Chapter Text
My Dear Nephew,I must confess myself surprised by your letter. If you were indeed ignorant of the part that Mr. Black played in bringing about Lydia’s marriage, let me enlighten you at once.
Mr. Black paid an unexpected visit to Gracechurch Street, having found Barty and Lydia holed up in some shadowy corner of London — the particulars of where, precisely, I was well able to do without knowing!
Mr. Black then related that he had brokered an agreement with Barty, and had made the financial arrangements necessary for the couple to be wed. He asked that Arthur make the necessary representations to your Uncle, so that everything might be made official. Beyond that, Mr. Black insisted that he be allowed to do everything himself, take on the entirety of the expense.
We told him that he took too much upon himself, but the gentleman would not hear it. He expressed that it was through his mistaken pride that Barty’s character was not made known to the world, and that the elopement could not have taken place otherwise. We told him most emphatically that it was not so, but he was quite implacable. He has all the stubbornness of an ox, that man, but the heart of a lion, too, I think.
And so, my dear Remus, Mr. Black would brook no opposition. Nothing was to be done that he did not do himself — and dear Arthur, instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece, was forced to put up with having the credit of it.
I must confess that I did do some fishing on your behalf, dear nephew, for which I beg you not to reproach me — I asked, quite innocently, mind, if Mr. Black had been disappointed at the sudden loss of your society at Pemberley. I am happy to report that he came over in quite a fluster, and expressed his very great sorrow at having been deprived of — and I quote — your ‘lively and enchanting’ company so prematurely, and under such unhappy circumstances.
I must say, my dear, I wonder if Mr. Black would have taken such a personal interest in this sorry matter, or ventured to invest quite so much, if not for his partiality towards you. I know you will scold me for speaking so, but there it is!
Of course I suspected his regard for you long before we departed Pemberley — I am not blind, nephew — but his actions with regards to Lydia’s unfortunate situation have convinced me entirely.
He is a very good sort of man, your Mr. Black.
All my love,
Molly
Remus scarcely knew what to make of Molly’s reply, whether he was upset or pleased. Remus thought of how Molly had called Mr. Black his, though his mind rebelled against the thought and all its implications.
It was too painful to hope that Molly may be right in her assessment of Black’s feelings, not when Remus could still feel the pain of their last ill-fated separation so keenly.
Remus was sitting in the garden the morning that Barty and Lydia were due to take their leave, pouring over the letter yet again, desperate to divine some hidden insight from Molly’s words. He worried the edges of the paper as he mulled the thing over, but found himself no more enlightened than he had been after the first, third, or seventeenth reading.
It was then that Remus became aware of Barty lingering nearby, leaning against the garden wall, watching.
“My dear cousin.” Barty said with familiarity, and Remus felt a pang as he remembered that this mercenary was now counted among his relations — a cousin by marriage, no less.
Even so, Remus folded his letter, tucking it away safely in his pocket, and offered a polite smile. “Barty.”
Barty smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid I’m interrupting your solitary reverie.”
“You are indeed.” Remus said wryly, but ultimately resolved to play nicely — Barty was due to leave, after all, and he thought he could tolerate one more morning of civility; “But it doesn’t follow that the interruption must be unwelcome.”
“It would be sorry if it were. You and I were always good friends.”
“True.” Remus allowed, having just enough force of will to refrain from adding; though that was before you absconded with my fifteen year old cousin and nearly ruined my entire family.
Such things tended to put strain on even the very best of friendships.
“Than shall we take a turn together, cousin?” Barty asked, offering an arm.
Obliging, Remus stood and they began to walk the little garden together — meandering without purpose or direction.
“I was surprised to see Black during my time in London.” Said Barty, to Remus’ great surprise — he had not expected the man to share such incriminating intelligence lightly. “We, erm, passed each other several times.”
That is one way of putting it, thought Remus. “Is that so?”
“I wondered what he could be doing there.” Barty said, and Remus marvelled at how easily the lies rolled off his tongue — that he could so easily walk the perilous line between truth and fiction, mixing the facts in with tales of his own invention, lending them an undeserved credibility, re-attributing blame and intent to innocent parties as it suited him.
Remus smiled innocently at Barty, tilted his head, and said; “He must have been preparing for the wedding.”
