Black Mask

by Ieyre

Christmas 1979—danger, secrets, lies and their shared history loom large over the Blacks' first Yuletide season as a reunited family. While life as a fugitive proves bleaker—and more boring—than Regulus could have imagined, a botched espionage mission at Malfoy Manor draws Sirius deeper into the Black family web. [Sequel to 'In the Black']

29. Chapter 29

Harry gazed at the front doors, their snow-burdened roofs, and their front porches…the little lane along which they were walking curved to the left and the heart of the village, a small square, was revealed to them.

Strung all around with colored lights, there was what looked like a war memorial in the middle, partly obscured by a windblown Christmas tree. There were several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church whose stained-glass windows were glowing jewel-bright across the square…they heard a snatch of laughter and pop music as the pub door opened and closed; then they heard a carol start up inside the little church.

"Harry, I think it's Christmas Eve!" said Hermione.

- J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

---

CHAPTER 29

---

The glittering silver frost on every thatch-roof cottage gave Godric's Hollow the air of a Christmas Card.

This place, for Sirius, was untouched by both time and the ugliness of the world. It was his refuge. Once he had thought it was his salvation.

Now it seemed more a picture postcard, a dream from which he had woken up.

"You are nervous," Colette remarked, suddenly. Sirius turned his head, surprised. She had been very quiet for the journey—unusually so, for he'd grown used to the gentle, steady stream of questions, like spring rain tapping on the roof. He'd expected her to do nothing but ask him his friends. Sirius had an odd feeling as though she wanted to, that she was holding back in some way. His thoughts were a rowdy bunch, bouncing about his head, jockeying for position—he was too occupied to

"I am, a bit," he admitted, finally. "I'm not sure I'll be…welcomed by the host."

She tilted her head in that curious way she had about her and scrunched up her nose. It reminded him of a rabbit. A very adorable rabbit.

"I thought he was your closest friend."

Sirius let out a bitter laugh.

"We had a row the other day and I'm—" He hesitated. "I don't know if he's forgiven me."

For anyone else this would have been impossible to admit—but somehow he didn't mind telling her.

"Oh." Her expression softened. "And this disagreement of yours—it cannot be resolved?"

"It's to do with my parents. When he found out about my reunion with them, well—we fell out over it."

He had talked her ear off about James that day at Hogwarts, but had managed to somehow avoid this uncomfortable and painful subject.

"James doesn't want me mixed up with them again."

"But they are your parents." She frowned. "What right has he to object?"

"It's complicated. When I ran away three years ago…this is where I ran away to. Right outside this village. I came and lived with his family—his mother and father took me in."

Colette turned her face towards the ground, cheeks pinked by the cold. Sirius watched her breath under the light of a street lamp, a slow and steady.

She must've been cold. He wanted to tuck his hand in the crook of her elbow. He was about to, when he remembered what Regulus had said.

The effing prat. He'd got in his head.

Colette looked up. Sirius, feeling like an idiot, turned the outstretched arm into a stretch above his head.

"If he is as good a friend as you have told me," she said, nodding. "Then he will understand."

Sirius turned his face towards her. Colette was smiling—in that encouraging, hopeful way she had about her, the natural in-born honesty. She truly always believed the best of people.

"You're right."

He let out the sigh, and with it went his anxieties. Hope, again, took precedence—it sprang eternal. Christmas was the time for making amends.

"You haven't yet asked me about last night."

He jerked his head, surprised. Colette looked down at the ground. Her voice was—odd.

"What do you mean?"

His companion looked up at him—gave him that piercing look she occasionally got. He was fast coming to think it always spelled trouble for him.

"You said you wanted me to tell you if I heard your brother spoken of." She paused, significantly. "At the party at Monsieur Rosier's."

Sirius stared down at her, uneasy.

"Oh—right." Why the hell had he said something so profoundly stupid? "Listen—I want you to forget about that."

"That is a difficult thing to do," she said, bluntly. "When it was so important to you, yesterday. Urgent."

Colette's voice was unexpectedly accusatory. Sirius had a creeping sensation in the pit of his stomach.

"Do you—know Monsieur Rosier at all?"

"Unfortunately."

"And do you think well of him?"

"Our feelings about each other are mutual." He snorted. "What about you? Did you like him?"

"He's very handsome," Colette remarked, after a moment. "Striking."

He left that comment where it was—it didn't bear responding to, in Sirius's humble opinion. She'd said it to bait him.

"I thought your mother had put you off handsome men."

Alright, so he responded to it anyway. Colette was not to be deterred—rousing his jealousy had not been her aim.

"Aren't you even going to ask me if I heard any news of your brother?"

He stopped walking.

"Did you hear about Regulus?"

She considered her words with care.

"His name was mentioned. You were right that he was—missed."

She was the one who'd brought the subject up—and she was just as quickly withdrawing from it. The idea of pressing her abhorred Sirius. Tonight was about introducing her to his friends, about a party—nothing else.

Reality would come back to bite him soon enough. It always did.

"Well then, that's it," he said, shortly. "Not surprising. He's a popular man, Reg."

He waited for her to ask the inevitable—why his parents were promulgating the falsehood that his brother was overseas with some phony fiancée, and when they were going to give it up, what Regulus was doing, and how he knew about it—how he'd really got mixed back up with them, everything. Details he owed Colette, if he trusted her—and didn't he? Hadn't she earned that?

Sirius trusted Colette more than he trusted himself.

"Who taught you how to duel?"

He stopped dead in his tracks. Her face was smooth—but her eyes intent. She seemed to have taken a lesson from his parents in the days she'd spent with them.

Once again, Colette had surprised him.

"I just—learned, you know. During school."

"Not—before?"

He felt that penetrating gaze—the steely blue eyes that could see through a lie. Sirius stared at her—a creeping sense of dread crawled up his spine, a suspicion. Maybe she was asking out of mere curiosity. Maybe there was another reason.

"I think it was a—relative," he said, off-handedly.

"Which one?"

A face rose up in his mind. Like his mother's—beautiful and frightening and an object of endless fascination. The offer had been the most unexpected, the most delicious surprise—it was his dream to learn from her. She said he was a natural.

"Remember—when you cast a curse, you have to really mean it."

"What d'you mean, Bella?"

She'd leaned in close, put an arm around his shoulder—like they were friends, sharing a secret.

"You must want to hurt them."

That lesson had sunk down into his very bones, no matter how hard he tried to forget it. Bella had been right.

They never worked as well if you didn't want to inflict pain.

"Given that I just rescued you from their clutches," Sirius said, pushing aside the thought of that face. "Why don't we enjoy this night free of my family? Subject and individuals. Let's pretend they don't exist."

"I do not think that is the way of the world," Colette said, archly.

"At least admit that the idea has some appeal for you, given the heavy concentration of their company you've endured since your arrival."

Her smile peaked out again.

"I am not free," she said, slowly. "You are still here."

"Yes—" He slipped his hand through the crook of her arm. "But I'm the exception, remember?"

She resisted—but in the end, Colette laughed, her eyes sparkled—some of her former girlish optimism returning. Relief washed over Sirius.

Dropping the subject of his family was as welcome to her as it was him.

---

A wife must learn to was what Lily's mother always said.

The twelve-year-old girl and recipient of this advice had dismissed it with the certainty of one who knows she is destined for a far less prosaic future than cooking meals and darning socks for some thick bloke (all blokes were thick except Severus, and he was only technically a bloke.) She was a witch, and this newly discovered fact had given her a sense of grand purpose—being a wife seemed so boring by comparisn.

Lily hadn't counted on James.

She hadn't counted on being Mrs. Potter before she was even twenty. Three years ago she could not have imagined wanting to be in the same room with her future husband.

You know that's not true. You weren't annoyed at him—you were annoyed at yourself still fancying him, even though he was an arrogant toerag.

Not only were they married—their family was growing. She had to admit she had some anxiety about the world their child would be born into—but also great resolve.

For this evening, she just wanted to enjoy her friends, her husband, and Christmas.

Of course, one of the three was making enjoying the other two rather difficult.

"Honestly, what a bunch of glums." Alice Longbottom passed a tray of canapés she'd just retrieved from the kitchen to Marlene McKinnon. "Is this a Christmas party or a funeral?"

"These days it doesn't seem like there's much of a difference," Marlene said, stretching out on the sofa, cat-like. "Make me a drink, won't you, Alice?"

Mrs. Longbottom obediently sidled over to the drink cart and began to fix Marlene a cocktail.

"You look fantastic, Marley," she said, over her shoulder. "Did you have a date this afternoon?"

Her sleek chestnut hair was pulled up and out of her face, in a high and stylish up-do that matched her chic black sequined dress. Marlene pulled off one stiletto heel and tossed it behind the sofa.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Lily and Alice shared a look. Marlene had been sulky for the last half-hour, and Mrs. Potter had the oddest feeling that the absence of one guest in particular was the cause of her mood.

"My father thinks it's getting worse," Remus said—the gravity of this dour prediction somewhat set off by the fact that he was wearing the lumpy green Christmas jumper she'd knitted him. Moony—forever a good sport! "He's been hearing it from all his overseas contacts. Rumors, you know."

Alice levitated Marlene's Vesper to her. It gently batted her on the arm until she grabbed it out of the air.

"About recruitment, you mean?" Alice asked. "We're hearing the same thing from Moody's contacts."

Lupin looked as though he wanted to engage with Mrs. Longbottom on the subject—but then he caught Mrs. Potter's eye. The color was so extraordinary it was hard not to catch her eye, when she wanted you to.

"I'm sorry we're spoiling the mood, Lily," Remus held up his glass. "A few more of these and I'll be singing 'Ding Dong Merrily on High' and tap-dancing on the roof, I swear."

Lily snatched from the glass from his hand.

"I will make it extra strong for you."

He smiled with gratitude and gentle humor.

"You look peaky, Remus," Alice said, her latent maternal side coming out. He sighed and ran a hand through his prematurely graying hair. "Is it that time again already?"

A shadow crossed Remus's face—as it always did, when the subject of his condition came up.

"It's not that. That's next week." He sighed. "I've just had—a lot of late nights, recently."

Marlene sat up, suddenly interested.

"Doing the Lord's work, Lupin?"

"More like a bunch of favors for Sirius," he said, annoyed. "Not that he thinks there's a difference."

Marlene laughed and lay back down on the sofa.

"You let Black walk all over you."

"Have you ever tried to say 'no' to him?" Marlene smiled provocatively and shook her head. "Trust me—it's not worth the scene that ensues."

"Frank mentioned something to me," Alice interjected. "About a mission Dumbledore had put him on. A very important one."

"Is that what you were—"

"No Order talk tonight, remember?" Lily looked around the room at each of her guests and gave them all suitably stern looks. "That's everyone's gift to me—we're going to have a nice, pleasant Christmas and life will be normal and—we'll all relax."

Alice plopped down on the sofa next to her friend, pinching Marlene's bare leg to get her to move. She was in a far better mood—and since she'd told Lily her exciting news, Mrs. Potter knew why. Neither of them would be drinking champagne tonight.

"Have you told your husband about this plan?" Alice asked, with a laugh. "Only he seems to be drowning his sorrows in mulled wine in the kitchen. "

Lily rolled her eyes and squared her shoulders—a woman ready to go into battle. She marched through the door, down the hallway and into the kitchen. She found James slumped over the table, staring into a a mug of wine as if it were a crystal ball that would give him all the answers.

A pitiable display from the man she had once thought the most arrogant person alive.

"Honestly, James Potter—this is your party as much as it is mine." Lily put her hands over her hips—God, she was turning into her mother. "I need you to go—rally the troops and show some Christmas cheer."

"I'm not feeling cheerful," he mumbled, gloomily.

"You're not the only one who is having a rough time this Christmas, in case you weren't aware."

And I'm using guilt, just like her, too—marvelous.

"I—know." James pushed away the wine. The expression on his face blunted Lily's anger. There was nothing that she was more vulnerable to than a James Potter who wasn't actively trying to get her attention.

Lily sat down across from her husband and put her hand on his.

"You can always go over there tomorrow and grovel for forgiveness, darling."

"I don't think—forgiveness is all it's going to take," he admitted, finally. "And I don't know what to say."

He looked up at her—and Lily thought her heart might break.

"This has been going on for far too long between the two of you." Lily smoothed his unruly fringe out of his eyes. "Whatever he needs to hear from you—you'll know how to say it when the time comes."

He met her eyes, and Lily tried to will him to believe it, for both their sakes. He'd lost so much this year, she couldn't stand him thinking for even one moment he might lose another thing that mattered to him as much as Sirius did.

