The holidays were not turning out how Elizabeth had hoped. Just as she had suspected, her grandmother was less than happy to be informed about her rowdy behaviour at Hogwarts. Margaret had been put-off by Elizabeth ever since she was sorted into Gryffindor first year. Elizabeth couldn't understand why. It wasn't like she had asked to be put there. She wanted to be a Ravenclaw like everyone else in her family, but by the end of the year though, she was happy with her placement. Like her Uncle William had told her she would, she had grown to love Gryffindor. She felt she belonged there, and she was satisfied with the friends she had made. However, instead of Margaret being angry at Elizabeth for what she had done, she in turned blamed William for being a bad influence. William, of course, thought otherwise. He firmly believed that unless he put someone under the Imperius curse, he wasn't responsible for that person's actions. Consequently, he and Margaret spent most of the summer arguing, and Margaret had turned particularly violent towards him, hitting him more often than usual. She had even thrown a glass at him the night the children came home from Hogwarts.
Elizabeth had been feeling rather dispirited lately, and the cause was more than the constant fighting around the house. She had written Harry several times, but he hadn't responded to a single letter. She was worried about him since Hermione had written her that he wasn't responding to her letters either. She was concerned that Harry's aunt and uncle were mistreating him again and there was nothing she could do about it. She therefore hadn't bothered to send him his birthday present. She knew he wouldn't have received it anyway. She felt absolutely horrible about it though. She couldn't imagine what it felt like to think everyone forgot your birthday. Elizabeth's was so close to Christmas that they never celebrated it separately. Born in the second hour of Boxing Day morning, it seemed rather pointless to her family to celebrate it on the actual day, so they just combined it with Christmas. She never got extra gifts and any birthday wishes came attached to the Christmas presents. Richard always told Elizabeth he preferred it that way. He never had to remember to get her anything for her birthday, all he needed was to get her a Christmas present, and it wasn't like Richard was ever going to forget when Christmas was.
Elizabeth sat quietly on her bed reading. The muffled sounds of a brawl beginning could be heard from downstairs, but she tried to ignore them the best she could. The afternoon had a lazy feel to it as sunlight flooded her room, causing the normally bright blue to somehow seem calmed. Her uncle's favourite colour was blue and he did used to be quite a loud child. He was still quite the boisterous man, but Elizabeth was told he had surprisingly toned down with age. She couldn't imagine how bad he used to be if he was toned down now. He had painted the walls vibrant blue with the carpet to match when he occupied the room as a child. He had since relocated downstairs into Thomas' study and he had to put his writing desk in the parlour, but it's simply not the same as having his own space to work in. William currently had his room a dull neutral colour and Margaret soon regretted removing him from the attic after she had done it. In the attic, William's normal mishaps and falls were muted to the two floors below. On the first floor however, whatever crash he made resonated throughout the entire house, and he made quite the racket for someone trained to be stealthy.
While William had liked the attic for the ability to be his clumsy self as a child, Elizabeth liked the attic room because it offered her space of her own. It was unlike Richard's, whose room was first door on the left at the very top of the stairs, meaning everyone had to pass it to get where they were going and even from downstairs in the kitchen, with the way the house was, everyone could see clearly into Richard's room from the breakfast table if he left his door open. Elizabeth was on a floor all to herself though. All she had to do was close her door and no one could see in, but no one could see up the white staircase even if she left her door open. She had her own bathroom so there was never a need to stumble downstairs in the middle of the night, facing the potential of getting hurt on the unseen objects in the dark. Mostly, the room offered privacy. It was to Elizabeth a place literally above all the rules of the house. It was her quiet place, and she welcomed the silence of it. Lately, however, there was little silence to be found anywhere in the house and her attic room barely brought relief from it all.
Elizabeth was seated comfortably on her bed reading while the sounds from downstairs had gone from the beginning of an argument to a full out war. She was snapped from her reading by the sound of her door opening and the yelling from downstairs flooding into her room. The door had closed as quickly as it had opened, cutting her grandmother off halfway through cursing at William. Richard came up the white staircase, looking exhausted. Elizabeth went back to her book.
"I don't care if they're driving you crazy, you can't stay up here," she said.
Richard plopped face first on her bed, causing Elizabeth to be bounced from her spot with the movement. "I need a nap," he muttered into her bed.
Elizabeth pushed him with her foot. "Then go sleep in your own room."
He propped himself on his elbows. "Gran's gone insane. When she's not yelling at him, she's yelling at me about the bookshop."
