Late December 1977
Flat 0, Camden, London
Blanche had been living with Sirius for four days, and she did believe it was going quite swimmingly. In the mornings they'd woken up at noon and enjoyed a hybrid of morning coffee and lunch sandwiches, then usually strolled about town until the evening arrived. Blanche had adamantly refused going out to dinner with him at a pub or restaurant, and so they made supper in Sirius' petite kitchenette each night. Being raised in households with servants and house elves always at their beck and call, neither were very skilled with cooking—but they'd managed to work out sufficient meals. Before midnight they would both succumbed to a bottle of wine, all whilst reading and laughing in front of the crackling fireplace. In the early morning they giggled their ways to bed and slept soundly until the next noon.
On the fifth day and the eve of Christmas Eve, Lochlainn was sitting on the dead-flowered windowsill outside the living room window and Blanche permitted him entrance, taking the letter from his beak. She unfolded it and read as Sirius began the series of fires that lasted through the day.
My lovely Blanche,
I am so horribly sorry to hear about your holiday thus far—what a pity! I hope Sirius is better and that you are unharmed as well. I was so thrilled to see you'd like me to visit, but I just so happen to have a better idea… Come join us for Christmas! I'm sure it will be a drab compared to the elegant feasts you and Sirius are used to, but if you're not doing anything special I implore you to come to our abode. James will be here for Christmas, and we'll have an extravagant time. And as much as I love James, I often do require your and Sirius' comedic relief. He's been here at my parents' house for three days, and yesterday we had the most dreadful time dining with my sister Petunia and her fiancé, an obese, moustachioed git named Vernon. James and Vernon got in a disastrous row, and Petunia and Vernon stormed out of the restaurant. James promises he'll apologise to Vernon, at least.
Please respond as soon as you can—my mom was so giddy when I suggested to her that you come! I'm a bit worried to how Sirius will act around her (you know him), but it will be worth it.
Your sister,
Lily
"Sirius!" Blanche exclaimed as she threw the letter at him. In a started manner, he clutched the letter in his hands as it flew through the air and looked at her in shock. "Lily's invited us to Christmas!"
"Thank Merlin. I was getting sick of you," he insulted with a knowing smile. Please, you treasure this, a vain sector of Blanche's mind rung. In thrill, Blanche picked up a pillow and threw it at his head. He dodged it and she mentally cursed his reflexes—which were naturally quick, but had been refined by four years as a Beater.
"Pack your bags, you filthy troll! We're having an actual Christmas!" She cried ecstatically. Before they retreated to their rooms to pick up their belongings—Blanche's were quite sparse, whilst Sirius had all his things at his flat—they laughed in chorus at Lily's line: 'I'm sure it will be a drab compared to the elegant feasts you and Sirius are used to…' in remembrance of their familial celebrations, which were unfailingly cold, dark, lonely, and miserable.
Late December 1977
Cokeworth, Midlands of England
Sirius and Blanche arrived at the grey town of Cokeworth by midday on Christmas Eve. The two had left London one day after reading the letter, deciding it was better to reply to Lily's letter and wait at least a day for her to receive it before they came bursting through the Evans' front door. In their day of formal waiting, Sirius and Blanche decided to clean themselves up for what they were sure was going to be the best Christmas celebration of their lives. Sirius spewed memories of his Christmas the year before with the Potters, and they surpassed Blanche's wildest expectations. These pleasant evenings were full of laughter, cheer, and drink; everyone smiled through the entire night.
Blanche had decided to spend whatever she had left following her detangling from her family. She bought a dress and shoes, as well as a few garments to wear aside from Sirius' oversized shirts, sweaters, and—unfortunately, of late—trousers. She went to the salon and had her hair cut to her shoulders and added a new fringy bang that met just below her brow. This was the new Blanche, she told herself—the homeless Blanche.
Sirius also had himself a cleanup. He had his hair trimmed to the top of his neck and a fresh shave, and Blanche had even convinced him to iron his nicest dress shirt and trousers.
