An Uninvited Caller

  

  

  The Floo flared.

  Lime green flames spurted and spluttered from the hearth down the hall. Two figures stepped through, silhouetted by the curtain of fire.

  Harry adjusted the grip on his wand.

  Whoever’d come calling had been let right on in. The wards hadn’t stopped them or raised any kind of alarm. Meaning: they belonged here. In his time, that list had been short. But this was no longer his house.

  Not even his time.

  He was the one intruding.

  The corner he stood in was out of the way. It would be easy enough to take his leave whenever he pleased. But to go where, exactly? He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath the cloak.

  He was so tired.

  Alright. One step at a time.

  He needed to learn more before he could decide on anything.

  The sound of muted footsteps drew his attention to the parlour entryway. A man crossed the threshold first. The face matched photographs Andromeda had kept tucked between other frames in her sitting room. Salt and pepper. Charcoal Ministry robes, marking him a department head. A leather document case was tucked beneath one arm.

  Had to be Cygnus Black. And the woman following him—

  The wide curve of Andi’s mouth.

  Narcissa’s azure eyes; equally capable of warmth as chill.

  Teddy’s upturned nose and the same, single dimple.

  Tap.

  She leaned on an ebony cane, its silver horn handle catching the light streaming in through the window. She wore a mint afternoon dress, and a platinum pendant hung about her neck, some emerald set in it. The thing was just this side of gaudy.

  Druella.

  Narcissa had a photograph on her desk at the Manor. Herself as a child between these two people, all three of them caught mid-laugh at something beyond the frame. It was one of only two pictures showing Narcissa’s true smile. The other one, right beside it—

  Teddy. Oh my god.

  Harry blinked. His vision had been out of focus. He turned to check his watch. Wait. Thing’s useless. He looked around, spotting a grandfather clock just outside the room.

  2:12

  "Do summon Kreacher for tea, darling," she said.

  The voice was similar to Narcissa’s, too. Not in timbre, but the cadence was the same.

  "Kreacher’s assigned to Walburga now, remember?" Cygnus loosened his collar. "They needed an elf after the last one could no longer bear the tea service." He grimaced. Harry did too. It seemed they both knew the elf’s fate.

  

  Teddy

  

  His wand was slick in his grip. He moved the wand into its holster, then wiped his palms dry on his trousers.

  "Oh, that's right." Druella's mouth thinned. "Well, summon whichever elf is assigned here now, then."

  “Grimkin.”

  A house-elf appeared with a pop, the sound like the uncorking of a bottle. The elf was short and squat, with remarkably wide set eyes and a single snaggletooth.

  Harry hadn’t seen an elf since Kreacher’s passing. Hadn’t wanted to since Dobby’s.

  "Master and Mistress is home," the elf’s voice was a rich baritone. "Grimkin’s be preparing the tea."

  Cygnus' voice softened. "Thank you, Grimkin. The usual, if you would."

  The elf popped away.

  

  TEDDY

  

  Harry’s chest felt as though it were gripped in a vice that was being turned tighter with every passing second. The pressure made full breaths an impossibility. The cloak's fabric pulled up against his nostrils with each rapid inhale.

  His fist was in his mouth. Copper on his tongue.

  Deep breaths. The fabric of his tweed jacket bunched between his fingers. His feet firmly rooted to the floor.

  Teddy was fine. Nothing had happened to him.

  Teddy would be fine. He had Andi.

  And Cissa.

  It would be fine.

  "I need to sit.” Druella leaned on her cane, rubbing at her hip. “Cordelia Mulciber kept me standing for twenty minutes discussing her daughter's trousseau."

  “Mutiny in the ranks,” Cygnus’ hand found the small of her back as they walked. "Should I call for reinforcements?”

  Druella sat down on the parlour chair, removing her gloves to set on the side table.

  “You should sit down and tell me about your day.”

  “As my lady commands.” Cygnus unfastened the top button of his robes and took a seat across from her. “A taxing afternoon, then?”

