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Chapter Text

Sirius' POV

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England

July 1973

Malfoy Manor was tall and cold, every corner was polished to perfection. The marble floors reflected the flickering candlelight, and the chandeliers above cast a steady golden glow. Old tapestries lined the walls; showing duels, conquests, and proud family moments. They shifted sometimes, as if the figures within were watching. The magic that hung in the air wasn’t warm or welcoming. It demanded silence and obedience. Sirius Black hated it. Everything here pressed down on him, weighed him with expectations he had no interest in meeting.

The main hall had been transformed for the wedding. Rows of chairs faced the empty altar; some guests were already seated, speaking in low, careful tones. House-elves moved between them in smart uniforms, offering trays of glowing appetizers and keeping every goblet full; no one spilled a drop. Everything was clean, elegant, perfect. Too perfect, Sirius thought, and it made his skin crawl.

Sirius stood near one of the columns, watching it all with a practised detachment. He was thirteen, old enough to be ignored by the adults and too well dressed to be told off for lingering. He had combed his hair properly, and his dress robes itched at the collar. At a first glance, he looked like he belonged here. He didn't. He hated it there.

His parents stood across the room, the perfect image of dark elegance. His mother, Walburga Black, wore black silk, her dark hair twisted into a strict knot. Orion stood like a statue beside her, every inch the perfect pureblood heir. Or at least, he would have been. But Sirius had stopped believing in that kind of perfection. Orion represented everything Sirius had begun to reject—pride, control, and the belief that emotions made a person weak. The very sight of them made him tense. He wanted to turn away, to run, to be anywhere else.

Between them stood Regulus, eleven years old, dressed in brand new formal robes and polished shoes. His younger brother kept glancing around nervously, lips pressed into a line, eager not to disappoint. Sirius felt a brief flicker of something he hadn't expected—something like pity—but quickly pushed it aside. He didn't have time for Regulus' perfection; his attempt to follow in his family's legacy.

Across the hall stood his cousin's family—the bride's family. Druella Black held herself with the quiet pride expected of a woman in her position, her chin raised and her eyes unreadable. Sirius barely glanced at her. He didn't care about position. Near her stood Bellatrix Black—now Bellatrix Lestrange—his eldest cousin. She was tall and graceful, with dark hair that flowed over her shoulders. Her features were striking, almost too perfect, with high cheekbones and sharp, knowing eyes. Her smile was poised, almost inconspicuous, but there was something behind it that made people hesitate. She watched the guests with quiet calculation, as if she was searching for something more interesting than a simple conversation.

But what Sirius noticed most was who was missing. One sister hadn't come. The middle one, Andromeda. She had always been his favourite. With her, this nonsense would have been bearable. It had been three years since she had left—or rather been abandoned. She had married a Muggleborn, and the family had acted as if she had never existed. No one spoke of her anymore. Sirius' jaw tightened. He couldn't help but think how much better it would have been with her here. Some comfort, some... normality in this ridiculous setting.

But Sirius had overheard something last week; Andromeda had given birth to a baby. A girl, born this spring. Somewhere far from the cold pride of rules and oppressions, his cousin had become a mother. Good for her. Sirius felt a small surge of warmth, before it was swallowed by the cold of the hall.

Lucius Malfoy, heir to the House of Malfoy and groom, stood near the altar, waiting for the bride to be brought in. He held himself like someone who had been taught to expect importance from the moment he could walk. His pale blond hair was slicked back so neatly it barely moved when he turned his head. The expression on his face was careful and composed, he knew exactly that people were watching. Sirius studied him from a distance, arms folded. Lucius looked like he belonged here, as if he was born for it, trained for it. Not a hair out of place. Not like Sirius. But that precision, that certainty made him want to roll his eyes.

Standing beside Lucius was his father, Abraxas Malfoy. Older and colder than his son. His silver hair was combed back just the same, but the sharp lines in his face gave him a stricter edge. The kind of man people obeyed without question. Abraxas Malfoy wasn't the kind of man anyone wanted as an enemy. He had influence, connections, and the sort of quiet cruelty that didn't need to raise its voice. Sirius noticed all of it and felt a small thrill of anger in response.

A little farther back, set slightly apart from the other children, stood the younger Malfoy. Lucius' sister Lucinda, dressed in deep green robe cut to flawless precision, long blond hair glowing in the candlelight. Sirius' gaze slid over her without pause. Another perfectly bred pureblood girl. He looked away, the weight of boredom pressing in. He wanted to laugh at how seriously they all took themselves. Ridiculous.

It was all rehearsed. Everything in this bloody manor was. Sirius clenched his fists under his robes.

He looked away and glanced up at the high ceiling. Small floating lights drifted above, pulsing gently in time with the string music that had just begun. He wanted to count them, to focus on anything other than all the polished pretension around him.

The ceremony was about to start.

Guests were settling into their seats. Sirius took a seat near the front, close to his parents. That was when Bellatrix appeared and took the seat beside him without a word. She didn't look at him at first.

Then she said, in a low, smooth voice, "It's a good match. Strong names. Old blood. The kind of bond that matters."

Sirius didn't answer. He kept his eyes on the altar, his jaw tight. Bellatrix tilted her head slightly, her tone still even.

"There's been talk, you know. About you. And the Malfoys. It wouldn't be a bad idea. Building on that."

Sirius turned to her, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

She gave a small nod towards the other side of the room. Sirius followed her line of sight.

Lucinda. She was thirteen, like him, and he had to admit quite beautiful. But her face was unreadable. Watching. Arms loosely crossed in her lap, eyes drifting over the room with calm attention. A Slytherin, of course. He recognised her from some shared classes and from events like this. He had hardly spoken to her. He'd tried once or twice, but she had no interest in small talk. Her replies were always cold and exact, as if she was better than any of them. Peter had started calling her the Ice Queen. The name had stuck, not just for her looks, pale skin, ice green eyes, but for how she held herself. As if the rest of them were just noise. Sirius imagined being trapped into speaking to her. He grimaced. Marrying her? How ridiculous.

Bellatrix' voice remained calm. "She's got a clever mind. Knows where she stands. Loyal. You could do worse."

Sirius gave a short laugh under his breath. "I hope not. She'd eat me alive."

He imagined her words cutting him down in one sentence.

Bellatrix finally turned her head to look at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

"Good. At least she wouldn't let you drift."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "You mean off the path."

"I mean," she said, her smile still in place, "you could use someone with a proper sense of direction." Sirius snorted quietly. The audacity.

She looked away again, just as the music shifted. Narcissa had entered the hall, arm in arm with their father, Cygnus Black. Bellatrix went quiet, her eyes fixed on the bride. Sirius' jaw tightened. Here we go again, he thought, leaning back slightly, all eyes forward. He could feel the weight of the manor pressing on him, every polished surface and polite nod a reminder that he was out of place.

He turned forward again. He saw Lucius at the altar, standing with that calm, smug look Sirius had always despised. Narcissa walked slowly, every step measured and deliberate. Her robes shimmered silvery blue, catching the light with a soft glow, and a delicate veil framed her face. Her pale skin was flawless, her features sharp and refined. Her blond hair was swept back neatly, held in place by subtle sparkling hair clips and charms that made it shine like frost. Sirius imagined her slip, and had to bite his fist to keep from laughing. If only one thing went wrong, he thought. Just one small thing to ruin the perfection. But of course, nothing would.

They were perfect for each other, Sirius thought. Cold and bitter. And annoyingly composed. The kind of people who thrived on rules and expectations. He could already feel how suffocating it would be to grow up like them.

The ceremony continued in quiet formality. Lucius and Narcissa stood side by side, facing the officiant, a tall wizard from the Ministry, known for overseeing such pureblood unions. He held a speech that Sirius didn't listen to. He was too busy noticing the way Lucius' hands barely trembled, the way every inch of his posture screamed confidence. Sirius wanted to snort. He hated confidence like that, the smug, fake kind.

They then raised their right hands, palms touching lightly. The officiant lifted his wand and held it just above their joined hands. A silver light began to swirl around their hands, binding them together in a soft glow. For a few long moments, the light pulsed gently before fading completely, invisible but unbreakable.

Sirius watched, feeling tight inside. The silver bands looked like chains. He knew this wedding was about more than just two people. It was about families, power, and keeping things exactly as they always had been. He felt trapped just by watching. He could imagine the suffocating conversation around the dinner table, the quiet boasting about alliances and influence. It made him restless, like he needed to escape, run from the manor, from the rules, from the way everything pressed down so heavily.

The guests clapped politely as the ceremony ended. The chairs where they had sat during the vows vanished. The string quartet shifted their tune, the soft music changing to a slow, formal waltz. Sirius noticed the way everyone moved with precision, the smiles carefully measured. He felt like shouting out, laughing, or simply walking away, but none of those options were open.

Lucius stepped forward and took Narcissa's hand. Together, they moved to the centre of the floor, beginning the first dance. Every guest's eyes turned toward them, watching with polite interest. Sirius' eyes flicked to the floor, to the chandeliers, anywhere but the dancing couple. His gaze finally rested on Lucinda. She stood apart from the others. Her eyes followed the dancing couple carefully, but there was no sign of admiration. Instead, her expression was sharp and cautious, almost detached.

He wasn't sure what made him walk towards her. Perhaps it was the way she stood so still, watching the ceremony, the vows, the dance, with that same intolerability. Perhaps it was because she, like him, didn't seem to belong here. Or maybe it was the way she never tried to hide her distance from it all. Whatever it was, something about her pulled at his attention, and it annoyed him that it did.

He reached her in a few long strides, still holding the roll he'd taken from the banquet table, now half eaten.

"Ice Queen," he said, voice low but mocking enough to catch her. He could feel a smirk creeping onto his face, the familiar thrill of pushing someone who otherwise ignored him.

Lucinda didn't even look at him. "If you're going to speak nonsense, at least be clever about it."

Sirius' grin widened, challenged by her sharp comeback.

"Clever enough to notice your brother looks stiff and tense. Not much joy on his face, if you ask me. But then again he's marrying my cousin Cissa."

He felt the sharp tingle of amusement at his own boldness. Someone had to point out the ridiculousness of it all.

Her gaze finally met his, calm and unreadable. "You have a remarkable talent for saying the wrong thing."

Sirius thought that might be a compliment in disguise, but he didn't dare hope.

He stepped closer, undeterred by the coolness in her voice. "Is that a challenge? Because I'm rather good at being wrong."

She lifted her chin. "You're also good at being insufferable."

Sirius shrugged, but his eyes didn't waver. "I hear that a lot. But you? You look like you'd rather be somewhere else. Doesn't this bore you?" He could almost hear the echo of her silence, the tiny shift in her posture.

Lucinda's voice stayed calm. "I'm perfectly capable of handling what's expected. Unlike you, who seem intent on embarrassing yourself."

Sirius laughed loudly, a genuine laugh, despite everything. He almost felt alive, almost like he belonged here for a moment.

"I'm not sure what hurt more. An insult from the ‘perfect Malfoy' or being the ‘black sheep' of the Blacks," he chuckled.

Her eyes flicked away just for a moment but quickly returned to that calm, controlled gaze.

"I know my place. And this is where I belong." She paused. "Unlike you."

Sirius felt a spark of defiance stir inside him.

"I'm here because I'm family," he said quietly. "Even if your family rather wish I wasn't."

He could feel the tension, the unspoken rules pressing down, and it made him grip his fists in his pockets. Lucinda's gaze remained steady, lips pressed together.

"My family has their reasons."

"Because I'm a Gryffindor," Sirius said, voice dropping lower, "and the disgrace of the Black family."

She said nothing, but the silence held weight. The truth was unspoken, yet hung between them like a curtain.

"Do you think this marriage will make things easier?" Sirius asked after a pause, nodding toward the couple. "My parents say it will fix things. Settle old scores, restore the family's honour."

He was aware of the bitterness in his own tone. He didn't believe a word of it, but it amused him to see her reaction.

Lucinda's lips pressed into a thin line. "It's not about honour. It's about responsibility. And duty."

Sirius tilted his head, noticing the faint firmness in her jaw, the way her posture signalled a mind already trained in control.

"And yet," he said quietly, "you look like you wish you could change it all."

She looked at him then, eyes steady and clear. "I don't act on wishes."

Sirius felt the bite of her words, the subtle precision that cut through all his bravado.

"Maybe I'm reckless," he said softly, "but at least I speak my mind. You keep your thoughts close."

"Careful with assumptions. They can be dangerous," she said sharply.

Sirius grinned, thinking that maybe he liked the danger. The challenge. The way she didn't flinch.

He tilted his head, brow raised. "Maybe I understand more than you think." Their eyes met, He felt the thrill of it, the lingering tension, and it made him pulse with energy.

"You know," he added in as teasing a voice as possible to get a reaction from her, "apparently my family talks about us being married someday. Think a fancy wedding like this can erase the cracks in the family. As it were some kind of magic."

Lucinda's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'd rather marry a Muggleborn and be disinherited than marry you," she hissed.

He knew she was referring to the bride's sister. He didn’t flinch. But he did feel the sting of her words, it was more of amusement than feeling insulted. Her honesty was refreshing.

Her eyes flicked away, then met his again. "And if your parents really believe my father would agree to such an arrangement, they're not paying attention."

Sirius stared at her, unsure whether to feel insulted or impressed. He couldn't decide if she was the perfect pure blood daughter or just very good at pretending. Probably both. The thought intrigued him more than it should have.

His gaze sharpened as he tilted his head and said calmly, "Toujours pur, toujours faux."

Always pure, always false. He felt satisfaction of speaking it out loud. Lucinda's brow twitched imperceptibly, but he was sure she understood perfectly. The weight of family pride, the empty promises of blood purity, the lies everyone lived by. Yet she didn't give him an answer; instead, she had her eyes fixed on the bride and groom.

Sirius' voice dropped even lower, just audible. "What would the old families do without us, hm?"

Yet, still no reaction from her. The music shifted, violins rising, and a soft applause from the guests signalled the end of the first dance. People began to stir, voices rising, the real festivities ready to begin; more couples joining. But Sirius and Lucinda remained where they were, watching the other guests without saying a word.

She blinked first. "I'm sure we'll be forced to dance before the evening is over," she said with a touch of mild disgust.

Sirius' grin returned with a flash of mischief. "Try not to hex me in public, then. Bad form, even for a Malfoy."

"I don't waste spells on things beneath me."

That stung sharper than he expected, but he didn't let it show. He felt an unfamiliar thrill, a spark of respect, and a dash of irritation that she could cut through his bravado so easily. She turned and walked toward the family rows, her back perfectly straight, as if the conversation had been nothing more than a fleeting inconvenience.

She didn't look back as he watched her walk away. He stayed where he was, hands in his pockets. The music had changed again; people were laughing now, clapping as more couples joined the dance floor. But his thoughts stayed with her. Lucinda Malfoy. Cold, composed, and clever. She was everything his family wanted. The kind of girl who knew how to behave, who didn't step out of line, who made being a perfect pure blood seem easy. She reminded him of what he was supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to care. And yet he did.

He had tried to tease her. She, however, had barely reacted. He had tried to get under her skin, and yet she had turned the conversation around on him. He wasn't sure if she had meant what she had said, or if she had been mocking him. Maybe both. Either way, she had left him without a real answer. And that annoyed him. More than it should have.

He should have found her dull. Predictable. But he didn't. And that bothered him most of all.

Chapter Text

Lucinda's POV

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England

August 1976

The dining hall smelled of polished mahogany and elf wine. Candelabras floated precisely above the table, their flames remained unwavering, enchanted to keep them steady. Shadows curled around the high panelled walls like silent attendants.

