✔️ 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐕𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄 → 𝑠. 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘

03 | L A T E N I G H T T A L K S

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   As hard as Sirius tried to act normal, Margo Adelaide Fudge always left him with a bit more nervousness as he wanted to admit to himself. And more than a man his age should feel towards a girl her age.

   It appeared that the Percy Margo had always told him about, was no one else but the third born son of Molly and Arthur, who was now working for Fudge. Every night she told Sirius how much she missed both of the men, but as time moved on, this incredible girl did as well, and after a month had passed, she no longer mentioned any of them. Instead she started asking questions. And Sirius tried to answer any of them without giving away his identity. Of course he knew he should stop. But hadn't he promised her he wouldn't stop replying her ever again?

   So time moved on mercyless, and finally the Order decided to take her as a member. The youngest they now had, and no matter how often they told her she'd live a much safer life not working for the organisation, no one could persuade her not to be — what she called — a useful part of the resistance.

   "Always thought she was misplaced as just a secretary", Tonks announced the evening Margo had officially became an Order member. "Always seen the fire in her eyes."

   Margo beamed brightly at the other young woman. Often enough she'd told Sirius that she urged to be more that just a typist. That she couldn't imagine spending all her life behind a desk, watching the Aurors leading those adventurous lives.

   "Indeed I told Fudge often enough that he's wasting his daughter's talents", Kingsley Shaklebolt said. "But he and Scrimgeour were blind for her talents. She did a great job researching traces of you, Sirius. We almost caught you in North Ireland."

   "Sorry", Margo told Sirius with a sheepish smile that made his heart jump.

   "Oh I was incautious there", Sirius answered in a husky voice, barking a laughter. "Shouldn't have used that parrot to send letters to Harry."

   "You surely shouldn't", Margo chuckled. "Not after that witch caught a glimpse of you in Brasil."

   "Smart thing you are", Sirius said what he already knew since the girl was twelve years old and told him about that charm she invented to have her nosy classmates kept away from her nightstand and the diary.

   "Wish I could tell the same about you", she scoffed and winked at him.

   "Fiery", the Weasley twins exclaimed, and the kitchen roared with laughter.

   Laying in bed that night, Sirius stayed awake as usual until eleven p.m.; the time Margo's messages used to reach him. And as he opened the small book at exactly eleven, he was not disappointed.

   Dear Padfoot,

   I'm a part of it now. I'm finally doing something useful with my life. I wish I could tell you more, unfortunately I am not allowed. But I'm feeling so incredible right now. Maybe you will join me someday. You're up to do your part in this fight as well, you told me. What if I tell Dumbledore about you and ask him to invite you? All I'd need is your name. It would be nice to finally know anything about you. You've been with me for most of my life, I feel so close to you, but don't know a thing. My best friend Audrey would probably tell me to be curious about your secrets, but isn't it strange how I can utterly feel I can trust you? If my father would know about this, he'd probably doubt my sanity as much as Harry Potter's.

   I of course understand you're hiding. But it's not like I want to know where you are, even though I certainly long to finally meet you. You know so much about me, more than anyone. Please, dear Padfoot, why not give me a detail about you? How old are you? What's your favourite colour? Do you have a family? What do you dream about at night?

    Love,

        Margo

Sirius silently sighed, as he reached for the quill. He had to be so careful. If she'd ever find out it was him all along, he feared her reaction, but could imagine it wouldn't be all about happiness and bliss.

   Dear Margo,

I'm already doing my part in this fight. I'm in contact with Dumbledore. It's his wish for me to stay hidden. His command, if you want so. I'm glad you're having your chance now as well. I did tell you back then, zmthat you perfectly fit into Gryffindor, remember?

Please understand that I can't tell you anything about me. This information in the wrong hands would be dreadful. I'm touched by your feelings towards me. For sure there'll come a day we'll meet.

Padfoot        

   The quill still in his hand, he looked down on the words he wrote. She wouldn't read them until the morning. That was her daily rite. She wrote him as the last thing before she'd fall asleep, ever since she was eleven years old.

   His eyes wandered to her questions. He could tell her how old she was. He could tell her that the closest thing he had to a family was a godson. But he thought of her clever enough to add the pieces to a plain solution.

   About her dreams he would never tell her. Every night she was visiting hin in his dreams, and if that wouldn't leave her shocked or scared, he didn't know what would. He himself was shocked enough by those dreams. He shouldn't dream about her, and especially not dream about her in the way he did.

   So he looked at the last remaining question, smiling to himself. She was an unusual girl. Others would have asked a thousand questions about whatsoever. But not Margo. Margo loved the little details, the small wonders, and was curious about every shade of a human being. So he dipped the tip of his quill into the inkpot once more, writing:

PS: My favourite colour is amber.

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