Chapter 1
Sirius crumples the paper in one hand and drops it into the wastepaper basket at her feet.
“I thought I was to attend the ball myself.”
She doesn’t look back, but she can almost see the expression on her equerry’s face as he flounders for words.
“My lady—”
“This woman is to arrive in two hours. Do you understand how little time that is to prepare?” Sirius whirls around. “They might as well have just sent her in with the post.”
“It is not ideal, your grace.”
“No,” Sirius sniffs, “it isn’t.”
She looks down at her gloves, the tips of which are now stained black from the ink on the letter, and raises an eyebrow at one of the attendants, who goes rushing off to find a new pair.
“The lady’s mother is ill— there was nowhere for her to stay in the city— I suppose they just thought—”
“Clark,” Sirius says, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence. “I read the letter, didn’t I?”
Clark shuts his mouth.
Feeling behind her for the back of her chair, Sirius pulls it out from under the vanity and sits down, heavily. A first season is never easy, her aunt had said once to her mother, looking over at Sirius in mock-sympathy, already anticipating that Sirius would fall short in some way.
Consequently, Sirius had spent the months preceding the season perfecting an act; she would be damned if she let Aunt Druella be right about anything. Sirius knew exactly how to dance; how to speak; how to demurely cast her eyes aside and gently fan her decolletage so as to draw a gentlemen’s eyes… downward. This season was going to be more than just easy for her— it was going to be a fucking breeze. For once, she ignores how ballroom dance music makes her want to scream just to interrupt the monotonous drone of the violins or how her layers and layers of skirts make her feel like she’s drowning in a river of cloth.
A first season is never easy, but this— this was going to go perfectly.
At least, until she got the damned letter.
“Who even are the Lupins?” She asks, irritatedly. “I’ve never heard of that family before.”
“One of the newer titles, I’m assuming,” Clark responds.
“It is the height of indecorum,” Sirius says, “to have never clapped eyes on someone, much less have had dinner with them, and then ask to stay over for an entire season.”
Clark does not respond to this, so Sirius turns around, only to find him hiding a smile behind his hands.
“Clark!” She gasps, feeling betrayed. Even her reprimand can’t bring him to stop his stifled laughter. He takes a full minute to compose himself.
“I apologize, my lady,” he says, and his voice is grave, but his eyes still twinkle. “I did know you when you were five years old and making ‘potions’ in Her Grace’s most valuable silverware, so hearing you speak of indecorum…”
“I could have you fired for your impertinence, you know,” Sirius snaps. But the words carry absolutely zero weight because Clark is demonstrably more integral to the Black family house than any of the members of the Black family.
“And I would be laughing the entire way up the drive,” Clark says, “to have seen the girl I once carried on my shoulders handing me my notices! And then I would watch from the outskirts of town as the once noble house of Black fell into disarray—”
“Alright,” Sirius holds her hand up. “You know where the wine cellar is and I don’t, I get it.”
The next hours before Lupin arrives are a flurry of activity, which is very much not how Sirius expected this morning to go. In fact, she expected it to be kind of like most of her mornings since leaving school, wherein she would stare into space in her room for about half an hour, and only leave when she could actually feel her brain beginning to rot out of sheer boredom. Then she would go into the library where she would continue to work on the same embroidery that she’d been trying to finish for the past six months, give up after poking her finger about six times, and go back to staring into space until her neural pathways began to atrophy. Sometimes she would read, but they’d had the same meager library since she was small, so she’d read everything that wasn’t a textbook. And she’d eat, of course. And write to her brother. And sleep. So really, it wasn’t as boring as it seemed at first glance.
Regardless, preparing for Lupin’s arrival meant more activity than there had been in the past week, and when it was finally time to meet her coach outside, Sirius actually felt… tired. Which had only happened a few times before. She looked back at the row of footmen and lady’s maids lined up near the side of the house before smoothing down an imaginary wrinkle in her skirt.
The door to the carriage bangs open before the coachman can get to it. Sirius didn’t even know they opened from the inside.
