Sirius pushed himself up from the musty carpet, his joints popping in protest, but not before he made sure to stub his cigarette butt on the carpet. The hell with Burga's sticking charms, he thought. For the last twenty minutes he had been sprawled on a moth-eaten carpet in a large round room with high ceilings, in his ancestral home of Grimmauld Place 12.
Sirius usually avoided the Black family library, as the place filled him with unpleasant memories. He and Regulus had to spent numerous hours in the dingy room, taught by their own parents and the typical entourage of suitable tutors, who made sure young Sirius and Regulus were well trained in astronomy, pureblood history, and of course, the intricate and long line of the Black family genealogy, his mother's favourite subject.
What was worse that was their mother, Walburga Black, would test herself the efficiency of these tutors by making Sirius recite his lessons–while Orion Black, his father, always with an aura of cold indifference, would smoke his pipe quietly, eying the boys and his wife with a detached expression.
Of course, Sirius' grumpy yet perfect recital of his lessons would not grant him any affection from his mother, but a steely look, a curt nod, and at best a comment of praise always followed by a warning–or more likely, a threat–about the Black heir potentially not fulfilling his obligations to his family and his lineage. When Sirius grew older, though, and especially leading toward his entering Hogwarts and after, those statements were more demanding, more aggressive, and more threatening, as Walburga and Orion Black were very keen on destroying their oldest son's rebellious behaviours.
He gazed around the towering bookshelves and ran a hand through his hair, leaving a trail of grime on his forehead. He needed a bath and another cigarette, but instead he approached a long window, flung it open with his hands, desperate for fresh air, for a moment of reprieve before he had to continue his task.
Sirius had spent all morning in this room looking for something about the Horcruxes, the contraptions Dumbledore thought Voldemort was using. But nothing in his research, in the sifting and skimming of the most suspicious books about curses, dark magic, warfare or other elements, had any information about…Horcruxes.
The library carried a number of delectable ancient tomes on all things that would interest the Blacks. There were genealogical books on the Ancient and most Noble House of Black, with research by his own ancestors; there was a fine collection of books purchased abroad in foreign languages like Italian, Latin, and French dating back in the 1500s, and magically preserved; and finally there were countless of books on spellwork, intricate designs of magic, and of course, blood magic. If one thing, the Blacks valued blood.
He spent the first couple of hours focusing on the most dubious books he could find, the darkest and most dangerous titles attracted his attention. He pulled a leather-bound series of books that spanned two volumes, titled Magick Most Malevolent, and he quickly found himself unable to breath as a cloud of dust and mould erupted in his face.
After skimming all tomes of this series, Sirius slammed the last volume shut and decided to skim the chapter of a skinnier book on blood magic, Purity and How to Maintain It, thinking that someone like Voldemort might have created certain dark objects to expunge his line out of any Muggle trace.
Despite being utterly disgusted, he flipped through a variety of diagrams with blood purification rituals, incantations, and other forms, but nothing about Horcruxes–nothing at all.
Trying to get a hold of his irritation and resisting the urge to throw the silver cigarette case against the wall, as he did with a large quill that belonged to Orion only hours prior, Sirius spotted a large book at the very top and used his wand to retrieve it.
He quickly snatched the thick leather-bound volume and traced his index finger on the faded gold lettering of the title, A Compendium of Forbidden Knowledge. He decided it sounded morbid enough and took the book on the study and sat in front of it.
He then started flipping through the pages of A Compendium of Forbidden Knowledge with a renewed urgency, looking for anything that would have the description of what a Horcrux is.
As he flipped through the book, nothing came up–only the memory of Dumbledore's words, etched on his mind, in his usual state of lack of sleep.
"It's a type of dark object, the kind that would allow someone like Voldemort to gain what he craves the most, immortality"
Sirius groaned and handled the old text roughly with one hand, sifting through the pages in a quick irritated pace that showed his contempt for such magic.
"There is little information, to this idea about such an artefact, such a horrible creation," Dumbledore's voice was echoing in his mind.
"The manner of how Voldemort created them and how they can be found and defeated, I am afraid, is what we need to do–what I need to instruct Harry about"
Dumbledore laboured under the illusion that Sirius would let Harry go on a hunt of magical dark objects created by Voldemort to secure his ambitious take-over of the Wizarding World. Dumbledore was deluded.
Another hour later Sirius got up from his father's chair.
