Chapter 8: Causing havoc is a way of life

I don't own 'Harry Potter'

Warning: I am introducing a male slash couple in this chapter (M/M). If you feel the need to start flaming me, I will ignore you, simple as. It's not explicit, or overly sappy, or even the focus. If you don't want to read a story with even the slightest hint of this, press the back button, and I hope you can find something that doesn't make you uncomfortable. If you could do me a favour and not give me a migraine, I'd appreciate it.

"What do you all think?"

"You're even more of a dunderhead than I originally thought."

"Apart from Severus – who's being more than a little uncooperative right now, shall I say – what do you all think?"

"Albus, this is insane."

"It's a lot of work."

"We all want to help the students, but shouldn't we all think this through more?"

"Well, it sounds as if you all agree, which is phenomenal! I'm sure we'll be able to implement these changes soon enough!"

The old man beamed at his four House Heads, watching with utter delight as the level of irritation dramatically rose in the room, the familiar shade of frustration colouring his colleagues' faces as he completely bulldozed over their objections and continued smiling like a scatter-brained child.

He was starting to understand why Dahlia did it now. It was rather entertaining if you weren't on the receiving end.

Albus wondered where his favourite student was at the current time – not that he would ever admit such a biased opinion out loud, but the girl was hilarious to be around with her blunt attitude and sly manipulations for the sake of having fun. Dahlia was rather akin to a ray of sunshine for Albus, albeit with far more snark and a twisted sense of humour which was perfect for ingratiating herself into the Black household. (He'd only met with Lady Black and Dahlia on one occasion after being spontaneously thrown back into the realm of the living – a confounding experience, for sure; waking up in the midst of falling off of his own bed had felt more than a little delirious to him, not that anyone needed to know of such a thing – and the two females were a fascinating pair to observe when together. Definitely dangerous to the world around them, but Albus couldn't wait to sit back and cheerfully watch their society explode around them. He'd had quite enough of monotony by now.)

The man frowned ever so slightly, adopting a small pout with a despondent expression that caused the vein in Minerva's head to twitch as she pursed her lips. Even more hilarious was how her fingers clenched around the papers in her hand, crinkling all of her notes as she fought off the – incredibly obvious and humorous to him – urge to start ranting and raving at him as she often did whenever she disagreed with him. It brought to mind the occasion when he'd mused about sending Severus to go and introduce Dahlia to the magical world in their previous life. Admittedly, it'd had much potential for chaos and disaster, but the dour Potions Master was always in dire need of some levity in his life, previous timeline or now.

"Now, now, there's no need to be so pessimistic. This is a fantastic opportunity for the young minds that we're responsible for educating – and directing onto a course of life that doesn't include rampant stupidity and woeful ignorance; hopefully this generation makes more intelligent decisions than the last – hence why we should begin as soon as possible!" he finished with a bright smile, casually leaning back in his stuffed armchair as he popped a strawberry and cream sweet into his mouth. Hmm, fascinating. I shall have to find some more of these. I wonder if Severus knows where I can get them …

"Albus!"

He blinked slowly and came back to reality, turning to Minerva with a gentle smile that threatened to turn into a grin more reminiscent of his youth as he saw her visible fury. Cats are far too easy to anger.

"I'm so sorry about that, Minerva. I recently received these wonderful confections from one of our newest students –" thank you very much, Dahlia "– and they're quite brilliant. Would you care for one?" He offered his deputy the small bag, curious as to whether or not she would blast them away or if she could hold onto her temper.

Her dark eyes narrowed even further, though Albus noticed with some disappointment – only a little; he didn't exactly favour having to clean up his office after another anger-riddled explosion – that the powerful witch was subtly taking deep breaths to calm herself down. Pomona looked visibly worried at the situation, fiddling with the threads on her jacket as she fidgeted in place. On the other hand, Filius was silent from his chair, the only break in his mask a slight upturn of his lips as he sipped at his cup of tea. Unsurprising; he always did have a terrible sense of humour. Either way, nearly every person in the room was closely following their topic of conversation with their entire attention, fixated on the idea of changing their curriculum and its possible effects on the student body.

Except for Severus, that is, because the man was rhythmically drinking something that did not look like the tea they'd been served.

Albus eyed him curiously for a few seconds before brushing off his thoughts. If his fellow time traveller – or whatever it was that they now were; their situation was rather unique, now he thought about it, especially in the context of his previous research into time magics – wanted to immerse himself into the life of an alcoholic, there wasn't much that he could do about it. Severus wouldn't appreciate any interference of his.

Besides, Dahlia would likely sort him out eventually, if she didn't make things worse. That girl was tenacious.

Minerva deliberately cleared her throat, forcefully relaxing her shoulders. (Perhaps he should award points for control? It would be worth it for whatever expression she pulled.) "I appreciate the offer, Albus, but I'm quite alright. Perhaps we should get back to the conversation at hand?"

Albus beamed at her and nodded a few times. "A wonderful idea, Minerva! Please continue!"

His friend simply stared him in the eye blankly, looking for all the world as if she was trying to figure out the best way to kill him slowly and painfully without being prosecuted for it. Or perhaps she was accepting of the consequences of murder? He wasn't sure, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that he hadn't been so entertained at Hogwarts for a great many years. It was wonderful.

