A Sirius Affair

A SIRIUS AFFAIR

Chapter 6

Conversations

There hadn't been any customers in the Obsidian for almost 2 hours. Sirius was reading, but paused to look up when three cloaked men came into the shop. "Wizards?" he thought blankly, half wondering if he had fallen asleep from boredom. "But what are a bunch of wizards doing here?" He realised the answer when he recognised the group's leader, Sloan Peregrine. Instead of demanding money as Sirius had expected, Peregrine just stared at Black in shock.

"You?! What are you doing here??"

"I have to make a living somehow," Sirius stated coolly.

"But, you're a wizard. Why are you working as a muggle?"

"Why are you robbing muggles?" Sirius asked in a firm voice.

"Easier, isn't it?" Peregrine shrugged. "You're an animagus, right?"

"What makes you think that?" Sirius asked casually. He had pulled his wand closer towards him underneath the counter.

"I saw you transform the other day," Peregrine said a bit petulantly. "You remember, don't you? The alleyway over behind Old Montague Street . . .You know, the robbery you interrupted! Damn Ministry kept enforcer blokes stationed near my place for days. It was really a bloody mess thanks to you. But, I know what I saw. You definitely transformed into a large black dog in that alleyway."

"What if I am?" Sirius replied, glancing at Sloan's assistants.

Sloan looked at Sirius for a rather long moment before dismissing the other two wizards and telling them to wait outside and not let anyone in.

"So, you've decided not to try and rob this place?" Sirius asked with a quick smirk.

"No. I'm not about to go up against a wizard I know nothing about, particularly one who's an animagus," he persisted stubbornly. "Besides the animagus transformation is exceedingly difficult, so you must be a rather powerful wizard at that. Who are you by the way?"

"Now, why would I volunteer that information?" Sirius asked innocently.

"Well, your name tag says Ian."

"Well-spotted," he replied dryly.

"All right . . . Ian. Why in bloody hell are you living as a common filthy muggle? You must be on the outs with the Ministry? Maybe a supporter of You-Know-Who?" queried Peregrine.

"What if I was?" Sirius replied, realising he might be able to glean some useful information from this conversation.

"Well, then you must be rather well versed in the dark arts."

"I might be," Sirius replied cryptically.

"If you are, I have a bit of a circle that you might be interested in joining, that's all. We target muggles and weaker wizards to gain a little profit. Let me make this plain though. We think those followers of You-Know-Who who still wait for his return are fools. If You-Know-Who were still around, Potter will take care of him again. That route is pointless. You're not likely to be that type, are you?" Sloan asked, then, without waiting for an answer, he went on "No, if you were so inclined, your Death Eater friends would have helped you out, and you wouldn't be here working as a muggle, now would you?" he mused.

"Right," Black said more as a statement than an agreement to his question. "Tell me more about this circle . . . .," he said with feigned interest.

"Well, my cover organization is called E², Enchanted Eye, it's a divination group. There are, of course, a number of wizards in that group who are not part of my circle. My group is an offshoot of E². It would be dead useful for some of my group to be animagi though, you know, now I think of it. You wouldn't care to join us, maybe help some of us out with the finer points of achieving that transformation?" Sloan said as he eyed Sirius warily. "We could make it worth your while, maybe even enough to get you out of this wretched place."

"I don't know, I kind of like my little shop," Sirius replied coolly. He attempted to look interested in the prospect of coaching dark wizard thugs in the animagi transformation. "I'll think about it, how's that?"

"I'll be back then, Ian. You could be a very useful member of our team," Sloan said.

"I'm generally not a team player I must say," Sirius replied, making sure his wand was in reach underneath the counter.

"We'll see. I might still be able to entice you into helping us out, even if my verbal powers of persuasion aren't enough."

"Right," Sirius muttered just as a muggle entered the bar. "Great assistants you've got there," he added shrewdly as he turned to the customer and smiled as he thought about the useful information about E² Peregrine had provided.

Peregrine shot Sirius a final glance before exiting the shop, no doubt to berate his friends for letting a muggle slip past them. As Sirius prepared the gentleman's order, he might have sworn he saw Peregrine stuff two rats into the pockets of his cloak as he walked away from the Obsidian.

