Old Gemini

Eileen paused at the side of an old wizard. He was mostly bald and wore a wispy mustache. Inspecting his still-life of the scene she had set up in the middle of the room, Eileen felt the need to gesture at his depiction of the Gargoyle statue from the scene. "Try shading this part of the statue a little more, Mr. Cleary," she said. "I think you'll find it really brightens this area to the right."

"Thanks," said the old man, glancing at her as he went to dip his paintbrush in a darker paint on his palette.

She nodded. "Of course."

As Eileen stepped back and began her rounds once more, a bangle-decorated arm rose into the air with a light clanking sound. "Mrs. Belby, would you mind looking at my painting?" asked the wrinkle-faced witch the arm was attached to. She pursed her lips when Eileen's gaze met her own. "I feel as if something's off and I don't know what."

Eileen agreed. "Yes, let me see…" she murmured before hurrying over. Standing next to the expectant witch, she studied her still-life. She had to concur with her student. There was something not right. Thankfully, for the witch, Eileen was able to identify the issue with little trouble. "Ah, I think you need more of a gradient across here," she explained while indicating to the old woman's rendition of the fabric Eileen had draped over half of the gargoyle statue's body for today.

The witch squinted at the fabric. Then, she offered a broad smile to Eileen, apparently satisfied to have her problem solved. "Thank you!" she gushed before returning to her painting with gusto.

Eileen stepped away. "You're welcome," she said to the woman's back. Eileen then glanced to the room's clock and saw they were drawing to the last ten minutes of the night's lesson. However, that was not all she noticed. To the right of her clock was her sister, Esther. On her face was that funny little smile that was only her own. Eileen stole herself. Esther usually didn't show up to night classes like this unless she wanted something.

"Attention!" called Eileen, turning her attention back to her small class. When she had the eyes of the half-dozen old witches and wizards she was teaching tonight, she said, "We are drawing toward the end of our session this evening. I ask you to please finish what it is you're working on and begin the cleaning up process." Eileen offered them a smirk. "I will not be going over the steps as you are familiar faces tonight."

It elicited a couple of chuckles followed by the sounds of some cleaning up while a couple more continued painting for the time being. Satisfied, Eileen finally made eye contact with Esther. Her sister's smile grew into a grin and she canted her head toward the studio's door.

Esther bobbed her head in understanding and moved around the edges of the room to join Eileen by the door. When they were side-by-side, Eileen said to her sister, "Esther."

The other witch winced at her tone. "Sorry," she replied. She laughed nervously. "It seems I turned up a bit earlier than intended."

"I wonder how that happened," Eileen snarked with a roll of her eyes. "It's not as if I've changed my schedule since I came back from my leave after Anthony was born."

Esther puffed up at her words. "So I like watching you teach a bit," she grumbled, cheeks red and not looking at her. "It's soothing."

Eileen raised an eyebrow. "Is it now?"

"Maybe it's the way you move around the room," Esther speculated, eyes far away. She then looked directly at Eileen and smiled. "It reminds me of Sev."

She swallowed. Eileen didn't believe her sister. She was sure it was wishful thinking on Esther's part. Even now, after years of being a businesswoman and owner of three apothecaries, Esther could get caught up in flights of fancy like a schoolgirl. Arguing with Esther during her dreamy moments never ended well, however. So, she turned her attention to her class and said, "Right."

Esther sighed but remained silent as Eileen's students finished painting and cleaning up. She watched as Eileen extended her farewells to the leaving wizards and witches. "Goodbye," said Eileen to Mr. Cleary. To one of her favorite students, Mrs. Parsons, Eileen reached for her hand and shook it. "See you again next week Ms. Parsons?" she asked. At the woman's nod, she let her hand go and said, "Farewell." To her final student, a short wizard named Mr. Wong, she said, "Thank you."

Once Mr. Wong had stepped out, Eileen closed and locked her studio door. Drawing the store windows' curtains closed with a wave of her wand, she returned her full attention back to Esther. Looking her squarely in the eyes, she demanded, "So why are you here?"

"Other than to watch you teach?" asked Esther, trying poorly to deflate her intensity.

She scowled. "Esther."

