49 – We'll Always Have Paris
Albus' eyes fluttered open as tiny streaks of light struggled to filter around the edges of the thick curtains. It had been two days since his arrival, and by now the news of what was now being called the "Rastenburg Plot" had spread through both the Muggle and Wizard worlds. Albus had slept, or pretended to sleep, for most of those two days, staying in the bedroom and not venturing into the rest of the house. Petite had brought meals, and when the house was quiet, he would sit by the window staring out across the meadow, watching Elizabett and Catherine play in the grass, the birds glide on the light breeze, or simply, the sun as it shifted through the summer sky. Elizabett had slept beside him each night, spooning him from behind with her small body, exuding comfort with her gentle gestures, but he couldn't respond. He merely absorbed whatever energy she sent his way. Now, as he stared at the pristine, white ceiling, he could hear Catherine's voice from somewhere close by.
"But, Mummy," she whined. "I want to see my Daddy. Why is he sleeping so much? Is he sick?'
"No, Sweetheart," Elizabett gave a hushed reply. "He's just very tired. Whatever he did when he was away exhausted him. He needs to rest."
"Didn't he tell you what happened?" the child asked in a tiny voice.
"No. He hasn't talked much since he's been home," Elizabett sounded concerned.
"It musta been really bad if he doesn't want to talk." Catherine tried to sound mature for her six years, but Albus could hear the disappointment in her voice.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he struggled to stand, and slowly crept across the room. Placing a weak hand on the knob, he turned it, and opened the door to find Elizabett and Catherine standing at the end of the hallway.
Poking his tousled head out through the arch, he forced a small smile. "Where's my girl?" he croaked, leaning against the doorframe for support.
Catherine looked up at the mother for a clue of what to do, and Elizabett smiled down at her with a gentle nod. Slowly making her way up the hall toward her father, she bit her lower lip in uncertainty.
"Did we wake you up?" Her eyes were big, blue saucers.
"No," he sighed as he knelt to face the child. "I missed my girl." Drawing Catherine into a loving embrace, he hugged her, burying his face in the crook of her tiny neck. "I love you, my sweet. Never forget that."
Albus had lunch on the patio with his family and listened with rapt attention as Catherine chattered about her summer at Castlewood Manor – of her days at the pond, of helping Gramma in the sunroom with the plants, of Grampa watching as she practiced on her broom, and of playing with Edvard when "Grandma" Maude or Uncle Thomas brought him to visit. She was like a windup toy, animated and endless, a delight to watch.
"Are you all right, Daddy?" Catherine suddenly stopped, her face in stricken concern. "You're crying."
"Am I?" Albus wiped the back of his hand across his cheek. "Well, so I am." He twitched a small smile at his daughter then reached for her.
She slid from her seat and moved to stand before him. Pulling her onto his lap, he snuggled her close. "I really did miss you."
~~~***~~~
"So, he's back, is he?" Thomas met Elizabett on the back patio as Edvard joined Catherine on the lawn. "Has he told you why he was away?" His voice dripped with distain.
Elizabett's eyes narrowed in anger. "I would appreciate it if you didn't take that tone toward my husband. He's been through a lot."
Thomas "hmphed". "My apologies," he said ungraciously. "I have difficultly with the way he takes advantage of you and Catherine. You should be his first priority, and you never are, never were, and you put up with it. I know, I know, his work is important," he dismissed with a curt wave as he lowered himself into the white, wrought iron patio chair. "I've heard rumours about his various jobs with the Ministry, and yes, I agree, it is important, but so are you." He sharply pointed a finger at Elizabett, leaning forward slightly. "And, that's what bothers me," he sulked as he flopped back. "You didn't answer the question. Has he said anything about what happened?"
Elizabett took a place opposite him. "Bits and pieces but nothing of the actual assignment." She shook her head sadly. "I've never seen him so distraught. It worries me."
Thomas pressed his lips together turning his head to blankly stare across the meadow. Regaining focus, he took a breath and cautiously began. "You heard what happened in Poland? The attempt on Hitler's life that failed?" Thomas warily asked.
