Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire

This chapter is dedicated to Mazey-who gently nudged more than once, Elizabeth- who edits with a sharp mind and sharper quill and commissioned Lisa's beautiful drawing, and Laurie- who holds my hand when I really, really need it. Also, I owe a huge "thank you" to both Poggy and Lisa Rourke for the stunningly beautiful artwork for this story.


Chapter Forty-Three
Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

She considered it following the letter of the law, rather than the spirit. Those first few days were perilous for everyone. Tippy-toes and pussy-feet were used by all except Jasmine. Stoicism and snarling were more her style, though taking the moral high-ground, she avoided them. She wasn’t bothering to be subtle about her pique, either. She had decided that all she was required to do was play hostess; being a gracious hostess wasn’t part of the deal.

Arielle was understandably curious about the men in the barn but Jasmine did everything she possibly could to distract and deter questions. Anne-Mette sent Moira through the floo almost every day to play (while discreetly avoiding questions that would irritate her friend). Also, homework seemed to take longer every day. While Arielle complained, Jasmine never mentioned that Miss Anne didn’t actually assign reading and writing as daily homework on top of her other work. It did keep Arielle busy, though. At least once a day, though, Jasmine found Arielle staring out a window at the men as they played. She knew them by name. Remus walked them to school and back daily and Sirius… Arielle was tickled that one of the guest had the same name as her old dog. Jasmine had yet to comment on that other than a smile and hum of agreement that, yes, it was indeed an interesting coincidence. The answer to Arielle’s questions about when the men would eat dinner with them or when she could go outside to play was always, “Maybe another day. Have you done your reading?” Ari was still curious and desperate to play in the barn and meadow but after Jasmine snapped at her that she was not allowed to go out there under any circumstances – cool breeze, goat, hippogriff, horse, owl, and chickens or not, Arielle stopped asking questions and stomped up to her bedroom.

Jasmine did everything possible, she thought, to minimize contact between the “dogs in the barn” and the ladies in the house. She spelled an outside doorway to the bathroom and decreed that she and Arielle would only use the upstairs toilets; the downstairs one was for the guests and house-elf only. Mopsy, the house-elf, fed the animals and cleaned the stalls – Arielle was even relieved of her flobberworm duty. Feeding the men was also Mopsy’s job – Jasmine wouldn’t even cook for them (not that she wanted to cook in the heat of summer), much less float a tray to them. Mopsy took three meals, tea, a morning snack and countless pitchers of lemonade to the barn every day. Mopsy even took over feeding the animals and gathering eggs, much to Arielle’s disappointment. Whining became Ari’s preferred method of communication. Jasmine allowed it, mostly because she tuned out anything beginning with, “Maaamaaa,” and concentrated on weaving as though she hadn’t a care in the world. Letting the monotonous back and forth, pull and push, press of the left foot - press with the right foot, back and forth lull her into a kind of hypnosis. The charmed shuttle did most of the work on the tapestry – she just provided the fingers to loop yarn and randomly decided on the colors that were forming a picture she couldn’t yet identify.

The men stayed out of her way and that’s all she cared about. Supposedly, she didn’t notice that that Berri and Skeevers invariably scooted outside to while the days away with them, nor did she notice that Faust’s favorite new perch was the side of Joe’s stall, instead of the back of her chair. She insisted that she didn’t notice the deep, quiet conversations that drifted through her workroom window in the evenings. She certainly didn’t notice them running about bare-chested in the meadow, playing a Quidditch-like game through the kitchen and sitting room windows. Indeed, she was ignoring them completely. Or so she told herself.

And so it continued, for weeks.

As August waned - or melted in the heat, as it were, and habits of ignoring; long, lingering looks and the frequent forays onto the porch to look in windows; and wincing whispers of “Sirius, stop it, she’s going to boot us out on our arses if she catches you,” became ingrained in all of them, patience and resolve started to fray. The days were blisteringly hot and the evenings weren’t much better. A breeze became something to sigh over and shadows became precious commodities. Cooling Charms could only go so far and really took far too much energy to flick and swish through.

