Aspirin Cocktail

Title: Aspirin Cocktail
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Pairing(s): fem!James/Voldemort, Lily/Sirius, Euphemia/Fleamont
Fandoms: Harry Potter Series
Rating: R (MA)
Word Count: 9.2k
Warnings: drug abuse, drug overdose, underground death eaters, dark revels, pureblood politics, language
Summary: Sirius wasn’t going to offer for her, but a wizard she had never seen before walked up to her in The Wicked Stepmother, not even asking her name, and wanted to marry her when she was considered useless and on the shelf—

Jacquette heard the beat of the music as she walked down Diagon Alley.  She was undoubtedly moving past an illegal rave that the Aurors had failed to break up.  It was two in the morning and they popped up every now and then now that the new dark movement had started to seize power.  Young witches and wizards, feeling heady on lawless magic, thought they were invincible—and some nights they were.

She paused by a boarded up window and pressed her ear against the wood to better feel the magical vibrations.  Yes, this rave might very well get past the authorities.  It was deep enough underground.

Pulling her cloak more fully around her, Jacquette turned down Nocturn Alley and strode with purpose.  It was always better when walking the streets to look like you knew where you were going.  You weren’t stopped that way. You weren’t bothered that way.  Dark wizards looked upon you with a modicum of respect or perhaps would only take a second look at you.

Up ahead to the left was a broken wooden sign that Jacquette recognized and she forced herself not to pick up her pace as she made her way toward it. 

When she got Sirius’s owl, she had been surprised that he wanted to meet at The Wicked Stepmother of all places.  Usually he would just floo over no matter the time of night.  He was usually welcome at all hours, well, at least if it was during regular calling hours and even a little before that.  Two in the morning was a little pushing it. 

She didn’t realize she was being watched, until she was almost at the door.  Jacquette paused, glancing over her shoulder into a dark corner, before opening the door and stepping inside it.

The entryway was hushed.  There were balls of dimmed light floating above the shining floorboards, the stand where the maître d’ usually stood behind empty and draped in shadows.  Jacquette walked up to it and tapped on the ball of light that hovered behind it, glowing grey, and took out her membership card and inserted it in a slot in a card holder that was standing vertically on the stand.  There was a whir as her blue green card was read and then popped out, and the grey ball of light spun round before preceding her down the hallway into the club. 

The door to the outside street opened behind her and Jacquette turned her head and glanced behind her to see a wizard draped in a cloak entering.  She paid him no mind.

Sirius was waiting for her when she entered, tea already prepared and steaming, and her favorite cookies on a plate.

“What is it?” she asked in worry as she took a seat across from him.

His long hair was draped over his face as he hunched over and she reached forward and tapped his left shoulder.

“Sirius,” she pressed.

“Sheburntmeoffthetapestry,” he muttered, but she couldn’t hear him.

“What?”  Jacquette leaned forward and saw a shadow cross his face.

“She—burnt—me—off—the—fucking—tapestry,” Sirius ground out, lifting his chin so that his swollen black eye shone in the half-light.

Jacquette gasped as she took in his visage.  “Sirius,” she murmured.  “Why?”

“Lily, of course,” he sighed, picking up his tea and tossing it back.  Jacquette thought she smelled firewhiskey emanating from his cup.  She honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the jokester in Sirius managed to sneak it in.

“You told her?” she gasped.

A flutter in her line of sight caught her eye and she thought she saw the cloaked wizard come into the tearoom.  It was otherwise deserted.  It was just her and Sirius sitting by the window, darkness shivering through the glass, and she wondered if the grey light would seat the other wizard further on.  It’s not as if there was a view.

Sirius sighed in exasperation.  “She wanted me to offer courtship.”

“Well, a courtship is just a courtship,” Jacquette argued.  “You could just choose a witch you knew would turn it down.”

Sirius looked at he through his black eye, his grey gaze shining. 

“Oh.  Oh,” Jacquette whispered.  It was her then.  There was nothing more her father would like than an alliance with the House of Black.  It was the only reason he allowed the unusual friendship between the two of them. 

“You see the problem.”

“Yes, I see the problem.”  And she did see the problem.  It was the last eventuality either of them wanted.  Sirius was head over heels in love with a Muggleborn in their year, Lily Evans, and Jacquette hadn’t become interested in wizards yet.  Sometimes she tried to imagine what it would be like to be married to Sirius, but all she could imagine was them pranking each other incessantly, and she thought how bored she’d eventually get.  Then they’d have to produce children, and the thought chilled her.

“Pater is going to see your father in the morning,” Sirius warned.  “It’s why I needed to see you.  I didn’t want to put this in a letter in case it was intercepted.”

“Yes,” she murmured, imagining how Lord Black was going to blame her somehow.  Her mother would certainly blame her.  Euphemia Potter was a very unforgiving witch.  “I—thank you, Sirius.  Where will you go?”

“Uncle Alphard’s,” Sirius confided.  “I sent an owl ahead.  He should be expecting me.”  He tipped the rest of his tea back and then grimaced.  He clinked her cup and Jacquette realized she hadn’t even touched her tea, although it had magically stayed warm.  “Drink up.”

“Of course, Sirius,” she agreed, trying to smile as she imagined all the blame she was going to receive once Lord Black arrived.  It was always the witch’s fault in such situations.  She wasn’t beautiful enough, enticing enough, maidenly enough.  She had failed to capture Sirius’s attention where a Muggleborn had wooed him successfully.  “You go on to your Uncle Alphard’s and I’ll just finish my tea.”

Sirius looked at her worriedly.  He reached out to her, but she pulled away gently.  “I can stay.”

“No.  I need to think.”

“I didn’t mean to jam you up, Jackie.”

“No,” she agreed, shaking her head.  “Of course not.”  Jacquette didn’t even bother to tell him not to call her ‘Jackie’ like she normally would. 

He took her in but stood and placed his napkin beside his teacup.  “Make sure you don’t get caught sneaking in.”

“Me?” she laughed.  “Get caught?  You don’t know who you’re talking to!”

