He hit the pavement. It cut him deeper. Air rushed from his lungs, but he forced himself to get up. The sun peeked through the clouds, but it wasn't going to win today with the projected forecast. Sleet rained down, which wasn't a problem, really, except for the black ice. Flashing lights blinded him, and his cry got stuck in his throat. The driver swerved, slamming on the brakes and answered him with a familiar hand gesture. Gideon got to his knees, feeling like an old man, and guided his hand along the brick wall for support.

He wasn't far from home, which was a good thing, because he would be safe there, but it also meant endless questions waited for him at the doorstep. His bloody t-shirt and ripped jeans didn't exactly give him the cover he needed; the wife usually bought his lie about staying at the office. With all the chaos brewing in this madness, that one didn't fall in line with the usual cliché. He worked for the Department of International Cooperation, and he'd lived for months buried underneath at least three demanding cases. He clutched a soaked carrier bag in his left hand, but he doubted it would save him from a well deserved lecture. These fools jumped on his heels when he stepped out of the sweetshop.

Gideon ran up the rickety staircase and pounded on the fifth door on the third floor. The trusty alarm, the dog, went off like a charm. He cursed.

A rough voice answered him and someone unhooked the deadbolt. Fabian, his twin brother, looked him up and down as he stepped over the threshold. Gideon took him by the arm.

"What happened?" Fabian locked the door and helped him onto the couch. Gideon moved his hand, taking deep breaths, showing his wound. Gideon's arm was covered in blood. "Lean back."

"I think I'm going to be sick," moaned Gideon, closing his eyes. It did little to block out the pain. He screamed when Fabian touched the handle of the sharp blade. There were droplets on the wooden floor. He let a trail from the alleyway. The police, if they didn't pass this one off as a wounded, forgotten animal, had another mysterious case on their hands. "I hate her."

"Who? Bellatrix?" Fabian took his wand out of his back pocket. "Yeah, she got you good this time, didn't she? I'd shut up, though, before you wake the whole neighbourhood. Want me to get it out?"

"No, no," Gideon panted. "She got me when I turned round to Apparate."

"You can't leave it in there." Fabian ripped his shirt opened and walked over to the wardrobe. He opened the drawer and returned with a small box of potion bottles and a few bandages. "Yeah, she got you good, make no mistake. Right, so, we're going to wait till you pass out before patching you up? Is that the plan?"

Gideon admitted it sounded stupid in his head. Of course, his brother wasn't exactly helping things with his sarcasm, either. Fabian nodded and rubbed his hands together. He didn't bother to count or give the slightest warning. It might have been a small move. Well, Gideon couldn't really judge because he wasn't the one inflicting the pain and ripping it out. He clenched his teeth and waited for it. Fabian made a quick movement with his wand and the thing shot into his hand.

"Watch your French, young man." Fabian set the blade on the table and rolled his eyes when Gideon didn't catch the joke. "You don't realise you do it anymore, eh? Lean on me."

No, he didn't notice that he switched tongues, although it pleased him that this finally fell into place. His job didn't necessarily require foreign languages. Gideon learned within months of joining the department how lost he'd be without them, though. After years, he finally mastered French. This worked in his favour, especially against Annette, who was born and bred in Calais. She was his tutor when he decided to cross the border and immerse himself in the culture. One thing led to another, as the old story goes, and he got a ring on her finger.

"The swear words are all I'd want to know, honestly," said Fabian, cleaning the wound with alcohol before he started taping him up. He handled him a small crystal vial. "It's Blood Replenishing Potion. Come on, it won't hurt you, man, take it like a shot."

Gideon preferred skipping medicines and potions at all costs. It went down easily. "You're a drunkard."

"A good man's a happy drunk," Fabian pointed out, sitting on the edge of the table. "Didn't Muriel's third husband say that? The one who went off with the barmaid?"

"Oh, yeah. Don't make me laugh. It hurts." He reached into the soaked bag and slipped a black jewellery box into his pocket. "I've got a delivery for Dumbledore."

"Strawberries and lemons? Oh, right, that. Oh, hello," said Fabian cheerfully, changing the subject with a drop of a hat. He looked over his shoulder and tossed the fruit in the air. "These are for you."