Elizabett nodded, then gasped with sudden realization. "No!" She jerked forward in her seat. "You think he was involved with that? Why? What makes you think so?"
"I have a friend in the department of International Wizard Co-Operation. I don't know all the details, but there's a rumour of a special task force that plotted with the German Resistance against Hitler, and I heard Albus' name linked with it."
"But, why?" Elizabett was stunned. "Why would they want Hitler dead? I mean, I know why, but aren't they after Grindelwald?" she sputtered.
"Yes, but they suspect that Grindelwald has men in Hitler's inner circle controlling the man, and therefore controlling the war. Take out one and you have a chance of getting the other. But, you knew about…"
Elizabett jerked her head sharply for Thomas to stop. This was not a place to speak freely, and they were getting careless.
"According to the wireless," he took the hint and continued, "the mission fail, and over two hundred conspirators were killed by the end of it. If he was involved, it's no wonder he's so troubled. That's a lot to deal with." Thomas actually sounded sympathetic toward Albus.
Elizabett glanced over her right shoulder to the window upstairs where her husband was supposed to be taking a nap. "Oh, sweet Merlin," she barely whispered.
~~~***~~~
July peacefully passed into August, and Albus slowly rejoined the living world, but remained unusually quiet and distant even for him. After two weeks secluded at Castlewood Manor, it was obvious that his attention was drifting back to the war, and he began regular trips to the Ministry. The private time that had been spent with Catherine and Elizabett once again became secondary to his work. He had a new project in hand, one that stirred a fiery anger in him that Elizabett couldn't understand, and Albus wouldn't explain.
It was mid-August, after a particularly difficult day, and after Catherine had been put to bed for the evening, when the couple quietly sat in the sitting room with Julius and Marceilla. There was a solitary peace within the group as each read their own literature. Occasionally, Marceilla would quote something to Elizabett from her magazine, and they would chuckle. Or, Julius would mutter something about a news article in the Daily Prophet, but little else was said. Albus sat in an armchair near the window absently flipping pages in the book on his lap. His agitation filled the room, but the others tried to ignore it.
As Elizabett scanned her section of the newspaper, she indistinctly questioned Albus about his activities with the Ministry, not raising her head and referring to an article that she was reading about a new campaign involving France. Albus irritably tossed his book onto the side table drawing surprised attention from her and his in-laws.
"Can't a man read in peace?" His snapped response began a tirade that was so uncommon for him that Elizabett drew back in confusion, stunned into silence. She had never seen him so angry, and his anger seemed to be directed at everyone and everything, but also seemed to stem from an anger deep within himself. Finally, he sharply rose and strode out of the room. Elizabett quickly followed.
"What's with you?" she demanded crossly. "I was simply asking a question. I didn't deserve such a harsh response."
Albus turned on his heel to face her, his face clouded and unreadable. "No, you didn't," he said lowly and unemotionally. "I can't deal with this now." He sounded annoyed with himself.
Pacing to the Floo, he grabbed a handful of powder, and turned to face the hearth. Stepping in, he threw the powder down, commanding, "Nicholas Flamel's" and was instantly gone in a flash of a bright, green flame.
Elizabett stood, dumbfounded, in the doorway of the sitting room not knowing what to do. Her first thought was to follow him, but she immediately pushed that aside. Maybe a trip to Nicholas' would do him good. It had been a while since he had visited his friend. She thought it would be best to just give him space.
In the other room, her parents silently sat, holding their tongues, wanting to protect their daughter, but trying to mind their own business. Both buried their faces in the material they were reading, mindful that things had a way of working out in the end: sometimes in ways that were comfortable and easy, sometimes in ways that were painful and difficult, but it always worked out… somehow.
~~~***~~~
"Merlin, preserve us! This is a surprise. Come in. Come in." Nicholas' ancient hand reached to pull his friend from the flame before Albus crumbled onto the antique Persian carpet. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" The old man released his grip when the younger man steadied.
