A City Visible But Unseen

Two: WHAT THE THUNDER SAID

Minnie McGonagall would not be the first to admit that she did not have many pleasures in her life. She would have to join an extensive queue of people who were clamouring to do it for her. Admittedly, this was mainly out of spite, but all the same there was an awful lot of truth in it.

However, even she couldn't deny the thrill of delight when she opened the door of the staffroom early one Tuesday morning - as ever, among the first teachers to arrive, if not the first - to find Bertie Dumbledore sitting hunched up on one of the horrible polypropene chairs.

Minnie had been in love with Bertie since the first time she'd ever seen him. Fresh out of teacher training college thirty years before, his flashing blue eyes, wild auburn hair and rip-roaring laugh made her think there might be something better than cats out there, after all.

She had taken the post of English teacher at Oakfield when it was offered her, although what she had always wanted to do was to go back to college, get her Masters and eventually pursue a Ph.D - a lifelong dream. She had stayed because she wanted to be near Bertie, despite never having the courage to admit her passion - and passion it was that quivered in the upright, prim and proper little school marm's soul.

And she had watched in despair as all his bright hopes faded and all his daring schemes collapsed to dust, once burdened with the heavy weight of reality and bureaucracy. Felt her heart turn to lead as he turned increasingly to the bottom of a bottle for solace.

It was a horrible, odd, tearing feeling, both loving someone enough to sacrifice one's hopes and dreams and aspirations for them, and hating them for so completely for betraying both themselves and all they had ever stood for.

Still, she could not prevent the guilty, pleasurable squirming in her stomach at the sight of his - too thin! - figure huddled over the table, his gingery hair shot through with grey now, his once-bright eyes dim and red-webbed, his chin scratchy with several days growth.

'Minerva.' The voice sounded raw, out of practice. 'Up with the birds, as ever.'

'It's good to see you back,' she said, and added, with her typical bluntness, 'Although it would be better to have seen you earlier, and actually looking good.'

Bertie made a sound that was halfway between a sob and a laugh. 'Have I failed you, Minerva?'

'Yes,' she said honestly.

'I'm sorry.' The heavy bags under his eyes seemed to deepen.

'It's too late,' she said, shrugging dismissively. 'I've already forgiven you.'

She moved towards the coffee machine, but he caught her hand. 'What do you want, Bertie?' she asked with an attempt at sternness, but inside her heart was skittering about her thoracic cavity, and hormones were hopping down to her fingers, enclosed in his warm, slightly muggy grasp, like fleas off a wet dog.

'Want?' He laughed hollowly. 'I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to make this school a bright, happy place, where children could come to learn, not just pass the time before getting pregnant or dying of a drug overdose or signing on.'

'I don't know what to say, Bertie,' Minnie admitted sadly. 'I don't know how to help you get that for them because - well, I never even wanted to be a teacher, not really, I just don't care enough. But you did, once. Maybe -' she was struggling now, not entirely sure what she was trying to say. 'Maybe you could care again.'

'Again? I never stopped, Minnie! It just got so painful that I had to find some way of numbing the agony.'

'Caring shouldn't be that painful,' Minnie argued, lying through her teeth. Of course caring hurt; the word was basically a synonym for pain. The happiest people, in her opinion, were the ones that didn't care. The most satisfied students were the ones who didn't give a damn about their marks or their futures, the ones who never knew the agony of aspiring for more than they had.

Bertie was looking at her through those once-so-blue eyes, a spark of understanding in them. 'No, that's wrong,' he said, almost to himself. 'But you have to say it, or the despair will be too much even to get up in the morning.'

'I care for you, Bertie,' Minnie said desperately. 'I wish that you could find meaning in your life again. This school was like your child, but - but, I don't know, when things got too tough, you copped out. It wasn't on, Bertie.' The anger was blazing from her eyes now, years of pent-up frustration and sorrow giving added vehemence to her words. 'Back then, we all believed in you. But a couple of setbacks, and that was it. The school was doomed. It was bad then, it's still bad, but you know what, there's still some hope in it. If you believe in anything you can believe in hope. I dare you - just walk around your school for a while, really look at it, and not in an alcohol-blinded daze, and come back and tell me that it's not worth fighting for.'

Her words seemed to be working some magic, for Bertie was sitting up straighter and the ever-present depressed and self-pitying look was dimming somewhat.

'You had the makings of a great leader!' she ended with a hiss. 'It must still be there!'

'What can I do?' he asked, sounding like a lost little child. 'I don't know where to begin.'

Minnie felt the first faint quiverings of hope.

'I think,' she said thoughtfully, 'that you should talk to Remus Lupin.'

Lucius' plan to meet with his son, as he did quasi-regularly, had fallen through. Draco was relieved, but not altogether surprised. Therefore, it came as something of a shock to him, entering the kitchen on a Tuesday morning a few weeks later, to find his father sitting at the table. His mother had gone to her French class, as per usual, and Draco had been rather looking forward to a solitary breakfast, unplagued by inquiries after Pansy, his schoolwork, Vinnie and Greg, and of course, the ever-feared: 'When are you bringing your girlfriend home to meet me?'

Therefore, he was not particularly disposed to be civil.

'What are you doing here?' he asked rudely.

His father looked up. Like his son, he had blonde curtains of hair, but whereas Draco's was a darker, corn shade, Lucius' verged on being silver. He shared his son's grey eyes, his long, almost equine face and his pointed chin.

'I am your father,' he pointed out mildly.

'So everyone keeps telling me,' Draco said nastily, stomping over to the coffee filter. 'But, do you know, no one's ever offered me solid proof of that fact. Plus, fathers, in general, tend to stick around a bit more. And this isn't your house, more to the point.'

'I bought it,' Lucius laughed, leaning back and stroking his chin, looking at Draco with a piercing gaze.

'But it's in Mum's name,' Draco said, pouring out a huge, American-style mug of dark expresso.

Lucius smiled ruefully. 'Your mother was always very astute.' He paused, clearing his throat self-consciously. 'And if I hadn't been in jail so much, I would have visited you more.'

