Chapter 56: Solid silver

There was exactly one client sitting by the front of the oldest tea shop in Carkitt Market – and perhaps all of Diagon Alley, but then you got into various disputes of legitimacy that really weren't worth the hassle – and Yasmine, for all that she still hadn't decided what to do about Lord Black's offer, couldn't honestly pretend she hadn't seen him.

The thing was, he had his eyes on a newspaper, his teacup and saucer floating by his side, and as far as she could tell, he hadn't noticed her there – so, yes, she could move on and pretend she'd seen nothing. Her flat was less than a minute away – it took her about two minutes to go to work, which was as perfect as you could hope for – and...

If she didn't stop, Yasmine could just go home and ignore the wizard. He might not look up, and nothing said he was here for her, either.

However... Doing that would only push back the issue, which could otherwise be dealt with – today.

Yasmine didn't know what she wanted, right now, but if she went and spoke with the man... She'd figure it out, one way or another.

The law counsellor took a moment to rearrange her light blue shawl over her shoulders and check her work satchel – then she took the four remaining steps to join the bench upon which Sirius Black was nonchalantly perusing the Daily Prophet, with no obvious tell of anxiety, or even caution, at being out in the open and stationary despite the recent troubles.

No one, these days, stayed out longer than necessary. If people wanted to leave the house, either they went somewhere muggle and less likely to attract attention, or they took their coffee and other drinks in a place with a closed room, not on a terrace.

That, or they had nothing to fear, because their bloodline – and, more importantly in some cases, their allegiances – meant they were safe from targeted attacks – Sirius Black had the necessary bloodlines to remain safe, and that still wasn't enough to counteract the bloody target on his back.

Which didn't seem to bother him much, today.

"Are you trying to get cursed by the first Death Eater on the prowl?"

The wizard's hand, which had been about to seize his cup of tea, paused.

The Daily Prophet – an article about a family of muggles turned into inferi and left within their house in Shrewsbury to attack whoever might find out was on the front page, making Yasmine shudder – dropped, revealing the man's eyes.

Silver met silver. Yasmine waited for an answer – Black proceeded to fold his newspaper.

"Would you sit, Miss Khorasani?"

"...The benches are for customers."

Not that there were many, given the current social climate.

Black's face twitched into a taunting smile, and he threw a "One cup of whatever you think might fit the miss, Milo!" towards the tea shop's front.

Yasmine glared at the very-distant-cousin who'd just decided she'd be drinking tea and risking her life in public this day – well, she might have a hand in it, she did choose to confront him, but.

"Bissap, then. Do I add oat and honey biscuits?"

"Sure. I'm paying anyway, and if she doesn't want any I'll take them instead."

"Five minutes, miss!"

Black shrugged at Yasmine, as if to say "now you can sit".

...The witch didn't mind the offer, nor the way the wizard had gone around her arguments, but the safety issue remained – especially with Sirius Black being there, an absolutely tempting target for whoever might want to try their wand at getting in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's good graces.

"You didn't answer my question. Are you trying to get cursed?"

Black started a laugh, but grew thoughtful before it could become truly sonorous:

"I'd say no, but then again... You could consider that yes, I wouldn't be against it."

Yasmine stared a bit longer, wondering if she should, in fact, just go home.

Black pointedly turned his head, his eyes still on her – and behind his head, holding his upper-back length hair together in a half-up half-down way, was a huge spider hair clip. Solid silver, if Yasmine had to guess, with extremely long legs and webbed crown stones for eyes.

"...I've seen that hair clip before, haven't I?"

Black nodded gravely:

"It's Nebula Spinera's, so I reckon you did. There's a stained-glass portrait of her in the slytherin common room, third window from the hearth."

Yasmine nodded: she remembered that portrait, with the lake's water behind it and the changing light from the brightest days showing all the details, while under darker skies only a hint of the witch's form could bring forth the most mysterious kind of allure. Nebula Spinera dated back to the sixteenth century, and was perhaps one of the sexiest women Yasmine had ever seen – and Yasmine didn't usually care much for a woman's charms – even if only in stained glass form.

