Reluctantly, Eleanor stepped off the Hogwarts Express and onto the bustling platform at King's Cross. The train puffed steam into the cool London air, a heavy sigh escaping her lips as she clutched Pegasus' cage in one hand and her trunk in the other.
"Allow me," Adrian's voice sounded beside her, and before Eleanor could protest, he had taken her trunk from her.
"Thank you," she muttered absently, her eyes scanning the sea of people around her. She felt like a child again, waiting for a sight she knew would never come.
Of course he wouldn't be here.
"So, I'll see you this summer?" Berenice's voice cut through her thoughts as she tugged her own trunk behind her, clearly keen to stay upbeat.
"I suppose so. Is your father still fine with me coming over?" Eleanor replied, a soft smile tugging at the corner of her mouth despite the weight in her chest.
Berenice rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, please. His bark's worse than his bite. My mother's positively thrilled to have you visit again."
Eleanor chuckled. "Naturally. Ever since I explained Muggle nobility to her, she's been comparing it to Pureblood families non-stop."
"Well, is she wrong?" Berenice teased, nudging her friend.
"Your mother's never wrong," Eleanor replied, and they both shared a laugh. "But I'd love to come for a visit."
Berenice smiled warmly. "Good. Be sure to write me the moment you get home."
"I will, Bunny," Eleanor promised, watching her friend disappear into the crowd.
Adrian, standing quietly beside her, shifted his weight. "My parents are planning to attend the Quidditch World Cup, you know," he said, his tone casual, though there was something behind the words.
Eleanor raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Berenice won't hear you now, you know," she teased, a smile tugging at her lips.
"Oh, she knows," Adrian replied with a grin. "But, uh, perhaps you'd like to come with us? To the Cup, I mean?"
Eleanor recognised the underlying invitation immediately. "Of course. I'd love to, Pucey, thank you."
Adrian's smile brightened, and Eleanor caught herself before she could do anything foolish like throwing her arms around him.
"Darling, I've been looking everywhere for you!" A voice called from behind, sharp and demanding. Eleanor stiffened, a familiar tightness in her chest.
"Good evening, Mother," she murmured as she turned, already steeling herself.
Her mother, Astraea Fawley, stood before her. Tall, elegant, with ash-blonde locks styled into a neat updo and eyes sharpened by layers of dark eyeliner, she had an air of refined, aloof authority. The dark plum robes she wore – undoubtedly the latest from Paris – seemed to have been designed with one goal: to draw attention to her status. Pearls glittered in her ears, and on her left ring finger sat a diamond the size of a quail's egg.
Adrian, who had been standing politely beside Eleanor, stiffened slightly. "Miss Fawley," he greeted her stiffly, trying to make the proper small talk, though he clearly wasn't sure what to do with his hands.
"Thank you for helping my daughter with her trunk," Astraea said with a wave of her wand, causing the heavy trunk to float effortlessly into the air, away from Adrian's grasp. "A simple gesture of courtesy."
"Goodbye, Pucey," Eleanor said briskly, dismissing him with a polite nod, before turning back to her mother. The relief was practically radiating off Adrian as he nodded his farewells.
"Goodbye, Eleanor. Miss Fawley," he managed to say, his voice laced with clear relief.
Her mother nodded, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes curving her lips. Eleanor resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
"Come, daughter. The chauffeur is waiting. Stand up straight, shoulders back. Good girl," her mother instructed as she swept away, her words like a command from a general.
"Yes, Mother," Eleanor muttered under her breath, resisting the urge to hunch her shoulders. But she straightened them nonetheless, her gaze flicking toward the Weasley family in the distance.
George was wrapped in a warm embrace from his mother, his little sister clinging to him tightly, while his father beamed with pride, his arm around George's younger brother. The image of their easy affection made something sharp twist in Eleanor's chest. She quickly looked away, swallowing the strange pang that had risen unexpectedly.
"How did your O.W.L.s go, Pleione?" Astraea's voice broke into her thoughts as they climbed into the waiting car, the chauffeur slipping into the driver's seat and setting off through the crowded streets of London.
Eleanor flinched involuntarily at the use of the name. Pleione was the name her mother had insisted on calling her, the name she'd wanted to give her daughter. But her father, the Duke of Norfolk, had insisted on Eleanor, in honour of his own grandmother, much to Astraea's dismay. Only her mother called her Pleione, as if to make up for the loss of control over the naming.
"They went well, Mother. I expect my results by the end of July," she answered, trying to push down the irritation.
"Good. Very good," Astraea replied, though her gaze remained fixed out of the window. "I expect excellent results, darling. You know how important this is for your future."
Eleanor kept silent, staring out at the passing streets. She knew exactly what her mother meant: a future planned out for her in high society, where her status would be her ticket into a prestigious marriage.
"It's a shame Berenice Yaxley's brother is only six years old," Astraea mused, tapping her perfectly manicured finger against her lips as she thought aloud. "Corban Yaxley may be an insufferable bore, but he's still one of the most influential members of the Sacred 28. It's a pity Slughorn isn't still teaching at Hogwarts... but then, there's no use crying over spilt milk, is there?"
