Gideon Prewett clutched his broken left hand as he ran down the street. When was he going to stop making these foolish mistakes? He'd been with the Order of the Phoenix for years, practically since its inception, yet things always circled back to this. At least, he thought as he hobbled back home clutching his useless shattered stump, he hadn't been Splinched. He wasn't that fond of Apparition, for he preferred to travel by broom. It was safer, and frankly, he felt he had more control. As he touched the deep wound he'd received on his shoulder, Gideon felt faint.
He'd felt his skin tear on that one. He'd told himself that his shoulder had simply popped out of place. That had happened too, yet that was beside the point, and the injury certainly didn't block out or numb the rest of the excruciating pain. He knopounded on his brother's front door.
He called out in French. Nobody came. Gideon considered his words carefully, played the plea back through his mind, and he switched to English. "Fabian, open the door!"
Gideon worked for the Department of International Magical Cooperation. He jumped back and forth between France and England so often these days, the man no longer owned property on home soil. He'd sold his comfortable home outside of London a few years ago because this place felt more like a holiday place than a home. He'd hadn't planned on being back, really, but he hadn't planned on a lot of things. As he stood on his brother's doorstep reflecting on his sorry life, Gideon decided he needed to pick a place to call home. England or France? England or France? His ulcers had nothing to do with these late nighttime strolls.
Fabian, drowsy from sleep, opened the door. He'd thankfully dropped the security measures for whatever reason. When he saw his brother, Fabian cursed and supported Gideon, who had started shaky uncontrollably, into the sitting room. They were both stocky men with thick auburn hair and hazel eyes; they were each other's doppelgänger, which came in rather handy these days whilst on assignment for the Order of the Phoenix.
"What happened?" Fabian deposited his brother on the couch and fumbled around the sitting room for a light. He found his wand and pointed it at the grate; flames appeared in the fireplace.
"I don't know. I think I'm his favorite punching bag ... Macnair went after me again. Can you believe that?" Gideon fought the urge to lie down. He turned at an odd angle, offering his brother his arm. He reached inside his robes and slammed a silver lighter on the coffee table. Gritting his teeth, breathing through pain, he said, "Pop it back in."
"Were you Splinched? I need better light." Fabian found nothing and perched himself on the edge of the coffee table. He gripped Gideon's injured arm, wrapped the shoulder wound after cleaning it, although he did a quick job in this dimly lit setting, and prepared to set it. "Are we good?"
Gideon nodded, his eyes already watering as he expected the fresh wave. Fabian set the arm without warning, and Gideon shot choice words at him, switching between English to French with ease. Fabian reset his hand as well without skipping a beat, apparently saving his apology for when this was over. Gideon laid down and buried his face in the couch cushion, hoping he'd pass out. He got no such luck. When Fabian finished, he'd reeled off whatever he'd fixed like it was better to hear it all in a rush. The apology hardly seemed worth it.
Gideon translated his last explicative into plain English. "I hate you, wanker."
"He also said he hated your mother, which means no sense whatsoever," said Emmeline, walking downstairs and holding a taper aloft. Her dark hair fell down her back in a single plait. She wore a dressing gown, though there was no hiding her figure anymore these days. She rested her hand on her belly and placed the other on the bannister. She spoke to her husband in rapid French.
Fabian cleared his mess with a lazy flick of his wand. "We speak English in this household, people."
"I'm fine," said Gideon, smiling weakly at his brother. Emmeline passed through the sitting room and entered the kitchen. She busied herself there, but she gave her own thoughts in her native tongue in passing. Emmeline usually got the last word. Gideon smirked at his brother as he got comfortable on the couch. "You don't want that translation, brother."
"Oh, yeah? Well, well, at least my grandfather isn't psychotic," said Fabian, recycling his old standby.
Emmeline returned into the sitting room and set a wooden tray on the coffee table. She lifted her husband's head and placed it in her lap before she gave him a good, long kiss.
"You two act like newlyweds," commented Fabian, helping himself to Gideon's coffee. He gestured around the place as he got to his feet. "These walls are thin. I heard Madame Saint-Luc here screaming for hours last night before you stepped out."
"Sorry," Emmeline and Gideon apologized. Gideon actually wasn't that sorry because he hadn't been intimate with his wife in months. He didn't know what had changed her mind, but he certainly enjoyed the hormones.
"At least someone's getting some." Fabian rubbed his hands together before he reached out to touch Emmeline. She closed her eyes, tired, and shifted his hand. She was an only child, yet she considered Fabian as a brother when she and Gideon had tied the knot ten years ago in Calais. Fabian smiled. "So, this is why you're not sleeping. You think this one is going to stick?"
