Interwoven: The Seamstress and the Lovable Stray

Chapter 7

**

Abby sat glumly in her back garden, trying her best to conjure up a believable excuse for moving to France. Perhaps GladragsÂ’ head offices would transfer her there, if she threatened to leave the organization otherwise. Or perhaps she should just pack up her cottage and go. She doubted she would be missed in Hogsmeade, other than by Rosmerta. Unfortunately, she could not lock up her obligations as a Weaver, bury them in a box, and be on her way. Those burdens would be only too happy to pick up anchor and move with her.

A sheet of thick parchment with the broken seal of an ornate letter “M” rested in her left hand. She looked at it from time to time and twisted the letter’s edges uneasily. Bloody Malfoys. Now she would actually have to go to their manor. Abby knew she did well at “keeping up appearances” in Gladrags, her own familiar territory, and even though she had planned for this day, she still had no great desire to extend her play-acting to the abodes of alleged Dark wizards.

What in AgrippaÂ’s name made Dumbledore think I could be or would even want to be a spy?

Reaching to her right, Abby lifted up a goblet of pumpkin juice and brought it to her lips. A late spring rain pelted down overhead, and although Dumbledore’s spells stopped it before it reached the garden, it only worsened her current mood. It had not been raining when she left for work that morning, and so she had chosen to wear the beautiful red satin boots that her father had bought her at Chaussure de Sorciére. However, now that the Department of Magical Transportation, the weather, and even Albus Dumbledore were conspiring against her, the boots had been ruined, soaked through in her race to get home. Of course, the boots did pinch, and a painful blister had been forming on her little toe, but they were ruined all the same, and Abby desperately wanted to hold someone liable.

Perhaps IÂ’ll send a reimbursement claim to Dumbledore. HeÂ’s the one who asked me to do this, after all, and I really did like those boots.

Abby still did not know the nature of DumbledoreÂ’s connection to Sirius Black; she only knew she had placed unwavering faith in the headmaster since she had been fifteen years old. Now, she felt like a stooge. While she had not yet burned down her looms in a mutinous fire, she had begun to question everything he had ever told her, every request he had ever made.

A sound at the gate startled Abby from her thoughts, and her hand gripped around her pumpkin juice. She had not had company in the back garden for quite some time – in fact, her only recent company had been Snuffles, but he wouldn’t –

Her hand clenched the goblet even tighter as a filthy, bedraggled figure pushed the cast iron gate aside and came slowly into view. Abby had forgot that out of past consideration for Snuffles, she had left the gate unlocked for the past several months. She stared numbly at the figure that stood dripping with rain before her, but then her eyes narrowed and she gave a hard, incredulous laugh.

So this is all that needs to happen for him to come around – dealings with the Malfoys, foul weather, and an even fouler temper.

“Hullo, Sirius,” she said bitingly, her mouth a tight line. “Did your hippogriff toss you out in the rain? Not very kind of him, was it?”

He looked horrible – thin, dirty, and obviously famished. Abby easily recognized his robes, the foul rags from Azkaban that she had urged him earlier to burn. Covered with mud, forest debris, and other unidentifiable muck, they clung to his bony frame. Though she was far from being in a forgiving mood, Abby winced at the sight of him.

Where has he been? Oh, Sirius –

Sirius had yet to say a word. He stared back at Abby, breathing deeply, but she could not read his face. She kept her gaze on him for a few more moments, becoming increasingly annoyed when he remained silent. Had he no explanation? No apology? Did she mean enough to him to even deserve one?

“I haven’t any raisins on me,” she said at length. “You needn’t fear for your safety.”

She thought a trace of a smile flickered across his mouth, but his face soon returned to its grim state.

“Abby – ” he croaked, his voice sounding parched and raw. Trying to keep herself from relenting and feeling any compassion for him, Abby continued on –

“You could have at least left a note. That’s what decent folk do. And if you can’t treat your robes any better, you’re not getting any new ones.”

“Abby, these aren’t the robes – ”

“Oh, hush,” she snapped petulantly. “I know that.”

She stared at him for a long moment, ignoring the sting of tears as she slowly lowered her goblet. She needed these few seconds to decide if she was going to curse Sirius Black out of the garden or stalk off in a blazing fury. Sadly, as her eyes were elsewhere, she misgauged the distance to the bench. The base of the goblet caught the edge of her leg, and as she turned to right it with her other hand –

“BLAST!!!”

Abby looked up sharply, her eyes livid. A noise had come from Sirius at her shriek, and he looked now as though he was struggling greatly to control his expression.

“Don’t even start – ” she fumed, as a pool of cold liquid spread out and covered her lap. “Don’t you even dare – ”

Sirius looked on as Abby began to wring out a gobletful of pumpkin juice from her skirts. “Abby, I had to leave – ” he began at one point.

