CHAPTER THREE:

Cashmere Coats and Sea Breeze Smiles.

Zodea Potter's P.O.V

America was a big fucking country. There was no other way to describe it, Zodea thought. Colossal. Coming from a little dank island bordered by four seas, you could set out from Cornwall one sunny afternoon, and eight hours later, find yourself merry in the jolly hills of Scotland. Eight hours, one third of a day, and you had crossed the entire breadth of her homeland. Eight hours travelling in America and, possibly, you were still in the same bloody state.

It was nearly inconceivable.

With muggle money burning a hole in her pocket, spring crisp and fresh about her, how she ended up in a six-hour bus ride to the nearest town, Metropolis, was a series of unfortunate events all stemming from that one misunderstanding that America was fucking big. Her meandering journey had started innocently enough.

At first, she had drifted into the heart of Smallville. A little two-by-four plot of sprawling shops. She had even found the coffee shop Lana had said she would be visiting. It hadn't been that hard. There was only one. Still, coming to the door, she had spotted the girl in question inside, sitting on a cluster of coaches, surrounded by smiling, chatting friends and Zodea had…

She'd chickened out.

They had all looked happy. A little sickeningly so, yes, but happy all the same. A group of friends with steaming cups in hands and grins on faces, ignoring textbooks set across table, and Zodea had felt every bit the outsider she was. What was she meant to do? Walk in? Did she say hello? Or nice to see you again? No. That sounded pretentious. Old. Perhaps she could pretend it was an accidental meeting? Hey Lana, funny seeing you here! No. Definitely not. Lana had said she was going to the coffee house, if Zodea traipsed in an acted surprised at seeing her there, she might come across as dim or stalkerish or-

Merlin, how did people do this? Make friends? Was it this difficult for everyone else? When they didn't have to play at being muggle or ordinary run-of-the-mill witch? On T.V, Remus's guilty pleasure, young girls often spoke of boyfriends… Well, they did in the interrogations over their murder on those strange CSI dramas Remus pretended he didn't watch religiously, but Zodea didn't have one of those. Especially one she had murdered because he was sleeping with her mother and the head cheerleader who, subsequently through a series of flashbacks, revealed Zodea was jealous of.

Morgana, she hated those cop shows.

With no boyfriend, no school, no past friends she could speak of, what else was there? What else did average people speak about? Food? She liked chili. Yet, as much as she liked chili, she didn't think she could have an hour-long conversation over the stuff. What should she do? List off recipes? Did muggles have Gremlin Zest in theirs too? Shit. Fuck. Shit-fuck. Zodea panicked.

It was Cedric Diggory and the pumpkin juice all over again.

In the end, she didn't walk in. She turned around and tried to walk away. She bumped into a man, tall, as towering as herself, black haired, that was all Zodea had noted, that and how surprised his blue eyes had flashed when she knocked him back a step, she supposed people his size weren't used to being pushed about, as he went to enter and she went to dart away from the door. She must have really been flustered if she hadn't heard him lumbering up behind her. He'd gotten over his shock soon enough, began to ask her if she was alright, but Zodea had mumbled her hasty apologies and gotten the hell out of there.

She couldn't even walk about without nearly taking someone's shoulder clean off.

Cursing herself, she had rambled down the road right passed the news shop. A little poster snagging her downward gaze. It wasn't much, a4, torn in the corner and stuck to glass by blu tack, but the red on blue was eye catching. Metropolis Museum, it read, where William Blake's paintings would be on show in a special exhibition. Zodea had never gone to a museum before. Not once. Sirius had been worried about putting her in condensed crowds. Yet…

Yet.

Perhaps she wasn't brave enough, something she would never admit, to make friends just yet, but she could, maybe, show Remus his trust in her was granted by getting through this one little thing. How hard could a museum visit be? She could pop in, see these paintings, perhaps listen into some conversations, see how others talked in normal settings, pick up some tips and tricks, and if it all got too much, she could leave hastily without drawing too many eyes, go home and bobs your uncle, Zodea had gone and done it, something she had never done before, and she wouldn't have caused the ceiling to collapse in on them.

