With the Horcruxes fully vanquished and Harry's health finally on the mend, the oppressive tension that had loomed over the Potter Estate for months had begun to lift. It was as though the house itself had taken a deep breath after holding it for far too long. The change in atmosphere did not go unnoticed by Dorea and Melania, who had long since learned to recognize an opportunity when it presented itself.
Thus, one evening, Dorea found Charlus in his study, hunched over a collection of documents, brow furrowed in concentration. She glided into the room with her usual air of quiet command, lowering herself gracefully into the chair across from him.
"Charlus, we have been through hell and back," she said, her voice as smooth as aged whisky. "It is time for a break."
Charlus did not immediately look up, merely flicking his eyes over the top of his papers with the air of a man who had suffered far too many interruptions in his lifetime. "A break?" he echoed, his voice edged with skepticism. "Dorea, you are aware that there is still much work to be done."
Melania entered behind her, languid as a cat, and perched herself on the armrest of Dorea's chair. "And for that very reason," she murmured, "we require a vacation. We have been fighting non-stop, and everyone needs to rest. Especially Harry."
Charlus exhaled sharply through his nose and set his papers down with deliberate precision. He leaned back, steepling his fingers in that infuriatingly composed manner of his. "And where, precisely, are you planning on dragging us?"
Dorea's lips curled ever so slightly. "Somewhere far from all this nonsense. A place where we may simply exist without having to worry about impending catastrophe every other day."
Melania's dark eyes gleamed. "The Black family estate in France," she supplied smoothly. "Secluded, picturesque, and utterly untouched by the absurdities we have been subjected to as of late."
Charlus arched an imperious brow. "The Black estate." He turned his gaze to Melania with the calculated intensity of a man assessing a particularly bold chess move. "Have you spoken to Arcturus about this?"
Melania's smile was slow and knowing. "Naturally. Arcturus is entirely supportive. He sees the wisdom in this."
Charlus scoffed. "Arcturus has many qualities, my dear, but 'supportive' is hardly one of them."
"He sees the wisdom in not arguing with me," Melania amended with a shrug.
Dorea's smile deepened. "Augusta will be joining us with Neville. Andromeda and her family as well."
"And Amelia Bones," Melania added, far too casually.
Charlus' eyes narrowed slightly, and he regarded them both with the same suspicion he reserved for particularly dubious Ministry decrees. "Amelia Bones," he repeated, slow and deliberate. "By any chance, does this 'vacation' include an impromptu matchmaking attempt involving Sirius?"
Dorea placed a hand against her chest, the very picture of innocence. "Charlus, what a ridiculous notion. We are simply inviting our dearest friends for a well-deserved retreat."
Charlus tilted his head, his expression utterly deadpan. "You are about as subtle as a basilisk in a nursery."
Melania chuckled. "We're merely creating opportunities."
Charlus smirked. "Yes, and dragons merely 'create opportunities' to barbecue their prey."
It was at this moment that Arcturus Black, ever the embodiment of silent menace, made his presence known from the doorway. His voice, rich and sepulchral, rolled through the room like distant thunder. "If you two insist on meddling, then you may deal with the consequences yourselves. I have no desire to involve myself in whatever catastrophe follows."
Charlus, without missing a beat, turned in his chair with a slow smirk. "Ah, Arcturus. You arrive just in time to witness our wives' latest attempt at social engineering."
Arcturus strode inside, the very picture of austere disapproval. "I assume this is one of those plans where they will later claim that the inevitable disaster was 'unforeseen'?"
Dorea lifted a single elegant brow. "Confidence, dear husband. Something you and Arcturus should learn to appreciate."
Charlus let out a short laugh, rubbing his temples. "Very well. But when Sirius inevitably realizes he's been maneuvered like a pawn on a chessboard and starts raising hell, I will not be the one to calm him down."
Arcturus inclined his head. "Nor shall I. If he hexes anyone over this, consider it an act of justice."
Melania exchanged a glance with Dorea, both of them entirely unruffled. "Oh, don't be so dramatic," Melania drawled. "Besides, it's not as if we'll be locking them in a room together."
