Guin decided after a half-hour's lunch that she liked Uncle Henry very much indeed. Despite an initial unease, which she attributed to the fact that she'd never seen the man before in her life, she found that he was quite the charmer, friendly and funny – his sense of humor was much like L'Argent's, lacking, of course, the wounding edge. He listened attentively to their stories of Hogwarts, laughed at all the right places, and groaned and complained along with them. "McGonagall was the teacher when I was a kid; I was a Ravenclaw, though."
"Was she as strict?" Rilla wanted to know.
"Worse," Uncle Henry said, with a comical grimace; "I think she's mellowed in her old age."
Guin and Rilla looked dubiously at each other: they couldn't imagine McGonagall as anything but a disciplinarian, and if what Henry said was true, than she must have been truly formidable before. Lunch went by slowly, but it was enjoyable. At about one o' clock, another group of people entered through the door, setting the bell tinkling, and L'Argent pushed his chair away from the table and ran to meet them. "Mum! Dad!"
"Hello, Mikael," said the woman. She was tall, dark-eyed and dark haired, with a strong nose and determined features. The only feature that L'Argent had taken from his mother Aviva was the hair, thick, slightly curly, and deep sable. "Hello, Henry – who are these charming young women?" she asked, aiming an ever-so tiny wink at the girls.
L'Argent's father was also quite tall, with brownish hair and pale gray eyes. It was clear that all the children took after him, in face and especially the eyes: all that pallid leaden hue. There were three other kids with them, two brown haired girls who looked as though they might be twins, Matilde and Marthe, and a small, grubby-faced boy named Merrick, with a head of curly black hair, who promptly shoved his hand in his mouth and stared wide-eyed at them, nervously. As introductions were made, the two girls pushed themselves in front of their younger brother, peering at Guin and Rilla.
"Are you Mikael's friends?" Matilde demanded.
"What House are you in?" Marthe added.
"Will you show us around, when we get to Hogwarts?"
"D' you know a lot of spells?"
"Can we see some?"
"Mikael won't do spells for us."
"He says we're too young to see them—"
"But we think he just doesn't know any."
Bemused, Rilla glanced at Guin and looked pained. The only other people they knew that talked like this were the Weasley twins, Fred and George, both third years. However, there were subtle differences between the two ingenuous faces presented before them, and Guin thought that perhaps Marthe was a bit older. "Are you twins?" she asked them curiously. Instantly the two looked quite aggrieved, and shook their heads vehemently.
"No!"
"Why does everyone think that?"
"It's because you talk like you know what the other one's thinking," Merrick said, removing his hand from his mouth, looking surprised that he had spoken, and promptly returned to sucking on his fingers, eyes as maniacally large as ever.
"But we're not twins!" Matilde insisted.
"Yeah, Matilde's ten months older than I am. You know that, Mer!"
Aviva and Jack L'Argent listened to their children, amused, letting them chatter. L'Argent himself whispered to Guin and Rilla, though loud enough so that his sisters could hear him. The comment would be ruined, otherwise, after all. "Pay them no mind, they're always like this, you can't shut them up." Matilde and Marthe glared wordlessly at him.
Uncle Henry paid for the bill, and the L'Argent clan spilled back out onto the London street, into one of the parks, where they chatted. Guin found herself talking to Jack, who looked down at her from a vantagepoint of well over six feet. "How are you, Guin?" he said, looking uneasy. When she asked him what was wrong, the man sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and gestured her over to the side. "Mikael has probably told you that I knew your father in school?" She nodded, mutely, not trusting herself to speak. "Well, we were very good friends, and – and when I look at you, you're so much like him it brings back old memories."
Guin blinked. She should feel water in her eyes, really. That's how she felt. But nothing came, only a lump in her throat that made her voice hoarse as she tried to speak. "Can you tell me how – how he died?" she asked, voice a rasping whisper.
"We don't really know," Jack L'Argent said, his face pale. "He – disappeared. They looked, but.."
"Mum never talks about him. What was he like?"
He swallowed hard, pale eyes looking off into the distance, the thousand-yard stare, seeing back decades when he was still young and the world held promise and joy. "We were both Slytherins, and we'd been best friends for years. Edmund was the serious one, and I was the practical joker – oh, he had a nasty sense of humor as well, sarcastic and cynical. Character foils, I guess you'd call them.. I would have died for him," Jack told her seriously, laughing with a hollow sound. "You're very much like him, Guin. I normally wouldn't be this candid – Edmund had the same look. He'd watch you, and you'd talk because you wanted him to smile and you wanted him to like you— I'm sorry if this is hard for you, hearing about him."
"No, no, I'm fine," Guin insisted, desperately wanting to hear more. "When did he meet mum?"
Jack L'Argent looked around uneasily for a moment, and surreptitiously cast a spell, wand hidden in his jacket sleeve. "Silencio enfoldus," he murmured, and hastened to reassure the girl, who was looking a bit wary. "No, I just don't want anyone to hear what I say next..