“Of course,” he laughed, though it sounded more like a bark.  “You’ve never got caught in your life.”

She lifted up her teacup and saluted him.  Watching him leave down the corridor, Jacquette finally took a sip of her tea and noticed that Sirius had been feeling a bit whimsical and ordered Lady Grey.  It brought a smile to her lips.

A ball of blue light hovered over the table to light it, casting the table in ethereal blues and purples and she let her eyes unfocus as she sipped at her tea, thinking.  At first she didn’t notice, testimony to how deep she was in thought, but a pink tinged the blue until rose colored light pulsed beside her.

Coming out of herself, she turned to her right and saw the wizard who had entered after her standing beside the table.

She took him in and although he couldn’t be more than five years older than her, she didn’t recognize him from Hogwarts.  He was of relatively tall height, though nothing out of the average, with hair that seemed dark in the blue and rose-colored light.  His eyes were an indeterminate color, his skin flushed in pink health.  His forehead was broad, his nose straight, his lips attractive, and she wondered why he was at her table.

“I know The Wicked Stepmother isn’t closing,” she told him when he didn’t speak for several long moments. 

“No,” he agreed, his voice sibilant and echoing in the large room as if in a dream.  “Not closing.”

She checked her pocket watch that was pinned to her left breast carefully and saw that it was forty after two.  She had hours before dawn.  There probably wouldn’t be any other patrons until eight in the morning.  Perhaps an early bird or two at six, but that was three hours from now. 

Jacquette looked back up at the wizard, waiting for him to state his purpose. 

“It seems—regrettable,” the wizard finally stated, as if choosing his words carefully, “for us to drink our tea alone when we could drink it in companionable silence.”

She blinked at him.  “Are you drinking tea, Monsieur?” she asked him. 

“It is too early for coffee.”

It certainly was that.

Jacquette considered for a long moment before picking up her wand and pointing it at the blue ball of light above her.  It pulsed for a moment and Sirius’s cup and napkin disappeared.  A moment later another teacup appeared, and the wizard took that as invitation to sit down.

“I trust you can pour your own tea,” Jacquette told him solemnly, not wishing to pander to a wizard whose name she didn’t even know. 

“Of course,” he murmured, flicking his wand.  The teapot lifted itself up and poured him a generous cup, a squeeze of lemon juicing into it just after, and a teaspoon twisting it together. 

Picking up her own cup, Jacquette took a sip, finishing her cup and holding it out to the pot, which quickly poured her more tea, following the same ritual with lemon and spoon. 

Jacquette and the wizard did not speak a single word to each other.  Jacquette continued to sip on her tea and contemplate how much trouble she was going to be in and how much she could blame Sirius and Muggleborns in general (she had nothing against them personally, but she was willing to shift blame onto anyone and everyone if it meant not being in trouble).  She thought briefly she could suggest Sirius was under the influence of a love potion, but surely her father—as a world class potioneer—kept spare bezoars around, and it could easily be fed to Sirius and her theory disproven. 

At four o’clock, a trolley came round with copies of The Daily Prophet, and Jacquette and the wizard each took one. 

There was more on the rationing to wizarding England given the conflict, and Jacquette rather despaired on the restriction on chocolate.  Something must have shown on her face, because the wizard asked her, “What’s wrong?”

“I love hot chocolate,” she admitted.

“Ah.  It is rather stupid for the Minister of Magic to restrict chocolate to medicinal purposes only.”

“I could feign an illness,” she tried to say brightly.  “I can talk myself out of any situation, but lie myself into one—well, I haven’t exactly tried that yet.”

“Really?”  The wizard looked interested.

“Oh, yes,” she told him pleasantly.  “I’m currently trying to lie myself out of a situation my friend Sirius has gotten me into.”

“That’s ungentlemanly of him.”

“It’s our parents’ fault,” she admitted, turning back to the paper.  “They want us to marry.”

“And you don’t want to,” he guessed.

Wondering why she was confiding in a stranger, Jacquette admitted.  “That’s neither a whip nor a wand.  Sirius has refused to offer a courtship—”

“And everyone will blame you,” the wizard put in blandly.  “Yes.  Rather unfair to witches, I always thought.”  He turned a page in The Daily Prophet.  “Well, I’ve solved it for you.”

“How can you have solved it for me?  I don’t even know your name!”  She looked at him rather oddly, squinting at him.  It wasn’t her best look, but in the half light and with a corrective potion on her eyes that was meant to be renewed at eight that morning (and thus was wearing off), she was at a loss.

“I saw you in Diagon Alley.”

Jacquette stared at him.

He stared back.

She had been aware of him when he was across from The Wicked Stepmother, but it seemed he had been following her sooner.

“You heard the dark rave.”

“Was it dark?” she wondered.  “I assumed it was illegal.”

“You’re not supposed to hear it unless you’re a Death Eater.”

She startled.  “I could be a Death Eater,” she lied, having heard the term loosely and knowing that if she were speaking to an Auror, she could be in serious trouble, but she was tired and she was feeling a little reckless.  “You don’t know I’m not.”

“Of course I know you’re not,” he argued back.  “You’re still at Hogwarts.”

“They’re recruiting at Hogwarts now,” she told him, having heard Lily Evans complain about her friend Severus Snape a lot back in Fifth Year.  Or, rather, she’d hear Sirius complain about Lily complaining about Severus Snape. 

She glanced down at her cup and saw that it was empty again.  She tapped it with her manicured nail, using wandless magic, and the teapot levitated and poured her another cup.  Jacquette noticed her magic did not go unnoticed by the wizard.

“Are they now?” he murmured, almost pleased.

Jacquette looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Whip nor wand,” he told her.  “I told you, I’ve solved your problem.  You shouldn’t have been able to hear it.”

“So?” she asked a little defensively.  “How could you hear it?”

“Whip nor wand,” he told her again, reaching over to where she was holding her teacup, grasping her right arm, and pulling up her sleeve to show her bare arm.  “You’re not a Death Eater,” he stated definitively.

Angry, Jacquette, flipped his wrist so that she was holding it with her hand and shoved up his sleeve to show his naked skin.  She looked at it in shock.  If this was a test, they’d both passed.

