Chapter Three: Debut
Series title: Runaway: A Story About Sirius Black and Remus Lupin
Series summary: During the sweltering summer of 1976, Sirius Black leaves one family, joins another, and falls in love.
Series authors: The Runaway Writers
Installment title: Chapter Three: Debut
Installment author: magnetic_pole
Word count: 2100
Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen | Twenty | Twenty-One | Twenty-Two | Twenty-Three | Twenty-Four | Twenty-Five | Epilogue
Chapter Two: These Walls
Orion Black is standing in front of the mirror in the master bedroom at Pen y Bryn, a jar of Madame Malkin’s hair cream in one hand and a comb in the other. His part is razor-sharp, every dark hair in its place, his mustache trimmed and sculpted to perfection. He tilts his head to the side, looking at his thin features appraisingly.
“Very good, sir,” the mirror says in a curiously flat monotone. “You are sure to be well-received tonight. The Blacks have always been a very handsome family.”
Orion nods curtly in reply. Last week, just after they had arrived, the mirror had commented on a gray hair that needed to be plucked, and Orion had needed to speak quite sternly to it. No retaliatory spells cast, though, no; that’s not Orion Black’s style. Today things seem much better; he thinks he and the mirror now understand one another.
Orion leans in, sucks in his thin cheeks, and inspects his upper lip one last time. Tonight is the debut for the mustache. Orion had resisted for several years now because he was quite sure that this trend was Muggle in origin, and he is careful-no, scrupulous-about picking things up from Muggles. But just last month he had run into a newly mustachioed Yaxley at the club in London, and when Yaxley had a mustache, Orion Black could have a mustache. He runs the tip of his tongue over thin, dry lips. The mustache is actually quite attractive, he thinks. It's an improvement appropriate for the summer season.
Despite the fact that he has invested a small fortune in Pen y Bryn and the family’s annual trip to Gwelfor and the Welsh coast, Orion hates the summer season with a passion. During the year he spends most of his time at his club in London, smoking and reading and talking with a very select group of friends. Summers at Gwelfor mean mixing with raucous half-bloods at the seaside and spending evenings with his family. Two months here and his nerves will be frayed beyond repair, he’s quite sure.
Nevertheless, the summer season is unarguably the most important time of year, and tonight, the first major dinner party of the summer of 1976, is unarguably one of the season’s most important events for a man whose son and heir is about to come of age. All of Gwelfor’s most prestigious summer residents would be there: the Yaxleys, whose invitation to the season’s first party had come just a few days ago; the Crouches, who are certain to bore him with political talk; perhaps the Lestranges and his niece; certainly the Malfoys; even Albus Dumbledore if they are lucky.
Orion sets down the cream and the comb, runs his hands over the heavy fabrics of his best dress robes, and fastens the top clasp just beneath his Adam’s apple. One tiny silver snake unfurls and curls around the other, and he is ready to go.
*
Sirius is sulking again, but he is dressed in his best robes and waiting in the oak-paneled drawing room, jiggling his knee and staring off into space. After sixteen years, Orion knows this is about the best behavior he can expect from the boy, and so he gives Sirius an encouraging nod.
“Very nice,” he says. This is not a lie; scrubbed and trimmed and quiet, Sirius makes a passable Black. “Remember to give your regards to the host and his wife even if you’re not seated near them.” Sirius gives him half a nod, and Orion decides to let this pass.
Regulus turns towards him eagerly, and Orion smiles. “Very nice,” he says with another nod and a touch more feeling. Regulus beams for a moment, then seems to decide that nodding sternly is more grown-up.
“Where is your mother? Is she ready?” Orion asks. Regulus’ grown-up expression becomes stony, and Sirius gestures upstairs vaguely.
If he listens carefully, he can hear voices coming from Walburga’s suite. Orion fidgets; this is not a good sign.
They wait together awkwardly for a few moments, shifting uncomfortably on the straight-backed chairs, then Orion hears a shriek and a sob and the sounds of a heavy object being thrown across the room.
Orion clears his throat. “Nothing to worry about, I’m sure. But perhaps I should go see how your mother is doing.” He smiles at the boys weakly and Apparates upstairs.
Walburga’s suite is dark and perfumed and so hot Orion feels slightly light-headed and disoriented when he arrives. He blinks rapidly and takes stock of the situation. Walburga is dressed and ready to go, but her jewelry is spread out across the dressing table and the floor, and one of the house elves is cowering in the corner while her mistress screams at her.
“Walburga,” he remonstrates gently, and his wife whirls around to face him, her face flushed and angry.
