As the weeks passed, Felicity subtly flattered Mrs. Parkinson in order to speedily finish her portrait. It wasn't her best work, but it did end the woman's constant barking that the painting "didn't look like her."

On the return to her home in central London, a mixture of gladness and nervous excitement made Felicity feel like a schoolgirl. She had grown up in the Georgian house built along a private communal garden, and was on amiable terms with the Muggle families that inhabited the homes surrounding the square. They were upper middle class, prosperous and social-conscious, regarding her as "the lady artist who paints family portraits." Her circumspect behaviour reassured them that she was not an immoral Bohemian, so she was greeted with smiles and polite conversation, although she was not invited to their homes.

She did not pine for her neighbours' society. While sketching little girls playing beneath arches of wisteria at one end of the square, or walking shady paths, Felicity had overheard enough snippets of conversation to know she had nothing in common with the tightly-corseted young women of her acquaintance. They chatted of dressmakers and parties. Their greatest fears were to be caught in the wrong fashion at the wrong time of day and becoming an old maid.

Hers was to never know the kind of love her parents had shared.

Felicity put her thoughts aside as the Hansom cab pulled up to the kerb. She could have Apparated, but instead had Flooed to a wizard-run London hotel from Parkinson House and asked the concierge to hire a cab. It was prudent to give her neighbours the opportunity to see and be able to say to one another, "Miss Argo returned to the square this afternoon."

The sight of her Butler, silver-haired and dignified, made her smile. "It's good to be home, Tully," she said, taking his hand to climb down.

"Very good to have you home, Miss Felicity." He paid the cab driver and then followed her into the marbled foyer.

When the door closed, the stiff formality Tully adopted for "the public," as he put it, relaxed. Instead of waiting to be spoken to, he said with a wide smile, "Mrs. Tully has been cooking for days. I hope you brought your appetite back with you from Wiltshire."

"I have indeed." She removed her hat, laughing. "The Parkinson's chef was French and temperamental. He overcooked dinner whenever the family did not praise his cuisine to his satisfaction. I think I've lost half a stone."

"Lost weight! I'll soon have it on again," said the housekeeper, bustling into the room. The woman who also did the marketing and cooking for the small household was as tall and stately as her husband. Mrs. Tully waved her wand to send Felicity's hat floating upstairs, clucking her tongue. "You look pale and thin. Come down to the kitchen for tea."

"Is Annie still trying her hand at baking?" Felicity asked, while they made their way down to the basement.

The colours inside the house were a sharp contrast to the plain, grey brick exterior. Sky and Wedgwood blue, soft greens and pale yellows and greys made high-ceilinged rooms airy and inviting, including the kitchen.

"No, praise Merlin. She's learning Cleaning Charms now, so you may bite into a scone without chipping a tooth."

The neighbours would have been shocked to see the same silver wall lights and flower-sprigged glazed cotton curtains below stairs as above. The prevailing attitude among the upper classes was to keep staff areas as spartan as possible.

Felicity's parents had felt the notion idiotic. She shared the views which even her closest friends found eccentric. The keys to the mahogany tea caddy, jealously guarded by other mistresses, hung from Mrs. Tully's belt. The staff received a half day mid-week and Sundays off when she was home, and during the times she was away, were trusted to manage the household and encouraged in their increased support of various charitable organisations.

Perched on the smooth, oak chair she'd favoured since childhood, Felicity sipped her first cup of properly brewed tea in weeks. She sighed contentedly. "I always asked for a warmed pot and freshly boiling water, but the maid the Parkinson's assigned me was new and inept at charms."

Mrs. Tully offered a plate loaded with thin, crust-less ham and cucumber sandwiches, strawberries and a scone topped with homemade jam and clotted cream. "To tide you over until dinner," she said.

Felicity's stomach rumbled. "I'm going to miss your cookery when I leave for Grimmauld Place." She took a bite of the scone.

Before the housekeeper could make a remark to match the disapproving look on her face, a girl burst into the kitchen. "Felicity!" The petite blonde wearing a chartreuse and purple dress skidded to a halt and curtsied awkwardly. Her sunny smile became an expression of affected formality. "Beg pardon, Miss Felicity."

