The Apothecary Man

Summertime did little to protect Diagon Alley from the chills it was famed for. The whistling winds still whipped through the loose hair of young witches in the same breath that it stole hats from their heads. Despite those unforgiving breezes, the sunshine still shone brightly through the little space that was afforded to it by the jutting upper stories that were nose to nose on either side of the street for much of the winding cobbled road. The cobbles, of course, were another problem entirely if you were a mother with ill-tempered babies that were threatening to prematurely cut their teeth. They didn’t need to be jolted this way and that. It was for that reason that Athena charmed the buggy and let it float along in front of her, making for a much smoother method of travel.

Her errands were mostly mundane but she felt they needed to be done and packed up the children and her sisters-in-law, determined that they should all get a day out of it – and some ice cream. The girls had been dressed not entirely dissimilarly and both wore bright red coats with matching shoes to add that air of childhood sweetness that both still had coursing through them despite their hardships. The boys were bundled up together in baby grows and fleecing which kept them toasty warm. Together, the five looked a bit odd and Athena easily ignored the stares of disapproval from older witches who assumed that the young girl had been a bit frivolous with her modesty. Athena had been, in fairness, but only two of them were hers.

The girls grew bored after the trip to Flourish and Blotts so to placate them, Athena bough them some sweets and a hand-puzzle for them to busy themselves over while she continued to do her errands. Eventually they came to their last stop: Slugs’ and Jigger’s Apothecary.

The bell over the door rang out shrilly, notifying the small number of staff of her entrance. Athena ushered the girls inside before pushing the pram through the door and immediately began to stride up and down the aisles in search of the potions she wanted, her pseudo-daughters trailing behind her, their fingers in the little bags of sweets they held.

Athena had promised ice cream so she was keen to get a move on. She felt rather flushed and harried, really. No one was being a problem, which was a god-send, but she somehow felt as though she was completely out of her depth playing mother to two and trying her hardest to be a good mother to a second pair. She needed Kendall at times like this but her husband was ever excellent at being absent when such times arose.

outfit.

Beetle eyes. Check.

Salamander blood. Check.

Shredded boomslang. Double check. (He didn't like running out of Polyjuice)

Powdered unicorn horn. Ugh.

"Seven galleons, eight sickles should be perfectly reasonable, Mister Potter." The greasy haired man smiled grotesquely, and Albus felt like wincing on mere principle. The man's teeth were rotten. His flappy hairstyle and yellowish face half-reminded Albus of his namesake, but decided that would probably be too massive an insult to measure. No self-respecting potioneer would stink of alcohol. The fumes potentially messed up with a lot of delicate potions.

"Seven galleons and eight sickles is more than the cost of a wand Mister...." Albus's lips stretched tightly into a smile, eyes darting down to the nameplate on the man's working uniform. "Mister Caterwauler. Unicorn horn is a rare ingredient I admit, but hardly worth spending more than five galleons on."

"Unicorns are highly magical, shy creatures...."

"And the Dagworth-Granger chains, not to mention several others, have already started breeding them on generic forest-farms." His voice sounded crisp, polite, hard-hitting. "I am a potioneer, Mister Caterwauler. I do happen to know where my ingredients come from."

The man sneer-smiled, contorted his head into a low bow, and pushed the wooden box of powdered horn towards him. Albus dropped five heavy, gold coins on the counter top, "Thank you." He swept around and made to stride out of the apothecary when he saw a girl in a red coat, her mirror image next to her, both dark heads bent over what looked like a wooden piece of cardboard.

A faint smile alighted on Albus's lips, and he approached them from behind. The girls were too engrossed in their puzzle to see him approach, and he bent his head, enjoying the little startled sounds the girls produced as he whispered, "The red block goes to the top left corner."

He straightened, and came face to face to the mother. Medium height, smooth, shiny hair, dark eyes. Vaguely familiar features......a year below him in Hogwarts, perhaps? His emerald eyes flitted over the well-dressed, postured woman again, and his words trailed out into the air, "Madam......Rookwood?"

(OOC: I got a little bit carried away.. Haha!)

The D’Eath family were particular in a manner that was irking to even the most highly strung of Purebloods, female or otherwise. These particulars made it all the more maddening to Athena that they would allow their employees to fritter away ingredients across the shelves as though they were little more than harmless titbits. More than a few times her careful fingers lifted vials and plugged conical flasks back into their racks or onto their bases respectively. Although the mess did not hinder her too much, she couldn’t help but draw comparisons between their displays and her little nook where she gave into the delight she found in brewing potions that were both helpful to her and nonsensically amusing to watch change colour in the cauldron. She had everything labelled and in its proper place but this reminded her of why she preferred to order her things as opposed to go out to get them.

Sighing testily, Athena took a few vials of Boom Berry juice from the dusty rack that was towards the back of the shelf. She looked them over in the dim light that the shop afforded to her and took a moment to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear as she turned the vials in her hands. She bent a little to get a proper view of the shelf and mingled her fingers in with the myriad of different vials and flasks before picking out anther vial that had a much more vibrant colour inside it. She replaced the least useful-looking vial of the three and held tight onto the other two before moving the pram along a bit to ascertain where in Merlin’s name Caterwauler had put the lionfish spines.

Aurelia, the eldest of the two scarlet daughters of Rookwood, had hold of her sister’s hand tightly as Athena had instructed. Their footsteps following their sister-in-law were even slower than usual as their concentration was devoted to the puzzle that Cecilia had picked out and the few coins that the eldest witch had given her afforded. Aurelia’s lips were pursed and wound slightly to the left, her tongue flicking between her teeth inside her mouth as she tried to ascertain where the red block went. Cecilia wasn’t being particularly helpful, if Aurelia was going to be strictly honest. The smaller girl who was still a little unsteady on her feet and whose weary eyes suggested it would not be long until Athena would have to scoop her up and carry her, was content to move the blocks around at random, enjoying the kaleidoscope of colours before her.

