the golden calf
The Lupin party arrived fairly early to the festivity, intending to relish every moment of the whole delightfully ridiculous affair. It wasn’t long before the party was in full swing, and one could hardly move without bumping into one drunken neighbour or another. The chosen ballroom set the stage for a truly memorable event; it was extraordinarily lavish, lit by overly extravagant chandeliers and stuffed to bursting with the hideous finery of every well-to-do family in the area. Remus absently wondered what it was about wealth that seemed to universally prompt the abandonment of taste altogether. His own suit could be considered shabby and plain at best — it happened to be a cast-off from Lyall, not proper for a young man of Remus’s height at all — but still he preferred it to the gaudy costumes of many of his neighbours and amused himself with the silly way they seemed to strut about like preening peacocks.
It wasn’t long before two soldiers belonging to the garrison passing through Meryton plucked Mary and Lily from the crowd and eagerly invited them to dance, smoothly spinning them onto the tiled marble constituting the main ballroom floor; Hope and Lyall drifted off to mingle with old friends soon after (with respective excitement and apprehension). Remus usually spent these sorts of events by Marlene’s side, who was likely the only girl in all of England not interested in dancing. She passed the hours in other, far more entertaining ways: particularly by ridiculing the behaviours of foolish men desperately bidding for her sisters’ attention or of elderly neighbours too liquored up to abide by the rules of polite society. This made Marlene the perfect party companion for Remus, both because he enjoyed the spectacle just as much as she did, and also because he was cursed with two left feet himself and possessed unshakeable misgivings about trodding on the toes of any of the sweet young ladies from town.
When Mr. Potter finally arrived at the ball, Marlene had just scurried off to fetch drinks for the two of them in anticipation of the evening’s entertainment, and Remus was thus left to observe Mr. Potter’s dramatic entrance alone. It wasn’t so much that the man himself was dramatic — he ordered no stop to the music or merry-making for his introduction, like many in his position may have opted for — but the crowd seemed to still in awe of his arrival all the same. He wore a velvet coat in a magnificent shade of dark blue and had skin a lovely warm brown colour that was not found often in Meryton, but what one noticed first about Mr. Potter was his smile. He beamed at the crowd and bowed his head slightly, seeming to enjoy the attention, and began greeting those he knew around him and making the acquaintance of those he didn’t. Most partygoers resumed their conversations at that point, happily awaiting the moment that Mr. Potter might call upon them, but Remus’s eyes still trailed after the man as he made his rounds circling the room. He seemed to never stop smiling as he moved through the crowd, pleasantly polite to all he came across, but after a lifetime with cryptic sisters like Lily and Marlene, Remus fancied himself somewhat skilled at peeling back the layers of a smile and unearthing the truth that lay beneath. Mr. Potter didn’t seem to be disingenuous, exactly, nor outwardly unhappy. It was more that he seemed sort of absent, his pleasantries exchanged a little too practised. No one else seemed to notice this preoccupation, however, and Remus supposed it was because they all wanted something from him. It was no gross injustice that those who struggled to put food on the table each night might find it difficult to imagine someone as wealthy as Mr. Potter capable of sorrow, but still Remus pitied him a little. How terrible it seemed to come to a town and be seen only as a means to an end. Remus wondered if—
Marlene returned before Remus could finish his thought, precariously balancing two over-filled wine glasses in her hands. “Good, you’re back,” Remus began, reaching out to steady her. “You’ll never guess who’s just—”
It was at that moment that Marlene seemed to notice the newcomer, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. On instinct, she ducked behind the safety of a nearby pillar, pulling Remus along beside her and splashing a good deal of crimson wine down the front of his beige-coloured jacket. She hardly seemed to notice this development, grip on Remus’s arm iron.
“Heavens, what is it?!” Remus cried out, unnerved. Marlene’s naturally rosy cheeks were flushed even deeper than usual, the culprit a combination of slight intoxication and whatever had given her that frightful shock. The sight of her would’ve been funny if Remus wasn’t so legitimately worried she was having some kind of medical emergency. “Lennie?”
Marlene blinked rapidly, still not tearing her gaze away from whatever she glimpsed just past Remus’s shoulder. She set the glasses of wine down on a table just next to them. “I wonder who that is beside Mr. Potter?” she squeaked out in a pitiful attempt at normalcy. “A friend of his?”
