Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire

Book Two


Chapter Eighteen
Padfoot and Moony

Dear Jasmine -

Please don’t rip this letter up. I know you’re still angry, and you have a right to be, but please hear me out. When we made love, I didn’t do anything to prevent you from getting pregnant. By now, you must know if you are or not. Even if you won’t say anything else, all I need is one word. If you are carrying my baby, I will take care of you, even if it has to be at a distance because you hate me. How is Arielle doing? I miss her tugging on my tail. How are the rest? Remus and I spend a lot of time traveling and writing to those willing to fight against Voldemort. Most people are shocked though many say that they knew it was going to happen eventually. All seem willing to help, especially those that got hurt last time. Arthur Weasley said that he would put Remus’s place into the floo network if we can figure out how to build a fireplace without anyone noticing. I hope that means we can talk then.

Sirius

Jasmine greedily read the letter twice even though it made her head throb harder, took a deep breath, refolded it, then put it back in the envelope. Then she neatly shredded it into confetti. The tears started again as she ripped; it seemed as though she was always crying. She stuffed the lot into another envelope and tied it to the post owl’s leg. It was on its way back once it had three knuts clutched in its beak.


The owl settled on an anonymous windowsill of an anonymous flat in Blackpool. Both men inside looked up as it hooted at them and the shorter of the two stood to untie the letter. He pointed to a cup of water and pile of biscuits, which the owl happily partook of before flying away. If any of the neighbors noticed all of the owls that came to the window, no one said a thing. This wasn’t an area where one chatted up the neighbors.

The first man, whose face was unlined though his hair was prematurely salted with gray, felt, then tossed the envelope to the other man who opened it and let the confetti flutter into his lap. “What’s this make, twelve?” asked the first, almost amused.

“Thirteen,” was the curt reply.

“It’s been a month and a half, think she would tell you?” the man pleasantly inquired. Remus Lupin was almost always pleasant. Except for three days out of the month when he was distinctly not nice. Of course, he had fur, long teeth and howled at the moon on those days, so perhaps it was to be excused.

“Don’t know. At this point, I just want her to acknowledge that I exist,” said the other man, his black hair finally tamed into a long queue and beard trimmed into the preferred goatee.

Another owl landed on the windowsill several minutes later. Sirius Black unfolded from his battered chair to get the message tied to the leg of this one. The shredded paper fell to the floor, unheeded. Later he would stuff the paper into the box he kept, full of similarly shredded letters. At well over six feet tall with broad shoulders, he made the room seem smaller whenever he moved around much. It was a good thing that he had a great deal of practice being still.

“Dumbledore,” he announced in a deep, gravelly voice. Over time, the hoarseness had eased, though Sirius still didn’t talk much. Remus looked up from his book, interested in the letter.

Dear Remus and Sirius,

Arabella Figg tells me that Harry is fine; she just spoke to Mundungus Fletcher a little while ago. He is getting taller and seems to be studying hard over the holiday.

I have spoken again to Alastor Moody. He has elected not to rejoin the staff of Hogwarts, as predicted. I can’t say that I blame him. He is willing to help outside of the school, however, and I think he will be valuable, if we are sensitive to his needs. He has told me that Harry is taking too many long walks. Please encourage Harry to stay close to home a bit more in your next letter.

I have heard rumors of some thefts committed by people claiming to be under the Imperius Curse. The claims are under investigation by the Ministry. I do not expect much from that quarter. I believe that Voldemort may be hiding in Albania again, with Fenrir Greyback, but do not know for sure as the Death Eaters do not question where it is that they apparate to.

Jasmine and Arielle are both in good health. Is there a reason why you think Jasmine would be ill? She is still perturbed and thus isn’t discussing her thoughts with me. I am sure this will ease over time. Arielle is doing well in school and was able to take an undisturbed holiday to France with her father for a week. Buckbeak is fine, though he has discovered the flobberworm box. Jasmine is trying to decide if she should let him eat them or put a ward up. I am sure that the choice will be made for her soon.

The Tierson and Whitwell families have both asked me to convey their gratitude for your timely assistance last week. Neither knows that we knew to be there and I would like to keep it that way. Elspeth Tierson tells me that young Edgar is recovering well. Althgard Whitwell will be able to leave St. Mungos in a few days. Neither remembers much of their ordeals. The Ministry is calling both incidents “household accidents and the imaginings of drunken men”. I have instructed both families to be on their guard against further attack.

Sirius, I am working out the details for a move to Grimmauld Place and should have plans finalized soon. Thank you again for offering the house. It seems to be an ideal place for both the Order and for you to remain discreetly present.

Please remember not to discuss sensitive matters in your communications with Harry. He has enough to think about and hopefully can find some bit of childhood left in his youth before being forced to grow up.

Albus Dumbledore

“Harry isn’t going to like this.”

“Probably not, but it’s for his own good,” replied Remus. It was a long worn discussion.

“She’ll put a ward up,” said Sirius simply, to change the subject. “Flobberworms are disgusting, but she won’t let them get eaten. She’s just that way.”

Remus stared at him then held up his wand and zapped Sirius in the stomach with a bolt of blue light. Sirius dropped the letter and jumped back, clutching his steaming shirt and stomach. He shouted, “Hey! What the fuck was that for?”

“I was just making sure that this is really Sirius Black. In the twenty-odd years I have known you, you’ve never mooned over a woman like this before.”

“Jackass,” said Sirius, chagrined and rubbing his flat belly. “She’s special, alright?”

Remus rolled his eyes, “Is she special? I hadn’t heard you tell me the other thousand times, but now I think I’ve got it. You’re really Sirius this time.”

“Cork it – and that’s your one.”

Outwardly, Remus ignored the warning but mentally noted that he’d now used the one allotted Serious/Sirius joke – another would garner a duel or fisticuffs. “You need a date. Find a pretty Muggle and have fun,” suggested his last remaining best friend. Once there had been a troupe of them, Padfoot, Moony, Prongs and Wormtail. Moony was currently baiting Padfoot about Jasmine, but Prongs was dead, his son, Harry, seemed to be destined to defeat Voldemort – if he lived long enough. Both men hated the other childhood friend, Wormtail, with a passion that bordered on an obsession. He had been the instrument of Prongs’s death and both had called dibs on killing him.

“I don’t want a date,” was the sullen reply, “I want Jasmine.”

Remus smiled at his old friend, “You know, you sound like James did when Lily went on holiday from school.”

They looked solemnly at each other, Remus with a reminiscent smile, Sirius with a wry one.

“Quidditch match tonight? Shall we?”

“Yeah.”