Aurelia jumped at the sound of a man’s voice and she turned to see a pair of vibrant green eyes smiling down upon them. Aurelia’s eyebrows furrowed a little as her Rookwood pride told her she should have figured that out first. Before she could reach to move the block, Cecilia gave a cry of understanding and gave the man a brilliant smile of thanks before shoving the block into place. Aurelia managed a small smile also but averted her eyes quite quickly, her inhibitions not as wildly free as Cecilia’s. Naturally, Aurelia wanted to be older than her age. Already, Athena feared the little girl knew too much and heard too little to allow her proper clarity but enough to worry her mind. Cecilia’s ignorance was blessed for the woman but Aurelia’s eyes were searching, as ever, for answers – in all things.

Athena had not missed the sound of the girl’s in their shock at being disturbed and returned without even thinking, her blinkers on, fear welling up in her stomach. She stopped just shy of the man, the girls between them, and she pulled at Aurelia’s shoulder, drawing the girl to her, Cecilia following with a cry of triumph as she moved another block into what she perceived to be the correct place – a million miles away from the apothecary and the situation at hand. Athena had managed to drift without being disturbed thus far. Only a Potter would see fit to disturb her, ever embodying the complex that his father had; the desire to be a hero. Spitefully, Athena wanted to tell him that she was fine, that he could run along back to the Order and tell them all about the Death Eater he saw in the apothecary with far too many children for just two, dainty hands.

And of course he was a Potter. That was not lost on her. He had those famed eyes, the shining emeralds that would’ve been priceless in a necklace or a ring. The tousled hair was that of his father’s and the easy, open and honest smile was atypical of a trusting young wizard. But of course, unlike the Potters before him he shared a dungeon with the other hissing serpents; serpents like Athena. She remembered Albus, naturally, but pride prevented her from associating with him beyond that which was necessary. He was still a Potter, above everything else; and she at the time a Goyle - still a Goyle, really, just with the Rookwood name plastered over her own and Rookwood sons born to her. Certainly, a few years made a hell of a difference.

“Mr Potter,” Athena murmured finally before adding, for propriety’s sake, “I trust you are well?”

Suddenly it dawned bitterly upon Athena how her life had taken such a turn. Here was a man whose destiny was undecided and much to her internal dismay she envied him. Her future had been decided by the contents of the pram beside her, the wriggling, sleeping boys. Motherhood had Athena firmly in its grasp, the woman who had never imagined herself maternal or at all worried by the trivialities of bringing up children. She hadn’t wanted it. Now her peace was found in gardening and the few seconds she got alone to herself before Kendall sniffed her out, her other child. Athena had imagined herself traipsing about countries she’d only ever dreamed of, going on archaeological digs and drinking strange wines with odd company and watching the sun go down. Instead, she had four children she could ill afford to keep all of her eyes on at the same time and a handful of vials that in her heart of hearts she knew would make her potions sputter and suffer for their staleness. Suffice to say, she more than envied him a little.

“Forgive the girls,” She uttered to him briefly, her eyes unable to quite focus upon him as she felt within her a desire to hurry from the shop as quickly as possible. “I hope they did not get under your feet.”

Aurelia looked up at Athena as though to retort that it was not them but Athena’s hand settling upon her head shushed her and Aurelia dropped her eyes back to the puzzle, deciding to keep out of the conversation and focus instead on the mind boggling mix of colours that Cecilia had made look like a rainbow that had dropped from the sky and crashed to the ground, landing in a heap on the puzzle board.

“Mr Potter!” Cecilia’s voice was sharp and musical, like a summer tune that slid over crushed glass; an oxymoron, indeed. She held up the puzzle board to him and stepped out into the proverbial no man’s land that was the space between them. She pointed the red block and then to what Aurelia had perceived to be the corpse of a rainbow. “Where does the rest go?” She looked at him with slightly lidded eyes, the puzzle and the walking having left her weary and in need of a nap; something Athena had hoped on that morning so that the girl could be woken before dinner that evening. “You need to help us!”

“Cecilia,” Athena’s voice was fair yet bore a tinge of scolding to it. The little girl looked up, her bouncy, ebony curls flitting around her face as she looked at her mother-figure with confusion, as though it was perfectly logical to ask someone she had never met to help with her puzzle because he had an apparent aptitude for it. Athena bit her tongue and looked between Cecilia and Albus before steadying her gaze back on the girl. “Ask nicely,” she amended weakly, unwilling to try and prevent the girl from doing what she had in mind. She was a Rookwood after all.

Cecilia squared her shoulders and looked up at Albus once more, not nearly as shy as Athena in that respect. Aurelia continued to pour over the puzzle board, hesitant to move any of the blocks lest she got it wrong. After a moment she too looked up a little expectantly before Cecilia repeated her statement a little more politely and made into more of a question:

“Mr Potter, will you help us please?”

(( No problemo ))

The younger of the two (it was quite easier to perceive which was elder, she had a particularly prim way of looking up at him, high nosed and bearing the carriage of a Rookwood), cried in apparent triumph as she moved a second puzzle block into the utterly wrong holding slot. Albus was just about to gently point it out to her, when a long-nailed hand intruded, clasping on the girls’ shoulders in an almost possessive grasp, and drew them out of his reach.

