Eclipsed

The biting January wind whipped through the streets of London, a stark contrast to the warmth of James's flat. The new year had brought with it a sense of hope and renewal, but the lingering shadows of the previous year still cast a long shadow over their lives.

Sirius, curled up on the couch, looked up from his book with a grimace. "Running? In this weather? You're mad, Potter."

James, his face etched with determination, ignored Sirius's protest. "Come on, Padfoot," he said, his voice firm. "It's for me. I need this… and I need your help."

Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "But don't expect any heroics from me, Prongs."

James smiled inwardly. He knew Sirius needed this, more than Sirius was willing to admit. The running would tire him out, giving him less time for the bottle. He thought he was being sneaky, but James knew what was going on every night when Remus was gone, as though the record player could drown out the tell-tale clinking of bottles behind Sirius’ bedroom door.

James’ plan to get Sirius running as a distraction was a long shot, but it was a start.

The next morning, as they stepped out into the biting cold, James tied his running shoes tight and adjusted the tether that connected him to Sirius before counting them off and beginning. The wind whipped at his face, the cold air stinging his lungs, but the physical exertion was a welcome distraction from the weight of his worries.

Sirius ran beside him, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His pace was uneven, his movements jerky, a stark contrast to James's steady rhythm.

"Slow down, Prongs," Sirius panted, his voice muffled by the high collar of his jacket. "I'm not in the best shape, you know."

James chuckled. "I know, I know," he replied, slowing down a bit. "Just try keep up with me, Pads, please… this feels so good."

They ran for what felt like hours, but was really only thirty minutes or so, the distance a blur. When they finally stopped, their lungs burning and their muscles aching, they collapsed on a park bench, their breath coming in ragged gasps.

"That was… exhausting," Sirius panted, his voice laced with a mixture of regret and blame.

James nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "Worth it though, right?" he said, his voice filled with a quiet determination.

Sirius groaned.

As they made their way back home, the first rays of dawn were beginning to paint the sky with hues of pink and orange. They were tired, their bodies aching, but there was a sense of accomplishment, at least from James. Hopefully his plan would work, and Sirius would be the one person he wouldn’t need to worry about anymore. 

That same biting January wind whipped at Peter's face as he approached the imposing brownstone on the outskirts of London. He'd been anticipating this visit for days, a mix of excitement and apprehension stirring within him. Elle had hinted at a surprise, and Peter's imagination had run wild with possibilities. The tall building, a stark contrast to the modest brick townhomes that lined the street, was a testament to old money and pureblood opulence. A sense of unease crept into Peter, a stark contrast to the anticipation he'd felt earlier. He was here for Elle, though, and nothing, not even the terrifyingly imposing grandeur of her home, would deter him.

He ascended the imposing steps, his heart pounding in his chest. The heavy oak door, adorned with intricate brass knockers, seemed to loom over him. With a deep breath, he reached out and knocked. A few moments later, the door swung open, revealing Elle, her blonde hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, her face aglow with a warm smile.

“Peter!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine delight. “Come in, come in!”

He stepped inside, revealing a grand hallway bathed in soft, warm light. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries, and the floor was covered in a thick, Persian rug. A grand staircase, its banisters carved with intricate designs, swept up to the upper floors. Paintings of stern-looking ancestors lined the walls, their eyes following Peter's every move.

As they walked through the house, Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and intimidation. The opulence was overwhelming, the air thick with the scent of wealth and privilege.

"Wow," he managed to stammer, passing a hall filled with various rare, dark artifacts, his voice barely a squeak.

Elle chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "I know, right? It's a bit much, isn't it?"

He managed a weak smile. "A bit?" Elle laughed, and kissed his hand before dropping their joined hands and pulling him along. 

As they walked through the house, Peter's jaw dropped in awe. The living room was a masterpiece of wealth, with velvet sofas, antique furniture, and a collection of priceless art adorning the walls. The dining room, with its long mahogany table and crystal chandelier, looked like something out of a fairy tale.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Elle joked as she gestured to the large room, her voice laced with a hint of irony.

"My parents are in the informal dining room," Elle said, leading him down a side corridor. "They wanted to meet you properly."

Peter nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. "Right... informal dining room, of course..."

