She didn't remember much. Funny, how it all became a blur in just a matter of minutes. To be honest, she wished that memories from that evening could simply disappear and never come back. Clarisse didn't want to remember her father, alive and well, standing in a Muggle bar, like he didn't have family somewhere. She also didn't want to remember anything that came after seeing him.
"Auror Bouchard, do you know why you're here?"
A strange, unfamiliar voice said, and Clarisse raised her eyes, looking at a tall man in fancy robes. Something told her that she'd seen these kind of robes before, and that seeing them now couldn't mean anything even remotely good. She dismissed those thoughts, focusing on more important things, like the numbing feeling consuming her entire heart.
In a way, she felt completely detached from not only her emotions, but also everything that happened around her. She couldn't care less for the magical handcuffs on her wrists, or for the stern look on the strange man's face. It didn't really matter.
"Auror Bouchard?"
Clarisse sighed and decided that the man wasn't going to simply stop pestering her. She had to give him some answers, even if they would turn out completely irrelevant.
"I'm here, because I've used Magic in front of a bunch of Muggles," she said and shrugged. "No big deal, it happens."
"No, Auror. It doesn't," the man answered and Clarisse scowled, knowing that he was probably right. It didn't happen to the workers of the Ministry. Usually.
"I've had a good reason," she murmured and looked down, to her cuffed hands. "That bloody bastard doesn't even remember me. Or he just pretends..."
"Who are you referring to?"
Clarisse didn't answer right away. Instead, she frowned, trying to recall every second of that meeting, against her better judgement. She didn't want to remember it, but she simply had to. Throwing her career away wasn't exactly a brilliant idea. She had to know that there was a reason for doing so.
"How can you forget your entire family, huh?" she asked, not paying attention to the man's question. "Okay, he disappeared when I was still a kid, but you don't forget things like that."
"Auror Bouchard..."
"Do you have a wife?"
"It's not relevant to the..."
"Answer me!" she interrupted and slammed her hand against the table, ignoring the pain in her wrists. The man jumped up at the sound , looking at something behind her, and Clarisse guessed that he sought aid in his co-workers hiding behind the charmed glass -another great idea stolen from Muggles.
"I do. I have a wife and daughter," he finally answered, making Clarisse's expression soften.
"Would you leave them? Leave them, and let them believe you were dead? It's been twenty years. That's how long he was out there, completely fine and unharmed, while my mother and I believed he was dead."
"Who?"
Clarisse took a deep breath, surprised at how steady it was. Maybe her outburst turned out to be a good thing. Maybe all of the emotions, all of the anger and hatred left her body with the spells she'd cast upon her father. Maybe she simply had nothing left inside of her.
"Kylian Bouchard. Don't pretend like you don't know him. He was an Auror, and a bloody good one at that."
"I've never met him. Are you sure that the man you've attacked is your father?"
"You think I'd be able to forget my father's face?" she said and smiled with bitterness. "Like I said, I had a pretty good reason."
"Even if it really is him, you broke the law, Auror," the man stated, but his voice lacked its stern tone from earlier. "There were a lot of Muggles in that club. You've endangered our entire community."
"I know." Clarisse nodded and shrugged. "I just didn't care. I couldn't have done anything else."
"You could have let Auror Finley handle everything. You could have waited for..."
"Would you wait?" she spat and clenched her fists, deciding that some of her anger must still be hidden inside her body. "Would you be able to act like a perfect machine, when your life comes crumbling down on top of your head?"
The man fell silent and glanced at the glass once again. Just like before, no aid came from that direction, because he looked back at her with a compassionate expression.
"I'm afraid it doesn't matter, what I would've done."
"No. It really doesn't," she smiled and closed her eyes for a moment. "I suppose I can say good bye to my career, huh?"
"It's not decided yet. For now, you're suspended. There will be a disciplinary hearing. Until then, you are banned from doing anything even remotely close to your job. The case you've been working on, is officially out of your hands, and you will be replaced by someone else."
Clarisse really didn't want to show how much his words hurt her, but even with her effort, she was sure that some of the pain had reached her face. Still, she didn't protest, or flinch. She simply accepted it.
"Can you at least take these handcuffs off?" she asked and smiled bitterly. "I might not be an Auror, but I'm still a witch, aren't I?"
"Yes, of course," he answered and took out his hand to release her wrists. After a second, she could move her hands again, knowing that even regained freedom couldn't make her happy. "You can go. Stay out of trouble, Auror."
Clarisse stood up and offered the man a stiff nod. She left the room, feeling completely unlike herself. She just wanted to go home and possibly get wasted. What else was she supposed to do anyway?
Unfortunately, Aedan Finley standing on the corridor with a half concerned, half angry expression, made her plan impossible.
"How did it go?" he asked, as soon as he spotted her, and Clarisse offered him a reluctant glance.
"I'm suspended. Not for long, though, cause after the disciplinary hearing I'll probably get fired," she answered and wanted to walk past him, but he didn't let her.
His hand caught her wrist, reminding her about the handcuffs that were there a couple of minutes earlier.
