Okay, another loaded chapter for y'all to take in. I know, not a lot of Cassius-Alicia action, but they're on the holidays!
Good news - Yule's coming up around the corner (maybe next chapter even) so there you go, a little enticement for you to leave reviews.
Stromsten: Read this chapter, I think you'll find out the answer to your musings...
Jadely31: I'm definitely working on a resolution. It definitely depends on how you guys feel about the characters and the story arc. I actually get a lot of inspiration from your comments because sometimes you'll catch things, either about the characters or the story, that I didn't even see as I was writing lol
Guest: You're right on the dot about Florrie's view on Cassius and Alicia. Montague is a Slytherin to the core. Looking out for Cassius is part of his self-interest because they're friends and even selfish people have friends. If he can save his own neck and Cassius' too, he'll do whatever he can to make sure all goes in their favour. But obviously if it means risking his own life, even for Cassius, then that'd be a different story. As for the terminology, I'm actually pleased and astonished that you caught onto that. I was having a debate with myself about whether or not 'god' and other religious terms of the sort would be used by magical folk, but then I realized they do celebrate Christmas in the books, and that the head of Hufflepuff is the Fat Friar. So even if the wizarding world is secularized, much like our world tends to be today, I sort of assumed that words like god and merlin could be used interchangeably in conversation without a religious connotation. As for Flint's non-reaction, I think my reasoning at the time was that he's graduated from Hogwarts, and house lines aren't so marked in the outside world. I mean, it's not like for instance in playing quidditch, he's only playing with pureblood Slytherins - he's teammates with muggle-borns, halfbloods and all sorts of people from all over the place. So since leaving school, I think he isn't as shocked by seeing something like Montague and Alicia. So while he made the connection, he didn't make such a big deal about it. I think he was perhaps more amused and surprised than offended - just like in the real world, I don't think as a man he sees much of a problem with Alicia being objectified as a sexual being, but obviously as Skylar mentioned in the previous chapter, "I guess for marriage and stuff they care about [the blood issue] more".
Etoile Black: Cassius' dad does suck. Get a load of his mother here... I'm glad you're so drawn in by the dialogue!
Chkale: Alicia is naive, you're right - she's really just a teenager seeing things as a normal teen would. Cassius, on the other hand, like a lot of his housemates, is sort of in a strange place between being just a teen and being grown up with all the pressures put on them by their parents and their Society.
Sibel88: I have no idea how long this story is going to last. To be honest, I'm really surprised myself at it's length so far. I mean, my inspiration from this really came from Fighter which is only a two-shot, and so I was sort of only going to write a shortish story but the characters have really been writing themselves and there's just so much to say. So I really don't know. But I'll keep writing as long as you guys keep reviewing!
ENJOY!
"Mother."
"Cassius. Qu'est-ce que tu fais là?" What are you doing here?
Cassius stood stiffly in the doorway of the sitting room as his mother swept across the sitting room, her large dark, heavily-lidded eyes glittering distantly at him from the other side of the room. She moved like a spider, her long, thin limbs moving purposefully, each motion eerily synchronized, and when she came to a halt in front of him, she cocked her head to the side as if to inspect him.
"You've been drinking," she said in English.
"As have you."
"Touché," she replied, putting on a false anglophone accent, tilting her glass of wine at him. "Santé." (To your health - cheers).
"Santé," Cassius murmured dryly.
"What brings you to this neck of the woods, then? You're not due to inherit for another... six months."
Cassius blinked. Inherit? Of course. He'd be graduating in six months. His mother's eyes flashed suspiciously.
"Forgot that little detail, did you? Well you're certainly not here to visit me. Did your father send you? Odious man. I wrote to him you know? Told him I would be down for the Ball, though I suppose he wanted you to come down here in person to make sure I wasn't dead yet?" She laughed nastily and offered him her glass. He shook his head, distastefully eying the lipstick stains on the rim. "Too bad. It was from Alexandre's funeral, just found an entire crate of it hidden away in the wine cellar. We named you after him, you know?"
"Yes, I know," Cassius replied. You only tell me every time I see you.
"Well, as you can see, I'm alive and well. You can tell your father he can keep on praying."
"Duly noted," he muttered as he glanced around at the family tree that was spread across the four walls of the room.
