Woooah. Ok well, heya guys! I couldn't quite believe it when I saw that I hadn't updated First Steps since May. MAY! That ridiculous! And terrible and treacherous and hundreds of other pejorative terms and as always I am INSANELY sorry =S
This chapter is quite slow unfortunately, in the sense it's the same day as the last one and we've only progressed a few hours. BUT there is a lot of stuff in there, as well as finally meeting Henry's brother for the first time with was quite fun. Again, this chapter is only half of the originally planned chapter but by the time I finished this half I was already past 13000 words AND I really wanted to talk to you guys a little as well. I almost considered updating with just an authors note but that always seems like such a let down so I waited until THIS was ready so I could talk about AOA and updates.
I am going to TRY to update for Christmas Day, (God help me lol ^^) That is the plan and I am going to do everything humanely possible to stick to it. I am also going to try to put up the next chapter of First Steps AKA the Quidditch Match, though this will obviously be less of a priority than AOA. So that's the plan, lets hope I do better with this one than I do normally ^^'
Right, that was the AN note, now a little about this chapter. Well, as I said, there's a lot of info in this chapter, mainly one BIG scoop that I'm wondering how many people will pick up on. It's one word only lol so it's very easy to miss.
Another thing to note is that this is a very Moniqua focused chapter again, with very little insight into Henry's thoughts and emotions, apart from the very first paragraph. This is mainly because after the emotional shock of the last chapter, Henry's mind has kinda gone into lockdown and he's letting nothing show. The first paragraph is just a tantalizing glimpse ;)
There's a flashback in this chapter too, though not one you're probably expecting but that actually quite liked lol and also lets slip quite a few hints for other stories ^^
Anyway so there it is, I shall leave you to read in peace. I hope you enjoy and I will now get back to working on the other 25000 words I need to upload in two weeks lol
Luv y'all lots and of course HAPPY HOLIDAYS! =D
Lili
X x x x x x x x x x x x x
"I…hate…you!"
Three words…
Three words, echoing in his ears, thumping brutally to the same rhythm as his heart that still pounded erratically in his chest.
Three words. Why did they…hurt? Pain. Anger. Hurt? It made no sense. The urge to throw something against the wall. Curse. Scream. Slip away into the darkest depths of muggle London and hunt down one of the lowlifes that crept and leered like rats in the night, simply for the pleasure of killing them. The yearning to clasp Monroe's throat and crush it under his white fingers. The need to run his hands over every inch of her body and bruise it, caress it, mark it as his. So many emotions, ravaging his mind, twisting his logic and his reason, aching in his fingertips and his chest. What had she done? What were these feelings, these compulsions and burning resentment? How was she controlling him so? With three words…
Three words; a truth he'd always known; so small a thing to tear something in him to pieces.
Why…?
At two-fifty-nine, Moniqua finally bowed her head and accepted that he was not going to say goodbye.
Disappointment flooded her face, turning the black pools cold and glassy, tightening her throat and clenching her fingers forcefully around her purse. Powder-blue silk, pressed into diamond shaped padding, to match the smart but severely cut walking gown, worn under a navy coat that reached down to her calves. A matching hat, dark blue with a paler feather curling down to frame her cheek and pretty kitten heels completed the toilette that she had spent so long appraising anxiously in the mirror.
She would have given much to ask Henry's opinion on what he considered suitable for tea with his mother; as it was… Moniqua sighed dolefully, before straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin to a stubborn tilt. Bah! She was Moniqua Monroe was she not! As if she would sulk and sigh over a stupid Roz-beef! Never!
Her dark eyes kindled militantly, throwing a look of loathing towards her flatmate's newly repaired door. Pah! Never! She repeated silently under her breath, before turning to the elf waiting patiently beside her, with a grim smile.
"So. I am ready, I think. Thank you once more, Flipsy, you are, how do the English put it? A saver-of-lives?"
Flipsy's eyes crinkled in mirth and her bat-like ears flapped enthusiastically.
" A life-saver Miss, yes t'is, but Flipsy is not a life-saver! Flipsy is happy to be of service!" she nodded vigorously , as though to stress her point, beaming up at the woman and holding out her greenish hand.
Moniqua sighed, shot one last glance towards the stubbornly silent door, and clasped the little fingers.
There was a huge CRACK, the world spun before her eyes rather alarmingly and then a moment later the chill of fresh spring air on her cheeks made her blink them open. Instinctively she stared about her, mouth falling open slightly in awe as she found herself standing in the middle of a little country village straight out of a muggle fairy tale.
Rows of squat, funny-looking cottages lined each side of the cheery street, set well apart so that each one was surrounded by its own perfectly tended garden. White picket-fences, kissing gates and roses creeping up the white plaster; thatch covered every roof and every hedge was lush and green and neat as a new pin. It was so quaint, so friendly and so incredibly English that a smile crept over Moniqua's face quite unconsciously.
The village's name was written in bright, shining gold a little up ahead but Flipsy, already impatient of her frank curiosity tugged on her hand and pointed in the opposite direction.
"T'is just down here Miss. Come, come, Miss must not be late for Mistress Dreamer!"
Moniqua allowed herself to be dragged away, but her head still twisted back and forth in a last-ditch attempt to stare a little longer. A child's laugh made her stop entirely, pausing in the middle of the street. Two children came skipping out of the cottage nearest, their giggle high and bright and joyful, a little boy struggling to keep up with his older sister as they ran from the house across the front lawn to pair of red and blue swings.
The girl leapt on to the red one and quickly pulled herself up so that instead of sitting she was standing on the little platform.
"Look Matt! Look what I can do!"
Her brother clambered onto the other swing, his backside firmly on the seat and both chubby hands clinging tightly to the chain. He looked up at his sister, now swinging in earnest, obviously torn between envy and dismay
"You're not SUPPOSED to Lee-lee!"
"Pooh!"
"I'll tell mum!"
A ringing peel of laughter was the girl's only response.
For a moment time seemed to stop and catch its breath.
Moniqua felt she could have watched them forever. She couldn't quite say way; she'd never been one of those people of doted on children; growing up with a huge family had cured her of any early broodiness. But as the girl soared higher, brown curls dancing with her bell-like laughter, and the boy pushed his little legs in a valiant attempt to catch up, something seemed to move slightly within. Small, barely a flicker, just like someone had grazed her shoulder in passing on the street, or had brushed past her in a crowd. She stared, not really watching but somehow still seeing, almost as though in a trance until suddenly a sharp tug on her sleeve pulled her away from a future she'd never dreamed of wanting and turned back to the house-elf hopping from one foot to the other in her impatience;
"Late, late, LATE we is, Miss! HURRY we must!"
Moniqua bit her lip contritely and started up down the little street once more, her head bent in contrition and Flipsy huffed forbiddingly beside her. Then barely a minutes walk later, the elf squealed in delight and announced proudly
"And here we is!"
And there they were. Moniqua looked up at the house, taking in every detail eagerly. She had spent whole nights trying to picture a building that a woman so majestic and queenly a woman as Mistress Dreamer née Black would live. Turrets, moats and Taj Mahal style palaces had all crossed her mind at some point, but the house before her now was as far away from those fanciful imaginings as could be.
It was a cottage, far larger than most they had passed that day yet still sporting the thatched roof, timber window frames and bright plaster walls. The gardens looked to be much much bigger however, so that huge, graceful trees partly obscured the view of the house from the road and ten-foot tall hedges seemed to capture small pieces of the grounds into separate gardens. On the far left an archway cut into the green, leafy wall, white can, entangled in a winding rosebush with flowers the colour of rubies. A delicate ornamental fountain sprayed up prettily from what looked like a small lake on the right side of a crazy paving path teetered and rolled its way to the front door. The rest was lush green lawn, with colourful flowerbeds circling the house and resting in the shade below the trees.
Flipsy smiled at her open-mouthed wonder and opened the kissing gate politely.
"Welcome Miss, to the Potter Dowager House."
Moniqua took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and stepped purposely past Flipsy and into the painting.
As soon as she was through Flipsy grabbed her hand and once more began pulling her towards the house.
"We is ALMOST late, Miss but not quite, not quite…"
"INCOMING….!"
