Hi, guys! Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry for keeping you all waiting. Life has just been crazy. I've switched jobs and gone back to studying, and it has been insane trying to juggle my time. Hope you can forgive me!
I thought I would give you a little Christmas gift to redeem myself. Fingers crossed you enjoy this chapter!
Merry Christmas, everyone! And thank you so much for all the support, you are incredible!
Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban Timeline
"He Holds the Moon"
ooo
"The bravest thing I ever did was rebuilding when I did not even want to live."
- John Polo
THE CHRISTMAS PARTY
Tristan and Harry returned to the castle after leaving The Three Broomsticks.
Harry didn't utter a word the whole way back. Tristan didn't try to pressure him. Finding out the person that wanted to kill him had been not only his father's best friend, but his own godfather, must have felt like having a dagger plunged into his heart. A cold-blooded murderer was easier to wrap one's mind around than a man who pretended to care about his friends, who lied about fighting against the very evil he served while divulging to You-Know-Who information and secrets confided to him by people who trusted him.
When they emerged from behind the hump of the one-eyed witch statue, Harry said he wanted to be alone. Tristan understood wholeheartedly.
He roamed the empty castle without knowing what to do with himself while Ron and Hermione were away. Outside, the blizzard had started to calm down. Snow tumbled down softly from slate grey clouds, so thick that the warm light of the sun setting couldn't penetrate through. The corridors were dark, humid and cold.
Tristan thought about Luna on his way to the common room. Much to his dismay, he hadn't found anything in Hogsmead that he would have liked to give her as a Christmas gift. Luna wasn't like most people and while he appreciated her uniqueness, it also made it all the more difficult to think of something she might enjoy. Hermione had suggested he get a box of sweets from Honeydukes, but he shot that idea down fast because Luna wasn't much of a sweets person. Once he offered to share a chocolate frog and she had scrunched her nose in the most adorable way.
A sudden urge to see Luna struck him. Could she still be holed up in the Ravenclaw Tower? Maybe he should have borrowed Harry's new Marauder's Map… He whirled on his wheels to go and find him, but halfway through the corridor realised he had no idea where Harry was either so he should probably check the common room first as it was the most obvious place.
As Tristan walked a third time past the giant, colourful tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching giant trolls to ballet, he noticed a small, red door that hadn't been there before. He walked over curiously and stepped into a cozy living room, lit by fire roaring in a beautiful fireplace carved out of the stone wall. Bookshelves with books and tiny plants decorated the small space. Two plush armchairs were positioned in front of the hearth with a round coffee table between them. Sitting in one of those was none other than Luna herself.
"Hi," she chirped in her slow, melodious voice.
"Hi!" Tristan shut the door behind him and made his way to her while looking around the room. "What is this place?"
"The Room of Requirement, also called the Come-and-Go Room." Luna eyed him oddly. "Were you looking for me when the door appeared to you?"
His whole face seemed to catch fire. "Oh, err… yeah— I mean, sort of. I was thinking of maybe going to see if you wanted to do something, since we're both leaving tomorrow."
"That must be why, then. The Room of Requirement only reveals itself when someone walks past the wall three times while thinking of something they need. I found it earlier this year when I was searching for a place to be alone."
"I'd never heard of it," said Tristan, walking over to one of the bookshelves to inspect the books. "It's nice, like your own private refuge."
Luna beamed brightly, "Exactly!"
From over his shoulder, he saw the book on her lap, noticing she had kept her finger in between pages to mark her place. "Did I intrude on your alone time?"
"Not at all." As though to further prove her point, she shut the book and put it on the coffee table. "What have you been up to today?"
Tristan sat on an astoundingly soft and comfortable armchair and began to tell her all about the Marauder's Map and his brief escape. Luna was fascinated by this enchanted piece of parchment that showed the entire castle and every person in it. They spent some time discussing creative ways that these marauders might have resorted to in order to fashion such a thing, what kind of spells they could have used. Tristan himself was rather good at Transfiguration, despite his aversion to transfigure animals, but he couldn't determine which elements had been factored into that type of advanced magic, it seemed to defy the laws of transfiguration.