When they arrived, their faces dropped at the sight of Cokeworth. They had not expected much, but what they received was a shock to the system. Cokeworth was completed with lines of matching houses, all in the same shade of grey with hints of brown. In the distance they caught sight of a bank, but it was soiled with rubbish and pollution. The tall-chimneyed mill at the highest point of the town seemed to mount the town in ash and dust. All along, Blanche had expected the town of Lily's inhabitance to be a colourful swirl of light and happiness, much like herself. But upon seeing it with her own eyes, this made even more sense. Lily made her own light in such a dark place, and she hated the grey from which she came.
"I'll knock. They know me better," Blanche shoved Sirius aside with her hip and brought her knuckles to the peeling front door. She heard Sirius' sigh of defeat as the door opened instantly with a wide swing.
"God's nails—it's Blanche Lestrange!" A woman of lovely fair hair exclaimed, quickly fastening Blanche in a bone-crushing hug before she could even be identified as Lily's mother. Blanche noted her hair smelled of peaches. "And the infamous Sirius Black!" The woman extended her already active arm to Sirius, and Sirius squeeze into the crowded hug.
"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Evans," Blanche greeted with an uncommonly toothy smile.
"And a Happy Christmas to you too, my darling!" Mrs. Evans, a petite woman named Rose, cried. "Now come in, loves. It's quite chilly out there," she insisted and tugged them inside. The door slammed shut behind them, cutting away all the bitter winds whistling by outside.
"Blanche!" A flash of red hair shouted and instantly enfolded Blanche in another almost painful hug.
"Padfoot," James Potter waltzed into the living room from the kitchen, extending a masculine greeting to Sirius.
"Prongs," Sirius laughed boyishly, submitting to the greeting.
"Happy Christmas, Lily!" Blanche shouted back, trying to squeeze her with an equal strength. Blanche then decided that her two best friends were the greatest huggers in the world.
"I'm so glad you came," Lily laughed, pulling back to look between Sirius and Blanche. "Even you Sirius. James has been so miserable without any of the Marauders to back him up."
"Of course," Sirius nodded his head. "Thank you for letting us share your Christmas, Mrs. Evans. I know I speak for Blanche when I say you don't know how much we appreciate it," he thanked her politely. Lily was a tad surprised at Sirius' manners, but Blanche knew that Sirius' etiquette had been tamed long ago. He knew how to behave when he wanted to.
"Rose is fine, my darling," she grinned back. "And that goes to you too, Blanche. You're not in fourth year anymore," she said. The last time they had seen one another was after fourth year before the subsequent summer; she'd met Mrs. Evans at the train station and had loved her ever since.
A lanky man of copper hair and a slender build walked into the room, holding a glass of brown liquor to his chest. "You must be Blanche," he smiled at her happily, then turned to Sirius. "And you—Sirius. Quite like that name. I remember I thought that same thing the first time Lily mentioned you."
"Brightest star in the earth's night sky," Sirius replied.
"Ah, yes," Mr. Evans recalled. "In university a close friend of mine studied to be an astronomer. I'd not be surprised if he's on the streets now—he was a bit of an offbeat boy. Still remember the constellations and stars he told me about, though. Arcturus, Canopus, Cygnus, Orion, Antares, Andromeda, Pollux, Regulus, Bellatrix…" he listed.
"Would you believe me if I said most of the names you just listed are names of my family members?" Sirius tested.
"You're kidding!"
"I'm Sirius. My father is Orion, my cousins Andromeda and Bellatrix, my brother Regulus, my paternal grandfather Arcturus, my maternal grandfather Pollux, and my uncle Cygnus."
"Would you look at that?" Mr. Evans looked to his wife, clearly impressed. "We're one and the same, in a way. We've Rose, Lily, and Petunia—who's somewhere out with her lovey. Rose's sisters are Iris and Violet, and her mother was Jasmine. I quite like this!" Mr. Evans exclaimed.