Esther sighed. "Alright," she relented. "I was wondering if maybe you'd fancy giving a few private lessons?" she asked, quickly following with the assurance, "I know they'd pay you well."

Eileen crossed her arms. She hated private lessons. They were never as profitable as a whole class of students. "I'm not doing poorly," she snapped.

"I know you're not!" replied Esther, voice rising in pitch. She smiled at her, once again trying to lessen her ire. "Marcus has mentioned you're thinking about redoing your bath."

She scoffed. "Thinking? I have someone coming in to redo the tiles in two weeks' time."

Esther looked down at her feet. "Ah, yes…"

"Why can't they sign up for one of my classes?" asked Eileen after a beat. Gentling her tone, she reminded Esther, "I offer several days and a few times."

"Erh," mumbled her sister, still not quite meeting her eye.

"Are they a shy one?" Eileen pressed. That was frequently the reason behind inquiries behind private lessons in her experience. "I will happily make sure they have an easel at the back of the room."

Esther shook her head. "It's not that…"

If not that, then what? Why did they not feel a class setting would work for them? She was losing her patience again. "Spit it out, Esther," she demanded. She looked at the clock. It was getting late. It was nearly bedtime for Anthony. "I want to get home in time to put Anthony to bed."

Esther's face changed. Gone was her tentativeness. It had been replaced with determination. "Do you recall how I started buying toad and frog parts from a new business a year and a half ago?" she asked.

"How could I not?" said Eileen with a huff. "George and Susan were quite vocal in their disapproval. Even if Goyle and Bulstrode — I suppose it's incorrect to call her that these days, she's Goyle's wife — were not marked Death-Eaters themselves, they had a score of family members between them who were." As she spoke, Eileen had watched Esther wince and start to fidget anew. Eileen had a feeling she knew where this was going. She wasn't sure she could agree in good faith. "You know how they feel about true Death-Eaters," she reminded Esther.

Esther's brown eyes flashed. "I will say it as many times as I must!" she cried. "They are putting in demonstrable effort to be better than they were raised! On their staff of eight, they have two half-bloods and a squib."

It was true. Eileen knew it, everyone knew it. The Goyles had faced some backlash from people they once called friends after they hired their first half-blood. As for the squib? Well, Eileen barely saw it as noteworthy. "A squib who is Bulstrode's cousin, mind you."

"Who was all but disowned by the Bulstrode family until Millicent reached out to offer them a job and share in her and Gregory's new business," shot back Esther, face pink and lips pulled in a hard frown that made Eileen want to look away. She looked too much like Sev at times and it hurt. Eileen didn't give in to the urge, however. It would be taken as her relenting.

"Are they planning to hire a Muggle-born or two soon?" she jabbed at her sister, knowing all too well that the Goyles would not have one on their staff for a long time to come.

"You know they would if any wanted to work for them," hissed Esther, eyes narrowed.

She sneered. "Do I? Or is that just what they say?"

"Eileen!" cried out Esther, frustrated, and unable to argue against her any longer. She had never been half as good at these types of battles as the rest of them.

She finally relented a little. "Esther, why are you mentioning them?"

Esther stared at her a moment, waiting to see if her olive branch was true. "Their little girl, Elspeth, shows a lot of exuberance for art, painting in particular," explained Esther quietly.

"I have childrens' classes," Eileen pointed out as if her sister didn't know already. Perhaps there was a reason Esther hadn't suggested them to the Goyles. She only taught children six and older. "How old is she?" she asked.

"Six," answered Esther, squashing Eileen's theory. "But that doesn't matter," she said.

"Oh?"

Esther nodded. "Millicent is worried about letting her go to a class. She's afraid she'll be bullied." Her sister's sharp shoulders sloped downward. "I guess it happened to them both when Elspeth was a baby and she tried to take her to a Mummy and Baby class."

Eileen frowned. "I wouldn't let anyone mistreat the girl," she reminded Esther. Then, because she knew it was a good argument, she reminded Esther, "I have never let anyone say anything to the Flint girls I teach."