Margaret had been particularly fractious lately, but it wasn't completely William's fault. Between her job and the shop, she barely got any rest. She was too worried about the book signing. Gilderoy Lockhart was scheduled to appear in Flourish & Blotts that following week. He was to sign copies of his autobiography, Magical Me, from 12:30 pm to 4:30 pm, but Elizabeth couldn't have cared less. She wasn't entranced by him like so many others of her gender, and probably a few of the opposite as well. Margaret had been stressing for weeks about it though, probably a contributing factor of her especially vicious confrontations with William as of late. Margaret had not only been running herself ragged, but she had been pushing Richard to his limits preparing as well. Elizabeth never saw him look so peaked before. She almost felt sorry for him.
"What're you reading now?" he said, turning his head to read the spine of the book in Elizabeth's hands. "Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. We in there?"
"The Albrights are," said Elizabeth, nose deep in the book.
The Albrights were a line of pure-blood witches and wizards like the Wellingtons. In fact, it was Margaret's family. They had dated back for centuries, much like Thomas' family, and had accomplished much in their time. Her father, Oliver, was Minister of Magic from 1968 until his death by Voldemort in 1974. Her mother Ann, whom Elizabeth's middle name came from, was a healer that was apparently stricter than Margaret and, according to Thomas, hated the world with a fiery passion. He often called her an unpleasant hag, only when Margaret wasn't around, of course.
Oliver only had an older sister Clara, who married into the Crouch family and soon lived to regret that decision. William said they used to call her Auntie Clara and she baked seven dozen biscuits daily to avoid talking to her husband. William said he loved when they went to visit her, as it was hard for Margaret to keep two young boys from eating at least one biscuit and not like with eighty-four biscuits she could really keep track if a few were missing. Clara and her husband had no children and from what William said, she spent the majority of her time, when she wasn't baking, trying to keep it that way. She had passed on shortly before Elizabeth was born. She had died rather early for a witch and William said it was probably because she ate eighty-four biscuits a day.
Oliver and Ann only had two daughters, Margaret and her older sister Catherine, that has a husband Oscar that Elizabeth swears thinks he's a real train conductor with all the toy ones he keeps around. Their surviving son Michael lives with his wife and their twelve hunting dogs that all look the same and all have names that start with P. They also have a cat named Twinkle, that William once almost threw out a sixth story window for scratching his back so bad that Grandma Ann had to fix it. Elizabeth imagined she was none too chuffed about that.
"Wicked," said Richard.
Elizabeth slowly looked up from her book. "Do you have any idea what this book is about?" Richard shook his head. "It's about pure-blood families that have died out in the male line."
"Oh." He sat up. "So I take it we're not in there then."
Elizabeth hid behind her book again. "Get out, Richard." He pulled the book out of her hand and snapped it shut. "Richard!"
"You still have that penknife?"
Elizabeth growled at him, then got up and walked to her desk underneath her window. It was dark wood that was chipped in various places. It was beaten up in Elizabeth's mind. The top was adorned in ink stains and nicks, the drawer stuck whenever she tried to open it, and the back right leg would give out if anyone touched it. She jiggled the drawer until it started to slide out. She pulled on it with all her might until it flew open only halfway. The drawer never fully opened. It would always get stuck and Elizabeth was forced to just feel around the back for whatever she needed, which is exactly what she was doing. She pulled out the penknife and slammed her hip into the drawer with such force the drawer shut completely in one try, but she was sure she would have a bruise the next day. It was the only way she could figure out to effectively close it though. She went to hand the penknife to Richard, who tried to take it from her, but she pulled it out of his reach.
"Why do you want this?" she asked.
"Just give it here, Elizabeth Ann."
"Tell me why you want it."
He tried to snatch it from her, but she fell back into the desk, balancing herself with one hand on its top. Richard's body smacked into hers and the force of both of them caused the drawer to pop out of the slot, spilling quills and various nicknacks everywhere.
"Way to go, Richard."
He leaned down to pick it up. "Hey, what's that?" He nodded to the empty drawer slot.
Elizabeth leaned over to peek into the hole. On the top was taped a letter. She reached in and took it out. It was worn and yellow, sealed on the back with a red stamp and written on in blue ink. She turned it over in her hands before handing it to Richard, who had quickly thrown all of Elizabeth's possessions back in the drawer and placed it on top of the desk. He took the letter.
"It's never been opened," he said. Elizabeth tried to take it, but Richard smacked her hand away. "It's not yours, Elizabeth Ann."