Gideon's wife reached out and caught them. They hadn't heard her sneak into the room, nor did they know how long she'd been listening. Her dark tasselled hair fell down her back. She had a rich olive tone to hers kin and dark eyes. Annette had pulled Gideon's old house robe over her nightgown and stepped into her slippers. Pip, the black Labrador, finally decided to shut his trap and lost interest in them. He lay down at the foot of the stairs, and Annette nearly tripped over him because he refused to move. She caught herself and grabbed the edge of the wall.

"That damn dog's going to kill you," Fabian called after her as she slipped into the kitchen. "You can stop eavesdropping now because we're not talking about you anymore! I just brewed a fresh pot."

"You really shouldn't taunt her like that anymore." Gideon smiled at her when she walked back into the sitting room and handed him a steaming mug. She lifted his legs and sat down beside him. "We didn't mean to wake you. Or, rather, I didn't mean to rouse Pip."

"Doesn't matter," she said, setting her mug on the table. She left the teabag in to soak in the favour. "I'm sure you boys have got a thrilling tale."

"What makes you say that?" Gideon pulled the crocheted throw off the back of the couch and draped it over his body so he could hide the evidence. He feigned innocence, but it was sure the pain leaked through his grimace.

"Delayed," Fabian sighed. He made a point of throwing every mistake back in his face. "And you're the one who's been married for nine years?"

"Ten," Annette corrected him. The dog sauntered over and she scratched him behind the ears. "I'm ready when you are. What was it? You ran into the wall?"

"Not funny," said Gideon. "Do we really have to go through this? I can't tell you."

"Or won't," she said softly.

"Hey, Annie, that's not fair," said Fabian, serious for the first time. "Dumbledore said no. He'd rather keep you out of this, so just drop it."

"And your grandparents would raise hell," Gideon added, "and neither you nor the professor needs that right now."

Annette came from good stock, despite the fact that she didn't have drop of magical blood running through her veins. Well, she did, seeing as her brothers were both successful wizards in their own respects. Auguste, who was nearly twenty years her senior, worked in the same field as Gideon whilst David passed his time with historical archives. Her grandfather, Monsieur René Marceau, held his post as one of the best professors Beauxbatons Academy ever had; he swore he'd teach till he dropped dead. His wife, Jacqueline, was a renowned alchemist and a close friend of Professor Dumbledore. They chose not to frown on the fact that their granddaughter was different and it rarely came across in conversation.

She rolled her eyes. "Here we go."

"What?" Gideon started to think that it may have been better if he'd passed out.

"I'm not a child, Gideon!" She glared at Fabian, seeking out an ally. He usually jumped to her defence, and Gideon hadn't figured that one out. "Don't look at me like that, please, you're insulting me."

"How am I not supposed to worry?" he retorted, his patience wearing thin. "Do you want to lose another one?"

Tears flooded her eyes. He wished he could take it back. "Annette, Annie, I – I didn't mean it."

She said nothing. The dog followed her up the stairs.

He lay down, punched a pillow and rolled onto his side. Sleep evaded him again.

center ****/center

Gideon took the silent treatment in stride and ate his words. He deserved it this time, make no mistake. He went to work round nine, running on strong coffee. He thought things over, ignoring the fact that it all blended together. None of it made sense. He slipped up, yes, but it wasn't a rushed lie, and hiding their honest feelings only shielded them from disappointment. There were nights when he lay in bed wondering why they even tried anymore. Sometimes, although it killed him to admit it, he hated visiting his sister. Avoided it, honestly, because it just reminded him of what he didn't have.

He went through the paces of a regular workday, putting his mind on other matters, especially treaty specifications that he'd been fighting tooth and nail for, trading notes among Britain, France and Spain. Last week, he jumped from Alexandria, to Marseilles, to Barcelona to Calais to no avail. The whole nitpicking over just about nothing drove him mad. Personally, if it were up to Gideon, he'd throw his hands up and forget the whole thing because it wasn't worth this hell. A gang of curse breakers, none of whom claimed responsibility for this fiasco, couldn't account for piles of missing gold.

So, naturally, the case fell into his lap.

"So, what have we got?" Mr. Davies asked. His department head always opened the floor with that question. Unfortunately, he also had the annoying habit of sneaking up on people and reading over their shoulder. Gideon spilled coffee down the front of his robes.

