|| Ash | Slytherin-ish | Australian | Fandom Trash Writer | Pan | She/Her || Premium garbage available here, and also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixeree
Hey :) I wanted to ask if you plan to continue your P&P-wolfstar story (love it!) and then I saw your post again (time flies) about redoing/reworking the work to an original one and publishing it. So I wanted to ask if this process is going well, and if we could already find your work to buy it? Happy Sunday!
New chapters coming up roughly every fortnight! ONLY TWO TO GO I'M NOT CRYING YOU'RE CRYING
If you ever decide to make your wolfstar pride and prejudice into a physical copy and sell them, I would gladly buy multiple copies. One for traveling, one to annotate, one to keep in the house and another one to give as a gift. I have never felt to strongly about a fic before and I will support your work wholeheartedly!!
The general idea was to rewrite it as 'original' fiction once it's done (i mean its a fanfic based of arguably the most popular novel of all time - originality is clearly not a commodity I value lol) and I would still really love to do that, this story has been so fun to write and I am not ready to let it go lol
It is also very encouraging to know I would have at least one reader of said work!! It means more than you know <3
I adore P&P well done! Maybe just for tumblr consider putting a line break so that the post with the chapter isn’t too long. I’m sure it will encourage more people to reblog it? It deserves popularity it is awesome and my favorite fic at the moment
AHH yes I am a tumblr peasant and I don't know how to do any of the things. Good note! And I am very happy that you enjoy the story :)
Hi! I just finished rereading your P&P (so much love!), and I kept wondering what was your fan cast for your regency wolf star? I am very curious. It got me thinking about maybe Redmayne as Remus (all this spun copper locks, plus fair complexion and shrewd eyes, lithe body, strange face that may be beautiful one you become fascinated, but not to others who are not), and although Miles Mcmillan is my go-to Modern AU Sirius, it didn’t fit right. Maybe Aidan Turner, dark brooding looks? Too sexy/wild? too small? Love to hear your thoughts!
OMG you have sent me down a complete fancast rabbithole but I LOVE IT.
Well with Sirius. Well.
Alright its fucked up but I have a real life friend who when I met him I was like HOLY SHIT THAT IS ACTUALLY SIRIUS BLACK (mentally, I have never spoken a word of this aloud, even to this day) and honestly it literally took my fucking breath away. So he's probably my hyper obscure just-for-me fancast lol.
FUck i really shouldnt but OK YOU FORCED ME PICS OR IT DIDN'T HAPPEN.
Remus tho, I know everybody sees Timothée Chalamet as a Regulus fancast but for my lively bright P&P Remus he's just perfect, esp if the hair was a few shades lighter
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!”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Remus and the Weasleys travelled as expeditiously as possible, and, sleeping one night on the road, reached Longbourn in scarcely a day.
To Remus, though, it might as well have been aeons, as the entire journey had been overshadowed with the keenest anguish and self-reproach, from which he could find no relief.
They they entered the paddock, the sight of Longbourn’s cobbled walls and rambling little gardens coming into view for the first time in weeks.
The little Weasleys, attracted by the sight of the carriage, were standing on the steps of the house; the joyful surprise that lighted up their faces at seeing their parents had returned gave Remus a scarce moment of refuge from his distress.
Remus jumped out; and, after giving each of them a hasty kiss, left Molly and Arthur to receive the exuberant attentions of their children.
He hurried into the hallway, where Lily, who came running down from her mother’s apartment, immediately met him.
Remus embraced her, whilst tears filled the eyes of both, and lost not a moment in asking whether anything had been heard of the fugitives.
“Not yet,” replied Lily. “But now that dear Arthur is come, I hope everything will be well.”
“And my Uncle?”
“Still in London.”
“Have you yet heard from him?”
“We have heard only twice. He wrote me a few lines on Wednesday to say that he had arrived in safety, and that he should not write again till he had something of importance to mention.”
“And my Aunt—how is she? How are you all?”
Lily’s face showed an expression of unease. “She is tolerably well, though her spirits are greatly shaken. She is up stairs and will have great satisfaction in seeing you, I am sure. She does not yet leave her dressing-room.” Lily grimaced, adding; “Mary and Kitty, thank Heaven, are quite well.”
“But you—how are you?” Remus pressed. “You look pale. How much you must have gone through!”
Lily, however, assured Remus of her being perfectly well; and their conversation, which had been passing while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were waylaid by their children, was now put an end to by their approach.
Remus, Lily and the Weasleys entered Mrs. Evans’ apartments, where she sat, fanning herself with her handkerchief, still in her nightgown; Petunia and Kitty were with her.
Mrs. Evans received them exactly as might be expected; with tears and lamentations of regret, invectives against the villainous conduct of Barty, and complaints of her own sufferings and ill-usage; blaming everybody but the very person to whose ill-judgement and indulgence had been the principle cause of their current sorrows.
“We are all ruined forever.” She declared. “Why did Colonel Dearborn ever let her go out of his sight? I am sure there was some great neglect or other on their side, for Lydia is not the kind of girl to do such a thing if she had been well looked after. I always thought they were very unfit to have the charge of her; but I was overruled, as I always am.”
