Camellia sighed as she looked around her temporary home.
It was the same house she'd purchased years ago, the first time in New York, and had only used sporadically since. It's warded against thieves and fire, and that's it – because it's all it was ever meant to be.
A temporary acquisition, a reprieve, a place to hide away in while she sorted out her future and her plans. She'd even stayed in a hotel room this time around in New York, intending to buy a house which could become her actual home in this vast city – and yet she'd somehow ended up here after the FBI was done turning her room upside down.
And now Neal's friend, Timothy Winters – Mozzie, apparently – had invaded and stolen some of whatever she had in here. To be honest, Camellia hadn't even checked – she'd been hurt, caught on the backfoot, apparating here out of some age-old war instinct which had yet to leave her, rather than true suspicion and the discovery had hurt all the more for it.
The date was a decoy, was all she could think of – a distraction, while they stole from her. So she'd lashed out, closed down and sent them away.
But barely a few scant hours later and she was already second-guessing that decision. Because she remembered seeing Neal's soul – and Mozzie's – and they had been built upon such fierce loyalty, Camellia had wanted, so desperately, for it to be turned her way, and couldn't quite fathom why they would do such a thing.
This momentary questioning of her own decision to stay away made only hours ago somehow culminated in a research binge worthy of Hermione looking into art pieces, replication, theft and all things Neal Caffrey. The amount of sheer intellect and skill this man had in his pinky was frankly intimidating – not that he hadn't been, when he'd been on his full charm offensive years ago with Sara, but at least then Camellia had still been under the impression she might be able to wow them with magic should she ever choose to divulge it. This man was perfectly capable of replicating masterpieces without relying on even a hint of magic.
Plus, he could probably make people hand over every last cent to their name with just a smile and witty line – not that he did that, from what she'd found, but given her own familiarity with fame and being rich, and the people who were only interested in you for one or the other, Camellia had a tendency to be naturally suspicious of every person she was in touch with. But Neal Caffrey just slipped past every wall and caution in her mind, like they'd never even been there and this afternoon she hadn't even suspected he was involved, just followed instinct that someone was breaking into her home – Neal had never even occurred to her as a suspect until she saw the would-be – and now, thanks to her own irreverence, successful – robber.
But it also brought Camellia up short – because from what she had read, Neal Caffrey was not one for petty theft. His thefts were down to elaborate and detailed plans – the thefts themselves usually related to artistic talents in one way or another; neither of which were things the theft in her home had provided. That meant the invasion of her home was down to different reasons – and, honestly, her decision was made before she went to bed that night, but she still allowed herself a night's sleep in case Camellia would somehow think better of the proposition in the light of a new day.
She didn't.
Neal and Mozzie would receive one chance to explain their conduct before she cut them out of her life prematurely. Unfortunately this led to a small internal debacle; Aunt Petunia had always griped about people just turning up on the Dursley's doorstep without invitation. Naturally, like almost all lessons learned from her 'beloved' family, it was one Camellia had immediately forgotten upon entering the magical world – but it was not one she was allowed to forget, apparently, as Draco had taken pains to remind her, spending hours, with the help of his mother, not that it was needed, to lecture Camellia on the topic of showing up on the doorstep of the Malfoy mansion without so much as a 'how do you do'. In the magical world, where apparition allowed people to instantaneously disappear from one part of the country and reappear in another, turning up at one's doorstep without invitation was, other than in dire circumstances, gross misconduct and only reserved for family. At least a day's warning was the minimum; naturally, as a war hero, Camellia could get away with less notice than that, but it was still rude.
Not that the Malfoy's enjoyed much common curtesy in the years post-war, considering the Aurors frequently did unannounced raids on their properties, but it was the thought that counted.
So, twelve hours' notice wasn't much by their standards, but it was more than she needed to give. And for one moment, Camellia had even contemplated just turning up, chatting with June, until Neal turned up – no time for him to fabricate a story. But, to be honest, she doubted he would be any less skilled or clever thinking on his feet than he would be with time to prepare, and June hadn't really done anything wrong. Plus, so long as there was a potential friendship she could still salvage with these people, it was worth the extra effort.
Only she didn't have their phone number. The FBI offices were easy enough, and Camellia knew where both Neal and the Burke's lived, but how do you notify someone in the age of technology when your own relationship with said technology still tended towards keeping your hands away from it?
In the end, she sent a letter via direct courier to Neal at the office, her seal embossed on the back before she could even think about it after years of written correspondence in the Wizarding World, along with a simpler notification to June with her apologies for the short notice and a selection of Belgian chocolates as recompense.
The rest of her day was spent as originally planned, hours trudging from one realtor to another, looking at properties, narrowing down her own criteria, investigating neighbourhoods and eying up homes she knew would fall in Neal's radius even though she didn't allow even herself to think of the reasons for why that was.
Nightfall came quickly and with the lack of rescheduling or rejection, Camellia was forced to consider her clothes with a slight grimace. While she loved jeans and trousers, years in the Wizarding World meant she automatically reached for dresses when she needed the extra confidence, rather than trousers. Trousers always came with the implication of Dudley's too-large hand-me-downs, worn and shabby, never fitting in and always standing out. And despite Draco's and Narcissa's protest, Camellia was firmly in Hermione's camp that robes were essentially dresses with buttons – too many people, Ron included, often even went without anything but underwear underneath it.
