AN: It's been a while, hasn't it? Thank you all for being so patient while I wrote this up. Special thanks to reviewers Jiopaba, Bar00n, PrincessAnnaofOlaf, Hahukum Konn, LordMerlinEmrys, Venus914, Konri Kari, Narcissa-Weasly, shadowkat678, Iwa Shinju, 8Lottie8, lilmisadiva, ILoveGeorgeEads, Ari989, Zaion Indulias, ReadPaxJoy, serialkeller, Majerus, urs-v, elmoryakhan, MariusDarkwolf, Lady Sabine of Macayhill, Tellur, MuggleCreator, ultima-owner, Fibinaci, Kairan1979, and Wonderbee31.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise.
Minerva leaned backward in her chair, sense of propriety slipping for a brief moment. How did this man continue to get under her skin without even hanging around every day? "You want me to hire Alastor Moody as Defense professor? I'd hardly have any students left!"
Albus smiled and hummed under his breath. "I'm sure it would be a learning experience for all involved."
Minerva nearly snorted. Learning experience…hmph. Moody was bound to threaten at least three students before Christmas, suspecting them of illegal activity or slights against his person. Of course, he'd teach them to be a little more cautious, but the real worry she had was how he would do so. Goodness, the man had insisted on observing her in her Animagus form for hours, just so he could know next time whether it was the real Minerva McGonagall! "And I suppose he'll just agree, will he?"
Albus nodded happily. "I've already spoken to him, and he seemed quite eager."
Minerva sputtered. "Already spoken…you're not Headmaster! You've no authority over who gets hired!" The audacity of this man was enough to make her scream.
"Don't fear, Minerva. I haven't offered him the job yet, it was merely a suggestion." He rummaged about in a small pouch inside his robes for a brief moment. "Lemon drop?"
"No," She enunciated clearly.
He sighed heavily. "Ah, Minerva. Will you ever surprise me?"
"No, I do not want a lemon drop. And no, I will not hire Alastor Moody as Defense professor!" She nearly stood up, if only so she could tower over him. Perhaps it might make him think twice before making another ridiculous suggestion…then again, perhaps not.
Unfortunately, Albus didn't appear dismayed by this news. Indeed, he looked quite satisfied. "So you've found a better candidate?" He questioned cheerfully, popping a lemon drop in his mouth.
"Well, as it just so happens…" She trailed off. The truth was, she didn't have a better candidate. The only applicant was one Severus Snape, and she'd be damned if she let him have that job. Of course, it might get him out of the castle faster, but then she'd be down a Potions professor and a Defense professor.
Albus blinked knowingly, eyes twinkling. "So you'll be choosing Severus, then?"
Minerva floundered for a few seconds. It looked like she'd have to go with the lesser of two evils. "I'll have to persuade Alastor to tone it down," She conceded grudgingly.
"Excellent." He gently stroked his lengthy beard, mulling over some other half-brained plot, she was sure. "Did Mister Lupin give you a reason as to his resignation?"
Minerva frowned, thrown by the sudden change in subject. "No, he did not."
"Mmm." Albus leaned forward setting his hands flat on her desk and examining a porcelain cat figurine. "I imagine he wished to spend more time with the recently freed Sirius Black. I understand the two are taking care of Harry Potter now?"
She crinkled her brow at him. "Yes, they are. Although formally, it's only Mr. Black. The anti-werewolf laws at the Ministry are unrelenting."
"Yes, yes." Albus was uninterested in that aspect. "Did Harry express any desire to stay with his family?"
Minerva mouthed the last words of his sentence to herself. "Why would he do a thing like that? I'm sure he would jump at the chance to escape those horrid muggles." She'd never liked them. Hadn't she said they were the worst sort of muggles? Hadn't she told him so?
"He didn't feel at all upset about being taken away from his only family?" He pressed further. His blue eyes bore into her with an alarming intensity.
"No, he did not. And he wasn't taken away! Mr. Black offered him a choice." She dearly wished he would at least try to get the details right.
His white eyebrows flew up in surprise. "Oh? I'm sure Harry at least drops in for a visit from time to time, then?"