Every other portrait from her time seemed to agree that Nebula's was true to the original, too: a silent woman, pale with deep-brown hair in an updo – the spider hair clip – glancing over her shoulder with a smirk just polite enough to qualify as a smile, looking over slytherin students as if she knew more than any of them about who they'd become. High-necked black lace collar, midnight blue spiderweb on black robes falling off her shoulders, pet spiders in the background, and so much presence she got most boys uneasy, no matter the attraction.

Stained-glass portraits were closer to photographs than paintings and couldn't talk, but Nebula Spinera's certainly didn't need to.

Yasmine frowned at Sirius Black, somehow reminded of the woman's looks as she looked him up and down – and not only because of the hair clip.

"...How do you know what portraits are in the slytherin common room? You were in Gryffindor."

Black snorted.

"When your entire family and most of its long-related cousins all end up in the same House, you hear stories. Also, I got a look at her portrait from the other side."

"From the other side? It's the lake on the other si..."

Yasmine trailed off, and the wizard's eyebrows rose up pointedly.

The common room wasn't that far deep underwater that you couldn't potentially dive to the windows – else there wouldn't be much natural light coming in – except for the fact that there was nowhere close by to dive from.

...This was a man who'd swum all the way from Azkaban while being, realistically, in the most terrible state possible – twelve years in Azkaban – so maybe he'd had some practice beforehand.

"Why did you dive to our... to the slytherin common room, of all things?"

Black shrugged and pointed at the other end of the bench, reiterating his offer.

"1977. My brother had thrown some insult or another my way and was otherwise ignoring me, then my uncle died and Mother almost didn't inform me of that, so I had to pass a message."

"Did you flip your brother the bird from the other side of the windows?"

Black hummed amusedly and took a sip from his teacup.

"What do you think?"

Before Yasmine could decide if she wanted to do anything more than stare at the wizard who had offered her a job as the House of Black delegate before the Wizengamot – and who apparently thought a teenager swimming across half the Black Lake to give his brother the finger was... a thing to do – a younger man stepped out of the tea shop, closely followed by another teacup and saucer.

"Here, miss, your drink and biscuits. Just tap against the handle twice if you want the floating charm to end, and leave the teacup on the counter when you're done?"

The boy's – fresh out Hogwarts, perhaps eighteen, nineteen at most, his Hogwarts years had probably overlapped with Yasmine's – eyes flickered to Black, who tossed him a galleon.

"Keep the change."

The clerk caught the gold coin clumsily, blinked at it, and then at his client.

"That's... You've already paid for yours, so that's twice the price, almost, sir."

Black waved the boy's concerns away.

"Sure, but keep it anyway. I have too many of those and no idea what to spend them on, and I'm sure you'll find a better use for those extra sickles than me."

"If... If you're certain..."

Yasmine watched the younger man disappear back behind the counter before she gave in and sat down with her cup of hibiscus tea. Black watched too – her, or the boy, she didn't know.

"Hufflepuff. Too honest for his own good."

"...Or Ravenclaw, they tend to be obsessed with precision and details. Not Slytherin, they'd have just thanked you, maybe thrown in a compliment, and I'd recognize him from school."

The clerk was definitely a handful of years younger than Yasmine and she hadn't known all the lower years, but if they'd crossed paths in the common room...

"Wait, you still haven't answered my question! So you're wearing Nebula Spinera's hair clip, and?"

Black's smirk came back.

"Do you know what she's famous for?"

Yasmine scrunched her nose and took a sip of bissap.

"Aside from featuring in a hundred wizards and witches' fantasies? Well, she married a much older man who was absolutely crazy about her and introduced her to the five wives she wed after his passing, including his own great-niece, and because she was an in-between child she had something like a dozen kids with those witches?"

"Eleven, three boys, seven girls, and one who didn't seem to want to settle for one or the other, and I'm pretty sure Nebula had an arrangement with her husband from the get-go, but do continue."

Yasmine paused for a moment, almost asked how Black knew all that off the top of his head – they were talking about more than four hundred years ago here, but maybe he'd found it all out while looking for the hair clip – and decided she didn't really care.