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Harry left work early that Thursday afternoon so he could stop by and talk to Sirius about the potions circle. There had been two more deaths: an American basketball player and an Australian swimmer. Harry also wanted to hear about the aborted robbery Sirius had owled him about. He'd owled Hermione to let her know he wouldn't be around for dinner, as he thought he might have dinner with Sirius. Sirius was straightening the kitchen when Harry arrived. He told Sirius all about the glasses, what he had seen and Sloan's explanations. Sirius then filled Harry in on the attempted robbery of the Obsidian and about Sloan's expressed interest in having Sirius teach his circle the animagi transformation.

"And, get this. He went on and on about this group of his, not having the faintest idea who I am --- not a bloody clue. Can you fucking believe that?" Sirius went on, guiding the pots and pans to their rack with his wand as they talked.

Harry shrugged and grinned. "Not the brightest star in the constellation, is he? . . . . Divulging all those details about his group to you. Say . . . .was he by chance wearing those glasses when he came in to rob your coffee bar?"

Sirius thought for a second and then replied, "Yes, he was. Why?"

"I'm just starting to get the impression that Mr. Peregrine hasn't told us everything there is to know about that pair of glasses," Harry said thoughtfully. "You may need to feign some interest in joining our friend Sloan's circle after all. I'll give that some thought -- how we should go about that."

Sirius nodded. "They shouldn't be too hard to fool after all." Changing gears, he suddenly looked at Harry. "Hey, by the way, be sure and thank Hermione for me for putting a deadline on my relationship with Cordelia with that bloody party you're throwing."

"I'm not throwing it!" Harry said defensively. "I don't even want it truth be told." Harry avoided being the center of attention whenever possible, and the idea of people making a big fuss over his birthday was not particularly appealing.

"Well, what am I supposed to do? Yes, Cordelia, this is George Weasley. He's a free-lance test marketer for flying broomsticks. And this is Lee Jordan -- he's the primary commentator for Quidditch, which is a game people play while riding those broomsticks, and here we have Percy Weasley. Percy works for the Ministry of Magic.

"Well, Percy probably won't come," Harry said with a weak smile. "I'm honestly not sure George will allow Ginny to invite old Percy if you want the truth."

"Yeah, well, you get my point! Now I've got about a month to either tell her the truth, which sounds like a nightmare by the way, or kiss off this relationship. She stopped by my coffee shop on Sunday evening before she left for New York again. We're having dinner again this weekend." He had begun to pace the room. "I can't fake being a muggle with her too much longer, you know."

Harry eyed him slyly. "You are avoiding broomstick rides, then?"

Black shot him a glare. "It's not just the broomstick, mind you! Although, bloody hell, I can't very well sleep with her and fail to mention a small nagging little detail like I'm a wizard, now can I?" Sirius said agitatedly.

"Honesty is the best policy you know," Harry said with a bit of a smirk "Particularly when it comes to matters of the heart."

"Since when have you been honest about matters of the heart?" Sirius retorted as he began sending knives and other cutlery into their drawers.

"What do you mean by that?" Harry said with a puzzled expression.

Sirius looked up and sighed. "Never mind, I'm just in a bit of a lousy mood. I can't help thinking about those bone fragments we heard about in Cardiff. Who'd have thought those Death Eaters would have kept those old bone pieces all these years? Why would they do that, d'you think?"

"Well, they aren't much use without the wizard that goes along with them, are they? I'd forget about them if I were you. What good would they do?" Harry replied.

"I just can't help thinking there's something . . . . ," Sirius muttered. Harry noticed Black was clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly. "Well, listen, I've got to be at work early. The day manager is on holiday. You're welcome to come along -- we can pick up some sandwiches on the way, and I can provide you with enough coffee to keep you awake for days."

"No thanks. I better be off. I think I'll go see what Hermione is up to this evening," Harry said as they walked out to the street.

Harry left Sirius at the corner, but instead of heading towards his own flat, he found himself on Ginny's street. He found himself thinking about that dream he'd had the other night. "She's not your sister, is she Harry?" the voice hissed in Parseltongue.

"Hi, Harry. . . . What are you doing here? Come in! Where's Hermione? Can I get you a something?" Ginny said all this very fast, looked quite surprised to see Harry on her doorstep, especially without Hermione.

"Hi. I was just passing by and saw your light on and well . . . .thought I'd stop up and see how the job search was going." In truth, he really didn't know why he was there at all. It had somehow just seemed a good idea when he was passing by her building. Of course, he had to admit that passing by her flat was most definitely not the most direct route back to his flat from Sirius' place.

"My job search? Quite lousy at the moment. But, thanks for asking," she said with a grimace as she ushered him in. "There just aren't any publications out there targeting our generation of witches. Or wizards for that matter," she added hastily.