Arcturus raised a single brow, a movement so subtle yet so withering it could have incinerated an entire room of lesser men. "If I return from France to find you have, in fact, locked them in a room together, I will have you both disowned retroactively."
Charlus sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine. But if this inevitably descends into chaos, leave my name out of it."
Dorea leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Of course, darling."
Melania beamed at Arcturus. "Likewise, dear."
Arcturus eyed them both with all the warmth of a winter storm. "I do not believe you."
Charlus let out a short laugh and reached for his brandy. "Well, Arcturus, it seems we are both doomed."
Arcturus sighed, shaking his head as he muttered under his breath, "So it would seem."
—
The grand hall of the Ministry of Magic bustled with travelers, a mix of dignitaries, weary bureaucrats, and overexcited families clutching their Portkeys. But amid the chaos, one particular group stood apart. The Potters and the Blacks exuded an effortless elegance, their composed expressions marking them as people who commanded respect rather than sought it.
Charlus Potter, ever the embodiment of old-world aristocracy, stood tall beside his wife Dorea, who carried herself with the regal grace of a woman who could have ruled courts. Arcturus Black, leaning ever so slightly on his cane, exuded the cool menace of a man who had outlived every one of his enemies and intended to outlive a few more. Melania, the very picture of poised charm, observed the surroundings with the quiet amusement of someone who knew she was the most interesting person in any given room.
Sirius Black stood off to the side, arms crossed, looking insufferably pleased with himself. It was his natural state of being.
As they waited in the designated area, their eyes swept across the hall, scanning for their companions. Soon, a familiar trio approached—Amelia Bones, carrying herself with the no-nonsense efficiency of a woman who had no time for idiocy; young Susan, bright-eyed but clearly aware she was in the presence of powerful figures; and the ever-steadfast Tonks family, Andromeda and Ted leading a wide-eyed Nymphadora, who bounced with barely contained energy.
Following closely behind was Augusta Longbottom, a walking symbol of unshakable authority, with young Neville in tow, his round face full of curiosity as he clutched his grandmother's hand.
Charlus greeted them with his usual impeccable manners, offering a slight bow of his head. "Amelia, always a pleasure. Miss Bones, a delight. Andromeda, Ted—it has been far too long. And Augusta, my dear lady, your presence elevates this drab location considerably."
Augusta sniffed, though the corners of her mouth twitched. "If I'd known flattery was on today's agenda, I would have brought my fan."
"Don't encourage him, Augusta," Arcturus murmured dryly. "His head is already large enough."
"Ah, Arcturus, my dear old friend," Charlus said smoothly. "Your concern for my ego is touching. Truly, I feel warmed by it."
Arcturus arched an imperious brow. "I imagine you feel warmed by many things, Potter. The smugness radiating off of you could heat a small village."
Sirius, watching the exchange, smirked. "I missed this. Nothing says 'family bonding' like two old men exchanging verbal daggers."
"Some of us sharpen our wits, Sirius," Arcturus replied with the air of a man too dignified for such petty matters. "Others… well, others bark at the moon."
Sirius clutched his chest in mock agony. "Ouch. That one actually hurt, you know."
Melania, looking utterly unbothered by the antics, turned her attention to the youngest member of the Tonks family. "And you must be little Nymphadora," she said, voice smooth as silk. "What a charming young lady you are."
The child's hair immediately flashed crimson. "It's Tonks. Just Tonks."
Andromeda's voice was the swift crack of a whip. "Nymphadora Vulpecula Tonks, how many times must I remind you to use your proper name?"
Tonks groaned theatrically. "At least one more time, apparently."
Sirius, who had been quietly observing, turned to Andromeda with a look of profound betrayal. "Andi, why would you do that to her?"
Andromeda rolled her eyes. "It's a Black tradition, Sirius. We name our children after the stars."
Charlus, ever the opportunist for a well-timed jab, interjected. "An admirable tradition, though in this case, I believe you may have doomed the poor girl to a lifetime of endless explanations."
Arcturus hummed in agreement. "Or rebellion. But then, we Blacks do have a tendency toward dramatic defiance. Isn't that right, Sirius?"