“No,” the person inside says, to the coachman when he offers them his hand. “I can do it myself.” And the coachman mutters something and steps aside and the lady hops out on her own.
The first thing Sirius notices about her is her hair. It’s curly— not like the curls that Sirius has to wear before Christmas and Easter, the ones where she has to cover her head in slime and sleep with rags in her hair. This girl’s hair spirals out from the root, all the way down half her back, and Sirius instantly wants to pull down on one of the ringlets just to see how it jumps back into shape, how it moves, it’s so— alive, alive, alive.
Then, she sweeps half of it over her shoulder and Sirius’s eyes are so busy tracking the movement that she doesn’t even notice that they’re standing right in front of each other.
“Um,” the other girl says. Sirius’s gaze snaps back to meet her eyes. “Where am I staying?”
It’s such a strange question that Sirius thinks that she’s misheard. “Sorry?”
“Where am I stay-ing,” Lupin says again, overemphasizing the words.
“You’re staying here,” Sirius says, furrowing her brow. “That’s what your letter said? That you were to stay in the Black Manor for the duration of your season?”
“The Black—” Lupin starts, then takes a step back to peer up. “Don’t tell me that this is your house.”
“No, it’s not our house,” Sirius confirms. “The Black House is in the countryside. This is the Manor.”
Lupin says nothing back to her, still assessing the house, but Sirius is growing increasingly uncomfortably aware that neither they haven’t officially greeted each other which means they can’t go inside yet, which means that the staff can’t go inside yet, and they’re all wearing black unbreathable cotton suits and Sirius is supremely uninterested in seeing a lady’s maid fainting right now.
“It’s a pleasure to have you, Lady Lupin,” Sirius tries. “We can arrange a tour of the property later, if you’re interested?”
But Lupin scoffs, as if Sirius has said the most offensive thing possible. “Just call me Remus,” she mutters, looking past Sirius, into the foyer of the house. “Can you show me my room?”
“Certainly,” Sirius says, conscious that her smile is slipping. “If you will have your lady’s maid follow me—”
“I didn’t bring one.”
“You didn’t bring—”
“A lady’s maid,” Lupin— Remus. Remus confirms.
“That’s no problem,” Sirius forces her lips up again. “Daisy here, will be more than happy to help—”
“I don’t need help taking off my clothes,” Remus says in a clipped tone. “Thank you.”
“Okay, if that’s what you’d prefer!” Sirius says, sounding a little manic, but trying to cover it up by turning around and walking quickly back inside. “Our first footman can bring your trunks into your room, unless you’d like to do that yourself as well, too?” She shoots Remus a look, because despite Sirius having a head start, she’s already caught up to her.
Remus smiles back at her. “Yeah, I guess the footmen can handle that.”
She has the strangest way of speaking that Sirius has ever heard. It takes a few seconds to understand what she’s saying: I suppose the footmen should take care of the trunks.
“We eat at two today,” Sirius says, making her way up the stairs, “And we leave for the ball at four—”
“The ball?” Remus asks, like she’s never heard of the concept before. “What ball?”
Remus may not know it, but she has just said the absolute worst thing possible. Sirius feels each word physically, like an ice cube sliding down her spine. She turns back to look at Remus, desperate for some indication of sarcasm on her face. She can’t not know about the ball, because that means she’s not prepared for the ball, which means that she doesn’t have any dresses. And then Sirius will have to spend her afternoon preparing Remus instead preparing herself and that’s just not—
“What do you mean?” Sirius hears herself saying, faintly, “The first ball of the season? The first ball of the season that’s happening to night? The season that you came all the way to Black Manor for?”
“I did not come to Black Manor for a ball,” Remus protests.
“Oh?” Sirius asks. “This is news to me. What did you come to Black Manor for, then?”
“I—” Remus stammers, and Sirius feels a cool thrill at Remus finally being the one who feels slightly off–balance in the conversation. “I don’t have anything for a ball.”