Nothing, bloody nothing. Even the Black's were beyond this type of dark magic it seemed. Time was lost, he was always out of time, and if he did not find what those Horcruxes were, it would be late. Late for Harry.
He slammed the book shut, the silence around him deafening, while his mind was full of voices.
In search of distraction, of the one soothing pleasure he had in his life, he grabbed the silver case and snatched a cigarette, lighting it swiftly with a flip of the wand–but it did nothing to calm him. Drag after drag, Sirius Black felt like a failure, unable to find the answers, to act–he felt useless.
He kicked his father's footstool, sending it skittering across the floor. And it still wasn't enough. He could not find release to the anger, to all the pain he felt.
He grabbed the arms of his father's chair and heaved, putting all his frustration and anger into the action. The large chair, already fragile for years of disuse, splintered and broke beneath his grip.
He swept his arm across the table, sending books flying, their pages scattering like startled pigeons. He could not take it anymore.
He roared, a primal scream ripping from his throat. He wanted to scream until his lungs burned, until the house crumbled around him. He longed for the raw, unfiltered release of his early days in Azkaban, when screaming was the only way to drown out the Dementors.
Breathing heavily and with his chest heaving, he stood around the chaos, looking at the mess he had made. His breath hitched in his chest, each inhale a desperate shallow exhale. He ran his hand through his stubbled face, beads of sweat dissolving in his rough palm. Strands of his curls were stuck on his forehead, clinging to his skin, but he did not bother to brush it away.
"MERLIN'S BEARD, SIRIUS!" Sirius, in the maze of his thoughts, did not register the click on the door nor Molly Weasley's livid face, as her eyes darted around the room, looking at the destroyed furniture and the books on the floor.
"What in Merlin's name happened here?" she shouted at Sirius and he simply wiped his face, ignoring her.
"Will you answer me, Sirius?" she repeated, hands on her hips. "I came here to drop some food over and the sounds–the shouting. What is this horror?" she insisted, looking shocked.
"Reclaiming my birthright," he said flippantly, as she looked horrified. He had no appetite to listen to her criticisms.
"Have you lost your mind?" she asked, irritated.
Sirius sneered, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.
"I thought you were past this," she eventually said coldly, seeing he would not answer her. "I am afraid, I will have to tell the Order, we cannot be around someone who–"
"Why don't you tell them, eh? Tell the bloody world what a disgrace I have become. See if I care," he snapped.
Molly looked ready to retort, but he then moved forward aggressively, which made her move.
He sniffed a bit and gave her a haughty look, before passing through her and leaving the library, without a word.
...
"An adequate job, Wormtail, even for vermin like you," drawled Bellatrix Lestrange with a sinister look, as Peter had finished arranging stacks with things from the Dark Lord's vaults at the drawing room of Malfoy manor.
Peter did not want to provoke Bellatrix, as he knew that her volatile temperament would not be in his favour, so he did his work quietly, using his crusty wand with the silver hand the Dark Lord had granted him for his services.
"Such industry," her voice again. It seemed that Peter's quiet silence did nothing to keep the taunts away. "One might almost mistake you for a house-elf with all that bustling about."
Peter bristled, but he bit back an answer.
"I do my best to serve, B-Bella," Peter mumbled instead, but Bellatrix wrinkled her nose, as if she was smelling something foul. As much as he loathed her condescending amusement, she was preferable to the simmering menace that was Severus Snape. At least Bellatrix found him pathetically amusing.
A rustle of robes announced the other Black sister's arrival and Narcissa glided into the room, her face paler than usual. She had not bothered to change her nightgown and tresses of long blonde hair fell below her shoulders. Ignoring both Peter and Bellatrix, she went directly to a side table and poured herself a generous measure of what Peter knew to be a particularly potent firewhisky.
"Speaking of amusement," Bellatrix said, giving Narcissa a look of utter contempt. "I hear your old friend, the beast had quite the run-in with our master's forces. Seems that creature wasn't quite up to the task."
"He lived," Narcissa said quietly, her tone devoid of inflection.
Peter froze, the velvet box he was holding slipping from his grasp. He hadn't allowed himself to think about Remus, not for years. Of course he knew that he was with the Order, and with Sirius. He had seen them after all at the shack, three years ago, when they forced him to quit his cover, when they wanted to kill him.
The common room was warm and smelled like hot chocolate and Peter was huddled by the fire, trying to finish his Transfiguration essay, which confused him greatly. He was very keen on succeeding, as his father at home would be disappointed in him. But school was just not for him, he was not a natural, he was hardly good at anything, unlike–
He jumped when two shadows fell over his parchment. It was Sirius and James, his friends. But this time they actually looked serious.