“Don’t you dare defend her! This is the last time she does this to me, I swear it! She does it purpose. I won’t tolerate this kind of insubordination.”
Orion is not sure what the house elf has done this time, but this scene is similar to a hundred scenes before it, and he knows how to respond.
“Darling? I think there might have been some mistake.” His voice is soothing and quiet. “I don’t think…” What was the house elf’s name again? To his relief, he catches a glimpse of Gimble frowning and waiting for him in the doorway.
“A cup of tea for the mistress, perhaps?” he asks her, and Gimble, correctly interpreting his instructions, grabs the house elf by the ear and disappears from the room, closing the door behind her firmly.
Walburga has collapsed on the bed and is now sobbing loudly into the bedclothes. He sits down on the bed and places his hand on her back.
“Hush, there, dear,” Orion says. “It’s all right.”
Then, a moment later: “Shhhh.”
Walbuga’s sobs have quieted but not stopped. Orion checks his watch and pulls out his wand.
“Silencio.” he murmurs.
The sobs stop suddenly.
Orion leans closer to Walburga.
“I don’t want to be late; this is an important dinner. Are you ready?”
Walburga does not look at him.
“Don’t make me use Imperio this evening,” he says. “Please. You can behave, can’t you?”
He could tell from the way she freezes that she has understood him. She looks up at him, glaring.
“Finite,” he says.
Walburga’s mouth opens slightly and she inhales quickly, catching her breath.
“Ready to go?” Orion asks, handing her a handkerchief.
Walburga dries her face, takes one more look in the mirror, and sweeps out of the room without a backward glance. Orion, as he always, does, turns to follow her.
*
Orion has been seated between Mrs. Yaxley and Mrs. Malfoy, which is disappointing because he never has much to say to women but gratifying because there is no higher honor than sitting next to the host’s wife. Yaxley himself had flashed him a smile earlier, which Orion thought spoke well for the season’s social engagements. Yaxley has a son who came of age a few years ago; perhaps he understands how stressful this period could be.
They nibble on small pastries and Mrs. Yaxley is wondering about the Sikh wizards who have appeared in town again this year; rumor has it Albus Dumbledore has invited one to his house. When the first course comes they are discussing the new houses farther down the hill and the influx of uppity half-bloods who think they have just as much a right to summer in Gwelfor as anyone else.
By the time the roast arrives Orion's anxiety has passed and Mrs. Malfoy is talking fervently about an articulate, handsome young man who is calling for more emphasis on blood purity and fewer restrictions on the use of the Dark Arts. Orion thoughtfully chews on the roast-top quality, very nice-and nods absently: yes, yes, I agree with you entirely. Mrs. Malfoy had complimented his mustache earlier that evening, and there is very little she could say that he would disagree with now.
Looking around, Orion realizes that the Yaxley’s summer house is actually not quite as nice as Pen y Bryn, which makes him happy. Pen y Bryn will do nicely for them; perhaps Walburga can start organizing their own dinners. But the dining here is outstanding. The linens are heavy and creamy in color; the silverware hand-wrought and heavy; the decanters spelled to refill his goblet periodically. The Yaxleys have a superb staff, all wizards and witches, no house elves in sight. The service is quiet and discreet, and Orion has finished three courses without noticing his plate disappear from the table in front of him. His stomach is full, and he is growing sleepy in the heat, Mrs. Malfoy’s voice a muffled buzz in his ears.
Orion looks farther down the table. Walburga is animated and charismatic, controlling the conversation and doling out smiles as if they were galleons given to small children on the holidays. Orion swells a bit with pride. Regulus is listening avidly to a conversation about the Dark Arts that is probably not entirely appropriate for a fourteen year old, but Regulus has always been a little precocious. Sirius is scowling and not speaking to either neighbor, but he is eating with enthusiasm. Orion can hardly blame him; the food really is outstanding, and if it has the merit of silencing his more troublesome son, so much the better. Orion considers him carefully. He has grown so much since he saw him last summer. No more of these stays at the Potters; letting him go over the Christmas holidays had probably been a bad idea. There are things for him to do here.
Orion’s mind wanders. He wonders whether he should put Sirius up for one of the London clubs this year. Not his own, because Sirius had never expressed an interest in herbology and he doesn’t want Sirius smoking any of the things he’s grown fond of; the boy is already too erratic. He thinks Cowell’s club, which is known for transfiguration, might be better. And Cowell owes him a favor or two. Cowell’s club might be just the place for him.
