Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.
A/N: There are a lot of references and innuendo in this chapter. I'd say 15 plus for sure.
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Chapter Four: The Meeting
"Look there's Abigail Dimwaffle! Haven't seen her since Hogwarts."
"Don't call her that James. She has a proper name you know."
James grinned roguishly at his wife. "Why not? She was in Hufflepuff after all." He ducked just in time to avoid the pacifier Lily flung at his head.
"You shouldn't judge people because of what house they're in, or were in as in this case. I thought we'd settled all this with that whole upside-down Snape incident."
"Well you have to admit that she was pretty dim, Lily."
"I won't admit any such thing James Potter!" Lily said, her voice shrill.
"She set herself on fire by prodding her wand tip in a cup of water!" James reminded her, incredulously.
Lily's lips twitched. "I suppose that was rather stupid," she admitted. "But it could have happened to anyone."
James groaned. "I'll never win with you."
"That's right." Lily stated smugly. "Now get me Harry's pacifier. He's starting to grumble."
James blew a kiss to his wife before reaching into his pocket for his wand, and then summoned the dummy.
Lily looked scandalised. "James that pacifier was an arm reach away!"
James shrugged. "I was too lazy to bend over, wife."
Lily sniffed in disproval before rinsing the pacifier in the glass of water in front of her and popping it in Harry's mouth.
"And don't call me wife."
"Why not? That is your occupation after all."
Lily, having no more available missiles at her disposal, settled on glaring at her sniggering husband. "When are your friends going to get here? At least they'll keep you occupied so you won't have to bother me anymore."
"I'm hurt. Now let me think. Pete'll probably forget until the last minute, so I don't expect he'll show until later. Remus should be arriving any time now. And Sirius is at this very moment trying to kill himself, so he won't be showing up at all."
Lily tsked. "That isn't funny James."
"I know for a fact that this isn't his first attempt either. He's gotten quite creative at it too."
"James stop! It isn't nice how you're always ribbing him about this."
"Well, he's not here is he?" Lily still looked saddened. James sighed. "Look. Sirius is my best mate and no one more than I regret what's happened to him. But he's had a whole two weeks to sulk on it. Now he should concentrate on being the doting fiancé, completely besotted by his fair lady."
"I know, but, well, it just isn't fair! He's already had such a horrid life, living in that Grim Old Place or whatever. Now the entire rest of his life will be ruined because of this."
"You should know that life is never fair, Lil's, especially in the middle of a war," James reminded her gently.
Lily sniffed again, only this time with remorse. "I know."
"At least we have each other and Harry to get by. Makes this war a whole lot more bearable if you have someone to fight for."
Lily smiled. "James, sometimes your profoundness amazes me. I'm glad I married you."
Without warning James leaned over and embraced her tightly. Lily sighed with pleasure and basked in the scent of her husband, feeling the all too familiar tingle in her limbs as his lips began a slow descent from her neck to her ear.
"James, not in public," she said, a little breathily.
Her husband chuckled sexily. "You know I can't help it when I'm around you," he murmured, and Lily blushed.
"Here take Harry, that'd give you something to do besides embarrass me." She handed the snoozing one-year-old to his father, and then settled on watching her two men. How she loved them both! If anything were to happen to either of them . . . No, don't think about that Lily!
She'd told herself time and again not to think about the future, but to only enjoy the present for whatever it was. It was true that they were all involved in a war with the fiercest Dark Lord in a hundred years, or ever, but Lily's optimism meant that it was also the happiest time of her life. She never imagined that she could be happier right at this very moment, watching her husband and child. This was her life and she was grateful for it no matter the current debacles the world drudged up every so often.
"Well if it isn't the Potter's sitting here in the corner all by their lonesomes."
Remus Lupin walked up to their table with a smile on his face. He gave Lily a kiss on the cheek and sat down on James's opposite.
The man in question looked at him suspiciously. "What's got you in such a good mood, Moony?"
Remus grinned in that I-know-something-you-don't-know, way. "Nothing," he proclaimed, innocently. Then spoiled it by adding, "Only the fact that Sirius's new fiancée isn't as ugly as he thinks."
That made husband and wife sit up.
"You've actually seen her?" James asked his friend. "Where is she?" He scanned the crowed of growing international ministry officials in the hopes that he would spot someone who looked like a fiancée of Sirius's, then stopped when he realised he didn't actually know how she looked like.