Felicity glanced at Mrs. Tully. The woman said dryly, "Annie has discovered Muggle romantic novels. She wishes to be a poor relation."

"Mother!" the girl scolded, "Poor relations are ever so much more romantic than servants' daughters." She told Felicity, "Poor relations are always having adventures and marrying for love." A gleam appeared in round, blue eyes. "Would you mind if I told the Grimmauld staff that I'm your cousin twice removed, and reduced to being your personal maid through my family's tragic loss of fortune?"

Having been friends with the younger girl for most of her life, Felicity didn't take offence at the notion that she would force relatives into servitude. She smiled. "What if there's a handsome tutor or chef who remembers you from Hogwarts?"

"Oh." Annie thought for a moment, and then said, "If there isn't, may I call myself Annette and speak with a French accent, then? I would be vairy good at eet, I zink."

"What if someone speaks to you in French?" asked Felicity, amused at the thought.

"Zat would be vairy awkward," said Annie, giggling.

Felicity burst out laughing and hugged the girl. "I'm glad that you want to accompany me. I've missed our talks."

"That's Mum's doing," said Annie, "She remembers that naughty sketch she found on a table the summer you left school, and worries that—"

"Finish the unpacking," the girl's mother said sharply.

"Finish? I haven't started." A look of guilt crossed Annie's face. "I'm not very good at those kinds of spells." Her face brightened. "If you have any plants that need tending, though, I can do that."

"I shall be up to supervise in a moment," Mrs. Tully said in a dire tone.

Annie turned and fled up the stairway.

The housekeeper appeared so embarrassed, Felicity decided that the best thing to do was pretend the nude sketch she'd drawn of Phineas Black had not been mentioned.

She returned to the table and ate a sandwich. It was excellent, lightly buttered, with wafer-thin slices of cucumber.

"Your parents hope that you will speak with them before you leave," said Mrs. Tully. She inclined her head respectfully. "I shall go assist Annie."

"Thank you." Felicity poured herself another cup of Earl Grey blended with fresh lavender. The tea lived up to its reputation as a natural remedy for stress. Her hands barely shook.

Visits with the portrait of her parents were usually cheerful, if bittersweet, encounters, but this interview was one that she dreaded. If only I had painted them with a little less life, she thought ruefully. She had never considered that using spells to infuse the oils with magic and enable communication might have drawbacks.

Later that night, when the others had retired for the evening, Felicity slipped down to the drawing room. In the large canvas above the mantel, an elderly couple appeared to have fallen asleep on the painted settee, leaning against each other for support, just the way they had in life.

"Good evening, Mother, Father. I'm home."

The couple was instantly awake.

"Felicity, darling, you look tired," said the image of her mother, looking elegant in a cream-coloured ball gown.

Her father, in black dress robes, adjusted his glasses as if to see her better. "Never liked the Parkinsons," he said. "Treated their dogs better than the servants." Long, white hair shook. "Your cheekbones are sharp enough to cut bread, my dear. What happened to those dimpled cheeks I loved to pinch?"

"I still have dimples," Felicity said smilingly, "but my cheeks haven't been plump since I discovered that I loved to paint more than eat."

"The new painting is lovely." Her mother gestured toward the landscape across the room.

The willows beside Hogwarts Lake had been a joy to paint, and ably filled the hours between Phineas' sittings.

"If I stare long enough, I start thinking that I see something behind the willow fronds," Father added.

Felicity tried to keep her expression blank. There was something behind the thick screen of drooping fronds. Before she had painted the willow in the foreground, she had sketched herself and Phineas, reclining, in a clothed-yet-amorous embrace. "You wished to speak with me?" she asked, hoping to distract eyes that were far too sharp for pigment.

Her mother took her father's hand in hers. "Yes, my dear. Tully has informed us of your next commission."

Oh gods, if her mother brought up the sketch, she would clutch her stomach, gasp that she felt ill and rush from the room. She'd drawn the blasted thing from imagination and classical art, not first-hand knowledge—unfortunately.