“Touché, my dear,” he murmured.  “I shouldn’t be able to hear it either.”

“Then what does it matter?” she asked in bewilderment.

The rose light cast over the skin of his arm and she realized that they were holding each other’s arms in a rather improper embrace.  Retreating, she pulled her sleeve down and placed her hands in her lap.  Jacquette noticed that he watched her every movement.

“You don’t need Heir Sirius Black to offer you a courtship.—”

“Monsieur Sirius Black.  He was disinherited earlier tonight,” she told him, looking at him with her large hazel eyes.

He looked at her with interested.  “—You don’t need him to offer you a courtship.”

“Of course I don’t want him to,” she corrected,—

“—as I am offering for you.”

Jacquette looked up at him in shock.  “I beg pardon.” 

“I am offering for you in courtship,” he stated quite calmly, picking up his arm and pulling up his sleeve as if it were a common occurrence to bare his arm to young ladies.  “You don’t need him.”

There was a moment where Jacquette’s brain was immobilized.  She couldn’t think or process anything.  She just looked at the wizard sitting opposite her.  He had a rather self-satisfied expression on his face, and when she did not speak, he took his membership card out of his robes and slid it across the table at her.

She stared at him for a long second before looking down at the card and picking it up.  It was a black card.  Her brain almost halted again before it sped up to an anxious degree and she read ‘T. Marvolo Riddle, Jr.’  Then her brain almost suffered under the killing curse before it was reenervated.  This was Marvolo Riddle?  The Marvolo Riddle?  He was one of the most powerful wizards in the Wizengamot, holding three seats on his very own.  He had an entire article dedicated to him in that morning’s Daily Prophet, which was far from unusual.  And he had the blackest of magic?

She put the card down and stared back at him, her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth.

Riddle held his hand out for his card, and she glanced down at it one more time before returning it to him.

“Not that I care,” he murmured when she continued to be struck dumb, “as I know you’re a sixth generation pureblood, but I am curious to know my lady’s name.”

Unclicking her jaw, Jacquette found her throat was suddenly dry.  She picked up her cup of tea and drank deeply from it.  “Jacquette,” she whispered before clearing her throat.  “Jacquette,” she said more firmly, “Potter.”

A look of surprise passed over his face.  “You’re the Potter girl?”

“Yes,” she agreed, slightly annoyed as she hated being called that.  “I do have a name.”

His face softened.  “Of course.  Old Sluggy talks about you on occasion.  He is quite impressed by your potioneer skills.”

Feeling slightly more confident, Jacquette squared her shoulders and agreed, “I come by it honestly.”

His eyes gleamed almost red in the rose-colored light.  “I imagine,” Riddle murmured.  He then turned pensive.  “I imagine my letter should reach Monsieur Fleamont as soon as possible as this development with the Blacks is imminent.”

“Hmm,” she agreed, turning back to her copy of The Prophet.

She could feel his gaze on her. 

A moment later, she felt his presence withdraw, and the rose-colored light dissipated, and she was left alone in the blue.  She knew that there was a private study for wizards who required to send correspondence of business immediately, and she didn’t seem to be wrong, when Riddle reappeared not ten minutes later, his signet ring gleaming off his right pointer finger.  “There.  He should get the letter before Lord Black appears after breakfast.”

“Unless Lord Black might come before we break our fast,” Jacquette noted, “but hopefully Papa will check the post if I ask him to.”  Her eyes flashed up at Riddle in a tease. 

His eyes flashed almost red in the blue-pink light.  “I’m afraid I cannot come during regular courting hours, Mademoiselle.  I am needed at the Wizengamot.”

“Why are you here?” she asked, glancing over The Daily Prophet once again.  “Surely you have a home to go to?”

“I was heading there,” he replied, taking her in.  “You entranced me.”

She couldn’t help but blush, but she knew the light would mask it.  “Well,” she murmured.  “I cannot say I am sorry for it.”

“No,” Riddle agreed.  “Neither can I.”

They slipped into silence again, until wizards began to trickle in around five in the morning, and Riddle stood and helped Jacquette out of her chair.  They had refilled their cups many times, switching to hot chocolate about an hour before on a whim of Jacquette’s which he had not commented on.  It seemed like the rationing hadn’t quite reached The Wicked Stepmother yet, much to Jacquette’s satisfaction.

Escorting her out into the dark alleyway, Riddle placed his hand at the small of her back as he led her to an apparition point so she could return back to Potter Abbey, hopefully undetected.  As they passed into Diagon Alley, as deserted as it had been earlier that night, Jacquette could still detect the beat of the music at the dark rave, and a smile twisted her lips at the thought of it.

“You do not wish to go in?” she asked, looking up at her courted, whose eyes, she noticed, were a deep blue.

“There are surely other nights for dark magic,” he assured her.  “We are not dressed the part.”

“Are we not?” Jacquette mused.  She wondered how they would dress. 

When they reached the apparition point, Riddle took her hand and lifted it up to just beneath his lips in a pureblood courtesy, before lowering it, and she slipped off into the night.

Jacquette had a short hour and a half to rest—for she could not sleep—before she had to get up.  She set the corrective potion to her eyes before drinking two pepper ups.  She greeted her mother Euphemia with a kiss on the cheek before asking her father if he had received any interesting owls from Marvolo Riddle.

“Riddle?” Fleamont Potter asked, a pipe gripped in his teeth.

“Yes,” she agreed.  “Marvolo Riddle, the politician.”

“What should he want with me?” Fleamont asked, a full bluff as he sorted through the post, checking the seals.  “I wouldn’t recognize a letter from him should I receive it!”

Jacquette sighed.  “Look, Papa, please.”  She looked anxiously out the door toward the floo.  “I think you will find it most interesting.”

Fleamont’s blue eyes settled on her messy black hair in interest before casting a sorting spell on the mail, the parchment from Riddle falling out and glowing blue.  His own messy hair, now a deep grey, was very much like Jacquette’s, along with the line of their cheekbones and noses.  “Harrumph,” he sighed, sucking on the end of his pipe.  He opened it with his pen knife and his eyes began to scan the words.   About halfway through he dropped it and looked up at his only child.  “Marvolo Riddle?”