“Well, bully for you!” Abby shot back, feeling like a fool. She continued to angrily mop up the mess, wishing futilely that a dragon or some other such fearsome creature might swoop in and carry Sirius off, so that she might not have to look at him again. Regrettably, there was a significant absence of Hungarian Horntails in the neighborhood. Cheeks burning, she carried on, furious that she could not even manage to be properly indignant without botching things up. Finally, Abby dropped her hands back in her lap and looked up at Sirius with pained eyes. The words raced out of her mouth –

“Sirius, I didn’t tell Dumbledore any– ”

“Hush,” he interrupted in a soft rasp, “I know that.”

Abby let out her breath, and the tears that had been threatening to escape now fell. She rose to her feet and walked toward Sirius, pausing a few feet from him. Part of her wanted to hit him in the arm as hard as she could, but it warred against a greater part of her that wanted to take him by that same arm and lead him inside. Still hurt, Abby decided that either way, she had no desire to touch whatever it was that dirtied his sleeves. She softened her gaze and let out a weary sigh.

“Come in, come in.”

**

The next nine days passed in curious living arrangements. Abby’s suppressed anger was the only thing that kept her from giving in completely to her worries for his well-being. Sirius looked as though he had escaped from Azkaban a second time – the skin of his face was stretched morbidly tight, and the neckline of his robes gaped to reveal protruding collarbones. She thought of altering them while he slept, but she could not bring herself to do so; that would seem to both acknowledge his condition and accept that he might stay that way.

Abby did not let Padfoot in until late each night, and when she did, Sirius wisely gave her a wide berth. Having eaten beforehand by herself, she would prepare a plate for Sirius, and then retire to her room, where she would lie on her bed and shoot Unforgivable Glares at the closed door. Still, she did notice the small gestures of reparation he began to make. It had been a nice surprise to find all of the dustbins cleaned and emptied one evening, even though he had made a mess of the floor while doing it. He even began wiping off the table after himself, she noted wryly. She just wished she knew what was troubling him. She had her suspicions, now that she knew he was godfather to Harry Potter (worry enough for anyone, and doubly so for wanted felons), but she did not know why he pored over the Daily Prophet with increased intensity or why he wrote so many confounded owls. Early in his stay, he had meekly asked if he might use her parchment and ink. Abby had pointed to her writing kit and silently nodded.

Though he was again wearing the clothes Abby had made for him, as before, Sirius had wanted to keep his Azkaban robes. Abby had been tempted to incinerate them without his input, but she had provided soap and a bucket and watched, surreptitious and pensive, as he washed out the tatters.

On this visit, however, his appetite seemed to have been left behind in the Forbidden Forest. It seemed as though some great, gnawing worry had left him unable to bother with trivial matters like eating. But even though she prepared several of his old favourites – anything that might tempt his appetite – Abby steadfastly refused to bake ginger biscuits for him. He never asked for them, but it was her final, pathetic stronghold of wounded feelings.

Since he likes leaving so much, he can prance down to the grocerÂ’s and buy some himself.

Despite her concern over his haggard state and lack of hunger, Abby could not bring herself to talk to Sirius just yet. Still, she felt her anger ebbing away with each passing day – it was difficult to stay upset with Sirius when he seemed so entirely capable of being miserable all on his own. Though she felt frustrated to no end, she did not want him to go again. He did not give any particular indication of wanting to leave, but Abby reminded herself that this had not stopped him before. It was not until she made an unexpected midday visit to the cottage and found Sirius mired in an ill-fated baking attempt of his own that she finally yielded…

“Sirius Black – you sad, sad man,” Abby laughed in surprise, viewing his flour-covered state. “What in the name of all that’s magical are you doing?”

Sirius sheepishly set his mixing bowl and wooden spoon down on the table. “Well, you haven’t made any of those ginger biscuits lately – intentionally, I’m sure – so I thought I’d have a go myself. I don’t think I’m suited for this, though.” He moved aside to show Abby the full scope of his workings and wreckage in the kitchen.

“Guilty as charged,” she admitted, before cringing slightly.

Er, he probably doesnÂ’t care much for that phrase.

“I was wondering if you’d notice the biscuits,” she continued lightly. “I gather you’ve missed them?”

“I have,” Sirius said softly, catching her eye for a moment, before Abby clumsily broke off the connection.

“If you’ll clean that up, I’ll make you a proper batch tonight,” she said, gathering up the robe designs she had come to retrieve. “And one of these days, I’m going to make you replenish both my baking goods and my stationary supplies.”

Sirius smiled skeptically as she faced him again. “It might be a while before I’m able to do that.”

“Trust me,” she said. “I’m good at waiting.”