“Yes, I gathered that when you said what ball and then told me that you didn’t come here for a ball,” Sirius pinches the bridge of her nose, shutting her eyes like if she squeezes them hard enough, she can erase Remus’s entire presence.
“I can skip it?” Remus offers, hopefully.
“No,” Sirius says. “We’ve already had the hosts make accommodations for your arrival, you have to be there. No, I’ll— I’ll figure it out.”
“Okay,” Remus says, hesitantly. “I’m sorry, by the way.”
Sirius looks up, and something in her expression must indicate that she doesn’t truly believe in Remus’s apology because she hastily snaps: “Don’t look at me like that. I’m just sorry that you have to go through the trouble of finding me a dress that I won’t want to wear for a ball I don’t want to go to. It’s a waste of your time, unfortunately.”
“To tell the truth,” Sirius sighs, “I think that everything about your visit has been a waste of my time.”
“I am genuinely so happy that you said that,” Remus says. “It makes me feel a lot better about not liking you.”
Sirius blinks. A lot of people don’t like her— even her mother was pretty indifferent to her existence— but nobody had outright said it to her face. She kind of prefers this, actually, to passive-aggression that people in her circles usually use against people they dislike. Plus, Remus isn’t really making a great case for herself as a guest or as a person in general, so Sirius isn’t too fussed about being in her bad books. “If it helps,” she says, “I can assure you that the feeling is wholeheartedly mutual.”
“Great,” Remus says, and Sirius ignores her, quickening her pace instead.
“Here’s your room,” she says, finally. “Lunch is at two, as I mentioned. A footman will bring your things up shortly,” she shifts her weight from one foot to another, eager to get back to her own room. “Any questions?”
“No,” Remus says. “Thanks.”
And then she goes inside the room and slams the door behind her.
Currently, Sirius is congratulating herself on how good of a job she did regarding Remus’s dress.
It’s deep brown and baby blue and the little glittery embroidery makes her eyes sparkle. It used to be Bella’s, although she can’t imagine what inspired her cousin to have it made, because this much color and brightness would have probably blinded that joyless miserable bat. And the tailoring— Sirius makes a note to send Madam Cadieux the biggest bouquet of flowers she can find, because she deserves an award for how perfectly she’s managed to accentuate Lupin’s waist. The fit-and-flare skirt catches the light— it makes Sirius think of the caramels that her tutor would give her, in their sparkly plasticky wrappers. It makes her fingers twitch, like muscle memory, like this is something she needs to unwrap too, like she’ll find something to sink her teeth into underneath.
She sits on her hands and feels a swoosh of nervous excitement in her stomach.
“Are you alright?” Remus asks, from across the carriage.
Sirius sighs dramatically. “Fine,” she says. “I was just taking a minute to acknowledge what a good job I did with the gown.”
“It’s the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever worn.”
“And you can’t slouch,” Sirius nods, “Your corset might impale you.”
“What?” Remus’s eyes widen, and she hastens to straighten herself.
Sirius hums.
“Are you— are you trying to kill me?” Remus says, “Is that what this is?”
She reaches for the door, but Sirius shoves her hand away from the handle before she can try to jump out and end up killing herself. “Excuse me?”
“Look, I don’t have any money, okay?” Remus looks slightly frantic, which is how Sirius knows she’s not joking, even though she’s probably saying the most ridiculous thing ever. She’s taking very deep, gasping inhales, and her entire chest is heaving, and it looks— kind of obscene, actually. Sirius never actually realized how low these dresses were cut until now. Is that what she looks like? Are half her tits out all the time too? No wonder women aren’t allowed in parliament. If half the government were walking around in these clothes, nobody would get anything done.
“Excuse me?” Remus snaps. “I asked you a question?”
“What?” Sirius blinks up at her. “Oh— no! Nobody is trying to kill you. In fact, we have taken every possible measure to ensure that your stay here is as comfortable as possible— it’s not my fault that women’s clothes are so impractical!”
