"'You shouldn't have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine. Your mother," Slughorn added, in answer to Harry's questioning look. "Lily Evans. One of the brightest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back too."
"Which was your House?"
"I was Head of Slytherin," said Slughorn. "Oh, now," he went on quickly, seeing the expression on Harry's face and wagging a stubby finger at him, "don't go holding that against me!'"
-J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
CHAPTER 20
The silhouette—a strong, distinct profile, visible through the fogged glass of her kitchen door—was so familiar to her that it didn't even occur to Lily that it might be unwise to enthusiastically fling it open for her dear friend, as she always did when he came by the cottage.
"Padfoot, darling, did you bring that cloak back, or—?"
Mrs. Potter's greeting died in her throat with a noise as abrupt (and undignified) as that of a frog being strangled.
"Good afternoon."
The voice that spoke was calm, aristocratic—polite to a fault.
It did not belong to her friend.
"Mr.—Mr. Black—" Lily hastily adjusted her hair, coming undone from the plait she'd put it in hours before. "I'm sorry, it's just—through the window you looked—well, I thought you were Sirius."
The middle-aged man—tall, dark-haired, expression implacable—blinked down at her.
Up until then, Lily hadn't known it was possible to blink haughtily.
"Are you expecting my son?" he asked, retaining that placid manner she found so unnerving.
Not anymore than I was expecting you, Lily thought, tucking a strand of flyaway red hair back behind her ear. He was the last person she would have expected to show up on her doorstep in any circumstance. Was something wrong? Was he looking for Sirius? Knowing what a difficult time her husband's best friend had been having since their reunion, she was grateful she didn't have to lie about his whereabouts.
"No—though he does sometimes like to pop in unexpectedly." Lily forced a smile that she was sure looked more like a grimace. "It's a bit annoying, really. I've had to talk to my husband about it. We can't seem to get rid of him."
Orion smiled back, politely—though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"That's not a problem we share, of course."
Something in her lower stomach churned unpleasantly.
Mr. Black tilted his head, slowly—a hard smile fixed on his face. He seemed, from their limited acquaintance, to be the sort of man who would draw out an awkward moment as a form of punishment, but to her surprise, it was he who broke the silence.
"It's been a long time since I've been in Godric's Hollow." Orion looked over his shoulder, then back at her. "It's changed—very little."
"I wasn't—" Lily found herself caught off-guard by his sudden bout of courtesy—and disarmed as a result. It was very different from his manners the night they'd met. "Do you—know the village well, then?"
The older man offered a modest shrug.
"I spent some time here when I was younger. I had a great-aunt on my mother's side who lived down the lane."
"Sirius has never mentioned having any family here."
Mr. Black made a noncommittal sort of noise—something between a 'hn' and 'harumph.'
"He wouldn't know much about it—she died a year before he was born." His eyes lingered on the hedgerows that separated the cottage from the house across the lane. "I—thought I saw Bathilda Bagshot a moment ago."
The change in subject—however abrupt—was a welcome one.
"Yes—I'm sure you did. She's our neighbor, just there." Lily brightened up. "She's very sweet to us. A dear woman. Sometimes I'll see her puttering about in the garden—do you know her?"
"Only by…reputation," Mr. Black rejoined, dryly. "A witch of…some distinction, I believe."
The way he pronounced the word suggested it was not entirely to his taste.
"Yes, she's—certainly that," Lily agreed, lamely. "Known the country over."
Having run out of things in the vicinity to remark upon politely, Mr. Black merely nodded. Lily couldn't help but stare. He wasn't much taller than his eldest son, but he seemed to entirely fill the doorway of her kitchen by his mere presence—understated as it was. Perhaps it was the way he held himself—Victorian and upright, every inch of him, from head to well-shod shoe, firmly controlled.
It was a far cry from the sinewy Sirius, always in motion, rarely in obvious control of anything.
And yet—in Lily's estimation, at least—Sirius would have looked far less out of place than his father anywhere. To her, Orion Black seemed a man outside of time—and the effect was more arresting than a stranger standing on her doorstep.
It was like being visited by an accidental time-traveler.
His hat had begun to droop in the rain.
"Dreary weather," Orion remarked, stiffly. "Unusual for Dorset, is it?"
Lily felt the color flood her cheeks.
"Oh! It is, rather—Mr. Black, I—" She stepped aside. "—I'm so daft—my head isn't on straight these days—please, do come in."
He had brushed past her and entered her untidy kitchen before the invitation had left her lips.
Lily had to restrain herself from the natural urge to apologize for the mess—the way his sharp gaze immediately zeroed in on her untidy kitchen table, stacked with dishes, almost demanded it.
"Do you often entertain in here?"
We don't often entertain at all.
"No, of course not—" Lily raised her hand in the direction of the hall and waved it, vaguely. "That is—I mean—the sitting room is just through there."
Orion didn't wait for her to lead him into said room, instead taking off at a brisk clip in the direction she had pointed him. Mrs. Potter followed close behind, unable to shake the amusing thought that, for all his formality and austere manner of speaking, Mr. Black was not so different from his son when it came to barging in to other peoples' houses unannounced.
She hadn't seen him since that night—the night she had witnessed a most fraught father-son reunion, among other wonders. A week on from those dramatic events, and she had little insight into what he was thinking or who he was.
All she had was her husband's mad theories to go on—and his son's word.
She trusted neither.
The moment they entered the room Mr. Black made a beeline to mantle, strewn with photographs and mementos from the past year of her and James's life—mostly of their wedding and final year at school. She was struck by the odd sense of purpose lost when he made it there—this far, but no farther—and just as quickly her confusion gave way to sympathy.
It was probably seeing him in daylight—albeit the gray dull afternoon of early winter—that made him seem so tired and aged since that night. Perhaps he had not come, as she initially suspected, to look for Sirius—or if he had, not finding his eldest son, he had stayed for some other reason.
Whatever that was, for whatever reason—his nature, perhaps, or the circumstances that had brought them, however tangentially, into each other's lives—he could not bring himself to ask for he needed outright. Was it advice he was looking for? A sympathetic ear?
Her optimistic nature grabbed onto the idea and refused to let it go.
"Well, Mr. Black—" Lily clasped her hands together and sat down on the sofa. "—What can I do for you?"
He didn't turn around.
"Some refreshment wouldn't do amiss."
Both her eyebrows went up in unison at this. Lily didn't know if it was studied or natural, but everyone in Sirius's family had the most amazing talent for turning any statement, however benign, into an imperious order—while simultaneously couching it in such polite dry language so as to render all objections to both the request and its delivery null.
Which left her in the odd position of being on the back-foot with a man she'd only met once who'd dropped into her home unannounced and demanded cake.
"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry—" She wasn't, in fact. She had been about to take a nap when he'd showed up, she hadn't invited this man to her house, she certainly wouldn't have had hair pins sticking out of her head if she had. "Would you like a cup—"
"—Tea. Cream, no sugar."
She hurried off to the kitchen, if for no other reason than to spare herself the agony of mindless gibbering in his presence.
"Not exactly 'Mr. Charmer', are you?" Lily muttered, pulling down an old box of PG Tips from the top of the cupboard. "Sorry we don't have a butler on retainer."
Lily's sympathy for Sirius's situation was growing by the minute. As she rooted about the cupboards, looking to see if they still had that box of chocolate biscuits that Mr. Black's son liked so well—she wondered at how Sirius had turned out the way he had, given the mother and father God had deigned to give him. She found it difficult to imagine anyone, let alone Padfoot, ever relaxing around someone this uptight.
No wonder Sirius went bonkers at school.