"I hope so." Emmeline didn't sound certain. She'd abandoned hope ages ago.
Emmeline didn't let just anyone touch her. They had tried and failed to have a child for years. Her grandfather, a man who lived in the past, called it an heir. Nicolas Flamel asked for a great-grandson. Emmeline, who had jumped back and forth across the English Channel, had dropped her French accent. It came back when she changed tongues; she sounded like another person. She'd also adopted the sometimes surname Vance. She relaxed, chuckling a little when Fabian started speaking in a babyish tone to her belly.
Gideon squeezed her hand. "Go to bed."
"No." Emmeline shook her head as Fabian headed upstairs. It was slowly getting light outside and he had the day off. Emmeline rested her chin in her head, sounding like she fought sleep. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"
Gideon rolled onto his good side and faced the couch cushions.
"No?" Emmeline accepted the answer for the moment because both of them were too tired. She sat there for a while and played with the silver lighter. Shadows danced on the walls, and she kept the fire going. The candlelight went out. "Are you sleeping?"
Gideon considered lying because he was nearly there. She worked as a negotiator for the Paris and Marseille divisions; they held the same careers and sat in different seats. When things boiled right down to it, Gideon acted like a double agent between the two countries; he played the role of the peacemaker for a handful of European countries. He understood a little this and that and liked playing the game. Interpreters gravitated towards him, although he didn't quite get the attraction.
"I think I have a problem," he confessed, reaching out to take Professor Dumbledore's lighter and place it on the coffee table again. Emmeline got up and stood by the open window. Her dressing gown had slipped open, revealing a silk nightgown underneath. She opened the trinket and an orb of light zoomed inside it. Gideon, amazed, raised his head. "How did you do that?"
"Oh, this?" Emmeline opened the trinket again and released the light. She tossed it in the air and caught it. "He's not a smoker. He crafted one for my grandmother."
Emmeline's grandmother, Jacqueline Saint-Luc, was hands down the most interesting old woman Gideon had ever had the pleasure of meeting. She was a plain Frenchwoman from the countryside, and she appeared to be nothing at first glance. Jacqueline got handpicked by Albus Dumbledore at sixteen to become Nicolas Flamel's apprentice; Dumbledore asked to chose his replacement before he'd left Paris. He'd moved on to greater things. Jacqueline had fair, olive skin and wore her hair in a single braid. She neared eighty now, though you definitely couldn't tell by her appearance. Jacqueline shared a longtime friendship with Dumbledore.
"He gave her one of these when she finally stopped smoking." Emmeline examined the thing by the firelight after she heaved a couple logs into the grate.
"Because that makes perfect sense," said Gideon, completely confused. Professor Dumbledore was a mystery to him.
"Hers actually lights up. Jacqueline thinks it's funny." Emmeline called her grandmother by her first name. It was an age thing, Gideon suspected. Her grandfather, Papa, Philippe, held the post of Transfiguration teacher at Beauxbatons Academy. Emmeline smiled at him, perhaps thinking he'd enjoy the story, but her face fell when he said nothing. "What is it?"
Gideon sat up gingerly and fingered his side, checking Fabian's handy work. Repaired ribs made it easier to breathe. He bought his hands together, laying his thoughts on the table. He wanted to discuss Nicolas Flamel. Why would he care about about Jacqueline's great grandchildren? True, they had passed the mark, so the child was viable or whatever, but why would an renowned alchemist take sudden interest? Gideon had never met the man. In truth, this moment could wait forever as far as he was concerned, for he'd heard Flamel was cynical and cold-hearted.
Gideon shook his head, telling himself a complicated conversation would get them nowhere. "I got beat up the night we returned home, and I'm trying to convince myself not to go back to Paris. We haven't even unpacked."
Gideon nodded at their bags by the staircase. Enmeline, frowning at him and setting the lighter down, sat down beside him and covered herself with a knit blanket. Molly had made it. Gideon had an orange and blue one laying on the back of his couch in the Parisian flat. Although they had moved back, he had refused to sell the flat. It was in a good location for one thing, and whatever Emmeline said to the contrary, they were going back.
"I hate it here." Gideon despised the war that had lasted for nearly ten years. It had somehow not crossed the Channel, though if things continued down this path, that would hardly matter. He missed smoking. He'd kicked the habit last year and still found the nicotine pull excruciating.
