Black Swan Effect

Regulus Arcturus Black loathed gossip about his family, and he’d made it abundantly clear to all his Slytherin acquaintances. Oftentimes, his attempts were enough to instill a certain level of caution among most of them –– though not enough to silence the smarter ones when he wasn’t around.

“They are more pathetic than I thought — those fools who are still making blithering idiots of themselves for Narcissa Black,” said Corban Yaxley in a snide tone. “Especially the likes of Carrow and Bulstrode. What good is there for them, fighting a losing battle? She is beautiful, but there are other pretty pureblood birds.”

Walden Macnair snorted in disagreement. “Except for Cecilia Zabini, I haven’t seen a girl who could rival Narcissa Black.”

“You still don’t get it, don’t you,” someone chuckled, low and amused. “It’s not just about beauty.”

They turned to look at Evan Rosier, who tilted his head backwards lazily, his expression utterly unbothered.

“The only one thing twenty-seven families can agree on, is that they all share a common hatred for the House of Black,” he said, and the others stirred at the plain truth. “ Still ,” Rosier raised his voice, indicating he wasn’t done. “No matter how loud they brag about it, at the end of the day, none of them would deny they want to have a Black tucked under their arms. Marrying Blacks has been all the rage, remember? There must be something about that family — say, the untamable nature, or that pitch dark hair—”

“Or blonde,” Macnair interjected, “They also have long, pale necks –– with faint blue pulses under the skin.” His eyes glinted in a shuddering way –– a look that belonged to a family found by executioners, with a reputation of being able to behead anything moving. “Well? Fallen for the Black charm, haven’t you, Rosier?”

“No one is more charming than Valerie,” said Rosier coolly. Valerie Rosier, now Mrs. Thicknesse, was Evan’s sister. Some said he still hadn’t gotten over her. “No traits of the Blacks could hold a candle to her.

“Besides, blonde hair isn't a Black trademark. Narcissa got her fairness from her Rosier mother,” Rosier gestured at his own fair hair. It was said that because of this shared trait, Evan Rosier and Narcissa Black remained rather close to one another. “It was quite the event for my family — the day Aunt Druella was proposed to by Cygnus Black, an honour that we are often reminded of, most kindly, by that family.”

“Arrogant tossers,” Yaxley sneered. “Now they’ve made themselves completely unattainable by just marrying each other.”

“Alecto Carrow must be thrilled ,” Macnair sighed ruefully. They all erupted into a cruel laughter, and Rosier smirked. “You all notice it, don't you? The way she looks at Sirius Black’s face like she wants to sit on it…”

“Hey, better not let Regulus hear that. Remember what he did to Amycus Carrow, after the idiot punched his brother raw at the Quidditch match?...”

“What do you say, Snape?” Macnair turned to a figure lingering at the edge of the group, who so far had remained in silence. “Doesn't your Mudblood pet have a thing for Sirius Black as well? What's her name again — Lily Evans?”

They all laughed again. Snape's face quickly darkened with anger.

“That girl is no pet of mine,” he said coldly, “They just created a stupid scene at the ball, because Black couldn’t keep the showing-off to himself for more than five seconds. He and Potter are both cut from the same cloth — both arrogant, delusional, attention-starved—”

Yaxley feigned a look of wide-eyed surprise. “You can be best friends with Amycus Carrow with such a favouritism for Sirius Black, Snape.” It was followed by another ripple of laughter.

“I told you, Sirius Black is a lost cause,” Rosier remarked easily, “The House of Black is, pardon me, almost a lost cause.”

They fell into silence at the boldness of those cryptic claims.

“And I say so,” with idleness, Rosier spinned the silver knife between his fingers, “because they no longer possess the qualities most desired to lead the Wizarding Britain. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black has become—obsolete. Out of touch. Irrelevant. They’ve failed to recognise a growing demand for a different kind of leadership among us pureblood nobilities.”

Snape said quietly, “And that kind of leadership is?” He asked, knowing too well the answer, for Snape himself had already put one foot into the cause.

Rosier’s lips curled into an odd shape that was not quite a smile. “Someone powerful. Radical. Visionary .” His dark eyes gleamed with something almost feverish. “Someone with an iron hand, strong enough to shake the Wizarding world from this little midsummer night’s dream — this pathetic, simpering nonsense on ‘equality’ , ‘Muggle rights’.”

An elapse of heartbeats.

“The Dark Lord.”

They inhaled sharply, eyes wide.

Rosier leaned back, satisfied, watching the effect of his words on his acquaintances. He said no more. He didn’t need to.

There was a sound of someone clearing his throat. Corban Yaxley, as their gaze shifted to him.

“Sometimes I wonder the same thing.” Another throat-clearing. “Bellatrix––”

“Is a Lestrange now,” said Rosier curtly. 

“Well––yes, obviously,” Yaxley conceded, “But her sister, Narcissa…” Hesitation flitted through his face. “I heard Carrow and Bulstrode were livid –– not that I care a fig about them, but once I knew the reason… Narcissa was seen talking with a half-blood at the December Ball. In private.”

