Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not. All I own is Antoinette, her family, and the plot.
A/N: Thanks to the two reviewers that sent me those wonderful and uplifting reviews.
Again, there are innuendoes in this chapter, but the rating's M, so I'm safe.
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Chapter Seven: The time has come . . .
Sirius managed not to slam the Potter's front door on his way out. But when he looked ahead of him on the path he felt the urge to open the door again and slam it anyway. Antoinette was already standing outside the gate ― outside the anit-apparation wards ― and he knew he would not reach her in time.
Hearing him run up the path, she turned, gave him a narrowed stare which Sirius interpreted to mean something along the lines of "Fat chance if you expect me to stand and listen!" then faced forward again.
"Don't ―" was all he managed before, with a pop, she vanished.
He stood just before the gate. He had been a split second too late.
Raking a hand through his hair Sirius patiently opened the gate, stepped through it, and shut it with the force of something comparable to an elephant stampede. Then he closed his eyes and apparated.
He arrived in the Leaky Cauldron's specified apparition room. He looked around quickly. The room was devoid of all furniture so apparators would not accidentally land on something and cause an accident. It was also devoid of his fiancée.
He swore long, loud and creatively. He had no chance of catching up to her before she reached her parents now ― unless . . .
With a wicked smirk widening his jaw he apparated again.
He arrived right in front of the Le Cruex's door — which meant he arrived just as Antoinette was about to knock on it. She knocked on his chest instead.
It didn't take her long to realise that she was knocking on something that was firm, but that wasn't made of wood. He took a moment to admire her wide-eyed gaping look. She took that moment to quickly step away from him. His hand shot out and grabbed hers before it could disappear.
"Ohhhh!" she snarled, tugging uselessly.
Sirius clenched his jaw, whispered. "Will you quit it; I need to talk to you."
"You've said all you had to say."
He winced at her deliberately loud tone. "That's it!" he exploded, but in a whisper. "You will listen to me. But not here." Not giving her a chance to object he apparated again.
"Stop doing that!" was the first thing she said when they appeared in front of the Potter's house once more. "And let go of my hand."
"No."
She narrowed her eyes at his brooking-no-argument tone. He arched a brow in response. She tried tugging again, but he was immovable.
"Let me go! Dieu!"
He saw what she was going to do a split second before she did it. He didn't have time to move.
She stepped on his foot. Hard.
"Ow!" he yelped, hopped, but still had enough sense not to let go of her wrist.
As it was he lost his balance because of the hopping, and because he still wasn't letting go she lost her balance, too.
They fell.
He heard her sharp intake of breath. Heard the grunt tear from his throat as they landed.
The sharp pain in his lower back bore testament to the fact that he had landed in exactly the same spot he'd injured earlier that day in what had also been a similar situation. Except this time he'd landed on concrete, which was even worse, and this time he had his beautiful betrothed sprawled wantonly on top of him instead of a forty-year-old harridan, which was doubly worse.
He closed his eyes in an effort to keep the enticing image at bay.
It was the worst mistake he could have made.
They were touching.
Everywhere.
He could, Merlin help him, feel everything. Every curve, every line, every place they touched. He was holding onto her arms ― a product from an effort to protect her as they'd fallen ― tightly, but not tightly enough to bruise. He could feel that her breasts, the globes soft and firm, were squashed up against his chest ― something he'd only dared fantasise about previously in the dark hours of the night. Her legs had locked with his as they'd landed in an effort to stop herself from falling, but she'd only managed to make them twine even more intimately. The hot breath on his cheek told him that her face was level with his.
His pleasure pressed hard and hot into her stomach.
He groaned. He couldn't help it. Right now, at this moment, he was through fighting the lure she held over him. He didn't care anymore. But never, ever did he loose sight of who she really was ― and that knowing sent his heart palpitating. She was his. His betrothed, his future wife. The knowledge that she belonged to him, that she was given to him, into his keeping for all time, enflamed him. Nothing else mattered but that. He forgot everything else.
His eyes opened, locked onto hers ― and all his previous sultry thoughts evaporated. She was angry. Furious. Those sapphire depths were burning with violet flames.
He'd forgotten, momentarily, that she couldn't have known what he was thinking. Couldn't have known he'd wanted to kiss her. That she still detested him.
He'd forgotten that he detested her.
"Let go of me," she said low, and slowly.
Shivering as her hot breath skimmed over his lips, he released her arms and forced himself to watch (forced himself not to grab hold of her again) as she, without a moment's wait, shot up.
He wouldn't forget again.
His own ascent was fast as well ― that is, until, he placed his right foot down and leaned all his weight on it.
A sharp pain jolted from his ankle, up his leg, and through his thigh.
He gasped.
She heard, turned. "What is it?" Her question held a frowning tone, as though she thought he'd gasped just to inconvenience her.
He looked away from her gaze, lest he loose his wits again. "That fall twisted my ankle."
"Oh, well we know whose fault that is," she said, and sniffed haughtily.
His jaw clenched. "I suppose we do."
"We better get you into the house, then."
