand our world," Klara said diplomatically, earning her a narrowed glare from Louise.
"You see, Lulu, you see? Klara's mother does not object, whereas I do. Avec véhémence. It is dangerous, and I will not have all my children out there risking their lives! Back in Lebanon we stayed with our mothers until we were married, but now, where are my children? Amelia off who knows where with her Auror work, Edgar and Allan working in that high-security Potions lab, Edgar fighting in Dumbledore's organisation…Oh mon coeur, je peux pas l'endurer…Louise, you will not join this Order, comprends? Never!"
Mrs. Bones looked close to tears, and Mr. Bones was soothing her back now, looking over at Louise with a placating expression on his face.
Louise scowled, her dark brows pinching together.
"You say that, Mama, but you ran off with Dad even though Teta didn't—"
BOOM!
The ground beneath Klara's feet quaked from the explosion, and then all was chaos. The air rang with the terrified shrieks of Edgar's children, punctuated by the Bones' Caterwauling Charm and shouts of confusion and anger. At once Klara was on her feet with her wand drawn, her body sensing the danger of Death Eaters before her mind knew to react. Through the haze of the explosion, she could see at least ten masked and hooded figures working their way into the garden. At once the thick air was lit by red and purple and green as spells shot from both sides.
Klara found herself duelling one Death Eater, then two, her nose burning and eyes watering from the smoke. She shot a string of broken plates at the Death Eater on the right, forcing him back. Then she cast the strongest Shield Charm she knew how and desperately locked her eyes into the mask openings of the Death Eater to her left. With a violence she'd never before used on any test subject, Klara shoved into his mind, seeing his consciousness flick before her eyes. She gasped.
"Silas Nott," she breathed, and saw his eyes open in surprise, but already she had seen what he intended next. Not knowing how else to stop him, she threw her body into his, making his spell shoot wide. With a rasping sigh of relief, she watched as Nott's Killing Curse missed Allan's pregnant wife, who was ushering her nieces and nephews towards a bird bath that had begun to glow blue.
"You deranged cunt," snarled Nott. He was half pinned to the scorched grass by her shoulder, but reached up and hit her across the face so hard she tasted blood. Before he could cast another spell at her, Klara jammed her elbow into his solar plexus, drawing a strangled grunt. But even as he lay there, grappling like a fish out of water, Klara felt herself being pulled to her feet by a strong, calloused hand, a gruff voice both distant and incredibly close yelling something in her ear.
Stumbling, head throbbing, the entire world spinning, she was pushed towards the glowing fountain. She lunged back at Nott, but someone grabbed her hand and held it like a vice against the cool marble. As she was sucked into the swirling vortex of the Portkey, Klara saw Mr. Bones nodding grimly at her, and from behind him, Silas Nott rose from the ground, green light exploding from his wand.
O~O~O~O~O
"We testified against the bastard, you know." Louise had her hand on Klara's, small and warm. They were sitting very close, Louise' head resting on Klara's shoulder, both letting alcohol numb the pain of so many years past.
"We all saw Nott kill Dad that night, and Allan is sure he was there when they killed Edgar's whole family too. We all testified, Allan and Julia and me. Amelia tried all sorts of political coercion, but in the end none of it mattered. They chose to believe he was Imperiused, and that was that."
Silence, during which Klara could feel Louise studying her face.
"Even if you'd accused him of what he did to your family and how he kidnapped you, the result would have been the same. You know that, don't you?"
Klara heaved a trembling sigh.
"Yes. Yes I do."
This had nothing to do with Sirius, nothing to do with her years abroad, severed from all the goings on after the war. Even if she had sat in the witness box in 1981 and listed every crime Silas Nott had committed against her, he would have gotten off scot-free. The Notts were an old wizard family, with plenty of connections that reached deep in the Ministry. Klara was born to two muggle parents, and was familiar with how a society that valued bloodlines and affluence treated those who had neither.
