Chapter 7

The day after…

Barbara was looking critically at Michel's outstretched hand. "You are not doing it prettily enough," she announced, meaning the whirl of his wrist that gave direction to his curse.

"But it's effective enough," her seven year old cousin Lucien said.

"Not pretty," she insisted and almost stomped her foot on the floor. Aunt Elise said that every movement should be supple, graceful and beautiful, even the smallest gesture. Barbara idolized Aunt Elise and lapped at her words as they were decreed by Merlin himself… but she was a ballerina. Uncle Michel was a duelist, so maybe that made difference?

Michel laughed. "You've been spending too much time with my sister," he said, but secretly he was glad that the child felt so comfortably around them, relaxed enough to tell him what she didn't like about him. She behaved as if she had always lived with their family… although who could be sure what was going on in this pretty little head of hers? She surely missed the home she had lived in her whole life, she surely missed her 'parents'. But after the first few weeks, she had slipped into their everyday routine amazingly smoothly. He could tell that she felt her connection to them – their bearing, their interest of arts and music, all that her 'parents' had denied her.

"I will be a ballerina, just like Aunt Elise and Cousin Delphine," she announced.

Lucien rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we kind of know that. You've been repeating it in like, say, six months?"

Margo Saint Claire laughed. "We'll be having two celebrities in the next ten years," she said. "The world dueling champion and the finest ballerina in the world."

Both children gave her suspicious looks but she pretended not to see. "It will be today," she said to Michel, barely audibly. "This night."

"What?" Lucien asked. "What will be today?"

"Nothing, pup," his uncle said and smiled for the children's benefit. Sarah silently squeezed his fingers. "Let's see, do we have anyone hungry here?"

"Yes!" Barbara and Lucien chorused.

"Come on," Margo said. "I'll bring you to the Broken Wand. You know," she added, looking at Barbara, "that was the restaurant where your father had the best news in his life – the news of Rhoslyn and Etienne's birth. They were expected to arrive a month later, but fortunately, they were very healthy and strong. Your father was so happy that he bought Firewhiskey for every patron in the restaurant."

"Really?" the girl asked, her eyes alive, eager.

"Yes, really," Michel said. "And then he worked three months to pay for the Firewhiskey!"

Everyone laughed.

Again, Barbara desperately wished that she had known her father… or that her mother would come back to the wizarding world. At the beginning, she had refused to believe that she was who these people claimed who she was, that she was Barbara Lasall. She had spent her entire life as Bliss. An entire lie as Bliss, she thought. But later, she couldn't deny the blood tests, the photos, the similarities, the fact that she bore no resemblance to Helen and Paul and that she was the spitting image of the girl in Rhoslyn's childhood pictures. This new identity explained so many things, like why touching gold hurt her – that was because of her Veela heritage, - why she was moved by every melody she heard while her 'parents' were not impressed at all, why she was so fond of dancing. Her aunt was the very best ballerina in the world! Her cousin followed in their aunt's steps. Even her grandmother, old as she was, was a fantastic dancer! She would be like them one day, she had vowed months ago.

Not that she didn't miss her former family. She did. Especially in the night, or where everyone was talking too fast for her to follow. She now understood and spoke French fluently, but she still had much work to do about her speed of talking. She missed being a part of the threesome that she, Helen and Paul represented. But then, she was never a real part, was she? They had stolen her from her real mother and father. Or pretended that they didn't know she had been stolen. Her grandmother and her aunt Margo always reminded her that Helen and Paul did love her but she couldn't, shouldn't live with them anymore. At this point, Barbara did not want to. She had the feeling of real belonging – here, in this family of ballerinas, singers and duelists, although she was still not a true part of it yet – not like Etienne and Rhoslyn or her cousins. But it would come with time.