"Relax." Even though he tried to pull away, Emmeline snatched his hand and placed it on her side. The kid got wedged in a tight spot. "This calms you down. Don't act like I don't know you, Gideon. We discussed this to death when you received that owl from Fabian last month. You can either stay here or there, but you can't have it both ways. I can't. Remember what it took to get reassigned here?"
"I know," he said, dejected. Gideon slumped his shoulders. He took the bottle Emmeline conjured and downed its synthetic cherry-favored contents in one. He repeated what they agreed on back to her. "We stay put for six months, or least until the baby arrives, and we go from there. I picked here."
"Deal with it. You're going through this stuff like water. I'm going to have an English child, but you don't hear me complaining." She laughed with him, making light of the situation and pulling playfully at his robes. "Take me back."
Gideon really thought she should not toy with him because he just might take her up on the offer. Paris had its negatives, too. He'd found a rat in his kitchen basin once and nearly lost his mind whilst he jumped around screaming like a little girl. The sewer system sometimes worked in reverse, especially on days when the rain refused to quit. Oh, and there was the homeless drunkard, Gideon's personal favorite strange memory, who had propositioned his wife and followed her home in the middle of the night. Emmeline had cast a Tongue-Tying Curse on him and steered Gideon home before things took a nasty turn. Folks who worked in international affairs had ample reason not to be slapped with assault charges.
"Did you ever tell your grandparents you got an offer on the street?" Gideon had almost forgotten this incident and fingered the emerald pendant laying on her breast. "Like some common whore."
"An expensive whore," she corrected him. Emmeline undid her braid with quick fingers and shook her head, placing the elastic band on her wrist. "God, no. Papa would panic. Gideon?"
"Hmmm? Who did you get this from?" He played with the jewel.
"Flamel," she said, sighing when he groaned and dropped his hand. Emmeline got up and placed her hands on her hips. "We're not having this row right now, monsieur. I'm going to bed."
Gideon raised his eyebrows. He'd been kidding about the common whore thing, but this made things too easy. "He gives you gifts?"
"I am Jacqueline's and Philipe's granddaughter. How many times do I have to tell you? This is nothing. You don't like it? Fine." Emmeline, instantly angry, tore off the necklace and handed it over. She broke its clasp. " You'll fetch a pretty penny for it, Gideon. Sell it for all I care. Good night."
Gideon shook with laughter. It wasn't that things had taken a wrong turn; it unfolded as they discussed a gift she'd received from a six hundred and fifty year old man. Give or take a decade, Nicolas Flamel was ancient. Gideon remembered taking Alchemy in his sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts. If Professor Dumbledore was a great headmaster, it was nothing compared to when he actually taught in the classroom. He'd told the history of alchemy like a never-ending story. This was the first time Gideon had heard of the famous Jacqueline Saint-Luc.
Emmeline headed upstairs and slammed the bedroom door. Although he'd already resigned himself to spending the night on the couch, Gideon got the message. He laid back, closed his eyes, and eventually drifted off to sleep.
Gideon fought with his wife all the time. They were negotiators, people who were primed to fight for their own self interests. Well, they fought for the interests of their respected countries, but it was pretty much the same thing. If they didn't argue about something stupid at least once a week, he saw this as cause to worry because something was wrong. Gideon stepped off the lift two days later, and spotted Emmeline, her hair in a high ponytail this afternoon, weaving through the crowd. He almost called after her. Perhaps they'd go out to a nice, quiet dinner and laugh about Nicolas Flamel before the Order meeting. Emmeline settled on silent treatment.
"She's still not talking to you, eh?" Fabian, who waited until the end of the meeting to rub salt in his wound. "You make marriage seem like such fun!"
"You ... never mind." Gideon stopped himself from commenting on his brother's carefree lifestyle, but he shut up, for it was a low blow. Fabian hadn't done a damn thing to him. None of this was his fault, although Gideon could place his finger on this problem, and, he, Fabian, had graciously offered them houseroom. That invitation could go on indefinitely.
The members left in groups of two and three. After Professor Dumbledore whispered in Emmeline's ear, she walked off with him over to the side for a private word. Gideon, interested, pretended he had forgotten something at the table. The professor took a slender jewelry box from his robes and shook the silver pendant before he hooked the clasp on Emmeline's neck. She smiled, listening to him talk. Whether he was giving her instructions or not, Gideon didn't know, yet there was no mistaking the heartfelt laugh. They spoke in French, so Gideon doubted anyone else caught their words.
"Nicolas likes to have the last word." Professor Dumbledore handed her a thick envelope and the empty jewelry box. He went back to English, for he noticed a few strangling Order members watching them.
