It was late, and the tent had quieted. Most of the parents were talking at the far end in a comfortable murmur. Connor was asleep somewhere - probably where he'd sat down last.
Cyrus appeared at Blake's shoulder.
"A word, if you have a moment."
They settled at one end of the table - Cyrus, Celia, Daphne, Blake. The rest of the tent was far enough away that normal voices wouldn't carry.
"Sirius Black," Cyrus said.
"He's confirmed access to the library," Blake said, thinking back to a scruffy letter he had received from a certain 'Padfoot'. "He's stable enough now that we can do it without drawing attention. I'm thinking late August."
"That works for me," Daphne confirmed.
"What are you looking for?" Cyrus asked, looking at Blake. The muggleborn's mind flashed back to that still unknown soul-splitting spell. Subconsciously, Blake's mind became protective, practicing Occlumency without himself even knowing.
"The Black family library's one of the oldest in Britain," Blake said. "There are things in there that aren't in Hogwarts - that can't be in Hogwarts, for obvious reasons. Certain branches of magic that the mainstream doesn't acknowledge. Research that got buried. I won't know exactly what until I see it, but I'll know it when I find it."
Cyrus held his gaze for a second. Unlucky, pal. "And for Astoria?"
"Any documented variation of the blood curse we don't already have," Daphne said. "Historical records, attempted treatments, anything predating the last three generations. It's unlikely, but possible. And obviously rare or theoretical ingredients that aren't in our own library."
"And a phoenix," Blake added. "We still need one."
"We've made some inquiries," Cyrus said. "There's a known habitat in the Pyrenees. Unmapped for nearly thirty years. If someone were inclined to go looking - it would take time, and the phoenix would have to choose, obviously, but it's the best lead we have."
"I'll go," Daphne said.
"Of course you will," Celia said, not unkindly.
"We'll make a date," Blake said. "Late August for Black's library. After that, we reassess."
Cyrus nodded. It was the same nod as earlier - single, clean, worth more than a longer response would have been.
Celia looked at her husband and then stood, smoothing her robes.
"That's everything for tonight, I think." She gave Blake a look that was warm and firm in equal measure. "It's been a genuine pleasure, Blake. Thank you truly for all your help."
"Thank you for having us," Blake said. "All of us."
Celia put a light hand on Cyrus's arm. He stood, gave Blake one last measured look - not unfriendly, which Blake took as a win, and nodded at them, before retreating back to their room with his wife.
/
The main space was almost empty now. A few low lights, the sound of distant celebration from elsewhere on the campsite. Blake was sitting at the end of the table, turning his wand over in his hand.
Daphne sat down across from him.
"Did they frighten you?" she asked.
"Your parents?"
"My father specifically."
Blake considered it. "The handshake was aggressive."
"He does that."
"I noticed."
She almost smiled. "He likes you."
"Is that what that was?"
"For him, yes." She tilted her head slightly. "You're wondering if they approve."
"I wasn't going to ask."
"You were absolutely going to ask."
Blake put the scroll down. "Fine. Do they?"
"Yes," she said simply.
"Of what?"
"Of you." She paused. "Of us."
Blake looked at her.
"The business arrangement," she said, before he could get a word out. "The partnership. What did you think I meant?"
He held her gaze for a second. "Nothing."
"Liar."
He ignored that, and there was another comfortable silence, until Blake couldn't help but speak.
"You've been in a good mood all day."
"I'm always in a good mood."
"You're really not," he said with a scoff. "But you have been today."
Daphne looked at him for a moment, then looked away at the tent entrance. "It's been a good day," she said contently.
They sat in silence for a bit. Outside, fireworks - green and gold, someone still celebrating - cracked distantly against the sky.
"I should go back," Blake said eventually. "Mum and Connor'll be waiting."
He stood, straightening his robes.
"Blake," Daphne said.
He turned.
She stood too, crossed the small distance between them, and paused long enough for Blake to feel her warm breath on his face. She's grown a bit, he thought in a haze, staring at her face.
