Chapter Text
Lord Sirius Black, Earl of Grimmauld, strode into his mansion at St. James Square, London, to find two women waiting for him. The older woman was the Countess of Gryffindor, Lady Euphemia Potter, whose forceful personality was emphasized by the sharp, clean cuts of her fine clothing and her handsome features. Sirius knew her well enough to spy that his mother’s usual sparkling wit had been replaced by a precise glint in her eye.
“Mum,” Sirius greeted, bowing over her hand. She was reclining on the satin sofa in his saloon. Next to her, was an equally fashionable lady, Lady Lily Potter. “Lily, dearest, what brings you both here?” Stepping away, Sirius examined them with his trusty quizzing glass.
Euphemia Potter was not Sirius’s biological mother, but she would beat anyone who suggested that with a parasole, or step on them with her horse. The Potters had adopted Sirius after he had run away from his own parents at sixteen and had claimed him as their son ever since, raising him alongside their son James.
“Darling, sit,” Euphemia said.
“No, no, I think we all need a refreshment. Ratafia, mum?”
“Sit down, Sirius,” Euphemia insisted.
Sirius raised his eyebrow, but sat down, crossing a leg over his knee. “Lily, should I be concerned?”
Lily winced. “James refused to come with us.”
“Oh?”
“Sirius,” Euphemia said, folding her hands. “You ought to get married.”
Sirius laughed. “Married? You think that’s a good idea for me? Surely you’re joking?”
“You see, the Meadowes family is in really quite dire straits, and you know that Dorcas always thought you would marry her.”
“Dorcas still thinks that?” Sirius asked. “That was an agreement Uncle Alphard made with Lord Meadowes when he thought the Blacks were able to disinherit me. I certainly haven’t thought of it in years. Merlin, I see why they want it now, with Lord Meadowes having gambled away his fortune.”
“Sirius, it’s terrible for the poor family,” Euphemia scolded. “Poor Lady Meadowes has three other daughters to marry off, with Dorcas still waiting for your proposal. If you don’t marry her, I shan’t be able to face Lord Meadowes.”
Sirius waved off this announcement. “I’m sure you will manage fine, Mum. Lord Meadowes is terrified of you.”
Euphemia looked pleased by this compliment, but battled on. “Fine, Sirius, I think you should settle down and get married, or at least spend your money on something besides your horses and your shoes.”
Sirius examined his shining Hessians with a careful eye. They were in the height of fashion. “You dislike my shoes?”
Euphemia sighed, standing up from the couch. “Aren’t James and Lily a fine example of how happy a marriage can be? Fleamont and I are still in love. Don’t you want that? You are not getting younger.”
“Yes, but you see, Mum, Lily refuses to leave James for me.”
Lily laughed, tugging on Euphemia’s arm. “I told you there was no sense in him,”
“Think on it,” Euphemia demanded. “At least go speak to Dorcas.”
They left Sirius alone to ponder his mother’s insistence. Only Euphemia Potter could have made Lord Black consider marriage to anyone, and especially to Dorcas. In Sirius’s opinion, he had no reason for marriage. He was happily rich, thanks to his birth parents’ inability to find a work around of primogeniture.
And as he was also happily single, he didn’t have to worry about marrying someone who only wanted his money.
Nevertheless, the next day Sirius found himself at the Meadowes house on Brook Street, where Lord Meadowes lived with his wife, four daughters, and two sons. The butler informed Sirius that, fortunately in Sirius’s opinion, Lord Meadowes was out of town in Bath. Unfortunately for Sirius, Miss Dorcas Meadowes was at home and would see him shortly.
In the foyer, Sirius ran into the relentless Honourable Lucas Meadowes, older brother of Dorcas.
“I heard rumors,” Lucas said, wagging a finger at Sirius, “but I didn’t think you would go through with it, you old dog. Marrying Dorcas? Really? My father says we’re staring ruin in the face. You don’t want to be involved in this family. Tell you what, Black, lend me the money to buy a pair of colors and I’ll be off fighting in the Peninsula. I sure will. Do that and then run out of here away from us Meadowes. Have I ever given you bad advice, Black?”
