Beyond Hogwarts -Chapter Thirteen

-=Beyond Hogwarts; Chapter Thirteen=-

The first thing that Lily’s eyes landed on when she appeared in their entrance hall was a small, towel-clad figure that whisked out of the way with a sharp, high-pitched squeal when she saw two humans appear.
   James frowned. “That might be a house-elf—Remus said he’d see what he could do about getting one. ‘Course I don’t know if it’ll be any good—respectable house-elves don’t go to the DHE agency; they prefer to ask around for jobs—but I suppose we could take a look at it.”
   Curiously, Lily knelt down, catching sight of a pair of large, saucer-shaped eyes, batlike ears, and a dirty bathmat pinned around its body, toga-like. She beckoned imperiously to it.
   “Hello.”
   Shuffling awkwardly, the elf stepped forward, twisting its fingers. “Miss is Mrs. Potter, yes?”
   Lily nodded. “That’s right.”
   Finally looking up, it nervously sank into a bow. “Slenka was instructed by sir to welcome miss most heartily back to her home and to express great thanks at being allowed to enter into service of miss and master.”
   “Slenka’s your name?” Lily queried gently, and the elf nodded jerkily. “Who told you to tell us this?”
   “Master Sirius he was called by a friend. Slenka has not been given the title of sir.”
   James let out a loud laugh. “Leave it to Sirius to frighten our house-elf! Don’t worry, Slenka, we’re not as evil as he made us out to be.”
   The small elf didn’t live up to James’ dire predictions, either; in practically no time, she had heated water for two baths and had their Durmstrang clothing downstairs ready to be washed. Lily only had to point out the dress she wanted to wear before Slenka had taken it down from the hanger and scurried downstairs, where a hot iron was waiting.
   Lily didn’t really approve of the slavery of house-elves, but she had to admit that this was a luxury she would gladly give up several of her principles for; not having to heat water, to iron or wash her clothing—which she hated above anything else—and to be able to sink mercifully into a large basin of a bathtub, filled with bubbles smelling of a cologne bottle. And Slenka was a most obedient, passive, and shy elf, something Lily preferred above insolence, but she did look forward to making something else for the elf to wear instead of the dirty mat.
   When Lily finished wringing out her hair and slipping into the dark green dress, Slenka was waiting for her outside the bathroom door with a bundle of slippers in her hands.
   “Miss may choose slippers, please?”
   Lily laughed. “Don’t bother with those—I’m going barefoot.” Leaving the rather drawn aback house-elf behind her, she flitted downstairs and outside, running towards their stable.
   James caught up with her as she picked up a comb for her horse’s mane, ruggishly elegant in an all-black noble’s garb. He held a hand out to her to help her mount, and, gracefully, she laughingly accepted his offer, leaping swiftly onto her horse’s back. Having helped her up, James scaled his own charger’s back; together, they sauntered out of the stable.
   There was no irritating dirt road made by the treading of endless feet; grass stretched along their property until it turned into a small woodland hill. Urging the black horse into a gallop, Lily laughed in pleasure, feeling a wind whip her hair about her face and her skirt barely miss the ground, flowing out behind her in a manner reminiscent of a rainbow.
   It had rained the past week, she could tell, for more than once the stallion leaped over a muddy, swampy, creek-like area filled with water, and near the small forest she could see shadows still wet with rain. Small wildflowers bloomed here and there on the ground, reminding her that now was spring, and in one place such a clump of blossoms had flocked together that they made her think of the old fairy stories she used to read at night before she went to bed. The sky was sunny and hardly laced with clouds at all, and the air was filled with nectar.
   She had missed riding more than she could tell; and now, with her husband next to her, letting her laugh freely and not starting at the wild sounds she rode with, it was more refreshing than it had ever had been. Except for Svordsja, of course, The pentacorn was an unmatched steed, next to which her horse was no better than Sebastian Krum was to James Potter, she thought.
   “James,” she asked, furrowing her brow, “how do you suppose Sebastian’s taking the fact that I’ve left?”
   James reined in his horse with such force that it reared up dangerously, almost making him fall off. “What?”
   She guided her horse into a trot, turning around and stopping in front of him. “I wonder how Sebastian is.”
   “Krum?” he spat out. “That slimy, filthy—that slughole of a beast—you’re actually spending your time thinking about him? Lily, he’d have killed you upon orders last night, and you know it!”