“A half-blood?” Macnair let out a derisive scoff. “Seriously? As if the Blacks could afford another antic… Who is the little bugger, anyway?”

“Lupin,” Snape said at once, “Remus Lupin.”

“The tall one, I see… Guess that’s where Narcissa Black finds the appeal. Is this a sign that those arrogant, ice-veined monsters of that Noble House have lost all their minds?”

“Someone mentioned Carrow and Bulstrode? They’re cornering the half-blood,” Rosier suddenly sounded less bored, his gaze snapping towards the Entrance Hall. “We've got lunchtime entertainment, gents. Wouldn’t want to miss the show, would we?”

“Strutting around in broad daylight, like a filthy half-blood you are.”

Seriously, this scenario was getting typical to the point that it became old and utterly boring.

Remus looked up from his Transfiguration essay –– streaked with red marks from Professor McGonagall’s quill –– and saw two figures blocking his way, both glaring at him as if he was some dangerous pest that needed exterminating.

“I beg your pardon?” He lifted his reading glasses to his forehead. In his vision, McGonagall's red marks were dancing and twirling… The last full moon hadn't been particularly easy because of longer nights in winter, and it reflected directly on his performance.

“Cut out the bloody act.” Their voices were buzzing and grating like white noises in his ears. What had this bloke just said? “Augustus Rookwood saw you dancing with Narcissa Black at Slughorn's ball. How do you explain that?”

And what was this one's name, Remus remembered vaguely, something like Henry, or Hugh, or Herbert… Bulstrode? He'd always been abysmal at registering names and faces. The other one, however, he recognised. With satisfaction, his eyes flicked briefly to Amycus Carrow's bandaged hand, still swollen with burn marks from the vengeful teapot prank, stubbornly resisting Madam Pomfrey’s impeccable treatment. 

“I don't need to explain anything,” he finally said, unfazed by their provocation.

From the Great Hall, Severus Snape and his little sociopath club were observing them with a morbid interest, like a flock of crows hovering over a battlefield. Some students loitered nearby, not even bothering to muffle their chitters.

How ridiculous, Narcissa Black and Remus Lupin?...

“So you admit it!” Amycus Carrow growled, his crazy eyes bulging comically on his piglike face. “You're lusting after her. Trying to sink your filthy little claws into her! Wanna climb high, your cheeky halfblood?” he spat.

Remus simply looked at Carrow with deliberate composure, something natural to him and sharpened after several encounters with Narcissa Black. “I neither deny nor admit anything,” his voice was still calm, but clearer than any loud obscenities Carrow had been spitting, like a splash of ice water. “Go on and listen to all the gossip shoved in your ears; that's your problem, not mine. I have no obligation to explain myself to a completely irrelevant party like you.”

Crimson anger rose like tidal waves on their cheeks. Bulstrode, who seemed to be the smarter (and better-looking, Remus thought, but the forgettable kind of good looks that vanished from people's mind the moment they turned away), stepped forward threateningly.

“Irrelevant?” he echoed a laugh, low and seething. “Gryffindors really live up to their reputation of stupidity, don't they? This bastard thinks he's more important than Narcissa’s own housemates. Let me make this one thing clear –– we do not allow nameless, common half-bloods to approach her.”

This reasoning did not impress Remus. “My point about your irrelevance still stands,” he replied, neither lowering nor raising his voice. “Only Black gets to decide who to approach her and who she wants to approach. Stop acting like a petulant child.”

The crimson on Bulstrode's face now wasn’t only out of indignancy, but also out of embarrassment. He stepped offensively towards Remus, who didn't step back, only looking at him with undeterred manners. Bulstrode soon realised while Narcissa Black’s coldness was dense with contempt, this person showed no contempt, no hesitation, no fear — nothing at all, and that was so unsettling.

“Feeling bold, aren’t you?” Unable to read this Gryffindor, Bulstrode could only respond with growing aggression. “Running around with the Black heir has grown some balls on you, hasn’t it? Bold enough to strut about in rags like a fucking house-elf?” 

He gestured at Remus’s second-hand robes with a sneer. 

“I can't believe they still allow poor half-bloods in this school. The sight of you makes me sick .”

“Don't waste your words on the tainted blood, Bulstrode,” said Carrow viciously, “Only fists can put them into their right place.”

Remus tilted his head slightly, his expression unchanging in the face of humiliation and threats. “That’s rich,” he slowly said, “coming from someone with a hand like yours, Carrow.” 

The tension crackled like static in the air when Carrow clenched his bandaged hand. Remus regarded his offenders, but at the same time it was like he didn't see them at all. His self-possessed indifference was almost cruel. 

“Now, since my sight, my attire and my blood bothers you so tremendously, I will take my leave of you, so that we don't waste each other’s time.” He closed his book around the essay with a brisk “thud", as if to shrug off the dust and dirt. “Excuse me.”