Of course—she thought, more circumspect, as she filled the kettle with water—maybe it was just his way of holding people at arm's length. Mrs. Potter noticed Regulus doing the same thing every time she went by the flat, though he was clearly not as good at the act as his father—at least not yet.
Be nice. Don't rise to the bait.
She lit the fire on the stove and walked back into the sitting room, resolved to be polite at any cost—and to not lose her temper.
At the sound of footsteps Orion turned around. His full eyebrows raised just slightly when he noticed her empty hand. Not enough to be rude by any civilized metric, but pointed all the same.
"The kettle's on," Lily explained, all cheerfulness. "I—like to do it the old-fashioned way, you see."
He stared at her.
"I'm sorry?"
"I always boil it over when I use my wand—I suppose I don't know my own strength. And there's something very cozy about waiting for a kettle to boil, don't you think?"
"I wouldn't know." Lily sank back into the sofa. Mr. Black remained standing, leaning heavily against the mantle. "This is a…very comfortable cottage."
Lily watched him as he stared—and avoided looking at her as much as possible, in favor of examining the photos on the mantle and furniture.
Didn't think much of her using a stove, did he?
"It belonged to my husband's parents. They lived here when they were first married—then when James came along they moved to the larger house, seven miles outside the village. He's mad about Quidditch, I think that was the reason. They wanted to give him space to fly." She smiled and looked around at the old-fashioned floral wallpaper. "But they kept this place, and when we were married they…gave it to us as a wedding present."
She noticed the picture his eyes had rested on and stood up.
"That's one of my favorites."
The photograph was black and white and framed in silver, and it had a place of preeminence on the mantle by virtue of its expensive frame—a gift, clearly, when compared to the more modest offerings that surrounded it. It was of her and James the last Christmas they'd spent at Hogwarts, though her then-boyfriend was fighting to keep in the frame. Their corpulent potions professor had managed to squeeze his way between the young lovers, and was all but muscling the poor Head Boy out altogether.
Smiling, Lily walked up behind him and picked up the frame.
"Professor Slughorn wasn't quite sure about James, yet, you see." She ran her thumb over the edge of her poor husband's leg, hidden by the silver frame. "He's always been very protective of me. I would have asked him to give me away at my wedding, if I'd thought he could stand to let go, in the end."
"I take it you were a favorite of Professor Slughorn."
Not knowing him, Lily wasn't able to tell if that hint of something in the voice was amusement or sarcasm. She chose to believe it was the former.
"He used to tell me all the time I ought to have been in Slytherin," she said, with a laugh. "He has many ideas of what I should be doing with my career. I think I've turned out a great disappointment to him."
"In what respect?"
"Oh, in marrying young, you know. He wanted me to go into politics, of all things."
She laughed at just the thought of her professor's ridiculous ambitions for his star student—and when she turned to Orion, to her delight, she saw a softening around the stern mouth, even the trace of a smile.
"Horace Slughorn has particular ideas about what all his former pupils should be doing," he told her, dryly. "He never gives them up, I'm afraid to say."
"Sounds like you're speaking from experience." She tapped her fingers on the mantle. "Were you in the Slug Club, too?"
"He's a great friend of my father," Mr. Black said, vaguely—as if that fact answered the question for itself. "And of course, everyone in the family's had him as Head of House."
"Except Sirius."
At this, Mr. Black's smile flattened.
"Except Sirius," he agreed, after a short pause. "Anyway, he was in and out of the house before the boy started at school."
She set the photograph gently back in its place of honor.
"He's very fond of Sirius, anyway." Lily leaned her back against the mantle and smiled fondly at the picture of her wedding day, next to it. "He wanted to 'collect' him. Of course, Sirius is always putting him off."
His silvery-gray eyes flickered with some emotion she couldn't identify.
"I notice this is just about the only photograph my son isn't in."
It was true—their wedding portrait, snapshots from the last year of school—and the Christmas picture of the Potters' celebration three years before she thought should be burning, from how hard Orion Black was staring at it. It had never even occurred to her that he was in every other one.
Sirius was so much a part of their lives, so much a part of their family, it had never seemed strange before.
Now, it did.
"Sirius was invited to that party, too." She frowned, looking back at her own smiling face—the face of a far more innocent girl than the one standing in front of Orion Black now. "But he refused to come—I don't remember why."
"I imagine he thought we would be there."
Mrs. Potter's insides curdled like milk.
"We're always invited to that party, you see." He paused. "Given the circumstances, I doubt the prospect of facing his mother would have much attraction for him."
A heavy silence followed—then the shrill whistle of a kettle in the distance, and Lily, pale-faced and awkward, mumbled something about fixing up his tea before hurrying out of the room again.
"See?" He pointed to the initials—his own, S.B.—delicately carved into a supporting beam with such elegance that they would have put most magical calligraphers to shame. "I told you I'd been in here before."
"I never doubted you."
He hopped down from the stool he'd propped up against the wall.
"Not out loud, but you had that look you get that says you think you're being fed a tall tale."
Miss Battancourt tossed her head.
"I have no such look," Colette said, loftily.
"You do, in fact. You're wearing it right now."
Sirius grinned down at her, but she was too busy examining a chair that had been cleaved in half to notice.
The Shrieking Shack had accumulated a healthy amount of dust and grime in the year and half since it had last been used for the purpose it had been built—but as Professor Dumbledore had evidently not seen fit to send in the cleaners, the vestiges of seven years housing a werewolf on the full moon remained.
Naturally, Colette had questions.
"Don't worry." He bent down beside the girl, crouched on the floor and studying a doorknob that had been ripped off the wall and thrown so hard it was dented. "What did that is long gone."
Colette looked up—no trace of fear in her eyes—only curiosity.
Sirius rather wished she was a little more afraid to be in the house.
"What happened in here?"
He'd been stealing himself for this moment since the idea had first occurred to him they should get into the school grounds this way. The passage in Honeydukes would've probably been a safer choice, as far as having to explain himself.
He didn't much like safe choices.
Anyway, this was more impressive.
"Look…I would tell you…"
"…But…it's a secret?" She finished for him, archly.
Sirius pulled her up from the floor before she could protest—letting go of her hand at the appropriate time (for propriety's sake, of course!) and gesturing that she should follow him down to the passage that he and James and Peter had taken so many times.
There was a delicate balance to be struck here.
"Yes, but in this case, it's not mine to tell." He started down the stairs that lead to the tunnel. "It's the secret of a friend of mine, and to tell you the truth, sometimes I think he doesn't like that I know."
"You have a very mysterious life."
She followed him closely, for the words were little more than a whisper in his ear—what was it about old houses that made people whisper?—and when Sirius stopped to jump over the the broken step, he felt her small frame bump gently into his.
"Easy there!" Sirius called over his shoulder. "You'll want to watch your—"
She had lit the tip of her wand—even in the dark her blue eyes shone clearly. The French girl lifted her skirts and leapt gracefully over the bottom step and landed a little unsteadily at his side.
"And you have many secrets."
"I do not. I am an—open book." He kicked the door to the secret passageway open with one foot. "You might not know that idiom, as is it is très anglaise, but it means you can ask me anything."
"Anything?"
"Yes, when I say anything, I mean—"
"Why did you say Rabastan Lestrange was a 'brutal thug'?"
He pushed the door open and entered the passage without ceremony.
"It gets narrow down here," Sirius said, loudly, pretending to have not heard her. "So you want to watch your head."
"Only—you said as much at the party—" She ducked her dead down and continued, unabated, "But you never explained what you meant, precisely."
"You really have an amazing memory," Sirius grumbled. "For every passing remark I make."
"Can I help it if what you say is memorable?"
"Don't try to flatter me! It's extremely irritating, this habit of bringing things up from—from the heat of the moment." He stopped walking and turned around. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
"My grandmother is fond of mentioning it," replied, matter-of-factly. "Most every time I see her."