It was perfect!

It only took her twenty minutes to find the bus station. Again, Smallville only had one. It took her even less to buy a ticket from the balding man behind the counter, after she had asked how far this Metropolis was, and he had told her it was the nearest city. Undeniably, she could have ran to this Metropolis. Sure, it would have been shorter, journey wise. But that wasn't the point. She wanted to show Remus and Sirius that she could blend. Be a chameleon. She was even going to save her bus ticket to show Remus. Look at her. Here she was, dressed like a muggle, on a muggle bus, going off to the museum like every other muggle.

Normal.

For once, just once, Zodea was like everybody else around her, from the two-year-old crying in the front seat, to the paisley dressed woman in the back visiting her grandkids in the city, and it felt fantastic.

Settling into her seat by the window, it had all seemed so easy. She wouldn't need to control herself that long. She would be off the bus soon enough. Brilliant. Fool proof. Apart from the small, tiny, miniscule fact that America was fucking gigantic! The nearest city to an Englishman meant thirty minutes' drive. Max. Thirty fucking minutes.

Apparently, in America, the nearest town could be the whole of her country away!

Six hours she spent on that bus. Crammed. Sixteen heartbeats echoing in her ear. Pounding. Drumming. The engine of the bus exploded as if it was revving right by her ear. And Merlin, the kid, that little two-year-old with blond pigtails, fuck, she could wail. Some teen near the back was blaring music from their headphones, popping gum like gunshots going off right by her head. The old lady in paisley wore the worst stagnant, nose curling, rose perfume mixed with three-day old talcum powder. And the woman behind her, in heels, kept tapping her leg, kicking her bloody seat, her heartbeat jolting whenever her phone pinged with a new message, something that smelled brash and harsh, chemical, seeping through her sweat.

Zodea nearly went insane.

But she made it. She did. In one piece. So did the bus and the people. She thought it was over then. The test. If she just got off the bus, she would be okay. She practically burst through the doors as the bus rolled to a halt, the driver shouting that it was the last stop, flopping out, away from the insanity of over stimulated senses… And right into the madness of the city. Wandering away from the bus stop, which the driver had told her would be in front of the museum, the city hit her.

So many sounds. Cars zooming down the street. Footsteps, thousands, marching, scurrying. Voices, all shouting at once, into phones, to each other, across streets, garbled noises that screeched. Heartbeats, countless, thumping, beating, hammering. The lights… So many lights. Headlights and stop signs, billboards and lit towers, tourists taking snaps of skylines and monuments, blinking, flashing, twinkling. The smells were something else. Stale air rising up from manhole covers. The scent of bodies pressed hotly together in roving crowds. The odour of food peddled at corners, mingling obnoxiously together. The scent of blood and piss and shit swimming just underneath the street.

Zodea was a moron. A complete and utter moron. How could she think she could do this? She wasn't ready. Too much. Too fucking much! Something underneath her foot crunch. The pavement gave way. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Her hands shot up, over her ears, clamping, eyes screwing closed. She just needed a moment. Silence. Just one second. Breathe. Breathe. In, out, in, out. As Remus said, count to ten. Ten. Nine. Eight-

Fifteen car horns honked across the city, a man on a bicycle flipped off an angry pedestrian, a sewer pipe burst a block away. Fuck! Her eyes were burning. She was going to-

A sniffle.

She heard it through the anarchy around her. A sniffle. Wet. Tired. She listened. She focused. Someone was… Crying. The rest simply seemed to melt away. Zodea could breathe. She could think. The burning stopped. She heard someone, not too far, crying and everything else didn't seem so utterly overwhelming. Important. Someone was crying.

Were they hurt?

Her hands fell to her sides, her eyes blinked open. She gazed across the winding street. The bus driver had been right, there the museum stood before her, but… There. The alleyway at its side, offshoot of its immense grand stairs. That's where the crying was coming from. She tried to cross the road, but a car slammed on their breaks, hooting repulsively, forcing her to scuttle back onto the pavement.