Moniqua's head flashed up in panic as the high-pitched scream burst her eardrums.! Flipsy squealed in terror! A bullet shot from the blues skies towards them and Moniqua Monroe had been playing Quidditch for too many years not realise immediately the peril of a crash-landing from an out-of-control broomstick!
Instinct kicked in! Her wand lifted and the words every professional player had drilled into them sprung from her lips. The broom rocketed closer; she had just enough time to get a glimpse of a black t-shirt and a mischievous face laughing manically before the spell shot from her wand like a cork from a bottle, enveloping both rider and broom so that when they hit the ground at dangerous speed, instead of breaking every bone, the silver soap bubble bounced.
The broom handle smashed into the ground and buried itself in the mud, narrowly avoiding the pond. The bubble burst a moment later. Its rider tumbled to the grass, rolling smoothly enough to indicate to experienced eyes that this was not the first time such a mishap had happened; the puck-like grin that flashed as he spun hinted that it would probably not be the last.
The kid finally came to a halt, face to the sky, back to the grass, still chuckling. Moniqua picked up her skirts and ran across the lawn hurriedly towards him but before she could come anywhere close, the boy leapt to his feet, deftly and confidently, shaking a head of thick brown curls, peels of the most glorious, gayest laughter bubbling from his lips.
Moniqua couldn't help it; danger averted, her own sense of humour, mixed with the lingering adrenalin, kicked in. She sank to her knees, ignoring the grass that would surely stain her dress, and joined in the laughter, the sound rich and husky.
It brought the boy's head up, tossing the shiny locks out of eyes that now sparkled with curiosity. They were big and brilliant, and of that same striking hazel that she was now beginning to know so well.
For a moment he simply looked her up and down with a child's candour, head tilted to the side rather like a small bird. Then he skipped forward and, somewhat to her surprise, swept her a beautiful example of the classic pureblood bow, saying with exaggerated gallantry,
"Ethan Jacob Dreamer, at your service, Miss!"
The boy's head lifted a moment later, showing one of the most engaging smiles she'd ever seen. Dimples played hide and seek in both corners of his mouth and the front tooth was just slightly crooked, turning the smile into something at once appealing and decidedly mischievous. The grin of a brat secure in the knowledge that every stranger he meets will like him because every stranger he's ever met always has liked him, so why on earth would this one be any different.
Moniqua's lips tugged upwards, unable to do anything else but smile back; the dimples were too irresistible to be denied. His eyes sparkled in approval and as she opened her mouth to introduce herself, he leaned forward eagerly,
"And you're Moniqua Monroe!" she paused, a little bemused but nodded. The boy punched the air triumphantly
"I knew it! I watched you play at the word cup! I wanted to come to the party and meet you but Riri said he'd be damned first! So I said that NEXT World Cup I would send you a letter myself and get you to invite me so THAT way Riri would have nothing say about it would he? You played BRILLIANTLY! Though you did lose me ten galleons…"
The cheerful babble was abruptly broken off and the boy, Ethan, was suddenly frowning at her, as though undecided whether this crime was forgivable. Moniqua stared, lost but absolutely fascinated, she asked in wide-eyed enjoyment,
"By winning?"
Ethan shook his head and to her shock, rolled his eyes with a very familiar scorn.
"No! Kit lost THAT bet to me, because I KNEW you would win! But you," he broke off suddenly, " You won't be offended miss, will you.?" the smile gleamed hopefully suddenly once more and, dazzled, Moniqua could only shake her head in laughter. He carried on blithely,
"BEFORE, I didn't think girls COULD play Quidditch." Moniqua blinked, "But KATE said that the best Quidditch player in the world was a girl and that she'd prove it!- she's a bookworm and thinks she knows better than everyone- she showed me a poster of you and told me how you won your first League match at only eleven and how you were Captain of France at only fourteen and you won THAT World Cup too! And so I had to give her the money because we bet that boys ALWAYS play better than girls and well you stopped it from being true because she said that one exception disproves a rule or something know-it-all-ish like that, and I said that's why she won't admit to wanting to go out with me because she LIKES being the exception and when I said THAT…" he paused for breath, and beamed,
"She slapped me." he finished happily.
It was too much. Moniqua burst into peels of laughter and doubled over clutching her sides helplessly. Ethan observed these hysterics quite without rancour, and was busy waiting for his new friend to finish wiping her streaming eyes when suddenly a small figure appeared with a "CRACK" beside the pair.
Young Master Dreamer's face turned quite pale.
"Flipsy!"
If the boy's voice was slightly high from nerves, the wide smile was firmly brandished like a shield. The house-elf wasn't buying any of it.
"Master Ethan!" she pronounced in appalled accents. Her victim flashed his teeth valiantly, fear evident in every line of that expressive young face.
"Master Ethan is BAD!"
The house-elf's little features were contorted in fury and was turning darker green with rage by the second. Moniqua broke out into gales of fresh laughter while Ethan put his arms behind his back and managed to achieve an expression of sorrowful reproach.
"Flipsy! How can you say that?"
"Master Ethan is forbidden from flying in the Mistress's rose garden! Master Ethan is forbidden from taking out his broom without permission! Master Ethan has disobeyed his mother! Master Ethan is BAD!"
Moniqua blinked, cringing back instinctively from this tirade but the Master Ethan in question merely hung his curly head.
"I'm very sorry Flipsy."
"Master Ethan is a BAD BOY!"
"He is, he is." It was said in such mournful tones that Moniqua had to bite her lip desperately to stop herself from giggling again. Unfortunately it was NOT funny. The house-elf's tennis-ball eyes snapped and narrowed dangerously.
"You is a CHEEKY bad boy!"
Brown curls lifted and the dimples danced.
"But you love me anyway, right Flipsy."
Flipsy's eyes fairly bugged out from her head. Ethan grinned in victory and, without warning, suddenly lunged forward and threw his arms around the fiercely protesting elf.
"MASTER ETHAN! Unhand Flipsy immediately! House-elfs is NOT to be hugged!"
The boy laughed merrily and squeezed tighter.
"Say it Flipsy!"
"What would Mother Mipsy say if she is seeing!"
"Mipsy's at the Manor and will never know!" He pointed out cheekily. The elf screeched as he lifted her high above his head and spun them both wildly around. Flipsy shrieks echoed around the pretty garden until finally the young Master came to a stop, opening his eyes as wide as they would go, bottom lip pouting in adorable appeal,
"BAD MASTER ETHAN!"
"Come on Flipsy, come back and look after us! I miss your scoldings! And you KNOW you like scolding me better than Riri!"
Flipsy folded her arms with great dignity considering her legs were still dangling in the air a foot from the ground and sniffed,
"Master Henry is not needing scolding. Master Henry is a GOOD boy, he is!"
Ethan scoffed and placed the disgruntled elf back on the ground, eyes sparkling mischievously,
"Flipsy, I thought you always say one mustn't lie to a lady!"
The boy spun round to grin at Moniqua, who had been watching the affectionate scene in bemusement, and pronounced funnily,
"Riri is a right one. He's always up for a lark!" he added with fraternal pride, " And he NEVER moralizes or reads one a lecture. "
Moniqua smiled back but inside her head was reeling. The expression "up for a lark" was not one she knew but it seemed this impish young boy was declaring his older brother to be, if not approving at least amused by his more illicit exploits. She suddenly remembered the scene in the kitchen, where Flipsy had rebuked her companion for exactly that; laughing at Ethan's misdemeanours. But it was still odd, slightly unreal to imagine Henry so.
Suddenly the young boy's eager tones broke into her thoughts once more.
"Say! I've just had a brilliant notion! YOU could invite me to League Final this year!"
"I…"
"I was going to beg Riri to take me but he would probably say no but if YOU as CAPTAIN ask me to come it's a formal invitation! And it would be RUDE to refuse wouldn't it!"
"Well, I suppose…"
"YES! THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!"
Flipsy's chest suddenly swelled like a balloon and she brandished her bony finger up towards the scamp's grinning face.
"Master ETHAN, you will NOT BADGER MISS….!"