Slytherin green would have been Draco's suggestion, no doubt, trying to remind her to overthink every word and gesture made, looking for hidden meanings and intents – but Camellia rather doubted her own ability to keep up with Neal Caffrey in a metier he was uniquely skilled in. And, after years in their house, she did end up preferring bluntness over secretiveness; one of her red dresses was an easy choice after that. Velvet and comfortable, rather than sparkling or enticing.
She also ended up selecting the brooch Sirius had commissioned for her, finished months after his death – a golden deer in a field of lilies and fastened it just above the swell of her breasts. A reminder to herself so she didn't allow herself to get sucked in too deeply.
Apparition took care of the travel time and an instant later, she was at June's door, waiting for the last few seconds to lapse before knocking on the door the moment it hit seven o'clock.
"Oh, Camellia," June exclaimed, a wide smile on her face as she pulled her in for a gentle hug. "It's such a pleasure to see you again. We really should meet up more often – you don't need to wait for Neal to come over, you know. And thank you for the chocolates, they were delightful. Tell me, where did you get them? I have tried quite a number of chocolatiers here but none of them have gotten it quite right – not like this one."
Camellia laughed – she'd been right. These people were all ridiculously good-looking and charming, right from the start.
"Good evening, June. Thanks for letting me into your home at such short notice. I'm glad you liked the chocolates. I'd be happy to share where I got them from."
"Do come by for a catch-up, dear, but I'll let you go and have dinner with Neal for now. And make sure he grovels for a bit before accepting his apology," June told her, leaving her standing by Neal's apartment with a wink and a smile. Camellia chuckled again, shaking her head at herself as she watched June leave, amused in spite of herself at the realisation that even the lovely landlady could tell at a glance that while she was a formidable opponent on the battlefield, Camellia really had no hopes of coming out on top in the upcoming battle of wits and charm.
"Camellia, thank you for coming. Please, come in," Neal told her the moment he opened the door, a soft smile on his lips as he held the door for her.
He was dressed in a shirt, but the usual jacket and tie were absent and his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms.
Camellia had never in her life had a thing – of any kind – for a man's forearms, but seeing Neal's, as he held the door and waved her in, the play of his muscles underneath the skin, she found herself fascinated. The blush, which had coloured her cheeks lightly at what Neal referred to as common curtesy and something she'd only ever experienced around her ex-nemesis, Draco Malfoy, when he was feeling particularly playful, deepened at the sight.
"I'd ask to take your coat, but it doesn't look like you have one." Mozzie offered and Camellia blinked in surprise, realising that she'd completely ignored the second man in the room, not even having noticed him. She offered a wry smile – apparating was ideal for instant transportation, but less so for blending in with the Muggle world.
"No, sorry, no coat."
Camellia offered no further explanation – they had likely figured out something was awry considering she left Neal and reappeared at home within seconds, but, to be fair, she hadn't expected the burglary to be linked to the man left behind in the café.
"Thanks for giving us the opportunity to explain," Neal jumped in before an awkward silence could settle between them. "Please, feel free to have a look around. I'll plate up dinner and, if you'd like, we could sit on the terrace," he nodded towards the open balcony. "It promises to be a beautiful night. But if it's too cold for you, we can easily choose the dining table instead."
"I- Outside sounds nice," Camellia said after a hesitant pause and was rewarded with another blinding smile.
"Mozzie will show you," he tells her, "and you can change your mind at anytime."
True to his words, there are candles and a table runner already set out inside as well as outside.
"My lady," Mozzie offers with a grin, giving a bow after opening the doors for her – jokingly, she guesses – but before she can stop herself, Camellia falls into a picture-perfect curtsy, Narcissa's – and Andromeda's – teachings too strict and ingrained by now for her to even have to think before taking action. She blinks in surprise and notes Mozzie's raised eyebrow, before laughing slightly.
"Thank you, kind sir," she tells him, already slightly charmed as she follows him outside. While the lessons were a test of her patience and endurance when they took place, they are now a fond memory of bonding with two women her mother's age who had shown her more care and attention in those short lessons than her Aunt had over her entire childhood.
Mozzie's answering grin is wide and he offers her his elbow – she hooks in and her hands are automatically placed in a position which would tell anyone in the Wizarding World that she views this man (who stole from her, no less) as a friend, rather than a lover or an enemy. In pureblood society – or any high society, she supposes – the smallest things can be used to send detailed messages.
"Welcome," he says with an elaborate gesture at the beautiful vista unfolding in front of her from this rooftop, "to New York."
It was rather aptly timed, Camellia admits, staring at the dark city under the night sky. Her dinner with Sara and Neal had been inside and she'd been rather bamboozled all night that evening, not even having noticed or looked at the balcony.
"This is magnificent," she says under her breath, admiring the landscape.
"Oh, wait at least until after you taste Neal's cooking before you say that," Mozzie says, grinning widely, "because you'll need to come up with an even better adjective."
Camellia blinks back to reality, noting that Neal has followed them out here and the dinner plates are already on the small table, awaiting them. Neal himself is standing beside what is likely to be her chair, already pulled away from the table, looking relaxed and casual, his brilliantly white shirt in stark contrast to the skin it bares with the top button on his neck undone and his sleeves rolled up. She swallows dryly and forces herself to turn back to Mozzie.
"Superb?" She offers, her voice a little breathy and she coughs, to clear it, blushing slightly. Unfortunately, Camellia has no illusions that either of the man had missed her small lapse in attention and why it was diverted, but luckily neither of them call her out on it.
