A/N: Hey guys, thank you for the support and the patience. It took me much longer to finish this chapter than expected for several reasons one of them is that I had no idea where to stop and the plot got away from me. I hope you'll like it and it will be worth the wait. I'm looking forward to hear your thoughts on the chapter and feel free to follow me on Tumblr: queenofthewips . tumblr. com

Part VIII – Teenage Woes

28 December 2006, Black House, Lima, Ohio

Rastaban stared at Santana who was standing on his porch, looking less than fine. Her eyes were dulled and she wasn't wearing any of her favoured make up. Her clothes were more suited for comfort than for aesthetics, too. Something must have happened since Rastaban had last seen her, and he had no illusions about not hearing about it in details.

"Your father?" Santana asked, her voice slightly hoarse.

"In New York."

"Ah organizing your elite birthday soiree? Where the plebs isn't welcome?"

"If it's your biggest dream to be publicly humiliated in front of the British noble society because you have no sense of self-conduct, feel free to drop by," Rastaban snarked back without missing a beat. "But while you decide, why not come in?"

"You wouldn't defend me?"

"I don't know how you expect these things to go, but underage girls and boys are kept separated until dinner and even after the ball is officially opened by the host and their family, you can't just go up to someone and talk to them," Rastaban explained calmly, finding immense enjoyment in Santana's dumbfounded look. "It's honestly not about rich people getting drunk and letting their hair down so to say. Your every move is carefully watched to be criticized later, and political games are played by everyone around you, meaning you can't trust anyone."

"Yeah, yeah, you can keep your posh party to yourself. But you have to give a party here, too. I want to get drunk."

"You're thirteen."

Santana shrugged, uncaring. "Some start early."

"Sadly for you, there is not a chance I'd provide you with alcohol," Rastaban said and led her to the sitting room, only to be grabbed by his wrist and dragged into his bedroom. "Are you going to cry?" he asked uncertainly when Santana threw herself on his bed like it was her own.

"Fuck you, Black," came the muffled answer, but the girl's shoulders were shaking. "You're the worst friend ever." Rastaban sighed and sat down next to her, but knew better than to try to touch her.

"We have freshly made ice cream?"

"Ice cream is for pussies. I want vodka. Or whiskey. Something that'll kill enough brain cells that I'll forget last night," she snapped peering at him from the crook of his elbows.

"Sorry, still no." Rastaban didn't sound sorry at all. "But I guess I could listen."

"And who says I want to talk to a dweeb like you?! You don't even know what a set of boobs looks like let alone a real pussy," Santana sniped nastily, her lips pulled into a deep scowl.

"Let me guess, you slept with Puckerman," Rastaban said matter-of-factly, ignoring Santana's wince.

"So what? The fucker fucked Brittany and there's no chance I didn't try him too."

"You mean, you were jealous and had to make her feel bad, too."

"You can shut your pristine fucking mouth, dickhead! I told you it's ain't nothing like that between me and Britt." Santana raised her fist and punched Rastaban in his arm, hard.

"And I told you, I'm neither blind, nor stupid." Rastaban refused to rub at the aching spot, but he glared at the girl nevertheless. "You brought Brittany to our first and only date, and defended her like a lioness when that uncouth waiter tried to humiliate her. Also, I've seen you two kissing far too many times for it to be platonic between you two."

"Well, it is," Santana shot back petulantly. "And I want you to kick Puckerman's ass."

"Why? Because at thirteen he was less than a stellar lover?"

"Less than stellar? He had no idea what he was doing! It hurt like hell and then he started panicking when saw the blood. So I demand you to kick his sorry ass for ruining my first time."

Rastaban looked down at his friend and wondered if she was for real. He didn't know much about Puckerman because they didn't share any classes or have the same friends, but from what he'd heard from Kurt and Rachel, he wasn't impressed. He sounded like an insolent brat, who was doing his best to destroy himself while hoping that someone would finally notice that he was suffering. After the last time Kurt had told him about the rumours going around about Puckerman, Rastaban seriously thought about telling his papa and making him take actions. Except, it wasn't any of his business what a boy he didn't have any connections to did with his life, and he seriously doubted Puckerman would have welcomed the meddling of a complete stranger.

Still, despite all the negative things he'd heard about him, Rastaban didn't think being inexperienced in the bedroom was any reason to hurt the boy. Not to mention, he had seemed genuinely afraid when he had hurt Santana, or so it had sounded like.

"Did he stop when he noticed that you're in pain?" Rastaban asked, staring at Santana imploringly.

"What if he did? It still sucked."

"Did he try to help you?"

"Yeah, but it means nothing. He's still a useless jackass."

"And you're a demanding brat who made her own decision about losing her virginity at thirteen to another thirteen year old mostly inexperienced kid and is now complaining about not getting what she expected," Rastaban said, more harshly than he intended.

"I thought you're my friend," Santana said bitterly, and there was genuine hurt in her tone that caused Rastaban's anger to deflate.

"I'm your friend, Santana, which is why I refuse to coddle you and tell you pretty lies," he replied softly. "You made a bad call and you have to take responsibility for it."

"Puck should have known better."

"Why? Because he had had sex before you? He's the same age as you. I wouldn't be surprised if Brittany was the first girl he had ever slept with."

