(Gilderoy Lockhart)
As the last student limped out of the classroom, some wobbling, some still twitching from lingering hexes, I observed with mild approval that, despite the chaos, they were smiling.
Promising.
The door clicked shut.
Sirius didn't even turn around.
"Well," he said casually, "have you seen enough?"
I smiled faintly, and with a subtle flick of my fingers, the Disillusionment Charm peeled away from my body like mist under sunlight.
"Since when did you know?" I asked.
Sirius tapped the side of his nose, smirking.
"Since the start," he said. "Didn't even need to shift. Your perfume gives you away from a mile off."
I chuckled.
"Oh well," I said lightly. "Not as though I was trying particularly hard to hide."
I stepped forward, tapping my staff once against the ground.
An armchair materialised behind me, plush and perfectly shaped, and as I sat, a steaming cup of tea appeared neatly in my hand.
I took a sip.
"Impressive," I said. "That was quite the collection of spells. I daresay I wasn't even aware some of those existed."
Sirius dragged a chair over and dropped into it with all the grace of a collapsing wardrobe.
"Course you weren't," he said. "They're mine."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Now spill it. You've been following me around these past few days. What's that about?"
I lowered my cup, studying him over the rim.
"I was simply confirming you were the real Sirius," I said calmly. "Constant vigilance, you understand."
Sirius nodded once.
"Fair enough," he said. "So what's the verdict?"
I took another measured sip before answering.
"At present, I am ninety-nine percent convinced you are indeed Sirius Black."
He snorted. "Only ninety-nine?"
"One must be thorough," I replied smoothly. "Which brings us to the final test."
He raised a brow.
I tilted my head slightly.
"What did you do to the troll umbrella stand last Christmas?"
Sirius didn't even hesitate.
"Marked my territory," he said with a shrug. "Living as a dog for a year leaves a few habits behind."
I nodded.
"Yes," I said. "That does sound like you."
Reaching into my robes, I produced a small crystal vial filled with a softly glowing blue liquid and extended it toward him.
"Drink this."
Sirius took it, turning it between his fingers, examining the liquid with open curiosity.
Then, with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever, he popped the stopper and downed it in one go.
Bold.
Reckless.
Very Gryffindor.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at me.
"So," he said, "what did I just drink? Not going to have me sprinting to the loo, is it?"
I smiled pleasantly.
"Only if you have consumed Polyjuice Potion within the last two hours."
Sirius froze.
Then, quite suddenly, he doubled over, clutching his stomach.
A strangled groan escaped him. His face twisted in apparent agony.
I was on my feet in an instant. My staff snapped up, aimed directly at him.
Every trace of ease vanished.
But before I could act…
Sirius straightened with a grin.
"Just kidding."
…
I did not lower my staff.
For a long, measured second, I simply stared at him.
"…You think this is funny," I said.
"Of course," Sirius replied immediately, completely unbothered. "I'm a very funny man. Funny is actually my second name."
I raised a brow.
"Wasn't it Orion?"
He paused for exactly half a second before throwing his hands up in surrender.
"You got me. Third name, then."
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as if genuinely considering it.
"Think I should make it legal."
I shook my head, already walking past him.
"That would be a dreadful mistake. Sirius Orion Funny Black," I said, tasting the words with visible distaste. "No. Absolutely not. It lacks elegance. Gravitas. A certain… narrative appeal."
Sirius slumped dramatically in his chair.
"You're right," he said with a sigh. "Back to the drawing board."
I allowed myself a small chuckle and came to a stop near the door, turning slightly toward him.
"One day," I said, "you will have to start taking things more seriously."
Sirius leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head, that infuriating smirk returning in full force.
"Hey," he said, "I'll have you know I'm always Sirius."
I snorted despite myself.
"…Alright," I admitted. "I will give you that one. The timing was impeccable."
He beamed, entirely too pleased.
I turned fully this time and made for the door, tapping my staff lightly against the floor as I went.
"It is, however," I continued, "about time for lunch."
