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Chapter Text

Mr and Mrs Miller, of number twelve, Carnation Lane, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Or at least Mrs Miller was, and her husband felt no need to argue. She was therefore impeccably dressed, fully in black, when attending the funeral of Mr Fletcher, a widowed former army captain, who had been their neighbour for three decades. And a good neighbour at that; always tending his garden, keeping it in perfect conservative condition, only put out the dustbin on the same morning they were to be emptied and not the night before, and most important of all, he had no unsuitable family or friends coming to visit. He would be sorely missed in the neighbourhood she felt certain and it was with a bit of apprehension that she speculated on who might move into number eleven next.

Hopefully, it would be someone better than old Mrs Henderson, who, while surely being a respectable old lady, had the unfortunate habit of not taking proper care of her roses. Not to mention having a son who worked as a journalist for The Sun and had the terrible habit of asking if they had seen the latest page three if they had the ill fortune to cross paths while he was visiting. It was no wonder the man was in his late forties and still unmarried.

“Did Mr Fletcher’s son mention anything about the sale of the house?” Mrs Miller asked Mr Miller as soon as they had returned home and sat down in the living room with a cup of tea each, a plate of biscuits on the coffee table in front of them.

“Yes, as a matter of fact he did” Mr Miller replied, then taking a cautious sip of the still piping hot brew before continuing, “he mentioned something about a married couple having just offered a very tempting sum for it.”

“Did he say what kind of people they were?”

“Said he’s only met the man, who seemed to be in his mid to late thirties and that he appeared pleasant enough, if slightly eccentric.”

“Eccentric?!” Mrs Miller asked, suddenly nervous, “he is aware, is he not, of the prestige of our neighbourhood and that we will not like to suffer any… pollution.”

“He is perfectly aware, and you know he and his wife would have been happy to move in, but now that their youngest have left the nest, they feel a house of that size would be a little much.”

“It is only advantageous to have a proper and well sized house when you start having grandchildren” Mrs Miller replied as if it was God’s own truth.

“They feel their current home will be enough for such matters when they come to be. You know young people these days are far too busy working to start a family before thirty, so they aren’t likely to see the next generation for a few years yet.”

“Perhaps. Still, he cannot be contemplating letting some eccentric into his late father’s house, can he?”

“I don’t know. If given a strong enough incentive a lot of people would do many unexpected things, my dear. And it seemed this couple had offered a lot of money.”

“Well, it might all come to nothing in the end.”

As it happened, it did not all come to nothing and three months later Mrs Miller stood by the window in one of the guest bedrooms on the first floor, looking across the street at number eleven where movers were busy carrying a large amount of furniture into the house. At least it looked like tasteful pieces and the young woman who directed the workers was dressed in a pretty but simple blue dress that exposed no unseemly sights. Mrs Howard down in number two had more than enough of that fault, always dressing as if it was five degrees warmer than it actually was, at least.

Perhaps it was a little difficult to judge from such a distance, but after - and fully impartially of course - observing the scene for a while, Mrs Miller came to the conclusion that the young woman who had just entered number eleven, following a worker who appeared to be carrying something fragile and in need of extra directions, seemed to be in her mid-twenties at the most, maybe even younger. That meant that either the age of the husband had not been correctly communicated or that was not the wife. For surely every decent person knew an age difference by more than seven years was highly improper and someone, or a couple as it were, who laboured under such a misguidance would never see fit to move into her neighbourhood.

Naturally, the shock Mrs Miller experienced about an hour later was thus a little more understandable, when a motorbike pulled up on the driveway of number eleven and the man who drove it took off his helmet only to reveal himself to indeed be somewhere in his mid to late thirties and the young woman came out of the house and greeted him with a passionate kiss. The motorbike in itself was problem enough, but to see a couple with such an age disparity, displaying their affection so openly no less, would have had her choking on her tea if she had not already finished the whole pot some half an hour ago.

Scandalised, she hurried down the stairs and into the living room, which sadly faced the backside, to share the horrible news of their new neighbours with Mr Miller, who had sat there reading since morning, stubbornly missing the whole thing.

“My dear! My dear! You will never believe what I just saw.”

“Then perhaps you’d better not tell me, if I won’t believe it anyway” he replied in a calm tone, not lifting his eyes from the current page.

When she had found a book on the topic of the war of the roses he had not yet read she had been happy to be able to buy it and present it to him on his birthday last week, but as it had now been used to keep the curiosity of the new arrivals confined to herself she could not help but regret the purchase.

“What? Oh, do not be such a bother. They have arrived! The couple in number eleven. They are here!”

“I know. You’ve been looking at them for a good while now.”

“No! Only the wife was present, though I did not know it was her until just now.”

“How so? Is she very masculine in appearance?”

“No, but she is very young. And the husband just arrived, and he seemed to be as old as young Mr Fletcher said.”

“The man’s an astute observer so that doesn’t surprise me. But what of it?”

“Oh, but can you not see?! There must be at least ten years between them. It is an absolute outrage! And he drives a motorbike.”

“Good for him.”

“What?”

“Rich, has a young wife and drives a bike.”

Mrs Miller could only gape in wonder at her husband, who had still not looked up from his book, for a good minute or so before she had collected herself enough to form a reply.

“Do you not care about this neighbourhood at all?! We have lived here for nearly forty years and after those pesky Saunders moved out after a few years-“

“More or less pushed out by you and your newmade friends, you mean” Mr Miller interjected, but was ignored.

“-it has been nothing but respectable enough neighbours on every number. Mark my words, those people are bound to bring us all to ruin if we do not do something about it.”

“I will leave it all in your capable hands, my dear.”

Being the perfect neighbour that she was, Mrs Miller crossed the street three days later, a cake in her hands, to welcome the new arrivals, no matter how reluctant she might feel about it. It was the done thing, after all. It was a Saturday afternoon and since she had not seen them leave the house, she assumed they were at home.

After ringing the doorbell, she only had to wait a short while before the door was opened and she was faced with the young woman, a pleasant smile already on her face. And while her hair was clearly more unruly than any hair should have the right to be, she was once more dressed well, this time in a simple navy blue skirt and a cream coloured shirt, though the top two buttons were unfortunately undone.

“I am Mrs Miller, across the street” she began, making sure to remember to smile as well. “I thought I would come over and welcome you to the neighbourhood now that you have a had a few days to settle in.”

“How lovely. I’m Hermione Granger Black and my husband, Sirius, should be just about finished with brewing some tea. And I see you’ve brought a cake to go along with it. How lovely. Please, do come in.”

Two surnames then. She hoped the husband had the same, for women who decided to keep their maiden names were such a pretentious modern upstart of an idea. But had she really called her husband serious? Was that some kind of strange name given by hippy parents maybe? Regardless, receiving more confirmation that this couple clearly did not belong; she kept her smile in place as she followed into the kitchen, where she had to drop it at the sight of the mess. The kitchen was the heart and soul of any home and should be the first to be put in order, but here boxes full of china, pans, pots and cutlery were all over the place and most of the cabinets gaped empty.

“Sirius, love.”

A tall man with shoulder length black hair turned towards them from where he had been standing hunched over one of the numerous boxes and pulling out some cups. The hair style was not comforting at all and neither was the roughish smile he directed towards his wife and then even herself. At least he dressed as well as his wife and sported black slacks and a plum coloured shirt. Though, like his wife, he had left the two top buttons open.

“We have a guest I see.”

“Yes, this is Mrs Miller, you know, from number twelve.”

“Ah. Yes. We have seen you about a few times. Bound to happen when you live so close” the man replied and despite their polite tones, Mrs Miller could not help but feel that a slight of some sort had been levelled at her. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Mrs Miller, this is my husband, Sirius Black.”

So, she had kept her maiden name then. Just wait until Mrs Jones heard about that.

“And a pleasure to meet you both. We have all been terribly curious about who would replace dear old Mr Fletcher. He lived here for thirty years you know and was always the most proper and considerate of neighbours.”

“Sounds like a lovely man. His son was much the same” Mr Black commented.

“Why don’t you take the cake and find a plate for it, love” Mrs Granger Black said then, “and I’ll show Mrs Miller into the living room. It’s a bit more orderly in there.”

“Right. Thank you very much, Mrs Miller” Mr Black said as he plucked the cake right out of her hands without so much as a by your leave.

“Right this way then, Mrs Miller” Mrs Granger Black said, ushering her out into the hallway again and on towards the back of the house. “Though I’m sure you’re already familiar with this house.”

“I have been over a few times over the years, yes.”

“It must be hard to see it so changed, or at least in such a disarray. But since the sale did not go through until last week, which was a little later than we had hoped, we had to move in before we could start the renovation, so there wasn’t much point in packing up more than the bare essentials. All the workers will come and start on Monday, so I’m afraid it will be a while of some minor disturbances over the coming weeks. But we’ve hired only the best and plenty of them, so it should not take too long to get it all done. The kitchen especially we felt the need to change completely, not to mention the bathrooms. While Mr Fletcher, or if maybe it was a wife, had good taste, it was a little old-fashioned and sadly not matching up well with our own. Or, I should perhaps say mine, seeing how Sirius cares little for how things look so long as I’m pleased with it. He is such a good husband in that way. Where is Mr Miller by the way? We haven’t seen him as much, but a glimpse or two have told us you are still happily married, Mrs Miller.”

“My husband is at his weekly get-together with his fellow crossword puzzle enthusiasts in the area. They meet every Saturday at this time at one of their places. Oh, and yes, I am most happily married. I simply cannot stand the way people get divorced right and left these days. Even the royals do it. No, I am properly married. We know how to make it work and do not balk at the slightest disagreement.”

“Then I am happy for you. Sirius and I have found a highly effective way of solving our disputes, so I don’t think we’ll have much trouble in that department. Besides, our union was perhaps a bit more binding than most.”

The conspiratorial smile on Mrs Granger Black’s face at the first part left her feeling scandalised, but she hurriedly schooled her face into neutrality and then had to bite her tongue in order to not ask what she meant by the emphasis on binding. There she could not imagine at all what might be the cause for such a phrase, but she also knew she could hardly ask such a thing after only just having introduced herself. Perhaps Mrs Jones or Mrs Sutton would have some theories.

After having paused in the hallway for that little chat, they entered the living room and while a few boxes stood in a corner, it was tastefully furnished with that, no doubt antique, sofa she had spotted being carried inside three days earlier, as well as two matching armchairs and a well-polished coffee table in the middle.

“Please, have a seat” Mrs Granger Black said, motioning towards one of the armchairs, “I’ll just go and see if Sirius needs any help.”

Mrs Miller took the opportunity to study the rest of the room while she was alone. There was no TV, which she found a bit odd. She knew very few people, none of them younger than forty, who did not have one in their home. Maybe they had one elsewhere? Instead, the room seemed to lean more towards a place to interact rather than silently watching something together. There was a set of four identical old-fashioned leather armchairs sat around a small round table not much taller than the level of the seat of the chairs to one side.

Over by the middle of the three windows stood a chess table with a chair on each side, all of it looking as if it had been plucked right out of a royal dwelling. No curtains had been put up yet but seeing how they would soon start renovations it was not surprising. A few paintings had been hung up on the walls, though, all complementing the style of the furniture. Yes, these people had both money and taste, which made it all the more regrettable that they themselves made so many transgressions in regard to propriety.

Just then, the two persons in questions entered the room, each carrying a tray. Mrs Granger Black set down one with her cake on it while Mr Black carried a larger one with a beautiful teapot and matching cups and plates. It was the same cups he had been unpacking when she arrived, she noted.

“I’ll be mum” Mrs Granger Black said and started pouring tea for them all, placing a teaspoon on each saucer before handing them out.

Saying her thanks, Mrs Miller poured some milk into her cup and added a cube of sugar as well. However, when she plucked up the spoon she frowned.

“This is not silver, is it?” she could not help but ask, feeling it was somehow sacrilegious to not have genuine silverware to go with such lovely china.

“No” Mr Black replied while calmly stirring his own tea, “we don’t use silver at all in this house. One of our close friends has a bit of an… eh… allergy to it. Gives him a terrible burning rash touching the stuff. So, we had all of our cutlery specially ordered. They are all made out of titanium.”

“Oh. I see. I have never heard of a silver allergy before.”

“Thankfully, it is a rare condition” Mrs Granger Black said, “but very painful for those cursed with it.”

“Your friend is lucky to have such considerate friends in you then.”

“As we are lucky to have him” Mr Black replied. “The man is a treasure and does not deserve such suffering. We actually had the idea about the cutlery when he and his wife celebrated their first-year anniversary. They sort of eloped, you see, as it was something of a tumultuous time in our circle of friends back then. My darling Hermione was not my wife yet, of course, but she came up with the idea and since she knew it would be costly approached me with it. To this day, I’m still certain that was the moment my love for her was ignited.”

The look he gave his wife then was all the proof needed to verify that he did indeed love her, and Mrs Miller felt a small tug of envy somewhere deep in her heart at witnessing it. While she and Mr Miller were fond of and devoted to each other, they had never had anything close to the passion it was clear this couple enjoyed. But then again, passion was an unseemly thing, she forcefully reminded herself and added it to the growing list of faults her new neighbours displayed.

“You are the one who brought the money into the marriage then, Mr Black?” Mrs Miller could not help but ask then, curious about the dynamics of her new neighbours’ marriage.

A brief flash of annoyance seemed to cross the man’s face at her words, but it had been too quick for her to be entirely sure it had not just been her imagination as he had a friendly smile in place the very next moment.

“Yes. My family has been around, and richly so, for quite a few centuries and while I was the rightful heir by order of birth the only reason I’ve ended up with it all is because I’m the last male standing.”

Ah! A black sheep of his family then. Hardly surprising, Mrs Miller though, but the direction her mind had taken must have shown through more than normal as the man then went on.

“Don’t get me wrong, Mrs Miller, but being the outcast of my family is nothing short of an honour. They were such xenophobic, ultra-conservative bigots that they elongated the political scale all on their own. The world is much better off without them, I can assure you. Well, I say all but there are a few exceptions still alive in the form of a few female cousins, but they are all married and don’t share the name Black with me any longer. I’m sure you will see them soon enough as we’re sure to have them over regularly.”

“Yes, we do hope you’re not averse to a little liveliness in the neighbourhood” Mrs Granger Black continued and for some reason, and highly improperly, put a hand on her husband’s knee. It looked like a gesture made to calm him down, or at least one of reassurance, but she could not find a reason for why he would need such a thing. He certainly looked calm enough. But the younger woman went on, so she had to drop the thought; “We have something of a large group of family and friends and we all like to see each other often. And now that we have found a well sized home for ourselves, we’ll be wanting to have them over from time to time as soon as the renovations are completed.”

Mrs Miller was a bit divided in the face of such news. The thought of having a whole group of people who would no doubt be likeminded to these two was disconcerting, but, as she had just realised, it would also give her fodder for her conversations with Mrs Jones or Mrs Sutton for a long time to come. One could only stretch Mrs Howard’s dressing choices so far when it came to lamenting the state of their neighbours after all. And once their usefulness was at an end, it would be the easiest thing in the world to encourage them to find someplace else to live.

“Not at all” she consequently replied with a smile that was actually halfway genuine. “In fact, I look forward to it.”

“I’m glad to hear it” Mrs Granger Black replied, a sudden glint in her eyes that Mrs Miller could not approve of.

Maybe she should have understood, in that moment, that this was an adversary she had never encountered before and that backing down would be the prudent course of action. However, Mrs Miller was not one to admit defeat, and what, in the end, could a young woman who seemed to be barely out of school really do.

Chapter Text

The following Saturday, Mrs Miller had just put the last finishing touches to their breakfast when she looked out the kitchen window to see why Mr Miller took so long fetching the paper. She frowned at first, seeing their small front garden empty before her gaze travelled further, across the street, to find her husband standing in front of number eleven, talking to Mr Black, who also held a paper in one hand. At least those people seemed to rise at a proper hour during weekends.

Seeing as her husband had yet to meet Mr Black and Mrs Granger Black – she scoffed at the thought of the name Granger and decided to only use it when necessary – it was little surprise that he would take this opportunity. But did he really need to take such a long time just introducing himself? She always made a traditional full breakfast on Saturdays and Sundays because she knew how much he liked it, but now the food was getting cold.

As the two men continued to talk a while longer, both of them looking happy about the interaction, her frown returned and soon her mood started to sour. Mr Miller knew her opinion on the new arrivals so there was no need to be more friendly to them than propriety dictated. While never as outspoken on the subject as she was, he also knew what was right and proper and would never dream of deviating from that.

At long last the two said their goodbyes, Mr Black disappearing into number eleven while Mr Miller crossed the street and entered their home. She walked out into the entryway and watched as her husband pulled off his shoes, the paper still in one hand, with an irritating small smile on his face as if he had actually enjoyed his little talk.

“Oh, sorry for taking a while” he said as he looked up an noticed her in-between one shoe and the next, “here, would you take this please.”

Mrs Miller automatically reached out and accepted the bundled-up paper, but remained where she stood, an expectant look on her face.

“Well, come on then” Mr Miller went on, as if he did not even notice, after putting both shoes away and standing up, ushering her with him into the kitchen where he plopped down by the table and poured a cup of tea before digging into the food on his plate. “Mmmm, delicious as always, dear.”

Softening a little under his praise, Mrs Miller decided on a less scolding approach to the topic and joined him at the table, allowing for a few minutes of silence before necessity had her broaching it again.

“I saw you talking to Mr Black.”

“Yes” Mr Miller replied, his eyes now on the paper which he had just laid out next to him so he could read this morning’s headlines, meaning she had to start now or he would be lost until the last page was finished. He was such a dedicated reader.

“What did you make of him then?”

“Seems a nice chap.”

“How could he be? He wears a leather jacket, drives a motorbike and is tattooed” she replied while she counted the offences on her fingers and then holding them up. “While bad enough on their own, those three are never a got combination. Maybe he is a criminal. Maybe that is where they get all their money and the story about his family is just a lie.”

“Dear, don’t get ahead of yourself just yet” her husband said, looking up at her. “There are plenty of law-abiding people with that combination of things in their lives. Besides, you can always ask them next time you meet them about what they do for a living.”

“Well, I suppose I will have to invite them over for tea sometime in the next few weeks seeing as they served me some when I went over with the cake.”

“There you are then. No need to speculate wildly before you can interrogate them again.”

“Interrogate? Dear, you do exaggerate sometimes.”

“Yes, I guess I do” Mr Miller replied, once more returning his attention to the paper and putting another forkful of beans into his mouth.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence, enjoying the calm of the morning, before Mr Miller rose from the table and held out the now folded up paper to her.

“Are you already done?” she asked a bit surprised.

“Yes. I need to get a few things together for later. Remember, I’m hosting the crossword group today.”

“Of course, I have not forgotten” she said, accepting the paper from him. “I baked a sponge cake for you yesterday. You can find it on the second left-hand shelf in the pantry.”

“Thank you, dear. Oh, and speaking about that, I invited Mr Black to join us and he agreed. Though, he’ll be joining us next week as they were going away today to visit some friends.”

“You honestly think he could have anything of value to add to your group? I truly doubt he has ever solved, let alone looked at, a crossword puzzle in his life.”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see. But if he does have experience with them it will be from crosswords the rest of us aren’t used to doing, though I don’t know how different they could be.”

“What do you mean?” Mrs Miller could not help but ask, even if she did not share her husband’s hobby.

“Well” he said, a slightly mischievous smile suddenly lighting up his face as he tapped the day’s issue of The Daily Telegraph in her hand, “they read The Guardian.”

Mrs Miller was too horror-struck to even register Mr Miller’s chuckle as he left the room. They were reading The Guardian! Never before had there been such people on the street. With the occasional The Times thrown in, and the exception of poor Mrs Henderson who was under the delusion that The Sun was acceptable reading due to her son, everyone subscribed to and read The Daily Telegraph. Lord protect them, but it seemed they had socialists in the neighbourhood now.

Not even an hour later, Mrs Miller was over in number ten, anxious to share the horrible news with Mrs Sutton, barely able to contain herself while they waited for Mrs Jones. She was wringing her hands while she sat in one of the armchairs in the living room, wondering why it was taking her friend so long to get there. It was not as if number three on the same street was on the other side of the world.

Mrs Sutton just put a steaming teapot down on the small table in front of her, next to the plate of her famous lemon biscuits, when the doorbell rang.

“That must be Agnes then. I will go and get her. Do start on the tea meanwhile as I can see that you need it.”

“Thank you, Mildred, you are a true friend” she replied and reached for the pot that she noticed, with much approval, was the second-best Mrs Sutton owned. Seeing as it was not a special occasion there was no need to bring out the beautiful and very expensive set she and Mr Sutton had been gifted by his parents when they married, but using the second best showed how much she cared for her friends.

Luckily, she did not have to wait long before all three of them sat down, a cup of tea each, and she could start unburdening her troubled heart.

“I just learned the most deplorable thing about the Blacks this morning” she began after greetings were exchanged, making the two other women lean in a bit, looking eager to share in this new development in the greatest calamity that had befallen their peaceful little part of the world in living memory. “They… “ she had to pause in order to collect herself and steady her voice before she went on, “they read The Guardian.”

“No!”

“Truly?!”

Disbelief was as clear on her friends as she felt it herself and she nodded in confirmation. This was the proper reaction and she wished Mr Miller was there to take notes. If there was one fault her husband had it was that she could not rely on him to understand the seriousness of certain situations. He believed most people to be boring, and consequently not capable of doing anything exiting enough to talk at length over. And should someone do something out of the ordinary, he felt it was not his business.

“Why would they ever read such a rag?” Mrs Sutton asked, as if either of her two guests would have been able to answer.

“They are socialists” Mrs Miller said, “mark my words. They will bring nothing but trouble with them. Did I not say so from the start?”

“You did” Mrs Sutton agreed, almost spilling some tea as she stirred it too forcefully with her proper silver teaspoon.

“Right on the very day they moved in” Mrs Jones said, nodding along.

“Oh, I had an inkling they were bad news all the way back when Ernest told me about them being in talks with young Mr Fletcher about buying the house. Oh, why ever did that otherwise so well-mannered and considerate young man sell his childhood home to such people, inflicting them on us?”

“Most disrespectful” Mrs Sutton agreed.

“Though, my Frank told me they offered quite the sum for it” Mrs Jones, suddenly looking nervously, said. “Maybe it was enough to make him accept the offer regardless? Such a large house outside of the cities can be a bit difficult to sell at a good price these days.”

“Did Frank advice on the sale?” Mrs Miller asked, hoping it could not be so. The man might be a successful estate agent, but that was no reason to throw the neighbourhood under the bus just because he could help someone get a lot of money.

“Yes. In fact…” Mrs Jones went on, now sounding positively timid, “he was in charge of the sale.”

A heavy silence settled over the sunny room while two of its occupants glared at the third. They could not fathom that someone from their own midst had sold out the rest of them in such a fashion. It was simply unconscionable and neither knew exactly how to address it, instead allowing the quiet to linger. It went on for so long that Mrs Jones seemed on the verge of an apology when Mrs Miller finally had collected herself enough to form words once more.

“Just because you have only lived here for seventeen years, are all the way down in number three and do not have to deal with having them across the street, like we must endure” she gestured to herself and Mrs Sutton, “do not mean you can go around letting just anyone with enough money come and live here. Do you know that I had to witness them near… near making out on the street the day they moved in?”

“You mentioned that when-“

“Not to mention the other day when Mr Black plucked one of the Ferdinand Pichards with his bare hand, not a single pair of secateurs in sight, to bring inside, no doubt to give to his young wife. Mr Fletcher won several prizes for those roses” Mrs Sutton continued the complaint, cutting off Mrs Jones. Luckily, she only had a biscuit in her hand since the tea would have ended up all over if she had still had her cup.

“Next thing you know, they will chop down the entire bush in order to make way for some hideous modern garden decoration. They seem to be changing most of the inside of the house as it stands. But, what else have you seen, Mildred dear?” Mrs Miller asked, her curiosity enough to override her ire for the moment.

“While they do not appear in their front garden all that much, I did get a glimpse of them on Sunday, when you and Ernest were off visiting Oliver and his family. They had some guests of their own and I happened to look out the window when they arrived. There were six people arriving in two cars a few minutes apart. First there was a couple with their young children. The boy could not have been more than five years old I would say, while the girl might have been about two. From what I could see, the man was respectably dressed, but the woman… dear me, the woman. She had bright pink hair and dressed in the same vein as Mrs Howard, if you understand my meaning” Mrs Sutton exclaimed while a slight pink tinted her cheeks.

Mrs Miller suddenly felt some regret at having missed such an event but reassured herself that if those were friends of the Blacks, they would no doubt return and she could witness the spectacle another time. Besides, after her son and his family had been unable to come and celebrate Mr Miller’s birthday due to little Aidan having come down with the flu, she had been happy to go. While her new neighbours were frustrating, they would not be allowed to take time away from her family.

“Then there was another couple” Mrs Sutton went on, “both dressed reasonably enough, I suppose, though the woman had the misfortune of having garishly red hair. At least in her case it might have been natural, though I am unsure if it would be best for her if that is the case or not. I could not see much more than that since I do not live directly across as you do, Enid, but I could tell it was an unseemly affectionate greeting on all parts.”

“I was afraid they would bring other unsuitable people into the neighbourhood” Mrs Miller said, reaching for the teapot as her cup was once more empty, “even if they are only here temporarily.”

She paused as the object in her hand was not as heavy as she thought it ought to be and felt her anxiety go up when she realised why.

“Oh, it seems we are out of tea.”

“I will go and put the kettle on and brew some more then. I am afraid I did not realise this would be a two-pot conversation. Just wait a moment” Mrs Sutton said and took it from her and left for the kitchen.

Still put out by Frank Jones’ involvement in introducing the Blacks into her life, and without any soothing brew in her cup, Mrs Miller remained silent while she was left alone with his wife. The rational part of her mind knew her friend was not to blame, and in a way her husband was not either since he had only done his job, but she was still too upset to give in to that. For, no matter how she tried to reason, it felt like a betrayal. When the Joneses had moved in those seventeen years ago, she had taken the woman under her wing and taught her all about how she should behave as part of the neighbourhood. And this was how she was repaid?

“There we go” Mrs Sutton said when she returned a short while later, putting the refilled teapot on the table.

“Thank you. I think I will need a lot of tea to calm down right now” Mrs Miller said and reached for it.

“Now then, Agnes, if Frank handled the sale, do you perhaps know what the price ended up being?”

“I do not know the exact sum. Frank does not like to talk specifics like that, but he did say that Mr Black contacted him and offered an amount that was enough over the asking price that he advised that they should sell directly rather than go into a bidding” Mrs Jones explained while she started tapping one of her nails against her cup in a most irritating way. Mrs Miller vaguely though she would need to remind her friend that inflicting bad habits on others was wholly unsuitable. Something she had not had to do for at least a decade.

“I wonder why they would do such a thing?” Mrs Sutton asked half to herself and half to the other two. “I mean, they must have money to spare, but why would this neighbourhood interest them? They are young while almost everyone else living here have children who have already moved out. It is also a bit of a drive to the nearest city.”

“Perhaps they are in hiding?” Mrs Miller mused, having enough tea in her now to take part in the conversation again and remembering her remark to Mr Miller earlier.

“From what?”

“The police?”

Mrs Sutton and Mrs Jones both looked thoughtful at this idea. The latter even stopped tapping her cup, thankfully, while her mind mulled over the possibility. It felt good to have friends who took her seriously like this, Mrs Miller though.

“It would be terrible indeed to have criminals in the neighbourhood” Mrs Jones eventually ventured, her eyes darting between the others.

“But how could we find out if they are?” Mrs Sutton asked, “we can hardly call the police without any proof, or at least sufficient grounds for suspicion.”

“We will simply have to interact with them” Mrs Miller said, feeling much more determined now than earlier when her husband had asked her to hold off on making assumptions. If both of her closest friends shared her fear, it could not be entirely misplaced, now could it. No, they would have to get to the bottom of this and save the neighbourhood.

“Neither Agnes nor I have been over to welcome them yet, so we can start there” Mrs Sutton began to strategize. “I have the afternoon free, so I can bake some more lemon biscuits and go over there Monday afternoon. They are usually both back home at about five, so it would not be too late for such a visit.

“Perfect. And I told Ernest just before coming over here that I need to invite them over for some tea since they did offer me some when I was there.”

“And we will do the same” said Mrs Jones, putting down her cup.

They all looked at each other, determination radiating from all of them. This was now a battle for the future of Carnation Lane, and they could not afford to lose. No, armed with as many biscuits, cakes and pots of tea as it took, they would emerge victorious.

Speaking of pots, Mrs Miller though as she sipped on her tea, they would likely need one more before this war council was at an end.

Chapter Text

Sadly, neither Mrs Sutton nor Mrs Jones could report on anything suspicious when the next weekend arrived, having both been over to number eleven to welcome the Blacks during the week. The couple had been as cordial to her friends as they had been to her and only talked about more superficial things. It was frustrating, but Mrs Miller knew they would have to be patient in order to see this through.

With that in mind, she decided to go over and issue her invitation for tea, while Mr Miller was away with the crossword group in order to catch the young woman alone, seeing as how Mr Black would be from home as well. She silently thanked her husband for unwittingly giving her this opportunity. Of the two, Mr Black was the most likely to be a criminal and maybe she could reach out to the wife and offer her help so that she might confess what was going on.

“Where did you say you would be this Saturday” she casually asked Mr Miller while they finished breakfast and she got up to get started on cleaning up the kitchen.

“Oh, up at the Ellisons.”

“That was it. Please give my greetings to dear Angela. It has been far too long since I last saw her” she said as she reached for the now cooled frying pan on the stove, intending to wash it.

“I’ll try to remember it.”

“And I hope she has made that strawberry and vanilla pie for you all.”

“I can only concur” Mr Miller replied, a slightly dreamy expression coming over his face as he walked towards the dishwasher, his plate and cup in hand.

While the Ellisons were among the most respectable people in the neighbourhood, Mrs Miller had one major gripe with Mrs Ellison. The woman was locally famous for that pie but refused to share the recipe with anyone. Not even someone as skilled at baking as herself. And since the woman was nearly two decades older than her and had no children of her own it was only fair someone, like herself, should inherit it. She had showed numerous times, after all, with her sponge cakes, biscuits and occasional pastry that she was a worthy heir to the heavenly pie, but the old lady refused to take any hint thrown her way.

“By the way” Mr Miller said, rousing her from her thoughts, “have you seen my reading glasses anywhere? I know I had them in the sitting room last night, but now I can’t find them anywhere.”

“They had slipped down on the floor where I found them earlier. I put them on the side table in the entryway so you would not miss them on the way out.”

“Thank you, my dear. What would I do without you?” her husband replied and then leaned over and pressed a light kiss on her cheek as he passed her on the way out into the hallway.

‘Eat down at the pub every day’, she thought to herself and shook her head. Mr Miller was by no means ungifted with pots and pans. No, the trouble was that he had a penchant for the kind of food served in such locales and was unlikely to make the effort of preparing something himself if he had the option of dining out. As it was, he only went to The Three Elves once a week with a few of the other men on the street. The Monday Dining Club they called it and was not harmful in the least since they never came home drunk.

Well, Mr Bristow was known to indulge a little too much sometimes, but never caused a scene while doing so. Apparently, he turned a bit maudlin and mostly talked about his dead wife. And a widower did have the right to become a little misty-eyed when dwelling on such a topic after all. Nothing strange about it. Mrs Bristow had been one of the kindest people Mrs Miller had ever met in her life and deserved to be missed. She and her husband had lived there longer than even Mrs Miller herself and welcomed her and Mr Miller with open arms when they moved in. It had been enough for Mrs Miller to forgive her friend for not helping with encouraging the Saunders to find a home more suited to them. She had simply been too kind of a woman to subscribe to Mrs Miller’s philosophy of the end justifying the means, even if it was in the best interest of everyone, including the Saunders.

Taking her time to finish up in the kitchen, Mrs Miller was anxious to have her husband leave before she crossed over to number eleven. She knew he would disapprove of the plan she had come up with along with Mrs Sutton and Mrs Jones until she could prove her suspicion true. If she stayed over there for too long while issuing the invitation, he would know she was up to something, so it was better to simply tell him she had done it and when to expect them when he returned home.

At long last, after she had cleaned the sink a third time, she heard Mr Miller move towards the entryway and put his shoes on. It was a warm enough day he would not need anything on top of the light blue shirt he wore, so she hurried after him to make sure he did not forget his reading glasses, least he needed to return for them. However, he already had them in his hand when she reached him, so all she needed to do was wish him good luck and kiss him goodbye.

‘Yes, go and show that criminal how it is done’ she thought when she spotted Mr Black emerging from number eleven before the door closed.

Walking back into the kitchen and looking out the window, she could see the two men meeting up and setting off towards number twenty-two together after a friendly greeting. It distressed her to see her husband in such company, but if she had anything to say about it, it would be of short duration.

A few minutes later saw Mrs Miller crossing the street and ringing the doorbell of number eleven. A rudely long while later the door was opened by a slightly flushed Mrs Black, whose wide grin quickly disappeared when she saw who stood before her.

“Mrs Miller” she said, “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“No, I can see you were expecting someone else” she replied while she wondered who would be calling on the young woman when her husband was away. Was there perhaps an extramarital affair going on?

“Yes, some family friends are coming over for the day and should be arriving any minute now.”

Just as Mrs Black said that, a car pulled up in front of the house, shortly followed by no less than four more. They were in such a range of variety Mrs Miller at first thought she must either have some strange sort of dream or had somehow been transported to the world’s most ludicrous car show. Not one was in the same colour as another. There was one blue, one red, one black, one silver and most hideous of them all, an orange minibus with a few hand painted black stars dotting the lacklustre surface. The silver and black ones seemed new, the red was clearly a family car, the blue one was at least clean and in good condition, but once more the orange monstrosity stood out for all the wrong reasons as it looked barely fit for driving.

However, the cars were nothing in comparison to the people coming out of them and she could only stand frozen and gape as a sea of red emerged and moved towards her like some kind of nightmarish noisy slow-motion tsunami. Never before in her life had she seen so many redheads in one place and it made her a little dizzy.

Mrs Black not only remained unfazed, though, but grinned once more and moved to welcome the invasion. She started with the young couple who had emerged from the silver car, which had arrived first, and hugged them both. The man had unruly black hair and wore glasses, and the woman had the same red hair as almost everyone else present. Mrs Miller vaguely thought that it must be the visitors Mrs Sutton had told her about last week and suddenly had the dreadful idea that her friend might very well, at this precise moment, stand in one of the windows in number ten and watch the spectacle unfold, with herself right in the middle of it. Still, there was not much she could do about it seeing as the space between her and her own home was rapidly filled with more and more redheads of varying ages, blocking her only means of retreat.

A couple, who seemed to be a generation above the rest, had emerged from the blue car, the man balding with as much grey as red in his hair, meanwhile the plump woman was still mostly red. They were a bit strangely dressed, wearing clothes that seemed an inexplicable combination of homemade, cheap and old-fashioned with pieces that did not fit together in order to make a passable ensemble. A younger couple emerged out of the same vehicle, looking to be around the same age as Mrs Black while four young men with the same kind of red hair, though in different styles, were the first out of the other cars. Judging by hair colour, they were brothers. All five of them. And it seemed likely the first woman was their sister. Families should be forbidden from growing so large.

They all seemed to be married as the same number of females - all thankfully without red locks - had appeared as well. That generation was at least a bit better at dressing themselves, but two of the men, who she realised must be twins, wore even more mismatched clothes than the couple she guessed were their parents. The closest she could come to describe them was a casual Victorian kind of style, which had been in an altercation with half a rainbow.

Then there were the children. First, there should never be so many of them at the same time outside a nursery school, school or orphanage, and second, they ought to be much better behaved. As it was, they ran around and started playing with each other the moment they were helped out of their respective car by their parents, shouting and shrieking as they went, and it was such a chaotic thing she simply had to look away from it. Or, some of them rather toddled their way onto the patch of garden as many of them were at such a young age. She could even spot two babies in the arms of what must be their mothers, one of them on the verge of crying it seemed.

Oliver and Eleanor had certainly never been as ill-behaved as these little goblins and even if they had, she would never have been a bad enough parent to let them get away with it. But here, even if there were countless adults present, not one of them seemed to care. Or, if they noticed, simply gave a condoning, or even encouraging, smile before they slowly started to move towards Mrs Black in order to be welcomed. They could not even form a proper line to wait in and there seemed no end to the hugs distributed by her young neighbour. It was all so unseemly.

While she stood there, still unable to get away, she at least managed to gather herself enough to start listening in. Surely, she would be able to get something out of this nightmare she could share with her friends, other than the colour red.

As sounds slowly turned into words, which turned into sentences, she began to regret her decision as a cacophony of voices assaulted her. Names were being shouted, though she had trouble distinguishing one from the other, almost drowning out the multiple conversations that were going on. Mrs Black had just finished welcoming the older couple and the only redheaded male who seemed to not have a child along, along with the young woman who stood next to him. She was pretty enough but wore a bit too much pink for Mrs Miller’s taste and appeared to risk breaking out in giggles at any moment while she whispered something to the young man she had now linked arms with. It was not an encouraging sign regarding their propriety that he blushed more and more as it went on.

Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, the twins appeared on either side of Mrs Black and squeezed her between them in a hug.

“Mione! Did you miss us?!”

Mrs Black simply laughed and pressed a kiss to a cheek each before gently pushing them away from her, swatting at their hands as they tried to tug at her hair. Two of the non-redheaded women approached then, hooking arms with the twins, greeted Mrs Black quickly and then pulled them away, only to be replaced by yet another couple.

This one consisted of the best dressed people there, however, the scarring on the man’s face was rather off-putting Mrs Miller thought. The woman, however, was a true beauty. Long blonde hair cascaded down her back and deep blue eyes sparkled in her smiling face. And even though she was carrying a baby in her arms she moved with such grace it seemed she was floating through the air. What could such a lovely young lady be doing in such company?

While she contemplated this, two little girls, one with red hair and one with blonde, though with identical blue eyes which gave away the identity of their parents, ran up to Mrs Black and threw their arms around her legs, shouting for their ‘aunt My’knee’. Mrs Miller watched as her neighbour displayed a disappointing, though not really surprising at this point, absence of annoyance and simply bent down and picked up a girl on each arm, letting them cuddle her at the same time while she spoke to their mother and father and cooed over the youngest sibling.

At the same time, the twins had once more started some mayhem by setting off some sparkly firecrackers right next to the brother who had yet to get to their hostess, which set off the baby in the arms of the woman next to him, who had already threatened to do just that with its waving arms even since she had brought it out of the black car. Both the man and the woman turned around to shout at the identical terrors. From what Mrs Miller could hear the woman was berating them for frightening the child while the man seemed more upset that his clothes might have been singed.

Only laughing gleefully in reply, the twins scuttled away and, to Mrs Miller’s mounting horror, caught sight of her where she stood by the door, the pandemonium of everyone’s arrival having concealed her presence until that point. Standing still as a look of confusion came over their faces, she then took an involuntary step backwards, nearly tumbling head-over-heels backwards over the threshold of the still open front door when their faces turned sly. With an equally involuntary squawk she waved her arms about until she managed to grab hold of the doorframe and right herself.

“Alright there, lady?” one of the twins asked as they both stood in front of her now, having moved closer while she was busy battling gravity.

“Seems to have some trouble with balance.”

“Want a hand?”

“Or two?”

“Or three?”

“Or four?”

“Or five? I’m sure we could manage it somehow. Don’t you think Gred?”

“Oh, I’d say we could manage at least six beautifully, Forge. Maybe even seven?”

For each new number mentioned they took a step closer to her and she was dangerously close to take another step back, which would place her inside of number eleven. And even if she burned with curiosity to explore the place, since she felt certain there were evidence of illegal activities somewhere in there, it would be the worst kind of breech of propriety to enter uninvited.

Failing to stop the advance, Mrs Miller desperately looked around the gathered people, hoping to find someone decent enough to save her from her predicament. From the corner of her eye she thought she saw Mrs Black look at her, but when she focused on her, the young woman was engrossed in a conversation with the brother with the possibly singed clothes and his wife.

Instead, it was another set of eyes that had caught sight of her and she hoped, somewhat against her own better judgement, that one older lady to another, she was about to be rescued. However, while the oldest redheaded woman did shoo the twins away, she started talking to her instead of just allowing her to seize the opportunity to retreat. The children had congregated tightly on one side, apparently having found something interesting to play with, and the adults on the other of the small front garden, giving her the space needed to manage it.

“Sorry about my boys. They can be a bit rambunctious at times. No lasting harm in it, though.”

‘Lasting’ Mrs Miller faintly repeated in her mind. What kind of mother was this?!

“I’m Molly Weasley by the way, but please call me Molly.”

‘She expects me to call her by her given name right after introducing herself the first time? Are they all completely mad?! Enid, you need to get yourself away from here or they will pull you into it even more’ Mrs Miller thought frantically as she glanced longingly at that still open short garden path that led to her freedom and continued sanity.

“I guess you live somewhere around here. Hermione’s not talked much about her neighbours, but I guess she’s not lived here long enough to get to know all of you well enough to do that yet. Which house is yours then?”

Judging by the way the woman omitted to mention Mr Black it seemed she too disapproved of the marriage. However, while Mrs Miller would normally appreciate the shared sentiment, everything else about Mrs Weasley, from her red hair, far too cheerful expression, knitted burgundy cardigan, which clashed with both her hair and the spring green dress she wore underneath, to her nosiness, kept her from doing so.

Once more she found herself rescued by someone she would rather avoid as she was saved from the verbal onslaught of inappropriate questions by a tugging on her impeccably ironed black skirt. Looking down, she was faced with one of the numerous redheaded children, whose hand was still clutched in the now wrinkled fabric. A slight stain told her the hand was not clean and judging by the way the sun reflected a little on something with a faint yellowish tint she could only conclude it must be snot.

“Who you?” the boy asked, sticking a finger on his other hand up his nose.

That was it! There was no humanly way possible she could endure this a single moment longer. Taking hold of her skirt she yanked it away from the grubby little hand, unbalancing the child in the process, sending him to land on his behind on the ground with a dull thud. Watery eyes and quivering lip appeared in an instant and was just as quickly followed by tears and wailings, which drew everyone’s attention. Suddenly, everything, except the child, was silent and all eyes were on her. But she would not let them blame her for this. She had done nothing wrong. No, they had all come there, to her neighbourhood, being loud, rowdy and obnoxious and expecting her to put up with it. Well, she would not.

“Mrs Black, I am leaving now. Good day.”

The young woman looked at her disapprovingly, but said nothing but a short ‘goodbye’, allowing her to walk away from there, her head held high. Before she reached the safety of her own home, Mrs Miller caught the sound of mumblings and grumblings coming from behind her, only making out a few pieces here and there.

“…who was…”

“I never….”

“…just pushed him…”

“…do such a thing?”

The moment she had closed the door behind her, Mrs Miller slumped against it, trying to calm down her rapidly beating heart and spinning mind. In an effort to alleviate the oncoming headache, she closed her eyes, only to snap them back open a moment later as the colour red swam on the inside of her eyelids in a show of cruel mockery.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed when she felt strong enough to push herself off the door, absentmindedly pull of her shoes and then slowly walk into the living room for a lie-down on the sofa. The trouble was that the two cushions that decorated either end of it had a pattern with red roses on them. Standing perfectly still, Mrs Miller simply looked at them, her inner turmoil once more gaining speed until she wanted to scream in frustration.

While she was accustomed to experiencing mild annoyance from time to time when she came into contact with people who did not know how to behave, especially if they lived in the neighbourhood, Mrs Miller could not name the last time she had come this close to rage. To snapping and losing her mind. She had always prided herself on her calmness and rationality, but at that very moment, every last bit of those two traits were gone, swept away in a red tsunami, and she made a decision she would never have even dreamt of making when she walked out the door, in what now felt like an eternity ago. But feeling certain that no amount of tea in the world would be able to return her to normal, drastic measures needed to be taken.

Going straight to the cupboard under the stairs she collected a large black plastic bag before returning to the living room, where she picked up the cushions and threw them inside. Next to head the same way was the small red tablecloth on the coffee table, followed by the two potted scarlet geraniums in the middle window before she continued with a full sweep of the house.

Collecting everything in that awful colour, she either pushed it into the bag or put it into a box destined for the attic if it was valuable enough, such as the ruby necklace Mr Miller had gifted her on their twenty-fifth anniversary or the beaded bracelet her daughter had made her on one of her first days in school, which had been stored in her jewellery box ever since. She did hesitate for a moment on that last item, the small plastic hearts strung together glinting dully in the sunlight that streamed in through the window, but the sight of all that red was more than she could stand right then and away it went.

A quick change of clothes later and her skirt found its way into the bag as well before the search continued. There could not be anything left in the house to remind her of those horrible people if she ever were to find peace of mind again.

The last thing to go were the tomatoes since the hunt ended in the kitchen, and when Mr Miller asked why there were no fried ones on his breakfast plate the next morning she simply said they had gone bad and that the store was out and likely would be for a while due to some trouble with the supplier. She felt no compunction about lying to her own husband since she had not yet forgiven him for singing Mr Black’s praises when he returned home after the crossword group yesterday. Apparently, the young man was a wizard with words, as Mr Miller described it, and were able to challenge even old Mr Donovan when it came to solving that week’s joint puzzle first.

And when Mrs Jones asked about her beautiful geraniums the next time her two friends came over for tea, she simply shrugged and replied that she had suddenly found herself tired of their strong scent. At first it was a comfort when Mrs Sutton did not comment on her strange behaviour and only gave her an understanding and sympathetic look, until she realised it could only mean her friend had indeed seen the whole catastrophe that had play out in the Black’s front garden.

It was not the first, nor would it be the last, time Mrs Miller silently cursed her new neighbours. And she had cause to do it again right away as it only occurred to her in that moment, she had never got the opportunity to invite them over for tea yesterday. There was nothing to it, she would have to return.