"Oi! Watch where you're going!"

It, and the enraged driver, hauled away to the flurry of Zodea's hurried apologies. Back where she started, right on cracked pave-stone, still hearing the sniffle through the orchestra of lunacy that seemed to be Metropolis, she glanced around her to the moving mob swarming down the street. No one had paid any attention to her, not a single peek, not in her meltdown, not in her near car crash, and not in her stillness. They all seemed to be focused on… There.

There was a little pattern across the broad street. Black and white stripes topped with another, yes, another, flashing light. People flocked to the side of it, waiting, hordes on either side of the road. Why were they waiting there? Why was the flashing light counting down? What where the muggles doing? There were no roads in the Wizarding world. There was no need for them. Oh, they had pathways and sky-lanes, in the really busy towns such as Diagon Alley, for those who travelled by broom, apparition points stationed outside buildings, but roads?

Unheard of.

Who built rock belts that transported, at high speeds, boxes of metal that could pop you if you so much as clipped one in movement? Muggles, that's who. And muggles, Zodea thought, were a little bit crazy. The light across the road flashed red as the countdown hit zero. The cars came to a stuttering stop, and the people, masses, traversed over the black and white stripes.

Muggles may be crazy, but they were a little bit marvellous too! Keeping her speed in check, Zodea dashed for the stripes, melded into the crowd and there, right there, Zodea crossed a street. It wasn't much, muggles did it every day in the billions, but Zodea, who had never ventured into the muggle world apart from the odd trip to Kensington Park, which Sirius normally apparated them to at night so the place was less teeming, who had not visited the Wizarding world much either, who only ever really knew Grimmauld Place, and for a sweet but short time Hogwarts, felt as if she had crossed mount Everest.

The sniffle grew louder.

No time.

She followed her feet, let her ears lead her, step by step, sniffle by whine. She ended up, not in the alleyway, as she first thought she would, but just by it, on the bottom rung of the grand stairs of the museum. A car pulled up on the road behind her, a strange thing indeed, by first glance. Long, so very long, with blacked out windows and-

Now was not the time to get distracted by shiny things. She scanned the steps to the vast, columned building, a beast of granite and pillar, looking like someone had plucked it from the heart of Rome. The steps were packed, teeming, as the streets had been, a father carrying a daughter on his shoulders. A teen with a camera hanging around their neck, taking shots of the museum. An elderly couple hobbling along together, the clack of their walking sticks louder than their faint heartbeats and-

There.

A man. He was huddled by the railing, crouched on a step, ragged clothing, torn and worn, barely hanging up against the chill breeze. His fingers were blue, she could see, as they crooked around his arms, folded against his chest, trying to preserve any heat he could. Cold and blue and bent. Shivering. He was shivering, and crying, and no one… No one was looking.

Why was no one helping him?

It was like he was invisible, the little plastic cup in front of him barely containing two cents. The crowd walked on by, not daring to glance his way. They ate their hotdogs, dropped coins in the gutter, laughed and joked and smiled in their warm wool coats, and no one looked to the man freezing on the steps.

Zodea glanced up to the museum, to all the normal people going about their day. The money in her pocket felt oddly heavy. Too heavy. Heavy and wrong. She was going to go in there, follow the crowd, mingle and mix, and be normal, just as they were. She was going to prove to Remus and Sirius she could do it, be like everyone else and-

For once, glancing back to the cold man who had no money, no warmth and, she thought looking at his tattered shoes, no home, Zodea didn't want to be normal. She didn't want to be like the people just walking by. She didn't want to be like them full stop.

Not for a moment.

Not for a second.

Not at all.

There was always tomorrow. Zodea edged closer to the man on the stairs, not wanting to scare him as she scared so many others, stepping up the steps in clear long strides, shrugging out the shoulders of her jacket after she dug her money out. He glanced up, and up, and up. He looked stunned. Surprised. So shocked someone, anyone, was looking at him, seeing him. She bent down on her haunches, making herself as small as possible, and offered out her coat in one hand, the money in the other.

