A/N: So, a reader of Part 2 has earned you a bonus chapter! I would tell you to say thank you, but for that reader, Ryana becoming part of the marriage was a bridge too far, so that reader has since ceased reading… but hey, they made it through a lot of hell first!
-C
I knew we would be together, and I couldn't wait for more. But what can they say? It's not against the law. – Think About Me, Fleetwood Mac (Christine McVie)
Caroline woke up on her day off to the sensation of kisses on her collarbone. She closed her eyes again, letting her fingers trace through her husband's silky, soft, ginger hair. She wished one of their children had looked like Damon, but her features and coloring were apparently too dominant to get a carbon copy. A nose here, a set of eyebrows there, a handful of scattered expressions, but mostly her children resembled her. Caroline sighed as he traced the kisses up her neck toward her lips.
"Good morning," he teased, kissing the corner of her mouth when she finally opened her eyes. "I love you."
"I love you, too," she said, touching his cheek.
"You need to take the potion."
"I don't want to," she said, wrinkling her nose, but she knew the time was close. She could feel her grip loosening, and she wondered what it would be like if she were the one with the bond, not Jason. Would there be a potion strong enough to contain her magic if she had such instability on her shoulders?
Damon didn't try to coax her. He simply poured out the measurement of the dose and handed her the glass. Caroline took it without argument, downing it in one and ignoring the vile taste.
"Your mother said she could help me babysit. Your father needs to see you, Caro. He's on edge."
"But it's Mum's day off," she said, stretching.
"It's only for a few hours, my love," he said, pressing his forehead to hers. "It'll be until I have to go to work. Then Ourania's coming, anyway. Go on, shower. I'll get breakfast ready. I think Xanthia's probably put the kettle on. She's highly responsible."
"Crazy to think she came from us," Caroline teased, taking her husband's suggestion and heading for the shower.
Breakfast was ready and waiting when she came out, and she hurried to the Disapparition point, going straight to the cottage, where her parents were having their morning meal. She kissed her mother's cheek, accepted another cup of tea, and sat beside her father, letting him wrap his arms around her and not let go.
"You look lovely, Caro," he said earnestly.
"I'm just wearing the same old dress, Dad," she said with a weak smile. "And I'm barely out of the shower."
"But you're beautiful as always, my dear," he said. They said goodbye to her mother, who hurried off to help Damon corral the children, and her father whispered, "Would you tell your mother if I snuck a quick brandy?"
"Yes," Caroline said sternly. "Have they put you on a potion, too?"
"No, they're afraid to," he said, frowning. "Won't put Kitty or Harry on them, either, I imagine. I expect they'd give it to me before either of them, though. Have you heard any news?"
She knew they were searching the train stations in other countries for signs Cynthia might have gone even further abroad, but they hadn't found her as of the most recent report.
"No, Daddy," she lied easily, kissing his cheek. "Shall we play chess?"
/-/
Catherine felt very uncomfortable when she woke. She showered, and she told herself she probably just had a nightmare, almost certainly something about Cynthia, but when she went down for breakfast and saw Uncle Rabastan, a quick flash of the dream came back. She wasn't completely certain what happened in the dream, but she knew it was sexual, and it was between her and her uncle. Catherine felt her cheeks go red as he greeted her and offered her some tea.
"Are you alright?" he asked with a frown of concern. "You look unwell."
"Didn't sleep well," she said, wondering what could prompt such an explicit dream with her uncle of all people. "I doubt I will until they find her."
Did she imagine Uncle Rabastan's hand lingering on hers as he passed her the tea? What sort of trick was her subconscious mind playing on her?
She ate her breakfast without a word, and he did not try to pull her into conversation. She hurried to the library, going through the books for something to put her mind at ease. She knew there were books from her father's library, gifted to help her fill the room, as well as gifts from Severus delving into all sorts of magic and mental studies.
Catherine found a piece in the section on mental studies with a sizable section on the subconscious and unconscious mind, and she curled up by a window, reading as quickly as she could for some clarification of the bizarre feelings she was struggling with.
She learned dreams were fickle things, which she knew, and the meanings of them were neither straightforward nor uniform – as Divination would apparently have one believe. She learned unresolved or unacknowledged desires could present themselves in dreams, and fears could misrepresent themselves as desires. Proximity and familiarity could paint all manner of pictures in the mind.