“What?” Barty’s expression was one of alarm.
“You know,” Remus smiled pleasantly. “To Miss Bellatrix.”
Barty relaxed. “Yes, yes, perhaps.”
“It must have been something particular to take him there at this time of year.” Remus commented.
“Undoubtedly.” Said Barty. “Did you see him while you were at Lambton? I thought I understood from the Weasleys that you had.”
“Yes.” Remus said. “He introduced me to Regulus, actually.”
Barty gave him a sidelong glance. “And did you like him?”
“Yes, I did.” Remus said. “I liked him very much.”
“Well, I have heard that he is uncommonly improve within this last year or two.” Barty allowed, giving an air of being unconvinced. “When I last saw him, he was not very promising.”
“I found him perfectly amiable.” Remus said. “I am very glad to have made his acquaintance.”
Barty arranged his expression into something more polite and apologetic, and said hastily; “Please do not misunderstand me, I’m glad you liked him. I hope he will turn out well.”
“Oh, I daresay he will.” Said Remus, and added deliberately; “He’s gotten over the most trying age.”
Barty assessed him closely, and Remus knew that he was cottoning on quickly.
It seemed, however, that he was not yet prepared to forfeit, and made another salvo against the Blacks.
“Did you go by the village of Kimpton?” He asked lightly. “I only mention it because it was the living I should have had.”
Remus raised an eyebrow. “And how should you have liked making sermons?”
“Exceedingly well.”
“Huh.” Remus said, tilting his head to the side a little. “Only, I did hear that there was a time when sermon making was not so palatable to you as it seems to be at present.” Remus pinned Barty with a look. “That you actually declared your resolution of never taking orders, and were compensated accordingly.”
Barty looked down, his cheeks flushed. “Well—”
“Oh, come now, Barty.” Remus clapped the other man on the shoulder, smiling genially. “We are cousins, are we not? Let us not quarrel about the past.”
Barty fell into silence, and, sensing any further posturing would come to nought, quickly found an excuse to take his leave and escorted Remus back to the house.
The Crouches departed Longbourn around noon, to the general relief of everybody, save perhaps Mrs. Evans and Kitty.
“Oh, Lydia, when shall we meet again?” Mrs. Evans cried, hugging her youngest daughter.
“Lord, I don’t know.” Lydia said brashly. “Not for two or three years, probably.”
Remus only hoped they would be so lucky.
“Two or three years! Oh, what shall I do?” Mrs. Evans fretted, before turning a resentful eye to her husband. “And Mr. Evans has been so cruel as to refuse to take us into the North Country.”
Mr. Evans looked distinctly put-upon, but did not trouble himself to reply.
“I should refuse to go, in any case.” Petunia said primly. “Indeed, I should find such society as the Militia provides far too frivolous to hold any pleasure for me.”
“Oh, hold your tongue, girl! Who asked you?” Mrs. Evans snapped, instantly softening as she turned back towards her youngest. “Oh, Lydia, you will write to me often, won’t you?”
“Well, I don’t know. We married women don’t have much time for writing.” She giggled. “My sisters and cousin may write to me. They will have nothing better to do.”
Kitty looked very put out at this, and Lily patted her on the shoulder comfortingly. Remus, too, shot the young girl a look of consolation — it could not be easy to bear the loss of both your sister and your dearest friend the same fell swoop.
“Oh, Barty, you will take care of my girl, won’t you?”
“I shall, Ma’am, to the very best of my ability.” Said Barty. “And thank you, Ma’am, and to you, Sir, for your kindness and hospitality. But, the carriage awaits. Duty and honour call me to the North. And so, come, my dear.”
Lydia and Barty climbed into the coach, the latter taking the liberty of leaning out the window to address the party one last time.
“Let us not say farewell,” he said, laying the charm on thick. “But as the French have it, au revoir!”
A smarmy git, right to the very last. Remus thought. Well, he is nothing if not consistent.
Lydia waved heartily to her relations as the coach drove off, though Remus could not pretend that he was particularly sorry to see the couple go.
“He’s a fine a fellow as ever I saw.” Remarked Mr. Evans with perfect equanimity. “He simpers and smirks and makes love to us all.”