Bewildered, Remus peeked around the pillar again, ignoring his stained attire. Once he caught sight of the man standing next to Mr. Potter, it was a wonder that he could have ever possibly escaped Remus’s notice the first time around. He was tall and dressed in fine clothes, no different than many men at the ball, but his face was what stood out to Remus, what caused the catch in his throat and the rush of heat in his cheeks. The man stood sullenly beside Mr. Potter, watching his friend charm a young lady Remus didn’t know (and speak to her equally charmed mother — Remus was sure he’d seen the woman gossip with Hope down at the market a dozen times, it seemed not even middle-aged married women were immune to Mr. Potter’s charms) and blandly sipping his wine like nothing could be more intensely boring for a young aristocrat than a ball full of all the most beautiful ladies in Meryton. His hair was long and dark, an elegant style of lush waves that hung down the back of his neck just-so, and the high set of his cheekbones gave his face an almost menacing quality; this effect was heightened by the expression he wore, almost etched into the very lines of his face. Where Mr. Potter was boyishly handsome and effortlessly charming — the tousled hair, brilliant smile, and smudged spectacles of which Remus had no choice but to see the appeal — this man was almost harsh to look at, rather like how Remus always imagined the divine angels must’ve looked when they first appeared before shepherds in the Holy Book. Cold, fearsome, and utterly beautiful. Remus felt strongly that any artist on Earth could have a go at portraying the man, be it on parchment or canvas or clay, but none would come close to capturing the graceful slope of his nose or the watchful set of his eyes. They needn’t try, anyway. He was a masterpiece all of his own.
Remus slipped back behind the pillar to Marlene, astonished. “Really? Him? That’s the fellow that finally catches your fancy? He is handsome to be sure, albeit in an unnerving sort of way, but do you really think—”
Marlene shot him a bewildered look, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “What?”
Remus mirrored her expression, equally confused. “Wait, who were you talking about?”
“Who were you?”
Remus frowned, once again concerned for his sister’s wellbeing. “Er, the gentleman by Mr. Potter’s side, the scowling one? Who else?”
Marlene shook her head, making a frustrated little noise in her throat. “No, you dolt. Not him. The lady! Who do you think she is?”
Remus peered around once more and it was then that he finally noticed the second companion of Mr. Potter. She was far more amiable-looking than the first, nodding along with Mr. Potter’s conversation and laughing pleasantly at all the right moments. There was something profoundly mesmerising about the way she moved; Remus found himself admiring even the elegant manner in which she absentmindedly twirled one of her many plaits around a finger, still listening intently to her friend. She had a dark, oval-shaped face and a warm smile, lips now quirked in amusement at something Mr. Potter said, and was clothed in a lovely jade-coloured gown made from a fine fabric Remus didn’t recognize. If she had kept other company, Remus surely would not have dismissed her presence in his first survey of the ball, but of course nearly everyone looked insignificant standing next to the man she was, even Mr. Potter himself.
“Do you see her?” Marlene whispered from close behind him, breath warm on his ear. She had to stretch up to her toes to see over Remus’s shoulder, but there was no doubt to whom had captured her attention. Remus slowly turned to face her, his mind hastening to puzzle out what had stirred her so. She patted at her hair and attempted to smooth the creases in her simple linen dress with great agitation, too preoccupied with the woman across the hall to pay much attention to Remus himself. “If you’re worried about Lily,” Remus began carefully, tone measured, “I doubt the two are involved. Mr. Potter seems to have no trouble chatting up every other girl in Meryton, I’m sure they’re just friends is all.”
Marlene shot him a blank look, swiping the pads of her fingers across her cheeks and under her eyes in a nervous habit she’d had for as long as Remus had known her.
“Oh!” she said after a moment, hands stilling. A pregnant pause. “That’s good. Lily’ll be pleased.”
Remus felt an odd sort of feeling come over him then, equal parts rapid realisation and frenzied relief, prompting a new level of understanding about his sister and the marvellous bubbly sensation of a body upon the discovery that it isn’t alone.
“Marlene,” Remus began cautiously, heart swelling. “Hm?” she mumbled, eyes drifting back over to the woman — who was now laughing merrily, the sound melodious to even Remus’s indifferent ears — and he could no longer contain his joy. “Marlene!” he cried happily, clasping her hands and spinning her about a bit, the way she always used to beg him to when they were young. “What?” she asked, disgruntled at the interruption in her admiration of Mr. Potter’s companion.