**

A small sigh escaped Abby – the sofa was so comfortable and the cottage so pleasantly warm, she dearly wanted to forget that darkness, evil, and Malfoys were all too present outside the walls. It was nice to be on speaking terms with Sirius again, even though she knew they could never reclaim the level of deliberate simplicity their friendship (Can I even call it that?) had once had. Things had changed since Snuffles had last run away. She had changed, for that matter.

Although Sirius knew nothing of the weaving Abby continued to do, despite her rift with Dumbledore, or of her impending visit to Malfoy Manor, she found his presence reassuring as they sat silently in the lamp-lit room. A plate of ginger biscuits rested between them, from which she noticed Sirius taking more than his fair share. Smiling to herself, she watched him reach out for another one. Against her own better judgment, she had found herself becoming rather attached to that presence in the weeks leading up to this June evening.

“Too attached” might be a more apt phrase. Oh, stop it, stop it – you know he’ll only leave again.

Sirius was perusing the Daily Prophet as did each evening, scanning the rustling pages intensely for items of interest. Abby noted the page numbers, briefly considering the idea of taking the paper later to figure out which stories seized his attention so. She smirked as he began to mutter inaudible profanities (which she heard anyway) toward Cornelius Fudge, the Ministry, and others.

Great Galleons, I wouldnÂ’t want to be on his bad side when he gets a wand again.

Between looks at the book on her lap, The Needle and I: A HousewitchÂ’s Guide to Simple Stitch Spells, Abby chanced glances to her left, taking in the shadows and highlights the light cast on the angles of his face. Though his frame was still much too lean and his face gaunt, he did look better than when he had arrived.

If only I could say that about his hairÂ…

For a moment, she entertained herself by trying to suppose exactly what he might have used to cut it. A sharp rock? A discarded hippogriff talon? She stifled the giggle as she appraised the jagged edges.

I gave Snuffles a better trim than that.

She started slightly at the sound of his voice, fervently hoping he had not noticed her observations. Sirius had set his newspaper aside and was pointing at the book on her lap.

“Why are you reading that?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you already know everything in there?”

Abby shifted on her cushion and smiled toward his end of the sofa.

“I’m sure that was praise of the sincerest sort.” She held up the book for him to see the title. “It’s just an old favorite.”

By the look on his face, Sirius was not satisfied by her answer. He continued to look at Abby as though he expected some further explanation. Rather unsettled by the feeling that his questions might come from more than simple curiosity, she prattled off the first sarcastic comment that came to mind.

“I’m preparing for the time when I can retire from Gladrags and live as a simple housewitch – I’m sure I’ll have to take in a bit of sewing to make ends meet.”

That, and these spells could possibly form the basis of deeper cloth-based enchantments, capable of fighting Dark magic. But of course, I canÂ’t let you know that.

She looked down at her book again, stroking its faded edges. It had belonged to her mother. Her first lessons had been from that book, actually. While an eight year-old Abby had thought of the Stitch Spells as a dreadful and boring chore, she now considered the tattered volume a dear friend. As she ran her fingers down the bookÂ’s spine, she became suddenly aware that Sirius had not offered a retort to her glib answer. She turned back to him, another smile on her face, but was halted by his stare. Her stomach twisted inside her.

“Sirius…” she laughed awkwardly, “Sirius, why are you looking at me like that? I was just being silly. The book was my Mum’s, and I like to look at it from time to time.”

He did not bother to answer, but continued to stare until Abby, unable to fathom or handle his eyes, shifted her own gaze and concentrated instead on the bookÂ’s cover. Her heart began to thump alarmingly. She had never really bothered appear dim-witted around Sirius; to do so would be ridiculous, after all that Snuffles had heard and seen. She had just assumed that he was too caught up in his own predicaments to ever call her on it. But now he looked to be in no mood to deal with half-truths and offhand explanations, and Abby found herself wanting badly to unburden her mind of the worries that had consumed her last eighteen yearsÂ…

How she, the last remaining Weaver in Britain (and a self-taught one, at that) did not know how to complete her Invisibility Cloak. How she became increasingly nervous at the implications of each encounter with Lucius Malfoy, uncertain of her abilities and how long she could maintain her ruse before him. How Albus Dumbledore did not think her capable of making her own decisions in life. How knowing him, Sirius Black, only complicated these already thorny matters.

Finally, he spoke. Although his voice remained calm, she sensed a note of harshness underneath.

“Hogsmeade may be convinced that you’re perfectly content to sew robes, but I have difficulty believing that a witch with your mind could not pass her O.W.L.s.”

AbbyÂ’s eyes widened, and her breath caught. What could she say to that? Her Hufflepuff nature never liked to lie (only when dealing with horrible customers and evil overlords makes it necessary), even though so much of her life was already a charade. She pursed her lips tightly. She wanted so desperately to tell him. She wanted to yell, scream, rant, and cry, which would have probably scare him the most, considering their last encounter with her tears. Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came. Abby shook her head, her eyes pleading with his to please, please not ask any more questions.