Rookwood. Maiden name was Greengrass, he mused. No……Goyle. Her dark, long-lashed eyes surveyed him top to bottom, as hard as scraping nails, making it feel as if she was scoping out every blemish, every imagined imperfection. She looked at his hair, his eyes, and couldn’t quite stop the disdain from filtering into the, “Mr. Potter. I trust you are well.”

Albus tried not to hold it against her, she couldn’t possibly know that he wasn’t partial to being called by his last name. But her smooth as silk voice lingered over the word, and Albus understood. She was masterful at betraying no insult, no scoff. But Albus had been subjected to a scrutinizing stare too many times, and called “Mr. Potter”, not to know when he was being judged. Judged for his last name.

Irritation, and coldness, like he hadn’t felt since Hogwarts flooded into his veins, and Albus’s eyes hardened. His face was still the picture of perfect amiability, but his jaw muscles were drawn tight. Assumptions, assumptions, assumptions. That was all these despicable people were capable of, wasn’t it? It didn’t matter if they were ‘Light’ or ‘Dark’, Order-ites or Death Eaters, they all assumed. Saw his hair and eyes and slotted him into the category of Harry Potter spawn. Never even talked to him, and automatically categorized him into noble, and chivalrous, and great, and righteous, and Albus had never really gotten used to it. F*ck them. Albus wondered, morbidly, coldly, just for a second if the woman opposite to him realized that if he could, he would dig up his father’s grave and destroy the coffin and all it implied, forget the man who died before he could be a father to him, but whose shadow never died, give his parentage up for sale to all those drooling, jaw-smacked idiots who were eager to have the Saviour of the World as a father. They all could have him all they pleased.

Shit, and Albus had pledged to himself to think of his father in a better light, too. After the conversation with Jack, he had realized that his unremarkable life was his own doing, not his father’s. His dreaded, over-talented, cursedly high-flying family were not to blame for him. But at moments like these…….. nineteen years of solid resentment was hard to forget.

“Its all right, they are no trouble.” He spoke civilly, in which the oversets of coldness were hopefully still imperceptible. “You have charming children.” That atleast, was absolutely genuine. Albus looked at the woman (no, girl really) standing opposite him, pram and kids and potion bottles and all. It must be nice…..different. To not be alone at all times. To have people to return to at home, to have the pitter-patter of feet running up your stairs, to have stains in your carpets and cushions, to have your home not look like an unlived-in hotel room. To have people who cared about your likes and dislikes, to remember birthdays and anniversaries and all other inane dates that people gave importance to. To not be bored, and silent, all the time. She was younger than him, by a few months. Yet she had it all.

And Albus was not above recognizing the irony of the fact that these thoughts were striking his head, in spite of belonging to the massive Potter-Weasley clan. But that was the cinching point, wasn’t it. Ever since he was seven, he had known. Known that he did not, and never would belong.

And maybe it was these morose, resigning thoughts echoing in the confines of his mind (even that seemed lonely), that prompted him to kneel down and look into the bright, sparkling eyes of the Rookwood daughter, in spite of her mother’s carefully neutral stare. He looked at the child and saw twin stars nestled into the depths of her eyes, still unquenched by the weight and responsibility of being a pureblood girl. The elder one’s eyes were already fading.

“See.” His voice was curiously soft. He pointed with his index finger to the corners of the slot board. “This puzzle is based on the color wheel. The primary colors, red, green and blue should fit in the corners. The secondary colors, yellow, magenta and cyan,” He tapped the respective blocks. “Should fit in the middle of the side-walls. The tertiary colors: rose, violet, orange, chartreuse and the others, should fit in between. And that leaves black and white for the centre.” He poked the girl on her nose gently, teasingly, and smiled faintly at the elder over her shoulder. “You’re smart girls. I’m sure you’ll be able to solve it.”

His gaze darted upwards to the woman, calm and composed. “Names?” He was asking for the girls’ names, yes. Also the woman’s, which he couldn’t quite recall. Because under that stately, composed shell, and that judging stare, he still saw a girl of nineteen.

It was delirious to think that the Potter family was on its knees; delirious to think, also, that once they had the privilege of Black blood in their tree. The shadow cast out by Toujours Pur was the envy of any right-minded Pureblood with skeletons in their wardrobes; as far back as the coats and the robes could allow. There was good breeding in that blood. The error of James Potter could be, and was in many circles, overlooked in favour of remembering his wife’s talents as opposed to her blood. Naturally, they had all watched the young Harry Potter. They had all listened and hoped, perhaps as Draco had, that he would enter their fold and make no more of an enemy out of Lord Voldemort than the rest of them; rather, an ally. Of course, such opportunity was lost when he refused his hand, when he traded Wizarding society for the oddities of the Weasleys – endearing though they were rumoured to be.

Regardless, the boy and his brother were all that was left; all that was worth it in the male line. Such Half-Bloods were only a generation shy from gaining Pure-blooded status in the eyes of those willing to forget, willing to overlook the lapse of magical blood in their veins. Merlin knew there was strength there, resilience, a desire to survive. It was Slytherin of them all yet he was the only one. Perhaps that was why he fit, Albus. Perhaps within that were the reasons why his expression twitched almost unnoticeably and the reason why the cracks in the pleasant façade began to show. He was a Slytherin; and she his perfect opposite. Athena wasn’t going to begrudge him his kindness, however. She did understand when she was in no position to be testy or belligerent; this was one of those instances, rare though they were.

Athena removed her hands from the shoulders of Aurelia, reluctantly letting the girl go. She watched as the girl cast one last look at Athena before stepping forward a little with her sister in tow, striding further into that aforementioned no man’s land. Athena did not lend to such openness of fair trust. She took solace, however, in the fact that it was only a Potter. He was no harm to her girls. Had he been anyone else, her fingernails would’ve dug in and neither for love nor money would Athena have let her go.