Albus opened his mouth several times to speak, but nothing came forth. He simply shook his head in utter distress.
"Come. Sit." Nicholas fatherly guided him to an upholstered wing chair near the fire. "I don't think I've ever seen you this distraught. Is Elizabett all right?" he anxiously asked. Albus nodded. "Is it Catherine? Is the child all right?" he questioned again. Albus nodded once more, but was caught in a steadfast gaze from Nicholas. "Gellert," the old man stated resolutely. "You saw him again. Oh, dear." He sank into the depths of the twin wing chair opposte his friend. Holding Albus' gaze for a moment, he searched his mind. "It looks like you could use a drink."
Albus nodded dumbly while Nicholas Accio'd a dusty, old bottle and two stout glasses from the sideboard on the far wall.
"For a time such as this." He held the bottle up, uncorked it, and poured two hefty measures into the glasses. Handing one to Albus, he instructed, "One gulp. It'll burn like a Chinese Fireball's breath, but it'll calm your nerves."
Nicholas raised the glass in the air and brought it to his lip. With a toss of his white head, he downed the contents in one swallow, and signalled for Albus to do the same. The younger man looked into the glass, swirled the contents, and tentatively brought the drink to his lip. Tipping his head back, he poured the liquid down his throat. It burned its way to the pit of his stomach, and he coughed, gagging for relief.
Nicholas chuckled softly. "Give it a moment," he said light-heartedly. "You'll feel it soon."
Albus closed his eyes while a warmth flooded his body, weakening his muscles, and releasing all the tension of the past few months. Slumping into the chair, he opened his eyes and fuzzily looked across at the old man.
"Circe and Merlin, that's strong," he slurred.
Nicholas smiled again. "Now, tell me what happened."
It didn't take much for Albus to begin the story, and as the men talked into the night; the liquor loosened any inhibitions that he may have had about discussing the incident with Gellert. The tale spilled forth in an uncontrollable flood of shame, helplessness, and frustration. Memories of a distant past came back, and he was eager to push it aside. He told of the dream he had during his honeymoon in Paris, and his subsequent visit to the house that he later discovered belonged to Gellert. He washed his hands over his face when he told of his love for his wife but his inability to consummate that love. He thought at first that it was merely his preoccupation and stresses of his activities, but then, remembered what Grandmaman Lestrange had said about changed feelings and denying who we really are. He rambled for a long time, while Nicholas expertly posed questions to gently prod the release from Albus.
Finally, Albus closed his eyes. "Merlin's beard, I'm so tired," he breathed as he slumped back into the soft cushion, his arms limp on the armrests.
"Sleep, then," Nicholas' hypnotic voice entered Albus' subconscious. "You're welcome to stay as long as you wish." But, the invitation wasn't heard as Albus' light snore gave testament to his exhaustion.
Perenelle quietly entered the room. "Shall we get in touch with Elizabett?" she whispered as she covered the younger man with the brightly coloured blanket.
"Not tonight. It's late, and she knows where he is." Nicholas gazed at the sleeping man. "He'll do it when he's ready."
Perenelle sadly tsked. "Poor man." She gave an extra tuck at the covers around Albus' neck. "So confused."
Nicholas stood and slipped his hand around his wife's waist. "Yes, it is sad."
~~~***~~~
Adrenaline was high, and nerves were stretched to their limit. The night hadn't gone as planned, and the battle raged. Allied and Wizard forces had fought valiantly to free Paris from German control throughout the grey, August afternoon, but with the fall on evening, the fading light cast the bleak battle into the shadows: a perfect place for Grindelwald's men to hide. Elizabett had received word from her contact in Paris the previous day and couldn't refuse joining the Resistance in this fight. It was too close to her heart.
Albus had been gone for days. He had sent a short Floo message from Nicholas' telling her that he intended to stay until they were due back at the school the following week. He'd meet her there. They had things to discuss. Elizabett fumed but took the opportunity to focus her attention on something completely different – freeing Paris.