"At least wait until you taste it," Neal offers, charming grin in place and voice smooth as he interrupts them; Camellia's heartbeat picks up at the sound but a reflection of the candlelight on the golden brooch draws her back into reality, shoulders relaxing, blush fading and heartbeat settling. It served its purpose wonderfully – and while it was likely not what Sirius had wanted, she had barely known her parents. What she did know about them was that they trusted the wrong people, and they had paid dearly for it. It was one trap she would not fall for.
Her smile was fake, practised, offered to admirers and reporters alike, feeling the slightest beginnings of occlumency – all she'd ever been capable of – settle around her mind, distancing her emotions from herself. She noted the quick glance Neal gave Mozzie, the inherent confusion in Camellia's rapid change of disposition, but saw no need to enlighten them. They were the ones who needed to give her an explanation not vice versa.
To their credit, they both read her body language extremely well and back off immediately. Instead of personal topics, they regale her with stories about New York – Neal – and America's best crooks – Mozzie. They make her laugh against her will with one story after another and she finds out that the library is home to 50 million books, that a whisper can be heard across the whispering gallery in Central station and that the English muffin was invented here (it tickles Camellia just how infuriated Uncle Vernon would be, were he to ever find out about that). Mozzie, naturally, tells her about the "Roswell" of the subway, the 76th station that never quite came to be and that the tattoo ban, a law in place which lasted for over thirty years, was due to an illicit love triangle. She can just imagine Ron in his place, when Mozzie tells her about Crazy Joe Gallo, a gangster from the 50s, who kept a lion as a mascot and took it for walks around the neighbourhood.
Neal, however, brings her to tears with laughter when he tells her about the no-fluttering-eyelashes law still on the books in New York which incurs a small fine and no-ice-cream on Sundays law. But he takes the cake when he details crimes of fashion and the three-day-riot in the 1920's over men wearing straw hats during the wrong season.
It's the dinner with Sara and Neal all over again – Camellia is beyond charmed, by both of them, and while there were certainly more conspiracy theories at this dinner, they both invite her into their comradery and friendship as if she's always been part of the group, never make her feel excluded or unaware, and she is as baffled by it now as she was then. It's people manipulation, but to a skill level which would leave Draco green with envy and yet so gentle and kind, never abused to make her do anything, but rather in a rather effective way of apologising.
Camellia knows she's already forgiven them, but the question of their continuing friendship is still in question.
"Thank you both," she finally tells them, after having finished a light but perfect dessert of chocolate souffle adorned with fresh raspberries. "Dinner was sublime, Neal. You definitely have a real talent for cooking."
He shrugs, smiling. "It's an art form," he tells her and Camellia laughs.
"Well, if it's any indication of your artistic talents, you could be known worldwide."
Neal's grin widens and he winks at her. "Who says I'm not?"
Camellia sniggers. "Alright. Fair." She calms down slightly, and taps her brooch as a quick reminder as she settles.
"Now," she starts, more seriously and both men already following suit, grins falling away. "Why did you break into my home yesterday?"
"The case – we closed it yesterday and finished up paperwork today. The real son was alive but you knew the name of the man who held him, who pretended to be him."
Neal is staring at her firmly, brows slightly furrowed as he leans forward. "The FBI figured you had to be in on it – somehow. It's why they got the warrants to look into your room and at your house. But that wasn't it. You knew my name which was buried rather deeply not to mention Moz's which is so well-hidden the FBI didn't find it until pointed out to them. So, then, the question remained, how do you tell someone's real name?"
Neal shrugged slightly at this point.
"We figured it was a con – but a rather extraordinarily well-planned one. We just had to figure out the how and why. The meeting with Elizabeth could've been orchestrated to get the dinner invite. It is, to be honest, the reason I invited myself. The fact that she was investigating an old family friend whose son was being impersonated and met a young woman who was also rich but needed help the same day – well, alarm bells rang, as I'm sure you can understand. That's why I turned up – when you ended up being the woman Elizabeth met, I was confused, but assumed you may have lost the money you had in the interim and were in need of more; especially when you inserted yourself in the investigation."
"You're talking like the suit," Mozzie tells him and Neal sighs exasperatedly, but determinedly turns back to her to continue.
"So-" she interrupts, before he can start back up. "I understand the suspicions and investigating me using your own resources instead of relying on the FBI," she tells them and it is true – after all, how often had she investigated, rather than relying on the people around her? Their main character traits are, after all, loyalty, and Elizabeth Burke is definitely in that small circle of people they have given that loyalty to – that bit isn't hard to understand.
"What I'm unclear about, however," she continues, "is the theft."
They both wince.
"We were going to give it back," Mozzie says. "Ideally, you'd never even have known we were there."
"What did you even take?" She asks, still a bit puzzled, not having noticed any of her personal belongings missing.
Neal blinks, the barest hint of surprise flashing across his face while Mozzie's mouth is momentarily agape, staring at her.
"Alright, definitely not lost your wealth then," Neal just comments calmly and it's Camellia's turn to stare at them, bemused.
"How," Mozzie asks, outrage in his voice, "can you not notice what I took?"
She blinks and her brows furrow.
"But you just said you intended for me not to notice, right? So it can't have been that important? I didn't notice any of my pictures missing, anyway."
Pictures, mouths an incredulous Neal while Mozzie scoffs.
"I took a Black Opal the size of my fist, a perfectly cut Ruby and a pink diamond the size of my palm."
"Oh," she says, relaxing. She'd almost thought they'd stumbled over some of her wizarding accoutrements. Camellia is normally careful about them and each of them is permanently runed to be either non-noticeable to Muggles or appear as something ordinary, such as non-moving pictures and boring texts, rather than discussing the virtues and pitfalls of hunting Nundu. "That's alright, you can keep those. I thought you took some of my personal things."
