Branda

I love being an Aconitor, but there are nights when the cold that sneaks through my little shelters and the hardness of the ground beneath my sleeping spots make me long for a real bed, and walls that don't let the chill in. I don't know why I haven't bought a tent since I now have enough money for a simple one, or why I haven't brought it up to Mr Malfoy, who, as my patron, would be obliged to provide me one, what with traveling about for extended periods of time being central to aconiting. Sometimes, a niggling voice in the back of my brain whispers to me, "Maybe you don't really want to live like this for the rest of your life. . . Maybe you should just stay with the Malfoys for as long as they'll have you . . . keep living in that soft, warm room upstairs, only leave when you need to make money. Maybe being an Aconitor isn't what you want. . . Maybe the Malfoys will make you their groundskeeper, or the like. . ."

Of course, all I've got to do to knock those ugly thoughts from my head is to remember how much freedom I have while aconiting versus when I'm at the manor.

What makes my startup aconiting career difficult, aside from the weather, is food. I packed enough to eat for several days, but without proper cooking supplies to make the kinds of foods Aconitors tend to eat at camp, I'm stuck rationing the same dried meat, tinned fish, dried fruits (which I really don't like), and nuts. At camp, Aconitors eat lots of fatty stews, often with some kind of grain thrown in for extra calories. The most basic meal is dried sausage and preserved veg. Oh, and coffee—we drink it as much or more than tea. Don't know why; always been that way, I guess. Probably has something to do with the boost from the caffeine. A potion for energy takes time to brew and is costly to make; the most effective kinds require exotic ingredients that cost more money than even a kilo of coffee beans. Don't taste good either, so why bother with them when coffee's good enough? Camp bread is made quickly, the yeast for flavoring more than leavening. And of course, we eat anything we can catch or forage. We're called 'snake-eaters' for a reason. (Snake meat is tasty: I like it fried in butter, myself. Nice and tender, snake is. No, it's not poisonous—the venom's only in their mouth.) My least favorite camp food is offal—ground or chopped up, flavored with herbs or spices, or both, stuffed into globulus spoonfuls of batter that turn thick and spongy when boiled, or in rolled out dough that is then fried or grilled into buns. But food is food, and hunger with few alternatives makes the disfavored seem favorable.

That's another thing I like about living at Malfoy Manor: the food, and the variety of it. There are no real staples eaten with every meal like I'm used to; bread, eggs, and potatoes were eaten every day when I lived with Donius. For the Malfoys, breakfast is the most predictable meal, but even that isn't ever the same. There's always a rack of toast, a steaming pot of tea and another of coffee, and usually a full, hot porringer. Still, one morning's main dish will be kedgeree, the next fried eggs and bacon, the third crumpets and fresh fruit, the one after that scrambled eggs or an omelette and sausages, then maybe something new or foreign the next. Lunch is only slightly more varied than breakfast, and I think that's because Mr Malfoy isn't always home during midday and eats instead with whomever it is he's rubbing shoulders with. I've heard "Ministry luncheon" mentioned more than a few times since I've been here. At Malfoy Manor, lunch is typically some sort of cold meat dish with plenty of fresh vegetables, but sometimes a stew, other times a savory pie of leftovers, but rarely is it very formal whether both mister and missus are home or not.

Then of course there are the dinners, which are split into multiple courses so that you feel satisfied even when something doesn't taste good to you. I love dinner at Malfoy Manor: I've gotten to eat all kinds of shellfish, meats, and sweet things. I've discovered more desserts that I have liked since living here than I ever did when I was little: pastries made with sour cream; confections of nuts and seeds not overcome by the sugar added; all sorts of custards, and different variations of ice cream. Once, Mr Malfoy asked me if the food served at meals was all right. He laughed when I asked him why it wouldn't be before telling him I thought I'd gained weight since living there.