“Yes, Papa,” she agreed.  “You see why I wanted you to read it.”

Euphemia Potter was buttering a scone and she looked up in interest.  “What does he want, Fleamont?”

“He wants to court our little Jacquette!”  He was now reading the letter all the way through.  He flipped it over to the back to check the seal and then returned to the writing.  Fleamont then handed it to his wife.  “You’re obviously in favor, Jacquette,” he mused, taking out his pipe and taking a loud sip of his coffee.

“—Yes,” she agreed.  “I hope you’re not angry.”

“Angry?” Euphemia asked.  “Whyever should we be angry with such a wizard on offer?”

Jacquette decided not to bring up Sirius Black.  Lord Black wasn’t even here yet.  Hopefully, that could all be swept up under the carpet. 

“The affirmative, then,” Fleamont proposed.  “We shouldn’t wait for schoolboys.”

Oh, so Papa was going to bring up Sirius.

“—Yes,” Euphemia agreed carefully, “if Jacquette is of a mind.—You are of a mind, dear?”

She nodded as she took a sip of her morning tea.  She probably was on her twelfth pot of tea that day already.  “Definitely of a mind, Mama.”

“Well, then I have no objections,” Euphemia agreed.  She passed back the letter.  “We’ll have to invited Monsieur Marvolo over to tea or dinner later this week.”

“There are some,” Fleamont huffed, “that say with three seats in the Wizengamot he’s entitled to a lordship.  Our little Jacquette could be Lady Riddle.”  He took the letter and refolded it.  “No, I should very much like to see that happen.  As fine as Lady Black, I daresay.”

As if by provenance, Lord Black was shown in.

Jacquette was sent to the backgarden as it was a conversation for adults.  She was pleased just to be away and not have to listen to the ensuing discussion.  She didn’t want to hear about Sirius’s disownment or her supposed failures—or triumphs.

She didn’t go to the backgarden.  She did, however, climb into bed and sleep until well after lunch.  She only awoke when an owl started tapping on her window.  Not recognizing the little owl, she opened the window and let him in.  The letter was from Lily. 

Lunch tomorrow, it seemed, would be in Cokeworth.

A shadow though crept over the Abbey when Jacquette was sitting at her vanity that night and brushing out her unruly hair.  She nearly startled when she felt two hands on her shoulders, and she looked up in the mirror to see two startling dark blue eyes.

Turning around, she saw Riddle standing behind her.  Gasping, she wondered, “How did you get past the wards?”

“I have my ways.”

She smiled at him widely.  “You were right.  My parents didn’t even care about Sirius Black as soon as they received your letter.”

“I aim to please my lady,” he agreed, pulling twelve long stemmed black roses from thin air.  “For you.”

She took them and noticed they were frozen to the touch.  An odd magic.  Still she pushed her nose into the petals to try to chase the natural scent. 

Riddle lifted her to her feet, the roses lain on the bed, and he took her to her closet, where he picked out a black dress for her and red robes, and told her to change.  He disappeared into the hallway, and Jacquette felt like she would be rather visible to any wizard on the street in her current clothing, but if this what was proper for an illegal rave—for that was where she was supposing they were going—then she would just have to trust Riddle.

He picked up her hand when he returned to the room and walked out of the window without a broom and flew with her across the sky.  Jacquette grasped and clung to Riddle, sure that she must be a red streak across the blackened sky, but he never let her go.  The wind whipped around her lungs and she could hardly think she was so exhilarated. 

They set down in a deserted street right outside of Diagon Alley, but Riddle never released Jacquette’s hand.  It was warm in hers, which almost felt strange given that he was swathed in black and silver, his skin melting into the darkness.  She breathed through her nose as he led her into Diagon Alley and then into Hedon Alley, which she had never dared to go to, not even on a prank.

Then she heard the beat, faint and underneath her feet, and she paused.

Riddle turned to her, an eyebrow lifted up in question, and she asked, “How can the Aurors not feel it?”

“Aurors do not come down here, Jacquette,” he promised her darkly, and she didn’t wonder at it as he led her onward.

They came to a door and Riddle had her press her hand to a broken piece of wood, which scraped against her palm.  It burned purple and then opened, letting them inside.  “What was that?” she murmured, but if Riddle answered, she didn’t hear him in the sight of lightning bulbs that were hanging from the ceiling and bodies huddled around standing tables. 

Riddle pushed her forward, his hand still in hers before twirling her and drawing her to her side.  “A little something to drink.  An illegal potion perhaps?”

“How illegal?” she wondered, not exactly a question. 

Riddle led her to what appeared to a bar and leaned over, asking for two Aspirins. 

Jacquette’s eyes bulged but she didn’t question it when two martini glasses were served.  Riddle picked each up with his fingers clawing to the rims, handing her one.  She picked it up by the stem and noticed the aqua blue color of poison and then clinked glasses with Riddle, staring in his eyes, drinking the Muggle medication.  It was a gamble.  Depending on what she drank—what Muggle medication she took—she could overdose. 

Riddle drank his in one long fluid drink before setting his glass down.  Taking her unfinished drink from her fingers, he gave them back to the bartender.

“When’s your birthday, Jacquette?”

“March,” she answered truthfully.

“Close enough,” he decided, ordering a blood brandy for himself and an elven wine for her, not asking her preference.

The color of this cocktail was a deep red of health.  She took it in her fingers and sipped it, smiling.  Riddle pressed his hand at the small of her back and led her to one of the standing tables where a wizard was standing with a firewhiskey.

“My lord,” he greeted.  “Mademoiselle.”

“Abraxas,” Riddle noted.  “May I introduce Mademoiselle Jacquette Potter?—Lord Malfoy.”

“Lord Malfoy.”  She offered her hand and he picked it up, letting it hover beneath his lips before releasing it. 

“I was hoping some of the younger set would be here so Jacquette could dance.”