   Calmly, she held up a hand, not a bit ruffled, and he fell silent.
   “I never said I cared about him. I was thinking of you, to be honest, and was wondering what you’d have done in Sebastian’s place last night—and then I simply conjectured your reaction of I had left you forever and only leaving Sirius a message to pass on to you. I wondered what Sebastian was thinking.”
   “Oh,” he replied, sheepish and quite mollified. “I’m sorry. I’ve got an insanely jealous temper when it comes to you.” He nudged his horse into standing next to her, taking her hand in both of his. “I’d be throwing furniture across the room and through windows if you left me like that.”
   She grinned. “Well, it’s nice to know I’ve got that effect on one human being, at least.”
   “Just one? You make up for everything your sister isn’t in so many ways I’d be overwhelmed if I tried to count them by thousands!”
   Unexpectedly, however, she didn’t laugh or repress him with a stern comment; her mouth closed slowly, and her eyes grew more serious. Anxiously, James cupped her chin in his hand, constraining her to look at him.
   “Lil, what’s wrong?”
   She pushed his hand away gently. “Nothing. I—I just wondered about—well, about Petunia. I haven’t seen her for ages, and the last time I saw her, I had just killed our father—“
   “Hey!” James interrupted sternly, taking her shoulders in both hands. “No. You did not kill your father. It was an accident. It—was—an—accident. Repeat after me and mean it.”
   Lily turned her head away. “I don’t care. I still feel guilty.”
   Biting his lip, James drew her onto his lap in one fluid motion, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist.
   “Lil, if you want, we’ll look her up tomorrow.”
   The gloom on her face instantly transforming to relieved thankfulness, she passed her arms around his neck, kissing him gratefully.
   It was funny—Lily had never really wanted to see her sister before—and while she was at Hogwarts, Petunia was the last person she had wanted to see—but now the fussy, nervous, elder girl was all she looked forward to seeing. Looking forward to finally being able to see a part of her family again, she good-naturedly told Slenka to go to bed early that evening and let her prepare supper.
   James creased his forehead as she entered the library, carrying a wooden tray in her hands. He flipped the book he was reading shut and stood up, taking the tray from her.
   “Lil, we’ve got a house-elf—you don’t need to go to this trouble…”
   “It’s no trouble,” she contradicted, a faint smile on her cheeks. “I can’t stand not doing work—all play and no work’s just as bad as all work and no play, if not worse. I like some of each—and, besides, I’d rather practice being a Muggle again. I rather doubt that Petunia likes wizards much. Especially after what happened with my wand.”
   Before her face could be drowned in a somber flood of thoughts, James reached for a poppy-seed roll, a knife, and a pat of butter.
   “Lily, do we have jam?”
   She laughed. “Blackberry, gorseberry, or blueberry? Sirius stuffed our pantry while we were gone.”
   He pretended to think for a minute, then shrugged. “All three.”
   Lily waved her wand lazily, and a jar appeared. Hastily, James caught it before it hit the floor, read the label, and frowned.
   “I said all three, not lettuce!” He did a double-take and stared at the leafy, green sphere on the label. “Lettuce?”
   “Would you prefer asparagus jam?” she asked, amused. “I could also provide sprouts.”
   “Okay, okay,” he grumbled. “Just blackberry’ll be fine, then.”
   He checked the label of the next jar closely, and, after satisfying himself that it was indeed blackberry, he toasted his roll with a flick of his wand and spread a mass of dark red fruit onto the toast.
   On her part, Lily had lifted a glass of tea to her lips, grimacing at the exceedingly high temperature, and matters weren’t improved much for her when Sirius Apparated right next to her, knocking into her arm and sending the hot tea all over her lap.
   “Sirius Black!”
   “Sorry, terribly sorry!” he apologized hastily, making himself utterly useless by scurrying everywhere and sending a lamp flying while he was at it. “Towels…towels…towels…where in this mansion do you people keep towels?”
   Grinning, James caught his friend’s collar and stopped him just before he went barreling into a bookshelf. “Observe, Padfoot.”
   He lifted his wand. “Arefacio!”
   The hot tea in Lily’s lap evaporated, she stopped looking for her wand, which Sirius had accidentally swept just out of her reach, and Sirius snorted.
   “I’m in a Muggle mindset today. Sorry.”
   “Pull up a chair,” James invited, patting the one next to him, “and tell us what’s been going on while we were gone.”