"Yes, I've seen her, and her parents. They're out near the Fountain of Magical Brethren talking with Mrs Black. I think they must of portkeyed in. And let me tell you, she is gorgeous James," Remus stated with a dreamy smile on his face.
James snorted. "That doesn't mean anything. Her heart's probably still as black as her last name's going to be."
He looked nervously at Lily, who was frowning. "You shouldn't judge people before you get to know them, James. I thought that would have drilled itself into your thick skull the past week when I told Sirius the same thing."
Remus began chortling. "Just like in seventh year, eh Prongs?" and started laughing even louder when James grimaced.
The werewolf took a deep breath. "Well, I don't think you have to worry about James or Sirius judging them wrongly, Lily. I saw how they were dressed. Perfect aristocrats. And the way the parents behaved, as if they had something unpleasant shoved beneath their noses?"
Lily looked a bit disgruntled. "Well, what about the girl?"
"I don't know how her face looked, she turned around as I was passing them." Remus remained silent for a moment, as if he was reluctant to tell them something. "Mrs Black spotted me," he admitted. "I think that was the reason why they looked like they did. I think she must have told them about my . . . condition."
Lily's lips pursed, looking uncannily like her sister's in that moment. James grew sombre.
"It doesn't matter anyway, Moony," he told the quietened Remus. "Your friends are what matters, and we don't care."
He smiled, though it looked forced. "I know." But all of them knew how deeply sensitive Remus was about his Lycanthropy, and that Mrs Black's gossiping had hurt him.
"Well," Lily said to break the uncomfortable silence, "any idea when the others are going to get here?"
"Peter will probably forget and not show up at all. As for Sirius? I don't know. He's probably drowned himself in a bowl of porridge by now."
James let out a hoot of laughter, Remus chuckling along with him.
"I guess you'll have to learn to bear it Lily," James told his glowering wife, before cracking up again.
There was a small whimper. A cough. A wail.
"Oh, look! You just woke Harry! Give him to me." Lily reached over and scooped the upset baby from out of his sniggering father's arms.
"Mamamamamamamamama!" Harry gurgled. Lily almost burst with pride. It never failed to delight her when her son spoke to her.
"How come he can't say Dada yet?" James brushed his fingers over Harry's mouth, looking annoyed.
"He's only a year old, James. Give him time."
James cheered up at that. He was about to coo to his son when he spotted something across the room. "I say, is that them?" he asked, pointing over Remus's shoulder at the entrance.
Remus swivelled around in his chair, perusing the room. "Yep. What'd I tell you James? Stunning isn't she?"
"I'll say. At least Sirius will have something pleasant to look at. I don't feel quite so sorry for him anymore."
He yelped when Lily whacked him 'round the head with a napkin.
"But can you imagine the look on his face when he realises she isn't a hag?" Remus asked.
He, James, and surprisingly Lily, all cracked up at that.
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Antoinette was not having a very good day so far. She had woken up later than usual that morning with what had felt like ants scurrying around in her stomach; a feeling that had yet to diminish. Then she'd gone to her wardrobe to find something appropriate to show off in when meeting her fiancé, only to remember that she'd packed all her clothes last night and forgotten to leave a robe out to wear that day. After finding a tasteful hoop-sleeved silver robe she repacked her trunk and headed down to breakfast. She had gotten a shock then because her parents had not been there to greet her, as was their custom ever since she'd learned to walk.
She had eaten her breakfast, a little sad, because she hadn't had the remaining time to spend with her parents. Searching for them seemed the appropriate thing to do, and she'd found them already packed and waiting for her at the entrance, accompanied by her own trunk and Adele in her cage. They had ushered her along into a waiting limousine that took them to the nearest portkey office, which just happened to be in the French Ministry of Magic. When they'd arrived they still had to wait an extra hour in line because delegates from the French Ministry were also waiting to portkey to England, plus they had to get their wands checked and their identities certified, and it had all been a very disagreeable experience.
They had arrived at a dingy looking inn in London called The Leaky Cauldron that also doubled as a tavern. The rooms were habitable at least. In fact, Antoinette had been surprised at seeing her own room, which, though plain, was quite lovely nonetheless . . . Quaint, was the word she supposed she was searching for. Quaint and simple.
Antoinette stood now in her room and unpacked her belongings with a wave of her wand. Another wave and her robes flew to the cupboard to hang. She stood for a moment, unsure of what to do. Spotting a vase of daffodils on her bedside cabinet Antoinette seised on the opportunity to test out her transfiguration skills.