And he walked past the two speechless Slytherins, leaving behind him a crowd of silent onlookers.

“Bleeding hell, he is ruthless,” muttered Marlene McKinnon in disbelief. She was speaking to herself, but coincidentally to Sirius as well, who had just arrived at the Entrance Hall with a robe swung lazily over one shoulder. He frowned at the scene he'd missed –– enough for him to understand something.

“That's right, Marlene,” he said, his eyes lingering on Remus's back. “He is the most ruthless.”

o0o

To answer James's inquiry about the rumours of giants joining Voldemort’s ranks, the Hogwarts gamekeeper simply sighed. The Marauders' frequent visits at The Hut was a source of joy to Hagrid, even though it meant he sometimes had to deal with difficult questions from them. He lifted the gigantic pot from the wood-burning stove, pouring Gurdyroot Infusion into three chipped mugs. Peter coiled at the smell of the liquid, but thankfully Hagrid didn’t seem to notice.

Through the frosted window pane, they could see the depth and mystery of the snow-clad Forbidden Forest. This pristine white canvas was only broken by the sight of Sirius outside, riding Witherwings. His legs dangled loosely around its feathery ribs as the creature trotted through the thick snow, leaving deep prints behind them. The weather was too cold to have a flight, so they simply wandered around on foot under the crisp sunlight, their shadows casting a bizarre blue shape on the snow.

Remus’s gaze lingered on the scene, transfixed by the beauty of it. Without looking away, he asked Hagrid in a tentative voice, “How do you feel about it… as a half giant?”  

He hardly ever brought up Hagrid’s heritage, knowing how the Wizarding world viewed the half-breeds, but he couldn’t keep the question buried. As a werewolf, he felt sympathy for Hagrid in a way others couldn’t understand, even one as great as Dumbledore.

“It's not like they'd listen to me,” Hagrid grumbled into his beard. “Dunno how this Dark Lord managed to get ‘em on his side, but fer the giants, I’m just an oversized human, so my negotiating power is close to zero. Ya see, I'm not human enough for the wizarding society, but not giant enough to be included by the giants either.”

“That’s bollocks,” protested James angrily, “You're not ‘not human enough for the wizarding society'. Anyone who thinks that is either evil or stupid or both –– having to cling onto their body size to feel human.” He lowered his voice to mutter, “Like Cygnus Black and his fanatical supporters; you should hear my dad talk about his anti-giant decrees.”

Hagrid cracked a grin, his beard twitching. “Yer more like Sirius than ya think, James. He told me exactly the same thing once.” 

But the grin faded as quickly as it came. He heaved another sigh, a shadow falling over his weathered face. “If only the world could be that simple. Cygnus Black aside, there’s plenty who think giants oughta be wiped out from the Earth, and not all of them are bad people.”

James opened his mouth to protest, but it was Remus who spoke next, his voice measured.

“In a war,” he shook his head, “those are the people who can be swayed the fastest. Their sense of justice is simply not strong enough to fight for what is right.”

At this grim remark, James and Peter turned to gawk at him. Hagrid grimaced at the notion of “war"; he lifted the mug to his mouth, looking anxious and unsettled.

Outside, snow had begun to fall again, gently in slanting lines. 

Remus’s mind wandered to a poem Lily had shown him last week –– an impromptu haiku she’d composed about the snow. ( Blinding world of white / I see nothing but your frame/ Willowy and bare ).

“There won’t be any war, Remus,” he heard Hagrid say, and Remus had a distinct feeling that it wasn't him whom the gamekeeper was trying to convince. Hagrid looked distantly out of the window, where Sirius was playing with Witherwings. “There have been enough crazy craps happening out there everyday. And ya boys are only children. Don't trouble yerself too much. Go out and play. Have some fun, good Godric.”

Sirius had climbed down from Witherwings — he was holding the hippogriff by its beak and let it nudge his cheek. Under his touch, the creature delightfully squawked out some meaningless sounds. They stood together, a strange pair as they were, isolated from the rest of the world. Sirius's black hair was powdered with snow, and just as he raised a hand to wave at them, he made a hearty sneeze.

Blinding world of white  

I see nothing but your frame

Willowy and bare.

o0o

Upon their return from Hagrid's Hut, they heard there was a quarrel in the sixth-floor corridor.

“Narcissa Black and Mary MacDonald,” a fellow Hufflepuff informed them.

Sirius dropped his winter scarf on James's arms and bustled towards the warzone.

Mary MacDonald and Narcissa Black. For months, there were times they thought the bomb was going to explode, but instead it had simmeringly waited underneath a thin surface of frozen silence, whose strength was the only thing that kept it from exploding. Now, the ice had cracked, and the bomb had finally gone off.

“You are miserable, Black,” said Mary in a cold indignation, “You might force your delusional ideas on whoever you want, but not me. Never on me. I refuse to fall apart under your attempts to put me down.”