   “We?” Sirius cast a quick glance at Lily.
   “We,” Lily admitted. “He knew me almost right away.”
   “Angry?” he sympathized.
   “Maneagable,” she replied. “We won’t have to go back anytime soon, at least.”
   “Very good.” Sirius exhaled loudly in relief as he studied his fingernails. “House-elf doing all right?”
   “She’s a dear,” Lily smiled, before James interrupted her with a laugh.
   “Padfoot, I insist on knowing what horror tales you told of her before we got back.”
   “Er.” Sirius looked down at his hands, then at the table, at the lettuce jam, made a grimace, sent a glance at the ceiling, and glared at the floor. “Er.”
   “Sirius,” James warned.
   Sprightly, as if he had just thought of it, Sirius bounced in his chair. “I forgot! Tell me all the news of Durmstrang, won’t you?”
   Lily grinned at Sirius as she teasingly pulled James’ hair. “Ever heard the name ‘Sebastian Krum’?”
   She laughed merrily as, with a groan, James threw his head backwards and gulped down the rest of his toasted roll, half-choking on it. Interested, Sirius clapped James on the back.
   “This should be interesting. Tell on.”
   The next morning, Lily sat up as soon as she was awake—or she was awake as soon as she sat up; she couldn’t decide which. Breathing in a waft of sunlight, she slipped into the bathroom and was out again in a matter of minutes. By the time Slenka had padded into the room with breakfast, she was lying on the sheets, dressed in a Muggle pair of dance pants, her mother’s theatre T-shirt, and was reading Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead by Tom Stoppard.
   Rolling over, she kissed her husband on the cheek. “Wake up. Breakfast!”
   An hour later, both of them, he in Muggle jeans, an old yellow T-shirt, and a jacket, were ready to go see Lily’s sister, both of them hoping she was still living in the old Evans house.
   “Lily, we might not find her, you know,” James warned, as he slipped several Galleons into his pocket. “She could be living in Notre Dame for all we know.”
   “I know,” Lily sighed, pulling the auburn braid of hair over her shoulder and fiddling with it. “I know. I just want to try.”
   He hugged her. “And that’s what we’re about to do. And if she’s not there, how about seeing if her old boyfriend’s parents still live nearby? They might know.”
   “That is an absolutely brilliant idea,” Lily beamed. “Which means I’ve thought of it already. Come on.” Before he could blink, she was gone; following suit, he Disapparated, too.
   They didn’t even have to go inside the house they had appeared in front of to know that Petunia didn’t live there anymore. A nine-year-old with a long, brown ponytail was removing groceries from the trunk of a red car parked in front of the building, and a petite lady with short brown hair streaked with grey was opening the kitchen window.
   Twisting her fingers together, Lily walked forward intently, knocking at the half-open door. The lady appeared, wiping hair out of her face.
   “We’re not buying anything, thank you.”
   “No—“ Lily held a hand out in protest. “I’m not selling anything. I—I’m looking for someone.”
   The lady’s frown didn’t disappear, and, before she could think of shutting the door in the girl’s face, Lily began to explain rapidly.
   “I used to live here—just, a year ago, I married, and I don’t know what’s happened to my family since then. I don’t know where they live now, and I wanted to know if you know anything.” It was pointless to add that she had seen Petunia since then, and her sister was screaming like a banshee at the sight of her father’s body.
   The woman shook her head slowly. “No, dear, I couldn’t tell you. We bought the house from some people named Dursley, and that’s as much as I can tell you.”
   Her child tugged at her sweatshirt, and she bent down and detached the girl’s fist from her shirt. “I’m sorry, but that’s all I can say. Goodbye.”
   In higher spirits than before, Lily turned to James, clasping his arm forcefully. “It’s all right! We’ll be able to find them. Come on—let’s get to Vernon’s house.”
   The Dursleys were still living there, and they welcomed Lily and James into their house more frigidly than warmly. James had an idea that Petunia had been telling fictional tales.
   “Please,” Lily asked as persuasively as she could, as she stood in the hall with Marge Dursley, Vernon’s sister, her back pressed into the umbrella stand, “I’d like to know where Petunia is, if you know. I’ve not seen her for months, and I don’t know where she’d be.”