Not on Christmas Eve, of all days.

There was a BANG at the back door—a particularly insistent knock, and Lily watched James's head shoot up, his shock turn to excitement, actual momentary joy, followed by the sound of a voice that could have made her dance—

"Oi! Aren't you sods going to let me in?"

For Lily that sound might as well have been the angel Gabriel himself trumpeting a Christmas miracle.

Mrs. Potter rushed to the door, laughing, and flung it open. Sirius stood at her back doorstep, his handsome face spread in a wide smile, a package under one arm.

"Padfoot! What a marvelous surprise!"

"Were you expecting Father Christmas?"

And a cheeky comment, too. Who said God didn't answer prayers?

As she embraced him and kissed both his cheeks, Lily whispered in his ear— "Thank God you're here—"

She pulled him into the kitchen, or tried—Sirius took three steps before noticing her husband sitting at the the kitchen table. James rose to his feet, and that glimpse of utter elation that had been so clear to Lily all but disappeared.

"Oh—Padfoot. Erm…hello."

The two friends stared at each other, uncertain. They weren't angry. In fact, she suspected both of these idiots were embarrassed, and neither wanted to admit it to the other.

"This is some welcome, Prongs," Sirius said, finally—keeping his voice deliberately light and pleasant, though it took obvious effort. "You look bloody depressed."

"You don't," James replied—sounding disappointed. "You look like you're having a damn good time."

Sirius's smile dropped. The two friends lapsed into an awkward silence, again. James tried to catch Sirius's eye, while Padfoot masked his hurt with a kind of cool stoicism that he couldn't have passed off as real if he were held at gunpoint.

This standoff was interrupted by the sound of a light cough from the doorway.

Lily looked over Sirius's shoulder.

"Sirius…" Lily said, and she could hear the confused wonder in her own voice. "Who is this?"

The witch hovered at the door, shy and a little uncertain—she was evidently waiting to be invited inside and introduced.

"Oh—sorry, Colette!" Sirius gave her a beaming smile and beckoned her into the house. "Don't stand out there in the cold. Come in, and meet my friends."

Relieved, the brunette closed the door behind her. He crossed the room to meet the girl, and in a display of unusual gallantry, helped her take off her cloak. Under it was the most fabulously beautiful set of dress robes Lily had ever seen, and they offset her extraordinarily blue eyes, currently turned intently in the direction of her husband's best friend. It reminded her of something out of a catalog of Regency Period gowns that she had owned as a little girl.

Sirius gently pulled her by the elbow to his side.

"This is Mademoiselle Colette Battancourt. She's, erm—" He struggled to come up with a description worthy of this vision in blue. "—Visiting from France."

James stared—no, gaped was a better word for what her husband was doing. Lily stepped in front of him, taking care to trod on both his feet.

"It's so nice to meet you, Colette." A dozen questions ran through her mind at once—who, what, where, when—how? "My name is Lily Potter. This is my husband, James, who apparently has forgotten how to speak."

"How do you do, Mrs. Potter?" Colette Battancourt curtsied—a beautiful curtsy, Lily suspected, though she'd never been on the receiving end of one, so she had no point of comparison. "I've heard so much about your husband."

"That's wonderful." We don't know anything about you. "Isn't it wonderful, James?"

James opened his mouth—but no words came out. His excitement at Sirius unexpected appearance had been somewhat punctured by the appearance of this strange, pretty girl that looked as though she had wandered out of a Jane Austen novel.

His dampened mood was not lost on Sirius—or Colette. Padfoot gave James a pointed look, and if his date (he had brought a date—an actual date—how many miracles could happen on one Christmas?) had not been standing next to him, Lily was sure he would have told him off.

"I—I know I wasn't invited," Colette said, looking between Lily and James—her lightly accented voice betrayed anxiety. "I am—so sorry, I didn't mean to intrude."

"You're not intruding. Any friend of Sirius Black is a friend of ours," Lily said, firmly. "Isn't that right, darling?"

I for one have never been happier to see a girl in my life, Lily thought, watching her husband at last sputter out that he he was glad to meet Colette, too. This was a useful fact, as she was going to have to be doubly enthusiastic and cheerful to make up for her husband's lack of either quality.

The girl smiled, timidly.

"Well, Colette, I must tell you—this is the most wonderful surprise. We didn't think Sirius was going to be able to come." Lily turned to Sirius—he was trying to catch James's eye and failing. "However did you get away from your—responsibility?"

"You might say I got a reprieve."

How had that happened, Lily wondered, smiling to herself.

"I would have let you know we were coming, but time was of the essence." He nodded at Colette. "I had to gatecrash a party and spirit her away."

Lily gave the girl an admiring once over.

"It must've been a very fancy party."

The girl blushed and murmured something excessively polite.

"I'm sorry that no one you meet here will be dressed half as smartly." She gestured towards the doorway. "We're all a bunch of slobs."

They heard a series of loud and boisterous yells from the sitting room. From the sounds of greeting at the booming voices in stereo, Mrs. Potter deduced that Gideon and Fabian Prewett had just arrived.

"How many people did you invite, Lily?"

"Just, you know—the usual suspects," Lily said, mildly irked—he could hardly complain about her inviting half the Order, not when she'd done it mostly to distract James from his absence. "Remus and Peter, of course, Marlene, the twins—I think Benjy is going to stop by, and Dorcas, Alice already arrived—"

"Is Frank with her?"

"Erm—no, she said he isn't coming." She gave him an odd look. "They're making him work on Christmas Eve, poor man. That's Moody for you."

"Good—" He looked back at the girl. She had noticed his jumpiness as well and was giving him a curious look. "I mean, good that—someone's doing it."

Lily's frown deepened. There was an awkward pause—when Sirius could no longer bear James's silence, so he pulled the badly-wrapped package from under his arm and held it out.

"Happy Christmas, Prongs."

James took the package and felt it.

"It's not really a Christmas present," he said, ruefully. "If you're returning something that belongs to the person in the first place."

He tossed the invisibility cloak, still wrapped, onto the kitchen table.

"Fair enough." Sirius stuck his hands in his pocket. "Next time I'll ask before I borrow it."

"That's not the point—"

"—What is the point, then?"

James's rudeness to Sirius's date had made a bad situation worse, but at least he knew it.

"Look—" James sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "Can we just…talk?"

Colette, whose expression of alarm at the escalating tension between the two men was a mirror of Lily's own feelings.

"Fine. We can talk—" He put an arm around the girl's shoulder. "But it's going to have to wait."

Her husband's frown deepened. James was doing so little to hide his resentment, that however much Lily understood his position, it was all she could do to keep herself from smacking him upside the head. Sirius wanted to.

But before he had a chance, Colette—the one who had the most cause to be offended by her husband's poor manners—intervened.

"You should go."

Sirius turned towards her, the girl said something softly to him, in French—and his expression changed. He murmured something back to her, and she touched his wrist and smiled. In that moment this profoundly innocent gesture was so intimate that Lily felt as though she were intruding.

She'd never seen that look of vulnerability on his face. He was transformed.

What the hell is going on here?

For once that thought related to Sirius's personal life was exciting, not alarming.

Sirius drew his eyes away from the girl and back to James, who was as shocked by the change that had come over their friend as Lily was.

"I guess that's the word. Everyone seems to be…in agreement."

"That the two of you are unbearable right now?" Lily asked, politely.

Both of the men laughed, and she and Colette shared a smile.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" James, asked finally.

"What about a run?"

They grinned stupidly at each other. Only the two of them would want go prancing about (in James's case—literally) in the middle of the night. At least Sirius's animagus form came with a warm coat.

"Personally," Lily stepped between them. "I'm dying to get to know Colette." She turned to the younger girl. "And the two of you will only get in the way."

Sirius pulled his hand out of the girl's grasp, reluctantly.

"Are you—sure?"

His eyes searched her face, looking for permission—or a blessing.

"It's just as I said—it will be fine."

He smiled back at her—a tender smile.

"You really don't mind, Evans?" She turned back to her sheepish husband, currently looking at her like a forlorn puppy.

"No—as long as you promise to come back less annoying than you started."

He gave her a dazzling smile and kissed her.

"Brilliant."

When the men were gone, Mrs. Potter turned back to her guest. The French girl—French, Padfoot with a French girl, who could have imagined that?—looked around her kitchen with faint curiosity, tinged with nervousness.

"Well—shall I introduce you to everyone?"

There was another loud roar of noise and laughter from the other room. Colette plucked at the hem of her gown and eyed the doorway leading towards the hall with trepidation.

"I swear—our friends won't bite." She thought of Marlene. "Well, most of them won't, anyway."

"Won't I look…out of place?"

Colette Battancourt gestured to her outfit—then at her hostess's. The difference could not have been starker. Lily considered the problem for a moment.

"Tell you what—" She steered the girl gently into the hallway—and towards the stairs. "I've—got an idea. Something that will keep us busy until the boys get back."

Colette brightened—relieved at the prospect of putting off meeting everyone. Oh, dear. What has Padfoot told her about us?

---

Orion Black was a man of impeccable taste, Lucius thought, taking a lazy look around the study. Not an object in the whole room one that wasn't of clear value or significance. Bellatrix carelessly deposited herself in the high-backed walnut chair behind his desk—without pretense of respect or deference for her uncle's most sacred of chambers.

He shut the door behind him and locked it.

"I know who you think it was."

Lucius turned his head—a quarter turn, a controlled and deliberate gesture. He was not one for any other type of movement, as a general rule—but with his sister-in-law, one had to be especially careful.

"And I know why you wanted to speak to Regulus," she continued, voice sing-song—but with that low rumble that one might've been able to pretend was a purr if one didn't know better.

Malfoy, as it happened, did.

"What I don't understand is why you didn't come to me in the first place."

It would be like calling for a butcher when you're in need of a surgeon.

He spared her his stray thought. Lucius could do without Narcissa's sister's snide remarks about the business dealings of his family. It was always better to avoid mentions of muggles in her presence—even in metaphor.

"I had my suspicions—and they were confirmed." She raised two slanting eyebrows. "He was with Longbottom at the Ministry."

Her dark eyes glinted with that cruelty that always lurked just beneath the surface.

"Well, well—that must've been a nasty shock." She looked down at her nails, expression indifferent. "It would seem that nosy Auror has his finger in every pie."

She looked up.

"What a shame you weren't able to take care of that particular problem."

"There were trade-offs."

Bellatrix snorted—unladylike, though the noise was not nearly as distasteful as it ought to have been. If she'd been girlish it would have seemed grotesque. From her it was more of a snarl.

"Sounds like he called your bluff." She tapped the side of her glass. "Why don't you just come out with what you want to know, instead of slithering about with all this Malfoy sleight of hand?"

Lucius's jaw hardened, his face fixed, all thought of family accord forgotten. Bellatrix welcomed it, and for the first time this evening Lucius knew her smile was genuine.

"Is there anyone in your family that would have helped him?"

"You have someone in mind already."

"I do."

"Who?"

Malfoy raised a single hand and lazily circled the room with it.

She set her wine goblet down on the desk in front of her, slowly. Lucius's eyes followed the gesture. One never liked it when she did anything slowly. It recalled a jaguar rolling its back right before going in for the kill.

"I can imagine him doing anything," she said, finally. "To spare the family's blushes."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"You don't seem all that concerned."

"I'm not," Bellatrix replied, bluntly. "You'd be amazed at what people in my family will do to avoid embarrassment. He won't have understood why he was there, at any rate."

"Your family seems to be made up of the least inquisitive people in the country," Lucius drawled. "For all the questions they ask."

Bellatrix stood up and crossed around the desk.

"I don't see your father sniffing around asking questions."

"The difference is," Lucius said, slowly. "That he doesn't pretend not to know the answers."

Her face broke into a wide smile.

"No, why would he?" Bella's catlike eyes gleamed. "After all—you Malfoys invented the game."

"And you Blacks have mastered it."

Her expression turned cold.

"You have your priorities the wrong way 'round."

"In what respect?"

"How he got out doesn't matter." She stepped forward. Light danced around her face. "What matters—is how he got in."

He'd been expecting this.

"We don't know everybody who knew about the plan."

"There's one person we know who did," she said, softly. "And no one's seen him for three weeks."

Lucius lowered his goblet, warily.

"That's a dangerous suggestion to make."

"It's a dangerous suggestion not to make." She twirled the stem of her goblet between her index finger and thumb. The action was uncannily similar to the way she played with her wand. Played with it—until she wasn't playing anymore.

"You're not getting sentimental on me, are you?" she laughed. "Cissy's not rubbed off on you, I hope."