Two things came together to tear her from the vicious internal struggle. The first was a brief snippet from an earlier conversation with Dumbledore – the one in which she had told him of her new “pet”, in fact. It was the same remark she had remembered on the winter night when a shower of angry words and raisins had caused Sirius Black to reveal himself from his Animagus disguise. Knowing what she did now, Dumbledore’s words had an entirely new meaning –

“…I once knew a dog of such a breed. Quite loyal, he was. Yes, very loyal indeed…”

The second was the sight of Sirius Black setting the plate of biscuits aside and moving next to her. Gulping a deep, uncertain breath, Abby looked up and met his searching eyes once more. Years of secrecy and their resultant effects were too ingrained to be quickly or easily discarded. Although he, of all people, probably understood that, she thought. Still, she made one last halfhearted attempt to evade him.

“I got hit on the head, Sirius,” she said, with a toss of her hair. “It hurt. You might not be very familiar with the Whomping Willow, but let me tell you, it packs quite a wallop.”

Sirius snorted derisively.

Well, he and his mates did have all sorts of escapades – maybe he has come in contact with the Willow. That could account for some things.

“I don’t believe you,” he stated flatly.

Abby began to tap her foot restlessly. Avoiding his eye was becoming increasingly difficult in such close proximity. Abruptly, she rose and went to the kitchen.

“You can believe whatever you like,” she muttered, filling up the teakettle with agitated hands. Over her shoulder, she saw that Sirius had turned to face her over the back of the sofa.

“And what exactly is going on between you and Lucius Malfoy?” Sirius now demanded. He did not bother hiding the edge in his voice.

Abby whirled around, sputtering. “Wha – ? How – how do you – ?” With great effort, she tamed her expression. “Lucius Malfoy is a customer just like any other. Well,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders, “except that he spends about fifty Galleons more per visit than most customers.”

“And do you encourage him to spend more?”

Abby froze. “How dare you,” she bristled, setting the teakettle on the hob before she was inclined any further to throw it in his direction.

“How dare you,” Abby continued, clenching her hands, her voice a low hiss. “I’ve told you what my job is like. I’ve told you how some of the men who come to Gladrags treat us – as though we’re there to cater to any other need they might have. They think it’s good sport to toy with us, to see how much they can get away with before we toss professionalism aside and throw them out of the shop. How dare you even insinuate that I would encourage such a thing.” She stormed to a nearby cupboard and began to rummage for a teabag. She paused at Sirius’ next words, which came much more softly.

“But you told me that some gits are more subtle than others, don’t you remember? You don’t always know what their intentions are, and so sometimes they get away with more than you’d like? He touched you, didn’t he?”

“No, I don’t always know,” she replied acidly, “But believe me, Lucius Malfoy is the only git whose eye I’m trying to catch. I have my reasons for that. And now, I think I’ve had enough of your company for the evening.” She turned on her heel and began walking toward her bedroom. She did not get far before Sirius rose from the couch, crossed the room in a few long strides, and grabbed her arm.

“Abby, why?”

“Why, what?” she asked defiantly.

“Why Lucius? He’s dangerous – you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“I can’t tell you. Now let me go!”

“Why not?”

“I can’t! And how do you know about that in the first place?”

“You don’t know what you’re playing at. Lucius Malfoy is trouble.”

“Oh, and how do you know that?”

“Lucius is family,” Sirius said, his mouth twisting into an ugly sneer.

Confused, and even more incensed, Abby wrenched her arm away and paced over to her workbench, where she began to lump her sewing supplies into haphazard, messy piles. She could feel the heat rising in her face. If Sirius Black was going to be so bloody persistent, she might as well demand a fair trade.

“Fine,” she said at length. “Fine. But first let me ask you this – what were you doing in the Boormans’ house last November, in the middle of the night?”

Taking a swift glance behind her, Abby saw that Sirius seemed to be taking a turn at being confused, his brow furrowed.

“Did a few raisins to the head modify your memory?” she went on. “I came home from work very late, and I saw you – or Snuffles – sneak out the door. The Boormans were off drinking, I think. The house was empty.”

She thought she saw a look of understanding cross his face, but before she had time to think on it further, Sirius met her at the workbench. Abby quickly turned her back to him and resumed her “organization”, heedless to the fact that needles, swatches, and bobbins were falling off the table in every direction.

“I’d first like to know exactly what it is you spend hours doing in here each night,” he demanded.

“Haven’t you been listening to my wonderful neighbours?” Abby replied, still not facing him. “I’m growing Class A Non-Tradable plants.” Her voice became even more strident. “Why did you never tell me that you’re in contact with Albus Dumbledore?”

Sirius gave a hard laugh. “You might do well to answer that one yourself.”