Mrs Malfoy dislikes eating by herself in any of the dining rooms, so when Mr Malfoy is absent, she might eat at a small table in the drawing room or in her private boudoir next to the suite of rooms she and her husband share, which I've taken to calling 'The Chambers.' Near The Chambers, abutted by her boudoir, are Mrs Malfoy's own private rooms, and on the other side of The Chambers are Mr Malfoy's rooms. (Imagine being so rich that you have not only a large suite of rooms to share with your spouse, but also two separate suites for each of you). I don't think they use those rooms very often, especially not for bed, but I'm certainly never going to ask about that!

Once, old Nott invited me to dinner at Halstor Place along with Mr and Mrs Malfoy. It was a grander meal than what I've previously experienced at the Notts', and quite a good one at that. We had two kinds of fish and a tasty leek soup, other courses of meats and vegetables, and then for pudding there were pears soaked in wine and spices, which I didn't like very much. Afterwards, Mr Malfoy told me to go back to Malfoy Manor, saying that he and Mrs Malfoy had things to discuss with Mr Nott. I thought Nott looked at Mr Malfoy a bit strangely at that, though he didn't protest. I thought it a bit unusual as well, since it had been a normal dinner, but I don't question the Malfoys when they order me to get lost. It's easier that way, and I reckon they're right when they say they've got business that I don't need to concern myself with. Probably all dull stuff anyway.

Since I left the manor last Saturday, I've been to Knockturn Alley twice to sell simple, easy-to-find winter ingredients outside Borgin and Burke's, just as he proposed I do months ago—for a share of the profits, of course. Whatever; he doesn't take too much, and it was worth being away from the Malfoys with an actual, solid reason for it. My sisters and little Afon were happy to see me in the Alley, and they got me thinking about Llon, so far away at Hogwarts. So, at daybreak on Valentine's Day, which I've decided will be my last day away from Malfoy Manor this aconiting session, I pack up my gear, cast a quick cleansing charm over myself, and apparate outside the gates of Hogwarts.

It's early yet, but the Great Hall will be filling with a steady trickle of students hungry for their breakfast, and Llon's not one to miss breakfast. To my surprise, students begin to exit gates. A small group throws curious glances my way.

I catch the attention of one cheerful looking boy and ask, "Is it a Hogsmeade day?"

"Sure is. Er—" The boy eyes my leather gear bag, my sturdy boots, and the knife in my belt beside my wand. "You wouldn't—erm—happen to be here about Care of Magical Creatures, are you?" The boy's wide blue eyes are hopeful.

"No. I'm not a teacher. I'm here to visit my brother."

"Oh." Disappointment washes over the boy's face. I thank him for talking to me and enter the school grounds. I pass more students heading for the village. Llon is only a second year, so he isn't allowed yet.

The first thing I do when I get to the castle is to ask the first teacher I see—Professor Sprout on her way to breakfast—if I may be here at all to visit Llon. At first, Professor Sprout gives me her usual cheerful beam, but then it falters.

"I would expect—well, normally. . ." She trails off as she peers into the Great Hall, her eyes roving over the High Table, which is half full. I don't see Snape, nor, curiously, do I see Professor Dumbledore. Then again, didn't I hear at the Notts' that the old bastard has been noticeably absent this past school year?

Professor Sprout releases a sigh. "Not down, yet. That's a relief, that is!"

She really does sound relieved. Then, oddly, she turns her eyes back to me with a look as though worried she's said something she shouldn't have.

"Erm—is this a bad time, Professor. . ."

"Oh, not at all, not at all, dear! You go on in and see if your brother isn't there yet. And if he's not, you must come and tell all your old teachers what you've been up to! Go on now!"

Always liked Sprout, I have.

I crane my neck in search of my brother—there he is! He doesn't appear to have noticed me, so I sneak my way between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables, silently shushing Slytherins as they gradually recognize me. Llon sits between two boys his own age, chatting amiably with them over porridge he's doused in too much treacle. As soon as I reach him, I throw my arms around him in a trapping hug from behind,

"Bore da!"

I press my cheek against his hair and close my eyes for a moment. How I've missed Llon!

"Wha—? Branda?" Llon squirms in my grasp, causing his friends to lean away to keep their faces from getting elbowed as they turn to stare at me.

I let Llon go, unable to stop myself from beaming down at him. He stares up at me over his small, freckled nose, mouth slightly agape.