Mary had always been quiet in Narcissa’s, but now she didn’t think twice to call the Slytherin “miserable" and “delusional" in a single breath. Her beautiful amber eyes sparked electricity as she moved gracefully but dangerously, like a leopard prowling for prey. 

Narcissa’s composure cracked for a fraction of a second. It was a frightening sight, like a Veela on the verge of losing control.

“Stand aside, Sirius Orion Black,” her command was deep with pure spite, “If you’re too feeble to control your girlfriend, then let me do the job. I'll put this impertinent girl into her rightful place.”

Sirius didn't move. He stood still in front of Mary, blocking Narcissa’s path, his eyes locked on hers. “Leave Mary out of this, Narcissa.” 

“No need to defend me,” Mary scowled. Her eyes burnt on Narcissa with such fierce hatred that it was a miracle Narcissa's head hadn't split in two. 

“You see, these commoner girls are thankless all the same,” chuckled Narcissa. She spoke as if Mary wasn’t there, a third subject that wasn't worth her direct conversation. “But you love them, don't you, with all your passion for peasantries? I even heard you took a fancy to that Lily Evans girl — the performance you two had at the ball has put your name at the depth of disgrace…”

“Lily and I are friends , you lunatic. If you have a problem with a girl three years younger than you for simply enjoying her moment at the first ball she ever went to—”

“—and locking mouths with this lascivious harlot,right in front of everyone—”

“Oh, she thinks she is the child of God!” Mary exclaimed in a mocking tone, cutting across Narcissa’s words. “She thinks she’s holier than us Muggleborn girls. While in fact she is no different from that mad hag, except only weaker. Been living under your sister's shadow for too long, Black? She is out there executing and torturing us while the toughest thing you can do now is whinging—”  

“Mary—”

“Sirius, let the girls talk .” Narcissa gave a high and cold laugh. “Now… I only cast Unforgivables for leisurely purposes, but if this foolish girl has so insisted—”

Sirius's wand was at Narcissa's throat before she could draw her own wand out. He reached back with his other hand to grip Mary's wrist, her trembling fingers clenched into a fist.

 “You didn't, Narcissa,” said Sirius quietly. “Please say you didn't mean to do it.”

The look he gave Narcissa was unlike anything he’d ever directed at her before. It was no longer the uninterested, uncaring look that he reserved only for those who bored him; it was a search –– a quest into those ice-blue eyes to find the cousin that he'd once know, to find some redeeming qualities left in her that could tell him she wouldn't go down Bellatrix's path. 

For a moment, something wavered in Narcissa’s brilliant Neptunian eyes. But it vanished quickly, giving out nothing for him to find.

“You are pointing your wand against me?” Her fingers clenched around his wand, pushing it down by force.  “You are so doomed, Sirius Orion; you forgot the family code of not turning against each other — all because of that girl?” 

Mary glared back with fury. In response, Sirius just let out a humourless laugh.

“If our dearest family had ever made a good example on that code, Andromeda would never have had to leave.” 

A cryptic silence wrenched the air out of them. 

“Don't. You. Dare. Speak. Of. Her.” 

Narcissa’s words fell like heavy stones, determined to put an end to this discussion. Her lips thinned, and her breath was unsteady. 

“The hypocrisy of you all nauseated me,” Sirius did not relent. “You lecture me about that good-for-nothing family code while you are the one behind the cursed Bludger. Don’t think I don’t know.”

“You’ve lost your mind,” Narcissa turned her head away, refusing to meet his scorching gaze. “I never had anything to do with whatever happened to that Potter brat.” 

“It was me whom the Bludger was aimed at!” he said louder, just because he knew he had his father’s voice, the patriarch's voice, and it frightened Narcissa. “I couldn’t think of anyone who would want me to perish more than you — you’ve been itching to get rid of me, haven’t you, ever since our engagement was set in stone and perhaps even before that — since Andromeda left us all? You just want to take out all your anger towards her on me, wishing I was the one who ran away, who got disowned by the family instead of—”

“Don’t act like you know what I want or do not want!” Narcissa swung her robe sleeves, and suddenly she seemed taller than ever, taking all the space. “Everything has to be about you, hasn’t it –– you are as self-absorbed as ever! If you died, or worse — ran away like that vile, filthy woman — who would carry the responsibilities of the heir? Who would maintain the legacy of the House Black? You’d rather fling it all onto Regulus?” 

The words flowed out of her rhapsodically, well-practised, as though parroting the old lessons that had been drilled into her since childhood was the only way to hold herself together. 

“Then you're not only a complete failure as a son and a fiancé, but also as a brother,” her voice was like a thousand knives, each word enunciated with a sole mission to stab. “Don't think you are any nobler than a hypocrite; before you blame me for that wretch's betrayal, open your blind eyes and take a good look at what you're doing to Regulus, when you let your pusillanimity and selfishness pass on the burden to him!”

Now that wasn’t something taught by their family. No proper Black would dare talk about the heir’s duty as if it was a punishment rather than an honour. Realising what she’d slipped out, Narcissa clamped her mouth shut, turning paler than ever. She tried not to look at Sirius, whose taut lips were now pressed into a thin line. All emotions closed off on his face, like a veritable sandstorm had swept over the desert and flattened everything on its way.