There was something else Black was alluding to, here:

"...She absolutely terrified most of the male population, even those who were desperately looking at her figure and hoped they could get over their fear to even speak with her?"

The wizard snapped his fingers and pointed behind his head.

"That's the one. Nebula Spinera Black had a thing for spiders, mundane and magical, potions, enchantments, accessories... If, when she entered a room some people felt... ensnared in a web, something crawling up their necks and ready to bite them any moment, it wasn't a coincidence."

Yasmine bit her lips – but no, she wasn't feeling particularly watched or in danger – and overlooked the fact that the witch had been a Black – of course, she wasn't surprised, with a reputation like that.

"...The hair clip?"

Black shrugged, tilted his head. A ray of sun reflected off the silver-and-howlite hair accessory, making it shine in a rather threatening way for about a second.

"Not only the hair clip. She was a formidable witch, after all, or she wouldn't have been able to master its enchantment and use it the way she did, but, you know. I'm good with animals and I've been looking into ways to defend myself from dementors, so I'm trying this out."

He'd skipped a few steps in his explanation, and Yasmine wasn't quite certain how the hair clip could help him against dementors of all things, so she pointed it out – just as she realized they still hadn't talked about the reason she'd actually accosted the man for.

"No, wait... Why dementors, how does it tie in with you being out there trying to get cursed, and I actually wanted to talk about your offer?"

The wizard paused, his eyes flickering where Carkitt Market crossed into Northside Street, and something rather unpleasant – like a shroud of cold threads straining against Yasmine's skin, not around her but just out of touch – suddenly hung in the air.

Black tutted disapprovingly, pushed his teacup and saucer towards her, and stood up, wand in hand.

"Dementors seem to think I'm a treat, these days. My fault, really, I let them have a taste of my soul a couple of years back and they're coming back for more. I don't know if Nebula's hairclip would work against dementors, though, but for any other fool who might want to have a try at me..."

The shady vendors of good-luck amulets – half of them were fakes, and the rest was hardly potent enough to derail a targeted attack, but everyone was afraid and a couple of people would always fall for those scams – hovering on the edges of the market, the small dozen of actuals vendors and clients from the stalls and shops, the odd passerby on their way back to their flat...

They all seemed to freeze, all too aware of the dangerously silky pain that had just befallen Yasmine herself – caught in an oversized spiderweb of dread and unease. Only Black seemed unaffected.

"Get in the shop with Milo, Miss Khorasani, and don't get out until I'm done."

"Done with wha..."

That sentence hung unfinished. Shaken by whatever Black was doing with his hair clip – and Yasmine wasn't even its target – she scrambled into Sweet Leafs & a Dream, by the clerk's side.

When Milo shut the store's shutters with a shaky wave of his wand, Black had his own in hand.

Blue sparks jolted the shutters for a second, somewhere above Milo's head. The clerk stumbled back a step, caught his breath and nervously eyed the shutters for the next couple of minutes.

"Do you know what's going on, Miss?"

Yasmine shook her head, but the younger man wasn't looking at her.

"No idea. Black just... seemed to know something... someone was coming, and then..."

"Yeah, I felt it too. Like we were caught in a web, almost."

Something tapped three times against the shutters, making them both jump out of their skins.

"You guys can come out, it's been handled."

Milo opened his mouth, didn't say anything, looked at Yasmine with uncertainty in his eyes, and hesitantly raised his wand – but didn't open the shutters or try anything, still understandably spooked, even if it was Black's voice outside the shop.

"How... How can we be sure it's you, sir?"

Something rattled behind the shutters, and Black's annoyed voice rose again:

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, won't you stop?"

"Hmpf!"

"Yeah, yeah, you have to hurt me, I get it. Still not letting you do it."

Yasmine's eyebrows rose up on their own.

"Black, what the hell was that?"

"Ah, Miss Khorasani... Just an imperiused sod who tried to take off my head, nothing unusual. Please don't take this badly, though, I assure you my offer does not include daily murder attempts."