But he was already away, scampering as fast as his legs could carry him, grabbing his broom in passing and sprinting towards the beautiful glass doors. As he reached them he paused, eyes dancing like stars as he threw a wink at Moniqua.
"Don't forget the ticket!"
Then before Flipsy could draw in another huge breath, he was gone, slipping into the house and leaving only his merry laughter echoing his wake.
Moniqua turned back to the outraged elf, carefully assuming an expression of gravity. Flipsy was fully engrossed in ranting and raving over the young Master's cheek and impudence, so it was almost a full minute later that her small head suddenly shot up, tennis-ball eyes even rounded than usual in horror.
"Miss IS late! Flipsy is a bad bad elf, she should not be wasting Miss' time!"
"But no, je t'assure…"
"Come, come!" The elf would have none of it. She shook her head furiously, grabbed Moniqua's hand and dragged her inexorably towards the archway of roses. Moniqua barely had time to glance up at the beautiful red blooms before she was pulled through. Then a burst of colour exploded before her eyes and she gasped in sheer wonder.
The garden was filled with perfect blooms of every colour under the sun. White roses, yellow roses, darks pinks and soft blushes, deeps crimsons and palest of primrose. They curled and twisted around a circular space a little bigger than her own bedchamber. A bright white marble trough curved into the form of a sun and it's rays. Tiny fountains bust and gurgled at each point and the water gleamed crystal clear and fresh .
Flipsy bowed till her pointed nose touched the floor and then disappeared with a crack, presumably to warn the Mistress of the House of their arrival. Moniqua started but a moment later the beauty of the little paradise had already ensnared her anew. She stepped hesitantly closer, her breath stolen away as she stared at the very centre of the water feature, where sitting in a circle of rich brown earth, one last rose bush, barely taller than a house-elf, reigned supreme over the entire garden.
Five perfect blooms stood out from the green leaves, their petals a deep velvety black.
Moniqua was barely aware of her fingers creeping out to touch the wonder, when a voice, soft but clear and sharp as the keenest of blades made her wrench them back with a look of embarrassment towards the figure standing like a ghost under a second archway.
"Beautiful…are they not?"
After a pause during which Moniqua made no answer, Dorea Persephone Dreamer, née Black glided forward so smoothly she might have been walking on air. She halted by her young guest's side, magnificent eyes fixed impassively on the roses, each dark as starbursts of night.
"They are "Roses Sangoires" She reached out and, with the tip of one white finger, caressed the velvet petal. The contrast was sharp as day and night.
Moniqua swallowed, dredging up a drop of saliva; her mouth was suddenly dry.
"I have not heard the name."
"Nor should you."
Moniqua risked a glance at the other woman's face and shivered. The features were lovely beyond reason, Moniqua still had difficulty accepting that such perfection could exist. But a lifetime of hardship and bitterness had turned that beauty into something hard, cold and terrifying. Stark against the white of her skin, Henry's eyes stood out from his mother's face, golden pools of icy rage that would never cool. Black rage.
For a moment Moniqua fought the urge to cringe away, to escape those terrible eyes and run, far far away from the roses and the misery that suddenly felt so heavy in this sad, silent little garden. Then, just like that, Madame Dreamer turned her glorious head away, releasing her prisoner and staring thoughtfully at the black roses once more. Moniqua breathed out.
"The legend is one known now only to those families whose history it recounts. Two families in fact, both of the Wizarding Elite, able to trace their Pureblood lineage back at least five centuries. Only while one was old and respected, the other was even more so; ancient, one of the Seven.»
Mistress Dreamer's lips curved ever so faintly upwards.
"My family."
Moniqua's eyes widened. Dorea sent her a wry look at from her great height before turning back to the rose bush.
"Yes, the House of Black, arguably the richest and most powerful line. Certainly the proudest. Yet there were magics that even they could not possess, namely those few particular gifts that ran by blood."
"One such gift belonged to the Rosier line. Something that only the greatest could achieve; wordless and wandless magic. Only one spell, but any Rosier child could perform if taught. The ability to conjure a single rose with nothing, not a word, not a gesture; only one's will. And to vanish it at easily."
Dorea sighed, one hand sweeping out to stroke a black petal.
"It was such a simple magic." she said softly, "Not powerful, or dangerous or even particularly useful." she shrugged, "Just a little thing, one that even the lowest ranking wizard could produce with a wand. The Rosiers have always been lovers and love-maker's by nature and the Rose Touch, as it came to be known, was one of their favourite charms. In truth it was nothing more that that, a silly parlour trick to impress reluctant maids. Who could have imagined it could inspire such envy."
The afternoon sun seemed to cast a glow about the woman, bathing her in golden radiance so that Moniqua found herself wincing at the brightness.
"But the Black Elders hypothesized that magic in such a pure form could be harnessed to any purpose. If a rose, why not a light, a fire or any other spell. Thus, endless possibilities seemed to open to them and filled with greed, they sent envoys to the Rosiers, offering them tremendous riches in return for the secret of the rose touch. The Rosiers demanded instead the one thing they desired above all; an alliance with the most ancient of lines."
Moniqua watched, silent and solemn as her hostess' face hardened fleetingly into an expression of contempt. The bitterness was so tangible, so heavy and cloying in seemed to stick to the skin like cold sweat and make one shudder. Recalling Henry's tale of his mother, Moniqua could guess as to the reason why.
"They offered as a bride a young woman of their line, saying simply that the gift ran by blood. The Blacks took this to mean that any child of the girl would have the Rose Touch. They agreed without hesitation and quickly married their most promising heir to the Rosier bride before the month was out."
"For some years the couple enjoyed what peace they could with the Black elders breathing down their necks in hope of a child from their union. Only the bride herself was less than eager. But the day soon came that she fell pregnant and the child followed into the word soon after. The House of Black held a Ball, greater than any Ball before it, publicly proclaiming the eternal alliance between the two families and the Rosiers gained a status almost equal to one of the seven themselves."
"Again all was well for some years, until the child, a little girl by the name of Kleeia came of the age to use magic. Her first magical demonstration was met with another huge celebration and the Elders of the family demanded that the child be taught the Rose Touch as was due."
The words had grown softer and softer, so that when Mistress Dreamer now paused, the last syllables were almost blown away on the sigh that was expelled, heavy and hating from her lips. Moniqua waited, somehow already filled with dread though not knowing yet how something could have gone wrong in the tale. Only that it had, and the consequences had been felt for decades since, were still being felt today.
Dorea's hand, halted its gentle caress on the black petal and slid her fingers down the stem to rest lightly against one of the largest thorns.
"She could not."
Moniqua let out something between a breath and gasp as the glorious woman beside her suddenly pressed her index and thumb together, driving the thorn deep into the soft white flesh. A thin trickle of scarlet ran down her hand, pooling at the wrist before dripping slowly into the fountain below. Moniqua watched the blood run, her face pale and stricken.
"They tried every way that occurred to their greedy, twisted minds. But finally they had to accept the truth; Kleeia did not have the Rose Touch. Under torture, the Rosier bride confessed that the Touch could only be passed down the male line. Females of Rosier blood could posses the gift but not transmit it to their offspring. The Rosiers had known this from the start but the temptation of an alliance with one of the Seven had spurred them to madness. Rather than admit that there was no way for the magic to leave the Family name, they had knowingly lied and sent a bride incapable of producing children with the Touch. Treachery it was, and had always been. And the House of Black ignited into furious, devastating rage."
Moniqua swallowed, vaguely realising that her hands were trembling despite the warm afternoon sun. Dorea's teeth were bared in anger, her eyes once more filled with that terrible murderous rage that was the Black heritage.
"The Head of the House of Black himself conjured a rose bush in the very centre of the gardens, before chaining both his wife and daughter naked to its branches, so that the thorns tore into their backs and ripped through their skin until there was no more blood to flow. " she said in a voice as empty as the grave.
Moniqua pressed her lids closed as though to shut out the horror. But she could not stop now, she had to hear the tale to the end, as thought in some illogical way it could make some pitiful amends to these poor victims of family greed.