“I’ve told you,” Abby retorted. “I’m his seamstress. And on that note, why did you leave your robes here? I can’t tell you how gratifying it was to discover that you prefer Azkaban’s handiwork to mine.” She could not keep her voice from shaking. Sirius remained silent.

“And tell me, who are you writing all those owls to? Keeping in touch with Buckbeak, are we?” She raged on, despite the irksome feeling that they might both be better off if the conversation were to end now. “Why are hanging around Hogsmeade? I hardly need tell you the danger in that. And why did you come back to my cottage? Why – ” she whirled around, jumping when she saw that he was standing much more closely than she had realized. The look on his face made her want to cower and run, but she held her ground. Barely.

“Why do you trust me?” she whispered, a feeling of wretchedness sweeping over her anger. Abby regretted the words before they had even left her mouth. Her home was probably no more than a ready source of food and shelter to him.

Sirius again disregarded her questions. He kept his eyes trained on Abby’s, as much as she tried to dodge them. “Why did you leave Hogwarts after your fifth year?” he asked, quietly and evenly. After what felt like an excruciating silence, Abby was stunned to hear herself speak.

“My marks did not merit further education at Hogwarts.” She took a deep breath. If she did not tell him now, she might never find the nerve again. Moreover, she did not know how she would placate him otherwise – she knew by now that Sirius Black was very single-minded in his pursuits. But in truth, she did want him to know. Her fear would not allow her to say all she wanted, in just the that way she would like, and so she could only hope that he would understand her meaning.

“Albus Dumbledore was kind enough to arrange an apprenticeship at Gladrags, where he thought I might be able to develop other abilities,” she said, measuring the words carefully. “He has remained a friend and adviser, and I try to help him in any way I can.” Her heart seemed to stop with the final words. Sirius did not speak for the longest time, causing Abby to finally throw her hands up in exasperation.

“Oh, bother – this is all much more trouble than it’s worth. Come here, you.” Abby grabbed Sirius by the hand and dragged him away from the workbench, around the sofa, and onto the hearthrug in front of the fireplace. She pulled her wand from her robes.

“Dissen – what?” she asked. Sirius was looking at her oddly. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry. Go on.”

“Dissendium.” Abby completed the spell, and the rug lowered slowly, slowly, sinking through the floor and down into a room that no one other than she, Albus Dumbledore, and Hollister Loomis had ever seen before.

**

SiriusÂ’ eyes grew wide as he looked around the expansive weaving room, taking in the enchanted stars sparkling in the windows, the enormous looms, the piles of herbs and potions ingredients, and the finishing frame, across which was stretched the gleaming silver Demiguise fabric. He looked at Abby sharply, his voice stunned and disbelieving.

“But, that – that looks like – it can’t be – is it?”

Abby nodded calmly. “It’s the cloth of an Invisibility Cloak.”

“But then – that would make you – ”

“A Weaver,” she finished for him.

Despite her trepidation, Abby could not help smiling as Sirius stared in amazement at her weaving tools. It was not often that she had the chance to shock him, she thought, her eyes crinkling.

“This room alone is larger than your entire cottage!” he exclaimed. “How did you do it?”

Abby smiled again. “It’s of Dumbledore’s making. It’s nice isn’t it? It would probably increase the property value of the place tremendously, were it known, but alas, it has to remain a secret.”

Sirius blinked his eyes and shook his head slightly as he looked around the room once more, finally shifting his gaze back to Abby.

“Not many witches would take a convicted killer into their homes,” he said slowly, “much less show him a room like this.”

Or let him sleep on their beds, or bake him biscuits, or furnish his wardrobe, or do any number of thingsÂ…

Abby stared her shoes for a moment, wondering how she might even begin to explain herself. When she looked back at Sirius, she flinched to see the deadened look of Azkaban starting to take over his face. They had never really discussed the crime for which he had spent over a decade in prison. A small flicker of remaining light in his eyes gave her the confidence to continue.

“I never wanted to believe that you did it,” she murmured. “Never. Things aren’t always as they seem.”

With a bitter laugh, the flicker extinguished. “Well,” Sirius said, “the rest of the wizarding world was not so inclined.”

He stared forward without expression, and Abby suddenly realized that his hand was still in hers from when they had descended into the room. She felt terribly self-conscious, but now did not seem to be the time to let go. She continued to hold his hand, and in time, the emptiness in his gaze receded and he began to take in the curiosities of the room once more. He turned to Abby, the question of how and why a Hogsmeade seamstress believed in his innocence clearly on his lips.

“I can detect Invisibility Cloaks,” Abby answered simply, before he could speak.

At first, Sirius stared at her blankly. But as her statement and its significance began to sink in, astonishment crept over his face.

“What? You can see through them? How is that possible?”

Abby waved her hand impatiently. It was taking a Herculean effort for her to say these things, and he was interrupting her train of thought. If she did not finish now, she might never manage.

