There were many conceivable reasons why a couple would choose a quiet, private marriage over a more public union.

Father Clarke had wed a great many eccentric couples in his life, ranging from youngsters who had eloped to more reserved individuals who simply did not wish to make a fuss, and all the oddities found in between.

Bellatrix Black and Son Goku, however, took the cake as far as such oddities went.

Before him stood an angelic-looking woman; silky, blonde hair reaching down to her elbows and the clearest blue eyes adorning her face. Yet there was something about her that put him on edge - something sinister.

The man - her husband to be - wore a constant expression of disgust. He looked as though he wished to be anywhere but inside the chapel, and each time Clarke had the misfortune to catch his gaze, it was as though he stared into the eyes of the devil himself.

"Imperio."

The priest barely noticed a wooden stick pointed in his direction before the world went blank. His suspicions faded, replaced by complete faith and loyalty toward the couple. They were all that mattered to him, and he would do anything to please them.

Doing so simply felt right.

When they commanded him to cancel his next appointment in favor of their own, he readily agreed.

"Of course, ma'am." he found himself saying. The angel smiled, reaching up with a gloved hand to pat Clarke on the head.

"There's a good mudblood."

He led them further inside the chapel, down the hall and toward the altar where they would be blessed with the gift of marriage. It was not a grand place, but what it lacked in size it made up for in quaintness and old, rustic charm.

Once he began the rite, something tugged at the back of his mind. It felt as though something was missing - something important. Clarke briefly realized the couple had made no vows, before another wave of calmness and pleasure raced through him.

What did it matter? The couple clearly loved one another - any vows would only serve as superfluous platitudes.

Placing one hand against the holy book, and raising the other toward the couple, he pronounced them husband and wife.

"Mister Black, you may kiss the bride."

The man once known as Son Goku tilted his head strangely.

And then, for some reason beyond Clarke's understanding, Goku Black chose not to kiss his wife.

Somewhere not too far away, another Black sat deep in thought, completely unaware of his scheming relatives.

"I missed this, you know."

Amelia sighed, looking down at the man she had once called her friend.

"The simple things in life - eating, drinking, sleeping in a warm bed… preferably in the company of pleasant individuals."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. It appeared Azkaban had not robbed Sirius of his charming personality, even if he looked but a shadow of his former self.

"Scourgify."

Sirius jumped, before realizing he was not the target of the spell. The nasty couch he lazed upon, however, slowly began to regain some of its original coloring.

The witch could not help but smirk at his jealous stare. The man had been begging her to smuggle him a wand, and each time, she refused. Whether he was innocent or not, a witch of her standing and position would not be caught dead committing a crime of any sort.

"Ah, yes." muttered Sirius, as she took a seat beside him. "Kreacher… disappeared a few days ago. I really should have been more specific when I ordered him to clean the house."

She raised an eyebrow, making sure to project just how unimpressed she was.

"You have hands, Sirius."

"And I've used them! I- I wrote to Harry."

"What?!"

"I had to!" exclaimed Sirius. "Amy… he's all I have left. I promised Lily and James - I have to do right by him."

Amelia had nothing to say to that.

It was clear the man was haunted by his past, and she could not find it in herself to scold him. Instead, she looked around the sitting room, taking note of each bleached tapestry, crooked painting and otherwise ramshackle piece of furniture.

"And…" continued Sirius, unaware of the sudden wave of pity she felt for him. "He replied!"

"He wants to meet his godfather, the little rascal!"

The rugged man smiled brightly, and much to her dismay, Amelia's heart decided to skip a beat. For a split-second, he looked just as he once had during their years at Hogwarts.

"It must be that Gryffindor courage. Yes - that's got to be it!"

Sirius grew more animated with each second, going into a surprising amount of detail regarding his expectations for the boy.

"I'll even bet he has half the school wrapped around his finger already - especially the ladies. Just like James…"

Amelia shook her head in exasperation.

On a positive note, she now found herself almost entirely convinced of his innocence.

"Runes? Aren't you a little too young to be looking into things like that?"

Percy Weasley stood with one hand on his hip; the other cupping his chin in contemplation.

"Probably." admitted Harry sheepishly. "But I can't think of any other way to power the… um… thing I want to make."

Hermione nodded eagerly beside him. His friend had come across the subject in one of her textbooks and instantly grown fascinated. Being her usual, inquiring self, she then happened to discover that the fifth-year Gryffindor prefect currently took the elective course.

When Harry later heard about it, he was struck with a brilliant idea, and they managed to chase the boy down in the freezing courtyard.

Both first-years adopted their best puppy dog eyes, looking at Percy expectantly. He eventually reached for his wand and cast a warming charm around them.

"Oh, well. I suppose it can't do much harm. Let me take a look at what you've got."