Sirius flashed an easy grin. "Oh, absolutely. I'm practically the family mascot at this point."
Before Andromeda could defend her daughter's name further, Arcturus' sharp gaze landed on the girl once more. "And you neglected to mention she's a Metamorphmagus?"
Andromeda exhaled, clearly anticipating this. "It never seemed like the right time. Between tending to a comatose Charlus and Dorea and clearing Sirius' name, I thought perhaps I should focus on slightly more pressing matters."
Dorea, cool and unshaken, interjected smoothly, "We can continue dissecting this revelation later. For now, we have a journey to make."
With that, the focus returned to their imminent departure. Neville, sensing an opportunity to escape adult conversation, turned to Harry. "Harry, this is Susan Bones. Susan, meet Harry Potter."
Harry, ever the reserved one, offered a small but polite nod. "Nice to meet you."
Susan gave a shy smile. "Nice to meet you too."
Tonks, clearly unwilling to be left out, threw up her hands. "And I'm Tonks!"
Harry blinked. "I… know?"
Neville, ever the peacemaker, grinned. "We're all going to be great friends, I'm sure."
Arcturus snorted, the faintest ghost of amusement in his eyes. "Let us hope so. Merlin knows your parents were insufferable enough when they were young—if history repeats itself, we are all in for quite the ordeal."
Charlus, with a smirk that could cut glass, clapped a hand on Arcturus' shoulder. "Well then, let's get on with it, old friend. I, for one, am eager to see if this vacation is a holiday… or a war waiting to happen."
With the group assembled and the banter still lingering in the air like a fine perfume, they turned toward their awaiting Portkey, ready to embark on their grand escape to France.
—
As the families gathered their belongings and made their way to the designated Portkey area, the children continued their conversation, their excitement barely contained.
"Have you ever been to France before?" Tonks asked, her hair flashing a bright cerulean as she practically bounced with excitement.
Harry shook his head. "No, this is my first time. What about you?"
"Nope, first time for me too!" Tonks grinned. "I heard the magical sights in Paris are amazing. And I read that French wizards don't even use wands all the time. They do magic with their hands, like whoosh"—she made a dramatic gesture, nearly smacking Neville, who yelped and ducked.
Susan giggled. "My auntie said there's a wizarding market that's even bigger than Diagon Alley. I can't wait to see it!"
Neville's eyes widened. "Really? That sounds incredible. Maybe we can all explore it together."
Charlus, who had been listening with a small, amused smile, turned to Arcturus. "It's good for them to experience the world and meet new friends. Even if at least one of them is clearly an agent of chaos." He shot a pointed look at Tonks, who was now balancing on one foot like a stork.
Arcturus hummed, his sharp gaze settling on his great-granddaughter. "Yes, though I fear some of them may set fire to it before we even finish our first meal."
"That's the spirit," Sirius quipped. "Start an international incident while we're at it. Really leave an impression."
Augusta sniffed. "If anyone ruins this trip, it will not be my grandson. I expect that will fall squarely on your shoulders, Sirius."
Sirius clutched his chest in mock offense. "Augusta, you wound me."
Dorea, ever the composed matriarch, stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over the group. "Enough chattering, let's get on with it before we die of old age standing here."
Charlus smirked. "I would have thought, dear, that you of all people would not be so concerned. After all, you defy age itself."
Dorea arched a brow, the corner of her lips curving ever so slightly. "Flattery, my love, will not save you if you keep testing my patience."
Melania, standing beside Arcturus, let out a low chuckle. "It's quite the spectacle, isn't it? A group of supposed pillars of wizarding society herding children like a gaggle of overexcited ducklings."
"Quacking included," Arcturus added dryly, as Tonks made a very loud attempt at imitating a goose.
"Alright, everyone, hands on the Portkey," Amelia commanded, her tone brooking no nonsense as she gestured to the ornate hat lying inconspicuously on a bench.
Ted gave a skeptical glance at the object. "A hat? Really? What, did the Ministry run out of old boots and rusty keys?"
Charlus sighed dramatically. "Standards have truly fallen. I remember when Portkeys were at least dignified objects. Now we are forced to travel via abandoned millinery."
