Some guests play a dangerous game under Grindelwald's nose.
Guests at Nurmengard
"Madame, I will be much obliged if you refrain from killing any of my guests…" Grindelwald smiled as he offered Madame Prince a light for her cigarillo. The witch was wearing an ivory gown flattered both her figure and olive complexion. More than one wizard cast appreciative glances her way, including the healer.
Severine lit her cigarillo and took a languid puff. "That would depend on them, my liege…"
Severine was not glamorous or beautiful in the way Miss Goldstein was. Her appeal was fuelled by the sheer force of her character. Vinda was envious, the same way she was whenever Grindelwald spent time with any witch or wizard. Grindelwald had not taken anyone into his bed for a long while. Queenie had withdrawn to the shadows near the healer, thankful not to be the centre of male attention for once.
Aurelius was being taught how to play cards by Louis Prince. Both young wizards looked as if Death was already watching over their shoulders. Consumptive, young Prince would not live long, not with his blood so thin with inbreeding as to catch a Muggle illness. One of the Prince uncles had produced a Muggle deck of playing cards. Aurelius had been taught such games were sinful, but Louis had coaxed him into a game.
Louis was likely being cuckolded by his worldlier bride. Grindelwald wondered which of the two uncles Severine would take as he next husband once their nephew was in the ground, or maybe neither. At least she was not casting her cap at him. That could be awkward. Grindelwald preferred to keep his admirers at an arm's length now that he was trying to clean up his reputation. Like in the Muggle world, any whisper of adultery could sink his political ambitions. He sipped at his champagne, eavesdropping on the conversation.
Galahad was still unable to leave his room. Bedivere and Queenie seemed to have drifted together, possibly as fellow Americans. Or simply because Queenie detested Abernathy and MacDuff's constant attempts to coax her into their beds. Bedivere exuded an air of old school genteel charm. He was unfailingly polite and respectful of the ladies, even Carrow whom Grindelwald always thought of a jumped-up fishwife with her too strident voice and drab clothes. Now why did he even recruit her? Was it to keep his more excitable acolytes in line?
The Graves were a fascinatingly talented lot, but fiercely independent. If they could be persuaded, they would be an invaluable asset to the organization. Bedivere's healing skills must be unparalleled to have kept Galahad alive and stable for so long after Paris. He needed Galahad's core to be strengthened and stabilized. Rare potion ingredients were requested by Bedivere to this end.
"You are a senior healer – is there any hope at all for him?" Queenie whispered.
"Not much I fear," Bedivere admitted. "Prince is consumptive and that would end him eventually, be it next year or ten years. Aurelius is a walking miracle. By all rights, he should've been dead years ago."
Louis Prince transfigured his handkerchief into a goblet and filled it with an Aguamenti to Aurelius' amazement. Aurelius struggled to repeat the transformation with his pocket square and only managed to turn it a pewter colour. Another attempt turned it into a squeaking rodent with polka dots to much mirth from the watching Princes.
"I better go help…" Bedivere shrugged apologetically.
A son… Aberforth paced the floor of his tavern. He had a son…
Speak with the Flamels – or Albus. He was a coward. He dared not. What if Polly and her son wanted nothing to do with him. He had not been there all these years. What if both had already made a life for themselves, without him? What if?
Glacial blue eyes. The burning rush of blood as the blade found home.
"You are unworthy. Consider them dead to you," the knell of judgement passed. An indifferent shove as the blade was wrenched free. The splash as he met the river.
Alex had known about the child and possibly what became of her sister.
1899
Aberforth was ill at ease in the halls of Hogwarts. The whispering, and curious stares. Everyone knew about what happened to his family. A dead mother, a squib sister dead. The letter came at breakfast a week before Halloween. Aberforth stared at the elegant script that made no sense to him.
"Abe, do you have a flipping death wish?" Henry Potter squawked. "The Rosiers! Lord above…" The Head Boy quickly thrust the letter into flames of the Gryffindor common room fireplace. It caught with a roar of flame.
"What did it say?"
"Best if you do not know," Henry replied darkly.
The same treatment was met out to a second and third letter, the last one from France. Albus did not bother to write. The final missive was a flaming Howler from Artemisia Rosier. A fuming Headmaster Black ordered Aberforth to his office for a talk. He was strongly encouraged to deal with his personal matters before returning for his NEWTs, should he decide to pursue them given the abysmal state of his OWLs.
Something had happened to Polly and her twin was furious. That something had to do with him. Much of the tirade was in French and went clean over his head, but not those of his more learned Housemates.
The witches gave him the cold shoulder, including members of the faculty. Finally, one young witch took pity on the clueless teen.
"Didn't anyone give you that talk?" Mattie Prewett shook her head. "The gist of that Howler is that you got a young witch with child and disregarded her plea for help. Don't ask me how babies come about."
Aberforth stomped over and boxed Henry's ears. "Why didn't you tell me?" It took three large seniors to haul him off Henry.
He declared he had no idea since he could not read much, but he would like to do the right thing by Polly. He garnered enough sympathy from his Housemates to collect enough coins for a ticket to France. A third-year lad obtained the address for the Rosiers' Paris townhouse from his mother and gave it to him. Another housemate loaned him the use of a hippogriff to fly to Calais.
"Abe, she might have already gotten rid of the baby…" Mattie warned when Aberforth started fretting about what babies need. "Her folks might not, you know, want her to be with you…"
He was a poor halfblood with no standing. It was a miracle Hogwarts had not sent him down yet for his dismal academic achievements. It would be the last time he wore his Hogwarts' tie and robes. He Hexed Henry on the way out.