She felt a small frown tug at her lips. Perhaps she should have. It might have taken the eldest down a peg in time for Hogwarts. "I have it on good authority, the oldest, who's now at Hogwarts, is a right little bully to children outside of Slytherin," she said, remembering something Severus had said during her tea with him and Edie. She sighed and put a hand to her cheek. "I can't say I'm surprised. She tripped more than one smaller child on 'accident' during my classes. It wasn't until after the third time it happened and I threatened to position her and her easel well away from the rest of the students to stop the accidents she knocked that behavior off."

Esther cringed. "I know you wouldn't let anything bad happen to her," she said. "It's what Millicent fears." Eyes big and pleading, Esther asked, "I thought maybe you could give her a private lesson or two and build up Millicent's trust? Maybe if she saw you work with Elspeth and could talk to you a bit she'd see your classes are safe for her daughter, and, maybe, later, for her son to attend."

"A couple of lessons?" echoed Eileen. As much as she hated private lessons, she would give them if it would mean she could gain not one, but two long-term students in the future. "Fine," she agreed.

Esther gaped at her at first, clearly in disbelief. Then she was overjoyed and lept at her. "Oh Eileen!" she yelled into her ear as she hugged her tight. "Thank you!" Eileen winced at her sister's volume but hugged her back all the same. "I swear you'll like Elspeth," promised Esther. "She's a very determined little girl."

Eileen finally got her sister to let her go. She met Esther's gaze and said, "Let Millicent know I will be charging her the amount I would for a private consultation."

"That's fair," replied her sister. She smiled once more. "I will, thank you."

Eileen looked at the clock. She had ten minutes until it would be time to tuck Anthony into his bed. "What are you doing to do now?" she asked her sister.

Esther blinked. "Huh?" she said. She laughed and answered, "Oh, go over the ledgers I suppose."

"Come home with me," insisted Eileen, taking her sister's hand and squeezing it. She cracked a smile at the younger. "You can say goodnight to the children and share a drink with Marcus and me." She chuckled. "The ledgers can wait that long, can't they?" she teased.

Esther returned her smile with a bright, happy grin. "Yes, they can," she agreed.

"Let's go," urged Eileen, leading them to her office where the fireplace connected to the floo network was. In no time they'd be in her family's living room, hugging the children and preparing them for bed together before sharing a drink and gossip over a drink with Marcus.

-o-O-o-

When Eileen stepped out of the fireplace and into Edie's quarters, she blinked. Her young cousin was spread out on the room's settee, a school book sprawled across his stomach. While it was far from unusual during the school year to find him in Edie's quarters, he was frequently not around when she visited.

Eileen wasn't sure if Edie shooed him away then or if he avoided her. She knew she was not the boy's favorite aunt. Even so, she smiled at the boy. "Hello, Severus," she said.

He sat up and hurried to put his book on the coffee table in front of him. "Hi Eileen," he returned, eyes darting to the kitchen.

It was obvious to her now where her mother was. After she put away her robe on the coat tree, she joined Severus in the lounge. She took a seat on the sofa opposite the young teenager. In an attempt to make conversation, she asked, "Edie is in, isn't she?"

He nodded. "Yeah, she's in the kitchen."

When he said no more, Eileen leaned back against the sofa and tried a different question. "Are you visiting this afternoon too?"

"Uh-huh," he answered. His expression grew exaggeratedly aggrieved. "Teddy's sick in bed with a head cold and Ro's got a study thing with Pucey and Wilson."

It was in moments like these Eileen saw Darla the most in Severus. She liked dramatics too. "Ah," she said. She tried to think of more to talk about with him. His classes, perhaps? Except that always seemed to be the last thing Severus wanted to talk about.

"…How's business?" Severus asked after she failed to come up with something to say.

She smiled. "It's going well."

Before Eileen needed to think of more to say or a question for the teenager, Edie appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. "Eileen!" she exclaimed at the sight of her. "I didn't hear yeh come through," she said as she bustled over to the lounge and levitated the tray she had with her onto the coffee table. "I'll need ter get another cup."

She hopped to her feet. "It's fine, Edie," she assured her mother. She reached over and squeezed the middle-aged woman's hand. "I can grab it," she said. Smirking, she teased, "It's not as if you've moved their location since I lived here."