Catherine told herself the dream was nothing. Her subconscious mind was aware of her distress, and was presenting her with familiar images in an unfamiliar way, perhaps mirroring her distress with images to cause her distress. It couldn't be unresolved desires. That would be bizarre, having desires for her uncle. Especially as she was more than happy with Harry and Ryana.
The warmth of the room raised, and the lack of proper sleep must have been stronger than she realized, because she felt her eyelids growing heavy, and she closed her eyes, vaguely feeling the book slide out of her hands as she gave in to the darkness of sleep.
The dream world came faster than she could have imagined. Catherine was in the library, responding to kisses of a man whose lap she was sitting on. Her eyes were only half-open, and she murmured Harry's name on the lips she was kissing.
"That's the second time you've called me that, darling," a familiar voice said, half-amused, half-irritated, and Catherine pulled away from the kiss, looking at the face of Rabastan. Was it Rabastan? She thought so, but she couldn't be kissing her uncle. Could she? "Who's Harry?"
"My husband," she said, almost certain this was true.
"I assure you, Catherine," he said firmly, "I'm your husband. Have you been having those dreams again?"
"Dreams?" she said. The word sounded strange, almost echoing around them. Rabastan was her…husband? It didn't feel quite true, but it didn't feel false. And here she was, sitting on his lap, his fingers caressing her gently through her clothes.
"You said you'd been having strange dreams," he said, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "With a different life."
A different life. Was Rabastan only her uncle in the dream? Her husband here, her uncle in the dream…. It seemed so strange.
"This isn't a dream?"
"Of course it's not," he said, his eyes burning as he caressed her jaw. "Does this feel real?"
He kissed her again, with all the force and energy of a passionate lover. It did feel real, and she murmured her affirmative against his lips as he coaxed her deeper into the kiss. There was nothing wrong with it, after all. He was her husband. She shifted so she was straddling his lap for greater comfort, and he took advantage of this new position to trace his hands up her torso, caressing and then gently squeezing her breasts through her top.
"Tell me about the dream," he said, whispering against her jaw. "Was I in it at all?"
"Yes," she said, aware she'd just had the dream. She'd been…having breakfast, reading a book. Strange to dream of such average things. "You made me breakfast."
"I made you breakfast?" he said, amused. "Where was your…oh, what's his name? Harry, I think you said."
"I don't know," she said, rubbing her forehead. "He's gone for some reason. Looking for something. Or…someone?"
"Well, there's another reason to know this is real and that's a dream," he said, adoration clear in his eyes as he held her closer. "No one married to a woman like you would leave you for anything. I couldn't bear the thought of you lonely."
Catherine hummed, but she felt there was a good reason for Harry to not be there. It wasn't trivial. But it was so hard to think of what it might be. Her mind seemed terribly fuzzy, perhaps a quality of just waking up, and waking to such a sensual scene. It was harder still to think with her husband's hands working their way up her torso, this time under her jumper. His hands were warm, real. So, so real.
He expertly caressed her breasts and she sighed. He was right, she thought as he worked. This had to be real. She couldn't imagine a dream feeling this good. It begged the question why she would have a dream about being married to someone else, but that was a question that could wait.
Catherine felt rather useless as he was giving her pleasure, and she was doing nothing for him, so she leaned down and kissed him as he worked, enjoying the eagerness with which he returned the kiss. He murmured he loved her against her lips, and she thought he wanted her to respond. One hand was about to unbutton her jeans when a strange buzzing came from his chest pocket and he swore.
"Be back soon, darling," he said, kissing her neck. "Business."
She dutifully climbed off him, mildly annoyed she was all worked up for naught. He left the room and she settled back on the bench, closing her eyes for a brief rest, trying to calm the beating of her heart.
Catherine woke, breathless and aroused, sitting on the bench by the window. She was mildly puzzled as the dream was very close this time, as though it had just happened. But it couldn't have happened, because she was certain she was awake now.
She glanced down to the floor, where she should have dropped the book, but it wasn't there. She blinked, frowning, looking under a nearby table, but no sign of it.
She had been reading a book…hadn't she? Or was this the dream, this a sign of the dream because there was an inconsistency that wouldn't exist in reality? Catherine took a deep breath, trying to decide what this would mean.