Paris was a strange world for a youth who had never been further than London's Diagon Alley. Too busy, too noisy, and too crowded. Everyone there spoke French, which he only knew a smattering of. The wixen there were more elegant compared to their staid Albionian counterparts. His coin was long gone by then. The kindly Madame Flamel opened her home to him and fed him.
The Comte was not amused when he finally came to the Rosier place. He sent Alex after him. Their final duel was no longer the fierce practice duels they had that summer. It was to the death.
He was not sure how he found the strength to haul himself out of the Seine, bleeding heavily and half-frozen. He limped back to Madame Flamel's where her little maidservant Severine had opened the door to him.
Dared he hope Polly still lived? And her son – no, their boy…
Aberforth went through the motions of opening the bar. After that disastrous sojourn in France, he limped back to Godric's Hollow to nurse his wounds. He survived on the few crops in their garden. Miss Bagshot dropped by often to make sure he was eating enough. There was no further talk of him returning to Hogwarts for his NEWTs. He took up odd jobs here and there in the village while Albus completed his Mastery. Aberforth accepted his brother's offer when years later, Albus bought out the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade and offered it to Aberforth to run. It would not be proper for a teacher to run the tavern so close to the castle where he taught, would it?
A sop for not being there when Aberforth's world was turned upside down. Still, he accepted it grudgingly. He was sick of the old cottage and its ghosts of happier times past. That chapter of his life was done with. It was time for him to start anew in a new place. So he thought.
A son. Would the child have inherited the dark hair and eyes of his mother or the blue eyes of his sire?
The goats protested heartily. He was late with their feed. He unlatched the door that separated them from the bar, allowing them in. The old billy goat butted him in annoyance. His best milk-goat started gnawing on the edge of the table.
Lord Grindelwald was gone again. He had important business in Berlin. Aurelius felt oddly bereft. He had been allowed to travel with Grindelwald and his fellow acolytes once. A week after his arrival in the castle, his mentor had decided the clothes he had on would not do. They had gone to a large city somewhere in Europe where Queenie helped him assemble a new wardrobe in the city's Muggle High Street while Grindelwald and the others attended to business elsewhere. They had tea in a coffeehouse with the most decadent cakes. He had not left the castle since. Vinda now had a magical tailor Floo in for his bespoke outfits, no more purchases off the shelves.
When he had asked his mentor about charms and transfigurations, Grindelwald had only smiled benignly Aurelius picked up Scroungify, Episkey, and Reparo from the healer Bedivere. Would he have classes like in Ilvermorny? Queenie had shared her experiences as an Ilvermorny student with her charge. The dark wizard said they would look into the possibility of lessons other than duelling and martial magic when he got back.
Aurelius had wanted to ask about his mother. Did she go to Ilvermorny or Hogwarts?
"Your mother was French. She would have gone to Beauxbatons." Grindelwald had frowned. He knew Goldstein would have regaled him with her education in Ilvermorny, just as much as he had listened to Albus crowing about Hogwarts and Gryffindor that summer.
"Are there many wizarding schools out there? Could I go…" Aurelius' face was glowing with excitement and curiosity.
"No, you are too old for school. We will talk of this another time."
Once more the door was shut. What do you know about your maman?
Nothing. He stroked the neck of his phoenix, savouring the warmth.
"Ah, young man! Will you please read to Monsieur Prince and keep him company? He is feeling poorly. We can't find his wife. Did she leave with His Lordship? This book's in English and most wizarding children in Europe would have grown up with it. Tales of Beedle the Bard – good bedtime reading," Bedivere hummed as he stepped onto the balcony, startling Aurelius. He thrust a leather-bound old book at him.
"There are also English books on Wizarding history pre-Statures and Wizarding customs in the library in the West Wing, if you are inclined," Bedivere added. "And what say you to some chess after dinner?" Bedivere would bring Aurelius to the guestroom he shared with Galahad after dinner. He knew that aside from Queenie, the boy was largely ignored.
Damn you, Gal. The healer silently cursed the necromancer. Still, it was the fastest, indirect way of introducing Aurelius to the Wizarding sphere. Louis Prince would be knocked out by the potions he just gave him, leaving Aurelius to peruse the book at his leisure. They might discuss Aurelius' reading materials that evening over Wizarding Chess.
The bones of a necromancer and the magical core of his apprentice. If Galahad should die before the planned rite, Grindelwald would have his bones, but not an apprentice. Lenora's magical core remained largely intact even if the ritual that went awry had scrambled her mind. Perhaps if Dona Severina knew the risk to her daughter… Or the dark wizard might give up his search for the Barone's bones…
Too many variables. Bedivere took out the dagger with Grindelwald's blood on it and stared at it in disgust. There had been no chance for an escape with Galahad over the long winter. The blood was useless for dismantling the wards by now. There had been no way of reaching out to Hector or Jenny. The dismal Alpine weather had kept Lucia too sluggish to venture into the woods to spread the word among her fellow serpents even now. No jewelled lords and ladies to aid them.
Dona Severina. Severine Prince. An alleged blood mage. Dared they trust her?
Author's Notes:
In my head canon, Aberforth is dyslexic. He can barely read. Sending him a letter means he needs to find someone else to read it for him. He found the wrong chap to help with that in this case.