Lucinda sat straight-backed in her usual seat, second from the end. Her shoulders tensed slightly as she adjusted her posture. Lucius and Narcissa sat side by side at the head of the table. Abraxas, at the opposite end, commanded the room with nothing but silence and the click of his silverware against fine porcelain. Dinner was almost over. 

"I've received word," Abraxas said, his was voice low but precise, "that your cousin—" His gaze slid sideways to Narcissa. "—has absconded."

Narcissa's hands were folded in her lap. She stared at them, unmoving. Lucinda felt a quick tightening in her stomach, a shiver that ran through her spine. She noticed a sublte flicker of tension passed through her shoulders, but she said nothing.

"Walburga Black has disowned him," Abraxas continued, still not raising his voice. "Formally. Publicly. A portrait burned, a name blasted off the tapestry." His fork rested beside his plate, untouched. "I cannot decide what's more outrageous—that it happened, or that she made a spectacle of it."

Lucinda's fingers curled beneath the table; her grip tightening unconsciously She could sense the quiet rage building beneath her father's skin.

"I would never do such a thing," Abraxas said, still watching Narcissa with a calm that was more frightening than temper. "I would not allow my name to be the subject of such vulgar gossip. I would never make a show. No." He finally turned his eyes to Lucinda, then to Lucius. "I would handle the matter privately. And finally."

Lucinda looked down at her own lap. It was not a threat. It was a statement. A chill went over her; she clenched her fist, running her thumb over a delicate silver ring she wore on her right hand.

Abraxas turned to Lucius, his fingers pressed together in front of him. "The Dark Lord expects the sacred families to propagate. It has been three years since the wedding. Why is Narcissa not with child?"

Lucinda felt a surge of disgust coil in her stomach, her fingernails cutting into her palm as she masked her face.

Lucius sat very still. "We are doing our best."

There was a pause. Then Abraxas laughed. It was a cold, flat sound. "I should not have agreed to this match. I should have bound you to Rosalyn Travers' girl. Her bloodline is impeccable. Her womb, I've heard, even more so."

He didn't stop there.

"Or better yet — Bellatrix."

Lucinda glanced up, surprised. She had never heard her father speak of Bellatrix with anything like warmth.

"She had every quality to be a strong match," Abraxas said evenly. "A Black and already inclined to the Dark Lord's cause. But of course, Cygnus married her off to Lestrange before we could intervene. And yet — no heirs."

He looked slowly from Lucius to Narcissa.

"It seems," he continued, voice soft with malice, "that the Black daughters are proving disappointing. Barren, the lot of them. Except, of course, for the one who ran off with a Mudblood. She breeds like a common mongrel."

Narcissa's eyes remained fixed on her lap. Her face was very pale. Lucinda's stomach lurched. She clenched her fists under the table, her knuckles pressing into the fabric of her robe. It's been years since she had seen Andromeda Black, but she remembered her being most definitely the kindest of the Black sisters.

"At least Bellatrix has proved her worth," Abraxas said, lifting his glass but not drinking. "Loyalty. Ruthlessness. Zeal. The Dark Lord values such traits. Even if she leaves no legacy, she burns brightly enough to be useful."

He turned then, and the full weight of his gaze fell on Lucinda. She stared back into those light, almost translucent grey eyes; a shiver ran along her spine, but she held his gaze, even though fear made her chest tight and her palms sweaty. Before he could speak, a firm voice interrupted.

"That's enough, Father," Lucius said quietly but firmly. "Narcissa has been loyal."

His words were cautious and measured — as if stepping lightly on thin ice.

Lucinda's eyes flicked to her brother. The tension in his jaw betrayed him, but his gaze held steady, unwavering. Narcissa's pale face remained still, her hands still folded. Lucinda looked away, swallowing the knot in her throat.

Though she had never truly bonded with Narcissa, had never understood her, she felt something quietly flicker within her. A strange sort of relief, even warmth — perhaps gratitude — that the two of them, at least, seemed to have found some kind of love. Not just obligation, not merely alliance, but something real.

In this house, such moments were rare. Lucinda's fingers curled around the edge of the table. Across the hall, the silence thickened. She caught a glimpse of Narcissa's lashes trembling. Her face, already pale, seemed to lose what little colour remained. She kept her hands tightly folded in her lap. Lucinda looked away. The silence stretched.

She remembered, suddenly, a moment from three years ago. Late evening, just hours after the wedding. Lucinda had come down the west stairwell by accident, barefoot, holding a book, and paused when she heard something strange: a sharp breath, a stifled sound. She had stood in the shadows of the corridor outside Narcissa's sitting room. The door had been cracked open. Inside, Narcissa had sat on the chaise in her bridal robes. The fire had been out. Her veil lay crumpled at her side like discarded lace. She hadn't noticed Lucinda watching her. She had been crying — quietly. Not the kind of tears that demanded comfort, but the kind that needed to be hidden. Lucinda had stood frozen, unsure whether to leave or knock. She had done neither. Only later had she heard the whispered mention from a relative: Andromeda wasn't at the wedding, you know. Disgraceful. They used to be close, those two, before the betrayal.

Lucinda hadn't asked. She didn't need to. It had been written in Narcissa's face.

Now, seated under her father's scrutiny, Narcissa did not cry. She didn't flinch. She simply sat there, perfectly composed, as though the blood in her veins had turned to porcelain.

Lucinda's stomach twisted. She could never be sure what her sister-in-law felt. But she knew this: whatever had existed between her and the disowned sister had not died easily. And in this house, nothing that mattered was ever spoken aloud.

Abraxas leaned back slightly, his gaze shifting towards the far end of the table.

"As for you, Lucinda."

Her name, spoken so suddenly, echoed slightly in the heavy silence. She looked up again, but not directly at him this time. Her hands twitched briefly, gripping the edge of the chair as her heartbeat spiked; waiting for what her father would say to her.

"I've been having discussions," he said, fingers steepled before him. "Discreetly. There are families interested. Several, in fact. The right ones." He paused. "You're a good catch. Clever. Well-bred. And—" he added, gesturing vaguely with his hand, "—a pleasant thing to look at. That doesn't hurt. You also have the sense to know when silence serves better than words."

Lucinda didn't move. She forced herself to keep breathing and not to show any reaction.

"In two years, when Hogwarts is finished, it will be time. You'll be wed. You'll make a suitable match. I'll see to it."

Lucinda swallowed. Her mouth was dry. Her chest felt as if it had been compressed by an invisible hand. Each shallow breath struggled; her stomach flipped, a bitter nausea rolling through her. She nodded once and said nothing. Her gaze drifted to the flickering candlelight. Her thoughts turned away from the present.

Her mother had died when she was very young — during childbirth, they said. She barely remembered the woman, only fragments: the softness in her voice, a faint scent of lavender on her nightgown, a hand stroking her hair in the dark.

She had never truly known if her parents' marriage had ever been filled with love. Her parent's union was a cold arrangement, bound by blood and status rather than warmth. But her mother had been different. In the few years she had lived, she had been a kind, loving presence. The only source of comfort and love Lucinda had ever known. When her mother died, that light went out. Lucius had been the only other person who gave her something close to care. He had been protective, watching over her with fierce loyalty. She had been his dearest sister once. But in recent years, that bond had frozen over, sealed away beneath the weight of family expectations and quiet resentments.

Her hands clenched briefly beneath the table. The hall was still; the family remained silent, as if none dared disturb the fragile peace.

Lucinda noticed the spoon slipping before it touched the floor. Quickly, she set her goblet down harder than she meant to, the sharp sound cutting through the silence. Her fingers twitched slightly from the sudden movement. Then she cleared her throat, a soft cough to cover the incident.

Abraxas's gaze turned to her, with a sharp and questioning expression. Lucinda's shoulders stiffened, and a shiver ran down her spine, nevertheless, she met his gaze without showing any sign of discomfort.

"My apologies, father. The glass slipped," she said quietly, her left hand pressing briefly against her thighs under the table.

No one seemed to notice the small house elf scurrying to pick up the fallen spoon, bowing so low his ears brushed the floor. Lucinda knew what would have awaited the elf if her father had seen. She didn't dare to let her gaze flicker to him, in order not to reveal him.

Her jaw tightened, and she exhaled slowly through her nose, almost imperceptibly. He held her eyes a moment longer than necessary before looking away. He didn't say anything, she was certain of it, but he must have noticed at least something.

No one said anything. The silence went back over the table like nothing had happened. Lucinda lifted her goblet again, her hand lingering slightly over it before drinking, but the taste of the wine had turned bitter in her mouth.

When the table had been cleared and the family had dispersed, Lucinda rose and left the room. Her steps were measured, but her knuckles flexed briefly inside her sleeves. She had nearly made it past the west corridor when she saw her brother standing by the tall windows, hands clasped loosely behind his back. He didn't look at her at first, only spoke as she approached.

He didn't look at her at first. "You've grown bolder," he said. So he must have noticed it.

Lucinda paused, tilting her head slightly and tensing her shoulders. "And you've grown quieter. Three years of marriage have made you diplomatic."

That made him glance at her, eyes unreadable in the dim light. "It's not diplomacy to know when to keep the peace."

She arched a brow. "Is that what you call it? Keeping the peace? Looked more like cowardice with a napkin on its lap."

His jaw tightened, just slightly. "You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly," she cut in. A faint tremor ran through her fingers, but her voice remained steady. "You watched him humiliate your wife. And you did nothing except clench your jaw and call it—what? Restraint? Narcissa deserves better. You know that."

Lucius turned to her fully now. His chest lifted slightly, and he took a half-step forward. "Better watch your tongue, Lucinda. Family loyalty isn't something you throw around lightly. You're walking a thin line."

Lucinda stepped closer, eyes narrowed. "Oh, I know. I've been walking it for years. But maybe it's time someone questioned which lines need crossing. Or if they were drawn by the right hands in the first place."

For a second, she saw something flicker in his expression, but it wasn't anger or shock—it was superiority.

"Don't forget who holds the leash."

She gave a soft, joyless laugh. A small shiver ran down her spine, her shoulders rising briefly, she felt her heart pounding in her chest, but she kept her gaze steady.

"You think you're the one holding it?" she asked, challenging. "Maybe. But if you are, you've got your hands full, and the leash is fraying."

Lucius didn't answer. He didn't have to. Neither of them broke the silence. She turned and left without waiting for his reply. She knew he wouldn't tell their father. Lucinda knew how much her brother feared their father—even if he'd never admit; Lucius understood too well that some things were safer left unsaid. She, too, had learned when silence was survival.

She gave him one last glance before moving on to her chamber.

Her shoulders sagged slightly as the tension in her back loosened just a fraction just as she passed the threshold and closed the large door behind her. The walls were tall, dark green, and silver-trimmed—cold colours that matched the rest of the Manor. The window let in only a sliver of moonlight. She unfastened the high collar of her dress, changed into her night robe, and sat at her desk without thought. Her hands moved from habit, but her mind was elsewhere.

A soft pop behind her.

She didn't startle. She knew the sound. A small tray was placed carefully on the corner of her desk.

"Miss Lucinda," the elf whispered, eyes wide and earnest. "Dobby thanks Miss Lucinda. Very kind. Always very kind to Dobby."

He bowed low, ears almost brushing the carpet. Lucinda looked at him for a long moment. Her fingers brushed the edge of the tray in front of her unconsciously. He was very young for a house-elf, and even so, the harshness of the manor had already taught him to flinch at the slightest sound.

"You may go," she said quietly. "Thank you, Dobby."

The elf hesitated, then added, "Dobby remembers," and vanished with another soft pop.

Lucinda stood up, crossed the room and knelt before the far wall beside her bed. Her knees pressed into the cold floor, and she flexed her fingers as she reached for a certain area. Her hand found the faint rune carved into the panelled wood. She pressed her palm flat against it, and without a sound, the hidden compartment revealed itself, the panel parting at her touch. Inside was the wooden, lacquered box. She took it out carefully and sat with it cradled in her lap for a moment before unlocking it.

The blood seal recognised her without resistance. A thin, dark red line opened on her finger, and the box clicked. Inside, wrapped in green cloth, was her most guarded secret—a battered, underlined copy of Pride and Prejudice. Muggle literature. Smuggled goods in this house. But she had found it at Hogwarts—abandoned on a bench, as if forgotten—and once she'd read it, she'd never let it go.

She lay back against the headboard and opened the book to the folded page. Her shoulders relaxed just slightly as she exhaled. e A bitter little smile touched her lips. Her fingers slightly brushed the worn edge of the page. How tragic that she could read about defiant women in fiction and not speak like one in her own drawing room. She turned the page and let the words anchor her. But Sirius came to mind again.

Sirius Black. He had walked out of his ancestral prison, packed his trunk and left. He had chosen differently from the start. Being sorted into Gryffindor. Friends with that Potter boy. He laughed with Muggleborns as if it cost him nothing. It had been only a matter of time. He had made it look easy.

Lucinda closed her eyes. Her jaw tightened, and her hands curled into loose fists in her lap. WIll I ever have the same courage?

She knew the price. And she knew her father. She couldn't just run away like Sirius. Outside, the night deepened. Lucinda turned the page.

Chapter Text

Sirius' POV

Hogwarts Express, Somewhere in Britain

5th September 1976

The engine's steam had the dump air smell of coal and rust at platform 9 3/4. Sirius stood still for a moment and watched the scene, his hand clenching to the handle of his trunk. Families had gathered, sending off their children to another school year. He saw a boy holding his mother's hand; an older brother kissing his little sister goodbye; a father looking stern and proud. He had nothing like that, no proper farewell. Not even when he had lived with his parents.

That day, he had arrived with the Potters, who he had been living with since the beginning of summer. Beside him, James was chattering constantly while Fleamont and Euphemia Potter guided them through the platform. Sirius kept moving, while James stayed behind to say a proper goodbye to his parents, laughing at something his father said. Sirius' father had never made him laugh. Only fear. Yet that was nothing compared to his dear mother. Sirius wanted to get to the train fast — desperately avoiding running into his parents dropping of his brother. For a moment he stopped, only long enough for a quick farewell.

"See you at Christmas. Mrs Potter, Mr Potter."

Euphemia pulled him — to his surprise — into a quick hug. "Sirius, love. We've told you before — it's Flea and Phemia. None of this 'Mr' and 'Mrs' nonesense."

Sirius swallowed hard, then nodded. Not knowing how to handle the warmth. Affection like that still felt strange. The Potters had been welcoming and caring; something he hadn't known before. Sure, he had his best friends. But this was different.

He lifted his trunk with one hand, with the other he waved goodbye — only to see James watching him closely. Sirius' throat tightened. Then he put on his usual, charming grin, as if putting on a mask. James rolled his eyes but didn't push. Sirius knew, that James understood.

Sirius climbed onto the train, leaving the Potters behind; fortunately not having seen a glimpse of Walburga and Orion Black. The train's corridors were full of noise; friends greeting each other after the long summer break; doors sliding open and shut again. While squeezing his way through the corridor to find Remus and Peter, he passed a few fifth year girls who whispered and glanced behind their hands. One smiled openly at him, brushing one of her tight curls behind her ear, then turning away, blushed as Sirius gave her a cocky wink. It had become habit by now.

Eventually, he found the wanted compartment. Remus sat by the window, a book open in his lap as usual, not looking up but greeting with a nod, while Peter stuffed a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans into his mouth like his life depended on it.

Sirius pulled the door open and tossed his trunk beneath the bench. "Good morning, gentlemen."

Peter looked up, his eyes wide. "Padfoot! You look—" He scanned Sirius with a satisfactory grin. "—good. Potter-fed?