“And Regulus gets to decide whether his brother has failed him or not,” echoed a cold voice.

The second son of the Blacks stepped into the corridor, taking his place right next to his cousin Narcissa. His expensive and tidy attire contrasted starkly to Sirius's loosened tie and snow-dusted robe. 

Narcissa let out a breath and clutched on Regulus's shoulder. Regulus gently patted on her elbow in return.

“It's alright, Cissy, you don't have to speak on the behalf of mine.” 

There was a thinly veiled warning under it, Don't speak anything on my behalf. 

“You should return to your dormitory, Miss MacDonald,” said Regulus mechanically, like an automaton, in the tone of dismissing an underling despite the polite choice of words. “Our familial affairs must be a bore for you to witness.”

“Don't you brush her off like that!” Sirius snarled at his brother, not fooled at all by that condescending tone.

But Mary wrung herself free from Sirius and glided away, not looking back. 

“Mary—”

“Brother,” spoke Regulus again as his brother was about to follow MacDonald, this time louder. “Cissy is your cousin and your fiancée. You should know who to prioritise.”

“And you should know better than using the ‘Blood is thicker than water' card to me, Regulus,” Sirius said coolly. 

Regulus didn't respond, but his cold, dark grey eyes were able to make anyone suffocate. Sirius couldn't afford to look back, for he was afraid of facing yet another pair of eyes that he would barely recognise. He turned on his heels and headed in the direction Mary had gone, a flare of anxiety rising in his chest…

Before he could make it far, a loud “CRACK" rang through the hallway. 

“Mistress has a message for Young Master Sirius,” Kreacher bowed so low that his snoutlike nose flattened on the floor. 

At the unwelcoming sight of another inhabitant of Grimmauld Place, Sirius suppressed the urge of breaking into a fit of laughter. “Now tell me, Kreacher, who will show up next? Why don’t you fetch my relatives counting back three generations here to have a little afternoon tea?”

“Young Master Sirius does not deserve that honour,” croaked Kreacher hatefully, “He didn’t make adequate effort to court Miss Narcissa, and how he behaved in the ball was utterly shameful, with his frivolous dancing and public snogging—”

“—Of course Cissy’s letters have been keeping her future mother-in-law updated, why didn't I realise!” he huffed a laugh. Insidious woman.

“—even courts a filthy Mudblood, oh, how much he has disgraced his noble name—”

“Don't you dare call her that!”

“—Mistress is extremely displeased. She ordered Young Master Sirius to return home for the Christmas holiday. Otherwise he will be subject to severe punishments.”

Sirius's eyelids twitched, his breaths slower and heavier.

He’d tried so hard –– and for what? All he’d asked for a reward was one thing –– one thing –– the permission to spend the Christmas holiday with James and his parents. But now the prospect of Christmas at the Potters' had crumbled, no matter how hard he had tried to be good . He didn't complain a word about his glass-cut wound, restrained his mischief-making, endured excruciating breakfasts with Narcissa, swallowed his pride and sucked it up, took her cold hand and escorted her to the ball, only to receive a slap across his face… And still, it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough. 

Mother. He could see her sitting in front of the dressing table, her puppet collection hung above. Fingers like spider legs toying with the “Sirius" doll. Twisting it, breaking it. Pulling it apart. His blood boiled.

“ Listen, Kreacher,” he said softly as he leaned down to talk to the elf, “You go back there and tell my dear Mother…” 

And he enunciated every single word. 

“That Young Master Sirius doesn't give a fuck about going home.”

o0o

Move your body like a hairy troll

Learning to rock and roll

Spin around like a crazy elf

Dancin' by himself

Boogie down like a unicorn

No stoppin' till the break of dawn

Put your hands up in the air

Like an ogre, who just don't care

In some corner of the Gryffindor common room, Remus sat crossed-legged against the wall, a half-empty goblet of Firewhiskey between his fingers. Next to him, Mary was downing an even bigger goblet of mint vodka, with a desperation that made him gulp nervously every now and then.

He had earlier claimed in this cosy corner for himself for the night, sitting like an aloof spectator of a polo match. It was Frank Longbottom's birthday afterparty –– a brazen excuse for Gryffindor Tower to let loose before the Christmas break. He hadn’t expected Mary of all people to join him, cheeks already flushed from “fermented potatoes”. 

Someone had bewitched the gramophone, making it play a popular song of The Weird Sister , Frank’s favourite wizarding band. When the lead singer shouted “Shake your booty like a Boggart in pain" , Mary couldn't help but cough into the vodka. Recently it was one of her rare smiles — a very rare one after she had broken up with Sirius Black last Friday.

“My grandma was a housemaid for a white family in South Africa.” 

Remus looked at Mary, a bit surprised with this sudden confession. She didn't seem to notice his look, just absent-mindedly tracing the rim of the goblet with her pink-nailed fingers. 

