Gifts and Intrigue

Alexandra stood beside her father at the floo, waiting for their guests to arrive. Her dress was purple. At first she'd come down wearing the black dress she'd worn to Lord Slytherin's party, but her father said she looked like someone had died, and ordered her to change. Next she'd come down wearing emerald green. One look from him had her turning on her heels before he could even open his mouth. She would have come down wearing a gray dress if she'd had one, but she didn't. Eventually she'd chosen purple over blue or yellow or, Merlin forbid, pink.

The floo flared green and three people stepped out in quick succession.

"Prongs! Hey Lils."

The couple smiled, and returned Sirius's greeting.

"And how's my favourite godson?"

John Potter grinned. "You mean how's your only godson?"

Sirius hesitated for a fraction of a second.

A sliver of a suspicion edged its way into Alex's head.

"Of course!" her father barked. "You enjoyed your birthday?"

"Yeah! Thanks for the new broomstick."

"So what'cha got there?" Sirius pointed to the box in John's hands.

John looked suspiciously smug. "It's a present."

"Well, Alex?" Sirius looked at her.

She stepped towards the boy she'd recently started to think of as the Harry clone, and took the box wrapped in moving quidditch wrapping paper. "Thank you, Heir Potter." She bobbed a curtsey, still holding the box, but not lowering her head.

John Potter similarly gave a stiff bow, and the two slowly stepped away, green and violet eyes never leaving each other, like two duellists at the tail end of a blood feud. "You're most welcome, Heiress Black."

The adults watched the display with not a small amount of worry.

The floo flared again and two more people stepped out.

"John!" A young witch with shoulder length red hair and a yellow dress stumbled from the fireplace, and greeted the Potter Heir.

"Hey, Susan." John's expression shifted from stiff to warm.

The two hugged before Susan turned to Alex.

"Hey Alex. Happy Birthday!"

"Thanks, Susan." She smiled.

They migrated away from the grown-ups, and formed their own little triangle while the adults mingled among themselves.

"Here," Susan said, thrusting her own box shaped present towards her, this one wrapped in moving butterfly paper. "I really hope you like it."

She took the box, which was much lighter than John's had been. "Thank you. We can open these at lunch." She turned, and walked over to the table where the rest of her presents lay.

Behind her, John's voice said, "By the way, Susan, you're looking very pretty today. That dress really suits you."

She rolled her eyes, and turned back to see Susan blushing. Oh, Merlin.

"Hey, you three." Her father called over to them. "Why don't you head into the playroom for a bit, I think the Lovegoods are going to be a little while."

They looked at each other, nodded, and walked away from the floo. Alex couldn't help notice that John made sure to walk in front, and when they reached the first door, held it open for both her and Susan. Their eyes met as she walked past, and a single dainty eyebrow raised returned a small boyish grin. What was Potter up to?

....

The playroom of the Blacks huddled in Grimmauld Place like a crypt, a museum to the changing tastes of two hundred years of magical children. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with dolls and teddy bears, play wands and toy broomsticks. Everything still worked. When a toy of the Black's broke, it was thrown out. What were left were the high quality survivors of the eternal war with time, little fingers, and accidental magic.

Alex strode into the middle of the playroom, snatched a random book from a nearby shelf, and held it close to like a shield. She watched Susan and Potter file in behind her, and close the door.

"What's up with you, Potter?" The words shot from her mouth like a stunner.

Potter continued to grin. He looked around the room as though admiring a place of outstanding natural beauty. "Nothing. Why would you think something's up with me?"

She caught Susan out of the corner of her eye walk over to a shelf, press her forehead against a music box, mutter "a magic beyond all we do," and stand back while the intro to a fifty-some year old classical song gradually filled the room.

....

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