Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not. All I own is Antoinette, her family, and the plot.
A/N: To answer the questions I put forth at the end of the last chapter. Davey Gudgeon is the boy who nearly lost his eye compliments of the Whomping Willow (as Remus tells Harry in POA). And why Sirius mistakes Toni's desire for fear and disgust of him is exactly the same reason she does. Sirius thinks that she is bad – as in bordering on being a Death Eater bad – like his mum. He thinks she doesn't like him because, like his Mum, he thinks that she thinks he's good.
On a side note, I just found out the real names of Sirius's parents. They're Walburga and Orion (I'd previously been using Leonis and Agrafelda). I'm going to use them from now on. I'm also going to try and go back to the previous chapters and switch the names around so it's all consistent.
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Chapter six: Second Date
"–ing Nimbus. Course it's the best racing broom in the world–"
"–three Galleons–!"
"–during the race and market them. Daily Prophet would have a field–"
"–I said no, Jeremy! Put that down at once–!"
"–OOOOWWWWW! Blasted bludger hit me in the knackers!"
Antoinette blinked at that last one and turned her head slightly in order to better see the commotion. A pinstriped-suited man with an overabundance of hair gel was crouching by the magazine stall and clutching his groin with an exceedingly painful expression on his face. A shorter man by his side, also hair-gelled, was struggling to put a bludger back into its box. The bludger was not being very cooperative.
"It aint doin' it proper Reggie!" said the bludger man, still struggling. "It aint wantin' to go back in!"
The aforementioned Reggie compressed his lips so tightly that they resembled a white line, and groaned. He didn't seem as if he was listening to his companion at all.
"I need some help with this, Reg! I've got m' hands tied with this and I can't reach for m' wand!"
Reggie whimpered, still clutching his crotch and looking like he would very much like to be somewhere a lot more comfortable. He did, however, make an effort to lift his wand, aim a curse at the bludger, miss, then drop his wand hand again, groaning.
Antoinette frowned and looked about. The vast crowd of wizards and witches were scurrying along the grassy path, not seeming to notice or not seeming to care about the two wizards and the bludger off to their sides. Others still were shopping at nearby stalls and looked disinclined to offer a lending wand. Stifling a sigh Antoinette weaved her way through the crowd of passers-by and over to the magazine stall.
"Perhaps you should have that looked at," she offered kindly when she reached them, not daring to stare down. "Apparate to St Mungo's, I believe the name is. I am certain that your friend can handle the bludger by himself."
Reggie cast her a grateful look, and before his friend finished his "Hey, wait a mo!'" he had disapparated.
The short friend rounded on Antoinette. "Now who's gonna help me get this bludger back in?"
"I will," she answered promptly.
He blinked. "Oh. Righ' then. Well, you'll need to petrify it first; otherwise it'll be your knackers what it'll get hit. I mean, er . . . ," he trailed off, as if just realising that Antoinette was a woman and so did not have the pre-articulated "knackers".
Antoinette got the gist and stopped the man before he hurt himself from embarrassment. "I understand, Monsieur . . .?"
The man blinked, grunted, then said over the still struggling bludger, "Oh, righ'. The name's Pickle. Pickle Dolger. But m'mates call me Pickly. I'd offer you m'hand but as you can see . . ."
Bemused slightly at the very Britishesque name, and at his gentle prodding, Antoinette calmly extricated her wand from her right sleeve pocket and petrified the bludger. It stopped it struggle to escape at once.
Pickly, looking hugely relieved, quickly locked it in its box, straightened, looked at Antoinette, and gaped. "Blimey," he breathed. "You're beautiful!"
She blinked. "Oh," was all she could think to say. Not that she was shocked at having been called beautiful before, because she had ―so many times that it was becoming embarrassing, frankly― but because it had come so out of the blue. "Merci," she mumbled.
Pickly went pink suddenly and looked down. "Would you, I mean, would you like to go–? "
"She's not going to go anywhere with you because she's engaged to be married. To me. Now kindly scamper off."
Poor Pickle Dolger had "scampered" even before Sirius had finished his sentence ―but not before grabbing his box of bludgers.
Antoinette turned around, slowly. She had gotten used to her fiancé coming up behind her unexpectedly so the thudding of her heart ceased a lot faster now. As always, her first sight of him sent a jolt of something wild to blossom in her belly, despite the fact she'd seen him not five minutes ago.
"Here," he growled, thrusting his right hand at her. A beautiful hand. "They didn't have pumpkin juice so I got you a Butterbeer."
She accepted the flask with a nod.
His jaw flexed. Breath hissed over teeth. "Stop staring at me like that."
Like what? Was it possible she'd actually shown him . . .? Mortified, she dropped her gaze to the ground, put the flask to her lips, and swallowed. Hard. A second later she was coughing.
Sirius muttered something like, "Silly chit," and proceeded to pound her back with the flat of his palm.
After a few minutes of pounding she drew breath to rasp, "Thank you, but you can stop now."
Sirius agreed wholeheartedly. Touching her, even this un-intimate, almost parodical pounding of her back, was giving his body ideas. He needed to clear some space in the air between them before he was tempted to put his hand somewhere else. Like her rump.
The thought brought forth a mental groan.
He cleared his throat. "The race is going to start in twenty minutes. I suggest we get going. Otherwise we won't be able to ―what are you doing!" His eyes, which had been skimming over the crowd as he spoke, had somehow found their way to her lips, which, he saw, were wrapped lusciously around the tip of the bottle.
She tipped the bottle back in enough to say, "What?" Then her tongue peeked out to lick the tiny drops of moisture on her bottom lip.
He turned away sharply, eyes closed. "It's nothing," he said tightly, ignoring the jolt under his robes. "We'd best get going."
He grabbed her hand before she could think to put it by her side, then manoeuvred them through the crowd. Mother, I hope you rot in an early grave, he thought sourly. After another moment he extended the thought. And Dumbledore.
"So, what exactly is this annual broom race?" he heard her ask.
At last something to talk about!
"Exactly what it implies." They paused for a moment to avoid bumping into an enthusiastic youngster, then continued. "It's an annual broom race. In this case around the British Isles. Begins in Hexam in the north, and goes all the way to Southampton, with a brief stop in Birmingham for refreshments."