"Well it's not [i]yours[/i] either, prat."
His eyes flashed with anger. She expected him to hit her, but he grabbed her wrist, turning her hand over.
"What's that?" he said.
There were three words imprinted on her hand. Alea iacta est. She pulled her hand from him.
"It's from the desk." She pointed to the far right corner with the words carved in it. "It's always been there."
"You do know what that means, Elizabeth Ann?"
"Richard, I'm not stupid. I can read Latin just fine."
Just as Richard was about to say something, a loud crash that sounded like all the pots and pans had burst out of the cabinets and onto the floor erupted from the kitchen, followed by yelling, and the distinct sound of the swift little feet of a certain blond man running for his life with clicking high heels hot on his trail.
He burst up the stairs and into Elizabeth's room, tapping his wand on the lock and pressing his back to the door.
"I didn't do it," he said quickly. He noticed them huddled around the desk. "Oh, my old desk."
William had left the old beaten up thing in there when he relocated his bedroom to the first floor. The desk was not actually his, but just came into his possession, much like it had for Elizabeth. It was originally Thomas' desk during his schooldays. He had brought it with him and Margaret hated it so much when they got married, she got him a new desk. When Nicholas had started going to school, Thomas had given it to him. Margaret, again hating the well worn thing with a passion, in turn bought Thomas a new desk, causing the first one she bought him to go to Nicholas and the old beaten up desk to be turned over to William. Elizabeth had no idea which of the three was responsible for the marks, but she had her suspicions. He was short, blond, and a complete disaster. In other words, William.
Now, William had a new desk. It was actually Thomas' old desk, which used to be in his study, which is now William's room. Margaret had a fit when they had to move all of the things from the study into the parlour and half the furniture in the parlour simply had to go. Thomas got a new desk, so the desk from Nicholas went to Richard, and Thomas' desk went to William, who surprisingly hadn't destroyed it yet. Richard later decided he didn't much like Nicholas' desk after his second year of school, so he got a new one, and Nicholas' old desk went back into his old room. With all these desks being handed around, Elizabeth wondered how she got stuck with the old piece of junk in her room.
Richard handed William the letter. "Elizabeth was trying to read it."
William glanced at Richard, then at her, before taking the letter. "It's never been opened."
"We found it taped inside the drawer slot."
"Curious."
"You didn't do it?" asked Elizabeth.
William shook his head and handed them the letter back. "Not my doing, sorry."
A loud rapping came at the door followed by an all too familiar voice. "William Henry Wellington, you get out here right now and clean up your mess!"
"Odd flashbacks to my schooldays," William whispered to Richard and Elizabeth.
"WILLIAM!"
"I'm coming, woman."
He pointed his wand at the door and it unlocked. Elizabeth watched him saunter down the stairs and open the door, nearly hitting Margaret in the face, which would have sent all three of them running for safety. She stumbled backwards as the door swung open, gripping the side of it to balance herself. William slipped past her and she shoved him towards the stairs.
Margaret looked up into the room. Elizabeth stood at the top of the stairs, Richard leaned against the banister, trying to conceal the letter. Margaret's dark eyes narrowed.
"Richard broke my desk," said Elizabeth. "Can I have a new one?"
They had decided to simply put the letter back where they found it and leave it be once Margaret left. The last thing they wanted was to stir up more trouble when there was more than enough going around as it was.
That night, Elizabeth lay fast asleep in her bed, the covers wrapped tightly around her. All was still in the house. Everyone was asleep by the time the grandfather clock in the upstairs hallway had struck midnight. Moonlight illuminated the stairs in Elizabeth's bedroom. She was snapped awake by the sound of the window bursting open. A cold gust of wind engulfed the room and she bolted straight up. She wrapped her arms around herself as the cold night air met her skin. She slowly pulled back the covers and slid out of bed. Crossing into the moonlight, she pushed the window shut, latching it tightly. Outside, the street below was empty. Not a single soul walked the streets at this hour. The only sound to be heard was that of the wind whipping around unseen. Elizabeth rested her hands on the desk beneath the window as she peered out into the winding, cobblestone alley. August had just begun, but it felt colder than usual. Just the sound of the wind made Elizabeth feel cold to the bone. She lifted her hands off the desk to find an imprint of the carving on her right hand again. She didn't know who wrote it there, when, and why. When she first discovered it, she thought nothing of it. However, soon enough her curious mind had her scouring through book after book in the shop until she finally came across it. Latin for the die has been cast, the ominous message has remained in the back of her mind ever since. She didn't know what it referred to, and she was certainly not eager to find out. She hardly believed she would like the answer.