If this was the dream, and what just happened was reality, then everything she thought was true despite what she'd just experienced was a lie. Rabastan wouldn't really be her uncle, Harry wouldn't really be her husband. What else would be false?
But if this was reality, and that was the dream, then she was having explicit and sexual dreams about her uncle. And at such a time, with Harry searching for their daughter, Ryana away seeing family, and Rabastan constantly present as her caretaker.
"Catherine?"
She jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, and also at the rush of arousal and adrenaline she felt when he said her name. Before now, that had never happened.
Had it?
"Yes?" she said, her voice shaking.
"Are you unwell?" he said again – she thought. "You don't seem quite yourself."
"Fine," she said, rubbing her forehead. "Just misplaced a book I was reading. Bit of a…long story."
"I didn't notice you reading yesterday," he said.
"No, this morning."
He raised his eyebrows and said, "If you say so. You've only been in here about a minute and a half. Harry's calling on your mirror."
"My mirror?" she said, reaching for her pocket. Shouldn't she have her mirror? She'd been keeping it on her person, she thought. Why would Rabastan have it?
The growing number of things not adding up was making her dizzy, and he brought it in. Seeing Harry's face in the mirror was relaxing, allowing her to set aside her existential crisis for another time.
"Rabastan said you slept poorly," Harry said, clearly not having slept well, himself.
"I'll be alright," she said firmly. "How are things?"
"Well, we've got some clues to follow up on," Harry said. "Jason wants to talk with you."
"Of course," she said, but Harry had already passed the mirror to her brother.
"Be honest with me," Jason said, and she heard a door closing on the other end of the mirror. "Have you been sneaking anything?"
"Sneaking…?" she asked, puzzled. She had a flash of memory of…dream? She thought of Rabastan caressing her breasts as her tongue plunged into his mouth, and she felt another sharp jolt of arousal and guilt.
"Potions, pills, cigarettes, alcohol. Anything."
"No," she said, astonished that Jason would ask her such a thing. This world became stranger and stranger, backing up the idea that this was the dream. She wasn't sure why she would dream this, but the guilt factor lessened the more she thought it might be, and that was a nice sensation. And if this was the dream, all the worries about her missing daughter were a fantasy, which was a mild relief as well. "Jason, is everything alright?"
"Yes, yes, don't worry," he said, although she thought he might be lying. It was so hard to tell when he was medicated. "Just try to enjoy your time off, okay? Do something fun with Uncle Rabastan. I'm sure he's bored out of his mind."
Her mind flashed again to the sensation of hands on her body, the feeling of him unbuttoning her jeans, the anticipation of his fingers. Another flash, in her bed – their bed? – with Rabastan's fingers bringing her to delicious climax through her panties. Another, more powerful, jolt of arousal.
"I'll do my best," she said with a weak smile. "I'm sure we'll think of something to do."
She expected to have a chance to say goodbye to Harry, but the image was gone, and she blinked, dazed as she carried the mirror back to Rabastan without thinking. He told her he'd put it away for her, his fingers brushing hers. Again, she wondered why he was her uncle in her dream, although a moment later she wondered why she'd have erotic dreams about her uncle, and she was frustrated she couldn't tell which one was happening, much less why either would happen. She told him she was going for a swim and he said he might join her later, if she didn't mind.
She glanced at her uncle and had a sudden flash of him and her swimming in nothing, something she wasn't sure had happened in the dream (or reality, or whichever).
"I don't mind," she said, not fully sure what she was saying with those words, and whether she meant them. She went upstairs to change, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck standing up, as though someone was watching her – a sensation she thought she liked, oddly. But it enhanced her confusion, and the strange mix of arousal and guilt that seemed a permanent fixture of her day.
/-/
Columbine sat up on the foot of her bed, frowning at Cynthia's bed, trying not to cry. Sometimes, on weekends, when the other girls had gone down to breakfast or off to some activity or other, Columbine would watch her best friend sleep, thinking how she looked like an angel or a goddess when she was sleeping.
Columbine wasn't certain when she'd fallen in love with Cynthia. It had happened so slowly, she didn't realize. And she hadn't realized just how much she loved her until Cecilia died. But it hadn't seemed the right time to tell her, while she was grieving for her sister. Columbine told herself she could say something later, when Cynthia was past mourning, or when they'd graduated. Perhaps when she'd had too much to drink and had enough courage to try to steal a kiss.