Hardly believe what he was hearing, Sirius stared at her. She looked perfectly serious. "I would have thought you'd use this opportunity to get as far away from me as possible. Go back to The Leaky Cauldron, perhaps?"
One shoulder lifted in a small shrug. "You are injured, and despite the fact that I do not like you, we are still formerly betrothed. I have a duty to you, and until my parents and your mother dismiss us of it ― which, if I have anything to say will be tonight after I have spoken with them ― I will continue to be loyal to you."
For some exceedingly puzzling reason scintillating happiness had blossomed in his chest at hearing her say she had a duty to him, then plummeted heavily at the reminder that she still wanted to break off their betrothal. "About that," he sighed. "We need to talk."
Her eyes narrowed. "I will not be changing my mind ―"
"What if I promise not to behave as I've done?" he interjected.
She paused in the process of answering, and looked at him incredulously. "Is that possible for you, impulsive as you are?"
He almost scowled at her tone. "And of course you know me so well."
"There!" she said suddenly, and pointed at him. "That is exactly my objection. You cannot go one sentence without saying something derogatory, something shredding, or sounding as though you wish me out of existence!"
A flush of anger stained her pretty cheekbones, and Sirius had to mentally shake his head to respond. "Do you want me to promise not to do it again?" His tone was a straightforward, no-nonsense type, but inwardly he burned with furious humiliation. The things he did for the good of wizardkind
Her head tilted to the side as she looked him over. "How can I be sure you will hold to such a promise?"
"I don't lie." Except for Order work, he added silently.
"As you so caustically pointed out, I do not know you that well."
He had to hand it to her; she was a cunning little witch. "Do you want me to swear?" He ground his teeth so hard he was certain they'd have holes in them. Drawing a breath to clear his head, he spoke: "I promise that if I so much as look at you insultingly you can apparate straight to your parents and tell them the marriage is off. And, if you have trouble convincing them, I'll even come with you."
She stared.
"Is that satisfactory enough?"
He saw her about to nod, but in the middle of said action, paused. "I want some answers first."
Sirius forced himself not to react. "Go on," he said, low.
He was surprised when she began to pace the path in front of him. "I don't know why this marriage is important to you, other than what you have told me, but somehow . . ." she paused and looked at him. Don't react, don't react, his brain chanted. "Somehow, I do not entirely believe that. In fact, I do not entirely believe a lot of things. Who are you, Sirius Black?"
"What do you ―?"
"Situations have forced me to come up with some, undesirable, conclusions regarding your lifestyle choices."
He stiffened. "What do you mean, 'undesirable'?"
Walking until she was arm's reach away, she tilted her head to stare up at him. Her blue, blue eyes pierced his mind, and he braced himself. "I wish to know the truth if I am to live with you for the rest of my life. I deserve to know it." She waited a full ten seconds to answer, nine of which Sirius was ready to burst with frustration. "Do you work for the Dark Lord?"
He instantly exploded. "What?"
She jumped at the force of his bellow. "Do not be angry because I've guessed, it was really quite easy to."
"And what, pray tell, gave me away?" he gritted out. How the hell she'd come up with that . . . he shuddered, but he needed to know.
She counted on her fingers. "First of all, you needed your money back, which you could not acquire unless you married me."
"And that automatically equates ―"
"Second," she added, talking over the top of him, "your disposition is that of a wounded dragon. To put it short, you're nasty."
Sirius blinked, sputtered. "That doesn't mean ―"
"Third, and the most obvious one, you are a pureblood."
She had him there. "But still ―"
"Fourth, you asked me to lie to my parents, participate in a ruse ― after all, why bother putting up a ruse unless you want to impress someone, a certain Dark Lord perhaps?" He opened his mouth, but she continued, "Fifth, I have discovered some clues, observed some situations, and put two and two together. Sixth, your mother . . . well that speaks for itself."
He couldn't argue with her, but he was curious about the 'clues' she'd mentioned. What clues? As for that crack about Voldemort . . . "All right." He paused, and considered. "So now that you know the truth about me and my, allegiance, why aren't you panicking?"
She scoffed, pretty eyes peeking up from behind thick, feathery lashes. "You can't hurt me. Without me you have no gold."
Clever. "That's true. But I have to tell you so that you won't get anymore fancy ideas, that even if I never get the gold I wouldn't hurt you, Antoinette, because I'm not a Death Eater, nor am I the sort of person who would do that."
She blinked. "Quoi? But you . . ." Her eyes flitted between his own. What she saw must have convinced her. "Oh. I see. You were testing me."
His head inclined.
Her lips pursed. "Please do not do that again."
"All right, but do we have an agreement?" he pressed. "Are we going to continue to 'participate in my ruse' as you put it? Are you going to go to your parents'?"
She made him wait a full minute before giving him the answers he wanted.
"Yes, yes, and no."
Inwardly, he sighed in relief. Outwardly, he nodded. "Thank you."
She nodded in return, looked up, sighed, then moved closer to him. He forced himself not to draw back. "Give me your arm," she said.