"It's about Remus," Sirius said.
Peter's quill trembled in his hand
"W-what about him?" he said innocently. Sirius rolled his eyes, his dark hair falling onto his face.
"We think we know where he goes, every month Peter," said James calmly.
Sirius exchanged a look with James. He turned to Peter and clarified. "We know about his… condition."
"His condition?" Peter echoed, even more bewildered. "What are you two on about?" he asked, confused.
Sirius leaned closer, his voice low. "Remus is a werewolf, Pete," he said but looked triumphant and not horrified.
Peter's jaw dropped. His quill slipped from his numb fingers, leaving a long, inky streak across his parchment. He stared at Sirius and James, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
"A… a werewolf?" he finally choked out.
Sirius smirked. James on the other hand looked serious. "Took us long enough to figure it out, right? But then Sirius here had this idea–and I thought, I thought, that's it!"
Peter let out a small, terrified scream and got up from his table abruptly. This was horrid!. They had been friends with a werewolf for a year, a whole year, and they all shared a dormitory. Oh Merlin, what if he got contaminated. What if the beast attacked poor Peter–Peter was panicking but his friends looked bewildered not with the fact that Remus Lupin was a werewolf but by Peter's reaction.
Sirius' insult broke his trance-like state of panic and horror.
"Honestly, Peter," Sirius scoffed, "You shriek like a girl."
James shot Sirius a warning look. "That's not cool, Black."
Of course, Sirius would say that. He never missed an opportunity to ridicule Peter and often Peter felt that if it weren't for James, James who always protected him, who always helped him with homework, and always had a kind word–no, Peter and Sirius would never have become friends if it weren't for James.
But Peter saw the corner of James's mouth twitching when Sirius insulted him. James wanted to laugh at Peter's expense, he realised bitterly and it was not the first time.
No. This would not happen–James, James was fair, a just friend. Peter needed to be in his good graces, so he could not complain.
For a long second he stared at Sirius and James, his mind a churning mess of fear and slight resentment. They know. They know about Remus. And they're not going to do a damn thing about it.
"We need to tell McGonagall, tell the school–he might be dangerous!" he blurted.
James's eyebrows shot up. "Are you mental, Wormtail?"
Sirius took a step closer, his expression dark. "What do you think we are?"
"Remus is our friend," James stated, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "We wouldn't—"
Sirius looked like he was about to hex Peter, and James tugged on Sirius' robes because James was the only person who could control Sirius Black.
In that moment, Peter understood. They were a unit, those two, always had been. James with his effortless charm and Sirius with his reckless confidence. They were the sun and the moon, and Peter… he was just a dusty little planet, forever in their shadow.
There was no coming between them, no breaking their loyalty. And a part of him, a small, petty part, hated them for it.
"Of course," Peter stammered, forcing a smile onto his face. "Of course, we wouldn't. Remus is… He's one of us. Sorry , I don't know what came over me," he said to James apologetically, but he could tell Sirius was still cross at him.
He tried to sound casual, supportive, but he was not a fool. He wasn't one of them, not really. He was just the tagalong, the hanger-on, the one who would always be on the periphery of their solidarity.
But he couldn't afford to be left behind. Not by them. Not ever.
...
Tonight's meeting was dragging longer than usual and Emma, who was sitting next to Eulalia, was getting distracted. Partly because she tried not to look at Sirius Black, who was slumped back into his chair at a corner, his face hidden in half shadow. He truly looked sour tonight, not participating in the meeting at all, simply gazing back at the different speakers with an empty look, devoid of his usual energy.
"…and so, the situation in the Ministry remains volatile. Scrimgeour remains resistant to our warnings like the previous administration…" Dumbledore was discussing the situation at the Ministry in a heated conversation with Moody and Kingsley.
She knew, of course, about the incident at Grimmauld Place a few days ago. Molly Weasley had recounted the scene to many people and she had stopped talking to Sirius. Apparently, Sirius had taken his frustration out on his father's old study, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.
Emma felt a pang of sympathy. She knew Molly had a good heart but the man was also suffering. She knew because she made his potions, on top of everything else. But it was also true that he looked worse, more anxious, more irritable. Emma thought this might be about his godson, Harry.