She told him a bit about how her grandmother had raised the white children more than her own child, about the young mistress who had been too inexperienced to look after her kids and always complained about the heat and humidity of Johannesburg. She also told him how her grandmother had been kicked out of the mansion for being caught using the “wrong” bathroom –– the one for white people –– before she fled to England. How everyone had thought that her father, a white Englishman, had completely lost his mind for wanting to marry her mother; how much he’d been through, even standing up against his own family, who strongly objected to their wedding, in order to be with her.

The gramophone started a new song, but their corner of the room felt quite removed from the boisterousness of the party.

“When I was eight, a drunk man near our house in Birmingham threatened to kill me.” Mary shivered silently. “That's why when I first came to Hogwarts, fresh out of my Muggle home, I thought, Finally. A world where I don’t have to worry about who I am. Part of me still appreciates it until today –– the fact that skin colour doesn't matter to wizards. My chest puffed out with pride when I first saw portraits of black witches and wizards hung in the Hall of Honours at Hogwarts, as well as featured on the Frog Chocolate cards, because it is completely the opposite in the Muggle world.”

She let out a dry laugh.

“The euphoria lasted until the second semester of our first year. Until Avery and Mulciber attacked me and stuck a piece of paper writing ‘Mudblood’ on my back. And that was only the beginning –– I believe you can imagine how things have gone afterwards, as reality started to kick in. It shattered something in me –– a Negro in one world, and then a Mudblood in another.” Her voice hardened at the notion. “Neither of them guarantees basic human rights.” And it started shaking. “I’ve never stopped feeling angry. I don’t think I will ever stop feeling angry.”

Remus was quiet for a moment longer, leaving the silence for Mary to collect her swelling emotions. Then, he gently said, “Wizards love to think they are different from Muggles in a better way. They don't realise that though under a different system, they are all just the same.”

Mary blinked several times, and he saw weariness in her. She didn’t cry.

“I can’t do it anymore,” she finally said, deflated. “The pressure –– I can handle it no longer. It was like dating not just him alone, but his whole tyrannical, Noble and Most Ancient family. And—and then the arranged marriage.” 

Her lips crumpled into a humourless smile.

“And all those pureblooded girls, who made their disgust abundantly clear when their eyes landed on me — because I ‘stole’ their precious heir of the godforsaken House of Black. Some terrorised me with their shameless interrogation — why a boy like him would even look twice at me . But those were not even the worst,” she chuckled. "The worst were people who thought they were on my side. Who appeared sympathetic to me, pitied me. Warned me, from time to time, to not let him fool me into thinking I actually meant anything to him. That he'd use me callously until he got bored, because that was all a Black would ever need in a Muggleborn — a distraction of convenience."

“... I’m really sorry to hear that, Mary.”

“ Don’t ,” Mary said immediately, lips pressed into a thin line. “Only I can be sorry for myself. I’m not good at handling it from others.”

“My apologies— I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright,” she gave him a small smile, and her voice steadied itself. “Oh, but what a surname they’ve got. From the Muggle perspective, ‘Black’ sounds like a name associated with the working class — like blacksmiths or chimney sweepers. Or with the people of my maternal heritage. But from the wizard perspective, ‘Black’ means the Windsors equivalent of the Wizarding world, the privileged, the ruling class. If only they could swap the positions, Sirius had told me once.”

They both let out a low chuckle. Mary had a lovely laughter; it was smooth and somewhat hoarse, sounding almost like a boy.

“I really, really liked him. He's just so… Sirius . You understand that, right, Remus?” 

His face looked perfectly serene. “Yes, I understand it very well, Mary. Maybe too well.”

Mary was silent for a while, lost in thoughts.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt asked me out, after—well, after the break-up,” she said at last, twisting the goblet in her hand. “I felt a little bad for turning him down — fancied Shacklebolt as hell before Sirius came along. But we did talk a bit, me and Shacklebolt. He told me he’d never given Sirius much thought until that day, after the Quidditch match — when Potter was hit by an uninhibited Bludger.” She smiled faintly. “While the whole school was awestruck by Potter’s heroic act, he was rather so with what Sirius did for Potter –– he’d never seen a friend so fiercely protective. So… savagely affectionate. He said he would understand if I wasn’t ready for someone new.” 

Then her smile turned into a self-righteous scowl. “Some people say he is foolish and impulsive. Others say he will turn dark exactly like his family. I let those words go to one ear and out the other.”

Mary seemed more relaxed once she had it out. She leaned back, stretching her legs out in front of her. Her pink nails gleamed under the warm light, glossy and perfectly trimmed.

“I think I’ve never told you how cool you are, Mary,” Remus tilted his head, raising the Firewhiskey goblet. “And Sirius is one lucky bloke. Me and James and Peter will terribly miss all the time he gave us a rest to go after you.”

Mary chuckled. “Did he?”

“Come on, Antoinette .”