"Why?"
"So I can help you into the house. Unless you wish me to float you ―"
"Definitely not," he said, almost shuddering. The thought of floating behind her, of being in her control, helpless ― no. But he didn't have to like the alternative either. Just because he'd promised to behave himself in the way of ceasing his derogatory comments, didn't mean he could stop lusting after her. He had no choice, however.
He extended his arm. She ducked under it, pulled it over her shoulder, and curled hers around his back. Her hand skimmed his hip and he jumped.
"What is it?"
"Nothing," he stated calmly.
Her eyes, now so close to his own, looked at him. His looked back. She sighed. "Are you ready?"
Her hand tightened over his hip and his tightened in response. "Yes."
"Bon."
They moved.
It was slow, but only because Sirius was making it difficult. Not that she knew that, of course, as he was being quite subtle. He was determined to get his kicks somehow, if he couldn't do it in the usual way.
She opened the gate, and he leaned into her more than was necessary. She struggled a bit. He hopped. "Sorry," he said. She merely cast a cool glance up at him and continued on.
Grinning, he limped along with her.
He payed for his subtlety though. Now he had to endure the feel of her pressed against him again. He wasn't annoyed. He knew he was getting used the reaction her body induced in his. He thanked Merlin, again, that wizards wore robes . . . and then it hit him. She must have felt it already, earlier, when lying on top of him. No way could she not have felt it, pressed against him as she'd been. He groaned.
"What?" he heard her ask.
"Just hurts," he gritted out. Which was true, but she didn't have to know that he wasn't talking about his ankle.
What galled him, he realised, was not that he was attracted to her, it was that she seemed not to be attracted to him. That was the rub that was rubbing him the wrong way. Perhaps if she'd showed the slightest hint of yearning towards him, it wouldn't be so bad but, to his memory, she'd never had. Annoyance, most certainly. Disgust, definitely. Fear . . . well, perhaps not so much now. Dislike, yes, because she'd admitted to it. That last one hurt more than the rest.
Lily was fluttering in the kitchen searching for her Household Healing text by the time Sirius and Antoinette arrived inside the house. It gave rise to the observation that Lily or all of his friends must have seen their interlude in the gardens. Not that he minded, but, Merlin, he could never think properly when Antoinette was around.
Sirius, letting go of her, pottered to the couch and, groaning (but only for effect) eased onto it.
Peter kindly offered Antoinette a chair he'd fetched from the dinning room, which he now placed beside the head of the couch. She took it.
"Now," Lily said briskly, striding into the room with wand aloft and book in hand, "tell me what hurts."
You don't want to know, Sirius thought wickedly, but he said, "My ankle and my lower back. It was already jarred from a previous fall today, and this last one just made it worse."
Antoinette's head snapped up at that. "You were hurt all this time?"
Blinking at her gentle tone, he answered. "Only a little."
She frowned. Looked away, then, inexplicably, a faint hint of bloom brushed her cheekbones.
He wondered at that. What could she have to blush over? The first time he'd fallen hadn't been her fault.
Remus conjured a glass of water and held it in front of Sirius's nose. "Here. You look pinched."
Sirius took it. "I feel pinched," he muttered, and sipped. No one made comment.
Lily was flicking through the book. "I suppose it's best if we do your ankle first, that way James can turn you on your back."
"I'm hardly crippled," he gritted out.
"All the same, you'll accept his help."
Behind his wife, James shrugged.
Sirius rolled his eyes, and breathed.
Her scent assailed him. Exotic flower. He breathed again.
He was strongly aware of her. Positioned as he was, he couldn't see more of her than the hem of her amethyst robes, but he could still . . . feel her. Smell her. Want her. It was disconcerting.
"Where's my godson?" he asked, determined to think about something else. Sirius cared for Harry more than anything, so the subject was guaranteed to take his mind off . . . what he didn't want to think about.
James sat on the sofa beside him. "We put him to bed. You have to turn over."
What? "What? But what my ankle?"
James glanced at him sideways. "We've finished. You were too busy wool-gathering."
Sirius brushed aside the offered hand. "Doesn't matter. I don't need your help."
Very conscious that everyone was staring at him, he quickly turned onto his stomach — and only just stopped himself from gasping. The small muscle in his lower back had tweaked horribly. He tensed from a moment, then eased.
Unfortunately, this left him looking right at her.
Instantly, Sirius knew that she must have spotted his pain. It wasn't anything in her expression or her stance, which was haughty as always, that gave her away. It was just that she was staring at him. Her cool stare. The stare that never failed to get his goat because it meant that she'd never . . .
He let his head fall into the cushions so that he wouldn't have to look at her.
Coward, his brain mocked.
Sirius told it to shut up.
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Godson.
That explained Sirius's and Harry's attachment to each other.
It took awhile for Antoinette to realise that, come three days from now, little Harry would be her godson, too. She would be getting even more family than she'd anticipated. Family that wouldn't be anything at all like the callous Walburga.
It was a lot to take in at first.
"Would you like some more, Antoinette? After all, you helped make it."
