Even after speaking to Embry earlier in the day about the meeting, Sirius was still unsure about going to it, but he was a man of his word, so he’d still go, albeit hesitantly. She’d brought up so many points. About how she never would give her baby up, and yet if Zenia was their daughter, she wasn’t brought up by either of them. And if Embry hadn’t left her willingly… he shivered at the thought. No. It wasn’t possible that she could’ve got hurt. There was no way he would’ve let that happen, and there was definitely no way he would’ve let Fenrir get away with hurting her. He would’ve torn him apart with his bare hands, and set fire to his body if he’d had the chance to. Running his hand through his hair as he stood outside the building, he heard music playing from inside, so he assumed someone was there, or had left a record playing. Cautiously he entered the building, the music getting louder and louder until he pushed the door open, and saw a blonde sitting with a guitar. He paused a few moments before she realised he was there, and he shrugged.
“I’m sorry I interrupted you, I didn’t mean to, carry on if you want.” He said, cautiously, nodding once in her direction. “Are you doing well? After what happened with Fenrir?” He studied her features, as well as her arms and legs to ensure that she wasn’t harmed at all from the previous run-in. “You look well though. I assume whoevers cooking at the safe house is doing a good job.” He had a sudden thought, and waved his wand, casting a muting charm on the rest of the building, so that they couldn’t be overheard. He’d been careful to not have Scabior or Fenrir anywhere near him when he apparated, but he told himself he could never be too careful. Anyone could overhear them if they weren’t careful.
“So.” He shoved his hands awkwardly into his pockets, and looked at her, swaying back and forth on his heels. “Did you bring the potion? I’m here with my hair…all of it my own, thank you very much, so we can get started if you want?” He felt like he was being formal, but given the circumstances, he didn’t know how else to act. He pulled at a strand of hair from the top of his head, whincing at the few seconds of pain he had, and passed it over to her. “You know, if this comes out with the…” The what? The right result? How could it be the right result if it meant him having to face Embry’s mortality? Or his own? “…with a result, I’m going to constantly wonder how we had a blonde child.”