She laughed, nudging his leg with her foot. “Hopefully for the beauty and our shared first name, not the guillotine part!” Her goblet met his with a soft clunk . “When he asked me out at the end of our third year, I almost said no, can you believe that? At that time I thought he was just an insufferable twat who couldn’t live a day without detention.”

“Hey, MacDonald! I have never seen a girl quite like you.”

“Drop it, Black. I don’t remember saying yes to your Hogsmeade invitation.”

Remus smiled, because you wouldn’t wish third-year Sirius Black on your worst enemy. He had been hyperactive and unhinged in the most difficult way , earning a square punch from Lily Evans and making McGonagall press his name on the detention slips until her quill snapped in half. Dating Mary had tempered him. A bit. Thank goodness for that bit. 

“He talked about you guys a lot,” Mary suddenly said. “Pettigrew, not so often. But Potter –– oh, especially Potter. He was like a squawking bird, James this, James that unstoppably… Christ, sometimes I thought to myself, If only he loved me as much. ”

“That’s where you tripped, Mary. No one in the world can replace James –– though the hippogriff can give him a run for his money.”

Mary glanced sideways at him, an amused smile on her lips. “He talked about you too, Remus. Plenty of times. But not quite in the same way.”

And not waiting for his response, she proceeded with a thoughtful expression. “With Potter, it was always what Potter did, what they both did together. Their plans, their pranks, what he loves and hates. But with you…” He was trying very hard not to show interest now, but Mary could see right through him. “With you, it was what you would think , how you would react if you were in a certain situation, as if he was trying to figure you out.” And she gave a small laugh. “It was funny, actually. Like watching a headstrong person trying to understand the Theory of Relativity… Extremely chatty when it comes to his friends, that one. Now that I think of it, he talked about you boys more than he ever talked about himself.”

“He… didn’t say much about himself to you?” asked Remus slowly after a pause. Mary shook her head.

“Except for this one night, when we stayed until two o'clock in the morning up on the Astronomy Tower, he started to open up a little.” She sighed, “But the next day, he acted like we hadn’t spent the night baring our souls to each other at all… I was hurt at first,” she suddenly sounded a little more furious, “I asked ‘Hey, Sirius, what happened?’ , but he just went real quiet… Then I thought –– maybe he felt he'd overshared. He was ashamed of it.”

Mary finished the last sip and rolled the empty goblet away. She didn’t notice that as she finished the story, there was a very strange flash in his eyes before all became calm and collected again.

“Well… I hope that things have ended peacefully between us. Someday he’ll tell people: ‘That's Mary MacDonald. I dated her once, when I was a boy. She is a Muggleborn and an alright lass.’”

Remus turned to look at her. There was a dazzling spark in her grin, and he suddenly understood, as fully as he could, why Mary had become the object of his friend’s affection for quite a long time.

Before he could respond, an explosion of noise startled the both of them. Golden-red confetti showered their heads.

“Alice!”

“You lazy sods –– enough with the chitty-chatty!” Alice Fortescue peered down at them, smacking them both playfully on the head with a Zonko’s Joke Shop’s cannon tube. “Get back to the party now!”

Remus offered Mary a hand, helping her to her feet. The moment he straightened up, he was coerced into witnessing a scene of absolute embarrassment: James Potter, the forever boastful twat, was showing off his Quidditch skills for a rapt audience of swooning girls and wide-eyed younger students. Apparently some alcohol had gotten into him, spurring him to perform all the daring, cage-rattling tricks with the Golden Snitch before wooing his audience with a last-second catch. Peter’s loud applause did nothing good to James’s self-preservation, and — for all the worse — he kept shooting unabashed glances at Lily, who was dancing with Marlene on the other side of the room. 

Lily was as radiant as ever. She laughed merrily as Marlene spun her around, just like how she had laughed when fox-trotting with Sirius in the December Ball. And as always, she pointedly ignored James. Try harder, she seemed to be wordlessly saying.

Reflexively, Remus searched for Sirius in the room. In this kind of situation, better fetch Sirius. Other than him, nobody was able to make James stop showing off…

And he was there, sitting on the armchair near the fireplace in a Byronic sombre. Remus could figuratively see the raining and thundering clouds above his head.

Remus knew his friend enough to tell he wouldn’t forget MacDonald that quickly. He’d kept glancing at her down the table at breakfast with a sad intensity in his look, guilt lurking behind those stormy grey eyes… He felt sorry for what she’d made to endure, for dragging her into the hard-boiled world of blood politics and power. She had been his first girlfriend, after all, and despite how short-lived it was, she’d been with him during a difficult time. If the old sayings were true, every man craves for some female tenderness in their life, romantically or platonically –– although Sirius would be the last person in the world to admit it.

But he suspected there was more to his friend’s crestfallen state than the break-up with Mary. Because Sirius had that look again — the look of being locked away, caged, trapped — the look of a cornered animal. Something that must have happened the day he threw himself into the quarrel between Mary and Narcissa…

The music changed to Muggle pop, and somewhere in the common room, James had ended his show.