Minerva pursed her lips once more and turned back to her notes. "Well, as you've … surmised, the plans for Hogwarts comprise of massive changes, including but not limited to additional classes, extra staff including teaching assistants, as well as introducing excursions to places in both worlds to give the students a more practical understanding of their studies. Is that right, Albus?"

He smiled and clapped his hands once, trying not to laugh as Severus just closed his eyes in apparent pain and took another gulp of whatever was masquerading as tea in his mug. If only all staff meetings were this fun.

"Wonderfully summarised, Minerva! The only thing left to do now is decide on our new staff. Any trips can be included in the Professors' curriculum, which will have to be approved by all of us as well as the Board of Governors, which is clearly the easiest part of these changes." He shifted in his seat and surveyed his senior staff with a wide smile. "I have no doubt that we can all come to an agreement on how best to assist the students in this manner, which is why I'd like us to focus on the new teaching staff to bring in, and how many. Any suggestions?"

Three of his companions shared loaded glances as they considered his question. Which, considering the farce of a situation that he now found himself in, was genuinely serious. Albus had long since considered making such alterations to the curriculum of Hogwarts, long before his untimely – even if it had been bizarrely and oddly planned; one could only be the subject of Dahlia's disgusted glare for so long before they began to question each and every one of their life choices – demise in their beloved school.

As it was, he'd gone from continuously drowning in the guilt from Ariana's death and Gellert's misguided travels, to being buried under plans upon plans to deal with Tom's blatant insanity and their society's awful wars. Not exactly a lot of time to make such massive changes when any one of them could have had terrible consequences for their world. He'd been too emotional at the start, and then too cautious.

To quote a young (and foul-mouthed) Dahlia, "it had sucked balls".

(She really did make him laugh.)

Either way, he was now in a position to do something good for the school, and even better, he was able to sit back and enjoy the pandemonium from his random decisions without waiting for the other shoe to drop as war erupted. (Maybe he should gift young Tom-Marvolo some books on meditation for Christmas. Decisions, decisions …)

Albus reclined into his chair and smiled at his friends.

This life had so much potential.

What did I do to deserve this?

Severus paused in his marking and pushed that thought away. If he started going over all of his previous mistakes, he'd be there all day. And he'd likely kill his liver within the space of ten minutes. Not that he was doing so well on that front anyway, but there was no point in exacerbating the issue further.

The man grabbed his tumbler and downed his drink in one. Fuck this shit. He scowled to himself and leaned back in his chair. He'd been around that little brat far too long if his language was getting to be so awful even within the confines of his mind. Little shit that she is.

Dahlia Potter – or Potter-Black, or whatever the fuck her magical name was after her adoption and magical inheritances – was a disaster child, simple as. Not for the first time, Severus despaired over Lily procreating with that arrogant Gryffindor. While he'd initially been miserable from his first love turning away from him and ending up with that toerag, after his romantic inclinations had faded, he'd been horrified at the potential offspring of a reunion between his fiery best friend and her twat of a husband.

Turns out, he was right to be worried.

He only had to remember their previous life before the urge to drown his memories in firewhiskey rose within him like a tsunami. Traipsing all over the castle as a naïve eleven-year-old with no self-preservation instincts, going after a fucking basilisk, happily running around with an Azkaban escapee on the loose – even if Black hadn't been guilty of the crime he'd been incarcerated for, his personality still wasn't something suited for directing young children, no matter what he thought – fighting in the bloody Triwizard Tournament without trying to protect herself adequately, flying to the Ministry with no forethought, stalking a suspected – and actual – teenage Death Eater, going on the run …

If anything, he was surprised that high blood pressure hadn't killed him before Nagini had ever gotten the chance.

You would have thought that after fighting in a war as a teenager, being murdered and self-reflecting in the afterlife would have given the brat some sense of danger and forethought, but nooo … God forbid that Potter's offspring was any smarter than him. Then again, adding in the genes of a young woman who'd once marched up to a group of Death Eaters in the midst of a raid, all while eight-months pregnant, and started open firing in her fury probably wasn't the best combination. Dahlia had been doomed from conception. Just imagining what she would have been like if she'd been raised by her birth parents was enough to make him shudder.

Severus reached for the bottle and narrowed his eyes. I could have sworn that was full an hour ago. His face twitched with anger. Fucking little shit. Making me drink even more than usual. And yes, perhaps he was imbibing a little more than usual, but no, that did not mean that he had an alcohol problem, thank you very fucking much. Albus could fuck right off. That geriatric psychopath was currently attempting to overhaul the school's curriculum right in the middle of the bloody year, while also eating so much sugar that diabetes was going to off him long before old age could. Crazy bastard.

But what did that say about him? He worked for the wanker! He was literally sat there in his bloody cold office – though it was rather wonderful how the fireplace managed to warm the whole room so thoroughly; magic was quite brilliant when he thought about it – marking through stacks and stacks of essays from a bunch of idiotic children who made him want to scream every single bloody day.