“Give it time, my lord.  The night is young yet.  The call only went out half an hour ago.—May I say how ravishing you look, Mademoiselle?  A trendsetter.  It is a shame a photographer isn’t here to capture your likeness.”

This startled Jacquette.  She was aware that Heiress Lucius, Lord Malfoy’s daughter-in-law, was considered one of the best dressed witches in wizarding England.  “Thank you, Lord Malfoy.  I rarely wear red, but I thought tonight would be a suitable occasion.”  She looked at Riddle out of the corner of her eye, knowing he had chosen her robes.  She only owned them for Gryffindor pride.  She had purchased them on a lark. 

“You will be a beacon on the dancefloor,” Lord Malfoy insisted, taking a sip of his firewhiskey.  “Have you graduated Hogwarts?”

Unsure why Lord Malfoy was speaking to her and not Marvolo Riddle, Jacquette fought the urge to lick her lips in nervousness. 

“Final year.”  She turned her glass slightly to the left.  “I’m Quidditch Captain.”

Riddle decided to join the conversation.  “A Mudblood is Head Girl, but Jacquette is Old Sluggy’s favorite and best student.”

Jacquette perhaps shouldn’t have been surprised at the language given where they were, but her hazel eyes slid toward Riddle, and she noticed that he was looking directly at her in a dare.  She wondered what he would say if he knew where she was having lunch on the morrow.

Abraxas Malfoy looked pleased.  “I remember old Sluggy well.  Those were good times.”

“Good times,” Riddle agreed, a smirk on his face.  “You should know, Jacquette, if this is ever of use, Old Sluggy likes candied pineapple.”

Jacquette’s eyes widened.  That was certainly useful information.  Sirius could certainly put it to use given his horrible performance in Potions.  He wasn’t even in NEWT level.  Then again, did she really want to help him given how he had practically thrown her to the werewolves with the whole courtship situation?

“Thank you,” she murmured, taking a sip of her drink.  “Certainly interesting.”

The lights began to pulse with the beat and Jacquette looked up in curiosity.  The highest ranking wizard present would now open the dancing.  That was certainly Lord Malfoy.  Jacquette wondered as the nearest witch if she would be chosen to open the dance with him.  Looking over at him, she regarded him, not exactly expecting him to offer for her, but curious to see what he would do.

Riddle, however, offered her his hand.

She looked at him in shock.

His hand remained offered to her.

“Surely—” she began, but he shook his head.  “This is a dark rave, Jacquette.  Society does not dictate who is the highest ranking member.”

Her eyebrows shot up and she wondered exactly who T. Marvolo Riddle, Jr. was other than one of the most powerful members of the Wizengamot.  She took his hand with no other hesitation and let him lead her to the center of the room, conscious that every wizard’s eyes were on them. 

Riddle slid his right hand around her waist in preparation for a wizarding waltz and lifted his left hand above their heads.  Her right hand slid around his waist and she reached her left hand in an arch to grasp his.  There were several beats and then, with a down beat, they began to waltz. 

In this light, Riddle’s eyes were almost a dark purple.  They were entrancing.  She did not break his gaze as they waltzed around the floor.  It wasn’t until the swell of strings that other couples joined them on the floor, but Jacquette was still aware of everyone staring at them and she reveled in all the attention.

This was almost the biggest prank she had ever pulled off in her entire life—but she wasn’t entirely sure it was a prank.

She breathed through her nose until the waltz came to a close, red in a swirl of black and blues and purples and greys.  Riddle continued to stare into her eyes.  When the music stopped, he withdrew his hand from around her waist and twirled her until her back was nestled against his chest.  He drew her closer with his right arm and placed a light kiss against her cheek—a daring act for a wizard who was not betrothed.  It was practically an offer of marriage.

At first Jacquette did not understand the roaring in her ears.  Then she realized that everyone was clapping for them.  Riddle spun her out again and as he bowed to her, she curtseyed in response, and only let go of his left hand in order to clap for the wizarding orchestra.

Riddle’s hand came up and guided her back to the bar. 

It was packed with other wizards ordering their drinks, but the bartender was immediately attending to them.

“Two acetaminophens,” Riddle ordered. 

Two martini glasses were set in front of them, acid green.  Riddle once again handed her one and they drank from the glasses, staring into each other’s eyes.  Riddle drank his completely down while Jacquette took only a sip.  Riddle instantly returned the two glasses before ordering their blood brandy and elven wine. 

Despite the crush, a pathway was formed for them and they made their way back to their standing table.  There were other wizards now present.  The wizarding waltz had been over half an hour long, one tune flowing into another.  Jacquette recognized Barty Crouch Jr. immediately who was a fifth year.  She glanced at Riddle in question and wondered how he was out past his bedtime.

“Crouch,” she greeted politely, never one to cut a fellow Hogwarts student.

“Potter,” he returned.  “Didn’t expect to see you here!”  He sounded entirely surprised.

“Must say I thought the same,” she agreed.  “Isn’t your father the Head of Magical Law Enforcement?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Well, Jacquette supposed that was true.  She just couldn’t see it.  Crouch was a prefect.  She knew that from Evans.  He never set a foot wrong.  An illegal rave was not a place he should be found.

“Barty is one of our bright minds of the future, Lady Jacquette,” an older wizard told her, bowing his head.

“Not the time,” Riddle suggested, running his thumb down Jacquette’s spine in a claiming gesture.  “I should very much like to see Lady Jacquette enjoy herself.”  That seemed to be an imperative.

A hand was automatically offered to her.  She followed it to a young handsome wizard and she automatically accepted it with a slight tap on her back from Riddle’s hand. 

“And who are you?” she asked the wizard with brown hair and even browner eyes.  “How do you know Marvolo?”

“Monsieur Rabastan Lestrange,” he offered, smiling at her charmingly.  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”  He positioned himself for the opening of a gavot.

Jacquette set her hands in the correct position.  “Surely you are not in the Wizengamot,” she noticed.

“No.  But I am politically minded,” he told her.