“You’ve given me plenty of bad advice, Lucas,” Sirius said.
“No I haven’t!” An impish smile danced on Lucas’s face. “But at this present moment, I have to leave you to your fate. I have a very important engagement. Backed a goose to win a hundred-yard race against a turkey. Can’t lose! Greatest sporting event of the season.”
Lucas left in as much a rush as he had appeared, leaving Sirius to find Dorcas Meadowes, against her brother’s adoring advice.
She did not keep him waiting for long. A servant came to request him to step upstairs and he followed the man up the wide staircase to the withdrawing room.
Dorcas Meadowes had arranged herself on a yellow sofa that matched her light-colored gown, creating a pretty picture with her dark hair and faultless complexion. Miss Meadowes had the fortune of being both handsome and from a very respectable family, but the ill-fortune of having an idiot for a father.
Despite Dorcas’s general prettiness, there was an ever-present hardness in her eyes that reminded Sirius that his brother James had once described her as an iceberg. Her smile, as Sirius bowed over her hand, was certainly glacial.
“Well, Sirius?”
Dorcas’s voice was cool as her smile, which seemed more mechanical civility than a spontaneous expression of pleasure.
“How do you do, Dorcas?” Sirius asked formally.
“Perfectly well, thank you, Sirius. Do sit down.”
Sirius sat across from her, regarding his prospective bride analytically.
“I assume you are here to discuss the question of our marriage?” Dorcas asked.
“Dear me,” Sirius said mildly. “No need to beat around the bush I see?”
Dorcas did not meet Sirius’s enquiring gaze. She was busy, instead, with her stitchery. “I am certainly not missish, and I believe you can be sensible, Sirius. And I think that as neither of us are particularly romantic, we are well-suited.”
“Are we?”
Dorcas plodded on with both her embroidery and her convincing explanation of marriage. “Whatever differences we have, I don’t think they will be insurmountable in our marriage.”
“Dorcas,” Sirius said, his fingers playing with his quizzing glass so he could also avoid looking at Dorcas. “Have you ever been in love?”
Dorcas blushed. “No, thankfully not. It seems rather vulgar.”
“You do not,” Sirius drawled, “envisage the possibility of – er – falling in love at some future date?”
Dorcas puzzled over this, finally drawing her gaze from her embroidery. “Sirius! With whom, pray?”
“Shall we say with myself?”
Dorcas laughed. “Don’t be absurd. Ours would be a fastidious marriage of convenience. As to fallling in love, you are just not the sort of man to arouse those warmer passions in myself. But I don’t think that should stop us. Now, if you were romantic, that would be different.”
“I fear,” said Sirius, “that I must be very romantic.”
“Do stop jesting with me, Sirius.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Sirius mused. “I am so romantic that I indulge my fancy with the thought of some woman – doubtless mythical – who might desire to marry me, not because I am a very rich man, but because – you will have to forgive the vulgarity – but because she loved me!”
Dorcas looked contemptuous. “Don’t you think that is rather below us? I would almost think you had been hobnobbing with the bourgeoisie.”
“I hesitate to wound you, Dorcas,” said Sirius ruthlessly, “but you are the one cold-bloodledly offering yourself to the highest bidder.”
“I have a duty to my family!” Dorcas exclaimed, some color finally entering her face. “I must marry well, as must you, Sirius. However, not even my father’s affairs would make me stoop to ally myself with someone of inferior breeding.”
“I am aware,” Sirius continued, “that it will be my pleasure to – er – unravel Lord Meadowes proud family affairs?”
“But of course!” Dorcas replied, returning with equanimity to her stitchery now that she had defended her family name. “No other consideration could have prevailed upon me to accept your suit.”
“If frankness is to be the order of the day, Dorcas, I must point out to you that I have not yet proffered my suit.”
