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Early November 1977

Carkitt Market, Wizarding Quarter of London, England

"You're a cretin," Blanche told him as they walked down Carkitt Market to the restaurant he had planned for them to eat at. He grabbed for her hand and she instantly pulled away, but he said only 'birthday' in response and she sighed in irritated consent. In the arm that was not attached to Sirius' by hand, a rather ornate bouquet of gardenia and blue freesia was held.

"I hate flowers for the purpose of gift-giving. It's such a waste," she said.

"I know you do," he grinned. "But you're just going to have to deal with them, because it's my day."

"Fine. I don't like flowers for the purpose of gift-giving, but these ones smell nice," she muttered. She looked up at Sirius and saw him grin. He took his hand from hers and looped his arm around his shoulders, planting a kiss on her forehead.

She groaned. "You know I hate it when you do that," she pushed him away, but he managed to keep her under his long, hard arm. "It makes me feel like you're my father."

"Shall I kiss you someplace else?" He suggested. She struggled against him and wormed away from him; she ran several steps ahead from him. With mischievous and long-awaiting eyes, Sirius watched the skirt of her blue dress jump with each of her steps.

"Shut up, you degenerate," she insulted.

"Your synonyms for sleaze, idiot, and arsehole are infinitely admirable."

Only to herself did Blanche admit she was having an excellent time with Sirius at the pub he'd brought them to. Thankfully he hadn't followed through on his promise of an actual restaurant; they went to the Hopping Pot, a local pub. Although it would be a lie to say the Elf-made Wine and the Daisyroot Draught hadn't softened her her edges, by no means was she falling into the trap Sirius had arranged.

Sirius had, in fact, removed himself from his attempts years ago. In third and fourth year he'd tried quite hard to sweep Blanche off her feet and make a real girlfriend out of her, but she had never had it. Since her blatant rejections, he had settled with their close friendship and relieved himself romantically and sexually elsewhere. However, tonight—it seemed—Sirius was living through his younger moods and affections once more.

"Why don't you show me it?" Sirius laughed as he brought his red currant rum to his mouth. His pink lips were stained a bright berry red, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by Blanche.

"I don't want to," she whined over the rim of her glass of wine. "Didn't you say you were paying?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Only if you show me," he insisted. She relented with her usual sigh and called over a waiter, ordering some absurdly titled dessert made of bananas and chocolate.

"Open your hand," she ordered and he did so. She unbuttoned the wrist of his dress shirt and pushed it up so his forearm was exposed. It was difficult not to notice the pronounced course blood vessels ran up his arm. She lifted his wrist to her mouth and planted a short kiss directly into the curling palm of his hand. Sirius watched the purse her dark lips made, and the transformation of his pale white skin into lapis. He brought his palm to his face and marveled slowly, the rum slowing his brain to a sedate but warm pace. The dessert speedily plopped down in front of them. Before reaching for a fork, Sirius dipped his pointer and middle finger into the airy, sugared cream sitting at the top. He held the covered fingers up and extended them toward Blanche, asking her to do him a great favor with his eyes.

"Are you kidding me?" She asked with wide eyes.

"Come on, I'm like your brother," he argued with a chuckle, straightening his fingers.

"You mean that?" She asked with mischievous eyes as he brought his fingers close to her mouth.

"Not in the slightest," he grumbled in a voice Blanche had never heard before. She sucked off the cream from his pointer and middle finger, letting each come from her mouth with a different color. Blanche imagined she had been too young to identify the look in his eyes when he had been actively pursuing her years ago. Either that, or he had been too young to look the way he did. But at that moment, as she set his multicolored hand down on the table, she could openly admit that they were much more to one another than best friends. This was a ephemeral thought; it made itself present, sat down, then moved over; in seconds it was gone.