“Christ, I love you,” Remus said matter-of-factly. “You’re a brilliant sister, and I always knew you were like me. Now let’s go make our introduction to Mr. Potter without any further delay, shall we? Then we can learn of his relation to that young lady for ourselves.”
Remus ignored her sputtering reply, plucking his wine glass from the table and draining it before grasping his sister’s wrist and tugging her after him through the crowd. Remus quickly set about collecting the rest of his scattered family; Hope was too happily absorbed in conversation with Mrs. Fortescue from next door to be bothered, so Remus contented himself with the mere extrication of Mary and Lily from the dance floor and the rescue of Lyall from his gloomy evening plans of lurking in unpopulated corners of the assembly and trying to avoid eye contact with any of their more intoxicated neighbours.
Mr. Potter, ever the friendly fellow, smiled brightly upon Lyall’s approach and bowed his head in greeting. “Mr. Lupin, good man, how excellent it is to see you again!” he exclaimed agreeably, the pair he was previously engaged in conversation with politely excusing themselves. His gaze danced to each of Lyall’s wards in turn, expression open and cheerful. He seemed to be genuinely happy to meet them. “Wow, and this, I presume, must be your family?”
Remus grinned, pleased by his words. Not everyone in Meryton saw them as a real family, not exactly. Four pitiful, destitute strays and a kind young couple willing to take them in out of the goodness of their hearts, maybe. But not a real family.
Lyall wrung his hands stiffly, nodding. “Indeed, Mr. Potter. Allow me to introduce you. Miss Lily Evans—” Each girl offered a graceful curtsy as their name was called, “—Miss Mary Macdonald, Miss Marlene McKinnon, and that’s my wife, Mrs. Lupin, over there wearing the pale pink bonnet.”
“I’m James Potter, and what a pleasure it is to make your acquaintances!” Mr. Potter replied graciously, bowing again. “We’ve met so many wonderful people since our arrival in Hertfordshire, your father being one of the very finest. Such a lovely place, Hertfordshire, it really is, and—”
Remus casually allowed his gaze to drift to the stranger at Mr. Potter’s right, only to find the man staring stonily right back at him. He was even more beautiful up close it seemed, with eyes the inky black colour of the night sky. Remus’s immediate instinct was to look away, mortified, or at least smile and nod a polite hello, but he oddly found himself unable to do either. His blood felt hot in his veins, alcohol thrumming pleasantly through his body. He felt a sharp jolt in his stomach when their eyes met.
Mr. Potter was chattering on in the background, as amiable as ever, but he fell silent at once when the man beside him brushed a hand against his arm to quiet him. He still looked right at Remus, not even bothering to glance in the direction of Lyall and the others.
“Who’re you?”
Remus blinked. He hadn’t seen or heard the stranger speak all night. He still seemed as foreboding as ever, but there was no hostility to his words, so Remus answered him. “Remus Lupin, it’s nice to meet you,” he said mildly, extending a cordial hand to shake. The man regarded his outstretched hand as something foreign, as if a handshake was some sort of alien custom he was unfamiliar with. Remus smiled a little, respecting the stranger’s choice to sulk around the party like an overgrown surly teenager all night. He drew his hand back. “Nice enough, anyway.”
“You’ve got a stain,” the man said bluntly, eyeing Remus’s coat. Remus glanced down at the crimson splatter, just remembering that particular circumstance. “Oh, right!” he replied, shucking off the jacket and tucking it over his arm unabashedly. “Cheers.”
The man’s gaze skipped over Remus’s plain undershirt beneath, then cut back up to his face. The corner of his mouth quirked up a little, and if Remus didn’t know any better, he might have declared him amused. “Remus Lupin, you said?”
Remus nodded, smirk creeping back. He was enjoying himself.
“Unfortunate name,” the man commented somewhat rudely, in a haughty manner that made Remus grin. Posh people were so ridiculous.
“Suppose so,” Remus replied easily. “What’s yours?”
The man flicked a nonexistent piece of lint off of his own pristine clothing. “I’m Sirius Black.”
Remus snorted, delighted, prompting that same little amused lip quirk. “Something funny?”