Dorcas’s pride shielded her from this snub, but she replied coldly, “I did not suppose that you would so far forget what is due to our positions as to approach me with an offer. We do not belong to that world. You will no doubt seek an interview with my father.”
“I wonder if I shall?”
“I imagine that you most certainly will,” responded Dorcas, snipping her thread with delicate gold scissors. “If I may say so bluntly, you are fortunate to be offering for a Meadowes.” She sniffed. “Especially with your colorful past and unfortunate family scandals.”
Sirius was well aware that he, James, and Remus had been pranking degenerates at Oxford, and that his flight from the Blacks to the Potters had provided the ton with plenty of gossip. Even his parents had even needed to publicly extricate themselves from an investment that Pettigrew had swindled them into. But he was surprised his prospective bride was using his past as pieces in a game of chess. He almost admired her for it.
“You are very obliging, Dorcas.”
Dorcas folded up her needlework and laid it aside, business-like and clearly tired of Sirius’s musings. “Papa has been expecting a visit from you. He will be sorry to hear that you called while he was away from home. Shall you try again tomorrow, at eleven o’clock?”
Sirius rose. “Thank you, Dorcas. I feel that my time has not been wasted.”
Later that night, Sirius put in a belated, rather drunken, appearance at Almack’s. As Sirius had plenty of experience holding his liquor well, no one but his brother James would have suspected he was deeply drunk. Luckily, James was at home with his wife, so no one at Almack’s saw past Sirius’s lazy drawl and could have suspected that he was one the eve of making a momentous decision.
Near 3 o’clock, Sirius made his way out of the club, his hat a jaunty angle and his ebony cane tucked under one arm. He declined any assistance for someone to call a carriage, instead declaring that he should rather walk. And so, Sirius set off in the opposite direction of his house on St. James, telling the porter that he desired a long, long walk.
Sirius strolled aimlessly in a northern direction, wondering if he would call upon Lord Meadowes in the morning. He did not particularly want to marry Dorcas, but he realized there were worse options. Miss Meadowes would not meddle with his own affairs, and he fancied that his life would not change over much, although her brothers Lucas and Beverly would likely plague him. The loss of money to Lord Meadowes would be hardly noticeable, such was Sirius’s wealth.
Most importantly, the marriage would make his mother happy, which, despite Sirius’s general cynicism, was one thing he devoted himself strongly to.
In a detached manner, Sirius realized he would feel very sorry for himself in the morning, but now, however, the brandy allowed a curious irresponsibility to possess him. Sirius felt as reckless as he had in his infamous youth with James and Remus and that rat, Peter.
The dawn was spreading a grey light over the quiet streets, and still Sirius walked aimlessly. The breeze fanned his cheeks, cool and fresh enough to make him glad of his evening cloak. He wandered into Brook Street and laughed at the shuttered windows of Meadowes house. He continued down the long street, vaguely realizing that his gentle bride would not appreciate his composure at the moment. This made him laugh more.
In the recesses of his mind, Sirius felt very unlucky indeed. Usually, Sirius was grateful for his family with the Potters, his wealth, his looks, his intelligence, so it affected him to feel so bitter. It had been years since he felt this trapped in a situation.
Lost in resentment, he branched off erratically down a quiet side street. He was cynically sorry for himself that in the twenty years he had spent in the highest social circles of England, he had not had the common good fortune to meet one woman whose charms had cost him a single hour’s sleep. He had only lost many hours of sleep to James’s obsession with Lily.
It was within the depths of his bitterness, that Sirius saw a most peculiar circumstance. Someone was climbing out of a second-story window of one of the prim houses on the opposite side of the street.
Sirius blinked. He knew he was drunk, but he didn’t think his imagination would conjure this. He was interested in what he saw, but not particularly concerned. He undoubtedly thought it was a burglar, and nonchalantly watched the proceedings.
However, whoever was escaping from the house was doing so with knotted sheets which fell disastrously short of the ground,
Not a burglar, decided Sirius, and crossed the road.