"Better than the time I got a chamber pot as a Portkey," Sirius muttered.
"Yes, but that was your own fault," Arcturus pointed out.
Dorea, with the air of a queen issuing a decree, intoned, "Enough bickering. Everyone, on the count of three. One—two—three!"
The familiar tugging sensation yanked them forward, and with a whirlwind of color, the group vanished from the Ministry.
The landing was anything but graceful. Charlus and Arcturus landed with impeccable poise, as if they had merely stepped off a carriage. Dorea, Melania, and Augusta barely wobbled, while Amelia landed in a perfect crouch, surveying their surroundings immediately. Andromeda and Ted, clearly more accustomed to chaos, steadied themselves quickly.
The children? A complete disaster.
Tonks sprawled on the cobbled ground, laughing. Harry had landed on Neville, who groaned from under him, while Susan had somehow ended up upside down, her dress over her head.
"I think I left my stomach back in Britain," Neville moaned.
Sirius, standing over them with a smirk, clapped his hands. "Excellent form, everyone. Really top-notch."
Augusta sighed, adjusting her hat. "And that is why I always insist on proper Portkey stance. No dignity whatsoever."
Charlus took a deep breath, looking around at the stunning magical streets of Paris. "Well, ladies and gentlemen," he declared grandly, "welcome to France. Do try not to get us all banned from the country before sunset."
With that, the adventure truly began.
—
The heart of magical Paris was a spectacle of grandeur and charm, its cobblestone streets alive with witches and wizards dressed in elegant robes, floating lanterns casting a warm glow upon the bustling avenues. As the British contingent arrived, the grandeur of the city seemed to pause in acknowledgment of their presence. It wasn't every day that the House of Black, the House of Potter, and their esteemed allies set foot on French soil.
Standing regally at the entrance of the Place de Sorcière, Jean-Claude Delacour waited, a smirk playing on his lips. He was every bit the aristocratic Frenchman, his dark eyes sharp with amusement, his tailored robes carrying an effortless air of superiority. Beside him, Apolline stood with a languid grace, her golden locks shimmering under the soft light, her beauty as undeniable as the morning sun. Their daughters, Fleur and Gabrielle, stood slightly behind, one with poised confidence, the other peering out shyly from behind her mother's skirts.
"Charlus! Arcturus! Mon dieu, eet 'as been too long!" Jean-Claude exclaimed, striding forward with arms wide open. "And you must be Dorea and Sirius. Ah, ze famous Black wit, non?" He smirked at Sirius. "I 'ave 'eard of you. Zey say you are ze scourge of polite society."
Sirius grinned. "They say many things about me, mate. Most of them are true."
Charlus, ever the imposing figure, shook Jean-Claude's hand firmly, his sharp gaze appraising. "Jean-Claude, it's been years, but I see you still haven't developed a taste for modesty."
Jean-Claude chuckled, unfazed. "And you, mon ami, still 'ave ze spine of a dragon."
Arcturus, his deep, resonant voice cutting through the exchange, merely lifted an eyebrow. "And yet, he remains tolerable, unlike some of our continental counterparts."
Jean-Claude placed a hand over his heart in mock injury. "Ah, you wound me, mon cher Arcturus."
"That was the intention," Arcturus deadpanned, prompting Sirius to smirk.
Apolline, her voice a sultry melody, stepped forward. "We are 'onored to 'ave such distinguished guests. Please, we must not stand 'ere all night. Ze children, zey must be tired, non?"
Dorea, regal and striking, inclined her head. "They are more restless than tired. You know how children are when they sense an adventure."
Fleur, all of nine years old and already possessing the presence of someone much older, stepped forward with a polite nod. "Bonjour, eet's a pleasure to meet you all."
Nymphadora Tonks, ever the boisterous one, grinned. "You talk funny."
Fleur arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her nine-year-old dignity bruised. "Non. Eet eez you who talks funny."
Susan giggled while Neville hid behind Augusta's robes, peeking curiously at the French witches. Harry, for his part, gave Fleur a lopsided grin. "I think your accent's cool."
