The Last Gryffindor (Sirius Black)

Sequel? Ch III

I could hazard a few educated guesses as to why my attempts at small-talking the Boy Who Lived into giving me information on Sirius Black failed. Miserably, I might add. He and his freckled friend shared a meaningful, if not altogether alarmed, glance, and immediately remembered something that needed doing elsewhere. As if I'd never pulled that trick before myself. Pathetic. In terms of excuses, it needed work. Still, there wasn't much I could do about it, even if I saw the ploy for what it was.

That just meant I would need to test my luck another day, or preferably get Maellie to do it for me. Her English could use a little work, but she was far more suited to charming others. People loved to spill their hearts to her, who proved herself a rapt audience at all times. Perhaps that was my problem. I despised listening to others' issues, and only tolerated them otherwise, which made my friendship with Maellie all the more puzzling, given that she enjoyed talking with greater zeal than even listening.

Truly a mystery.

After my failed try at obtaining further details on my father, I returned to my original mission of scouting old school records for individuals who could potentially be my mother, the parent I actually cared about finding. No offense to my mass-murdering sire, but I still maintained some hope that at least one of my parents wasn't a killer in some capacity.

It wouldn't change the fact that she abandoned me, though. Nothing would ever change that.

At quarter to eight, Maellie burst into the Beauxbaton's carriage and strode up right to where I sat, perusing yet another book in an armchair by the corner of the room. She was grinning ear to ear, her darker complexion practically glowing with excitement.

"I, Maellie Arseneau," she announced formally, raising her arms up high and giving a dramatic twirl for effect, "have a date."

With the way she said it, you would have thought she won a Nobel Prize. It really wasn't all that surprising, given that, as I mentioned before, people seemed to genuinely like her, although I'd choke to death on the words before they could ever leave my mouth if asked.

"Oh, really..." I lowered the thick tome onto my lap, steepling my fingers together, me elbows planted firmly on each armrest. "What is the name of this noble suitor that at last arrives to relieve me of your presence? To whom do I pay your dowry?"

Her grin widened, but with an added hint of mischief. "Don't sound so excited, Caius dear. I don't sell for cheap. I'll cost you a pretty penny."

"Would three pigs cover it?"

"Don't hold out on me now. I'm worth twice that many pigs, plus a healthy cow — and two dozen chickens."

"Someone has a high opinion of their own worth," I observed.

"If I don't, then who will?" she countered.

"I seem to recall you saying just a few hours ago that you couldn't dance."

"No," she corrected, falling sideways into the seat across me, so that her feet kicked over the side of the arm. "I said I don't dance. There's a difference."

Touché. "Fair enough."

She pushed up on the other arm with her elbows to her eyes at me. "Not jealous that someone is stealing me away?"

"Right," I said, monotone. "Terribly jealous. How will I ever recover. You'll  see me in therapy. I don't suppose they might take you away sooner?"

"You could at least pretend to be sad."

"That was me pretending."

Maellie pursed her lips, forcing a scowl that didn't last more than a few seconds before that giddy smile tugged at the corners of her lips again. She looked away, facing into the chair to hide her expression, because she didn't want me to know just how excited she was. It didn't work. I knew just about everything there was to know about her, so of course I didn't need to see her face-on to tell her mood.