The man pulled the first-year Hufflepuffs' essays towards him, groaning as he noticed the first one belonged to Longbottom. The eleven-year-old version was a far cry from the hardened warrior he'd once been – or would be; time travel fucked with his mind too much, and Death was going to get what was coming to them eventually, once he figured out how to curse an immortal entity – but he was better than he'd been before at this age. He blamed Dahlia for the change.

(Let's be honest, nearly everything going off course was that demon's fault.)

Bloody badgers. Too passive, too mild … How haven't they been killed by now? No, Mister Finch-Fletchley, porcupine quills cannot be used in that manner … For the love of God, Jones, do you even understand basic grammar? Smith, were you dropped on your head as an infant?! Severus paused in his fury and acknowledged the truth of that last thought. Zacharias Smith had always been inexplicably deficient in basic intelligence.

For fuck's – Severus took a deep breath before he did something childish like scream in frustration. He exhaled slowly before looking back down at the essay in front of him, double-checking the name in the top corner. Dahlia Potter-Black.

Little fucker.

The little fucker in question appeared to have had the audacity to draw over every spare inch of the parchment in archaic designs, some of which were runes, and some were just random doodles that he recognised from her sketches in the afterlife. Is that that game character she's so obsessed with? He pushed away that thought – Dahlia's mind was fucked up enough without him analysing it further – and returned to studying the girl's work. Spread out over the pages were small illustrations of the ingredients used in this particular potion, which were also animated thanks to being spelled by the irritating child in question. The aged parchment had also been written with a flourishing – and exceedingly difficult to read – script that denoted her entire argument throughout. Big, flowing letters, flowery language, all wrapped up in a continuous loopy script that made him want to strangle her. But that wasn't the worst part, oh no. Because if Dahlia could make it worse, then she damn well would.

The whole thing was written entirely in Irish.

I'm going to kill her.

Every time, every single bloody time he thought that she'd stopped being a trouble magnet – or instigator – she'd go and do something like this, which he also knew wasn't actually against the rules thanks to her Irish heritage, so she wasn't actually in the wrong, and therefore he had no genuine reason to punish her, and for the love of any deity that is possibly listening, can somebody please stop this madness? Or at least direct it away from me?!

He might be at the end of his tether. Just a little.

Seriously, Dahlia just couldn't leave well enough alone. Why did you think he was drinking to begin with? The deceptively cute Hufflepuff – and back up a minute. Hufflepuff? Really? He called bullshit so badly – was, for all intents and purposes, an innocent young girl in the most underestimated House of them all. One of the badgers should not be causing so much trouble in other Houses, least of all his own.

Pre-teen drama was far beyond what he was willing to give a shit about, and whatever was going on around that brat needed to take place far away from anywhere under his purview. His snakes should not be acting so high-strung, but they most assuredly were. Why? Because of Lily's devil daughter, that's why.

Dahlia presented herself as a charming and innocent girl to the world around her – if he rolled his eyes any more, he'd end up giving himself a genuine sight problem – a persona which the young men she associated with were horrifically drawn to for reasons that Severus refused to try and comprehend. Revolting, truly.

Draco was by far the most outspoken – and perhaps the worst, but the only good thing about acknowledging that would be Lucius' resulting heart attack – in his defence of his "virtuous" cousin, following her whenever he could in order to protect the delicate girl from whatever danger might befall her, especially from the other young men in the castle.

Severus didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Clearly, two facts were incredibly obvious to the Potions Master from these events. One, Draco was as dumb as a brick wall when it came to critical thinking, and two, Narcissa really needed to step up her game if she wanted to have a son worthy of his Black blood. The poor boy was, quite frankly, a dunce. (Not that Severus was unaware of this. Just remembering the little twat happily signing up to serve a megalomaniac made him want to ram his head against the castle wall. Or do the same thing to Draco. To be honest, it would probably do him a world of good.)

He wasn't the only issue either, he thought with a glare as he pulled Mister Nott's parchment over. The young lad was definitely deserving of his House placement, but his overprotective nature towards Dahlia just made Severus groan and take a swig from whatever alcoholic bottle was within his line of sight and reach. (It was fine. Really. Besides, he had so many antidotes on his person that he could probably carry on drowning his sorrows for years on end without dying at this point.)

Theodore had a tendency to glare at any young male who laid eyes on the vivacious young girl whom he shared blood with. Which, Severus could reluctantly understand when the man in question was of adult age, but fucking hell, he knew damn well that Dahlia did this on purpose. The majority of her closest friends this time around were of the male persuasion, and the brat was obviously having the time of her life in obscurely winding up her newly discovered cousin.

The less said about the resurrected Dark Lord, the better.

(Seriously, as much as he despised agreeing with the Potter brat in any way, shape or form, her nickname of 'Tomcat' was disgustingly appropriate. He was so horrifyingly feline in his behaviour, Severus couldn't help but question over and over why he'd ever followed any iteration of him.

Why was one of his biggest pastimes in this timeline questioning his own life choices?)

He sighed and turned back to his current drink of choice, pausing when he caught sight of the bottle. When did I empty that? The man sat in silence before sighing and vanishing the bottle, looking piteously at his empty glass. (Not that he'd ever admit such a fact to anybody. His habits were his own, and everybody could go and fuck off elsewhere.)

