They sat across from one another at their assigned table, the silence stretching, their gazes flickering away and back again. The private dining room they were in exuded a quiet luxury. Crystal sconces casting soft light across velvet-lined walls and the table set with precision that bordered on theatrical. Even Sirius, who had dined in his fair share of upscale Muggle establishments, couldn't help but be grudgingly impressed. Reservations at places like this were notoriously elusive unless you were a celebrity, a politician, or someone with enough clout to bend expectations.
He had barely stepped inside when Uncle Marius and Aunt Ophelia all but shoved him and Esme through the doorway, their giggling trailing behind them like mischievous children trying not to get caught. Sirius is amused by their own matchmaking scheme. This was supposed to be a business dinner. What happened to that?
Sometimes he wondered if the two elders forgot they were dealing with magical adults who could apparate in and out at will. Still, Sirius stayed. Not out of obligation, but out of courtesy. Esme, at least, seemed to be enjoying the food—though her subtle grimace after sipping the wine betrayed her disappointment. The French, magical or Muggle, had far more discerning palates when it came to both cuisine and vintage.
The silence between them was thick, almost ceremonial. Sirius hadn't expected this—an intimate dinner with a Malfoy, of all people. Esme's plate was half-empty, but she hadn't spoken much. His own remained untouched, the wine glass still full. He wasn't sure if it was tension, pride, or something else entirely. But whatever it was, it sat between them like a third guest.
Finally, he decided to break the silence. "So... do we pretend we're enjoying this or just agree to call it what it is?" as he grabbed the wine glass and took a sip.
"Call it what? A hostage situation with appetizers?"
Sirius had just taken a sip of his wine when the comment nearly made him spit it out. He doubled over in a fit of coughing, until a napkin drifted toward him. Still sputtering, he managed a hoarse, "Thank you," before resuming his coughs.
"I didn't expect that reaction," Esme said.
"I didn't expect a Malfoy with a sense of humor," Sirius shot back.
"Oh? You've dealt with many Malfoys before?"
"Just your grandfather, your father, and your brother, I suppose. But they were always so stiff."
"That's a very small sample size and they are all men."
"There aren't exactly that many Malfoys. Blimey, there aren't many old families left at all — I'd be shocked if any of them managed more than one child," Sirius remarked dryly. In his view, the only clan that ever seemed capable of producing a proper brood were the Weasleys. Odd lot, really — despite being pure-blood, they never fell into the same traps of inbreeding that plagued so many of the ancient houses. Strange, considering plenty of Weasleys had died off over the years as well. These days, the family was whittled down to Arthur and his brood, with only one brother of his still about.
Esme shrugged as she pushed aside the last of her meal. "The Malfoys have always put the heir above all else. The other children are treated as spares. We are to stay at the background unless summoned, which is rare enough. It keeps them from squabbling over succession, or so I've heard. Not that it matters. The Malfoys are patriarchal to the core. The only thing I'm good for is a political marriage."
"That's what I'm curious about," Sirius said, leaning back with a faint smirk. "Why aren't you married?"
Sirius had never been one to champion or condemn marriage. He respected people's choices, though he counted himself fortunate that his own family hadn't pressed the issue when he was young. His sorting into Gryffindor had done enough damage to his prospects, despite his being the eldest son and heir apparent of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.
Still, he knew the expectations. In noble houses, daughters were often wed off the moment they left school — many already betrothed before they'd even sat their N.E.W.T.s. The Malfoys were certainly among those families; Narcissa was proof enough.
"Why aren't you married?" Esme countered, amusement flickering in her eyes. She didn't seem insulted, only entertained. "Aren't you the eldest and heir of one of the most famous noble houses in all of Britain?"
Sirius gave a short laugh. "Touché. Though being cast out by my family is one of the reasons my marital prospects are rather thin. That, and I never gave marriage much thought."
Esme snorted an oddly endearing sound. "From what Aunt Ophelia says, you've always had a way of living that refuses to be tied down. Still, I doubt your family truly disowned you. If they had, you wouldn't be a Black anymore."
Sirius sighed. "I haven't spoken to them since I was sixteen."
It was true. He had no idea why he hadn't been magically disowned by the Blacks. Perhaps it had something to do with his grandfather, whom he hadn't seen in years. Uncle Marius swore the old man was still alive, though Sirius had never cared enough to find out.
Still, he was oddly grateful not to have been struck from the family magic. To be fully disowned would have meant losing more than a name — it would have stripped him of his lineage, his identity, and left him crippled. In their world, being cut off from family magic was as good as a death sentence.
He wouldn't be Sirius Black with his talent and power — he'd be Sirius who could barely cast a spell. Even if he managed, the magic would falter, weak and ineffectual, never reaching its mark. And for a man with enemies on every side, that was a fate he could not abide.