'Its nearly a year and a half - two years - since you got out.'

'Yes, but - well, to be honest I wasn't entirely sure you wanted to see me,' Lucius regarded his son uncomfortably, as Draco stirred in several spoons of sugar. 'I thought you hated coffee?'

'I do.' Draco seated himself at the table, opposite his father. 'This is for you.'

~

That Tuesday, Hermione was mildly disgusted to find that Black was out, and more to the point, that she missed him. Oh, not in a caring sense. Just that - she noticed he was gone, and she'd never done that before. It was irritating - like having a Black-shaped hole in a universe that previously had been utterly complete without him.

English seemed somehow off-colour without Black muttering imprecations in her ear and making lewd suggestions about McGonagall's sex life. Chemistry felt wrong without him blithely copying her experiments and reading his answers out of her homework. No matter that when he was actually there and doing these things, she glared at him - as if her eyes were miniature ray-guns which could melt him to a smouldering pile of melted tissues with one glance - and clucked her tongue and tried without success to remove herself and her books out of his reach. Life suddenly seemed that bit duller without him around, and she hated herself for it.

Moreover, Black had been telling the truth when he said that he didn't skip school much, for this was the first day out that he'd had since she'd started - been forced - to endure his company in every class.

That was another thing she couldn't stand. That she actually knew that.

She admitted as much to Blaise, in the girl's toilets, during breaktime. The toilets were practically deserted, as ever. The school body had long ago stopped bothering to reprimand smokers, and instead seen to the establishment of a smoking room in a large unused classroom near the canteen. No one hung out in the toilets to smoke uncomfortably out of a window when they could do it freely in a comfortable (relatively) plastic chair with the majority of the school in situ for added entertainment.

Blaise had somehow become her friend. Hermione hadn't really had one before, on the one hand not really wanting to associate with the sort of people who attended Oakfield, and on the other being a pretty self-contained person, especially if she had a book. But one breaktime, Blaise had sought her out. Sat down on the bench next to her, talking about inconsequential things. Lavender and her obsession with her hair. How annoying that was. How did-you-know-that-Ron's-doing-hash, probably crack and heroin too, what-a-surprise-not. And she made Hermione laugh with her dry sense of humour and her complete disrespect for everyone, and Hermione had often thought in her head a lot of the things Blaise said aloud. Blaise was intelligent, too, in her own, specialised way, with her extensive knowledge of rock bands, socialism and the human condition. Hermione, strictly apolitical, had found herself becoming embroiled in a debate with Blaise over the merits of communism. That was it - they were friends.

The bathroom was a quiet and warm - if not particularly clean - place to congregate, and they found themselves there almost every day, without even planning it.

Blaise was looking into the cracked mirror, inspecting her heavily coated eyelashes, unperturbed as the torrent of Hermione's vitriol and self-abuse washed over her.

'And, well, he just pisses me off, as you know, but,' Hermione finished helplessly.

'I suppose you have considered,' Blaise said carefully, for Hermione's touchiness was well-known and feared wherever people gathered to disparage Pratchett (nowadays, in very low voices), 'the fact that you might - ahem - fancy him?'

Hermione opened her mouth to scream a raging denial, and shut it again.

'Well, no, I haven't,' she said, amazed that Blaise could get to the heart of the problem so easily and yet so inoffensively. 'I spend most of the time denying that he likes me and insisting that he's a complete twerp, I guess I didn't have time to wonder about that.' She felt herself blushing, and quickly pushed the button on the hand-dryer to provide an alibi for her red cheeks.

'Well, let's,' Blaise advised. 'He likes you, that's pretty damn obvious. No, don't object for a minute, maybe think why it is you object to that so - violently. Also, you have some kind of freaky connection, even if it is just a skirmish of insults. And lastly, you're missing him, so on some level he's important to you.'

'That's all true,' Hermione conceded reluctantly. 'All right, so, the evidence seems to show that I - sort of - like him - a little! But leaving aside what I'm feeling - what about him? You said he fancies me, or something. Well, be that as it may, having someone like me is not a prerequisite for me liking them. I mean, I adored Victor Krum for years, since about first year, until he left, and he paid more attention to his shoes than to me.'

'Oh, I remember that.' Blaise giggled - it was a habit she was finding hard to shake.

'You did?'

'Oh, the whole school knew about that,' Blaise said vaguely. 'Not that they cared, really, or gossiped about it unless it was a slow week on the 'who's-up-the-duff' front.'

Hermione grimaced, but the current situation was more pressing than the revelation of past shames. 'Right, whatever. The thing is, you have no proof that he fancies me. In fact, he treats me like dirt. Dirt from a Calcutta slum distilled through Sellafield's sewage system. I'd go so far as to say he hates me.'

'There's a fine line,' Blaise began, but Hermione cut in impatiently.

'Okay, severely dislikes me, then.'

'Does he, though?'

'Blaise!' Hermione shook her head in frustration. 'He laughs when I get things wrong in class, like it's some kind of personal triumph for him. He rolls his eyes when I say things, and mutters 'shut up' when I ask questions. He's always trying to get me in trouble! He teases me the whole time, he, he, why are you laughing?'

'Me? Laughing?' said Blaise innocently. 'The most I can aspire to is a throaty giggle, come on.'

~

Sev had been aware for some time that the young student teacher, Serina he thought her name was, had something of a crush on him. Well, no, crush was the wrong word; that was a term for the silly self-flattery that Trelawney engaged in as regards Lupin. (She was far too old for him, for one thing, and divorced, and a complete idiot. He needed someone who'd provide a lot more mental stimulation, who was up for a laugh, even, dare we say, a little less out of their tree....)

Anyhow, Serina had some kind of regard for him, that much was very clear. It was a very practised, and predatory, sort of attraction that she indulged in. The dropping of a pen to lean down and expose a swelling of skin, the crossing of long legs encased in sheer silk, even the provocative twirling of hair around a slim finger with a pointed, shiny pink talon - so different from Lupin's square fingers, his gnawed nails and the flecks of biro ink that denoted his constant activity.