She walked by his side but he didn't dare look at her yet. "But how does the audience play into it all. Surely we aren't going to, to fly after the competitors? If, as I suspect, we are not, then what is the point of having an audience?"
He stopped walking and looked down at her. She jerked a little to avoid hitting him.
"This year the course is more hazardous than in previous years," he explained, staring into her lovely eyes. "We either apparate or portkey to all the appointed stops so we can be there in the couple of seconds it takes for the competitors to pass by, or we stay here and wait for them to return. It's going to take more than a couple of days for them to do so, and I don't think you or I will want to prolong this date anymore than we have to. I suggest we stay only the one day to mill about and see all the sights."
He'd paused when he'd said the word 'date'. Antoinette exhaled; surprised she wasn't feeling the bitter disappointment that such a statement from him usually brought her. Perhaps it was because he had said it without his usual nasty zeal. He'd almost sounded bored. As if he had to say it.
"Sirius?" she began, but stopped when he looked as if he'd like to continue walking. But he didn't. He turned back to stare at her instead. "Yes, Toni?"
The crowd continued to move around their prone figures as she told herself not to stiffen. He'd persisted in calling her that ever since he'd heard her father do so, and Antoinette was not inclined to tell him to stop. What would he care that only her very close family called her that, and no one else. What would he care that it annoyed her when he continued to do so. It would only give him more ammunition against her. She somehow suspected he knew how she felt, which was why he persisted.
"I need to use the nearest facilities."
He blinked. Then straightened. "Right." Perusing the grassy expanse upon which innumerable stalls of all sorts of diverse goods were being sold, Sirius found the bathroom at last. "It's just over there," he pointed. "I'll walk you."
They came eventually upon a decrepit looking ―there was no other word for it― shack, squeezed between a Quidditch supply stall and a trinket selling cottage-shaped stall. Antoinette knew from previous experience that the outside appearance of something did not necessarily reflect the inside in the wizarding world, so there was no hesitation in her step as she opened the door to the bathroom and stepped inside.
Except Sirius had yet to let go of her hand.
She turned slightly and glanced at him, then at their joined hands, hoping he'd get the message.
With only a slight frown between his brows, he did.
She closed the door behind her, then leaned against it. Expelling a relieved breath, she looked around. Already there were a few witches trundling about. There was, at least, fifty gleaming white toilet stalls positioned alongside fifty mirrors. The place smelled faintly of pinewood. It was a pleasant scent.
Five minutes later Antoinette stepped out of the bathroom and onto the grassy expanse once more.
She looked around for a moment, then blinked in confusion.
Sirius was gone.
He was not in the surrounding crowd either. She stood on her toes to give her more lift and scanned over the tops of people's heads for his familiar midnight robes and elegantly swept back hair. Frowning when she still couldn't spot him she let her feet carry her weight once more.
She was just about to head into the crowd in hopes of somehow coming upon him unexpectedly when a group of elderly wizards that had been chatting exuberantly in front of her decided to part ways, and she saw him.
He was on the opposite side leaning casually against a support post of a stall that seemed to be selling tatty looking robes. He was smiling. Laughing actually. He looked so beautiful in that moment that she had to catch her breath. She started to smile with him, purely a reflex action, until she noticed just what he was smiling at.
Her blood froze.
In front of him was a woman. Antoinette couldn't see much more beyond the back of her, but even that was enough to ascertain that the woman's figure was attractive encased in blue silk robes that swept loose and fluttering over her limbs, and that she must have had an attractive face too. Sirius would never have been smiling like that at her otherwise; like she was his entire world. Like whatever she was saying was the funniest he had ever heard.
Without doubt, Antoinette knew she was jealous.
She paused a moment to reflect on this emotion.
She didn't think she'd ever been jealous before. She was an only child after all, and so, did not experience the competitiveness that most siblings did when vying for their parents' attention. She had never really liked that many boys before either, so she did not experience the accompanying jealousy that usually came with seeing the boy she admired talking to a girl that was not Antoinette.
She was bemused, and a little shocked, that it was happening to her now. With that realisation came an epiphany. She knew now that her feelings for Sirius, her feelings of desire and lust, were strong enough to incite her to jealousy, and anger, because he, her fiancé, hers, was flirting with some random woman.
But, said the annoying little voice in the back of her mind, what if she isn't random? What if she's his lover! You yourself thought it before. Someone who looks that good would not be wont for company. Women probably throw themselves at him all the time.
Antoinette agreed completely.
Her shoulders straightened seemingly on their own accord as she strolled through the crowd of shoppers over to the other side. She had deliberately strolled in a direction that would place her directly behind and to the right of Sirius, so neither he nor his lady love would spot her until she chose to be spotted. That way she could listen in without being observed, or without the woman thinking she was some hopeless, pathetic eavesdropper. Placing herself behind the support post Sirius was leaning on, she listened.
". . . doing well. He had a tickle in his throat the other day, I think, but Lily whipped up some pepper-up and he's as good as new now."
"What about James? He had a black eye last week."
"Oh that?" Sirius laughed. "I, er, got a bit shirty with him in one of my Firewhiskey induced hazes. He knew not to bother me but he was a bit drunk himself at the time."
"I didn't notice any bruises on you, though."
"Lily arrived before it could get too out of hand."
"So why didn't he magick it away?"
The conversation continued for some time in this vein until Antoinette began to feel a little foolish. Quite obviously Sirius and the mysterious woman were not lovers. More like friendly acquaintances that knew each other through other friendly acquaintances. Sirius even inquired the health for someone named Neville, whom, Antoinette presumed after listening to the answer filled with motherly pride, was the woman's son.
Now assured that Sirius was not having a secret liaison, she planned to walk back to the bathroom stalls and await him there. She planned to do that, but didn't get around to it because the whispered words, "When's the next meeting?" froze her.
The woman answered, just as quietly. "In two days, I think. Dung told me about it."
Her heart thudding Antoinette leaned closer to catch Sirius's reply, her ears straining. "I can see why you're unsure. I wouldn't trust anything Dung says either ―unless he wasn't drunk when he said it?"
"No, no, he was quite sober . . . I think."
He laughed.
"So, Sirius, tell me about this fiancée of yours? Everyone's dying to meet her, you know."
They are?