"A mess," said Gideon, waving the damp parchment.

"A translated, organised mess?" Mr. Davies rarely accepted defeat and focused on the next step.

"i Je parle du français/i," Gideon said. Mr. Davies merely glared at him and crossed his arms. Perhaps he didn't catch his words, which worked in Gideon's favour because he added, "I'm on it."

He got nowhere. Around six-thirty that evening, he gave up altogether and put his head down on his desk. The place was nearly empty.

"What are you doing?"

"Go away." He really didn't want to talk about it, and Fabian popped in like this all the time whenever he wanted. He worked with the Department of Magical Transportation, the easier track, in Gideon's opinion. "Kill me."

"Later," Fabian laughed, sitting on his desk and reading through a roll of parchment. "Let's go to the pub and knock up a remedy for that headache. What's this?"

"Nothing." Gideon sat up and held out his hand. "Give me that."

"What the hell?" His face fell. "Adoption? Does Annette know you're looking into this?"

"That is none of your business," Gideon sighed, snatching it out of his hand and whacking his brother on the side of the head with it. Sometimes, he felt as though there were three people in this marriage. "No, I'm not looking into it, per se, I'm thinking about it. Not a word, you hear me?"

"Where is it?"

"Calais." Gideon locked his drawers and pulled on his travelling cloak.

"Ah," he sighed, catching on, "so this so-called 'business trip' of yours had a little detour."

"Not a detour," said Gideon. He rolled his eyes and shooed him out the fire. He confessed when they got into the elevator and headed down to the Atrium. "Yeah, okay, whatever, I met with a young couple."

"Gideon."

"Gideon. You sound like Molly," Gideon pointed out,mimicking him. He followed Fabian into the nearest fireplace and stepped out into the sweetshop. There weren't many patrons in the middle of the week. He used this connection whenever Fabian wanted to stop for a night cap. He nodded to the plump manager and failed to dodge out of the place before he got roped into small talk. "How's Ambrosius, Mrs. Flume?"

"Good, good." She waved them over to the counter and placed a scoop in the drawer. "Annette left about an hour ago. She wanted to stay longer, you know, but she looked tired. It bothers me that she insists on staying on her feet so long. She looks good, though. Is she eating?"

Fabian snorted. "She eats all the time."

"Yeah, well, that's Annie," said Gideon, drumming his fingers on the glass counter and pointing at a colourful parcel. "Could I have those, please?"

"Are these for her?" Mrs. Flume took out the parcel, doubled the order, and scribbled a quick note. She slid it beneath the ribbon and waved a hand at his gold. "No, this one's on me, dear. Besides, I'll think you'll be making plenty runs here soon enough. Would you like anything else?"

"No, thank you," he said. There was no point in arguing with her.

"Not at all," she said, hurrying to hold the door open for them. "Happy Anniversary."

Gideon turned the corner before her parting set in. He froze. "Well, shit."

Fabian walked ahead of him and entered the Hog's Head. It was a shabby place, and he preferred the Leaky Cauldron because he enjoyed watching the people. Fabian usually dragged him here after Order meetings because he couldn't stand drinking alone. The floors looked as though they hadn't been cleaned in ages. They came here for the atmosphere, but Aberforth provided good company, too, whatever he felt up to it. Most of the time, he just muttered darkly under his breath at unsatisfied patrons while cleaning the dirtiest tankards Gideon had ever laid eyes upon. Far from scaring them off with a string of insults, Gideon found the barman's rants downright hilarious.

"Today's not your day, my friend," said Fabian, holding in his laughter. He took up a barstool and called to the old man, who had just slammed down two tankards. "Two pints of your strongest mead when you get the chance, please, Aberforth. This man needs to drown his troubles."

The barman ignored his request at first, but he eventually came over to them. "What have you fools done this time?"

"Oh, nothing, he just married." Fabian's drink went up his nose as he gave over to a giggling fit. "You should see your face."

"I told you to stay away from that girl," Aberforth grunted, wiping his damp bar and offering them some food, "but does anyone listen to me? No. She's your problem, and I suggest you deal with it. She's a Marceau, idiot!"

He turned to a couple of old hags sitting at the end of the bar.