How had she looked at their eyes, their hair, their teeth, their manners, checking for similarities! One of the first things she had asked after the first few weeks of adapting to her new situation had been "What did my mother look like? What did my father look like?" They had showed her pictures and answered her questions. From pictures, she had moved to objects that had belonged to her parents. Her mother's silver hairbrush had become her personal treasure, as well as Christine's perfume bottles that Rhoslyn had collected as a child. She had given them to Barbara – a myriad of bottles in all shapes and aromas. Sometimes, Barbara looked through her mother's clothes – all Muggle style, fashionable and elegant. Christine had taken nothing with her when she had left the wizarding world brokenhearted.

From objects, Barbara had moved to stories about her parents. Etienne and Rhoslyn were always ready to tell her of their father's great success, of their mother's many admirers, of the travels they had been taken to with their parents.

But the most wonderful stories came from her uncle Alain. He told her about his childhood spent with them, about their days at Beauxbatons, about Christine's jealousy that drove her to do things that were simply hilarious – though neither she nor Henri saw them this way back then!

There was one thing that she didn't have, though. Something that she wanted more than anything. A box that kept her family's memories, an object that she knew only by photos and description… and that she had seen with her very eyes.

She told that to the others and her aunt looked at her with wide eyes. "Are you sure?" she asked.

Barbara nodded. "It has always been there," she said. "I've looked at it for years but I never knew what it was. Yes, I am sure."

Margo looked at Michel. "I am not sure what we should do… " she started hesitantly.

He smiled darkly. "Aren't you? Well, I am. I'll be damned if I leave to these thieves anything of the stolen stuff."

Margo and Sarah both glared at him: they were convinced that speaking ill about Barbara's former 'family' in front of her was useless and bad for her. He shrugged: to him, things were the way they were. They did not change just because someone had decided to play delicate. The sooner the girl saw the truth for what it was, the better.

Margo let out a long sigh. "Very well, I will take you there, Barbara. Michel, will you accompany us?"

He huffed a laugh and finally let his wand, convinced that his lesson with Lucien was over. "I cannot say I am very keen on going back there," he said. "But I won't let the two of you go alone. Yes, I will accompany you."

"Can I come, too?" Lucien asked.

"No!" the three adults chorused. "You are staying with me," Sarah said. "Stay put."

He pouted but he could tell a 'no' that could be turned into a 'yes' from a 'know' that was a certain, firm 'no'. So he stayed put.

Margo had never been to St. Ottery Catchpole but Michel had, once, so he Apparated them right in front of the house. Margo needed a moment to fight the nausea from the Apparition, but soon she nodded that she was well. "Do you want to come with us?" she asked.

Michel shook his head. He didn't want to set a foot in this house, ever, because he didn't know what he would do if he had to face again its wretched inhabitants.

At the threshold, Margo looked at the child. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked. "We can still go back at the hotel…"

"I am sure," Barbara said.

Helen opened the door as soon as they knocked. Her face turned deathly pale. She opened her mouth to say something but Barbara brushed past her without doing as much as looking at her.

"What - ?" Helen started and then looked at Margo with narrowed eyes. "What are you doing in my house?"

So, she had recognized her. Margo's lifestory was one of the most well-known in the wizarding world. She had first made the headlines as the tragic bride who had been widowed in her wedding day and hadn't stopped being the media's darling – or villain – ever since. Besides, for the last year there had been many pictures of her with Barbara. She met Helen's eye without flinching. She did not respond and somehow managed to resist her impulse to show off her increasing stomach to the other woman who had stolen Christine's baby because she'd never become pregnant herself.

Barbara came back in less than a minute. She was holding something like a small silver castle in a glass orb in both hands.

"Bliss!" Helen tried to call her but the child only looked at her and went out followed by Margo. Outside, she went straight for Michel and showed him the sounvenir. He nodded that he recognized it and then took Barbara by the hand and led her in the street. Helen dejectedly looked after them, her eyes full. The girl turned to look at her once without letting off Michel's hand.

Then Margo groaned softly. Alarmed, Michel grabbed her hand. "Are you okay?"

She managed a weak smile. "The baby is not pleased with me today. I need to sit down and have a warm drink, nothing more. I'm okay."

