A/N: Bonus Chapter 2! My dear friend, AvinaNox, is catching up, and reviewing as she goes! Everyone say thank you!

-C

Like a heartbeat drives you mad in the stillness of remembering what you had, and what you lost, and what you had, and what lost – Dreams, Fleetwood Mac (Stevie Nicks)

Cara couldn't shake a sensation of loss as she dressed the following morning. She supposed it was a lingering effect of the funeral, a reminder she had lost a precious granddaughter, and there would never be any getting her back.

She had a quick breakfast, showered, dressed, and Flooed to Prewett Manor – the renamed Selwyn Manor she had been raised in. It was never easy, spending so much time there, but Caroline had so many children, she needed the extra help, especially with all the older ones at home for the holiday.

"Hey, Mum," Caroline said, kissing Cara's cheek as she brushed herself off. "I've got about ten minutes before my conference starts. Jowan's playing Gobstones with Xanthia and the twins. Issy is trying to get Tresha to eat something, so they may be your first stop. Zenia and Marly took the other munchkins out to play in the gardens. Damon's off until the afternoon, so he went out with them. Is there anything you need?"

"By other munchkins, you mean the other three, yes?" Cara asked, keeping a tally of children in case her daughter forgot to mention one. It was important, with eleven children, none be forgotten or overlooked. Even with Cara and two house elves around when Caroline and Damon were at work, it was not easy to keep track of. Caroline was even thinking of hiring a third elf, part time, at least.

"Yeah," Caroline said, rubbing her eyes. "I should have stayed overnight, but with the funeral…"

"Go, go," Cara said, kissing her daughter's forehead. "Kitty appreciates it. I'll go see if I can relieve Issy so she can help your husband."

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Jason woke rested, but his body was still having the violently anxious reaction first thing upon waking, and he knew he had to go to Potter Manor. The boys were all old enough to figure out their day without his help, and his wife could see from the urgency with which he was dressing she was going to have to open the clinic without him.

"D'you know what's wrong?" she asked, but he said nothing, hurrying out to the city street and Disapparating on the spot. He hurried up to the gate of his sister's home, pressing his hand to the gate and waiting impatiently. He paced several times before Catherine greeted him, bemused, bewildered, and obviously exhausted. But she seemed alright.

"Jason?" Catherine asked, opening the gate, he pushed past her and hurried up to the house. She scurried after, trying to keep up as she said, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"That's what I needed to ask you," he said. "I have this horrible feeling something's wrong, and if it's not you, it has to be Cynthia."

"Does it?" she asked, puzzled.

They went into the house, and before they could even mount the stairs, a distressed-looking Harry was scrambling down them, tearful and red-faced as he ran.

"Cat, she's gone," he said, strained and shaking. "Our daughter is gone."

"Harry, I know," Catherine said, bewildered as she stared at Harry and Jason. "We had the funeral yesterday, remember?"

"He doesn't mean Celia," Jason whispered. "He means Cynthia. She's gone."

Catherine fainted, and Jason caught her before her head hit the marble floor.

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Caroline didn't make it to her conference. Her brother called her to Potter Manor, said it was an emergency, and she was given the news as soon as she arrived at the gates.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked, rubbing her shoulders.

"Harry's called in most of the reinforcements," Jason said, "but I need you to go to the school while he pays a visit to Draco. I don't think I should leave Kitty like this."

Caroline agreed. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose a child in the first place, but to wake up one day and have her only other child simply vanish…. It was unthinkable to Caroline, whose life had been filled with children for quite some time now.

She hurried to Hogwarts's front gates and sent a message directly to Severus Snape, not wanting to be the one to give the news to her father. Perhaps he was on high alert, for some reason, because he'd come to the gates in what she supposed was probably record time.

"What is it?" he asked, seeing the shaking of her hands. "You had a conference, did you not?"

"Damn the conference," she sighed. "Jason called me. Cynthia's missing."

"Missing?"

"Bed's empty, not slept in, and she's nowhere on the property," Caroline said, feeling a wave of nausea building up in the base of her throat. "No idea where she's gone. Harry thinks she might have run away, and she doesn't have the Trace anymore. She could be anywhere."

"Calm yourself," he said sternly. "Come with me. You are to gather Remus and James. Let me handle your father. Get them the basics and send them to Potter Manor, and then go about your day as though this didn't happen, do you understand me?"

"I need a Calming Draught," she said, rubbing her hands together as she failed to calm herself.

"You know the rules about substances, Caroline."

"You don't understand," she said anxiously. "I think it's maternal instinct. My core is unstable, Severus. If I don't take something, get this under control, I could burn down the whole bloody conference on arrival."

He sighed.

"Very well," he said. "There's one in my office, clearly labeled, for use with hysterical students. Second drawer of the desk, down from the left. Take it, and go about your day, after you've sent on Remus and James. Understood?"

Caroline nodded. She had a feeling Jason had taken something as well, from the look of him, and she was worried they'd have to give something to Catherine or Harry – and nobody wanted that.

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"Where are you doing?" Delia demanded of her husband as he pulled on his boots and looked around for his cloak. "Rabastan, where are you going?"