Since she had been stirred awake by the window crashing open, she had heard a slight shuffling sound coming from downstairs. It sounded like someone was rummaging through the drawers and cupboards in the kitchen. Elizabeth knew there was only one person who would be awake at this hour and in the kitchen. It had to be William.
Elizabeth slunk down her bedroom stairs and carefully opened the door. She glided silently across the wood floor of the hallway, trying to avoid making the floor creak. She cautiously crept down the staircase, her back pressed to the wall. As she moved closer downstairs, the kitchen came into view. Light from the window fell across the sink, down the counter, across the breakfast table, where it then cascaded down onto the wood floor, finally coming to rest on the dented wall. Another memento from William's childhood. Margaret refused to fix any damage he had ever caused, to the house or otherwise. It was unknown why she kept all that she did. The entire storage room upstairs was filled with all of Nicholas' and William's old things. Unwilling to discard anything, Elizabeth assumed it had to be for sentimental reasons that her grandmother kept everything, even dented walls and burnt settees.
The sound had moved into the parlour. Elizabeth recognised the faint humming coming from the room. She descended the rest of the staircase and positioned herself in the doorway between the kitchen and parlour. All too familiar was the shadow moving across the room. Elizabeth had to admit for the first time in years, William Wellington had managed to genuinely shock her. He stood at the bureau, ripping the drawers out of the slots and feeling around in them. She rubbed her eyes out of disbelief. She was sure the lack of light was messing with her eyesight, but there was her uncle, standing in nothing but a pair of jeans, which were unbuttoned and threatening to fall off him at any moment. Elizabeth had no idea what he could possibly be looking for, but she was going to find out.
"What are you doing?" she said in complete shock.
He turned around, his eyes falling on Elizabeth standing in the doorway. She saw he had a large, thick red mark running across his chest and a small cut on his shoulder. His hair was a complete disaster, sticking up and puffing out in a way that made him look like he had fallen out of a tree. It would certainly explain his shoulder. He slowly pulled his jeans up to hide what looked to be a tattoo on his pelvis.
"Is that —" she pointed to his pelvis. "Does Gran know you have that?"
He hushed her, furiously waving his hands. His jeans fell down again and Elizabeth could clearly see it there, slightly peeking out of the top of his pants.
"You have a tattoo!"
"Elizabeth!" he hissed.
She ran into the parlour. "Gran won't even let me have my ears pierced and you have a tattoo."
Margaret was very strict. She monitored everything that everyone in the household did, ate, read, and wore. She would not allow any sweets, although Thomas was fond of various fruit juices and Richard liked his tea sweetened. She made everyone clean their room daily, they had to bath at least once a day, brush their teeth twice, and clean their ears because William always did have terrible ear infections as a child. She also demanded everyone eat three square meals a day, no snacking, and never any dessert, unless it was a holiday and Aunt Catherine brought a gateau.
Beyond hygiene and nutrition, Margaret also did not allow any Muggle reading material in the house, which William and Thomas cared not to listen to. Thomas because he just liked reading that much, and William because he just liked to disobey rules that much. She also did not allow Richard's hair to be longer than his ears, Elizabeth's hair to hang near her eyes, and since William had hair down past his chin and it always hung in his eyes, Margaret chased him with the scissors from time to time to cut it herself. She never did seem to catch him though. Margaret also did not allow Elizabeth to have her ears pierced, which she thought was highly unfair since Margaret had her ears pierced and always wore shiny plastic earrings either in blue or red. She also did not allow them to have tattoos, which Richard says is because Thomas has one on his right side that runs up and down and Margaret hates it with a passion. She would be furious if she knew William had one and where it was, because having one on your side is one thing, but having one that is covered by your pants is another story entirely.
"That's not the point," William said.
Elizabeth looked at the mark on his chest, which was getting brighter and starting to bruise. "What happened to your chest?"
William crossed his arm over his chest to cover it. "Nothing." He pulled his jeans up with the other hand.
"You're a right disaster, Uncle William."
"I am not. I'm simply —" he stopped mid-sentence and his eyes lit up. "Nick's room!"
He quickly bolted across the room, holding his jeans up as he ran upstairs, humming to himself. She swore it sounded very familiar, but she couldn't place it.