"I don't know," She snapped, jaw clenched. "Unlike you, Albus, I don't find it necessary to pry into the lives of my students. Now please, either change the subject or kindly remove yourself from my office." She picked up a quill and started composing a letter to Moody, signaling that the conversation was over.
"I meant no offense, Minerva," He said mildly, slowly getting to his feet. "I only wondered—"
The fireplace flared green. "Professor? Is Albus there with you?" A male voice called out, sounding panicked and weary.
"I'm right here, John. What is it you need?" Albus crossed over to the mantle. The voice, which Minerva now realized belonged to John Dawlish, went very quiet. Minerva strained her ears to listen, feeling a momentary sense of guilt before shaking it off. If he could be nosy, then so could she.
"Sir, it's the prisoner. He's escaped," Dawlish muttered hurriedly. "We've already sent out over half the Auror force looking for him. If he's not found within twenty four hours, the Minister wants us to put out the wanted posters."
Minerva could feel Albus looking at her, but she focused resolutely on the parchment in front of her. She mused that if she was right about the identity of the prisoner, Moody might not have time to take the position after all. Then she shuddered.
"Yes, I suppose that would be best," Albus sighed heavily. "I'll come through in a moment, John."
"Er, actually, sir," Dawlish interrupted tentatively. "The Minister hoped you might be the one to deliver the news to Harry Potter and Sirius Black. If that's alright with you, sir?"
Minerva held back a laugh at the thought of Dawlish, normally so bold and brassy, being nearly timid around Albus. Probably bought into the idea that the man could do no wrong, she decided derisively.
"Yes, yes, of course." Albus hushed him before turning back to her. "Minerva, I'm afraid I have to cut our little meeting short. My apologies." Without waiting for an answer, he murmured a goodbye to Dawlish and snatched a pinch of Floo powder. He disappeared in the bright green flames not a moment later.
She sat stock still for five seconds, giving him a chance to come back. Then she pushed aside her letter to Moody and took out a new piece of parchment. "Perhaps I'd have a better time reaching her if I wrote to Remus instead…"
"Luna, are you sure this is the right place?" Romilda glanced around, fidgeting with her dress for a brief moment before forcing her hands back to her sides. She didn't feel right here. Perhaps it was the fact that she was borrowing Luna's salmon colored dress. Perhaps it was because they were obviously surrounded by muggles.
"Oh, yes." To Romilda's consternation, Luna appeared at home. "Daddy and I go here often. You don't mean to say that you've never been?"
Of course Luna felt comfortable here, with bright flowers everywhere one looked. Of course Luna didn't think anything was odd when walking about in dresses without robes on, with the hot sun shining over them, with muggles queued up near a strange looking machine. And of course Romilda—brooding, grim, serious Romilda—felt like she tainted the simple beauty of the greenhouse just by standing there and looking dour.
"No," Romilda confessed. "No, I can't say I have. But Luna, isn't this a…?" Romilda tried to hint her meaning to Luna.
"Isn't this a what?" A bee, flitting from flower to flower, captured Luna's attention, and the blonde girl followed it into the large greenhouse. Romilda had no choice but to join in, though she did so with furtive glances at the middle-aged women minding their own business.
"Isn't this a—"Romilda lowered her voice, "—a muggle greenhouse?"
"Oh. That." Luna's voice fell flat as the bee buzzed around her head and moved toward some lovely hyacinths. "Yes. But I thought you might like to get Neville something he doesn't already have, and he's said that he has a great deal of magical plants."
"Well, yes, but I thought—"
"Jus' a minute, ladies, and I'll get th' thing for yeh!" A loud voice boomed from behind them.
Romilda gasped and spun around. A tall, gangly boy towered over the girls. He had a friendly sort of smile, but Romilda noted that his eyes didn't hold much intelligence. He wore thick green gloves, and in one hand, he held a little net.
"Sorry," He apologized, with a good-natured laugh. "Didn' mean to startle yeh."
"You didn't," Romilda snapped immediately, pulling up and pushing her shoulders back. She couldn't believe she'd allowed herself to be surprised by a muggle boy. She was a witch, for Merlin's sake! Even with only a year of schooling under her belt, she'd be able to shock him silly.