"Potter-fed and potter-housed," Sirius replied, grinning as wide as Peter.

"Surreal. Glad for you, Pad," Remus said, keeping his gaze on the book.

Sirius nodded. "You have no idea." He leaned his back against the seat and closed his eyes for a moment. "No yelling. No slurs against Muggles. Not having to look at those bloody house-elve heads all the time."

Peter leaned forward. "So it's really that different?"

Sirius opened his eyes, quietly sighing. "It's... it's strange." He paused. "Lovely, but strange. They actually ask how you are, how you've slept. They... care." He pushed his clenched fist against his lips and bit his knuckles. "But then I remember Regulus still stuck with those tyrannical arseholes."

Finally, Remus looked up from his book. Neither of them replied at once.

"I just... I just hate leaving him there," Sirius said, lowering his voice. "The little git's still trying to fit in. But he's drowning. And I—I swam off."

"You didn't swim off," Remus said quietly, but firmly. "You escaped. That's a difference."

Sirius didn't respond, he just shook his head. He knew Remus was right. But it didn't feel like it.

A whistle sounded across the King's Cross' platform, marking its departure, and with a hiss the train began to move forward. Sirius stretched across one bench, not caring about his boots scuffing the upholstery. James pulled the compartment door open, tossing his trunk next to Sirius', throwing himself opposite of Sirius, his grin wide and his black hair untidy as ever. He soon began talking about the latest Quidditch match they had watched together in Wales; hands gesticulating as if he played the match himself.

Sirius listened only half-heartedly. For a moment he was thrown back to the day he had left Grimmauld Place, dragging his belongings down the stairs into the hallway while his mother shouted slurs at him; forcing him to look at her, to respect her. Sirius just ignored her. Regulus had blocked the doorway, hands gripping the door frame tightly until his knuckles whitened. Please. Don't go. Sirius had just shoved him aside without giving him another look. If he had seen his brother's face, he might not have the courage to leave. He had told himself it was necessary. And when he left the door, Sirius hadn't looked back. He just couldn't. He had walked past it, still hearing his mother's shout behind him.

The Potters' house was different in every way. Instead of the dark, gloomy space, it was light, cosy and welcoming. Fleamont had gripped Sirius' shoulder in pride, when the letters arrived, delivering their OWL results. Euphemia had hugged him as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world. They treated him like he was one of his own, and yet Sirius couldn't get used to it. They cared about things no one had ever cared to notice before. It felt undeserved.

"Anyway," Sirius cut off James, "let's talk about something more interesting than your missed snitches. My summer for example."

Peter's head turned towards him, James spat out a laugh.

"First, a girl from Brighton," Sirius told, a cheeky smirk tugging his mouth. "Blue eyes, legs up to here—" He gestured dramatically. "Easy to get. Then I ran into that brunette Ravenclaw girl...what's her name—"

"Alice. Our year," James interjected.

"Alice, right. She found me... persuasive."

Remus rolled his eyes. Peter's jaw dropped. "Not that Alice."

Sirius went on, counting on the encounters with arrogance. They way they had leaned in. How willingly they had kissed him. How quickly they let him in. Leaving out the yearning he felt, and the emptiness that came after.

Petter giggled. "So you shagged half on London over the summer?"

Sirius pretending outrage. "I beg your pardon, Wormtail. I'm selective."

"Selective?" Remus gave him a long glance.

"Very much so. Met a Muggle girl who lives close to the Potters. Considered herself a poet. Lovely girl."

"Did she write you something?" Peter asked fascinated.

"Made it up from the spot," Sirius grinned. "I tried not to cry."

Peter snorted, one of Bott's Beans he was still chewing almost fell out of his mouth. 

James groaned. "Merlin, Padfoot. You'll stay single forever."

"That's the bloody point," Sirius grimaced. 

But the thoughts of the Muggle girl, how she clung to his shoulders, her fingers playing with his hair, the way her breath felt against his mouth. He remembered the warmth of her skin pressing onto his. He remembered how her hand gripped his waist, as if she never wanted to let him go. Not knowing who he was, nor his family. Not having to explain himself, nor being seen as the Black rebel. For a blink of an eye, it had almost felt like something he'd like to keep. But he never did. So he pulled it away first—as always—leaving before he could get used to the warmth. It was easier that way. Being in control was safer than being held. One never knew how long it'd last. So he left, and never saw her again.

It was easy to tell his friends the details—the kisses, the seducings, the flirts. That was what his friends expected, but not the rest. Not how those girls made him feel. Not the part where he clung to them, and how it almost felt comforting, or how that unsettled him. He would never say that out loud. Not even to James, who Sirius trusted his life with. But not with that.

Peter grinned in admiration, with wide eyes. "You don't want someone? Don't you ever—"

"Want someone? Sure. Keep someone? No." Sirius strechted again, folding his arms behind his head, smirking.

Peter giggled, and James rolled his eyes in disgust. "You're impossible."

"That's what she said. Not everyone is in love with some girl who hates them."

"Oh, she doesn't hate me!" James insisted.

"She does." Remus who had barely participated in this conversation, shut his book close, quickly pulling his uniform from his luggage to get changed.

James frowned, watching Remus adjusting his prefect badge. "Moony, when you see her, tell her—"

"No," Remus cut him off. "If you want her to like you, stop being such a git." He left beore James could repsond, shutting the door behind him.

James crossing his arm in front his chest, pulling a face. "She does not hate me."

Peter snorted. "No, Moony is right. She doesn't like when you lot tease on Snivellus."

James rolled his eyes, leaning back into his seat.

"He's a git. He deserves it."

"A greasy git." Sirius laughed with amusement, nudging James with his feet. "You're a hopeless romatic, Prongs."

"One day, lads," James tilted his head in self-satisfaction. "One day she'll realise how lucky she is to have someone like me."

Sirius burst out of laughter. "The same day I fall in love, settle down, and waiting for a girl to walk down the aisle."

All three of them laughed as the train took them closer to Hogwarts. Now and then classmates stuck their head in their compartment; girls walking by, blushing when Sirius gave them his seductive wink. When the train was to eventually arrive at Hogsmeade Station, the sky had changed its colour to almost black. Hadn't been changed into uniforms yet, they quickly undressed. Sirius pulled off his T-Shirt and leather jacket, tossing them carelessness into his trunk, grabbing his shirt and jumper. 

Peter darted this his finger at Sirius' chest. "Oi, Padfoot. New tattoo?"

Sirius grinned, flexing his muscle to show off. "Oh, this one. Yeah the Muggle's not only a poet but an artist."

"Brilliant."

"Hard to tell a Muggle how phoenix look like."

"She did a decent job, though," James said appreciatively.

The train came to halt, mteal screeching against rails. The compartment soon filled with excited scramble of students preparing to leaving the train. The three boys quickly joined, leaving their trunks behind to be brought in by Hogwart's house-elves. Hogsmeade Sation was filled with loads of students, gathering their ways to the carriages. Hagrid's low voice echoed across the platform calling the first-years to follow him. Sirius, James and Peter followed the older students to the carriages.

Sirius spotted Remus in the crowd, standing nearby other prefects, waving him over to join them. Remus made his way through the crowd, while Sirius watched the thestrals patiently waiting for the students to climb the carriages. Their black skeletal skin shone mysteriously in the stations lights; white eyes scanning the crowd of students. Impressive creatures.

Remus had finally made his way through the crowd, greeting them. "Finally," he muttered. "Prefect meeting was longer than expected. Ready?"

"I'm always ready," Sirius replied cocky, though his eyes flickered towards the thestrals again. One creatures eyes' meeting Sirius'. A shiver ran through him.

Then suddenly Peter stopped. "Merlin," he muttered. "Look who else's back."

Sirius didn't need to follow his gaze. He already knew. Lucinda Malfoy stood at the edge of the platform, surrounded by other Slytherin girls, but speaking to no one. Her pale blonde hair was pinned back neatly, glimming in the lantern's light like as much as her prefect badge, her robes perfectly taylored. She didn't fidget or glanced around, her head held up high, her gaze stern, every movement was controlled. Sirius should've looked away, but he didn't.

"The Ice Queen looks scarer than ever," Peter whispered. "Must be her Veela heritage."

Remus rolled his eyes. "I've told you a thousand times. She isn't."

James grinned. "'cause her ancestors were basilisks. One stare and you're dead."

Remus shoke his head with a faint grin. "You're both idiots."

"Looks like she's had the whole summer to sharpen the glare." James added, then tilted his head, as if he was thinking. "She's beautiful though. Can't deny that. Even though not as beautiful as Evans."

Sirius still looked at her. She was indeed beautiful. Very much so. But so was firewhiskey in the dark, and that just left one with burns and regrets.

"She's a Malfoy," Sirius said firmly. That was enough to shut them up.

Lucinda lifted her head as Snape approached, giving him a single, mearsured greeting nod. Sirius remembered how Snape had followed around Lucius Malfoy like a puppy from their first year on, soon befriending Lucius' sister. Both had a affinity for the Dark Arts, something that Sirius' had always disgusted, which had made Snape a target for the Marauder's teasing. They had tried the same with her. She, however, had never responed, remained unimpressed. Snape, by contrast, was far easier.

Lucinda started moving, with Snape following her, talking incessantly to her, pushing their way through the crowd as they approached the front carriage. Students instinctively made her space, some looking twice, as if she was untouchable. Sirius felt something like disbelief, and then disgust. Ridiculous. The way everyone seemed to treat her like something better they were, like some untouchable trophe. Eventually, he turned away, refusing to watch any longer.

"Wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot wand," he muttered.

James rised an eyebrow, grinning. "Bit defensive, aren't you?"

"You just can't tell the difference between being interested and being aware."

"Alright, okay," James said, holding his hand in mock surrender. "She's all your, Snivellus."

Peter laughed and even Remus smirked. Sirius just walked toward the nearest carriage, while the others followed, taking their seats, rumbling towards Hogwarts.

The Great Hall's candles shone bright against the dark sky outside. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the starless, cloudy night. The first-years hadn't entred yet, but the upper-years filled the hall with muffled chatter. The professors sat at the high table, quietly scanning the students. Dumbledore speaking to Flitwick, his eyes concerned behind his half-moon glasses. Sirius let his gaze drift around the tables, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor's table as loud as ever; the Ravenclaw one unusual quiet. He had heared whisper, another student went missing. Their whole family, supposedly halfbloods. A shiver washed over him.

Then his gaze drifted to the Syltherin table—

He spotted him. Regulus.

His younger brother sat with older Slytherins. Sirius knew those families well: the Carrows, Mulcibers, Rosiers. Close to that Dark Wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort. Regulus' hair was neat, his posture controlled, and his expression carefully blank. For a heartbeat, their eyes met.

Sirius was to lift his hand, out of an old reflex, but Regulus' eyes flicked away before he could show a sigh of recognition. Or acknowledgement. Just the faintest tightening of the jaw told Sirius his brother had indeed seen him. He clenched his fists under the table. Anger, fear and regret crept into him.

Around them, conversation continued. First years were led into the Great hall by McGonagall, the Sorting Hat sung its carol, its warning more alerting and thoughtful than ever. The Sorting started, new faces spread across the four houses. Food appearing in front of them. Cutlerey scraped, chatter went on, but Sirius felt none of it. He was again caught in the moment he left Grimmauld Place.

He again glanced over to Regulus. His brother leaned slightly toward a taller boy beside him—Caius Avery. Patting on Regulus shoulder as if to offer him protection. Or a reminder of loyalty. He traced the suble movements of his brother's hands, the slight narrowing of his eyes. Regulus had changed. He seemed more secure than Sirius had ever known him. Sirius wondered what he had missed ever since he left his family's house. What Regulus must've been endured. The rules of the world Sirius had tried to escape. He no longer looked like the boy who hesitated at the door, trying to stop his older brother to run off. It's been only two months.

Sirius exhaled slowly, forcing himself to look at the plate in front of him. His food had become cold. But he had no appetite. Nothing else mattered in that moment but the sharp awareness of the brother he had left behind.

Chapter Text

Lucinda's POV

Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, Scotland.

5th September 1976

The sky overhead was almost pitch black. Only the waxing moon and torches lit the path towards the castle; casting long shadows along the rocky road. The air was clear and crisp, even for Scotland. Lucinda noticed the sharp smell of smoke that was carried over from the Hogwarts Express. She walked slowly, taking firm, measured steps; her robes moved gently with her, while keeping her posture upright and her face expressionless. It was a walk meant to be seen, even if no one was watching. Her father had taught her that much: behave as if there were always eyes on you, and never reveal anything. She had learned to keep things inside, and this had been proven useful. But her mind was elsewhere; her father’s voice still lingered in her thoughts.

"In two years, when you've finished Hogwarts, it'll be time. You'll be wed. You’ll make a suitable match."

He had said it so coldly, without even looking at her. It was as if he was talking about the terms of a contract rather than the direction her life was taking. His tone left no room for protest—it was clear that she would have to obey. Not that she had ever been asked, though. The words hadn't surprised her. They had been hanging over her for years, unspoken but always present. That was the only purpose a woman could fulfil—in his opinion. But hearing them aloud had turned them into a threat. At the time, she nodded, knowing that anything else would have been foolish. She had leant that silence was often more effective than refusal. But inside, something had quietly and violently flared up. She wouldn't belong to anyone.

As she walked towards the carriages, her gaze drifted over the crowd. She scanned the faces of those present and absent. Whispers lingered in her memory about a Ravenclaw boy and his family, vanishing without trace; someone of his family had dared to speak up and warn others about the Dark Lord's practices. So the whole family had to pay. She remembered once seeing the boy during a prefect patrol after curfew; he had seemed so mannerly and innocent. This thought stayed with her, making her stomach twist, until Severus fell into step beside her and began to speak in precise manner about the potions he had been experimenting with. She half-listened, nodding at times, but her attention was elsewhere. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Marauders watching her. Their heads were bent together, casting occasionally looking in her direction, as they whispered and laughed. She refused to give them the satisfaction of a glance, not looking their way.

As always, the Great Hall inside the castle was decorated with floating candles in preparation for the upcoming Sorting Ceremony and Feast. The chatter of students echoed off the high stone walls, while laughter swelled beneath the enchanted ceiling that mirrored the cloudless night sky above. The four house tables stretched the length of the hall and were slowly filling with students; the professors were already seated at the high table at the front.

Lucinda walked through the tall double doors and headed towards the Slytherin table on the far right, sliding into a seat next to some girls in her year. Severus sat across her, soon sucked up in his potions book scribbling notes into it. Lucinda didn’t immediately scan the room. Instead, she took in the sound of it—the return of a rhythm that had shaped the past five years of her life. There was something inevitable about it all. It was as though each new year began exactly where the last had ended. Only this time, it didn’t. She couldn't name the source that made her feel that way, but something had shifted.

Eventually, she glanced around the Hall, her gaze swift over to the Gryffindor table at the opposite. She noticed Sirius Black having his eyes fixed across the room; she followed his gaze and saw Regulus Black—his younger brother—sitting stiffly with next to Caius Avery who kept clapping the younger boy's shoulder and persuading him. Something about this pairing seemed very unnatural. Regulus was unusually quiet, his eyes fixed on nothing. There was a tightness in his posture, Lucinda hadn’t noticed before; at least not as stiff as she remembered.

Looking back at Sirius, she noticed his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowing in disapproval. For a moment, she almost felt sorry for Sirius; for leaving his brother with those cohorts.

That uneasy feeling increased when Amycus Carrow, who sat opposite of Caius and Regulus and turned around, scanning the long table next to the Gryffindor's.