The witch couldn't help but feel slightly doubtful at that statement, and it wasn't even her most important reservation about taking the job. Whether Black meant it or not, becoming his delegate was bound to draw some unwanted attention. At least, Yasmine wasn't muggleborn – then Death Eaters might target her out of principle or something, not just to inconvenience Lord Black.

She put a hand on the clerk's arm for an instant to get his attention, and nodded towards the shutters.

"You can open up, it's him."

Milo gave her a wavering look, but his wand hand rose anyway.

"Not someone mimicking his voice, you're sure?"

"Certain, and no other spells have been thrown since he called out, so there shouldn't be anyone else trying for his neck. It's safe."

...Safe-ish. As any other day in Diagon Alley lately.

The tea shop's shutters clanked open, revealing Black, unscathed, and an older wizard tied up with huge metal-colored ribbons, about as large as Yasmine's wrists, one of which covered the man's lower face. His thinning brown hair looked a bit singed, but the older man wasn't obviously injured.

He had, however, an absent, milky look to his eyes, even as he struggled against the ribbons.

Milo took a tentative step out of the shop, turned left and right in search of... whoever might still be out there, and saw no one: they'd all got inside and hidden away.

Yasmine passed a hand in her curls as her heart calmed down a bit.

"Is he...?"

Hurried footsteps resonated against the cobbled street – both Milo and Yasmine jerkily rose their wands, but Black only glanced over, obviously not concerned.

A witch about Black's age trotted over, shaking her head. She was wearing the patrollers' uniform and had, unsurprisingly, her wand out.

"Couldn't get the caster, sorry. Saw someone alright, but they disappeared down Southside Street and when I reached Fairen Square they were nowhere to see. Might have apparated away, might have ditched the concealing cloak and acted as anyone else, for all I know."

Black sighed, obviously ticked off but unable to do anything about it:

"...Figures. If they did apparate and you guys find where exactly, you might pick up on a trail, though. Did you see the others, Gupta?"

The patroller took a look at Black's imperiused prisoner before she answered.

"It's MacDonald, now. And yes, they're still getting a look around Fairen Square, and the auror from the booth is already looking for apparition traces."

Patroller MacDonald took out a small vial with an amber-like pearl emitting somewhat darker fumes under the cork. She pinched her own nose and opened the vial right under the prisoner's nose for a few seconds: the older wizard conked out in the blink of an eye.

"He won't wake up until the imperius has run its course."

Black made a noise and leaned over curiously.

"That's new, isn't it? We didn't have those in 1980. What happens if the Unforgivable doesn't let go? Some Death Eaters managed to keep their victims compliant as long as they wanted, back then..."

The patroller snorted and shook her head.

"Yeah, no, not with that botched spell. Whoever did this isn't used to casting the imperius curse, you saw the eyes. And the unspeakables figured out how they did it when they got their hands on Augustus Rookwood's research, after Karkaroff sold him out. It's unlikely to happen again."

The woman pinched the tip of her nose and turned to look at the tea shop's clerk:

"I'll have to wait until this one is back to his senses. Do you mind if we use one of your benches?"

Milo squeaked a rushed "go on!", and frankly, neither Yasmine nor Black thought the young man felt up to arguing – the clerk disappeared back into the shop as soon as he could.

Yasmine would have gone home too, but she still had to finish what she'd started with Black, so she did her best to gather the little courage she knew must be hiding somewhere deep down and waited for whatever this was – a trap, perhaps, from both Black and the DMLE? – to come to an end.

At least, she knew both the local patrollers and the assigned auror – and, most likely, the hit wizards too – were in on this and would react should anything more happen.

Black obligingly levitated his unconscious attacker – still trussed like a rotisserie chicken with his ribbons – onto the nearest bench.

"You know, I'm getting the feeling this person who keeps trying to get me is really not that experienced with the Dark Arts and attacking people in general. I mean, a faulty imperius curse? Choosing a random wizard to attack someone with battle experience, especially when it's almost impossible to force someone to do anything lethal if they couldn't of their own will?"

"The Death Eaters are getting new recruits, you know, it's not only the old guard. On both sides, really. Look at me, I only joined the patrollers three years ago. Also, did you forget the flower that brought three dementors right onto you?"