Only Aurelia seemed to sense a certain hesitance about Athena. Perhaps that was to be her downfall, Athena mused to herself as she watched the elder of the two. She watched too much. She was old already in her scarlet coat and shoes. In many ways she was like her sister, resentful of her father’s disinterest and mired still by the way her brother cast her off but for the occasional indulgement. All she had was Athena, in that respect; Athena and her sister.

The smile that Athena allowed to grace her lips at Albus’ compliment was a sad one but appeared vibrant none the less as she allowed her chest to swell with the show of Pureblood pride. To her credit, she’d ensured the girls were immaculate. She’d planned for every instance and had everything with her that would assure that the day would go unhindered by any trouble. Granted, she had not planned for this. In this she had to ride on the innocence of childhood and hope that, despite being engrossed in her game, Cecilia would remember there was a certain standard to which she had to carry herself. But part of Athena loathed herself for that. She was but a girl, barely three years old. Yet, what she had to carry broke Athena’s heart because already it was in Aurelia’s eyes, that burgeoning resentment, and Albus would have been a fool not to see it. Youth brought the luck of ignorance but all for too short a time.

“They are,” She nodded, allowing her smile to fall. “Thank you.” Such compliments were hers to have, she told herself, for she was the one that had allowed such charming young girls to flourish. Her entry into the nursery had been abrupt and in a flourish of fury at the tutors that were trying to coax too much out of them at such a young age. They were all struck off from payroll, the nannies abandoned and Augustus notified of none of it. His daughters were hers, she’d declared passionately when Kendall had come to her with his half-hearted protests. If no one else would love them, she would.

Cecilia’s eyes were wide and curious as Albus explained the puzzle and she nodded here and there, absorbing his explanation quickly and understanding it with relative ease. She was like a sponge in that respect. She understood that they were colours but some of the names just sounded plain strange to her and so funny that they prompted a giggle from the little girl’s chest. She grinned toothily at him before beginning to move the blocks a little, albeit hesitantly, treating it with her sister’s earlier reservations as now she wanted to impress him, she wanted to get it right. Another giggle was roused from her at the endearment and she wriggled her nose playfully before pushing a few more of the blocks about, encouraging Aurelia with a tug of her hand to join in, which, to the girl’s credit, she did.

Athena smoothed back a stray lock of Cecilia’s hair out of habit more than anything else, the bobbing curls always falling into her eyes, and the girl looked up to smile at her mother in thanks. Athena’s eyes drifted back to Albus and a small smile quirked at her lips as she cocked her head to the side, trying to discern whether he truly cared to know or whether he was pulling her leg. That was what made Potters different. It is, truly, what made light wizards different, too. Unless of course, you were Athena, a known and, until perhaps six or seven months ago, dead Death Eater. Which got her to wondering, where exactly did his allegiances lie?

“Your newly found friend is Cecilia,” Athena murmured with a slight teasing edge to her voice. Cecilia grinned at Albus, breaking her stare at her puzzle for a moment before resuming. “Aurelia,” Athena’s hand came to rest on the head of the elder one before taking it away to gesture to the pram. She moved for a second, her eyes drawn to a dislodged blanket inside and pulled it away from Archibald’s face. He shifted a little beside his brother but did not wake much to her relief. “Archibald and Augustus,” she identified them smoothly. “Rookwood children.”

Then, for the sake of her own amusement, Athena placed a hand on her chest, just below her throat. “Athena,” she told him, quirking an eyebrow as though to say, ‘you should already know that.’

(( Minor god-mode of the kids. I'll edit it out if you like ))
 
There was an inherent reluctance, shifting and shimmering in the Rookwood matriarch’s (matriarch, what an old word for a young girl) eyes, her pupils flitting this way and that; not avoiding his gaze but never quite meeting it too. Albus could understand perfectly. Although isolated from the politics of the Order from a very young age, of his own choice, he was not unknown to the implications of the Rookwood name. The Rookwood infamy. Of the knowledge, and slyness, and thirst for magic and position and power that flew freely through their blood. The woman opposite him was a Rookwood, not by blood, but by marriage.

Albus had to remind himself, with a jolt really, that it could also be interpreted as being a part of the family not by fate, but by choice.

Albus watched the woman’s face discreetly, some part of his mind perversely fascinated by the calm façade: like a mountain lake mirror-smooth on the surface, but tempestuous underneath. The rapidly twisting thoughts and emotions rippled clearly under the surface, tearing to get out but restricted by the iron-wall of the pureblood countenance. It drew his eyes, strove to incite his curiosity, asked him to figure out her thoughts, reminded him of home. Slytherin, not Godric’s Hollow. The dark, dank, yet awe-inspiring dungeons, where masters of diplomacy, tact, sardonism and mind held their court; firmly, ruthlessly. To survive in the pit of snakes, you needed wit, you needed perception. You needed to spy out chinks in armor and strike hard, never betray your thoughts and forever hold the upper hand. Ever since graduation, Albus had been surrounded by his family and so-called friends, people who wore their hearts on their sleeves, who bore and expressed every weakening emotion with strengthening pride. So the conundrum of her face teased at his eyes, starved of mystery and a challenge.
Ah, pride. Now that was an emotion which couldn’t be missed. A smile, astonishing in its brightness, flashed across her face like lightning in a field. Her eyes physically caressed her young, seeming proud and melancholic all at once. Maturity on a girlish face. Albus didn’t pretend to know exactly what she was thinking, but a stray thought reamed through the back of his head: an image of a young, sixteen-year old lying prostate on a Slytherin bed, plucking moodily at the strings of a guitar.