"I've had a bit of trouble with the name. But saying 'I'm Sirius' when people ask if I'm taking the mickey never really gets old," Sirius gushed, and Blanche knew that to be true. Mr. Evans gasped slightly at Sirius' most recent use of the joke with him.
"Splendid!" He cried, then stuck out his hand. "Thomas," he greeted. Sirius shook it firmly.
"Thank you for having Blanche and me."
The night of Christmas eve proceeded in absolute splendour. Rose would not put down her camera as she captured the four's every moment, and Thomas became untidy with drink but was consistently endearing and fatherly to everyone. Their glasses were refilled with fizzing champagne and blood red wine, and their plates restocked with chicken breast, mashed sweet potatoes, Brussels sprouts, gravy, Yorkshire pudding, parsnips, and roast gammon. When their stomachs were stuffed with supper, desserts plates of trifle and minced pies topped with brandy butter were placed before their chairs as the four danced to the many Muggle albums Thomas was rightfully proud of. Lily and James danced closely, and Sirius and Blanche kept to a laughter-filled push and pull of limbs, crashing into one other every once in a while in drunkenness. He led them in circles with their hands closed into one, swinging and swirling and collapsing into laughter. Toward the end he kept her in a tight embrace, keeping his head sleepily upright by leaning his lips on her forehead.
"Boys and girls—apératifs!" Rose cried from the dinner table. Blanche watched Sirius land down on his chair with a thud. He clutched his stomach.
"I don't know if I could take in another thing, Rose," he sighed. "But I'm going to, because this smells so good I think it's worth exploding over."
"Oh, stop it!" Rose blushed and giggled. Yet another woman won over by Sirius' charm.
"Blanche, you never told me what happened with your father," Lily announced suddenly. The lines of laughter seemed to fade from Sirius' face, and Blanche instantly grew more sullen. The joy of liquor faded on her, and its shell of raw emotions remained. "The hostile and dangerous encounter with your father?" She remembered inquisitively.
"Yes," Blanche nodded, knowing she had to tell Lily sooner or later. "Well, as you know, Sirius came to Lestrange Grange and unfortunately Walburga—which is Sirius' mother," she notified Rose and Thomas, "was there as well. She told Orion, I assume, and he became quite furious. He was trying to get a hold of Sirius, but Sirius stunned him. Then my father got involved."
"What'd he do?"
"Well I'm not quite sure why he got involved… Perhaps he needed a reason to punish me. He saw the opportunity and took it."
"I understand you two are known to be rather… resistant toward your parents' beliefs?" Thomas clarified.
"Yes. I assume James told you, but I left home over a year ago," Sirius told her, and both adults nodded.
"Well, you're not still at Lestrange Grange… So what happened after your father got involved?" Lily asked.
"It was never a playful fight… Quite nasty really. But then again, playful isn't a word I'd use to describe my father," Blanche laughed at herself.
"What'd he do?" James followed.
Blanche didn't know whether or not to answer. She was used to keeping it inside and storing her sorrow for a lonely, rainy day. No one needed to carry the burden of her sorrow with her. But she was sitting beside Sirius, who knew this story well. And if she was going to try and hide the truth in the shadows, he would surely drag it into the sunlight. Sirius never evaded problems, he dealt with the head-on. So Blanche had no choice but to answer.
"He used the Imperius Curse on me," Blanche hesitantly revealed to the table, even with Rose and Thomas sitting there. She felt the large hand of Sirius curl around her elbow, and she reached up to fasten her hand in his. She was too sunken of mind to care if Lily and James saw. She didn't need a hug, or a cuddle, or a kiss, or an embrace, and she wouldn't ask for anything of him. However, if he offered just that palmful of warmth to her, she would take it. It was all quite cold for her in that moment.
Blanche heard a strangled gasp from across the table. She looked to Rose, whose hands were hovering over her mouth. Her face had paled considerably, and the end of her small nose was tinted with red. "That's not the Unforgivable one, is it?" Thomas asked his Muggle wife. But clearly, Rose was more informed than her husband. She nodded to him slowly.