Her brothers had shared more than a few stories about their peers at university, boys who were all privileged, who all bounded through life with a sense of entitlement to people without their status and connections. Young men who groped at waitresses in bars and expected an apology from the manager when the girl slapped their hands. Young men who raped drunk girls at parties and got off with a few months' probation after their MP fathers rang up the judge's chambers. Young men who faced no consequences for killing a pedestrian while driving drunk.
This was the way of the world, both muggle and wizard. If what remained of the Pureblood Bones family couldn't convict Nott, her own testimony would have been useless. No, they would need to convict Nott for something entirely new, and his current behaviour, despite his return to Voldemort's service, did not help this goal.
Not for the first time since her return, Klara wished he would just find her and corner her in some alleyway. She was certain her soul would sustain no damage if she "accidentally" killed him in self-defence.
Another silence, and then Louise looked up, her eyes hard and shiny like jade.
"I want to join the Order, Klara. I didn't before, because my mum was so vehement about forbidding it, but now…I want to help, Klara, and I want revenge." Her fist came down on the table, her knuckles white. "For my parents, for Edgar and his family. I want revenge."
"I know. That's what I told Dumbledore. He's agreed."
Louise gave a sharp, surprised laugh.
"You do know me better than I know myself. I hadn't decided until you came today."
"If I hadn't written to you, you'd have written to Dumbledore by now."
"Yeah, you're probably right. Is that why you came today?"
Klara gave her a little pinch.
"Is that what you think of me? I came because I wanted to see you. It's been so, so long."
"I know. I've missed you, love, I've missed my friend. And with Pandora gone these past five years, it's been…Oh, damn it, Klara, even with Oscar here I've felt so, so lonely."
Her voice broke, and Klara could do nothing but draw her friend close as she cried into her shoulder, blinking her stinging eyes. She smoothed Louise's hair and murmured comforting words to her, wanting desperately to bring Pandora's spirit into the room with them, fearing the painful chasm of her absence.
Five years prior, when she had been Caroline, she had read an obituary in the Prophet about a talented witch named Pandora Lovegood. Her home experiment had gone horribly wrong, and she had died in her home, survived by her husband and nine-year-old daughter. Caroline had merely frowned at the tragedy of such a young death and moved on to her day, but in the week when Klara first retrieved her identity, this one memory came driving into her, sharp and fast, leaving her winded and bloody.
Beautiful, otherworldly Pandora, who looked upon the world and saw only marvel and joy; who lived precisely as she was, said exactly what she meant, and never for a moment abandoned the truth of her real self. To think that this magical woman was no longer in the world, would no longer glide into a room, her brightly-patterned robes flowing behind her, and tell Klara to smile if for no other reason than to change her aura from grey to yellow…
Something broke in her chest.
Klara poured them both another drink.
O~O~O~O~O
"What is her daughter like?" Klara asked after a long time, feeling the alcohol begin to wear off. Louise, whose red-rimmed eyes were beginning to return to their normal colour, smiled a radiant smile.
"Oh Merlin, little Luna really is something else. I think you'll love her. She's so like Pandora, but somehow…wackier? Must be all old Xeno's doing." Pandora's parents had all but disowned her and moved away to Sweden when she insisted on marrying the oddball that was Xenophilius Lovegood. Yet, he had made Pandora happy, and so Louise and Klara had tried very hard to connect with him. Very, very hard. With very little success.
"Do you see her often?" asked Klara, trying to picture a fourteen year old Pandora, but less ethereal, more downright eccentric.
"I'd definitely like to see her more, but Xeno brings her by often enough." Louise giggled. "She loves to paint, so we usually go up my studio and work on something she's brought while Oscar gets to entertain Xenophilius Lovegood for a few hours."
"Oh my, poor man. The Healer in him must find it torture, Xeno and all his theories about medicinal plants that don't exist."
"I know, bless him, but I do make it up to him, you know."
"Louise!" Klara let herself look most scandalised, widening her eyes as Louise wiggled her eyebrows.