"Look how grim the Ravenclaw's look tonight," he said, smirking, "When they're looking like this, you know they're doing the right thing."

His words send a chill through her. She knew what he was hinting at. It wasn't just the cruelty; it was how openly they had started to express it, and how they no longer made the effort to hide their opinions. They were no longer afraid to speak their allegiance aloud. And suddenly she realised that that was what she had sensed before but couldn't name it.

The Dark Lord, a wizard calling himself Voldemort, had been rising for six years, promising the old families a return to power. His followers had acted in the shadows, while witches and wizards who opposed him—or were deemed unworthy—disappeared. Those who supported or participated in his rise had once kept their opinions in their exclusive parties. Now, some no longer bothered to openly express their opinion.

"Lucinda, how was your summer?"

The question that brought Lucinda back came from Marcella Selwyn, a blonde curled girl from Lucinda's year, who had slipped into the seat beside her. Her voice was polite, but the question wasn’t sincere, offered as if required. Her forced smile didn’t reach her eyes.

So Lucinda did the same. She turned her head slowly. "As expected," she said, firmly. She hesitated, Marcella sat next to Rowena Nott—Marcella's best friend, but usually there were three of them, "Where's Josephina Bulstrode?"

Marcella's eyes brightened up, ready to share the latest gossip. "Oh, Josie... she's been married off. To one of the Flint brother's. Don't ask me which." She half-turned to Rowena, looking at her questioningly.

Rowena let her gaze sweep around the crowd, twirling her light brown hair around her finger and answered without looking at them. "It's Edmund."

A shiver washed over Lucinda. Edmund Flint; he had left Hogwarts years ago. He must be at leats five years older. Lucinda frowned, something didn't make sense. "But ... why isn't she here tonight?"

Marcella leaned closer, lowering her voice and covered her mouth to suppress a chuckle. "She's with child already."

Lucinda's stomach tightened. Her hand under the table, she ran her thumb over the edge of her ring. "She isn't even of age," she said tonelessly. 

Her father's words came yet again to her. Pure blood women were meant to bear children. To secure lines. To serve a greater cause than themselves. The thought of being reduced to that—and soon this could be her own faith. Lucinda fist's tightened, her knuckles pressing hard against the fabric of her robe. She kept her face carefully neutral, but nausea crawled in her stomach.

Marcella only shruggend. "Her parents decided she didn't need to come back. She's got her OWLs. That's more than enough. If you asked me, she's lucky." She made a dreamily expression. "The prettiest dresses, the most expensive jewely—everything she could want. I'd hope my parents marry me off soon."

Disgust rose in Lucinda—disgust at a girl who would trade her own freedom for luxury. She pictured herself a Josephina—trapped, already with child. She swallowed the urge to gag, shifting slightly in her seat, forcing herself to keep her mask and her composure intact.

Marcella turned away, engaging Rowena in shallow chatter. Lucinda remained still, watching the Slytherin able. Familiar faces sat on their usual places; returning to their familiar hierachies. Evan Rosier was leaning over to Amycus, whispering something that made the other smirk. When he met Lucinda's gaze, he winked at her. She looked away immediately not wanting to give him any invitation.

Her gaze drifted back across the hall to Sirius. He was laughing with James Potter now. A few moments later, he leaned toward a girl across the table, smiling and charming her, as if the earlier tension never existed. He ran his hand through his dark curls, throwing his head back in loud laughter at something the girl beside him had said and half-slipped his arm around her shoulders. Moments later, he leaned across the table, smiling easily at another girl. They must be one or two years below them as Lucinda knew their faces but had never seen them in class. The pity she had felt for him earlier soured, instead it settled into disgust.

Suddenly he looked up straight across the hall— directly in her direction.

Their eyes met. He paused for a minute and held her gaze. Lucinda didn't flinch. He did. He looked away quickly, pulling his arm back to himself, then turned towards James Potter who was in the middle of a loud, exaggerated joke. He laughed just as loud as Sirius simultaneously glancing over to Lily Evans, the auburn-haired prefect that Severus had been friends with, as if to see her reaction. Though she ignored him completely what Lucinda found utterly amusing.

Her eyes drifted over the other marauders. Peter Pettigrew who laughed at every joke, eager to please, always praising his friends. She wondered why Sirius and James counted him as a friend—probably to feed their own egos. Remus Lupin rolled his eyes at James's foolish behaviour. Lucinda had often seen him studying quietly in the library: capable, pleasant and sensible. She wondered how a boy like him had ended up with such loud, reckless friends.

In the meanwhile, the doors have opened again, McGonagall stepping in the Great Hall with the first years. Lucinda barely observing them how some follwed straight to the High Table; others starring at the enchanted ceiling. Her attention was fixed on Sirius again. Even briefly, she noticed the loose knot of his tie, the rolled up sleeves revealing black ink on his skin; with a new tattoo peeking out from his unbuttoned collar. He was laughing again—that loud arrogant laugh that pulled attention like a magnet. A few seats from him, Lily Evans rolled her eyed and her friend Marlene McKinnon smiled too brightly at him. 

"He's so handsome." Lucinda overheard Marcella saying. "What a shame he's on the wrong side."

Lucinda's annoyance rose. She realised she had been staring too long and forced herself to look away.

Marcella leaned back to Rowena, lowering her voice. "Personally, I prefer Octvian Greengrass. He's older and much steader," while glacing over to a seven-year Slytherin—tall grown with short black hair and aristocratic features. "Do you favour someone yet, Ro?"

Rowena who was caught in thoughts, who had her gaze fixed on something on the neighbouring table, quickly looked to her friend and shrugged.

Lucinda almost scoffed. How could she be so naive? So eager to be dependent. Her lips twitched.

"How ambitious of you. Aim low, land safely—that's one way to live."

Marcella rolled her eyed. "Not everyone wants to be like you, Lucinda. Ten languages, three of them dead. Not everyone likes having their noses in a book all day." She side-eyed over to Severus, who had been absorbed by his ever since they'd sit down.

Lucinda's voice was calm but firm. "We are Slytherins. Ambition is one of our traits."

Alecto Carrow, sitting across from her, next to Severus, nodded. "Malfoy's right. The Dark Lord appreciates knowledge."

Lucinda's eyes narrowed slightly. Alecto's pale hands rested neatly on the table; her reddish-blond hair neatly pulled back. As well as her brother she'd given up on hiding her interest into the Dark Lord. There was a sharpness in the way she looked at people, a cold appraisal that made Lucinda think of someone always weighing the value of others. The certainty in her voice sounded rehearsed, like something she had overheard at home and repeated without question. Did the Dark Lord really value knowledge? Or only obedience? Lucinda wasn't sure. Serverus had looked up from his books, meeting Lucinda's gaze. They both agreed that Alecto's conviction seemed premature, that she didn't see the whole picture and was too eager to be trusted. Neither of them thought Alecto had ever been particularly clever. Just like her brother Amycus.

Some voices lowered when the Sorting Hat started its yearly chanson.

Its voice echoing off the high stone walls. This year's song was less playful, more insistent and warning as ever before. Time would grow darker, and the school must hold together if it hoped to withstand what would lay ahead. Lucinda let her gaze sweep over the long tables again. Hold together? Hardly. She could already see the cracks widening, loyalties shifting. She was certain they wouldn't be unity but division.

The first-years stood nervously at the front, staring out at the sea of faces. She remembered standing there herself, long ago, knowing exactly where she would go. There had never been any doubt. But Lucinda didn’t clap when the first name was called. She had stopped long ago, thinking how each cheer only welcomed another child into Slytherins house to have its ideologies poured into them by the older ones, line by line, until they no longer questioned where they stood. Watching it now, she felt less like part of that tradition and more like a stranger at her own table—present, but apart, as if she had been misplaced in a house that was no longer hers. Not that she had been friends with any of them anyway. She preferred expanding her knowledge than gossiping about the newest crush. The only one she'd considered as somewhat as a friend was Severus. She shared her interests and passion. She felt like a stranger among her own housemates. Over the past years she had watched the change creep in, quiet at first, then louder, and bolder. Whispers about blood purity had turned into confident speeches in the common room, and support for the Dark wizard who promised power no longer lingered in shadows but was spoken aloud with pride. It had not always been like this—not so extreme, not so obvious.

When the last name was called out, the feast appeared and again vanishing on the long tables, Lucinda rose with the other prefects and gathered the new Slytherins into a line. Together, they walked out of the Great Hall. Rosier strode at her side, while the fifth-year prefects took up the rear. In the corridor, a group of Ravenclaws were huddled together; one of them was crying. Some of the Slytherin first years glanced towards the scene, some with worried frowns and others with blank faces, as if determined not to care.

Rosier gave a snort of laughter. "Poor thing's probably missing his mummy already," he said loud enough for the first years to hear.

A couple of them shifted uneasily; one girl dropped her eyes to the floor. One of the fifth-year prefects laughed along too quickly, jaw tight, unwilling to meet Rosier’s eyes. The seventh-year prefects at the front joined in with Rosier’s mockery, until one of them said, smirking, "Maybe that Ravenclaw girl’s crying over her dead boyfriend. Shame—boy went missing over summer, didn’t he?"

The others chuckled. Lucinda walked ahead of the group, chin lifted, her pace deliberate. She'd known the boy and his family went missing, but dead? From behind, she looked untouchable. No one saw the way her lips trembled for a heartbeat, or how her hands pressed deep into the pockets of her cloak to still their shaking. She kept her chin lifted, her gaze steady, staring straight ahead as if nothing could touch her.

Rosier caught up with her, smirking. "Don't look so cold, Malfoy. It suits you, but I bet you could smile if you tried. You'll give people the wrong impression—that you don’t know how to have any fun. And... smiling would make you even more beautiful."

Lucinda's jaw tightened. She let her eyes flick past him to Severus, who had just caught up with the group, and sharply replied, "Beauty is overrated; only a fool reduces everything to the surface."

Octavian Greengrass laughed out loud beside her, nudging Rosier. Lucinda ignored the banter; she turned slightly to Severus, focusing on him as he fell into step.

"Tell me more about the adjustment you mentioned for that potion earlier," she said.

Severus blinked, surprised at her directness, then began explaining. Lucinda listened, her posture straight, her attention apparent, though the weight in her chest lingered from the earlier scene in the corridor.

Two years, she thought while listening to Severus. Two years until her father decided her future, until another name replaced hers.

Unless she found a way to escape first. And she would. She had to.

Chapter Text

Sirius' POV

November 1976, Hogwarts.

A cold September gave way to a surprisingly mild and colourful October, which in turn faded into a wet, grey November. The usual routine of lessons and pranks had them firmly in its grip. During one of those in-between hours that the sixth years got during their NEWT classes—too early for class and too late to start another essay. At least according to Sirius and James.

The Gryffindor common room was warmly lit by the soft crackle of the fire in the fireplace. Some students were huddling together over boring school assignments, while others lounged on the armchairs and sofas.

James sat cross-legged on the rug by the fire, an old gramophone resting in front of him. He had found it years ago in some obscure corner of Diagon Alley—it was half-broken, not completely legal, but entirely irresistible. He had bought it first only to impress Lily Evans, pretending to be fascinated with Muggle music, but once he and Sirius had managed to fix the old Muggle music player, it hadn't taken long for both of them to realise they genuinely liked it. Beatles, Queen, Simon & Garfunkel. It was the rhythm, the words of rebellion, and the warmth they felt singing loudly along with the music.

James set the needle down on the record, and after some cracks the soft tones of Here comes the Sun floated through the room, just loud enough the fill the space with something alive. Sirius had himself thrown onto one the huge armchairs near the fire, his legs hanging over the armrest, head tilted back, eyes half closed, his head swinging in the rhythm of the music, his fingers tapping on his thigh to the beat. Peter sat to his left, doing the same, though off-beat.

Across the room, Remus sat with Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon, the three of them bent over their books. Remus, calm as ever, guided both of their classmates through something Lily already seemed to understand while Marlene leaned closer to Remus, hanging on every of his words. James pretended to polish his broom, though Sirius caught him sneaking glances over at Lily every time she laughed.

Sirius stretched lazily and threw one of the cushions directly at Remus head, though he missed entirely and instead it landed on the table, knocking over an ink pott, whose contents spilled all over the table and the parchment rolls.

"Black, you idiot!" Lily shouted, jumping to her feet, "you've ruined my whole essay for Transfiguration!"

Sirius didn't move a muscle, not showing any remorse. He felt the familiar thrill of getting a rise out of her, the mix of irritation and annoyance in her eyes, and it made him grin. "You lot do realise it's barely sixth year, right? And you're already revising?"

"Some of us like to be prepared," Remus said, cleaning up the mess Sirius had just made with a flicker of his wand.

Sirius smirked, watching Remus' calm movements. "Prepared for what? The next century?"

Lily had just sit down again, painstakingly rearranging her parchment and quills. "Some of us also like to have a future, Black."

"Tragic," he muttered, seeing her jaw tightening. "You'll miss out all the fun of youth—irresponsibility, chaos... questionable life choices."

"Oh, that explains you perfectly," Lily snapped.

"He's not wrong, Lils," Marlene said, twirling a strand of her blonde hair in her fingers, glancing over to Sirius. "We should have some more fun."

Lily gave a a look as if she had just suggested to keep a Hungarian Horntail as a pet. James snorted.

"We're just trying to learn something useful, Pads," Remus said, already bent back over his essay.

Sirius pulled himself upright, folding his legs beneath him on the chair. "I am learning. For instance, that spending too much time near Evans is detrimental for your morals."

Peter to his side burst out laughing, and promptly fell sideways onto the carpet, holding his stomach while gasping for air. Encouraged by this reaction, Sirius grinned widely. 

Lily's stare was lethal. "Keep talking. Watch how fast I can turn your quill into something unpleasant."

"Tempting offer, Evans," he raised a brow, and grinned. That earned him an exasperated sigh from her, before she turned back to her essay.

Marlene had clearly lost interest in her work and slumped into the armchair opposite Sirius, tugging her legs under herself.

"I wonder... What exactly are you hiding there?" she asked, pointing to the half-unbuttoned collar of Sirius' shirt, where parts of his latest tattoo were visible.

"Oh, this?" Sirius pulled his shirt down so she could see it properly.

"Blimey, is that a phoenix?" she asked, eyes wide. "What's it mean?"

"It's about rebirth, you know?" Sirius said smoothly. "Fall, burn—and always rise again. Never stay down, always get up."

"That's... beautiful," she whispered, clearly impressed. Sirius saw in the corner of his eyes how Lily threw her head back, sighing heavily. She was definitely annoyed by the attention her friend gave him. That just made him grin even wider, enjoying himself. He turned to James who had just switched the record on the gramophone.

"Alright," James said, "that was just the intro. The one's brand new—Queen's just released it." He pointed to Sirius. "You're going to love this, Padfoot."

The slow music earlier was now replaced with something more energetic, more alive. While James had a thing for the quieter, more melodic songs; Sirius was more fond of the louder tones. He shot upright at the opening verse.

"Now this," he stated, his eyes shining, as he recognised the song. "this is proper music."

James laughed, already singing, his voice bright. Sirius joined in halway through the verse, completly off key. He stood and in an exaggerated gesture, held out his hand to James, who immediately took it and let Sirius pull him to his feet. 

"Can anybody find me—somebody to love?" they shouted in unison, James pointing his fist like a microphone. Sirius pulled him by the arm and spun him around, and they took each other's hands and swung in time to the music.

"Each morning I get up, I die a little—" Sirius sang, dramatically clutching his chest. His voice cracked, and Marlene nearly fell off the armchair laughing.