What's really going on?" asked Fabian, sliding the shepherd's pie towards him; they often shared a dish on these outings to save a few Galleons.

"She won't lie with me," he said, frowning at his expression. Fabian looked close to laughter, yet it felt strange throwing this onto the table. "She barely even looks at me and hardly complains about work or other things anymore. Where's she when I go to bed? Annie's on the couch. It's a shame the dog gets closer to her than I do, let me tell you."

"Are you sure she's not ..." Fabian changed his stance mid-sentence. "This is Annie, never mind. So, you haven't ..."

"Well, there was one night," Gideon said shortly, waving his hand," but the kids were over. Percy wouldn't sleep, so she ended up with him on the floor. I'd hate to say it, mate, but these idiots who think marriage is based on love are severely mistaken, you know? And her grandfather keeps dropping hints left and right about training his great- grandkids at Beauxbatons. What are we supposed to say?"

Helpful as ever, Aberforth wandered back over and grunted, "Ask him."

Frustrated, Gideon spun round and expected to see some drunken fool rambling off nonsense. A thin old man dressed in silk robes sat at a table reading a newspaper by the light of a stubby candle. His glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, so he peered above then. The news of the day meant little to him. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing a bandage underneath. He didn't seem fussed by it, though, and went on about his day. He puffed merrily on his pipe and tapped his foot on a crate.

Gideon's face went white. "Tell me he didn't just hear all of this."

"I'm not deaf, boy," said the man, folding the paper along its creases. He glanced at Aberforth and put Galleons on the table. "One more to top us off, sir. Where's your brother?"

"Not here," said Aberforth. Gideon thought he ignored the man's request. The old man left the counter after announcing the last call and the patrons dwindled one by one. He locked the place before he slipped back into his inventory and came out with an unopened bottle of fine wine, some glasses, and random leftovers he scavenged from his pantry. He started up the staircase before he called, "Are you fools coming or not? Grab that mead on the counter, Prewett."

"Yes." Fabian jumped to his feet, snatched up the tankards and beer before bounding after them. "You know what makes a drink priceless? When it's free, it's better."

"Who said that?" Aberforth placed the tray on a table before he finally rested his feet. He tapped his temple with his long finger. "It's all up here on a running tab. I want it paid before you're dead."

Albus Dumbledore sat with a tall woman wore a red dress. Her dark hair was wrapped in a twist, and exposed her neck. Dangling rubies hung from her ears and chained pendant rested on her breast, complimenting the simple ensemble well. Jacqueline Luce-Marceau was getting on in years, of course, but many missed the mark at guessing her age. She didn't act old, either, which is why Gideon enjoyed her company. She sat with her legs crossed and her hands flew in the air, illustrating her rapid French.

"He's a lucky man," Fabian muttered under his breath. "Well, there's your future glimpse of Annette."

Gideon laughed and sat across from them. Jacqueline continued on with her string, merely patting he husband on the cheek and taking his hand before driving her point home.

"You learn your place after sixty years," René said simply.

"Stop it." Jacqueline punched him lightly in the arm as Dumbledore greeted them all and pulled out of the debate. Gideon watched them lace their fingers together and admired the small gestures. He felt a pang of jealousy, wishing he had that. Her voice sounded raspy and slow. "Where were you all day?"

"Visiting markets," said Rene, shrugging. "While you two passed the evening discuss this, I met a warlock, swapped a few lies with zat toothless barman, and took a wrong turn, and got run off by an appraiser called Borgin."

Aberforth snorted. He waved a hand at the mess of parchment and old texts laid out on his table. "What's all this, Albus?"

"My welcoming gift," said Jacqueline, scribbling a note on a piece of parchment. "Damn Flamel to 'ell."

"Lovely, ma dame," Dumbledore sighed, pulling himself out of his private thoughts. "I promise you it's here. He'd see this as a game and put the answer in plain sight."

"Why not just tell us?" Jacqueline threw her hands up in frustration and started pacing around the small room. "Flamel sends encrypted messages and throws us to ze dogs!"

"He's not ..." Dumbledore dropped his defence when she checked him with an icy glare. "This is Nicolas playing his finest, Jacqueline. Patience."