She smiled at the offered soufflé and took the dish from Lily's hand. "Merci." She scooped some onto her plate, then set the dish on the table. Forking a spoonful into her mouth she let the conversation which, typically, was Quidditch orientated, flow over her.
She had to think.
Her talk in the Potter's gardens with Sirius had opened her eyes. Now that she knew he was not a Death Eater, she felt . . . relaxed. She hadn't even known how tense she had been until he'd reassured her. Now she felt as though a heavy weight ― a weight that had lurked in the back of her mind since she'd started having her suspicious — had finally eased.
Never in a million years would she have thought he would let go of his pride and apologise to her, going so far as to even negotiate terms. He must really want that money.
The revelation that her fiancé cared more for gold than for her would have depressed her a couple of weeks ago, but now, all she felt was numb.
She knew he would never like her.
Despite what he'd promised she knew, no matter if he showed it or not, that he would always hate her because, to his mind, she was the problem. Without her in the picture, he might have somehow found a way to weasel the money from under his mother's nose without getting married, but because she was here . . . well, suffice it to say that he would always look down on her. Always blame her for what he considered was a misfortune.
She watched him now from under her lashes. He was eating the soufflé (actually he was stuffing his mouth with it) but even that was done in a refined way. His tongue peeked out and licked off a little bit of chocolate from the corner of his lip.
She shuddered.
As always when she saw him a swirling heat started low in her belly. The more she stared at him, the worse it got. When he'd appeared outside of her door earlier that day to take her to the races (in those hideous black velvet robes), and when his fingers had curled around hers, she'd felt a tingling start in a region much lower than her stomach.
She had known what it was. And, at the time, had been mortified by it. It was only after she'd realised that he couldn't know, could never ― would never know, that she'd relaxed. It also helped that not even half an hour ago she had felt his own . . . she had felt it pressed into . . . well, whatever.
She was not worried. It had not even occurred to her to be. She'd panned it off as a purely physical reaction, induced simply because he was a male and she was a female. He had not meant it. He would never mean it.
She stared at him now.
She knew what would happen, but she stared anyway.
Sure enough . . . Gasping, hoping her cheeks didn't reflect what she was feeling, she took a gulp of cool pumpkin juice.
Dieu, but what she wouldn't do for a cooling charm. Unfortunately, that would raise too many suspicions. Why should she need one after all? It was hardly summer.
". . . of Quidditch, Antoinette?"
"I have never gathered any enthusiasm for it," she answered, after recalling the question.
"Oh, well we're going to have to change that," said James. "You'll be married to a hardcore Quidditch fan. Can't have you —"
"I'm hardly a hardcore fan," Sirius interjected in a bored tone. "Perhaps you should start looking inward before looking outward, James."
James blinked behind gold-framed glasses. "I'm not that bad." He looked to his friends, who seemed to be avoiding his gaze. "Am I?"
"The important thing is that you believe that, darling," said Lily, and patted him on the shoulder.
Antoinette got the inexplicable urge to burst out laughing. Never having felt the urge before, she really didn't know what to do. Panic started. Two sides of her emotions warred; the side that had been gently reared in the bosom of her pureblood ancestry, and her rebellious side; the side that told her to befriend muggleborns. After fighting furiously with herself her lips, starting in a smile, finally eased. Her gently reared side had won.
She breathed in relief.
The others felt no such reservations. They chuckled, laughed . . . it was a pleasant, homely scene.
James, for his part, didn't look embarrassed. Perhaps he was used to it?
The rest of the next two hours was spent reminiscing about Hogwarts and Beaubatons, respectively, and playing exploding snap. Lily stood up to make tea and coffee, and returned with two potfuls as well as a plateful of shortbread biscuits.
"They're muggle," she explained, setting them down in the middle of the table. All four men instantly reached for them. By the time Antoinette and Lily could get at the plate, three quarters of the biscuits were gone.
"Honestly," Lily tsked. "It's as though you've never seen them before."
"But they're so . . ." James stopped, looking thoughtful.
"Creamy?" Remus supplied.
James nodded thankfully. "That's it."
Lily snorted. "Creamy."
After all the tea and coffee was depleted it was time for Peter to leave. He stood, stuffing a last biscuit into his mouth. "Thungzlily," he garbled around the mouthful.
"No problem at all," she smiled. "Always happy to have you. I'll get your cloak." She flicked her wand. Seconds later a violet cloak soared into the room and stopped in front of Peter. He plucked it from the air and clipped it around his neck.
Sirius, James, and Remus stood to embrace him. Antoinette heard Sirius mutter, "Don't forget about Thursday, Pete."
Peter offered Antoinette his hand, which she took. "Lovely to have met you," he murmured, still not looking at her.
"And you," she returned.
Eyes darting he blushed and, walking passed his friends pinched some floo powder from the mantelpiece, tossed it into the flames, and stepped in.
"Say hello to your mother for me," said Lily. "And ask her about that recipe I want. She'll know what you mean. The poor dear's lovely but she tends to forget often."