His mouth split into an involuntary smile.
"Nosy witches get stitches, right?"
Colette tilted her head and tried to look innocent.
"She says that my tongue often overtakes my head."
"Sounds like we have the same problem." He let out lip bubbles. "I said a lot of things that night, if you recall. I also told you to avoid my mother, but you didn't listen to that, did you?"
"I didn't know she was your mother at the time. And anyway—" She crossed her arms. "That was different. You didn't say she was dangerous."
"It was implied, believe me."
Colette pursed her lips and frowned—Sirius sighed. He had a feeling she wouldn't keep walking until he gave her a better answer.
This was a tough case. Usually a dazzling smile and a few flattering remarks were enough to make any girl forget half the nonsense that came out of his mouth. He had never met a female with such an acute gift for sussing out the words said in the heat of the moment that he wanted to discuss least and refusing to let them go.
Well, there was one other woman, but as she had given birth to him, it was hardly a fair comparison.
Not so with Colette, though. Every time he thought he had a handle on her she'd spring up with some comment or pull some cutting observation from out of nowhere.
Worst of all, she was almost as stubborn as him.
"I only meant that—when they were at school—he and his brother Rodolphus had a…bit of a reputation, that's all."
They resumed their journey, each holding out a lit wand to guide the way.
"A reputation for what?"
Attacking muggleborns every chance they got.
"Oh, getting in fights, a lot of illegal hexes—there were disciplinary hearings, and Rodolphus was nearly expelled in seventh year." He tried to keep his voice light and casual—refrain from the distaste he would have openly shared had it been James or Remus he was talking to. "Of course, old man Lestrange was on the board of the governors of the school, so he got off. Rabastan didn't have anything like that, as far as I know, but he's always been a…follower."
"Is that really all?"
He almost ran straight into an exposed tree root jutting though the stone of the tunnel.
"Isn't that enough?"
"It's only…" She hesitated. "You seemed more dire about it that night. I felt you were very much trying to put me off—on peril of something sinister."
Sirius swore under his breath. Fantastic. He'd gone for the melodramatic ending line, not knowing she was a writer and would want the backstory that made the plot make sense.
"I realize you're not that picky on the husband front, but even Narcissa is trying to put you off—and you can't deny it, because I was hiding in a toilet stall and forced to hear my cousin opining on her brother-in-law's family all being thicker than dragon scale." He snorted. "Why do you think she's pushing Regulus at you?"
"Narcissa is my friend." Colette hesitated. "She—she only wants the best for me."
"She wants you to marry into her family. Marry the future head of it, in fact."
A pause—only the whistle of the wind through the cave broke the silence.
"You think I cannot trust her?"
He would have dearly liked to tell her she should very much stay on her guard about her budding friendship with Mrs. Malfoy, but Sirius had a feeling that would lead to a great deal more questions than he wanted to answer, at present.
"Far be it from me to impugn Narcissa's motives, but—" He sighed. "In this world—in our world—if somebody is trying to marry you to anyone but themselves, believe me, there's always an ulterior motive."
He expected her to get defensive at that—it would have been the natural reaction—but instead she just got very quiet.
"At least you acknowledge it's 'our' world and not merely mine."
Sirius froze, mid-step.
"It was…a slip of the tongue."
They fell into an uneasy silence, made especially awkward by the darkness.
"I don't think we should discuss my…we shouldn't speak of marriage anymore," Colette said, after a little while. Her voice was muted. "We will only fall out."
"That hardly seems fair, since I'm trying to talk you out of it." The reply didn't get so much as a giggle, and he was suddenly very glad for the blackness of the tunnel. "Fine. I'll agree—conditionally."
There would be plenty of time to work on her on that score, Sirius thought, especially if today went well.
"While we're on the subject of our agreement," he continued, briskly. "I've been thinking about the practical side."
She asked him, rather stiffly, to what he was referring.
"Your grand tour of Great Britain, of course! Courtesy of me. I think we should agree upon a few rules before we begin. If I'm going to introduce you to my associates, we must have our stories straight."
"I am not going to lie."
"It's less a matter of lying than—leaving some bits strategically out." He ducked his head down to avoid the part of the ceiling that was partially caved in. "You can't tell anyone you meet that you're staying with my parents, for a start."
She shuddered.
"I don't think your mother would like that very much. Or Narcissa."
At the mention of his distinguished cousin, Sirius pulled a face.
"Nor would I. My friends don't mix with hers, see?" True, if an understatement. "Besides, it would spoil everything—prejudice them against you."
"I don't see why you always speak so ill of your own cousin."
It was no different than how he spoke about the rest of his family—at least, that was what he was tempted to say, but he refrained.
"How do you like her husband?" Sirius asked, turning it back on her. Colette hesitated in a most telling fashion.
"I—don't know him very well," she said, diplomatically.
"Come now, Mademoiselle Battancourt—you are a great study of human foibles, are you not? Paint a picture for me."
He held his hand out to keep her from slipping on a stray patch of ice.
"Slick, isn't he?" He filled in for her, when no answer seemed forthcoming. "Don't worry—nobody in my family cares much for old Lucius. You don't have to lose sleep over any unflattering opinions you might keep in your heart." He grinned and turned around. In the dim light of her wand, Colette's face had a distinctly elfin quality.
"Have you heard the story about his father and Nobby Leach?"
"Who?"
"Our distinguished ex-head of government, of course."
It was a tale full of twists, sinisterness and color, and quite enough to fill up the rest of their journey. Sirius took great pleasure in how luridly fascinating she found the old political scandal surrounding the nation's first muggle-born Minister for Magic and Abraxas Malfoy's hand in removing him from office.
"And you say—nothing was ever proven?"
"Oh, no—the Malfoys are very good at covering their tracks." They reached the narrow entrance—Sirius cursed his inability to turn into a dog. It would have been easier to wriggle through. "Are you surprised?"
"No," she answered, honestly. "He seems like a man who knows his own mind."
Sirius, who'd been climbing up the slippery entrance to the hole so that he could ensure the Willow was under control before pulling him up, turn back around. He smiled at her candidness.
She was more innocent than she had any right to be—but less naive than she looked.
"Let me check to see if the coast is clear."
Sirius stuck his head out and—seeing the magnificent sloping lawn of the castle grounds covered in an untouched foot of snow—he, after properly immobilizing the mad tree that was built over the entrance—beckoned Colette Battancourt to follow him up.
As soon as she poked her head out she gasped.
"That was my reaction the first time I saw it, too." He breathed in and out, feeling little concern for the bracing cold. Colette scrambled out of the passage in between the branches—nearly falling, he pretended not to notice—and climbed up beside him on the exposed root of the massive willow. He cheeks were pink with excitement, and he found himself touched by her unaffected delight.
Sirius could feel the excitement himself. A sense of warmth, familiarity—it had been too long since he'd been back. He had an overwhelming sense of gratitude that she had agreed to come with him.
It took seeing Hogwarts again for Sirius to realize he hadn't wanted to come back here alone.
And it had been worth the risks to come this way. He'd always been of the opinion that this spot—this exact angle—was the best possible view of Hogwarts Castle.
Perfect for a first impression.
"So, I figure—for now we take a tour of the grounds—" I tell you all my best, funniest stories, at which you laugh uproariously. "Just until we can be sure it's safe—"
"Safe from what?"
He scratched his head.
"You know—from my mother and company." Sirius shook his dark hair out of his eyes. "Until they're safely in Slughorn's quarters, we can't just go gadding about the castle. D'you want to run into them?"
