The Years of Riddle

Chapter Forty-Six | London, December 1978

Chapter Forty-Six

London, December 1978

         There was a haze hanging over London, settling between the buildings and seeping into Silas' collar. He walked briskly down a narrow street, looking over his shoulder every now and then. It seemed no one was following him, but you couldn't be too careful these days.

He rounded onto an even more cramped street, only one side lined by front doors. The numbers were falling off some of the brick, but he managed to find number seventeen easily enough. Someone had put a wreath on the door. Glancing once more at the letter Albus had sent him, he knocked firmly. There was a rush of footsteps, and the door opened just a crack.

"Password?" a female voice asked sharply.

"Figgy pudding." Silas tried not to smile. Albus hadn't changed much since Silas was a child at all, including his ability to keep secrets from everyone who knew him and his tendency for sweet-related passwords.

"Ah, good." The door opened fully, revealing a small, slender young woman with dark red hair, and the most striking green eyes Silas could recall seeing. She had a welcoming smile, a dash of freckles over her nose even in winter, and was holding an enormous black cat. "Silas, right?"

"That's me, yes." He nodded, and she stepped back to let him enter.

"I'm Lily," she grinned and tossed the cat down, offering her hand to shake. "Lily Ev – sorry, Potter, it's still new."

"Congratulations." Silas shook her hand, and she quickly closed the door, bolting several locks with practiced ease.

"The guys are in the kitchen, follow me. I've made some dinner biscuits, but they're rather...well, inedible." She smiled sheepishly.

The little flat had a narrow hallway entrance, and they passed what was supposed to be a sitting room, but seemed to have been turned into a bedroom, and another bedroom. Everything was a little shabby, nothing new in sight – it reminded Silas of his first few years with Inesa. Like Lily, they had just graduated from Hogwarts, could barely afford hot water let alone new furniture.

The kitchen had the same scruffy, cozy feeling; there were potted plants everywhere, several of which Silas recognized, as Inesa kept dozens of ingredients growing fresh in their home. Three young men were surrounding a table, appearing to be arguing over something or other.

One of the men straightened, pushing his glasses up his nose. He had mussed black hair and keen hazel eyes, with the face of someone who used to be scrawny and still wasn't completely used to his newly formed muscles and stature. "Listen Sirius, if they attacked in only these areas, then that is a pattern, and people follow patterns, because it is a fucking pattern –" his glasses slipped again, and he pushed them as an attractive fellow interrupted him, running a hand through his own black hair, though his had a sheen to it, waves – Silas' daughters would have compared him to a prince from a faerie tale, but Silas would have likened him more to the youngest member of a biker gang.

"And I'm telling you," the handsome one was jabbing his finger into the map so hard he was almost ripping it, "That they must be about to change their habits, they have to be – look, their patterns changed around this time a month ago, and a month before that – how is that not a pattern, James?"

As the two argued, the third looked up and smiled wearily. "Guys." He jabbed his elbow into Sirius' hip. "He's here."

The other two looked up, and both flushed. "Oh. Sorry about that, we were just..." James stumbled forward, putting out his hand. "I'm James Potter."