Sirius's subsequent cough sounded a lot like, "Pettigrew."
Antoinette had time to see Peter's furrowed brow before he departed in a whisk of green flames.
Another half an hour past. Harry awoke at one point and Sirius went to fetch him. The babe was passed around at first, then settled on Sirius's lap; holding court to whomever would pay attention, which meant everyone.
Antoinette blinked upon suddenly finding herself with a lapful of little boy. She looked up at her fiancé. He grinned back. "It's time you got used to your future godson, isn't it?"
Against her will, she found herself smiling, then concentrated all her attention on the babe. She discovered, after ten minutes, that Harry was apparently very adapted at pulling hair. He would yank a lock, and twine it around his little hand until she was forced to bend her neck to avoid having the lock torn.
Rather than helping her Sirius, the cur, simply smiled. It was Lily, after spotting the situation, who finally took pity on her, gently extricating the trapped hair from between Harry's fingers.
"Terribly sorry," she said, blushing.
Antoinette brushed the apology aside. "He's only a baby."
Another thirty minutes past; more coffee and tea was poured along with a fresh plateful of biscuits. When Harry fell asleep on Remus's lap, Sirius declared it was time to go.
After much backslapping between the three men, a hug for Lily, and an enormously loud kiss for Harry (who had awakened after hearing the backslapping), Antoinette said her goodbyes and followed Sirius out of the house.
Darkness pervaded.
Fireflies darted in and out of the bushes on either side of the path.
Neither she nor Sirius offered to strike up a conversation. But the silence wasn't tense. Was, in fact, pleasant.
When they stepped through the gate Sirius extended his hand, a questioning look in his dark grey eyes. Already, the changes were happening. Earlier, he simply would have grabbed her hand and apparated without warning. He was holding up to his promise.
She set her hand in his, shivered when she felt the strong fingers close around hers. The familiar tingling started. Extremely happy that it was dark, she let him pull her close (not close enough to touch) but still uncomfortably, feelingly, close. She closed her eyes.
Pop!
Then opened them.
His looked into hers.
This time there was no darkness to detract from the beauty of them. And they were beautiful, so beautiful. She had forgotten that. Forgotten because his nastiness always distracted her, but no more. She found herself about to sigh.
He blinked. Breathed once. Hard. Then set her away from him. "Come on. You're parents will be wondering where we are."
Before he could walk passed her, she made a grab for his arm.
He tensed.
She peered at his face. "Did you forget?"
"Yes," was all he said, but he covered her hand with his.
They walked out into the bustling inn.
It wasn't as crowded as it would have been had it been lunch time, but it was still fairly constricted. Pipes let of swaths of smoke, people chatted, a faint tune from Wizarding Wireless played in the background. Hardly anyone payed attention to them.
Just as they were about to turn up the stairs Sirius stiffened. She looked up at his face. He was gazing into the crowd, brow furrowed, lips turned in a stiff purse.
"What is it?"
His eyes, so grey, looked to hers. "I'm going to have to ask your permission for something."
She had a fair idea of what he wanted to ask, but said anyway, "What?"
He breathed. Paused. "I know I said I wouldn't but . . . I'm going to have to kiss you."
She blinked, and looked at him. Hard.
He seemed not to be joking.
Never, ever, ever would she have thought . . . kiss him? Would she last?
"Oh," she said, weakly.
"Is that a yes?" His gaze seemed frantic, as if he were burning for her to answer in the positive.
She responded in a way that any woman would when faced with such eagerness: "Yes, it is."
He tensed, looked at her; stared as if he couldn't quite believe she would allow him this liberty. What he saw must have convinced him. His gaze turned immediately hot.
Faced with the peculiar sensation that she was, Merlin forbid, naked, she only had time for one gasp before he was swooping down and claiming her lips.
It was an unsatisfying, short kiss. Not even a second long. She forced herself not to show disappointment.
"Come on," he urged, ushering her up the stairs. His voice had sounded strained. She reminded herself that he disliked her, and that having to kiss her had probably unsettled him.
Sirius did not turn to look at whatever, whoever, had prompted him to kiss her.
Heart thumping, she let him lead her.
They stood outside of her parents' room. Sirius was not looking at her. Indeed, he hadn't been looking at her since before their kiss.
"Are you coming in?" she asked.
"Not tonight. I have somewhere else to be." He paused, raked his hair. "Say hello to your parents for me?"
She nodded.
He smiled, briefly, turned, and left.
All the while he had not looked at her.
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Remus prided himself on being the only one of the Marauders who had a manageable disposition. He never became angry (except for the time Sirius sent Snape into the Whomping Willow), he never became frustrated. Annoyed, most certainly ― after all, he'd had to deal with James Potter and Sirius Black for eleven years. Even Merlin would have become irritated with those two. He had always been the voice of cool reason and intellect.
Sirius, for once, was listening to that reason and intellect.
"I'm glad you took Lily's advice and apologised. There would have been hell to pay if you hadn't."
"You mean the Dumbledore kind, don't you?"