"Never met a Black that wasn't a rogue," Father said. "Keep your door locked at all times."

"If you still harbour a partiality for the man, take care not to reveal it," said Mother, "or he may...take advantage." She opened her Chinese fan with a flick of her wrist and began to wave it in short, agitated bursts. "Annie has a habit of reading aloud from those Muggle novels of hers. To be frank, if you were a governess, I should fear greatly for your virtue."

"Reassure your mother that she has nothing to fear," barked Father.

Felicity wrapped her arms around her middle. "Thank you for your counsel, but I fear I ate too much at dinner. Pray excuse me." She darted out of the room and kept running until she was safely barricaded in her room. Crossing to the window seat, she removed a rectangular locket and opened it to reveal the miniature portrait inside. If her parents knew that she had painted Phineas in watercolour on ivory as well as in oil for his official portrait, they would not ask for reassurances. They would be resigned to the fact that it was only a matter of time until their fears were realised.

Three days later, she was alighting from a cab and resisting the urge to cradle her middle as she stared up at the Black family home. It wasn't that the house was particularly grand or imposing that made her stomach clench. It was her reaction to the knowledge that she would sleep beneath the same roof as Phineas, and in time, the same bed.

The door opened. "Took you long enough," said a familiar, arrogant voice.

She stared up at the man whose lower lip gave him the appearance of a petulant schoolboy, finding his sulky look extremely appealing. "I'm here four days early," she said. "We made arrangements for the last day of June."

"Inconsequential," he said dismissively, sweeping past the wide-eyed housemaid who had opened the door. He took her arm and escorted her up the stairs. "I wanted you here earlier."

The gleam in dark eyes was what she imagined whenever he sent one of his letters demanding that she "stop dawdling" and join him as soon as possible. Her pulse leapt even more, in such close proximity, than when she only had his miniature to gaze at. She felt the warmth of his hand through her close-fitted sleeve and wondered what it would feel like cupping her cheek. "I'm here now," she said softly.

He smiled in a way that caused a blush to warm her face. "So you are."

Inside the entry, a house-elf stood watching them impassively. The broad border on his white tea towel gave him the look of a diminutive Roman senator.

"Kester, send Miss Argo's maid and her luggage to her room," said Phineas.

"Yes, Master."

Felicity had seen house-elves devoted to their families, but Kester's reverent tone and deep bow were disturbing to her egalitarian beliefs. Servants should be treated as valued employees, not serfs. She looked away, examining the large, blowsy flowers on the damask wallpaper. The teal, grey, and cabbage rose colours were not those she would have chosen to accent Slytherin green carpet.

"My late wife's handiwork," Phineas said, curling his lip slightly. He pointed to the serpent-shaped candelabra. "Except those. Been in the family for years."

"Since your Norman ancestors invaded England?"

He led her to a staircase. "Normans were Vikings. Plundering was part of their nature." His hand stole up to stroke his beard in a way that made her think he was imagining caressing her skin. "I cannot blame them for coveting such beauteous...lands."

Felicity was thankful the lighting in the stairway was dim. Her cheeks felt hot. "I don't blame the Saxons for fighting. The Normans weren't invited."

A black eyebrow arched. "I don't have that in common with my ancestors. I always wait for an invitation."

Stars above, did he mean what she thought he meant? The wicked smile curving the corners of his mouth revealed that he did. Her heart leapt when he paused on the second floor landing and bent toward her.

"Arcturus! Give me back my ball!"

Felicity looked up to see a boy of three or four scrambling downstairs, followed by a taller boy of ten or eleven. Both had black hair and pale, aristocratic features, although the younger brother's face still held a baby roundness.

"Father!" the older boy said angrily, "Make Arcturus return my ball at once!"

The little boy shook his head stubbornly. "It's mine! Sirius gave it to me!"

"Liar! I told you could bowl it, not take it and run!"

Phineas held out his hand. Arcturus gave him the red and black striped ball. "Why are you boys not playing bowls outdoors?"

The older boy smirked. "It's a carpet bowl, meant for indoors." He took the ball from his father, giving Felicity an insulting once-over before turning and darting back up the stairs. His brother, who had watched with trembling lips, began to cry.