Remus snorted, a little ungraciously, and even Lily allowed herself a rare sardonic smile.
“Oh, yes, I’m prodigiously proud of him.” Mr. Evans continued. “I defy even Sir William Vance himself to produce such a son-in-law.”
The news of Mr. Potter’s return to Peverell House swept through the Hollow like fire to dry kindling — indeed, scarcely half a day had passed before every family knew of it.
It had been Ms. Trelawney who had come to Longbourn to share the gossip first, relating every particular of the matter to Mrs. Evans, and stating, quite sagely, that she had always known the gentleman would return.
“I have an intuition about such things.” Trelawney said sagely. “I have, as my great-grandmother did, the gift.”
Remus watched Lily closely for any indication that this news at all affected her, and though the signs were slight, Remus was called to notice the blush that shaded her cheeks every time that Potter’s name was mentioned.
The opportunity to press the subject came one sunny afternoon, two days after Potter’s return had first been announced.
He and Lily were tying together bundles of lavender stalks and hanging them to dry in the little scullery that linked the gardens and the kitchens.
Everything was flourishing in the fine weather, and they had a notion of using the dried lavender to aid in the battle against the very resilient moth infestation that had lately overrun their closets. The leftovers might be used to make salves and oils, too, which struck them as a fine project, for there had been precious little to do.
Gatherings were now small and dull, mostly cards and little dancing, especially now that the Militia had left town. It was difficult for Remus to bear such events — especially now that Emmeline had moved away. He felt bored with everyone and everything, and was given to the feeling that there was little of substance left to say.
So, in lieu of having anything better to do, Remus permitted himself to spend most of his time ruminating over Black, and Potter’s return, and every particular of the past few months’ events.
Eager to share the curse of his preoccupation, and seeing no reason why Lily should be spared from it, he ventured to ask his cousin what she thought of the re-occupancy of Peverell House.
“No, I do assure you, this news does not affect me.” Said Lily, and, catching his politely incredulous expression, added; “Truly, Remus. I am only glad of one thing – that he does not bring Miss McKinnon or Miss Meadowes with him. If it is merely a shooting party, we shall not see him often. Not that I’m afraid of myself; but I dread other people’s remarks.”
“Then I shall venture none,” Remus said with a suppressed smile. “However sorely I am tempted.”
Lily shook her head, coming down in a fluster. She focused her attention on wrapping twine around flowers, and resolutely avoided Remus’ eye.
“After all, it is hard that the poor man can’t come to a house he’s legally rented without raising all this speculation.” Remus added, cutting a length of string.
“That is just what I think.” Lily said, still determinedly keeping her eyes down.
“Then we shall leave him to himself.” Remus said.
“Yes.”
Remus hung some flowers, glancing at Lily with a knowing smile. Lily looked exasperated, but her face broke into an unwilling grin all the same.
“Stop it, Remus!”
He chuckled, dodging a swat from his cousin, and said no more of the matter.
Though initially diverted by news of Mr. Potter’s return to the Hollow, Mrs. Evans soon found her mood soured by with every day that passed without word from the gentleman.
“Three days he has been in the neighbourhood, and still he shuns us!” She railed. “I say it’s all your father’s fault. He would not do his duty and call, so you shall all die old maids.”
“Petunia may die a maid, for nobody will want to marry her, but I certainly shall not.” Kitty said, earning a pious and reproving look from the second-oldest Evans, who was sorting through sheet music at the table.
“We will be turned out by the Pettigrews to starve in the hedgerows.” Mrs. Evans said, glaring at her husband.
Mr. Evans, sensing that the matter would not be dropped, lowered his newspaper. “You promised me last year that if I went to see him, he’d marry one of my daughters, and it all came to nothing. I shall not be sent on a fool’s errand again.”
“Mamma! Mamma, look!” Kitty suddenly cried, peering out the window. “I think he is coming!”
Lily turned to Remus with wide, panicked eyes, her hand immediately gripping his forearm, and squeezed so tightly that it actually rather hurt.
“Three men on horseback.” Kitty reported to the room at large. “I’m sure that’s Potter’s horse.”
Mrs. Evans moved to the window with an impressive agility that Remus would not have thought her capable of. “Is it really him?” She breathed. “Oh, I believe it must be. He has come, Lily! He has come at last.”