"Of course not." She flushed and fiddled with her sleeves. Sirius's mouth twitched. For somebody who had been so gun-shy about meeting him for this excursion the night before, she certainly didn't seem worried about running into her chaperone. "I…I wasn't thinking."
Still waters run wild when you aren't looking, I guess.
He was not used to being the most cautious one in any conversation. Perhaps his initial instincts about her—that she had a reckless streak, under that well-bred facade—were not so far off the money.
He told her that he was certain the expedition party would retire to Professor Slughorn's dungeon quarters—he had by far the largest personal suite of any on staff—and would probably leave by way of his fireplace. If she was worried, the two of them had the invisibility cloak for when they ventured inside the castle.
"One of us could use it—or, if you're really worried, both of us can fit underneath."
She neither blushed nor scowled at him for this impertinent remark (how disappointing!) Instead, Colette looked down at her feet, still perched delicately on the tree roots, and up and across the perfectly untouched snow that surrounded the Willow—with dismay.
"Oh no—the snow—my dress—" She gestured wildly all around them—from her skirts, to the foot of fresh white powder that surrounded them, which had not yet had a convenient path leading from the tree to the rest of the grounds carved out of it.
Ah—he understood. Of course, if Sirius were less gallant where the fairer sex was concerned, he might've asked why she hadn't worn a more rugged ensemble for their excursion (she did seem the practical type, and not terribly interested in what she wore.)
"It's silk…" Her face fell to a state of utter dejection. "It will be ruined."
She looked so morose, he couldn't help but tease her.
"It will sacrificed in the name of a grand adventure."
"I do not think it very funny!" Colette huffed. "It is brand new! And it was a very expensive gift from my mother and…and it's very…pretty."
It was hard to take her tirade seriously when even she lost confidence in it halfway through.
"Pretty, eh? Let me be the judge of that." Annoyed, she unbuttoned her cloak to show him. Sirius resisted the urge to let out the low whistle. It was, in fact, very pretty—or rather, made her look prettier, a form fitting and stylish dark blue number that looked more like something Narcissa would've picked out.
"I will admit—it is something out of the common way." She buttoned up her coat and shivered—Sirius grabbed her arm before she made the mistake of leaning back on the Willow. "But I don't think you care about the gown—not really. You're more worried about what your mother will say when she sees the hem was ruined."
Colette's lip trembled.
"You don't like it when your mother shouts at you either," she pointed out, tartly.
He raised his arms—the customary Sirius Black show of surrender. It was better they not argue on this point for too long—this spell he'd put on the Whomping Willow would only last so long.
"Alright—fair enough. That's a very unpleasant sensation for anyone to take." Her lip trembled again. "Don't spill tears over it, I was only joking! Nothing is going to ruin your dress. I have a spell that will do the trick."
He crouched down at her feet. Colette tilted her head downwards, and found him staring up at her, innocently.
"I know what this is going to sound like—" He smiled. "—But I need you to lift up your cloak."
He placed his free hand over his eyes, but when Colette did as she was asked, he peaked—just at her ankles.
"Long woolen stockings. How sensible of you." He gently touched the edge of his wand to the delicate lace of the hem. "Complicario."
Her dress neatly folded itself up from the hem to just above her knee. and pressed itself flat against her legs.
"There! Now only your poor stockings will get soaked."
He stood up and dusted off his hands—all in a day's work. Colette clasped his hand gratefully—before releasing it again. She wiggled her legs, experimentally—and no doubt found that her dress was snugly secure and unlikely to break free, even were she to dance about in the snow.
Which Sirius would've quite enjoyed seeing, honestly.
"Why do you know that spell?"
"From necessity. On my grandparents' estate there was a stream—I used to wade in it in the summers, when I was younger. Needed to know—"
"—How to keep your misbehaving from your parents?" Colette finished, her voice mischievous.
Sirius's grin was broad as he leaped from the exposed roots of the tree into a pile of fresh snow, ankle deep.
"I don't worry about it anymore." He gave her an expectant look. "Come on—no excuse now."
She nodded and jumped—with a little more grace, perhaps—into the snow beside him.
"Ten out of ten—a perfect landing."
He offered his arm, in a fit of gallantry—face flush from the cold and something else, Colette took it, and off they went.
Sirius hardly knew where to begin. Like Hogsmeade, even inch of the school grounds had some happy association—so it was that they set off, in no particular direction, a lazy, rambling walk to match their conversation. Colette didn't mind this apparent aimlessness—she listened to his hodgepodge of historical guide and personal anecdote in good spirits and, perhaps sensing his desire to amuse her, laughed and encouraged him in what she called his 'flights of fancy.' No doubt she thought his entirely truthful stories of daring-do were made up. The thoughtfulness of the French witch's questions and her obvious curiosity about his school jaunts—for her own time at Beauxbatons had been marked by a stifling scrutiny from her extended family—suggested genuine interest over mere politeness. Colette was a very good listener—though Sirius found her to be a little difficult to draw out this time around, more on her guard than she had been that night they'd flown to Hampstead Heath.
It's because she knows who you are, now, an annoying voice whispered in his ear. All good things come to an end.
There was something different about her today, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
It had not even occurred to Sirius how close they were to the Forbidden Forest (so absorbed was he in telling her his theory about the pack of intelligent wolves who dwelt there) that it took the startling appearance of the enormous gamekeeper emerging twenty yards in front of them to jolt him out of conversation.
Colette instinctively grabbed his sleeve.
"Who is that?"
Hagrid was waving cheerily in their direction. Her companion's face split into a broad grin.
"One of the many quality people you've got to meet—oi, Hagrid! Over here!"
Sirius thought the gamekeeper (eight feet tall and three men wide) might prove intimidating to his companion—after all, she wasn't used to him, as every English witch and wizard of her age would be. But, to his amusement, there was not a trace of trepidation in her face or manners—only the usual polite curiosity.
"Sirius!" Hagrid clapped the younger man on the shoulder—Sirius sunk into the snow a few inches. "Been awhile since we've seen you in these parts."
"You know how it is, Hagrid." He brushed the snow off his shoulders, casually. "I'm very busy these days."
Colette, overcome with shyness, hung back—until she saw the creature Hagrid had tethered to his arm.
"Oh, he is darling!" She exclaimed, when the bright gold unicorn foal, equally shy, poked his head around Hagrid's massive leg. "May I pet him—that is—how do you do, and may I pet your unicorn?"
Sirius, laughing, pulled her forward and made the necessary introductions. Rubeus Hagrid seemed quite tickled by the curtsy the young witch gave him, though not as tickled as Colette was by his charge. As soon as he gave permission she got to her knees next to the animal.
"Orphaned. Poor thing. Lost his mother, the others in the herd won't look after 'em." Colette smoothed the short mane, then pulled an apple out of her bag. Her new friend nuzzled her hand.
"You know how to get in his good books," Sirius observed, amused—she might've been planning for this, for all he knew.
"We keep horses on the farm. Unicorns are quite like Abraxan foals—and my grandmama has some on her estate, though they are wild, of course." There was no such thing as a tame unicorn—witches and wizards had been trying for centuries, but they could not be bred.
She tilted her head up to Hagrid—the bun had begun to fall out, giving her a pleasantly disheveled look.
"How will you take care of him?"
"Oh, pen him up and leave him out food for the winter. As little contact as possible, so he don't get used to thinking this is the right way." Hagrid patted his crossbow, thoughtfully. "But it'll be a lonely life for 'em, at first. It'd have been better if there'd been two orphaned—at least he'd have some company."
The unicorn let out a soft whinny.
"They're meant to be with their own kind."
The foal slipped out from under Colette's hand and trotted over to Sirius.
"He likes you as well!" She observed, smiling.
