A/N: Thank you for the reviews! And thank you to CC for the beta :)

Chapter Eight

Dinner that night was as staid and stifling as it had always been. There was little or no conversation that didn't involve Lucius' wedding, and as the main course was served, her father raised his glass.

"Happy Birthday, Helena."

That was it. One toast, and it was over for another year. If she'd been like the others, then this would be a cocktail party, music and laughter and maybe some dancing. Except she wasn't like the others, and anyone her parents would allow in their house, she wouldn't touch with a barge pole. The only good thing about this birthday was that it was the last one she'd have to mark like this. By the time her first pay cheque came in from St Mungo's, she was leaving, and she was never coming within twenty miles of the place ever again.

After dinner, Abraxus went back up to his study, Mother went back to doing…whatever it was she did at night, while Helena and Lucius retired to the drawing room, Helena with her new book and Lucius with a brandy, the pretentious git.

She was doing her best ignoring his presence altogether when he spoke again. "Father's decided to give Narcissa and I the east wing, once we're married. It is a generous gift."

Helena said nothing. Bully for you.

He sighed. "Helena."

Aware he was now looking at her waiting for an answer, she closed the book, seeing no way not to talk to him apart from leaving the room. She stood, and walked over to the doorway, stopped by his hand on her wrist.

"Please."

"Please what? I thought I made it clear that as far as I'm concerned-"

"-you want nothing more to do with this family, yes," he finished, irritably. "I had hoped you might have reconsidered by now."

"Then your hopes are dashed. I thought you were chatting shit before; I still think you are. End of discussion."

"Father will disown you."

"Then let him. I'm going to be a healer, Lucius—I did well in my exams, I'll do well in my NEWTs in summer and then I'll be out of this house. Father can cut me off all he likes."

"And will you feel that way when you have children of your own? When they are struggling to forge a name and career for themselves because you have cut them off from the wealth and privilege of the Malfoy name?"

She shrugged him off, but still he wouldn't let her leave. "And if you don't care about that, at least think of the- the- pollution of contaminating your blood! You would be the only broken link in a chain that stretches back centuries—pure and clean! Would you risk the heritage and history which flows through your veins just to spite your parents, me?"

Helena threw her book across the room, finally losing her temper. "How long do you imagine that's going to last anyway?" she demanded. "How many purebloods are there? Or are you going to carry on interbreeding until every wizard in Slytherin has webbed feet? You are so blinkered! How many new magics would you throw away because they're invented by muggleborns? How many people would you persecute just for the idea of purity?"

"The life of a muggleborn is nothing compared to the life of a pureblood!"

Without her wand in her hand, Helena did the only thing she could to express her repugnance. She hit her brother, as hard as she could, across his pale, pointed face. Lucius balled and raised his fist, but didn't get a chance to hit her before the drawing room door opened to admit their father. He looked very angry, but his voice was perfectly steady.

"Lucius, if I see you raise a hand to your sister—or any woman—ever again, I will remove the offending appendage. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Father."

"Helena, go up to your room."

"Father-"

"Please, go now."

Gaping, Helena did as she was bid, and left the room, closing the door to behind her. She didn't leave, though, instead watching her father and brother through the crack in the door. "She will not listen to reason," Lucius ground out.

Abraxus shook his head. "Lucius…sit down. It's time we talk about your sister."

He lifted his wand and pointed it toward the door; it shut with a sharp snap. He must have put an impurtable charm on it too; she could hear no more. Helena slumped against it in frustration, burning with curiosity. It's time we talk about your sister? What did that mean? In all her memory, Father had never once uttered the word 'please' to her. And to apparently take her side in an argument over Lucius'? That was…suspicious. The only word for it. It was suspicious. Add that to what Burke had said in the shop that afternoon…

There had been a fancy growing in her mind for a while now, a voice she hadn't wanted to listen to before now. But now it actually seemed like a better alternative than what she had here.

The idea suggested that she wasn't who she thought she was. That she hadn't been born a Malfoy. It made sense—she wasn't in Slytherin, the first in three hundred and fifty seven years not to be. She did not share the blonde hair and grey eyes of her parents and brother. She did not feel any sympathy for their ridiculous notions of purebloodedness. She loathed the idea of Voldemort and his followers. Her birth certificate had been conveniently destroyed in a fire when she was a little girl. And she was not treated as Lucius was. She was too different in personality to be a favourite, that didn't bother her. What bothered her was that her parents didn't like it when she got angry. They weren't as harsh on her as they could have been—she wasn't liked, but she wasn't hated either. To everyone else in the world, she was regarded as a blood-traitor. Not in Malfoy Manor. Here she was just…an oddity. Like finding plastic chairs in the dining hall. She did not belong.