Phineas stood, seeming at a loss as how to deal with the emotional outburst.

Felicity knelt down on the carpet. "I have an India-rubber ball in my trunk. Would you know of a well-behaved boy that I could give it to?"

Arcturus nodded, sniffing.

"Really? Who? Him?" Felicity pointed to Phineas.

"Me."

She wanted to ruffle the boy's hair, but didn't think it proper behaviour for a stranger. She held out her hand. "I'm Miss Argo. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister Black."

He shook his head. "Artie." Chubby fingers grasped hers and pulled her hand down with a vigorous shake.

"Return to the nursery," Phineas said briskly.

Artie's expression became one that Felicity had seen on his father's face a short while ago on the front steps. She wanted to kiss him too—except on the cheek. "If you stop by my room on the way, my maid will give you the ball," she said.

"What do you say?" Phineas prompted when the boy stood grinning.

"Thank you, Miss Argo," said Artie, hurrying up the stairs.

Felicity put her hand in the one Phineas extended. "Thank you," she said, as he helped her rise.

He kissed her hand. "I thank you, for stopping his caterwauling." He frowned. "Sirius' tutor and Arcturus' nanny do not usually allow the boys to run through the house." He shrugged. "Regardless, I am now free to show you to the studio I had Kester set up."

She could paint almost anywhere, conjuring an enchanted window if she needed additional light, but his thoughtfulness was appreciated. When she was ushered into a sunny corner of the attic, brightened by enchanted skylight, Felicity realised his action had an ulterior nature. Along with the usual artist's accoutrements and a comfortable chair for him to sit on, there was a chaise lounge. Long and wide, with a walnut frame and a beautiful scroll back, the chaise was upholstered in foliage-patterned silver damask that looked comfortable—for two.

"What do you think?" asked Phineas.

"I think I'll be very happy here," she said with a tremulous smile, "but right now it's a little overwhelming."

He moved closer. "I'll do everything in my power to help you adjust to new...surroundings."

She had read about heroines in romance novels getting "lost" in the hero's eyes and secretly found the notion farfetched, until Phineas. He inspired feelings and desires that made her almost ready to cast off the restraints of parental counsel and societal prohibitions against intimacy outside the marriage relationship. She swayed toward him, unconsciously lifting her face.

He smiled and brushed his lips across hers, rubbing slightly, until she parted her lips. The kiss was slow and sweet; causing her to do something she never had before—to return a kiss.

She was eight and twenty, not eighteen. She had been kissed previously. Some kisses had been thrust upon her during House parties at school, and others had been allowed out of curiosity, to see if an admirer could stir her more than the memory of sardonic professor. None had touched her heart or made her do more than accept the salute passively.

Now, her lips moved against his, following his lead, while her hand stole up to touch his face. His narrow, well-trimmed beard felt silky, as if he used a Conditioning Charm.

He chuckled. "Shall I shave my beard?"

"No. I like you just the way you are."

Something unfathomable flashed in his eyes before he kissed her with a passion that had Felicity sagging against him, clutching his shoulders for support. Her heart was pounding so hard, she didn't realise that the sound she heard was a baby's squeal of laughter until a sharp tug at her skirt caused her to look down—into the big brown eyes of a red haired toddler.

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A/N: I've enjoyed the research and writing both povs, so I'm glad readers have too, and hope they'll enjoy the final chapter from both Felicity and Phineas Nigellus' points of view most of all! The readers who were kind enough to give their view on the last chapter were...♥ adrienne06052 ♥ alix33 ♥ Calenmarwen ♥ dumbldores gal ♥ ElspethBates ♥ FNP ♥ Freja Lercke-Falkenborg ♥ GraceRichie ♥ LolaCherryColaGirl ♥ Miss GoodManners ♥ MollyCoddles ♥ mon-ami-runa ♥ Moontime ♥ NaginiFay ♥ RahNee ♥ rairaichan ♥ siriuslycoco ♥ Slipknot-3113 ♥ Sophia Loren ♥ sunny9847 ♥ UnderworldBabe ♥ and ♥ Verse ♥