“No, you idiot – I don’t see through them, I detect them.” She could not help breaking into a grin. “What, did you read Muggle comic books as a child?”

“But how?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” she answered, flushing as she looked down at their linked hands. She let go to gesture at the sofa. “Er, would you like to sit down? This might take a while.”

Sirius followed as Abby walked over to the sofa and sank into its cushioned depths.

“This is comfortable,” he said vaguely.

Abby was reminded of the mutual awkwardness of their first human-to-human meeting. “Thank you. I have a flair for Cushioning Charms.” A lengthy pause ensued.

“I see the patterns in the air, the way the light moves,” she finally began. “I don’t know if it comes from the magical gift, or if it’s just because I know what to look for. My mum and grandmother were Weavers themselves, so I grew up seeing how the cloaks were made. In fact, my grandmother made the cloak James Potter had.” She reached down around her ankles and pulled her feet up underneath her. “I used to watch you at Hogwarts, you know,” she added softly.

“Hmm?” Sirius had been staring around the room, but his eyes opened in boyish surprise as her statement registered. A corner of his mouth lifted up rakishly. “Me, really? You watched me?”

“Oh, don’t be too chuffed,” Abby laughed, swatting him lightly on the arm. “I watched all of you – you, James, Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin. But I will grant that you were the most delinquent of the lot, and thus the most interesting. My grandmother would box you all about the ears if she knew of the things you got up to, and I’m sure I only saw the smallest fraction of it. I even got caught watching once or twice.”

“Really? Who caught you?”

“Some nasty older Slytherins. I was only a second year, I think. They wouldn’t leave me alone, until Errol Klarion – did you ever know him? – came along. He walked up, as calm as if he were out for a Sunday stroll, and nailed them with some brilliant curses.”

“Wait – that was because of you?” His eyes narrowed in concentration. “I remember that – we couldn’t stay away from a chance to scrap with their foul group. It made for a fairly good brawl.” He was quiet for a moment. “Errol’s done me a few favours, too.”

“I learned to be more discreet after that,” Abby said slowly, curious as to Sirius’ last remark. “I can’t say that your lot did, though. How James managed to pull all those pranks and still become Head Boy, I never knew.”

Sirius snorted. “Neither did we. We never let him alone about that. So, things must have been pretty dull after we left school, eh?” he grinned.

Abby pulled a face in reply. “No, I had much better things with which to occupy my time in fifth year.” She leaned back into the sofa as their voices fell into a lull, letting the long-ago memories of Hogwarts schooldays pass before her eyes. After a few minutes, she broke into a girlish giggle.

“Do you remember the Yule Ball that was held your seventh year, my fourth?” Abby asked. “When The Billywigs performed?”

“You were there?”

“Yes, with Gil Barlow. He left me halfway through to ‘enhance’ the punch, and he never returned. He’s now a permanent fixture at The Three Broomsticks. Rosmerta’s thinking of having him bronzed.”

Sirius broke out into the first genuine, uninhibited laughter she had heard from him in a long time. “Oh, no – that wasn’t the one when we – when we – ” Sirius slapped his knee, unable to continue.

Abby nodded her head in amusement, taking a moment to note the remarkable, rather attractive change that happiness made in SiriusÂ’ usually haggard face. He needed to laugh more often, she decided, before turning her thoughts back to that particular Yule Ball.

The aftermath of that exploit had been sufficient enough to make its memory quite vivid. While Abby (who had quickly become disillusioned with the idea of Yule Balls) had stared in boredom over the shoulder of her inattentive date, someone in the Invisibility Cloak, presumably Remus, had threaded his way through the dancing couples and “rearranged” a few hands. As the throng of students had swayed to the melodic sounds of The Billywigs and their lead vocalist crooning “Every Little Thing She Does is Magic,” the Great Hall had resonated with the sounds of shrieks, shouts, and slaps. One glance at the cackling forms of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew on the sidelines had told her who was responsible…

“Don’t look at me like that – it could have been much, much worse,” Sirius was saying, shaking with mirth. “We mostly singled out the boys, except for – except for – ”

“Except for Lily Evans! That was horrible, just horrible!” Abby cried out. “Lily looked just mortified. That was Remus Lupin out there, wasn’t it? He always seemed so quiet and well-bred. I’m sure the incident was all due to your corrupting influence.”

Sirius calmed down himself, though his breath still came in heavy bursts. He winked at Abby. “Believe it or not, that was actually Remus’ idea. You’d be surprised at the things that came from that chap.”

“Did you know that he taught at Hogwarts last year?” She was surprised to see Sirius nod.

“I never had the chance to see him, though,” Abby continued slowly, “as he wasn’t quite the fashion plate his predecessor was. He never came to Gladrags. But back when I was still in school, I would see Madam Pomfrey sometimes in the evening, leading someone under the cloak across the grounds...”

