The Lullaby
“Don't let Sirius read The Daily Prophet ,” was what James warned them next Monday morning.
But Sirius had already known what was waiting for him in the newspaper. He entered the Great Wall with his eyes staring straight, and the look in his face was enough to keep people miles away. As he walked to his seat, whispers trailed behind him along with sidelong glances. Those were not from good-nature interests; they were from suspicions and fears.
Remus flattened the newspaper on the table. The bold headline stared back at him:
CIVIL RIGHTS ACT 1975: WIZENGAMOT CONSIDERS NEW MUGGLEBORN REGULATIONS
Embedded between the text was a photo of a dark-haired woman, who, according to the caption, was Madame Lestrange, the staunchest advocate of the Anti-Muggle legislation and wife of a Wizengamot member.
Remus frowned at the photo. Something about this woman and her victorious smile made it very disturbing. She twirled her wand in her slender, black-nailed fingers with the sinister grace of twirling a knife, and when she lifted her chin triumphantly, Remus saw Sirius's eyes staring right back at him.
Bellatrix Lestrange, née Black. The eldest of the Black sisters.
She had the exact same eyes as her cousin Sirius's — grey, hooded eyes. The more he looked at the wilderness of those eyes, the more their resemblance became unsettling. Instead of glooming their face with heaviness, those hooded eyelids only adorned their good looks with a bone-piercing glare — the deadly glare of Medusa.
But while Sirius’s gaze held a sirenic mist, there was no mystery in Bellatrix’s eyes — only two scintillating feral sockets, only made wilder by the Black aristocratic looks with all those elegant nose and blade-sharp cheekbones and regal jawline. Her frame wasn't as willowy as her sister Narcissa's, but rather voluptuous. Her black hair was a long stream of thick, shiny waves, shadowed by a massive hat which she wore like a crown. And what shoulders she’d got –– they could rival the statuesque Venus de Milo .
Looking at Bellatrix Lestrange's photograph, an unnerving premonition suddenly struck Remus –– that this woman could take away everything worth living for.
He flipped the pages violently, so that he wouldn't have to look at Lestrange with her sickening smile. She wasn’t allowed to smile like that. She wasn’t allowed to smile like that all while looking too much like Sirius. Even with that sophisticated difference, the step from one to another was close. Way too close.
Something on the fifth page caught his attention: a report of a Muggle townhouse in London being burnt down, causing three casualties and eight hospitalisations. The culprit of the crime was unidentified.
His fingers gripped tightly around the thin paper. The chief editor had the nerve to put a news like on the fifth page, even behind the inflated cauldron price and an autobiography release of Abraxas Malfoy, while the criminal was still walking out there as a free man, posing threats on innocent people. And his mind flashed to Fenrir Greyback, the sickening beast, lurking in moonlit nights and spreading terrors…
Then the pits of his stomach did a dangerous somersault; the tragedy had occurred on the night of the 3rd of November, in the very neighbourhood where they'd waited to catch the Knight Bus. He thought of Rab and Bella, wondering if they were made victims of the incident… Or were they?
Rab and Bella… Bella…
Remus recalled the cruel, taunting voice… Bellatrix.
Then Rab must be Rabastan Lestrange, Bellatrix's brother-in-law.
It was no incident. Confunded and Obliviated a high-ranking official at Number 10 Downing Street? To whom was he joking? This, he thought, staring down at the swirling number of deaths and injuries, this is House Black .
“Remus, you look as pale as chalk,” said Peter worriedly, “Are you good, mate?”
Sirius shot an irritated look at the newspaper. “ ‘Never make an appearance in the newspaper…’ Well, no more mystery about the House of Black, is it?”
Knowing that he referred to their conversation the night before, Remus remained silent. Perhaps the Lestrange name gave Bellatrix née Black pretty much the liberty to do as she liked. “ ‘In my opinion…’ Your opinions belong to the garbage bin!” Sirius fumed. “Women in this house are not allowed to speak to the press! Neither do men!
“Now everyone knows what my family is truly like, with my dear cousin right on the front page. What a lovely woman. As harmless as a bunny… Oh for god's sake, it was a fucking sarcasm!” Sirius snapped at two second-years who'd turned pale at his comment, making them jump and scurry away.
For the rest of the breakfast, Sirius barely touched his food. His already thin lips pressed together into an even thinner line, and his jaw looked ready to snap under the pressure of swallowing his emotions. He kept casting a few furtive glances towards Mary MacDonald and Lily Evans, both of whom were Muggleborns. But they didn't look back at him; their heads were bent together in a deep conversation, the Muggleborn regulations article in front of them.
“He shouldn’t have read that bloody article,” James muttered, exasperated.
“He should,” Remus shook his head, thinking of the arson in London. “He needs to know even if it hurts. Because it is the truth. We live in an ugly world.” He folded the newspaper and looked at James. “You mentioned once that your father doesn't just run his Sleekeazy's Hair Potion company, does he? He has influence on the Auror Office?”
“He is mates with the Chief Auror,” James said, still dull after being told off for his overprotectiveness.
“Good to hear, because I might need to send an owl to him to suggest an investigation…”
o0o
Copies of the Civil Right Act article were passed from hand to hand among the Slytherins, with many of them even pinned up on the bulletin board and along visible walls of the castle. But when the Marauders intervened, every single one was ripped out from every surface, and tossed into fire.