"Yes, it's a well-known fact—" The foal rubbed up against his leg. "—That unicorns are excellent judges of character."
Sirius crouched down and rubbed the creature's flank, affectionately. Ever since he'd become an animagus, he'd noticed animals were more at ease around him—not just dogs, with whom he could, in a limited way, communicate. Magical creatures seemed to feel a particular affinity.
"Hello, chum." The foal nuzzled his snout into Sirius's pocket and pulled out a packet of crisps. "Clever boy, nicking my treat."
"You seem to be very good with animals."
Colette walked over to them, handing Sirius the rest of the apple, which he accepted, gratefully. Her met her eyes over the flank of the young unicorn. That stubborn lock of hair had fallen out again, and dangled over her rosy cheek. Sirius flexed his fingers. They itched to tuck it behind her ear.
"As a general rule, I prefer them to people." He stroked the foal under his chin—a paltry consolation, but it kept his hands busy. "Less…complicated."
She said nothing, and though he had deliberately turned his eyes downward, he could still feel the weight of that piercing gaze which saw everything and nothing, all at once.
"They prefer me, as well." He scratched the unicorn's soft ears. "You're a bit young to be going it alone, though, aren't you, chap?"
"Perhaps he senses a kindred spirit."
Their eyes met again—and Sirius felt an uncomfortable squirm in the pit of his stomach, as though she had seen something she oughtn't have.
Abruptly, he stood up. The foal, startled at the sudden movement, made a quick retreat behind Hagrid's legs.
"Got to get going, I'm afraid." His voice had cooled, considerably. "Appointment, up at the castle."
Hagrid blinked his beetle-black eyes in surprise.
"Oh?" His gaze dropped to Colette, then back to Sirius. "Only I figured—"
"It was good seeing you, Hagrid," Sirius interrupted, a little too loudly. "Have a good Christmas."
Colette, too, got to her feet—but it was with a slightly more uneasy feeling between them that the two continued the walk.
Come on, Sirius thought, resentment bubbling just below the surface—a veritable active volcano. Ask. I know you want to, Miss Nosy Parker. It's what you've wanted to know since the first night.
"Madame Maxine—the headmistress of Beauxbatons—she is about as tall as your friend Monsieur Hagrid."
He stopped walking and turned to her, surprised. A slow smile spread across Colette's face.
Cheeky minx.
"She must have almost as interesting a family as he has. He didn't get that way from merely eating his vegetables."
It was an open secret that Hagrid was not entirely a wizard—or indeed, human—but Sirius had never been so impolite as to ask from whence in his family tree the enormous size and strength came from.
"He seems to know a great deal about caring for magical creatures," Colette said, approvingly. Sirius smiled.
"I keep forgetting you're a farm girl," he remarked, a few minutes later. "You don't seem the type."
"Why not?"
"Dunno. All that reading, I guess."
"When one grows up on a farm, reading is all there is to do."
She kicked at the snow, soaking her shoes straight through.
"Did you like growing up in the country?"
She tilted her head, considering the question.
"Well enough."
"I would think you'd prefer the city. More scope for the imagination vis-e-vis your characters."
"Well—I don't know—each has their attractions."
"You know you're allowed to have preferences, right?" Sirius asked, a little put out. "At least with me. Do you like the city or the country better?"
She tugged at her scarf, attempting to hide a smile.
"It depends on the company!" Colette said, archly. "One can sometimes feel quite lonely in a crowded ballroom."
"Or quite the opposite, in, say—" He leaped onto a nearby stone. "—A snow-covered field in the dead of winter."
They had made it to the small patch of non-magical plants that grew outside the greenhouses. A pleasant meadow surrounded by trees. He had once caught Lily and James snogging here at lunch time when they thought they were alone—never had he known Evans' capacity to hex until that moment.
"You must've liked growing up in London," Colette remarked, after another long silence. "Otherwise you would not have chosen to settle there."
"How do you know I live in London?"
Sirius turned towards her, startled. He couldn't remember mentioning that to her. He'd been very careful to be vague about the details of his life—despite thinking it was only inevitable she deduce he was.
"How far away from your parents' house is Lisson Grove?"
"My mother didn't tell you I live there, did she?"
"I have my sources," Colette said, mysteriously. She was clearly enjoying his indignation. "How far?"
Colette had begun to draw patterns in the snow with her wand—little lace decorations, fanning out—the image of a heart, a leaf, a Christmas tree. Pretty, ladylike magic. There was something so unaccountably innocent about it—he could well imagine a much younger Colette, perhaps with a horse at her side, sneaking apples out her pocket while she traced angels and Father Christmases in the snow with her wand.
A pretty picture—and a lonely one. A picture from a fairy story.
The Loneliest Princess.
"If you must know, little snoop—it's quite close." He walked up beside her—she had drawn a large dog next to a cat. Even without color, he could easily squint his eyes and pretend it was black. "As to your earlier assertion, I like it much better now that I'm on my own. Before I felt—"
His voice faltered.
"You felt…how?" Colette prompted, gently.
Sirius let out a sigh—he could see his breath in the cold, and it gave him something to focus on beside those gentle, curious eyes.
"Penned in," he admitted, quietly. "A city of millions of people, right outside the door, and we were only allowed to socialize with about twenty of them. I remember…pressing my nose against the glass and seeing them, walking below—in cars, lorries—then I'd turn around and ask my parents questions they couldn't answer, only because they'd chosen to be so willfully ignorant of the people and things right there, under their noses."
He expected her to argue, to ask him to explain what he meant—as had so often been the case when he had voiced his views to his family, they seemed almost incapable of understanding his frustrations—but instead, when he looked up, he found her—listening without judgement.
"I never understood why we even lived in the city. I seemed to be the only one who liked London."
"Why did you like it?"
"Because…it's where the action is—I like activity, movement—always doing things—"
"You are, then, a restless person?" Colette asked, her voice understanding. "Or at least you have a very restless sort of life."
Sirius breathed out again, thinking of London.
He liked the anonymity of his flat, the anonymity of the streets—a place where you could lose yourself, you didn't have to go to the same bar twice, if you didn't want to.
You didn't have to be known, if you didn't want it.
A place he'd lived most of his life, but in which he had no history. A city that had no memory of him—or if it had, had forgotten.
A city he wished would forget.
"Yes," he agreed, perturbed. "I…guess I do."
Colette considered him—with that expression of puzzlement she often wore, but also a desire to understand. She was odd, as Walburga had said: wise and solemn, sheltered and naive. Inexperienced and arch, coquettish and shy. Unremarkable and—
Well, if not dazzling, then at least—an original.
And not fitted to her life as the daughter of an obscure country squire, that was for certain. It was clear that none of the things that she valued, none of her potential could be met in the life that her parents were determined to set her on.
She peaked her eyes up again.
"Surely you will not like wandering forever." An owl swooped overhead, letting out a plaintive hoot before soaring to the Owlry, which towered above them. "One day you will want to rest."
Sirius stuck his hands into his pockets.
"I can rest when I'm dead." He kicked the snow with the heel of his boot. "That's what they say."
"Won't you want to before then?" She pressed. "And won't you want a place to do so? And a…home in which to do so?"
He didn't answer. A home…what was a home? Had he ever known one, besides here? He thought of the flat, before Regulus had shown up on his doorstep. As anonymous and bleak a place as anywhere in London, a hole in the wall to sleep and eat, not rest.
Home…did anyone in his family even understand the concept?
Of course. Even Uncle Alphard came home to die.
And he wasn't alone, either. That's what the notice in the paper said, at least. 'The deceased was surrounded by his family, mother and father, brother and sister…'
She must not have found out about the will until after.
"Maybe I'm not meant for that sort of life."