"What were you thinking, Bouchard?" he asked angrily and Clarisse fought the urge to curse him as well. She didn't have to explain herself to him, and she certainly wasn't going to do so.
"I wasn't thinking, Finley. It just happened."
"You Stupified a complete stranger! What's with your constant need to stun people?!"
"He isn't a stranger," she answered calmly, and he closed his mouth in surprise. "I may be impulsive, but did you really think that I would curse someone just because he looked at me the wrong say? In a club full of Muggles?"
"I don't know, Clarisse. It certainly didn't look like something justifiable."
"That man is my father," she said and averted her gaze.
"Your father? But I thought..."
"That he's dead? Yeah, well. Me too. I've been convinced that he's gone. Turns out, he wasn't. He just left us. And he claims not to know who I am," she explained, forcing Finley to frown.
"Clarisse... I've been the one interrogating him. I really don't think he knows you. He is a wizard, but he doesn't have a family. He was terrified."
She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, unable to take Finley's words calmly. Unless he was under the influence of Polyjuice Potion, or some very efficient masking spells, he had to be her father. Even after all these years of not seeing his face, and not hearing his voice, the moment she had laid her eyes on him, she simply knew.
"Then he's a better liar, than I thought. Show his face to any older Auror in the department. Show his face to Deschamps and he will tell you that I'm right," Clarisse said, trying to calm herself. "I'm not lying. I probably shouldn't have cursed him, but some things... Some things, you just can't help."
Aedan fell silent for a moment, and then did the strangest thing –he pulled her close and hugged fiercely, burying his face in her hair. Clarisse went stiff for a moment, not knowing what to do about this sudden outburst of emotions, but she decided that she didn't have to act like a bitch all the time. There was something comforting about his warmth and the way he smelled. Riss couldn't tell what it was, but it made her reciprocate his gesture. She let herself sink into his arms and stop thinking, just for one second.
"I'm not going to let them fire you, Clarisse."
"Aedan, you don't really have the power to do anything. You may be an Auror, but you're not from here."
"Fine," he mumbled and she felt his hand caress her back tenderly. "But Deschamps is not going to let you go down without a fight. I really can't believe I'm saying this, but you're damn good at your job."
Despite everything, she couldn't stop herself from smirking. It felt weirdly satisfying to hear that from Finley's mouth, and she decided that she was rather proud of making him change his mind.
"I can't say I expected to hear that," she said and frowned against his shirt.
"Yeah, well. I wasn't expecting to say this. I was taught to protect you, take care of you. It's rather hard not to perceive you as delicate, when I've been thinking that my whole life."
She pulled back slightly to meet his gaze. Clarisse was surprised to see that his eyes were filled with tenderness and something else, which she couldn't define. Whatever it was, it made shivers run up her spine.
"Why? Medieval times have ended a long time ago. Women are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves."
"I've spent my entire childhood watching my mother struggle to raise three children, basically on her own. My father was never there, and she was just one person. She did a great job, but it tooksomething away from her. She's probably one of the strongest people I know, but she doesn't smile even half as much as she used to. She sacrificed her youth to become the best mother in the world, and she got nothing in return. Nothing, but loneliness and no support. And it broke her."
Clarisse didn't know how to feel about Aedan's honesty, but a part of her wanted to simply return the favour and hug him fiercely, just so he knew that she was there. It felt weird to be struck with an urge such as this one, but she decided that nothing in her life seemed normal anymore. She decided to simply forget about her usual demeanour and, for once, listen to her heart. Surprisingly, it seemed to know a lot about human behaviour. Clarisse wrapped her arms around his waist, and Finley stiffened for a moment, clearly abashed. It didn't take him long to pull her close once again.
"The mere idea of witnessing that process ever again disgusts me, Clarie," he mumbled quietly and let out a shaky breath.
"So you think that by pointing out our weaknesses, you can prove to us that we're not suitable for the job, therefore protecting us from its harmful influence?" she asked and snorted. "That's ridiculous."
"Yeah. I know that now," he answered and pulled back a bit, only to caress her cheek tenderly. "There's nothing wrong in being delicate... But there's also nothing wrong in being strong. And you've made me realise that not every woman has to change drastically to be tough. I'm pretty sure you were born this way," he laughed and then his gaze intensified, making her feel a bit uneasy. Suddenly, she became aware of the fact that their bodies were still touching, and that she could almost feel his breath on her face. A vague smell of peppermint, mixed with some kind of citrus, reached her nose, and she decided that she really liked it.
"No. No, I wasn't," she said and scowled. "I grew up, watching my father. All I wanted, was to be like him. Hell, I wanted to become him. He has taught me everything, he's made me who I am today, even if I was only a little girl when he left. You see, that's what made him such a brilliant Auror. He had such a great charisma that people wanted to follow him to the end of the world. Even after years of his absence, I still..." She stopped herself, feeling her cheeks starting to warm up from sudden embarrassment.
"You still what?"
"I still want to make him proud," Clarisse whispered and looked down, not wanting to meet his intense gaze. "I still dream about hearing him say that I've grown up to be a fine woman. It's been twenty years, Aedan. It's been fucking long, but at the same time, not long enough to forget everything. So why did he forget?"
