Boxing Day Tea
Christmas Day — December 25, 1996
Christmas Day dawned cold and overcast, and it had stopped snowing. The sweeping lawns were a dull, pale gray in the early morning half-light, but Adrian hadn't slept well and his conversation with his father was still turning in his head. He wasn't sure if his father had given him permission to marry a half-blood or not, if he were honest. He wasn't even sure what had possessed him to tell his father about Alicia in the first place. But if there was one thing that would help clear his head, it was flying.
He bundled up and grabbed his Firebolt before stealing downstairs though the silent house and stepping out onto the terrace from the dark, chilly family parlor. The temperature was brutal but it also felt good. He had just swung his leg over the broomstick when the door opened again. Startled, Adrian glanced behind him, only to find Bridget stepping out.
She, too, was bundled against the cold, her dark hair under a black knitted cap and an old Hufflepuff scarf around her neck in addition to a heavy coat and gloves. She was holding the current Nimbus model, and she grinned at him. "Looks like we had the same idea. Care if I go up with you?"
Adrian grinned back. "Of course not. Where's Att?"
"Sleeping in, the lug, and I'm not waking him."
"I'd rather you not. I have no desire to fly with Atticus."
They kicked off together and soared off over the cold, silent grounds. Adrian inhaled deeply, feeling the still air sear through his lungs. The freezing cold cleared his head, sweeping everything from it. Merlin, he loved flying.
"So," Bridget called over the wind. She slowed to a coast.
Adrian matched her. She gave him a knowing look and asked, "How are you doing? Your mum said you'd been kind of down since Halloween."
He shrugged. "Just the war."
"Is Dumbledore giving you much to do?"
He had assumed Bridget knew he was involved with the Order. Hell, he had drawn Atticus into the whole thing, and Adrian had never doubted his brother would sound the idea against his fiancée. In fact, Adrian would have been more surprised if Bridget hadn't known or agreed to help Atticus. And of course she would help; the MacMillans had been strong supporters of Albus Dumbledore for several decades. It was the main reason that a number of Slytherins now considered them blood traitors.
"I can't really do much of anything right now," he confessed. "Professor Dumbledore doesn't want me attending society events in case the Death Eaters want to recruit me, and I can't be an active member of the Order of the Phoenix without getting recognized. So I'm helping on the back side of things, going over information, trying to find patterns or clues… but it's slow, and I don't have the right codes to figure out what I'm looking at. I feel kind of useless, honestly."
"I can understand that," she replied. She sighed heavily. "Atticus and I have only had a little success in Paris. There are a few people who are concerned about what's happening in Britain, and they don't want You-Know-Who coming to France. Three or four are willing to send supplies or a little money, and one or two have said they would help fight if it came down to it. But it's hard to open such conversations, and we've certainly run into more than one person who isn't interested in getting involved at all."
"Atticus hasn't said anything to me yet about it. I figured he probably would before the two of you return to France."
"I'm sure he will. He also wanted to meet with Professor Dumbledore this holiday, while he's back in Britain. If Dumbledore has a moment, anyways. I know he's very busy. Atticus sent him a message when we arrived." Bridget leveled him with a piercing gaze and changed the conversation again. "So? What happened on Halloween?"
Damn it. He should have known she wouldn't be deterred. But, he had also confided in Bridget already, in a slightly different way than he had confided in his father the night before. Bridget wouldn't say anything, and she was a girl, so maybe she had advice.
He frowned at her. "Don't tell Mum?"
She rolled her eyes. "Fine, I promise not to tell your mum."
"It's stupid," he muttered. She didn't press, but allowed him to collect his thoughts as they drifted over the lawns. After a long pause, he finally said, "I found out the girl I like has been on a few dates throughout the autumn with some other guys, that's all. Someone told me on Halloween night."
Bridget's shoulders dropped a bit. "Oh, Adrian. I'm sorry."
He snorted. "Yeah, well, the worst part is, I don't have any right to get angry or jealous. None at all."
"But that doesn't stop you from being angry or jealous," she pointed out.
"No. It doesn't. Makes me a bloody hypocrite, if I'm perfectly honest."
"Why don't you reach out to her?"
"Dumbledore asked me not to for a while. I have to lay low, and she's in the Healer program at St. Mungo's. Dumbledore doesn't have any Healers in the Order." Adrian's gut clenched; he hadn't admitted that to anyone other than Kenneth.
Bridget hesitated. "That's a bit disturbing. Maybe Atticus and I should consider recruiting Healers in Paris. Aunt Eilish is a Healer too; she might be willing to help if it came down to it. She's always been supportive of Dumbledore."