The carriage stops suddenly, and she jerks forward, reaching out to steady herself by grabbing onto the seat in front of her.
But it’s not the seat— it’s Lupin’s knee. When Sirius realizes, and looks up, Remus is looking back at her like she’s been burned.
Sirius yanks her hand back. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “Never got used to that.” Remus nods, once, and looks away, brow furrowed. Sirius wishes she would stop that— stop acting like everything’s weird, because it’s not. It’s normal, it’s fine.
“We’re here!” The coachman calls from the front of the carriage, and Sirius glares at Remus the entire time she’s waiting for the carriage door to open. Unfortunately, Remus is too busy looking out the window to notice.
“Thank you,” Sirius mutters as she takes the hand offered to her and steps out of the carriage. The ball is being hosted by the Fortescues— they’ve been hosting the first ball of the season for as long as Sirius can remember. The entire house glows, even though the actual party is in the back, where the dancefloor and the courtyard is.
“Your Grace,” a voice calls, and Sirius turns towards it, breaking into a smile when she recognizes the face.
“Not yet,” she says, walking up to Alice. “I have to be married before I can inherit the title, remember?”
Alice rolls her eyes. “Medieval old law,” she mutters. “You’ll always be the duchess in my eyes, husband or not.”
“If only the court thought that, too,” Sirius sighs, looking over at the courtyard lights. It’s nice to see Alice, but she’s inadvertently made Sirius uncomfortably aware that this isn’t just another social event for her, a fact she had been happily suppressing until now. She wants to stay here for as long as possible, away from the lights and the music and the men she’ll have to charm. Her future is somewhere in there, waiting for her with an empty dance card and a drink in his hand— that’s all Sirius has known, since she understood what it meant to have a future at all. And she doesn’t, she just doesn’t want it yet.
“Have you met Lady Lupin?” She asks, brightly, gesturing to Remus.
“No, but I have heard of her,” Alice says, extending her hand towards Remus, who looks at it like she’s never seen a hand before. This results in a very awkward handshake that gives Sirius so much secondhand embarrassment that she suddenly finds herself very ready to face her future. “New to London, correct?”
“Not exactly,” Remus says, “but it’s changed so much, so it’s almost like I’ve never been.”
“Well, I hope you’re enjoying it so far.”
“Oh, yes,” Remus says. “It’s lovely.”
For no reason at all, Sirius feels a flash of annoyance at how nice Remus is being to Alice. How could she possibly know whether or not London is lovely? She just got here this morning, it’s not like she had time to go sightseeing.
“I’m so happy to hear that,” Alice gushes. “Yes, I know some of the changes have been quite unexpected— my mother refuses to go out after dark because she doesn’t trust those new electric lampposts! But I think it’s so nice to see the city modernizing. We even put up a telephone in the house, which, of course, mother won’t go near with a ten foot pole.”
“What can I say,” Remus smiles at Alice and Sirius resists the urge to stomp her foot out of frustration. “I’m a futurist.”
“So you’ve finally put the telephone in, then, Alice?” Sirius asks, “I’m so happy to hear that, I’ll be sure to get your number before I leave.”
“You have a telephone?” Alice’s eyebrows raise minutely.
“Oh, yes,” Sirius says, and it’s not even a lie— they do have a telephone, but Sirius hasn’t used it. Ever. “We had it put in when Reggie went off to Oxford last year— it’s much easier than the post.”
Sirius’s first thought when they enter the courtyard is that it’s loud. Loud. Although she should probably have expected that. The musicians have already set up in the center of the floor, and dancers spin in lazy circles around them, beaded ball gowns catching the candlelight and throwing it into a million different directions as they twirl. Absent-mindedly, Sirius fiddles with the dance card in her hand.
“Have you met the Longbottoms?” Alice asks, her eyes sparkling as she scans the crowd. “Their eldest was in my brother’s year at Oxford— Frank!” She cries, waving her hand, when she’s caught the eye of a broad-shouldered man who begins to make their way over to them.
