Relief flooded into Pollux, and he almost sagged back with it, but caught himself at the last moment. He maintained his rigid, proper stance despite the roiling emotion pouring through his brain. She wasn't dead in the 80s. But it was 2013, which meant she was assuredly dead now. Eighty three years--unless she lived well into her 100s, which was asking for a lot given the turn their lives took.
Pollux closed his eyes for a moment, fighting off the urge to cry. That was for muggless, women, and for school children. He was a Black, born and bred, and he could handle this with clarity.
Right?
He looked at Sirius when the young man spoke, quirking a brow. Need help with? What did he need help with? Irma did everything Pollux couldn't. Or wouldn't. "I should acquire a House-Elf," he said. "For the cooking." He hadn't eaten anything other than cottage cheese and tomatoes since yesterday. "What is this?" he removed the thin, plastic card from his inner coat pocket. "Do they not use currency? Even fiat currency?"