"I- We can keep those?" Mozzie splutters, sounding outraged. Camellia stares at them, bemused. She'd liked the different colours of the opal, but had no particular attachment to gems she'd found in the Black vault and struggled to understand why both Neal and Mozzie appeared genuinely surprised.
Neal is pinching the bridge of his nose, heaving a deep sigh.
"Let's start back at the beginning," he says, a calming hand on Mozzie's shoulder, "Mozzie took the three priceless jewels, as he said, in addition to a copy of the hard drive on your laptop. He found one hidden room and sixteen different hiding places – fourteen of them looked like they hadn't been touched in years. The reason he took the jewels is because we suspected it was part of the con or part of the reason you were rich in the first place, that they were forgeries."
"Oh," she supposed she never had investigated them and while they had once been stored in Gringotts, the goblins didn't investigate what you stored, whether they were cheap fakes or real ones. "And? What did you find?"
Mozzie looks close to hitting his head on the table.
"How," he says despairingly, "can you not know?"
Neal sighs, but interrupts before Mozzie can continue his lamentations.
"They're not only real but they're perfect. The cut on them alone – I don't even pretend to understand why the black opal is shaped like a raven or the hundreds of thousands of dollars lost in carving that shape, but they are not just good cuts with few flaws – they are perfect. Those three together would get you several hundred million dollars."
"That's… good?" Camellia offers, tone questioning, and Mozzie makes a strangled sound, hand lifted in the air, exasperated beyond reason. When she gives Neal a questioning glance, he sighs again.
"Yes," he tells her dryly, "that's very good."
"Then the issue is the hard drive?" She asks and Mozzie stands up abruptly.
"The hard drive? Look, no, you can't possibly be this obtuse," he tells her and Camellia rears back, offended. "You just offered us jewels worth at least 200 million dollars and the only thing you can say is it's good they're not fake?"
Neal shoots his bald friend a quelling look.
"What Mozzie is trying to say, is that we took what we thought was worthless and turned out to be rather priceless theft. We honestly had no intention of robbing you that day, merely ascertain further information. We will return everything to you and, to be blunt, we're hoping that this does not need to be mentioned to the Burke's."
Camellia stares. "Why would I mention this to the Burke's?"
"Because it's theft," Mozzie tells her, pacing. "And most people – normal people – report such things to the government – aka Mr and Mrs Suit."
Wincing at the reference to normal people – and her own 'unnatural freakishness' as Aunt Petunia had always so lovingly put it – Camellia shakes her head.
"I still have no intention of reporting a theft. I came home and told you that you could walk with what you had in your hands. I gave you permission to take that and I have no intention of taking anything I said back."
"I- Alright, not to be indelicate, but that's worth quite a bit. If I may ask – this will not leave you without funding, will it?"
Mozzie chuckles. "Neal – she didn't even know it was missing in the first place."
Neal shrugs. "I still don't feel comfortable-"
Camellia interrupts them by laughing, loudly, descending into hiccups and giggles moments later, as she opens her small clutch.
"What's so funny?" Mozzie asks Neal in a stage-whisper, but the man only shrugs, looking just as confused.
Still shaking with laughter, and without words, Camellia retrieves her bag with the Gringotts goods and opens it, allowing jewels, jewellery and galleons to tumble out over the terrace.
"No," she says, calming down slightly, "I didn't notice." There's a small river of shining items on the floor between her and Mozzie – both men are staring now.
"So don't worry about it. And to answer your earlier question – the raven was on my godfather's family crest."
"I- Your godfather's family has a crest?" Neal asks, tearing his eyes away from the small treasure trove at their feet.
She nods. "And a motto. Toujour pur – led to a lot of inbreeding, zealotry, early deaths and the family nearly dying out when my godfather was murdered by his cousin. So, by all means, keep the raven. It's beautiful, but I kind of like the idea that it's in the hands of someone his family would've despised – my godfather would've loved that idea. Feel free to sell it, keep it, or do whatever you want with it."
"Is that everything?" Mozzie asks, brows furrowed and Camellia shakes her head.
"Nope, not even a little bit of it. There's plenty more – less jewellery though and jewels, but still a few more and a mountain of gold coins."
"Yes, but in there?" He asks and Camellia nods, still a bit bemused by the subject change.
"What's going on?" Neal asks and Mozzie gestures between the items on the floor and Camellia's handbag, to her surprise. She stares.
"How does it all fit?" Mozzie asks, exasperated and Neal takes a second look between her, admittedly rather small, clutch and the items already on the floor.
"That's a very good question," Neal admits slowly, eyes still scanning her clutch. Amused and feeling rather indulgent, Camellia opens the small thing again and takes out her small brown leather bag.
"It's my magic trick," she says with a grin, noticing the narrow-eyed glance Neal gives her at the phrasing but not wanting to stop. "It's all in this bag here," she tells them and offers both of the items up to the two con artists for perusal.
Naturally, the Gringotts bag is theft proof, as always, so opening the drawstrings, Mozzie can look inside but hits an invisible barrier when he tries to stick his hand in. Turning it upside down similarly does nothing. Her clutch is empty except for a bank card and a handful of notes, seeing as she doesn't need a door key and can just apparate back home in an instant if she does find herself needing anything other than money. Neal's investigation of her drawstring bag similarly doesn't yield anything and both are handed back to her.