It wasn’t a comforting thought.

Albus shifted his attention from the mother to the girl, not liking the direction that his thoughts were taking. The mother’s voice, clear and lilting, penetrated his ears and amusement filtered into his smile. Cecilia. Archibald. Augustus. Meretricious. Pretentious. “Heavy names for children.” He murmured. Looked at the red-cheeked, bright-eyed girl beaming at him and smiled charmingly, extending his hand palm upwards to cradle the little girl’s hand, brushing her knuckles with his lips. “I think I shall call you Ceci.”

The words, and actions were contrary. Pureblood customs and etiquette, coupled with a frivolous, ‘common’ nick-name. It was a strong urge to look up, to see how the mother would react, but he restrained himself. His eyes flitted to the elder instead, and he extended his hand again. The young Rookwood shifted in place, slightly discomfited, but eventually seemed to surrender to the idea of courtesy, and the fear of being seen as impolite, or uncouth. Albus bent his head to her hand again, and enunciated respectfully, “Miss Rookwood.” Surely that would please her, or atleast settle some ruffled feathers.  

Albus rose up from his knees, to see that he had a few inches on the eldest Rookwood. Athena. Greek goddess of wisdom, and war tactics. Albus had been fascinated with Greek, and Roman, and Norse, and practically all sorts of mythology as a child. Looking at the woman now, Albus found it hard to reconcile his image of the war-worn, wise, hard goddess with the dark haired witch standing in front of him, complete with pram and wisps of hair floating about her face. He extended his hand, straight, not palm upwards. It was the offering of a handshake, significantly less than the courtesy he had given her offspring. After all, her daughters had seen him as a gentleman, and so he behaved such. She saw him as a Potter. So a Potter she would get.

“Albus Severus.” You do already know that.


Albus didn’t care to analyze why he spoke his second name. Maybe she would know better.

(It's fine! )

For Athena it was a curious sight to behold. Since the death of their mother, nothing had been the same. Athena had done her best to shield the girls but nothing could stop the whispers from reaching them. Their tears were never for their mother, though. They were but instead for their father who they wanted in the night above all else. But he was never there; ever. A certain misery seemed to entomb all of them in that way yet in starkly different ways at the same time. Athena’s manifested in her increasing frustration with the men in her life. Augustus’ was uncompromising, unrelenting despair that he could neither admit to nor come to terms with. It was that all-encompassing grief that saw to it that he largely ignored his daughters. No amount of stability that Athena could provide was enough. They wanted their father, or their brother at the very least, but neither of them were there. So, really, it seemed apt that Cecilia was drawn to Albus so; for he filled a void, for however fleeting a moment.

To Athena, he was an utter stranger. To Cecilia he was a new found friend. To Aurelia, he was somewhere caught between the two, the girl neither wanting to abandon her sister or abandon her pseudo-mother in her convictions either. Despite Albus being a dreaded Potter, in that he was also a dream come true. He would be no harm to those girls; for that was all Athena truly feared. They were not hers, truly; not hers to lose. But of course, the girls were immortal. Youth brought such whimsical beliefs with it but they were no less true. In many ways, they were immortal, yet to reach full growth but not entirely childlike either. Immortal in their chosen states, she supposed. Athena felt older than her small years. She was on the cusp of twenty. The runes branded into her collarbone and the memories that Azkaban haunted her with made her feel much, much older though.

The young woman met Albus’ gaze hesitantly at his comment and bit the inside of her cheek. “Names to last a lifetime,” she whispered before averting her eyes to the pram. She moved a little so as to tend to the boys though in reality they’d made no fuss or movements. Athena merely busied her fingers with the blankets and touched at their heads, curious as to the heat of their skin. They were wrapped in slumber, dreaming about unicorns or some kind of dangerous adventure that they would in years to come no doubt pursue to the dismay of their mother. In the end there was nothing else to really fiddle with and once the blankets were tucked neatly around them she had to return to her place, a spare part once more unsure of her influence; if she had any.

Cecilia’s smile could have substituted for a dozen candles it was so bright and she bounced a little on the balls of her feet, sufficiently pleased that she had warranted a nickname. She turned her dark eyes onto Aurelia, keen to see whether Albus would give her a nickname as well. Cecilia’s chest puffed out proudly upon finding that Aurelia didn’t get one but she couldn’t help but wonder whether being called ‘Miss Rookwood’ was much better. She didn’t mind too much, though. Ceci, she assured herself, was much better. Aurelia managed a small smile, still nervous, but it was an improvement and certainly she was flattered. It made her feel older; a little bit more like her elder sister or like Athena herself. A woman grown.

Athena watched with guarded eyes as Albus rose to his feet and she waited a moment before allowing her hand to slip into his. She grasped it and shook as she supposed one did before allowing a smirk to quirk at the sides of her lips; an expression her husband would have worn, though granted she communicated it with much less childish cheek.

“A heavy name.” She quipped before retracting her hand, fearing she’d left too long. “A burden for someone so young.”

Athena did not dare bait him anymore than that. Truly, she had not minded so much about the nickname as perhaps she would have done. Though she had no nicknames herself for the girls, she did for the boys whose names were unfortunate mouthfuls. She wouldn’t have had it any other way, though.

“Thea!” Cecilia whirled round, a thought suddenly having lit up her eyes. For a second, Athena felt rather foolish but smiled indulgently nonetheless at the child who held up a block to her. Athena took it, raising an eyebrow. “Can Mr Albus eat with us?” Cecilia asked bluntly and without preamble.

Athena’s mouth opened but much to her dismay no words actually came out and she closed it sharply again before looking up at Albus. She held out the block for Cecilia to take again and the girl hurriedly took it back in her little hands. It was no distraction for her though and she continued to look expectantly between Athena and Albus.