“Aunt.” Remus said warningly. “It is no fault of—”
“Poor dear child!” Mrs. Evans exclaimed, unhearing. “And now Mr. Evans is gone away, and I know he will fight Barty, and then he will be killed, and what is to become of us all?”
“I doubt he will fight—”
“The Pettigrews will turn us out before he is cold in his grave,” Mrs. Evans continued, “and if you are not kind to us, sister, I do not know what we shall do.”
Mrs. Weasley, visibly wearied by her sister’s histrionics, took Mrs. Evans’ hand. “Sister, calm down. Nothing dreadful will happen. Arthur will be away to London tomorrow morning, and there he will join the effort to locate Lydia.”
“Do not give way to useless alarm,” added Arthur; “though it is right to be prepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look on it as certain.”
“Oh, Arthur, how kind you are! I know you will contrive it all.”
“Of course, it is no trouble—”
“When you get to town, find them out, wherever they may be; and if they are not married already, make them marry.” Mrs. Evans continued without pause. “And tell Lydia not to give any directions about wedding clothes till she has seen me.”
“That may not be the wisest course—”
“—And, above all, you must keep Mr. Evans from fighting! Tell him what a dreadful state I am in, that I am frightened out of my wits—and have such tremblings, such flutterings, all over me—such spasms in my side and pains in my head, and such beatings at heart, that I can get no rest by night nor by day!”
No matter how ardently Arthur assured Mrs. Evans of his earnest endeavours in the cause, or how repetitively Molly recommended moderation, Mrs. Evans remained insensible.
At length, they all left her to vent all her feelings on the housekeeper, who, in their absence, attended her with a distinct air of resignation and fatigue.
In the afternoon, Remus and Lily were able to steal half-an-hour by themselves; and Remus instantly availed himself of the opportunity of making many general lamentations over the dreadful series of events, before once again making an appeal for any information that might give him cause to hope; “Tell me everything about it that I have not already heard. What did Colonel Dearborn say? Had they no apprehension of anything beforehand? Any warning?”
“Colonel Dearborn did own that he had often suspected some partiality, especially on Lydia’s side, but nothing to give him any alarm.” Lily admitted. “I am sorry for him — his behaviour towards our family has always been attentive and kind, and he feels very badly for what has happened, though he is not the least at fault.”
No, thought Remus, that burden is mine to carry. Though he was able to console himself with the though that his Aunt and Uncle were certainly owed their fair share of the blame.
“And what did Rosier have to say of this? They are friends, did he know of their intending to go?”
“Rosier denied knowing anything of their plans, and would not give his real opinion about it.” Lily said. “Though Kitty has owned that in Lydia’s last letter she had prepared her for an event such as this. She had known for many weeks, it seems, of their being in love with each other.”
Worse and worse, thought Remus. “And did Colonel Dearborn appear to think well of Barty — does he know his real character?”
“I must confess that the Colonel did not speak so well of Barty as he formerly did — over time he found Barty to be imprudent and extravagant.” Lily said, looking very grieved indeed. “And it is now said that Barty left the Hollow greatly in debt, but I hope this may prove to be false, or at the very least greatly exaggerated — we must hope as much.”
Remus, however, was not inclined to hope. This was, after all, a man who had squandered a fortune of four thousand pounds in less than three years.
Remus was again given to acute feelings of guilt. “Had I been less secretive.. had I shared knew of Barty, this could not have happened.”
“Oh Remus,” said Lily. “You could not have betrayed Mr. Black’s confidence — his poor brother would have been exceedingly embarrassed, his reputation materially damaged.”
That was true enough, Remus thought, remembering Regulus’ distress at hearing Barty’s name from Miss McKinnon’s mouth.
“You acted with the best intentions.” Lily concluded. “This is not your fault, Remus.”
Remus have a half-shrug, and changed the subject; “Could Colonel Dearborn repeat the particulars of Lydia’s note?”
Lily nodded. “He brought it with him for us to see.”
Lily then took it from her pocket-book, and gave it to Remus, who read it.
My dear Benjy,
You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I can scarce help laughing myself at your surprise tomorrow morning, as soon as I am missed.
I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with who, I shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world I love, and he is an angel.
I should never be happy without him, so think it no harm to be off. You need not send them word at Longbourn of my going, for it will make the surprise the greater, when I write to them and sign my name ‘Lydia Crouch.’ What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for laughing.
Give my love to Colonel Dearborn, I hope you will drink to our good journey.
Your affectionate friend,
LYDIA EVANS
“What a letter is this, to be written at such a moment!” Remus said, agitated. “But at least it shows that she was serious on the subject of their journey, whatever he might afterwards persuade her to.”
“Yes, there is cause for relief.” Said Lily. “There is still goodness to be found in the world — Lady Vance, for instance, has been very kind; she walked here on Wednesday morning to offer her help.”
“She had better have stayed at home,” snapped Remus. “Under such a misfortune as this assistance is impossible; condolence insufferable.”
“Remus!”
Remus waved an agitated hand at his cousin. “Let them triumph over us at a distance, and be satisfied.”
“Remus, that is unkind.” Lily admonished. “I’m sure she meant well.”
“Yes, perhaps she did.”