Cassius walked over to the wall at the opposite end of the room, where his mother had been standing when he'd opened the door.
Ah. And there he was, dear old Uncle Evan, his name elegantly engraved into the wall in between his mother's and Uncle Roland.
Cassius watched as his mother refilled her glass from the bottle resting on the table.
"Do you want some?"
"You already asked."
"Did I? It's quite good, you know - I found an entire case of it from Alexandre's funeral -
"You know what?" Cassius interrupted, grabbing the glass and the bottle from his mother, "I'll take some."
And you've bloody well had enough.
And haven't you?
Fuck off.
"There he is," said her mother, haphazardly waving her wand in the direction of the wall.
Cassius glanced back at the wall. Uncle Alex, first in line, first to be buried, followed by Uncle Felix.
"And there you are," his mother continued, "Cassius Alexandre Warrington. That was your father's choice."
"I'm rather partial to my name, thanks."
"Though in hindsight, I ought to have named you after Evan instead. You look just like him, did I ever tell you that?"
"Every time," Cassius muttered to himself as he cast another sidelong glance at the wall. Louder he said, "You know, now that I think about it, you've never shown me any pictures of him -
"Of who?"
"Of uncle Evan," he replied through gritted teeth."You're always telling me how I look just like him but I've never seen a picture - or, say, a portrait even."
He waited for his mother to take the bait, but instead her eyes took on a bitter expression
"Evan hated pictures. He used to say why in the hell would I want to be remembered by posteriority as some gangly pimple-faced teenager?"
"Well what about a portrait?" he asked urgently. "Didn't you all have portraits done after graduation?"
"Oh, not Evan - well, he always was mother's favourite. He never even had acne, not like I did. But she let him put it off - took three years to convince him to get it done, just before that disgusting muggle-lover Moody went and blew him to bits. I had to get mine done of course, acne and all, and no amount of bubertuber puss -
"Uncle Evan's portrait, mother, where is it?"
"Where is it?"
His mother screwed up her face in concentration, her elegantly arched eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"Well, I suppose it's at his house. He had it done just in time for Yule, but we never did have the time to hang it up at the Big House. He only died a few days later, you know? On New Year's, of all days. Those Order bastards were always cruel like that, attacking on the holidays."
Cassius flinched when his mother suddenly grasped his arm, her nails digging into his skin in an all-too familiar manner.
"You should have killed him, you know," she said, her dark eyes wide and glassy. "He was your teacher for an entire year -
Cassius wrenched his arm out of her grasp and stepped back.
"I didn't take Defence last year," he spat. "And anyway, it wasn't actually Mad-Eye, it was Crouch Jr. -
He didn't even want to get into the logistical impossibilities of killing a professor inside of Hogwarts. In any case, his mother had stopped listening. She'd trailed back over to the wall and was now tracing Marielle's name with the tip of her wand, ranting about blood-traitors like Moody and "weak halfblood-fucking sons of bitches" like his father.
Where was Evan's house?
Which one was Evan's house?
Evan had been the last to die, which meant he'd inherited a third of the estates, his mother the other third. Cassius had been a year-old, born just after Felix had been killed, leaving him with the remaining third. So when Evan had died, he'd had... what? There was the Big House in the north, the country house in Aix, the Bordeaux townhouse, the Paris townhouse, the mistress' townhouse in Paris and the Marseille townhouse.
It had to be the Bordeaux house... Evan had been in possession of the Big House and the Bordeaux house after Felix died, and his mother had said they'd never had the time to move the portrait to the Big House. New Year's Eve celebration - and then funeral - arrangements had taken precedence no doubt.
So. To the Bordeaux house it was.
"I'm sorry Miss Spinnet," the auburn-haired receptionist repeated for the fourth time, "But he isn't available today and I am not at liberty to disclose his location. Might I suggest you send him an owl like normal people -
"You don't understand, I need to write this paper as soon as possible and he has my book -
"So you've said a thousand times," the receptionist snapped heatedly. "But this is a law firm, not a library, and if you do not leave out of your own accord, then I'm afraid I'm going to have to call security -
"Fine," Alicia muttered, turning pink at the prospect of being escorted out of the Warrington firm by a couple of overzealous security guards. "Thanks for nothing - oomph!"