Now, she was kicking herself for not saying something sooner. Even if Cynthia had laughed at her, rejected her, told her the friendship was over, it would be better than this horrible sensation she was feeling now. She would have clarity and a definitive answer – not this feeling that her best friend had run away, thinking Merlin knows what – and not knowing how much Columbine loved her. What if knowing would have made her stay?
Or maybe knowing would have meant them leaving together, which Columbine was certain she would have done. She liked the idea of running away with Cynthia, whatever the reason. And eventually, when Cynthia had done her grieving and was ready to return, they could come back together, get a place, have a life. Somehow, it wouldn't seem so dire if they were both gone.
At least, to Columbine. In this fantasy, it didn't really matter what their family and friends were thinking.
But Columbine had never said a word, and here she was staring at Cynthia's empty bed, wondering where her friend could possibly be, and why she would have done such a thing.
"Colly?"
She didn't look up. She recognized her sister's voice.
"Yeah."
"You really need to eat something today," Coreen said earnestly. "Gareth said he's worried."
Gareth. Columbine closed her eyes. If they hadn't taken Gareth to that stupid club, Cynthia might have gone somewhere different, or nowhere at all, and they might have found her by now. Or she might never have left the country. To Columbine, it was all so obvious.
"I'm not hungry," she said softly.
"Colly, it's not Gareth's fault," Coreen said, her voice hard and stern. "No more than it's your fault, for not telling them about sneaking out for drinking. Cyn's a big girl and she made her own choices. Now come have some toast, at the very least, or I'm bringing it up here and forcing it down your throat."
"I'd like to see you try," Columbine said bitterly.
She knew as soon as she said it, it was the wrong thing to say. She saw the glittering in Coreen's eyes, taking a challenge Columbine hadn't meant to offer.
A/N: So, Caroline struggles to be as together as her mother, Catherine is very confused, and Columbine continues to sulk.
AND YOU GUYS, you've earned another update while I've been editing and having dinner and such! I'll get both up before I go to bed.
Review Prompt: Which Black child do you suppose is most like their mother, now?
Q&A:
Q: Will Delia tell someone about Rabastan before it's too late? (Michand, Th3Gingerwizard)
A: Erm…no. Delia's great fear was that he might have engineered the whole thing, making Cynthia vanish, but as she now knows that's not true, she'll keep hoping Cynthia will be home and Rabastan will control himself, so everything will go back to what it was. Think about it – she's known for about twenty years that her husband's been in love with his niece, but he hasn't laid a finger on her. It's easier to lie to herself than accept the consequences of what might happen.
Q: Is [Cedric] going to give Harry a hard time? (danceegirl92)
A: No, Cedric actually comes out as one of the most heroic characters in Part 3. Yeah, he was a bit of an annoyance in Part 2, but he wasn't harmful, and let's be real, he was an infatuated teenage boy. Name an infatuated teenager who didn't make a bit of an ass of themselves. We've all done it. He's grown a lot, is very professional, and very concerned about the Blacks/Potters.
Q: Will we ever see Narcissa again? (Michand)
A: ABSOLUTELY! Narcissa's illness becomes a side plot, and if there's interest, I've got an inkling to carry on that plot as the main feature of an actual Part 4 (as Part 0 is in progress, I might post them concurrently, but we'd have to see about timing). She's been one of my favorite things in the whole series, and I'd never just ignore her. But she's not front and center atm, no.
Q: Would you recommend I read the other 2 parts before I continue on with this story? (Joe-Wizard)
A: Okay, I'll be responding to this review in person, but just in case anyone's got this far and HASN'T read Parts 1 and 2, I would say that for Part 3, just for the sake of keeping everything straight, it's virtually critical. Proceed at your own peril if you haven't read the other parts. On the other hand, you could probably skip Part 1 and still be okay with Part 2, and if someone came in at Part 0, they'd have no trouble reading that before going to the others, chronologically. But if you've not read at LEAST Part 2, STOP and read, idk, at least most of it before you come back. There's so much you need to know from that story to understand Part 3 fully.
Cheers!
C