"On his own daughter?" His voice cracked as he asked, but he was not as close to tears as his wife.
"That's just how he is," Blanche shrugged. There was no admiration for the self-pitying. "Retrospectively, I suppose I should have expected it. He's a hard man. He's behaved this way before."
"But he's your father!" She heard Lily cry. The feminine hurt was coming from both sides of the table—Rose was in maternal defence and Lily in sisterly offence. Blanche wanted to pinch herself. The last thing she needed was everyone trying to pull some of the weight from her shoulders. But Blanche was struck in memory of how Lily worked, and how it appeared her mother worked too: 'Nothing can conquer the sacredness of family.' Was this true? But what was family—the one you were born with?
"It's alright—both of you!" She forced a grin over her mouth. "I could handle it."
"No, you couldn't," Sirius suddenly sounded with a voice of stone beside her. Blanche looked to him and saw his grey eyes shining with a hard fervour. "He made her use the Cruciatus Curse on me."
"Absolutely not," James shook his head. "No father would do that to his daughter."
"He's not a father," Blanche solidified. "I don't have one anymore."
"What did your mother do?" Rose was now tearing up and falling apart at the seams. She brought a slender finger to the rims of her eyes, drying the tears that slipped.
A silence melted in the air as James, Lily, and Sirius all knew the answer to that, but Blanche remained hard as rock. "Nothing. She never does anything."
"Sirius was at Lestrange Grange for her mother's funeral!" Lily burst out crying. James wrapped two gangly arms around her and soaked her tears on his shirt. On the opposite side of the table a mirror image appeared—Thomas took his weeping wife into his arms. Blanche sat awkwardly beside Sirius, unsure with the emotion flowing from both ends. Was it that unthinkable to them? How could this harshness be so familiar to one person and foreign to another—both of them sitting at the same table.
"What barbarian does that?" Thomas asked in a harsh voice. Rose looked up from his embrace and reached out a hand on the table. Tentatively, Blanche took it in confusion.
"You may not have the family you were born with anymore," she paused, her eyes glassy with tears. "But you have one here."
Blanche looked at her for a while, trying to put the pieces together in her mind: What is family—the one you're born into? No, she knew. Finally she grasped at this truth: Family is the one you make for yourself.
"Thank you," Blanche tightened her grip and a sad but true smile planted itself on her lips.
Petunia was a sour girl—jealous of her sister and angry with her parents. She was three years Lily's senior, but several years younger emotionally. She loved to stomp her foot and call Lily names. But Blanche managed to muster some of her rare sympathy—Lily was beautiful, whereas Petunia was too long-faced and dull-haired. Lily was a witch, whereas Petunia had not a drop of magic in her. It was seemingly natural for Petunia to hate the world, as it gave her so little and her sister so much.
Petunia had been spending Christmas Eve with her fiancé's family, and had come home sometime after midnight. Her presence was introduced with a slammed door.
"I'm home!" She called with a groan from the front door, and walked in to see Blanche, Sirius, James, Lily, and Rose playing cards before the fire, laughing like a long-parted family. Thomas had already disappeared to bed, as his mood was softened and broken after Blanche's story of a horrible father. Before ascending to his and Rose's bedroom, he'd taken Blanche to the side and gave her a long hug. Blanche responded hesitantly, but sunk into the embrace as she discovered him to be warm and strong, whereas her father had always been narrow, cold, and never fond of touching. He then took her face in his hands and gave her a small but full-hearted smile.
"You will always have a place here," he'd told her. He'd been more of a father in that moment than Rabastan ever had.
Petunia looked at the scene with a scowl. "What's this?" She asked.
"Sirius and Blanche, this is Petunia, my other daughter," Rose introduced with a smile.
"Her normal daughter," Petunia corrected. She looked at Blanche and Sirius, with eyes floating over Sirius' handsome face for quite some time before returning to her bitterness.