Dessert comes, and Mrs. Yaxley is now talking about ambitious half-bloods and Muggle-borns and the difficulty of finding a pureblood wife for their son. Mrs. Malfoy is nodding vigorously, but Orion is so stuffed with good food and groggy and so fit to burst with pride in his family he can hardly concentrate on the conversation.
“Orion?” Mrs. Yaxley asks. “You do agree with me? You’ll have the same problem soon, too, you know.”
Orion smiles and nods absently. One step at a time. Sirius and Walburga are behaving, and he has just eaten the best meal he has had in months. There will be time to worry later; right now he can only think that the summer is off to a good start.
*
They are on their way out near midnight, and Orion and Walburga are making their rounds and saying their goodbyes in the entranceway when Orion hears Sirius’ voice for the first time that evening. It is distant but clear and, surprisingly, not sullen or disrespectful at all.
“Mrs. Lupin?”
Sirius has slipped back into the dining room and is speaking to a woman in a starched apron who is levitating a tray of dirty dishes with her wand.
“Sirius!” The woman puts the tray down and gives him a quick hug. “I didn’t see you earlier this evening. I must have confused you with one of the adults, you look so handsome and grown up.”
Sirius is smiling and bashful. “I didn’t see you earlier, either. I didn’t realize you’d be here, actually. Remus never said.”
“Well, a bit of last-minute job,” the woman says briskly. “Glad for it when it came up.”
“And Remus is here, too?” Sirius asks eagerly.
“We have a place up the road. He’ll send you an owl soon, I’m sure.”
Sirius broke into a delighted grin.
Had he been less groggy or less pleased with himself, Orion Black would have known that this spelt trouble, Sirius talking to the help and acting happier to see her than anyone else this evening. Had he not had three glasses of ale, he might have been upset. Had Yaxley or Crouch been there, he would have been embarrassed. Had Walburga been here, there would a row.
But instead Orion Black is tipsy and full and sleepy and relieved that the evening has finished without incident, and there is nothing in the world that Orion Black hates more than conflict. Before anyone can notice him, he slips out of the dining room and out the front door to wait for Sirius outside. Walburga and Regulus have already gone ahead.
Sirius joins him a moment later, his face still lit with a grin.
Orion gives his son’s shoulder a squeeze. “Going to be a good summer, isn’t it, Sirius?”
Sirius smiles back, and his reply is warm and heartfelt. “It is,” he says. "It is."
Chapter Four: A Moonlit Strolllj-cut>
Series summary: During the sweltering summer of 1976, Sirius Black leaves one family, joins another, and falls in love.
Series authors: The Runaway Writers
Installment title: Chapter Three: Debut
Installment author: magnetic_pole
Word count: 2100
Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen | Twenty | Twenty-One | Twenty-Two | Twenty-Three | Twenty-Four | Twenty-Five | Epilogue
Chapter Two: These Walls
Orion Black is standing in front of the mirror in the master bedroom at Pen y Bryn, a jar of Madame Malkin’s hair cream in one hand and a comb in the other. His part is razor-sharp, every dark hair in its place, his mustache trimmed and sculpted to perfection. He tilts his head to the side, looking at his thin features appraisingly.
“Very good, sir,” the mirror says in a curiously flat monotone. “You are sure to be well-received tonight. The Blacks have always been a very handsome family.”
Orion nods curtly in reply. Last week, just after they had arrived, the mirror had commented on a gray hair that needed to be plucked, and Orion had needed to speak quite sternly to it. No retaliatory spells cast, though, no; that’s not Orion Black’s style. Today things seem much better; he thinks he and the mirror now understand one another.
Orion leans in, sucks in his thin cheeks, and inspects his upper lip one last time. Tonight is the debut for the mustache. Orion had resisted for several years now because he was quite sure that this trend was Muggle in origin, and he is careful-no, scrupulous-about picking things up from Muggles. But just last month he had run into a newly mustachioed Yaxley at the club in London, and when Yaxley had a mustache, Orion Black could have a mustache. He runs the tip of his tongue over thin, dry lips. The mustache is actually quite attractive, he thinks. It's an improvement appropriate for the summer season.
Despite the fact that he has invested a small fortune in Pen y Bryn and the family’s annual trip to Gwelfor and the Welsh coast, Orion hates the summer season with a passion. During the year he spends most of his time at his club in London, smoking and reading and talking with a very select group of friends. Summers at Gwelfor mean mixing with raucous half-bloods at the seaside and spending evenings with his family. Two months here and his nerves will be frayed beyond repair, he’s quite sure.