"That's ridiculous. He already fucked half of the McKinley cheerleader squad and some soccer mom took his virginity," Santana scoffed, rolling her eyes. Rastaban felt appalled at those rumours, especially because Santana made them sound like they were the most natural things in the world.

"Did it feel like he regularly sleeps with older women when he was with you?" he asked, trying to keep his composure.

"Hell no! I told you it felt like shit."

"Then please refrain from spreading those awful rumours, because they can hurt Puckerman a lot."

"He's the one who started them! I overheard him boasting to Hudson a few months ago that he somehow got Madison's mom in bed with him. What was I supposed to think?" Santana looked outraged, although Rastaban couldn't decide if it was over believing what Puckerman had said or about Puck sleeping with an older woman.

"I somehow highly doubt that Mrs. Peterson would commit statutory rape with a thirteen-year-old."

"You know Madison's mom? Wait, stupid question, of course you know her. You know everyone's mother, father and probably their great-great-great-grandfather too," Santana said, but her voice wasn't as venomous as she probably wanted it to be.

"The Petersons like to believe they're only a step away from high society and my papa likes to indulge them because under all the soft smiles and reservation, he's as much of a trickster as my uncle is," Rastaban replied shrugging one of his shoulder and then promptly had to hide a wince at the sharp jolt that ran through his body. He hated that damned monitoring charm.

"Which one? The pompous, but yummy blond or the one who was creeping over at us during our 'date'?"

"Sirius. He was the one who chaperoned our 'date'," he mimicked Santana air quotes with a smirk.

"It doesn't mean she wouldn't try an eager little morsel if she got the chance."

"You know that if that rumour came out and turned out to be true, Mrs. Peterson would face some serious jail time, right?" At Santana's indifferent expression, he added, "Also, Mrs. Puckerman would probably be taken under inspection by the child care services."

"Are you trying to con me into talking Puck out of spreading bullshit about his studliness?" Santana asked, narrowing her eyes.

"I'm not trying to do anything, Santana. It's up to you if you care about Puck's future and well-being enough to do the right thing."

"Why don't you do it, if you're so worried about poor little Pucky?"

"Because I don't know him. You can believe that I would have kicked his ass already if I were his friend." Naturally, the charm activated at the profanity jolting him even more strongly than before, and this time Rastaban couldn't entirely hide his wince at the sudden pain, earning a strange look from Santana.

"You're a devious bastard, you know that?"

"I heard it takes one to know one."

"I hate you."

"Of course, you do. That's why you're sprawled out on my bed like a starfish, whining to me about your mistakes."

"You take that back, Black, or you'll regret it."

"My bad," Rastaban said, amused. "I mistook your very serious complaints for the crying of an insolent child."

"Fuck you!" Santana snapped and hurled a throw pillow into Rastaban's head who could barely evade the attack. "You gonna feed me for that asshat comment."

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Rastaban questioned cheekily as he got up from the bed and headed to the kitchen with a small laugh.

Santana cursed after him, but she followed him nevertheless. Their friendship was a strange one, yet Rastaban had never felt freer before. Santana didn't expect him to be perfect and was more than ready to defend herself if she had to, something that Rastaban appreciated and admired in her. And even if he didn't say it out loud, he valued their friendship as much as he valued his friendship to Theo and Kurt.

6 January 2007, Black House, Lima Ohio

"What is Berry doing here, Black?!" Santana demanded the moment she laid her eyes on Rachel who was sipping from a tea cup.

"She said she's trying to master the art of aristocratic tea drinking whatever that might be," Rastaban replied easily, waving his hand noncommittally.

"No, I meant here, in your house."

"You wanted me to throw a birthday party because you felt left out when you didn't get an invitation to the annual Black Yule Gala. I'm doing that."

"Don't play that shit with me, you perfectly know what I'm talking about."

"Rachel is my friend, why shouldn't she be here?" Rastaban blinked innocently, but it was hard to contain the smug smirk that wanted to turn the corners of his mouth up.

"Because she's a total loser? I thought you were finally coming to your senses about associating yourself with the outcast," Santana hissed, crossing her arm in front of her chest.

"I'm pretty sure, I'm one of the outcast myself."

"Because you choose to be!"

"More like because I'm that arrogant rich kid who believes he's too good for everyone at our school," Rastaban shot back earning an angry glare.

It had been a constant argument between them for far too long. Santana wanted Rastaban to abandon Kurt and Rachel and join the popular kids, while Rastaban refused to do it without taking Kurt and Rachel with him. Over the last year and a half he had got into more fights just to defend his friends than in the previous ten altogether, including his painfully short stint at Bauxbatons. The students of Emmerson Junior High saw him as either crazy for associating with the resident screech ball and fairy or as an arrogant jerk who publicly snubbed Santana Lopez's offer to sit with the jocks and cheerleaders at lunch because he thought himself above them.

Of course there were also those who loved to make up rumours about him behind his back while acted all nice and sweet in his face. Rastaban hated those people the most. And sometimes he hated that his upbringing demanded him to bear the whispers and made-up crap with his head held high and proud. Because ridiculous fabrications could never touch a Black. Sometimes, when his nightmares about being crucioed to insanity or the heart-breaking begging of Lily Potter kept him up all night, he thought about throwing everything his family had been working for away and coming clean about his real identity. He thought of telling the world that he was Harry Potter, that he was alive and had been under the Wizarding World's nose all this time without them ever noticing.