"Is being a witch or wizard unnatural?" Blanche asked with true curiosity, interested in Petunia's resentful opinion. "We were born with it."
"And if you ask me, you shouldn't have been. Born at all—maybe," she spat, marching towards the stairs.
"Petunia Evans!" Rose stood, ready to drag her immature daughter back to the scene for an apology.
"It's alright, Rose," Blanche said. She heard Petunia's footsteps on the stairs, intentionally causing a racket. "I'm used to prejudice. It's about time I should be on the receiving end of it," she laughed, and she really meant it. Sirius let out a breathy laugh beside her and shared her amusement. It was a bit nice. All his life he'd been the top of the top—the best of the best: a wealthy, pureblood wizard by the name of Black. No one had ever dared step out of line with him or send a legitimate insult his way. It was… refreshing.
And that was not the only pleasure of that night. Since the gathering at the table for dessert, Blanche had been considerably kind. She'd leant into his touch and defended playfully when James made fun of him in soft, Marauder habit. She'd held back on her long, exasperated sighs and laughed more with a true mirth in her eyes.
"Still, it doesn't give her the right—" Lily begun, but Blanche interrupted her.
"It's alright," Blanche insisted, then looked at her jellybeans on the table. "And you owe me some beans, I believe."
Rose picked one up and ate it, her face instantly contorting at the taste. "Overcooked cabbage!" She swallowed it and began to laugh. "I cannot believe the world you wizards live in."
Blanche's feet were still hurting by the end of the train ride; on her walk to the station, she'd twisted an ankle on a fallen log and limped the rest of the way. She hoped the ever-generous Mrs. Tully would bandage it up for her upon her arrival.
The train slowed to a stop at the Ilkley station, and her heart dropped a few inches in her chest when she didn't see Mrs. Tully's sky blue Pontiac in the parking lot outside the station. It wasn't very odd, however—she was a nurse with a schedule as messy as her patients. Once before she had been unable to pick Blanche up, but the walk was less than half an hour and she knew her way.
The walk went too slowly for Blanche as she excitedly raced down the streets of Ilkley. She quite liked the town—it was much more populated than Upper Flagley, which was composed of major Trueblood estates along long and winding roads.
Blanche pushed open the iron gates outside the Tully's modest home, which was not large but not small. It had two floors and was designed in a fantastic Tudor style, with its steep gable roofs, squares of pale stucco, and exposed framework. After all, Mr. Tully was a historian who had great appreciation for sixteenth century decorative motifs.
Blanche noticed the off-putting colouring of the sky as she walked along the pathway that tore through the overgrown grass. It was not rainy, but neither was it sunny, and the humidity formed a sheen of moisture across Blanche's cheeks. She'd always hated the uncertainty and eeriness of this weather.
She brought her knuckles to the door and knocked it once, then felt it seep open further as if it had already been ajar. "Hello?" She called and there was no response. But as Blanche took a step into the foyer she saw the lights in the kitchen were on, and the wetness in the air hinted that a door someplace had been widely opened. Perhaps they were eating outside, or cooking up something over the fire pit between Mrs. Tully's gardens.
The old wooden planks of the house creaked beneath her steps as she walked toward the staircase that would bring her to Talbot's room. At the landing, she called Talbot's name and received no answer.
"Mrs. Tully?" She yelled as she walked into Talbot's room. It was a navy room that was somehow smaller than the laundry room. As a Muggleborn wizard, Talbot's walls were covered in posters for his favourite movies from the Muggle world—some of which he'd forced Blanche to watch. Blanche didn't like movies much, as Talbot had been the first to expose her to them; she found them to be an unrealistic attempt at mimicking actual life. However, she appreciated whatever Talbot said about them, as he was a rather sharp-minded fellow, especially in regards to the Muggle arts. He tended to prefer movies with idiosyncratic cinematography and unexpected endings.