“Did you see where they went?”

“No, the windows in Hufflepuff Turret were too narrow. But when he left Hogwarts after teaching there last year, we – we in the village – found out about his...condition.”

Sirius smiled sadly. “That’s why we sent Remus out on the dance floor. He was the stealthy one.”

“I’d wondered about that,” Abby admitted. “I’d sometimes listen for your footfall when I saw the cloak. If I didn’t hear anything at all, I knew it was him. But James – James walked like a prefect. Steady and determined. Peter shuffled. And you – well, you never exactly bothered to tread lightly. Is – is that why you became an Animagus? Because of Remus?”

Sirius nodded. “Remus needed someone who could keep a werewolf in check. Hence Padfoot.”

He gazed at the fire for a long moment, during which Abby observed with another flush that in all the laughter and joking, they had somehow moved closer together on the couch. But as he did not seem to notice or mind, she stayed in her place. After a time, Sirius turned back to her.

“Now tell me, what else did you see?”

Searching through her memory, Abby began to rattle off a list –

“Well, the route to the kitchens does pass very near to the Hufflepuff common room…thank you for that knowledge, by the way…and then there were several pranks on the Slytherins…the four of you did seem to have it in for Severus Snape, didn’t you?…and I don’t know that Filch ever sorted out who had placed time-release Dungbombs under all the house tables at that one Halloween feast.”

She could not resist her last mention. “And as a hard-working Hufflepuff, I did spend some time in the library, which does share part of the path to the Astronomy Tower…”

Her playful jibe did not connect at first, but after a moment, Sirius’ face blanched. “You – you – you didn’t ever actually follow the cloak up to the Tower, did you?” he asked, his mouth twitching.

Abby paused dramatically, enjoying the growing look of dread on his face. But then she laughed, shaking her head. “No, you prat, I wasn’t that desperate for entertainment. Besides, it seemed to be James and Lily most often. But what might I have seen, had I followed you there?”

Sirius regained his composure. “NOTHING,” he said forcefully, before breaking into a grin. “James and Lily would have provided a better show, anyway. She did deserve that trick at the Yule Ball, you know, after monopolizing my best mate.” His voice trailed off reflectively. “They made me Harry’s godfather, you know. I was so proud when that boy was born. But a bloody lot of good I’ve been able to do for him.”

Abby reached out timidly and took Sirius’ hand again. “I’m sure you’ve done all you could,” she whispered.

“I’m the boy’s godfather, and yet he had to save my life last year. Twice, for that matter.”

“What happened?”

“Dementors.” The word sent a shiver down Abby’s spine. “Cornelius Fudge had given them permission to give me the Kiss. They almost had me, when Harry drove them off with a Patronus.”

“A Patronus?” Abby blurted out. “Isn’t that rather advanced? Harry cast a Patronus?”

“It is. And he did. But I was caught again, and while those damn fools Fudge and Snape went to summon the dementors to Kiss me, AGAIN, Harry broke me out of the room and sent me off on Buckbeak. Now, I owe my life to him.” He set his gaze back on the fire.

Abby stared at SiriusÂ’ profile, which had altered while he spoke of Harry. She had seen him react with a multitude of frightening and harsh emotions, but she had never heard him speak of anything with love. The emotion softened his face, adding a brightness his expressions.

“The ancient magic – a life-debt, correct?” she ventured, still amazed at the transformation.

Sirius nodded, not looking at Abby. “Although as his godfather, I would do it anyway. I can’t even begin to tell you what James meant to me.”

They both fell into silent contemplation, until Abby gave an abrupt laugh. “Good gracious, this doesn’t mean I’m going to have to pull you from a burning building, does it?”

“What?” Sirius had been staring at Grandmother Connelly’s loom.

“On the way home from Hogwarts last year? The encounter with Hagrid’s pet? You saved my life, remember?”

Sirius shrugged, still staring at the beginnings of the Whisper Weave cloth. “I’ve told you, that was nothing. I did a bit of barking, and the thing left. Try wrestling with a werewolf.”

“Well,” Abby peered around to pull his attention away from the loom, assuming a look of gravity, “I was unconscious and on fire. That strikes me as at least moderately perilous.”

Sirius turned his face to her and laughed. “Point taken. But really, I don’t think you need to worry about that. You’ve already done so much for me.” He paused thoughtfully, before breaking into a devilish smirk. “And you say you saw Remus in the cloak from Hufflepuff Turret? Didn’t that place serve in much the same capacity as the Astronomy Tower? I bet Cushioning Charms came in handy there, eh?”

AbbyÂ’s face coloured to the roots of her hair.

Oh, blast your memoryÂ…

“In my fourth year, it was only a quiet place to study,” she stammered. “But how did you know about the Turret? Oh, never mind – I don’t want to know.” She reddened even further at the awareness that once again, she had neglected to let go of his hand.