"Well, well, we seem to have a habit of running into each other in unexpected places, Spinnet," Montague drawled as Alicia pushed herself off of him in disgust. "Back for more, are you? I'm afraid I'll have to pencil you in -
"Piss off, Montague -
"Warrington isn't in," he said in a low voice, his hand clamping down on her shoulder and steering her out of the building by force. "And I suggest you stop stalking him -
"Stalking him! He came to my house -
"Shut up, Spinet," Montague replied curtly as he shoved her into the crowd of Diagon Alley shoppers. "You have some fucking nerve showing up at his father's office. Merlin's balls, I knew you were stupid but not that stupid! Do you have any idea - forget it. You just stay away from him, do you understand? And I'm fucking serious. You've done enough damage. He's been on a drinking binge for fucking days -
"And who's fault is that?" she snapped. "You're the one who has nerve, trying to push this all off on me! I wasn't the one who made it look like -
"Shut up and keep walking," Montague hissed, still walking discreetly behind her as the weaved in and out of the crowd. "Turn here."
Alicia stumbled forward into a little side alley as Montague shoved her to the right.
"I'm not even going to ask what you were doing at the Firm but let me make it clear to you how fucking stupid of an idea that was. If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I'll make your life a living hell do you understand? Cassius was my mate before he was ever your - your twisted fucking game -
"My twisted fucking game? What are you, high -
"Shut. Up. You have no idea what you've done, you stupid bitch. He fancies himself to be in love with you - with you! And you keep stringing him along like he's some sort of dog. I don't think he's be in sober in days. You send him packing one day, and then you think you can just crook your finger at him so he can come running the next? Shut your mouth, Spinnet, it's unattractive. You leave him the fuck alone. Don't look at him, don't talk to him, don't write to him. Don't so much as breathe in his direction, or I'll tell your boyfriend everything. I'll tell your friends everything. And before you laugh and tell me I'll just be screwing Cass over too, you just think it over for a minute. Because you have everything to lose, and he has nothing. His father might scuff him up for being indiscreet, people might talk shit for a bit, but shagging half-bloods isn't a crime as long as that's all it is. Yet. So unless you want to get yourself killed - or worse - back the fuck off. Hell, you're chummy with Saint Potter. I don't think I need to tell you twice that war's coming. And you and Cass, not matter how far up your arse he's shoved his dick, are not on the same sides. So Fuck. Off. "
And with that, she punched him in the face, satisfaction surging through her veins as her knuckles came into contact with his nose and a crack resonated in her ears.
"That was for the other day you sonofabitch. Keep your crooked nose out of other people's business."
She melted back into the crowd as Montague's howl of pain disappeared into the distance.
It occurred to Cassius with a sudden surprise as he stepped into the Bordeaux townhouse that if his suspicions were correct, the house would no longer be part of his inheritance package. He found himself to be strangely ambivalent about this change in fortune as he sauntered down the corridor in search of his uncle's portrait.
The interior of the house had definitely been redecorated since his uncle had last wandered through its rooms, much as he did now. Cassius recognized some of the same colour schemes as in the Paris house. When was the last time he'd been here? Not in years... he had a vague recollection of standing on the balcony and throwing bits of paper down at the passing muggles, and laughing whenever they looked up. But the house was unplottable. The only thing the muggles could see was a windowless wall.
For a second, he considered asking one of the other portraits in the house where his uncle was located, but he realized that anything he said could easily be reported back to one of his parents if somebody decided to be nosy or chatty, which portraits were known to be.
Ah magic, where would he be without it?
He fished his wand out of his pocket and placed it on his palm.
"Point me."
Cassius followed the wand's directions until he found himself standing in front of a bookcase in the library. He rolled his eyes in disbelief. Such a cliché.
He pushed the bookcase forward and just as he expected, it swung open to reveal a little office with a long-unused fireplace, a large wooden desk and more bookshelves. Even the office hadn't escaped his mother's hands - all the books had been colour-coordinated by size (and obviously not alphabetically), and the curtains were a sheer white. The walls had been painted an ivory-blue. And in the centre of the back wall was a large painting of his uncle Evan seated behind his desk, a portrait of this very office, staring haughtily down at him like an eerie mirror's reflection.
Cassius pushed the bookcase back in place and turned back. His uncle continued to stare silently at him, his cool expression unchanged. If Cassius hadn't known better, he would have thought it a muggle portrait.