  “Cordelia obsessing over lace patterns. Verity spilling all the tea in Devon, with Rosamund clutching her pearls at every revelation." Druella adjusted herself in her seat, a relieved sigh following. "The usual tedium."

  “How terrible for you,” his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “You have my condolences.”

  “Your sympathy is noted.” She arched a brow, “Now get on with it. Trouble in paradise?”

  Cygnus snorted, leaning back into the chair’s embrace. "If I must endure another three hours of Cassian Avery and Euan Macmillan shouting past each other, I may tender my resignation and take up something peaceful. Dragonkeeping, perhaps."

  Pop.

  The tea service appeared between them, saucers and cups in place, the pot steaming away.

  "You'd not last a week before you yearned for your dusty old relics." Druella leaned forward, lifting the pot and filling her husband’s cup, then her own. "What set them off this time?"

  "The usual. Auror deployment protocols." Cygnus nodded to her, picking up his steaming cup. "Another march is planned for next week. Squib advocacy groups, and a muggleborn workers' union. Jenkins wants recommendations. Merlin knows she could use them."

  That caught Harry’s attention. Something to focus on. Binns didn’t do much in the way of recent history, though he remembered reading something about Jenkins having served through the Squib Marches and resulting Pureblood Riots. Lovely times, the 70s. A true marvel that Tom was able to gin up support for his crusade.

  "I’m sure Cassian had thoughts."

  "I’m sure you’re right. Preventive dispersal, he called it. Heavy Auror presence, arrest anyone who doesn't move along." Cygnus tilted his head back, looking up. "Euan followed it with an impassioned speech about rights and dignity. Very moving. Sadly, completely impractical, as is his wont."

  Druella set down her glass. "And what wisdom do you offer?"

  "Scheduled times for demonstrating. Specific locations. A moderate Auror presence to prevent violence from either side. Zero tolerance for property damage or assault, but permit peaceful assembly." He rubbed his temple. "Both of them acted as if I'd proposed human sacrifice with their mother as the offering."

  "My, how inspiring. You found a way to unite those two."

  Harry stifled a chuckle. Then or now, the true enemy of all radicals was the common ground. Cygnus wanted to walk the middle road, but it was crumbling beneath his feet.

  Cygnus snorted, nearly spitting tea. “You absolute menace.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Druella sipped at her tea, prim as could be. “Do go on.”

  "Cassian pivoted to his usual refrain about not wasting DMLE resources on squibs and muggleborns. 'Let the Muggle constabulary handle their Muggle issues.'" Cygnus set his teacup down, wiping spilled tea from his hand with a handkerchief. "With that particular sneer of his."

  Avery, huh? He’d have to remember that one.

  "Charming."

  "Euan nearly hexed him on the spot. Had to call a recess before a duel was issued." Deep lines bracketed Cygnus' mouth. "Jenkins refused to make a decision. She’s scheduled another round of discussion next week, after the protest has already passed."

  "You look exhausted."

  "A morning wasted on the Ministry’s finest will do that." Cygnus reached down to retake his tea. "The centre won't hold much longer. Both sides are too entrenched."

  "Then perhaps it's time to stop standing in the middle.” She set her cup on its saucer. “It would rather inconvenience me should I find my husband crushed between two millstones."

  Cygnus sat back in his chair, rubbing at his temple. "Someone has to maintain perspective. Too far to either side and we risk shattering everything we've built."

  Druella was quiet. She looked down into her teacup, rubbing her thumbs along its rim.

  "You sound like your grandfather."

  "He was a particularly rational man."

  "He was also dead before fifty-five."

  Harry felt his brow stretched taut. This was a pureblood supremacist? Not bloody likely. Sirius had gotten that one wrong. Though, fair play. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that Walburga’s little brother, and Bellatrix’s father, just might be cracked.

  Cygnus grimaced. Druella took a sip of her tea. Then another.

  Bong! Bong! Bong!

  Harry looked to the source of the noise. The clock had struck 3. Empty teacups sat on the table between the two Blacks.

  Pop.

  And the table was cleared.