They talked about Hogsmead as well. Luna had never gone to the small town and was curious about a myriad of shops. When he mentioned the blood-flavoured lollipops Ron suggested they buy for Harry, she told him she had met a vampire named Petru once during a trip to Transylvania with her father. Sometimes Tristan envied Luna's life. She had travelled and seen so much already. The only places he had ever been to besides the village near home was Hogwarts and a tiny cottage by the sea in Plymouth belonging to Granny Rose.
By this time tomorrow he and his sister would be back in Cavanaugh Manor, that cold, horrific house, with their vile grandmother and cruel father. He wished things didn't have to be that way. He wished he could stay in Hogwarts with his friends, where he felt more at home than he ever had in the place where he grew up.
"I've something for you," Luna blurted all of a sudden.
Curious, Tristan watched as she reached inside the small bag beside her armchair and pulled out a small package bundled up sloppily in silver wrapping paper. His heart jumped to his throat when she offered it to him.
"You didn't have to get me anything…"
"I wanted to," she said.
He took the package, feeling extremely shy and on the spot. Nerves bubbled up, causing his hands to shake as he tore clumsily at the paper. Soft fabric spilled over his fingers, red and yellow thread woven into a long scarf.
"Do you like it?" Luna asked eagerly. "I'm not very good yet."
"You—" Tristan's voice, full of emotion, failed him. "You made this for me?"
"Of course."
She seemed confused by his reaction, but Tristan didn't know what to say. His chest felt so warm and fuzzy, so full of affection for this special girl who had crash landed into his life. There weren't good enough words to express to her what her small gesture meant to him.
"I don't have anything for you," he said guiltily.
"Don't be silly." Luna smiled, and it was a smile that really took his breath away. "You've given me something much more precious already."
Looking into her pretty silver eyes, he was overcome by an unexpected need to hug her. A need so powerful, he had to fight with every ounce of strength in his body against the impulse, afraid it would scare her off or that she would push him away.
Instead he wrapped the smooth scarf around his neck and thanked her with all his heart. It was nowhere near enough, but it was all he could manage. Thankfully it didn't seem like Luna needed big speeches. She was perfectly content as she went on to tell him all about the type of wool she had used and the book she was reading to learn knitting. He listened with a smile, fingers never leaving his new gift.
When their bellies started rumbling, they left their little nook in the Room of Requirement and walked together to the Great Hall for the feast. At the door, before she could rush to her table, he lowered his head to whisper a merry Christmas in her ear. Luna's cheeks turned pink as she returned the gesture. He thought she was lovely.
Tristan's joy only dampened when he joined his friends and saw Harry's sullen face. For a moment there, he had forgotten all about Sirius Black.
Dinner took forever. They couldn't talk because Percy had sat right next to them, so all they did was stare at each other in silence. Any hope of discussing the matter died fast once they got to the crowded common room and saw that the Weasley twins had set off half-a-dozen dung-bombs in a fit of end-of-term high spirits. Amidst all the commotion, Harry managed to slip away. Ron wanted to go after him to the dormitory, but Tristan told him it would be best to just give their friend space. Clearly he wasn't ready to talk yet.
Nora lay in bed staring at the blue curtains above her head, counting each passing minute, dreading the moment the sun would come up.
Her head ached and felt like it was full of cotton, her thoughts all muddled. Her stomach was a hole between her ribs. That same night when she met Professor Lupin for dinner in his office, he insisted she eat something and she tried simply because she didn't want to upset him anymore than he already was, but soon it was all coming back up and she wound up in the bathroom with her head in the toilet while he held her hair back. She couldn't remember how she got there.
Afterwards, Lupin had carried her back to the couch, brewed a tea he promised would help with the nausea and held her in his arms until she stopped shaking. Nora felt awful about the whole thing. All she wanted was to spend a wonderful last night with him and she couldn't even do that.
Before she left his office, they had kissed each other desperately, knowing they wouldn't have a chance to say goodbye the next day. Lupin had grabbed her to a point it was almost painful, like he couldn't bear to let her go, or maybe like was scared to. She loved him so much… The words nearly spilled from her lips right then. But she didn't want to tell him like that, she wanted the moment to be special, a memory they would cherish for all their lives.