James threw his head back, roaring the next line,"Can barely stand on my feet!" He leaned on Sirius' shoulder for the next bit, both of them swaying exaggeratedly.

"Take a look in the mirror and cry—"

"—and cry, yeah-yeah"  James sung, eyes squeezed shut, miming anguish so badly that even Remus laughed this time.

More and more students had stopped doing their assignments, now watching this spectacle. Lily concentrated on her essay, obviously trying not to look up and completely ignoring them. However, her face softened, and Sirius could see that she was no longer quite as annoyed as before. He drummed his hands against his chest, shouting over the next verse. Peter still sat in front of the armchair, clapping loudly off-beat.

"Got no feel, I got no rhythm. I just keep losing my beat—"

"You just keep losing and losing," James answered, perfectly in time.

Sirius pointed at him, half-serious, half-mocking. "I'm okay! I'm alright!"

"He's okay! He's alright!" James yelled back.

Together they roared the next line, their voices sounding somewhat disjointed. James was still perfectly in tune, while Sirius was louder and still just as off-key. 

"I just gotta get out of this prison cell—"

"Someday I’m gonna be free, Lord!"

They kept going until the last chorus, shouting every line with ridiculous passion, both of them almost out of breath, grinning like fools. This time it was James who took Sirius' hand, turned him around a few times, and then they bowed together, standing in front of the fireplace, both their arms outstretched. Sirius let go off James' hand, laughing and threw himself in the armchair again. He watched Lily who still tried badly to ignore them, but he did see the corners of her mouth twitch before rolling her eyes, as if to scold herself. 

The music began to fade, Freddie Mercury's voice echoing softly through the common room. Find me somebody to love, find me... Sirius mouthed the words absently, still catching his breath, a faint smile tugging his lips. Then, for a short second, the lyrics hit—the desperation hidden beneath of the music, the longing and yearning to find somebody to love. It caught him off guard. The skin on his body began prickling, goosebumps rising along his arms.

Somebody, somebody, find me somebody to love...

He sat up slightly, brushing the hair from his eyes as if to shake off the sudden thoughts coming up. Yet they came swirling back: remembering the emptiness he often carried, the brother he'd left behind. His chest tightened, and, for the briefest moment, he felt the ache of wanting someone to see him. To know him. Somebody to love him. It was almost painful, he shook his head again to get rid of the thoughts, he tried focusing on the fire, the thought of him ridiculously spinning around with James.

Fortunately, his thoughts were interrupted by Marlene walking over, back to the table, falling back into her seat, nudging Lily.

"They're actually cute, when they're not being arses, don't you think?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Don't even start."

Sirius grinned. The energetic sound of Queen slowly dying down, replaced by another sound of a record James had just switched again. Something slower again, gentler. He looked at Lily, with the faintest hope, when he began to sing. His voice was softer this time, no sign of exaggeration, and this time he didn't sing to the room, but straight to her.

"You're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off you..."

Marlene's eyes widened, her laughter hidden behind her hands. Peter grinned, delighted, and Remus muttered something Sirius couldn't hear. Lily, however, froze, now turning to James and staring at him in pure disbelief.

"He's serenading you, Lils. How romantic," Marlene giggled.

"I wanna hold you so much."

The boys roared with laughter and clapped to the beat. But James kept going, swaying dramatically and holding his fist up as if it were a microphone. The sight of you leaves me weak. The chorus built up, Sirius joined in, not as loud this time to not steal James the show, but as out of tune as ever. This time, even Peter joined, laughing so hard he barely managed the words. When James reached I love you, baby, Lily shut her book with a snap, gathered her parchment and books, and stood. Her cheeks were flushed pink.

"Potter, you—you're humiliating yourself," she muttered, shaking her head with a horrified face. As she passed Remus, she hissed to him, "How can you even put up with them?"

Remus didn't flinch. "Because they're worth it," he simply said.

Lily blinked in disbelief, shook her head, and disappeared up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. Marlene followed her, still laughing. The music continued to play, but James had stopped singing along. Eventually, he turned the music down and sank down onto the rug again. Lost in thought, he stared at the spot where Lily had just disappeared; no one said a word. When Sirius glanced at James, who was leaning against the armchair behind him and staring into the fire, he felt the urge to say something, but he couldn't find the right words.

Peter broke the silence. "Maybe... that was too early. She hasn't forgiven you for the thing with Snivellus' trousers."

James grimaced. "Yeah... well... perhaps that was indeed a bit too extreme."

"Oh really," Remus said, still fixed on his book.

James frowned. "What? Snivellus called her a Mudblood. In front of everyone. How can she be friends with someone like that?"

Remus looked up. "Oh, they're not."

James turned to him. "They're not?"

"No," Remus replied. "They haven't spoken this year at all."

Neither of them said a word. Evan's got boundaries, Sirius thought. He watched James, still staring in the flames, who looked unconvinced. Carefully, Remus gathered his things and put them into his bag, then he sighed.

"Seriously, Prongs. Just try to be more yourself and less—" He made a vague gesture towards the gramophone. "Less like that."

James opened his mouth, then hesitated. "What's wrong with that?"

Remus shook his head. "It's not you. You're too—performative. You're fine just the way you are. You don't need to overdo it."

James nodded briefly, staring at the flames again. Eventually, all of them stood. They headed down the stairs, their free hour was over and Transfiguration classes would soon begin. 

As usual, they took the back row. James tossed his bag onto the table and slouched down, still half-grinning about something Peter had said. McGonagall’s voice filled the room, sharp but steady, as she began explaining some complex transformation. Sirius tried to listen, but his focus kept slipping away. His hands drummed quietly on his thighs, his gaze fixed on the window, rain hitting the glass.

He didn’t hear half the lesson. His thoughts were a blur of things 

When the bell finally rang to mark the end of the lesson, they gathered their things; James stretched next to him, muttering something about him starving. Sirius followed him half through the door, some bumping into him as they left the classroom, when he saw the Slytherin's fourth year waiting for their class in this exact classroom, making him slow down. He leaned against the wall next to the door, his gaze wandering over the students entering the classroom he had just left himself. Then, eventually, he spotted him. 

"Reg!" Sirius called.

Regulus, however, didn't look up. He heard him—Sirius was sure, he could tell by the flick of his head—but he kept walking, his face blank. He looked smaller than Sirius remembered — neater, straighter, the same precise movements their mother had drilled into them. Sirius' stomach tightened. He hadn’t spoken to him since leaving Grimmauld Place.  He called again, louder this time.

"Reg!"

Still nothing. Sirius pushed forward through the crowd, ignoring the irritated glances, and caught his brother's arm before he could disappear into the classroom.

"What do you want?" Regulus snapped sharply. His friends, Walden Macnair and Severin Nott, stopped and looked back.

"Everything all right, Reg?" Macnair asked.

Regulus waved them off, tightening his jaw. "I'm fine. I'll be right there." When they left, he turned to Sirius again, his eyes narrowed. "Once again. What do you want?"

Sirius hesitated. He hadn't thought this far ahead. He'd only known he couldn't just let him walk past. His mind struggled for words, anything that might explain the rift between them. Before he could find the tight words, something slipped out.

"You're ignoring me!"

Regulus' expression darkened. "And you left me."

Sirius frowned. "I didn't leave you. I left them. I escaped our—"

"Same thing," Regulus cut it. "You left me with them."

For a second neither of them spoke. Sirius wanted to argue, to tell him, he had no choice, that staying would have broken him. But Regulus had already turned away, about to enter the room to his left. Then McGonagall's voice called from inside. "Mr Black, have you finished blocking the doorway?"

Regulus turned away entirely without another word or even a glance, and walked into the classroom, shutting the door behind him. Sirius stood there for a moment longer, the echo of his brother's voice still in his mind, before he finally moved on.

He didn't go to have dinner. He passed the entrance hall, he barely noticed the noise coming from the Great Hall. His brother's word kept replaying is his head. You left me with them. He pushed the castle's doors open and stepped outside. Rain fell in thin, heavy drops hitting like thin needles on his face. For a moment, he just stood there, motionless, feeling the rain soaking his hair and cloak. Then he closed his eyes.

Fragmented memories rose to the surface of his mind—his mother’s sharp voice, cold and cutting. Standing above him, wand raised to discipline him. The walls of Grimmauld Place echoing with her screams. Then with his own. Regulus, smaller and quieter, pressed into a corner, his face pale, watching. Being told to watch—to learn what happened when one disobeyed.

He remembered another time: Regulus punished for sneaking into the pantry, too hungry to wait, too young to understand. His mother’s fury had been merciless and cruel. Sirius would never forget his little brother's red cheeks, burning from the palm that had just slapped him, his thin shoulders shaking, trying not to cry. A Black doesn't cry, or you will learn real pain. The memories blurred; a  invisible weight seemed to press on his chest; the rain was heavier now, tears mingling with the rain. You left me with them.

When he opened his eyes again, the world shifted. Bones tightening, skin pulling and the ground coming closer; his arms and legs reshaped into black fur. His senses became instantly sharper, his vision clearer in the approaching darkness, and the smell of wet earth and dead animals somewhere in the Forbidden Forest stung his nose. But what he had longed for more was his mind being clearer,  controlled by instincts. It was easier this way. No guilt, no memories pressing on him. He jumped down the stony stairs, and ran. Across the lawn, down the slope, through the high grass, already flattened and drained by the rain. His paws hit the muddy ground, splashing water behind him. He didn’t slow. He entered the trees, the air became thicker and colder under the branches, the sound of the rain softened. He ran until his chest ached, until every breath came heavy. His fur clung to his body, dripping with water, but he didn't stop until he almost collapsed. When he finally slowed, he sank into the wet ground. He remained like this for a while, staring into the dark, listening to his own panting. Soft raindrops drummed on the canopy of leaves above him, and somewhere nearby, he heard a screech. There was no one to see him like this. Or to tell him it's all his fault. He must have been lying like this for hours before he slowly turned around and trotted back to the castle, which stood clearly against the pitch black sky.

Before turning back, he made sure no one was watching, though no one had dared to leave the castle in this weather. Steam rose from Hagrid's hut in the distance. After his soaked, robes clung to his body, cold and heavy, weighing him down, yet leaving him feeling oddly comforted. Around his wrist, the small enchanted bracelet glimmered faintly—a charm he and the others had created to keep their clothes from vanishing during the shift. A necessary fix, after several rather humiliating mishaps earlier this year.

When he passed the Entrance Hall, the noise from the Great hall had vanished; the corridors were empty. Water dripping from his hair, yet he didn't bother. He rounded a corner too fast and almost collided with something.

"Black, watch where you're—"

Lily Evans. She stepped back, her sharp voice stopped, looking at him in his soaked statue. Her face and tone shifted; she looked at him almost concerned. "Merlin's sake, are you alright?"

He pulled wet hair out of his eyes, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Left my books in the greenhouse." He stepped back and was about to pass her.

"You don't have Herbology for NEWTs," Lily replied.

Why did she have to be so observant? he thought. Shrugging, he brushed past her before she could ask any more questions. "Guess I just like the rain, then."

She turned to watch him walk away, still dripping and trembling with exhaustion. He saw her face change to an expression of curiosity and genuine concern, and felt her gaze on his back, but he didn't look back. He knew she didn't believe him. But it was easier that way—easier to keep her think he was just reckless, loud, and empty-headed. As he walked the corridors to the Gryffindor tower, an uneasy feeling lingered, that she might have seen the cracks beneath that mask.

Chapter Text

Lucinda's POV

November 1976, Hogwarts.

The Potions classroom in the dungeons was as always dimly lit. Steam and a faint, sour smell rose from the bubbling contents of roughly a dozen cauldrons; now and then stirred, occasionally finely chopped and ground ingredients added. Only the rustling of robes of students, some murmurs and Professor Slughorn moving along the tables was heard. Most of the students were Ravenclaw and Slytherins—though Lucinda was glad Carrow was too dull to make it into NEWT Potions classes and Rosier couldn't be bothered. They had always disrupted the lessons, just like the Marauders—of whom only James Potter had joined Potions classes, and who was—much to Lucinda's delight—unsual silent. 

Lucinda sat on her usual place in one of the back rows, her posture straight, her eyes scanning the page of her open textbook to see what ingredient was to add next, all of them neatly lined up in front of her, enjoying the newly gained quiet. Severus sat silently and still beside her, neatly adding notes and small adjustments next to the recipe.

Across the room, Lily Evans worked beside Pandora Prevelaki, a Ravenclaw student with soft, dirty-blonde hair that caught the greenish light. Slughorn often paired top students across houses, and the two made a precise, silent team. Lily's movements were calm and controlled as she measured crushed boomslang skin, her focus unbroken despite the faint tension in her expression.

"Too much boomslang skin," Severus muttered. "Evans miscalculated."

Lucinda didn't reply. Evans. Not Lily. She simply looked up again. Lily had indeed added a measure too many, but she hadn't noticed yet. Her potion was beginning to smoke faintly. Though Professor Slughorn had his back turned.

Lucinda kept her voice low. "You would've told her once."

This time, Severus said nothing. From his own seat, James Potter kept glancing up toward her, wand fidgeting in his hand. Lucinda caught a brief grin and heard a low murmur—something about Potter trying to impress her again. Lily looked up briefly. Their gazes met—and for the first time, she didn't look away. Severus noticed it too; his face hardened, and his hand stirring the potion stalled for a second, nearly ruining his potion. He caught himself just in time, muttering something through his clenched teeth, and bent over his cauldron.

Severus and Lily hadn't spoken for months.

Severus had tried to apologise after he had called her a Mudblood. He had spent half the night outside the Gryffindor tower waiting for Lily to come down, desperate to explain himself. But she never did. Lucinda had seen his exhaustion in his face, the morning after.

Lily and Severus had once been almost inseparable, arrving together at Hogwarts, having known each other long before. And even the different houses, they were sorted into, didn't seem to alter that bond, at first. Other Slytherin kept mocking him, for having a girlfriend in Gryffindor, a Muggleborn at that. And Severus became slowly but surely influenced by it. Lucinda was never part of that friendship. Lucinda and Severus, both outcasts of their own house. Both shared the suffering of a cruel father; both understood each other's darker side of another. Lily had brought out the gentleness in him—the patience, the hope that he could find somewhere he belonged. It was Lily who never quite trusted her, and Severus never tried to make them meet. As if those two sides of him didn't fit together.

Lucinda had observed from a distance, how Lily had stood between him and the Marauders more than once, how she had spoken up for him when others mocked him behind his back. And yet, slowly, Severus had begun to turn that loyalty into something brittle, pushing her further away, becoming more secretive. Eventually, after the incident last summer, when James Potter had humiliated Severus in front of dozen of students, and Lily had, as always, stepped in. Severus had thanked her with an insult—too proud to be rescued by her again, and too insecure to admit that he had needed it, he lashed out. And Lily had finally had enough. Lucinda couldn't blame her; he had started to spent more time with Avery and Mulciber, two Syltherins whom Lucinda didn't trust, not only because of their cruelty towards classmates. They were using him, for his deep knowledge and perceptiveness, however, Severus did't want to hear about it.

She had noticed it too—the way he was changing. His fascination with the Dark Arts had turned into obsession. She understood the allure; she herself had always been drawn to the theory of Dark Magic—not to use it recklessly, but to understand its nature, to absorb every detail, and its philosophy, how it fit into the bigger picture. In time, she come to believe that magic must be morally neutral—only the intent of the witch or wizard gave it purpose. Light and Dark Magic were opposing aspects of the same source, depending on another, balancing each other out. Reflections of the same current, different frequencies of one force, each meaningless without the other.