Lily only waited expectantly, sensing that more was to be said.
“I am sorry.” Remus said. “It’s just that I can’t help but be…” Remus trailed off and turned to his cousin with an air of hopelessness. “Lily, do you not see? More things have been ruined by this business than Lydia’s reputation.”
Lily’s brow furrowed, and Remus was given to the impression that Lily had indeed not considered this. “You mean, I suppose, that we, and Petunia and Kitty, have been tainted by association.” She said slowly, the sorry truth of the matter dawning on her. “That our chances of making a good marriage have been materially damaged.”
Remus reached out to her and took Lily’s hand, stroking his thumb gently over her palm. “The chances of any of us making a good marriage were never very great.” He joked sadly. “But now, I should say, they are non-existent. No one will solicit our society after this.” He paused, then added; “Mr. Black made that very clear to me.”
Lily looked surprised, her hand twitching in Remus’ grip. “Mr. Black? He knows our troubles?”
“He happened upon me a moment after I first read your letter.” Remus explained. “He was very kind, very gentleman-like, but he made it very clear he wanted nothing more than to be out of my sight.”
Remus’ voice cracked a little as it said it, and the pangs of his heart became more acute. Seeking relief in a sharp huff of breath, and, finding none, he added; “Black will not be renewing his addresses to me — and he will make very sure his friend does not renew his to you.”
Lily heard all this with surprising equanimity, and, after a considered pause, she said; “I never expected Mr. Potter would renew his addresses, Remus. I am quite reconciled to that.”
Remus thought of how Potter had inquired so eagerly after Lily when they met at Pemberley, about how the gentleman had expressed a wish to return to Peverell House. To relate all this to his cousin now seemed pointless, even cruel, as Potter was surely as lost to her as Black was to him.
“But as for Black,” said Lily. “Surely you do not desire his attentions?”
Remus laughed, but it was hollow. “I have certainly never sought them.”
This was perfectly true, but it was not the whole truth, and his cousin did not seem to have any difficulty sensing the concealment for what it was.
“But you do think he was intending to renew his addresses?” Lily guessed shrewdly. “You think he is still in love with you?”
Remus thought about the gardens at Pemberley; Black’s mouth chasing his, hot hands, and promises. Promises that they would have more time together. Please, let me do this properly. The way I should have done it the first time. I don’t want to stop. There’s nothing you couldn't ask of me. You’re beautiful.
And, most of all, fingertips tracing the skin at his jaw, and the tentative, hushed murmur of ‘Is this alright, Remus?’, which he remembered so well he could almost feel Black’s hot breath on his skin again.
His treacherous heart ached.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what he was two days ago.” Remus eventually said. “All I know is that, now, neither he nor any other respectable man will ever want anything to do with us.”
To this, it seemed, Lily could offer no comforting reply.
In the dining-room that night, they were given the opportunity of engaging with Petunia and Kitty.
The faces of both were tolerably calm; and no great change was visible in either, except for an accent of fretfulness about Kitty, presumably owed to the loss of her favourite sister, and the weight of having concealed her knowledge of the sorry business for so long.
As for Petunia, she was mistress enough of herself to say to Remus, with a countenance of grave reflection, soon after they were seated at the table: “This is the most unfortunate affair, and will probably be much talked of.”
“Yes, Petunia, I think we have all apprehended that much.”
“But we must stem the tide of malice,” Petunia said, utterly serious and entirely ridiculous, “…and pour into each other’s wounded bosoms the balm of filial consolation.”
“Petunia, pass the potatoes.” Lily said shortly, looking wearied.
Petunia obliged, and, perceiving that Remus showed no inclination of replying, continued; “Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we must draw from it this useful lesson – that the loss of virtue is irretrievable.”
Remus lifted up his eyes in astonishment at his cousin, but was much too oppressed to make any reply.
Mrs. Weasley looked exasperated. “My dear Petunia, this is hardly helpful.”
Petunia, however, continued to console herself with platitudes; “A woman’s reputation is no less brittle than it is beautiful, and one false step involves one in endless ruin.”
“Really, now—”
“—Therefore, we cannot be too guarded in our behaviour towards the other sex.” She concluded primly. “That is what I think.”
“Yes, thank you, Petunia.” Remus said flatly.
Petunia gave a pleased smile, oblivious to the effect of her remarks.
Sirius’ gaze was vaguely cast in the direction of Regulus, who was playing the pianoforte, but he was quite unseeing. His mind had been preoccupied, or rather, entirely and desperately consumed, with thoughts of the Evans family and their predicament.
James, Miss McKinnon, and Miss Meadowes all clapped as Regulus finished his song, and Sirius was vaguely aware of James offering Regulus some refreshment.
Sirius had not spoken Lupin’s name aloud for days, had not shared any part of his visit to the Lambton Inn with either James or Regulus. His silence towards the former could be accounted for the promise of secrecy he had made to Lupin, and as for the latter… Sirius was not sure he would be able to find the words.
Regulus would be distraught, he was sure, to see the painful events of his past repeated, played out again with another.