Roses. And they must be white, shetold herself, and flicked her wand.
The flowers gave a sad sort of wobble before, reluctantly it seemed, resuming the shape of white, albeit despondent looking roses.
She sighed. Transfiguration had never been her forte.
For the next couple of minutes she walked about; righting the carpet rug, prolonging the life of a nearly extinguished candle, and summoning Linear to bring her some yoghurt from downstairs. The latter didn't turn out quite as she'd hoped because Tom, the inn's owner, didn't exactly have yogurt, only sour cream, which Antoinette, reluctantly, sampled.
She started pacing within the first half hour.
The next half was spent staring out of the window at the passing muggle pedestrians below. This at least gave her some reprieve from the tense feelings encompassing her, because she was rather fascinated with muggle culture. She thought them queer, lovable things, and a Tely-vision sounded like quite a superb invention. She'd always thought them hardworking as well. Hardworking and remarkably intelligent. Compared to wizards they were at least. Wizards were lazy and relied too much on their magic. She was the first to admit that.
Antoinette gave one last longing glance at the window and all the freedom it tantalizingly offered and prepared to turn away to go and find her parents.
That one glimpse stopped her thoughts and actions completely.
Below, right below her window as a matter of fact, was a man. If he could be called that.
No, Antoinette did not think that one such as him could be placed in the same category as a man. A Pantheon God would be a more apt distinction.
He had black hair. Not too long. Not too straight either.
His face, from what little she could see of it, was simply superb. As though a sculpturer had decided he'd one day make the perfect specimen to represent manhood and had come up with this result.
He was dressed in some sort of coarse blue muggle fabric that . . . Antoinette flushed. She'd never seen clothing draped over the contours of a body like that before. It literally moulded itself to his legs, thighs, and . . . other things. She did, however, recognise the leather jacket he wore as one of her friends from Beaubatons owned a dragon-leather jacket that he'd gotten from his uncle. Of course, Antoinette was not fool enough to assume that this muggle wore dragon-leather, but, whatever leather it was he certainly knew how to show it off to the best of its provocative ability.
He was leaning against the wall of the nearby muggle bookstore, his arms crossed, one leg lifted at the knee and propped on the wall behind him. He looked, Antoinette thought, like he really wanted to be somewhere else.
It took a while for her to notice that her mouth was wide open.
Upon realising this she closed it with a tight snap, blushing, despite the fact no one had seen her look so undignified.
She could not believe how addled her wits had become, and all because of a pretty face.
But he's more than just a pretty face. Admit it; you've never seen anyone look that good before.
"No one has ever seen anyone look that good before," she confessed out loud. But it was true. She didn't think there had ever been a more handsome man.
And then it hit her!
He was a muggle!
Any hope she'd harboured that they might some day meet flew out of the window along with the pleasure seeing him at produced, and what came back, also to torment her, was the realisation that she would be meeting her fiancé in an hour's time.
"Dieu!" she cursed, and would have banged her fists on the windowsill if she hadn't been taught better manners.
Well that was just . . . just fine! As if her life wasn't already so complicated add a crush to a complete stranger into the mix and she'd have Complicated ready to taste.
She blinked when the dark stranger suddenly shifted from the wall. He took the time to rake an impatient hand through his beautiful hair, and . . . looked straight up at her.
She gasped and hurriedly stepped away from the window and into the shadows. He shouldn't have been able to see her! He was a muggle. Or was he . . . ? He certainly looked it. There was no hint that he was a wizard. Perhaps he had some latent magical ability. Or perhaps his brother or something was a muggleborn wizard, then he'd be able to see The Leakey Cauldron without problem, as he would have been there before and known what to look for.
She took a chance and peeked passed the window frame. Her eyes widened and hastily scanned the street.
The disappointment she felt as a result of his lack of presence surprised her. She'd only been staring at him for two or so minutes after all. Just because he was a supreme work of art; and just because her belly had fluttered when her eyes met his own for that split second was no reason to get all upset.
Oh, but they had been beautiful eyes. Just like the rest of him. Like dark smoke, and dark chocolate, and dark everything all mixed together in one delicious swirl.
She sighed.
A knock from outside signalled the approach of one of her parents. Her father most likely more than her mother. He was a man after all, and didn't need to spend as much time getting ready.
"Come in," she called.
The door swung open gently and Edmond entered the room. "Have you everything, Antoinette?"