Remus smiled at him as innocently as a daisy. “One mustn't throw stones from a glass castle, Mr. Black. It’s all well and good if you yourself consider ‘Sirius’ to be a fortunate name, however, I personally happen to think—”
Marlene pinched the skin of Remus’s arm sharply, and his words abruptly cut off. He’d nearly forgotten where they were, that they were even in the company of others at all. Remus would’ve kept on, it was all in good fun after all, but Mr. Potter was eyeing his friend nervously and Marlene seemed impatient to become acquainted with their third companion, so Remus left it to rest.
Somehow taking the hint, the woman to the left of Mr. Potter smoothly stepped forward a little and handed her wineglass to Mr. Black. “Sirius, be a dear and fill my glass, would you? There’s a good lad.” Mr. Black looked reluctant, slightly put-out by his friend’s interruption, but he obediently made his way to the refreshment table after one last glance at Remus. Remus smiled to himself. Mr. Black was interesting, at least.
“Sorry about that,” the woman said kindly to Remus, smiling like she was embarrassed. “He’s just in a mood tonight. He means no offence.”
Remus raised his eyebrows, surprised. “That’s quite alright,” he responded honestly. “You must be…”
“Dorcas,” she replied amicably, displaying a set of dainty silver rings on her fingers as she went to elegantly tuck a few braids behind her ear. “Dorcas Meadowes. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”
Marlene positively beamed at her, catching her other hand and shaking it with both of her own, perhaps more enthusiastically than was strictly necessary but still with the reverence most would hold only for the Queen. Her words spilled out of her all in one breath.
“My-name’s-Marlene-and-we’re-very-happy-to-welcome-you-to-Hertfordshire!”
Miss Meadowes looked delighted by this reaction, though a bit taken aback. “I know,” she said, smiling. “I heard. I love your accent, by the way, Miss McKinnon. Where are you from?”
Marlene grinned bashfully, pleased that she’d noticed. “You like it? See, I’ve been telling this lot Irish sounds better than English for ages, but—”
Mary poked her sister in the cheek, mischievous glint in her eye. “We reckon homesickness makes her biassed. Your accent is absolutely lovely, Miss Meadowes, don’t you think, Marlene?”
Marlene blanched. “Of course, I didn’t mean to say your accent isn’t beautiful, of course it is, I mean of course. I just thought, since you—”
Miss Meadows laughed, light and musical. “No, I rather prefer the Irish accent myself. It’s—” She smiled, casting her eyes downward shyly. “It suits you.”
Mary wore a little self-satisfied smirk that told Remus Miss Meadowes’s response was exactly the one she had hoped to provoke. It was eerie how perceptive she was.
Remus changed the subject to draw attention away from Marlene, who was rapidly pinking in the cheeks and grinning like a fool.
“How are you finding Netherfield Park, Mr. Potter?” Remus inquired with genuine interest. “I’ve heard the literary collection there is one of the finest. Have you been enjoying the library much?”
Mr. Potter chuckled good-naturedly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh yes, the estate is wonderful, only the library fills me with such guilt. I’m afraid I’m not much of a reader, I get too impatient and don’t like to be cooped up indoors besides. Do any of you happen to be big readers?” He glanced hopefully at Lily as he asked it. Remus took his desire to engage her in conversation as a good sign, which Mary’s widening smirk seemed to as well.
Lily smiled modestly at the attention, tugging at the long sleeve of her dress. “I wish I read more, but there always seems to be so many other things to do. Remus does practically nothing else, though. It’s hard work getting his nose out of a book long enough to have a proper conversation with him.”
Mr. Potter raised his eyebrows, pleased by this response. “Oh really? Well, Miss Evans, I’m glad you feel the same. And Mr. Lupin, feel free to stop by Netherfield to borrow a book any time.”
Lily started to say something in reply, probably thanking him on her brother’s behalf because that was the sort of well-mannered person she was, but the tumultuous end to the current dance number drowned her out. As the couples filtered off the centre ballroom tiles, Mr. Potter grinned bashfully at Lily, extending his arm to her in invitation. “I’m quite sure that thought was worth hearing, Miss Evans, care to continue it on the dance floor? My apologies if you’re already attached to another gentleman.” He said the last bit almost as another question, one which did not go above Lily’s head.
She took his arm in her own, smiling too. “Of course, Mr. Potter, it’s an honour. And I’m not attached to a gentleman, tonight or otherwise.”
“Well, wonderful!” Mr. Potter replied brightly. “I can’t say I’m much of a dancer, but it’s lovely to have a friendly face out there with you, don’t you think?”