"I have some questions to ask you," he finally ventured.
"What, no introduction, nephew?" the portrait replied, with a mocking twist his lips.
"You know who I am," Cassius answered cooly, "And I know who you are. What's an introduction between family members?"
"Brusque. You sound like your father."
Cassius stiffened, and his uncle smirked.
"Don't like that, do you?"
"I came here to ask you questions, not the other way around."
"And I can choose not to answer them," said the portrait just as coolly. Cassius watched silently as his uncle made himself comfortable, leaning back against his chair, hands crossed behind his head. It was strange to realize that as much as he thought of his uncle as his mother's age in his head, this portrait was a painting of a young man - only three years older than him, really. His mannerisms betrayed his youth. Cassius was almost disappointed that their conversation would not be as formal and as stilted as the ones he had with his father. This was almost more like talking with one of his schoolmates.
Well. He could work with that.
"I want to know about Florrie," said Cassius abruptly, favouring his direct approach rather than adopting Montague's style of beating around the bush, or the shut-up-and-listen tactic he employed with his father. His uncle froze - only for a split second, but Cassius recognized it and knew he'd hit the nail on its head. "I met her. And her daughter."
"And what is it that you think I know about these people?"
He was fishing. Didn't want to give away more than he had to.
"She went to school with you," said Cassius. "You must have taken Herbology together. She said you used to drink and smoke behind the greenhouses when you thought nobody was looking."
"Maybe. I took Herbology with a lot of mudbloods. They tend to be a nosy lot, what can I say?"
"You refer to them all by their first names? It's interesting, see, because when I met her, I thought she was going to have an aneurysm. And then she called me Evan. Which normally I would have brushed off, except I know for a fact that she's... well, a mudblood. And then I met her daughter. Her name's Skylar and I believe she's... well, sixteen sounds about right."
"I don't know anything about that," said Evan sharply. And while he was still leaning back against his chair, his eyes were flashing dangerously and Cassius had no doubt that this was a man who in real life had the capacity to kill.
"Well," said Cassius. "It had to have happened right about the time this portrait was commissioned."
"It wasn't commissioned," his uncle spat. "I painted it myself."
"An artist and a killer. How charming. Well, if you really don't know anything about Florence Kim or her daughter, then I have nothing more to say to you. I was just concerned about my inheritance is all, seeing as to how if you did have a bastard running around... Well. If you're lying, I'll find out when she comes of age anyhow. She'll show up on half the family trees in Britain as the last direct descendent to the Rosier line besides mother, and who knows what might happen then? Mother hasn't exactly been in a stable state of mind since Marielle died... though I expect you'll know all about that."
"Oh, I was fucking Florence, don't you worry your head about that." his uncle hissed, eyes flashing coldly. "But you don't honestly believe I was stupid enough to leave her without protection, do you?"
"You're dead."
"I am," his uncle replied as he walked around his desk. "But this isn't."
Cassius watched as his uncle removed his robes and unbuttoned his shirt before tapping his wand against his side... and there, amongst all the scars, appeared the Rosier family crest, the intensity of the colours a sharp contrast against the pale white of his skin.
Blood magic.
"You touch her or the girl - well, I'm sure they teach you about these things in school. And this one right here... this is a little creation of my own. You let your mother know that once Skylar - did you say her name was? - starts showing up on the family trees. Céleste was always a smart girl. Hopefully she hasn't drunk herself stupid enough to test me."
Suddenly, the bookshelf swung itself open with a loud BANG and Cassius whirled around in surprise.
"I'll see you soon, nephew," said his uncle mockingly, seated once again, his dark eyes glittering with promise as the lines of his tattoo faded once more into his flesh. "I have all the time in the world."
"He isn't coming."
"Of course he isn't. Alan, pass the salt, you forgot to add it."
"That's it?" Alicia demanded incredulously as her mother stirred the stew vigorously while salt poured itself into the pot.
"What's it? We weren't expecting him to come, you know. Just a touch more, now - that's it, stop." The salt shaker dropped itself onto the table with a light thud.
"Seriously, mum, you threw a fit over him the other day -
"And you're the one who kept insisting we'd never met him! But come on, sweetheart, you can't honestly tell me you actually thought your... friend would accept your invitation, did you?"
Alicia glared at her mother, crossing her arms in irritation.