"What's-"
Before he could finish, she pressed a brief kiss to his cheek - warm, deliberate, but over in a second.
She stepped back, smiling at him in a way that made his chest tighten in a weird way. "Goodnight."
He held it together for just about the time it took to walk out of the tent.
/
Carol and Connor were outside in conjured chairs, sat beside a small but bright fire. Carol had a cup of tea. Connor had a Butterbeer and an expression of absolute readiness to gather information.
"You're smiling," Connor said.
"I'm not."
"Blake," his mother said pleasantly, with a knowing smile, "you absolutely are."
"It's a nice night."
Mother and youngest son exchanged a glance.
"Was it Daphne?" Connor asked.
"No."
"It was Daphne," Connor told his mum.
"Seemed like Daphne," she agreed.
"It was not," Blake said, sitting down. "Why are you both still awake? Can we go to sleep?"
"Did she kiss you?" she asked, in exactly the same tone she used to ask if he'd eaten his vegetables.
Half a second too late - "No."
The noise Connor made was unrepeatable. Blake stared at the sky, wanting to die, and waited for him to finish.
Carol set down her tea. "She seems wonderful, Blake."
"She's my business partner."
They looked at each other again.
"He's a lost cause," Connor said.
"Completely," Carol agreed.
But before Blake could respond, they all turned around at the same time. Blake had already heard it - the shift in the noise from the distant crowd: sound that was too uniform to be celebration. He was on his feet before Connor had registered what his mother's face meant.
His wand was in his hand, as figures came into view. Through the fleeing crowd of desperate wizards and witches, Blake's heart dropped as he recognised what he saw.
Dark, silvery masks, that he had only ever seen before in textbooks and pictures. Figures moving through the campsite below with the particular deliberateness of people who want to be seen, cackling with a cruelty that he had only come face to face with twice before in his life. Lights going up - red and gold, the wrong kind - and screaming that was fear rather than excitement.
Death Eaters.
Blake scanned the sky.
No Dark Mark.
Hooligan behaviour, some clear part of his brain noted through the adrenaline. Which means - probably - that he's not here. Probably. Hopefully.
"Connor." His voice came out flat and calm. "Get Mum into the tent. The three wards I taught you, in order, and don't open it for anyone unless they say my name - not Blake, my full name, my voice. You understand?"
Connor was already up. His wand was out, and the expression on his face was one of absolute focus - all the teasing gone, replaced by something quieter and sharper. Somewhere inside, Blake both was proud of that, yet he despaired at the same time.
"Yeah," he said.
"What?" Carol said, her voice sharp. "What about you?"
"Tracey's tent is two over," Blake said, ignoring her for a moment. "Grab her and her parents on the way - bring them into ours. Go now."
Connor put his hand around Carol's arm. Carol looked at Blake, and he knew that expression - he'd seen it in a hospital corridor, almost 7 years ago.
"Five minutes," he reassured her. "Don't worry - just trust me."
She looked at his face for a moment longer, but seemed to recognise something. Begrudgingly, she went.
Blake turned back toward the campsite. The noise was spreading. The figures in masks were closer now, and he could hear laughter mixed into the screaming. Blake's face felt hotter and hotter as he tried to keep himself calm from his rising anger.
Zabini and Daphne are further out, he thought. They'll hear it, and I should be able to stop most of them before they can get to them - besides, they'll be fine. As far as I can see, no one's in mortal danger right now.
I have no clue where Harry and those guys are though… whatever - there's nothing I can do about that for now. Besides, if there's no Unforgiveables, he's not their target - right?
He had to trust that.
I can still hide in my tent. I don't needto fight. Aurors will probably be here soon, he thought half-heartedly.
He rolled his wand once in his hand, adjusted his grip, and walked toward the noise.
His jaw was tight.
Tonight, of all nights, here of all places, with my mother and my brother and my friends only forty feet away?
F*ck hiding.
Alright, he thought, as he came face to face with the Death Eaters. Let's go then.
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