Crouched behind a pile of charred crates, she peeked over the edge at the mayhem on the street. There had been an ambush. Someone had told their plan, and as Muggle soldiers pushed forward, securing the area, the Wizard Resistance had a battle of their own to contend with.
Casting "Petrificus Totalus" on the approaching German officer, she thought she recognized the man. One of the Blacks, she was quite sure, but his name slipped her mind. The man froze on the spot as a Muggle grenade rolled to his feet. The subsequent explosion was deafening, and debris littered the road. Elizabett took the opportunity to skitter to another location, ducking under the Spellfire.
Avada Kadavara bounced off the brick wall above her head as she quickly rose to cast "Expelliarmus", followed in succession by "Stupefy" and another "Petrificus Totalus".
Finding a burnt out car to hide behind, she watched as a group of Resistance fighters appeared to her left to confront four of Grindelwald's Wizards who arrogantly strutted into the open, wands out, and ready to cast. The fight was short lived but spectacular, and from her concealed position, Elizabett had perfect aim. When a tank rolled onto the street, scattering the combatants, it stirred up dust, and between the dust and Apparition, the fighters disappeared. Elizabett was left alone, breathing heavily and scanning the area.
"There's one." She heard a voice shout from somewhere to her right, and as she rose, she was quickly grabbed by her arm and hauled into an alley. Struggling, she and her assailant tripped backward landing face to face with a dead, French soldier. Spellfire came together with bullets as both ricocheted off the brick walls of the bombed out homes. Nowhere was safe.
Elizabett struggled to their feet, ready to fight, when she recognized Thomas as the one who had pulled her out of the line of fire. As a "crack" of Apparition sounded at the entrance of the alley, he leaped in front of her, his back to the foe, shielding her with his body, and casting a Protective Charm as he Disapparated them away. The hiss of Avada Kadavara left a hot trail by their heads as they disappeared into the darkness.
Moments later, they reappeared in a familiar room in the ancient, stone castle of Gavarnie. Thomas quickly unwrapped his arms from Elizabett's slight body, rapidly moving his hands over her, his eyes wild with concern. Elizabett could feel his heart pound even at several inches away.
"Are you all right? Are you hit? Gods, I didn't think Rosier would dare fire at us. But, I don't think he recognized you. Merlin's balls, if Grindelwald finds out you're in the Resistance. He already suspects that I'm protecting you," Thomas frantically babbled.
"I'm all right. I'm all right," Elizabett reassured as she gently and comfortingly placed her hands on either side of his face, holding him still, and gazing into his eyes. "You saved my life." She smiled at her friend.
Thomas took a deep breath of relief as the adrenaline began to subside, and slowly wrapped his arms around her again, drawing her close, not wanting to let go. It had been a close call. Still shaking, Elizabett slipped her arms around his waist in response, and placed her head on his chest, listening to his slowing heart. They stayed like that for a few moments, drawing strength from each other, and calming after the storm. And, as the moments passed, a pale pink aura began to form around the pair, a white shimmer around the aura, comfort and peace seeping into their being from a spiritual source, a source that had appeared since they were children, particularly when they needed each other the most.
As the calm took over, Elizabett's fingers tenderly stroked Thomas' spine, applying light pressure to his lower back, and she could feel him relax under her touch. His head shifted slightly, and his nose caressed the side of her face, pushing the hair away from her ear, his lips leaving a breathy trail that tenderly glided over her skin.
"I thought I'd lost you," he whispered with a constricted throat.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her first thought being that of Catherine. What had she been thinking? What if she had been killed? What would happen to her daughter? Albus was never around. Suddenly clutching onto Thomas, she absorbed the secure sensation thoroughly, melting into his embrace.