"If by that you mean my wand, Papa, then yes."
Edmond was quick to pick up on the upset in her voice. He moved over to her place by the window and sat down beside her. "What is wrong, Petite?"
Antoinette was too well raised to give in to bouts of crying due to frustration at not being able to lead her own life, and she was too well raised to lie either. She settled on the partial truth.
"My life is unrolling without any assistance from me. I need do nothing but sit back and let it keep unthreading until all I have left in me is a blank fabric canvas. It is just not how I wished it would turn out. That is all."
Edmond became patiently alarmed, if such a thing was possible. That was likely the most despondent thing he'd ever heard his daughter say. And hearing her say she will be "a blank fabric canvas," when all this business was over was not something any father wanted to hear.
"Surely it isn't going to be as horrible as you are inclined to think, Toni? I've asked around."
Antoinette lifted her head over that admission. Any bit of information on her future husband was crucial to her. "Go on."
"While it is true that Sirius Black is a pureblood and that his mother is, well . . ."
"A bitch?" she offered innocently.
"Antoinette!" he reprimanded, shocked.
She laughed. "Well she is. Aunt Helena said it herself, did she not? Of course not in so crude a word . . ."
"I begin to wish we'd never told you that," said Edmond, shaking his head.
"Well I'm glad you had. It gives me a basis. Now what about Sirius Black?"
"What I was going to say was that even though he is a pureblood certain important individuals have told me that he is estranged from his family."
"What?"
"That is exactly what I thought."
"But it mustn't be true, Papa." Antoinette was certain that it couldn't be. Why would Walburga Black, or more to the point, how would Walburga Black convince her son to marry someone if he was estranged from her? "You must be mistaken," she told her father. "Where did you get your information?"
Edmond had the grace to flush. "Now, see hear Toni—"
"Where?"
Her father sighed at her no nonsense tone. "Tom, if you must know."
Antoinette blinked. "Tom? Tom the innkeeper?"
Edmond nodded. "Oui. But you have to understand, Antoinette, he is privy to a lot of information. His position as barkeep guarantees it."
"You mean because people come in here to drown their woes in drink?"
"Exactly."
"But that still does not mean anything. Sirius Black could be estranged from his mother for a whole number of reasons. They could have had a simple spat and then got all offended for no reason. You know how pureblood families are. No affection, but a lot of arrogance. Oh I-I didn't mean . . . I am sorry, Papa."
Edmond patted her hand, though inside he was feeling like the worst sort of scum. It was true that he and Tatienne had not shown their daughter much affection besides a kiss on the cheek each morning and a few presents here and there. But what were presents compared to the absence of a parent's love?
"You need not apologise, Toni. It is our fault. My only excuse is that my parents raised me the same, and so did your mother's."
Antoinette smiled. "Papa, I love you. You don't need to explain yourself. I've led a good life so far. Simple and quite. I don't want it to change. Truthfully, that's what I am afraid of."
"But you have fire in you, Toni. Much to your mother's and my displeasure." She smiled. "You have spirit, and the strength to endure. And you will endure."
Grateful tears filled her eyes. "Thank you."
A HALF HOUR LATER Antoinette and her parents found themselves standing in the foyer of the British Ministry of Magic next to Mrs Walburga Black. Antoinette had thought her life couldn't have gotten any worse back at the inn, but she was wrong. Her fiancé's mother was a hag of a woman who had worse ideas about the predilection of the right blood than her own parents. This woman, she was sure, would have been a Death Eater if she weren't so old. And Antoinette could just imagine what her son was like. Then she had a horrid thought. What if he was already a Death Eater?
"A werewolf you know. Nasty half-breeds," Mrs Black was telling her parents in French, and they both developed expressions of mild disgust.
Antoinette turned to see a young looking man with light brown hair scurry passed them, staring determinedly ahead of himself. She felt for him, she truly did, because she now knew what it felt like to be in a situation she had no control over. Poor boy.
"Shall we adjourn to the eating room? Sirius will likely turn up soon anyway. We'd best secure a table."
Antoinette learned something then. Mrs Black did not ask. She ordered. Even though her statement had been in the form of a question, Antoinette knew someone who was used to getting their way when she heard them. It was in their manner of speaking, their dress, their eyes and characteristics. And she was expected to live with this woman? Not likely.