Dawn broke, pale sunlight spilling softly through the windows inside the dormitory. Nora got up and got ready without actually thinking about it. She showered. She dressed. Put on her jacket. Dragged her suitcase down the stairs to the common room. Muggles called it dissociating, she remembered reading that somewhere. The mind detached from the body, disconnecting from the world in order to cope with reality. She had been doing it all her life, oftentimes without realising or even acknowledging it.
The Great Hall was empty when Nora sat down at the Ravenclaw table. She pulled out a book and stared at the same page until students started pouring in. Then, in what felt like a split second, she suddenly found herself in a compartment with Julia, the twins and her brother as the train pulled out of Hogsmead station.
Her companions chatted normally, making an effort to include her, even though they knew she had checked out of the conversation. She gazed out the window. Snow was falling again and the whole world was buried under a thick, white mantle. Monstrous mountains and rolling hills turned into vast, endless plains. The sweet old lady who sold sweets stopped by and everyone purchased something decadent and indulgent to nibble on. Violent gale picked up, shaking the train, making the lights flicker. Snow hardened into hailstones. Vast plains gave way to the rural countryside of northern England.
The skies were pitch black at King's Cross Station. Yellowed lamps had been switched on so they could see ahead of themselves and find their families on the crowded deck.
Nora experienced the first twinge of emotion when Granny Rose gathered her in her arms. Rosemary Crowley — Granny Rose as most people called her — was a tall, bony woman with white, frizzy hair and a kind face, weathered by old age. She smelled of salt and sand, sea breeze and foam. Her hugs were the best hugs in the whole world.
"There's always a place for you in my home," she told Nora while holding her face between her warm fingers. "You know that, don't you, dear?"
Nora did her best to smile. "Thank you, Granny. For everything."
The woman yanked her into another hug, really gripping her tight, before turning her attention to Tristan. He'd gotten so tall and handsome, she was telling him. Tristan puffed his chest out proudly, soaking up Granny's compliments like a sponge soaking water.
"Miss!"
Glancing over her shoulder, Nora spotted Charles skirting his way through the crowd. His newsboy cap was askew on his head, his coat a little crumpled.
"Hi, Charles," she greeted warily, trying to get a look behind him. "Is it just you?"
"Yes, Miss. Master Maximus was called away for business, he'll be back in a few days."
A huge weight lifted off her body. Beside her, Tristan released a whoosh of air.
Nora smiled at the kind-faced man, "I'm glad to see you, Charles."
He returned the gesture, reaching out to give Tristan a hearty pat on the shoulder.
Charles was one of those genuinely good people. He and his wife, Imogen, had served Cavanaugh Manor since before Nora was born. Before that, Charles had fought in World War I alongside a group of wizards who had defied the Minister of Magic. He and Imogene had two sons, both of whom Nora had met only twice, seeing as her grandmother didn't allow "the servants" personal visits at home.
While Charles went to retrieve their luggage, Nora and Tristan said goodbye to their friends. Everyone got a bit emotional, even Tristan, though he kept it all under wraps.
The car ride home went by with some light conversation and mellow music. Snow continued to fall, covering the fields and piling on the side of the roads. They drove out of London, past Beaconsfield and High Wycombe, until they reached the winding path following the lake that led to Cavanaugh Manor.
Past ornate gates, manicured hedges and pruned trees framed the way to a circular driveway where Charles stopped the car. The manor was a large nineteenth century home, made of intricate stonework, tall, arched windows, and gothic-styled gargoyles which had brought Nora many nightmares when she was a child. A grand portico with towering columns marked the entrance up the wide stone steps, and the interior reflected the opulence and elegance of the outside. In the spacious foyer, there was a grand staircase with banisters carved from rich mahogany, the floors were polished marble and the walls dark wood, lined with paintings and gilded mirrors.
Nora and Tristan were about to follow Charles upstairs when their grandmother called from the main hall. She stood by the large fireplace, a pale, gaunt figure with hard eyes, wearing all black. Despite never having raised a hand to them herself, not once had she ever defended them either. Never a kind word, an affectionate gesture, or so much as an awkward pat on the shoulder.