The opening chord sounded and then they were dancing around each other.  Jacquette couldn’t help laughing as she was lifted into the air and spinning around the floor.  Her eyes cut to Riddle, who was looking contentedly back at her before he leaned in to one of his associates to hear what he was saying.

At the end of the gavot, she was claimed by a Monsieur Evan Rosier, who was less handsome but a competent dancer.  She breathed through her nose as she became the center of a dance of dozens, all the other dancers radiating from the couple, all dark colors emanating from her red robes.  She knew she cut quite the figure with her wild black hair that could never be fully contained in pins.

Next was Yaxley, a strange wizard called Nott, a sedate waltz with Lord Malfoy, and then even one with Crouch.

“I didn’t know Ravenclaws danced,” she greeted in a jest.

“We have many talents,” he disagreed, resting his hand on her waist and taking her other in his hand, leading her in the steps.  “My mother is a Black.  You are friends with Heir Sirius, are you not?”

“He must be a cousin of yours,” she deflected.

“A distant one,” he agreed.  “He’s never seen fit to prank me.”

“Would you like me to fix that?” she offered, joking with a smile.  “I wouldn’t want to ruin your O.W.L.s.”

“Please, leave me out of Gryffindor goings on,” he teased her back, turning her so they were face-to-face.  “There are a few of you who are friends, aren’t there?  I had thought you were all Dumbledore lovers.”

Jacquette raised an eyebrow.  It was true that Sirius had a tendency to quote Albus Dumbledore because it annoyed his mother, but a Dumbledore lover?  “Whatever does that mean?”

“Well, there is the Takeover,” Crouch suggested.

Looking at him oddly, Jacquette murmured, “I’ve never heard it called that.  The Unrest, perhaps—but the Takeover?  They say there is a dark lord.  No one will say his name.”

It was Crouch’s turn to look surprised.  “There is a dark lord,” he agreed.  “No one says his name.”

“As I said,” she agreed, pressing the palm of her hand to his and turning slowly.  “Hence this illegal rave.  Wizards are freer.  I’ve already had an aspirin and an acetaminophen.  I’m sure I’ll have a naproxen before I leave.”

“Perhaps you’ll even let down your hair,” Crouch suggested, tilting his head toward where Riddle was standing in a group of wizards.  There was indeed a witch standing there with whisps of her black hair falling from its bindings.  The sight was absolutely astonishing.

Her shock must have shown on her face because Crouch leaned in and murmured, “You’re staring.”  Jacquette quickly returned her attention to her dance partner. 

“She looks like a common Muggleborn.”

“Does she?” Crouch wondered.  “She looks positively dark to me.  Madam Lestrange would be horrified to hear otherwise.”

Jacquette had danced with a Lestrange earlier in the evening. 

At the end of the dance, Jacquette curtseyed to Crouch but abandoned the dancefloor for the bar.  Once again, everyone parted ways for her, and she found herself being served.  The bartender waited for her order, but found herself confused at what she should ask for.

“Another aspirin,” she heard Riddle order for her, and the aqua blue cocktail was produced for her.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” she wondered as she turned toward her courted, taking in his dark blue eyes.

“Is it?” he asked.  “Everything in moderation, Jacquette.”  He picked up his own aspirin and waited for her to salute him before he down his own drink, setting it back on the bar.  He made a sign and two more aspirins were placed on the bar.  Jacquette had barely touched her first aspirin so she carefully took a long sip, draining half the glass, pursing her lips at the sour taste and with a third swallow, finished it.

She set down her glass, which was quickly whisked away, and picked up her third.

“It is an acquired taste,” Riddle apologized as they clinked glasses before they drank long from their medicinal cocktails.  Riddle, of course, finished his.  Jacquette managed to finish more than half of hers.  “Has that taken care of that headache of yours?”

“How did you know I had a headache?” she asked.

“The question is not ‘how,’ darling.  That’s neither whip nor wand.  The question is how Muggles have found a remedy for it.  Finish your drink.  It will take care of the lingering pain behind your eyes.”  He looked at her directly and she did as he directed, setting down her glass and pushing it away from herself.

Soon Jacquette lost track what cocktails she drank.  She danced the night away with wizards whose names she would not remember in the morning, closing the night in Riddle’s arms in a wizarding waltz.

No one raided the illegal rave, and all the wizards disappeared into the morning light of Hedon Alley when dawn broke. 

Jacquette was tucked into Riddle’s side when he apparated her back to the edge of Potter Abbey, and she slipped behind the wards, determined to get a few hours’ sleep before she went to Cokeworth to see Lily Evans.  Fortunately, she had an alarm on her wand, otherwise she never would have made it on time.  Dressed as a Muggle with her hair down in a messy braid, Jacquette appeared in the Midlands to see her dormmate. 

Lily Evans was a beautiful witch with auburn hair and bright green eyes in a heart-shaped face.  She was tall and lithe with a thin figure that was not exactly en vogue, but Sirius found it attractive.

They met in the local pub, and Jacquette wasn’t certain she could drink any more alcohol after all the aspirin she had drunk the night before.  Still, she had a lemonade. 

“I’m so glad you came,” Evans greeted, coming up to Jacquette and kissing her cheek in a rare sign of affection between the witches.  “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Do?” Jacquette asked as Evans took a seat with her shandy.  “I’d assume you’d do your winter holiday schoolwork and count the days until you could be back at Hogwarts.”

“No, not that,” Evans told her, taking out a piece of folded parchment from inside her coat and pushing it across the table.  “Sirius sent me this.”

Jacquette, surprised, took the letter and unfolded it.  Well, Sirius admitted being disowned, then set out his prospects as his Uncle Alphard’s heir, and asked for Evans’ hand in marriage in a proper wizarding proposal.  “Well,” she sighed.  “It all seems to be in order.”

“All seems to be in order?” Evans asked.

“He wants to marry you—he’s told you how he can take care of you and your children.  He’s told you of what place in society he can give you.  What more do you want from him?”  Really, what more is there to say?

“What about love?” Evans demanded a little loudly.