"I haven't spoken to them when I was six." Esme responded.
"What?" Sirius looked surprised.
"Well, I saw them. Especially on Lucius wedding but we never talk or even greet them. I left during the reception."
"Why's that? Is that why I never saw you at Hogwarts?"
Esme nodded."I went to Beauxbatons. The same school my mother attended. And before you ask, no, I'm not illegitimate. I've already looked into it."
Her expression tightened; it was a sore subject. For most of her life she had believed herself a mistake, until she finally managed to uncover the truth when she was older. Her mother had always been tight‑lipped about the Malfoys, never offering answers. Why else would she have taken only Esme and left the other daughter behind? Both girls were spares, heirs presumptive at best, so there had been little reason for them to remain in Britain.
"I wasn't thinking that. But... thank you for telling me." Sirius shifted in his seat, suddenly aware of how clumsy his words sounded. The air between them grew heavier, and for once, he found himself at a loss. Awkwardness wasn't unfamiliar to him, but it rarely came from sincerity.
Trying to cut the tension, Sirius leaned forward. "So, why are you here in Britain? From what I heard in the car, Aunt Ophelia said you'd travelled the world."
Esme nodded. "Yes. I wanted to build an identity not defined by my family name. I'm a healer now."
Sirius inclined his head. Uncle Marius had mentioned as much. Becoming a healer was no small feat — it was a prestigious calling, demanding talent, discipline, and years of study. With the shortage of healers across the wizarding world, they were highly sought after.50Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYIApbK8KO1
"Are you planning to apply at St Mungo's? I hear they're hiring."
"I am planning to stay here long-term. Had to make some changes, but I still travel the world helping people. I'm sure you've heard of the Healers Beyond Frontiers?"
"You're one of them?" Sirius asked, genuinely surprised.
The name carried weight. Healers Beyond Frontiers were a noble order, known for crossing borders to aid wizardkind and magical beings wherever they were needed. With so few healers in the world, their work was invaluable. To hire one privately often cost a fortune; even at St Mungo's, healers were among the highest paid professionals in Britain. In fact, the ICW works along side with them. He has met a few of them in his missions.
Sirius regarded her with a new measure of respect. "That's no small thing. Most people would settle for the prestige of St Mungo's and call it a career. You chose the harder road."
Esme's lips curved faintly. "Prestige never mattered to me. I wanted to prove I could be more than a name. Out there, no one cares who your family is. Well... I did have to use an undercover name."
"Ah." Sirius understood at once. The Malfoys, like the Black name carried weight in the wizarding world. No matter how hard Esme proved herself, she would always be judged against her family's reputation. If she were unknown, people might see her for who she truly was. With her talent, her gifts, her effort. But if she carried the name Malfoy, they would think she only became known because she was born into priviledge.
"Well," Sirius continued, "I work with the ICW as one of their Custodians. My team has collaborated with the Healers Beyond Frontiers."
"Oh?" Esme's eyes lit with recognition. Her organization is often assigned in difficult regions, often relying on ICW protection. In remote towns that is often lacking security that muggles often accidentally discovered them and would lead to some devastating outcomes. For example, poaching in the muggle world has become a threat that people in Africa known for their talent of animagus are often accidentally shot because of their animal forms (A/N: If you played Hogwarts Legacy, then you'll know what this is about).
"I see. I don't recall meeting you there."
Sirius sighed. "Custodians rarely use our real names. We rely on disguise and glamour charms."
"I do the same," Esme admitted. Though she kept her name, she often cloaked herself in different appearances. Fame as a healer had begun to chase her, and she valued her privacy. Elusive by nature, she left the press with little more than rumors. People knew of her, but only if they recognized her face and most forgot her soon after meeting her. A charm she managed to master over the years.
"Oh, really. Maybe we've met and we never realized it."
"We probably did."
"I used my mother's name as Esmeralda Clarisse/My alter was Corvus Blake."
Silence.
"What?!"
The two looked at each other with surprise and disbelief.
"I'm sorry, Corvus Blake?"
"Healer Clarisse?"
NO! It can't be!
"Didn't we sleep together?" Sirius gasped, disbelief flickering across his face.
"We did," Esme confirmed, her voice calm, almost matter‑of‑fact.
"Merlin!" Sirius exclaimed, running a hand through his hair.
"Par Morgane!" Esme shot back, her French oath ringing with equal astonishment.
"Um... excuse me?"
"WHAT?!" they both shouted in unison, still reeling from the revelation.
The waiter froze mid‑step, staring at them with wide eyes, uncertain whether to approach or retreat. "I apologize but is there a Mister Sirius Black here?"
Sirius straightened, forcing a measure of calm into his voice. "Yes, that's me. Forgive the shouting. What is it?"
"You have a phone call, sir."
Sirius blinked. "I have a what?"
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