He thought of running away sometimes, too. Of hiding away from the responsibilities, the endless political games and from always having to pretend that he was perfect. That he was great with people and always knew what to say, how to solve problems, how to draw others' attention just by walking into a room. He was none of those things. He remembered hiding away in the library the first time he had to attend a gathering, because he didn't want to deal with people. He remembered being terrified of failing and disappointing his family by not living up to their expectations, which caused him to try even harder and yet he still wasn't good enough for everyone.

He looked down at Santana who was staring back at him defiantly, daring him to comment on the absence of Brittany. Rastaban didn't because he wasn't cruel and there were others in the room. Also because Santana would probably rip his tongue out if he did. She was one hell of a fierce girl and Rastaban couldn't be more grateful for her not being born as a witch. Not that she needed magic to rule their school with iron fists, her status as the most popular girl absolute and unwavering. She was sarcastic, brash and vulgar, but under the layers of barbed steel she genuinely cared for those who were close to her.

Rastaban liked that about her the most and felt proud to be considered one of those people who were close to Santana's heart even if the girl would never admit it. They made great friends and Rastaban hoped their friendship would stand against time and people's expectations. She was the only one who never let him fall too deep into his role as the flawless noble heir and was more than happy to call him out on being a stuck up prat. In turn, Rastaban didn't fawn over her or try to use her. They were equals who challenged each other and supported each other at the same time.

This time, they definitely weren't even considering supporting each other. "I wanted a party, but I only get Kermit Berry and Princess Hummel?" Santana growled, ignoring Rachel's indignant 'Hey!' from the sofa. Kurt just rolled his eyes in derision. "Where is the champagne and the glamour?"

"In New York where they belong," Rastaban replied curtly, not wanting to think about the scandal that ruined the entire night and was splashed over the front page of every magical newspaper the next day. "You wanted a party, well you're getting a party, but I decide what kind of party it's going to be."

"Really now? And what are we going to do? Braid each other's hair and paint our nails while gossiping about people you don't know because you're a special wallflower who only interacts with people at school if they're big enough of a freaks for you or if they're trying to beat you up?"

"Santana, your bitch is showing," Kurt commented frostily. "And you can leave anytime. No one forces you to stay."

"No one asked you, Hummel," Santana snapped.

"You're ruining Rastaban's party and it hasn't even started yet."

"What party? There are three guests altogether! Three, and two of them are huge losers."

"Not my fault no one can appreciate my winning personality," Rastaban shrugged, grinning when the monitoring charm remained dormant.

"Your personality sucks. I have no idea what those reporters snort but to call you charming and sweet and charismatic," Santana scoffed, rolling her eyes dramatically. "I have no idea how you always get away with beating up those brainless idiots on the football team."

"I'm lucky."

"I think you pronounced blackmailing them wrong," Kurt piped up. "Oh and you know, no teacher checks the dumpsters and no one tells them the jocks are copying their counterparts at McKinley by throwing less lucky students in the dumpsters."

"Oh, I heard about that!" Rachel said looking at them with wide eyes. "Two girls in my English class were talking about how David and his friends took Jacob behind the dumpsters. But I thought they just beat him up."

"Don't tell me, you defended Jewfro's fragile honour, too?" Santana looked at Rastaban with so much disgust he almost felt bad.

"No, Santana," he replied, curling his lips in distaste. "Whatever you might think, I'm not some deluded superhero replica who rushes to aid every vulnerable and weak person in our glorious town."

"I'd be more inclined to believe you if two of the biggest dweebs weren't sitting in your fancy living room, sipping your posh tea from your posh china set."

"I'd serve you some soda in a can but Papa has banned everything with sugar in it from the house." He didn't add that his father only did so after witnessing how the sugar rush caused Rastaban's magic to lash out and nearly destroy their backyard.

"Meh," Santana said with a roll of her eyes, "your daddy has no idea how to have fun."

"I wouldn't say that." Rastaban smirked at the memory of his father dancing with Evan at the Gala. They were a sight to behold and they both knew it. Everyone was talking about them, whispering about the courting and possible engagements, at least until that moron of a British Minister hadn't decided to ruin the whole night. Rastaban thinned his lips for a moment, earning a quirked eyebrow from Santana. "He left us all alone in the house, didn't he?"

"Wait, are you telling me that we'll be alone? No spies and chastity guards?"

"Yes. Papa trusts me and knows I wouldn't do anything stupid."

"Like giving me a nice bottle of Champaign?"

"Or sleeping with you?" Kurt added, smiling sweetly. Santana's glare was lethal. "Rumours spread like wild fire, Lopez. Especially at such a small school like ours."

"That was uncalled for, Kurt," Rastaban said before Santana could have come up with a cutting remark.

"Her entire attitude is uncalled for but I don't see you complaining all that much," Kurt retorted tartly, folding his arms in front of his chest. "I think this was a bad idea, Ras. We obviously don't mesh all that well."

"Maybe if you stopped snarking at each other like old hags over a tray of bad human nails, you'd find that you have more in common than you think."

"Like what? Santana is everyone's bicycle–" Rachel started only to scream in fright when Santana lunged for her.

"Enough!" Rastaban snapped, losing his patience. He grabbed Santana by her waist to keep her from tearing Rachel to pieces. "Look at yourselves. You're all strikingly similar, bitching and complaining over having to interact with each other. Pathetic."