"I know," came the strained reply.
The woman laughed. "You needn't look like that; your scowl doesn't work on me. But what's the problem? Lily tells me she's beautiful. Or was she lying to me?"
"Of course she wasn't lying! Toni's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
Antoinette blinked at his suddenly serious tone. I am?
"Oh Toni is, is she?" said the woman. "Well you must introduce me at the wedding, then."
"You don't need to wait that long, she's here."
"What d'you mean, 'she's here'?"
"I mean exactly that. I've brought her here with me to view the race. Or at least the start of the race."
"You mean to say she's been here all this time? I hope you didn't leave the poor girl alone just to come talk to me."
"She's in the bathroom," came the grumble.
"So what?"
"You know how long it takes for women to―" He sighed. "I'll see if she's finished."
"Don't forget to come back and introduce us."
Dieu! Antoinette cursed inwardly. The only way she'd be able to beat Sirius now was to apparate into the bathrooms, but that would leave a telltale popping sound as she left, also when she arrived, and already she could see him weaving his way steadily through the dense crowd. There was nothing for it; she would have to do it.
Eyes screwed in concentration she felt the tight feeling of a cork being compressed into a bottle of champagne encompass her body, before ―pop!
She arrived to the sound of screeching, the feeling of something squashy.
"Dieu!" she cursed again, this time aloud.
She extricated herself from the poor soul she'd landed on, praying for it not to be an elderly witch or a young child.
It wasn't.
It was quite a robust woman.
"I am so sorry, madame," she pleaded, hauling the witch up by her arms ―an effort that left her gasping for breath, and her own arms straining.
"I should say so!" the woman snapped. She jerked away from Antoinette and straightened her hat, the pointed tip of which had gone lopsided and crinkled. "You don't apparate inside bathrooms, girl! Didn't your instructors teach you that? You could have landed on a toilet. Or worse, on someone sitting on a toilet!"
"I'm so sorry," she said again.
The woman harrumphed, opened the door, and stalked out ―straight into Sirius.
They toppled. Sirius backwards, the woman forwards. She screeched. Sirius cursed. Antoinette laughed. She simply could not help it. The sight of her masculinely graceful fiancé, limbs flailing in an effort to stop falling, but not succeeding, with a large woman on rolling on top of him, her robes hustled up to reveal ―Antoinette gasped and quickly pointed her wand. The woman's robes were yanked down by an invisible force― the sight was enough to make even her Aunt Helena laugh.
"Bloody hell!" Sirius growled. He rolled the large witch off of him. She instantly scrambled up, shot him a glare, and marched into the crowd, muttering, "Never, in all my forty one years . . ."
Her fiancé was left sitting on his haunches with his legs spread out in front of him, looking thoroughly irate and thoroughly confused.
He looked up at her as she stepped into the space before him.
"Don't you dare laugh," he snarled.
She smiled, "You're a little late to be telling me that."
He scowled at her, then shot up.
She swallowed the squeak that built in her throat at this lithe movement. She swallowed another one when he came to loom over her. This didn't disconcert her as much as he must have hoped because she was tall herself ―her head reaching to just below his nose― so he didn't look as intimidating to her as he must have been trying to be.
He grabbed her hand. "Let's go or we're going to miss the start."
As they weaved their way through the crowded marketplace Antoinette could not help thinking if Sirius had forgotten to introduce her to his friend on purpose, or by accident.
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"RACERS READY! STEADY ON―GREAT MERLIN! MCCUDGEON, CONTROL YOUR BROOM, WILL YOU –? IT'S GOING INTO THE BLEECHERS! EVERYBODY DUCK . . .! Ahem, WELL IT LOOKS LIKE HE'S NOT GOING TO BE COMPETETING ANYMORE. THE REST OF YOU LOT LINE UP AGAIN . . . AND SOMEBODY TAKE MCCUDGEON TO THE INFIRMARY. LOOKS LIKE A NASTY KNOCK UPSIDE THE HEAD. COMPETITORS, ON MY WHISTLE . . . THREE. TWO. ONE. Shhhhhhhrrrrrrr!"
The announcer's magically magnified whistle exploded over the moor and hands were quick to be thrown over ears.
A child in the front row started crying.
"OOPSIE. SORRY ABOUT THAT."
"When I find whoever's commentating I'm going to kill him," Alice Longbottom said, hands fisting on her lap.
"Not if I find him first," Sirius drawled, extracting his palms from over his ears.
"Antoinette dear, are you all right? You look positively green."
Antoinette smiled at the concerned look in Alice's eyes, and lied. "Yes. It's just . . . I think that that Butterbeer I had earlier was a little . . . not good."
"Oh dear. Perhaps you should think about going home?"
Sirius eyed her speculatively. "Are you certain it was the Butterbeer and not something else you drank, or ate for that matter? I'm quite sure they place preserving charms on the Butterbeer stocks."
"Oh leave her alone, Sirius," said Alice before Antoinette could come up with an answer. "Must you be suspicious about everything? If she says it was the Butterbeer, than I believe her. You should take her home. Or better yet, come to my house. I've some household potions I give to Neville when he's got an upset stomach."
"No!" said Sirius sharply. Alice stared at him. He amended, "That is, we have a previous engagement. In fact," he continued, staring at a supposed watch on his hand, "we'd best get going. We were only going to stay until the start of the race anyway. No point hanging around now that it's over."
"If I didn't know better, Sirius Black," Alice began, a disproving frown between her brows, "I'd say you were overly anxious to not show off your lovely fiancée ―or even let your friends meet her."
He stiffened. Said softly, "Was I that obvious?"
Alice gaped and quickly glanced at Antoinette, as if to judge the hurt reaction such callousness was sure produce.
She revealed nothing. His attitude had become an everyday sort of thing for her.
"We're leaving," he informed them, voice clipped. Grabbing her hand he spared a parting nod for Alice who, snapping out of her shocked state, waved in return. Antoinette just had time to answer Alice's smile with one of her own before Sirius propelled them out of the stands and into the marketplace once more. He jostled her behind the toilet shack, then released her.
"Why did you lie to your friend?" she asked.
"Why did you lie about the Butterbeer?" he instantly shot back.
Not wanting to admit that she'd lied because she'd gotten almost physically sick over the recent revelations her thoughts had led to about Sirius, she asked her question again.