Severus sighed once more and stood. He couldn't carry on without something to help him from snapping mentally. A trip to Hogsmeade couldn't hurt.

He caught sight of Dahlia's essay and glared once more.

This was all Potter's fault.

"I'm kind of curious. Do you even know how to socialise?"

Brown eyes glared at her with a kind of rage-filled fire that reminded her of one of Mrs Figg's cats when she'd been a child. The angry feline had hissed and spat at her after she'd tried to talk to her, only to jump on her lap later on when her attention had been elsewhere.

'Tomcat' was so bloody accurate, it wasn't even funny. Well, it was funny, because she was fucking hilarious, but that was beside the point.

Dahlia shifted in her seat, tucking her legs under herself as she sat cross-legged and stared her previous would-be murderer in the eye. Which, fucking hell, that sounded so bloody fucked up, but then again, getting booted back into the world of the living in a different time period altogether wasn't much better, she supposed. Her life was so mad. Fun, but mad.

What was she doing? Oh, right. Teaching Tomcat about actual human interaction. This should be fun.

She blew a strand of her hair out of her eyes and wrinkled her nose at the tickling sensation. "Look, all I'm saying is that you seemed to agree with me before, now you're being some sort of hermit. Well, it looked like you agreed with me," she conceded with a small tilt of her head, musing to herself. "You are kind of the poster kid for 'anti-social tendencies'."

"I beg your pardon?" Ah, there's the anger we all know and love.

Dahlia rolled her eyes. "I thought you were going to build a decent relationship with everyone so you could coast through school before you graduated and inevitably ended up taking over the world through the Ministry. You know, use all those connections you would have no doubt made to do whatever the fuck you wanted."

The boy sent her a reprimanding look. "You're in the library, behave!"

She eyed him weirdly. "You literally became a murdering psycho, yet you're concerned about my language? You need to sort out your priorities."

And how weird was it that a pre-teen Tomcat and Hermione had similar issues with propriety? Mind-boggling. Absolutely, entirely, fucked up beyond belief.

"Are you even listening to me?" he hissed with a furious scowl.

"Not even a little," she replied blithely while inspecting her nails. Maybe I should try Hufflepuff colours? Would it look tacky? Hmm …

"Merlin, how did you even survive to adulthood last time around?"

Dahlia looked up and grinned. "To quote our brilliant Deputy Headmistress, 'sheer dumb luck'."

The boy gave her a disgusted look, silently judging her response. Which, rude much. She wasn't the one who went off the deep end at the age of eleven, not to mention trying to murder infants based on the crackpot predictions of supposed Seers who definitely had a drug habit. (Cooking sherry aside, those incense sticks that Trelawney used were not as benign as they appeared to be. She'd had the munchies far too often after Divination in her old life for them to be innocent, 'relaxing' scents. Then again, considering that shit was legal in the magical world with no age limit, Dahlia couldn't exactly blame her. That shit was fast-acting and potent. A wicked combo, if you asked her.)

She ignored the twitching boy across from her – and it was still hilarious to see baby fat on his cheeks; she had to pinch it at some point, risk of imminent death or not – and looked down at her newest essay. Charms. She actually liked this class. It probably had something to do with her mother being good at it, and Dahlia wanting to connect with her on some spiritual level to make the memory of Lily proud.

Sounds nice in reality, but that was such bullshit.

Dahlia loved Charms because Flitwick, a) knew his subject like the back of his hand, b) didn't seem to even understand the meaning of the word 'discrimination' and treated every student equally, and c) he had such a fucking hilarious sense of humour that it was practically a crime to miss even a single one of his classes. The diminutive man might appear to be gentle and calm on the outside, but she distinctly remembered seeing the man cordon off Fred and George's pranks after they noped the fuck out of school last time around, deliberately – and gleefully – preserving the chaos, for no other reason than the apparent torture of one Dolores Umbridge.

Really, the man should have been awarded an Order of Merlin for that act alone.

She wondered if he too would enjoy deciphering an essay in another language. Post-war meetings – with copious amounts of alcohol – from before revealed that Flitwick's human heritage hailed from Scotland, so the man was fluent in Gaelic as well as English in terms of human languages. Dahlia was too, thanks to Brian's ridiculous well of knowledge that she'd happily taken advantage of when dead. You know, when she hadn't been immersing herself into the wonderful world of fictional games. The oh-so-fantastical adventures that had kept her sane and distracted from the two nuisances she'd lived with. Because Christ almighty, you'd have thought that two grown men would understand that no, that is not how a washing machine works, and bloody hell, if you don't want to deal with one another, then go to your own god damn rooms, and will you two please learn how to put your fucking shit away, you lazy, good-for-nothing, degenerate, Neanderthals?!

… No matter what anyone said, Dahlia did not have any unresolved issues, and she especially didn't have OCD. Fuck right off.

Dahlia tilted her head back to the ceiling and started humming quietly, giving no fucks whatsoever concerning her choice in song. Baby Tomcat paused in his writing and looked up at her, wrinkling his nose and giving her a haughty – and rudely judgemental – look. It's like an angry, murderous Ferret. Thank fuck they can't procreate with one another. Dahlia would off herself if that ever came to pass. A lifetime with Dumbass Death was preferable to that.

