Sirius Black

We may be a little delayed coming home.

Everything's fine. Just the Swelling Solution the kids were working on went a bit haywire. I had a Deflating Draught all prepared, just in case, you know, and when I went to give it to Misses Saint and Smith, it wasn't there. So I used an anti-tumescent cantrip and that sorted them. Of course, I still didn't know quite what had happened to the vial I'd brought from home.

Would you care to take a guess?

Your daughter nicked it and dribbled it out on just about everything she could find. The vegetable patch. The hatchet Danny uses to chop wood. A goat. I've no idea how she gave Jacinda the slip but she made her way - as near as we can tell - to the kitchens and left a trail of mayhem in her wake. Victor finally caught her in the pantry. She'd gone and put a bit of the draught on about six of the jars of preserves. They shrank and shrank until the contents couldn't stay, er, contained. He heard the breaking of glass.

She had a few cuts, easily healed, and she's now fine, aside from the lingering certainty that the world is a cruel, unjust place for blaming her when she's misbehaved. We've righted all the shrunken items, except of course the preserves, there was no saving them. (You should have heard Victor about that: Naturally, she chose the strawberry and now there's only six jars of it left until next season. Plus, of course, they won't be able to use the jars for more canning, either.)

At any rate, you can imagine that we've had a bit of repair to do, particularly making sure that she's remembered everything she 'deflated' and we haven't missed anything. And then there's the lesson, which got disrupted and had to be restarted before the ingredients went to waste. (We can't afford to discard ingredients, not without any more shipments from Aleks.)

So, they've got another hour or so of brewing and there's the testing and everything. During which, young miss is in a 'time out' according to Jacinda.

Anyway. We'll be home soon.

So, er, Charlie mentioned that ... well, he said in passing that you've been feeling loads of pressure and that it's partly what prompted what he called wanting to 'run away from home.'

I mean to say, everyone deserves a holiday now and then and beyond that, I hope if you ever feel as if you need to leave the Ministry or change what you're doing for the Order, you've only to say and we'll make the necessary adjustments. It's useful but not if it means sacrificing your sanity, love.

But the way Charlie said it sounded as if it were something more related to home - that is, to Doughty Conduit and Grimmauld.

And I just .... I wanted to make sure - I mean, ask: It's not something I've done, is it? I mean, I've not made you feel uncomfortable or unwelcome or unappreciated or anything, I hope. And if I have done, or if it's something else - well. I hope you'd tell me (or even tell Remus to tell me) so I can try to stop whatever's the problem. If I can, that is.

Of course, if it's something Remus did, feel free to hex his ears off. I might even help. (If it was Kreacher I'll definitely help!)

I don't mean to sound like I assume that the way you feel is at heart an issue that's all about me, far from it. Just that I know if there's one person who could uncomplicate your life just by not existing, it's me. So naturally I'm going to treat myself as the prime suspect in your unhappiness. If that makes sense. Or at least that I must be guilty until proven innocent.

Anyway. It's a long-winded way of saying: Whatever's wrong, if anything is wrong, don't keep it to yourself, kiddo.

Well, I thought the breakfast itself was rather good, personally. And the conversation.

Could have stood not to be interrupted by that Ministry bloke. Everything all right, Remus? Thought I heard Bea fussing a few minutes ago. Did she and Dora get off to sleep okay?

More importantly, how much did the official want before he'd go away again?

Let me know if I should come back across as Padfoot or take some of the emergency polyjuice to pose as Mrs Dribb if Bea needs looking after and the coast isn't clear yet.

It's probably a bit late in asking, but: Are you sure? Because we've talked a bit (yes, there was time for talking) and neither of us wants you to feel uncomfortable with the arrangement.

And I hope you know I'd never have - I mean to say, I never thought I had a chance, anyway, but I never would have forgiven myself if I'd let my feelings come between you two.

I'd just said to him last night, I wish we could all be a proper family. Him and me and Harry and even Hermione and Terry and of course you and Bea, too.

But it's one thing to say you don't care about the bunking arrangements and another to actually live that way. We don't want you to leave but we don't want you to regret staying, either.

And there's another thing:

Thank you.

You asked what happened with Terrie and like I said, I've been wanting to tell you - I'm still trying to figure it all out myself.

First, though, tell Dora I'll travel on Tuesday, okay? Lucinda got a message to the witch in Cotgrave - her name is Langworthy - and we're to meet tomorrow.

Well.

I guess the first thing I should do is reassure you that I have not abandoned Terrie. Things are far from resolved but it's not as if I've simply chucked her or anything.

It's funny, though, the things I never thought would matter but do. I think I told you that there's a strong possibility that her child was fathered by her boss. She admitted that much right away, it's part of what's upsetting her. Merlin knows I sympathise - no witch in her right mind would want to make a baby with that bastard - but I can't quite ignore that she knew the risk when she dropped her protections. I certainly can't ignore that she made the decision without my consent, either.

So I guess, under those circumstances, I have to admit that the child's paternity does matter to me. Though not entirely for the reasons she assumed. When I asked if she intended to perform a paternity charm, she turned defensive as anything. Some of her accusations were probably on the mark - as I said, I am somewhat doubtful the child's mine, since it was barely four weeks since I'd seen her when she told me, so the timing was awfully quick if she hadn't been expecting to succeed. And she's right that if Birchmore caught even a whiff of Terrie going to a hedgewitch for a paternity test he'd start by firing her and it'd get worse from there.

The real reason's far more complicated, of course. But that's not important right now. What's important is that she assumed I'd tell her exactly what you assumed I'd tell her; That I don't care who the father is, that I'll stay involved either way, that of course I love her and I'll love the child and - well.

And it's not that I blame her, exactly, for wanting someone to save her from Birchmore's attentions. But it's not as if I can simply acknowledge the child and marry her and send her off to Moddey. She's still reticent to work for the Order on a regular basis - doesn't even really want to know more about us, save what she's already guessed and done. She's afraid. Afraid for her mother, afraid to lose what she's already managed to scrape together for herself - and frankly I don't think, deep down, she really wants to leave that life.

As for my other reasons .... It's just. You know, I always said I didn't want kids of my own. I've even been careful to avoid women who already have children or who might want to settle down. Now that I'm confronted with the prospect, I realise - it does matter to me whether the child is a Black. Especially if it's a boy. Isn't that odd?

I just - we can't seem to come to any sort of agreement about it. I know what she wants me to say and do, I know that at least in part she deliberately manipulated the situation so that I would feel obligated to rescue her. And yet she doesn't really want rescue so much as ... legitimacy. Which I don't have to point out to you is the one thing I certainly can't give her in the eyes of the Protectorate.

I told her that I couldn't take responsibility for the child without knowing for sure that I'm the father. She said she might be able to get her mediwitch to test this month - it's her four-month check, so that's the right timing anyway, as you probably know better than I. Until then, we're at an impasse, I suppose.

Well. That's what's happened. Now it's your turn to tell me I'm out of order and then Allie will do and then - I dunno, I suppose I'll live in a cave like a hermit rather than risk this sort of pickle again.