"I'll let you and Att decide that. I can't exactly recruit Healers myself, but I don't want a person I care about to be the only possible Healer if it comes down to a fight. I mean, she's only one term into the program; she has a long way to go before she's even halfway qualified. But you know the Death Eaters would probably want to kill her just to keep her from helping the Order, and that terrifies me."
Bridget looked horrified. "Bloody hell, Adrian. Have you told anyone how you feel?"
Just Towler. But that didn't really count, did it? All he said was, "It's my own burden, I reckon."
"I think you should tell Dumbledore. He would want to know —"
"He has enough on his mind. He doesn't need to hear some almost-nineteen-year-old whinging about a girl. She's not officially in the Order either, because Dumbledore wants her to focus on her studies."
Bridget pursed her lips. "I hate seeing you like this, Adrian."
"It is what it is. I just need to do a better job of concealing my emotions."
"Bollocks. That's not what I was going to suggest. Atticus is the same damned way, always hiding how he really feels. Drives me spare."
Adrian gave her a small smile. "We're Slytherins, Bridge, that's what we do. Hide our emotions."
"Well, it's stupid," she stated baldly. "But enough. Come on, let's really fly. This weather is perfect."
Adrian chuckled. "Agreed."
With that, they both put on a burst of speed, racing each other across the expansive grounds.
Boxing Day — December 26, 1996
Boxing Day was meant to be a quiet day; a day in which the house elves took some time off and the Pucey family relaxed. So when a phoenix Patronus burst before Alania Pucey while she was sitting in her personal parlor sorting through correspondence, her eyebrow arched sardonically. The voice that issued was familiar, though she hadn't heard it in a long while, and she had to admit that it touched a nerve.
Your eldest invited me, but I'm guessing he did not inform you. Would you be so kind as to grant me entry through the gates?
No, Atticus hadn't said a word about this, damn him. He had probably hoped he could get away with it and step out to meet his visitor without her knowing! She had half a mind to hex his bollocks off, really. How dare he not tell her he'd invited Albus! Twenty-five, and thinking he could do as he damned well pleased in his parents' home. She'd have words with him before the day was out, make no mistake.
Alania threw her quill down, threw her cloak about her shoulders, strode from the small parlor, and made her way to the front entry, out the front doors, and down the snow-covered drive. Beyond the heavily protected, wrought-iron French gates stood Albus Dumbledore, waiting patiently in the cold.
Lips pursed, Alania waved her wand in a delicate circle with a flare and twirl on the end. The gates became opaque, shimmering in the frosty, gray light. Albus smiled as he stepped through.
"An intriguing twist on that one, my dear," he said, glancing back at the gates as they returned to normal, becoming an invisible wall against outsiders. "I remember Filius was always quite taken with your unique grasp of Charms. You are very intuitive in that subject, more so than most people."
Alania did not smile. "Don't banter with me, Albus. I am a little angry at you, if you must know."
He chuckled. "Ah. Yes, I don't doubt it. And I don't blame you. I would ask for your forgiveness, but I doubt you'll give it that freely."
"You have roped both of my sons into this war, and you know quite well that I am a very protective mother."
"You are indeed. I well remember the lengths to which you have gone to protect your family, my dear."
"And I would go to those lengths again," she answered. "Make no mistake."
They fell into step beside each other as they made their way back to the villa. Alania inhaled and exhaled to center herself and keep her temper under control; verbally sparring with Albus would likely get her nowhere. It was Atticus she was really annoyed with at this moment, anyways. She couldn't believe he hadn't told her that he had invited Albus to stop by.
"How are you and Alexander holding up?" Albus asked softly, as they neared the front doors.
"All we can do is wait." She sighed. "At some point, I suspect we will have to put the house under a Fidelius Charm. The Death Eaters will likely want Alexander and Adrian both soon enough, for different reasons, and I will not give them any member of my family. At least Atticus lives in Paris."
He nodded gravely. "I would expect nothing less from you. I would be quite interested to see how you cast a Fidelius Charm, though. You put such intriguing, eccentric details into your spell casting; it's quite fascinating."
"I do have a couple of ideas for the Fidelius Charm," she answered, giving him a very small, sarcastic smile.
"Oh?"
"Non. They will be my secrets, Albus. I might tell you when the war is over, if I don't become too angry with you." She opened the door with her wand and led him inside. "Cressy?"
The house elf cracked into existence beside her even as the door closed behind Albus.