  

  ·

  

  “Enough of that, tell me about your day, darling.” Cygnus sighed, pushing himself up from his chair. “Was Verity on about the Greengrasses again?”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Druella looked at him for just a beat or two, then put on a smile. “Worse. The Vane girl.”

  “Oh, my.” Cygnus stood. “Could I get you something?”

  “A glass of sherry, if you would. A large one.”

  “I live to serve.” He made his way to the cellarette.

  “As it should be.” Her smile widened. “The girl has apparently been making quite the impression.”

  “Oh?” He emptied a quarter of the bottle of sherry into a schooner, then poured a modest portion of port into a second.

  “Apparently she’s been rather expressive at recent gatherings.”

  “Has she now?”

  “She has, indeed.” Druella reached out, accepting her glass. “Verity witnessed her practically draped over some Carrow boy at the Nott’s garden party last week.”

  “How dreadful.” The voice was dry, but the rise of his thick moustache gave the game away.

  His only answer was an arched brow.

  “She’s what, sixteen? Still young.” He sat down, crossing one leg over the other. “What is the harm in children being a bit friendly. It’s hardly a scandal.”

  “Seventeen. Old enough to know better.” She took a sip. “She’s out in society, representing the Vane name.” She tapped her fingernail against the glass. “All the other ladies were discussing it. And not kindly.”

  Cygnus sat quietly. A frown on his lips, and a crease splitting his brow. The silence stretched through a handful of ticks from the clock.

  “You think it will damage her prospects, then?”

  “I know it already has.” Her mouth thinned. “Young men may well enjoy the attention, but I assure you that their mother’s won’t soon forget. The whispers have begun, and if she’s not settled by next season, she’ll be seen as fast. Unsuitable by most.”

  “How harsh.”

  “That’s how it works.” A sigh escaped Druella, her shoulders sagging just a bit. “A girl who can’t demonstrate restraint, can’t maintain decorum. She becomes vulnerable.”

  Harry grimaced. He knew this song and dance.

  Cygnus grimaced. “Is it that severe, truly?”

  “It often is.”

  The ticking of the clock filled the void, once again. Cygnus’ expression tightened around his eyes, as he looked into his glass of port.

  “You’re thinking of the girls.”

  “I’m always thinking of the girls.”

  He extended his arm, palm up. She reached out without looking, resting her hand in his.

  “They’re fortunate that you do so.”

  A smile came to her face, relaxing the deep lines that had been marring her brow. “I’m sure they’d beg to differ.”

  A gentle squeeze was her response.

  “Perhaps for a time,” his voice grew distant. “But they won’t be girls for much longer. They’ll see that only love was guiding your hand.”

  If only you knew.

  It was hard to watch, but the distraction kept him from thinking about other things.

  These were not the Blacks Sirius spoke of. Not parents that would burn one daughter off the family tapestry, and marry another off into an unhappy marriage.

  How did it get to there from here?

  “Bellatrix worries me. And Andromeda.”

  “Bella’s just spirited.” Cygnus’ shoulders tightened. “Has fire in her, that one.”

  Druella grunted, unconvinced. “She is mercurial, and has always been possessed of a choleric temperament. Paired with the company her chosen keeps….”

  “Rodolphus is a good match, surely? Excellent family, solid connections, and she chose him herself—”

  “Connections, yes. But to whom?” She leaned forward, closing the space between them. “Verity mentioned that Peregrin saw him at one of those gatherings. You know the ones. Where certain young men discuss solutions to society’s problems.”

  Right. The Death Eaters. Or were they still the Knights of Walpurgis? Either way, they’d be terrorizing Britain sooner than later. And Bellatrix was already stuck in. Of course, she was.

  “They’re entitled to their views, even if they’re somewhat excessive in their fervor.” Cygnus sighed, a frown crossing his face. “And, honestly, he’s the only man that she’s shown any interest in.”

  "Political views are one thing, but I remain concerned about the circles those views draw them into." Druella held his gaze. "Things are escalating. You said it yourself: the centre won't hold. When it breaks, I'd prefer our daughter not to be standing on the frontline."