Emmeline opened the letter with trembling hands. She wore a simple black and white dress and unconsciously fingered the golden pendant. Her long black skirt brushed the ground. She read the letter aloud, suddenly nervous. "'To Jacqueline's quiet granddaughter, I don't remember your name, though I'm sure you have one. Your grandmother is fond of those.'"
Emmeline, shocked and affronted, stopped reading the letter.
"This is Nicolas on a good day. It gets better," said Dumbledore, stepping behind her and reading over her shoulder. He cleared his throat, laughed at something in the letter, and continued, "'I'm curious to see whether you possess Jacqueline's rare talents. Some fool insisted I take her under my care some years ago, and it appears I owe him an apology. Jacqueline claims you're a gift. She was mine. I shall carry you home. Come find me, petite fille.'''
Professor Dumbledore folded the letter along its creases and placed it back inside its envelope. He tapped the envelope, slightly surprised, pointing out Emmeline's name on the outside. It was written in another hand. "That's Perenelle. He really doesn't know your name. That's not a problem?"
Emmeline shook her head, laughing nervously when his face broke into a smile. She pecked him on the cheek when he embraced her. "Thank you."
"Thank Nicolas. You were a good student. You made me think." Dumbledore handed her the letter, the disguised invitation. He rubbed his hands together, saying he'd forgotten his gloves, and it was quite a chilly evening. He placed his cold hands on Emmeline's bare shoulders, and she slipped the invitation into her bag. "There were times when I swore Jacqueline put you up to it."
Emmeline apologized automatically and gave him his silver lighter. Professor Dumbledore dismissed her words with a wave of his hand and thanked her for returning what he called his Deluminator. They said goodbye after Professor Dumbledore handed her another roll of parchment. Emmeline walked over to Gideon and offered him an apology for last night. He took it and touched her pendant, an infinity symbol.
"You're an alchemist. You're in the inner circle." He'd questioned Jacqueline about her identical golden pendant years ago. "How does it feel?"
"I … I can barely breathe. I'm no Jacqueline." She took his hand.
Fabian cleared his throat. "Except you are."
Fabian, who had helped himself to the roll of parchment read through the thing carefully. It wasn't the original document, so he made no fuss when it trailed on the ground. They started down the street towards the Apparition point, Fabian in the lead, and they nearly walked into him when he walked into a lamppost. Professor Dumbledore walked closely behind them. Fabian straightened, temporarily struck dumb. Gideon followed his long finger on the document. Fabian held a family tree.
"Oh, you're his descendant." Gideon spoke conversationally, despite the lump forming in his throat. He felt a little lightheaded. That's why Nicolas Flamel had asked them for a male heir.
"That's ridiculous," said Emmeline, not even looking at the document. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, waiting for Professor Dumbledore to put weight behind her statement. Emmeline, like her husband, paid attention in History of Magic and she lived by the facts locked inside reference books. She rested her hand on her stomach, lost in her thoughts for a moment. "Nicolas didn't have any children. I mean, he may have had bastards, but they don't count. Perenelle gave him no children."
"Ah, but you are forgetting his wife. Where did she get her fortune? She married. Perenelle had seven children," said Professor Dumbledore. He walked ahead of them, returning Emmeline's smile as she slowly pieced this together.
Gideon got it. Nicolas Flamel was a devout Roman Catholic, a man married to his principles and his faith. Undoubtedly, probably with the help of her money, he allowed Perenelle to work beside him because he'd marked her as an equal. Women had their place in the home, and he would not have simply allowed some foolish sixteen year old girl, a nobody, to learn his craft. Jacqueline had to prove herself as a learned master in the craft; Albus Dumbledore had sought her out to prove old-fashioned Nicolas wrong.
"Nicolas moves with the world, yet he is only a man. It takes him time, too." Professor Dumbledore studied Emmeline for some time, pausing when she wiped something out of her eye. "You remind me of Jacqueline. It's remarkable."
Emmeline didn't know what to say to this. In fact, Gideon noticed as an awkward silence passed, she'd seemed to loose her ability to speak altogether. She was a fierce negotiator, so this was no easy feat. There were days Gideon prayed his wife would simply shut up. She has two ears and one mouth for a reason, as his Aunt Muriel would have said. He thanked Professor Dumbledore and said good night. The professor disappeared. Fabian mentioned in an offhand way Gideon and Emmeline were screwed. Gideon tried not to imagine his name on that family tree. He reached inside his robes, took out the emerald with its mended chain, and placed it in Emmeline's hand. Slowly coming out of her daze, steadying herself on her feet, Emmeline closed her long fingers around the jewel.