Blanche cast her eyes downward finally, saving Sirius from a lack of air and an incredibly painful strain in his nicest black pants. She reached for her spoon and swiped up a mouthful, bringing it to her lips. Sirius had to look away from this—to anyone but her. If he did, he would surely notice how nicely her breasts were set in the sweetheart neckline of the dress she wore—a dress the shade of blue that matched her eyes so accurately. He would be sure to notice the blush on the tops of her pale cheekbones, and the small freckle just on the ridge of her bottom lip. He would not be able to miss the thick black silk that shone so luminously in the pub lighting it appeared a blue, and the way it fell in navy rivulets down her neck and chest. Sirius truly had to look away. He had to slap himself, or take an ice cold shower. Unfortunately, he could do neither at this moment.

"What's wrong?" She asked him. He was forced to meet her eyes and study the way the wine had made them a shade of blue softer than he had ever seen before.

"Uh, nothing," he coughed in his hand, allowing his right foot to jump up and down on the old panels of wood on the floor. He needed distractions. Unfortunately, he saw Blanche scoop a spoonful of dessert and bring it toward his mouth.

"Come on. You're paying, after all. Might as well enjoy it," she shrugged, nudging his bottom lip with the cool silver of the utensil. He opened and let her feed him. Merlin's shite, he thought. If any of the Marauders saw me right now. But thankfully the incredible flavor of the dessert provided some distraction for the time being.

Blanche watched as that carnivorous look in his eye seemed to die at the hands of the dessert she piled into his mouth. Eventually the tapping of his foot on the ground silenced, and he began to shake his shoulders to the song. Blanche didn't recognize the song that Sirius seemed so familiar with, but this was no surprise. At a young age, Sirius had submerged himself deeply into Muggle music purely to irritate his parents. Nowadays, he was acquainted with Muggle music as much as he was wizarding music.

Blanche's attention snapped back to him as the wooden chair screamed beneath him as he pushed outward. Instead of heading to the bar for another rum or something of that ilk, Sirius stood close to her with his hand extended.

"Come on. It's time for a dance," he offered. Blanche looked skeptically at his hand.

"I hate dancing. It reminds me of my ballroom lessons," she then looked away from it.

"I also was forced to take ballroom classes, but that sort of dancing wasn't like what everyone else is doing here. These people are dancing. The ballroom lessons were not," he explained his thoughts. "Now come dance with me."

"I don't know this song. How can I dance to a song I don't know?"

"It's called Maggie May. Now you know it," he informed. He pushed his hand closer to her once again. "Birthday," he repeated. She reluctantly accepted and let him drag her from her seat. She felt so formal and stiff in his hands at first; he smoothed his palms down her waist and almost shook her. She seemed to get his message, and Sirius felt her posture dip leisurely; she even shrunk an inch or so as she gave up the rigid stance.

"That's better," he said under his voice. He nudged her right foot with his left foot, indicating it was time to begin the steps. She was wildly unfamiliar with this dance—it was nothing like the many she had learned in ballroom lessons, like the Viennese Waltz and the Foxtrot. In spite of its unfamiliarity to her, it was the easiest dance she had ever done before. It was all loose and simple—a twirl, a couple steps, a spin, and a sway. There was no order to it; it was just limbs and laughs.

And the easiest part about it was the way everything floated away for a short time during that dance. The weights and burdens had become so natural to her she didn't notice them anymore; however, she did notice when they vanished into the air. For a moment, she didn't see the stern lines of age in her father's pale face. For a moment, she didn't see the shaking body of Miss Tully as she wailed over her brother's gravestone. As Sirius looked down at her and grinned, it reminded her of the few times her mother had smiled at her when she was very little. She felt protected by someone—truly loved by someone. And the best part about it was that Sirius' grin didn't fade away like a cloud floating past the moon; her mother's smiles were only ever seconds long, but Sirius' didn't end. He looked so completely happy, whereas her mother's smiles were always veiled in a deep and stagnant sorrow.

