Like Magic

Chapter Thirteen

October 1976
"Mum! Dad!"

The door slammed, and Violet Evans's head appeared from the kitchen doorway. "Lily, you're home already?" she exclaimed, pleased. "I didn't expect you for another hour, at least. What time did you leave London?"

"I Flooed to the Pettigrews," said Lily, hugging her mother hello. "It's cheaper than a train ticket, and faster too. You're looking well - are you sure you should be up?"

"I'm fine," said Mrs Evans shortly, annoyed to be reminded of her illness. "Today is a good day. Don't change the subject. I don't like the idea of using fire to travel. Suppose you slipped and burnt yourself?"

"Oh, Mum, it's fine," laughed Lily. "Are Pets or Papa home yet?"

"Your father will be home in about ten minutes," said Mrs Evans, turning back to the kitchen. "And Petunia won't be home until much later. Mr Dursley was taking her to a play after school today, and then he'll drive her home."

Mrs Evans busied herself at the cooker, and Lily sat down at the kitchen table, biting her lip.

"Mr Dursley?"

"You know Mr Dursley, don't be silly. Petunia has taken a bit of a shine to him - heavens knows why," said Mrs Evans. She was stirring the contents of a rather large pot on the stove, and Lily began to nibble on her fingernails. "Darling, stop that. If you're going to be charming things all day long, you should at least have lovely nails."

"Mum, no one is looking at my nails. They're more concerned with getting rid of whatever extra appendages they've accidentally acquired," said Lily patiently. "Don't you think Mr Dursley is a bit - old?"

"He's only 22, I think."

"And Pets isn't even sixteen!"

"He's very handsome," continued Mrs Evans, not even hearing her daughter. "He brought me chocolates and flowers when he came for dinner." She smiled to herself. "Quite the gentleman, I thought!"

"Mother, it sounds like he's courting you, not Pets!"

"Oh, he's not courting anyone, Lily," said Mrs Evans. "He's only spending a bit of time with her."

"Taking her out to a play in London and keeping her to all hours is only spending a bit of time?"

"It's all very innocent, he was meant to go with his sister, only one of her dogs took sick and he asked Petunia to take the other ticket," said Mrs Evans. "All on the up and up, dear. Set the table, won't you?"

Lily found the forks and knives and set the table for three. Just as she finished, the front door slammed again. "Violet!" called her father. Lily sprung through the doorway.

"Papa!" she cried. "I'm home!"

"And of course you are," said Mr Evans, pleased. "It's your birthday tomorrow, now, and where else would you be?"

"I could be in London, with James Potter at my door begging me for an hour of my time," laughed Lily.

"Leave my daughter all alone in that closet you call a flat on her nineteenth birthday? I think not," said Mr Evans.

"Sirius would break the door down, anyway," said Lily with a grin.

"Your mother is sure to have dinner ready," said Mr Evans, "and then we'll have a nice chat. How long are you here, Lily?"

"Until Sunday afternoon, only Mrs Pettigrew asked me for a spot of tea before I return to London."

"Of course, of course."

"Papa - " Lily caught her father's sleeve before he disappeared into the kitchen. "I want a chat with you later. Privately?"

"Of course, Lily, of course. After dinner?" And he slipped into the kitchen.

* * * * *

Nestled in her bed, Lily curled up with a book ("Curative Charms and You: How to Fix What You Messed Up in the First Place") and didn't look at the clock until it was nearly one in the morning. "Oh, bother," she muttered to herself, and flung the bedclothes aside. "Papa said he'd come to chat when he was done with paperwork, and that was four hours ago! And I never heard Pets come home, either."

Lily found her dressing robe and tied it around her, and went down the steps towards her father's study. The door was ajar, and she knocked softly on it. "Papa?"

"Hmph?"

Lily entered the room. Her father was still sitting at his desk, which was covered in open ledgers and manuals, papers stacked quite high and several rather dirty teacups piled in one corner. Her father wore small spectacles which glinted in the dim light of the desk lamp. Lily closed the door behind her. "Papa, it's nearly one in the morning, aren't you done yet?"