Despite all the atrocities that hung over their lives like the sword of Damocles, as it crept closer to December, the castle started to buzz with a Christmassy spirit.
This year was more particular than other years, making many students rowdier than usual, for Professor Slughorn decided to throw a private pre-Christmas ball –– the December Ball. Only those who received an invitation would be able to join, and they were allowed to accompany an avec. Professor Slughorn could fail people at many things, but at least he was a decent party planner, and one could not overlook the thick web of his own personal connections that could help ambitious students get ahead with their future career.
“People can say the old man is vain and utilitarian,” commented Lily Evans as she ground the scarab beetles with a Herculean effort, “But we must agree he had a penchant for winning mutual benefits.”
Lily, of course, as Professor Slughorn's little Potions genius, received an invitation along with her Slytherin git friend Severus Snape.
“You’ve got to teach me how to liquify unicorn horns without leaving clutters, Evans.”
“Liquify unicorn horns? Are you planning to brew cantarella or what, Black? And hey, pass me a bigger pestle; this one is no use.”
She was practicing brewing the Wit-Sharpening Potion with Sirius Black in a study room down the dungeon. The two had been made a study pair in Potions, much to James’s jealousy. Though looking utterly bored, Sirius still treated the ginger roots and cut them with meticulous care.
“You said Slughorn's parties?” With a lazy indifference, he swept his long hair behind his neck before brushing the chopped roots into their boiling cauldron with the back of his knife, and God, this bastard was actually good-looking, Lily had to admit. “ All vanitas vanitatum, those parties. Come, children, let us shut up the box and the puppets, for our play is played out.”
Lily stared at him. “Started picking up Thackeray, haven’t you?”
He suddenly smirked, as if it was something funny. “I read everything Remus recommends me to read.” The soft smile stood strangely on the sharp edges of his face –– the sort of smile that people didn’t usually find on Sirius Black. “You like Vanity Fair ?”
Lily remembered the last time someone had asked her this question, they’d meant the American gossip tabloid and not the book by William Thackeray. “Not exactly my favourite,” she shook her head, dark red locks swinging along the motion. “I like Jules Verne –– don’t laugh at my French pronunciation. I love reading about adventures and science, especially from an era when every scientific discovery paved the way to miracles.” She punctuated the word miracles with a forceful pound of her pestle before pointing it at Black. “That’s why I’m going to get a good grade on this assignment and be a Potion Master just like the scientist of my dream, and you’re not going to hinder me.”
He carefully guided the pestle down. “Now, Evans, imagine those scarab beetles were Mulciber’s face, and slam the pestle down. We’ll see the difference right away.”
The beetles were crushed perfectly, and their laughter startled them both. Admittedly, Sirius Black is a toffee-nosed git, but Lily enjoyed talking to him. She, Lily Evans, liked talking to Sirius Black, a rogue lawbreaker, incorrigible swashbuckler, James Potter's best friend! If someone had told her this last year, she would've thought they must be suffering from fatal brain damage. Now Lily still didn't quite like him, but he made Mary happy. He couldn’t be so bad.
“Don’t want to kill your spirit about the ball, Evans,” Black said, stirring the cauldron, his face obscured by a steamy haze, “which, I might have once heard you say, is your first time attending. But I think I should warn you –– Slughorn will throw the ball in the pureblood way.”
Lily thought of War and Peace –– the movie, not the book, she didn’t think she could finish reading that tome without turning herself close to a psychopath. No, she was thinking of the Soviet movie series she’d watched on BBC Two, what with the waltz scene between Andrei and Natasha, and all the ballroom etiquettes that said women were not supposed to walk in long strides or fan herself too quickly.
“Rest assured,” she scoffed, shaking off the thought, “that I will not so much as get close to the stuck-up pureblood nobles even if they rub diamonds in my face.” She paused, then frowned. “Well, no, actually that sounds like I’m afraid of them. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of thinking I care a whit about the likes of Yaxley or Nott.” Or someone whose name rhymed with Barcissa Nlack, fiancée of the very person in front of her now. “Or Zabini. That girl, Cecilia, gives me the irk; her so-called compliments always end up making people feel worse about themselves…”
“The Zabinis are hardly ‘pureblood nobles’ by my family standards, but they aren’t very far off,” Black tied his hair briefly to a loose knot before returning to the bubbling potion. “They’re from Napoli –– moved to England after the Risorgimento . My mother’s personal tailor was a Zabini, who, funnily enough, happens to be Cecilia and Giulia’s uncle.”
“I notice the past tense. How so?”
“ Tactless, brazen-faced social-climber, falsely motivated by his family's long-lost splendour’ , according to Mum.” The way he talked gave Lily a tiny shudder. “If you want an example of ‘stuck-up pureblood nobles’, Evans, you don’t have to search far — just look at my little brother.”
He spoke with a tone that reminded Lily too much of her own self, when she spoke about Petunia. He raised the stirring rod, letting the lingering liquid on the rod drip back into the cauldron, before tossing it into the sink. “In his opinion, pianos are too ordinary. So, naturally, he chose to play the clavecin.” Seeing her confusion, he added in English it’s the harpsichord . “You’re also in the Slug Club, so you probably know how highly Slughorn regards Regulus –– the old man does believe the sun shines out of his arsehole. The only reason why you won’t see him at the ball is because he’s not old enough to attend yet.”