She followed up the stairs quietly and as quickly as she could, trying to avoid that creaking floorboard in the upstairs hallway. William had taken off towards her father's old room. Now, Richard's room was the first door at the top of the stairs, and next to his room was a bathroom. The hall then split. The right path led right to Elizabeth's attic bedroom, and further down the hall was the guest bedroom with the guest bathroom next to it. The straight path had the storage room at the corner on the right. Nicholas' old room was next to it, and across from his room was the airing cupboard and it was a rather large one indeed. At the very end of the hall was Thomas and Margaret's bedroom. They always slept with the door open and Elizabeth was sure they would hear William, as Margaret somehow always heard him causing trouble no matter how quiet he was.
Elizabeth followed him into Nicholas' room. It was kept exactly the way Nicholas' left it when he left home. It was William who insisted it stay like that and not Margaret. She had actually told William to move into there when he gave Elizabeth his attic bedroom, but he had a right fit. Elizabeth had never seen him so upset. He was usually a very calm man and even in the worst of situations he could keep his head, but the moment Margaret suggested it, he absolutely lost it. He ran into Nicholas' room and barricaded the door. Every time Margaret tried to open it, he would scream at the top of his lungs, in the highest pitch Elizabeth had ever heard his voice, that she was not going to erase Nicholas. No matter how much she tried to explain that she was not erasing Nicholas, William wouldn't listen. He just kept screaming and crying uncontrollably.
"Honestly," Margaret said, as Thomas told her to leave him be. "He's twenty-six years old, Thomas. He shouldn't be acting like this."
But Thomas disagreed and it was the one and only time in her life that Elizabeth saw Thomas stand up to Margaret. "You get away from that door and leave him be, Maggie."
When she wouldn't listen and was ready to blast the door off the hinges to get William out, Thomas had had enough.
"For Merlin's sake Maggie can't you see you're destroying the boy!" He raised his wand to her. Margaret was stunned, but remained firm. She made a move for the door and Thomas petrified her. He turned to the children, who were watching the whole thing. "Go get Claude," he said to Richard.
Richard ran downstairs, screaming for Claudius. Elizabeth watched on as her grandmother lay on the floor, Thomas standing over her. William could still be heard sobbing inside the room. Elizabeth didn't know why she remembered it so vividly, but she did know it was the earliest memory she had.
While William's old room was brightly coloured and a right mess, Nicholas' room was much more tame. It was painted a modest celery green colour, as Elizabeth described it. His cupboard was neatly kept, the doors open, and old clothes hanging in it, his Ravenclaw scarf hanging on one of the knobs. A bed covered in the same old deep red linens that Thomas said Nicholas' used to keep, was pushed against the left wall. After the incident, Thomas made sure that Margaret never replaced them with others. She would simply have to wash them and put them back. It annoyed Margaret, but she did it.
William had immediately run to the desk against the back wall and pulled the drawer open, but unlike the bureau downstairs in the parlour, he carefully pulled it out of the slot and placed it on the top of the desk. He reached into the empty slot, pulling out a letter similar to the one Richard and Elizabeth had found in her desk.
"Uncle William?" She tripped on the circular floor rug in the center of the room and fell flat on her face with a rather loud thud.
"Bethie!" he hushed her. "Be quiet!"
He silently crossed over to the half open door and peered out from behind it. The door swung completely open, nearly hitting him. Margaret stood in the door way. Her long chestnut brown hair was slightly messy, curlers hanging in it, and her pink bathrobe dragged across the floor. She looked as though as she was about to explode with anger when she saw William.
"Morning, Mum," he said casually, zipping his jeans and buttoning them in hopes they would only fall around his hips and not down further.
Elizabeth pushed herself up and turned over to see Margaret looking like a bull. Her nostrils were flaring with anger, her fists clenched tightly. Elizabeth swore she would have charged on her if William had not sneezed at that exact moment. Her attention turned back to him. He looked at her, eyes wide, aware of the mistake he had just made.
"OUT!" Margaret yelled shrilly, waking up the rest of the household.
William and Elizabeth scurried out of the room like terrified little mice. Margaret grabbed the door handle and slammed the door shut.
"What's going on?"
Richard had appeared out of his room, very sleepy and stumbling. He was rubbing his eyes and yawning as he opened the door. Telemachus could be heard inside making a ruckus as well.
"Nothing," said William. "Go back to bed."
"GO!" yelled Margaret, pointing down the hallway. Her breathing was rapid and Elizabeth could tell she was not going to get off lightly for this one.