Lily looked pale, almost like she might vomit, and Remus placed his hand over the top of the one that was currently cutting off circulation to his arm.
“Run and put on your blue gown.” Mrs. Evans commanded.
Lily shakily rose to go change. She had not gotten far, however, before her mother sunk a claw into her arm and pulled her back into her chair.
“No! No! You must stay where you are!”
Baffled, Lily sat, rendered quite mute by the unceremonious manhandling.
“The gentlemen who are with him,” Kitty said, still looking out the window. “It looks like that man who used to be with him before. Mr… Oh, what’s his name? You know, that tall, proud one.”
Lily shared a surprised look with Remus.
“Mr. Black.” Remus croaked, casting his eyes about wildly — suddenly given to the bizarre urge to hide under furniture. “Is it Mr. Black?”
He was distinctly given to the feeling of being a rabbit caught in a snare, unable to do anything but wait helplessly for the hunter to return and put him out of his misery.
“Yes, him.” Kitty confirmed. “Say, Remus, didn’t you dance with him once?”
Remus could have laughed at such a wildly reductionist summary of their acquaintance — which left so much unsaid that it was absurd, but was spared the obligation of replying by Mrs. Evans.
“I must say that I hate the sight of that man.” Mrs. Evans glowered contemptuously out the window, eyes narrowed. “Still, I am determined to be civil — if only because the man is a friend of Potter’s — but no more than civil.”
Remus hoped, rather than believed, that this promise of civility would be upheld.
“And the other gentleman?” Remus managed to ask. “Who is he?”
“I don’t know.” Said Kitty. “I’ve never seen him before. Some slight fellow with dark hair.” Kitty paused, then added; “Handsome.”
Mrs. Evans checked her own appearance in the mirror, before casting a final, assessing look over Lily. “Oh, sit up straight, Lily!” She snapped. “Pull your shoulders back! A man could go a long way without seeing a figure like yours, if you would only make the most of it.”
Lily fixed her posture, and Remus subtly made to do the same. Nervously, he ran his hand through his hair, wishing he had spent more time on making it look well that morning.
Mrs. Evans had only just managed to rush back into her chair and situate herself, smoothing out her skirts and fixing her hair, when a servant entered, announcing their guests.
“Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, and Mr. Black, Ma’am.”
Remus looked up in surprise as the gentlemen entered — he could not imagine what appeal the Hollow held for Regulus, and was caught off-guard by his coming.
Remus stood automatically to greet them, his eyes skimming briefly over Potter and Regulus before resting on Black. He had not changed — of course he hadn’t, it had been mere weeks. But to Remus it had felt like aeons since he had seen this face — the sharp jaw-line, the subtly hollowed cheeks, the straight, aquiline nose.
He drank the sight of Black in hungrily, from the slight curl of his glossy black hair to the flash of pale skin at his throat, to the peculiar grey colour of his eyes — a shade that Remus had been seeing everywhere, lately.
Black, too, was looking at Remus. Meeting his gaze, Remus offered a small, shy smile, which Black returned.
“Mr. Potter, you are very, very welcome.” Mrs. Evans said, saccharine sweet. “It is far too long since you were here; and very, very kind of you to call.”
Remus cringed inwardly at Mrs. Evans’ excessive greeting, catching the slight disapproving quirk of Regulus’ brow.
“And Mr. Black.” Mrs. Evans’ voice turned cold. “You are welcome, too.” Her gaze flickered to Regulus for a moment. “As is your friend, I am sure.”
“Aunt,” Remus said, cheeks burning. “This is Regulus, Mr. Black’s younger brother. We became acquainted during my time in Lambton, you will recall.” He turned to Regulus. “Regulus, this is my Aunt, Mrs. Evans, and my Uncle, Mr. Evans, is just here. And here are Lily, Petunia, and Kitty — my cousins.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Regulus said politely, though his voice was guarded and his eyes wary.
Lily, who until now had been staring determinedly at a whorl in the floorboard, turned her attention to Regulus — giving him so warm and earnest a greeting that the younger man softened immediately.
“Remus told us such lovely things about you.” Lily said sincerely. “I am very pleased that we should meet properly, so that I might know you by more than reputation.”