Blanche couldn't hear the song change when it did. Her mind couldn't pay attention to any other senses—her ears couldn't identify the slower song that approached, her nose couldn't pin the magnetic and wintery scent that leapt from Sirius, and her sense of touch had long been mushed into this singular embrace of unidentifiable limbs that were meant to fit together. Blanche's mind was far too busy dealing with the newfound lightness of her mind. It was stressful almost not having the memories there, and Sirius caught a watery flash of worry sail across the cornflower blue iris of her eyes. He'd never seen her cry, and he didn't expect tears to leave her eyes, but he'd never seen her so near such a present sorrow. His right hand tangled in the silken locks of ink black hair and nudged her forehead into the hard planes of his chest. He'd never seen her as short before, but now as her arms were only high enough to wrap around his waist, he realized she was a wisp of a woman—half a foot shorter than him and no more than eight stone soaking wet.

Blanche felt a guilt pair with the worry; how could she be so inconsiderate to forget about Talbot? Miss Tully? Mrs. and Mr. Tully? Her father's dissatisfaction with her? Her mother's bruises? The Dark Marks scattered across the night skies of Europe? The Muggles dead? The Muggleborn dead? The blood-traitors dead? All the deaths and unhappiness and sorrow were hers, and she didn't have the right to let them off the leash. She shared blood with monsters and love with ghosts, and she didn't have the privilege to forget that.

She stepped away from Sirius and walked to her seat at the table. She reached for the bill and pulled her wallet out of the small white purse she'd taken with her on the date. Sirius' brow knit together and he watched her hands shake minutely as she tried and failed to open her purse. He went to his knees so he could meet her eyes—even seem shorter to her finally.

"Blanche," he muttered, taking her hands in his. He held them until they stopped shaking. She looked straight into him—the dark hair that curled in gentle turns at his neck, the graphite grey eyes shrouded in long lashes, the stained pink lips, the dark brow, the hard jaw, the scratch of freshly-shaven skin on his structured cheeks. She had another reason to cry now—he was so beautiful and this appreciation wasn't even strictly objective anymore.

Old habits made him slip a handful of galleons out of his pocket without even looking at the check, and he pulled Blanche out of her seat and kept her tightly confined under his arm. They left the restaurant and emptied into the thinning streets of Carkitt Market. There was now a privacy to the market under the night sky; the street lamps shed light onto the empty cobblestone turns and trails.

"What is it?" He asked her gently when the began to walk. Neither were sure if they went in the right direction, but they didn't mind much. They were both quite familiar with breaking curfew at school.

"It's nothing," she answered. Her distant and monotonous tone was all too familiar; she had hardened to her normal self some time between sitting in her seat at the restaurant and emptying into the street.

"Stop it, Blanche. Don't do this," he urged.

"Do what?"

"Deaden. Please," he pled. It was like she had coagulated; in the pub she was an open wound of fresh blood pouring onto the floor, but the cold night air had sealed the wound and allowed it to scab over. "I am your best friend. You can tell me."

They both shared a similar line of thought after his words. Best friend? What were they? Blanche almost thought of him as a lover, but without the act that made lovers? Could two be lovers without sex? Could emotional lovers be something? Was there something in between best friends and lovers?

"No," she stiffened. And the rest of the night collapsed into silence as they Disapparated back to the Shrieking Shack. From there they took the long passage back to the Whomping Willow, threw themselves beneath the borrowed Cloak of Invisibility, then crept up to the Gryffindor common room. When both Sirius and Blanche were sixteen they had taken Apparition courses offered at Hogwarts; Sirius had waited a week after Blanche's seventeenth birthday to go to the Department of Magical Transportation with her, where they'd both received their Licenses to Apparate.

They sat beside one another on the sofa closest to the fire. It seemed to warm them both, in more ways than one. Whilst they both looked into the flames that had been reduced into orange-laced logs, Sirius felt a few small fingers slip into his palm. He looked at them and tightened his hand around them. His eyes met the profile of her face and he admired its stoney beauty unabashedly—the plump, pink flare of her lips, the shadow cast below her porcelain cheekbones, the smooth and straight bridge of her nose, the long ashes as dark as coal.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked her in a dense but soft voice, like his question was just the shell and within it was so much more. He watched her eyes flicker toward him, and the arch in her brow softened into straightness.