Sev knew, in a detached sort of way, that Serina was an extremely seductive woman. She had masses of long, dark hair, an artfully made-up face and a massive range of tight sweaters and short skirts in dark, passionate colour like crimson, emerald, violet. Her wardrobe had to be the size of a small country, like Australia. He had to commend her on her dress sense, which was superb, and moreover exactly tailored to what she was - unpolitically correctly, a high-class slut.

Or maybe that was just his 'gay' side talking.

Although Lupin had never shown any evidence of such snideness.

Mind you, was Lupin gay? All right, there was the banged-up tradesman mate of his, but aside from that......and he was a surprising character. It was unlikely that Lupin had fabricated that whole story about him and Sirius, but perhaps it was merely a close friendship that Lupin had hyperbolised for......the shock quotient?

Did Lupin ever, actually lie? Was his a deceitful nature?

These thoughts made a mess of Sev's head, giving him an air of permanent confusion mixed with annoyance.

They also meant that, when Selina asked him out, with sex on her mind and in her eyes, he said yes.

~

As the bell rang for class, Hermione pulled Blaise away from the mirror, refusing to let her be late even though 'It's only Chemistry, and Snape doesn't care.'

'He loves you lot anyway.'

'He's gay, Hermione. That's denial. Although its nothing to Lavender's - she's planned out their whole life together, including the number of kids and the make of car they'll have.'

'But - the leather trousers!'

'Exactly.'

As their voices faded into the distance, the door to a cubicle cautiously opened -as if pushed by a hand, connected to a person who had been there the entire time....

~

Minnie happened to be in the staffroom when Selina Vector asked Snape out. She was glad she was, because Selina had talked about it for ages (well, a week, at least) and Minnie would have felt rather miffed to have been left out of the fun. After all, Snape was gay. It was only Selina and the new chap, Lupin, who didn't seemed to have grasped this. Mind you, she was fairly certain that Snape hadn't either.

So all in all, she was pleased to be present when the momentous occasion occurred.

Selina had sashayed her way over to him, in that insinuating way she had. No doubt it earned her multiple rewards at those disco thingys, but from the security of age, wisdom and of course, cynicism, Minnie found it rather irritating and not a little pathetic.

'Hi, Severus,' she whispered sexily, pouting like mad.

'Oh, hello, Serina,' he replied distractedly, looking up from a piece of paper on which he was doodling. Minnie bit her lip to stop herself from bursting out laughing. She shared a secret smile with Marie Sinistra, who was the only other of the old-crowd - and hence privy to circumstances - in the room. Lupin didn't count.

'It's Selina,' Selina said, more loudly and emphatically.

'Oh, sorry,' Snape said, looking up at her and smiling that rare, beautiful, angelic smile that made Minnie, for a moment, forgive and even feel sorry for Selina in what she was trying to do.

'I was wondering....'

Well, that was the gist of it. But as she heard Sev - shock and awe - reply 'yes' she was distracted by the look on young Lupin's face. That which before had been smiling and amused was suddenly shut off, dead. It was as if a brick wall had descended over the landscape of a sunset. Abruptly, he stood up and left the room, scattering papers and threads from his jumper haphazardly as he went. Minnie took the opportunity to raise her eyebrows at Marie in wonder and not a little worry. Snape appeared to be looking after him with much the same expression, but he was trapped by Selina's small hand against his chest, reigning him in to plan their date - 'Friday would be really good for me, what about - '.

Finally Snape shook her off and headed for the stairs at speed. Content and self-satisfied, Selina didn't notice the desperate expression on his face as she set about pouring herself a cup of coffee, humming as she did so.

With the rapid slow-walk that years of teaching had perfected, Minnie got to the table and picked up the scrap of paper that Snape had left. Scanning it quickly, her eyes widened and she stuffed it into her skirt pocket before anyone saw it.

At that moment, Ivy came in, a pained look on my face.

'For God's sake,' she said piteously, as Minnie looked at her guiltily, Marie with tired interest and Selina with inflated confidence in the pulling power of her cleavage.

'They let out the locusts in the biology lab. Again.'

~

Draco's father had persuaded him to take the day off of school, despite Draco's protests.

'I have school, Dad.' He almost said, 'What about Hermione?' but he remembered that any knowledge his father had about the love life of his son was currently restricted to Pansy, the duck-faced blonde, alone. (Oh yes, he had heard Hermione calling her that. She'd obviously read it out of his own mind, the psychic little minx.)

'So?'

There really wasn't any arguing with that brand of persuasive argument.

Lucius insisted on going to the local playground, despite the fact that Draco was no longer four years old, and in any case it was, of course, a junkie's hangout. Syringes and burnt tinfoil crunched under their feet as they made their way to the dilapidated swings, still intact, although much graffitied and banged about (even druggies need something to sit on).

'Why did you insist we go here?' Draco said, perching on a battered swing and attempting exasperation through chattering teeth.

'Nostalgia, perhaps,' said Lucius, somewhat mistily.

'You used to play in this dump?' Draco grimaced.

'Play? God no.' Lucius made an affronted face. 'No, I remember the good old days ... when we were just starting out on the sliding scale of soft to hard drugs. Used to push 'em here, too.'

'Dad, that is sick,' said Draco conversationally, staring at the ground.

'Yes, sorry son.' There was a pause. 'Look, the reason I brought you here is that I think I owe you an explanation.'

'For what? I know you got done for possession, that's no secret.'

'Not that. The reason why me and your mother broke up.'

'Oh, that.' Draco shrugged. 'Mum always said you had 'irreconcilable differences.' It was ages before I figured she got that off some American law programme.'

Lucius had an odd look on his face. 'Well, in fact that's as close to the truth as you could possibly get.'

'How do you mean?' Draco turned to look his at his father face-on, uncomprehending.

'Son, I'm gay.'

'WHAT?'

~

Hermione and Blaise had originally set out to brave the withering cold in the courtyard, but were finally driven to concession when they lost feeling in their fingers.