“It's actually abnormal that you didn't receive the invitation,” Lily said. When Black’s eyebrow raised, she explained, “Well, for one principal thing, you are quite good at Potions.”
He shrugged. “I might be good, but not excellent. If Slughorn ever considered me, it would be only because of my family name. And I messed with enough students in his House to keep me out of his good graces.” He grinned that typical shit-eating grin of his, which, had it been six months ago, would have made Lily consider resorting to violence. “Plus, I don't like his Death Eater guests.”
“You’re not being fair to him,” Lily scoffed, “Slughorn is no fan of Death Eaters.”
“Know what, Evans, you’ve got a point,” he nodded, adding more ginger roots to their cauldron. “Death Eaters are a bunch of stupid berks. A fan of Voldemort, then? How delightful the ball would be, if Voldemort crashed in after the cocktail hour and apologetically announced ‘Sorry, I'm late. Busy killing some Muggles.’”
“That wasn’t funny,” said Lily with a cool air, and the sentiment stood out oddly with her fiery red hair. “Slughorn loathes Voldemort, and you’re not going to act like you know everything about the old man. Do you think that I, a Muggleborn, would ever be on a good term with him if he was a Voldemort sympathiser?” Sirius let out a suspicious cough that sounded a lot like “Snape" , but she swatted him away with the huge pestle. “I know you're holding some prejudices against Slughorn; sometimes the way he talks displeases me, too, like it's a bloody miracle that a Muggleborn can be good at anything… But the world is not simply divided into good guys and Death Eaters. Some people, like Slughorn, stay in their grey area as long as they do no harm.”
Sirius really wanted to tell her that the true reason behind his dislike for the old man was much simpler than anything they'd talked about: he detested the way Slughorn neglected James just because Potions wasn't James's strong suit. He detested the way Slughorn overlooked James — his talented, brilliant James, best in their year in Charms, competent duellist, Gryffindor's star Quidditch player! Why didn’t Lily see that either, and sometimes Sirius hated her a little for that, too. They ended up arguing and didn’t finish writing their Potion journal; eventually they both agreed that Lily was a holier-than-thou buzzkill Sirius was an entitled knobhead, though when she called him the male version of Catherine Earnshaw, he wasn’t sure whether that was supposed to be an insult. That night, he clenched his teeth and finished the journal for both of them, Lily could thank him later.
But eventually, he still received an invitation to the December Ball, maybe as a replacement for Regulus. He really wished he had never been invited, remembering the oath he and Cissy had made with Mother. But he had no choice but to accept and suck it up. The strings were already in motion, the stage set, and the play must go on.
o0o
Remus Lupin stood in front of the bathroom mirror, lost in thoughts. The invitation had arrived last week, and he was still convinced it was a mistake on Professor Slughorn’s part. Now, with a ball suddenly falling on his head, he was completely at a loss over what to wear.
Realistically speaking, he was still a werewolf under human skin, no matter how well he dressed and acted like a human. He had been living with this everyday in his life, but the sentiment became stronger whenever there was a party — a place where people were supposed to look handsome, talk smartly, and pretend that they were an open book of whimsical life stories which hid enough secrets so that they could remain thrilling when asked –– like “I imported dragon eggs illegally” or “My uncle robbed Gringotts twice” –– and not “I am a fucking werewolf”. Remus looked at the mirror, something unsettled in his guts –– he was not going to make being a werewolf his whole persona, but sometimes it felt a little too hard to ignore.
“You’re fighting a losing battle there, dear,” the mirror told him in a voice that sounded like a record spun backward.
It wasn't like he was compelled to go to the ball, anyway. Remus himself found the very idea of preferential treatment towards a select group of students somewhat revolting. Balls were for posh people, and he wasn’t one. The only time he’d been to a ball, he was an errand boy at that lavish hotel on Knightsbridge street, helping his mother with a last-minute shift, and even then all he’d managed was just a fleeting glimpse at the ballroom full of snobbish people dressed in clothes so extravagant that they could have solved a nation’s hunger.
But Lily Evans had asked him to be her avec. Lily Evans, with her brilliant green eyes that spoke nothing but “pleaseeee"… Do you have an idea what those eyes were capable of?
“Alright!” he had finally given in to her. A fellow Gryffindor girl had suddenly bursted into tears, for she wasn’t invited by anyone.
James seemed disappointed, too. It was heart-sinking to see such a flamboyant, larger-than-life bastard brought low. Remus pinched the bridge of his nose; admittedly, sometimes he liked to exchange friendly banters with Lily to bring out a little unharmful annoyance of James for good fun, but the last thing he wanted in the world was for his friend to be upset.
“I never had an intention with Lily, you know.”
“Of—of course I know!” James had said sullenly, “It's not what I'm upset about. Really, who cares about her?” His eyes suddenly snapped to Remus. “But please, Moony, promise me –– no, swear to me –– that you'll never tell her about this.”