"I am just surprised to see you with so little faith," Lucius said, coldly. "I thought loyalty was what the Blacks favored above all else."

He had expected her to be insulted—and perhaps there was a momentary flinch which betrayed the natural sting to her pride, but it passed quickly enough. In its place came unmistakeable amusement.

"Well—every family has a weak strain in the blood."

A man of lesser self-control than Lucius Malfoy would have taken that as an insult. Luckily he was not so thin-skinned—and he would not have dreamed of giving her any pleasures beyond those she came by naturally. Bellatrix was self-satisfied enough as it was.

"I cannot imagine Regulus willingly betraying anyone."

"Perhaps it wasn't willing. He may have been—compelled."

"Let us hope you're mistaken."

"We'll know soon enough," she straightened up. The high-handed, imperious airs she put on made him itch to take out his wand. "I've invited him to come the day after tomorrow. He knows better than to skive off a party he's been invited to by me."

Lucius nodded, forcing a smile of Christmas cheer onto his face. He already regretted that she was back in the country.

When Bellatrix meddled in other peoples' affairs, it tended to get messy very quickly.

---

Lucretia missed the days when she could have counted herself among the young family members who were all unceremoniously cast out into the night at about eleven o'clock. Unfortunately at some point in the last decade she had come to realize that no one else shared her vision of herself as a strong-willed and rebellious horsewoman of fifteen years of age.

Now she was an old dowager like Aunt Irma, and she was forced to hold court with the rest of the elder stateswoman of the family.

She had grown so unspeakably old. Who had allowed this? Certainly not she.

The door opened, and for one wild moment Lucretia hoped it was the grim reaper, come to finish them all of, like Poe's Red Masque.

"'Rion—" Orion gently shut the door behind him. "We were about to send out the hunting party."

The small smile her brother gave Lucretia made up for the din of squawks from the flock of family elders she found herself surrounded by.

Enemy territory…well, she supposed she couldn't have avoided Papa all evening. He had cornered her and steered her into this parlor, and he ha vowed to not let his 'own girl' out of his sight. At least she hadn't yet been subjected to one of his 'interrogations.'

"Where have you been?" Irma asked, peering owlishly at her son-in-law. "Walburga didn't seem to know. Though she never does seem to know, does she?"

"Not every woman spends all her days meddling in her husband's affairs," Pollux cut in—to which his wife let out another parrot-like squawk. "If for once your daughter's controlled her nosy streak we should count it a blessing."

"Men shouldn't do so many things behind their wives' backs if they don't want them to be nosy."

Burgie rolled her eyes—Lucretia hid a small smile at the sight. That punch she had given Walburga was stronger than her sister-in-law realized, for she would have resisted such a childish response, otherwise.

"Something—urgent came up," Orion said, in a carefully measured tone of voice. "A matter which had long been neglected."

He locked eyes with Walburga—there was an unspoken exchange between husband and wife.

"I hope that it's—" Walburga considered her words carefully. "—Settled now."

"In as much as it can be settled, in one evening."

He was brisk and businesslike and so very dull that no one—Lucretia was sure except her and perhaps Papa—took any mind of his words or ascribed any special meaning to them. Nobody wanted to keep Orion on the boring subject of family business.

"You've outdone yourself, Walburga," Druella piped up, in that simpering little girl voice she'd been putting on since they were at school. "This is the finest Christmas Party you've given in years."

Whatever spell Orion had over her, the sound of Dru's voice broke it. She turned her head in the direction of her sister-in-law, drowning in a violet taffeta that Lucretia thought, quite frankly, hideous.

"If my parties in previous years were deficient," she said, coldly. "I beg your forgiveness, Druella."

Druella turned red and stammered something incoherent. Cygnus, hardly his wife's greatest defender in the best of times, was torn between his irritation with Druella and his feeling of sibling inadequacy, a holdover from the days of the nursery that Walburga could always bring out in him.

"Dru only meant that we all thought you'd lost your appetite for entertaining, Wallers." He took a ungodly gulp from his wine goblet—he always had been a greedy boy, Lucretia thought, making no effort to hide her distaste at the sight. "Your heart hasn't been in it the last few years, has it?"

It was a comment meant to provoke—but for once Walburga didn't rise to his bait. Mrs. Prewett had the oddest feeling her mind lay elsewhere, and it was those happy thoughts that were keeping her from cursing her brother's buttons off his too-tight waistcoat.

Cygnus had been moody all night—not even the arrival of his favorite daughter, Bella, had managed to cheer him up, for she had only given him a fleeting ten minutes of her conversation before skulking off into some corner with her ghoulish menagerie of kept wizards. They all looked like undertakers and rat-catchers—the young men today had no style at all, in her opinion.

"I bet you're happy for all of this to be over," Cygnus said, to Orion. "You haven't lost your talent for disappearing in the middle of your own party."

"Speaking of disappearing acts—" Arcturus cut in, before his son could answer the dig. "What news of the boy?"

Orion turned towards his father, expression of the faintest confusion on his face.

"I assume since you didn't call him back for the most important family event of the year you must have some explanation."

Cygnus leaned his considerable middle-aged girth forward in his chair, eager for the inevitable dressing-down.

"He will be home the day after tomorrow."

Everyone's breath caught in their throats—in unison. Walburga looked positively alarmed—but Orion stared the snake down. Arcturus narrowed his eyes. His weathered hands tightened around his bejeweled cane—a festive, carved ivory one he only brought out for special occasions.

"With a fiancée in toe?"

Orion sat down in the last empty chair in the drawing room and stretched out his legs with a casual languor that was totally out of character for him—particularly when he was in the presence of Papa.

"Of course not. You know I'd never finalize those arrangements without your approval." He pulled out a cigar case that Lucretia was fairly certain she'd given him for his fortieth birthday and hadn't seen since. "As it is, I don't think he's getting the concessions necessary for the alliance to stick. Still, I thought it good practice for him—he is a grown man, after all."

Pollux and Cygnus both let out snorts of disbelief, but Arcturus kept his eyes firmly on his son.

"Does that mean we can expect Regulus for the Boxing Day Hunt?" Druella asked.

"Oh, I shouldn't think so—I believe he had some prior engagement." He looked over at Cygnus. "Isn't Bellatrix having some of her friends over that day? He was invited."

Irma and Pollux predictably turned on their younger son, demanding to know why Bellatrix would plan a party that would interfere with one given by her own parents.

"How am I to know what Bella does? She's a damned willful girl. It's her husband's job to rein her in, and I wish him luck of it." He emptied his goblet. "Salazar knows I never could."

His elder sister pointed out that he had hardly exerted his full paternal energy on that task—to which their parents chimed in their agreement. Cygnus gave her a cool look from across the room.

"I wouldn't think you'd want to go about leveling accusations on that subject, Walburga," he said, snidely. "Someone might turn them back on you."

Walburga's face turned white, and the look she gave her brother—well, Lucretia had never seen a basilisk, but she imagined it was something of the sort.

Druella cleared her throat.

"Well, I expect you and Orion are excited to have this house to yourselves, tomorrow." Anyone with any sense would have known better than to draw attention to the gaping absence, but Druella was not someone known for her sense, and in all the years of marriage to Cygnus she'd never quite got over her discomfort at the pregnant pauses of her in-laws. "A nice quiet Christmas alone is just the thing—"

"—Who said anything about them being alone?"

The whole party of elder Black statesmen and grande dames turned in unison to the high-backed winged chair at the center of the room.

"Of course," Arcturus cleared his throat. "Orion and Walburga will spend Christmas Day with me."

Orion turned towards his father, looking blandly puzzled—though some well of steely courage Lucretia had never seen her younger brother display lurked beneath the eyes.

Arcturus rose from his chair—with great effort, and he leaned heavily on his cane. He wore the sly smile of an expert huntsman laying a trap.

"This was…never discussed," Orion said, mildly.

"Why would it need to be?" Arcturus said, daring his son to challenge him. "The boy is gone and you'll be alone here. Christmas in Noire House is as fine a proposition as ever it was."

"Walburga is—quite tired of entertaining."

"No one is asking her to entertain," Arcturus replied, stonily. "Noire House is, I believe, still my domain—and I expect you and your wife to be there for the duration of tomorrow."

Walburga did a comparatively poor job of hiding her alarm. She kept turning her head towards Irma and Pollux, silently mouthing a string of what were either entreaties or curses, Lucretia couldn't tell which. Was she banking on some misguided hope that her parents would take up her part—? As if they ever had!

If it was that, Irma was ignorant of the attempt. Her vulture-like eyes darted between Orion and Arcturus. Even Pollux, infamous for his obtuseness, looked interested in this silent battle of wills between father and son over such an apparently inconsequential question. And was it any wonder? Orion so rarely stood up to him.

"This is a silly thing to quarrel over." Lucretia stood up. "You can't have Orion over for Christmas, Papa—don't you remember? You'll be spending it with Ignatius and I."

Lucretia savored that rare look of shock on her father's face.

"Unless you're being an ungrateful beast and rejecting our invitation," she continued, affronted. "Which would be just like you—you've been in a high dudgeon all week."

Arcturus's eyes flashed with temper.

"I wasn't aware I'd received any invitation of the kind, Lucretia."

She tossed her head haughtily.

"Well, that's no surprise! Ever since Mama died you've been abominable about keeping up with your correspondence. I sent it out weeks ago, I imagine you threw it in the fire like you do most of your invitations." She sniffed and raised her head in the air. "You know, you never spend Christmas with us, and we had our hearts set on you coming."

This was such an outrageous and bald lie that not even her father could muster up an answer to it.

"Our hearts set," Lucretia repeated, all too aware that her father might snap out of his confused stupor any moment and rejoin with the obvious fact that she'd been avoiding spending Christmas Day with him for the better part of two decades. "Weren't they, Ignatius?"

Lucretia's husband looked up from a large, old and dull-looking book on Irish history he'd been absorbed in for an hour. He peered at her through his spectacles, and she was certain he had not registered a word of the whole conversation.

"On the subject of what sets my heart a-flutter, I leave such considerations to you, my dear. It is quite in your purview."

"There—" Lucretia turned back towards her father, triumphant. "See?"

Arcturus looked between his children. His mind—still as powerful and dangerous as a venomous tentacula—weighed the value of further attacks. The terms and values of his calculations were only discernible to him. Lucretia crossed her fingers under her skirts.

"You needn't get your back up, Lucretia," Arcturus said, stiffly. "I would never turn down an invitation from my girl. You need only tell me when I am to arrive."

Mrs. Prewett smiled. Her papa actually had the charity to look chastened—and as much as she had in no way been planning this act of tremendous self-sacrifice, that alone was a Christmas gift.

"You owe me," Lucretia murmured to Orion, later, as her brother helped her into her heavy, fur-trimmed cloak—the first moment they had alone.

He kissed her cheek, then pulled back and smiled at her—a look of gratitude mixed with amusement at the predicament she'd got herself in.

"I'm sure you and Ignatius will have a lovely time."

Mrs. Prewett sighed, irritated. She was going to be spending half the night getting the house ready, and without a servant—just to please one irascible and cantankerous old wizard.

"At least one of us will," Lucretia muttered back, tartly, as she slid her winter gloves back on. "Oh—you will enjoy yourself tomorrow, 'Rion."

"Is that a question, or an order?"

His attention had been drawn to the door of the drawing room. Walburga and her parents had just emerged. Burgie seemed to be in some hot dispute with Irma over the length of the drapes in the room.

"It's a question." He reluctantly forced himself to look back at her. "One never knows with you. You don't—let on."

"With you I don't have to, Lucy."

Mrs. Prewett wished that she believed that.

"Something's changed," she remarked. "You've been going around for weeks like you've the weight of every burden in the world on your shoulders—now you look as though it's been lifted."

"Perhaps I have—one fewer burdens," he admitted, his voice rueful.

"One down—and one to go?" Lucretia asked, innocently.

Orion fixed her with a queer look.

"You always do know, don't you?" He shook his head. "I suspect the other one is going to be a bit trickier."

"I'm sure he will." Lucretia's eyes sparkled with mischief and red wine. "It's part of his great charm. Just like his mother."

Her younger brother didn't argue with her—he only smiled, fondly.

"Happy Christmas, 'Rion."

---

If the villagers had looked out of their windows and up at the hill above the town square they would have been met with a curious sight—the silhouette of a magnificent stag and a great hound at his side and highest point. Such a majestic and unnaturally still pair of beasts had not been seen in these parts for—well, at least a few months.

But by that point on Christmas Eve, most of the villagers were asleep, dozing by the hearths or snugly in bed—so they saw neither animal, nor the pair transform back into two men.