They stood in the bathroom, alternately freezing then burning their bare legs on the one radiator, and blasting their hands beneath the hot-air dryer.

'So Blaise, who do you fancy in school?' Hermione asked lazily.

Blaise coloured up a little. 'You'll laugh.'

'Considering the choice, I'd probably cry.'

'Well, Black's taken of course.'

'Darling Duckface.'

Blaise snorted. 'I meant by you.'

It was Hermione's turn to blush. 'Please don't say that, you'll only make it worse,' she pleaded. 'I want to get over this - stupidity - as soon as possible.'

'Why?' Blaise wanted to know.

'Why?' Hermione repeated, baffled. 'It's a -a distraction. I mean, even if, in some alternate dimension, we actually did get together, where would it get me in the end? A boyfriend - who incidentally uses me as a verbal punch-bag - for a couple of months. There's no continuity there, nothing real.'

Blaise was looking at her with a mixture of pity and contempt on her pale, almost triangular face.

'What?'

'Hermione, do yourself a favour, and start living now - not when you go to uni, not in ten years time, when you've got a good job and a house and a pension fund, do it now before you forget how to.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Hermione asked, a little frightened by her intensity.

'Well, look at you. You cut yourself off completely from everyone here. Fair enough, you think studying is important and you want to go to a good college. But it's not everything. Look at how much you deny yourself because you don't think that this is your real life. You've made no friends here - we wouldn't be mates except I basically shoved you into it. You refuse to face the fact that you fancy Black because you think it's pointless, even though the times when you're with him are the only times you feel really alive. And yet you want to - what did you say? 'Get over it as soon as possible'? I have to tell you, missy, that living is a habit that's hard to shake off, whether you started it off your own steam or someone else opened your eyes for you.'

Hermione stared at her, open-mouthed and not a little stunned.

'And you don't even put any effort into how you look,' Blaise added critically. 'I'm not saying everyone should be as shallow as Lavender - '

'Or Pansy's forehead,' Hermione muttered, eliciting another snort from Blaise.

'Seriously, though, you act as if you don't care at all. That's not good. Caring is what living is all about, and you could look quite good if you tried a little.'

'Well, thanks,' said Hermione, piqued. 'Here I was thinking I was happy with how I am, an individual, but in fact it turns out that after all, I'm just not making an effort.'

'Exactly,' Blaise replied equably. 'Here, look.' She grabbed Hermione around the waist and deftly rolled up the waistband of her skirt about two inches, as Hermione let out a yell of protest.

'You can see my knees!'

'Mmm. Lavender's are a lot fatter, that'll piss her off. What's with all the scars, though?'

'I fell a lot when I was younger - climbing trees and stuff,' Hermione said defensively.

'A tomboy, eh? Who'd have thought it?'

'I'm not going to leave it like this, you know.'

'Yes, you are. Because you have something to prove to yourself.'

'And what is that, pray?'

'That you are who you think you are - not what other people want you to be. They want you to be the swot they've always seen. I'm going to give you a few more options and you are not going to choose the frumpy look just because you're scared of all the others. Oh, and you're coming to my house this evening to play with my ceramic straightener.'

'But - I have study - revision,' Hermione protested.

'It can wait for one night, can't it?'

'Yeah,' Hermione acceded. 'But - ' her faced paled in fear, 'What if that starts a downward slide? What if I keep missing study, and - '

'Start living instead?' Blaise's tone was dry. She added softly, 'Don't you think that would be the tiniest little bit - exciting?'

As Hermione followed her out of the bathroom, a small horrible part of her was madly agreeing.

~

Dean and Seamus spent lunchtime sitting on the flight of stairs near the vending machine, being part of the small minority of non-smokers in Oakfield. Seamus had a bouncing ball, and was idly hopping it off the wall. Dean was waxing lyrical about Tolkien, while Seamus listened with a half-smile.

Eventually he felt compelled to say what was on his mind.

'Dean, this is truly fascinating,' he said, he hoped with sincerity, because it was. 'But you are eighteen now, and I really think you need a girlfriend.'

'What?' Dean fell off his step in shock, falling hard on his back on the floor. Seamus, shaking his head, reached down to grab his hand and unceremoniously haul him back up (not thinking any bad naughty thoughts about this hand, none at all, no siree).

'Books and films and football are all very well, my friend,' Seamus made a 'gay' leer that never failed to amuse Dean. 'But a time comes in a young boy's life when he needs a little something more. In a word: sex.'

Dean nearly fell off the step again.

Spluttering, he managed, 'Thanks, but not thanks, Seamus. I can manage that on my own.'

'But you see, you can't. So as a proper gay best friend, I've decided to spice up your love life.'

'Wha - Seamus, what the hell do you think - ' Dean was left mouthing his protests as Seamus stood up and waved at someone, and Dean's natural embarrassment at his situation shut down his mouth for him.

Seamus leapt down the steps in a balletic jete, leaving Dean to stomp reluctantly after him. When he caught up, Seamus had his arm thrown loosely around the narrow shoulders of a petite, giggling redhead.

'Ah, here's the man of the hour!' Seamus said in delight, removing his mouth from the girl's ear, into which he had been whispering with excessive secrecy. Dean mooched at little closer, feeling inordinately sulky. Any minute now, and he'd be wailing for his Mummy.

'This is the one I told you about,' Seamus said in a clearly audible murmur. 'Dean, my friend, this is Ginny.' The redhead flashed him a winning smile from underneath Seamus' arm.

'Hi,' Dean mumbled, horrified to discover that a blush was working its way up his neck.

'So, what do you think?' Seamus was nearly jumping up and down from excitement, carrying Ginny along in his jiggling.

'I like him,' she said, tossing her mane of long silken curls out of her eyes in a practised gesture. Seamus gave a very gay yelp of delight, and used his encircling hand to shove her forward.

'Aren't you Ron's sister?' Dean asked uncomfortably. Despite casting desperately about for a topic of conversation, this was the best he could muster.

'Only on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays,' she said sombrely, with a betraying glint of mischief in her dark brown eyes, which matched his own almost incestuously.