He was staring down at the snow, but the sound of gentle footsteps crunching it signaled her stepping closer.
"I often think it is what we want in life most, when it seems out of reach…" She touched his shoulder. "We convince ourselves we never wanted in the first place."
The breath left his body very slowly.
"How did you get so wise, eh?"
"I have a grandmother who tells me things I remember, mostly."
Colette began to trace her patterns in the snow with her wand again—a flower, from bud to blossom, which morphed into a butterfly that flapped its wings. It reminded Sirius of a Muggle etching toy he'd once seen in a shop window—the ones you'd shake to wipe the slate clean again.
A melancholy thought—how welcome that would be. The ability to wipe the slate clean.
A past as pure and spotless as the snow.
"Pretty," Sirius said, watching the image fade away. "Too bad it doesn't last."
"It's not the kind of magic that does."
He waved his own wand, the snow spun and centered on a point, slowly taking shape, like pottery on the wheel.
"I wish I knew how to do that," Colette said, admiringly. The snowball floated in the air above her, darting back and forth with almost as much verve and dexterity as a snitch. "I once saw a few of my boy cousins play with them, at a winter spent at my great-aunt's house in Burgundy—it looked like so much fun!" The French girl lifted her finger to trace the edge of the perfect, spinning globe with her thumb. "But none of the girls wanted to join in and risk getting—" She rolled her eyes, just a little. "'Whacked about the head.'"
"I can teach you, if you'd like."
"Would you—really?"
At the sight of her, rosy-cheeked and dimpled, he smiled—the sight banishing every painful recollection that had been stirred up on what he had thought was to be a simple visit.
Sirius hadn't expected the past to intrude on the present anymore than he had expected the now to intrude on the then.
"Sure."
He went over the incantation with her, and the wand movement—carefully grasping her delicate wrist to ease her into the movement—a circular wave not unlike spinning a plate.
"Easy—just a bit more—" Her snowball was lopsided. "Yes—less whirling, more—" She jabbed in the stomach, and he fell forward, catching her hair in his face (it smelled of lilacs and rosewater and the promise of spring right around the corner) "—Easy! You know, twisting."
"Oh—sorry—it's just you make it look so easy to do!"
"It is easy—with practice."
Colette got the trick of it after a few minutes—Sirius could tell that she would have mastered the spell faster if someone else had been teaching her, for she was very self-conscious of him watching her try (despite the fact that he was a very lax schoolmaster, giving nothing but encouraging jibes, at worst!) and rather than bringing out his impatient side, something warm and satisfying, like the feeling of mulled wine, burned in his chest.
"There you go—I told you you'd get it!"
Their two snowballs—his, admittedly, a little prettier and a little more elegant in its flight path, floated up and around their heads.
"Of course, you might need some remedial lessons on the finer points of snowball levitation," Sirius remarked, rubbing his chin. Colette's ball of ice kept dragging—she hadn't quite mastered the art of the wrist twist that kept it together. "It'll fall apart, at that rate."
She grinned—an expression he hadn't yet seen her wear.
"I think this will do perfectly well for what I have in mind, thank you."
"And what's that—"
The enormous snowball smacked him upside the head. Sirius sputtered, punch-drunk aghast, while she giggled against the rock as he tried to shake the snow and dirty from his hair.
"How quickly they turn on you, when you do them a favor!"
"If it is so easy, I wonder how you did not think to duck."
He grinned, wickedly.
"You're going to be sorry for that, Miss Battancourt."
"Am I?" She twirled on her heels mischievously. "I should dearly like to know why."
In seconds he had one, two, three snowballs in the air—Colette shrieked in delight, taking off across the field, managing to conjure one gigantic ball of her own, more like the head of a snowman, and it trailed after her, shedding snow and leaves and debris in its wake.
One of his collided into hers—another he exploded about her head in a shower of snow (she let out a very satisfying cry, all thought of her dignity or fancy up-do forgotten). The third whizzed in front of her—Sirius narrowed his eyes—he'd get her right in the face, the saucy girl, and—
"Oh!" A gasp and a thump, and the figure dropped into the snow.
"Colette!"
He dropped his wand—the snowballs crumbled and flopped unceremoniously on the ground next to him. He rushed over to her.
There was a clump of beach trees at the edge of the field, and in her haste to escape him, Colette had stumbled and tripped over it.
He kneeled in the snow next to the girl, still stunned and face-down in the snow.
"—Damn. Are you alright?"
"Yes—" She tried to sit up, but found it difficult, thanks to the minor snowbank she found herself in. "Yes, just—silly me, to fall, like that it."
He ran a hand over her shoulders, her arms—ignoring her flush of embarrassment in favor of making sure he hadn't inadvertently hurt her.
"Nothing broken—no bruises?" He scooted over her, and cradled the back of her head with his hand, fingertips tracing the soft hair at the base of her neck, searching for blood or bruises. "Nothing hurt?"
"Only my pride," Colette murmured. "I…think you won."
He released her, reluctant to let go.
"Well, it was your first snowball fight." Sirius picked a twig out of her hair, gently. "Well fought. I think we can call it a draw."
"Perhaps I need a little more practice."
"I'm so sorry, I can get—" He hushed his voice, he didn't quite no why. It wasn't as if anyone was around to hear them. "Carried away, sometimes. A lot of the time, actually. A bit—competitive."
Colette smiled.
"I like that about you," she whispered.
"Yeah, well…" Sirius let out a shaky laugh. "Sometimes—people get hurt."
A single snowflake clung to her eyelash—which she fluttered. It melted and dropped to her cheek, like a single tear that he wanted to wipe away—
"I'm less delicate than I look."
It was only then that Sirius realized how close their faces were.
She had a splash of freckles on the nose—he had noticed them the night they met, but somehow they stood out much more when her face and hair (pleasantly disheveled as it was now) were contrasted with the whiteness of the snow that surrounded her like a halo.
Ditto her eyes, which were looking up at him with less mischief than…expectation.
He felt his own face tingle—with heat, or was it flushed from the cold? And it was then that he had the sudden and irresistible urge, not to pull back, but to lean forward, just like this, until their faces were no longer merely close, but touching—
It was at that moment the beach tree they were under dumped an inordinate amount of snow onto his head.
Sirius let out an unholy shout, followed by a string of curses, which was then followed by Colette (shielded from the bulk of the attack by his head and shoulders, she managed to roll out from under him and crawl to safety) yelling 'was he hurt?', clearly torn between laughter and concern he hadn't drowned.
Sirius sputtered and brushed the mass of snow off his shoulders before standing up, still furious—though laughing a bit himself.
"What the—what the bleeding hell was that?" Sirius demanded, peering up into the trees, as he helped Colette to her feet. "Did you see anything up there? Are there a family of squirrels having a go at me?"
The spell of the moment—that momentary loss of control—was broken, but there was an uneasiness between them, as they both couldn't quite pretend to have forgotten it.
"I—no." Cheeks still flushed, she ducked her head a little to check she still had her reticule. "Nothing."
Sirius chuckled weakly and fixed the tree with a disgruntled look. He kicked it with the side of his shoe.
"Must've been an owl roosting up there, decides to take flight and dislodge three days worth of snowstorm straight on my head." He rubbed the side of his hair—now mildly drenched. He lifted his wand to dry it, still cursing the animal population at large. "How do you like that? Anyway—" He released her hand. "I'm—glad you're not hurt."
"So am I. That is—" Colette fiddled with her hair, fumbling with the pins that were almost falling out. "I'm glad…you weren't either."
They each smiled at one another, shyly, before Sirius whipped his head around in the direction of the castle, his face as alert as a gundog's.
"What is it?"
"I just—I had the sudden feeling—do you know, that creeping on the back of the neck you get, when someone's looking at you?"