"God—it's been so long since we've done that."

Sirius stretched his arms above his head and looked over at James.

"The Order keeps us busier than we realize," his friend agreed, his voice unusually sober.

When they'd been in school, every full moon had meant miles of running—so much so that Peter had needed to ride on James's back. Then it had felt as though nothing, not even the edge of the Forbidden Forest, was a barrier to their adventures.

"I guess you're right." Sirius stepped out over the bluff. "Remember how we used to come up here for picnics that summer?"

The summer before sixth year was that summer.

"Mum would make those tomato and bacon sandwiches you liked so much."

"Until she realized we were only coming up here because it was the perfect spot from which to launch an aerial bombardment of stink pellets onto that old miserable sod of a groundskeeper."

"You know why she was so angry about that, don't you?" James laughed. "He used to be sweet on her. She called him her 'old beaux.'"

Sirius snorted at the image—Euphemia Potter, her round and friendly face—twinkling hazel eyes—and that miserable pallbearer that had called them a pair of football hooligans every time he saw them throwing a Quaffle between them.

"I still—can't believe they're gone."

James's voice broke. Sirius felt his insides turn—his breath caught in his throat. The wind whipped at their shoulders, battered them. Even on a night as still as this, you were exposed to the elements in this place.

"Nor can I."

James took a step closer to the edge of the slope. The sliver of the moon hidden behind a cloud meant that Sirius couldn't see his face.

"I miss them—so much, Padfoot."

Sirius reached out and gripped his friend's shoulder—and it was then he realized why James had wanted to come up here, what he had wanted to see. His eyes were fastened on the small village churchyard where his mother and father now rested, side-by-side.

"So do I."

His eyes prickled and stung and he raised a hand to wipe it away, but it was too late—James had noticed. Sirius turned his face away, ashamed—he had less right to this surge of emotion than James, and if Prongs could keep it together, shouldn't he be able to do the same?

"I know."

"They—" He choked. "—treated me as if I was their own son."

He had never been a burden to the Potters—in fact they had saved him, almost as much as James had. They had never judged Sirius, had never demanded anything from him. All they had to give was his.

Why did he feel this way, then? So ungrateful—unworthy?

Because he'd never felt he deserved it, that was why.

"They actually liked you better than me, Padfoot."

Sirius's laugh came out more like a sob.

"Do you—think they—knew?" He heard James shift at his side, but he didn't want to look at him, just now. "I mean, do you think they—"

"—Mum understood. She knew it wasn't the same thing, Sirius."

Shocked, he turned his face, wet with tears, towards James.

"Dad did, too." James swallowed. "The only one who didn't was—me."

His breath caught in his throat again. Just like that, the weight of a guilt he hadn't even known he was carrying lifted. The two men stood in silence, mourning their shared loss—not just Mrs. and Mrs. Potter—but the last vestiges of their childhood that had remained.

"Hey, look—the light's still on in the pub."

They jogged down the hill and towards the Red Lion just as a Christmas frost began to set in. When they arrived they were met by a group of rowdy elderly men singing an off-color version of 'Deck the Halls.'

"I'm just going to pop in to say hello," Sirius called over his shoulder, laughing, as James was accosted by two of the men over some football match he had apparently promised to watch with them a week earlier. "Before they close up shop."

He found Daisy polishing the last of the stout glasses from the evening rush. A few candles still burned on the tables. She had probably done good business. Everyone came to the Red Lion after Christmas Eve service in the church.

The look she gave Sirius was as frosty as the weather.

"I'm not speaking to you," she said, stiffly. "And I'm not making you a drink, so don't even ask."

"Daisy!" Sirius clutched his chest. "Come on—it's Christmas."

"And I won't have you trying to charm me, either."

Sirius grinned. He tried to recall the last time he'd come in the Red Lion, but whatever crime he'd committed in her presence was only a dim memory now. He sat down at the bar in front of her.

"What have I done to earn this ire, eh?"

"It's not what you've done to me." She tossed her rag over his shoulder and gave Sirius a look of utter disgust."It's what you've done to your poor father."

The bell on the door jingled as James, laughing, walked though the door.

"I think I've just agreed to join their football club—"

"—What does my father have to do with anything?"

James froze, his face plastered with that gormless look that all too often reminded Sirius of his animagus form.

"Well, he was in here, wasn't he?" Daisy answered for his tongue-tied friend. "He and Mister P came in for a drink yesterday afternoon. A fine thing for you to not join them, as well."

James unfroze—now he looked abashed. Sirius slowly looked between James and Daisy.

"My father was in—here." He pointed around the room. "In this pub."

He tapped the bar, meaningfully.

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"He—spoke to you, Daisy." He paused. "Politely."

She stared at him as if he'd sprouted horns.

"Of course. A real gentlemen—told me all about the trouble he's had with you. I hope you'll be better to him than you've been." She mistook his surprise for embarrassment and wagged a finger at him, sternly. "Did you get your mother something nice this year?"

"Yeah—really nice," he replied, the words coming out mechanically.

"I should hope so. When will you give it to her?"

"I'm spending all day tomorrow with them. I'm—having them over to my flat."

"Well—that's alright, then." She gave him a stern look. "You behave yourself from now on. He's a good man, your dad."

He stared at her, not sure to what to say—astounded at her vehemence.

"You really think so?"

Her face softened.

"I've got a good nose for these things." The spirit of Christmas had softened her, clearly. "You're like him, you know. And not just in looks."

He was very quiet for the rest of their visit with her. James avoided Sirius's eye until they were back out on the street.

"Look, before you say anything—"

"No effing way did my father set foot in a Muggle pub yesterday afternoon."

Sirius sounded so deadly serious, so certain of this fact, that James couldn't help himself—he started to laugh.

"Yeah, he did."

"And no effing way," Sirius continued, gravely. "Did he talk to Daisy in said public house."

"He did," James said, grinning at the look of indignant disbelief on Sirius's face. "Chatted her up—I think she right fancies your dad."

"You're fucking having me on."

"Am not."

Orion's son could barely contain himself—so many questions about these strange and unlikely events, he hardly knew where to start.

"How was he dressed?"

"In a tweed suit. Very old-school." James choked back a laugh at the memory. "I think Daisy's convinced he's an earl and he was stopping in before going to shoot some pheasants."

Sirius held a hand over his heart.

"Did you get a picture?" His laughter died down. "God, I wish I'd been there to see it."

The two of them stopped beneath a street lamp.

"Though—" Sirius turned to James. "If I had been there that would have somewhat defeated the purpose."

James's tentative smile dropped.

"Whose idea was that little chat?" Sirius didn't wait for an answer—he didn't need one. "What the hell were you thinking, James?"

"I was thinking about you."

Sirius snorted and scuffed his shoe against the cobble.

"Mister damned heroic."

"If you'd just told me the truth to begin with—"

"—You know why I didn't."

"Yeah," James said, sarcastically. "Because you're mister 'damned heroic.'"

Sirius smiled again, this time—ruefully.

"I'm sorry I couldn't keep my mouth shut." He waved his hand. "About our—little secret. It's what got me into this mess."

"It would've come out eventually." James sighed. "We're not kids anymore."

"You think Moony will forgive me?"

"Of course he will. He's Moony."

Indeed—if there was one thing they knew to be true, without a doubt—it was that. Sirius leaned against the street lamp, raised his boot and rested it on the edge. He gave his best friend a penetrating look.

"So—how did it go?" He paused, unnecessarily. "With his royal highness?"

"Not like I expected."

Sirius dropped his foot back to the ground.

"Is that all I'm going to get from you?"

"You should ask Lily. He came by the cottage and had a cuppa with her the day before."

"That's even more ridiculous than you meeting him at the pub."

James's lip twitched.

"From what I gathered, she gave him a real dressing-down." He let out a low whistle. "Speaking of things we'd all pay to see."

"The two of you are insane, you know that?" James ruffled the back of his head, unapologetic. "It's unbelievable, what high-handed arses you all are. Secret-keeping…I do so appreciate people fixing things behind my back."

"Don't put that all on me," James said, defensively. "Your dad could've said something, too."

"The difference is that I expect this kind of evasive, machiavellian shite from him. He can't help it—it's what he was raised on, and that's the one thing you can't change." Sirius rolled his eyes. "You, on the other hand…secrets are a very different look on you."

"Well—you're one to talk about secrets." James said, miffed. "When did this all start, then?"

"When did—"

"—You know. The girl you've come with tonight. The French one," he added, uselessly. "How long's that been going on?"

Sirius hadn't heard James use this voice in several years—since pre-Lily days, in fact.

"Less than a week."

"Some busy week."

Understatement of the damn century.

"It has been," Sirius said, wryly. "Not talking to you freed my schedule up."

James fidgeted.

"I suppose you were planning on telling me—eventually."

"Yeah—tonight, in fact, when I brought her to your house to meet you, and you were a complete prick to her."

"I just was—surprised, that's all. I wasn't expecting—"

"—Me to have a life outside of moping about you?" Sirius finished for him, dryly. Just because he was having so much fun taking the mickey out of him, he added that Remus knew all about it.

"Are you jealous, Prongs?"

His best friend sputtered out something indignant.

"Well, it's just—I didn't expect you to tell Moony and not me."

"I didn't mean of Remus."

James muttered something under his breath.

"It's a…long story," Sirius said, finally.

"So? We have time."

When they were younger they'd have circled the village two or three times, talking about everything and anything that came into their heads. Sirius shook his head.

"No, it's bad enough I've buggered off as long as I have." He turned in the direction of the cottage. "I've got to get back to Colette before the wolves descend—and in this case I'm referring to everyone but Moony."

He stopped and gave James an expectant look.

"Well…what did you think?"

James's lip twitched.

"She—curtseyed to me."

He knew that look—it was the look of his best mate holding back laughter. Sirius frowned.

"What of it?"

"Well, it's—a bit funny."

"What's wrong with curtseying?" Sirius demanded, quite sure he sounded mental. "It's just—what some people do when they meet you."

"Not anyone I know." James grinned. "Are you going to start bowing to people?"

"It's considered good manners."

"This is the kind of thing we used to have a laugh over."

"No," Sirius muttered, annoyed. "We always have laughs over things that are funny, and this isn't, it's perfectly normal."

Sirius's mouth clamped shut. James's grin widened—Padfoot elbowed him in the side, irritated.

"So it's…serious, then?"

How James had known, Sirius couldn't begin to guess. They had been best friends for so long that Prongs's ability to gauge his moods had long-since passed understanding.

"She's going back to France in less than a week and—that will be the end of it."

The excuse sounded even more feeble than it had been when he'd given it to Regulus. His friend smiled—behind those stupid glasses of his Prongs had that look.

"What're you laughing at, you sod?" Sirius demanded.

"Just you."

Before Sirius could punch the git he transformed back into a stag and leapt out of the way.

---

"Sorry about the mess. It's awful—and entirely James's fault."

Colette didn't mind the mess. The piles of fresh laundry, stacks of heavy books, photographs stuck haphazardly on the mirror—she liked all of it. So often in her life, the rooms she'd entered had felt like museum pieces, full of porcelain figurines and great marble staircases. She'd liked the idea of living in those houses, they had inspired her stories—but she somehow couldn't place herself within them, at least not permanently. They weren't comfortable.

Here—she felt at home.

"Why don't you try these?"

Mrs. Potter held up a bright green jumper an a matching set of corduroy trousers. At the sight of Colette sitting on her bed Lily let out a sharp gasp.

"Please, you must change quickly. You sitting there so pretty and posh is making this room look even worse."

Colette sprung up again.

"I'm so sorry. I did not know—"

"It was a joke, darling," Lily laughed. "You don't have to change if you don't want to. My only objection to your fantastic outfit is that my husband will start getting on me about why I'm not wearing something just like it.

"He tells me he likes to see me in skirts." She rolled her eyes. "Preferably short ones."

Colette's mouth opened into a small 'o.'

"And what do you tell him?"

"To bugger off, mostly."

"You say that to your husband?"

"Oh, I've said much worse to him." She laughed at the scandalized look on the younger girl's face. "Believe me, he deserved it."

Colette tried to imagine Narcissa talking about Lucius in this way—then she remembered why she'd been avoiding Narcissa all evening, why she hadn't regretted not being able to say goodbye to her in person.

"If you've been hanging around with Sirius all week," Lily drew her out of her thoughts, still laughing. "I imagine you've had to say things along the same lines."

Embarrassed, Colette busied herself undoing the buttons of her dress. Lily was obviously keen to know how they'd met, and Colette felt a little guilty about brushing off her probing questions. But Sirius had made her promise to be discreet with his friends, to let him do the talking, and so she would be.