"Eat your breakfast! Then let's go outside!" I say to him in Welsh.

Llon continues to gape at me as he says—in English— "What are you doing here?"

"I was nearby while working; I wanted to see you!" I try to tussle his hair, but he dodges my hand. Is the color in his cheeks rising? What's that about?

I place a hand on his shoulder, give him a playful shake. "Come on. Eat the rest of your food so we can go do something! I'll get you something from Hogsmeade before I leave!"

Llon throws my hand off. "Talk normally!" And he turns his back to me as though I'm not standing right next to him. His friends stare.

'Talk normally.' Talk normally. That's what he's just said to me. A sick-ish feeling rises in my gut as I tell him—again, in Welsh— "I am talking normally."

Even with his back turned, I can see the sides of his face flushing scarlet. His shoulders hunch slightly. "Speak English!"

You little. . .! What in the hell is wrong with Llon?

"Na," I tell Llon. I won't speak English to him just because his little friends find Cymraeg odd. Because that's what this is, isn't it? My brother suddenly caring about who and what he and his family are? But . . . but when I was at Hogwarts, I never cared what people thought of me muttering in Welsh to myself or speaking it when my Mam picked me up and dropped me off at the station. And of all my siblings, Llon? Happy-go-lucky, adventurous, kind Llon?

"Llon—"

"You're dirty, Branny; go away!"

Oh. Oh. It's the ingrediwitch thing, too. Behind me, I hear a number of Slytherins holding back hisses and gasps. Whispers start:

"Why is he saying that to her?"

"She's an ingrediwitch; he must be so embarrassed!"

"I heard she takes care of him, not his mum and dad. I'd have gone as soon as I could if I were her; he's being a right little prat!"

"He hangs around with half-blood filth; that's what it is."

"Oi, Burke! We miss you, we do! The new Prefects are idiots!"

That gets a snort from me, that. Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson are the new Slytherin Prefects, one of whom is easily the most popular student in my old House, but not all of its members are enamored of Draco, turd that he is.

"Hwyl, Llon." —Bye, Llon. Suddenly more upset than I've been in a while, I wave to the Slytherins who know me and leave my brother in the Great Hall. If we weren't in the school, I'd beat Llon up. And I swear to fucking God, I'm never speaking anything other than Welsh to him again!

Lucius

"Apparently young Mr Burke does not wish to be Welsh anymore."

Narcissa stood at Lucius's shoulder as he showed her the letter Draco had sent with a thoughtful Valentine for his mother. They were taking tea in the solarium when it arrived. In his letter, Draco detailed what he'd heard several other Slytherins relate to each other about Branda surprising her brother at breakfast, and the lad's behavior toward her.

"Or perhaps," Narcissa ventured with a sniff, "he wishes his sister were more proper. I mean, an Aconitor, really!"

But Lucius felt uncertain. "That boy seemed primed to follow his parents and sister into the trade . . . an easygoing lad, I've found him. I expect it's his friends' influence. I'm sure his tune will change once he's back with his family." Lucius handed Draco's letter to Narcissa so he could return to his sandwich.

"Do you think he's brought anyone to Hogsmeade today?" Narcissa asked.

"Who? Draco? Do you mean a girl, dearest?"

"Of course I mean a girl, Lucius! It is Valentine's Day, after all!"

Lucius thought a moment. "Well, normally, I would expect him to boast about it in a letter, after which I would feel obliged to correct whatever juvenile plan he might have to woo the poor lass."

Narcissa tutted. "Any girl would be lucky to have Draco's attention, Lucius. Perhaps he is nervous about telling you who he likes."

"He seemed to like Miss Burke plainly enough the last time he was here. . ."

"Lucius!"

Lucius grinned mischievously, winking at a horrified Narcissa before flattening the Daily Prophet onto the table to pick up from his morning reading.

"Speaking of romance, have you spoken to Macnair about his carrying on with that Eira?"

Lucius looked up from the paper. "I must admit I've been avoiding him, rather. Seems he feels the same way." Lucius picked up the Prophet, shook it straight with a snap when it folded inward.