"Lily! I - I'm sorry, I was to come up to you, wasn't I? You haven't been waiting all this time?" He began patting his breast pockets, searching.

"I was catching up on some reading," said Lily. "But I still want to talk, if now is all right?"

"Of course, of course - my glasses - "

"On your face, Papa."

Mr Evans felt for the glasses and smiled. "I've been up too long, I think. Sit, Lily - do you want some tea?"

"No, that will only keep me up longer," said Lily. "Do you know if Pets is home yet?"

"I haven't heard her come in yet," said Mr Evans.

"It doesn't worry you?"

"Of course not," said Mr Evans. "It was a long play she and Dursley were attending, and then the drive back. I shouldn't think they would be home before two."

"She's so young, is all," said Lily.

"So were you," said Mr Evans. "And you spent entire evenings gallivanting across Surrey with your schoolfriends. I believe there was one such evening when five or six of you didn't even bother to return until after your mother and I had sat down to breakfast."

Lily laughed. "We all just marched right in and sat down, and Sirius said to Mum, 'Oi, where's the grub?' I think she might have smacked him."

Mr Evans smiled at the memory. "I'm fairly certain she heavily salted his porridge, so she had her revenge," he said. "My point is we allowed you privileges. Now we allow them to Petunia."

"I just worry about her, Papa," said Lily. "She and I talk a good deal, and things she's said to me over lunch - "

"Lunch?"

"Oh, Papa, you aren't that oblivious, are you? Pets and I meet for lunch two or three times a week in London. Sunbury doesn't mind her being off campus during the day if she's with a relative."

"Oh. Yes, of course. I recall now."

"So, Papa ... what do you think of Vernon Dursley?"

"One of my assistants, quite sharp. He's been with us for a year now, and I've a mind to begin training him to run the company eventually, should he work out well. He's quite ambitious."

"That's what worries me, Papa," said Lily urgently. "I don't like him. He - " Lily hesitated, unwilling to go on with what had happened. "He feels wrong to me."

"Wrong?"

Lily shook her head. "I can't explain it. Maybe it's a witch-thing. But I just didn't like the way he felt."

"Does Petunia feel the same way?" asked Mr Evans, curiously.

Lily sighed. "I think she likes him a great deal."

"I gather you don't approve," said Mr Evans.

Lily pulled a sheet from her pocket. "Papa - I don't think Petunia should be allowed to see Mr Dursley any longer."

"Oh? What makes you say that?"

"His numbers are wrong," said Lily. "I worked them out, and I don't like his numbers, or what they do to Petunia." She handed the sheet to Mr Evans, who took it with some amount of trepidation.

"His numbers?" said Mr Evans, confused. He looked at the paper and began to read.

"It's Arithmancy," explained Lily. "A way of reading a person, to learn what kind of character they might have. It's terribly interesting, and I've been working out numbers -"

"For all of us," finished Mr Evans, studying the paper. "Yes, I see that. And I see that Petunia and you both are threes."

"Three is a good number," said Lily proudly. "That's our character number. We're well-rounded, cheerful and loyal individuals. Pets more so than me, because she's also a double six, so she's especially kind-hearted and loyal."

Mr Evans looked up at her blankly. Lily smiled.

"I'll start from the beginning. You take a person's name and convert it to numbers, following a chart. A is one, B is two, and so on. Then you add up all the numbers, and reduce them, or add them all up, until you're left with a single digit. That number is your character number."

"All right," said Mr Evans. "I follow that. But you have three sets of numbers here for each person."

"The other numbers are your heart and social numbers. You use the vowels in your name to find your heart number, and the consonants to find the social number. Once you have all three numbers, you can get a complete picture of the person."

"So each number corresponds to a personality trait?"

"Several of them, really," laughed Lily, quite enjoying her lecture. Her father was listening to every word she said, paying close attention, and Lily liked it. "The descriptions can be quite detailed. There are entire books written on a single number in itself! And when you combine them, you can have a very interesting view of a person's mentality. One girl at school wrote an entire theme on being a triple three!"