Initially, both James and Regulus had questioned him extensively about Lupin’s sudden departure, but Sirius had remained stalwartly and resolutely silent. It was only after Sirius had stormed out halfway through dinner a few nights previous, slamming doors and stomping about in the manner of a child as he went, that the pair had relented in their interrogations.
Sirius suspected that the pair had consulted privately, and had evidently agreed to give him a reprieve. For this, he could only be thankful.
These consultations, and the amnesty that had he had been afforded as a result of it, however, clearly had not involved Miss McKinnon.
“You are very quiet this evening, Mr. Black.” Said she; “I sincerely hope you are not pining for the loss of Mr. Remus Lupin.”
Sirius’ head jerked up abruptly at the mention of this name, and he replied with an agitated “What?”
His guests looked up, startled.
“Excuse me.” Sirius said shortly. He stood quickly and made to leave, to the general astonishment of the whole party. He was vaguely aware of the curious looks exchanged in the wake of his retreat, but could not bring himself to care.
In the privacy of his room, he could submit entirely to the meditations that had plagued him for nearly a week. In the semi-darkness, images danced fuzzily across his mind’s eye — Lupin’s face, most often, but also the way that Regulus’ body had curled in on itself, heaving and shuddering with sobs after Barty had left him in Ramsgate, and, perhaps most painfully, the words that Lupin had spoken upon their last fateful meeting;
"I have not the smallest hope.”
The days passed slowly, and Remus was given to a kind of languid agony, one that settled on him and made his limbs heavy, his whole body listless and his mood resolutely despondent.
His relations seemed to sense there was little point in trying to rouse him from his state, and for the most part Remus was left to languish in various rooms, always half-listening for the door, anticipating with impatience some word from his Uncle, who had not written once since Remus had returned.
He knew Lily was worried, that his depression likely seemed excessive in light of the context she was missing, but she kindly left him to his stupor.
All the while, his chest continued to ache, not consistently, mind. There was a constant dull hum of pain, an undercurrent, but this was interspersed with acute, breath-taking pangs, which broke upon him in fresh waves whenever he encountered reminders of what he had lost — which, regrettably, was often.
In the clouds he saw grey eyes, the water in his basin called to mind the sun’s reflection on the lake at Pemberley, music, played very occasionally, and very ill, by Petunia, made him think of another, finer instrument, and the fine house where it was situated, where he would surely never again be admitted. Books on Greek and Roman mythology, which had once inspired fondness and enthusiasm, now gave rise to fatalistic ruminations on the unforgiving nature of life, and the capriciousness of fate.
And chrysanthemums in bloom — Remus could hardly bear the sight of them. A cruel taunt, a reminder of that which was now lost to him forever. He stopped going outdoors.
It was a sorry state, and at first the only words he could find for it were wounded, crushed. These did not quite capture the essence of the thing, however, and Remus was given to despair at the shortfalls of language — how could he translate this pain? This sense of severed belonging, which he had no right to, after all, because Black was never truly his to begin with.
With a fresh pang, it occurred to Remus that the word he was searching for was heartbroken.
Remus was allowed to sit with this heavy thought for scarcely a moment when Kitty burst into the room.
“Mr. Pettigrew has come!” She said, hair messy and cheeks flushed in haste. “And I swear, Remus, I will not sit with him for anything! I am going to see Maria Vance; I shall slip out the back way, so he does not see me.”
Remus could barely form his protest before Kitty had fled, the looming threat of Pettigrew’s company inspiring a great sense of urgency in the girl.
Remus was not unsympathetic, he would have run away, too, but for the guilt he would feel at leaving Lily to manage all by herself.
He, Lily, and Petunia received Pettigrew in the drawing room. The three of them sat side by side on the couch, and Pettigrew sat opposite them in an armchair.
“I had hoped to condole with your poor father and mother.” Pettigrew said to Lily, and it was almost a reproach.
“My father is still in London, sir, and my mother is not yet well enough to leave her room.”
“Ah.” Said Pettigrew, clearing his throat. “Well, that is understandable, I suppose.”
Remus shot the man a sharp look, but held his tongue. He thought that the quickest way to rid themselves of Pettigrew’s company was to give him as little conversation as possible.
“I feel called upon, not only by our relationship, but by my situation as a clergyman to condole with you all on the grievous affliction you are now suffering under.”
“Thank you, sir.” Lily said, casting a sidelong glance at him, no doubt worried that he might say something less than kind.
“It is often been said that a friend in need, is a friend indeed, sir.” Added Petunia, perfectly indifferent to the insult imbued in Pettigrew’s backhanded condolences.
“Yes,” Pettigrew said, showing his crooked teeth as he smiled pityingly at Petunia. “Be assured, my dears, that I sincerely sympathise with you in your current distress, which must be of the bitterest kind; proceeding from a cause, which no time can remove.”
What a nice way of reminding them, Remus thought, that there would be no returning from the depths of this disgrace, for any of them.
Pettigrew continued; “The death of your sister would have been a blessing in comparison.”
Lily automatically placed her hand over Remus’, and shot him a warning look. Remus breathed deeply, searching for calm, and nodded fractionally at his cousin.