And then there had been the encounter in Borgin and Burkes this afternoon. She was separated enough from the situation now to know what had panicked her so much. It was that surprise on his face when she'd given her name. He had obviously expected something different—but what?

She spent a sleepless night that night, writing out all her reasons for thinking she was someone else. Once that was done, she sat back and told herself how utterly stupid she was being. Of course she was a Malfoy. Lucius was six years older than she, and he would remember that she wasn't his sister if a baby had suddenly appeared in the house, even if Abraxus and Veronique were pretending. Unless they'd used a memory- Oh for God's sake, Helena! she screamed at herself. It was one thing to know she didn't fit in, but now she was imagining conspiracies and mysteries where there just were none.

But on the other hand… She thought hard about what the next step might be. If she was adopted, then who were her real parents? How could she go about finding them? Well, the Ministry was the best place to start. The Records Office for Births, Marriages and Deaths. But when? She wouldn't be allowed to just pop down to the Ministry of Magic. Sighing, Helena put down her quill and rubbed her eyes, looking out at the grey tinge of dawn outside. Either way, it was probably the only way to set her mind at rest. If she could not find any sign that she had been adopted, then she'd put the idea aside as something ridiculous, accept that she was born from no better stock than the Malfoys, and move on with her life.

Decision made, she shut the curtains with a sweep of her wand and extinguished the candle, retiring to bed. She would go to the Ministery and do some digging. Just as soon as she had a chance. But sleep didn't give her a chance. Nor did the day after, or the day after that. They might not celebrate Christmas in the manor, but everyone else did. Abraxus couldn't very well go into work if there was no one in work to obey his orders. Christmas Day brought more presents from her friends; she got to feel a little smug that day, because she was celebrating when no one else was. It would have been nice to have Christmas Dinner though. A fat roast goose and figgy pudding…

On the twenty seventh, her father was free to return to work, but it was clear, when Helena tried, that he wasn't going to allow her to simply accompany him to work without some uncomfortable questions. She decided she'd have to pave her own way. After the light had gone out of her father's study that night, she snuck inside and looked through the papers he'd laid out for the morning after. There were matters of state here, things which made her twist her mouth in anger. The one which really pissed her off though was a motion to be set before the school governors—suggesting that only a limited number of muggleborns be accepted into Hogwarts in any one year. The proposed figure was almost nothing at all. Helena screwed it up and threw it in the still-smouldering fireplace, then went back to sifting through her father's papers. Finally she found a schedule for the day after. He'd get to work and then realise he needed it. Smirking, Helena folded it up and took it back to her room. She locked it into a draw, in case he noticed its absence before he left for work and tried accio.

She woke early the next morning, breakfasting with her parents before her father and brother left for work. Helena began clock-watching—and at nine thirty, she 'happened' to wander into the kitchen, just in time to see Abraxus' head sitting in the fire, spitting orders at Dobby.

"Dobby is quite sure Dobby did not move master's papers, sir-"

"Don't lie to me, elf, you must have done! I would not have forgotten it otherwise. Now, it's on my desk, in my study. I require it immediately."

"I can bring it to you, Father," Helena suggested.

"I don't care who brings it, as long as someone does!" Abraxus thundered, withdrawing his head and turning the flames back orange.

Helena sprinted up the stairs, grabbing the schedule she'd taken along with a bag with some ink and parchment, and apparating to the Ministry. She got a lift down to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and headed toward the Wizengamot Administration Services where her father would be. As she moved through the heavy oak doors, she collided with an auror coming the other way. When a heavy metal foot landed on hers, she couldn't hold back a cry of pain.

The auror in question—easily identifiable as the most fearsome of them all, was Alastor Moody. Reflexively, he grabbed her elbow, scrutinising her closely. "And where might you be running off to, missy?"

Helena showed him the paper in her hand. "My father forgot some of his papers this morning."

"Your father?" Moody barked.

Helena was beginning to see why people were afraid of him. Those dark eyes hadn't blinked once yet. "Ab-Abraxus Malfoy," she stammered out. "He works-"

"I know where he works. And don't think I don't know who he works for either."

The implication was not lost, and Helena pulled her arm from his grasp. "Well his boss isn't my boss, if that's what you mean. Can I get on now?"

Unexpectedly, a smirk curled Moody's mouth. "Aye, I daresay you can."

With that, he stumped off. Helena shook her head and continued to her father's office, knocking once she arrived. The door swung open without a sound. "Ah, here you are at last." He flicked his wand and the paper in Helena's hand soared out of her hand. "Thank you, Helena, you may go."