"So with these three numbers, I can learn what sort of person you are, based solely on your name?"

"More or less. It helps to know the person as well, of course, to better understand their motivations. What Arithmancy is especially good for is to determine a course of action, based on a person's numbers. Normally, like numbers should stick with like numbers - ones with ones, and so on."

"I take it you have done this with Petunia in mind, then?"

"The numbers, Papa. Pets is very clear cut, she's a classic three-double six. Caring, loving, loyal. She wants only to please. She's been trying her whole life to please you and Mum, and I think that's why she's fallen under Vernon Dursley's influence. She thinks she can please him, and by pleasing him please you and Mum."

"I assume you've done Vernon Dursley as well, then?" asked her father wryly.

"He's a three-eight-four. It's a rather odd combination. Threes are typically complete, successful people, who are eager to make others happy, but the addition of the eight and the four concerns me. Eights tend towards distrust and suspicion, and can be overly practical and ambitious. Fours are often stubborn and temperamental."

"Successful, yes," said Mr Evans, "and he does try to smooth rough waters at Grunnings. He's quite anxious to keep company morale high. But I'll even admit to the stubbornness and ambition."

"You see," said Lily. "But that's not what worries me the most. What concerns me is how he affects Petunia - particularly if he marries her."

Mr Evans arched his eyebrow. "She's not quite sixteen yet, Lily - what makes you think he would marry her?"

"If Petunia married Dursley, she'd change a good deal," said Lily. "Look - she'd go from a three double-six to a one-six-eight."

"Her heart number stays the same, that's not so bad," said Mr Evans.

"But Papa - everything else! She wouldn't be quite as open with her love anymore, and the chances of her becoming jealous and mean are increased. Remember what I said about eights, and how they tend towards distrust and suspicion? She likely would become very lonely, and isolated. Ones tend to be loners."

"Petunia does very well for herself," said Mr Evans in defense.

"But Mr Dursley's numbers show him to be quite egotistical and overbearing - and in combination with Pets' numbers, I'm worried that he could take over her entire life."

"Now, Lily," said Mr Evans, growing a bit cross, "I dare say that I know the situation better than you. I find Dursley to be far from egotistical and overbearing. He's good to his crew at Grunnings and I believe he considers himself one of them, not above them. He runs the tightest crew in the company."

"But Papa - "

"Your sister is not quite the uneducated lass you think she is. She's been taking the train into London for school since the age of twelve - she can quite handle herself with any man, and I dare say she wouldn't let herself be controlled by anyone."

"I know that, Papa - "

"I suppose you've found another boy who matches her numbers better?" asked Mr Evans dryly.

Lily wordlessly handed her father another piece of paper.

"Peter Pettigrew?"

"He's a six-two-five, Papa."

"None of those numbers match Petunia, and Dursley here is a three!"

"He's fiercely loyal to Pets, has been since we were all children. And six is also known as double-three, so you could say that whatever Mr Dursley has, Peter has only more so!"

Mr Evans set his glasses down on the table and rubbed his eyes. "Lily, your explanation of this project of yours was very interesting, and I must say that on a purely entertaining level I enjoyed it. Thank you. However, I have a good deal of paperwork to go through still, and it's quite late."

"Papa?" asked Lily, confused. Was her work being dismissed?

"These are only numbers, Lily. And what's more, they're numbers that are based on something as arbitrary as a name. You are telling me that you can disregard environment and experience and gauge a person's future on something as tangible as a name? I see that you only used Petunia's first and last names in your fortune telling. Does this mean that her middle name doesn't count for anything? What if you had used that name as well? How would that affect her life?"

"She doesn't use her middle name, Papa - it doesn't have any impact at all."

"You're missing my point, Lily," said Mr Evans kindly. "I can't take these numbers into account. They don't take what really matters into consideration."

"What's that?" asked Lily, stubbornly holding onto her work.