"I wonder why that woman hasn't asked to see you yet," Narcissa said as she tackled a particularly flaky pastry with a fork. "I'd have expected her to come storming through the house in search of you by now."

Lucius put down his newspaper. "Actually, I've been thinking: why not ask her to the manor?"

Narcissa paused, then she set aside her pastry fork and rested her chin in one hand. "I suppose I can listen to this."

"Well, if she's invited here, it might lessen whatever state of upset she might be in; keep things civilized, you see."

"Hm." Narcissa took the rest of tea to ponder Lucius's proposal. In the end, she agreed, suggesting they get it over with as quickly as possible and ask Eira to dinner that very evening.

"Perhaps we'll invite Macnair, as well . . ." ventured Lucius.

"Are they actually—well, are they really very interested in each other?" asked Narcissa. "It sounded to me like they aren't—oh—an item, as one might call it."

Lucius agreed. "With Macnair and Eira, you can never tell."

Because if there was one thing Lucius knew about Eira, and another about Macnair, it was that both held faithfulness of the carnal in contempt. How many times had Lucius told Nicander that he ought to try doing things properly with Eira? "You don't have to marry her, you know? Though that might be wisest—the point you two are at—but how can you both say you're in love when neither of you are—er—beholden to one another?" Lucius had once said. He could not understand such an open dynamic; still couldn't, really.

In Macnair's case, he'd never shown any keenness in settling down. It was most ingrediwizard of him, Lucius thought, for he had learned—from Macnair himself, no less—that when it came to marriage and sex, both men and women Aconitors tended to view exclusivity as a mere suggestion.

"You can be married in your own view, and in the view of other Aconitors, but you might have had no proper ceremony, nor even a celebration to mark it!" Macnair told him one day. "You just shack up and start calling each other husband and wife, make a few kids together with whichever surname suits, and all the while you might have another spouse on the side, and the one you live with—if you live with them at all—knows all about it! Fucking savages, they are!" Macnair laughed.

"Sounds like the perfect set up for you," Lucius said.

Macnair's laughter died then. He'd shrugged, saying, "Too disconnected for me though, eh? Like being a proper part of society, don't I?"

In the end, Lucius and Narcissa opted not to invite Macnair personally; instead, they mentioned in the invitation they sent Eira that he was welcome to accompany her that evening.

But that begged a new question.

"What if the girl comes back tonight, Lucius? I mean, while her mother is here. She's been gone a week already. Surely, she'll return soon; that may well be tonight. What would she do if she saw her mother at out dinner table?"

"I can't say." Lucius said. "All I know is that Branda despises her mother."

It was easy enough to send Sulis to deliver a note to Branda with enough money to buy a meal and a room for the night, claiming a private dinner at the manor.

They waited for Eira's response, expecting it soon as dinner was only a few hours away. Eira did not, however, respond. Instead, the floo in the drawing room lit with the impending arrival of someone who wished to make a call.

Macnair's head appeared in the fireplace, surprising both Lucius and Narcissa.

"Walden! We weren't expecting to see you today!" Narcissa said, kneeling in front of the fire and smiling at Macnair. "Won't you come through?"

But Macnair shook his head. "Thank you, Narcissa, but I'm not visiting today."

Lucius drew nearer the fireplace. "Don't be silly, Macnair. Step through and have a cup of tea, or some coffee. Perhaps something stronger?"

"I'll come through, but only for a moment." Macnair stepped out of the grate and stood rather awkwardly before the Malfoys.

Narcissa offered him a chair, but Macnair declined. "I only need to deliver a message to you both. It's from Eira. She won't come tonight."

"And did she tell you that we offered to let you come, as well?" Lucius asked.

"Actually, I saw the letter myself. But I suppose it's her say-so, isn't it? She said no, so—"

"Wait a moment," Lucius interrupted, "were you just with Eira—at her house?"

"Of course I was."

Narcissa's lips pursed slightly at this. She quickly collected herself and asked Macnair, "Well, now that we know her answer, why don't you stay for dinner, Walden? You haven't been here since before the Ministry soiree. Won't you join us?"