“Alice!” He grins, “I was beginning to think you were going to ignore me for the rest of the night.”
“No chance,” Alice says, “I said I’d keep a lookout for you, didn’t I? Speaking of, have you met Sirius?”
Frank takes his eyes away from Alice like it’s costing money for him to do so. “Charmed,” he says to Sirius, lifting her hand up to his lips and dropping it immediately. He looks back at Alice, who’s practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“Ask her to dance!” Alice says, expectantly, and Frank’s eyebrows fly up.
“Oh, you want me to—” He looks at Sirius again. “Oh, okay. Um, do you have space on your dance card, Your Grace?”
Sirius considers, briefly, correcting him about the honorific, but then decides against it. “I do,” she says instead, “If you would be so inclined.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Frank extends his arm out to her, and Sirius lets him lead her to the floor.
“Alice tells me you studied at Oxford?” Sirius starts gently, after a few moments of swaying in silence.
“With her brother, actually,” Frank says, “We were roommates, so me and Alice, we— saw each other frequently.”
Sirius hums noncommittally.
“I actually would hardly talk to her,” Frank continues, “Until one day she was waiting for Rob and she started looking through my papers, and she said to me— ‘Isn’t medicine hard enough on its own, without them teaching the entire course in bloody Latin?’” Frank smiles, but his eyes have this faraway look to them, like half of him is still sitting in his university dorm with Alice.
“Alice always says the first thing that comes to her mind,” Sirius laughs, hoping to pull Frank back into the present moment. Unfortunately, this seems to have the very opposite effect, as Frank’s gaze grows more distant, warmer, and Sirius feels like she’s intruding just looking at his expression because it’s clearly not meant for her. “Have you asked her to dance?”
Frank’s eyes snap back to Sirius. “What?”
“Have you asked Alice to dance,” Sirius says, slower this time.
“No,” Frank scoffs, “No, I— wouldn’t do that—”
“Why?” Sirius demands, “You clearly would like to— oh, don’t look at me like that, I’m hardly offended— it’s just, you clearly would much rather have herin your arms than me.”
Frank’s expression is pained. “Your Grace, I deeply apologize if I gave you the impression that I would rather be here with someone else.”
“First of all, I am not ‘Your Grace,’” Sirius starts. “Please just call me Sirius. And also, please don’t insult my intelligence by pretending that you aren’t absolutely desperate to dance with Alice!”
“Lower your voice!” Frank hisses at Sirius, glancing around to make sure no-one’s heard their conversation. As if anyone even could, with the music and the chatter in constant competition to drown the other out. “And besides, I can’t ask Alice to dance.”
“Why?” Sirius asks again, brow furrowed.
“Because— because I’m going to be a doctor,” Frank sputters, “And she is the Lady Fortescue. Because I am her older brother’s best friend—”
“That’s romantic!”
“It is romantic until you are the brother,” Frank says, “Then it is the height of betrayal.”
Sirius rolls her eyes. “Thank god you’re not studying law,” she says, “I’d rather lead myself to the gallows that have to watch you argue for me in court.”
“These are. They are valid points,” Frank says decisively, as if just declaring something can make it true.
“You are so foolish,” Sirius sighs. “Who invited you?”
“Alice,” Frank says automatically, “She invited me because we are friends.”
Discreetly, Sirius jabs Frank in the chest with her elbow. “She invited you because she wanted you here,” she hisses. “The least you could do is thank her. By dancing with her.”
“We hardly know each other well enough for you to be speaking with me in such a familiar manner,” Frank says, rubbing the spot on his chest where Sirius hit him. Overdramatic, Sirius thinks. It wasn’t even that hard a jab.
“I know Alice,” Sirius says, lowly, “And in the short time I have known you, I know how you feel about Alice. It’s so painfully obvious, I am shocked if I’m the first person to force you to pursue her.”
Frank says nothing back, so Sirius takes the opportunity to nudge him away from the dance floor.