"Choices, my dear. Petunia must make her own choices. Petunia has chosen to see Vernon Dursley, and I have chosen to allow it. Life is not a mathematical equation, and numbers do not dictate your heart. You should know that by now."

Lily bit her lip. "I see, Papa. I'm sorry to disturb you so late."

"Quite all right, dear girl," said Mr Evans, replacing his glasses on his face, and he waved her towards the door. "Off to bed now - I shall see you for breakfast."

"Yes, Papa - goodnight." And Lily slipped from the room, blinking furiously.

So unfair, she thought. Papa has always been so concerned with numbers before - how can he ignore these?

But the weekend wasn't over yet, and Lily still had one more person to approach ...

* * *

Mrs Pettigrew was laughing so hard she could barely hold her teacup. "And then what happened?" she managed to say.

"Oh, same as he always does, Mrs P," said Lily, her eyes sparkling with her story. "He stood up and said, 'Mr Crouch, I think you've a real bee in your bonnet.' I don't know if Mr Crouch really understood until the glob of honey dropped on his nose."

"Poor Barty," said Mrs Pettigrew, only now catching her breath. "However did he get stuck with Sirius Black as his assistant?"

"Oh, a mix-up somewhere along the line. Sirius was to start Auror Training this fall with James and Peter, but his application burst into flame, we think, and so he won't start until next year."

"Burst into flame?"

"That's what we think. Sirius says he was trying to hex Severus Snape's Transfiguration exam to burst into flame when he turned it in - "

"I thought there were wards against that sort of thing?" asked Mrs Pettigrew, and Lily was quiet for a moment.

"Well," she said finally, "that explains it."

Mrs Pettigrew chuckled and poured more tea into Lily's cup. "So Sirius will apply for next year, then. And in the meantime making poor Barty Crouch's office a living nightmare, I'm certain."

"But James and Peter are having a lovely go at it," said Lily, "and they're telling Sirius a good deal of it, so when he begins he'll be at the head of the class."

"And Remus? What is he doing these days?"

"Oh - Remus," sighed Lily. She set her cup down and set her chin on her hands. "There's a muddle. He isn't even certain what he wants to do just yet. He thought to be an Auror, too - but, well - "

"They didn't want him?" supplied Mrs Pettigrew.

Lily sighed. "He's been taking every Dark Arts related class at Hogwarts for four years. All he ever said he wanted to do was to be an Auror. What is he supposed to do now?"

"I would have thought that Remus would make a far better assistant to Barty Crouch than Sirius Black ever would," mused Mrs Pettigrew to herself, and Lily remained quiet, not willing to admit that Remus had, in fact, applied for the position after being rejected by the Auror Training Academy. And then to be told he wasn't suitable for the position -despite the fact that Remus was the only person to apply. And then Sirius Black had blundered into the office to demand his application to Auror Training be reinstated, and been promptly hired as Mr Crouch's assistant. No amount of argument could make Bartemious Crouch realise his error, and so while Sirius was bungling Barty Crouch's reports, Remus spent his days becoming addicted to Indian soap operas.

"There are worse fates, I suppose," Remus had told Lily.

"Name one," she'd said.

"He could be addicted to the Love Boat," suggested James, and they all shuddered.

But that was several months ago, and now Mrs Pettigrew was continuing to talk about the boys. "Peter tells me he enjoys his work, but I can never be sure with him," she was saying, and Lily tried to focus again. "Sometimes he'll tell me too much, and then sometimes - "

"I think Peter is an open book," said Lily slowly, "until he slams it shut on your fingers."

"Yes, exactly," said Mrs Pettigrew. "Do you see him often?"

"Oh, yes, all the time," said Lily. "He comes over and studies with James at least three times a week."

Mrs Pettigrew raised an eyebrow and Lily nearly dropped her teacup. She covered her mouth with her hands and gasped, realising what she'd said. "Er, and I meet them after?" she added, meekly.