"We'll be hosting on Christmas Eve," Doireann said to them. "Titus Burke and Leopold Rowle have expressed interest in a match for their sons. Either would be an excellent addition to this family. You are to meet them, make yourself perfectly agreeable, and encourage their enthusiasm."
Nora saw her brother start to open his mouth. She stepped forward so that he was partially hidden behind her. "Yes, Grandmother."
"Good. I have bought a gown, it's on your bed." Cold, dark eyes swept over Nora's willowy frame with the sort of detached assessment a farmer would inspect his cattle before selling. "I see you have lost weight again. Imogene might need to take it in."
"I will speak to her."
Doireann nodded stiffly. She gave Tristan one glance of acknowledgement before turning her back to them in evident dismissal.
Nora dragged Tristan back to the hallway and up the grand staircase.
"Don't say a word unless they speak to you directly, is that clear? Don't lose your temper and don't cause any trouble. The less anyone notices you this holiday, the better."
Tristan yanked his arm out of her grip. "Is that a joke? Am I supposed to just sit in a corner and watch you get sold off to the highest bidder?"
"Tristan, this isn't your battle to fight," Nora said calmly.
"Then you fight it!" He sucked in a deep breath as they stopped in front of his bedroom door, lowering his voice. "Why aren't you doing anything? How can you stand there and let that old woman decide who you're going to marry? I thought you and Professor Lupin were in love."
Nora felt like he had ripped the floor from underneath her. "Why—how—what makes you think we—"
"I'm not stupid."
She stared her brother with a knot in her throat. Not so little anymore, she thought. When did he stopped being a boy and become a young man? And how come she was only seeing it now?
"You can't tell anyone," she pleaded.
"I know that," Tristan shot back, all attitude.
Silence stretched between them while they stood in the cold hallway without looking at each other. Finally, Nora couldn't handle the expectation any longer.
"What do you think? About me and… you know. Does it bother you?"
Tristan shrugged, "I thought it did at first, but I see the way he worries about you. He makes you happy, doesn't he?"
Her entire face felt like it was on fire. "Yes, he's wonderful."
"That's all I care about."
A soft, hesitant smile brightened Nora's eyes. "Thank you, Tris."
Feeling awkward, Tristan jerked his shoulders. Before going into his room, he turned to Nora again.
"Do you think—" He stopped, chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Do you think we could be a family? The three of us?"
"Oh, Tristan…" Tears sprung to her eyes as she pulled him into her arms. "I'd love nothing more, but even if that doesn't happen, you and I are always a family. I love you, nothing can change that. You're my whole world."
He wriggled his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder, holding on for dear life. "I love you too."
With Maximus away and their grandmother preoccupied with preparations for the party on Christmas Eve, Nora and Tristan were left to their own devices. They hardly even had to do any sneaking around whenever they felt like heading into town. They strolled through illuminated, festive streets, visiting shops, purchasing books, for Nora, and sweets, for Tristan. As the weather remained agreeable, they sat by the frozen lake with Ophelia, surrounded by fluffy snow, soaking up the soft, timid light of winter sun.
They had always found ways to make themselves at home as they were growing up. They had to, living in a cold house with people who either repudiated or ignored them.
Maximus arrived early morning on Christmas Eve. Nora and Tristan were in the kitchen baking cakes for the party with Imogen when they heard the front door open. They held their breaths, but he didn't bother asking if anyone was home, or to look for his mother and children, before locking himself up in his study.
When the afternoon began to wane, Nora and Tristan retired to their rooms to get ready.
Nora stared at the dress on her bed for the longest time. It was emerald green, with an intricately embroidered bodice, combining sheer and opaque fabrics. Delicate patterns weaved through the sheer overlay, sparkling subtly and capturing the light, all the way down a skirt that cascaded like water to the floor. A masterpiece of exquisite craftsmanship, befitting of a noble princess hoping to dazzle her galant prince. And it made her sick to her stomach. All her life she had been made to feel worthless, a waste of money and space. Now they wanted to dress her up like a doll and parade her around a room full of people so she could be scrutinised and judged.
But it was almost over, Nora reminded herself as she slipped the dress over her head. She would play her part, see the holidays through, then she would get on the train and never come back. All her precious belongings were at school, there was nothing in that house she needed. She had made sure Tristan did as well, so that as soon as the school year was over they could go straight to their new life, far from the Cavanaugh name.