"I don't know, Clarie." Finley's response came in a whisper too, but even so, she could tell that his voice was filled with a lot of emotions. It made her heart skip a beat, even if she didn't know what to make of it. "But I will find out. I promise you that. There are a lot of questions that need to be answered, and I'm not going to stop, until I've done so."
It was in that moment, when she realised that somewhere along the way, she started to trust him. Just like that, he stopped being a pain in the ass, and started to be her partner. They didn't have to bleed together, or save each other's lives. It was never about that.
Their mutual understanding had come from a much deeper place and that thought both scared and thrilled her. Because she didn't know how to feel about opening herself up to another person, but at the same time her heart wanted to sing. She wasn't alone anymore. And maybe it really wasn't such a bad thing.
The silence enveloping her mother's house had never felt more soothing. Clarisse decided that it was easier to gather her own thoughts, when there was no one there to pester her about some non-important things. Here, it was easier to focus on those feelings that started to resurface once again, after she'd realised that everything that had happened, wasn't just a sick dream. No... Her father was alive, and he clearly wasn't a dream. Nightmare would be a better word, but Clarisse wasn't sure if it described the complexity of the situation she had found herself in.
She was in pain. Obviously, it had nothing to do with any sorts of physical injuries, but she'd rather have three broken ribs and an internal bleeding, than feel this bad. The initial shock of seeing her father had worn off, leaving her with a raging feeling of betrayal and hurt that clouded her judgement completely. It was impossible to think about something else, than the scene in that Muggle bar. It was hard to forget the cracking of her voice, when she walked up to the familiar man and called him her father. While she couldn't forget the sound of her own voice, it would be a dream come true to forget his reaction upon hearing it. That look of pure disbelief and confusion was bound to haunt her dreams, making her scream out loud in straight-up agony.
She didn't even remember most of their conversation. The sentences that had left her mouth could hardly be described as sensible. How could one choose their words, after twenty years of silence, or one-sided conversations? How could she ever decide what should she say first?
Not that it mattered. Because even if she had made the right choice, it still wouldn't change a thing. It wouldn't wash away his shocked expression, half confused, half terrified. It wouldn't make him pull her into a warm, familiar embrace, just as it wouldn't turn them into a normal family. It couldn't even make him remember.
"Clarisse, what are you doing here?" Her mother's voice reached her ears, and she realised that losing herself in her pain had proved to be even easier than she'd thought. She raised her gaze slowly, only to find her mother standing at the top of the stairs with a surprised expression.
"It's quiet in here," Riss answered and bit the inside of her cheek, realising that it was only a part of her reasons for coming here.
Eugenia Bouchard might have been her complete opposite. They might have fought for the greater part of Clarisse's life, but they'd never stopped being a family. Not even for a second. There wasn't a better place to heal hear wounds, than home. And there wasn't a better person to do it with, than her mother.
"I saw him, mom," she said, watching Eugenia stiffen instantly. "He was in that bar, you've told us about."
"Clarie..."
"I swear it was him. I know what I saw."
"Who are you talking about?" Her mother's voice sounded completely empty, telling Clarisse that the question was a mere formality. Eugenia knew more than well, who she was talking about.
"Father. I saw father."
Eugenia looked at her for a minute in complete silence, and then she slowly walked down the stairs, joining Clarisse on the couch. It certainly wasn't a reaction she'd expected, but her mother could hardly be described as normal. Maybe she was just in shock, like Clarisse had initially been in? Either way, her face reminded Riss of an untouched surface of a lake.
"So, he's alive," Eugenia said and cleared her throat. "A part of me always knew that."
"He doesn't remember us. He claims to have no family."
Her mother looked at her sharply, and this time, Clarisse had no doubts that she was surprised.
"He has no recollection of..."
"No," Clarisse said and clenched her fist, anger returning to her in a blink of an eye, overshadowing the pain for a brief moment.
"How is that possible?" Eugenia asked and her eyes started to glisten. "How... We're... I-... I- What happened? What happened, Clarie?"
Clarisse opened her mouth and started to tell the same story she'd already told before. She didn't even have to think about her words, they were already so rehearsed and practiced. It was easier that way. She didn't have to force herself to relieve the same emotions over and over, and over. She didn't have to scratch her aching wounds, before they even got the chance to heal.
It was hard to watch her mother's tears. It was even harder to stop her own from flowing down her face in a steady rhythm, but she tried to do it anyway. Pretending to be strong, to be unmoved turned out to be completely pointless, because as soon as her mother's arms wrapped themselves around her figure, she broke apart. And it didn't feel wrong.
She almost wanted to laugh at the sudden realisation that all she needed to finally accept emotions, was to be so overwhelmed by them that she simply had no other choice than let them all out. Clarisse wished that none of this had ever happened, but at the same time... At the same time, the pain made her feel alive. It was a testimony of her life being something more, than a dream, an illusion. Because it was real, while her façade of unbreakable strength wasn't.
Just like that, she suddenly understood what Herbert meant. And it made things a bit easier.