“Truly. I think it’s—”
A bold fellow Remus recognized as the cobbler’s son tapped Miss Meadowes on the shoulder hopefully, interrupting Lily. “Pardon me, but may I have this dance?”
Miss Meadowes looked surprised at first, then somewhat reluctant. “Alright,” she said to the boy after a moment. “Well, it was lovely to meet you all.” She smiled at each warmly, gaze hovering imperceptibly longer over Marlene’s beaming face.
“Actually,” interjected the boy, eyeing Mary up and down, “I’ve got a mate who’d love to dance with you, if you’re interested.”
Mary considered it for a moment. “Is he any good?”
The boy shrugged. “At dancing? Decent, s’pose.”
Mary seemed unimpressed, likely by the informality of the invitation, but she accepted gracefully anyway. Remus knew she didn’t care very much about her partners anyway; Mary’s one true love was dance itself.
Quickly then, so as not to miss the opening of the song, the pairs left for the dance floor. Lyall soon excused himself as well, probably to return to his most treasured pastime of being left alone. Remus turned to Marlene, teasingly elbowing her in the side. “Well, I guess it’s just you and me again, right Lennie?”
“I’m going to go…” Marlene gestured vaguely at the air as she spoke, attention firmly fixed on Miss Meadowes as she settled into the dance’s formation. “Er. Over there. Go over there. Just to… You know…” She seemed too distracted to notice her own incoherence. “Yes. I’m gonna go. See you later, Remus.”
Remus sighed. Balls like this were tiresome with no one to talk to. The music soon started up and the dance began, his acquaintances lost in a flurry of skirts and sweeping movements. Remus suddenly found himself wishing that—
“Bollocks. Did I miss her?”
Remus looked up at the voice, startled out of his thoughts. There Mr. Black stood, expression sourer than ever, two wine glasses in hand. “Afraid so,” Remus replied. Then, after a pause, “Were you fetching that all this time?”
Mr. Black shot Remus an irritated look, handing him one of the glasses with evident annoyance. “Might as well have you drink it, serves Dorcas right for sending me off on her little errands.”
Remus graciously accepted the glass, trying not to laugh. He wondered if Mr. Black realised how truly ridiculous he was. “How very kind of you.”
They fell into silence then, side-by-side and quietly watching the revelry happen all around them. Remus wasn’t sure what to say, or even if Mr. Black wished to speak to him more at all. He was finally spurred into speech by the small and endearing observation that Mr. Black had begun to unconsciously shift from foot to foot a little to the music. Remus hadn’t figured him for someone who would enjoy the lively sort of number the band had just begun.
“Do you dance, Mr. Black?” Remus began airily, wine loosening his tongue. He had almost expected Mr. Black to have forgotten he stood beside him at all, but the man’s eyes slid to his without the least reaction. He took a dignified sip, pretending to ponder the question. “Not if I can help it,” came his cynical response.
“I see,” Remus replied with mock sincerity, adopting the mannerisms of a physician attempting a diagnosis. “Is this rather from a dislike of dancing in general or a lack of practice? Do you always make a habit of unconcealed misery at balls such as this?”
Mr. Black mulled it over. Remus was almost flattered by how seriously he seemed to consider the question. “I suppose my disinclination towards dancing stems from the lack of a good partner. And no, Mr. Lupin, any other day I’d be the life of the party, thank you very much.”
Remus snorted out a laugh. It was hard to tell if this was sarcasm or not, but it was amusing nonetheless. “Alright then, I’ll take your word for it. You don’t have to tell me what’s got you so gloomy to-day if you don’t want to. I believe it’s your turn to ask me a question anyway.”
Mr. Black almost smiled at that, tension loosening in his body a little. “Very well. How is it that your family came to be? You can’t really all be biologically related, can you?”
Remus shook his head. “No, I can’t say that we are. We’re technically only wards of Mr. and Mrs. Lupin, you see. Our families sent us along in exchange for yearly payments, to be brought up and cared for by the Lupins. I was the only one to take their name as the heir to the estate, you know.” He sipped at his drink innocuously. “And I think you’ll find the lack of a partner is easily remedied, Mr. Black. All one must do is ask.”
Mr. Black shot him a scandalised look, like an old woman clutching her pearls at the opera. Remus had to bite back a laugh. “Don’t be ludicrous. What are you—” He suddenly cut off, lowering his voice and staring hard at the floor, colour beginning to rise in his cheeks. “It’s improper.”