He had heard stories about Elle's family, their wealth and influence in the wizarding world. But nothing could have prepared him for the sheer opulence of their home.

The informal dining room, while still luxurious, was a more relaxed space. A large oak table dominated the room, surrounded by comfortable leather chairs. Elle's parents, a handsome, distinguished-looking man and a warm, elegant woman with a striking resemblance to Elle, were already seated, their eyes fixed on the doorway.

"Mr. and Mrs. Burke," Peter said, his voice slightly shaky. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Elle's father, a tall, imposing man with a sharp gaze, stood up and extended a hand. "Peter Pettigrew, I presume," he said, his voice carrying a hint of authority.

Peter shook his hand, his grip firm despite the nervous flutter in his stomach. "Yes, sir," he replied, trying to maintain his composure.

Elle's mother, a woman with a kind smile and warm eyes, offered a more welcoming demeanor. "Please, call me Esme," she said, her voice soft, with a similar cadence to Elle’s. "And do sit down, Peter. We've heard so much about you from Elle."

Peter took a seat, his gaze flicking between the two adults, trying to decipher the unspoken messages hidden in their expressions. Elle's father, with his sharp features and piercing gaze, exuded an air of authority and power. Elle's mother, on the other hand, had a warmth and kindness that made him feel instantly at ease.

Lunch was a lavish affair, the table laden with delicacies that were a far cry from the simple meals he was accustomed to. Peter, ever the polite guest, tried his best to enjoy the unfamiliar flavors, but his mind was racing. There was something unsettling about this environment, an undercurrent of tension that he couldn't quite pinpoint.

As they talked, Peter learned more about the Burke family. They were old money, with a long history in the wizarding world. Elle's father was a prominent member of the Wizengamot, a leading conservative whose priorities and interests aligned with the blood purity movement. He held significant sway over magical law and policy, and his influence extended far beyond the courtroom. Her mother, a former Beauxbatons student, was a renowned collector of rare magical plants.

The lunch conversation flowed smoothly, the clinking of silverware and the soft murmur of voices creating a pleasant ambiance. Peter, however, couldn't shake the unease that had settled over him. There was an undercurrent of tension, a subtle pressure that made him feel like he was being scrutinized.

Edmund Burke, Elle's father, leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Peter. "Tell me, Mr. Pettigrew," he began, his voice carrying a hint of authority, "what is your family background? Blood status, if you will."

Peter hesitated for a moment, his mind racing. "I am a pureblood, sir," he replied, his voice steady.

A subtle smile crept across Edmund's face. "Ah, a pureblood," he murmured, a note of approval in his voice. "And your family? Wealthy, I presume?"

Peter nodded, knowing why he was asking. "My father owned a successful potion shop before he passed away," he explained. “And my mother works at the ministry in the Spell Development Division. I would say we're comfortable.”

"Spell Development? She must be a smart witch to be working in that department." Edmund nodded approvingly, and seamlessly, the conversation shifted to the Ministry of Magic. Edmund leaned back in his chair, a glint of steel in his eyes. "The Ministry is working on some very important initiatives these days, Mr. Pettigrew," he began, his voice taking on a serious tone. "We need to ensure the purity of our lineage, you know, to maintain the wizarding world's order. These mudbloods and their sympathizers, they're a threat to our way of life."

Peter felt a knot of tension tighten in his stomach. The casual use of the slur "mudblood" made him flinch. He stole a glance at Elle, her head nodding absently as her father spoke. Peter wasn't sure if she fully understood the weight of his words, but there was a sense of unwavering acceptance in her eyes. Perhaps it was the sheltered upbringing, or the influence of her pureblood social circle, but Elle seemed to accept her father's views without question.

"That sounds… challenging," Peter stammered, unsure of how to respond.

Edmund chuckled, a cold, humorless sound. "Challenging, yes, but necessary. We can't allow these… lesser beings to infiltrate our society and dilute our magic."

Peter's unease grew. He wasn't sure what to say, how to express his discomfort without causing a scene. He glanced at Elle again, hoping for some sign of disapproval, but her expression remained oblivious.