Remus straightened his back, averting his gaze from the mirror. He had more pressing matters to think of rather than the superficialities now; James's father, Mr. Fleamont Potter, had been in contact with him recently. An owl from Mr. Potter this morning informed him that the Investigation Department had dismissed the case against Bellatrix and Rabastan Lestrange. I totally agree with you, Remus, Mr. Potter wrote in his letter, and he could taste both his own and Mr. Potter's disappointment. I know much more about Bellatrix and Rabastan than you could gather, and I still came to the same conclusion as you. Unfortunately, the Lestranges have a very long arm in the Ministry, especially since they formed a marriage alliance with the Blacks. Whatever they have done, I'm sorry to let you know they have gotten away with it…
But don't dwell yourself too much in it, Remus’s brow knitted together harder as he recalled the letter. You are still quite young for these complicated adult matters.For your own safety, I firmly advise you to stay as far away from Bellatrix Lestrange as possible. What if it wasn’t his safety that he was concerned about? His mother, a Muggle in London, could be a target of those Dark wizards any day…
“One Galleon for your thought.”
A cold bottle nudged against his cheek.
“Actually, let me guess. You're thinking about the future of Britain and how it affects world’s peace? Muggle’s quantum physics and rocket science?”
Remus didn't answer right away. Instead, he took the bottle and stole a swig. Then he put the bottle down the sink with a solid clunk and crowded Sirius against the wall.
“If I kept saying yes every time you ask that question, I’d actually become rich,” he murmured, and Sirius huffed at the way the words tickled his ear. “Source of income: answering Sirius Black’s mind-searching questions.”
“Is it strictly necessary to expose my grand scheme?” Sirius draped his towel over Remus’s shoulder. “I know what you were thinking about. Combing your hair, searching your face in the mirror to find a crack… You were daydreaming about the ball. Right, mirror? I can read this fellow right through.”
“Ugh, lovebirds.”
“We’re not!”
“I demand another bathroom mirror,” Sirius said as he shucked his clothes off and slided into the already-made hot bath. “This one is always nagging about my hair. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was staffed by Mr. Potter to turn people into facsimiles of Rowena Ravenclaw.”
Ravenclaw, who in legends had enviable long black hair, was featured in Sleekeazy’s Hair Dying Potion advertisement ( “Her Shadow of Twilight? Three drops will do it right!” ). “Haunted mirrors litter around Hogwarts, Sirius. What if the replacement were worse than this one?”
“My family has a thing called the Mirror of Despair, if you’re up to talking about sinister mirrors… Merlin, the water is getting cold already.”
They went on chatting about everything and nothing at all. Remus liked their dorm’s bathroom; it was not too bright, only lit by the faint orange light from the oil lamp, and smelled of multiple shower products. Through the corner of his eyes, Remus saw the shadow of Sirius reflected on the wall, the line between his neck and his shoulders as he lounged in the tub, propping one leg up. Remus decided it was time he tried some cleaning spells he’d recently discovered with this bathroom, and Sirius watched his fastidious friend struggle with the tongue-twisting spells. “Remus,” he said after a while, stirring the water. Remus knew at once he was asking for a favour. “Can you accompany Mary to the ball?”
“I’m going with Lily.” He casted a spell to the protesting mirror, scrubbing it clean. “And according to Lily, who’d obviously heard it from Mary, that Amelia Bones was taking her to the ball as her avec. Didn’t Mary tell you?”
Sirius sunk an arm back into the water. “No,” he admitted. “No, she didn’t.”
“Maybe she didn’t want to put you in a difficult situation. You have to accompany Narcissa, after all. You have that oath with your mother, and Mary understood the obligation when she agreed to whatever you two are having.”
“Narcissa this, Narcissa that... That woman bores me and terrifies me in equal measure.”
“She can’t be all that bad.”
“She’s priggish. A pain in the backside.”
“Now that’s not very nice.”
Sirius blinked several times. “You seem interested in her,” he said, tone unreadable. Remus shrugged with one shoulder. He turned to look at Sirius, and found those dove grey eyes peering at him through the haze of steam and shadows.
He thought of Narcissa Black, who had been a member of the Slug Club for as long as he remembered. She was like a gem to adorn Professor Slughorn's social events, with her family name, her grace, her quiet intelligence, her connections with the most renowned pureblood names, yet remaining uninvolved in the turbulent politics — she was a pragmatist just like Slughorn. He wasn't necessarily fond of her, but he saw her as interesting and resourceful. Perhaps Professor Horace Slughorn wasn't genuinely fond of anyone, except Lily Evans. He never truly cared about Sirius either, only seeing him as the missing piece of a collection that he’d lost to Minerva McGonagall in an auction. Probably that was how everyone else saw the Blacks.
“Well, come on, accompanying Narcissa couldn’t be so bad,” he knelt next to the bathtub, trying to catch his friend’s eyes again. “You and her have known each other for years. You can deal with her for one evening.”
“I wouldn’t be so optimistic,” Sirius scoffed, shoving Remus’s face away. “She probably will show up with Lucius Malfoy by her side, and the last thing I want to deal with on this earth is the pair of them together.”
“Why would Malfoy have anything to do with the ball?”
“He was a Slytherin Prefect. And his family’s rich. Richer than the Blacks, probably. Doesn’t Slughorn just love that – imagine how many boxes of crystallised pineapple Malfoy can buy for him.”