Surprisingly, he didn't ask her his question, but answered with one of his own. "About what?"
"That we have a previous engagement."
"I didn't. And we do. The Potter's have invited us over for an early dinner. They'd like to meet you properly. Why, I have no idea."
"Why didn't you tell me this before?" It was annoying her that he wasn't looking up at her. Instead, the grass seemed to have captured his attention. Why wouldn't he? What was wrong with him?
Sirius was in such pain he thought he would combust. He knew if he were to look at her right now he would not be responsible for his actions. Her scent (some sort of exotic perfume) was clugging his senses, playing havoc with his brain. Her palm, which he found fit so perfectly in his, had been so soft, so feminine. He'd wanted to bite at that supple flesh, and still did. And her eyes . . . they got him every time. His jaw clenched with frustration. He needed some space alone. Some space where she wasn't. The bathroom gave him the perfect excuse.
"We'll leave in five minutes. I need the lavatories." With that said he stalked into the Men's room.
He stood leaning by the mirror sink, sloshing cool water on his face and neck. That was better. That was a lot better. He was in control now.
He evaporated the excess water with a flick of his wand, drew a deep breath, stepped out, and saw her―and was instantly hit with such a jolt of wonder his steps almost faulted. She wasn't even doing anything out of the ordinary, merely standing where he'd left her. But the dipping sun, the gold redness of it, was glowing through her elegantly tall form. Her white-blond curls, piled wispily on top of her head, were transformed into a halo of gold. Her robes, currently a light amethyst tone, glowed like purple jewels. She was facing away from him, staring into the surrounding mist of the moors. She looked like some fairy queen come to steal away hapless mortals. He could just make out her pert nose, so feminine. Her feathery lashes, glowing brown-gold. Her mouth, full and suck― Sirius stopped his dangerous thoughts as soon as he felt the answering movement under his robes.
"Damn you, mother," he murmured, a little half-heartedly. He also thought that he might perhaps be getting used to the reaction she induced in him. He cleared his throat and stalked the couple of metres towards her. "Are you ready?"
She turned completely around and stared at him through narrowed sapphire eyes. He groaned inwardly. "Yes."
"Good," he rasped. He closed his eyes―
"Wait!"
They opened at her tone. "What?"
"I don't know where this place is. How will I apparate? In case it's slipped your mind, one cannot apparate to a place they have never been before."
He stared at her. Damn it! He hadn't thought of that. How were they going to . . . ? He groaned, aloud this time, at having realised the only option available to them.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Does it bloody well matter?" he said nastily. "Now come here!"
"Pardon?"
He sneered at the look in her eyes. He was beginning to realise that all her emotions were displayed in her eyes, for the entire world to see. He just had to interpret them. "Side-along apparition," was all he induced to say.
Her lips formed an "oh".
He waited patiently until she came. No way was he going to move in anyway. It would be too much for him to handle at the moment. The thought of putting his arms around her lovely form . . .
She walked until she reached him. He stiffened when she put her arm through his, then sighed internally when he realised that was all she was inclined to do.
He didn't give her any warning. He just apparated. He did, however, hear her gasp of uncomfortable surprise right before and right after the teleportation was complete.
They had arrived.
The Potter house on Godric's Hollow was not overly large, per se, but it was larger than average. Two storeys (or should that be four storeys) with a cellar and an attic. It was built of fine stone, or brick, or something that made it look medieval as well as Victorian. It had that quite elegance about it that suggested old money, but that the owner of which was simply too eccentric, or too nice, to be arrogant about. This was influenced even more by the small vines of flowers that grew over its surface.
The surrounding front garden was a hive of hedges, tall grasses, oak trees . . . It was, Sirius reflected, rather like the house. Busy, but somehow well-organized at the same time.
They stood now just outside the small gate.
He felt Antoinette's hand (which still rested on him) trail down the length of his arm, his elbow, and finally slip into his.
He shivered, then, remembering himself, jerked back. "What are you doing?"
She looked puzzled. "I thought. . ."
He smiled, not nicely. "We don't have to pretend in front of my friends. They know I don't like you, or our situation. Remember?"
Her eyes widened. Then blinked. And blinked again. She looked away rapidly.
He frowned. Was she, perhaps, crying? He scoffed inwardly. It was more likely that he'd gotten her so furious with him she'd had to turn away, or risk countering his anger.
Antoinette, however, could not believe that she'd let go of her emotions like that. She didn't know what had happened, but suspected it had something to do with the casual tone Sirius had delivered his little insult in. Otherwise, why was she trying not to cry now?
He opened the gate and walked in without offering for her to do so first, as was the traditional way. She wasn't surprised.
Following him down the narrow dusty path she almost rammed into him as he stopped abruptly. He merely glanced back, said, "Watch where you're going, will you?" in that bored, drawling tone of his, then knocked on the door.
They didn't have to wait long. It opened, revealing James Potter.
He was attractive, Antoinette realised as she got a good look at him up close for the first time. Very attractive. He also, she noted, looked quite a bit like Sirius, with his jet black hair and tall, hard-boned frame. But then all the pureblood families were interrelated in some way. It was highly possible that they shared a common ancestor. Even Sirius's mother was related to Antoinette's family. Though, very distantly.
"Padfoot," James Potter said happily, shaking the aforementioned's hand.
"Prongs," her fiancé responded, just as cheerfully.
Then the bespectacled hazel eyes turned her way and visibly warmed, "and Mademoiselle Le Creux. My wife will be thrilled that you've consented to come."
He offered his hand and she took it, then he quickly ushered them inside. Antoinette was left wondering just what in the whole of Merlin's wizarding world a "padfoot" and "prongs" were. She decided it must have been some sort of secret code greeting between longstanding friends, and left it at that.
Once they entered the small, ornate entrance hall, Sirius elevated his nose. "What's that smell?" he asked.
Antoinette had been too busy paying attention to the hard expanse of smooth-shaven neck he'd revealed to notice any such strange smell, but hearing his question she sniffed ―and was pleasantly surprised to note that she knew what it was. James Potter beat her to the answer. "It's some sort of French dish Lily cooked up especially for tonight. To impress our guest, you know." He sent a wink her way.