“And it is more to be lamented, because there is reason to suppose, my dear Emmeline informs me, that this licentiousness of behaviour in Miss Lydia has proceeded from a faulty degree of indulgence.” Pettigrew said, and Remus was increasingly certain that the man’s intention in calling had no benevolent origin. “Though I am inclined to think that her disposition must be naturally bad. But alas, that makes little difference — you are all grievously to be pitied.”
Remus tensed, his teeth grinding as he regarded Pettigrew with a look that surely communicated how much he detested the man. To this, however, Pettigrew seemed quite oblivious.
Lily spoke, sensing that it was not safe to allow Remus to reply. “We are very grateful, sir, for your…”
Pettigrew held up a finger, silencing Lily.
Remus’ blood boiled.
“In this opinion I am joined by the great Lord Phineas Nigellus Black, to whom I have related the affair in full.” Pettigrew said. “He agrees with me in apprehending that this false step from the youngest Miss Evans must be injurious to the fortunes of the whole family. ‘For who,’ as Lord Phineas himself condescendingly said, ‘will connect themselves with such a family now?’”
Remus was on his feet in an instant, and for a second he scarcely knew what he was going to do. Lily stood as well, squeezing his arm in warning.
“Who indeed, sir?” Remus said, an edge in his voice. “And now, perhaps, in view of that consideration, you may feel it would be unwise for you to stay any longer.”
Pettigrew looked distinctly wrong-footed at this. “Well… well, perhaps you are right.” He said, speaking almost to himself. “Yes, I think you are right, Cousin Remus.”
Remus nodded. “I always feel that a clergyman cannot be to careful.” He paused, to give his following words greatest effect. “Especially one so fortunate as to enjoy the condescension of Lord Phineas Nigellus Black.”
Pettigrew seemed almost touched by this, and Remus was once again struck by how much a fool this man truly was.
“Your thoughtfulness does you credit, Cousin Remus.” He said, advancing towards the door, before turning back to say gravely; “I am very, very sorry for you all.”
Pettigrew had scarcely cleared the doorway before Remus was pacing. “Insufferable man.”
Lily dithered nearby, and said feebly; “I suppose he means well.”
“You suppose wrongly.” Remus said shortly. “His purpose in coming was to enjoy our misfortune, and congratulate himself on his own happy situation.”
“I think it is very kind of him to visit and condole with us.” Said Petunia, who Remus resolutely ignored.
Sirius was in London.
In a dark, crowded street, to be exact, in a part of town he had never before had occasion to visit. One full of a hodgepodge of dilapidated town-houses that seemed almost to overlap one another, all with peeling paint doors and crumbling mortar façades.
He searched the crowd, having been told to wait for a girl with a red shawl, and yellow hair. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to find the very person he had been seeking.
She was small, and her mouth was like a child’s mouth. “Mister Black.”
He nodded.
“You’re after information, Roger said.” The girl looked at him searchingly. “Said you’d pay.”
“I am looking for a man called Barty Crouch, he has a girl with him — her name is Lydia Evans.” Sirius answered. “If you can help me to locate them, I will pay.”
The girl took him in from head to toe, assessing. “How much?”
“Fifty pounds.”
The little slip of a thing stared at him with wide eyes, looking ever more like a child to him. It was likely more money than she had ever seen.
“You’re not pulling my leg?” She asked, suspicious. “Fifty?”
Sirius glanced around, and, seeing that nobody was paying them any mind, flashed a glimpse inside the heavy purse he had concealed in his coat — the girl’s eyes went as round as the gold guineas it contained.
“Knockturn Alley.” She said at once, holding out her hand eagerly for what she was owed. “There’s an inn, towards the far end. The White Wyvern.”
Sirius handed her the gold, and the girl slipped away into the throng of people — gone in a flash.
Sirius sorely hoped that he had not been duped.
It was raining on the day that Mr. Evans at last returned to Longbourn. Even so, Remus, Lily and Kitty received him at the gate, opening their mouths to plague him with questions before he had even stepped out of the carriage.
“You look so tired, Uncle.” Said Remus.
“It must have been a dreadful time for you.” Added Lily.
“Say nothing of that.” Mr. Evans waved away their concerns. “Who should suffer but myself? This has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it.”
“Oh, Papa.” Lily said, sadly. “You must not be so severe upon yourself.”
“No, dearest, let me.” Mr. Evans said. “Let me for for once in my life feel how much I have been to blame. I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression — I am sure it will pass away soon enough.”
Remus considered his Uncle for a moment. “Do you suppose Lydia and Barty to be in London, sir?”
“Yes, where else could they be so well concealed?” Mr. Evans answered.
“And Lydia always wanted to go to London.” Kitty said blithely. “She said she should like to be around more lively folk.”
“She is happy, then.” Said Mr. Evans crossly. “And her residence there will probably be of some duration.”
To Remus’ surprise, Mr. Evans then leaned forward to take his hand. “Remus, I bear you no ill-will for being justified in your advice to me in May, which, considering these events, shows some greatness of mind.”
Remus felt very badly for his Uncle. “You could not have known—”
“Where is your mother?” Mr. Evans asked Lily. “She still keeps her state above stairs, does she? Ha, good. It lends such an elegance to our misfortunes. Perhaps I’ll do the same. I’ll sit in my study, in my nightcap and powdering gown, and I’ll give as much trouble as I can.”