Chapter Text

Absentmindedly tapping her finger against her cup of tea, Mrs Miller sat at the table in the kitchen, looking out through the window and across the street at number eleven. It had been three whole weeks since the whole debacle with, what she had come to name, the Red Clan, and she had finally managed to regain enough equilibrium to start serving fried tomatoes with their weekend breakfast. Everything else red was still banished, though.

In that time, she had not interacted with the Blacks even once and the only updated information she had on them was what Mr Miller had to say after the crossword group, which Mr Black had attended diligently. The two men appeared to be on their way to striking up a friendship and it seemed to be doing her husband a great deal of good. When he had returned home last week he had been in almost improper high spirits while he told her that their new neighbour had offered to attach the sidecar to his motorbike and take him on a drive sometime next month. Seeing as he was rarely so animated since their children moved out, or outside when they visited or was visited by them and their families, it had made her hesitate a little. Had made her doubt her conviction about the younger man being a criminal, for surely, he could not have such an influence on someone with such an impeccable character as Mr Miller if his own was rotten.

While she prided herself on being a good judge of character, she also acknowledged that Mr Miller was as well. At least most of the time seeing how he could be too forgiving of what he deemed minor flaws, even if they, when put together, made for a huge distraction. If it had been up to him the Sunders would still have been living in number eleven rather than them enjoying the Fletchers for three decades. But, it had to be said that he had spotted Miss Hoyle, the then new barmaid at The Crown and Bear, as being a bad apple while most of the town was half on love with the beautiful and charming new addition to their community. When many of the other regulars, as well as the owner who usually worked the bar himself, had not believed him, rather even mocked him for it, saying Miss Hoyle was nothing short of an angel, he had simply taken his patronage to The Three Elves instead. He had convinced a few of his friends to join him, which had been the establishing of The Monday Dining Club. Half a year later The Crown and Bear had shut down after Miss Hoyle had charmed the owner out of his savings and run away with them. To this day, it was the largest scandal their small town had to offer.

Taking another sip of Earl Grey, Mrs Miller then sighed. Maybe she should back off, at least for a while, and only observe from a distance. The Blacks currently seemed determined to make her do so anyway, going by how they were barely at home and able to accept invitations for tea. The only time she could be certain to catch one of them within visiting hours was when Mrs Black was at home when her husband was with the crossword group, but she was not yet recovered enough to risk running into any more visitors of theirs. However, neither Mrs Sutton nor Mrs Jones had been able to issue one of their own either and they were running out of things to discuss in relation to number eleven when they met.

Slowly, talk had turned back towards more traditional topics, such as family, Mrs Howard’s latest display of clothes more fit for the Mediterranean climate, Mrs Henderson’s terrible roses or even the speculation on how much longer old Miss Gilchrist in number thirteen would stay with them. The old woman was in her late eighties, already more than a decade past the estimate a few people had once given her, had never married and had dedicated a whole room in her house to the tea shop she had run before the second war. The only reason she had such a large house to live in was that she had inherited it from the eccentric woman, a Mrs Lansquenet, she had worked as a companion for the decade after she went out of business. She was a bit of an oddity, but by all accounts from those who had lived there back then, she was a vast improvement to her late employer, so no one really minded.

Just as she finished her tea, Mrs Miller spotted a group of men walking down the street. It consisted of Mr Miller, Mr Sutton, Mr Howard and Mr Black, returning home from number nineteen, since Mr Donovan had hosted this weekend. She observed as the former and the latter stopped in front of her home, waved goodbye to Mr Sutton and Mr Howard, and then started walking towards the door. Unable to comprehend that Mr Black was on his way into her home, she still sat down by the table, empty cup in front of her, when the door opened and she could hear them enter.

“…don’t think you had much trouble with eleven across. No need to be modest about it” she heard Mr Miller say out in the entryway.

“Still, your insight on five down was inspired” Mr Black replied.

Slowly rising from her chair, Mrs Miller walked towards them, determined to greet any guest that came to the house when she was at home, even if it was by Mr Miller’s invitation. While she walked along the hallway before reaching the opening into the entryway she could observe them for a few seconds before they noticed her. Her husband was once more in that enthusiastic mood the younger man somehow was capable of eliciting in him, gesturing wildly with his hands as he talked about what could only be that week’s crossword puzzle. Mr Black also seemed to earnestly enjoy the conversation, nodding in agreement at times and laughing merrily at others.

“Oh, there you are dear” Mr Miller suddenly said after he had spotted her. “I hope you don’t mind me asking Sirius over for a sip of whiskey. We’ll be in my study and out of your way.”

It hit her like a sledgehammer right in the brain. The pair had lived here for little more than a month and her husband was already on first name basis with Mr Black. It had taken every other person who had moved in at least four to manage that, if at all, and was sure to mean he would actively dislike any attempt on her part to encourage the young couple to leave. However, she would have to deal with that later. For now, she was a hostess and needed to act it. Plastering on a smile she felt sure was genuine looking enough, she affected a polite tone and replied.

“Of course not. Welcome, Mr Black, I am happy to see you here. How is Mrs Bl- eh, Granger Black?”

“Mione’s great, thank you” he replied, getting a warm look in his eyes as he mentioned his wife. “Off visiting an old school friend who’s back in the country after something of a long journey looking for exotic animals.”

“Exotic animals you say?” Mr Miller asked, sounding intrigued.

“Yeah, she’s a bit of an original, but also one of the kindest and sometimes scarily insightful people I know. A bit of a zoology nerd, I guess. Got it into her head that there’s an untold number of species out there waiting to be discovered by her.”

“So, she has no particular animal she’s looking for?”

“No. She’s more of a I know it when I see it kind of person” Mr Black explained as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

Mrs Miller decided that it would be best to get the two men into the study, and away from her, before she had to learn of any other of the clearly abnormal people the Blacks surrounded themselves with. Just the one would be enough to fuel her conversations for at least a week.

“Would you like me to fetch some of the almond biscuits I baked three days ago?” she asked, interrupting just as her husband opened his mouth to ask another question.

“Would you like some?” he asked, looking back at their guest, instead of replying himself.

“Sure, why not” Mr Black replied. “The cake you made us when we moved in was very good so I’m happy to try another creation of yours.”

She felt the beginning of a blush at the combination of his genuine sounding praise and the dazzling smile he sent it off with, but managed to control herself. Already at their first meeting she had pegged him as a charmer, and it was disconcerting to find herself less immune to it than she had thought herself to be. With a small nod she made a hasty retreat to the kitchen and took some time selecting a suitable plate to place the biscuits on, making sure there were no lingering physical evidence of her momentary weakness on her skin, before delivering the promised treat.

The two men already sat sipping at a tumbler each, a measure of the amber liquid inside, when she entered. They occupied the two old leather armchairs by the fireplace and she placed the plate on the small side table between them with a murmured ‘here you are’ before retreating once more, barely hearing Mr Black’s thanks before closing the door. They had started on the subject of racing cars while she was away, and she had as much enthusiasm for that topic as she had for burnt cakes. She knew they existed, but they had better stay out of her life.

As it turned out, Mr Black had something to tell the both of them before he left. And while Mrs Miller had preferred to accidentally miss him leaving, she could not help but perk up at what he had to say. After explaining that the renovations were complete, they intended to use the coming fortnight to put everything in order, with the help of some friends, and on the Saturday afternoon at the end of that period would hold a housewarming party they would invite the entire neighbourhood to.

Eager for a chance to see the inside of the house again, this time hopefully free of cardboard boxes, as well as to observe how the Blacks performed as hosts, Mrs Miller’s smile was genuine when she accepted along with her husband. It seemed the next teatime with Mrs Sutton and Mrs Jones would be a bit more exciting.

While she could talk about the party with her friends, Mrs Miller soon found herself disappointed in the fact that she never managed to catch a glimpse of the friends Mr Black had mentioned would come and help them. No matter how much she tried to find things to do to keep her at the front of the house - risking killing her plats in those windows by overwatering them in the process - the two cars would always appear when she was elsewhere. She recognised the silver car as the one the couple in which only the female was a redhead had arrived in that day, but had no idea who the owner or owners of the white one could be. Still remembering Mrs Sutton’s description of a pink haired woman that first week she had hoped the car might belong to her and to catch sight of her but was out of luck so far.

Mr Miller seemed mostly amused at her mounting frustration at the elusiveness of the visitors of number eleven, even chuckling a little when he commented that she had done nothing but complain about the last set of them a few weeks ago. Not deigning to acknowledge his sound logic, she simply replied that these were not the same people. Or at least one of the cars was not the same. And did she not have a right to know who stopped by on the other side of their street almost every day? She never got more than a barely supress indulgent, though affectionate, smile in reply.

By the time the long anticipated hour arrived, Mrs Miller stood by the door, ready in a tasteful dark green summer dress and one of her nicer silver necklaces, impatiently waiting for Mr Miller, who seemed incapable of putting on a shirt faster than a snail. When he finally came down the stairs she had long since lost count of the number of times she had tapped her foot on the floor. While he pulled on his shoes, she picked up the tin with almond and ginger biscuits she had baked only the day before, which she was going to gift them as a housewarming present and opened the door.

It was a sunny and warm day and the door of number eleven stood open in invitation to all the guests, with the host couple standing in front of it. Going by the gossip, she knew that everyone would show up and a quick glance down the street showed her that more than those actually living there would make an appearance. For, it was not only Mrs Henderson who emerged out on the street from number seven, but also her son. Lord save them all!

Once more, Mr Miller seemed incapable of dressing in time and when she turned around to see what was taking him so long, she discovered that he was in the middle of changing shoes.

“What are you doing?” she asked, not believing what she was seeing.

“Well, I know we need to dress nice for this, but now that I can feel just how warm it is outside, I think I would boil in those black oxfords. Better go with these I think” Mr Miller replied and held up the one beige linen loafer he had not yet put on. He had bought the pair while they had been on holiday in Spain a few years back and she liked them as little now as she had done then but kept quiet since she knew they would be even later if she made a protest. At least they did not clash with his clothes.

Despite her valiant concession regarding propriety, they did not reach number eleven before Mrs Henderson and her son. In fact, they arrived just in time to witness them being greeted by the Blacks, despite Mrs Millers best efforts to slow down their pace when crossing the street. To have to wait to be welcomed because the hosts, even if it were the Blacks, were busy with Mrs Henderson was not something she wished to experience. But alas, for all his dilly-dallying earlier, it seemed Mr Miller was now suddenly impatient to reach their destination, completely squandering the extra half minute she felt sure she could have given them.

“Mrs Henderson, welcome” Mrs Black greeted, “we’re happy you could come.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world” Mrs Henderson replied and offered a bouquet of wilting roses in the short amount of time it took her to take a deep breath in order to continue. “Mr Fletcher never invited me over, so I haven’t seen the house since Mrs Fletcher died. I’m so excited to see what you’ve done with the place. It was so dreary when they lived here you know… oh, wait, how silly of me. Of course, you would know as there was nothing done to the place, from what I heard, after he died. Oh, and this is my son, Robert. He comes by for lunch or dinner now and then, so I invited him along. I hope that’s fine.”

“No need to worry” Mrs Black managed to get in edgewise into Mrs Henderson’s stream of words. “Welcome, Mr Henderson.”

It was a wonder the woman did not faint on the spot due to a lack of air, Mrs Miller thought while she was forced to watch the spectacle. At least it was not her being at the receiving end of overbearing visitors today. Maybe Mrs Henderson, in her overexcitement, could convince the Blacks to leave all on her own and she would not have to get any more involved herself.

“Please, call me Rob” the man replied as he took hold of Mrs Black’s free hand and bent over it to press a kiss on her knuckles rather than return the handshake that had been offered.

“Yes, welcome both of you” Mr Black said and offered his hand to Mr Henderson, forcing him to let go of his wife’s.

After standing back up, Mr Henderson just stood staring at Mr Black for a long while, his hand having stilled between the hosts, until his mother, not so subtly, nudged him in the side and nodded towards the host. Judging by the expression in Mr Black’s eyes, even if there was still a smile on the rest of his face, Mrs Miller could only assume the interloper had been too intimidated by the protective husband to dare touch him. She also had to admit that Mr Black had handled the whole thing well, even if it was clear to see he had no patience for strange men who became overly familiar with Mrs Black.

“Ah… eh… yes… thank you” Mr Henderson eventually said as he shook hands with the other man before he seemed to come back to his senses. Or maybe it would be more aptly described as a return to his lack of sense, since he dived headfirst into displaying just how much he was his mother’s son. “I’m Rob. Eh, like I just said. That’s my mum, Cynthia. She’s real nice. Makes the best tomato soup in the world. Should ask to be invited over for some some time. Anyway, I work as a journalist.”

Here Mrs Miller could not help but snort. Both at the notion that Mr Henderson considered himself a journalist and the fact that Mr Black only just then managed to extract his hand from the other man’s after what appeared to have been a small tug of war.

“Yeah, for The Sun” the man went on as if nothing had happened. “Ever seen page 3? That’s what I do. Yeah, love working with all those ladies. And they’re so happy to get the exposure, if you know what I mean” Mr Henderson went on, turning back a little towards Mrs Black.

Suddenly, Mr Black looked prepared to commit murder right there in his front garden and Mrs Black once more managed to cut off Mrs Henderson and usher her and her son inside, telling them there were food and drinks in the living room and that they could mingle as they liked on the ground floor and in the garden out back.

“Mr Miller. Mrs Miller” Mrs Black greeted them as soon as the Hendersons had moved inside and she had put the miserable flowers down on the ground. “We’re so happy you could come.”

“Yes, please head inside, grab something to eat and drink before you go exploring or just mingle” Mr Black said, looking calm once more but for the brief glance he shot through the door. The man was clearly still irritated by what had just transpired, but seemed well able to rein in his emotions.

“Just to let you know, we have the first floor closed off for guests” Mrs Black said. “It’s really just our suite, a few guest rooms and a study up there, and not all put fully into order yet, so we’re keeping it down here.”

“I see” Mrs Miller replied, already deciding to try to find a way to get upstairs without someone noticing, entirely forgetting her resolution to back off for a while. They were clearly hiding something, after all, or why else would they give such clear instruction to stay away.

Being the proper and uncomplicated guests they always were, Mrs and Mr Miller were then ushered inside while the Blacks remained where they stood, ready to greet the Donovans who were approaching just then.

It took less than ten minutes before Mrs Miller, to her great dismay, had to admit that the house had been vastly improved. All the rooms were tastefully decorated in calm colours and furnished with those pieces of furniture, and more in the same style, she had witnessed and admired the first time she was over. The best way she could describe it was a most happy blend of modern style and ages past. If only the people who lived there had been of the same quality, she could not help but lament.

Taking a plate – and they did offer proper china and not those beastly paper monstrosities – she selected some of the hors d’oeuvres on offer on a table covered in a proper white linen table cloth, which were ironed to perfection, and then picked up a glass of lemonade before looking around for her friends. It might be best to ask for their help before trying to attempt the stairs, having them either as lookouts or a distraction.

Not finding either inside, she ventured out into the back garden, where she soon spotted Mrs Jones. Though, it was not her friend who steered her eyes in that direction, but rather the young redheaded woman who was a part of the Red Clan. Mrs Jones smiled far too genuinely for being alone with such company Mrs Miller decided at once and headed over to throw an intervention.

“Agnes, dear” she said in greeting before turning to the other person present.

“Enid”, Mrs Jones replied, sounding a little nervous.

“Ginny Potter” the redhead unceremoniously said, offering her hand. “We’ve sort of already met, I know, but were never introduced after my nephew caused you to leave so suddenly.”

There was a challenging edge to her voice and Mrs Miller felt a momentary stab of guilt before reminding herself that she had done nothing wrong that day. Drawing herself up to her full height, which did give her an inch or so on the young woman, she graciously accepted the hand and replied. “Mrs Miller.”

“Oh, that’s you. Well, I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised should I. Sirius has always been good at impre- eh… describing people.”

Mrs Miller did not miss the slipup, but by the look on the woman’s face she had an inkling that it might have been intentional. These people were truly beyond rude.

“Mrs Potter and I were just talking about how it was to raise children in the neighbourhood” Mrs Jones hurried to explain, as if that would absolve her from entering any kind of conversation with the redhead.

“Whatever for? I believe it is your friends who live here, Mrs Potter. Not you.”

“Oh, I know. And while it does concern them as well, I’m thinking more about myself and Harry. That’s my husband by the way. He’s around here somewhere” the ghastly woman said, making a vague gesture towards the rest of the party. “No, the fact of the matter is that we find ourselves looking for a good-sized new home in a calm neighbourhood now that we’re expecting an addition.”

Mrs Miller’s eyes fell to Mrs Potter’s midsection as fast as if a boulder had been attached to them and noticed that there was indeed a small bump protruding from her slim frame. It was new enough that her choice of clothes could hide or show it, but in the tight light blue dress she wore now it was as visible as it could be.

Then her brain caught up with her eyes and she felt a mild faintness. Surely, there could not be more of them moving in. The thought that there were no available houses calmed her for a moment before a discrete cough from Mrs Jones reminded her of the third person present, along with all the times they had discussed Miss Gilchrist’s remaining time on earth only a few days ago. The topic seemed far less amusing now, and she sent up a silent prayer that the old woman would live at least another decade. If not, she ran the risk of having almost nothing but ill-mannered spectacles to witness across the street, considering that it would free up number thirteen. And why oh why did it have to be an unlucky number. Not to mention that Mr Ansell in number nine was also up in the high numbers and she knew Mrs Ansell would not remain in that house on her own.

“And seeing how Hermione have praised this area for just those kinds of qualities, not to mention the lovely people already living here, we might just buy if the opportunity presents itself. Mrs Jones, I do believe I heard someone mention it was your husband who sold this house to my friends. Does he usually manage the sales here?”

“Eh… well… he does, but… that is to say…” Mrs Jones began to stutter, her face turning redder by the second while her eyes darted between her companions.

“No matter” Mrs Potter cut her off when it was clear she could not string more than a few short words together, “I’ll just go and ask Sirius to introduce me and Harry to him.”

And with those words, she turned on her heel and strode off with a sense of purpose that was nothing short of frightening. That was a woman used to adversary, but also to getting her way, Mrs Miller observed. Not the kind of woman needed in this calm neighbourhood at all, especially since she sincerely doubted it would remain so for long if it gained such a member.

“I do hope you will discourage Frank from repeating his mistake” was all she said before she left as well, leaving Mrs Jones and the sound of her finger tapping against her plate.

It was clear she would receive no worthwhile help from that friend and after failing yet again to find the more reliable Mrs Sutton she decided to take matters into her own hands and attempt the climb solo.

Catching a glimpse of the Blacks talking to the Ellisons in the room beside the living room - which could only be described as a library - Mrs Miller walked back into the large entryway, and looked up towards what little she could see of the next floor. There was an open area at the top which then went off into a hallway on either side. However, there were only two armchairs there, with a small side table between them, on which a pretty orchid stood, and a huge landscape painting hung above, which was hardly the sort of thing to reveal any secrets at all.

Once more she started moving towards the stairs, but just as she was about to reach them, she remembered that she still had the plate and glass in her hands and that they would be in the way up there. In her emotional distress earlier she had clean forgot about them, but looking down at them now she decided to finish the few pieces left before putting them away somewhere. Leaving them in the entryway could give rise to suspicion.

A few minutes later she had returned and was once more on the brink of setting foot on the first step when she remembered that she had put the tin with biscuits on the chest of drawers there in the entryway and not on the small table that had been set up for gifts in the living room. Best to get that done right away.

After being pulled into a conversation with Mrs Howard for a while, growing more and more tempted to yank the ridiculous fake eyelashes off of her before she managed to catch a fly in them, she succeeded in getting away and once more reaching the stairs unnoticed.

This time, it was the thought that she really ought to make sure the Potters were not talking with Mr Jones that hit her and she hurried off, determined to put a stop to such a disastrous conversation if it was taking place. It was little consolation to find the young couple in company with the hostess, since the damage could very well already be done. Still, there was nothing she could do about it now.

Starting to feel a bit silly, Mrs Miller returned to the entryway for the fourth time, but no sooner had she turned towards the stairs than she came to the conclusion that she ought to ask Mrs Black which catering firm she had used. The food had been superb after all, and she wanted to be able to offer the best when it was time for her and Mr Miller to celebrate their wedding anniversary next year.

This time, however, she was distracted by the stairs, or rather who was coming down them, before she could leave. Accompanied by Mr Black, a woman she had never seen the like of before in her life strode down them and all thoughts of hors d’oeuvres evaporated. She was dressed in a bright pink dress, which was an inch too short at the top and at least three or four too short at the bottom and hugged every last curve as if it was a drowning person holding on to a lifebuoy. Her nails were painted yellow, all twenty of them, as the purple sandals she wore clearly showed. At least her face was more modestly decorated with only some mascara, as far as Mrs Miller could see at least, but the effect was completely ruined by the pink bob that topped off the whole ensemble.

It was not impossible to see that the woman was very pretty, but one really had to make an effort in order to not be distracted by everything else. Mrs Sutton had been, off all things, mild in her description, which had left Mrs Miller woefully mentally unprepared for the visual assault and for the second time she found herself speechless in the face of the company the Blacks kept.

“Ah, Mrs Miller” Mr Black said when the two stopped in front of her. “I don’t believe you’ve met this lovely lady yet. Allow me to introduce my cousin, Mrs Nymphadora Lupin, also known as Tonks or Dora.”

A sharp elbow right into his ribs stopped the man from making the second half of the introduction as he coughed after wheezing out the air he would have used for it.

“Don’t mind him” the woman said, dismissively waving at her cousin with the hand whose elbow she had just used to interrupt him. “I’m only known as Tonks or Dora. Or Mrs Lupin in a pinch, I guess. You must be Mrs Miller.”

Dismayed at the fact that such a woman could identify her without an introduction, not to mention affronted by the fact that she had forgone proper introductions altogether, Mrs Miller only gave a curt nod in reply.

“How wonderful. I’ve been eager to see you ever since…”

“Tonks” Mr Black interrupted with a warning tone. “Let’s not bother my neighbour with silly little stories. I’m sure she was just on her way back to the living room.”

Glancing past them at the stairs, Mrs Miller sighed mentally and knew she would have to abandon her attempt to get up them. And she had, after all, been on her way to go look for Mrs Black anyway. Turning away from them, she began walking towards where the party was underway, but slowed down when she heard Mrs Lupin start talking again.

“So, when are you going to show me the new one?”

“Calm down, I still have one more session to go to before it’s finished. I wanted a professional for this one, you know.”

“It’ll be the first in long while, yeah?”

“I did have Mione’s name added just before the wedding, but other than that, yeah, it’ll be the first new tattoo since prison.”

Mrs Miller nearly fainted but thanked her good constitution when one faltering step was the only outward display of the mixture of shock and triumph that rushed forth inside her at that last word. She had been right! The man had a criminal history! Now it was only a matter of finding sufficient proof and then the neighbourhood could return to normal. And if the Blacks were gone, surely there would be no reason for the Potters to move in.

Giving the stairs a longing look, she was once more reminded that she needed to ask Mrs Black about the caterer, after which she could not delay in finding Mrs Sutton.

In fact, Mrs Miller’s mind was so occupied that she did not notice that the two occupants of the entryway had stopped talking and were now only watching her, identical mischievous grins on their faces.

Chapter Text

After placing four cups and saucers of their second-best china on the coffee table in the living room, Mrs Miller went back to the kitchen to fetch the plate with the freshly baked Victoria sponge cake and the one with ginger biscuits. The small plates and the silver spoons were already in place and with the tea a mere minute away from being brewed to perfection, it was high time for the guests to arrive.

Among all the things she had suddenly remembered during the housewarming party, Mrs Miller had also taken the opportunity to at long last invite the Blacks over for tea. And now, two weeks later, they were due at any moment. It was the first step in operation ‘Exposing Mr Black’ that she, Mrs Sutton and Mrs Jones had come up with after she had revealed to them what she had overheard at the party. Mrs Jones had been impressively upset by it, lamenting that her husband would have – even if unknowingly – been responsible for inflicting them with such a misfortune, that she was back in her good graces. What they would do now was looking for information about the Blacks they could use as starting points to do research on their own, and the only place they could find it was from the couple themself at the moment.

Just as she moved towards the pot to pull the tealeaves out, the doorbell rang. They had arrived right on the agreed hour, but luckily Mr Miller was eager enough to greet them, rushing down the stairs while simultaneously wrestling the last button on the left sleeve of his shirt into place, so she did not have to compromise the quality of the tea. For it was of utmost importance that everything would be perfect during this visit. The Blacks’ party had been a huge success. Even Mrs Sutton had commented on the rich and perfect blend of chocolate and raspberry filling of the small tarts that were served, as well as the lightness of the custard that came with them. And as opposed to the food, the dessert had been made by Mrs Black herself.

“Welcome, welcome!” she could hear Mr Miller out in the entryway, “do come in. The tea is just about ready I believe. The missus is always punctual and apparently you are as well.”

Mrs Miller listened as her husband led Mr and Mrs Black into the living room, took a few fortifying deep breaths and then straightened her skirt before picking up the pot and following.

The other three were seated around the table when she entered, talking about cricket, or more specifically the Ashes. Mr Miller was an avid follower of the sport, especially when the national team played, and would bemoan Australia’s winning streak ever since they secured their eighth consecutive win in early January to everyone who would listen.

“I tell you, they need to get better at hitting the ball or we might just as well forfeit the whole thing” he said to Mr Black, who seemed genuinely interested in the topic, even if he only listened. “It’s that Shane Warne, he’s making mincemeat out of our team. And they gave him only a yearlong suspension when he got caught in that test. He’ll be right back out on the field, ready to humiliate our players, when the next test series comes around, mark my words.”

“What kind of test did you say he got caught in?” Mr Black asked, suddenly looking slightly confused.

“Why, a drug test of course. Can’t recall what substance it was, but he tried to excuse it with some crap-“

“Language, dear. We have guests.”

“Sorry, love. -about some pill he took to improve his looks. Well, not that I would blame him for wishing to improve in that department, the smarmy bastard, but one year seems far too lenient if you ask me.”

“I’m sure it is. People who cheat should be made a proper example of to deter others from doing the same” Mrs Black said, “no matter what field of sports or academics they’re practicing.

“Just so” Mr Miller agreed. “But I do hope England can scrape together some decent players for next time. Drugs or not, that man is a wicked bowler.”

Allowing her husband to vent a little now that he had found a new and willing audience, Mrs Miller amused herself with inspecting the young couple. They were almost fully properly dressed, as usual, just the button or two undone or the white of the top underneath Mrs Black’s green blouse that was sheer enough to let a hint of cleavage show through.

They acted with the same kind of restrained affection that seemed to be their trademark in semi-public settings – apart from that time on the day they moved in - sitting closer than she herself liked, but not so close as to be indecent. There were also a few accidental touches here and there while they moved about the tea, cake and biscuits, as if they unconsciously sought out each other. It was apparent that Mr Black, though a criminal, did not mistreat his wife and she would probably be hard pressed to get anything out of the young woman.

When, at long last, the subject of cricket had been exhausted, Mrs Miller decided to take the opportunity to ask the question she had been eager to know the answer to for quite some time now. Setting down her cup, so she could observe them without distraction, she seized the moment when her husband had just finished criticising the players on the English team, which tended to herald the end of his thoughts on the matter.

“So, Mr Black, I know you inherited a lot of money, but do you perhaps do something for a living as well?”

The corners of the man’s mouth twitched a little, but it seemed impossible to tell if it was from annoyance or amusement. The following brightening of his eyes, however, would suggest the latter, and Mrs Miller braced herself for the upset he was about to cause her.

“While I mostly do investments, having gone in as a silent partner in a few businesses owned by either relatives or close friends, I do work part-time at one of the shops I have the most personal interest in.”

“Oh? And what shop would that be? Something local?” Mrs Miller could not help to ask, eager to find out more, despite the man’s expression.

“It’s located some distance from here, which is why I only work some hours, and is a relatively small and unknown locale so I wouldn’t be surprised if you haven’t heard of it. It’s called Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and it’s a joke shop.”

It was truly a good thing she had put away her tea, or Mrs Miller felt sure she would have choked on it in that moment.

“A-a joke shop?” she asked faintly.

“Indeed. I have always been a bit of a prankster, so it fits me perfectly.”

“But why have wizard in the name?” Mr Miller asked, leaning forward a bit in his armchair. “Seems a bit odd.”

“Not if you know the owners. They have a wicked sense of humour and wanted a name that would be both fun and speak of the wonders found within. You’ve already met them, by the way, Mrs Miller” Mr Black replied, looking from her husband to herself.

“I cannot recall ever being in a situation where I would come in contact with anyone who owns a joke shop” she replied, not able to fully disguise her contempt for such people.

“Oh. It was only a few weeks ago, in our front garden” Mrs Black said in the same tone of voice one would use when commenting on the weather. Not when letting your poor innocent neighbour know they had unknowingly come into contact with such riffraff.

“Their names are Fred and George Weasley. They have the same flaming red hair as the rest of their family and are identical twins as well” Mr Black explained in the same calm tone, and even went on to reach for his tea and take a nonchalant sip. How he managed to make it come across as such she would never know, but the man was clearly a master at affecting different airs. The big question was what was hidden beneath it all.

“I see” Mrs Miller replied, remembering all too well the two young men who had cornered her by the door to number eleven. That those two would run such a shop did not surprise her in the least since they clearly found enjoyment in inflicting discomfort on others. “And you had some investment with relatives as well, you said?”

“Not my favourite relatives, but these days we get on well enough for some joint ventures and the occasional dinner. They’ve been involved in the pharmacy field since its inception, more or less, and have also branched out into the wine business, doing really well for themselves. But the stock market is where they’re mostly active and derive the largest part of the influx to their already substantial fortune. I simply joined up with them at the insistence of my cousin, even if her husband was less pleased about it. However, he wasn’t really in the best of positions to say no to associating with us at the time. Had landed himself in a bit of tight spot politically, you see.”

While she nodded, Mrs Miller did not see. What political clout could the Blacks possibly boast of? While rich, there were no signs of them moving in such spheres. Rather the opposite, going by who had come to visit them since they moved in. But what she could see was an allusion to shady dealings. Seeing how Mr Black did not come across as violent or malicious, him committing financial crimes would fit the bill best, and the stock market would be a good place to both acquire more ill-gotten gains as well as launder what he might have cheated and stolen his way to elsewhere.

“And what is the name of these relatives of yours?” she asked, looking for another piece of information to be used when trying to find out about his dubious past.

“Oh, you wouldn’t have heard of them. They prefer to live quiet lives out of the public’s eye” Mr Black replied, smiling.

Gritting her teeth behind a forced smile, Mrs Miller had to admit defeat in that battle, though the war had just begun. For if she asked about the name again after that she would come across as unreasonably curious and the last thing she wanted to do was alert the man to her being on to him. The element of surprise would undoubtedly be crucial in bringing him down.

“I’m sure we all have some interesting relatives or even family members” Mrs Black said, diverting the topic. “Mrs Howard mentioned that you have two children and a few grandchildren.”

Mr Miller lit up at once and dived straight into a recount of their own family, allowing Mr Black’s relatives to remain frustratingly mysterious. And while there might be a great many different kinds of people Mrs Miller did not want in her life, mysterious was definitely near the top of that list. Mysterious implied unknown, and better to deal with an evil one did know than go up against an opponent unprepared.

”Eleanor was the first both to get married and have children, never one to wait around for something she wanted, so our oldest grandchild is Emily, she turned twelve in the spring and then there’s her brother, Jack, who’ll be ten next month. Both so serious and studious already,” Mr Miller went on, moving down a generation after having described their children. “Oliver waited a little longer, but when he met Julia we all knew he would leave his bachelor days behind. They also have two children, Matthew who’s eight and little Aidan at five. They’re precious boys the two of them, and so bright.”

“Do you see them often?” Mrs Black asked.

“With Oliver it’s not as often as we’d like, seeing that they live a few hours away, but we do as often as possible. Luckily, Eleanor and her family live much closer.”

“Yes” Mrs Miller cut in, “it is always such a blessing to have one’s near and dear close by. Do you have that here? Or do your family and friends have to travel far to come and visit?”

A quick look was shared between husband and wife before the latter replied.

“They live some distance away, but not so far as to make the journey tedious. And there’s a handy shortcut to be used on some lesser travelled roads from where many of them live that we discovered. It’s a bit dusty and sooty, perhaps, but that’s never hurt anyone.”

“Sooty?” Mrs Miller asked, perplexed. “Does it pass by some large industry?”

“More an area that contains a great many chimneys” Mr Black replied, his eyes twinkling merrily.

Thinking back, Mrs Miller could not remember seeing any of the visiting cars being anything other than clean, even if a few of them were older models - including the orange monstrosity - and could not help but wonder what was going on. It was as if they were alluding to some kind of private joke, but it would be such a nonsensical thing to joke about and she could make neither head nor tail of it. Maybe they were both a little mad. It would hardly be surprising, she though and then turned her attention back to the conversation to find that they had reached the older generations. It seemed a full exchange of family trees were on its way.

“Well, my father died the same year I turned twenty” Mr Black was explaining in response to a question Mr Miller must have asked, “and my mother followed him six years later.”

“I’m so sorry. What happened?”

”I would guess he died from weakness after being constantly crushed under her thumb, while she choked on her own spite. Either way, they had it coming” Mr Black said, making a dismissive gesture.

“It seems a sad thing that a child would feel so about being an orphan” Mr Miller said, reaching out and putting a sympathetic hand on their guest’s shoulder.

“Only sad for the child in this case” Mr Black retorted, sounding slightly defensive. “Let’s just say their parenting methods are not something to be recounted in polite society.”

“And that is when you inherited all your money?” Mrs Miller asked, unable to miss this second opportunity to find out more about the Black’s finances, missing the disapproving look her husband shot her.

“I inherited some money and a house in London then, yes, but the bulk of the Black fortune wasn’t mine until another six years later when my paternal grandfather died. He was the head of the family, so most of the money, various properties and other assets belonged to him. But he was as rotten as my parents.”

“Yes, I’m endlessly happy I did not have to meet any of them“ Mrs Black said, her voice soft but her eyes hard. “They would‘ve hated me.”

“Whatever for?” Mr Miller asked, sounding as if he really could not understand anyone finding anything amiss with the young woman. Then again, it did seem extreme to hate her.

“For not being able to trace my family back to the middle ages.”

While Mrs Miller had nothing against people who were proud of and kept a good record of their lineage, even she had to admit that the middle ages might be a stretch for people outside of royalty and the nobility. But such a statement only added even more mystery to the Blacks, and she felt as if she was going in the wrong direction in unravelling the mystery. The whole point of having them over - except for being a proper neighbour of course - was to learn more about them. Not be faced with new questions. And although she did find out some, it only served to make her realise it was a much larger puzzle she needed to complete than anticipated before she could get the picture she needed.

“I for one am sorry to hear it” Mr Miller said, “I wish I knew more about my own family than I do. My father passed away when I was roughly the same age as you were when yours died, Sirius, but I still miss him every time I think about him. He was such a great and strong man. Lost his family when he was even younger, but never complained about it and built a good life for himself on his own. I guess you have some of that in you as well.”

“Thank you. I can only hope to be worthy of such praise since that seems an admirable father to have. And I’m sorry for your loss. Is your mother still alive?” Mr Black asked.

“Yes, but she lives in a retirement home now and her memory is not what it used to be.”

“Age comes for us all in one way or another” Mr Black said, “at least she’s still with you. Even if I held no fondness for my own parents, I am no stranger to true loss.”

The urge to comment that age would come for him much sooner than for his wife was strong in that moment, but Mrs Miller busied herself with refilling her cup and managed to keep the words from escaping. And while she truly regretted the loss her husband had suffered, and was in the beginning of suffering again, it seemed hollow to be comforted about it by a man who appeared to be nothing but pleased about his own parents being long gone. Mr Miller sharing it with the Blacks was also further proof of his growing attachment to them, Mr Black in particular, and since she could no longer ignore the stain their presence was on the neighbourhood she wished she could do something about it.

Oh, if only her late godmother was still alive. That woman had been a miracle of knowing what was proper and behaving accordingly and most of what she herself knew on the subject had come from her. Mrs Bouquet had been nothing short of an institution and no doubt the foremost expert in the country on how to deal with troublesome people in the politest way possible. Sorting out the Blacks would have been the work of a single afternoon for her, she felt sure.

Luckily, the visit came to an end soon after that, and it was bliss when she could stand up to escort them out into the entryway. She ended up with Mrs Black as the men delayed a little, talking about taking that long-awaited drive with Mr Black’s bike before the weather turned cold, and was surprised to find herself addressed by her.

“Mrs Miller, before we leave, I just wished to discuss something with you.”

“Of course. Whatever is the matter?”

“After meeting all of our charming neighbours the other week, I felt I would like to become better acquainted with everyone, so I was thinking about us women getting together to do something while the men are off to solve their crossword puzzles. I was thinking either a book club or perhaps something to do with baking. So many of you ladies seem to have a fondness for it.”

“You have come to the right person if you wish to get anything of note done in the neighbourhood, but I am afraid an undertaking such as that simply is not feasible. It is most kind of you to think of something like that, though, it simply is not an activity that would fit in with our way of life. Many of us are busy with other things at that time, you see, and we are quite set in our ways. It might be good to be young and in the habit of scurrying around, but with age comes calmness and wisdom. Just a friendly piece of advice.”

“Thank you, Mrs Miller. I’ll be sure to take that under advisement.”

Thinking that was the end of it, Mrs Miller was happy to say goodbye and watch the Blacks return home before making the first preparations for supper so they could eat before spending the evening by the telly. Fridays offered a few good shows still, even if many of the channels were in decline. Even BBC was afflicted. She still shuddered at the thought of that new sketch show Oliver had told them he liked. Just a few minutes of it and she knew she would rather watch paint dry than endure another second of that ghastly drivel. At least Small Britain was an appropriate name since there was not a single ounce of greatness about it.

The next day, however, she witnessed something strange. When Mr Miller went outside and met up with Mr Black to head up to the Ellisons, Mrs Black accompanied them. And not a minute later Mr and Mrs Howard walked past, arms linked. What could possibly be going on?

Being expected over at Mrs Jones, along with Mrs Sutton, for tea shortly after she could sadly not stay and wait to see when they would return. At least she had a lot of things to discuss with her two friends since she had found out at least a little about their new neighbours yesterday. And come to think of it, did not Mrs Sutton have a cousin who worked as a professor in English history. Maybe they could contact him and ask if he knew anything about any notable Blacks. If the family was as rich and old as had been implied, surely there must be some kind of record of them. They would also need to research joke shops that were within commuting distance, or just beyond. For even if the place did exist it sounded suspiciously like a front for illegal business and nothing would seem more natural than those horrible twins being involved as well.

The next few weeks saw the three ladies busy with their research and after not finding any shop, no matter what was sold, with such a bizarre name, they decided to investigate the few that did exist. It was highly probable Mr Black had given a false name to throw anyone of the sent should they come looking; a true hallmark of a criminal, she felt sure.

For places meant to inspire laughter, Mrs Miller decidedly felt anything but amused when they exited the last joke shop on their list five weeks later. They had taken to visiting one each Saturday while the men were busy, not wishing to draw attention to themselves, but it had all been for naught. The only thing they had learned was that people either running or working in such places were incapable of being decent. One particularly eager shop assistant had even accosted her by showing a fake piece of dog excrement in her face and asked her if she could feel how natural it smelt. His teenage years was no excuse for such abhorrent behaviour.

The first Saturday she spent at home after that a shock even worse awaited her as she watched no less than ten of her female neighbours enter number eleven. It was nearly half the street! Their kitchen also faced the front of the house and she spent the next hour looking on in horrified amazement as they bustled about in there. Then she could discern Mrs Donovan putting something into the oven, after which they all left the room.

Could Mrs Black’s idea about the wives gathering for some baking while the men were busy truly have come to fruition? No! Impossible! She knew this neighbourhood like the back of her hand and there was no way all those women would willingly crowd a kitchen and produce a cake together. They all took pride in their individual creations, though maybe with the exception of Mrs Howard who seemed incapable of learning the difference between butter and margarine, and would never let others share in that most sacred art of making them.

Still, there it was. Proof that they must be doing something of the sort, and she had completely missed it, being away on an ultimately pointless quest for crucial information. This was simply not to be tolerated. Operation ‘Exposing Mr Black’ would have to be put on hold while they performed operation ‘What on earth is Mrs Black doing in her kitchen’.

At their next teatime, Mrs Miller and Mrs Sutton decided that Mrs Jones would have to infiltrate the group and find out. She was best suited after all, seeing that it was her husband who had sold the house and started this whole nightmare, and could use that to her advantage when approaching Mrs Black. There was also the fact that neither Mrs Miller nor Mrs Sutton would ever endanger their own private recipes if it was indeed a group for baking and sharing was required. Mrs Jones blueberry jam-based Battenberg cake was simply not a secret worth keeping by comparison.

Luckily, Mrs Black seemed incapable of spotting a spy and just a week later Mrs Jones could give a full report while they gathered for tea at her house, seeing as Mr Jones was away for the weekend and they could talk without disturbance there.

“They do bake something every time” their timid hostess said, almost trying to hide behind her cup of tea.

Mrs Miller had noticed it was part of the best set her friend owned, rather than her second best, and subsequently knew bad news was to be expected. Having already fortified herself, she was now prepared to learn what kind of damage control would be needed.

“It is not personal recipes they use, however, but whoever is hosting is in charge of finding a new one they can try together. They are also reading a book, one chapter each week, which they discuss while whatever they are making is in the oven and then while eating it. Everyone seems to be enjoying it and I even saw Mrs Ellison talking animatedly with Mrs Howard at one point.”

That was simply unheard of! While the old lady was not as strict on some matters as Mrs Miller herself, she could not tolerate anyone incapable of making a decent sponge cake. That she should be on amicable terms with Mrs Howard, and in a group where most of the time was spent in the kitchen, would have been deemed the same level of likelihood as magic being real, until now. Yet, here they were, and Mrs Miller was at a loss for words.

“They are calling it the Carnation Lane Women’s Society of Baking and Books” Mrs Jones went on, tapping her finger against the cup still held abnormally high in front of her, “and while they are still active I think it might be a good idea if I continue to go. So that we will know what they are up to, I mean.”

Only nodding her consent, while Mrs Sutton started enquiring about the details, Mrs Miller could only sit silent while she felt a sense of dread settling over her. Ever since her first meeting with the Blacks there had been something niggling at the back of her mind. Something that was linked to a memory, but she could not put her finger on which one for the life of her. Though, she was becoming increasingly convinced it was highly important she remembered.

When Mrs Jones next updated them on the Delusional and Ridiculous Amateur Baking Society, or D.R.A.B.S. for short, as they had dubbed them, it was with terrible news indeed. It would take a small miracle to oust the Blacks as they were now clearly set on settling down. Mrs Black had shared that she and Mr Black were expecting their first child and had known for a while - she was simply one of those women who did not show much - and had moved there with the intention of finding a good place to raise that child and any who would follow.

Many of the people who lived on the street had once moved there for the same reason, herself included. And with one new couple coming there with such intentions it could very well mean that others would follow, starting a generation shift. The memory of Mrs Potter talking about moving there surfaced. And with it came the mental image of every house but her own being filled with strange people who knew nothing of social boundaries and wild children running around unchecked with sticky little fingers they could not wait to grab hold of her poor clothes with.

Tea! She needed tea right this very moment! And preferably a whole bucket of it.

Chapter Text

By the time Christmas arrived, Mrs Miller, along with Mrs Sutton and Mrs Jones, had written and sent numerous letters to various prisons and courts of law, asking if they had Mr Black in their records. Every reply had been in the negative, with a few even wondering if they were sure there was a person with such a strange name. And while she agreed that his parents must have been silly, mad, high or all of the above to bestow it, she hardly felt the need to reply that she agreed, seeing that it would not change anything. So far, they could not find anything to support the man’s criminal history.

Mrs Sutton’s cousin had also let them know he had found nothing in his research about any family named Black and they were running out of ideas.

Then, just a week before the holiday, another bombshell shook the neighbourhood and the Blacks were put on the back burner until they could all wrap their heads around what Robert Henderson had done. While the man had never been anything but fodder for gossip, ranging from disapproving to scandalous, as well as an annoyance when having to interact with him, this was on a whole new level.

The story about Miss Hoyle was still the worst, seeing as it involved a pretty young woman and embezzlement. However, Mr Henderson, the perpetual single who always bragged about working with The Sun’s page three, must surely claim second place with how he had quit his job to become a freelancer so he could go and live with his lover down in Spain. His male lover.

Apparently the two had met when Mr Henderson had been on holidays down there the summer last year and their relationship had now grown strong enough that they no longer wished to live apart. In a way it was sweet, but why did they have to inconvenience her neighbourhood with it all?

And what had the man been thinking, basically lying to them all by presenting himself as some sort of deprived ladies’ man? If he was determined to hide his true inclinations, could he not have chosen a more considerate method of doing so? No one would complain if a professor, for example, was so devoted to his work he had no time for the opposite sex, or the same as it was in this case. Or at the very least worked with a more serious topic as a journalist. Maybe he could have covered economic or political news? If so, he would have spared those forced to associate with him, even of it was only his mother’s neighbours, the unpleasantness of a detrimental acquaintance. For was it not the duty of every true Englishman - or woman - to consider all of these things and be as little trouble as possible to those around them. That was the foundation of their polite society, after all; keeping mum and carrying on.

The news had reached her and Mrs Sutton through Mrs Jones after Mrs Henderson had told the news about her son during the last D.R.A.B.S. meeting for the year. The woman had apparently been overwhelmed by it all, having been fully unaware herself, and hurt by her son’s secrecy. It was a true comfort in moments like this for Mrs Miller to know that her own two children would never behave in such a way as they were both upstanding citizens as well as already properly settled with families of their own.

Their excited discussion on the subject had, however, been a bit marred by Mrs Sutton’s view on who Mr Henderson had been found to be in a romantic entanglement with. The notion that straying from the norm of heterosexuality being something bad, or even sinful, was perhaps still not uncommon in their generation, but Mrs Miller had never developed a strong stance in either direction and had not focused on that aspect of the sordid affair until her friend had commented on it. It struck her then that Mrs Henderson might be ashamed of her son and that maybe that was why he had not told her. Maybe the woman had suddenly found herself without steady footing in life and was grasping for some way to find balance again. Maybe she should offer her some words of sympathy the next time they met? It could not be too much, however, seeing as Mrs Sutton would not approve and she valued her friendship more.