Sirius cast her a frown ―she had no idea why― and said, "Yes, James, but what's it called?"
"Have positively no idea, Sirius," James grinned, seemingly unmindful of his friend's sudden glower. "Something beginning with B. 'Booyon' or something."
"Bouillabaisse," Antoinette offered.
"That's it!"
"You mean it's a stew?" Sirius asked with all the aplomb of one who found such things distasteful. "I was hoping for something with a little more substance. Like pork chops, or roast lamb, or even bangers and mash will do."
"Now you're just being difficult," James responded. "And we have all those things ―except bangers and mash. Well," he amended, looking thoughtful, "Harry might have mash, but I doubt he'll want to share it with you."
"You're the regular joker today, James," was what Sirius said to that. "Besides, Harry loves me. Of course he'll want to share with his 'Pad Pad'."
James scowled. "I think you've forgotten to add an extra 'Pad' at the end there."
Sirius grinned slyly. "Just like Harry forgets to add an extra 'Dada' when speaking to you?"
James flushed, brows meeting. "You utter —thing!"
Sirius laughed. "You can't even finish an insult properly." He sighed. "I know you love me, James."
James stared at him for a full thirty seconds, then grinned. "Of course I do, mutt. Wouldn't put up with you otherwise. But come on; dining room's this way. Yes I know you know that, Sirius, I'm only saying it for the benefit of Miss Le Creux." Before Antoinette had a chance to tell him her first name would be fine as an address, James continued. "Dinner isn't quite ready yet because Lily wanted to cook the muggle way. Why does she bother? No, don't answer that."
Antoinette wondered why the house elf's hadn't cooked. Perhaps Lily Potter had wanted to show of her culinary skills?
As James led them down the narrow corridor, passed portraits who waved at them (Antoinette drew back a little when a portrait of a moustached man wearing armour wriggled his eyebrows at her in what he obviously thought was a charming manner), and into the dining room at last, Sirius spoke, "Have the others arrived yet?"
"You're the one who came early," James retorted.
"I take it that's a 'no' then?"
James chuckled at the dry tone.
Antoinette was finding this exchange between the two friends fascinating. It gave a whole new perspective to her on how Death Eaters behaved. Because she knew now that Sirius definitely was one. So was Alice Longbottom. And in extension, James Potter must be also because Alice Longbottom had mentioned him. Though, Antoinette did find it a bit hard to believe that sweet round-faced woman who so obviously adored her son as being Death Eater material. But then why had she spoken of a secret meeting? But, to be a Death Eater, Antoinette assumed one must learn how to be sly, how to pretend, how to put up an act in public.
The only one who wasn't putting up an act, she was sure, was Sirius. He made no bones about hating her after all. He'd obviously sensed some good in her and didn't like it. James Potter, however, was the best actor in the world. Or perhaps she was wrong? Perhaps he wasn't a Death Eater? Perhaps the meeting Alice Longbottom mentioned had nothing to do with Death Eaters at all? Perhaps it was something as simple as a crockery party? Perhaps . . . perhaps she ought to stop driving herself fou, détraqué with all these "perhaps's"?
James told them to take whatever seats at the table suited their fancy, then went away to "check on Harry".
She blinked in surprise when Sirius took the seat next to hers. He simply grinned at her confusion (her heart sped up), plucked a deliciously red apple from the ceramic centrepiece in the middle of the table, and bit into it. He seemed to be in high spirits for someone who just a few minutes ago had proclaimed he didn't like her. Had it been his friend's influence? She'd like to think so. It meant someone could reason with him at least. It meant he could be reasoned with. But no, she suspected it was more the light banter they'd shared ―something only longstanding friends could get away with.
Still munching he reached toward the bowl again, stole another red apple, then held it under her nose, eyebrow raised.
Too surprised already to be even more surprised she palmed the offered apple with a small nod of thanks.
Except Sirius had yet to let go of it.
She sighed internally, then carried out the same action she'd performed in front of the bathroom at the races.
He responded in kind.
She was slightly giddy at the thought that here was something that could be the start of a secret code between them; well possibly not that far along. Just a secret acknowledgment that let him know. . . what? That she was a little uncomfortable with what he was doing? Whatever it was, it was quite . . . pleasant. A feeling she was certain could never have been associated with Sirius, but there it was. With two gestures and an action, a split-second truce had settled between them. It was enough for now.
As she bit into the juicy apple James Potter walked back into the room, his son in his arms.
Sirius stood up so fast she had to lean back to avoid his elbow.
He stayed there until James was standing next to him, plucked the little boy from his arms without even asking, then sat back down.
Harry didn't appear to object. Throughout it all he'd been grinning and holding out his little arms; arms which were now wrapped as far as they could go around her fiancé's neck.
"Harry," Sirius said shortly, in greeting.
"Pad," Harry said, just as seriously.
"So you're down to one now are you?"
James snorted, rolled his eyes, and said while walking out, "You never miss an opportunity, do you?"
"Not with something as important as this," was Sirius's retort.
As Sirius and Harry began to play (consisting mostly of Harry pulling at Sirius's hair and Sirius tickling his belly in response) Antoinette blinked again in surprise. This was so incongruous to what she'd experienced of Sirius's behaviour that she found herself almost squinting in order to find something wrong with the picture.
What she saw was even more confusing. As with his father, she'd never bothered to look at the babe properly last time she'd seen him (being too flummoxed over Sirius's nastiness) but she got a good look at him now. Black unruly curls graced the one-year-old's head. Extraordinarily beautiful large emerald eyes (inherited from his mother) peeked out from under them. A red little mouth, rosy cheeks, creamy skin . . . he was going to be quite the most stunning specimen when he grew up. The combination of the green eyes and black hair proved that entirely ―even without all his other distinctive features.
But what she found confusing was Sirius's reaction to Harry itself. He acted like Harry's father. Kissing the babe's cheeks with such loud smacks of his lips that they left red patches on the smooth pale skin ―but Harry merely giggled delightedly.
He even pointed to his lips at one point, said, "Now what about a kiss for me? Fair's fair after all," and the babe would spread his tiny-fingered hands over either side of Sirius's face and touch lips. The gesture was so beautiful and so innocent of a baby to do (not knowing how to kiss properly yet) that Antoinette felt a tight constriction in her chest and a lump form in her throat.