  Cygnus crumpled. His rested his head in his two open palms, elbows propped on his knees.

  “I know. Though I know not what to do, but hope.” He paused, audibly taking an unsteady breath. “And be there to catch her. Should the worst come to pass.”

  Now more than ever, Harry recognized his intrusion. He’d used this cloak to eavesdrop on many things over the years, but he’d never felt so much of a voyeur. Rarely had he ever felt so much sympathy for anyone.

  Foreknowledge was a gift, they said. Well, it was a bloody heavy one.

  Druella grabbed her cane and used it to push herself to her feet. In a few steps, she was before her husband. She reached out, threading her fingers into his hair, stroking his head.

  “You are a good man and a wonderful father,” she spoke quietly. “Now come, I greatly desire to recline with my husband.”

  He looked up from his hands, his slicked back hair mussed, several strands hanging loose over his forehead. “Yes. Yes, I think I’d like that very much.”

  

  ·

  

  The two had seated themselves on the settee, Druella leaning against Cygnus as his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

  “You mentioned Andi…” His voice sounded hesitant to Harry’s ears. “Is there something I need to worry about with her, too?” He reached up with his free hand, pulling at a lock that was more salt than pepper at his temple. “These girls will drive all the colour from this Black.”

  Druella smiled, the corners of her mouth bracketed by deep lines. “My old man. How dear you are to me.” She patted his knee. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

  After a moment, Cygnus spoke. “I know it is your place, but I am here if you need to share.” He cleared his throat. “About the girls, that is. I am not made of glass.”

  “Hmm.” Druella traced her finger in a circle on his knee. “It’s been nearly a year, and Andromeda has shown even less interest in courtship than Bellatrix."

  “I had noticed. She still has another year or two before it becomes a problem, does she not?”

  “She does, but I worry.” The finger stopped. “She’s been hiding something. I can just feel it. She spends so much of her time out of the house—”

  “In the greenhouse, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Yes, she certainly does, but elsewhere as well.”

  Oh. She has, at that.

  “I see. And you worry that she…”

  “I can’t place it exactly. I simply feel she needs a match, sooner than later.” The finger started back up. “A mother’s intuition, let’s call it.”

  “Let’s.” Cygnus’ hand began to gently pat his wife’s shoulder in what looked to be an unconscious rhythm. “And what has my observant wife decided to do about it.”

  “Geneviève and I have been coordinating."

  "Coordinating?"

  "The Yaxley boy. Corban. You remember. He was at the Yule gathering."

  "Dark hair? Quiet?"

  "That's him. Bright, well-mannered, excellent family." Druella's posture shifted against him. "Geneviève thinks he'd suit Andromeda. Similar interests, compatible temperaments. And there is their estate. They own many large orchards. Extensive grounds, all manner of flora."

  Andi had mentioned loving Herbology when she was in school. Suppose her mother would know. Though, Harry somehow doubted a bunch of apple and pear trees are what she’d been studying in her NEWTs.

  "Has Andromeda met him?"

  "Twice now. We arranged for them to be seated together at the Notts' dinner. Then Geneviève made sure he was at the Ministry charity auction, where I brought Andromeda."

  Orchestrated meetings. Molly had been trying something similar with Charlie, last he’d heard. And, likely, to no more success than Druella was to enjoy.

  "And?"

  "And she was perfectly cordial. Polite conversation, nothing more." Druella's fingers tapped against her glass. Faster this time. "Not discouraging, but not enthusiastic either."

  "Perhaps he’s not the one."

  "Or perhaps she needs more time to see his qualities." Druella's jaw set. Barely visible. "I'm arranging for them to encounter each other at the Botanical Society lecture next week. Geneviève will make sure Corban mentions that rare specimen collection. Common ground."

  “You seem determined.”

  “I just have this nagging fear that if nothing is done…”

  Only the ticking of the clock filled the silence. Must’ve been half a minute.

  "She's a good girl. All our girls are." No hesitation in his voice. "Whatever phase Andi is going through, she'll come to her senses. They always do."