"Thank you, Narcissa," Macnair gave her a little bow, "but no, I shan't stay this time."

"Bit preoccupied today, isn't he, dear?" Lucius grumbled. He glared at Macnair.

Macnair hefted a long, beleaguered sigh, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger before looking back at Lucius with a weary expression. "Why so troubled about it? We're all adults here, aren't we? I certainly don't need your permission, Lucius."

Lucius could hardly believe it; was Macnair—was Macnair impatient with him: Lucius?

Lucius was about to snarl a reply when Macnair added, "Anyway, why would you ask her over tonight? It's Valentine's Day; don't you two want to be alone? Bit inappropriate to ask someone else over if you ask me—"

"Believe me, Macnair, no one is asking you anything." Lucius snapped. "But go on. Have fun with your new whore. It is Valentine's Day, after all."

Narcissa shot her husband a swift glare. "Lucius. . ."

"She's a bit old for you though, isn't she, old chap? But I suppose, after five children, you can practically walk inside her—"

"Lucius!"

"A nice rest for you, that, eh, Macnair? Breaking backs must be exhausting at your age—"

"Lucius! Enough!"

Lucius's line of vision was suddenly taken up by his wife.

"I mean it! That is enough! He hasn't done a thing you can call wrong since he arrived! I don't like that he's seeing Eira because I don't like her at all, but he's a grown man and may do as he pleases. And he hasn't tried to hide that he's been seeing her this time—" Here, Narcissa turned around to fix Macnair in her gaze, "—just like he's not going to hide it in the future—isn't that right, Walden?"

Macnair, who had been glaring back at Lucius from beside the fireplace, did not dare disagree with Narcissa, who looked ready to bend both men over her knee for a good walloping.

"No. Of course I'm not."

Narcissa returned her attention to Lucius. "There it is. Now you both can act like adults again." To Macnair, she said, "Enjoy your Valentine's Day, Macnair. Give Eira our best."

With that, Narcissa swept from the drawing room, leaving Lucius and Macnair alone.

"Well, I'll be going then." Macnair said, grabbing a handful of glittering floo powder from a dish on the mantelpiece.

"You do that," Lucius said, stiffly. It irked him that Narcissa had been right to chastise them, but by that, he wasn't ready to act.

Lucius met Narcissa in the hall after Macnair's departure. She wasn't looking at him, opting to inspect her nails as she told him, "You risk isolating yourself from any friends, Lucius."

Lucius scoffed, but quickly realized he oughtn't have. Narcissa was right: he was risking his friendship with Macnair. He didn't have nearly as much respect for Macnair as he did Severus, or even Yaxley, who was more of a close acquaintance than a friend. Macnair had been in the same year at school, became a Death Eater at almost the same time, and lied his way through a trial after the Dark Lord's disappearance with a leg up from Lucius. Lucius liked Macnair because he was useful and willing to be so, provided he got something in return, of course. Understandable.

No, Lucius did not want to lose Macnair, even if he barely trusted him anymore.

Narcissa looked up from her nails. "So, dinner for two, then?"

Eira

"I've come to apologize—and to give you this. Happy Valentine's Day."

Macnair had come to the cottage around lunchtime, bearing a sober expression and a piacular offering of a bottle of chocolate wine that Eira would unashamedly admit to enjoying. Still, their last farewell had been nowhere near civil.

"I suppose. . . Come on in."

While she fetched two glass tumblers from the kitchen, Eira watched from the corner of her eye as Macnair settled into an armchair in front of the fire. She handed one of the glasses to him and opened the bottle; the wine's astringent fragrance of good chocolate, bitter and fruity, began filling the room.

"Why don't you let me pour? Here . . . there we are." Macnair fought back a cheerful grin as Eira continued to sip; he wasn't sure yet if she had forgiven him.

"That's good stuff, that is," Eira said.

Macnair visibly relaxed a fraction. "It seemed appropriate for the day. I thought I should buy you flowers, too—thought it might be a bit much, though."

Eira shrugged. "They'd die in a week anyway. Couldn't ever keep a thing nicer than the daisies in the garden alive."