"Because you're so much better?" Santana snarled, throwing a glare over her shoulder.

"I don't remember ever treating you like trash or worthless. Either of you."

"Ah yeah, you're Saint Rastaban, guardian angel of the poor, helpless souls. How could I forget?"

"You're ridiculous."

"No, you're ridiculous if you think that I can have any kind of good time with two losers like them."

"Don't worry, Lopez, the feeling is mutual," Kurt shot back, his face pinched in disgust. "After all, orgies and getting smashed are only considered fun in some circles."

"You really want to go there, sissy boy?"

"You might call me names, but I'm not the one who's seen as Lima's new slut."

"I said enough!" Rastaban's voices seemed to resonate in the room, shutting the bickering Kurt and Santana up instantly. "You," he hissed, poking Santana in the back of her neck, "demanded me to have a birthday party but haven't even wished me a happy birthday because you thought whining and ranting about the other guests were more important. And you," he pointed at Kurt and Rachel, "are the same. Why the hell are you even here?!"

"Well, you have to admit, Ras, four people hardly make a cool party," Kurt replied cautiously. "I mean, I understand that you don't have many friends at school, but you could have invited Theodore at least."

"Who the heck is Theodore?" Santana asked.

"My best friend. Who is currently at his boarding school."

"Let me guess, he was at your fancy New York party."

"Considering he's the younger brother of my uncle's betrothed and the second son of an established British noble family, yes, he was there."

"Betrothed? You mean fiancée?" Rachel asked, frowning.

"They haven't announced their engagement yet, so no. Thad is Uncle Sirius' betrothed, meaning they are going to get engaged in the near future but they haven't yet."

"Wait a second. Thad?" Santana asked in confusion. "What kind of female name is Thad?"

"It's not. His name is Thaddeus Nott. And he's very much a man."

"So your uncle is a f… gay?"

"He prefers men, yes. So does my father, actually."

Both Santana's and Kurt's mouths were hanging open while Rachel suddenly looked much more cheerful, clapping her hands together. "Splendid!" she said with a small giggle, trying to sound British and failing spectacularly. "I'll tell my daddies to find a nice, respectable man for your father."

"Because Regulus Black would ever mix with the plebs," Santana scoffed, finding her composure in belittling anything Rachel said. "But really? How do you even exist then? Bit of denial or experimenting gone wrong?"

"Surrogacy," Rastaban replied, the lie coming easily to his mouth. "But it's a secret, so I hope I can trust your discretion."

"Wait, I've read in Vogue that your birth mother was some Irish neuroscientist who had an affair with your father," Kurt interjected with a frown.

"Did you really expect my papa to admit that he hired a surrogate to carry me to term because he was gay?"

"This is the 21st century."

"And my family is British nobility. You only see the juicy pieces of gossip in the tabloids but never the real impact scandals have on people," Rastaban countered curtly. Kurt frowned back at him, but he didn't try to argue with that.

"But wait," Santana piped up, her eyes narrowed. "Gay marriage is not legal in most states or Britain."

"Yes, in most states but not in all of them," Rastaban replied nonchalantly, not mentioning that the Wizarding World couldn't care less about a couple's gender when it came to marriage. In a world where giants, vampires and werewolves mixed with humans, gender issues were near non-existent. Naturally, there were the old school traditionalists who saw marriage as the ultimate tool to conceive heirs and make a family stronger. The Blacks themselves used to be that way, but ever since the unfortunate demise of Walburga and especially since Sirius had taken the mantle of the Head of the House, they prided themselves in being progressive and exploiting any and every opportunity that could make their standing in society more powerful.

"Why haven't I found anything about this anywhere?" Kurt asked incredulously. "The media would kill for a story like this."

"You obviously haven't been around much, Hummel. Black's daddy and grandfather have the most terrifying lawyers I've ever seen. I bet they're holding the media's balls in vice-like grip and smirking while sipping their rich guy tea," Santana said, rolling her eyes. "Tell me, I'm wrong, Black."

"Our lawyers drink coffee as black as their hearts," Rastaban shot back with a smirk. "You know they're uncouth Americans like you lot."

"Oh, don't even start that shit with me, I've seen you chug that while black tar shit down like nobody's business too many times to believe your snobbish yaps," Santana retorted with a scowl before her lips curled into a nasty smile. "By the way, Ras, does your dear Papa know about your terribly bad habit of drinking coffee?"

Kurt and Rachel snorted at Santana's quip, both knowing well that Rastaban's coffee drinking was something he'd been keeping from his father. He allowed himself to scowl at his friends who were still laughing at him, pleased to see them slowly warming up to each other, even if it for one afternoon.

"Laugh it up, all you want," he said mimicking Draco's most haughty tone, "but you forget that I have dirt on all of you."

"Ras," Kurt started with a pitying smile on his face, "you're the noblest person I've ever seen."

"So what? I could still use the information I have against you."

"Don't pout, Rastaban, we know you're all scary and devious," Rachel piped in, her grin wide and placating. "Just not when it comes to us."

"Yeah, Black, stop with the bitching. You're a big, scary supervillain 98% of the time," Santana added her own two cents, waving her hand dismissively. "Not your fault you're a total pushover when it comes to your friends."

"Luckily for you," Rastaban muttered, folding his arms in front of his chest.