O~O~O~O~O
Klara stayed through an early lunch of open sandwiches spread thick with Louise's homemade hummus. Then they lounged in the kitchen in their post-meal stupor, laughing about their respective lives, catching up as if it had only been fifteen days rather than years since they'd lain eyes on one another. Finally, Louise narrowed a perceptive eye at Klara and let out a considering hum.
"What is it?"
"There is some other reason you're here today, isn't there?"
"I…what, no."
"Yes there is. Your eyes do that flicky thing when you get caught off guard."
"I…well…"
"Aha! Out with it then." Louise, alert once more, summoned a knife and plates and cut two pieces from Klara's apple strudel, eyes glittering with expectation. Klara heaved a defeated sigh. With all the emotional turmoil of the morning, she had thought to wait a few days before bringing this up. Her plan had many cogs, and Louise's part could wait.
But since Louise was determined to pull it out of her…
"I wondered if you could speak to your sister. About getting Sirius a trial."
Louise stared at her, mouth in a comically perfect "O." Her fork with strudel hovered halfway to her face.
"Darling, I'm surprised you haven't murdered him for what he did to you."
Klara only shrugged.
"I have been tempted, I assure you. But...well, I understand why he did it. And it's not completely his fault I was stuck with the charm for fifteen years. He did get thrown in prison."
Louise arched a perfect eyebrow.
"That's awfully diplomatic of you. You haven't changed a bit."
"It doesn't mean I forgive him."
In the past two days, Klara was finding it more and more difficult to summon up the burning, angry outrage she'd felt towards Sirius. Her rational mind would not stop justifying his actions and forcing her to understand them, to empathize, and she had no idea what to feel anymore.
Louise has narrowed her eyes, looking at Klara so closely she wanted to squirm. For a moment, she thought Louise would continue with her questioning.
"I see," she finally mused, something like comprehension settling in her eyes. Klara was certain she did not like whatever conclusions Louise had drawn, but her friend quickly changed the topic.
"But now? You want to try getting him a trial now? Klara love, from what you've told me, I don't think anyone is going to acquit Sirius Black if Peter Pettigrew isn't found."
Klara gave her a little smile.
"That bit I know how to handle. I have a whole plan laid out, actually, based on news I've had and what I know of people in the Ministry. Don't worry. So long as you can get Amelia to call a trial…do you think…?"
"Of course she would. We've talked about this before, me and her and Allan. When Sirius escaped? Even back then she thought something was a little off that Crouch never gave him a trial, but there were so many things she needed to deal with, and so much politics, you know how it is. Even Amelia has to play the game, as much as she hates it. Since you're asking though, she'd be happy to."
"No, no, you misunderstand. I don't want to make things difficult for her, not at all. The thing is, I think, given a little hint in the right direction, Fudge will be worshiping at her feet for calling a trial for Sirius."
"I'm sorry, Cornelius Fudge? With the way things are at the Ministry now? How…?"
And so, Klara told Louise of her plan for Sirius' acquittal, enhanced by the contents of Harry's letter that morning. When she was finished, both women were grinning mischievous grins at each other, revelling in the perfection of an intricate bit of scheming.
"I'll owl Amelia tonight. Merlin's beard on toast, Klara, you've really outdone yourself if you can get things to move as planned. How long have you been working this through?"
Klara opened her mouth, then decided to take a bite of strudel before answering.
"Ahem. Since I broke the memory charm," she finally said, sitting very straight and resolutely avoiding looking at Louise. "I remembered reading all about Sirius and his imprisonment when I was under the charm, not to mention the state of the Ministry now. It just didn't have significance to me until I remembered who I was again, and then…"
Klara shrugged. Louise have her a searching look.
"And so, you and Sirius…"
Klara held up her hand.
"There is nothing there between us. Not anymore."
"Mhmm. And yet you're spending all this time and energy getting him a trial? Even though you're still angry with him?"
Klara sniffed with mild indignation. She arranged herself in as dignified a manner as she could, as if everything about her situation was perfectly normal and controlled.