Finally, the heat drove her out of the house - though perhaps it was the heat that broke her resolve to stay inside. Late one evening, long after Arielle was in bed and Mopsy was snoring in the cupboard under the kitchen sink that she’d (most apologetically) begged for the use of, the need for a cool breeze drove her outside. It was late enough that she assumed that the men would both be asleep. Content in her own safety from the prying eyes of That Man, she settled in her favorite rocking chair on the porch, closed her eyes and let the slightly cooler air of the night and the humming of snoring clabberts soothe her frazzled nerves. A whisper of a breeze ruffled the hem of her white lawn nightgown against her shins. Without opening her eyes, she drew the fabric up, exposing her knees and a fair bit of leg, though she stayed on her mother’s side of modest.

Perhaps it was the hoot of an owl or the yip of a clabbert in the throes of a nightmare that woke her - she hadn’t even realized that she’d fallen asleep while rocking. When she opened her eyes, she saw him.

Perched on the bottom step of the porch, leaning on his forearms, he gazed at her with a smile that might have been called wistful if it weren’t Sirius “Damn-That-Man” Black. As she blinked awake, he spoke.

Barely above a whisper, he ventured, “Hello.”

She said nothing, just looked away. Slowly pushing at the porch with her bare toes, she rocked.

She felt him staring at her, with a sort of sad-puppy-please-bring-me-inside gaze, as though he wanted her to say something. She wondered if a ‘fuck you and the hippogriff you rode in on’ would have satisfied the jerk. She quelled the urge and just listened to the creak of the rocking chair. He said nothing else.

She finally broke the silence with a low tone devoid of any emotion. “I can’t make you leave, but I don’t have to talk to you.”

“But…”

“Just go.” It was a plea on a sigh.

“You know I’ve nowhere to go.”

“Go back in the barn,” she begged.

“No, Jasmine. We have some things to clear up.”

“No. I’m not interested in clearing anything up. I don’t need anything cleared up.” She braced herself to stand but didn’t rise.

“Jasmine….” He tried coaxing her with a boyish smile that was wasted since she refused to look at him. “You know you want to. I haven’t forgotten that letter.”

“Forget the letter,” she snarled. How dare he bring that up? The nerve of that man. That damned letter, sent so long ago by mistake was just that. A colossal mistake. “Forget everything. It was over before it ever started. Leave off.”

“I can’t. Surely you know that?”

“You must.”

“But I don’t!”

“Sirius, you came here under false pretenses the first time. You betrayed my trust and you weren’t even human! You used me for sex. You violated me. You used me for protection against the Ministry without my knowledge. You lied to me. Then you left with a quick kiss and a heartfelt fare-thee-well that I was supposed to accept as meaningful. Then you died.” She spat the final word as the worst indictment.

“I’m sorry.”

“Now you’re not dead and you’re back here. What am I supposed to do?”

“I….”

Her whisper was a bit too loud. She tried to control the volume but was reasonably sure in retrospect that even the neighbors could hear her. “Did you want me to welcome you home like some kind of conquering hero of the Order or should I ignore everything that happened before and start over with a ‘hi, how are you, nice to meet you’? Or should I have cried at the sight of you and led you into the bedroom? Or should we let the past go and build some kind of quasi-friendship based on old Gryffindor house loyalties and affection for Dumbledore?”

She sneaked a glance at him but quickly looked at when he smiled charmingly at her.

In his most convincing voice, he suggested, “All of the above?”

She stopped rocking, and sat still for several moments before turning to him with a sad expression on her face. She said quietly, “It’s too late, Sirius. After all that, after so long…. I had my anger and I had my mourning but now… I’m done. I’m over you.”

He gently chided, “Jasmine…”

She shook her head, stood up and crossed to the door as he scrambled up the stairs. As she closed the door gently behind herself, she quietly said, “No.”


The next day was even hotter but she stayed inside, where she belonged.