Remus shrugged mildly. “I didn’t mean me.”
There was a tense pause. “No, of course not,” Mr. Black quickly amended, glancing around guiltily. “I wasn’t…” He shook his head sharply, as if the idea of dancing Remus was so disturbing it had to be forcibly shaken from his head. “Apologies.”
The silence that followed that exchange was an awkward one. Remus was almost giving up hope of making conversation at all when Mr. Black asked, “So how long have you been with the Lupins?”
Remus considered the question. “I believe I’m going on sixteen years now. Yes, that must be it; I came to England when I was four. I was born in Wales, but my parents were too young to support a child and one thing led to another until they sent me here.” He took a sip. “Or so they tell me. I was too young to remember much.”
Mr. Black nodded politely. “Was it just the four of you then, or a full orphanage all official-like?”
Remus felt hesitant to continue, but Mr. Black’s interest seemed sincere enough. He shook his head. “Just us four. They hadn’t meant to be an ‘orphanage’, not really — We just kept piling up until they couldn’t deny it any longer. Lily they took in as a newborn, a generous favour to a friend; Four years later, there I was on their doorstep. Four years after that came Mary, then two more until Marlene. They were never on the search for children to care for, God only knows what brought us together.”
Mr. Black swirled the wine in his glass thoughtfully. “Must’ve been fate.”
Remus found himself quite pleased by this statement. “Must’ve been.”
The dance had now progressed to a fairly complicated bit involving an incomprehensible pattern of shifting partners, each dancer seeming to circumnavigate the whole ballroom. They both watched it carry on without much interest.
“How did you meet Mr. Potter?” Remus asked next, tilting his face to the side slightly to get a better look at the other man. Mr. Black’s demeanour warmed at the mention of his friend immediately, lips forming the first real smile of the night.
“We lived near each other all our lives, our parents dragging us to the same stuffy neighbourhood events all the time, but we first really met when we were eleven,” Mr. Black began, voice made sweet with nostalgia. Remus nodded along attentively, glad he’d finally found a topic Mr. Black was willing — even happy — to talk about.
“He pushed this stable boy into the mud for being cruel to my little brother — or something along those lines, I can’t remember now — and after that we were inseparable. We thought he was the bravest boy in all of England, but really he just had iron-clad ideas about justice and refused to be wrong.”
Remus smiled at the story. So did Lily. “What’s your brother’s name?”
Mr. Black glanced over at Remus with something akin to pleased shyness. “Regulus,” he answered quietly, smile softening yet further. “He’s only a year younger.”
Remus nodded. “And Miss Meadowes? Another childhood friend?”
Any tenderness from the moment before was gone, the man opting for a wicked grin at her mention. “He’d kill me for telling you this,” he began conspiratorially, leaning closer.
Remus raised his eyebrows, interest piqued. “That’s the best sort of story to tell, I think.”
Mr. Black nodded eagerly, like the story had been dying to get out for ages. “It’s really quite funny. She— Well, she was a friend of my brother’s originally. I was sure he was to propose to her, they were so affectionate, and I had noticed little Reggie rather dazed and distant for a period there. Always staring out windows and sighing, you know, the whole lovesick puppy routine. And then—” He let out a delighted little laugh, any trace of previous ill-humour gone. He lowered his voice like he and Remus were sharing some grand secret. “I even caught him writing poetry once. Who else could have it been for?”
Remus wheezed with laughter. “Oh no!” he cried, greatly entertained. “Was it any good?”
Mr. Black shook his head, still grinning. “No, he snatched it away before I could see, the little prick. It didn’t work out, anyway. That must’ve been around two or three years ago, and he still hasn’t made her an offer. Probably too humiliated to be discovered writing love sonnets to actually follow through with it. Poor lad.”
Remus shook his head too, in amused pity for the boy. “Truly. I wonder what could possibly drive love away quicker than poetry.”
Mr. Black’s smile turned teasing, arching an eyebrow in Remus’s direction. “And here I was thinking poetry was the food of love.”
Remus flapped his hand in the air dismissively, as if he were some sort of expert on the subject. “Common mistake. It is indeed true that poetry may be the food of a fine, stout love, but if it is only a vague inclination, I’m afraid one verse will kill it.”
Mr. Black laughed at his words, a full-on, proper laugh this time. He had a nice sort of laugh, bright and uproarious. He seemed younger then. More like his age. Remus was overcome with an odd mix of embarrassment and flattery at this reaction, bringing his now-empty glass to his lips just to have something to do.