With a cheeky grin and a wink, Camellia sticks her entire arm into the bag – a bag which looks like it couldn't hold anything bigger than the size of her fist.
"That's impossible," Neal declares flatly, eyes fastened on where her shoulder disappears into the bag.
"Oh, honey, I eat six impossible things before breakfast," she says with a laugh and Neal's eyes snap up.
"Alice in Wonderland," Mozzie says, tone wondering.
"Magic," Neal states, tone firm as he stares at her and Camellia's eyebrows rise.
"I- Yes," she admits after a momentary pause. "How did you know?"
"You've been saying it all along," he tells her and she half-nods, half-shrugs.
"Yes, but no one usually believes me."
"There are more things than are dreamt of in your philosophy," Neal quotes with a half-smile.
"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," Mozzie joins in with his own quote, looking rather pale as he sits down.
"Are you alright?" she asks, concerned and Mozzie shakes his head.
"Don't you see? This changes- everything!"
Camellia laughs, delighted that it's not anger or fear which has Mozzie so pale, but rather intrigue.
"Don't worry. No dragons. No unicorns. No other witches and wizards – just me. I managed to rather accidentally travel universes."
"What else can you do?" Neal asks while Mozzie mouth 'universes' to himself, eyes wide.
Camellia shrugs.
"Pretty much everything except bring someone back to life or go into outer space. Not saying it's not possible with magic, but that I am not that interested in finding out how. I grew up in a rather dark space, and I have no intention of reliving that voluntarily."
"Turning someone into a frog?" Mozzie asks and the dark mood, brought on, as always, by the memory of the Dursleys, dissipates rapidly.
"Yes," she admits with a laugh. "Turning someone into inanimate object is a lot more challenging, though. But yes, a frog I can easily do."
A wave of her hand and the Death wand jumps into her hand, eager as ever.
"Pack," she tells it and the sparkling jewels on the floor and gold promptly jump back into her Gringotts bag, to the astonishment of the two men.
"May I?" Neal asks, gesturing to her wand and she relinquishes it with a shrug.
Unlike most other wizards and witches, Camellia had very little personal attachment to the Death stick – she'd even tried burning and breaking it herself, as well as dumping it in the ocean and a plethora of other methods, but it won't leave her alone, nor will it ever allow itself to be broken. So, she has no qualms about handing her only method of defence over to a muggle.
"I am trusting you two with this information," she tells them after a moment, "but I ask that you not divulge this to other people, including the Burke's."
"Why would you trust us?" Neal asks as he hands her back her wand. "We broke into your home and stole from you."
Camellia shrugs. "Yes, but out of loyalty to your friends – your family. To protect them. To investigate me and find evidence of my wrongdoing. I have no issues with any of that, and just hope we'll be friends long enough that I will one day be one of the people you are loyal to. I- Where I've come from, I've been betrayed a few times. I told you about my parents dying – I didn't tell you it was because their friend, the only one with the location, ratted them out to their killer, knowing it would end up with them murdered. My godfather was betrayed by the same friend and spent over a decade wrongly imprisoned for it. My first friend, my best friend, was rather jealous and turned on me a number of times. I- To me, there is nothing more important than loyalty. You are both funny and interesting and I would like to be friends with both of you, if I can."
There is a slight blush on her cheeks, but Camellia maintains eye contact with Neal.
"And I wanted to apologise for yesterday afternoon." At his puzzled look, she forces herself to elaborate.
"I made it into something it wasn't. I saw it as a date, and I realise now it wasn't, but I'm sorry, nonetheless. It certainly fed into why I was so offended by Mozzie's attempted burglary," she admits with a fierce blush. She'd called it a date – he hadn't been that flirtatious, but he'd been kind and he'd paid attention to her and apparently, these days that was enough. Paired with her own longing for a relationship and how charmed she'd been by him in particular, she hadn't even realised how her own thoughts and feelings on the matter diverged.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Neal tells her earnestly and stops her as she begins to shake her head to correct him. "It was a date; I asked you out for lunch. I wanted to take you out to lunch – it just so happened that Mozzie was the impetus and it happened a lot sooner than I originally had planned."
"Right- that's my cue to leave," Mozzie says suddenly and even Neal jumps slightly, the hand on her shoulder falling away quickly. She misses the contact already.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Mozzie. And I had a lovely dinner with you."
"Yes, you're welcome. Anytime. Really. As long as I can ask you more questions about-" he made a gesture as if waving a wand and Camellia laughs.
"That sounds lovely. Anytime. You know where I live, after all."
Mozzie grins, gives her a playful bow, exchanges a meaningful look with Neal and leaves.
Neal refills their wine glasses, leaning against edge of the balustrade as he offers her one of them.
"Thank you," she tells him, turning to stare outward, heart beating rapidly now that she is alone with him.
Gryffindor courage, she tells herself. He already admitted he intended it as a date.
"I enjoy spending time with you," she confesses in a hesitant whisper, glancing sideways at him only to find herself trapped in his blue eyes. He is so very attractive and he knows how to capitalise on it in ways she is envious of. Positioning himself just so, the candlelight casting him in a pleasing orange shade across his bare forearms and his white shirt only hinting at the muscles underneath. The flicker in the light keeps casting shadows across the white, drawing her gaze. The skin across his neck and the right side of his face is aglow in the light, looking perfect, and beautiful and delicious.
A shiver chases down her back as she averts her gaze quickly, a hot blush racing across her face before she can turn away from the light completely.