"Six nights they were left there, bleeding and broken, until finally the Rosier Family got wind of what had occurred and the abomination their own greed had wrought. Struck with remorse, the elders wove a magic from afar, a great magic to bring relief to their own that they had so betrayed, in the only way they could. »
Vaguely Moniqua was aware of the other woman drawing back her hand from the bush and staring at the wound with an expression as cold as her voice.
"The morning of the seventh day, the sun rose to fall upon the rose bush. Woman and child were gone. Instead the buds that had been forming all over it were open and blooming…."
"Every rose was as Black as the hearts of the Family that stood around it."
As Dorea's voice became softer once more, Moniqua raised her head to stare at the roses, each one as deep a midnight as those in the tale. Her hostess suddenly sighed, and the heavy crackling cloud of tension that had been almost suffocating the tiny garden, burst with a rush of relief. The woman's face was lovely once more, her weariness and a terrible grief showed through and lending somehow an even greater beauty.
"By becoming one with the tree they were spared any further suffering. But from that day the roses on that bush are still black as coal and no power on this earth, magic or otherwise has ever managed to remove it. Always it returns, as though in reminder of the horror that occurred at that spot and in that House. An eternal stain on the Family honour, as indeed in should be."
"But then how…" Moniqua broke off, biting her lip to stop the question escaping. But the lady beside her had already understood. She turned her cynical eyes upon the girl, her face staggeringly lovely despite even the cold contempt and answered the unfinished question with a faint smile.
"How it comes to be here?" for a moment Dorea Persephone Dreamer seemed to slip into the past, a strange bitter nostalgia curved her lips further upwards.
"The eve before my wedding day I stole into the garden and clipped a single bloom. It is forbidden to enter that grove but my despair was such…" she trailed off before continuing in a voice that was once more hard and emotionless.
"I pinned it to my wedding dress for all to see. Most did not know the signification, but those who did, cowards that they were, they looked away. The truth was too unpalatable for them to face…"
The smirk was twisted, Moniqua felt a sliver of fear as twenty-five years of anger and betrayal seemed to fill up the little garden until she was all but drowning in the bitterness. Then all at once, it was gone. The air seemed to clear as if by magic as Mistress Dreamer suddenly shook her chestnut curls and broke the spell.
"Charlus would not have the flower up at the manor but I kept it, and after his death I planted it here and it has accepted to grow. The name of course is a mélange of Black and Blood, fitting would you not say?" Moniqua nodded dumbly, "Once upon a time I viewed them as a promise, a vow to never allow my son to be sold as I was, simply to fatten two family's coffers. Now…."
Her perfect shoulders lifted and fell in a delicate shrug and for the first her eyes warmed just a touch, as she turned to look at the young woman with a serious expression.
"Now I find them merely beautiful. And sad. But my vow holds still at that, Miss Monroe is why I have asked for you today."
Moniqua shook herself out of her reverie and sunk into a deeply respectful curtsey.
"You do me much honour Madame, by inviting me to your home."
Dorea gave a slight smile, similar to the one that sometimes just touched her son's lips, but she made no reply, instead simply turning gracefully on her heel and indicating with a wave of her hand for her guest to follow her through the archway out of the Rose Garden.
They walked through another, larger grove with a paving stone path slipping snake-like through a lush green lawn and trees shadowing overhead. Flowers of all colours waved cheerily from the beds, filling the garden with the humming of bees and the tiny chattering sound that could only be fairies. It was another little paradise and Moniqua felt a tiny stab of longing as she though of how her mother would have adored all the summer blossoms in full bloom.
But Mistress Dreamer was waving her forwards once more and as they turned a corner, the house finally came into view. As from the road, honeysuckle climbed up the white walls, the windows were gay and bright and tall. It was undoubtedly the prettiest house Moniqua had ever seen and jus t looking at it brought a glow of warmth to her face. It must have shown. Dorea smiled with a hint of approval and led her to the door.
"Come."
Some five minutes later both woman were seated in an elegant sitting room, sipping tea from dainty china tea-cups decorated with gold and accompanied by sugar biscuits in the form of flowers. Moniqua nibbled one just a little nervously glancing about her in what she hoped wasn't too obvious a manner, her curiosity battling with her good-breeding.
The room was dressed with beautiful taste, in warm inviting shades of cream and chocolate, with touches of gold placed skilfully here and there to catch the sunlight streaming through the huge bay window. Cushions soft as clouds, different textures of silk and velvet and the lightest of Muslim under drapes all complemented each other and gave an overwhelming impression of feminine elegance. It was as breathtaking as its mistress and it completed her like petals encasing the heart of a flower.
Said Mistress gently placed her tea-cup on the glass-topped coffee table and abruptly broke the slightly uneasy silence with a question equally as uncomfortable.
"How long have you loved my son?"
Moniqua choked on her tea, wiping her mouth hastily with a napkin to remove the splatters.
"Madame?"
Dorea rolled her eyes suddenly in a manner that was unpleasantly familiar.
"Do not I beg you, lower my opinion of you by acting the fool." she said dryly, "You do not yet lie well enough, not to fool one as skilled in the arts of deception as I, at any rate."
Moniqua lifted her chin, her famous temper sparking visibly.
"I would have not attempted it." she flared, "I was merely…surprised."
Mistress Dreamer's face relaxed into an only slightly condescending smile.
"My son is an undisputed genius. Sadly his omniscience does not extend to the study of human emotions. In such things, he is quite remarkably obtuse…"
Extraordinarily white teeth flashed for the first time in something that could have almost been a grin.
"I am not."
Moniqua suddenly became extremely interested in her hands, splaying her fingers as though to admire the polished manicure.
Dorea let her a few moments of cowardice before finally clearing her throat in a delicate little cough. The young girl's teeth audibly ground but she lifted her head and glared defiantly back, only the slight flush of her cheeks betraying her embarrassment. It was an oddly endearing gesture, and the tiny flicker of amusement it drew from her caught Dorea by surprise. Her head tilted to the side, thoughtfully observing her guest, the smallest of smiles just tilting her mouth.
"I do not mean to mock you child." she said eventually with a little shrug, "I am merely curious. Henry is not an easy person to love, and when the news came to my ears I could not believe it possible."
Again Moniqua eyes flashed magnificently,
"You do heem a grave injustice then! 'Ow? 'Ow can you say such z'ings? You are 'eez mozer efin!"
Dorea didn't each flick an eyelid as the young woman before her leapt to her feet, hands clenched into two admirable fists by her sides.
"MERDE! It is no wonder he is so alone! You, the closest family 'ee 'as, you do not even…!"
"I love him more than my own life, Miss Monroe." Mistress Dreamer interrupted coolly, her posture rigidly straight and her expression as haughty as a goddess. Twin fires in her golden-brown eyes pinned Moniqua to the floor, and drained all the anger out of her. She swallowed, realising vaguely that her hands were still trembling. The force of her reaction took even herself by surprise, and she looked somewhat bemused as she said eventually,
"Forgive me, Madame. I had absolutely no right to address you so."
"Indeed not." the two words were cold as ice.
For a few long moments a tense silence reigned. Then suddenly the elder woman let out a rueful laugh. Moniqua stared down at her completely bewildered and it only brought an even more intense expression of amusement to her lovely face.
"To be caught in my own net. How embarrassing. Please, sit down once more, Miss Monroe, for there really is much I would discuss with you, truthfully."
Moniqua hesitated, still disconcerted by this odd change of humour. Slowly she lowered herself into the chair once more, her hands clasped carefully in her lap, inwardly berating herself for losing control of her temper so. Mistress Dreamer copied the position, somehow managing to make it look five times more elegant, Moniqua noted with annoyance, and began again.
"You are an intelligent woman Miss Monroe, and therefore I am certain you have wondered why I did not denounce your charade that night of the ball."
Moniqua's gaze shot to her hostess' face, startled by this perceptive pronouncement.
"It is true," she said hesitatingly, "I did wonder, much. And after all you have told me Madame, I now wonder even more. Why would you, a woman sold yourself into a loveless marriage, wish that same fate upon your son? Having met you, it is not credible…"
She trailed off, worried that her frankness was ill-timed and eyed her hostess doubtfully from under her lashes. But Mistress Black, far from being affronted was now looking a little sad, though the smile still curved her lips.