Edie returned her smile. "Yer right, o' course."

Hurriedly, she went to the kitchen and got herself a cup. When she came back to the lounge, Severus was already pouring milk into his tea as Edie stirred sugar into her own. She presented the white, bone china mug to her mother. "I have it."

"Wonderful," said Edie once Eileen had sat down next to her and offered the cup to be filled. Once her mug had tea in it and she'd been given a moment to add sugar and milk, her mother asked, "How are the children?"

Eileen took a small sip of her tea. "Just fine," she answered after she finished. She laughed to herself. "Marcus found a book of Greek mythology at his grandparents' this week. He's had his nose in it since." When Edie returned her mirth with a smile, she added, "I think I'll try to find him a book on Greek mythological heroes soon. Something with the likes of Hercules and Jason's tales in it."

Edie nodded and leaned back against the sofa. After she'd taken a drink from her cup and a bite of the sandwich from the plate on her lap. "Yer welcome ter go through Hogwarts library," she offered. "I think tha's where most o' yer father's books on the myths ended up."

Across from them, Severus perked up. Quickly, he finished chewing the mouthful of the sandwich he was eating. Once done, he called, "Uncle Sev liked Greek myths?"

"That he did," replied Edie. She smirked at the boy. "Calliope was named after a figure in one of them."

Severus's expression grew speculative. "That's why her name's so different? Uncle Sev named her?"

Eileen frowned. Severus had not named just Calliope. Eileen was proof of that. "He named us all," she corrected, her tone a little harder than it needed to be.

The young teenager frowned, but not for long. Edie broke in to say, "Tha's true." She laughed. "It just wasn't till Calliope he exercised tha' right o' his ter the fullest."

"What do you mean by that Aunt Edie?" questioned Severus before taking another bite of his sandwich.

Edie's eyes took a nostalgic tinge as she told them, "Sev'rus had interestin' ideas about namin' children. He wanted 'em named after figures they could look up ter."

Severus, who'd finished his latest bite of sandwich, remarked, "Mum said you and her named cousin Lottie."

"…With his blessin'," replied Edie after a beat. Gesturing, she explained, "If yer mother had wanted ter name her somethin' a lil'less meaningful, like, oh, Bessie after her old doll he wouldn't have wavered from Amata."

Eileen paused. She hadn't known that her sister almost had a different name. She wondered, had Lottie? "Her middle name was almost Amata?" she questioned, not able to hide all of her surprise.

Edie blinked at her, her own face miffed. "Did we never tell yeh?"

She shook her head. "No."

"It was," said her mother. "'Cept he changed his mind after Darla's bravery." Eileen didn't need that story told. She'd heard it before and a glance at Severus gave Eileen the impression he knew it also. "I went along," admitted Edie. After a drink from her tea, she assured Eileen and Severus, "I do like Minerva, an', in the end, I think it was fittin' fer yer sister."

Eileen smiled. "Yes, I would agree."

Edie's face gained a rueful air. "Yer father was always like tha', spoilin' Darla."

She shifted uncomfortably. She wasn't sure Severus needed to hear this part. She was always confident their father had loved them equal to Darla, but Eileen wasn't sure her mother was entirely convinced of the same.

It could be argued Darla had been indulged more, given greater freedom than she or Esther. Yet it was also important to remember she'd grown up mostly between two wars. Saying yes in times like those came easier, trusting strangers to make sure nothing untoward happened to your child as they ran the gamut of Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley was no challenge.

Her mother probably didn't realize, but Calliope had quite a similar childhood to Darla. Edie had let her spend half of her summer in Australia with Darla and Severus. Getting up to Merlin knew what there and at least a quarter of it in England between the homes of various mates and young sweethearts.

Eileen was convinced it was that freedom and trust which led the two to be such amiable witches.

"Who'd he name Esther after?" asked Severus, drawing both Eileen and Edie back to the present.

"Hm?" mumbled Edie, blinking at the teenager, whose expression was just a touch impatient

"Esther," he repeated. "Did he pick her name? Who's she named for?"

Her mother nodded and answered him. "Yes and she's named for Lily Potter."

She furrowed her brows in confusion. That couldn't be, could it?