It was easier said than done. They could not go to the local shops. Everyone here knew Barbara and they did not want to face the questions and rumours that would inevitably arise. They could wait for Margo to feel better and then Apparate away but it would take long and standing here was not exactly a better option.

"Come on," the girl suddenly said. "I've got an idea."


Four minutes later…

Molly Weasley didn't believe her eyes when she saw the blond girl on her doorstep.

"Can we go in, Mrs Weasley?" Bliss asked, licking her lips nervously. "My aunt doesn't feel that good."

It was not in Molly's nature to refuse hospitality when someone did not feel good. In the next few minutes, she fussed over the pregnant woman and the two of them made a small talk about the inconveniences of that condition. Molly didn't stop throwing secret looks at Bliss, who was looking around, taking everything in, as if trying to detect what had changed during her absence and what had stayed the same. With some relief, she noticed that the girl didn't look starved, although she was too thin now. But she looked healthy. And she did not seem to fear the people she had brought to this house.

"Why is it so quiet?" Bliss asked. "Where is everyone?"

Molly shrugged and gave her a piece of cake that Bliss tasted immediately. Michel Montresorre declined politely and the pregnant woman only shook her head. Not too surprised, Molly poured her a cup of tea.

"I am alone," she said.

Bliss looked disappointed. "I hoped to see Ginny," she said. "You will convey my greetings to her, won't you?"

Molly assured her that she would. "Don't you have new friends?" she ventured.

Bliss' face was lit by a brilliant smile. "Yes, tons of them," she said. "They are mostly my cousins. First of all Lucien."

"Lucien is my stepson," the woman said by the way of explaining. "Barbara lives with her uncle and me now."

"Oh." Molly had expected that the girl lived with her grandparents. Of course, it made sense that she'd feel better with younger people, but she was surprised anyway. This woman certainly hadn't been present at the barbaric snatching of the child.

"I am Margo Saint Claire, Mrs Weasley," she said. "I think you know both my sister and sister in-law. Emma always speaks highly of you."

For a moment, Molly felt guilty for not having always spoken highly of Emma. So that was Margo Saint Claire. Of course, she had heard Sylvie talking about her when she had still been living in Britain. Margo didn't look like her. She was more like Philippe – dark and tall, with finely chiseled facial features. But she was not washed out like him. She was vital and vibrant, even the pregnancy couldn't take that from her.

"Who is her uncle?" Molly asked and looked at Michel. Certainly he was too young for Margo? She sure was beautiful, but with his looks and fame, he could have any woman he wanted, including a girl who has barely graduated. Men were like this: they preferred youth.

"My husband is Alain,' the Frenchwoman explained. "Alain Montresorre. He and Barbara's mother were always very close and besides, he was best friends with Barbara's father. That's why Etienne and Rhoslyn came to live with us after they were freed."

"And now I live with them, too!" Bliss announced, leaving her cake half-eaten. She couldn't let herself eat the whole thing. Ballerinas did not do such things.

"I see," Molly said. What she didn't see was what the glass castle was doing here. Had they actually taken the ornament from Helen's house? Were they this cheeky? What was going on?

"It belonged to my sister," Michel said slowly, looking her in the eye. "It disappeared after the Death Eaters attacked their house. I'd say that Gareth Stone presented his sister with it. Although it's hardly as valuable as the child he gave her, it is still something."

Margo felt like hitting him but of course, she could not do it with this stranger watching. They had to act as a union in front of the others. What they did in private was a fully different matter altogether.

"He never knew the real value of his gift," Michel went on.

"May I see it?" Bliss asked eagerly. They were talking about the castle, so there was nothing wrong with her asking that, right?

Michel and Margo looked at each other. He shrugged. She nodded. He took his wand out and pointed it at the glass. "Alohomora!"