“If Albus is not busy and would like to, I don’t see why not,” Athena murmured finally after her initial hesitance. It wasn’t that Athena didn’t want him to eat with them. She honestly was not worried either way but what she didn’t want was for the girls to badger him into it unnecessarily. “If you have somewhere else to be, do not stay on account of us. However, I think the girls would like it if you joined us. We were going to go to the bistro...Sparks – do you know it?”

Aurelia brightened a little at the mention and she leaned forward a little, reaching to tug on Albus’ hand before looking up at him, her inhibitions having abated a little bit, replaced instead by excitement. “Have you had the fish and chips, Mr Albus? It’s very yummy!”

“Names to last a lifetime.” She said, and Albus’s eyes jerked to her of their own accord. She had read his mind, she had to have. How else would she know of his thoughts? Know that names were carved in stone, stones hewn of family and lineages and deeds that children strung across their back and bore, perspiring and striving, for all their lives. Some people would think different. They would say that having a name was better than being nothing, nothing at all. But his instinct said that she meant what he did. That names were too loud, too big sometimes, something you borrowed for transient, ephemeral periods and then passed on; that ironically they made you more nameless than ever. Because you hadn’t constructed them. They didn’t belong to you. Not while parents and grandparents and their parents before them stood tall, and looked down at you as if to see, sympathetically, if you were worthy of bearing them. Not really.

But her averted face told that perhaps, there was no Legilimency and it all had been a coincidence. It spoke volumes, and yet nothing at all, and Albus found himself watching her fidgeting, restless movements by the pram. And as he watched her it struck him, oh, how had he not seen it before. He had seen countless mothers in his extended family: flushed faces cradling bundles of blankets, affectionate eyes moving almost unconsciously over their playing young, faces drawn tight in irritation, yet worry shimmering in their eyes. He had seen, and concluded that motherhood must be a great joy, to actually run and give chase and fuss and scold and worry over their children that way, and yet always remaining glowing with innate peace and happiness. Albus had never seen greater contentment, than in a mother rocking her baby in her arms, whispering half-remembered lullabies in its ears. Yet Athena drew the blankets over her boys and smiled, and in the smile there was restraint. Regret perhaps? Melancholy? …..Sorrow? She loved them, he had seen it in the protective flare of her eyes, her tightening grip on her daughter’s shoulders as he had approached them. Then why?

And then she was shaking his hand and almost smirking at him, and Albus blinked. She quipped on his words, he returned her smile, and it was one of mutual commiseration. “I didn’t choose it.”

Ceci broke through the moment like a whip cracking through glass, jumping and asking Albus for….lunch? Albus blinked again, and looked up to see a matching shocked expression on Athena’s normally composed features. Her dignified mouth opened and closed like that of a fish, and Albus was seized with the urge to sardonically comment on flies. It would be crossing a line though, and the Rookwood would probably snap at him and her daughter, walking away with a billowing cloak. After all, it was one thing to casually make conversation in an apothecary, something else altogether for a Rookwood and Potter to be seen together at lunch. If a journalist snapped a picture……Albus winced at the probable headlines that could emerge.

But Athena murmured her agreement, and it was now time for Albus’s jaw to hang open. He closed it rather quickly though, and rapidly running through options, opened it again in order to voice politely of how he was running late for a meeting with his publisher, and then meet a friend at the Wheezes, and he wished the family well, and a good afternoon, and other appropriate pleasantries…..but Rookwoods hardly ever listened now, did they?

Before Albus could shape a single word, something tugged at his fingers, and he looked down, surprised to see Aurelia’s brightened face. She wasn’t as bouncy as her sister, of course she wasn’t, but there was no mistaking the excitement in her eyes. The prim, smooth carriage was gone, replaced by a childish tilt and words suiting her age. She prattled something, and startled words escaped from Albus’s lips quite thoughtlessly, “I don’t like fish and chips.”

Then he closed his eyes and winced inwardly, and looked down again. The two Rookwood girls beamed at him like twin hellion-angels, and Albus felt his tongue falter. No one had quite looked at him with such blatant…..adoration before. James had always been the charming one, all cheeky compliments and daredevil words, while he was just…..Albus. People didn’t meet him on the streets and in the shops and invite him out to lunch. Usually.

“But..I could always eat something else. Lead the way.”

Children were like canines in their endeavours to press people into doing something they so clearly did not want to do. For Athena, it was rather amusing to watch as Albus groped for words that would not come; just as she was sure it was laughable to see the mirrored expression on her face moments prior. Yet she did not mock him. In actual fact she ignored him after one cursory glance, electing instead to watch the girls as they stared hopefully at the green-eyed man. They were a good judge of character, she supposed to herself; not that she knew Albus well enough to ascertain whether they were accurate in their assessments or not.

His formed sentence made Athena twinge a little bit and she averted her eyes, unwilling to acknowledge what she believed to be disappointment on the faces of the girls. Yet, despite the faux pas, Albus saved himself and the girls bobbed on the balls of their feet, excitedly packing up the game with lilts of underage magic to help them before dancing in the direction of the door, pausing for a second to turn and stare at the adults. It was lunch time, their impatient gaze said – so hurry up.

Athena put the vials of potion ingredients back on the shelf, half disappointed that she didn’t get a chance to purchase them but at the same time vaguely relieved. Once the vials were back where they’d been found she slipped her hands around the handle of the pram and pushed against it, guiding it through the shop and gesturing for the girls to go on. She stepped out of the shop a little behind the girls and looked about herself, grateful for the fact that it wasn’t a particularly nice day, the breezes having stolen away the idea of summer on their tailwinds, and as such there were very few people in the alley itself. It was for that reason that she let them run ahead.

