Genetics • Sirius Black

Chapter Fifty Eight: Odd Mark.

When Freya Grey walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, she first noticed a restlessness in the air. Not in the joy that they were almost three-quarters of the way done with school, but a quiet restlessness. Owls rustled through the air that, mimicked the Hogwarts student's quiet fidget. Freya felt the gazes of some flickering towards her like a pinprick. Her eyes locked on a small-looking Hufflepuff, and they instantly dropped it and shrunk into the seat before Freya could even glare. Odd.

Still, her chin was up as she joined Regulus and Severus on the tables. With her barely colored feathers, Isra sat where Freya's food should be, and she lightly scooted her to the side, and Isra plopped Freya's mail on her silver plate, making it clatter. Lightly, Freya glared at the owl but could not hold it for long and lightly stroked its head. But Freya's movements stopped when she looked at the letter. It was from the ministry.

Translations.

Several choice words formed in Freya's mind in a few languages, but none a lady like herself would utter... at least not in public. Wolfsbane had bitten into her usual translations time more than she meant to. She folded it and then stuffed it into her skirt pocket. But uneasiness ran up her spine, and she lifted to head to find a couple students eyeing her from different tables.

Regulus, who had been attentively petting raven-feathered Canopus, noticed Freya glancing around with her prim expression. "It's not you this time."

"A shame. I was curious who I was shagging this week." She replied, and Regs snorted.

Severus spoke up. "Someone set Madam Puddifoot's on fire."

A brow raised, and Freya looked at them. "The snogging place?"

"That's the one." Regs grimaced and stirred his oatmeal while Severus handed her a newspaper copy and monitored her expression closely.

"Finally." She murmured, but Reg's head did a tilt that was like a slow wince. Confused, Freya was greeted with bold letters and many buzzwords journalists liked to throw around since the war started. But the startling picture of a destroyed romantic tea shop engraved with the words Vivimus Et Puris in fire was the most striking. Freya gave no indication of anything and pressed her lips together. Deatheaters at Hogsmeade. So close to a school, and they couldn't even translate it right. Looking up from the paper, she understood Reg's tension slightly better and Sev's silence. "A rather odd mark for a romance shop."

"Madam Puddifoot's supported love." Regs clarified with a wry smile. "In all forms."

Nodding, Freya set the paper down and felt her hunger shrivel up and die in her stomach. Though her eyes darted to her best friend, worry setting into her bones for him. Love in all forms.

***

Green herbs were being mashed together in a way that seemed oddly slow to Sirius Black. His gaze traced over Freya's arms to her lips, the outward curve of her nose, and the distance in her eyes. At first, he tried to pull at her with his mind. Trying to pick at the pieces of her gated thoughts but found no give. "Where are you, Grey?"

She blinked, driving her pestle deeper into the mortar. "Nowhere."

His head tilted over. "I don't think your mind's ever been nowhere." Her chin dropped closer to her chest, and he finally punched into the room's tension. "Especially not with everything going on. Terrorism tends to get people's mind's moving. For better or for worse."

In the disruption and the fear, it was rather odd on their ends that they resumed their evening activities. But both of them could think of nowhere else they would rather be.

"Do you really think it was Deatheaters?"

"Dumbledore talked to the ministry the other day. He pissed them off."