He stuttered, shaking his head, protesting. Zodea reached for his hand, slipped the money into cold palm, and swung her jacket around his hunched shoulders. Gentle. Soft.

"No. Take it, please. Get somewhere warm to sleep, and something hot to eat. You'll get sick out here at this time of year."

He stopped, held still, and finally melted into the warm leather of her-… His coat. He smiled at her then, and it was better and more beautiful than any painting she could have seen in that museum. She grinned back, and pulled away.

"You're a blessing, miss. A real blessing. I can't thank you enough."

Her grin grew.

"Seeing you somewhere safe is thanks enough."

He was swift on his feet, plucking up his cup, despite how thin he was now that Zodea could see him standing, mumbling still how thankful he is, before he skidded down the steps and away into the street and crowds and bustling life. She watched him until she could no longer see the top of his head. She stood again, dusting her hands off on the thighs of her jeans.

The people around her swarmed into the museum, and she was, if she was being honest, a little sad she couldn't join them. Remus would have been so proud if she just-

Another day, perhaps. With one last longing look at the throng of merry people, Zodea went to turn away and head down the stairs, back the way she came, to wait at the bus stop for the next ride home, lucky she had bought a return ticket. She had crossed a road without causing a pile-up, road a full bus, and perhaps that would be enough to make Sirius see-

A voice, smooth like velvet, soft like silk, and elegant like a stained-glass window, spoke out behind her just as she began to turn.

"That was awfully kind of you."

Zodea snapped around. A man stood by the strange long car, a few steps away from her, door thudding closed behind him as he exited from the back. He was tall, only an inch or two shorter than herself, made up of cashmere and clean keen lines. Lithe, Remus would say, a dancer, Sirius would call him. And completely bald, despite how young he appeared to be. He couldn't be older than his mid-twenties.

And what did Zodea do in her infinite wisdom? She scowled at him.

"Do you make it a habit to spy on people?"

He smiled at her then. Large and toothy, teeth straight and white against his pale face, slightly lopsided. It was the type of smile that was more than a flutter of lip, a smile you could see in the eye, a curious concoction of green and grey, like a forest lost in the fog, a smile you heard in a voice, in the way the posture relaxed. It was the prettiest thing Zodea had seen in a long time.

"Kindness and a sharp tongue. Quiet a unique combination."

Zodea scoffed. Unsettled by the smile. Flushed by the eyes. Unnerved by… Him. She wasn't used to people, after the first weary glance at her, staring so… Unabashedly. Closely. Perhaps this was the same surprise the shivering man had felt when he noticed she saw him. They normally averted their gazes, tried to not stare too long at the giant at their side, afraid they might get her Fee-fi-fo-fum'ing their way. So she did the only thing she could think of.

She began to walk away.

"And that didn't answer my question at all, which likely means yes."

She heard a chuckle charted by footsteps following.

"Wait, aren't you going to get cold? It's freezing out."

She faltered, stumbled to a standstill as she glanced down at herself, at her thin t-shirt and torn jeans and combat boots. Shit. She had forgotten she didn't have her leather jacket anymore. She knew what it must look like to someone… Someone not like her. Normal people didn't swan around in winter in a t-shirt and nothing else.

She was here for five bloody minutes, and someone was already picking her apart, plucking at her differences like violin strings, and that was the last thing she needed. Instead of going home and making Remus and Sirius proud, she could already picture the absolute shit-storm if accidentally outed herself so carelessly.

Zodea changed her mind. The mans smile wasn't pretty. Neither was his eyes. He was a menace. A tall, lanky menace who looked good at dancing. Squinting over her shoulder, glaring, she tried her best to brush it off.

"This weather is summer in the highlands. I'll be fine."

There. That should do it. An added glare for good measure, a little curl to her lip, a straightening of her spine and shoulders to full height, and like everyone else who saw her, he would stutter and run and not ask any more-

The strange, strange man fell instep beside her, still… still grinning. What in the name of Nimue was wrong with this bald bastard? Why wasn't he running away? Why wasn't he spluttering and stumbling? And she was wrong before. His gaze could meet her own, less than in inch shorter, only a centimetre or two, and… and… Why was he still smiling?