“Hm, I doubt Professor Slughorn is all that impressed. Heard that Malfoy is a Voldemort sympathiser.”
“Is he.” For a short moment, Sirius was quiet. “What a pity, but not surprising. That bugger has always been a professional bootlicker,” he mused, eyebrows arched haughtily. “Anyway, he’s unimportant.”
Remus flicked some shampoo foam off the other boy’s forehead, standing up. “Don’t underestimate people.”
“I don’t!” It was followed by the noise of Sirius splattering water over his forehead. “Malfoy is just—unremarkable. I would never underestimate Narcissa. Her capacity for hating me has never ceased to surprise me. Forget Malfoy — even if he wouldn’t show up, Cissy would cook up something evil on her own, like introducing me to all the foreign guests as her servant.”
“Then don't be a servant,” said Remus easily. “Be a prince.”
“The prince of the land of fools, you mean,” Sirius gave a snort. “But hold still—” He quickly rinsed the foam off his body, “–– would you please throw me the towel.” He caught it and leapt off the bath, striding to his bed with sudden excitement. “I have something that can warrant me a princely look.”
And he showed it to Remus, after ransacking it up from the dusty bottom of his trunk––his portmanteau : a very handsome, privately-tailored suit that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Roaring Twenties. The fabric was ink-black velvet, understated yet exuding a quiet luxury. Small, silvery buttons sparkled like stars in the midnight sky, and the cream silk waistcoat added up to the elegance… They should outlaw garments like this on someone like his friend, Remus decided.
Before his thought carried further away, he found himself holding the suit as Sirius insisted on his helping him to try it on.
“Moony, my waistcoat!”
“What? What’s the problem with your waistcoat?”
“You misbuttoned it.”
“Sirius, this is just a fitting–– Alright . ”
“Thank you, good Sir. And its curve has to be below my chest.”
“ And its curve has to be below my chest… Ugh.”
Sirius laughed at his friend's half-hearted attempt for disgruntlement. The dress suit fitted Sirius like his second skin, wrapping around his slim waist perfectly and accentuating his long legs. With a white bow under that Edwardian winged-tip collar, hair still damp from the bath, his friend began to look like some sort of Grecian demi-god.
“Not bad,” Remus smiled as he regarded Sirius, folding his arms, which had the shirtsleeves rolled up as though he'd just finished sculpting a piece of art.
“ Not bad? ” Sirius’s eyebrows shot up. “The suit is tremendously offended, I’ll have you know. It had to depart its home in Italy and journeyed all the way through Europe, presenting itself humbly before your discerning eyes, and all you could muster was ‘Not bad’ ? Mind you, mate, I’m not wearing the suit –– the suit is wearing me.” A stirring warmth radiated from him as he hooked one arm around Remus's neck, spinning him in a dizzying whirl. Remus could feel the expensive fabric brushed against his grey woollen shirt carelessly, and he tried to suppress a rapacious want to bite into that crescent-moon ear.
“And who said I was talking about the suit?” Instead he laughed, as he settled his own tie. “You troll.”
“That was totally uncalled for!” Sirius fisted at his ribcage, but he managed to dodge it. They chased each other around the room, grabbing James's unwashed Quidditch gear and throwing them at one another. At the end, they both scrambled on the floor, laughing.
“I––” Bantering words came to the tip of Sirius’s tongue. Then his gaze fell upon a piece of garment folded on a stool near Remus’s bed.
He instantly halted to a stop. What the hell is that!
It was another suit, but not quite the same as his. It was brown with a ratty black shirt, unadorned, looking slightly dull.
The suit looked like it belonged to some young clerk in the Victorian Era. A truly decrepit old thing.
Sirius stared at it for a moment, blinking.
“Well, there are still a few days until the ball, so we needn't fuss with the clothes,” he said eventually, tugging at his collar. “Remus, can you help me take these off? It begins to suffocate me.”
o0o
No one was in the mood for studying on the day of the December Ball. By five o’clock, the girls had retreated to their dormitory to get ready for the evening. Remus lingered in the common room, determined to finish the load of homework that he was sure he wouldn’t be able to do tomorrow morning, then finally headed back to his dorm room for a quick shower and a change of clothes.
Lily and Mary were already there when he returned to the common room. He paused at the sight of them, of their flowing gowns and graceful heels, their shining ringlets and swan-like necks, thinking to himself, The gods didn't create women — women are goddesses .
Mary was breathtaking, as always; she had chosen a floor-sweeping sandy-pink cami dress that hugged her statuesque frame. Long, white gloves graced her slender arms, and glittering shadows adorned her eyelids, glowing like the Milky Way against her brown skin. She smiled when she saw him — the smile of a girl fully aware of her own appearance.
Lily looked somewhat less assured than her friend. She wore a foamy white gown that contrasted sharply with her fiery red hair, the dress billowing like a fan, ending just below her calves and showing her ankles. A green orchid pinned to her fichu perfectly matched the colour of her eyes. She didn't seem too pleased with this bridesmaid look.
“You must think I look ugly,” Lily mumbled, avoiding his eyes.
“There she goes again,” Mary said with a light swat to her friend's shoulder. “How many times do I have to tell you that you're absolutely gorgeous?”