Harry and Hermione quickly scrambled to give him their notes, sitting down on each side of the older boy as he let his bag drop into the snow and slid down against the castle walls.

"It's for a Christmas present." explained Harry. "Hermione's just here because she can't get ancient runes out of her head. That, and because she hates it when she doesn't know everything there's to know about a subject."

"Harry!"

"I see…" said Percy. His eyebrows steadily rose higher as he read more and more of Harry's long, tattered piece of parchment, detailing exactly what he wished to create and the purpose it would serve.

"It's definitely doable." he said eventually, and Harry let out a mental cheer.

"You would need a piece of wood from a tree, preferably with the bark remaining. A carving of limrunar should suffice as far as runic inscriptions go."

Harry and Hermione shared a glance. The prefect was now mumbling and muttering to himself, and neither of the two first-years had a single clue what he was on about. He had at some point conjured a quill, and was adding his own notes alongside Harry's.

"Um… Percy?"

"Oh! Right. Well, the actual runic element isn't the complicated part. Just carve the set of runes I've written down into whichever piece of wood you choose and it should do the trick."

"But…" continued Harry, sensing a catch.

"Limrunar work best in conjunction with the purest sources of magic. To achieve the effect you're after, you'd need something akin to a strand of unicorn hair. I'm sorry, but… I honestly have no idea how to help you find something so rare."

Percy looked at them apologetically, before excusing himself.

Harry merely sighed and thanked the older boy for his time. He was back to square one, it seemed.

"It's not that bad, Harry." said Hermione, rubbing soothing circles on his back. "I'm sure we'll figure out another way."

Daphne repressed her frustration, and loosened the tight grip she had on her hair. The girl had been mere seconds from ripping it off her scalp in anger.

She was close. So very close.

A tiny part of her wondered if she should ask Potter for help, before squashing it ruthlessly. The boy was a menace - worming his way into her life in weeks and having her hardly recognize herself after a few months.

Not that it made much difference, she thought. For some reason, they could not seem to stay apart for long.

"Greengrass."

The Slytherin common room was empty, aside from the odd student or two frantically scribbling on some essay they had postponed until the last minute.

She leaned back into her high-backed chair, looking at her hands with a scowl on her face. It was as though her very own fingers teased her - she could feel the power lurking just beyond her reach, waiting to be let loose.

Daphne focused on the feeling - the moisture in the air and the goosebumps on her skin. She visualized how water turned to ice, down to the smallest droplet carried by the wind.

She thought of all that ice was and represented, and imagined lurching it straight at Potter's smug face.

"Greengrass!"

"What is it, Zabini?" she asked irately. Not for the first time, Daphne lamented the fact that ignoring things did not make them go away.

"Would you stop whatever it is you're doing? You're scarier than my mother and now I'm freezing over here."

She wondered what in Merlin's name the boy was on about this time.

Zabini was like a pest; always around despite her best efforts to the contrary. If he was not following Harry around, he would be lurking somewhere in her vicinity, far enough to be inconspicuous but close enough to bother her.

"What do you mean? It's as warm as it always is in here-"

She noticed the previously roaring flames in the fireplace in front of her had gone out, and Zabini was hugging his robes tightly against his body.

"No, it isn't, and you're glowing. I know you and Potter are freaks of nature but contrary to what you may believe, I actually want to graduate from Hogwarts one day."

Daphne took another look at her hands, noticing that they indeed shimmered blue.

"Speak of the devil…" she heard Zabini mutter, when the stone wall leading into the common room slid open to reveal a familiar, green-eyed boy with messy hair.

"Blimey, it's cold!"

Potter shuddered, stepping inside and striding past them seemingly without noticing their presence.

She heard him talking to himself all the way to the stairs leading to the boys' sleeping quarters.

"Unicorns… Bloody unicorns… Maybe I could buy a strand somewhere… No, I promised Auntie I wouldn't empty my vault."

Zabini snorted at a faint whisper of 'bugger' before the boy disappeared out of view.

"I take it back. You're the freak of nature, Greengrass. Potter is just insane."

"Whatever." she said, secretly elated by her first true success at using wandless magic. A freezing charm of sorts, from what Daphne could tell.

She did wonder about Potter's barely coherent mumbling, however. If he really was looking for a strand of unicorn hair, perhaps she could ask her father to get him one for Christmas.

The only thing holding her back were the undoubtedly depraved and utterly wrong assumptions Potter would make upon receiving such a gift. He was already mostly insufferable, and Daphne was not keen on making him even more so.

"Hey, Zabini." she began. "How would you feel about doing me a small favor? If you accept, I won't even start spreading rumors that you were trembling in your boots at the mere sight of me."

"…"

"You're worse than the Dark Lord."