"I'm lucky if I get through the Daily Prophet every day. I don't get much time to read the fashion sheets . . .no offense." Ginny had retrieved a lager for each of them from her icebox.

"None taken," Ginny commented just before launching into a passionate tirade on the stodgy old-line publications for the wizarding population. "They seem to concentrate on nothing but old fogy fashion, losing weight, cooking and keeping house. As if those are the only things witches are interested in! What about entrepreneurship, making contacts, taking charge of your life and career? What happens if you don't want to get married right out of Hogwarts? What if you want to develop more as an individual instead of just being someone's sister, girlfriend, wife, or mother? Not that there's anything wrong with any of those roles, but they are not all that witches can be."

As Ginny talked, Harry glanced around her flat. It was even smaller than the one he shared with Hermione, but somehow it looked more spacious. Maybe her father had used one of his interior space enlarging charms, or maybe it was just that Ginny had less mess piled up in the corners and on the counters. There wasn't that untidy look that their place always had. Of course, there was a certain comfort in their flat, despite the piles of Hermione's books that seemed to fill every nook and cranny of their flat. But, neither of them were any great shakes at keeping things tidied up. Hermione would use some handy housekeeping charms from time to time, but typically only when the mess became so obvious that even she couldn't fail to notice it. Harry did make an effort to keep the kitchen clean, but it too was likely to fall into a state of some disorderliness during his extended absences from home. Ginny, on the other hand, actually had art on her walls rather than odd assorted photos and chipping paint. Her furniture was arranged attractively; her entire place seemed very pulled together, Harry thought.

"I have half a mind to start a magazine of my own!" Ginny was saying. "You know, something that could address more relevant topics."

"Why don't you?" he asked as he examined one of the watercolors adorning her wall. "Who did this one? It's really striking."

"I did," she said casually. "I do a bit of doodling when I have a spare minute."

"Doodling? This is great! I didn't know you painted."

"Yeah, well I started it back at Hogwarts. It was so beautiful there; I just couldn't help myself," she admitted.

Harry suddenly felt rather abashed that he had never even noticed her painting in all the years they had been in school together. All these years they'd been friends, and he'd had no idea.

"Don't worry," she said, seeming to read his mind "Most of my friends and family don't know I paint. I always thought they would see it as . . . as, I don't know, trivial I guess. I just never wanted to share it with them. I wanted that to be just for me," she said softly.

"Well, you're very talented Ginny," he said quietly. "But I can certainly understand the notion of keeping some things in your life just for yourself." Their eyes locked briefly, and then Harry changed the subject. "Say, you really should make inquiries and see if any of the wizarding venture capitalists would be interested in your idea."

"What idea?"

"Starting your own magazine," Harry answered.

"Oh, that! You know I never seriously thought of starting my own publication before tonight. It just occurred to me as I was telling you about my frustrations," she said. "If I don't find a better job soon though, I may give it some more thought!"

They chatted more about magazines, art, her brothers, their mutual Hogwarts friends, and the current news in the wizarding world. Suddenly, Harry glanced over at the kitchen clock as he finished his second lager and realised he had been there for three hours! "Oh bugger, I told Hermione I wouldn't be late," he muttered. "Lucky thing she wasn't counting on me to bring her some dinner!" he laughed. "Well, I'd better be off. Thanks for the lagers, and . . . your paintings really are lovely," Harry said as he advanced towards the door.

"Thanks," she said with a curious smile, "And thanks for stopping by. It was nice to chat with you Harry. I hope Hermione's not too upset." She tried to make this last comment sound casual as she closed the door behind him. She was a bit irritated that their very pleasant evening had been cut short by Harry's obligations to Hermione. "Come on, Ginny!" she scolded herself. "If you want to get involved with Harry, you'll have to come to terms with his relationship with Hermione. You know that's exactly what's causing problems for Hermione and Rufus right now. You can't let that get in the midst of "us." If there is going to be an "us"! He just stopped by to chat after all -- you shouldn't read too much into it." Ginny shook her head as if to make a point to banish any feelings of jealousy she might have towards Hermione. "She's his best friend and always will be. So that's enough of that." She looked out her window and watched as Harry walked away from her building. Just before she looked away, she saw Harry glance back to her window and her heart skipped a beat.