“I can't be gorgeous in this dress,” Lily blushed furiously, “It puts my looks at the depth of childishness. My mum sent it to me—I didn’t really have a choice…”
“Aw, Lily,” Remus smirked. “Allow me to give you an opposite-sex opinion, so that you’ll have more perspectives. As a humble member of the male species, I must say –– you look stunning.”
“For real?” she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
Before he could give her another reassuring response, they were interrupted by a loud ‘thump’ . He didn’t need to bat his eyes to know from whom it was.
But jumping down the stairs from the boys dormitory wasn’t the only eyebrow-lifting thing Sirius did. Mary gasped in surprise, and Remus suppressed a vicious urge to bark a laugh.
“Don’t say anything!” Sirius scoffed.
“No, mate,” Remus chewed the insides of his cheek, lips twitching. “I’ll have to dig you up before I get to say anything, because Narcissa will definitely murder you.”
It seemed Françoise Hardy had taught Sirius one thing or two about leather jackets. As it went, his ensemble was a haphazard jumble of many things — apart from the ragged leather jacket, there were scruffy high-waist denims, and a metal necklace with what looked like a fang dangling from it. He looked like every pillock that mothers warn their daughters about. None of what he wore looked remotely new, and the entire thing screamed Narcissa Black’s gravest nightmare.
With a smile, Sirius’s gaze swept to Mary. Normally he would close the distance between them, but now met with Mary’s lack of reaction, he froze. But then his eyes brightened when he saw Lily. “Ah, Evans! You look––”
“I would choose my next word very carefully if I were you, Black.”
“––dashing.”
Lily regarded his attire with a fascinated look. “Drop it, Black,” she said coolly, though she seemed far more at ease with herself now. Probably because now she knew she wouldn’t be the only one to be scanned under the judging X-ray from stuck-up purebloods.
“Well? Impressed by my ensemble, Lili Marleen ?”
“Who’s calling me?” came the voice of Marlene McKinnon up from the girls dorm.
Lily smiled devilishly at Remus as they both proceeded to sing, “I'll always keep you in my heart, With you Lili Marleen…” . It was the song they all dedicated specially to Marlene, who they sometimes called Marlene Dietrich instead of McKinnon, not only because the German singer performed Lili Marleen , but also because she indulged in menswears just like the young blonde Gryffindor.
The merriment grew when James and Peter joined them, and no bottle of Pumpkin Ciders survived till the end. When they left for the ball, Peter was forced to drag James back by the collar to prevent him from chasing after Lily (“Ooh, Evans, have I told you you're the most stunning girl in the entire ball?” — “Give us a rest, Potter; how many girls have you actually seen at a ball you’re not even invited to?”)
Narcissa Black was standing outside the ballroom entrance when they arrived. Many heads turned to her as the guests came and went, for she was impossible to not look at. With that deep-blue gown and floor-sweeping robe, pearl necklace and sleek blonde hair tied into an impeccable Psyche knot, she could make Grace Kelly pale in comparison. Remus was quite taken aback, and even Sirius’s mutter ‘how tawdry’ came out a few seconds too late.
But when those eyes fell on Sirius, all the floating elegance twisted and morphed into something utterly disgusted.
“Well well, what do we have here,” Narcissa gave her most unpleasant smile. She levelled a thornful glance at Lily's dress and at Mary's glittering eye shadow. Lily glared back coolly, while Mary completely ignored her.
Her lips curled into a sneer as she turned back to Sirius. “Don’t you see you’re embarrassing your girl friends?” Her voice was sickly sweet. “Maybe they don’t have it in them to tell you the truth –– that you look like an indigent vagabond, frayed at the hem and threadbare from the elbows.”
Sirius looked offended, but not too much. “Don’t be such a bore, Cissy. Vagabonds are the true trend setters, in case you didn’t know. Now, come on, let's get in, or would you rather stand here like a mannequin?”
Narcissa didn’t take his outstretched hand. Instead, she stepped back, her face set like cold marble.
“What now?” Sirius frowned, irritation sparking to the surface. “Stop dicking around.”
“You think I’d actually let you take me in dressed like that?” she said in a clear, bone-chilling voice, “You did all this on purpose. I shall not let you humiliate me any further.”
Her word was calculated to hurt, but Sirius wasn't Sirius if he took the bite. Instead, he simply laughed out loud — a rich, cackling sort of laughter. Narcissa grimaced as it annoyed her to no end.
“Oh, I understand that feeling very well, Cissy,” he said softly, “I've had plenty of practice handling humiliation –– well trained by every time our family disgraces me with some new atrocity they casually committed. But you know what?” He clapped on her shoulders in an almost brotherly fashion. “Us hating each other isn’t going to solve anything, now is it? So why don't we just walk inside and get this over with, hmm? Now, come. Get on your feet, darling, that's right.” He swiftly dodged a powerful curse she fired at him. “Let's play the happy fucking family, shall we?”
When Narcissa finally gave in and followed Sirius to the ball, they both looked as though they'd just emerged from a battlefield. Narcissa’s composure was dangerously cracking, and Sirius –– well, Sirius was both triumphant and livid in his own inexplicable way, dragging the reluctant ice queen to the ball.