As they stood in the comfort of each other's arms, Thomas spanned his hands across her back, pulling her closer. She didn't retreat, and hearts began to race. Gradually, moving his nose from her ear to her cheek, Elizabett turned her head to accept his next move. Their lips met, and a bolt of electricity shot through their bodies spurring them on. Hungrily diving into each other, their hands clasped, gripping frantically onto each other in search of acceptance. Heat rose, and the pink aura darkened to fuchsia. They fumbled, and Elizabett backed into the wall, feeling Thomas' strong body press against hers while his hands clutched her buttocks, lifting her into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, as his lips passionately moved from her mouth across her chin to the nape of her neck. Tipping her head back, she absorbed the glorious feeling. It had been so long since she had been wanted in such a way. Pressing her hard against the wall to keep her from falling, Thomas shifted his left hand between them to unbutton his trousers and apply pressure to warmth between her legs. She groaned with both pleasure and realization, then released her legs and slid back to the floor, breaking the kiss and lowering her hands to his chest, gently pushing him back.
"No, Thomas," she moaned stopping his hands at his waistband. "No," she whispered again, not able to look up.
He stopped, but his head remained down nearly resting on her shoulder. His eyes were squeezed shut, his breath short. He didn't move, frozen with disappointment.
Stepping away from the wall and to his left, Elizabett moved to the middle of the chamber, gently grasping his hand, and turning him with her. Standing face to face, she silently studied his features, remembering a lifetime of experiences shared. Thomas - the boy and man who always stood by her, always supported her. Thomas - the one who was always there, who never let her down. Thomas - her friend no matter what happened, the man who knew her darkest secrets and kept them safe. Reaching the finger of her right hand, she traced the disappointed tear that began to emerge from his still-closed eyes to his strong jaw line. Stepping close, she leaned to plant sweet kisses along the stubble until she reached his ear. Feeling the soft lobe on her lips, she whispered, "Slowly" as she began to unbutton the row of fastenings on his white shirt. His eyes creaked open with surprise, and he cupped her face lovingly, caressing her lips with his own, feeling the heat rise once again, but determined to take his time. She had finally accepted him, after all these years. His heart was ready to burst.
When the fastenings of the shirt were undone, Elizabett leisurely passed her hands across his chest, spreading the fabric to expose the toned muscle and fine layer of black hair. Leaning forward, she placed light kisses across his broad chest, daring to flick her tongue across an aroused nipple. She heard a sharp intake of breath and smiled. Running her hands around his waist, she slipped them under the waistband of his trousers, loosening them from the skin, and easing them over his hips. They dropped to the floor, gathering around his ankles. Pushing the shirt over his shoulders, it fell down his back pinning his arms behind him at the wrists. He was immobilized. Stepping back, her lips twitched up shyly as she slowly pulled her pale blue jumper over her head to reveal a silky, white camisole. Unbuttoning her trousers, she slipped the fabric down and wiggled out of them, toeing off her boots and kicking both the pants and boots aside. Standing before him in nothing but her undergarments, she took a step toward her trapped companion.
Thomas' breath was short, and his skin flushed. It wouldn't be difficult to release his hands, but he enjoyed watching her. He certainly hadn't expected this and was willing to let her take control…for now.
Reaching onto her tiptoes, Elizabett ran her fingers around the back of his neck weaving them into his thick, black hair and pulling him down to her level. Running the tip of her tongue along the underside of his rough chin to his lips, she allowed the silkiness of her top to brush against his hot skin. That was it. With a growl from deep within his chest, he ripped his arms from his shirt and simultaneously toed out of his boots and pants. Scooping Elizabett into his arms, he carried her to the ancient, four-poster bed, gently tossing her onto it. She languidly smiled up at him from the tattered coverings, and as he lay beside her, he reverently caressed her body, fingering the hardened nipples that tented the silky material. Watching him intently, she stroked her hand down his arm and over his hip to draw him to her.
And, thus, it began, their first encounter, the gentle wind that grew into an unbridled storm of passionate emotion. Years of restraint unleashed. It was glorious.
~~~***~~~
Hogwarts was quiet in the week before classes. Elizabett and Catherine arrived on the Monday morning to find Albus already there and waiting for them. As they entered, he met them at the door with a smile, taking their bags, while Catherine ran through the apartment and out the back door to the terrace. Although she loved being at Castlewood Manor, she had missed her home.