Black obviously hadn't forgotten whatever incident this was about and didn't like the reminder.

"Yeah, I'm not saying they're inept, only that they don't really know what they're doing. Which is good for me, I suppose, but... Are you married to Mary, if it's MacDonald now?"

While Yasmine experienced whiplash from the abrupt change of conversation, the older witch gave Black a very unimpressed look:

"I married Joseph, Black. Mary is my sister-in-law."

"...I'd forgotten about Joseph. They're, what, two years apart? How is Mary, actually?"

Patroller MacDonald didn't answer right away – more than that, didn't look at Black when she did.

"...One year apart. Joseph was in my year. And she could be doing better, she's been having nightmares since Mulciber got out of Azkaban. Even now that he's back there..."

A rotten silence fell over the two, and eventually Black shook his head – the sunlight glinting on his hair clip once again, but the feeling of being caught in a web didn't come back, and Yasmine could only thank the Lord for that – and drifted away from the tea shop.

Yasmine followed him without even being asked. Staying right next to a brooding patroller and their unconscious-but-imperiused prisoner was not a better alternative to actually settling things with Sirius Black, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

...Or she could go home, but once again: Yasmine would need to settle this one day or another, and if that hypothetical day proved just as dangerous and nonsensical as today, well. Better to do it at once than have a repeat performance.

She refused to consider that accepting his offer might mean more than one such performance.

Sirius drifted out of Carkitt Market, towards Southside and Fairen Square: he'd booked a table at Velvet Hall for seven and a half, as the head of the House of Black. A quick look at his silver pocket watch told him he was still too early, but staying right by Daisy Gupta – sorry, MacDonald – would have proven very, very awkward.

When they reached the square's center and its four old trees around a medieval fountain, Sirius headed for the benches and resumed his earlier position at the tea shop – sans teacup and saucer, this time. That was alright.

Part of the point of coming out so early – aside from acting as bait for whoever had started targetting him specifically with the help of the DMLE – had been to get used to Nebula Spinera's hair clip, and for that, he needed to stay put for some time. If he didn't, the threads of magic it cast around itself couldn't reach far, and its alarm system for ill intent remained close-ranged.

With some practice, he'd be able to deploy and attune to that magical web in only a few seconds, but as it was Sirius needed several minutes of sitting still before the hair clip could be any use.

Speaking of which: Yasmine Khorasani had followed him here, which was... Well. The wizard hadn't planned to stumble on the young woman today, but it couldn't happen at a better time, honestly. If she accepted his offer, she would be more than welcome to the Black dinner at Velvet Hall, and if she didn't, it would pass the time until the others came around.

Awareness of the webbed alarm system started to stick to the back of his head, and Sirius sighed.

"Alright, Miss Khorasani. This time we should be able to talk without any interruption."

The witch eyed him a long time, then shifted her gaze to the bench he'd sat upon, and finally she scowled, heading for the other bench on their side of the fountain.

Sirius hadn't needed to tell her to sit down, so he counted that as a win.

A gust of wind slithered between the trees, wafting water drops in its wake. Khorasani pushed her curls out of her face, sat down, and put her work satchel neatly over her thighs.

The witch took a deep breath, then focused on him.

"Mr... Lord Black. I won't say your offer isn't... interesting in itself, but I have some reservations. Being a delegate before the Wizengamot... I'm not certain that's a risk I want to take, a role I wish to expose myself for, especially with the House of Black as it stands today. I wouldn't be wrong to think you plan to be very vocal about subjects some could deem unsafe to push for these days?"

The witch's careful – but precise and absolutely clear – stance and words here almost had Sirius laugh – not in derision, just at the situation. Had the head of House been more... conservative, and thus less likely to attract the kind of attention Miss Khorasani feared, she'd never have gotten that offer, and she probably knew it. Her reluctance was, however, understandable.

"Of course you're right."

He was definitely planning on crushing the opposition when it came to prejudices and rights, no matter the dangers and the odds of winning.