"Well if he'd actually received my invitation, then maybe he would have said yes!"
"Oh? Did he go to Timbuktu after all, then?" Aurora asked mildly. "Alan, the pepper please. My god, were you cooking blind?"
"Footy's on -
"Of course it is," her mother snorted.
"Mum -
"Not now, Alicia - anyway, you still have... twenty minutes until dinner to get a hold of him, you know."
"You're making fun of me."
"One more shake now. What's that? Making fun of you? Stop! Dammit, Alicia, go bother your father - look what you made me do. How am I going to get all this pepper out?"
"You're a witch, mum, figure it out," Alicia replied nastily before stalking away.
"What's the matter with her?" Alan asked as Alicia stomped up the stairs.
"The boy can't make it. He's in Timbuktu."
"Good riddance. Not that it's a big surprise, mind you."
"I can still hear you people!"
"Good! Next time don't invite strange boys over without our permission!"
"ARGH! You people drive me crazy!"
"Bloody owls, I don't know why you lot can't use the post like regular people - less of a hassle, I say!" Alan grumbled as he got up from the table to open the kitchen window so the wet, irate owl tapping at the glass could enter the house. He tried to take the letter from the owl, but the bird hooted indignantly and flew over him and instead dropped its letter on top of Florrie's heaping pile of shepherd's pie. "For chrissake, look at this mess!"
"Oh Alan, they're just a few feathers," said Aurora, rolling her eyes as she flicked her wand, banishing the wet feathers.
"Easy for you to say - you have magic."
"And you have me, so there we have it. Who's it from, Flor?"
Alicia peered curiously across the table, but her mother pinched her on the thigh.
"Ouch!"
"Don't be so nosy!"
Alicia stared at her mother blankly.
"Really, mum? Weren't you the one who just asked -
"Asking and peeking are two different things."
"It's just some work stuff," said Florrie lightly, though Alicia noticed suspiciously that she hadn't even read the letter - only opened it and shoved it hastily into her pocket.
"Yeah, right," Skylar snorted. "I bet it's from whats-his-name, the balding ginger with the beady eyes who works in accidental-magic-reversal. Bertrand."
Florrie looked up as Aurora squealed in excitement.
"Er, yes," she said, "Yes, it is."
"Go on then, give it here!" said Aurora.
"Oh, er, it's in French actually -
"Nothing a quick translation charm can't fix -
"Oh leave the girl alone," said Alan, interrupting his wife, "If she wants to carry on a torrid affair, that's her business. Isn't that right, Flor?" he said with a wink.
"That's just gross," Skylar muttered.
"Oi, your mum has the right to have some fun now that you're all grown!" said Alicia. "She's still young!"
"Yeah, you wouldn't be saying that if you met good 'ol Bertie," said Skylar with a grimace.
"So!" said Florence loudly. "How about the Tutshill Tornados then?"
"Terrible," Alan barked, for he'd become something of a Quidditch guru since meeting Aurora. "Don't tell me you support them just because they've bought out the best players in the bloody league!"
Cassius tapped his foot irritably as the busty waitress came by a third time to see if he wanted anything, but he dismissed her with a curt head shake. He had no money - no muggle money, that is. He should have known better than to have chosen a muggle pub, but he didn't want to risk being seen by anybody who might know him.
Half past eight became nine, and just as he was ready to leave, the door swung open and Florrie hurried into the warmth of the pub. Cassius nodded discreetly in her direction.
"I haven't any muggle money," he said as soon as she sat down.
She raised her eyebrow, unimpressed.
"I didn't come here for drinks," she said, helping herself to his pack of cigarettes. "Whatever it is you have to say, say it quick. I have to get back soon - I told them I was meeting a friend."
"And not your nephew?"
She coughed wildly as she took her first drag, and stopped the passing waitress.
"Double Jamieson."
"Anything for... your friend?" asked the waitress, looking at Cassius with a bemused expression on her face. Florrie flushed at the implication behind the word 'friend'.
"Nephew," she said in a strangled voice. "He'll have a -
"Firewhiskey, neat."
The waitress gave him a strange look.
"You mean a Prairie Fire?"
Cassius glanced at Florrie, who shook her head wildly.
"Just - two doubles. And that'll be all, thanks."