Nevertheless, the summer season is unarguably the most important time of year, and tonight, the first major dinner party of the summer of 1976, is unarguably one of the season’s most important events for a man whose son and heir is about to come of age. All of Gwelfor’s most prestigious summer residents would be there: the Yaxleys, whose invitation to the season’s first party had come just a few days ago; the Crouches, who are certain to bore him with political talk; perhaps the Lestranges and his niece; certainly the Malfoys; even Albus Dumbledore if they are lucky.
Orion sets down the cream and the comb, runs his hands over the heavy fabrics of his best dress robes, and fastens the top clasp just beneath his Adam’s apple. One tiny silver snake unfurls and curls around the other, and he is ready to go.
*
Sirius is sulking again, but he is dressed in his best robes and waiting in the oak-paneled drawing room, jiggling his knee and staring off into space. After sixteen years, Orion knows this is about the best behavior he can expect from the boy, and so he gives Sirius an encouraging nod.
“Very nice,” he says. This is not a lie; scrubbed and trimmed and quiet, Sirius makes a passable Black. “Remember to give your regards to the host and his wife even if you’re not seated near them.” Sirius gives him half a nod, and Orion decides to let this pass.
Regulus turns towards him eagerly, and Orion smiles. “Very nice,” he says with another nod and a touch more feeling. Regulus beams for a moment, then seems to decide that nodding sternly is more grown-up.
“Where is your mother? Is she ready?” Orion asks. Regulus’ grown-up expression becomes stony, and Sirius gestures upstairs vaguely.
If he listens carefully, he can hear voices coming from Walburga’s suite. Orion fidgets; this is not a good sign.
They wait together awkwardly for a few moments, shifting uncomfortably on the straight-backed chairs, then Orion hears a shriek and a sob and the sounds of a heavy object being thrown across the room.
Orion clears his throat. “Nothing to worry about, I’m sure. But perhaps I should go see how your mother is doing.” He smiles at the boys weakly and Apparates upstairs.
Walburga’s suite is dark and perfumed and so hot Orion feels slightly light-headed and disoriented when he arrives. He blinks rapidly and takes stock of the situation. Walburga is dressed and ready to go, but her jewelry is spread out across the dressing table and the floor, and one of the house elves is cowering in the corner while her mistress screams at her.
“Walburga,” he remonstrates gently, and his wife whirls around to face him, her face flushed and angry.
“Don’t you dare defend her! This is the last time she does this to me, I swear it! She does it purpose. I won’t tolerate this kind of insubordination.”
Orion is not sure what the house elf has done this time, but this scene is similar to a hundred scenes before it, and he knows how to respond.
“Darling? I think there might have been some mistake.” His voice is soothing and quiet. “I don’t think…” What was the house elf’s name again? To his relief, he catches a glimpse of Gimble frowning and waiting for him in the doorway.
“A cup of tea for the mistress, perhaps?” he asks her, and Gimble, correctly interpreting his instructions, grabs the house elf by the ear and disappears from the room, closing the door behind her firmly.
Walburga has collapsed on the bed and is now sobbing loudly into the bedclothes. He sits down on the bed and places his hand on her back.
“Hush, there, dear,” Orion says. “It’s all right.”
Then, a moment later: “Shhhh.”
Walbuga’s sobs have quieted but not stopped. Orion checks his watch and pulls out his wand.
“Silencio.” he murmurs.
The sobs stop suddenly.
Orion leans closer to Walburga.
“I don’t want to be late; this is an important dinner. Are you ready?”
Walburga does not look at him.
“Don’t make me use Imperio this evening,” he says. “Please. You can behave, can’t you?”
He could tell from the way she freezes that she has understood him. She looks up at him, glaring.
“Finite,” he says.
Walburga’s mouth opens slightly and she inhales quickly, catching her breath.
“Ready to go?” Orion asks, handing her a handkerchief.
Walburga dries her face, takes one more look in the mirror, and sweeps out of the room without a backward glance. Orion, as he always, does, turns to follow her.
*
Orion has been seated between Mrs. Yaxley and Mrs. Malfoy, which is disappointing because he never has much to say to women but gratifying because there is no higher honor than sitting next to the host’s wife. Yaxley himself had flashed him a smile earlier, which Orion thought spoke well for the season’s social engagements. Yaxley has a son who came of age a few years ago; perhaps he understands how stressful this period could be.
They nibble on small pastries and Mrs. Yaxley is wondering about the Sikh wizards who have appeared in town again this year; rumor has it Albus Dumbledore has invited one to his house. When the first course comes they are discussing the new houses farther down the hill and the influx of uppity half-bloods who think they have just as much a right to summer in Gwelfor as anyone else.