Imogen came in to help Nora with her hair, combing and twisting until it was gathered in a lovely bouquet of curls.
Their eyes met on the mirror and Imogen smiled sadly. "You look just like your mother," she said, squeezing Nora's shoulders. "She would have been so proud of you, Miss. You and Master Tristan."
Nora forced her lips into a smile.
The bell rang downstairs, announcing the first guests. Swiflty, Imogen added one final touch to Nora's hair, a golden sparkling pin, and hurried out, lest she face the wrath of Lady Doireann. Nora took a moment to steel her nerves before also going down.
Her grandmother's efforts had paid off. The grand hall, with its high, vaulted ceiling and dark mahogany paneling, was adorned with garlands of holly and ivy, interwoven with glimmering fairy lights. In the corner of the room stood a towering Christmas tree, heavily but tastefully decorated with ornaments of dark crystal and obsidian, and silver ribbons. The room was filled with the scent of pine and a hint of something else, sweeter, like burning incense.
The dining table, a long, imposing piece of furniture carved out of black oak, was turned into a stylish buffet display, set with fine china and silverware. A rich, opulent spread of traditional Christmas fare — roast pheasant with a glaze of midnight berries, enchanted plum puddings, and goblets of spiced wine that shimmered.
Guests, dressed in elaborate robes of the finest silk and velvet, mingled with an air of haughty grace, laughter and conversation muted and controlled. Children, too, were impeccably prepared, moving through the crowd with the characteristic aloofness of their pure-blooded heritage.
Nora joined her brother standing sullenly on the outskirts of the party. He looked both roguish and handsome in his formal robes, unkempt hair falling over his eyes. She noticed he was shooting daggers at Malfoy, who appeared to be telling a group of older boys the enthusiastic tale of how he had injured his arm. She prayed Tristan would use what little common sense he possessed and didn't do anything to instigate trouble during yet another public event.
Under the watchful eye of her father and grandmother, she got acquainted with her two suitors. Victor Burke and Alaric Rowle were everything she expected of pure-blooded men, arrogant, self-centered, and deceitfully polite. Victor was the same age as Nora, she had seen him around school with his Slytherin friends. He seemed perfectly content to chat her ear off about his many achievements, most of which she knew weren't true, and wasn't at all bothered by her lack of interest, if ever did he notice. She had her doubts he did.
Alaric Rowle was about ten years older, more mature, level-headed, and surprisingly perceptive.
"Are you not enjoying this evening, Miss Cavanaugh?" Rowle asked as he guided her effortlessly across the hall in a waltz.
"I'm having a wonderful evening," Nora answered cautiously.
He hummed deeply, twirling her, then gently drawing her back. "You're awfully quiet. I do hope you don't find me too intimidating."
"Not at all, Mr. Rowle."
Some women perhaps might have found him intimidating. He was a dashing man, tall and lean, with long, silky, black hair brushing the collar of his shirt. Eyes like the bluest sky.
He worked as Legislator for the Ministry. Terribly tedious work, he told her. Long hours, lots of meetings and paperwork. He wouldn't want to bore her with the details.
"As a legislator, you hold the power to make impactful decisions. I wouldn't call that boring," Nora said sharply.
He looked down at her with a sudden gleam in his eye. "And what would you change if you held such power, Miss Cavanaugh?"
"I'm afraid I don't know enough to give a proper answer."
"I think you know a great deal more than you let on, Miss Cavanaugh. You bite your tongue when all you really want is to bite the lash around your neck, isn't that right?"
Nora felt her blood turn to ice. She tried to recoil instinctively, but he tightened his grip, holding her closer to his body. The first wave of panic crashed over her.
"Smile, Evanora," he whispered in her ear. "You're being watched, remember? All eyes on you tonight."
She could feel them, their stares. Sweat began to drip down her temple. "What do you want?"
"I am not your enemy, contrary to what you might believe. In fact, I would very much like to be your ally." Rowle brushed his hand softly, intimately, over her waist. "Unintelligent, docile women don't interest me, and I have watched you for a long time. So clever and so beautiful, yet so unaware of her beauty, her power to command the attention of a room."