Mr. Black grabbed another glass of wine for him from a passing server’s tray and handed it to Remus without comment, as if hardly seeming to notice his own action. “I see. What is it you do recommend then, if one desires to encourage affection?”
Remus sipped at his wine contemplatively, noting a swell in the music that almost certainly signalled a finale to the current song. “Dancing,” he answered finally, a small smile forming on his lips. “Even if one’s partner is improper.”
The music swelled powerfully, and then the dance was over. “Mr. Black,” Remus said by means of goodbye, bowing his head. “Excuse me.” And then he was off to find Marlene, trying (and failing) to suppress a grin. He could almost feel Mr. Black's smile on his back as he walked away.
—
By the end of the ball, Mr. Potter had found himself firmly fixed in the centre of everyone’s conversation, as much because of his riches and gentlemanly status as because of the friendly and enchanting way he conducted himself. He grew livelier and less reserved the longer he spent by Lily’s side — at least Remus liked to think so — and even talked of throwing a ball of his own at Netherfield as partygoers drifted off home.
Miss Meadowes was also a welcome addition to the local social scene, particularly by the many young men who spent the evening anxiously awaiting a chance to dance with her. Mothers all over Meryton thanked the Heavens above at the news of her and Mr. Potter’s purely platonic relationship; As far as any social-climbers were concerned, this night marked the Merytonian entrance of the very wealthiest and most eligible bachelor and debutante in all of England.
Mr. Black, however, was not regarded with the same sentiment. He was hardly mentioned at all, in fact, unless it was to scorn his poor manners or gloomy appearance. No one had any idea how Mr. Potter or Miss Meadowes put up with him, going so far as to wonder if their relationship was one deemed necessary for some sort of business deal with the Black family, who were rumoured to be the wealthiest and most influential of all.
Even Hope commented on Mr. Black’s displays of disagreeableness on the carriage-ride home, slipping off her lace gloves and stowing them neatly in a skirt pocket as she spoke. Remus felt strongly compelled to defend the man, to describe the pleasant, almost sweet way he’d been when they’d talked alone, but found himself oddly unable to. The words coated his tongue like honey; sticky-sweet and wholly personal, meant for him and him alone. He said nothing, and the matter was dropped.
Mary and Marlene retired to their room shortly after the family’s return to Longbourn, and Remus and Lily were keen to follow suit. As enjoyable as they were, balls like that could drain one’s energy unlike any other event. True to their natures, Lily sat at the vanity and diligently undid her hair while Remus collapsed onto his bed still fully clad in formal attire, too impatient to hear the scandalous details of her dance with Mr. Potter to waste time fussing about shoestrings. (His suit was so soft from wear that it was hardly worse than bedclothes, anyway.)
“Well,” Lily began tentatively, a tad embarrassed to answer Remus’s inquiries, “He is just what a young man ought to be. Sensible, kind-hearted, humourous…”
“Handsome, conveniently rich…” Remus continued, flopping onto the bed on his back and allowing his head to hang off the edge like he used to when they were children. He grinned at the ever so familiar upside-down sight of Lily rolling her eyes at him in the mirror, still smiling and unpinning her hair.
“Oh shush,” she said. “Love should not be driven by thoughts of money alone, dear brother. You’re too young to be such a cynic.” She slipped out the carefully chosen ribbon, allowing her flaming red hair to flow free. “Could you imagine me the wife of some bellend I married just for his money?” She pulled a face of utter revulsion. “I’d rather starve.”
Remus's lips twitched, part amusement and part worry. He believed Lily's words, to a certain extent, but she was incredibly self-sacrificing for all her independence. If the family needed something done, she'd be the one to do it — if an unhappy marriage was necessary to save their family from poverty, Lily would consent in a heartbeat, all with a smile on her face. Or so Remus feared. He supposed it was the job of himself and his other sisters to dissuade her from this.
Remus curled his fingers into a makeshift opera-glass, peering at Lily through the hole as if he were casting her in the glow of a miniature spotlight. At this moment, Lily was his very best friend on Earth.
“Good on you for having morals, I s’pose, but personally I’ll be out of here the second some wealthy older widow comes to town.” Remus dropped his hand and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, hoping to get a rise out of her. Lily let out a sharp, surprised laugh. “Remus! Don’t be disgusting!”