The eating room, which looked like a large ballroom, was brimming with chattering people from all nationalities and walks of life. As they followed Mrs Black along the outer rim of the ballroom by the dining tables they passed a group of African wizards who were responsible for the pipe smoke that lingered like a cloud of fog just below the ceiling. They also passed the French Ministry representatives, the Belgian, and the Romanian, who had a pair of vampire fangs as one of the symbols on their flag, along with a stake dripping blood.
Mrs Black appeared not to notice any of this as she led them to a table to the far back of the large linoleum-floored room. A few tables away from the werewolf man in fact. He was sitting with a family of three.
The father had hair that looked like a mop and wore rectangular spectacles, but he was no doubt handsome. The baby looked exactly like the father if his hair was any indication, and the woman . . . Antoinette could see her vivid green eyes from where she was sitting. Eyes she shouldn't have been able to see in her current position.
What?
Antoinette did a double take and noticed, as she looked at each of them in turn, that they were all staring at her, as if they were expecting something.
They quickly diverted their attentions when they saw she'd noticed them watching, the beautiful redheaded woman blooming with embarrassment at having been caught.
Well, if she was such an interest . . . ? Perhaps they'd never seen a French woman before? Her parents and Mrs Black had been speaking French after all. Perhaps they were just curious? Somehow she didn't feel that was the reason.
An hour past, then two, then three. The Ministry heads had already given their speeches long ago, not one of them mentioning anything about the current standing in the wizarding world. It seemed as if, at least for one day, they wanted to forget about it.
Lunch had already been served half an hour ago and Mrs Black was running out of excuses as to why her son hadn't shown up yet, which gave Antoinette the feeling that Sirius Black was more than a little apprehensive about this marriage. This made her feel a lot better, so she wasn't at all as upset as her parents were becoming.
The three people were still paying attention to her. They were getting most tiresome about it too. Every so often she'd feel their gazes settle on her, and she would turn to them with a lift of her brow, her face not showing any other expression except cool, arrogant detachment of the situation. She knew it made her appear haughty, but she didn't care. They were the ones staring at her after all. Every time after she did this they would look away, conversing amongst themselves. The black-haired man would even frown before scanning the room as if he were looking for someone.
Another hour passed. To say that Antoinette's parents were less than pleased was an understatement. Mrs Black, a woman Antoinette thought could never get flustered, was looking nervously at the dwindling crowd, as though expecting her son to pop out with the excuse that it was work that had kept him detained. Antoinette didn't expect any such thing. She was now of the firm belief that Sirius Black had cried off, and she couldn't be happier.
"Where iz your son, Madame Black?" her father asked her betrothed's mother, his fingers drumming consistently on the cream linen tablecloth. "I was under ze impression that he would be 'ere to meet 'is fiancée. The fact that 'e iz not, suggests 'e iz, 'ow do you say, uncaring of ze marriage?"
"He'd better be caring," Mrs Black mumbled.
Interesting.
"What was that?" her mother, a more devoted student of English than her father was, asked.
Mrs Black seemed to deflate a little. Antoinette assured herself it was a trick of the light. That woman could never be intimidated. She simply oozed confidence. "My son is not that," she paused here, "enthusiastic, shall we say, about the marriage. You see, I only informed him that he had a betrothed two weeks ago. He hasn't exactly had much time to get used to the idea."
Antoinette wondered suddenly if this was the reason her fiancé was estranged from his mother.
"And why did you not simply explain this to us from the start?" her father replied in French. "It is only natural that he should have cold feet if he were unaware of the situation."
"I must admit I feared you would break the betrothal if I did."
"I see. But you need not worry. We have no intention of doing that. If the young man does not show up today, we will simply arrange a meeting on some other date."
There was no trick of the light this time. Mrs Black did look relieved.
Antoinette cleared her throat delicately.
"I think I will go mingle. Sitting here for four hours on end can be quite dull."
Nobody at the table could possibly miss the implication of that statement. Mrs Black flushed with anger or embarrassment; Antoinette didn't know and didn't care. Her mother had to hide the small smirk that found its way onto her face behind a napkin, and her father, taking a drink of wine at the time, sputtered a little, before arranging his face into a disproving look. Antoinette simply gave him the same response she'd offered the werewolf and his friends, before excusing herself and walking towards the small crowd.
After asking the nearest person where the women's lavatories were, she made her way out of the room and down a small corridor towards the facilities. She released a small breath of air upon entering the bathroom. At least it was clean. She'd heard horror stories about the cleanliness, or lack thereof, of England's toilets.