"It's no secret that he would have been disappointed in you. Everyone would have. Sometimes you have to let go of pride. It's unbecoming, and can lead you in the worst of situations."
Sirius sighed and raked his hair. "That almost happened. She nearly didn't forgive me, and ― what?"
Remus realised that he was grinning. "Nothing, it's just, I still can't believe you're getting married tomorrow, Padfoot."
Sirius snorted. "Join the club, there's free entry." He laughed a short, bitter laugh. "I suppose I'm getting used to it, though. That persistently heavy feeling has faded now. It's almost as if I'm . . . never mind."
Remus left Sirius, who was looking a trifle sheepish, to his thoughts and surveyed the room.
The Order meeting had yet to begin. Everyone was present, but since Dumbledore hadn't yet arrived there was no point in starting.
Unlike the last Order meeting, which had taken place in the living room, this time everyone had settled into the kitchen around a large wooden table that Dumbledore had conjured a little while ago. In the middle of the table, gleaming pots of sweet smelling tea steamed long transparent lines to the ceiling.
The pots were very tempting, and Remus could already feel that honey-taste on the back of his tongue.
Unfortunately, the cups were yet to be set out, and it would be very rude to conjure his own. Not to mention, it would make him appear as though he was too impatient to wait an extra minute.
It would also make him appear a show off, and he didn't want that.
A whoosh of green flame erupted from the fireplace, momentarily distracting him.
Dumbledore, flamboyantly dressed as always, stepped from the grate.
Conversations halted as he strolled over the sit at the head of the table.
"Anything to report?" he asked.
There was never any formality in the meetings. Certainly there was a grim sort of acceptance that the work they were doing was highly dangerous and could one day lead to death. But despite that, the atmosphere was congenial.
Sirius leaned across the table and sighed brokenly. "I've got something to report."
Everyone stared. Even the Marauders and Lily. This was the first they had heard of anything.
"Nothing to do with your lovely fiancé, I hope," Dumbledore said, eyes narrowed.
Sirius pursed his lips. "In a way. I spotted Bellatrix in The Leaky Cauldron two nights ago. She saw both Antoinette and me also. I had to think quickly."
This caused mutterings.
Dumbledore looked grim. "She did not seem, suspicious? Bellatrix, I mean."
"I didn't stick around to find out. But the brief glance I had of her seemed to me . . . she looked gloating. Smug, almost. But then she always looked like that. I didn't think anything of it at the time. But now . . ." he shrugged.
Everyone, even the Ministry, suspected Bellatrix Lestrange of Death Eater activity, but as no one had any proof, she would safely stay on the right side of the bars.
"We can hope she was at the inn purely for a hot meal and a cold drink, but I do not want to dismiss that on the grounds of coincidence. Tread carefully from now on, Sirius. The fact that you saw Bellatrix Lestrange in a place she is not known to frequent is cause for caution."
"I agree."
Dumbledore looked around. "Anything else?"
Moody shifted in his chair. "Yes. I think we ought to have more security, Dumbledore . . ."
The meeting lasted for another half hour.
Remus got to drink his tea.
After, people lingered. Those that weren't invited were offering Sirius congratulations for the wedding tomorrow.
"I say," said Dedalus, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Are you having a bachelor party tonight? Only, we haven't had something to celebrate in a good, long while."
"Unfortunately not," Sirius answered. "But if I had I would have invited you."
"Oh, no doubt. Never thought otherwise. But it's a pity . . . pity."
Inwardly, Remus grinned. Dedalus would jump at any excuse to hold a party.
"I'll see you tomorrow then, Sirius," he said, and shook Sirius's hand. He was the only one from the Order besides Frank, Alice, their son Neville, and a couple of others who was invited to the wedding.
The whole Order tramping up the Ministry would have been too suspicious. Dumbledore wasn't coming either.
Mundungus Fletcher groaned pathetically. "No party? What sorta weddin' will that be?"
Dung, too, was another who would jump at any excuse. In his case, the excuse would be the free alcohol.
Sirius grinned, proof that he knew of Dung's motivations, and was now glad that he'd forgoed against having a bachelor party. "Sorry, Dung. I'm just not in the mood for one. Plus I have to wake up quite early and get ready for the wedding. You understand how it is."
"Not really. Speaking for meself, I've never been married," said Dung.
Remus fought the urge to laugh. Sirius and James had no such compulsions.
Lily tsked.
Dung, grinning happily, waved goodbye and walked out the door. He would not be going to the wedding.
"I must dash as well," said Peter. He looked to Remus slightly nervous, as if he was afraid that by dashing off he would disappoint them.
Sirius was disappointed. "You are coming later, aren't you? I need some support tonight."
Peter looked offended. "Of course. It's just, Mum asked me to come over and I hate to disappoint her ―"
"It's all right, Pete. You go."
Peter's parting smile was wobbly.
"And what about you, Remus," Sirius said, turning to stare at him. "You have to go too?"
Remus sighed. He had planned on going back to his cottage and filling out some spare resumes for the jobs he was applying for, but the look on Sirius's face. . . Remus supposed he could do that the day after tomorrow.