"Why on earth are you humming Christmas carols? It's only October."

She turned to her companion and grinned – if the expression had too many teeth, then it was obviously a complete accident. "So? Nothing wrong with getting into the spirit early." Dahlia leaned forward and raised a brow, smirking as she did. "So, what's your favourite song? What's your most cherished piece of music for the most festive time of the year?"

Tomcat glared at her again – I'm getting way too bored of that look; he needs to switch things up – and gripped his book so tightly his knuckles were white. "I abhor all of those incessantly disgusting carols, if you must know. Now, I have far too much to do to deal with your inane, insanity-driven ramblings, so if you wouldn't mind, piss off!"

Between the hissing tone and the casual swearing, it was all Dahlia could do not to start giggling hysterically. Little Mister-I-am-a-totally-normal-human-aside-from-unprecedented-time-travel-and-being-raised-from-the-dead-so-if-you-wouldn't-mind-bowing-down-to-me-as-your-not-so-benevolent-overlord-Gaunt was usually a very proper young man. Ignoring previous murder attempts and megalomaniac plans, of course. As such, he presented himself as the polite and charming pure-blood he wanted people to see him as. Being so 'uncouth' didn't usually happen, though Dahlia was delighted to realise that Tomcat only acted like the prick he really was whenever she provoked him. She was so awesome.

Dahlia's lips twitched up into a barely-restrained grin and she stood up, gathering her things as she did. "I am curious, though." She made sure that she had everything in her satchel so she could leave her poor classmate alone. (Pissing off a baby Dark Lord was one thing, but she did not want to get on the wrong side of Madam Pince. That woman was like a bloody ghost with how she materialised out of thin air, and a heart attack at eleven wasn't exactly on Dahlia's bucket list.) "Have you ever heard the words 'pot' and 'kettle' at all?"

She dodged a quill to the head and chuckled under her breath, eyes glinting as her favourite victim flushed red in anger. Ah, fun times. Got to do this more often. I wonder if Brian'll have any more ideas?

Dahlia walked around the table and turned back to the furious Slytherin, a wicked expression painted across her lips.

"Just wondering, you're not going to make another anagram, are you?"

And with that, Dahlia ran off laughing to the background cacophony of expletives in Parseltongue, grinning madly at the sight of some second-year Hufflepuffs freaking out, thinking there was a snake in the library.

Cats are so easy to wind up.

Dahlia squinted at the cards, scanning over the numbers before consulting the book next to her.

Yeah, no dice.

"Need a hand?"

She rolled her eyes and flashed the middle finger as she took a sip of her Dr Pepper – maybe Dad can send me some more? God knows I need more sugar – shifting on her cushion as she did.

"I think you'll find I'm doing perfectly fine, thank you very much," she replied with a huff, slamming a card down on the table with triumph. Ha, take that, arsehole.

"…Dahlia, you can't use that card like that, or put that card there. Do you even know what game we're playing right now?"

The girl felt herself flush and scowled. She damn well did know what they were playing, she was just kind of … err …

"Shit. The word you're looking for is 'shit'."

Dahlia shot her companion a venomous look. "Stop reading my mind, wanker!"

Death just rolled his eyes and muttered something about her lack of intelligence – hypocritical bastard – as he shifted into a cross-legged position. A wince flashed across his face and Dahlia smirked vindictively at the sight, enjoying the idea of her eternal tormentor being subject to his own karma for once.

"Is something wrong? Suffering from some pain, perhaps? The back and legs, maybe?"

Black eyes rolled in exasperation. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I still maintain that a certain look of authenticity lends itself to the atmosphere."

"What atmosphere?" she scoffed. "We're playing cards in The Room of Requirement. Literally, nobody else can see you dressed like that. Good thing, really," she added with a tilt of her head. "You might look like one my favourite anime characters to me, but to anyone else, you'd literally look like a perpetually-exhausted uni student. Or a hobo. Or some mix of the two."

Death glared at her with L's deep black eyes, and Dahlia shook her head, bemused at the sight of the infamous detective from 'Death Note' showing a more conventional range of human emotions. Death was rubbing his thighs, wincing from trying to sit like L for the past hour. Which, didn't take a genius to realise wasn't going to feel nice on the quads. She perked up in her seat. Well, there's a clear distinction. L was a prodigy, an intellectual genius nearly unparalleled in everything he put his mind to. This bum's a complete and utter moron.

"Oi! What have I done to deserve this slander?"

Dahlia paused from rummaging in her bag of snacks, just sending a look at the supernatural entity. Words weren't exactly needed at this precise moment. Besides, her cute little face and gleaming eyes were more than enough to convey her exact thoughts at this particular point in time. Thoughts which were a peculiar combination of simplistic yet complex. Thoughts which were entirely warranted, as far as she was concerned.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Death just muttered disparagingly under his breath as he moped across the table. Considering how old this prat is, he's such a child. He paused suddenly and turned to her, brows furrowed and tired eyes boring into hers. "Do you think some props would help? With the outfit, I mean?"

