The weather, for the most part, had been dull since the summer began. Grey clouds bridged the horizon, only allowing brief interludes of sunshine to peek through, leaving Aster sticky in the muggy heat. She couldn't help but often think, at least I'm not at the Dursleys.
It was surreal to think that she had been under the care of her Grandfather for a year. So much had happened that Aster was half convinced she was stuck in some sort of fever dream, living out an imaginary life. Or that she was in a coma; she had heard that patients sometimes dreamed of entire lifetimes and realities when they were unconscious. If it ever became the case for Aster, she wasn't entirely sure she would be able to cope with it. Her life now was so anathema to before, that she could firmly create a division, as historians do for eras: pre-Normans, after the Normans. For her, it was pre-letter, and after. She now had a family who loved her unconditionally, she somewhat knew her dead parents (which was still such a weird thought to have), friends who actually chose her, and no chores. She wasn't sure which she loved best of all.
She had gone ten years without any of that, having to bow to Aunt Petunia's demands, never being allowed to relax unless quietly in her cupboard, but only if she was in trouble. So having to sit on her own for a day as her Grandfather went on "business matters" should have been a piece of cake. Easier even as she wouldn't have to make it or sneak a slice. But no, Aster was bored. Totally bored out of her mind. Which was why she was curled up on her favourite armchair, watching as theran came tumulting down in sheets, the wind howling through the trees. A book lay all but forgotten on her lap, a finger slipped in between the pages to mark her place, a cup with only the dregs of tea sat beside her on the wooden window sill. She felt rather melodramatic, but she was starting to feel somewhat morose.
The chime of the Wards rippled across the house, the cadence alerting her that some post had arrived, likely something for her Grandfather and his pet project. She sighed, blowing her hair out of her eyes, wondering what Blaise and Theo were up to. Blaise had said about his mother taking him back to Italy for a bit, but gave no hint as to when or how long. Theo she imagined was hunkered in his library or bedroom with a mound of books surrounding him like castle walls. Unless
one of the others had invited him over to stay at theirs.
A faint rustle drew Aster's attention to the door, where she saw Eppy holding a package bound in what looked like silk, with reverence, as a plate - more like a platter - of sandwiches followed her in the air, bringing in the scent of roast pork, fresh bread and sausage and sage stuffing.
"You has a letter, Miss Aster." The Elf told her, holding it out to her in a flourish.
"Er, thanks, Eppy." Aster said quietly, accepting the offering while looking at the party sized amount of food that was magically arranging itself on the side table. "What's with all the sandwiches? We expecting company?" It would be a first; she had never heard of anyone evervisiting Mynydd Hall who wasn't part of the family before. Though, a snide part of her, that sounded uncannily like her aunt, couldn't help but point out, it's not like you've been here long.
"No, Miss Aster, you needs to eats. Mister Master told me to ensure you do." She replied in that somewhat bossy way of hers.
"At least tell me what's for dinner as well so I can ensure I eat that too." Aster dryly responded, counting the calories of the contents and giving up after two thousand.
"I mades enough so that you can pick for all day. Yous prefer to." Eppy stated, making Aster blink in astonishment at the fact she had noticed.
"Well," Aster cleared her throat, "then I can't really say no then, can I?"
"Wasn't an option." Eppy shrugged before literally popping away, making Aster blink in shock.
"Right then." Aster turned her attention to the package in her lap, running her fingers over the expensive wrapping, instinctively knowing it would be from one of her friends; only they would be so ostentatious as to think that this was a perfectly normal method of delivery. Well, except for Theo; he had a more sensible approach to things.
Slipping her finger along the seam the sheet fell away leaving a leather bound tome with gold lettering naming it as Mofte Exfellent Decorum. It took herlonger than she'd like to admit that it was old spelling and not someone illiterate who had written it. A letter dropped on to the floor, with Daphne's elegant cursive addressing it to her. Flipping it open she read:
Dear Aster,
As you have neglected to send any correspondence, to any of us, since the start of the holiday, I have taken it upon myself to remedy this. Clearly you are still in need of etiquette lessons. As such, I have enclosed a book that has been a tool for families for generations. I expect you to read it cover to cover by the time we next meet.
Pansy has been in a rather high mood at your silence, believing that you have taken
offence in some form. Draco has bemoaned your lack of manners, and clearly the influence of your Muggle family. Blaise and Theo have been more reticent on the matter. Blaise, as he is in Italy still with his mother, blessedly. Theo as he is at his own house and thus quieter than usual.
I, myself, am more inclined to think that you have, for some unknown reason, taken to the belief that we would not welcome a letter from yourself. All except Draco of course (so he says), he just expects one on general principle.
Read the book, and I shall quiz you on its contents at the start of term. In the meantime, I'd appreciate an acknowledged.
Yours,
Daphne Greengrass.