"However, I do intend to attend as Lord Black. If I'm hiring you as a delegate, it's not because I want someone to deal with all Wizengamot business in my stead: I need two roles to be fulfilled. One is the guarantee of someone being there to, not fight for more, but stand my ground and do damage control, should anything incapacitate me for a session. The other is information gathering, keeping up to date with the tendencies within the court, telling me ahead of time what is likely to be brought up during the next assembly. I do not have the time or the patience to do that myself, not in the long term, but I recognize the importance of such work, especially in such perilous times..."

Khorasani's familiar eyes coolly took him – and the honesty of his words – in.

Despite the silver in her gaze, though, Sirius couldn't help but notice that Regulus was right: it was unnerving to see someone who looked and sounded enough like family for her to belong, and yet not feel the usual echo of their shared blood.

They shared ancestors, Ella Max and Cygnus Black, first half of the nineteenth century: that was all.

Khorasani was far from the only one who could claim such bonds to the House of Black, several people did too and Sirius knew some of them personally – Arthur, for example – but the effect wasn't the same: none of them looked at him with eyes like Arcturus Black's.

"In other words, you want an advisor who could step in as a delegate if needed."

"...Indeed."

That seemed to get the witch's attention: she looked away for a moment and didn't say a word.

Sirius watched her as she considered the exact terms of his offer, trying to focus on the ways she did not look like a Black, for a change. Olive skin, a bit darker than the usual, United Kingdom-born – well, she was born here, but some of her ancestors weren't – complexion. The loose curls didn't necessarily go against the Black aesthetic, if you looked at Bellatrix and Andromeda, but the persian nose definitely did – they tended to get roman or straight noses.

Yasmine Khorasani was also a bit smaller than most Black women were, around five feet three. Without her heeled shoes – and if they weren't sitting on benches – she'd probably be looking at his shin rather than in his eyes. She wasn't that similar to those who were Blacks by Blood.

The eyes, though... Khorasani closed them for a moment – and when she opened her eyes once more, she also turned around, leaning against the bench's back and not looking at Sirius anymore.

"What about my question to your brother? I'm sure he told you."

Sirius watched the witch's reactions carefully as he answered:

"About faith and believing in something more, right? I won't pretend I'm not a bit wary of those, of the rules they settle for their believers, the things they might feel pushed to do, but... I'm suspicious of anything to do with someone else's motives, especially when I don't know the person. Religion, I suppose, is only one facet of such influences. I wouldn't treat it any differently than anything else."

For a moment, it looked like the witch wouldn't say anything, a disappointed look on her face. Sirius honestly didn't think he could have answered anything else – not without lying about it.

Khorasani did speak up, though:

"I... There is something, my faith means I don't consider all of my actions as pertaining to my own motivations. Some, sure, but not all of them. There are a few that follow what I believe is right and under the Lord's desires."

Sirius had to refrain from huffing in amusement – a bit of a smirk might have appeared on his lips nevertheless. It didn't matter much, as the witch still wasn't looking at him.

"Lord or no Lord, Miss Khorasani, don't we all? Follow what we think is right, I mean. Or, at least, we all take it into account, whether or not we act on it."

Some people knew better, and yet still didn't follow their own conscience – didn't care to, perhaps, or were too afraid, too lost to want to.

"My point is, maybe you would attribute your actions to a higher being, but that doesn't change the fact that you do believe in them, in some way. I can work with that, as long as you can explain to me why something is the right way and not only justify it with a 'because God says so'."

He'd known so many people who never bothered solidifying their arguments past "because I / our ancestors / the world says so" and had never been convinced by any of their rhetoric. They weren't always wrong – but they never knew why, and that meant their actions could deviate from the intended meaning of their beliefs.

His so-distant cousin huffed a bit – not in amusement, in her case.

"Sometimes it is because it's the Lord's desire."

"And if we're talking about not eating meat with dairy or only fish on a Friday, that's alright. Weird, but I somehow charm all animals within sight or smell, so I'm not judging. You're not hurting anyone with those choices, religious may they be. It's the more... human-related restrictions and rules I eye dubiously, but nothing stops you from explaining, or me from agreeing or countering that explanation. I don't expect it to become a problem unless you insist on doing human sacrifices."