For a witch of her status, talking to someone cordially and on the same level was always very difficult due to the inbred superiority complex. Athena knew she’d have to choose her words carefully lest Albus take offense and abandon the lunch plans. It was not her disappointment that she was concerned about; rather that of the girls’. But what was beginning to concern Athena more than anything else was the wriggling of feet beneath the blankets in the pram. Archie was beginning to stir, ever aware of the fact that there was something interesting afoot. Much to her relief though, Gus appeared to be as content as ever to sleep on.

“I apologise Mr. Potter,” Athena murmured formally, unsure as to whom to refer to him as. She was not a child. She couldn’t dream up her own names like the girls had. Certainly though, by the looks of their dreamy faces and slow arm-in-arm waltz, they were beginning to tire; a great irony, Athena felt, if she considered that as two retired and expired the last of their energy, their counterparts began to exert theirs.

Athena reasserted some pressure around the handle of the pram before continuing, unsure as to how best to proceed. “If you should like to, I think they might possibly let you go after a cup of coffee.”

Athena smiled a little before letting her eyes fall back to Archie who had opened his eyes to reveal bright, crystalline blue irises that saw and absorbed everything that he was presented with. He gave a little quirk of the lips at the sight of his mother before kicking off the covers from himself as best he could, groping about himself but not quite getting the grip. He gave a small cry that was more in vague amusement than upset and managed to fist a handful of the blanket in his palm, bringing it to his mouth to bite toothlessly on.

“We’re here!”

Aurelia’s shriek – or perhaps it was Cecilia’s – interrupted Athena’s train of thought and she looked up to see that, in fact, the girls were right. With a gesture of her hand, the girls hurried inside, pulling at the buttons on their coats as they went. Shaking her head, Athena entered somewhat awkwardly, dicing with the door and the pram before managing to shimmy into the bistro, keeping the door open as best she could with her hip though not really succeeding in any shape of form.

The girls had picked a table by one of the bay windows that looked out over the alley and were, much to Athena’s amusement, struggling with their coats still. The Rookwood woman brought the pram up beside the table and stepped around it so she was behind the girls, leaning over to first unbutton Cecilia’s coat before reaching over to show Aurelia how to do hers.

Once their coats were on the backs of their chairs, the girls reached forward for the menus simply for the sake of being able to have one. Athena with lithe fingers quickly undid the buttons on her coat and slipped it over the back of the chair before squeezing in a little so Albus could get by, mumbling her apologies. After smoothing out the skirt of her dress, she moved towards the pram to attend to her son who was growing increasingly impatient. He needed attention and the only one he cared to get it from was, naturally, his mother.

“Hello boy,” Athena whispered with a smile as she lifted him out of the pram. She brought him up so he was resting against her shoulder before crouching a little to check on Gus who, at her touch, promptly rolled over onto his back and stretched, content, suddenly, to have all of the room the pram could afford to him. Athena pressed a kiss to Archie’s forehead absent-mindedly, evoking a sound that eerily reminded her of the birds that would crow overhead in the grounds of the manor. He grinned toothlessly at her as he leaned back but soon became bashful and tucked himself into her neck. With one last look at Gus who was sleeping utterly soundlessly but for his breathing, Athena made to sit down in the chair she’d claimed next to the pram.

The young woman set her son down on her lap and brushed at his hair with her fingers which was in a blonde disarray atop his head. They had yet to darken in colour but the wisps at the nape of Archie’s neck held promise of thick, dark, curly hair. His eyes found the girls after a moment and he threw himself forward only to be caught by his mother who pulled him back against her, determined that he shouldn’t throw himself about the room and possibly headbutt the table in the process.

“Isn’t Archie cute?” Cecilia crooned, grabbing at one of the flowers in the vase in the middle of the table. Athena made to scold the girl but her face softened as Cecilia raised herself up and leaned over the table to offer Archie the flower. The boy crowed at it again and groped forward, not quite reaching it – much to his obvious disappointment. Athena smiled and lifted him up so he was stood on her thighs yet still supported under his arms by her hands. He leaned forward again but this time managed to grab the flower, prompting Cecilia to say: “Ta, Archie! Ta?”

The baby gruffed something out that was nonsensical but Cecilia appeared placated regardless. He sat back in his mother’s arms, turning the flower over in his hand and absorbing the colours before putting it into his mouth. Athena’s eyebrows rose out of interest, not fear, and she watched as his features contorted into an expression of utter horror and disgust. Archie hastily took the flower from his mouth and hit it at the edge of the table, pausing for a second to cough before resuming. Out of that cough, however, game a wealth of blossoms in a myriad of colours despite the flower having lost no petals at all. Athena caught a handful of them and frowned a little before putting them down on the table. Magic.

“Thea?” Athena looked up at the sound of Aurelia’s voice and the girl smiled a little before asking, “Would Papa be angry if I had ice cream?”

Athena smiled indulgently at the girl before being distracted by the flower being thrown to the floor in a spark of anger. Athena frowned at Archie who looked up at her with a radiant smile as though to say, “But it’s funny, Mumma.” She shook her head before returning her gaze to Aurelia.

“What your Papa doesn’t know won’t hurt him, sweetheart.” Athena assured the worried looking girl who nodded and returned her eyes uncomprehendingly to the menu once more.

Athena turned a little in her seat, showing Archie to Albus – or, probably, Albus to Archie – the former (and latter) of whom shrieked in excitement at the sight of the latter. Archie bounced in his mother’s lap, turning his head a little to look at her, before reaching forward for Albus curiously. Athena was curious too. The Potter man seemed to attract Rookwoods to him like ants on sugar; and for what reason?