“Mum?”

The hand on her shoulder along with being addressed pulled Mrs Miller out of her contemplation and she looked up into the face of her son. Oliver stood in front of her armchair, leaning slightly over her with a questioning expression on his face.

“Yes, dear?”

“I’ve called you three times already. I was wondering if you wanted to have some mulled wine. I’ve just heated some.”

“What? Oh, no thank you. I am perfectly happy with my tea.”

“You seemed far away” he commented while sitting down on the sofa, next to his wife, who already held a small steaming cup filled with the spicy brew.

Mr Miller was to be found in the other armchair, one of the crossword puzzle magazines she had gifted him yesterday in his lap. Eleanor, her husband and their children were over at her in-laws for a Boxing day lunch. Matthew and Aidan were up in the guestroom they always used on longer visits, playing with their new toys.

“She’s thinking about Mr Henderson again, I believe” Mr Miller commented, his eyes still glued to whatever puzzle he was currently on, the top of his pencil tapping against his chin while he contemplated one of the words.

“Well, yes, if you must know.”

“What’s he done now? Is page three especially outrageous in the latest issue or something?” Oliver asked, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He had inherited a little bit too much of his father’s wit for her taste, but there was no helping it.

“No, he’s given up on that career now” Mr Miller continued, “and found solace in the arms of a señor Mauricio Navarro.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He moved to Spain a few weeks ago, so we’ll be seeing a lot less of him from now on. Sadly, I have a strong suspicion it will be much longer until we no longer hear about him. Ah! Tundra” Mr Miller said, jotting down the word in the magazine.

“So, you think him working for The Sun, with those horrid pictures, was nothing but a way to hide that he likes men?” Julia asked.

“Yeah, if I remember correctly, you had a theory about that a few years ago, dad.”

Mrs Miller whipped her head around towards her husband. That was news to her, and she could not believe he would have withheld such a thing from her for so long. He knew how important the respectability of their neighbourhood was to her, not to mention how much she deplored being taken by surprise by the people who shared it with them. Both of those things meant she needed to know what was going on.

“A theory I have considered confirmed since a few months back” her husband replied, finally looking up at them.

“What do you mean? Why have you not told me about this?” Mrs Miller asked, before taking a large gulp of tea, almost scalding her mouth and throat in the process.

“For many years I thought nothing of it, but some time back I began to wonder why he talked so much about women and his work while there was never any talk about him being with any women. I would’ve imagined that plenty of young women who wanted their share of fame, even if it meant ending up on the wrong end of The Sun’s camera, would try to find their way there through him, but still, nothing. And we know his mother would have let everyone know if he went on so much as a single date.”

“That’s what you told me back then” Oliver said, nodding along. “But what happened to make you sure?”

“Yes, please enlighten us about what you could possibly have witnessed that I and the rest of the neighbourhood missed” Mrs Miller said, stubbornly taking another sip of her tea, least she lose her calm. This piece of news had been major and to think that she might have been the one to break it. It was simply too much to endure.

“You remember the Black’s housewarming party.”

Mrs Miller nodded, thinking back to that pivotal day when she had learned about Mr Black’s time behind bars. Could she have missed something in her excitement over that discovery? But then, everyone else seemed to have come out of it as oblivious as she had.

“Robert and his mother arrived just as we did, and we witnessed them being welcomed.”

“Yes, yes. I remember that clear as day. But what of it?” Mrs Miller asked, becoming more and more impatient.

“Of course, he was his usual overbearing self when he greeted Mrs Black, flirting a little with her and kissing her hand. His usual routine. But what happened when he saw Mr Black, up close at least?”

“He stopped” she said, unable to see the significance of that situation. “Clearly intimidated by the man’s displeasure at his improper interaction with his wife.”

“You did stand directly behind him, so I guess cannot fault you for not noticing, but there was not an ounce of intimidation in him, I can assure you. No, his face expressed stunned admiration. After that, Mr Black had to nearly fight the man to get his hand back. Sure, Robert might have started some damage control then, talking about his job and sending a last wink at Mrs Black, but ever since that unguarded moment I have known."

“That still does not explain why you have never told me.”

“So long as I was unsure I didn’t wish to start any speculation. I could have been wrong and such a rumour could, sadly, have done the man harm. And when I did know, I simply thought it wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“And now he’s gone off to live with this man in Spain?” Oliver asked.

“Yes. With the Mauricio fellow.”

“Mauricio you said?” Julia asked.

“Yes, how so?”

“Wasn’t your father’s name something like that?”

“Not at all” Mrs Miller interrupted. “My father-in-law was as English as they come. A true gentleman. Not a hint of foreign in him. Just like everyone else in the family.”

“Dear, let’s not exaggerate. My father wasn’t-“

A loud crash from the floor above suddenly sounded, startling them all. A moment later the sound of a child crying could be heard and in an instant they were all on their feet and hurrying towards the stairs. Whatever the children could have done to cause such a ruckus might very well have harmed them beyond a small bruise.

The scene that met them in the children’s room was one of chaos. Somehow, they had managed to topple the large chest of drawers, sending shards of pottery, dirt and pieces of the Peace Lily, which had stood on top of it, across the floor. Little Aidan stood by the window, tears streaming down his cheeks as he wailed, while Matthew stood closer to the wreckage, some dirt and one leaf covering his socks, but otherwise unharmed. He was simply staring at the mess while shaking his head slowly and wringing his hands. Julia went for her youngest child while Oliver made his way through the clutter that separated him from their oldest, careful not to step on any sharp pieces of the smashed pot.

“Are you alright? What happened?” Oliver asked after laying his arms on his son’s shoulders and crouching down in front of him so he could catch and meet his gaze.

“I’m so-sorry” the boy stuttered in his upset. “I-I didn’t… I d-didn’t mean to.”

“Did you climb it?”

“Aidan w-wanted to, b-but I t-told him it i-is dangerous. H-he wouldn’t li-listen so I sh-showed him.”

“So, you climbed it yourself? To show him?”

“I-I just wan-wanted him to see wh-why he could n-not. S-so I sh-showed him.”

“That’s alright. You’re both alright. Come here.”

Enclosing his son in a tight hug, Oliver looked back over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. We’ll have to deal with this now, but don’t worry, we’ll clean up after them.”

“Are you sure they’re alright?” Mr Miller asked, looking on the verge of entering the fray himself, eager to comfort his grandchildren.

“Yes” Julia replied, having calmed Aidan down to mere sniffling. “We have it under control. It’s not the first time they’ve played a little too rough.”

“I will go and get the hoover and something for you to put the plant and pot in, then” Mrs Miller said, also wishing to be of use as it pained her too to see her little darlings so distressed.

Turning around, she hurried down towards the cupboard under the stairs. After the promised items were extracted, she had the idea to bring a bowl with warm water and a dishcloth as well, in case there was something that needed to be scrubbed clean. Just as she was about to turn on the tap, movement on the other side of the street caught her eye. It was early enough for the sun to still be up, so she could easily make out the black car that stopped in front of number eleven, as well as the four people who got out of it.

While it was too far to see which brand it was - not that she would recognise all that many anyway - it was clearly a highly expensive vehicle, but in the classical and tasteful way she could approve of. The same could be said about what the guests were wearing.

First out of the car were two men, the younger having been the driver, both with pale blond hair, though the older man wore his long, reaching past his shoulders. Though not the same model, they both wore stylish black winter coats, with similar green scarves around their necks. They looked around them shortly before going to open the doors to the backseat, offering their hands and helping a woman each step out. The older man helped a woman who appeared close to him in age, had almost exactly the same hair colour and wore a dark green coat that seemed to match the man’s scarf and a black scarf to go with it. Her blonde locks were pulled up in a simple but elegant French twist and something dangling from her ears caught the sunlight and glittered.

The other woman, who also seemed to match the age of the man who helped her out of the car, was the only one not light of hair. Dark brown locks were pulled up in a chignon and her outwear also differed from the matching colours the others had opted for. Her coat was a deep purple, which also matched her boots, while the others all wore black footwear, and had a pale pink scarf to top it all off with. She was also the only one smiling. The young man and the older woman appeared more neutral in their expressions, while the older man seemed to have nothing but contempt for his surroundings.

How dare he criticise her neighbourhood! While it was obvious he must be much wealthier than the average inhabitant of Carnation Lane, she doubted many fancy addresses could boast of such a fine set of people. And with an influx of newly rich people in society who lacked completely in style and threw their money at anything expensive, the kind of street where these people must live was surely on the decline these days. No, good breeding always shone through and no amount of money in the world could ever make up for a lack of it. And this neighbourhood had it in spades.

Mrs Miller started thinking that Matthew’s accident had brought something good with it in the end. Without it, she would not be standing here, able to see this new set of peculiar visitors the Blacks seemed so fond of having. And with Mrs Sutton and her husband away to visit family this was her news to share. Her positive perception of the situation would soon turn a bit murky, however.

The younger couple started moving towards number eleven just then, but the older couple lingered by the car. The man especially seemed eager to continue his canvass of the area, his frown deepening every second that ticked by. Without warning, his eyes stopped, not only on her house, but seemingly straight at her. Even at that distance she could see the terrible sneer that appeared on his face and a sudden chill settled over her. In her numbness the bowl slipped from her fingers and clattered against the floor, rousing her from whatever spell, or perhaps curse, those cold eyes had put her under.

After bending down to pick it back up, she threw a cautious glance out the window and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the older couple was also on their way towards the door of number eleven, where the Blacks had now appeared. The greeting was much more formal than she had ever seen them perform before, including during their housewarming party. The older man was particularly standoffish, but they had soon all disappeared inside.

“Enid! Enid, where are you?!”

Mr Miller was coming down the stairs, calling for her. Turning around just as he entered the kitchen, Mrs Miller managed a smile, even if there was a lingering discomfort in her mind.

“Sorry, dear. I was about to come back upstairs. I will just fill this bowl with some water first. Are the boys well now?”

“On their way. Aidan’s a bit drowsy after all that crying so I’d wager he’ll take a little nap. Matthew is still a little shaken, but Oliver’s still talking to him, calming him down.”

“That boy has a knack for trouble. Oliver and Julia better watch up or he might take that with him when he grows up. He might even influence sweet little Aidan” Mrs Miller said, unable to resist imagining the horror it would be to have a troublemaker in the family in her unsettled state of mind.

“No need to worry. Matthew’s a good lad. Most boys tend to go through such a period in their childhood. I would frankly be more worried if he did not get into mischief every now and then.”

“Jack has always been well behaved.”

“Julia inherited your impeccable manners, dear, and passed them on to her children.”

“So, you are saying I should blame you for this?”

“Well, Oliver did inherit a lot from me, so… yes, I guess. But let’s just be happy no one was hurt and show both of them that we are not angry with them, alright.”

“Very well. Come and help carry the hoover then.”

Happy to throw off the thought of the visitors to number eleven for the moment, Mrs Miller dedicated the rest of the day to restoring the holiday cheer. Soon enough both her grandsons were all smiles again and playing peacefully, though this time under their supervision in the sitting room. Aidan soon abandoned his brother and came crawling up into Julia’s lap, where he soon did fall asleep. Matthew was luckily happy to enjoy his gifts on his own for a while.

Not until she lay in bed that evening, did Mrs Miller remembered what she had witnessed earlier. Mulling it over for a little while, she came to the conclusion that those people must have been the relatives Mr Black mentioned he was doing some business with. It was no trouble imagining that, frankly frightening, man ending up in some political trouble. It was even easier imagining him being the head of some criminal organisation since danger was written all over him. If only she had thought to take a look at the registration number so she could have been able to find out who they were. Her only hope was that they would return sometime in the near future, even if the thought of seeing them again made her uneasy.

In the coming month Mrs Miller did not see even a glimpse of the expensive black car, nor any of the four people who had arrived in it. Gossip was still mostly centred around Mr Henderson and Mrs Sutton continued to disparage the man for his choices in life. In particular the one where he had gone off with a foreign man, with the man part barely beating out the foreign in which she found the most offensive. Mrs Miller allowed her friend to rant while keeping quiet herself during those sections of their conversations, being more interested in finding out about the man’s new life abroad.

She had offered Mrs Henderson a few words of condolence for the situation she now found herself in the one time she had run into her down in the local shop. The woman had simply kept quiet and only nodded her thanks before turning her sorrow filled eyes away and leaving. It was unnerving to see a person who was never bereft of something to say stay silent.

With no older Mr Henderson to be a part of the crossword group, Mrs Jones was her only source of information since she was still a member of D.R.A.B.S. She reported that while Mrs Henderson still attended every meeting, she was uncharacteristically withdrawn, barely speaking a word unless spoken to. A few of the other members were treating her with some coldness, but Mrs Black seemed determined to talk to her as well as cheer her up, throwing some dirty looks at those who did not do the same. Surprisingly, those looks worked as no one said a single negative word about the whole business during the meetings.

Though, it was hard to tell if it was the force of her personality which had such a strong impact on the assembled ladies, few of which suffered from weak minds themselves, or if it was simply frightening enough to be faced with an irritated highly pregnant woman to properly intimidate them.

It was not long after that, only a little over a week into February, that Mrs Miller heard the huge news that would come to bury the story of Mr Henderson. For once it did not come from Mrs Jones, but from Mr Miller. It was Friday evening when the phone rang and he got up to answer it. Since she remained by the tv, she could not hear what he was saying out in the kitchen, but could not help but notice the smile on his face when he returned, along with a distracted look.

“Who was it?”

“Sirius.”

“And what did he want?” she asked, feeling that it was sometimes like pulling teeth when trying to get information out of her husband; slow and painful.

“That he won’t be coming tomorrow.”

“Oh. Are they off to visit some strange set of friends again?”

“They have hardly missed a single Saturday since moving here, dear. No, they’ll not be here because they’re at the hospital.”

“The hospital?” Mrs Miller asked, the implication not reaching her before Mr Miller continued.

“Yes, to have their baby.”

The baby.

The baby!

Having interacted blissfully little with the Blacks over the past months, mostly hearing reports on them from her husband and Mrs Jones, the baby had become something of an abstract. It did not help that Mrs Black had one of those bodies that were somehow capable of looking a lot less pregnant than it actually was, meaning that all those times she happened to spot the young woman out the window, there was no great reminder either.

But a baby required preparations. There were certain things one simply had to do. Things that would be hard to get out of now that Mr Miller had managed to start a friendship with Mr Black. The man was even a semiregular at The Monday Dining Club by now and becoming a fast fixture in the neighbourhood among the men. Mrs Black was achieving the same with the women trough D.R.A.B.S. More or less everyone would welcome and adore their baby. The first baby to live on the street in a long, long time.

Turning towards the screen again while Mr Miller sat down, she could not get back into the show. The fact that baby Black was about to make its entrance into the world had the potential to completely upend the dynamics on Carnation Lane, and with the lack of progress in operation ‘Exposing Mr Black’, she would have no way of countering it. For now, all she could do was find an appropriate gift to present to the parents whenever they would meet properly for the first time after they returned home. Mr Miller would no doubt insist they be invited over for tea, or would maybe garner an invitation over to the Blacks for them.

Now, what could she possible find to gift the baby that was acceptable for such an occasion while simultaneously letting the parent know - on a subconscious level of course - that they needed to leave. With all the joke shops the world had to offer, could there not be someplace that specialised in such items instead? Why, it would be a far more useful and proper thing, seeing as a smelly piece of plastic dog excrement would simply be too on the nose.

Chapter Text

During the next two weeks, no one saw much of the Blacks. Mr Black walking from the front door to either get the mail or put out the rubbish bin were almost the only sightings that had happened. There were also three occasions on which Mrs Miller had seen him get into their car, drive away and then return a while later with groceries. Mrs Black had only been spotted twice; once when taking a short walk and once when hurrying after her husband while he made for the car, with what appeared to be the shopping list in her hand.

Baby Black was as of yet shrouded fully in mystery, with no word having come out even on the gender. Everyone was abuzz, tittering about when Carnation Lane’s newest inhabitant would be revealed. More than once, Mrs Miller had witnessed her neighbours take strolls along the street, slowing down considerably while passing number eleven. Did they not know how rude it was to be so obvious about trying to get a look into someone else’s home?

That was not to say no one had been allowed to meet the family of three. What seemed like every single car Mrs Miller had ever seen outside their house had been back at least once, though the trend of not seeing either the arrival or the departure had soon been established, with only one or two exceptions. It might be a relief to not have to witness the Red Clan in full force again, as the cars had indicated would be possible on the third day after the Blacks had returned home, but it also made for precious little to talk about beyond pure speculation.

After having been absent from the crossword group the first two Saturdays, Mr Black made a reappearance on the third and Mr Miller was all smiles when he returned home, bringing an invitation to tea with him. It was even for the very next afternoon and Mrs Miller thanked her lucky stars she was all done in the gift department. Mr Miller had even accompanied her and helped to select the dragon plushie. She had frowned at the red and green monstrosity, much more preferring a classical teddy bear, but he had insisted the Blacks would appreciate the more creative choice. In the end, she had given in, acknowledging that it was a better reflection on the younger couple.

There was also her secondary gift she had kept carefully hidden from Mr Miller, since he might be able to spot its true intent. A book on parenting could be seen as a genuine desire to help the first-time parents, but she had found it to be the best option for a gift that would leave the Blacks feeling inadequate. Perhaps enough so that they would want to move closer to their family and friends. Plenty of them had enough experience with children to offer up advice, after all. Not that it would be of the good kind, judging by how those children - or little terrors to describe them more aptly - behaved.

With them engaged to spend the afternoon and evening at Eleanor and her family’s house, Mrs Miller made the mental effort to put everything else out of her mind. The Farleys were the perfect example of what a proper family ought to be like. There was no nonsense about surnames, both parents had respectable employment and two smart and well-behaved children. Their house was of just the right size and appearance, being well looked after, and located in a neighbourhood with a standard that could rival even their own now since the Blacks moved in. It was nothing short of a safe haven where Mrs Miller could forget the woes of her life.

Jack had showed them the maths test he had done the week before and received a perfect score on and Emily had played the latest piece she had learned on the piano for them before supper without a single note out of place. They truly had the most gifted grandchildren.

Eleanor had also played the piano since she was young and excelled at it. Mrs Miller was sure they must have inherited it from her since she had always felt she would have been a true proficient had she ever learnt. Luckily, her daughter had taken the sensible course in life and not pursued it as a profession, even if her teacher at the time had insisted she should. No, she had finished her education, started working as an accountant for a major office in the nearest large town, where she had met Allan. They had got engaged and married, both after the proper amount of time, and settled down close enough to her and Mr Miller to make the distance an easy one.

It was not until they left that delightful place that the coming afternoon intruded on her mind once more and left her with a sinking feeling. The Blacks had proven near impossible to pin down so far and every time she had to socialize with them her patience was tested a little more. Still, they had a child now, so maybe they would let their guard down enough for her to slip past. Deciding to take a more optimistic stance on the matter, rather than her normal pragmatic disposition, Mrs Miller almost managed to convince herself that tomorrow would bring a victory.

With the gift-wrapped book safely stored in her handbag, Mrs Miller crossed the street Sunday afternoon, while Mr Miller carried the large - and to his knowledge only - gift. When they reached the door of number eleven she rang the bell and then turned to throw a quick glance at number ten while they waited to be let in.

With the short notice she had not had time to meet with her friends to discuss the event, but she did call Mrs Sutton this morning to let her know what was about to happen and to arrange for them and Mrs Jones to have tea the next day. She could make out the older woman standing in her kitchen window, lifting her cup of tea in a salute and wishing her good luck. It felt good to have that moral support, given that her husband had none to offer.

Just then the door next to her opened and Mrs Miller turned back around, finding herself face-to-face with Mr Black. But it was not Mr Black quite as she had even seen him before. The classical black slacks and almost properly buttoned shirt were there, but so was a wet spot by the left shoulder on the latter and a cloth with some of the same substance peeked out from the right front pocket of the former. Since she’d seen him up-close last, his hair had also managed to reach a length that allowed it to be pulled back in a small messy bun at the nape of his neck that only left a few strands to fall by the sides of his face, where a far past five o’clock shadow resided at the bottom. But despite his rumpled appearance, she had never seen him so happy. It was as if he was radiating joy, his eyes shining and lips pulled up in a blissful smile.

“There you are. Please, do come inside” he said, moving to the side to let them in.

“Thank you for having us” Mr Miller replied, “I know you must be wanting a lot of time by yourselves now in the beginning.”

“Think nothing of it. We have enough family and friends to make that impossible anyway and both Mione and I agreed that it’s best to let the neighbourhood get a glimpse before someone comes and breaks down the door.”

“Ah, yes. All us old folks are eager to see some new life breathed into the area. But I am genuinely happy for the two of you.”

“Thank you” their host said while he switched between watching them pull off their outerwear and shoes and glancing up the stairs. “But do come on in to the sitting room. The tea’s already in there and Mione will be down any moment. Just needed to take care a of a dirty nappy.”

The house, Mrs Miller soon perceived, had undergone the same change as its owner. There was the same tasteful décor as always, but parts of the surface had taken some minor hits. A pram took up the space next to the chest of drawers in the entryway, a bag full of apples sat on the floor next to the entrance to the kitchen, in which some dirty dishes were stacked on top of the dishwasher, a thin layer of dust covered some less used surfaces and a side table in the living room were cluttered with baby things they no doubt had received as gifts already. A small, knitted sweater caught her eye in that heap, since it was near impossible for her to miss something so brightly red. The way it was folded also fully displayed the golden R on its front.

Gesturing for them to sit down, Mr Black then placed himself in the sofa, looking relaxed but for the way his eyes darted towards the hallway.

“So” Mr Miller began after a few moments of silence, “how is parthood treating you? Get any sleep?”

“Not so much as I’m used to perhaps, but I think we’re fairly lucky since we’re only woken about two times each night. Still, it’s an adjustment, but one we’re both happy to make.”

“I can still remember that period in our life” Mr Miller said, reaching over and grasping her hand where it lay on the armrest of her armchair. “Some days you’ll be certain you’re seconds away from falling asleep standing up, but there’s an underlying contentment that keeps any regrets at bay.”

Mrs Miller thought back to those first few weeks after Eleanor had been born and could only agree. The love she had felt for her daughter, despite her exhaustion, was enough to not just sustain her but to also smile through it all. It had been the same with Oliver. Becoming a grandmother was nearly as profound and she had loved all four of her grandchildren from the moment she first laid eyes on them.

When they heard someone coming down the stairs the men ceased talking. Mr Black even stood up, his smile widening and his eyes softening when his wife entered the room, gently cradling their child against her chest.

Mrs Black also showed signs of parenthood in her appearance. Her already unruly hair now seemed determined to try to break out of the bun she had put it in, her blouse was rumpled and her socks did not match the rest of her ensemble. However, she shared her husband’s radiant joy and went straight to him, easily accepting his arm around her waist and a kiss to her brow before sitting down.

“Welcome” she said then, turning properly towards her guests for the first time. “So happy you could make it despite the short notice. We were supposed to have some relatives over, but they had to reschedule for supper instead and we thought directly of you.”

“How kind” Mrs Miller replied, forcing a smile at the rudeness. Perhaps they were being affected by the presence of a baby in the house, but that was no reason to let your guests know they were only their second choice.

“Thank you for letting us come instead” Mr Miller replied almost simultaneously, completely at odds with her sentiment. “We’ve only known you for a little more than half a year and I’m sure you must have many people clamouring to come visit at this time.”

“Yes, there are a few” Mr Black said, shrugging, “but I wanted you to come and Mione agreed.”

A tiny arm suddenly came loose and started aimlessly waving around by Mrs Black’s shoulder, followed by a few baby noises that captured everyone’s attention. Slowly, the new mother turned her child towards them, giving them a full view of a face that was too new to determine which parent it might favour, but adorable all the same. Almost black tufts of hair adorned the top of the head and large baby blue eyes blearily blinked at the world.

Mrs Miller found it was impossible not to smile.

“Allow me to introduce our son, Regulus Granger Black” Mr Black said, leading her straight into a frown instead.

“No middle name and two surnames?” she could not help but ask. Not even she had predicted that they would be able to make such a mess of naming their child. Perhaps it ran in Mr Black’s family, seeing the strange name he had. Not that Regulus was any more acceptable.

“Yes, we’ve already had that question a few times” Mrs Black replied with a chuckle. “It’s all my fault really.”

Her fault? While Hermione was far from common, it at least had the distinction of being used by the great bard himself. But maybe she had some strange love of unconventional names and had married Mr Black in part based on that? Thinking back, she realised she had no idea what any of Mr Black’s relatives had been named, so maybe this went back several generations?

“How so?” Mr Miller asked, being better equipped to keep up a conversation with these people than Mrs Miller could ever be.

“Before we married, we debated which surname to go with. Sirius wanted both of us to go with Granger Black, or even just Granger.”

“Yeah. The name of Black really never brought me much good, did it” Mr Black commented, a hint of bitterness in his voice despite the smile that played on his face while his eyes rested on his son.

“But I convinced him that the best revenge he could have on his family was to keep the name and make it stand for something good instead, while I would keep my maiden name in addition to taking his to remind everyone that changes were indeed on the way. I had the same argument when we discussed names for this little darling. I wanted to uphold the tradition of his family, since their names are one of the few things I like about them, while he wanted something new. We reached a compromise.”

“So, Granger isn’t his surname then?” Mr Miller asked, now leaning forward in his armchair to get a closer look at the baby.

“Exactly. It’s his middle name. That way Mione’s family name can live on for at least one more generation.”

“I see. That’s a nice sentiment. Where does Regulus come from then?”

“My brother. He died as a very young man and I only found out a few years ago that he did so while trying to atone for the mistakes our family had pushed him into doing. We both felt he deserved to be honoured in some way.”

Mrs Miller listen with fascination as her husband managed to get so much information out of their hosts. Not that it was his goal, no, he was simply interested to get to know his friend better by learning more about his life. And if it was all true, it seemed to be quite some life. Perhaps he had a written down family tree somewhere she might get a look at?

“Regulus and Sirius” Mr Miller commented. “Your parents had some original thoughts on names I take it.”

“Hardly original. My family’s used celestial names for its members for as long as our history has been recorded, with a focus on stars and constellations. There are some more loose connections as well, such as my mother, Walburga. Walpurga is the name of some large asteroid, though I suspect it has more to do with Walpurgis Night. Then there’s my aunt Lucretia, which is another asteroid. I think there’s even a moon crater represented some generations back.”

Mrs Miller barely had time to marvel at the fact that his mother also came from a family with outlandish names before Mrs Black continued the explanation.

“There are also those with names that have nothing to do with the heavens, such as your cousin Narcissa and two of your great aunts, Dorea and Iola. All men seem to have had more traditional names, though.”

“Fascinating” Mr Miller commented, his eyes even rising from young Regulus to his parents. Mrs Miller had to agree. Unconventional as it was, it still made for a good tale. One she was eager to share. “What are some of the male names then?”

“For starters, I’m the third Sirius in the family, and this here” Mr Black said, reverently caressing his son’s cheek, making those blue eyes temporarily focus on him, “is the third Regulus. My father was named Orion, my uncles were Alphard and Cygnus, my paternal grandfather was Arcturus and my maternal grandfather was Pollux.”

Wait, what?! Did he just include his maternal grandfather in that list, Mrs Miller marvelled and felt herself compelled to ask about it.

“Did your mother’s family have the same tradition with names?”

“Yes” Mr Black said, looking up at her with an amused glimmer in his eyes. “But only because she shared the same family as my father.”

Glancing over at her husband, Mrs Miller saw that he looked as taken aback as she felt, and she nearly stumbled over her words when she asked him to confirm her suspicion.

“Are… are you saying your parents were… were related?”

“Oh yes. They were second cousins. Dear old mum didn’t have to change her name when they married. I believe I did tell you that they were horrible people. Their xenophobia ran so deep they even married within the family to keep our blood as pure as possible.”

Mrs Miller gulped. While marrying close relations had not been terribly uncommon among royals and nobility throughout history, the practice had dwindled down considerably in the modern era. The notion of blood purity also sounded like a dangerous belief, if not fanatical. Maybe it was not so strange Mr Black had ended up a criminal if that was what he grew up with. At least he seemed a much more tolerant person than what he painted his family to have been.

The heavy atmosphere was broken by little Regulus as he started to make some noises and wave both arms while kicking with his legs. At once, everyone was back to smiling as the present dispelled the past. And after the tea and cakes had been consumed, while much more agreeable topics had been discussed, both guests were offered to hold the baby. Mr Miller eagerly took him first, holding the tiny body with the same ease he had always handled their own children and grandchildren with. He both cooed at and talked nonsense to the baby, who seemed as enraptured by him as someone that fresh into the world was capable of being.

When it came to her turn, Mrs Miller graciously accepted the boy into her arms and reminded her husband that they had brought gifts.

“Gifts?” Mr Miller asked, perplexed. “I thought we only had the one.”

“The second one is in my bag, dear. I felt that one would not be enough to convey how delighted we are at having these new parents as our neighbours.”

He gave her a funny look, but complied and bent down to fetch the item from her bag, which sat on the floor between their armchairs, before handing over both gifts to the Blacks. The dragon appeared first from its wrapping and the parents gave each other an amused look before giving their thanks, saying it was perfect and would fit right in in the nursery.

Mrs Black was then the one to unwrap the book. It did not, however, have the desired impact, much to Mrs Miller’s disappointment, even if she knew it would be best if they did not take the full meaning. At least not consciously.

“How lovely and thoughtful” the young woman said, holding up the book for her husband and Mr Miller to see. “After some of our previous guests, it’s so refreshing to receive advice in written form.”

Mr Black snorted.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to read it soon.”

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily as it would turn out, Mrs Miller was spared her husband’s disapproving gaze when they were all distracted by the sound of the doorbell.

“Who could that be?” Mr Black asked after looking at his pocket watch.

Mrs Miller would have marvelled at him using such an old-fashioned thing if she had not had to focus on Mrs Black coming to reclaim her son while she asked her husband to go and see who it was. Mrs Miller hoped no one of their neighbours had got it into their head that it was acceptable to come visit now just because she and Mr Miller were there. It was common knowledge, after all, that new parents invited you over, you did not turn up unannounced.

Soon, they could hear the front door opening and then Mr Black speaking.

“Oh. You’re a bit early. Never mind, though. We have two of our neighbours over still, but do come on in and join us.”

The rustle of coats being pulled off and hung up, along with an occasional clatter of shoes or boots put down on the floor sounded down the hallway to the occupants of the living room. The quietness of the process told Mrs Miller that it could not be the Red Clan, but then who was it? She had seen the scandalous Mrs Lupin, along with what must have been her family, visit just three days ago, so surely it could not be them. The other most frequent visitors were the Potters, who had been over the day before that and should be equally unlikely. Especially since Mrs Potter must be due any day by now.

Her answer walked into view not a minute later as four people followed Mr Black into the room. It was the three blondes and lone brunette with the expensive car and coats. The clothes they wore now were equally impressive and Mrs Miller even hazarded a guess that they were tailor-made, judging by the way the garments fit so perfectly.

Mrs Black met them halfway between the opening out to the hallway and the sofa, and for a while Mrs and Mr Miller were ignored in favour of acquainting the new arrivals with Regulus Black. The two women were even more enthusiastic about the baby than Mr Miller had been, cooing at him while letting the tiny hands grip their fingers. The two men remained much calmer, though the younger did smile.

The story about the name was then repeated, but no explanation regarding the names of the Blacks followed. These people were clearly in the know and if Mrs Miller had guessed correctly - which she prided herself she tended to do - they were relatives. Maybe the blonde woman was even the cousin that had been mention a short while ago. Narcissa was it?

“Will you give another son, if you have one, Sirius as a middle name then?” the same woman asked once her supposed cousin had finished his tale, “or have you dropped that part of tradition?”

“We’ll be going with Black first names and names with greater personal meaning to us for middle names” Mr Black replied.

“I see. Well, that is acceptable I suppose” the woman said while the older man scoffed.

“I think it’s lovely” the younger woman said and then turned towards the younger man. “Maybe we should do the same, dear?”

“Tradition is important, I think, but it would be best if we hold that conversation when the time comes” the man replied after shrugging his shoulder in that same nonchalant way Mr Black did, reinforcing the notion that they were related.

The older man looked disapproving at this but continued his silence.

“While we are pleased to have you, we did not expect you for another hour” Mrs Black said, ending the apparently sensitive topic. “I hope nothing serious happened to keep you from your appointment.”

“We made the appointment with no trouble, but those cursed goblins at the bank, after having the nerve to summon us in the first place, only told us that a new issue had come up regarding one of the heirlooms they confiscated for examination. Those cretins could just as easily have written to let us know we have to wait at least another month before we can have it all released” the older man replied.

His voice was so cold it sent the most unpleasant sort of chill down Mrs Miller’s spine and she quickly averted her eyes from him, not wanting to risk having his equally wintry gaze turned on her again.

At the same time, she could not help but wonder what kind of bank was open on Sundays. Perhaps it was some kind of special bank for the truly wealthy, but if so, would they not have employees that were competent enough to not warrant being called goblins or cretins, even if they did have to work weekends?

“Lucius, dear, mind the company” the older woman said, and just like that, all eyes turned to the two people still sitting down.

“Ah, yes. Please allow me to make the introductions” Mr Black said. “This is our neighbours across the street, Ernest and Enid Miller. And this is my cousin Narcissa Malfoy, her husband Lucius Malfoy, her son Draco Malfoy and his wife Astoria Malfoy.

More strange names then, Mrs Miller thought to herself while nods were exchanged by most. Only her husband and the young Mrs Malfoy used a verbal greeting. The old Mr Malfoy did nothing. At least she had guessed the identity of the older woman correctly. It was important to look for the silver lining in these types of situations.

Soon, three of the four leather armchairs that stood around the smaller table off to the side were carried over to the coffee table and everyone but Mr Black sat down. He had hurried off to the kitchen to put on a kettle so they could have some more tea, as well as to fetch some small cakes for the Malfoys.

Regulus, still in a happy mood, was transferred to the older Mrs Malfoy, who sat in the middle of the sofa with her daughter-in-law and Mrs Black on either side. There was a reverence in both the way she looked at the baby and how she held him that Mrs Miller could not explain. She was not even an aunt, yet looked as if the boy was the answer to all her troubles. Eventually, she looked up at Mrs Black.

“He’s beautiful. And so like his father. I know we’ve had our differences in the past…”

“To put it mildly” Mrs Black replied, but without any real heat.

“But I hope you know how grateful I am that you managed to wrangle my rebellious cousin into marriage and now give him an heir. The House of Black hasn’t had a new birth since the previous Regulus and I was despairing of there ever being one. You know it’s not all I hoped for, but to see the House I was born into suddenly have a future again… Well, I couldn’t be happier.”

“Thank you, Narcissa. That does mean a lot coming from you.”

“Yes, I’m absolutely thrilled that you’ve given me a new cousin, Granger” the younger Mr Malfoy drawled, but with amusement in his eyes and a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

“Mind your manners, Draco. We are family now after all” Mrs Black shot back.

By the time Mr Black returned with the refill and new treats a few minutes later, Regulus rested in the arms of the younger Mrs Malfoy. He had started to look a little sleepy and made half of the people in the sitting room, Mr Miller included, coo in adoration when he yawned. It was a sound he seemed most adept at producing from those around him.

Mrs Miller made sure to pour some tea for herself the first chance she got, hoping to calm her increasingly frazzled nerves. The atmosphere at the table could soon be described as forced at best and hostile at worst. There was no mistaking the fact that the Malfoys largely ignored them, with only the younger couple exchanging a few words with them. The older Mr Malfoy even seemed to radiate an increasingly malevolent aura, as if he was trying to push them out of there with nothing but sheer willpower.

The Blacks, to their credit, did the best they could to include everyone in conversation, but it was increasingly difficult to deny that even if they were there on the time they had been invited to, their welcome was coming to an end. The Malfoys did perhaps not know they were going to be there when they showed up early, but there was no doubting that they thought themselves the more important guests and would take precedence. And while they were related to the hosts, Mrs Miller could not see how that overrode a prior engagement. There was a reason polite society had set up rules for how to handle these things, but as always, the really wealthy did as they pleased, not caring if they caused offence.

“Thank you for having us over” Mr Miller said after the older Mr Malfoy had pointedly ignored a question of his for the second time, “and as pleasant as it has been, I think we ought to get back home.”

Mrs Miller was unsure if she had heard the unpleasant man muter ‘finally’ under his breath or not, but was relieved to be able to leave. Mr and Mrs Black followed them to the entryway, little Regulus currently napping in the arms of the younger Mr Malfoy, who had been cajoled into holding him by his wife and mother.

“I’m sorry it ended up being like this” their hostess said. “We thought we’d have more time to offer.”

“Please. No need to apologize” Mr Miller replied.

Mrs Miller thought there was every need to apologize.

“We’d be delighted to have you over another time” Mr Black said. “When no family or friends are expected the same day.”

“That would be lovely. Wouldn’t it, Enid?”

“Yes. I can hardly wait” Mrs Miller said, but continued the sentence in her head with ‘to get home’.

The only positive thing she could take away from this visit was an abundance of information to use in her research. With so many specific names it surely ought to be easy to garner some useful results at long last. There was also the fact that the older Mrs Malfoy had referred to the Blacks as a House, rather than a family. That did indeed signify a long and prestigious history. Maybe they needed to call Mrs Sutton’s cousin again.

It was not until they had said their goodbyes and left the house that a most horrifying thought struck Mrs Miller like lightening, making her steps falter almost to the point of standing still in the middle of the street. Since she had never seen the name in writing her error was understandable. How was she supposed to know Mr Black was named after a star of all things? However, that did nothing to alleviate the knowledge of having committed such a mistake and humiliation burned through her body. All those letters to all those prisons and courts… No wonder they had commented on the strange name. For as it turned out, there was no Serious Black in existence.

Chapter Text

Flexing her fingers to try to alleviate the cramp in her hand, Mrs Miller still smiled with satisfaction as she looked at the stack of letters in front of her. It had taken a while, but her task was finally complete. Well, almost. She still needed to put the stamps on, but that would have to wait. Currently, she did not trust her hand to be steady enough to perform the precision needed.

When she was still a girl, still Miss Jennings, she had asked the local postmaster what the correct way of placing a stamp was. The man, being as devoted to his work as anyone could hope for, if not more, had explained the exact measurements that were recommended for the optimal handling and she had strictly followed those ever since. So, for now, her ruler lay unused at the side of the desk, and would need to stay there until the morrow.

Instead, she needed to get started on lunch and then it was off to Mrs Sutton for tea and planning. Not that she looked forward to lunch all that much, what with Mr Miller still being cross with her from yesterday. At least he would be dining out in the evening and his easier disposition ought to make sure he had forgiven her soon enough, she hoped.

Then again, she had rarely seen him as unhappy with her as he had been last night, though the impression might have been enhanced by the humiliation she was already feeling after discovering the mistake she had made about Mr Black’s first name. At least it had given her a new starting point in uncovering the man’s past sins.

Putting the letters away in one of the drawers, Mrs Miller went to the kitchen and started pulling out the ingredients for a hearty vegetable soup. No need to waste any of their finer groceries on a meal that would turn out unpleasant.

About half an hour later, the table was laid, the bred sliced and the food ready. After calling for her husband, Mrs Miller sat down and listened as his steps approached, apprehension growing in her. She never wanted to be quarrelling with Mr Miller, but why could he simply not see she was doing this for everyone’s good, including his own. He was friends with a criminal and she dreaded the day he would face the hurt of finding out. Still, the risk of continuing the acquaintance could very well place them in actual danger, which was worse.

That, thankfully, unfamiliar stony expression was still firmly in place on Mr Miller’s face when he entered the kitchen and took his seat without a word. He did not even look at her and Mrs Miller felt her heart ache. Never had she been more tempted to give up on her righteous mission to rid the neighbourhood of the Blacks than in that moment.

“Ernest I-“

“I don’t want to hear it. We’ve been over this already.”

His voice was perhaps not as cold as the older Mr Malfoy’s, but it cut so much deeper.

“But I only-“

“No!”

Mrs Miller flinched at his raised voice. A voice he had barely even used with their children those few times they had been out of line. It made her feel small.

“Not only did you go behind my back and bought a second gift, but you bought something with the intention to insult them rather than to celebrate the birth of their child. I know you don’t care for them, but you should at least have the decency to treat them as the friends they are to me.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she had heard from Mr Black himself that he had been in prison, but knew he was in no mood to absorb the information. In all likelihood it would only make him angrier with her, thinking she made it up to justify her actions. It was difficult to swallow the words through the growing lump in her throat.

“How are you, dear?” Mrs Sutton asked as soon as she had entered number ten. “You look a little pale.”

“I am afraid Ernest caught me crossing one of his lines regarding the Blacks yesterday and is in a foul mood over it.”

“I am sorry to hear it. While he has not grown as friendly with Mr Black, even my Howard likes him well enough and admires his skill with crossword puzzles, so I cannot confide in my husband either. It seems to be much the same for Agnes.”

They remained in the entryway, talking about their spouses’ shared inability to grasp the truth about the Blacks, while they waited for Mrs Jones to arrive. Soon enough they were all seated in the sitting room, sipping at tea and getting the common gossip out of the way before focusing the rest of their time on the inhabitants of number eleven. The most noteworthy news was that Janet Barker had given birth to twins three days ago, which Mrs Sutton could reliably inform them of, being an aunt of the father, Thomas Barker. Unluckily, the Barkers lived on the other side of the small town and would therefore not take any attention away from Regulus Black in the eyes of the neighbourhood.

“Now, do tell us of yesterday” Mrs Sutton said after Mrs Jones had told them about the cauliflower she had bought down at the local shop which had turned out to be mouldy at the centre. There really was not much else to get out of the way after the quality of food these days had been lamented.

“First of all, I just want to say that Regulus Black, despite his unfortunate name, seems to be a well-behaved baby. He did not cry even once while we were there, and the drooling was near non-existent.”

“Regulus!” both of her friends exclaimed simultaneously, just as disinclined as she had been to hear that someone would willingly bestow such a name on their child.

“Yes. And here is where things get truly interesting. There is apparently a tradition in the Black family to name children after the stars, or at least celestial objects. Sadly, that means Mr Black does not spell his first name S E R I O U S, but S I R I U S. We will need to redo all the letters, on which I have already started. However, in order to minimise our embarrassment, even if it was an honest mistake, we will switch who writes to which institution. I have already taken the liberty of writing to those that you, Agnes, wrote last time, so you will take Mildred’s while she takes mine.

“What?” It was Mrs Jones that had spoken. “Do you mean we have to write all those letters again?”

“Of course” Mrs Sutton replied calmly as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Which it obviously was.

“But do you not think they would have mentioned if they had a Sirius Black on record if asked for a Serious Black?”

“These kinds of requests are doubtless controlled by strict rules and regulations and they cannot make a suggestion like that if it does not match with the name stated” Mrs Miller said.

“But… I had cramp in my hand for a week last time” Mrs Jones said, “could we at least not use e-mail this time?”

“Absolutely not” Mrs Sutton replied, making a slashing gesture with her hand, nearly hitting her cup and spilling tea all over her genuine Persian rug. “We have no computer in this house, and I will be dead before one ever enters. Such modern contraptions will not be borne. They are only for the lazy. My mind is still perfectly capable of performing every calculation I might need and I never had any trouble with spelling.”

“And just think of how it has decimated our once proud postal service, which used to be one of the great hallmarks of our proud civilization” Mrs Miller said. “I shudder to think of the day, which I am sure cannot be far off by now, that they will close the local office. We must all do our best to keep that day at bay for as long as possible.”

Mrs Sutton nodded in agreement while Mrs Jones looked resigned but accepting. The latter’s inferiority in years, even if the gap was not a large one, did show itself at times. And working as a teacher, even one close to retirement, in this new digital age had acquainted her with the technology Mrs Miller felt sure spelled the end of polite society.

Mr Miller had not insisted on a computer as of yet, but Mrs Miller knew it was only a matter of time. Both of their children had encouraged them to buy one and there was also the fact that he had taken a short course on computers for senior citizens that was held down at the library a few years back.

“But” Mrs Miller went on, “that is not all I found out. While we were there, some relatives of Mr Black showed up. And the rudeness of it all! Apparently, we were only invited because they had to reschedule for a later time that day and then they had the nerve to show up anyway, completely unannounced. Not so much as a phone call to say they were on the way. But it was the three blondes and one brunette I told you about.”

“Oh, the strange frightening man?” Mrs Jones asked, sounding improperly exited.

Mrs Miller put that down to the collection of trashy romance novels her friend had on the lowest shelf in their living room, mistakenly thinking no one would look there. The sleazy longhaired and mysterious looking men that covered the fronts of those glued together stacks of defiled paper - Mrs Miller hesitated to call them books – might be mistaken for the older Mr Malfoy by description alone. None that had actually seen or, worse yet, met the man, however, would ever make the connection. Not even one of those airheaded heroines would be able to warm up that block of ice, who somehow managed to be more intimidating than the old headmistress at her primary school, Miss Trunchbull. And that was saying something since that woman had locked disobedient children inside the cupboard in her office. But this was not the time to think on that old hag, who had thankfully departed this world long ago.

“The very one” she replied. “And he was no better up-close, I can tell you. Did not speak a single word to either me or Ernest and the few words he did utter before we felt compelled to leave due to their appalling manners towards us, were so cold I felt as if winter had followed him inside. Most unpleasant.”

Pausing her tale in order to take a large gulp of tea to fend of the chillness she suddenly felt creeping up on her, Mrs Miller looked at the expectant faces of her two friends. Her only two allies in this whole mess. They were silently encouraging her to share the rest of the valuable information she had managed to gather, and it strengthened her resolve once more.

“However, I did learn their names so I think we will have to write your cousin again, Mildred. They appear, even more so than Mr Black, to come from an old and prominent family. The cost of their clothes alone would surely exceed what either of us or our husbands make in a month I am sure.”