"Your mother was always cold. She was beautiful, and nakedly ambitious. Your quintessential Slytherin, basically. She and Edmund had an odd sort of relationship – they were so much alike that they had a common bond deep between them, but so alike also that they couldn't cope with their sameness. Too much ambition, too many secrets between them. And.. Guin, no one else is going to tell you this, and I swear to you that I speak as a friend, I don't mean to hurt you – you have a right to know -- but – they were both Death Eaters."
Guin looked at the ground, a rushing sounding in her ears. She had known that Angeline was a supporter of Lord Voldemort, definitely: but Father? Subconsciously Guin knew she had longed for Edmund to be a hero, for him to be someone that she could trust and laugh with – Oh. L'Argent's father was speaking again.
"Don't look like that, it's not— it's not what it sounds," he said. "After you were born, your father.. Edmund.. decided that Lord Voldemort was truly evil, and that he could no longer be a disciple of that horrible name. He betrayed – turned in – a number of high-ranking followers working in the Ministry, and afterwards was forced into hiding, fearing for his life. Edmund died a hero, however he was killed – most certainly by one of Voldemort's supporters. For his treachery. But he died a hero."
Guin felt curiously hollow inside. New information flitted through her brain like flies, assembling and reassembling in a strange sort of numbness. She could almost see Edmund Marlowe, a man who looked something like Mikael, raising his wand in a desperate last stand – or maybe they killed him from behind – She did not realize that she was staring off into space until L'Argent's father shook her, looking worried. "Guin? Guin, are you all right?"
Feeling a bit dazed, Guin glanced up at him. "Hmm? No, I'm fine, really. The others are waiting." Indeed, the rest of the party was watching them without it appearing to do so. Only Uncle Henry was still watching them, that oddly focused look on his handsome features again. Jack L'Argent nodded, removed the spell, and they walked back to where the rest waited. Guin glanced at her watch, and then at Rilla. "We'd better get going – Rilla's parents will be worried, I think."
It took several minutes to extricate themselves from the L'Argent clan, particularly from the clutches of Matilde and Marthe. The two sisters were loathe to let the older girls leave, they continued to pelt them with questions up until the point where Aviva L'Argent peeled their grasping hands away from Guin and Rilla's arms and forcibly dragged them away. L'Argent waved, but in a subdued sort of way – he was overshadowed by the loud and boisterous family; only he and Merrick were really the quiet type.
"What was that about?" Rilla whispered, once they had managed to escape.
"It was – L'Argent's da knew mine, and, and he told me a bit about him.. I'm sorry, Ril, I just.. I need a moment to.. to think.."
"Was she as strict?" Rilla wanted to know.
"Worse," Uncle Henry said, with a comical grimace; "I think she's mellowed in her old age."
Guin and Rilla looked dubiously at each other: they couldn't imagine McGonagall as anything but a disciplinarian, and if what Henry said was true, than she must have been truly formidable before. Lunch went by slowly, but it was enjoyable. At about one o' clock, another group of people entered through the door, setting the bell tinkling, and L'Argent pushed his chair away from the table and ran to meet them. "Mum! Dad!"
"Hello, Mikael," said the woman. She was tall, dark-eyed and dark haired, with a strong nose and determined features. The only feature that L'Argent had taken from his mother Aviva was the hair, thick, slightly curly, and deep sable. "Hello, Henry – who are these charming young women?" she asked, aiming an ever-so tiny wink at the girls.
L'Argent's father was also quite tall, with brownish hair and pale gray eyes. It was clear that all the children took after him, in face and especially the eyes: all that pallid leaden hue. There were three other kids with them, two brown haired girls who looked as though they might be twins, Matilde and Marthe, and a small, grubby-faced boy named Merrick, with a head of curly black hair, who promptly shoved his hand in his mouth and stared wide-eyed at them, nervously. As introductions were made, the two girls pushed themselves in front of their younger brother, peering at Guin and Rilla.
"Are you Mikael's friends?" Matilde demanded.
"What House are you in?" Marthe added.
"Will you show us around, when we get to Hogwarts?"
"D' you know a lot of spells?"
"Can we see some?"
"Mikael won't do spells for us."
"He says we're too young to see them—"
"But we think he just doesn't know any."
Bemused, Rilla glanced at Guin and looked pained. The only other people they knew that talked like this were the Weasley twins, Fred and George, both third years. However, there were subtle differences between the two ingenuous faces presented before them, and Guin thought that perhaps Marthe was a bit older. "Are you twins?" she asked them curiously. Instantly the two looked quite aggrieved, and shook their heads vehemently.
"No!"
"Why does everyone think that?"
"It's because you talk like you know what the other one's thinking," Merrick said, removing his hand from his mouth, looking surprised that he had spoken, and promptly returned to sucking on his fingers, eyes as maniacally large as ever.