"Yes. Now what did you plan for today? And if you say board games, I'm out of here."

"Board games."

"Fuck you, Black."

"I'll pass, but thanks for the kind offer."

"Are you two always this aggressive?" Rachel asked, her eyebrows disappearing under her bangs.

"Are you really this blind, Berry? They're not being aggressive," Kurt replied with a huff.

"I'm not blind, Kurt, but you can hear them too! They've been at each other's throat since Santana arrived."

"Oh my god, Berry, we're teasing each other," Santana snapped in irritation. "As much as it pains me to admit, Black is kind of a friend and he's not too delicate to take my shit."

"Yes, it's really surprising but you're actually a good match for each other," Kurt admitted thoughtfully. "Ras has a very quick and witty personality that's usually lost on our moronic peers while Santana is sharp and will bite your head off if you do something she doesn't like. It's obvious that you two can take whatever the other dishes out."

"I don't think our friendship is so dramatic," Rastaban said. "We simply have an understanding."

"And what's that?"

"None of your fucking business, Berry," Santana sneered. "And you," she poked Rastaban in the chest, "don't think I forgot you still haven't told me what we're going to do. Also, I'm thirsty. Pour me some of your fancy juice or something."

Rastaban quelled the urge to roll his eyes. Santana was trying to get a rise out of him, but he refused to give her the satisfaction. Not when she already had too much to gloat and mock him about. He offered his best noble heir smile instead and walked over to the table at the far wall and grabbed the one of the jugs filled with freshly made honeyed cider.

"Here, you can pretend it has some alcohol in it," he said, handing the glass over to Santana who raised an eyebrow at him and sniffed the steaming liquid.

"Hm… Maybe you're not as useless as you seem," she conceded after taking a sip, but her delightedly sparkling eyes belied her nonchalance. "Now stop being a secretive asshole and tell us what's the plan."

"You'll just have to wait and see, but I think even you will be satisfied with my choice of activity." Rastaban smirked at the scowl Santana sent his way before he turned to Rachel and Kurt who were watching their interaction silently. "Would you like some cider, too?"

"Is it vegan?" Rachel asked.

"Don't start, Rachel," Kurt warned sharply. "It's apple juice and some spices, how could it not be vegan?"

"I'll have you know–"

"I don't care. Please, pour me a glass, Ras. Berry can continue to sip her cold tea."

"No, I want some, too!"

"That was very ladylike, Berry. Hope it's the way you plan to act when Black's daddy or grandfather gets home, too."

"You know his grandfather?"

"Sure, though, I still can't believe the guy is old enough to have two adult sons let alone a grandson." Santana looked at Rastaban with a wicked grin. "You sure your gramps isn't actually your uncle?"

This time Rastaban did roll his eyes. "Grandfather married early."

"You can say that again," Kurt piped in. "I read that he was forced to marry his own cousin."

"What? Where you find such horrible gossip?" Rachel gasped. "Who would marry their own cousin?"

"Inbreeding blue bloods?" Santana asked, but her tone wasn't really judgmental, something Rastaban was immensely grateful for. "Although it was his second cousin."

"Not much better, no offence, Ras," Kurt grimaced, throwing an apologetic look at Rastaban. "I can't imagine getting intimate with Sarah or Kathy."

"That's because you're a fairy, no offence, Hummel," Santana shot back. "And I doubt anyone asked Mr. Black whether he wanted to marry his second cousin or not. He was what? Fourteen? How did that even work?"

Rastaban sighed and busied himself with pouring drinks to collect his composure. Discussing his family's history, especially when it was as far from roses and rainbows as it could get, wasn't one of his perfect pastime, yet as most of it was public knowledge, not to mention he didn't want to seem like he was ashamed of what his predecessors had done, he couldn't ignore his friends' questions.

"He was sixteen and Walburga was twenty," he answered finally, handing the two glasses to Kurt and Rachel then he took a seat in his favourite armchair, suppressing a wince when Santana plopped into his lap unceremoniously. He didn't add that Sirius and Regulus weren't born until much later, because they wouldn't believe that his grandfather was actually over sixty years old.

"What? It's my favourite chair too. Black just has to learn to share."

"Are you two dating?" Rachel asked, trying for innocent but coming across as envious. Rastaban really hoped that she wasn't holding some sort of delusion about their future together.

"Don't even try, Kermit. Black is so out of your league that he's playing a totally different sport," Santana sniped nastily, making Rastaban pinch her side. "You pinch me again, Black, and I'll snap your fingers off."

"Don't be rude. It's not Rachel's fault that your behaviour is misleading."

"Yeah, well, someone has to tell her she has no chance bagging you as her trophy husband, because you're too freaking polite for your own good."

"How dare you?! I have as much chance as any girl for a relationship with Rastaban. When we're both ready for such things of course."

"Seriously?" Kurt looked scandalised. "Just how crazy are you, Rachel Berry?"

"I'm fully sane, thank you very much! Rastaban, tell them that I have just as much chance–"

"No. Just nope. I don't want to hear," Santana cut in, saving Rastaban from having to come up with a delicate way to break it to Rachel that he would never date or Merlin forbid, marry her. "Tell me about your yummy grandpa, Black. How come you call him grandfather but you call your grandmother Walburga, and what kind of fucked up name is that by the way?"