As for why he was so insistent on this point—she had begun to put the pieces together all on her own.

"It must be a very good story, if Sirius is insisting on telling it himself."

Mrs. Potter handed her a series of brightly colored jumpers ("You've probably been told all your life you should wear blue, with those eyes, haven't you?") and even convinced her to pull on a pair of striped denim jeans that Colette found scandalous.

"Oh—this is the best by far." Lily smiled. "It's festive."

She stood back and gave Colette an appraising look—then pulled her by the hand to the full length mirror at the other end of the bedroom. Colette hardly recognized herself in the scarlet jumper and black flared trousers. It was such an odd mix—her hair, still done up in the curls she'd spent so many hours fixing in Grimmauld Place—a hairstyle meant to go with the sapphire-colored gown her great-aunt and mother had insisted she buy to attract a husband—the same gown that was now hanging off the edge of a chair in the corner of the Potters' bedroom.

"I'm afraid I may never fit into those again—but they look good on you. You should keep them."

"I couldn't possibly! Anyway, I wouldn't have a use for them after this evening." The thought of that skirt Sirius had bought her yesterday that was still tucked away in her reticule made her stomach lurch. That was different—that had been a gift from him. "My mother doesn't allow me to wear Muggle clothing."

Lily's brow crinkled with confusion.

"What do you do when you're out in the world?"

"I am never out in the world."

The older girl shook her head, bewildered—Colette wondered if she believed her. Sirius was always teasing her about how sheltered she was, how unworldly. She had only come to understand just how naive she was in the last week—in the last hour.

"Are you alright?" She looked up to find Mrs. Potter hovering over her, a look of concern on her pretty face. "You look worried."

Colette considered denying it—but only for a moment. Lying was not her forte and never would be. She walked back over to the bed and sank down on it.

"Well, you know—they say I'm a fairly good listener. If it's something I can help with—"

After a week spent in the company of Blacks, Mrs. Potter's gentle generosity disarmed Colette. The weight of everything—Sirius, his family, Narcissa—it was all pulling her under. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again.

"Mrs. Potter—"

"—Lily, please."

Colette smiled back, nervously.

"I am—I am having a problem—that is, there is trouble—with a friend."

Lily looked surprised for a moment—but then she sat down next to the younger girl, and Colette knew she had the freedom to speak.

"What's happened?"

Colette swallowed.

"I think she is deceiving me."

Colette waited a long moment before looking up at Mrs. Potter to see how she'd taken this extraordinary opening line.

"Deliberately?" Lily asked, her voice flat.

"Is there—" Colette sputtered. "Is there another form of deceit?"

"Oh, yes. There's little lies and there's big ones." Lily said, bluntly. "Sometimes people even lie to themselves—which are the hardest ones to suss out."

"I—think I know what you mean." Colette hesitated. "But I don't know what I should do."

"Well—I would say—it depends on how serious the lie is."

"It is a very grave matter."

Mrs. Potter frowned. She had an open face, and her wide green eyes were so striking that they drew one's focus, pulled one in.

"And there's no—innocent explanation?"

"I—do not know. I think…perhaps." She looked up. "It is impossible to tell."

"And—have you tried speaking to this friend of yours?"

"I am afraid if I do she may not want to be my friend anymore."

Colette blinked away her tears—the tears that had formed quite without her permission and to her great shame. Lily flicked her wand at a little box in the corner of the room, and it flew into her lap. She pulled a tissue out of the top and handed it to Colette, who rubbed her eyes with it, gratefully.

"I just don't want to lose her. She's—the first friend I've ever had."

It was such an embarrassing thing to admit out loud—to admit to herself, but especially to Mrs. Potter, who she was sure had dozens of friends. The older girl didn't laugh at her, at least.

"Be honest," Lily said, in a gentle but firm voice. "If your friendship is strong, it will weather the storm."

She reached over and gave the younger girl's hand a comforting squeeze.

"And if it doesn't—well—she won't be your last friend, I promise you."

Colette returned her smile, timidly. It was comforting, in a way—but it didn't make the prospect of losing Narcissa any less unpleasant. Ever since Sirius had come into her life, she'd felt as though she was being pulled in two directions—which, she supposed, was how he felt, however much he tried to deny it.

But there's more than just his family caught up in all this.

"You know—it happens all the time, with friendships," Lily continued, her voice circumspect. "I don't see any of the girls I went to school with anymore. They've all moved away or—got lives of their own. People grow apart—they change."

"That is not the same thing as parting bitterly, though, is it?"

"No," she admitted, after a moment. "It's not."

Colette looked sideways at her. Mrs. Potter's expression had changed. Her face had that faraway look that had, in Colette's experience, always suggested weighty thoughts and complicated memories.

Then it clicked, like a key sliding into a lock.

"Mrs. Potter—you seem to understand my problem, well." She paused, wondering how to put her thoughts—her hunch—into words. "Am I right in assuming you have—shared my predicament?"

Lily rolled her eyes and flopped backwards onto her bed.

"I hope not, for your sake."

Colette shifted around to look at her new friend.

"Did you have a—what is the expression—a falling out?"

"Oh, yes," Lily said, her voice heavy. "A very awful, messy one. God willing whatever is going on with you, it won't be half as bad as that."

"Who was it—" She faltered. "I'm sorry. It is not my business."

She could see on her face that Mrs. Potter was debating the merits of speaking further on this subject. Colette resisted her natural desire to press—curiosity and the hope for some kind of advice, guidance, direction on the difficult subject of tenuous friendship made it very difficult.

Her desperation must've been obvious, for Lily let out a small laugh of disbelief.

"Don't apologize. It's ancient history, really." She hauled herself upright. "He was my first friend. First best friend, anyway."

Colette clasped her hands in front of her and waited.

"It happened gradually. He made a lot of choices I didn't agree with, started hanging around with very—not nice people, and in the end, we—had a fight, and couldn't be friends anymore."

"Because he did not want to be?"

"No—it was my decision. It can happen like that. You go one way—and people you once were very close to go the other. Sometimes you end up not knowing the person by the end."

"In my case," Colette said, glumly. "I am wondering if I ever knew her to begin with."

"Oh, those thoughts crossed my mind, too."

Her voice was tinged with just the barest trace of bitterness.

"It's an odd thing—you don't see someone for years—you don't want to see them, you don't respect the person they've become, but you still…care, in a way."

"In what way?"

"Well—I do." Lily laughed at herself and stood up. "I don't know why I do—but I do."

She crossed over to her mirror and stared at her reflection.

"I heard something about his mother, recently. About her—being ill. And you know, for a moment—I actually thought about sending him a letter to tell him that I was sorry." She tucked her fringe behind her ear and turned back towards Colette. "Stupid idea, really. But it crossed my mind."

"I do not understand why that would be stupid."

"Believe me, if you knew him—" Lily cut herself off. "It wouldn't have done any good, anyway. And I would have had to tell my husband, who would not have—"

She seemed to realize she'd said more than she intended, for she busied herself with picking up the pile of discarded clothes in the corner of the room. As understanding dawned on her, Colette felt her face redden.

"—Anyway," Lily muttered, finally. "It was a moment of madness that passed."

There was an awkward pause—Colette stood up and walked over to the dresser. On it was a picture of the Potters' wedding day. She picked it up and smiled down at the image of Sirius, standing between the happy couple.

"He cleans up alright," Lily remarked, coming up behind her. "I suppose. If one looks at him from the right angle he's not half bad looking."

He certainly looked particularly handsome dressed for a formal occasion, Colette thought—and Sirius not being in the room made it easier for her to savor the fact, free from his scrutiny. She set the picture back down with great care, and her eyes drifted from the wedding photo to pictures tacked on the wall behind it—magazines and album covers, and several old photographs, none of which moved.

"Where did you get these?" Colette asked, voice envious. She scanned the Muggle pictures, looking for anything resembling the people on that record she and Sirius had danced to in the charity shop.

"From—newsagents' shops, mostly," Lily said, amused by her interest. "I collected them over the years."

"You mean your mother allowed you to go to such places?"

"Of course!" Mrs. Potter said, her voice puzzled. "Usually she was with me."

"Really? How extraordinary!"

Colette peered at the collage, trying to calculate how many visits to muggle shops and streets it would've taken to amass such a collection.

"I don't see how."

"For me it is. I was not allowed to go to such places—not on my own, and certainly not with my mother."

"For goodness' sake, why not?"

"It wouldn't be—appropriate." Mrs. Potter continued to stare at her, so she added, helpfully— "Because of all the muggles there, you see."

Colette pulled a picture of a pair of girls off the wall and examined it with idle curiosity. Did Muggles sell pictures of themselves? It didn't look like one from a magazine.

"Mère is very strict—for her, they are not fit company. She did not even allow me to speak to them—not that I would have known what to say."

"And why is that?" Mrs. Potter said, her voice flat and emotionless.

Perhaps because she didn't know the other woman well, or because of her fascination with the house and growing confidence, she couldn't tell how odd Lily sounded.

"Well, I suppose—what is there to say?" Colette turned towards her new friend. "We are witches and wizards, and they are—"

"—What?"

The moment she saw the other woman's expression, Colette knew she'd said the wrong thing. All vestiges of a smile had dropped from Lily's face, in its place was a hard, glacial anger. Colette shrank from her gaze—nobody had ever looked at her like that.

"I see the difference between us." Mrs. Potter said, her voice cold. "If my mother had made that a rule, I wouldn't have been able to speak to her."

The color drained from Colette's face, and she dropped the photograph—which she now realized was of Lily and her sister—onto the dresser.

"Oh, I—Mrs. Potter, I didn't mean to—I didn't…"

Her voice sputtered like the engine of Sirius's motorbike dying. Lily stared at her for a long time—as if she was seeing her for the first time, that easy expression of intimacy between them marred.

"I didn't…know…"

Before she could unleash a torrent of angry words, her face turned white—then green—and she bolted out of the room. Colette stood rooted to the spot—until she heard the sound of Lily being violently sick from across the hall.

She rushed to the bathroom. At the sight of Mrs. Potter bent over the toilet, Colette let out a cry of alarm, followed by a string of self-condemnatory phrases in French and broken English.

"It's—not your fault." Lily's voice echoed in the toilet bowl. "It happens all the time—usually in the mornings—"

She touched her stomach, gingerly, and Colette remembered that off-handed comment she'd made about not being able to fit in her trousers.

"Oh, Mrs. Potter—"

"—I told you to call me Lily."

"You are…having a baby, then?"

Lily pulled herself around and nodded, grimacing. However much she tried to convince her there was no correlation between the subject of their conversation and her being sick, Colette blamed herself for Mrs. Potter's illness—she had upset and offended her hostess with her rude insinuations. Contrite, she summoned one of the towels from the other room, along with a glass of water.

Lily thanked her, wiped her face and slid down onto the lino floor of the lavatory. Colette closed the lid of the toilet and perched on it, knees clasped together. She expected to be shouted at and told how stupid she was, or thrown into the cold night air.

"It still surprises me. After ten years I should be used to it," Lily said, finally. "It's—not an unusual attitude. I would say it's how at least half the people in this country think."

Colette's lip trembled.

"That I don't—belong here. Every moment since I set foot on the train to school I've had to justify myself—being there."

She sounded tired and unspeakably weary.

"It's exhausting. If you're good at magic everyone is surprised—or worse, they resent you for what it might mean. They see you as a threat. A lot of the people in the middle just don't want to get involved—they don't mind you, but they'd just as soon you weren't there, if it's going to make life uncomfortable for them. "

Colette had never known what to say to someone less than she did now.

"Which—I suppose it has," Lily finished, her voice tired. "As there is now a war being fought over the question."

The words took a moment to sink in—but once they did, it was like a light being turned on.

"Is—that what the war is about?"

"Oh, yes," Lily said, tired. "I mean, You-Know-Who has his own ideas, and he'll do anything to get to them. There's dark magic involved—but at the end of the day, that's what they want. To keep the purebloods in charge of everything—make sure people like me never get ideas above our stations. Or—get rid of us altogether."

Colette felt her blood freezing in her veins.

"Are you alright, darling?" Mrs. Potter grasped Colette's arm to steady her. "You look like you're about to be sick."

Colette brushed away her tears—Mrs. Potter was asking after her, was worried about her.

"Didn't you know?"

She shook her head from side-to-side. Lily sighed.

"This was the one subject I was determined not to discuss this evening," she said, voice rueful. "I wanted one night off from the war."

Colette dabbed at her face with the one remaining clean corner of Lily's towel.