Khorasani's head snapped back to stare at him, gobsmacked, so Sirius laid it on thicker:

"You don't plan to do that, do you?"

The witch looked like she didn't know whether to be offended or ask if he really was that ignorant about muggle religions – which, well, Sirius kind of was, but not that much.

To break the tension, he wiggled his eyebrows in the most obnoxious way. Khorasani's mouth twitched somewhere between disbelief and annoyance – then she snorted and shook her head.

"Alright, alright... I'm willing to give it a try, Lord Black, but only on a part-time basis. I still have obligations towards Titterington Civilis, a few ongoing cases, too, and I am not spending my entire week skulking in search of court secrets, not even for fifty galleons an hour."

Sirius smiled widely and clapped his hands.

"Perfect. I'll let you negotiate your contract with your current employers, but I think about two days a week working for the House of Black should be a good start! Yes, and I'll let you choose the days. Drop by the manor during the week, we'll see to the details then, and, I suppose, to your salary."

A group of younger witches and wizards – or, about Khorasani's age, so they did look older than Sirius, but he was a Dark-Arts-induced exception that no one should try to emulate – hurried by the square; one of them looked their way, frowned, slowed down just long enough to wave at Khorasani, then pressed on to rejoin his friends.

The witch waved back.

"That's Max Oakham. He's a year younger than me, but he was so gifted with Arithmancy that we used to do our homework together in the common room."

Sirius hadn't asked, and he couldn't help but notice that the young woman's neck had blushed under its light blue shawl. Harder to say with the skin tone, but she wasn't that dark either...

Snape's voice rose from Sirius' memories, causing him to squint at the group of young adults making their way into Ye Olde Curiosity Shop – it was up to debate whether it belonged in Fairen Square or Knockturn Alley, and what the shop offered to its clients could sometimes be found in Borgin & Burkes too. The curiosity shop was, perhaps, the safer, more curated option of the two.

"Oakham's grandmother is a Knight of Walpurgis."

...Maybe the young man was innocent and uninvolved in his grandmother's crimes, but someone had tried to get Sirius earlier, and here was Maximilian Oakham, wandering around Diagon Alley.

The Oakhams were one of those pureblooded families who stood right on the edge of being old blood: too recent to have a long history within the wizarding world, but also related to several families of the same status, rarely intermingling with muggleborns or halfbloods with a muggle parent. Judging whether that was out of prejudice or simply the results of staying within their social circle was difficult, most of the time.

Then again, maybe Max Oakham just lived around the corner and felt safe enough due to his bloodline not to shut himself home at all times. The one who'd attacked Emmeline – to get to Sirius – had been a woman. While it wasn't impossible that two Death Eaters were aiming for his hide...

...There was Rookwood, too, though their encounter had been fortuitous.

Sirius pushed the thought to a corner of his mind, to review later, and focused back on Khorasani:

"Before you leave, would you accompany me to Velvet Hall? The House of Black is having dinner there with our head custodian, and if you become my delegate, you should have a seat too."

The witch eyed him suspiciously and checked her watch.

"...Purely business?"

"Well, we wouldn't usually do something like that, but it's also been five years since the previous lord died and no one was in a position to take responsibility all that time, so, you know. I do think it appropriate to demonstrate that I haven't forgotten about the House's duties and employees."

Of all the things Sirius had to do as Lord Black, this was hardly the worse – most of the problematic family members, for better or for worst, had died and weren't around to sour the occasion.

"Alright. But only because I'll have to be at least familiar with the members of your family."

The witch felt, quite obviously, still a bit reluctant to enter the fray.

Sirius nodded and got up: he'd just seen Callidora pass by Olderly Legacies, the Notts' notarial office. The others shouldn't be long, now.

"That's alright, Miss Khorasani. If I pay you for your work, I shouldn't expect you to mingle unless you want to. Oh, and since we're going to dinner and you had doubts about how far I'm willing to go for my principles... There's someone you should meet, it'll help put it all into perspective."