"I'm loyal to my family and Walburga doesn't deserve to be mentioned as such."

"Why?" Kurt asked, interest peaked once again.

"Let me guess, she cheated on your grandpa and then left her family behind with her lover."

"You're watching way too many soap operas, Santana," Rastaban chuckled quietly.

"Doesn't mean I'm actually wrong."

"I never said you were." Santana looked down at him, eyes narrowed.

"But you didn't say that I'm right either."

"True," Rastaban said enigmatically, earning a vicious dig between his ribs.

"Asshole. How comes your grandpa didn't find a new woman? Or man."

"My grandfather doesn't really care about romance. He is content."

"Who cares about romance?" Santana scoffed, ignoring Rachel's and Kurt's indignant protests. "What about sex? Don't tell me he's been going without since his divorce."

"I don't make it my business to know whom my grandfather takes to bed," Rastaban replied, trying to put as much repulsion into his tone as he could.

"You're no fun, Black. Just no fun."

"Don't write me off so quickly. I might surprise you."

"Yeah, right."

Rastaban smirked slowly at his friend before turned to Kurt and Rachel with a wide, mischievous smile. His green eyes were sparkling as he felt the wards shift around the person arriving to the front door, and a moment later the doorbell rang.

"Did you invite more people?" Kurt asked curiously.

"You'll have to wait and see." Rastaban nudged Santana off his lap and went to the door to open it.

Evan Rosier was smiling widely as he bent down to kiss Rastaban's cheek, shedding formality without the slightest care in the world. His golden hair was styled to perfection, his clothes screamed quality and wealth and he even let his facial hair grow out some, trimming the equally golden scruff into a short, neat beard. His blue eyes were shining with magic and mayhem as he stepped into the hall and took off his coat.

"You're as stunning as always, Rastaban," he said, offering his arm to Rastaban with a conspiratory wink. "How is your father?"

"Thank you, Evan," Rastaban answered politely, offering the man a small smile as he laced his arm through Evan's. "Papa is doing well. He is currently in London with Grandfather, Uncle Sirius and Uncle Lucius."

Evan's eyes flashed dangerously at the mention of Lucius, which pleased Rastaban to no end, but in the end he managed to reign his magic and emotions in. "Ah yes," he said with a half smirk that looked more like a sneer, "playing political games and trying to get Dumbledore sacked. How exciting."

"Making our world a better place is a noble cause," Rastaban replied lightly, earning a disbelieving snort from Evan.

"You speak like him. All grandiose plans and idealistic views, but who will pick up the shards of your hearts if reality crashes over you?"

"Are you doubting our success?"

"I'm simply worried that you're going to burn yourselves. Dumbledore is a cunning, brilliant and wizened man who has seen much more than even your grandfather."

"He is a worthy opponent, but he's blinded by his quest to conquer a Dark Lord who has been dead for thirteen years." Rastaban pressed his lips together, forcing himself not to touch his forehead where his old scar was hidden under the permanent disguise of runic concealers.

"There are whispers about the Dark Lord's survival," Evan countered, running two of his fingers down his left forearm.

"Whispers."

"They speak of black magic and split souls," Evan whispered, eyes darting over to the sitting room. "But there is no proof. None." He touched his forearm again, raising an eyebrow at Rastaban. "But this is not the time to talk about such morose issues. We're here to celebrate and doll you and your little friends up."

It would have been strange to see a pureblood wizard like Evan Rosier breeze into a sitting room occupied by three muggle children as if it was an everyday occurrence for him if Rastaban hadn't known that Evan had spent years studying fashion in the muggle world after he had faked his death to get out of Voldemort's thumb. He had been living amongst non-magical people longer than Rastaban had been alive and he had shed his prejudices a long time ago.

The way Kurt's eyes widened when he saw Evan told Rastaban that his friend had recognised the older man and if his expression was anything to go by, he was dying to interrogate Rastaban about his relationship with Evan. On the other hand, Rachel didn't show any signs of recognising Evan, while Santana was simply staring hungrily at the stunning wizard.

"I can almost forgive you for the lame party, Black," she commented offhandedly.

"I'm glad you approve, Miss…" Evan replied smoothly, his smile charming yet dangerous.

"Lopez. Santana Lopez, but you can call me anything you want." She winked, causing Kurt to choke and Evan to chuckle. Rachel's face contorted into a complicated but obviously disgusted expression while Rastaban just rolled his eyes, which earned him a curious glance from Evan who must have known about the monitoring charm placed on him.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Lopez. I'm Evan Rosier," Evan said bowing his head respectfully. Santana blushed, thrown by the formal introduction.

"It's nice to meet you, too," she managed after a few seconds of flustered silence and actually went as far as offering her hand to Evan which shocked Rastaban endlessly. "I wish, boys my age were as polite and refined as you."

"I'm sure, Rastaban is a fine young gentleman."

The way Santana looked at Evan was full of disbelief. "A fine young gentleman," she repeated slowly. "Right."

"Is he not?" Evan's smile turned gleeful and it made Rastaban slightly uncomfortable.

"Ras' manners are impeccable, current exception notwithstanding," Kurt butted in primly. "He usually knows how to introduce his company, at least."