“If you will excuse me,” she says. “But I am quite dizzy now.” She walks over to the drinks table, where Remus has been standing for most of the time she’s been here, and Alice is pretending to rearrange the cups.
“You and Frank had a lot to talk about, it looked like,” Remus says to her when they’re within earshot of each other.
“Oh, yes,” Sirius says, peering over at Alice, who’s standing a bit aways from them and pretending to not eavesdrop. “We might get married.”
Alice sucks in a sharp breath and Sirius takes care to not look too gleeful. It’s very difficult, because she loves being right. She turns back to Remus. “Can’t you just picture it? The Duke and Duchess Longbottom of Foxhall.”
“Longbottom,” Remus scoffs. “Why would you do that to yourself? Duchess Black sounds better.”
“Unfortunately, I can only be the Duchess Black if I were to marry my brother,” Sirius says, “Which is a family tradition I would very much like to break.”
“So, what, you can’t be the duchess by yourself?” Remus asks, and Sirius has to bite her lip to keep herself from sighing out of frustration.
“I cannot inherit the title until I am married,” she says instead, “And since my parents passed two years ago, I only have two years left to secure a match—”
“Wait,” Remus says, interrupting her. Rudely. “Your parents are dead?”
“Did you think they were hiding the entire afternoon?” Sirius asks, finally letting a little bit of her irritation show, because really, how clueless can one person be?
Remus looks at her for a long second. “I didn’t know that,” she says, finally. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Sirius says, pretending to be supremely interested in the cups of drink in front of her. She selects one, without really knowing what’s in it. “Excuse me,” she says, walking past Remus. “I must make my rounds again.”
What. The. Fuck.
Finally, Remus is alone— done with the ball and the carriages and this entire godforsaken day. She presses her fingers against her temples, trying to drown out the three words that have been echoing around in her brain since morning.
What the fuck.
It doesn’t work.
what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.
She looks down at her stupid gloves and rips them off in frustration. Everything she’s wearing feels like it weighs a million pounds. Off, off. It needs to come off. She yanks at the elegant pin that’s holding her hair in place atop her head and practically sighs in relief as her curls tumble down, reveling in how light it feels.
Dress next, she thinks, kicking off her shoes and reaching behind her to find the buttons, or the zips, or whatever they used to get her into it.
But she can’t find them.
She then tries to lift it up and over her head, which she knows is pointless even as she attempts it, because there are a million metal hoops attached to her skirt. Moving over to the mirror in the corner of the room, she tries to peer over her shoulder so that she can better understand the mechanics of the top part. It’s futile.
A frustrated noise escapes her, as she collapses heavily onto the rug. She’s doomed. She’s dead. Her body is going to rot in this dress.
A knock on the door startles her out of her thoughts.
“La— Remus,” a voice calls from outside. “Are you alright?”
God. No. This cannot be happening. How is she even supposed to respond to that?
“Remus, I’m coming inside,” Sirius says, and Remus watches as the doorknob rotates before she can actually process what’s happening.
“Wait,” she says, coming shakily to her feet. “Wait, no—”
But it’s too late.
“Oh,” Sirius says, before a slow smile spreads across her face. “I thought you didn’t need help taking off your clothes?”
Remus rolls her eyes. “These aren’t clothes,” she says. “This is a glue trap.”
“What I’m hearing is that you need help.”
“No,” Remus snaps, and Sirius raises her eyebrows. “Okay, yes, but—”
But not from you, a part of her wants to scream, but she really can’t explain why she feels so strongly about this. She just knows— knows— that Sirius undressing her, on top of everything else that’s happened today, would just be too much.
“Okay, turn around,” Sirius sighs, and Remus’s brain short-circuits.
“What?”
“Turn around,” Sirius says, more forcefully this time. “This will be quick, don’t worry.”
Remus wants to protest. She wants to say no, more than anything— but she’s too tired for a fight. Too tired to wait for someone else to come up and do this for her. She turns around, hyper aware of every step Sirius takes towards her.