"Frankly, Albus," Moody said. "We're spread thin as it is. We can't be wasting time chasing after every rogue Bludger the Ministry chooses to ignore."
Emma bit her lip. She had something for him, a calming draught she'd been experimenting with. It wouldn't solve his problems, not by a long shot, but it might offer him a few hours of peaceful sleep. The issue was that she did not want to approach him in this state. Not to mention he probably still thought she was prejudiced. She felt a sense of disappointment creeping into her bones and she wanted to look downward for a minute or two.
What was most concerning though was that instead of being irritated, she felt a surge of empathy for him, which left her unsettled.
"Alastor has a point," Kingsley Shacklebolt added. "Our priority must be the protection of Hogwarts and the students."
There was also the surprise party the twins were planning–she could not shake the feeling that there was no time for that, and perhaps Srirus would not be in the mood to celebrate his birthday.
Eula nudged her gently, drawing her back to the present. "Your turn," she murmured, her voice low. "Update on Miss Bell?"
Right. Katie Bell. Emma took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "She's… stable." "The Healers at Mungo's are not hopeful for a full recovery just yet, but it's slow going. The curse…they don't know much about it. They have actually consulted a curse breaker."
"That's me," said Bill, who was sitting next to Fleur.
"Oh, I was not aware," said Emma softly.
"We are everywhere, Miss Franchi," said Kingsley and winked at her.
"Good then," said Dumbledore, giving Emma an encouraging smile she wanted to avoid. Thankfully there were not many one-to-one's with her old Headmaster. "I will leave you earlier, although I am disappointed to miss the arrival of our new member. She is running late actually," he informed the group.
"And of course, you would not want to reveal who that is, Dumbledore," spoke Black from the corner, after being silent for the whole meeting.
"Ah, Sirius. I'd rather keep it a surprise. It's your birthday after all!" said Dumbledore cheerfully. Sirius Black looked like he wanted to hex Dumbledore.
After the meeting people tried to look inconspicuous but in reality everyone knew of the party.
Then, with a deafening BANG, the twins struck.
Multicoloured fireworks, shaped like dragons and Gryffindor lions, exploded across the room.
"SURPRISE!" Fred and George's voices boomed, amplified by magic, so loud that Emma had to hold her ears shut. A giant cake, frosted in Gryffindor colours and sporting a sugar Buckbeak, appeared on the table.
Flagons of butterbeer and mountains of treats materialised alongside the huge cake that landed softly on the large table, which just prior was full of papers and maps that Bill had disappeared with his wand to avoid sugar and icing collision.
A charmed gramophone burst to life, filling the room with a jaunty wizarding jig.
Emma searched Sirius' face. He was still at the corner, immobilised from the commotion around him. He blinked, his face a mask of confusion as he stared at the sudden chaos.
For a moment, Emma thought he might explode, but instead, a slow, sad smile spread across his face. It didn't reach his eyes though.
"Happy birthday, Sirius!" Tonks yelled, showering him with confetti and pulling him into a hug.
"Fred! George! Honestly, must you two turn every gathering into a carnival?" Molly Weasley scolded, shaking her head at her sons.
The twins, unrepentant, just grinned and bowed theatrically.
Sirius, meanwhile, remained rooted to his spot by the window, the forced smile having vanished from his face. He looked like a man caught in a rainstorm without a coat, utterly unprepared for the downpour of forced cheer.
Bill and Charlie Weasley steered him towards the centre of the room, eventually.
"Come on, Padfoot," Bill said. "Try to enjoy yourself, eh?"
The music swelled, the charmed gramophone belting out a particularly lively jig. Fred and George, never ones to miss an opportunity for a good laugh, launched into an impromptu, and frankly, alarmingly coordinated dance, grabbing Hestia Jones with them, causing her to drop her drink on the floor.
Tonks, caught up in the moment, grabbed Emma's hand and pulled her towards the heart of the festivities. "Come on, Emma! Let's have some fun!"
Emma found herself swept into the current of the party, the noise and the lights a dizzying assault on her senses. She had not done this for ages and it was exhilarating, almost freeing, as she started laughing at Fred and George's antics.
She found herself in the middle of the room, gasping for air, and she decided to slowly leave the circle of dancers and get a butterbeer.
And there he was.
She caught Sirius's eye across the room. He was watching her, his expression unreadable. Hesitantly, she approached him, her heart pounding in her chest. Pia did not matter at that point, neither Peter nor Dumbledore. She was not sure if it was the shot of Firewhiskey thet twins had given her, but she felt an urge to go to him, and so she pulled her long hair from her face, and stood in front of him.