She fiddled around with her coiffure for a bit, which was currently in a "heartbreaker" style that muggle women in the seventeenth century had favoured, but which witches had adopted as the current fashion hairstyle. It left small ringlets to hang about her face while the rest of her long hair was piled and clipped in larger curls on the top of her head. The fattest curl was left to hang over her shoulder. It was so long, in fact, that it reached to just below her breast.
Antoinette mentally grimaced at the style, but her mother had insisted, and Linear had pinned it up.
Shaking her head a little she unclipped her small handbag and pulled out a face powder. Oh she was running out, she would have to get some more later She quickly applied it until she felt satisfied with her reflection. It grinned at her when she thought of her scaredy cat fiancé. She hoped he would never come. Never ever ever.
Her mind began filling with the possibilities open to her now. She could still get a job, something in the French Ministry perhaps, like a researcher. After that she would, naturally, purchase her own house as well. Or it need not be a house. Perhaps a flat in Paris next to the Ministry? A small one. And one that was near a bakery, so that in the morning she could sit at a little table sipping coffee and eating fresh croissants. It didn't matter if it'd be a muggle bakery. In fact, the mugglier the better as far as she was concerned. Yes, things were certainly looking up.
She bumped into someone as she exited the bathroom.
"Excuse-moi," she said, horrified at her misdemeanour. Hurriedly steadying the person Antoinette looked up, and gasped. It was the redheaded woman! Antoinette took a moment to appreciate the woman's spectacular green eyes, and how wide they opened, as she realised just who she had bumped into as well.
The woman looked highly uncomfortable. "That's alright; I wasn't watching where I was going." She coughed a little. "And while I'm at it I should apologise for all the, erm, staring that my companions and I did today. You must think us horribly rude."
Antoinette blinked, surprised at the woman's apology, certain she wouldn't have admitted to her actions.
"That's quite alright." The woman looked surprised, then relieved. This annoyed Antoinette. Did she think she was just going to get off without an explanation? "I must admit, though, it did annoy me, and gave rise to the question of why you were staring at me in the first place?"
The woman's blush was even redder up close than it had been at the tables. "W-well, you see," she stuttered, then seemed to look resolved. "Perhaps you'd better follow me, you can see with your own eyes."
Antoinette felt confused. See what? But the woman wasn't waiting for an answer, she merely gestured to the corridor and Antoinette followed.
"I'm Lily by the way. Lily Potter."
Antoinette was inwardly surprised. Potter? They were certainly a prestigious pureblood family. One of the most prestigious in England. "I'm —" she began.
"Antoinette Le Creux, I know," Lily Potter said, confusing Antoinette even more. Of course it was possible she had asked around and found out her name from somebody . . . but . . . she spoke it with such conviction, like she was so certain that she was right. "We, that is my companions and I, were just on our way home. I needed a quick nip in the bathroom."
Antoinette could not imagine why Lily Potter had told her this. Lily Potter must have realised the same thing, because she blushed scarlet again. "Anyway, we, that is, my family and I, found someone on our way out and . . . well, you'll see."
Antoinette certainly hoped she would see. She was curious and the woman's half statements were getting bothersome.
They walked around the corner of the corridor and into the hall where she and her family had first apparated. There, standing in front of The Fountain of Magical Brethren were four males. The werewolf, the black-haired man, the baby and. . . him? Her muggle stranger from the street in front of The Leaky Cauldron! Well, she couldn't exactly call him a muggle stranger now, could she? For one, he was actually standing in the Ministry of Magic, for another, he looked nothing like a muggle now.
He was, in fact, dressed in wizard fashion. Impeccable wizard fashion. Dark grey robes of pure silk draped his body, and, had Antoinette thought he looked good in muggle clothes? He was positively resplendent in wizard robes. Though, she had to admit, they did cover a lot more of his body than she would have liked, but, he was here!
Why was he here?
He hadn't noticed her yet, (though it was doubtful he'd recognise her or remember her when he did, and it could also be because he was facing the other way) but his two companions, the werewolf and the black-haired man, had. Their mouths gaped in shock.
Lily Potter, with a nervous glance at Antoinette, cleared her throat. "Ahem, Sirius?"
Antoinette froze. Sirius? Surely not!
But Sirius, if it was in fact him, apparently hadn't noticed Lily Potter's interruption, or his friends' wandering attentions, because he kept talking.