Regulus was quite disarmed, fumbling to say that he was very pleased to meet Lily too, that he had heard lovely things about her as well, and that he was excited to be in this part of the country.
Remus could have laughed at that, for he was sure that Regulus would dislike the Hollow every bit as much as his brother had.
Potter, all the while, had eyes only for Lily. She, however, remained unable to so much as look at him, having latched onto the opportunity to direct her attention elsewhere immediately — to that end, she was still determinedly engaging Regulus in the usual pleasantries, leaving Mrs. Evans, for better or worse, to address their other guests.
“We began to be afraid you would never come back again.” Said Mrs. Evans. “A great many changes have taken place since you went away.” She continued; “One of my own daughters is now married and settled. I expect you’ve heard of it.”
Remus glanced at Black, who betrayed no emotion. Regulus, for his part, was spared from hearing the mention of it by Lily, for which Remus was very grateful.
“And now they are gone into Newcastle, and there they are to stay. I don’t know how long. I expect you’ve heard he’s gone into the regulars.” Mrs. Evans continued. “Well, thank heaven he has some friends,” she eyed Black coldly, “…though perhaps not as many as he deserves.”
Remus’ voice shook as he hurried to interject. “Do you mean to stay long in the neighbourhood?”
Black, who had not reacted to Mrs. Evans’ jab save for the slight clenching of jaw, addressed Remus with all of the politeness that had been afforded to him during his time at Pemberley, though all the ease and comfort he had shown there was gone from his demeanour. “Our plans are not yet firmly settled, but we are in no great hurry.”
“I expect we shall stay some weeks.” Potter interjected quickly, drawing Lily’s attention at last. He stared at her, very earnestly, and said; “I hope very much we shall stay a few weeks… at the very least.”
A small smile crept across Lily’s features, and her expression softened as she looked at Potter. He ducked his head shyly and ran a hand through his wild hair, making it look even more untidy and ruffled than usual.
“Well, when you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Potter, I beg you would come here and shoot as many as you please here. I’m sure Mr. Evans will be vastly happy to oblige you.” As an afterthought, Mrs. Evans cast a most disdainful look towards Black. “And I suppose you may bring your friends, if you will.”
It pained Remus greatly that Mrs. Evans, and all of his other relations, still believed Barty’s account of Black as a heartless mercenary. But Remus was helpless to correct this unhappy state of affairs — for he saw no way of endearing Black to his relations without betraying a great many confidences.
Such unpleasantness notwithstanding, they managed to labour through another few minutes of conversation without incident, and the whole party was invited back to dinner at Longbourn the very next day.
They assembled in the hall, and their visitors began to don their outerwear for their ride back to Peverell House.
As he was shrugging back into his coat, Black brushed up against Remus, fingers briefly ghosting over the small of his back — accidentally, of course.
“Sorry.” Black said quietly, his face very close to Remus’. He spared a glance towards the rest of the party, who were quite distracted buttoning their own coats, and turned back to him. “Narrow hall.”
“S’allright.” Remus breathed, overwhelmed at finding Black so close — he could actually smell him — a phenomenon that he had been sure would not occur again in his lifetime, not after the manner of their last meeting.
Black seemed to waver for a moment, as if wanting to speak. He considered Remus closely, but before he could give voice to his thoughts, he was called to depart by his friends.
The party bade them farewell with promises to return on the morrow, and Remus was left standing outside Longbourn with weak knees and a hammering heart.
*
Some hours after, Lily and Remus took the opportunity of a walk through the gardens, making the most of the last few hours of sunlight.
“Now that this first meeting is over, I feel perfectly at ease.” Said Lily. “Now I know my own strength, and I shall never again be embarrassed by his coming.”
“Good.” Remus said. “There is no reason you ought to feel embarrassment — you have done no wrong.”
“We shall be able to meet now as…” Lily seemed to waver, “…as common and indifferent acquaintances.”
Remus grinned. “Yes, very indifferent.”
“Perfectly.” Lily insisted, almost entirely for her own benefit. “Perfectly indifferent.”
“Lily, take care.”
“You don’t think me to be in any danger now, surely?” Lily frowned. “Do you, Remus?”