Gideon didn't understand a word of this madness, and he thought it was best not to go asking a thousand questions. He picked up a few things here and there. He knew that Dumbledore used to work for Flamel, for instance, and the two of them had grown as friends. Jacqueline also worked for the legend, though she stepped in years later, and apparently caught grief from Flamel because she was the wrong gender. Of course, his wife, Pernelle, never caught a word of this from his lips. He enlisted Jacqueline as a helper, not an apprentice, when his wife started delving into other studies and turned from the art. Jacqueline earned her keep after a while. Although they worked at the legend's side, the two of them usually spent their time together trying to solve unanswered questions and helping each other with research projects.

Gideon might not understand, but when the professor asked to deliver a parcel, he did. He assumed Flamel sent things strangely because he didn't want to be tracked. He reached in his pocket and handed the black jewellery box to Professor Dumbledore.

"Thank you." The professor covered the jewellery box with his hand when he opened it so only Jacqueline and René caught a glimpse of it. "Does this look familiar?"

Jacqueline covered her mouth and spoke so fast Gideon didn't even try to understand her.

"It's on loan," he said, snapping the box closed and smiling at her expression," but I figured you'd be interested in studying its properties with me. You are his Jacqueline, after all."

"Damn straight." Jacqueline looked up when the twins burst out laughing. She looked abashed, for she had forgotten the present company, or perhaps she didn't realise the others had joined them.

"What is it?" Fabian hissed, intrigued. Gideon hadn't the foggiest idea.

"Nothing, nothing, Fabian," said Dumbledore, slipping it into his pocket.

"We were supposed to meet you tomorrow," said Jacqueline, hugging both of the boys. "You ruined our surprise."

Gideon pecked her on the cheek. "Really? Well, show up later, and I'll act surprised."

Damn." Fabian snapped his fingers. He made himself at home and listened to their tales. "So, this is your first trip to Scotland?"

"Togezzer," said Jacqueline, laughing when Aberforth handed her a fine bottle of red wine. He actually let her hug him, which shocked the Prewett brothers. "I can't accept zis, kind sir."

"I owe you," he said, showing her its label. "You're one of his idiots I actually like on a regular basis."

"Ze favourite idiot?" Jacqueline laughed softly, taking the compliment. "I keep ze fool out of your 'air, zat's why. It's all about metals and chemistry."

"Zat's ze key," said René, through a mouthful of bread. "Shut 'er up. Why else do we spend our 'oliday 'ere? 'E takes 'er off my hands and deals with 'er madness. Not my problem."

"René!" Jacqueline slapped him playfully on the back. "You want to be alone for three days?"

"Are you offering, Madame?"

Dumbledore smiled at them. Gideon imagined this was quite entertaining sitting back and watching these two hashing it out with each other. He'd seen the couple before, of course, and it all sounded uneasy at first, but they went on and on. Fabian, who had always rather uneasy about relationships, seeing as he was on his third or fourth round with some girl, scooted down and kept out of the fire. Gideon learned that he shared a wedding anniversary with them, too. After a couple pints, he lightened up and told them he had never seen an elderly couple, especially folks of their stature act so down to earth.

"You don't last this long on love notes and fluffy nonsense," said René. "Jacqueline's mad, I tell you, till I catch 'er on the rebound."

"It's the mercury and the wine," said Dumbledore, leaning forward to toast him.

Jacqueline pulled a face and joined in the laughter. She pointed her wand at the bottle, and its cork flew out. She poured herself a generous measure and started on a second glass. Her face was a little red, and she breathed heavier. Dumbledore and Gideon were the only ones who kept to one pint. "Aberforth likes me."

"Oh, zat story?" said Rene, nodding at Fabian. He was gone. "I'm surprised you don't know. Well, Alexis and Marianne, 'is wife, A Muggle, you know, died in a car crash a month after she was born. So, we took in the boys ...Auguste and David and... " He couldn't place the name.

"Annette?" Dumbledore supplied.

"Yeah, right," said René, bobbing his head. He glanced at Gideon and Fabian nearly fell off the couch laughing. "She's your wife, or 'is? I can't tell. Anyway, we 'ad a 'ell of a legal battle to get ze kids."