**********************

Cordelia was sitting on her cushioned stool in front of her vanity, applying her makeup. Although she'd changed her mind about what to wear four times already, she was also wondering if she might not be more comfortable in a pantsuit rather than the short-sleeved, long black crepe dress she'd eventually settled on. The performance was outdoors after all. "Can't remember the last time I was this nervous about a date," she mused to herself. "Oh bugger!" She'd just landed the mascara wand on her eyelid in distraction. "Honestly Cordelia! You'd think you were sixteen again," she muttered to herself as she set about repairing the makeup.

She and Ian were going to hear a chamber music ensemble at Kenwood House. She'd been offered the tickets from someone at her firm last Sunday. At any other point in the last year, she'd have probably politely refused the tickets. She'd been entirely put off dating after her nasty split-up with Malcolm Tucker, an accountant she'd met while working on a transaction. But when her colleague poked his head in her office last Sunday afternoon and offered her the tickets, she'd smiled when she remembered the fun she'd had with Ian the previous day and had graciously accepted the tickets without hesitation. She'd also wasted no time in "stopping by" the Obsidian to see if Ian would be interested in joining her.

As she applied yet another coat of lipstick and pursed her lips in the mirror, wondering about the appropriateness of the shade, she heard a knock on her front door. "Well, that'll have to do dear," she thought as she gave her reflection one last look and turned off the light.

She smiled as she opened the door. The dark green shirt he was wearing suited him well, she thought as she beckoned him inside. "And what do you have there?" she asked as she glanced down at the wicker basket he was carrying.

"I thought we might have a picnic dinner while we listen to the concert . . . if that's okay with you," he said hastily, glancing at her dress. "We can do the picnic another time and just go to one of the restaurants in the village if that's easier."

"Oh no! I'll manage fine in this dress. Trust me, it won't be a problem," she assured him. "I think I'll take a blanket for us to sit on though. Why don't you just leave that here by the door, and I'll grab a blanket before we head out." He nodded and followed her into the dining room.

"We've got a bit of time yet I think. Can I offer you a drink before we leave?" Cordelia asked.

"Sounds great."

"What's your beverage of choice? No wait . . . let me guess." She eyed him appraisingly. "I'm guessing you favor a single malt, straight up."

He grinned and nodded. "That's quite correct. Ten points Ms. Hunter."

"Well, come tell me what you want. I've got several choices." She pointed out the Single Malt bottles on her Deco-style bar near the kitchen as she grabbed two glasses from a nearby tray. "I'm a bit fond of the Talisker myself. I suppose I'm partial to the Highland whiskies though . . . you know, my grandparents' farm and all."

Black, however, had picked up a bottle of 21 year-old port-aged Balvernie with a look of reverence. "Now this is a single malt," he breathed. She took the bottle from him without a word and began pouring his drink.

"Speaking of whiskies and Scotland, I'd say I note a tinge of Scottish brogue in your voice Mr. Black. Would I be correct?" she asked as she steered him back to the lounge. He draped his sportcoat over her couch and glanced around as she settled into the chair opposite him. It was airy and spacious, certainly spacious in comparison with his own flat. The room was tastefully decorated with antiques.

"Another ten points," he said with a smile. "I grew up in Dundee."

"Oh, some of my cousins on my mum's side of the family lived in Dundee. Which comprehensive did you attend?"

She thought he looked vaguely uncomfortable as he answered. "Well, my mum taught me and several other children who . . . er . . . lived nearby until we reached secondary school age. Then, I went off to a boarding school near Perth." He seemed to want to change the subject quickly, she thought as he immediately asked her about her preference for Highland single malts.

He continued his spirited defense of Speyside whiskies all the way to the Tube stop. Their conversation was hampered on the train as it was standing room only. Cordelia looked sideways at Ian as they changed lines at Holburn Station. "I wonder why I have the impression he's not entirely comfortable with the Underground," she thought to herself in puzzlement. "After all, he said last Saturday he's lived in London for several years now. Surely he uses the Tube a fair bit." He had linked his arm through hers, and she smiled up at him.

They made their way up from the Hampstead Station and browsed through some of the shops before heading over to the lakes area where the concert would be staged. As she spread the blanket on the ground near a tree, with a clear view of the concert stage, she missed him quickly opening the picnic basket and pointing his wand at a bottle of sparkling water he'd packed to re-chill it.

Ian laughed as he watched her awkwardly situating herself on the blanket. "Are you sure about this picnic idea?" he asked anxiously. "We can still get something to eat at one of the restaurants and procure some chairs for the concert if you'd rather."