He gave the Golden Snitch to a tiny first-year, who gasped in over-excitement, and tip-toed towards Sirius.

Chiquitita tell me what’s wrong

You’re enchained by your own sorrow

In your eyes there is no hope for tomorrow

He knelt in front of Sirius, waving a hand. Sirius’s gaze flicked to him, but then he dropped it down. There was a familiar complex of go away and please stay in that look.

How I hate to see you like this

There is no way you can deny it

I can see that you’re oh so sad, so quiet

Remus didn’t know what James told Sirius when he leaned over to whisper in his ears, but it worked. After a moment of hesitation, Sirius finally offered James his both hands and let James pull him up gently. A murmur of cheers rippled through the crowd as James guided Sirius to the centre of the room, with Sirius following him like a quiet shadow. 

Midway, James stopped to double-check on his friend. He brushed back those dark tendrils falling over Sirius’s face, revealing a tautened mouth and downturned eyes. Sirius tried to turn his face away, but James held him still with both hands cradling his cheeks.

You were always sure of yourself

Now I see you’ve broken a feather

Your best friend, James was mouthing, I’m the one you must rely on…

The cheers around them grew louder. Frank Longbottom, the birthday boy, was feeling high on his spirit. With a ridiculously Transfigured birthday crown on his head, he scooted towards the two Marauders, whispering something conspiratorially… 

Sirius’s face lit up slightly with interest, whereas James rolled his eyes, giving himself in to whatever Sirius liked to do. Within a few minutes he was already on top of James’s shoulders, rivalling Frank and Alice in a silly fighting game which could send the four of them straight to the hospital wing…

Chiquitita, you and I know

How the heartaches come and they go and the scars they're leavin’

You'll be dancin' once again and the pain will end

“ You would have no time for grievin' !” Frank finished merrily, hoisting Alice higher on his own shoulders. Lily Evans’s eyes were now on James, at the way his body twisted in jerky movements every now and then to entertain Sirius, teetering on the edge of dropping his friend off his shoulders, drawing barking laughter out of Sirius. Oy, Lily, Remus thought, catching her gaze and teasing her with a knowing smile before she quickly looked away, cheeks flushed red. Why do you only look at James when he stops looking at you?...

Later that night, Remus suddenly found himself lying back-flat on his bed, with the raven-haired on top of him, his breathless laughs muffled against Remus's neck as he tried to shield himself from the unrelenting pillow onslaught from James and Peter. “Moony, why don't you lift a finger to help me?” he barked, coiling under the incessant thump, thump, thump . Moony had absolutely no idea how he himself ended up in this situation, let alone helping, and everytime he tried to remember, Sirius’s thighs made a woeful squeeze around his hips and pushed every coherent thought off his adrenaline-addled head…

Well, Remus sighed in resignation as pillow feathers freefell around them like shot-down birds. At least now I know I’ve never fancied Mary MacDonald.

o0o

It was all ruined the next morning.

No one could have seen it coming. 

Hogwarts woke to the final school day before Christmas break, and despite searing cold outside, the castle was wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. Flying candles were hung across the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, glowing softly against the frostbitten window panes. It felt like nothing could kill the spirit.

But then a torrent of cold wind swept through the Great Hall, blowing off half of the candles.

Remus followed Sirius’s gaze as it snapped to the source –– to the high windows that overlooked the Great Hall. His face coldened into a mask.

Ebony-black wings sent cold winds through the hall.

Even though he had seen it before, the impression in him never relinquished. He watched the creature glide through the hall, a black blot that darkened the wintry light. The gasp of some first-years broke the silence as it became clear what it was.

A large raven.

Two-headed. 

Its wingbeats were as heavy as funeral bells. The ghastly, ominous sight of its twin heads triggered an image –– the Medico Della Peste mask worn by Cepheus Black. 

Walburga Black's personal messenger circled above the tables deliberately before it descended in front of Sirius. No letters this time. Only a small black wooden case.

Sirius had lost all his usual grace, shoulders up his ears. He stared at the case as if it was a cursed artefact –– as if opening it would unleash something that could never be undone. With a paranoid caution, he finally unclasped the lid.

The black case opened with a soft click .

It took Remus half a second to know there was something wrong.

A hand clasped over mouth, chairs clattered –– Sirius seemed to have lost the ability to speak. They found him seconds later in the loo, an uncharacteristic hunch on the cold floor, bending over the toilet as he vomited until his ribcage shook. His knuckles were as white as the porcelain he was gripping.

A flush of water. The retching noises from his throat didn’t stop.

James quietly carried the wooden case into the loo. No words came out of him. For once, the great outspoken James Potter was silent. He handed the case to Remus without any explanation.

The contents of the case — or more like what remained of the contents of the case –– gleamed up at him. Slick and wet, encased in blackened flesh, and sickeningly alive under the candle-lit ceiling.

A hippogriff’s eye.

Blinding world of white

I see nothing.