The gate of the castle opened like an actual door. A fine cloud of mist started filling the room. Molly gasped when the mist settled into fully formed images – a picture of mist, a shades of times long gone. A beautiful young woman in a white wedding gown. Another picture of the same woman on the seashore, in Muggle clothes, her hair waving like a silver halo, running towards someone. He was certainly not as attractive as she was, but to her, he was the most amazing man alive – it was clear by the look in her very enamoured eyes. When they met, he lifted her off her feet and spun her around, then their lips met in a hungry kiss. Then again the two of them, but younger. Still students. Sitting in a room full of people just as young as they were. Molly recognized the young Margo. Everybody was happy, laughing. Then again the woman alone, again older: she was standing in front of something that looked like a building, a real wolf rubbing against her legs. She ran her fingers through his fur and cried something, her face lit by the same brilliant smile that Molly had seen so often on Bliss' face. Then she again, bent over a cradle and shushing him to keep quiet. He running to her, and she rushing to him, holding two toddlers in her arms. He was obviously returning from somewhere. They met, he hugged her, grabbed the children and spun them around in joy. He offering her a hand to step out of a carriage and in the last moment changing his intention and standing close to her with his back to her. She threw herself onto him and he started carrying her somewhere off. A hall full of ecstatic public cheering and clapping while the very young Michel was crowned champion – maybe his first time, the first of so many. Alain Montresorre, giving two children chocolate while looking nervously around for his sister. The same children with their mother, dancing on some stone steps. Molly could not help but notice how lovely the little boy looked – and how healthy and vital. He had no deformities. No hint of health problems. A child like every other, maybe even more agile than most. The woman, whispering something to Margo, their heads close. Dominic Montresorre and his grandchildren building a snow castle. A beautiful ballerina in a swift pirouette. The twins and John Lupin engrossed in a game. The boy and his father playing the piano. The woman and the man walking hand in hand through some forest. Vivienne Montresorre with Alain and Christine. He and she again, laughing at some private joke. Then she at the seashore, holding the children's hands. He was walking next to them. The twins started wriggling and their mother let them run free. He took her hand, looked into her eyes and didn't look aside.

The mist pictures went on. A voice sang lyrics that were strangely fitting – or maybe not so strangely.

Oh a photograph of just one moment.

Just a photograph, looking at me.

Just a reminder of our sunrise,

To memorize the magic of you.

Molly looked around. Bliss's eyes were glued to the images. Margo had covered her eyes as if she could not bear to look at them. Michel's face was set in a hard expression.

How many times had she seen this memory holder in Helen's living room? Hundreds. It had never occurred to her that it was more than a fancy adornment. Someone had placed their heart, devoted many hours to create this depository. Clever and artistic. Molly was not artistic and neither were Helen and Paul. No wonder that they had never thought to try a simple Alohomora spell.

It was awful. Not the images themselves – they were beautiful. But the thought of all the things the people in them had had. The things that Bliss should have had. It was a real irony that Helen, who had wanted so desperately to erase her daughter's past, had kept without knowing the past under the same roof. For a first time, Molly felt really guilty for her own part in this, her silence. Helen had taken a child who should have lived with these people and lead their life of music and dance and that was not right. No matter how much she loved that girl, it just wasn't right. Bliss belonged with her grandparents or whoever they decided to place her with.

Yet, maybe she would be glad to have something small that she had dropped in the Burrow the day before her removal a year ago. Molly hesitated, but while she was seeing them off, she discreetly put in Bliss' hand the small bracelet of multicolored threads that Bliss had worn since she was five. She believed that it 'protected' her.

Barbara looked at the small object. And hesitated. She had so many good memories associated with this bracelet. It had been on the top of the list with the things that she had wanted from her other house – her favorite dolls, her posters and so on. But her new relatives had never given them to had complained about it a couple of times, but their point was that now she had other things, another family. She had believed that this bracelet connected her with her mum but it didn't really. The castle was her real link to her parents.

She smiled and shook her head. "Give it to Ginny. I hope it will protect her. I live in France, I've got another family now, they are going to take care of me."

Margo and Michel were already out. Barbara smiled at Mrs Weasley and hurried after them. When she caught up, she turned back, puffed her cheeks and blew her a kiss. Then she disappeared, leaving as a last memory this expression of a clown.