Remus placed a comforting hand to his cousin’s shoulder. “I think you are in very great danger,” he said, “of making Potter as much in love with you as ever.”
True to their word, Potter, Black and Regulus returned to Longbourn for dinner the next day.
Potter, predictably, went to great pains to be seated next to Lily — not that he would have needed to, Mrs. Evans had spent the day contriving ways to make it so — and, by happy accident, Remus found himself sat between Black and Regulus.
Mrs. Evans was uncharacteristically demure in her manner, seeming to sense that her cause was best served by allowing Potter and Lily to converse naturally, without interruption. This moment of delicacy surprised Remus, who had always assumed his Aunt incapable of so sensible an impulse.
Remus managed to get through the usual small-talk with Black and Regulus, feeling uncharacteristically slow and bumbling in all of his remarks, and it was not until they had been served their soup that anybody ventured into any matter of substance.
“I have heard,” Black said, glancing sidelong at Remus, “that your cousin, Mr. Pettigrew, paid you a visit not long ago.”
“I suppose you had this from Lord Phineas?” Remus asked, and chuckled. “He did come to call, yes, and to congratulate himself on our ruin, which, at that time, seemed very certain.”
“What a rat.” Black said flatly, and then; “Never liked him.”
Remus chuckled. “Nor I.”
“He proposed to you, once.” Black said lightly, as though he were discussing something as trivial as the weather. “Do think there is any lingering partiality on his side?”
Remus shook his head. “God, no! His feelings towards me were never of a sentimental nature. In fact, he only settled on me as the object of his interest once he ascertained that Lily was not available — I only had the honour of being his first alternate.”
Black snorted. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste.”
Remus blushed. “Regardless, he was not successful in securing the affections of either of us.” He said. “Which I am sure is no great surprise to you.”
“No.” Black agreed.
“When we met at Grimmuald,” a beat, where Remus’ throat caught as he remembered all the unpleasantness that had transpired between them there, “… when we met, you told me that you were not surprised at my having refused him.”
“Because I wasn’t.” Black said. “Not in the slightest.”
“Many others were.”
“Only those who fundamentally misunderstand your character.” Black said, and there was some softness in his expression as he looked at Remus. “Anybody who really knew you could be in no doubt. I am sure Miss Evans was not surprised.”
“No.” Remus agreed. “Nor was my Uncle. My Aunt, however…” he trailed off, glancing over to where Mrs. Evans sat, subjecting poor Regulus to all manner of blather. “Well, she was displeased.”
Black’s expression darkened, but he seemed to think better of making any unkind remark against Mrs. Evans, who, considering her recent behaviour, hardly deserved such amnesty. It was a piece of civility that Remus greatly appreciated.
“Are you speaking of that squat, ugly fellow?” Regulus asked, called to attention by their talk. “The one we met on our way down here, when we stayed the night at Grimmauld?”
Sirius nodded. “The very same. Pettigrew.”
Regulus stared at Remus, wide-eyed. “He really asked you to marry him?”
Remus said that it was so, and related the whole affair in broad strokes.
“I can’t imagine you ever married to someone like that.” Said Regulus, and then, with a wicked smile and a glance at his brother, added; “I picture someone more distinguished, noble, and — dare I say, in possession of a great fortune.”
There was a flutter in the region of Remus’ stomach, but he pushed it down.
“Oh,” Remus smiled placidly, perfectly cognizant of what was being implied. “Somebody like Lord Phineas Nigellus Black, you mean.”
Black snorted a laugh, and Regulus, too, was given to a chuckle.
“Yes, exactly.” Regulus scoffed, pinning Remus with a look and then glancing suggestively at his brother again. “Though perhaps a younger model would suit you better. Sirius here would do, I’m sure.”
“This is becoming offensive.” Black sniffed. “I am not a younger model of Uncle Phineas.” He turned to his brother. “Also, stop with your meddling. You’re bothering Remus.”
“Oh, heaven forbid I bother Remus,” Regulus said under his breath, turning his attention towards his soup. “Remus, with the pretty eyes and the hair of spun copper. Remus, the cleverest man who ever lived. Remus, the perfect angel… no, woe betide the fool who dares to bother perfect Remus while you’re around.”