“Was it a surname you recognised?”

“Sadly not, but more unique than Black, so there should be no trouble finding them, hopefully. Malfoy, that is their name. And their first names were mostly as strange as those of the Blacks. The older couple are Lucius and Narcissa while the son and his wife are Draco and Astoria. The older Mrs Malfoy is Mr Black’s cousin and it would not surprise me if her maiden name was Black, seeing both of his parents were born Blacks.”

“What!”

Once more Mrs Sutton and Mrs Jones had expressed their disbelief in unison.

“Yes. Unless he has made it all up, it would seem Mr Black truly did have something of an extreme family. He even spoke of them having some sort of blood purity dogma, which was why his parents, who were second cousins, married.”

“No wonder the man has turned out the way he has, then” Mrs Jones said, a note of sympathy in her voice. “One might even say it is a wonder he did not turn out worse.”

“What could be worse than a criminal?” Mrs Sutton scoffed.

“That depends on what kind of criminal. Did we not agree that his crimes are most likely economic?”

“Indeed we did” Mrs Miller said, not even wishing to contemplate what some of the alternatives could mean for them all. She had been worried enough the two times Mr Miller had been taken on a ride by Mr Black in the sidecar of his bike, that adding the possibility that the younger man might leave her darling Ernest dead in a ditch somewhere would risk pushing her over the edge. Maybe she ought to apologise to him tonight when he got home. No point in being cross when no one knew when life might end.

After giving her friends the full story of what had happened the day before, it was not long before Mrs Miller returned home, still eager to see her husband. However, when she found the front door to be locked, she knew he must have already left for The Three Elves.

Her attention was captured by the door of number eleven opening and she stood still, hand on the door handle, as she witnessed Mrs Black kissing Mr Black goodbye. He was apparently joining The Monday Dining Club today, which would be a first since Regulus had been born. The easy affection between the younger couple was clear to see, but it only highlighted Mrs Miller’s own current woes and she hurried inside before they could spot her.

Trying to entertain herself with the telly, Mrs Miller waited for Mr Miller to return home. It was long past his usual time when she finally gave up and went to bed. Still, her heartache was magnified in the dark silence by the absence of the presence next to her she had always taken for granted. And in her loneliness, doubts started to seep into her mind. What if she had pushed too far this time? What if Ernest was thinking about leaving her? What would she ever do without him?

Spiralling closer and closer to despair, Mrs Miller was pulled out of her mental vortex by the sound of steps coming up the stairs. It seemed she had been so lost in her thoughts she had missed the front door opening, for she knew it could not be an intruder. She would recognise the sound of her husband anytime.

Before the door to their bedroom opened, Mrs Miller closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep, suddenly afraid to make the apology. So, she lay still while Mr Miller got ready for bed, in the quietest way he was capable of, and then slipped into bed beside her. Immediately, she could feel the warmth radiating off of his body and felt her own relax. Making up her mind that she would indeed apologise in the morning, she was at long last able to fall asleep.

When she woke up next morning, Mrs Miller felt rested. Looking to the side she saw Mr Miller lying there, still asleep, making that familiar light snoring sound that never failed to make her smile. Not wishing to disturb him, she got up, pulled on a dressing gown and went down to the kitchen to make a full breakfast. It might only be a Tuesday morning, but she needed to start it off right.

Just as she had predicted, she was nearly done with frying the last sausages when her husband entered the kitchen, lured there by the scent. The fact that he kept his lips tightly pressed together disheartened her at first, until she saw her own apprehension mirrored in his eyes. He disliked their argument as much as she did, but would not back down from what he perceived to be the truth of the matter. And since she had bought and gifted that book for the very reason he was cross with her over, she could not claim he was wrong.

“Good morning” Mrs Miller said, not feeling brave enough to even attempt a smile, knowing he would see how forced it was.

“Good morning” Mr Miller replied. “I must have slept longer than I thought if it’s already Saturday.”

“Oh. Well, I thought you deserved a good start on your day. I also wanted to say…”

“Yes?”

Swallowing heavily, her pride trying to keep her quiet, she then forced the words out.

“I am sorry.”

“About?”

Mr Miller was clearly not going to make this easy for her.

“I am sorry about the book. It could have been a thoughtful gift, but I did not intend it to be so.”

“I know.”

“And it was also wrong of me to do what I did to you.”

“It was.”

“I understand if you will be angry with me for a while, but I cannot stand us being like this. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

Mr Miller did not reply immediately, but looked thoughtful instead, his eyes turning toward the window, gazing out, but also not looking at anything in particular. Holding her breath, Mrs Miller awaited his judgement, while steeling herself for whatever it might be. The thought that he might insist she apologise to the Blacks as well briefly crossed her mind, but she discarded it, with a temporary and perhaps unearned burst of optimism. Still, it would be better for everyone involved to let the young couple remain in the belief that it was a kindly meant gift rather than having to announce her dislike of them so openly.

When her husband’s gaze focused again, Mrs Miller knew the verdict had been made and her atonement was to be announced. The smile that had suddenly appeared on Mr Miller’s face seemed a bad omen, but there was nothing for it. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“I want you to join their baking and reading group.”

Only the beginning of a faintly burnt smell saved Mrs Miller’s jaw from hitting the floor at a speed that would have put rockets to shame. Quickly turning back towards the pan, she was able to grit her teeth instead, though she felt sure she must be doing it at such force her dentist would remark upon it the next time she had an appointment. Every ounce of her being screamed in protest at what she was about to say. About what she was about to do. But this was larger than D.R.A.B.S., or even the Blacks. This was about her marriage.

As calmly as she could, Mrs Miller placed the sausages on their plates and then put them on the table before sitting down in her usual spot. Mr Miller joined her but did not say anything, nor did he touch his food. Taking a deep breath, she looked up to meet his eyes and committed herself to misery.

“I will join them then.”

“Good. You can head over today and inform Hermione. Sirius told me she’s going to attend again soon, though perhaps a bit irregularly.”

Having exhausted her ability to vocalise her agreement to this mad idea with those first five words, Mrs Miller simply nodded in reply. They then ate the breakfast in silence, though, the atmosphere had thankfully lightened.

Usually, procrastination was a concept Mrs Miller frowned upon most pointedly, but today it seemed to be her best friend. Suddenly, she could come up with a myriad of little things that needed doing right that very moment and her visit to Mrs Black was pushed up time and again while she watered the plants, sorted the mail, devoted two hours to putting those stamps on correctly - for there was no need to halt operation ‘Exposing Mr Black’ because of a single bad gift – and baked a fresh batch of ginger biscuits. There was only a dozen or so left in the tin, after all.

She also received unexpected help in the form of Mrs Henderson, whom she spotted entering number eleven while she cleaned up after lunch. She could hardly go over while the young woman had another guest. In the end, it was the level of darkness Mr Miller’s looks had descended to that made her, about four o’clock, at last trudge across the street and ring the doorbell.

It took roughly a minute for it to be answered by Mrs Black and the young woman did look slightly surprised to see her standing there. Mrs Miller could hardly blame her as she was feeling the same.

“Eh, good day” Mrs Black said, remaining in the doorway.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Black. I only just stopped by to ask if it is at all possible for me to join the Carnation Lane Women’s Society of Baking and Books.”

It was painful to have to use the name, but necessary. Calling it D.R.A.B.S. to Mrs Black’s face would surely ensure her being excluded for life and Mr Miller would be even angrier with her. It was of some comfort, however, to see the nonplussed look on the younger woman’s face and it was a struggle to keep the corners of her mouth from rising.

Then, that nagging tingling at the very back of her memory that signalled that there was something vaguely familiar with the Blacks returned. It usually did not manifest when Mrs Black was her normal calm and in control state of mind, but when she caught a glimpse of an unguarded moment, such as this, it would appear. For some reason she associated it with first insecurity and then sadness, but in an abstract way she could not pin down to a specific situation or even person. But as always when this happened, she felt convinced it was important she did remember.

“I thought you said you were too busy for such a thing” the young woman said, calling her back from her musings.

“True. But things have changed since then and I would truly be happy to join at this time.”

“I see. Well, there’s always room for one more. We’ll be meeting here this Saturday, so why don’t you come over then.”

“Thank you, I will” Mrs Miller replied and was happy to finally be able to leave when she was stopped in her tracks by a new arrival to the scene.

“Love, who was that at the door?”

Mr Black’s voice sounded from down the hallway and soon the man himself came into view. And if Mrs Miller had thought him changed on Sunday it was nothing compared to his appearance today. It was like a car wreck she just could not look away from.

His hair was still pulled up in a small bun and he was at least two or three days past his last clean shave, but that was where all the similarities ended. With not only his feet bare but also his torso, the only piece of clothing on his body was a pair of scandalously low hanging red and gold sweatpants. Numerous tattoos littered his upper body and were so distracting Mrs Miller could barely appreciate the physical shape he was in. She loved Mr Miller, but would not have complained if his body had looked like that at Mr Black’s age. Or any age for that matter.

Luckily, she could excuse her distraction – surely, he must have been in prison for a very long time if he had accumulated so many tattoos! – with the fact that he held Regulus against said chest. The baby was in nothing but a nappy, but seemed calm and content in his father’s arms anyway. What on earth was going on?

“Ah, Mrs Miller. Didn’t know you were dropping by” the man said, firing off a charming smile.

“O-Only to ask your wife a question. I really must be getting back now.”

“Then let me thank you before you leave.”

“Thank me?” Mrs Miller asked, wondering what they could possibly have to be grateful to her for. It was definitely nothing intentional on her part.

“Your book, it had a whole chapter on bonding that described this skin-to-skin method as good for the baby. And as you can see, Reggie loves it.”

“Then I am happy you liked the gift.”

“And he really likes the dragon as well. It’s so colourful it always catches his eyes. Please give Ernest our thanks as well.”

“I will make sure to let him know. Well, good day.”

“Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

It was both disappointing and strangely satisfying that her gift had been of use after all. Perhaps she still did not wish for it to have been so, no matter how Mr Miller felt about it, but at least now she would be able to tell him it had been appreciated and of good use.

Saturday arrived far too soon for Mrs Miller’s taste and there was no procrastination to fall back on since she had a fixed time to abide by. Mr Miller had even made sure they left the house at the same time and walked her across the street where he met up with Mr Black to head over to the Howards.

There had been mixed reactions when she had told Mrs Sutton and Mrs Jones about her changed weekend schedule, with the latter being happy for the company while the former had berated her for giving in to such a ridiculous demand. She would never allow her husband to do something like that. It was only after saying she could use it as an opportunity to get a look at the first floor of number eleven that Mrs Sutton let the subject drop.

That intention would soon turn into disappointment, however. With so many women, many of whom were surprised to see her there and subsequently sneaked many glances her way, it was impossible to get away from the kitchen unnoticed. There was also the fact that Mrs Miller found herself genuinely interested in the chocolate and walnut cake they were making that day and did not want to miss any part of the baking process.

One opportunity presented itself when the cake was placed in the oven and everyone made ready to head over to the sitting room and she excused herself with needing to go powder her nose. Trouble was that the moment she approached the stairs she realised she truly needed to use the toilet.

When she entered the sitting room a few minutes later, everyone sat around the coffee table in the various armchairs that had been moved there in order to accommodate the large number of guests. They were already discussing that week’s chapter of ‘The Namesake’, which was a book Mrs Miller though she would never have picked up if she had not been forced into joining D.R.A.B.S. It had been published only last year and received some good reviews, but following the life of a son of Indian immigrants in America that had such trouble naming him that he would suffer for it seemingly the rest of his life was not what she considered diverting. It was enough to have one boy who would doubtlessly come to suffer for his name in her life.

Making little to no contribution to the discussion, Mrs Miller felt as if she was counting down the seconds to when the cake would be done and she could finally taste it, along with some much-needed tea. She was even seated at the opposite end from Mrs Black, which meant she could barely see little Regulus, who lay sleeping peacefully in a Moses basket next to his mother, unaware that they were essentially discussing his future. Watching babies, even if they were sleeping, was always a worthwhile way to spend one’s time.

Mrs Jones, on the other hand, was the lucky one to have snagged the other armchair that bordered the child and took full advantage of that fact. However, despite her frequent looks down at Regulus, she was taking an active part in what was going on around her and even seemed to be genuinely enjoying being a part of it. She was certainly more animated than Mrs Miller had ever seen her when in her and Mrs Sutton’s company.

At long last the timer went off and everyone went back to the kitchen. Even before the oven was opened it smelled divine and when she, some twenty minutes later, was seated in the comfortable armchair in the sitting room again and tasted her first piece of the delicious cake, Mrs Miller came perilously close to admitting to having a good time.

It all came to a crashing halt shortly after, though, when Mrs Henderson raised her voice and said she had an announcement to make.

“As you all know, I have gone through some turbulent times recently, but with the support of some great friends” here she gave Mrs Black a grateful look, “I have not only learned to accept what has happened, but to embrace it. To see that my son is finally happy and that I can give him even more happiness through my support. And with that in mind, and after having thought it through for some time and talking it over with him, I have decided to take a leaf out of his book and move down to Spain as well.”

Half the room were eager to support and congratulate while the second half merely nodded and smiled politely. Mrs Miller did not notice, however, as the only thing on her mind was that if Mrs Henderson moved out, number seven would be up for sale and the last time a house on the street had been sold it had slowly but surely turned her world upside-down. And the memory of Mrs Potter talking about moving in rose, unbidden, to the surface of her mind, playing out like a waking nightmare.

Only when Mrs Henderson grasped Mrs Jones’ hand, both of them smiling, did she force her attention back to the present. And it was just in time to hear another piece of awful news that brought with it a terrible implication.

“And thanks to Agnes here, I’ve talked to Frank this week about selling the house, so be prepared to see some new faces visiting in the near future.”

Judging both by her expression and Mrs Henderson’s words, Mrs Jones had been aware of this new development at least a few days and not said so much as a single word about it. She had kept her two closest friends in the dark and allowed one of them to learn of it like this. Trying, but failing, to catch her supposed friend’s eye to let her know she had some explaining to do the next time they met for tea, Mrs Miller had to resign herself to spending the rest of the gathering in miserable silence. No amount of cake or tea in the world would ever come even close to make up for this.

When she slowly walked back home about forty minutes later, she forlornly looked around her. The sight of the familiar houses and front gardens were suddenly not of the same comfort they had always been in the nearly forty years she had lived there. Or maybe it had all been cursed the day the Blacks moved in and she had been blind to it up until now. And with no frogs or princesses around to kiss, how did one even go about breaking a curse? Her last hope seemed to be that the new batch of letters would finally yield some results.

Chapter Text

With Mrs Sutton coming down with a bad cold and Mrs Miller feeling too off centre to face Mrs Jones on her own, she spent the next week mostly in the confines of her home. In her restlessness she cleaned the house from top to bottom, spending a whole day in the attic, going through all the things they had saved from Eleanor and Oliver’s childhood. There were some baby clothes that had gone so out of style that they had politely declined to use them for their own children, along with some toys. Two boxes held their respective various school uniforms, with Oliver’s being a bit more tightly packed due to his rugby uniform. Her son had excelled at the sport and she could still remember with fondness all the trophies he had brought home. Those he had taken with him when he found his own place after university. Matthew seemed to share his father’s athletic talent and would no doubt soon bring home trophies of his own once he settled on which sport he preferred.

Another, slightly smaller, box contained all the sheets of music, organised alphabetically by order of composer, Eleanor had played in her childhood. Emily was on her way to amassing a similar collection, but played a bit more modern music than her mother had. Letting her fingers run over the notes, she could remember watching her daughter’s fingers run across the keys of the piano that still stood in a corner of the living room.

Finding herself in a nostalgic state of mind, Mrs Miller proceeded down to the study next, where she pulled out the old family photo albums from the bookcase they kept them in. It started with a few pictures from before their marriage, one of them from the day Mr Miller had proposed. It all seemed as if it was only yesterday that he had looked so young and fully in love when he bent down on one knee in front of her and held up the ring before asking her to share the rest of her life with him. Where had all that time gone?

It felt equally jarring to see the pictures of her children as babies and know that even her grandchildren were not as young any longer. No, the only baby in her life at the moment was Regulus Black, and that was certainly not by choice.

Finding that even her past could not distract her thoughts from the present, she put the albums away, hurried to the cupboard under the stairs and pulled out some of the stronger chemicals she kept in there. It was high time to scrub the bathtub in the second guest bathroom.

The one bright spot during the week was that Mr Miller was almost back to normal. He had laughed merrily when she told him what Mr Black had said about the book, but had then proceeded to tease her about fidgeting when mentioning why he was thankful.

“Maybe I should ask the lad for some advice on exercising” he then said, winking, which caused her to blush in mortification.

“Well, it would not hurt you to take better care of yourself a little more” she rebutted, while busying herself with brushing out some imaginary wrinkles from her perfectly ironed skirt with her palms. “But I think he is in better need of the address to someone who can remove tattoos. You should have seen how many he has.”

“All over his chiselled chest, yes you mentioned.”

“Oh. I did not use that word. You are hopeless, you know.”

“I try.”

Mrs Miller huffed, but felt nothing but relief at his words. Or at least almost only. Because, if he was in the mood to tease her like this, he could not be cross any longer.

That Wednesday the first reply to the new letters arrived. It was sadly negative. There had never been a Sirius Black at HM Prison Wandsworth. Similar letter arrived on both Thursday and Friday.

There had also been a letter with an invitation to attend Emily’s birthday party in four weeks, so it was not all gloom. Eleanor had thankfully inherited her own sense of propriety and knew to send such things with the mail. Oliver had the terrible habit of communicating it over the phone. And since Julia felt much the same, there was precious little Mrs Miller could do about it except for dropping a few hints. Sadly, they both seemed immune to them.

Another invitation had also arrived. One she knew she ought to have foreseen but had forgotten about what with everything going on. It had been a tradition since before she and Mr Miller moved into the neighbourhood that old Miss Gilchrist would host a tea party every ten years to celebrate the anniversary of when she had opened her teashop. It seemed even in her advanced age and frail body, the reclusive woman was determined to entertain everyone on the street once more. It would likely be the last time, Mrs Miller thought, not knowing how to feel about it. The prospect of yet another house becoming available was daunting to say the least, yet she had been her least favourite neighbour before the Blacks moved in. There was something about her that had unnerved Mrs Miller from the very start, and she had always felt grateful that the old woman kept mostly to herself. And since Mr Miller agreed, she felt fully justified in that opinion. Still, it was a tradition and those were meant to be kept, so even if it was with some reluctance, Mrs Miller accepted the invitation.

Then Saturday arrived and Mr Miller accompanied her out of the house once more and since she was going up to the Ellisons and he to the Donovans, they could keep company more or less the entire way.

“Welcome” Mrs Ellison greeted her in the door, gesturing for her to come inside. “We’re making vanilla and mango cupcakes today.

Mrs Miller detested cupcakes. They were too sweet and originated in America. They could at least have gone for the more British fairy cake so they could have skipped the icing. There was at least some good news regarding who was attending. Mrs Black, it seemed, would alternate weekends with her husband, meaning either of them would be at home with Regulus while the other attended their activity, with a time limit of two hours. The other person to be absent was Mrs Jones, who was away for the weekend with her husband. They had gone on a trip to London to do some shopping, watch a show and stay at a fancy hotel. However, it did not feel good to have to learn of it through these women rather from her supposed friend directly. Could she really have lost Agnes without noticing?

After somehow being able to force the entire monstrosity, tiny piece by tiny piece, down her throat a while later, Mrs Miller vowed to never eat a cupcake again in her life. And with the book still being lacklustre, she felt as if she had wasted half her day by the time she got back home.

She was at least initially cheered by Oliver calling to talk to her a while. He sounded a little stressed, however, and when asked about it said he’d had to stay at home Thursday and Friday with Matthew, who had managed to injure his hand. Apparently, he had run into the kitchen Wednesday evening while Oliver was cooking a light supper, shouted something about being superman and put his hand on the still hot stove. It had ended with an emergency visit to the hospital. At least, it had only been a mild burn, with the heat having been low by then so he should heal fairly quickly without visible scarring, but he needed a few days at home first to minimize the risk of infection.

Mrs Miller thought her eight-year-old grandson ought to know better than playing with the stove, but decided not to say anything. Oliver did sound tired and she was certain he had learned his lesson on parenting well enough not to have to hear it from her as well. Neither he nor Eleanor had even burnt their hands on anything as children due to her watchful eyes, but he was his father’s son.

On Sunday, she had tea with her recovered friend and told Mrs Sutton what she had learned about Mrs Jones. They agreed that they needed to talk to her since she appeared to have fallen victim to D.R.A.B.S. for whatever inconceivable reason and they needed to set her straight. It was an uphill battle to save the neighbourhood as it was, so they did not need to lose one of the only three people willing to take up the fight and defend their homes.

Mrs Miller managed to get them all together the next day, while their husbands were away for The Monday Dining Club, but was not prepared for the sight that greeted her when Mrs Jones arrived. Ever since she had advised her friend shortly after she had moved into number three of the appropriate dress code for the women living in their neighbourhood she had kept to the moderately cut and coloured clothes any respectable lady should prefer. Not today. Today she wore a black skirt that stopped just below her knees, which was at least two inches to short, and a red blouse, with a hint of cleavage, that matched her lips. The whole thing reminded her of Mrs Howard in one of her most sensible ensembles and she shuddered at the thought of having to wash that garish colour off the teacup later. Even her second-best tea set was too precious to risk in the dishwasher.

“Welcome. Please, do come inside. Mildred is already here, so you can go ahead. I will just get the tea.”

“Thank you.”

It all continued to go downhill from there.

When Mrs Miller entered the sitting room not a minute later, Mrs Sutton looked as if she had bit into a lemon and was pointedly looking away from Mrs Jones. Mrs Jones on the other hand appeared to be angry, her lips tightly pressed together, while she sat still and quiet in one of the armchairs.

“Enid, dear” Mrs Jones said when everyone was sitting down, affecting a deceptively calm tone, “would you agree with Mildred’s assessment that I look like a trollop today?”

Mrs Miller opened her mouth, but not a single word came out. They were supposed to talk reason into Mrs Jones, not insult her, so what had happened?

“I would say you look different” she replied at last, “but hardly anything like… well…”

“Like a hussy?” Mrs Jones asked archly.

“Erh… yes.”

“For your information, I bought these clothes while I was in London this weekend, at Marks & Spencer, which is a place I highly doubt one could find unsuitable clothes.”

“Pish posh” Mrs Sutton said, turning towards them. “We can see your knees when you sit down for heaven’s sake. No respectable woman-“

Mrs Jones cut her off by standing up, her eyes narrowed and shining with supressed fury, and replying in a voice that would no doubt scare any student into obedience if she ever used it in her classroom.

“Now you listen to me, you prissy busybody.”

Mrs Miller was vaguely aware that the gasp she heard came from herself, but was simply too transfixed by the sight of Mrs Jones to intervene in any way. This was clearly a woman with some pent-up anger, and it was best not to get in her way.

“For near two decades have I lived here, supressing myself in order to fit in. In order to not go the same way as the Saunders, who you actually brag about having driven out of the neighbourhood. And for what? Because they did not fit your lofty standards of propriety? What kind of nonsense is that? Had my students tried to pull something similar I would have named them bullies and called their parents.”

Somewhere at the back of her mind, Mrs Miller was aware that her jaw still hung open and that it was a most unbecoming thing to do, but the only parts of her body that functioned at present were her eyes and ears. Along with the part of her brain that found it near impossible to trust the other two. Was this truly what Mrs Jones thought of them?

“But since you are not my students but the ones that more or less set the rules for the neighbourhood, I have put up with it. I have dressed like you said, even if I love strong colours. I have sat with you so many times over the years drinking boringly bland tea and eating cakes and biscuits that are little better. I have gossiped and laughed about people I might even like better than you. I have even forced myself to use your silly diction to the point I can barely break it. No sane person speaks without contractions. But no more. I have had it. Things have changed. It is now several years since Howard sat on the district council and at least a few since Ernest was the local solicitor, lending their power and status to you. If you haven’t noticed, there has been a shift since the Blacks moved in. Everyone but the two of you have accepted them, most of us even befriending them. And let me tell you, they are some of the nicest people I have had the pleasure of meeting and I pity you for missing out.”

Turning around, Mrs Jones headed for the door, but stopped on the threshold, looking back at them over her shoulder.

“I won’t be attending any of these little gathering again until you have seen the error of your ways. I know this is in part my own fault for going along with your nonsense, but I have wasted enough years on it. From now on I’ll only socialise with people who enjoy all the differences life has to offer.”

Both Mrs Miller and Mrs Sutton sat in stunned silence while they could hear their former friend – or had she ever truly been their friend to begin with? – exit the house and a few more minutes after that.

“I will be mum then” Mrs Miller said eventually and proceeded to pour tea for them.

Looking at the third cup after filling the first two, she felt as empty as it was. Suddenly, she would have welcomed the lipstick stain on it if only it had meant that Mrs Jones had stayed, and things could have gone back to the way they had always been. Or that they had been true friends all along.

How could she have been so blind? To have missed that one of the two people she considered her best friends had only been pretending for such a long time. Was she so adherent to propriety that all it took was the appearance of it for her to accept someone? And the reverse would also be true then, would it not? That the appearance of a lack of propriety would make her reject them.

“What a disgrace.”

“What?” she asked, turning towards Mrs Sutton, who seemed to have moved on to contempt while she still struggled with comprehension.

“Mrs Jones has lied to us for nearly eighteen years.”

“That is true. But maybe-“

“There are no buts about it. Most unbecoming. We will have to get rid of her too now.”

“Why?” Mrs Miller asked, feeling taken aback by the harsh words.

“Why? Dear Enid, just imagine what she can tell Mrs Black, if she has not already done so. Do you wish for the Blacks to know of our effort? To be prepared to counterattack.”

“No, but-“

“Then we are in agreement.”

“I just do not see how we could make her and Frank move. She has other friends here now that she seems to like well enough.”

“That is easy. We will simply do as we did with the Saunders.”

The mention of them made a feeling of unease settle in Mrs Miller’s chest. At the time, she had done what she thought was right. The couple were kind enough, but were unfortunately working class that had done well enough for themselves to afford a house on Carnation street. It was admirable to be sure, wishing to make a better life for themselves and give their daughter a better start in life than they themselves had had, but it also meant they did not fit in. They had no manners above basic civility and had even been confused by the cutlery that one time she had invited them to one of her candlelight suppers. She always made several courses on those occasions, so more than the basic knife and fork were needed.

By the way, she had not held one of those for quite a while now. Maybe it was time she did so again. Though, would anyone wish to come? If Mrs Jones had truly disliked her company all along, what was everyone else thinking?

No! Mrs Jones was the anomaly. She had to be. Many of the people on the street had lived her longer than her, and Mrs Miller had always been friendly to all of them. At the very least she would have to hope it was true, or they might find trouble with ousting the Joneses, since they needed as many as possible to believe the rumours.

Next Saturday, Mrs Jones, dressed in a purple dress, simply ignored her during D.R.A.B.S. They were at Mrs Henderson’ for the last time as she would have moved out by the time it circled back to her since she had already found a suitable flat down in Madrid. It was a harsh reminder of the uncertainty the future held. An uncertainty made worse by the fact that she could no longer rely on information about prospective buyers from Mrs Jones. To make up for this, she and Mrs Sutton had agreed to try to keep a watchful eye on number seven in the hopes of catching sight of whomever Mr Jones would bring by.

It was a week and a half later when Mrs Miller nearly choked on her first afternoon cup of tea. Not only was a familiar silver car pulling up in front of number seven, rather than number eleven, but that orange atrocity followed just behind. The door of number seven opened and Mr Jones stepped outside, arm outstretched and in all likelihood his sales-smile in place. It was too far away for Mrs Miller to make out such details, but she knew the man well enough, as well as his routine. Trouble was, it tended to work.

Both of the Potters emerged from the silver car while only the twins, thankfully, exited the other. But there actually was a fifth person along, Mrs Miller realised, as Mrs Potter gently pulled out what could only be a baby from their car and held it close to her chest. It would make sense for the Potters to wish to move in, she supposed, as they were in a similar situation to the Blacks, but could the twins really be there as prospective buyers as well? She truly hoped not since it was sure to spell doom for Carnation Lane.

As soon as they had disappeared inside, she hurried to the phone and dialled Mrs Sutton’s number. Her friend soon picked up and they could lament together and rack their brains for anyone they knew who had the money to afford it and they could persuade to make a bid as well. If only one could decide who one had for neighbours.

By that time, they had both received nearly all the expected replied from the prisons and courts they had written, all in the negative, and doubted if Mrs Jones had even sent out her share to begin with. Not that she would share anything with them now regardless. Mrs Sutton’s cousin had also come back to them only to say that he had found nothing on the Malfoys and please not to contact him again about obscure names. He was a busy man, after all, and needed to focus on his own work. Once more it seemed as if they had hit a dead end and along with the fact that they had spotted no one else arriving at number seven they were starting to feel desperate. Not even the fact that spring had truly begun, and nature was growing greener and greener by the day all around them could lift their spirits.

Old Miss Gilchrist’s approaching tea party was also something that needed addressing. Since the entire neighbourhood was invited, a select few of the guests were always asked to bake something to bring along. With her baking skills, Mrs Miller had always been one of them, and she needed to plan what to make. Talk at D.R.A.B.S. had let her know that Mrs Ellison had declined this year, citing old age, meaning the spot for most delicious baked goods were up for grabs. Still, it was a shame she would not be able to taste her strawberry and vanilla pie. Then again, maybe she would be more open to passing on the coveted recipe now that age had caught up with her.

Dear Emily’s birthday party arrived first, but then, at the beginning of May, everyone who lived on Carnation Lane congregated at number thirteen. As usual, everything started in the room that had been decorated to replicate the fabled teashop, where their hostess held a speech, commemorating her little venture, before tea and cakes were served.

While she stood in line, Mrs Miller listened to those around her, hoping to hear some talk about the Joneses. To her disappointment, no one mentioned Mr Jones’ supposed dalliance with one of his female co-workers and her prediction that they would be hard to get rid of proved true so far. It was not that long ago that everyone had not only listened attentively to her, but also taken her every word for truth. And while she very rarely bent facts, rightfully earning such faith, it hurt to see herself become so marginalised now, even if she had not exercised honesty.

Just then, it was her time to serve herself some tea and cake. Mrs Miller had handed over her Victoria sponge cake, which she had painstakingly decorated with sliced strawberries and whipped cream on top, when she arrived and now looked forward to seeing it presented at the centre of the cake table. Mrs Gilchrist had praised it when she received it, and with Mrs Ellison out of the running she felt sure the place of honour belonged to her creation.

However, now that she had reached the table, she found that her masterpiece was off to one side while a pie was once more the centrepiece. It was almost identical to Mrs Ellison’s, save for the decorative flower made out if dough placed in the centre of the crust and the lemon balm leaves which surrounded it.

“I see she’s done a marvellous job” someone said next to her and Mrs Miller turned to the side to find none other than Mrs Ellison standing after her in the line.

“I am sorry, who has done what?”

“Why, Hermione of course. When I realised I would be unable to bake for today and Miss Gilchrist was so saddened to miss out on the pie, I asked her to make it instead.”

Mrs Miller could not help but splutter as she took in the meaning of the older woman’s words, then closed her eyes in the hope of opening them again to find that it was all some horrible nightmare. Regrettably, nothing had changed at all when she opened them.

“Are you… are you truly saying you have entrusted Mrs Black with the recipe to your strawberry and vanilla pie?”

“Mrs Granger Black, yes. After everything I have seen her do during our society’s gatherings, not to mention taking the initiative to start it, I have found her to be a worthy successor. The future of cakes, biscuits, pastries and other sweets and desserts in our neighbourhood is in safe hands with her.”

Having suddenly lost her appetite, Mrs Miller still took a small slice of the pie, wanting to evaluate Mrs Black’s capabilities. Bringing along a hefty cup of tea to rinse it down with, she sat down at the table near the bookcases in the sitting room. It was still unoccupied, and she needed this moment to herself.

Just as with the outside, there was a small change to the inside, and it was to the better. It tasted as if the vanilla had intensified while the strawberries felt fresher somehow and even Mrs Miller had to admit defeat. She would never have been able to make such an improvement. Would probably not even have tried.

Feeling suddenly drained, Mrs Miller allowed herself to slump in the chair. Was she truly to be bested in everything by the Blacks? Were they somehow so superior despite their improprieties?

Hearing their voices, she turned around just in time to see them enter the sitting room with the Joneses and her husband. They were all smiling and seemingly talking about something amusing. Regulus rested peacefully in his father’s arms while the others had divided the small plates and cups between them so they could bring his as well. At least he was clothed this time.

Not wishing to be seen, she turned back around and started studying the books in front of her. At least there were no sordid romance novels on the lower shelves. Maybe she ought to have seen that as a sign of Mrs Jones’ true disposition? What there was, other than what must be every book ever written on the topic of tea, was a large amount of detective stories. Many different authors were represented but standing out was a complete collection of Agatha Christie’s works.

“Do you like my collection?”

It seemed Miss Gilchrist had joined her, standing by the table with a cup of tea in hand, and, to Mrs Miller’s dismay, a small plate with only a slice of Mrs Black’s pie on it in the other.

“You are an avid reader of mysteries then?”

“Ever since I was a little girl. Murder has always fascinated me. And you would be surprised at the advice on the topic that is to be found in those books.”

“Advice?” Mrs Miller asked sceptically. “Does not the murderer always get caught?”

“Only because it’s a made-up story. No, if one applies some of the methods described in there, with some modifications of course, I’m sure one could easily get away with murder. May I join you?”

“Of course” Mrs Miller replied, feeling she could hardly deny her hostess, even if she wished to.

They sat in silence for a while before Miss Gilchrist spoke again.

“Don’t you find it intriguing?”

“What?”

“The thought that there must be so many murderers who’ve never been caught, simply living among us.”

“Hardly not” Mrs Miller replied, feeling uncomfortable as always in the older woman’s company. “I think I would rather find it frightening. A person who has murdered once might very well do it again.”

“It depends on their motive the first time I should think. I mean, if one can reach one’s goal with only the one murder, why ever would one do it again? No, that is a silly thought.”

Mrs Miller had no idea what to say to that. She wished that she could just stand up and leave, but that would be unforgivingly rude. Maybe adhering to social rules as strictly as she always did had some drawbacks at times.

Looking around with the hope of being able to silently call for help, she realised that Mr Miller was not in the room. He, the Joneses and the Blacks must have ventured outside, seeing as the door out to the garden was open and it was a warm and sunny day. She thought she had spotted a table or two out there earlier and the fact that more people were missing seemed to confirm it.

“I guess we could always ask Mr Black about it” Miss Gilchrist continued.

“What?” she asked, turning back towards her host so quickly she was in danger of spraining her neck.

“I cannot be fully sure, of course, since it was about eleven years ago now and I sadly did not save the newspaper clipping. But how many Sirius Blacks could there possibly be?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You don’t remember the story then? It was the summer of 1993 when the news broke that a dangerous criminal by the name of Sirius Black had escaped prison. He had been convicted of murder and was described as extremely dangerous. They had even set up a special hotline. Other than the colour of his hair there is, however, little resemblance between the man now and how he looked in the photo they had of him, if indeed it’s the same person. The man in the photo looked as if he had been on both a hunger and hygiene strike for a few years at least as I recall it. Then the story just went away. There was no word on his recapture or anything.”

Mrs Miller could not believe her ears. Could it really be that she had written so many letters and the answer had been with her neighbour the whole time? Thinking back, she remembered that she had been on a long holiday abroad with Mr Miller that summer. They had helped arrange Oliver and Julia’s wedding in mid-July and needed some time to rest. Four weeks in the south of France had done them wonders. But apparently, it also meant she had missed a particularly important news story. Though, it seemed even those who had been in the country at the time had forgotten it, save the blessed Miss Gilchrist, so she was hardly to blame in this.

However, she needed confirmation. All of the prisons had responded in the negative, but maybe the man’s file had been classified if he had never been caught again. The authorities likely wishing to cover up their mistake. Maybe a newspaper would be a better source of information instead? Yes, she would write The Daily Telegraph and ask if they had the story in their archives. She knew for a fact that Miss Gilchrist read the proper newspaper so there was thankfully no need to turn to any other publication. The Daily Telegraph was also likely to have reported on the story most accurately, so she felt sure she might learn something more than her hostess could remember.

Mrs Miller’s head was still so full of plans when she arrived back home with Mr Miller some hour later that she barely heard him prattle on about the Blacks. Or Mr Black in particular as they were planning another trip with the bike. There was also some nonsense about the Black family tree. Her husband had been fascinated with the topic of the names in the Black family ever since they had been introduced to Regulus and wished to learn more. Not that he was alone in wanting to learn more about the absurdity the Blacks based their choice on when naming their son. The topic of naming children after the stars had, in fact, been discussed at the tea party, while not a word on the Joneses was mentioned. She thanked her lucky stars that their own days of naming children were long behind them or Mr Miller might have come up with some horrible suggestions.

Perhaps they could get a dog and use one of the names on the family tree for it. Maybe even Sirius? Yes, Sirius would be a good name for a dog, would it not? And with evidence of his crimes soon within her grasp, the neighbourhood could always use with someone else to carry on the name. A memento of sorts, to always remind them that she was worth listening to. It might also help Mr Miller get over the hurt he would suffer when his friend was exposed.

Smiling in satisfaction, Mrs Miller envisioned the bright future that now lay ahead of her. Not only would she be proven right, she would also be hailed as a hero who had finally put a man who had evaded justice for over a decade back behind bars. The Blacks would be gone, the Potters would have no reason to move in and it would be easier to be rid of the Joneses once it was known that Mr Jones had allowed such a man to live among them. Yes, things were finally looking up.

Chapter Text

While still back in Mr Miller’s good graces, Mrs Miller waited until Monday evening, when he was away, to write the letter to The Daily Telegraph and hurry down to the nearest post box. Carnation Lane being on the outskirts of the small town was usually a blessing since it kept things calm and quiet, but it also meant the red pillar that symbolised so much of civilised society was a bit of a walk away. It was understandable that they would be placed where they were of the most use to the general public, but Mrs Miller felt sure that in these technological times, her neighbourhood produced enough of the mail to be granted one of their own. Maybe she ought to write and sent a letter to the postal service itself about it?

Looking around whiles she walked down the road, Mrs Miller observed her surroundings, glancing over hedges and fences. In some of the houses she passed she could see people moving about, preparing their own dinners or some talking on the phone and a few talking to each other. They were all going about their daily lives, unburdened by the knowledge that a murderer lived in their midst. To them, a forgotten bill, a call from the school regarding one of their children or their car breaking down was the worst calamity that could interrupt their daily lives. Oh, to be returned to having such a life. Not that she or Mr Miller had ever failed to pay a bill in time or Eleanor or Oliver ever done anything to warrant a call. And out of the five cars they had owned over the years, only one had ever given them any trouble. Still, it was a blessing to have to face nothing but such mundane problems, even if one tended not to realise so until a large one unexpectedly turned up.

Pushing the letter into the box, it was with a sense of relief that Mrs Miller turned around to walk back home. For the time being, it was out of her hands, but she would be ready to act the moment the reply arrived. But what exactly would she do? Would she perhaps call the police? That seemed the most prudent course of action. She would have to find a time when Mr Black was away from his family so he could not take them hostage. Mrs Black was a clever woman, but she was also a young woman, naïve to the harsh realities life sometimes had to offer and no doubt duped by her husband into thinking him the best of men. She had seen enough not to doubt their feelings for each other, but that would also have made Mrs Black even more blind to the man’s dark side, and love was no protection against a desperate person.

As she passed Poppy Lane, which was the last street before her own, Mrs Miller had come to the conclusion that she would have to get Mrs Black and Regulus away from number eleven before calling for the police to come and arrest Mr Black. And with her being on maternity leave and Mr Black still working, even if he had cut down significantly on his hours since February, it should not prove too difficult to accomplish.

Brewing a pot of tea as soon as she arrived back home, Mrs Miller began to read the latest chapter in the new book they were reading for D.R.A.B.S., but quickly put it aside. That idiotic society would surely crumble without Mrs Black and in the confusion that would undoubtedly erupt during the week there was no reason for her to return for the last few gatherings that might take place. The Da Vinci Code was at least more exciting than The Namesake, but she cared little for the way the book had been received. The way so many speculated as to the truth of the made-up history it presented seemed ludicrous and the discussion, even though it had been done with a sense of levity, that had taken place last time still made her cringe. She was still convinced Mrs Howard had been duped by the conspiracy spun in the pages.

Knowing she could not expect a reply until Wednesday at the earliest, and that it would likely take one more day than that for whoever at The Daily Telegraph was to handle her request to locate the article, Mrs Miller settled down to wait. She had yet to share her newfound knowledge with Mrs Sutton since her friend had come down with another cold and she also wished to have solid good news before doing so, such as Mr Black’s arrest. After all they had done and been through to reach this moment, her friend deserved to be able to rest peacefully until it was all said and done.

Tuesday was consequently mostly spent out in the back garden, taking care of the various flowers and other greenery growing there, all working in harmony to create a very beautiful picture, if she said so herself. There were her renowned bushes of Dawn Chorus roses that needed special attention as well as planting even more strawberries. Mrs Ellison’s recipe might be lost to her, but that did not mean she could not create, or at least find, another one that would surpass it and still make her the rightful master of baking using the sweet summer fruit. Yes, a trip down to the local library to have a look at the cooking books section might be a good idea.

Wednesday morning was equally spent, but as soon as the mail had arrived, without a letter from The Daily Telegraph, Mrs Miller changed into more respectable clothes, pulled on respectable shoes and picked up her respectable handbag before leaving the house. It was yet another sunny and warm day and she enjoyed the walk, which was only slightly longer than the one to the post box.

When she entered the small library, however, she realised she would not get a continued respite from the Blacks. Mrs Black was already there, talking to the librarian, with Regulus’ pram next to her. Really, did she have to bring that thing inside? Most inconsiderate.

Luckily, her young neighbour stood with her back to the entrance, allowing Mrs Miller to slip in unnoticed. Unluckily, the library was small enough that the sound of the conversation reached her where she stood a bit further in, leafing through a book on traditional cakes, and she could not help but overhear.

“We do have books for even the youngest children, but I’m afraid we don’t have any activities for those under four” the aptly named Mrs Reader replied to Mrs Black. “But we do offer story time every other Tuesday for children ages four to six.”

“I see” the younger woman replied. “Then perhaps you have some books on language development instead? And maybe some with simple rhymes? I remember some from my own childhood, but my husband never heard any while growing up and we want to do our best for our son now.”

Looking over, Mrs Miller saw Mrs Black looking expectantly at the librarian, as if she held the answers to all of her problems. Mentally scoffing at the young woman’s ignorance of her own troubles, she went back to her search that had yet to yield any promising results.

“That’s very commendable. I sadly see far too few new mothers, or fathers for that matter, being so proactive about their child’s development so I have little to offer. But I’d be happy to include some the next time I order new books. Until then I think I have at least one or two titles available. Nursery rhymes should be easier. If you just follow me, I can give you a tour of our children section if you like.”

“Thank you, I’d love to if it’s no inconvenience.”

“None at all. It’s usually very quiet this time of day.”

When they walked into the next room, where the children’s literature was kept, Mrs Miller was saved from further disturbance. She had just located a recipe that seemed promising and wished to try to remember if she had the ingredients at home already in order to try the strawberry jelly summer pudding on display on the page in front of her. Of course, it was too early to use anything from her own garden but there should be some left in the freezer from last year’s harvest.

While she waited for Mrs Reader to return so she could help her take a copy of the page, she looked through the rest of the book as well as another, but without finding anything that was not either too outlandish, something she had already done or a pie. The latter would make it too indistinct from the recipe she wanted to outperform, and she could not allow anyone to call her a mere imitator.

By the time she had to reach for a third book she was starting to lose patience. Whatever could possibly take so long about showing Mrs Black around a small room with a limited number of books? Had Mrs Reading never heard of good customer service? It may be a public library, but the same standards of assistance that was to be found in good shops were surely not too much to ask.

It was near five minutes more before Mrs Miller could finally leave the place, grumbling as she did so about wasted taxes and already penning a letter of complaint in her head. She was so engrossed in this – currently debating if she should use mediocre or inadequate to best get her point across - that she was startled to hear her name called. Looking around she found, to her great horror, that Mr Black was walking towards her, that charming smile in place as if he did not have a list of sins a mile long.

While he walked ever closer, her heart began to beat faster and she had to tell herself over and over that there was no way he could know that she knew. To him, she was just the same polite and pleasant neighbour as always and there was absolutely no reason for him pull out a knife from somewhere and stab her in the heart. No, none whatsoever.

“Hello there Mrs Miller” he greeted after stopping in front of her, forcing her to halt as well. “Lovely day we’re having.”

“Good day, Mr Black” she managed. “Yes, the weather is indeed lovely.”

Not the company, though, she added in her mind, while forcing herself to remain in place and exude and aura of calm. She had always been a perfect hostess, no matter what kind of guests she might have unwittingly invited, and this was no different from those times.

“I’m on my way to the library. I just got home and found Mione had left a note saying she was going there. She’s always loved such places and now that we have Reggie a whole new section of books has caught her interest. I think I’ll be stumbling over picture books all over the house soon enough” he said, his face softening into an expression of fondness while his eyes turned unfocused.

It was hard to reconcile that with what she knew of his past, but Mrs Miller was not one to give in to sentimentality. Even if he did love his family, that did not excuse his crimes and he had evaded justice long enough. It was high time he got his due.

“While that is good to hear, I was just on my way home.”

“Oh, very well. Don’t let me detain you then. Have a nice day.”

With a quick salute he walked past her, continuing towards the library. Mrs Miller also started walking again but hurried her steps in order to avoid being caught up to by the Blacks if they were to return home as well momentarily. Hopefully, Mrs Black’s apparent love of literary places would keep them there a while longer.