"Happy birthday," she said softly and smiled.
"Thanks," he replied curtly, his gaze fixed on her. She noticed that he had an odd expression, like a dog fixated on something of interest.
"Enjoying your party?" she challenged, knowing he had been broody all week.
But before he could reply, the music changed, shifting from the frenetic jig to a slower, more intimate waltz-like dance. People began to pair off, laughing and talking as they twirled across the dance floor.
He did not answer her if he was enjoying himself, but instead he put his drink down and Emma thought she'd better turn to go, assuming he would rather be left alone, but he surprised her.
"Fancy a dance, Miss Healer?" he asked, looking at her intensely. He did not look happy but he seemed suddenly reinvigorated.
Before she could refuse, as logic demanded it, she let out a surprised sound and she was giving him her hand.
Sirius led her into the dance, his grip firm but not harsh.
Emma found herself pressed close to him, the scent of woodsmoke and something faintly citrusy filling her senses. His hair, longer than she'd realised, brushed against her cheek as they moved, surprisingly soft against her skin.
He didn't hold her like the other couples, his hand resting on her upper back rather than her waist, a subtle difference that she momentarily noticed. As they began to move and his body pressed against hers, Emma couldn't help but wonder about his shifting emotions, from broody mess to reluctant dancer.
She did not know what to think, instead her mind was working over-time, analysing the experience, the sensation of the dance, of her cheek against his shoulder–she could not deny the undeniable thrill the proximity was shooting up her body.
"I… I didn't bring you a gift," she said, not knowing why she said that.
Sirius' face was close enough so he could murmur into her ear and she could feel the roughness of his unshaven face, as well as spot a few stray white hairs. "Just your company is more than enough," he murmured, his voice surprisingly sincere. He paused, as if surprised by his own words, then added, with a self-deprecating smirk, "Truth be told, I'm not used to people wanting to be around me for anything these days, little Healer."
She hid a smile as her face pressed on his shoulder slightly. "Don't call me Healer," she replied, desperate to say something. She had hardly seen him being like this, more sincere, despite the teasing remarks.
He chuckled humorously. "What should I call you then, Emma ? Brew witch, perhaps," he laughed his own response.
She blushed, flustered by the way he said her name, so casually, intimately even. "Emma is… Emma is fine."
"Emma it is," he repeated, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Actually," she said, "I do have something. It's not much, but I hear you might need some Calming Draught," she said, looking at him. He was half a head taller or so.
"Molly told you about my… redecorating efforts at my father's study, I presume?" he asked, his tone dry.
Emma muffled a laugh, picturing the scene Molly had described, the wrecked study, "Let's just say we all have our moments."
He hummed in response and kept moving her around.
Emma, lost in the unexpected intimacy of the dance, found herself emboldened.
"So," she ventured. "I take it you don't think I'm an anti-werewolf bigot anymore?"
Sirius drew back slightly, his expression a mixture of surprise and something akin to amusement. "Was that what you were worried about, Emma?" he asked. She noticed that he had very light eyes, depending on the lighting.
"Well," she stammered, feeling her cheeks flush warm, "you weren't exactly subtle with your… displeasure."
He laughed loudly at that point, almost bark-like. "No, I suppose I wasn't, was I?" He paused, his gaze lingering on her face. "But no," he continued, his voice softening, "I don't think you're a bigot. Just got a bit… misinformed."
"Misinformed?" she laughed, raising an eyebrow. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
She didn't know if it was the shot of a heavy drink in her bloodstream, but she actually placed her hands on his chest slowly, deliberately, forcing him to adjust his hold of her and actually pull her a bit closer, clutching her waist this time.
"Ah, don't be pedantic, love," Sirius chided playfully, his hand tightening momentarily on her back. "It doesn't suit you."
Emma, caught off guard by his teasing tone, by the endearment that slipped so easily from his lips, found herself laughing. "And what," she managed between breaths, "does suit me, Sirius?" She felt odd calling him by his name given the history of everything, something he ignored, but she banished the thought away quickly.
A slow grin spread across his face. "You're really going to make me compliment you, aren't you?" he asked wickedly. Her eyes widened at his playful arrogance that seemed so easy and she gave him a small sound of mock disapproval. She realised that despite everything, he had game.
He leaned closer, his breath warm of butterbeer against her ear. "You want my honest opinion?"