Black blushed horribly, and elbowed his younger brother hard in the ribs, who doubled over and acted very much as though he had been stabbed.
“Sorry,” Black said, avoiding Remus’ eye and resolutely ignoring Regulus’ theatrics. “Regulus is— he likes teasing me, is all. Please don’t think anything of it.”
“Course.” Remus managed, his own blush growing brighter with every passing moment. “There’s nothing in it.”
Black held Remus’ gaze for a beat longer than normal, then said; “I was very sorry that we didn’t get to have our picnic.”
Remus’ heart skipped a beat. “So was I.” He stared determinedly at the table, and added; “I was very much looking forward to it.”
“Were you?” Black asked, almost to himself.
Remus glanced back up at Black, frowning. “Of course I was.”
Black made no reply, leaning on his hand and staring at Remus as though he were a difficult bit of arithmetic.
“I do believe,” the gentleman eventually said. “I do believe I once promised never to willingly suspend any pleasure of yours.”
Remus remembered. “When we danced together.”
“Well, then, as a man of my word, I cannot leave you wanting.” Sirius said. “We shall have to make arrangements.”
Remus blinked. “Arrangements?”
“Yes.” Black said patiently, as though speaking to a particularly small and stupid child. “For a picnic.”
“Oh, uh,” Remus blinked dumbly. “That’s… that’d be lovely. Yes.”
“The grounds of Peverell are nothing to Pemberley,” Black continued, “but we shall make do. Besides — we can always do Pemberley another time.”
All of this was too much for Remus’ poor heart to bear — laden in this one statement was the confirmation of several impossible things — for Black was plainly still desirous of continuing their courtship, and spoke about Remus coming again to Pemberley as though it were a given, as though it were inevitable.
“I am sure Peverell will be quite lovely.” Remus eventually managed. “The weather has been so fine lately.”
“All the more reason to take advantage of it, before it turns,” Black said. “I am away to Town tomorrow, but should be back before the week’s end. I shall write to you, once my plans are more firmly fixed.”
“Right.” Remus said dumbly, his voice sounding faraway to his ears. “That’s— yes. Very good.”
Black gave Remus a small smile. “Very good,” he agreed. “I am very much looking forward to it.”
Remus breathed, a little shakily, though if Black at all noticed he did not give any sign. “Me too.”
Overall, Sirius felt his return to the Hollow had been a triumph.
Though yes, among the vast majority of society he was still enshrined in infamy as an unpleasant mercenary, and yes, Regulus was complaining an awful lot about practically everything here, and yes, the long absence from Mrs. Evans’ society had done nothing to blunt the very great agitation her presence excited, but even so, Sirius felt he has cause to be optimistic.
For he had seen Lupin, and there was undoubtedly still a thread of something golden and pure and magnetic between them. There was still a chance — he would have to take care, however, not to rush or spook him.
Additionally, there were wrongs that Sirius had yet to address, matters that needed tending to before he moved forward.
For having closely watched the interactions between James and Miss Evans the previous evening, Sirius had been left in no doubt. Both parties were perfectly sincere in their regard, the affection between them clearly mutually and keenly felt.
Indeed, the matter seemed so obvious to him now, so startlingly clear, that Sirius felt a very real shame at ever having contrived to separate the pair. Though he was not really afraid to tell James, to own his part in the deception, knowing his friend to be almost foolhardy in his tendency to forgive.
He found James in the library, flipping through little books of flowery poetry for reasons that now seemed laughably obvious to him.
“Trying to find the words to describe the exact green of her eyes?” Sirius teased by way of announcing his presence.
James startled, slamming shut the book he had been leafing through and shoving it away from him violently.
“I wasn’t— what—” James blushed horribly, and took a moment to breath. “I cannot think who you are referring to, Padfoot. I was only trying to expand my literary repertoire, if you must know.”
“I’m sure.” Sirius grinned. “That makes sense, on account of you being so thoroughly well-read.” He did not think that he had seen James pick up a book for leisure in all of their time together at Cambridge.
“Yes, well.” James sniffed. “I am always aiming to improve myself. Sharpen the old, erm, mind-whetstone.”