She eyed him weirdly. "You don't mean a Death Note, do you? Because I'm pretty sure conjuring one of those would be a pain in the arse."

He waved a pale hand and leaned back casually. "Nah, not what I meant. Besides, making a fully functioning one would be piss easy."

Dahlia blinked and snapped her head around. Does he mean –?

"I meant this."

With a wave of his hand, Death was surrounded by plates and plates of cakes, each one taunting Dahlia's childlike appetite with the bright colours, mouthwatering scents and soft-looking sponge. Fucking hell, I'd quite happily die from diabetes right now.

Death snorted and pushed a plate towards her, Dahlia literally melting from the sight of all of the strawberries and cream that would give Hermione a literal heart attack from all of the sugar. Her stomach rumbled and she gleefully grabbed the little fork next to her, almost bouncing in place from her incoming stomach ache.

She should probably – wait. Dahlia peered up at the immortal being and cocked her head to the side. "Hey," she said, getting his attention. "People usually give their thanks to various gods when they eat, right?"

He nodded slowly, swallowing the bite of chocolate cake before opening his mouth. "Yes, that's right."

"Right. So, if I were to thank you now, or give thanks to you on the regular, would that do something dodgy to my magic? You know, thanking and practically worshipping Death?"

Death froze with wide eyes, spoon hovering by his mouth. He glanced at her with an odd look in his eyes.

"Yeah … don't do that."

"Why?"

"Just don't."

She hummed and went back to her cake. "Alright."

Maybe some things are best left alone.

"Anyway, you got any idea on how to handle Tomcat?"

Death made an enquiring sound as he popped a blueberry into his mouth. Fruit on cake is easily one of the best culinary discoveries of our history.

She mentally shook off her cake daydreaming – enormously difficult, to be fair; cake was one of the greatest inventions of all time, enough said – and cleared her throat. "I'm trying to get the little shit to socialise. Other than his Housemates – and we all know Slytherins have their own weird ways of initiating contact with one another – I'm not sure who else might be best."

"Best for what, exactly?" the man asked absentmindedly, more focused on his cupcake than on her. Totally understandable.

"Knocking him off guard, of course. What, did you think I was going to be nice to him?" she enquired with a wicked grin.

Death snorted and shook his head. After a few seconds a mischievous expression crossed his face – and fucking hell, L should not look like that; L's an anti-social genius, not a crazy, manipulative twat – and he tilted his head to the side, thick locks of his spiky hair falling into his face. I'm not sure if that's funny, or if the sight's going to haunt my nightmares.

"Well, you were blood-adopted recently, weren't you? Sirius has ancestors too, doesn't he?"

Dahlia blinked in realisation and felt a wide grin creep across her face. Oh, this should be fun. He won't know what to do.

The man – or being? Being sounds like the best descriptor to keep to, to be honest – smirked back at her, chuckling under his breath as he did. Not even a minute later, he paused and sent her a devious look that had her coiled in her seat, waiting for his shitty insult. As it always is, wanker.

"So, you figured out how to play Blackjack yet?"

Fuck you.

It was so annoying that transfiguring cards into small daggers and shooting them at Death wasn't enough to enact her – very much deserved – revenge, but she'd take what she could at this point. He was such a pain in the arse. Bloody hell, now I'm agreeing with Severino. What's the world come to?

She dodged his returning spell and asked the room for a load of … appendages that Death didn't seem to appreciate all that much. To her eternal enjoyment, of course.

"Tentacles?! Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Dahlia had her arms wrapped around her stomach, sat on the floor as she cackled hysterically at the sight of Death trying to evade some very friendly tentacles. He might like to insult her, but she knew that even Death was creeped out by some things. And the results were always hilarious.

Another point to moi, I think.

Her tormentor screamed in a rather high-pitched voice and she took a few shallow breaths, trying to stem her tears. Her stomach hurt from laughing so much, but god this was brilliant to witness.

Totally worth it.

Huh, Brian can be helpful sometimes.

Dahlia crouched down next to her target and poked his head, noting with a bit of guilt – just a little! It was for a good cause, she swore! – that he was totally out of it. She didn't think her stunner had been that strong. Then again, knowing how her spells were supposed to work, and not having a living parasite in her head – which, ew, gross; it was so much worse now that she could literally lay her eyes on Tomcat and his complete soul – meant that her magic was way better than usual. Well, that's what she thought was causing her magical prowess. Honestly, it could just be Death fucking around as normal – definitely not outside the realm of possibility – even if the twat had given her some helpful – and rather entertaining – advice, he was still a perpetual headache, and likely would be for all of time thanks to the bloody Hallows.

Anyway, I digress. She had things to do, places to be, plans to be carried out …

Kidnappings to be completed.

Well, just the one, really. And honestly, it wasn't as if Dahlia was doing this for nefarious purposes. It was an early birthday present for her beloved new father. And a rather late – or rather early, depending on your perspective – birthday present for this lovely person next to her. This lovely, unconscious person laying at her feet, completely dead to the world around them.

She shrugged her shoulders. Oh, well.