   “I see.” Marge pursed her lips. She was altogether a revolting creation, James thought, as he looked her up and down—she was wearing ratty tweeds covered with dog hair, she definitely smelled like a colony of hounds, and she was uncomfortably fat. Uncomfortably meaning she was taking up half of the hallway and practically not fitting into it herself.
   “They’re gone,” Marge replied.
   “They? Vernon and Petunia?”
   “Yes. They got married about three months ago.”
   “Married?” Lily leaned on the solitary umbrella for support. “Did—did she try to find me—well, for the wedding—or to tell me?”
   “She most certainly didn’t,” Marge sniffed. “I wouldn’t want to keep up connections with an out-of-work vagabond and his wife. Stealing cars, too, for all I know. Sleeping in them. As civilized as savages, she said, and quite right, too.”
   Their cold reception was explained, then, but Lily was still baffled. “What?”
   “Petunia,” Marge said coldly, “has married my brother. Goodbye.”
   “Wait!” Lily stopped the woman before she completely turned around. “Where do they live?”
   Marge hesitated, but the presence of a well-endowed male in the way of muscles standing behind the auburn-headed girl, ready to back her up to the hilt, unnerved her.
   “4 Privet Drive. Little Whinging, Surrey. Goodbye!”
   They were practically shoved out of the door, and as soon as they were safely outside, the door was slammed behind them with a crash equal to the Louvre falling on the Crystal Palace.
   “Well,” James said, amused. “Charming lady, really.”
   “Oh, isn’t she,” Lily remarked dryly. “Come on. 4 Privet Drive, she said?”
   “You have a wonderful memory,” James confirmed, kissing her cheek. “Where’s the closest alleyway? Muggles don’t seem to take to Apparition.”
   Several minutes later, they were walking down the driveway and up to the doorway of 4 Privet Drive, a squat house fringed with pruned shrubs and bestowed freely with cannas.
   Taking a deep breath, Lily pressed the doorbell, and James pulled her ear as a sort of encouragement to what might follow.
   Clattering slippery steps were heard padding on linoleum floors, and a bolt was flung aside in moments, the door opening to reveal Petunia.
   She was obviously doing house-cleaning, or something of the sort, because her hair was swept out of existence, bundled up in a towel, and a large, blue-and-white print apron was plastered onto a brown dress.
   Lily’s face melted into a relieved smile. “Petunia!” Reaching out to hug the girl, she felt gleefully and honestly happy to see her sister, someone familiar and someone she loved. The schoolgirl had disliked her sibling, but the lady loved her, for the lady could remember the few beautiful hours they had spent playing together as children before they would start fighting.
   But Petunia drew back, both frightened and disgusted. “Who’re you?”
   Surprised, Lily bit down hard on her lip. “Petunia, what…”
   “I don’t know you. Be off, or I’ll have my husband call the police.” Her face was as immovable as if it had just been heavily starched, and she was grasping a whisk-broom threateningly.
   “Petunia—I—“
   The next thing both of them saw was a heavy wooden door inches from their faces. Stunned, Lily sank to her knees.
   “Oh, Lil…” Wrapping his arms around her, James took both of her hands in his. “Sweetheart, it isn’t your fault…”
   “It is,” she moaned. “I could have done something about this months ago—I shouldn’t have come home at all…I shouldn’t have…”
   “Lil, don’t think about it.”
   For a few minutes, they sat there, she, stiff and kneeling, he, trying to be as sympathetic as he could, till James took control of the situation and picked her up, Apparating to their house.
   Slenka was polishing a vase in the large sitting-room when the couple appeared, and she was, for the first time in her short life, appalled at the picture of her mistress, helpless with amazement, hurt, and disbelief.
   “Help me get her into bed,” James ordered with a snap as he carried her up the stairs and into the bedroom. Eyes wide, the elf scurried off, flinging sheets and blankets aside neatly and pulling out a nightshift.
   Lily kept whispering to James while he was carrying her…kept saying everything she was thinking of, regardless of James’ words trying to tell her nothing was her fault.
   “She couldn’t have!...she’s my sister; we’ve been through so much already. And now this—and now she blames me for everything—and she’s right, she’s right. I could have done something about it, could have done everything to prevent this. I could have…”
   It had hit her hard, for if there was anything that the impetuous girl valued, it was love from others, and Petunia was her sister, was part of her family. The loss of her sister—for that was what she considered it to be—was a terrifying, gaping black hole to her, one that, for all her love of adventure, she cared nothing to find out about.