Gabrielle, all of six and hiding behind her mother, peeked out shyly, her large blue eyes darting between them. "'Allo," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dorea, ever the picture of grace, bent slightly, her dark eyes warm. "Enchantée, little one. You have a lovely voice."
Gabrielle flushed and clung tighter to her mother, while Apolline beamed. "She eez a little shy. But she will warm up."
Augusta, her presence as formidable as ever, observed with an air of cool appraisal. "Well, Jean-Claude, let's hope your daughters have as much steel in their spines as you do. We wouldn't want them to be overwhelmed by our children."
Jean-Claude's grin widened. "Ah, Madame Longbottom, zey say you can make even dragons nervous."
Augusta sniffed, unimpressed. "They underestimate me."
Sirius clapped his hands together. "Alright, as much fun as it is watching our elders verbally spar like a championship duel, can we get to the part where we see the magical sights of Paris?"
Jean-Claude gestured dramatically toward an ornate, floating carriage drawn by what could only be described as spectral pegasi. "Ah, mon cher Sirius, ze magic awaits."
Ted, ever the pragmatist, leaned over to Andromeda. "I know this is supposed to be fancy, but that thing looks like it's got a personality. And not the friendly kind."
Andromeda smirked. "Oh, it's French. Of course, it's got an attitude."
Charlus gave a sharp nod. "Then let's not keep our hosts waiting." He turned to Jean-Claude, his golden gaze glinting. "I trust this excursion of yours isn't just an excuse to gloat about French superiority."
Jean-Claude placed a dramatic hand on his chest. "Charlus, mon ami, would I do such a thing?"
"Without hesitation," Arcturus replied dryly.
With laughter lingering in the cool Parisian air, the group ascended into the carriage, the city of magic unfurling before them, promising mischief, marvel, and more than a few unforgettable encounters.
—
The carriage rolled to a smooth stop along the cobblestone street, the rhythmic clatter of hooves fading into the symphony of Parisian life. As the group stepped out, the Parisian Wizarding Alley—Le Passage Magique—unfolded before them like a dream carved from old-world charm and boundless magic.
Shops shimmered under a soft, golden glow, their signs enchanted to beckon passersby with playful flourishes of light and magic. The air was rich with the scent of freshly baked pastries and aged parchment, interwoven with the occasional whiff of something distinctly alchemical.
"Ah, finally!" Jean-Claude Delacour exclaimed, adjusting his elegant coat with the practiced ease of a man who had long since mastered effortless charm. "Welcome to Paris! You see, we are not just a city of romance, but of great magical sophistication!"
Charlus Potter, standing tall and imposing as though he owned the very stones beneath them, cast a calculating glance down the alley. "A pity sophistication doesn't extend to punctuality, Jean-Claude." His voice carried the smooth, cultured tones of a man who would rather be stabbed than be caught sounding impressed.
Jean-Claude clutched his chest in mock horror. "Mon dieu, Charlus! You wound me!"
"You wound yourself by underestimating us." Arcturus Black's voice, deep as rolling thunder, sent a passing wizard scurrying out of his path. "We have no patience for dramatics."
"Ah, but Arcturus," Jean-Claude said with a wicked grin, "Dramatics are ze very soul of Paris!"
Sirius, lounging against the carriage as though he'd been born to rule from a slouch, smirked. "You know, Jean-Claude, I have to admit—I was expecting more decadence. Maybe a scandalous affair happening right outside a pâtisserie."
Apolline Delacour, standing at Jean-Claude's side like an ethereal vision of beauty, rolled her eyes with a dramatic flair that could have belonged on a grand stage. "Ze scandal comes later, mon cher. First, we shop."
Fleur, nine years old but already carrying herself like a queen, flicked her long silvery hair over her shoulder. "Papa, can we show them La Bibliothèque Mystique first? It 'as all ze best books."
Tonks, ever the firecracker, bounced forward. "Books are nice and all, but I wanna see the magical beast shop! I heard they have dragons."
Neville, clutching his toad Trevor, paled. "Dragons? Small ones, right?"
Harry, ever eager for adventure, grinned. "Hope not. Big ones sound way more fun."