He shrugged. “The old ladies from town seem to like me well enough, always pinching my cheeks and telling me I’m growing into a fine young man and all that. Why not?”
Lily shook her head, still laughing. “Your mind is positively vile, Remus.”
Remus refused to be distracted from his objective. “Quit dawdling, Lily, enough about me and my thrilling love life! What did you and Mr. Potter talk of while you were dancing?”
Lily smiled wistfully then, now tugging a comb through her slightly frizzy hair. “Well, he said again he finds the scenery of Hertfordshire beautiful and the people kind, he’s very pleased with it. Supposedly this was to be a holiday for the three of them, though I don’t know why they’d choose to come here of all places. He asked me all about you three, naturally, but also about—”
Remus groaned. “Don’t be coy, Lily, obviously I meant to know if he’s looking for a wife and if he wants that wife to be you, what you should name your kids, blah blah blah, all that nonsense. Must I bring Mary in here to get pertinent information out of you?”
Lily wound the green ribbon around her fingers with gentle care before briskly folding and tucking it into the top drawer of her dresser. “Well, I’m not yet certain about his full intentions here, it isn’t nice to pry. I’d thought you’d understand that, Remus, but here we are.”
Remus didn’t fail to notice the flush in the tips of Lily’s ears when she off-handedly added, “He complimented the ribbon, just like Marlene said he would, if that seems ‘pertinent’ to you. He thought the colour matched my eyes well.”
Lily was clearly trying to play it off as no big cause for comment, but Remus laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bed at the news. Lily shot him a death glare. “Christ, what a charmer!” he cried, mortified pink splotches spreading to Lily’s cheeks. He could tell it was taking every morsel of self-control she possessed to not start laughing as well.
“Proper Shakespeare, he is!” Remus continued, not done teasing. “Certainly I’d never tell a lady I fancied her ribbon without intent to marry her…”
Lily groaned, burying her face in her hands in embarrassment. When she spoke, her voice came out muffled. “Remus, one day you really will find someone, and then you’ll have to watch your tongue.”
Remus downright laughed at that. “Not a chance.”
Lily raised her face just enough to shoot Remus a dirty look that only came out half as menacing as she probably meant it to be. “Just you wait. You’ll fall in love some day and become silly and boring just like everybody else. Won’t seem so funny then, will it, Mr. Comedian?”
Remus hopped off the bed and strolled over to his sister, patting her consolingly on the shoulder. “Oh Lily, I wish I could believe you, but I’m afraid idealism has made you biassed. All the world is too good in your eyes, and too dismal in mine. We’ll never reach a consensus.”
Lily leaned into his arm to show him that she wasn’t really mad. “I suppose that’ll be proof of love in and of itself, won’t it? When you stop seeing the world as some vicious beast out to get you, we’ll know you’re a truly reformed man. Anyone that makes you that happy is worth sticking by forever.”
Remus yawned, trudging back to his side of the room to finally shuck off his boots and tie. “I’m too drunk for such deep philosophical ponderings, Lily.”
She snorted at that, stowing her comb in the proper compartment of her bureau. “Oh, that’s why you’re so belligerent tonight, is it? I’d assumed that conversation with Mr. Black was just enough to rub off on you.”
Remus paused, still undoing one shoe. He cleared his throat. “Oh, you saw that, did you?”
Lily frowned. “What do you mean? I was there, Remus.” Then, a moment later, “Don’t tell me you had another conversation with him later on?”
Remus returned to his bed, somewhat tenser than before. “We… Well, I suppose we spoke a little while everyone was dancing, you know, just to be polite.”
Lily looked sceptical. “Wouldn’t imagine Mr. Black as someone overly concerned with politeness.”
Remus made a noncommittal sound in his throat. Lily slipped behind their folding screen to change into her nightdress. “What did he have to say for himself?” she called out over the top.
Once again, Remus found himself unable to speak. It seemed oddly a betrayal of Mr. Black to describe the conversation to anyone else, as if saying the words aloud would pop the bubble of their interaction. “Oh, you know. Just— You know. Nothing in particular.”
Lily climbed into her own bed, regarding Remus’s discomfort with dry amusement. “That unpleasant, was he?”
Remus brought the candle resting on his bedside table to his lips, blowing out the flame and casting the room into darkness. “No,” he responded quietly. He hoped Lily could not hear the faint smile in his voice. “No, I daresay not.”