“The mind-whetstone, of course.” Sirius allowed graciously. “A prime example of your famous way with words. And, of course, you are notorious for taking a great deal of enjoyment in reading.”
“Quite so.”
“James Potter, a veritable literary behemoth in the making—”
“Oh, shut up!” James groaned, breaking. “Yes, fine, I was reading stupid romantic poems for stupid romantic reasons, though I am sure it will all come to nought. Are you happy now?”
“Incandescently.”
“Why are you bothering me, anyway?” James glanced at him shrewdly, fingers twitching in the direction of the little poetry book, as though tempted to pluck it up and put it in his pocket. “I didn’t think you had much time before setting off to Town.”
“I depart within the hour.” Sirius confirmed. “But I had an urgent matter to discuss with you, before going.”
And so Sirius told James all that he had been withholding — of Miss Evans being in London, of his actively concealing it, and of his mistake in assuming her indifference towards James in the first place.
James listened, his expression oscillating between astonishment and anger and hopefulness at an alarming rate, though he was kind enough not to interrupt until Sirius had confessed all.
“You tell me,” James said slowly, when it became clear that Sirius had nothing more to say. “That Lily was in London, mere streets away, for all those months, and you concealed it from me?”
“Yes.” Sirius grimaced. “I can offer no justification. It was an arrogant presumption based on a failure to recognise the true nature of your feelings.” He paused, then added for good measure; “I also severely misjudged Miss Evans, based on the representations Lupin made when we came across each other at Grimmuald, months ago.”
“What representations?” James’ head shot up quickly, like a bloodhound who had caught a scent trail. “What did he say of Lily?”
“He told me, unequivocally, that I had been the means of ruining the happiness of a most beloved cousin.” Sirius said. “He was certain of her partiality towards you — I should have believed him then, I doubt anybody knows Miss Evans’ heart as well as Lupin does.”
James looked thunderstruck, but with every passing second seem to be regaining his faculties, and before long the beginnings of a wild, hopeful smile were crossing his face. “She… she loves me back.” He said, tentatively, as though he was afraid that speaking the words aloud would jinx him. “She came all the way to London for me.”
“She did.” Sirius nodded. “I never should have interfered. It was wrong of me, James, and I apologise.”
“So you admit that you were in the wrong?”
James’ obvious surprise at Sirius having admitted fault did not paint his character in the most flattering light, but, in view of the present circumstances, and his own sorry history, Sirius was forced to acknowledge James’ astonishment was perhaps not entirely unjustified.
“Utterly and completely.”
“So…” James started slowly, cautiously. “I have your blessing?”
“Do you need my blessing?” Sirius asked, amused.
“No.” James said, relief passing over his features as the realisation dawned on him. “No, I don’t.”
“Well, there you have it.”
James smiled, looking almost blissful. “I don’t need your blessing, you great galumphing prat.”
“Well, that was hurtful.” Sirius remarked mildly. “Though, I grant you, not entirely unfounded.”
“But,” James added, pinning him with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “I should like to have it, all the same.”
Sirius huffed. “Of course you have it, you great bloody girl.” He said, with equal parts affection and exasperation. “So stop your dithering and get to it.”
“Right.” James said, and then repeated; “Right.”
“I’m away to London now,” Sirius continued. “Shall I tell the servants to ready your horse on my way out?”
“If you please.” James said, an expression of determination on his face. “For I have the sudden urge to call upon the Evanses.”
“Strange, that.” Sirius grinned, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Good luck, Prongs.”
James smiled the way that only James could, with a brightness that reached his eyes and made the corners crinkle. He picked up the little poetry book he had been rifling through, tucked it in his pocket, and marched from the room with a great sense of purpose.
“To Longbourn!” He declared as he went, and Sirius laughed.
“To triumph!” Sirius called after him, following into the hall. “To eternal glory!”
James, who had started up the stairs to change, turned back towards Sirius and made another, quite grand proclamation; “To Miss Lily Evans! To her beautiful eyes, as green as the forest! To her hair, the colour of autumn leaves! To her lips, as red—”
“You ought to save some of your fine poetry for Miss Evans!” Sirius laughed. “For it is quite wasted on me.”
“You are perfectly right, of course.” James said briskly. “Well, there’s nothing for it I suppose — onwards, unto the breach!”