"Dear, I'm not your mother," said Mrs Pettigrew kindly. "It's perfectly all right with me if you're living with James Potter." Lily sighed, relieved. "In sin." Lily began to hunch down in her seat. "Without the sanctity of marriage." Lily considered sliding beneath the table. Mrs Pettigrew began to chuckle.

"Oh, sit up already, I'm teasing you," she laughed, patting Lily on her head, which was the only body part that still showed above the table.

"You aren't going to turn all parental on me and sniff about how that wasn't done when you were a girl?" asked Lily, struggling to sit up straight again.

"A bit hypocritical, that," said Mrs Pettigrew, and didn't meet Lily's eyes, which were now quite wide open.

"Oh! You and Mr P? And right out of Hogwarts?"

Mrs Pettigrew sipped her tea and didn't answer.

"Does Peter know?"

"I doubt it," said Mrs Pettigrew. "He's a bit straight-laced, even with the influence of Sirius Black. I think he might choke."

"My," said Lily, sitting back in wonder.

"You and James are special," said Mrs Pettigrew. "You're meant to be together. Perhaps that makes living together now more acceptable, to me anyway. I know I needn't worry that James might break your heart."

"You wouldn't worry that I would break his?" asked Lily.

"You won't," said Mrs Pettigrew, and she sounded very certain.

"How do you know we're meant to be?" asked Lily.

"I have it on very good authority."

"Sybill Trelawney?"

Mrs Pettigrew set down her teacup and stared at Lily. "How did you - "

"I remember meeting her in the Leaky Cauldron," said Lily. "When you first took us to Diagon Alley. Do you remember?"

"Vaguely."

"And she was spooked by something, and left quickly," said Lily, setting down her cup and leaning forward. "It wasn't for years that I knew what."

"She was looking at you three children, I think," said Mrs Pettigrew.

"Not us three," said Lily, shaking her head. "Pets, at first, and then Peter. She saw - "

Mrs Pettigrew slammed her hand down on the table, and the noise made Lily jump. "No! Don't tell me!" she said, quickly.

"But - "

"How did you learn this?" demanded Mrs Pettigrew, her cheeks flushed.

"Professor Dumbledore told me, when Pets ran away to Hogwarts," said Lily.

"And did he say to tell me?"

"No," said Lily. "But he didn't say it was a secret. Why shouldn't I tell you, if it involves Peter?"

Mrs Pettigrew rose from the table, carrying the teacups, and began to rinse them out in the sink. "I am not entirely certain I want to know about my son's future," she said finally. "It can be dangerous knowledge, knowing what is going to happen in someone else's life."

"Oh, Mrs Pettigrew!"

"Besides," continued Mrs Pettigrew, "I'm fairly certain I can discern what she saw. I know Peter and Petunia loved each other as children, and I'll admit to thinking about how perfect and lovely it would be for them to make a life together. But people change, and your sister and my son have grown apart. It might have been different had Petunia gone to Hogwarts, or had that Dursley fellow not made an appearance."

Lily thought briefly of Narcissa de Winter, before wiping that from her mind. That's over now between them, anyway, she thought. But Mrs Pettigrew continued.

"Perhaps it's all for the best, Lily," she was saying. "I only want Peter to be happy, and Petunia as well. I understand that it's hard to be a Muggle married to a wizard. You're constantly straddling two different ways of life. Sometimes I think Petunia would be happiest if she remained fully in the Muggle world. She can't do that, married to Peter."

"I see," said Lily quietly.

Mrs Pettigrew sat at the table again. "I know this is what you've always wanted for them, Lily - "

"Because I thought they wanted it for themselves, too," said Lily, bitterly. "I think they still want it, Mrs P, they just don't remember."

"Of course they remember," said Mrs Pettigrew. "That's why Peter makes excuses not to come home, because he can't look at Petunia without remembering. And that's why Petunia doesn't come to visit me anymore, because she can't help remembering too."

Lily reached over and grabbed Mrs Pettigrew's hand. "I have to make them remember, Mrs P - I have to keep them together!"