He peered in the open window of the Owlry. It was empty, plain as day. Strange…
He turned back to her.
"I…had that feeling, now."
"Of being watched?"
"Yes…"
And not just by anyone.
"Anyway—" He shook his head, like a dog trying to get water out of its ears. "It's passed, now."
Sirius put his arm out to Colette—an offer to take it, but then, as if remembering their all too recent brush with each other (and seeing the embarrassment on her face), he dropped it again, and set off at a trot in the direction of the castle, leaving her to follow behind at safer distance.
With any luck it would help them both cool down.
It was only a game, Sirius reminded himself. Just a lark.
If he said it to himself enough, perhaps that would make it true.
For someone who had (presumably) come to speak to her, Orion Black didn't seem all that interested in engaging in conversation.
She had at last managed to get him to sit down on the sofa across from her. He was also answering her polite, boring questions—how the trip was, the weather—with equally polite replies, usually of the monosyllabic variety.
Otherwise he seemed content to sit there, in her sitting room, quietly taking in the scenes as if it were the Chinoiserie room in the Victoria and Albert and not drinking the cup of tea she'd made for him.
The longer he sat there, the more uneasy Lily grew at his presence.
He wasn't doing anything, exactly—but he never seemed relaxed, either. The look behind the eyes as they glanced down at her chipped china, the tea-cozy, hanging off the back of the chair, the stain on the carpet from when James had tracked hoof prints inside that she could never get out—she could feel the judgement of that man palpably in the air. But there was nothing to it, really—no actual social faux-pas, and he certainly wasn't treating her differently than she sensed he would have treated any near stranger.
"My father, Evans, is like a snake. He lies there for so long you think he must be dead, and just when you're tempted to shove a shoe at him—"
"I understand I am to offer you and your husband congratulations."
"—That's when he goes straight for the jugular."
Lily lowered her own cup—it was the first words the man had spoken of his own volition for at least five minutes. She did not think she had ever been congratulated in quite such a bored tone of voice.
"I…" A discreet look down—surely she wasn't showing, yet. "Thank you. I didn't realize you—did—did Sirius tell you?"
He smiled over his cup, politely.
"No. My wife did. From where she ascertained the information, I wouldn't know."
"Sirius must've been the one." She set her untouched tea cup on the sideboard. "We…haven't told anybody else." Lily forced a smile. "It's a bit of a secret."
Mr. Black glanced down at his cup of tepid tea.
"You didn't mention it in a letter, by chance?"
She stared at him, momentarily perplexed—until her brain caught up with her eyes, and the sardonic expression she read there.
"Does Mrs. Black read all her family's mail, as a general rule?"
"Far more often than Sirius confides in her about his life."
He placed his cup on the table between them.
"Perhaps that's changing, though." He leaned his face—handsome, lined, gray at the temples—the face of a man prematurely aged—on a fist, propped on the sofa arm. "They had breakfast together yesterday at his flat."
"That's…lovely." She sat up, surprised at the picture and wondering that Sirius had not mentioned it to her. "I hope you're all—getting on together. As best you can, given the…circumstances."
He said nothing, only stared past her shoulder.
"We've asked Sirius to be godfather, you know."
Lily beamed and put a hand on her stomach. The gesture was fast becoming a habit, since she'd learned the news of her first child, precious and growing inside her—the little boy or girl she knew she and her husband already loved more than they thought was possible.
Orion's expression stirred for a moment—the flicker of surprise, like a candle being snuffed out—before it slid into the implacable blank.
"That is quite the honor." A pause. "And a responsibility."
"I'm very aware."
He folded his hands neatly on his lap.
"You've thought this through—thoroughly?"
"Of course."
"And you're sure you're making the right choice in my son?"
Lily felt the tingle of her temper—at the back of the neck, the nexus point from which the
redness that always covered her face when she was angry would spread.
"I can't think of anyone better." Her smile felt strained, even though the warm feeling that underpinned her next words were genuine. "He is—so dear to us, Mr. Black, truly. I cannot tell you how much his friendship has meant to me."
"You need not attempt to, if you find it taxing."
Lily faltered.
Whatever associations her name had, she was not a wilting flower. Injustice was the one thing in life Lily Evans had never been able to tolerate—and for Lily Potter, this maxim was doubly true. Sirius had his faults, no one could deny that—but she could not imagine somebody who really knew him, as a father should know his son, responding to a genuine outpouring of affection with sarcasm.
Maybe it was the baby, or the sleet, drumming against the window, or the poor night's sleep she'd gotten—but it upset her.
"It must've been quite a shock to you, seeing him again like that." Her voice had lost some of its sweetness, replaced with something of her natural steel. "And under such awful circumstances."
"We are doing the best we can."
"Is that really true?" Lily asked, calmly. "You don't think, maybe—you and your wife could put a tad more effort in?"
In inference disturbed Mr. Black's otherwise placid facade.
"I beg your pardon?"
That haughtiness really was genetic, she decided.
"I have seen Sirius, this past week—and spoken to him." Lily straightened up in her chair. "I know things aren't going all that well. And I know—however difficult he can be—it's not entirely his fault."
Mr. Black shifted his weight in his seat—unease obvious.
"I am not accustomed to speaking about my private affairs with strangers."
"Well, I'm not accustomed to people turning up on my doorstep, uninvited and demanding a cup of tea they then refuse to drink, so I guess this is a first for us both."
Orion stared at her—not with the bored, slightly condescending expression that had pointedly colored every interaction they'd ever had. He seemed to Lily to be sizing her up.
Mrs. Potter glared back at him—she was not a girl easily intimidated (it was one of the qualities that Professor Slughorn always complimented her on) but the longer Sirius's father watched her, the more uncomfortable she felt.
"There is some confusion, I see."
"I think it's all crystal clear, myself!"
Sirius's father merely cocked an eyebrow, that annoyingly smug look plastered across his face, as if he knew something she didn't, and Lily found herself forcibly reining in several additional tart comments.
If she rose to the bait it would be conceding.
"…Look, Mr. Black. You seem like a man who is—very private." Lily took a long breath in and out again. "And I'm sure this is quite difficult for you—but I'm certain you wouldn't have come if you weren't—"
"—I would not have come if I was not invited."
Her tongue seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth.
"What?"
He took a letter out of his breast pocket, briskly—opened it, looked down, then—to her surprise—repeated himself and handed the proof to her.
James's handwriting was unmistakable. As were the words, scribbled hastily, the date (it must've been written yesterday morning, before she'd awoken) and the time.
Lily went pale.
"I take it I am to understand your husband is not, shortly, to arrive?"
The hand holding the letter dropped to her side.
"No," Mrs. Potter said, in a faint voice. "He'll be…he's supposed to be out all day."
On an Order mission. She felt very lonely in this house for so long without him, she'd half been hoping to have another call from Sirius to come 'round the flat, if only to ease the loneliness.
Mr. Black nodded, understandingly.
"I wondered." He took the letter back from her, glanced down at the open page—and smiled, grimly. "Ah. I see." Orion looked up. "It would appear I've mistaken the day—it was for tomorrow that he summoned me. My eyes are, I fear, not what they used to be. I'm sorry to have put you to the trouble. If I'd known what a burden to you it was…"
The words had been written in hast, the three did look smudged, easy enough to mistake for a two, James had clearly been somewhat agitated when he'd sent off this letter. So agitated he'd forgotten to mention anything about it to his wife.
"…I would not have darkened your doorstep."
Lily's hands, she realized, were shaking.
"But why didn't you say anything about James inviting you?"
He shrugged.
"Well, naturally I assumed he had been detained, and you, as his wife, were entertaining me in his absence," Orion said, carelessly. His eyes gleamed with malice. "That you didn't know he'd invited me never even crossed my mind."