"I am sorry to have offended you, Mrs. Potter."

Lily's expression softened.

"I know you are. I didn't think you were doing it on purpose."

"I am very ignorant. All my life I have only ever associated with the people with whom my mother and father wanted me to associate."

"I suppose, given my family—" Lily quirked an eyebrow. "I wouldn't be one of those people."

Colette fiddled with the sleeve of the borrowed jumper.

"You would not," she admitted. "But I—do not care. I know that is not the right way of things, now. Ever since I met—"

She trailed off, embarrassed, face turning red again. Lily smiled at her. Evidently Sirius's good opinion was grounds to forgive much, in her eyes.

"Well, then—that's all that matters. It's you and I that are going to be friends—your family has nothing to do with it."

Colette returned Lily's smile, shyly.

She followed her new friend down the stairs, her heart lightened. She found, for almost the first time in her life, that the question of who her family approved of was of no great concern.

Colette was certain that—on the question of society in Wizarding Britain, at least—her judgement was better than theirs.

---

It was one of his particular gifts that Orion always knew when there was someone in his house that didn't belong. It wasn't just strangers—in a clan such as theirs, with so many branches, so many intersecting interests, blood mingling in and out—family was just as often who was most out of place.

A stranger could come from within as easily as without.

The fire in the grate was nothing more than dying embers, only the dim light of the lamp in the corner that the elf alway left lit illuminated the room. He closed the door behind him, then took a single step into the room—

"What have I always told you about this room, Bellatrix?"

Out of the shadows behind the desk that dominated the room rose a figure—tall and elegant, as sleek and obscure as a shadow herself.

"That I'm not to enter it without your permission."

Orion lifted his lit wand—and his eldest niece's face peered out at him from the darkness.

Once, her uncle would've thought it prudent to correct her behavior, even though she was a grown witch. He would've perhaps remarked to Cygnus that he ought to speak to Rodolphus. That was how things were done in their family. Traditionally—discreetly.

She pretended to wait for a dressing-down both of them knew he was not going to give her.

"Well?" he said, finally.

She smiled—a mocking, sly look.

"You're not holding out for words of remorse, are you?"

"I gave that up soliciting you for that a long time ago, Bellatrix."

"I don't think you'd enjoy them much," Bella said, blithely. "I know you don't like being lied to."

"I don't suppose anyone does."

"That's true…" She trailed off, thoughtful. "Some people have less tolerance for it than others, though."

"How long have you been waiting?"

"Longer than I expected. Everyone thought you were holed up in your study—" She paused. "—So I came looking for you. Imagine my surprise not to find you here." She looked around the room. "I hardly have a single memory of you from childhood where you weren't in this room."

"I'm glad to see you've recovered from your—illness." He picked a book up off the shelf and pursued it, carelessly. "Your aunt and I were sorry to hear of it. "

"The reports of my incapacitation have been grossly exaggerated."

"I have no doubt," he said, dropping the book back down on the shelf. "You have always had a robust constitution, like your father."

Bellatrix sat back down in his chair. She rhythmically tapped each of the arms, then leaned back, languidly.

"About what did you wish to speak to me, Bellatrix?"

His niece studied the ceiling, covered in painted constellations.

"I heard you had Cissy staying with you all week," she drawled, voice bored. "I hope she wasn't too much of a bother."

"Your sister has always behaved with the utmost decorum."

"But you've never liked her much—for all that," Bellatrix said, bluntly. Her eyes glinted with cold amusement. "Too proper. You know, Uncle Orion—I think in your heart you've got a soft spot for a rogue."

She sat up.

"Do you like that little gallic nymph she's attached herself to?"

Orion narrowed his eyes.

"The French girl?" He kept his voice bland. "A witch of little consequence."

"Like most witches," Bellatrix said, bluntly. "She seems a nosy type to me. We don't like that in this family, do we? Curiosity is not a becoming quality in a witch."

"I quite agree," Orion said, dryly. "Women shouldn't concern themselves with anything beyond the domestic sphere. I would be distressed if I thought a Black wife or daughter was meddling against the wishes of her husband or father."

"Family is everything to you, uncle," Bella agreed, her voice soft. "It's something we share."

To anyone, stranger or kinsmen, the long look her uncle gave Bellatrix would've seemed that of a distracted relation, whose niece's behavior, interests and character were of as little concern now as they had been when she was a schoolgirl.

"I am glad you have come to understand its importance."

Bellatrix's lip curled up.

"Is it true Regulus is coming back day after tomorrow?"

Orion smiled, thinly.

"No secrets in this family."

"You know Papa! He just happened to mention it." She pulled out her wand and toyed with it, spinning it around on her finger. Red sparks shot out of the end. The light illuminated her face and drew a shadow across her strong chin, like the slash of a knife.

"Reggie's been away for such a long time," she continued, in somber tones. "Everyone has missed him so much, you know—me most of all."

She stood up and stretched her back, languidly.

"I've really grown fond of him the last year. He has such a lot of promise. And he's—grown up so much."

"Some days I think I hardly recognize him."

Bellatrix stepped around the desk and towards Orion.

"Will I see him soon?"

She stopped in front of her uncle.

"I doubt you'll have long to wait." He raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you've come? To express your concerns as to the suitability of his match with Narcissa's friend?"

Bella's eyes flickered.

"I would hate to think you'd thrown Regulus away. That's all."

Bellatrix walked around him and crossed to the door. She turned around at the threshold, smiled—and curtseyed. Then she was gone, like a puff of smoke—or something far more poisonous.

He walked over to his desk. A broken and dusty picture frame lay flat in the center.

Mr. Black looked down at the photograph of his family—then at the drawer that had been left open.

The place from which it had been taken.

Orion placed the picture back and slid the drawer shut.

---

"You must find our manners shockingly uncouth, compared to what you're used to."

The French girl of whom Remus had heard so much the past week demurred—but she had a naturally open face, and given everything he knew about her and the little he had observed himself, Lupin was certain Colette Battancourt was delightedly scandalized by the drinking, merriment and carousing that presently surrounded her.

"No, I assure you, I—"

A tray of drinks whizzed past her head, nearly knocking her over.

"Oh—sorry about that!" Fabian Prewett waved one arm apologetically. "Aim's of my spells are a bit off, tonight."

"You need your wand taken away, Prewett, for all our sakes!"

Laughing, Remus helped to pull her out of harm's way. She was a good sport, but she was obviously not used to being in a room filled with Order members all trying to outdrink each other. It was an unsurprising concentration of boisterousness. They'd been on edge for months, and now all the steam was being blown off in one concentrated, explosive burst.

Nobody had wanted to talk about the war—but it was all they had to talk about, because none of them had any lives outside of the Order, and it was all that dominated the lives of everyone. Colette Battancourt's arrival had meant they didn't have a choice but to shut up about it.

As a consequence, she was the belle of the ball—so much so that James and Sirius's absence was only just being felt when they burst through the door.

"Hail the conquering heroes." Sirius's eyes scanned the room, his smile brightened when they fell on the brunette in the corner. "We bring tidings of great joy and—peace on earth to men."

There was a loud cry of cheers. James and Sirius waved at everyone, like heroes returning from war. That's always how it had been—that was the way Remus assumed it would always be. It was how he liked to think of the two of them—the same inseparable, mischievous pair that had taken pity on a lonely boy who had never had a friend—and thought he never would.

"—About time you showed up!"

Sirius pulled a large and expensive bottle of champagne from out of his coat and tossed it at Lily, who caught it out of the air with fumbling fingers.

"Did you two idiots go to the pub?" Lily balked. "When we've all this booze we need to drink right here?"

James bounded over to his wife and pulled her towards him by the waist. Smiling, she made a half-hearted attempt to push him away. Sirius made a beeline for Remus and Colette—but was skillfully blocked by a rather grim-looking Frank Longbottom. Even from across the room Lupin could see that the tone and tenor of their conversation was entirely different from the Potters' happy reunion.

"Oh, look who is finally in a good enough mood to entertain his own party guests."

"Evans, Evans, Evans—" James swayed, he was practically giddy, though Lupin thought it more likely it had to do with making up with Sirius more than alcohol. "It's Christmas, remember? You have to be nice to me."

"Do I, Potter?" Lily tried, without much success, to dislodge herself from her husband's grip. "Says who?"

"It was part of the agreement—when we got married."

"Oh!" James kissed her neck—Lily let out a yelp and a giggle. "I remember now—I think that's part of why I kept putting you off, when you asked."

"You did no such thing! You were mad for me. Still are, in fact."

Their host whirled his wife around, and into a makeshift waltz—Lily laughed as he pulled her in for a kiss, all pretense at anger forgotten. All their friends cheered loudly and wolf-whistled—Remus turned to his conversational partner, only to find her bright red face turned towards the wall.

"They made even more embarrassing scenes before they were a couple, believe me."

Colette Battancourt looked up at Remus. He managed to fish a smile out of the sea of her embarrassment.

"Forgive me, I'm just not used to…that is—"

Feeling gallant, Remus maneuvered himself so as to block the Potters' uncouth display of marital affection. Colette gave him a look of gratitude.

"Evans—this is Mrs. Potter's maiden name, is it not?"

"Yes. It's a bit of a joke between them—that's what they called each other in school."

"How—formal."

Lupin laughed.

"Not exactly."

"Evans…" She repeated the name, her brow furrowed. A pair of enormous lapis blue eyes darted up to his face. "Is that what everyone called Mrs. Potter in school?"

"Most everyone—besides her closest friends. Did anyone ever call you 'Battancourt' at Beauxbatons?"

She wrinkled her nose disapprovingly at the thought.

"They wouldn't dare! Not without a 'Mademoiselle' before it."

"Do you make Sirius follow that convention?" Remus asked, innocently. "Do you hold him account for his lapses?"

"You know him well, Monsieur Lupin," she said, dryly. "You know that he cannot be held to account for anything—least of all a lack of formality."

He levitated two butterbeers over from the table and handed her one. Across the room Frank and Sirius's conversation had got heated, so much so that Sirius walked into the hall and towards the kitchen, Longbottom fast on his heels. Lupin watched them go with mild regret—

God, Sirius, it's always something…

He noticed Peter dart out the door after them—presumably looking for more of his favorite cheese tarts, the platter having been emptied recently by Gideon. Good old Wormtail—never quite had a grasp on anything beyond his stomach. Hopefully his untimely interruption would spare Sirius the brunt of Frank's anger.

Peter had been odd tonight. Remus had been sure he would be happy to hear that Sirius had come, after all. He'd been complaining for weeks that the four of them weren't together, and now that they were all he wanted was to leave again.

He looked back at the girl.

"I heard you had a—quite a shock the other evening."

"To what do you refer—"

"—I was staying at Sirius's flat that night. He came back in a complete panic, like a doxy with a wing cut off. He begged me to hide Elvira—you know, what he calls the motorbike—someplace that not even he could guess, just to be safe."

Remus laughed at the memory.

"I ended up bringing it here—it's out behind the cottage. I thought I'd give it back to him, as a Christmas present. You think he'll like it?"

He savored the look of shock on her face. Surprise suited her features—though she recovered quickly.

"How much do you know about me, Monsieur Lupin?"

"More than anyone else here, I'm sure. In normal circumstances, James would be Sirius's confidant, but in his absence I've had to fill in. I've had a fairly extensive report of your doings—London by day and night, theatre, Hogwarts…quite a full and interesting visit."

She didn't blush at this—in fact, her look of embarrassment turned smoothly into one of canny penetration—even suspicion.

"And you know—how we met?"

"Oh, yes. I expect he told you not to mention who you're staying with to anyone here." Remus lowered his voice. "Or your—friend."

She sniffed—this was obviously a subject of contention.

"There seems to be great enmity between her…friends and his."

"That's one way of putting it."

"Your country is very small," she said, after a moment. "It also seems as though everyone knows one another."

"True."

"And that everyone has opinions about one another. Many of them ill."

"Unfortunately," Remus laughed, tiredly. "That's also rather true."

She gave the door through which Sirius and Frank had disappeared a distrustful look.

"I do not think Monsieur Longbottom likes me very much," she said, stiffly. "Perhaps it is because when we first met, he found me in company he disapproves of. Though—" She paused, pointedly. "It is the same company in which I found him." Another pause. "This has not yet been explained to me."

"There are some things that Sirius isn't free to say, even if he'd like to."

She gave him a hard look—and at the first opportunity, let herself be pulled away by Benjy Fenwick, who had arrived with Dorcas not long after Peter. They were a rowdy pair, having already spent half the afternoon in the Leaky Cauldron getting plastered, in celebration at Dumbledore taking them off a night patrol mission he'd had them on in Wales for the past two months.

