Chapter Twelve
Allen

"Hey, Allen…do you think it's a good idea?"

It's Christmas Day, and Elia, Tonks, and Ted are putting some last-minute touches on the decorations while Andie, Kingsley and I work on setting up for dinner. Elia is standing in the foyer of the back entry, a wicked grin on her face as she conjures a mistletoe wreath. A quick glance around tells me that Elia and I are the only ones in range—Andie and Kingsley are in the kitchen, and Tonks and her father are probably in the living room or the dining room. I grin back at her. "It depends. What are you hoping will happen if you hang it there?"

"I don't know, really. Something comical with Mad-Eye Moody, perhaps?"

I raise my eyebrow. "Best be sure you're not on door-answering duty, then. You could wind up at the butt of your own gag."

Her grin falters for a moment, but is back within two seconds. "I'll be nearby to watch the chaos."

"Nina's been a bad influence on you." I shake my head, walking back through the door to the kitchen. Kingsley barely looks up as he directs me towards the sink, where a sack of potatoes is busily peeling itself. "Can you please chop them up? Knives should be on the counter."

"Alright." It's a simple enough task that I won't feel at a disadvantage working without magic, but one that demands enough focus that I won't have time to worry. Perfect.

I've had plenty enough to worry about, to be sure. Last night, Brett's owl, a small, dusty-gray wood owl named Briston, brought a short, hastily-scrawled letter to Elia. Her eyes were dark as she read it, then passed it to me: "What do you suppose this means?"

Elia,
I kept my word.
We need to talk.
Brett

I suppose we both know what he's referring to—his promise to obtain Eliana Shacklebolt's file from the Ministry of Magic's archives. But the letter was unnerving, to say the least. More so for Elia than for me—she spent the entire night pacing in circles around my room, speaking half to herself, half to me, worried, frustrated, confused, anxious—"What does he mean, 'we need to talk'? Did he find something? What could he have found that he couldn't tell me in a letter? What's with him?"—and I sat and listened until, at some point, I must have dozed off. It seemed like one moment it was the dead of night and Elia was rambling and pacing the floor, and then the next moment it was daylight and she was poking her head in through the door to wish me a happy Christmas. If she was annoyed with me for falling asleep while she was talking to me, she didn't show it.

Then again, she's pretty good at hiding what she's really thinking. That's one thing that's always frightened me about her.

"They don't need to be that small, Allen…just two or three cuts each should suffice, it'll be quicker that way." Kingsley's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I laugh nervously, noticing that, yes, I've been cutting the potatoes quite finely—they are closer to matchsticks than chunks.

"Sorry, got carried away."

"No need to apologize, Allen. It won't affect the taste. But it'll be quicker to chop them coarsely." I watch out of the corner of my eye as Kingsley puts a large pot on the stove and, with a wave of his wand, fills it with boiling water. If he's as skilled in hiding his heart and thoughts as Elia is, then I hardly blame her for being so reluctant to approach him directly—if he were deliberately hiding the truth from her, then confronting him about it would be unlikely to work out in her favor.

Brett is the opposite—he's practically an open book. It's hard for him to hide anything, hard for him to keep his feelings or his thoughts on the inside in any way. He's a good counterbalance to Elia's secretive nature, or Nina's conniving, sneaky ways. Even though Elia claims that she's shared everything with me, I can tell there's more still that she hasn't told me. What good will it do to speak up about it, though? I know her well enough to know that trying to drag something out of her that she's not ready to speak about yet is futile.

It's a familiar dance, to both of us.


It isn't long after dinner has finished cooking before Brett's family shows up at the door. They're the first guests to arrive—Tony Lau, a lined, aging face, a thin mustache, a thinned and graying head of hair, and beige skin the only differences between him and his son; Samira Lau, slightly taller than her husband, with olive skin, sparkling brown eyes, and a warm smile; Megan, Brett's younger sister, her long, dark hair pulled into two thick braids that hang down to her waist, her eyes on the floor but her smile warm as her mother's; and Brett himself, clearly anxious beneath his facade of holiday cheer. Kingsley greets them warmly, apologizing for the fact that things aren't fully set up, as they hang their cloaks by the door and Tonks vanishes into the kitchen. I wave to Brett, but he doesn't even seem to notice me—his eyes are fixed on Elia, who is perched by the stairwell, her cheerful smile a stark contrast to the pulse that I see racing at her throat. Brett ignores my greeting and makes a beeline for Elia, barely pausing for a second before pulling her upstairs, out of the earshot of their families. I grit my teeth and follow along, unacknowledged by either of them.

By the time I'm upstairs, they're already in Elia's room. I can hear Brett's voice drifting through the slightly-open door. "…want to know what's really going on here, Elia, don't lie to me, please."

"What are you talking about? I told you…I never got to meet my mother, so I was curious about her, I want to know what kind of person she was and—"

"Bollocks you just wanted to know about your mother. If that was all there was to it, why didn't you just ask your father? I'd daresay he'd know her better than a piece of parchment from a ministry archive." Pause. "Why would she be so secret to begin with? In my life, what I've seen, when one parent dies, there's always pictures, mementoes, a bloody memorial on the mantle. But you're saying you'd never even seen a picture of her. It doesn't line up, Elia. You're not telling me something, and I want to know what it is."

There is a pause before Elia responds, her voice strained and anxious. "Look, Brett, I'm sorry. I just don't want you getting involved in this, just let me see what you found, please…"

"Ha! You don't want me involved? I was involved from the moment you asked me to go snooping on your mother behind your father's back, and you bloody well know it! You might as well tell me what I'm involved in, since you didn't have that courtesy before! I don't like being lied to, Elia…I want to think I can trust you, but if you can't trust me enough to even let me know what you just got me tangled up in, well, I don't know what to think of that!"