Neal easily draws her back in again, a hand under her right one as he pulls it closer to his mouth, bending down to press a soft kiss to her knuckles, maintaining eye contact even as he withdraws after a slightly too-long-to-be-appropriate kiss, a playful smirk curling the edge of his lips upward. Naturally, she flusters; insincere attention or compliments she can handle with a cool Malfoy-smirk and a brush off – but genuine flattery, genuine affection? She flounders – hilariously, she can tell from Neal's widening smirk when she retracts her hand, fidgets with her brooch, tugs at her skirt, scratches her cheeks and tugs at her hair, mouth opening and closing when she thinks she's found something to say only to shut again when she realises that no, she doesn't dare say that out loud.
"I enjoyed yesterday and tonight," he tells her softly, voice still in that smooth cadence which makes heart skip a beat. "And I would love to spend more time with you."
He tucks one of the strands she'd been tugging back behind her ear, hand caressing her cheek slightly.
Still too flustered, Camellia steps away.
"I- I would like to take things slow," she tells him.
His eyebrows rise. "I wasn't suggesting we take things fast," he tells her, looking somewhat concerned. She nods firmly.
"I just- I know it looks like I have no experience," she confesses, ears hot, "but it's not that. I just- I don't know how to handle your sincerity."
Neal cocks his head, brows furrowed as his eyes sweep up and down her body. It's clear to her he's not looking at her for her 'attributes' but rather analysing her body language. "I'm… sorry?" He offers a moment later, hesitantly, still looking concerned.
Camellia huffs.
"Sorry, I don't know how to phrase this better."
"Just- take your time. Explain however you like – there is no wrong way," he tells her, offering her the chair again and sitting down across from her when she takes it.
"You can see I'm rich. It's not worth as much in the Wizarding World as it is here, because everyone can take raw jewels to the dwarves or goblins and get them cut and perfected. But still, there's prestige in family heritage and names – and I had two of them, plus still rather rich there and, well, you can guess what happened next. I fell into a series of relationships with a few men and it turned out they were there for the fame, the money, the political power or a combination of all three. I just – I am looking for something more, something long-term, but with someone who sees me." Camellia shrugs slightly, struggling to explain further. Then she blanches slightly.
"I meant that I had separate relationships, with one man at a time – not a sort of harem," she clarifies quickly and Neal laughs brightly, eyes sparkling in amusement.
"Not that you would ever think that," she adds on and he's still chuckling at her amendments.
"Alright, alright," he finally says stroking carefully over her hand to calm her – it works rather too well and Camellia blushes at the attention.
"Sara and I broke up, as you know. But I am also happy to clarify that I am not interested in a harem," his eyes are twinkling, a smirk edging up the corners of his lips.
"On a serious note," he continues, clearing his throat, "I am looking for a long-term relationship. You will have to know I'm on a limited radius, I'm out on probation, working for the FBI and I am an excellent con artist and forger."
He pauses for a moment, looking contemplative.
"Look at us, starting off with honest and open communication – this is probably the healthiest start to a relationship I've ever had."
Camellia laughs. "I'm sure Peter would be proud," she tells him.
"Peter?"
"Your superior slash prison guard slash adopted father."
"Ah," he says, a hint of discomfort visible and Camellia sighs.
"Sorry – we appear to be only covering uncomfortable topics today. Maybe on our next day we will not touch upon dead family, betrayal or any other deep topics."
Neal still looks uncomfortable, but he brushes it off with a slight laugh, the tension around his eyes barely visible.
"I'm sure it's a good thing we can talk about these things."
Camellia nods.
"I agree. But I would rather like to leave the uncomfortable baring of our vulnerabilities for a point when we know each other a little bit better rather than at the beginning of our acquaintance. Frankly, I'm surprised you still want to go on a date with me after all I've highlighted to you are the terrible things."
"Alright then, we hold off on the deep personal discussions for another few dates," he agrees, and his laughter is lighter this time, relieved.
A part of Camellia wonders if Neal has a step-by-step plan to make her more comfortable. He's keeping it casual, as promised. Small outings, like the climbing wall or ice skating, a hot chocolate and movie on the couch, but with progressive touching. At first it's just gentle brushes against her periodically, taking her hand to guide her while ice skating or an arm across her shoulders to tuck her against Neal when she's cold. But slowly, slowly enough she didn't notice at first, he escalates – holds her when there's no reason to, hugs her goodbye and hello, presses a kiss against her head when he gets up to fetch some popcorn while they're curled into each other on the couch. Subtle, small, but ever increasing. Camellia has stopped flinching and is looking forward to every caress, every touch, every kiss.
But she can't help but wonder if it's done intentionally – if he's pre-planned it or if he's reading her body language each time and adjusting minutely to whatever she's not saying and whether it's enough for him – or maybe too much? Having to put that much effort in.
The natural thing then, after hearing from Elizabeth about her disaster of an anniversary celebration, invaded by Peter's ex, and bemoaning oblivious men and tact (not that Camellia had much to contribute regarding the latter), she'd figured turning up at Neal's with some nice food – either for a midnight dinner or for tomorrow's lunch, would be a nice gesture for both of them.
What she didn't expect to find was Mozzie in a suit and tie standing in the doorway and an attractive redhead with glasses inside – standing that little bit to close to her boyfriend – and calling him Agent Caffrey.
She raises an eyebrow, but doesn't dispute the con, when all eyes fall on her. Luckily she was in a business meeting before her meet-up with Elizabeth and hasn't had time to change.
"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm just interning," she tells her with a sweet smile, lifting up the food in her hand and watching Neal wince almost imperceptibly. "I just bring food when there's late nights working." Then, as if realising she had forgotten, Camellia widened her eyes just so.