"What?" said Severus, clearly baffled.

She concurred with her cousin by arguing, "Her name is Esther Jonquil." She snorted, a ridiculous idea blossoming in her mind. "I can't imagine Lily's parents named her Lily Jonquil."

"No, it was in a more roundabout way," explained Edie, not quite smiling at the two of them, but without a doubt laughing behind her gray, gold-flecked gaze. "Jonquil's a flower," she said. "He couldn't outright call her Esther Lily." The gold flecks disappeared from the gray expanses of her eyes. "Tha'd have been too suspicious back then. We came ter Jonquil after some discussion." She smiled fully at her and Severus. "We read in a book one o' the flower's meanin' was friendship."

Eileen took a drink from her cup, emptying it of all but the residual sugar. "I'll have to mention that to her sometime," she remarked.

Severus looked at her with curious eyes. "How come none of you learned this stuff when you were littlies?"

She frowned, though, not at him. It was a question she did not have a good answer for. "I suppose it never dawned on us there could be such deep reasons behind our names."

"We should o' mentioned it," broke in her mother, eyes regretful. "Especially once yeh were all a bit older."

"It's fine, Edie," assured Eileen with a smile. "I'm happy to have learned now rather than never." She laughed. "Esther and Calliope will feel the same."

Edie's shoulders lost the tension in them. "I know," she admitted. "Yeh girls are always better than us in tha' way."

Severus, still young, still in the midst of uncovering so much family painful history, asked like his mother at her brashest, "What does that mean?"

"Nevermind, Severus," she chided. Reaching over, she tapped the side of his mug. "Drink your tea before it's cold."

The boy's expression became one of displeasure, but he put the cup to his lips all the same.

-o-O-o-

Eileen reached for the door-knocker, which was appropriately shaped like a hand. She grasped the palm and banged the hand against the heavy wood of the door twice. Then, she stepped back and stared at the Goyle home. It was an old Tudor-age manor with high-pitched gable roofs and bright white stucco walls that contrasted heavily with the dark wood of the home's framework that showed through the stucco.

She rarely felt jealous of others, especially those like the Goyles, but Eileen did sometimes wish she had a family home like this. A place that had housed generations of her ancestors and showed it in the little details throughout it. Someplace where everyone could and knew to gather for celebrations, defeats, and history.

Eileen's thoughts drifted to the Belby home. It had only housed two generations before Marcus and they currently lived in a place of their own. Yet her children spent so much time there, with their grandparents, perhaps, someday, in the future one of them would live there, raising their family in the way Marcus had been. Someday, with blood and hope, it would be an integral part of the Belby identity the way this house was for the Goyles.

The front door opened as she continued to admire the minute details of the house. She looked into the open doorway and saw an all too recognizable witch. It was Millicent Goyle herself. The witch was still a paunchy woman with a mannish jaw. Unlike during their school days when she wore her black hair long, it now fell just past her chin. Eileen thought it suited her better.

"Mrs. Goyle," she said, offering her hand to the older witch to shake.

Her dark eyes flickered to her hand before she reluctantly enveloped Eileen's. "Belby," she replied as she gave Eileen's hand a strong squeeze. Goyle then stepped back, allowing Eileen to enter her home. Once inside, she inspected the interior with curious eyes. The front room was made of heavy dark paneling and flooring. The only spot of brightness was the large mustard-hue Persian rug that filled most of the floor.

Once Goyle had closed her door, Eileen turned to her and said, "I hear you have a very eager artist on your hands."

Goyle's brows furrowed. "I wouldn't call her that…"

Eileen gave the other witch a look. "If she creates, she is an artist," she declared. Children liked it when their efforts were taken seriously and she always did her best to reinforce to them and their parents that their art was made from hard work.

The other witch huffed and looked as if she was barely holding back the urge to roll her eyes. She gestured for Eileen to follow her. "She's in the kitchen now," Goyle said over her shoulder.

Eileen trailed after Goyle into a small corridor where the exterior facing wall was almost all windows and the floor beneath their feet was stone. She wondered if it had always been here as it was or if it was a newer addition. Finally, they stepped into the kitchen. It was actually smaller than Eileen would have expected. She did not focus on the room long, however, as her eyes landed on a little girl eating from a plate of apples at the room's island.