"Cynthia is missing," he said. "I've been called urgently to Potter Manor. I'll be home when I can."

"What do you mean Cynthia's missing?" she called, but he'd pulled on his cloak and left without a word or a glance back at her. She inhaled a sharp breath through her nose and paced back and forth across the foyer, wondering what to do.

After losing Cecilia, something like this would almost certainly put his niece through undo stress, and she couldn't help thinking how devoted Rabastan was to his niece, always looking for excuses to give her what he thought she wanted or needed. She would need comfort, support, perhaps even supervision while they sorted out whatever was happening with Cynthia. She hoped it was sorted out soon, perhaps selfishly, concerned what might happen, should her husband have an excuse to spend too much time alone with Catherine. He'd said, the one time she confronted him about being in love with his niece, there was a difference between how he felt and how he acted, but every man was subject to temptation.

She paced the foyer again, once, twice, thrice, and she decide to call her daughter in. It was a safe bet Adrasteia wasn't too busy to have tea with her mother, and it would be something to distract her from the anxiety bubbling up in the pit of her stomach. Delia supposed she could always give a pretense of curiosity about Adrasteia's latest novel, although she hadn't much cared for the book, in truth. But her daughter never needed to know. She only needed to know how proud her mother was that she'd become an accomplished writer.

Accomplished in the sense of monetary success, naturally.

Delia sent the elf to send the message to her daughter, and she went to the sitting room to wait. She thought of checking to see if either of her sons had been pulled into the mess, but she decided better of it. The best way to deal with a crisis she wasn't supposed to manage was to ignore it was happening at all, and Delia was an expert in such matters. She could deal with the implications of whatever her husband did later.

She hoped.

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Isebella Prewett knew something was wrong when her grandmother asked her to take Tresha for a nap. Tresha responded best to Nanna, and if Nanna was having anyone else take care of Tresha's nap, something was wrong. She managed to coax her baby sister to bed and slipped out again, pausing in her own pale yellow bedroom to grab some lip balm when her elder brother poked his head in.

Jowan was a fifth year and Prefect, and Isebella was a third year. Their cousin, Cecilia, had been between them in age, but she'd been a Gryffindor instead of a Hufflepuff.

"Something's wrong, Issy," he said softly. "Nanna's gone to the guest room and is staring at a wall like…I don't know. Zenia said she's just not moving."

"Should we call Dad at work?" Isebella whispered.

Her brother nibbled on his lip, looked around the corridor, and shook his head slowly.

"No, we'll see if she gets better. It's probably just grief, losing Celia. I'll get Marly to help with lunch. You make Nanna some tea. What kind of sandwich d'you want?"

She groaned. She didn't want a sandwich. He took her groan as an answer that she'd eat what she was given, which she would, and then she hurried down to the kitchen to make her grandmother some tea. She made up a whole tray, and Jowan put a couple of sandwiches on it – prawn, and therefore obviously not for Isebella – and kissed her cheek gently.

"Work your miracles, Issy," he said with a wink.

He meant the calming effect her father said she had on people, which would hopefully help her reach out to their grandmother. She hoped it would do some good, and she hurried up to the guest bedroom, carefully carrying the tray past a few of her siblings. She set it down on the table in the corner of the room and looked over at her Nanna.

Isebella thought her grandmother was the most beautiful woman in the world, and had always thought so. She was graceful and dignified, soft and yet aristocratic. She had the gentleness of Uncle Jason, but the regal bearing of Aunt Kitty. Even the subtle gray of age in her dark hair was beautiful, shimmering through dark brown strands of long, soft hair.

"Nanna?" she said gently, but there was no response. Isebella sat on the floor beside her grandmother and placed her head in the older woman's lap, closing her eyes and hoping her grandmother's tender hand would trace through her chestnut-brown hair. She waited, holding her breath, pleading silently that she didn't have to call in her father, or her grandfather. There was enough on everyone's plates without Nanna of all people having a meltdown.

Nanna was the cornerstone of the family, the pillar keeping everybody strong, the essential piece of the puzzle that was supposed to carry them through the loss of Cecilia. She couldn't break down. Isebella didn't know what she'd do.

She sighed with relief, though, when her grandmother's soft, warm hand smoothed through Isebella's hair, and her gentle voice said, "Thank you for the tea, Issy. I was just…remembering. This house is…. Did I ever tell you about my childhood?" Isebella shook her head, looking up at her grandmother, who was almost emotionless, if slightly melancholy. "I think you're old enough now. Your Aunt Kitty was your age when she learned. When I was little, littler than Tresha, even…. I wasn't showing signs of magic."

Isebella listened, horrified by the heaviness in her grandmother's voice, but desperately curious.