Sirius's actions spoke of a familiarity that only parents shared with their children, and vice versa. Usually coming about because parents were the ones who spent the most time with their children. Harry was obviously very comfortable with Sirius. Someone who was simply James Potter's best friend should not have that kind of attached familiarity with Harry. He'd have to be almost literally living underfoot to have one.
A loud knocking on the front door interrupted her thoughts. A thudding of footsteps soon followed as either James, or Lily (she suspected the former) rushed toward it.
A muttering of three voices sounded in the corridor outside. A chuckle. A snort. Gentle ribbing. Seconds later three wizards entered the dining room, only two of whom Antoinette had met before. She found herself peering at the third man, who was quite a bit shorter than his companions (and quite a bit rounder), and who James introduced as Peter Pettigrew. He had tiny eyes of a pale blue colour and blondish hair. She noticed, with a start, that he was staring at her. When he noticed she had noticed he looked away extremely quickly.
Assuming it was because he'd been caught up by her looks, like so many other men (her fiancé excluded) she moved her perusal to wizard number two. He, whom James introduced as Remus Lupin, she had seen at the Ministry. He took the seat next to Peter Pettigrew which put him opposite her, smiled a little uncertainly in greeting, then started up a conversation on Quidditch with the rest. She remembered that he was a werewolf, so maybe that was why he looked so uncomfortable. He had tanned skin, light brown hair and eyes, and a few days growth of beard. He certainly was striking. In a rugged, golden sort of way.
Antoinette preferred her men dark.
". . . of course Chudley Cannons aren't even going to make it through their first match, so we can discount them for next year's World Cup," James was saying. "Pride of Portree might be in the running this year. They have a good chance with that new keeper of their's. What's his name? Kingsbutt?"
"Kingsrear," Sirius supplied.
"That's it. He ought to be . . ."
Antoinette tuned them out. She did not exactly hate Quidditch, but could never summon up enough passion to participate in a conversation about it. Besides, except for Sirius, (and even that was stretching it) she did not know these men well enough to try putting her opinion on the table. Though, the French team, Quiberon Quafflepunchers, was quite good she had to admit, though their robes were certainly distasteful. They had a new captain whom Antoinette knew personally, being a few years ahead of her at Beauxbatons. She was Antoinette's tutor in first year ―how to ride a broom without falling off of it and making a complete spectacle of herself tutor, because Antoinette had been horrid. Now she was simply passable.
". . . know what's taking so long? I'm starving. You know, I told her to let her wand do all the work, but no, she wants to do it the "muggle" way. She never did before."
"She's a woman," Sirius said. "They're known for their fickleness."
Remus Lupin cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Antoinette.
Not wanting to give Sirius a chance to say something derogatory ―for Remus Lupin, whether he knew it or not, had just given him an opportunity that she knew he could not resist utilizing― she jumped in with the first thing that popped into her mind. And considering the subject matter it hadn't been hard to think of. "Does Mrs Potter need help in the kitchen?"
James, standing before everyone at the table, looked puzzled for a moment. "Erm . . . well that's probably a good idea."
Antoinette was standing up before he'd finished his sentence. "And the kitchen is . . .?" she prodded.
Looking bemused, James pointed to the archway at the end of the room. "Go into that room and turn right through the double doors."
She inclined her head. "Merci."
As she left the table and walked through the archway an unpleasant feeling settled between her shoulders. She turned her head to see if her suspicions were correct and saw Sirius watching her with a languid curiosity in his expression. Sighing, she merely turned back and strolled through the double doors, leaving her fiancé and his fluctuating emotions behind ―at least for a few minutes.
The kitchen was large, made of stone, and had an enormous wooden bench in the middle with everything from milk to dirt on it. Admittedly the dirt was peat and pushed off to one side.
Lily Potter was standing before the oven which was sitting under a window that depicted the side garden, mixing something with a wooden spoon. Again, Antoinette knew what that something was by the smell. A soufflé. If not mixed carefully and correctly the finished product would look deflated. It was obvious that the redheaded witch had tried five times (unsuccessfully) to make her soufflé. A fact which was evident by the five dessert dishes clattered on either side of the oven.
Antoinette received a mild shock when Lily scrunched up her fists, grabbed the bowl and wooden spoon, and dumped them in the sink. Then she turned the cold water on full blast and proceeded to scrub as hard as she could.
"The instructions make it look easier than it is."
"Oh," Lily whirled around, visibly shocked. "Miss Le Creux! Oh I'd feared ―never mind." A bright red blossomed on her cheekbones.
"I thought you might need some assistance."
"What?" Lily frowned, stared down at the sink. "Oh yes."
"There is no need to be ashamed," Antoinette thought it good to point out. "That you can cook at all without a wand is commendable. Even with a wand I burn food. Though, admittedly, it has been ten years since I've tried."
"That means you were seven. That hardly makes me feel better."
Antoinette smiled a little at the tired tone and the downcast eyes. Truly, the woman was exceptionally beautiful. Like her son, the most distinctive things about her were her eyes and hair ―which, quite unusually unlike other redheads, who were more prone to being ginger in colour, was blood red.
"The one thing I do know how to make exceptionally well is soufflé," was all Antoinette said.
Those green eyes locked onto hers instantly.
"I taught myself to learn it because I was feeling bored. It seemed the easiest dish to learn. I even developed my own recipe after a time."
Lily smiled.
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"So, how's it been down your end these past one and half weeks, Padfoot? Discounting attendant company, of course."
Sirius raised the glass of Butterbeer to his lips (James hadn't let him at the Firewhiskey on account of what Lily would do), took a drink, and contemplated Remus's question. They didn't want him to talk about Toni, because, he suspected, they thought he would start off on another rant about the unfairness of life etcetera and so forth. But they didn't know that he'd finally accepted his situation, and his fiancée. He didn't have to like it, but he'd accepted it. Firewhiskey was helping him accept it even more.
All three, even Harry who was currently playing with his shoelaces on the floor beside the table, were looking at him expectantly. Expressions ranging from curiosity to wariness to impatience to extreme red-facedness (compliments of Harry and what his nappy was being subjected to).
Sirius took another drink. "Nothing much, aside from visiting my mother along with my soon to be in-laws two days ago to work out all the necessary reception details."