"Oh, I am sorry. Where are my manners? I'm Ginny, Ginny Weasley." It's not her fault that's the first name that popped into her head when she was a bit jealous and confronted with a pretty redhead. "Not a special agent or anything," she continues easily, reaching out with her hand. The woman shakes it. Rachel Turner, greed and pride… and murderer.
"Rebecca Lowe," she introduces herself quickly, waving at Neal again with a shy smile and a nod at Mozzie as she leaves.
The moment the steps finish echoing, a silencing ward snaps into place.
"Neal?" Camellia asks with a deceptively gentle smile, "care to explain?"
Mozzie winces and mouths 'frogs' to Neal, before giving her a quick hello and goodbye, excusing himself rapidly.
"It's just a con," he tells her but Camellia shakes her head.
"No, it's not. First of all, Peter isn't involved in this one because I've just spent the last few hours with his wife who was very upset that her husband was involved in a secret undercover op with his ex. Secondly, and more importantly, I thought you didn't do violence. It's the reason why I have no problems with your cons – you're beyond clever, there's no need to start delving into killing people."
Now he looks confused.
"No- look here," he tells her, pointing her towards the pages accumulated together to look like a stained-glass window. "It's the Mosconi codex," his voice gets fast and excited again and Camellia can feel a smile pulling at her lips against her will at his sheer enthusiasm. "This – This could be right here in Manhattan."
Huffing slightly, Camellia nods. "I get that," she didn't really – who was Mosconi? "but what does that have to do with murder?"
Neal looks baffled again. "Nothing," he tells her.
"So why are you working with one, then?"
"Who?"
Exasperated, Camellia gestures behind her at the closed door. "The redheaded woman who just left here, just a few moments ago, remember her?"
"I- Look, I wasn't expecting her to kiss me, but it was just a momentary kiss just before Mozzie came in. We were just excited that we'd solved something which hadn't been solved in-" He stops abruptly when Camellia sits on the chair, feeling shaken and pale.
"You kissed her?"
"She kissed me," he corrected quickly but winced under her side-eye, nodding.
"I didn't mean to," he adds, quieter. "I'll tell her about you next time I see her. I just didn't – I would've stopped her, had I known. I thought it was just flirting – I got her fired due to a con and I didn't think anything would happen – I mean, would you kiss a guy who got you fired? So, I am sorry. I did turn away, she only kissed me here," he taps the corner of his lips, "but I promise it won't happen again."
Camellia shakes her head.
"I- I still don't understand why you're working with her? Your cons are clean. You and Mozzie, you don't use violence. Why her?"
"I- This is not just jealousy, is it?" He asks, rhetorically, eyes more analytical again.
Camellia snorts.
"No. I didn't know about the kiss until you told me. I only thought she was standing a bit too close, but nothing else. Rachel Turner – or Rebecca whatever you called her – is a cold-blooded murderer. And you're working with her. Why?"
Blue eyes widen and Neal sits down beside her, looking just as surprised as she had, moments earlier.
"I'm sorry, what did you say her name was?"
Camellia squints at him, curious, but obediently repeats the name. Neal gives a hollow laugh.
"I thought I was conning her when she was in actuality conning me," he says, voice high in disbelief, before focussing back on her.
"Alright, what else can you tell me about her?"
"She has killed many times before and has no regret regarding that." At his confusion, she elaborates. "People kill for various reasons – self-defence, accidental, or intentional. Agreed?" He nods sharply. "If you regret their death – or the murder itself, it's like you take a part of the person you killed into your soul, their blood is a regret permanently marking your soul. With intentional murder it's a bit different – you mark your soul, but like a black stain on your soul, slowly spreading with each murder. You're marked but in a different way. Anyway, it means it's one of the impressions I get when I touch – and she shook my hand. So, you didn't know?"
Neal mutely shakes his head, obviously still contemplating what she's said.
"Alright. I'm not happy – about the kiss or the con, but I'm on your side. Whatever you need – remember, you got magic on your side. Pretty much anything you need done, I can probably do… Well, most things."
The information overload comes then – almost like Neal is making up for a few weeks of drama-free dates. She ends up staying the night, both of them switching between drinking alcohol (she brings out the last bottle of firewhiskey she has) and hot chocolate (alright, that's mostly Camellia) as they share every horrible little thing in their life – Kate, the escape, the plane, the explosion, the FBI, keeping him despite the agreement, the escape and return, Keller, Fowler, Adler and Hagen. He also tells her how much he loves working with Peter, but how stifling the restrictions are, how his attempts to assist often get turned against him when he tries to protect Peter.
Camellia in turn tells him about the Dursleys, the prophecy, her headmaster's machinations, the reason for the words on the back of her hand and her increasingly lucky escapes from the yearly attempts on her life throughout her time at Hogwarts and its murderous teachers – as well as the hatred of fame and politicians, and the near-desperate need for honesty and loyalty.
She also confesses that their relationship is the reason she hasn't settled on a house yet, that, if this keeps going well, she wants them both to agree on one. Camellia doesn't need to say that she wants him to move in – he understands the implicit meaning and his eyes are clear but soft when he leans across to kiss her. Her eyelashes flutter shut, but she wants to always remember the way he looked then – content, loving, wanting, blue eyes focussed solely on her. His lips are warm and firm, pressing gently against her own for a moment before separating minutely. They still share a breath, his nose touching her own, his face only inches from her own and blue gaze filled with warmth as he looks at her. When his hand strokes softly across her cheek, her lashes flutter for a moment as she leans in, before she gathers her courage and reaches across, a hand behind his neck to drag him down. She feels the smile curling up his lips when they finally kiss again.