By the time the roast arrives Orion's anxiety has passed and Mrs. Malfoy is talking fervently about an articulate, handsome young man who is calling for more emphasis on blood purity and fewer restrictions on the use of the Dark Arts. Orion thoughtfully chews on the roast-top quality, very nice-and nods absently: yes, yes, I agree with you entirely. Mrs. Malfoy had complimented his mustache earlier that evening, and there is very little she could say that he would disagree with now.
Looking around, Orion realizes that the Yaxley’s summer house is actually not quite as nice as Pen y Bryn, which makes him happy. Pen y Bryn will do nicely for them; perhaps Walburga can start organizing their own dinners. But the dining here is outstanding. The linens are heavy and creamy in color; the silverware hand-wrought and heavy; the decanters spelled to refill his goblet periodically. The Yaxleys have a superb staff, all wizards and witches, no house elves in sight. The service is quiet and discreet, and Orion has finished three courses without noticing his plate disappear from the table in front of him. His stomach is full, and he is growing sleepy in the heat, Mrs. Malfoy’s voice a muffled buzz in his ears.
Orion looks farther down the table. Walburga is animated and charismatic, controlling the conversation and doling out smiles as if they were galleons given to small children on the holidays. Orion swells a bit with pride. Regulus is listening avidly to a conversation about the Dark Arts that is probably not entirely appropriate for a fourteen year old, but Regulus has always been a little precocious. Sirius is scowling and not speaking to either neighbor, but he is eating with enthusiasm. Orion can hardly blame him; the food really is outstanding, and if it has the merit of silencing his more troublesome son, so much the better. Orion considers him carefully. He has grown so much since he saw him last summer. No more of these stays at the Potters; letting him go over the Christmas holidays had probably been a bad idea. There are things for him to do here.
Orion’s mind wanders. He wonders whether he should put Sirius up for one of the London clubs this year. Not his own, because Sirius had never expressed an interest in herbology and he doesn’t want Sirius smoking any of the things he’s grown fond of; the boy is already too erratic. He thinks Cowell’s club, which is known for transfiguration, might be better. And Cowell owes him a favor or two. Cowell’s club might be just the place for him.
Dessert comes, and Mrs. Yaxley is now talking about ambitious half-bloods and Muggle-borns and the difficulty of finding a pureblood wife for their son. Mrs. Malfoy is nodding vigorously, but Orion is so stuffed with good food and groggy and so fit to burst with pride in his family he can hardly concentrate on the conversation.
“Orion?” Mrs. Yaxley asks. “You do agree with me? You’ll have the same problem soon, too, you know.”
Orion smiles and nods absently. One step at a time. Sirius and Walburga are behaving, and he has just eaten the best meal he has had in months. There will be time to worry later; right now he can only think that the summer is off to a good start.
*
They are on their way out near midnight, and Orion and Walburga are making their rounds and saying their goodbyes in the entranceway when Orion hears Sirius’ voice for the first time that evening. It is distant but clear and, surprisingly, not sullen or disrespectful at all.
“Mrs. Lupin?”
Sirius has slipped back into the dining room and is speaking to a woman in a starched apron who is levitating a tray of dirty dishes with her wand.
“Sirius!” The woman puts the tray down and gives him a quick hug. “I didn’t see you earlier this evening. I must have confused you with one of the adults, you look so handsome and grown up.”
Sirius is smiling and bashful. “I didn’t see you earlier, either. I didn’t realize you’d be here, actually. Remus never said.”
“Well, a bit of last-minute job,” the woman says briskly. “Glad for it when it came up.”
“And Remus is here, too?” Sirius asks eagerly.
“We have a place up the road. He’ll send you an owl soon, I’m sure.”
Sirius broke into a delighted grin.
Had he been less groggy or less pleased with himself, Orion Black would have known that this spelt trouble, Sirius talking to the help and acting happier to see her than anyone else this evening. Had he not had three glasses of ale, he might have been upset. Had Yaxley or Crouch been there, he would have been embarrassed. Had Walburga been here, there would a row.
But instead Orion Black is tipsy and full and sleepy and relieved that the evening has finished without incident, and there is nothing in the world that Orion Black hates more than conflict. Before anyone can notice him, he slips out of the dining room and out the front door to wait for Sirius outside. Walburga and Regulus have already gone ahead.
Sirius joins him a moment later, his face still lit with a grin.
Orion gives his son’s shoulder a squeeze. “Going to be a good summer, isn’t it, Sirius?”
Sirius smiles back, and his reply is warm and heartfelt. “It is,” he says. "It is."
Chapter Four: A Moonlit Strolllj-cut>