   The next morning, however, James sat straight up in bed, and she was sleeping peacefully next to him, all lines of worry and anguish etched away; when he woke her up, she smiled up at him serenely.
   “Hallo.”
   James sank back onto his elbow, running a hand through her hair. “Are you all right?”
   “Sure, fine…” She tried to sit up, and immediately fell back in bed. “Ow!” Feeling her forehead, she groaned. “Did you doctor my tea with something?”
   “I did not!” James said, insulted. “I wouldn’t do that!”
   She snorted, rolling onto her stomach. “I’ve still got a splitting headache. You make my excuses at the Ministry. I’m staying home today with a good book.”
   She did, too, pulling a divan onto the terrace just outside the French windows and finishing the Count of Monte Cristo before the sun was properly at its mid-way mark. Closing it at around eleven-thirty, she sighed dreamily, wishing herself back to the times when counts were still something and cavalier was a compliment.
   Her daydreams were shattered abruptly by a rattering sound that dropped out of the sky and landed a few feet from her. Coasting towards the terrace, it rolled to a stop, and Sirius jumped off, pushing a helmet aside.
   “Congratulations! She’s back on her feet!” Picking her up out of her seat, he swung her around wildly, as if she were a child of five.
   “Sirius Black!”
   Breathless, he set her down on the settee, kicking his helmet out of the way. “So, my lady, how goes it?”
   “Petunia deserted me,” she said wryly. “I should have expected it, to be honest, but I didn’t.”
   “Oh, poor girl,” he sighed, mischievous eyes betraying just the opposite sentiment. “Yes, I know, Prongs told me this morning, and he ordered me to check up on you. Don’t believe he trusts my house-elf,” Sirius sniffed affectedly.
   Lily laughed merrily. “She’s a perfect dear, but I only wish I could persuade her into accepting some clothes and not run away. I think it’s perfectly disgraceful to make her run around in a filthy bathmat.”
   “House-elves are proud like that,” Sirius agreed. “But on another subject, does Miss Lily know what today is?”
   She eyed him warily. “The day in which you blow up our horses.”
   “Really?” Sirius grinned. “I can?”
   A frigid glare froze his beaming smirk, and he resumed a somewhat serious expression.
   “No, but seriously, have you forgotten?”
   “Entirely. I think today’s Tuesday, but I could be mistaken.”
   “You’re not,” Sirius approved, holding his hands behind his back. “Guess what.”
   “What?”
   “I forget. What were we talking about?”
   “Were we talking?” Lily shot back, subsiding into the question game.
   “Why shouldn’t we have been?”
   “Weren’t we?”
   “Haven’t you any idea?”
   “Aren’t you terribly stupid?”
   “No!
   “Statement! One-love,” Lily laughed.
   Sirius affectionately slapped her on the shoulder, then sat up straight, remarking to the air, “Now I remember! The wedding!”
   “What wedding?” Lily asked, curious. “Frank and Eva?”
   “Oh no; they won’t, not for ages. Frank’s not nearly well paid enough just yet. No; someone dearer to you by far has tied the knot.”
   Suspiciously, Lily pounced on his helmet, hiding it behind her back. “Tell me, or this thing’s facing a most certain death by melting!”
   “Hard-hearted beast!” Sirius grimaced, trying to sn atch his helmet out of her grasp and failing miserably. “All right. It’s Lucius.”
   “Malfoy?”
   “The one and only.”
   “Though I don’t doubt that somewhere on this planet, another Malfoy has just married. Who did he pick, anyway? That former Slytherin Chaser—Cathryn Clarik?”
   “Nope.”
   “Who, then?” Lily pulled her chair closer, expecting something interesting.
   But Sirius shook his head. “Actually, I think it might be better if we saw them ourselves. You might actually believe me then. What say we go to Diagon Alley? Tom’ll know where they are.”
   “And you couldn’t just tell me now?” she asked, shaking her curls down around her face. “It’d save a lot of trouble.”
   “Ye-es,” Sirius admitted, “but I promised James I’d take you somewhere. Exercise. Besides,” he added slyly, “Flourish and Blotts is having a grand sale.”
   He knew that’d catch her interest, and so it did. Springing to her feet, she spun towards the house, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be out in a speck; bring in the divan for me, please?”
   Good-naturedly, Sirius hoisted the piece of furniture onto his shoulders, lazily unconscious of the pillows that cascaded onto the terrace but interested, as he might well be, as to what that afternoon would be like.