"You're a galant man, Mr. Rowle," Nora replied, keeping her voice as steady as she could muster. "But I'm afraid you waste your efforts. It is to my father you should express your sentiments, as I have no say in who I am to marry."
"Your father can be persuaded. You, on the other hand, I feel might present a bigger challenge."
"Why bother, then?"
He flashed a charming smile that made her skin crawl. "I do so love challenges."
They came to a stop as the music ended. He led her out of the dance floor and raised her hand to his lips. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to move, to shake him off because that hand, and all other parts of her, belonged to one man only.
When at last it was over and Rowle let her go, looking rather reluctant to, she put her hand behind her back and tried to rub it against her dress to erase the repulsive feeling of his wet lips.
Nora searched the room for Tristan, but he was nowhere to be found. Maybe he had escaped outside, she thought, and skirted her way to the glass doors that led to the gardens. Even here her grandmother had gone above and beyond, scattering twinkling fairy lights and crystal ornaments all over.
Knowing one of her brother's preferred spots was the gazebo near the hedge maze, she checked there first. Voices reached her as she was coming around the house. Not Tristan's—their father's, and he wasn't alone.
Startled, she hid behind the hedge, heart hammering wildly in her chest. When she had somewhat calmed down, Nora dared a peek. The moon burst from behind the clouds, illuminating Maximus's hardened face and casting silver hues upon Lucius Malfoy's pale curtain of hair.
"I have always been loyal," Maximus hissed through clenched teeth. "You wanted the diary, I turned that whole castle inside out to find it. You wanted Dumbledore out of the way, I helped sway the Board. For years, I have bent over backwards to give you what you wanted. It's time you return the favour."
"I won't lie, Maximus, you have indeed proven yourself remarkably useful as of late. But you forget who's had to clean up your many messes in the past."
"How can I when you so often remind me?"
Malfoy made an unimpressed noise. "This match will remove your biggest problem from your hands. Need I remind you the charm was ineffective? I've warned you time and time again, the memories will come back. The girl's mind is too strong."
Nora held her breath. Did they mean her? Her memories?
"Then we cast another charm," Maximus growled.
"There is no guarantee that might work, especially if it didn't the first time. You should have tossed her in an orphanage twelve years ago. It is beyond me how you can stomach raising the bastard child of your whore of a wife and her muggle lover."
The ground dissolved beneath her feet. She felt faint, nauseous, unable to breathe. It took only one second, and a handful of words, for her entire world to tumble down.
"Or perhaps it isn't about that at all," Malfoy drawled sweetly. "She has grown quite beautiful, hasn't she? And so like Elyse. In fact, I had to catch myself on several occasions tonight as I watched her. I wondered: could this be the woman I helped bury, risen from the grave and back to haunt me?"
Nora had had enough. She needed to leave, put as much distance between herself and those men as physically possible.
She ran blindly across the garden to the other side of the house and stumbled in through the hallway. She had to hold on to a column so her legs wouldn't give out.
Not her father. How could this be? How could Maximus not be her father? And if so, who was? A muggle, Malfoy had said. But what muggle? Where was he, what happened to him? There was a kind of pressure in her head, like water beating against a dam, pushing and pushing.
Nora looked at the staircase. Hope, anger and determination roared within her, a mighty, defeating war cry.
Setting her shoulders, she marched her way to the master study. The door was locked, but she took care of it. Inside, the walls were lined with towering bookshelves, filled with ancient tomes and leather-bound books with spines embossed in gold and silver. Heavy, floor-to-ceiling drapes of emerald framed large, arched windows overlooking the snow-covered grounds. Above the mantle of a grand fireplace of black marble and ornate ironwork hung a huge portrait of Magnus Cavanaugh, currently sleeping soundly.
Nora focused her efforts on the desk first, rummaging through the drawers, feeling for false bottoms and secret compartments, only finding quills, inkpots, rolls of parchment pertaining to Ministry bureaucracy, and some peculiar artefacts, such as metal orbs, compasses, and an ornate silver dagger with a serpent-shaped hilt.
"I don't have time for this." Impatiently, she pulled out her wand. "Revelio!"