Lucinda believed that both were important to learn and understand. She knew that Durmstrang taught with a similar philosophy, considering the bigger picture, without prejudices or fear. At Hogwarts, Defence Against the Dark Arts only brushed the edges of what truly interested her, treated like something forbidden. Lucinda believed that something forbidden was appealing, and the imbalance dangerous.

However, Severus had begun to be drawn to the dark side, and she feared he might lose sight of the balance entirely.

Since their first year, she and Severus had met through Lucius, who was prefect at the time they arrived Hogwarts, Severus following her brother like a shadow. Though it had been Lucinda that truly noticed him first—his wit, his hunger for knowledge, and the constant need to hide. They had found something in one another that was difficult to define. It wasn't warmth, nor comfort—but understanding. He had listened to her when she spoke of her father—of the pressure, expectations, the cold fear that settled in her chest whenever his voice lowered. And she had listened when he spoke of his own father, how he mistreated both his son and his mother.

They had learned to close their minds together with Occlumency. At first, it had been curiosity—as a form to structure their minds. But for Lucinda it was more than that. She feared her father—not a skilled Legilimence—but just enough to figure out the truth behind her mask, that he might found see she wasn't as loyal as she appeared. She and Severus practised for hours, taking turns trying to break into each other's minds. Seeing flashes of each other's memories had changed them both—and made them understand one another one a level few others could. Severus, of course soon obsessed with perfectioning his skills, had soon become better than her.

The content of their cauldron, a polyjuice potion, quietly simmering in the flickering dim light of the dungeon. Lucinda stirred it clockwise, glancing down at the edge of Severus' notes. His handwriting was cramped but precise—corrections to the book's method, alternative brewing temperatures, and different crushing methods. The bell rang soon after, and the students began to gather their belongings, leaving the potion simmer on low heat for tomorrow's lesson.

"Excellent work, everyone, excellent! Tomorrow we can finally see the results," Professor Slughorn's voice called over the rustling of students gathering their things. "I want you to modify the Calming Draught. Work in pairs of cours—two minds are always better than one! Discuss the theory thoroughly, and be ready to present your alterations next week."

Lucinda heard Severus muttering under his breath, "Calming Draught? That's for first years," clearly unimpressed by the simple task. She followed him as they left the dungeon, heading straight for the Slytherin dungeons. They didn't speak for a while. With Severus, silence was never uncomfortable; on the contrary, it was a space for thoughts instead of noise. And when they did speak, it was usually about something that mattered.

They had almost reached the stone wall leading to the common room, when Severus apruptly said, "I've been working on something."

Lucinda, suddenly interrupted from her thoughts, turned halfway towards him. "A potion?"

He shook his head. "A hex. Something ... new." His voice was steady, but his eyes gleamed. "It's cuts open an enemy—clean, like a blade. The wound doesn't close, not with any known counter-curse."

Lucinda stopped walking. The torchlight lighting up the corridor revealed her pale face, and she exhaled slowly.

"Sev," she said quietly. "That's cruel." Unsease started pressing against her ribs.

"Some deserve it," he said flatly.

Lucinda frowned. "No, Severus. That's not what we have promised ourselfes. We study the Dark Arts to understand it, not to use it."

He let out a bitterly laugh. "You know what they did to me. How they mock us—me. Have you forgotten last year? How they nearly killed me for one of their reckless pranks?"

She did remember. Her mind flashed back to the incidents from the previous year, how Sirius Black had lured Severus into the Shrieking Shack, where rumours of it being haunted circled in Hogwarts. Rumours about the abandoned house on the borders of Hogsmeade, which soon earned it the name Shrieking Shack. The rumours began to spread in the same year that they arrived at Hogwarts. The same year that a certain classmate also arrived at Hogwarts; a classmate who mysteriously fell ill every month, when the full moon was high in the sky. And every full moon, locals reported eerie howls and screams. By the end of their second year, Lucinda had put the pieces together, and decided not telling anyone. Lucinda had always thought Remus wasn't at fault—of course he wasn't. He hadn't chosen to be bitten. She remembered the first year, when an older boy had bumped into her, tearing her bag and scattering her books across the floor, ink potts shattering and spilling its intent over the stones. Remus had been the only one to help her—histant and awkward, but kind. And since no incidents had happened, no reports of injuries, she decided to keep his secret. Severus however, had suspected Remus shortly after Lucinda's conclusion, had soon become obsessed with exposing him, convinced Remus was guilty. She had told him, that it was James Potter and Sirius Black were to ones that tormented him, not Remus Lupin—but Severus wouldn't listen. He kept insisting that Remus deserved to be exposed, that it was too dangerous in letting him roam freely.

In the spring of this year, it was almost curfew, Lucinda had been sitting in a leather armchair, in an empty corner of the greenish lit common room, when Severus approached, breathing heavily in excitement. Lucinda had looked up from her book and eyed him as he dropped in the armchair opposite her, his eyes gleaming. He leaned forward, his voice low and trembling.

"I know now how to dismantle him. Lupin," he grimaced. "Black left me a clue—how to get into the Shrieking Shak—there's a secret passage under the Whomping Willow. I told you it's no coincidence it was planted there."

Lucinda stared at him, shutting her book close.

"Are you delusional?" she shot back. "He's tricking you. And you're a fool if you fall for it."

"No, Lucinda. You don't understand," he insisted, his voice rising with feverish determination. "This is my chance—"

"Your chance to what? Get yourself killed? Or get him expelled? You're blinded with hatred, Severus."

His mouth opened, then closed again. His eyes narrowed and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to shout at her, but he said nothing. Lucinda's voice lowered and softened slightly.

"He's not your enemy."

"He is. They all are," he muttered. "You'll see."

He stood. "You won't stop me from doing it."

Lucinda took a step closer, her heartbeat quickened, her head tilted slightly upwards, and looked him straight in his black eyes. "Is it worth it? Risking your life just to prove something to everyone?"

Severus' jaw clenched, and for a quick moment, Lucinda caught a glimpse of pain in his eyes.

"It's not for everyone," he said, his voice low and raw. "It's for me. For every exuse they'll use later. If I don't show them—"

"You'll only give him what he wants," she cut in, her voice trembling in desperation. She grabbed his arm, her fingers digging in the fabric of his cloak. "Please, Severus. Don't do this."

He shook her off with a sharp movement, his cloak twisting around him as he stepped back and turned away.

"You wouldn't understand," he hissed, barely audible. "No one would. It's not you they humiliate. They wouldn’t dare to do this to a Malfoy."

Before she could respond, he had stormed off. Lucinda remained frozen, her hand still in the air, her heart hammering. She didn't go to sleep that night. She paced the common room long after everyone had gone to bed, the greenish light from the lake flickering across the stone walls. Eventually, she had let herself sink warily into an armchair, dozing off, only to be startled awake by the soft rustle of footsteps.

Severus had entered the room, pale, his fist clenched, heading straight for the stairs to the boys’ dormitory. Lucinda stood quickly and caught him just in time.

"I was... I was right," he muttered before she could speak, but his voice carried no triumph.

"Right?" she asked quietly. "That almost dying would prove something?"

"You think this is a joke?" he snapped.

"Of course not," she said evenly. "I told you it was a prank." Her eyes swept over him, noticing the absence of wounds, only the tremor in his shoulders. Her voice softened. "How did you escape without getting hurt?"

"Potter saved me," he spat through his clenched teeth.

She blinked, surprised by this confession. "You should be grateful one of them was sane enough to save you," she said, frowining.

"Grateful? You think he did it for me?" Severus snarled. "I reckon he only did it so he could look like a hero in front of Lily!"

Lucinda thought grimly that this sounded about right. At least James Potter hadn't let his friend to be used as a weapon—unlike Sirius Black.

After a long silence, she asked, "Do you plan to tell anyone? About Remus Lupin?"

Severus' jaw tightened, "I can't," he turned halfway not to meet her eyes. "Dumbledore made me promise. No one's to know."

Dumbledore? So the old wizard knew; was involved, even. Lucinda had been suspecting him all along. She figured a while ago—someone must've been helping Remus Lupin, giving him somewhere safe to turn. And not to harm anyone. She exhaled slowly, but said nothing. Severus flicked his eyes toward her.

"I'm not allowed to tell anyone. But you... you didn't promise anything. If you told your father—"

"How dare you," she had snapped. "You think I'd tell that monster of a man? Just so no one would suspect you?"

Watching him storm off, Lucinda had felt the weight of their different worlds. Severus couldn’t understand hers, any more than she could completely grasp his.

The memory faded as they walked the corridor to the dungeon, Lucinda's thoughts drifted back to Remus Lupin. None of this was his fault. But Sirius Black and his reckless, careless actions made her stomach twist angrily. Had he even considered that his dangerous, thoughtless prank didn't just risk Severus' life, but also turned his best friend into a weapon? She doubted it.

The Slytherin common room was unsual quiet that evening, the greenish light lighting up their faces; only a few mumurs from students at the other side of the room was to be heard. Lucinda and Severus had claimed a table in a corner, away from the others, bending over Slughorn's assigned alteration of the Calming draught.

Lucinda tapped her quill against her parchment, glancing at Severus. "If we start at a lower temperatur, the lavender will infuse gradually."

Severus didn't look up, his eyes fixed on his own notes. "And if we lower it that far, the crocodile heart won't dissolve properly. The base will seperate and flock. It needs consistent, high heat."

"Then we refine the stirring pattern, not the temparature," Lucinda replied. "You know what happens to the lavender once it crosses seventy degrees—the essential oils break down. Not only can it loose its calming propterties—but can release harmful compounds."

"Or," Severus pressed, "we keep the temperatur as it is and add the lavender later, when the base had stabilised." He looked up and met her eyes. "It's that simple."

"Simple doesn't mean right, Sev," she gave him a percing look, and countered. "The peppermint oil will burn off. The enzymes can't survive that temperature."

Severus sighed impatiently, his tone dry. "We add the peppermint at the end."

"Then it's weaker," she snapped. "And the effect occurs later."

"But it'll be more stable. The effect lasts longer."

"Longer doesn't mean better," Lucinda insisted, "If someone's panicing, they need do calm down quickly—not two hours later."

Severus set his quill down, his voice sharp. "It's not a competition to see who can make people faint the fastet."

Lucinda blinked, lowering her voice. "Are you making fun of me? It's not a Sleeping Draught, Severus. You can't just—"

"Then what do you suggest? Another ingredient? That's not the assignment," he cut her off.

"I'm suggesting valerian root powder—that doesn't only stabilise it but enhances the calming effect", she replied evenly. Under the table, she let her finger slide over the warm silver of her ring to steady herself. She knew, she was right—and how stubborn Severus was to agree with her.

"That's no part of the recipe. We're suppsed to refine it, not to rewrite," Severus said flatly.

"Since when do you follow rules?" She hissed, pressing her fingertails into her palms to stay calm.

For a moment, he didn't reply. Silence stretched between them, then he looked up, exhaled slowly, and something behind his eyes hardened.

"Because it matters. Some of us still need to prove we belong here."

She frowned, confused. "And I don't?"

He looked away, his voice low but steady. "You're a Malfoy. You don't need to. And once you're marri—" He stopped abruptly.

Lucinda froze. "Once I'm married, what?" She whispered, her voice began trembling, her fingertails cutting into her skin deeply, but she barely felt it. "Then it doesn't matter anymore?"

After a long pause he said, "Yes."

"You think that's it? That I'll just stop caring? That my opinion doesn't matter anymore?" Her stare was icy, but inside her, something start to crumble. That one person, the only one she had trusted, she had shared and spent hours debating with—

He shrugged. "You're smart, Lucinda. But how else are you planning to cross your father's plans? Intelligence isn't everything. You won't have a choice anyway. But I admit, it's wasted talent."

For a moment, Lucinda couldn't breath. His words had been so casual, so resigned as if her life was already pretermined and she should simply accept it. Wasted talent. As if she was something disposable.

She didn't speak again. She gathered her parchment, stacked it neatly and began rewriting his method onto a clean sheat. The scratching of her quill on the paper filled the silence; Severus made no move to interrupt. She had always thought he understood her mind—but now she began to wonder if he had ever seen her as an equal.

The next week passed by like a fever dream. They hadn't spoken much, which wasn't unusual for the both of them. Severus had been acting like nothing had happened. Steam rose from their cauldron carrying the scent of peppermint and lavender. Lucinda stirred automatically, following Severus' instructions; her hand were steady, her mind, however, was not.

Professor Slughorn moved along the tables, looking at each cauldron, making short remarks, nodding approvingly at Potter's and a Hufflepuff's potion. When he reached the table where Lucinda and Severus were sitting, he paused behind them. "Excellent colour, you two. I'd suggest lowering the temperature just a touch, adding the lavender a little earlier for a quicker effect—but fine work from both of you. I didn't expect any less. Very fine indeed."

Lucinda didn't look up. From the corner of her eyes, Severus gaze was fixed straight, his jaw tight, and he didn't make a move. She could've felt satisfaction. Or pride. I told you so. But instead, she didn't feel anything.

The professor kept going, moving across the classroom, stopping behind Pandora Prevelaki and Lily Evans. He leaned in slightly, inspecting their potion. "Ah, excellent! And I saw you've added valerian root powder. Clever—enhances the calming properties without destabilising the mixture. Very smart thinking indeed."

Lucinda's head lifted fractionally at the words, but even now, there was not feel of satisfaction. Severus' method hadn't failed—but hers wasn't wrong either. He remained stoic, his expression unreadable. He didn't glance at her.

The lavender and peppermint hung in the air, soft and soothing, a sharp contrast with the tension that lingered in Lucinda's chest. Something had settled between them. Lucinda wondered if it would ever be like it used to be—or if she could trust him any longer.

Chapter Text

Sirius' POV

December 1976, Hogwarts.

Professor Flitwick stood on his usual pile of books; his cheerful voice echoed through the classroom as he demonstrated the water making spell to the students. He moved his wrist in a delicate, precise way; water running from the tip of his wand, filling the goblet held in his other hand.

"Repeat after me!" the professor called out over their heads. "Aguamenti!"

The class repeated as they were told. Sirius, however, was half listening. He leaned back, rocking the rear legs of the chair, his wand fidgeting in his hand, the other holding onto the desk. His eyes drifted to the parchment in front of him, but instead of the instructions Flitwick had told them to write down, Sirius had scribbled across it. He had drawn a rough sketch of the brunette girl sitting two rows in front of him. From time to time, she glanced over her shoulder with a small, teasing grin; her dark curls bouncing smoothly each time she turned her head. He winked back at her.

Sirius let his chair fall forward with a dull thud, leaning over his parchment and carefully ripping the portrait out. He gently tapped it with his wand, the paper folding itself into a swan, moving towards the girl with gentle flapping until it smoothly landed on her desk. When she unfolded it, her lips curled into a sharp, satisfied smile. When she turned her head again, Sirius met her eyes with a confident look. 

"Mr Black, Miss Campbell" Flitwick's cut across the room. "I would greatly appreciate it if you can give me your full attention."

Sirius didn't miss a beat. "Yes, sir. I'm perfectly attentive."

Some heads turned towards him. James and Peter next to him snorted. 

"Anything but attentive," James nudged him. Peter grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Flitwick sighed barely noticeable to then carry on with his explanation.

The brunette girl turned half around and mouthed something at him. After class? Her bright, blue eyes gave him a challenging look. Sirius lips twisted into a smug grin, giving her a brief nod.