"Ah, that's where the slight brogue comes from. Scotland? A bit far from home, aren't you?"

He cocked his head at her, knitted scarf coiling around his sharp jaw, and Zodea merely blinked back.

"A bit bloody noisy, aren't you?"

The laughter was louder this time, lighter too, refreshing like sea breeze.

"Not many people around here would have done what you just did. It made me curious. You know, he's probably going to spend that money on alcohol or drugs. It's likely a waste."

And suddenly, Zodea couldn't stand the man. She couldn't stand his expensive coat. She couldn't stand his sea breeze laugh. She definitely couldn't stand his pretty lopsided smile, and don't even get her started on those bloody eyes. Her face screwed up, scowling and practically snarling, and before she knew it, could control herself, she was barking back.

"That doesn't mean giving him a chance is the wrong thing to do. Now, excuse me. I have to get home."

Again, she tried to walk away, walk away before she punched a hole in his head, and again, the man just wouldn't give up.

"Weren't you just heading into the museum? Oh… Was that the last of your-… Follow me."

She needed to just walk away. One foot in front of the other. Come on, toddler's had mastered this move. She could do this. One step, followed by another, and then another. Of bloody course, she did none of that. She stopped, she turned, and she faced the man.

"I don't want your charity. I can go next time."

The bright grin was back.

"The exhibition closes tonight, so I think not. And to ease your bruised ego, don't worry. I won't spend a dime. Now, do you want in or not?"

Zodea wavered on the sidewalk, the man standing before her, people walking around them like a tide would bend around an island. In or not? It seemed a simple question, but she knew nothing ever was simple. Of course, she wanted in. That was the whole point of her harebrained journey, she wanted to see the paintings, hear the people, for one moment, just one, be a normal teenager doing what a normal teenager would do. She wanted it so bad it hurt.

It burned.

What harm could that cause? Even with his height, Zodea could not smell a lick of magic about this man, not like the lemon zest lightning Sirius, Remus and most witches and wizards reeked of. He was obviously a muggle. A muggle with a pretty grin, nothing more. That wasn't so dangerous, was it? Worse case scenario, if he tried something, Zodea was sure she could snap him clean in half, or pop his head right off like a Ken doll.

He must have sensed her waning hostility, though a spark of ire still flickered in her chest, as his eyes lit up above his grin, gesturing behind him with a tilt of his head to the museum, urging her to follow silently. One wrong move, and she would twist him up like a pretzel. Sluggishly, she trailed, and he looked like he had either won the lottery, or managed to coax a wild bear into his living room for a bowel of cereal.

Just to be a bit of a prick, something Zodea was excellent at doing, she took the steps two at a time, and made her pace just a smidgen too fast, even for him. She chuckled as he jogged to catch up to her side. Her mirth died when she heard him laugh too.

Bastard.

It didn't take the pair long to scale the steps and Zodea went to join the back of the long winding queue for the ticket office. A hand, warm, so very warm, wrapping around her wrist stopped her, softly tugging. Wearily, she eyed the hand, valiantly fought down the urge to yank her limb free in shock, likely ending with her also ripping his arm out its socket. The only people who had ever willingly touched her were Sirius and Remus, and that one time, before she broke her sons arm, Molly Weasley had given her a greeting hug.

It felt… Nice.

Really nice.

He cut the line, the ticket office too, straight to the guard stationed at the door leading into the museum, checking tickets before entry. His hand fell from her wrist as he dipped it into the pockets of his pressed slacks, fishing out an ID in a leather wallet of some kind, and Zodea, silent, towering, still partially scowling, sort of… Well, missed it.

He flashed the card at the security guard.

"Two for entry. It would be fantastic if we could skip the line?"

The guard smiled and nodded, threading a thumb through his belt.

"Of course, Mister Luthor. Head on in."