She nodded. "I'll see you at home later, Father."

He waved his hand dismissively, and free now, Helena made her way to the Records Office. The receptionist turned out to be a grey woman, and not like the one who mourned around the corridors of Hogwarts. No, this one was alive—she thought. Grey clothes, grey hair, grey face, grey personality.

"Good morning."

Silence, only a blank stare through thick glasses.

"I was hoping you could help me. I'm a student at Hogwarts, doing an essay for Muggle Studies. It's a comparative study of how badly muggle and wizard birth-rates were affected by the First World War. I need the records from 1919 to 1925 please."

With a sigh that indicated she'd interrupted something vitally important—and not the crossword of that morning's Prophet—the receptionist got up and led her into the stacks behind the desk. The records Helena needed for her 'essay' were quite far back, and rather high up.

"They're up there," the woman pointed.

Helena levitated the 1921 one down at random. "Thank you. I'll be okay from here."

"See that you don't touch anything else," was the snapped reply.

Once she was out of sight and back at her desk, Helena put the book back and snuck into the more recent record shelves. 1947…52…63…too far… She smiled when she spotted 1960, and pulled the book down as quietly as possible. Flicking through the pages, it was obvious that she needed more time than she was going to be allowed by that mediocre woman. She twisted her mouth, not liking what she was going to have to do but not seeing a way around it. Taking the book, she pulled out her wand again and made her way back to the desk. A mild charm should do—she only needed her to be a little unfocused after all.

She pointed her wand at her back. "Confundo," she whispered.

The receptionist shook her head suddenly, looking around as if there was a fly buzzing around her ear. Helena adopted a loud and cheerful tone. "I don't have time to look through it all now, so I'm just going to borrow this one! I'll bring it back once I'm finished!"

The other woman made no objection, so Helena put the book in her bag and headed for the Ministry restaurant. It wasn't much, just a small coffee shop for the staff members and visitors to spend a quiet moment. Apparently the Bureau of Magic in America had a gift shop. That idea, thankfully, so far had not made it over the Atlantic. This early in the morning, it was almost deserted. One waitress, who brought her a cappuccino, and then disappeared out the back. Alone now, Helena opened the book and got out the ink and parchment she'd brought with her.

She'd only just got started when-

"Hellfire?"

She looked up, startled. "Sirius! Wh- Where did you come from?"

"Nowhere special," he answered, leaning against the doorway. Damn her, but she'd forgotten how bloody good he looked in that leather jacket. And the t-shirt underneath it was a good deal tighter than any t-shirt had a right to be.

She ignored the flush of arousal which was rising through her, and only raised an eyebrow. "Why are you in the Ministry?"

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

"It's not anything illegal is it?"

"No," he answered lightly, sitting opposite her. "Just a surprise."

Helena groaned. "Padfoot, your surprises are never good ones."

"This one will be, I promise. What are you doing here anyway?"

She bit her lip, wondering how much to tell him. If anyone was going to understand… "I'm- Don't laugh, alright? But I'm trying to trace my birth parents."

He didn't laugh; instead his eyebrows shot up. "Birth parents? You're adopted?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Recently it's been the the only idea that…"

"Makes sense?" he finished.

"Yup." She sighed and let the parchment roll shut. "Am I crazy? I mean, have I literally gone insane from overexposure to pureblood…ness?"

Sirius regarded her very seriously for a few moments. "Yes," he finally said. "You are completely and certifiably insane."

She laughed. "Thank you. That makes me feel a whole lot better. Arse."

"Bitch."

"Prick," she smiled fondly. "So am I being paranoid then?"

Sirius shifted forward in his seat. "Well, look at it logically. You don't look like a Malfoy. You don't talk like a Malfoy, and you don't think like one."

"And if I had a drop of Malfoy blood in me I'd be in Slytherin," she said.

"Not necessarily. Look at me."

"That's true. No chance you're not really a Black?"

"Unfortunately no. Blood-traitor all the way, that's me."

She grinned affectionately at him. "Wouldn't have you any other way."

He grinned and held her gaze for a little too long. Making girls blush was still a favourite pastime, no matter who the girl. Helena did not colour at all though, and just grinned like she knew exactly what he was thinking. Disconcertingly feeling heat rise to his own cheeks, Sirius gestured to the pile of books and parchment in front of her. "So aside from the fact you don't fit in, why do you think you're not by birth a Malfoy?"

"I just…feel it. I'm not meant to be where I am. And it's the way Father and Mother treat me."

"Tell me about it. Like they can't stand the ground you walk on, like they want to Imperius it out of you," Sirius said bitterly. "Like you're diseased and it's catching."