Dean laughed, in a mixture of amusement and relief. Maybe Seamus had a point, after all.....

~

Draco had almost fallen into the sandpit with shock at his father's announcement, before remembering what awful things it could hold. His father watched him with a wary expression as he windmilled his arms, trying to regain his balance.

'Do you want to hear the story or not?' Lucius asked at last.

'Yes!' Draco dropped gracelessly into the swing and clung gingerly onto the metal chains, resting his sharp chin on his hands and opening his eyes wide.

Ignoring his son's parody of frenetic interest, Lucius spoke, his eyes looking in the middle distance that revealed the landscape of a youth only he could recapture.

'I've always known that I didn't fancy girls,' he began. 'Even when I realised what that meant, it wasn't important, it didn't factor into things as a whole. My family - the Malfoys - were the numero uno ganglords of this borough, except for the Blacks of course. There were more pressing things to consider, like evading the Drug Squad and bashing in the kneecaps of rogue traders.

'Well, I was about twenty when I married your mother. I'd been out of school for almost four years - mind you, the years I was in school I spent most of my time dossing, or dealing. University, of course, was not an option, and anyway it was never something I wanted. My father was getting a bit arsey about me cluttering up the place. Old Octavius - you never knew him, of course. Gunned down by a couple of thugs in masks when you were only tiny. Anyway, at that stage he was onto wife number five, who wasn't a good deal older than I was, may I add. Usual story, she wasn't too keen on having me around, and Octo himself was feeling it was time for me to, as he put it, 'start making a contribution to the family.' His idea of that was by making an alliance with the Blacks, by marrying the eldest, prettiest daughter - obviously, your Mum, Narcissa.

'There was no possibility of, to use that naff phrase, 'coming out', not in that world, and especially not to my father. He couldn't stand 'those ruddy pillow-biters'. And seeing as I'd never actually fancied anyone of either sex, I didn't really mind being roped into union with your mother, who was something of a catch - to certain people, any Black would have been a wonderful catch.

'The problem started on our wedding night. Narcissa was only nineteen, but she was no virgin. Even if she had been, I reckon she's smart enough to have realised something was up. Nobody discerned anything, though, because you were conceived that night and everything in the garden seemed rosy.

'You were about six when I fell in love for the first time. I don't know if it was the fact that I cheated on her with a man, or the fact that he was her cousin, but the end result was that she left me. I think seven years in a loveless marriage to someone who didn't even fancy her gender made her awfully bitter for a while. She made me sign a nasty divorce settlement - I was happy to pay that, though, because I did love you, my son, and even Narcissa a little, by proxy, for giving you to me. She also let it be known that I was gay, and a combination of that revelation and possibly a tip-off from her to the police meant that I, along with another guy, got done for five years. Possession with intent to distribute, something like that.'

'Mum tipped you off? Because you were gay?' Draco's face was a picture.

'Don't look so shocked, son,' Lucius laughed. 'In a way, it was for you. She phrased it something along the lines of: 'My husband is gay, you people have ruined my life, the police are coming and if you don't leave me and my son alone for the rest of your miserable lives, I'll set Bella on you'.'

'Bella?' Draco asked.

'Your aunt. Bloody terrifying woman, if I say so myself. Since my fall from grace and your mother's strategic withdrawal, also uncontested matriarch of the entire amalgamated Black-Malfoy empire.'

'Right.' Draco settled back comfortably in his swing. This was turning out to be quite a story. Yes, he'd known his father was a drug-dealer. However, he had assumed him to be of the small-businessman type that hung around schoolyards, perhaps from some old, well-moneyed family to account for the comfortable lifestyle he enjoyed with his mother, who boasted of never having held a job in her life. Not the former heir to a huge Mafia-like mob monarchy. He'd been vaguely aware of the notorious Black ring in the next neighbourhood - who wasn't? But he had thought the parity of names to be a coincidence, or perhaps that his mother was a far-shot relation. Suddenly, he sat up straight as a thought occurred to him.

'Does this mean,' he said, trying to stop his chin from trembling, 'that I have to become a drug-dealer? Because I've never done drugs - not even cigarettes.'

'No, of course not,' his father said reassuringly. 'Your mother bought you out of that a long time ago. You could try to get in again, but it would be bloody dangerous.'

'Oh, good.' Draco deflated in relief.

'There is the little matter, though, of your inheritance.'

'My what?'

'Draco, Octo was a major man in what is a major business,' Lucius said patiently. 'He had connections with international drugs rings, the Mafia - ' (aha! Draco thought). 'In short, he amassed a bloody fortune. Those ruinous maintenance cheques your mother draws haven't even made a dint in it. And as of your eighteenth birthday, it's all yours.'

'Why? I mean, how? How - much?'

Lucius gave a knowing chuckle. 'You might call yourself Black, but you're still Malfoy to the core. 'How much?' was my father's favourite line.'

Draco was looking at him, dazed and confused.

'I digress. It's somewhere in the region of ten million pounds.'

'Ten,' Draco managed. 'Millions? And you're giving it to me why? Surely it's your inheritance first?'

'That's true.' Lucius shrugged. 'But I don't want it, and I don't need it either. I took a couple of thousand out, for myself, but I don't want much. My boyfriend has a fairly lucrative repair business going, and I drive the van.'

'Hang on.' A suspicion was beginning to form in Draco's mind. 'My mother's cousin? A machine repair man, by any chance?'

'You've met Sirius?' Lucius said in delight.

'Is that his name?' Draco wrinkled his nose. 'You'll make a lovely couple, the two of you and your ridiculous cognomens.'

'What did you think of him?' Lucius asked, in the breathy tones of an infatuated schoolgirl. Draco had to keep from smirking.

'I only saw him for a sec. He was in school fixing the vending machine, flying about with that daft Lupin chap as his sidekick-in-crime. I thought he looked like a pansy.' Draco considered this for a moment. 'Clearly because he is one.'

'Lupin?' Lucius asked sharply. 'As in the old school friend, first love Lupin?'