The guard pulled back the red rope, making room for the man, Luthor, to walk through. He did, but stopped when he spotted Zodea had halted. He popped a pale brow at her from over his shoulder, almost daringly. Zodea squared her shoulders and marched forward, a Gryffindor through and through, straight past him, and into the large foyer of the museum. He shook his head as she passed, grinning.

"Are you an actual spy?"

He chuckled.

"No, just a man with a family name that can pull red rope. Here we are."

The foyer was huge, a mangled web of glass and chrome and domed ceiling, and breathtakingly muggle. Beautiful… It was beautiful, she thought as she gazed about herself, wide-eyed and slack mouthed. The lifts to the side stood sleek, waiting to take people to the higher floors, while the great stairs before them, splitting up the sides, wound through the exhibits like veins through the body, bringing people, like life blood, to the many treasures this magnificent building concealed.

Zodea had never seen anything like it.

She didn't think she ever would again.

Why didn't the muggles just live here? Was that allowed? Could she stay here? Sleep? Live? Never leave and-

"Unfortunately, this is where I must leave you. I have business to attend to upstairs."

Unceremoniously, Zodea snapped back into herself with a sharp drop and a dazed blink. She tried to scowl again, seem big and tough and mean, but she knew she failed. She was still smiling brightly, and he smiled back, that sea breeze smile, and perhaps, maybe, just a little, he wasn't such a bastard.

His smile fell to a frown as he scanned her, and, as she was so often used to while under scrutiny, she hunched down, folded into herself like a decking chair, small and unobtrusive and nothing to see here, please move along'ness. Before she could tell him to bloody quit it or she'd poke his eyes out, he slipped out his long, expensive, cashmere coat, as black as his suit. He held it out to her.

"Take it. You'll need it for when you leave. It really is freezing out there."

Zodea shook her head.

"No. Really. I'm fine. I don't need-"

He ignored her, strode closer, a bit too close, way too close for Zodea's comfort, reached out to pluck up her wrist again, and placed the coat in her palm, curling her lax fingers around the wool before stepping back.

"I have plenty more. If it makes you feel better, give it me back if we meet again."

That was it. That was all he said before he began to walk away to the lifts across from them. Zodea, now in a twist of fate from earlier, was now the one shouting at his back, clutching at his coat.

"Why did you do this?"

The ding of the elevator doors opening punctuated her confusion. He stepped inside, shoved his hands deep into his pockets and rolled to face her.

"Because you were kind, and Metropolis needs more of that. I hope to see it grow and repaid."

He stood there, this Luthor, under the harsh cold light of the elevator, in a soft jumper, pressed slacks, and shiny Italian leather shoes, and none of it really mattered, Zodea would not remember most of it, only that he had such a warm, lovely smile. The elevator ding'd again, and Zodea called back one last time.

"Thank you!"

The doors began to close is when his eyes widened and he scrambled, hand coming out his pocket to try and block the door.

"Wait! I never got your name-"

He was too late. The doors shut with a slick click, and Zodea watched the red number on the little screen above climb higher and higher. She stared for a while, longer than she supposed she should have, holding a strangers coat, before she shrugged it off. It was probably for the best he didn't know her name, and she only his last.

Pretty smiles, she decided, were, in fact, extremely dangerous.

Toxic and contagious, maybe, by the way she couldn't wipe her own off her face no matter how hard she tried.

Best she never saw it, or him, ever again.

Still, she flushed with… Pride. Something hefty and flinty like pride. Was this how you made friends? Zodea didn't know, not really, but she thought it might be, and perhaps that was the secret everyone else seemingly already knew. You made friends when you didn't try so hard.

Glancing to the coat in her hands, she ran her thumb along the collar. Dense, soft, incredibly soft. She shrugged it on. Once More, it was for the best, she thought. If this muggle had questioned her t-shirt, the other's in the museum might too, and provoking suspicion was the last thing she wanted. It had nothing to do with the smell of pine, something warm and mulled like wine, with a bite of something sweet like pomegranate lingering at the end.

It didn't.