"Absolutely not! This is perfect." But she laughed with him as the side split in her dress ripped a bit as she moved to open the picnic basket. "Nothing a decent seamstress can't fix," she said, completely unruffled, much to her surprise. "Ooh!" she clapped her hands. "Ian . . . this looks fabulous," she exclaimed as she pulled out various cheeses, a loaf of French bread, a mushroom pate, grapes, strawberries, a bottle of wine, and a bottle of sparkling water. She noted that he'd remembered to pack all the necessary equipment: two plates, two wine glasses, napkins, a spreader for the pate, a cheese slicer & a corkscrew. "Looks like you remembered it all. I'm impressed. I wonder how this water stayed so cold all that time," she mused.

She had started cutting up the bread and cheese for them, but she looked up into his dark brown eyes as he cupped her face in his hands. He kissed her softly and murmured, "Good! That was my intent you know . . . impressing you that is."

"You were successful," she said, tearing her eyes away from his reluctantly. She tossed him the corkscrew, and he grinned, "This wine won't hold a candle to that Balvernie whiskey you served me but what say we give it a go anyway."

They were happily munching on strawberries and sipping wine when the concert began. She nestled her head contentedly against his shoulder as they listened to the Mozart's "Piano Quartet No. 1 in G Minor" followed by "Sextet in D Major for Violin, Two Violas,Violin, Cello, Double Bass, and Piano" by Mendelssohn. At the intermission, Ian asked her lightly if she wanted to pack up the picnic gear and take a stroll up to Whitestone Pond. "There's supposed to be truly amazing views of London from that point or so I hear. Or, we can just stay right here if you'd like. Now that I think about it, the climb up may be difficult for you in that dress. Maybe we should just stay put after all."

"Oh no! I haven't been up there in ages -- that sounds perfect," she said enthusiastically.

Ian picked up the basket and slung the blanket over the same arm, taking her by the hand with his free hand. They paused from time to time, with Ian inquiring frequently about whether the climb was too much for her. Once they'd reached the top, he set down the picnic basket and spread the blanket out at a point where they could look out over the sprawling lights of London.

"I don't suppose we'll hear much of the music from here," he joked. "You don't mind leaving the concert early, do you?" She had leaned back against his chest and was squeezing one of his hands. "Oh, no. I don't mind at all," she murmured, thinking how completely comfortable she felt with this man. He was squeezing her hand and kissing the top of her head now and then. Cordelia lost track of how long they'd been sitting companionably, enjoying the calm and sights below them.

"It's so nice to be able to see some of the stars from here," she commented at last. "I loved astronomy when I was younger; read all manner of books and spent hours with a telescope that my dad bought me. Mind you I never saw much in London, but up on my grandparents' farm. . . I really saw some great stars from there." She pointed and whispered, "Isn't that the dog star over there . . . I can never remember the Latin name for that one."

"Sirius," he answered quietly.

"Oh, that's right! What do you think. . . " her words were cut off as he turned her head toward him suddenly and covered her mouth with his. He wrapped his arms around her, and their kisses built in intensity quickly. They were both a bit breathless when he suddenly pulled back from their embrace.

"Mmmm, sorry.. er…we …ah…we better stop now, don't you think?" he whispered. Her head was swirling, but she nodded numbly. "Who knows? Snogging near Whitestone Pond could be a chargeable offence," he joked lightly as helped her up and gathered up the blanket.

She held tightly to his hand as they made their way back down to the Hampstead Station. They were both quiet on the return trip to her flat. As he'd done the previous week, he stopped outside her doorstep. "I want to see you again," he said quietly. "When are you back from New York?" Her heart leapt; she'd been half-wondering if he would take the initiative this time.

"I supposedly get back on Friday, but there's some chance I won't leave until Friday evening."

"Well, let's make plans for Sunday then, shall we? That'll give you time to recover from the flight. I have to work that night, but we can have an early dinner if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all," she said. "With any luck, that merger will be closed, and I'll be in a rather celebratory mood in fact."

"Ah, excellent! Then a celebration we shall have. Do you favour loud raucous celebrations or quiet intimate celebrations?" he asked.

"Definitely quiet, intimate celebrations," she said without meeting his eyes.

"Well, that is what we will endeavor to provide then," he paused as their eyes met again. "Have a safe trip Cordelia," he murmured as he leaned forward to kiss her goodnight. When she pulled back from him at last, her heart was pounding. She nodded as he told her he'd ring her next Sunday afternoon.