'I don't know!' Draco exclaimed. 'I don't even take French. But all the circs seem to indicate that they knew each other, at least, and it's not exactly a common name, is it?'

'No,' Lucius forced out. Draco felt sorry for his father, who was wearing, all of sudden, an utterly woebegone expression.

'I wouldn't worry about it, Dad,' he advised. 'Everyone knows Lupin is mad for that greasy haired excuse for a Chemistry teacher, Snape-and-a-half.'

'Right,' said Lucius, but he sounded unconvinced. He laughed abruptly. 'Who'd have thought it - my own son, giving me advice about my love life.'

'Well, you've come to an expert,' Draco said complacently.

'So are you - do you know whether you are - '

'I'm fairly certain I'm straight, Dad,' Draco said seriously. 'I've never fancied a boy, unless that one time when I looked at Harry Potter's arse - but I think I should be forgiven that, seeing as I thought it was Hermione's.'

'Hermione - that's the girlfriend your mother was talking about, is it? Funny, I thought she had a flower name. Daisy, or something.'

'Hermione isn't my girlfriend,' Draco said instantly. 'My girlfriend's name is Pansy.'

His father forbore saying anything, although his trembling lip gave him away. Draco let the tension build for a moment, then turned away to snort with laughter.

'Yeah, I'll definitely have to break up with her now,' he said.

Hermione sat on Blaise's incongruously heart-covered bedspread and submitted to her ministrations with two scaldingly hot plates of metal.

'Do you think you could afford one of these?' Blaise asked her, scooping up a lock of hair with a comb and sweeping the straightener down it in a puff of steam.

'Oh, I already have one,' Hermione said vaguely.

'You what? And you never used it?'

'My aunt gave it to me, but I burnt my ear the first time I tried to use it. It didn't seem worth the hassle. Or the pain.'

Blaise shook her head in disbelief. 'I hope you're watching and learning now. I expect you to start using yours now, at least once a month anyway. If just to get value out of it.'

'I will,' Hermione promised. 'I just had no idea what to do with it. I do now.' She crossed her fingers where Blaise couldn't see them. It didn't actually look like rocket science, as long as she kept it away from her ears, that is.

Blaise stood back, surveying her minutely. Darting forward to flatten a stray lock, she announced. 'All done!'

Hermione stood up to look in Blaise's vanity mirror. Her own face stared back, surrounded by long, fluttery wisps of pale brown hair. Her head seemed to have halved in size.

'I'm amazed,' she admitted. 'It looks totally different.'

'Better?'

'Definitely!' Hermione laughed. 'It no longer looks as if I'm growing out dreadlocks, which can only be a good thing. Isn't it amazing - before, I never used any heat or chemicals on it, and it looked like as dry and frizzy as a woolly sock in a dryer. Now, after loading it with products and applying scandalous amounts of heat to it, it looks shiny and healthy. The world is so twisted.'

Blaise went to unplug the straightener with a satisfied grin. Hermione flopped down onto her desk chair, and propped up her chin on the chair back.

'You never told me who it is you like,' she said, her voice oddly distorted by the pressure under her throat.

'Oh, I was hoping you'd forget that,' Blaise said, wincing slightly.

'Why? Don't you trust me?' Hermione felt a little hurt. 'And after all the crap I told you about Black, too!'

'It's not that!' Blaise hastened to say. 'It's just that I feel a bit stupid over it.'

'You're talking to the girl, who just realised today that she fancies the winner of Prick of the Year Award, three hundred thousandth time running,' Hermione pointed out, rolling her eyes. 'I couldn't bat an eyelash if you announced your total devotion to - to - Alan Rickman.'

'He has a quite sexy voice,' Blaise said thoughtfully.

'Eww!' Hermione made a disgusted face. 'And stop trying to change the subject. I'm onto you, missus.'

'Fine!' Blaise snapped, then, in an almost-whisper: 'Harry Potter.'

Hermione frowned, trying to place him. 'Oh - the weedy guy with the specs and clothes that are too big for him?'

'Yes.' Blaise held her breath.

'Better him than his loser mate, anyway,' Hermione shrugged, and Blaise smiled happily. 'I suppose he's not too bad, if you go for the quiet, soulful types, which I don't. And he's quite good at History, too.'

'What higher praise can there be than that?' Blaise teased. 'Better than Black?'

'How would I know?' Hermione asked, with some asperity. 'Any work he does is copied straight off of mine. On the basis of that, though, he's heading for an A, no doubt about it.'

Blaise made a disparaging noise at the back of her throat. 'You never liked him on the basis of his grades, you know that. More on his - um - icy good looks?'

'You mean the albino rabbit thing he has going?' Hermione said innocently. 'Yeah, stunning......'

'Come off it, I bet you think he's gorgeous,' Blaise baited.

'Fine, yes, whatever.'

'He is the stud of the school, you know.'

'And that is supposed to make me feel better how?'

''S not.'

'Cheers.'

They sat in silence for some moments, pleasurably contemplating their individual crushes. Finally, Hermione roused herself out of her near-stupor.

'It's getting late. I'd better go,' she said reluctantly.

'I'll get Mum to drive you,' Blaise offered. 'These streets aren't safe at night.'

'Or at any time,' Hermione added cynically.

'C'mon then - Mrs Black.'

'Piss off, Mrs Potter.'

~

Lupin sat, dull-eyed and tousle-haired, at the small faux-marble table in Sirius' flat.

'Won't your boyfriend mind that I'm here?' he asked dimly.

Sirius plonked a large blue mug full of tea in front of his friend, slopping it as he did so. Lupin began to mop it up distractedly with his unravelling sleeve.

'Lucius is out for the day with his son,' said Sirius grimly. 'I'll make him not mind.'

'Son?' Lupin asked, trying to figure out, through the wooziness that was his brain, why this sounded so wrong, but failing to do so.

'Yes.' Sirius looked at him with a furrowed brow. 'Drink your tea.'

Automatically, Lupin lifted the mug and sipped, thinking back to that morning, when things had seemed so bright and hopeful.