Bugger, I seem to be making a habit of this.

“Do you think you’ll always work at Gladrags?” Sirius asked.

“I don’t know,” Abby mused, trying not to pay attention to the feel of his fingers intertwined with hers. “Most of the time, I enjoy it. I suppose I’d just like people to recognize that it takes an ounce or two of brains to run a shop successfully.”

“What’s that?” Sirius then asked, pointing at the rich, black cloth on Grandmother Connelly’s loom. “That doesn’t look like an Invisibility Cloak.”

“You’re right. It’s not. It’s a little something I’m doing for Dumbledore. I…” She hesitated, biting on her lip. “I do a bit more than sewing for him. But that’s all I can tell you.”

“It’s for Lucius Malfoy, isn’t it?”

Abby nodded slowly. “But please understand that five minutes in his presence is enough to put me off my lunch for a week.”

Sirius gave a wry smile. “And please know that having encountered the Whomping Willow myself, I do know how much it hurts.”

“Acknowledged.” Abby leaned back into the sofa, baffled at how the evening’s initial confrontation had somehow come to this. Telling Sirius of her weaving had been much easier – and much more satisfying – than she would have ever thought.

“How did a cloak made by your grandmother find its way to James?” he asked after a few minutes.

“James’ great-granddad was the Healer in her village. He even delivered her only baby – my mum. I think the memory stayed with her pretty strongly, as that’s the only cloak she ever talked about. It was a very difficult birth, I gather. She almost died, but he saw things through until the end. She always said that he saved her life.”

“I don’t think James even knew about that,” Sirius replied thoughtfully. “Can you detect all Invisibility Cloaks? What about the ones your mother made?”

Abby leaned her head to the side. “I’m not sure. Perhaps I should tour all of Britain and see if I spot any. I’ve really only noted James’ cloak. I know who received my mum’s last cloak, but as far as I know, I’ve never seen him use it.”

Alastor Moody, dad’s crony from the Ministry – one of the best Aurors they’d ever had, he always said. Mum made her last cloak for him.

At once, a flood of thoughts and memories rushed into Abby’s mind. Among them was a snippet of conversation she had shared with her father while recently in Paris –

**

“What exactly did you do for the Ministry when I was growing up?”

Hollister smiled. “I could tell you, my dear, but you’d hear “Obliviate!” shortly thereafter.”

“You worked with Alastor Moody, didn’t you?”

“Our departments worked on a few joint projects, yes. And Moody pulled me out of the mire more than once. How is the old coot? I pity the student who takes a nap in his class.”

**

Another recollection was a bit of dialogue she had heard as a young girl, hiding behind the door to her father’s study. Mr. Moody, as she had called him then, had been practicing curses on the armchair –

**

“Saving my neck a few times doesn’t entitle you to destroying my furniture, Moody.”

“Rather I practice on you, Hollister? I’ve half a mind to, after that last game of Gobstones, you rotten, scummy cheater!”

“It’s a good thing that Helen’s got a soft spot for you, or you’d have been banned from the house years ago. Now come and eat – dinner’s ready.”

**

Abby had always assumed that “saving my neck” meant Moody had fetched a forgotten report for her father, or perhaps loaned him some Floo powder in a pinch. But perhaps her father’s words had been much more literal…

GrandmotherÂ’s life was saved by Matthias PotterÂ…and DadÂ’s was saved by Alastor MoodyÂ…and mine was saved byÂ…Sirius Black. Sirius.

The thoughts knotted together, tying themselves into one great understanding. Abby felt her jaw drop.

The cloak. I know what to do. I know who should have it.

As she reviewing the ideas over and over in her mind, becoming increasingly certain as to their veracity, the only thing that rivaled the shock of comprehension was the realization that she had somehow managed to lay her head on Sirius BlackÂ’s shoulder. But Sirius had not moved; he stared into the fire, his eyes weary from the late hour and the emotion of the evening. As Abby frantically tried to think of how she might extricate her head without attracting his attention (or falling on the floor from sheer and utter relief), she suddenly felt the pressure of his arm dropping behind her back, his fingers encircling her upper arm. They remained quiet for a long moment, until Sirius let out a soft laugh.

“I never knew nosiness was a trait of Hufflepuff House. If we’d had any idea that someone was watching us all those times – ”

Abby glanced up and smirked at him. “Can you really call it nosiness, Sirius? It was glaringly obvious when you were afoot – you sounded like a herd of invisible Erumpents charging down the corridor.”

Sirius gave a tired, crooked grin and rested his head against the sofaÂ’s cushioned back, closing his eyes. And as Abby cautiously tilted her head again and felt the soft rub of his sleeve against her cheek, she thought for the briefest moment that his grasp tightened around her arm.

**