Eleanor closed her eyes, trying to block out her mother's incessant ramblings about Pureblood families, their influence, and the desperate need for advantageous alliances.
It was a relief when the car finally pulled up in front of the grand country house that had belonged to the Seymours for generations. The ancient estate, more castle than house, was surrounded by high stone walls and towering turrets. The house had once welcomed visitors, but since her grandparents had passed, Astraea had locked its doors. She hated Muggles, and while she tolerated the Muggle staff, she would rather keep them out of sight.
The chauffeur opened the door for Astraea, and Eleanor followed her mother inside, where the grand entry hall stretched before them. The high stone walls were adorned with family swords and the Seymour coat of arms, a reminder of the family's ancient lineage.
"We're expected at Euston Estate tonight for a party in honour of the Duke of Grafton's son," Astraea said, her voice cold with distaste. "Apparently, he's just come over from the United States. Wonderful," she added, clearly unimpressed. "You will wear the dress I've laid out for you. You can find it on your bed. And please, do behave yourself tonight. I'd rather not have to beg Dumbledore for your place at Hogwarts again."
Eleanor didn't trust herself to speak and merely nodded. "Viscount Ipswich knows how to behave," she said flatly, though her tone was laced with bitterness.
"I know, darling, but we must make an effort. We can't afford another blow with Fudge." Astraea's fingers brushed Eleanor's hair, but there was no affection in the touch, just a cold, calculating gesture.
Eleanor stepped back, her pulse quickening. "Where's Father?" she asked softly.
"In his study," Astraea replied coolly, her expression hardening.
Eleanor nodded and turned toward her father's study, her heart heavy.
The study, like the rest of the house, was a museum of sorts: expensive furniture, antique paintings, and shelves of leather-bound books. Behind her father's desk, a portrait of an old English queen hung on the wall, a reminder of the house's noble heritage.
"Eleanor," her father greeted her warmly, a smile spreading across his face.
The Duke of Norfolk was much older than his wife, grey beginning to show in his hair, though his eyes still held their spark.
"Daddy," Eleanor smiled, her heart swelling with a quiet affection.
"How was boarding school in Switzerland?" he asked, setting his newspapers aside.
Eleanor hesitated before answering. "It was fine. I'm waiting for my OWL results in July."
"I know, darling. Your mother's been rather stressed about it," her father said with a soft chuckle. "She doesn't like to worry, but you know how she is."
Eleanor smiled sadly. "It went well," she assured him. "I've already told her."
"Good, good," he said, clearly relieved. "Why don't you get ready for the Grafton's party? Your mother picked out a lovely dress. I'm sure Viscount Ipswich would like to see you in white."
Eleanor's smile was faint as she nodded, leaving the study quietly.
Her mother had indeed laid out an ivory gown on her bed, the soft fabric looking pristine. Eleanor sighed and sat down at her dressing table. Her trunk had already been placed by the bed, and Pegasus' cage sat next to it. She had left the owl to return to Scotland on his own; he would enjoy the journey.
A large white Persian cat, Nemea, lay stretched across the armchair in the corner, soaking up the sunlight. At the sound of Eleanor's voice, the cat stirred, stretching lazily and offering an inviting belly.
"Did you miss me, Nemea?" Eleanor murmured, scratching behind the cat's ears. Nemea purred loudly, clearly content. Eleanor scooped her up, sitting in the chair with the cat on her lap.
Absentmindedly, she stroked Nemea's fur, feeling the weight of her mother's plans bearing down on her. She knew she had a future laid out for her, one her mother had carefully designed. Eleanor, the future Duchess of Norfolk, was already a prized catch, her bloodline connected to the royal house of Windsor. But she was not free to choose.
Her thoughts were interrupted when a soft voice came from behind her.
"Lady Eleanor, your mother has sent Poppy to remind you to prepare for the Viscount Ipswich's party."
Eleanor turned to see Poppy, her house-elf, standing quietly in the doorway.
"Thank you, Poppy," Eleanor said absently, putting Nemea back in the chair. "Can you run me a bath? If I have to endure Viscount Ipswich's unpleasant remarks, I'd better be clean about it."
As she prepared for the evening, a small form flitted through the open window. Eleanor didn't need to look to know who it was.
It was Pegasus. And he brought a letter.
She tore open the envelope, curiosity bubbling up inside her.
Dear Nell,the letter began.
I sent this letter to let you know you'll always have a place here with us, even if Father doesn't agree with me. We both know the truth. Don't listen too much to your mother. I'll see you soon.
Bunny
PS: I cannot wait for the World Cup. Ireland against Bulgaria—can you imagine?
PSS: It seems Pegasus knew you needed to hear this. He arrived just moments after I wrote this.
"Lady Eleanor has very good friends, miss," Poppy said softly from behind her.
Eleanor smiled faintly, folding the letter carefully before placing it in her drawer. Perhaps not all was lost after all.