He sighed. Sometimes, being a best friend was a necessary inconvenience.
"Where do you want me?"
xxxxxxxxx
Tatienne stood before her daughter, removing gown after gown from the wardrobe and having Linear pack it away in a trunk.
It was the night before the wedding and Tatienne, while exceedingly happy at the upcoming marriage, could not help the tears that flooded her eyes.
She wiped them away before Antoinette had a chance to see.
"I shall miss you, petite," she began, as a distraction. "All your life we have waited for this moment, and now it is finally here. Everything just seems so surreal. By this time tomorrow you will be in Greece. We shall not see you except on visitations. You shall be living in England, and we will be going back to France."
Antoinette said softly. "Oui, Maman."
Tatienne turned, cocked her head, and considered her daughter.
She sat on the edge of the four poster bed, delicately perched, hands in her lap. White-gold hair lay in large bulbous curls all the way to her waist. Dark blue eyes, exactly like her own, stared, occasionally blinking, but always cool.
Tatienne felt pride in the fact that she had produced such a beautiful offspring. With hers and Edmond's looks, there could have been no other alternative.
Tatienne continued to stare at her daughter's face, so cool and beautifully haughty. She knew what she must do. If Antoinette wanted to please her husband, her cool regard would have to be put aside, for some things at least.
"Leave us, Linear," she commanded.
Bowing, the little house elf popped out of the room.
Tatienne saw the questioning stare in Antoinette's gaze. She moved to sit beside her on the bed. She decided to be frank. Antoinette was old enough, and should know about the mechanics of sex, even though she had never participated in the act. Beaubatons was hardly a nunnery. She would not have to tell her daughter about any of that. Her attitude, however . . .
Tatienne picked up her daughter's hand. "Tomorrow night, you and Sirius will make love."
Besides a telling blush to her cheeks, Antoinette did nothing but nod in agreement.
"I shall not be telling you how to go about it all. I'm sure you know everything there is to know, and if you do not, well, Sirius will assist you."
Both mother and daughter coughed, looked away slightly. The subject matter was not at all morally appropriate, but Antoinette had to know.
"However," she continued, in her best professional tone. "You're attitude . . ."
Antoinette raised a delicate brow.
Tatienne sighed, shortly. "You must leave that elsewhere. Sirius will not appreciate a block of ice. Do you understand me? You must do your duty as the wife of a pureblood."
Antoinette looked down. "What ever I feel for him, Maman, it is not cold at all."
Tatienne blinked. "Well, that's wonderful!" Then she frowned. "Has something happened between the two of you? Do not tell me you've already ―"
"No! Nothing like that."
Tatienne waited. "Yes?"
Antoinette fiddled with her gown. Fiddled? Her daughter never fiddled. "When I stare at him, when he looks at me, I feel. . . warm."
Tatienne smiled in relief. "Thank Merlin. If you let it happen, Antoinette, you shall have a wonderful life together. Just look at your father and me."
Antoinette smiled.
They heard a creak on the floor outside just as the door to the room opened. Helena, disgustingly majestic as always, thumped in. Her robes were black as ever, but the square collar of them extended over her neck and passed her ears.
She looked, to put it nicely, horribly gaudy.
"There you two are," she said harshly, and closed the door behind her. She gestured with her cane. "What's this? Not crying I hope, Antoinette. It will spoil your eyes."
"No, Aunt." She gestured. "We're merely having a mother/daughter discussion."
Helena looked knowing. "Yes, I remember when my mother took me aside and explained to me the matters of pleasing a husband." Her dull eyes, which had been staring reminiscently at the ceiling, snapped to look at them. "You do know what you have to do, don't you? You won't be embarrassing us with your ignorance, will you? Tatienne, you did tell her all, didn't you?"
Tatienne lied, stiffly. Her husband's aunt never failed to irritate her. "Yes, Helena."
"Good. Very good. I shall see you tomorrow, then. I cannot wait to meet Sirius Black. Likely, his mother raised him properly." Her sneer as she looked them up and down suggested that she thought Tatienne and Edmond hadn't done so great a job with Antoinette.
"Good night," was all Tatienne said.
After one last scowling look, Helena thumped out.
Antoinette sighed.
"What is it, cherie?"
Her daughter's lip twitched. "It's just; I hope she falls asleep during the wedding."
Tatienne tinkling laugh was heard the next room over.
xxxxxxx
Antoinette stood beside her almost husband, listening to his deep voice as he recited his vows. For once, he had abandoned his shocking black robes and had instead dressed in a completely white silk ― well, she was going to have to stop staring at him. It had been bad enough before, but now . . .
The priest was positioned in front of them both, one hand lying over the sacred book, the other holding it up.
At the priest's direction, Sirius slipped the ring on her finger. It was the first time Antoinette had ever seen it, and she found herself fully admiring his choice. It was nothing but a simple thin white-gold band but the colour suited her nonetheless. It suited her hair. The ring she had chosen for him was plain gold. Nothing extravagant. She hadn't felt he would appreciate that.