"Forgive my rudeness. You're entirely right, Kurt," Rastaban replied, snatching up the opportunity to change the subject. "Santana, Rachel, Kurt, this is Lord Evan Rosier the Earl of Cumberland and also a highly sought after fashion designer. He is a dear family friend. Evan, these are my friends and classmates, Santana Lopez, Rachel Berry and Kurt Hummel."

"It's an honour to meet you, Lord Rosier," Rachel said, dipping low in an overly complicated curtsy that seemingly amused Evan to no end. "How long are you staying in our humble little town?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Berry," Evan answered, bowing his head. "And I'm only here for the afternoon. Actually, I'm part of the surprise Rastaban has prepared for you."

"Lord Rosier," Kurt bowed respectfully, "I'm a huge fan of your work."

"Thank you, Mr. Hummel. I heard you are quite well versed in the intricate language of fashion."

"Oh, I still have much to learn. But I'm doing my best to keep up with the current trends." Kurt's face turned a deep shade of red, which amused Rastaban and warmed his heart at the same time. He'd known that Kurt was going to be ecstatic to get the chance to meet Evan, but seeing it in person was a near priceless experience.

"You're doing a fine job from what I see," Evan said inclining his head towards Kurt's outfit. "Maybe we could talk about the possibility of you sending me some of your own work, but for now I believe young Rastaban here has a little surprise for you all."

Rastaban nodded regally, his lips almost twitching with glee as he saw his friends' suspicious expressions. "Yes, thank you, Evan," he said. "Santana wanted to have a grand, glamorous party but I hate parties. So I decided to give you something else you would all enjoy."

"No way." It's Kurt who said it, his eyes wide as saucers as he looked from Rastaban to Evan and then back again. "If you're just playing games, Ras–"

"I can assure you I'm not playing games. We're going to New York for the weekend."

"New York," Santana repeated slowly, narrowing her eyes. "And you think our parents will let us travel to New York with you? For an entire weekend?"

"I know they are letting you because Papa and I already talked to them," Rastaban replied offhandedly.

The shriek that left Rachel's mouth was nearly ear-splitting and her thin arms showed a surprising amount of strength when she jumped in Rastaban's neck. "We have to watch a Broadway show, we absolutely must, Ras! And have a picnic in Central Park and I want to sing at Time Square!"

"Oh my god, Berry, shut up, will you?" Santana groaned as she reached out and yanked Rachel away from Rastaban. "And stop smothering Black before you kill our only chance to see New York without our parents."

"I'm glad you have your priorities set straight," Rastaban said with a shake of his head even as Evan chuckled in amusement. Santana winked at him with a wide grin stretching her lips. "And I hope you don't expect us to spend the entire weekend on our own."

"Why the hell not?! We're fourteen and can take care of ourselves!"

"I am fourteen, Santana, you barely turned thirteen a couple of month ago."

"Well, fuck you, Black, I'm mature for my age."

"Good for you, but I'm not. So you either accept that Evan and Uncle Lucius will spend the next few days with us or you go home now," Rastaban shot back coolly.

"Lucius," Evan repeated, his tone expression carefully blank but his tone was full of disdain. "I wasn't aware that Lucius is joining us."

"He insisted when he overheard Papa and Uncle Sirius' conversation about trusting you with our safety for the weekend," Rastaban replied, hiding his amusement at the outrage flashing in Evan's eyes. "I hope it's not a problem. Papa wanted to be there himself but the issues in London are keeping him away."

"Yes, he told me. He must have forgotten to mention Lucius' involvement," Evan gritted out. "It looks like I'll have my work cut out for me if I don't want him to suck all the fun out of the weekend."

"Uncle Lucius isn't that bad," Rastaban said, reminding Evan who he was talking to without really saying anything.

"Of course not," Evan allowed with a dismissive wave of his hand, "he's a noble lord who places propriety above everything else. But enough about Lord Malfoy, I'm here to prepare you for your debut on the red carpet tonight!"

Rachel shrieked again and Rastaban had to physically restrain both Santana and Kurt not to strangle her. It was about to be an eventful three days.

12 February 2007, Emmerson Junior High School, Lima, Ohio

Rastaban nearly dropped his fencing gear when an insane, shrieking whirlwind flew into his arms, squeezing the life out of him. It took him a few moments to realize that he wasn't actually being choked to death but hugged by a still screeching Rachel who was also hitting him with something glossy and book-like.

"I can't believe this! Ras, look at this!" she screamed into Rastaban's ear who winced in pain but did his best to stay calm. "We're in Teen Vogue!"

Rastaban didn't know what he was supposed to say to that. He knew about the article because his papa told him that having a good rapport with the media was essential in their current situation. If that meant that he had to pose on the red carpet with his muggle friends and act like he was born to be hounded by the ever eager press, then he walked onto the red carpet with Rachel Berry on his arm and offered a charming but empty smile to the sea of cameras.

He didn't know what the muggle media said about him or his friends because he never cared about the fluffed up lies that filled the papers when it came to his family, but based on Rachel's expression, it must have been something that pleased her immensely. If it was anything like the magical papers and magazines had written back in January, then it was no surprise that she was happy, of course. The Daily Prophet called her Rastaban's mysterious love interest with a question mark while the American Charming Times wondered if the Black Heir was trying to throw away the ancient and outdated Wizarding traditions and choose his own future bride who was a muggle.