   Lily dressed with the assistance of Slenka, who was insisting that she look her best while going out in public and therefore making an unnecessary holdup, as Lily tried to explain to her, because she wasn’t going to a wedding, just to a pub in London. But Slenka turned out to be very demanding when it came to the way her mistress looked, and she carried the day with the indigo dress Lily had worn when she first stepped on the boat that took them to Madagascar.
   Sirius grinned appreciatively at her when she descended the staircase, slightly frowning. Her hair was twisted into a braided knot, ornamented with violets and several vines with pale indigo flowers, and the dress was looped over her arm, 1880-style. Lily had fought furiously against wearing the indigo veil, and she had won, to her utmost satisfaction. It was too fancy for a pub, she had argued, which should have gone for the whole dress, but didn’t.
   “You look nice,” he said. “What’s the occasion?”
   “Your house-elf,” she said exasperatedly, “will have occasion to be fired unless she stops making me do this every time I leave the house.”
   “Eh, never mind,” Sirius shrugged, taking her arm; “you look nice, anyhow. It’s a good thing she did that, anyway.”
   “Why?” Lily eyed him suspiciously.
   “Never you mind. Come on. The Leaky Cauldron.”
   They Disapparated out of the house, leaving Slenka watching through the banisters and pleasedly wiping her hands on a towel.
   Appearing at the small London pub moments later, Sirius fought his way through to Tom, the bartender, calling loudly for iced red wine, something Tom had invented by accidentally freezing a wine bottle, mashing the ice up and serving it as a speciality. In the summertime, it had stuck, though it mysteriously disappeared as soon as leaves began to change their coats.
   Tom looked over at Lily, who was laughing at a small boy’s antics; he had slipped on a puddle of melted chocolate and was doing some somersaults to make it look like the tumble had been on purpose.
   “What for you, then, my dear?”
   “Lemonade is fine,” Lily said absently, receiving a frown from Sirius. She caught it before he could erase it, however, and rounded on him.
   “You scowled?”
   “Yeah,” Sirius agreed. “You’re married; you should at least be able to force yourself to have something partly alcoholic.”
   “I should, but, Sirius, I’ve got the good taste not to want to act like you do.”
   Tom laughed as he set two drinks in front of them. “Nice hit, Mrs. Potter.”
   Lily caught herself from whirling around just in time; every time someone called her that, she kept thinking James’ mother was behind her. It was just a point of getting used to her name, but it still startled her.”
   “Eh, don’t compliment her; she’ll get enough as is,” Sirius laughed. “Say, Tom, do you by any chance know where the Malfoys, Jr. are keeping themselves?”
   “The newlyweds?” Tom furrowed his brow, thinking. “They got back from Italy last month…and as far as I know, they’re still in England, wherever his father’s place is.”
   Sirius hooted. “I thought it wasn’t only me that didn’t call that place a manor! Thanks, Tom,” he grinned, slapping the bartender on the back, “we’re to pay a call on them, and I wasn’t sure if I was to look at every square inch of Italy, Sweden, or England.”
   Later, leaving Florean Fortescue’s with two large ice cream cones and a basket of books on Lily’s arm, they were just turning into Knockturn Alley for a look at some of their curiosities when Sirius pulled at her sleeve.
   Lily straightened, turning away from the cloak that Medea sent Jason’s wife and that burned her to a pile of ashes. “What?”
   “Don’t look now, but there’re the Malfoys coming towards us.”
   She bent her head back downwards, looking for a price among the masses of embroidered pearls and jewels, and only when she felt a hand on her shoulder and a familiar “Lily!” did she turn to look at her old friend.
   “Lucius!” She hugged him quickly, ignoring Sirius’ look of intense disgust. “I haven’t seen you in over a year!”
   He grinned at her. “Are you still married to Potter or have you finally decided he’s not worth anyone’s time?”
   Sirius started cracking his knuckles threateningly in the background, only stopping when Lily kicked him surreptitiously in the shin.
   “Idiot,” Lily pronounced harmlessly. “You know me better than that.”
   She’d forgotten all about the fact that he was married, until he turned to his right, wrapping his arms around a girl’s waist.
   “I’d almost overlooked you, dear. Lily, this is Mrs. Malfoy.”