“Father—”
“Though perhaps I may defer it, til Kitty runs away.”
“I’m not going to run away, Papa.” Kitty interjected hotly. “If I should go to Brighton, I would behave better than Lydia.”
Mr. Evans regarded his daughter with astonishment. “You, go to Brighton? I wouldn’t trust you as near it as Eastbourne. Not for fifty pounds!”
At this declaration Kitty opened her mouth to argue, but was quickly cut off.
“No, Kitty, I have at last learnt to be cautious, and you will feel the effects of it.” Mr. Evans continued. “No officer is ever again to enter my house, or even pass through the village.” To Kitty’s increasing despair, he added; “Balls will be absolutely prohibited, unless you stand up with either Remus or Lily. They, at least, have a modicum of good sense.”
Kitty began to cry, but Mr. Evans was quite unaffected.
“In short, dear Kitty, you are never to stir out of doors until you can prove you’ve spent ten minutes of every day in a rational manner.”
Kitty’s tears had progressed to full-blown sobs, and her father was given to the small act of tenderness of touching her shoulder.
“Don’t make yourself unhappy, my dear.” Mr. Evans consoled. “If you’re a good girl for the next ten years, I’ll take you to a revue at the end of them.”
That night, Kitty’s wails and lamentations could be heard from every room of the house, but Mr. Evans remained implacable.
Lydia swanned about their room at the White Wyvern in nought but her nightgown, and marvelled that she, of all her sisters, had become a woman first.
She was forced to admit, after some time spent indoors, that she had thought her time in London would be more jolly than this. Barty, her love, was having a drink, though it was scarcely past noon, and reading the papers. Neither of them had ventured out even once since arriving in London.
“Oh, dearest, shall we not go out tonight?” She wheedled, looping her arms around her lover and burrowing her head into his neck. “Can we not go to the theatre?”
Barty tilted his head to rest on her shoulder, and said; “You’re not bored with me already, are you?”
“Lord, no.” She assured him. “Just that I can’t wait to see my mother’s face, and my sisters — oh, and Remus! He will be so envious!”
Barty gave her a look and turned back to his wine and papers.
“I hope we shall be married from Longbourn,” Lydia continued, tangling her fingers in Barty’s hair, “… for then all of my sisters will have to be my bridesmaids, and you must make Remus a groomsman.”
“Certainly,” Barty said distractedly, rifling through pages in search of some particular article.
“Oh, I do wish we could go into the town, and be seen at plays and assemblies.” Lydia sighed, running her hand once again through her lover’s hair.
“All in good time.” Barty patted her hand. “Be patient, my dear.”
“Lord, it makes me want to burst out laughing when I think I have done what none of my sisters has!” Lydia said. “And I the youngest of them all.”
Barty moved to pour himself another drink, thinking that would end the exchange. Lydia returned to the window, and sat by it, humming.
“When will we travel into the Hollow, my love?” Lydia asked, and Barty cast a glance towards her.
“Come away from the window, dear.” He said, biting back most of his frustration. “We will depart when I’ve settled my business affairs. These things always take longer than one thinks they will.”
Lydia lingered by the window, and Barty was about to entreat Lydia to move out of sight again when she let out a surprised laugh.
“Lord! What in the world is he doing here?”
Barty sat bolt-upright. “What?”
“Ha. What a joke.”
“Who? Who is it?” Barty urged, eyes darting to the window.
“You will never guess.” Lydia said blithely, an oblivious grin on her young face.
“Damn you, who is it?” Barty snapped. “Who do you see?”
Lydia spun around, puffed up and indignant at his harshness. “There’s no need to be stroppy with me — it’s only that Mr. Black.”
Barty paled, and braced for the worst.
A courier came for Mr. Evans around midday with a letter from Mr. Weasley, and, sparing no though towards telling any of his relations, he read its contents alone.
Thereafter he was so beset by his own confusion that he took refuge in the gardens, where, under a tree, he sat in contemplation.
At length, his eldest daughter and favourite nephew found him. They looked frazzled, as if they had run to him — perhaps they had. No doubt one of the servants had told them that the courier had come.
“Well, Remus.” Mr. Evans said. “Lily.”
“Uncle— what news?” Remus urged, his breathing still laboured. “What news have you had from Arthur? There was a letter.”
Mr. Evans pulled the letter out of his vest pocket. “Yes, yes. I’ve had a letter from him.”
“Well? What news does it bring — good or bad?”
Mr. Evans huffed a laugh. “What good is there to be expected?” He motioned for Remus and Lily to sit down with him on the stone bench. He handed Remus the letter, and said; “Perhaps you would like to read it yourself.”
With a shaking hand Remus took the paper from him, and huddled closely with Lily so that they might read it together.
“Out loud, Remus, if you please.” Mr. Evans requested. “For I hardly know what to make of it myself.”
Still breathless, Remus obliged, skipping past the usually felicitations; “‘At last I am able to spend tidings of my niece and Mr. Crouch, I have seen them both.’”
The beginnings of a smile were called to Remus’ features, and Lily, too, was quickly given to expressions of joy and relief; “It is as I always hoped! They are married!”