As she kicked off her shoes and wandered into the bathroom to wash her face, her thoughts kept returning to Ian and their evening together. She couldn't help smiling at her reflection as she remembered their passionate snogging. She hadn't felt quite like that in . . . . well, not for some time. But, as she started removing makeup, her thoughts turned from her attraction to him, and she suddenly remembered that she'd completely forgotten to bring their conversation back to his youthful escapades. "He was really masterful at keeping the conversation centered on me," she thought as she brushed her teeth. "Come to think of it -- he never seems to say much about himself at all," she muttered as she wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. "I wonder if he's hiding something," she thought warily.

**********************

Dear Sloan,

I've had some other offers on the relics we talked about. I'm trying to tie up some loose ends and make myself scarce for awhile. My potions are having some unfortunate side effects in the muggle community, and Harry Potter and one of his sidekicks came nosing around here the other day. I need to hear from you within the week, or those relics will be sold to another buyer.

Jeralyn

Sloan sat down and wrote a return letter at once. "What was Potter doing nosing around in Cardiff?" he wondered.

Jeralyn,

Consider those relics sold. I'll come to Cardiff and bring the gold. Let me know where, when, and how much.

Sloan

By the next day, his owl had returned with yet another message from Jeralyn. She advised him that coming to Cardiff himself would draw unwanted attention for them both. He chuckled as he read: "as much as I would love to see you, I think it would be better if you sent someone else in your stead, someone less apt to raise suspicions." It seemed she felt sure that at least one of Potter's fellow agents was still tracking her every move. "So, she wants to see me again soon, does she?" he laughed to himself.

She also told him that she didn't want to be seen with more than an average amount of galleons. Apparently, she was also in dire need of some potions ingredients. She noted that she was unable to procure the necessary supplies herself, given that Potter and his agents were watching her so closely. So, she wrote that she'd prefer if his stand-in supplied her with potions ingredients rather than the cash. She noted that the person he sent should be well-versed in herbs and potions ingredients -- " I need to talk to someone who can tell an Ardisia from a Lonicera." She had enclosed a list of the herbs she needed, together with the preferred quantities. She also suggested a meeting time and place for her to exchange the relics for these herbs.

Peregrine immediately thought of that well-intentioned herbologist from the E² group, Rufus Frost. Rufus certainly wouldn't draw undue attention. He immediately dispatched an owl to Rufus, asking if he would be willing to do some free-lance herbology consulting for one of his witch friends. "My friend needs some herbs and potion ingredients that are particularly hard to come by. She could use some help acquiring these ingredients and confirming their quality," he wrote.

He received return owl post from Rufus that same day. Rufus wrote that he was willing to do some consulting work, and he outlined his rate structure. He also indicated that Tuesdays were his regular day off each week.

Rufus,

Enclosed you'll find 500 galleons. That should cover the cost of the supplies and your fee. Also enclosed is a list of the ingredients my friend needs. Please give her 100 galleons along with these herbs. You are to meet a witch in a purple cloak in the Hungry Eyes Pub in Cardiff at 8:00 p.m. next Tuesday evening. She'll have a box for you to bring back to me. Owl if you have any questions.

Sloan

He then composed an owl post to Jeralyn, confirming that a wizard named Rufus Frost would be meeting her as planned next Tuesday evening. He advised her that Rufus was unaware of what the relics were and that she should be discreet in her dealings with him.

***************************************

Early on Sunday evening, Sirius arrived at Cordelia's doorstep with roses. She hadn't returned from New York until Saturday morning after all, but she had stopped by the Obsidian late on Saturday night to see him. Although she'd seemed happy to see him, she'd also been intent on asking a number of questions about him and his past. Trying not to raise any suspicions on her part, he'd answered most of her questions with some measure of truth, but, of course, skirting the real issues. He'd also used his need to serve the larger-than-normal crowd of customers as a means of deflecting questions. She'd leaned over the counter to kiss him good-bye when she left, but he sensed her probing questions were by no means at an end.

She was delighted with the roses. Sirius fidgeted nervously in her kitchen as she arranged them into a vase before they left. He was wondering anxiously how long he could successfully focus the conversation away from his own life. They had decided to go to a small Thai restaurant near her flat. He was very conflicted about the relationship. On one hand, he was incredibly comfortable with her and quite attracted. It seemed that no matter how hard he tried to think about other things, she kept leaping to the forefront of all his thoughts. He thought about her while working, during his various investigations for Harry, while getting groceries, and particularly when he was trying to sleep. He wanted to spend all his time with her. She almost made him not care about living as a wizard again.