"I would not of course. If I am remembered for nothing else, I hope one day to have saved as many as possible from that fate." she said softly, staring into nothing as though her mind was momentarily elsewhere. Then her gaze snapped back Moniqua's as though the instant of abstraction had never happened.
"The reason was simple; your love for my son…" and much quieter,
"…And the beginnings of love he may feel for you."
Moniqua was stunned into silence. She could only stare, as though expecting the woman in front of her to laugh, smile, jump up and say "Got ya!" Then suddenly something snapped and a sharp crack of wildly incredulous laughter exploded from her lips.
"You jest Madame, I think." She tried for a smile but it came out a little mangled. Mistress Dreamer's expression turned just a little colder.
"You truly believe I would jest about such a matter Miss Monroe?" cold, silky, dangerous. Moniqua felt her cheeks warm but kept her chin defiantly raised. She opened her mouth but Mistress Dreamer cut her off with a look. There was a long pause before,
"Now…if you have something intelligent to contribute to this discussion, by all means continue."
Moniqua's eyes flashed, her lips spreading to bare pearly white teeth in a fierce expression that was almost a snarl. Her hands trembled, she clenched them tightly over the folds of her dress, so hard that the knuckles turned white. She had not much experience of being obliged to keep her terrible temper so tightly under control. It took a few moments before she could even repress it enough to be able to speak.
"Tell me then Madame, if you please, why you would think such a thing." she ground out through her teeth, "Because to me, it is a statement of the most ludicrous. I am…confused."
Mistress Dreamer observed the younger girl coolly, as though oblivious to the anger still emanating from every pore. She leant forward and delicately placed the china teacup on its matching saucer that sat on the coffee table between them.
"The fact that he is willing to wed you should speak for itself." she finally said. Moniqua caught herself before her eyes could fully roll back, but the look of impatience on her face was quite evident.
"And I have already explained to you Madame why it is so!" she huffed, "He is obliged to! His hand it is in fact forced! He has no more wish to marry me than he has to jump from a building!"
The rather exaggerated statement tilted Dorea's lips slightly, but she made no comment, allowing her guest to continue her outburst uninterrupted.
"He…he…it is for this other person that he cares Madame, as I 'ave tried to tell you! Henry has no more interest in me than 'e 'as in any other stupid female who languishes for him!" she trailed off, a touch off bitterness seeping through her final words, a flicker of hurt, of acceptance and yet defiance. She sent a challenging look across the table at her hostess, expecting some signs of contempt or mockery, but Mistress Dreamer's face was smoothly blank as always.
For a moment Dorea was almost tempted to tell her of the suspicion that was rapidly becoming a certainty. Her dealing with the outside world had dwindled since Ethan's birth and Jake's illness, it had been possible that she had missed the presence of a woman in her son's life. The very day after the Ball itself, Dorea had unravelled her thread for the first time in years and re-awakened her web of spies that still surpassed Tyrannius himself. On her order they had delved into her son's past with minute attention to detail, no leaf left unturned, no rumour either proved or disproved. Yet after a full month of digging only one female name stood out as playing any part in Henry's life. It was possible to be sure that Henry had buried the existence of this other woman, yet she deemed it unlikely. Her spies were too good, for even Henry to dupe. Thus the suspicion that had crossed her mind the moment she had seen the pair together was, she'd decided, confirmed.
Only one woman had made any impact on her son's young life, only one woman would he thus expend any effort in protecting. The woman sitting in front of her.
But to tell her? The words hovered on Dorea's lips, rolling on her tongue back and forth as she hesitated. Henry no doubt had his reason for keeping the information from her, and Dorea thought she knew what those reasons were. If she was right, and she smiled inwardly, she usually was, the truth could tear the young no-quite-couple apart. Slowly, she pressed her mouth closed.
Opposite her, Moniqua was having an obviously hard time holding back her impatience.
"So Madame?" when she could keep silent no more, "Why then would you think this? What would give you this strange impression that…"
"Did you know, Miss Monroe, that my son has a horror of human contact?"
It was such a swift, sharp, unexpected interjection that Moniqua blinked in surprise.
"I…what?"
"A phobia is perhaps too strong a word, call then a strong dislike. He cannot abide being touched, though he hides it well." Dorea continued, her great, liquid eyes staring somewhat emptily into nothing.
"Such is what he feels consciously. In truth I am of a mind that it derive in fact from a subconscious WISH for contact, a hold-over from his childhood neglect and loneliness. He would now rather convince himself that the choice was of his own making and that in fact he has no desire for affection or physical closeness, rather than admit how he longs for it."
Her head turned, so that the rich burnished rolls of chestnut gleamed in sunlight seeping through the gauzy curtains.
"You are to date, the fourth human being my son will initiate physical contact with of his own accord. Perhaps the only four people he subconsciously does not fear rejection from. Perhaps he simply feels comfortable enough in your presence that his barriers, normally set in steel, come down without him even being aware."
Moniqua's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Dorea allowed herself a little smile.
"For he has touched you, has he not?" she said shrewdly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. Moniqua's cheeks turned just a little pink beneath the golden tan.
"I…by necessity Madame" , she replied with dignity.
"No more…?"
The tiny smile was still there, and Moniqua found herself skirting away from that knowing gleam.
"Of…of course!" but it was a defiant mutter and she could not meet her hostess' eyes.
Unseen, Dorea smiled her warmest smile yet and leaned elegantly back against the cushions, her curiosity piqued. Ahhh what she would give to know what had passed between the pair already, away from the public eye, behind the closed doors of Merlin's Obelisk. But it was unlikely that her guest could be brought to confide in her the details just yet, not to a stranger and one so…cold, she admitted of herself quite freely. Still, the afternoon was still young.
With a sly look in those beautiful eyes, Dorea deftly changed the subject and settled down to putting her soon-to-be daughter-in-law at ease.
"Please, Miss Monroe, tell me more about yourself and where you grew up."
Some two hours later, a man appeared in the middle of the same street, in precisely the same spot where the young woman and elf had earlier that day. Tall, notably handsome, he earned himself a few looks of interest from passers-by as he made his way down the street with unusual, ghost-like grace. The few muggles in the largely Wizarding community merely stared at the striking cut of his marble-cheekbones and the richness of his sleek, deep brown hair. Only a deep, painful looking red welt, slicing though his cheek marred the smoothness of his white skin.
Those villagers that possessed magic, stared for quite another reason. It was rare for the Potter heir to visit his mother, but not unprecedented and he was a well-known enough figure for them to memorise his appearance in case he turned up again in the future.
It took him barely two minutes to reach the Potter Dowager House. His black robes flowed back to his ankles as he broke his smooth, powerful stride before the white gate, settling into stillness as he paused, almost as though unsure. Impossible. Henry Charlus Potter shook his head and pushed it open, and strode firmly into the miniature Eden with a frown.
It hadn't changed in the two years since he'd been here. Somehow the House-elves managed to retain the perfect order and neatness, despite Ethan's best efforts to thwart them. And talking of Ethan, his brother should be home for the holidays, if memory served him correctly. If so…
" RIRI!"
Henry turned, his brow lightening noticeably as the thirteen-year-old pelted towards him, skidding to a halt before eyeing his brother's face with an intrigued smirk.
"Ouch Riri." he grinned, "Someone whipped your…"
Henry frowned, remembering the red welt from the stinging hex Moniqua had sent at him earlier. A deadly raised eyebrow however caused his irrepressible brother to break off immediately and change the subject. Instead Ethan threw him the winning smile invariably produced when wanting something.
"What is it Ethan?" Henry said dryly. The boy was cheerfully unabashed.
"Moniqua Monroe's here and she's promised to send me a ticket to the Quidditch League Final!" Ethan whooped, "You will take me, Riri, won't you?"
Henry rolled his eyes, inwardly cursing his fiancé's duplicity.
"I most certainly will not."
Instead of falling abruptly, Ethan's obnoxious grin widened until it stretched from ear to ear.
"You MUST, Riri. It's your duty to your fiancé." he said sunnily
"Did Monroe put you up to this?" Henry demanded.
Ethan shook his head of brown curls blithely.
"Nah uh. She did mention that you probably wouldn't take me and that I should ask someone else." he admitted a little naively.