Remus’ smile, however, quickly faded. “‘They are not married.’” He continued, and Lily, too, turned grave. “‘Nor can I find that there was any intention of being so, but if you are willing to perform the engagements I have ventured to make on your behalf, I hope it will not be long before they are.’” The pair now looked up at him with twin expressions of puzzlement.
Remus frowned. “What engagements?”
Mr. Evans merely waved a hand. “Read on.”
“‘All that is required of you is to assure your daughter her equal share of the ₤5,000 she will inherit on your death, and also allow her during your life… ₤100 per annum.” Remus looked at him, confused and frowning. “So little? What about Barty’s debts?”
“Read on.”
“‘I am able to report that Mr. Crouch’s circumstances are not as hopeless as they are generally believed to be.’”
Lily smiled. “There, see? He is not so bad.”
Mr. Evans huffed. “Read on, Remus.”
“‘I am happy to say there will be some little money, even when all his debts are discharged, with which the couple may let some suitable dwelling.’” Remus finished the sentence, surprised, and said; “I cannot believe it.”
“Heh, read on.”
“‘We have judged it best that Lydia should be married from this house, of which I hope you will approve.’” Remus continued, adding with a wry twist of the mouth; “I should think so — they can hardly come here still unmarried, not now that they have lived together so long in town.”
“Yes, I think you are right.” Said Lily. “Though poor Kitty will be disappointed not to be a bridesmaid.”
“‘Send back your answer as soon as you can, and be sure to write explicitly as to the financial settlement. Yours, et cetera.’”
Having reached the end of the letter, Remus took a breath, and now turned his full attention to Mr. Evans. “How can it be possible that he will marry her for so little?”
“He must not be as undeserving as we thought.” Lily said, expressing a sanguine, feeble hope. “He must truly love her, I think.”
“You think that, Lily.” Mr. Evans said dryly. “If it gives you comfort.”
“Have you answered the letter?” Remus asked.
“No, but I must, and soon.”
“They must marry.” Remus said, almost to himself. “And yet… he is such a man.” Mr. Evans watched as his nephew’s expression clouded and grew troubled — indeed, any earnest contemplation of Lydia’s fate was sufficient to darken his mind, as well. To this, however, he did not give voice.
“Yes, yes, they must marry.” Mr. Evans said instead, pulling himself to his feet. “There is nothing else to be done. But there a two things I very much want to know.”
Lily and Remus looked at him expectantly. “What?”
“How much money did Arthur have to lay down to bring this about? And how on earth am I ever going to repay him?” Mr. Evans said. “I wish I had laid by an annual sum to bribe worthless young men to marry my daughters, but I did not have the prudence nor the forethought to take such measures — the reason was, of course, that I intended to father a son.”
Mr. Evans sat down again, somewhat heavily. “A son that would inherit the estate, no part of which would be entailed away; so providing for my widow and any children. But by the time I had abandoned hope of producing an heir, it seemed a little late to begin saving.”
Remus shook his head. “You could not have foreseen this, Uncle.”
“I should have taken better care of you all.” Mr. Evans insisted. “The satisfaction of prevailing upon one of the most worthless young men in Britain might then have been avoided.”
“Father,” Lily said softly, “I wish you wouldn’t—”
“As it is, the thing is done with extraordinarily little inconvenience to myself.” Mr. Evans continued. “When you take into account what I shall save on Lydia’s board and pocket allowance, I’m scarcely ten pounds a year worse off. I’m heartily ashamed of myself, Remus. But don’t despair — it will pass…”
He stood, readying himself to return to the house and pen his reply. “And no doubt, more quickly than it should.”
That night Remus came to Lily’s room, and lay on top of the covers of her bed as he stared at the ceiling.
Lily was drying her freshly-washed hair, and casting unsubtle, worried glances his way from time to time.
“I wish I had never spoken a word of this whole affair to Mr. Black.” Remus eventually said. “How he must abhor me, now.”
“Dear Remus, please do not distress yourself.” Lily chided. “I’m sure Mr. Black will respect your confidence.”
“I’m sure he will.” Remus replied. “That is not what distresses me.”
“What, then?”
“I don’t know.” Remus huffed. “How he must be congratulating himself on his escape!”
Lily smiled a little knowingly. “But Remus, you never sought his love, nor welcomed it when he offered it.” She said. “If he has withdrawn his high opinion of you now, why should you care?”
Remus let out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head. “I don’t know, I can’t explain it. I know I shall probably never see him again. I just…”
Remus turned towards Lily, his eyes earnest and sad. “I cannot bear to think that he is alive in the world, and thinking ill of me.”
Mrs. Evans was incandescent in her delight.
“Oh, I knew it would all come out right in the end! Oh, my dear, dear Lydia. She will be married — oh, but the clothes!”
Remus shot a bemused look at his Aunt, who did not seem to notice.
“And, of course, she must be married from Longbourn. This is all nonsense about her being married from Cheapside. She must be married where all her friends can see her.”
“No, ma’am, that is not possible. You must see that.” Remus said, strained.
“I do not see that! Why should I see that? Why should that be?” Mrs. Evans said crossly.