Albus placed a chaste kiss on Elizabett's cheek before returning to the kitchen to finish making their lunch. He was still quiet but seemed more relaxed.
"It's a lovely afternoon. Do you want to eat inside or out?" he called from the small counter as he sliced a tomato.
Elizabett's throat constricted. He was acting as if they had just seen each other that morning, as if he hadn't left her in a rage two weeks ago, as if there was nothing wrong in their relationship.
"Outside," she struggled to keep her voice steady. "Catherine has already beat us to the table." She moved her head in such a way to see out the large glass doors.
Albus tipped his head to follow her gaze, and twitched a small smile as he came around the counter with plates in his hands. "She's quite something, isn't she? When did she learn to do that?" he asked as he watched his daughter levitate a heavy watering can to give the thirsty plants a drink.
Elizabett gazed at her husband in surprise, tears burning in the corner of her eyes. "Last summer," she nearly croaked. Clearing her throat to cover the sound, she added, "At my parents'."
"Oh," was Albus' only response. Carrying the plates to the patio table, he lay them down to begin the meal.
After lunch, Catherine went to her room to play, while Albus and Elizabett quietly sat on the terrace. The silence was uncomfortable, neither wanting to speak first, but it was Albus who began.
"I suppose you heard. Paris has been liberated."
Heard? Of course, she'd heard. She was there, not that he would have noticed. "Yes, I heard. The devastation was quite something."
Albus nodded. "Nicholas and Perenelle's old home in the Tenth District was destroyed. Luckily, their other one was saved. They were a bit melancholy over the loss, but were pleased to have Paris back under French control."
"Mmm," was all Elizabet said as she sipped her tea.
"The Bois de Vincennes, near where we spent our honeymoon, was badly damaged. Such a shame. It was a beautiful place." He tried to stir a reaction from his wife, but there was another uncomfortable silence. "Elizabett, dear," he slowly began as she looked in his direction. Taking a deep breath, he plunged forward. "I had no right to snap at you the way I did. You have been patient and understanding, but so much has been going on. Make no mistake; I love you and Catherine deeply. And, I know I get distracted with my work." His brow furrowed in thought. "Will you forgive me?"
Elizabett gazed at him from across the table. Part of her wanted to immediately forgive him while another part wanted to scream, "no!" She was quickly processing the fact that here she sat, across from a respected, honourable man who worked hard to protect the Wizard world but whose neglect had thrown her into the arms and bed of another man. She felt ill.
"Understanding and patience can only go so far," she began her reply. "I love you, Albus, make no mistake of that, but you have a pattern of delving into tasks and projects without considering the repercussions on us." She shook her head. "That sounds so selfish considering the things you've done," she admonished herself. "But, there was a time when you looked forward to spending time with me. We would go out, do things, enjoy each other's company simply for that sake. There was a time when you would spend hours with Catherine, working on her powers, testing and measuring, but today, you didn't even noticed a skill that she'd had for a year." Elizabett wanted to cry. "Oh, Albus. Snapping at me was just evidence of your frustration. I understand the stress. I understand the pressure. I love the time we do spend together, but I can't rely on you to be there when I need you. This is a marriage, not an independent study of strained living conditions."
Albus swallowed hard as he watched his wife. She was right. Grandmaman Lestrange was right. Nicholas was right. But, he couldn't give it up.
"Give me another chance," he pleaded. "The worst is over. Another school year is about to begin." He smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling hopefully. "I don't want to lose you." He reached across the table to place his hand over hers.
Elizabett's head shot up at his touch, and the hope she saw on his face crumbled her defences.
"Of course," she heard herself say.
~~~***~~~
Late that night, as she lay in bed with Albus' back to her, listening to his familiar snore, she stared up at the shadows on the ceiling, her thoughts drifting to another time, another place, another feeling, another man. Forgiveness. It was a two-way street only he didn't know that.