  Not bloody likely.

  Druella picked up her sherry from the side table, and took a long sip. She looked up at him over the rim. Seemed Harry wasn’t the only one to think so. But she said nothing, letting it drop.

  Harry had a sudden thought. The wards hadn’t stopped the pair when they arrived… But shouldn’t he have been kept out? Shouldn’t the house elf have detected him?

  The wardstone was in the office, up on the third floor. Wouldn’t be a spot of bother to go and have a poke about. He took a step, ready to act—

  "And Narcissa?"

  He stopped. Might as well complete the set.

  Druella's shoulders dropped. Her mouth softened.

  "Her latest letter was delightful. She's nearly completed her NEWT project."

  "That's my girl." Pride flooded Cygnus' voice. "Did she mention the enchantment sequence? Last letter, she was struggling with the temporal binding. I sent along a few books a friend from the Department of Mysteries suggested."

  "Yes, she worked it out, but said the books helped with the personality matrix. Her professor was quite impressed. Said it was advanced enough to pursue a Mastery in enchanting."

  Come again?

  Narcissa neglected to mention this. He thought she was just vindictive with a wand, but it seemed, as ever, there were more layers to peel back on that woman.

  "Of course it was, the girl’s bright as a button" His voice was a bit louder, though it was doubtful he realized. "Chip off the old block, that one."

  "Your modesty is overwhelming."

  "Just stating facts." Port sloshed near the rim. "She could do such remarkable things."

  "She's seventeen, darling. And she’ll have a house to oversee, soon enough." She gave Cygnus a gentle pinch. “I’m sure she’ll do it remarkably well, too.”

  Cygnus settled back. His enthusiasm dampened slightly. "I do wish—"

  He stopped himself. Sipped his port instead.

  Druella patted his knee again, adjusting her posture to rest her head on his chest.

  "At least we can find her someone who appreciates her mind," Cygnus said after a moment, voice quiet.

  "Obviously. It would be a crime to have her wasted on some dullard who only sees a pretty face."

  "On that, we agree."

  Well, you lot cocked that one right up.

  Lucius Malfoy. That ponce never saw her as more than a key to the Black vault and an accessory to wear out.

  They sat in comfortable quiet. Cygnus' hand covered Druella's on his knee.

  Druella glanced toward the window. "Family dinner tonight. We should freshen up and head over shortly."

  "Must we?"

  "We must."

  "Oh, bother."

  "Chin up." She stood, and leaned on her cane. "Come. I'll need help with the clasps."

  Cygnus rose. His hand found the small of her back. Steadying her as they walked toward the corridor.

  "I daresay I remember how to undo those" he said, tone playful.

  "You beast."

  “I still have it in me to huff, and to puff—”

  Druella’s laugh echoed down the staircase.

  Harry made to follow, off to check the wardstone. Then he saw something. Glinting off of Cygnus’ finger was a very familiar ring.

  And it hit him.

  He looked down to his own hand. A black family ring, keyed to Grimmauld Place.

  Fuck’s sake.

  

  · · ·

  

  Fuck's sake.

  His hand went to his shoulder. His fingertips came away streaked white and grey.

  Something warm and wet had hit him.

  Been shit on again.

  Snorting, he waggled his fingers and the droppings vanished.

  He looked up. A snowy owl banked overhead, letter clutched in its talons. It disappeared beyond the rooftops of Islington.

  With a turn on his heel, the familiar pull of Apparition folded space around him. A breath later, he stood outside the Leaky Cauldron. The sign above the door swung in the breeze, creaking on its hinges. Not rusted like he remembered.

  Tom had hosted him once before. A scrawny thirteen-year-old, desperate and half-wild, fleeing the Dursleys after having blown up his aunt. A decade later, or was that two decades earlier, and he was back. Once again, with nowhere to go home to.

  Still, on the whole, his current situation was vastly preferable to another summer with the Dursleys.

  The sky had gone amber. A waxing crescent hung low over the rooftops, looming large against the shingled edges.