Thursday did bring the much-anticipated letter and as soon as she plucked it out of the stack, Mrs Miller walked upstairs to read it on her own in one of the guest rooms. It happened to be one that faced the front of the house and as luck would have it, she entered it just in time to see Mr Black mount his bike and take off. Apparently, it was one of those days he took the morning off and only worked in the afternoon. It suited her perfectly.

Almost destroying the envelope in her eagerness to reach its content, Mrs Miller soon had a copy of the article Miss Gilchrist had told her about in her hand and at long last she had the proof she needed. The man in the picture did indeed share little resemblance with the Mr Black she knew, but there were certain lines in his face, including those prominent cheekbones, that were unmistakeable. It was also the same hair and eye colour, even if the emptiness in the latter were haunting to behold. It seemed as if he had spent time in prison in the nineteenth century rather than escaping one at the end of the twentieth. But in the end, it mattered little. He would have to return and if he wished to neglect himself into such an appalling state again, that was his business.

The article mentioned he had killed no less than thirteen people at the same time out in broad daylight and was considered mentally unstable and highly dangerous. The number to the hotline Miss Gilchrist had mentioned was also included and she decided to try it first to see if they still considered Mr Black’s case as open and important enough for such a measure before going for 999 if needed. Definitely not 101, since this truly should be considered an emergency.

However, that would have to wait until she could get Mrs Black and Regulus out of number eleven as planed and learn from her when her husband was due to return home so she could call at the right time. Or maybe even get the elusive address to the joke shop he worked at, at long last, and send them there, which would be all the better. No need to tarnish the neighbourhood with an arrest if it could be avoided.

Folding the article so it would fit in the small pocked on her skirt, Mrs Miller then went for the front door. On her way down the stairs she called that she would just go out for a while, so that Mr Miller, who was mulling over a crossword puzzle in the sitting room, could hear her. It was then the work of a minute to pull on a pair of loafers and cross the street.

It took far longer for Mrs Black to respond to the doorbell, or maybe it just seemed that way in her impatience. When the door finally did open, she simply brushed past the young woman in order to get inside. Time was of the essence.

“Mrs Miller, what are you doing here?”

“I am sorry, but there is no time for pleasantries at this time. Where is Regulus?”

“In the sitting room where I just had to leave him because you’ve decided to show up for whatever reason.”

Ignoring the rudeness, Mrs Miller immediately set off down the hallway, Mrs Black following her.

“Look, I want to know why’ve you just come barging in here- hey! What are you doing?! Put my son back down!”

Having secured the baby into her arms from his position of lying on his belly on a soft blanket on the floor, Mrs Miller turned back around, ready to leave this house for the last time while it was still owned by the Blacks. Mrs Black had gone from looking irritated to angry, but she knew that as soon as she had explained everything, it would be replaced by fear. After that, it was only a matter of time before the young woman would thank her for saving her.

“We need to leave right now. You are in great danger if you stay here. Your husband-“

“I said, put. My. Son. Back. Down” Mrs Black said, seething with fury.

Mrs Miller took an involuntary step backwards.

Could she perhaps have miscalculated? Could Mrs Black, despite her young age, be fully aware of her husband’s foul deeds and support them? Could she maybe even be capable of murder herself? The thoughts were whizzing through Mrs Miller’s mind at an alarming speed, but it all boiled down to the growing sensation that she had just made a colossal mistake in coming here.

“Are you deaf?! Put! Down! My! Son! Now!”

Regulus started crying then, startling her so badly she almost dropped him. However, before she could secure him to her chest again, he was pulled out of her arms as if by invisible hands and soared right into his mother’s arms. The experience made Mrs Miller doubt whether or not she was awake, and she blinked her eyes so much in confusion that she did not become aware of the strange stick in Mrs Black’s right hand before it was pointed right at her. A strange word that sounded like Incarcerous left the woman’s pursed lips and suddenly ropes sprang out of the tip of the stick and quickly snaked their way around her. By the quickness with which they pulled her limbs together, Mrs Miller would have fallen to the floor, incapable of catching herself, had not some invisible force taken hold of her as well and floated her into one of the armchairs.

“Wh- what- what is happening?!”

“Nothing you haven’t brought upon yourself” came Mrs Blacks reply.

It was cold enough to send a chill down her spine that could rival the one the older Mr Malfoy had produced. Mrs Miller felt like a helpless fly caught in a spider’s web and while her mind had trouble piecing this crazy reality together her instincts were screaming at her to run. To flee for her life. But there was no escape. No matter how much she struggled against the ropes, they would not yield in the least and with no outlet for the rapidly growing amount of adrenaline in her body, Mrs Miller was on the way to work herself into hysterics.

Meanwhile, Mrs Black seemed to have forgotten about her existence while she was calming down her son, gently swaying on the spot while she caressed his head and sang to him. Strangely enough, it did have something of a calming effect on Mrs Miller as well, and she managed to overcome her body’s reaction enough to take control of her mind again. For there was no way the young mother would harm her while holding her baby. Right?

“I demand that you let me go this instant and that you explain all of this and then I am calling the police.”

“There will be no calling the police, Mrs Miller.”

“What? Are you going to kill me then?” she asked with an amount of faked bravado that surprised even herself.

“No one will die here today, you foolish woman. Whatever gave you that impression?” Mrs Black said, finally looking up at her again.

“I came here to warn you that you are married to a murder and find myself tied up. What else do you expect me to think?”

Mrs Black blinked at her before breaking out in laughter. Only the fact that Regulus’ cries started back up seemed to stop her, and she calmed her son once more before speaking again.

“What makes you think Sirius is a murderer?” the younger woman asked, looking genuinely curious about the answer.

“I have an article from 1993 that not only mentions him by name as an escaped convict who killed no less than thirteen people, but also included a photo of him.”

“I see. We did wonder if that story would resurface somewhere in all of this, but he was insistent on leading you down that road anyway” Mrs Black replied after a heavy sigh.

“What are you talking about? Leading me down what road?”

The young woman simply looked at her for a long while before she replied. Mrs Miller felt as if her very soul had been pierced and all of her secrets had been laid bare before Mrs Black in that time and once more felt her muscles urge her to make a run for it.

“You know, your one saving grace in all of this is that you’re married to a man you don’t deserve. I have no idea what Ernest sees in you, but he does honestly love you, and for that I decided some time back to not exact my vengeance to the extent I had planned.”

“Vengeance?” Mrs Miller asked in a faint voice, unable to comprehend what was going on. “I have never met you before you moved here, even if I must admit I have found something about you distantly familiar for a long time.”

In order to preserve her sanity, and possibly also her life no matter what Mrs Black said about no one dying, Mrs Miller forced her mind to ignore the that she sat tied up by ropes that had appeared as if by magic and bound her in the same manner. First of all, she needed to talk her way out of this situation and then she could demand answers. And call the police. Clearly, both Mr and Mrs Black needed to be arrested.

“While it’s not me personally you’ve wronged, I feel perfectly within my right to punish you for what you did to those who had no means to defend themselves.”

Still drawing a blank in regard to what the woman could be talking about, Mrs Miller could only sit and stare at her while she went and sat down opposite her, Regulus still in her arms and the stick in her hand. If she did not know better, she would have sworn it must be a wand, but magic did not exist. And no matter whatever trouble she was having with explaining what was going on this was still real life, so it was simply impossible. There was a perfectly logical explanation to it all somewhere. She just had not found it yet.

“I can see you still don’t get it, but I hadn’t expected more to be honest. So, I’ll tell you a story about a little girl who loved her nana and grandpa very much. You see, they were the kindest people in that little girl’s life. Her parents were working a lot and she had trouble making friends because she was different in more than one way. But her nana always had time to sit the little girl on her lap and tell her wonderful stories and fairy tales to make her forget how sad she was. And her grandpa always snuck her sweets when her parents weren’t looking. Both of the parents were dentists you see, so most candy was forbidden in the little girl’s home.”

Mrs black made a short pause to kiss her son’s brow and murmur something to him after he had stirred from his half slumber, her demeanour going so soft and loving for a moment Mrs Miller felt sudden hope of being able to escape from this unscathed. It was short-lived, however, as those brown eyes hardened again when they rose back up to meet hers, nothing but contempt in them.

“But one day the grandpa died, and the nana told fewer and fewer happy stories. In fact, she even started telling some sad stories. And there was one in particular that turned out to not even be made up but something the nana had experienced many years earlier. But it was the little girl’s mother who revealed the truth of it after the nana had also passed away. Because when the mother had been a girl herself, she and her parents had moved into a big beautiful house in a place where many other mothers and fathers lived with their children. They were so happy. But some of the mothers decided that the nana and grandpa were different for some reason and that they could not live in that beautiful house. Especially one mother who had moved in shortly after them. The nana and grandpa tried to learn to be the same as everyone else, but nothing could make this woman happy and she started lying about them instead. She said that they did not love each other. That the grandpa secretly loved another woman instead. After a while everyone else believed the lies and the nana and grandpa knew they had to leave. Not because they wanted to, but because their happiness had been stolen and would never be found there again.”

A short pause followed as the young woman swallowed hard. Mrs Miller could do nothing but sit in silence, however, for some reason wanting to hear the rest of it before continuing her protest of the absurd situation.

“So, they found a different house in a town far away. That house was also beautiful, but it was not the same. And the nana never forgot the Ferdinand Pichard roses the grandpa had planted in the front garden of that house for her, but that they also had to leave behind. She said they were the most beautiful flowers in the world, but she could not plant any new ones because it would hurt too much.”

Mrs Black’s voice wavered and her eyes had taken on a sheen of unshed tears by then. Mrs Miller closed her own in realisation. At first, she had wondered why she was forced to listen to this strange tale, but the mention of the roses had made it all click.

“And as that little girl grew older she started being able to read between the lines in that story and also be able to look back and see the pain in her nana’s eyes whenever she had told it and knew that she had been dealt a wound so deep it never fully healed. The little girl then went on to experience a lot of hurt herself when she entered a new world on her own. A world where she was still seen as not only different but also inferior by some, but for the first time she also found true friends. And even if she did not know it for many years, she also found the love of her life.”

That same soft and loving expression returned for a moment, while Mrs Black eyes grew distant as if she pictured another time and place. It was not hard to guess who she saw there.

“When at last her own hurts had come to an end and she was happily married it was time to find a home where she could start a family of her own. So, she and her husband began searching and as if by chance a house she recognised from photos her mother had shown her crossed their path. It was that very same house that had caused her nana and grandpa first so much joy and then so much grief and the young woman knew that this was it. She was going to reclaim what had been lost. But even before they moved in, they found out that the woman who was responsible for her grandparents’ misery still lived there. However, that did not deter them. No. In fact, they decided that it was only fair that this time, she be the one driven out of the neighbourhood. They would make sure she disliked them, but never behaved so as to make the rest of their new neighbours feel the same, but rather come to like them better than her. They would make sure she saw and met their family and friends and even send her on a wild goose chase after the husband’s criminal past since they knew she wouldn’t be able to find any of it. Well, at least save for that one news story from over a decade ago. And I can see that you’ve understood, Mrs Miller, but even so, I’ll ask you. What were the names of the nana and grandpa?”

A lump had formed in Mrs Miller’s throat and she had to swallow a few times before words could come out. In that time, she looked at Mrs Black and realised why there was a sense of familiarity about her. She had the same nose and mouth as her grandmother and mother as well as her grandfather’s eyes.

“Helen and Richard Saunders” she replied in a muted voice.

“Yes. Two of the best people who ever lived, and you decided they were not worthy of living here, along with scum like you. Spread lies about them and turned everyone against them until they could do nothing but leave. What right did you have to do that to them? How can you possibly defend yourself?”

“I- I knew they would not be happy here, with people who were so above them in both status and manners” she replied, pleading for the other woman to understand.

“It’s truly sad you believe that. That instead of embracing them, teaching them the ways of the middleclass and helping them become a part of it, you ostracised them. And yes, I know you were not alone in doing so. Mrs Sutton was as much your co-conspirator then as she is now and by the looks of it even less inclusive than you are. But out of the two of you, you are the only who takes initiative, Mrs Miller. You are the one who takes it from gossip to action.”

“But were they not happier in their new house? Did I not do them a favour by encouraging them to find somewhere else where they could be accepted for who they were?”

“Favour” Mrs Black practically spat out. “You are delusional if you truly think that. The neighbourhood they moved into might not have been exclusively middleclass like this is, but there were many families who were and never had any trouble accepting and befriending them. And that means the problem was not them, but you and your intolerance, Mrs Miller. If you had not moved here, they would have been perfectly happy to stay here all their lives.”

“What… what are you going to do about it then?” Mrs Miller asked, knowing the moment of truth had arrived.

Despite the sleeping baby in her arms, Mrs Black had never looked more intimidating and Mrs Miller shrank back. The sense of being tangled up in a spiderweb was back in full force and any plea for mercy would fall on deaf ears. There was a hardness to those brown eyes that stared her down that would suffer no excuses.

“Like I said, my plan was initially to drive you out of the neighbourhood by making you paranoid and turning it against you. But then Sirius got to know Ernest and they got along so great, and I did not wish to punish him along with you. Instead, what I have decided to do is to change this neighbourhood one house at a time until it’s full of people like us.”

“You mean your family and friends?”

Mrs Black suddenly smiled in a way that sent a second chill down Mrs Miller’s spine. The best way she could describe it was a Cheshire Cat grin and it did not bode well.

“I will let you in on a little secret, Mrs Miller. One that you would die to share, but unable to because if you did, people would think you mad. I guess I will make that part of your punishment, though in all honesty, it might not matter for much longer depending on what Sirius finds out today.”

“You are mad” Mrs Miller said, feeling she was nearing another breaking point. This whole situation needed to end right now. She needed to get back home and brew so much tea she could drown herself in it.

“No, I’m a witch.”

“A- a what?”

“A witch. Not so difficult to understand is it. See this?”

She lifted her right hand, the stick still held in a tight grip, swished it around and said a strange word that sounded something like Avis. Suddenly, a small flock of birds appeared out of it and started to circle around the room. Another swish and they were gone.

“And this is what will happen now. You will stop spreading rumours about the Joneses. They are good people and I won’t let you do to them what you did to my grandparents. Not that you have the influence needed to pull it off any longer. You will also stop trying to make me and Sirius leave, because we won’t. And when the Potters move into number seven, you won’t be hostile to them in any way. I don’t expect you to try to make friends with us, but if you fall back into bad habits, I swear I will make you pay. Lastly, I will say that Sirius did spend time in a prison that was hell on earth for murders he did not commit, so you can put that little investigation to rest as well. I don’t know how you managed to get a hold of that article but calling the police would do you no good since his record’s been expunged and his innocence made known to the pertinent people.”

Slumping in defeat, Mrs Miller had to admit she had been thoroughly bested in a fight she had not even known she was involved in. This whole time she had thought it was all a simple matter of making the Blacks feel unwelcome, but they had played the same game against her and much more effectively. Only Mrs Sutton remained her ally while everyone else seemed to vary from liking and respecting the Blacks to adoring them.

Then, something Mrs Black said registered with her and with a gasp she looked back up at the young woman who was twirling her wand – for that is what it must be – between her fingers.

“The Potters are moving in?”

“Yes. They signed the papers yesterday. Of course, the twins wanted to buy the place and live together with their families there, seeing how much fun they though it was to rile you up the one chance that had to do so, but their wives put their combined feet down. Instead, they’ll take the next two houses that become available. After that, who knows. We might be able to persuade Remus to move into a mu- eh, nonmagical neighbourhood or maybe Bill and Fleur would be interested. And that’s just from our closest circle of friends. You see, we’re a bit famous in the magical world-“

“Magical world?” Mrs Miller squeaked.

“Oh, yes. You didn’t think I was the only one, did you? No, Sirius is as magical as I am and comes from a very long line of wizards and witches. Why do you think you couldn’t find any information on his family or the Malfoys, hm? It’s because they’ve lived separated from you nonmagicals for centuries and made sure to destroy as much evidence as possible of their existence when that split happened.”

Just then the front door opened and Mr Black could be heard.

“Mione, love, I’m home!”

“In here, dear!”

The sudden normalcy of the situation was so jarring it made Mrs Miller’s head spin. A few seconds later the man came into view but stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of her where she sat bound in one of the armchairs.

“Eh, my love, I know we planned to make life difficult for her, but don’t you think you’ve taken it a bit far?”

“Not at all. She came barging in here, having found an article about you from ’93 and was determined to get me and Regulus out of the house. When she grabbed him and wouldn’t let go, I had to take a few measures to stop her.”

“Is Reggie alright?” Mr Black asked, suddenly sounding worried and rushing over to his wife and son, looking them over.

“He’s fine. Got a bit upset but I calmed him down. And then I told Mrs Miller everything.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

Husband and wife looked at each other for a while and Mrs Miller thought some kind of silent communication might be taking place. Who knew what was possible if they were both magical.

“Ah. I see” Mr Black said at last and bent down and gave his wife a quick kiss. “Then have I got some news for you.”

“You did manage to repair it then?”

“I did” Mr Black replied, looking giddy all of a sudden.

“And it’s as you thought?”

“It is.”

“Then by all means, you better go and get Ernest. I’ll go and put the kettle on, and Mrs Miller can wait here as she is.”

“Excellent plan, my love. And you should tell the Malfoys about this next time they come over. Even old Lucius might admit to some grudging respect for you.”

“I’m quite sure he already approves of the whole scheme, even if he might also think it’s a waste of time to exact such slow vengeance against muggles. Besides, “Mrs Black said, suddenly grinning, “you know he adores me.”

“You’re right. It’s a good thing he’s on thin enough ice with the Ministry to not try to create a shortcut for you.”

While they spoke, Mrs Black stood up and walked around her armchair to join her husband on his way out of the room. Mrs Miller wanted nothing more than to protest but knew it would make no difference. Besides, if Mr Miller was coming over soon he could not only help her, but would at long last be convinced that the Blacks were bad people. Right?

Chapter Text

Mrs Miller was not amused. Not only was she kept tied up in magical ropes, she was also ignored. Mrs Black had placed Regulus in his Moses basket after returning from the kitchen and then taken him with her again. All she could do was sit in silence and listen as her hostess prepared tea, and by the sound of it some cake as well.

There was still some resistance in the logical part of her mind that railed against the concept of magic being real; levitating babies, ropes that moved on their own and birds appearing out of thin air only to disappear just as easily, notwithstanding. There was also something to be said about the fact that Mrs Black did not seem like a witch at all. She wore normal clothes, had a pleasant laugh, no warts in sight and a decidedly straight and adequate nose. Mr Black, with his long hair, might better fit into the role of a wizard, but other than that, he seemed fully human.

At that moment, Mrs Black appeared in the hallway, walking towards the sitting room carrying a tray with a tea set Mrs Miller had never seen them use before. But the obvious delicacy of the china and the minute details of what appeared to be a hand painted pattern told her this must be the best they had to offer. Why in the world would they bring it out for such an occasion as this? She longed to ask but decided to continue just glaring at the young woman, even if she did not notice, seeing that she was still acting as if she was alone.

At long last, the front door was opened yet again and she could hear Mr Miller out in the entryway.

“And you’re sure it’s correct?”

“Absolutely” Mr Black replied. “Since I’m head of the House of Black now I could override the damage previous generations had wrought. Even took the opportunity to burn Bella off. But come on, best not keep the ladies waiting. I think your wife in particular might be eager to see you. She created a bit of a scene earlier and Mione had to restrain her. For her own good, as well as ours.”

“I see. Where is she?”

“In the sitting room.”

If Mrs Miller had hoped to be rescued by her husband, she found herself severely disappointed. He took one look at her and simply shook his head, sighing. Not saying a word, he walked over to the other armchair and slumped down in it. After rubbing his brow and pinching the bridge of his nose he finally spoke, a note of tiredness in his voice.

“Whatever did you do now, my dear?”

“What did I do? Why do you not ask what they have done?”

“Because I know they’re not the kind of people to tie someone up just for the fun of it. Well, Sirius might’ve been in his youth, but he’s a grown man now, a responsible adult and father.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about them.”

“Of course I do. I’m friends with them, you know. Now, what did you do?”

Looking at her husband for a while, Mrs Miller debated what she should do. Mr Miller would surely dislike what she had done, but it would probably be best if he heard it from her rather than the Blacks. Who knew what kind of tale they would spin if given half the chance.

”I found an article from eleven years ago saying Mr Black, convicted of murdering thirteen people, had escaped prison. Naturally I had to-”

“He was never convicted” Mr Miller interrupted.

“What do you mean? He was in prison, so surely-“

“No. He was framed by one of the people he allegedly killed and was sent straight to prison without a trial.”

“Has he told you about it then?”

“Yes. A few days ago.”

“And you believe him?”

“I do” Mr Miller replied, looking resolute.

“But how? They do not just go around throwing people into prison without giving them a trial first. We are a civilised nation after all” she replied, still having trouble reconciling Sirius being innocent with having spent time locked up. It simply was not compatible with her trust in the institutions of civilisation.

“Some parts of our society might not be the shining beacons of enlightenment you would wish them to be. But you were saying about the article?”

Deciding to let the subject of Mr Black’s trial go for the moment, but resolved to demand more answers later, Mrs Miller continued her tale of woe and strife.

“I decided I had to get Mrs Black and Regulus out of here while Mr Black was away and then call the police, but as you can imagine, Mrs Black did not want to leave. I might have become a bit overeager in my desire to help and took hold of Regulus in preparation of getting them out, which is when Mrs Black did this to me.”

“She bound you with what appears a rather large amount of ropes she just had lying about, while simultaneously taking Reggie from you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“Yes, she used-“

Mrs Miller stopped herself just in time, knowing that there would be no going back if she crossed that line. Mr Miller might be an understanding and forgiving man, but if she started calling the Blacks witches and wizards it might very well be the straw that broke the camel’s back. It was then no small wonder that her jaw just about fell to the floor at her husband’s next words.

“Magic, I assume you were going to say.”

“W-what? Ho-how do you know? Did they use magic on you as well?”

“No. I was given a lovely demonstration by Sirius after he had told me about how he ended up in prison, along with some other things about his life that are both fascinating and horrifying.”

“Then why did you not tell me?” Mrs Miller asked, feeling as if the man before her was somehow moving further and further away from her with each new sentence he uttered, despite staying put in the other armchair. She longed to reach out to him, keep him with her physically at least, but could do nothing with the ropes still around her.

“For much the same reason you did not wish to do so just now. Would you have believed me if I told you?”

“No” she admitted, moving her gaze to the floor between them, unable to look him in the eyes any longer. There were so many things she wished to keep quiet about and tell him about at the same time and it was impossible to decide how to proceed.

Silence fell between them and would no doubt have carried on for much longer if their hosts had not returned. Mrs Black was carrying a pie she recognised immediately, and Mrs Miller felt the woman was only rubbing salt in her wounds, while Mr Black carried the Moses basked in which Regulus still slept.

“We hope you’ve had enough time the clear the air a little” Mrs Black said with a smile as soon as she and Mr Black had sat down in the sofa.

“Yes, thank you” Mr Miller replied. “But I’m eager to get started on the main topic now.”

Mrs Miller had no idea what was going on. It was a most unpleasant experience to be sure, though not particularly new when it came to the Blacks. They seemed forever determined to keep her in the dark. Or at least up until today, seeing how much Mrs Black had just told her.

“Mrs Miller” the woman said, forcing her to focus on her company once more. “If you promise to keep calm I’ll remove the ropes. Just know that I’ll put them right back if you give me cause to.”

Gritting her teeth at the insulting way she was treated, Mrs Miller was still eager to be free and gave a curt nod. That did not appear enough, however, as the other three kept looking at her expectantly.

“Fine. I promise to do my best to keep calm.”

“Excellent” Mrs Black said, and with a swish of her wand, the ropes vanished, as if they had never been there to begin with, then turned to Mr Black.

The man gave his wife a look before taking a deep breath while he turned to her once more. There was something strange in his eyes while he regarded her. It made her feel as if he was about to impart something that would change her life forever.

“I’d planned to talk with Ernest alone about this and let him deal with you, but since you managed to push Mione into putting her cards on the table early, you’d better hear this as well” the man said, then shook his head while smiling ruefully. “And I guess I better start with welcoming you to the family.”

It was a good thing that dropping one’s jaw was only an expression, or Mrs Miller’s would be severely bruised by now. Though, she felt sure her brain would suffer acute soreness on the morrow, seeing the insane workout it was pushed through.

“F-f-f-fa… mily” she spluttered. “W-wha-whatever do you mean?”

“It’s both astounding and simple really” Mr Miller said. “When I met Sirius earlier in the week to have a look at the Black family tree, we made something of an unexpected discovery. My father’s on it.”

“What?!”

“Yes, though he had already changed his name from Black to Miller by the time he met my mother so we couldn’t be sure until now.”

“Marius Black” Mr Black went on, “was the younger brother of my maternal grandfather, Pollux Black. However, since he was born without magic, he was cast out of the family at a young age and had to make it on his own in the nonmagical world. Understandably, he did not wish to keep the name of the family who treated him like that, which is a sentiment I can understand.”

Mrs Black reached over and took her husband’s hand and he turned to look at her, the tenseness of his body relaxing. The two seemed temporarily lost in each other and Mr Miller continued the explanation to allow them their private moment.

“He never told anyone about the family he was born into other than the fact that he lost them young and I lived without any knowledge of my heritage all of my life until this week. I thought I had no family except for my mother left and now it turns out that Sirius is Eleanor and Oliver’s second cousin and that Regulus is third cousin to our grandchildren. And since they’re on the same side of the family, the older Mrs Malfoy is another second cousin of our children, along with her sister Andromeda. And her son, Draco, is another third cousin to our grandchildren, just like Andromeda’s daughter, Tonks.”

Mr Miller’s voice grew thicker and thicker as he went on, tears pooling in his eyes, and Mrs Miller was torn. Torn between sharing in his happiness and protesting the people that had caused it. Her husband had always been a family man and having grown up an only child to parents he believed to be the same had left something missing in his life.

Thinking back now, she could recall that he had asked a few times, after Oliver was born, if they were going to have a third, but she had always said two made perfect and left it at that. He had soon stopped bringing it up and she had assumed he was as content with their family as she was. But somewhere at the back of her mind, she had known he wanted more, but was too kind and loving to press her on the issue. And the utter delight on his face when he held Emily for the first time, that had not dimmed in the least when he had done the same for Jack, Matthew and Aidan, was more proof of his priorities. He had been a very involved father and grandfather from the start, never hesitating to get down on the floor and play with the little ones.

“Enid, dear.”

Focusing her gaze back on her husband, Mrs Miller gulped at the determined look on his face.

“Yes?”

“You know that I love you, right.”

“Yes” she replied, feeling a huge ‘but’ coming.

“And I want nothing more than for all of us to be a big happy family, but if you won’t give up trying to push Sirius and Hermione away, I will choose them. It will break my heart, but I’m not going to give them up. I excused your behaviour with the Saunders, but I won’t do so this time. Not with their granddaughter.”

It felt like a blow to her very being. Ernest was prepared to leave her… for the Blacks. She wanted to rail against the absurdity of it. The unfairness of it. The part of her that understood him. And that part was rapidly growing now, along with a bottomless pit of dread. There was no lie to be found in his face and his eyes were as hard as steel. He had at long last put his foot down and there was nothing she could say or do to convince him to move it. She either bent now or she would break. The loud and rapid thudding of her heart when she imagined a life without the man she loved, accompanied by a growing panic, made the choice easy.

“Of course I do not wish to lose you, Ernest. If I have to accept the Blacks into our life in order to avoid doing so, I will gladly do it.”

“And you will be present and supportive when we tell Eleanor and Oliver about it.”

She was on the verge of saying they should leave the rest of their family out of it, that surely he could be content with his own relationship with his newfound relatives, but realised that was just the kind of behaviour he would not tolerate any longer. Their daughter and son would be introduced to their second cousin. The children as well. There was even the prospect of celebrating each other’s birthdays and maybe even Christmas together looming on the horizon. It was not something she would enjoy, but it was also much more preferable than the alternative.

“I will. Do you wish to tell them soon?”

“They’re coming over next weekend, so that seems as good a time as any. And if it’s acceptable” Mr Miller went on, looking at the Blacks, “I would also like to tell them about magic. My father might have started a branch of the family without it, but it’s still a part of our history.”

“Since you’re family the ministry won’t object” Mrs Black said. “And if you want to, we’ll make sure to stay at home that day so you can call us over if needed. To prove magic or just to introduce us.”

“That would be very kind of you, Hermione. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it, Ernest. I’m just as happy about this as you and Sirius.”

“Yeah” Mr Black said. “Our House badly needs a few more good members, magical or not.”

Mrs Miller sat silently and watched her husband and the Blacks talk animatedly, sharing family stories and planning the future. A future she was to be a part of. It went on until Regulus woke up and started crying. It was apparently time to feed him, but while she took that as their cue to leave and started getting up, Mr Miller remained seated.

“You’re free to go home if you wish” he said to her. “I’m sure you have a lot to think about, but I’m going to stay a while longer. And I want to hold my… well, would it be first cousin twice removed?”

“How about we go with great-nephew?” Mr Black responded. “That way he can be plain nephew to your children and cousin to your grandchildren. Sound good?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Realising her husband was correct and that she did have an awful lot to think about, or process rather, Mrs Miller decided to return home. Saying goodbye to the Blacks, she numbly exited the house, crossed the street and entered number twelve. The kitchen was her first destination and she did not realise she still had her loafers on until she poured the first of many cups of tea. Pulling them off, she simply left them there on the floor and headed over to the sitting room only to find that she was too restless to sit down. Endless thoughts swirled around in her head with renewed force and she had trouble sorting through them, or even grabbing hold of just the one. However, a few things were crystal clear.

The Saunders were Mrs Black’s grandparents.

The Blacks had intentionally – and quite successfully she had to admit – tried to alienate her to the rest of the neighbourhood.

The Blacks were related to Mr Miller.

Magic was real.

It all just kept turning and turning around in her mind, obscuring her road forward. Not that she did not know she needed to come to terms with those four irrefutable facts, but what about everything else? What was she going to say to Mrs Sutton? What was she going to do about Mrs Jones? Was there any way she might regain the standing she had enjoyed for so long in the neighbourhood? How would Eleanor and Oliver react to everything?

With no clear answers presenting themselves, Mrs Miller was still forced to face the first of those questions the very next day when Mrs Sutton was well enough to have her over for tea before lunch. It was with no small amount of trepidation that she headed over to number ten and rang the doorbell.

“Oh, how are you doing, Enid?” Mrs Sutton asked, looking taken aback, almost the moment she opened the door to let her in.

“I have been better to tell the truth. I have some… news about the Blacks I need to share.”

“Have you found something?” Mrs Sutton asked eagerly.

“In a manner of speaking, but I will tell you about it after I can sit down.”

“Then please do come inside. The tea is ready and I have some of those almond biscuits I know you like so much.”

Still being in that strange combination of restless and numb she had experienced since she left the Blacks yesterday, Mrs Miller followed her friend to the sitting room, where she slumped down in her usual armchair. Mrs Sutton looked disapproving of her poor posture but made no comment. Instead, she poured them both a cup of tea and then sat back to wait for her to share her news.

Knowing she could not reveal the full truth to her friend since neither her husband nor the Blacks had given her permission to do so, she still had to somehow convince Mrs Sutton of the necessity of ending their efforts of driving the latter out of the neighbourhood. She hoped the story she had concocted would be passable enough.

“I have learned that Mr Black was in fact wrongfully imprisoned” she began, thinking that she could say that much without breaking any confidences. “He spent many years locked up for something he did not do.”

“How do you know he is innocent? Maybe he fooled some poor gullible judge into believing it and acquit him. He was found guilty at his trial in the first place after all.”

“It was discovered that there had been many errors committed during it, especially how the evidence was handled. They discovered his innocence when the DNA they found at the crime scene matched another man who had just been convicted in another murder case. It turned out that other man was guilty of the murders Mr Black had been put in prison for” Mrs Miller continued.

“How did you find out?” Mrs Sutton asked sceptically.

“I had the idea to write The Daily Telegraph and ask if they had anything in their archive about a Sirius Black.”

Realisation dawned in Mrs Sutton’s eyes then and Mrs Miller knew she had succeeded. Her friend would never disbelieve The Daily Telegraph, just like herself, and since she never interacted with Miss Gilchrist, there was no reason for her to find out the truth about what the newspaper had actually written about Mr Black. It did make her feel dirty to misuse such a good and unreproachable institution of knowledge, but it had to be done.

“Very well. Mr Black might not be a criminal after all, but do you really want them in the neighbourhood anyway?”

“I do. Maybe they are not perfect, but hardly worse than a few others already living here” she replied and suddenly realised how true that was. They had simply stood out more due to being from the generations of the children and grandchildren of everyone else and the inevitable differences that came with such an age gap. In fact, compared to many others of similar age they behaved surprisingly proper. Just look at poor young Mr Henderson and how he had acted, even if at least a part of it had been a facade used to hide his true inclination, and Mr Black could be seen as a true gentleman in comparison.

“I never thought I would find myself disappointed with you, Enid, but sadly that day has arrived. I suppose next you will be saying we need to forgive Mrs Jones as well.”

“In fact, that is precisely what I will say” she replied, unflinchingly meeting the gaze of her old friend. “Discovering Mr Black’s innocence has made me re-evaluate how we handled all of this and I am disappointed in myself for drawing such hasty conclusions and then acting on them. Mrs Jones was right to berate us for our behaviour and I will not punish her for it.”

Mrs Sutton looked like she was about to have an apoplexy, but abruptly stood up instead, cup still in her hand and spilling tea all over her fingers, the coffee table and the rug. For the first time in her life, Mrs Miller saw her friend acting anything but proper and could not help the gasp that escaped her.

“Out!”

“What?”

“You are clearly not well, Enid, and I have not just got healthy again to come down with whatever is afflicting your mind. One of us clearly needs to think straight in all of this and for now that apparently must be me. You are welcome to return when you are yourself again.”

For some reason it was with a sense of relief Mrs Miller left number ten and walked home. Mrs Sutton had been her closest friend almost since the day she and Mr Miller had moved into the neighbourhood, but maybe their friendship had not been as beneficial as she had believed. They both had a penchant for gossiping and judging other people she had been blind to before, but she could now acknowledge they had only reinforced it in each other. Constantly validating those negative traits instead of correcting them. If she ended that friendship now, unless Mrs Sutton also saw reason, it would be easier to live the life she had now committed herself to.

Another thing she realised she needed to do was to go and apologise to Mrs Jones. But first things first, she thought, as she sat down in her sitting room and opened The da Vinci Code and started on the chapter they would discuss the next day.

In the end, Mrs Jones had been sceptical but accepted her apology when she had accompanied her on her walk home after the D.R.A.B.S. gathering. Yes, she was still going to call it that. At least for now. Maybe if they would go for a better book next time she would reconsider. But she would make an effort to be a more active participant and work to win back the respect of the other members.

After that the next week passed by in a blur of repairing her marriage and eating dinner with the Blacks almost every night. Now that they had been confirmed as family, Mr Miller had entered a phase that could be described as clingy, if one wanted to be ungenerous, but that Mrs Miller had dubbed the embracing of his inner great-uncle.

She was using those joint meals to get to know the younger couple better, trying to set aside her preconceived notions about them. By the time the weekend arrived she had come to the conclusion that she might never be able to embrace them as fully as her husband had, but that she was perfectly capable of being an amicable in-law. Some of their friends were a different matter, however, and she dreaded the day those twins would move in.

On Saturday, Eleanor and her family arrived first and about half an hour later Oliver and his family turned up as well. They had yet to be told about the Blacks and she and Mr Miller had agreed on bringing it up that night after the youngest generation had gone to bed so they could discuss it with just the adults at first. Then they could decide how much to let their children know about magic. But everyone was to learn about the expansion of their family.

“So” Oliver said as they all sat down around the coffee table a short while after Emily had retired for the night. Being the oldest she was allowed to stay up a little longer than her brother. “What did you want to tell us?”

Both of their children and their spouses looked at them with mild curiosity, but not one of them looked in the least prepared for what they were about to learn. Having been in that position herself, Mrs Miller could sympathise.

“We have recently learned that we actually have relatives on my side of the family” Mr Miller began, looking as eager as she knew he felt.

The four looked surprised at this, but still remained silent, seemingly waiting for the explanation that was bound to follow.

“We have learned that my father had good reason at the time to not talk about the family he was born into, for as it turns out he did not lose them so much as they kicked him out. He changed his name to Miller sometime between then and meeting my mother, but before that he was Marius Black.”

“Black?” Julia asked. “Isn’t that the name of your new neighbours?”

“Indeed it is. My father’s older brother was the maternal grandfather of Sirius Black.”

“Maternal grandfather?” Eleanor asked, and Mrs Miller felt proud of her daughter for catching that vital implication.

“Yes, he’s a Black on both sides of his family.”

“That’s mildly disturbing” their daughter said, grimacing.

“Luckily it has not affected the son negatively other than them being bad parents anyway” Mr Miller said sternly. “But while there is a reason for why they married despite being second cousins, that’s too complicated to explain at the moment. In fact, I think it would probably be best if Sirius himself did it since I know far from everything.”

Watching the four younger people process this, Mrs Miller took the opportunity to pour everyone a cup of tea and start to sip on her own. The possible storm was only just beginning, and she needed to brace herself for any potential fallout. Any of them might react poorly to what was to be revealed next and she felt sure they would need the Blacks’ assistance in convincing them.

“The reason my father was cast out of his family was because they were magical while he was born without” Mr Miller then said, dropping the proverbial bomb.

Or maybe shock grenade would be a more apt description, Mrs Miller mused.

“I’m sorry, dad, but did you just say magical?” Eleanor asked.

“Yes. There are witches and wizards living among us, including the Blacks, and-“

“No! You can’t expect us to believe this” their daughter interrupted. “I mean, it’s preposterous. Right?”

Looking at the others to find agreement, she surprisingly only found it in her husband since both Oliver and Julia looked apprehensive rather than angry or confused.

“Can… can you prove it?” Oliver asked, ignoring his sister’s glare.

“I can call the Blacks and ask one of them to come over and perform a demonstration if you like” Mr Miller said.

“Please” Julia said, looking both eager and scared and Mrs Miller noticed she had tightly clutched Oliver’s hand in her own. Something strange was going on with her son and daughter-in-law.

With a nod, Mr Miller stood up and went to make the call. He then waited in the entryway until he could return with Mr Black in tow, the rest of them sitting in tense silence meanwhile. The man smiled at them while he was introduced and then, at their urging, drew his wand from wherever he’d had it hidden on his body.

Every pair of eyes in the room was glued to him as he swished it in a short but powerful movement and said what that sounded like Expecto Patronum. Something silvery and glowing burst out of the tip and took the shape of a large dog that wagged its tail while it ran around among them for about a minute before disappearing.

The moment it faded away Julia burst out in sobs and Oliver pulled her into his arms, breathing deeply as if overcome with emotions himself.

“Eh. Sorry” Mr Black said, looking a bit unsure at the reaction. “I didn’t mean to frighten anyone.”

“No, please don’t misunderstand” Oliver said, raising his head and looking at his second cousin, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s just that… that…”

He seemed incapable of continuing and Julia took over by surprising them all by freeing herself from her husband’s embrace, hurrying over to Mr Black and hugging him.

“Thank you” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”

Mr Black awkwardly patted her shoulder in an attempt at a comforting gesture but looked as bewildered as the rest of them.

It took a while for the situation to calm down and then it was time for the first shock the Blacks had not been the instigators of.

“It’s Matthew and Aidan” Oliver finally explained. “Ever since they were only a few years old strange things have happened around them. Toys we were sure had not been there in the evening laying in their cribs in the morning, other things changing places around the house and at least Matthew doing things that were potentially dangerous, believing he could without any harm coming to him.”

“We thought we were going crazy” Julia continued, taking a step away from Mr Black, but still looking at him, “but this… this explains everything. So, thank you Mr Black, you don’t know what a relief this is to hear.”

All Mrs Miller could hear was that half of her grandchildren potentially were wizards and suddenly her whole life was cast in a whole new light. Again. While it did not come from her side, her family was now forever shut out of normalcy. Never again could she claim to be fully proper without feeling some guilt over the partial lie it would be. But it was still her family, her darling grandchildren, they were talking about and she would never ever abandon them.

“You can’t be serious?”

Looking up, she realised it was her daughter who had spoken. Eleanor had returned to being upset and looked at her brother and sister-in-law with betrayal lurking in her eyes.

“What do you mean?” Oliver asked.

“This… this is all wrong. Can’t you see? Magic, even if it’s undeniably real, it’s still wrong. Unnatural. You can’t possibly mean to say my nephews might have it.”

“There is nothing unnatural about it” Mr Black defended. “No more than some people being born with black hair, some with brown and so on. Admittedly, there’s a lot fewer of us with magic than a particular hair colour, but it’s decided in the same way with inheriting it being much more common than it appearing out of nowhere. If your children are born magical, it’s much more likely to be because they are a part of the Black family and the ability simply skipping a few generations than it being by chance.”

“Well, my children are perfectly normal, thank you very much” Eleanor went on. “I don’t need to hear about freaky abilities in order to understand and take care of them.”

At that moment Allan put a hand on his wife’s shoulder, visibly calming her down, and entered the storm himself.

“Love, I think it’s best if we say no more about this tonight, or something might escape you’ll regret in the morning. Come. We’ll go upstairs and let Oliver and Julia talk to Mr Black since I’m sure they must have many questions.”

Looking at them all, Eleanor then nodded and allowed herself to be led away. Mrs Miller watched as her daughter and son-in-law walked out into the hallway and then heard them going up the stairs. She knew it could have ended up worse, but it could also have ended up much better. Hopefully, the night would cool everyone down and they could have a more sensible discussion in the morning. It had at least helped her tremendously to be able to sleep on it.

“I think I will retire as well” she said, standing up.

“I’ll stay down here” Mr Miller said, but rose to give her cheek a goodnight kiss.

“We’re staying too, at least as long as Mr Black is” Oliver said.

“Please, call me Sirius” Mr Black said. “We’re second cousins after all. And so long as your parents don’t object, I’d be happy to stay and talk. Mione’s at home with Reggie, who’s asleep, so I’m not needed elsewhere.”

Bidding them a good night, Mrs Miller went upstairs, but stopped on the landing, unsure of what to do. Should she go to her daughter and talk to her? Tell her that she understood the confusion and frustration. Or would that only make things worse? It was strange to be so indecisive, but she could acknowledge that it would be some time before she had a good enough grip on her new reality to feel grounded again. Even if she had a head start, she still had a lot to process, while Eleanor had just begun.

In the silence, she could hear quiet sobs through the door to the guestroom her daughter and son-in-law used, followed by soothing, but indistinguishable words in Allan’s deep voice, and knew she would be superfluous in there. Instead, she quietly peeked into the two guestrooms her grandchildren occupied and found them all to be sleeping. At least there were some small mercies to be found in all of this.

Having fallen asleep before Mr Miller, Oliver and Julia went to bed, even if she did have some trouble calming her mind enough to let sleep claim her, Mrs Miller had no idea how long they had stayed up and talked with Mr Black. By how tired they looked in the morning, however, she surmised it must have been well into the small hours. For once, she relented and served coffee instead of tea with breakfast and was rewarded with an appreciative smile sent her way by her husband.

Eleanor still looked to be in a bad mood, even if she had calmed down, while Allan sat quietly beside her. Oliver and Julia on the other hand sat talking to each other in low voices, trying not the be overheard and giving Eleanor apprehensive glances from time to time. The mood of the room was indeed tense, and Mrs Miller felt grateful that the children had already eaten and were out playing in the back garden.

The unexpected sound of the doorbell made them all jump and having nothing but her cup of coffee left to consume, Mrs Miller silently volunteered to go see who it was. Her surprise was indeed great when she opened the door to find Mr Black and Mr Potter standing on the other side.

“Good morning” the former said, his usual smile missing. “I realise I caused a bit of a mess for you last night, so I fetched Harry this morning so he could come and talk to you all.”

The younger man nodded in greeting.

“And what do you have to say to us, Mr Potter?” she asked, somehow feeling this was a genuine offer of help rather than the typical kind of shenanigans the Blacks had used against her before.

“Sirius told me that there’s some tension in your family due to some of your grandchildren maybe having magic. Since I know all too well what might happen in such a situation, the resentment that might arise, I thought I should tell you about my experience before things risk going too far for you.”

The young man seemed honest and after hesitating briefly, Mrs Miller stepped aside. Her family did mean the world to her, so if she had to let more strange and magical people into her life to keep them all together, it was an insignificant price to pay. And besides, Mr Potter, along with his wife and child, would soon become her newest neighbours. It might do her some good to make for a better start this time.

Chapter Text

Mrs Miller could not help but smile while she looked down at the invitation in her hand. The thick and expensive parchment, decorated with the crest of the House of Black and a twirling and twisting golden pattern along the edges, was everything she could ever have hoped to see on such a thing. The Blacks definitely knew how to properly invite people over to their parties. The fact that it was handwritten, in a neat script she knew belonged to Mrs Black, only made it better. Perhaps the invitations to her and Mr Black’s birthday parties in September and November had been simpler, but they clearly spared no expense when it was time to celebrate their son’s first birthday.

Her one reservation about going was that she knew the Weasleys would be present, as usual. But considering they were family as well, though distant, in addition to being good friends to the hosts it was not to wonder at. The way she had understood it, Mrs Potter and her brothers were third cousins to Mr Black. Even Mr Potter could claim a distant relation to the Blacks, though not by blood, since Dorea Black, Marius younger sister, had married a Charlus Potter, which was his great great uncle, or something like that. Then again, a lot of people in the magical world seemed to be related to each other in some way or other. And her family was part of that tangled web too. At least it had led to half of them being much closer since about four months.

Old Miss Gilchrist had passed away shortly after her tea party, almost as if she had simply kept herself alive long enough to have it one last time. Oliver and Julia had seized on the opportunity to live close to their magical relatives so they could have some help with Matthew and Aidan, in addition to learning about and experience wizarding society before they had to send their children off to Hogwarts. The Blacks had been delighted and a strong friendship had already developed between the two families.