Jacquette blinked.  “Isn’t that assumed?”  She was a little at a loss.  “Hasn’t he already declared his love before this?  It’s rather bad form if he hasn’t mentioned to you how he feels about you before this.”  Of course, trust Sirius.  He was mad about Evans, but if he only mentioned it to Jacquette, Remus, and Peter—then no wonder Evans was confused.

Evans seemed to deflate.  “Well, isn’t there usually a ring?”

“At the wedding?” Jacquette asked.  What was she on about?

“An engagement ring?”  Her green eyes seemed larger than usual.

Blinking again, Jacquette looked at her.  “I don’t know what you mean.”

“In the Muggle world—”

“Well, this isn’t the Muggle world, is it?” Jacquette asked.  “Sirius is not a Muggle.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Then do you want him to act like a Muggle?”  She handed back the letter.  “This is more than adequate for a wizard proposal.  You should write back and either accept or reject his proposal.  It’s been at least a day since you wrote to me yesterday.  He has to be wondering.  I would be wondering, if I were Sirius.”

Evans took back the letter.  “This is so unromantic—”

Jacquette knew she was going to regret it, but she asked her dormmate, “How is this unromantic?”

Evans just stared at her as if it should be obvious.

“I drank too much elven wine last night,” Jacquette complained, thinking instead of the aspirin cocktails, which were illegal.  “It’s too loud in here.”  She pushed her empty glass of lemonade aside and stood.  “Do you want to show me around or should I apparate home?”

Evans quickly stood, a full three inches taller than Jacquette.  “Severus lives here, too, did you know?”

“Severus Snape?” Jacquette looked at Evans cross-eyed.  “That explains so much.”  She pulled her cloak around her as she moved through the pub and pushed the outside door open and stepped into the cold.  “I wouldn’t invite him to the wedding.”

“He’s my oldest friend—”

“Oh, good.  There’s going to be a wedding.”  Jacquette looked up at the sun.  It was rather bright for early January. 

“Shouldn’t Sirius have asked my father for my hand in marriage?” Evans wondered as she stepped outside beside Jacquette.  “It seems like the sort of thing wizards would do.”

“You’re a Muggleborn,” Jacquette corrected her.  “You don’t have a magical guardian.  You’re a free agent.  You better answer that letter right away.”  She turned her hazel eyes on Evans.  “Best not keep him waiting.”

“You think I should say, ‘yes’?”

“Aren’t you mad on him?” Jacquette asked.  “Or are you going to marry Snape?”  She left it at that, finding a safe spot to apparate from.

Without even changing out of her Muggle clothing, she walked into Black’s Hole, knowing she’d probably find Sirius there.  “Your letter has caused confusion.  You should have sent it with a copy of Spungen’s Guide to Bridal Etiquette.”  She flopped down onto an armchair.

Sirius looked up in confusion from where he was sitting at a desk.  “She hasn’t read it?”

“Apparently not.”  Jacquette looked over and smirked at him.  “Evans isn’t perfect, it seems.”

“Let me guess.  You didn’t even bring up Spungen’s.”  He rolled his eyes.  “Typical Potter pride.”

 Sirius was wearing dark brown house robes, his long hair falling down his back elegantly.  Jacquette was secretly jealous at how manageable Sirius’s hair was compared to her tuft of messy black locks.

“How’d it go with Father?”

Sirius’s question brought Jacquette out of her thoughts.  His black eye looked ugly and purple.

“Swimmingly.”

This clearly surprised Sirius.

“How did that happen?”

Jacquette blew air through her nose, not sure how exactly to explain.  The bare facts might do it.  “Another wizard offered for me the same morning.  He was found eminently suitable.”

“Another wizard?” Sirius wondered, turning around in the chair so that he was sitting backward in it.  “What other wizard?”  His grey eyes shone in amusement.  “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Not holding out on you,” she promised, thinking of Riddle.  “It was quite a sudden development.  You have Evans—I have Marvolo Riddle.”

Sirius got up out of his chair so quickly, it toppled over.  “Riddle?” he gasped.  “He’s a hero to my parents!  Are you aware of his voting record?”

Jacquette wasn’t exactly aware of his voting record, not caring for politics, but she got somewhat of an idea the night before at the illegal revel.  The word ‘Mudblood’ kind of clued her in.  “Let me guess—he’s a blood purist.”  After all, Riddle didn’t care who she was as long as she was a sixth generation pureblood at The Wicked Stepmother. 

Spluttering, Sirius confirmed, “That’s putting it mildly.”

“Well,” Jacquette decided, “he’s my blood purist.  I’m friends with Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew—but I’m friends with you.  He’s going to figure it out.”

“I’m marrying Lily!”

“Well, then he’s going to get an even clearer idea,” Jacquette amended.  “It’s not like he can make me drop all my friends once I leave Hogwarts.”

“Jackie,” Sirius exclaimed, coming up to her and taking her hand.  “You don’t know these types of people like I do.  He will make you give us up.  Sure, he’ll have me to drinks, but Lily will never be admitted.  I’ll never be allowed to name you godmother to my children because their blood will be impure.”

This made Jacquette pause.  She needed a nap.  Waving him off, she stood.  “I think you’re exaggerating.”

“My mother burnt me off the family tapestry for even looking at Lily!”

“No,” Jacquette corrected.  “She burnt you off the tapestry for spurning a pureblood match for a Muggleburn.  That’s more than looking.”  Her hazel eyes flashed slightly in jealousy.  She had never wanted Sirius, but her pride was still hurt that he had never wanted her.  No girl—no friend—liked to be replaced by a girlfriend.

Sirius looked momentarily like a kicked dog.  “You don’t mean that.”

“Isn’t it the truth?” she wondered aloud.

Walking out, she didn’t see Uncle Alphard, but Jacquette wasn’t sorry.  She didn’t much want to see anyone.  She flooed back to Potter Abbey and just threw off her coat before she fell on top of her bed, asleep before she hit the pillow. 

She woke up after dinner.  She was practically becoming nocturnal. 

Spending the evening going over back issues of The Daily Prophet, she sent out an owl to Riddle, and slipped out at half past one.