Minerva McGonagall had approached him, urging him to meet with the prodigally-returned headmaster, whom Lupin had not seen since the first week of September term. Lupin, for his part, found Dumbledore to be drastically changed. No longer a tired, withered old man, he now seemed to crackle with vitality. And he had taken on board nearly all of Lupin's ideas, even some of the ones that he himself admitted were a little outrageous - a new gym and swimming pool complex, for example.

'We'll try and find a way to raise the money,' Dumbledore had said, in a low voice that didn't conceal his excitement. 'It could take years, but we'll get there in the end.'

And Minerva had offered him her place as vice-principal - 'In theory only, for now, for the formalities would take too long. But consider yourself deputy head in all but name.'

And he'd been amazed, and excited, and fizzing, and at the back of his mind he remembered Severus, and his fumbling, beautiful smiles and the way words seemed to spill out of his mouth without bothering to check with his brain first.......And the thought was always there, unvoiced but present, that here, here was what he had been looking for, what he had thought he'd found in Sirius and a dozen others, but had been, all along, inside of this man - this man who was straight after all.

His anguished musings were cut short but the turning of a key in the latch. He registered the way Sirius' face lit up, like a lightbulb had been turned on inside of his head - there was only one person he could have been expecting who had that effect on him. Lupin felt pathetically jealous.

'You're home!' Sirius had half risen out of his chair, and was smiling his wide smile in typical Sirius enthusiasm. 'How did it go? Did you tell him?'

'Yes, I did.' The voice, despite its obvious inner-city accent, was nonetheless mellifluous and smooth, like warm honey. 'And he was amazingly fine about it.'

As he spoke, a tall, willowy man with a long, handsome face and straight blonde hair falling into his eyes was hanging up a long leather trench coat in the hall cupboard. As he turned to face them, Lupin let out a mirthless giggle.

'Black!' he exclaimed, for the resemblance was startling, uncanny. He looked at Sirius. 'And Black!' He dissolved into snorting giggles that were half-sobs, and gently, his head fell forward into his cradled arms.

'Who's this?' Lucius said distrustfully.

'Oh, just an old mate, Lupin,' Sirius said hurriedly. His explanation made Lucius narrow his eyes angrily.

'And what is he doing here?' he asked in a dangerous hiss.

'Come into the kitchen,' Sirius said in an undertone, giving the shaking, head buried Lupin a scandalised look. Lucius shoved his way in first, and when Sirius, bemused and hurt, closed the door behind him, Lucius was pressed up against the cabinets, arms tightly folded so that he was almost hugging himself, his face shuttered. It reminded Sirius so evocatively of the first time they'd met - and kissed. Lucius had given him looks of hungry longing all during one of his mother's outrageously lavish dinner parties. When Sirius had finally confronted him, in a kitchen that was quite a bit larger than this one - although Sirius hadn't paid attention to the furnishings then, and wasn't now - he had adopted the self-same, defensive stance. Then, as now, Sirius had wanted to simply take him in a rough embrace and kiss away the troubled, scared expression. But now was now, and certainly more complicated, with the history of a relationship to defend and uphold.

'What's up, Lucius?' he asked, putting his head to one side.

'You have to ask that?' Lucius responded tightly. 'When your old lover is sitting at the kitchen table, and you've been doing god knows what while I've been breaking the news of our relationship to my son, like I promised you years ago I would?'

'And I knew you'd do that for me,' Sirius said, battling to keep his voice even. 'And I can understand if you're jealous. But Lupin's an old mate, and when the man he's fallen in love with accepts the offer of a date from a young, nubile girl, I feel a bit obligated to him to cheer him up as best I can.'

'So you're not - you didn't - ' Lucius asked, unwilling to betray the extent of his lack of confidence.

'Lord knows, its a good thing I'm not a rabidly jealous person,' Sirius sighed. 'One of those is quite enough in a relationship.'

Lucius allowed himself a small smile, quivery and uncertain though it was.

'Come here, you daft loo,' Sirius said, shaking his head. 'After that, I'm not coming to you!'

Lucius crossed the small room with giant strides and buried himself in Sirius' arms, despite being a good deal taller than him.

'Sorry,' he muttered into Sirius' tee-shirted shoulder.

'Shut up and kiss me,' Sirius demanded, and Lucius happily obliged.

After several pleasurable moments, Sirius reluctantly broke away. 'Lupin,' he reminded him gently.

'Oh, yeah,' Lucius said, absent-mindedly rubbing his mouth with one hand. He always did it after they kissed, and after all this time Sirius found it endearing as opposed to irritating. 'Would this betrayer be a teacher by the name of Snape?'

'Yes, how did you know?' Sirius asked in amazement.

'My son goes to school there,' Lucius said.

'Your son...' Sirius mused. 'Tall, good looking fella with an eyebrow piercing? Lupin said he was a Black. Thought he had to be either one of Andy's or Cissy's - Bella, thank God, has never reproduced.'

'Well, yes. He mentioned he saw you there.'

'Now I come to think of it, he reminded me terribly of someone.'

'It couldn't have been me, could it?' Lucius asked dryly.

'Oops,' said Sirius, abashed. 'Yes.'

'Come on, lover.' Lucius threaded his arm through Sirius'. 'If you and I - together with the help of my son, the self-proclaimed 'expert in these things', can't get them together, nobody can.'

'You're being very helpful all of a sudden,' Sirius accused.

'But of course. I have an ulterior motive.' He dropped a kiss on Sirius' mouth as they opened the door together. 'I want him to be blissfully, utterly happy, so that he will never think of looking in your direction ever again.'

'Even if he did,' Sirius assured him. 'I wouldn't look back. Well, not for long, anyway. Hey, ow, what was that for?'