Oliver had, however, sat her down before they had signed the papers and told her in no uncertain terms that while he and Julia were happy for her to be more involved in their lives, they would not tolerate her more overbearing tendencies. That if she ever showed she was unhappy about their magic, the time she could spend with Matthew and Aidan would be severely limited.

Initially, it had been a shock to learn her son and daughter-in-law regarded her in such a way. Had she not always been the perfect mother and grandmother? Had she not given up working to be a stay-at-home mother, always made sure they were well fed, ate their vegetables, tucked them in at night, kissed them better when they were hurt or sick?

Though, it had only been a few weeks later when she understood what her son had talked about. She and Mr Miller were babysitting Matthew and Aidan during the weekend while Oliver and Julia spent a long since planed weekend in Paris. Mr Miller had gone outside with Matthew to try the kite they had made while she remained indoors with Aidan, who was happily sitting at the kitchen table with some crayons and a sheet of paper. Being busy with preparing lunch, she had not looked closer at what her youngest grandchild was doing until he called to her. With a proud look on his face, and that adorable smile of his, he had held up his finished drawing and asked her to look. Her gaze had, however, looked past him and to the surface of the table, where a lot of crayon marks lined a blank rectangle and she felt frustration rise within her. It was not that long ago since she polished the wooden surface into a perfect shine and now she would have to ruin it while scrubbing the mess off.

The reprimand was at the tip of her tongue when she looked at Aidan again and it got caught as realisation dawned. She was judging Aidan, a child of six years, based on her own view of the world and understanding of its consequences. He had done nothing but produce a drawing he was eager to show her while all she had seen was the mess he left behind. And if she had allowed those words to leave her, that eager smile would have turned into a frown. She would have hurt her grandson.

It was just as when she had not taken the Blacks’ ages and different life experiences into consideration when judging them. And from there, it had not taken long for her to apply the same reasoning to the Saunders. Mrs Black had been right about that. She had immediately condemned them according to her own standards, not taking into account the conditions of their lives and the way it had shaped them. Had only seen the faults they possessed and not their desire to learn and better themselves.

It had been a bitter pill to swallow to finally admit to herself how wrong she had been back then and for several weeks her courage had failed her when she had not dared to approach Mrs Black about it. In the end, it had taken her confiding in Mr Miller and him gently encouraging her to do the right thing, that had pushed her to it. The young woman had accepted her apology, but Mrs Miller had left that meeting with the knowledge that that was the only one she could make.

By rights, she ought to express her regret to the Saunders too, but they were long dead, or Mrs Granger, but the woman, along with Mr Granger, lived in Australia since many years back, no longer having any memories of their daughter or even their real names. Mrs Black’s eyes had welled with tears, making Mrs Miller feel most sympathetic, as she had told of the war the magical world had been through and how she had sent them away to keep them from harm, only to be unable to reverse the memory charm when it was all over. Regulus would never experience having a loving nana and grandpa the way she had. At least he would have the best granduncle the world had to offer.

“Enid dear! Time to go!”

Blinking as she was pulled out of her memories, Mrs Miller rose from the armchair in the sitting room, where she had been sitting while she waited for the time for the party to arrive. She had finished making herself ready a lot earlier than usual and spent the last half hour with a cup of tea and admiring the invitation. It seemed a silly thing to do, perhaps, but she needed to bolster her like of the Blacks as much as possible before spending several hours under the same roof as some of the other guests.

With shoes and coat on and their gifts already in his arms, Mr Miller stood by the front door when she got there, tapping his foot impatiently. He was not one to miss a single minute he could spend with the Blacks and she could only shake her head fondly at him.

“With the amount of people that is going to be there, you will not be able to hog Regulus like usual” she pointed out.

“But the sooner we get there the more time I can claim” he retorted, now shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Pulling shoes and coat on and picking up her handbag, Mrs Miller was soon ready to accompany her husband across the street. But just as they closed and locked the door behind them the Malfoys arrived in their fancy car, just in time to be greeted first. In a way it felt like the housewarming party all over again when Mrs Henderson and her son had come just before them. At least the Malfoys were respectable people, if a tad bit overly snobbish, Mrs Miller thought, before reminding herself that she should try to stop categorising everyone like that.

By the time someone responded to the doorbell, Mrs Miller had reached the group, and was equally taken aback as everyone else when the door was opened only to reveal the oldest Mrs Weasley.

“Oh, there you are” she said happily, waving them inside.

The woman was incorrigible, Mrs Miller thought and rolled her eyes, only to catch sight of the older Mr Malfoy doing the same. His eyes met hers and he seemed a little surprised at first, but then gave her an almost imperceptible nod. It was the friendliest he had ever been to anyone outside of the Blacks during the few gatherings they had both attended, of which this was the third. The first two having been Mrs Black and Mr Blacks birthday parties. His wife had at least started exchanging basic pleasantries after being informed that they were family, but the man himself had always been standoffish and more or less only talked to his own family and the hosts. When he could not occupy him thusly, he was usually found skulking in some corner, looking disapprovingly at everything and nearly everyone around him.

With the Weasley’s apparent inability to arrive on time, always turning up either embarrassingly early or unfashionably late, the party seemed to be in full swing when they entered. The sound of children playing, laughing and arguing could be heard from several directions, the closest being two small redheads coming down the stairs while tugging something between them. Mrs Miller thought it might end up with an accident, but Mrs Weasley’s attention was blissfully transferred to them and she intervened in whatever it was her grandchildren were up to, leaving them to get out of their outerwear in peace, though not quiet.

It was a little ironic, Mrs Miller contemplated, that now that she had been granted access to the first floor, she had no wish to go up there again. The moving photos that adorned the walls, along with all the other magical items was still an uncomfortable reminder of the new reality of the world at large and she needed more time before embracing all of that. Matthew would not start Hogwarts for a few years yet and she could wait for that without anyone complaining, surely.

Apart from most of the Red Clan, the Potters and Lupins were also present, little Teddy and Hope, named after their maternal grandfather and paternal grandmother respectively, among the children playing in the sitting room and little James sitting on a blanket with Regulus, among lots of toys. The two babies had some similarities with their dark hair, dimpled smiles and delighted shrieks of laughter when the fake wand in James’ hand emitted puffs of smoke in different colours every time he waved it around, but their eye colour was not the same. James had inherited his mother’s bright brown eyes and while Regulus might have inherited a near matching tone from his own mother, his baby blue orbs had developed into the same grey as his father’s in the end.

Mr Black was in the sitting room as well, and they went to greet him first before placing the gifts on the table to the side where an already impressive heap lay. Mr Miller then stayed to talk to their host – as well as look for an opportunity to be able to hold Regulus, Mrs Miller guessed – while she went to the kitchen to greet their hostess.

Mrs Black, along with Mrs Potter, was in the midst of preparing lunch, but not in the usual way. At least not in Mrs Miller’s eyes. Ever since the secret of magic had been shared with them, the Blacks had not shied away from using it when they were visiting. And the sight that greeted her was of the two young women sipping lemonade while everything else was moving on its own, with only the occasional swish of one of their wands to give a new command. It was both impressive and overwhelming.

“Ah. Mrs Miller” Mrs Black said, giving her that smile that was reserved for her alone, with it not being as warm as her others. It had at least turned genuine after her apology.

“Good day” she replied. “Thank you for having us.”

“Of course. You’re family.”

Mrs Potter looked on the verge on commenting, but thankfully remained silent. While Mrs Black was surely capable of keeping a grudge and exacting revenge, she did it more quietly, while her friend was not afraid to show her displeasure. There would likely never be more than civility between them, but she could live with that. The main thing was that she got on with the inhabitants of number eleven, not number seven. She could leave befriending everyone to Mr Miller.

“Ernest here as well?” Mrs Potter asked, sending the frying pan to tip its content of garlic and honey fried mushrooms onto a serving plate.

“Of course. He is in the sitting room with most of the others.”

“Especially Reggie” Mrs Black said, her smile turning into that usual fond wideness others could inspire in her.

“Yes, he has been eager to meet his great-nephew again.”

“Then he can get in line” a voice said from the door and they all turned to see the older Mrs Malfoy standing there.

“How lovely to see you, Narcissa” Mrs Black said and walked over to her cousin-in-law and greeted her with cheek kisses. The two women were a lot closer now than they had been the first time Mrs Miller had seen them interact almost a year ago, and Regulus seemed to be the main reason. Going by everything she had learned about the magical world and the war that had taken place in it so recently, it seemed to be almost a miracle that they would interact at all, family or not.

“So good of you to invite us. Anything I can do to help?” Mrs Malfoy asked after they had stepped back from each other, looking around the kitchen with some confusion, obviously not used to the nonmagical appliances.

“Thank you, but we’re fine. Everything’s almost done and lunch ought to be ready on time in half an hour.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am. You better go and compete with Ernest for Reggie’s attention.”

Mrs Miller smiled at the quickly retreating back of blonde woman. If there was one person who could challenge her husband when it came to doting on the baby boy, it was the older Mrs Malfoy, who clearly longed for the day she would become a grandmother. By the pointed looks she had given both her son and daughter-in-law while holding Regulus the last two times Mrs Miller had seen them, no baby Malfoy was on the way yet, however.

The doorbell rang once again and Mrs Weasley was heard calling she would get the door. The woman had perhaps appointed herself official guest greeter since she was not in the kitchen. Not that Mrs Miller had had occasion to try some of her food, but the old redhead was apparently highly skilled at cooking and loved preparing feasts for her family and friends. But since Mrs Black preferred to do her own cooking, being a bit more adventurous with ingredients and flavours, she was left without her usual role at these things.

This time it was Oliver and his family arriving and she could soon see both Matthew and Aidan hurrying past the kitchen to join all the other children. She already knew Eleanor and her family would not come. While Mr Potter’s talk of his mother and aunt had done a great deal to avoid a rift in the family, her daughter still struggled with magic being real and the fact that for whatever reason both of Oliver’s children had inherited it while neither of hers had. Not that they avoided the Blacks altogether as they had started eating dinner together one Saturday or Sunday every month last summer, but they did not want to meet with any other wizards or witches. Hopefully, they would come around soon, but with her daughter taking after her so much, Mrs Miller feared it would be a good while.

The news about magic being in their family had been equally hard for Emily and Jack to accept and they had looked at their cousins with obvious jealousy for a long time after the reveal. Luckily, it had not turned into resentment, but she knew it was highly likely they would not remain as tight as before. Matthew and Aidan had been overjoyed at learning they were wizards, thought the concept was a little harder to grasp for the latter due to his age. It had reached a point when it had almost spiralled out of control, though, with Matthew wanting to try everything he could think of until the Blacks had been called in, sat down with the boys and explained how magic worked and that they needed to be careful. Mr Black, who devoted the most time to them after that, had quickly become a bit of an idol, as well as uncle Sirius.

Everyone had arrived by the time the meal was done, and Mrs Miller felt sure it must have been some kind of magic performed in order to manage to seat everyone in the dining room. Well, it was obvious that magic had been used to extend both the room itself and the table, adding some chairs too, but the task of getting everyone in this unruly mass of people in there and sit down would surely have been impossible without someone making use of their wand.

Finding herself between Mrs Tonks, Mrs Lupin’s mother, and the oldest Mr Weasley, it was a mostly tolerable hour that awaited Mrs Miller. The food was excellent as well as half of her company. Mrs Tonks was an intelligent and sufficiently conservative woman who knew enough about the normal world, due to her husband, to be able to keep up a pleasant conversation. Mr Weasley on the other hand asked her so many inane questions about everyday life and objects that she came dangerously close to snapping at him. When he had asked how a microwave oven worked she had to grip her knife and fork so tightly her knuckles turned white to avoid telling him to stick his head into one and see for himself.

It was so unlike herself to come so close to being rude, but she was at least gaining first-hand experience as to why the magical world was kept separate from the normal one. If every wizard or witch not born to nonmagical parents were as clueless as Mr Weasley, they would reveal themselves within minutes of trying to blend in.

While looking around the table in search of someone who might save her from the bombardment of questions, her eyes caught with the older Mr Malfoy’s again. He was sitting opposite of her and there was a level of amusement present in his face as he glanced between her and her table companion and he hid his small smirk by taking a sip of his glass of wine before shocking her by actually coming to her aid.

“Say Arthur, old chap” he said, but in a voice that made it clear that the use of Mr Weasley’s first name did not indicate any level of friendship between them. Rather the opposite. “Perhaps you ought to let poor Mrs Miller eat some of her food rather than force her to talk her way through the meal.”

“What? Oh. Sorry” Mr Weasley replied, going a bit pink. “I’ll save the rest of my questions for another time.”

Mrs Miller sent a small smile to the blond wizard to convey her gratitude, but he had already turned to Mrs Black, who sat next to him, and started talking to her.

After lunch, it was time to open the presents and everyone moved into the sitting room, which had also been enlarged and a great number of armchairs added. While everyone found somewhere to sit, Mrs Black and Mrs Potter allowed their sons to toddle around a bit in front of them. The sight of the babies, who were quickly moving into toddlerhood, walking around on short, chubby and wobbly legs was nothing short of adorable.

When Regulus tried to bend down to pick up the red and green plushie dragon she and Mr Miller had gifted him – which had apparently turned out to be a bit of a favourite to her husband’s utter delight - and he almost lost his balance, she held her breath. But he only let it go, righted himself and turned back towards his mother.

“Mamama” Regulus said as he reached out with his chubby little hands and gripped the skirt of her dress when he arrived.

“Hello, my little love” Mrs Black cooed at her son as she bent down and picked him up, placing him on her lap.

“Ufufuf” the boy said, waving towards the dragon.

“I know, darling. But you need to open you presents first, then you can play with Snuffles. Look, daddy’s got one.”

As if he noticed Mr Black just then, Regulus smiled brightly when he looked to his father, who sat next to them, clapped his hands and shouted; “Dadadada!” They all knew his first proper word would arrive any day now, seeing how close he was.

Mr Black, with the gift table to his other side, had reached for the first item. The birthday boy was offered to help open it and managed a few tears in the wrapping paper, but otherwise needed the assistance of his parents. It proceeded until everything had been opened and an impressive amount of clothes and toys lay around them.

Most of it was magical, with toys that could do things without batteries in them, such as fly, and clothes with patterns that were clearly from the magical world with dragons, broomsticks and some other creature that seemed a strange mix between a horse and a bird. Then there were the items from the nonmagical guests.

Mr Miller had been worried about how they were going to get something suitable to give Regulus, seeing that they could not get into Diagon Alley on their own. The day he, Oliver, Julia, Matthew and Aidan had been taken on a tour of the magical shopping district by the Blacks, Mr Miller had returned home ecstatic, talking nonstop about all the marvellous things he had seen, while she had elected to stay at home. But they had only been able to reach it with the help of the Blacks as the inn through which one made the crossing from the normal world was enchanted to be more or less invisible to nonmagicals. However, when he had talked to Mr Black about it, the man had replied that they would only be happy for Regulus to receive gifts from the muggle world as well. Mrs Black, especially, was keen on this due to her heritage.

And so, they had bought a book with fairy-tales, for it appeared the magical world had their own, a chewing toy, a colourful miniature xylophone – which the oldest Mr Weasley had marvelled over – and an animal themed wooden knob puzzle. Oliver and his family had given a Duplo train set and a plushie lion that roared when one pressed on its belly – which Mr Weasley had been even more amazed by.

The twins had gifted an actual flying broom and Mrs Black gave them a particularly sour look, saying she had now wasted having managed to make her husband promise to wait until their son’s second birthday at least – though preferably his eleventh - before giving him such a dangerous thing. The identical redheads simply grinned and shrugged while Mr Black unsuccessfully tried to hide his smile, prompting his wife to glare at him as well.

Tea and coffee were served after that, while the children were led up to the playroom on the first floor under the supervision of the oldest Mr and Mrs Weasley, leaving the rest of the adults, and the two babies, to sit and talk for a while before dessert would be served. Regulus now sat with Snuffles in his hands since none of his new toys could compete with the dragon it seemed.

After pouring herself a cup of tea, Mrs Miller looked around to see where she could sit. Having been last to the refreshment table, most people had already sat down in smaller groups and there were none of them she felt entirely comfortable joining. Mr Miller did sit with the Blacks, but they were also joined by the twins. Oliver and Julia sat with the second oldest Mr and Mrs Weasley as well as the Lupins. Most of them might be alright, but Mrs Lupin, just like the twins, had not fully stopped ribbing her and after lunch she was simply not in the mood to handle it gracefully.

Then her eyes stopped at the figure in the corner. With the rest of his family in conversation with Mrs Tonks and a young woman she had not seen before today - who was also blonde, but in a darker shade which paled in comparison to her bright yellow dress, and were those corks dangling from her ears? – Mr Malfoy sat alone. When his eyes caught hers, he gestured towards the unoccupied armchair next to his and for whatever reason she accepted his invitation. If nothing else she could thank him for his rescue earlier. There was also a great deal of curiosity involved, if she had to be honest.

“Mrs Miller” he said in a surprisingly neutral voice when she sat down.

“Mr Malfoy” she replied. “I wanted to thank you for what you did at lunch.”

“Ah, yes. Arthur Weasley has the unfortunate inclination of being terribly fascinated with all things muggle. It baffles me. Your husband seems to have developed the reverse, though I suppose it is a more understandable affliction. Magic is, after all, superior.”

“I have heard about the war, you know” she said, less than pleased about his view on the matter. What he called muggle, she called normal.

“And which side I was on no doubt” he said, turning towards her with a challenging look, though not cold.

“Yes.”

“And yet you came to sit here with me.”

“I hardly think it likely you would attack me here in front of everyone, Mr Malfoy.”

His lips twitched into a tiny grin.

“Perhaps.”

They sat in silence for a while after that, simply observing everyone else. It was strangely a comfortable silence and she knew then that Mr Malfoy was as keen on the company as she was. Perhaps even less.

“You know” he said, startling her. “For a muggle, you’re not all bad.”

Coming from him, that was in all likelihood a compliment of the highest degree.

“I might have been disposed to think ill of you after Hermione told us about her grandparents. Not that I care about them, but she has become family and so she is important. Enough. I liked you even less when I came here the first time and saw that you were indeed the snooping neighbour as described, standing in a window and watching me and my family arrive. It was in very poor taste I must say, Mrs Miller.”

Gulping at the dangerous edge that had appeared in his voice, Mrs Miller sat still and simply listened. She felt like a mere bunny facing down a fox. One wrong movement and she would be pounced on and be lucky to escape with her life. Or maybe a mouse facing down a snake would be a more apt description.

“However, today, and the other two times I have seen you since we first met, I have found that you are much like me in this particular social setting. Just like me, you only care for a few people present, and there is a large overlap in which people we view as such” he said, once more turning towards her, pinning her even more to the spot.

“That would be true” she managed to reply when he looked expectantly at her.

“The Weasleys in particular I find that we both disdain. Well, Bill Weasley has proven himself a cut above the rest, I suppose, being a most talented curse breaker and reasonably adept at navigating various social situations. But the point is, we are both of us here because of who we are married to and not necessarily by choice. Would you agree?”

“Yes” Mrs Miller replied, now curious as to where this was headed.

“Then I suggest an alliance. When we are brought together at occasions such as this and we find ourselves unable to enjoy our usual company, we can make a tactical retreat together. I will certainly ask you nothing about the muggle world and you will not ask me about the magical. Agreed?”

Looking at him in pure bafflement, Mrs Miller could only nod her agreement. It seemed such a strange thing that this man, out of everyone present, would most resemble her. The man who doubtlessly should have been the one to despise her the most. It was a stark reminder that despite the involvement of magic, they were both humans and could share the same traits and opinions, even if formed for different reasons. Not that she would sequester herself with him in the corner and share a blessed silence all the time, but it was nice to know she had the option.

By the time dessert was served, she had altered between sitting quietly beside him and talking with Mr Malfoy about the people present a few times. This was a topic he had found acceptable and divulged some information on everyone present.

Most interesting was the Lupin family. The man was a werewolf, the woman a metamorphmagus and both children likewise. While he clearly disdained werewolves, Mr Malfoy did also explain that the man was human and harmless when not transformed, so she had nothing to fear from him.

Other notable pieces of information were that Fleur Weasley, the lovely blonde wife of Bill Weasley, was a quarter Veela, Lavender Brown, Ron Weasley’s fiancée, had miraculously survived an attack by an untransformed werewolf, even if he was mostly beast then as well, and that Mr Potter had been the one to defeat the Dark Lord that had led the Malfoys’ side of the war.

It all seemed so surreal, like it was nothing more than fanciful stories made for children, but the serious look in Mr Malfoy’s eyes told differently. He was not a man given to tell such tales.

Another of Mrs Black’s extraordinary baking creations was revealed after the oldest Weasleys had returned with the children. It tasted as wonderfully as it looked, with the raspberry and dark chocolate flavours having made a most advantageous union, along with a third component Mrs Miller could not place. Maybe it was something from the magical world, seeing as everyone present was in on the secret.

This time, she had managed to sit next to Mr Miller after they all returned to the dining room since even the extended sitting room had trouble fitting everyone comfortably. The twins might be seated opposite, but with their wives having made them take care of their young children this time, they were preoccupied. The only unknown factor was the young woman with blonde hair and wearing a bright yellow dress who was seated on her other side. Mr Malfoy had said her name was Luna Lovegood, and was a bit of an oddity, though harmless enough.

“Mrs Miller” the young woman said after they had both finished their pieces of cake and she turned to find a pair of pale silvery eyes gaze at her, managing to seem both vacant and incredibly sharp at the same time. It was quite disconcerting. “I know Mr Malfoy told you who I am, but I would like to introduce myself anyway. It is the polite thing to do, don’t you agree?”

She tilted her head to the side at the last part, giving the impression of a curious bird.

“I… yes, I suppose so.”

“Lovely. I am Luna Lovegood.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Lovegood. I am Enid Miller.”

“Charming. And I must say, it’s so very nice to see so many empty wrackspurt nests around you. You must have had quite the infestation for an awfully long time, but now they are mostly gone.”

“Eh. I am sorry, but an infestation of what?”

“Wrackspurts” Miss Lovegood replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They make people unfocused and confused and like to nest around those that are receptive to them. You must have lived under false pretences a large part of your life, though sadly unable to realise it. You should tell Hermione about it, so she knows it wasn’t all your fault.”

“I see” Mrs Miller replied, not seeing at all, “I will be sure to do that.”

Miss Lovegood beamed happily at her then, only to turn her attention back to her cup of tea the very next moment, leaving Mrs Miller baffled. But she decided that she would indeed ask Mrs Black about those whackputs, or whatever it was they were called. Not because she dared believe some weird kind of magical creatures had lived around her and influenced her for many years, but because she needed to know if it was possible.

The opportunity to do this presented itself when the party was about to come to an end. Most adults were busy making sure they got everything packed, including the various favourite toys their children or grandchildren had insisted on bringing, and Mrs Black was in the kitchen on her own, directing the dishes.

Mrs Miller entered the room after making sure no one was close enough to overhear. She then took a short moment to observe the process of cups and small plates flying into the dishwasher, arranging themselves so that as many of them as possible would fit, before making her presence known.

“Mrs Black, might I have a word with you.”

“Sure” the young woman replied, that lesser smile appearing on her face.

“You friend, Miss Lovegood, said something to me earlier. Something about… eh… I think it was wackpunks and they had been nesting around me.”

“I see. That would be wrackspurts and while Luna has discovered some new magical species in the years since we all left school, neither she nor anyone else has ever been able to prove the existence of such creatures. It is simply her way of expressing the strong intuition she can somehow have about others, meaning she meant she could see you had some troubles with discerning truth I’d wager.”

“Well, she would be right in part about that, would she not” Mrs Miller replied.

“Perhaps.”

Standing there, face to face with the young woman who had turned her life upside down in less than a year and made her question and realise so much, Mrs Miller felt compelled to repeat her apology. It was still an ordeal for her, but she also knew that in the end it was all for the better, to have had her eyes opened and learn in advance about the magic in her family.

“I am sorry for what I have done, both long ago and recently. Even if wrackspurts had been real, I would still have been to blame. And thank you, for accepting me and my family in spite of all that.”

Mrs Black sighed and made a last swish with her wand before approaching her and laying a hand on her shoulder.

“I will always feel some amount of anger at what you caused my nana and grandpa, that I won’t deny, but I also know better than to let myself be consumed by it. Your only continuing punishment is that the twins will be moving in soon and they are not going to be fully forbidden from teasing you. However, if you ever feel as if they take it too far, let me know and I’ll talk to them.”

“Thank you, I will.”

Walking back home a short while later, Mrs Miller looked both up and down Carnation Lane while she crossed it. Mr Fletcher dying and the Black moving in had only been the beginning of the many changes the neighbourhood had already undergone and would continue to do. With many of its inhabitants having become so old they either died or moved to more manageable homes than the large houses on offer there, number after number was now becoming vacant. First the Potters, then her own son and his family and soon both the twins. Who knew who would be next?

With some luck, the Suttons would be next to move away. After Mrs Sutton had understood that her friend would not change her opinion, she had given her the cold shoulder. Instead, a tentative, but true, friendship had started to grow between herself and Mrs Jones.

Indeed, her world was changing, and the motorbike metaphor Mr Black had passed on to Mr Miller seemed strangely fitting; when you faced a curve, you had to lean into it, or you might crash. And while she would never in her life ride a bike, not even in the sidecar, it was good advice and she had vowed to keep herself prepared for whatever might come next and make sure to welcome it when it did.

Chapter Text

It did not matter that she had done this several years by now, Mrs Miller still felt a little uneasy about the yearly visit to Diagon Alley to shop for school supplies. At least she would hopefully be able to beg off after this time, since it was Aidan’s last year at Hogwarts. Both of Oliver’s sons had received a letter from the magical school during the summer of the years they turned eleven. Both had turned out to be gifted with magic and received good grades. Matthew, however, remained too free-spirited to get a desk job and continued his passion and talent for the sport of Quidditch - which Mrs Miller still had trouble comprehending despite the hours her grandson had devoted to talking about it in her presence – and become a professional player right after graduation.

Luckily, Aidan was a bit more grounded and had sorted into Ravenclaw rather than Gryffindor, making good use of his intelligence and no doubt having an illustrious career in the Ministry of Magic ahead of him. Though, he too played Quidditch at school and happily mounted a broom when their magical family and friends got together in the summers and a friendly game was played. Not that they always ended up as friendly as intended, with so many competitive people among them, but at least everyone was having fun.

Well, except for her, since it could not be good for her heart to see Matthew and Aidan fly around in defiance of gravity, common sense and self-preservation. The only person who seemed to join her in her worry was Mrs Black, who, it turned out, was as true a believer as she was in the concept of keeping both of one’s feet firmly on the ground. At least she was more used to it, seeing that she had watched actual games at school as well as having a husband who liked to take his bike on a ride through the sky every once in a while.

But watching others zoom around on brooms was nothing compared to what she had to do a few times each year ever since she had to accompany everyone back when Matthew was to start his first year. Her respite from interacting so directly with the magical world having come to an end at that time.

With London far enough away that using normal transport would take too long, they had been introduced to the concept of traveling by fire. While being taken almost instantly from one place to another ought to be a great way to travel, Mrs Miller could not quite reconcile herself to the fact that she was spinning around in dirty fireplaces, getting soot all over her clothes and exiting at the other end feeling terribly disoriented. It did not matter that Mr or Mrs Black would vanish the dirt from her with a simple spell or that the dizzying feeling only lasted a few minutes. It was an unnatural way to travel, made worse by the destinations, since they were just as magical.

Naturally, everyone else had been amazed by the magical shopping district and their first outing to shop for school supplies had taken all day, with Mr Black having talked himself hoarse by the end of it, explaining everything to them. He had been the only one to join them that time, since both Mrs Black and the Potters had been at home with their children. Alphard James Black had arrived in May two years after his brother and Albus Severus Potter had arrived only two weeks before their excursion, prompting both parents to remain at home with him and his brother, James Arthur Potter.

Even if Oliver and Julia had had the fireplace in their sitting room in number thirteen connected to the Floo network since then, it was tradition that everyone who would be coming along gathered at number eleven to set out from there. She looked around at everyone while Mr Black held out the pot with the Floo powder so everyone could take some, observing the large gathering of family and friends.

The number of magical inhabitants of Carnation Lane had, just as Mrs Black had said, grown large. So large, in fact, that not everyone could join today since it would make them too many. The twins and their families, along with a friend of theirs, Lee Jordan and his family who had moved in a few years ago, went on a separate day, while the oldest of the Weasley brothers, Bill, and his family, who resided in number seventeen, were present.

Counting among them were also the Lupins, who lived in number nine since Mrs Ansell had indeed moved away after her husband’s death eight years ago. It made for what she called the magical line with everyone in number seven to number seventeen being magical and part of today’s excursion. Fifteen had been bought seven years ago by the younger Malfoys, since they wanted their son, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, and daughter, Capella Narcissa Malfoy, to grow up along other magical children rather than being sequestered away in Malfoy Manor. The older Malfoys were frequent visitors.

With fifteen children still in school or not yet started, they made for an unruly group and the chatter was even noisier than the roaring flames as they started to go through. All too soon, it was Mrs Miller’s turn and she took a deep breath, hoping to calm down the accelerating beats of her heart, before she called out her destination and threw the powder. Quickly closing her mouth and eyes and moving her arms to hold them tightly around her upper body, she began to spin. Her head did not stop doing so as quickly as her body and as usual she stumbled out of the fireplace in The Leaky Cauldron and was caught by Mr Miller. He had done so ever since she had gracelessly stumbled herself straight into a chair the first time, souring her experience of magical London even more, and challenging Mrs Lupin for the spot as champion of most spectacular Floo exit.

“Alright there, my dear?” he asked, still holding her.

“Yes, thank you Ernest” she replied, smiling in gratitude at his reliability.

After the four of them who lacked magic, as well as the children who were not allowed to use any, were dusted off by those who could spell the ash away they moved into the courtyard that held the entrance to Diagon Alley. Standing tightly together, they watched as Mr Potter tapped the bricks with his wand, opening the archway. While the bricks moved aside, Mrs Miller took another fortifying breath, and then they were off into the hustle and bustle that lay beyond.

“Mum. Mum. Can we go get my wand first?” she heard Regulus plead.

“Dad. Dad. Can we go look at brooms” Alphard said at the same time, while their twin sisters, Adhara Lily Black and Lyra Helen Black wanted to go visit Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

The identical girls had been born three years after Alphard and while they were a perfect blend of their parents in looks, Mrs Miller had often heard Mr Lupin comment on how much they resembled their father as a child in temperament and mischievousness. The Weasley twins had appointed themselves prankster godfathers, teaching the girls all sorts of misdeeds and quickly becoming favourite uncles. No wonder they wanted to go see them now.

Regulus and Alphard were both calmer but did not lack the so-called Marauder spirit either. Regulus, looking so much like his father, had a grin that could put the Cheshire Cat to shame, while Alphard, almost a male version of his mother, had a look of innocence he used to great affect when it came to getting out of trouble. Mrs Black sometimes, usually after the boys had pulled a prank at one of the many birthday parties that brought them all together these days, complained that they were too like their father. Mr Black would only smile and reply that she was no saint herself and had provided their children with a level of planning and preparation even the Marauders had lacked.

With it being Regulus’ first year at Hogwarts, Mrs Black did go with him to Ollivanders, accompanied by Mr Potter and James, while the Malfoys, whose children were both too young to attend yet, and the rest of the Potters helped Mr Black with his three remaining ones. Mrs Miller saw him crouch down in front of his daughters and heard him promise them that they would go visit uncle Fred and uncle George once everything else was done so long as they behaved well enough.

One would think the man would appreciate how difficult he himself must have been as an unruly child when faced with his own, but he had taken it all in stride and tended to struggle with hiding a smile as he let his wife do the chastising. However, to his credit, he never failed to firmly put his foot down every time he felt they did cross the line between fun and mean or dangerous.

Eager to see another wand selection, Mr Miller followed Mrs Black and Regulus, while Mrs Miller accompanied Oliver, Julia and Aidan as they went to get the school supplies, starting with a visit to Flourish and Blotts to buy the books needed for class as well as extend the library Oliver and Julia had started eleven years ago.

The Lupins and Weasleys also went off in search of school supplies, with the former going to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions and the latter to Mr Mulpepper’s Apothecary. They would all gather again in an hour and a half at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour for some treats even Mrs Miller could freely admit were delicious.

After acquiring everything on his list, Aidan asked that they stop by Quality Quidditch Supplies since he needed a new servicing kit for his broomstick. He had made captain for the Ravenclaw team last year and wanted to perform the best he could. Of course, it did not hurt that Mr Black insisted on buying his nephews the best broom available on the market for their second years and then an upgrade as a reward for their top O.W.L. results. Not that they did not adore him even before then.

As she stood by the shop window, looking out on the alley and the countless people milling about, while she waited for the others to complete their errand, Mrs Miller caught sight of something unusual. On the other side, in a small sort of nook between two shops, stood Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley. Not that it was unusual to see the two together since they were among the oldest of their generation, but what was unusual was seeing them holding hands and the girl looking as if she was blushing, a small smile gracing her beautiful features, while the boy whispered something in her ear.

With gossip about what their children got up to being common when the adults had a moment to themselves during a party, Mrs Miller felt sure neither set of parents knew about this development since she had heard nothing about it. However, it was not really any of her business, so best leave it to everyone else to find out on their own.

Or maybe, she would let the older Mr Malfoy in on the secret next time they met. They still found some time to share in a suitable corner every once in a while, even if they had both allowed themselves to be better integrated. Keeping away from most of the Weasleys was still standard protocol for them both, though. She knew he could keep a secret and with Teddy being part of his family and Victoire the daughter of the only Weasley brother he could tolerate, he would no doubt appreciate being able to knowingly observe it unfold.

The perfect opportunity for that would be in three days when the annual ‘Last day at home’ party at the Blacks would be held. To their credit, they had started the tradition when Matthew was to go to Hogwarts, even if their own children, or those of their friends and family, were still too young. Teddy, being in the same year as Aidan, though sorted into Hufflepuff, was the oldest among the children with magical parents.

Since it was a sunny day, they occupied more or less all of the tables and chairs in the outdoor seating area of the ice cream parlour. Mrs Miller watched in amusement as Teddy kept glancing surreptitiously towards Victoire when he thought no one was looking, while Aidan talked Quidditch with his friend, not noticing how distracted he was. Regulus and James sat next to each other, comparing their wands and being told off by their parents when they tried to use them.

Alphard sat with Albus and Scorpius, the three of them all set to start in two years and having grown up as close friends, talking about the four houses at Hogwarts and where they thought their brothers would end up as well as themselves. It had surprisingly developed into a serious discussion about how much a parent’s sorting affected the child’s. From what she had understood about what traits were valued in the houses, Mrs Miller thought they would all end up in Slytherin. Not that they had sharpened their elbows into lethal weapons yet in their ambition, but the fact that they all tried – and on occasionally succeeded in – avoiding blame for something they had done by playing innocent spoke of their more cunning natures. Regulus and James, however, were surely bound for Gryffindor with how they grinningly and proudly took credit for their pranks when they got caught.

Adhara and Lyra sat with their favourite uncles, who had joined them for ice cream, Lily, the Potters’ youngest, and Capella next to them, also listening intently to whatever the redheaded troublemakers were explaining. Hope sat with Victoire and had more success in talking with her friend than Aidan had, even if the latter looked at the only male metamorphmagus from time to time. Louis and Dominique sat with their parents, talking about Christmas, which they would spend in France, with Mrs Weasley’s side of their family that year.

The only person from that generation missing was Matthew. Since he was to play a game with his team that afternoon, he had to miss that year’s visit to Diagon Alley and Mrs Miller felt it keenly, missing her grandson who was always so busy with his work. Though, if he’d hear her describe it as such, she was sure to get an earful, with him explaining that it was his calling in life and as such did most decidedly not qualify as something so mundane as work. He would, however, be joining them at the Blacks for the party.

The 31st of August being a Monday that year, everyone was invited to spend the evening at number eleven. It was another warm and sunny day, making the back garden available. Mrs Miller had learned, all those years ago, that the Blacks had warded their property so as to make what happened in all places except for the front garden invisible. Well, the windows of the rooms facing the street would also let things through but filtered to hide any magic. It meant that no one raised an eyebrow when another friendly game of Quidditch was started, while Mrs Black, Oliver and Julia handled the barbecue.

“Hey! Don’t start without me!” Mrs Miller heard someone shout from behind her as she watched the host, along with many of the guests, rise up into the air on their brooms.

Turning around she saw Matthew coming out of the house, eyes shining and smiling broadly as he took in the sight of them all. Oliver and Julia hurried over to greet their son and both Aidan and Mr Black landed in front of him to do the same.

It had been a few years since Mrs Miller had finally been able to pinpoint what it was she found faintly familiar about Mr Black, but it was no wonder she had had such a hard time making the connection earlier. Marius Black had not shared the Black traits so distinct in the current head of the family, so when she had looked at the few pictures they had of him after she learned about them being related she had not found anything concrete. But as Matthew grew older and older, his features maturing and sharpening, she had at long last been able to satisfy that mental itch.

It had been easier to recognise the familiarity in Mrs Black since she shared a resemblance with people Mrs Miller had known before, while it was technically someone else resembling Mr Black that had tickled something at the back of her mind. At the age of twenty now, Matthew had those same prominent cheekbones and overall handsome face as his uncle and no one who saw them together could doubt that they were related.

Aidan had the same, but in a softer version, making Mrs Miller wonder if it had something to do with having magic that made the outside look a certain way. But when she had asked, Mr Black simply shrugged and said he had no idea. Mr Malfoy had done the same, though without the shrug. The man never shrugged if he could help it, she had learned over the years, meaning his son had inherited the entire habit, and not just how he did it, from the Black side of his family, along with naming his children after stars and constellations.

“Good to see you Matt” Mr Black said, embracing his nephew once the immediate family had already done so. “Heard you won the game almost singlehandedly.”

“Not really, but I did score the most goals” Matthew replied, returning the hug.

“No need to be so humble. Just make sure your next game doesn’t end up on the same day we’re busy with something we can’t get out off. You know how hard it can be to find a day when everyone can get away to Diagon. And I can’t wait to see you fly again after the league’s summer break.”

“Sure, I’ll do my best” Matthew replied, laughing.

“Good. Then get on a broom and get up there. My team’s one short.”

“I’ll be there in a minute, Sirius. Save me a spot as Chaser, yeah.”

“Of course” Mr Black said and then mounted his broom and took off once more.

“Hey! That’s cheating if you have a professional player on your team!” Mrs Miller could hear Mr Potter shout up above while she watched her grandson walk towards her.

“Stop complaining!” Mr Black shouted in reply. “You were the youngest seeker in a century at school! That even things out!”

“Good to see you, gran” Matthew said as he reached her, engulfing her in a strong hug that lifted her up a little with how much taller he was. “I missed you. Everything alright?”

“Good to see you too” Mrs Miller replied after both of her feet had returned to the ground. “I am well. Congratulations on winning the game.”

“Thanks. I wish you’d come and watch more often. Then maybe the Farleys would turn up a bit more too.”

“I think they are turning up as much as they are comfortable with, dear. Besides, as much as I love watching you doing something you are so passionate about, I do not think my heart would survive more than a few games each year. I am not as young as I once was, you know.”

“Rubbish. You have decades to live yet.”

“Only so long as you or Aidan do not perform any death defying stunts on those sticks. I have yet to get over seeing you get hit in the head by that bludger last year.”

“Yeah, I can understand that” he replied, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head, right at the spot that wretched ball had hit him. “But what can I say, it’s standard practice for the Beaters to go after the best player on the opposite team. I’m simply too good for my own good.”

“Oh, hush you. No need to brag like that” she replied, smiling. For, despite the risks involved in his profession and her conviction that a desk job was perfectly suitable for anyone of his intelligence, Mrs Miller was proud of her grandson’s achievement.

“There you are.”

Mr Miller joined them just then, putting his arm around Matthew’s shoulders.

“How are you, grandpa?”

“Oh, the usual. But you had better get up there now or you’ll miss the entire game. Food won’t take forever, you know.”

“And best not to miss out on Hermione’s cooking” Matthew replied as he pulled out a miniature broom from his pocket, used his wand to enlarge it, and then saluted them as he mounted it and rose up into the air.

There he quickly manoeuvred himself into a position where he could claim the quaffle when Ron Weasley tried to pass it on to Mrs Potter, then diving beneath him so he could throw the ball into the single hoop at that end of the garden.

“Hey! Not fair!” the youngest Weasley brother shouted, even if it had been perfectly within the rules. Even Mrs Miller knew that much. The trouble was that Ron Weasley was a lifelong and diehard fan of the Chudley Cannons and viewed it as unsportsmanlike that Matthew would lend his talent to Puddlemere United instead.

In the end, Matthew’s team won, though not by a large margin. It might also have been different if Mrs Black had not ended the game before the snitch had been caught, by informing everyone that the food was ready. Harry was a superior Seeker to Aidan and more likely to locate and catch the small golden ball. One of the Weasley twins – Mrs Miller still could not tell who was who – scored one last goal while Mr Black zoomed down to his wife, leaving his team’s goal unattended, but it did not tie the score anyway.

“Sirius! What are you-“ Mrs Black began, but was silenced by her husband’s lips on hers.

“Ew! Dad!” Alphard, who stood next to them, complained.

Laughing, Mr Black pulled back, only to reach out and ruffle his son’s already naturally unruly hair.

“Just making sure to thank your mum for her wonderful food, son. No harm in that now is there.”

Alphard just looked at him a short while before his expression showed that an idea had come to him.

“So I should kiss Capella to say thank you for letting me play with her knocking marbles or Albus for showing me how to degnome Molly and Arthur’s garden, or Dominique for-“

“Alright, son. That enough. Those things are not the same.”

“How so?” Alphard asked, looking innocently at his father.

A small snort actually escaped Mrs Miller at the sight. The boy would end up in Slytherin for sure, she thought while watching Mr Black trying to explain himself to his son, oblivious to everyone else starting in on the food he had tried to reach first.

The next morning it was time for the other destination she had to use Floo to reach. It was also located in London, but at King’s Cross Station. Just as shopping for supplies and having a party the day before school started was tradition, so was going along to platform nine and three-quarters and waving the children off as the Hogwarts Express took them away, not to be seen before Christmas and only reachable by owl until then.

Both Matthew and Aidan had been given one when they started their first years and soon Oliver and Julia had bought one of their own as well, quickly learning how bad boys could be at writing home. Mrs Miller, along with Mr Miller of course, was free to make use of them when available and suddenly found herself writing even more letters than before. While owls could hardly compare to the Royal Mail in terms of being civilised, she had to admire the magical world for still using such a traditional and proper means of communication. There were no blasted computers to be found in their society.

Staggering out onto the floor of the Floo room connected to the magical platform, Mrs Miller was, as usual, caught by her husband and saved the disgrace of making a painfully close acquaintance with the marble tiles. Arriving half an hour before the train was set to depart, there were already a lot of students, parents and other family members milling around, but not the crushing mass that would happen the last ten minutes or so when everyone who had trouble being on time showed up all at once. It was best to already have your child, or grandchild, hugged, kissed and onboard by then so one could avoid the stampede.

“And you’re sure you have everything packed?” Julia asked Aidan just ahead, where they stood waiting for everyone to arrive.

“Mum. You know I do.”

“It’s only that three years ago you forgot to pack any clean socks and-“

“Mum” Aidan hissed, looking embarrassed.

“Don’t worry” Oliver interjected, laying a comforting hand on Julia’s shoulder. “We can always send Hermes if he’s left something behind.”

“I know, it’s just I want to make sure you can focus on your studies and having fun, Aidan, not be bothered about missing items or smelly feet.”

“I’ve learned how to magically clean my clothes since then, so even if I would’ve forgotten my clean socks, it wouldn’t be a problem, alright.”

“Alright” Julia replied, her eyes taking on a watery shine.

“Oh, mum” Aidan said, hugging her tightly. “You know I’ll miss you too. And I promise to write often, yeah.”

“You better, son, or I’ll finally let Hermione help me write a howler. I let you get off far too easy that time in fifth year when you snuck out into that forest with Teddy. I know for a fact that Dora sent him a howler after that.”

Mrs Miller decided to intervene before Julia spent all the time they had left with her motherly admonishments and went straight for a hug.

“Please be good with your studies at least” she said, looking up at him. He was as tall as his brother.

“I promise, gran” he replied. “I need top grades if I’m going to land a good job at the Ministry, so don’t worry.”

“And have some fun too” Mr Miller said, going in for the next hug.

“You know it, grandpa.”

The Blacks and Potters stood next to them, as they had travelled together, displaying much more tear-filled goodbyes. It was no wonder, seeing as they were sending off children for the first time. She had even overheard Mr Black talking to Ernest last night about how difficult it would be to send Regulus away for several months, even if he himself had had a wonderful time at Hogwarts and wanted the same for his children. Separation was never easy, but a parent saying goodbye to their child, even if it was only temporary, was even harder.

“And I don’t want to receive a single letter from Headmistress McGonagall saying you’ve been up to no good” Mrs Miller hears Mrs Black saying after wiping away a few tears.

“At least not the first week, son” Mr Black said, better at hiding his feelings, though the wobbliness of his smile gave him away.

Regulus only grinned at his father, making his mother sigh.

“Alright” she said, “let’s say a month and I won’t send you a howler.”

“I’ll try, mum.”

“Will you join the quidditch team?” Alphard asked.

“Can’t until second year. You know that.”

“But uncle Harry did in his first year.”

“Your uncle Harry was a very special case” Mr Black explained. “He needed to be in order to defeat old Mouldy-pants.”

Both sons grinned at their father at that, but were interrupted when the twins made a joint assault to get to their oldest brother and hug him goodbye.

A similar scene played out with the Potters, where James was nothing but excited to go, his parents were trying to put on brave faces and his siblings were eager to learn about what their brother would do as well as sad to have to stay behind.

It took a long time before those that had a ticket had boarded the train after every last hug, kiss and quick words of encouragement and admonishment had been given. After that, those left behind moved to stand by the wall to avoid the late arrivals that were due any moment and simply waved as soon as they spotted the windows their children, grandchildren, nephews and nieces were seated behind until the train started moving and took them out of sight.