Gabrielle, peeking from behind her mother's skirts, nodded shyly. "Zey 'ave a Hippogriff, too."
Susan, with the analytical sharpness of someone who had clearly inherited her aunt Amelia's love for order, frowned. "Shouldn't we start with something safe? Like enchanted sweets?"
Ted Tonks, ever the sensible one, chuckled. "Now that is a girl with her priorities straight."
Andromeda, standing beside him with an air of quiet amusement, nudged his side. "You just want an excuse to eat."
"Guilty." Ted grinned.
Augusta Longbottom, a force of nature draped in emerald and wisdom, tapped her cane once against the stones. "Enough dilly-dallying. If we're here, we should at least make it worthwhile."
With that, the group made their way through the alley, stopping at a wand shop run by a cousin of Ollivander's. The display cases glowed with wands that practically hummed with latent power.
"The wand chooses the wizard," the wandmaker declared dramatically.
"Or," Arcturus interjected smoothly, "the wizard decides which piece of carved wood isn't an utter disappointment."
Jean-Claude clutched his heart again. "Mon ami, must you suck all joy from life?"
Charlus let out a rare chuckle. "It's a talent, Jean-Claude. Much like your ability to turn anything into an unnecessary performance."
As they continued their tour, the children marveled at animated toys, enchanted jewelry, and pastries that floated from trays to waiting hands. The final stop was a charming café, shaded by colorful parasols, where the group settled in for refreshments.
The children immediately dove into an array of floating pastries and bubbling lemonades that sparkled like liquid gold.
"Zis place is a sanctuary," Jean-Claude mused, sipping his coffee with an exaggerated sigh of pleasure. "A place of knowledge, unity, and endless possibility."
Charlus, surveying the bustling alley with the cold calculation of a man who had long since learned to weigh opportunity against risk, gave a slow nod. "It is, indeed, a fortress of culture. But even fortresses must prepare for siege."
Amelia Bones, ever pragmatic, leaned forward. "Are you anticipating a siege, Charlus?"
Arcturus, his deep gaze never missing a detail, smirked. "If one isn't coming, it's because we haven't insulted enough people yet."
Dorea, ever the poised matriarch, sipped her tea before adding smoothly, "Give it time. Sirius alone is an international incident waiting to happen."
Sirius grinned. "I aim to please."
Laughter rippled through the table, the air thick with camaraderie.
As the afternoon sun bathed the alley in warm light, a collective understanding settled over them. This was more than a visit; it was a promise—of friendship, of alliance, and of the undeniable magic that bound them together.
And, of course, of more insults to come.
—
The sun was beginning to set over Paris, casting a golden glow on the cobblestone streets of the Parisian Wizarding Alley, where the children and their families were taking in the sights and sounds. Laughter and the buzz of conversations filled the air as the group wandered from shop to shop, but amid the bustling crowd, two women walked with purpose—Dorea Potter and Melania Black.
Dorea, tall and regal, her sharp features softened by a playful smile, glanced around with a certain air of approval, a wicked glint in her eye. Her every movement was deliberate, graceful, and impossibly dignified. She had the presence of someone who knew exactly how to get what they wanted, without having to raise their voice or wave a wand.
Melania, walking beside her, was a striking figure in her own right. Her dark eyes glittered with the kind of intelligence that suggested she could unravel even the most complicated plans with ease. She exuded an effortless allure, and when she smiled, it was as if the very air around her shifted.
"So," Melania said, her voice sultry and smooth as they strolled past the enchanted boutiques, "everything's in place. The private room at the patisserie is prepared, and the staff are ready. It's all going to plan."
Dorea gave her a side glance, raising an eyebrow. "Of course it is, darling. You've never let me down. But you know as well as I do, the tricky part is getting them there without them realizing they're walking straight into our little matchmaking trap."
Melania gave a low laugh. "Ah, yes. Sirius and Amelia—so delightfully unaware of the storm we're brewing for them. They think they're just off to retrieve a misplaced purse and have a quiet chat."
Dorea's lips curled into a mischievous smile. "That's the fun of it. A quiet chat. And by the time they realize what we've orchestrated, it'll be too late."
