Chapter 18

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"I honestly don't know why you're even asking me." Myra was bored from where she sat across from Liza, stirring her black tea. "It's obvious who you want to invite."

Liza looked up from where she was studying her Transfiguration textbook. They had stopped by the Great Hall for a bit of afternoon tea. While most students were busy fitting in a nap, she and Myra caught up on the day's events. "You?"

Rolling her eyes in a single movement, Myra lifted the cup to her lips. "I already told you. I have plans." She took a dainty sip. Liza watched in fascination. It always took the Slytherin nearly an hour to finish a single cup.

"Which are?" Liza tried not to sound accusatory. Ever since she had seen her friend with Lily Evans in the library, there was a snake of hurt that clenched her chest.

"Studying in my room, making no noise, and pretending I don't exist." Myra's lips turned as she gave a half-lidded smile. "Heaven."

Stuffing a bit of pastry into her mouth, Liza let out a sigh. "Then just who am I supposed to invite?"

"Sirius Black?"

Liza choked on the bit of roll and slammed her fist into her chest. She spat the mouthful out into a wadded napkin, rather sorry to waste a perfectly nice bit of bread. "And where in Merlin did you get that idea?"

"Don't pretend we're a pair of giddy schoolgirls." Myra folded her own napkin dryly into her lap. "The amount of times that name comes out of your mouth—"

"I—" Liza slumped at her friend's raised brow. "We are a bunch of giddy schoolgirls," she mumbled under her breath, pushing around her food with a fork. She knew better than to push a topic when Myra had made up her mind. Besides, she didn't know whether she had a proper defense anyways. Silent rants about Sirius ran through her own head daily.

Taking another mini-sip, Myra tightened her shoulders. Her ebony curls shone in the sunlight. "Speak for yourself. I never was a schoolgirl."

"Well asking Sirius is impossible. I'm not embarrassing myself like that." Liza stretched out her legs, sending a begrudging look to the center of the table. Regulus and Evan were pouring over the latest Quidditch developments. Or at least pretending too. She could sense their masculine comradery from meters away. "And you-know-who is going to be you-know-where."

"You-know-who?" Myra's tone was bitterly sarcastic. "I'm sure he'll be there."

A dark silence descended on the pair. Liza shifted underneath the table. "Really?" She was unable to picture Regulus at the same table as Voldemort. Or rather, she didn't want to. Even the thought made her ill.

Myra shrugged. "If he'll be with anyone, it'll be the Blacks or the Malfoys." She pursed her lips to take another sip. "And incest runs so rampant those families are practically one and the same."

The coos of the owls arriving for afternoon post disrupted their conversation. Which was likely for the best, Liza reckoned. If anyone had overhead them—even the children of Death Eaters never spoke of the man their parents devoted their lives to.

She let out a low breath. It seemed awfully silly to be worried about a Transfiguration essay when Regulus had far more dangerous holidays ahead. Suddenly, Slughorn's party didn't seem so dismal a prospect.

---

Sirius stared at the back of Regulus's head. His brother was busy scribbling into a leather journal in the corridor. He recognized the cover as one Walburga had gifted him several Christmases ago. That year, Sirius had received Kreacher's old pillowcase. To this day, he still wasn't entirely sure what it had signified. Kreacher had promptly stole it back within the hour.

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