They drank while they talked. Eira switched on the wireless to a program about current policies and happenings under Fudge's leadership, intercut with the kind of sappy, moonlit love songs Eira couldn't stand, but it was only for background noise.

"You reckon he's gone, then?" Macnair might have been asking, or he might have been making a statement. Eira couldn't tell which. It didn't matter, anyway.

"He an't come back," Eira lied. It had gotten easier.

Macnair stared down into his drink, said, "That's disappointing, that."

"What are you so sentimental for?"

"Well, he was my friend, too, you know? Lucius seems to have forgotten that."

Eira looked away from Macnair, rolled her eyes a bit. "Ach, you're breaking my heart now, Wal."

"Have you ever put a word in with the Prophet about Nicander? Someone might—"

"I don't want to talk about him." Though really, it would be nice to be able to trust someone other than Cleddyf with the great, dark secret. But comfort did not matter; what mattered was keeping herself and her children safe. Things being as they were, Eira forced herself to be content with the comfort Macnair provided. The rhythms of his company were intemperate but predictable—blissfully predictable. Eira thought she could settle for more of it in between the brief visits granted by Nicander. Those were the days that had kept her going in what might be construed as a life beyond simply living.

They drank more of the dark, bitter-sweet wine, moved to the sofa where Macnair laid back to let Eira unbutton his shirt before she kissed her way down his chest and stomach. When the metal of his belt buckle cooled her chin, she uncovered him there, too, and lost herself in the simple act of doing something that didn't make her want to drink or cry or lash out.

When they'd finished, Macnair let Eira rest on top of him. She expected to fall asleep, but the urgent tap, tap, tap of a large eagle-owl at the window had her peeling herself away from him to fetch the letter tied to its leg.

Lucius had written to her. He was inviting her to his home for dinner and a "chat concerning some things." Eira had no intention of following Lucius's lead. Fuck him and his effort at extending her an olive branch.

Since Macnair was included in the invitation, Eira handed him the letter, watched his eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he read.

"So . . . you going? We going?"

Eira stood up to search the floor for her slip. "Nope. You can. I'm staying right fucking here."

No amount of cajoling could persuade Eira to accept Lucius's invitation. She wouldn't even bother to send a reply.

Macnair affected a childish pout. "But . . . but . . . what about me?"

Eira sat down beside him, took his hand, brought it to her breast, and slid it inside her cotton slip. He felt her nipple and took the bribe—showered, dressed, and took the floo to Malfoy Manor.

When he returned, he made Eira chuckle as he regaled her with Lucius's reaction.

"He can't stand that I've gotten where he couldn't. He wants to ask you more about Nicander."

"I told him, didn't I? I told him Nicander's dead and gone, and there's no use trying to dig him up!"

"Maybe you should make it official." Macnair was refilling both of their glasses. "Might get him off your arse."

Eira swirled her wine about, watched the red struggling to glint in the dim light. "I don't have time for that right now. Got other problems to manage, don't I?"

"Like what?" Macnair asked.

"Didn't I say already?"

Macnair looked at her blankly over his glass. Eira told him of her visit from Aelhaern, that she had until the second of March to clear out. Macnair clucked sympathetically.

"Got a place lined up yet?"

Eira scoffed. "Where am I gonna go?"

In truth, a sort of denial had taken hold of Eira. She'd been born at Ty'n-y-cwm. She'd always wanted to leave it, but now that it was being pulled away from her, it had finally, after thirty-eight years, become her home. At the moment, she couldn't imagine doing anything other than camping in the forests, on the moors, or in the holloways. Like any other ingrediwitch.

Should have loved it when you had the time, shouldn't you have, girl? Eira thought bitterly.

"You could move in with me."

Eira huffed a small laugh. "Best not to get your hopes up there, Walden, my dear."

"I'm serious." Macnair said. "It wouldn't be so bad, having someone else around the house."

Eira wasn't looking at him. She felt the cushions shift as he leaned across the sofa, floorboards and wooden legs creaking from the weight until his hot breath gusted over cheek."

"Where else have you got to go?"