" . . . really horrible! And damned itchy! Just tell me one thing, James. Make my day, would you, even lie to me if you have to! Was she really furious? At my lack of absence, I mean. What am I saying, of course she was! The old hag wouldn't be able to keep it in! I'm surprised the bloody ceiling hasn't collapsed by now!"
Sirius finally noticed he was being ignored. He waved a hand in front of his friends' faces. "James? Remus?"
"Sirius?" James said, blinking at him.
"Have you heard a bloody word I've said?" Sirius demanded.
"Yes, of course. It's just . . . you'd better turn around, Padfoot."
Sirius threw his best friend a partly amused, partly confused, partly irritated look, but obliged him.
The first thing he thought was: When exactly do fairies grow so big? but common sense prevailed and he felt like a right idiot. It wasn't a fairy he was staring at, at all, but a young woman. A familiar looking young woman whom Sirius was sure he'd met before, but couldn't hit his nose on it at the moment.
She wore a robe of silver, half medieval half piratical in design with long hoops for sleeves so that just the tips of her fingers peeked out. Sirius suddenly imagined himself lying her down on his sofa and sucking on those fingers, and—Merlin, calm down, boy!
Her hair was golden-white, but more gold than white . . . whatever, it was somewhere in between. Her features were decidedly elven and rather delicate, and Sirius felt he couldn't be faulted for thinking she was a fairy. When his gaze met hers at last he was hit with such a jolt of pure lust that he almost gasped with it.
Sapphires, his mind whispered, and Sirius agreed wholeheartedly. He knew suddenly without a doubt that if he were to date this girl he'd always buy her sapphires for presents. And . . . that was it! Those eyes. He'd met those eyes before when they'd collided with his own through a window at The Leaky Cauldron.
He smiled satisfactorily. He'd been intrigued by those eyes, despite the fact he hadn't even had a proper glimpse of their owner, and was now fairly crowing at having met her.
He was attracted, there was no doubt.
"Sirius Black, luv," he said, extending a hand. She flushed pink at the endearment and Sirius grinned. When she handed him her hand to shake he grasped it gently in his own and brought it up to kiss. Those beautiful eyes widened.
Neither of them noticed the amused looks being exchanged around them. "And who might you be?" he asked, and the amused looks turned to ones of consternation.
"I'm, well, I'm Antoinette, I suppose."
He grinned at her stuttering. "Antoinette is it? What a lovely—What!"
Antoinette jumped a little at his shout, realising he had yet to let go of her hand. In fact, he tightened his around hers to the point of it almost being pain. "Please tell me your last name isn't Le Creux?" The man sounded almost pained. In fact he closed his eyes tightly, as if he were making a wish, or as if he were praying.
"Yes," she said a little hesitantly.
She found herself realised so fast she almost tripped.
"Oh dear!" Lily Potter exclaimed, holding onto her arm. "Are you alright? Sirius, really! That was uncalled for!"
"I beg to differ, Lily. It was totally called for."
Both Antoinette and Lily gasped at his callousness. "Sirius!" Lily hissed, but he wasn't paying much attention to her; wasn't paying much attention to anything beyond Antoinette at the moment.
Developing an expression of deep disgust he looked her slowly up and down. Antoinette shivered, this time with misgiving instead of the pleasant tremble he'd invoked in her the first time he'd done so. His gaze was nothing like before. His look now was so filled with loathing that Antoinette was surprised she wasn't dying where she stood. The eyes she'd thought so wondrous before were now dark, empty, uncaring . . . soulless.
He hates me, she realised, with some surprise. Truly, irrevocably hates me.
But the thing that really depressed her was that before he knew who she was he hadn't acted like he'd hated her.
So he hated her did he? Hated her without even knowing her? Antoinette decided, foolishly perhaps, to see if she could change that. If he wasn't willing to become friends at least, or even allies (because it was obvious he wanted to get married as much as she did) well, they would be doomed from the start.
She held out her hand. Briskly. "It is nice to meet you."
Sirius sneered down at it, looking as though he'd swallowed something nasty.
Well, there went that plan, Antoinette thought, not really surprised.
There was a tense, awkward silence among those present. Eyes flitted from one to the other, waiting. Finally, Sirius spoke: "I would say the same, but I don't like you."
She heard Lily Potter's stunned gasp beside her. Yet Antoinette showed no emotion on her face, besides the lifting of her brow. Well, he'd gone too far this time, hadn't he? To the point of being insulting without provocation.