"Someone...?"

Sirius didn't let her finish, cleared his throat, and called out:

"Bellatrix, you are not skipping out on the family dinner. Get your ghostly ass here."

There was a long, hissing noise – then the translucent form of his dead cousin blinked into being, wrenched out of the bedroom she'd claimed as hers back in the manor.

Her scowl grew all the more when the ghost realized what had happened exactly.

"Salazar's sake, Sirius! Don't do that!"

"I wouldn't have needed to if you'd come of your own will."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and floated higher up in the air, to properly look down her nose at Sirius.

"We're going to a restaurant, and I'm dead, what am I going to do? Watch you eat? Besides, I don't think the staff and other clients would much care to see me here."

Sirius snorted and headed over to Callidora – who wasn't alone anymore, Regulus and Amanda were there too, as was Dominic Lipsay, the sixty-something wizard in charge of the custodians working around the different spots of high magic the House of Black managed, and Dora.

Andromeda shouldn't be long – Sirius didn't know if Ted worked that evening or not, but Meda's husband was invited too, as he'd married into the family.

"Since when do you care about what other people think, Bella? And you said it yourself, 'we' are going to Velvet Hall, yourself included. Glide over here, it'll be a nice change from the trashy romance novels you've taken to leave lying around the manor."

The ghost almost began arguing – then she noticed Khorasani following them and turned around, gliding backwards to peer at the stranger instead:

"...And who is that, exactly?"

Sirius smirked to himself and decided to let Yasmine Khorasani deal with his cousin alone – this would only last until they got to the others, not that cruel a fate. The witch only had to follow along.

When Sirius reached the other Blacks – and assorted relatives – Regulus glanced behind his brother, decided whatever the goal of throwing the future delegate for the House of Black before the Wizengamot to Bellatrix was didn't concern him, and tilted his head towards the restaurant:

"Andromeda is already inside, dealing with the host. Ted should come, but he'll be a bit late."

Numphadora pipped up – she looked tired, but happy enough:

"Dad's finishing work in about ten minutes, plus the time to get ready. Reckon he'll miss the appetizers and not much else. Oh, hi, I'm Tonks, and you are...?"

Sirius' delegate-to-be – if she was there, then she'd accepted – squinted suspiciously at Regulus' brother before she acknowledged anyone else, nodding curtly at their metamorphmagus cousin.

"Yasmine Khorasani. A couple of years ahead of you in school: you're the one who impersonated Prof Frimley for April Fools'. I've just... accepted to work for Lord Black. Part-time, for now."

She looked like she was already doubting her decision. Bella had that effect on people, and Sirius could be worse than her. Regulus' brother didn't seem bothered by it and only laughed.

At the same moment, Andromeda stepped out, looking for them – she gave Sirius a long look.

"Tell, when did you sleep last?"

Sirius' smile got a smudge tense, before it sharpened with a disquieting glint of glee.

Regulus had never liked that look on his brother's face.

"Oh, I was sleeping during the night, don't worry about me, Meda! I only woke up at two in the morning, dreaming of Adhara asking some dangerous questions. Sleep tends to go that way, lately."

Nymphadora sought Regulus' eyes for an explanation, but the wizard didn't know how to say 'Sirius' twin who didn't make it out of the womb' without painting a target on his own head – if Andromeda was asking, then someone, somehow, had gotten the brunt of his older brother's lack of sleep.

Their cousin curled her upper lip and elaborated in a tone that was ever so slightly judgmental:

"It shows. Did you absolutely need to book on a thursday, the day Narcissa eats here with her friends, while not inviting her? She stared at me the whole time I spoke to the host."

The restaurant's double doors gently pushed themselves open as the group headed – back, for Andromeda – inside, and the host barely even reacted to Bellatrix' presence.

Maybe he'd seen worse than the ghost of a Death Eater in his restaurant, Regulus mused.

Narcissa, sitting less than two tables from where they were all led, didn't seem to think so. Even Elise Zabini, who didn't usually point out another witch's failures – a wizard's was another matter – couldn't help but glance uncomfortably at her friend's shaking hands.