Gideon heard this before, of course, and knew this is why René placed such faith in his family. He had already paid his time with raising his daughter, and he shouldered this responsibility. Gideon had no idea how Jacqueline managed it with him, for they both knee-deep in demanding careers. Any thought of retirement evaporated with a blink of an eye, and they experienced parenthood all over again. Auguste shared the story with Gideon one night; he had been sixteen when his parents passed and offered his grandparents a hand. Personally, Gideon didn't where they found the strength to carry the burden and shift their lives.

Jacqueline put a hand on her husband's knee, and the glass slipped from her twitching hand. She spoke as if she were trapped in a vacuum, slowly getting louder. "René? René!"

Next moment, she fell onto the floor and screamed out in pain. Her limbs flayed out. Her husband froze, but Dumbledore knelt down and locked her face in his hands. Instinctively, Gideon gripped Jacqueline's arms so she couldn't hurt herself. Fabian ran out of the room and darted out of the pub. He went for help. Finally, Dumbledore picked her up and ran out into the night. Gideon and René stayed on his hells and entered the hospital wing minutes later. The matron rushed over, but Jacqueline twitched at the slightest touch.

"Please get Horace, Poppy," said Dumbledore, worry creeping into his voice. He forced Jacqueline to look at him and her hair. "Jacqueline, Jacqueline, Jacqui, look at me!"

She locked her long fingers round his wrists. She opened her mouth and found she couldn't speak. This only scared her more.

Aberforth burst through the doors with Madam Pomfrey and Horace Slughorn. René stood off to the side, trying not to get in the way, yet trapped in his panic at the same time. He battled the two, pacing back and forth and staring at the floor. The potions master burst with questions. He knew who this two were, of course, and he seemed more focused on interrogating the couple and flattering them. When Dumbledore raised his voice, the old man held out his hand.

"Well, I've got this," said Slughorn, prying the woman's jaws open and forcing a kidney bean down her throat. Jacqueline gasped for air and give over to a coughing fit. Slughorn, who had gone pale, seemed pleased with himself, and held out his hand. "Lovely to meet you, Madame Marceau. I don't know if you understand English ..."

"Let her breathe," Madam Promfrey demanded as she stepped forward and shoved the fat professor. She yanked the curtains round herself and her patient.

Dumbledore and Gideon stepped back. Aberforth handed Professor Slughorn the bottle without getting an explanation. It had been laced, or so they believed, with a colourless poison. He raised it to his nose, wafting if as if he attended a wine tasting, and detected nothing. It was almost like the Cruciatus Curse in liquid form. Madam Promfrey had given her a sleeping draught, told the others she'd be out for a few hours, and walked into her office.

"Well?" René demanded. "How does a laced bottle end up in a pub? Who would do this?"

"René," Dumbledore interceded before his brother had time to jump to his defence. He spoke in a calm, collected manner. "I assure you no one in this room meant to harm Jacqueline."

"Hell of a story that would be," sighed Aberforth. "I'd rather not be known as the one who murdered Madame Jacqueline Luce-Marceau, if you catch my meaning."

Nobody laughed. Gideon collapsed in a chair and rubbed his eyes. He had no idea how he'd managed to last this long. He supposed it was the adrenaline, and that faded fast. Fabian left, too, saying he'd tell Annette what happened. There'd be no welcoming party because their spirits were drained. Gideon had no idea how much time passed, but he jumped. He had just got comfortable and started to feel a familiar falling sensation of drifting off to sleep.

"Go home." René clapped hand on his shoulder. He inhaled deeply on his pipe and shrugged into his travelling cloak. "You're not doing us any good just sitting there. She's resting now. Care to walk with me?"

center****/center

They walked through the castle in silence. It felt strange to be back at this place. It offered him a distraction, and on Dumbledore's request, he gave the man a tour. Gideon swore all these schools glued themselves to codes of secrecy and whatnot. They did. He remembered reading that somewhere, but he supposed that the professor make the suggestion to get them to focus on something else. Of course, after curfew, many of the places were locked and guarded.

"I don't think they let you smoke in here," he said, watching the old man finger his pipe.

"Oh. What a shame." René admired the armoured suits flanking the oak doors. "They hold classes in the dungeons?"

"Yes."