"Yes, Mistress?"
"Please have the elves bring afternoon tea up to the dining room. Just for six. My parents are out visiting friends today."
"And who is the sixth joining us?" Albus asked curiously, as Cressy nodded and disappeared.
"My future daughter-in-law, Bridget MacMillan. I assume you have no objections?"
"Ah, congratulations are in order, then." Albus's eyes twinkled.
Alania smiled. "Indeed."
"I have no objections whatsoever. Miss MacMillan is a fine young lady. She suits Atticus well. I've noticed over the years that Slytherins and Hufflepuffs get on quite nicely as romantic partners."
Alania didn't respond to that, but led him to the dining room. When they walked through the door, the elves had already set the table for tea, and Alania turned and cast her Patronus. Three she-wolves left her wand and streaked to various parts of the house.
"Please. Sit," she said, as graciously as she could muster given the circumstances. She waved her wand again and the tea began to pour itself into waiting cups.
Albus took a seat across from her at the table; they left the end seat for her husband. "Raspberry thumbprints? You know I love those."
"I confess, since I did not know you were coming until your Patronus burst in on me ten minutes ago, these were not for your benefit. But I do hope you enjoy them all the same."
He chuckled. "So I was right. Atticus did not tell you I was arriving today."
Tartly, she answered, "Of course he didn't. I'll have words with him later. Adrian is right; Atticus gets away with far too much."
"At twenty-five, you can hardly stop him."
Her eyes glittered. "I am still his mother, and he'd best not forget that."
Albus's face fell slightly and he grew serious. "Alania. Your sons have no idea of the depth of your abilities or how powerful you are. And I fear they will see you in action before this war is over."
"If it comes to it, I will fight. You know I will." Her gaze was hard. "I have fought before, and I am not afraid to fight again."
Albus nodded sadly. "I do not doubt you. I am perfectly aware of what you are capable of."
"I would advise no one to forget that." She smiled coldly at him.
The door opened at that moment and Alexander entered. She saw the subtle surprise on her husband's normally-stoic features when he realized Albus was at the table, and she said sardonically, "Atticus invited Albus and forgot to tell us, my dear."
Alexander shook his head. "Merlin's beard, that boy. I'll let you deal with him, Alania."
"I intend to."
As Alexander grasped Dumbledore's hand and sat down in the chair at the end of the table, caddy to Albus and Alania, Adrian entered. When he saw Albus, he looked startled and approached warily, but she didn't wonder at that. Albus greeted him warmly, and Adrian nodded politely as he sat down beside his mother.
Atticus and Bridget were last to enter the dining room, and she was not remotely surprised when her oldest son looked slightly abashed and winced.
"Ah," he said, cringing as he walked over to shake Albus's hand. "You got my message then, sir…"
Albus smiled. "And you forgot to tell your mother I was coming."
"I did." Atticus grimaced. "I'm sorry, maman."
"I am not interested in apologies, Atticus," Alania said acridly. "Sit down."
He rubbed the back of his neck as he pulled the chair out and sat beside Albus. Bridget sat next to him, and once they all had tea, Atticus waved his wand and a little slip of paper appeared. He handed it to the headmaster.
"That's all I was going to give you today," Atticus explained. "It's not much, just the names of a few people in Paris who are willing to send a little money or supplies for the Order of the Phoenix. Two of them are willing to fight if it comes down to it. Unfortunately, most people don't want to get involved. We'll keep trying."
"Thank you for what you have done. It is a help, even if it is a mere few. It's more than I had before, and I appreciate your efforts." He then smiled at Bridget. "I've been in touch with your family as well, dear."
Bridget grinned. "I suspect my father and Uncle Straun had a lot to say."
Albus's eyes twinkled. "Your grandfather, too."
She laughed outright. "I don't doubt it! Grandfather is an ornery old badger, that's for sure. I know they told you that the MacMillan Clan will always support you, Professor."
"They did. Also, my apologies for not saying it sooner, but I hear congratulations are in order." Albus smiled at both of them. "I'm quite happy for you both."
"Thank you, sir," Atticus said graciously.
Alexander frowned. "Can you tell us anything, Albus? What we should expect in the coming months? How things are currently going?"
"Yes, of course," Albus agreed.
Alania only half-listened as Albus began to give a report of the numbers of deaths, disappearances, and strange occurrences that had taken place over the last couple of months. They knew much of this already from the Prophet, and she knew Albus would be tight with actual information. He was gifted in appearing to share plenty, while in reality keeping true secrets just that — secret. He would have done well in Slytherin, she thought irritably, as she sipped her tea.