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Cynthia's eyes fluttered open and she looked up at the ceiling, mildly dazed. She knew she couldn't be in her dormitory or her bedroom at the manor, and it took a long moment before she realized she was at the villa. She felt a cool sensation on her bare skin, and she remembered bringing the woman she met in a London club to the villa with her, going all the way to Marseille to…to…

Her cheeks went hot as it all came rushing back, the sensation of Rhiannon touching her skin, the desperate release and pleasure that overcame her as she allowed her body to give in to the sensations Rhiannon was driving her to. Cynthia opened her eyes and saw the beautiful, pale older woman beside her, nude and perfect. Cynthia cautiously raised a hand to Rhiannon's breast, recalling how those cool breasts had felt against her lips, in her mouth, on her hands. She remembered Rhiannon's cool hands sliding through her hair as she suckled those breasts hungrily, eager to please.

"Good morning, darling," Rhiannon said, stretching and smiling in a feline way. "I see you haven't run off on me."

Cynthia couldn't explain it, but she didn't want to run away. A tiny part of her told her how her family would be worried, that her father would be panicked, that her mother would miss her, but laying in this bed with this stranger, Cynthia felt further from her grief than she had since she learned of her sister's death. This was what she needed, this was why she went to London in the first place.

"I must say, this is a beautiful house," Rhiannon sighed. "But it's not going to do the trick, you know."

"How do you mean?" Cynthia asked, confused.

"If you want to forget something, Cate, you must leave it behind entirely, run from all the attached memories. Leaving England is only enough if you don't have associations where you go. You said this is a family home. Have you vacationed here with your sister?"

Cynthia felt a stab of loss and pain as she looked around the room, and she realized there were drawings Cecilia had done when they were children, a few toys the girls had shared when they were young. Rhiannon was right. This room, this whole property was tied to her sister, and it wouldn't be the right place to escape from her sister. She felt a small prickling of tears in her eyes, and she asked Rhiannon what to do.

"For now, just let it out," Rhiannon said, caressing Cynthia's hair and pulling her head to Rhiannon's chest. "You just have a good cry, darling, and when you're feeling spent, we can decide where to go from here, shall we? It's just a question of moving and growing and changing, until nothing tied to the pain is left. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Cynthia nodded as she cried into Rhiannon's bare chest, and she knew she would do whatever was necessary to keep from feeling like this, even if it was running to the other end of the earth. She trembled against Rhiannon's body, which seemed warmer the longer she pressed against it, and she allowed her grief to consume her, with an underlying gratefulness to Rhiannon for helping her as the woman's hands teased Cynthia's scalp, neck, and back with gentle, teasing touches.

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Cara watched the younger children chase each other around the ballroom, squealing with delight and pleasure as they were oblivious to the cares and weight of age and darkness. She wished she could be like them, for a moment. She wished she had a childhood like theirs. Even the one happy memory she had, twirling and happy in a party dress, ended with being tortured by her father. If it hadn't been for Sirius, she didn't think she'd have any happy memories at all.

Jowan sat beside her, her third grandchild, and Caroline's eldest. Hard to believe he was a couple of years from graduating, joining the real world. Harder to believe Cynthia would be there in a few short months.

"Issy told me, Nanna," he said gently, kissing her hand. Some days, Jowan reminded her of her son, and she supposed it was his father in him. Damon was a sweet man, always had been. Steady, giving, dependable. Small wonder the school-age children Caroline and Damon had were all Hufflepuff, thus far. "I'm sorry it happened to you."

"No need for you to be sorry," she said, smiling at him. "And before you tell me you're sorry I'm here, you children have given me plenty of happy memories here. I still remember your first birthday party in the dining room, purple frosting all over your hair." Jowan laughed and Cara kissed his cheek. He took after Fabian, she supposed, but with Sirius's hair. Very bizarre, but not unattractive.

"Thank you for taking care of us, Nanna," he said gently.

She felt a stab of terror again and she stood abruptly, pacing a few times, feeling anxious.

"Something is wrong," she muttered, more to herself than anything.

"Is it because of Celia?" he asked, his voice tight, but steady.

"I don't know," she said, rubbing at her temples. "I don't know. I haven't felt this for so long, not like this…."

Not since almost losing Catherine, she thought, recalling her beautiful girl, pale and comatose in a Hogwarts infirmary cot.

Severus's signature – a falcon feather appearing in a flash of flame with a small slip of paper appearing suddenly – floated before Cara. She snatched it out of the air, and she managed to relax simply for knowing she wasn't going mad. But there was nothing to relax about.

Cynthia was missing, they were meeting, but she should stay at Prewett Manor. They would keep her informed, but she was needed with the children where she was and was not advised to leave. Cara closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to think of all the issues they'd come through before alright.

A/N: So, the congregation assembles, life tries to go on despite the news, and Cynthia is going to leave France.

Review Prompt: Where do you think Rhiannon will lead Cynthia?

Q&A:

Q: With Sirius's relationship with Catherine compared with Caro and Jason, does or did Harry or Catherine have that sort of overprotectiveness to either of their daughters? (Michand)

A: Well, it's complicated. Harry definitely didn't have that sort of overprotectiveness, and he did NOT have favorites. I would say Catherine had that overprotectiveness for the first pregnancy and the first few years of Cynthia's life, but by the time she had Cecilia, the anxieties she'd had when pregnant with Cynthia were largely dissipated.

Cheers!

C