"How wonderful for you," Antoinette said, exhibiting all the dryness she could into her tone. "But don't presume to judge me before you get to know me. Otherwise I might just exhibit upon you the same distasteful mannerisms you are now so kindly showing me."
A stunned silence followed that statement. Everyone except Sirius and Antoinette looked uncomfortable, no doubt wishing they were elsewhere.
Sirius, on the other hand, clenched his fist in anger at her smartly put statement. So miss hoity toity wants to play does she? How dare she try to provoke me? "You have no idea who you're playing with little girl. I can tear you to shreds with my words," he whispered hoarsely.
Antoinette's expression didn't look particularly caring. In fact it didn't look anything at all.
Sirius was furious that his words hadn't affected her as he'd wanted. What was she made of stone that she had no feeling? He'd been right about her all along then, he thought with a perverse sort of satisfaction. She was nothing but a haughty, pureblood, muggle-hating ice princess of a witch!
But she was a damned fine ice princess. Sirius swallowed gruffly. He'd bloody well better keep his hands to himself unless he wanted to be stuck with her forever.
"We need to talk." Not caring about his friends or what they would think, Sirius strode forward and grabbed her arm in a rather painful hold (if her gasp was anything to judge by) and more or less dragged her around the corridor and into the female toilets.
There he released her roughly, and started pacing in front of the sinks. Her eyes followed him warily, no doubt thinking he was mentally deficient. Good. Let her think that. Let her think badly of him. Let her think something for Merlin's sake, instead of just standing there like a statue.
He stopped pacing, unclenched his jaw, and leaned up against the sink with his arms crossed. "Let's get something perfectly straight. I don't like you. I will never like you. But I will marry you. And you will marry me. And you will give every impression that we are a happily engaged couple who are . . . in love," he spat, and lifted his angry gaze from the floor to her eyes. She gave nothing away. "I don't know if my mother has told you, but I am estranged from the family, and the only reason why I'm marrying you is to get back my inheritance."
She was as cool as ice.
He frowned. "Say something damn it!"
"Thank you for being honest with me."
Sirius gaped. He couldn't help it. Can nothing shake this girl? How he hated her!
"You're welcome," he said in a tone that implied anything but. "So you do understand what we must do?"
Her head moved ever so slightly down, as if by its own violation. "We must keep up the pretence of amour until we marry."
Sirius snorted. Amour indeed. Not bloody likely. "Not quite. We must also go on a honeymoon after that. Then I'll be free, and you can do whatever the hell you want."
She nodded slowly, calculatingly. "When do we start this charade then?"
"Right now."
"Must we . . . ?" she trailed off. Sirius watched as a pink flush blossomed on her cheekbones.
"Must we what?" he snapped. "Get on with it!"
There was no indication that she'd been bothered by his tone, as Sirius had hoped she'd be. "Must we show affection in public? Must we . . ." her crystal blue gaze, which had been directed downwards, lifted to his, "kiss?"
At her words, and at her look, Sirius closed his eyes and had to hurriedly cross his legs in order to hide the growing evidence of his arousal. He had tired, he really had, to remain cold and indifferent to her, but one little word from those heart-shaped lips blew that all to the devil. Not to mention her eyes . . . well Sirius had already proven that he made a complete arse of himself when confronted by them. There was nothing for it; he would just have to avoid them.
Nonetheless, he didn't think he could control himself if he was expected to actually kiss her in order to perpetuate their ruse. Thank Merlin that he wouldn't have to. He wasn't stupid. He loved women, and had enjoyed their pleasures ever since he was sixteen. He was a red-blooded male for Merlin's sake, and he knew that he could easily succumb to her and then try to seduce her, all because of the way she looked. No, kissing was out of the question, on account of the sake of his sanity and continued pride. But why oh why did she have to turn out so damned beautiful? Why couldn't she be ugly? It would be so much easier to deal with her then.
"No, we don't."
Well thank Merlin for that. Antoinette didn't know if her heart could handle their kisses when she'd know that they meant nothing to him. At least she wouldn't have that problem now. But it would still be so easy to fall in love with him. He was so deucedly handsome, and no doubt he knew it, too, the wretch! Oh, she felt like crying. All the hurtful things he'd said . . . but she would never give him the satisfaction. He would never know just how much he had hurt her. No, she would wait until she was alone and until she found a quite place to vent out her frustration. This meeting had gone even worse than she'd expected it to.
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