It was like walking through a dream as she moved down Diagon Alley.  She didn’t hear the sound of music anywhere in the alleyway, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t down one of the side streets.  Turning down Nocturn Alley, she made her way to The Wicked Stepmother.  The ball of light she followed was green that night, and Riddle was already waiting for her.

“You’re not one for frivolity tonight?” he asked.

“Maybe later,” she half promised, as she took her seat and allowed the teapot to pour her a cup of Paris tea.  Jacquette had dressed in royal blue, which wasn’t exactly black or grey.  She looked over at Riddle who was handsome in the shadow of oranges, his eyes a strange olive color.

“I went and saw a dormmate today.  She received an offer of marriage she could not decipher because she had never read Spungen’s.”

“Ah,” he murmured.  “Is this the developing matter of Monsieur Sirius Black?”

“Yes,” she agreed.  “Then I went and saw Sirius to tell him of the problem.  I trust they’re engaged by now.  Enough time has passed.”

“I trust you shared your own good news.”

She didn’t reply.  “I looked up your voting record.”

“I know you’re not in Slytherin.”

“No,” she agreed, understanding his meaning.  “I’m not.”

“Are you friends with your dormmate?”  His olive eyes looked at her piercingly.

Jacquette didn’t answer.  Instead, she leaned forward and asked, “You’re not a death eater, whatever that is, but you support whoever this new dark lord is that people whisper about.  The one these death eaters are rumored to follow.”

“Yes,” he agreed.  “I’m of a similar mind.”

Not messing about the problem, Jacquette just got out in front of it and said it.  “You know not all of my friends can be purebloods, but one of my closest friends is a dark creature, but his parents are Muggle.”

“Ah,” Riddle wondered, now leaning forward himself.  “Werewolf?  However is he allowed in Hogwarts?”

“Dumbledore is liberal minded.”  She took a sip of her tea and reached out for a shortbread. 

“Fascinating,” Riddle murmured.  “You aren’t afraid he’d hurt you at the full moon?”

Remembering her Animagus form, Jacquette whispered, “I have my ways.”

Riddle didn’t pry.  He just took her in with a new respect as if guessing at her ways.  “I would never begrudge you a werewolf for a friend.”

“But would you begrudge Sirius a wife?”

Taking a sip from his tea, Riddle admitted, “He is making questionable life choices.”  He set his cup down.  “I would never begrudge you his company,” he told her gently.

It was just as she thought it.  It was not as if she had any specific relationship with Evans, but she didn’t like being curtailed. 

“Then, to be perfectly clear,” she checked, “I can’t be godmother to any of Sirius Black’s children.”

“I’m afraid not, Jacquette.—but surely there will be other Black children.”  What other Black children would there be?  Sirius had a younger brother in Slytherin, but Jacquette had never even met him. 

Grimacing slightly, she thought of how Lily Evans was more trouble than she was worth.  A half-blood with two wizard parents wouldn’t cause such problems.  The children would have four wizards for grandparents and would, therefore, be purebloods.  This problem wouldn’t exist. 

She looked into Riddle’s olive eyes and sighed.  “Sirius is ever the troublemaker.”

“Is this a usual problem?” he asked with a half-smile.

“You’d be surprised,” she answered, taking a sip of her tea.  “But then again, I got the impression you had an idea I was as well.”

“You are rather nocturnal,” he agreed with a fond glint to his gaze.  “I hope it is not too trying getting back onto the Hogwarts schedule in a few days.”

“I can always sneak out,” she suggested with a shrug.  “I might not be so—rule abiding as all that.”

It was Riddle’s turn to smile. 

They walked down a side street together, hand in hand, his long possessive fingers entwined with hers. 

She felt it in the soles of her feet before she could hear it, the beat of the drums.  Riddle came to a grate in the middle of the street and opened it, offering it to her.  She looked down and saw a rather grubby looking ladder.  “They’re getting inventive,” she suggested, looping her robes over her arm so they wouldn’t get dirty and descending down into the bowels of the street.

First, it was all blackness and then there were flashes of the occasional color. 

Jacquette was aware of Riddle above her, but she kept on climbing down, down, down, until there were pulsing lights of green, blue, and purple and hands came around her waist and helped her down.

“Nott!” she greeted in familiarity as he led her away from the ladder.  “Fancy seeing you here!”

“So lovely to see you again, Lady Jacquette,” he returned, leading her to what seemed to be the bar, “and as beautiful as ever.”

A presence came up behind her and she felt Riddle’s hand at the small of her back.  “Yes, ravishing in blue tonight.”  He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Dare I hope that you dressed with me in mind?”

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at him.  “Who else, Marvolo?”

He smiled into the back of her neck.

They were brought to the bar where Riddle ordered them two aspirins and Jacquette, now used to the cocktail, drank heavily from her glass.  Riddle took the empty glass from her lax fingers and replaced it with an Excedrin which was a bright purple—and then she was out on the dancefloor, dancing with a wizard she recognized from the night before. 

She heard whispers around her when she came back to the table, but an aspirin cocktail was deposited before her with a cherry crushed in the center.

“Is it actually a cherry?”

“No, darling,” Riddle told her.  “It’s a Muggle pill.  Transfigured.”

Not knowing what it was, Jacquette picked up the drink and drank heavily from it, liking the frothing the pill created in the cocktail. 

At first she didn’t even realizing it was happening, but a bead of sweat formed at her temple.  Then her heart began to slow down as she danced and she missed a step.  Someone screamed and she was falling.  A pillow was placed under her head and she blinked up to see Barty’s worried face to be supplanted by Riddle’s.  “What happened?”

“Too much Aspirin,” he muttered as he began to pump her heart, but by then she was sliding into unconsciousness.  “Someone get me a bezoar!”

Jacquette knew what a bezoar was for.  It was to cure her from a love potion.—but Sirius wasn’t under a love potion?

She felt something like charcoal being placed into her mouth and a hand smoothing down her throat.  Convulsively swallowing, she was placed on her side, but then it all went black.  Jacquette knew that when she woke up again—if she woke up again—it would be to a new world order.

The End.