She feels Sirius’s hands glide across her neck, and it takes her a second to realize that she’s moving her hair out of the way. Her fingers feel light, against Remus’s skin. Hesitant, like they’re unsure of what they’re doing there.
“Sorry,” Remus breathes, although she’s not really sure what she’s apologizing for. Having hair? But Sirius doesn’t question her on it.
“S’fine,” she mumbles, and Remus can feel those words against her skin, they’re so close. She feels something in her stomach fully flip over as Sirius’s fingers move quickly across the back of her dress, undoing ribbons and unsnapping the clasps that hold it together.
“Arms out,” Sirius says, finally, and Remus complies, holding her arms in a T as Sirius slips off the sleeves of the dress. Remus shivers, and she tells herself it’s because there’s a draft in the room. The dress falls in a heap at her feet, and she steps away from the puddle of fabric and turns to face Sirius.
“Thank you,” she says, quietly. She’s still in her corset and her underskirt, as is Sirius, but something about it feels revealing, like she’s doing something wrong by looking at the tiny goosebumps that have erupted across Sirius’s shoulders from being exposed to the cool night air. She should look away. She really should. This is not—
Sirius finally breaks the silence. “Can I ask you something?”
Remus drags her eyes back up to meet Sirius’s eyes. There’s a hearth behind them, someone’s started a fire while they were out. She knows this because she can see the flames dancing in the center of Sirius’s irises.
“The whole night,” Sirius starts, and then falters. “Why didn’t you dance?”
“What?” Flashes of the ball that she didn’t even know about before this afternoon rise to the front of her mind, unbidden. She does the same thing she did then, when the music and the chatter and the— fucking swaying got to be too much. In, two, three. Out, two three.
Of course Sirius had a fine time at the ball. She danced like some higher power had tapped out symphonies into her pulse. Like everything there— the music, flickering candlelight— was just an extension of her.
In, two, three. Out, two three.
“You didn’t dance with anyone,” Sirius says. “Why?”
Remus doesn’t know how to answer that question. Her mind spins out so quickly, she begins to feel dizzy, like she needs to sit down. The constant refrain of what the fuck, what the fuck begins again— it feels like its shaking her skull with every word.
In, two, three. Out, two, three.
“You— um,” Remus starts and stops. Starts and stops. In two three, out two three. “You know that I’m not from here.”
“Your letter said your family home was in— Edinburgh?” Sirius raises a questioning eyebrow.
Remus nods, pressing her fingers firmly against the bridge of her nose. “Family home, is that what they said?”
“I assumed,” Sirius says. “That’s where your coach was coming from, so I just thought— Remus, are you okay?”
“Fine,” Remus says, inhaling deeply. “Yeah, fine.”
“Okay…” Sirius trails off hesitantly. “Do people not teach dance in Edinburgh?”
Remus smiles at this, helplessly. “No, not where I’m from,” she says, finally. “They, um—”
Her eyes dart across the room, looking for some tangible form of proof she can present to Sirius, so that she doesn’t have to stammer her way through this explanation. Sirius, who is still looking at her. Sirius, who looks— concerned.
“You have a loose floorboard in your room,” Remus finally blurts out. “And you hide things under it.”
“What,” Sirius whispers, angrily, but her expression looks more afraid than upset.
“Letters, books, maybe a— a necklace? I think? I don’t really remember that well—”
“How do you know that,” Sirius says, and her voice alternates between flat and shaky, like the lines on an ECG monitor. “How do you know about this.”
“I was touring your house,” Remus says. “In 2023. The year. They did tours, and they showed us your bedrooms— I think one of them is purple. Yours is green. And the kitchens, and the sitting room and the library. I know where everything is, Sirius, I’ve been here. And I don’t know why or how, but now I have to live here.”
Remus inhales, deep, shaky. Looks to Sirius for some sort of reaction, but the other girl’s face has gone completely blank. She’s actually still, like a statue— save for the rapid movement of her breaths. In, out. In, out. In, out.
“Oh,” Sirius says, finally. “Oh, you—”
And then she passes out.