~

Lucius had taken his son for large, fat-dripping chips at a greasy caf before seeing him home. Most of the time was spent reassuring Draco that first of all, it was true, on February eighteenth he would become a millionaire several times over, and no, there was no catch and Lucius was perfectly willing to sign it all to him. Lucius tactfully didn't mention Sirius' initial reaction to his lover's plan to hand over the entire fortune to his son, which had been one of nasty shock and disbelief. Sirius had eventually come round, especially when he realised that it was Lucius' way of severing all ties to the past, but Lucius was pretty certain that his son's suspicious mind wouldn't see it that way.

They parted at the front gate of Narcissa's luxurious semi-d, Lucius still too wary of his ex-wife to venture inside, at least not yet. Draco made him promise that he would, though, someday soon.

By the time Draco turned his key in the lock, Lucius had disappeared into the lengthening shadows.

'Mum, I'm home,' he called.

There was silence for a moment, then Narcissa stormed into the hall, tinted blonde hair flying. Draco quailed at the look on her face.

'And just where do you think you've been all day?' she shrieked. 'I got a call at eleven o'clock from the school, saying you were missing and no one knew if you were sick, or dead, and if you've been doing drugs - ' she broke off suddenly and burst into loud, racketing sobs.

Draco stared at her in amazement and a little guilt. His surprise was not occasioned by her overkill reaction - Narcissa had always been overly given to dramatics, something he'd inherited it from her - but at the school's concern.

'Did you say the school rang you?' he asked, frowning. 'Jesus, and here I was thinking they didn't even know my name.'

A small, dry cough announced the presence of another person in the room. Draco whirled around to find Binns, the history teacher, of all people, standing behind his mother and clearly having followed her out of the kitchen.

'In that you are, in fact, correct,' he said mildly in his paper-rustling voice. 'We don't know your given name, that is. But D. Black has a phone number in our files.'

'What?' Draco stared at him, mouth hanging open. 'Why are you here - in my house? With my mother? Oh, God, my poor innocent mind!'

'Oh, get out of the gutter, Draco,' his mother snapped, ceasing the flow of water from her eyes as quickly as she'd started it.

Draco gasped, even more affronted. 'You - you used my name! In front of someone from school! Omigod, mother, what are you trying to do, ruin my life?'

'Of course,' Narcissa said, sneering. 'Mother's prerogative.'

'As a matter of fact, she already told me your name,' Binns interjected.

'Oh, she has, has she?' Draco snarled. 'Been having a nice cosy little chat with her, have you? Trying to weasel your way in because she's divorced and lonely!'

'Draco!' his mother exclaimed, in her I'm-taking-control voice, a little marred by the snicker she could not suppress at his words. 'That's quite enough. I want you to come into the kitchen, sit down and we'll sort this out. And I am not lonely!' she added in a hiss as Binns ambled away.

'Snh.' Draco felt he could have said a lot more, but if she'd revealed his real name to Binns just for skiving, Lord knows what she'd do if he refused to obey her now and kept making naughty allusions about her love life (or lack thereof).

Draco slumped into a chair with bad grace and stuffed a chocolate biscuit into his mouth. Staring at Binns defiantly, he began chewing loudly, spewing crumbs everywhere. Binns just raised a hairy eyebrow and gave him an enigmatic half-smile, which only served to infuriate him further. Where was he going without a bell on his bike, making that awful rictus at Draco?

'What happened, Draco, is that you were missing from your history class,' his mother was saying in reasonable tones, while flitting around making tea and generally acting the perfect housewife (the perfect mother cover had been blown, obviously, by her son's delinquent activities). 'Joe - I mean Mr Binns - informed the headmaster, and also told him that he'd never known you to miss a day of school.'

'That's not true,' Draco objected, pouting like a spoiled baby. The ring of crumbs surrounding his mouth only enhanced the effect. Binns tightened his lips to keep from smiling again. 'I missed one day last year, for the dentist.'

'Exactly,' said Binns, taking his cue. 'And you brought a note that time. So for you to miss a day, without your mother ringing up, as she usually does, to say that you were ill or something, was out of character and was, despite what you may think, a cause for concern. Your record in that sense is impeccable.'

'It is?' Draco curled his lip in disgust. 'God, I'll have to do something about that. Knowledge like that could utterly destroy my rep.'

'Draco!'

'So I rang your mother to confirm,' Binns continued, unperturbed. 'And she thought you were in school.'

'Fair enough,' Draco said. 'And you ended up here how exactly? A frantic fear for my safety drove you on, perhaps?'

'Your mother's frantic fear for your safety, actually,' Binns said, his face blank.

'I was with Dad,' Draco sighed. 'He was at the kitchen table when I came down for breakfast, and he sort of convinced me to skip school to talk with him.'

'Well, he does have a key,' Narcissa conceded. 'Well, I'd like to say I'm relieved, but this is Lucius, after all. What did he want to speak with you about?'

'Oh, this and that,' Draco said carelessly, while inside he was revelling. Now was his chance to break Binns' damnably calm facade. 'He wanted to recount his childhood for me, as the son of the head of this huge drugs ring. Then he told me a few other little things, like, he's gay, and going out with Sirius, you know Binns, the guy who repaired the vending machine?' Binns raised his eyebrows again, but said nothing. Frustrated, Draco added, in a drawl, 'He also happens to be Mum's cousin. Still, nothing like keeping it in the family, hey?'

'That is truly fascinating,' Binns said, without a hint of sarcasm. Draco growled at him and turned to look at his mother.

'So he didn't try to get you to - take anything, then? Drugs?' she said fearfully.

'Not at all. I got the impression that he's turned his back on all that, for lurve,' Draco scoffed. After all, to the very young the idea of such very old people doing something as interesting as falling in love is totally farcical. 'But he did insist I take the family fortune on my eighteenth, which is pretty bloody decent, whaddyasay?'

'Don't swear, Draco,' his mother frowned.

'I really think you didn't show up too well in the whole thing, though,' Draco added, reaching for another biscuit.

'Oh, I know,' Narcissa sighed guiltily. 'I really shouldn't have blabbed the secret to everyone, but I was just so hurt - '

'Not that.' Draco cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hands, sending chocolate-coated crumbs flying in every direction. 'It was scandalous that you let him get away with naming me Draco, even if he is gay!'