"I pronounce you husband and wife. May you always go with God in your happiness."
They stood, staring at the priest.
Silence abounded all around. Behind her, a few people shuffled in their seats.
The priest coughed. "You may, er, kiss the bride, Mr Black."
Sirius blinked. "Right."
On her right, someone stifled a laugh. She had a feeling it was James Potter. It must have been; as Sirius's best man, he was the only one who could have been sitting there.
Sirius turned to her. She turned to him. He leaned towards her. She leaned towards him. She got a glimpse of sensuous dark smoke before his lids fell.
They touched lips.
That was all.
Again, it was a dismayingly short kiss.
She fought over sighing disappointedly.
Before congratulations could begin, the priest handed over an official sheet of parchment for them to sign, which they did, in twelve different places (Antoinette having to sign six times with her old name, and six with her new). With a wave of his wand, the priest vanished the parchment and shook both of their hands.
It was done.
She was now the newest Mrs Black.
The feeling overwhelmed.
So did the crowd, despite its small number.
Congratulations came in handshakes and kisses. James Potter was, of course, the first. He was followed by Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. Next in line were some people Antoinette did not even know, but they were Sirius's friends no doubt. When it was Lily's turn Antoinette embraced her warmly, almost squashing Harry, who was being held to his mother's chest.
"Take care," Lily whispered up at her when they both drew back. "I know Sirius can be difficult sometimes. I should know, I've had to put up with him being constantly underfoot for the past four years."
As one, they turned to watch the subject of their conversation. He stood on the other side of the antechamber, tall and handsome, conversing with a small man whose hat was very large and purple indeed. A small smile painted his face, but that, Antoinette knew, was only for show.
Lily sighed. "He's a good man, and an even greater wizard." She patted Antoinette's hand. "Just be patient."
Antoinette promised she would be.
After allowing Harry a hug of his own, as well as a playful tug on Antoinette's carefully arranged coiffure, Lily moved to join her husband, who was chatting with Remus and Peter.
Sirius immediately came to stand by her side. "What were you two talking about?"
She smiled at his suspicious tone. "You."
He raised a brow. "Oh. I'm that interesting?"
Antoinette said nothing.
Her parents, Aunt Helena, and Sirius's mother were the last to stand before them.
Helena, after observing the company that Sirius was keeping, had stiffly taken herself to the other side of the room in a protest before the ceremony had even begun. Now, however, she was obliged to extend her congratulations.
She did so, but the grumpy tone in her voice was far from complimentary.
Mrs Black, the senior, moved forward.
Sirius, sneering slightly, moved back.
She laughed shrilly. "Don't worry. I won't touch you. But I don't except that my new daughter-in-law holds your reservations." With that she stiffly kissed both of Antoinette's cheeks. Antoinette responded in turn.
Unlike Mrs Black, her parents greeted both she and Sirius warmly.
"Congratulations, children," said her father, shaking Sirius's hand.
Her mother kissed them both, then it was time to leave.
Sirius's mother ushered everyone out of the room, saying she had reserved a table at the newest wizarding restaurant in Hogsmede. She stared, blatantly, and with extreme distaste at James, Lily, Peter, and Remus. Even baby Harry didn't escape from a glower or two.
At her side, Sirius tensed. "That stupid, old, hateful hag," she heard him mutter, and had to bite her lip to keep from smiling.
They exited the antechamber and stepped into the Ministry's atrium. A special portkey had been authorised for she and Sirius, and another five for everyone else. There were only around twenty five guests after all.
After a little pushing, where the guests all shoved and scrambled to reach for old shoes, hats, and various other articles of clothing, the portkeys activated.
The restaurant, smack in the middle of Hogsmede, was brand new and well known.
Once inside they were held up by way of a quarrel between the proprietor of the restaurant and Mrs Black who had, it appeared, only ordered two large tables, but the man insisted she had reserved three. The mystery was solved when Sirius piped up and stated, quite cheerfully, that he had flooed back in and changed the reservations to include his friends. Mrs Black fumed silently after that.
xxxxxxxxxx
A/N: I assume that there are priests in the wizarding world from what little clues J.K. gave us. The most telling one is on her website where she gives us the song that Nearly Headless Nick was supposed to sing in the second book, about his beheading, but she had to cut it because of editorial problems. In the song, Nick mentions that a priest blessed him right before he was set to die. (And we all know Nick was a wizard before he died because he tells Harry that only wizards can become ghosts).
The other clue is from Sirius himself. In the fifth book he sings. "God Save The Hippogriffs."
Clearly, wizards, like their muggle brethren, believe in God. I would imagine that, whatever part of the world wizards come from, they share the same belief as the muggles in their country. For example, Chinese wizards might believe in Buddha. Israeli wizards might be Jewish, and so on.
However, I don't believe that religion holds great stock in the wizarding world. The only thing that does is the purity, or lack thereof, of blood. Wizards also might think of themselves as Gods in relation to muggles. They could water on water if they wanted to, after all. Perhaps a priest's job is only limited to blessing weddings and christenings?