The waitress nodded and walked away. They sat in silence, staring at each other until she returned a minute later with the two drinks. Cassius watched as Florrie knocked hers back, then followed suit.
Not bad. Not Ogden's, but not bad. For a muggle drink, anyhow.
Merlin's balls. Not bad? Not bad? Here he was, sitting in a muggle bar, drinking muggle drinks, sitting with a muggleborn - his muggleborn aunt of all people - and he was saying not bad.
Could there be anything possibly worse at this moment?
"So," said Florrie stiffly after another long, awkward silence. "What are you going to do?"
Cassius frowned. That hadn't been the question he was expecting. What was he going to do? Nothing. What was there to do? He couldn't do anything about it. If Skylar was his cousin, then everybody would know soon enough. If she truly was the last Rosier descendent, then bastard or not, she would show up on the family tree when she turned seventeen. And she would inherit, along with her father's name, his third of the Rosier properties. So what could he do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing - he was a Warrington. His stake was weaker than Skylar's. Only his mother rivalled her, and when his mother died, Skylar would truly be the last Rosier.
"I want to know about the Mark," he said at last, and Florrie looked back at him in surprise.
"How do you know about that?" she said slowly, suspiciously.
Should he tell her? There was no telling how she might take it.
"How do you know about that?" she repeated, more firmly this time, her voice rising in pitch, eyes flaring open in fear.
"Tell me about the Mark. He marked you, didn't he? I know he did so don't lie to me."
"It's on my back," she acquiesced.
"I don't need to see it," he said. I've already seen it. "I want to know about it. What did he do? Why did he do it -
"Why?" Florrie demanded. "Why's it so important to you -
"I don't think I need to even begin to get into how fucked up all of this is," said Cassius coolly. "But if Skylar is who I think she is, then, you need to tell me as much as possible about that mark."
"Are you threatening my daughter?" said Florrie in a dark voice.
"I'm not," Cassius replied irritably, "But somebody else might."
"Nobody else knows! I don't know how you found out about that mark -
"Everybody will know when she comes of age. You don't understand how it works. Unless one of my uncles had another pureblooded bastard who comes of age before Skylar does, then she's the last of the line. There are no other Rosiers - no legitimate ones, anyhow. And these families, these estates - they were designed to survive. So if it means legitimizing some bastard for the family's survival - don't look at me like that, for legality's sake, that's what she is - then that's what it takes. Which means when she comes of age, there is a ninety-nine percent chance that she'll show up on half the family trees across the country and on the continent as the last surviving heir to the Rosier name and estates, which means everyone will know that my uncle and you - well, did the nasty. Which also means that my mother, the other - and current - last heir will not be pleased."
Florrie's face went white, and Cassius crossed his arms.
"So. The Mark. I need to know everything."
"It's everything," said Florrie in a stiff voice.
"What do you mean it's everything?"
"I mean," she said, her voice taking on a hysterical undertone, "That it's everything. It's the Trinity. Or the Quadrinity, I should say."
Blood. Sex. Life (or Death, to be more specific). The Trinity of blood magic.
"What do you mean Quadrinity?"
"Skylar," said Florrie. "Skylar is Life. He - well, he's Death. Obviously. The rest, well that's just self-explanatory. I should have known. He was always too fucking clever for his own good... It just wasn't enough for him to die. He had to - to leave something behind."
"Skylar."
"Skylar," Florrie confirmed. "I was stupid. He said, what's the big deal? It's for your protection -
"Why did you need protection?"
Florrie glanced at him, a terrible look on her face.
"You know what happened to St. Mungo's the last time."
He did. It had been taken over, shuttered to non pure-bloods.
"I was studying to be a Healer at the time, before they closed it, which happened a little bit after he died. Well he knew it was going to happen - that they were going to take over the Hospital, I mean. And he knew they were starting to target Healers, Apprentices - anybody who could help... help my side win. He said he couldn't do anything to take me off the list of targets, there was no way. But there was another way."
"Blood magic."
"Right. Blood magic. He said all he would do was put an untouchable on me so I couldn't be... tortured. Or raped. He said it was an old family curse, tried and proven, no side effects or anything and he could always reverse it. So I said yes. I was stupid and scared and a lot of my colleagues were already disappearing. It was a bad time. So I let him do it. He cast the curse, we shagged as usual, did the whole blood exchange thing, baddaboom baddabing - I was untouchable."