As they approached the café where the group was gathered, Dorea put on her best "sweet aunt" persona. Her voice was light, but there was an unmistakable note of authority beneath it as she approached Sirius, who was laughing and joking with Jean-Claude and Fleur.
"Sirius, darling," Dorea began, her tone sugar-sweet, though her gaze was sharp as a hawk's. "Could you do your dear aunt a favor?"
Sirius, looking devilishly handsome in his casual clothes, raised an eyebrow. He'd never been a fan of doing favors, but he wasn't about to refuse his beloved aunt, especially when her tone promised an easy task. "Of course, Aunt Dorea. What do you need?"
Dorea leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as though sharing a secret, though it was clear to everyone within earshot she meant for it to be heard. "I left my purse at that lovely patisserie we passed earlier. You know the one—the charming little place with the pastries that would make a Veela cry? Melania and I are planning to visit a few more shops, but I'd love it if you could pop over and retrieve it for me. It's the one with the emerald clasp, you know the one."
Sirius, ever the master of sarcasm, smirked. "Ah, the one with the emerald clasp. Of course. Should I also bring back the moon for you while I'm at it, Aunt Dorea?"
She gave him a prim smile, but the playful glint in her eyes made it clear she wasn't offended. "Well, if you can manage it, darling. But mostly just the purse, if you don't mind."
He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Got it. No need to ask twice." His eyes flicked toward the rest of the group, his lips curling into a grin. "And if I run into Amelia along the way, shall I tell her to meet me there as well? Maybe you have a bit more gossip to share?"
Dorea leaned closer, her smile widening. "Precisely. I'd like to have a word with her about a few things. You know how it is, darling. But nothing urgent—just a casual chat."
"Right, casual," Sirius said, clearly amused. "You and your 'casual chats.'"
"Thank you, Sirius," Dorea said, patting his cheek in a way that made him cringe a little. "You're a dear."
With that, Sirius nodded and headed off in the direction of the patisserie, a playful wink to Jean-Claude and Fleur signaling that he was off on a mission.
Meanwhile, Melania approached Amelia, who was engaged in a lively conversation with Benjy Fenwick and the ever-grumpy Alastor Moody. Amelia, as composed and meticulous as ever, was perfectly aware of how much of a whirlwind her life had become since becoming head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. But she had a soft spot for Melania—how could she not? The woman was practically a living legend, effortlessly charming and powerful.
"Amelia, my dear," Melania said, her voice a velvet whisper, "I hate to interrupt, but I was wondering if you'd mind accompanying Sirius to the patisserie. Dorea seems to have left her purse there, and we'd like to make sure it's returned safely."
Amelia, ever the professional and unfailingly polite, nodded with a smile. "Of course, Mrs. Black. I'd be happy to help." Her eyes twinkled with the kind of polite reserve that made it clear she was no stranger to being roped into unexpected errands.
"Thank you, dear. You're a gem," Melania said, squeezing her arm gently before guiding her toward the door. "Sirius should be on his way there now, I'm sure."
"Well, I suppose there's nothing else to do then, is there?" Amelia replied, her voice warm but with a hint of mischief. "I'll be sure to keep an eye on him—he's quite the handful, isn't he?"
Melania's lips twitched with amusement. "Oh, I'm sure. But you'll manage, dear. You always do."
As Amelia and Sirius set off together toward the patisserie, Dorea and Melania exchanged a glance. They could already hear the laughter from the private room they'd arranged for the evening. There was a certain satisfaction in the fact that, unbeknownst to their unsuspecting targets, the pieces were falling into place perfectly.
And as for Sirius, well, he might have been suspicious if it weren't for one simple fact: Aunt Dorea's requests were always odd, but they always made him feel like he was in on some great joke. And he did need an excuse to get away from Jean-Claude's endless ramblings about wizard fashion.
As for Amelia, well, she was about to find herself caught in a little web of Dorea and Melania's making—whether she liked it or not.
---
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If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Click the link below to join the conversation:
https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd
Can't wait to see you there!
If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:
https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007
Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:
https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s
Thank you for your support!