In one corner of the study, a large globe set on a polished wooden stand began to glow. It was some kind of lock safe with runes. She tried Alohomora, but it seemed the only way to open it was with the correct combination.
Following intuition, she entered the first thing that popped into her head — her mother's birthday. The lock clicked. There was a hiss. Then, the globe opened down the middle.
The vault was full of newspaper clippings, photographs and papers. Nora flipped through everything, hardly believing her own eyes. She had often wondered why there were no photographs of her mother around the house, now she knew. Elyse looked utterly miserable in all of them, cold-stone face, hardened, icy stare; even in her marriage picture, standing beside a smug, victorious Maximus.
She turned her attention to the clippings. Nothing out of the ordinary jumped to attention. The articles seemed to be from muggle papers all over Great Britain, dated around nineteen seventy five, seventy six. Carnivals, fairs, street markets, places events that gathered a lot of people. He'd been searching for something.
And just as she realised it, she found it, the thing he had searched for. Faded, grainy, in black and white print, yet unmistakable — her mother, smiling so brightly Nora could feel the warmth in her soul, smiling just like she smiled in the picture of her locket. Next to her was a handsome man and between them, holding their hands, a familiar little girl.
Nora's eyes flooded as she brushed her fingers over her real father's face. He looked kind and sweet and gentle, nothing like Maximus. Had they killed him too after taking her away from him?
Her hands flew to her head as pain crushed her skull and brought her to her knees. It was like being ripped apart from inside, like something clawing at her brain, trying to tear its way out. Images burst to life in front of her eyes: her father picking her up and spinning her around, sitting at the piano teaching her how to play, reading to her in the bookstore while her mother organised books on the shelves.
Tears spilled over and streamed down her cheeks. It felt too much to bear. The grief, the ache, the sinking despair — all of it, weighing down on her, overwhelming to the point she feared she might break from the sheer force of it.
"What in Salazar's name are you doing in here?"
Nora jumped at the booming voice. She barely had enough time to vanish the clipping of her father before Maximus was yanking her forcefully to her feet. He looked at the opened vault with its contents riffled through. For the first time ever she saw him become unnerved.
"You meddlesome, stupid girl! Do you have any idea what you've done?"
The vicelike grip on her wrist threatened to break her bones, but Nora held herself like she didn't feel a thing. "You lied to me all my life! You're not my real father!"
"No, I'm not." He took a step closer, dark eyes blazing dementedly. "Your father was a filthy, miserable muggle. He seduced your mother—my wife—disgraced her behind my back, took her away from home, and had the gall to plant her with his sullied seed. The fate he got was too great a mercy for that foul a creature, I ought to have made him suffer more."
"My mother wasn't taken, she left you of her own volition! She despised you and this abominable place—"
The back of his hand collided with her face so brutally, Nora would have flown backwards had he not been holding her. She tasted metal inside her mouth. He entire face seemed to throb from the impact.
"How dare you disrespect me after all I've done for you? If it wasn't for me, you would have ended up on the streets, begging for coin and supper, or dead in a ditch. Instead you have lived in comfort, with warm food in your belly, a roof over your head, and your brother beside you. I made you part of this family."
"You didn't give me anything," Nora spat, wiping her bloodied lips. "You punished me with beatings and starvation whenever you needed an escape for your sick, sadistic nature. I was never your family, I was your pet!"
He gave her another forceful tug, sending her careening sideways. She gasped as her back collided with the bookstand, sharp edges digging into her shoulder blades. Heavy tomes toppled off the higher shelves to the floor.
Nora's anger was overcome by absolute panic when he pressed himself against her. She hated that feeling, of having him in her space, his body rubbing against hers. She struggled not to show the fear, knowing it would only inflame him, but he could sense it. He could always sense it.
"You're just like her," Maximus hissed venomously. "I gave her the world, still she spat in my face and spread her legs for the first mutt who looked her way. Have you done that too? Have you been spreading your legs for your mudblood friends?"
"No! Let go of me!" Nora shoved hard against his chest, desperate to get him off, but he was an immovable mountain.