“Because she has been living in London with Barty for weeks now.” Remus said thinly. “If she were to arrive home still unmarried…”
“Oh, well, I suppose it must be, if you put it like that. But it is all very vexing.” Mrs. Evans groused. “Arthur has been most high-handed. I don’t see why he should take so much upon him.”
“Mamma, we are greatly indebted to Arthur.” Lily said. “He must have laid out a great deal of money to pay off Barty’s debts — more than we can ever repay.”
“And why should he not?” Mrs. Evans demanded. “Who else should lay out money but her own family?”
“Aunt!” Remus reproved. “You cannot think—”
“Oh, well, I am so happy!” Mrs. Evans turned jolly again. “A daughter married, and only just sixteen! Mrs. Crouch, how well that sounds!”
Remus and Lily shared a look, silently agreeing to hold their peace.
Mr. and Mrs. Barty Crouch Jr arrived at Longbourn in a great bluster of noise and dramatics. They had not even pulled up before Lydia was leaning out of the carriage, declaring; “Lord! It seems an age since we were at Longbourn, and here you all are — just the same!”
Mrs. Evans came forward first to greet the couple, teary with joy. “Oh, my dear, dear Lydia!”
Remus watched as Barty stepped easily from the carriage, every bit as easy as he remembered. He gave Remus a smile, which he imagined was intended to be winning.
“Oh, how we’ve missed you.” Mrs. Evans said, hugging her youngest and taking her face into her hands.
“Oh, we’ve been far too merry to miss any of you.” Lydia said blithely, taking her husband’s arm. “Well, here we are. Haven’t I caught myself a handsome husband?”
“Indeed you have, my love.” Mrs. Evans said, and Barty beamed proudly at his now mother-in-law. Remus frowned at the man, displeased with the whole spectacle.
“You are very welcome, dear boy.” Mrs. Evans said to Barty.
“You are all goodness and kindness, Ma’am, as always.” Barty said, bowing and kissing Mrs. Evans’ hand, causing an outbreak of girlish giggles that sounded quite out-of-place from the mouth of a woman in her mid-fifties.
“Well, shall we go in?” Mr. Evans coughed, looking every bit as unimpressed as Remus felt.
The party proceeded back towards the house, but as Lily stepped forward Lydia grabbed her arm and tugged her back.
“No, Lily. I take your place now.” Lydia said, lifting her chin proudly. “You must go lower, because I am a married woman.”
Lydia set off towards the house, turning as she went to remark; “‘Mrs. Crouch’, Lord, how droll that sounds!”
Remus and Lily shared a look, the latter still vaguely affronted, and filed in after their youngest, and silliest, relation.
For all of the displeasure Barty’s presence at Longbourn brought him, Remus could not deny that it served as something of a distraction from his near-constant misery. Ire, in the place of despair, came as something of a relief.
The youngsters roamed the hills around Longbourn, Barty on horseback, showing off more than a little, and the rest of them on foot.
“How do you like my husband, Remus?” Lydia asked. “I believe you envy me. Was he not a favourite of yours once?”
“Not at all, I assure you.” Remus said dryly.
“What a pity we didn’t all go to Brighton.” Said Lydia. “I could have gotten husbands for all of you.”
“Thank you for my share of the favour,” Remus said. “But I don’t particularly like your way of getting husbands.”
Oblivious to the slight, Lydia turned her gaze towards Barty, who took a small jump and earned Lydia’s enthusiastic applause.
“Isn’t my husband a fine horseman? Colonel Dearborn himself said he has as good a seat as any officer in the regiment.” Lydia said. “I wish he could have worn his red coat at the wedding and have a guard of honour with their sabres drawn, but the officers could not be spared from their duties.”
“A pity.” Remus said flatly. “Though it is, perhaps, not the main shortfall of your elopement.”
Lydia seemed not to hear, and continued with talk of her wedding day; “Molly could not be spared, as somebody needed to watch the little ones — and, in the end, there was no one there but dear Arthur and Mr. Black.”
Remus froze. “Mr. Black?” He repeated. “Mr. Black was at your wedding?”
“Oh yes,” Lydia said. “For someone had to come with Barty and be groomsman. I’d much rather it had been Avery or Nott or one of our other friends, but—” Lydia gasped, and clamped her hands over her own mouth.
“Oh, Lord — I forgot! I wasn’t to say a word.” She lamented. “And I promised him so faithfully. It was supposed to be a secret!”
Remus pressed and agitated his youngest cousin, but no matter his approach, Lydia would only reply with evasions and giggles, and gave no further information on the matter.
Taking matters into his own hands, Remus wrote to Mrs. Weasley that very night;
My dear Aunt, pray write and let me understand how Black, of all people, should have been there, unless you too are bound in the secrecy which Lydia seems to think necessary. He scribbled hastily, calling for the servant even as he signed his name.
This, he was sure, was the missing puzzle piece, the one that would make sense how Barty had been prevailed upon to marry Lydia in the first place. Black had been involved, had contrived to bring it all about — had paid, no doubt, an exorbitant sum of money to the very person he detested most in the world. And for what? For whom?
Remus could scarcely allow himself to hope, indeed could not bring himself to believe the small voice inside of him that answered;
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