"I'm much obliged to her." the sardonic tone did not go unmissed and the observant thirteen-year old frowned.
"Are you…having a fight?" he probed.
Henry blinked and determinedly pushed away the uncharitable thoughts currently running through his mind.
"Of course not."
Ethan didn't look convinced.
"I like her Riri," he declared cheerfully, " I should not mind much if you marry her, even if marriage dreadfully dull and boring" he added with a grimace of profound distaste.
The corners of Henry's mouth quivered and he suddenly reached out to ruffle his brother's hair with a rare show of affection.
"So it is," he said humorously, "My advice to you Ethan is to avoid it as long as possible."
Ethan grinned appreciatively until a sudden doubt struck him.
"But…You want to get married, don't you Riri?"
The expression on his elder brother's face hardened in an instant and Ethan swallowed. In his and his cronies' opinions there was no cooler brother in the world than Henry Potter, but when that icy look turned Henry's features to stone, as it was doing now, even his irrepressible brother knew it would be wise to tread carefully.
"They're inside," he offered hopefully, "Mum was showing Moniqua the roses."
The dangerous expression did not soften. Ethan shot him an appraising look from the corner of his eye and dared to try again.
"I trapped fifteen pineapples in Slughorn's classroom and charmed them to tap-dance and run everywhere when he tried to open the door to his store-cupboard."
At this hopefully confession, Henry's eyes finally focused and he glanced down at his brother with something suspiciously like a grin curling his mouth.
"I hope you are thoroughly ashamed of yourself." he drawled.
Ethan grinned triumphantly and sent him his most wicked look from under his lashes.
"They ran all under people's feet and one committed suicide in the fire under Kate's cauldron!" he grinned, obviously extremely proud of this fact.
"Kate has my sympathies."
"Pah!" Ethan brushed off his rival with a scornful wave of his hand, "Slughorn was in hysterics, but Professor Dumbledore said it was an excellent piece of magic."
"Of course he did." Henry snorted softly.
Ethan beamed proudly for a few moments at this obvious display of approval from his elder before looking thoughtful. He tilted his head to the side again, his expression that of one considering whether it is once more safe to proceed less carefully. Sliding closer, closer than Henry would usually permit he shifted somewhat shyly from foot to foot and, chewing his lip, said deliberately off-handedly
"Um…I…it's cool to see you Riri." he nodded casually, still keeping his eyes on the grass.
Henry shot the boy a swift look of surprise. His rather hard features softened and one of those rare smiles suddenly lit up his face with a rueful glow.
"Oddly enough, I rather missed you too."
Ethan's head shot up, his eyes round as dinner plates, his mouth hanging unbecomingly open. Then, all at once, that beaming grin split his impish face in half and he crowed in delight, before considerably startling his brother by leaping on his back and hanging on for dear life.
"Ethan, what the…"
"Come on Riri, just imagine you're a broom." he clung on with peels of laughter, wrapping his legs around his disproving brother's waist tight enough to resist Henry's attempts at disengaging him.
"Ethan, remove yourself from my back this instant." Cold, precise and deadly. Ethan grinned naughtily but slid obediently down from his piggy-back perch and threw his glowering brother his sunniest smile.
"It's called a hug, Riri." he sing-songed shamelessly, "You should get used to it, seeing as you're getting MARRIED."
Henry curled his lip and smoothed down his ruffled robes with contemptuous look.
"You are a repellent Brat." he said caustically. Ethan beamed at what he considered a huge compliment. Henry, seeing this, rolled his eyes once more and resumed his walk to the front entrance, his brother trotting at his heels beside him.
"But anyway, you WILL take me, right Riri?"
"No."
Ethan's face fell. Putting on his most angelic, dying-father-cruel-brother expression he sniffed mournfully
"Please…?"
Henry glanced down in exasperation. Huge golden-brown eyes blinked hopelessly up and him and with another skyward look of frustration, Henry finally said curtly
"If Fiona is willing, both you and Kit shall be present at the match. Are you satisfied?"
Ethan considered the offer, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"My seat from Moniqua is in the top-box," he pointed out shrewdly, "That means Kit and his mum would have to have seats there too."
Henry inwardly consigned his fiancé to the devil.
"Fine. The top-box."
"And the after-party too?"
"Do not push your luck."
Ethan sighed but decided this was probably the best offer he was likely to get. With an impish grin he stuck out his hand and said cheekily
"Deal."
Henry rolled his eyes but consented to shake the decidedly muddy hand proffered. As soon as he let go Ethan ran up the rest of the path, threw the door open and sprinted into the house yelling "MUM! DAD! RIRI'S HERE!" at the top of his lungs.
Amusement at his brother's actions soon dissipated. The frown settled once more on Henry's brow as the reason for his presence returned to the forefront of his mind. And what had passed between them that morning. His jaw tightened unconsciously, eyes hard as topaz before entering the house and closing the door behind him.
"MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUM!"
Like a bullet shot from a gun, Ethan Dreamer tore into the room as noisily as a herd of hippogriffs, causing both his mother and her guest to start in surprise. Moniqua blinked at the human hurricane, who, having caught sight of the plate of biscuits, was now busy filling his chubby hands and mouth with as many as possible.
A steely look from his mother made him hastily swallow down the mouthful with a nervous gulp.
"Ethan…Jacob…Dreamer."
The words were pure Henry, soft as the purest silk and yet dripping with deadly poison. Moniqua had to fight back a grin as the boy licked the crumbs from his lips, his head bent to hide the action, and rather unsuccessfully attempted to hide the remaining sweetments behind his back.
"Relinquish those biscuits…immediately." Dorea continued freezing.
A gleam of mischief flickered ever so briefly in the twelve-year-old's eye. With a look of complete innocence, he brought back fists back to his sides…and then opened them.
Moniqua choked on an undutiful laugh and Ethan cackled wickedly as his mother rose to her feet and eyed him as though he was the spawn of Satan.
Her perfect lips opened, blistering words practically leaping off them, but before Dorea could blast her son into smitherines Ethan let loose his sunniest grin and announced blithely
"Riri's here!"
And with that, he turned on his heel and fled.
Moniqua, still struggling with the urge to giggle, eyed her hostess warily. Mistress Dreamer was literally frozen with rage, like a golden statue to a forgotten pagan goddess, her eyes blazing and her body rigid with fury.
Then all at once, the tension left her body and to Moniqua's surprise, a short laugh escaped her lips.
"If not for that boy's obnoxious charm, someone possibly me, would have murdered him years ago."
Moniqua grinned, secretly enjoying her formidable hostess' exasperation.
"He is quite ridiculously engaging." she laughed. Dorea rolled her eyes, a living image of Henry and tch-ed.
"He gets it from his father."
Her glorious face suddenly turned solemn, almost cold but before Moniqua cold even wonder why, Mistress dreamer was already explaining.
"My husband Jake, Miss Monroe, is seriously ill or he would have insisted on meeting you today. In fact only the contagiousness of his malady prevented him from coming down here despite my entreaties."
Moniqua stared at her in horror and then sadness. For wrong it seemed that this woman should escape a marriage so hateful only to lose the man she truly loved at barely thirty-five years old. A sudden terror flashed through her mind, imagining Henry gone from her life, imagining his death, no longer sharing her days with him. Fear closed her throat and turned her face quite white. Dorea registered her stricken expression with concern and then comprehension but before she could try to alleviate the fears that were suddenly assailing her young guest, the object of those fears strode fluidly into the room.
Immediately the affianced couple locked gazes. And in just that small instant, Moniqua felt the panic fade away. He was here, hers, almost, even if he was still blazingly angry it would seem.
Henry's face was expressionless as he turned away from her and bowed over his mother's hand.
"Ethan was retreating as fast as human velocity allows when I met him in the hall. What mischief has he managed to accomplish in little time it took me to greet the elves?" he drawled.
Dorea indicated the cookie crumbs now trod further into the rug with a pointed raised eyebrow. Moniqua couldn't repress the smile.
"It would seem Ethan is not without an accomplice." she murmured wickedly, enjoying the curl of Henry's lip as he fought to hide the anger he was obviously still nursing.