"Bet that was fun."
"You're going to have one then?" This, from Peter.
"Tatienne and Edmond insisted it will make us feel properly wed."
"They're paying for it?" James asked, pouring the jug of Butterbeer into his glass.
Sirius nodded. "It's tradition, apparently, for the father of the bride to pay for the reception."
"I wouldn't know."
"You don't know much, James," Sirius retorted.
James rolled his eyes at that. "I meant because my father in-law was nonexistent by the time Lily and I were married, and her mother shortly after. We had to pay for everything ourselves because my parents were deceased, too, remember?"
"I remember. But it's not like we're having a large wedding. Ten people at most from my side, about the same from Toni's."
Sirius failed to note the bemused glances his three friends exchanged at the affectionate nickname he'd bestowed his fiancé as he'd been taking a drink at the time. A far cry, they all thought, from the pronoun he'd been calling her in the past ―Her.
Remus leaned an arm on the table. "Anything else you had to do?"
"Now that you mention it, I did end up procuring a Ministry-approved portkey for our honeymoon―"
"To where?" they all shouted.
Sirius drew back a little at their obvious enthusiasm. Well, he supposed they were allowed to feel excited for him, even if he wasn't. "Greece. Then, after a week, Egypt."
Peter looked confused. "But I thought you wanted to go to the Mediterranean?"
Sirius paused in the process of sipping his drink, not quite believing his friend had said that.
He wasn't the only one.
"Greece is in the Mediterranean, Wormtail," James informed him, adjusting his glasses. "So's Egypt for that matter."
"Oh," Peter blushed. "Well how was I supposed to know?"
"Everyone knows," Sirius muttered. "At least everyone sane."
Peter heard him, flushed even more (this time in anger), and defended himself. "I don't know why they have to give everything more than one name. It gets confusing."
Sirius suddenly grinned. "That's why you have us as friends, Peter. You can say whatever you like to us and we wouldn't care."
"Yeah," he said.
"You know I still can't quite believe you're going to have a wife in three days. It's sort of sacrilege isn't it? All the laws of God and Man state that Sirius Black shouldn't be allowed to get married."
Sirius tilted his head, accepting the compliment. "Thank you very much, Moony. But what made you think of that?"
"I remember you saying it at James's wedding."
"I don't."
"You were a bit, erm, indisposed at the time."
Sirius cocked his head. "Which one?"
"I think its name was Jim Bean."
"Ah," he said thoughtfully, "muggle. Quite good, you know. Not as strong as Old Ogden's, of course, but still fairly potent."
Remus paused, considered, then said, "You sound like Slughorn talking about his potion ingredients."
"As long as I never end up looking like him," was Sirius's retort.
They both laughed.
"You're both insane," James said shortly, bending to pick Harry up. His nose wrinkled. "Merlin, he smells. What have you been eating?"
Harry smiled, revealing almost there teeth.
"He's kind of creepy, you know," Sirius put in. "Not that we all don't love him or anything, but when he smiles at you like he knows what you're saying . . . it's sort of cute," he added thoughtfully.
"Make up your mind," James said exasperatedly. "And as for you . . ." he looked at his son. "I'm going to have to clean you up. Don't think your mum would appreciate me doing it at the table though, no matter if I use magic."
"Why don't you just vanish the, er, it?" Peter suggested.
They all looked at him.
"You can do that?" James all but shouted. He groaned. "Lily had me changing him the muggle way most of the time. And even when I did do it by magic, I didn't want to be near it. I didn't even think of vanishing it."
They laughed.
"You can fight Death Eaters and don't get disgusted by looking at blood, but excrement from your own son is enough to send you running for the nearest door?"
"Shut up, Remus." James snarled as they all cracked up again.
"Oh good, you've all calmed down then." Lily, followed by Antoinette, breezed into the dining room. Both witches were floating large platefuls, bowlfuls, jugfuls, and potfuls of delicious looking food and drink. "We heard raised voices."
They set the food down carefully, plateful by plateful. Sirius had eyes only for Antoinette. She moved, as always, delicately. Her wand swishing gently when she needed it. A wisp of hair fell from her coiffeur and lay moulded against her heart-shaped face. She brushed it back with a slim finger so that it lay curled against her earlobe. He desperately wished to be that lock of hair, more than he'd ever wished for anything. He wanted even more to be able, no, to be allowed to trace that lock with his lips. He fantasised for a minute about what he would do after tracing the lock. Her earlobe, neck, and the line of her collarbone all featured prominently in his thoughts.
Sirius blinked out of his fantasy when he felt her sit down next to him.
Again, he didn't risk looking at her. His only consolation was that this time they weren't alone. He had unconscious support, so to speak.
"So why didn't you change him?" Lily's voice cut through his thoughts. "It's a simple matter. Honestly, James, he'll get a rash." She took Harry from out of his father's arms, unhooked his trousers and drew them taught with one hand; the other hand unpocketed her wand. She waved it over the stretched trousers, then handed the babe back to her husband, who was gaping.
"What the bloody hell did you just do?" he asked, rudely.
"I vanished his poo," Lily answered promptly, not even bothering to look up from the transferring of potatoes that was completing the journey to her plate.
"Vanished?" James echoed, still looking incredulous.
She finally deigned to look at him. "Yes, James. Vanished. You do know what that means, don't you? To make something not be there anymore? To banish it into thin air? It's a fifth year spell!"
"I know what the bloody hell it means," he said tightly. "But when did you start using it on Harry's nappies?"
"What are you talking about? I always have."
"No you haven't!"
"I think I would know better than anyone if I have or haven't!" she said, indignant.
"Why didn't you ever tell me about it then?"
"You're a wizard! Surely you could have figured it out yourself?"
"Then why did you tell me to changed Harry's nappies the muggle way?"
"I never did!"
James stared. "I remember you showing me," he insisted.
"No," Lily began, speaking slowly, "what I did, dear, was make you stop complaining. Even when changing his nappies using magic you'd protest. I simply told you that the muggles had it worse, and then demonstrated why to make you stop complaining. It's certainly not my fault you interpreted my actions differently."
James sat for a minute. "Well I'm going to be vanishing it from now on, then."
"No, you're not," she said calmly.