Dahlia sent a mental thanks to Gran Melania – that woman was such a badass – for renting her a room in The Three Broomsticks with no questions asked, and went about sorting out her newest friend's clothes. Thank fuck for switching spells. There're some things I really don't need to see. Once they were dressed warmly, Dahlia casually flicked her wand, causing them to rise off the ground and levitate in front of her. Dahlia grabbed their waist where they were floating, dragging the both of them over to the fireplace and grabbing some Floo powder off the mantelpiece as she climbed in.

She threw the glittering powder into the fireplace, clearly muttered her room number, and pulled the two of them through the swirling green flames, holding on tight to her capture in case she lost them. Wouldn't be her finest moment; kidnapping someone, only to accidentally drop them in Wales or something.

Dahlia stumbled out the other side, cursing at the soot in her nose and the ridiculous weight of her friend. Bloody idiot's too heavy. And tall. Curse her small body. Dahlia heard the door start to open at the other side of the room, so quickly spelled their clothes clean and woke up her companion. What happened from here on out was up to them. More or less.

She had some back-up plans, after all. And Melania Black's blessing, so she was winning, basically.

Dahlia darted out from behind the no-longer-unconscious body – maybe calling them a body isn't the best way to go about this? Oh well, it's not exactly a lie – and backed away, covering herself in the Invisibility Cloak just as the door opened, fully exposing her kidnapee – wait, is that a word? Oh well, whatever – and the space where she was hidden.

Stood off to the side, the girl watched with a grin as the room's two (visible) occupants made eye contact with one another, freezing in their spots as their eyes drunk in the other's appearance. It would have been a little creepy if Dahlia didn't know why they were stunned. As it was, she thought it was kind of cute.

"Sirius?"

"Remus?"

A beat of silence, then the two men practically ran across the room to meet in the middle, arms wrapping tightly around each other and holding on for dear life. Aw, how sweet! Totally adorable. It was rather funny, when she thought about; both men were far too focused on the other to even question how this was possible. In Remus' case, he didn't even seem too bothered that he'd spontaneously disappeared from the south west of England just to end up in northern Scotland. Nice to see he's focused on the big picture.

"I'm sorry that I ever thought it was the truth."

"It's fine, we're the ones who –"

"It's okay, it doesn't matter –"

"Of course it does! If it wasn't –"

"Sirius …"

Dahlia's silent giggles cut off and she raised a brow as she watched the scene play out before her. Remus had pulled back, his voice low and gravelly, and one of his large hands was gently holding her new dad's chin, staring deep into his eyes as they stood in silence. Sirius was leaning into the werewolf's hand, seemingly without even noticing, and he looked so peaceful at this moment in time.

Definitely an OTP for the ages.

She grinned at the obvious romance – and perhaps felt a little vindicated seeing as Ron had always thought she was barmy for thinking there was something between the two Marauders. Ha, take that, Weasley! My intuition's brilliant, thank you very much – and made sure to get a good look so she could show Gran Melania her memory later. For someone who could be a bit stuck-up and superior, the woman was surprisingly liberal in her views, especially in terms of love.

That, and she wanted an opportunity to meddle in her grandson's love life.

Dahlia came back to reality to see the two men muttering lowly to one another, comforting and gentle. Well, it would have been if it weren't for the very intent glint she could see in her dad's eyes. Bloody hell, I could have gone my whole life without being scarred like that. She could have sworn they were even closer now, and there was a hand that was trailing down –

ABORT! ABORT!

Definitely my cue to leave. She spun on the spot and crept towards the door, which was still wide open thanks to the spacey mind of one Sirius Orion Black. Azkaban might be a factor here, but Dahlia had a feeling an extended prison sentence wasn't the sole reason for his whacked mind. Dumbass that he is. She chanced a peek to the side and almost wolf-whistled at the sight, just to scare the shit out of the dumb couple, but having to explain her extra-curricular activities to a man who still thought she was a faultless angel would just ruin her future fun. Besides, she really didn't need to see what she thought might soon happen.

She employed her awesome powers of stealth – if only she could move like Ezio, life would be so much more fun – and sneaked out the room, ever so slowly closing the door behind her silently. Adding a few locking spells for good measure – god knows those two idiots weren't thinking with the right head right now – she started making her merry way downstairs and through the pub, dodging the various drunks who clearly had no shame what with it not even being midday. Not that she'd never done the same, but she never got like this. (In public.)

Dahlia stepped away from the pub and looked up at the majestic castle, grinning to herself as she did.

She had an owl to send to an awesome witch.

Melania straightened up and smoothed down her dress, staring down at the plinth with a contemplative expression on her aristocratic face. This had the potential to drastically shake things up.

Perfect, she thought, smirking so evilly that Arcturus froze in his seat and eyed her warily.

"Melania, Dear, is something wrong?"

She turned away from the Pensieve and beamed happily, struggling not to cackle at her husband's obvious discomfort. After all the shit his wretched family had put her through ever since their engagement, she felt more than entitled to some revenge on the House of Black. That it was far more hilarious – and helpful to her sole remaining grandchild – than damaging to their House was all the better, in her opinion. She wasn't one to deliberately cause trouble that could hurt her family, but injecting some chaotic changes was a whole other thing. Something that made her rather gleeful to consider when contemplating the future of the Blacks.