She nodded, her heart pounding in her chest.
"I think you're a very nice girl," he said softly, his tone sincere, and he almost sounded like Remus, so much that she became trippy and stared at him for a minute. "Too nice for a war, perhaps," he added and gave her a sad smile.
But before she could reply the song had ended and the clamour in the room had been reestablished. Sirius released her but remained near, his attention suddenly shifting at the entrance of the drawing room where a group of people were greeting someone who had just arrived.
Emma felt hot and the feeling chased away any pretence. It wasn't just the dance anymore, it was him - his nearness, the heat of his hand on her back, the way his eyes seemed to see right through her. Her skin tingled where he touched her. She wanted this despite the rational part of her brain screaming at her to stop, to pull away.
"Sirius, I–" she started, but she noticed that he was looking at her but not really. Rather, his gaze was beyond her, at the back of the room.
"You're shitting me," he said loudly.
Emma was confused. "Excuse me?" she said.
But then a woman was approaching them, pushing her way through the crowd, Kingsley Shacklebolt behind her with a broad grin.
Without realising what had happened just before her, the woman launched herself at Sirius with great ferocity and he, shocked, reciprocated the embrace mechanically at first.
He then withdrew after a few seconds, his hands on her shoulders appraising her with a look of utter surprise.
She was quite petite, shorter than Emma, but athletic and wiry. She looked quite older, more close to Sirius' age, but her face was youthful. She was also unconventionally pretty with fine ginger blonde hair and grey hooded eyes.
"Lena," he exhaled in disbelief. "Lena! What on earth?" Sirius said, still holding the witch by the arms, lowering his head.
"I was waiting seventeen years for that owl back, you arsehole!" she said in a slight Scottish accent, swatting Sirius' arm. Her fingers were adorned with silver rings and she had deep crimson painted nails, which contrasted the silver. Emma thought she looked more like a warrior than a witch. She also had a breathy laugh and a hoarse voice that Emma found unattractive, as she stood there speechless at the scene unfolding before her.
"What are you doing here?" Sirius asked bewildered. "I mean–are you–?" he frowned. "Shouldn't you be–"
"Marlene's back from America where she was Head Auror of the national department. She's back with us as our new member, or shall I say, returning member?" said Kingsley in a deep voice.
"Ay," she said, holding Sirius' arm. "I quit as soon as Kingsley told me what happened–all of it," she said, looking at Sirius with an odd nostalgic expression.
"Well, I'll be damned!" said Sirius. "Lena! You are here! I mean, you are back!" he was saying, laughing heartily and Emma had never seen him like this before.
The Marlene woman beamed at him.
Emma, caught between the urge to melt into the floor and the desire to disapparate herself out of existence, felt a strange tightness in her chest. She could quite place the emotion, this tangled knot of surprise, confusion, and something that felt like… bitter disappointment.
"Marlene," Kingsley boomed, drawing their attention, "This is Emma. She's Eulalia's mentee at St. Mungo's"
Marlene finally looked at Emma, but it seemed that she knew who she was. "Pleasure," she said, her voice lacking any real warmth. Emma felt her eyes burning her, as if she was using her Auror skills on her.
Sirius seemed to remember where he was because suddenly a flicker of something that looked like an apology crossed his features. Before he could speak, though, Marlene tugged at his arm.
"Come on, darling," she said, her Scottish accent thicker as she pronounced the endearment. "Let's get you a drink. Seventeen years worth of catching up to do, we have."
And just like that, they were gone, swallowed by the crowd.
Darling. Seventeen years. What on earth?
Kingsley tapped his fingers and two butterbeers appeared out of thin air. He passed one to Emma, his demeanour shifting to something more conspiratorial. "They were a bit of an item, back in the day," he confided, leaning in as if sharing a state secret.
"Marlene was in my year, so a few years above Sirius and his lot at Hogwarts, another Gryffindor though, and from a long line of Aurors," he said appreciatively.
Emma took a long sip of her butterbeer, letting the sweet, fizzy liquid settle her nerves. "They seem very… comfortable with each other," she said, her voice carefully neutral.
It wasn't a lie.
She caught a glimpse of Sirius from across the room, engrossed in conversation with Marlene McKinnon, whose hand was casually on his arm, squeezing it. Emma had never seen him this carefree, he was laughing, talking animatedly and although he was not being physical with Marlene, there was something in his posture, in his body language, like a renewed energy, an awakening.