"How do you know it worked?"
She looked at him again as though he were an idiot.
"Well for one thing, it bloody hurt like hell, although that should have been the first tip off. I mean, it hurt like hell. Like a cruciatus - and I've been on the receiving end of that."
Cassius raised an eyebrow.
"Got hit while in Diagon Alley as I was leaving the bank, right after graduation. There'd been a raid - a lot of people were withdrawing their funds around that time because the was was really starting to get heavy then. So they staged an attack and I got hit. I don't know if he was there that day, he never told me, but later when I saw him he threw a fit over it. If I'm not mistaken, Amerie Clemente disappeared soon after that. He never told me what he did to her."
"How romantic."
"Quite. Well anyway, the branding was like a cruciatus, but almost worse in a way because with the cruciatus, it's your entire body. With this, it was like all that pain was just concentrated right on my back. I thought I was being stripped in side out and all kinds of hell I can't even describe. Anyway, it was that bad. And it's never bad unless the curse is strong. But I didn't figure it out. I was just - like I said. Naive. Scared. But I knew it did what he said it would - somebody tried to get a little... fresh with me one night when I was walking home and... it wasn't pretty. Second tip off. Third tip off - nobody from the Ministry came swooping down on me for illegal and dangerous magic use on a muggle, not that I did it voluntarily or anything - but regardless, the whole thing just flew under the radar. Fourth tip off - when I saw him again, he just knew - I didn't say a word and he just knew something had happened. These are all things I thought of over the years, mind you. At the time, I was just glad I'd let him do it, didn't think twice about it. And then... well, and then he died. And I felt something in me just... I can't even explain it. You know how people say 'a part of me died with him' or whatever garbage when they're mourning? Well I'm not even kidding. It was literally like a part of me died for a split second, like my heart actually physically stopped. And when I read it in the paper what had happened the next day, I knew I was right. And the crest, that second my heart stopped, the crest burned worse than when I got it in the first place. Just for that split second. And I realized right then that there was no reversal. I was cursed. For life. By dying, he sealed the Trinity and left behind that crest as a goddamn chastity belt from beyond the grave. The last man who touched me was your uncle, and you have no idea what kind of pains I've had to go through over the last sixteen years to make sure that nobody touches me in case what happened to that muggle sonofabitch happens again. I've managed to subdue it so that people don't go into fits of madness and die left, right and centre every time they shake my hand and think I have a pretty face, but... well. Like I said. He always was too damned clever for his own good."
"Fits of madness?"
"That's what happened when he grabbed me. I was walking, not paying attention, feeling safe because I was in muggle London, but the thing you forget sometimes is that muggles can be dangerous too. Well he grabbed me from behind and the next thing I knew he was just on the floor, writhing, screaming but without making a sound, literally clawing at his own face. I had to call the police - the muggle aurors, I mean, because he was trying to dig out his own eyes. Well by the time they arrived, he'd already done it and later I found out he died on the way to the hospital - his heart just gave out."
"Circe. And if I were to touch you -
"Unless you have designs to murder me or hurt me in any way, you should be fine," said Florrie before ordering another round of drinks from the waitress. "Evan was always a tad... protective. Jealous. If he couldn't have me, then nobody else could either."
"And what happened when Skylar was born?"
Florrie gave him a tepid smile.
"Well that's the funny thing, isn't it. Absolutely nothing. I felt nothing - no burn, no heart stopping - nothing. But I was... am. I am connected to her. I can sense her, even if it isn't reciprocal. I know when she's angry, when she's happy, when she's scared, even if she's three countries away. It's always there, just bubbling under the surface, but I can tune in if I think about it. I suppose that's how he always knew whenever something was up - he was connected to me like I'm connected to Skylar."
"But she can't read you and -
"I couldn't read him."
And here they were at last, at the most important part of all.
"Does Skylar have the mark too?"
Florrie scoffed.