Perhaps the only shred of information he shared that they did not know yet was a bit about Albus's own disagreements with Rufus Scrimgeour, which did not surprise her. Albus and Rufus were two very different types of people. It had been in the Prophet that they had had a disagreement over the summer, but now Albus offered a slight bit more, telling them that he did not approve of the way Rufus was handling some things at the Ministry, nor of Rufus's desire to use Harry Potter as a poster boy for morale.
Alexander sighed. "It would probably boost morale, but the reasons would be all wrong."
"Indeed," Albus agreed. "And Harry is still quite young. I don't want anyone to use him in that way, not even Rufus."
"Do you think the boy can actually defeat the Dark Lord?" Alexander asked seriously. "He is still very young, and the Dark Lord has years of experience and knowledge…"
Alania kept her face impassive, but she did glance at Albus when the question was asked. It was something they had all wondered: Could that young boy actually defeat the Dark Lord? How had he escaped as an infant? What was the secret? They all wanted to know, but she was perfectly aware that if Albus had actual answers, he would be completely evasive.
"I cannot say much on that, I'm afraid. But I hope so, certainly." Then he changed subject, as Albus was wont to do when things got sticky. "I will not ask any of you to fight. I know you are trying to remain isolated, particularly after what happened during the first war." He looked at Alexander. "I suspect that Voldemort will try to recruit you again, considering you slipped through his fingers the last time. To my knowledge, he does not need a potioneer at present, but the fact that you escaped to the continent in the first war may not go unnoticed. And I do suspect he will eventually want Adrian. He may even want Adrian in exchange for you escaping in 1977. Something similar happened this past summer after the incident at the Ministry of Magic. Eleven Death Eaters were captured, and Voldemort was livid at their failure. He demanded retribution and insisted on several Death Eaters' families giving him sons to replace their captured fathers. Adrian discovered at least two — Brutus MacNair was recruited to take Walden's place, and Julian Rockwood to take Augustus's place, as both of their fathers are in Azkaban. Then, too, Voldemort is always making overtures to wealthy purebloods who wish to see blood purity maintained, and he desires fighters in his ranks. If any of Adrian's classmates join, I would not be surprised if they tell Voldemort of Adrian's abilities at Defense and dueling."
Alania's fingers curled slowly into her robes against her thigh as she inhaled to recenter herself. It would be just like the Dark Lord to think he deserved Adrian or Atticus in exchange for Alexander slipping away to the continent nearly twenty years earlier. But the Dark Lord was known for nothing if not sick, twisted logic.
Bridget spoke up at that point, changing the topic of conversation slightly again, and the new direction surprised Alania.
"Professor, I'm curious about something. Do you have any fully qualified Healers in the Order? If a battle were to break out…?"
Dumbledore grimaced and shook his head. "I'm afraid not. That would indeed be most useful, but Healers take an oath to heal any and all injured, regardless of affiliation. We've approached a couple we thought would be more inclined to the Order's mission, but they were not keen to make any kind of commitment, allegedly based on their oath."
For some reason, Alania's eyes were drawn to Adrian at that moment. He was sitting ramrod straight beside her, his eyes narrowed on Albus and his jaw locked, but it was his hands that really caught her attention. They were gripping the legs of his trousers so tightly that his knuckles were white.
Now, why would he be upset about Healers? She could make an educated guess, of course.
"Adrian?" she asked calmly.
Startled, his gaze shifted to her and she noticed that his hands immediately relaxed in an effort to hide the fact that he had been tense.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Is something wrong?"
"I was just thinking that Bridget brought up a good point. Healers would be needed in the event of an actual battle, and not having any presents potential problems."
Alania mulled that over. He was clearly deflecting, but dragging information out of her youngest when he didn't want to talk was never easy.
Bridget said thoughtfully, "Aunt Eilish is a Healer, Professor. Have you had a chance to speak to her yet?"
Albus shook his head. "She was not at home when I called on your family this month, unfortunately."
"Atticus and I will be heading to the castle this afternoon. I can ask her if she would be willing to help if it came to an actual battle."
"I would appreciate that," Dumbledore replied. "In the meantime, until Voldemort moves more into the open, there is little I can do to convince fully qualified Healers to join the Order."
What an odd way to put it, Alania thought. That likely meant there were unqualified trainees in the Healer program that were interested in helping. Did Albus not want to recruit Chrysanthe Hayden and Alicia Spinnet, for some reason? Even someone with only partial qualifications would be better than nothing, if an actual battle took place.