"Liar!" He used one hand to seize both of her wrists behind her back while the other grabbed her hair and pulled back so she was staring right into his bottomless black eyes. "Do you think I don't see how men look at you? How they covet and fantasise about that provocative body of yours?" He buried his nose on the side of her neck, inhaling deeply. "All this soft, milky skin and supple flesh… Do you think it's been easy keeping my hands off what is rightfully mine?"
Rough palms groped and fondled places never touched. She struggled desperately against the spell he had used to keep her wrists bound, even as he grew bolder, placing sloppy open-mouth kisses across the bare skin of her shoulder. The stench of alcohol in his breath filled her nostrils, made her sick to her stomach.
Nora closed her eyes in helpless agony. "Please, don't do this. Just let me leave, you'll never have to see me again."
"Leave?" Maximus laughed darkly, sliding his fingers from where they were pawing at her breasts to her throat and clamping tightly. "You're not going anywhere. This is your home, this is where you belong. With me."
She let out a strangled sound as all the oxygen evaporated from her lungs. The whole world filled with white sunspots as her vision blackened at edges. Would he kill her, she wondered. Would he be so kind as to put her out of her misery before she had to withstand what would undoubtedly tear her apart beyond any possible repair?
"Maximus!"
Suddenly she could breathe again.
Nora sunk to her knees with her hand on her abused throat, coughing and sucking in precious, vital air, trying to process the crushing ache spreading fast through her body. Through blurry eyes, she saw her grandmother walk up to Maximus and start waving her arms angrily.
"I will not have you disgrace this family for another one of your whores," Doireann was saying. "Go see to your guests downstairs before they realise something's wrong. I'll deal with this."
He looked like he wanted to argue, yet couldn't rack his brain for a valid argument. With an air of grave importance, he dusted his jacket, buttoned it, and combed his disheveled hair.
"Lock her up," he ordered. "I don't want her going anywhere. And tell those buffoons we reject their proposals. No one's taking her away from me."
Doireann pursed her thin lips. "Get out of here, we can discuss this matter later."
Once Maximus had gone, Doireann grabbed Nora by her injured limb, cruelly ignoring her cries, and dragged out of the master study, across the hallway, into her bedroom, where she tossed her to the floor. She was strong for an elderly woman, and Nora felt as if she had lost every ounce of strength.
"You will forget everything you learned tonight, everything you think you know about yourself, your mother and your father." As she spoke, Doireann drew her wand out, pointed it directly at Nora's prostrated form. "All you'll remember is feeling unwell and coming upstairs to rest."
Nora glared at the woman. "I will never forget."
"We'll see now, won't we? Obliviate!"
A bright, green flash filled the room. Nora felt the spell smack into her, but like a rubber band it backfired and struck the mirror beside the door, shattering it.
Doireann's dark eyes fixed her with a mix of horror and seething rage. "How…?"
"Hatred endures, you taught me that," Nora said coldly.
The woman turned purple. In two steps, she had reached Nora, foaming at the mouth.
Instantly, her world exploded into a maelstrom of agony. It was as though her nerves had been set ablaze, searing pain shooting through her like white-hot needles. She screamed, but the sound died in her throat as she collapsed, muscles contracting, writhing in a grotesque dance. Her mind fought helplessly to escape, to find a corner of consciousness untouched by the curse, but there was no refuge from the sea of suffering that tore her apart and reassembled her in a torturous, continuous cycle.
Each second stretched into an eternity of unrelenting, all-consuming agony. Her vision blurred, tears streaming down her face as she teetered on the edge of despair, clinging onto some semblance of sanity.
When Nora thought she couldn't take any more, when she was sure she would burn to ash from inside out, the pain stopped, and she was left heaving and trembling.
"He should never have brought you and your mother into this house. You ruined my family and destroyed my son."
With immeasurable effort, even though all she wanted was to simply lay there, Nora managed to push herself on her elbow, staring up at the evil woman who for so many years pretended to be her grandmother.
"Your son is a monster," she spat.
Doireann looked at her as if she were a cumbersome pebble on her shoe. "I really do hate you and your incorrigible brother."
Another red flash, and Nora was back in that maelstrom of pain. Her cries a haunting echo no one could hear in a house full of people.
Yeesh, that was hard, huh? It was tough writing, I can tell you that...
Let me know your thoughts!