Goyle stepped aside and nodded at Eileen. She moved closer and waved at the girl. A piece of apple sticking out of her mouth, she turned deep-set brown eyes on Eileen. Hurriedly, the girl finished the apple as Eileen said, "Hello." She put out her hand for the child. "Are you Elspeth Goyle?" she asked as if it were not obvious.

She smiled at Eileen and put her pudgy, stick fingers in her palm to be shaken. "Uh-huh," she answered.

Yes, she was without a doubt Gregory Goyle's daughter.

"Elspeth," snapped Goyle from off to the side.

The girl's shoulders hunched around her ears. "Sorry," she said to her mother. To Eileen, she said, "Yes, I'm Elspeth Goyle. It's nice to meet you."

Eileen's lips twitched with a smirk. "The pleasure is mine."

Elspeth looked at Goyle once more. "My mother says you're going to teach me painting," she said, eager.

She chuckled. "A little bit," she replied. Leaning in close, she stage-whispered into the girl's ear, "A lot of it is just practice."

She blinked. "Oh."

Eileen glanced around. "Where do you paint?"

She hopped down from the chair and led her toward a new doorway that likely led further into the house's interior. "This way!" she said. Before they could leave the kitchen, however, she spun around and put a finger to her lips. "But we have to walk carefully," she advised. "Grant is asleep in the lounge."

"Grant?" echoed Eileen. She tried to recall. Had Esther mentioned another Goyle child before?

Elspeth nodded. "My baby brother."

"I see," Eileen replied, her unvoiced question answered. "I can step lightly," she promised. Elspeth reached for her hand, which Eileen let her have. It surprised her. She looked over her shoulder at Goyle, who followed behind them by a few steps. She'd raised quite a trusting child, hadn't she? "I've had three babies of my own," Eileen told the little girl once she returned her attention back to her.

The girl gasped at her words. "Really? You don't look that old."

"Elspeth!" Goyle scolded, making her daughter freeze briefly before Elspeth's face grew guilty.

Eileen gave the plump fingers in her hand a squeeze. "Two are older than you are," she remarked neutrally to the girl. Then she told her, "I was a year behind your mum in school."

Elspeth gaped. "Wow!" Voice rising in pitch, she asked, "Were you in Slytherin like my mother and father?"

She shook her head. "I was in Ravenclaw."

"Oh," said the girl, expression becoming weary.

"My husband was a Slytherin," added Eileen. So had Calliope, and Darla, not to mention Sev and Severus. Mentioning them all by name would confuse the girl far too much, Eileen knew. Instead, she said, "So were and are many in my family."

"Really?" said Elspeth, narrowing pursing her lips at her like she couldn't quite believe a family could be so varied in their houses.

She nodded. "Yes."

Elspeth let go of her hand to go and hurried ahead of her to open a door on their right. As she pushed it open, she looked over at Eileen and asked, "Can we paint a snake today?"

Eileen hadn't planned on that. However, what was the harm? "You know, why not?" she said with a shrug. Eileen turned to look over at Elspeth's mother. She was farther behind them than she had been when she last looked. She was also peering into a room with a concentrated look on her face. "Goyle, will you be coming with us?" she called.

Goyle waved at them. "I'll be along," she replied. "I need to check on Grant first."

Eileen dipped her chin in understanding. "Of course," she answered before ushering herself and Elspeth into what appeared to be a child's playroom if the toys all around it were any indicator.

-O-

An hour later, Eileen and Goyle stood side-by-side admiring Elspeth's painting. It was a bit messy and the snake was not terribly proportional, some parts of it being thicker or thinner than others, but Elspeth had clearly tried very hard to do the creature justice. Eileen glanced over at the girl. She was on the floor with her baby brother (who appeared to be just about the age of her nephew Phil). She was building towers out of blocks for him to knock down.

All in all, the girl was thoroughly in a world that belonged only to her and her brother. Eileen turned to Goyle and said, "She is an enthusiastic student."

"Elspeth likes making messes," replied the witch, crossing her arms and sending a despairing look to the sheet beneath the girl's easel. There was a puddle of yellow paint from a cup she'd knocked over as they were making Elspeth's painting.