Ten minutes later, Sirius collapsed onto the sofa next to him, looking as though he'd been put through the ringer.

"Why couldn't Moody have done the decent thing, and made Longbottom work till two in the morning?"

Sirius turned his head to watch Colette rummaging through a pile of LPs with Alice and Lily, the turntable next to them blaring pop-disco Christmas music. He waved at her. She blushed and gave him a shy wave back.

Is she doing that consciously, or does she come by it natural?

"What did Frank want?"

"Exactly what you'd expect." He propped his chin on his hand. "Just raking me over the coals for bringing Colette. No rest for the wicked, no respite for me.

Remus handed him a bowl of cashews from the coffee table.

"To be fair," he said, over his friend's moody chewing. "I don't think you can entirely blame Frank for being concerned that you brought the girl who caught you out on an undercover Order mission as a date to Lily and James's Christmas party." Sirius scowled. "Have you told those two, at least?"

"I'm—working my way up to it." He sat up. "She has to charm them first, then I'll give them the bad news." Lupin gave him a sideways look and frowned. "What do you expect me to do, Moony—tell them she was at Rosier's last night, that my cousin's been dragging her around with that total prick she's married to and his stooges?"

"Well, I probably wouldn't put it quite like that, but—"

"I'm not going to apologize for bringing Colette tonight." He lowered his voice. "In doing so I was rescuing her from further exposure to Narcissa's shitty social circle."

"And your family's Christmas party."

Sirius's mouth, already fixed in a grimace, flattened to a humorless straight line across his face. Remus sighed—really, Padfoot was exhausting.

"How long do you think you can get away with this?"

"With what, exactly?"

"Sneaking in clandestine dates between Order missions." He paused. "And not telling her what you're doing."

Sirius slouched down further in his seat.

"I'm taking it one day at a time," he said, finally.

"She knows Frank was the one with you that night." Sirius sat up, slowly. "When Alice tried to introduce them she said they'd already met. She called him 'Mr. Klöcker'—and he said something about not expecting her to recognize him. It was a bit of an awkward moment, let me tell you."

Sirius swore under his breath.

"The girl's not stupid, Padfoot. You don't tell her the truth—she's going to draw her own conclusions. I think she's halfway there all on her own."

"For fuck's sake, Remus—don't you think I know that?" He stood up and ran a hand through his hair, agitated. "Where the hell is Wormtail, anyway? He'd be on my side."

Remus frowned.

"Wasn't he in the kitchen with you? Last I saw he—"

In typical Sirius fashion, this disagreeable news was met with a groan and him stalking away from the offending object of irritation. Remus got up as well—I don't care if he is irritated at me, I'm going to fill up my own drink, and he can lump it.

As he came up behind Sirius, moodily ladling out punch in a glass for himself, he caught the tail-end of a spirited conversation between Alice and the French girl.

"Frank—Frank, get over here—" Alice beckoned her husband over, energetically. "Don't you have a Fawley cousin, on your father's side?"

"Yeah—" Frank gave his wife a wary look. "What does that matter?"

"I'm trying to figure out if Sirius's friend is related to us."

Sirius dribbled some of his punch on the carpet.

"God, what a depressing subject. Aren't we all related?" He took a gulp of punch, then poured another cup. "Ask her something that matters, Alice."

He waved his wand at the stain and removed it, immune to Mrs. Longbottom's cross glare. She turned back to the younger girl and asked, in a sweeter tone of voice, about her hobbies.

"My—what?"

"What you like to do," Alice coaxed.

"Oh—read books. And—" She glanced up at Sirius, who was watching her fondly—not noticing that he had dribbled punch from the second glass onto his shoes. "And write. Just a little."

"She's being modest." Sirius handed the French girl a glass and sat down across from her, smiling. "She's one of the great satirists of our age."

They argued good-naturedly about the quality of her writing for a minute—French and English freely mingling, though she was clearly far better at her non-native tongue than Sirius was at his. Lupin glanced over at Marlene, who was speaking to Frank Longbottom in an undertone, and wondered if anyone else had noticed the look she was giving Colette.

"You, see Mrs. Longbottom—I live on my parents' farm, and there's not very much to do, except ride horses and fly broomsticks."

James's head shot around—he'd heard the magic words from clear across the room. He pulled Lily by the hand from the corner, from where they had been apparently enjoying a nice post-dance sojourn under mistletoe—towards the rest of their friends.

"You fly?" he asked, voice keen.

"Oh—yes," said Colette, startled and surprised. Lupin had gathered through general gossip (originating with Lily) that this first meeting between Sirius's best friend and not-quite-girlfriend-but-we-don't-know-what-we're-supposed-to-call-her and not gone well. That Colette knew how to fly had raised her in his estimation.

James launched into an interrogation of Colette's views on broomsticks, flight technique and Quidditch, which led to her having to admit that she had never played the sport, as it was not considered a "suitable activity" in her family for witches.

"What is this, the eighteenth century?" Marlene asked, dryly. Sirius gave her a sideways look of irritation.

"Well, Colette—" James clapped Sirius on the shoulder. "I hope you can cure this one of his fear of flying."

Sirius threw off his hand.

"What're you talking about? Colette knows I'm not afraid of flying—I took her out on Elvira. We flew all over London."

James grinned, mischievously.

"You've always been mad for motorbikes, Padfoot—I never realized until recently that it was how you coped with an infamous incident in your youth that turned you from what might've been a very successful Quidditch career."

Sensing a good story was in the offing, the Prewetts wandered over. That was James's gift, that he could carry an audience wherever he wanted—even over Sirius.

"What the hell are you—"

"Is it or is it not true that on your eighth birthday you received a broom, tried to ride it without instruction and promptly fell off, rolled down the roof of a house and got yelled at by your own grandmother, after which you swore off flying forever?"

Sirius's thunderous look of shock was all the group needed for confirmation—they all burst into laughter.

"How the bloody hell do you know about that?"

"I have my sources," James grinned and winked at Remus.

Sirius's face turned red.

"I know your sources, and I'm going to kill your sources when I see them next."

Chagrined, Sirius forced himself to look over at Colette. She wasn't laughing quite as hard at his expense, but her eyes did twinkle merrily.

"C'est quelle grand-mère—Melania ou Irma?"

His lip twitched—already her amusement had softened his anger.

"Irma, bien sûr. Melania n'a jamais élevé sa voix."

"Je l'ai entendu dire."

"You know Sirius's gran?" Marlene cut in, suddenly.

Both Sirius and Colette started simultaneously.

"Since when do you speak French?" Sirius demanded, as if this was a crime Marlene had to answer for.

Marlene raised one eyebrow, challenging.

"I picked it up on holiday in the Rivera." Her eyes turned back to Colette. "Since when do you?"

"He had a French nanny when he was young. As a consequence, his accent is quite above the common way."

At Colette answering for him, Sirius looked chagrined, Marlene—annoyed.

"As opposed to mine—very much in the common way," McKinnon said, with a shrug. "When did you meet Sirius's gran, then?"

The girl's eyes looked up at Sirius, alarmed—then back down at the cool brunette who was eyeing her with such penetrating interest.

"Well, I—I did not meet her, actually…" Her expression turned from anxiety to confidence. "But my grandmother was her dearest friend at Hogwarts, so I have heard many stories."

Even Sirius looked surprised.

"I—I'd completely forgotten they were friends." He peered at her, curious. "What did she say about Melania?"

"That she was sweet and kind."

"Was?" Alice asked, curious.

"She died when I was ten." A shadow passed over Sirius's face. "And she was—I never heard her say an unkind word."

"I—" Colette hesitated. "I do not think she approved of your grandfather, however."

"Really?" Sirius looked intrigued, in spite of himself. "Do you know why—"

"—This talk about your granddad reminds me, Black—" Gideon snapped his fingers. "Did Aunt Lucy ever come to see you?"

Sirius turned his head slowly in the direction of the Prewetts—surprised, confused—he looked from one freckled gingery face to the other. The twins were looking at him with identical mischievous amusement.

He rose up from his chair and pointed at one, then the other—they were both heartily laughing by now.

"You! It was you two."

"We would have mentioned it, except she said she wanted to surprise you," Fabian said, slinging his arm around Sirius's shoulder. "She seemed to think you'd have that reaction, Black."

"Where the hell do you get off, telling Lucretia where I live?"

He gave Colette an apologetic and embarrassed look, then jerked his head back around. Gideon shrugged his shoulders.

"I wasn't aware it was a secret. You should visit her more often. You know, she always says you're her favorite nephew."

"That's not the point!"

"I didn't know you shared an aunt with the twins, Sirius," Dorcas said, intrigued. "What's the connection?"

Sirius gritted his teeth.

"Theirs by marriage, mine by blood. She's a damned gossip."

Colette shifted in her seat, uneasy.

"Aunt Lucy's always good for a laugh," Fabian said, defending his aunt's honor. "She did come by, then?"

"If you must know, yes, she did—and she wasted no time throwing herself at Remus."

Lupin found himself the unwilling recipient of the room's attention.

"Oh—Lupin, you got to meet Aunt Lucy, did you?" Gideon laughed at the prospect of her flirtation. "How did you like her?"

"She's a—erm—" He cleared his throat. "A very amusing lady."

"Of course you'd say that," Sirius groused. "She gave you a fifty-pound note."

The whole room burst into laugher. Lupin felt his ears grow hot. Sheepishly, he turned his head away and met Peter's eye. Wormtail was giving him a funny look.

"Lupin, you rascal! Is our uncle going to have to call you out?"

"It was just one of her stupid jokes," Sirius interjected. "She'll flirt with anything with a pulse."

"I doubt he minded," Fabian said, laughing. "She's a real looker. Just like everyone in your family."

Sirius's face turned red.

"What d'you mean by that?"

"We've seen the pictures she keeps on her mantle, haven't we?" Fabian let out a low whistle. "That stunner in the diamond tiara—"

"—You mean my mother?" Sirius hissed, like an angry cat.

The Prewett brothers grinned, gleefully. They had a natural gift for teasing, and Sirius, with his pretty, foreign date, was an obvious target.

"Oh, so that's your mum and dad's wedding portrait she's got on her piano?"

Dorcas banged her tankard of beer against a nearby lamp, nearly knocking it over.

"Oo, oo—I want to hear what Sirius's dad looks like! He's probably a major dish, right?"

"Picture Black—" Gideon squared his hands around Sirius's face. "But with a mustache and a sense of dignity. Kind of a buttoned-down, Victorian version."

"Sounds sexy."

"Shut up."

"Why do you object so much to Lucretia coming to see you?" Sirius looked between them as if they were certifiably insane. "Are you afraid she's going to tell your parents where you live, and they'll pop by for a chat?"

His face lost color—the twins didn't seem to notice the way Sirius's jaw tightened. Remus sat up in his chair, acutely aware of the danger fast approaching. The Potters looked similarly ill at ease—as did Frank, who kept his eyes fixed on Black, the way you'd watch an over-excited animal who'd had his chain yanked one too many times.

"Why would that be a concern?" Marlene asked, bluntly. "I thought you hadn't spoken to them in years—that you were well out of it."

"I—haven't," Sirius muttered, avoiding looking at Colette. "And I am. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Oh, come on, Black!" Fabian jostled him on the shoulder. "Christmas is a time for family."

"Forgive and forget and bygones and all that."

"We all have rubbish relatives. So you have a few more than normal! There's nothing to be ashamed of."

Lily gave the twins an uneasy look.

"I don't think this an appropriate topic of conversation for a Christmas party," she said, noticing the look of increasingly discomfort on Colette's face. But Gideon and Fabian could not be deterred. "If Sirius doesn't want to discuss it he shouldn't have to—"

"—Exactly. Why would you make him talk about people he hates?"

Marlene took an elegant sip from her wine glass, immune to the way that Sirius had stiffened in his chair.

"Don't—" Sirius cut himself off, abruptly. "Don't put effing words in my mouth."

"I'm not," Something was boiling over for her, and three successive glasses of punch were certainly not helping to cool her down. "I've heard words to that effect on more than one occasion from you yourself. You call them 'blood fanatics.'"

Sirius looked over at Colette. She had grown pale and looked distraught.

"You can't hold me to things I said when I was plastered."

"Why shouldn't I? That's when you're the most honest."

"McKinnon—" Frank cut in, voice wary. "You want to watch yourself."

"It's not some ridiculous idea—" McKinnon scoffed. "Have any of you ever heard Sirius say a nice word about anyone in his family?"