"I never said—"
"—But it is rather obvious."
A long silence followed. Each seemed to be waiting for the other to speak, though for Orion Black, the lull in conversation was far more comfortable.
She was not used to long stretches of uncertainty.
"I think I…know what this about," Lily said, quickly. "And I'm sorry my husband has called you out this way—but there's been a terrible misunderstanding—"
"Evidently." Mr. Black looked up from his letter to her face. "Though I don't think it's between he and I."
Her cheeks colored.
"James has—gotten a funny idea in his head about you and Sirius, you see."
The older man raised both his eyebrows with polite surprise.
"What sort of idea?"
Mrs. Potter bit her thumb.
"It's too—ridiculous to say aloud. I wouldn't want to offend you by suggesting."
She noticed the expression on his face—the placidity that was obviously a cover for an immense cunning.
Then it occurred to her that perhaps it wasn't so ridiculous.
"I find it difficult to imagine you being capable of offending me in any such case."
Oh, what, because nothing I could say to you could possibly ruffle your feathers?
"My husband—" She pushed her hair, which clung, limp, to the side of her—damn it—perspiring face. "—Has it in his head that you're—somehow—blackmailing Sirius, of all things."
The words came out in a rush, followed quickly by a forced laugh.
Orion Black did not join her in it. Nor did he fly into a temper, affect shock.
He didn't show any emotion at all.
"Why does he think that, I wonder?"
She blinked. Somehow, that question—asked so frankly, so calmly—had not been the response she had been expecting.
Nor was it the one that she had wanted.
"What does it matter?" Lily heard the shrillness in her voice. "It's such an outrageous notion—"
"Is it?" He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. "I don't see why it should be."
Lily—for lack of anything better to do—goggled. She felt her mouth drop open, saw the open look of distaste—it was an odd thing, to see the shadow of Sirius in that expression.
Rarely did he get that look—but it occasionally happened.
"Because, well—what sort of father would do such a thing to his own son?"
He considered this appeal to decency with a cold and methodical deliberation that Lily found ghoulish.
"Oh—one who'd been pushed to the limit by his own son could be compelled to take—rather drastic steps."
"Is 'drastic' really the word you'd use for threatening coercion?"
The only sound that punctuated the quiet was the crinkling sound of an empty biscuit package being dragged about by the cat.
"Did your husband tell you any more details about this…interesting theory of his?" Orion asked, conversationally—ignoring her question. "Its origins, for example."
"He seemed to think Sirius doing your shopping was a clue," she replied, voice deeply sarcastic. "A sign of something more sinister at work."
Her conversational partner at last took a sip from his teacup.
"It's true, I have him on a tight leash," he continued, placidly. "I'm sure you can appreciate what an apt metaphor that is."
Lily's hand trembled. Something lurched unpleasantly in the base of her stomach—and it had nothing to do with morning sickness.
That night—in the flat—when she had called Sirius 'Padfoot' in front of them—
"Judging from your reaction just now—" Orion continued, mercilessly. "And this conversation as a whole, I can only assume the suggestion on your husband's part was not well received by his wife."
"I told him I thought the whole idea was nonsense." Her lips were very thin and white against her teeth. "James—accused me of being naive about you lot."
He let out a short laugh.
"What else?"
"That he hadn't wanted to tell me because he'd known I wouldn't believe him. He says I always see the best in everyone." Her look turned withering. "He thinks people take advantage of my good nature."
Orion laughed.
"An inelegant accusation for a man to make of his wife so early in marriage."
"Do you agree with him?"
He smiled, coldly.
"As a general rule, I think women would do well to listen to their husbands."
Her face turned the color of a tomato.
"I don't believe you misread that letter at all, Mr. Black." She was practically vibrating with anger—she had not felt like this in years, hot embarrassment and shame and a profound feeling of disillusionment. "I think you came on the wrong day on purpose."
He studied the heavy gold ring on his finger with a careless nonchalance that made her blood boil.
"For what reason would I do such a thing?"
"I don't know—to make me feel small—or perhaps to draw me out." She stood up, as if that would help her recover something of her lost dignity. "I couldn't begin to understand how your mind works, quite frankly."
"It would be the behavior of a rather unscrupulous man."
"It was a cruel thing." Lily heard the tears in her own voice—she bit them back. "I think I'm beginning to understand what Sirius meant about having a family of all Slytherins. It's true, isn't it?"
"If it were, you would be the last woman I would tell."
She walked over to the mantle. Lily rested her hand on the edge of the tarnished silver picture frame that bordered the wedding portrait.
"If you wanted to see pictures of Sirius from the last three years, you could have just asked." She didn't turn around—not yet. "I would have made copies of them for you."
When she turned to look at him, hoping she had landed a blow, Lily was surprised how little satisfaction she got from those hard eyes glinting with suppressed emotion.
"It won't work, you know. It's the worst possible thing to do—it will only push him away more—"
"I thought I made my feelings about your unsolicited opinions quite clear."
"If you don't like them, you're free to leave anytime," Mrs. Potter replied, coldly. "In fact, I think I'd prefer it if you did—and didn't come back to my house—tomorrow or…ever."
Orion stood up.
She watched him, an elegant, handsome man—satisfied with the work he'd done here, unaffected by her telling him to get out of his house. He looked happy to go, frankly. Not only was she furious, this man was glad to see it, the snake—he'd probably come here for the express purpose of provoking the reaction.
"As you wish. I will make other arrangements with your husband." He set the tea cup down. "Was there anything else?"
He began to walk to the door, not waiting for her answer.
"There's only one other thing, Mr. Black."
His step slowed.
"It's a warning, really. Don't get in a war with James over Sirius. You won't win."
He stopped, hand on the door.
"If you press him to make a choice—as you and your wife seem hellbent on doing—Sirius will choose my husband, in the end. Of this, I am certain. Do you know how I know?"
He didn't ask her to elaborate—nor did he leave. He remained fixed in place, hand on the doorknob—rooted to the spot.
"Just before we were married, Sirius came over to the flat where I was living—he was very, very drunk. I think that's the only time he's ever completely honest with even himself—anyway, I doubt he remembers the conversation we had. I'll never forget it. He said to me, 'Take care of James, Evans. He was the first person who ever really loved me.'"
Lily paused—let the words, which, though true, might as well have been a warning shot across the bow, for they were meant to wound as much as illuminate—fully sink in.
Orion gave no sign of even having heard, beyond remaining riveted to the spot.
"Your son said that to me, Mr. Black. It's the saddest thing I've ever heard, and the point isn't that it's true—because I don't believe for one moment that it is.
"The point is that he believes it's true."
He turned, slowly, and it was from the cold and emotionless mask that he wore that Lily knew just how angry he was.
"Are you quite finished?"
She glowered at him.
"I suppose this is the wrong moment to ask if Sirius could come over to our house for a few hours on Christmas Eve?" Her lip twitched in an involuntary smile at her own idiotic boldness. "We're having a party, you know, and we were hoping he'd come."
"You are by far the most insolent women I've ever met—and if you knew my sister, you'd understand just what that means."
"I'll take that as a 'no.'"
Orion Black's lip twisted, and for a moment she thought he seemed to be on the verge of laughing. At her or at himself, Lily wondered.
"Perhaps Professor Slughorn had the right idea about your sorting after all."
It was only when Lily heard the front door close behind him that she felt the full shock of the moment—and promptly picked up her discarded knitting needles to hurl them at the sofa cushion.
Thank you so much for your comments, as always. Please let me know that you're still enjoying and your thoughts on the story. Hopefully all my American readers are having a restful Thanksgiving weekend. God bless. 3