   The gleam in Lily’s eyes froze as her glance fell on the girl wrapped in a gauzy steel-blue creation and towering half a head over her. Jewels glittered from every possible place on the woman’s body; around her neck, in her ears, on her fingers, in her intricately braided hair, and on her dress. Her wedding ring sparkled noticeably in a wealth of gold, diamonds, and sapphires on her left ring finger, and through the glitter of wealth, Lily recognized her old dislike.
   “Serena?”
   “It’s Narcissa now,” Lucius grinned, pulling playfully on his wife’s earring, a gesture James had done to Lily the few times she bothered with earrings; otherwise, he’d pull her ear in imitation of his mother.
   But Serena—no, Narcissa’s reaction couldn’t be more different than Lily’s was to it; the sleek, elegant lady swatted his hand away, with an expression as if he had been a stinging fly.
   “How nice to see you again," Narcissa said coldly, her gaze running up and down the younger girl’s dress, plain, compared to hers; no precious stones decorated it anywhere, the only jewellery she wore was her white-gold wedding ring with the one black pearl and the two smaller grey ones; her hair was simply dressed with flowers.
   The odd thing was that Serena looked nastily plain next to her, though her gown was more sleek and expensive, though she was covered with money from head to foot. Sirius wanted to laugh at the contrast between the two. The one—wealthy, rich, sophisticated, and overdone, and the other, outshining her splendidly, Sirius figured, the few violet flowers and green vines falling to her shoulders and mid-back giving her a genuine and artless exquisiteness. It was a comparison of a painting of a woman to the reality of one, and Sirius had no trouble in deciding which was the lifeless painting and which the girl.
   With a flounce, Narcissa turned around and swept out of the shop, taking Lucius with her and leaving Lily a bit quiet.
   “Lily?” Sirius asked, quietly. “You all right?”
   “Sure,” she murmured. “She’s just hardly changed, and I don’t think she loves him at all. He didn’t look happy; did you notice?”
   “No. He looked extremely self-satisfied. Rather like a hog, I think. An albino hog.”
   “He’s not happy,” Lily said softly, overlooking his comment. “No; he’s not happy.”
   She didn’t say much for the rest of the day, and Sirius finally gave up and took her back home, telling her he’d be over for dinner, along with Remus and Peter. Handing her one of the flowers that had fallen out of her hair, he Disapparated, leaving her in the library.
   After putting the new books (Antigone: The Original Manuscript, Norwegean Cooking for the Home, and The Complete Works by Victor Hugo) in a now hard-to-find empty space on one of the bookshelves in the study, Lily’s gaze fell on James’ desk, where a letter was lying next to the painted vase filled with quills. It was addressed To Mr. and Mrs. Potter, 1891 Pine Ring, Siparium Castellum in sparkling emerald ink.
   She picked it up, curious. Siparium Castellum was what one yelled into a Floo fire. Siparium meant a scenery backdrop at a theatre, and Castellum simply meant ‘castle’. Lily had picked it out; she thought it fitted.
   Slitting the letter open, she recognized the hand that had addressed most of her letters from Hogwarts to her; Professor McGonagall’s script. Pulling the letter out, she read:

Albus and Joseph are to visit you tonight at seven o’clock for an important conference. They make it extremely clear that Lily must be present.

Minerva McGonagall

   Lily frowned. The one thought running through her mind was “What?” Still, she handed the letter to Slenka, telling her to find an owl and to send the letter to James, puzzling over the contents of it as she slipped into a black turtleneck and a pair of grey dance pants. In the first place, she’d no idea who ‘Joseph’ was; she knew who Albus was, of course, though what they wanted mystified her.
   James got home at five-thirty with her letter in his hand. He found Lily in the library, reading Antigone and munching an apple.
   “Lily, do you have any idea what this is?”
   She looked up. “No. I was hoping you knew. Who’s Joseph, by the way?”
   “I’ve no idea. But I’m guessing we’ll have to offer them dinner.”
   Lily pushed her book away and sat up. “Sirius’ bringing Remus and Peter over. Want me to tell them not tonight?”
   He kissed her quickly before setting his briefcase down. “Sure. But Sirius might want to drop by and pick up some food for consolation. I’ll ask him, all right?”
   “There’s not any need to do that; we know he’ll want some.”
   She laughed as she pirouetted downstairs to the kitchen with the news for the house-elf, whom she found ironing one of Peter’s pairs of robes with one hand and stirring a sort of sauce on the stove with the other.