He had dated quite a bit while he was at Hogwarts, and even more in the years after. He had the reputation of being a rogue. He was known as someone who was a lot of fun to date but would break it off at the first hint of commitment. But that was an entire lifetime ago. He hadn't even considered dating since breaking out of Azkaban. But, he found himself enjoying a woman's company for the first time in a very long time; in fact, to his great surprise, he enjoyed her company almost as much as he had enjoyed the company of James and Remus. This was unusual, he thought to himself, maybe a man and a woman could be friends after all.

It was a quiet atmosphere in the restaurant. And, much to his dismay, Cordelia picked up with the questions about his past almost the moment they were seated. He had tried to ask a question about whether she'd had time to go to a Broadway show while in New York, but she interrupted, "Oh, no Ian. You had lots of customers last night, and we didn't get to talk about you as much as I wanted. We've spent a lot of time discussing my law practice, my childhood and my failed romances. It's your turn now," she said firmly. "I don't think I know as much about you as I would like."

"Well, all right then. Fire away," Black said with an uncertain smile. He was wondering desperately if he could think on his feet fast enough to come up with satisfactory and believable answers.

"Well, okay . . . " she looked somewhat surprised. "Okay," she repeated. "Let's start with your family. What do your parents do? Where do they live? Do you have any siblings?"

"Well, my mum died about 15 years ago." She gasped quietly and reached out for his hand. "And Dad died not too long after that. I was an only child, so I'm afraid I'm the last of the family." So far all this was true enough, he thought.

"I'm so sorry to have brought up what must be a painful subject," she murmured, squeezing his hand.

"Well, it was quite some time ago," he replied simply. He didn't feel the need to elaborate that it was likely the public perception of crimes he wasn't guilty of committing that had directly caused the early demise of his parents. That was a subject he never discussed with anyone, and in fact, he did his best to avoid thinking about his own role in their deaths. They talked for a bit about the loss of parents. Cordelia's father had died of a heart attack in his early 50s. Since Black considered this a safe subject, he did his best to keep the conversation on this particular topic for as long as possible.

Cordelia seemed chagrined to have forced a painful topic and, much to his relief, did not pursue any other potentially dangerous topics. When their dinner arrived, she concertedly changed the subject to sports. Black was amused to learn that she was an avid football fan. He managed to keep up a reasonable pretense of knowledge about the football franchises and players. "I wonder what she would think about Quidditch then," he mused to himself.

They held hands on the way back to her flat, and he occasionally rubbed her shoulders and neck while they looked in some of the shop windows. When they reached her flat, she invited him in for a nightcap. He agreed, not wanting the evening to end. He had to go to work that night at 11:00, but it was only 9:00, and it would take little time to reach the Obsidian from her place.

"I don't suppose I could talk you into another glass of that Balvernie whiskey, could I?" Sirius asked with a grin.

"Of course you can," she smiled and leaned up to kiss him.

As they sipped their drinks, she snuggled up close to him on the couch. He hesitated, but it felt so natural to wrap his arm around her. He was afraid of where this was leading. He definitely didn't think it was a good idea if their relationship went much further in that direction until he was ready to be honest with her about who and what he was. She needed to be able to make the choice about getting involved with a wizard. But then she looked up into his eyes, those same eyes he saw every night as he dreamed.

They kissed briefly, stopping to look into each other's eyes. Then he kissed her again, this time with more passion, and he reached to pull her tightly against him. He heard her murmuring indistinctly in between their frantic kisses. He moved to kissing her neck while unbuttoning the top buttons of her blouse. Meanwhile, she had untucked his shirt and was caressing his back. His mouth moved down her chest as his hands roved inside her blouse with abandon. Just as he began fumbling with her bra clasp, he felt her unbuttoning his slacks.

He was instantaneously jolted into reality. This wasn't a dream, and he couldn't allow this to go any further. Not until he'd made a decision about whether to reveal his true identity to her. He pulled back suddenly, mumbling incoherently about needing to get to work. Before she could react, he was gone.

Cordelia looked up, absolutely stunned and disbelieving. One minute she had been about to make love with the man who for weeks now had been haunting her dreams, both her daydreams as well as her night dreams. The next moment he was gone. She shook her head to see if she was indeed awake. She glanced down at her partially undone clothing, which confirmed the reality of what had just happened. Still shaking her head, she looked at the clock and realised he wasn't due at work for another hour and a half. "Now what am I supposed to do?" she thought.