This one is just as soft, as tentative, as loving as the first. Camellia wonders when the last time – or if she ever had – kisses which were just for comfort, to share in their mutual affection, rather than the passionate devouring of each other.
It's too early to say it now, she knows, but she can feel it, deep in her soul, that she loves this wonderful, perfect man, for all his flaws and mistakes – because he is perfect for her, for everything she wants and didn't know she needed.
They don't stumble into having a house together right from the start. But Camellia does get to practise her magic – it's rather amusing, too, she thinks – and Neal agrees, if his wild laughter, unhidden by relief, is any indication.
They don't end up telling Peter, after all, but they do investigate Rachel Turner as a tip from an 'anonymous source' – which the White Collar team will presume to mean Mozzie, but really means Camellia in this instance.
Since she's obtained all three of the Hallows, after her last death, Camellia's cloak has become impenetrable to everything – scent, sound and even footsteps disappear past the cloak – there is no trace of her existence, no heat signature. It would've been far more useful during the war had it been as thorough then, but it's still useful enough now.
Like following Neal to a meeting with Hagen and putting a rather gentle – for the Blacks – curse on him so that any time he thinks maliciously about Neal, or tries to, he can't remember him – his face, his name, just that there is someone. He won't be able to read the name, his mind refusing to process when he sees or hears it.
It's amusing enough when Hagen suddenly realises he can't remember the person his con was centered on. Rachel receives a similar curse.
When Keller re-enters the life via the Pink Panthers – Neal's ticket out – Camellia has had enough when Keller furthers Neal's doubts that he will ever be free.
Not on her watch. What is difficult for Muggles is remarkably easy for a witch. Infiltrating with the cloak and a compulsion on the paperwork – voila, Neal Caffrey – nee Bennett and Mozzie – nee Timothy Winters – are both proud recipients of Presidential Pardons.
Not something the FBI can interfere in anymore, although Peter and Elizabeth are beyond baffled, they are also very happy for Neal.
They purchase a house outside of the 2 mile radius – just because they can now be – and Camellia regrets missing out on the chance to commission a painting from Neal Caffrey before their relationship developed enough that paying him for it now would make it awkward. Their house and, at Neal's insistence (not that he had to insist all that hard), the Burke's home are warded to the same calibre as any paranoid war veteran would (nearly equivalent to Hogwarts, therefore, albeit without the centuries of magic to reinforce them). They're living together for all of half a year, when, on their first excursion to Paris for a month-long holiday, they somehow end up purchasing another, second home near the Louvres.
Naturally, it's child's play to set up a permanent portkey between the two – but the location is down to Mozzie's excitement. The hallway cupboard door, now painted red, serves to transport between the two places. Ironically, that was a lot more work than the originally planned small permanent portkey.
Neither her nor Neal had intended to bring more into their life when they have only been together for nearly ten months, but a passionate celebratory night in their new Parisian home had meant that Camellia fell pregnant just months after Elizabeth's and Peter's own announcement.
The kiss Neal bestows on her, one hand protectively covering her stomach, when he finds out wipes away the last doubts that the news may have been more unwelcome.
"I love you," he repeats softly, between kisses as she's pressed against the door. "Both," he amends, stroking gently over her still-flat belly. His blue eyes are alight with happiness and love, his expression soft and his next kiss is more languid, slow, tongue exploring her gently as she tries to press herself closer to him.
"I love you, too," she tells him, the fire inside her momentarily banked as his kisses gentle.
"Will you marry me?" Neal asks, slipping to the floor on one knee, pressing a gentle kiss to the palm of her hand before pressing a ring box into it. At her surprise, he laughs slightly. "I had it planned with dinner," he admits, "for a few months now, but I was going to ask you tonight anyway. But this moment, right here, right now? That just seemed far too perfect to let slip by."
Camellia blushes at the gentle affection in his eyes.
"I would love to marry you," she admits, shyly and he slips the ring onto her finger.
"Perfect fit," she whispers quietly, looking at it closer before blinking rapidly. "Hold on… Is that…?"
Neal hums in agreement, arms curving around her from behind, fastened over her stomach as he presses a gentle kiss onto her shoulder. He loosens one hand to pull the arm of her jumper down slightly so he can reach the bare skin at the curve where her shoulder meets her neck, humming pleasantly again.
She swats at him. "Stop distracting me."
He huffs, a puff of warm air hitting her skin, making her shiver gently even as she tries – and fails – to glare at her new fiancé.
"Yes," he declares, satisfaction evident in his tone. "That stone right there – that's the eye of the raven."
Camellia stares for another moment before bursting into peals of laughter – the icon of the Black family house, a house which prides itself on purity and is rather dead-set against muggles – and her lovely, perfect soon-to-be husband took a center piece out of it and put it on a ring which promised she would marry the epitome of everything they hated.
"You," she tells him firmly, pressing a kiss to his lips, "are absolutely perfect."
Neal grins mischievously and winks at her.
"Just wait until you see the wedding ring."
She laughs, feeling freer and happier than she ever had, finally a chance at having her own perfect family without fearing retribution.
"Perfect," she reiterates with a smile, drawing him into a passionate kiss which have Neal dropping the empty ring case to the floor to pull her closer.
I hope you enjoyed this fanfic. Please review and share your thoughts :)