"What's all the racket?" Thomas had finally come to see what all the commotion in the hallway was. "Do you have any idea what time is it, Mags?"
"I am aware of the time, Thomas," said Margaret. "But apparently your son is not." She turned to William. "And what happened to you now?" She was looking him over from the bottom of his dirty little feet, to the now fully bruised chest, the punctured shoulder, and the puffed out hair. She rolled her eyes. "Fallen out of bed again?"
"I will have you know, woman, that I have done no such thing."
Margaret hit him across the chest. She always did that when he got fresh with her. Elizabeth was used to her doing that, but the sound of her hand hitting his bare flesh just made Elizabeth flinch.
"Stop doing that!" He rubbed his chest, the bruise from earlier having been partially masked by Margaret's hand print. "It's a miracle you haven't cracked my sternum doing that since I was ten."
"You deserve it! You are nothing but a menace!" She raised her hand to him. "Oh, get out of my sight!"
"Gladly," he said calmly, descending the stairs.
"Oh!" said Margaret frustrated. "You are a no good, lousy, little ─"
"Margaret," said Thomas. "He hasn't caused any damage."
"He tore apart the parlour." Elizabeth realised she had just tattled on her uncle the moment she said it. Margaret stared at her. "Just so you know," she said meekly, backing into her grandfather, who put his hands on her shoulders.
"It's okay, we'll clean it up in the morning. Just let's get you back to bed now," said Thomas guiding her towards her bedroom. "We've got a lot to do in the next few days. Need your rest to help out, you do."
Richard was clearly awake now and grinning maliciously. While they had learned to tolerate each other better since going to school last year, he was still the same old swotty Richard, which meant he enjoyed taunting her.
"Oh, I smell the perfect punishment coming on," said Richard as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame. He was awfully arrogant sometimes.
"Piss off!" said Elizabeth angrily.
"Now, now, we're not punishing anyone," said Thomas. Richard's smile faded. "I expect you to be up bright an early tomorrow morning as well."
"You mean this morning," said William, standing at the bottom of the staircase.
"Go to bed!" yelled Margaret, still fuming.
"Fine," said William. "I broke the lock on the bureau, I'll have you know, but since I'm ordered to bed, you can just fix that."
"YOU LITTLE NIGHTMARE!" Margaret gripped the banister. "You ─ you just go to your room! And don't come out for the rest of the night!" William just brushed her off and disappeared down the hallway towards his room on the first floor. Margaret turned back to Elizabeth. "And you go back to bed. It's late."
She opened the door to Elizabeth's bedroom. Elizabeth climbed the stairs up to her bed and Margaret closed the door behind her. She heard her grandparents usher Richard to his bedroom and shut the door after him. She crept back down the stairs to listen at the door. She could hear her grandmother's muffled cries. Obviously she had just seen what William had done to the parlour.
"THOMAS!"
Her words were loud and clear. Elizabeth heard her grandfather's footsteps running down the stairs. Elizabeth cracked the door slightly, peeking out. She could see them moving around downstairs in the parlour. Margaret was furiously picking things off the floor, gathering them in her arms.
"That louse!" she said. "What on Earth was he looking for now?"
Margaret dumped all the items on the settee and began one by one to pick them out, rub them clean on her bathrobe, and begin to put them back in their rightful places. "Oh, he's just impossible, Thomas." She stopped and straightened up. "And did you see he's hurt himself again?" She shook her head, her curlers bouncing as she did. "I swear one of these days I'm —" She stopped mid-sentence and walked out of sight.
A shadow moved in the kitchen. Long and slender, it moved from the back hallway against the wall, back pressed to the staircase. A grey hood was covering his head, his puffed up hair poking out. Grey was his favourite colour to wear. His jeans were now securely staying up, a belt visible to her when he bent down to stay out of Margaret's view. Two worn and faded trainers hung from his face and Elizabeth was disgusted at the thought of how much dirt was on the shoelaces he was holding in his mouth. He quickly got up and dashed down the front entrance hall. She did not hear the door click, or him descend the stairs, but William was trained in stealth after all. She went to close her door when she caught the sight of a familiar brown eye glancing out from the first door at the top of the stairs.
He pulled the door open more and mouthed, "Where is he going?"
Elizabeth opened her door a crack more and shook her head to indicate she didn't know. Margaret's voice could be heard again and she moved back into the light. They both hurriedly closed their doors. Elizabeth thought it was a good question. Where was he going?