She felt the need to defend the girl. Maybe she was a little clumsy, but she had shown an attentiveness to learn that many her age lacked. "I'd say it's a bit more than that," replied Eileen. "My three don't show near this much gusto when they paint."

Goyle looked at her out of the corners of her eyes. "So you're raising them to take over your studio?" she questioned, clearly fishing to learn more about how Eileen's life had turned out since the war.

Eileen shook her head. "Merlin no," she replied. Then, because she saw the opportunity to bond with Goyle as one mother to another, she told the older witch a bit about her children. "Carrie isn't a patient girl and I don't see her improving enough to teach classes or deal with difficult clients." She sighed, thinking of her oldest son. He had more patience than his sister, but it really didn't mean much. "My Marcus is rather shy. He'd not like teaching either and it's a necessary part of keeping the studio afloat."

"What about your third child?" asked Goyle after a pause.

She laughed. "He's a toddler," she admitted. "We'll see," Eileen added, thinking of how Anthony would sometimes wander into her workshop at the house as she was painting or drawing and just stand there a while as she worked. "He at least enjoys watching me draw and paint."

Goyle's eyes drifted to her children and she set her jaw. "Greg's been set on training Grant to take over since we had him."

Eileen couldn't say she was surprised by that. "I hope your son likes raising toads and frogs."

"He's scared of them now," admitted the older witch, "but he isn't quite a year and a half and a good slam of a door will make him cry still."

Ah, so she'd been mostly right. Goyle's son was close in age to Phil (if a little younger instead of older as she'd initially thought). "My sister's boy's about that age. Perhaps they'll go to Hogwarts together."

The woman turned her head and gave her a hard, incredulous stare. "They won't be mates."

Eileen rolled her eyes. "I would say it's far too early to make declarations like that."

Goyle barked a laugh that was not kind. "Do you really think your brother-in-law won't warn him off befriend children of families with Death-Eaters?" she demanded, expression derisive.

She returned the look with a frown. Her brother-in-law would do no such thing. He certainly had no love for the Goyles, or other true Death-Eaters like the Malfoys or Pyrites, but their children?

"George is already teaching his daughter that blood and names should not decide her friends, but their actions. He will no doubt teach Phil the same," she said in a cool, precise tone. "Esther has grown into quite a shrewd woman these last ten years. She insists you and your husband are changed people trying to do better in our society. I want to believe her and as long as your children demonstrate your changed values, I am sure they'll get along just fine with George's pair."

Goyle's mouth was hanging open, begging for a gnat to fly in. Eileen ignored her expression in favor of returning her attention to the children. Elspeth was looking over at them. She smiled and gave her a little wave to let her know all was well.

"By the way, I don't know if Esther said, but I will do only one more of these private sessions," she told Goyle through her smiling teeth. "If you want Elspeth to learn painting, she'll have to take my youth classes."

Goyle shook her head. "I can pay double if I need to for her to keep getting these lessons," she told Eileen, coming off just a little desperate to her.

She sighed and met the older witch's gaze. "I'm not going to let her be mistreated in my classes, Goyle."

"It's not the children I worry about," admitted Goyle after a moment of hesitation.

Eileen sniffed at her unease. "If any parent has complaints, they can stop bringing their children to my classes," she proclaimed. "I will not deny your daughter an enriching experience just because you and your husband made some wrong choices when we were all teenagers."

Goyle's face cycled through a few different emotions before settling on something just a little teary, but sincere. "Thank you," she whispered.

Eileen gave her a small smile. "You're welcome, Goyle."

-o-O-o-

Eileen put her head in her hands and stared down at one of the half-dozen sketches she had made of her sister. Not one had Lottie's face. Whenever it came time to give features to her all too familiar oval-shaped countenance, she could not bring herself to.

She wasn't sure what she was going to do. Was this a true obstacle in front of her? Or was it just late and she was too tired for the emotional drain that would come with bringing her sister back to life. A glance at the few candles she kept near her drawing desk said it had to be nearing midnight if not past it. Eileen didn't want this to be a wall. For now, she would chalk it up to the hour.