"Lily Evans! You may be a witch but you do not have power over other people's hearts. Suppose someone thought you and Sirius Black belonged together?"

"I never loved Sirius Black!"

"I seem to recall a certain crush your second year," said Mrs Pettigrew, and Lily blushed.

"How did you know about that?"

"How would you feel if someone, seeing that childhood crush, thought that you and Sirius were meant for each other? And despite your love for James, made some potion or worked some spell to ensure that you and Sirius would be together?"

"But this is different!" said Lily.

"How? Because you don't like Petunia's choice in men?" countered Mrs Pettigrew.

"This has nothing to do with Vernon Dursley!" cried Lily.

"I know you don't like him, Lily - I don't like him either," said Mrs Pettigrew. "But he makes Petunia happier than I've seen her in years. She nearly glows when he is near. He brings out the best in her."

"It should be Peter," said Lily stubbornly.

"If it should be Peter, then it will be," said Mrs Pettigrew calmly.

Lily sat up straight and began to smile with hope. "You mean - "

"I won't help you," said Mrs Pettigrew sternly, and Lily sighed. "If Peter and Petunia are meant for each other, they will come to it on their own. Without our interference. Love - real love, the kind that you and James share - that's what you want for Petunia."

"Of course!"

"She can only find it on her own. If you trick her into it, or cast a spell to cause it, she will never have true love, merely something playing at it."

Lily sighed again and looked at her hands in her lap.

"Oh, dear, I don't think it's hopeless. We can't force them, but perhaps a nudge or two at the right time might be called for - a very gentle nudge, mind you!"

Lily smiled at Mrs Pettigrew and jumped from her chair to hug the woman. "Thank you," she whispered, and Mrs Pettigrew patted her back.

"It's what I'd like too," Mrs Pettigrew said. "Both of them happy."

Lily stepped back. "We'll watch, and we'll wait, and when the time is right," she said, smiling.

"When the time is right," repeated Mrs Pettigrew. Lily leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, and without another word, left the Pettigrew home. Mrs Pettigrew sat in the darkening kitchen, looking out the window to her garden, flowers blooming in the October air.

Perhaps, she was thinking, we'll never need to nudge at all.

* * *

The evening after Lily returned to London, Mr Evans was cleaning his study of the debris left by his late night accounting sessions. His elbow hit a pile of ledgers on the corner of his desk, toppling them to the floor.

"Damn," he muttered, and bent over to pick them up. Several papers had fallen with the ledgers, and Mr Evans gathered them together, when the small handwriting caught his eye.

Lily's Arithmancy. I thought she'd taken this home.

Mr Evans was about to throw away the papers, when he found himself instead sitting on the chair and reading through the numbers. The months of sifting through accounts and addition of large numbers had made his brain work automatically, and Mr Evans found himself adding along the numbers with the page.

Five and six is eleven and seven is eighteen and four is twenty two and ... wait. That's not right. Twenty-two and six is twenty-eight, not twenty-seven.

Mr Evans frowned. He wondered if he should point out the mistake to Lily, and thought better of it. It's not as though she's staking her life on this - I think she understands now how foolish such notions are.

Mr Evans crumpled the pages. That's what comes of not having taken maths since primary, he thought disgustedly, and did not give the pages another thought.

* * *

October in London wasn't particularly cold, but the wind made it seem harsh. It blew through the alleys and winding streets, collecting bits of paper and random gloves, as it chilled each and every person in its path.

Peter huddled into his cloak, making sure his chilled hands were firmly covered by the thick cloth as he held the ends closed. It was a long walk from his flat to Diagon Alley, and he needed to be there by four to meet Remus for their weekly tea.

"Apparate, why don't you," scoffed Sirius when confronted by Peter's habit of walking everywhere. But though Peter had received his license in June (prompted to take the test on a dare from Sirius), he didn't dare Apparate anywhere for fear of hearing the low laughter echo in his head again.