"But we're not twins!" Matilde insisted.
"Yeah, Matilde's ten months older than I am. You know that, Mer!"
Aviva and Jack L'Argent listened to their children, amused, letting them chatter. L'Argent himself whispered to Guin and Rilla, though loud enough so that his sisters could hear him. The comment would be ruined, otherwise, after all. "Pay them no mind, they're always like this, you can't shut them up." Matilde and Marthe glared wordlessly at him.
Uncle Henry paid for the bill, and the L'Argent clan spilled back out onto the London street, into one of the parks, where they chatted. Guin found herself talking to Jack, who looked down at her from a vantagepoint of well over six feet. "How are you, Guin?" he said, looking uneasy. When she asked him what was wrong, the man sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and gestured her over to the side. "Mikael has probably told you that I knew your father in school?" She nodded, mutely, not trusting herself to speak. "Well, we were very good friends, and – and when I look at you, you're so much like him it brings back old memories."
Guin blinked. She should feel water in her eyes, really. That's how she felt. But nothing came, only a lump in her throat that made her voice hoarse as she tried to speak. "Can you tell me how – how he died?" she asked, voice a rasping whisper.
"We don't really know," Jack L'Argent said, his face pale. "He – disappeared. They looked, but.."
"Mum never talks about him. What was he like?"
He swallowed hard, pale eyes looking off into the distance, the thousand-yard stare, seeing back decades when he was still young and the world held promise and joy. "We were both Slytherins, and we'd been best friends for years. Edmund was the serious one, and I was the practical joker – oh, he had a nasty sense of humor as well, sarcastic and cynical. Character foils, I guess you'd call them.. I would have died for him," Jack told her seriously, laughing with a hollow sound. "You're very much like him, Guin. I normally wouldn't be this candid – Edmund had the same look. He'd watch you, and you'd talk because you wanted him to smile and you wanted him to like you— I'm sorry if this is hard for you, hearing about him."
"No, no, I'm fine," Guin insisted, desperately wanting to hear more. "When did he meet mum?"
Jack L'Argent looked around uneasily for a moment, and surreptitiously cast a spell, wand hidden in his jacket sleeve. "Silencio enfoldus," he murmured, and hastened to reassure the girl, who was looking a bit wary. "No, I just don't want anyone to hear what I say next..
"Your mother was always cold. She was beautiful, and nakedly ambitious. Your quintessential Slytherin, basically. She and Edmund had an odd sort of relationship – they were so much alike that they had a common bond deep between them, but so alike also that they couldn't cope with their sameness. Too much ambition, too many secrets between them. And.. Guin, no one else is going to tell you this, and I swear to you that I speak as a friend, I don't mean to hurt you – you have a right to know -- but – they were both Death Eaters."
Guin looked at the ground, a rushing sounding in her ears. She had known that Angeline was a supporter of Lord Voldemort, definitely: but Father? Subconsciously Guin knew she had longed for Edmund to be a hero, for him to be someone that she could trust and laugh with – Oh. L'Argent's father was speaking again.
"Don't look like that, it's not— it's not what it sounds," he said. "After you were born, your father.. Edmund.. decided that Lord Voldemort was truly evil, and that he could no longer be a disciple of that horrible name. He betrayed – turned in – a number of high-ranking followers working in the Ministry, and afterwards was forced into hiding, fearing for his life. Edmund died a hero, however he was killed – most certainly by one of Voldemort's supporters. For his treachery. But he died a hero."
Guin felt curiously hollow inside. New information flitted through her brain like flies, assembling and reassembling in a strange sort of numbness. She could almost see Edmund Marlowe, a man who looked something like Mikael, raising his wand in a desperate last stand – or maybe they killed him from behind – She did not realize that she was staring off into space until L'Argent's father shook her, looking worried. "Guin? Guin, are you all right?"
Feeling a bit dazed, Guin glanced up at him. "Hmm? No, I'm fine, really. The others are waiting." Indeed, the rest of the party was watching them without it appearing to do so. Only Uncle Henry was still watching them, that oddly focused look on his handsome features again. Jack L'Argent nodded, removed the spell, and they walked back to where the rest waited. Guin glanced at her watch, and then at Rilla. "We'd better get going – Rilla's parents will be worried, I think."
It took several minutes to extricate themselves from the L'Argent clan, particularly from the clutches of Matilde and Marthe. The two sisters were loathe to let the older girls leave, they continued to pelt them with questions up until the point where Aviva L'Argent peeled their grasping hands away from Guin and Rilla's arms and forcibly dragged them away. L'Argent waved, but in a subdued sort of way – he was overshadowed by the loud and boisterous family; only he and Merrick were really the quiet type.
"What was that about?" Rilla whispered, once they had managed to escape.
"It was – L'Argent's da knew mine, and, and he told me a bit about him.. I'm sorry, Ril, I just.. I need a moment to.. to think.."