There was also the fact that she sat on the Board of Directors for St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, as well as the Board for the Healer Institute that the hospital maintained to train new Healers. Straun MacMillan was on the same board, and Albus knew that. Why hadn't he spoken to her or Straun about this particular concern?
"Is there anything I can do?" Alania asked abruptly. "I sit on the board for St. Mungo's. You know that, Albus. Yet you haven't asked me to help on this front."
Albus's face fell slightly. "You are correct. I haven't asked, but only because I know it might be dangerous for you to make inquiries. I would not want you to risk your position there, or draw attention to yourself or your family by inquiring on my behalf."
"Well, I will see what I can do anyways. Even if it is simply gathering information."
"If you do, I implore you to be exceedingly cautious. You know the chairman has strong blood purity ties."
Alania arched an eyebrow. "Yes, I am quite aware of that. Don't insult my intelligence by implying I don't know that Cecil Vanhausen is a fanatic about blood purity. It's unfortunate that his rotation as board chair coincides with the Dark Lord's reemergence, but there is nothing we can do about that."
He gave her an apologetic smile. "I did not mean to insult your intelligence, Alania. You know that."
"Is he a Death Eater?" she asked baldly.
"I do not believe so, but he certainly supports their views. His daughter is also currently in the Healer program."
Adrian spoke again, surprise in his voice. "Courtney?"
Albus nodded once. "Yes, there were four Hogwarts students in your year that entered the Healer program this fall. One from each house, actually. But the candidate from Ravenclaw — Ellen Redgrave — did not pass the first term."
At that, Adrian fell silent, his face mask-like again.
"What is she like?" Alania asked curiously, glancing at her youngest son. "Courtney Vanhausen?"
His lip curled. "Much like her father, I expect. I never liked her. She was always haughty and arrogant. But we were the Slytherin prefects for our year, so I had to put up with her. To be fair, she did her duties well. She complained sometimes, but she never shirked, and she was fair. It was her general attitude I disliked."
Alania knew what he meant; she was familiar with that particular, haughty attitude herself. There were Slytherin girls who thought they were better than everyone else because they were purebloods, who walked around with their noses in the air, who had the trendiest robes and casual clothes, the most expensive jewelry and personal items, and who kept tight-knit, cliquish groups. Knowing Cecil Vanhausen as she did from the board of directors, it did not surprise Alania that his daughter was from the same mold. At least Adrian thought she was fair, though. That said a lot.
More unfortunately, however, Albus was right. Alania would have to be very careful in how she approached anyone at the hospital. She certainly couldn't let it get back to Cecil if she made inquiries.
The rest of Albus's visit passed uneventfully. He didn't stay much longer, as he had others to visit that day. Alania and Alexander saw him to the gates where he bid them farewell, and only when he was gone did she exhale and let her shoulders drop.
"How odd," she murmured, twirling her wand to reseal the gates. "All this about Healers. I had not thought of it in quite this sense before Bridget mentioned it, if I'm honest."
"Nor I," her husband replied quietly. "But if there is a fight, people would certainly be injured, and Healers would be necessary for both sides."
Alania hesitated. "Have you considered brewing potions to help the Order?"
He frowned at her. "I had not. But perhaps it would be useful. If, of course, we knew of a way to get them to the right people."
"Adrian could help with that. He knows at least one or two Order members."
"Why did you not mention it to Albus?"
Alania scoffed. "Much as I love Albus, you know he can be blinded by believing the best in people, even when they probably don't deserve it. He currently believes he has a potioneer at his disposal at Hogwarts, and I absolutely do not trust Severus Snape, nor will I ever. Besides, Severus would never brew potions for the whole Order. He'd slither out of it, you know he would. But if you were to keep a stock of potions on hand, we could find ways to get them to Order members through Adrian and bypass Albus."
"Now you want to use our son," he mused.
She rolled her eyes. "Our son is going to help the Order whether I want him to or not. I certainly can't stop him; he's an adult, as you so often like to remind me."
"I would need a number of supplies," he said seriously. "And I suspect it would be best to obtain them slowly over a period of two or three months, to avoid suspicion. One never knows if the apothecaries are keeping track of who buys what, and reporting it back to the Death Eaters."
"We have some things in the greenhouses and gardens." Alania pressed her fingers to her mouth in thought, before she added, "Start compiling a list, and we'll go from there. We can use Polyjuice or transfigure our appearances to confuse apothecary owners, if we must."
He nodded. "As you wish. I'll start on a list this evening."