"Take the Underground," suggested James, who in living with Muggle-born Lily had begun to acquire a liking for Muggle habits. But Peter didn't like the closed-in feeling in the dark trains, the screeching sound of the wheels. In the Underground, there was nowhere to run.

"Use the Floo," scolded his mother when he came home with holes in the soles of his shoes. But Peter had never cared for the sharp twist he had in his stomach when traveling by the green fire. It reminded him too much of the hollow feeling in his stomach when he thought of Petunia - or of Dumbledore's words that day in May.

So Peter walked. And though it took a good deal longer than any other mode of transportation, Peter felt safer somehow. Not so much like a rat in a cage as a free man under his own steam - here, in the bitter wind and the dim sunlight, he could pretend everything was all right.

The truth was that everything wasn't all right. Peter hated Auror training. He felt as though he was slower and less magically able than the other students. He hesitated to use the magical prowess gained with Narcissa, though it was that ability that had gained him admission in the first place.

Peter hated going home to Surrey. Every time he went, he was placed in his childhood room, looking straight out into Petunia's window. He would catch glimpses of Petunia, clearly happy with her boyfriend, and remember her strained laughter that night in May, the way her hand was upraised and ready to slap him - I hate you, you lied continued to echo in his head, though it was four years before, and long since denied.

Peter was so intent on keeping his nose in the warmth of his cloak, he didn't notice the girl until he'd knocked her over. "Oh, I'm sorry," he stammered, fumbling with his cloak, and reaching down to assist the girl up again. When the girl looked up to grasp his hand, Peter reeled.

"Hello, Peter," said Narcissa de Winter. "Help me up?"

Peter pulled her from the ground. He held onto her gloved fingers, unable to let go, and stared into her eyes. Narcissa smiled at him, quite friendly, as though the last words they'd said to each other weren't shouted at a fevered pitch.

"A cold day, I think," said Narcissa, still holding his hand. "The wind makes it more so, doesn't it? At least it's not raining, I feel as though I've nearly drowned in all the rain we've had this year."

"Narcissa," said Peter, and dropped her hand.

"You remember my name then?" she said, cocking her head to the side, bemused. "That's well and good; otherwise I'd have thought you hit your head. I suppose you haven't the manners to buy a girl a cup of tea after you knock her to the ground?"

Peter regained his wits. "I'm sure Malfoy will buy you some," he said coldly. He was about to brush by her when he realised that Narcissa had closed her eyes suddenly, and her entire body tensed. Peter bit his lip.

"Lucius and I - " began Narcissa, and stopped. "Lucius and I parted in June. He - I cannot give him an heir, and so - " She shrugged her shoulders and smiled thinly.

Peter didn't say anything, unsure whether or not to believe her. It was the tear that slipped down one cheek that convinced him.

"Tea, then," he heard himself say. "Where to?"

Narcissa's smile brightened slightly, and she took his hand. "I know just the place."

* * *

The place turned out to be her flat, which was only half a block away. They sat and drank tea and chatted, and it was as though Peter had come under a spell from the moment he walked in the door. Though he had only an hour in which to get to the Leaky Cauldron, Peter paid no attention to the clock.

Peter learned that Narcissa had found a job working in a low-level position at the Ministry, and was having trouble making ends meet. He did not notice the sterling silver spoons that served the sugar, or the teacups of Limoges china.

Narcissa told him how lonely she was since leaving Hogwarts - abandoned by Lucius, most of her friends lived far from London. She missed the companionship of a friendly chat now and again. Peter did not notice the stack of party invitations that lay on the side table, waiting to be answered.

Peter told Narcissa of his own troubles in Auror training; how he felt inadequate next to James; the guilt over taking Sirius's spot in the class; his reluctance to go home and visit his parents. He barely registered her hand on his knee.

"I've been so lonely, Peter," said Narcissa. "I'm so glad you stopped in for tea today."

"Tea!" said Peter, eyes widening. "I was to meet Remus at four - what time is it?"

"It's half past three now," said Narcissa. "You've hardly been here twenty minutes."