The coat fit, falling to her calves, as it had on him, a bit too broad in the shoulder, but long enough in the arm. Grinning, she gazed around herself in amazement, breathing in the museum, the wonder, the life, and with one last chuckle, she dashed off, away, up the stairs to all the sights and marvels to see.

By the time Lex Luthor made it back to the ground floor to ask for a name, she was long gone.

Ten Hours Later…

Zodea's P.O.V

Zodea got back home just in time, as the hallway clock chimed eleven at night. She came ambling in the back door, full of smiles and laughter. It had been a good day. A really good day. She helped a man, gained a coat, and saw William Blake's paintings. And she didn't destroy one building. Not even a shed. No muggles had burned. No priceless art smashed. Zodea had gone out, controlled herself, and the world hadn't ended.

She found Sirius and Remus waiting for her in the kitchen, the latter warming up tea and the former pouting over a mug of earl grey. Zodea politely pretended she couldn't smell the musky aroma of sweat still persistent in the air, the tangy odour of unnameable bodily fluids, and the chemical burn of the air freshener, she was guessing Remus, had quickly sprayed to cover up the smell he knew she'd find.

Nope.

She didn't smell any of it.

However, she did see Sirius's pout, the worried downturn of his brows, and the sullen slope of his eye, and heard the silence echoing about the heartbeats of her adopted parents and, suddenly, her pride was gone. She only felt guilty. Very, very, very guilty. She crept into the room, shoulders sagged, head bowed, trudging to the kitchen island.

"It wasn't Remus's fault. I-"

Sirius glanced up from over his mug, as Remus carried on cooking, respectfully giving the two of them as much space as the kitchen allowed without burning the fried tomatoes. The pout vanished like smoke, superseded by a smile Zodea would always adore. They said the star Sirius was the brightest in the sky. Zodea would argue her Sirius's smile was brighter.

"You're not in trouble, Dea. Moony and I talked and, well, I've been a bit bull-headed, haven't I?"

Sheepishly, he scratched at the back of his neck, wincing. He didn't need to say anything more. Not with the three of them. Zodea tumbled into the seat opposite him, watching as he breached the distance still between them, and rested a hand over her folded arm on the table, squeezing through the woven wool.

"Just, be careful out there, alright? Not for them, but for yourself. That's all I've ever cared about. You could destroy the whole world out there, burn it right down to ashes, and all I would ever want is for you to come home."

Zodea nodded, powerless to get any words out from the lump growing in her throat, almost blocking her airway. As long as she came home… She could do that. She would always do that. Home, to her fathers.

The tender moment was swiftly shattered when Sirius eyed her closer, gaze dropping to her chest, frowning, hand snatching back to point at her arm. His voice was high, higher than she had ever heard him go before, almost a shriek, nearly a squeal, incredulous and creaking like the stairs of Grimmauld place.

"Is that a man's coat?!"

Zodea peeked down at herself, for the second time that day, and huffed.

"It's not like that. I gave mine-"

He bounced out his chair like a Boggart from a closet, frantically waving a hand at Zodea as he whirled on Remus, tugging his husband away from the skillet.

"She's by herself for five minutes and-… And-… And some garden Gnome brained bastard is-"

Zodea stood too, the chair skidding back.

"To a homeless man and he saw me and-"

"She's fifteen! Fifteen! Much too young for men! Men who wear that size coat! Remus, call-"

"He just wanted to make sure I wasn't going to get cold on the way home. I tried telling him I would be fine, but he wouldn't listen and I couldn't exactly say, oh, look mate, I'm invulnerable, weather don't effect me-"

"I'll cut his balls off! I'll do it! Don't think I won't! Fifteen! My daughter! Who does he think he is-"

Tugging has shirt sleeve free from a frenzied Sirius, Remus held up his hands and bellowed.

"Enough!"

Silence.

Not even a pin drop.

Taking in a long, dragging, mostly suffering breath, Remus turned to Zodea, calmly.

"Dea?"

She groaned.

"It was nothing like that. I gave mine to a homeless man. This guy saw it and was just being kind. I couldn't say no anymore than I did without seeming… Odd."