She began to shuffle the sketches into a stack and reached for the portfolio she would be keeping these special sketches in. As she wrapped her fingers around the leather portfolio she would be using, a little voice called to her.

"Mummy?" said Anthony.

Eileen was on her feet and away from her desk in an instant. Behind her, a few feet into her workshop was her youngest in the locomotive jimjams she'd dressed him in for bed hours ago. The shirt was rucked up on his belly and one leg. Tufts of his hair, dark hair he had inherited from her and shared with the twins, stood up on the top of his head.

She reached down and with a fond hand smoothed it back into place. It was still baby-fine. Too soon that would change. She would miss it, but not enough to have a fourth— If it were even possible.

Having Anthony had been a trail after the twins.

"What are you doing out of your bed, hm?" she asked as he leaned into her hand and moved to wrap himself around her leg. "Need a drink?"

He shook his head against her hip. "Dunno," he mumbled into her skirt. "Woke up an' now I'm awake."

"Ah," she replied.

He pulled his face away from her hip and peered up at her with his father's soft, cornflower blues. "What you doin' Mummy?"

Eileen picked up her son and brought him to her desk. "Sketching for a painting," she explained.

He stared at her stack of faceless sketches with curiosity. "Who's she?" he asked, aptly guessing from the portrait's hairstyle and the shape of their face what he was looking at.

She kissed his cheek in praise, not that Anthony seemed to realize. He wiped away the kiss and gave her a displeased look. Eileen only rolled her eyes before jogging him higher onto her hip.

"My sister," she answered.

"Aunt Calliope?" he pressed. "Her hair is wrong."

"Mh," Eileen replied as she gathered herself to talk about Lottie.

Anthony was still so little. Eileen didn't talk much about her twin even on good days. He probably didn't remember their annual visit to Lottie's grave last spring. She'd not yet explained how she died to him either. It probably wouldn't come up for another year or two. It was when the twins were seven and started playing with Terrell that she had to explain why they did not go to Quidditch games like his family was because of what happened to Lottie.

"No, it's your Aunt Lottie," she said. "She's passed away."

Anthony looked at her, having perked up at the use of the familiar word. "Like Grandpa?"

Eileen nodded. "Yes."

The corners of his mouth pulled into a slight frown. "Oh."

"Lottie passed a long time ago, even before your grandpa," Eileen explained. Reaching for Lottie's (now her) locket where she left it propped on the drawing desk, she brought it up to her and Anthony's eye level. Opening it, she covered all but her sister's smiling face.

As he gazed at Lottie, she pressed a kiss to the side of his head and murmured, "She would have loved you all so much."

"Really?" asked Anthony, brows furrowing.

Eileen nodded. "She was very good at that, loving people."

Anthony squirmed and she put him down on her stool. He turned himself around to look up at her. "How come you're drawin' her?"

"I want to paint her portrait," answered Eileen, hoping the simple answer would appease her son.

Already showing he was too much like her, Anthony was not nullified. He squinted at her in a clumsy rendition of an expression she knew was her own. "Why?" he pushed.

Eileen sighed. Picking up the stack of sketches she moved them into the portfolio finally. As she put them away, she said, "To help remember her better. The way her eyes wrinkled when she smiled, the way her hair was always slightly windswept from running and playing…"

"Oh."

"I think we've spent enough time in here tonight," she proclaimed as she put out her candles. Walking toward the door, she asked Anthony, "Would you like me to read you a story before you go back to bed?"

He nodded. "I wanna story about Aunt Lottie."

"…I'm not sure, Anthony," she mumbled after she had tucked away her locket in the pocket of her skirt. She sighed. "They all are quite long," she fibbed.

Anthony pouted. "Please Mummy!"

"Very well," she replied, relenting to his sweet face. It would be hard, but not terribly so. She'd pick an easy story. One that Lottie was only one player in. Reaching her son's bedroom she took him to his unmade bed and placed him in it. As she readjusted his blankets around his chin, she smiled. I'll tell you about our first time helping Grandpa Sev to brew," she told Anthony.

He beamed.

Thoughts on the chapter? Developments with the Goyle family?

Thank you very much for reading!