Benjy Fenwick looked up from the albums he'd been rummaging through.

"Personally, I've never heard Black say a word about his family either way."

Sirius stood up.

"It's because I mind my own damn business." He glared daggers at Marlene. "Unlike some people."

A painful, awkward silence fell over the room—the kind punctuated with coughs, with furtive looks, that in other situations free-flowing alcohol might've softened, but in this case only served to lower the inhibitions of all resentful parties involved.

"You don't mind your own business," Marlene said, coolly. "You dump your business on whoever has the misfortune of being stuck in a room with you when you've been drinking."

The atmosphere in the room seemed to drop. She looked up at him, then to the girl still seated across from Sirius—whose blue eyes were close to swimming with tears.

"I never solicited you for your opinions on your mother," Marlene said, finally. "You told me she was a heartless bitch all on your own."

"Fuck off, Marlene."

Furious, the brunette rose unsteadily to her feet and stomped out of the room. Sirius stared after her—then he turned back to Colette, and found her looking almost as pale and shocked as he himself had been. She also stood, unsteadily, swaying like a palm frond in a hurricane.

"Please—excusez-moi—I must go—"

When she pushed past Remus, he was alarmed to see Colette was full-on crying—though she made a noble attempt to conceal it with her jumper sleeve. Lily and Alice both rushed after her, leaving Sirius standing in the middle of the room with half the Order staring at him. He looked as though he'd just been hit by two bludgers simultaneously.

"Merlin, Black—" Dorcas hiccuped. "You certainly have a way with women."

---

Considering how much she had longed for Lucius and for the comfort and security of her own bed, Narcissa found her mood when they arrived back at Malfoy Manor strangely muted.

"It was very odd of Colette to disappear like that," she remarked, as she watched her husband undress in her vanity mirror. Narcissa liked to watch Lucius when he wasn't aware of it. He was always so careful, so studied—these small glimpses of him in unguarded moments were precious to her. "Without even saying goodbye."

Lucius tossed his cufflinks onto a table.

"Was it? You'll see her tomorrow."

Assuming that Colette and her great aunt didn't decline the invitation for some reason.

Of course she isn't going to—she's not got anywhere else to be.

"I hope your friend hasn't turned out to be a disappointment, dearest," Lucius said, off-handedly. "You did think she had such promise."

"Of course she wasn't."

At least—not in any way she could explain to him.

"I need to ask you something," her husband said, his voice serious. "For your advice, rather. It's a—delicate matter."

Narcissa summoned her silk night gown from the hook and slipped it over her shoulders.

"Regulus's brother."

At this unpleasant subject, her face flushed.

"What about him?"

"When I was at the Ministry I happened to hear something of him—that he was in the Auror office, applying for a job. I wondered if you thought I should mention it to your uncle."

"Why on earth would you do that?"

"When we married, your family became my family," her husband said, simply. "As a consequence, I am interested in anything that might bring it shame."

"In his case, you're a little too late."

"He still bears the name 'Black,"' Lucius pointed out. "What he does may be of interest to his father, even if it isn't to you."

"You wanted my advice," Narcissa snapped, trying the sash of her nightgown into a hard knot. "Don't say a word to Uncle Orion or Aunt Walburga. That ungrateful wretch already did enough damage. The people he cavorts with—!"

"Do you know the people he cavorts with, Narcissa?"

Lucius stared at her with one of those blank expressions her mother had warned her about when she married him.

"Of course not. I wouldn't disgrace myself by bothering to learn their names."

He smiled, archly, picked up her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. Narcissa pulled her hand away.

"That's the second time he's come up in conversation this week, you know."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"Colette was asking questions about him. I found her creeping about in his old room on the top floor of Grimmauld Place."

"What did she want to know?"

"I don't remember. I suppose it was…idle curiosity."

Lucius smiled—but it was one of his false smiles he occasionally put on.

"I thought Miss Battancourt's excess of curiosity was one of the faults you were going to help her dispense with."

From the way Lucius said those words, Narcissa rather thought he wished she'd made a better success of it.

"I think many of my lessons have fallen on deaf ears," she said, stiffly. "I quite despair of her."

"Did you quarrel?"

"Not—precisely." Narcissa considered telling him about Colette's disappearances, that odd, nagging sense she had that something was being hidden from her—then thought better of it. "She's acting strangely—I don't know, it's impossible to explain."

"Women always are."

Narcissa was in no temper for such a jest, and she told him in no uncertain terms that if that was how he felt she would see him in the morning. He caught her by the arm before she could slip past him and into her bedchamber.

"Tell me, Narcissa…on the night of the party—did your friend converse with one of those foreigners, by chance?"

Lucius kept his voice light and casual—but his eyes shone with a cold calculation that made Narcissa—not afraid, exactly, but—take pause.

"Is there some reason she shouldn't have?" Narcissa gave him a haughty look. "They were guests that you invited into this house."

Her husband's jaw tightened, and she knew her refusal to answer the question directly annoyed him.

"Of course not." He released her arm. "Miss Battancourt is free to speak to whom she wishes. I only thought—"

"—What did you think?"

Mrs. Malfoy was acutely aware of the fact that she had broken five or so of her own rules for a happy marriage over the course of this conversation.

"Nothing at all."

---

Sirius found Marlene standing in the small yard behind the cottage. She'd lit a small green fire for herself, and warmed one hand by it, while the other held a cigarette. His first instinct was to swear at her again.

Lily had advised him not to—after she'd lambasted him for being an idiot for a number of reasons.

"I thought you were going to quit."

Marlene pulled her jacket around her shoulders and shivered, then took another drag.

"It's my New Year's resolution."

"That was last year."

"Yeah, well, I'm going to kick off the 80s in style."

She pulled her box of cigs out of her coat and wordlessly handed one to her. Sirius pushed them back in her hand.

"I shouldn't."

"I suppose she doesn't approve."

"Marlene—"

"—I'm sorry I was a bitch to your date." She shoved the box of fags back in her coat pocket. "She—you didn't that deserve that."

Sirius stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket and watched Marlene. She looked freezing in that skirt—and he felt like a world-class heel.

"She doesn't seem to realize what a prick you can be," Marlene continued, briskly. "And I thought I'd do her a favor and point it out, before it's too late."

"Trust me," Sirius laughed, heavily. "She already knew."

Marlene turned. Her makeup had smeared, but she hadn't wiped her face. McKinnon was tough, and the world they were living in didn't put a high premium on showing even a moment of weakness.

"Look—I'm not stupid, Black. I know if something was going to happen between us, it would've by now."

Something had happened between them, but they hadn't talked about it since, and Sirius was now feeling the effects of that avoidance. He could barely remember that night, except a hazy sense that he'd said too much coupled with the constant, low-level shame that followed him around like a bad smell.

"Last year doesn't count. You were really drunk—and anyway, it was just a snog." She laughed—the kind of laugh you put on to keep from crying. "I knew it didn't mean anything to you at the time."

Several useless phrases bubbled up, but Marlene raised a hand before he could embarrass himself.

"You don't owe me anything—and I don't begrudge you your happiness." She let out a shuddering breath. "I just—I don't know, I thought it would be easier if it were a pin-up model that finally made a successful go of it."

"A successful go of what?"

She gave him one of those looks—the 'are you an idiot look?' women had been giving him sense that first growth spurt when he was about fifteen.

"The way you've been acting tonight—I'll admit, it pisses me off."

"Yeah, I noticed."

She let out a mirthful laugh.

"This just doesn't—it doesn't feel like you. Not the you I know."

"Maybe the me you know isn't—"

He cut himself abruptly, not sure how he meant to end the sentence. A good person? The man you think I am?

Happy?

"You know why I said all those things that night?" Sirius ran a hand through his hair. "It was because it was her birthday. That's the truth. I was feeling guilty about not being there."

Marlene's hand, still holding her cigarette, dropped to her side.

"I've been—it's been like that for a long time. And it's not just because of the war."

Her lips opened.

"I didn't know."

Yes—because he hadn't told her. He'd never told anyone, not even James.

"I guess it was only inevitable—sooner or later some girl was going to figure out the trick."

"The trick to what?"

"The trick to getting you to lower the drawbridge. To scaling the walls you've built around yourself." She smiled, bitterly. "I'll have to ask her how she did it—there's a whole slew of us who want to know—and it's not just because you look like you've wandered off the cover of a Mills and Boon paperback." Smiling, she leaned back and gave him a once-over. "Though—that's part of it."

"There are?"

It really had never occurred to him—no matter how often it had been suggested. Marlene sighed, heavily.

"You don't let people in, Sirius. You push them away, in fact." She took another drag from her cigarette. "And you come off so wounded, I always assumed it was your mum that did it."

"That sounds pathetic." Sirius pulled at his stiff shirt cuff. "I don't know why anyone would be interested in the sod you've described."

"'Wounded' is a type some women go for." She ran her fingers through her fringe. "Miss Frenchy seems to like it well enough."

He suddenly wished he'd taken the cigarette when Marlene had offered it.

"With her…well, you're not so—consumed. She's so excessively innocent I guess you have to watch out for her, so there's less time to feel sorry for yourself."

"Thanks a lot."

His churlish sarcasm didn't phase Marlene.

"I suppose you're a bit too much work for most girls." Sirius stiffened. "You're like that motorbike of yours—need a lot of looking after or you'll fall to pieces. A regular full-time job."

"Oh, piss off."

"That's the you I know."

Marlene smiled—wryly, through her cigarette. It took a moment for Sirius to realize she was having a go at him. He grinned back.

"McKinnon!"

They turned around. Frank stood at the doorway. Behind him stood Colette—wearing her cloak and gown again, and clutching her reticule under her arm.

"I wanted a word." Marlene tossed her cigarette onto the frozen ground and obeyed the summons from Longbottom. "Black—"

Sirius, whose eyes had been fixed on Colette, turned to Frank, startled.

"What?"

"She's ready to go home. If you want to stay, I can take her back to Cornwall. No trouble."

Sirius was sure Colette had asked him to offer, to give him more of a chance to hang out with his friends. Little did she know how much more he wanted to be with her.

"Not necessary, Longbottom." He smiled at Frank. "I'll take it from here."

He waited for Frank to close the door behind him before he spoke.

"And here I thought," Sirius said, slowly. "That my friends were going to be an obvious improvement on Narcissa's."

"They are," Colette said, simply. "I prefer your friends by far."

She stepped into the moonlight. Colette had stopped crying—she didn't even look upset. He made a mental note to buy Alice and Lily fabulously expensive presents in gratitude for smoothing things over.

"Even Marlene?"

"Mrs. Potter had to explain why it was that she had taken up against me," Colette said, and she managed to contain any embarrassment she might have felt. "I believe I understand."

Sirius's face flushed.

"You were right, you know."

Sirius's foot slipped on an icy patch. Colette grabbed his arm, to steady him.

"About—Mrs. Potter. She is your muggleborn friend—the one you told me about that night you first took me out." Sirius nodded, slowly. "I couldn't tell the difference between her and any of the other witches to whom my parents have introduced me. She is no different."

Colette sniffed and tried to hide her face.

"I have been wrong about so much."

"Hey—" He pulled her by the arm and gently tugged her around, making Colette look at him. "You can't blame yourself. You believed what your family told you."

"I do not think that is an excuse." She raised her eyes to his face. "It is not what you did. The night we met you said to me that it took more courage to walk away than to stay, in such cases."

"I said a lot of idiotic things the night we met." Sirius frowned. "Brave isn't the same thing for everyone. You can be brave in different ways."

Colette lowered her eyes again.

"What would your mother say, if she knew you said such awful things about her?"

Sirius sighed. He knew exactly what she would say—how could he forget that night? Every word was chiseled into the stone of his memory.

"Do we have to talk about this right now?"

"Aren't you at least ashamed of yourself?"

"You know the answer to that question, Colette."

Sirius let out a sigh and looked up into the sky. His eyes traced those familiar constellations. The first thing he could ever remember learning—each one associated with a different person.

"Let's not fight. Not on Christmas." He looked back at her. "How shall I get you to your great-aunt's house?"

"We can fly—" Her cheek dimpled. "Assuming you have got over your childhood phobia of it."

"Ha, ha. I don't have a broom for you."

"We will not need one—see?"

Colette pointed to a tree—under which the gleaming motorcycle sat. The hiding place his friend had stashed his beloved steed. Good old Elvira.

"Moony didn't really try all that hard to hide her, did he?"

"He did well enough. If your maman was so determined to destroy Miss Elvira, she would have done so by now, n'est-ce pas?"

Laughing, Sirius held out his hand.

"Shall we?"

---

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