Now, under the honey-coloured lights, it was quite unsettling to see just how they were a match for each other. Sirius, already tall for his age, now stood eye to eye with his older cousin; he might actually be a bit taller than her, since her true height was exaggerated by the heels she wore. The out-of-place attire complimented his looks in a unique way that he was not at all outshone by the glamour of Narcissa, and together, they drew every gaze in the ballroom. As the waltz began, it was impossible to tell which of them was the better dancer, which of them carried more strength. The floor seemed to be cracking hot under their feet, as if it could feel their powerful disdain for each other.
“Vienna!” An Austrian wizard exclaimed as he watched them dance, blissfully unaware of the magmatic tension between them. “That's one of our Viennese waltzes!”
Something about the sight of them made Remus unable to look at them any longer. There was a white-hot flame flaring inside him — a flame that he could neither name or ignore. Watching Narcissa and Sirius, he was struck with a pang of dejà-vu. It wasn’t exactly about them –– but about a girl and a boy he had once seen at that grand hotel.
He had been nine at that time, and the pair had also looked about his age, the girl as blonde as the boy was dark. Walking side-by-side in perfect synchronisation, they both radiated class and money, looking as though they were destined to marry each other someday in a million-pound wedding. The girl’s gaze had settled on the kitchen assistant’s son with curiosity, taking in the scar bisecting his eyebrow. No sooner had she so much as talked to him, her dark-haired companion had frowned and told her to stay away from strangers. Remus had seen them again the same day, when he was running an errand for his mother. Through the crack of the door, in one of the luxury suites, he’d seen the boy playing the piano while the girl, dressed in a ballet costume, twirled to the music.
Wasn’t it the same for Sirius and Narcissa? Hadn’t he confessed that once upon a time, when they had been all little children, he’d used to sit by the piano and play for Narcissa, so that she could dance?
“They can't get married, otherwise they'll kill each other in no time,” murmured Lily as she watched the pair.
“Are things between Sirius and Mary okay?” Remus asked, watching Mary clutch the arm of Amelia Bones and sweep away for a drink, not a glance at Sirius.
“It’s hard to keep it uncomplicated,” Lily shook her head. Her discomfort returned as she noticed that Narcissa, as well as many other witches in the ball, were wearing grand, mature gowns that trailed along the floor, while she felt extremely awkward with her adolescent dress and knobbly ankles…
Remus downed a glass of Butterbeer in a single breath and, like the beat of tango, he strode to Lily with one decisive step and spinned her in his arms.
“Remus!”
“Come on, Lily,” he gave her a wolfish grin, “I've been dying to sink my teeth in those smoked salmon. Let’s show those people the art of looting food is as noble as any Viennese waltz!”
Lily couldn't help but chuckle, her vibrant red hair shaking behind her. Good, Remus smiled, mission accomplished. All the discomfort about stuffy dresses had been thrown away.
“Alright, let's ravage Slughorn's party!”
And as she followed him with an eagerness of a Hamelin girl, he thought to himself that simply by being with Lily Evans, one would never feel purposeless and alone in a ball. The long night unravelled into laughter and food and breathless dances. The pair of them was an unstoppable cosmic force, clashing with people on their way, swelling with groups of both the familiar and unfamiliar faces before separating and merging again into another group within a heartbeat…
They made some new acquaintances, meeting Kingsley Shacklebolt, a senior Ravenclaw who had the physique of an athlete and the charisma of James Bond; Pandora Flint, a Slytherin blonde with an aura so Lovecraftian that it sent most people skittering away; Amelia Bones, the short-haired Gryffindor Chaser who threw a glassful of Fishy Green Ale onto a nasty git after he’d made a rude remark about Lily's dress… A moment later, Amelia's brother Edgar Bones had joined them, a Head Boy badge gleaming on his chest. Though not with the same influence of the Black sisters in their hey-day several years ago, Hogwarts in 1974 had its own share of famed siblings that captured the school’s attention: the Prewett twins, the Zabini sisters, and the Bones siblings. It turned out rumours hadn't been just rumours; a perfect pair as they were, Amelia and Edgar Bones definitely lived up to their reputation.
Speaking of living up to one’s reputation…
“What wonderful, wonderful news, ” Narcissa Black was filling some high-profile people with empty pleasantries which they nevertheless found charming, and now they were tripping over themselves to please her. Never had Remus been more acutely aware of her half-interested manner, her impeccable posture, her pristine teeth behind a thin-lipped smile, a smile to be printed on money. Nor had he recognised fully a perfect “pureblood damsel” that Narcissa was capable of being.
Sirius, however, stayed disinterested, stiffened under the grip of Narcissa’s fingers on his elbow. “Isn’t it, Sirius? If only we had acknowledged… I suppose it’s an occurrence that you would highly regard…”
Remus and Lily were doing alright with their socialising to not take that as an example, thank you very much. They’d met a few remarkable socialites of their time — some potion masters, Quidditch players, or philanthropists, all of whom were successful in their own right. But none of them was able to grasp a longer attention from two teenagers who couldn't wait to bounce back with their peers. Not all peers, of course, since Severus Snape hadn't talked to Lily for the whole night and kept sending Remus murderous glares. But Remus frankly paid him no mind.
How could he be bothered about Snape when, out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly noticed Sirius and Narcissa were arguing?