“Do you see anything you like?” She inquired as she lifted Archie back a little to prevent him from careering off of her lap. “I mean, apart from Fish and Chips, of course.” She smiled a little before looking down at her son who, as ever, had eyes like his father’s – though he saw the world through his mother’s blues. He was a mischievous little bugger. Athena did tend to wonder what he dreamt up in that head of his. Heavy name or not; he was still her son, her boy.

It was like living in a whirlwind.

One second Albus had, rather thoughtlessly, approached two girls in red, the next had his hand pulled on and his heart mercilessly blackmailed, and now he was walking in Diagon. Falling into step with a Rookwood. Hardly the most infamous of them all, but a Rookwood all the same. It could be classified on a whole new level of surreality. But then, his entire life had felt unreal for this past year. From a dank, uneventful existence, he had been buffeted back and forth, inflamed by politics and revolution, shaken by emotions and lo- Albus shook his head.

No. Best not go there at all.

They walked, steps falling periodically beside one another, her heels clicking away on the cobbled pathways of the Alley. Albus walked ramrod straight, eyes fixed straight ahead, mind half wondering if the woman beside him was feeling even a jot as awkward as he was right now. When she murmured, voice like the wind, Albus jerked in surprise. He smiled quickly, and the word escaped his lips before he could think. "Don't." He blinked, then continued in a quieter tone. "Its fine. I meant it when I said they were wonderful, you know. Spending an hour for lunch is hardly a chore."

Going from being annoyed at the woman, to sitting with her for lunch. Life.

A breathless shriek informed them that they had arrived, and Albus couldn't help his bemusement at the familiar scene that unfolded before him. Merlin, how many times had he tried to see the Potter-Weasleys settle down in a place? There were always a couple quarelling over seats, another three fighting over menus, some adolescents teasing a red-head over their latest crush, another plotting the latest deadly prank: and you mixed it all together to get chaos. Pure, utter anarchy. Provided of course that some dreaded prank from Wheezes didn't make its appearance, otherwise they'd be kicked out within the hour.

The Rookwoods were much tamer, but no less familial. God, the sight of chirpy Cecilia fussing over her little brother and Archibald burping flower petals, was sweet enough to make toes curl. And those unwanted, beloved, paradoxical images to rise before his eyes again, as if truly in the flesh. Rose, his childhood protector, with unruly curls bouncing all over her face, swotty nose pulled high as she protected him from yet another bout of teasing. Mischievous Lily, with acting skills to fool the best of them, wrapping everyone round her little finger; she always ordered the dessert. Quiet Hugo, rambunctious Fred, flirty Dominique, responsible Teddy. And heavens, James. His mad, ridiculous, awe-inspiring, sometimes cruel brother, who had grown up too fast for the world and had to shoulder burdens too heavy for young shoulders. His mum. Who smiled at him and brushed kisses against his forehead like Athena was doing to her own child now, with a tenderness that ached and drew at something deep within you.

Albus blinked rapidly, drawing a deep breath. He hadn’t mourned his mother for ages. Or his family, who the world kept more tabs on and knew better than he himself did. They were dead, in spite of being very much alive. Or maybe it was his own, self-orchestrated funeral.

The elder one, Aurelia, asked her mother about ice-cream, and the vague unsure reply, along with the worry lines stamped on the girls’ foreheads, sent a current of unease thrumming through the room. Albus picked up on it, even as he gingerly lowered himself on the seat next to Athena. It was strange, how it hadn’t struck him before. What the perfect family, replete with young mother, giggling girls and flushed-cheek infants were doing in the middle of Diagon Alley without the father. What a clearly harried young girl was doing with four kids in public, without a husband. How it seemed that there was no place for one, and a niggling feeling at the back of his head told him that this was how it always was.

Don't make assumptions. Albus reminded himself rather sternly. It would be rather hypocritical of him, after all.

But Albus could pick up on things few people did, and he was hardly ever mistaken. One of the unappreciated benefits of being a permanent looker-on in life, sitting in the audience while 'life' played out on stage.

A rustle alerted him again to movement, and Albus turned his head to see big, baby blue orbs staring at him in wonder. Unconsciously he extended his hand forward, allowing Archibald 'Archie' Rookwood to clasp at his index finger, gurgling delightedly at the bottom of his throat like most babies did. An equally unconscious smile lifted Albus's lips, and he ran a caressing thumb over the short, stubby fingers clutched with his own. Archie flashed a blinding, toothless grin at him. Somewhere at the back of his head, he could hear his mother speak: Albus would make a wonderful father. He had been proud of how he had handled baby Lily, most of his cousins fascinated with the newborn for an hour or two, then drifting into their own lives. He had sat with his sister, gazing at the pram for hours altogether, combing and caressing her lovely red hair, glowing with pride when a crying Lily allowed none but 'Alby' to comfort her. Of course, then Lily grew up, Albus became 'Albus' and he faded out. Nothing more needed to be said.

Athena drew her son back into her lap then, and Albus found himself regretful. "I'll have the Russian salad." A pause. "And four scoops of the best ice-cream available, my treat." It was ultimately bad manners to refuse food from an acquaintance, and if this caused the fading glow in Aurelia's eyes to brighten, then he could definitely spare some Galleons. It unsettled him, how much she reminded him of himself at that age. Craving to live but not quite sure how to begin.

"So...um...." Albus fiddled briefly with the napkin lying on the polished table. "Does...ah, Mr. Rookwood accompany you on these visits often?" He wasn't doing anything wrong, he justified. Merely making small talk.