Ignoring her comment, he inquired coldly,
"Are you ready to leave. I have come to escort you and to remind you we are invited to the Ministry this evening for a formal dinner. If however you desire more time I will return later.
The words were like ice and Moniqua felt a shiver trail down her spine. Earlier marchioness aside, she had forgotten how freezingly unpleasant Henry could be when something truly sparked his temper. With a small sigh, she shook her head and turned gracefully towards her hostess, ignoring Dorea's obvious curiosity as her magnificent eyes flicked back and forth between the pair.
"Madame it has been truly a most enjoyable afternoon and I thank you…for giving me your confidence."
As she held out her hand, she thought Dorea's face might have softened just a touch.
"It was a pleasure Miss Monroe. And I believe it is I who must thank you, my son has most probably been remiss in expressing his gratitude for his League Cup ticket." a mother's smile hovered on her mouth and Moniqua returned it widely as she made her curtsy.
Henry followed suit and bowed and finally brought his mother's hand to his lips, his face still a mask of stone. As he rose Dorea brushed his cheek briefly with her hand and although he flinched instinctively, he allowed the contact. She looked at him rather sadly and withdrew it with a sigh.
"Jake sends you his love." she said quietly.
Henry's face turned, if possible even colder.
"But will still not let me see him I presume." the words bit far more than any others he had uttered so far.
Dorea hesitated and then shook her head.
"The risk…"
Henry cut her off with a harsh curl of his lip.
"I believe we must be leaving Madame. Mon…Moniqua, if you are ready."
One look at his face told her it would be wise to save her curiosity for another time. Meekly she laid her hand on his arms and followed him out of the salon. Just as they exited the house a ringing cry came from one of the second-story windows and a round, dimpled face grinned down at her as he waved his hands wildly.
"I'll see you sooooooon!"
Moniqua gurgled with laughter and returned the gesture enthusiastically. Unbeknownst to her, Henry's artic expression ever so slightly softened.
As they spun and the world blurred, the last things Moniqua saw were the pair of swings, the village square and the words "Godric's Hollow", sparkling on the brightly painted sign.
Flashback
"Still dreaming, my love?"
The woman standing by the window did not turn. Her shoulders tensed, she perhaps stood up a little straighter but otherwise Madame Dorea Dreamer née Black made no sign that she had heard that cold, drawling voice.
Her lovely face was parallel to the glass and fixed on the clear night sky beyond it, golden brown eyes surveying the heavens impassively. They matched the dress, the dress that had not seen the light of day in over thirteen years. Her most precious and most hated possession. She had never thought to wear it again.
But here she was, with her old…acquaintance at her back. A secluded gallery, an innocent game of hide and seek,…
Years ago, a young girl would have would have gurgled with laughter, mischievously thrilled at slipping away from the drawn-out adults assembly. The curtain would be pulled back, she would jump in alarm but it would only be him, her childhood hero, her most trusted friend's elder brother. Tall, powerful, his handsome features set into an expression of bored indifference. Because she had been just a child, and he a magnificent specimen of a young man, and he would never admit to being interested in a filly not yet thirteen years of age.
Now the smile that curled her lips was as hard and bitter as the stones. His voice brought back the past, long banished memories, of youth and innocence. Of the girl named Kore. A girl who loved flowers and dancing and dipping her toes into the icy cold water of the lake. A girl who wore one last flower on her wedding day, black as her name for those last few precious minutes. It had been a long time since she had thought of Kore…
To change it had been her last act of rebellion. Now Persephone fought with her darkness, her childhood a bitter sweet torment that only the man behind her could reawaken.
"Tyrannius." she said coldly, without looking round
The Minister for Magic glided to her side. He was still a giant of man, dwarfing even the juno-esque frame of the woman beside him. Platinum hair disguised tell-tale streaks of silver; the war had taken its toll, etching harsh lines in that once pale beauty, twisting his lips into an even crueller smile. She did not look at him; she had glimpsed him earlier and felt that familiar gaze upon her face. She had known he would search her out.
"I presume Mister Dreamer is still clinging to life."
Her fists clenched, the cream silk of her throat quivering with fury. He continued mercilessly.
"Praise be to Merlin. Dragon Pox does not usually allow its victims more than five years. And he so young…"
"Save it." she cut him off in artic tones. Dorea Persephone Dreamer née Black revolved slowly on the spot, a goddess in her tightly restrained rage, the glory of the ball gown put to shame by the mere flash in her eyes.
"And tell me how you dare…attack…my son."
Tyrannius tilted his silver head consideringly, the sneer just curling the corners of his pale lips. He did not speak immediately; a long moment passed as he seemed to think over the answer he would give. Finally he lifted his left hand and surveyed the heavy emerald signet ring that gleamed there, setting off the beautiful whiteness of his skin, and replied suavely,
"The boy is a prodigy the likes of which have not been seen since Dumbledore himself. He is a vortex of raw, untapped, unfettered power. The man to whom he accords his loyalty will rule this world. I intend to be that man." he shot her a look of mockery,
"My fair one…to be so blinded and betrayed by a mother's love . Dorea Persephone Potter née Black would have seen what a weapon such a vassal could be and would have trapped him in her web as swiftly and stealthily as she trapped myself. My poor ice maiden, doomed to melt by that last flicker of warmth in her frozen heart."
If he hoped to incite his auditor to wrath he was disappointed. A contemptuous smile lifted those perfect pink lips, long lashes swept her damson cheeks in a mocking caress.
"Cunning as you are Tyrannius; you have reached the limits of even your vast realms of understanding. Do not attempt to decipher and rationalise the powers that move me now." she half-laughed softly, her eyes opened, huge, dazzling and timeless as the earth.
"No man could comprehend. But any mother in this world will tell you, that the love she bears for her children is a force that overwhelms any other feeling. It cleanses the wounds of a thousand lifetimes. It purifies the very blackest and most twisted of souls."
The man before her said nothing, his expression rigid and hard. Her cynical laughter was as soft as a sigh on the air, tinkling and sweet as a score of wind-chimes. She held his faintly incredulous gaze in a grip of iron and said with deadly softness,
"Touch either of my sons, Malfoy, and I will fight you with every weapon I possess. Victory I do not claim as certain by any means, but this at least I swear; harm one or other, and I will bring you down from your gilded pedestal and crush you like an insect beneath my heel; be it with my last breath."
The promise hung in the air like a thundercloud, menace dripping from every icily spoken word. Their gazes locked and crackled in a silent battle, power rippled on the airwaves so that spider-cracks ghosted over the glass of the window and the velvet curtains quivered as though in fear.
Finally, the Minister broke the silence, soft and without any sign of emotion.
«One word from you will stop this marriage. The polite world awaits in avid anticipation for your reaction one way or the other. Your unlooked for presence was a masterstroke. One I can neither parry nor counter. With even an hour's warning perhaps one might have… But at this moment, if you choose to denounce this charade, I cannot prevent you."
He glanced pointedly towards the huge golden doorway that separated the gallery from the ballroom, those silver eyes narrowed and hard as steel. The face of a general too experienced not to realise he is outnumbered and overreached. They stared at each other in silence and the laughter and babble from the adjoining ballroom wafted through the doorway. Mistress Dreamer gazed into the void, her flawless features cold and detached. And finally in a low voice that lacked any emotion whatsoever, she gave her answer,
"I will say nothing."
Tyrannius shot her a hawk-like glare from under his brows, full of surprise and suspicion.
"Indeed. Why?"
Dorea made no reply. The most powerful wizard in Britain eyed her keenly, his highly acute mind turning over possibilities. Then a sharp light flickered in his eyes.
"Could it be that he…cares for her?" he realised. The woman beside him paused, but then shook her head sombrely.
"No." she decided quietly. Malfoy lifted his long pale fingers to stroke his chin, and fixed his shrewd gaze on her face.
"But you believe he might grow to." he said slowly, "That he may have even…begun…" Her silence was answer enough. A low whistle escaped through his perfect teeth.
"And the girl. Does she care for him?" Still no response and Malfoy suddenly threw back his mane of silver hair and laughed loudly.