"What thing?" Luna inquired politely.
"Huh?" He goggled at her. Romilda instantly felt protective of the older girl. She couldn't deny that he probably had a reason for staring (Luna wore polka-dotted rain boots, large neon green sunglasses, and a bright orange dress), but she didn't like it.
"What thing were you going to get for us?" Luna wondered, eyes wide behind her glasses.
"Uh, th' bee, o' course." Now he was obviously under the impression that Luna was quite batty.
"Oh, you won't hurt him, will you?" She pleaded.
"Er—"
"Only, I really do like him, and I think he likes me. He wasn't bothering us, was he Romilda?"
Romilda glowered at the boy. Why couldn't he just leave them alone? "No." She kept her voice clipped.
"He would make a wonderful friend, especially if he could talk," Luna mused aloud, following the bee again as it fluttered its way to some daffodils. "Or maybe it's best he can't. What do you think, Romilda?"
Romilda said nothing. The boy persisted in gawking at both of the girls now, as though he couldn't believe his ears.
"Right, well." The boy coughed and turned away to disguise his face, which was quickly turning purple. "Er, can I help yeh ladies find anythin'?" He asked hastily, trying to make up for his earlier error.
Romilda was about to snap at him to go away when Luna interceded. "Yes, could you? We'd like something nice, but not too common. Something…special," She finished with a satisfied smile.
The boy nodded swiftly, throwing the net onto a nearby table and leading them away from the bee. "How about these?" He held up a heavy-looking pot full of pretty blue flowers.
"No flowers," Romilda told him instantly. The boy visibly drooped.
"Why not?" Luna asked, picking up a pot with yellow-orange blossoms and dancing around the greenhouse with it. The boy nodded curiously, apparently already adjusted to Luna's ways.
"Because—because!" Romilda sputtered. "I can't get Neville flowers. He's a boy!"
Luna set the flowers back down and looked at Romilda in her usual way—that is to say, a very strange way, with little to no blinking. "Wouldn't he like flowers, though? Would you like flowers as a gift?" She directed this to the boy, who nodded again, face flushing.
Probably just trying to get a sale, Romilda thought scornfully. Still, she couldn't deny Luna when the girl gazed at her so earnestly. And maybe she was right, too. Neville was certainly no ordinary boy, and he was perhaps the only person she'd ever met who whole-heartedly believed in the saying, "It's the thought that counts."
"Fine," She muttered begrudgingly. She scanned the greenhouse, hoping to get out of there as soon as possible. "We'll take that one." She pointed to a big green plant with lots of little white blossoms.
"Baby's breath?" The boy double-checked, giving her a knowing smile. "Alrighty, I'll get it for yeh." He crossed the floor and started pulling out a few stems.
"What are you doing?" Romilda practically shrieked, drawing the attention of nearby customers.
He jumped a foot in the air. "Gettin' yer baby's breath. Wha's it look like I'm doin'?"
Romilda seethed. "I don't want just a little. Honestly. If I'm going to get him a present, I'm going to do it properly. I want the whole thing," She demanded, moving to cross her arms before forcing them back down again.
"Th-the whole thin'? Are yeh sure? Tha's an awful lot o' baby's breath. Not really used as a present," He mumbled, although he'd wrapped his arms around the huge stone planter.
"Well, we'll just be going out of the ordinary then. Please carry it to the queue. Luna and I'll take it from there." The boy nodded dumbly and picked it up, moving it over. The girls trailed behind him, neither one giving a thought as to how they would transport the thing back to Luna's home.
The queue seemed never-ending, and Romilda tapped her foot anxiously and tugged at her collar. The man in front of her chirped something about the extraordinarily nice weather they were having, but she didn't pay much attention. How on earth could Luna's father allow her in the muggle world by herself? Didn't he see how dangerous—not to mention mind-numbingly stupid—they could be? She tilted her head up to find ferns hanging from the ceiling. Well, she wasn't going back to the muggle world, friend or no. Not if her name wasn't Romilda Vane!