Before the worry of letting go of the heavy memories, and before the shame she experienced for letting go of them, perhaps there was a single and small moment of bliss. Greys and blacks faded into light and she felt like she was in Lily's world. She knew she couldn't live there, but she was just looking out of the window of her black house to see the color of Lily's world. Could she glimpse again? She nodded.

Very slowly, Sirius took his open hand and placed it on her shoulder that was farthest from him. She tilted her head toward him as his large hand crept up the bare skin of her collarbones and her neck. He'd never touched her there, and he didn't know someone so icy in disposition could feel as warm as she did under his hands. His fingers met the ball of her jaw, and gently he pulled her face closer to his. As her eyes met his he detected a bit of unknowingness, and he knew the same was in his eyes only in a different manner. Sirius had kissed plenty of girls, but Blanche was hardly a girl to him anymore. She was everything to him—she always was.

But Blanche owned a different unknowingness. Not only was Sirius so much to her, but he was also the first boy to ever kiss her. He was the first to hold her hand, the first to hug her, the first to dance—and really dance—with her. Everything new that came with adulthood and womanhood came through him, and here he was about to give her something new that could only be truly enjoyed between a young woman and a young man who were someplace between best friends and lovers.

In a final, hesitant action, Sirius' lips pressed to hers. It was almost unmoving at first—like jumping into waters and getting used to it for a bit without actually swimming. But slowly, with practice Sirius barely had any hold on, his lips moved against hers. He was so achingly tentative and suddenly unsure—it was like all of those girls before had been in preparation for her, but they still weren't enough.

Blanche tightened her fingers around his and began, in attempt, to move her mouth with his. The movement was like setting a crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet to flames by bringing a match to one corner. It started slow and small, but soon it started eating away the script that covered the page.

Sirius sighed against her and clenched his eyes shut. She was so warm and self-doubting; he loved this hidden fragment of her so much it hurt him. She was just this curious but hesitant girl made of fire.

Blanche opened her mouth to his, and it started feeling natural. Her mind was no longer clouded with uncertainty as his tongue skimmed her bottom lip. And when her mind cleared, it sprang anew with the old tune: Talbot, mother, father, Tullys, death, sorrow, anger, bruises.

Blanche turned her face from him and looked away, tugging her hand from his. She finally began to cry a name Sirius had never heard before: "Talbot," she wept into her hands.

"Who?" He exclaimed. He reached for her instinctively, sliding a hand down her long hair and trying to pull her closer with the other. "What is it, Blanche?"

She didn't reply—she only cried wildly in her hands. Her sobs were muffled by her palms, and Sirius thought he could cry too. Her cries were so painful each sound was like a stab at the heart. "Who's Talbot?" He asked again.

"Don't—" she choked on her words. "Don't say his name."

"Why? What happened?" He inquired. One hand moved to sit on her waist and pull her near him, but she squirmed and tugged away. Before Sirius knew it, she was running toward the staircase that led to the girl's chambers. He bolted off the sofa and followed her as quickly as he could, but by the time he reached her she was already incased within the protective spell of the staircase that Lily had set in her fifth year. He reached in to test the air, but was met with a small shock that ran only through his arm.

"Blanche!" He shouted for her, hearing her footsteps on the stairs. She never answered.

QUESTIONS:

... To Lil Miss Sunshine 14: Thank you so very much! Regarding Blanche's relationship with Remus, I can tell you he will heavily feature in the next chapter, as well as subsequent chapters. I already have a boatload of chapters written, but just for you I decided to go in and expand on Remus a bit because he is one of the more complex characters, in my opinion. Regarding Blanche's namesake, I would think that after so many years between Blanche of Lancaster (mid-fourteenth century) and the current era, the magical status of many people would be lost in time (with the exception of Morgana, Cliodna, etc.) and whether or not Blanche of Lancaster was a Muggle would not really matter. HOWEVER, even if Blanche of Lancaster was a known Muggle, that wouldn't be entirely uncharacteristic of Lavinia to name her daughter after her (you will see why in much later chapters). To your final question-yes, Blanche's father is Rabastan, which makes Bellatrix her aunt by marriage. Thank you so much for your questions!