Alice Campbell, Ravenclaw prefect. After their little adventure during the summer holidays, they had resumed it once the school year carried on. She came from a well-connected family; father holding a high position somewhere in the Magical Law Enforcement. He wasn't sure whether she liked him, or if it was just the thrill, he gave her. Maybe it was just the idea of the Black boy who never did what he was supposed to do, or it was just to piss off her family. The thought made something twist inside of him he just ignored.

He found her easy—enjoyable, predictable. He knew that she didn't expect anything from him, so he willingly gave her what she wanted. She was clever and straight forward, quick to speak her mind, and even quicker to act on it. She had a thing for unusual places; what Sirius liked most, however, was the way she used her hands, and even more so the way she used her tongue. But in any case, she had a talent for both. Spending time with her helped him push everything else from his mind. And whatever she had in mind, he could use her distraction. 

She gave him a meaningful look, before she turned forwards, and he broke into a quick, amused laugh.

In the first row, Lucinda Malfoy sat, as always, unnaturally straight-backed beside Snape. Sirius thought, she sat far too stiffly, every of her movement was too controlled and measured, as if she were a statue. Her face was turned slightly away from the front. 

Provoked by his laugh, her gaze flicked towards him.

For a second their eyes met. Her expression revealed nothing, yet Sirius could sense the tension and the quiet irritation beneath her mask. Her pale, translucent eyes held his for a moment too long, narrowing them slightly as she slowly shook her head. It was as if she were trying to look straight into his soul, and a shiver ran through him before she looked away. On one hand, something in her look made him feel uneasy; on the other, he relished how much his behaviour had clearly annoyed her.

Eventually, the bell rang. Flitwick called out a reminder about the assignment due next Tuesday, but his voice was drowned out by the noises of voices and scraping of chairs. Sirius gestured to his friends, indicating to go ahead. James clapped a hand on Sirius' shoulder in passing, Remus just gave him a quiet shake of his head, and Peter followed them out, muttering, "Have fun with your prefect," without looking up, while Sirius lingered outside by the door for Alice to come out. 

She greeted him with a broad smile, holding his sketch in her fingers. She leaned close, being almost one head length smaller than him, tilting her head up to reach his face.

"I didn't know you're so... talent with a quill," she said, her eyes gleaming. She had come so close that he could smell her perfume—a floral scent.

He felt a flicker of heat rising inside of him and he briefly ran his tongue over his lips. 

"I could show you what else I'm talented with," he replied with a cocky smile, "Tonight, same time?"

"Prefect's bathroom—mint leaf," her breath brushed his ear, making the hair in his neck stand at her boldness. "I can't wait," she added, before turning and disappearing behind the next corner.

Sirius watched her for a while, lost in thought, before shaking them off and following the others to the next class.

It was far after curfew, when Sirius—in his Animagus form—padded carefully along the long corridors of Hogwarts. His paws leaving no sound on the cold stone floor. He didn't need the enchanted map, Remus had made in their fourth school year, that showed everyone moving within its castle's walls; his own sharpened dog senses were enough. His ears twitched at every little sound; his nose sniffed the faint scent of cold stone and iron of the armour. No one was nearby. He reached the statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. The door he wanted lay just to the right. He transformed back into his human form, and murmured "mint leaf", careful to keep his voice low.

This wasn't his first time here. Years ago, Peter had overheard the password, and they had slipped inside, hiding under James' invisibility cloak. All four of them had been small enough then to fit under it, pressed together and excited at the thrill of being unseen.

Now, Sirius was alone, yet the thrill remained. His muscles tensed as he slipped through the door. Inside, the air was different—thick and warm, faintly scented of roses. The steam wrapped around him, like a warm cover compared to the cold air in the rest of the castle. Torches on the walls lit the bathroom in a dim, flickering light; the painting of the mermaid just above the huge bathtub watching every of his movements.

"You're late, Black," a sweet voice called from inside the bathtub. 

Alice was already in, bubble of all shapes and colours floating around her, the water just above her waist. The light from the torched caught her features, highlighting the line of her neck and shoulders. She didn't bother covering herself, tilting her head with cheeky smile that made Sirius grin.

"You're impatient," he replied, without taking his eyes of her. "Missed me?"

He felt the familiar quick pulse rising in his throat at the way she looked at him, the rush he always felt with her—the thrill, the heat, the knowledge that she liked the way he looked. But it wasn't what he wanted—not really. 

It made him feel desirable, yes, even if he knew that it was only fleeting—something they had agreed on. It made it easier to enjoy it while the thrill lasted. He didn't have to pretend it was more than it was. And he didn't have to break her heart once things ended. He hated the emptiness that came after, but he had learnt to pretend it never bothered him.

"Patience isn't exactly one of my strengths," she said, letting her hand skim the surface.

Her dark curls were pinned into a messy updo, loose curls falling into of her face, highlighting its striking beauty. Sirius caught himself holding his gaze longer than he intended.

She sank slightly into the water and swam towards him with small strokes, splashing water in his direction. A few splashes landed on the stone floor with a soft clap; while others hit his clothes directly, leaving dark, soaking wet stains on the fabric of his clothes.

He laughed it off, his fingers quickly working through the button of his shirt. By the time, he slid into the water, the heat made him inhale sharply. It felt almost like burning of his skin, yet he welcomed it.

Alice moved towards him, until she was just an armlength before him.

"Good boy," she smirked, biting her lower lip.

"You like what you see?" Sirius caught her wrist with a sly smile.

"Very much."

She grabbed him by his shoulders, pulling herself closer, her fingers gliding along his collarbone, each of her touches made his skin prickle. When her lips met his, everything grew tighter and even warmer; her mouth had the familiar sweet chewing gum taste. Her hands slipped up his neck, her fingers dug into his long, dark curls, pulling him closer. He held her by her waist, making a quick move, pressing her against the edge of the bathtub, gliding his hands down her spine; he could feel her body tremble under his touch.

She let out a startled squeal, turning into a giggle. She wrapped her legs around him, and despite the heat of the water, a pleasant icy shiver ran down his spine, making his breath hitch as she guided him. 

He didn't think about Regulus, nor his parents. He didn't think of the emptiness that would catch him later as soon everything would be quiet again. He pressed his lips harder against hers, muffling her moans. He grinned against her mouth.

His spiralling thoughts finally faded; his mind finally emptied. Wasn't this the whole point?

A sudden crack, coming from the bathroom's entrance, made them both pause; slipping from each other's lips. Someone must have entered.

"What in—"

Sirius turned his head sharply, Alice's gaze followed, only to see Remus standing in the doorway, his eyes wide, and his mouth falling open. 

"Hi Remus," Alice purred, what made the boy's eyes widened even more. 

Then, covering his eyes with one hand, he hurried across the bathroom, grabbed what looked like a bag, threw it over his shoulder, and left as quickly as he had come. 

"I—I saw n-nothing. N-NOTHING," he stuttered, lifting his hands in defiance, and the door fell shut with a dull thud. 

For a moment, neither of them said a word.

"You're bold," Sirius chuckled, leaning closer to her again, his fingers gliding along her neck, under her chin. The torch light mirroring in her eyes. "I like that."

"If you liked that, just wait what else I have in mind with you," she said so casually, gesturing him to push himself up to sit on the bathtubs' edge. 

Later that night, the clock had marked the midnight hours, Sirius crept back to the Gryffindor tower. His mind still lingered on the memories, her warm hands on his body; his on hers. A brief smirk crossed his face before disappearing again; he wondered when the time would come when he would call it all off again. He pushed it aside, he didn't want to think about it, not yet. The corridors were cold, silent and empty, but the thrill lingered, a pulse of heat beneath his skin as he moved towards the portrait of the fat lady.

When he slipped through the door into his dorm, he found, to his surprise, James and Remus still awake. Both were lying in their beds, chatting; soft snoring came from the other boys' bed, the loudest from Peter's, hidden behind their drawn curtain.

"In the prefect bathroom? Really?" James greeted him, sitting on his bed. "That's audacious. Even from you—you absolute madman."

"It wasn't my idea," Sirius lifted his hands in mock surrender. "All hers." He allowed himself a brief smirk.

"It's a public bathroom," Remus said, voice calm but with the faintest sign of disapproval.

"Actually, it's not really public, it's reserved for the prefects," Sirius replied with a wink, "besides... it was past curfew. What did you do there at this hour?" 

He frowned. "And why didn't you see us on the map?"

"Because it was in my bag," Remus muttered through clenched teeth, "that one I unfortunately forgot there this afternoon."

"Well—then I'm sorry," Sirius grinned, pulling his clothes over his head, and tossing them next to his bed. "Although no. Actually, I'm not sorry at all. It was far too... enjoyable to apologise."

He shook his head, water splashing in all directions from his wet hair, causing Remus and James to duck. He grabbed his pyjamas, pulling them on.

"I don't usually care what you're doing with these girls—" Remus began, then paused.

James laughed, shaking his head. "You should've seen Moony's face when he entered." 

"I do hope you're not going to break her heart," Remus added softly with low voice, and Sirius felt a small twist of guilt.

Sirius let himself sink onto his bed, slipping under the blanket, pulling it tightly around himself, curling himself into a ball. The cold sheets made him shiver.

"There's no need; she's probably going to call it all off to get some other lad. She's worse than me, believe me."

Remus sighed. "You're self-sabotaging, Padfoot."

"No, I'm not."

"Moony's right," James insisted, leaning his back against his own bed, his eyes sharp behind his glasses, "you can't keep doing this forever, Padfoot."

"Oh, watch me do it," Sirius said, tucking the blanket around his shoulders like armour, throwing provocative glance at James.

His friend's grin shifted, his expression turned serious. "You can't tell me that you don't care. You do care. About everything," James said quietly.

"He's right. You do. You just hide it," Remus added.

Sirius rolled onto his back, turning his gaze away from James, staring at the ceiling. A tight pressure under his rib's twisted; he swallowed. This feeling of exposure, that someone—his best friends—saw through him, left him with an unpleasant feeling. He tilted his head back in James' direction, letting the faintest, most convicting grin appear on his lips.

"I bet you give Galleons you fall in love before the end of seventh year," James continued.

Sirius froze for half a heartbeat. He scanned his friend's face for any trace of mockery. But there was none. The certainty in Jame' face made him feel sick. Sirius forced a short laugh, though it didn't settle the heat rising in his chest.

"Falling in love?" He scoffed, trying to sound amused. "Don't dare to start getting sentimental, Prongs. Don't push things you want for yourself onto me."

James didn't flinch. "I'm being dead serious." He leaned closer. "Marriage. Children. In the end, you'll get married before me."

Sirius sat up too quickly, the blanket sliding from his shoulders. His skin prickled, cold and tight, and a sudden nausea rose at the thought. Marriage. Children. Him. He shook his head, trying to shove it down, to laugh it off.

"You're imagining things," he encountered, but his words sounded hollow, even to himself. "Thing's that are never going to happen."

"No, no I can see it, too," Remus interjected.

They looked at Sirius, patiently, letting the silence stretch. For a brief moment he allowed himself to think about what he really wanted. Not just the thrill, not just the game, but something steadier, something permanent. He pushed it away immediately. That was not him.

Sirius sighed, then a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Fine," he said mockingly, voice low but firm. "if I loose, my firstborn will be named after you."

"You're making fun of me? You don't believe it's going to happen?" James said, pretending to be offended. "But.. Little Jamie Black. That's... Deal."

Sirius rolled his eyes, he and James reached out, their hands meeting in a quick, firm handshake. "Deal."

Sirius fell back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, pretending the twist curling deep in his stomach was nothing. Married... having a child... Him. Ridiculous.

And yet, even hours later, still awake, Remus' and James' snoring blending into the other's, he couldn't shake that thought off. Maybe... just maybe, one day, he could imagine it.

Chapter Text

Lucinda's POV

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England

24th December 1976

As every year, the great hall at Malfoy Manor was festively decorated for the Yule ball. Since Narcissa had been living in the Manor after the wedding three years ago, she had taken charge of the planning, and Lucinda had to admit that she was very talented at it. Wreaths made of pine branches, decorated with silvery, shimmering pine cones, hung along the high walls, their red berries pulsing faintly red, their light reflected from the perfectly polished marble floor. Huge chandeliers floated lazily above them, flooding the ballroom with a—for the Manor—unusual soft, warm light. Perfectly shaped snowflakes floated gently down from the enchanted ceiling. Lucinda would have appreciated its quiet, elegant beauty if it hadn't been for the guests. The finest dishes and the most exquisite wines and liquors were served by a dozen of house elves carrying small silver trays; a buffet on the long table would have served just as well, but the sight of the little elves moving through the crowd was intended to demonstrate power and prosperity. Obviously.

At the other end of the hall, next to one of the large fir trees decorated with glowing candles, string instruments floated in the air, filling the space with a sound that seemed far too gentle for a room full of people who valued cruelty as a virtuous trait.

Standing aside from the crowd, beside the high windows, Lucinda held the crystal glass—filled with the finest wine—which she hadn't taken a sip from in hours. For that occasion, her father had brought in a tailor to make her a new robe that emphasised her figure. It was a flowy, deep green satin that made her pale skin glow.

Almost every pureblood family had come, at least those who agreed with the same ideologies and considered themselves superior. A ball at Malfoy Manor was an event, that few of these families would turn down; the families who had come here, all as if they were trying to impress her father, who was admired and envied for his influence—not just in the old sacred families but the Ministry—and someone no one would want to have as an enemy.

The combination of the music and the chatter of the crowd gave Lucinda a headache, making her wish she were somewhere else, and that the time would pass quickly, so she could soon disappear into her chamber.

Not far from her stood Walburga and Orion Black with their youngest son Regulus. Out of the corner of her eye, Lucinda watched Walburga reaching out to straighten Regulus' collar, reminding him to watch his manners with a harsh voice. His back was straightened, his hands folded, yet the tension in his shoulders and the clenched jaw didn't go unnoticed by Lucinda. She felt a brief sense of pity for him and wondered if he felt as powerless as she did, or if he had already accepted the life that awaited him.

Walburga seemed unusually restless, and her gaze was even more stern than usual. Lucinda suspected that the whispers about her disowned son, which had been spreading like wildfire since the summer, were the reason for her apparent unease.

Her thoughts drifted to the previous Yule Ball, when Sirius had attended, bored by the stiff atmosphere and—according to him—silly banter. He had mimicked some old the old witches and wizards, and muttered insults at them loudly enough to earn sharp looks. And, although she disapproved of his loud presence, it would have made the whole event a little more tolerable. On one occasion, he had caught a few rats near the courtyard and released them among the attendees, causing a fuss among the ladies and provoking a furious reaction from Walburga, who dragged her son out of the hall by his ears.

The thought made the corners of Lucinda's mouth twitch, and a laugh escaped her lips before she could stop herself, forcing her to instantly cover it up with a cough.

"Are you all right, dear?" Walburga asked beside her in an overly sweet voice. She took a step closer and placed her hand on Lucinda's shoulder.

"I choked on the wine. There's no need to worry, Walburga," Lucinda replied politely, gracefully withdrawing herself from the older woman's touch. Much her relief, the older woman turned back to her husband and son.

Lucinda let her gaze sweep over the guests, lingering on her father, who stood at the other end of the hall. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had his light grey hair tied back at the nape of his neck and was dressed in the finest garments. His face carried an icy, authoritarian expression, as if he could freeze his opponent's blood in their veins with just his eyes.

As always, the Rosiers were laughing too loudly. Alistair Rosier appeared to be telling a rather uninteresting story, leaning closer to Abraxas, seemingly oblivious to the host's slightly narrowed eyes and averted gaze. The Notts and the Averys gathered around them, each trying to position themselves close enough to appear important but not desperate. But it was obvious to Lucinda that they too were trying to flatter him in the hope of gaining influence and recognition.