"It seems longer," said Peter with a frown. "Several hours, at least. Could we have said that much in twenty minutes?"

"We must have," laughed Narcissa. Her eyes glinted hypnotically, and Peter found himself lost in them. "You must hurry along, then, if you're to be at the Leaky Cauldron by four. You will come again, Peter, please? You are such a good friend to me, to listen to my woes. It would cheer me immensely to have you return."

"Of course," Peter heard himself say, taking her hand. He felt a warmness in his chest from her words, and as he left he kissed her cheek - chaste, considering the kisses they'd shared in the past. The glow stayed with him until he reached the Leaky Cauldron to find Remus and a pitcher of butterbeer waiting for him.

"Where have you been, Peter?" laughed Remus as Peter shrugged out of his cloak and poured himself a glass of butterbeer. "You have this light in your eyes today."

"Light?"

"As if you are floating on a cloud without a care in the world," said Remus.

"I ran into an old friend," said Peter.

Remus chuckled. "If you were Sirius, I'd say that was code for an old girlfriend."

Peter frowned. "No, no old girlfriend," he said shortly. Now that the glow was wearing away, he found himself recalling the reason he'd dropped Narcissa - and whom she worked for. "I just - it was someone I knew once. Or thought I did."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"You always do that."

"Do what?"

"Raise your eyebrow and say 'Oh' like you're Sigmund Bloody Freud," complained Peter. "You ought to have been a psychiatrist."

"And give up my fabulous careers as a critic for Indian soap operas? Never."

"Still nothing on the job front, then?"

"As ever, no one wants my superior intellect," said Remus dryly. "And you're changing the subject. We're discussing you and this lovely lady you ran into."

"Who says it was a lady, much less lovely?"

"Was it?"

Peter didn't answer, taking a swig of butterbeer. Remus watched him, his eyes thoughtful.

"I still think you have something you want to get off your chest," Remus said finally. "You know that whatever is said at this table stays at this table."

Peter spun the mug of butterbeer on the table. The liquid spilled a little, and Remus watched his friend deliberate over spilling his thoughts. His patience was soon rewarded.

"I saw her today, literally ran into her in the street," began Peter. "And we went to have some tea, and talked. We talked for what seemed like hours; I was certain I'd missed you entirely. Haven't talked like that with her since May - "

May? Oh, Petunia! wondered Remus. He's finally talking to her again. Took him long enough, after that disastrous episode. I told him sneaking off to Surrey was a bad idea.

"It felt good to talk to her, Moony. I felt good, talking to her. And she confided in me, same as she did before we - " Peter stopped, thinking. "But I kept feeling like there was something she wanted from me the whole time, something I wasn't giving her."

"Like what?"

Peter didn't answer, and gulped at his drink. He set the empty glass down on the table. "Rem - what if I told you I wasn't sure I wanted to give her what she's asking for?"

"You're afraid of giving in to her?" asked Remus.

"Not afraid - "

"Afraid," said Remus firmly. "Or else you wouldn't be drinking butterbeer with me, you'd be with her."

Peter sighed. "Fine. I'm afraid of giving her what she wants. I'm afraid of what she's offering me."

Remus rocked his glass back and forth on the table. "I'd say you sound a good deal like Sirius Black, is what I'd say."

"Oh, go on," scoffed Peter.

"Well, he's never said as much, true," said Remus. "But nonetheless, our Padfoot has a clear cut case of cold feet when it comes to girls. The moment he thinks any one of them might form an attachment he drops them right quick."

"Sirius Black, afraid of commitment," laughed Peter.

"You too," said Remus calmly. "You've never told Petunia Evans how you feel."

"Don't change the subject!"

"You brought it up," replied Remus, and drank from his glass, watching Peter the whole time. Peter was quiet, considering the words.

"So what do I do about this girl, Moony?" he asked finally, thinking of Narcissa. "What's the doctor's advice?"

"Go back to her and keep talking," said Remus, thinking of Petunia. "She doesn't want more than you can give."

Peter smiled grimly. "That's what I'm afraid of."