  He crossed the threshold.

  The warmth hit him first, followed by the low murmur of conversation. Ale and pipe smoke thick enough to taste.

  The common room: polished wood, mismatched chairs, the bar running along the far wall. Brass fixtures gleamed with noticeably less tarnish than he remembered. The floorboards showed fewer scuff marks, too. Still, the tables bore scoring from years of spilled drinks and careless wands.

  This was the Leaky, sure enough.

  Tom worked behind the bar, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was pulling a pint down the counter. Unsurprising. What was surprising was the mostly full head of hair. It was auburn, combed back and shaggy, just starting to recede at the temples. Mutton chops curved up into a full moustache.

  Blimey. The bloke’s still got some pace in him, yet.

  Harry felt the smile form on its own. His first friendly face in the wizarding world. Was last time around, too.

  He took one of the few open seats at the bar, raising two fingers toward Tom. Tom glanced over, nodded, then returned to filling glasses from the tap.

  Two men sat to Harry’s left, nursing pints. Late twenties, early thirties. One wore a battered Timex, leather strap cracked and faded. Their robes were threadbare at the hems, cheap fabric that hadn’t held its dye well.

  The stockier man leaned closer to his companion.

  "’Course he hasn't bloody written. Probably got 'em worked sunup to sundown, innit?" His voice carried between gulps of ale. "Been three weeks since me mate was snatched up by that lot."

  Sweat sheened his face. He had a broom of a moustache and stubble shadowing his jaw. His bowler hat sat on the bar beside his glass.

  "Still, least it pays, don’t it?” The taller man dabbed at his forehead with a crumpled napkin. ”Me brother keeps tellin' me ‘just go work for Muggles til this blows over.’ Right, yeah. I'll pop down to the dole with me Hogwarts diploma, shall I? Like to see how far that gets me."

  "Aye." The first man shook his head. "Ya know, me cousin got out. His wife's Muggle. Got a job with her da, he did. Got all the luck, that one."

  "Must be bloody nice."

  The taller man chugged the last of his pint, slamming it down on the counter. “Another.” He seemed to be speaking to the mug. It began to fill, golden liquid rising from the bottom. He picked it back up, continuing.

  "Enough o’ that. Let’s talk about summat else. Arsenal's match on Saturday, who you got takin’ it?"

  Bit grim already.

  Tom appeared across the bar from him, setting down the glass he'd been polishing. Always seemed to be doing that. You’d think they’d clean themselves.

  "Now then, what’s it to be?"

  "A pint. A bite. And a bed." Harry reached for his pouch.

  Tom grabbed a fresh glass and filled it from the tap. Dark coppery liquid frothed to the rim. He slid it across the counter.

  "New around here, are you? Can’t say I recall your face, and I never forget a face."

  "Just blown in. Need a place to stay while I sort myself."

  Tom nodded.

  "That’s no bother at all. The food's simple tonight: Lamb stew, fish and tatties, or steak and kidney pie. Give us a shout when you’ve decided."

  "Just the steak and kidney. Sent up to the room, if that's alright."

  "’Course." Tom pulled a key from beneath the counter and set it beside Harry's glass. "Second floor. Third door on the right. I'll have it brought up shortly."

  "Cheers."

  Tom moved down the bar.

  Harry took a pull of his ale. The nutty malt settled on his tongue. Proper nice. He'd been in this pub many times before, but sitting back to enjoy a drink in peace had always been beyond his grasp.

  He downed the pint, then pushed back from the bar and clambered up the narrow stairs to the second floor.

  The room was small. A single bed against the far wall, a wardrobe, and a washbasin on a side table. The window looked out over Diagon Alley, the last light of evening fell across the cobbles, shadows growing long.

  He dropped his mokeskin pouch on the side table, wand following after.

  The bed creaked as he sat, then stretched out on top of the covers. His stomach rumbled. He lay back. Just for a moment. Just until the food arrived.

  The ceiling above him was water-stained plaster. Cracks spread from the corners, blurring in his vision.

  He closed his eyes.