"It doesn't matter what we are or aren't, or whether I'm still angry. He's innocent, and he's suffered more than anyone should. He deserves to be proven innocent and see the light of day again. And I'm going to help him."
"Uh huh. Right. But you still love him, don't you?"
Klara nearly choked, then poured herself another large glass of arak, refusing to look at her friend. No. No she wasn't. She was absolutely not still in love with Sirius Black. She turned to look out the window, at a pair of goldfinches grooming one another on a swaying branch, the moving leaves casting dancing shadows on the ground.
"It's better this way, Louise," she said after a long silence. "There is no emotional obligation, no expectation. No possibility of hurting each other any more than we're already damaged."
Louise squeezed her arm, and Klara leaned into the comfort of her hand, warm and small and strong.
"It's not like you were "dating" or anything back then. What's the harm in continuing what you had before? Now, I'm still rather angry with him for messing with your life, but you're just torturing yourself, you know? You're bound to forgive him eventually, and when you do I think letting him in would do you some good."
"I…even back then, I felt so out of control. You don't understand, Louise, around him I lose all sense of reason. And he…well, it's pretty obvious what he was willing to do to keep me safe. With all the things I've got to do now, it's just easier this way."
"You're telling me you can keep your head on just because you're not actually jumping in bed with him? You think he doesn't still feel the same way about you, whether you're around or not?"
"It's easier to keep things contained, I think," Klara said quietly, hoping to convince herself as much as Louise. "I don't really know what he feels for me anymore. The thing is, one spark of kindling can grow into a roaring fire if left uncontrolled. Since I can't control this fire, best not to light a spark at all."
"Hmmm." Louise tilted her head, looking at Klara as if she were some insect pinned to a board, and Klara felt her neck prickle. It was so easy to forget how observant Louise could be when she chose.
"I'm all for the metaphors, obviously," she said, pointing her chin at the stained-glass storm. "But I'm not sure you're right about the spark comparison."
"What?"
"If you're talking about how much you want to shag Sirius Black in terms of fire, I'm going to go ahead and say it's already a raging firestorm whether you want it there or not."
"Louise!" Klara felt the blood surge to her cheeks in a hot rush. Was she really so transparent? Had she really been bustling around the Grimmauld Place house with her simmering desire written all over her face? And to hear Louise put it in such a way…oh God she was going to die of mortification.
"Oh, relax, Klara. No one can ever read anything on your face, you know that. I just…" she smirked, "happen to know the signs to look for, that's all. You could say I 'speak' Klara Montagu."
"Very amusing."
"I know, I am, and you love me for it. Anyway, like I was saying, you want him, that's a given, so I think all you're doing now is trying to contain a fire with paper walls." She shrugged. "Obviously, it's not going to work."
Klara sat back in her chair and glared, trying not to think too deeply into Louise's reasoning lest she find some actual logic and become convinced.
"Nonsense. I can control my body perfectly well. And who says I'd be fool enough to build paper walls to hold in a fire?"
Louise gave her a look that was almost pitying, and Klara felt her exasperation rise. This conversation was turning out to be wholly unhelpful, though honestly, she should have expected this. Given the choice between "do" and "don't," Louise Bones had always chosen action.
"Darling, that's the only type of wall you're capable of building here. This metaphor is wearing itself out, but just remember this." She held up a finger, silencing Klara who had leaned forward again, about to contradict her. "I'm telling you now, 100%, that you'll fall into bed together sooner or later. It's inevitable, and you might as well give in now and make both your lives easier. In eight weeks or however long it takes you to cave under your self-inflicted torture, just remember, I told you so."
Klara set her mouth. Louise was wrong. So what if, of everyone in the world, Louise knew her best even after all the years apart? Louise did not know what she was talking about in this matter. Klara was not weak. She had plenty of self-control, and more than enough reason and logic not to give in to her raging firestorm of desire. She would proceed as planned, and Louise would simply be wrong.
She gave a hum of condescending dismissal, earning her an airy chuckle.
"Give me that haughty look all you like, Klara Montagu, but I know I'm right. And really, so do you."