And when she slapped him hard across the face, Remus simply couldn't be bothered about anything else at all.
Sirius’s eyes burnt with an “I'm so done with this arrogant hag” hot anger before he left her without another word, mingling into the crowd with a hand rubbing his sore red cheek, flushed from days of bottled frustration, cursing.
And Narcissa was left there alone. Some people worked up their guts and approached her for a dance, but once she glared back at them, they immediately knew better to run away as far as possible if they still treasured their dear life. The perfect “pureblood damsel” had revealed a crack on her façade.
As the music went on to a faster tempo, Narcissa was still on her own. An effervescent female laughter echoed from the other side of the ballroom, and she turned towards that direction, only to see that Sirius was dancing the exuberant Charleston dance with Mary MacDonald, which was then developed to something more impromptu. Whatever method he’d used to charm Mary back to his arms, it had succeeded.
“ Antoinette , look!” His face was lit up with a boyish excitement, eager to entertain Mary as he performed some spasmodic chicken-like motions. Mary’s laughter rang like bells, her amusement uncontainable as Sirius’s antics grew more ridiculous.
It didn’t matter that it was ridiculous, because Sirius was reclaiming the good time he was owed. His eyes were now gleaming with incandescent fervour, and his laughter sounded like the music itself. Suddenly, he blew a swing in the mood of the previously sedate party. His young, natural spirit was so infectious that it spreaded across the room like rings of waves, and — as if succumbed to an ecstatic hypnotisation — more party-goers began to moved and eventually abandoned themselves to the frenzy dance floor, because simply watching Sirius dance from the sideline was painful if they weren't also joining him.
Look at the way he dances, Remus caught some murmuring snippets of a conversation, Reminds me of Madame Lestrange in the Ministry's anniversary ball.
Perhaps Sirius Black, in his bold, simple way to the world, didn't intend to hurt anyone. He laughed, joked and danced not to seduce, show off, or make anyone uncomfortable — but simply for the pleasure of doing so. But sometimes, innocence was also cruelty.
Narcissa was nowhere to be seen now. The corner of her dark blue robe had just vanished behind the curtains leading to a hidden balcony.
With an unimaginable willpower, Remus ripped his eyes off his friend to look at the other side of the room: Lily was amidst an enthusiastic conversation with Professor Slughorn, both of whom were challenging each other's views about some advanced brewing techniques. He couldn't help but give a laugh mixed with a furious sigh, turning back to Narcissa's way. Not that he liked Narcissa, but the quiet and lonely way she retreated herself struck a chord in him.
She came to me several times, he told himself, I should return the favour once and check up on her.
And he pondered the reasons that made him and Narcissa cross paths more than he'd thought they ever would. It was true that he was fascinated by her; by this time there was no point denying it, as he'd many times found himself noticing the small things and thinking about the blonde Black. But there was a clear motive behind this fascination. For all along, it was because she was Sirius's cousin. Sirius’s fiancée. It was always because of him, the beginning and the end of everything.
With one hand in his pocket and his other hand holding a goblet, Remus dodged the chattering people and spinning couples to make his way to the balcony. He was tall himself –– it wasn’t difficult for him to spot the back of Narcissa across the crowd.
When he got close enough to her that the party noises were muffled, he heard a melodic hum. A beautiful, melancholy song that came from Narcissa Black, who was humming like some sort of Disney princess.
There must be some magic — old magic — to the archaic tune of the melody, which sounded as simple yet alluring as the most primitive form of human music. Remus was startlingly entranced by it and felt his hair stand on end at the same time. He told himself he wasn’t some bloody bird that followed Snow White, raised a hand and knocked on the door frame.
The effect of it came instantly. The melody stopped dead, like a broken music box, and Narcissa snapped her head back with a flash of panic in her eyes. When she realised who the intruder was, her face solidified into a cold mask. That deadly stare had sent so many people away, but he was not afraid.
“It’s you again, halfblood.”
She always addressed him by “halfblood”, never his name.
“Has your mother never taught you that eavesdropping is the depth of ill manners?”
“Easy, Snegurochka , no need to bring my mother into this,” he raised both his hands in placation. “I only came to check on you.”
“Check onme? What gave you the idea? That I need to be checked on by a halfblood?”
“My bad, then. Let's pretend I didn't hear anything, shall we? I can tell that you seem alright, since you still have the energy to insult me. Now I should excuse myself and bother you no more.”
“No.”
Halfway turning back, Remus paused. “What did you just say?”
“I said no , you stay here,” her cold voice suddenly became higher and flaring with rage. “How can you be so heartless, Remus Lupin? You saw what happened out there — I know you saw it all, your eyes never strained from him for a minute — and yet you want to leave me here and retreat, after hearing my song? You men are all the same –– always running away, never brave enough to stay. You're curious about the song? Never heard it before, have you? Have you?”
Too surprised by the full name address, he hadn't given much thought about the song nor the fact that he'd just been chastised. “No, I don't think I've ever heard it,” he said cautiously.
“Of course you haven't,” As if he was an extremely dense student, she told him in a supercilious manner. “That lullaby has been passed down through generations of House Black. Lupin, you just overheard an ancient melody that we Blacks never share to outsiders.”