From the outside, it still looked the same. He didn't have high hopes for the place, but they could've easily done a charm to change the paint color. Then again, he could easily do a charm to change the paint color, but he didn't particularly feel like using his new wand. He rarely did.
Only a fool would ring the doorbell with that portrait of his mother shrieking day and night. He bypassed the bell and the rather ostentatious knocker, opening the door with his eyes glued to the ground. The first thing he noticed was that the wood floors gleamed in a way he'd never seen. For a few seconds, he remained fixated on that small detail. They had changed the floors. He hadn't expected that. Then he took a step forward.
Pathetic as it was, he took some comfort in the creaking noise coming from below as he shifted his weight. They hadn't replaced the floors then, just shined them up a bit. That was alright, he supposed. Keeping his head down, he turned a full circle. It would take some getting used to, but it wasn't too drastic a change. So the floors were a little shinier. He chuckled to himself; the things he got worked up over!
He looked up and stumbled. Every portrait, every piece of furniture, every trinket had been taken out of the hallway. As far as he was concerned, they could go burn it all, but there had been that one wood cabinet that Father always left sweets in for him and Regulus…he shook himself. The walls were a deep plum color, with a white trim. Actual lights hung over his head, illuminating the stark differences between his childhood home and this pristine hall.
His eyes roved over every little change. They'd painted the bannister white, too. That same bannister where Mummy dearest screamed at him every summer during Hogwarts. James had imitated her once, on the only occasion where his mother had left the two of them there alone. She'd never done it again.
And what the hell had happened to the three emerald green chairs on the other side of the stairs? That was practically a part of the house! The three Black sisters always sat in the same chairs when they visited. He'd started leaving little surprises for Bella and Cissa, but he always left Andy alone. Even then, she'd been the good one. He stood there for a little longer, one hand on the bannister.
He wasn't too sure he liked this house. It was his house, but it wasn't his house, but it was…his brain hurt thinking about it. Did he belong here, or did he belong—over there? Lately, he'd felt like a burden on everyone else, so he'd stayed in, speaking only to Harry. But when he crawled out of his hiding place, he found that life moved on without him just fine. He'd expected that, but it still hurt.
"Sirius?" Remus exited the kitchen and smiled at him. "I thought I heard someone come in. Why didn't you say anything?"
He ignored the question. "I like what you've done with the place, mate."
"Really?" Charity appeared right behind Remus. "Oh, I'm so glad. I know you gave us free reign, but it is your home, and you're the one who's going to be living here. But you do like it?" She beamed at him hopefully.
"Oh, yeah. Real…modern. Dark and dreary's a little too 70's, y'know?" He wished he could stop talking to her. Whenever he wanted to talk to Remus, whenever he just wanted to reminisce, she was there. It was grating on his nerves.
She laughed lightly. "Do you think Harry will like it, too?" She turned her head to glance at the door, as though expecting the teenager to pop out at any moment.
Sirius held back the sharp retort forming on the tip of his tongue. "I'm sure he will." He shifted, hearing the floor creak again. He didn't like this at all. His stomach turned over and over, and his hands began to tremble. He had to leave, had to get out of here. This wasn't right, not at all. He didn't belong here.
"I still have to replace the curtains over the portrait, of course. I was thinking some cream lace, or maybe ecru…" She turned to him, waiting for his opinion.
"Lace, yeah, sure." He grabbed onto the door frame to steady himself.
"Sirius?" Remus gently gripped his shoulder. This wasn't right. He couldn't say what it was, couldn't tell Remus if his life depended on it, but he needed to go. This wasn't his home—he didn't belong here.
"I'll get you some water," Charity whispered, staring at him with wide eyes.
Remus guided him to a chair. It was new. He'd never seen it before. It only made his throat close up and his eyes burn while he struggled not to bolt out of the chair and race out of the house. He thought he heard a knock on the door, but it might've been his head. His vision swam, and he slammed his eyes shut. The next time he could see straight, Remus was gone. If he concentrated past the ringing in his ears, he could hear what sounded like voices murmuring back and forth.
He shut his eyes again and succumbed to sleep.