Gideon pushed the heavy oak doors open and stepped out into the chilly night. He really wasn't on good terms with the old man. They shared Annette, and they had a few conversations, but it was mainly caked in small talk sandwiched between the occasional witty remarks. And distractions popped up: a book, the family, a project. René took a silver lighter out of his pocket and lit the pipe.

"Your school rules don't apply to me," he said, waving his wand and catching a lantern, "nor do zey, I think, stand for you anymore."

Gideon sputtered, shocked. "B-but you're a professor!"

"Yes, and you're a translator."

"Well, I'm more than that, really," said Gideon, taking the jab with good grace. René hardly troubled himself to grasp the lengths Gideon, Auguste and countless others went through to keep worries at bay. "I drive your grandson mad for one thing, and that ought to count for something, don't you think?"

"Touché," he conceded. They walked till he stepped into a noisy chamber with a dusty floor and admired the ancient clogs. "A clock tower? Come in here, boy, I want to steal secrets."

"I used to study here when the library started feeling claustrophobic," said Gideon, sitting on the dusty floor. "It drives Annie nuts; she says something's wrong with me and tells me to just get on the damn lift."

"Are you really?" René mused. "She sounds like Jacqueline. You're her fool and she got stuck with you by the luck of ze shitty draw?"

She'd said that the other day. At the time, he took it as a rather witty comeback, but he was right. It sounded like Jacqueline.

"You want to talk about something?"

"No, no," said Gideon. René gave him such a piercing look that he just laid his worries out on the table. "This doesn't leave here, right? What if there's nothing there after all this time?"

"After all this time it's an embarrassment when nothing but ze bare bones remain?"

"That's not ..." he faltered. That's exactly what he meant. What was he doing sharing this with her grandfather? After sixty years, he figured this man survived through just about anything imaginable, and yet something about this just didn't feel right. "Well, yeah."

"You're afraid of her?" René studied his face and took another stab at the issue. "No, no, I watch you, boy, you're uneasy about the child. You're losing your mind over it."

Gideon bowed his head. "Am I wrong for saying it was a mistake? The first time, as much as it kills me to say it, I felt relief beyond measure because we simply weren't ready. I want to break the damn pram in the cupboard. I don't think I can go through this again, honestly, it's a cycle, and it's driving me into the ground. I love her, I do, René, I swear it."

Why was he pleading for this old man favour? Wasn't he supposed to be able to tell his wife anything? None of it made sense. For some reason he didn't quite understand, it just felt good laying it all out on the table. René couldn't make him feel any worse, for he played the remorse through his head when he twisted the scenario. Exhaustion took him. He wiped his tears away and muttered a rushed apology as he failed to marshal his private thoughts.

"I feel it, too." Gideon took a deep breath when René walked over and patted him on the back. I'm starting to wonder if it's worth it and whether our love ..."

"Isn't purely mechanical?" René offered, pulling him out of a rough spot. "Good question. The kid's not dead, Gideon, there's still hope."

Something about his smile told Gideon he guessed about the adoption.

"Auguste speaks with loose lips," said René, "so, yeah, I heard about the orphanage visit. May I share something with you? I count you as one of my boys, you know, even though you're English. I'll try not to hold that against you or anything. Dumbledore finds this bit of trivia hilarious."

"Sure."

"Our daughter, Marianne, was a mistake."

"What?"

"One kid for as long as we've been together? You do ze math." René nodded. "Jacqueline nearly killed me, till she accepted my proposal. A happy mistake, mind you, because Marianne changed the way I viewed the world and her children gave us another shot. Looking back, we missed a lot with 'er, chasing after careers, and I regret it. I would've taken Marianne's seat zat night without question."

He, too, took a moment to gather himself.

"Auguste was seventeen, at the time, and David had just turned fifteen, so Annette was the only one, a small one," René exhaled, "and I despised 'er for ze longest time. She ruined all our retirement plans."

"She was a mistake, too?"

"Yeah, no shit." René surprised himself with his own laughter and wiped away his tears. "Ah, well, I've never figured out a secret to women."

"Everybody asks you," said Gideon.

"A child can't be a remedy to your life." René waved his pipe. "You need mending. A bandage only covers up ze mess till something creeps along and rips it off."

Gideon nodded, although he felt he missed something.

"Compromise." René offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet. "When all seems lost, there's still hope. I read zat somewhere."