"Yes I bloody am!"
"No, you're not, because vanishing is only to be used for emergencies. The spell doesn't vanish the whole lot, does it? All the squidgy bits are still seeped into the fabric. Think about it, James, I mean you can't Evanesco a stain on your shirt, can you? That's why we have water and washing powder."
"No," said James thoughtfully, a gleam of hope in his eyes, "but I can transfigure it. And that's exactly what I'll be doing to Harry's nappies from now on. Transfiguring them to other nappies. Clean nappies," he added pointedly.
"At least you're using your head at last," was all Lily said. James looked a bit disappointed at her lack of reaction to his genius.
Everyone else quickly ate what little they'd scooped on their plates during the argument.
"So, Miss Le Creux, tells us a little about you? Sirius here hasn't deigned to say much."
James, who'd been the one to voice the question, looked up from feeding his son. Every other head, except Sirius's, turned also.
He picked up his glass instead.
"Well," she began, "first of all it's Antoinette."
James grinned.
"And secondly, I have lived in Pointoise all my life. On the outskirts of Batonville in a large châteaux. It is a little like your . . . Hogsmede. Batonville, that is. One of only two entirely wizarding villages in France."
"What's Beaubatons like?"
Remus Lupin looked decidedly uneasy for having asked that question, as if she might refuse to answer because he was a werewolf. "I'm not sure how it compares to your Hogwarts, but Beaubatons is . . . a literal palace. Very beautiful. Like out of a fairy tale. It sits on a large hill behind a mountain range. We have flags on the turrets. At dawn it lights up like diamonds. I do not know what else to say. It is very . . . clean," she finished.
Everyone except Sirius laughed.
"Hogwarts is not quite as extravagant as that," said Lily, forking a spoonful of baked potatoes into her mouth.
"It's like a dirty great castle," Peter added.
"It's not that bad, Pete," said Remus, then seemed to contemplate. "Okay, maybe Peeves ought to go, but everything else is fine. Better than fine."
Antoinette asked, "What are peeves?"
They all laughed. Except Sirius.
"It's not what, it's who —singular," Lily explained. "Peeves is a poltergeist. Quite a nasty one I'm afraid," she grimaced. "He likes to torture the first years by bombing them with balloons filled with wet flour or mud or, one time I think it was worms even."
Antoinette shuddered. "That is very disturbing . . . ghosts are not allowed at Beaubatons, let along poltergeists."
They looked intrigued.
"Really?" James queried.
"Yes. If one does manage to gain access we perform an exorcism, but that has not happened in years."
"Oh, how cruel!" Lily exclaimed. "Forcing them to crossover before they even want to."
"I'm surprised by your shock, Lily. The French have always been impetuous. Add snobby purebloods to the mix and you have an even worse outcome."
Silence descended.
Antoinette was aware that everyone had stopped eating and was staring at both she and Sirius ―who'd been the one to make that caustic remark― except Harry, he was happily playing with the food on his father's plate.
Antoinette calmly set down her fork, picked up her napkin, and dabbed it in the corner of her mouth. Her actions belied what she felt. Inside, she was furious. Not only had he insulted her race, but also her status. Could she help it that she was pureblood? He was too, the hypocrite!
She stood. Everyone tensed. Even Sirius looked wary at her silence.
In fact he was wary. He thought that he might have gone a little overboard this time, but the opportunity had been too good to miss as he'd seen it. It was purely an ingrained instinctive reaction, something which happened a lot since he'd met his betrothed.
She turned to stare him straight in the eye. His heart constricted. There was such a look of loathing on her face ―the first of any sort of high emotion he'd seen her express, ever― that he should have been turning into a toad where he sat.
"You, monsieur, are incroyable," she whispered slowly. The fact she was using English interspersed with French words should have warned Sirius as to what would happen, but he was too busy cursing himself and being hurt at her upset to take notice. "Despicable. Swine." She drew nearer to him, so much so that he leaned back in alarm. "Mon Dieu, Sirius!" There was such hurt in her voice that he began to feel something suspiciously like guilt. "I quit. I'm fired. You can explain to your mother why you no longer have a fiancée! I will remain silent no longer. I am not dirt for you to be walking on whenever you feel like it! Nor am I your house elf for you to be telling me what to do all the time! If I feel like hating you, and showing it to the world, you shall not stop me! I will no longer be participating in your ridiculous ruse either. I hope to never see you again. Au revoir!"
With that said she stepped away from the table, pushed her chair in, and began stalking out of the room. She stopped before she reached the exit, turned, said, "I apologise, Lily and James, for my thoughtless display of anger. Usually, I do not let my emotions rule me so. But I must go."
"No, no, it's perfectly understandable." Lily said. She, too, was frowning at him. "Think nothing of it."
Seconds later his beautiful betrothed was gone.
Lily glared. "Go and apologise to her before she has a chance to tell her parents, then invite her back here."
"I don't―"
"NOW, Sirius!"
He gulped. "But Lily . . ."
She shook her head. "If you don't marry that girl there is no gold. There is no Order. Voldemort wins!"
"Don't be quite so dramatic," he muttered.
She closed her eyes. "Swallow your pride and just go. And you three don't even think about siding with him," she said sharply, glaring at her husband, Remus, and Peter, who looked taken aback.
Fist clenching, jaw cracking, he stood up with all the dignity he could. "Fine. I'm going."
"And don't act like a complete cad either," Lily added.
With a slight shudder at the thought of what he now he to do to apologise (like grovel) Sirius made his way out of the room; hoping, against all hope that he would succeeded.
He grinned suddenly.
He'd discovered something new about Toni now. The little chit had fire in her. In fact, she was a veritable exploding volcano. No longer could he call her an ice princess. She was made of passion. His breath hitched suddenly at the thought of her expending that passion in dozens of different creative ways; ways he'd like to teach her himself. It was knowledge he could have done without.
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A/N: Meanings:
fou, détraqué:crazy.
Incroyable: unbelievable
Mon Dieu! : My God!
Quiberon Quafflepunchers/Pride of Portree: I didn't make these teams up. I got them from Quidditch Through The Ages. The robes Antoinette thinks about are "distasteful" to her because they are "shocking pink" as J.K. Rowling tells us on page forty.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Happy Reading!