Helena shook her head. "No, actually, that's what's got me so convinced I'm not their daughter."

He frowned. "How are they different?"

"Well they're disappointed in almost everything I do, but they've never treated me like your parents have you. It's almost like they're scared of me sometimes. Like they don't know what I'll do when I lose my temper. So yeah… I dunno, Pads, maybe I'm half-vampire or something."

"Nah. Not sexy enough. Half-troll maybe."

"Why am I friends with you?"

"You like to be entertained and I'm always life and soul of the party?"

"More like you're good for a laugh. Anyway, I came to the ministry because there's no way they'd have a muggle-born in their house, so I figure I must be at least half-blood. So I was going through the records to find witches who gave up children for adoption around this time eighteen years ago."

"You're allowed access to info like that?"

She was suddenly avoiding his eyes. Completely delighted, Sirius grinned broadly. "Helena! Have we finally corrupted you?"

"Shut up. It's not strictly illegal, I'm over seventeen!"

"Yeah, but, confundus charms on Ministry staff are definitely illegal."

"Would that stop you?" she asked quietly.

He reached across and squeezed her hand briefly. "Not for a second."

The relief and joy in her face lit it up. Smiling back, he moved his chair around to her side of the table. "So, which column am I looking in?"

Helena leaned forward and hugged him. Her hair got in his face; masses of it, soft and dark and smelling like violets. "Thank you," she whispered.

Were those…tears he heard in her voice? When she pulled back a few seconds later though—with another waft of completely distracting fragrance—her eyes were dry. "Um, anytime."

She pushed a large book toward him and opened it, pointing to one of the columns neatly filled with red ink. "Here. This is the year of adoption. You're looking for December 1960."

"Right."

They worked in silence for a while, the only noise the scratching of quills as the name of a corresponding witch was noted down for further research. It did strike Sirius that he'd never voluntarily picked up a quill before, at least not for something as scarily close to work as this. Not even for James, actually. And Helena just gave him a pretty smile and here he was. That just didn't happen. Girls did what he wanted in exchange for a smile, not the other way around. Although it had been a very pretty smile. Full of white teeth and rose-tinted lips. And they're soft too. He glanced over to see her biting her bottom lip in concentration. That annoyingly full bottom lip. She tasted good as well.

She wrote down another name—one that he recognised from the family tree tapestry at his parents' house. Distant cousin of some kind, someone he'd never met. "Suppose…"

"Suppose?"

"Well I was just thinking—what if we find your birth parents and they're horrible? Just another bunch of pureblood nutters."

She chuckled. "Whoever they are, they can't possibly be worse than the Malfoys."

"True. Speaking of, how did you get permission to come to the ministry?"

"Father told me to come. He forgot some documents he needed for a meeting this morning, so I brought them to him. He doesn't know I haven't returned to the manor."

"He 'forgot' them, huh?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're implying, Padfoot."

"C'mon, Hellfire, you can't have been friends with us lot for years without picking up a few tricks. You pickpocketed him didn't you?"

"No. I just stole them from his desk."

Sirius laughed. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"And yet." She sighed. "You're coming tonight, right?"

"Um…no. What's happening tonight?"

"Lucius' engagement party. They've been engaged for a while of course but the prenuptial agreement was signed a few days ago. Everyone who's anyone will of course be there. Please come?"

"Without an invite? The gates wouldn't even let me through. No blood-traitors allowed."

"Please, Padfoot, what else am I if not a blood-traitor?"

He gestured to the books in front of them. "You could be a mudblood and get excluded that way."

"Well for now I'm a pureblood, and I cannot face Bellatrix by myself. Merlin's beard, that girl gets more unbearable with each term. You know she's already talking about joining You-Know-Who once this year's over? Before then, if she can help it. Thinks he's the saviour of Wizard-kind. Every time she opens her mouth, the garbage that comes out is just disgusting."

"Her and a hundred others. But they'll get what's coming to them, Hellfire. They won't win."

She smiled. "You're so sure of that, aren't you?"

He nodded. "Can't let the bastards get us down. Just remember that tonight."

Helena was still repeating those words to herself that evening, in front of the mirror applying some makeup. The robes her mother had chosen for her were hanging on the back of the door, waiting for her to put them on. Helena felt annoyance creeping up already as she looked at them. Why did she have to wear green, or silver or black all the time? She liked red and gold, and she liked purple and blue and every other colour there was. But it would be petty just to dye the silk magically because she knew it would piss her parents off.

She was feeling annoyingly rebellious this evening—something about seeing Sirius that afternoon. He always did make her want to act out against anything and everything. And he isn't even here to see the chaos…

A/N: Review please!