She reached for the phone, determined to give him a piece of her mind. She'd never been treated this way, and she certainly believed she was entitled to some sort of explanation. But as she reached for the phone, she realised she didn't know his phone number. And now that she thought about it, she didn't even know where he lived. All of Cordelia's nagging doubts of the last few weeks suddenly came crashing to the surface of her mind. As she fumed, she came to the increasing revelation that she knew virtually nothing about this man she had been seeing for almost a month. She thought to herself, "For all I know, he could be married, or gay . . . or a criminal."

She suddenly felt very uneasy. How could she let herself get sucked into a relationship without knowing these things. She had almost gone to bed with this man (at least that had been her intention), and she didn't know what his middle name was. By this point, Cordelia was also very angry. One thing she did know though was where he worked and that he was due to be there in just over an hour. She would be there as well.

She couldn't just sit idly in her flat though. So she walked the streets between her home and the Obsidian to pass the time, wondering where he might be right now. "Home checking on the wife and kids probably," she thought bitterly. As she walked, she had the occasional sense that she was being followed. But each time she turned to check, all she saw was a big black shaggy dog. Ever since she was a child, dogs were drawn to her, choosing to follow her over just about anyone else on the street. So, seeing a dog following her that night did not seem particularly unusual. "Poor puppy! I wonder how your owner lost track of you this evening?" she thought to herself more than once. She stopped and smiled at the dog several times, beckoning him to come closer. But, he always hung back.

She arrived at the Obsidian a few moments before Sirius did. The day manager smiled at her, recognising that she was someone who had some sort of relationship to the night manager. Sirius took over the shop shortly after 11:00 p.m., looking very uneasy as he glanced at Cordelia. The last remaining customers slowly drifted out, and Cordelia was relieved that no new customers seemed to be arriving. As the last customer left the shop, she turned toward Black, but before she could speak, he broke in, "You're probably wondering what happened earlier this evening."

"Bloody fucking straight I'm wondering! Or, I should I say I was wondering until I realised that I don't know you from Adam!!! I don't know your phone number, your middle name or even where you live!!! You are either married or gay or both, or you're some sort of escaped convict, or secret agent, or all of the above wrapped up in a man I happen to find extremely attractive," she yelled, feeling extremely vulnerable.

He stood there quietly for a moment, letting her anger break over him like a giant ocean wave. "At this moment, I have no idea what to say Cordelia. I'm sorry. I should never have come up after dinner tonight. The feelings I'm having for you are unlike anything I've ever felt before, but I am just not ready to tell you the complete truth about . . . about who I am . . .what I am."

"So you admit you've been lying to me?" she exclaimed.

"Well, lying isn't really the right word. One of the first times you came in here I told you I wouldn't tell you anything about myself, because then it couldn't be a lie. Remember? It's been all I could do to keep that promise. I can tell you with absolute honesty that I am not married and never have been. I never quite grasped the concept of that institution. And, I am definitely not gay." He paused before continuing, "I've never wanted anyone as much as you, but my more noble half is telling me, in no uncertain tones, that I shouldn't act on that desire. I really hate having a noble side."

She stood there with her mouth open, trying to take in what he was saying. "What did you mean a second ago . . . when you said you weren't ready to tell me what you are. What the hell does that mean?"

"That is a rather long and complicated story that I definitely cannot get into here, and I'm not sure I'm ready to get into it at all."

"Harry and Hermione . . . do they know your whole story?" she asked.

"Yes. He's my godson after all. They also saved my life once," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"What! So some 20 year old kids can be trusted, but you're not sure about ME!" she was yelling again.

"It's not a matter of trust! I'm fairly certain that if I tell you the whole story, you won't believe me, or you'll question my sanity. If you think I'm mental, I really don't suppose you would want to continue this relationship. Then, on the other hand, if I don't tell you the whole story, you're going to see me as lying scum, which again would not do a lot for the prospect of continuing this relationship. So . . . mental case or lying scum? Hmmmm . . . not a good scenario, now is it?" he said in a flat voice.

"How can you talk so calmly about all this!!! How can you stand there and admit that you've been lying to me all this time! You're so bloody calm about all this," she said furiously.

"Look, just because I've had years, and I mean years, of practice controlling my emotions -- that doesn't mean that this isn't probably one of the most difficult decisions I've ever made in my life. If I hadn't learned to control my emotions, I'd be insane by now and most definitely not here talking to you." By this time his voice was raised as well.

"Well, at the moment Ian, I'm thinking you're a cold lying son-of-a-bitch which definitely puts this relationship on hold until you figure out who the bloody hell you think you are!" And with that she stormed out of the shop.

"Ahhh . . .that went well," he thought sarcastically.