She noticed Evan Rosier, who stood by Octavian Greengrass and Caius Avery, regularly glancing in her direction. He did this every few minutes, trying to be subtle, but it was obvious enough to cause irritation and annoyance in her. She turned her head, pretending not to notice.

She spotted Marcella Selwyn and Rowena Nott, who were standing next to Josephina Flint, who had her hands placed on her rounded belly. Like almost everyone else there, all the girls were dressed up for the occasion in an almost ridiculous manner.

Marcella chattered cheerfully, seemingly unaware that her two friends were barely participating in the conversation. Just like Lucinda, Rowena looked as if she would rather be somewhere else, chewing absentmindedly on one of the appetisers, and Josephina kept her gaze low and stared into nothingness. She was much quieter and paler than Lucinda remembered, answering Marcella's questions with polite nods. Edmund Flint, a medium-sized man with a sly grin and a domineering presence, appeared at his young wife's side without warning. He put his arms around her shoulders in a gesture that might have looked affectionate to an outsider, but Lucinda noted that Josephina tensed up immediately. Marcella, however, did not.

"Have you decided on a name for your baby yet?" she asked way too cheerfully.

Irritation rose in Lucinda, yet it didn't surprise her, that Marcella couldn't read the people's discomfort standing beside her.

"Edmund likes the name Marcus," Josephina murmured, glancing briefly at her husband, with a timid smile.

"Marcus? How old-fashioned," Marcella said, wrinkling her nose.

"My grandfather's name. A respectable man," Edmund replied, sounding irritated by the comment.

"If it's a girl, maybe Celeste," Josephina added quietly.

Edmund narrowed his eyes and gave Josephina a light slap on her arm, hard enough to make her flinch.

"Let's hope it's a boy," he chuckled, but there was no warmth in his laugh. The sound of it made Lucinda's stomach turn, and Josephina lowered her head again, clenching the fabric that covered her belly with her fingers. Lucinda had never thought much of her and her friends, but they didn't deserve this fate either. Not this treatment. And not this disrespect.

"Ladies, if you'll excuse me," he said, smoothing his robe as if preparing for something more important.

He left without giving his wife another glance and walked over to Lucius, who had waved at him from the other side of the hall, surrounded by Bertram Crabbe and Duncan Goyle, signalling Edmund to come over like a servant.

Josephina's posture loosened the moment he walked away, stretching her fingers, and letting them slide over her belly. She forced a smile that didn't reach her and failed to convince Lucinda. Realising that could be her life in just a few years made her feel nauseous, her breathing shallowed for a moment, and she felt the pulse in her temples quicken. She forced herself to remain calm, clenched her left hand behind her back into a fist and relaxed it again, her index finger unconsciously sliding over her ring; her right hand clutched desperately at the crystal glass she was still holding. Her face, however, showed no reaction.

Marcella, still smiling, continued talking as if nothing had happened. Rowena stood beside her, completely disassociated throughout the conversation. Only occasionally did she look up, her eyes following the floating snowflakes.

Lucinda wondered whether Marcella genuinely failed to notice her friends' discomfort, or if she was ignoring it on purpose to avoid facing the truth.

She turned away from the girls and spotted Narcissa talking to her mother, Druella Black, in the crowd. Her sister-in-law seemed more relaxed than usual; she was less stiff, yet still straight-backed, and there was a slight glow in her eyes that Lucinda had rarely seen before, as her own light eyes suddenly met Bellatrix's dark eyes.

The woman held her gaze for a moment, then her mouth twisted into a cunning smile. With graceful, deliberate steps, she approached Lucinda; her dark, wavy hair, half pinned up, bounced with every movement and fell gently over her shoulder. Her tall, slender figure was dressed in a black, velvety, figure-hugging robe that emphasised her curves and her cleavage.

Lucinda breathed as inconspicuously as possible before Bellatrix reached her, knowing full well how cautious she had to be in this woman's presence.

"Lucinda," Bellatrix said, with a sly smile, and placed herself beside her, facing the ballroom with its guests.

Lucinda nodded in return. Bellatrix pointed to the men who were still surrounding her father, different ones this time.

"I've heard something interesting," Bellatrix murmured, stepping closer so that only Lucinda could hear her. Lucinda could smell her perfume—something heavy and dominant, matching its wearer.

"Your father is looking for a... suitable match. You're almost... what, seventeen?"

"In March. Yes," Lucinda returned, her face stern, watching Ares Carrow, who had just caught her father's attention.

"I've heard whispers," Bellatrix continued. "The Mulciber boy. Or perhaps a Nott. Or a Rosier. Families like that have been requesting matches for you. Quite eager, actually. A marriage to a Malfoy would give them the recognition they so desperately want." She gave a short laugh. "It's like watching an auction for a trained animal. Everyone waiting for Abraxas to make his decision."

She turned, watching Lucinda directly, studying her face closely, as if expecting a reaction.

Lucinda, however, wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Instead, she took a sip of her wine, which—due to the enchanted glass—still tasted fresh and cool.

With an unreadable expression, she watched as the corners of her father's mouth lifted slightly when Ares Carrow had obviously made a joke. The other men responded with polite laughter. One of the men, Camryn Mulciber, turned away and his smile vanished immediately, making a mocking face before returning to the other men.

"No reaction at all. Impressive. Ice in the blood—just like your father. Your brother could learn something from that," Bellatrix laughed with a sound that made Lucinda's skin crawl.

Her dark grey eyes followed Lucinda's gaze, which were still watching the men around her father.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" she murmured. "How women in our world are treated like... objects. Ware, to be exchanged for status, for advantages. Marriage as business. Obedience as duty." She pulled a disgusted face. "This is what most pureblood women like us must endure."

Lucinda was truly surprised by this take but still didn't give away anything. Bellatrix was still watching her and her smile only widened.

"Still," she went on lightly, "you should consider yourself lucky. Ages ago—of course—you were meant to be betrothed to my dear cousin."

Lucinda finally turned to her, meeting the other woman's gaze directly.

"Sirius," Bellatrix giggled, visibly amused. "Can you imagine it. You. Married to him. And then he runs off like the filthy little blood traitor he is. You'd have been the wife a disgrace. That would've made you a laughable figure."

At least I wouldn't have to have this conversation now, Lucinda thought, keeping her face unreadable.

"I can consider myself lucky," she replied calmly.

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows and nodded. "I've been quite lucky myself, I suppose. My husband is... manageable. Submissive—if I dare to say so," a cunning smile tugged her lips, shifting her gaze towards the crowd, where a tall, dark-haired man with a strong build stood among others. "I know how to handle him. That makes the difference, doesn't it?" She leaned in closer, lowering her voice, but not so low that her words lost their sharp edge. "Rabastan—my husband's brother—is looking for a new wife. A young one. Very young. And... beautiful. The last one unfortunately died. Dragon pox." A shrill laugh escaped her. "He would make a fine husband. Strong. Serious. Loyal." She gave a wink, and Lucinda knew what this was supposed to mean. Loyal yes, but not to her. Not to his wife.

Rabastan Lestrange, Rodulphus Lestrange's younger brother, was at least seven years older than her. Known for his temper, and his extramarital affairs. He stood next to his brother, significantly slimmer but just as tall and dark-haired. His eyes were narrowed to slits, and there was something hard, something cold in his face.

The sight of him made Lucinda's stomach twist, nausea rose again, and her palm became sweaty, yet she didn't dare to take her eyes off Bellatrix. She knew full well that the other woman was provoking her, trying to tease a reaction out of her, watching for the smallest sign of fear.

"Oh, oh," Bellatrix said softly, "why so pale, little dove?" And before Lucinda could react, she let her long finger slide across Lucinda's cheek, from her left temple over her lips to her chin. The touch was intrusive and dominant, as if he wanted to show her who was in charge of the situation.

Lucinda, still holding Bellatrix's gaze, exhaled sharply, though barely noticeably, yet the other woman must have noticed it.  She lowered her hand in satisfaction.

"I'm curious who my father will chose," Lucinda replied flatly. "It's his decision in the end."

Before Bellatrix could reply, a clink, the sound of a spoon hitting a glass was heard, then the clearing of a throat.

"Your attention, please," a deep voice announced.

The music's volume lowered, as well as the chatter coming from the guests, and it became so quiet that Lucinda thought she could hear the snowflakes drifting to the floor.

All heads turned forward to the top of the marble staircase overlooking the ballroom, where Abraxas stood, next to him Lucius and slightly behind him, clinging to her husband's arm, Narcissa.

Abraxas didn't raise his voice; he didn't need to. "The House of Malfoy is pleased to announce that my son, Lucius, and his wife, Narcissa, are expecting their next heir."

There was a moment of silence, before it was broken by the eruption of polite applause.

Lucinda, however, didn't clap; she didn't make a move at all. Some of the women folded their hands over their chest in amazement; Marcella let out an "Ohhh" as she smiled dreamily at Narcissa, causing Lucinda to shake her head almost imperceptibly. Just another child born into this golden cage. The men raised their glasses in Lucius' direction as if to toast.

Her gaze fell on Narcissa. She was still standing a step behind Lucius, who had taken her hand and slightly pulled her behind him, as if shielding her from the crowd. Her shoulders were slightly raised, her back straight, and a smile frozen on her face. But her eyes didn't wander over the crowd; she didn't beam.

The applause was fading, and more and more guests approached the soon-to-be-parents to express their congratulations in person. Some politely shook their hands, others clapped Lucius on the shoulder in admiration, while others expressed their congratulations more warmly by giving them a brief hug.

"Children," Bellatrix remarked, wrinkling her nose, "endless screaming, whining, constantly craving attention. And they're so... dirty." She turned back to Lucinda and winked at her. "There are always ways and methods to avoid this."

Then, much to Lucinda's relief, Bellatrix turned and moved through the crowd towards Narcissa and Lucius, outstretching her arms to express her congratulations.

Lucinda watched the crowd for a while without making a move.

The music swelled again, signalling that the dance had begun. But Lucinda had no desire to dance; she just wanted to disappear. Away from here, away from the guests, away from her predetermined future.

"Lucinda," came a smooth, but seemingly practised, stiff voice at her side.

Lucinda slowly turned around, and if this evening couldn't get any worse—Evan Rosier stood beside her, offering his hand.

"Would you grant me the honour of a dance?"

Absolutely not, she thought. But, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Abraxas, who was standing at the other side of the hall, watching from afar. She could feel his piercing gaze on her, one that demanded obedience, tolerating no refusal.

Before she could give him an answer, he took the glass from her hand, placing it on of a passing house elf without even looking down.

She slowly breathed and gave a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes. "If you insist."

Reluctantly, she took his ice-cold, surprisingly sweaty hand, which revealed more uncertainty than she would have thought from him. Good.

He led her to the dance floor with the exaggerated care of someone who thought appearances were everything.

"You look stunning tonight," he said, as they slowly began to move to the rhythm of the music, his hand resting low on her waist, "as always, of course."

"I'm aware," she replied.

He blinked, then chuckled, and to Lucinda's dismay, mistaking it for flirtation. "I hear Professor Slughorn still talks about that wit-sharpening potion you brewed last year. Says it was better than anything he's seen from a student in decades." His left hand slowly moved further down.

"Of course, someone like you would consider a simple potion to be extraordinary," Lucinda replied coldly, taking his left hand in hers and moving it back up to her waist, her gaze icy. Evan pretended nothing had happened, but she could see his face going pale before it flushed.

She knew full well that he was trying to flatter her yet again; it wasn't the first time she had rejected him. And yet he never seemed to understand and kept trying again and again. But Lucinda had no patience, wanting to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

Evan stumbled slightly, almost stepping on Lucinda's foot, then caught himself.

"Well, Potions was indeed never my strength," he admitted with a tight laugh. "I'm more inclined toward... larger ambitions."

"Such as?"

"My father has been meeting with certain people, you know. There are opportunities coming. And we should be prepared. My father happens to be one of his closest companions. I've been told the Dark Lord sees promise in our generation. If we align ourselves correctly—"

Lucinda's gaze sharpened. "How brave of you to speak so openly about treason," she cut in. "In a public ballroom."

"Aren't we all here with the same opinions?" he frowned.

"You never know who's secretly listening, Evan," she said gently, looking him straight in his watery blue eyes. "The wrong ears may be listening. You should never say those things out loud. You never know who might turn on you."

His jaw tightened, and Lucinda was sure she could sense uncertainty. "I mean... not treason. Restoration," he muttered, and spun her around once before taking her hand again.

"To what?" she asked. "To days when your family didn't have to earn its place through flattery?"

Evan's lips pressed together. "It's easy to criticise when your name already opens every door."

Lucinda smiled faintly. "And yet here you are, still trying to impress me."

The music slowed down, the composition was coming to an end, and Lucinda was glad that this conversation would soon be over. She noticed Evan swallow before he regained his control.

"You know," he tried again, voice softer, "a match between our families would be—"

"Predictable," Lucinda interjected. "And dull."

He blinked at her. "You find me dull?"

"I find you rehearsed," she said, still smiling as she watched the expression slowly drain from his face. "Which is worse."

The music faded. She stepped back before he could speak again, dropping into a shallow curtsey more out of habit than politeness.

"If you excuse me. It's late, I'd rather leave. Thank you for the dance, Mr Rosier. It was... enlightening."

She turned around, a feeling of victory growing inside her, as one of the other boys—Caius Avery, a boy a year below Lucinda—appeared from the crowd, but before he could offer her a dance, she raised her hand dismissively and shook her head.

The music had shifted to something more cheerful, as if the tunes could cover the cruel politics of its listeners.

Just as she was about to cross the threshold, she suddenly heard voices, coming from the lobby adjoining the great hall.

"—disgraceful," Abraxas was saying in a low voice. "First your niece. Now your eldest—running of with blood traitors and mudblood friends. The Blacks are decaying."

Lucinda slipped carefully behind the curtain covering the door, to avoid being noticed.

"How dare you speak of my family like that," Walburga hissed. "You Malfoys married into us. If anything—"

"I married Narcissa into our family," Abraxas interrupted coldly. "A strategic union. One that makes me wonder whether it was the right choice."

The voices came closer now, and Lucinda leaned back slightly, covering her mouth with her hands to hide her breathing.

Walburga's voice rose. "Andromeda is no longer a Black. She is struck from the tapestry. Cygnus has disinherited her. And Sirius—he's just a foolish boy who went astray. He'll see what's he's done and come—"

"He won't," Abraxas cut in. "And you're delusional if you truly believe that. You've already lost him."

"I HAVE NOT—"

Walburga stopped mid-sentence, and Lucinda could hear her breathing heavily. Then there was silence. Lucinda felt the tension thickening, as if it were possible to cut the air, even though she didn't see either of them. She could only imagine her father's gaze that had silenced the woman.

"You forget yourself, Walburga," Abraxas said so quietly that she could barely hear it, but the quiet warning was unmistakable.

Lucinda pushed the curtain back half an inch and watched her father leaving back to the great hall as if nothing had happened. Walburga stood frozen for a moment, pale, her lips trembling, her chest rising and falling visibly, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Taking a final deep breath, she tried to compose herself, but she wasn't convincing. Her face was contorted with anger that she couldn't hide, and Lucinda wondered if she would take it out on her son later. She hoped not. Then Walburga followed Abraxas back into the hall.

Lucinda cautiously emerged from her hiding place and slowly moved away in the opposite direction, towards her chamber. As she walked down the dimly lit corridors, the corners of her mouth curled into a smile without her realising.

She knew exactly how much Sirius would have enjoyed seeing his mother silenced and put in her place.