"So! You have not fully renounced your spinning, my lovely spider." he shook his head appreciatively, "But this, this a dangerous game you play. You truly believe she may captivate him?"
It was a lazy drawl of a amusement but he could not quite dissemble the spark of interest in this new development. Dorea shot him a cold glare. The smirk he threw back at her was one of affectionate mockery.
"I do not deny Miss Monroe's charms, believe me, nor the strong likelihood of her, as the common phrase goes, falling in love with HIM. But your son is an enigma oh fair one, and his heart is colder even than yours. Patricide after all, is not within the means of every man. I beg pardon; non-premeditated man-slaughter." he paused to enjoy the fleeting anger that passed over her face, "HE is not one to lose his head over a captivating smile and engaging manners."
There was a great deal of cynical meaning in his tone. Dorea's lips suddenly curved into an oddly gentle smile.
"Is that what you tell yourself Tyrannius? That I, in a moment of madness, threw myself away over the one good-looking man allowed to step foot inside my prison cell?"
Malfoy's face twisted into a derisive sneer.
"Jacob Dreamer certainly had nothing else to recommend him." he said acidly. Dorea simply smiled that same secret smile.
"Careful, old friend. One would almost think you jealous."
The bitter curl to his mouth did not relax, he gazed down at her rather sardonically, platinum head tilted slightly to the side as he appraised her tall frame from head to toe. Then he turned away and spoke, casually to the icy window.
"I had already waited upon your father, you know. Already informed him that I would wed when you when both he and I deemed it appropriate. You were ever destined to be my bride. Do you wonder that I begrudge both your husbands for taking what was mine?"
She met his hard gaze with a small disbelieving smile,
"You loved me then, Tyrannius, no more than you love me now. Whereas Jake…" she trailed off, a suddenly pained expression on her lovely face, and continued in a much lower voice, "Jake would give up his every possession in this world, his soul and his life, simply to smooth away my frown. He helped me, laughed with me, saved me when one more night in that man's arms was enough to drive me out the fifth-floor window." her voice trembled, she controlled it with difficulty and raised a satirical brow at him,
"Whereas you, my friend, you had your career in the Ministry to think of, did you not? I asked you, if you recall, that morning when you called on my mother with Nero. I pleaded for your help and you turned me off with scorn and smirk."
He smirked now, enjoying the not-quite-laid-to-rest resentment that flickered briefly even after nigh on twenty years..
"Charlus Potter was the Head of the Department of Mysteries and personal friend to the Minister." he pointed out apologetically, the smirk still taunting her. Dorea returned it a little tiredly.
"And you have achieved everything you desired. I would not repine if I were you."
He shrugged. .
"Repine…no. But wonder perhaps…I will always say that you were born to be a Malfoy, oh fair one." he reached out and lifted her gloved hand to his lips, eyes mocking her over the silk. "Perhaps another generation will one day unite our houses as they ought to be."
She held his gaze, her smile cold and deadly as steel.
"If that day should ever come," she said with false sweetness, «I will do everything in my power to prevent such a union. Only one Malfoy would I ever have entrusted a member of my family to, and he died you may remember… a long time ago."
Oddly enough this harsh thrust brought a quirking smile to the Minister's lips. He leaned back slightly as though recalling a fond memory.
"Did he now?" he asked with gentle malice. Dorea swallowed her anger and cut back frigidly,
"And your nephew, Tyrannius. Have you enlightened him in regards to Nero's death?"
The Minister's thin lips curved into an appreciative smirk.
"Touché, Kore,…"
"Do not call me that."
Tyrannius paused, but ignored the outburst and carried on smoothly.
"I admit I have not. It is possible he has already guessed. Abraxus is…everything his father could and would not be. An unlooked for blessing; I had not expected my foolish brother to leave me an heir so much after my own heart."
The lady's beautiful features could have been set in stone.
"Nero was my friend."
"Nero was weak, just like his namesake."
She was silent. He smirked at the lack of denial. Silence reigned for a long minute as both simply stared out into the darkness of the twilight. The stars were scattered across the sky like flowers, they twinkled mockingly, tiny fingers pointing and stifled giggles. The quiet presence of the other was familiar and in the familiarity the years seemed to roll back for just a moment.
But the coldness did not lessen. She was no longer the blithe, laughing child who had worshipped him so openly. He was no longer the aloof yet tolerant brother of one of her oldest playmates. There was no love and little friendship between them now; only a deep, embittered understanding and a lifetime of possibilities that had never had a chance to be.
But enmity…?
No, Dorea exhaled slowly through her teeth, they were not yet foes. Somewhere deep down lingered a reluctance to set herself against him. Not if she could help it. But neither would she stand off.
"If she runs Tyrannius, I will help her."
A cold chuckle vibrated in his muscular throat. She repressed the urge to sneak a glance at him.
"The pretty little angel? By all means. But I would advise her to wait until the birth and then, on no account must she take the child. Abraxus will care little for the loss of his toy, especially one so close to breaking. But he will not sit by and watch his heir be taken from him."
The woman's lips curled in rigid disgust.
"Abraxus Nero Malfoy is a monster." she enunciated with careful self-restraint "My one remaining hope is that he will serve you the same turn as you did his father."
Tyrannius laughed out loud at that, one hand slipping to brush the woman's tiny waist. His silver eyes gleamed wickedly in the darkness, taunting her, pushing against her walls.
"Ah but not a fool. One does not take the Ministry at thirty and young Barty is too popular and too powerful to make the fight worth the cost. Abraxus is content to wait and enjoy the privileges that come with being my heir and nephew. For now."
His nonchalance brought up the old flicker of exasperation.
"I will be sure to offer him your felicitations at your funeral." her eyes rolled, the words clipped and precise. Her companion bowed with exaggerated courtesy, the metallic glint back in his eyes.
"Your solecism on my behalf moves me greatly," he murmured wickedly, "I am almost encouraged to believe that you harbour some lingering feeling for me in that cold heart."
For a long moment Dorea simply looked down at him, her face graven in stone. Then she picked up her golden skirts, swept them to the side and curtsied with a grace as courtly and insulting as his own.
"My apologies Minister, but it falls to me the distasteful duty of declaring you both presumptuous and sadly mistaken. And now, if you please…» she lifted her beautiful head and her pride and dignity in that moment was dazzling to behold.
"I will forfeit… For tonight at least."
He carried her hand to his lips and pressed the smirk that curled them to the silken glove.
"Unworthy, I protest, but so be it." the satirical gleam in his eye became even more pronounced as that smooth cream jaw line hardened and pressed her rosebud mouth into the thinnest of lines.
"Farewell, my fairest of foes."
Et VOILA! ^^ So? What did you think? I think it was quite slow, and not much going on but again it needed to be "done" lol. The next chapter will be far more interesting. Ermmm spoiler? Quidditch Final, meeting Florean Fortesque, another attempt on Moniqua's life and another letter ;)
And as an extra, here's just a sample of a chapter that will either be after the next one, or the one after that, but very soon promise. No hints, it speaks for itself lol^^
"Please Monsieur, seat yourself I beg you." she said.
The flicker of dislike in his eyes was the reward she was hoping for; she smiled with great sweetness, crowing inwardly as the odds tipped once more in her favour. He bowed and, ignoring the items of furniture she had offered, lowered himself gracefully onto the chair directly opposite her own.
There was a silence. Both gazes locked in unspoken challenge. Then he finally opened those pale lips, his voice soft but, like the still waters of the river, danger lurked below that smooth, placid surface.
"I have come, Miss Monroe to make a request of you."
Moniqua said nothing, her dark eyes narrowing slightly, her hands clasped lightly in her lap, she waited for him to continue.
"One I hope you will be….obliging enough to accept."
"I listen Monsieur. Tell me of this request you wish me to realize." she replied calmly, still on guard and distrusting on the inside.
"A simple one I promise you; Relinquish all pretensions to Henry Potter's hand and heart."
There! Lol^^ As I said THAT will be the chapter I've been waiting to post for SOOOO lol and as to who's asking the favour, I leave you to guess. XD
Anyway, again, I hope you enjoyed, and please always R&R, it inspires me to write really it does =)
And hopefully I'll see you all for Christmas! =D =D =D
Lili
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