That's when I notice my palms are sweating. I've heard Brett angry before, but never like this. His voice is icy—I can practically feel the air humming with the tension he's emitting. If I were to strike a match, the very air around him would probably ignite. Though I'd never considered Brett the type to be frightening, this is a new side of him, one I've never encountered. Then again, I suppose I should've figured it out long ago—even the people you least expect to be threatening can surprise you.

There is a pause in which neither Brett nor Elia speaks. When the silence is broken, it's Brett speaking again: "Well, I'll tell you what I found, then maybe you could tell me, honestly, why I was looking. I did as I said I would—I looked for Eliana Shacklebolt's file in the Ministry's archives. But there wasn't any file on her."

I hear Elia suck in her breath in shock, and it's a struggle not to do the same. The Ministry keeps files on every witch and wizard in Great Britain. If there's no file, that leaves only two possibilities—either Eliana Shacklebolt was a muggle...or she never existed.

Elia's voice is small when she speaks. "No file...nothing at all?"

"Well, see, that's the weird thing. There was a container with her name on it. She definitely existed at some point, and she was a witch. The Ministry had record of her. But the container was empty. It was like someone had already been there for her file, and just walked out with the scroll under their cloak. I guess somebody didn't want you to find what was in there, huh?"

There is a muffled thump—looking into the room, I see Elia bracing herself against the wall. I guess somebody didn't want you to find what was in there, huh?

"My father..." Elia's voice is barely more than a whisper. "I should've known...he knew...all this time, he knew what was going on, damn it..."

"Right, Elia. Well, I don't know why your father would be hiding stuff about your mother from you. Would you care to explain?"

Elia draws in a deep, shuddering breath—and looks right at me. I can feel the color creeping into my cheeks as I nudge the door open. "Sorry..." I mutter, sidling into the room. "I'd meant to just come and say hi to you, Brett, but..."

"Eavesdropping." Elia rolls her eyes. "Classy."

Brett's eyes are colder than I've ever seen them. "Nice to see you, Allen." His voice is sharp. "Happy Christmas, or...whatever it was you were hoping to hear. This is between Elia and me. I'll join you downstairs once we've resolved this."

"No, this isn't just between you two." The words are coming out before I can stop them. "She didn't want to get you involved in this at all, I was the one who suggested that she ask you to get that file. It was a bad idea, I see, looking back at it, but...just telling you to get the file without telling you the truth about what it was, that was my idea, not hers. She's told me everything about what's going on, and she's got the right of it, you don't want to know everything."

"Oh, so that's how it is, Elia. You told Allen everything, didn't tell me shit? So much for the three of us." Brett's expression hasn't changed.

Elia shifts uncomfortably. "Brett...listen. I don't want to lie to you, I just don't want to worry you...don't worry, there's nothing illegal going on, I'm not breaking any laws, I just—"

"Do you think that's what I'm upset about?!" Brett's expression goes from icy to furious. "I don't care about that—even if there were laws being broken here, I don't care about that, that's not the issue! I want to know...why did you lie to me? We are friends. You're my friend, and I know you, Elia—you're smart and if you were breaking the law, I'd figure you wouldn't do it without a damn good reason, because that's who you are. I want to help you, Elia. Not because you appealed to my sense of, of honor or pity or whatever it was you were trying to pull up with that B.S. about wanting to learn about your mother for curiosity's sake. It's the right thing to do—to help you, you're my friend. Even if you think it's for my own good that you're locking me out, I say, fuck that—I'm strong enough to handle the truth. And I want to help you...but only if you tell me what's really going on." He paused, blushing slightly. "Why do you think I hate Nina so much? It's because she's so deceitful—I never know what's real with her and what's just her throwing me for a loop. I can't trust her. I want to think that, as a friend, I can trust you." He lowers his voice. "If you did break the law, I'm not gonna run and report you. But I want the truth. Since you'd have me break the law on your behalf, I think you at least owe it to me to tell me why."

I wince—Brett is right. Stealing from the Ministry's archives is a crime, as is accessing them without the proper clearance. I didn't think about that, when I made the suggestion to Elia. All I thought about was helping her. I didn't consider Brett's feelings or wellbeing at all. What kind of friend am I?

Elia looks stunned. For a moment, all three of us are silent. Then, Elia speaks up. Her voice is quiet and shaky as she begins. "I'm sorry, Brett...I'm sorry for lying to you. I should have trusted you, as my friend...I was worried you wouldn't be able to keep it quiet, but...I should have trusted you. One way or another, I shouldn't have put you through this." It occurs to me then—she really is going to tell him. She's going to tell him the truth.

And she does—everything, from the dreams to the Evigilo Mors to the hallucinations to the questions, everything. By the time she finishes speaking, Brett is leaning on the bedpost for support, his face pale, his expression one of shock and disbelief.

Brett lets out a breath it seems he'd been holding the whole time. "W-wow..." he stammers, "I guess on second thought, I can see why you hesitated...telling me that." Pause. "But I'm glad you did. Thanks...for trusting me with that, Elia...you have my word...I won't tell anyone. And I'll help you find the truth."

For the first time in a while, Elia smiles, her face bright with relief. "Thank you, Brett."

I clear my throat. "Alright! Now that we've cleared that up...let's go back downstairs. Dinner smells amazing, and I, for one, am starving."