Having done this for a decade now, Mrs Miller could still feel as tears started to slowly find their way down her cheeks. But while once they might have been tears of resentment at having been forced to accept this new and magical reality, it was now only a grandmother’s tears at having to be parted from her grandson. Her eyes might be wet, but her heart was warm and filled with gratitude at being given this chance at a newfound closeness with her family. Magic would never be a natural part of her own life, but that did not mean it had not taught her to see beyond what she could now only describe as shallow things and values and fully embrace loving and supporting her family while they faced a new world.

Looking to the side, she watched Mr and Mrs Black, clutching their three youngest tightly to themselves, as they watched their oldest head of to his own adventures. Now, twelve years after meeting them for the first time, it was hard to recollect what she had disliked so much about them back then. Without them in her life, in her family’s life, they would have faced magic wholly unprepared and it would likely have torn them asunder. She would have been unable to accept something she would have viewed as unnatural and Oliver, Julia, Matthew and Aidan might have been lost to her forever. Eleanor was similar enough to herself to have caused the same between their two families, and Ernest would have been heartbroken as he was forced to pick a side.

No, they owed the Blacks more than they could ever repay, because they owed them everything. And having already thanked them enough over the years to be asked to please stop, she sent them her silent gratitude every time she could have all of her family together for a birthday party, a Sunday dinner, or any other occasion. Every time she had tea with Mrs Jones and knew the woman was her genuine friend now. Every time she saw her husband, son, daughter-in-law and two magical grandsons interact with the wizarding world and everyone who inhabited it. Every time Ernest eyes lit up as he talked to or about his now large family and every time she could fall asleep or wake up next to him.

Carnation Lane was forever changed, and so was she.

Chapter Text

The sound of the Floo roaring to life was soon followed by the sound of Sirius’ steps as he approached her in the study of their large flat, where she sat curled up in one of the two large armchairs by one of the two large windows. She looked up and smiled even before he appeared in the doorway, knowing, by the spring in his step, that he was already doing the same, which meant good news.

“Wonderful news, my love!” he exclaimed as soon as he spotted her, hastening his pace to reach her sooner. “The bill passed, even if the margin was embarrassingly small.”

Without waiting for her to reply, or even put her book away, he then proceeded to hoist her up in his arms and kiss her to within an inch of her life. She was happy to let him.

Once air made their separation necessary to keep that inch intact, he simply leaned his forehead against hers and gazed right into her eyes. Right into her soul in that way only he could. No Legilimency necessary, there was a magical bond between them much deeper than that.

“I’m so proud of you” she said, letting the book fall from her hand, not even registering the dull thud it made when in landed on the floor, so she could reach up and stroke his cheek. “I’d never have been able to convince enough of those old codgers to see the light.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get plenty good at it. You’ll get enough practice soon, anyway, while I, lucky bastard that I am, get to spend my days with the twins, selling pranks to eager children and adults alike.”

“You are utterly incorrigible.”

“Utterly” he agreed before claiming another kiss.

“And happy to leave your poor wife to deal with the Wizengamot while you have all the fun” she said, mock pouting, while letting her hand wander further up so she could tangle it in his hair.

“You asked for it love. Not my fault you had to wait for them to allow spouses to make use of the hereditary seats rather than only those born into the family. And I think you’ll have the time of your life letting those old fools know what kind of stuff you’re made of. They’ll all retire within the year, I’m sure.”

“If only. But I have something in mind which will make the look on some of their faces priceless.”

She paused, taking in the eager look on her husband’s face. Always one to encourage a little trouble, he seemed to love nothing better than when she came up with some mischief of her own. Well, nothing except certain more intimate activities. And speaking of.

“Could you imagine what old Herbert Woodford-Biddle, for example, might do or say when he sees a fellow member of the most honourable and prestigious Gamot attend its meetings while pregnant.”

“I’d ask you to tell me in advance so I can borrow Harry’s cloak and be there, front row, but who could possibly be pregnant in that assembly of mostly old men and some old ladies-“

He suddenly stopped himself as his eyes grew huge before dropping like stones from her face to what little he could see of her body in their tightly entwined position.

“Mione, love…” he began in a strangely croaking voice. “Are… are you…”

“No, not yet” she replied, her voice soft. “But I’d like for us to start trying now.”

His mouth twitched in its effort to break out into a wide grin, but he managed to push his own eagerness aside in favour of one of those moments of concern he only showed to a select few. Apart from the occasional prank – to spice things up for them, he always explained – he unfailingly always put her feelings, needs and desires above his own, and this was one of the topics that made that fact very apparent.

“Are… are you sure, Mione? I mean, you’re still so young and I know you want to have a career. I don’t mind waiting.”

Gently caressing the cheek she was still holding, Hermione simply met his gaze for a while, reading his emotions, the underlying excitement and joy, and knew she had made the right decision.

“And I love you for that, but I’m sure. The only way my career could take me higher by now is if I became Minister for Magic, and I think Kingsley is doing too good of a job to try to muscle him out of it already. And I’m not that young. Harry and Ginny are going to start trying too, you know.”

“They are?”

“Harry didn’t tell you yet?” she asked, her look of surprise turning into one of guilt when she realised she had stolen her best friend’s thunder.

“No, but I’m meeting him tonight.”

“Oh. Play surprised then.”

“I’ll try my best, love.”

Then the grin broke free, along with a whoop of joy. An instant later she found herself being lifted up and twirled around, while still held tightly against her husband’s body. He did not stop until she lowered her arms so they lay around his neck and pressed a long and hard kiss to his lips. After looking into his eyes, she leaned in, her mouth close to his ear, and whispered; “You’re going to be a father.”

“I love you. More than anything.”

.oOo.

Having stopped by yet another office dealing with marketing houses for sale in the areas outside the large cities, he felt confident he might have just found the perfect place this time.

It had only been a few days after they had started trying for a baby when Hermione had told him they needed to buy a house. She wanted a large place with lots of space for both themselves and visiting family and friends, along with an even larger garden. She had then pulled out a long list of requirements and Sirius somehow managed to smile and groan at the same time. It was so like his darling wife to write such a thing, but he also knew it might make it a lot more difficult to find a place she would approve of. Still, being the dutiful and loving husband he was, he listened as she explained every last point on that list and then asked that she made a copy for him as well that he could take with him when he went looking. After her swift inauguration into the Gamot she did not have time to do more than look at the options he found.

It needed to be outside the large cities because she wanted their children – yes, they would definitely have more than one if they could – to grow up close to nature, but it also needed to be a place large enough to have a public library, since those were essential to life. It also needed to be on the edge of the town or village, since even heavy warding might not be enough to contain the wilful and highly intelligent mini marauders hellbent on mischief they would undoubtedly put into the world. Better to let them have a natural safe space to run wild in.

Naturally, there also needed to be at least one fireplace, and a basement where they could have a potions lab. There were a few more, but the main one was that it should be in a muggle neighbourhood. For, as much as Hermione adored magic, she did not wish to lose sight of her nonmagical heritage or for their children to miss out on it. Especially since her parents could not be there and help them with it.

And now, he held a folder with a house that fulfilled all the requirements and was really pretty on top, not to mention that it had pulled on something deep inside him when he had first looked at the photo. Something like intuition telling him that the house was somehow important. As an added bonus, it was located in a place with some magical history and one of the local pubs had been established by a wizard in the 1680s, only to have to be sold to muggles when the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was enacted a few years later. He had even been there once with James and Remus – Peter thankfully absent that night – during their short period of trying the few pubs they had found mentioned in various books on magical Britain’s history. The food had been surprisingly good he recalled, and he decided to go there with Remus some day regardless if he ended up becoming a local resident or not.

The only drawback seemed to be that it was located in an area with a lot of older people. Then again, that only meant that they could maybe make neighbours out of some family and friends in the years to come, which would be amazing. He already loved Teddy and Hope and to have them near, along with Harry and Ginny’s future children, would be the perfect addition to his own pending fatherhood.

“Mione, love!” he called as he entered their flat, “I think I’ve found it!”

His beautiful wife came out into the hallway from the kitchen, a steaming cup of tea in one hand and holding out the other. He used a little wandless magic to send the folder over to her and then proceeded to pull off his outerwear so he could make a cup for himself before joining Hermione in the living room, where all the previous folders he had brought home during the last few months were already stacked in neat piles on the coffee table. There was the largest pile, which contained the rejects, the middle pile containing maybes and the last one, which currently only contained two files, which made up the serious contenders.

With a steaming cup of his own in his hand, he entered the living room only to almost drop it at the sight of Hermione silently crying as she stared at something in the now opened new folder. His cup almost hit the floor once more when he carelessly put it down on the edge of the coffee table in his haste to reach her, though he would hardly had noticed as his whole mind was focused on one single thing. Comforting his wife.

“Mione, love, what’s the matter” he asked as soon as he had secured her in his embrace, though keeping enough distance to let him see her face.

Not since they had both managed to survive the carnage of the final battle had he seen such sorrow in her beautiful eyes and his heart ached at the sight. What could possibly have caused such a reaction in his strong and brave Gryffindor warrior?

“N- nana’s house” she finally rasped out, her gaze still locked on what he now saw was the picture of the front of the house.

“What?” he could not help but ask, feeling even more bewildered. He knew none of Hermione’s grandparents had been alive for some time, so it could not be that one of them had died and this was how she found out.

After closing her eyes and taking a deep shuddering breath, Hermione then looked up at him, the slight softening of her face letting him know he could at least comfort her some with his presence.

“I’ve only seen this house in photos before, but I recognised it immediately” she said. “It’s the first house my grandparents bought after they had managed to save enough money to move to a middleclass area. Nana used to tell me about it when I was little.”

“What happened to make you so sad about it?” he asked when she did not continue and her gaze drifted back down to the picture.

“They were working class, you see, and some people already living there did not like that. They made sure to make them feel so unwelcome they eventually felt they had to leave.”

“That sounds horrible, my love. Just like purebloods.”

“Yeah. I guess that’s true. Never thought of it that way before. But I guess it’s simply different kinds of harmful prejudice. But there was one woman in particular, if I remember correctly, who was the ringleader. Hm… What was her name again? Something starting with an m, I think. Mannington? No, something shorter. Morris? No, that’s not it either.”

Watching her eyes grow distant while she let her mind wander, Sirius brought her back to him with a kiss. It had not been long into their relationship that he had realised it was the only effective way to catch her attention when her brain was gearing up. He could feel some of the tension leaving her body before he parted their lips and she looked sheepish but grateful when pulled away.

“I’m sure you’ll remember it soon, but does this mean the house is going on the reject pile? I thought it might be the one, but if it’ll cause you pain, I’m happy to continue our search.”

She looked pensive for a while before slowly shaking her head.

“No. I actually think we ought to move there. I… I want to reclaim the house. Nana and grandpa were so happy there at first and I want to capture that for us and this little one, she said, reaching down and rubbing her still flat midsection.

Laying one hand over hers and savouring the still new knowledge of the life they had created, and which grew inside of her now until it was ready to come out into the world and greet them, he made the effort to search for her feelings and found only determination, tinged with some sadness. Then a sudden wave of anger washed over her.

“And if that woman still lives there, we’ll make her life miserable and drive her out of the neighbourhood.”

The vengeful gleam in Hermione’s eyes was both thrilling and terrifying.

“Alright. If it’ll make you happy, we’ll do this. I’ll even offer a lot more than they’re asking right away, so they’ll be sure to sell it to us without a long bidding process if it’s this important to you.”

“It is. Thank you.”

Lifting her up so he could place her sideways in his lap, he then leaned back in the sofa, smiling as she snuggled up against him. He liked nothing better than when he could give her his love, understanding and comfort like this. She had done it so many times for him. Even before their love for each other as friends had deepened into the romantic kind. Or at least before they had become aware of it happening.

“I’ll go back tomorrow and inquire about the house” he said, turning his head so he could kiss her brow. She hummed her agreement and then they just sat there, content to simply be together until a growl was heard from her midsection, reminding them that she was eating for two now.

C1. Moving In

It had been particularly trying to direct the movers while being constantly aware that Mrs Miller stood by one of the windows on the first floor over in number twelve and regarded everything they and she did. Had it been the same for her nana? Had she also felt that prickling feeling at the back of her neck and just known she was being watched.

On the other hand, it was slightly hilarious that the obnoxious woman thought she went unnoticed even after staying in the same spot for a few hours. The urge to turn towards her, smile and wave was tempting to follow through on, but she managed to resist. She had a much better idea about how to annoy the woman after all.

Not much remained to carry inside and she had just shown where she wanted the chess table in the sitting room when she heard the sound of his motorbike driving up the street. Apart from the very occasional drive he managed to cajole her into, Hermione was happy to stay off the death trap, but could also freely admit to admiring how her husband looked on top of it. Dangerous and so tempting. Eager to get a look before he pulled up in the driveway she hurried to the front door. As always, she was not disappointed.

Stealing a quick glance across the street she ascertained their new neighbour was still watching and then proceeded to hardly give Sirius time to get off his bike and pull off his helmet before she leaped into his arms – causing the helmet to fall to the ground – and kissed him with all the passion she was able to muster in a semi-public setting.

Not one to say no a kiss from his wife, Sirius responded after a short moment of surprise and pulled her in close to him. It was enough to make her forget about their audience until she felt his lips curve up into a smile just before he pulled away a little and rested his forehead against hers.

“I’m taking it someone’s watching us.”

“Yes” she admitted.

“Good. Then we’d better make sure she’s really scandalised” he replied before capturing her lips in another searing kiss.

There were few times his support had felt just as wonderful and toe-curling as it did now and she felt on top of the world.

.oOo.

Knowing that his darling Hermione would not be in the mood for anything other than sleeping tonight, Sirius had pulled on the shirt that went with his pyjama bottoms for once before he exited the en suite bathroom connected to their bedroom. Having already used a drying spell on his hair and brushed his teeth – in just that thorough way his wife had shown him and that her parents had taught her – he was finally ready for bed. But the relief of another arduous day coming to an end was abruptly exchanged for worry when he noticed the balled-up form of Hermione under the sheets. She was shaking slightly, which was a sure sign of tears.

Crawling over the bed from his side, he gently pried the blanket from her so he could see her tear-streaked face and reddened eyes before engulfing her in his arms.

“Mione, my love. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She remained silent while she calmed her breathing, and he could feel her body relax against his own. Then a few shuddering breaths were heard before her voice – as lovely as always despite a hint of hoarseness – finally replied.

“I thought I would be stronger than this. Be braver. But seeing that woman. Having her come here and see her judging us just like she judged by grandparents… I’m sorry.”

“Never be sorry for someone else’s faults, love” he said and bent down to kiss her brow. “That woman is nothing compared to you, my brave lioness. Nothing at all.”

“But I feel so foolish and inadequate” she insisted. “I felt as if I failed nana and grandpa when I let her into the house and had to be nice to her, when all I wanted was to draw my wand and hex her into oblivion.”

“You failed no one. The price for swift and thoughtless vengeance can be much too steep, as I should know, so I’m happy you were strong enough to not only keep from harming her, but to stay polite. She did not suspect a thing.”

“Are you sure? I felt as if I was trying to kill her just by looking at her half the time.”

He chuckled at that and was rewarded with a wry smile appearing on her face before she buried it in his chest as she so often did when seeking comfort and reassurance. Something he was happy to give ever since that first time when she had returned from Australia without her parents.

“Well, I guess it’s a shame Harry killed the basilisk in your second year, or we could have invited it over to do the job for you.”

“I’ll be sure to admonish Harry for it next time we see him.”

“Or maybe old Lucius would do? He can glare something fierce when in the mood. After all the times he glared at me in the Gamot, I ought to know. And I’m sure he’d even do it for free if you told him who it is he needs to stare into an early grave.”

“I’m sure he’d be delighted to help. Would no doubt make wonders for his public image too. I can already picture the frontpage headline of the Prophet. Reformed Death Eater helps member of the Golden Trio by staring horrible muggle to death. All hail the new king of serpents. I’m sure the masses will love him for it.”

“At least you would. And me too, by extension.”

“You’re too good to me” she said after a heavy sigh and reached out and laid the arm not crushed between them over his waist in order to return his embrace.

They lay in silence a while after that and he could feel Hermione relaxing more and more. Her breathing calmed down even further and eventually she pulled her head away from him a bit so she could look up at him, while the rest of her body remained snuggly tucked in against his.

“Are… are you sure we’re doing the right thing? About moving in here I mean.”

He looked her solemnly in the eyes before replying, making sure she understood he was perfectly honest.

“Yes. I have seen how all of this has affected you since you first saw the picture of this house in that folder and I’ll not rest until this hurt from your past is laid to rest. You have already done so much for me and all the things that used to haunt me that I could do this for you and we still wouldn’t be even, my darling.”

“Sirius” she said, reaching up and stroking his cheek, the scruff of his unshaved skin scratching lightly against her own. “This is not something either of us should keep a score on or feel we owe each other. I did that for you out of friendship and love, nothing more, nothing less. Definitely not to make you feel indebted to me.”

“I know. So, I’m now happy to do this for you out of love. There is nothing worse for me than to see you in pain. To see you in tears like now” he said, gently tracing a finger along the tear tracks below her eyes. “Mrs Miller hurt you by hurting your grandparents and the time has come for her to face her comeuppance. Besides, I was looking forward to playing the secret criminal. To be a dangerous fugitive from the law, bent on destroying her perfect neighbourhood and worst of all, shock her with my terrible lack of manners.”

“She might not even survive coming into contact with such a lack of propriety.”

“One can only hope.”

A few minutes later they both lay under the blanket, her back to his chest and his arms around her. It was the best position in the world to help him fall asleep and keep any lingering nightmare away and he knew his wife felt the same. Lazily waving his hand to turn off the lights, he replaced it around her and let it rest against her still flat belly. The place that kept all their hopes and promises for the future. And why moving to this house was not first and foremost about avenging her grandparents but to create a safe and loving home where they could raise a family together.

The feeling of her smaller hand on top of his pulled him out of the state between wakefulness and sleep, where the latter had gently called for him with promises of seeing little children with wild black curls and warm brown eyes in his dreams.

“Sirius?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you, my love.”

C2. A Pot of Tea, or Two, or Three…

Walking downstairs and into the kitchen, Sirius stopped on the threshold, the sight of his wife busy at the stove making him smile. Her breakfast omelettes were the best way to start the day, along with a cup of strong tea, but while the smell was as appetising as always, it was his eyes that made him halt, not his nose. She wore the red apron he had bought as one of his many gifts on her last birthday, a neat bow at the centre of her lower back. A back that was swaying softly to the tune currently playing on the radio. She had yet to notice his presence and he took the time to just take it all in. This domestic bliss he had never envisioned for himself for most of his life but now thanked both God and Merlin for granting him.

“Good morning, my love” he said while he walked over and let his arms slide around her waist and pull her against him.

“Morning, darling” she replied while continuing to poke the omelette with the spatula. She swore it was how she managed to always make them so fluffy.

“I see you continue to spoil me rotten” he replied and bent down and kissed her cheek.

“Then why don’t you make yourself useful and go out and get the newspaper. This will take a while longer.”

“I’ll get right on it, my love. Your very own knight in shining armour to the rescue.”

“I’m swooning at your courage in undertaking this quest, brave sir knight” she replied and leaned back into him for a moment so she could tilt her head enough for him to reach her lips for a quick peck.

“Minx” he both accused and praised before he reluctantly let go of her and headed out into the entryway where he pulled on a pair of shoes.

Mailboxes were something of a novelty to him. He was brought up with nothing but owls for mail delivery and at their flat there was a slot in the entrance door through which the mailman pushed their muggle mail inside. This walking outside seemed a ridiculous idea. What would they do in the cold of winter? And it wasn’t even a common thing among muggles in Britain either, from what he had understood. Even houses usually had that slot in their entrance doors. But some neighbourhoods did it their own way apparently and this one just had to be one of them.

As he opened the door, Sirius immediately saw he was not the only person in the middle of undertaking this hardship, for right across the street was Mr Miller, just about to open his own mailbox. Having only seen the man a few times, but never met him, so far, he decided to take the opportunity.

“Good morning!” he called.

The other man looked up and smiled. “Morning!” he called back and then crossed the street to shake hands after quickly retrieving his own newspaper.

“Sirius Black” he introduced himself.

“Ernest Miller” the man replied. “I was hoping I’d get a chance to meet you soon.”

“We’ve already met your wife. Came over with some lovely cake last week.”

“I know. She told me all about it. But I was away at the time, so I sadly had to miss it.”

“Yes, she mentioned something about a crossword puzzle group I think.”

The older man looked curiously at him for a few seconds, shifting his weight from one foot to the other while he clearly thought something over.

“You… you’d not be interested in joining by any chance? We’re just a bunch of stuffy old men, mind you, almost all of us retired, but we take turn hosting, eat some nice cakes, most of the time at least, with tea and coffee or even whisky and excellent company. If you’re not used to crosswords, we’d be happy to help you. It’s great exercise for the mind.”

“As a matter a fact, they are a bit of a hobby of mine. I’ve done them ever since I was a kid. And I’ll be doing one this morning” he replied and pulled out the newspaper from the mailbox at last, holding it up.

“The Guardian, eh? That’s a novelty” Mr Miller replied before chuckling.

“How so?” he asked, not well versed enough on the topic of muggle newspapers to know if it was a strange subscription. But Hermione had said it was the best and that her parents had always read it.

“You’ll find that in this neighbourhood, we’re all avid readers of The Daily Telegraph, but while perhaps not everyone will be happy over such a deviation, I welcome the change. I’ve always said that the world will go down the drain the moment we all start to get our news from just one source. And the neighbourhood could surely do with a few ruffled feathers to liven things up a bit.”

“Now you sound just like my kind of man” Sirius replied, grinning widely at this unexpected mischievous streak in the man who was married to the horrid Mrs Miller. He’d expected to find him much the same as his wife, but this was a most pleasant surprise. He also seemed to have a warmth and ease of manners to him that Mrs Miller lacked. “I love ruffling feathers.”

Mr Miller chuckled again.

“I think you and I might get along, Mr Black.”

“I’m sure we will, Mr Miller.”

And if he was not mistaken, Sirius had just made his first friend on Carnation Lane.

.oOo.

The sound of a car parking outside drew Hermione to the kitchen window and as soon as she caught sight of the man and woman exiting the vehicle she smiled happily.

“Sirius darling!” she called out, “they’re here.”

Only seconds later she heard his steps race down the stairs and they arrived in the entryway at the same time.

“All of them?” he asked.

“Only the Lupins so far, but Harry and Ginny are sure to arrive any time.”

“Yeah. Come on then.”

Smiling at her husband who looked almost as eager in his human form as he could do in his dog form – she suspected the only difference was the missing waging tail – she followed him outside into the front garden. Remus had just released Teddy from his car seat and set the boy down on the grass, while Dora still struggled with freeing Hope from the muggle contraption that was a child car seat. She strongly suspected Remus had been to instal it, judging by the ease he freed their son.

“Auntie Mione! Uncle Sirius!” the green haired boy shouted as he raced towards them, arms outstretched.

Sirius caught him and hoisted him up into the air several times to the sound of delighted shrieking.

“How’s my favourite boy doing?” she asked when she reached them and Teddy started squirming in Sirius’ arms until he handed him over.

“Dad said you have chocolate ice-cream, auntie Mione. Do you have chocolate ice-cream?”

“We do indeed, little man. Bought some specially for you” she replied and gently tapped his nose with her finger while his eyes widened comically in obvious delight.

“Yay! Can I have it now?”

“In a little while. Everyone needs to arrive first. Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny isn’t here yet. But why don’t you run around a little and have a look at the garden, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

The moment his small feet touched the ground, the metamorphmagus was off to have a closer look at the beautiful roses. The roses her grandpa had planted for her nana.

“Sorry about that. He’s been so eager to see you and your new place” Remus said as he came up to them.

“We’re always delighted to see him. To see all of you” she replied and gave him a hug. “And there’s ice-cream for you too, just so you know.”

“Indeed. Like father like son” Sirius said and went in for the next hug.

“Just you wait until you have your own kid” Remus replied.

“Which will be when?” Dora asked as she reached them, little Hope in her arms.

“Well” Sirius said, looking across at her.

She nodded to him. This was when they had planned to tell everyone after all, and she was too excited to wait for the Potters. They would simply hade to do it twice.

“We started trying some months ago” her husband continued.

“Oh, you did?” Remus asked, looking surprised. “You never told me anything.”

“Yeah, well, the healers didn’t know if the cursed scars on Hermione would be an issue, so we decided to not get anyone else’s hope up. But long story short, we got lucky and Hermione’s already pregnant. We’re expecting the little one to arrive in early February.”

Their two friends looked slack jawed at them, clearly not having expected the news. Then Tonks managed to rouse herself.

“How lovely!” she exclaimed and went in for a hug.

Sirius managed to rescue his goddaughter from being squished between his wife and cousin and kissed her pudgy cheeks, making her giggle and make a grab for his hair. Hermione could not help but sigh happily at the sight, even as Dora started asking about if they had used any fertility potions and what kind of supplements her healer recommended her to take now. Sirius had always been good with children and she could not wait to see him interact with their own. Though she out to urge him to let his locks grow out a little more so they would be long enough to pull up in a bun or something so their own child would not be able to abuse them so when he or she arrived. There was no way she’d let him cut them off.

“Well, we decided that I’d start taking some if there was no result after six months. Like Sirius said, the healers didn’t know if Bellatrix’ handiwork would interfere but we didn’t want to start with the assumption that she had damaged me in such a way too. But it seems she was not destined to ruin things even after her death.”

“Crazy bitch that aunt of mine. How she’s related to me, mum or Sirius I’ll never understand. Even Cissa’s not half as bad and that’s saying something.”

“Seems to have had it from her own aunt I’d say” she replied, thinking of her mother-in-law, whom she luckily would never have to meet in person. The painting was bad enough, even if they managed to destroy it long before she took over the title of Mrs Black. Well, Mrs Granger Black, but still.

Just then, another car pulled up and Harry and Ginny joined them. Teddy was first to greet the newcomers, insisting on being picked up and cuddled before letting any of the others welcome his godfather and honorary aunt.

After the second set of hugs and kisses were exchanged, they got to break the news a second time and receive another bout of congratulations. This time Remus had recovered enough to join in. Even after Sirius having been happily married to Hermione, after a steady relationship, for some time now, the werewolf still had some trouble reconciling his friend’s “love ‘em and leave ‘em” philosophy and lifestyle from their youth with the emotionally mature man he was these days. Not that he wasn’t thrilled about it, it just took his mind a minute or so longer to process this latest facet of reality.

“But we are a bit cautious still” Hermione had to reveal after Harry had hugged her a second time. “While it seems Bellatrix’ handiwork won’t have an impact, Dolohov’s little souvenir might.”

Everyone turned anxious at once, but she was quick to reassure them while Sirius, Hope still on one arm, walked over and laid his free arm around her, lending her his silent support.

“The healers said it might make the pregnancy high-risk, but they already have a plan for how to deal with it. They said the scar might react badly if it becomes too stretched, which would happen during a normal pregnancy. So, once I start showing they going to use a modified version of the undetectable extension charm on my uterus to keep that from happening.”

Now all the adult guests were staring in disbelief at her, and even Teddy felt something was the matter and walked up to them, taking hold of his father’s hand and asking what was wrong. Remus simply lifted the boy up and rested him against his hip in a move so habitual he seemed barely aware of performing it.

“They… they can do that?” Harry asked at last. “You won’t be showing at all?”

“No. I’ll simply show less than normal, making the stretching happen at a slower pace and not go as far. They explained that it would be bad for me mentally if I had to go through all nine months, feeling the increased heaviness along with the havoc the hormones are going to wreck, but not seeing the pregnancy progress. I will probably look somewhere around six or maybe close to seven months along when I give birth.”

“Merlin’s holy underpants” Tonks said. “That’s quite a thing to have to go through. Are you alright, Mione?”

“Honestly, not entirely. Not because I won’t get to be huge like Ginny-“

“Hey! Unfair” Mrs Potter mock protested.

“But because it makes the pregnancy a bit more risky than normal, that someone did this to me” she explained, making a gesture along the purple line across her torso they all knew was there even if her clothes easily hid it.

“But the healers insisted it was a low extra risk” Sirius said, pulling her a little closer towards him and this time she knew it was as much to comfort himself as it was to do the same for her. “We have no reason not to believe we’ll not have a healthy child next year.”

“Okay. Just… just let us know if you need anything. If there’s anything we can do to make this easier for you.”

“Oh, there is” Sirius said and when she looked up at him she could see his devious marauder grin appearing. “We have a certain neighbour we’re planning to make life miserable for and we’d love for you to assist in that. But best not talk about it out here. Come on in everyone. Delicious cakes and chocolate ice cream are on the menu.”

“Ice cream!” Teddy shouted and that was that.

They all entered the house where the guests were given a quick tour before tea, cake and ice-cream was served in the living room.

“So magical first floor and muggle ground floor?” Harry asked once they all sat down.

Teddy sat calmly for once, happily licking at his two scopes of chocolate ice-cream, while Hope was allowed to have some of her father’s. Both the Lupin children had inherited their father’s love for the stuff and to see brown smudges around their mouths was not an uncommon sight since the one big flaw in Remus otherwise firm parenting was his inability to deny them that one treat. Dora only smiled fondly at her family while she enjoyed the strawberry tarts Hermione had baked last night.

“That’s right. But we’re going to put some spells on the windows to keep any magic hidden from any onlookers. We do have at least two of a most eager and dedicated kind, after all.”

“The infamous Mrs Miller, I take it?” Ginny asked.

“And Mrs Sutton in number ten” Hermione said. “We haven’t met her yet, but she’s good friends with Mrs Miller and we’d not be surprised if she came by sometime soon to get a closer look.”

“She was watching us when you arrived, in fact” Sirius said.

“How thrilling” Dora commented dryly then hurriedly reached out and wiped a smudge of brown drool of her daughter’s chin before it dislodged.

“But Mrs Miller has already been by?” Remus asked.

“She has.”

“That was fast of her” Ginny commented before pushing the second half of her second tart into her mouth. She was already letting her own pregnancy allow her to indulge herself when it came to delicious food, baked goods and sweets.

“Eager to size us up, no doubt” Hermione scoffed. “And finding us lacking.”

“You should have seen her face when she realised the teaspoons were not made of silver” Sirius said, then affected a shrill feminine voice as he held up his own spoon and looking at it as if it had just insulted him and his chosen family; “I simply cannot believe this horrendous lack of proper silverware. Are you aware, Mr and Mrs Granger Black that it is required, yes required, to own at least a dozen silver teaspoons in order to live in this most esteemed neighbourhood? No? Then let me tell you right this moment that you had better start packing again or you can be assured of receiving my most disapproving stare anytime we meet.”

Remus looked amused while the three other adults laughed at the silly impression. Teddy also grinned up at them, even if he did not understand what was so funny, while Hope simply looked confused before demanding another spoon of ice-cream from her father by gripping his light blue shirt with her smudged pudgy fist and shouting; “Daddy, Ice’eem!”

“Sorry darling” the werewolf said and hurried to comply, making the rest of them laugh even more.

Hermione then leaned towards Sirius while the others were still distracted by Hope’s quest to claim as much of her father’s treat as possible.

“Will you be the same, I wonder.”

He glanced sideways at her and smiled that smile he reserved for her, which never failed to make her feel loved and cherished.

“I’ll spoil our children as much as you’ll let me” he replied, then dove in for a quick kiss before turning back towards their guests, leaving a warm and content feeling in her heart.

C3. The Red Army Invades
“Are you sure you don’t mind me going” Sirius asked her one last time while he stood in the entryway, his shoes already on and that day’s issue of The Guardian tucked under his arm.

“For the last time, you big oaf, I don’t mind at all. You go off and enjoy your little crossword group and I’ll see you when you get back. They’ll still be here you know. Even Molly with her approving looks and encouraging comments.”

“Don’t remind me. I’m still sure she’s trying to work out a spell to nonverbally hex my balls off at a distance.”

“I’m too fond of them to let her, dear, so don’t worry. Now, off you go or I’ll have to hex you out of here.”

“Wouldn’t want to go up against your wicked spell work” he replied with a grin and then bent down and kissed her before walking out the door with a salute.

Shaking her head fondly at her husband’s retreating back, Hermione headed into the kitchen to continue preparation for the enormous amount of food that was required to feed all the Weasleys. The absence of Charlie would hardly make a dent in the quantity needed. At least, most of them had good table manners and even Ron had grown out of the worst of his, though he was still liable to start talking with food in his mouth every once in a while. Luckily, Lavender, despite her devotion to him, did admonish him for his more trying vices and had made some surprising progress.

She had just started pouring the cake batter into the baking tin, hoping to get it into the oven before the guests arrived, when the doorbell rang. Looking out the window she saw no cars and frowned. Who could it possibly be if not the Potters or the Weasleys?

Finishing with the cake before she hurried to answer the door, hoping that it was simply someone turning up early because they had forgotten to arrive by car, she was surprised to see Mrs Miller when she opened it. Whatever could the obnoxious woman want now?

They only had time to exchange a few words before the cars did arrive and for a moment she felt apprehension about what kind of scene was about to occur. Then she realised that this was a golden opportunity to get on Mrs Miller’s nerves even more and once all the redheads stared emerging from the vehicles she smiled and moved to welcome them.

What did happen next was more than she had hoped for. Her neighbour was clearly overwhelmed by the Weasleys and stood still by the front door, no doubt hoping to escape detection. Not that she was lucky enough to do so. First the twins had accosted her. They, along with Bill and Fleur were the only Weasleys to know the truth. The twins because they knew how to irritate despicable toads – what with all the practice they got on Umbridge – and the oldest brother and his wife because she needed some level heads to help with keeping an eye on the troublemaking duo least they go too far.

A bit surprisingly, it was Bill and not Fred and George who had ended up becoming good friends with Sirius and Remus. Maybe the age difference had something to do with it, with Bill being only roughly ten years junior to the Marauders while the twins were eighteen. But she strongly suspected that it also had to do with Fred and George’s hero-worship of the Marauders, which kept them from being capable of much more than asking for stories and advice on pranks and products. Then again, to be fair, ever since Sirius had started working for them a few months ago, they had mellowed a bit and things were changing.

Next up it gave Hermione immense satisfaction to see the snobbish Mrs Miller be forced to interact with the force of nature that was Molly Weasley. It seemed the witch had pulled on what she must consider muggle clothes, even if she normally wore clothes which would fit in even better in the nonmagical world, but it only added to Mrs Miller’s horrified expression.

Little Fabian grabbing hold of her neighbour’s skirt with his, as usual, sticky hand would have been the perfect ending had it not been for the poor boy ending up on the ground. The following tears were inevitable and even if she had seen that it was unintentional, Hermione could not help but resent Mrs Miller even more for what she had just done. Sending a toddler to the ground was hardly a glowing review of a person and she did not make the effort to hide how she felt when the woman took her leave, resulting in a barely civil ‘goodbye’ in reply.

C4. Whiskey and Stairs
It was impossible to fully suppress a grin when he started walking down the stairs with Tonks, having just put Hope down for a nap, and noticed Mrs Miller in the entryway. She was clearly hoping to snoop around, but now the table would be turned on her with the perfect opportunity for an introduction.

It went as well as he could have hoped and the elbow to his side was even worth it to see how his least appreciated guest reacted to the gesture. Well, surprisingly, Mrs Miller did have a contender for that dishonorary title that day in the form of Robert Henderson. His overbearing behaviour towards Hermione was bad on its own but coupled with the lesson on muggle newspaper she had given him as preparation for his first time with the crossword group, he downright loathed the man now. If he had, even for a moment, entertained the idea of asking his darling wife to feature on page three, he would happily hunt down the man and curse him into oblivion.

There was also something to be said about some of the Slytherin traits that came with being a Black, no matter how much he might rail against his heritage. Mrs Miller had barely turned away from them when Tonk’s eyes – currently the same grey as his own to show that they were indeed related – lit up with mischievous glee and she started talking about his new tattoo. He immediately understood what she was about, with the Lupins being privy to their plan regarding Mrs Miller – and Dora being much more enthusiastic about it than her husband - and quickly steered the conversation to be able to mention his time in prison. The slight faltering in Mrs Miller’s step was all the indication he needed to know that she had heard him.

The next phase of the game had begun. Now all he needed to do was sit back and enjoy the show while the loathsome woman tried to find proof.

“Thanks, Nymphadora” he said and continued grinning even when a second elbow connected with his ribs.

A twinge of discomfort returned later that day, when only their magical guests remained and they talked about the other ones. He had just grumbled about the terrible manners of Mrs Henderson’s son and warned Hermione – though only in jest – that she better not give him any reason to be jealous, when she had surprised him with her reply.

“You know, I think it’s rather the other way around.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think Mr Henderson barely had a thought about me, other than being vaguely aware that I was the hostess, once he laid eyes on you.”

His mind replayed the scene and while he held to his conviction at first, the fact that the man had not let go of his hand and just looked at him for too long soon had him convinced his wife had the right of it.

“Hm. Maybe you should be a little jealous then” he said, tapping his chin and looking up at the ceiling as if in deep thought. “I must say it was rather flattering to catch the eye of such an exquisite example of the male species. And if I’m really lucky and play my cards right, maybe he’ll let me help him with page three.”

Of their adult guests two looked confused while one looked both amused and disapproving and the last made gaging noises.

“Padfoot, dear old friend” Remus said, suppressed mirth lacing his voice, “I do hope, for you own sake, that you get nowhere near page three. You wife would hardly let you live to see another day if you went anywhere near that filth.”

“Yeah” Harry shimmed in after clearing his throat. “And I’d help her.”

“Harry, you traitor. Am I not your beloved godfather?”

“Oh, you are. But you see, Dudley and his best buddy Pierce used to steel issues of the Sun and look at those pictures in secret sometimes. I happened to come across them once when they did, and I’d never have to run so fast since then in my life to escape a threat to it. I’d hate to lump you together with my cousin.”

Recoiling at such a horrendous thought, he shook his head in order to dislodge the only memory he had of Harry’s cousin. It was the summer before he had escaped and had found his way to Privet Drive, where he had spied the overweight boy the same day Harry had run away. It did not matter that Harry got on better with his former tormentor these day – though better was a highly relative term considering the starting point – he would rather endure the Cruciatus curse than be likened to Dudley Dursley.

“Well, can’t have that, now can we. Mione, my one and only love, I swear to you on my mother’s grave- no wait, that’s not worth anything. Hang on… let’s see… ah! I solemnly swear to you that I will never read The Sun, and especially not page three, unless, for whatever reason, the life of you or our future children depends on it.”

“When would a life ever depend on such a thing?” Hermione could not help asking, looking both amused and as if she tried to come up with such a scenario.

“Wait, hang on. What are you all talking about?” a frustrated Ginny interrupted.

Dora just looked eager for an explanation since she had already deduced the topic was of an indecent nature.

With Sirius and Harry bursting out in laughter, it was up to Hermione and a slightly blushing Remus to explain in as child friendly a way as possible, seeing how Teddy and Hope sat playing with some toys right next to them.

C5. Tea, Plotting, Baking and Books
Nervously walking to and fro in the entryway, Hermione felt the uneasiness build inside of her. This was not good. She needed all her strength and composure to get through this visit.

A visit she could not help but wonder if her nana and grandpa ever got to do. It was hard to picture Mrs Miller letting working-class people into her home, no matter if they were her neighbours or not, but maybe Mr Miller had been friendlier. Not that it had stopped his wife from running them out of town if he had.

It also did not help that her hormones were in particular disarray today, pushing her emotions closer to the surface than she felt comfortable with.

“Come on, little one” she said and rubbed her stomach. “Be supportive of your mother today will you. She’s about to go visit a very nasty old woman, so she’d really appreciate it if you’d calm down in there.”

“Isn’t it a bit early to start talking to him or her?”

Looking up, she sighed in relief at the sight of her husband coming down the stairs, hair dry and fully dressed. There would be no room for arriving late without giving their hostess an advantage. Because, as much as she enjoyed annoying the woman, they also needed to behave with enough propriety that she could not outright complain about them other than a vague sense of dislike.

“Not at all. I’m not sure entirely when a foetus starts being capable of hearing sounds from outside, but it can still feel the vibrations in my body. Besides, it helps me wind down.”

“How about I help you with that too, love.”

“I’ll never say no to a back rub from you, but right now that’d mess up my clothes and I can’t have that without getting even more stressed.”

“Then how about a kiss?”

“A kiss I can do. Just don’t get carried away. I don’t want my lips to be all red and puffy when we get over there. That one snog in the front garden when we moved in was enough of a show.”

“Sometimes I don’t think it’s worth it to go after Mrs Miller like this. You were so excited when we plotted revenge before moving in, but I can see it’s taking a toll on you now that we’re here. Besides, I don’t want to run Ernest out of the neighbourhood. I really like him.”

“I know” she said in frustration. The man had complicated her revenge plot to say the least with his warm and affable way. “And we’ll try to keep him out of it as much as possible. But his wife still needs to face some way too long overdue consequences.”

Slowly, he walked up to her, his beautiful grey eyes looking intently at her as if trying to read her mood. Something he was terribly good at.

“Revenge is a double-edged sword, you know. I suffered because I tried to exact vengeance on the rat, but I cannot help but wonder where I’d be if I’d succeeded. They would have had actual cause to lock me away forever and my soul would have been tainted by taking another’s life in revenge. I would never have had the incentive to escape, so I would never have met Harry. And I would never have met you, which quite frankly terrifies me. And yes, I know this is not on the same level, but it is a messy business and one never knows how one will come out on the other end” he said and reached up and stroked her cheek. “So please, promise me to be careful and not do something you cannot live with for the rest of your life.”

“Says the man who lets a nosy and judgemental harpy know he’s been in jail just for the fun of it” she countered, but without any heat.

“And that’s the difference. It was just for fun. An elaborate prank if you will. My heart was not engaged in it, other than doing it for you.”

It gratified her that he let her get away with lightening the mood. Still, he was genuinely worried about her right now and she would not brush that under the rug. Taking a deep breath and letting it out in a long sigh, Hermione then squared her shoulders and looked up at her husband with determination.

“I promise to be more careful. But she still needs to pay.”

There was acceptance in his expression before his trademark grin appeared.

“Then how about I transfigure her into a bug and let you keep her in a jar for a while? Like you did with Skeeter. Will that be enough for you, you think?”

“Oh, stop teasing me about that.”

“Teasing? Darling” he said and flamboyantly placed a hand over his heart and fell down on his knees, “I worship the very ground you stand on for that diabolical piece of justice you heaped on that infernal woman who has the temerity to call herself a journalist.”

“Oh, stop it. You’re getting me all flushed and we can’t have that. Not until we get back home, at least.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Excellent” Sirius said and stood back up, brushing off his knees as he straightened before leaning down and giving her a soft kiss.

She could also feel one of his hands reverently stroke her belly while the other gently encircled her waist. Darn hormones made her eyes mist over at the sensation, like they had so many of the other times Sirius showed his love for her and their unborn child the last few weeks. Not that she’d not teared up at his overjoyed reaction when they found out or a few other times after. But before she felt certain she could blame it on the imbalance in the body. His unwavering support and concern for her wellbeing was equally moving and she felt the blessing once more of sharing her life with him.

The bonding ritual they had used as the wedding ceremony had perhaps bound them tighter together than many other couples, but she felt sure no other man would have known her quite so intimately, inside and out, like Sirius did. He understood her in a way not even Harry or Ron did. He affectionately called it her having an old soul, and in a way she agreed with him. For whatever reason, she had always felt beyond her years, which had not been helped in any way by losing so much of her childhood and teens to helping Harry. Sirius, despite his close bond with the other Marauders, had also had to grow up fast, what with that ghastly family of his, and lost a large part of his youth to war, no matter if it was fighting on being imprisoned for his final – though failed – act of the first war.

She had seen beyond the layer of humour in him he had expanded and pushed to the surface to hide his pain, just as he had seen the layer of the know-it-all she had used similarly as a shield. He had also seen the fear of loneliness that lingered deep inside her, despite years of friendship with first Harry and Ron and then a growing number of other schoolmates. The loneliness she had experiences as a friendless child. The same loneliness he had experienced from the moment he realised he was different from the rest of his family and refused to live up to their troubling expectations of him.

“Sirius” she said as he started turning towards the front door, halting his movement.

“Hm?” he asked, facing her again.

“I love you. More than anything.”

There was not even a hint of a smile in his face when he took her hand, pulled it up and kissed her wrist with the same veneration he had displayed towards their child just before, his gaze never leaving hers. She shivered at the contact, the love that shone in those eyes and the warm thrum of his devotion that pulsed in their bond.

“Forever” he whispered against her skin.

Not another word was exchanged while they then proceeded to leave the house and cross the street to number twelve, but she felt his solid presence beside her and it gave her the strength and courage she needed to be the perfect guest to a woman who had thought her grandparents and mother to be trash.

On the whole, she thought she performed rather well in the end and when Sirius exchanged his moral support for flush inducing reward once they got home, she was finally able to relax fully and let go of her plans. If only for just a while.

C6. When a Child is Born
Christmas at the Burrow was interesting, mostly fun and a few times exasperating. The twins finally being over almost all of their hero-worship of him by now meant Sirius had more actual friends to hang out with. If he – entirely by chance of course – happened to avoid interacting with Mrs Weasley as much as possible at the same time, who was he to complain.

Even so, it was a marvel to see that woman work her way through the levels of mental contortions it must take to fawn over his wife’s baby bump and then proceed to glare at him for putting it there. She would probably never fully accept him as Hermione’s husband and father of her children, but he was done caring. Molly had never cared much for him, even before he started seeing Hermione, always thinking she knew what was best for the “children” and he had been angry with how she was blindly putting them in danger by her misguided attempts at shielding them from reality. But what had sealed the deal on his final verdict on the woman was when he found out how she had believed Rita-blastended-Skeeter’s poisonous lies in their fourth year and how she had treated his wife because of it. She had no right to act all protective after that.