Aster snorted. Only Daphne could make a friendly letter sound so high-handed and prissy. And to assign her homework, teacher that she was. Flipping open the book she groaned at the contents page, seeing it cover the most basic dinner etiquette to how to curtsy properly and to whom. Bugger that, she thought, putting it to the side, clutching her previous abandoned novel as she got up to the side table to get one of the slabs of a sandwich.
After eating her full, Aster sluggishly moved herself back to the armchair, curling her legs up as she sat sideways, leaning her head against the back. The rain had begun to slow so that she could now hear the individual rain drops, rather than a tidal wave of water lashing against the glass, like when she sloshed water over the pavement and driveway at 4 Privet Close to scrub it. She flicked to the page she could last remember reading, ignoring the tome sent to her completely. As time wore on, her eyes began to droop, the crackle of a fire that Eppy or Jospo had lit at some point, background accompaniment to the drum of the rain. It didn't take too long for her eyes to completely slide shut, her book slipping from her lax hands. It took even less time for the novel to appear on the windowsill, a ribbon placed tidily in place, and a blanket tucked around the dozing girl.
Things were taking longer than he liked,
and though Ifan was older than he sometimes cared to admit, one thing he still lacked was the patience of a saint. His mother had told him that her father was of a similar mindset. Not that he knew; the man had been killed in a Muggle raid a century before he was born.
He had been waiting in the infernal office for hours, had been passed from one department to another for even longer. All because the dozy woman at the counter three weeks ago gave him the wrong appointment time at the wrong department. As such, here he was standing at the window, gazing out into the smog of Muggle London as self-important fatwits pretended to be too busy to see him. It was times like this where he regretted the Truce; once upon a time Wizards and Other alike would have near trembled at the appearance of the Dylwythen Clan turning up on their door. Only those with a long memory seemed to remember what he could actually do - and had done - when he was pushed to his limit. After all, he was Fae; he relished in chaos and carnage of people's own making.
The clip of heels coming towards him on the black marble floor alerted him that the secretary was back.
"Councillor Billick will see you now, sir." Ifan didn't respond, didn't even move, opting to watch her reflection minutely shift in his silence. She cleared her throat and spoke a little louder. "I said that he will see you now." Ifan's mouth twitched in a hint of a smirk.
"Yes, I heard the first time." Her arms dropped from the demure posture in put upon shock. Another minute or so and Ifan slowly turned round, looking at her through a raised eyebrow. "Well?" He drawled after she didn't move. "I thought he had made such a sacrifice on his time to see me."
Jerking her spine even straighter so that she looked like she had a broom stuck up her, she spun on her heel, setting a brisk walk to the double doored office. With a small bow, Ifan swept in, without knocking, promptly shutting the door in her scandalised face.
The office was overly large, with overly waxed mahogany floor, overlaid with a plush burgundy rug. A man sized fireplace with chiseled filigree was accompanied by two velvet armchairs, a pedantic tiny
footstool in front of only one - clearly for the man behind the ridiculous desk which could have only just squeezed inside the fireplace itself; papers sat to one side, a rack of expensive quills perched precariously on the edge, as books stacked neatly occupied another side. It was all very neat; clearly the space of someone keen to look busy but had in reality little to do due to bureaucracy handing out his duties.
The Wizard himself was slim, which was a surprise, with narrow shoulders, a long face with milky grey eyes, a pinched mouth and a combover. In all, a rather unimpressive man compensating with the size of his office.
"Mr Dylwythen, I presume?" At least he got the name right, even if the pronunciation
was mangled a bit. Perhaps some people were at least still aware of his reputation. Ifan inclined his head as he moved to the chair opposite the man. It was a reedy little thing - still ornate as the man clearly needed everything in sight to be ostentatious. Inwardly rolling his eyes, Ifan continued walking, around the desk to look at the bookcase. Of course it was ceiling high, and spread from wall to wall. Though the slight blurring of some of the titles showed that a whole load were at best Conjurations, at worse an Illusion. He wouldn't put it passed the man that he was barely literate in books that didn't have the word 'and' every other word.
"It's rude to keep people waiting, you know." Billick sneered.
"Yes, it is. It's funny how one doesn't realise until one experiences it for oneself." Ifan retorted, still not looking at him, instead sliding out a tome and flicking through it.
"Careful with that! It's a priceless first edition." He squawked.
Ifan flicked his eyes up from the page and looked at him. "No it's not. That whole spiel on the misspelling was just a way get the prints bought. I should know," he snapped the book shut, "I suggested it." He slid it back in place before turning back to look at the Wizard, tilting his head as he scrutinised him for a few minutes.
"Well? Are we going to begin? I have better things to be doing with my time." The man sniffed, sticking his nose up in the air.
Ifan lazily looked at the neat piles of nothing, and smiled. "Of course." Walking to the guest chair, he rolled his eyes and waved his hand, a leather chair in its place, making Billick shift uncomfortably. Ifan sat back, crossing his legs. "To begin with; do you know why I am here?"
The man blinked. "Of course. Something to do with...er..." He frowned, pulling a journal and flicking to pages full of scribbles. "Ah. A court case for..." He frowned.