Pinned between posters of the movies Psycho and Spartacus, Blanche found her own and most recent letter taped against the wall. She grinned to herself at his thought of her. Blanche turned and descended back down the stairs, figuring they were outside. She sprinted through the tiled kitchen but slipped halfway through on a sliced tomato that had tumbled to the ground.
"Merlin's beard," she muttered to herself, rubbing the tail of her spine as she stood. She bent to pick up the tomato and wondered why Mrs. Tully had not come back in to see her food had fallen off the cutting board. Blanche took a rag to the floor and swiped up the gooey, seed-studded sludge of the tomato. When the half of the tomato that was on the ground was secured upon the cutting board, Blanche finally made it outside.
There was a sparse but tall pine that stood to the left of the Tully's backyard. The tree cast spotty shade across the yard and Mrs. Tully always complained about it ruining her gardens that lined the fence, even though her bulbs were always looking spritely. It was a very old tree, whose first major branches sprouted at least three meters over the ground. Its thickest branch was nearest to the ground, and it was so long it cast shade over the entire yard and that belonging to the neighbours.
But there were three new shadows thrown across the yard—long, dangling, and stretching like ghosts against the side of the house as the sun set. Three shadows tied with rope that was bound from neck to bough, and carrying narrow fruits.
Blanche entered the backyard to see three bodies hanging from three nooses tied to the branch. Their mouths were dead upon their faces, and their eyes open—all aside from Mr. Tully's. His were closed in some sort of accepting death—like he didn't bulge his eyes in fear before he dropped. He was not afraid.
She was right when she returned home, as dead in the face and heart as her best friend who had dropped into death off of the tree and into the rope. Her father acknowledged her entrance and said with some sort of grin: "The father went by himself, you know. He didn't need the curse. He wanted to... after his wife and son."
Blanche's muscles felt hard along her bones when she woke—like they had only been cement poured between curbs. The only sign of reaction was the tear that dripped down her temple and into her hair, wetting a tuft and the pillow when she turned on her side. It will never leave me, she thought to herself. The black shadows swaying steadily against the stucco walls with the wind. Mr. Tully had gone on his own.
To her left—in his own sleeping bag—Sirius made sounds in his sleep as he always did. His hand fidgeted in partial wakefulness out of his unzipped bag, and lightly clawed at the flannel lining of her bag. Blanche sniffed up any nearing tears harshly, and reached to wipe away her eyes with one palm. She felt her unused hand to Sirius' side meet a warm palm, and she looked up to see Sirius' eyes droopily open and a very small but well-meaning smile on his pink lips. In some infrequent moments of quietness, Sirius reminded her of Talbot. Both were equally happy-go-lucky; they were always ready to take a risk for simply living a more exciting life, and to lighten Blanche's mood with a playful jest. Blanche's hand tightened around Sirius', and she couldn't do anything about the next tear that left her eye.
She watched as Sirius' smile faded into something of shared sorrow. He didn't ask her what was wrong, but only lifted himself from his sleeping bag to stretch it further across the ground. Blanche's fingers fumbled with the zipper of her bag and undid it, rolling away from her cocoon and onto Sirius' outstretched bag that now extended as a blanket. He pulled her sleeping bag on top of them and made something of a bed, then took her into his bare arms. She accepted his embrace and trapped herself within the cage of his hard limbs, knocking her forehead into his flat sternum and curling up there. She felt his cheek rest on the crown of her head and stay there, feeling him breathe as he drifted away. She laughed quietly against him as he started speaking softly and incoherently in his sleep.
In that dark room, with Lily and James sleeping soundly to Blanche's right, she felt okay to relieve some pressure against him. To forgive herself—if only for a moment—of Talbot's sorrow, and Mrs. Tully's sorrow, and Mr. Tully's sorrow, and Miss Tully's sorrow, and her mother's sorrow, and her own sorrow. It was alright in that short fly away to sleep to be warmed by someone else, and to feel his heart beat against her ear.