Sirius scanned her, likely saw the truth prowling there in her open face, Zodea was never the best at lying, and sniffed sharply.

"Well, I suppose that makes sense. It's good to get the practice in anyway, for when it does start happening. Can't let just anyone walk off with my little-"

Remus shot him a fierce glare, eyes flashing amber, tone full of brusque warning.

"Sirius."

The façade plummeted as Sirius deflated, firing Dea an apologetic smile, small and sad and so awfully Sirius.

"Sorry, love. You know me, can't really help myself."

She took her seat as he took his, smirking across a chuckle.

"You wouldn't be you if you could."

His nose rose into the air. Haughty.

"I will take that as a compliment and nothing else."

She laughed, deep, cheerful, stretched, like a sunbeam. Remus slipped a plate full of fry-up in front of her before he took the spare seat next to Sirius. Zodea wasted no time, devouring toast and beans and black pudding alike.

"So, are we really going to that dinner tomorrow?"

Dea asked around a mouthful, grimacing at the barbed look Remus gave her for the lack of manners. Yet, he did snicker at the rather comical gulp she took.

"Can't really dodge it without casting suspicion. This is a small town, people talk. If there's a family who seems reclusive, they'll home in on it within seconds and become more curious. Then they'll really start looking. Best we go and make the most of it. Who knows, that Lana girl is going and she seemed nice. Around your age too, I think. I believe the Kent's have a boy only a year older than you. You could make some friends, and, perhaps, not steal their coat this time."

Sirius wiggled closer, voice plunging to a conspiratorial murmur.

"Good thing that Nell seemed to be a gossip. I wager all the local rumours run through her. If anyone knows anything that could lead to a clue about Lily and her time here, it would be her. I bet you."

Zodea regarded her parents. She loved them more than anything else in the world, and if anyone could find out what happened to her mother all those years ago, she didn't doubt, not for a second, it was the men before her. Yet, she suddenly felt… Off. Not off… Cautious. Exhausted.

Scared.

What if it was something awful? Truly terrible? What if they did discover it and, because they now knew, they would no longer love her and-

And she was being silly. Stupid. Childish.

She was being a fifteen-year-old girl.

And no matter how hard she tried; she couldn't shake the sudden shadow looming over her.

"So, you two play detectives, and I play at normal human being with the neighbouring teens?"

Remus smiled woefully at her.

"No. We ask a few questions, don't push, and we all have a nice evening. Don't worry, Dea. Enjoy yourself."

As her father had, Zodea timidly rubbed the back of her neck.

"Does it make me sound stupid if I said I was nervous?"

Sirius got up to take his empty mug to the sink, spelling the draining board empty. As he passed, he tried to ruffle her hair. She ducked out of his grasp.

"No, it makes you sound like any other teenager. You'll do fine, love. Nothing can possibly go wrong."

Her fork fell to her plate with a clang.

"Why would you say that! Merlin, what-… Why? Out of everything you could have said, why would you say that? Morgana, I'm going to burn one of their heads off, aren't I? Or knock their house down in a sneeze! What if I get a leg twitch and boot a hole in one of them? Sirius! Why would you say that!"

Remus sighed and slumped, massaging the bridge of his nose as if he was fighting a tension headache, as Zodea, flustered, dashed from the kitchen in a whoosh that fluttered the kitchen curtains. In the distance, they heard the barn door bang.

Well, what had been the barn door.

By the sound, it was off its hinges now.

Sirius stared at the spot Zodea had only just been in, eyes wide, cup swinging from his fingers, bewildered.

"What? What did I say?"

Yay or Nay?

Next Chapter: A visit from a friend leads Clark Kent to a dinner party, where he meets the girl who had done what no one else ever had before when she bumped into him. Bruised his shoulder. Determined to get answers, Clark thought it was all going well until his mother knocked her glass from the table…

I hoped you enjoyed this! Thank you all for the follows and favourites, and the lovely reviews, be sure to leave one if you have the time, and I will hopefully see you all soon.