Peter listened, his mind racing. Edmund's words were laced with a dangerous ideology, a thinly veiled plan for the subjugation of Muggle-borns and their families. He spoke of tightening restrictions on wand ownership for Muggle-borns, of increased surveillance and mandatory registration for all those with "questionable" bloodlines. There were even hints of a potential legislative effort to outlaw marriage between witches and wizards of different blood statuses.

Peter shuddered at the implications. This wasn't just about upholding tradition; it was about control, about wielding power over a significant portion of the wizarding population. The casual way Edmund spoke of these measures, the chilling certainty in his voice, sent a shiver down Peter's spine. He knew that the Ministry had dabbled in such discriminatory practices in the past, but the sheer scale and brutality of Edmund's plans seemed way more extreme than Peter believed the ministry could actually do.

Suddenly, Elle cut in, her voice filled with excitement. "Oh, Father," she interjected, her voice filled with excitement as she changed the topic abruptly, making it clear she hadn’t been listening. "Did you hear about Professor Sprout's experiment with Mimbulus mimbletonia? It was recently published in Herbology Today! Apparently, she's managed to cultivate a strain that changes color based on the amount of humidity in the greenhouse! Imagine the possibilities for both aesthetic and practical applications!"

Edmund and his wife exchanged a look, a hint of amusement flickering in their eyes. "Fascinating, darling," Edmund replied, his voice softened with affection .The older man’s gaze floated over to Peter, whose worried expression schooled into one of feigned interest in Elle’s conversation starter. "Tell us more, please, won’t you Peter? Elle tells us you are studying to be a herbologist? I'm sure you could explain it to us.” 

Peter, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation, stammered a bit, but Elle's enthusiasm was infectious. He launched into a detailed explanation of Professor Sprout's experiment, his voice filled with the same excitement as Elle's. The rest of the lunch was spent discussing magical plant research, his work at the apothecary and greenhouses, and Elle’s upcoming exams and post-graduate applications. The dark undercurrent of Edmund's previous comments seemed to have vanished, replaced by a lighter, more jovial atmosphere.

As lunch drew to a close, a sense of relief washed over Peter. 

"Thank you for having me," Peter said, rising from the table. "It was lovely to meet you both."

Elle stood up and linked her arm through his. "We should do this more often once I’m done with school," she said, her voice filled with a genuine warmth. "I miss having you around, you know."

As they walked towards the front door, Peter couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled over him. The undercurrent of darkness that had permeated the lunch conversation was still lingering in his mind. Edmund Burke's words, his casual acceptance of a world divided by blood status, had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He glanced at Elle, her face a picture of innocence and happiness. He didn't want to spoil her carefree spirit with his doubts, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her family than met the eye.

"Elle," he began, his voice hesitant, "your father… he's a very imposing man."

Elle chuckled. "You're being kind," she replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. "He can be a bit intense at times, but he means well."

"I know," Peter said, his voice filled with a mixture of concern and uncertainty. "But… what about his… views on things?"

Elle hesitated for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "Father can be a bit old-fashioned," she said, her voice soft. "But he has a good heart."

Peter nodded, unsure of how to respond. 

As they stood in the hallway, ready to say goodbye, Elle turned to him, her eyes filling rapidly with tears. "I'm going to miss you," she said, her voice soft.

Peter took her hands in his, forgetting about all the doubts her father had just placed in his head over this relationship. "I'll miss you too," he replied, his voice filled with a sincerity that he hoped she would believe.

"Promise to write?" she asked, a hopeful glint in her eyes.

"I promise," he said, his voice firm. "And I'll visit as soon as I can. Maybe we can even take a trip to Hogsmeade for a weekend getaway."

Elle's face lit up with excitement. "I'd love that," she said, her voice filled with anticipation.

They shared a long, lingering kiss, their bodies pressed close together. In that moment, the world seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of them. When they finally pulled apart, Peter took a step back, his heart heavy with a mix of love and apprehension.

"Be careful, Elle," he said, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. "And remember, I love you, and I'm always here for you, no matter what."

Elle nodded, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and understanding. "I know," she replied, her voice soft. "I love you, Peter."

With one last lingering glance, Peter turned and left, the heavy front door closing behind him. As he walked down the steps and into the cold winter air, he couldn't shake the feeling that by having met the Burkes, he was entering a world he might not be able to leave.