"No. That girl is promiscuous enough for the both of us unfortunately. If Evan were alive, he'd probably string her up by her toes. But... when she was small - just a little girl, I doubt she even remembers this - somebody had tried..." Florrie's face went white with anger. "Somebody had tried to take advantage of her. Well when I came to pick her up from the sitter's because I felt something was off - the entire Spinnet clan had gone to South America for a couple weeks so I was watching the bar at the time - there were muggle aurors all around. The sitter's son had died. They dismissed it as a psychotic episode followed by a heart attack because when they did the autopsy, that's what had apparently happened, just like the muggle who'd tried to do the same to me in the street. And they'd found drugs in his system anyway. But I knew. When they asked Skylar all those questions and she told them what he'd tried to do, they said it was karmic retribution - a sick pedophile getting what he deserved before he could hurt an innocent little girl. But I knew. That wasn't karmic retribution. That was Evan, Evan and his goddamn cleverness, and despite all of that, he couldn't even save himself.
But I think in a way he just wanted to go. There was nothing for him in this world, not me or his even his own goddamn daughter. He died that day. The bastard. Came over for a last shag before going off to chase the good guys, and I know he knew that was going to be it. I think I knew it in my heart too. Fucking arsehole, he always had this twisted way of being romantic. But that was it. He went out with a bang, just as I always knew he would because let's be honest, even if he did make it out alive, we could never be together and we both knew it. He had Azkaban waiting for him if you-know-who's side lost, and I had a lifetime of hiding ahead of me if Harry Potter hadn't come along. Skylar wouldn't have even been a possibility. God, I can't even imagine it. Now that I think about it, the only way for me to have a child in this world with him was through his death. The sonofabitch. He knew it all along."
Cassius swallowed uncomfortably as Florrie suddenly buried her face into her hands and quietly cried, another broken woman left behind by the ravages of war. He'd seen that look on his mother's face when she spoke about her brothers, about Marielle, and he'd seen in countless other faces over the years whenever a dead relative was mentioned or some past event brought up in conversation. And it was about to happen all over again, another generation - his generation - was about to be thrust head-first into that unfinished war which promised only two things: death and pain.
He'd been uncomfortable as Florrie had spoken, spilling her darkest secrets as though it was the first time she'd dared to say them out loud, which it probably was. She'd held those words inside of her for sixteen years, and she'd told him everything, had trusted blindly in him with her life - and Skylar's life. It would have been a terribly costly mistake if he were anybody else. He still couldn't understand why she'd said a word - anybody else would have denied, denied, denied. But secrets were a burden. Maybe she just didn't care. Or maybe she could just sense that he, Cassius Warrington, was not the same Cassius Warrington he'd been before the start of the school year. Maybe she thought he was like his uncle, softened in a twisted way by love. But no. She didn't know about Alicia. Had he really changed that much that this stranger could trust him with her life? Her daughter's life?
He had to admit, the last bit of her story had pricked his skin. It had touched too close to home. History had proven that his type and her type just couldn't work. And it made him sick.
He lit himself a cigarette and slid the pack over to Florrie, who looked up and wiped her eyes.
"Thanks for the drinks," he said, standing up and slipping on his coat. "You can keep the pack."
"I quit, actually. The day Skylar was born."
"And I'm not actually a smoker. Only when I'm drunk."
They both laughed sarcastically before falling into an uncomfortable silence.
"Don't say anything to Skylar yet," he finally muttered. "I'm going to have to figure out all the legal shite before it all blows up."
"I don't care about all the legal shite. I raised her alone. She doesn't need your money - your mother can have it."
"It isn't my money," Cassius interrupted. "That's what you don't understand. It's family money. Rosier money. And as far as inheritance works, Skylar is the last Rosier. Even my mother isn't really a Rosier anymore. So you can't throw it away. It doesn't work that way. When's her birthday anyway?"
"September fourth," Florrie replied bitterly. "If she gets hurt over this -
"I'll deal with it," said Cassius firmly. "Just stay low key. Don't contact me. I'll update you when I get the chance. It might be months, I have to go back to school."
She looked at him, startled.
"Jesus, you're just a kid," she mumbled to herself, as though astonished, as though they hadn't been sitting there drinking and smoking and talking for the last hour and a half.
"I'm Alicia's project partner, remember?" he said before turning on his heel.
"Don't make the same mistakes we did," she said gravely as he walked away. He shuddered inwardly.
Thank you all for your reviews from the last chapter. This one is a lot more intense than any of the previous ones, I think, even if it doesn't have much to do with Cassius and Alicia directly. Don't worry! We'll see them soon. Yule's coming up... dun dun dun!
Questions? Comments? Critiques?