"Struggling to read your writing? Or perhaps someone else's."
Billick glared. "No. There just be misinformation. It says about Sirius Black. It can't possibly be about him. That's ancient history." He looked slyly at him, "which you'd know all about of course."
"Oh dear. Don't you know that 'ancient' related to a time frame of a millenia or more? What has education come to?"
His mouth twitched in amusement as Billick scowled. "What do you want to know about his trial?"
"Why there wasn't one."
Billick blinked again in shock. "That's classified information. All the public need to know is that he is guilty and where he belongs."
"And how would you know he's guilty if there wasn't a trial? Did he confess? Was there witnesses to his crimes? Any shred of proof that wasn't supposition?" Ifan shot back rapid-fire. "Or was it all swept away neatly as he was the last direct Heir to an Ancient House - ancient actually being used correctly here - but whom was a supposed disgrace?"
Billick shifted in his chair again, correcting the journal so that it was straight. "Mr Dylwythen, you are not permitted to know the circumstances of the case. After all, you are a member of the public."
"Actually I'm not. I am the Head of the Dylwythen Clan, who is, in turn, a leader of the Fae Realm. You, sir, are a middle man with little to no importance working to the beat of a drum which keeps you paid." Shadows crept into the room from every crevice, branches and webs of darkness crawling around, pressure building on the cowering Wizard. "I have entertained your ego long enough. You will pay me my duerespect and you will tell me about the case."
Ifan realised he had stood up, leaning on the desk by his fingertips and towering over him. Sweat beaded on Billick's forehead, his eyes blown wide, plucking at the underside of his desk to grab his wand.
"Actually I'm not. I am the Head of the Dylwythen Clan, who is, in turn, a leader of the Fae Realm. You, sir, are a middle man with little to no importance working to the beat of a drum which keeps you paid." Shadows crept into the room from every crevice, branches and webs of darkness crawling around, pressure building on the cowering Wizard. "I have entertained your ego long enough. You will pay me my dueespect and you will tell me about the case."
The man cleared his throat. "W-well. The - the case against Black s-seemed clear cut. He was found -"
"Laughing at the scene of an explosion which killed thirteen people, one of whom was a boyhood friend. Yes, I'm aware of
those details. Everyone is. What I am requesting to know is why there was no semblance of justice. To a member of a Leading Family at that."
"It was unnecessary with the circumstances."
"Meaning the right palms were greased and gold exchanged. You humans are all alike; Wizard or Muggle." At the man's offended look, Ifan stood up with a flourish, making him flinch. "Well you've been spectacularly useless. Thank you for your time." Ifan waved the chair away as he walked to the door, before pausing. "Oh, by the way, if you mean to actually look busy, may I suggest messing up the piles of blank pages. It's a cliche for a reason; along with writing as someone walks in." He bowed deeply to the man before closing the door with a quiet click.
As Ifan walked out from the tedium of the Ministry, he pulled out the small portrait of Lily and James. One of whom looked entirely smug, and the other staring at him in awe.
"Meaning the right palms were greased and gold exchanged. You humans are all alike; Wizard or Muggle." At the man's offended look, Ifan stood up with a flourish, making him flinch. "Well you've been spectacularly useless. Thank you for your time." Ifan waved the chair away as he walked to the door, before pausing. "Oh, by the way, if you mean to actually look busy, may I suggest messing up the piles of blank pages. It's a cliche for a reason; along with writing as someone walks in." He bowed deeply to the man beforeclosing the door with a quiet click.
"James." Lily reprimanded quietly, as her focus was far away; probably seeing if she could hear Aster through the empty frame at Mynydd Hall.
"What? It's true. But I think you're right
though; someone wanted Padfoot out the way, but not enough to kill him."
"Perhaps his mother." Lily suggested, coming back to the present, "if Regulus did die then she'd need to recognise Sirius again, but probably not enough to keep him free. The cousins were probably enough to inherit the importance of the Family name."
James pulled a face. "Wouldn't put it past the mad bint. Probably thought if best of the two evils: let the two favourite daughters of her crazy brother be the faces of the Blacks - even though they didn't hold the name anymore."
"What do you think, Grandfather?"
"That Wizards are insane no matter who itis. It's the inbreeding." He joked, as James scowled and then nodded in understanding.
"You're not wrong - thank fuck my parents weren't too closely related."
Lily rolled her eyes, "I think your family were among the few who weren't British First."
"More like English First for the majority - Merlin forbid that they marry an" He lowered his voice to a scandalised whisper, "Irish person."
"And what or Scottish or Welsh?"
"Samething, isn't it? Country bumpkin barbarians, the lot of you." He said smoothly, brushing off imaginary lint off
his arms.
"The horror that you married me then. Not only Welsh, but a Muggleborn at that." She drawled with amusement, her eyes sparkling bright.
"Well, to be fair, I thought you were English at first."
"Charming."
Apologies for the length of time between chapters - a lot has happened and saying goodbye to my pup was one of them.