I paused, glancing back over my shoulder.
"Are you coming?"
Sirius stretched lazily, like a large dog that had decided movement was optional but food was not.
"Depends," he said. "Is this one of those refined, posh lunches of yours where I'm expected to use the cutlery?"
"Absolutely."
"Then I'm definitely coming."
"Of course you are."
He pushed himself up and fell into step beside me as we stepped out into the corridor.
Students passing by immediately straightened, a few whispering as they caught sight of us together.
I ignored them.
Sirius did not.
"Look at that," he murmured. "We're causing a scene already."
"My dear Sirius," I said smoothly, "I do not cause scenes."
I adjusted my cuffs.
"I am the scene."
He barked out a laugh as we made our way down the corridor together.
…
Later that night, I lay in bed, staring thoughtfully at the canopy above.
The inn was quiet, the kind of deep, settled silence that only came after a long day of excitement. Somewhere in the distance, a draft stirred, and the faint creak of old wood whispered through the walls.
Things were peaceful.
Deceptively so.
Now that I had confirmed Sirius was, in fact, Sirius, and not some cleverly disguised Death Eater, my mind had moved on to more pressing concerns.
Namely…
What was he planning?
Voldemort was not the sort to sit idle while opportunity knocked. And the Triwizard Tournament?
A gathering of champions. Foreign delegations. Relaxed security in all the wrong places.
A stage.
A very tempting one.
I exhaled slowly.
Yes… something was going to happen this year. The only question was when.
"What are you thinking about, dear?"
The soft voice came from my right.
I turned my head slightly.
Rosmerta lay beside me, her head resting comfortably against the pillow, one hand draped over the gentle curve of her heavily pregnant stomach. In the dim light, her expression was soft, warm… content.
I smiled faintly.
"Nothing much, Rosie," I said, letting my tone remain light. "Just thinking this year is going to be a fun one."
I slipped an arm around her and pulled her closer, pressing a brief kiss to her temple.
She huffed softly, clearly not entirely convinced, but chose not to press.
"Hey," came another voice from my left, slightly more indignant, "don't leave me out."
I turned.
Tonks lay sprawled on the other side, her hair currently a soft shade of violet, her expression somewhere between mock annoyance and genuine expectation.
Her stomach was… noticeably larger than Rosmerta's.
Which, I had to admit, was fascinating.
I chuckled and extended my other arm, pulling her in as well.
"There," I said. "Perfect balance."
Tonks snorted, shifting slightly to get comfortable.
"You say that now," she muttered, "but wait until we both decide to get up at the same time in the middle of the night."
"A challenge I shall face with bravery and grace."
"More like confusion and tripping over furniture."
"Unfounded slander."
Rosmerta laughed softly at that, the sound warm and easy.
For a moment, I allowed myself to simply… exist.
Three wives.
Two children on the way.
A comfortable bed.
Yes…
This was the life.
My gaze drifted briefly toward the ceiling again.
Rosmerta's pregnancy had been… immediate.
Remarkably so.
Practically instantaneous, if one were to be precise. It happened right on the night of our wedding.
Which led to a rather interesting line of thought.
Was it…
No.
I frowned slightly.
Surely not.
Alcohol affecting fertility in such a way would be… unconventional.
Even for me.
I shook my head once, dismissing the idea entirely.
It was just a coincidence, clearly.
As for Aurora, you ask, she's at Hogwarts at this time, as usual. Though she isn't pregnant, she thought two kids at once was more than enough, she didn't mind waiting a bit more for her turn.
Tonks shifted again, resting her head against my shoulder.
"You're doing that thing again," she said, more quietly this time.
"What thing?" I raised an eyebrow in question.
"Monologuing in your head."
"Most writers do."
She hummed, unconvinced, but said nothing more.
Rosmerta, meanwhile, had already relaxed fully against my side, her breathing evening out.
Sleep was not far behind.
I allowed my eyes to close as well.
For now, at least…
I would rest.
Because when the storm came, and I was quite certain it would, I intended to be ready.
…