Luckily he truly liked the rest of the redheaded family – even Ron, despite his occasional terrible treatment of Hermione while they were in school, which at least had some excuse in him being a child at the time – since he was forever stuck with them from the moment Harry married Ginny. Harry was family and that made the Weasleys in-laws. And with them also expecting their first now, it just solidified it even more. A Black and a Potter at the same age and attending Hogwarts together once more was surely fate.

Looking over at Mrs Potter he could not help smiling. She was sitting next to Harry in the sofa furthest away from the fireplace and still looking warm enough to start sweating at any moment. And she wasn’t even wearing that year’s edition of her mother’s home knit sweaters. Thank Merlin he had never been on the receiving end of one of those monstrosities. No, the only home knitting he would ever wear was the lumpy and uneven red and yellow scarf Hermione had made for him two years ago. Then again, the large bump on her front was no doubt the cause. His wife suffered the same from time to time and he absolutely hated when it happened at night and she would forbid him from holding her while they slept.

Just then, Teddy came running, eagerly shouting his name and begging him to transform into Padfoot so they could play. Who was he to object to such an excellent scheme? Especially when they ended up in the kitchen and he snatched a pastry off the table while Mrs Weasley was busy by the oven. Then his darling little cousin ruined it by loudly asking to get one too, causing Molly to notice them and chase them back out into the living room.

When it came time to open presents a little while later, Teddy ran to his mother as soon as she called and climbed up in her lap. The Lupins were sitting together in one of the sofas conjured for the evening, little Hope in Remus’ lap and looking around her in confused wonderment. Christmas was still a new concept to her, but as soon as gifts started coming her way she broke out into an adorable grin and Sirius was happy that he no longer needed to envy his friend for having such a loving family. This time next year, he and Hermione would have their own little miracle.

Speaking of the love of his life, she sat in one of the large armchairs close to the fire, meaning she was not in one of her hot spells. He hurried over to her, pulled her up on her feet, sat down and then pulled her back down.

“Hello there, love. Ready for some presents?” he asked after she turned around so she sat sideways in his lap and gave him an amused smile.

“Absolutely. I’m so looking forward to see Harry and Ginny’s faces when they open our gift.”

“Ah, you mean the blanket that is spelled to keep the baby at a perfect temperature, softly sing lullabies to it and if needed produce a protection charm?”

“The very one. And some neat spell work that was if I do say so myself.”

“Always so modest, my love” he said with a sigh before playfully pushing out his chest in a show of boastfulness. “But don’t forget I was the one to work out the singing bit. Not to mention the other half of the gift.”

“I still can’t believe you talked me into agreeing to that. I’ll be terribly embarrassed when they open it and Ginny will never let me live it down.”

Leaning in, he kissed the frown off her face after poking at the crease between her eyebrows did not help.

“You know, we could hardly give them something to help the baby sleep while not giving them something to help them not to sleep. Perfectly logical.”

“I hope you’ll be at least equally dedicated to allowing us some alone time as you are to give it to them when the time comes.”

“It would be impossible for me to do otherwise.”

They were then interrupted in their own little moment by their own child, who chose that time press a tiny foot against his mother’s belly, right at the place where the father’s hand rested. Perhaps it was an omen of more interruptions to come, but Sirius was far too happy to feel his child to interpret it in such a way.

Besides, their happy little bubble was to be burst tomorrow already. The seasonal and joyous atmosphere created that day – despite Mrs Weasleys sour looks – would not survive the visitors they would have at their house the next day.

Perhaps he had reconciled with Narcissa and her family, but he doubted they would ever be capable of letting go of their standoffish snobbishness and because of that it was almost as much chore as it was pleasure to see them. Besides, having them over was part of the plan with Mrs Miller and that he would also get to see them visit a muggle neighbourhood sweetened the deal. If only there was some way to make Lucius and their horrid neighbour interact and the Christmas spirit might be saved after all.

.oOo.

It was no longer dark outside when Hermione woke up. After delivering her son in the early hours of the morning she had been exhausted and succumbed to sleep only a short while later. Sirius had been with her throughout the whole ordeal, her rock in the storm of pressure, pain and increasing fatigue she had experienced for what had felt like an eternity at the time. And he was still with her.

Walking slowly around the room, he was gently holding their little miracle, talking to him in a hushed and soft voice. The look on his face was the most profound she had ever seen as love, devotion and amazement harmonised to perfectly show how he felt. His grey eyes were so warm and so focused on the babe in his arms he did not notice she was awake.

“…and daddy will always be there for you and love you no matter what you do, alright. Even if you end up in Slytherin, I’ll still love you so much you’ll be embarrassed about it” she heard him say and as he turned to move around the bed he enabled her to see that baby blue eyes were wide open and gazing up at their father. “I know we’re both Blacks, but I swear to you that I will never be to you what my parents were to me. You and me, and your angel of a mother of course, will change the meaning of that name. Just you watch. And if you’re very good, we’ll even get you a sibling or two to help. What do you say?”

“I always thought you wanted a mini-marauder” she commented, making him turn around towards her, “and here you are, wanting our son, not even a full day old, to promise to always behave?”

“You and I, love, have different interpretations of the meaning of good” he shot back, grin in place. “But how do you feel love? In need of more potions? Should I call for a healer?”

“No, I’m fine. Sore, but that’s only natural.”

The temporary worry left his face and unconditional love had fully returned when he walked over and sat down on the side of the bed, angling their son so she could still see his adorable little face.

“Hi there, little darling” she cooed at him, reaching out and reverently stroking the dark tufts of hair on top of his head. A tiny fist rose up and bumped against her arm, the unintentional contact sending a wave of warmth and love through her entire body. “It’s so good to finally meet you, Regulus.”

“A… are you sure?” Sirius’ voice suddenly sounded raspy.

“About what?”

“About the name.”

She looked up at him, searching his eyes and finding that hesitancy there she had not seen more than a few fleeting glances of ever since they married. The hesitancy associated with the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. She had laid much of his hang-ups and anxieties to rest during their numerous and long conversations on the topic, but she had always know there would forever be a measure of residue lurking about, ready to pounce at a vulnerable moment.

“I am sure, my love. And we’ve talked about this. I would be happy if our son could take the name of his uncle. What better way to start the bright new future of the House of Black than to use the name of the man who would have helped us do it if he had not sacrificed himself in the fight against evil. They will be a credit to each other, I’m sure.”

“I… I just don’t want anyone to look at him and think he must be like the Blacks of the past.”

“He, just like his father, will make people look at the old Blacks and wonder how they could possibly have been so vile if they could produce such amazing people” she said, holding his gaze to better read his mood. “You do want to name him after your brother, right?”

“Yeah. I just want to make sure you are fully in agreement, love. I’d hate it if you felt you had to do it only to help me deal with the past. Our son is worth more than that.”

“He is” she replied and nodded for emphasis. “Which is why he will be named for his uncle, but then have Granger for middle name instead of Sirius. That is a tradition I don’t feel all that strongly about. Harry and Ginny won’t be using his name for a middle name either if they have a son.”

“Only because having a Harry James Potter and a James Harry Potter in the same family would be silly” Sirius said and rolled his eyes in jest. It warmed her heart to see him cast of the shadow of his ancestors so quickly. Then a genuine delight suddenly lit up his eyes. “But I do hope they have a son. Just imagine, it’ll be like old times, a Potter and a Black going to Hogwarts together, wreaking havoc, dazzle their admirers and making McGonagall climb the walls. It’ll be epic.”

“I’m sure it will” she replied, unable to not smile at the picture he painted of the future. From the moment she had realised she loved Sirius Black and wanted to marry him and have a family with him, she had accepted the fact that her children would in all likelihood never be as well-behaved as she had been. No, all she had ever managed to envision since then was tiny versions of her husband running around with mischievousness in both their smiles and eyes. It never failed to make her heart melt, just as it did now, watching the love of her life hold their new-born son in his arms and coming to terms with both the past and the future.

C7. Stars and Constellations
Opening the door, he found all four Malfoys standing outside, looking as prim and proper as always, though Astoria was smiling. Despite his reformation he sometimes wondered how Draco managed to land such a lovely young woman. Then again, he would probably never figure out how he himself had managed to end up with the most wonderful woman in the world for a wife. Maybe the Black bloodline had ended up with an enormous backlog of overdue luck and blessings that was now being repaid since the last fully crazy member had died at the final battle. His life had definitely looked a whole lot better since that day.

Ushering them inside so he could shut the chilly weather outside, he explained about their current guests and then waited quietly for coats, scarves and boots to come off and then led their little procession into the living room.

Hermione, now with Reggie back in her arms, met them halfway and he sidled up to her and placed an arm about her shoulders before introductions were made and Cissa and Astoria started fawning over his son. Even he forgot the Millers while they talked names for a while, but then the next round of introductions took place and he had the pleasure of seeing the corners of Lucius’s mouth twitch downward ever so slightly. It was a clear sign of the man’s high displeasure with finding himself in such company. Perhaps he was not as he once was – almost losing his family teaching him a lesson he had been unable to grasp before – but that did not mean to say he was a fully reformed man.

When he returned from the kitchen with more tea and some of Hermione’s lovely soft little walnut and vanilla cakes, the atmosphere was only saved from reaching arctic levels due to Regulus, since it left only Lucius to actively disapprove of the Millers. Not that he did not try to get them to leave by blatantly avoiding interacting with them, almost giving them the cut direct. However, he would actually have to look them in the eyes first before he could perform such an insult, and Lucius Malfoy was not a wizard to give muggles such notice.

While it might have been interesting to see Mrs Miller have such a social interaction levied at her, he would hate to see Ernest dealt such a blow. The man was his true friend by now and Sirius would not see him hurt if he could help it.

In order to distract from the apparent hostility, he made sure to steer the topic of conversation to areas in which the Millers could participate, and received help from his darling Hermione in doing so. Even Astoria made a few comments and Draco almost made him choke on his tea when he briefly joined in when they were talking about crossword puzzles. It seemed incomprehensible that the young man who had tormented his wife and godson through school and joined up with Voldemort – even if he had sincerely apologised and repented for it since – would voluntarily speak to muggles.

He also had no idea his young cousin shared his interest in the activity and he briefly toyed with the idea of inviting him to join the group there on Carnation Lane, but knew it would be a futile endeavour. While much more reformed than his father – or even his mother – Draco was not one to seek out the nonmagical world if it did not offer him some personal gain, such as the car outside he had made a hobby out of learning to drive and then cruise around in once in a while. Another commonality between them. He had his bike and Draco his car.

When Ernest asked Lucius what kind of car he had, after Draco had gloated about his Bentley, the wizard ignored him and the mood turned worse again. After this display from the head of family, the Malfoys retreated behind a united front and turned their attention back to Reggie, whom both Narcissa and Astoria cajoled Draco into holding. The young wizard appeared reluctant at first as he awkwardly accepted the now almost sleeping baby from his wife, but his eyes had soon enough softened once Regulus was safely in his arms.

“Well, aren’t you a tiny thing” he said and softly stroked a finger along his second cousin’s cheek just as his eyes blinked shut.

Astoria looked at her husband with utter adoration while Narcissa was clearly already envisioning grandchildren. Lucius was still busy pretending the Millers did not exist. And he soon got his wish when he was able to ignore Ernest when he tried to start a friendly conversation by asking about what he did for a living and the Millers soon took their leave.

“Alright you pompous arse” he said once he and Hermione had returned to their remaining guests. “You’ve managed to drive them away. Happy now?”

Lucius took the time to brush some imaginary lint from the shoulder of his immaculate suit before he replied in his usual drawl.

“I was under the impression you did not like those people?”

“We don’t like Mrs Miller, but Mr Miller’s a friend now” he replied, crossing his arms.

“How unfortunate for you.” Lucius said, looking up from his casual inspection of his nails.

“At least it is a nice house” Narcissa said, clearly trying to smooth things over. She was the most motivated of the Malfoys in maintaining this tenuous relationship, wishing to both reconnect with the House she was born into and make whatever improvements she could to the status of her family. The Malfoys might have escaped Azkaban, but they were avoided by many and Lucius’ probation stood on thin enough ice that him pissing off the wrong people could very well land him behind bars again. “I do like that you’ve used some of the furniture from Grimmauld Place. And the change of the upholstery is an improvement I must say.”

“You can thank Mione for that” he replied, and gave the warm tones of the sofa an approving look. The dark green tones it had before his wife rescued it from his childhood home an unpleasant memory, but nothing more. “I’d have burned them all if left to my own devices, but she’s in charge of furnishing and decorations.”

“And once more I’m amazed that it’s the muggleborn in your relationship that values tradition and family honour most” Lucius commented and turned towards Hermione. “I must admit I find you the more preferable Black, no matter how impossible it ought to be.”

Hermione shot him a wink and a smile in reply.

“Aw, and here I thought I was your favourite after all the times we’ve butted heads in the Gamot” Sirius said, unable to resist the temptation to needle his former enemy a little.

“It did nothing but help me welcome your wife when she took over the post. And by the way” he said, narrowing his eyes and once more addressing his hostess, “how long are you going to be on this maternity leave of yours and abandon our sacred congregation to the inane and illogical antics of your husband while he stands in for you? Loath as I am to admit it, things were actually getting done with you in the hereditary Black seat. Not that I agree with half of the things you do.”

The words were dripping in sarcasm, but Sirius could see the truth at the core of them. And it was that truth that was the only reason he allowed the man into this new home he and Hermione had made, let alone within cursing distance of Regulus. Lucius was still bigoted and proud, but he genuinely admired Hermione and the determination and brilliance of mind she was finally able to let loose on the magical world with the power she had been granted as a member of the Wizengamot. Not that he agreed with many of her opinions and often voted against her various proposals, but that only made that admiration all the more meaningful.

“Yes, you should have heard him go on the other week when he got home” Draco said from his perch in one of the armchairs, Regulus still sleeping peacefully in his arms. “A proposal about stricter regulations on the disposal of cursed objects had been discussed, which Sirius had argued against, on the basis that it would prohibit him from burning some of his heirlooms, since that seemed to be the only way to get rid of them. And father actually said-“

“Draco” Lucius interrupted his son with a warning tone, but it was too late.

Though not as strong or rebellious as his own, there was a mischievous streak in Draco, and the young man simply smirked at his father before he continued.

“He said you were not serious enough for the position.”

Every set of eyes in the room was suddenly on an unusually uncomfortable looking Malfoy senior, simply staring at him in disbelief before Sirius burst out laughing. It was simply too much.

“Is this true?” Narcissa asked, disapproval and amusement warring in both her tone and face.

Astoria looked delighted at this unexpected crack in her father-in-law’s stony façade, but also shot her husband an appreciative glance. Sirius became convinced that when they had a son of their own, Draco might just rebel enough not to give him his own name as middle name. There seemed to be hope for the House of Malfoy in the end.

“I do agree with you” Hermione said, interrupting his musings. “Sirius can be a menace when he puts his mind to it, but I’ll be sure to not let him destroy the influence of our seat enough that I’ll have a hard time when I get back.”

“Which will be?” Lucius asked, pointedly ignoring the amusement at his expense still on show on most faces around him.

“Six months.”

“You cannot be serious!”

Sirius burst out laughing again and his darling wife’s lips twitched in a barely supressed smile. But just like Narcissa, she had decided to make this work and ruffling Lucius’ feathers too much could undo what progress had been made.

“Well, in this case I am” she said before clamping her twitching lips firmly together again.

“How about three?”

“This is not up for negotiations” she replied, exasperation able to override her mirth. “I’ll stay at home with Reggie for half a year and then Sirius will take over. Until then, you’ll just have to cope.”

“You could always send me as your proxy during that time” Draco said. “Might be a good learning experience.”

His father looked tempted by the offer.

“I would be much better suited to argue against him should he, for instance, propose a law to institute a national prank holiday.”

“For the love of Merlin, do not give him any ideas!”

C8. The Cost of a Book
At first Hermione had no idea how to react to her husband suddenly disrobing in the nursery. She had just changed Regulus’ nappy and was about to put his little knitted romper on when Sirius entered and asked her to stop.

“What?” she asked, her hands frozen as they were in the middle of slipping a tiny foot through one leg of the striped white and blue knitwear.

“I just read something in the book Mrs Miller gave us I’d like to try” he replied and then started unbuttoning his shirt.

Not that she was averse to seeing him undressed, but for the life of her, she had no idea how it could connect to the book their awful neighbour had given them. She knew it was a way to make them feel inadequate, hinting that they would need help with caring for their son, but Sirius had taken it as a challenge. He had sworn he would read the book and find something useful in it so he could thank Mrs Miller for the gift in order to spite her. It was both exasperating and endearing. In other words, it was her husband in a nutshell.

There’s apparently this thing about boding with babies through skin-on-skin contact. The baby will feel you rather than your clothes. Feels your smell better and such.”

“Should I take his nappy off for you then?” she asked, making a point by vanishing the dirty one.

He paused in his motion, the shirt hanging from only one arm now, and slowly frowned while she could see the gears in his head moving. While Reggie had just had his nappy changed, that did not mean he was not going to need one again soon.

“Eh, no thanks. I think some barriers wouldn’t be untoward. And since I’ll be keeping my trousers on it’d only be fair if he gets to keep something on too.”

“So, it’s only about fairness then?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Alright then. I see no harm in it” she said with a shrug and stepped back from the changing table once Sirius was close enough to pick up their son.

“Come here, you little darling. Time to spend some time with your daddy.”

Hermione watched as he placed their son against his bare chest, somehow even more gently than he usually did. Regulus’ head and hands moved around a bit at first, before he settled down and Sirius bent down and kissed his dark tufts of hair.

“That’s right, my little pup. Daddy’s got you.”

Unexpectedly, tears pooled in her eyes at the sight. She blamed some of it on the lingering hormonal unbalance her body was still suffering – whoever said such things went away after the birth was either ignorant, stupid or extremely lucky – but knew it was mostly to do with seeing the two people she loved the most in the world together in such open affection. Her husband might have come a long way from the emotionally stunted man he had been when he escaped the hell that was Azkaban, but moments like these, when he held nothing back, was still a treasure beyond compare.

And when those warm grey eyes turned up to her, still with that unconditional love in them, she could not help but gasp before the tears started to run down her cheeks.

“Hey, come here, love” he said and held one arm out in invitation, knowing just what she needed.

Silently she accepted it and joined her little family, half of her body pressed against his while the other kept Regulus snuggled up between them. Never in her life had she felt more accepted, needed and cherished. Like she truly belonged.

It also did not hurt that the very next day, when Mrs Miller unexpectedly showed up, Sirius got his chance to rub the usefulness of the book in her face in the most spectacular way. Merlin, but did she adore that man.

C9. Lost Friendship and Second Murders
Miss Gilchrist seemed a woman who lived almost exclusively in the past. Her speech about the tea shop she’d had a long time ago was the only time she seemed animated at all and Hermione finally understood why Mrs Ellison had insisted they not invite her to their society. At least, she was most appreciative of the pie when she handed it over on arrival, complimenting the flower she had put on top. It had been a joy to try the recipe and find little improvements to make to it and she was both grateful and humbled by being entrusted with it.

It being their first time in number thirteen, she and Sirius took the time to look around a bit before going to the table where tea and all the cakes were served. Mr Miller joined them from the start and soon Mr and Mrs Jones did as well.

After the little tour they ended up in the garden with their refreshments, sitting down by one of the tables placed out there. It was shaded by a large apple tree, which was perfect for keeping Regulus out of the sun on such a warm day.

“How are you holding up then?” Mrs Jones asked, nodding towards the youngest member of their group. “Get any sleep?”

“Oh, he’s calm enough” Hermione replied and reached out and stroked her son’s cheek, making him blink up at her. “Even lets us sleep up to four or even five hours uninterrupted at times.”

“Not like our Nathan then” Mr Jones said, chuckling a little. “Liked to keep us up all hours of the night he did. Off to university these days and no doubt keeping the same hours.”

“Hardly. You know he takes his studies very seriously, dear.”

“You mentioned he studied to become a barrister” Hermione said.

“Yes indeed. Ever so clever he is. I just wish he’d come by home a bit more often.”

“Don’t be silly, dear. He came by at Christmas, we visited at Easter and we’ll see him again in July when the school year ends. No need to smother the boy” Mr Jones said, but there was affection in his eyes as he looked at his wife, along with some wistfulness that spoke of his own desire to see Nathan more often.

Smiling at the older woman, Hermione remembered the story about her son she had been told a while back. Apparently, Mr and Mrs Jones had desperately tried for children for a long time, only to be blessed a few years after they had given up hope. It was the reason they had moved to Carnation Lane, to provide a good and steady home to their son. Before that, they lived in London.

Hermione had been moved almost to tears when she had learned of the struggle, knowing that it might have become her fate too and remembering when the healer she had gone to see about it had told her of his concerns. But Bellatrix had luckily not damaged anything vital and some impressive and innovative magic by the healers at St Mungo’s ensured Dolohov’s curse did not stand in the way either. And now, only in her mid-twenties, she held what she was determined to be only the first of many children in her arms. Well, Sirius held him in his arms right at that moment, allowing her to finish her tea and cake before switching.

She was about halfway done with the piece of Mrs Miller’s Victorian sponge cake she had decided to try, having already finished Mrs Donovan’s Bakewell pudding, when Mr Miller spoke for the first time since they sat down.

“If it’s alright with you, of course, I can hold Regulus while you both eat.”

Looking over at his plate, it was already empty and so was his teacup. It seemed he had hurried to finish everything just so he could offer, but they were both happy to accept. He had also conveniently placed himself next to Sirius, so it was easy to hand the baby over. Regulus fussed a little first, but soon settled down in Mr Miller’s experienced hold.

“Thank you, Ernest” her husband said before picking up his spoon and plate, on which a piece of her pie lay.

“I’m only happy to help” Mr Miller said, his eyes on Regulus as he waved the fingers of his free hand over the baby. Blue eyes curiously followed to motion and soon tiny hand were also waving, though if in imitation, chase or excitement was hard to tell. “Besides, it really takes me back a few years, holding this precious little fella. He does remind me a bit of Matthew and Aidan, you know.”

Sirius shoot her a quick amused smile at the doting their friend displayed, which she returned, before he took his first piece of pie and promptly groaned in satisfaction.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world” he proclaimed and leaned in to kiss her cheek once his mouth was empty again. “And I’ll be the fattest man too, before I die.”

“Flatterer.”

“I must say you have managed to improve Mrs Ellison’s famous recipe, Hermione” Mrs Jones said, while enjoying her own last piece of it.

“Oh, so it’s you we have to thank for this delicacy” Mr Jones said, almost beaming at her.

“Indeed it is. My darling wife can perform magic in the kitchen I tell you. An absolute marvel she is.”

Blushing a little under all the praise, Hermione simply leaned against her husband and enjoyed the moment. At the back of her mind she knew that Mrs Miller was somewhere at the party and that she had planned to do some discrete gloating about having been deemed worthy of inheriting the neighbourhood’s most famous recipe, but she could no longer be bothered. She was enjoying her current company and their pleasantly shaded position too much to interrupt it with something like that.

She also figured the woman would be hurt enough by the absence of her husband and what now seemed to be former best friend. She was already winning her campaign, even if her goal had become somewhat unclear now that she could not wish to run her out of town, since that would lose them Ernest. Especially since Sirius had even raised the topic of letting their friend in on the magical secret after they had bonded enough that the secrecy had started to bother him. So, let her just stew in her loneliness for the time being and she would come up with what to do next in the upcoming days. It’s not like something major was about to happen anyway, now was there.

C10. Old Sins
It was impossible to fully ignore his nerves and his hands even shook a little when he placed the bottle of whiskey on the table between the armchairs in the living room. Hermione and Regulus were over with the Potters for the day, leaving the house to him, along with the conversation he was about to have with Ernest. The very conversation that was responsible for his current tumultuous state of mind.

He had argued having it with Hermione many times since he had first started to seriously consider holding it about a month ago. Mr Miller had not only turned out to be nothing like his wife, but a true friend. In fact, he had even started to feel like family, the way he was always there for him and adored Reggie. Overall, he was what Sirius imagined his uncle Alphard would have been like if he had still been alive. It was not until that moment Sirius had realised how much he missed having older family in his life now, when he was finally faced with raising a child of his own. Someone to go to for support and advice.

With Hermione’s parents living in Australia with no recollection of their daughter and James’ parents, Fleamont and Euphemia, long dead, neither of them had that in their lives. For even if his birth parents had still been alive, he would not have let them within a mile of his little family. Everyone else close enough to them was of either his or her generation. Arthur and Molly might have filled that hole, being a decade older than him, but the latter’s attitude to him and his marriage made it impossible. So, when Ernest had commented how Reggie reminded him of his grandsons just a few days ago at that tea party next door, he had finally decided he wanted the man fully in their lives. And that meant the truth. The full truth about his own family, about his history, Hermione’s grandparents and most important of all, about magic.

He knew he might get in trouble for it if the Ministry found out, but he did not care. He needed this, just as he knew Hermione did too. And so long as they only performed magic around him in their own warded home, no alarm would be raised.

The sound of the doorbell ringing made him jump and he laughed at himself before he went to answer, smiling when the now so familiar face of Mr Miller greeted him.

“Please, come inside. I have so much to talk to you about.”

.oOo.

When he had decided to take the bike when going to Grimmauld Place, Sirius knew it had been to draw it out. To delay having to set foot in that cursed place again for as long as possible. But he had not been on the road long, having elected to not even fly, when he realised he just wanted it over with. It would take him hours to reach his childhood home like this and better to get it out of the way so he could return to the warmth and comfort of his little family sooner.

Turning off the main road onto a smaller one and a short while later onto what was hardly more than a forest path, he stopped once the trees hid him from view. Activating the portkey function he had charmed into the vehicle some time back, and weaving the destination into the spell, which was of his own making, was the work of mere moments. The usual pull later and he allowed himself a satisfied smile when the heave bike landed on the creaking floors in the hallway. There was no deranged shrieking heard and he saluted the now empty space where once his mother’s portrait had hung on his way up to the first floor.

His darling wife had managed the feat of finally getting her down a few years ago, during the time when they had only started to realise their budding feelings for each other and in his jubilation he had actually got down on one knee and asked her to marry him. Of course, it had only been in jest then, to show just how thankful and full of admiration of her skills he was, but considering where they were now, that moment had grown even more precious to him.

Not having been here since Hermione had insisted on picking out some new furniture for their new home last year, the place was covered in dust and a rustle in the curtains when he entered the drawing room made him suspect that the doxie infestation had returned. Not that he cared.

Once the war was over and his name cleared, he had made it his priority to find a new place to live, which ended up being the lovely muggle flat he had shared with Hermione after their wedding. Well, it was really some time before that blessed day, but Hermione had kept her own small flat up until they were husband and wife, due to some old-fashioned stupidity displayed by Molly Weasley as well as her then boss, Mr Pickett, who would never promote someone he deemed immoral. Luckily, she had no boss to hinder her brilliance now. No one but a bunch of bigoted old men she loved to take to task and dress down anyway. She needed some resistance in her work, some challenge, or he knew she would grow bored with it.

Approaching the old tapestry, he let his fingers slowly glide across it as he traced his way to the burn mark where Marius Black had once been. He pulled out his wand and raised in in preparation of trying to restore the fabric when he paused as his eyes slid down to the one person in his family he had ended up hating more than his own mother. Bellatrix Lestrange might have tried to kill him on more than one occasion, but he had one-upped her by ending her instead. However, it was not her interactions with him which had earned her that spot, it was what she had done to Hermione.

Taking a leaf out of his mother’s book, he burned his dead cousin off the tapestry and then had to weigh that up by restoring himself first. A simple Reparo did it, since him being the head of House fuelled into overriding the magical damage. And once his face had knit itself back into existence a branch appeared, going sideways a bit before splitting into two with one continuing on the same trajectory until it stopped and made a place for Hermione, while the other went downwards and formed the infant face of his son.

Only then did he turn his attention back to Marius, fervently hoping that the discovery he believed he and Ernest had made would prove to be true. Gently placing the tip of his wand against the darkened edges around the hole he said the charm and then watched, his heart thundering, how his granduncle reappeared and his family tree grew once more.

Tears of happiness started falling down his face as soon as Ernest showed up and closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against the ancient piece of fabric he had done nothing but resent until that moment and whispered a fervent ‘thank you’.

It took some time for him to recover from the strong emotions that had nearly overwhelmed him after the discovery, but once he had washed off his face and collected his mind again, all he could think about was how much he wanted to share the news. He needed to get home right away. To first let his wife know and then find his one remaining relative of the generation above his own.

Making use of the portkey once more, he landed on the small road just outside town he normally used for that way of transportation and pulled up on the driveway only a few minutes later. Parking the bike, he hurried inside, calling for Hermione as soon as he was inside the door.

“Hermione, love, I’m home!”

“In here, dear!” came the reply from the living room.

Walking towards it, he was not prepared for the sight that awaited him there. Mrs Miller sitting bound in one of the armchairs was amusing, but it also came with a host of implications that needed addressing. At the very least, their timetable had definitely moved up a bit.

C11. Family Matters
To find out that two of Ernest grandsons most likely had magic was unexpected but also welcome. It would tie his newfound relations even closer to his own family. However, he was not insensible to how Eleanor had reacted to finding out magic was real and his mind had gone to Lily and Petunia and how the disparity in magic had destroyed their sisterly affections. At least on Petunia’s side, since he knew how crushed Lily had been over it even after Hogwarts and she entered the magical world even more.

Despite the joy he had felt when answering all of Oliver and Julia’s question long into the night, that apprehension had crept back when he returned home and as he silently made his way up the stairs and into his and Hermione’s bedroom, it weighted heavily on him. What if he had destroyed a family in his desire to expand his own?

“Love?”

Looking up from the floor where his heavy thoughts had dragged his gaze, he spied his darling wife in bed, her head raised while her hand fumbled for the switch to the lamp on her bedside table. Soon, the soft light flooded the room and he could see how sleepy she looked.

“Sorry if I woke you up.”

“Never mind that. What’s the matter? Didn’t things go well?”

With a sigh, he slumped down on her side of the bed, reaching out to grab the hand she offered.

“In one way it went much better than I had dared to hope for. It seems Matthew and Aidan might be wizards.”

“Really? How wonderful. We’ll be able to introduce them to the magical world” Hermione said, smiling encouragingly.

“Yes. That’s going to be amazing, but their aunt, Eleanor was not happy to be finding out about magic and even less so about anyone in her family having it.”

“Oh. I see. That’s problematic.”

“To say the least.”

They sat like that in silence for a while, holding hands and wondering how to solve this new problem. Eventually, Hermione spoke.

“Why don’t you invite Harry to talk to them.”

“Harry?” he asked, not seeing the connection.

“Yeah. Eleanor seems reminiscent of Petunia Dursley, so maybe it would help if Harry told them about how bad it can get when a family is torn up over magic.”

“You’re right. Merlin, am I lucky to have such a brilliant wife.”

“Flatterer.”

“Only when you deserve it” he replied and leaned in and chastely pecked her lips. It was far too late to do anything else.

Then dressing down to only his boxers he climbed into bed on his own side, but moved over to her again and pulled her against his chest. Drawing in a deep breath he felt nearly intoxicated on her sent, but it calmed him down a moment later and he was finally able to relax.

“I do mean it, you know” he whispered, while his now heavy eyes dropped closed.

“Mean what?” came the mumbled reply.

“I’m so lucky to have you.”

Her hand being laid over his own and squeezing it a little was the only reply he got from his exhausted and nearly asleep wife, but it was all he needed.

Waking up the next morning, he knew he should feel tired, but the mission he was now on was enough to keep that at bay. Getting up from the empty bed, his first priority was to locate Hermione and he soon found her in the nursery, preparing Regulus for the day. She was already dressed herself and he stole a quick good morning kiss before following their example.

Half an hour later he Floo called Harry, who was happy to help as soon as he had explained the situation. Though, at first, he had been shocked by the revelations that the Millers were related to the Blacks, since Sirius had not wanted to share that theory with anyone before he got it confirmed.

Twenty minutes later, he stood with his godson outside number twelve and rang the doorbell. It was Mrs Miller who opened it and even if she looked a bit wary of them, she soon let them inside.

Entering the kitchen, it was easy to see that the divide that had happened last night still existed, with Oliver and Julia on one side, Eleanor and Allan on the other and silence in between.

“Good morning everyone” he decided to begin with, getting everyone’s attention. “I’d like to introduce my godson Harry Potter, who will move into the neighbourhood with his lovely wife and son soon.”

“Hello” Harry said, waving a little awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?” Julia asked before anyone had the chance to reply, her look and tone of voice most unwelcome. “Haven’t you done enough.”

“Well, that’s actually why we’re here. Harry has some experience about what can happen when only some members of a family has magic.”

Allan took his wife’s hand and gently pressed it between his own when she made to say something more.

“It won’t hurt to hear what he has to say” the man said quietly, casting a pleading look at them. It seemed he was not as keen on this rift as his wife was, which would make things easier. Like her mother, Eleanor had thankfully not married a Vernon.

With no more free chairs after Mrs Miller sat down next to her daughter, they remained standing while Harry started his tale. It contained some surprises even for himself, seeing how he had been unaware of Petunia’s jealousy over Lily’s magic or how involved Severus seemed to have been in their lives. It explained a lot of his attachment to her at school and made it even more unforgivable when he had used that dreaded word against her. Still, a tingling of regret and shame entered his mind as he recalled his own part in that situation. He was determined to never let Reggie or any other children he might have ever become such a pompous and arrogant tosser he was far too often in his youth.

Rousing himself from such depressing recollections, he instead focused on the reactions of the rest of the audience and could see their shock and disgust when Harry got to the part when his life at the Dursleys started. It seemed as incomprehensible to them, even Mrs Miller and her daughter, that someone could treat a child like that and the regret in the latter’s eyes when she stole a glance across the table at her brother and sister-in-law was reassuring.

“These days, I meet up with Dudley once or twice a year, but I don’t imagine I will ever see my aunt or uncle ever again, unless I get invited if my cousin gets married sometime. I’m not interested in seeing them and they are only happy to finally be rid of me” his godson finished the tale with, and the room descended into uncomfortable silence.

He could see many thought flitting across the various faces, all still turned towards them, but no one seemed able to decide where to start with responding. In the end, Mr Miller simply stood up, walked over to Harry and gave him the kind of hug only a loving father could.

“I’m so sorry” Ernest said and suddenly both men’s eyes were tearing up and Harry was hugging him back.

C12. An Unexpected Alliance
The party had ended about an hour ago and with the help of magic everything was already cleaned up and put back in order. Hermione was bustling around the nursery, putting away all the gifts in their proper places while her husband sat with their son on the floor, playing with the little flying dragon that blew harmless sparkles instead of fire and slowly flew around them. I had been a gift from Charlie even if he had not been able to attend himself. A peal of laughter left Regulus when he managed to grab hold of the toy when it came close enough. It blew a puff of sparkles over him, but then settled down.

“Dadada, ononon” he then chattered, seemingly trying to say the word dragon. A word she felt sure her son only knew because of Snuffles. He loved that dragon so much it might just turn out to be his first word.

“No, daddy” Sirius tried to correct for the umpteenth time, determined as he was to be Reggie’s first word. “Go on. You can say it. Daaa-dy.”

“Dadadada.”

“Come on kid, you’re making me look bad in front of your mother. Don’t let me down now, yeah.”

“Sirius, dear. Children usually say their first words around the age of one, so no need to pressure him.”

“But he is one now. Besides, I’m sure I must have cursed at my mother when I was younger than that.”

“I’m sure you did, love.”

Regulus then suddenly looked up at her, where she stood paused by his chest of drawers, having just folded one of the pieces of clothing he had been gifted, and his eyes suddenly widened.

“Mama.”

There was silence for perhaps ten seconds while the weight of the moment sank in.

“Oh, my clever little darling” she cooed, letting go of the little shirt in her hands, falling down on her knees and leaning in and giving her son a kiss on the cheek.

“You traitor” Sirius said at the same time, pointing accusingly at Regulus. “All this time I spent tutoring you and you go with your mum.”

“Mama.”

“Yes, that’s right, my little angel” she said, now undoubtedly grinning like mad. “You have your priorities straight, don’t you. Oh, yes you do.”

“Dada.”

There was another ten seconds of silence before Sirius swept their son up into his arms, holding him up above them and making him giggle.

“That’s right, son. I’m your dada.”

He then pulled him down and places a noisy kiss on his other chubby cheek, making the baby squeal with delighted laughter and Sirius hoisted him up in the air again before he managed to grab hold of his hair.

“I see you have things in hand” she said and her husband turned to look at her.

“Yeah. Never better.”

“Don’t tire him out too much, though. You know he’ll wake up for more than a snack at an ungodly hour if he falls asleep too early” she admonished, not wanting to start her day at four in the morning again.

“I’ll be careful, but after his birthday party I hardly think I’ll be at fault if that happens.”

“True. He did have such a good time. I guess we’ll just have to deal with it if it happens.”

Rising back up to her feet, she returned to her previous work of putting his new clothes away but could not help looking over at the two people most important to her in the world every now and then. The third time Sirius was looking back at her and when their eyes met they both smiled in shared parental pride and love. Neither of them needed to say it out loud, but it was clear that their son was the most amazing thing ever.

C13. Epilogue
An unexpected sense of nostalgia filled Hermione when the bricks folded themselves away and the archway into Diagon Alley appeared. She had been here countless times over the years, but with this being the first time one of her own children needed to buy school supplies, she was unable to avoid thinking on the first time she had come here herself, to do just that.

Looking over at her husband, she detected a wistful look about him too and knew his thoughts went in the same direction. As if sensing her gaze on him, he turned towards her and smiled, reminding her that despite the separation it heralded, this was meant to be a happy day. And the voice that interrupted their little moment was indeed filled with joy, as well as eagerness.

“Mum. Mum. Can we go get my wand first?” her oldest son pleaded with her, eyes alight with hopeful anticipation.

At the same time, her other three children were directing their own pleas at Sirius and she knew they would not have another quiet moment until all the shopping was done and they could sit down for some ice cream. Or maybe not even until they were back home and all the children finally in bed.

Knowing Regulus would be able to focus on little else until he finally had his own wand, she acquiesced to his request and along with him, Harry, James and Ernest, she went in the direction of Ollivanders. The two boys – best friends that they were – chattered excitedly all the way there, only to fall silent in awe once they entered the old wand shop. The rows upon rows and stacks upon stacks of boxes nearly overwhelming them.

When an older man appeared to help them, it was not the face from her childhood, however, which greeted them, but the son, Aldred Ollivander, who had taken over the business from his father a few years ago. Garrick was still alive, but was so old and frail these days he only spent his time making a few wands when he could get his hands on rare materials. Luckily for the boys, Aldred had a much warmer persona and made the experience of being selected by a wand into a fun game-like experience rather than the mysterious eccentricity his father had used and intimidated numerous children with over the years.

When they exited the shop a while later, Regulus held a thirteen inches long wand made of pear wood and containing a core of a phoenix feather. She allowed him to hold it for now after making him promise not to use it. Not that she fully believed that he would keep such a promise when he was out of her sight, but he was old enough by now that he should be allowed some trust.

It was not until they sat outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour that she needed to reprimand him when he tried to make his treat levitate off his plate – his best friend trying the same and being told off by his own parents – and he luckily did not utter the spell correctly or swish the wand properly before the flick, rendering the spell ineffective. But even after the two boys put their wands away, there remained a glimmer of mischievousness in their eyes, son and grandson of marauders that they were.

“Regulus Granger Black” she said in her most stern voice, “I would like to take this opportunity to inform you that if you break my trust in you by trying to use your new wand to perform magic again, I will have to conclude that you are nothing but a small child incapable of taking proper care of himself and send you a care package every day for your first year of school. I’ll also be asking McGonagall to keep an extra eye on you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, mum” Regulus replied, looking satisfactorily chastened.

“That goes for you too, James” Ginny added, and her son was eager to nod his understanding. Ginny was a loving but fierce mother and her children knew to take her seriously when issuing a threat or ultimatum.

“That went well, I think” Sirius murmured to her after she leaned against him a moment later. She disliked having to resort to such measures in her parenting, always aiming for understanding and reasoning, but sometimes her mini-marauders gave her little choice.

“I hope so. You don’t think I went overboard, do you? I mean, I’d do it, but making and sending all of those packages would likely be more trying for me in the end.”

Laying his arm around her and pull her even closer, her husband replied.

“I hardly think so. Looking back to myself at that age I could hardly imagine a worse fate that being so embarrassed in front of everyone every morning. Not that I wouldn’t have loved to have parents who would send me the occasional parcel with some homemade cookies, atrociously knitted scarf – which would be secretly cherished while it lay at the bottom of my trunk – or letter of love and encouragement, but too much of even that would have been doom.”

“How dramatic you are, and I resent that comment about my knitting capabilities I’ll have you know. I’m not that bad. You always use the one I made for you” she pointed out.

“Whatever you say, love. But no matter what skills you imagine you have in that department, you more than make up for it in the kitchen and I think Reggie would be heartbroken if we did not send him some of your delicious baked masterpieces from time to time. Not even the Hogwarts house-elves can compete.”

“Flatterer.”

“Only when you deserve it” he replied and leaned down and kissed her.

.oOo.

The end-of-summer-and-school-starts-tomorrow-party were in its last stage, the rambunctious activities having ended and some of the youngest children almost asleep, when Sirius sat down next to his uncle. The older man was sitting in a large wicker chair, a plush cushion separating him from the wood and a blanket over his knees now that the sun had disappeared below the horizon and only some lingering rays remained to light and warm everything, turning the evening a little chilly. He offered him one of the two glasses of whiskey he held, and it was accepted with a grateful smile.

“You always know when I need this” Mr Miller said, taking a sip of the amber liquid.

They sat in silence for a while, watching while Capella slowly succumbed to sleep in Lucius’ arms where he and Narcissa sat on the other side of the glass veranda in the back garden. The man had ended up a much better grandfather than he had ever been a father. Sirius had seen the mixed emotions Draco struggled with over this fact in an unguarded moment or two, but his young cousin had adapted in the end and taken full advantage of having two parents eager to babysit his own two children, allowing him and Astoria some more alone time than was typical in their stage of family life for the loving and involved kind of parents they were.

“How do you feel about tomorrow?”

A little startled at the sudden question, Sirius turned to his friend and family member, nodding slightly in acknowledgement at his insightfulness.

“Bittersweet.”

Ernest simply watched him, warmth and understanding in his eyes, but silently urging him to go on. It was times like these that made him feel as if he had a father again. Or at least a father figure, seeing how his birthfather had never inspired many positive emotions in him.

“I think back on my own time at Hogwarts and how it was the best time of my life. At least until me and Mione realised our love for each other. And I want that for my children too. I want them to go to that amazing castle and meet a bunch of new people, make friends and rivals, learn about magic, play pranks and have little adventures.”

He could not help grinning as he pictured his four children running around the endless corridors of his old school, laughing with friends and making good use of the mischievousness they had inherited from him, but also doing well in class and spend hours in the library, like their mother. It was enough to make him teary-eyed.

“But.”

“But, I never thought it would be this hard on the other side. My own parents were never sad to see me go, especially after my sorting, and by the time I moved in with the Potters we were old enough that Fleamont and Euphemia was used enough to it and respected our independence.”

“I sometimes wished I could have met your mother, my cousin, and told her what’s what.”

“Believe me, you really don’t” he said, but a lump had started in his throat all the same, like it usually did whenever someone stood up for him like this. Not for any gain, but simply because they loved him.

“Well, I’d have to ask you to take her wand away first, naturally, but then I wouldn’t be afraid to give her a piece of my mind. I’d even go so far as to set Enid loose on her. My wife might admire a proper lady, but she’d never condone a bad mother.”

He couldn’t help laughing at that. The image of Mrs Miller in high dudgeon tearing his mother a new one, Walburga Black looking flabbergasted in the face of a prim and proper, albeit furious, muggle dressing her down was too much for him. The tears that fell now of joy rather than sadness.

“Oh, I’d have paid good money to see that” he said once he had calmed down enough.

“You are such a strong and resilient man, Sirius. Never forget that” Ernest said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Tomorrow will not be easy, but it will also be happy. And it will be the same for Reggie. He’s all eager and brave today, but standing on that platform tomorrow, he’s going to be faced with the reality that he won’t be seeing his family for months. He’ll need you to show him that it’s alright to feel that way, but that neither should he feel guilty for that large part of him that wants to go.”

“Yeah. I can do that.”

“I know you can.”

And he could. Standing on platform nine and three-quarters, he was able to smile and joke with his oldest son, but also to hug him before he boarded, telling him how much he loved him and promising to write and make sure his mother baked some of his favourite cakes and cookies and sent them to him.

“Thanks dad” Regulus said once the hug had transferred into him standing with his arms on his son’s shoulders, an underlying vulnerability lurking in his grey eyes, copies of his own.

“And you can write anytime you want. And if you address a letter just to me, I promise not to let your mum read it. Alright?”

“Yeah” Regulus replied and dove in for a last hug.

A while later the train slowly started pulling out, beginning its long journey. He stood against the wall, one arm around his wife while his other hand held Lyra’s small one. Adhara held on to her mother’s hand that was not around his waist and Alphard stood with Albus between them and the Potters, looking forlornly after the last carriage as it disappeared out of sight.

“I can’t believe he’s gone.” Hermione whispered, her voice still wobbly.

“I know, but we’ll see him again for Christmas. And we’ll make sure it’s the best holiday ever. He’ll be the one crying next time, not wanting to leave.”

His wife looked up at him then and smiled. Her eyes shining both from tears and love.

“You promise?”

“For you, my heart, I’d do anything. Even move into a muggle neighbourhood to avenge your grandparents.”

“Please. That was only the one time. I’m not unreasonable.”

“No?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Now you only want me to make our son cry.”

“That was your idea” she protested and pinched his side.

“Yes, yes it was” he confessed and slowly leaned down so he could capture her lips in a kiss that was perhaps not entirely appropriate for such a public setting. And right on cue, three voices rose in chorus to show their displeasure.

“Ew! Mum! Dad!”

Sirius felt entirely unrepentant as he grinned at his children. Even with Regulus off to Hogwarts, life was too good to feel sorry about anything.