Even more gleeful was little Dahlia.

Her adopted great-granddaughter was a delightful imp, and her antics made Melania laugh far more often than she had in recent years. Not that she hadn't been happy with her life, but Dahlia was definitely a breath of fresh air into their House. A burst of pure levity that appealed to Melania's more manipulative tendencies. It was so nice being able to direct another young lady in the ways of being a little shit that could blend seamlessly into the expected norms of their society. She hadn't had this much fun since training Cedrella!

(Speaking of, she definitely needed to talk to her obstinate husband about progressive ideals and revoking his idiotic father's decisions to disinherit Arcturus' cousins. From what she'd heard, their children had a wealth of magical power. Ignoring all of their potential – potential that could be used for the family – all for the sake of pride was stupidity at its finest. Then again, considering her husband's brilliant decisions concerning Grindelwald, it was clear that obstinate idiocy ran in his blood. She might need some force to get her point across. What a shame that would be.)

"Of course not, Husband. I've simply received the most wonderful news concerning our grandson. It seems as if Sirius isn't as romantically disentangled as we'd previously thought." She smiled beatifically as Arcturus choked on his tea, spluttering as he tried to clear his throat. It's rather adorable how he hasn't changed at all in nearly eighty years.

Arcturus sent a bewildered look her way. "I beg your pardon? The lad's been in Azkaban for the past decade! How would his love life have recovered so quickly?"

She laughed airily, rather enjoy stupefying her husband so much. It's the little things in life. "I think you'll find it's more a case of him picking up where he left off all those years ago." Melania walked over to the table next to her husband and poured herself a glass of water, taking a small sip as she smirked to herself. "I mean, he's always been a bit of a rebel, but jumping straight back into his dalliance with his very male, werewolf lover is certainly carefree, wouldn't you say?"

"What?! That –"

"I suppose there's not much to be done about young love, is there?"

"This is –"

"And even if we could stop it, there's not really much point is there?"

"Surely you don't –"

"I mean, young Dahlia is going to be Lady Black in the future, so Sirius' relationships don't really matter in the grand scheme of things, do they?"

"Melania –"

"If you really think about this, the House of Black could go forward with some revolutionary political moves in the Wizengamot thanks to this particular development. Our world does appear to be in desperate need of some progressive reforms, and I don't know about you, Dear, but it doesn't please me to think of leaving the future of our House in such dire straights. Just think of how many allies we could gain! Relationships could be repaired, or gained, and House Black could be all the better for it if we play our cards right. And just think of Sirius." She slowly turned her head, disregarding her musing posture so she could look Arcturus dead in the eye, her head tilted down to the side and eyes narrowed ever so slightly in a threatening stance that her husband would no doubt recognise from their decades-long marriage. She added a lazy, smirking smile that threatened to widen at Arcturus' tense shoulders.

"Now, you wouldn't want to break your only grandchild's heart, would you, Husband?"

Arcturus swallowed and smiled weakly at her. "Of course not, Dear."

Another win for me.

She turned from her lovely – if somewhat idiotic – husband and grinned wickedly as she caught sight of a photograph of Sirius and Dahlia on the wall. Her family was so fun sometimes. Now, how can I help my beloved grandson in his romantic endeavours?

Melania set off down the hallway of Black Manor as she contemplated this particular courting.

It's been years since I planned a wedding.

A/N: Hello again!

You know, when I said that I wanted a couple of weeks off of work, this wasn't exactly what I envisioned. Before anyone tries to kill me through the power of the internet, yes, that was a joke, but NO, I am not taking this pandemic lightly. I've literally become a paranoid hermit recently. My social anxiety's taken such a bad hit because it's now recommended to stay in. Ugh fml

Anyway, sorry it took so long. This story's a mess as always. I was going to get right back into this at the start of lockdown, then I took a couple of days of to just laze around, then I found this old TV programme on YT that I used to watch when I was younger. It's called 'Rosemary & Thyme' if anyone wants to check it out. It's literally a couple of women gardeners who keep stumbling across murders and end up solving them. I swear, it's weirdly relaxing for a murder mystery show. If you enjoy camera shots of English and European landscapes, it's amazing. And no, I have no shame for watching something that would definitely appeal to an elderly demographic. Come at me, bro.

(I'm so sorry, lockdown is making me go crazy.)

I've posted a couple of other family trees to my deviantart (anime-otaku20) if you want to check them out. And yes, I included Wolfstar, because we all know they're practically canon anyway lol. And Dahlia and Melania ship it, which is just too good of a set up for hijinks :D

Also, a quick headcanon. Lily was half-Irish, half-Welsh. 'Evans' is a Welsh surname, so I see her dad as Welsh, but red hair's pretty common in Ireland, so I see her mum as Irish. Hence the essay from hell lol

Thanks for sticking around with my awful update schedule as always, and sorry if I bored you with my rambling in these notes.

Please, stay safe and look after yourselves. This pandemic isn't discriminating anymore, and it's getting worse every day. I hope each and every one of you reading are in good health, and that you can remain that way. Stay home and keep as safe as you possibly can.

Until next time guys, and thanks for reading. See ya! :D