Draco's letter had been, of course, outraged. He had demanded to know the truth about Rastaban's relationship with Rachel and told Rastaban that he would refuse to associate himself with Rastaban if he was really dating that poor muggle. Rastaban, in turn, had expressed his deepest regret about not being able to talk to his cousin in the future but he was just so in love with Rachel that he could never give that feeling up. According to Theo, Draco had nearly fainted when he read Rastaban's response and then gone to whine to his father about Rastaban ruining their family's reputation and name.

Uncle Lucius hadn't been pleased, although Rastaban suspected that it had more to do with having to be subjected to Draco's complaints than the little prank Rastaban played. Uncle Sirius on the other hand had found the whole issue hilarious especially because the Prophet questioned Lucius involvement with a bunch of muggle children. Rastaban's papa had only shaken his head and dropped a light kiss onto Rastaban's temple, gently chiding him for teasing his gullible cousin.

Now it was February and it seemed that the muggle press had finally managed to catch up with the events. Naturally, some of the daily papers wrote about Evan's fashion show but they were more concerned with the muggle celebrities gracing the red carpet than Rastaban and his friends. But the monthly magazines were only just publishing their new issues, and it seemed like some of them might have found Rastaban interesting enough once again to talk about.

"That's good, Rachel," he said calmly before he gently pried her arms off his neck. "I'm sure your parents are proud."

"Who cares about my gay dads?! The media thinks I'm your new mystery girlfriend! This is the best day ever!" she gushed, her big brown eyes shining manically. "You think I should tell them about us?"

Rastaban raised one of his eyebrows incredulously. "There is no such thing as us. You're my friend."

Rachel frowned up at him and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "But there could be. We could be great together, a real power couple, you know. Rule the school instead of being ignored by people who are much less talented and intelligent than us."

"You're thirteen, Rachel."

"Santana is thirteen too and you know how… free spirited she is."

"What Santana does with her life is her decision. You're not her."

"But I could be if that's what you like," Rachel pressed, trying to plaster her body against Rastaban's. He took a step back and put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"No. I said no, and I expect you to respect my decision just like you would expect a boy who asked you out to respect your decision," he said seriously, his green eyes commanding obedience.

"But why?" Rachel whined, stomping her foot. "We could be so great together! It's that I'm not slutty enough? Or is it my clothes? I can change if that's what you want, Ras. Just tell me what to do."

"It's because you're a whiney bitch, Berry," came the disgusted reply from Santana who was standing a few feet away from them with a disdainful scowl on her face. "Black said no, so shut up and take it like a woman should. With grace, if you know what that word means."

"Just like you took it gracefully when you heard about that Noah had cheated on you?" Rachel shot back cruelly. "And I know you're just jealous because it's me who Teen Vogue called Rastaban's 'mystery girl' and not you!"

"Careful, Berry, or I'll rip your tongue out and stuff it down your bitchy throat," Santana warned, glaring daggers at Rachel. "You got your five seconds of fame, be happy with it, because it sure as well won't make you less of a loser." She sauntered up to Rastaban and wound her arm around his. "And leave Black alone. She doesn't want you."

"How dare you?!" Rachel exploded grabbing for Rastaban's other arm, but Rastaban was quick and avoided her touch easily. "Ras?"

"I'm your friend, Rachel, and I'm never going to be more." And not just because my family would never let me get involved with a muggle, he didn't add.

He honestly didn't understand the desperate way the children around him tried to find boyfriends and girlfriends, and fell head first into sexual relationships without really knowing what to do or how to please even themselves. He was fourteen, older than most of his classmates, yet he didn't feel the need to throw himself at other people. He was more than fine with enjoying the pleasure of his own hands and magic, exploring his boundaries gradually. Not to mention when would he find the time to maintain any kind of healthy relationship with someone else?

He allowed Santana to pull him away and lead him down the hallways towards the exit. "You're giving me a ride to your place," she stated haughtily.

"I thought you have cheerleading practice," Rastaban replied, not really fazed by Santana's snippy tone.

"Fuck cheerleading," Santana snapped. "Your smoking hot uncle better be here to pick us up."

"Is this about the article?" Rastaban asked as they walked down the front steps of the school. Uncle Sirius' car was already parked nearby, his powerful figure leaning against the passenger's door.

Sirius' arms were folded and while his face was set in a passive expression his grey eyes were ablaze with fury. "I'm afraid you can't come over today, Santana," he said when Rastaban and Santana reached him. Santana opened her mouth, probably to argue, but Rastaban squeezed her arm, still linked with his own.

"I'm going to be fine," he assured her quietly, earning a scoff.

"As if I was worried about your delicate feelings," she muttered. "Just drop me off at my house and call me tonight."

"Of course." Rastaban nodded at his uncle before they got into the car, not asking questions. Sirius wouldn't talk in front of Santana anyway, and whatever had happened, it must have been serious if it angered his uncle so much. "I know you can't sleep without hearing my voice before going to bed."

"You wish, Black. I'm not Berry, sorry." Rastaban hummed, ignoring Uncle Sirius' sharp look in the rearview mirror.

It looked like they were going to have more than one issue to discuss when they got home. Rastaban only hoped that whatever the problem was wouldn't force them to move again. Because even if he didn't want to admit it at first, he came to see Lima as his home. More than New York and certainly more than London, and he didn't want to leave. Not when he was finally starting to feel like he belonged and made real connections to people his age who had no idea who he really was.